where: Summer Solstice Festival
who: Bertram Aubrey and Emma Vanity ( @elvanity )
Today, Bertram was going on a date with Dirk and it’s a pretty big deal too. They were actually going to be out and about, not cooped up in their flat, snuggling on the couch under a warm blanket, not in a dark corner in a private room of some restaurant away from prying eyes. Bertram wanted to take Dirk to the festival himself but there was an unavoidable meeting with his manager and a producer that he couldn’t skip, not even for the festival, which resulted to Bertram arriving at the tent a little earlier than his boyfriend.
With nothing to do, Bertram decided to get himself a drink from one of the eye-catching stands littered around the area. Sipping on his juice while waiting for Dirk to arrive, Bertram was checking out everything that the festival has to offer when a familiar face came into view. Bertram sauntered towards Emma and gently bumped her shoulder as a form of greeting. “You enjoying yourself under the sun? Or did you have to be dragged outside?”
Demetria had decided to get herself another drink when she spotted Emma Vanity by the drinks table, pouring herself something. Normally, Demetria would try to avoid a scene, but she was a bit too drunk and a bit too jealous to care.
A few days previously, she had spent a night with Emma after kissing her on a dare. She wouldn’t usually be so keen on accosting recent hook-ups, but things with Emma had been different. Demetria had never felt that way while kissing anyone, and the sex, well... needless to say, it was miles better than the fumbling encounters Demetria had had in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library as a student.
It was clear, however, that Emma did not feel the same way. Here she was, barely days later, spending an entire evening flirting with Isadora Nott, who was married. Of course, married heiresses were more Emma’s type, but Demetria had thought that maybe, after the night they’d shared, the wizard would reconsider.
Putting on an excellent scowl, Demetria approached the drinks table and vigorously poured herself some Firewhisky. She purposely moved to the side a little bit, jostling Emma with a bit more hostility than would be expected of an “accident.”
“Oh,” she said coldly, turning and looking at Emma. “Emma. Hadn’t noticed you there.”
It wasn’t often that it got to Emma what was happening at home. Normally there was very little to report, and she didn’t hear often. She wrote even less frequently, finding it easier to distance herself from everything and everyone there than be emotionally involved. She couldn’t have said why today of all days it had gotten to her. She thought she’d come to terms with it, but she hadn’t. If she had, she wouldn’t be all but crying.
She merely stood there, the letter she’d written clutched in one hand, the edges folded where her fingers pressed the parchment inward, and her other hand pushed on her diaphragm, willing it to slow back down so it was easier to breathe. Her breathing was shallow and shuddered but she refused to cry. She could not be sad, could not be emotionally compromised. She couldn’t be. But her brother was dying and she was aching to ask after him, even though writing again so soon would be seen as a weakness, that he could be seen as a weakness she could not afford.
She hadn’t expected anyone else to come up to this particular tower, hardly anyone ever did. When she heard the door open, she quickly turned away and willed herself to be still. She touched her cheeks and was relieved to see she hadn’t shed any tears despite how much she’d wanted to. She didn’t turn around, proper manners be damned, only slipped the letter in to her pocket. “Good afternoon. I was just—” She turned to go, the word leaving on her lips, but there was Regulus, the first she’d seen him since breakfast. She ducked her head, not wanting even him to see her so distressed, though frankly, he looked no better himself. She didn’t know what to say, so for a moment she said nothing at all, only kept her eyes to the floor. After another moment, she decided to try to move past him and out the door. “Excuse me…. I should go.”
The panic that had overtaken him when he first read his brother’s letter had long since subsided, aided in the going by the brother in question when Regulus pulled him from class that morning. The normally composed and controlled Slytherin had lost any sense of self discipline in light of what he had learned about his brother and, though he was far more in control of himself now, he was still shaken. Panic, however, had given way to a guilt that wouldn’t go away despite his brother’s best efforts, and an anger the strength of which might have scared him if he weren’t so blinded by it.
That his mother, the woman who had once cradled and cooed and coddled Sirius with all her heart, could turn so completely on him was beyond him. Yes, she and her first born differed in views and ideals, yes the things Sirius did often went against all her codes and morals, but he was her son. That their relationship as strained, Regulus had understood. But to resort to - to - that? Sirius may have found a way to love her still, to make it all right in his head and his heart or however he managed to cope, but there would be no redeeming Walburga Black in the eyes of her youngest son.
A fact he had it in his mind to inform her of as he stormed up to the Owlery. He hadn’t expected to run into anyone and frankly, had anyone else been in the tower, he would have glared coldly until they realized they were far from welcome and left him to his own devices. But the body in the tower wasn’t just anyone. It was Emma. Her identity gave him pause, a moment to breathe before the glare plastered itself upon his features, but that moment was all he needed to see that Emma looked no better off than he did. Her face seemed drawn, her skin pale, and as surely as he knew he was not alright, he knew she wasn’t either. "I didn’t mean to interrupt your solitude,“ he said, a look of polished politeness substituting the glare he’d been planning on. He thought for a moment of turning and going himself, but he stopped himself. "Forgive me,” he started, knowing he was breaching all kinds of decencies but needing to ask anyway, “but - are you quite alright?”
She stopped in her tracks when he spoke, her face still lowered while she fought desperately to compose herself. This wasn’t new information, not really. She’d known for nearly two months now that Cornelius was going to die before he so much as reached an age old enough to bring him here, assuming he even had any magic at all. And sometimes, looking at the first years running past left an ache in her chest she couldn’t displace no matter how she tried. Every other day, she set her shoulders straighter, pinned her hair up tighter, and smoothed her features again and again til there was no trace of it left on or in her. But today she was exhausted after her first two days acting as quidditch captain, very little sleep and a stressful day of class and she had cracked. It had only been a few minutes and she wished to high heaven he hadn’t seen. But he had. And he’d noticed.
At first she didn’t reply. She didn’t want to lie, not to him, and say that she was perfectly fine as she would have to anyone else. She took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, and it only shuddered slightly. When she looked up at him, she was more composed, but no less pale than she had been. She was still trembling under the weight of it, but unless he touched her, he might never know.
She’d never seen him like this either. She’d never seen any cracks in the mask he wore so well, but there was an edge in his tone and the lines around his eyes were more defined. He did not smile at her, not even a little, the gesture so subtle most others would have missed it but she never had. Not til now. Something was wrong. Both of them were caught off guard by the other’s presence, and that had never happened before. “…..As alright as you are, I expect,” she said after a long moment of silence. Then she shook her head. “Forgive me, Regulus, I did not mean to imply….” She sighed. “It has been….a very trying day. I will survive it.” Her expression softened very slightly as she considered him and the wear that showed in his face. Unconsciously, she started to reach out to him, but pulled her hand back the moment she realized it had begun to move. “Are you? Alright, I mean,” she said, more softly now. “You seem…. out of sorts.”
He had half expected Emma to tell him she was fine, though she very clearly wasn’t. It occurred to him that most people wouldn’t realize that she was upset. It would be only a few people who noticed the slightly paler shade her skin had adopted, compared to her normal fair complexion, or to see the way her lips were held tightly together. Only one who knew her well, who shared with her a similar sense of decorum and composure, could see the cracks in the normally flawless facade. But, as he knew her well, he knew that she wasn’t one to share her personal thoughts and feelings and so he’d expected her to simply say she was fine. He would have accepted it, perhaps with a hand to her shoulder in a show of comfort, a promise to be available should she change her mind about talking. Instead, she admitted that she wasn’t completely in one piece.
Being Emma, even that was understated, but Regulus understood it or the admission it was. He wondered if she realized the comparison she was making. As alright as you are, she said. He knew she could tell he wasn’t his normal self but did she have any idea the level of turmoil she was comparing her feelings to. For some reason, though there was no outward way to see it or collaborate it, he felt as if she did.
He held a hand up at her apology, the hint of a smile he normally gave her in greeting touching his lips now, only with a wry edge it normally lacked. "No need to apologize,“ he insisted. "You implied right.” It was easier to admit to her than it would have been to most anyone else. It was likely because he saw the rawness in her he felt himself now, he was too tired and on edge to make up lies and hold on to facades and he imagined she felt the same. "Out of sorts would be putting it mildly.“ His hands, which had been restless and agitated before, slipped easily not into his pockets, a posture he often adopted. "A family matter that has - gone awry.” It was the best way he knew how to explain it, when he couldn’t rightly tell her anything at all. "But as you said - I will survive.“
It was so strange that he knew, yet so right at the same time. She’d known him for years and they had been as close as decorum had allowed, but that was not saying much by the standards of others. Still, the level of trust they were showing even in this conversation was almost astounding to her. They were always alright, always calm, always composed. But today they were bursting at their carefully crafted seams. Anyone looking at this conversation would see two people speaking cordially, nothing more. But to them this was the equivalent of screaming, and it spoke volumes.
He hid his hands and spoke those words - a family matter. She didn’t know for sure, but she wondered if he meant his brother. Things so often went awry when Sirius was being discussed she could hardly imagine anything else. She felt silent for a moment, letting his words hang in the air between them. She could end it here, let it go and walk away from here with her dignity and propriety in tact, collect herself and go about her business. But he hid his hands. He was barely holding it together. “……Perhaps you are unaware you do this,” she said after a moment, her voice incredibly soft. “But you hide your hands in your pockets when you do not wish anyone to know what you are feeling. You speak with them when you are enthused or jovial but when your thoughts turn dark you hide them and it helps you hide yourself. And forgive me, but I wish you would not.”
She shouldn’t be saying this. She had no business, no purpose at all in saying anything to him. Her hands clamped around each other and she fought not to twist them. She would not look at him, and instead kept her eyes continuously on the floor or he would see how distressed she was. She couldn’t allow it, not yet. “I fear there are so few we might consider trusting of late… But if I may….” She glanced up at him through her lashes for only a moment. “I feel perhaps such things would not be too hastily given in this instance. If….If I am at all over-stepping my boundaries I beg your pardon most sincerely. Yet…… I find I wish to speak plainly here… if…..if we may.”
He was not sure what shocked him more. The observation she made about his hands, it was absolutely accurate. As she said it, he pulled hi hands from his pockets, looking down at them as if they had offended him by moving to his pockets without his permission, as if they had given away that which he had been trying to keep secret. Which is to say he furrowed his brow for a moment before looking back to her That she noticed such a behavior surprised him. That she’d understood it for what it was surprised him even more. But neither compared to the feeling of comfort it gave him to hear her observe it. He’d never been the type to need may people around him, close enough to lean on should he ever feel the need. He’d always had his brother - except for that brief awful time - and when he didn’t have him, he had Narcissa.
He hadn’t expected to have Emma. He certainly hadn’t expected to be glad of it.
“I hadn’t realized it,” he acknowledged when she finished speaking, hoping to bring her gaze back up to him from her hands, gripping one another tightly. "If you need someone to talk to, you can always come to me,“ he answered earnestly. The way she refused to look at him, the fact that she had even expressed a desire to speak freely with him, he knew she was in need of a compassionate ear and a comforting shoulder and he found himself eager to be those things for one who asked for so little of their friendship. "You’ve overstepped nothing” he assured. "That’s what friends are for, is it not.“ He took a chance then, one he likely wouldn’t have taken had he not spent the morning with his brother. Regulus was a man of words, of thoughts and ideas, not of actions. Not like his brother, who conveyed more with a kiss to his temple than any words could hope to translate. His movement then was nothing so forward, but he did step closer to her, a hand resting on her arm. "What’s troubling you?”
She watched him turn his hands over for just a moment, her gaze on them instead of his face. That he hasn’t realized it wasn’t surprising, not to her in any case, but that he seemed surprised she had caught on to it was something she wasn’t sure how to feel about. They were friends, he was right. And they knew each other, but this singular conversation made her believe maybe they knew each other better than they thought. It was comforting but somehow simultaneously unnerving. To believe you hid yourself all but flawlessly was a comfort in their world, and to have someone you knew but didn’t know picking you apart was, in its own way, earth-shattering.
She wasn’t sure if it was that or the fact that he was suddenly right beside her, his hand resting reassuringly, gently on her arm, but she looked up at him and for a moment, there was no masking what she was feeling. She knew he felt her trembling under his touch, so unexpectedly given she’d had no chance to try to hide it. Her hands twisted together, wringing her fingers as subtly as she could. Her next intake of breath was shuddered again when he asked her what was wrong and she had to look away again.
Silence filled the space between them and for a moment she almost backed out. She almost took it all back and said nothing on the matter whatsoever. But she’d never spoken of it before and he’d caught her just enough off guard that she didn’t want to keep it to herself. “I…… I’ve a younger brother,” she finally managed, her voice so soft he would just be able to hear her. She’d never so much as mentioned her brother before, not even in passing. “He is…..” She swallowed hard but her grasp on her composure was slipping. “…..They tell me he will never live long enough to….. That…… That….. He is six,” she finally managed. “And five more years is… optimistic. They…..do not know his ailment. My parents are…..less than diligent in seeking its cure. He….” She shook her head, and for a moment her breath was painful. “I have come to terms with….. But…. some days are…. much more difficult than others.”
It was disconcerting to find that someone could see through his walls, could know him more than he had remembered allowing. But upon that realization, and when he was forced to admit it didn’t bother him like it would have if anyone else had made the same observation, a part of him wondered if he had allowed it after all. Between sharing classes, quidditch practices, long nights spent sharing companionable silence while reading or talking about a vast array of random subjects, Regulus wondered if he hadn’t become more comfortable than he realized and let up on things like personal guards and heavy unbreakable facades. Whatever it was, he was glad of it now, else she may never have confided in him.
She spoke of her brother and Regulus couldn’t help but think of his own as she did. If his brother was here, he would have wrapped an arm around the girl - would have if it had been one of his friends of course. He would have pulled her in against his chest, soothing the shaking that he felt under his hand and sharing in her pain. Regulus couldn’t go quite so far, and he didn’t think if he could Emma would appreciate such a blatant intrusion into her personal space, but his hand on her arm squeezed for a moment, silent solidarity and understanding and empathy coursing from his touch.
He thought of what it would be like, to know he would lose his brother. To know, without a shadow of a doubt, that there was only the slimmest chance he would have five more years with him at the very least. The thought quite literally stole the breathe from his lungs and he could imagine the kind of pain she was feeling if she felt even a fraction of the love he felt for Sirius for her own brother. As her composure began to slip, he brought his hand to her elbow, guiding her towards one of the benches that lined the walls. He waved his wand quickly and without ceremony, cleaning the bench with a quick muttered incantation before he settled both of them down on it. "I imagine most days are difficult, when you cannot keep from thinking of it,“ he said with singular understanding. She was much like him in that, he believed. Mind of matter, believing a thing did not hold power over her because she said it didn’t. "I am truly sorry he - and you - suffer so. To lose a brother, even more so to live with the knowledge that you will, is a terrible burden to bear.”
She felt his hand squeeze her arm gently and for a moment, just one moment, she thought wildly of reaching out for him. Her hands clenched more tightly around each other instead, and she didn’t move, but she wanted to. It was a foolish thought that she might ever be able to, or even that for an instant she had wanted to. Such things were unbecoming, weren’t they? Even now in a moment where she had to admit she wanted something to hold on to, to make her feel more grounded. But the hand he rested on her arm would have to be enough, she decided.
She was grateful he led her to the bench to sit, and appreciated him wiping it clean first. This was hardly the most cleanly place, naturally, but that he cared to try to make the most of it did not go unnoticed or unappreciated. One hand curled in the folds of her skirt, keeping itself lodged in place. Her other hand pressed to her chest, trying to get it to still. Her breathing, though still soft, was slipping out of her control and kept hitching with every other inhale she took. She bowed her head while she fought it, but she was marginally unsuccessful. His sympathy was more than she had ever received, largely in part because she never spoke of it, but her parents’ indifference, at least in front of Emma, had been nearly as difficult to bear as the thought of her brother’s rapidly shortening lifespan.
She meant to thank him for his kindness, perhaps leave the subject at that. But words she did not allow passed her lips before she could stop them. “How can they not care?” Her voice wavered violently on that word, her tone agonizing. She wanted to scream it, but she barely spoke at all, her voice barely more than a murmur. “He’s their son! Their child. And they sit there and watch him die as though it were a commonplace thing for a baby to suffer so greatly and so unchecked. They hardly seek his cure and some days it seems they think it better if he—” She cut herself off very sharply when she realized she had started to cry. She turned her head away from him, wiping her cheeks as discretely as possible. “F…..Forgive me,” she whispered. “I did not mean… I respect my parents greatly. I should not say such things against them.”
She let her hands fall in to her lap again, her head staying bowed while she was unable to control her emotions. When she thought she might be able to control at least her voice again, only then did she speak, still in a whisper to keep it from escaping her again. “Regulus I beg your forgiveness…. This is unseemly of me. And I am not the only one in such distress. I pray you will pardon my selfishness.” She finally glanced up at him, but then away again. It was easier to compose herself that way. “Whatever it is that troubles you… should you wish to speak of it I would gladly listen.”
Being the middle of the day, the owlery was quiet with the sounds of owls sleeping around them. It made it easier for him to hear the way her breathing changed from steadied and control to stuttering with the strength of her emotions. He was surprised when he heard her speak, heard the words that left her mouth, but given his own emotional state, the words struck chords with him they wouldn’t have even a day ago. He’s their son, she said. Their child. Regulus had said the same things to himself just that morning, though while she asked with pain in her voice, he had asked with anger.
He noticed her begin to cry before she did and he quietly pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket, handing it to her once she noticed so she could wipe her eyes. He felt an overwhelming need to wrap his arms around her as she cried but the way she turned away to dab at her tears stilled his movements, not wanting to do anything that made her uncomfortable. He shook his head at her back pedaling. He was not the same boy he had been even that morning, he didn’t think parents who neglected their children as hers did her brother were as deserving of her respect as he once did. "Parents do not always know best" he found himself saying, not sure that it was comforting so much as he was sure it was true. "You need not ever worry about speaking ill of them to me. Especially not when they wrong you and your brother so.“
She looked away from him again, her eyes never landing on him for long as she struggled for composure, and so he reached across to take one of her hands in hers, wrapping his fingers warmly around hers. "You’ve done nothing needing of forgiveness,” he assured her. He was happy to be able to be there for her, someone he knew didn’t let herself need others often if at all. She was so much like him in that way but today, of all days, he knew that no one could take care of themselves all the time. "My brother troubles me as well,“ he confided, "though not for the same reasons. But believe me when I say I understand wholeheartedly the pain you feel on his behalf. To express it is anything but selfish.”
She took the handkerchief he offered her and nearly grabbed hold of his hand when it was near enough. She wanted to, though she couldn’t really begin to say why, and only barely refrained. She had never felt the desire to break her own rules so much before, and certainly never so frequently as had happened since his arrival today. She pressed the handkerchief under her eyes, trying to dry her face but was nearly wholly unsuccessful. She knew she shouldn’t care so much about her brother, and knew that loving him so desperately would only make his passing that much harder, but she couldn’t help it. And now that it showed, she found she didn’t really want to hide it.
She started slightly when his hand wrapped gently around hers and she finally turned to look at him, her expression far from composed and orderly. She was emotional and more raw than he’d ever seen her before but to hell with it. She was allowed a day. Just one day where she let herself feel the things she wanted to. She looked down again, but not away, her eyes only barely not meeting his. She sighed softly and she knew he was right. “I respect my parents,” she said again, her voice quiet and more even now, “but there are days I find myself resenting them greatly.” It was more than she’d ever admitted aloud before, but she couldn’t help it. Her impending marriage - whenever they announced it, at least - was only good in that it would get her away from them. It was a silver lining at least, small as it might have been.
When it was his turn to speak, her eyes went back up to his. Regulus never spoke of his brother, and who could blame him? Sirius was a blood traitor and an outcast, as black mark on the Black family name. It was the first time since the older brother had been disowned that she saw the care Regulus still held for him. She squeezed his hand gently, shifting just a little closer to him as she turned to look at him better. “Is everything alright?” she asked gently. Clearly something had happened, and she couldn’t begin to guess what might be troubling him about his brother - the potential list was terribly extensive. “Has something happened to him?”
As she admitted that while she respected her parents, she resented them as well, he wondered if she’d ever admitted as much even to herself before. He knew with certainty that he himself never had. One day ago, had they met in this same situation, Regulus was ashamed to say he would have seen things from her parents point of view. That a child so frail was beyond help, that a child in this world without magic was perhaps even better off. He wouldn’t have been able to see it in terms of his own brother, the situations would not have been closely enough aligned. And that thought sickened Regulus. He had long extolled the virtues and importance of blood status, and what was family if not the truest representation of that. Her brother, and his, for any other faults and flaws were still purebloods. And that should have counted for something.
It was his turn now to pull his eyes away, though he did not so much look down as he simply looked away. His jaw set at the question, against not so much the answering of it as against the circumstance itself. He didn’t speak right away, wanting greatly to confide in her but knowing that what troubled him was not his secret to tell. "It’s not something that’s happened to him, so much as information I was given that I hadn’t been - privy to - before.“ His words were admittedly vague, and he tried to find something closer to an explanation. For all intents and purposes, he was trying to explain why he cared at all for the fate of a blood traitor, let alone why he cared about something that had happened in the past, something he could do nothing about now.
"I would tell you more, if I could,” he admitted finally, “but it is not mine to tell. Suffice it to say it was brought to my attention this morning how misguided parents can be. Blood traitor he may be but - he is still my brother.” That last was said with a protective edge, it was one thing he’d not admitted to anyone but Narcissa and Sirius himself but in light of what she had shared with him, he felt safe in speaking those words to Emma.
She had never so much as admitted to herself before that she resented them, but now that the words had left her mouth for the first time, she knew they were true and she’d never forget it entirely again. That she’d admitted it to anyone, especially someone in her world, should have scared her. It was so dangerous to admit any sort of deviance from her parents’ wishes, but this was the one time she’d allow it to the one person in whom she believed she could truly confide. She sensed no disdain in response, no discomfort at her confession, and it was a relief.
When he looked away, Emma’s eyes stayed on his profile, studying as much of his face as she could see. When he was silent, Emma reached over to him and slid her hand in to his, squeezing it gently. That aside, she did nothing, only waited for him to speak. She was glad for his sake that nothing had happened to Sirius, though what was going on she couldn’t entirely be sure. It sounded like something awful had happened once and Reggie was only now being told, or some sort of secret had come to light that was difficult for him to bear. She respected his silence on the details, however, and didn’t press it.
At the last and at the tone she heard in his voice, Emma shifted to face him more directly and reached up to gently cup his face in her palm. She turned him so their eyes met again. “I understand,” she murmured fervently. And she did. She knew what it was to have a brother you loved but couldn’t admit to caring for, and to love him despite what everyone told you. “I promise you I do. I am sorry to hear they wronged him.”
He could feel her eyes on him even when he looked away and while that might normally have made him feel on edge, now he didn’t mind. He was grateful for her concern and her care and when she slipped her hand into his, he easily wrapped his fingers around hers, returning the squeeze and enjoying the warmth her skin created against his. It became easier even as the words were leaving his lips to confide in her and he realized that the words he spoke were true. If it were his secret to divulge, he would trust her with it. She had trusted him with so much this day, he felt confident he could return that.
When Emma’s hand cupped his cheek, the feeling of warmth spread though him and while the physical contact may have been off putting coming from anyone else (save Sirius), he didn’t even falter. He let her turn his head and the hand not holding hers moved to cover hers against his skin. His fingers laced through hers and when she had finished speaking he pulled that hand to his lips where he pressed a kiss against the knuckles, a gesture familiar to those he called family though he had never given it to one he only called friend before.
“I know you do,” he said honestly. "And I appreciate your sympathies, as you have mine. I do hope you know that should you ever need comfort or someone to simply confide in about your brother, you can always call on me.“ He did not make the offer lightly, but he made it with his whole heart. He knew what it was to love someone you shouldn’t have, to carry that burden without assistance. He would happily be another shoulder for her to lean on, if she would allow him.
Something about knowing he trusted her was calming to her; she knew he meant it. After having spent the last five years knowing him, she knew very well that Regulus never said things he didn’t mean, not like this. He was raw and exposed just as she was, and that wasn’t the kind of thing the two of them ever did. It was strange, but somehow not nearly as frightening as she’d expected it to be. They trusted each other, that much was plain as day to her, though she couldn’t have said why. Something had shifted between even this morning and when he’d first walked in here, and it left them in a very different place than they had been before. She wasn’t sure yet what to make of it.
Her expression softened very slightly around the edges, her heart beating a little faster when his hand covered the one she’d thoughtlessly placed against his cheek. Her eyes dropped for a moment, her cheeks turning pink and very warm when he pressed his lips to her knuckles. He’d never done anything so personal before and she had very rarely experienced it, and then only when the rules of their society called for it. They did not now, and that made it personal on a much different level. It was a simple gesture, of course, and most wouldn’t think much of it. But it was different for them, they who valued subtlety and did nothing without careful calculation.
She looked up at him again as he continued speaking and nodded at his words. “I know,” she murmured gently. “And I would return that kindness, if I may be so bold as to offer it.” It was difficult for both of them, she knew, when they couldn’t talk about the things that weighed most heavily on them with just anyone. Theirs was a precarious situation, and to have found confidence in someone was, at least for her, a vast relief. Emma sighed softly and looked down at their still joined hands instead of at his face. “It’s horrible, isn’t it?” she asked quietly. “To have to treat someone living as though they are dead… It isn’t their fault they’re not perfect the way our parents want them to be. I understand disappointment, but… Sometimes…..” She sighed. “I suppose no society can be perfect. And I suppose I would not see its flaws were I not on this side of it. I am letting my emotions get in the way of rationality.” She looked up at him with a weary, almost wry smile. “Sometimes I forget how young we really are with how much is expected of us.”
He knew the gravity of the offer she was making, of the one he had made. To find true confidants in a world such as theirs was difficult. It was not for nothing that Slytherins were known for their ambitious nature, Cliches were often born out of truth and the image of the callous cold hearted snake who looked out for himself above all others was not unheard of. But what few people realized about Slytherins was that once their trust and loyalty were won, no house could compare to how fiercely those would be protected. Emma had won Regulus’ trust and loyalty, whatever were to come in their future he would always endeavor to be there for her.
She looked away but he kept his eyes on her delicate face, watching the emotions that crossed it so subtly and without great dramatics. He nodded in agreement with her words, understanding better than he might have liked to. “What is heralded as rational is not always so,” he pointed out, thinking of Sirius. Because his views differed from those espoused by their family, he was cast out, but wasn’t the strength of character it took to shoulder those beliefs part of what it meant to be a Black? The rationality was flawed, the logic skewed.
At her next words, seeing the weariness on her face, his smile was genuine, though small. “Let’s be young then,“ he said, standing and pulling her to her feet beside him. “Tryouts are in almost an hour and if nothing else, no one cares if we do that. Let’s enjoy that at least while we can,” he suggested. It wasn’t much, wasn’t nearly enough to make up for the pain they both endured when it came to their brothers, but it was something they could have here and now, and he would be damned if he let the rest of this mess darken even that for her.
“No,” she agreed, “I suppose it is not. Rationality is not as….straight-forward as I used to like to believe. It seems it is very objective indeed.” It had taken her a long time to come to terms with that, but Cory’s sickness had aided that plight very quickly. Before, she had swallowed everything she was told, accepted it as fact, but now? She took many things her parents said were rational and therefore true to be flimsy matters of opinion. It had shaken her for a long time, not knowing if other things they said were equally untrue, and there were still times she struggled with it. To know she wasn’t alone in that was a comfort she couldn’t have put in to words if she’d tried.
She got to her feet when he pulled her up, keeping hold of his hands long after it was strictly necessary to do so. She was standing closer than was needed as well, as that’s where he’d pulled her, and she couldn’t find it in herself to step away for several long moments. She finally did, however, rocking back on her heels to put a more appropriate amount of distance between them.
Despite herself, Emma giggled. She smiled almost conspiratorially up at him and shook her head. “Mother will be furious,” she confided in him. “Every time I return home, she insists it is unbecoming for a lady to take part in such a violent sport. She rails against it so fiercely… Father does not mind. I think he enjoys seeing her so angry about it. I think it makes me enjoy it all the more. Try as she may, it is one place where she cannot dictate my actions.” She realized she was speaking of open rebellion against her mother’s wishes and ducked her head, though she still smiled. She squeezed his hands gently before finally releasing them. “But you are right,” she amended, looking up at him again. Her expression softened slightly for a moment when their eyes met, and for a moment she forgot what she’d intended to say. When she remembered herself, she looked away, turning to walk back out of the owlery. “It would hardly do for a captain to be late.”
As he pulled her to her feet, he was acutely aware of the distance it stole from between them and of how she didn’t step away as quickly as others might have. In fact, he was acutely aware of everything about her. While Regulus had never truly felt the effects of a crush before, he had a feeling that was what he experiencing now. The desire to be near her, to wrap an arm around her or be the cause of her smile. Emma had always been a friend to him but after this encounter, this exchange of deeply guarded secrets and mutual trust, Regulus knew there was something more.
At the sound of her laugh and her rebellious words, Regulus released a chuckle of his own. “Then we should certainly make the most of it,” he said, meaning reveling in something that perhaps displeased her mother. He understood the sentiment, his aunt always frowned with spectacular disapproval when he and Sirius had managed to talk Andy into playing pick up games with them at home. His smile grew wide as she ducked her head and though he felt a sudden loss when she pulled her hands from his, her soft expression distracting his thoughts as she fixed him with it. He had, not for the first time nor for the was sure for the last, the urge to wrap her in his arms. He slipped his hands instead into his pockets as he followed her lead out of the owlery. “And we certainly can’t have everyone asking why I made her late,” he offered as they exited. “After all, we’d have to make something up to satisfy their curiosity or they’d never focus.” His voice was, for the first time, teasing and his smirk was light and playful.
Something was different, though she couldn’t say what it was. She wasn’t sure what the name for this could possibly be, but the air between them felt more charged, heavier with emotions they weren’t expressing. It was strange, feeling some sort of silent connection to him that had not been there when he’d walked in the door. But there was something to be said for trusting someone, she supposed, and the way it altered things. Neither of them trusted easily if at all, and that they were putting such faith in one another surely had its effects, but she tried not to read too much in to it or put stock in it. Despite how much she wanted there to be more than whatever this was, that was improper and far beyond her place to hope for.
She smiled at his chuckle and nodded her head in agreement. “Yes, I thought so. She turns a rather lovely shade of maroon when we argue about it. She has never managed to win one such debate with me, a fact I take a certain amount of pride in.” The look he gave her in return wasn’t one she knew how to name, and it wasn’t one she’d ever seen in him before. She’d never seen him look at anyone like that and it did strange things to the pit of her stomach. She tucked a stray strand of hair back behind her ear, not bothering to pin it back in place when she would just be readjusting her hair at the pitch before practice. She didn’t miss him slipping his hands in to his pockets and nearly protested, but she didn’t want to admit she knew how significant such a simple gesture was. She fell in to step beside him as they left and she laughed, her head tipped back slightly. “Oh how scandalous,” she shot back at him, her eyes on that wicked little smirk of his. “I should never live it down. We’d best not be late, then. I can’t have my reputation so soiled by the likes of you~”
