Chapter 6: Assignations

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Chapter 6: Assignations

"You're not up to anything rule-breaking, are you?" Tia's tone held more than mere curiosity, but not by much. Suspicion hinted that his plans bordered a fine line betwixt Professor Dumbledore's frown and Professor Slughorn's impressed pride. She could respect that, actually, herself known on occasion to tread that thin needle-eye loophole within the barriers of law. For Tia, it was always more a matter of morality, ethics. Rules were not always conducive to either.

"Suffice it to say, Ms Jones," the reply soothed, his usual condescendence minimised, "my intentions for the Demiguise hair are within Ministry confines..." Here his voice trailed off, a defining indication of carefully chosen words to make the statement true. How like him.

When Tia said nothing, he continued, their solitary presence in the shadowed corridor emphasising the air of intrigue. She knew better than to ask clarification.

"I trust your continued discretion in our dealings." Half statement, half question. Tia's crooked half-smile answer narrowed her eyes in humour.

"As I always do, Severus. Though, honestly, I don't see the need for such lengths of appeared non-association. You're not so ghastly a bloke as some would have one believe, you know." Some to be more than three-quarters the students now gathered in the Great Hall, the Hallowe'en Feast currently in full swing.

"Thank you for your rapt observation," Severus replied dryly. His features remained impassive, giving way only subtle exasperation, a feature of which Tia often found herself on the receiving end. "However, in spite of your ideological views of the world and, more precisely, those who live within its planes, I assure you it would not be prudent for your association with me to become a known factor within this school. Aside from ill-harboured questions regarding our transactions – which I am loath to answer – I have repeatedly reminded you the implications one might make were they to realise we had more than a passing acquaintance. We are not friends, need I point out; we are merely associates in business. Pleasant acquaintances, at best."

Tia's wry smile grew infinitesimally. Indeed, she saw Severus Snape as an individual fascinated as was she with the Potions world, his appreciation healthy for its ingredients and details, its subtleties and finesse. And he had been nothing but respectful to her since their initial one-on-one meeting some two years prior, a business transaction in Diagon Alley during the Christmas hols. She had only just returned from the Ural Mountains, her arse frozen and her mind frazzled from Flitwick's impossible essay. Appreciative of her having delivered his powdered reindeer antler early and personally, Severus had taken it upon himself to teach her a useful nonverbal jinx by means of thanks. This she had since found helpful in her travels.

No, he was right: they were not friends, but they were friendly. In truth, she found him interesting. Terribly cross at times, but interesting. It wasn't a situation she felt to be problematic. He obviously felt differently, though.

"You worry too much about what others think," she finally said, now pocketing the Sickles in her robe's inner lining.

"On the contrary, Ms Jones," he parried, his own pocket being filled with the small, brown paper wrapped parcel. "It is you who do not worry enough. Far be it from me to attempt to direct your life, but might I advise a little more caution from you; there are those here who do not agree with your ideals, as it were. Myself included." Here he cut a look to her, one mixed in chastisement and regret. Then his eyes returned to their surroundings as though he considered himself in danger of being caught.

He continued.

"But I have no quarrel with you. That does not go to say the same might be said for –"

"Well, well... if it isn't Snivellus, out for a trolling. Fancy yourself better luck with the girls in the dark, eh? All the better to not see you, I suppose." A malicious edge tainted the voice, its usual jovial cadence tense.

Tia started at the presence to her right, her wand drawn quickly, though she noted with certain self-deprecation Severus' much faster draw. She would have to practise.

"Evening, Black," the Slytherin countered smoothly, vague light revealing a face tight with hatred as he spoke. "Wandering about the castle without your pet, I see. And no audience for your attention-hording preen show." His upper lip curled. "Pity it's so dark outside this evening; perhaps Potter could have been a howling success, don't you think?"

Sirius Black broke violently from the shadows then halted suddenly after two strides. It was as though instinct demanded fighting reaction, but an inner, cooler head reminded him to mind his step. He froze, knuckles white in their wand grip. Severus' hand had risen in defence, steady and baiting.

Conflicted in behaviour, it was heartbeats before Sirius spoke again, this time all humour vacant from his voice. "James has more pity for the weak and helpless than do I." Carefully chosen were his words, slow, intent. "I've no qualms thinning the herd of its darker rubbish."

"Then perhaps you should start with your own fa–"

"Stop it! Both of you!" Tia's yell startled not only the brawl-ready boys but herself as well. Her wand had flicked between them, unsure whom she was to be most concerned about. It was obvious they hated each other, and more so than mere house rivalry. There was an intensity that stood hairs on the back of her neck, left her uneasy.

"I'm still the prefect here," she continued, voice more courageous sounding than she felt. Inside a certain nausea rose, a sense there was more to fear here than childish hexes. "And I won't allow fighting in the corridors."

Both sets of masculine eyes peered at her, their look slightly incredulous. Taking advantage of their off-guard, Tia straightened her back and strove for her best McGonagall tone, too aware of the surrounding solitude, distant from help.

"Now," she began, turning to the Slytherin of their group, "Severus, please return to the Great Hall. You've been gone a while," she interrupted his queued objection, "and you know your absence will be noted to Professor Slughorn if you do not return post haste.

"And as for you," she went on, turning to Black, "kindly state your business for roaming the corridors before I take points." Point-taking was the only threat she had at the moment, her hope being he'd not realise her own venture into the deserted landscapes was most likely not endorsed by the powers that be.

"Ms Jones," Severus Snape took up, his gaze only briefly flitting to her from Black, "might I caution you strongly against meeting with Black here without appropriate, er, second?"

"Oh, yes, Ms Jones," Sirius cut in, snide imitation of over-the-top propriety carving his words. His own peer was primarily for his rival, as well; chin tucked, head cocked, forcing his eye contact from below a heavy brow. "Best you're not left alone with the big, bad lion. Tsk, tsk." Silky black tresses danced in the head shake. More a tight growl, "I'm known for taking advantage of defenceless girls in the dark wee hours of the night... and attacking classmates with dirty-handed spells."

"Your entire modus operandi revolves around defenceless girls and dirty hands in the dark, Black," Severus quipped with a sneer.

"Severus, please!" Tia had had enough. "Go back to the Feast. Now." Exasperation gave freedom to her speech, a looseness of which she otherwise might not have given. He poised as though in further argument, but Tia held ground with a look. He knew she was serious, and apparently chose to take up any additional issue at a later time. A curt nod to her, glare to his opponent, and he snapped a turnabout, the Great Hall his destination.

She turned on Black.

"And you – you shut your mouth before I seal it permanently." Wand poised in silent affirmation. Fading low chuckles reverberated from somewhere down the corridor. She ignored them.

Sirius Black's scowl darkened further – this time on her – his stance ready to inform her the difference in their skill levels. But suddenly an odd thing occurred: his lips turned slightly upward, a smirk replacing threat, eyes narrowing in... amusement?

"Feisty little thing, aren't you?" he asked, pose relaxing. Eyes studied her brow to toe and back, pausing momentarily at her wand. He must have come to some unspoken conclusion, for when his gaze returned to hers, a grudging respect echoed in their depths. He appeared thoughtful. "You'd give him a right run, I give you that."

Tia bristled, off guard at his strange remark.

"Give who a right run?" she asked slowly, wary. Trust was not in her vocabulary... not where Sirius Black was concerned, at any rate. Suddenly Tia recalled herself before he could comment, and original subject returned. "And what are you doing out here, Black? No one is to be roaming about needlessly tonight, you know. Professor Dumbledore was quite clear about –"

"Clear about what?" he broke in, smug now. Arms crossed his lean chest, bunching robes, loose tie and shirt open in display of tanned neck and smooth, taut skin. His wand lay limply across a fair bicep. Fleetingly Tia wondered if the hairless sternum were hereditary. She blinked rapidly. Not now, Tia, reprimanded her conscience. Get your mind –

"Everyone staying put?" he interrupted once more, continuing lazy sarcasm. "Prefects such as yourself being the exception, of course." Raised, quizzical brow left Tia honest enough to blush. She glanced away. He went on.

"Watching out to ensure none of us lowly delinquents were out meandering the castle, eh? Associating in skulduggery with the wrong sort?" His eyes narrowed here, mood shifting.

"Ms Jones," he began, all humour lost. "Generally I'd say what you're up to is none of my concern. If you want to pass trinkets with Snivellus," sneering once more, then dropped, "that is your affair, not mine. Merely shows your lack of taste or poor use of judgment. But Remus finds you a good sort, so I doubt you're exactly in league with the enemy."

Taking exception, Tia snapped. "In league with the enemy? Are you bleeding serious? We're all Hogwarts' students, and just because you're house rivals –"

"Come off it, Jones," he interrupted once more, drowning out her, Stop doing that! by continuing on . "I'll not get into a fuckin' feel-good chat with you with that how we can 'all live together in peace' shite Dumbledore goes on about. I respect the man, all right, but he's blind if he doesn't see certain families for what they are. But that's beside the point I came to make, actually, and if you don't mind, I'd like to get on with it. My venison's getting cold and if I don't hurry back, James'll filch the last of the crumble."

He looked honestly put out with the concept, and Tia was just shocked enough by his odd line of thinking that she conceded him the floor.

"All right, then," she said carefully, wand still trained. "What exactly did you come to make a point about?"

At first she thought he'd changed his mind, silent as he was for several moments. "As I'd said, normally I'd not give a bloody damn about what you do or with whom you do it, but word has it one of those whom's is my little brother, and that I do care about." His hand rose sharply, palm outward, warding off her open mouth of protest. "Doesn't matter how I know; just do. Aside from the fact I'd think you could do better than the snipe, I can't in good conscience allow you to get involved with Regulus.

"You don't know what you'd be getting into, Hestia," he elaborated, switching easily to her given name. "Reg – my whole damn family, nearly – is fanatical about Voldemort." Her twitch went without comment. "His little lap dogs, they are, and are all about blood purity and name. They're not your type, and you're not theirs. It's too well known what you and your father think about Muggleborns and the like, and that's not their views at all."

"What do you mean it's 'too well known' what we think about Muggleborns?" Defensive now, Tia's back straightened further, indignation tightening her features.

He sighed loudly, eyes rolling. "Gods, Jones, stop being all touchy about everything I say. Everyone who knows your father is well aware he has no problem doing business with non-purebloods, Muggles, even, and Remus says you're kind to most everyone at school. Therefore," he concluded, a sideward head bow in gesture, "you both are obviously not of the same thought as my... family." He stumbled over the word, disgust lacing his voice.

All sorts of thoughts whirl-winded through her head. How in Mordred's name did he know of her interest in Regulus? And really, what business of his was it if she chose foolishness for a boy so little inclined to give her notice that he'd threatened her? He obviously disliked his brother immensely; suggesting she leave Regulus be wasn't going to hurt Regulus, as aforementioned did not want her. So there could be no spite to prevent the younger sibling's happiness. And she and Sirius were not friends, either, so it was not in protection of her, surely.

What was going on here, then?

Ignoring the blush she knew had coloured her fair skin, Tia took control her voice and spoke in steady, lofty tones. She'd heard the type in the older families' homes over the years.

"Your concern for my welfare is admirable, Mr Black, and your opinions duly noted. However, I cannot see whereas anything of my personal doings – your information correct or not – are any of your concern. I have not set upon your brother nor have I interfered in his life, aside from requesting your cessation of antics about him. Thus, you need not fear for his... safety." A pause, a breath to stop the trembling of nervousness belying her approach. Confidence had left her, but she strove not to allow him that bit of knowledge.

"In the future," she continued, refusing intimidation by his bemused expression. Her vision moved to just left of his piercing grey eyes, eyes that laughed at her with quiet superiority. "I would appreciate it if you would refrain from worrying yourself with me. I am quite capable of caring for myself, thank you, and I've not caused your brother any grief, either." Well, not counting two nights ago, but in all honesty, Regulus had been the one to start that row. Not that she figured Sirius knew of it, anyway.

It took a bit before Tia realised Sirius had not yet responded to her edict. Chancing a look, his thoughtful smile unnerved her. Lower lip found its way betwixt teeth, and she had to concentrate to keep her wand steady, face otherwise impassive.

"I'll give you an O for effort, Ms Jones," he began, a small, dry chuckle escaping from deep within. "You're right opinionated and stubborn. Just what the little bugger needs. But if Reggie were really stupid enough to involve himself with you, then understand your own safety would be greatly endangered. You'd not be welcome in the Black family, I assure you." Though serious, a brightness danced in his eyes, suggesting underlying humour.

His weight shifted as he turned to leave, but lips parted once more in murmur.

"But it's a fight I'd pay to see with Reggie." With that, he turned back and strode away, leaving Tia open-mouthed in a search for response. Soft laughter floated behind him.

Well... that was unexpected.

-o-

The shadows were rapidly becoming his friends, cloaking his interest and allowing him solitude even when not alone. Regulus needed the anonymity, particularly as of late. Too much was being asked of him. He wasn't bloody Sirius, after all. He knew his limitations.

Not to be taken wrong; he was the good son. He would do as required of him, what was right and honourable. But Regulus' talents only went so far. And this new request of him... A discomfort overshadowed and unease bled through. Disappointment, as well. Such silly feelings should not be issue against duty, and he despised himself for such weakness. Obviously it was going to take time to gain the control over himself necessary. Solitude allowed reflection, and shadows allowed his unnoticed observations.

Regulus paced in the shallow corner betwixt the marble staircase and the entrance to the dungeons. Distant scuffle was all that remained to denote those final students exiting the Feast for their rooms. And yet here he remained, waiting impatiently for a chit too undisciplined to ensure her immediate departure.

Staying true to his word – that it was to himself was moot – he had spent Sunday choosing a diversion of feminine nature. Success resulted in fifth-year Slytherin Lystra Davies, statuesque dark blonde daughter of Ezekiel and Kasha Davies. The family was political, ties steady with upper Ministry echelon. Mother would approve, if only as a diversion. And diverting she was, too, the whole of the day. Particularly in the alcove off the fifth floor North staircase. But the girl was too headstrong, her family not financially well off enough for something serious. But Regulus wasn't looking for serious; he was looking for an outlet. Frustrations needed to be exorcised. And soon.

During the Feast they'd made plans to meet, to walk together for a bit of solitary confinement of their own in the dark corridor before entering the Slytherin common room. He needed it, needed the physical misdirection to avoid thinking. But then Lystra had gone and acted grossly improperly, tossing bits from the serving trays across the tables. Edgar Bones had taken up the challenge, his place as Hufflepuff Chaser and captain justified with each reached target in retribution. Flitwick had not been amused, however, and had asked to speak with them after the meal. Childish, really. Maybe Mother wouldn't approve her... for even entertainment purposes.

She was still in the Great Hall.

So Regulus paced. He was still hoping for some distraction this evening, some invigorating snogging perhaps to clear his mind. Apparently in that alone he might have shared with his brother, dare he admit it. Sirius had been busy already this evening, slipping out of the Feast at some point during the more rambunctious of the festivities, only to drift back in casually in the middle of pudding. Smug grin only enforced the obvious of just what he'd been doing during his absence. Vaguely Regulus speculated whom.

Footsteps drew his reverie to a close, and Regulus stilled, schooling his face for Lystra. Though not stupid, the girl was not particularly observant. She made an exception, however, for Regulus' expressions. All day yesterday and between classes today, she'd repeatedly asked his mood, her guesses changing against every fluctuation of his tense facial muscles.

Finally, he thought as she rounded the staircase. Hood up, she apparently intended to seek him out unobtrusively. After all, ghosts were notorious gossips. Blinded by said hood, though, she didn't see him and made for the antechamber on the other side of the Entrance Hall. He'd not been in its confines since the start of First Year, awaiting Sorting. Had she thought him clever enough to arrange a rendezvous in there? Granted, she had been quite excited at the prospect of an illicit meeting just prior to curfew.

Very well; he'd meet her expectations, if only to stave his own energies from other routes. Agitated pacing or restlessness in his bed were not his best options. Not when there was a willing girl not a metre away with an exploratory imagination.

His strides were quick and quiet, coming up behind just as she ducked into the room. He caught the door and allowed it to softly enclose them into poor light of two low-burning sconces. Part of him thrilled at the dodgy flavour of her sneaking about. This could indeed go well for him tonight.

"Looking for something?" he asked lowly, focusing himself on the now. "Or, perhaps, someone?"

She turned immediately, hood dropping with a flick of her hand.

"Regulus!" she breathed, a heightened air to her and slightly unnerved. Golden tendrils glimmered against flickering flames, shadowed eyes wide, mouth in an 'o' formation. Had he surprised her?

In private, his answering grab for her arms was acceptable, something he would never do in public. But even following his lead, her sudden shift into amorous attack left him momentarily off balance. Then all confusion left in lieu of her very willing lips dining ravenously, her very long legs rubbing between trouser leg and robes, her hands frantic in their search across his back and shoulders. It all made it easy to forget everything else, forget the unsettling post of this morning. A distraction she was, indeed, but not enough to miss muted sounds of verbal scuffle outside the door.

Lystra stopped, drawing back quickly. He moved to speak but her index finger found purchase across lips she'd just violated. Eyes to the door, they listened but made out only rustling and undertones. Turning back to Regulus, Lystra gestured her intent.

"Sorry," she whispered, barely audible. "Left mine in my room." With that, her slender hand traced down his collarbone before transferring to his robe pocket. Wand withdrawn, Lystra raised her hood and edged along to the door. Quietly, cautiously she exited the room, pulling closed the oak behind her.

Precisely what he needed – more interruptions and solitary time. Glancing about, Regulus decided better mood could be set for her return. He didn't want her distracted again; he needed her attention on him, strictly him, no ghosts or poltergeist luring her focus from him. Lower lighting, a warming charm against the cool stone of the walls. He considered the brilliance of conjuring a settee, but decided against it. That might be going too far, and something he did not need to be caught having should the worst happen. Wand-tipped weddings were not acceptable.

A sense lurked that perhaps appearing as though he was going to seduce her would not be suitable for the evening, though Lystra's previous performance suggested little effort required. The physical release would be grand, but Lystra was not one to yet be trusted; he didn't need another Galleon-seeker crying foul in order to latch her claws on the Heir. Regulus knew better than to fall in that trap; he'd learnt from the best, hadn't he? Orion Black kept mistresses in line, and more importantly, in the background. Regulus scowled. For the moment he didn't want to be reminded that he was the Black Heir, that he was sought after for his position and would have to monitor his dalliances for the sake of appearances. He had enough to mind, thanks.

Reminders of his shortcomings as the Black Heir family expected only fuelled him further. By the time staccato creaking alerted him of Lystra's return, Regulus was overwhelmed with need for escape. Allowing not even the door to close, he jerked her to him hard and found the heated wall, throwing her against it and securing with his body. She would be his escape, if only for an hour.

Gasps and breathy half-words met his hungry advances, this time Regulus taking control as she had earlier. Foregoing her lips, he instead commanded her neck, shoulders. There was anger in his movements meant of passion, a frustration breaking free its reins. All sides, demanding of him what he himself knew only loosely might be there. Expectations – Mother, Father, the Dark Lord, Society...

Everyone wanted something from him – even Lystra here, giving her body but demanding his in return – and the pressure was unbearable. Why had they not given him time to know himself, to realise what he could offer and then allow him to offer so himself? Grant him time and growth to confidently say, 'This is what I offer you,' and leave him to his work so that he may prove himself without direction or mollycoddling from those around. Was this so expensive a gift to expect, to request? Or was their faith in him so lacking they felt hovering mandate? To instruct his every move, assume he'd not think of steps himself, come to conclusions on his own, dedicate himself to the True Way without prodding?

Disgust raged through him suddenly, self as well as directed toward others. Tired he was of their nursemaid attitude, seeing him only as a witless pawn. He had much to contribute to the Dark Lord; he did not need it drawn out for him what each move he should make for Society's sake. Regulus had been brought up properly, knew his place in the world and expectations upon him. He was a grown man, for Circe's sake! Time had come that he be treated like it, and not a house-elf on a mindless mission.

Pent emotions poured out in faster, heavier, stronger movements. He gripped Lystra's petite body tightly, abusing its soft flesh. Breathing ragged as he burrowed into the neck of her robes, kissing her neck, raking his pristine teeth over pale skin, suddenly too desperate to release the frustration in some form. Pinned between himself and the wall, her body moulded his own, and deep inside a reaction unbidden stirred, but he ignored it. Never mind he hadn't felt it yesterday, a day spent with rapt attention between them. But once more he cast it aside, pressed on by ever-consuming internal screaming, demanding he be taken seriously, be seen as the man he was, be heard, be –

Several moments passed before realisation soaked through the fog amidst his brain. The moans of pleasure were not eagerness at all; they were hisses. Desperate yet pissed off. Feminine arms were not encompassing him, but shoving at his chest, seeking separation. Dazed, he eased his controlling hold to step back, coming round to himself in the process.

"Regulus Black, if you don't unhand me this instant and find your scruples," she bit in an angry hiss, voice still low as to not be heard otherwise, "I swear to Merlin on high I will hex you into a Romanian Demiguise!"

She was irate. Livid. And she was not Lystra.

Regulus' stomach dropped in understanding, his face blanching. All previous toil and torment disappeared in a whoosh of silent breath. He had attacked – attacked – Hestia Jones. Dear Salazar... he'd lost awareness, lost control. Regulus closed his eyes slowly against the frail candlelight, knowing when they opened once more he'd see the face before that had haunted his dreams but two nights prior. Numerous reasons existed why this was not good, not the least of which she could have him expelled – he didn't even have his wand with him for a good Memory Charm, and he simply didn't have it in him tonight for Muggle fisticuffs. Suddenly every bit of him felt worn out, his energy dissipated.

His shoulders drooped.

"Are you all right?" Genuine concern in her tone brought Regulus' eyes warily open, disbelief in what he thought he'd heard.

She was near him. Too near him. In the poor light he could still make out her features, the hood caught raggedly to the side where he'd blatantly jerked it down in haste. Even in the dim, her flushed cheeks stood out, her much shorter stance soft in embarrassment. Lips tugged awkwardly in shy smile, eyes varying from self-consciousness to worry and back again. She bit her lower lip.

"I'm fine." Hardly recognizable was his own voice, and he realised with some trepidation that it wasn't only concern for being found out that had him unsteady. Even if he'd been up for the fight, hexing her or causing her any distress in any way was not allowed. Not after this morning.

Damn it.

Another slow blink and deep breath, and Regulus composed himself. Couldn't have her pissed off at him. No. He had to make things good, else he'd be in further trouble. Why must it be the gods looked down so nastily at him as of late? What wrongs had he done? He had obeyed orders, remained loyal to family and cause, understood and acted his role in Society...

And this slip of a girl before him had just become the bane of his entire existence. His teeth grit, and he brushed aside true feelings. For the moment.

"Simply overwhelmed by your beauty this invigorating night." Words formed and were forced from his tender lips, face schooled to project abashed sincerity. Years of societal gatherings had taught him smooth words of placation. "I couldn't take my eyes off you the entire evening. When you'd fallen behind, I'd let myself get out of hand and had to see you alone, so I had..." He trailed off, immediately aware the corner into which he'd talked himself. Did she know about Lystra? If so, he had to claim error of identification. If she'd not seen the girl leave the chamber, then she'd wonder what he was doing here. But then, why would she have come into the antechamber herself...?

He knew he was outed the moment he caught her face again. Singular brow raised in annoyance and disbelief; lips perked in a tight, disapproving reproach. She knew.

-o-

"Is that so?" Tia asked lightly. The simple fact she'd been gone nearly a quarter of the festivities made out his lie easily enough. Watching her so closely as he claimed, he would have noticed. But he was attempting denial, and a devilish part of her – the part Rouan Kendal always proclaimed would get her in the worst of trouble – drew her to silence. Let him suffer, she decided, but let him believe himself free at the end. Vanity begged to be stroked just a bit more, even if falsely. Hearing words of interest from Regulus whilst his imprint still remained on her body, the soft points of her neck, was still part of a dream come to life. Only thing better would be their authenticity.

Time to up the ante.

"Sorry, then, I took so long. Had the prefecture duties of sending along a couple who found the night too alluring to say good evening so early. Just outside this room, moments ago." She allowed a knowing smirk to relay the insinuation. Intently she watched his face, ready to capture evidence with her next phrase.

"Seems a bit hypocritical, actually, considering I'm allowing this," she continued, a glance about to suggest their clandestine meeting. "But I suppose it's not that bad here. Not like Davies and Bones, you know? They weren't merely sneaking in a quick snog goodnight, eh? Five minutes more and frostbite might've taken a delicate bit or two from each." Here she allowed her eyes downcast, catching beneath lowered lashes the fleeting look of horror on his face, quickly followed by anger. So... he was meeting Davies here, and she meant to meet Bones, instead. How... interesting.

Tia quickly hid her amusement as Regulus covered his own irritation. It wouldn't be until later that Tia's humour would die down, leaving in the cold night air a sense of sadness, of loneliness. A right scoundrel he was, but she couldn't help it; he still made her belly jump and her cheeks tingle. But for now, she'd play his little game. At least it would get her mind off his brother's cryptic tellings.

"Honestly, as much as the idea of staying here with you all evening appeals to me," she went on, tidying her clothing. A tone light with secretive, girlish mischief fed her words their credibility. "We really do must be getting on. I'd like to keep my place as prefect, and McGonagall's still right pinched about the other night with me. If Filch or Peeves catches us out, I'll spend the better part of next term in the Trophy Room. So let's be on, all right?"

"Yeah, sure." Caution still evident, yet he attempted grace and boyish flirtation in return. For a moment, Tia allowed herself to believe it, to accept the faerie tale. Then reality reminded her the game, and she moved on to appearing to believe him. Perhaps she should go into theatrical performance, she thought sadly. Then she shook her head, disheartened chuckle swallowed as Rouan's pronouncement reverberated in her ears. You wear your heart on your robe sleeve, Tia Jones, she'd once said. This was one time Tia adamantly hoped her best friend had exaggerated profusely. Regulus Black did not need to know her true feelings. Not now; not ever.

Resistance futile, Tia slowed in her turn toward the door, one last spark of spunk returning. Dropping her chin to gaze longingly beneath long lashes at him, she cocked a crooked smile and put on her sweetest, most innocent of masques. Might as well get something out of the deal.

"One last kiss goodnight, shall we?" Eyes closed, lips puckered.

Let him squirm.