and everything becomes so cold;;

[Imogen Sauveterre]

you did it on purpose

[/color]

Of all the insufferable gits in the world that Imogen had ever met, Regulus Black had to be one of the worst.

She wasn’t just saying that, either: he was seriously a horrible person to be around. Every interaction with him made her cringe, not only at his crudeness but at her reactions to him as well. Oh, no, she wasn’t into him. She just became a much more vulgar person in a way she disliked, and more of her negative traits tended to show around him. She said things she disliked and acted in ways she detested simply to one-up him, and it never really worked anyway. Instead, he got her riled up and frustrated, and not in the way he seemed to want, but rather in a way that made her irritable and snappy with everyone else around her. A conversation with Regulus never tended to go the way of pleasantries, and there was only so much she could take of his constant propositions for sex. At first it had been easy to say no to him – considerably easier than saying no to Raiden, even though she’d done that, too – but the fact that he continued to press her for it was, truthfully, wearing on her.

No, she wasn’t going to sleep with Regulus. If she was certain of anything, it was that. She just… couldn’t help but feel like he’d shut it if she said yes. She wouldn’t follow through with it, she’d just tell him yes so that he’d stop pestering her, and then just never show up for their scheduled tryst or something.

Okay, it was stupid. She knew that, and she knew she wouldn’t do it anyway. Imogen just… had issues saying ‘no’ to people, but she knew that she had to keep saying it to Regulus, guilt or not. That, and she had no desire to actually get to know him better at all, in any way, shape or form. He was a prat and a git and a sleazy, no-good son-of-a-bitch who was nothing but hot air and prejudice and selfishness and ego and loathing for all those he considered to be beneath him. Did Imogen hate him? Well, no, but only because she preferred to believe she didn’t hate anyone who hadn’t committed murder or rape or some other horrific crime. As far as she knew – and as far as she hoped – Regulus only had detentions under his belt for unruly behaviour, and had done nothing worth a sentence in Azkaban.

As far as she knew.

As it was, their last conversation had left a foul taste in her mouth. True, Regulus had no idea why she hated cheaters so much (and as if Imogen was going to tell him anything about her family or home life), but telling her that he had no intentions of even attempting to stay faithful to Tori – and that Tori knew about it – was going too far. It was absolutely despicable and Imogen didn’t want to just stand there and let it happened. Could she change Regulus’s mind? No, not likely. In fact she was damn certain she couldn’t. But Tori deserved better than that. She deserved better than some… adulterer. She deserved to marry someone better than Regulus in the first place, but her complete cow of a mother seemed to think she was living in the medieval era and that marriages still had to be arranged. Maybe she was afraid that Tori would marry a Muggle-born. There was nothing wrong with that, in Imogen’s opinion. It was more than likely that Mrs. MacMillan had Muggle blood in her somewhere anyway. It was hard to find a pureblood family anywhere that didn’t. That, or there would be some cases of inbreeding, which wouldn’t have surprised Imogen either. She’d read up on pureblood genealogy in her second year and discovered some rather alarming things; hopefully, the Sauveterres didn’t have that problem.

But she was letting herself get distracted. Her focus at the present was Regulus, who was making a quick getaway from the classroom (briefly, it crossed Imogen’s mind that it was odd that he had been there in the first place, given that he was in NEWT year and she in OWL, but she waved it aside as him just doing whatever the hell he wanted) and striding away from her down the corridor. Imogen weaved through people, knocking her shoulders into them and apologising, as she tried to catch up with Regulus. One advantage of being tall was that she could take long strides, so it didn’t take too long for her to fall into step beside him. She waited for a few moments until he realised she was matching his stride before raising an eyebrow and expelling a humourless chuckle. “You know, I ought to Silencio you right now so I can actually say what I want to say without any of your little perversions interrupting me,” she mused. “Sometimes I have to wonder if you’re a little masochistic, because even though you know my answer is and always will be ‘no’, you continue to ask. It’s like you enjoy being shot down. But anyway, that’s not why I’m talking to you.” She looked around and saw a door near the stairs; it wasn’t a classroom, she knew, because Arithmancy was the only class on this floor, and it was rather risky to put a class so close to the stairs. Maybe it was one of Filch’s cleaning closets. “C’mere,” she said, then grabbed his sleeve and dragged him inside.

Well, it wasn’t exactly a cleaning closet. In fact, it wasn’t much of anything at all. It was a small room (she figured only about twelve-ish people could fit inside), mostly square, with no windows or desks or chairs or anything. Other than some piles of dirt and dust, it was empty. “Lumos,” she cast as the door closed behind them, thankful she did or she would have been alone in darkness with Regulus Black, and though she didn’t think he was dangerous, that was not some place she ever wanted to be. “All right, listen. I wouldn’t say this if it wasn’t important, because despite what you may believe, making small-talk with you isn’t my favourite pass-time. Look, Tori’s my friend. She’s a good person. She deserves to be with someone she actually loves. If there’s no way to get out of the marriage, the least she deserves is to be with someone who respects her. That means no cheating. It isn’t fair to you, and it isn’t fair to Tori. Cheating… it ruins everything, Regulus. It ruins families. Hell, it ruins people, even people who aren’t directly involved. God, I hope you never reproduce, but if you did? If you and Tori had kids? Do you think they’d be proud of you, always coming home smelling like some other woman? It’s a horrible, horrible thing, Regulus, a horrible feeling, thinking your parents don’t love each other like they’re supposed to. Makes you wonder if they can love you, you know?” She ground her jaw and took in a sharp breath through her nose; that had gotten too close to personal. “In any case, it’s wrong. If you’re going to spend the rest of your lives together, the very least you could do is try to make those years happy. Adultery, guilt… they’ll just make you miserable, and you’re sad enough as it is. So why bring more of that upon yourself? It’s not right—”

She stopped then, frowning at the sound she’d just heard. “Shut up,” she hissed to Regulus, even though she wasn’t even sure if he’d said anything. “I just heard…” Imogen gripped her wand, waving it slowly around the room, looking for the source of the sound. It had been like a faint sucking, like water draining out of a sink. “Move,” she said to Regulus, pushing his shoulder slightly to get him to step aside. But there was nothing else she saw as she waved her wand around. They were still alone; there was absolutely nothing—

And that was when it hit her.

“Where the fuck did the door go?”

r.a.b.

[Regulus Black]

the space between our worlds
is all that we’ve become

Regulus didn’t know how he felt about Imogen Sauveterre.

He didn’t like her, but he didn’t dislike her, either. It was a conundrum that wasn’t altogether new territory to him, but she herself was new territory to him, and the way in which she presented the conundrum was, indeed, like nothing he had ever dealt with before. It had long ago exceeded the typical duration of ‘the chase’ for Regulus, and yet, he hadn’t lost interest in her. To be honest, he wasn’t even sure if he even wanted her in a sexual way. See, Regulus didn’t understand his feelings when they weren’t of anger, friendship, or lust. Imogen both fit and didn’t fit all three categories, and therein lay the conundrum. She asked him what he wanted from her and Regulus didn’t know how to answer that. Not even in his coy, asshole way. Not even in a witty comeback way. He had stared at that slip of paper and felt dangerously vulnerable to a girl for the first time in a while. What did he want from her? He wrote down the first thing that had come to his mind and then tried to steer the conversation back toward his area of comfort, blind seduction––but this didn’t stop him from thinking, over and over again, about what she had asked and what he had told her. He had told her that it was because he liked her. Did he? He was certain he didn’t. Regulus felt no stirrings in his heart when he called to mind the image of her face. No, Regulus was still very much and very painfully in love with his cousin. And yet, there was a grain of truth to what he had said. He liked Imogen as much as he disliked her. Their little games, their cat-and-mouse. Whatever fucked up mess they had, he liked it.

There was some strange comfort in the smart ass’s presence. He enjoyed their exchanges, as annoying as she could be. Regulus and Imogen had undeniable chemistry, but perhaps not in a sexual or even romantic way. Something linked them to one another and once it had taken hold, it was hard to shake. She was interesting and fresh and provided Regulus with an intellectual stimulation he hadn’t received in years and years, if ever. She challenged him and in a strange, uncharacteristically progressive way, he liked it. So perhaps he hadn’t just been toying with her when he told her he liked her.

Perhaps he had meant it. And what did that mean?

Well, that was a subject that would require more meditation over the course of the year. For now, Regulus had business to attend to in preparation for the upcoming Quidditch match against the Ravenclaws. He had scheduled an impromptu practice, mostly to reacquaint everyone with the utter failure they’d been this year and to spur them into competitive action. Regulus was beginning to lose hope in his team for the Cup this year, and that was not a good sign because it was Regulus’s last year and he did not want to lose the Cup for the very last time. Last year was painful enough––it was time the Slytherins made a comeback. Not to mention, he wanted to have faith in his team. He wanted to look upon them with fondness and pride. But he’d be damned if he could do that now, what with the Vixens being so lax at practice and apathetic toward their goal. Not all of them, but man were more excited about Yule Ball than the Cup, and skipped out on practices just to go dress shopping, or whatever it was girls did when it was time for a ball. Regulus didn’t even pretend to know, or care. All he cared about was winning, and he was going to kick those girls’ pretty little asses into shape if it was the last thing he did. And he had just enough time to get from Slughorn’s office down to the pitch. He’d been negotiating the terms of a detention with Slughorn, and underhandedly begging for some pity points to bring his marks up; he was certain that his mother might actually mash his eyeballs into jelly with a spoon if she saw one more bad mark, especially in potions. He was trying to decide whether or not his father would eat the jelly when he suddenly noticed the appearance of none other than an Imogen Sauveterre beside him, matching his stride.

As per use, before he would open his mouth, she had already started spouting off nonsense. He pretended to listen.

“Correction: I like a challenge, which you certainly ar––” but before he could finish, she had beckoned for him to follow her into a dark room that Regulus was not exactly sure he’d ever been in before, or seen, for that matter. He was dragged in by his sleeve and did not have much by way of protest, seeing as he was intrigued by Imogen’s sudden desire to speak to him after their last conversation and couldn’t help but feel slightly aroused by her pulling him into a dark room. Of course, she shattered the titillation by illuminating the place with her wand, but he didn’t have time to process that disappointment before she started blathering again––and he, devoid of any distraction besides those wicked, heaving breasts again, was forced to listen.

And here she was, going on and on about how great a lass Victoria was and how she didn’t deserve to be cheated on and this and that, moral loopholes destroying every single plan he had to remain unfaithful upon marriage. Merlin, but he could get bothered by morality. He sighed frustratedly and tried multiple times to butt in and failed, eventually rolling his eyes and casting his eyes downward for a moment, too annoyed to even properly give her the respect of eye contact. But then he noticed a distinct shift in her tone toward the end of her rant, where suddenly things felt a little more personal and intimate than he thought he’d ever experienced with her. While it did not soften his position on marriage, it did give him pause and enough curiosity to meet her eyes once more, and this time hold them, and search the pain in her face. It piqued his interest, but he did not pity her. As if she was the only one suffering from a strained parental relationship. Yet before he could posit any of his theories regarding marriage or even defend himself, she was at it again, snapping at him to shut up even though he’d just barely opened his mouth.

He took out his wand from his pockets and whispered another, “Lumos,” adding to the light that she had created, and stepped toward her, following her motions of trying to find the door. “Well, darling,” he sighed, biting back a snarl that was a little ruder than he wanted to be at the moment, “This is a fine mess you’ve dragged us into.” Now he was going to miss Quidditch practice, and those girls would never be motivated enough to carry on without him, except perhaps Caoimhe... Circe, he would have been a lot angrier if this had happened to him with anybody but Imogen Sauveterre. As it would happen, she was lucky enough to not bore him today, so he wouldn’t rage at her. Instead, he sat down on the dusty floor, not much minding if he got any on his rear, and shook his head a little. “We won’t be getting out of here ‘til Filch makes his evening rounds and notices we’re not in bed,” he sighed. “That’s at least two hours from now.”

“Luckily for you, that gives me just enough time to pound into your little, senseless head that you are not a pureblood and you do not understand anything about our world. You remember when I said I bet with the Devil? It’s because the Devil runs our world. You think it isn’t fair? Tough. So do we. But what do we do about it? It’s all we’ve known, it’s all we have. Your parents raised you their way and mine raised me theirs. Who are you to tell me which one is right and which is wrong? You’re different from us, Imogen. You may be friends with us but you aren’t one of us and you cannot possibly pretend to understand us. I have my duties and Victoria has hers. She’s grown up knowing them. If she doesn’t want them, she’s had years to escape and she hasn’t. You know why? Because it isn’t that easy. Sirius did, look how he ended up. Look,” he said, taking a breath, “I don’t want to get married. I don’t want to cheat on my wife. I don’t want to look my children in the eye knowing I’ve been unfaithful to their mother. You think I want that? Imogen, I have to. It’s my duty. When Sirius abandoned us he left me behind as the only male heir to the Black family.” She was getting personal; so was he. “I don’t have the luxury of an escape, because I’m the only one left. Now I’m going to marry a girl I don’t love and that’s the way it’s going to work. She can take her lovers and I’ll take mine and our children will grow up thinking that is the normal way of it because, in our world, it is.”

“And once we get out of this cave, you can take your morality and shove it right up your bloody ass where it belongs, because it means nothing to me. It can’t. So give it a damned rest and let’s try to not make this situation worse than it already is.”

[Imogen Sauveterre]

you did it on purpose

[/color]

So… basically, they were trapped.

Hoping that maybe she’d missed something, Imogen continued to search around the tiny little room for the door through which they’d entered, but they were surrounded by flat, stone wall on all four sides. Hogwarts was full of tricky magic: moving staircases, walls that pretended to be doors, trick stairs… And now this, a door that apparently liked to disappear every now and then. And, according to Regulus, they would probably be stuck until Filch did his rounds. For a moment, she pondered blasting the wall apart, but quickly decided against it. They were in much too confined of a space; the spell could rebound easily and seriously injure them. That, and it could injure anyone on the other side, as well. Glaring at him, Imogen sat down across from him and resigned to wait it out.

He, apparently, was not going to let them wait in peace. Imogen listened to his retort with growing anger, gripping her wand so tight she was almost afraid she’d break it. She wasn’t dense. She knew bloody-well that purebloods considered themselves to be living in an entirely different world than Muggle-borns or half-bloods like herself. She knew full-well how they conducted themselves in society, arranging unwanted marriages and disowning any family member who just didn’t conform in any way. Sure, her grandparents had accepted the fact that her father was a Squib, but it wasn’t as though she’d heard from any other Sauveterre in all that time. It was entirely probable that, had they known of his existence, they could have disowned him as well. And Regulus was sitting there making excuse after excuse, saying that it wasn’t possible for him to change anything because that was just how things were. It was complete bullshit, in Imogen’s opinion. Yes, some things were unchangeable. But Regulus was a Black. He actually had the power to do something about his situation, and he had given up before even trying. It was entirely possible to be a pureblood and not be a jackass. Hell, her uncle never cheated on his wife, as far as Imogen knew. And Fabian Prewett was a pureblood, and he didn’t seem the sort to get frisky with other women if he was committed to one already. “I’m not a pureblood,” she said coldly once Regulus had finished, “but so what? I’m a half-blood. A majority of the school is made of Muggle-borns. Besides parentage, what’s the difference? You are a pureblood, and a damn powerful one at that, so you have it in you to change the way things are if you don’t like them. You and Tori both do. You don’t have to live a medieval lifestyle in the twentieth century.”

It was ridiculous. Bloodlines had always been important to magical folk, but truth-be-told, Imogen could only see the benefit to selective breeding in animals. It was common in racehorses: you bred the fastest horse with a horse known for having great endurance, and hopefully the foal would have a mixture of the traits. But humans weren’t animals. They weren’t bred for one sole purpose. There was absolutely no evidence to prove that two purebloods produced a more magically-gifted offspring than a pureblood and a half-blood, or even a pureblood and a Muggle. Hell, Lily Evans – whom Imogen hadn’t even known, but heard plenty about – was a Muggle-born, and she was still considered to be the brightest witch of her age. She was still talked about by some professors, and she had graduated. Being a pureblood may have been impressive on parchment, but what value did it hold outside of that? None.

He was a coward.

He was so afraid of being rejected by his family that he didn’t even try. He didn’t want to be like his brother. Fine, Imogen didn’t want to be like her siblings either. But, from what Imogen understood from the little snippets she got from conversing with Regulus, Sirius ran away from his life so that he could be happy. Regulus was doing the exact opposite: he was running away from being happy so that he could continue with the life he knew, even though it made him miserable. It was pathetic. It… It was sad. There was a small twist in Imogen’s stomach, and she realised that she felt sorry for Regulus, even though she was completely pissed off at him too. Frowning, she twirled her wand between her fingers before muttering the incantation for the bluebell flames charm; a tiny flicker of blue fire formed between her and Regulus, floating about a foot from the ground. It wasn’t much, but it began to warm the chilly, dark room not long after its creation.

Her brow furrowed as a thought came to her; it was ludicrous and absolutely mental, but so was Regulus, really. Holding the end of her wand gently between her teeth, Imogen reached into her bag to look for the knife she used in Potions to cut up her ingredients. Finding the case, she opened it and pulled the knife out. After only a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed Regulus’s hand closest her to and pressed the blade into his palm. She knew it was likely to piss him off, so before she could give him time to hit her or curse her, she brought the knife to her own hand and dragged the tip across her palm until several beads of blood bubbled up through her skin. Imogen raised her hand and showed him, ignoring the sting, and stared at him stonily. “This is what all your prejudice is about, isn’t it? This is why people are getting attacked and disappearing. This is why people are dying. This is why you feel trapped, why you feel like you can’t marry someone you actually give a damn about and why you’re settling for just doing whatever mummy tells you. It’s all about blood, isn’t it? Keeping your bloodline ‘strong’ and ‘pure’? Not dirtying it up with, god forbid, the tiniest bit of Muggle? Well, take a look, Regulus. I have ‘dirty’ Muggle blood in me. My mother is a Muggle-born. My father’s a Squib. So you tell me which blood cells say ‘Muggle’ and which ones say ‘magic’.” She held her hand up right beside his. Nearly-identical lines of blood contrasted against their light skin. Looking from their hands to him, Imogen kept her hand in place, ensuring that Regulus would have to look. “Dunno about you, but I can’t tell the difference.”

[Regulus Black]

the space between our worlds
is all that we’ve become

He wasn’t prepared for this.

Ever since he’d been a little boy Regulus had been told by his mother and father that Purebloods were better, Pureblood were superior, their blood was thicker and better than those of Muggle birth. And who was he to question it? It was his personal truth – a truth widely acknowledged across his entire social sphere, leaking into every single thing he ever knew, ever had the capacity to know. And now... he gets to Hogwarts and people tell him it’s different, people expect him to welcome these Mudbloods with open arms and accept them for who they are; as equals. And he’s incapable of that, he always has been. When he was a little boy he imagined that Mudbloods really did have dirt and sludge running through their veins. He used to stare at puddles left behind by the rain, poke them with a stick and wonder how anything so disgusting could possibly sustain a human life. Which is why he took to believing that Mudbloods weren’t human. They were something worse, something below even animals. Regulus couldn’t conceive of a world where they shouldn’t be hunted, where they shouldn’t be wiped off the face of the earth. A world of only witches and wizards who were born from witches and wizards, well, it sounded ideal. It sounded safe. Safe, comfortable, familiar, right. Justified. A world of their own, populated by those who think like them.

Perhaps that’s what it was. Perhaps Regulus, and those of his standing, were afraid of Mudbloods. Of Muggles. Because there have always been more of their kind than his, and the future was looking bleak as it was in terms of remaining Pureblooded families. They were running out of themselves and, hell, that was scary. Their entire world as they knew it was threatened and Regulus felt compelled to protect it. His livelihood, “backward” and “medieval” as it was, was... all he had. His inheritance (though he doesn’t want it), his fiance (though he doesn’t want her), his family name to uphold. The entire Black line rests on his shoulders and he has to do right by it because it has always done right by him. He’s frustrated and miserable and trapped but he’s been given a lot without having to ask, he’s been treated like a prince while others he knows are treated like peasants. He has a lot to be thankful for and frankly he owes his parents the peace of mind that they can trust him to maintain their reputation. He won’t be like Sirius. He won’t be a deserter. He signed up for this and he’s in too deep now to get out with any shred of honor. And – he doesn’t want to get out of it, really. He enjoys his power. Being at the beck and call of his personal idol, earning his trust, being given the title of “prodigy.” It was everything his parents ever wanted. It was everything he ever thought he wanted. He’s proud of it but at the same time it dwarfs him. At the same time there’s something wrong, like a key mismatched to a lock, somewhere deep inside of him.

Now he’s begun to see what it is, what that means, what has got him feeling so disillusioned, displaced.

And he is terrified.

He flinched when Imogen cut his hand but he doesn’t say anything; the words he might have said were swallowed as soon as he watched her do the same to herself, and hold their hands together. She spoke and something inside him flipped, like he was about to vomit. His stomach roiled as his eyes flicked back and forth between their palms, because – he hadn’t been prepared for this. It shouldn’t have been such a big deal, because he gave up long ago on the delusion that Mudbloods actually were made of mud, but – but it is a big deal. His heart sank with a resounding thud that he swore Imogen could probably hear, but he didn’t move, he just sat there staring, coldly, trying to calculate what it all meant. “You’re right,” he finally said, voice flat and monotone. “No mud.” He gave a dry bark of a chuckle and shook his head, shattering the stillness between them and pulling his hand away. “Don’t you think I know that, Imogen? Don’t you think I’ve always known that?” Regulus shook his head and scooted away from her. “It doesn’t change a damned thing. Actually, it makes it worse. Because my parents, my friends, my family – everyone can see that there is no difference but we still kill, we still destroy. It follows the logic of our forefathers, generations and generations of hate that can’t be fixed by me alone. You don’t understand, in that optimistic little brain of yours. You don’t understand that hatred, ignorance, whatever the fuck this is – it can’t be cured. You don’t understand what I’ve been involved in. You don’t understand that I can’t get out of it, that I don’t want to get out of it. This has been the plan for my life since I was born. My father and mother look at me with pride. I’ve filled the hole that was left in their hearts by my traitor of a brother. I have my entire life at stake, Imogen. My entire family legacy. And more than that. More than you could even imagine. So, yeah. Our blood looks the same. I don’t deny that. But it’s not my job to prove that to everyone else.”

"In fact," he began, raising his sleeve to reveal the skull and snake on his forearm, "my job is to do quite the opposite."

[/blockquote][/blockquote]

[Imogen Sauveterre]

you did it on purpose

[/color]

She didn’t want to be stuck in this wall anymore.

Not that she wanted to be there in the first place, but now she’d had about enough. She was tired in every sense of the word, and frustrated, and angry. She didn’t know why she bothered trying to talk to Regulus at all, because he was a stubborn, ignorant, prejudiced brat who’d never listen to a damn word anyway. She held their hands together as he looked down at them, as if to contemplate what was going on, but she was losing hope of anything much happening. Regulus was far too set in his hateful ways, and who was she to even think she could change him? She was a nobody, especially to him. She couldn’t make a difference no matter what she did.

So it came as quite a shock when he said that she was right; she stared at him for a few moments in stunned silence before he pulled away with a dark chuckle. It was funny, really, how he called her optimistic. She was far from that. She was a realist, but too much bad shit had happened for her to be truly, honestly optimistic. Maybe that was why she couldn’t help anyone, no matter how hard she tried, because she didn’t truly believe it. She didn’t believe in happy endings. She didn’t believe in anything.

But Imogen would try, for someone else. Even though she didn’t believe it herself, she would always try to help someone else believe.

She shut her eyes with a sigh, her temples beginning to ache, and was sitting back against her side of the wall when his tone changed. Opening her eyes, Imogen looked down, her insides turning to ice as she saw what was on his arm.

In that moment, Imogen knew she was going to die.

The skull and snake tattoo contrasted vibrantly with his skin; the image was sharp and crisp, almost as though it wasn’t a tattoo at all. Imogen knew that she was staring, but she couldn’t look away. Probably looked stupid, too. She swallowed, not sure what to do now. But what could she do? She’d just pissed off a Death Eater. Of all the stupid decisions and mistakes she’d ever made in her life, this might have been the worst. Now she was trapped inside a wall with him, and… oh god, he could kill her in this very room and leave her body to rot, and no one would know. Ian would know that she was missing, but no one would know where to find her, or what happened, and no one would know that Regulus Black had killed her because she knew too much.

“It’s… funny… how such a harmless symbol can mean so much,” she heard herself say; her throat was dry, so her voice cracked, but that was the least of her concerns. She shouldn’t have been talking at all. “How seeing something like that automatically means your death.” Briefly, she wondered how it would have felt to be a citizen in a country invaded by Nazi Germany in the second World War. How would it have felt to see the swastika and know what it meant? Maybe this was it. Maybe this was that feeling. Maybe. “And it’s funny, you know, how… how you said you destroy. Your family destroys, purebloods destroy – purebloods are all about magic. Magic… magic is about creation.” She indicated the small fire she made, not sure how her voice could sound so calm when inside she felt like screaming. “It’s not about what you can destroy, it’s about what you can make. That’s what makes wizards better, right? It’s what makes us better than Muggles, isn’t it? Because we can create everything they can’t with magic. It’s not about destruction. You purebloods don’t celebrate your gifts; you ruin them.” She gave a humourless snort. “If any of you lot had taken a Muggle Studies class and learned some history, you would know that they don’t need any magical help in destroying each other. They have wars and guns and bombs to do that.” Maybe she was exaggerating, but only a little. At this point, it didn’t matter. She was only delaying death, really.

She never thought Regulus would be the one to kill her. If anyone, she thought it would be the Rosiers.

Funny how things worked out.

[Regulus Black]

the space between our worlds
is all that we’ve become

He didn’t want to say anything. He didn’t know what to say. He just sat there with his arm exposed and he didn’t know why – he just did it, on impulse, because something in Imogen’s eyes told him to. Something has changed inside him lately. Something he can’t explain, or even identify half the time. It started with Imogen. No, it started before that. It’s been spiraling out of control ever since the Dark Lord told Regulus about his grand master plan; his quest for immortality, and the hateful, disgusting, horrific things he had to do to achieve it. That was when the seed was planted, that was when Regulus started to wonder if this man was a man at all. The anxiety, the doubt, the fear, the rumbling disquietude rooted in the pit of his stomach. And now this. Now Imogen, bringing it up again and again – reminding him of the the terror lurking in wait for him just around the corner, reminding him of the actions he’d committed to wittingly further this insidious plot. And in this moment he wanted to be as far away from Imogen as possible. Just looking at her face, hearing her shallow breath as she stared at his arm, knowing that she was terrified of him, and with good reason – it made his stomach roil, made every inch of his body tingle with revulsion. He quickly rolled his sleeve back down and dropped his eyes from hers, unable to bear looking at her, hearing her talk, feeling her body heat inching toward his. He barely listened to her words, barely registered what they meant. Everything was slurred and blurry, like a muffled record or an undeveloped photograph. It took Regulus a few seconds to realize it was because he was crying.

Within the breadth of a glance he launched into a defensive mode, shying away from Imogen’s illuminated wand and burying his face in his hands, as if he had a headache, or was cradling his temples. His face throbbed achingly beneath his eyes as he could feel the reservoir of tears compacting behind his skin, begging for release. Release he could not give. Regulus drew in a sharp breath and closed his eyes, willing his heart to settle and the pressure behind his eyes to subside. He would not give Imogen Sauveterre the satisfaction of witnessing his despair erupt – not now, not ever. Regulus Black did not weep; not for himself, not for anyone. Regulus Black did not weep.

She’s scared of him, he realized, when he was strong enough to lift his head.

He noticed a faint tremble seizing her whole form, just barely visible, but he can still see it in the flickering light. A sad smile turned up the corner of his lips and he wondered, how many others fear him? How many others? Those he has killed? Those he has fought? Those he has threatened to kill? He’s seen that look before, he’s seen it a hundred times. But it’s never mattered to him. Not until he saw it in Marlene McKinnon’s. Not until he saw it in Imogen Sauveterre’s. Hatred is a look he’s used to. Loathing. Disgust. Annoyance. Lust. Anger. Betrayal. But not fear. No. Never fear. Not until now, not until he joined forces with the Dark Lord. Not until he became a slave to endless ambition founded on nothing but arrogance and prejudice. And he’s known that all along, really. He’s just never given it any thought. He couldn’t give it any thought. People who gave it any thought in the Pureblood world ended up like Sirius, or worse. And Regulus Black would never end up like his brother. He would not sacrifice his way of living, his entire field of knowledge, his entire life for some lowlife Mudbloods who’d never do the same for him.

And it’s not like he has a choice now, anyway.

All her words just bounce off him and he hears nothing, he feels nothing. He is stuck and there is nothing he can do. And the sooner she realizes that the better for them both.

“I was born into a world of destruction. My blood runs black with hatred. I’ve done evil things, Imogen. I come from an evil line of evil wizards. It’s just the way it is.” He shrugged against the wall in his slumped position. “But I’m not going to kill you, so you can calm the fuck down.”

[Imogen Sauveterre]

you did it on purpose

[/color]

It was… strange, seeing Regulus weakening like that. It was strange to know that she had caused it. But it was terrifying, too, because it was more incentive to kill her. For a moment, she was tempted to apologise. Imogen even considered asking him not to kill her, but what good would that do? None, and it would just make her look weak. So she closed her eyes, waiting for him to make his move. Waiting for him to make everything end.

… Maybe it’d be nice.

“I’m not going to kill you.”

Hearing those words was… shocking. Imogen had no idea what to feel. Was he lying so that she’d let her guard down? Or was he being honest? She didn’t see how the latter could be possible. She knew too much. She saw too much. She annoyed the stuffing out of him. But he didn’t want to kill her. Or… or he just couldn’t.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” she found herself saying. Then, without even thinking about it, she reached forward and grasped Regulus’s bloodied palm with her own. “Your blood’s not so black now,” she said, her voice sounding far away. She stared at him for a while, contemplating her feelings. The anger had ebbed away; now, all she had left was pity. Compassion, she preferred to think, but there was definite pity there too. Regulus wasn’t helpless; he just chose to make himself so. “You’re not alone.” Her voice was soft now, barely audible; she wondered if he heard her at all.

The fire flickered for a moment; then it went out, plunging them into darkness. Imogen gasped in surprise, dropping his hand and trying to light her wand, but she didn’t need it; now, she heard another sound, the sound of a knob being turned and—

“What’re you lot doing in here?”

She never thought she’d be so happy to see Filch’s ugly, wrinkled face, but there it was, sneering down at them. She shielded her eyes against the sudden bright light before scrambling to her feet. “Thanks,” she said to him, stepping outside before she could get trapped in there again. She ignored Filch as he threatened to give them both detentions, keeping her focus instead on Regulus. “… I’ll see you later, I guess.” Why Imogen said that, she had no idea, since she had no intentions of doing so. But she caught a glimpse of something else in Regulus while they were trapped: she caught a glimpse of someone lonely and vulnerable and terrified.

Someone who needed help.

[Regulus Black]

the space between our worlds
is all that we’ve become

He would have flinched away from her comforting touch if he’d at all expected it. Regulus didn’t need comfort, wasn’t asking for it. He just didn’t want her to keep looking at him like that, keep looking at him as if he was going to maim her. At one point he may have. At one point in his life she may have ended up like that Squib over the past summer. But now he didn’t have it in him. He and Imogen had a strange, and not always positive, dynamic, but hurt her? Physically? He’d have his fun with her emotionally because that was their game, but, Circe, no more killing. No more torturing. No more cursing. The darkness was starting to push out the light from every crevice of his body and if he gave way to it, if he buckled for even a moment, it would consume him. He couldn’t give in, not yet. Not with all that he knew. He’d go mad if there wasn’t any more light. He’d drive himself into an early grave because one day he’d just stand in the middle of the Great Hall and slaughter everyone; he’d allow the instinct, the hunger, to kill bleed into every fragment of his body and that would be it, that would be the end. He had to keep sight of that light. Tiny and flickering as it was. If he lost it then he’d lose everything.

The funny thing was, in that moment, he swore Imogen’s face was the brightest light he’d ever seen.

He held her gaze for a moment. It felt like much longer than that but in reality it was only a few seconds, and he shared something with her, something intimate, that he’d never shared with anyone before. Perhaps it was voluntary, perhaps it wasn’t. Either way the information was transmitted and he was left more vulnerable for it, but at the same time, slightly relieved as well. He wouldn’t take it back even if he could, because – because there was something nice about her knowing, something safe about Imogen’s face, and her light, that he trusted.

Regulus showed her his fear.

His pupils shivered, gently, but just visibly enough to convey that he was alone, that he was condemned, that he was doomed, that he was a walking dead man. And that, above all, he was terrified. And he had no escape.

A weight lifted off his shoulders in that second, but the relief was only momentary, because just after, an even heavier burden sagged onto his shoulders and he realized exactly what it was that he had shared with her, and what it meant. The next time he saw the Dark Lord his fear would be evident, his thoughts would be opened up and dissected and He would know what His little protege had done, what he had shared, what he had given away. He would see Regulus’s doubt, his fear, his hesitation, his longing for escape. And then He would kill him. Just like that.

“You’re not alone,” she told him, and that’s when he dropped his eyes from hers and gave a lame shake of his head.

“You’re smarter than that, Imogen. You know better than to say that.”

He waited for her reply listlessly, until the door swung open and Filch’s greasy face loomed into view. Regulus gathered himself off the floor and allowed Imogen to exit first, following softly after her. Filch was going on about detentions but... something as small and menial and meaningless as a detention seemed so far away to Regulus, something foreign, something from another world that was now unavailable to him. He’d give anything to have a detention. He’d give anything to get in trouble and sit around for hours doing nothing but feigning penitence only to be released at the end, to go about with his life. Regulus would give anything for such a useless, such a safe punishment. Filch’s words dazed him. He didn’t even know if he got a detention or not. He was just staring ahead, at Imogen’s light, which he was surprised to see hadn’t faded outside of the dark room. He trailed after her briefly, staying long enough to hear her wish him farewell, then shoved his hands into his pockets and gave an acknowledging nod. “Yeah,” he echoed, dully. “See you later.”

When she was out of sight Regulus skulked off back to his dormitory, head so heavy he thought it would drag him to the ground. He would be getting no sleep tonight. The boulder inside his brain would make sure of that. No, Regulus Black knew what he had to do. And what he had to do gave him no time to sleep.

The old appendage, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” held new meaning to him now.

And he knew he’d be sleeping soon.

[/blockquote][/blockquote]

_{the end}