The boy sitting in front of her was recognizable - in fact, Hermione was positive she knew who he was. At the moment, though, she could not put her finger upon whom exactly he was. Between the history text, countless newspapers, and photographs - all of the faces she saw were beginning to blend together. The witch waited with a hand on her hip for a response - patience growing thin - and resisted the urge to roll her brown eyes at the way he held a finger up to her as if trying to silence her. It was not until he spoke that she realized who he was. Regulus Black - Sirius’ brother. The man who had held the locket and one of Voldemort’s horcruxes. He also tried to destroy it. It was odd to be in his presence and she tried her best not to let it show upon her face.
“Oh?” The arrogance that radiated the boy sent a shiver down her spine. “What makes you believe that? Your superior intelligence?” The words left Hermione’s lips, her tone dry, and her brown eyes fluttered upwards to meet his. It was not a challenge - per say - she was just trying to pick his brain. How often did one get to interact with those students would one day read about in a textbook? Not often. An eyebrow rose when he told her whom he was and what he was trying to do. She murmured, “I know who you are. Just as I’m sure you know who I am.”
Against her better judgement, she sat down in the chair across from his, placing the textbook and few newspapers she carried in front of her. Hermione nodded, “Right. What do you want to know?”
Something that might have been a smile, if anyone knew what a shark’s smile looked like, crossed his face. “Yes, my superior intelligence. To their credit, I did have a few years advantage, the Black library, and I’m not too lazy to actually read. It’s not just intelligence but diligence,” he drawled.
It took everything in him to hold together his bored expression as the girl mentioned knowing who he was. His thoughts stuck to that, picking it apart. His young death, no body recovered (he noted hopefully), had been but a footnote in the old Prophet article he’d dug up. The book on the war had divulged only that he’d apparently abandoned the Dark Lord’s service and been summarily hunted down. A tragic waste of his intelligence, he thought, and a lie, surely. Regulus knew, logically, there was no way of knowing who he would’ve been in couple years time but he couldn’t imagine he’d tried to escape with no plan, no assurance of his survival. Why then did the girl know about him, the footnote in history? He was grasping for something that felt horrifically close to hope. It made more sense that Sirius had told her about him (stupid kid, loyal to our heinous parents, caught up in Dark magic like an addict, ruined, weak).
“I’m not who my brother says, said, I am,” he informed her coldly, “Just as I’m sure you’re more than what the books and gossip say-Hermione Granger.” Just how true were the accounts of her vaunted intelligence.
He smirked when she sat down across from him. It seemed Gryffindors still had too much bravery for their own good. “There are holes in that book about the war. Things that were clearly glossed over? For instance, this matter of breaking into Gringotts? I don’t care about the how which is all the book seems to talk about. I want to know what you were looking for there?”