*The glass-panelling is strangely half-hearted, constructing itself around Regulus with a cautious reluctance that leaves the Hogwarts greenhouses grey, colourless and somewhat surreal. Professor Sprout swims in front of him, her plump shape undulating like a rippling pond, grotesquely unsettled. Behind, there's a sudden flash of darkness, the dim shapes of a muggle living room beyond fake glass walls. It flickers out but the voice of the the muggle woman remains. She screams, the sound travelling through Sprout's throat, ricocheting off her wagging tongue until it's choked off, burning Sprout's lips with it, the whole image shrivelling into bright, white singularity. There's the sound of a gasp - desperate, unplanned and rattling. It fills Regulus' lungs with lead, the sudden press of water faster and more complete then any he's experienced in the past, middling there for crucial seconds until there's only rocky, grass spurted turf. The very real, present, English moors pressing against his cheek, ghostly paws like twin flag poles obscuring his vision.*