FERGUS STREAKED PAST MALKA'S ANKLES, skinny tail held high. Malka shrieked at the sight, clutching her dress to her chest, before immediately regretting it. She'd woken up with a sore throat, and screaming wouldn't help. 

"Alright, Arslan?" another Gryffindor boy said as he walked past her, giving a short chuckle at her extreme reaction to Cass's cat. 

Malka blushed. How on earth was her Patronus a cat, when cats were like Fergus?

She shook it off, throwing a dirty look at the white animal's retreating figure, before pushing the door to Slughorn's study open. And just like last time, classical music boomed, a small group of students danced in the corner, and the room was full of the sounds of chattering voices and clinking glasses.

"Gillywater?" a boy who couldn't be older than twelve asked her. Malka declined.

"Miss Arslan! How are you on this night?" Slughorn sauntered up to her. "I heard from Professor McGonagall of your decisive interest in Alchemy- your father must be very, very proud. I have some associates here tonight you may chat to- connections are very important, after all. Part of how all of this posse comes together, ha, ha,"

Malka winced, trying to keep her smile on her face. God, next year, she definitely wasn't going to be a part of this. 

"-Ah, and Mister Carmichael is right over there, may I introduce you?" Slughorn finished, blinking at her with eyes like car headlights.

"Um, no, actually, Professor. I promised I would meet my friend now. Maybe in another ten minutes?" she asked, and Slughorn blinked, retracting his head like a giraffe. After all, she couldn't recall the last time she said no to a teacher. But now that Malka had done it once, it felt quite nice. 

"Oh- Of course, dear. Come find me later." Was all he said. Malka's brows furrowed. Why was everyone acting weird? She didn't think she was being that different. 

Either way, she knew where she was going; straight out. She took a raspberry tart, nibbling on it as she found the other door, gently maneuvering around some dancing twenty-year-olds. It did feel quite good to Irish exit; the way the breeze from the yard kissed her face was quite relaxing. But she knew where she was going, and her heels tapped down the hall with resolution.

When she stepped into the balcony, a soft smile settled over her face. It was April now, late April, and the weather was warm. Her fifth year was slipping away, and soon she'd be taking her O.W.L.s and packing for home. 

"Would you like some?" Regulus sat, one leg slung over the wide marble walls of the balcony, just like last time. Malka turned, leaning her head on one shoulder.

"No, actually. I'm feeling a bit under the weather," she shook her head, and Reg retracted his offered pipe, the smell of tobacco from Malka's Muggle neighbors curling through the night air. 

"Why? Have you gone to Pomfrey for a Pepper-Up?" a black curl flicked down from his forehead, and he used the tip of the pipe to nudge it back up.

"Yes," Malka sighed frustratedly, her eyes tracking his fingers as he passed the pipe from one hand to another. "It isn't working."

"Want me to try and help?" he said, light blue eyes flicking at her in concern. 

"No. I'm sure I'll be fine," Malka said, before the questions bubbled out. "Summer's coming. Any plans?"

Regulus raised a thin eyebrow. "Not much. I have some things I need to take care of. Or that's what my parents tell me."

"Oh," Malka inhaled. How was she supposed to respond to that? "You're not privy to their plans?"

"No."

Malka shifted uncomfortably. Why did all their conversations fizzle out like this? He'd be so interested in talking to her, but when the inevitable darkness overtook him, he'd never be pulled out. But, Malka decided, she'd be the one to do so this time.

"Why is that? Tell me more," she crossed her arms challengingly, a sharp, discerning look in her eyes as she did her best Professor McGonagall impression. 

"Tell you more?"

"Yes, Regulus. About your parents. I need to keep you talking or you turn as dumb as a duck."

A short, chuffed chuckle escaped from his lips. "Alright. All of their plans are usually about- well, the state of things. If the plans are different, they're normally just about the next party or wedding or funeral. Mother makes the plans; she knows which ones Father won't agree with so she tries to skirt around him, but most of the time it doesn't work. Recently it's been working, since Father's drinking more-"

He paused, taking a drag out of his pipe, as Malka listened patiently. It seemed her strategy was working, judging by how the dullness and instinctive Occclumency hadn't returned to his eyes. 

"-Lucy, my Aunt Lucretia, she's the one that puts Mother in check. She's a force, and it helps that Uncle Ignatius spent twenty years in the Atlantic fighting sea creatures."

"What?" Malka's lips broke open in a smile. "Merlin, is that true?"

"Mhm. Aunt Lucy says it was his Gryffindor recklessness, that she's glad he's finally reined in," Reg's eyes danced with mirth.

"Gryffindors aren't reckless," Malka played along, letting out a little scandalized gasp.

"Yes they are. Even you."

"Fine, explain," Malka pouted, but what? She wasn't reckless. Well, sure, she did take the blame for Cass that one time, confront Reg in the broom closet that one time, and talk to Orion Black, but that was it. She had been acting a little out of character recently, but that was only because she was doing the right thing. 

"You are a Gryffindor. And you've been reckless, Malka. Didn't you get a weeks' worth of detentions?"

"Half a week. And those all happened in March," Malka rolled her eyes, but smiled. A warm glow had filled her up from the inside, and Reg's eyes meeting her own felt like a lapping ocean against a black pebbled shore. "Aren't you going to ask me about my plans?"

Regulus coughed. "-Sure. Plans?"

Malka paused, then burst out laughing at his delivery. She wasn't even sure what was so funny, other than that for some reason, some whatever reason, in that moment, Reg was the funniest person in all of Hogwarts right then. 

"Why are you laughing?" he asked gently, though his expression was twisted in some questioning sarcasm, and when he smiled, it wasn't his straight, picturesque smile, it was a grin that was larger, wider, and crooked right on the left side. Was this what teenagers felt when they fell in love?

"Nothing! I don't have many plans. I'll be in Como the whole time. I'm going to a wedding, though, Cassana's sister is getting married," Malka mused.

"Mm? To whom?"

"A Muggle man. And don't say anything," she turned sharply, and Regulus spread both his arms open, an innocent and scandalized expression on his face. 

"I wasn't going to," he pouted, before scowling and taking another drag out of his pipe, the smoke curling in little spirals as the disappeared into thin air. "Come, I'll walk you back to your reckless family."

"So soon?" Malka's brows furrowed as she didn't move. Meanwhile, Reg swung both legs on one said, jumping down as the bottoms of his robes kissed the ground in a swish. "I wanted another raspberry tart."

"Do you really want to go back in?" he raised an eyebrow, holding one hand out, his other holding his pipe. Malka weighed her options. Slughorn was probably waiting for her to be introduced to whats-his-face from before. 

"Fine," Malka took his hand, and with a little jolt, she realized it was the first time he'd offered an ungloved hand to her. When she let go, she rubbed her hand a little self-conciously against her purple dress, before threading her arm into his offered one.

Portraits talked in squeaky voices as they flashed past, and from upstairs and below came the sounds of shuffling suits of armor. Everything was coming together so fast- she'd be a N.E.W.T student the moment she got back to the castle next September. And would Reg be there with her? Malka didn't want to think about it. 

She swallowed uncomfortably. She couldn't deny her attraction to the boy walking next to her. Malka looked up, observing the curve of his jaw, the bump of his Adam's apple, and the slope of his nose. He was sort of beautiful, in an austere kind of way that Italians appreciated. Would her mother approve of him? Probably, especially if she could see into his mind. 

"Knut for your thoughts?" Reg said. 

"I was thinking about my mother."

Reg nudged her arm. "Tell me,"

"...She taught me Occlumency. She had a troubled childhood, so she made sure I had a good one...she taught me everything. Swimming, cooking, my letters, even. I know, scandalous. She liked pottery, all of the bowls and plates in the manor are made by her. I remember when I dropped one when I was ten- she was furious and had me pick tobacco with the Muggle farmers for the rest of the day. She liked to sing; she'd pretend she was the best singer in the world, and to me she was. I miss her a lot," the words tumbled out of her mouth like a waterfall.

Her head buzzed as she talked, and her cheeks grew heated at Reg's intense gaze. The weather really had been acting up lately. But, as she took a step, and the next, the emotions seemed to wander into her throat, to her lungs.

"-Are you alright?"

Malka coughed, then swallowed. "'M fine,"

"Malka. Malka."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis, as the portrait of the erumpet shifted right, and all the phlegm seemed to rise, and a great dizzyness overtook her. Her mouth moved, about to say what the fuck? But it was too late, and her vision buzzed to black.