CHAPTER SIXTEEN: TEMPTATION

Flora tried not to think of Regulus. She went to Camden Market with Sirius that first day she arrived, while Remus stayed behind to nurse his headache. Though she knew better, her old long-standing feelings for Sirius resurfaced during those hours they spent looking at jewellery and secondhand clothes and records. She knew it was unwise to entertain such feelings for Sirius, given his alleged relationship with her brother, but she couldn't help it. The familiarity and comfort of their friendship reignited the fire of her affection, and it didn't help that he laughed at her jokes and asked her questions about herself like he was genuinely interested. She watched as he looked over a jewellery stall, his long fingers idly picking up a necklace and examining it before setting it back down again.

"Do you wear jewellery?" Sirius suddenly asked, looking at her. His hair was a little damp from the rain and it hung in his eyes carelessly.

Flora hadn't expected the question, distracted as she was watching his hands and fingers, then by his hair, and stared at him stupidly for a brief moment. "Uh… yeah, yes… sometimes," she replied.

He smiled at her, seemingly oblivious to how flustered she was getting, and continued to browse through the jewellery, his fingers skimming over the various items on display with a careless grace. Regulus had that same grace, that same lazy air unique to the aristocratic. Flora quickly pretended to look at something on the other end of the table. But he came back, standing close at her side.

"I'd like to get you a gift," he said, "As a thank you for looking after my surly little brother."

Flora lifted her eyes to look at him, her cheeks pink, "Oh no, you don't have to—" she started, but Sirius cut her off.

"I want to," he said, his eyes soft and grateful. "I can't imagine what it must be like for you putting up with a prissy little git like Reggie. I mean, he's a bit of a dick even to me. But for you…"

The nickname 'Reggie' at once endeared her, and she felt a smile creep across her face. She'd heard Sirius call him it once before. It was obviously a childhood nickname, and it made her involuntary imagine a side to him that wasn't so brooding and callous.

"Reggie?" She laughed.

Sirius laughed with her, his smile wide. "Yeah, Reggie. The same one who glowers at everyone."

"I suspect he didn't always."

"No," Sirius shook his head. "He used to be quite sweet when he was little."

"Did he?" She drifted to the next table along the stall, scanning her eyes over the bracelets. She wasn't much interested in jewellery, never finding it as much fun as shopping for clothes, but she supposed it would improve her looks. The last person to buy her jewellery was a boyfriend she had had when she was fourteen; it was a great ugly bracelet with bright blue stones that dwarfed her thin wrist, and she'd only worn it to be polite. She wondered warily if Sirius would pick out something horrible too, but then again, he generally had good taste.

"Mhm," Sirius nodded, watching her eyes as she studied the display. "He was very shy and quiet. He used to get nightmares a lot, and he'd crawl into my bed and cling to me. He was quite clingy all the time, actually, always wanted to be near me. And he loved animals…magical creatures and all that. He loved cats though, and kneazles. He had this stuffed toy kneazle — he still had it up until I left home, actually. Would carry it everywhere."

Flora listened with interest, trying to imagine this sweet-tempered, sensitive version of Regulus. She'd seen it sometimes, in his eyes. There was softness to them at certain moments.

"I bet he'll skin you alive for telling me that," Flora replied.

Sirius smirked. "Oh, he'll be furious. And he hates when I call him Reggie. He claims it makes him sound like a child. But I can't help it, he acts like a child anyway."

As he said this, he picked up a silver necklace with a small sunburst charm. He held it up for Flora to see. "Do you like this?" He asked.

Flora nodded, truthfully rather indifferent to the particular style of the necklace, but knowing she would like it if it were a gift from Sirius. "It's pretty," she said.

"We can find something prettier for you," he put it down again, sensing her apathy, and began to look over the other necklaces.

"Sirius, you don't need to get me anything," Flora objected, feeling a little embarrassed. She hated choosing gifts with someone watching.

"Flo, I want to," Sirius replied brusquely. "Look, why don't you go look at another stall and I'll pick out a necklace for you."

"I thought I wasn't allowed to leave your sight," Flora grumbled, recalling her older brother's words.

Sirius rolled his eyes and smiled. "Forget Moony. I trust you."

Flora sighed, glancing over at another stall which had already caught her attention earlier — a clothing sale. "Fine," she conceded. "I'll be over there."

"Don't wander far though," Sirius called after her as she began to leave, "Or Moony really will kill me."

Flora turned her head and gave a single nod in acknowledgement. She resented their watchfulness and felt inclined to wander far just out of spite. Maybe she would disappear for a whole day, she thought, just to come back and prove she can look after herself. Presently, though, instead of disappearing into the crowd, she wandered over to the clothing stall and began looking through rails of secondhand dresses from the sixties. She was still wearing her mini skirt, the one Regulus had rudely commented on that morning, but was glad of it when she saw her reflection while walking through the city with Sirius; her legs looked so long and she was sure she caught him looking at them earlier. It was a skirt she'd made herself with one of her mum's sewing patterns, when micro mini skirts had been new and all the rage. She was looking now for mini dresses; with Mod fashion reviving, Flora had no shortage of choice.

Flora had money from her parents. Now she was eighteen, she had full access to her half and had withdrawn £50 for shopping, which she fully intended to spend and which Sirius encouraged her to spend. Remus would disapprove, as he was frugal with money, but she didn't care what he thought. She was irritable as she browsed the dresses, however, aware that Sirius was dutifully watching her from the corner of his eye — and not in the way she wanted. She pulled out a woollen, cream-coloured dress with two box pleats and two buttons. She held it up against herself to look in the mirror, decided it would suit her and (happily) would scandalise Remus by how short it was and hopefully intrigue Sirius. She bought it and then moved on to another stall further down, easing her way through the crowd.

It had been so long since she'd seen so many people. The most of anything she'd seen in one place were sheep; she decided in this moment that she rather liked city life, though she knew she would eventually tire of it and want to go home to her peaceful cottage. She involuntarily thought of Regulus, wondering what he was doing and if he was alright. Not that she ought to care, she reminded herself. She moved to a stall selling paperback books and began to peruse the classics. She glanced around for any sight of Sirius, but couldn't see him anymore, which meant he probably also couldn't see her. She knew she should go back to where he was, but she held a certain satisfaction in making him look for her. So she remained put, venturing deeper into the tables stacked with books and picking out anything that mildly interested her.

Sirius reappeared at her side not five minutes later, and apparently not at all concerned she'd gone missing, which meant he'd probably had his eye on her the whole time. He was beaming, holding a paper bag, and Flora shot him a sidelong glance.

"Shall we get some chips?" He asked, "I'm quite hungry."

Flora nodded and went to pay for her books, then followed Sirius to a fish and chip shop. A short moment later they stood together by Regent Canal eating very salty, vinegary chunky chips, their fingers shiny with grease. Sirius was devouring them like he hadn't eaten in weeks.

"Merlin, I love muggle food," he said.

Flora looked at him. "Don't wizards have chips?"

"Not ones this good," he shook his head.

She smiled and looked away, staring off into the crowd. She paused in her eating to take a sip of water, which she had also bought.

"Are you having a nice time?" Sirius asked her.

Flora nodded. "Yes."

"Must be unbearable sometimes being stuck in that house."

"You don't know the half of it," Flora replied meaningfully.

Sirius regarded her for a long moment, long enough for Flora to sense his gaze and turn her head to look at him. He smiled again, looked down briefly, then back at her again. "You know, he does like you, Flora," he said, his voice sincere. "Regulus, I mean."

Flora felt herself flush, alarmed that even Sirius had something to say about the situation and wondering how on earth he had drawn this bizarre conclusion. "No, he doesn't," she frowned.

"Please, I'm not as oblivious as I look," he said with a little smirk. "I know my brother. He likes you."

"Well, he's got a funny way of showing it."

"He looked like he was going to cry when you left this morning," Sirius half joked.

"Crying of happiness, more like," Flora replied. Though outwardly calm, her heart rate had picked up; she knew Regulus hadn't wanted her to leave, but to hear it confirmed by an outsider to the situation made her wonder just how much Regulus really cared. She couldn't help herself asking next, "He will…he'll be alright by himself, won't he?"

Sirius smiled softly. "He'll be fine. He's a big boy, I'm sure he can take care of himself for a while. I got him a house elf to clean and cook, so that leaves him plenty of time to keep up with his hobbies."

"Hobbies?"

"Brooding, sulking… He's probably basking in the silence right now."

Sirius, having now finished his chips threw the greasy newspaper into a nearby bin and wiped his fingers and mouth on a napkin, which he also tossed into the bin. He then pulled out the paper bag from his leather jacket and held it out to Flora.

"Your gift," he said warmly.

Flora put her chips aside on the wall of the bridge to take the gift. She knew it was a necklace, as that was what he'd said he was looking for; it was in a small pink cardboard box, which she opened carefully because her fingers were still greasy. Inside was a delicate silver necklace with a small charm in the shape of a daisy; the centre was set with a yellow stone and the petals were white-silver. It was a simple necklace, but Flora found it was exactly the sort of thing she liked.

"It reminded me of you straight away," Sirius explained. "A flower for an even prettier flower."

Flora wasn't sure whether she'd cope better being stuck simmering with Regulus or agonising pointlessly over Sirius and his casual flirting. Her cheeks burned horribly, she was sure he must've noticed, though she tried to maintain her composure. She took the necklace out of the box and held it up in admiration.

"It's lovely, Sirius, thank you," she said, though unable to make eye contact.

"Let me put it on for you," he extended his hand for it.

"No," Flora said at once, darting back. "I'll do it."

Regulus knew he would have to do some clever backpedaling if he wanted to redeem himself in Flora's eyes, but how to do this without her eyes on him was the bigger part of the problem. Now he had time to reflect alone, it embarrassed him to think of all the ways he had tried — and failed — to win her over. At first, he realised, it had not even been conscious. He wasn't even really sure when it had started, this desire for her, the physical need to gain her affection — it could have been the night they heard the werewolves and stayed up together, or before that, when he'd taught her how to waltz in the garden. It could have been when Sirius had danced with her on her birthday, or when she had cried because he'd hurt her wrist. It could've been any of them, or all of them. His mind was scrambled, confused, trying desperately to come to terms with it. Now she was gone, he felt his desire for her more acutely, her absence like a missing limb, and he indulged fully in this uncomfortable reflection.

For days after she left, her closed bedroom door tormented him. He had been tormented before by this very thing, except last time she had been in the room, a silent safeguard to his desire. It was the emptiness which made it unbearable. Without Flora in there to prevent him, he could enter and completely undo himself in a way he had never done before. Fantasising about her in the sanctuary of his bedroom was one thing, and he was not particularly proud about it, but it felt safe, private, and it made it feel less real; entering her room would feel like an assault both on Flora and on the precious sanctity his own mind, but more crucially, it would make it real. Regulus never once forgot she was non-magic. He grappled with his desire for her, advising himself that it meant nothing, it was just about feeling good, a sexual release that all men needed, when deep down he knew that wasn't entirely true. He was fond of Flora and craved her in ways beyond the physical sense.

He started listening to the radio just to fill the long silences. Every song he heard spoke of Flora to him. He started reading her books, and within the pages he found some variation of his feelings laid out for him to read. Flora had finished Pride and Prejudice weeks ago and left the book behind in the living room, so Regulus took up reading it to see what had had her so absorbed. What struck him most peculiar of all was that in these muggle books he was reading, and in the muggle music he was listening to, he had achieved the seemingly impossible and unsettling revelation of relating to them. He saw himself, his own flawed, proud character, in Mr Darcy; and in Elizabeth Bennet he saw Flora's fiery wit. Flora had read a number of books since Regulus arrived, but had left this particular book lying on the coffee table. Regulus couldn't help wondering if she had done it on purpose.

The house elf, Pod, came and went quietly each day. Sirius visited every other evening to check on him and bring him things — more magazines, newspapers, books, sweets, toiletries. It didn't escape his notice that Regulus was reading Flora's books, but knowing Regulus would probably get prickly, he didn't remark on it.

"Has she said when she'll come back yet?" Regulus asked Sirius exactly three days into his exile. Regulus was sitting in the armchair Flora usually sat in, the one with her crochet blanket draped over the back. He had a cup of tea (which he'd made himself just to show off to Sirius) cradled in his hands.

Sirius, who was sprawled languidly on the sofa, simply answered, "Nope."

Regulus scowled at his brother's answer, knowing full well that he was enjoying his suffering. "I assume she's having a wonderful time, then," he grumbled bitterly.

"She is, actually," Sirius replied. The living room was in partial darkness but neither of them, not even Sirius who had a wand, moved to turn the light on. Sirius yawned and closed his eyes, his hands folded on his abdomen like a dead man laid to rest.

"What… what has she been doing?" He ventured next.

Sirius opened one eye. "Spending all her money. Why? You missing her, Reggie?"

"No," he snapped back at once, his brow darkening.

Sirius opened both eyes to look at his brother, smirking. "Sounds like you are."

"Why would I miss her?"

"Well, there was one flattering thing I recall you saying about her during your little tirade with Remus— that she was easy on the eye, which I agree, she is."

Regulus stiffened. "I didn't say that."

"Yes, you did."

Regulus let out a huff through his nose, looking away at the cold, empty fireplace. "It's cold," he grumbled. "Light the fire."

"Say please."

"Piss off."

"Prick."

Sirius was a little cold himself though, so he lazily reached for his wand in his pocket and lit a fire without moving from his comfortable position on the sofa. Regulus sipped his tea and looked back at his brother measuredly.

"Where did she go that day?" He asked. He had always been curious about it, but until now had been too stubborn to ask.

"Woods," Sirius answered. "Way out of the boundaries… and quite close to where those werewolves have been running around. But don't tell Remus that."

Regulus frowned, gripped suddenly by uneasiness. "Won't they have picked up on her scent?"

"I don't doubt it," Sirius said. "In some ways, maybe she's safer in London. Even if she goes out, it would be difficult to track her down by scent alone."

"But she's safe here too," Regulus insisted at once. "The barriers around the house are strong. And if I had my wand back—"

"You're not getting your wand back."

"But I'm here all the time," he reasoned. "You and Remus can't always be there to protect her. I could if I had my wand."

Sirius regarded him closely. "Am I really to believe you wouldn't throw her to the wolves if it came between you and her?"

Regulus' face dropped into a scowl. "Do you really always think the worst of me?"

"Lately, yes."

"Well," he glared, "You're wrong."

"That's what I hope."

On the fifth day alone, Regulus felt like he was losing his mind. He tried to take a walk outside every day, finding some solace in the autumn colours descending around him, but there was little he could do in the evenings. Once Sirius went home, Regulus didn't know what to do with himself. He was distrustful of the television because it had once given him a static shock, so he never turned it on, and even reading eventually became exhausting. He often took himself up to bed early, forcing himself to ignore the temptation of Flora's bedroom, and indulged in his most thrilling fantasies about her — taking her in the kitchen was his latest one. He was vaguely starting to wonder if he was developing a sex problem, as he'd never masturbated this much before. But then, he reasoned, there was little else to do with his time.

He had just come out of the shower one evening after Sirius left. There was some freedom in being able to walk through the house half naked, just in a towel, without any sense of indecency. He decided to stay naked when he returned to his bedroom, dropping down on the bed with a heavy sigh, and stared up at the ceiling blankly. It was too early to sleep, but felt too late to do anything else. He picked up Pride and Prejudice, which was sitting on his bedside table, and opened it to the page he'd marked it on, just a page before Mr Darcy's first proposal.

But Regulus' mind wandered until he was simply staring at the book rather than reading it. His door was partly open and he imagined that Flora was here, passing by his room and seeing him, with a glance, sprawled out naked on his bed. She would come to him and he would pull her to him, slowly undress her, make love to her. Regulus saw it all behind his closed eyes. He put the book aside and looked down at himself, slid his hand down his stomach to his stiffened cock and began to rub himself, moving his wrist up and down in a languid motion, surrendering to his desire with her name on his lips.

Entering her bedroom was a thought he continually entertained. In one way, he was simply curious, and in another he wanted to feel close to her. A full week had passed and there was no indication she would be coming back any time soon. And so on the evening of that seventh night alone, Regulus found himself standing outside her bedroom door again, considering and wrestling with his sense of propriety. It was her room, her private space, and he had no right to invade that. And yet, he craved her presence. He wanted to touch her things, work her out, just be surrounded by her. With his stomach in knots, he put his hand on the doorknob, paused a moment, then twisted and pushed it open.

It was just like the last time; her room lay in stillness, as if frozen in time, and he was at first too nervous to take another step, as if some alarm would go off the moment he entered. But nothing happened, of course, when he finally took that first step into the room. He released a breath he hadn't until now realised he was holding, and moved over to her bedside table to turn the small lamp on. He couldn't bear flicking the ceiling light on, to flood the room and him in guilty, revealing brightness. This small lamp, which was dusty pink with fringe trimmed along the edge, bathed the room in a dim orange light.

He stood there a moment and surveyed the room for a second time, this time from within, and wandered over to the main feature of her room: her dressing table. Now he was in front of it, he noticed the photographs tacked around the mirror — they were mostly pictures of her and Remus, at various ages from babyhood to now, and her parents. He looked at one particular picture of Flora, who looked to be about two, sitting on her mother's knee with a huge smile on her face like she was laughing at something off-camera. It struck him at once that she looked a lot like her mother, while it simultaneously occurred to him that he had once been a small child like her too; their interests at this age had probably not been much different to any other child, whether that child was muggle or magic. It was a sudden, disorientating moment for him, to realise that he had been looking at her through a distorted lens warped by the nonsense he'd been fed his whole life.

He looked over all her photographs, narrowing in on the most recent ones — polaroids of her with Sirius on her birthday, her face next to his, beaming; her arms around Remus' neck. What surprised him most of all though was a photograph of him and Flora; he had no recollection of it ever having been taken, and it had obviously been taken as a joke—Flora was leaning down beside him in the armchair, smiling widely, giving a thumbs up, while Regulus scowled darkly at the camera. He had a balloon in his hands, like some kind of miserable clown. But she'd tacked it to her mirror; the fact it was there at all, and not in the bin, made Regulus feel oddly warm inside.

His eyes drifted to the perfumes and cosmetics scattered across the table. He wasn't sure which perfume she wore the most often, but he knew it was floral and so reached for a small white bottle with a silver top and what looked like lilies on the label— Anaïs Anaïs, it was called. It was also the bottle at the front of all the others. He pulled the lid off and brought it to his nose, inhaled, and felt his all senses, all his desires awaken with a delightful and devastating start. This was definitely the one she wore. He breathed her in, clutching the bottle, feeling a sudden urge to cry for the pain he felt twisting around his heart. He kept hold of it as he moved away from the dressing table.

The idea that came to him next seized him quite suddenly as he wandered over to her bed. He lay down, curled up and buried his face in her lace-edged pillow. The scent of her surrounded him. She hadn't changed her bedding before she left and he was glad of it; he could smell her hair, the faint notes of the very perfume he held in his hand, her skin, her sweat. It filled his senses until he felt drunk on it. He turned his head and sprayed the perfume, watching the mist float around his head and settle around him. He rolled onto his back, shut his eyes and covered his face with his hands. He missed her. He didn't want to miss her. Whatever was happening to him, it was happening violently and he had no idea what it was, or what to do. One thing he did know was that he only had himself to blame for pushing her away.

He lay there for a long moment simply enjoying the comfort it brought him, breathing her in. He imagined her climbing into bed with him, wearing those pink nylon babydoll pyjamas she sometimes wore and got bashful about whenever he happened to see her in them. If she had to come downstairs in them, or move across the hallway when he was there, she always rushed away as fast as she could and told him not to look at her, a blur of pink flounces. But he loved them.

He reached down and unbuttoned his trousers, his hand moving slowly, almost gingerly at first. Though he'd done this plenty of times before, this was her bed and he knew he was crossing a line by being there at all. But he wasn't about to stop now. It would kill him to stop. He slipped his hand into his boxers, tugged his trousers looser around his hips and shut his eyes. He stroked himself slowly, caressing the head of his weeping cock, his pleasure rapidly building. He turned his head to one side, burying his face back into her pillow, clutching it, breathing her in like he was starved of oxygen. He moaned softly, the intensity of his pleasure enfolding him.

His hand moved faster, more urgently. It would never be enough unless Flora materialised in the flesh to join him. But for now. For now imagining her was he could do— her slender legs wrapped around him, her hands on his back, her lips on his neck, and him deep inside her.

His orgasm fell upon him almost without warning. It was sudden, violent, shuddering. His ejaculation spilled out in his hand and onto the flowery coverlet, a terrible mark of proof he had crossed a line. The rest stuck to his abdomen, spilled into his belly button. For a moment he lay there in a daze, his eyes closed, floating weightlessly on the dopamine rush that lulled him to sleep, feeling both satisfied and emptier than ever.

"I'm going to the shop," Flora announced to both Remus and Sirius as she gathered up some coins from a side table by the front door.

Remus looked up from his book, glancing out the window to confirm whether it really was dark. Sirius was sitting at the window, which was open and letting a cool breeze blow in, smoking a cigarette. He also looked over, but only to acknowledge Flora, and then turned back to watching the street below. Remus had been overruled in this matter previously, forced to permit Flora to go two minutes down the street to the corner shop. Nevertheless, he attempted to dissuade her—

"It's dark," he said with a frown.

"It's just down the street, Remus. Let me live," Flora said dismissively, already putting her shoes on.

"I'll come with you," he put his book aside.

"No, you won't," Flora replied, quickly opening the door and pulling her coat on as she slipped off. "I'm getting woman things. I'll be back in five minutes. Ta ta tan toc!"

With her abrupt goodbye, she shut the door before she could see his face or respond and hurried down the endless stairs. Her footsteps echoed, but no other footsteps followed. As she expected, she safely made it to the shop only a few minutes later, just like the half-dozen other times she had managed the journey alone.

There weren't many people inside, but there never were. It was a small shop where Sirius and Remus bought their cigarettes, and lately where Flora ran errands to buy bread and milk or anything else they needed. The cashier was usually a sullen old man, but tonight there was a boy at the counter.

When Flora came back, she had a loaf of bread, a half pint of milk, chocolate, and a very agitated look on her face. Remus frowned.

"I just bought bread. Why have you—"

"Remus," she cut in, her tone pleading, "Will you go get the things I need? There was a fit boy at the counter."

Sirius snorted and started to laugh, while Remus looked absolutely bewildered as he stared back at his flustered sister.

"You have to be joking…" Remus started.

"Please."