A/N: AU in which the Death Eaters were one of a number of much smaller, much more short-lived organisations. People know about them, and there's still widespread prejudice and discrimination, but there wasn't a war.
Horror gripped her at the sight of the Death Eater paraphernalia that almost spilled out of the box. Regulus had been in a hate group? He'd wanted Muggle-borns like her to be cast out like vermin? She knew that he didn't believe in the myth of blood purity anymore, but it was gut wrenching to know that the man she loved had once been involved with, or at least looked up to, such a despicable cause. It hardly even merited being called a cause; that word gave it a sense of legitimacy that it didn't deserve.
Logically, Hermione knew she should talk to him about it. It wouldn't be fair to walk away from their relationship without giving him a chance to explain things first. But it was hard to imagine looking him in the face, let alone listening to him try to justify bigotry and extremism. And what if she was wrong about him? What if he did still believe that rubbish and was just using her to convince the more progressive sections of society that he was a worthy choice for Minister of Magic? If that were the case, confronting him could very well turn herself into a liability.
She knew that her panicked mind was just throwing out the worst case scenario. The chances were that Regulus had walked away from the so-called Death Eaters years before he met her, and that he had simply forgotten to get rid of the storage box he'd stuffed his old gear in.
Still, she couldn't shake the fear that, just maybe, he had deceived her. And, even if he hadn't, the fact that he had once aligned himself with the group was overwhelming in and of itself.
I'll talk to him, she decided, but not now. First, I need space. I'm sure Neville won't mind me staying with him for a day or two while I process things. I'll leave Regulus a note so he doesn't worry, but we can hold off discussing it until my head has cleared.
A/N: Sorry for the angst. I'm trying to vary things up so this isn't just 366 drabbles of love metaphors and fluff, but the downside of that is heavier drabbles.
Prompt: space