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42 - Emotionless Assassin
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WARNING: Be advised this chapter will contain mature content.
The butterbeer tasted like piss, at least to Regulus. Chatters and narky giggles buzzing in his eardrums, burnt caramel, twigs, and snow vaporized in Three Broomstick's air. Suffocating Hogwarts' students with warmth, clashed against the outside chilly air trying to break in the thick windows. Holy wreaths, red berries, mistletoe were clinging like cobwebs vines at the pillars, reaching above each table.
Regulus tore his platinum eyes to his pale, freezing hands—observing his lanky fingers, frost-bite seeped in the pallid skin, coloring it carmine. As if punishing himself for what the exact fingers did to someone, the thought of it brought sour waves that haunted him.
Why did he do that?
It kept him awake the past week, wide-eyed, perplexedly staring at the common room's window where Selkies danced between the dark water. He searched through his rationale inside out, trying to find the answer as to why. His state of mind was ruined, darkness clouding the last spot of sunshine in underworld's altar. Hades had no light, no stars had never been allowed to see it either way.
She was not talking to him, he was profound, she was scared of him as much as he was scared of himself.
Regulus found his gaze rotating back to her table, truly she was magnetic. Between the Scottish pub, she sat like the Goddess she was, appearing so radiant in the room. Azure eyes trailed down her glass of extra sweet butterbeer, he knew Gemma wouldn't take the normal one; she said it was plain.
No amount of sugar was saccharine enough to dam Black's ruined palate, not when McKinnon's eyes and filthy hands were lingering on the Irish witch. It was on her hand, fixing her scarf, dusting snowflakes off her hair. Fingers curled into tight fists when the blond daringly brushed away careless foam on her upper lip.
Regulus had enough, truly, he couldn't sit down and watched someone touch the witch. His witch. He had to figure out how to put out this tenebrous flame inside his chest, that suffocated him. It was multiplied every morning, serpentine around his ribs every day tantalizingly crushed his fickle heart, and he was unsure why he felt that way.
But Evan Rosier knew why.
The french boy downed his second glass half-way, the house's bonus, after sweet-talking Madam Rosmerta for a few minutes. Lips coated in a sugary taste of butterscotch and a pinch of satisfaction. His eyes saturated forest green, gaze transfixed to the Slytherin prefect as he fidgetted on his badge under the table.
Evan had noted Regulus would always press it harshly as an attempt to dam his emotion, a method of coping with his temperament. The emotionless assassin was as much observant as Regulus. Rosier was a perfect package, a piece of fine machinery met flawless tactical plan. He vesseled both intelligence and combat skills. Thus, Rosier didn't need a dagger to hurt and weaken the Irish witch.
He just needed to attack her heart, mentally.
What would be a better way to plunge it than using the person she cared about? Rosier learned, many years ago, the sad thing about people who cared was they would hurt themselves easily. They bested trust in others like fragile glass in juvenile hands. The first move to execute his first task had begun, and Regulus was a pawn in a game of trickery, a sabotage play in war's theatre.
"Staring will not make that half-blood stop, Regulus." uttered the french, placing his glass with a sneer. He leaned his back, creaking the wooden seat on his movement, and smirked. "Jinxing him will."
Rosier's idea fuelled adrenaline in Regulus's nerves like a viper's venom, slithered to his veins before it consumed him. The Ravenclaw blond had prevented him to talk to her, on several occasions for the likes of the half-blood. So, jinxing the blond appeared as a sane idea.
But a trace of antidote took over Regulus's system, an addition to his strings of patience. A peony settled inside his heart, it was deigned to be alive. Despite being stabbed, cut, poisoned and many attempts of killing: the peony prevailed.
Pale pink, blossoming with its delicate petals and despite its fragile appearance, the flower had anchored its root deep inside Regulus's jet black heart that he couldn't escape it. She'd tamed the voidness inside of him with a manner of tenderness. It began with a drop of pollen people would call miracle. Kisses, smiles, banter, and thoughts the witch contained in her head had floated out of her mouth so easily. Swarming in every square of his twisted psyche like twinkling fireflies in the darkest forest. Before Regulus knew, Gemma had summoned light into his dark realm.
Black took a deep breath, she would hate him even more if he hexed McKinnon. He had to make a plan, the one that would put the half-blood back in place, away from the witch. But wouldn't push the Irish girl away from him. The Slytherin downed his butterbeer empty, "We're leaving."
Rosier arched an eyebrow, pursing his lips in disappointment. He was waiting for grand chaos to break loose in the pub. The boy wanted to watch the world burn and bloodied battleground before his eyes. The french boy was a soul marrionettist with his venom of manipulation. Rosier fancied dancing with the death, obsidian blades, mineral arrows, and blood.
Perhaps, the fates were wicked to grace him with magic, he was vicious without it. With magic, he was far, far more superior assassin the wizarding world ever had. A psychopath, a malicious pagan with angelic mannerism. He was the grim reaper of magical beings. Evan Rosier was Thanatos.
Black furrowed his brows, fingers spindling on his badge as he got off his seat. Evan smirked nastily before following the raven-haired boy. For once, he was sure Regulus gained his darkness back.
"I think he's leaving." mumbled Martin as he took a sip of his butterbeer in relief.
The Irish witch darted her pavonated eyes, meeting the burning glare of Regulus. His eyes were gunmetal sharp, and Gemma returned the same hardened gaze when she noticed jealousy radiated through the metallic eyes. The Slytherin's heiress scoffed, how could he act with such repulsive demeanor, it was his fault to begin with.
The boy's face was twisted grimly as he flicked his wand, a faint light was rocketing towards her. Gemma almost flicked her wrist thinking it was a jinx, but the spell launched above her, a black flame burst to burn the mistletoe blooming above her and Martin. The leaves were cremated and ashes veiled her scarf, then the front door was shut behind him.
Jealousy.
Gemma furrowed her brows, lips curled as she gazed longingly at her extra sweetened butterbeer. She thought of last year, they snuck out the castle hand-in-hand nervously and they grabbed a glass of it together, sharing the starry night. The scent of mahogany and chocolate air. When she learned all kinds of magic nothing came close to him. He was a different core of magic, an ethereal one at that. She thought of how wonderful he was then, the raven hair and scandalous kisses. But how did he turn drastically?
How?
It did not make sense how Black was behaving as if the devil latched onto him. Gemma must have missed something. Something. The question drove her mad and Gemma couldn't stop until she figured out what was wrong with her other side of coin.
The riddle remained until the very next day after lunch where they were all stood with the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. Dorothea Fawley had taken over Mr. Marmousset's place after the professor was charged for smoking muggle grass before teaching.
"Non-verbal spell." the Professor's timbre was squeamish, her wand swung the empty tables and chairs to the side of the class. Allowing a long hall for the sixth years to form a half-circle crowd before her. Her eyes gleaming in excitement between the sea of azure and emerald contrary against the other.
Out of curiosity, Martin elbowed her in the arm, "Guess the job's really jinxed, yeah? Six years and we have six different teachers, Dumbledore must be pissed—" the blond suppressed his laugh as Gemma nodded approving. "How many times he has to change them?"
"Performing spells non-verbally will be very difficult and requires a good amount of practice, as well as concentration and mental discipline alone." explained the Professor, but she paused when she heard a round of snickers in the Slytherin's crowd.
The new professor turned to find Rosier was grinning with Nott, Wilkes, and Yaxley sniggering beside him. Unlike the rest of the group, Black was irked watching two Ravenclaws were chatting before him.
"Mr. Rosier isn't it?" inquired the Professor firmly, eyes trailing to examine the french boy as if someone had warned her about the boy. "Mind sharing what did you tell your fellas over there?"
The french boy smirked arrogantly, there was no surprise in the Professor's features. Evan went on with a smug smile, "I'm certain, that I can cast non-verbal spell today, Professor."
Her wand pressed to her palm, marking her apparent irritation. The woman stepped back with a scant grin. "Oh of course, now, mind you give us a little show?" challenged the witch, "Since you are confident enough to ignore my teaching—"
"With all due respect, Professor. But Rosier is not the only one not paying attention." Regulus's voice came, cutting the Professor's speech. The silence was loud in the classroom, platinum eyes transfixed to the Ravenclaw's crowd. Pairs of eyes directly flew to find Martin was standing woodenly with furrowed brows out of annoyance.
Regulus went on, a scant grin was on Evan's face when the boy continued. "I won't doubt that McKinnon is as much as confident as Rosier that he can cast non-verbal spell, too. Besides, it would only be fair for them to execute it." Black curved his lips upward. "I propose . . . in a duel."
Fawley looked between Black and McKinnon. The new Professor tilted her head in consideration before she spoke with clarity. "Of course, Mr. Black, duel sounds appropriate."
The classroom was loud with whispers, panic glances were exchanged. No one in the past six years ever wished to duel Evan Rosier. Not when the boy was the epitome of war spirits. There was a polished golden badge in his uncle's mansion how the french boy maintained the best in dueller of Hogwarts.
McKinnon's jaw clenched with fury at Black. He knew that the Slytherin prefect was not fond of him—Not even a little bit—Rosier was grinning triumphantly as he stepped to the center of the room. With wand in hand, the blond was about to take a step forward following Rosier. But a girl stepped ahead.
Chocolate hair glistened under daylight sun as he watched her hair swayed in the room, Gammaliel stood before the new Professor. "I beg your pardon, Professor." her voice was saccharine as she went on. "McKinnon informed me about your previous curse-breaking in Vietnam. I find it interesting . . . I'm the one to blame for the noise. Therefore, allow me to replace him."
The air was tensed, Regulus's jaw stiffened as he caught the deadly glare from Gemma. It was rare. The rest of the class stood five feet away from their battleground as Rosier and the Merlin's heir bowed politely to one another before their duel.
Wands in hand, no spell.
"I have been eager for this, Girly." his timbre was slicing the tension, he strutted like a peacock.
"I can't agree to that." stated the witch right back and her godly confidence was masked with a smile.
"How so, darling? Afraid?"
"Yes, very much." Gammaliel sing-songed, smiling. "Afraid that I wouldn't forget how you beg surrender to me."
This, wasn't what Regulus wanted to happen he had seen the two of them throwing dining knife like a pen at each other some months ago. Nearing to harm the other with such accuracy, various abilities and with that, nervous wrapped his being.
Rosier smirked triumphantly, he couldn't wait to flaunt his summer lesson from Dolohov, the boy flicked his wand first. Wand jabbed at the girl, spark of flames soared up high in the ceiling as the white-hot fire catapulted itself to the witch. But the Irish girl was faster, she flicked her wand. A globbing pool of water stormed out of the tip of her wand.
The phoenix inferno fell, trapped inside the water, balling and spindling inside the classroom following the witch's wand movement. Within a flick of her wand it dropped rapidly, she motioned both hands away from her body. The water exploded and vaporized to the air, the inferno perished leaving the floor full of dewdrops. Rosier swiftly flicked his wand, sending a powerful wave to knock the witch away while she was too occupied for her spell.
Her back knocked on the table with a loud bang, and Gemma gritted her teeth. Regulus's grip around his wand was tightened and cold sweat was beading off his skin. The duel between them was akin to theatrical war as Persephone and Thanatos were dancing like fire and ice masters. Jet of lights were sparking in the room as eyes fixated on them, like fireworks in navy sky.
Gemma winced as she pranced back, how in the world Rosier learned this type of spell. The karmic wave was different than new-magic. Something so sinister lurked from the beams that came out of his wand. She had to figure it out. Rosier had known the witch for years as childhood friends, and he knew her weakness would be her eyesight. So with that, he was sending spell directly to her face.
In the heat of their duel, Gammaliel narrowed her eyes as she shouted protego maxima in her mind. She had to get closer to Rosier, she knew that. Rosier on the other hand was grinning arrogantly as his eyes stole a glance at the crowd. She followed his gaze to find it landed on Regulus. A surge of stygian fire fuelled her jealousy, her focus was disturbed by her emotion.
Then metal sharp beams ricocheted across her right cheek, her sleeves, then last to her knees. She bit back her wince. The spell was different, it wasn't an ordinary fire-making spell. The light wrecked her sleeves, her white dress shirt was poking. Her black stocking cut through allowing ichor to drenched the woolen material.
Gemma pranced back, the classroom gasped when crimson leaked out of the witch's cheekbone. A light cut, but it was enough for breaking the tensing duel. The witch touched her cheek and she watched blood clothing her palm, oddly she didn't feel pain. Perhaps, The Morrígan had given the witch strength. Azure eyes darted away, she caught Rosier stole a sight of the bloodless face of Regulus.
Again.
"Surrender, Gemma." cued Rosier arrogantly. But Gemma stilled with a wand in hand she did not wish to give up.
Dark arts, the thought crossed her brain icily as she examined the french's mocking grin. Gammaliel was familiar with it in textbook, but she had never thought Rosier would be able to cast such spell. He was clothing a curse with illusion of a simple fire-making spell. Where did he learn to do that? Even more, why did he learn that? But she decided to let these questions slipped through, all that mattered to her was winning this duel.
Taking her fresh blood with her thumb, she noticed that the room's attention was on Rosier. With that, she jutted her thumb down and muttered old-English, watching her blood dropped to the floor. Eyes flashed neon, Gemma stumped her feet firmly and green vines resurfaced out of the wooden floor. Swiftly, the Irish flicked her wand and its tendrils grew to her command.
A loud bang boomed in the room. Evan's body collapsed and his head hit the floor first before the vindictive vines wrapped itself on his feet. Like a rope it dragged him away. He almost wince when he felt heat caressed his exposed skin: a curse. In his retaliation, he shifted to the side, trying to flick his rosewood wand but with a flick of hers she whisked his wand away furiously, leaving him weaponless. That moment Rosier knew he was lucked out.
Rosier had refused to scream, not in front of the amused crowds who used to fear him, but the longer he refused to show any form of pain—to make him seemed mundane, his body was wrapped tighter and tighter by the ivy. He gritted his teeth, feeling the heat of the ivy scorched his ochre skin. The witch's eyes were ocean night, cold and heartless, she had ordered the tendrils to drag him close, to humiliate and degrade him in front of the class crowd. When a scream escaped his lips, the vines stopped moving. He gasped and squirmed, trying to compile oxygen back to his lungs.
The Irish witch peered down to the French boy, but her face was impassive. Silence was thick in the classroom as Gemma's footsteps echoed, she knelt beside him. With a bloodied hand she raised her palm to touch Rosier's fair face as her flaming glare studied his undamaged features. Leaning to his ear as a dark grin bloomed on her lips, "Do as I say, Evs." she said dulcetly against his earlobe. "Surrender."
Evan's irises deflated to meet the Irish angelic features, but at that moment she was not the old seven-year-old Gemma with trauma. She was the bringer of the death, Persephone. The french boy gulped his fear, speaking with an uptight throat. "Fine, I surrender."
The vines loosened around him as it scurried away from his body, vanished on the wooden floor. Gemma offered a hand to him, helping him to get on his feet. Despite their heated duel, their pure-blood manners remained. His apricot skin was prickled by goosebumps when the class roared in loud applause.
"I never thought I will be defeated by a girl."
"Not a girl, Evs." her eyes darkened to ocean night, daggering coldly. "You were defeated by a woman." she jested wittily before she spoke gently to his ear. "Also, stop staring at my man, Rosier. He's mine."
***
Martin hated blood. So when the blond had to deal a slit wound on Gemma's skin, he winced and looked away to her face. The Ravenclaws made a short stop in an abandoned class. Trying to stop the Irish girl from bleeding. Her back propped against a large mirror, she sat on a table. A chair was settled before her while the blond healed her injury on her knees.
"Fuck him." he narrowed his eyes, cyan eyes polished with anger. "Why would he do that?"
Jealousy, Gemma thought loudly. Evan Rosier had no heart, but a glance of him to Regulus was a load of evidence that he cared about the boy. She had a guess, he cared about the Black's heir more than brothers. Still, it was not her place to forbid him who to love and she was confident enough Regulus had his heart and eyes set on her.
"We were just dueling, Marty. On a side note, everyone questions it since first years didn't they? Who will win between him and I." she quipped with a grin. "They should have bet on me."
Martin frowned in defiance, shaking his head soon after. "Not Rosier." his brows furrowed while staring at Gemma. "Your dearest Black. He tried to get me to duel the fucking devil."
Gammaliel peered to her knees, hiding a small frown as the blond sighed deeply. The Irish witch had no answer to that up until now on why Black's demeanor had changed. True that she was hiding something from him as to why she dropped Potions.
Besides the fact she was never fond of the said subject other than mere obligation, Gemma had her old-magic lesson to explore. Dumbledore warned her to be careful about mastering her magic and he offered guidance himself.
The odd thing she began to notice was, her scar burned like lava around Regulus's presence and she had to figure out why. Azure eyes trailed back to the blond boy who was sitting across her with a series of ramble. She understood how he was worried for her own sake. But Gemma was sure, whoever hurt her the other day was not Regulus.
It was something else. Someone else.
The door creaked opened, and the two shot their gaze up to find metallic eyes transfixed on Gemma. A wave of cold washed over her, and the pain perforated her scar again. Martin got up from his seat, "What the hell are you doing?"
"I need to talk to Gemma." his voice was firm, clear as bell yet unpleasant. His eyes trailed off the girl and the gaze softened watching the small cut on her cheek. His heart squeezed, "So, mind you leave us for a moment?"
Martin scoffed with an eyebrow arched, "Not after what you did the other day—"
"Marty, it's okay." Gemma's voice cut him off by surprise, the girl's hand wrapped around Martin's wrist. Regulus had to look away, agitated that the witch's attention was on the blond and not to him. She went on, "Give us a moment."
"But—"
Gemma gave him a look, and the blond tore his gaze away in defiance. Regulus arched an eyebrow, smirking pleasantly when he saw the half-blood's denial. Black felt like he was winning, and did it felt that good to have the witch's eyes back on him. The blond made a quick pace to the door, leaving the two of them alone.
"Speak." ordered the witch, knuckles white on the grip against the table corner. She remained still, with eyes surveying the floor keenly.
"Apology." began Regulus, the previous tense had burst when his voice morphed to a gentle tone. "I did not know what had become of me. And I kept thinking about why I did it."
"Deduce it."
"I could never walk straight to your hurricane border can't I?" concluded the wizard, a displeased frown appeared on his face. His steps echoed in the room when her eyes followed his eyes. She studied his face and unbearing softness glossed over him. "You can't deny you are hiding something from me. I can read people, Gammaliel. And you are the last person I find difficult to guess."
A smirk pulled from her, "Crossing border took time, Regulus. Just because you could read me it is up to me on who I want to share the secrets to. And you had no right to push me just to acquire it."
Regulus stepped back watching blue-lit in her eyes, anger, a rare emotion from the girl. His hands tucked behind his back, "And McKinnon can."
"What?" Gemma narrowed her eyes, shaking her head when Black jumped to the conclusion.
"McKinnon, he knew didn't he?" Black's timbre was uptight in annoyance, feeling anger slithered to his nerves. Gemma tore her gaze and he translated it as a confirmation. "He knows. And I couldn't fathom how could you allow him to touch you while we're still committed in a relationship."
"Touch me?" Her timbre raised to balance the built-up anger bubbling inside her stomach, she daringly glared at him. "Black, your accusations are ridiculous! Don't take the problem on him, he didn't know and he did not touch me!"
"Oh really, I bet he wished he did." Regulus's voice just as loud, veins poked on his temples. Tense was roaming the air, anger of two sides of the same coin had merged into one.
"Do not retort it, it is you who pushed me to share what I didn't wish to share—" The Irish girl huffed trying to muster her fury back before her eyes. Hastily, she raised her wrist to reveal the marks of nails, his nails on her wrist. "A normal human being would not push me like that or even leaving a scar like this!"
The Slytherin boy was stunned silence, horror glossed his eyes tenaciously. A flicker of pain was in his eyes, and something else; guilt. The witch's lips parted. "You had your shot to deduce me, Black, now I deduce you." Gemma got off the table, taking rapid steps forward. "You are a control freak! You are so used to people bending rules for you, the elites, the professor who looks at your honor. You do not hate Sirius—you are angry at him, for not having the same view as you . . . all you wanted was for him to fucking stay but you can't even open your mouth to yell and tell him to stay!"
The Slytherin prefect watched the witch rained accusation on him and he bit his inner cheek to deny it. Her voice was like hot meteorite raining over the darkness. The heat, the light was overbearing and threatening. Black knew she was right despite how much he tried to hide the fact with his facade.
"When you see a problem you freaked out and not search for a way out. No!" The Ravenclaw girl scoffed morbidly, shaking her head with polished eyes. "No matter how calculative you are you choose to handle a matter with emotional range of a fucking teaspoon!—You punched everyone who was crossing your ways—you justified it—and saved yourself from guilt!"
The Irish witch's eyes daggering like a raven, showing her talons fearlessly against the serpent before her. Her fingers poking his ribs, the peony perfume disrupted his senses. "Let's count; Avery, Sirius, and you can't do that to me. So that's why you did this!" she flashed her bruised wrist and Black's breath hitched with guilt panged his heart. The Irish witch went on as her lips coated in tears. "But—No—Regulus, you can't ask me to do as you please and it irked you so much!"
"So, so much because you are used to order and subordination, and I am chaos. You keep your pride high and sealed your emotion beneath your stoicism. It makes you a stranger to jealousy, you won't admit it, nor try to discern it and turned the blame on me—on Martin. But all this proves one thing, Regulus. You finally found something beyond your greed for control," The Irish witch declared, eyes taunting his being. She leaned closer, trapping the taller wizard between her body heat and the cold wall akin to a raven gnawing its talon to a snake. "You want me."
It seemed Hades found himself something he craved better than golden throne, he was in need of a Queen to rule his realm.
He couldn't speak while watching the witch broke down in tears, it squeezed his heart unlike it ever did before. Ferocious flames that set alight inside of him was still burning. The emotion, the feelings were trapped like a Pandora box, burried in the depth of his mind, eager to be unleashed. He couldn't open it. But she could. She demolished his pride—she unraveled every nook and cranny of his personality, his deceits, drops of venoms and lies.
Pressure built up from his feet rocketing up his brain. Hammering faster than adrenaline and he knew that yes—yes, Black wanted her so much. He loathed her to make him feel that way. Weak over his feelings. He hated her for knowing him so well, he hated how much alike she was to him as if the both of them were forged from the same stars.
He loathed her.
He despised her.
He kissed her.
Salty taste greeted his tongue as he kissed her and good lord how much he missed her. Marine eyes fluttered shut, receiving the gesture and Black raised his hands to cup her face. Angry that he wanted her more than anything. It was the girl's fault to be this addicting, he should have never wanted her.
But he did. Black kissed her with such passion, trying to find words to describe this feeling. Because Regulus was sure this feeling he had with Gemma was not recorded in any dictionary.
Haste came, breathless pants rasped out of their mouth as their body moved in a certain rhythm. A rhythm of lust, ten-fold what he had last summer. He heard the sound of her knuckles on the desk. Yet she showed no resistance. He parted his lips, pulling away from hers, and bit her upper lip. The witch moaned, "Black, you will be the death of me."
Her voice was raspy, knuckles whitened as she held tight to the edge of the table. Regulus pressed his body against hers needily and her spine arched back at the sensation. Mesmerizing how his touch ignited the witch's passion so easily. Firm hand roamed down to her waist with a tight grip, testing the water. She winced at the pleasure while his eyes examined her face. A proud smirk was dangling on his face, watching her eyes shut.
He raised his other hand to her cheek, wiping the blood off her cheek. He leaned to her ears, lips scrapping to the cut as he smelled the ichor coppery scent. "You are right, Goddess." his voice brushed her skin like silk, smooth and silvery.
"I want you." Regulus's hand slid past the root of her hair and he pulled at it until she craned her neck back. She moaned as if she was a masochist enjoying the pain. He drifted his lips down, spreading heat to her nape. "Really bad."
Moans escaped from her sultry lips, tears were drying as his lips decorated her neck with bites and tentative kisses to soothe her. His mouth dipped on her collarbone, sending warmth as he hummed, his palm placed on her thigh and he gripped at it tightly.
Realization flushed her brain as she spoke softly, "We can't," Gemma stated urgently when his hand drifted underneath her skirt. A series of goosebumps prickled her skin. Carefully Regulus pushed her skirt upward to expose her thighs to the air. His firm hand soon devoured them, grasping her tight. She gasped, "Reg, not in here."
He ignored it, he motioned his eyes to meet the witch's face was soaked in carmine with eyes shut out of pleasure. His hands moved closer to her core, he grinned feeling the warmth of her body. "We just have to be quiet." he suggested, eyes trailing to the door which was left ajar then whispered to her earlobe. "Shut the door if you want it."
Gemma's mind was spinning, between morals and lust. God, she wanted him so badly, her gesture reeked of lust as his digits made their way past her underwear. He was damned, the death of her, and yet death must have been tantalizing sweet with the boy. She flicked her wrist weakly and the sounds of a wooden door shut boomed. Her dazed eyes caught a scant grin on his lips. He knew he got her where he wanted her and she did not mind it.
A surge of eagerness flushed through her, and she lifted herself pulling his fingers out of her folds when she drifted her lip to linger on his jaw. "You have to be quiet this time." her voice came with a small nibble, Regulus's eyes shut at the pleasure.
Placing her hands on his chest, her lips was teasingly grazed his skin, drifting down. Regulus felt warm breath fanning his skin, passing his waistline. He found himself shivered by her gentle touch, it was as if her fingertips burned him. She palmed him over his trouser, keeping her eyes on him. There was an apparent sign of mischief and a dark, delirious craving, lurking behind her eyes. She was enjoying it and she knew exactly how to get what she wanted. Had she not unbuckled his belt in the next second, Regulus would've lose his patience and bent her over the table for making him wait.
The sound of metal clanking down the floor snapped him out of his thought. He swallowed hard at the revelation of what she was going to do to him.
Her soft kisses drifted down past his hips, hands carefully pulling to undress him. He peered down and for goodness sake, it would be the most alluring thing to watch. A guttural groan escaped from his lips when her mouth, tongue, and hand played the role. He was questioning where the witch knew this. But hell, Black didn't care when a different type of warmth wrapped around him as he tossed his head back in pleasure. There was a surge of pride and control he had in him. Regulus moaned watching her head bobbed obediently.
Black raised his hand to gently push behind her head, fingers on her roots trying to suppress the urge to push her down. His chest heaving with lips parted, breath felt so heavy when dizzying pleasure hit him simultaenously when she bottomed up. He bit back his moan and the thought of having her like this drove him dazed. McKinnon surely wouldn't have the pleasure to have her like this. Black bit his lips triumphantly. "Fuck."
There was silence but the sounds of her gasping for air and naughty gag. He heard a faint footstep on the other side of the door, and he could guess who it was. As she pulled away trying to catch her breath, hands pumping on his length. Regulus pulled at her wrist, gently. It was as if logic had left the room and he twisted her body to face the mirror. The witch felt her face burned, red seeped into her skin.
His bare hips was pushed against the material of her skirt, body arched towards her. His mouth found its way to nibble behind her ear, Gemma pushed herself back at him eagerly. His hands wrapped around her waist, one hand slid down under her skirt to expose her folds.
"Change of plan." Black's voice filled with heavy pants against her ears, the eagerness sent a shiver to her spine. His hand searing hot when it motioned to spread her legs open which she followed willingly. "Be loud."
Gemma shook her head in denial and her hands flew to her mouth when he pushed himself inside her. The gasp muffled by her hand, her body leaned to the table and she could make out their reflection. The image was sinful, they should be in hell for finding pleasure and arousal in it. But they did, the room was in silence except for the sound of his hips against hers.
Between her breathless pant, the Irish witch's eyes caught Regulus's smirk on the mirror. When they made an eye contact he picked up his pace, slamming his length inside her harder than before. He smirked, he was testing how long she could manage to keep herself silent, but Gemma was persistent. She sealed the whimpers with her palm. She had hoped that the sinful echo of their skin didn't reach the other side of the door.
Yet her effort was stopped when his right hand pulled at her hair harshly. Forcing her to crane her neck to face the mirror with that her free palm was swung to grip at the table. Her fingernails clawed at the wood in every thrust and she was sure she was going to lose her mind. Hearing the gasps rippled from her mouth, the grin on Regulus' face was inevitable. "I told you to be loud, Goddess."
"Reggie, please." Gemma whimpered. It was a plea to rescue their dignity had someone heard or caught them in such a taboo scene. But the gloss of greed on Regulus' face was apparent, that his regal-self was thrown out of the window. All Black could think about was pleasure, he did not care if someone would walk in, he might as well put on a good show.
He pulled out and pushed in with a brand new sensation, seathed so deeply and he could do this forever if she allowed him to. Breathless pants were roaming in the air along with the rhythm of their body. "Tell me who makes you feel this good?"
The witch bit her lips in denial, but Regulus had another idea his pounding was getting slower, deeper, reaping high-pitched moans off her lips as if it was a euphonious melody. He was being mean it was as if he wanted them to be caught. She gritted her teeth out of frustration, it was obvious she didn't want him to slow down or stop. With blurry vision, Gemma watched their reflection on the mirror and caught his grin. He was enjoying it, he wanted her to call his name, firm and loud. She finally caved in and spoke in a whisper tone. "Regulus—"
"Louder." Black's voice slithered like venom. His hands wrapped around her in such possessiveness. The girl wanted to be drowning in the pleasure that moment with that his name came out with pleas. He nuzzled closer to her ear, matching the pace of his heartbeat and he hid a small smile when a rushed footstep was leaving the door. "Good girl."
From her reflection in the mirror she could see how red her face was as her hair swayed forward from every harsh thrust. While Black tossed his head back with a groan, eyes shut. She noticed the way the table was docking against the stone wall over and over from his movement. Gemma knew someone might heard them but the palpable pleasure took over her conscience—because all the witch could think, see and feel was Regulus.
Regulus peered down with a huff, lips parted as he felt the heat burning from within. A sliver of pride washed over him when he watched the way her skirt rode upward and down. Or the way the obscene wet sound was echoing in the room. He was the only one who could do this to her, and when jealousy recalled how McKinnon had touched her. He raised his hand to grip on her hair and pulled at it. She craned her neck, staring at their reflection as he pushed harder, harsher—showing her this was how much he wanted her for his own.
Regulus caught her eyes on their reflection. A dark grin bloomed on his lips. He raised his arms to cage her between the table and his body heat. He whispered to her ear as he thrust harder, "See that, Goddess?" he thrust again, the greed on his eyes was delightful. His breath was hot against her earlobe as he whispered. "I want you to see how beautiful you are underneath me."
Her breath hitched in her throat as Gemma felt his palm was wrapped around her neck. The boy angled her jaw to see everything how he devoured her and how she, undeniably enjoyed this too. There was eagerness within each thrust, he was coiling his arms around her body as if he did not want to let her go. "This is how much I want you," thrust, "Never forget that."
His breath was brushing her nape arousingly, just when she thought everything couldn't get better he plunged himself harder. She moaned, but it didn't stop there, he found a good pace, it was not fast but hard and firm to coax moans from her. Gemma's jaw slacked open at the delirious sensation. Something was coiling inside her stomach, like tons of lovebugs eager to be unleashed. She tossed her head back and had he not muffle her with his palm she would have screamed as she reached her high. Regulus let out a guttural groan as he was met with his too, then pulled out as he came undone on her thighs.
There was a moment of nothingness but round of breathless pants between them. Gemma couldn't think straight as she felt her muscles sublimed and drenched in ecstasy. With a flick of his wand, he dressed himself up and wiped clean the witch's body. The heat made him tossed his robe by her side.
Gammaliel turned around and tucked in her clothes in a hurry to appear presentable. Regulus gently lifted her wrist, and kisses rained the marked skin. "I'm really sorry."
The gentleness returned to the boy as if he was reborn from whatever deity that was attached to him. Gemma said nothing, still in confusion about what had made him acted strangely. Then a slight pain panged her scar, she turned her head to find his robe. The closer she moved to his robe the more pain plunged her scar like a danger sign.
Her eyes trailed on the robe, ignoring Regulus's ramble and further apologies. With stinging pain, her fingers found the source of her pain. Inlaid glistening between his robe was his emerald prefect pinned to it. Azure eyes narrowed, transfixed on a cloud of dark flames veiled the badge.
It clicked to her, the reason why Regulus had been acting differently. The unexplainable anger, mercurial possessiveness, it came from dark magic.
His prefect badge was cursed.
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Author's note:
I was surprised none of you theorized the prefect badge. Also pardon my bad smut writing, I'm really tired I might edit the grammar and typos tomorrow and I always feel uncomfortable to write it.