Chapter 4
"What the fuck, Selene?"
Dorcas had changed. The last time she'd seen her, that summer night in late July at Potter manor, her sister still had that lightness, that little smile that clung to her lips every time one of their friends blurted out some ridiculous remark. Dorcas had spent the entire evening slumped in the wooden Adirondack chair near the fire, stuffing marshmallow in her mouth until she nearly passed out from all the sugar. Peter had teased her for eating so much, while stealing sweets from her plastic bag when she wasn't looking. She'd been happy, then.
All gone now. All but that sense of purpose.
She'd cut her hair to her jaw to make it more manageable during a fight, but it still twirled around her face in the cold, late afternoon wind. Dark shadows traced her eyes. She'd lost weight, too, as if she were too busy to remember eating three meals a day.
"I'll leave you to it." Remus bolted to go back inside, but both sisters glued him in place with the same look.
There'd better be a witness.
Selene didn't bother hiding her bitterness. "I didn't think you'd actually show up."
"I had an hour to kill."
"Wow. Lucky me. You could have told me you were coming."
Dorcas' last letter dated back to the beginning of October and comprised five generous sentences scrambled on the recycled page of a notepad. Needless to say, it had ended up in the common room fireplace.
"So that I didn't catch you and your boyfriend holding hands at Madam Puddifoot? Seriously? Regulus fucking Black?"
"There we go." Selene threw both arms in the air with an exasperated exhale. "Let it all out, Dorcas."
"Don't take that tone with me!" Her sister barked. "It wasn't enough to prevent me from cursing the Slytherins last year, you had to sleep with one too? Brilliant!" She had a dry laugh, one that had Selene's nails dug into her palm, fists held tight. "Of all the ways to finally get involved in the war, you chose to shag a Death Eater."
"Why do you care so much? You've never been interested in my life."
"This isn't about you, Selene!"
Something snapped inside her. The sass and the short-sighed temper, she got used to it when they grew up, but that sense of self-importance—especially when Dorcas believed herself holier than the Hogwarts founders—made Selene sick to the stomach. In her sister's opinion, literally everything, from the way Selene styled her hair to her bloody sex life had to do with the war.
The Three Broomsticks' door swung open, its rusty, used hinges screeching with the movement. She glimpsed at the newcomers and sighed as Dorcas took out her wand. Attracted by the smoke of trouble… Black, Crouch and Rosier were armed too, and if Regulus had the decency to appear a tad tense, Crouch smiled with all his teeth, eager to get into a fight.
He strutted forward, overly casual. "Dorcas Meadowes" he drawled, stretching the syllables of her name. "You're a tricky little witch to find."
"Take another step, Crouch, and I'll poke your eyes out."
"Cute." He glanced back at Regulus. "She's mouthier than the one you have. Can I?"
They exchanged a long look, an entire silent conversation only Rosier seemed to catch up on. Regulus flicked his gaze between the three Gryffindors, then ended up shaking his head. "School grounds," he said. "We don't want any trouble, now do we?"
Her sister laughed, adopting a defensive position. "You think you could best me? You?"
"Dorcas," Remus warned, taking a step towards her. "They're still students. We shouldn't—"
"I don't take my orders from you, Remus."
"If Dumbledore wanted us out of school and captured by his little secret society, why hasn't he done anything?" Regulus asked in the arrogant tone he had perfected over the years.
Dorcas' wand jolted. "How can you possibly know about the Order?" Her eyes darted to Selene, accusatory. "You told him!"
"What?" Her hands shot up. "No! I didn't tell anyone."
"How else would he know? You're the only one foolish enough to spread your legs for someone like him."
Selene recoiled. Dorcas' wand was now pointed at her. At her own sister. Dumfounded, she didn't even take hers out. She didn't take a step back either, she just stared and wondered—a fleeting, hopeless thought—if their fractured relationship could ever be repaired.
Regulus was beside her in an instant, wand straight at Dorcas' chest. She gripped his wrist at his side, but the Slytherin didn't take his icy eyes off his target. "Don't be an idiot, Meadowes." The name was the same, yet it was eons away from the way he said Selene's. "Lower that wand."
"I can't let you walk away with that information."
Remus reached for his wand too, but a simple shake of Crouch's head had him put both palms up in surrender. He looked over his shoulder at the entrance of the Three Broomsticks, unquestionably hoping for Sirius to join them, but the door remained closed, and except for a couple of unaware walkers a few alleys further, the street was deserted.
Regulus sneered at Dorcas' boiling anger. "The Order of the Phoenix is common knowledge. You kept talking about it last year, prancing and bragging about joining. Made it all to easy for us to draft a list of Dumbledore's puppets." His smirk was lethal. "Your name's almost at the top, by the way. Between Moody and Longbottom."
"You fucking snake! I'll have you sent to Azkaban before you graduate."
A purple lightning surged from Dorcas' wand straight for Regulus. He deflected the spell, making it crash into the side of a building, bricks exploding in a cloud of dust on impact. He gestured Rosier and Crouch not to intervene, since they had both taken position on either side of Dorcas, but the amused haughtiness had faded from his face. Selene recognized that muted light in his eyes, the dangerous glaze shielding his irises.
"Regulus…"
" I know," he snapped. A sigh left him, then he lowered his wand, even as Crouch blasted him a revolted glare.
Crouch's indignation couldn't compare, however, with the absolute disgust and betrayal written all over Dorcas' face as she analysed her sister. "You're taking their side now?"
"I'm on the same side as you."
"Are you?"
Her sister's eyes lowered to the minimal distance between Regulus and her, to her firm grip on his wrist. Selene released him, as if burned. His expression remained composed, but he shot her a quick look and his hand moved for hers before closing into a tight fist at his side.
Selene was overcome by a burning rush of embarrassment, anger, and guilt. Even the stiff wind didn't temper the fire brewing under her skin. She was sick of pretending, sick of cowering before the gazes of others and hiding her desires for the sake of appearances. Fuck it. Fuck it.
She laced her fingers through his and Regulus didn't pull back.
Dorcas flinched, as if Selene had slapped her, then pure, complete despair deformed her face. "Do you have any idea what I've been doing since August?" Her free hand slammed her chest. "I'm putting my life on the line, my life, to fight people like him. Then I find out you're shagging Death Eaters behind my back, that you're siding with them. Do you realize how fucked up that is?"
"How can I know what you've been doing? You haven't written to me!"
"I'M BUSY!"
"SO AM I!" Selene inhaled deeply, Regulus' thumb brushing the back of her hand. "Yet I still find time to ask about you, to write to you."
She snorted. "Busy doing what? Playing quidditch and being a slag?"
Rosier had crossed half the distance between them, wand pointed straight at Dorcas' face, but it was Regulus cold, murderous expression that seemed to shake her the most, enough to make her lower her wand.
The two sisters glared at each other, two versions of a broken mirror.
"Dorcas, come on," Remus said softly. "This won't help anything. Why don't you join us for a drink? Sirius is inside; he'll be happy to see you."
Dorcas picked up her bag. "I don't have time for this. Coming here was a mistake."
"Please, you can take a break. This war isn't on your shoulders alone."
"Voldemort doesn't take breaks." Exhaustion spoke for Dorcas, the slight whine in her tone betrayed how tired she really was. When she looked at her, Selene didn't recognize the woman facing her. Perhaps Dorcas didn't recognize her either. "He's a Death Eater, Selene. Open your eyes."
With a final, deadly look at Regulus, Dorcas disapparated in a sneaky gush of wind that had her wonder what missions her sister had been doing these past few months to learn how to apparate silently. A crevasse split her chest in half, but she didn't tear her gaze from the spot her sister had disappeared from. For sure, she'd come back. Apologize. But the wind blew, dry leaves rustled on the pavement, misty rain dropped from the clouds, and Dorcas stayed away.
Regulus squeezed her hand, his breath brushing her ear. "Are you okay?"
She nodded; the lie easier to tell without words. If he saw her deception, he didn't push. Rosier and Crouch had left already, but Remus lingered, swaying on his gangly legs while ruffling through his pack for another cigarette. His gaze flicked between the two of them, assessing.
"I assume you're not coming back inside?"
"I'm bloody done with today," Selene admitted. "Will you tell Sirius I had to leave?"
"Yeah, sure." The Marauder lit his cigarette with a touch of his index and pinned her down with a knowing look. "Take good care of yourself, right, Selene?"
"I always do."
Remus inhaled the smoke, silently promising he would keep her secret until she was ready to reveal it. Sirius would learn it at some point, but she trusted Remus' word with her life. He'd never betray her. He never had.
Notwithstanding his impartiality, she felt his amber eyes burning her back until Regulus and she disappeared down the uneven paved road. The Slytherin didn't wait for them to be out of sight to slung an arm around her shoulders and kiss her temple. She leaned further into him, the searing warmth of his body thawing the icy knife Dorcas had planted inside her heart.
Selene swished her legs across the emerald-green bedsheets, marvelling at the softness. Nothing like the worn flannel draping her own bed in the Gryffindor tower. Despite fooling around for an hour, the fabric was still cool to the touch. Typical. Slytherins wouldn't allow themselves to sleep in anything less than luxurious silk.
Regulus' dormitory lacked the warmth and comfort of the Gryffindor common room, yet there was a sense of opulence that she hadn't found anywhere else in the castle. She might have scoffed at their regality had she not discovered how incredibly comfortable their beds were.
The Gryffindor sunk deeper in the downy mattress, putting a leg and arm over his naked body, her head on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry for earlier."
He seemed surprised. "Why are you apologizing?"
"Because it's my fault if she tried to curse you." Her nails scratched the pale valley below his navel. He responded in kind, a thumb brushing the side of her breast. "Dorcas overheard Remus and I talk about you."
"What did he say about us?"
She made a noncommittal shrug, her attention riveted on the goosebump her fingers created by dancing on his skin. "The usual. Although he's a lot less concerned than I would have expected."
"Lupin is the only reasonable one in this group. Weirdly." A short, incredulous chuckle left him, but he didn't share the reason behind it.
"You respect him."
"He's the only one of them I would apprehend facing on a battlefield. Potter is predictable, my brother too impulsive." He paused, thinking. "Evans can be dangerous, but she would hesitate, giving me time to get the upper hand. Your sister wouldn't, though."
No, in a real duel, Dorcas wouldn't hesitate.
"I've never seen my sister lose a fight."
"She doesn't have many weaknesses," he agreed. "That's why she's near the top of our list."
"What does it mean? You said she's just below Moody, right?"
"The most dangerous people, the ones we should look out for, are at the top."
Selene understood so little of her sister, of the life she was leading as one of the Order's top fighters. Or tracker. Spy. Whatever she was doing. Dorcas had always been a bright yet discrete witch, but once she'd picked a goal, nothing could throw her off course. Not even common sense. Moody was probably delighted with her unshakable eagerness.
"What are your orders for people on the list?"
She looked up to meet his silver gaze. They were playing a hazardous line, talking so openly about the war. They'd never done so before. She expected him to deflect her question with something else, but once again, he replied with honesty, as if he had nothing to hide.
"Capture on sight. Bring before the Dark Lord. Barty would've, if I hadn't stopped him."
Dread crept up on her. Dorcas would kill herself before letting Death Eaters kidnap her. That, Selene was convinced of.
"I should write to her."
Regulus' eyes flashed with caution. "Don't put that into writing. Telling her about the list and where she stands was warning enough. She's clever; she'll know what it means."
He was right, though. Back in London, Dorcas was probably already talking about the list with Moody, elaborating a careful plan to steal it from Voldemort. Regulus had put himself on the line for sharing that secret with her.
"Thank you for the warning."
"I didn't do it for her."
Selene looked away, settling more comfortably on his chest as he pushed her hair away from her face. Never mind Regulus' cruelness; his softness was the noose around her throat.
A desperate laugh almost escaped her as she closed her eyes at the gentle touch.
She was so fucked.
"Your sister will forgive you. Don't worry too much about it."
Dorcas was the most resentful person Selene had ever met. Even more than James Potter, and that said something. Rancour would poison her blood to death, but even then, she'd never forgive someone who wronged her.
Much like the young man on which she laid, to be honest. Regulus was one for resentment as much as anyone else, but his pride would be the end of him. The same pride had prevented the two brothers from reaching a truce all these years.
"Do you think Sirius will ever forgive you?"
His fingers stilled.
"He's looking for a reason to. The problem is… I'll never forgive him."
Various versions of their tragic story circulated between Hogwarts dormitories, each more implausible than the next. As a friend of Sirius, she estimated her knowledge of the situation was quite accurate, for she heard it from his own mouth. Yet, the rough edges of reality had been smoothed by the teller. Selene hadn't been heartless enough to push details out of him. No matter how detached he seemed, this night of July 1976 had scarred him for life.
He'd left his little brother alone. He apparated on James' doorstep without even having passed his license, splinched, bruised, barely breathing. Barely alive.
"He would have died. He had no choice."
"I'm well aware of what my mother is capable of. I was there that night." A sharp sigh escaped him. His fingers resumed their exploration. "I got him out of the house."
Stunned, she tilted her head to peek at him. Regulus' lips were pressed into a thin life, eyes riveted to the posters of his bed despite being miles away from the Slytherin dormitory.
Sirius had never mentioned it. Perhaps Remus knew, and that's why he was convinced Regulus could still switch side.
The thought broke her treacherous, weakened heart.
What if?
"Have you ever thought about joining—"
" Don't. Don't go there."
He looked down, meeting her dark eyes. Irritation flickered on his beautiful stone-carved features, and for a moment, she loathed herself for asking a question she had sworn not to mention.
"Okay."
Selene shifted to lean on an elbow, raising her body to put her mouth on his. Gentle, an apology of some sort. Their kiss was soft, a sugared delicacy. A bright contrast with the rough way he'd taken her lips earlier when they'd reached his empty dormitory. Regulus sighed, sliding a hand from her cheek to the back of her head, humming against her mouth.
"Selene," he breathed out.
No. No.
A plead. Her name was a plead she had no strength to answer. She captured his face with two hands as she drove her tongue inside his mouth so he could taste their earlier decadence. When he moaned, she almost cried in relief; a few more minutes of peace, that's all she was asking for.
The hand at her ribs slipped down, pulling at her thigh to position her above him. Indulging his lust was the least of her concerns. She had recognized the tone of his voice. Knew what was coming.
Blinding herself, she stopped answering the warning calls. Every single one of his kisses tasted foreboding; she felt it each time he paused for a second longer between each push of his mouth to collect himself. So she rolled her hips, again and again, hoping the luscious motion would distract him. Selene feared his common sense more than the Grim.
He pulled back with a sharp inhale.
"We should stop this."
With a frustrated sigh, she allowed a moment to gather her thoughts, forehead on his.
It wasn't fair. She was the one supposed to put an end to it, to stop their encounters from happening again. She had made her decision while walking back to the castle, his arm draped across her shoulders. He had held her close—too bloody close—while whispering ridiculous snarky thoughts to get her mind off the confrontation with her sister, his nose brushing against her hair. Her laugh had echoed all across the courtyard, frank enough to make him smile too.
People had seen them. She hadn't cared.
She'd felt it in her racing heart, how dangerous their dalliance was. How easy it would be to tip over the cliff's edge. They had to stop seeing each other before it was too late to walk away uninjured.
But Selene was a bloody coward, a perjury to her house.
He had to say it because she couldn't do it.
We should stop this.
Whatever this was.
"I know," she finally said, her voice as cold as she could make it.
Regulus sat down, his back against the headboard to put a respectable distance between them. She composed herself to remain impassive, hands on her knees, but one glance at her was enough. He raised an unconvinced eyebrow.
"You're okay with this?"
Merlin, she hoped he'd choked on his arrogance.
"Yeah, you beat me to it. I was planning on telling you."
In a few months, perhaps. Or a couple of years. Who fucking cared?
She would not beg.
Selene let herself fall on her back beside him, unable to meet his gaze for another moment. Damn you, Regulus Black. Damn you and all your respectability. The man was part of Voldemort's closest guard, yet he had to use that single ounce of decorum to push her away before one of them got attached. It reminded her why she hated purebloods and their irreproachable manners.
She threw him his underwear, putting hers back on.
"I should leave."
Grey eyes followed her movements as she gathered her clothes sprawled across the empty dormitory. Evidence of their crime. She'd have to take a burning shower to wash his scent off her skin. Even as she zipped her jacket and styled her hair back by running a hand through it, he remained all over her.
His gaze certainly did. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and watched as she reached for the door. Curse her, but she hesitated. Perhaps by giving him a few more seconds, he'd tell her something she needed to hear, something to soothe the burn.
Regulus stayed silent, because it was the decent thing to do.
Still. It hurt as hell.
Like an idiot, she believed getting over Regulus Black would be an easy feat.
How hard could it be? She'd done it plenty of times before, with boys she'd spent way more time with. It always started with the same, slight pinch in her chest as they exchanged a gaze, followed by either a sad smile or frowned eyebrows, depending on how things ended. Then they'd chat one afternoon while their common friends watched from afar. After a week or two, Selene was over it—not entirely detached, per se, but unbothered in a terrible, insensitive way.
It has been one month. One. Bloody. Month, and she still flinched every time they crossed path.
Because Black, with all his irritating nobility, refused to even look her way.
In the past, she'd been subjected to his wrath as their friends clashed, collateral damage of his godforsaken pride. But never, never, had Selene been targeted by his indifference.
Even before this whole… ordeal, he'd still acknowledged her presence. Either with a nod or an insult, depending on his broody mood. Most times, though, he'd simply watch her with a smug smile, projecting self confidence to intimidate her, as most quidditch rivals would do. They'd argue in class, fight over Quidditch pitch booking, sabotage each other for the snitch. A healthy rivalry she had expected to return to.
How wrong she'd been.
An aura of iciness surrounded Black each time he was in her presence, making it impossible to resort to taunting, to smugness. Even a glimpse at him was painful, not because of regrets—Selene would never indulge in nostalgia—but because he was back to being the condescending, inapproachable pureblood jerk he had always been.
It was foolish of her to assume he'd let the mask go.
She realized her mistake that next Monday, not even a day after she'd left his dormitory, heart in her throat. When she'd arrived in the potion's classroom, he was already there, wooing Slughorn in the way purebloods did, with polite conversation, carefully placed compliments, and a discrete flex of the signet family ring.
He sat at the front that day. And didn't even spare a glance at the three Ravenclaws who settled at his table. Or at her.
The class dragged on for hours.
When the bell rang, she hid in an empty classroom and cried.
"Leave."
The group of first years sharing their library table with Selene and Octavia scattered away like mice, leaving half their belongings behind.
Rosier let himself fall on the chair right beside a gaping Selene, unbothered by the unwanted interruption of her study session. He got a pear from his bag, grinning inappropriately before taking a loud, crunchy bite. Ew. Not ripe enough. He didn't seem to mind.
"So, what happened between you two?"
Octavia blinked away her confusion, dropping the quill she had been using to annotate Selene's Transfiguration essay.
"Go away, Rosier."
"Now, now, I'm not here to cause trouble, Bagman. I just want a chat with our friend here."
Selene scanned her surroundings for prying ears. "This is not a good time. And that's none of your business."
He brandished his wand with unexpected discretion, mumbling a spell she hadn't heard before. Muffliato. Students around them brought their attention to something else, and Selene realized they couldn't hear them anymore. "Snape's creation," Rosier clarified, answering her silent question. "I only ask for a few minutes of your time. I just want to know who broke up with whom."
Selene cocked an eyebrow. "Ask Black. Isn't he your best friend?"
"Reg is stubborn as a mule. He only said it was mutual, but I don't believe him."
That's what she had said to her friends, too. Mutual. Something they both wanted.
Stressed for next week's Transfiguration exam, Octavia pushed his bag out of the way. "Sounds like your problem, not ours. Now, if you wouldn't mind, we're both busy."
He ignored her. "Listen, Selene, I just want to help him. He's been a nightmare, but he won't say a word about it until I push the right buttons. I need something to trigger him. Please."
Octavia exchanged a surprised look with her, no doubt as taken aback as her by his dedication to his friend's well-being. Slytherins had always been hard to gauge, especially from an outsider's perspective. Most preferred their own company, comfortable with no one but their solitude, treating friends as a pleasantry rather than something to be cherished. Rosier cared for Regulus. That much was clear. She respected that.
Selene ignored the tingle in her chest. That Regulus wasn't as indifferent as he claimed wouldn't change anything between them.
"Fine."
To her complete astonishment, Rosier took out a small piece of parchment from his pocket and started reading from the top of his list.
"Did he do something wrong?"
"No."
"Okay." He borrowed Octavia's quill to cross the first line. She ticked in irritation. "Did he cheat? Did you cheat? Confess your undying love? Did he threaten one of your friends? Family?"
Each time, Selene shook her head, leaving the Slytherin at his guessing game. The list was substantive, but they reached the end without him finding out the reason behind his friend's attitude.
"Damn it. I thought I had it. Why don't you just tell me, Selene, and I'll be on my way?"
"I don't know what you're looking for, Evan. He suggested it and I agreed. We both knew this was the right thing to do. Because of our… entourage and all."
"But why did he—" He jerked, eyes darting to her red and gold tie. Exasperation clawed at his sharp features as he realized the truth. He consulted his list again, then swore. "Really? You played that card with him? You?"
"I didn't say anything," Selene retorted in an angry whisper, her temper betraying herself.
Heaven damned these Slytherins and their proficiency in behavioural study. How Merlin were they all able to read her that easily?
"Oh no, you did. You talked about the Order."
Octavia's gaze snapped to her, but she ignored it. Selene hadn't told her friends about that particular conversation. "It was just a question! Didn't try to influence him, or anything. We were talking about his brother, then it came into the subject."
The Slytherin pinched the bridge of his straight nose, eyes closed. "His brother? Jesus, girl. You were looking for it."
"What did he expect?" she asked, outraged. Selene slammed her transfiguration book shut with a loud thud. "It's no secret who I'm friends with, who my family is. For sure, we'd talk about it at some point. Or is his head so far up his ass that he thought we'd only talk about quidditch?"
Evan cringed. "Not even Barty and I can mention Sirius Black's name in Reg's presence. That's one thing. But the Order? You tried to sway him. Of course he's pissed! You think you're the first one to try?"
"Are you saying this is her fault?" Octavia snarled back.
"Well, yes. You've noticed how… prideful he can be, sometimes."
Selene glared. "Groundbreaking discovery, Rosier."
"I'm just saying that trying to sway him made the difference between Reg returning to his single life in peace, and him becoming a bloody iceberg. You forced him to break up with you. Now, I have an impossible mess to solve."
You forced him to break up with you.
Anger throbbed underneath her skin, straining to be exhumed. Oh no.
She saw it all wrong.
How stupid could she be? She wanted to end things because she was getting attached. Like an absolute moron, she believed he chose to stop seeing her for the same reason. She glimpsed at the table, eager to slam her forehead on it to punish herself and turn her useless brain into gooey mush. It seemed very solid; oak. Perhaps she'd get him out of her head that way.
Usually, Selene wasn't that naïve. How well he had played his part.
"Where is he?"
Her voice was deadly.
Absolutely delighted with the turn of events, Rosier pointed at a table on the second-floor mezzanine without trying to conceal his smile. Regulus sat alone.
Selene tore a page from her notebook, scribbling a few words by stealing Octavia's quill from Rosier's hands. The Gryffindor mumbled something about people finding their own furniture, craning her head to read Selene's note upside down.
All this because I asked you a very legitimate question? SM.
The note disapparated with a white flame, only to reappear on his desk.
She was too far to interpret his expression, outside the surprised jolt his body made when the note appeared out of thin air. He caught it, flipped the page around to see if something else was on the back. Then he did what she feared he would do: he looked for her.
Black found her without any trouble, as their table was at the centre of the library's main floor, and despite expecting it, her chest constricted when his gaze sought her for the first time since they broke up. He noted Rosier's presence, and even with the distance, she saw him roll his eyes in irritation.
The authenticity of the gesture shook her. She'd never admit how much she craved getting a genuine expression out of him after weeks of blank impassivity.
His response flared back on her table a moment later.
Despite whatever misunderstanding there might be, I'm keeping my distance for my own sanity. Your question had nothing to do with it, other than the fact it was a much-needed reality check.
I apologize on behalf of Evan for not respecting your privacy. I would have told him the truth, but he would never have believed me. RAB.
The page disappeared into a white flame as soon as she finished reading it, putting an end to their conversation, but not before Rosier went through it, too. He slouched back in his chair in shock.
"No fucking way."
"What did he say? I didn't have time to read," Octavia said with a pout.
Selene's eyes were stuck to where the note had been a moment before. She was right. She had been all along. Regulus had gotten attached, too.
"That's even worse than I thought," Evan said. "Reg's a pretty liar."
She glared, done with his games. "His answer was quite straightforward to me."
His laugh was full of surprised disbelief. "I'm not doubting his feelings for you, kitten. Why do you think I'm here?" Octavia stared, dumfounded. "But Merlin damns Reg if he thinks staying away will help him forget what he wanted to do all along."
"Get on with it, Evan."
His thumb stoked his left forearm over his shirt.
For the first time in months, Selene saw danger brewing underneath his clear blue eyes. With his goofy manners and easy smile, she had forgotten that Rosier was also likely wearing the Dark Mark.
"Asking him about joining the Order fucked things up. Especially since Reg thought he could sway you."
Her head snapped up. Black was nowhere in sight.
Except for that note exchange in the library three days ago, Black had gone back to ignoring her. He wasn't as cold; the iciness having thawed a bit, but he still avoided looking at her, 'preserving his sanity'.
What about her own? She longed to ask him.
Just around the corner, Christmas taunted her with its fairy lights and merriness. Selene distracted herself by spending as much time as possible with Aisha and Octavia, training for the next quidditch match against Hufflepuff, and by studying for her exams. Most often than not, especially during mealtime, her gaze wandered across the room to the green and silver table, trying to catch him looking at her.
This morning, Regulus focused on his coffee, conspicuously ignoring Cordelia Greengrass who ranted about classes, both hands on her cup of tea. He didn't raise his eyes from his breakfast once.
She wished they'd talk. Just once before the holidays, to avoid leaving for home with a blunt hole through her chest.
Aisha had been detailing the content of her latest dream—something involving flying carpets, pumpkins, and their charms teacher—when repeated thunk approaching the Great Hall entrance interrupted her story.
Selene had never seen Alastor Moody except in newspapers, but she recognized him instantly. Perhaps it was his bearing or his impressive built, or even the way he clutched his wand, but she knew she'd never want to fight against him. His sharp eyes scanned the busy Great Hall for the Headmaster, exhaustion clinging to him despite the straightness of his back.
Dumbledore seemed displeased to be approached like this in the middle of breakfast. No doubt their meetings were usually done in the privacy of his office. Despite his limp, Moody was across the room in an instant, depicting on the urgency of the situation. Something the Headmaster caught easily as he stood up from his seat, McGonagall right beside him.
Few words were spoken. Dumbledore ran a hand over his wrinkled features as Moody talked, back to the room so nobody could read on his lips. Bad news, then. Selene's pulse quickened in a sickening way as she exchanged a look with her friends, who had abandoned their meal to observe the unusual visitor. Most students had. At the Slytherin table, she wasn't surprised to see wariness on some faces.
Moody said something else that had Dumbledore froze, halfway down the steps separating the staff's table from the rest of the Hall. McGonagall put a hand to her mouth, browsing the room with concerned, wide eyes.
Then her gaze found Selene and her heart stopped.
She'd always expected it. That one day, Selene would be caught off guard by death, her throat crushed underneath its metal boot. It was inevitable. Some sick part of her knew she'd learn of a loved one's death right here in this crowded room. She rubbed a palm on her chest, unable to tear her eyes off the three adults making their way to her like horsemen of the apocalypse.
Aisha said something to her. Someone caught her hand. All intangible echoes of a long-lost dream, as reality unfolded without her approval.
"Miss Meadowes, come with us, please."
Octavia squeezed her hand before Selene stood up, leading the way outside the Hall. They didn't go far. As soon as they passed the doors and no one was around, she stopped dead in her tracks and spun.
"What happened to Dorcas?"
In no universe would Selene walk for twenty minutes to reach Dumbledore's office. Her heart pulsed in her head so hard she barely saw through the blur. Cold sweat drenched her jumper.
Moody sighed, sticking his brown eyes to hers. "I've lost contact with her. We can only assume she's been discovered."
Heart attack. She would die of a bloody heart attack. Air escaped her as she stumbled on her own shoes. McGonagall steadied her with a tight grip on her elbow.
"How?"
Moody looked around, making sure their surroundings were free of unwanted wanderers. "Secret mission. We're expecting the worst."
"She's not dead."
The list. Voldemort's command. Capture on sight. Dorcas couldn't be dead. She couldn't be.
She couldn't.
She couldn't.
She couldn't breathe.
Selene gasped for air. Her lungs inflated and deflated, but the air wasn't enough. Empty of oxygen. Bare, like the frozen surface of the lake beside the castle. Panic gripped her as she breathed in and out faster, still suffocating. Drowning.
Externally, though, she hadn't moved an inch.
"Girl, understand the circumstances. Use that brain of yours. She wasn't taking a pleasant stroll through Derbyshire, she was tracking Voldemort at one of his strongholds. Someone found her."
She felt him more than she saw him stop near the great bronze doors, eavesdropping on their conversation. Selene didn't give the Slytherin a single dash of attention.
McGonagall slapped the auror's arm. "Crickey, Alastor, can you be more considerate? She's just lost a sister."
Tears didn't obscure her vision. Red did. It felt like blood. Tasted as bitter as anger.
"She is not dead."
"Look. We were supposed to meet last night. She's never been late. Not once since I took her in. I gave her eight hours."
Moody was used to being at the other end of deadly glares; he didn't even flinch at the killing curse in her eyes.
"You were responsible for her safety and you let them take her."
Dumbledore scrutinized her, raising a hand to interrupt what would have been a certain growl from the lead auror. "Perhaps Dorcas Meadowes has indeed been captured, Alastor. Hence we must consider all our options. I suggest we convene tonight and—"
He trailed off, attention drawn to Regulus, whom he just noticed. Moody's head snapped towards the newcomer; he recognized him at once.
"Black junior."
Selene was grateful for the interruption. Without Dumbledore and Moody's scrutiny on her, she was able to swallow two mouthfuls of air that eased the suffocating sensation for a moment.
Regulus sneered. "Lord Black, actually."
"You could be the prime minister, for all I care, boy." The auror scrunched his nose in disgust, not intimidated in the least. He mumbled under his breath, "Definitely brothers. Same bloody arrogance."
McGonagall ignored the exchange, having kept her attention on Selene. She squeezed her arm again, hard but comforting. "Take all the time you need, Miss Meadowes. My door is always open. I can arrange a portkey for you to go home today, if you so wish."
Selene nodded, not trusting herself to talk. Her teacher patted her shoulder and gestured Moody to follow her, which he did after cursing Dumbledore for allowing Death Eaters to roam the castle free.
Before leaving with them, the Headmaster stilled beside her. "If she's been taken, Miss Meadowes. We'll find her."
She wished Dumbledore saw the truth in her eyes. The potent rage at their unforgivable negligence. They hoped to win a war by sending young adults to the front line, themselves staying far away from harm's reach. Selene would not thank the people who had lost her in the first place.
As soon as Dumbledore disappeared out of her sight, Regulus palmed her shoulder.
"Are you okay?"
The sheer audacity of this man had her forget her panic attack. Air finally made its way down her lungs as she glared at the Slytherin, at the green tie tightening around his throat, at the hand on her shoulder.
"Okay?" She vociferated. He removed his hand from her. "If I find out she's been hurt, I swear I'll hunt you down. Every single one of you."
He flinched. Not at her violence, which would never frighten him, but at her implicit confession.
"I thought you didn't want to join the Order."
She threw both arms in the air. "I didn't intend to. But it became personal, Black. You, Death Eaters, made sure of that."
"Selene, don't rush into this. We'll find another solution: I can help you."
By asking his marked friends, or licking his master's boots. Said friends who appeared through the Great Hall threshold, their shared smile fading as they took in the scene before them. Crouch's expression turned expectant, vicious even, but Evan only sported pity.
Reg thought he could sway you.
"Just leave me the fuck alone."
She walked around him, but he stepped into her path, somewhat breathless. "I'll find out what I can. But don't join the Order. Please."
"Don't—"
"Please, Selene." He glimpsed at the others and lowered his voice. " Please. Think this through, they'll force us to fight each other."
"What choice do I have? I won't stand aside waiting for my sister to be murdered." A nudge of her head at his left arm was all it took for him to understand. "And I'll scorch my own body before I let someone put that mark on me."
She stared down at the three of them, committing their face to memory. Barty Crouch, with his straw hair and pointy chin. Evan Rosier, watching Selene with twinkling eyes, head cocked in assessment. And Black. Black, who stood way too close, but had never felt that far. Through all this time, their allegiance had always been crystal clear. Never again would she forget her true loyalty laid and who were her real friends.
"Remember that list, Black?"
He nodded, still silent. Crouch's wand had appeared between his fingers. She waited until all three of them had their eyes on her. Brown. Blue. Grey.
No one would ever doubt her intentions again.
"Might as well add my name to it."
When she walked away this time, he didn't stop her.