When he walks, things become simpler. He doesn't worry about social class or the impending war or any of his relatives. He simply puts one foot in front of the other, and lets them lead him where they may.
This night, they lead him to West London, a cluster of pubs and motels run by (and for) wizards. The snow blinds him, and the click, click of his Italian-leather boots is the loudest sound as he keeps pace on a sidewalk.
Raucous laughter can be heard as he passes a small pub, brimming with drunken wizards.
Suddenly he's tripping, landing face first in a snow bank. He had never been one to be clumsy (that was Andromeda's job) so he can't understand why he has suddenly begun to trip over flat surfaces.
And then a hand was grasping the collar of his trench coat, and with a splutter he was dragged out of the bank and set upright, a hoarse voice telling him for Godric's sake, be careful, dumbass.
There is only one woman that he knows of who would sit in a snow bank, in the middle of December, smoking a cigarette and drinking chocolate milk.
"McKinnon?" he asks, still squinting as the snow lets up slightly.
"Black," she confirms, slipping a cigarette into his hand and lighting it for him. Her purple Chucks are sticking out from her skirt in an unladylike squall.
Her Marlboro has burnt down to the filter. She tosses it over her shoulder and lights another, swigging her chocolate milk in between long drags.
"What brings you to West?" she asks, her rasping voice evidence of too many years of weed and tobacco inhaling.
And as he sits there, the snow soaking through his pants, he cannot help but realize how odd it is that he's sitting here talking to Marlene McKinnon about how he likes to walk and she's laughing and lighting them both more cigarettes.
Suddenly there's light on them both as the snow is illuminated and the pub door opens and somebody stumbles out, calling for her. She doesn't wobble as she stands up; completely sober.
"Mac!" says a familiar voice as he lopes towards them.
Regulus feels a large lump rise in his through as he watches his brother kiss Marlene's neck.
She chuckles and says "Sirius!" in an embarrassed way. The oldest Black brother looks down to see slight Regulus still sitting in a snow bank, his dark hair misted with snowflakes, cheeks red from the cold.
"Was he bothering you, Mac?" asks Sirius, slinging a protective arm around her thin waist and drawing his wand.
"No," she says, shaking her head, "No, he was just leaving."
They don't look back as she supports a stumbling and slurring Sirius back into the bar.
Regulus' tears freeze on his lashes.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing except Marley's purple Converse. :) Everything else belongs to JKR.
AN: Ages ago, I got a prompt from HPFC's Random Character Challenge. It was Regulus, but I am most incapable of writing a single-character oneshot, so here we are.
Review, please!