belladonna | marauders imagines

Regulus | Night We Met

I reccommend listening to rue des trois frères while reading this <3

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The rain had died down, and what remained were muddy puddles, drenched trees and cold air. You sat down near the garden, looking at the way birds peeked out of trees, full of caution and hope.

You had just reached your house after an Order meeting. Those always bought more bad news — of deaths, suffering and torture. At times, you couldn't keep your tears at bay. By now, you were supposed to have started your sixth year at Hogwarts. All of you were way too young to be fighting for your lives.

"Hey."

The voice made you jump up in shock, and you turned around to see a boy about your age, with curly-dark hair and a long black coat. His eyes matched the shade of clouds above, and he looked immensely familiar.

"Who are you?" You asked, wondering whether you should take your wand out.

"Regulus Black."

In a way, you were even more confused. Yes, now it made sense why he looked familiar, but if he was the same brother Sirius said he had, you expected someone who looked like an assassin. Regulus only seemed like a fae caught in a dream.

"What are you doing here? Sirius isn't—"

"I came to see you, actually."

You frowned. "Why?"

"Do I have to have a reason?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe I just wanted to get away from the war plans and blood. Is that too bad?"

"I suppose not," you agreed, glad of a distraction yourself. "But you don't know me."

"Actually, I was passing by and the only house I knew in this neighborhood was yours." He smiled. "Besides, remember how we met in that party once? I kept looking at you the entire night and never got the courage to ask you to a dance?"

You laughed for the first time in days, remembering the one he was talking about. You were not having a great time that day, but you hadn't missed this boy's curious glances. You thought he looked cute, but before you could introduce yourself, he had left the event.

"I remember," you said, folding your hands with a playful smirk.

"Well, Miss. L/N, I think you owe me a dance," he said politely, holding one of his hands out. You wanted to grin again.

"Did you come here to ask me to dance with you?"

"Not really, I wanted something that made me forget everything that's going on," he admitted. "So for this evening, can you promise me you won't talk about death eaters or death or anything about the war?"

You looked at him for a second, kind of in awe, kind of in surprise. Was he for real? Did people usually show up and talk as if they've been friends with you over the years? You decided not to question it.

"I promise," you replied, accepting his hand.

He took it with utmost delicacy, then pulled you to him in a swift motion, too fast that you hit the square of his chest and started laughing again.

He didn't mind. In fact, his entire objective seemed to be focused on having a good time and not finesse.

He spun you around faster, leaving you no time to blush. There may not have been any music, but there was a rhythm to his movements, as if he's listening and responding to the nature — to the chirruping birds finding their way back home, soft rustle of tree branches, insects' sounds, and of course, the beats of your heart.