She's young – your age, but young. But her eyes, oh they're ancient. She's an old soul, and a dark one at that. She says you're practice as you kiss in broom-closet two-three-seven, that it was her plan ever since she was twelve to seduce you and drop you. You don't care for her words though – you love her, and you don't care when she dumps you the next day in the Slytherin common room.
You know she loves you, just as you love her, and you have bigger ambitions at the time than a girl who would flee to Italy as soon as school ended.
Maya had always been home though, so it was natural for you to gravitate to her. She still has lovers, 'boyfriends'. It doesn't matter though. You're more like your father than anyone gives credit, all your thoughts going on and staying inside your head. You are clever, brilliant even – it's how you figure out that the Dark Lord has created something more repulsive than anything else he has done, even with the war going on around him.
You search for horcruxes. You find one finally, when you are nineteen, because of Kreacher and the Dark Lord's request for a house-elf. The Dark Lord doesn't understand house-elves though, it seems, as Kreacher tells you everything. It takes you a week to find your courage. You are not a Gryffindor at heart, never had been.
But Maya was.
She's the one to inspire you to go to that cave, to go with Kreacher and order him to take the locket and go, to leave him there. You spend that week of fear, of horror, of knowing with Maya, and Maya convinces you without even knowing what she was truly doing.
When you die, your last thought is of her.
One day, Blaise Zabini looks in the mirror, candid photo of his mother and Regulus Black in hand, and wonders.
