Chapter 5: Enemy of Mine

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Chapter 5: Enemy of Mine

It was the power he loved. This moment of complete independence, of matters taken into his own hands without direction or instruction by others. What he did with her was his choice, and his alone, and Regulus Black appreciated that sense of empowerment more than he could ever have spoken.

Hestia Jones, ace student and all around silly little brown-noser, was under his control. True, he'd disarmed her prior and came in by ambush, but what did that matter? In war, all was fair. It wasn't his fault she was careless... too trusting and optimistic to consider possibilities of attack. Silly bint.

What had begun initially as a struggle on her part quickly ceased at his words. At first Regulus congratulated himself upon his ability to strike fear into her sheep-like self. Only ewes would follow Sirius and his ilk so blindly, so flippantly. She played with fire, and now the burning was to commence. Anticipating her scream, Regulus prepared the spell to muffle it from prying ears, but he stayed his wand. A needful part of him longed to hear the echoes of her words when she began pleading with him, begging for her life and virtue.

Hah. Like he would sully himself with her so-called virtue, something he was near sure was non-existent as his Lothario brother was involved. Nevertheless, opportunity availed itself at this moment for him to exact physical revenge of sorts, and he relished the thought immensely. After all was said and done, he would of course have to alter her memory – a charm which he had studied dutifully all summer – as expulsion or worse was not an option. But she would leave with a scar or two of remembrance, some faint recollection connecting Sirius with bad things for herself.

Yes, at first he'd congratulated himself on his power. Digging the wand deeper into soft flesh, he awaited the tears and choked pleas with checked expectation. Reality, however, had other ideas.

"If you wanted to chat me up alone, Regulus," her soft voice suggested nonchalantly, "you could have simply asked."

Undignified or not, Regulus felt his jaw drop slightly at her response. Seeking reply, he found only silent lip service into the darkness, lost for comment. Did she really just say that?

Clambering for clarity, it took a moment for Regulus to regain himself. Attempting composure, he returned to nature and his original contemptuous air.

"Sorry, Jones; think I'll leave your chatting to my brother and his kind. You've obviously gotten so very close," he reminded her lowly. Though she'd ceased struggling, Regulus was all too aware her position, and told himself it was wariness for her attempts to strike and flee that kept his hold upon her so tight in hand.

"What the bloody he-"

"What is going on here?" Jones' retort to his taunt was cut short by an all too familiar command from behind, wandlight now illuminating sections of their bodies, casting off portraits and agitating them into grumbles.

Immediately Regulus relaxed the hold on his classmate to her left hip, hiding the securing move in the shadows. Dropping his wand down so as to appear non-threatening, he took on stoic appearances. Last he needed was any indication he was attacking a student. Mother would never condone or forgive him.

For being caught, that is.

Searching his mind frantically for excuses plausible, Regulus made to form the words as he turned to Professor McGonagall, her wand now lowered to give ambient light in the chasm of the corridor. But he never had a chance to speak.

"Evening, Professor," Jones answered pleasantly, shifting her weight subtly forward to gain release from his hand as she turned fully. He had little choice but to comply.

"Edgar Bones wasn't feeling well this evening, so Regulus was kind enough to offer to walk my rounds with me. I've been studying so much lately I've not gotten enough sleep. And, being so knackered, I didn't trust my attention to my surroundings, so I asked Reg if he'd keep me company, keep me awake and all."

Shock marred with confusion and curiosity, and Regulus stared at her throughout the lengthy commentary. Part of him wanted to laugh at her rambling – laugh, mind you – as he stared at her finagling her way out of trouble with McGonagall.

Correction: finagling his way out of trouble.

What was her scheme? Here was the perfect opportunity to convict him, possibly have him expelled for what she knew he'd tried to do – the potion in her hair – and his less-than-congenial attitude towards her as of late. Not to mention this attack in the making. And yet... yet she was covering for him, acting as though it was her idea, her request, that it was nothing more than a mate doing a favour.

A mate. A favour. He couldn't quite wrap his mind around it all.

"... all well and good," the head of Gryffindor was answering, "but would you care to explain why your wand is off down the way and the two of you are in the dark, in rather –" lips pursed in suspicious question – "close confines?" Her right brow lifted in silent rebuke, suggesting the explanation ought to be enlightening.

Against expectation, the witch actually had a ready answer. "I tripped. I'm so tired I faltered over my own clumsy feet." She had the state of mind to allow a blush, a momentary head drop in mock self consciousness. Her lie flowed so easily, so well enhanced, she might've done well in Slytherin.

"Thankfully Reg caught me before I had a repeat performance of Defence last week." Regulus cringed at the reminder. In light of her silence to his current misdeeds, a tinge of guilt so foreign wafted through him. Vaguely he wondered if she bore a scar beneath the lay of her long black hair. He'd schemed and thwarted her for days, yet even now she protected him.

Regulus awaited her turn about. He needed to concoct a brilliant story so as to protect himself from the professor's certain wrath when Jones abruptly told the truth, confessed her story and claimed him afoul. McGonagall was a Gryffindor, and that itself held her prejudice against him. She doted on Sirius, cast a blind eye toward Potter, Lupin, Pettigrew. It would follow course that she would lay blame at his feet over the Ravenclaw, over the bosom companion to his brother's lot. No questions, only condemnation.

Regulus grit his jaw at the thought. It gnawed his gut, this endless sea of mugs disgustingly loyal to the blood-traitors. Like so many, McGonagall failed to see the wrongs Sirius transgressed, chose to fault in his stead those whose priorities were well-placed, regardless of fashion. Regulus was crucified by such twee-minded folk, all simply for the fact he knew truth of the world, the need for blood purity.

By any means necessary.

"... and in the future, Ms Jones," the Scot was saying, pulling Regulus from contemplations, "if you find your prefect partner unable to fulfil his duties as assigned, you will report to your head of house for a new partner, as stipulated in the rules. Rules, I might add," McGonagall continued, a quick, meaningful glance to Regulus. Stern, disapproving. "Which do not include friends strolling about the castle after curfew with you whilst on duty. I shall let it pass this time, but if it happens again I shall ensure your night-time duties include several evenings assisting Ms Vaisey in the Trophy Room, wandless. Do I make myself clear?"

Regulus could only nod reactively, unsure his voice would remain stable in his apprehension and uncertainty. Jones answered for them both.

"Yes, Professor," she replied, a combination of humble versus clever. "Would you prefer I complete my rounds now alone or disturb Professor Flitwick for someone else to patrol with?" She'd played McGonagall well, directing the discussion as though she sought guidance that only the teacher could offer. Regulus was impressed, in spite of himself.

Mollified, McGonagall's voice lowered and softened in reluctant loss of fuss. "I will have a word with Professor Sprout regarding Mr Bones tomorrow. For now, I believe it would be best, Ms Jones, if you would escort Mr Black back to his common room, then finish your rounds as instructed. We'll discuss the matter further at a later date if you need to change your duty schedule."

"Yes, Professor." Regulus was surprised to find his own voice had chorused with Jones'.

McGonagall curtly nodded and took several steps before turn round once more.

"And for Merlin's sake, Mr Black, light you wand." Scowl intensifying momentarily, the professor turned after he'd done so and soon disappeared into the night's void of the castle.

-o-

Her boldness amazed even herself, and Tia found herself vaguely curious the source of her brazen. Typically Regulus' presence would have her jittery with awareness. But circumstances bode ill with such nonsense, and Tia knew only survival – prevention of detention, protection of prefecture, side-step of embarrassment. Cleverness worked to her advantage this moment, and it was with a sigh of relief when Minerva McGonagall turned to depart without further ado.

Then Tia recalled her predicament. She turned abruptly toward her companion.

"I don't know what you're playing at, Black," she hissed as McGonagall's footsteps faded. Being lectured over rules wasn't something Tia enjoyed, and Regulus' unwarranted distain these past days was fast becoming her greatest agitation. "But I don't appreciate being assaulted in corridor in the middle of the night. You shouldn't even be out of your rooms, you know. I let you go the first time, but it could mean loads of trouble for me should I get caught helping you sneak about. This is the last time I'm covering for you. I don't care how lovely you are to look upon, it's not worth losing my place as prefect. Some of us don't have wealthy families to fall back upon. Some of us must worry about a job after school."

Breathing came harsher now, adrenaline coursing, blending with hints of anticipation. Were she outside herself and watching unemotionally the scene they presented, Tia would have taken in the situation as an opportunity. Alone in a darkened corridor with no one to witness but drowsy portraits, nothing but self esteem and overriding annoyance held in check Tia's lightly buried impulse. Only a stride away, shadows dancing enticingly across his aristocratic features, Regulus left her wanting little more than to step once and meet his lips with her own. A reckless impulse, to be sure, and one she might regret not taking in some distant future. But for now, tension called her play; its breaking point had been met.

"There's nothing for it, I s'pose," she continued wearily after the drawn out seconds of silence indicated too well that Regulus would remain mute on the subject. He merely stood before her, rigid with disdain. For her or the situation, Tia didn't know, but she was split between appreciating his regal beauty and feeling insult at his treatment. She disregarded both.

"Let's just return you to the Slytherin common room so I can go on about my duties before McGonagall throws me into detention, all right?" Without awaiting his agreement, she turned and strolled the same path the professor had trod only minutes before, retrieving her wand on the outskirts of his wandlight. Turning the corner, she listened carefully outside her own shuffle and made out creaks of the castle, scurries of its smaller inhabitants. No disappointment, however, as by the time she reached the first secured classroom, quick, measured footsteps approached from behind. Three breaths and he was next to her, brooding and silent and focused straight ahead, but beside her.

Quarter of an hour passed before their mutual reserve was broken, Tia having mentally gone over the previous events in detail twice in that time.

"And what were you on about earlier? Your brother and his kind, as you so eloquently put it." Though she was still annoyed, curiosity dominated and her voice was relaxed as they descended the dungeon steps. "I've spoken to Sirius Black perhaps a dozen times at school in six years; I'd not wager he'd know my name were it tattooed upon my forehead, honest to say. Why'd you think we were close?"

Before, she'd often catch Sirius at his home during summer and winter holidays, whenever she went with her father to make deliveries of bespoke orders. But that was only in passing, polite and light-hearted greetings, little more than pleasantries in crossing her path between the staircase and front door, her usual place to never leave the foyer. Tia had always figured he was on his way to meet James Potter on those days, a Muggle leather jacket topped with a mischievous grin and flirtatious eyes swaggering out the door. But never before he cast a wink in her direction, some double-entendre falling seductively from his quirked lips.

Oh, yes; Sirius Black was a fine specimen of male, no doubt, and a wicked jammy beggar to boot! But it was the watchful younger brother perched in the shadows of the landing that had always held Tia's attention. His eyes, however, rarely travelled to her, instead following his brother's wake. Forlorn and hungry and vulnerable they were until he'd note he was not alone, then pompous scathing would replace the guarded affection for his brother. He would toss her but the briefest of glances then and return above stairs. Never would he acknowledge her on such occasions.

"Come off it, Jones," said younger brother was now biting. "We both know you've been inducted into the Sirius Black-James Potter fan club. But I warn you: assisting them in their little childish pranks could be hazardous to your very health. One day you'll cross the wrong person," he said darkly, casting her a sidelong peer. "If you've not done so already."

They'd reached the hidden entrance to the Slytherin dormitory, and Regulus had stopped, turning to her only to bid her to take leave so that he may utter the password. Tia, however, was not in the mood to adjourn just yet.

"Sorry?" she enquired, fresh rush of hackles rising in response to his less than veiled threat. She turned fully to him, drawing up to her full height. Facial lines drew taut as all reminiscence faded quickly with his words.

"You're not deaf, Jones," he answered in haughty annoyance. "Nor are you ignorant, though that fact is at times debatable." His posture suggested bored, but Tia knew his stance promised immediate fight should such be warranted. She was no fool. She was, however, past the point of caring.

"Are you threatening me?" Her voice fell several decibels, teeth clenched in renewed anger. A step, then she was right upon him, glaring, provoking his ire. Chin raised high, Tia set her jaw and stared into his eyes, fathomless in the failing light of wands pointed earthward. Even his breath upon her face was indistinct, a vague warmness venturing across her skin. Her brows knit.

"Never – ever – threaten me, Mr Black. I'll not tolerate it. In case you've not noticed, I'm not some flitting First Year, trembling at your brooding and your on-airs spite. I can out-duel you blindfolded, as we both well know. And don't even think you're clever with trickery. Though a Slytherin, I too know your sense of propriety and pride would prevent you from ever cheating in an attack upon my person. Barring, of course," she allowed, raising one delicate brow in acidic accusation, "this evening's flanking performance."

She'd not frighten him, she knew, but Tia was slightly impressed his staunch reaction. He'd not given a centimetre to her bullying stance, not flinched once in her invasion of his immediate presence and space. Regulus had, indeed, done nothing beyond look dully upon her, barely inclining his head to do so. Even in her anger, Tia had to fight raising her free hand to brush aside the lock of fine darkness that had fallen across his brow. It was no time to stroke his hair.

Besides; she truly was pissed off at him.

"So choose your words carefully for future reference, Black; your credibility diminishes with empty threats. And as far as your brother is concerned, you needn't worry. If this is how you show appreciation for my defending you against his and Potter's mockery, rest assured I shan't do so again. You can bloody well bugger off and defend yourself."

Two heavy breaths of pause and glare, then Tia whipped about and left, frustrative energy propelling her steps rapidly in leaving the dungeon.

"Gods, Tia," she mumbled in self-berating snips once well away. "Why couldn't you've had got a fancy for a normal boy, a friendly boy? Why have you got to always pick the broken ones with a chip and something to prove, eh?" She took the steps two at a time, emerging into the Entrance Hall flustered. Had she ever dreamt of something more than acquaintance with Regulus Black, Hestia Jones was quite certain she'd just marred that dream within a sliver of its life. In point of fact, she'd just cast the Killing Curse upon it.

Damn temper.

-o-

Gardenia, like the fragrance encompassing him during their Tahitian holiday two years prior. The scent had softly assaulted him as Jones had raged on, so close to him he'd nearly had to step back for clear vision. But he hadn't, and Regulus had instead found himself chin to forehead with the Ravenclaw, her snapping fire unexpected and yet not wholly unappreciated. It wasn't every day someone surprised Regulus Black.

And Hestia Jones had done just that.

Truthfully, he really had expected her to be frightened of him. Members of his own house were wary of him, cautious in their comments and sickeningly spineless in their grovelling. Not that he didn't expect them to show deference to him; they should, make no mistake. But their allegiance swayed with the tide. Their fear could ensure their loyalty, yes; but fear could also instil desire enough to seek a coup d'état. Such alliance must be marked with caution.

Yet Jones had displayed no qualms in berating him his suggestion. She broached the subject head-on, unlike any proper pure-blood should, mind you, but without hiding behind allusion or hints. It wasn't proper, her passionate response lacking any sense of decorum or respect for her betters, so it couldn't be called 'refreshing.' But Regulus had to admit her reaction failed to bore him, shaking up his usual disdain into something more... disturbing.

Rather than deny association with his brother, she'd clarified, attitude not one of begging his understanding or forgiveness, but berating him his own response.

Defending him? Had she actually said she had been defending him? He, Regulus A Black, did not need defending. And certainly not from his brother by a mere slip of a girl, one too affiliating and assimilating with Muggles, half-breeds, and blood-traitors to warrant a second thought. Yet she...

Inadvertent was the half-chuckle that slipped from his throat as he stood stark still, not having moved since his escort had departed. It was unwelcome as it was foreign, but this unexpected humour found corporeal form at the mind's image of any female underage telling Sirius off, never mind were it in defence of the younger brother. To verbally scorch him over Regulus' well-being – and Regulus had no doubt Jones would approach her maligning battle just as passionately as she just had with him... well, it would have been a sight to behold, he was sure of it.

Slight shake of his head, and he turned round, opening the Slytherin passage with vocalisation of ideals. Stepping into the slumber of his common room, ease of breath at its lacking occupancy. Firelight dying, it was with care he made way to his room, wand extinguished, to mutely change into pyjama bottoms and slide beneath cool sheets.

Once more he stared blindly above from behind heavy emerald velvet, awareness too sharp to fall asleep. Right arm curled above his head, he allowed whispers of thought to come to the forefront. Ignore as he might, Regulus could not shed the imprint his body now recalled so vividly, the heat of her backside impressing itself still on his chilled skin. Her hair had tickled his nose, caught on his beard growth. She'd thought him lovely to look upon – he'd not expected that – and her firm form had softened pliably against him once he'd spoken in her ear.

Regulus shook himself in disgust. When he started entertaining easy thoughts of Hestia Jones, it was a sure sign he'd been without a girlfriend for far too long this time. In the morn he'd have to remedy that.

Decision made, he closed his eyes and gave sleep permission to overcome. Fluttering across his mind as conscious gave over to dream...

And what was she doing calling him Reg?

-o-

"You can't be serious, Peter." Sirius' bewilderment hung in the air, each boy in the fading firelight awaiting their friend's admittance of a prank. When it didn't come, the elder Black broke the expectant silence.

"The chit's taken a liking to my little brother, the Earl of Arse and heir to the bloody fucking House of Black? Un-fuckin'-believable," he cried in astonishment, a barking laugh punctuating his incredulity. His amusement overrode everything else current, including the filched pasties and pumpkin juice from the kitchens. Peter's jaunt as Wormtail had not been in vain.

"Looks like she meant it when she chided us for the Serpent Vine, mate," James remarked thoughtfully between his own outbursts of laughter.

Remus smiled, amused, but much more subdued. If Regulus Black could have hope of a sincere admirer, then Hestia Jones was a promising sort to have. The younger girl he had met on many an occasion at school. She was genuine and good-hearted – just what Regulus needed. However, he could scarcely ignore the humour of such a shock. It was Regulus, after all.

"As your brother, Sirius," Remus reasoned, his eyes bright, smile tired but very real, "it really shouldn't come as a surprise a girl fancies him. After all, the physical resemblance is there, so he has the looks even if he's a bit lacking in your charm."

Sirius snorted. "Hah! Charm is an unattainable asset for Reggie. His idea of charm is to wipe after a bit of arse kissing."

"Are you sure what you saw?" James inquired of their returned colleague, credibility of the story still eluding him. He'd known Regulus nearly as long as he'd known Sirius, details of the siblings' relationship from the latter's tales filling in the gaps left in his personal dealings with the boy.

The smaller boy nodded enthusiastically, his watery blue eyes wide with excitement.

"I had just come out the fourth floor passage – you know, the one with the Isle of Wright pixies mural on the fifth keystone. You know how I love the gossamer trim to their wings, the delicate detail added with silkworm spin mixed in the colour..." All three nodded vigorously, vocally egging him on to continue. "Right. Anyway, I'd just turned the corner to cut a bit of time, and Tia was there." Brows raised in question, and Peter realised his error, moving quickly to correct.

"She's nice, and I chat with her sometimes over herbology and flowers and such."

"To win fair maiden Terra Crosby's heart, we know," James delivered, satisfied smirk following Peter's heavy blush.

"On with it, Pete," Sirius rushed, rolling his hand in effort to speed the boy along.

"So I was sneaking by, trying not to be seen or heard. After all, I don't know how she is about rats and didn't want to get blasted. Which, by the way, I still don't know why I couldn't have borrowed the cloak and map, you know. Much safer –"

"Peter!" they all chorused impatiently.

"All right, all right," he pacified, shushing their voices with outstretched hands of supplication.

"Lily's borrowing the cloak," James interjected sheepishly. "And the map's undergoing a few... minor adjustments."

"Oh, really? What would Lily need with the cloak? I thought she didn't approve of nosing about after curfew, and what sort of adjust–"

"Honestly, Peter, if you don't get on with the story," Remus interrupted, exasperated, "I'll turn you piglet pink and grow you gossamer and silkworm pixie wings... on your earlobes. Now get the bloody hell on with it."

Six eyes stared gobsmacked at the prefect, jaws hanging before impressed commentary briefly surrounded him by the two raven-haired wizards. Peter traded his blush red for blanched white.

"Er, right." Audible swallow. "Well, like I'd said before, that's when she spotted me, but your brother came up from behind and disarmed her, then took hold her body like he was going to kidnap or hex her. But McGonagall showed up, and Tia lied to her, told her Regulus was just helping her out, keeping her company. After McGonagall left, Tia threw a right fit, going on about how he'd been so horrible to her the last few days. Then she said she didn't care how lovely he was to look upon, she'd not have it. The horribleness to her, that is."

"Surely you didn't leave her there alone with him," Remus asked, worry creasing his freshly scarred face. "Jones is brilliant enough in Defence – I've patrolled with her before – but without her wand... And your brother's house isn't exactly known for fair play," he added with a glance to Sirius.

"No; I followed them long enough to make sure Regulus didn't attack her, but they walked too fast and I lost them. But after I left the kitchens and had to slip through shortcuts in my own form, I saw her patrolling and she seemed all right. Not happy, but physically all right."

"I'll be damned, Sirius," James said when Peter's stilled tongue denoted his story done. James' grin widened as he took to the couch before the fire, index finger pushing his glasses back up his nose. "Our little Serpent Boy is all grown up. Think a good shag will lighten his mood?"

Choked coughs answered, and Sirius cleared his throat after a moment to remark.

"Gods; for her sake, I should hope it doesn't come down to that. He'd probably have a manual on proper fornication manners. Besides, she's a Ravenclaw, isn't she? Too intelligent to get involved with the likes of my family. Mother and Father would splinch themselves if he so much as spoke kindly to the bird. She may be a pure-blood, but her father's well open about his views on Muggle-borns, Muggles and the like. His reputation as an apothecary genius is all that keeps him from being targeted by fanatics like my dear relations." Dark grimace pulled Sirius' features.

"Besides," Remus added, wry grin emerging. "'Lovely to look upon' is hardly a proclamation of undying love. I think, perhaps, tonight has quashed all traces of amour she might have held for Regulus."

"Perhaps." Sirius' grim expression lightened only minimally. "Nevertheless, I'd feel better if I had a little chat with Ms Jones. I'd like a clear conscience when I leave this school, and it's my Gryffindor duty to protect the innocent."

"Hear, hear!" James concurred, clinking his liberated bottle of butterbeer to Sirius'. Heavy swigs of the drink produced sighs of approval all around. "Now, Peter, if you'd be so kind as to pass the roast platypus..."

-o-0-o-

"Reeeaaally? How... intriguing."

"I felt it best you be apprised of the situation post-haste, madam. It may only be rumour at this point, but there is rarely steam without a boiling cauldron somewhere. Shall I devise a dark solution to correct the issue?" His voice was velvet, its glee at the suggestion simply covered in transparent gauze.

"No... no," her thoughtful reply came. She clicked claw-like nails in monotonous rhythm against the chair rail. "I've a better use in mind. In truth, why waste an opportunity so delicious, mmm?"

Her smile was odd against aquiline features, a rarity but in the most nefarious of designs. Low, throaty chuckle rose as she turned back to her informant, eyes narrowing in plan.

"Keep watch, and inform me of any relevant changes on her behalf. A little encouragement may be to our fortunes, dear sir."

"But he does not return –"

"Leave him to me," she countered, humming a little tuneless melody in her departure from the room. "I always know best."