QLFC Round 10 - Beater 2 (Interspecies)
Prompts:
5. (quote) 'Out of the millions and millions of people that inhabit this planet, he is one of the tiny few I can never have.' - Tabitha Suzuma, Forbidden
15. (song) 'Thousand Needles' by Lea Michele
Note: I cleared the ghost-as-different-species thing with Emma :)
Hermione moved through the castle like a ghost. Her energetic presence of her school years had dwindled during the war; all she wanted now was to hide. From everything. And that was why she'd taken the job of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Stupid.
It kept her out of the public eye. It kept her away from the pressures of following any of her dreams. It kept her away from Harry and Ron. But it didn't keep her away from her past. Day after day she taught ungrateful students how to cast the spells she'd used day after day to survive the war. Day after day she was assaulted by memories, by ignorance, by stupidity. She understood Severus Snape so much better now, after the war, after the revelation of his secrets, but after teaching first year DADA, she wished she could go up and apologize to him.
Instead, she snuck down to the dungeons some nights. She wandered the halls that she'd once thought were bleak, but now found comfort in. The darkness hid any assailants, certainly, but she was never any less on her guard during the daytime, and the dark felt like a friend, soft and soothing.
She knew from her knowledge of the Muggle world, from her parents' constant concern, that she was suffering from PTSD, from depression. She knew she should be doing something to heal. But for some reason she never did, and instead she proceeded to shut out anyone who offered her any concern.
She slunk around a final corner, then slipped through a carved wooden door and into an atrium that was hidden away in the bowels of the castle. It was no less drab than the rest of the dungeons. No plants, no light. It was damp and chill and dark. Hermione thought of it as her sanctuary, and though the altar reminded her somehow of the Veil in the Department of Mysteries, that only served to make her feel more connected to the realm that had taken so many good people.
"You're Hermione Granger."
Hermione's gaze swung violently toward the source of the sound, her wand suddenly in her hand and pointed toward the shimmering figure that had just floated through a nearby wall. Just a ghost. She forced herself through several calming breaths. The ghost waited politely.
"That's right," she said. "Might I ask who you are?"
A flash of darkness, a defeated smirk.
"Who I was, you mean." He chuckled darkly as Hermione scrambled for a response. "Nevermind. My name is Regulus. Regulus Arcturus Black of the-"
"You're R.A.B.," Hermione breathed in astonishment. "You're Sirius' brother." Her heart clenched, then eased. What might Sirius have given to be here in her place, with the knowledge of what his brother had done, who he'd become-in the end?
Regulus nodded. "What became of my brother? Rumours have brought me no news but Grimmauld is empty and he never visits anyone's graves. He died?"
"At the Ministry. Bella, she-"
"Always did have it out for him," Regulus murmured. "She must have been delirious with joy."
"Well she's bloody delirious twenty-four-seven, isn't she?" Hermione muttered.
Regulus chuckled. "You'll hear no argument from me." His expression turned serious. "I came here tonight to thank you—" He halted. "No, that's arrogant and not what I meant..." His handsome aristocratic face frowned, and Hermione took a moment to admire the high cheekbones and intelligent eyes that decorated his slightly rugged features; he must not have shaved the day he died. The thought was a strange one and she reeled away from it.
"What I mean to say," he said finally, "is that I began something, long ago, before I had any way of knowing the number of Horcruxes or the true extent of Voldemort's evil. I started something I couldn't ever finish." He ran his fingers through his short head of loose curls. "I... you see, I was rushed, and young, emotional-terrified. I botched the spell that chains me to this plain of existence, Hermione. I come and I go but have no control over it."
Hermione eyed him shrewdly. "You wanted to stay here? To warn someone?"
"If ever the right person came along. I never trusted Dumbledore." Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Regulus waved her words away. "Blame, perhaps, my Slytherin experience at Hogwarts, but whatever it was, as long as he was the leader of the Order, I was reluctant to go to them while I was alive." He shrugged. "All this is neither here nor there. The point is that I started something that I couldn't finish, and when I returned to this place to see it done… I was more astounded, relieved, grateful, than I could ever express. What you and your friends did is worthy of admiration, and I wanted very much to have the chance to express that to you."
The sincerity in his eyes sparked with emotion that had been carefully tuned down, but there was still a rawness to it that reminded Hermione of Sirius. She wondered if they'd been close, even as she blushed a thank you.
Days passed in a blur of teaching and grading before Hermione realized she'd missed an opportunity. Nearly Headless Nick had once told Harry he'd escaped death and therefore knew nothing about it, but Regulus had left this side of existence, he must know what lay on the other side. The thought tortured her for months until finally she happened upon him again, once more in the Atrium.
A wry smile played across his lips at her questions. "I'm sorry to disappoint so voracious a curiosity, Hermione, but I don't think I know any more about death than does your friend, Nick. I may not always be here… but I'm not ever any place else either."
She proceeded to grill him for ages about exactly what that meant, but when she realized the time some hours later, they'd long since been talking about other things. "I really have to get to sleep. Seventh years in the morning, you know. Really keep you on your toes." She hesitated. "Will you be around the castle much?"
A tangible warmth entered Regulus' cold and insubstantial features. "If it means more late night conversations with the present company, I'm sure I could somehow fit it into my busy schedule."
Hermione smiled. "I'm glad. It's nice to have someone to talk to. Someone who…"
"Feels like an equal?"
"Yes, exactly."
"The feeling is mutual, Miss Granger. See you tomorrow night?"
A feeling fluttered around in her chest. Hermione told herself she was flattered. "Tomorrow night then. Goodnight, Regulus."
"Goodnight, Hermione."
And that was how it started.
Months later Hermione lay in bed, her eyes fixed on the bleak darkness of the space between her and the ceiling. If only I'd known, from the very beginning, what it all would become… would I have changed anything about it? It was hardly the first time she'd wondered it, but it was only recently that she'd let herself truly embrace her situation. She was in love with him. She was in love with a ghost. With a boy who had been a Death Eater. With a man who had lived and died before she'd been born. A memory. Someone she could never touch, never kiss, never fall into tangled-sheeted-bliss with; someone who could never comfort her with a hug, or bring her breakfast in bed.
And for some insane reason, none of that seemed to matter. For some insane reason, her answer to her own question could only ever be a resolute no—she wouldn't change a minute of it for all the world. She loved every minute that she had ever spent with him. She loved his sincerity, his intelligence, his wry sense of humour. She loved their conversations—about everything from family, to books, to political and social issues. She loved how she saw him as her equal in every way, how she respected him so completely. She loved the way he cared for her, quietly, tenderly. She loved Regulus Black, and she did so with all of her heart and her mind.
He'd been gone again, for a while now. He never stayed long. A few days at most, and then he'd be torn from her little piece of reality to float in limbo, sometimes for a week, sometimes for longer, but always for longer than he was around. This time had been harder than all the times before. Her heart pained at the distance, and every night she went down to the atrium with tremors in her veins. He hadn't been there this evening either. Thirteen days. She was almost relieved, in a way, because it meant another day to wait before having to find a way to tell him she was in love with him, and she was far too much a Gryffindor to shy away from doing so once he turned up.
Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. It was going to be another long night.
"Languishing without me again?" asked a voice, soft, on icy breath beside her ear.
Hermione jolted up in bed. "You're back!" A warm glow warred with the butterflies for supremacy within her chest. His answering smile was as good as kiss to her. She couldn't believe he was in her room, couldn't believe how happy she was to see him. Couldn't believe there was any way she might never have met him when everything fell into place as soon as he appeared.
"I am. You didn't miss me too much, did you?"
She'd never be quite certain how it happened, or why, but somehow her senses left her altogether. She opened her mouth to say "not for an instant," she swore, but instead her voice escaped, soft, barely a whisper, taking the words "I love you" with it instead.
Regulus stared at her. "Did you just—" he sputtered. For an insane moment Hermione almost burst out laughing at the expression on his face, and then the reality of the moment slapped her in her face and she was immediately serious again.
"I did. Regulus, I love you," she said, leaning in closer, forcing herself to make eye contact despite her incredible desire to stare at the floor instead. "I love you. Terribly. Beautifully."
Still Regulus stared. Hermione shifted uncomfortably on the bed, searching for an exit strategy.
"I didn't think you'd say it," he said at last.
Hermione jerked her thoughts away from a particularly lame scheme involving a sudden dire need to head to the loo. "What?"
"I didn't think you'd let yourself admit it." Hermione drew herself up, prepared to fully express her indignation, but Regulus shook his head. "I should have known better, my Gryffindor. But in some ways you are a Ravenclaw, and in others even a Slytherin, and falling in love with a—with me… that's illogical beyond account, Hermione. That's reckless and messy and—"
"I love it."
Regulus' mouth shut and silence fell over them.
Hermione fiddled with the bedsheets. He didn't said it back. The thought echoed in her mind over and over for several long moments before she managed to shrug it off.
"I've been working on a spell," she said finally, the words coming in a rush. "I'm not very good at this sort of thing, crafting spells. It's a bit like potions, and it takes more than just cleverness and intelligence; it's art, and I've never been a particularly creative person. But from a scientific standpoint… I think it might work, and I— I'd really like to try it."
Regulus seemed happy to latch onto the topic change. "What does it do?"
"It—" Hermione broke off with a blush. "Just let me show you?"
He nodded, and Hermione whispered the words she'd developed for the spell, her eyes shut for the emotional piece of the spell, her wand waving a carefully calculated pattern in the air. When she opened them, nothing in her surroundings had changed, and Regulus was trying very hard not to look pitying.
Hermione rolled her eyes and crooked a finger in his direction to beckon him closer. His eyebrow cocked inquisitively, but she ignored him, beckoning more insistently. Slowly, Regulus floated closer, and closer, at Hermione's insistence, until finally he was within reach.
Hermione hesitated, her breath caught somewhere amongst those damned butterflies, then, almost reluctantly, she reached her hand out towards him.
Her fingers trembled in the air between them. Regulus' eyes widened as he realized what she was doing.
"Hermione it's not possible," he breathed, his voice dense with sadness. "You just can't—"
And then she was doing it. She was touching him. He was like ice, and somehow not as there as a human would be (though should couldn't quite suss out what was different), but it was him. His skin touching hers. Her fingers lacing through his.
She grinned up at him, as he stared, stunned, at their hands, intertwined like she'd known they were meant to be. She brought his hand closer and gently brushed her lips across his pale, silvered skin. "I love you."
"Hermione, what did you just do?"
She smiled—she couldn't help it; for all she knew she'd keep on smiling till the day she died. "You're not corporeal," she said softly. "Not really. You can't pick up books or anything, can't touch anyone else. The spell only works on you and me… the object and the caster. And I suppose it'll probably have to be renewed regularly, but I'm not certain—"
His lips muffled hers and the words fled her mind. She shivered, and not just from the cold, though the kiss was all clumsy desperation.
He pulled away and tugged her down onto the bed, pulling her close. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."
Hermione grinned and snuggled into him, pulling the covers tightly around her. She thought she had a pretty good idea.
Out of the millions and millions of people that inhabit this planet, he is one of the tiny few I can never have, she'd thought to herself, time and time again, trying to fight off her feelings. But it wasn't true. Sure, he was always going to be in shades of grey. There were always going to be times when he'd be gone… might even be a time when he just never came back. It was going to hurt, a thousand needles in her heart, when he was gone and she needed him. But she wasn't going to run from it, wasn't going to break away. Whatever came next, Hermione Granger was going to see this one through.
"I love you too, Hermione."
Even if it was all just one big, beautiful mess.
