For once in his life, he wished his cousin would pay attention. He yearned for her cynicism and her naturally haughty tone. He desired to be shredded and grated. A solitary insult from her sanguine lips would be infinitely greater than her incessant, ambiguous silence, her constant shunning of his affections. Desperation usurped his rational faculties, leaving him without reason or a sense of propriety. He would have to get her attention the difficult way.
He glimpsed her moping in the corner, by the mahogany bookcase. He sauntered over, a smirk painting his lips. She knew what he wanted, and she would not allow him to take it so easily, without penalty. He could sense her coy guardedness, and he wouldn't let her prolong this infantile game of keep-away indefinitely.
They stared at each other for a long time. She was the first one to turn away, watching silently as Narcissa entered the room on the arm of her husband. They were closely followed by a multitude of admiring female Blacks. Bellatrix looked at them all in scorn, not knowing most of their names, and not caring either. To her they were only specks of dust on a forgotten shelf. She turned to look back at Regulus, a playful smile pasted on her face. Neither of them said a word.
He broke the silence first, a slight affected cough, followed by a flutter of the tongue, then silence again. Her dangerous eyes pierced his own, and a natural bond of Occlumency formed, unbroken for a few infinite moments. Shadows began to emerge, but she turned away before they could fully materialize. He hung his head in despair. His plan would have to wait, perhaps forever, for how could he garner affection from such a beautiful, perilous creature? She held him dangling from her fingertips, letting him fall with a flick of the wrist and a twist of the arm.
She left him in that corner, unsatisfied.
He lay in the dismal confines of his room, pondering the intricacies of the ceiling. The entire night had fused together into one fleeting moment, and his head reeled because of it. He lay there, unmoving, to regain what passed for his composure. He closed his eyes, forcing the images out of his mind, and thus he heard her before he saw her enter.
She wrapped herself around the foot of his bed like a serpent and slithered over his body, branding a kiss on his pleading lips, singing them with both burning sulfur and chilled water. He spoke nothing in response but a soft growl, and buried his fingers deep into his pillow. She sighed softly, before turning her attention to other matters. He bit down on his pillow, unable to bear what was happening, but he let himself be maneuvered down that fiery path nonetheless. He allowed his eyes to chain to hers, and the bond was back again, pulling at their souls. The sensation pulsed repeatedly, following their lusty rhythms until both of them reached their zeniths, triggering something entirely unexpected.
The connexion grew, and shadows emerged from its depths. They flittered about, taunting and accusing him as he came. He thought he could see Rudolphus Lestrange in the mist, pointing a condemning finger. Rabastan too, and Narcissa, and Andromeda Tonks, and his brother. . . He averted his eyes in disgust, and the bond between them petered out, until nothing was left but a wisp of fine smoke that mockingly toyed with his hair before vanishing with a sputter. She stole out of the room, not once looking back.
He did not see her for some time afterwards. She had gone away without a thank you or a goodbye. Not that he expected her to care, she who had sold her soul for impersonal lust. She was no more capable of loving him than he was of loving Sirius, for all the times Sirius had professed his love for him. He was doomed to waste his love for her, and she for him. The bond their eyes had forged had been torn asunder permanently, the connexion broken into numberless pieces.
He spent the nights afterwards in the company of many. They came and went, unconcerned about the imprints they left on his already shattered heart. Eventually, he began to realize that fulfillment of lust could not satisfy his most basic longings. There was only one woman who could, and she had already came and went. Now, he only had one last chance.
He knew what he had to do. He knew whom he had to find. The only question was: Where?