Drabble: Dreams and Murmurs (Regulus/Hermione)

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Title: Dreams and Murmurs

Pairing: Regulus/Hermione

Prompt: elusive

Rating: PG

Word Count: 445

Summary: The ghosts of Grimmauld Place refuse to stay silent.

Author's Notes: Angst. And ghost-boys. Set during the trio's short stay at Grimmauld Place during Deathly Hallows.

Link to Prompt Table: here

 

     Hermione flipped over in her sleep, sighing faintly.

     She was dreaming—dreaming of a boy who looked vaguely familiar, the noble line of his nose and silvery colour of his eyes reminding her of Sirius. It was not Sirius, though, that much she was sure of as the boy took her hand and lead her through Grimmauld Place. They were silent, and her ears felt almost clogged because she could not hear anything at all. Not the sound of her heart beating or their combined breathing or the soft pad of their feet on the worn floorboards.

     He did not smile, and neither did she, distracted as she was by where he was taking her. Sirius's house looked different than it had just a few hours ago, when she'd fallen asleep in Regulus Black's old bed while searching his room. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but her search had revealed nothing that Harry had not already spoken of.

     The walls were richer looking than before, the wallpaper new and glorious, and the portraits lively and fresh, though still noticeably darker than the kindly paintings of Hogwarts.

     It was odd though, because she knew quite distinctly that she was dreaming as she climbed up the stairs after the boy, her eyes darting around. She'd never been here before, and her curious mind soaked up the details of it. The stairs led to what seemed to be an attic room detached from the main floor. It was large, and very empty, with only a single sheet-covered object in the far corner of the room. He let go of her hand, and she felt almost disappointed, but she did not protest.

     Hermione walked over to the covered something and after a moment's hesitation, pulled the sheet off, tossing it aside.

     “It's me,” the boy said. She was somehow not startled by the sudden noise, and she turned to him, realization setting in.

     “Regulus Black,” she murmured, touching the frame of his portrait, “Sirius's brother.”

     “Indeed,” he replied, voice dry. Hermione knelt before the painting, running her fingertips along the canvas.

     “Does this portrait truly exist?” she asked him, turning to face Regulus once more.

     “Find me,” he told her, kneeling beside her, “Please, find me.”

     Hermione woke up with a start, the urge to take a trip into the attic so strong Hermione had to force herself to stay still. A thought niggled in the back of her head, and Hermione struggled to put her finger on it. She must have pushed it too quickly, though, because it died, crawling back into the recesses of her mind.