-peeks out from behind a barricaded door and throws a chapter at you before running away-

12 October 1979

10. Enamoured

I lay enamoured,
As a prince revelling
'Til death do us part.

- Her Morning Proposal by John Velasco

Hermione woke to sunlight in her eyes and a pounding in her head. Her mouth was gritty and tasted like she had breathed through her mouth the entire night.

She was also alone in bed, a fact that only struck her as significant after a few moments. She then shot up, the sheet and duvet falling around her still-naked body. She scanned the room and relaxed minutely when she spotted Regulus, fully dressed and sitting in an armchair by the hearth.

"Reg?" she said, not bothering to cover herself. Reg started at the sound, and then stood and walked back over to her.

"Good morning," he said stiffly. Hermione's heart sank at his tone.

"Reg, I-"

"Hermione, I have to apologise," he had averted his gaze from her naked form. "I took advantage of your drunken state and it was unfair and ungentlemanly of me. I sincerely apologise for my actions and hope you will forgive me, but I will completely understand if you are unable to do so."

"Pardon?" asked Hermione, blinking.

"I profusely apologi-"

"No, I got that part," she said, waving her hand. "Did you not enjoy yourself?"

Regulus coloured deeply, still refusing to look at her, "No, I did-"

"Well so did I. So why are you apologising?"

"I took advantage-"

She scoffed, "You were as drunk as I was, and besides, I make my own choices. Stop being an idiot."

"But I-"

She grabbed him by the collar, echoing the previous night's actions, and forced him to look her in the eye, "Reg. Stop. I wanted it to happen."

Grey eyes met ochre ones, and then hers fluttered closed and she tipped her mouth back and upwards to press it against Regulus's.

Missing the desperation and drunkenness of the night before, the kiss was soft and tentative, a question asked and duly answered, yes, yes, a thousand times yes. It was brief, partly because Hermione was all too aware of the sour taste in her own mouth and partly because it stole her breath so thoroughly that she was dizzy within moments.

When they pulled back, Regulus looked as dazed as she felt, "Is this real? Are we- I mean, us?"

"I'd hardly sleep with somebody just for a mission," she said crossly. "No matter how infuriatingly perfect your hair is."

He laughed, a relieved bubble of joy springing forth from the well in his chest. He had been truly worried he had ruined it all, rushed into a physical union borne of alcohol and wrought emotions. He liked her, truly liked her. Liked that she challenged his views and argued and was altogether free and giving with her love and her anger and her happiness.

Her stubbornness infuriated him in a way that he'd never felt before, because he wanted her to see the important parts of his culture and want to be a part of it with him. It was the first time he had to prove why things were the way they were was not only right and just, but also important.

Merlin. She'd crept under his skin and settled firmly in his heart, without him noticing. It had been less than a month since she had arrived, a drop in the bucket of the decades they might have ahead, a whirlwind courtship of the Mistress of Time. He thanked his lucky stars, silently, that Fate had seen fit to drop her into his lap and challenge everything he'd ever known.

Hermione slid out of the bed, somehow completely comfortable with her naked state; his eyes trailed unconsciously down her body as she padded over to the wardrobe to get dressed for their day.

"We should publicly enter a courtship," he said, tearing his gaze away. "I can take you down to the vault then, and we could get the cup."

"Okay," she agreed easily, hooking her brassiere and pulling the straps up her arms. "We should see Oberon's goblin friend today then."

He nodded, "I'll owl him to organise it. We should also see my mother."

Hermione made a face, still facing away from Regulus. She didn't want to admit it, but she was nearly fond of the Black matriarch. She was a horrible bigot and a terrible mother, but she really was doing her best to help Hermione acclimatise to the drastically different environment.

She'd immediately and viciously retract the assistance if she knew what you were, whispered a traitorous voice that sounded suspiciously like Draco fucking Malfoy. She shook her head to dislodge the voice and pulled up her underwear and then the absurdly well-fitting robes that Regulus had magically tailored the day they first went to Grimmauld.

They had breakfast while they waited for the owl to wing its way to the goblin with a note attached, begging for an audience. Along with a casual name drop, hopefully it would be enough to earn them afternoon tea.

Hermione let out a satisfied groan as the hangover brew she had bought from a potions stall in the Alley took effect. The thudding in her head subsided immediately and the sunshine didn't seem quite so burningly aggressive.

"Are you okay?" asked Regulus. Annoyingly, he didn't seem to have been affected by the excess of alcohol they had both consumed.

"I'm fine now," she said, settling in to take a sip of her tea. "I had a headache, but the brew fixed me up."

They lapsed into silence. Hermione wondered if she hadn't gone and ruined it after all; the ease in their friendship seemed to have evaporated.

Regulus was thinking similarly, cursing the existence of tequila and a sex drive. Falling into bed had not been in his plans, with anyone, let alone a Muggleborn witch from the future. That it seemed to have interrupted the painstakingly assembled casual ease of their friendship was just another reason to regret his actions – not because he hadn't wanted to, because oh Gods he had wanted her, but because he thought on some level that Hermione deserved far better than a quick roll in the metaphorical hay.

"Were you involved with Asta Warrington?" asked Hermione, grasping at straws for conversation. Regulus immediately flushed a vivid shade of red.

"No, but if I tell you why we know each other you must promise not to tell," he said, shooting a furtive look around the room. The other patrons were paying no attention to the young couple.

Hermione looked intrigued, "I promise. Who would I tell it to, anyway?"

Regulus leaned forward, ignoring the question, to say in a low voice, "I caught her and B- another witch in a compromising position in our seventh year."

"Oh," said Hermione, wide eyed. "Are... is... I mean, in the Muggle world it happens, but it's not very... accepted. Is the Wizarding world-?"

Regulus understood the question being asked, "It's generally accepted, but Pureblood unions are usually for continuing the line over love, so..."

He trailed off and Hermione picked up the sentence, "So they marry someone to produce an heir but continue their relationship otherwise?"

"Exactly. Asta was Asta Burke in school, but she married Quintas Warrington in fifth year. She had a son... nearly two years ago now, I think?"

"Cassius Warrington," she said, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Do people really get married at age 15?"

"Yes," Regulus made a face. "And if you're about to say it's barbaric, I agree with you on that one. Asta had Cassius at the start of our seventh year, and then passed him off to the house elves because she was determined to finish her schooling. That's not the norm, though."

"And she works now, right? At the Prophet? That doesn't seem to be the norm either."

"It's not. Wizards invest and earn, and witches make homes and raise children," he quoted, looking pained. "Asta went straight from school to working."

"Her poor baby," Hermione said, looking genuinely distressed. "I understand wanting to work, but to hand him off to the house elves..."

Regulus shrugged, "What's the alternative?"

"Daycare? Grandparents? A nanny?" Hermione listed with her fingers, Regulus increasingly confused.

"I... I don't think that's done, not in Pureblood circles. A nanny... they would want someone Pureblood for that, and no respectable Pureblood would be caught nannying. It would be as good as saying their husband can't support them."

Hermione looked physically pained at holding back her usual tirade against archaic Pureblood rules but hold back she did.

"I know it seems backwards," said Regulus, noticing. "And you're probably right."

The initial awkwardness seemed to have been overcome, and Hermione asked, "So is Asta still with... this other witch?"

Regulus nodded, "As far as I know, they're still together. Quintas is happy to turn a blind eye, since he has an heir now."

"That's..." she trailed off. Nice didn't seem to be the right word.

She was saved the trouble of finding an appropriate adjective by Barman Tom, who shuffled over waving a scrap of parchment. The jagged script read 10.30am Moreton-in-Marsh. Do not be late.

She thanked Tom, and turned the parchment so Regulus could read it, "It's nearly ten fifteen already, we'd better go."

They waved to Tom on the way out. He would put the breakfast on their tab, which was settled by a direct payment Regulus had authorised from his private vaults. It made things simpler, even though Hermione hated the heavy feeling in her gut that accompanied the pang of insufficiency. She imagined it was rather how Ron had felt whenever Malfoy had needled at his family's financial status in their school years.

Regulus twined his hand in hers, and the heavy feeling was replaced with a swooping one, equal parts terrifying and joyous. They stepped into the shadow of an alley outside The Leaky Cauldron and apparated.

The town was charming, cobblestone streets and quaint houses with the bustle and hum of the townspeople somewhat muted due to it being mid-morning on a Friday.

"We weren't given an address," she said aloud, checking her watch.

"We don't need one," said Regulus. "You can feel the magic here. It shouldn't be hard to follow."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, incredulous, but stopped when she noticed a shimmer in the air. She dropped her senses back, letting go of her assumptions. The noise of the town faded into the background and she suddenly became aware of a feeling – not a physical feeling, not taste, nor touch, nor smell, but an instinctual knowledge. It was like her magic was a physical being who was reaching out to caress the tendrils of other, foreign magic.

Regulus, standing next to her, was like a shining beacon of warmth, very familiar. There were threads of other magic, less familiar but still decidedly human, and then a strong string leading east out of town that felt not quite animal, but not human either.

She opened her eyes again, "East, out of town?"

Regulus nodded, a smile gracing his face, "You hadn't felt magic before?"

They began to walk, and she shook her head. "I mean, I think I've felt it on a subconscious level, but I've never done it on purpose. Why isn't it taught at school?"

Regulus's face soured, "There's a cohort of people in the Wizengamot who think it is Dark Magic. I was taught it as a child, and it informs my magic."

She frowned, "That puts Muggleborns and half-bloods at an enormous disadvantage."

"Yes," he said. "It isn't Dark Magic, it is core magic. It is part of the fallacy that says Muggleborns are naturally weaker."

"Well, obviously that is rubbish," she huffed. He held his arm out in front of her to halt her.

"We're here."

They had arrived in front of a perfectly ordinary cottage, geraniums creeping just a little too much over the lip of their planters underneath the windows, the door resolutely closed to the world. Stubbornly normal, almost. It was unarguably the source of the not-quite-human magic, however, so they walked up to the door and she rapped on it with only a moment's hesitation.

The door flew inwards and stopped abruptly. A voice emerged from the shadows of the hall, and it sounded like someone pouring honey over a landslide of pebbles, "Come in and make it quick."

She glanced behind her, scanning the horizon that was empty of other people, hidden behind curtains or away at work or school, and then ducked her head to hide her face and shuffled inside. Regulus followed.

Gorehook Strongbeam was a retired banker of advancing age. You would not know it for looking at him, because as far as Hermione could tell, goblins looked roughly the same from age twenty to age three hundred; gnarled, green skin and tufts of hair, with unsettlingly long fingers and a vicious gleam in his eye.

"Good morning," she said, unable to think of anything else to say.

Regulus bowed easily, "Good morning. Thank you for seeing us. I am Re-"

"Don't tell me your name," said the goblin sharply. "Less to lie about if I don't know who's paying me a visit."

Regulus faltered for only a moment before nodding his assent.

"Follow me," Gorehook turned and walked deeper into the house, the layout improbable for the physical size of the cottage from the outside. He led them into a small room with a table and chairs in the centre. The walls were lined with shelves, piled with silver and gold metalwork, intricate and beautiful. Hermione's gaze lingered on a shelf of goblets, wrought iron and gold, inlaid with precious gems.

They sat at the table, facing the goblin. He examined them carefully and seemed to be satisfied with his assessment.

"Oberon is redeeming his favour," he said. "This must be big."

"It is," said Hermione, tentatively. "I wanted to know how much you know of the Founders of Hogwarts?"

He stared impassively for a moment, "My brethren had many fruitful partnerships and gifted them many pieces. These were never returned when they passed on."

Hermione looked deeply uncomfortable, "I know I cannot apologise on behalf of someone else, and that it is empty words without action."

"So don't apologise," he said.

"We need a replica of Hufflepuff's Cup made. It needs to hold up under..." she broke off before she specified Gringotts, "...under warding. Strong warding."

"Very well," agreed the goblin without preamble. "I will have it made in two days' time."

He stood to show them out and Regulus looked startled, "You have no questions for us? That's it?"

Gorehook grinned, his sharpened teeth glinting in the low light, "A favour is a favour, wizard. There is nothing to be gained from me knowing more."

"Aren't you curious?" he asked, confused.

"Not curious enough to risk the wrath of my kind if I have to lie to them," Gorehook responded easily. "I will contact you if I need any more information. Good day."

He had managed to herd them out of the room and through the hall in the time it took Reg to ask. The door swung open unbidden.

"Thank you," said Hermione, as she was shooed out the door.

"Yes, thank you," added Regulus, receiving the same treatment.

"No thanks necessary," the goblin told them cheerfully, and slammed the door in their face.

They exchanged a glance and Hermione snorted, "I really didn't think it would be that simple or quick."

"I've decided I don't even want to entertain the thought of why Gorehook owes Oberon anything," muttered Regulus in response.

"You should probably go home," said Hermione, reaching for his hand before she could overthink it. It hovered next to his for a moment, another question asked and answered when he pushed his palm into hers and slotted his fingers in beside hers. He looked down and smiled and she felt her lips stretch across her teeth in response.

"Do I have to?" he murmured, tugging her closer with their joined hands. "I can think of much more enjoyable ways to spend my time."

Her heart stuttered and breath whistled out between her teeth, eyes shuttering closed and face lifted to meet his. His lips ghosted across her face and met hers and-

Then a loud bang interrupted them, and they leapt apart, suddenly and inexplicably pelted with geraniums. She let out a peal of laughter and began to run, Regulus hot on her heels.

"I guess Gorehook isn't a fan of PDA," Hermione couldn't help the giggle that escaped, shaking soil out of her hair. Regulus wondered how on earth it was that she liked him.

"Will you come and see my parents then?" he asked, and Hermione made a face.

"I suppose. Your father is not very objectionable, at least."

"You have to have a personality to be objectionable," agreed Regulus. "We can tell them we'd like to court."

"And the contract?" said Hermione, tentatively. The unasked question hung in the air between them.

He sighed, "Hermione, I want to explain these magical contracts to you, but I need you to just listen until the end. No interruptions until you have all the information."

Hermione just nodded, a determined glint in her eye.

"Marriage contracts are put in place to protect both parties. They outline acceptable behaviour for the duration of marriage, fail-safes for infidelity, acceptable grounds for dissolution of the marriage, and for some particularly wealthy individuals, protects their wealth and assets in the case of messy divorces."

Hermione thought, kind of like a pre-nup.

"They are magically binding contracts with very unpleasant results for those who try and break them. Courting contracts, which is what my mother has been haranguing you about for the past three weeks, are the precursor to a marriage contract and they're used to establish exclusivity and a timeline for the courtship. Most Sacred 28 courtships put a date on it, at which the couple – or more commonly, the parents – decide whether to part ways or move into marriage." Regulus could almost recite this by heart; a part of his lessons as a boy.

"Courting contracts are easier to dissolve, they only need the consent of one side of the couple. Oberon is more likely to seek an open-ended contract because you're a modern witch," he quirked his lips and nudged her, causing her to smile, "and also because if anything happens, if one of us is killed or you are able to return to your original timeline, he will be able to dissolve an open ended contract without magical consequence. Okay, I'm finished now."

Hermione chewed over it for a moment, "I am actually not as opposed to it as I thought I would be."

"That's because you've got all the facts now," said Regulus, rolling his eyes.

"It's perhaps a little more formal than I'm used to, but the marriage contract is similar to a Muggle contract called a pre-nuptial agreement. A couple more clauses, but very similar."

"I'm beginning to see that there are many things our society has in common with the Muggles," said Regulus drily. He didn't sound disgusted by the notion, merely amused.

They arrived in Islington shortly afterwards, and Grimmauld Place burst out between the two Muggle houses beside it, the Muggles inside the houses completely unaware. As happened last time, the door swung inwards unbidden, Kreacher skulking from the shadows.

"Good morning, Kreacher. Is Mother home?" asked Regulus, removing his scarf.

"Yes Mistress is being home," said Kreacher. "Kreacher will fetch Mistress."

Regulus lead the way into the drawing room, and they sat on the settee speaking in low voices about the remainder of the day. They quieted when they heard the telltale shuffle of Kreacher, and Walburga swept in, fixing an unconvincing smile on her face.

"Regulus, we missed you at dinner last night," she examined the pair, and Hermione was suddenly hyper-aware of every single hair out of place. She wondered if there was still soil from an errant geranium in her hair.

Regulus seemed unruffled, "My apologies, we stayed with Oberon last night. We want to enter into a courtship."

Walburga's eyes lit up, and she said without taking her eyes off the pair, "Kreacher, fetch Orion. Tell him we need to draw up a courting contract and have it sent to Oberon Dagworth-Granger."

"Yes Mistress," said Kreacher, bowing deeply and scuttling away.

"I would like to take Hermione down to the vaults," said Regulus.

"Oh!" exclaimed Walburga, "Oh of course you can! Growing up already. And you, Ms Dagworth-Granger, we can't wait to welcome you to the family."

Walburga's eyes looked suspiciously misty. Hermione quashed the traitorous feeling of fondness welling up in her chest with the memory of the shrieking portrait calling her a filthy Mudblood whore.

Walburga began rapid-fire questioning Regulus. The hour passed by without Hermione's input at all, Regulus expertly steering the conversation away from her at every turn.

Orion interrupted the conversation with the only real human expression that Hermione had ever seen on the man. He was hardly what she would describe as animated, but he had an approximation of a smile on his face as he discussed contract terms with Walburga and Regulus.

"Not a dated contract, mother, Oberon would never accept it," said Regulus firmly.

"Nor would I," chimed in Hermione, resisting the urge to grin as Walburga swallowed the complaint she had been about to make. "I am in no hurry to be married, Madam Black."

Walburga let out a small sigh, "I know, I was hoping to have a little more time to teach you our ways, but youth is ever eager."

Hermione's mind flashed back to the night before, and her breath stuttered for a moment.

Regulus seemed to be remembering similarly; his cheeks where burning, and he refused to meet his mother's gaze.

"Well," said Walburga, with a clap, as though she hadn't just said something thoroughly embarrassing in front of the teenagers, "I will have Orion organise a meeting with your father to finalise the terms of the courting contract. Now, be off. I have guests for lunch and little interest in babysitting."

The dismissal was abrupt, but Walburga looked pleased. Hermione wondered if she would ever understand Purebloods.

No, she decided, that's very unlikely.

They left, as instructed.

"Begonia asked if I wanted to meet this afternoon," mentioned Hermione. "We could go back to Diagon Alley."

Regulus agreed.

They were walking along the cobblestone streets with their hands entwined between them. The afternoon sun was warm, but not stiflingly so, and Hermione could almost forget that she was stuck 20 years in the past with the looming threat of a psychopath.

Almost.

She felt a little guilty, allowing herself to relax. She didn't understand exactly how time travel worked, but a part of her was sure that Harry and Ron were still out there, existing and fighting without her.

She glimpsed a flash of burnt sienna in her peripheral and had barely enough time to groan before Rabastan Lestrange was upon them.

"Good afternoon, darling girl," he said with a grin and a flourish, kissing her knuckles. "The sun is shining just for you."

"Is it? I thought you were certain it shined out your arse," she said sweetly.

He laughed again and his gaze shifted to her hand in Regulus', "Hmm this is a development. No consideration to my proposal, darling girl?"

"I'd rather die," she sniffed. Regulus' hand tightened around hers.

"Rabastan. Good to see you," said Regulus coldly.

"Oh Reggie don't be like that," said Rabastan. "Your witch has claws, I just happen to have an itch to scratch."

He winked at Hermione. She wondered whether there was a subtle way to expel someone's brain out through their nose.

"Shove off, I prefer my men to not treat their indentured servants like rubbish," she snapped.

Rabastan looked genuinely abashed, "Er, I found out something interesting about that."

"What?" she asked, not sure if she was hearing correctly.

"Yes, I thought about what you said and decided I would look into it more."

"Are you quite certain someone hasn't killed you and replaced you with a clone?"

"A what?"

"Never mind. What did you find out?" her head was spinning; she was reasonably sure she was hallucinating.

"The, ah... well, the species is cursed. The line brought over to England by the Lestrange family were under a modified Imperius Curse. The elves that aren't directly descended from that line are still affected but they're not as bonded to their families."

"That's... well, that's completely fucked if I'm being honest," said Hermione, mulling over the new information. "That puts them firmly in the slave category."

"And you were right, I started looking into house elf magic and it's fascinating. They could be enormously powerful and we're using them to do our laundry."

"Well, yes, Purebloods here seem to think that anyone or thing that is not also a Pureblood is useless and therefore free labour," said Hermione drily.

"Yes, I guess that is true," said Rabastan with an expression of genuine remorse.

"Oi, Black, are you in there?" McKinnon snapped her fingers in front of Sirius, who started. "Gods, what is wrong with you? You've been in fairy land all day."

"Got a hangover," he grunted, waving away her fingers. "Sorry I'm not feeling particularly sociable."

She laughed disbelievingly, "I've never seen a hangover get you in such a funk, and I've seen a lot of your hangovers."

Sirius thought back to the night before. That was a fair comment, but he'd never spent a night drinking with his estranged brother and a time travelling witch from the future.

Not that he could say any of that out loud. Although Hermione mentioned Dumbledore, the oath that bound them specified not letting the information trickle back to him either. He'd trust McKinnon with his life – often did, in fact – but she'd seize onto anything that could kill off their pesky Dark Lord problem.

"I ran into my brother and had a row," he said, deciding to tell a half truth. "I haven't seen him since I left Hogwarts, so it was a bit like a punch to the gut."

Her eyes softened and Sirius felt a bit guilty. It'd been weird seeing his brother, sure, but they hadn't really rowed.

No matter. He could hardly take it back now.

"I'm sorry Sir, that must be hard," she sat heavily back into her chair, her gaze straying to the framed picture of her and her brother at her Hogwarts graduation. His hair was the same wild curls, threaded with silver, an arm slung around her shoulder as he beamed proudly at her.

"Sorry," he said, kicking himself. "Sorry, I'm here talking about how I had to see my brother and- ah, fuck. Sorry."

"It's okay, really," she smiled, a little sadly. "Michael'd kick my arse if he saw me sitting around moping about it. Besides, your brother sucks. It's okay to be upset about that."

Sirius had an inexplicable urge to, a) sweep Marlene into a hug, and, b) cry.

He shook the urge off and smiled weakly, "Thanks Marls."

AUTHORS NOTE: I have literally no excuse for why this took so long except that every time I tried to make the characters talk to each other they wouldn't bloody do it. Also work has been really busy I guess, but mostly I was just completely unable to make Regulus talk and everything I wrote for Hermione sounded flat and unrealistic.

So.

This chapter isn't my favourite and when I finish the story it will be a major part of my editing process. The good news is that it is here now! And also I did a good chunk of planning for another story that has been rattling around my head for a while. I won't be publishing that until it's at least half done and I'm finished with this story and at least one of my other stories (probably Let Sleeping Lions Lie, I have more ideas for that). Also Marlene and Sirius just ran away with the dialogue, that sh*t wrote itself. So that was easy, at least.

A favour? If you've gotten this far, can you tell me whether you like my OCs? I find myself wanting to weave more stories of the OCs into my story but I'm not sure whether it is something the readers would enjoy. I've got plans for Begonia and Asta and background stuff for Oberon and Margaux, but it's not worth writing it if you won't enjoy it.

PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!

I love you and I'm terribly sorry about the unplanned break. I'll try get back into the weekly updates now.

~ Maeve