Chapter XIII . . . forgive, forget

At least she has the decency to look ashamed.

"Regulus, I didn't mean for—"

"What?" he snaps. He's never snapped at Lyra before, but he's also never been this angry with her, either. He wonders if there's guidelines to follow for when your girlfriend ends up being a spy for the opposite side of the war and has been actively trying to turn you into her commander. "What, Lyra? You didn't mean for me to find out, is that it? Because surely you weren't about to say you didn't mean for me to get hurt—"

"I'm sorry, Regulus," she tries again, but he won't have it. Suddenly he's glad they're down in front of the forbidden forest again, alone, because he's pretty sure he's going to yell very loudly now and it's probably best that there is nobody around to hear it.

"You've been double-crossing me this whole time," he says. There's venom in his voice; Lyra flinches, but only slightly. "How many times have I told you that I'm defecting, Lyra? How many times have we talked about destroying the Horcrux so Riddle can be defeated? How many times have you lied to me?"

"It's just so complicated," she says halfheartedly. For a girl so hellbent with her loud mouth, she isn't trying very hard to sound sorry right about now. If Regulus weren't so furious, perhaps he'd find it odd how easily she is giving in. But he's blinded now, and her big brown eyes are imploring. It's all he can do not to give in and kiss her. "I wanted to tell you all along, alright? It's just—"

"Why didn't you?" he demands. There's too much emotion in his words. He can hear such a stark contrast between how much he is pouring into this conversation compared to Lyra's own attempts for salvation, like he is trying to hold the weight of the world on his shoulders and she is standing by and watching. "Why didn't you say anything? You strung me along this whole time and never once mentioned anything about turning me in!"

She gives him another guilty glance. "I had no idea how to—"

"Don't act dumb," he warns. "You and I both know you weren't a pawn in this, Lyra. You lied. You weren't just acting on somebody else's orders—you were carrying out your own deceptions and.. and bloody fairy tales!"

So.. he's losing his steam. His words are misconstrued within his own mind and he has absolutely no idea how to get them out without sounding like a madman. But Lyra—were she even putting half a thought into this confrontation—doesn't seem to notice he's just spitting nonsense now.

"What we both know," she fires back, hardly looking at him, "is that this was too good to be true, Regulus. You were aware I wasn't exactly what I said. I was aware you weren't exactly what you said. I thought it was a mutual agreement not to press one another."

Now he truly does feel mad—throwing his arms in the air, laughing dryly at the absurdity of it all. "It was a mutual agreement that we trusted each other! That's what happens when you enter a relationship; you come to an understanding that there won't be any lies between each other. What the hell is your problem; that you can throw your legs around me and fuck me like a slag, but you can't seem to get past your lips any words I actually need to hear—like, hey, the fact that you've been working against me this whole time!"

"A slag?" she repeats, and this, finally, seems to have cut deep. Her composure is broken, for the first time in their argument. She recoils away from him, fury flashing in her eyes, disgust sharpening her features. Her nostrils flare. "Well, I didn't hear you complaining when it was your prick blocking the way of my lips, Regulus! I was perfectly fine with this arrangement, might I remind you, until you tried poking around in things you shouldn't—"

"Like what?" he challenges, squaring his shoulders. He can feel his wand in his pocket, begging to be drawn and defend its owner, but he won't. He swore to never draw his wand against Lyra North, and, as much as he may despise her now, he will never be one to go back on a promise. "Like what, Lyra? Hm? Did I poke around too much that day, find out something I shouldn't? Is that why you Obliviated me—because I got too nosy? Is that it?"

"You don't understand anything, Regulus." Her lips are curled in a horrible scowl, and her words leave them like a snarl; her eyes glow with rage. "You're futile to me, don't you know? You've just been too blind to see it. Blinded by love, Regulus, really. Weak!"

"Of course I loved you," he tells her. He can see in her eyes that she wants to draw her wand, but they both abstain—for now, anyway. He scowls. "Of course I did. But I was wrong to, wasn't I? Because I didn't know a thing about you."

Now, she smiles. She has control of the situation, and she shows it; leaning against a sprung tree, crossing her arms, appraising Regulus from behind dark lashes.

"And wasn't that the best part?"

He groans a hearty sigh, running his hands through his hair, down his face, around his neck like he wants to strangle himself. Then he wants to strangle her. Then he wants to touch her so badly it is killing him.

She is killing him.

She and her mysteries and turns. Everything about Lyra is a piece to a puzzle he hadn't even known he was playing, and he still hasn't found them all. Lyra is full of secrets—and, for some reason, Regulus is quite positive he has not known them all yet, like he stupidly believed. Even now, looking at her, knowing that she has been working with the Order this entire time to turn Regulus in. Knowing that she has been pretending to theorise with him to take down Riddle, even though she's been planning all along to throw Regulus into Azkaban anyway.

He's known it since the beginning, hasn't he? That she's poison. That she will pollute him like a sickness he'll never quite be rid of. He's known it the whole time, so why did he ever keep going along with her? Why did he continue to allow it to happen?

Then, he realises.

Because he doesn't care. Because he knows, now, that she is on the right side of history. Because Lyra is fighting for the good side, the light, and—no matter how much he swears he has defected—Regulus Black has the Dark Mark. He may act like he is high and mighty, with his plans to defeat Tom Riddle, but in the end, he is only a seventeen year-old with a tendency to lean toward Herculean turnarounds.

Unfortunately, Regulus is not Hercules. He's not even a constellation. Regulus is a binary star. He learned that once, read it somewhere in a book on astrology he'd found. Sirius is the brightest star in the night sky, the constellation Lyra plays host to its very own nebulae, and Regulus...

Well, to put it plainly, Regulus is not what he pretends to be.

Maybe he should be, though. Maybe he could be. Maybe he will try.

Maybe that is what Lyra has been trying to tell him all along.

Regulus is met with insurmountable relief when he turns back to Lyra and tells her that he is sorry. When he lays out the facts, and he tells her that he is trusting her not to turn him in. When he kisses her.

She sighs. She runs her hands through his hair. She traces her hands down his cheeks. They're warm, these hands—warm because she's back to wearing her orange Muggle jumper even though Spring in the Highlands is stuffy and the sun is beating down on them. She isn't even sweating, though, like him; with his sleeves curled and rolled back to combat the heat. With his greatest failure beaming in the stark pallor of his arm, dark against the skin of his arm.

His worst reminder that he will never be as good as Lyra North, etched into his arm forever. As if he needed more reminding anyway.

At least she forgives him; that, alone, is proof enough to him that he can't possibly be as bad as he thinks.

If he were a villain, how could an angel fall into love with him? How could the light of the earth look past his scars and blemishes to see him for good? How could he be seen for all that he is and be loved anyway?

Though she usually can read his mind, and though he's almost certain his apprehension is showing in his face, Lyra ignores it and takes his hand. She turns to go.

"Do we have somewhere to be?" he asks, perplexed, glancing down at his watch. "It's half eleven. No classes this week, either."

She squeezes his hand and smiles. "Don't you remember why there are no classes this week, Regulus?"

Something like a boulder drops into his stomach and he rolls his head back with a groan, stopping in his tracks. "I'd completely forgotten. Shit, Lyra, I've not studied at all!"

"Really?" Her brows draw together as she turns back to him, her eyes searching his face with befuddlement. "What have you been doing all this time, then? That you've been in the library?"

"Oh." He wets his lips. "It seems kind of silly now, but I'd been... Well, I didn't know I could trust you, did I? So I'd been hiding my research of Horcruxes and the like from you for a few weeks now. I'm sorry now."

Perhaps it's the sun glaring in her eyes at an inopportune moment, or perhaps she doesn't realise she's doing it, but for a glimpse of a second, Lyra's gaze sharpens with something cruel. But her smile is back without a word of warning, before Regulus can even register the glare he's just received.

"Nonsense, of course," she assures him, patting a hand on his chest. "But you really mean you didn't revise whatsoever? Regulus, your N.E.W.T.s are the most important exams you'll ever—"

He rolls his eyes and pulls on her hand so she comes into land at his chest. "Didn't know I was dating a Ravenclaw. Next thing, you'll be tattling to Mcgonagall that I let Dorcas copy off my notes in fifth year."

Lyra's lips part in mock disbelief. "Did you really? I ought to let Dumbledore—!"

"Oh, piss off," he says, dragging his hand all down her face in a playful manner. Her laugh, though muffled by his palm, is loud, even able to bring a smile back to his own lips. "Won't you teach me what I need to know?"

"Soon enough, I will."

"Well, the exams start in half an hour—"

She shoves his chest, but doesn't abstain from letting his arm rest along her shoulders as they begin the hill back up to the castle. "Shh. You know practically everything you ought to."

"So you're saying I should wing it."

Lyra laughs, a beautiful thing, and declares something about Regulus being rather impertinent today. He doesn't mind; he may be impertinent, but at least he has Lyra back at his side. At least he knows he can trust her.

He kisses her cheek when they part for exams, and, though he is facing a dragging day of standardized tests, there is no consternation to Regulus's mind.

He has Lyra. That's all.

Author's Note

I feel.... like we need to debrief after this chapter :/

So, okay: If you think Lyra forgave him too easily/Regulus forgave her too easily, then you would be absolutely correct! And that is what we call obsession, not love. She views their relationship as a power dynamic; he views it as his lifeline. Either way, if they cut things off, both of them would be destroyed (and not in a normal I miss my bf way—in a holy fuck I'm actually going to kill someone way). I've said it once & I'll say it again: Regulus and Lyra are UNHEALTHY! They are a BAD PORTRAIT OF LOVE!

Also. I hate to add salt to the wound, but this isn't the end of Regulyra's downfall. This was the beginning! Aha. I feel like Rick Riordan :P

(Oh and you didn't hear it from me, but there is loads and loads of foreshadowing in this chapter. Not like this one specifically is special or anything...)