ACE OF CUPS
upright — love, new feelings, emotional awakening,
creativity, spirituality, intuition
reversed — coldness, emptiness, emotional loss,
blocked creativity, feeling unloved, gloominess
SEPTEMBER 1976
SOMETIMES, HE WONDERS what it's like to drown. He wonders what it's like to be sinking into indefinite depths. To be unable to come up for air, lungs soaked up in water. To be unable to swim towards the surface despite still tides. To tread the thin line of life and death, in a way where a single intake of breath —often a human necessity— would be the same cause for one's demise.
Sometimes, he wonders, as he rolls a joint between his fingers and let out a puff of smoke, if he hasn't already drowned. He wonders what it's like to release the smoldering flames trapped in his chest. He wonders if he wasn't a dead man, a manifestation of dimming embers, a phantom of the boy he used to be before his brother became a stain on their family's legacy.
Sometimes, when he gazes at his reflection on the surface of the Black Lake, he nearly laughs at the face of the jaded teenager in front of him. He scorns what he's become, and even more so, what he knows he'll turn out to be.
He is a monster in the making.
And yet, the mere memory of a certain blonde maiden —the same one whose smile makes the world seem a brighter place every day— makes him quiver to his bones.
Sometimes, he wonders what she sees in him. How she can see past all the bad things he could be, the darkness imminent in his blood.
He pushes and she pulls. And every day, he feels his restraint waver. Every day, she tells him that he isn't as bad as he likes to think he was. Every day, he is torn between self-preservation and desire.
It makes him yearn for things he didn't have the privilege to even think of— because Merlin, how he wishes to become even half the man she believed he was.
And he knows that, for this reason —even without everything his kin adamantly stood for— Amaris Leclair was dangerous.
(Certainly, it wouldn't go unnoticed.)
.
The first person who takes note of this particular shift in Regulus' behavior, just so happened to be one of the few people capable of seeing past his lies; a woman he doubted he'd be able to trick, at least in this lifetime.
Freyja Greengrass draws conjectures based on facts, truths, things she can pick apart from the slightest tics.
It's eerie and annoying, and if he had a say, he supposes he'd prefer Amaris' knack for truth detection over blatant accusations. The Hufflepuff solely relied on intuition, and yet, it was as accurate (perhaps even more so) all the same. There was something about the comfort in gazing into her azure eyes that he can never seem to get enough of, unlike the pair of sharp analytical eyes that were on him right now.
His fellow Slytherin is someone of the same world he is. Growing up in a society filled with blood dichotomy and blood purist bullshit was just one of the few things they shared in common. She would be clever enough to have picked up the drastic change of his beliefs. Not to mention, she knew him well enough since their childhood.
He doubts he'd be able to trick her —the same person who, once upon a time, taught him on how to work on his lies— of all people.
So he settles for half-assed truths, and withholds as much information as he can.
.
"Since when do you smoke?" Freyja Greengrass had asked, when she caught him red-handed, a joint between his fingers as he sat along the edge of the Black Lake.
He looks over his shoulder to look at the lady in question, before drawing his gaze to the pack of cigarettes in his hands.
"I stole it from Sirius' room," he answers simply.
She must've taken his response as an invitation to join him because the older girl had then taken a seat on the rock behind him, narrowing her eyes albeit jokingly, "Ah, so aside from monopolizing my favorite spot on campus, you stole my pack of cigarettes."
He draws out a breath of smoke, "It's yours?"
"Mhm," his upperclassman nods, resting her chin against the palm of her hand as she gazed upon the murky waters in front of them, scoffing slightly, "Your brother took it from me when he realized what it does to your lungs. Watched it in one of those stupid Muggle ads."
Regulus' grip on the measly carton tightens, and she rolls her eyes at the gesture that doesn't go unnoticed.
"Relax, you can have it," the woman brushed him off, and yet, she wasn't able to escape his suspicions just yet.
"You won't nag me?"
"I'm not your mother," Freyja counters back with a snort.
"You act like an older sister, though," the boy grumbled in return, earning a mirthless laugh from his fellow pureblood.
"I had to make up for what your brother lacked."
He rolls his eyes at that. "You don't have to."
"Like how you didn't have to go out of your way to visit that friend of yours who made you that miracle potion out of the goodness of their heart?" she retorts just as easily.
Regulus scoffs, narrowing his eyes at such an underhanded comment. "First of all, low blow. That came out of nowhere and we agreed never to discuss it."
"Second," he doesn't fail to add, "I had a hand in that potion too."
It's Freyja's turn to roll her eyes at him, knowing it's futile to maintain such pretenses.
"And lastly," the boy finally cut to the chase. "I know that tone. It's not what you're thinking."
"Is it really, though?"
She can't help it. She had to pry.
But nevertheless— "She's a friend," Regulus insists, because that's all Amaris could be to him. Because it was already bad enough that they were platonically involved. Because he's not stupid enough to throw away his family and not foolish enough to put the person he cared about in danger.
He refused to follow in his cousin's footsteps.
Andromeda was a fool.
But it's not the first time Freyja Greengrass witnessed such an occurrence, either.
.
"Regulus," his fellow Slytherin sighs, "I'm far from daft. I know a lie when I hear of one."
"Then, you should also know when to drop it," he sassed back.
And if anything, he's only proving her point.
"Sure, if you give me her name," Freyja smirks, fully aware she's gotten under his skin.
He acts she just forced a checkmate, but honestly, it's just a name — She wants to say, and yet Regulus won't withdraw his glare, and she knows right then that he's protecting this mystery girl.
That there is something about this maiden that he's desperate to hide.
She just hopes —prays to Circe, and any other deity out there— that he won't be stupid enough to get caught.
.
"She's just a friend," Regulus repeats, and he sounds like he's trying to convince himself rather than the one who asked.
Freyja drops it.
'Finally,' he thinks to himself, but the older girl only takes it as an opportunity to swipe a cigarette from his hands.
She doesn't look him in the eye, but she does mutter in what barely sounds like agreement, "Well, she's something. That's for sure."
He could've sworn that he heard a scoff escape her lips, as if to call him out and say that the way he was protecting her can raise suspicions. As if to say, 'you're no different from your brother.'
Stupid. Naïve. Reckless.
Something about it grinds on his bones, in the same way that lying about his affection does. Because he's not a fool.
He knows how he feels, knows the name of that tumultuous emotion brewing in his chest whenever he's around Amaris Leclair. He refuses to admit it —to put a label in a way that meant acknowledgement — but at this point, he is almost certain that he knew what it was.
And worst of all, he knew: he couldn't be even more fucked.
It's only a matter of time until he would not be able escape the glaring truth.
.
.
.
OCTOBER 1976
"AMORTENTIA," HORACE SLUGHORN DRAWLED ON, motioning towards one of the many cauldrons and vials that were presented on the counter of the lab, "…Is the most powerful love potion in the world."
The maiden catches a glimpse of the pearlescent hue of the potion in front of them, glittering while he stirred the iridescent liquid. Swirls of smoke rise in distinctive puffs as it simmered within its cauldron, and she can't, for the life of her, seem to be able to tear her eyes away from it.
Their professor continued to elaborate, "It smells different to each person according to what attracts them. Often times, taking the scent of their beloved."
And just as he says so, Amaris Leclair takes a step closer to catch a whiff.
.
The first thing she smells is rain and musk, like the scent of the earth after a storm. It reminds her of the Dark Forest, of the Thestrals she's afraid of, and yet, the memory seemed to be of nothing but relief; of safety and solace.
And soon, she notices the scent's transition to something akin to Rosemary and Bergamot; akin to the warm and cozy kitchen just outside the Hufflepuff Common Room, the place she stumbles upon every night before her trek to the Astronomy Tower.
Somewhere down the line, there's a subtle hint of something she fails to name. It reminds her of the vast skies, of oceans and seas, smelling both warm and fresh… and something so familiar.
She can't quite put her finger on it, but for a moment, it relieves her of the fatigue that had plagued her the past few days.
.
Entranced, she almost drowned out their professor's voice explaining, "Amortentia doesn't create actual love. That would be impossible. However, it does cause powerful infatuation or obsession."
The Hufflepuff, much like her peers, finds herself drawn to the cauldron somehow. But just as she takes a step forward, a sharp tug pulls on her robe, causing her to stumble a few steps back, only halting when her back bumps against his hard chest.
"—And for that reason, it is probably the most dangerous potion in this room."
Such words render her thoughts silent, and she is gaping as the Potions Master covers the pot. Just then, she turns to catch a glimpse of the person who dragged her away from the crowd, only to be greeted by a familiar pair of gray irises.
Regulus, the perpetrator, gives her a look, as if to tell her: Why, Amaris, once again, you choose to disregard your own safety. Should I be worried about how keen you are to smell poisonous fumes?
As if they could read each other's minds, the Hufflepuff shakes her head and lightly jabs him with her elbow to rebuke him for such words.
But oh, if only it was just that.
Unbeknownst to them, despite how such a casual encounter can be easily forgotten, the discussion during that one class was not. Soon enough, love potions become the inspiration of the new hearsay among the fifth year students. Naturally, from hearsay emerge myths, and when spread enough, it can lead to some glorified misconception that indirectly caused a surge in new couples and casual romances among the student body.
"Amortentia mimics the scent of one's soulmate," they say.
The romanticization of the thought that there is somewhere out there for you, easily goads others to start searching. But, ever the skeptic, Pandora Lestrange had refuted their claims with the knowledge she held.
"Amortentia imitates the scent you're fond of, whether it's a place you find comfort in or a person you fancy. It's not mutually exclusive; nor does it lead you to someone you're bound to be with. In fact, it's precisely because you like them that it takes the scent of that person," the Ravenclaw had pointed out, even going as far as to provide an example.
"Say, you meet someone in their common room, and yet you're not particularly attached to that person, it could just be that you have an attachment to the place and not the person you happen to be with at that time," she explained, with a snort of derision. "Either those fools were easily swayed by such rumors and finally decided to act on their feelings after much denial, or it's all in their heads and they're experiencing a form of placebo after sniffing those fumes. I'm just glad no one actually dared to use the potion just yet."
And finally, it wouldn't be Pandora without a dash of cynicism— "Humans are romantics by nature, they love the thought that there's someone out there for them and are desperate enough to make such a fantasy happen."
"So which one are you?" Amaris had asked her anyway, knowing full well that her best friend definitely holds affection towards a certain someone.
Pandora grins slyly, "The one calculating the odds and checking to see whether the benefits of admitting my feelings outweigh the risk they pose."
"Oh, please. It's Xenophilius," the Hufflepuff states the obvious. "You're in good hands."
And though they eventually move past the subject, it doesn't prevent the blonde maiden from asking the boy in question anyway.
.
. . .
.
Amaris Leclair just so happened to find Xenophilius Lovegood in the library the following day.
She didn't believe the rumors per se; didn't think that the scent one can smell from a whiff of Amortentia would necessarily lead you to find someone you're meant to be with in the future. But she does believe that it didn't come out of nothing, that it would lead you to recognize one's feelings for someone that's already there.
So naturally, that oh-so-familiar scent that she can still vividly remember manages to pique her curiosity. And naturally, who better to ask than her friends?
.
"Xeno," Amaris had taken the opportunity to ask. "You've had Potions with the Gryffindors, right?"
"Yes?" the boy looked up from the notes he had been scribbling to give her a surprised expression. "Has the hearsay piqued your interest as well?"
"Guilty as charged," she smiled sheepishly. "I'm just curious, though. I've asked around, and I was wondering if it's the same case as yours… Call it a social experiment of sorts."
"You know I'm always open to hear ideas," He motions for her to continue, putting his quill down to show how he intends to listen attentively.
"For one," the maiden began. "Fabian claims he didn't think of anyone in particular, but he did smell grass and Peppermint, reminiscent of the Quidditch Field and Winter Holidays."
"That does sound quite like him. I don't recall anyone he seemed to be interested in," the Ravenclaw nodded in agreement.
"Yes, but that's about it…" Amaris observed. "Everyone else thought of someone when they encountered the potion… So, it's not that I believe in the rumors, but I think the mere scent of the potion does manage to elicit some feelings that are already there."
That certainly intrigued him.
"Might I ask who you thought of?" Xenophilius inquired and for a moment, a certain mop of raven hair pops in the back of her mind; but she has yet to confirm it and so—
She immediately shakes it off, before declaring, "Haven't found them."
Don't want to know just yet.
It's a half-truth.
Or maybe denial, a voice in her head mocks her.
"Is that so?"
.
"Point is…" Amaris changes the subject in a haste. "Gideon answered Butterbeer— y'know how much he loves hanging out at Three Broomsticks, I wouldn't be surprised— but he blushed red when I pried, so I'm calling it," the Hufflepuff snickered.
A similar smile graced his face at the thought of their mutual friend.
"I think Mary's in a similar situation, but she won't tell me who, no matter how much I ask. And she's been acting weird since talks of Amortentia blew up, so I dropped it."
"I suppose, not everyone's of a fortunate circumstance," he mutters in recognition.
"And well, I know who Pandora fancies, so I didn't bother to ask…" She continued, before finally stumbling upon the question she meant to ask, "So what about you, Xeno? What did you smell?"
"Lavender and parchment," he tells her wistfully.
"Oh," Amaris asks, realizing, "Like the library?"
"Like Pandora," Xenophilus doesn't beat around the bush. He just smiles at her wryly.
His answer comes to no surprise, but his frankness definitely does the trick. Upon hearing so, Amaris' expression immediately softens at the thought of her two friends.
'Merlin, help these two,' she thinks, but instead, she says, "I never got to ask… What made you fall for her in the first place?"
"Is this still part of your survey?" the boy raised an eyebrow.
"No, it's for my personal satisfaction," she assured him. "And well… I've been trying to figure things out for myself. I'd be grateful to have someone to base it on."
"It's a culmination of all the little things," Xenophilius gazes towards his notebook, to the edge of the pages where a certain maiden had scribbled down annotations. His eyes light up as he comes across each word, and likewise, it's impossible to miss the warmth in his tone. "But if I were to choose a single thing I adore most, then I suppose it would be the way she thinks. She has a beautiful mind; daring and simply… extraordinary."
.
The tips of his ears match the blush on his cheeks, Amaris notes. She's reminded of Pandora, of the distance between her two friends when they walk side by side, close enough to brush fingertips and yet far enough never to cross the threshold.
"It's always a pleasure," she can vividly remember the maiden's response when posed with the same question, "To hear about the way he perceives the world."
And honestly, it only makes her think.
.
"You know," Amaris sighs in exasperation. "I still don't get why you two aren't together. We know you like each other. You know you like each other. All this pinning is making my head hurt."
Xenophilius' gentle smile turns somber and yet all the more meaningful.
"Amaris," he speaks as if he were talking to a child. "Are you aware of the reason why Slytherins aren't as affected by the current talks among the school?"
"Huh," The Hufflepuff grows to realize this peculiarity. "Now that you're pointing it out. It is strange."
"It's because most of them are purebloods," he says as a matter-of-fact.
And not for the first time, Amaris Leclair is dumbfounded to know what this dichotomy truly entailed.
"In pureblood culture, your romantic affections come close to nothing. It's why there are marriages of convenience, predetermined engagements, the search for an eligible husband and the perfect bride to bear an heir... Matrimony is the establishment of a house. They call it family, but those who are not part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight would never be able to comprehend the depth of such blood ties. To join two well established pureblood families together would secure wealth, honor and blood status," the Ravenclaw enlightened her.
Not for the first time she wonders why to purebloods, "family" is such a heavy burden to bear.
"Now, I'm not saying all purebloods are like that. The Prewetts, Weasleys and the Potters are known for not bending to such outdated customs," he assures her that there is change —there is hope — and yet, also the crushing weight of reality. "But among all our friends, Pandora is skewered deeply into their society. I would not wish harm to befall her, simply because of a mere infatuation."
"After all," he laughs mirthlessly, "The Lovegoods have nothing but a title to their name. Although pureblood, I doubt the Sacred Families consider us as such, considering other blood statuses that've been integrated into our family tree. I would have nothing to offer."
And he's right.
Only a fool would question such.
Despite such, Amaris musters the words to say, "You're wrong, Xeno."
"Perhaps not about pureblood society and other trivia you shared, but…" She looks him straight in the eye, to tell him the one thing she can be sure of. "You mean so much more to her than you can ever imagine."
AMARIS LECLAIR WAS PERPLEXED to have only realized the gravity of the distinction of their worlds they lived in. She knew they were different. She knew she could only hope to understand them, and yet never be able to perceive what they have gone through. And she knew that despite all her persistence in allowing Regulus to see a glimpse of her world as a means to resolve his prejudice, it wasn't as if she was ever able to understand what it's like to live in his shoes.
What a hypocrite, she scorns herself.
Sure, she knows some of his grievances about his family. And sure, she knows the numerous dos and don'ts regarding the division of their blood statuses. But despite all her efforts to understand the boy, she has failed to actually do so.
The maiden spites herself for only coming up with the questions now, after recalling the way he had sobbed against her shoulder that evening she found him at the Great Lake.
Needless to say, with such a thing consuming her mind, it takes a toll on her studies.
.
In hopes of making up for all the lectures she failed to pay attention to, the maiden took it upon herself to frequent the library and surround herself with books as if in doing so, she would, in her words, 'be able to absorb the knowledge she requires.'
The boy behind her snorts, as if he actually believed that she would think so.
"It's a joke. Give me some credit," she defends. Besides, she doubts such a thing is even possible, but it didn't hurt to try and make him smile.
"Though, with the way your review is looking futile, it would almost look like that was what you were intending to do," Regulus certainly made a point to say so.
.
Despite initially being surprised by his sudden approach, they easily fall back into their usual exchange, so much so that the boy doesn't even think twice about sitting beside her to help her go through the books she'd been reading.
Ever since their encounter last month, she realizes that the distance between them had gradually shrunk, especially considering the way he always seemed to gravitate towards her as if it was only natural.
Likewise, she can't tell if she's making a habit of sniffing the people around her, but when Regulus leans in to catch a better view of her exercise book, she catches a whiff of something she never expected him to smell like.
Cigarettes and smoke.
And so with eyes narrowed due to both suspicion and concern, Amaris asks bluntly, "Since when do you smoke?"
"Huh. You can smell it on me?" the boy only returns the question but she knew him better than that by now.
"Reg," she grumbles. "You're evading the question."
He goes as far as to tease her with a subtle smirk, "Boy, you'd do anything to get out of studying, would you?"
"You're way more important," she counters easily. "So don't go turning this around on me."
"You—" he stammered, still unable to stomach the way she always expressed her affection bluntly. Despite watching her for this long, he wonders how it was still possible for her to render him speechless.
Amaris repeats, refusing to ignore the subject, "When did you start smoking?"
The Slytherin looks away, and heaves a sigh as he finally gives her an answer, "Since we got back from Hogwarts…"
"How'd I never notice?" she mutters to herself, but it doesn't go unnoticed.
Before she begins her spiral of self blame, he beats her to it. "Well, for one, I make it a habit not to smoke around you…"
"Why?"
"I'm not quite fond of the thought of you inhaling this crap"
"But you can?" she accuses.
Regulus rubs the back of his head, still refusing to look her in the eye as he admits, "It calms me down."
"And you're…" the maiden asked cautiously, "…Okay?"
Hearing the concern in her voice, the boy finally caves and meets her sapphire blue eyes, "Perfectly fine."
Somehow, she doubts that.
But when she asks again— "Truly?"
He responds as if it were just as easy as breathing, "I don't find much need for it when I'm around you."
She can't help but wonder what the fuck that means but at least, she manages to plead, "It'll still be better if you stop altogether, so can you do that? Please?"
"Why?"
"It's bad for you, and it would be terrible if you make a habit out of it," she chews on her lip, recalling all those warnings her sister had given her about the use of tobacco.
Too busy fretting, she almost misses the way he sighs yet again.
"…Alright."
"Look I know you don't want to and it'll be a difficult habit to break but—"
"Amaris, I already said I'll do as you say."
"What?" the Hufflepuff turns to him in surprise as if she couldn't believe his words, "Really? That easy?"
.
In truth, she could ask for the stars and the moon and he'd spend decades learning magic to bring them to her.
But the worst part of that, he believes, is her unyielding faith in him —the way that she would never doubt his capabilities; the way that she is the only one who dares to believe he can be good; and the way that, in doing so, he might spend his waking days trying to live up to her vision— because that was a power in itself, that she was likely not aware that she held.
Besides, Amaris rarely asked him for favors. What more, when she did, it had always been for his benefit.
Salazar, how could he ever deny her?, he thinks, but instead, he settles for pathetic excuses in an attempt to trick her as much as he was trying to do so to himself.
.
"Well, if you can smell it from me, I'd imagine it would be a nightmare if my mother were to catch me with those Muggle curios. That woman has the nose of a bloodhound," Regulus scoffs.
A small smile escapes her lips as she calls him by his name, "Reg?"
"Hm?"
"Thank you," she momentarily teaches for his hand to tell him earnestly, like his well being was her own selfish wish.
He doesn't drop pretenses, even going as far as to say, "I'm not doing it for you, Leclair."
"So long as you look out for yourself, I don't care who you're doing it for. If anything, you should be doing it for yourself," she chuckles before sighing in relief as if he had done her a favor.
"I thought you knew by now. Slytherins are always keen on self-preservation," Regulus returns the smile slyly, assuring her as he turns his hand to allow their palms to meet.
Just as he says so, the boy catches sight of a particular Ravenclaw, and lifts the charm he cast that prevented them from being noticed by onlookers.
"Speaking of which, there's my cue to leave."
He gives her a squeeze before letting go and stepping away.
And though she manages to catch him leaving, his touch lingers in the form of the butterflies swarming in her stomach and in the heat that rushes to her face.
.
. . .
.
Pandora doesn't talk when she takes a seat at the same place Regulus was at just a couple seconds ago. She stares too long for it to be nothing, and she thinks too hard that she had the look on her face that often comes out when she's trying to decipher a difficult problem, trying to figure out the right rune for a charm, trying to find the exact words to explain the abstract workings in her mind.
Her eyes light up for a moment, like a puzzle locks in place, the metaphorical lightbulb over her head.
Ah, Amaris can tell. She found the answer.
And yet the groan that escapes her best friend's lips mean that it was anything but pleasant.
"Oh dear Circe," Pandora heaves the most exasperated sigh that Amaris ever got from her.
"What—"
What's wrong?, she wanted to ask what the hell was that about. But the Hufflepuff doesn't get a word in edgewise before the dark haired girl accused, "You fancy Regulus Black."
It's an attack Amaris Leclair was wholly unprepared for.
The blue-eyed maiden winces, she wants to ask what the fuck made her think that when she hasn't even figured out her own feelings for herself.
Then again, subtlety has never been Pandora Lestrange's strong suit.
"You do, don't you?" the Ravenclaw demands an answer, despite knowing what it was.
Instead, Amaris hissed, looking around the library in a panic, "Say it louder, I don't think everyone heard you!"
.
"Shhh!" Madam Pince's voice cut through them. Her stone-cold glare was terrifying by itself, but even more so when they're being threatened to be kicked out of the place.
Pandora raises a book to keep them out of view, and whispers, despite the evident warning from their librarian.
"You're a terrible liar, you know that?" she tells her friend flatly.
To which Amaris crosses her arms and blatantly denies. "Nuh-uh! Most people believe me!"
"Because most people don't think Hufflepuffs can lie. House stereotypes and all that bollocks," Pandora rolls her eyes.
The Hufflepuff in question mumbles petulantly, "Well, it was still working in my favor until you came along."
"And here I thought people were only under placebo or in denial," Pandora ignores her and mutters as if she were talking to herself. " Of course, you'd introduce a third case."
"What did I do?"
"I didn't know there were still people oblivious enough to have only figured out their feelings just now," the Ravenclaw points her quill at her. "What was it that Muggles say? Dense as a brick?"
"I don't even know if it was Regulus I smelled from the potion!" Amaris attempts to justify herself. "It could just be a hoax! I'm thinking too much. It might have not even been a person— You know, like you said. Placebo and all that."
"Alright, now you're in denial."
"It's true!"
"You know what I think?" Pandora huffed, continuing before even receiving a response to tell her to go on. "I think you're lying to yourself, just when you finally figured it out. In fact, I think you weren't even trying to find out because you're terrified of being proven right."
Amaris furrows her eyebrows and tilts her head in confusion. "That doesn't even make sense. I've been trying to figure out what I smelled, Dora."
"Amaris, you don't need a potion to know what's in your heart. It's always been right in front of you," her best friend reprimands her. Though, not without adding, "Although, you have to admit, it is quite ironic how it took a love potion for you to recognize the true subject of your affections."
Pandora Lestrange is rarely wrong. That, Amaris willingly believes in. But for once, she refuses to agree… Because it would be a tragedy, wouldn't it? To jeopardize a friendship, to have a love that's unrequited, to fall for someone that lives in a world entirely different from yours.
So Amaris Leclair refuses to admit it.
(But she dwells on it for far too many nights for it to be nothing.)
NOWADAYS, WHEN AMARIS LECLAIR DREAMS, she feels like she's barely slept. She's running on sugar and coffee to get through the day, but inevitably she crashes and burns out in the evening.
"If it's too much for you, you can head back and collapse in your dormitory," Regulus goes as far to assure her when she forces herself to meet him at the Astronomy that night.
But even so— "Promises should be kept," she mumbled stubbornly, leaning against one of the pillars, treading between a state of awake and asleep.
Her eyes are shut, but she listens to his voice intently, and she could feel his eyes on her as if it were a sixth sense.
"We never promised to meet."
'I promised to stay by your side,' she yearns to protest, but she's too sleepy to bother opening her mouth a second time.
When a beat passes in silence, the Slytherin sighs as if she were troubling him, and yet she knows him well enough by now to know that it's a farce.
He said it for her benefit.
But it's for his benefit that she stays because although he'd never admit it, Regulus Black was even lonelier than he seemed.
.
Instead, he stops in his attempts to convince her to return to her room in order to tackle the root of the problem itself.
"What's been keeping you up, anyway?"
Amaris laughs mirthlessly in her head.
She dreamt of a boy, much like before. Except she knows that mop of raven hair and that pair of silver eyes. Knows his name. Knows the way he talked, the way he acted. And most importantly, she knows he's way out of her league.
'You,' she wanted to say as an answer to his question.
She barely opens her eyes to look at him, but nevertheless, she gives a smile that's part sleepy and sheepish. "It's just a bad dream."
"What did you—"
Amaris cuts him off, eyes closed before she drifts back to her half-asleep state, "And before you ask, it's not a prophecy… Or whatever you and Pandora seem to believe I can do."
Whether or not he gave her a snarky response after that, she's deaf to his words as she begins to nod off.
.
The next thing she knows, she wakes up only a couple of minutes later, to find him reading a grimoire beside her, closer than before. She's vaguely aware that their shoulders were touching, that she huddled to his side, that he had gone out of his way to let her sleep comfortably.
She's even leaning against his shoulder. Amaris realizes only when she looks up to meet his eyes, but she doesn't have the strength to move away.
Regulus spares her a glance before turning back to his book as if to tell her to continue her nap. And her chest tightens.
Amaris heaves a deep breath as if it would relieve her of the sensation and buries her head against his shoulder. But if anything, it somehow makes things worse.
.
Free from the scent of cigarettes aside from the slight hint of smoke, she catches a whiff of his usual scent, and to no surprise, it matches all the notes of that godforsaken potion
Somehow, she wants to cry.
'Of course, it's you,' her mind supplies.
"It's a culmination of all the little things," she remembers the way Xenophilius spoke about Pandora.
In her case— 'It's the entirety of his being,' she thinks in retrospect.
Most especially the contradictions he claimed as flaws. From his crass words yet thoughtful gestures to the rare cases of mischief he seemed to share with his brother. It's in the way his actions spoke louder than words. The kindness that laid beneath his jagged edges. The cowardly vulnerable side of him that he was so desperate to hide.
With the rush of emotions swirling inside her, Amaris thinks her chest is fit to explode.
.
Regulus snaps her out of her thoughts with a simple question, "Leclair, are you… sniffing me?"
Something akin to a squeak escapes her.
If she was barely awake earlier, she surely was now.
He's looking at her in wry amusement, but even if she knows he's teasing, she answers in a manner that would only raise suspicions.
"N-No, I'm not!" Amaris stammered, voice high-pitched and panicked.
"You're a terrible liar," he laughs. And she can't really argue against that.
"Dora said that too," the Hufflepuff groaned in defeat.
"She's onto something for once."
"In— In my defense," Amaris objects. "I was just curious about something."
"Of what?" Regulus gives her the opportunity to explain herself.
"Of what people smell like—" she cuts herself off, pitch rising in mortification. "I know it sounds weird, but it's not for creepy purposes or anything. I swear it's not!"
He's not daft. He can hear people talk even when he tries to turn a deaf ear. There was only one plausible reason given the circumstances. And with that, the Slytherin frowns, "Is this about that potion Slughorn taught us?"
"…Maybe?"
Regulus looks far from convinced, so she caves instantly.
"Okay, Yes but—"
"What did you smell?" the boy asks bluntly.
It's mostly curiosity, he'd also defend. But he's not thinking with his head right now. At least, not really. Especially when it came to this girl.
"A lot of things…" Amaris trailed on, unable to come up with the right words that were both true and incapable of giving her away. "Um, rain and— and something both fresh and woody… There was some sea salt, I think? I can't really explain it."
"Hmm."
"You?"
"Sunflowers and sandalwood," he answered like he was certain. The smile that escapes his lips is mirthless; his eyes, sullen. And she wonders who made him feel like that. "There was also a tinge of citrus... It reminds me of a time between summer and spring."
Of the sweet taste of honey and lemon drops, he doesn't say.
And for a moment, Amaris finds herself relieved.
Because that couldn't possibly smell like her.
She thinks of how she's never been around sunflower fields. Of how he couldn't possibly return her affections.
And though she tells herself, she's relieved —because she spared herself from heartbreak; spared them both from the tragedy of an estranged friendship, or worse, an ill-fated romance— she also feels an empty ache in her chest.
For a second time that night, she kinda feels like crying.
But instead, she musters a bright smile for both their sakes; because she would always put Regulus before herself.
"Well, then, I'll let you know if I find someone who does."
.
"No need," Regulus snorts, because really, he already knows who it is. But it was just like her to say something like that. Too nosy for her own good. "I'd rather you don't go around sniffing people."
"I don't sniff just anyone," she mumbles petulantly, letting out a yawn.
He figures she's sleepy once again. Likely exhausted by the sudden display of mortification he had the pleasure of watching just a moment ago.
Then again, he doesn't let her doze off without reminding, "Ari, it's strange."
"Alright, alright," she concedes, eyes heavy. And he honestly hopes she's not just saying that to get him of her back.
"And you know that the rumors are only exaggerated, so best to stop searching for who you smelled from that potion," he even adds. (Though, perhaps, that bit mostly came from the Slytherin in him.)
"Was'not searching," Amaris slurred, letting out another yawn, before drifting back to sleep.
"Liar," he retorts to no one who would hear.
.
The vibration of his chest as he chuckles is the last thing she's aware of before she nods off for the nth time. She doesn't feel the way he moved her head back to lean it against his shoulder, doesn't hear the way he whispers "sweet dreams" in her ears, and doesn't know about the emotional warfare in his head as he watches her blonde locks fall against her face, tempted to brush them away.
The way he almost reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear makes him think that he is at the universe's mercy, having grown attached to this girl.
Because he knows, despite all else, Amaris Leclair is different. Different from the burden he carries, and the leeches he surrounds himself with.
They take and they take and they take. A bit of his time. A piece of his soul.
And yet all she does is give and give and give. That he is left greedy and needy for more. She is like the smoke smoldering in his chest. Reminiscent of drowning, and yet an addiction he is unable to yield.
He wonders when it was that she had become his vice, but beyond that, he knows better than anyone that Amaris Leclair is a misfortune he chose.
And in truth, it's not like he'd have it any other way.
WHEN AMARIS LECLAIR meets her friends for breakfast, after having the best sleep she's had in a while, she poses them with a question. With her epiphany just last night, and the growing dread of her unrequited feelings, it's the best she can do really.
"What do you do if you fall for someone you can't actually be with?"
Pandora knows exactly who this is about; but as much as she wanted to argue that Regulus Black is nowhere near worthy of her best friend, she also knew better than to jeopardize Amaris' relationship with the Slytherin boy. (If anything, she believes, he's perfectly capable of doing that on his own.)
So she gives Amaris a say, because it was unlike the girl to have the courage to face her feelings, and yet, it was just like her to ask what people thought at every turn.
"Easy. You have two choices," the Ravenclaw trailed on as if it were a simple arithmancy problem. "The first would be to do something about it and tell them… Conquer the odds and all that—"
"Or you don't," Mary MacDonald finished without missing a beat.
She is unaware of Amaris' circumstance, simply unperturbed after the series of odd questions the girl had gone and asked them since the past week. But she says with certainty, and that criminal stubbornness Gryffindors were known to have —with that look in their eye that tells you it's impossible to change their mind— "You suck it up and get it through your head that you can't have them… That it's for both of your sakes."
Pandora raises an eyebrow, surprised and mildly concerned "You going through something, Mary?"
"Maybe…" Mary avoids her eyes and picks on her food, before glancing back at Amaris. "But, if it helps, you should steer clear from them until you know your heart's safe. And then, you can finally try to be a better friend."
"What if they can't afford to lose your company and what if you can't bear to leave their side? What if… You just do what you can to be the friend they deserve even if you'll pine for them forever because in the end, you care about their happiness first and nothing else matters?" Amaris manages to pile on more queries. Though, it ends up sounding more rhetorical than she intended, as if she had already known what she should do.
Mary points her fork at her and tells her simply, "Then, I'd call you a fool."
To that, Pandora has to nod in agreement, despite the sheepish smile she offers in assurance.
Likewise, the Gryffindor gives her a wry grin.
Amaris sighs in defeat, and yet, despite all else, Mary's next words come as a comfort to her.
"But, hey, welcome to the club."
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a/n: i know it's been awhile, but i hope you forgive me with this chapter (ft. 7k words of mutual pining).