71

Regan stayed on the floor with her head on her knees. The chamber was different from the one before. It seemed larger, with walls adorned with red and black tapestries. Three red velvet curtains covered the three gothic windows, all of them closed.

On the right side, there was a queen sized bed, blanket and pillows made of red silk. The bed was luring her to sleep, but she quickly hated herself for it. Across the room stood a large armoire. She hated Sirius even more for shoving her inside a room similar to his.

Regan stood up slowly, noticing the wardrobe had a mirror. She didn't want to look at herself but she couldn't help it. As soon as she reached her reflection, heat crept up on her cheeks when she realized whose coat she was wearing. The coat wasn't very bad but Regan quickly removed it and threw it away.

Her eyes travelled up and widened when she saw how her hair looked. As if it had been washed in silk. She ran a hand through her hair in frustration. She didn't like the one in the mirror, she didn't recognize her and she didn't want to.

She walked over to the other side where there was a door. She opened that door, revealing the bathroom. The bathroom had red and black tiles both on the walls and the floor. There was everything else it had to be called a luxurious bathroom.

Regan walked over to the sink and washed her face, throwing some water at her clothes since they were covered with dirt. The pants were torn on her knees, but she didn't care.

Stepping out, she slid the curtain from the window, not even knowing if it was day or night. It was evening. And the windows were covered with bars.

She felt her powers drained but she still could summon fire. And her gaze fell on the coat. Her hands lit up and she threw fire on it, the flame burning in front of her. 

She sat on the floor and leaned against the wall, watching the coat burn. Even throwing her anger there, wasn't enough. She felt as if she was the bad one in the story. 

She hugged her knees, her mind swirling with different thoughts. All bad. She wondered what Iris was doing, and if Sirius was going to let her and others live. But even if he did, Even if he did, they were probably tortured. 

She was stuck there, in his castle again. And now the worst thing was that deep down, she knew she deserved it. The first time she hadn't done anything to be held there. But that time, she was aware of her actions. 

The thoughts made her eyes fill with tears. But she wiped them off. She couldn't cry, she couldn't stay lost anymore. She hated herself and him but there was still something she could do. There was a way.

She wanted to burn other things as well, but that'd make her seem like a fool. She even felt guilty for burning the coat. It was beautiful and the material was comfortable. Not wasting anymore time, she stomped on the coat, and the fire subsided.

Then, she took the coat and scanned it. It hadn't burnt a lot. Again, Regan wanted to get rid of it. She felt like crazy. She threw the coat away again.

She threw fire at the door but it wasn't flammable. She gripped her hair in frustration. Staying like a fool was making her even more furious. She had to do something.

But there was nothing, there was no way out of the room, unless someone would come and she'd force her way out.

She started to put her mind in work for something smart, something that could make someone come into her room. The first thought was to bang loudly on the door. She did that. Except she didn't shout or yelled because she felt embarrassed to do so. No one opened the door.

She turned to the windows. As she put her elbow on the window, she began to hit it strongly. It was made of glass and she knew she could be getting some cut. And she didn't even know what she'd achieve by breaking it but she thought to do so.

The glass seemed to be completely undeterred but Regan didn't gave up. She kept hitting and after a while, she grabbed a bedside lamp. The lamp seemed strong because it was also heavy. She started to hit again and finally she saw a crack. She continued that way and finally, the glass broke, shattering in thousand pieces, sending them flying inside, and some outside. 

She felt one of them hitting past her forearm and yes, she got a cut. Or just another scar. She rolled up the sleeve and looked at the long, deep cut that was starting to show a line of blood. Her jaw clenched and she kicked of the remaining glass with her leg. She ignored the stinging feeling of the cut and thought to wrap it with something, but it was long and she needed to tear much of her clothes, which she wasn't patient to do.

The bars held no space but she could just peak her head out. It was night but there were light on the ground, it were the gardens of the tower. The chamber seemed to be high on floors. 

Her eyes searched for any sign of creature down there. And then, she saw. It was a maid.

"Hey!" she yelled. "Hey!"

The maid must have heard her because she was trying to find out where the voice was coming from.

"Up here!"

The maid seemed to understand now as she followed the voice and her gaze reached on the chamber's window. She saw Regan, waving at her. The maid held a shocked and scared look on her face as she hastily started to move away.

"No! The room is on fire!" Regan lied. All she wanted to do was to get someone sent in the room, "Did you hear me? It's on fire!"

The maid stopped in her steps and then she ran like a scared cat. Regan smacked her forehead in frustration.

"Stupid maid," she sneered.

The cut on her forearm was annoying her much more. It didn't hurt but the line of blood wasn't disappearing. Finally, she tore her sleeve off and managed to wrap it over her arm, although it didn't cover the cut whole.

She sighed, looked outside again, tracing any possible movement. The only thing that got her attention were three shiny coins on the handrail.

"Maybe they're useful," Regan murmured to herself. As soon as she slid them down her pocket, something so sudden happened. The door cracked, and swung open.

She turned back and there it was him, again.

So, the maid really did something.

Regan didn't wait for him to advance. She shot a fireball at him, to distract, and sprinted off past him. But even as she did so, it felt like an illusion, like he himself had let her run.

The hallway wasn't familiar, at least not something Regan remembered from her last time here. But she wasn't going to make it easy for him.

She saw some stairs and quickly ran on them, nearly falling from the cold marble tiles. She had no idea where to go but it was obvious that she wasn't going to turn back to that room.

Soon enough, she heard footsteps but she didn't know if it were hers or his.

And then, she felt something strike her shoulder, making her wince and halt on her steps, "Stop testing my patience," Sirius growled from behind her. The spot where he had hit her felt numb, and Regan slowly turned around to face him. He looked enraged, but not just that. He looked like he had accepted the challenge.

Fine then. She was going to show him what a challenge meant. Regan prepared another show of her power, shooting bursts of fire at him, but this time he defended, his own fire clashing against her like two opposing forces of nature.

"Stop it, Ylor," Sirius said, his voice cold but filled with strange sense of frustration. But she didn't stop, she took a step closer, trying to outpower him. He responded, his flame growing stronger, shortening her own. Regan felt a stab of fear. No, he couldn't be more powerful. She forced herself harder and this time she reached balance. Her fury was fueling her but she didn't know how much she could hold like this. He didn't seem deterred either.

"You're making this much harder than it should be," Sirius said, gritting his teeth. With a jerk of his hand, his fire drifted, and he himself nearly got hit square in chest by Regan's one. Regan took a moment to catch her breath, a flicker of worry flashing in her eyes.

But he wasn't planning to back down, "You want to fight?" he said, but he didn't smirk, there was no mockery. And it didn't make it any better. It was just....coldness.

"Yes, I want to fight," Regan answered.

Sirius's eyes narrowed, but he didn't move. Regan didn't know what to expect. And then, out of nowhere, a mist of smoke rose from the ground, coiling around her like a snake's embrace. The smoke had no smell, no taste, just made from a terrifying black mist. But the pressure that began to build inside her head, the tremors that started to betray her, they were becoming unbearable quickly. 

"What....what are you doing?" Regan stuttered, her hand coming up to shot at him, but with a flick of his wrist, he froze it on mid-air.

"You know nothing of me, of what I'm capable of doing to you," Sirius snapped at her, his voice sounding way too harsher than before, "And yet you think I'm standing there, letting you sass around because I can't stop you. You're so wrong, Regan. I can, but I don't want to."

His words were just background to her ears. Regan had never felt something like that before, like the very smoke trapping her soul, not just her body. But then, as soon as it came, it was gone. His dark spell had dissipated, and Regan found herself struggling for breath and balance.

"You're a monster," she spat at him, her voice now shaking with both fear and anger, "You think you broke me just because you used some dark magic?"

"I don't want to break you," he retorted, but his voice had taken another edge, not a sharper one, "But that's what it's always is for you."

"Damn you!" she cursed.

"I'm already damned," Sirius said, taking a step closer, "you've damned my mind long ago."

Regan didn't get his words but she felt her cut on forearm sting in pain. She looked down to see the cloth stained. 

She cursed under her breath but the next she was going to look back at him, his grip was on her forearm.

A sharp pain coursed through her and he seemed to notice. His gaze fell on her arm and then he saw. He immediately released her, and took hold of her wrist, his touch surprisingly gentle. His face twisted into a frown, his eyes filling with worry, "What have you done? Have you cut yourself?"

"No!" Regan retorted, yanking her arm away.

She tried to run past him but this time he caught her by the other arm and held her in place, "You're not going anywhere," he growled.

He started to drag her with him. Regan tried to struggle but his grip was unyielding. Finally, she set herself free, "I'm not going with you!" she yelled, her voice echoing in the empty corridor "Leave me alone, you sick sadistic bastard!" 

Her cut was indeed bleeding, and it wasn't unnoticeable. But she thought he was going to let her go when she walked away and he just stood there. But she was wrong. So wrong.

Sirius caught her within the second, his arm firmly wrapping around her waist. Regan's hands shot and hit at his chest, but he seized them with ease, pinning her wrists behind her with his hand and tying them by an invisible force. 

Regan felt a stab of fear when she couldn't move her hands anymore, her breathing going ragged, "What the hell are you doing?" she yelled, her body still struggling.

She got no answer. He was searching for something in his pockets and then revealed a filled syringe to her. Regan's eyes widened with horror and panic, "No no, don't!" she exclaimed, trying to kick him away. 

"You're hurt," he said coldly, his eyes blank. He brought the syringe to her neck and she was trembling. She felt the cold tip of the neddle against her neck and she wanted to hold on something but she couldn't. "N-no...." Regan cried out but he pressed it on her skin and she felt a wave of chills shot through her bloodstream. He took the needle out after it emptied, not waiting for her reaction.

He lifted her in his arms effortlessly, carrying her up the corridor. Regan felt the shot taking effect. Her eyelids felt heavy and her mind was dizzy. She forced herself to stay awake. It wasn't the right time to fall unconscious.

"No!" she demanded, struggling against his grip, "Put me down!"

"Sleep," he retorted, not looking down at her.

"I'm not going to sleep!" she yelled, her voice trembling. She was terrified, she didn't want to be carried and she didn't want to fall unconscious. "What are you going to do once I pass out?"

He shook his head in frustration as he hastily climbed the stairs, "I'm going to throw you to the wolves and I'm going to make sure they eat you," he sneered. He looked at her forearm, it was severely cut. His expression darkened and he cursed under his breath.

Regan felt embarrassment and shame through her, what if Vesper or anyone else saw her like this? Her eyelids grew heavy and he seemed to lure her in sleep. He looked down at her again, "Sleep, kitten."

"No..." she mumbled, her voice barely audible as exhaustion washed over her. She felt herself falling into a deep slumber.

As Sirius saw that she fell asleep, he sighed and carried her up to his chamber. He laid her gently on the bed, his expression conflicted. Regan's face softened in sleep, the lines of worry and anger smoothing out. He took hold of her arm's wound, realizing once more how badly she had hurt herself.

He began to clean up the wound with antiseptic, each movement gentle. After he finished, he kissed it featherlightly, using magic to heal the wound. It left only a faint line of scar tissue behind. He watched her for a moment, his gaze lingering on her peaceful face. He reached out to brush her locks away from her forehead, his expression softening with a blend of emotions.

He had seen Regan sleeping for countless times, since he began to haunt her on Earth. She had thought about it, he guessed. But still she hadn't been fully aware.

His eyes darted to her torn clothes and he knew that she was anything but comfortable in that uniform. He could change it using magic, but things would turn sour when she'd wake up.

Anyway, he could manage. He could change her again before she'd wake up. It was risky but he didn't want her to be uncomfortable. He wanted her to sleep without any discomfort.

He didn't have women's clothes in his chamber, so he stood up and grabbed one of his own shirts from the wardrobe. With a flick of his fingers, the old military suit she had been wearing dissipated into his shirt. It reached down to her mid-thighs, but he couldn't stand it when she wore bad clothes, let alone sleep in them. It was why he had given her a whole damn wardrobe that she never used.

He knew he couldn't let her wake up before switching her clothes again. If that happened, it'd be a disaster.

He then sat on the bed and leaned on his elbow beside her, gazing down at her with a mixture of tenderness and regret. He cast another spell at her, one that would clean her up, and one that would also clean up her military clothes too.

And then he covered her with the silky blankets, tucking her in.

He kept studying her features, like he had done many times before. The way her black lashes rested against her pale cheeks, her slightly parted lips, and the soft, steady breath that escaped her.

"I didn't want to hurt you," he murmured, brushing his hand over her cheek, tracing her scar with his thumb. He was the reason of that scar, the reason of the war that had left its mark on her. And guilt burnt inside him for that. But she still looked beautiful to him, no matter how scars she'd have.

He ran his fingers through her hair gently, lost in thought. He remembered what she said earlier about him having mistresses. She was jealous, jealous of him having other girls and he was enjoying every moment of it.

But he also remembered when she said those things about him being like other men, wanting only what she thought he wanted. But he didn't want what she thought he wanted. And even if he told her that, she wouldn't believe him. She was stubborn as hell, believing everything she thought.

Yes, he wanted power and control, he wasn't going to lie. But he didn't want it in the way she thought. He wanted it because he was a ruler, because it was in his nature to seek knowledge and mastery over everything. And it wasn't an instinctive nature. It was one he had grown up with, one he had carries himself with, his whole life. The terrible things he had done and still did....things, that maybe he wasn't proud of. But she didn't have to know that, all she had to know was that he had never seen her in some sort of lustful way. She was different.

But what would be the point to tell her that. His image was sealed in her mind as the villain, the embodiment of everything she hated and fought against. And yes, he was. But he didn't have only one side.

He didn't know what he felt. Was it....love? He didn't know, he had never felt something like that before. The need to protect and keep someone close. All he knew was that he couldn't bear the thought of not having her there.

And so, he continued to watch her until he drifted off to sleep himself, the conflict within him unresolved.

The next morning he woke up to find Regan sleeping in his arms, her peaceful expression softened by the morning light filtering through the curtains. Her hand was clutching his shirt gently, her crimson locks sprawled across the pillow. A smile stretched on his lips. He had no idea how she ended up in his embrace, but feeling content enough to have her beside him.

With a sigh, he did what he had longed to do for so long. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and inhaled the sweet scent of her hair. She was asleep, she didn't know, and she only snuggled closer. His chest tightened, and his heart raced just like everytime it did when it was about her. He didn't know what he was feeling, but he knew he didn't want it to end. He wondered what it'd be like if she knew and didn't pull away.

But that was a foolish thought, an absurd hope. What if she woke up now? What if she woke up and realized where she was, who she was with, what she was wearing? She'd be terrified, furious. She'd hate him even more and she'd accuse him of the things she had done earlier. No, he wasn't going to let her wake up here.

He decided to teleport her back to her room. And when she'd wake up, she wouldn't know anything about him being there. She'd sink in her own hatred and still maybe accuse him of doing something he hadn't done.

The drug's effect would hold for a while and when he thought that, he couldn't bring himself to let go of her. He was so foolish, it was like he couldn't believe she was here, even if it was his own doing.

As if he didn't know any better, his hand reached out to her neck, applying gentle pressure. She stiffened but didn't wake up. His fingers traced the line of her jaw and then....then her lips. He had to get a grip on himself. What in the world was he doing?

She shifted slightly from her position and he immediately withdrew his hand, holding his breath. Darn, he was walking on a tightrope with his consciousness being all aware. But her neck, her lips....the thought of someone else touching her, even with no intentions, even just a strand of her hair, it made his blood boil. Viggo, that son of a bitch, had the audacity to lay his hands on her. Sirius's hand curled into a fist, the need to hit something overwhelming.

He leaned closer to her and whispered, "You're mine, and I'll never let you go," his voice a husky promise. But she remained oblivious to his words, her breaths calm, her body nestled into his embrace. 

With the same clothing-changing spell, he put her back in his army's uniform. She had fought so well in that battle, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. She was his little girl, his strong red haired, sharp tongued witch, even if she didn't know. And his pride was absurd, when all she had done was rebel against his rule.

Reluctantly, he pulled away. It felt like a piece of his soul was being torn as he did so. He gently lifted her and teleported them both back to her room, laying her down on her bed. Sirius lingered for a moment, watching her sleeping form with a mixture of frustration and regret. He didn't want her to remember anything of it. But he, he'd do and he'd never forget. And he would keep playing his part in the game, the part he had played his whole life. 

His expression softened and he brushed her hair away from her face and tucked her in, "Sleep my angel," he whispered, his voice carrying a blend of tenderness and melancholy. With a heavy heart, he

turned and vanished, leaving her alone, with no memory of his presence.