Chapter 7: Rise by Sin

-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-

Chapter 7: Rise by Sin

Horror swept through him, the pit of his stomach tightening in sheer panic. She was actually standing there, eyes closed, lips pursed. Waiting.

For him.

For his kiss.

No, not panic, he corrected. Blacks did not panic. Blacks abruptly reassessed. Taking a half-step back, he critiqued her form in the dim light, shifting his attention from defence to offence. Chin now up to meet his imaginary touch, she reflected the image of tactless, silly little girl, wishing childishly for the wizard of her dreams to whisk her away. Pfft. How desperate.

Regulus bunched his nose in distaste. Were it yesterday, even, he would have at minimum strode right past her, a scathing remark left in his wake. At worst – for her – he would have ensured she realised just how pathetic she really was, how unworthy as well. Worry over curfew be damned; she was out just as he, and it was doubtful she would be believed were she to reveal him. He wasn't even sure she was on duty, making her just as out of bounds as he.

But it was not yesterday; the rules had changed. Objectives had changed. He was bound, now, by alternative measures. And he was not pleased.

Resigned now, he set his mind to chasing down a way out of the obvious. Casting about furtively, Regulus sought some diversion, some excuse to forestall or even circumvent touching this girl intimately. Twitches darted down his limbs consciously; even the thought of going through the charade repulsed him. Conveniently he forgot the episode just moments prior: his roaming hands, body, lips... all strewn about her in a possessive need for escape. Mistaken identity did not count.

"I'm afraid you are correct," he finally said, deciding on a course of action. He was a Slytherin, after all; survival was ingrained. "It would be most grievous were we to be discovered this late, particularly in such isolated confines," he smoothed. Her eyes opened in confusion and concern, posture relaxing to normal. Regulus pulled a placating, knowing smile.

"Besides... I don't wish to be rushed or otherwise distracted," he added in a lazy tone, taking a step toward her. A soft knuckle stroke slowly down her cheek; thumb pad pausing on her jaw line. Let her buy it; it would buy him time, her assumptions. He will not have to suffer the indignation of following through with a kiss to her. After all, a small token often performed the deed of much greater sacrifices. Surely by such a time as a follow-through act would be required, sense will reign with his world once again and he'd not be forced into playing debonair admirer to this temperamental know-it-all. But until then, he had to play nice, gain her affections.

It was demanded of him.

"Our time together warrants total concentration and privacy." He could blarney with the best, having grown up in a world of soirées and intrigues, of double meanings and hidden truths. Father's lead aided Regulus well at this moment; Jones' eyes grew wide in astonishment, her acceptance of his lies belittling to her supposed intelligence. Tentative smile, shallow breath, quickly shy eyes flickering to him and moving instantly away.

Regulus grinned slightly, tightly, struggling against the grimace now demanding to take over. This was too easy.

Obviously she read his small smile and direct eye as his intention, a blush creeping high up her girlish cheeks. A sudden morose assaulted him. Irrelevant his objective, Regulus somehow had expected – hoped, even – Hestia Jones of all people would see through the charade. Would read him past the airs, snap at him in her knowing little way that he fooled no one. Speared him with her expressive face that continued to surprise as she called him his trickery of self-protection. A flare of temper, combined with some hidden secret in her eyes, just as she had done Saturday night outside his rooms. Verbal sparring, full of false bravado – or stupidly real bravado – forcing him, forcing his hand. But she was merely as gullible as the rest.

How disappointing.

But he should not care. Really, he should not. Her reaction only concerned him in as much as she considered him pleasing, believed him partial to her, even. It would make his chore more bearable, if he did not need to work at convincing her. Perhaps it would only be a little while before that duty was rescinded.

Already moving toward escape, Regulus paused to bid his adieu, a small part of him still holding out for her rebuttal.

"Perhaps another time, mon petit terrier?" he cast half over his shoulder, refusing to see her face again. The vision of her weak will was nauseating. He could not abide such vulnerability. Had nothing of her pure-blood status made it through her upbringing? Had Ezra Jones really neglected his only daughter's training so woefully? Resentment flowed powerfully through him, directed now at this pint of a Ravenclaw chit. Damn her malleable will, her disgustingly trustful mind. She should have fought him, should have called him out on his lies and manipulations.

"Your little terrier?" she asked in a voice soft and high with bedazzlement. Regulus kept his face toward the exit as he moved through it, hiding his scowl.

"Yes." His voice gave away none of his anger, coming out instead an indulgence. "Tenacious, you are..." He turned and fled purposefully. Long strides to the dungeons' entrance, then under his breath, "Tenacious little bitch."

-o-

Flame dwindled and Hestia Jones continued to stare unseeingly at the hearth, caught up in visions of memory. The Ravenclaw common room was dim in the late hours, solitaire with its previous occupants all snug away now in their four-posters. But sleep eluded Tia, her confrontation with Regulus Black still fresh in her mind.

Of course he'd been waiting on Lystra Davies. She knew that. She also knew full well his act to cover the situation, how he'd pretended his attraction was for her – Hestia – promising a continuation at a more conducive time. The first did not surprise her; self-preservation was expected of any student caught breaking the rules. But his extra effort at convincing her he was merely postponing a goodnight snog...

He made no sense to Tia.

What didn't help was her attraction to him. Oh, sure; she knew his affections were not for her, nor was he being more than stiffly polite as she was a prefect and he didn't want to get on her bad side. But for a moment this evening, Tia had let herself fantasise that it was her he had been waiting for, wanting. She had allowed herself this fleeting indulgence, just to know what it felt like. And what it had felt like...

Honestly, she was going to wind up no better than her worst nightmare: smitten with a boy to the point of exclusion of her ideals, her future. Ezra Jones had raised a forward-thinking girl, smart in her own right and able to do whatever she desired, regardless if mere witches were supposed to be able to do so or not. But Regulus Black had taken all her focus away –

With one... intimate... touch.

Circe, she was hopeless.

Another unbidden sigh escaped, forlorn in its drawn-out singularity. Disappointment in herself; there was no way she could deny the truth. For once, she wanted to be the girl the boys thought of in that way. She wanted to be the one girl Regulus Black thought of in that way. Forget house allegiances or her father's work; forget his family's status or even the rumoured associations with darkest wizard of them all. For a moment, for a breath, Hestia Jones wanted to forget about the school and the rules and future, and simply be locked away in a darkened antechamber, secured in a grip tight with possessive nature and hungry need.

This time an eye roll accompanied a resigned, self-deprecating huff. Shake of her head, long black locks swishing in a fine curtain. Madness, it was. She was starting to sound like one of those single-minded, buxom witches in the silly romantic tales her friend Clio Harper read. For a Slytherin, Clio was strangely drawn to affection over propriety. Oh, how Clio would break down in laughter were she to see Tia now. Good thing the girl was studying abroad this term.

The crux of the matter, entirely, was what Tia should do about the odd, suggestive behaviour of this evening. She had no intention of causing him detention or other school punishment. Honestly, she'd no desire to share the event with anyone. Well, perhaps Rouan, but any other soul was not to ever catch whiff one of it. Not only would it draw attention to both Black and herself, but Tia knew she would not be able to hide her blushes at reciting such a tale. Even were she to leave out the antics of the antechamber, her mind would not dismiss them in the telling. Evidence to her unrequited interest in him. She would be found out, her embarrassment complete.

A low groan escaped her, remembrance of commentary she had made to Regulus in an attempt to play her role. Confession, as it were, really. Tia had admitted as much that to spend the evening in close quarters with him would be most appealing. And this following their harsher words just two nights before. What must he think of her? She knew he'd been playacting for self-serving reasons, but he did not know that she knew he was. And, well... ultimately it did not matter that she had said it for the sake of deception, for it had been true enough.

Never would she be able to look him in the eye after tonight.

Humiliation aside, it was the strange manner in which Regulus' attempt at convincing her that bothered her most at present. Almost as though... as though he were up to something. To fathom just what took more insight than Tia had left this evening, her nerves already on end over the sensual assault of his misplaced amour.

A scowl replaced her musing expression. She'd prefer not to think on that. Lystra Davies was not a subject she wanted to consider; Regulus' partiality to the loose girl was not a contingency of hope for Tia. The two girls were none alike. Comparatively, Tia ought to be sequestered in a convent. She'd had nearly equal experience.

"Are you all right, Tia?"

Vaguely startled, Tia turned distractedly from the glowing grate and her reverie. Marlene McKinnon had just returned from patrol, weary and yet... as beautiful as ever. There was no wonder as to why every boy in the school stared after her. She was stunning.

"Er..." A night for oddities, Tia once more found herself at a loss for words. Regulus' kisses had done that, and without ever having touched her lips. "Oh, bollocks!" she hissed indignantly under her breath. Get a bloody grip on yourself, Hestia!

"Just musing," she finally said, contemplating how she could ever explain her state of mind at the moment, or if she even wanted to do. She settled on vague summary. "People can be so difficult to understand."

This elicited a knowing laugh from Marlene, the older girl's eyes brightening in delight. "People, Tia? Sounds more like a boy problem, to me." Marlene spoke as she made her way to the dormitory door, pausing before disappearing through.

"When in doubt, I've always found a thawing cup of tea to do the charm." Pause, step forward... "With a splash of brandy, of course." With a wink, she drifted into the darkness, muted chuckles ebbing into the night.

Tia stared after her, one brow creased, the other raised in confused speculation. Well, now... there was a thought.

-o-

He would have incendio'd the letter had his wand been on his person. Regulus scowled more deeply. He would have to retrieve it first thing in the morning, in the common room. Early. He would not give Lystra the opportunity to brandish her possession of it before the multitudes. Besides... her rash behaviour this evening would be the end of her. No one cuckolded a Black and stayed for an encore of his attentions. She would be duly reprimanded.

Edgar Bones, indeed.

Regulus watched with subdued pleasure as flames distorted, darkened, then destroyed the missive in the grate. He could ill-afford another coming upon the letter, claiming knowledge to his most galling of instructions.

Garner the Jones girl's affections, Regulus, Mother had written but this very morning. Do whatever you must – however appalling or beneath your status this may be – to hold fast her complete trust and preference. Court her as though she were fit for the privilege, properly and equal to Society. Treat her as an intended. It is to our great advantage and to that of the Dark Lord that we lay claim to her father's talents. It would be quite the feather for the family should you secure her loyalties, my son. When we've all we require of Ezra Jones, you may dismiss the girl however you wish, under the guise of her scandalous behaviour. Until then, betroth to her as it benefits. You will not fail me this, Regulus.

As for that other matter...

Jaw tensed, released, and tensed again. He did not wish to think further on the horrid task. Nor the other matter, really, though that one caused unease on a much deeper, disturbing level. As for the former, Mother was commanding him to manipulate Hestia Jones with faux affections, to make her believe he had an interest in her. An interest disassociated with her father's status as an acclaimed apothecary. It was revolting.

Manipulation of the girl did not bother him in the least; it was the manner in which he would have to do so. Fawning upon the silly chit, displaying forced signs of besottation... He released a shuddering breath of distaste. Worse yet, Regulus could not see getting by with this without the assumed role becoming public.

Damn it all.

Flame collapsed, its withered fuel spent. Regulus stared into the darkness. Angry. Resentful.

Resigned.

-o-0-o-

Professor Babbling was late dismissing class. Her delay only improved his plan's success, and Regulus paused in his text collection, allowing the other students to queue and file out the Ancient Runes' door before him. Surreptitiously he watched Jones, gauging his own speed of departure to hers. Two weeks' worth of consideration it had taken to come to this point, the point at which he would put into action the proper seduction of Hestia Jones. It was taking longer than Mother would have preferred, but Regulus had been more than hesitant at the task. A certain amount of subtlety would be required at any rate; Jones would be highly suspicious if Regulus had suddenly grown blatantly amorous.

Again.

She'd not bought his performance on Hallowe'en night as he'd hoped. No; the next day her attitude toward him had gone guarded, however still civil if not at times friendly. She had not acted like a girl newly involved in a secretive tryst. Rather than blushingly shy or excitedly animated, Jones had been polite, quiet, hesitant, confused. She never approached him, never intimated their intimate rendezvous had ever existed. And so Regulus had done the same.

For the briefest moment he had been thankful for her distance, but as time had worn on, the realisation had struck that her lack of acceptance did not bode well for his mother's instructions. Walburga Black's insistence was unceasing.

Jones was now moving toward the door finally, alone as was her custom. Only Cecil Patton was left shuffling along beside her, the Gryffindor's distracted nature a fortuitous prop. Regulus needed interaction with her, something as natural as possible to avoid questions. Something of a catalyst to their new, impending relationship. Something soon. Mother was becoming impatient.

But Jones was smart; she would need coaxing into the relationship, and Regulus had every intention of drawing her into his web... of her own, willing accord. She just needed an introduction to the idea.

"Oh, fuzz-buckets!" she suddenly exclaimed as the stack of books and loose parchment in her hold scattered about the classroom floor. Regulus internally scoffed; she couldn't even swear properly. Her entire essence bled naïveté; avoid blatant errors of moving too fast, and she would easy as first-year Charms.

"Gods, Cecil, please mind your step," she chastised the boy, limiting her checked irritation to his stumbling upon her fresh notes rather than to the fact he was the cause of said destruction. Not that the boy hadn't had a bit of help in that little episode...

"Sorry, Tia," he apologised self-consciously. He set his own stack upon the floor and commenced to rounding up Jones' notes, only making the situation worse with crumpling parchment, smudging ink. "I really don't know what happened –"

"Really, Patton," Regulus now chimed in from behind, haughty and disparaging. "Take leave of yourself before you cause any further havoc." Only the Black glare swayed the boy to give up his role of making amends. With a panicked glance to Regulus and quickly spoken words of defeat to Jones, Cecil Patton retrieved his items and fled. A satisfied smirk tugged at Regulus' taut lips.

"Honestly, Jones," he turned toward the girl with a heavy sigh, her hands attempting to correct Patton's beefy pawings. Opportunity was now presenting.

A flick of his wand, and books, documents, notations... all flew into an organised pile, levitating before her. Perfect arrangement. As so it should be – he'd practised the very spell for nearly a full week.

Jones gaped, first at the waiting items, then at Regulus. He knew she would never have bothered magicking them straight herself; he had heard more than one story concerning the horrors of her Charms work.

Realising her ridiculous appearance, Jones' mouth snapped shut directly. Brows furrowed in consternation, but she quickly turned away, taking hold of her waiting books. He knew what she was thinking, the oddity of his unexpected assistance sure to raise a brow. At what other time in their history would he have ever collected her displaced books for her? But for this he was prepared. He'd considered his role quite thoroughly, quite convincingly.

"Come along, then," he huffed, working in just the right measure of annoyance. "Kettleburn will have us all in detention if a single student is late again, you know. I've more engaging distractions to occupy my free time, even if you haven't." He took only strides enough to pass the doorway into the open corridor, turning to impatiently await her. Her bewilderment turned to annoyance of her own.

"I can find the grounds on my own, thanks," the retort came to his unspoken intentions. Regulus had to smile; her flash of temper was long overdue, and were he to admit such, well welcomed.

"I'm afraid I must insist an escort for you, Jones," with his own breath of bored aggravation. "I'll not let you endanger my weekend plans for your clumsiness. Best I myself ensure you arrive timely." Bitten back smile, careful schooling of features. He needn't give away the amusement he now found. Her expression crossed lines, battling between dismay and something unsure. Was she impressed with his chivalry?

"Very well," she murmured through gritted teeth, and strode past him without a glance.

Her short strides were easy to match, even easier to overtake were he of allowance to do. But the intent was to form an attachment, however loathsome that task may be. So he walked beside her, casting clandestine glances at her petite, athletic form. He'd give her this: she was quite the feminine figure. An upper torso that exceeded expectations... Too bad her loyalties lay elsewhere, and she had no lineage to speak of. Under the right circumstances – and complete silence from that opinionated mouth of hers – she could actually be worth a second look. For a distraction, that is.

Regulus considered this. Perhaps there was a more expedient manner in which to acquire her affections, thus giving Mother what she wanted, the Dark Lord some gift on his part, and in return receive some measure of respect. The transfer from 'spare' to 'heir' had not been without its snags, and he was anxious to assume some part of the appreciative consideration Sirius had been blessed with merely by the elder's very birth.

It struck Regulus then that Mother had been rather confident in his aptitude within this endeavour. Come to think of it, whereas her plans for him often well exceeded her expectations of his abilities, this case was different. He would easily find Hestia Jones in his persuasions, she assured. Did Mother find his qualities to attract the opposite sex reminiscent of Father's? Did she feel this was one area in which he need not labour in order to excel? Or was there some secret knowledge she possessed, something that would ensure success? Or was she merely trying to give him confidence, for she had none in him herself?

Walburga Black had held little more than resigned annoyance for him ever since Sirius' betrayal of the family. It was as though she were an artist condemned to working with inferior materials. Were he to admit the truth to himself, he would note this had always been the case. Until his brother's defection, she had taken little notice of him. Upon the scorching loss of yet another name from the tapestry, he had become the lesser plan. And he'd simply accepted her condescending instruction, her continuous disappointment. Never was she satisfied with him, detailing his every move as though he were incapable of coherent and critical thought. Kreacher – his house-elf – found greater favour than he, and under less stringent direction.

Was Mother pressing him with surety because she had gone to greater measures outside himself? Had she her own secondary scheme to guarantee the ensnaring of the girl? Because she expected him to fail on his own?

Suddenly the desire to play the game Mother's way dissipated in a rush. She did not believe him capable solo; he would prove her wrong. Prove them all wrong. And he would do so his way.

They were nearing the stable on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest where Professor Silvanus Kettleburn taught Care of Magical Creatures, and Regulus knew they would soon be too near the other students – not to mention the professor – to act on his new-found rebellion. Some voice deep within warned him Mother would not like this change to her instructions. Father would never take notice, but the matriarch had quite strict plans she would not wish altered. And she had her own way of exacting punishment.

Yet another voice – a low, growling echo in the darkest recess of his chest – began to drive him. A voice growing in volume and intensity, overshadowing the cautionary tale of restraint and reconsideration. A year's worth of dissection, seventeen worth of obscurity, all came crashing down in this one moment of clarity, and Regulus Black had had enough. He would fulfil his obligations, but on his terms. And he would succeed where others had and would fail.

He would show them all.

-o-

Disconcerting to say the least, but accepting the company of Regulus Black once more left Tia torn between infatuated swooning and nervous fits. No matter the fact that by now she knew he held nothing but contempt for her – their tense interactions leading up to Hallowe'en night... the leery glares later in the few instances he would meet her eyes... It all did not matter, for whatever his issue with her, only one vision continuously returned to her mind's eye. Tia could not forget the raw emotion of a young man astride a stormy grey horse beneath a frenzied sky. A boy so troubled, yet for once freed of his masque of propriety, and what had lain beneath was an image she could not dismiss. And yet still, despite his aggrievence with her, he remained the distraction to her otherwise uncomplicated life. He fascinated her, and did the most disturbing things to her peace of mind.

She didn't trust him his bouts of over-friendliness. But what choice did she have? Spurn him? Call him out? With anyone else, she would have. But a selfish little portion of her soul demanded otherwise; why tilt the precarious balance of the scales and tip his direction into total dismissal of her? Even if it were a lie, even if ulterior motives she could not fathom were responsible for his bizarre associative moments, Tia Jones could not bring herself make them cease. Live in the fantasy a bit more, she reasoned. Reality would strike soon enough, and she was needful of memories on which to draw her comfort in the days to come, in the days after which his purpose was gone... as was he.

In the least, they would graduate in but a year and a half, and Tia was not ignorant of distinctions between his circles and her own. Her ventures into his were and would always be in the form of service. In this very time now, they were the most equal they would ever be.

They were closing in to their group, everyone milling about just outside the barn-like structure Kettleburn configured in order to teach. Today's lesson must involve a trek into the Forest. A fine mist hung heavily in the air, shrouding the lower regions of the grounds in dirty white. Tia's assumption of their plans was reinforced by the sequential conjuring of glowing lanterns beside the doors; their light would be necessary only once the group passed deeply into the trees.

Tis shuddered. Her love for some magical creatures did not extend to the depths of the Forest – this forest – and the desolate Scottish landscape and bleak atmosphere unnerved her. Only Regulus' presence steered her mind from worry. A darting glance told her his own thoughts were otherwise occupied, eyes narrowed in concentration. Or determination. Or anger. It was difficult to tell, his refined features tight with warring, flights of conflicting emotions playing across his face. But swiftly they were contained, leaving a nearly impassive slate behind as he and she joined their classmates.

Oddly, he did not leave her side once Kettleburn appeared, took quick inventory of faces, and called the class to order. But neither did he face her or speak once when – just as she had ascertained – they deposited their books on the work bench and filed warily into the veiled forest.

Regulus walked just behind her. So very aware of him, Tia could hardly concentrate on her own feet, on the unnerving stillness of the trail. The fog grew heavier as they went, and packs of two and three and four were separated from individual distinction, outlines sighted only by the lanterns aloft with each group. Tia realised she was paired off with Regulus and he alone. No lantern brightened their way. Cecil Patton was encompassed in the group ahead, their light glimmering vaguely in a cloud. Behind them shadowed figures whispered in muted guffaws and giggles, revealing Neve McMillian and Clarice Hodges being properly frightened by Chauncy Bones.

Under general circumstances, Tia would find their antics exasperating, but their playful flirtations ebbed through the heavy air, bowing around the trees and foliage and unknowns like wisps of a future life Tia could not seem to emulate. Their light-heartedness was too free, their teasing shallow compared to the conflicting affections harboured now in her, all thoughts of school-ground fancies fleeing in comprehension of something much more –

The action was so fast, Tia's mind could not register just what had occurred until several moments after the fact. Only her body took immediate notice: a sense of failed equilibrium, the pain of blunt force along her spine, a jarring, a captured whoosh of forced exhalation. The muted crack of skull connecting with a solid object. A sturdy and warm form hard across her mouth, stifling her nose. Claustrophobia. Pressure, binding. Immobilisation.

Warm breaths across her left ear. Low... close.

"Remain absolutely still..."