She first meets him at Grimmauld Place.

While cleaning out doxies one night, she stumbles upon the abandoned room and finds him hidden behind a dusty white sheet. At first, she sees only dark black hair and pale skin so she believes it must be Sirius when he was younger. Once she removes the sheet and lightly dusts the frame, he stirs and looks at her and she knows it’s not Sirius.

The boy in the portrait is close to her age, no more than seventeen or eighteen, she decides. He’s handsome in the way she’s learning is common in the Black family, with high cheekbones, full lips, and a noble look about him that reminds her of the stories she read of Arthur and Merlin in times past. Azkaban has not been able to completely destroy Sirius’ looks, but he lacks the vitality and beauty of this boy.

There’s a moment when she thinks about re-covering the portrait, fully aware that one can’t be sure what one will find in this house, but he is looking at her in a way that prevents her from hiding him away again. His eyes are a dark gray that appear almost black with the dots of paint that make up his body. Living portraits are one area of the wizarding world that still feels odd to her and this is no exception. He speaks in a soft drawl that hints at wealth and education, his words precise and intelligent, and his gaze steady but curious.

It is then that she first meets Regulus Black.

During the remainder of the summer, she keeps him a secret from everyone. His portrait is hidden with her things, and she brings him out to talk when she’s alone at night or when Ginny is sleeping. He’s not at all what she expects for one of Sirius’ hated relatives. He has prejudices and firm opinions about many things, but he’s fascinating and intrigues her in a way that she knows is foolish to allow. It’s not just his looks, which are handsome even when simply comprised of dots of paint, but there’s something about him that draws her to him.

When it is time to go to Hogwarts, she takes him with her. Hermione isn’t a foolish girl and she has no use for the fanciful notions of others, but she realizes during sixth year, after hiding Regulus away for more than a year, that she is falling in love with a boy who is nothing but paint and canvas. This boy grew up to become a Death Eater and died before he saw his nineteenth birthday. His intelligence, his beauty, his sly wit and dry sense of humor did not save him from making a choice that led to his murder.

She tries to get rid of her infatuation by focusing her attention on Ron, but it’s useless. She becomes cranky, rude, and feels as if she’s losing control of her life. The majority of her sixth year passes with a few distinct memories but the rest is a blur of emotion and confusion. At Dumbledore’s funeral, she feels guilty for not helping, for not being there completely when Harry needed her, and she vows to never let him down again.

There are horcruxes to hunt and she can’t take Regulus with her. Ron and Harry would never understand what she, herself, can’t explain. The night before they leave Hogwarts to go with Harry before they return to the Burrow for Bill and Fleur’s wedding, they reach a zenith when she lies on her bed and listens to Regulus’ soft drawl as he tells her what to do to herself, as she closes her eyes and sees him above her, feeling him touching her, and her hands become his as she crosses a line she never thought she’d cross.

Regulus remains at Hogwarts when she leaves. Their relationship has become something complex and confusing, and Hermione knows it is ridiculous to allow herself to fall in love with the portrait of a dead man. Even when she tries to fight her developing feelings, she thinks of him and recalls whispered conversations on topics no one else understands or knows. She thinks of that night when he watched her touching herself, of what it would feel like for his hands to be on her bare skin, and she feels a sense of yearning that frustrates her.

She meets him again in a dark cottage in the wilds of Scotland, far away from anywhere where magic is thick and heavy in the air.

He is well hidden and it has taken them a month to locate and penetrate the wards that conceal his presence from those who believe him to be dead. He is taller than she expects and more slender, but his face is familiar beneath a dark beard and long black hair. When he catches her staring, he stares back and she shivers as she finds that she can’t look away. He is older, wiser, and there’s a scar on his arm from the mistake he made in his youth, but he’s still intelligent, quiet, and there’s something about him that draws her in.

This is when she really meets Regulus Black.

Ron and Harry are wary of him but his story is honest despite the complex nature of his death and the questions surrounding his loyalty. He knows of horcruxes and the secrets of Tom Riddle, speaks the name Voldemort with amusement instead of fear, and possesses a smugness that is reminiscent of Sirius but lacks the depth of arrogance that many might have in his position. He dislikes being found, has no interest in leaving his hidden shelter, and he looks at her curiously during their stay at his cottage.

She is drawn to him in life just as she is drawn to his portrait. At night while Harry and Ron find their first peaceful sleep since they’ve begun this search, she slips from her bed and finds him waiting for her. His eyes are a beautiful shade of gray that dots of paint could never truly capture and his voice is a familiar soft drawl as he asks her questions that she answers willingly while she moves closer to him. When their lips meet, his chapped and dry beneath hers, she shivers and he pulls her closer.

His hands are rough, his palms calloused from his lifestyle over the past years, and he leaves bruises on her pale skin. His beard rubs against her sensitive skin and his hair brushes against her face as he licks and nibbles her neck. He has an intensity that matches her own, his touch gentle at the same time it’s desperate, and it’s better than anything she ever imagined while lying in her bed alone at night.

This is the culmination, she knows as she moves beneath him. Her body is no longer sore when he thrusts inside her and gives her what she wants, takes what she offers. She scratches him, bites him, and marks him so she can remember he’s real, that he’s alive, and that he’s hers. After, he lies against her, his breath warm on her neck, and she feels content for the first time in years.

After four days of research and nights that leave her sated and sore, it is time to continue their search. They leave him in his dark cottage, protected from everything outside, and she looks back at him until he disappears from sight. He is in her blood now, more than before, and she is unsettled and restless before they’ve walked half of the miles it will take to be free of the wards he has built to keep himself safe from any who might realize he didn’t die that night so many years ago.

Harry and Ron know what she’s done, of course, but they don’t question her decision. Ron is past his sulking, possibly realizing, like she has, that they just aren’t meant for that sort of relationship. Harry squeezes her hand in a way that lets her know he’s there regardless of whether he agrees with her choice to share herself with Regulus Black. She thinks of horcruxes and plans to defeat Voldemort, of portraits and whispers at night, of rough hands and gentle kisses.

He finds them before they leave the wards. There is a knapsack over his shoulder and he’s shaved off his beard. He looks like himself again, how he looked before he hid away from the world, and Hermione smiles when their gazes meet. He mentions an old church he found in his research many years ago that Voldemort was linked to and a chalice rumored to have belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw.

When he takes her hand, Hermione feels settled once again. Her fingers entwine with his and he steals a kiss, just a brief pressing of his lips against hers. He pulls back and smirks, looking younger than before, and they follow Harry and Ron to the edge of the mountain where the world waits for them.

The End