Portia Agosti was a good friend. A fact which was undeniable even by those who disliked her, envied her wealth, her blood status, her relationships and looks. You could see it in the black of night, a shield of gold which shimmered over those she loved. It was magnetic, addictive, and Regulus was a fiend, devoted to the rush it brought him, shivers from head to toe, restarting his heart over and over again until he feared it would simply stop, overdosing on her gentle embrace. 

While Portia sought friends in all circles, her gold found solace in Regulus. It radiated from him, the perfume of winter pine, burnt vanilla candles, and sweet wine, the scents he could distinguish within seconds as hers and hers alone. Portia's physical presence wasn't loud. She was quiet like the English sunshine, rare but coveted after, yet Regulus swore he would hear her in every room. In every laugh, windchime, gentle humming, water running, quiet footsteps, sighs and songs. 

The picture-perfect friendship. Friendship. 

It was nights like these where Portia's friendship was tested. The annual holiday ball. A rigid pureblood event filled with long dresses and trapped waists, suit coats and cufflinks, and an endless rain of Champagne almost disguising the stench of prejudice and misery. Almost. 

The Agosti family was certainly an enigma. Her mother, Celeste, was a proud and lavish English woman who spent most of her time in the French Riviera, Monaco City, or any other place with easy access to the sun, yachts, and copious amounts of liquor. Her father, Elio, moved from Italy to England at the age of 22, pursuing a lucrative career in the Ministry, where they hand out positions to purebloods like lollipops. Not that her father didn't work hard. Elio cared deeply about his job, so deeply he would spend dawn to dusk in his velvet office chair, smoking cigars, writing, discussing, and writing some more. With her mother enjoying the delight of freedom and free will, Portia and Elio lived in their estate, an old posh building made of sandstone and decorated in polished dark wood, situated in the heart of London. 

During holidays away from Hogwarts Portia was often the single resident of her home. When she was younger, she had decided to wait up all night to finally catch her father coming home, a stakeout which got her childish heart beating and hands fidgety. She imagined embracing him as he swept the young girl off her feet, holding her close as she inhaled ash which lingered upon his suit jacket. They'd watch a movie accompanied by hot cocoa and would fall asleep on the couch, cuddled and cozy in soft woollen blankets. He wouldn't set his alarm for work. He wouldn't leave early. He would stay. At 7am a tired and disappointed Portia trudged up the stairs to her room. As years went by, Portia tried to never too think too deeply about where he went, where he spent his nights, who he spent his nights with. She was impassive and instead focused on the positives of total and utter isolation. Freedom. 

The Winter Ball was as much about politics as socialising and therefore guaranteed her father's interest and presence. A quiet and awkward silence would fall upon the pair sitting at the dining room table for the first time in a year, finishing a small supper. The absence of sound pounded like sharp ice pelting from the sky, piercing the vulnerable tissue of her brain and causing a migraine to quickly develop. 

"I'll have to excuse myself to get ready."

 Her words were firm. Not cold, but distant and detached, as if preoccupied by a larger, more serious, and important issue.  

Not waiting for a response, she practically fled upstairs to get dressed. Her gown had been fitted in a muggle shop in London, a high-end boutique where the woman offered her drinks and attempted to market a hideous orange handbag. Portia had simply smiled politely during the fitting, opting for one-worded responses and nods. Her dress was a shimmering gold with a low neckline, and open back that flowed onto the floor like water. Smooth, peaceful, and delicate. 

(What I imagined)

With her hair already styled in a bun, framed with her natural curls, and styled alongside dangling pearl earrings, she was efficient and precise while getting ready. Finishing with a simple makeup look of rosy cheeks, a smoky eye and shiny red lips, Portia greeted her father at the fireplace to floo to the Malfoy manor, the hosts of this year's occasion. 

She was completely and utterly prepared for a wholly unenjoyable night. 

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Author's Note 

Hi lovelies!!

Hope you all enjoyed the first chapter. Sorry that there is no Regulus yet, but I felt I had to set up a background for Portia first. Next chapter you will be able to see them together and their dynamic I promise! 

As always feel free to comment any questions, requests, or suggestions and please vote if you're enjoying!! Lots of love. 

- Cherrie ♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧