Work Text:
Everything he thought about her seemed like a cliche: she was a constant puzzle, the anthesis of everything he’d ever been taught, her light eclipsed the sun and stars. It was almost sickening. The trouble was that he couldn’t seem to describe her in any other way. Maybe he lacked the words or the intelligence, he wasn’t sure, but it didn’t seem to matter. Not really.
He’d been stuck in the family home since he’d crawled out of that infested cave, the bodies that had once dragged him down now truly lifeless and putrified. It had taken several weeks worth of showers before the smell finally left his nose. But he still dreamed about them, the flesh and sinew that dangled from their bony fingers as they gripped him tight and dragged him down into the abyss, and the silencing charm on his room was so strong he was beginning to wonder if it could ever be broken.
Regulus had drifted through the rooms of Grimmauld Place like a wraith, pointedly ignoring the drab velvet curtains that hung heavy over his mother’s portrait. It was following her constant flow of whispered instructions that had lead him down that path, to begin with. She had crept up to his cradle and slipped poison in his ear he was sure of it, all while Sirius tried to imbue him with the antidote in the other. It had left him confused and questioning his every thought and move right up until the moment when that potion had touched his lips. Somehow with death came clarity. The trouble now was that he was alive and that clarity was beginning to look smudged around the edges.
Then she came waltzing in with her wild hair and her fingertips constantly stained with ink and he found himself pulled into her orbit. Fucking cliches.
*
It was the nights when Grimmauld Place was quiet that he loathed the most. His brother’s godson was out somewhere with a Weasley, which one he couldn’t remember; all the redheads began to look alike after a while. He found that he rather liked Harry. The boy was amiable and kept mostly to himself though every once in a while he’d catch him staring at him as though he’d seen a ghost. Maybe he had; Regulus was not unaware of the resemblance he bore to his late brother. All in all, their cohabitating of the same home seemed to work for both of them - it did help that Harry knew how to cook.
But now the house was quiet and he began to feel restless as if a thousand needles were raking over his skin and making it crawl. He fidgeted in his chair, the glass of firewhisky he’d poured himself earlier all but forgotten as he stared at the flames in the hearth. In a flash of Gryffindor like bravery that no doubt would have made his brother proud, his body propelled itself out of the seat and over to the mantlepiece. There was no hesitation in his movements as he grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and tossed it into the crackling logs, the flames quickly turning bright green, and calling out her address.
*
Her flat was quiet, but nowhere near as oppressive as his home had been. Everything here was open and airy, even with the plethora of bookshelves that lined the walls. There was no central staircase that wound upwards like a crooked spine, leading to rooms that hunched over one another. Instead, it was just a simple room that all the other rooms spiraled off of like a wagon wheel. It was neat and orderly, but there was a bit of chaos creeping in at the edges he noted at the sight of scraps of paper and quills that seemed to cover every available nook and cranny. It suited her. It made him feel at ease.
“Regulus?”
Her voice pulled him from his thoughts and he looked up, suddenly feeling like a voyeur. He could feel pinpoints of color appear in his cheeks, the heat of it shocking, and he suddenly felt quite stupid standing there in the middle of her sitting room.
“Potter was out, so I thought I’d come round,” he said as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Is that alright?”
A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth as she leaned against the doorframe, her hip jutting out slightly. “Silly man,” she said, her voice soft and teasing. It shot through him like lightning. “Of course it is.”
*
Regulus was certain they had talked for a bit, exchanging the typical pleasantries as they slowly moved closer and closer together. After he felt her small fingers intertwine with his everything seemed to become a bit of a blur. All he knew was the smell of her, the feel of his hands in her hair, and the heat of her skin against his. Even her breath was sweet as it came out in rhythmic pants across his lips. And then he was drowning, his body falling into hers as she tightened around him, and the world seemed to stand still.
Fucking cliches.