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Velvet & Lace

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Chapter Thirty-Eight | Downright Twisted

Regulus spent the remainder of the day in a quiet, yet still tentative, state. He was still his same, loving self with her, but it was with a heavy heart that Pansy missed the Regulus she'd grown so accustomed to. The Regulus who graced her with the winks that made her knees weak, and the whispered, amorous promises that made her heart race and her chest tingle.

The Regulus she'd likely never see again.

Clamping her eyes shut, Pansy, no longer able to bear the thousands of unspoken words between them, cleared her throat.

He rubbed her knee. "I suppose asking if you're okay would be pointless."

"I should be happy," Pansy said, "the day before my-," she couldn't continue.

He leaned forward, across the couch they were both sitting upon, and pulled her against him, into him, the way he always had. His arms encased her like the safe, protective cage she wished more than anything it were possible for her to stay in forever.

"Do you remember when we played that drinking game your first night here?"

"Yeah."

"And you asked what my biggest fear was, and I said it was never making up with Sirius?"

Pansy felt a funny flip-flop somewhere close to the centre of her chest. "Yeah."

"Thank you," he breathed against her head. "Thank you so much."

His gratitude meant only one thing: Sirius had done what she'd suggested. It was the smallest of victories but the only one she had.

"I'm so glad, baby," she whispered, wishing she had some kind of magical stopper to prevent even more tears from falling. Unfortunately, of course, she didn't.

"We knew this," he murmured into her hair. "We knew it was...temporary."

If only he knew what that truly meant.

She didn't miss the crack in his voice. "Pansy?"

"Hmm?"

"You said before we don't know each other in the future."

Oh no

She couldn't lie to him, as much as she wanted to. As much as the truth was so heinous and awful it ought to be barred, and as much as a lie would be easier, less messy...less awful.

Did anybody need that kind of truth? Pansy didn't know.

But somehow, from somewhere in the deepest depths of her very soul, she knew he did.

And she knew somehow he already knew.

"I did say that."

"Once I set the Time-Turner," he paused and Pansy daren't breath. They hadn't discussed it, both avoiding up until that point anything that directly involved whatever plan he'd had to make to ensure she was sent back. "Tomorrow, I'm going to go get the locket he forced Kreacher to help him place."

"What?! No, you ca-"

She didn't have to be facing him to know just how set his jaw must be. "Yeah, I can. And I'm going to destroy it."

"But you said, the potion he had to drink-"

"It nearly killed him, yeah."

"And he only got away-"

"Because house elves can disapparate in situations wizards can't...yeah. But I'll have him with me, and if nothing else, I can get him to apparate out with it...and I'll instruct him to destroy it."

"But that would mean-," once again, she couldn't continue, the horror of what, exactly, that would mean, creeping icily into every particle of her being.

It also meant she hadn't just failed, that which she'd always known was a stark impossibility. She hadn't been sent back to save him, and as much as she'd known that from the very first day, it was only then the cruel fate of it all felt far too much. It wasn't just cruel, it was downright twisted.

"Why was I sent here," a final, solitary tear trekked its way down her cheek, "if not to save you?"

"Maybe it was just, to love me."

And love him she had. With her everything and the somehow, with even more.

"C'mon," he rose, pulling her with him.

"Where are we going?"

His hands gripped either side of her face. "We're going to forget, for a while at least, that this night, well-," he paused, clearly unwilling to state exactly what the night was, "we're going to go to bed," his eyes bore into hers with such an intensity she felt, truly felt, like she was the only thing left in his world of importance, the thought wasn't a pleasant one, and was particularly hard to push aside. "And I'm going to make love to you, over and over, until I know damn sure I can memorise every. Single. Inch. Of. You."

And, that's exactly what he did.

The following morning was possibly the most surreal of Pansy's life, which was saying something considering her life had so far involved a time travel so vast every law of magic shouldn't have allowed it.

"Do you know what time you were born?" Regulus had asked, the previous night.

"Quarter to eleven, in the morning."

His eyes had saddened further when she had specified. Of course it had to be morning, of course it had to be then, Pansy thought, her heart empty.

Her nineteen, was it nineteen? Pansy had little to no clue how time travel may mess up her biological age, nor did she particularly care, years on Earth had granted her the very best of times, and then it had granted her that day….when she faced the worst of any time she could possibly have dreamt up.

Narcissa had hugged her, of course. The witches had squeezed each other until they could no longer.

"You'll see me next year," Pansy said heavily, yet with a bizarre momentary desire to laugh. "Draco and I first meet when we're one."

"I-I'm looking forward to it...I think," Narcissa said with a sob. "You're the very best friend, I've ever had."

"I suppose I'll see you soon, too" Pansy said, not having put much thought into what the hell she'd do once she returned, but seeking out Narcissa was probably a good bet. "And...plant some bloody flowers in those beds out the back of the kitchen."

Narcissa let out something that was half a laugh and half a sob. "You know I probably won't, and yes," the witch smiled, "I suppose you will."

They both threw themselves forwards simultaneously, and clutched each other, one last time.

"Thank you, for everything," they said as one.

Turning away from Narcissa, and into Regulus's waiting arms, a fear - pure, unmatched fear, flooded Pansy like a wave.

"Are you ready, baby?" he asked pointlessly.

Pansy didn't answer, not as he clutched her and not as he turned, maneuvering them as one, readying to apparate.

She wasn't ready.

Had she a thousand years with him she'd never have been ready.