Chapter IX . . . a regulus black thing

Regulus can't pretend he's ignoring Amos's glare.

He's been trying his best to avoid eye contact with... well, everyone in the Great Hall, but mostly just the people that he knows has it out for him now. This list has grown exponentially since he began going out with Lyra North, and he would have to be blind not to see the correlation there.

The "we hate Regulus Black!" club, as of right now, includes: Evan Rosier and Barty Crouch, Jr., for obvious reasons; Emmeline Vance, because she's friends with Lyra and agrees with Pandora's notion that Regulus is no good for her; Amos Diggory, because he fancied Lyra for years (which is unfair; it isn't Regulus's fault Diggory looks like a thumb and Lyra has good taste); maybe Dorcas Meadowes, Regulus can't tell where he stands with her; and, if you really want to hit home, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, James Potter, and Peter Pettigrew. But Regulus likes to forget they exist as best he can.

Anyway, none of these people would bother him on a usual basis. The only reason he's acknowledging them now is because most of them have all been crammed together into one room; it's like Regulus's worst nightmare.

Even still, Apparation lessons are perhaps the most useful thing Regulus has taken in all his time at Hogwarts. He decided swiftly.

Velvet Miniluck, the unfortunate Ministry worker hand-picked to instruct classes over the course of the past few weeks, is a spry old man with a head so bald it reflects the sun. He's nice enough, and a good teacher, too—and it isn't his fault nobody can get the grasp on Apparating.

Maybe if Amos hadn't been so busy glaring daggers in Regulus and Lyra's direction, he wouldn't have splinched on his first attempt—but he was, so he did, and both Lyra and Regulus had to stifle some laughs when he began to wail about his missing fingernail.

"Such an oaf," Lyra whispers, as Velvet helps Amos and Benjy Fenwick scour the floor for the rest of Amos's nail. "How do you splinch on your very first go?"

"You nearly did," he reminds her, smiling at the thought of her stumbling around aimlessly, until she popped out of existence in one place and appeared out of nowhere in the next. "I thought you were friends with the Diggory bloke, anyway. Something change?"

She twists her lips mischievously. "I met you, and I came to realise that I only really have space for one idiot in my life."

He shoulders her playfully, and she darts away, leaving a laugh in her wake. Regulus smiles and follows her with his eyes, knowing she'll come back to him sooner or later. He doesn't give a damn about who's watching, at first, but then there is a shiver trailing down his neck and his smile shifts to a frown. He turns around.

Barty and Evan are regarding him through the crowd of seventh years. Evan looks downright murderous, with his ice blue eyes and clenched jaw. Barty catches Regulus's eye first and gives him the slightest shake of his head; almost uncertainly, like a warning of some kind. Against what, he isn't sure—could be Lyra, could be Evan, could be his general life decisions.

Regulus doesn't care either way. He gives the both of them a blank glare, then turns back when he hears Lyra flitter back into place next to him.

"Pandora's doing brilliant on her own," she informs Regulus, catching onto his left arm like she needs something to ground herself before she can be blown away with the wind. She's smiling, a little breathless, and glowing—like always. Regulus wonders how it is a person can remain so whimsical. He doesn't point out that it's the Dark Mark that she's leaning on, but he does notice that she squeezes his forearm just a bit, so maybe she's aware. Maybe she did it on purpose. Regulus thinks there's some symbolism there: How the sun took the darkest part of him and wrapped it up in warmth and love until it was gone. The thought makes him smile.

Lyra rolls onto the balls of her feet so animatedly that Regulus is sure she actually will fly away with the wind. "I think we're getting close, too, love; I'd bet one more go will do it—"

"I'm exhausted, Lyra," he says banteringly, letting his head fall back for the effect. "Can't we just take a break? I've been having fun watching the others and laughing when they fail. Lovegood's only just regained consciousness!"

"I guess the show's only beginning," Lyra agrees with a little laugh, wrapping her hands around Regulus's arm and folding into his body. They glance around the Great Hall together, nudging one another and giggling when they watch someone stumble over, letting out animated groans when they hit the floor.

"Mr. Black and Ms. North," comes the stern voice of Minerva Mcgonagall—Regulus blanches at the sound. He and Lyra turn in tandem to find themselves face-to-face with the professor, arms crossed and eyebrows high on her forehead. "Unless I am very much mistaken, you both must be remarkable when it comes to Apparation, if you're able to waste so much time laughing at your classmates. Cockiness comes with greatness, not mediocrity. I would love to pay witness to your perfection."

Regulus swallows, racking his mind for an excuse. "Professor—"

"We'll have to pass on that one," Lyra says with a grin. "Sorry, Minnie. Won't happen again."

He shoots her a wide-eyed, are-you-mad look; who does she think she is, mouthing off to a teacher? And Professor Mcgonagall, of all people—surely they were facing two weeks' detention now, at least—

But Mcgonagall only purses her lips. Regulus sees her hard gaze flicker down to Lyra's embrace around his arm, but it's only for a moment; then her scrutinizing glance glare is back to his face.

"If it does happen again," she warns, "I won't be as forgiving. Go on."

Lyra flashes her another smile before dragging a dumbfounded Regulus away.

"Lyra!" he whisper-yells, glancing back over his shoulder just to make sure Mcgonagall hadn't been an illusion. "Lyra, you just—How on earth are we not in detention? You called her Minnie!"

"Oh, darling," she says, laughing—and, he could have misheard, or was that pity in her voice? "You Slytherins really do think the world is out to get you, don't you? She was only taking the piss out of us."

He narrows his eyes. "Right. Because Minerva Mcgonagall is a woman that takes the piss out of people."

"Come off it," Lyra says dismissively. "She may be strict, but she doesn't hate fun. Why do you think she'd've given us detention?"

"I can count, on one hand, the amount of times I've walked away from an interaction like that one without a detention—and I think the only reason I've ever made it at all is because Slughorn adores me." He can't help the shock he knows is written across his face now. "Professors don't typically fancy letting people in my house off easy, Lyra."

"Is that a house thing," she wonders aloud, "or a Regulus Black thing? A Rosier thing? A Snape, Mulciber, Crouch, Avery, Malfoy—"

"Okay, got it," he says flatly, holding up a hand. "You think they come after us because we're D—we're Marked. Is that it?"

Lyra lifts her shoulders innocently, still smiling, but uncertainly now. Someone stumbles out of an Apparation attempt behind her and she glances over her shoulder. She seems to realise that this isn't the right time nor the right place for an argument at the same moment as Regulus, and they both sit in silence for a beat, letting each other's words hang.

"I didn't mean it like that," she says quietly, twiddling her fingers in front of herself. "I don't think they come after you because of that. If that were the case, then—"

Her voices catches in her throat and she lets it die there, lowering her head. "I guess Slytherin does get a bit of a harsh go from everyone. Suppose I never thought about how unfairly people get treated because of something they can't help."

Regulus can't pretend he doesn't catch onto the double entendre in her words.

"Lyra," he whispers, his eyes shifting to the ground. "I'm—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... I'm sorry."

She looks back up, tipping her head to one side as she appraises Regulus. "But you've changed, haven't you? You don't still think like that. Right, Regulus? Because if you do—if I'm mistaken and you still believe this nonsense of purity and whatnot—if you do, then I want you to know I'll never, ever forgive you—"

"Lyra," murmurs Regulus, his eyes searching her face, brow knitting together. He shakes his head slightly. "You know I've left that all behind me. I don't... What—what's going on, love?"

Lyra inhales sharply through her nose. Her eyes meet Regulus's, and for what isn't the first time (and won't be the last), he is struck by the transience of the emotion within them. There is a brief flash of something, just a glimpse of what he could swear is delight—then it is gone, and her big, brown eyes are soulless again. He wonders how that's possible; how someone with a heart so bright and full of joy doesn't wear it on their sleeve. If he had all that love to give, he's sure he would at any chance.

"Nothing," she promises. "Can I trust you, Regulus?"

His face tightens slightly, and he wets his lips. He glances over his shoulder just to make sure no one is listening, and he lowers his voice just in case. "Of course, love. Of course you can trust me."

She flashes him a smile, and her hand finds his. "Good. We should go back—"

"Lyra?" he says, only momentarily resisting her pull and letting her hand go. "Can I... trust you?"

She turns back to him at his insistence, then laughs at the question. "If you loved me, you'd know."

Not for the first time that he has known her, Regulus is at a loss for how to take Lyra's word games. He flinches, unwittingly, because he has only been close to her for so long and now she is bringing up the word that makes him run. The trigger word that launches his fight or flight. If it were anyone else, Regulus's instinct would undoubtedly be to fight it. But it's Lyra, and he doesn't want to fight it. He doesn't want to accept it, either, but he has enough wits about himself to recognise how foolish it would be to argue with Lyra North. He loses every time.

She must clock his reaction to the accusation, because she laughs again. She reaches out with her hand as though to touch his face, but then something clouds her eyes and she drops her arm a second later.

"I'm only kidding, Regulus," she assures him, instead reaching her hand out lower to run her fingers over his hand. "I don't want you to get flighty now."

He manages a smile, for her sake, and lets her take his hand again.

"Lessons are almost over," she says. "C'mon; I want to watch Xenophelius one more time before we have to go."

Author's Note

short chapter im sorry dont crucify me ❤️ quite a lot to be noted in this one though but i'll let you all connect the dots