Hi hi. Bet you weren't expecting this! Big hugs to CatherineMorgenstern for being the best beta ever.

Regulus cursed as the painting turned for the second time in as many hours. He wouldn't find a damn thing if the old bitch kept flipping the picture, not that he was expecting to find anything. He'd discovered in the first few hours the landscape only allowed him to travel so far. After that, it never changed but looped back upon itself so he kept retracing his steps over and over again in a futile attempt to reach the end. The illusion of distance was akin to an oasis in the desert, he'd realised. It took strong magic to create such a spell. Magic which Regulus did not know how to counteract.

He crouched down where he was, not bothering to find somewhere more comfortable to sit. Instead, he folded his robes around himself and waited in bitter silence for the darkness to end. The wind blasted his body from all sides and the trees surrounding him did nothing to protect him from the gusts of icy air, indeed, they seemed to channel the wind directly towards where he was seated.

When he'd first set off, he hadn't been sure which direction to take. He knew he'd needed to stay close to the river, but he hadn't wanted to run into Rabastan and Granger and risk the witch questioning where he was going. He knew that once she started interrogating him, she wouldn't stop until they sewed her lips shut or tore her tongue out.

So far, he'd found nothing of interest in his exploration. He couldn't even detect the magic that bound them to the painting. He couldn't sense any magic at all; not even his own. It was liberating and not nearly as awful as he'd imagined it would be. That's not to say he didn't want it back; he did. Desperately so. If he had to kill or maim a thousand people to make it happen, then he would.

The mark on his arm twitched, not a summons, but an experimental prod as if Voldemort were testing the link, trying to figure out a way to yank them through and to his feet. Regulus didn't know whether to be pleased or terrified by that thought. He knew that if the Dark Lord pulled them through, he'd be less than happy with the two of them for not being able to take down an old woman who'd looked like a blast of wind could knock her over. Fuck, he might just kill them for that incompetence alone. His thoughts drifted to Granger. They should start questioning her. In fact, they should have done it the second they'd been alone with the witch - another thing the Dark Lord would be furious about.

It would be harder to hurt her now. And he knew they'd need to hurt her a lot to make her share information about Potter and the Order. Not that they couldn't do it, but it would be unpleasant to hear her screams and see her blood spill onto the ground in front of him now that he'd had a taste of her fierce personality. As it was, she was useful to them and he wasn't sure if it would be wise to make an enemy of her just yet.

He had to admit that she differed from what they'd been led to believe. Draco had told tales of how boring, annoying and self-righteous she was. He'd failed to mention her intelligence, bravery and practicality. No wonder Potter had survived so long, no doubt he'd had more help from his friends than they'd been led to believe. Perhaps the key to beating Potter was by targeting Granger and Weasley instead of the boy wizard himself. He tucked the thought aside for later use. Sharing that little bit of information with the Dark Lord might save their lives.

Still, Potter would have Sirius to watch out for him. Regulus could well imagine his brother strutting around the kid, protecting the boy with his life as he regaled tales of his escapades with the marauders. A wave of bitter anger rose inside him. Fuck Sirius. He'd never been a brother to him, not even when they were children. He was always trying to escape his duty, heritage, and loyalty to the Black family. Regulus could forgive him for that... if he hadn't meant that the responsibility had been shoved onto Regulus' shoulders. As a child, he hadn't understood what it meant. But he did now, and he hated Sirius for not trying harder to convince him, for not protecting him from their mother's cruel nature and their father's implacable pressure. Rabastan was more of a brother to him than Sirius had ever been.

He felt another tug on his mark, as if Voldemort had hooked his skin from beneath and pulled. It wasn't painful, more unsettling and uncomfortable. The ghost of a smile touched his lips. Rabastan would be furious at the sensation of Voldemort fiddling with the mark. He might even take a break from trying to seduce Granger in favour of throwing out his favourite curse words.

"Goddamn, mother fucking cunt!"

Hermione jerked awake at Rabastan's yell. "What is it?!" She twisted onto her side and saw... nothing. For a moment, she panicked, believing she had somehow gone blind while she slept, but then reality crashed down on top of her. "You let the fire go out!"

"What?" The sound of him moving reached her ears. "Fuck the fire. It was shit anyway."

"Oh, really?" she huffed. "Then when you were practically sitting on it earlier that was because you thought it was rubbish and not because you were trying to keep warm?"

"Fuck off, Granger," he grumbled.

Hermione rolled her eyes and lay back on the bed. Trying to restart the fire now would be useless, they'd have to wait until the painting was turned. If it were turned. And this time she should make Lestrange light the damn thing, it would serve him right for letting it go out. Beside her, she could hear him muttering beneath his breath. Honestly, he was worse than Ron.

"What is it now?" she snapped.

"The Dark Lord's messing with my fucking mark," he replied in a petulant tone.

"Does it hurt?" She pushed herself up, concerned that he might pass out again.

Rabastan snorted. "It feels like he's shoved a feather under my skin and is moving the fucker back and forth."

She paused, letting his words sink in. "You're having a tantrum because Voldemort is tickling you? Am I hearing you right?"

A beat of silence, amplified by the blackness surrounding them, and then, "Granger, I suggest you shut your fucking mouth."

Hermione bit her lip instead of replying. She kept forgetting who she was dealing with and she couldn't keep doing that if she wanted to survive this. Had the circumstances been different, he'd have killed her in cold blood, she was sure of it. The darkness surrounding her felt like a physical thing that pressed against her from all sides, threatening to smother her. Every breath she took sounded impossibly loud to her ears. She had to force herself to slow her breathing in order to quiet down.

"Fucking knobhead," Rabastan whispered.

A smile tugged up the corners of her lips. Had he just called the Dark Lord a knobhead? It was a very apt description of the insane wizard now that she thought about it. A creak sounded beside her as Lestrange fidgeted on his bed, seeking a comfortable position.

"Fuck, it's cold," he muttered.

'Unbelievable,' Hermione murmured.

"What was that, Granger?" Rabastan asked as he shifted on the bed again.

"I said 'unbelievable'," she replied, pushing herself up and turning to face the direction of his voice. "You let the fire go out and then have the audacity to whine about it!"

The rustle of cloth sounded and she suspected that he'd moved off the bed. "You sound like Reg, darling girl."

Hermione huffed. She wasn't sure she enjoyed being compared to a Death Eater. But before she could reply, she felt something touch her nose. Instinct caused her to hit out. Her knuckles collided with cloth and soft flesh.

"Fuck!" Rabastan hissed. "Shit, Granger, if you want to touch my cock you're going to need to be gentler than that."

"Oh!" A blush rushed into her cheeks. "I'm sorry." She pressed her hands to her face, glad the darkness hid her embarrassment. Then she remembered that he'd touched her nose first. "Actually, I'm not sorry. You-"

Her bed creaked.

"What are you doing?!"

"I'm sitting."

Hermione curled her fingers into fists, holding onto her temper by a thread. "Why?" she asked in a calm voice.

"Because it's better than standing, wouldn't you agree?"

"I agree that you should move your arse onto your own bed," she snapped.

"Come now, that's not very friendly, is it?" His voice sounded closer. "Besides, I've decided to collect my payment for climbing the tree."

"Excuse me? What payment?" Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "You're talking nonsense. I don't owe you a damn thing."

Rabastan chuckled. "But you do, Granger."

"You're absurd."

"Hm." Fingertips brushed her thigh. "One kiss and your debt is paid."

Hermione shoved his hand off her thigh. "I don't owe you a bloody debt!"

"Did I not climb the fucking tree and scratch my shins to buggery for you?" His hand crept onto her thigh again.

"What?! How dare-"

"You talk too much, Granger."

"-you imply that I agreed to such a thing. I would never kiss you! Never."

"You scared?" Rabastan's voice oozed condescension. "I've heard a lot about you, darling girl, but the word 'coward' was never used in that description."

Hermione stiffened. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to goad her into kissing him, into proving that she wasn't a coward. It would not work. "Why would you want to kiss me? I'm a disgusting mudblood, aren't I?"

Rabastan tutted. "You shouldn't talk about yourself in such vulgar terms, Hermione."

Her stomach flipped at the sound of her name coming from his lips. He seemed to lick the syllables as they flowed from his tongue. It was unsettling and vaguely obscene. "Don't call me that," she said.

"No?" His hand traced up the outer edge of her thigh, along her hip and up her waist and ribs, seeking her face. "Then what shall I call you?"

"Nothing." She swayed backwards, but his fingers had found her hair and he tangled the curly strands in his long digits to prevent further movement. "Let go of me."

"Kiss me and I will."

Hermione huffed. "Would you just stop! I will not kiss you." She lifted her hands and shoved at where she thought his chest would be. The darkness made the slightest things impossible; even locating his bloody chest, which should have been right in front of her. But somehow her stupid hands ended up on either side of him, as if she was about to pull him into an embrace. And then his lips were touching hers in a soft kiss.

Her eyes widened in alarm as he increased the pressure, turning his head so they became more aligned. Hermione knew she should have either pulled away or pushed him away, but she found that the silken slide of his lips against hers was so unexpected that she froze. She thought he'd kiss in an aggressive, demanding way, something that would match his cocky personality, not with a slowness that threatened to melt her bones.

The soft tip of his tongue tickled the seam of her lips, begging for entrance. Hermione blinked, bemused. She'd been kissed before. But the sloppy, inexperienced snog from Viktor Krum and the shy, tentative press of lips from the boy who lived down her road last summer were nothing compared to this gentle exploration. She opened her mouth, allowing his tongue to slip inside. He didn't force his way in, but eased past her lips with a gentleness that made her impatient.

At that thought, she gasped. What on earth was she thinking? Impatient to kiss a Death Eater? She pulled away from Rabastan, appalled she'd allowed him to do that. What would Harry say? Or Ron?

"I...you shouldn't have done that," she whispered, resisting the urge to lift her fingers to her tingling lips. She could still taste him on her tongue.

"Hm?" His hands dropped to her cheeks and he used them to tug her closer. For a moment Hermione thought he would kiss her again, but his lips found her ear instead of her mouth. "Spread your legs and I'll kiss your cunt in the same way, darling girl."

His words caused a wave of heat to spread through her. It happened so fast she feared she would faint. "Don't talk like that," she murmured in a raspy voice.

Rabastan chuckled and let go of her. "Are you sure?" He lowered his voice as if about to impart a secret. "I think you like my dirty mouth."

"I do not!"

"It's okay, Granger." The creak of the bed sounded as he stood. "I won't tell anyone."

Thoughts?

Oh and I messed up my reviews. I have no idea who I have and haven't replied to. Apologies for that.