Chapter III . . . reverse the curse

Lyra quickly became the best-kept secret Regulus has ever had room in his heart for.

Barty and Evan tried to badger him, when he returned to the party and subsequently dragged the rest of his friends back to Slytherin's common room, what had his knickers in a twist (a direct quote from Barty). Regulus abstained his answer for long enough, responding with glares and scowls that could kill, and within time, it became common knowledge not to question Regulus about anything that has to do with Lyra North. Not even any class subjects that they may share—anything that could be tied back to Lyra became taboo in the Slytherin house and practically disappeared from the entire school thereafter.

Other than Barty, Evan, Dorcas, and Pandora, Lyra became to Regulus just as she is to the rest of the school: A memory. Nobody knew of the short-lived existence of any sort of bridge between them. Nobody knew Lyra North had reached places within Regulus Black uncharted by any others; nor that he had done the same to her.

It was just a short week, a short period in which Lyra and Regulus were each other's greatest enemies while still being their most compelling anomalies.

Now, as Regulus watches the vast, open plains whirl past him through the cold glass of the Hogwarts Express's window, his forehead pressed against it uncomfortably and eyes focussed on something his mind wasn't exactly sure of, he thought of Lyra for the first time in a week. Seven days, six moons, and no contact; he hasn't thought of her since nine days past, at that godforsaken party.

Now, she is back on the mind. A week of freedom—that's all Regulus got. Perhaps it's all he deserved, but he knows that couldn't be the case.

The only reason he thinks of her is because he could swear he sees her, there in the distance, perched on the horizon and teasing him from afar. Daring him to succeed in drawing any attention to her before she is gone with the rest of the plains and the train speeds onward. But she is there, for a blink, and Regulus sits up—because he swears, he swears, that she is outside of the train.

Just as soon, she is gone.

That must be in her nature, to disappear. She does it a lot. But only on her own terms.

"Good morning there, Reggie, lad," says Barty, in something of an amused confusion. "Don't tell me you're going to start having night terrors now; that'd make sharing a dorm with you a real bother."

Dorcas laughs to herself, and Barty is smiling at Regulus when he glances over. He doesn't return it. Had he truly drifted off, without even realising it? Was his glimpse of Lyra only a dream? It would make sense, admittedly, but if he's falling asleep now and being haunted by his worst ghost in his nightmares, he has a lot more to worry about.

Besides, he knows, at least, that he is safe on this train. Lyra stays at Hogwarts for the holidays. She can't reach him anymore than his own thoughts could.

"Sorry," Reg murmurs in riposte, eyes bleary, betraying him by not defining what is real and what is sleep. He rubs them. "When did I fall asleep?"

"Hard to say," Evan says from behind his book, sliding his hand between the pages and dropping it to his lap. "Probably about when Barty began going on about his marks in Defence, if I had to g—"

"Fucking Acceptable," Barty interposes with an added sense of fury from before, sitting up straighter on the bench he shares with Evan. "Worked my arse off this entire class. If I walk into that N.E.W.T. room with an Acceptable, they'll laugh me right out, won't they? I simply can't stand for—"

"We know," chimes Pandora. "And we told you to write Professor Merrythought over the holiday to see if you can bring it up. Now hush, Barty."

Barty slinks back to himself, glaring at nothing in particular, clearly not over the cock-up that is his grade in arguably his best class. Although Avery has the occasional tendency to make Barty look somewhat foolish, it's not over lack of book smarts; more due to an overconfidence in Avery's capabilities. Say what you will about Barty Crouch Jr., but you can't say he isn't smart—and the same goes for the lot of Regulus's company.

Not friends, per se.

They aren't anything more than a business inquiry, the lot of them. Such a term as 'friends' implies endearment, and Regulus Black will be dead before he holds anyone beloved. Anyone other than himself.

It's a mutual understanding, as well, before you go and call Regulus selfish or heartless. He is both, but not in this manner; his unique relationship (or lack thereof) to Evan and Barty is reciprocated in its entirety, all the way down to the business aspects of the thought. Their bond exists only to further their chances of being high in the Dark Lord's rankings.

Dorcas and Pandora are kept thoroughly in the dark. They're the closest thing Regulus has to friends; Pandora, especially.

It's why, for instance, during Barty's offhanded ranting on the topic of the grade he has deemed unfair for the sake of his Defence Against the Dark Arts reputation, Pandora catches a glimpse from Regulus and knows that there is something the matter. Why she tells Barty to quit his complaining. Why she nods to the compartment door and he immediately slips out of his seat to meet her in the corridor of the train.

"It's her," she deduces instantly, as he leans his back against the window opposite the compartment he has just left, so he can keep an eye on the happenings inside. "Isn't it?"

"Oh, it's got to be her, then, hasn't it?" Regulus deadpans, then scoffs when Pandora rolls her eyes at him. "I don't know what it is, Pandora. I don't know why she won't just leave me alone."

"Maybe she's cursed you," hums Pandora, and she begins a slow trail down the hallway of compartments; a dangerous place to beheld such a racy conversation, but Regulus doesn't mind. Half the compartments he glances into reside sleeping students, anyway. "Put you under a love potion."

"Love potion?" Regulus scoffs again, though he flattens his face when Pandora glances back at him. "Doubt it. For that to work, I've got to be in love with her, and I'm not. I'm just... It's as though I'm stuck on her. Or my mind is, more rather. Can't get her out of my head, though I don't know the first thing about her. All I've got is... you know."

He can't even say it out loud, that she's a Mudblood. Not anymore than he already has. It disgusts him, how much effort he put in, trying to track down someone with blood as filthy as hers. He hasn't told anyone, either, besides Pandora, because the only person who will judge him more than himself is Evan. So Regulus has learned that his twin will do to act as an outlet for things Evan can't quite get wind of.

Pandora nods now, slowly, one of her hands in the air as she traces an invisible path along the corridor. "That her family is half-blooded. I understand that, Regulus, but don't you think there's more to her? Why else would she be plaguing you so? There's something you don't understand, something more at play."

They reach the end of the corridor and turn on the spot, habitually; Regulus, in front now, tucks his hands into his pockets.

"You think she has secrets," he translates, earning a soft hum of assent from behind him. "So do I. Why should I care? Every other person in school does. What makes her so special, that she won't leave me alone?"

"Maybe she's cursed," Pandora tosses out, an air of excitement to the accusation. "And you are the only one who can save her, reverse the curse. Maybe you've got to be her knight in shining armor, Regulus."

"I doubt I'll be anyone's knight in shining... whatever."

She makes a sound of disapproval. "Well, if you could look past the tip of your own nose, maybe you could."

He whirls on her, a playful expression of accusation written across his face. "And what does that mean, Lovegood? Are you calling me self-absorbed?"

She titters a little and almost breaks character, before wiping her face almost entirely of her mischief and giving him an appraising shrug. "If the dragon boot fits, Black."

Together, at once, they turn down their heads to check his shoes. He clicks them together at the toes. Then they glance at each other from their bent-over statures, exchanging a challenging squint.

"Looks like it fits perfectly," affirms Pandora, before she breaks into a smile and they stand back up together. Even Regulus's lips twitch at the corners. Pandora taps the pads of her fingers against the outer window as they come to a stop back outside their original compartment and turn to face each other. Her eyes fade of their elvish twinkle, and she gives him a head tilt of sympathy. "So, what are you going to do?"

He leans his head back until it collides with the door of their compartment, shutting his eyes for a moment, blocking out everything except Pandora's voice. He lifts his shoulders as a response.

"Well, you'll have to find some way to deal with it," she reasons. "We can't go on our little trainway walks forever, you know."

He rubs one of his eyes with the heel of his hand, nodding. "I know, I know. But can't we? They always help."

She scrunches her face. "This.. helped? We haven't come to a solution, yet, have we? Oh, I must've missed it along the way."

His lips tense in a bit-back smile and he shakes his head once, regarding Pandora from afar. "No, we have not. But talking about it is always nice. Even though I've no idea how I'll deal with it."

She brightens, extending a hand, waving it madly. "Ooh, ooh, I know!" she whispers, because if she doesn't whisper she will shout and Regulus knows she doesn't want to draw the entire train's attention to the issue at hand. "If talking about it helps, I think you could talk to her."

"Her?" He screws up his face in mock disgust. "I'd rather not."

"No, no." Pandora waves her hands. "I mean it, Regulus. If you can get through a civil conversation with her, maybe you'll start to understand why you have this—this connection. Maybe something wants to show itself to you, but it can't, because you haven't given it a chance. Please, Reg," she adds, quieter than before, her eyes glowing with wonder. "Just try it. If it doesn't work, my ego can take the hit."

Unwittingly, his lips upturn in a smirk, and he exhales a wisp of a laugh. "Please," he scoffs, "your ego can take plenty of hits and remain intact. I'm not worried about it."

Pandora laughs, a blithe thing, something that washes Regulus with a sense of coolness like he has stepped foot into the Slytherin common room after a long day at the lake.

A tap-tap-tapping sound comes from behind Regulus, and he turns over his shoulder, finding himself face-to-face with an unimpressed Dorcas. She points behind her shoulder, to the window at the back of the compartment; the train is slowing down now, just a few minutes from arrival. Reg nods to Dorcas to let her know he understands, then turns back to Pandora, sniffing though nothing is wrong, nodding too enthusiastically for himself.

"You're alright?" Pandora says, offering him a smile that lights up her face. "It's only two weeks."

"Two weeks with Mother and Father," amends Regulus, but he tightens his lips in his own reciprocation to her smile. He nods again. "I'll be fine."

She tilts her chin down, her eyes squinting with approval. "Yeah, you will. Now come on; let the children out before they go mad and try to eat each other."

It's only Walburga that is there to welcome him, when the Hogwarts Express chugs to a stop at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Regulus hadn't been expecting more, exactly—he has never once had both parents there at once before—but seeing as he would be turning from Sirius's replacement into their biggest achievement within the next few days, he figured that warranted at least a smile.

No such luck. Walburga's lips are tightly pressed together when Regulus makes his way over to her. Really, he thinks he's lucky for even this; he had come alone to King's Cross in September to send himself off because his parents believed he was now too old for pleasantries like such.

To add further salt to injury: What other Death Eaters have their mummy and daddy deliver them to and fro? It would be plain debilitating if word got around that Regulus—already the youngest member of the ranks—couldn't go anywhere without holding his mother's hands. He already couldn't even get the Dark Mark until his father said so.

Though—and he may sound childish for thinking so, but isn't that just what he is, anyway?—Regulus does certainly hope that the Dark Mark won't hurt. He has heard it burns, and those types of wounds, Reg can take. Has been taking them.

More frequently, since Sirius left.

"Regulus," his mother greets, when he trudges to a stop before her. She stares down her nose at him, scornful already. She reaches a sharp hand out and tugs on the front bits of his hair, appraising it from all angles, dragging his head with her; then, with a dreadful scoff, drops him. "Your hair is much too long to be acceptable. You are not a child, Regulus."

But—and, believe, he is getting sick of saying this—isn't he?

"Come now," Walburga says, and she turns so sharply on the spot that for a moment Regulus isn't sure if she Disapparated. But she glances back over her shoulder, her pale face glaring down at Regulus because he hasn't yet moved. "I believe I told you to follow me, Regulus."

He mumbles something of an apology—a half-hearted one, at that—and takes off after her, because any second longer of hesitation, and he knows what would happen.

Oh, how he detests being home for the holidays.

Author's Note
pandorareg u will always be famous 😭🌟 until you both meet violent ends