HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY, SCOTLAND; 19th SEPTEMBER 1977
Hermione was already tense before stepping into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The air felt prickly, like the magical equivalent of static, and she'd been struggling to stay awake thanks to her potion and the dramatic scene at breakfast. Her schoolbag tugged at her shoulder uncomfortably as she filed in behind a few Ravenclaws, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, especially not Regulus Black.
"Sit with me?" Pandora asked, not bothering to look up from the parchment on which she was drawing a star chart as she sat perched at a desk near the back of the classroom. She dipped her quill into her ink pot and miraculously didn't seem to lose a single drop as she continued charting the constellations.
Grateful, Hermione slid into the seat beside her, carefully ignoring the Slytherin side of the room, particularly the corner where Regulus had already chosen his seat and was watching her with the full intensity of a predator on a hunt.
When Professor Cunningham swept into the room, a different type of dread seemed to loom over her as his long, dark coat billowed behind him like he thought he was starring in his own private duel. He had the kind of smirk that said I know you hate me, and I enjoy it. His greasy-slicked-back greying hair didn't help make him seem any more approachable. He was still fit, having just retired from the Auror department, but he gave Hermione the creeps. In every class with him, she felt like he was studying her, but his attention would be elsewhere whenever she glanced his way.
It was making her start to feel like she was going insane.
"We'll be continuing our unit on non-verbal spellcasting," Cunningham announced, his voice low and oily. "Pair off, you need to practice thinking on your feet. Quickly now, we haven't got all day."
Before Hermione could turn to Pandora to request them to pair up together, she could feel a grip on her forearm pulling her from her seat.
"Pandora is working with Morwenna Blackwood, you are with me, Hermione." Regulus had pulled her flush against his chest, and even through the bulk of their uniforms, Hermione could feel the hard edges of his body.
"Well, I'm not working with you," Hermione hissed, trying to keep her voice low as she stepped out of his hold. "What makes you think you would even be a worthy opponent for me, anyway?" She asked, her eyes narrowing at his face.
She wanted nothing more than to slap the amused smirk that appeared there, but Hermione kept her hands to herself. Her body was already aching, needing her next dose of potion as they neared lunch, but she refused to show any weakness in his presence.
Before Regulus could reply, Cunningham's voice sliced through the room, making Hermione scowl at the man. "Partners decided? Good, wands out, five feet between you and your opponent. No spells or curses that could cause serious harm or maim anyone, I'd hate to waste a morning filling out incident reports," he bellowed. Hermione wholeheartedly believed that it was the inconvenience of paperwork that caused the man to give the disclaimer.
Hermione tried to turn away from Regulus again, but his hand shot out, gripping her. He steered her toward the center of the classroom, and the rest of their peers took to the edges. His fingers brushed down her bare arm when he finally let go, and she shivered—not from the touch but from the intention she felt humming behind it.
"Non-verbal disarming," Cunningham reminded them, sounding almost bored from somewhere above. "Begin."
Despite the fatigue weighing down on her, Hermione was fast, whipping her wand and slashing it through the air. Though as quick as she had been, Regulus' movements were like a lightning strike.
His first spell clipped her wand arm, sending a sharp sting through her shoulder. She gritted her teeth and retaliated with a knockback jinx, but he sidestepped it with casual elegance, barely blinking.
"Damn you…." Hermione growled as she took in his gaze. His eyes were fixed on her face, almost as if he were starving and he wanted nothing more than to strip her bare right there in the middle of the classroom, not caring about their classmates' presence.
"You're distracted," he murmured, his lips barely moving.
"I'm tired," Hermione hissed as another wave of nausea swept through her, the need for her next dose of potion rising. "Not so tired that I'll let you win, though."
Regulus tilted his head, giving off an air of boredom, "You'd do better if you stopped wasting time reading Muggle trash," he drawled, causing Hermione to rear back.
Her temper flared, and so did her magic as she cast her next spell, hitting him hard enough to make him stagger back half a step, and satisfaction bloomed in her chest when his mask of indifference flickered to startled surprise.
"You're wrong, you have no idea what you're talking about," she challenged, flicking another spell in his direction.
His smile was ice, chilling her to the bone as he moved, sending her wand flying from her hand and her body crumpling to the floor.
"Up, Greengrass. In a true battle, you would be dead," Cunningham snapped, coming over instantly as if he'd been watching her closely.
"I can't, sir," Hermione said through gritted teeth, the pain from the curse on her abdomen making her breath heavy.
Though he seemed annoyed by her, Professor Cunningham wasn't a complete fool. As his eyes narrowed on her, the disgust of her weakness wasevident on his face as he came to the circle she and Regulus had been using for their practice.
"Get out of my classroom and to the infirmary," he snapped. Behind the professor, Hermione could see Regulus moving to protest or interfere somehow, but Hermione jumped up, taking any excuse to get away from the Black Heir.
As she scrambled for her belongings and moved out the door, she paused as Cunningham caught her attention again. "The forces of evil wouldn't wait around for menstrual cramps, you'll need to figure this out, Greengrass, or you aren't likely to survive in the real world without a husband willing to protect you."
The fucking womanizing pig.
When she stepped into the hall, thankful to have a bit of a head start away from Regulus after their heated exchange, Hermione turned down the hall, rifling through her bag until she found the potion.
Uncorking it, Hermione threw it back in one gulp, groaning, slightly cursing that even after all this time, she still wasn't becoming accustomed to the taste. However, the effects were rapid, and Hermione sighed as the pain eased and her mind cleared ever so slightly.
She'd only just replaced the glass vial into her bag when someone grabbed her wrist and tugged her into the shadow of a cold alcove.
She spun on instinct, wand half raised, when she saw Sirius' mousy friend from the train standing in the shadows with his hands raised.
"It's just me, you know, Peter. Peter Pettigrew," he said, trying to smile in her direction, but all she felt was disgust. "I'm not—look, I just wanted to talk," he said, his eyes trailing back to where her wand was still pointed in his direction.
Hermione blinked, her mind screaming to run, that he was a traitor, that he was dangerous, but she had no idea where those thoughts were coming from.
"Why?" She asked, trying to steady her breathing but unwilling to let her guard down.
"I just wanted to check on you," Pettigrew said, awkwardly lowering his hands to rub the back of his neck. "I saw how Regulus was hovering over you at breakfast. He's not right in the head, Hermione. It's like he's possessive of you, like he owns you. I just thought, maybe you could use someone on your side…" he trailed off, shuffling his feet, his eyes lowering to her chest.
The fucking pervert.
"Why would you care?" She asked, frowning as she crossed her arms, her wand still loosely pointed at him.
Pettigrew hesitated, his eyes darting down her frame and back up, completely oblivious to her discomfort with him looking at her body and objectifying her in such a way. "Because I know what it's like. Being watched, being controlled. I thought maybe…I could help."
The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Something about his voice and smile caused her stomach to ache with warning. He was too eager, his gaze too hungry.
"Thanks," she said, ready for this conversation to be over as she stepped to move past him.
But Pettigrew grabbed her wrist again, firmer this time. "You don't have to be scared of him," he insisted, Hermione's pulse pounding under his hold as he twisted her wrist, causing her wand to clatter to the ground.
"I'm not," she said, her eyes widening. "Peter, you're hurting me," she said, an edge of desperation creeping into her tone. "Peter, please, let me go."
Pettigrew opened his mouth to say something, his grip tightening even more when a cold voice drawled behind them.
"You heard the witch, Wormtail. Let. Her. Go."
Hermione turned her attention to the entrance, and the relief that flooded her at the sight of her unlikely saviour. Regulus' expression was unreadable, but his eyes were molten fury. He stepped further into the alcove, and the air in the small space seemed to become thinner.
"Shit," Pettigrew whispered, visibly paling at the sight of Regulus, dropping Hermione's wrist at last.
Regulus didn't stop moving until he was chest to chest with the smaller sandy-haired wizard, making Pettigrew tilt his head back, trying to keep eye contact with Regulus.
"Touch her again," Regulus said so softly that Hermione was scared to breathe, "and I'll hex your fingers off one by one and feed them to Acromantula in the Forbidden Forest so they have a taste for your blood and will crave you until they've hunted you down."
Hermione had never seen someone move as quickly as Pettigrew in that moment.
She stayed frozen in space, her eyes wide as she thought of the horrors that could have happened. Her mind wandered to what might have happened had Regulus not shown up when he had.
When he reached down and retrieved her wand, Hermione held out her hand expectantly, but the Black Heir didn't return her most prized possession to her.
"What were you thinking?" He asked, his nostrils flaring slightly, the only indication of the internal storm that was brewing inside him.
"Are you serious?" She asked, her eyes widening as she tried to snatch her wand back from him, but he held it out of her reach. "You don't get just to show up and start issuing death threats like you own me! Now give me my wand!"
Regulus looked unfazed as he continued to hold her wand out of her reach, even as Hermione's hair began to spark with her uncontrolled temper. "He was touching what doesn't belong to him."
"Oh my Gods!" Hermione screeched, smacking him in the chest, desperate for anything that might put him off balance. "You are unbelievable! What is your problem? Is this some weird power kink or are you just pathologically controlling!?"
Regulus didn't flinch. "You think I'm controlling because I protect what's mine?"
"I'm not yours!" she shouted, stomping her foot like a petulant child. "I don't belong to anybody! I'm my own person!"
"Yet," he said, stepping closer, his voice going low and sharp. "You will be, though, Hermione. I promise you. One day, and hopefully soon. You will belong to me."
"Hermione could feel her breathing becoming more labored as she continued to try for her wand, but he still refused to relinquish his hold on it.
"You're just acting like this because Pettigrew is your brother's friend. Can't stand to share the same spotlight with—" She yelled, smacking his chest again, her eyes going wild, before Regulus's hand wrapped around her throat, cutting off her words as he backed her against the wall.
"Don't," he snapped, his face coming close to hers as his grey eyes began to storm, causing him to look unhinged. "Don't you ever speak of my brother again. He's a disgrace to my family, a stain on our existence. Our culture, our values."
"You mean the inbreeding and superiority complex?" Hermione said, knowing it was dangerous to push him when his hand was around her throat. "I looked up your family tree after I met you. It should be called a wreath—"
"DON'T YOU SPEAK OF WHAT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" Regulus roared in her face, his grip tightening until Hermione was left without any air.
Her fear must have been evident as Regulus looked down at her, his face still crazed with his rage, but he released her throat, stepping back as he fixed his outer robes, breathing in deeply through his nose.
"Our traditions were built over centuries. Discipline, order, legacy. My brother pissed on all of it because he was too weak to accept the responsibility of blood."
Her legs were trembling, but Hermione couldn't stop looking at Regulus as he kicked her wand toward her. She scooped it up, the familiar hum of magic coursing through her again, making her feel more grounded and giving her a false sense of safety as she looked at him.
"You don't hear yourself at all, do you?" She asked, her voice soft as she stayed against the wall, not wanting to step any closer to him.
His eyes were dark, and his gaze narrowed as he looked her over. "You were raised wrong," he said, looking her in the eye. "You don't understand what an untouched pureblood witch is worth. What you could be. Together, I can teach you, show you—"
"I'd rather kiss a Dementor," she spat, her courage coming to the forefront again.
Instead of getting more frustrated with her, Regulus shook his head, as if she were a stubborn child he was trying to teach a simple concept to.
"Don't worry. You'll understand soon." Stepping forward, Hermione flinched as he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, and then he was gone.
As soon as she'd heard his retreating footsteps, Hermione's legs gave out, and she sank to the floor, her body trembling, fearing what was coming for her.