Black Rose [Regulus Black]

"More," she insisted. "I'm getting better at this, I swear."

Alessandra was having the time of her life so far. Yes, she was in a lair of murderers led by her father who did not know of her existence, and yes, there was a good chance she could die because of her lies, but so what? At least she had perfected the art of dance.

Or so she'd thought, but Regulus' legs begged to scream otherwise.

"Yeah, you've only mildly bruised my feet so far, stepped on it only ten times last time," Regulus huffed, but it was only half-hearted because he let himself be pulled back onto the floor with Alessandra.

"Exactly," she beamed. "See, I could've made your legs fall off by now because of bad dancing, but I didn't."

"I don't think that's how it- ow!"

"Sorry!" she whispered sheepishly when she stepped on his foot for the millionth time that night. "I'll try not to let it happen again."

He grunted when she kicked his shin and his eyes watered a little as he let out a pained whimper.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," she gasped.

"No, it's fine, I don't think my bone has fully shattered yet." He shut his eyes and when they opened, she could see a light silvery film covering his grey eyes.

"Maybe we should stop."

"We definitely should," he replied, taking a step away from her although their fingers still remained tangled together.

"Your stamina is just too low for these kinds of activities," she snickered.

"I'm sure it's exactly that," he drawled.

"Maybe next time," she said, following him to where the velvety chairs were and sitting down beside him. A spike of pain shot through her, and she winced.

"We'll see."

They both knew he'd rather jump off a cliff.

"Little cousin."

Alessandra shuddered when she saw Bellatrix, who was dressed in a black (you guessed it!) gown. Bellatrix looked scarily delightful, with the luxurious dress highlighting her already gorgeous features, but her eyes still looked so...dead.

"Bellatrix," Regulus sighed, actually wishing they were back on the dance floor with his feet getting trampled every two seconds. He certainly preferred it over having a conversation with his unhinged cousin. "Wonderful party."

"Rodolphus' mother organized it," Bellatrix said dismissively, distaste visible on her features. "It's too colourful for my taste."

It was common knowledge that Bellatrix would probably design the room with swathes of black fabric, splatters of blood on the wall and the organs of her dead enemies in the food, so it made perfect sense that she said that.

"Of course," he mumbled.

"I must say," Bellatrix began, waving her wand to summon a chair and sitting down beside them. "I didn't think you'd come."

"Why is that?" Alessandra asked, leaning back casually to disguise her fear.

"I had a suspicion, let's say..." Bellatrix grinned toothily, a spine-chilling gesture. "You can't blame me, you were in a Muggle neighbourhood."

"Fair enough," Alessandra let out a relieved exhale, because that must have meant that she didn't suspect them anymore.

Wrong.

"Now that I have full confidence that you are not blood traitors, I have someone for you to meet."

Oh, that did not sound good.

Alessandra stilled when she sensed a presence behind her, and beside her, she could feel Regulus stiffen.

That most certainly was not good.

"My Lord," Regulus spun around on his heel and bowed his head, and Alessandra followed his lead.

In front of them stood Lord Voldemort in all his glory, black cape billowing and reptilian features pulled into a stern expression. Alessandra's heartbeat thundered in her eardrums, it sounded like waves of scorching fire were lapping around inside her cochlea. It wasn't her first time seeing the Dark Lord but it was her first time seeing her father, but she couldn't seem to tell the difference despite the knowledge she'd gained.

"Regulus Black. And you've brought your friend."

She wasn't sure if it was just his voice, but it was practically dripping distaste as he mentioned her.

"Yes, my Lord."

She noticed the way Bellatrix leaned forward interestedly, her posture giving away that she was expecting something.

Alessandra's heart unpleasantly plummeted to her stomach when her father's gaze slid over to her, and she tried her best not to give away the pure fear she felt. Actually, she was fairly certain he reveled in others' fear of him, but she didn't want to appear so terrified that he'd wonder why and do some unnecessary digging.

"Tell me, what is your name again?"

"Alessandra Vuitton." Her gaze moved behind him to spot a familiar face. The person had blonde hair not different from her own, and nausea permeated her entire being when she realised that it was her mother, whose own gaze was filled with anxiety.

Which had to mean that Dabria Rosier knew who Alessandra was.

Whether she would actually make that grand reveal (for theatrics or elevated social status), Alessandra did not know.

"I do recall that the last time we spoke, you said you were very eager to serve, to make an addition to the Death Eaters."

Alessandra remembered reading somewhere that wearing a smile was less painful than wearing a frown because of the number of muscles used. Well, she was forced to smile now and it was the most painful thing she'd experienced.

If she could go back and find that book, she'd make a correction: a true smile wasn't painful. And what she wore then was in no way a true smile. It was a gut-wrenching, soul-chilling one, one that she wore to conceal the cold tendrils of fear wrapping themselves around her being.

No wonder most of the purebloods acted like they had a stick up their arses, if she had to constantly fake-smile, she would too.

It was strange to envision a world where she'd lived among the purebloods, but there, standing in front of the man who was her father by blood, the picture of her life in this world emerged from the haze. It was of a life which was much easier, where she too hated Muggles and had more money than she required, and she was happy (because ignorance is bliss).

And she didn't know whether she liked or hated it.

"Yes."

Voldemort's lips thinned (more than she thought possible) as if he were displeased by her response, causing her stress to increase hundredfold. She hoped that the Occlumency lessons Reg had given her were effective, because if anyone in that room could read her mind, she was as good as dead.

"Yes," he echoed. "But you haven't proven your worth yet."

She merely bowed her head because she had no idea what to say to that. If she sounded unwilling, he would suspect her. If she sounded overenthusiastic, he would definitely make her a Death Eater.

"She may not be worthy yet, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered, tipping her head towards the man eagerly. "But I am willing to train her for you, if you wish..."

Oh, Bellatrix fancied the man.

Oh, Bellatrix wanted to be her stepmother.

Revulsion rose up in Alessandra at that, and it took every last inch of her willpower not to throw up on the snake which had just slithered its way into the little meeting that was going on.

"Silence, Bellatrix," Voldemort snapped, and the dark-haired woman's shoulders hunched as she waddled back pathetically. "No, everything will happen in due time."

That did not sound ominous at all.

Alessandra's smile wavered a little as her body was wracked with pain once again. She didn't get why it hurt so bad, and she couldn't pinpoint the cause of it.

He turned away from her to face Regulus, whose face remained impassive as ever. "The service you did me by handing over your house-elf is appreciated by our cause, Regulus. How is he now?"

Alessandra's eyebrows furrowed a little as she tried to decipher that sentence. It didn't make sense for the Dark Lord, mass murderer of Muggles, to inquire about the well-being of a house-elf. Yes, Regulus cared for his house-elf, so maybe wizards did care about house-elves, but his behaviour seemed anomalous among the pureblood population, because she'd seen Walburga mistreat Kreacher and she'd seen the Lestranges kick their house-elves just today.

So why did he ask?

"Recovering, my Lord. I don't think his mind will ever be the same, he seems to be facing severe memory loss and rarely remembers anything now."

What?

"Pity, pity."

The Dark Lord did not sound very pitiful.

Alessandra released a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding when the Dark Lord walked past them without a single word, and Bellatrix followed after him like a moth drawn to a flame.

"That was stressful," she commented, exhaling deeply.

When Regulus didn't reply, she glanced at him and saw his eyes trained on a spot in the distance. She followed his gaze, to see two men approaching them from across the ballroom.

Evan Rosier and Barty Crouch.

She realised that it was probably bad that the duo had spotted Reg and her together, but if she made a hasty exit now, it would look even more suspicious.

So, she dug in her heels and waited. In her spare time, her eyes roamed over the entirety of the ballroom as though she was subconsciously looking for an exit, and she noticed that her mother had disappeared off to somewhere.

Her breath hitched in her throat when she saw Cressida Greengrass eying them from across the room, and her gaze automatically snapped back to Barty and Evan, who had now reached them.

"Well," Barty prompted, his gait giving away his sheer excitement. "Did you talk to him about recruiting me into the Death Eaters?"

This idiot wanted to join the Death Eaters willingly?! Was he mad?

Then again, with people like Walburga and Bellatrix, it wasn't that hard to believe. She still didn't understand why, though. What had the Muggles done to wizards for the latter to hate the former with such a burning passion?

She tried to recall any events from her history textbook, but her effort proved to be useless because nothing came up, probably because she was asleep in most history classes.

"Not yet," Regulus murmured.

Barty visibly deflated. "When will you do it?"

"I will do it when I can," Regulus exhaled impatiently, a movement she didn't miss.

"What was he talking to you about then?" Barty rounded on her. "Was he asking to recruit you?"

"Um, I-"

"You're scaring the poor girl off, Barty," Evan snapped, and she noticed a trace of annoyance in his blue eyes. Was he a Death Eater?

Probably.

Her heart sank.

"It's not my fault I was born into a family of bloodtraitors, Rosier," Crouch sneered, and Alessandra did a double take upon hearing her last name. "You lot have had everything handed to you on a silver platter. You come from 'respectful' families, and I have to work my way to the top. You don't even appreciate your heritage or status, while I would kill to have mine."

It didn't take a genius to understand that Barty Crouch would quite literally kill to gain status, and that made him dangerous, because it made him a valuable tool in the Dark Lord's eyes.

So, why hadn't Voldemort exploited this tool yet?

Also, how was it that this entitled boy was complaining about the family he was born into when he thirsted for the blood of others who didn't choose their families? God, the stupidity of these beliefs astonished her. She would never understand why people believed in this nonsense – it made no sense to her.

"Enough," Regulus said calmly. "You forget that we are the reason you are even here. If it weren't for us, you wouldn't even get to attend this ball or countless others. It's our status that got you here, so watch your mouth because I can have you kicked out faster than you can blink."

Barty folded his arms and seethed, and Alessandra eyed her brother, who looked serious in that moment.

What was Evan Rosier like, she wondered. Would she and him get along? Would they have a close relationship, or would they be like Sirius and Regulus?

What about Dabria? Did her mother actually want to give her away, or was she forced to by her husband? Did her mother regret giving her away? She'd seen the kind of relationship Evan had with his mother, and she yearned for a similar one.

What about her father? Did he even know she existed? Would anything have changed if he had known?

So many questions.

She noticed that he'd left through a doorway with Bellatrix in tow. The pain didn't seem to let up even then, as shown by the black spots now dancing across her eyes, and she turned around to drink her glass of water, giving her an excuse to shut her eyes in hopes that the pain would alleviate just a little. The trio in front of her was now talking but their faces were blurred and their voices muffled, and her vision was tilting dangerously...

...until it wasn't, and she felt grass crunching underneath her feet as arms walked her across what seemed to be a lawn. She blinked to clear her vision, and when she had, she saw Regulus staring at her in concern.

"What happened?"

"I don't know," she pressed her hand to her forehead, holding his shoulder with her other to steady herself. "I think Bellatrix may have done something to me."

She saw his jaw clench and felt a little worried, because he looked like he was ready to bolt back in there and kill his cousin. "What do you mean?"

"Everything seemed fine until... she walked by, and then this pain erupted inside me."

"Did you eat or drink anything?"

"Water, but it seemed untouched, and I didn't have anything after she came by. I don't know for certain if she did something to me, she's had no reason to-"

"Bellatrix doesn't need a reason," Regulus snapped, grey eyes blazing with a fire she hoped wasn't directed at her. "Are you fine now?"

"A little better." She was now beginning to feel guilty for disrupting... whatever was going on there between the three. "I'm fine, honestly, it's nothing, we can go back inside."

"It's fine, I told them I had to take you to a portkey because you're going away for a week. It's for the best anyways, Bartemius is annoying me."

"Bartemius?"

"Barty."

"What kind of name is Bartemius?" she choked out, amusement rising up in her. Walburga, Rodolphus, Bartemius... the names here were so much more creative than in the Muggle world.

"He's named after his father."

"So... Bartemius Crouch the second," she was now openly laughing, the pain minimized to a light throb, and they both sat down on a bench that sat right in the center of the gardens of Lestrange Manor. "What, are you Regulus Black the fourth?"

"The second, actually."

"Wait, what?"

Apparently they weren't as creative as she thought then.

"And Sirius is Sirius Orion Black the Third."

"If I didn't know him any better, I would have thought he was one of those posh folks who wore  top hats and fancy watches and always walked around with a gold studded cane or something like that."

"You just described my father, but without the top hat."

She sobered up when she saw his serious expression. A few moments later, because she couldn't help herself, she asked, "What was your father like?"

"Half as loud as my mother," he snorted. "But twice as strict."

She winced. She didn't think anyone was capable of being stricter than Walburga. "What's my brother like?"

He hummed, as though deep in thought. "He's fucked in the head. But we all are, he just handles it by being goofy."

"He seemed very serious today. And a little annoyed."

"Anyone that spends too much time around Barty nowadays tends to be that way." Regulus turned around to discreetly peek into the ballroom as though to check if someone was eavesdropping through the polished glass windows of the Manor, and then stood up and offered his hand to her. "Let's go to a place where there's less chance of us being overheard."

She grabbed his hand and hauled herself up, rolling her shoulders as she felt a tingly shiver run down her spine. She was now hyperaware of how close they were and how perfectly her hand fit in his and how his features were so much sharper in the moonlight-

She yelped when he apparated without warning (to be fair to him, he had said that he was going to apparate them somewhere), and when her feet hit the ground, she wobbled unsteadily and would've fallen if it weren't for Regulus' hand on her arm.

"Are you fine?"

"Splendid," she said weakly, eying their surroundings when she didn't feel like a house of cards on the verge of collapse. "Where are we?"

"The old Black Manor."

Their surroundings were hauntingly melancholic, to say the least. There was no sound, save for the crunch of what seemed to be dead grass under their feet and the chirps of crickets. The usually-delightful scent of petrichor only added on to the mysterious feel, as though someone had bottled the scent up and added chemicals to it to make it lethal and sleep-inducing. Under the dim light of the moon and the surprisingly sharp shadows cast by it, everything seemed much more threatening, and it felt like they were in the wild, which probably meant there were blood-sucking hounds nearby or something like that.

"But, um... where is the Manor?"

He went silent for a few moments and she felt scared out of her mind, as she involuntarily began imagining all the worst case scenarios. Her fingers started to tingle with magic as a precautionary measure, and her breathing grew rapid.

"Relax, there's anti-Muggle wards, I'm taking them down so you can see it," he said almost on-cue, as if he could tell what was going on in her mind, and she felt so glad that it was dark so he wouldn't be able to see the way her cheeks reddened.

Her eyes widened when their surroundings underwent a complete 180, almost like the large, rundown manor in front of them just shot up out of the ground like some modern take on Jack and the Beanstalk.

When she got over her shock, she took time to reassess her surroundings and holy shit.

The Manor was easily one hundred times the size of her house, perhaps even more, and even though it looked like the setting for a horror movie, it looked glamorous.

She wanted one.

If only her bank account wasn't as big as the seed Jack used to plant his beanstalk.

Her mind began concocting all sorts of plans... maybe she could do a solo version of Ocean's Eleven... or find an easy way out by marrying someone very rich and then becoming a widow after husband dearest died a 'mysterious' death... or-

She was brought back-to-Earth when she felt Reg gently push her shoulder. "Yes?"

"You looked like you were about to faint."

"How can't I, this place is insane," she muttered. "Why don't you live here?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "Before my Uncle died, he wasn't quite of sound mind, so he'd be babbling about something or the other. Before he got disowned, he'd talk about this place and how there was a family feud over this house. Apparently, a large section of the family tree got cut out because of the dispute and a few years later, my father accidentally set it on fire and blamed it on a house-elf."

She did not want to ask what happened to that poor house-elf.

"Why couldn't they just repair the house with magic?"

"It was Fiendfyre. Causes permanent destruction. It's a miracle this entire place wasn't razed, thanks to my grandfather's friend's expertise."

"So, do you come here often?"

He nodded. "My parents never found out about it. Before I could apparate, I'd bring Kreacher along, and now I can come here whenever."

"What do you do here then?"

His fingers laced through hers and he tugged her along as he walked through the long grass. He seemed so determined, like there was some fixed destination he was going to even though it looked like they were in the middle of nowhere with nothing but wilted plants around them.

A few moments later, she found that they were in the middle of nowhere but there was more than just wilting plants around them. She didn't know how she hadn't noticed it before, but apparently, there was a shimmering lake right in front of the manor.

Isn't this place just full of surprises?

"I sit here," he said simply, sitting down as if to prove his point and pulling her down to sit beside him, with her head resting on his shoulder and his hand looped around her waist.

They let the comfortable silence take over them while she took in her surroundings and he... did whatever he was doing.

The place was ordinary. The trees were trees, the grass was grass and the lake was a lake. The manor was permanently damaged and was probably as gloomy as all pureblood manors... but she could still understand why he liked coming here.

It was quiet. No worries, no tension - she could see all the negativity leave him as his posture visibly relaxed. It was also close to his family, and having witnessed the state of affairs in his house, it didn't take much to deduce that he probably felt guilty for feeling free when he wasn't around his family, so he came to a place which shared a connection to the Black Family so he didn't feel as bad about it.

Here, he was Regulus. Not Regulus Black the second, heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Death Eater  and the betrothed of Cressida Greengrass. He was just Regulus.

And he probably enjoyed being just-Regulus, because who didn't enjoy escaping their burdens, even if it was only temporary?

"You know, I'm starting to think that bringing you to pureblood parties is a bad idea now."

"They're not even parties, they're family reunions at this point," she rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "Except only one of us seems to know it's a reunion most of the time."

"Most of the time?"

"I'm fairly certain my mother knows."

A pause. Then —

"She probably won't say anything."

"Hopefully not."

"She's actually not bad, definitely not as bad as others."

I wouldn't know, would I?

"How would my brother react if he knew?"

"He'd faint first. Then, he'd buy matching onesies and so much more." He made a sound of disgust. "The mere thought of it makes me want to pitch myself off the Astronomy Tower."

A laugh escaped her. "Really? Matching onesies?"

"He fucking tried it in fifth year, with the entire Quidditch team."

"Did they do it?"

"They burnt the onesies. Definitely did not see that one coming."

She pressed her head against his shoulder to stop her laughter but she couldn't hold it in anymore, and soon they'd both toppled back onto the grass and were laughing so hard it was almost painful. It took a while for them to stop, because when one would catch their breath, the other's snickering would set them off once again.

"Did he embarrass you often?"

"So many times," he groaned. "It wasn't even a conscious effort. The worst was when I was about to get my mark, and he conjured up a terrible visual of my cousin and... I don't even want to think about it."

"Your cousin seems to be a little... attached... to-"

"She's... devoted."

"She looks like she's madly in love with him." Alessandra gagged a little because just saying it out loud made her want to throw up. "It's so painful to watch."

It was also painful because it appeared that she knew more about a complete stranger's feelings than she knew of her own, and that truly was pathetic.

But, what was she supposed to do? What could she do that would be appropriate in this situation? She was caught between a rock and a hard place — if she didn't do anything, she'd probably combust because of the build-up of emotions, and if she did something, there was a huge chance it could destroy their friendship.

"I like to think I've grown immune to it, but every time I see her attempt to interact with him, it makes me want to climb into a pit of Blast-Ended Skrewts."

"And she's married! How does her husband not notice it? Even I noticed it, and I'm one of the most oblivious people to exist."

"Yes, you are oblivious," he commented, twirling a piece of her hair, and she slapped his shoulder half-heartedly. "But no, I'm fairly certain he's noticed. He just doesn't care. Everyone knows that most pureblood marriages have at least one affair."

That made sense, because Alessandra was the product of an affair.

"Why do they get married then?"

"Duty."

"That sounds sad."

"Maybe. It sounds easy though, doesn't it? Just agree to what your parents are saying and marry someone, and you get to keep your wealth and status and live a comfortable life."

"And your sanity?"

"I'm a Black, my sanity is bound to erode regardless of my marital status."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"There's always been this rumour that the members of the Black Family are usually driven to insanity, because the previous generations of my family have had several mad people in them."

"So, what, you could just snap one day and go mad in front of me?"

He smiled, although she didn't understand why. "I'm already going mad, just not for the reasons you think."

There was something hidden under there which she couldn't decipher.

"You sound so cheerful while saying it."

His eyes grew a little sad. "Maybe I am happy about it."

She decided to change the topic because he didn't sound so cheerful anymore. "Do you think alternative universes exist?"

He raised an eyebrow. "That's a deep topic. Where did that come from?"

"All these unplanned family reunions always leave me wondering what my life would've been like if the Rosiers waited a few years and realised that I wasn't a Squib."

"They probably do exist. Alternative universes, I mean. Nearly everything we do is a choice, so when we make one, the other path that wasn't taken diverges from our timeline to form another one."

"So in another universe, you and I never crossed paths after you came crashing through my window, or never crossed paths at all because you never came through. Or, in another one, Sirius landed in Azkaban because we decided to report him for theft... or, in another-"

"You'll drive yourself mad thinking about it that much."

"No, but really, what would my life have been like? Very different, I know that, but how?"

He didn't answer her question. "I don't think you should think about it, it'll only upset you more. We all yearn for what we can't have, and it leads to nothing but pain."

"So wise," she muttered, "But it is interesting to hypothesize, isn't it?"

"I find it painful," he told her. "Because it's not like we can turn back time, so why spend time ruminating over what could've been?"

"True. I still think about it though, it's involuntary at this point. Like, what if I wasn't sent to the Muggle world? You wouldn't have to spend time teaching me 7 years of school syllabus in a few weeks. I probably wouldn't be great at wandless magic because I had no practice of it. There's a good chance I'd be a blood supremacist. But, I'd have enough money to last a thousand lifetimes. I wouldn't have to lift a finger. I'd probably be more organised, smarter, more elegant-"

"I think you're perfect the way you are," Regulus interjected.

It took a moment for her to fully process what he said because those eight words knocked the breath out of her.

"Why?" she couldn't help but ask, because she had thrown a plate at him when they'd first met.

He finally turned to look at her. "You just are."

There, sitting under the stars tangled with him, it felt like something was wrapping itself around her chest in a way that was enjoyable but almost painful. It was strange how eyes were the window to the soul, but his pale grey eyes looked like they were analyzing her soul. 

She couldn't think.

And later, she liked to think that the lack of oxygen to her brain led to her possibly-very-foolish decision of pressing her lips against his.

Within two seconds, she pulled away. Her insides were flooded with a barrage of emotions (most of which were negative) as she tried to assess his expression. He was as still as a statue, although she could tell from his wide eyes and slightly parted lips that he was surprised. She felt horrified and scared that she'd just made a very stupid mistake, but she also felt a little bit of relief because she'd put herself out there. Yes, it took her weeks to do so, but she finally did it, and at least she wouldn't have another 'what if' plaguing her for a lifetime.

She drew back a little and blinked at him nervously, completely frozen on the spot. She had absolutely no idea what to do, whether to ask him if he was still alive or just run far away to Antarctica.

Thankfully, she didn't have to do either because he suddenly came alive, pulling her towards him and kissing her hungrily. Tidal waves of relief and happiness came crashing over her as she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her hands in his hair, kissing him till her lungs gave out.

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