Regulus made a face at the dig at his height. And yet, even as it rankled him, this could all still, it could be worse. Literally. The Dark Lord could be standing in front of him, ready to torture him for eternity. So the comment only rankled him a bit.

He went back to the bottle he'd left on the desk and took a drink. Bottles were quite easy to conjure. Wine was more tricky, but he'd had lots of practice before coming to this place. So it was rather decent stuff. Then he picked up a lit cigarette he'd had propped on a broken and empty spine of a book.

"I see you're still a know-it-all," Regulus said back to her.

He cast her a half irritated look that was really only ire directed at himself. Before he'd died, before he'd staked his life to take a stab at the Dark Lord, before he'd broken himself in service to that same Dark Lord, he would have sneered at Lily, spat cruelty at her in forms of vicious words, made her leave him alone. That was the way that was taught to him growing up. But after all his experiences, plus arriving here, a stranger amongst strangers, Lily's vaguely familiar face was better than the voices taunting him outside the farmhouse walls.

So the look faded, and nothing more cutting slipped his mouth.