Solmussa

“No,” he says, because he doesn’t like lying.

In Regulus’ opinion, one can either pontificate about blood purity or embarrass oneself over their crush on a muggle born. Not both.

“You’re quite terrifying,” Lupin says.

He’s mourning his brother like he’s dead, except he’s alive and well and, apparently, terrifying.

Skinny, on the shorter side, and pale like a wraith. There was absolutely nothing even remotely scary about him. At least not to James, who’s always been broad shouldered and tall for his age. If anything, Regulus looked like he was wasting away.

He's scowling at Barty Crouch, but Crouch doesn't seem to mind this. James understands, because Regulus' scowl is actually quite pretty and—

Edward Selwyn is awake, reading behind his curtains but Regulus doesn’t like Edward.

People in dark cloaks and strange masks coming and going. Of the voices discussing plans that would make any non-broken person’s toes curl in their shoes.

“I’m not telling you where I was. It’s none of your business.”

He tilts his head to the side, dark curls bouncing. “I didn’t ask.”

Regulus doesn’t have any other friends. He doesn’t want or need them.