Chapter 13: Contradictions of Want & Will

Disclaimer: Humbly borrowing Regulus, Tia, and the HP Universe from Ms. Rowling. Think she'd be willing to lease Reg to me on a more permanent basis?

Author's Note: As always, your reviews and thoughts are very much appreciated! They're encouraging, and remind me that someone is actually reading. :~) Please take a moment and drop a comment, eh? I really do reply.

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

Chapter 13: Contradictions of Want & Will

Heartbeat held in her throat, stomach somewhere other than its domain, Tia froze in ever-increasing fear. Instinct forced her acceptance that she'd never be able to pull away, and so she remained motionless but for her laboured breathing.

Regulus' grip was solid, his large hand easily encircling her wrist. Wandless, Tia doubted she'd have used a spell at this moment regardless. It was a fine line, this instinct for defence, this thrill of foreboding. A place she'd never been before, Tia could not help but let curiosity win; why fight when you longed desperately to know what would happen next?

"Even here, you haunt me." His voice was low, husky with sleep and subdued anger. Eyes accusing beneath heavy lids, never leaving hers; his free hand reached up slowly to her neck. Swallowing hard, Tia realised only at the last moment's change of course that he wasn't going to strangle her. But the alternative was perhaps little better.

The grip at the back of her neck was strong, measuredly forcing Tia's yield to be pulled down toward him. Her steady resistance was vain at best, and just as she felt her balance giving way to him, he suddenly turned his back to the fire as he flipped Tia onto her back in a whirl. So fast; so unpredicted. Breath lost, it was a moment before she could orient herself in the failing light.

He was above her now, his weight heavy, driving her deeper into the cushions of down and velvet. Regulus' form blocked most of the frail firelight, but flecks of red-gold reflected off the high cheekbone and jaw line mere inches above her face. His eyes, however, had drifted into shadow, leaving her unnerved more than the precarious position she now lay in. She hadn't long to ponder this vision, however.

Hard and rough and vicious, his lips crushed down upon hers in a violent attack. There was no other way to describe the assault on her mouth, her senses. Tia knew damn little about intimacies between men and women, but it was evident these were not kisses of affection, longing, happiness. Desire, maybe, but even if so, it was a desire separate from the version she knew. And yet...

And yet she didn't – couldn't – fight him. Shock held her back in the first moments. And his powerful hands gripping either side of her face, half strung through her long black hair. Locks pulled painfully tight, even their hold was negligible compared to the flood of sensations preventing her escape. The kisses – if they could be called such – were hungry, angry, breathless. She could taste the bourbon whiskey on his lips, intoxicating in its intimate lingerings. Tia could feel her own bruising under the abuse, but could do no more than dig her fingers into his ribs with what little room she had from his body's pinning.

And that was the greatest paralyzing sensation of all.

He was solid, his weight a confusing pleasure. Somehow the rug lay half between them, exposing him here and there, one partially bare leg shoved betwixt her and the back of the settee, the other mostly covered but firmly ensconced between her knees. She could breathe – that was a plus – but neither her hips nor chest could be disengaged for flight, the latter flattened by his own.

Just beginning to rationalise her abrupt, current status, Tia gasped at the sudden, unexpected alteration of his attentions. Regulus' right hand no longer securing her face, it had instead found her tender flesh over floating ribs, now grasping, fingers digging, clawing. Painful, but... delicious.

Teeth raked along her jawbone, hovering for a breath at her earlobe before claiming the bared juncture of neck and shoulder. An unbidden squeak of surprise leapt from her gasping mouth. Thoroughly unholy, it was.

A hand – released from intertwinement of her hair - was grasping desperately now for the hem of her pyjama top and, not finding it in satisfactorily time, sufficed with kneading her unhampered breast through the flannel. Like all else, there was no gentleness about him in this new revelation of sensation. He was frenzied, as though something more than she truly haunted him.

Oh, Morgana, what had she done? Genuine fright began to grow in her belly, warring with desperation for what this boy upon her promised with his unrefined soliloquy of caresses.

Awoken a sleeping giant, m'dear, her conscience quipped dryly.

Panic abruptly set in, and Tia found her voice. She was only sixteen! Yes, she was attracted desperately to him, but she wasn't ready for this. Had only vaguely ever held the attentions of another, and had little more experience than the inebriated plies of adoration she'd thrust upon an unwilling Regulus weeks before in the deserted dungeons. Regulus was obviously greater versed in this sort of thing, but Tia wasn't, and the thought of actually –

Squirming valiantly beneath him, she shoved and pushed at his solid form, a strangled cry breaking the peace of fire crackle and laboured breathing.

"Regulus," it came, mixed with pant and fear. "Regulus, you've got to stop," she added, shoving to remove his weight, wriggling beneath in an ever-growing alarm. At his persistence, Tia could feel herself bordering on panic. She couldn't do this. No, not now. She wasn't ready, and he was scaring her.

Words louder now, more pleading.

"Please, Regulus! Please, stop! Let me up," her frightened voice asked, fists now punching at his side, chest...

He didn't fight her – it was more like he simply wasn't aware of her protests. He didn't seem aware of much at all, really. So intent on her, on his ministrations upon her, that when Tia managed to free a leg and used it as leverage against the side of the settee, he only switched to her right side of the neck, his body remaining stationary. Dragging herself sideways to escape, Tia shoved his chest away, squirmed, panted, flung wildly her remaining tangled leg. All in violent disarray...

Finally she fell heavily to the floor in a thump, alone, slipping from under him only through great effort. And she'd paid for it, fabric burns she could feel reddening in a myriad of intimate places. Regaining her feet quickly, Tia faced the fire, tugging haphazardly at her twisted clothing in order to put everything to rights.

"Regulus," she squeaked, unsteady. Distractedly she noticed she didn't cry – he hadn't forced her, per se, at least – but a closed throat full of repressed emotion gave her voice a weak flavour.

"Please, understand." Throat cleared, breath forcedly steady. Her body shook, her vocal chords catching. "I do like you – loads – have for a very long time, actually, but..." She bit her lip, tensing again. "But I'm not ready for that sort of thing, you know. Not yet," she stressed, willing him to understand. He needed to realise that when she was ready, it was him she wanted. Just the timing was off.

Or maybe she was the one off.

"Please don't be angry with me. You're not terribly... are you?" Pause. Pause. Pause... silence. "Are you?"

When he still didn't answer, she turned abruptly, afraid of the dark, brooding look she'd see, his ire further engaged than at supper. But when she whipped about, stepping aside for the firelight to cast upon him, his expression was... peaceful.

He was asleep.

Combination bewilderment and relief flashed through her. She didn't think he hated her, else he wouldn't have just collapsed into oblivion so quickly, would he have? No... surely not.

But the longer Tia stared at his utterly relaxed face, his smooth facial planes soft in the firelight as he lay on his side... She could almost believe he looked... content.

Gathering her wits about her, Tia silently fled the library, not bothering to pause long enough to pull the wool back across his bared chest and shoulders. She didn't trust herself. Even her sore lips – chapped and surely reddened – reminded her not of the power he had just taken over her, but of the pain she'd seen in his previous sleeping expression. A fierce sense of protection came out in her, and more important than need of self preservation was her need to heal him, to erase that hurt.

Anything but fleeing immediately would have been a poor idea, indeed.

-o-

Something woke him, pulling him to surface from the deep of heavy sleep. One eye peering wearily open, Regulus blearily caught a repeat of the noise, watching this time as the log broke at the snap of flame, falling disjointedly against the others. He sighed deeply. The dream had been disturbingly realistic, and he was mildly surprised to find his body languid. Tension of the day – of the term – had dissipated. Crediting a dream about his assignment was stretching matters a tad too far, but Regulus could admit the subject of the vision may have had a point. And for once, it hadn't been repeats of plans, duty, or concerns. That in itself had been a pleasant alteration.

Drowsily he tugged the twisted rug semi-straight over chilled shoulders, turned away from the fire, and fell instantly back to sleep. A soft smile faded in time.

-o-0-o-

Dawn's breaking and then some found Tia Jones surprisingly well rested. After her hasty exodus from the library in the night, she'd expected furtive dreams to plague her sleep. On the contrary, Tia had slept soundlessly – if not dreamlessly – until half eight. Clear-headed, relaxed, energetic... It was only when she faced the mirror in her bath that crystal reminders of the evening's events slapped her back into reality.

Her lips were puffy, bruised. Whisker burns blotched her jaw, cheeks, and other less-visible delicates of flesh in scrapes of red. She'd not thought to bring any of her salves with her. Where were Marlene's glamours when she needed them?

Requesting medicinals of Kreacher or another house-elf was ill-appealing. Then again, facing Regulus with prominent evidence of the incident was even less appetizing. She'd have to colour her request carefully so as to not draw attention to the purpose or need. Perhaps if she only asked for common ingredients...

No, that wouldn't work. Not well, at any rate. She had not the time nor circumstances to properly brew anything, and without permission for wandwork, she was honestly out of luck. Best go for a solution that was common and varied in its uses. An aloe would be a start, but she had no windburn nor extensive sun exposure for a reason...

In the end, however, the best solution turned to be a different sort of cover-up, and Tia – foregoing breakfast – slipped silently out of the house into the back gardens for a stroll. Recalling something of their layout, she ensured her first destination to be a covey of gargantuan prickly pear, and a proper accidental tumble into the cacti and various bushes sufficiently marred her skin of face, hands, and neck. There; she had a plausible alternative cause.

Duty done, Tia slowed her walk to a leisurely pondering throughout the rest of the garden, mostly tangles of bare limbs in the stark bleak of the winter. Hidden in the countryside of Muggle farms, she wasn't surprised at this; how unobtrusive could one be with a garden in full bloom in English December? But a beauty lay in the austere lots, edges trimmed neatly against the grey flagstone, empty fountain. It was peaceful, a distinct carbon aura to the Black family.

Outside of Sirius, Tia had never seen much in the way of genuine smiles or relaxed happiness in the folds of the Black clan. Always it seemed a layer thinly veiled lay just below the surface of their gleaming teeth, mocking the unworthy, calculating.

Tia sighed, melancholy. Honest with herself, she took the objective view and accepted the fact that she'd seen the same fake look on Regulus' face more times than not. He wasn't happy. Not really. Instead he seemed to rely on arrogance and social status as a crutch, something he fell back on as his guideline for behaviour. He didn't react to life; he played a scripted role in it.

And she was a courtier's handmaid to his crown prince.

Dashing away the stray tear from her cheek, Tia shook off the encroaching depression with a sniff. He wanted her. On some level, he really wanted her; that she believed. Perhaps he saw her as a mere distraction, slumming so to speak, or maybe it was just a physical attraction brought on by her own inept but possibly effective flirtations. But she couldn't comprehend why he continually acted as though he hated her – wanted her, but hated her. It was like something out of one of Clio's novels, but Tia knew herself not to be a strong-willed heroine. Strong-willed... yes. Heroine? Hardly.

Eye rolling and heavy sighs aside, she had but one choice: she was going to have to owl Clio.

Rouan was her best mate, wands down, but Tia knew Rouan was highly biased and extremely optimistically romantic. Her view would be that he loved her beyond words, that his reaction was that of a man angry with himself for falling so hard, and he was merely trying to distant himself from her, but finding himself unable to stay away. Yes, Rouan was great for making Tia feel better, but wasn't very helpful for finding the reality of a situation. And right now, Tia needed truth.

"Truth, but not depression," she murmured to herself, taking a cleansing, deep breath. Her gaze left her path and she brought her head up, forcing a lightness to her air. After all, she was spending the hols with Regulus, and as it currently stood, they were alone, together, with only house-elves in the portrait. She was being spared the not-quite-subtle condescension of Mrs Black, the below-notice of Mr Black, and the downright hostility of his cousins. And, well, the impropriety and seductiveness of his elder brother, though that was not particularly a disagreeable presence. Sirius did at least make one feel better.

Though, Tia considered, she'd never quite made out his meaning from Hallowe'en. For whose sake did he warn her off?

A shake of her head and Tia dismissed the recollection. She needed to enjoy the here and now, and cease worrying over trivial matters that she may or may not ever come to understand. After all, if Regulus were more like his brother, then she would be a passing fancy, and as it were, she had no security on how long that fancy may last. "Besides," she emphatically told herself, lifting her chin in defiance of her own insecurities. "You're just as worthy as the next lot of them."

"If you're speaking to the azaleas, I promise you they're not."

Tia jumped at the voice, unexpected and oddly loud in the desolate morning, and she froze in mid-stride with a breath before turning back about. His face was impassive, his demeanour as unforgiving as the winter-whipped foliage.

"If you're referring to rumours of their supposed cross-breeding, that was merely the jealous accusations of the petunias," she retorted wryly, longing to cross her arms in a protective gesture to his stoically solid stance. With effort, she affected the move into one of haughty annoyance. "They've never forgiven the azaleas for taking their spot at Sandringham House. Petty envy, really."

Tia held her breath, suddenly unsure how her quip would be met. Regulus had little tolerance these days for humour, much less if he took it to be a mock upon himself.

There was a long pause, then slowly, carefully he strode forward, blue eyes narrowed upon her, grim set to a shapely mouth. Her stomach clenched, and with great effort the tingling remembrances of last night and the triumphs of that mouth were kept at mind's bay; she had no room for such thoughts now.

With some surprise he did not stop before her, casting that arrogant measuring upon her. No; he stepped to her side, facing behind her at the shells of vine and skeletons of blooms. Peripherally Tia witnessed the long, elegant fingers caress a dead bud. Brittle ghosts of sepals crumbled at his touch, drifting on the breeze to flutter across the worn stone path. A shiver darted down her spine. But she did not turn.

"I see," he finally said, grave in his calm baritone. "So then, all claims suggesting the poppies were launching an escape plan are false accusations as well, yes?" His expression remained grim, but a flutter danced through Tia at the hint of playfulness. A moment passed before she could reply, exhaling a heavy sigh of relief in a mingle of her words.

"Case of mistaken identity, actually," she explained, turning slightly more to view him better. "Was the Wandering Jew, taking a walkabout."

Had she just seen a twitch of his lips? It was brief, but she swore a smile lay beneath the stern exterior.

"And the row between the geraniums and the daisies?"

"Broken up immediately after the Black-Eyed Susans were inadvertently hit."

"And the nocturnal prowling about?"

"The lupins, but they were too ravenous to stay out late."

"And any immoral behaviour?" This time he turned his head to look at her, fingers toying with the crumblings of browned bulb remnants. A single brow was raised in condescending question, but she was sure now that he held back a laugh with great control.

A bubble of excitement rose in her before she could tamp it down, and Tia forced herself again, this time to remain straight faced rather than giving in to this new sensation.

"Curtailed by the primroses straight away, though the Lady's Mantle tried a cover-up."

"Except for the catting about by the Leopard's Bane, eh?"

"Precisely," she confirmed matter-of-factly. A silence held between them, strained, until neither could restrain themselves any longer. Tia burst out with a laugh, Regulus sputtering a chuckle right behind. They laughed easily for nearly a full minute, and in that minute Tia saw a transformation that left her breathless.

White teeth gleaming against sun-kissed skin, peeking out from a genuine smile on a relaxed face. Azure irises were merely glimpses through the eyes narrowed in crinkles of amusement. He wasn't looking at her – at anything, really – just giving in anonymous humour in the moment. This was a Regulus she could easily fall in love with...

"Come along," he suddenly said lightly through that up-curled mouth. Still buoyant, he took her arm in gentle pull and turned along the path to walk, chatting as they went.

"I'll show you those deviant blooms that survive the dark of winter." Entering a lattice and vine-laced greenhouse, Tia realised it had been magicked in size, the outside a small shambles, the interior a vast garden in bloom in its own right. The warmth was welcome, the scent intoxicating.

"Freesia."

"Pardon?" she asked, startled from her closed-eye admirations.

"The springy aroma – it's Freesia. Tarkin tends the hothouse whilst we're in town. I admit it's one of my few joys over the holidays when we take up residence here. If you'll look over here, there's a beautiful miniature cherry blossom tree..."

-o-

He couldn't name the exact reasoning, but he could pinpoint the second when the façade fell with a muted thud. She was clever, quick to subtle laughter, and in a singular moment he saw that knowing-grin that always had left him paranoid as to what she knew about him that he didn't. But this time, this time he knew it wasn't him, but her.

The corner of her mouth had quirked at the end of her smart jibs, and it was then Regulus could no longer hold the amusement she'd stirred in him. And something inside released, refusing to concern over propriety of the moment. In truth, it was only them and the house-elves here, no one else. No one to dissect his every move, to debrief him after each foray into 'the plan,' as it were. Even the portraits had left on holiday to warmer climes. And for this time, he need not answer to anyone – even himself. The overwhelming urge to let go formality and laugh – truly laugh – and forget himself had done just that: overwhelmed him.

At her quirk, he'd chuckled. That had led to loss of composure, the break in the dam. It was a release of a different sort than his dream last night, but just as potent. And Merlin knew, he needed this detachment from his world. It couldn't hurt to allow it, he reasoned. To be someone else. At least until the others arrived.

This he repeated to himself as his hand slipped from her arm and into her own chilled palm, warming it with fingers drumming a pulse of unfamiliar euphoria.

-o-0-o-

...and then he held my hand as we walked around the grounds. He told me the history of additions and memories of his childhood with Sirius. He's never talked much about his brother, but what little he said today was said without the usual bile I hear between them.

Post Script – by the by, I've saved enough from sales this term that I'm going to commission a small piece from you. Your design, as I've faith in your taste. I'm thinking a necklace or pendant, as a ring may be lost each time I'd have to take it off for medicinal brewing, but I'll leave it to your good judgment.

Hurriedly sanding and folding the letter, Tia sealed and addressed it, gave it to the menacing looking bird in the window, then closed the leaded glass against the cold as he took flight. Turning to the looking glass, she ran a brush through her long, inky locks and scrubbed dryly at her face, wishing her pink blushes did not show so readily on pale cheeks. Supper was a matter she was going in blind, unsure the reception. Would it be last night's dinner, late last night's rebellious passion, or this afternoon's boyish charm?

Hurrying down to the dining room, Tia was surprised to find it empty and dark, only the barest of fires in the grate to keep the winter at bay. Confused, she wandered into the kitchen, calling for Regulus.

"Evening, Mistress," a grated voice greeted from behind. Tia whirled to find the elderly house-elf who'd hauled her luggage – was it just yesterday? – from the carriage. Unlike Kreacher, he seemed pleasant enough with her, though more a matter of uninterested civility than friendly.

"Trivan is to tell Her Lady Guest to follow Trivan. Master Regulus has altered supper plans." Succinct in his message, Trivan endeavoured a path, assuming Tia's compliance, for he never looked back.

Through a few twists and turns, Tia soon recognised their direction and, though puzzled, felt a giddiness as they entered the now-darkened greenhouse. More circling through arbours and a water garden, and a dim glow ahead soon appeared. Rounding a rock-shelf of tropicals, into view came a sight her romantic heart swelled with.

On a carpet of springy moss, beneath the potted miniature and a full-sized cherry blossom, and surrounded by juniper, ivy, freesia, palms... Tia's breath drew in sharply, and she barely acknowledged the departure of Trivan. Wrought iron candlesticks of varying sizes displayed beeswax fuel flames, seemingly haphazard in their placement. Scents assailed her, the only sounds those of the distant waterfall and reflecting pool. Blackwatch plaid lay across the moss in invitation, emerald pillows beckoned.

Tia seated herself on one of the overstuffed velvets, eyes travelling over the elaborate display of chilled wine, succulent dishes, beautiful layout of tableware. A visual feast, to be sure, and perhaps an answer to her trepidation of what direction Regulus would go this evening. The only thing missing –

"Shall we begin with drinks?"

-o-

The slack jawed reaction had not been wholly unexpected. Her eyes shot wide with his words as he stepped from the shadowed forest to her right. She started, her breath quickened for a moment. A blush tarnished her pale skin. He was not surprised at any of this. However, Regulus found an unexpected sense of pleasure nonetheless, and his mouth pulled to one side, hinting at a rare smile.

Rare. His smiles. Always had been since the days after Sirius first began Hogwarts and created a new family for himself. New best friend... new brother.

Regulus shook off the dormant recollections, concentrating instead on the girl and the stage before him. It was excellent work –the props, the scene – judging by her expression. The picnic theme was Lystra Davies' creation, actually, dug from memory of some languid remarks Lystra had made late one evening in the courtyard. She'd been going on about romantic situations she'd simply adore for Saint Valentine's Day. Apparently she'd thought Regulus would be the one to demonstrate these scenarios for her.

She was wrong.

But the detailed act had stayed buried in his head, and what perfect timing than the need he had now in which to put it to good use? All he had to do at this point was fall back on his training since childhood. Dinners, house parties, soirées... he'd been bred for this.

"Y-yes, that would be... lovely. Thank you." Jones' response was delayed, hesitant. She still wasn't sure what he was on about. Then again, her confusion could work to his benefit.

He poured the vintage wine just as Father had done each Black Michaelmas Feast. Gracefully lowering himself to his own pillow, he offered her hors d'oeuvres in the style of Abaraxas Malfoy's house-elves. Barnabas Cuffe's editorial powers had been committed to memory, and Regulus gifted Jones with a medley of world and local events (minus the Dark Lord) as opening chatter. Offered her a poetic and romantic toast penned by the Druid goddess Cliodna. Cast the Devlin Whitehorn gaze upon her as though she were the Nimbus 1000.

And she gave herself away. Shallow breaths, intent focus, dilated pupils... she bought the performance fully. His effort was working. He would prove them all wrong; Regulus Black was worthy of the Dark Lord's trust. Even now he had complete control over the situation, had a plan for each and every detail to lure her further in, gain her trust. He – Regulus A Black – was a seducer to be reckoned with, a talent she could not ignore. She could not – would not – resist him.

He stared across the blanket at her, his wine glass tipped and chin down so that her view was one of intent desire. It was a trademark of de Montmorency. Weaken her knees, he commanded himself. Fascinate her; dominate her.

Timidly she lowered her own glass and eyes, licked her lips clear of residual Sangria, and fought to meet his gaze. Jaw worked to form vocalization, and missed several times. Precisely, he thought with growing confidence. He had her to rights; all previous, traitorous imaginings of his inferiority and fear flew from his mind in the light of Jones' defeat. Yes. Yes...

Finally her mouth worked, and the words flowed unsure, carefully.

"Regulus... if you could have any three wishes granted – realistic or fantastic – and no one would ever know, what would they be?"

His slack jawed reaction had been wholly unexpected.