Chapter 2: She Said, He Thought, They Did

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Chapter 2: She Said, He Thought, They Did

Wearily her eyes pried open, burning in regret and lack of sleep. Only a dream as lovely as one boasting such a leading man could leave Hestia Jones in a state of regret for waking. She could well have done with hours more envisioning azure irises that studied her warily beneath black fringe of meticulous cut. Regulus Black did not trust her, to be sure, but hardly could she blame him.

She could nary trust herself.

Of course, their points of view over that questionable trust were – in all likelihood – quite different, she considered with a muted snort. Consideration of the young man was the bourne of her thoughts. She recollected his look last evening, one wrapped in vague darkness and haunting silence. Leery to her purpose, Regulus had remained poised for fight though he had attempted to hide it beneath illusions of etiquette and social propriety. Those unforgettable Black eyes had never left her form once he'd located her. A rather disconcerting thought, actually.

Of their own accord, muscles about her mouth tightened now, pulling corners slightly upward. Damn her undisciplined face! How ever was she to keep private this ongoing fancy she had developed for Regulus Black if her traitorous body admitted to all the world and sundry such pleasure at his memory? Tia shook her head mournfully, though her smile would not be foiled. Simply told, she could not help herself. Every glimpse she managed of her classmate sent her belly into flutters of nerves, her lips into a desperately repressed grin. Eyes brighter than occasions called for, Tia knew her continence to be far more revealing than she desired. Once Remus Lupin had remarked she appeared feverish, and in concern had kindly offered to accompany her to the Hospital Wing. Politely demurring, Tia had had to infer a recent bout of flying was responsible for her flushed cheeks and shallow breath.

That would have been the day last term young Black had had a nasty tiff with his Quidditch teammates at practice, stalking out the players' rooms in naught but trousers and shoes, uniform in hand. She'd been delivering a message from McGonagall to Potter, the Gryffindors being next for the pitch. That message almost did not make it to the Chaser, Tia's mind all but blank fuzziness at the sight of a bare chest and shimmering wet hair.

Abruptly tearing her mind from reminiscence, Tia pushed back the bed curtains and swung tired feet to the cool hardwood. Thankfully she was spared the prying eyes of fellow Ravenclaws and was left to dress in peace, meaning she could allow her mind to wander as it would without unwanted attention. Over the past two months she'd realised any time she'd thought of Regulus for very long, that right silly half-smile of hers would pop up, garnering teasing questions from her friends. Sarah Crosby – Muggle-born fourth-year Ravenclaw – had pointed out to her on several an occasion that Tia's expression was one of sly devilry, and the girl had humorously begged to know what shifty plans Tia had had in store, and upon whose head. It would hardly do to dispel that notion with the truth: the only plans Tia had been contemplating involved a secluded broom cupboard and chapped lips.

Shaking herself mentally, she set about her morning routine, determined that today would not find her mind drifting to the subject of last night's mental train. Hestia Jones did not moon over boys. She simply did not. And, likewise, boys did not think of her. Pleasant enough in features so as to not be offensive, Tia knew herself not to be on the scale of Marlene McKinnon and her famous legs or Maura Shacklebolt's curvaceous endowments. Nor was she friendly as was Ami Dearborn. Never mind Rosetta Moor's chestnut and teak streaked hair down to her –

Well, needless to lament, Tia realised she was not a coup amongst the opposite gender. Fortunately, that lack did well in focusing her attentions where they belonged: studies, potions, defence. The Ministry was changing, growing, and Tia would be a first for Magical Law Enforcement. A specialist – a female specialist – trained up in the ways of alchemy and brews. Her part in defeating the Dark Arts and its minions would be rewarding, would be milestones for women in their world. And to do that, boys could not be a distraction. Top marks did not go to girls checking out the talent. Even less was the respect given to those blatant about it.

Actually, Tia was rather proud of herself that she'd gone on this long without anyone the wiser of her affections. Well, not that they'd been all that grand to start out with. Merely an inclination of curiosity towards the tall Slytherin boy who'd presented himself quite formally to Professor Slughorn after their first ever Potions class. By fourth year, he was particularly intriguing, a constant brood and lack of gossipy socialising at odds with his posturing housemates. By fifth, fascinating; his masques slipping only in seeming solitude. And after this past summer...

Good goblins! She might be a late bloomer, granted, but this past summer she'd realised quite suddenly and emphatically that Regulus Black was growing into a very fine young man, indeed. When she'd stumbled upon him –

"Oh, thank Merlin, you're awake!" Tia started from her intimate musings at Marlene McKinnon's abrupt entrance. Abandoning hair grooming, she turned to the seventh-year prefect, curious by the mortal tone of the young woman's greeting.

"You all right there, Marli?" she enquired, hesitant lest madness be the case. One black brow rose of its own accord.

"Gods, no," her plea came, distress evident with every subsequent word. Long dark waves of shimmery hair danced with her head shake. "Dugan Chambers asked me to accompany him to Hogsmeade Saturday, and I've a spot the size of a grindylow just under my chin. See? " Tip of the chin exposed a long, elegant neck, Marlene's fingers condemning a point just beneath her gently curved jaw.

Honestly, from her advantageous viewpoint of shortness Tia couldn't see much beyond manicured nails and a bit of redness from obvious picking. But she knew Marlene and admitted to herself the uselessness of negating the girl's fears. Ms McKinnon was a true beauty, and though a talented Ravenclaw herself, the older girl tended to see her appearance as her primary asset. A sigh of resignation, a half chuckle, a relaxation of Tia's tense shoulders. Only cosmetically was it an emergency.

"Er, right," Tia finally responded, lips pursed in effort to contain the laugh. Deep breath or two, then she allowed with all sincerity, "I suppose, then, you've already used up the cream I owled you over the summer, eh?"

Affirmative reply sent Tia to rummage her trunk, the small stock of most requested potions, salves and creams buried deep beneath defence charts and recipe texts. Side orders during school were a boon for her, each bit of purchase that many more Galleons set aside for her future. A future that most certainly did not include boys.

"Thank you, Tia," Marlene gushed, her timbre swinging in pendulum fashion from glum and nervous to chipper, hopeful. Chatty, even, as discussion transitioned in subject.

"You're brilliant, you know. Just like your dad. I mean, he's not one of the most sought after apothecaries for no good reason." Her chuckle came easily, stress of her current situation now draining in light of Tia's saving grace. Or rather, Tia's saving cream.

"Dad's sought after because he's ridiculously obsessed," Tia responded, locating a forest green dragon hide pouch. Rummaging through its offerings, she added, "He's a brilliant mind, yes, but it's his penchant for locating dear quality and the unusual or rare for his clients. I mean, how many other apothecaries do you know who'd happily spend their Christmas hols in the Ural Mountains, jolly to be spotting an overgrown Yeti?" She turned to her classmate, incredulous expression begging to be understood.

"Honestly, Marlene. He offered it roasted porcupine in mint sauce, coaxing it over with promises of treacle tarts for dessert. I feared it'd be Dad roasting on the Tundra whilst I finished my Charms essay in Luxury Cave number seventy-six."

Marlene giggled. "I remember you went there last year, but you never said why your dad was all on about spending Christmas in Northern Russia. Surely he couldn't find it all that exciting."

Grimace and newly cocked brow said it all, and Marlene only laughed more. "Exciting?" Tia repeated, getting to her feet whilst handing over the finally located cobalt jar. "Dad refers to it as 'a haven of rare, exquisite beasts.'" Scowl this time. "I just called it beastly."

With a roll of her eyes and slightly amused sigh, Tia closed her trunk and went to retrieve her ledger from her nightstand. As she recorded the transaction, Marlene chatted on, an observation leading her new line of dialogue.

"I suppose it's a good thing you're so nice," she commented, fingering the most sought after panacea. "Otherwise, with your talents we'd all be cowing in fear as to what next you'd play at." When Tia only threw a cynically quizzical glance over her shoulder then returned to task, Marlene continued.

"Black and Potter are at it again," she clarified, smirk written in her voice. Flecks of pulled threads upon the cloth label now held her fingers and eyes in trance. "Heard their snickers on their way down to breakfast a bit ago. Gods... their new target for the day is Sirius' little brother." Amused humph left her and she glanced up in wry smile.

At Regulus' mention Tia whipped about, losing her balance and knocking hip and bum into the stand's corner, sending porcelain miniatures rocking. The older Ravenclaw, however, noticed little and swept on, seeming to envision a scene in her mind.

"I remember Sirius nicking some hybrid Serpent Vine seeds from Herbology last week. Since we were partnering I asked him why and he had just grinned that lovely way he has and whispered something about showing his family's true Slytherin traits. I'd not think more about it but for the fact I could see bits of their violet shells sticking out from his fist this morning when he stopped to ask me about a late study session for Saturday night. Well, his version of a study session, mind you. Not that I'd protest much, really, but... Anyway, I think he meant to try out the seeds at breakfast, but really I –"

But Marlene McKinnon was talking to an empty room upon glancing back up. She blinked. Hestia Jones had disappeared just as quickly had she Apparated. How odd.

-o-

Tia could never quite pinpoint just why she found herself obsessively protective of Regulus Black, a boy she most definitely was not fancying. A nearly grown wizard of Salazaar's house was more than capable of tending himself and certainly did not need a petite scholarly sort dashing to his rescue. Not that she had any idea what sort of rescue she'd be, she admitted, slowing her step once she'd reached the stairs. Just what was she going to do once she located her classmate? Run breathless to him in the middle of an audience, fumbling out words of a plot to prank him? If he didn't hex her on the spot, he'd think her mad, surely. In the least it wasn't going to gain her any points with him. Not that she wanted points with him.

Certainly not. Well, maybe. Just a little. Wouldn't hurt, after all. But dashing to him in saviour mode? What was the point? He'd not pay her a bit of mind. Really, she'd be best to leave him to his own.

Reasoning, however, forced her recollection of the previous night's encounter. As charmed as she had been for the unexpected solitary meeting in the dead of night, Tia had not missed the mood Regulus had been in, the tension vibrating from his wary form. She doubted that whatever had put him in such a state had disappeared by this morning; a nasty prank by his brother was not likely to be tolerated. Tia could just envision acts of retribution and subsequent expulsion...

No. She could not allow Regulus to be expelled. Years of budding interest could not be wasted by a momentary show of temper.

Her steps sped up.

-o-

It was all Sirius could do not to give away his semi-cloaked position in the shadowed nook between the dungeon entrance and the marble staircase. An hour prior Argus Filtch had cleared the Entrance Hall of its cobweb traps and gooey puddles of leftover Potions projects, and Minerva McGonagall had gone on her rampage to hunt Peeves down for severe discipline. Though, Sirius considered curiously, how did one punish a poltergeist?

But now the area was clear and he had only to await his prey's arrival to begin his day with an amusing diversion. Little brother had as of late been more prickly than usual, venomous glares thrown in Sirius' direction, haughty snipes about true family loyalty whenever Sirius and James were about. Rather than take his bait, Sirius had merely quirked a brow, knowing it too easy to beat his brother verbally and too tempting to duel him. Besides, Regulus was a coward upon confrontation, had proven it to Sirius many times in their years growing up together. It wasn't worth possible expulsion just for putting his little brother in his place. However, a detention or two was most acceptable.

Shifting restlessly upon feet sore from brambles and stones upon the forest floor the night before, Sirius waited impatiently between flows of incoming foot traffic to breakfast. Flicking his glance across the Hall, a slight nod was offered to James, the other boy lounging nonchalantly just outside the Great Hall's double doors. Nearly imperceptible was Potter's return signal, his eyes seeming to return to a text open one-handed before him, a glass of water filling the other. Alas, the small smirk of mischief went not unnoticed to anyone mindful. Reputation alone should have alerted staff, and simple deduction would have flagged Professor McGonagall that where one was, if the other were not in sight, trouble must be brewing. Luckily for them both, their head of house had other distractions at the moment – in another area of the castle.

Hands rammed deeply within trouser pockets, Sirius' fingers flexed about the seeds he'd liberated from greenhouse number five just the other day. If Regulus was so on about loyalty to family and house and all without discretion, then by all means Sirius was going to help his sense of expression right along. Served him right, the prat.

Pity Moony was laid up in the hospital wing; the show would cheer him right up, Sirius mused. Peter had volunteered himself as Wormtail, scurrying about the dungeon corridor to ensure Regulus was significantly alone when he entered the Hall. Sirius needed the moment of clearance behind his brother to avoid detection.

Lost in thought, he nearly missed the Black Heir's entrance. Regulus was striding from the dungeon doorway, his usual ramrod posture giving proof to his inborn self-importance and inflexible personality. The elder brother grinned slyly. It was going to be interesting to see how well Regulus handled – or rather, did not handle – his soon to be attention. Pompous he may be, but Regulus did not relish the spotlight, Sirius knew. In fact, his little brother went to great measure to keep his actions unobtrusive.

Tut, tut, Sirius mentally snickered. Quiet and unobtrusive. What would Mother say? Answering his own rhetoric with a muted snort, Sirius moved quickly, silently in behind his brother. As planned, James moved to block the open doorway as though rambling whilst studying, causing Regulus to slow his pace. It was just long enough for Sirius – a full hand taller – to sprinkle the seeds of his humour into the nest of perfectly groomed ebony tresses before him. Hit and run, Sirius darted back with a sweep through several confused Gryffindors and a Ravenclaw, taking several leaping steps up the marble staircase before turning to watch phase two.

None the wiser, Regulus weaved in annoyance to avoid James, scowl in place as he made for an opening betwixt the Gryffindor and out-coming Hufflepuffs. It was then James made his move.

Stumbling as though toe had caught on flagstone, the imitation of desperate plea for balance was perfection itself. James' hands rose above his head and away from him, book falling from one outstretched limb, the other sloshing its goblet's contents with forward momentum. Right upon Regulus Black's head.

Sirius grinned devilishly.

Brilliant.

-o-

Slow motion as though underwater, the scene played out before her. Hestia Jones inwardly crumpled in dread, her quick Ravenclaw mind putting together the scheme as she witnessed downfall before her. Just over her shoulder on the stairs Sirius had stopped to turn, his face breaking into immature glee. James Potter was profusely apologising before Regulus, taking the act beyond credibility.

"Oh, dear, I'm most sorry!" Potter was profusing, eyes wide in abject innocence. Using his robe sleeve, he made grand gestures of mopping up the water from Regulus' own attire and face, Black jerking back in irritation. "Here, let me tidy that back up for you."

"Sod off, you graceless buffoon," Black countered with several steps back, a mixture of whinging irritation and impatience. Exasperated mumbling continued with fidgeting, only occasional phrases clear enough for Tia to make out. Not long did he find himself hindered by Potter, though, and brusquely he darted around the older boy, readjusting his shoulder strap of books in an effort to palm his wand. He was prepared for further arrests.

Cautiously but with no little concern, Tia followed him into the Great Hall, ignoring the meagrely suppressed chortles of laughter falling from Potter's lips as she passed. Slowing her steps immediately beyond the doors, she feigned retying her shoelace in order to watch him stalk up the Slytherin table line. Maybe their prank hadn't worked, she hoped. Nothing but a brief drenching had thus far been noted, and as Regulus dropped his bag and seated himself in a frump, he quickly took care of that particular matter with a practiced flick.

Pent sigh of relief coursed through her, and Tia ventured on to her own house's table. Seated so she could keep Regulus in sight (just to be sure, after all), she commenced with pumpkin juice and toast, preparing to spread liberal amounts of strawberry jam when from behind the snickers began. Low, throaty at first, then spreading. Over her shoulder she caught sight of Sirius Black and James Potter, nearly directly behind her. Peter Pettigrew had joined them, and a few of their mates had also fallen prey to stifled laughter. Their gaze, she realised with dread, fell past her to the other side of the room. Turning back, her own eyes sought Regulus.

Oh, no... Embarrassment spread throughout Tia's face on Regulus' behalf. A witch she may be, but she could not shield this intriguing boy from what was about to become, what was already becoming.

Sprouting in flowing grandeur were thick, scaly tendrils of vine, thorns curved in fang fashion interspersed along. Small, green leafs darted about the plant. Each vine tip produced an arrowhead leaf reminiscent of, expectedly, a viper, its own pointy outgrowths reinforcing the common name. Nearly a dozen such tresses grew, their speed mocking with acceleration worthy of a herbologist's envy.

The snickers were increasing now, spreading throughout the Hall as more students were alerted to the show. Strands fell past his shoulders. Stares from all houses were no longer checked. And then... Regulus noticed.

Too far away was he for her to precisely read his expression, but thunderous did seem to fit. Yet unlike she knew most anyone else would do, he remained calm – at least by outward appearances – and merely rose slowly to his feet. Not once did he touch the foliage, choosing to ignore its presence. Gathering his bag and a cheese pasty, Regulus walked in haughty silence toward the double doors.

"Mummy's precious little snakelette seems a bit shy, suddenly," Tia heard behind her. Sirius was mocking his brother with initially light tones, but a layer of bitterness hinted beneath amusement. "Now, now, Reggie; mustn't forget your manners. Germination at the breakfast table is a definite no-no of protocol."

"Would that fall under personal grooming in public, or posturing one's politics at mealtime?" Potter quipped back.

"Oh, more the lines of insulting the chef for bringing one's own veggie matter to the table. Posturing politics is perfectly acceptable for ancient purebloods such as the Blacks," Sirius replied, slight snort mixing in his follow-up. "Excepting me, of course," he added, flamboyant gesture to himself with theatrical half-bow and fluttering eyes garnering howls of laughter nearby.

"Think he'll get Pomfrey to clear it up without telling?" Pettigrew this time.

"Pomfrey's a bit blinkered with us," Potter replied lazily. "Can't see a naughty bone between us, what with our loyal visits to Moony and all." His smile was cocky but genuine, a faraway gaze momentarily gracing his bespectacled features. Sirius' answer, however, bordered with bite.

"Reggie won't spill; too much a coward for any confrontation. Too inept for equal play, either." Disgust mingled with his words now. "Like a true Black, he'll either just pay someone to do his deeds, or merely disown me in a show of righteous piety to the Black ancestry. Oh wait," he barked in a laugh. "I'm already disowned."

More chuckles this time, murmurings of some private humour passing between them, but Tia did not note their meaning. Without conscious effort, she found herself afoot and striding angrily around the tables and toward the trio, bristling in indignation. Once she stopped directly before Sirius, however, her mouth betrayed her. She was no heroine, after all.

"That was mean, Black," was all she could muster. Sirius gave a grin of elegant charm, casual sweep of black locks falling into his eyes. Right fit, yes, but Tia saw too much strutting peacock in him to appreciate the fine facial bones and spirited eyes that pulled her so longingly toward his brother.

"Oh, come now, Jones," he pshawed, knowing look to Potter before returning. "My little brother wouldn't give you the time of day, you know. Wouldn't stand up for you to anyone. You may be pureblood, but you're not of his rank. Rather, of Mother's rank," he clarified, more to himself, "but one does tend to equal the other. The prat deserved it, and anything further we can conjure up our last year here." Chortled laughter rose among the companions. One last time his attention fell to her.

"Now go on and play at Mungo Bonham somewhere else for a bloke who'd appreciate it." Dismissively he turned back to Potter, chattering on about some personal joke. Furious but without retort, Tia made a sound of disgust and turned on heel, stalking back to her table. She had Herbology in an hour, and an incomplete assignment calling her. Mungo Bonham tendencies would have to wait.

-o-

He was tardy to History of Magic, but Binns neither noticed his entrance nor the parchment of excuse from Pomfrey he'd tossed upon the ghost's desk. Taking his seat in a fume, Regulus narrowed his eyes in contemplation.

Damn Sirius for aggravating his life further, he thought, jaw clenched in anger. His brother simply could not leave well enough alone, could not make do with every-fucking-one's total adoration and worship of him; he had to taunt and nettle Regulus, poking for a reaction. He'd not get one.

After all these years, Sirius still failed to comprehend the code and meaning of family. Regulus would not retaliate, no matter the hungering taste for it now building inside. This morning he'd wanted so very much to stand atop the table and hex his sibling oblivious across the room. But he hadn't. No; instead he'd behaved as a properly reared pureblood should do, dignity in place and verbal lashings held for private audience only. That is, assuming he'd find his brother alone during which to down-dress him.

Sirius could never understand the innate duties and loyalties to family, nor to the bloodlines and propriety of social status. Uncouth and ill-mannered, his brother was still family, blasted family tree limb notwithstanding. Regulus need not acknowledge him, but neither would he actively assault him.

Recalling his own exit from the Great Hall but an hour before, Regulus envisioned the sight granted him when he'd turned back to gather his fallen quill. Conversing quite cosily with said demonic sibling and entourage had been Hestia Jones, her nearness to Sirius quite telling of her blatantly amorous regard for him. Regulus' stomach now tightened. As suspected last evening, she was in with Sirius and Potter, playing her part as both mole and lackey.

A snort caught in his throat. He wondered just what sort of payment she was receiving for her services, then thought better of mentally travelling that path. It wasn't seeming to be sick in class, even if it was a waffle on like double History of Magic. He'd see her next in Ancient Runes, an hour hence. Best to stay his thoughts until then.

Sirius was blood. No matter the circumstances, Regulus would not call outright war against his brother. Hestia Jones, however, was an outsider.

Another matter entirely.