Disclaimer: Needless to say, neither Regulus nor Hestia is mine. But I'm building their personalities for JKR.
Author's Note: Seems I am forever apologising over the length of time between posts, but sadly work gets in the way. Unexpectedly I was offered to teach another graduate course even whilst my primary job is still in its busy season, so for a bit I'll be juggling both. My Muse has been hiding, as well.
A bit more character build up here, then we're off to more interaction between the two main characters. Thank you for staying with me.
As always, reviews are very much appreciated. Really.
-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-
Chapter 4: Riddles in the Dark
Were it any other time, proximity would have left her a jumble of nerves. Regulus was far too close for clarity of thought, a realisation Tia would arrive at later over a midday meal of pork pie and pumpkin juice. Blue eyes – so very intense to his brother's playful greys – narrowed upon her, unwavering, unreadable. Were she to merely shift her weight forward in a balancing step, her neck would cramp at the forced angle to meet said gaze, he was that near. But Tia's current mood withheld from her these contemplations.
She was right pissed off with him, she was. After all she'd done for him, really. Loath though she was to admit it, Tia had to grant Sirius a certain level of truthfulness to his spiteful words prior. Defending Regulus Black, protecting him from Peeves and detention, overlooking his midnight stroll about the castle… and this was how he repaid her kindness. Her incorrigible half-smile failed its usual appearance, replaced instead with tight jaw and unwavering stare.
Long breaths passed as they stood toe to toe, Tia's low, accusing voice echoing ever so slightly down the deserted corridor.
"Lose something?"
-o-
Hestia Jones stood ramrod straight before him – closer than proper etiquette dictated, he thought somewhat distractedly. Held aloft before her was a familiar vial of putrid yellow, her fingertips of index and thumb minimising contact of skin to glass as though the item were particularly repugnant. Immediate was his relief that assignment sabotage was not her subject. But then a dash of something akin to embarrassment rushed through Regulus, and he let his left hand fall as inconspicuously as possible to his lower pocket, its soft material far too flat against his hip.
Ignoring the uninvited feeling, Regulus bristled, taking an offensive approach to the glower before him.
"Obviously not my sense of humour," he bit, drawing himself even straighter in stance. Natural arrogance gave way to nonchalant condensation. "Were that missing, Jones, I'd not have tolerated your tone in speaking to me. Rather…" He trailed off meaningfully, leaving her free to concoct her own scenario. His eyebrow rose, suggesting without words just what sort of alternate course her life would have taken and the pleasure he would have had in it doing so. Granted, he wasn't quite sure himself what he'd actually have done had he not been caught off guard by that momentary concern of his previous wandwork's discovery. But that was irrelevant; all she needed to know was just how fortunate she was not to have incurred his ire this time.
Jones, however, was not one to take the hint.
"Rather what, pray tell?" she inquired, taunting and low, head tilting slightly to his left.
Some striking of instinct instantaneously urged him to lean forward, to mimic her gesture, and it was only ricocheting footfalls that broke his mindless heeding to close the distance.
"Hullo?" Rouan Kendal's soft Welsh reverberated around them, clearing his tunnel vision. "Tia?" Her voice loomed closer in the wavering torch light lining the damp stone walls.
"Your nursemaid has arrived," he stated, going for a tiny sneer this time. "Think she'll be amused by your playing with pretty little bottles of coloured water, doing your best to gain the attentions of the Black Heir through some silly little girl's game? Tsk, tsk, Jones… would have thought you brighter than that." A smile grew a sliver inside at her blanched expression. He'd hit a mark, all right. But then, he already knew no sixteen year old female liked to be called a 'little girl' nor have her intelligence questioned, a Ravenclaw least so.
"Tia, come along. We'll be late for Arithmancy. I waited at the stairs, but…" Gryffindor Kendal had just caught up, quizzical expression darting from Jones to himself.
"Run along, now," he said with a shooing gesture and parental smile. "Don't wish to keep Nanny Kendal waiting." He offered her a laughing look of reproach against her renewed scowl, suggesting she truly was little more than a child seeking his attention. Deftly he stepped round her, manners preventing his shoving of either girl yet status refusing to apologise his way between them.
Best leave on a note of command, he recollected, making his way toward the stairs to the Entrance Hall. He'd made nearly half the distance when his name reached him, Jones' voice quivering slightly. Good; she should fear him.
More of curiosity than by command, he paused in step, turned halfway round and levelled a bored yet impatient glare to her.
Kendal still looked confused, but Jones straightened and held out the blasphemous vial of skulduggery. Stronger now, her words carried in a scent of nervous petulance.
"Canary Feather Swill should be pale yellow, like the bird… hence, the name," she said, and even from the distance he could make out her challenging brow, daring him a retort. He almost laughed. Leave it to a bookworm to find details of proper technique suitable for verbal debate. Casting her a slow blink of boredom, he turned to make his way to Divination when her cut came.
"I suppose it's no wonder, now, your Potions' marks are so abysmal. Not quite so clever as you thought."
Regulus stiffened. It had all been a laugh once he'd realised she'd not caught him ensuring her potion a cock up. A bit of wit-battle had been momentarily distracting, energetic in the moment. But her last… His face lost all hint entertainment, and he turned his head only a quarter, words dark and rough.
"You know nothing," he said, then long strides carried him on, his mind flailing in all he'd been desperate to escape. Several minutes later he found himself below the ceiling portal, unaware of just how he'd gotten there.
-o-0-o-
Tia's prim posture sagged, her fleeting show of resistance fled the moment Regulus' final reply met her ears, its harsh crumble of dictate foreign to her expectations. He'd been all self-assured prat up to that point, making it easy for her anger to seethe through. But then she'd gone and said that about his marks… Never would she have ever believed him concerned over them. Yet a strange anguish had threaded those parting words, something unrelated to N.E.W.T. courses or marks.
"Are you all right?" Rouan asked hesitantly. Tia turned to her best friend, furrowed brow attempting to relax for the other girl's ease of mind. Rouan's heart-shaped face was pinched in concern, her light blonde locks falling in straight blankets off an angled part. Rouan was one of those beauties rounded out best with cleverness and genuine likeability.
"Yes; yes, I'm all right," she finally got out, noticing only once she fell in beside Rouan toward the stairs how wobbly her legs were, tension releasing from her shoulders. He knew she liked him. Not good. Not good a'tall.
"What was that all about?" Rouan asked, her quickened pace setting Tia to task to make class on time.
Briefly Tia explained the vial she now pocketed, the fact she'd noticed Regulus with it directly behind her in the queue to leave class. "Of course I knew where he was, I always know where he is, and I've excellent peripheral vision, mind you. Saw the potion move up toward my hair before Professor Slughorn called him. When he tried to slip it back to his pocket, I intercepted it. Never noticed the difference, he didn't."
Free hand to the banister, Tia's efforts climbing the marble staircase improved the further removed she was from the incident minutes before. His spite with the potion was disheartening; his condescendence expected. His dark bitterness, however, struck a dissonant chord. She was uneasy, troubled, though she couldn't explain why.
"What do you mean, you always know where he is?" Tia started from her thoughts at Rouan's question. The girl caught Tia's wrist as they moved to the next flight, a trickle of students passing round.
"What?" Tia asked, improvising her own confusion. But Rouan's quick mind was keen and made connections with amazing speed.
"Oh, gods, Tia," she suddenly blurted, expression of realisation contorting her lovely face into comical fish-like features. Breathy in a stage whisper, "You've got a fancy for Regulus Black!"
"Shh!" came Tia's anxious response, looking swiftly about for unwelcomed ears. "Keep it down, Rouan!" But Rouan, compromising only in decibels, kept up accusations with an incredulous look tainted by laughter. So much for keeping it unknown.
"You, the mighty witch's witch of the world, the naysayer of all things bloke, have managed to find yourself ensnared in affections with the root of all your future plans' evil – a boy!" Really, now. Rouan was having far too much fun at Tia's expense. Honestly; wasn't that amusing.
"Rouan, come on," Tia pleaded, turning to make her way up the stairs. "We'll be late for Pythagoras' class. I'd not like to be doing detention for a third run-in."
Though Rouan immediately hurried to catch up, dropping the subject was not in her willingness. "All right, then," she conceded as they fled onto down the second floor corridor to the chatter-laden classroom. "But know I expect a full explanation come lunch," she added as they found their seats, a full eight seconds before tardiness would have found them.
"Absolutely," Tia replied, turning to Professor Pythagoras whilst pulling out parchment, ink and quill. She had no doubt Rouan would expect just that – a full explanation – and Tia had one hour to formulate just how she was going to go about it.
-o-
"Let me get this straight. You saw Black on a horse when you went with your dad to hand-deliver some bespoke order over the summer hols, and since then you've been in love with him." Rouan paused for a bite of lamb sarny, brushing from her face flyaway blonde tendrils against the chilled October breeze. Several other souls braved the brisk midday as well, couples intent on seconds of privacy and interspaced across the grounds near shelters of castle or greenhouse. No one, however, neared the two friends, their solitary tree trimming the Black Lake secure for such serious chat.
Well, serious to Tia. She hadn't wanted to discuss this, full stop. But damage already had been done, and Rouan would keep her secret, she knew. It was simply the confusion of the day that gave Tia pause in admittance. Had this question arisen even as recent as yesterday, Tia would simply have agreed to Rouan's assessment, though without further revelation. Today's events, however, bothered her. She took another bite of her pork pie, stalling for time. Slow chewing, thinking…
"Firstly," she stated after swallowing and a sip of pumpkin juice, "I'd not go so far as to say the word love. Quite the overstatement, Rouan. But interested, yes. I've always thought him quite fit, Slytherin or not. You know I've never cared for anyone's background or circumstance," she added, heading off comment. Rouan's head nodded, conceding the truthfulness of that point. Tia had never bothered with rank or status, worried even less over fortune or lack thereof. Always she had offered pleasant and caring acquaintance with anyone needing or offering the same. Of those interesting, she was ready with friendship.
"And secondly… Regulus' appeal to me was more than seeing him astride a horse. Though that was, granted, a lovely sight… Well, you've the general idea, anyhow." Tia couldn't bring herself to elaborate, to attempt explanation of that dark, grey afternoon two months prior. How the winds had swept in gales, harnessing to them angry clouds full of lighting, full of power. No description could relay the overwhelming sense of propriety binds abandoned, of pure energy and reckless wonder Tia had felt that day. Wandering the footpath of the Black country estate whilst her father spoke business; embracing the oncoming storm all about her, relishing its strength and driving enchantment, advantageous in her solitary state to simply feel it all. Only to come upon the sight of Regulus most unexpectedly, most terribly brilliant...
"Your continued silence leads me to believe you've said all you'll say on the matter," Rouan interrupted, half-smile upon her pale face. "I know you all too well. But recall this, Miss Hestia Astarte Jones." Here Rouan quirked a brow, leaning in to Tia with conspiratorial tones. "As I do so well know you, I'm quite positive you will tell me every sweet morsel of detail sooner or later, and for that I am most anxiously awaiting. Just prepare me beforehand," she added, resuming posture and going for another bite of her meal.
"I'd like to take notes."
-o-0-o-
Far too blank was the parchment before him, and even Regulus in his succinct manner could tell it was so. Mother, was all he'd managed in the full hour he'd sat perched upon the window sill he had defected to last Tuesday evening. In the early morning he could make out better the circular room's canvases, easels and paints, but thankfully their master had not come for them today. Saturdays generally saw lie-ins, and again for that Regulus was quietly thankful. He was of no humour for companionship – not that he ever was, mind you. But even scratch of step, shuffle of settling, snippets of noise of everyday life itself he could not bear to hear this morning.
Walburga Black had been disappointed by the news Professor Slughorn had obviously shared with her regarding his marks. He'd kept Transfiguration up to prevent McGonagall from owling his parents, though in truth he found the class more than tolerable. But Potions had been a sticky point, indeed. He could do the work if he so chose, if he put to it effort. Regulus wasn't Sirius, though. Never was, and though he'd rather be Crucio'd than admit it, he knew his brother was quite the clever, more so than Regulus would ever be. But neither was Regulus stupid. Even N.E.W.T. courses found his marks A to E, generally. All but Potions…
Damn. Why did Mother have to have laid such burden upon him now, before he'd cleared himself of this school, of the politics within the castle's walls? Not until June would he be rid of daily reminders of Sirius, and another year atop that to be shed of this ridiculous place with its upstarts and dirty-bloods. Did she not see his hands were full already? Father could have ceased her one-track musings and plans, but that would have required he take notice of Regulus.
Right. Regulus could not swallow the bitterness rising like bile. Mistresses were all well and good, expected even and generally accepted if handled with all due discretion. But they should not take precedence over one's own blood heir. Regulus had accepted his invisibility for nearly sixteen years. It was the way things were; it was family hierarchy, and if the youngest Black respected anything it was family and propriety within. But once Sirius had gone – been blasted from the Tree – and Regulus had stepped into his new role, Orion Black should have acknowledged him with the bestowal.
Should have done. But the Black patriarch had other interests, other priorities. Walburga Black, on the other hand, enjoyed a frightful obsession with the role intended for her now only son. Its taste, however, was foreign and not one for which Regulus had yet developed a partiality. There was an edge to Mother's request he did not quite embrace, and would give much to be able to toss off the facing of such dealings until his leaving of school.
You are correct, of course, Regulus began writing, searching for phrases that placated through vague insinuation and were most apt to distance him from stone decisions for a time. Distractions have altered my course and thrown me from my studies. Professor Slughorn has spoken to me of the situation, and soon all shall be corrected. By a tutor. How degrading.
The silver tie pin was quite engaging a birthday gift. Thank you. The emeralds of the serpent's eyes were most appreciated by my housemates. As always, you have exquisite taste. His birthday had been the third; the gift arrived only last week – two weeks late. Regulus was curious that Mother's owl regarding his declining marks and their effect on her plans had arrived but two days after his last exam. Odd, that.
He was just about to add filler commentary on school particulars when laughter rose in hollow echo, dispersing into the crisp morning. For a moment, the sound lifted him, its genuine ease stark contrast to his days, and memories of his younger years fleetingly roused his humour. Easily drawn from his letter, Regulus shifted his gaze out the window, eyes searching such light-heartedness out of the desolate morn. He needn't look far.
Down on the grounds not far from the greenhouses stood a pair – one a slight female, the other a short, pudgy male. It took only moments for Regulus to make out identities, for even at that range there was no mistaking the seventh-year Gryffindor Pettigrew. The inept boy worshipped Sirius, and thus was hard to miss as he kept step with both Sirius and Potter. But only a slight start did Regulus have at recognising his companion, and his eyes narrowed in disgust.
Right nervy, she was. Standing there, hand affectionately upon Pettigrew's shoulder, bending slightly in laughter only to rise again, pulling the older boy's chin up from his downward musings. He knew a smile graced Hestia Jones' face, murmurs of her voice rising and falling in the distance. Animated hand gestures, more laughter.
Regulus' mood dropped further and a scowl replaced mere narrowing of eyes. Now she flaunted her association with Sirius' little gang.
"Wish to play that way, eh?" he questioned under his breath. "Well, then… we shall see if you know how to play by my rules, Ms Jones. I believe you shall find yourself out of your league."
With that he gathered his scribing efforts and departed, thoughts bent upon this last infraction of unspoken law. He would see to it she would cease her role in attacks upon his person. Regulus contemplated options as he made way to the Slytherin dormitory, keeping to paths less likely to be occupied. Choosing Havers the Ingrate's passage, feelings of retribution buoyed his steps throughout the dark.
He failed to notice the irony.
-o-
"Peter, you're so clever," Tia managed between breathless chuckles. Hand resting lightly upon his shoulder, she brought up her left to pull his downcast face aright, his shyness paralyzing to him. "Honestly; that joke was brilliant. Terra Wallace will adore you if you show her that side of you."
Hope lit his face, though restrained by recollection of experience. Tia knew it must be hard for him being mates with Potter and Black; they were wildly popular and charming. And Lupin, she recalled, was ever the soft spoken one, just as Pettigrew, but his good looks and keen intelligence stood him apart, as well. Peter, on the other hand, seemed to know his outrank in all areas against his friends, and his confidence mirrored that belief.
"Listen; I don't believe you actually need it, but try the cream and then go and chat her up. It's not a love potion, so remember that when she says 'yes,' yeah?" Tia grinned affectionately at him. He was like a child in that way of being so unsure of himself, yet at the same time wearing signs of faerie tale hope upon his soft face.
"What's in it, then?" he asked, holding up the leather-bound tin. Popping off the lid, a light scent of musk wafted between them, its pale beige colour pockmarked from the cooling process.
"Never you mind," she answered with a grin. "Suffice it to say that all it does is subtly call notice to you by the girls you're closest to. Like I said, it's not a love potion; more like a fragranced oil. It's pleasing to females, but most won't recognise it's a scent they're reacting to. Rather, they'll simply take a bit of notice to you, and subconsciously to your own distinct scent later on. The rest is up to you."
"Thank you, Hestia. I'm glad you could help me. With your dad and all, I figured if anyone knew how to help it'd be you." He turned to go, anxious to get on, then paused with an apologetic smile. "And thanks, too, for not saying anything to James and Sirius and Remus. They wouldn't…er… you know"
"Yes, I understand." And she did. Potter and Black would take the mickey out of him unceasingly. It was hard enough for him, competing against them for attention and girls. "Oh, and Peter?" He turned back from his steps toward the courtyard.
"After Terra and yourself start dating," she said, trying not to laugh at his sudden blush, "you'd best put it away. Wouldn't want any other girl's attention, you know?"
His embarrassed head nod replied for him, and Tia watched with a feeling of good as he disappeared into the castle. Invigorated now, Tia turned and made her way down to Hagrid's hut, hoping to help him tend the new batch of late-year unicorn foals. She missed riding terribly whilst at school, and though they weren't for such use, the unicorns would be pleasant stand-ins. Rouan would be having a lie-in, and once she was up and breakfasted, they would go into Hogsmeade together. But that would not be for another few hours, and Tia was – truth be told – lonely.
Nearing the groundskeeper's home, Tia spotted Hagrid in the pumpkin patch, harvesting for the Hallowe'en Feast Monday night. Calling her hullo, he answered with a huge wave, encouraging her. Tia smiled; at least one male at Hogwarts enjoyed her company.
-o-0-o-
Minimum wandlight to keep the portraits quiet in their sleep, Tia softly padded down the corridors alone, fellow prefect Edgar Bones having abandoned her tonight for a profitable game of Exploding Snap. He'd eyed a new racing broom attachment in Hogsmeade earlier today and was setting to acquiring the necessary Galleons. Tia didn't mind, however. Solitude bore benefits, and the peace of the castle at midnight left her free in her musings, ones she'd denied throughout the very public daytime.
Rouan and she had had a full, pleasurable day in the village, and though Tia always enjoyed time with her best friend, her mind was not upon the bobbins and beads she and Marlene McKinnon – in a brief parting from Dugan Chambers – were 'ahing' and 'oohing' over for party dress do-ups for the winter hols. Though she'd not seen him since their run-in after Potions the day prior, Tia could not dismiss from memory the harsh underlay of his words. "You know nothing," he had said.
Nothing. Tia suspected it was more than anger at her reference to his marks that had brought that on, and more than marks its true source. Irritated with him she was, yes, but she could not turn off feelings that had grown over years just because of his sudden unpleasantness toward her. And really, why the abrupt change, she wondered. Though admittedly it was wonderful to finally have him speak to her beyond mandatory classroom chatter, his apparent spite was not.
Granted, his mood could hardly be grand after that prank his brother and Potter had done, but it'd been days since, and he seemed to take out his displeasure on her. She had finally confided to Rouan her part in defending Regulus to his brother, and the Gryffindor had suggested that perhaps he knew she'd seen the prank and was consequently embarrassed. Perhaps he knew of her interest – Merlin forbid! – and used anger to cover his feelings of foolishness before her.
Tia had to admit that part of that made sense, if only because it appeared as if only she drew his active disdain. But surely not in Potions. The dark looks he'd given her over their brews were completely uncalled for, unless he'd already decided upon the nasty prank with the Canary Swill. Even so, she mentally countered, it wasn't as if a childish prank called for such dark attention. Jokes were accompanied by knowing smiles, devilish ones even that Tia herself had been accused of when she'd thought of Regulus. Relatively harmless doings did not extend themselves to sullen and threat.
Squeak and scurry brought Tia's wand down to investigate, her lazy stroll interrupted out of curiosity rather than concern. She caught only the tail of a rat rapidly disappearing into blackness.
"You poor thing," she mused with a smile as she straightened, dangling her arms to her sides. "Best keep to your den tonight. Prideful's out and about again." She started a slow turn, wand low to check and see if the Kneazle was nearby when her wand was suddenly jerked from her hand.
"Wha–"
But both her movement and voice were stopped, her arms bound against her at the elbows, her body brought up hard against another from behind… a wand digging painfully into soft flesh beneath her right jaw. Her wand lay further down the corridor, emitting too little light to be more than point of glow. She was cast into complete darkness.
His arm just below her breasts hampered breathing. Her struggles ceased, breath shallowed. Aces at Defence though she may be, Tia felt innately her best move was no move at all. Not yet. Not until she knew what he wanted, what was going on. Wandless magic she had not yet mastered, and ineptitude could worsen matters rather than aid.
Remaining calm, Tia forced herself to think rationally rather than give over to emotional response. Her first act needed to be gaining knowledge. Of the situation, of her attacker, of her options.
Eyes attempted adjustment, but no moonlight drifted into this portion of the castle. Soft snores of portraits blended with unnervingly close breathing behind. Deprived of sight and sound, Tia gave herself to touch as a means of information. Roughness of whiskers against her outer ear verified his gender, suggested his height. She stood no better than just above his shoulders, meaning even Muggle-based tactics would be difficult.
She meant to determine more of her assailant, his build, his arm strength… but Tia suddenly couldn't think so dryly, so clinically as his breath fluttered across her ear. There was something about him, something familiar, and all she wanted to do was take complete notice of his touch. Threatening though his arrestment was, she didn't feel fear; she felt nervous. And exhilarated.
His scent. It gave him away in a signature no less distinct than his elegant script, and she knew his identity even before his harsh whisper across her skin.
"Hestia Jones… without her wand. Tsk, tsk, my girl. A Ravenclaw should know better. What would your dear new friends say?"
Then Regulus Black tightened his grip.