Chapter 9: Spoken Places Feared

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Chapter 9: Spoken Places Feared

Tia felt the heat rise, flushing her cheeks hot with embarrassment. Sirius Black was eyeing her with wry amusement, the tightness of his eyes relaying unspoken reminders of Hallowe'en night. Warnings against his family, against involving herself with his brother... And now he silently dared her to follow up on what appearances suggested she'd already done – gotten involved with Regulus Black. Recollection echoed in her mind, Sirius' foretelling the turn of events should her daydreams come true.

"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."

Stupid enough. Were Regulus stupid enough to get involved with her. Tia's euphoria of moments prior deflated with the remembrance. Regulus was not stupid; he would never be involved with her, either. Intelligence aside, he held no interest in her, aside from whatever bedevilment he was currently on about. He was trying to convince her his attraction to her, not admitting it. And Sirius knew it. After all, he was practically provoking Regulus to confess the deception. An outright challenge for the younger boy to invite her to meet the family – the same family who'd not welcome her.

It was humiliating. But Tia held checked tightly her emotions. Now wasn't the time for the tears at bay, their rising sudden and inopportune. She could hold out until privacy was at hand. It would only be worse to fall apart now, disgracing herself not only before the boy she was hopelessly and ridiculously enamoured with, but in front of Peter and Remus, as well. Peter had been shy himself, and what words of encouragement she might manage to convey to him now would disintegrate in her fragility. And Remus... his soft kindness would indubitably resort to a look of wizened pity. She had to patrol with him, after all. It just wouldn't...

No; she would not set loose the saltwater of shame. Not yet. Time would be enough once Regulus found his excuse from the familial introductions. Morbid curiosity bade her attentive muteness; his refusal would have to be well-worded if he wanted to upstage his brother, avoid the commitment, and yet still retain the illusion to her that he did fancy her. Setting aside her personal stakes, Tia focused on the strategic quandary. If she watched clinically, she could pretend this wasn't about her and instead treat it like a particularly interesting study in Defence. Still, she couldn't meet anyone's eyes.

"My affaires with Ms Jones are of no concern to you, brother," Regulus parried, tone malignant on the last. "Suffice it to say, I shan't be having her over for tea with your company. So exclude yourself from any further my life's business... I already have."

Tia jerked her gaze unintentionally up to meet Regulus' face, then Sirius'. She couldn't help it; so final and cold were these words between brothers that she simply could not have heard right. But inwardly, she knew she had. How could such animosity or, even more so, rejection be bred between siblings so close in age and temperament? Her heart dropped.

Sirius, however, did not falter in his gleeful grin. Only minimal tightening about his laughing eyes betrayed a wholly differing reaction to Regulus' cool dismissal. For some reason, Tia doubted it was anger.

"Such big words from a boy whose primary occupation and ambition in life are to please his mum and finally get some attention from his whoring father."

Though said lightly in a bait, an undercurrent shifted beneath his words, and Tia felt sudden tension that'd not been there before. Regulus' reddening face and fists taut to his sides confirmed this new level.

"Think he knows your name yet?" Sirius continued, eyes narrowing further in sceptical scowl as he languidly paced. "Or does he still call you 'boy' without regard, eh? Assuming his attention is pried away from Mistress of the Week enough to notice you, that is. Doesn't it simply gall you when Bulstrode's nanny garners greater affections, and she's a half-blood."

"You know nothing of –"

"Nothing? My God, Reg; are you seriously mental or did you grow up in the same house I did?" Sirius' façade of frivolity abruptly dropped, replaced by incredulous annoyance. Their display had turned to a private one, the audience banished from their awareness. Tia felt ill, the images Sirius created were both disturbing and somehow cathartic. They explained so much.

Squared off, facing each other in confrontation perhaps a long time in coming. Regulus' unruffled exterior breaking down was a sight Tia had been unprepared to witness. The leaking anger and – frustration? – humanising him, crumbling the pedestal she'd once put him upon unknowingly, the same one his kind had perched all their mindset followers. And Sirius wasn't finished.

"Mother is a fanatic on the verge of a breakdown; but she's got more stones than our whore-mongering father, hell bent on shagging every two-Knut piece of ass available. Cousins Bellatrix and Narcissa are the epitome of your own precious arrogant nature. The whole damn family's a veritable product of hell. How the bloody fuck could I have not noticed?"

Tia's heart fell to her stomach at the jerk Regulus' hand made for his wand. Body tight and tense, a lock of hair falling from place in the start. Peripherally she caught three other gut reactions, but their hands only came away with wands prepared; Regulus' hand had stilled before arming himself. Instead, his face had grown – were it possible – even colder, eyes never leaving his brother. She didn't know why, but it wasn't Potter, Lupin and Pettigrew that had stopped him. He'd reined in his reaction... solely for his brother.

"You are no longer a part of the family," Regulus said several long moments later, his voice calm, collected, nearly matter-of-fact. "My invitation to Ms Jones for the Christmas holidays is strictly between Ms Jones and myself. Your interference is not necessary, nor is it appreciated. I wish you well in your end-of-term exams and subsequent holiday. Now, if you'll excuse us."

Regulus turned, hand outstretched in entreaty. "Ms Jones?" he enquired flatly, face expressionless.

Tia stepped forward, perplexed but willing to follow this strange new stage direction as far as it would play. Placing her hand lightly into his, the warmth spread through from his palm to a blush upon her face. Purposely she avoided Sirius' warning gaze. She could not, however, avoid his condemning words.

"If you want to rebel against the family, then by all means do so." Regulus froze, back ramrod straight to his brother, chin raised. "For once in your pansy little life, show a bit of intelligence, independent thought and backbone. Defy them all outright, if you've the nerve. But don't throw Hestia into the middle, Reg. Don't make her your sacrificial pawn."

Regulus did not respond, only paused a moment more before continuing their path back toward the castle. His only falter fell at Sirius' parting call.

"Don't ruin an innocent life in your quest for personal gain, Reggie. You're – it's not worth it."

-o-

His mind was screaming at him. Half in Mother's tongue; part in his own. Part in a voice unfamiliar, a nagging call pleading him to see matters differently. Honestly, he didn't know what to think.

Regulus was rightly pissed off, and mostly it was at his brother, but Sirius' too-close-to-the-truth taunts had nothing on Regulus' own reaction. It had been too easy, too natural for him to secure his wand, to prepare to curse Sirius – not in a boyhood hex or inter-house rivalry prank – but to leap for a command far too unyielding. Perhaps not an Unforgiveable, but not too distant a stray from that path.

But he'd stopped himself, the moment he'd realised where his instincts were taking him. He'd paused, taken breaths of clarity, and refrained from allowing Mother's harping to lead his actions. She'd gone on and on in his head about Sirius' unworthiness and the insult to family, about retribution for the blight, but Regulus' heart chanted in the background, drowning her out: "But it's truth, it's truth..."

Though he'd curbed the reaction to curse him, Sirius had still pissed him off. And it was for more than making him face the reality of his fucked up life. Sirius had single-handedly ruined his plans with Jones, forcing Regulus' hand. Now a quandary had enveloped him: let the matter drop and let Jones believe he'd lost interest, thus failing his scheme, or break down and invite the chit to the holiday gathering... and pray his family all would be willing to overlook her.

Perhaps he could convince her his interest without actually introducing her to anyone but Mother, for whom he had worked this 'love match' entirely. Save face and pride, and meet duty in the process. The game was all about perception, really, and that he could manipulate to his hand. He was, after all, a Black.

"Ms Jones," he broached, stopping midway to the castle. Privacy was imperative, though he doubted the girl could keep the coming conversation to herself in even the minutes ahead. A Ravenclaw pureblood with a penchant for overtly, indiscriminate affection did not encompass a discrete philosophy.

As he still held her chilled hand, she was forced to turn at his halt. Flushed cheeks, eyes bright... Regulus needed a breath to recollect his mind. She exuded energy, an optimistic air that hit him like winter gusts, and he had to drag his gaze from hers before continuing.

"Though I must apologise for the impudent manner in which Sirius introduced the subject, I did wish to speak with you." He chanced a look only to find her eyes wide, cheeks reddening further, a nervous hitch to her breath. A fleeting desire passed through him, wishing to alleviate her obvious discomfort. How silly, really. He needed only her agreement, not her happiness.

"As I had stated," he began again, slipping back into charisma and flattery, "you've kept my very thoughts occupied this past fortnight. Your absence from my daily life over the upcoming holidays has already left a pain inside me. The only remedy for which I can envision is to secure your company during this long hiatus."

He waited, expecting her gleeful answer, but Jones merely stood there, something akin to shock her expression. Annoyance manifested in a suppressed sigh. Was she a Ravenclaw or not? Need he spell it out for her? Regulus bristled inside, repressing the urge to roll his eyes. Why couldn't Mother have chosen someone a little less dense? He would have a hell of a time passing her off as a potential – dare he even think it – girlfriend. He'd be laughed out of the Ministry Ball. One chat up with her and Abraxas Malfoy would petition Regulus' placement in the Dark Lord's employ.

Unless Malfoy were already privy to Regulus' purpose. Hmm. And if that be the case, of how much else of Mother's directorates was he aware? Or others, for that matter. An uneasy feeling washed through him; no one else need know of Mother's primary task for him, this one loathsome enough. As matters lay now, of that instruction he was unsure if he could even –

"What did you have in mind?"

Her query jarred him.

"Er; accompany me to the Black Michaelmas soirée, the Ministry Ball..." he responded absentmindedly, grasping for coherency. Finally he focused, shoving aside even less appealing intentions. "Several other events over the holidays. If you would not mind," he added with a practised smile. He met her bewildered gaze with sensual appeal, confident her response.

"Mmm... That would be lovely, Regulus. Let me consider it, eh? Dad may have plans already, you understand," she said, her face now thoughtful, friendly, smiling, but not the mooning adoration of the forest. Jones was composed; no girlish giggles and fluster suggested the overwhelming pleasure she should have displayed at his invite. Had he not made clear his intentions?

"Jones, what I am asking," he went on, clarifying so that even she could understand, "is for you to act as my date at each of the Society gatherings this holiday. Christmas, New Year's..."

"Yes, Regulus, I quite well understand you," she quipped. Though her words were slightly sharp and exasperated, her face was indulgent, brows raised in humour with dancing eyes. It became her, really, and Regulus found himself captured by the secretive glint of her expression. Again she was silently laughing, but this time not at him. Not... really.

"Let me think on it, owl Dad," she continued, stepping backward then turning to leave. She'd made several steps before calling over her shoulder, "I'll let you know next week." Then she was gone, most likely on to the Great Hall for lunch. For long moments he stared after her, perplexed. She was a confusing creature.

"Slumming, are you?"

Regulus started at the pomp behind him. Turning, he caught Aedus Avery's bored sneer, the fellow Slytherin's attention drifting about the grounds before returning to Regulus. His class must have concluded early, then, just missing Regulus' spat with Sirius. Small luck.

"Avery." He jerked a quick nod of greeting, hands pocketing to prevent their tension showing.

"What are you on about with Jones?" he asked, cutting his chin toward the girl's retreating figure, now disappearing into the Entrance Hall. "Skive off class to go off for a snog with the chirpy mouse, eh? Can't say as I blame you for wanting out of Kettleburn's, but really, Black; you don't want to be seen associating. Diddling with that sort needs to be kept in the dark. Didn't you learn anything from your father?"

"She's business, Avery," Regulus retorted lowly, a sudden bristle hitting him with Avery's verbal sneer of Jones. "Don't concern yourself with her."

"Really, now? That's some way to conduct business, I'd say. Intending to show up with her on arm, are you? Display her about the crowds? Shag her on Malfoy grounds to an audience of house-elves?" Scoffing laugh.

"If need be," Regulus retorted, an oiliness to his words. "I do not presume to question the Dark Lord's motives, Avery. I should hope you shan't, either."

Dark satisfaction rushed through Regulus at Avery's sudden pallor and gape. True to his breeding, the boy did collect himself quickly, but he was no Black, and was easily intimidated. Playing Avery was simple, his reactions predictable. Unlike Ms Jones...

"If you will excuse me, I find I'm rather famished," he said, dismissing Avery with a turn toward the castle. Time to think, to revise. His plans had taken a turn unexpected; owls to be sent, preparations to correct, stories to be created. A girl to woo.

-o-

Sirius was brooding, again. Remus knew better than to impose upon his mood. Without James to break his state of mind, the best scenario was to sit back and simply be there should he choose to talk about it, which, in truth, he seldom did. Oh, a good rant, perhaps, to get it all off his chest. But now was not one of those times, and Remus sat back wearily against the huge, shady oak, drawing his cloak closer against the nippy wind.

Peter had gone in for lunch. James had spotted Lily Evans, and currently was off pursuing her and all her perfections. And indeed, Lily was perfect. And so incredibly kind, Remus oft found himself longing that things might have been different and he himself had caught her eye rather than James. But no, he did not begrudge his mate his happiness, and the two were obviously in total bliss. He, Remus, would never be so lucky, he knew. And he accepted his fate with a certain level of resignation, past girlfriends short-term in light of the illness he could not reveal. Not to anyone aside his closest friends, select teachers.

But he was grateful for his friends, and as such, remained loyal in their times of need. Or rather, in Sirius' case, their times of moodiness.

"That little prat is up to something; I can smell it." Sirius paced a metre away, hands pocketed or flinging about in wild gesture, dependent upon the force of his words. He wasn't precisely speaking to Remus – more aptly speaking toward him. But Remus lay his head back, closing his eyes and murmuring vague responses nonetheless, notifying Sirius he was listening. It seemed enough.

"I warned Jones," he went on, frustration lacing the words. "I specifically told her not to get involved with Reg. Not that she wouldn't be a great improvement over his sort, but my family doesn't behave well with nice and generous people. They'd eat her alive, make no mistake. And Reg is too fucking weak to think on his own, and he'll do as told. Wouldn't protect her against them, no. He's swallowed that shite they feed him, scavenging for seconds and thirds." Sirius turned disgusted, finally stopping. Remus opened his eyes, wary to his friend's sudden change.

"Is Hestia Jones party to Voldemort's followers?" he asked tightly, scepticism evident.

Remus jarred as though slapped, shocked by the implication his friend made in complete seriousness.

"Sirius, Hestia Jones is about as dark potential as... as Lily. She's not a mean or prejudiced bone in her body. Any infatuation she has with your brother is in spite of his ideals, your family's ideals, I assure you. I've known Hestia two years; she's a sweet girl, Sirius. She's not in league with Voldemort. If anything, she's so set against that lot, she's liable to make a target of herself in a few years."

"That's what I heard," Sirius replied, ire resigning to a sigh and weariness. Shoulders drooped and he turned a scowl of bewilderment crossed with anger.

"I just don't – don't get it, Remus. Reggie had the chance to leave, to become something above our blasted blood-obsessed relatives, and instead he flocks to it. I tried to get him out, offered him a different course with my help. Do you think he listened? Hell, no; he embraced the cock and bull stories and is so thick headed he won't hear anything different. Pure damned stubbornness."

Remus smiled, eyes crinkling. "Oh, that's out of character for a Black," he chuckled. Sirius threw him a withering look, but a corner of his mouth twitched.

"Honestly, Sirius," he went on with some sombre. "You can't save him. You can offer him choices, but ultimately he must save himself. I know you're unhappy with him right now, but you have to recall that he's lived in your shadow for so long, he can't compete but on a whole other playing field."

"Unhappy with him?" Sirius questioned with a snort. "I'm right pissed off at him, is what I am. And disgusted. I gave him every chance to –" He stopped short, reconsidering. "Well, it doesn't have to be this way, but you're right – his choice. But if Jones is as you say... really, I can't let her fall into his trap. He's using her for something; just don't know what, yet," he added, eyes narrowing in shrewd consideration.

"Then fine." Remus resigned himself to some sort of agreeing action, anything to pull Sirius from this funk he'd lapsed into. "I'll speak with Hestia. We've a co-patrol coming up Friday evening. I'll chat her up, see what's what. Maybe even learn what Regulus is contemplating, eh? Will that ease your mind?"

"Yes. S'pose that'll have to do." He glanced up, spotting something of interest over Remus' shoulder and broke into a mischievous grin. "There's Gemma Kinsington. She keeps slipping a shufti over here. Wonder if she still fancies you, Remus."

Remus blanched, unable to stop himself a quick glance back at the beautiful Hufflepuff prefect. Her lithe build and long, soft blond hair were appealing, but their history together was anything but.

"Gods, I hope not."

-o-0-o-

"What'd you do to Gemma Kinsington?" Tia couldn't stop the laughter in her voice, particularly when she hazarded a sidelong glance at Remus Lupin, the older boy catching his foot and stumbling at her question. "She's been right peaky every time your name's mentioned. Gets all dewy-eyed and tremblely. I'm concerned she's going to have a fit or something, force me to have to speak to Alden Mockridge just to heal her up. You know that'd never do."

Appearing to gather himself, Remus steadied his stroll down the dimly lit outer corridor. Tia noted he stared straight ahead as though unprepared to face her, lest he give something away. She smirked.

"Can't say," he finally replied, a little too forced to be casual. Tia chuckled lowly, absentmindedly flicking her wand loosely as she walked, the late hour giving a peace to the castle greatly appreciated.

"I might ask the same of you," he suddenly queried, and Tia's right brow rose in amused confusion.

"Me? I rarely speak to the girl." They turned left, down the darker Defence corridor. Far ahead Tia swore she caught the Grey Lady drifting into the practise chamber, a room cleared for defence wand work. The romantic in her wondered if the ghost was really on a secret rendezvous with Sir Nicholas. Something about the image of love after life appealed to her, a love lasting above and beyond breath itself.

Bollocks. Tia cringed inwardly. It was all Clio's fault, her and her blasted ripped bodice, velvet cloaked kissy tales. Gave Tia ideas best left alone, they did.

But it was Lupin's turn to snicker, apparently, and Tia's romance-indulged fantasy life to be dragged further in the open.

"Not Gemma, Hestia," he corrected, swishing another warming charm upon both their cloaks. "Regulus Black."

If her heart hadn't literally stopped, it had at least jumped rhythm. Blush, stutter, averted gaze, regroup. Lupin's amusement floated mutely around her.

Following his lead, she stared straight ahead, forcing her body to relax and let her wrist return to its casual wand twist. "Regulus Black?" she asked, feigning disinterest. The high squeak in her timbre betrayed her. Throat clearing, breath. "Can't imagine what you mean."

"Oh really now, Hestia," Lupin chortled. "You've unnerved the boy. It was apparent the other day when we met up. Incidentally," he went on, apologetic, "I'm sorry about Sirius. There's, er, some bad blood between them. Surely you've heard."

"Ah, yes. Gathered that," she agreed, thoughtful. "But as to your observations, I'd say you need to see Madam Pomfrey, get your eyes checked. There's something going on with Reg, make no doubt, but I've not unnerved him, as you put it. No," she went on, melancholy, "I've made no memorable impression on him a'tall, sad to say."

"You say that as though it is, well, a bad thing. Unless..." Remus paused, turning to face her, granting them a sliver of privacy from the portraits on either side. Worry etched his features, a sadness blending seamlessly with weariness. "Is there some reason you'd, well, prefer that he take notice of you? I'm sorry; none of my business," he hurriedly added, turning from her and moving on quickly. Tia could barely see the blush on his pale face. Impression told her he somehow already knew the answer, but was seeking confirmation.

She sighed; Remus Lupin was a kind sort, and he was in a position to help her discern Regulus' motives for his sudden change of amour. After all, he was close mates with the brother Black and privy to a more personal take on the siblings. She jogged to catch him.

"If you tell anyone, I'll be totally mortified," she prefaced. Keeping pace, she once more stared straight ahead or to her outside, just as he. Heat flooded her cheeks. "But yes, I do, mmm... fancy Reg, if you must know." Her words came swiftly now, a measure to keep from freezing up by humiliation.

"It sort of started last summer. I saw him out on his horse and, well, something about him was different. I can't quite place my finger on it, but it was fascinating and I've not quite gotten past that. It's as though he's a different person when others aren't around, like he doesn't have to wear a mask. And I really want to know that person, that boy that's not the wealthy Black Heir." Sigh escaped, words slower. "It's silly, I know, and you've every right to laugh at me. I'd laugh at me. But..." She trailed off with a shrug, suddenly at the end of her bravado. They'd reached the stairs to the Astronomy Tower, and without conscious effort or agreement they turned to climb them.

"Don't think you're silly at all," he finally responded, quiet and low. Out the door onto the tower's roof before he added softly, "In fact, I think that's the most noble reason I've heard in a long time for taking an interest in someone. To notice something behind the façade, to look past it and long to know the real person within... No, I don't find it silly one bit."

Though biting was the wind and the air close to the freezing point, the two prefects stood in companionable silence for a long time, staring at the bright stars lighting the night. It was easy to talk to Remus, Tia realised; he was genuine, and wouldn't tease her these girlish affections she shared. Trusting this new unspoken bond, she spoke the niggle of her past few weeks.

"Remus," she began uncertainly, falling easily to his given name. "Regulus has gotten a sudden supposed fondness for me, something not quite natural, if you understand me." She glanced at him, shy but determined to get her concerns aired. He was older, and with a male perspective might have better answers than either she or Rouan.

"At first I thought it was so I wouldn't take points or expose his breaking curfew to chat up Davies on Hallowe'en, but it's gone on longer than that, and I get the impression he's trying to convince me he's taken a fancy to me, but I can't figure out why. I've nothing to offer him; he's the one with entitlement, fortune, name, looks... not me. I'm not even popular, and he's bright enough not to need my help with classes. So I've not quite sussed it out yet what he's on about.

"But worse..." Nervously the bottom lip was bitten, worried, brows furrowed in anxiety. She didn't want Lupin to think her so horribly desperate.

"Is it truly terrible that I don't care much his reasonings? I mean, I do care, and I want to know what he's really up to, but... I'm more than willing to put it all aside and for the time being, play along, if only to pretend he really likes me. To live my fantasy, I guess." Suddenly the constellations intrigued her, and Tia pressed her lips tight in effort to save some pride. Remus must think her a right pitiful fool. "Pathetic, I know," she managed quietly.

He didn't answer, and Tia's embarrassment embodied her. She finally looked back at him, ready to suggest they return below. But he wasn't mocking her, wasn't eyeing her in that way boys do when they can't understand some mad scheme a girl's thought up. No; he was staring at her, a sad expression curiously absent of pity.

"I..." he began, but then seemed to change his mind. "We should get back. Fenwick will be taking patrol." With no more than a tight, fleeting smile, he turned and led the way. They didn't speak again.