Happy Springsmut, nixitall! Author:lunalovepotter Recipient:nixitall Title: A Reasonable Expectation of Privacy Rating: NC-17 Pairing(s): Regulus/Rose Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. Summary: Curiosity can be a dangerous thing. Warnings: Contains time-travel, some rough sex, and what could be construed as dubious consent. Word Count: ~6800 Author's Notes: Writing this took me into completely uncharted territory, so I want to thank my uber-fantastic beta for her constant encouragement. I hope you enjoy it, nixitall!
Scorpius Malfoy was looking at her again.
Rose Weasley shifted in her seat at the corner table in the library. She pulled her Advanced Muggle Studies textbook closer to her chest, put her head down as though reading and looked back at him through the cover of her lashes. Scorpius was an unusual boy; Rose thought of him as an exercise in contradictions. He was proud and modest, confident and uncertain, striking and yet ordinary.
"What're you looking—oh. Malfoy," her brother Hugo muttered. He sat next to her struggling with his Potions essay. Across from them, their cousin Al Potter frowned, took a quick glance over his shoulder at Scorpius, who was sitting on the opposite side of the library with his Slytherin housemates, and then went right back to his reading. Perennially messy black hair spilled over his forehead, shielding his eyes.
"He won't talk to me, but then he won't stop staring at me."
"Isn't it obvious, he's obsessed," Hugo said offhandedly.
Obsessed. Rose knew all about being obsessed. A tremor passed through her as she thought of the books and notes she had stashed away in her trunk upstairs; she looked forward to getting back to them, almost as though she were meeting an actual person. In a way, she thought, she was…
"But then again he's a Malfoy, what do you expect? They're a strange lot," Hugo continued. "You know he's never had a girlfriend?" he added, as though this was the strangest news he'd ever heard.
"So what?" Al looked up abruptly.
"Well we all know why you don't have a girlfriend, Al. It's because you're practically married to those books of yours. If you looked up once in awhile maybe you'd notice that Susanne Finnegan makes eyes at you every chance she gets. Just say the word, and I'll bet she'd go for a good snog in the broom cupboard."
"Shut it." Al frowned, shrugged, and went back to reading. But his cheeks flushed a deep crimson and a little smile tugged at his mouth. It was an open secret amongst the cousins that Al had a crush on the pretty brown-haired, blue eyed fifth year, but he was too shy to act on it.
"Be quiet Hugo, I don't exactly see girls falling over themselves to date you, either," Rose remarked. She glanced up in the direction of Scorpius Malfoy – yes he was still looking at her, and he wasn't being shy about it. Even his housemates were beginning to look at him curiously. It was strange, to be sure, and while it made her nervous, at the same time she didn't entirely mind it either.
She quickly changed the subject.
"So, Professor Billings has introduced a new section on Genealogy, and we've been assigned to research our family tree. After a little investigating, I learned that Granddad Weasley is Sirius Black's second cousin, once removed, and Sirius is Narcissa Malfoy's cousin. So we're related to the Malfoys, even if only distantly. It's interesting, actually. Mum has a lot of books on it in her library at home, she's letting me use them over the Christmas holiday."
Hugo snorted. "Well we can't help who we're related to. Scorpius is still odd, and I don't like him. All the Malfoys are."
"You listen to dad's stories too much. He's biased when it comes to them."
"Not from what I've heard about what they did. They supported Voldemort! Both his dad and his granddad were Death Eaters. I'd say dad has every reason not to like them."
"They've changed a lot since the war. Honestly, I don't think they deserve all this badmouthing."
"You listen to mum's stories too much," Hugo retorted. Al snickered. "Now come on, you promised you'd help me with this essay…"
* * *
She didn't know what it was about him that attracted her; he wasn't particularly handsome, at least not to the same degree as his brother. He was small and slight, with the dark hair and dark eyes that were trademarks of the Black family. He wore a perennially pompous expression on his face, as if everything and everyone around him carried a mildly distasteful odor. Perhaps most perplexing to Rose was that he was the quintessential pureblood – where his brother was the outcast, he was his parents' favorite; he supported blood purity, and followed Voldemort's trajectory of power like a rabid groupie. At sixteen he was one of the youngest ever to join the Death Eaters.
Yet still she saw certain vulnerability, a chink in the green and silver Slytherin armor he'd worn with such blatant pride. It wasn't in the way he'd made the last-ditch attempt to redeem himself by stealing the locket and thus sacrificing his life. It was something else; something more profound, that lingered just below the surface. No one else around him could have seen it, having been so enveloped in his or her own delusions of grandeur. She doubted that even Regulus himself would have seen it, at least not until it was too late. Sometimes Rose felt as though she was the only one.
Every chance she got, she read and reread the passages from her mother's copy of the historical retrospective on the Second Wizard War. She paid special attention to the chapters on the prominent wizard families whose wealth and influence (and to Rose, an almost pathetic thirst for power that made them so susceptible to being brainwashed) played a role in Voldemort's evil crusade. In particular, she noted the Blacks; and even more so, Regulus. Her uncle Harry spoke so highly of Sirius, while reserving the faintest hint of contempt for his brother. While she deeply respected and loved her uncle, Rose was beginning to wonder if perhaps he had it backwards.
Regulus had been almost exactly her age, just a few months older, when he'd died.
Whenever she read about Regulus, a deep ache opened in Rose's chest. She had to fight back tears, because if she were to start crying she would never stop. The words haunted her, making her feel sad and lonely, and strangely guilty; and yet still she went back to read it again and again until she had it practically memorized. With her own hand she'd reproduced a sketch of Regulus's face that she'd found in one of her mother's books, which she kept safely hidden in her trunk. She had a clear vision of what his room must have looked like, before Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny had renovated the old Black house at Grimmauld Place.
The room was not too large, but still grand in scale. Slytherin colors of emerald and silver were prominently displayed. The school scarf was draped over the back of the desk chair, and the house pennant was tacked over the desk, upon which were haphazardly laid textbooks, parchment and dried up quills. While not an excellent student, Regulus was still able to maintain above-average grades. Rose was convinced that had he devoted more time to his studies and less to following the exploits of the Death Eaters, he could have done great things.
The thick, ornate curtains on the windows were emerald green, tied back with silver roped sashes to let in the dazzling morning sunlight. The bed was a four-poster; hand carved, and reminiscent of something one might find in a home owned by nobility; on it was a rich green velvet bedcover. The Black family crest was painted above the headboard, and just beneath that was a collection of newspaper clippings documenting Voldemort's accomplishments, which reminded Rose vaguely of the bulletin board in her room on which she'd hung her own academic awards and commendations. On the bedside table was a silver frame bordered by snakes, in which was a photograph of the Slytherin Quidditch team, with Regulus seated in the middle front row in the position of Seeker. There was a large wooden wardrobe on the wall opposite the bed.
Sometimes she would imagine herself sitting on Regulus's bed, smoothing her hands across the soft velvet bedcover. It was when she would begin to imagine herself smoothing her hands over other things – like Regulus's clothes, his hair, his shoulders – that she would make herself put the books away.
Yes, Rose Weasley certainly knew what it meant to be obsessed. But she also knew that she could control it so that it would never get out of hand. Regulus was dead, an indelible part of history. She wasn't doing any harm thinking about him, and no one would ever have to know.
* * *
Hermione Granger-Weasley had what was perhaps the largest private collection of books on record in Ottery St. Catchpole. There were so many, that an entire wall had to be knocked out between two rooms on the third floor of the Weasley house to make one large library. Except for one solitary window that overlooked the back yard, the walls were covered floor to ceiling with shelves, and every last inch was filled with tomes of varying size and thickness.
Like her mother, Rose found the mere presence of books intoxicating, which was why whenever she was home from Hogwarts, she could often be found in her mother's library, curled in the worn burgundy leather armchair that had been her paternal grandfather's, with her chin in her hand, a drink of pumpkin juice on the side table next to her, and a book open in her lap. She was assured almost total privacy, since neither Hugo nor her dad held much interest in spending time there; Hugo had inherited his father's love for all things Quidditch, and spent a great deal of his free time being a die-hard Chudley Cannons fan. Her mother, who understood her need to be alone, did not interrupt her.
It was while she was sitting at her mother's desk perusing one of the massive volumes of Eleanor Bronwyn's Genealogy Chronicles, Volume 2 and taking notes one morning over the Christmas holiday two weeks later, that a folded piece of parchment slipped out from between the pages, fell onto the floor, and slid under the desk. With an impatient sigh, Rose set down her quill and bent over to retrieve the errant parchment.
She opened it, and found what looked like instructions for a spell transcribed in her mother's penmanship; the ink was faded, which made some of the words a little hard to read. It had been written during her mother's third year at Hogwarts; she knew this from the name "Hermione Granger" printed in the upper right corner, along with the date "March 4, 1994". There were no extraneous markings on it, nor were there any notations made by a professor's telltale red ink, which meant the document was not a homework assignment. It had to be something personal. The question was why was it buried on page 438 of the Genealogy Chronicles?
Her eyes went back to the title, written at the top center of the page, and underlined. Tempus Tripudio. Translated literally, it meant 'Time Jump'. But it couldn't possibly be that. Her interest piqued, Rose set aside her notes and began to read, her eyes widening with each line. It appeared to be instructions for performing the actual 'Time Jumping' spell – and what was even more astonishing to her, was how simple it was to perform.
She was flabbergasted. She'd read a lot about time travel, and she'd heard stories about her mother's Time Turner, but this particular kind of spell wasn't supposed to exist any more – it had been abolished hundreds of years ago due to rampant misuse, and all records of it had been destroyed. But how in Merlin's name had her mother come across it?
Even before she'd tucked the parchment away in the pocket of her robe, she knew what she was going to do; and she would do it that night.
* * *
"Tempus Tripudio.... Undeviginti centum quod septuaginta novem..."
She opened her eyes; feeling vaguely nauseated and convinced that she'd failed miserably. What was she to expect, considering the complexity of the incantation and the precise tone with which it had to be spoken? Yet at once she realized that she was no longer in her own room. The room she found herself in was not familiar, and yet it was not entirely unfamiliar, either; it was bathed in green, with splashes of silver, and someone else was there, leaning against a desk on the opposite wall near the window.
It had worked - and on her first attempt.
"Regulus?" Her voice was surprisingly calm, considering where she was. She got to her feet, using the side of the massive wood wardrobe for support. Her heart made a tremendous racket inside her chest. Even though sunlight streamed through the window, the air in the room was chilly; she felt a draft up her skirt, chilling her inner thighs. She wished that she'd worn the long pants instead, but then she hadn't expected this to work; she'd only been practicing.
The boy looked confused, and slightly suspicious. But, Rose noticed immediately, he did not look frightened or intimidated. He hung back, leaning casually against the desk and watched her through dark fringe. "Who are you?" he questioned. His voice was deeper than she'd expected.
"I'm Rose." She took a step forward, her eyes moving toward the rich green velvet bedcover. So many times she had imagined touching it, she didn't dare believe it was right there in front of her.
"How did you get in my room?"
"I said an incantation in Latin, and I wound up here."
"I see." His mouth twitched.
Rose felt distinctly uncomfortable. "It's 1979, isn't it?"
"Of course it is."
"What month is it?"
"December. The seventeenth, to be exact." He played along, although she could see that he still didn't believe her. This ate at her like an itch she couldn't reach. Regulus dislodged from the desk, and he took a few steps closer. With a casual shake of his head, his fringe parted to reveal cool, dark eyes. The collar of his shirt was loose. His skin was very fair, with only the faintest hint of being touched by sunlight. There was a thin silver chain around his neck, and she could see the hollow space between his collar bones.
December seventeenth. In four days, he would be dead. She shivered. She could save him, she thought. But then, no she couldn't. She couldn't mess with time. "Don't you want to know where – when, I came from?"
"All right then, when did you come from." He didn't bother to phrase it as a question; he sounded bored. This irritated her even more.
"December seventeenth, Two-Thousand and Twenty-Three."
Regulus didn't say anything. His left hand moved inside his pocket, as if he were toying with something. Meanwhile, inexplicably, his right hand began to tremble. He promptly clenched it into a fist and shoved it in his other pocket.
"Tempus Tripudio," she said.
He stiffened. "What?"
"So you've heard of it, then."
"Heard of it? Of course I have. But it was abolished. All records of it were destroyed." He sounded accusatory.
"Well apparently not all of them," Rose responded coolly. "Because that's how I got here."
"Who are you, really? Who sent you here?"
"No one sent me. I came of my own accord."
"But why would you—?"
"Because I've read about you, and your family. I wanted to see what you were like."
"You read about me?" he raised his eyebrows, and squared his shoulders defensively. "Where?"
"Historical Retrospectives of the Second Wizard War, published in Two thousand and one."
"The Second Wizard War." He pondered this for a moment, while his eyes skimmed over her from her hairline to her feet. "You seem familiar."
"Believe me, we've never met." Rose folded her arms across her stomach, clenching her fingers.
"It's the red hair, I think. It's very becoming. Although there's some brown in there, it's not quite as red as– " he broke off, and a flash of recognition passed over his face. Rose felt uneasy.
She swallowed and clenched her jaw. "What?"
"There's Weasley blood in your veins. I'd bet my fortune on it." Now, suddenly, he looked interested. "Which is it, your mother or your father?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." She was smarter than this; she should have left well enough alone. But she was cornered, and she had no way of getting back, at least not with him there. Judging by the look in his eyes, he was enjoying himself too much to leave her alone.
"It's a simple question. Which of your parents gave you that red hair?"
"Neither. I'm the only redhead in my family."
"I don't think I believe you, Rose."
"Well I'm sorry, Regulus, but it's true."
In a matter of seconds he was right in front of her. He'd done it so quickly, and she'd been so preoccupied trying to coming up with a suitable lie that she hadn't seen him move. She noted rather inappropriately that he smelled of sweat and something that reminded her of the way someone would smell when they've just awakened, and that there was a distinct bulge in his trousers. He held his face very still as he looked into her eyes, studying her, as if he could read her thoughts. It was unnerving, yet there was something strangely erotic about it as well.
"You have lovely eyes. Cerulean blue." He paused. "I don't think I've seen eyes quite that shade before."
Rose quivered. Her mouth was dry. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"How old are you, Rose?" He seemed to have a particular fondness for saying her name. The way it slipped off his tongue made it sound like foreplay.
"Seventeen."
"Funny, you seem...older, more mature." He lifted his right hand, showing her one finger; twisting his wrist, he pointed it toward her face, and then delicately traced the tip along her cheekbone, across her chin, and up over her mouth. "So you're really from twenty-four years in the future, are you?" This didn't seem to bother him in the least; any sense of suspicion from before had simply vanished.
Rose nodded. The touch of his finger was like a paralyzing shot; she couldn't feel anything from the neck down. Although her shirt felt very tight, stretching across her chest. Alarm bells were going off in her head, but she still wasn't afraid. He continued to touch her face, pinching her cheeks so she felt the blood flood into her skin.
"Like a rose," Regulus murmured. "Such sweet, soft skin."
She didn't know what it felt like to be drunk, although she imagined it was something like this. Her vision blurred around the edges; her body, numb and yet on fire; her head seeming almost detached from the rest of her. Her throat was tight and dry. She was thirsty, and thought almost longingly of her favorite pumpkin juice. What she wouldn't do for one swallow of it right now.
"Tell me something...Rose. Have you been de-flowered?"
Blood pulsed between her legs. While she knew that she should be worried, instead she was excited. She hesitated, and then she lied. "No." She'd never told anyone, other than her best friend – it was the first time she'd ever kept anything that significant from her parents.
"Surprising, with a pretty bird like you. I'd expect all the boys to be falling over themselves."
"I don't date," she declared, holding his gaze. "Do you?"
"On occasion. But not as much lately," he said drolly. "I've been busy. There hasn't been a lot of time for fun."
"I can imagine," she said, before she could stop herself.
"What's that supposed to mean?" His eyes went dark.
"Nothing. It's just...nothing. I didn't mean anything."
"Just how much have you been reading about me, Rose?" He touched her hair, sliding it between his fingers. While he was doing his best to sound menacing, Rose caught something else in his voice; he was threatened.
"Enough to know that you don't like what you're doing."
"On the contrary, I'm liking it very much." He leaned in, and inhaled. He seemed pleased with the scent that filled his nostrils. His hand cupped around her neck, his thumb fitting inside the hollow of her throat. He pressed down on her pulse point, and her heart rate went up.
Rose pursed her lips. "You know what I mean. And you don't have to be afraid, Regulus."
He stiffened, but still didn't release his thumb from her neck. "I've got nothing to be afraid of." Meanwhile, his other hand moved down the length of her arm, around the curve of her elbow and onto her stomach. She gasped involuntarily. "But maybe you do," he said. He turned around and began to move her backward, toward the bed.
"I'm not afraid of you," she insisted. "You're not a bad person, you're just in over your head, that's all."
"So are you, I think. You shouldn't be playing around with such powerful spells, Rose. Although I have to say I am really impressed with your abilities. There aren't many seventeen year-old witches who can successfully perform something as complicated and dangerous as a Time Jumping spell. I don't even think my aunt Bellatrix can do it, and she's probably the most powerful witch I know."
"It was luck, that's all. That, and it was a surprisingly simple spell considering what it can do."
"Deceptively simple," Regulus said under his breath. "It was more than luck. You're a very smart girl." He stopped walking, and the back of her legs hit the bed. Smooth, crushed velvet stroked the back of her thighs. It felt good. "You knew exactly what you were doing. It's a shame you didn't come here sooner, though, since I'm not going to be around much longer."
"Wh-what?"
"I'm going to steal from Voldemort. You don't do something like that and live to tell about it." He was so matter-of-fact about it, like he was planning to take a vacation rather than go on a suicide mission. He'd accepted his fate, which Rose found hard to fathom. "I was seduced by the promise of power, and it turned on me. It isn't as though I want to die, but I also don't want to live like this either. I'm beginning to think that my brother had the right idea, by leaving the family. A true Gryffindor, he is." He gazed into her eyes. "As are you."
"How did you know that?"
"I didn't, until just now." He smiled. Rose averted her eyes, embarrassed for having fallen for such an easy trick. "I've always had a bit of a thing for Gryffindor girls, mostly because they wouldn't give me the time of day; they're too busy falling all over themselves to get Sirius's attention. And I'll tell you something else..." He leaned close, his breath hot on her neck while his hands gripped her upper arms and eased her back onto the bed. "I'm a virgin, too. Would you like to be my first...and my last, Rose?"
He was lying. She didn't know how she could tell, but she just knew; they were both liars. She felt a sudden rush of shame, followed by a twinge of excitement.
"That isn't why I came here, Regulus. I'm not like that," Rose retorted, although the idea of having sex with him gave her a perverse thrill simply because she knew it was completely wrong. Her first experience with a fellow Gryffindor whom she'd fancied for as long as she could remember, had been rushed and awkward, but she suspected that this time would be much different. She pushed Regulus back, and to her surprise, he didn't resist. The surprise must have shown on her face, because he smiled as he looked down at her.
"I'm not a rapist," he said. "I'm not going to force you. But it seemed like that was where the conversation was going." He took a step back, and instinctively she jerked forward anxiously. Ten minutes ago, she'd wanted him to leave so she could focus all of her energy into getting back home. But now that was the last thing that she wanted.
"Don't go." Her heart was pounding. "Please."
He leaned over her again, bracing himself on his arms with his hands on either side of her. "You want me to stay?" he purred, and she held her breath as he lowered himself on top of her. He was hard, his erection fit to burst inside his trousers. He exhaled against the slope of her neck, while his hands traced down her sides, around her hips and over her thighs.
"Yes," she whispered.
Oh bollocks, this was so wrong...and yet she couldn't stop it. Well, theoretically she could; she was the smartest, most powerful witch in her year, so she could throw him off easily. Yet she let him put his full weight on her body. His tongue flicked out like a snake's, running up her neck and across her jaw and sending waves of almost nauseating heat through her limbs. Meanwhile her hands moved of their own volition, down his back and over the slope of his buttocks. He growled, and she reflexively curled her nails into his skin, making him flinch.
She gasped. "I'm sorry," she blurted, before she could stop herself. Her heart seemed to slide into her throat, cutting off her airway.
"There's nothing to be sorry for, Rose. We both want the same thing." Then his mouth was on hers, with lips that tasted like wine. One hand was in her hair, and the other was at her waist, cupping it almost possessively. His knee came between her legs, slowly easing them open. Without having to look she knew she was wet. A moan escaped from somewhere deep in her throat, while with one hand he began to tug at the hem of her shirt and pulled it out of the waist of her skirt. His cock pressed urgently against her thighs.
"You have to let me out," he said. "Take it out, Rose, or I might explode." He raised his hips just enough for her hands to get between their bodies.
The blood rushed from her face and her throat tightened, and yet still she managed to find the button at his waist. She drew down the zip, her breath coming in ragged gasps, while at the same time he raised her skirt up to her waist and pulled down her soaking wet knickers.
"Merlin," he murmured, almost reverentially, "You're red down there, too..."
Rose smiled. She felt strangely unself-conscious lying there with her entire lower body exposed to a boy she barely knew; and yet, she did know him. She felt as though she'd known him all her life as she reached inside his trousers, hands shaking with anticipation. She pushed down the waist of his trousers, taking the boxers with them, and pulled out his cock. It was huge, hot and pulsing in her hands. It seemed impossible that it would fit inside her. Regulus let out a low growl, his body going rigid while her fingers curled around the shaft. His head arched back, exposing the column of his neck. The thin silver chain slipped out from behind the open collar of his shirt and dangled over her, revealing a small pendant that was barely discernible as a coiled snake about to strike.
The irony of this was not lost on Rose as she shifted her weight up, opened her legs and positioned him right over her wet red curls. "Like a snake," she said, under her breath. Yet he seemed to hear her; his eyes, black with desire, glinted in the sunlight, and he smiled at her through his dark fringe as he peeled a lock of hair off her forehead.
And then he struck, thrusting himself between her legs. He felt so good sheathed inside her, as though he belonged there. His pace slowed somewhat, allowing her to catch up, and before long their hips were grinding together, moving as though they had made love hundreds of times before. Hot salty tears stung at Rose's eyes, and she clenched her jaw, digging her nails into his back to keep from crying out. All she could think about now was that he was going to die, and that she would never feel this complete again.
"No, no, no...." she murmured, and pressed her lips into the side of his neck. His pulse raced against her mouth. Then her shirt came open, and his hands cupped her breasts through her modest silk bra, rolling her nipples until they were hard red cherries. Animalistic grunts came from his throat. Without thinking, she rolled over, and then she was straddling him, pushing her hips forward as hard as she could while he grabbed her waist to hold her down. She reached up behind her back and unfastened her bra, letting the garment fall off her shoulders.
She'd never thought much of her breasts; while not tiny by any means, she still considered them small in proportion to her body. But then Regulus held them in his hands like exquisite, priceless treasure, and suddenly they were perfect. He rolled them between his fingers in time with their rolling hips, and murmured her name over and over again under his breath.
"So beautiful, my Rose..." He pinched her nipples, and then eased her forward at the waist until her right breast was nestled in his mouth and he was laving it gently with his tongue. She felt his body preparing for release, his thrusts quickening and his fingers pressing hard into her skin. Wanting to come with him, she rolled against him urgently, forcing his cock against her clit until finally, in a hot, blissful release of heat and color, he spilled himself inside her, and she came right behind. Then she draped her body across his, his softening cock still inside her and her breasts cushioned on his chest. She felt the snake pendant firmly against her breastbone.
"You almost make me wish that I didn't have to die," he said, while his fingers played through her hair and glided down her back.
She stiffened. "So don't."
He eased her off him, sliding his cock out from between her legs. But then he gathered her close to him again. "What do you propose I do, then?"
"Let someone else do it."
"Who else, exactly? Somehow I doubt I'd be able to talk any of my fellow Death Eaters into taking my place..." His voice was laced with fear.
"Anyone else, Regulus. Just not you."
"All right then, let's say I don't do it. What then, you stay here with me in 1979 and leave your entire life behind, or I go back with you to 2023 and stay in hiding?"
"You wouldn't have to hide."
"We both know that isn't true, Rose." He kissed her forehead, and then her nose, and finally her lips. "So I say we just enjoy ourselves, have a good shag or two, and then you can go back to your time and be assured in the knowledge that you gave a doomed man the best days of his life."
She sat up abruptly, holding her shirt closed over her breasts in a sudden rush of modesty. "I didn't come here to be your bloody whore," she hissed. Rage boiled inside her.
His face darkened. "Then why did you come here?"
Stung, she bolted from the bed feeling acutely ashamed of herself for what she'd done. Regulus sat up and watched her dress, with an unreadable expression on his face. "I have no idea," she spat. "But it was a huge mistake, and I regret every second of it!"
"Liar."
"Takes one to know one."
Regulus was off the bed in a flash and had her around the waist, lifting her up; his cock was hard again, sliding against her damp knickers. He pushed her back onto the bed. "You don't regret it at all, do you? You like fucking me, just as much as I like fucking you. So let's not delude ourselves. I don't have much time left, and I'd rather not waste it."
"You think that you're some kind of martyr, Regulus? Going off to your death instead of staying here to fight? Sounds to me like you're a bloody coward!" It pained her to say it because she knew it was wrong, but yet she couldn't stop herself; she was desperate, and she was scared.
"And you don't fuck cowards, do you Rose?" He pulled open her shirt and unhooked her bra, and then he pulled down her knickers. His cock was poised above her cunt; his arms were shaking with the effort of holding himself up. Then anger was replaced by indecision, and then pure fear. He backed off and turned away, sitting on the edge of the bed with his shoulders hunched and his head down, raking his fingers through his hair.
Rose climbed off the bed, got down on her knees and put her head between his legs. He rolled his hips forward, his cock jutting straight out and dripping with pre-come. She licked her lips, her heart pounding, and her unrestrained breasts swinging, and she put her mouth on him. She was afraid at first; she'd never done this before, not without being asked. The first boy she'd been with had wanted her to do it, but she hadn't been able to. Yet now as she slowly eased her head forward and Regulus's cock filled her mouth, she felt a rush of fearlessness.
He put his hand on her head, holding her down, although it was completely unnecessary because she wasn't going anywhere. With one hand she braced herself on the floor, and with the other she cupped his balls. She wasn't quite sure what to do, so she simply squeezed them, but it was clearly the right course of action because he moaned, "Yes..."
She pumped her mouth up and down along his shaft, and then feeling her own rush of desire, she balanced herself on her knees and moved her other hand to her clit, working it furiously. His pressure on her head increased, his cock filling her mouth so much that she was nearly gagging with it.
"Oh Merlin, Rose you are so good..."
The moment she felt the weight of his fingers lessen, she pulled her head back, just in time to watch him spill himself all over what had to be a very expensive floor rug. His eyes were glazed, and he smiled. "Come for me," he said. "I want to watch you."
She spread her legs wider, curled her finger up and in between her folds, working it hard against her swollen clit. The pressure built inside her until finally it could not be contained, and she startled herself by letting out a magnificent, liberating moan as it all came rushing out.
Meanwhile Regulus had his cock in his hands again, stroking it. He was well on the way to another full erection. "Don't worry, no one's home," he said with a wicked smile, noticing the startled expression on her face. Then he held up his arms for her and she fell into them, pushing him back on the bed with his cock sliding tantalizingly between her thighs.
"I'm one selfish git," Regulus said, smoothing his hands over the curve of her buttocks.
"Why?" she looked up into his face.
"Because I want to keep you with me, Voldemort be damned. Everyone be damned."
Her heart leapt into her throat, and she couldn't hide her smile. But just as quickly, she felt a stab of pain, and tears stung her eyes. "I'm sorry, for what I said before. You're not a coward."
"And you're not a whore." He smiled and kissed her, his mouth drifting over hers. "You're beautiful. But you can't stay here; you have to go."
"What?"
"Now, before I really change my mind." He sat up, and pulled away.
She could save him. "Regulus—"
His shoulders constricted, as if he were in pain. "Please, Rose. Go."
"But—I don't know how..."
"Yes you do. Stop stalling."
"I'll just come back, then," she said stubbornly.
"Don't come back."
The words cut her like a knife. "I love you!" she blurted.
"No you don't. You love the idea of me. But you really don't know me, Rose, and you don't want to. Now please, get dressed. Go home where you belong and destroy this cursed spell."
Her eyes welled with tears as she climbed off the bed and reached for her clothes, but it wasn't because he was sending her away. It was because she knew that he was right. She was spent, her body wrung out like an old washrag; her knees could barely hold her weight. She also felt incredibly embarrassed, and was unable to meet his eyes even though she could feel his gaze trained on her.
"Do me a favor," she said, as she pulled on her knickers and then her skirt, and fastened the button at her back. It took her three tries to get it; her fingers wouldn't cooperate.
"What." His voice was flat and emotionless.
"Don't watch me leave." She turned away, and fumbled with the buttons on her blouse. Tears stung her eyes.
"Rose."
She stiffened. "What."
"You forgot this."
When she turned around he was holding up her bra by the strap, his face dark and unreadable. She took a tentative step forward to take the garment from him. As she pulled away his fingertips brushed her wrist; the ensuing jolt of electricity made her drop the bra. Then she impulsively grabbed him around the neck, and put all her weight on him to force him back onto the bed. He didn't resist.
"Oh Merlin, so help me I'm going straight to hell…" he moaned, his mouth open against her throat.
"Then I'm going with you," she whispered, arching her head back and rolling her hips forward.
He pushed up her skirt and tore at her knickers, which then came away like tissue paper. She was wet for him all over again, and she spread her legs eagerly. Only this time, it wasn't his cock that entered her, it was his fingers. While his thumb worked her clit in small, forceful circular strokes that sent hot pulsing waves through her limbs, his index and middle fingers pushed deep inside her cunt, nearly gutting her. When she moaned it was like she was hearing the disembodied cry of a ghost wafting through the air; she didn't recognize her own voice. She felt as though she had quite literally left her body.
Regulus urged her on by murmuring her name in time with each swirl of his fingers, while he grabbed at her left breast with his other hand, and massaged it through her blouse. She clenched around his fingers, riding them as hard as she would his cock; her thighs began to ache, but she was determined not to let him push her off. He fucked her like this until she was right on the edge, and then he removed his fingers and slipped in his cock to ride her the rest of the way until she came.
"Stay with me Rose," he said, as she draped her limp and sweaty body over him. She peppered his neck and chest with kisses, and smiled.
"I was planning on it," she said. She was making a catastrophic mistake, yet she couldn't bring herself to care. So she let Regulus pull back the thick velvet bedcover and gather her into his arms beneath the cool white sheets, and she nestled against him while the sky darkened with storm clouds and a light rain began to fall.