Chapter Text
“ Reg…”
Regulus stirred, clinging to the warmth and safety of his dream a little while longer. The simple pleasure of a lie-in was one never afforded to the likes of him, except on those rare mornings they managed to be together. Nothing was more precious to him than those days, their desperate, frenzied lovemaking followed by hours of deep, uninterrupted sleep. Even now, the rhythmic rise and fall of her breath and the sharp, herbal scent of her shampoo had him relaxing back into sleep, his mind grasping for his dream like a blanket that had been suddenly cast off. He wanted to go back to those sun-drenched boulevards, to hear her laughing, carefree for the first time in their lives. He knew she wouldn’t begrudge him a few more moments.
Because only in dreams could he stroll openly hand-in-hand with his muggleborn wife and live to talk about it.
“ Regulus.”
He let the dream slip away but felt little disappointment. What was a dream when the reality was warm, soft, tucked into the safety of his arms? His eyes opened slowly; his lips already curved into the soft smile only she got to see, the same smile he’d made the first time he’d heard her say his name, the first time she’d felt her hand in his own unlovable hand. She snuggled into his chest. The feeling of her damp tears on his skin was enough for him to surface, pulling back to gaze down at her.
Her eyes were large and dark in the strange light of the unfamiliar room. He hadn’t dared to return to Grimmauld the night before, and it took him a moment to reorient himself to where and when they were. He remembered then why his sleep had come so heavy and lingered so long—a fraught night of preparations that would likely all be for nothing.
One way or another, Regulus and Hermione Black would die today.
“It’s time, isn’t it?” He brushed a curl back from her brow. Her face was set, determined, her unstoppable mind running through every possible scenario, every contingency. Regulus could see the arithmancy unspooling through her thoughts, the probabilities organized neatly from most to least likely. It struck him—not for the first time—how foolish men like Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore were. Neither could see what he’d seen in her. A mind brilliant enough to save them all, a heart stout enough to halt a war. More the fools , he thought, his fingertips skimming the worried lines of her beloved face. She looked dainty, even delicate at times, but was hard as iron and sharp as goblin-forged steel.
“I love you,” he said simply without preamble. “I wish—“
She stopped him with a kiss, soft, lingering, but hungry too. His magic roared to life within him.
Regulus hadn’t bothered trying to insist she stay behind or trying to trick her with hidden portkeys or eleventh-hour house-elf rescues. Been there, done that , she’d grumbled, shaking her head. She wouldn’t risk Kreacher’s life–or any elf’s–for her own. Not that it mattered. They were soul-bound. Fated across time, two halves of a whole. There would be no separating them in life or, it seemed, in death.
When one of them died, the other would not be far behind. There was no escape for them, no path but the one they walked together. He drank in the sight of her, loving how her smaller frame fit just so against him, the thrum of her unbound power lapping against him, and his own magic’s loving response. He cupped her face, wiping away her hot tears with his thumb.
She peppered his face and neck with smaller, lighter kisses. “ Where you go, I go,” she muttered under her breath. She’d written it into their carefully crafted marriage vow. “You will never again walk alone in this life or any other.” He often thought of how clearly she’d always seen him, his stark loneliness, his quiet sense of honor, his power and cunning. She’d baffled and enraged him, showing up one day as a fourth-year transfer student, unheard of at Hogwarts. Her dark eyes always sought him in the Great Hall, the Potions laboratory, as they passed each other in the greenhouse after Herbology. She seemed as surprised as he’d been when they were in close proximity. He’d wondered if she’d felt it too, that golden thread of fate tied between them, plucked like a harp string whenever she was near.
His soulmate, his other half, the song that kept him warm. Born twenty years too late, but destined for him all the same. He cradled her precious face in his hands.
“Don’t mourn me yet, sweet.”
“I wasn’t,” she said simply, and he believed her. “I was mourning him ,” she confessed quietly. “The version of you who did this alone.” He nodded, unsurprised. He dreamt of him sometimes, the other him, the one whose solitude and pain had swallowed him whole, leaving nothing behind but a wisp of a memory and a snarling note to his so-called lord.
Regulus pulled her closer, nuzzling her neck. “Poor sod,” he crooned into her warm skin, nipping lightly. Her lips skimmed his neck; what she had once told him was a glorious specimen of male beauty . She had a thing for necks, his Hermione. Her fingers sank into his dark curls, pulling his mouth to hers. He rolled onto his back so that she sat astride him.
“Reg, we really don’t have time…” But the way she lightly scratched down his bare chest told him she needed this as much as he did.
“Please, Hermione,” he pleaded, cupping her bare breasts in the weak morning light, his thumbs dragging against her taut nipples in the way he knew she liked best. He hid a smirk at her answering shiver and moan.
“Oblivion can wait a little longer, sweet.”
With a whimper, she fell on him, her kisses, her touch hot enough to burn. It was always that way with them, her burning fever-bright while he was patient, controlled, slowly drawing out their pleasure. Maybe it was the certain death that awaited them, but Regulus found himself suddenly sharing her Gryffindor-esque passion. Even thoughts of what awaited them in that cold, lifeless cave seemed to spur him. Rub, suckle, bite, taste, push, gasp, lick, knead, the whole of his excellent mind blanked but for these animal urges. His kisses were just as desperate, the need to be inside her almost painful. He took her hips in his large hands, guiding her down onto him with a fervor he’d never felt before, breath hissing through his teeth when he was fully seated inside of her aching heat. When he reached for his wand, she put a hand on his arm to stop him.
“None of that matters now,” she panted, amber eyes blazing.
She was, as usual, right. What use was a contraceptive spell when their days weren’t even numbered anymore? All countdowns lead to zed.
He sat up, wrapping his arms around her as they staved off death with some of the precious minutes they had left. The cave, the poison, the horror that waited under that still, cold water were very far away with Hermione wrapped around him, her moans and gasping breaths a symphony in his ear.
I’ll never regret you, Regulus, she’d said that night, the night he’d made her his in body and name. In those early days, he’d carefully stored every kind word, every affection she’d ever bestowed on his unworthy head. On bad days when he had to endure Walburga, or when he felt the absence of Sirius like a missing limb, he’d take her words out and examine them the way an old widow might sometimes pore over her jewels, studying how they caught the light—in the madness of their passion, a thousand such moments floated unbidden to the surface of his mind.
Eyes blazing, her hair sparking with magic as her hands gripped the railing of the astronomy tower. “I thought you were smarter than that,” she snarled, and he knew then that he loved her. “You’re fooling yourself if you think you could ever be anything but good , Regulus Black.”
Wrapped up together in the Room of Requirement, his fingers idly playing with her silky curls. “If I tell you about Sirius, will you tell me about Harry?” Her smile was fond but fleeting. “What would you like to know?”
The unexpected brush of her fingers against his as they passed one another in the potions cupboard just after he’d taken the mark. He’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t let it happen, not this time, but Sirius…he knew Walburga and Orion would do it, could do it. One threat to his brother’s life, and Regulus rolled up his sleeve and took the mark. It was foul magic that made him sick more often than not, but that day it was her magic that wrapped itself around him, whispering that he was not alone. That he was loved.
The first time he’d kissed her, more to shut her up than anything, so tired of pretending that the secret friendship between himself and the strange little muggleborn Ravenclaw had been leading anywhere other than here. When his lips met hers, unbearably hungry, he’d felt a pulse of warmth and seen a flash of golden light. “Did you feel that?” she gasped against his lips.
Severus tying the ribbon between their entwined hands, glowering but strangely thoughtful. “Smile, Sev,” she’d whispered to their friend, making Regulus chuckle. “It’s a wedding.”
“Look at me,” he demanded as he felt her begin to clench around him. “Let me see you, love.”
Her eyes met his, whisky and smoke. “Regulus…” she moaned.
“That’s it, love. Need you.”
That was enough for Hermione. She came hard, her small fingers digging into his shoulders almost painfully, her head thrown back, her tawny skin flushed and pink.
Fuck, that’s so fucking …
The thought died as he came. He returned to himself slowly as they caught their breath, eyes never leaving the other. There was nothing left to say.
The sun rose, and they with it. There were dark deeds to be done.