Regulus
'I sometimes lock myself in a room and just sit,'
...
"Regulus Arcturus Black get out of the bathroom or I will hex you into the next century!" snapped the irritated blonde outside the battered wooden door.
Regulus Black is sat in the otherwise empty bath tub, a book held lazily in one hand, his wand stuck behind his left ear and one of his cousins husbands cigarettes hanging out of his mouth. Many of his social status would be scandalised by such an atrocity: he is only fifteen after all. But he looks a few years older and Rodolphus had no qualms over supplying his cousin with the stuff. Nobody close to him really cared anyway, apart from his mother, as his father and uncle both smoked like chimneys.
"Coming Narcissa," he sighs in an irritated fashion, stubbing out the cigarette and shoving what was left into the pocket of his black trousers. He had been quite happily reading until she came along but, he thought idly, that was Cissa for you. He opened the door and gave her a look as if she had just thrown up over his shoes, "You called cousin?"
"Get out of the way you little rat," she sniffed, pushing past him with her make-up bag in hand. She moved over to the mirror without another word and began to poke and prod her face with various implements. She paused to pull out some sort of powder brush from the bag, "What're you doing in here anyway?"
"Is it any of your business?" he asked, trying to imitate the cool indifferent manner his elder brother favoured. He rather enjoyed his brothers company even if he was a Gryffindor.
"Drop the act, Regulus, it doesn't suit you,"
His expression became sullen, "I sometimes lock myself in the bathroom," he shrugged.
She threw him an expression over her shoulder, "Freak,"
"What? I like the peace and quiet,"
"Get yourself a girlfriend Reggie. Now scram, you little insect, I need to use the facilities," she said, pushing him out of the room, "And remove your wand from behind your ear. Anybody would think you were a Lovegood,"
He walked to his bedroom. Closing the door, making sure the 'Do Not Disturb' sign was on it, he threw the book and his wand onto his bed. He soon followed, rubbing his hands over his face before surveying the ceiling in a bored fashion. What was her problem? He was just locking himself a room away from the world for a little while - why was she, of all people, grumbling about it? This wasn't even her house.
The walls of his bedroom were littered with newspaper clippings and articles that he, secretly, no longer cared for. The Dark Arts frightened him. Even in his own bedroom there were reminders of what he had got himself into. In the bathroom there was nothing. He was safe there.