TW:
implied mental health issues
Emotions
Comfort/Angst
Open to Interpretation
She tries to ignore the weight of his eyes — he can read everything that's going on in her head and she has absolutely no idea what's going on in his. But it doesn't matter – he is silent and… she can see he has a heavy necklace in his hand.
It's pretty, actually, she thinks. With dark gemstones, most likely onyxes, in inlaid gold, shining in the reflection. She feels the weight on her neck, when he hooks it closed and turns it smoothly. Gemstones are cold, but more like silk-cold over her skin; a little rough, a little prickly.
"I could get killed for this." He whispers, muffled into her shoulder, "Or be banished forever like Perseus Parkinson."
Hermione chuckles, softly, while Regulus looks at her, their eyes meet,
"But you aren't. You are standing here , with me, Muggle." She says with a scrunch of her nose. "Fully legal, as marriage, married man and his wife."
Regulus nods, even though he's frowning a little, just a little, flickering over her face, "My pretty wife." His voice is low and rough and then he presses his lips to the back of her neck. Hermione lets her eyes close, she breathes out in a harsh, low exhale.
Their bodies are tense and it's painful, more painful than they could have imagined. Desperate breaths, the growing desperation, that feels awfully familiar.
"You feel like home to me, so whenever my mind wanders, it always finds its way back to you." He mutters quietly, but his grin is sudden and wanting. Hermione swallows, as he sets lips to the nape of her neck.
"I didn't think the darkness had such a charm to it." She says and can feel how warm, how thick her voice is, her breath hitches.
He smiles, pressing a kiss to the back of her head that makes her stomach flutter,
"Thank you for choosing me, we're going to be one forever." Regulus mutters against her hair, Hermione shivers at the sound of his words. "Have I ever told you how perfect you are?"
She shakes her head, slightly, there is heaviness in her chest… Unknown, but familiar, wrapped in sadness, meant-for-the-dark.
"My pretty wife," he says, a bit too desperate, a spill of words he can't keep in.
Her lips twitch and her eyes are hesitant, this unknown-familiar sadness in her eyes that kills him quietly.
"This is not real," a faint whisper slips out her lips, she blinks at him, her breath stuck in her throat.
He blinks and swallows, his intense gaze on her face, almost touching her insides. His eyes, bleary, still so dark… Hermione feels something itching at the back of her brain, blurry images and hazy shapes.
A memory of something, like she's missing something, like she's lost something.
"Hermione?" She hears a distant, uncertain voice.
She's unable to answer as a sharp, panic-filled thing sticks in her throat.
"Miss Granger, Hermione, do you hear me?" A soothing, calm voice, familiar, next to her ear. She nodded, almost disappointed, almost tricked.
"You had an attack, you were unconscious for a couple of minutes. But now you should get better, we gave you an additional dose of medicine."
She feels a weird, blurry jumble in her brain, tangled thoughts, unclear, messy.
Her lips are dry, her eyes are itchy and too heavy, foggy behind her eyelids. She is letting her thoughts fade away, letting go a flickering image in the back of her mind…
His face, his face sticks beneath her eyelids, his name sits at the tip of her tongue.
Regulus.
And then darkness falls making her uneven, floating outside of herself.
"I always imagined you being at my side when I died, but never like this. Never like this."