The first time she sees him, she doesn’t realize who he is exactly. They look so much alike. So she thinks he shouldn’t be so rude when she accidentally mistakes him for Sirius Black.
When she realizes her mistake, she immediately rushes over to his table and apologizes for setting his quill on fire. She explains her reasoning and she promises to get him a new quill, but he waves her off, glaring at his parchment (he doesn’t look at her at all), and when she walks away feeling only half her height, her ears pick up the worst wizarding insult being spat at her as she retreats. She bites her lip, but she doesn’t let it under her skin. She can’t. He is no one, and the word means nothing to her. It doesn’t.
She wishes dearly that it had been Sirius. Or James or anyone else, for that matter. Someone like Sirius would’ve just laughed her off, accepted her apology, and perhaps said something ridiculous and amusing, but nothing rude. She’s not a mean person, after all. She collects her things from the table where she’d been studying at before and decides to retreat to the common room. She won’t get as much work done there, and she knows it, but she needs that kind of friendly distraction right now.
It’s the first day of sixth year, and when he walks into the compartment at the front of the train (reserved for Prefects and the Head Boy and Girl), she doesn’t mistake him for his brother this time. After the initial, disastrous meeting, Lily has had to endure a few more awkward run-ins with the younger Black brother. They’re both in the Slug Club. From what she saw of him during various functions Slughorn put together, she’s not surprised to see he’s been chosen as Prefect. She also knows he’s on Slytherin’s Quidditch team. He has a few friends he seems to pal around with (not quite the same people as Severus), but he doesn’t collect friends and acquire hearts like his brother Sirius.
She actually knows more about him than she’d like to admit. She tries not to let her eyes wander to him while the Head Boy and Girl outline some of the Prefect duties. She fails often enough that she hopes no one notices, especially not him. He stands in the back corner, arms folded over his chest, nonchalance spreading out from him in waves. That’s about one of the only similarities between them, as far as she can tell. They’re both brilliant, and neither one of them seems to care what any one thinks of them. She’s heard Sirius complain about his family lineage (“The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black”), and she thinks he certainly seems to embrace that sense of entitlement and prestige much more than Sirius.
She hates that she’s so intrigued by him.
His eyes flick over to her, and she gasps and quickly averts her eyes, pretending she was looking out the window instead. (But she knows she can’t hide a gasp, only pretend that she didn’t.)
Regrettably, she knows even more about Regulus Black after another year of watching him than she did before.
It’s her seventh year, she’s Head Girl, and she has an infinite amount of things that she should pay attention to, none of them Regulus. She shouldn’t note the way he’s grown so tall, his shoulders broadening, and his features becoming more defined, but he’s an enigma. It’s like looking at something between the dim and the dark. She can see some things, but there’s not enough light to make him out completely, and that’s what she can’t stand. But she can see enough that she’s too caught up in the study to look away.
And tonight at Slughorn’s Halloween ball, she’s here with James as her date. (Only as friends, because he’s grown up enough that they can actually be friends now.) She’s been having a good time, and she hasn’t been looking for Regulus at all. A voice in her head says she hasn’t been looking for Regulus because she could already tell that he wasn’t here, but she tells that voice to shut up.
She mingles around with her friends, and she politely accepts the compliments about how she looks tonight. (She didn’t dress up like this for Regulus - of course she didn’t.) She has a lot of fun for the first hour or so. She dances with James, with Remus, and some of her other friends. The whole room is bedecked with orange and black. There are pixies flitting around above their heads to provide some ambient light, and there are glittery, whispy curtains of spider web hanging from the ceiling. Lily also suspects that the punch has been spiked ever so slightly by Slughorn himself, but only enough to encourage merriment, not drunkenness.
Something strange has been happening with James all evening. James has been acting strange all evening, looking at her in a way that is confusing. She doesn’t know whether it makes her feel like smiling or if it unsettles her. It’s both, really, and she steps out of the party for a few minutes to get some air and clear her head.
The corridor is dim. She wouldn’t have seen him anyway, and she certainly didn’t hear him, but he is there nonetheless, coming up behind her suddenly, and placing a hand over her mouth as he pulls her behind a tapestry and into a dark alcove. There is only a second of light before the tapestry falls back into place, but it was long enough for her to recognize his face.
“Regulus,” she whispers as his hand drops from her mouth. It’s the first time she’s spoken to him in almost two years.
He’s close. Very close. One of his hands grips her upper arm firmly, holding her in place. The other hand skims along her neck briefly before resting on her shoulder.
“They say you’re smart, Evans, but I’m inclined to disagree.”
She’s shocked by his words, but the reason she’s speechless now is because he’s so close. He’s nearly pressed up against her, and she can feel his warm breath in her ear. Her heart is absolutely racing, and she knows he must be able to feel it, if not hear it. Her breathing is unsteady. She can’t move any more than she can talk, not because he’s stopping her, but because his proximity is paralyzing.
“See, if you were as smart as everyone seems to think you are, you’d realize how much that fool Potter is in love with you. More importantly, you’d realize how foolish you’ve been, watching me, hoping for a moment like this.”
Her whole heart constricts at what he’s saying.
“People like you and people like me … We just … We don’t. That’s all there is to it.”
Then he’s gone as quickly as he appeared, and she’s alone in the dark. She sinks down against the wall and folds her arms over her knees, letting her head fall forward. She doesn’t cry. She aches, and she sits there until the ache dims, and she hopes it will fade into the darkness soon enough because he was never important anyway.
Every Foolish Dream by electronicquillster
Story Notes:
Thanks to my ever wonderful and prompt beta and friend, Abigail. This was written for SPEW Love Notes 2009.
Chapter Notes: I wanted to simply say up front that this story is open to two very different interpretations. Enjoy the read.