Chapter X . . . where it went
CW slight sexual content

Her face is cold on his chest. Or perhaps his chest is what's cold, and the warmth he is feeling is of her own; either way, there is something kind stirring where her skin is touching his, something forgiving toward the bitter chill within the Slytherin dormitory.

It was a risk, getting her up here, and he recognised that. They both did. But broom cupboards and empty classrooms were growing repetitive and un-romantic—Regulus invited Lyra to his bed, and she said yes within one breath, and he had to somehow find a moment that Barty and Evan would be out so he could sneak Lyra in without either of their knowledge.

It wouldn't have been so difficult if they weren't all avoiding each other like the plague. Ever since Regulus and Evan had had their row, which had ended up landing Evan in the hospital wing (he, thankfully, hadn't told Pomfrey what got him on the nose, just that he tripped and hit a doorframe), Barty and Evan seemed to have come to some agreement that Regulus is the devil spawn and must be kept at a distance so as to not poison them more than he already has.

Barty, for his sake, seems to be trying to dispel this logic with as many closed-mouth smiles and nods of acknowledgement that he can muster; but Evan, like his sister, is as stubborn as a mule. He won't be giving in, Regulus knows, even though Barty clearly wants this tiff to end.

Regulus isn't sure if he wants to go back to whatever he had with them, if he's being honest. They're from his old life, aren't they? Them and their blood purist beliefs. Them and their Dark Marks. They represent the very part of Regulus that he is trying to snuff out of himself, so why should he want to venture back to a connection? If the candle is burnt out on whatever acquaintance they had, then he doesn't mind. He doesn't mind one bit.

Especially not if it means he gets Lyra all to himself and has nobody to answer to.

He'd heard from Pandora that Barty and Evan would be out on family business for the night—which, Regulus knew, translates to Death Eater business. Probably getting their first task to accomplish once school lets out. It's daunting, but Regulus has to recognise that his own task will be upon him soon; something to really show his loyalty to the Dark Lord, show that he won't be running anytime soon.

(Even though he will be.)

Either way, whether on Voldemort business or not, Barty and Evan are gone, and Regulus and Lyra have the seventh-year Slytherin boys' dormitory to themselves.

It's late already, and Regulus can tell from her breathing that she is halfway asleep. Probably lost in a dream somewhere already. But he doesn't want her to leave so soon, not when this could be one of their only moments so intimate for such a long time. Who knows when Barty and Evan will be out again, when Regulus will have the chance to be alone with Lyra in a moment that only belongs to them?

He twists a bit, just his torso, just enough to nudge her off his bare chest. Her head, as planned, falls onto his arm. The distance is gentle, but it wakes her all the same, and he wipes his face to indifference at the sight of her eyes opening.

"Did I wake you?" he whispers. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't," she replies, her voice tired and breathy. She lifts a hand to rub at her eyes. "What time is it?"

"Still dark," is his reply. They still have time. "Can't be too late, though. Was only half past nine when we got in, wasn't it—oh, but I forget; you've the sleep schedule of a ninety year-old, haven't you?"

She laughs out of her nose, her eyes still closed. He has never seen her so delicate. So swept by exhaustion. She looks soft, like he could blow her away with a kiss.

"Ninety year-old is flattering," she whispers back, smiling up at him through the darkness. "Last time I brought up my sleeping habits, I think I recall you referring to me as Merlin's great-grandmother."

He laughs lightly. "I figured I'd go easy on you since it's past your bedtime."

"It was past my bedtime hours ago."

"Whinging now? I can very well kick you out of my dorm, you know—"

She hits his chest, giving him a feigned look of offence. "And throw me out with nothing but my knickers and my wand? Come on, Reg, even you can't be that horrible."

He ducks away from her attack as best he can, but he's laughing, and he doesn't want her to roll off of him so he doesn't make it far anyway. "I think I'm plenty horrible."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah. Undoubtedly."

"I don't think so," she says with the air of a know-it-all, and he laughs at her impertinence. "I think you're an angel, Regulus Black. Really."

Regulus laughs, letting his head fall back against his pillow. He feels her inch closer, curling up beside him as though there's room on the twin-sized mattress for the both of them. There isn't, not really, but Regulus is comfortable either way and he isn't about to ask her to leave. Not when he loves having her around.

"Angel might be pushing it," he says, allowing his eyes to close. It's dark anyway. "I'm in Slytherin for a reason."

"What happened with Evan and Barty?"

The question hits him suddenly, and his eyes dart open, worried for a moment that Lyra knows something she shouldn't. Then he remembers that Lyra is supposed to know everything, and she does, anyway—he doesn't have to hide anything. Not from her.

"Do you want the long version?" he says dryly, staring up at the ceiling of his poster bed. "Or the abridged?"

She sets her hand on his chest; it's cold, but he doesn't say anything against it. "Whichever is easier for you."

He thinks for a moment, working his lip in thought. Then he shifts around so they're facing each other, even though it's still dark and he can't really see her either way.

"Evan accused me of being a traitor."

Lyra huffs a laugh. "Isn't that just what you are, Regulus?"

He rolls his eyes. "Yes, but he isn't supposed to know. That's the whole point, isn't it?"

"Oh, whatever." She still sounds tired, but if she does want to go to sleep, Regulus is almost positive Lyra would have said something by now. She isn't the kind to—what's the saying? 'Come quietly.' She adjusts herself against him. "So Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum think you're a traitor, and you had it out, right here in your dormitory. Ooh, I've just got chills, Reggie, really—I'm at the scene of the crime—"

"Piss off," laughs Regulus, shoving at her shoulder. "You can't go 'round making those jokes to anyone else, d'you hear me? If it gets back to Evan, I'm sure he'll have my head."

"That's fine," she says, "so long as I get your heart."

"You big sap."

She laughs loudly and buries her face into his body, hiding herself in the crook of his neck as though there's anyone around that can't see her like this. Not that Regulus can see her at all. Still, he grins when she curls into him, and he isn't sure what makes him so overcome with warmth, at first. Perhaps it's the simple domesticity of the moment, the fact that he is sharing a scene with Lyra that could be plucked straight from the marriage of a happy couple. Perhaps it's her laugh; that's always been good at getting him all warm inside, anyway.

Whatever it is, it makes him so content that he hardly registers what he wants to say until he's said it.

"Love you."

It leaves his lips as natural as a breath, and he wonders why that is. Why he feels tranquil enough with Lyra to say these words that he has only ever said to his brother. And why he isn't regretting them at all.

For her response, Lyra leans up and connects their lips in the darkness. Her words are quiet when she presses them against his mouth.

"You couldn't mean that."

He brushes a strand of her hair out of her face. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm only making busy talk with a mad woman."

Lyra laughs. The tip of her nose is touching his, so close he could taste her. She trails the back of her hand down his cheek slowly, igniting fireworks everywhere she makes contact, and soon her lips are back on his. Sweet, as always, but subdued with sleep, like the full severity of her flavour cannot be expressed when she is still barely awake.

Neither of them know what time it is anymore, but they're both slowly being overcome by their exhaustion; and yet, still they breathe each other in and lay claim to every inch of one another's bodies, one more time before the night is through. Lyra is loud, and Regulus is sure he is, too, but neither of them seem to mind. Regulus feels too good inside of her to not let it be known to anyone around to listen. Lyra is breathless and reduced to noises by now, and she feels like heaven to Regulus; and by the time they come undone for each other Regulus's body is covered in a sheen of sweat. He's sure she is, too. Sex is messy and awkward, but he has never felt better than when he is with Lyra North.

"I do mean it, by the way," he whispers into her hair, a good while later, when he isn't even sure she's still awake. "You know I do, Lyra. You know that you have my heart. I love you."

His words fall into silence for so long that he is sure he's asleep by now. He isn't expecting anything of a response from her; she's got to be deep in her sleep, by now. And he does—go a while without a reply, he means; go long enough that he comes to term with the peace that his promise has hit nobody's ears except his own.

But then: Her. Always her. And her tone is so small, so quiet in the darkness, that he is hardly sure he heard her in the first place. But he does.

"You'll learn not to," she promises him, and that's the last thing either of them say for the rest of the night.

For a disorienting moment when he wakes, he wonders why it is so bright.

And it is—it is so, so bright. He isn't sure the Slytherin dormitories have ever experienced so much bloody light in history.

Then he understands. It's because his bed hangings are drawn open. They aren't, usually, when Barty and Evan are in; he doesn't like the thought of their being able to see him asleep. Sleep is a person's most vulnerable state. Evan and Barty don't deserve to see him so weak, and he is sure they feel the same.

But now, his curtains are open. The light is from the sun, pouring through the Black Lake to illuminate the seventh year dormitory in a way it probably has never done before. Regulus wonders if it feels nice there, lighting up places it has never touched before. Maybe that is how Lyra feels, being down here with Regulus. Maybe she is the sun and he is the need for light.

She shifts around in her sleep, and he lowers his eyes to her. It's true, then, about sleep being one's highest level of vulnerability. You can't control what you do when you sleep.

Lyra is no exception to this rule. Her right arm is strewn madly across her open-mouthed face, something that looks of drool trailing down her chin. Her other arm is wound around Regulus's like he is a giant teddy bear for her to hold for comfort. Her hair is all sorts of mussed up, and though Regulus knows she would probably be humiliated that he's seeing her like this, he can't help but smile. Not when it's endearing. How could anyone be embarrassed, he wonders, when they look like the embodiment of joy? When they are simply breathing in their sleep, and still they make Regulus want to get onto his knees and worship them? When they have drool on their chin and yet Regulus loves them anyway?

It's unfair.

He thinks, for a moment, about his confession from a few hours ago. In his sleep-induced delirium. He doesn't know why he said it, or if it came off in the way he intended for it to—maybe it sounded a bit mental, and that's why she hadn't said it back. Or maybe she just didn't feel the same. That could always be it, couldn't it?

Even though he is the person that knows her best in the world, Lyra is an enigma to Regulus Black. He still has not known all of her. He wonders if he ever will.

A glimpse to his bedside tells him the time, and it's already half-past breakfast, but it's also Saturday so he has no reason to rush. He has no need to be in any sort of hurry; not when he has everything he needs at his side, snoring in her sleep.

Still, he must drag himself out of bed at some point. He wants to stay with her all day, lazing around with their arms around each other, but he is a member of Voldemort's army and he knows that he has commitments to attend to, later in the day.

He takes a shower, brushes his teeth, and changes into a fresh pair of trousers and jumper, and Lyra is still not awake. He sits on the edge of his bed, debating, for at least five minutes more, and Lyra is still not awake. He re-styles his hair in the mirror, even though Regulus Black is not a person to care how his hair looks, just to kill time—and Lyra is still not awake, when he finishes.

He's wondering how to check someone's pulse when she finally does come to.

"I thought you were dead," he tells her.

She runs a hand down her face. "I feel it."

Then, something Regulus's doesn't understand takes place. Lyra seems to register something—whether it be where she is, who she is with, or what she has done, Regulus isn't sure—and she tenses, right there in Regulus's bed, like something horrible has happened. She flinches into herself and stumbles out of the bed. She's practically naked, but she doesn't seem to mind that. Her eyes are wide, like a caged animal's, and she clutches her arms against herself madly.

"Christ, Reg," she says, breathlessly, hugging herself tight. Maybe she does mind her immodesty. But that doesn't seem to be it; Regulus thinks she looks more frightened than embarrassed. She holds herself. "It's freezing in here, isn't it?"

She lets out a little titter of a laugh, a nervous thing, and Regulus's brow knits together.

"Yeah," he agrees, though he hadn't noticed it before and she hadn't complained about it all night. He dips his head to the side. "You're alright?"

"Brilliant," she replies, though her back is to him now and she seems to be doing some sort of odd little jig to get her clothes back on. "What's for breakfast today, darling? I'm starved."

The funny thing is: now, he can't quite remember.

Author's Note

regulyra the great big mystery