As Hermione bustled into the library, she stopped short at the sight of a familiar Slytherin student. His head of black curls was buried down in a book, a common enough picture in the library. Unless he was running into her at full speed, the student's presence alone didn't normally make her stop in her tracks.

There was just one thing very wrong with the particular scene Hermione had stumbled into today.

He was sitting at her favorite library table.

Really?

She stood at the entrance for a few moments, debating on whether to engage or give up her seat for that day, before picking a new table a few steps away from the Slytherin.

Hermione knew it was irrational to feel this annoyed. In the grand list of everything wrong with her life, an occupied library table was insignificant. Her existence at all in this space and time was the real issue.

She sighed.

Then, while digging in her bookbag, she realized that she had forgotten her arithmancy textbook back in her room.

Hermione sighed again.

"Do share with the rest of the class."

It was the Slytherin.

She ignored him and continued to check off which study materials she had remembered to bring. Potions homework? Yes. Defense Against the Dark Arts? Got it. Transfiguration? I think it's under—

He coughed.

Did I remember to bring my Charms essay? Where is my Ancient Runes textbook?

Undeterred, he went on. "If you sigh any louder, you'll knock over another stack of books."

She picked up her head to throw him a quick glare. "Can I help you?"

"Please." He paused and then gestured around. "Get it over with and air your grievances. The library should be a calm place, free of any unnecessarily loud sighs."

Hermione stared at him. "You really want to know?"

"Entertain me."

Maybe it was because she was going to spend her birthday alone for the first time in six years. Maybe it was because she had tripped down the stairs that morning. Or maybe it was just an off day. But the frustration Hermione felt at her situation had pent up into a ball of fury that she was—in that moment—determined to wield on this random Hogwarts student.

"I've sat at that table everyday for the past three weeks. I'm not saying I reserve sole rights to it. I'm not unreasonable." She huffed. "But if you were courteous, you would recognize that I have been here every day since the start of the term." She leveled her stare at him. "Right. In. That. Seat."

"How could I have known that this was your seat?" The side of his mouth slid up.

"You've been in the library every day that I've been here and you've seen me in that seat!"

The Slytherin leaned back and raised an eyebrow at her. "So you've been watching me?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "It's not a compliment. I notice things. I'm very observant."

The Slytherin fiddled with the quill in his hand. "Granger, isn't it?"

"Yes, if it is of any interest."

"If we're going to be library adversaries, we should at least be introduced."

"Oh, I wouldn't elevate you to an adversary yet. Seems too high an honorific."

A beat passed. Then he offered his name. "I'm Regulus Black."

Gods.

The Slytherin she had run into was the younger Black brother. Alive and hogging her favorite table in the library.

"Hermione Granger." She couldn't believe she hadn't noticed the family resemblance. The black curls paired with grey-blue eyes, and an almost regal stare—it was rather obvious now that she thought about it.

"Granger?" He cocked his head. "Of the famed Dagworth-Grangers?"

Hermione tensed. Regulus was asking about her blood status. He did turn against Voldemort, in the end, but she didn't know the reason for why he did. Maybe it didn't have anything to do with renouncing the ideals of blood purity. Perhaps it was as simple as not wanting a megalomaniac in charge of the wizarding world. On the other hand, she had picked up his Muggle reading material in the hallway.

"No. Not at all."

Who the hell was Regulus Black?

"Pity."

It wasn't hostile, the way he said it. Not spat at her like the bullies of her past. The word was like a small puff of air, lingering just long enough for her to catch.

On instinct, Hermione lifted her chin. "I hardly think so."

Regulus shrugged. "I only meant it as an observation. Some people here think being different is not always good."

"That sounds like you're making a value judgment to me."

"I'm not people." His mouth quirked up. "I'm a third party."

"And that means what exactly?"

"People couldn't care less what I think."

Hermione found that hard to believe. Regulus Black was a pureblood heir. People like her were the ones that had to fight to be heard. People like Malfoy wouldn't shut up.

"I doubt that."

"It's the truth. I only lie to people I know."

At least that statement was truer than probably he meant at the moment.

"So your opinion is 'I don't have an opinion'?" Hermione could feel herself getting worked up. The solitude had wound up her energy tenfold. She had been itching for a conversation, anything, and she would gladly take a verbal spar. The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could take stock of them.

"Do you have any thoughts of your own or did you fall off a broomstick one too many times as a child?"

Regulus raised his free hand over his heart in offense. "I'm an excellent flyer, I assure you." He tilted his head and drawled out his next sentence. "I'm the seeker for Slytherin."

"How interesting." Hermione almost rolled her eyes.

"Eye of the beholder." Regulus cocked his head. "Do you think I'm interesting?"

"What?" A small laugh of disbelief bubbled out before she could tell it had escaped. "Are you serious?" Since when did a pureblood care about her opinion?

"Always." He studied her. "You'll come to understand."

Who was Regulus Black?

"Well, that's presumptuous."

"Oh, I can be."

"Seems like you can also be quite annoying?"

"That's open to interpretation."

"It's my interpretation."

"I'm a lively person—contrary to my reputation."

"Your reputation?" What was his reputation? She hadn't heard anything about the younger Black brother from the Ravenclaw table. Hermione looked at his stack of books. "Is this part of it? Trying to trick people into thinking you're intelligent?"

"And intimidating. Like I could drop this stack on anyone's foot—should they cross me."

"How very threatening of you. A book…on a foot."

"Books are my weapon of choice. No one talks to you if you're reading."

So he was a loner. "Find the student population that unpleasant?"

"Most of the time. Save an exception or two." Or maybe his group was exclusive. Purebloods did flock together.

"Too good to grace anyone with your presence?"

"On the contrary. I'm saving people from having to deal with me." Regulus leaned forward and dropped a stage whisper. "I'm a horrid morning person and people are quick to judge."

Did Regulus Black just make a joke?

This was...interesting. She hadn't felt the urge to run away yet. Not like when she would run into the Marauders. The string connecting her to Regulus was nonexistent. She had no idea who he really was, his motivations, how he acted, or who he was friends with. It was curiosity, Hermione supposed, that kept her still speaking there with him.

"Books should be respected. Not used as cannon fodder—"

"Says the girl who brought my stack crashing to the ground?" Regulus challenged. "You're the reason my copy of Quidditch Maneuvers of the Decade has a crease on its cover."

"You were the one running around a blind corner! And I tried to save your books—you were just standing there like a tree—arms everywhere. You're bloody built like the Whomping Willow—"

At that, he laughed.

Hermione found herself surprised at the sound of it. And by him.

Regulus was...cheeky. And handsome, she would admit. If she was fourteen again she'd probably be swept off her feet by now. But the blushing schoolgirl was long gone. She was sure she'd left her somewhere in the Forest of Dean. Probably the day Ron had left her and Harry. Words and smiles didn't go as far, nowadays.

Merlin, she missed them.

"No need to go on—I concede. My arms and I take full responsibility. You can trust me in the future not to let any book touch the ground. If you don't make me move tables right now, I'll take the fall instead."

Everything she knew about Regulus could be traced back to a note they found hidden inside that locket. Was he that person yet? Sitting there in the library, she supposed it was enough of a vouch for her at that moment in time.

"Okay. Fine."

They worked in silence for the next two hours until Hermione's stomach growled.

Regulus coughed.

It growled again.

Merlin's beard.

As Hermione started gathering up her belongings, she thought about the Slytherin sitting a few steps away from her. This was probably the last time she would ever speak to the younger Black brother.

Or any Black brother, if I can help it.

She made her way to the library exit and slowed down as she passed his table. Like the first time they spoke, Hermione felt compelled to offer a goodbye. "Good luck at your match."

He looked up to meet her gaze. "Thank you."

It was difficult to read him, to get past the block in his eyes. It wasn't so much like a door slamming shut but a lighthouse, blinking—practically blindingly so. His eyes were bright, almost reflective. The eye of the beholder could see whatever they wanted to see, staring back at them.

What she saw—Hermione wasn't sure yet.

But she knew this wasn't time to go digging into the psyche of the younger Black brother. Regulus Black—pureblood heir and Death Eater defector. As mysterious as he had been, or was currently—this just wasn't the time. Her time.

She gave him a parting nod before continuing towards the library exit.

"Until next time, Granger."

Regulus Black was an enigma. A puzzle of sorts—a kind she would normally like cracking.

But this...Hermione wouldn't touch this one with a ten-meter broomstick.