Music: Into Dust – Mazzy Star
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Summary: She was the reason he did what he did. The reason he made the right decision in the end. (Regulus/Hermione)
She appeared out of nowhere. He woke up one morning, in his dark bedroom at Grimmauld place and she was just… there. Fast asleep on his bed, wrapped in a dusty black blanket, her hair a mess of twigs and dirt, and her face smudged with blood. There were various scrapes across her body and despite the blanket, she was shivering. He didn't know how she'd appeared or why she was there, he only knew that his mind was taken off of the mess of his life with her there. He had something else to think about rather than the burning mark on his forearm or the desperation and darkness about to swamp the Wizarding world. He didn't have to think of the brother he betrayed or the mother that made him believe blood purity was so much grander than what it was. She was dead now and had no hateful words for those she despised, like her eldest son who was now off with his friends, unknowing of the fate that awaited them all.
Three years he'd been at The Dark Lord's side and now he realized it was all wrong; so very wrong. He'd seen first hand the terror that The Dark Lord left in his wake and he couldn't be a part of it any longer. He couldn't just walk away or not show up, though. The dark mark on his forearm warned him there was no way out. He was trapped; stuck in the life of a Death Eater. He'd been sixteen when he thought that power would be something incredible to wield, but he was just a foolish boy then. He should've listened to his brother when he asked him to leave it behind. But he'd been taught Sirius' beliefs were wrong and his brother had been cast away by his parents. He was the only true son of the Noble House of Black and he felt obligated to uphold its traditions. But he had no real idea of what that meant and he regretted it so much, now more than ever.
The girl lying on his bed stirred and he stared down at her curiously. Who was she and what did her existence mean? Maybe it was a figment of his imagination; he hadn't eaten in three days, hadn't showered or really moved since he came to the conclusion that his whole life was over. He'd hidden away in the darkness of his room, letting his mind eat away at him, his guilt drawing him deeper and deeper into despair. How could he be a part of The Dark Lord's plan? Those people, those witches and wizard who had done nothing to anyone, they were all going to be sacrificed to further The Dark Lord's power.
Somewhere, deep down, in the heart he hid behind a stoic attitude, he felt as though this was his saving grace. This young woman, who couldn't be older than him, had come to him for a reason. To give him his last chance to be a good person. She had pale, porcelain skin, plump, pink lips, and thick, lustrous brown hair. There was a spattering of freckles over her pert nose and her dark lashes stood out drastically against her light skin and flushed cheeks. He couldn't imagine what brought her to him. It was as if she was set down purposely for him. The blanket slipped from her shoulders revealing a slim but curvy little body dressed in a red flannel nightgown that was oddly flattering on her.
There was a glittering gold necklace around her neck that held mystery in its hour glass figure. He reached out for it curiously, his fingertips just barely brushing against it before a hand wrapped around his wrist tightly. Her fingers, though small, bit into him roughly. Her eyes widened as she stared at him and her expression became one of wary suspicion. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked, pushing him away roughly. "Who are you?"
Had it not been for quick thinking, he would've foolishly fallen to the floor. But he caught himself and stared at her with the same stoic expression he gave most. He held the mask tightly, suddenly feeling very nervous in her presence. "Regulus Black, youngest descendent of the—"
"Noble House of Black, yes, I know," she muttered, sounding both snooty and annoyed. Her expression became one of confusion and she began nibbling her lip. She fell into her thoughts almost immediately, apparently uncaring of his being there any longer. She ran a hand through her hair, wincing as it hit a still open scrape.
"I know a few healing spells," he told her, his voice low and carefully showing no real concern.
She stared up at him a moment. "How old are you?" she queried, lifting a brow.
"Nineteen," he replied, cocking a brow back imperiously. "And you?"
"Same," she replied in a clipped tone. "What are the healing spells?" she reached below her pillow, searching for something and coming up empty. "Could I use your wand please? Mine seems to have been left behind in my… journey." She turned her eyes away nervously.
He laughed rather crisply. "Give you my wand? A stranger who I have no real understanding of how she appeared. You're a mess; obviously you've been in a fight lately. How do I know you're trustworthy? I don't even know your name."
She stood up from the bed quickly, her nightgown slipping up her thighs for only a moment at her quick motion. His eyes fell to see them, but lifted back to her face just as quickly. "I can't give you my name. And what answer would be acceptable to you in terms of my alliance?" She lifted her nose. "You're not even certain which side you're on, are you?" Her eyes thinned, staring at him.
His mask cracked slightly, but he held tight to it. "You have no right to speak to me this way, witch. You're in my home for reasons unknown and you have no wand. Remember that," he threatened, his mouth quirking with a slight smirk.
She lifted her chin, staring at him defiantly. "You won't hurt me," she said simply.
She nodded, before turning her back on him and walking back toward the bed. "Now, will you lend me your wand or use it yourself? I can't simply sit around like this all day, now can I?"
He tightened his jaw in thought before taking out his wand and silently using it to free her of her injuries. She wasn't near her death bed, but she'd been in quite the duel. He wondered what she'd say if he asked what happened and then decided she'd be evasive. In the process, he got rid of the dirt and twigs in her hair. "What should I call you, witch?"
"No need for names, I shouldn't be staying long," she replied, gathering the blanket around herself. "I'll be in the library," she told him simply before passing him by. She stopped near the door. "I'd suggest a shower, Black."
Before he could reply, she was gone.
He sniffed the air around him before frowning. Maybe a shower wouldn't be the worst idea. He made his way to the private bathroom connected to his bedroom and quickly shed himself of his foul smelling clothes. He turned the water up high and melted beneath the harsh spray, coming to the conclusion that a shower was something he should've enjoyed much earlier. It burned his skin, but left him feeling refreshed and just slightly cleansed of some of his sins. For that moment, he let the guilt and the fear drain away with the dirtied water. He ran his hands through his black hair, pushing it back and feeling the scalding water stream down his face. It slid down his neck and coursed a path over his slim, muscled body. He opened his mouth and took in the water before forcing it back out, his mouth feeling a little less grimy. Grabbing the soap, he lathered it over all of him, enjoying the way it seemed to take away the layers of indecision along with the dirt.
Nearly an hour later, he finally climbed out and brushed his teeth at the sink, standing gloriously bare before the mirror. He combed his hair back with his fingers and shaved away the last few days' growth from his jaw. Naked, he left for his room to get fresh clothing. He'd only just drawn his pants up, button and zipper still undone when the nameless girl came bursting into his room, scowling. She looked startled by his nearly naked appearance and lost her expression to her dumbfoundedness.
"Problem?" he asked, lifting a brow.
She immediately reacted; her face drawing back into that of annoyance. "Do you ever get tired of acting so superior?" she asked waspishly.
He nearly smiled, but was careful not to. "No."
She huffed, rolling her eyes. "Your library won't open for me. I don't have a wand to break the locking charm," she explained. "I've tried just about everything."
"What do you need the library for?" he wondered.
"None of your business," she replied, crossing her arms over her chest.
"My wand, my business." He reached into his wardrobe and took out a crisp white shirt, pulling it on and watching her rather smugly as her eyes traveled from his face to his still dripping chest.
She blinked rapidly, shaking her head slightly, and returned her attention to the problem at hand. "Consider it a way of getting rid of me quicker."
"Maybe I don't want to get rid of you," he said lowly, half-smirking. Her mouth opened to say something but came up empty. He chuckled quietly to himself before walking past her and out the door. He walked down the creaky stairs, passing by the many sleeping portraits on the wall, and jumping over the trick step near the bottom. She followed behind him, quieter than she'd ever been since first arriving asleep. He didn't miss how she too hopped over the trick stair. Standing before the library doors, he waved his wand intricately, taking the lock off. Bowing dramatically, he waved her in, amused with her scowl and lifted nose.
"You're welcome," he said as she hurried to the bookshelves.
She turned around, looking quite sheepish. "Oh. Sorry. Thank you," she said, nodding.
He shrugged indifferently. "Are you hungry?" He told himself he was just being a good host, not that she intrigued him in the least.
She pursed her lips and turned her eyes to the side, deliberating over the question. "Yes," she finally said.
He smiled. "Took that much effort?"
She shrugged. "I wasn't sure. No point in having you cook more than needed."
He shook his head before turning and making his way to the kitchen, leaving her to the books. Some part of him wanted to distract her, get her to stay a little longer; he liked the company. As he made them up a simple pot of soup, he simmered over what she could be doing. He still wasn't throwing away the idea that she'd come to him for a reason. What that reason was, he didn't quite now, but she an interesting girl nonetheless.
A half hour later, he was bringing her a bowl of soup in the library, finding her sitting in a circle of various sized piles of books. She studiously had her face leaned in close, her brow furrowed, and her finger playing with one of her curls. "Hey," he said, having no name to use so far. "It really would be a lot easier if you'd give me a name."
"Can't," she replied simply, taking the bowl of soup from him and then returning her eyes to her book.
"Well I can't keep calling you 'hey'," he told her, disgruntled.
She sighed, lifting her face and staring at him. "So pick a name and call me by that."
He frowned, but decided to eat his soup rather than argue with her. His stomach both appreciated and disagreed with the meal. It hadn't been filled in some time, but the broth of the soup warmed his insides. He watched her, book after book, as she read and read and didn't slow. Time ticked by and she just grew more frustrated as what she was looking for didn't appear to be in anything. Finally, she threw a book at the far shelf and grunted. Muttering under her breath, she ran her hands through her hair.
"Need any help?" he asked, though he'd grown quite fond of having her around for the simple reason that she took his mind off everything else.
He enjoyed seeing the little quirks she had come out. She gnawed on her lip a lot and tended to tangle and knot her own hair as she played with it unconsciously. She pursed her lips when she was annoyed, furrowed her brow when she was concentrating hard, and huffed under her breath when she was getting fed up. She also tugged on her ear when she found something fascinating and her eyes lit up with something he hadn't seen in some time; honest, innocent excitement. Sometimes she read out loud, so quietly he could barely hear her. She always hummed and hawed over what she found. It was adorable.
The way she was sitting had her nightgown slipping up her legs, which she didn't seem to notice but he had a hard time not looking. She had nice, creamy white thighs. Something stirred in his stomach; a feeling he hadn't experienced in far too long: attraction. She was pretty. Her hair was a little wild but he liked that; it said something about her personality. She had a natural beauty; freckles, soft skin, round face, pert nose. She had long lashes, he noticed, that framed her dark brown eyes beautifully.
"No. No, your help would only make worse problems, I assure you," she said, though there was no malice to her tone. It was very matter-of-fact, as if she knew something he did not.
"So you're just going to spend your time locked in here, reading until you finally go mad?" he asked, lifting a brow.
"Better than holing myself in my bedroom, not showering or eating, letting guilt eat me away," she replied spitefully.
He frowned, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands over his abdomen. How did this stranger know him so well? How did this nameless girl know anything about him? "Care to tell me exactly how you know anything you speak of so confidently?"
She thinned her lips before standing up abruptly. "It's best if you know nothing, Black."
"Regulus," he told her, leaning forward.
She nodded. "You seem tired, you should sleep."
He shook his head. "And give you free reign to the house as I slumber unknowingly. For all I know you'll take my wand and kill me in my sleep." He didn't really believe it, but it was a cautious action that best be taken in times like the Wizarding world was experiencing.
She sighed, stepping toward him. "Then what do you propose?"
"Come to bed with me," he said, nodding decisively, despite the fact that the idea had just come to him.
Her eyes widened in shock. "I- I- That's- Ridiculous!" she exclaimed, shaking her head.
He grinned. "It's a purely innocent safety precaution."
"But I'm not going to kill you," she told him, stomping her foot.
"And I'm supposed to take the word of a nameless girl that appears in my bed out of nowhere?" He lifted a brow mockingly.
She huffed, biting her lip. "Fine," she said, throwing her eyes up. "But you stay on your side of the bed!" She walked past him, hair swaying behind her furiously.
"Of course," he said, following her out of the room and up the stairs to his bedroom.
She climbed back into the bed she appeared in and muttering under her breath, she rearranged the blanket around her comfortably.
After closing the door, he walked toward the bed, shedding his shirt in the process.
She stopped in her adjustments and stared at him in shock. "Wh-What are you doing?"
"Getting ready for bed," he replied, undoing his pants.
"B-But you can't sleep in bed like- like that! It's indecent!" she exclaimed.
"Relax, I'll have some clothing on," he assured, dropping his pants to the floor and walking out of them. He crossed to the bed in his dark boxers and pulled his side of the blanket up before climbing beneath. As he waved his hand, the candles dimmed around them. He turned onto his side to face her, finding her lying nervously across from him, picking at a thread on the sheet. "I'll be the perfect gentlemen, you have nothing to worry about, witch."
She frowned. "Stop calling me that."
He lifted a brow. "Without a name, you're going to have to put up with it."
"I said you could pick out a name for me. 'Witch' is not a name," she told him, her tone bordering on chastising.
He sighed, laying his head down on his arm. "Tell me about yourself."
"There's not much to tell," she said, her eyes turning away evasively.
"I highly doubt that." He stared at her. "Tell me who you are. No names, just… what makes you, you."
She lifted her gaze to him, staring at him seriously. "I'm like every other witch. Nothing special."
He shook his head. "Now tell the truth."
She sighed, laying her head down on her arm, eyes directly across from his. "I'm an only child that was always well behaved and had two very good parents. I love books and animals and creature rights. I love my friends and having the abilities I do. I love learning and teaching and having an answer to everything. I hate the dark, rats, and pigheaded people who think they're above everybody else. I'm anti-Voldemort and I'm not afraid to say it. I believe I'm courageous, trustworthy and strong and I admire those traits in others. I try not to be judgmental but I'm very suspicious of most things." She nodded slightly, as if making it so. "And you?"
"I'm a spoiled pureblood that learned early blood purity was everything and kept my beliefs until only recently. I was a Slytherin that did well enough in school. I was seeker on the Quidditch team and was friends with a group heavily pro-The Dark Lord. I became a Death Eater when I was sixteen and have only doubted my decision in the last few days. I have no real friends, I can't rely on my family, my only brother would turn his back on me if he saw me today, and the closest thing I have to a confidant is a house elf I sent to work for The Dark Lord. I wouldn't say I was courageous, but I want to be. I wish I was." He paused a moment before adding, "It's good to be suspicious, but it tends to overrule sometimes." He sighed, feeling as if a heavy weight had just left his shoulders. He looked at her, searching for disgust or hatred or even shock. But there was none there, as if she already knew and didn't hate him for it.
She nodded slowly. "A few days earlier and I might've come to the wrong place," she said, a slight note of amusement.
He tried to smile but couldn't. "I wouldn't have hurt you."
She looked up at him, her eyes shining with a wisdom he couldn't quite understand in a girl so young. "I know."
"How?" he wondered, his eyes thinned. "You don't even know me."
"It's not important," she said, turning to lie on her back.
"It is to me."
She exhaled heavily. "Believe me, Regulus, I'm saving you a lot of grief. The things I could tell you would only get you hurt in the long run. If Voldemort were to see you and know what you would…" She shook her head.
"You speak his name so easily," he said quietly, his brow furrowing as he too turned over onto his back.
"It's only a name. It holds no real power unless we let it," she replied simply.
He didn't reply, lying quietly as he thought it through. What she said made sense, but what he'd been taught wasn't so easy to ignore. The Dark Lord was powerful in ways nobody else was. He wove a vision so great in its darkness that it was hard to believe even his name wasn't terror causing. He vowed to try and say it in the future; to not let it rule over him like it did so many.
His eyes drooped as he thought and he eventually felt himself drifting away.
His sleep was thankfully free of nightmares. Only a vision of the nameless girl dressed all in white, smiling and laughing, dancing around him in slow motion filled his head. What did that mean? She was so close, he wanted to reach out and take her in his arms, but he couldn't quite catch her. She always managed to get just out of his reach. She finally came to a stop and stared up at him with flushed cheeks and a soft smile.
"What do you want?" she asked him.
He shook his head. "I don't know."
"Yes you do," she replied, nodding.
He reached out for her, his hand cupping her cheek. "Tell me what I want."
"You already know," she told him, covering his hand with her own. "You just haven't asked yourself."
"I want to be courageous," he told her, nodding.
"You can be."
"I want to be one of those people you admire. Strong, courageous, good," he told her, nodding.
"Then do it."
"How?" he wondered, his brow furrowed.
"You know how," she told him, lifting up on her tiptoes. "Don't you?"
His eyes fell to her lips; so soft and inviting. "Yes." He leaned forward slowly and felt her nose brush against his.
"Will you make me proud, Regulus?" she whispered as his mouth approached.
"I promise, Angel," he told her, closing that small space.
Just as his lips met hers, his eyes opened and he found himself back in his bedroom. The nameless girl lay curled up against him, fast asleep. His arms were wrapped around her and he found her legs entwined with his. The room had a chill to it and he was sure that she only came to him for warmth, but he enjoyed it all the same. He laid his head back down and found her hair was incredibly soft. He rubbed his cheek against it and inhaled the soft scent of roses that exuded from her. Taking a deep breath, he let it out in a sigh and relaxed against her. He watched a bird outside his bedroom window, hop back and forth on a branch, its head turning side to side, looking around for something. He let out a song-like chirp and then flew off, blue wings flapping speedily.
She stirred beside him and he closed his eyes, feigning sleep. She rolled over and pressed her face up against his neck and he stifled a noise as she rubbed her nose against his chest, sighing quietly to herself. Her arm slipped over his side and she pressed up against him, still unknowing of her position as she slept peacefully. He found it all so unreal; just a few days ago he'd been so overwrought with fear and guilt that he'd locked himself away in his room and ignored the call of The Dark Lord and the darkness that was about to eat the world because of his help. And now he was lying with this beautiful girl who knew him for what he was and didn't care, despite being someone who should outright hate him. What made her so forgiving?
He heard her mumble something in her sleep and glanced down at her, smiling lightly.
The sun beat down on them steadily, slowly rousing her from her slumber. Her eyes scrunched up in annoyance and her nose wrinkled, before she finally blinked rapidly to get rid of the sleep clouding her vision. She yawned and arched her back, pressing herself into him intimately as she stretched her arms up above her head. Suddenly, she became aware of what she was doing and halted immediately. Eyes wide, she stared up at him in horror.
He laughed quietly. "Morning."
"G-Good morning," she stuttered, clearing her throat and shifting away from him. "Er, sorry about that."
"No problem," he said, shrugging impassively.
She turned her eyes away. "Well," she said, sitting up in the bed and running her hand over her hair. "Do you mind if I use your shower?"
"Go ahead," he said, lifting a hand to point where it was.
She was already up and off the bed, bounding toward it, however. She closed it rather loudly and he fell back to the bed, crossing his arms behind his head.
"Regulus?" she called out, her voice rather meek.
"You wouldn't happen to have any clothes I could wear, would you?" she wondered.
He grinned. "I'll find something," he assured.
Climbing off his bed, he searched around in his wardrobe for something, knowing his mother's clothes would be too large for her. He found a shirt that he hadn't worn for some years and used a shrinking charm on a pair of his pants. While she was still showering, he brought them into the bathroom and set them down on the counter. He tried not to glance at the shower but couldn't help it. He could only make out the shape of her but it was enough to have him lifting his brows and tipping his head in interest. He shook his head of the lascivious thoughts that filled him and left the room quickly.
Awhile later, she exited the bathroom in his shrunken clothes and a towel drying her wet hair. She smiled at him bashfully and motioned to the clothes. "Thanks."
He nodded, tearing his eyes away from how the shirt clung to her breasts. After grabbing some clothes for himself from the wardrobe, he left for a cold shower, barely acknowledging her telling him that she was going back down to the library.
The same routine would go on for the next week. They slept together in the same bed, but not before he'd ask her an intimate question.
"What's your favorite color?"
"Black's not a color, it's a shade."
"Good enough for me," he replied cheekily.
She snorted, rolling her eyes.
Some nights it was easy banter, other nights it was more serious.
"How different do you think your life would be if you had listened to your brother when you were sixteen and not become a Death Eater?" she wondered.
He sighed, shifting on the bed and clenching his jaw. "I'm not sure. Sirius had someone to run to. He had the Marauders. I would've had no one."
"You would've had Sirius," she reminded.
"Only for so long," he replied, shaking his head. "We were brothers, sure. But Sirius had his own life, he couldn't take care of me his whole life. As soon as he left Hogwarts it would've become hard for me. He was a Gryffindor, it was harder in Slytherin."
"At least you wouldn't be torturing yourself now."
"Maybe," he allowed, staring up at the ceiling.
He'd watch her read her books all day long, make her breakfast and lunch and enjoy the dinner she made. He was glad for the magically stocked fridge, that way he never had to leave the house. Nobody could enter without permission, so he was safe for the time being. With all the books the Black library had, he was sure she'd find her answer easy enough, but it seemed to be avoiding her completely. She refused to leave and go to Diagon to search for any more books, however. She told him it had to be in his library and she wouldn't stop until she found it. He had to coax her to bed some nights.
His favorite part of their routine was waking up to find her wrapped around him. She always seemed to shift over and cuddle up against him. She fit so nicely pressed up against him. She'd grown less sheepish about the whole affair, seeing as she couldn't control what she did in her sleep. Seeing her dressed in his clothes day in and day out wasn't getting any easier however. He found all the time he was spending with her was opening up the heart he'd long ago hidden away and locked up from feeling. She was an extraordinary person; intelligent and beautiful, witty and intriguing.
His dreams became more and more desperate. Every night he dreamt of her in front of him, telling him he knew what decision he had to make, what he had to do to become a better person. And every night she was dressed in the purest of white, dancing before him, so free. Angel, he called her. And it fit her so well. She was his angel; his savior from the darkness; his answer to all his questions; his guardian against the fear.
After the third day, he started calling her Angel outside of his dreams as well. She stared at him curiously the first time, looking only slightly amused. But she hadn't made him change it, simply nodded. "Angel it is then," she said.
She answered to it; a small smile always gracing her face when she did.
It was as the eighth day came to an end that he finally came to the conclusion he'd been searching for. He'd called his faithful house elf Kreacher to return to him three days prior and learned of a necklace The Dark Lord had hidden on a secret island in a sea cave. From all the arrogant hints The Dark Lord had boasted of, Regulus realized just what the necklace meant. He'd created a Horcrux. What that could mean was disastrous and so he knew what had to be done. He had to destroy The Dark Lord!
They were lying in bed that night, closer than they had in prior days. There was no point in being on other sides of the bed when in the end they'd be wrapped around each other once more. Some mornings, he spent hours simply holding her, enjoying the feel of her in his arms. So accepting of him; no strings attached. She was simply there and she expected nothing of him but his library. He'd begun to wonder what she'd do if he locked her out of it and never allowed her back in; simply kept her to himself for all eternity. It wasn't right or fair or any way to her heart, but he was selfish and he wanted to keep her.
Deep in thought, he lightly ran his forefinger up and down her arm, drawing a circle over the curve of her shoulder and going back down. Her head lay on his chest, hand over his stomach. They'd become so close together in such a short amount of time and he wondered what that meant. There were so many feelings flowing through him he wasn't sure how to decipher them. He'd never been in love; never really had a girlfriend or even a fancy before. He'd been too engrossed with power and making his parents proud that he hadn't taken the time to be a regular teenager. He hadn't experienced his youth like he should have and now that it was happening he didn't know what to do.
Something seemed to be burdening her and he wasn't sure if she wanted to talk about it. She'd ended her usual book search mid-afternoon and hadn't gone back to them. Did that mean she knew her way home then? And how was it she couldn't simply apparate or floo there. Where was her home that she had to use something hidden away in a book to get there?
"What's bothering you, Angel?" he finally asked, stroking her shoulder and glancing down at her.
"I know how to get home," she told him quietly.
He felt his heart slow. "That's good, isn't it?"
"Yes. Yes, of course," she replied, nodding slightly.
He swallowed the sadness welling in his throat. "So when will you return?"
"Morning, I think."
"Will you ever come back?" he wondered, hoping he didn't sound too desperate.
She lifted her head, looking up at him sorrowfully. He didn't need her to say it, he already knew. He'd never see her again.
"Course not," he muttered.
"I'm sorry Regulus," she whispered, her eyes falling.
"Nothing to be sorry about. I knew you had to leave eventually," he replied bitterly.
"I don't belong here," she told him, shaking her head, her voice wobbly. She sniffled and he realized she was crying.
He tipped her chin up with a curved finger and wiped away the tears slipping from her eyes. "Don't sour it now with tears, Angel. We both knew you had to leave eventually."
"Sometimes," she murmured, "I wish I could stay."
"I do too," he admitted.
She nodded, lifting a hand to wipe her face and push her hair back. She placed her chin on his chest and reached out with a hand, pushing his fringe from his cheek with her forefinger, tip trailing across his face. "Don't waste away here, Regulus. You shouldn't hide from the world."
He frowned, eyes falling. "I have something I need to do first, then I'll rejoin the world. Find my brother, perhaps." He paused, swallowing tightly. "Find you."
She stroked his jaw with her thumb. "You won't find me."
"You don't know how persistent I can be," he replied lowly. He buried his hand in her hair, fingers threading in her thick curls. "I'll search the heavens for you, Angel."
"There are better things to do with your life then look for me, Regulus," she told him, eyelashes falling to cover her eyes.
"No there aren't," he denied, smirking.
She was quiet for a moment before lifting her gaze to his once more. "And what will you do when you find me?"
He traced the curve of her ear with his thumb. "I'll love you," he breathed.
She swallowed audibly, before whispering, "You have me now."
He paused only a moment before leaning in and pressing his lips against hers. It was better than any dream. Her lips were soft and warm and as she parted them, he tasted her sweet tongue against his. She lifted herself up until she was lying on top of him. Her hands delved into his hair and her gasping mouth met his, slanting over and over, tongue dueling. Their noses brushed, her hair gently fell over his face, her body smoothed against his perfectly.
His hands fell from her hair, trailing down her back, fingers pressing against her, drawing her closer despite the lack of space between them. He bunched her flannel gown up until it was pooled at her hips and slid his hands beneath to touch her soft back. Her legs fell to either side of his hips, thighs straddling him tightly. His mouth broke away from hers, breathing heavily as it attached to her throat. Her head fell to the side and she gasped against his ear as he suckled at her throat, nipping her lightly. He'd never done this before and yet it all seemed to fall into place like second nature.
Her body seemed to writhe against his, reacting to every little touch as if he set her on fire with each stroke. She lifted herself up from him and he stilled, worried that she changed her mind, but then she shed her nightgown entirely and he was left gawking at her beautiful bare form; small breasts, enough to fill his hands, slim torso, flat stomach, curvy hips. Her skin was creamy white and only tarnished by a light pink scar that he traced with the tip of his forefinger, glancing up at her questioningly. She shook her head, not wanting to talk about it and he accepted the fact. His hands slid up her sides, fingers splayed out over her skin. He watched gooseflesh break out and smiled lightly. He stroked the undersides of her breasts with his thumb, watching as her stomach tightened and her body arched forward into his hands.
"You're beautiful," he told her, his voice filled with an admiring awe.
Her hands covered his, sliding them higher until he was fully cupping her soft but firm breasts. His thumbs flicked out, rubbing the dusky centers and she gasped, her eyes fluttering. He did it again just to see her reaction and felt a tightness in his stomach. She was so… incredible. Her fingers threaded with his over her breasts, holding them there. She began rocking against him just slightly and he could feel her most intimate area pressing against him, making him thrum and squirm beneath her. She felt so good and yet he wanted more, so much more.
Her hands unwound from his and slid down his forearms slowly, fingers tracing every inch of him before they found his shoulders. She looked down at him through darkened eyes. "What will you do now that you have me, Regulus?"
"Love you," he murmured, jerking upward against her as she rotated her hips and ground down into him.
She leaned forward, her bare form pressing against his chest deliciously. "Love me," she told him, capturing his mouth.
He turned them over, one of his hands delving into her hair once more while the other slid down her side, caressing her. His fingers slid into the band of her knickers and drew them down her bottom, which she lifted to help him. With some shifting around, he managed to get them off her completely and tossed them to the floor. He lay between her parted thighs, nothing but his boxers between them. She stared up at him so purely, her fingers stroking the hair from his face.
He kissed his was from her neck to her navel; traveling between the valley of her breast, kissing the curves of them both, trailing across her ribs, tongue dipping into her belly button. Her hands delved into his hair, holding tight to it as he fell lower. His hands gripped her thighs, thumb stroking the inside of her legs gently, soothingly. His mouth found her center, tongue exploring her folds, top to bottom. She cried out, her head thrashing side to side, her breathing picking up. She tasted so warm and sweet. He paid special attention to the straining bud that made her whimper and jerk against his mouth. His tongue tasted all of her; finding every spot that could have her crying out and tugging at his hair. It delved inside of her: tasting her sweet juices and making her sob his name.
She broke around him; exploding in a cry of ecstasy. She was panting and heaving as he climbed up her, stopping at her neck to lave at it, nipping and kissing her gently. Her eyes were half lidded and her arms lifted to wrap around his neck bonelessly. He kissed up her jaw, finding her mouth once more. She moaned as he kissed her, sighing into his mouth contently. One of her hands ran down his back, nails grazing against him enticingly. She shifted beneath him, her knees lifting and her thighs tightening around his hips.
He buried his face against her neck before sliding inside of her. He met resistance at first but pushed through as she squeezed his shoulder and lifted her hips. She cried out against him, a broken sob escaping her throat. He stopped completely, worried, but she held tight to him, one of her hands against his neck, holding his face against her. Her body was tense and tight and he wanted to move so desperately. Her heat was incredible around him; his body broke out in a strained sweat as he held still.
He felt her thighs slowly release around him and her fingers began stroking his neck. She shifted her hips around and he groaned against her shoulder. "Okay," she whispered, giving him the only signal he needed. He slid farther in, finding a sense of coming home. As he drew out and fell back in, a rhythm was created between them. She lifted and met each stroke of his hips. They joined and fell in sync, creating a deliriously incredible dance. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, fingers only falling to scrape down his back before returning to the perch against his shoulder blades. Her fingers curled around the very ends of his hair, tugging on it periodically.
He kissed every area he could reach; mouth caressing her breasts, shoulders, arms, neck, face. His hand tangled in her hair, holding her close to him. The other wrapped around the pillow, gripping it tightly as their movements became more erratic. The noises she was making became louder, hoarser, thicker. She murmured his name against his ear; bit his shoulder off and on. She even cursed randomly, whenever he hit a certain spot inside of her that had her head thrown back and her eyes shutting tight.
He couldn't hold out much longer. His hand fell from her hair and wrapped around her thigh, gripping it tightly as he thrust into her harder, deeper. She whimpered, hips rotating and lifting to meet his. Her nails dug into his back and her teeth bit into her lip. She opened her eyes and stared up at him. Her vision was glazed and dark; passionate and beautiful.
He kissed her harshly, possessively, and pressed into her quicker, feeling her contract around him. She whimpered, biting his lip before tearing her mouth away and crying out into the night. His name echoed around them as she fell over the edge, crashing over the waves of ecstasy once more. He could feel her quivering around him and his thrusts fell out of sync entirely until finally he was there with her. His eyes shut tight and his face buried against her shoulder as colors blinded his vision and his body clenched and released in a spectacular feeling of completion. Her hips jerked up against his still as she came down and he fell against her in a heap of content perfection.
Her arms wrapped tight around him, hands stroking his skin soothingly. After a few moments, he rolled them over, still breathing heavily and holding her tight against him. He felt tired but didn't want to close his eyes. She'd be gone tomorrow, he knew. He didn't want that. He wanted the night to never end. To hold her forever, make love to her all of his life. They lay in silence, her head on his shoulder, her fingers lazily curling and unfurling to graze his shoulder with her nails. They were enveloped with a comfortable silence, though his mind was whirling with all the things he wanted to say.
"Don't go," was all that came out.
"I have to," she replied quietly.
"Aren't you the one who told me we all have choices to make? The hard part is making the right one."
She lifted her head, resting her chin on his chest. "I did say that and I meant it. But my choice was made for me, Regulus. I don't belong here. I belong somewhere else and to stay here would be… It'd be wrong." She shook her head. "If there was another way…"
He sighed, frustrated with the turn of events. A nameless girl appears in his room and suddenly everything isn't what it seemed. He wasn't hopeless anymore and yet… he had no reason to be hopeful. "What am I supposed to do?"
She reached out, stroking his chin. "You know what to do."
"What if I make the wrong choice?" he wondered, his brow furrowing.
He sighed, clenching his jaw. "How do you know?"
She shook her head. "I just do."
He had no reply and so she returned her head to his chest, cheek pressing against his heart.
A sheet lay across them, only covering them up to their waists. He ran his hand up and down her back, staring up at the dark ceiling above him. His entire body screamed for sleep but he feared that closing his eyes would mean opening them to find her gone. What would he do then? he wondered. He'd grown so used to her presence, her ear to listen. He didn't want to go back to being alone; to being in a life she didn't exist in.
"What if I told you I loved you?"
"Then I'd tell you I love you back," she replied quietly.
"But nothing would change."
"No," she replied simply.
He sighed, his eyes closing against the burn building behind them. "Is there nothing…"
"Nothing," she told him, stroking his shoulder lightly. So many nights she'd traced his dark mark with her fingertip; neither repulsed nor intrigued. It was just another part of him, something for her to examine and cherish and accept.
"I don't want you to go," he whispered.
He wrapped his arm over her waist, hugging her to him. "Where will you go?" he queried, though she'd never told him before.
"Where do you think I'll go?" She tipped her head, staring up at him from beneath her long lashes.
"Heaven," he replied, half-smirking. "Isn't that where all angels go?"
She smiled. "Then I'll be in heaven."
"So you really are an angel then?" he wondered, lifting a brow.
"I'm your angel aren't I?"
"Yes," he replied possessively.
"Isn't that enough?"
He stayed quiet for a moment before finally nodding. "Yes."
She sighed softly, turning her head again and closing her eyes. "Go to sleep, Regulus."
"I don't want to," he admitted, shaking his head. His eyes drooped and he felt his body relaxing into the bed. He tried to fight it.
"Shh," she murmured, running her hand over his hair soothingly. "Sleep, love."
"Angel?" he whispered sleepily.
"Hm?" she replied, just as tiredly.
"I really do love you."
"And I really do love you."
He smiled slightly before finally falling asleep.
As he woke the next morning, she was gone; her flannel night gown, her dirty black blanket, her warmth from his body. He stared mournfully at the space of bed that she used to occupy before finally drawing himself from the bed. "Kreacher," he called out, summoning his ever faithful house elf.
He appeared with a pop. "Yes, master?" he asked dutifully.
"The island you told me of, where The-" He paused. "Where Voldemort took the necklace," he clarified. Kreacher nodded. "I want you to take me there. First, we'll have to find something to replace it."
"We're going to substitute a fake one for the one he put there, Kreacher. And then you're going to take the real locket and destroy it. Do you understand?"
His head bobbed agreeable. "Yes, Kreacher understand."
Regulus nodded. "You mustn't tell anyone of this. I order you never to tell anyone in the family what's happened."
"Good," Regulus said, sighing. "Check mother's room. She should have a suitable necklace."
Kreached disappeared with a pop.
Rising from the bed, Regulus walked toward the window. He found what appeared to be the same blue bird walking along a branch of the tree outside. It sang a soft cooing noise, its head bobbing side to side. He felt an inner calm over what he was about to. It was courageous and selfless and the right thing to do. His Angel would be proud. He'd do whatever it took; Voldemort could not come to power. He'd made the right choice in the end. A little late it might be, but he'd do whatever it took to stop Voldemort. He knew he was going up against possibly the most powerful wizard of all time, but at least if he died, he'd die knowing he did his Angel right. She loved him for him, but he wanted her to love a good man.
Kreached reappeared in his room. "Kreacher find locket."
"Good," Regulus said, turning from the window. "We go today."
He'd do her proud if it was the last thing he did. Perhaps it was good enough to get him into heaven; then his search for her would end. He'd have done the right thing and found his Angel to love all in one. He hoped.
A/N I hope you enjoyed this. My first dip in Regulus/Hermione and I actually feel quite proud of it. I was a littler uncertain about how Regulus would turn out, especially dialogue wise but I really enjoyed his character!
Thanks for reading. Please review, it's very appreciated!