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Chapter Eight
Regulus was sick of Potions.
As Professor Slughorn puffed on about Felix Felicis from the front of the classroom, Regulus let his eyes and his mind wander. Feigning attention would have been in his best interest, of course, to keep up his charade of a good little student trying to improve his grades, but along with his complete boredom in being taught a potion he already knew everything about was the irksome eyesore that sat in front of him: Diana Fairchild.
Two weeks had passed since the incident with Nott in Charms, and the Hufflepuff hadn't spoken a word to him since he'd left her in the hospital wing. For some inexplicable reason, their last conversation had crawled beneath his skin and now sat there, lingering, like an extra layer he couldn't shake. He'd thought about approaching her several times in the days after, but every time he'd gotten close and seen the swath of bandages around her hand, he'd simply turned and walked in the opposite direction.
It was maddening. She was maddening, he decided. He hadn't been the one to blow a hole in her hand, but she was avoiding him like the whole thing had been his fault.
You know that's not why she's avoiding you, whispered a small voice at the back of his mind.
Piss off, he told it.
He clutched his quill tighter and glared at the witch's back. Her shoulders tensed, like she knew she was being watched, but her hand—now bandage-free and completely healed, from what he could see—kept moving as she copied down notes. Her free hand reached up and scratched the back of her head, just under the messy knot she liked to use as a wand holster. He sneered. Such a ridiculous place to keep a wand. Didn't she know she could blast off her own head that way?
Staring at her back, Regulus realized that he was a lot more irritated than he initially thought. The slight of her, a Hufflepuff half-blood, blowing off him made his blood simmer. And that she'd even had the audacity to question him, to ask him if he was like Nott, if he would ever hurt her…
"Mr. Black? Mr. Black!"
Regulus's attention snapped back to the Potions professor looking at him questioningly from his desk. "Sir?"
Professor Slughorn tapped the blackboard behind him with his wand. "Since you seemed so invested in the lesson, I was asking if you knew of any antidote that could work to counteract the euphoric effects of Felix Felicis?"
"Not that I know of, no," he said flatly. "But a bezoar is always an option to offset the effects of any potion."
Professor Slughorn seemed surprised. Regulus seethed. "Oh. Right you are, Mr. Black. Five points to Slytherin." He grinned toothily beneath his ginger walrus-like mustache. "I'm glad to see that you've been improving under Miss Fairchild's tutelage."
In front of him, Diana stiffened. Regulus's grip on his quill tightened. They hadn't even shared a tutoring session together in almost three weeks. Slughorn had to have known that.
"Yes, sir," Regulus ground out. He glared at Diana's back. "My tutor is good with talking points over whenever it suits her."
"You're being modest, Black," Diana said without turning around, but Regulus could very well imagine the scowl on her face. "You're very good at listening and keeping quiet even when directly asked a question."
Regulus glared at her. Beside her, her friend Henrietta Brown looked back and forth between her and Regulus, her lips pursed. Regulus glared at her, too.
"Er, right," said Slughorn after a short pause. "Moving on…"
Nott nudged Regulus's elbow once the professor turned around. His fellow Slytherin's gaze was full of questions, but Regulus only shook his head curtly. Nott sat back, looking annoyed. Regulus hadn't exactly been on good terms with him either since the incident.
"You idiot," Regulus hissed at Nott in the common room the night after Nott's stunt in Charms. "You could've been hauled to the headmaster and accused of maiming another student if Flitwick hadn't bought your pathetic act, and then what would happen to you?" Regulus jabbed a finger at Nott's left arm. "You have a job to do, same as me. Act like it."
Nott only grinned. "It was worth it to see the look on that half-blood's face once her tainted blood started spurting everywhere, though, eh?" He twirled his wand thoughtfully. "I did it for you, Reg. The stuck-up bitch needed to be brought down a peg or two, in my opinion…"
Regulus's teeth gnashed together. "Except no one asked your opinion, Nott. Now, keep your head down and your wand away, unless you want him to find out you've been drawing unwanted attention to yourself."
Nott shoved past him on the way to their dormitory. "Keep your hair on, Reggie. I know what I have to do." Nott paused in the entryway before glancing back at Regulus with narrowed eyes. "Maybe you should be watching yourself instead of me."
Regulus gazed at his parchment, unseeing. He still didn't know what Nott had meant by that, but like every other one of their arguments, it had been swept away by the water under the bridge and hadn't risen to the surface since.
When the bell tolled to dismiss them, Regulus sent Nott ahead, intent on cornering Slughorn before he could scuttle away again. He packed his things slowly, only looking up when he realized that Diana was the only one left in the classroom along with him and Slughorn. He scowled.
"What are you doing?" he demanded as he moved to stand beside her table.
She spared him a brief glance. "I have a question for Slughorn."
"So do I." Regulus stood in her way when she tried to brush past him. She glared up at him, her green-brown eyes darkening. "Ask him another time. I have to speak with him. Privately."
"I'll make it quick," she retorted, slipping past him. "You can wait."
Regulus fumed. He knew his frustration was getting the better of him, but he was running out of time, and the witch in front of him seemed keenly attuned to block his way at the most inconvenient times. Before she could fully clear his body, his arm shot out and latched on to her elbow, anchoring her in place.
"Let go of me, Black!" she snapped as she tried to force herself past him again. She struggled, futile, in his grip. "Merlin, you are so annoying—"
"Just wait outside or something," he said, wrestling against her weight as she attempted to break free. "I need to get to him before he can leave again—"
"What on earth has gotten into you two?" Professor Slughorn asked, baffled, when he turned around and finally noticed his grappling students. "Mr. Black, Miss Fairchild, what is the meaning of this?"
Regulus stopped with Diana's palm planted against his face, pushing him away, while his own hands were secured around her wrist and bag strap, trying to pry her off. Professor Slughorn sighed and spoke before either of them could answer.
"If this is about the tutoring again, I'm afraid my answer remains the same. You both will just have to tough it out until the winter holidays."
He fixed them with a surprisingly stern glare. "Also, I have given the two of you a sufficient break in your duties after Miss Fairchild's accident, but your sessions will resume this Friday—no buts!" he added when they both opened their mouths to object. "If you cannot handle such responsibilities, then perhaps it is time for Professor Dumbledore to step in, hm?"
"No, sir," they said in unison.
"Very well." Professor Slughorn grabbed his briefcase and made for a hasty retreat. "Good afternoon to you both, then. I expect to see your sessions resume at eight o'clock Friday!"
He slammed the classroom door behind him, and Regulus and Diana dropped their hands.
"Wonderful," she said. "You made him run for the hills before I could even ask him my question!" She threw up her arms. "You couldn't have waited five seconds?"
"I told you I needed to speak with him privately," Regulus snapped back.
"Then go to his office hours!" she retorted.
"If you hadn't had to act like a selfish brat—"
She laughed, derisive. "Oh, that's rich coming from you, Mr. Heir-to-the-Most-Noble-and-Ancient-House-of-Black!"
She spun on her foot and stormed out of the classroom. Regulus followed on her heels, irate.
"Don't speak on things you know nothing about!" he hissed. "You have no idea what it means to be the only heir of your family or what that entails—"
"It seems to mean that you can act like a total prick and get away with it," she shot back. She took the stairs to the ground floor two at a time, but Regulus kept easy pace with her.
"It must be exhausting to be up on your high horse all the time," he sneered. "Acting like you have the high ground and all—will you quit running away from me?"
He raised his hand to grab hold of her sleeve, but she gasped and lurched away from him, slipping on the stairs. It was the second time they had found themselves in this predicament, but Regulus knew immediately that this time around was different as she shrank away from him, her eyes filled with fear.
He froze. She'd landed on her backside after slipping, and he looked down at her as she recoiled on the step, her back pressing into the stair above. Fear. She was looking at him in fear. He took an automatic step back.
"Diana," he said, his voice slightly hoarse. He stared at her. "I wasn't going to hurt you. I wasn't…"
He staggered back until his shoulder blades connected with the damp stone of the wall. He just kept staring at her, not knowing what else to do. His mind had gone completely blank; numb.
Her eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry. Regulus—I'm sorry. I just…Nott…"
He understood it now. He understood why she had asked him that question in the hospital wing all those weeks ago, and the realization tasted like ash in his mouth. Seeing her fear, directed at him…
The incident with Nott had shaken her a lot more than he thought it had. She huddled on the stairs, shaking and frightened, her face pale, and suddenly he wanted to wrench Nott's neck around until it cracked.
He slid down beside her on the stairs.
"I'm sorry," she whispered to him as they sat together, alone. She'd stopped shaking, but her face was still white. "I know you weren't…but Nott—" She heaved a shuddering breath. "He frightened me. I was scared. I'm sorry."
He wanted to laugh, or shout, or both. How was she apologizing to him? This bloody witch—she made no sense. It drove him mad.
"You apologize too much," he said. "It's bloody annoying."
Her lips trembled in a half-hearted smile. "Sorry."
He swallowed, unable to find his sense of humor within that moment. "To answer your question… No."
She blinked at him. Her eyes were bright from unshed tears. "What?"
"In the hospital wing. When you asked me if I would do to you what Nott did." He propped his elbows on his knees so she wouldn't see the slight tremor in his hands. "I wouldn't. I…I don't want to hurt people. Ever."
She huffed a laugh. "You know what's mad? I actually believe you." She shook her head. "You're…not what I thought you were, Regulus."
He wanted to grin, even just a little bit, but he couldn't. "Neither are you, Diana."
After a moment of silence that stretched on far longer than it needed to, she got to her feet. Hesitating only slightly, she reached down and touched his shoulder. He flinched at the unexpected contact but couldn't find it in himself to pull away.
"I'll see you Friday," she said softly.
Before he could respond, she was already away, up the stairs and far out of earshot.
Still, he found himself whispering as if she were still next to him. "I'm sorry."
Friday just so happened to fall on the day before Halloween. Preparations for the Halloween feast had been well under way two days prior, but as Diana made her way to the dungeons, the dank air overrun with the smells of baked pumpkin and candied apples emanating from the kitchens, a thrill of excitement went through her all the same.
She entered the dungeons in a good mood, only marginally dampened by the anxiety of wondering which Regulus she would be getting that night: the aloof, moody Slytherin, or the boy she'd seen only glimpses of beneath his stony façade.
He was there before her, again, and he looked up from his Potions book as she settled beside him, the cauldron already out and prepared on the table.
"Hello," she greeted neutrally.
"Good evening," he said, sliding his finger idly between the pages in his book. She tried not to stare, suddenly seized by a strange feeling. "Ready for the Halloween feast?"
She grinned. "Always." It was odd, not acknowledging what had transpired on the stairs just outside the door earlier that week, but if he was going to play at moving past it, then so would she. "I look forward to that special pumpkin bread every year."
He wrinkled his nose. "You're a pumpkin lover?"
She gaped. "And you're not?"
He sniffed, turning back to his book. "Pumpkin is disgusting. The cinnamon apples are what you should be savoring rather than that mushy loaf you call bread."
"Oh?" she said, hiding her grin. "And I suppose you know how to bake your own perfect bread, Rich Boy?"
"'Rich Boy?'" he repeated in distaste.
She mimicked his stiff, formal tone. "'As the heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, I, Regulus-middle-name-Black, am the very epitome of what this peasant Diana means when she says Rich Boy'—"
He snorted. "I don't sound like that." His lips twitched. "Peasant."
She laughed—Merlin, Regulus Black had made her laugh again. She wondered if Madam Pomfrey had slipped something extra in one of her potions.
"And for the record," he continued, "my middle name is Arcturus."
"I would expect nothing less, Rich Boy." She grinned when he shot her an exasperated look. "Mine's Noel. You know, like a normal person."
"How boring."
"I can make you do a potion with your hands tied behind your back, you know. Careful what you say to your tutor."
He reached across her to light their cauldron, giving her another dry look. She caught a whiff of his cologne before he sat back and found herself unconsciously sniffing, the scents of spearmint and something like juniper berries tingling in the back of her throat.
"What potion are we even doing tonight?" he asked.
She got out her own Potions book and traced the embossed lettering on the cover, thinking. "I'm not entirely sure. I know we should probably stick to the lesson plan, but…"
"But…?" he probed when she trailed off.
"Well." She grinned, sheepish. "It's almost Halloween. I was thinking we could do something fun instead."
"Fun." He raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"
"I hadn't thought that far ahead, honestly," she said with a shrug.
He stared at the cauldron for a long moment before declaring, "We should try and make the worst potion in the world."
She laughed, incredulous. "What?"
"Frog legs, toad eyes, pickled livers," he said, his words getting faster as he got more excited. "You know, the works, like those children's stories for Muggles. We'll call it a witch's brew."
"You really want to do this, huh?" she said, watching his eyes gleam. She could almost see the cogs in his head turning. "All right. Let's do it. We'll find the most horrible ingredients and make our terrible potion without blowing ourselves up or poisoning the air with toxic fumes."
"Excellent," he said. "Let's grab our ingredients."
Wary but intrigued, Diana followed him into the storeroom where the ingredients were kept. Regulus made a beeline for the jars of preserved limbs and other unsavory things lining the back wall while she just observed, amused.
"Muggle children's stories, eh?" she asked, leaning in the doorway and crossing her arms. "I wouldn't expect you to know any, to be honest."
"Literature is literature," he said, his back to her as he continued to scour the shelves. "That was one aspect of my upbringing that my parents could agree on, at least."
"I get the feeling there's a catch somewhere."
He shrugged. "If I wanted to read them, then I was allowed to. In French. Or German. No English allowed."
"Ah. There it is."
"Are you going to help or are you just going to stand there and watch me?"
"It's not a bad view," she said before immediately cringing when he turned back to her with raised brows. "I mean, watching you do all the work for a change—not that I, er…" She glanced to her left. "Oh, look! Toad eyes!"
She knew her face was burning, so she waved the jar half-heartedly before ducking back into the classroom, cursing herself. Leave it to her to make things awkward again when they'd just gotten back to being normal, she thought with a pang.
Several minutes passed before Regulus joined her at the worktable again, his arms laden with ingredients. Diana hurried to help him unload them onto the table.
"Slughorn's going to have a fit once he realizes we pillaged his stores," she said, not meeting Regulus's eyes despite her attempt to break the tension.
"If he needs to replenish, he can just come to me," he said, brushing off her concern. He held up a vial of alligator blood. "I'm thinking this and some water to dilute the acidity so we can use it as a base. What do you think?"
"Sure," she agreed quickly. "I'll fill the cauldron. Just tell me when." She pulled her wand from her hair and pointed it at the cauldron. "Aguamenti!"
They waited while water spouted from the tip of her wand, filling the cauldron slowly. She was acutely aware of Regulus's eyes on her face the entire time, and she squirmed under his gaze.
"You know, I've been meaning to ask," he started. Her heart sputtered in her chest. "But why do you keep your wand in your hair? It seems incredibly inconvenient."
She shrugged, trying not to let her relief show. "Dunno. It's just what I've always done. And it helps keep my hair out of my face."
She flicked the blunt ends that sat just below her jaw. His grey eyes tracked the movement.
"Interesting," he said. "While I disagree with the practicality of it, I'll admit that it does…suit you."
"Oh. Thanks." She tugged at the collar of her robes. "Er, that should be enough water, don't you think?"
He leaned over, and she got another breath of that expensive cologne. Some raven-colored locks of his neat hair fell forward into his eyes, just brushing his cheekbone, and she had to look away.
"Perfect," he said, adding in the alligator blood. "Hm…maybe some mint to the base, as well…"
He muttered under his breath as he worked. For the most part, Diana sat back and watched, only offering a "yes" or "no" to his questions here and there. He seemed to come alive as he chopped, stirred, and crushed, his hair growing gradually disheveled as the humidity in the dungeon increased. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he concentrated, and he paused to take off his tie and loosen the top buttons of his white shirt, not even bothering to roll up his sleeves.
Diana caught her eyes latched on to him more than once as the hour passed. It was the most ordinary she had ever seen him—the most human. Red in the face, his hair falling into his eyes, sweat rolling down the long column of his throat and into his shirt…she was mesmerized by how completely different he looked now compared to how she normally viewed him.
"For a witch's brew, the wizard seems to be the one doing all the work," she joked after half an hour. "Do you need any help?"
"There isn't much to do," he said as he stirred the potion. "Creating a horrible potion that does nothing doesn't require that much effort." He wiped at his face. "Though it is awfully hot."
"Well, if it's any consolation, that potion does look splendidly monstrous," she said, peering into the cauldron. "Are we sure this isn't just sewage?"
He chuckled. "You can always taste it and find out."
"I'd rather not burn through my entire stomach, thanks," she said, shuddering.
He genuinely laughed this time. It was a faintly rusty sound, as if he didn't laugh much to begin with, but she enjoyed it. She enjoyed it immensely.
She opened her mouth—to say what, exactly, she didn't know—before choking on her words when he reached up again to wipe the sweat off his face with the back of his hand.
"Diana?" he asked when he noticed her, frozen. "Are you all right?"
"I have to go," she blurted out. She rushed to collect her things, not meeting his eyes. "I'm sorry—I forgot—this thing—"
"Diana! Hey! What—?"
She bolted from the classroom and up the stairs, her heart thundering in her chest and the blood roaring in her ears. She pushed through a throng of Gryffindors, ignoring their outraged cries as she stumbled through the entrance hall, feeling like she was about to be sick.
It wasn't possible. There was no way she could've seen right. He was a student—a sixteen-year-old boy, for Merlin's sake—
Her stomach roiled. She collapsed against a pillar, willing herself not to vomit. It wasn't possible, it wasn't—
Unbidden, she remembered the night he had spilled the potion on himself, how he'd yanked his arm away when she'd tried to help him. His left arm. And just now, when he'd been stirring the witch's brew with his right, so he'd used his left to wipe the sweat off his brow…
She shut her eyes, but the same small headline that had appeared in the Daily Prophet for months swam into view.
"The Ministry of Magic urges the Wizarding community to contact the Auror Office promptly if any individual is seen with a tattoo of the image below on their left forearm. This marks them as a known associate and follower of You-Know-Who."
The Dark Mark, was what they called it. A skull with a serpent spilling from its mouth. The mark of a Death Eater.
She knew what it was, what it looked like, what it meant. She knew.
And she had just seen it inked into the flesh of Regulus Black.