Whatever It Takes

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/16742143.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: F/M, M/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationships: Regulus Black/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Remus
Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks
Characters: Regulus Black, Harry Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Hermione
Granger, Ron Weasley, Albus Dumbledore, Nymphadora Tonks,
Andromeda Black Tonks
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Action/Adventure, Slow Burn,
Swearing, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Violence, Fluff and Angst,
Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, Minor Character Death, POV Harry
Potter, POV Regulus Black, Regulus Black Lives, Trauma, Loss,
Horcrux Hunting, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Collections: did someone say time travel, Let's re-read it again, Regulus Appreciation
Fan Club, fanfics that i keep coming back to read, Favorite HP Fics, hp
stories
Stats: Published: 2018-11-25 Completed: 2020-06-23 Words: 273,751
Chapters: 48/48
 Whatever It Takes
by kkwide

Summary

A brave Slytherin and two careless Gryffindors result an aberration in Time, changing the
future that was written.

This is a story of two young men. A Death Eater, who eventually turned his back on his
master. A young boy, who has done more than enough, but who is still kept in the dark in
order to protect him. This is a story of friendship and the unknown in a time of war.

Notes

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter universe and no money is being made
from this story.

A/N: Another Time-Travel story! This is something that was developing in my head as I
wrote A Good Life, and I wanted to share it with you! The main pairing in this story is
Regulus/Harry, and there will be other (side) pairings as well as the story progresses.

The story follows the books somewhat closely so any dialogue you might recognise (included
sporadically in some of the chapters), is from there!

A small reminder to readers on what to expect from this story : this is essentially a fix-it, but
a lot what happens in canon, will happen in this story. To say what is fixed in the end, I’ll let
you decide :)

Can't wait to hear what you think of this one :) So please, review!
 Eye of the Needle

Chapter 1: Eye of the Needle

The Cave by the sea, 31 July 1979

A story always has a beginning and an end. My story was set, perhaps, when I was born. It
also could have been set by my parents. Or by the choices I made. Nevertheless, it led me
here. To my end.

At least, I assume this is it, as I'm lying on the ground, face against the cold stone, suffering
the effects of a torturous poison and facing an army of dead corpses. I don't feel anything,
except when I try to move. Then it hurts like buggery.

Perhaps I should've sent Kreacher to get help, instead of ordering the elf to go straight back to
Grimmauld Place, but, then again…who would help me? A Death Eater? None of the Dark
Lord's followers, I'm sure, considering that I have betrayed him. My parents might, but then
we'd eventually all have targets on our backs.

I'm better off alone. I always have been.

As for betraying my old master; in the end, I only joined the Dark Lord's cause and his forces
because of my family. It was expected of me as the heir to my House. Yes, I might have
shared some of his beliefs at first, might've even wanted to prove myself, but it all changed
soon after my initiation. After I received my first assignments. Still, I did what was asked
from me, in order to keep my family safe, and because…I didn't want to disappoint my
parents. You know how it goes, I'm sure.

I have an older brother, Sirius, who I now realise, was lucky to get away. Get away from the
expectation, and the fate that was set upon us the moment our parents chose our paths for us.
I didn't always think like that. In fact I somewhat loathed my brother for befriending Blood
traitors, Muggleborns and Half-breeds, and how he preferred their company over our family.

But opinions and beliefs can change. A turning point for me was when the Dark Lord came to
me, requesting an elf. Naturally, I informed him that Kreacher, my elf, could help him with
anything and everything he demanded.

So…That was quite the misjudgement from my part. One I still regret of making. Because of
me, Kreacher ended up suffering. Because of me, its trust in wizards and witches wavered.
But, due to the whole incident, I learned something valuable about the Dark Lord. I learned
his secret. I have wondered, before, if it is true. If he had succeeded. The Dark Lord has
spoken about his invincibleness, his ability to perform such kinds of magic that some lesser
beings can only dream about – someone was bound to find out.

Sure, I myself have played with the thought. What would it feel like to be immortal? I
suppose I will never find out. I hiss out a moan as I turn to lie on my back and slowly stand
up, my body shuddering from pain and exhaustion.
I'm in the middle of an island, the hiding place of his secret. I turn around, and they are
everywhere, the dead corpses. Surfacing from the lake, crawling up the sharp rocks, towards
me.

Surrounding me.

This isn't quite the way I imagined my end would happen. This has to be counted as some
sort of brainless Gryffindor bravery, right? But…is it, if no one will know? Well, except the
Dark Lord, perhaps, if he decides to visit this place.

I left him a note, you see; promising to destroy him and his little secret. A note that was a bit
on the obnoxious side, if you ask me, but nothing he doesn't deserve. My only hope is that
Kreacher will be able to destroy the Horcrux so that the Dark Lord will finally face his
demise.

I take in a deep breath and stand tall. Perhaps this way I might be able to salvage at least a
tiny bit of my family's honour, to make our House noble again. Perhaps by my sacrifice – I
roll my eyes at my thoughts – I can change the future.

Grimmauld Place, 31 July 1995

I'm heading towards the library, where I suspect Hermione is situated and in a middle of
engulfing one of the large and stained tomes from Sirius's family's collection. It's my fifteenth
birthday, and everyone else is still in the kitchen, eating cake and discussing my hearing,
which is going to take place in a couple of weeks.

We've gone it through several times already, and it seems like I cannot even enjoy the
wonderful chocolate cake Molly Weasley has baked without having to hear about the
bothersome topic. I swear if I have to listen someone reassure me one more time, I might just
explode.

To explain my situation a bit; I was attacked by Dementors two days ago, and immediately
afterwards the Ministry decided to suspend me from Hogwarts and threatened destroy my
wand because I had performed a Patronus charm in front of my cousin, Dudley – and saving
both of us from the horrible creatures. But no, no one in the Ministry seems to take an interest
in that small detail. Only because of Dumbledore, I was allowed to keep my wand, as he had
apparently swooped in and managed to lessen the verdict so that the Ministry gave me a
hearing instead.

After the incident with the Dementors, the Order – which I've recently learned is a secret
society, founded by Dumbledore during the first war – decided to pull me out from the
Dursleys and bring me to their Headquarters.

Even though I couldn't have been happier to leave the Dursleys, I can't help but feel a bit…let
down. I've been in Surrey the whole summer – near starvation, might I add – and no one
thought it would be necessary to let me know anything. Every letter I received, from
Hermione, from Ron, and from Sirius – they all said the same thing; be careful and don't do
anything rash. I wonder if the Order had even picked me up, hadn't there been the bloody
Dementors…

After I came here, to the Order's Headquarters – which is surprisingly my godfather's

childhood home, Grimmauld Place – Ron and Hermione explained to me that they wanted to
tell me everything in their letters, but they couldn't. Apparently, Dumbledore had made them
swear not to tell me anything.

Why, I wonder? Why doesn't Dumbledore trust me? Haven't I proven myself enough during
the past years?

It is unfair that the others can enjoy a party, the rest of their summer, and plan the next
school-year, while all I can do, is wait. Wait and see if they'll kick me out from the school,
and from the magical world. The mere thought makes me nauseous; that after all this time, I
would have to give up everything that makes me…me, and return to the Dursleys, to be
subdued to their will once more.

So, I don't want to hear a word about Hogwarts, since all I can think of, is losing it. Losing
my home. I'm anxious about the hearing, about Dumbledore, about everything, and there's
nothing I can do about anything.

I spot Hermione, one of my best friends, curled in an armchair near the fireplace, a dusty and
ancient looking book tucked on her lap. "Hey, Mione," I mutter as I plop down next to her on
the sofa. "Couldn't handle another round of cake?"

Hermione grunts absently and marks the page before she looks up from the timeworn book
and studies my features. Her eyes sweep over my messy, tangled, jet black hair. She's
evidently restraining herself from running her fingers through it in order to make it smoother.
A sympathetic smile lifts her lips as she gazes into my eyes.

"Well, you know how I think about speculating. So, I decided to come here instead and take a
look at the books if I could find something useful for the hearing," she says with a small
shrug.

Did I say that I really, like, love her? No, not like that. Like friendship. She's my best friend.

She has these brilliant, brown eyes that shine with compassion and earnestness. Okay, she can
be a right authoritarian bitch when she wants to, but usually that kind of behaviour is directed
towards Ron. Almost always. And speaking of Ron, I'm suspecting there's more to them than
just their clashing personalities. But I reckon time will tell.

Hermione nudges her head towards a stack of books on the small table next to us. "Most of
them contain at least some bits of information regarding underage magic and wizarding
trials," She says and frowns slightly as she glances at the book on her lap. "Didn't exactly
find anything useful in here, and I'm actually quite astonished that something like this can be
found from the Order's Headquarters, as some of the topics are rather…atrocious," she says
dryly, tucking her legs under her.
I give her a small grin. She's always been like that. A bookworm. While I'm not as studious
as Hermione, I'm still grateful that she is. Her craving for knowledge has saved us more than
once in some tricky situations in our past.

"Oh? What's it about?" I ask, only mildly interested, and she knows that, but I'm still asking
because I'm a good friend.

She clears her throat. "It's something about ancient rituals and descriptions to fulfil one's
destiny and regain honour. Along with a bunch of rubbish regarding pureness and glory.
Undoubtedly relating to the pureness of one's blood…" She concludes bitterly.

Hermione's a Muggleborn witch, and while that doesn't bother me at all – since, hell, I didn't
even know I was a wizard until Hagrid came barging into that shack and told me – some
people are bothered. Bloodpurists, we call them. Hermione might even be in a spotlight more
than the other Muggleborns, because of me…The Boy Who Lived. I groan inwardly. It sounds
so bloody stupid. Whoever invented that, has to be banging their head right now.

So, as I was saying, Hermione has enemies. In school, it's a lot tamer, since Dumbledore runs
the school and doesn't approve bullying. Although, that doesn't stop Malfoy and his stupid
Slytherin cronies from trying.

"Well, I'm not surprised after Sirius told me about his family. Did you know they were loyal
supporters of Voldemort?" I ask grimly. "Sirius mentioned his brother was a Death Eater…" I
mutter, my thoughts lingering in our discussion earlier that day, when Sirius showed me the
tapestry of House Black, and told me bits and pieces about his depraved family.

"Oh? No, I didn't know, but I assumed as much…" Hermione says, her voice trailing off as
she returns back to her book. "Listen to this," she says after a short silence, an incredulous
look taking over her face. "'By sacrifice will it be provoked, by our words will it be
fulfilled.' She recites from the book. "These people are deranged…Sacrificing the 'impure' to
earn honour…" She mutters and turns a page.

I hum in agreement. "Toujours Pur," I say quietly. Hermione turns towards me with a
quizzical brow.

"Oh, just something Sirius said to me. The family motto, apparently…" I explain, feeling
quite a bit disoriented.

Hermione nods slowly. There's a short silence, during which she sets the book on top of a
small pile on the table, which I assume are the discarded books.

"I should go…Ron's probably wondering where I am…I promised to help him with his
summer homework," She says and brushes her jeans lightly to remove the dust that came
from the books.

I happen to know that the only homework Ron has left is Charms, and that he's not exactly
rubbish at it. I arch a brow at her. "That so?" I ask, and give her a sly grin. "That the only
reason you're helping him?"
Hermione gives me a startled look. "W-What? Of – of course it is. I mean, why else would I,
um…help him?" Hermione stammers.

Oh, this is too good. I snigger and sprawl over the sofa as she stands up, blushing furiously
and scowling at me.

"Okay then." I say innocently and try to school my expression, although she sees the knowing
look in my eyes.

"Good night, Harry." She says tightly and walks towards the library door.

"Night, Mione," I reply lightly, and let out a small snort when the door closes with a small
bang.

They are both quite obvious, Ron and Hermione. But as I said, time will tell. I sigh and lie
against the small pillow that is nestled at the end of the sofa.

I wake up with a jolt, and realise I must have dozed off for some time. It's dark, clearly late,
and everyone else is probably turned in for the night, as the house seems to be eerily quiet.

Too quiet. My scalp prickles, and I have a feeling that something's not right.

I stand up and slowly pull my wand from the back pocket of my jeans. I blink in the dark,
vast room, and try to gauge the situation. It feels like…like there's someone else in the room
with me.

My heart starts to pound in my ears, and then I hear a shuffling sound behind me. I turn
around swiftly, my wand at the ready.

A man is standing there, in a very dishevelled state. His face and neck sport several cuts and
bruises, and I'm quite sure he's dripping water as well. His arms are crossed over his chest, a
look of bewilderment edged on his face.

"What the fuck are you doing in here, Potter?" he grits out, and I gape at him.

He knows who I am, but I have no bloody idea who he is.

 Out of Focus
Chapter Notes

Okay, this was supposed to be a short chapter and I was going to post this on the
weekend, buuut...enjoy!

Reviews make me more than happy :)

Chapter 2: Out of Focus

Grimmauld Place, 1 August 1995

I am still somewhat weakened by the poison I drank; my body aches and the room spins, but
somehow, I have apparated into my home. Into the library. It is either that or I'm dead. And I
really hope I'm not dead because then I'd have to assume that this – my library - is my
heaven. It's not that I don't enjoy spending time in here, but…it's not exactly the place where
I expected spending my eternal life in.

The room is dark, and I focus on my breathing. The pain is slowly ebbing away, and it feels
like I have drunk a healing potion, even though I haven't. What in the name of sweet fucking
Salazar is going on? Am I really dead? No, I don't feel like it. I don't feel like dreaming
either. Everything is too detailed; the room, the smells. And if I were dead; would I still feel
the coldness seeping to my skin through my drenched clothes; feel the countless pairs of
long, slippery fingers, pressing into my skin, forcing me beneath the surface? I suppress a
nauseated shiver. I probably wouldn't.

I hear a small groan from the sofa in front of the fireplace. Someone's here. Is it father?
Mother never comes in here. Perhaps it is father – which is odd, because it is the middle of
the night. I approach him slowly. He stands up and I realise the man is not my father. It is
someone I thought I would never see in Grimmauld Place.

James fucking Potter.

I could recognise him a mile away. Sirius's best friend. Gryffindor Quidditch Captain.
Admired and liked, by most of the students and professors at Hogwarts. My brother and
Potter, they were sort of…attached to one another in school, and I reckon afterwards as well.
If Potter hadn't been with the Muggleborn, and Sirius with a different girl every other week, I
would've thought they were together. You know. As lovers.

Potter pulls out his wand, and I regrettably notice that my wand is missing. I must've left it in
the cave. He suddenly turns around and stares at me in shock.
I look back in utter bewilderment, because I cannot comprehend what the hell he is doing in
my house, enjoying a nap in my library.

"What the fuck are you doing in here, Potter?" I say, and he gapes back at me.

A couple of seconds pass. Then he seems to remember that he has a wand, so he points it at
me as he speaks. "Who are you? How did you get in here?" He asks with a demanding voice,
although I can detect a hint of dread in it.

What the…?

"What the hell are you playing at? What are you doing in here? You must be out of your
fucking mind, Potter. Did Sirius put you up to this? Is he here?" I ask, or, well, hiss at him,
and he takes a couple of steps towards me, his eyes running over my face.

"You – you know who I am?" He asks suspiciously, the determined look in his eyes faltering
slightly. "Who are you? You look…familiar. What happened to you?" He warily asks as he
takes in my evidently rumpled appearance.

I roll my eyes. "I don't have time for this. Kreacher!" I snap and call for my elf.

Potter's eyes widen when hearing my words and he lets out a strangled sound as Kreacher
pops in front of me.

"Master Regulus!" The elf squeals, its tennis ball-sized eyes filling with tears.

My annoyance dissipates slightly as I take a look at the elf. Kreacher looks thinner, weaker
somehow – and I feel a pang of guilt run through me. This is my fault. What the elf endured
in the hands of the Dark Lord, and then watching it happen to me, must've done a number on
it. Kreacher has probably been beside itself with worry, since, well…we both thought I was
going to die, after all.

"It is good to see you," I tell the elf, who squeaks and bows at me. "Kreacher. Do you mind
drying my clothes?"

Kreacher stares at me, unblinking, as if I might disappear any moment, before snapping its
fingers. Instantly, I feel much warmer as my robes are not freezing cold anymore, or clinging
to my skin.

I give my elf a pat on the head, thanking it, and then observe Potter as he nearly chokes in his
own saliva while looking extremely alarmed.

"R-Regulus?" Potter whispers in horror.

Well, now I'm intrigued. He is horrified to see me? In the place I live? What in the name of
Salazar is going on?

"Yes?" I drawl.

He splutters. Again.
I turn to my elf. "Kreacher. Would you kindly escort Mr. Potter to his own house?" I ask
tightly, narrowing my eyes at the stupid boy in front of me. Boy…He does look a bit younger
than I remembered.

"No. Kreacher, do not move me anywhere!" Potter commands as the elf takes a step towards
him, and I almost snort. As if Kreacher would listen to anyone else than me.

My confidence quickly disappears when Kreacher hesitates.

What the hell?

"Kreacher. I order you to get Sirius. Now." Potter says to my elf with a tight voice. Kreacher
glances at me unsurely.

I stare at the situation in utter bafflement. Then I roll my eyes. "Whatever." I say and nod at
Kreacher, who disapparates. They have probably blackmailed the poor elf to obey them.

"You're both going to regret this when mother finds out." I say to Potter, because it is the
truth. Sirius ran from home a couple of years ago and was blasted from the family tree right
after my mother told me that she'll strangle him if he dares to take a step into our home again.

Potter swallows with unease, a deep frown between his brows. Well, he is right to fear dear
mother. She can be quite the hag sometimes.

"I'm…Y-You think I'm James?" Potter asks with confusion, his wand hand shaking a bit.

I give him an incredulous look. "Well. Yes." I say slowly, as if I'm speaking to a child. Which
he very much resembles. "Why do you look so…young? Did you take something?" I ask with
irritation.

Potter lifts his brows and looks shocked. "No. I'm, er - I'm his s-son."

What the fuck?

"I'm sorry, what?" I ask disbelievingly, even though I heard him the first time. I just need him
to utter it again to be sure I heard him say such fucked up things.

"I'm Harry. J-James's son." He repeats, his voice still a bit shaky, and he steadies his wand
hand, the end of it trained at me.

I give the wand an assessing glance before turning my narrowed gaze back at him. The look
in his eyes seems genuine enough, and now that I think about it, his behaviour seems to be
lacking the overly confident trait Potter certainly masters…but how can that be? If my
brother and his friend are not taking the piss, and the bloke in my library really isn't James
Potter, then something has seriously gone wrong.

"Now, you answer to me! How did you get in here?" He continues, evidently trying to reach
more authoritative voice.

What a prat. I arch a brow at him. "I'm a Black. I live here." I say with a hint of a sneer.
Potter – 'Harry' – rolls his eyes and mutters something about my brother under his breath.
"But…you don't. Not anymore." He says, slightly hesitantly, and I stare at him in puzzlement.

"Yes. I do." I argue.

Potter shakes his head in frustration. "Where is Sirius…" He mutters, almost helplessly, and
as if summoned, the door opens.

I turn around, and stare at the man standing in the doorway. He distantly resembles my
brother, but – is it really him? Perhaps someone could tell me what the fuck is happening in
here?

"Reggie…?" The man mumbles, staring at me in sleep deprived shock.

I'm fairly certain he's my brother, but Merlin, what has happened to him? Potter and him –
they must have been taking some potions to make them look like this.

"W-What the hell is happening in here?" He says, his eyes darting over Potter, the library,
ending at me.

"Yes, thank you!" I say sharply, giving my brother an agreeing nod. "I came here minutes
ago, and found that on the sofa," I say and jerk my head towards Potter. "Then he has the
nerve to sass at me, in my own home, might I add. You do realise what will happen if mother
finds out that you're here, brother?" I snappishly ask, and study his appearance more closely.

Sirius is wearing pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt. "What the fuck are you wearing? Do you walk
like that in public?" I ask in disbelief and give him a look of distaste. He looks so dishevelled
I want to look away. Years of education regarding pureblood manners have apparently been
washed down the toilet during his short stay at the Potters. I squint at him. He looks so…old.
What the hell are they playing at?

"Reggie?" Sirius repeats, walking slowly towards me. He's staring at me in shock. "Is it really
you? How is this happening?"

I frown. "Of course it's me." I bite back and glance around. "Look. You two ought to leave.
Now." I say firmly. I'm in a desperate need of a long, relaxing sleep and handful of potions to
make me feel better. "Mother and father will kill you if they find you here, brother. Same
goes to your friend." I hiss at Sirius, and I'm not exaggerating. My parents can be a bit…
deranged.

Sirius's eyes widen. "M-Mother and father…" He stammers. "Reggie…I thought – I thought
you were d-dead." He says slowly, confusion thick in his voice.

What? I am already rather frustrated by this situation, without my brother mumbling bizarre
things. I sneer at him. "As you can see, I'm quite alive."

Potter coughs awkwardly. I send him a glare.

"Should – should I get someone?" Potter asks unsurely, eyeing my brother hesitantly.
I stare at my brother in confusion. "One of you better explain to me what the hell is going on.
Now." I say with a low voice. I'm pissed off now. "Where are our parents, Sirius?"

"You're alive?" Sirius breathes, gaping at me.

"In the flesh," I say dryly. In addition to the frustration and irritation, I'm beginning to feel
slightly alarmed. Why had my brother believed I was dead?

"You're alive." Sirius mutters and walks to me, taking me by surprise as he crushes me into a
brotherly embrace.

Well…This is certainly not what I expected.

I wrench myself away from him. "What is going on? Why do you look so…old? And what
was he mumbling about being James Potter's son?" I ask and glance at Potter.

Sirius lets out a huff. "I don't look that old," he mutters sullenly. "And this is Harry. You…
you don't know what happened to James and Lily? …Or mother and father?" He asks with a
deep frown.

I lift my brows in bewilderment. "What do you mean? Where are mother and father, Sirius?"
I ask with dread. Has something happened to them? Has my brother done something?

My brother grimaces. "Reggie…They're – they're dead," he says slowly, looking very

uncomfortable. "They died somewhere in the mid-eighties or something like that," he says
with a deep sigh and rubs his neck. "Wasn't exactly around to witness that, unfortunately." He
mutters the last part, and I can feel my face becoming pale. I feel nauseous, and I suddenly
have trouble breathing.

"W-What? They're – w-what, Sirius?" I rasp in shock, and it feels like someone is pressing
my windpipe, like the blood in my veins has turned ice cold.

Mother and father are…are dead? How is that even possible? I realise that he has said
something else as well. "Mid-eighties?" I mumble. "But…I-I'm…" I stammer, and my cool
and composed demeanour has vanished, the walls guarding my mind crumbled down in mere
seconds. This is something I definitely hadn't anticipated.

"You died before they did." Sirius says, seeming to be quite at a loss. "What happened to
you? Where have you been all these years?"

I swallow hard as my brain processes the information. All these years? Old Sirius. James
Potter's son. Fuck.

I have a rather decent understanding of what has happened to me.

I don't know what to say to him. I mean, the thought passed my mind right after Potter
insisted his name was Harry – that someone or something had tampered with Time Magic –
but the thought was immediately discarded since it certainly sounded ludicrous, even in my
head.
"What year is it?" I ask mutedly, trying to push everything else into a dark corner of my
mind, trying to pull myself together. I need to be in control of this situation. A situation, that
has to be the freakiest one I have ever got myself into.

"What?" Sirius asks with a perplexed look, and then realisation crosses his features. "You…
don't belong in this time, do you?" Sirius asks slowly, his eyes roaming over my face and
body.

"Sirius. What. Year." I grit through my teeth. My voice is trembling and I can feel blood
rushing in my ears. The room is spinning.

Potter clears his throat. "1995," he says quietly, and I swallow deeply and close my eyes
briefly. This can't be happening.

I run a list of swearwords inside my head and clench my jaw as I try to slow my speeding
pulse and ease the pounding in my ears. 1995. I can deal with this. All I need to do is to stay
calm, to stay in control. I assume I'm not in an immediate danger, since neither Potter nor my
brother seem to be cursing me. I can figure this out. I have to.

The realisation is ringing in my head; I have somehow managed to time travel into the future.

"Circe…" I breathe and move towards the sofa as anxiety threatens to take over. I need to sit
down before I pass out.

"Reggie?" Sirius asks with a tone what I assume is concern as he follows me to the seating
area in front of the fireplace. He sits down in an armchair, next to the sofa onto which I have
slumped. "Where were you before you came here?" He asks, and I think hard what I can say
to him.

I don't exactly trust him, even if he is my brother and apparently happy to see me alive. I trust
no one – I can't afford to trust anyone.

"Nowhere important." I say.

"What year?" Sirius asks flatly.

Fuck. This isn't going to be easy. "1979." I say rigidly.

"…Fuck me." Sirius mutters. "How did you do that?" He asks with a hint of suspicion in his
voice.

I shake my head slightly. "I have no idea," I mutter and stare into the empty fireplace.

How I managed a time-jump like that is beyond me. I really can't wrap my head around all of
this. My parents…No, I can't go there, not now. What I should figure out is exactly what my
brother asked from me. How did I do that? How did I travel through time without doing
anything? Perhaps there was something in the poison I drank?

Potter – who is still a Potter, regardless if he is the spawn of the original Potter – comes to
stand next to the fireplace, eyeing me distrustfully.
"What are your intentions? Did Voldemort send you here to help him?" Potter asks, and only
then my brother seems to remember that there is close to zero amount of brotherly love
between us, despite him caring if I am alive or not.

My brother points his wand towards my chest, the look in his eyes hardening.

"Reggie. Please, for the love of Merlin, don't tell me you're here because of that son of a
bitch?" He growls. I can see a hint of alarm in his eyes.

And I realise something from the nervous way my brother and Potter look at each other.
Dread fills me yet again. Is the Dark Lord still alive?

I frown at him. "No. I'm not. I left him." I say firmly.

Sirius gives me a long look. "You must be barking mad if you think that he would let you
go." He says in disbelief.

I roll my eyes, knowing perfectly well that one does not simply leave the Dark Lord and live
to see the next day, but to be honest, I didn't exactly have high expectations regarding my
survival. I decide to focus on the apparent fact of the Dark Lord's existence.

Didn't Kreacher destroy the locket? I need to have a discussion with the elf as soon as
possible. But first, I have to get a grasp of the situation and make sure I'm not in danger while
I stay here.

"So, he's still alive?" I ask mutedly, feeling curious. "And why are you here? In Grimmauld
Place?" I ask from my brother. "You hate this place."

Sirius frowns. "Dunno if I can trust you with the information, brother." He says, before
glancing at Potter. "Harry, go wake Remus up, and tell him to floo Dumbledore in here."
Sirius says and Potter nods and leaves the library with haste.

We stay silent for a while before my brother flicks his wand towards me, and I can't suppress
a flinch.

"Accio wand!"

Nothing happens. I arch a brow at him.

Sirius frowns at me in bafflement, before schooling his features. "Where's your wand,
brother?" He asks coolly.

A faint smirk lifts my mouth. "No idea, brother," I answer, and can see him clenching his jaw
with mild annoyance.

I decide to change the subject before he asks where I might have left it. "So, Dumbledore?" I
ask indifferently. "You're still part of his little group?" I ask sarcastically, and Sirius narrows
his eyes at me. I take that as a yes.
"You live here then? With the werewolf? What, did you run out of women?" I prod him, and
receive a scowl in return.

I sigh. "Are we going to stay silent until your leader arrives?" I ask with a dull voice, and
Sirius looks frustrated.

"Yes, Voldemort is still alive, and his antics haven't really changed from what you know of."
Sirius says harshly. I'm sensing a hint of bitterness in him. "And I'm not telling you anything
else until Dumbledore has read your mind and made sure you're not a threat to us."

I lift my brows in surprise. Apparently my brother has finally matured enough to think before
he acts. I realise my brother is now so old that he could actually be my father. Hell, he even
looks a bit like our father.

I quickly discard the thought as it is laced with excruciating tightness in my chest.

"To us?" I mutter. "So, is this place…a headquarters?" I ask slowly, and see the answer flash
in his eyes.

I grin at him.

"Wanker." Sirius grumbles under his breath.

The door opens and my former Headmaster walks in with Potter trailing behind him as well
as a man I know from school; one of Sirius's friends, who apparently lives in my house these
days. The werewolf. Lovely. I briefly wonder where the original Potter is, and why his
teenage spawn is here instead. Sirius mentioned that something had happened to them. My
brother and I stand up and walk towards the old wizard.

Dumbledore stares at me curiously, his blue eyes sharp as he assesses me over his half-moon
spectacles.

"Regulus Black." He says and I give him a curt nod.

"Dumbledore." I say tersely.

His eyes bore into mine so intensely, that I want to avert my gaze but I know I can't. I know
what comes next. I feel a sharp pain in my head as the old wizard nudges away the barriers in
my mind and dives straight in; quickly and efficiently going through my memories and
thoughts. I know I'm an excellent Occlumens, but I also know, that I need allies. I need these
people to trust me on some level, at least. I have to choose very carefully what I intend to
hide from the old wizard, and what he is allowed to see.

It takes some time before Dumbledore retreats from my mind and leaves behind a raging
headache.

"It seems…that you have spoken the truth. You truly are from the past," Dumbledore says
slowly. I can see that he's shocked by the news. There is also a calculative look in his eyes as
he evidently mulls over everything he saw in my mind.
"So – he's my brother? The same one who I though was dead, but who has travelled into the
future?" Sirius confirms. Dumbledore gives him a small nod.

"And he's not one of Voldemort's servants anymore?" Sirius continues, and gives a satisfied
look when I cringe at the name.

Dumbledore's eyes sweep over mine, a scrutinising look in them. "His actions and intentions
before he came here support my assumption," Dumbledore obscurely replies, and both Potter
and Lupin frown at us.

Sirius, on the other hand, watches me with an expressionless look. "And what is it that he has
done for you to make that assumption?"

I stare at my brother impassively. My mind whirls back to the situation I was in right before I
made the unfortunate jump through time; hundreds of dead corpses surrounding me, pulling
me under the surface. I wonder, if I had managed to escape the cave somehow, would I have
stayed alive longer than a week? As my brother said, there is no 'handing in one's notice' with
the Dark Lord, and I'm certain that once he had found out the depth of my betrayal, he
would've personally killed me and everyone who has ever been closer than a stranger to me.

I am beginning to see that there are some advantages in this unintentional time-jump.

"How did he get in here? Into this time?" Lupin asks and walks closer to us. He looks a lot
older than my brother. We can't all age well, can we?

Dumbledore looks thoughtful. "If I may?" He asks from me, his wand pointed towards me. I
almost laugh, because I really don't have the option to refuse. I give the man a curt nod.

He flicks his wand and I can feel some sort of diagnostic charm sweep over me. I'm suddenly
surrounded by wisps of grey smog, circling me slowly. Dumbledore hums as he studies them.

"It seems that young mister Black here has provoked some kind of an ancient ritual…
Supposedly, a ritual the Black ancestors have created." Dumbledore finally explains, a deep
frown between his brows.

I listen intently, since I have no fucking idea how I came to be in this time. Even if I don't
exactly wish to be returned to the situation I left from, I am curious to learn how this kind of
rare magic happened – and if it is truly created by my ancestors.

Sirius sighs wearily. "Of course there is a Black ritual that extends through time…" Sirius
grumbles. "How is it provoked?" Sirius asks, sounding unsurprised.

Every member of House Black has learned at a young age that there are only a few things
that cannot be accomplished by a spell; the five exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental
Transfiguration amongst a handful of other things.

"By sacrifice…" Potter says quietly. I turn to look at him with my brows lifted in a mild
surprise as do everyone else. Potter clears his throat, looking extremely uncomfortable.
"Um…well…Hermione and I read about it earlier in the evening," He says with a mix of
disbelief and worry in his voice.

"You did this?" I ask, my voice laced with accusation.

Potter lifts his hands in surrender, his eyes flicking towards the others with unease. "We only
recited a couple of sentences from some book. We didn't know that it was a spell, I swear," he
says hastily, a guilty look in his eyes. "And – and didn't Dumbledore just say you were the
one who provoked the ritual?" Potter asks hesitantly, seeking a confirmation from my former
Headmaster, who for some reason doesn't look into Potter's eyes as he nods back.

I groan inwardly. What I would like to do is whack him in the head, but somehow, I think the
others might interfere. I settle into giving Potter a chastising look.

"First of all. Never read anything aloud. How thick are you? You're inside a Black ancestral
home. We tend to be dark and twisty." I say sharply, and Sirius gives me a warning glare. I
ignore him and continue. "What did you read? Show me." I demand and the boy scurries
towards the table near the sofa to retrieve the book and to find the correct page.

He thrusts the open book in my hands and I study the crumbling tome, its yellowish pages
while Sirius comes next to me. I can feel Dumbledore's scrutinising stare against my left
temple before he comes closer to see what is written in the book.

"I've never seen this before." My brother mutters.

"Says the boy who didn't even know we had a library…" I say wryly.

"Man."

"Whatever."

My eyes skim through the pages, my brain working to solve the matter. "So…Basically I
faced death, was willing to sacrifice myself in order to restore my family's honour and you –"
I mutter and glance at Potter, who leans uneasily against the back of the sofa with Lupin
standing next to him, a reassuring hand on Potter's shoulder, " – called me into this time by
speaking aloud the ritual and our house words?"

Potter nods. "I…um. Yeah." He says, his voice wavering slightly.

Sirius eyes me with surprise, but says nothing. Everyone is silently processing the
information.

Circe... This is really something. This is something I have never stumbled on, and trust me, I
have seen and heard plenty of unearthly things. I walk towards the seating area and place the
book back on the table near the sofa and turn to look at the others expectantly.

Dumbledore hums in thought. "May I suggest that we continue our discussion between
adults?" He says and gives Potter a kind smile. "I trust Molly will not be pleased if she finds
you out of bed in the middle of the night."
Sirius clears his throat. "Sure. Um. Harry?" He says and cringes when the boy stares at him
defiantly. I can see Lupin roll his eyes. I almost do too, as it is rather hilarious to watch how
my brother has zero authority.

They exchange some words and the young boy finally leaves with a loud huff, glaring at the
rest of us before he slips away from the library.

Dumbledore, Lupin and my brother join me in the seating area; my brother sits down on the
sofa, while Dumbledore and Lupin take their seats in the two armchairs. After a moment of
hesitation, I too sit down, next to my brother.

Sirius grins. "Okay then. 'Accio Firewhiskey!'" he says and flicks his wand. I roll my eyes
while he pours several hefty shots of the amber liquid into glasses that hover in the air before
he sends them to everyone with a wave of his wand. "So…You were fighting against him?
Voldemort?" Sirius asks from me as he sips his drink.

Must he utter that fucking psychopath's name? I swear to Merlin he's doing it just to rile me
up.

"What an astute observation, brother." I say with a snide curl on my lip.

Sirius looks exasperated while Dumbledore and Lupin exchange a meaningful look.

"You gonna help us then? To finish him?" Sirius presses on.

I can feel everyone staring at me intently. Do I really have a choice in the matter? "It seems
like that, yes." I reply eventually and take a sip of my drink. The Firewhiskey burns
wonderfully, warming my insides.

"Brilliant." Sirius says simply, pouring more alcohol into his tumbler.

Dumbledore clears his throat. "Am I right to assume Voldemort wouldn't be overly delighted
by the news of your existence?" He asks and watches my reaction carefully.

What is it with these people, uttering his name as if he is someone insignificant? Although, I
do see the appeal in it; not making a big deal of a name. I'm sure the Dark Lord would be
quite unhappy if he knew.

I smirk inwardly and I nod. "Well, I'm sure the Dark Lord would be overly delighted for
having the opportunity to rip my head off." I say dryly.

Dumbledore puts his drink on the table, untouched. "Then may I suggest that you stay here,
in Grimmauld Place, and not leave the house in any circumstances. If Voldemort finds out
about you and the fact that you haven't aged a day since 1979, he will be particularly
interested and most likely would want to use the information for his benefit." The old man
says, and I scoff.

A house arrest? Really? I can do magic, to disillusion myself, or to disguise myself. But then
I remember I don't exactly have a wand on me. I sigh. "I suppose I don't really have any
options here." I grumble.
Dumbledore seems satisfied. "You and I have some matters to discuss, Mr. Black." He says
vaguely to me, and I give him a curt nod.

I know exactly what he wishes to discuss. Sirius eyes us with suspicion but says nothing.

"We will organise an Order meeting in a few days, into which you may participate if you are
willing. That being said, I would like to speak with you before the meeting and go through
some important topics." Dumbledore says, and I nod in agreement.

Fuck, really? I'm going to participate in an Order meeting? As in the Order of the Phoenix?
The secret society, which by the way is not that secret they were hoping for. Yes, we know all
about them. Or the Dark Lord knows. He apparently has a spy inside the Order. At least, that
was what I learned some time ago. Some time indeed…

"He has a spy amongst your group, did you know that?" I ask, because, well, if I'm going to
be near these people, I have to know I'm not ratted out to my former master.

Sirius and Lupin exchange a grim look. Dumbledore nods before he speaks. "We are aware.
He's not with us anymore, and instead has opted to fully join Voldemort."

Oh. "Who is he?" I ask curiously. Based on the looks the others give each other I assume they
know the spy well.

"Pettigrew." Sirius growls.

I lift my brows in mild amusement, since…I'm not that surprised, really. I remember
Pettigrew from school, and even though he was one of Sirius's friends, I knew he spent an
awfully lot of time in the Slytherin dungeons as well.

Dumbledore clears his throat when he sees my brother becoming quite the moody himself.
"Gentlemen, it is quite late, and I think each of us would like nothing more than to retreat for
a good night's sleep. Mister Black," he says and turns to look at me, "I will come by
tomorrow, and we can continue our discussion then. Can I rely for you to stay put until my
arrival?" He asks as he prepares to leave, and his eyes flash at me with a warning.

I know what that means. I'm not to leave the house. I almost snort. Where would I even go,
might I ask? But there is another message in his gaze, requesting me to stay silent. I know I
am not to reveal the circumstances I was in before I came here. I suspect that Dumbledore
wishes to learn everything there is to know, as I'm quite sure my memories gave him only a
vague outline of the events. Based on the evasive way Dumbledore has spoken in front of the
others, I doubt that neither my brother nor the werewolf know about the Dark Lord's secrets.
And it seems like Dumbledore wants to keep it that way.

"I'll be here." I say, almost sarcastically. Dumbledore nods wishes his good nights, before
leaving the room.

Sirius smirks. "Come on, brother. It can't be that bad. I'm in the same boat as you." He says,
bitterness dripping from his voice as he leans towards the table and pours himself another
drink.
I frown at him. "What do you mean?" I ask, glancing at Lupin, who stays silent, still sitting in
his armchair.

Sirius barks a laugh. "Oh, Reggie…That's a long story."

 Heavy Heart
Chapter Notes

Aaand the story continues... I'd love to hear your thoughts on this, so please, leave a
review! :)

Chapter 3: Heavy Heart

Grimmauld Place, 1 August 1995

It is late, and I'm getting tired, but I need to hear what my brother is on about. And, well, I
don't really know if I can sleep in here. I know this is my home, but the thought that it has
been taken over by the Order – and apparently the majority of them live here now – is rather
disturbing.

"Well? I'm all ears." I say, and study my brother as he pours me another drink.

He caps the bottle and gives Lupin a brief glance before his eyes lock with mine. "You want
to know everything that has happened since 1979?" He asks, and I can see coldness in his
eyes that is new to me. Now I'm even more curious to learn what has happened in this world,
and to him.

I nod and sip my drink.

He swallows. "Pettigrew betrayed us. He sold Lily and James to Voldemort." He says wearily
and looks down.

So…Potter and the Muggleborn are dead. I can see it in my brother's and Lupin's eyes.

"I'm sorry for your loss." I mutter, out of politeness, since I don't really care. I didn't know
them.

Sirius frowns and glares at the table as he continues. "Everyone thought it was me," he says
resentfully. "I had a feeling in my gut the night it happened…So I went to see them. James
and Lily. It was too late. I came too late to see my best f-friend's –" I hear his voice crack
with emotion " – and his wife's l-lifeless bodies," He mumbles with thick voice.

Shit. I glance at Lupin. He looks devastated. I don't understand. I mean, I get that it must be
hard to talk about their friends' deaths, but…it should be easier, after so many years have
gone by.

My brother takes a deep breath and opens the bottle again, and takes a swig straight from it.
"I tracked him down, and then Wormt…Pettigrew blew up a street full of muggles and faked
his death. I was there. And then the Aurors came." He says darkly, looking somewhat crazed,
and the bottle in his hand shatters into pieces.

"Fuck!" I yell in surprise as the liquid and shards of glass scatter everywhere.

Lupin stands up quickly and lifts his wand. I flinch, but he only waves it to clean up the mess
my brother made. Sirius shoves his hands in his hair and leans his elbows on his knees. He's
shaking. I'm beginning to feel slightly alarmed.

"Pads…" Lupin says quietly. They're apparently still calling each other with those stupid
names. Lupin and I both stare at my brother, whose face is twisted with pain and madness.

I clear my throat. "Sirius?"

Sirius starts to laugh. He fucking laughs. What the fuck is going on? I glance at Lupin
helplessly, but he gives me back a grim look and shakes his head slightly. Lupin and I stay
silent for a while until my brother's laughter dries up.

"What happened?" I ask impatiently.

Sirius whirls to look at me. He glares at me. He bares his teeth. He looks like a fucking
lunatic and I'm quite alarmed now, to be honest.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK HAPPENED?!" He growls, and I can barely keep my
impassive expression intact.

"I was taken to Azkaban, dear brother." He says lightly. The variation in his voice makes me
feel anything but at ease. I'm beginning to think that he's suffering from mania.

"For twelve. Fucking. Years." He says with a mad grin.

And now I know why.

"I'm – I – Fuck." I stammer for the second time this night. I'm speechless. My brother has
been in prison for twelve years. For a crime he didn't commit. That's just…sad. I also feel
somewhat guilty for not being there for him. Why did the Order and his friends let him rot in
there for that long? I'm finding it hard to believe that they all had bought Pettigrew's scheme.

Sirius huffs and stands up. "I need a drink." He grunts and leaves the library.

"Where did he go?" I ask from Lupin, who shrugs and stares at his hands.

I stare at him and see how conscience-stricken he looks. I wonder where he had been when
my brother was suffering in prison. Weren't they supposed to be friends? I ask him, and he
clenches his jaw and turns to look at me.

"I…I thought it was Sirius. I thought he was guilty." He says with shame edged into his voice
and I arch a disbelieving brow at him. I don't really buy that shit, since everyone who knew
Potter and my brother, knew they practically worshipped each other.
Lupin clears his throat. "Look, Regulus…Sirius is not all right. I'm sure you understand that.
He's spent twelve years in a small cell, surrounded by Dementors, repeating his worst
memories in his head every minute of every day." He says with a guilt-ridden look.

I give him a contemplative nod. I get that. He has the right to be a bit insane after that. "How
did he get out?" I ask, studying Lupin. I'm curious about the details since I doubt the Ministry
sets prisoners free out of the goodness of their heart.

He frowns. "He escaped two years ago. He's been on the run for most of that time, living in
woods and caves, trying to feed himself with rats and wild animals." Lupin says and even
though I take note that he doesn't exactly answer my question – since it should be quite
impossible to escape Azkaban – I'm rather dumbstruck.

"And where were you?" I ask coldly.

He smiles thinly. "A year ago, I met Sirius and found out what exactly had happened with
James and Lily. Who really betrayed them. Sirius stayed at my place for a while, but since the
Aurors were still searching for him, he took off. He wanted to be closer to Harry."

"Potter's son?"

He nods slowly. "Sirius's godson."

I roll my eyes. Of course.

I stifle a yawn, knowing that there's still more to the story. "And all this time, you've been
fighting against the Dark Lord?" I ask, wondering if the war has been going on all this time.

Lupin shakes his head and eyes me thoughtfully for a moment before he speaks. "It's only
been over a month since his resurrection. He was defeated in 1981."

"By whom?" I ask. I'm impressed, not by the Dark Lord's resurrection, but that someone was
actually able to defeat him. The fact that he was able to come back indicates that the Horcrux
was indeed not destroyed.

"Harry Potter." Sirius says from the doorway. He has a fresh new bottle of Firewhiskey in
hand and he staggers a bit as he walks towards the fireplace and plops down next to me. He's
drunk.

I frown at him but decide to focus on what he said, and I'm slightly taken aback as I process
the information. "What?" I ask with irritation. The boy must have been a mere toddler then.

Sirius sighs. "Let's just say he did. It's not something I'm willing to go through right now." He
says harshly.

I nod. "So, the Dark Lord was defeated in 1981?" I ask, waiting for either of them to
continue.

My brother scowls at me. "Must you call him that? You sound like a fucking Death Eater."
He says with a hint of sneer.
I smirk bitterly. "Can't really help it, brother. I was a Death Eater, I'm sure you knew that."

Sirius grits his teeth and Lupin coughs uncomfortably.

"As I said, he was resurrected a little over a month ago." Lupin says quickly. "The Order was
reformed days after that."

So…It seems that everything is starting over again. Only now, I'm stuck on the other side. I
do hope that the Dark Lord is defeated for once and for all, but…I'm not certain if I am
willing to put myself into such danger again, not after what happened in the cave. I have seen
his forces, witnessed his power and faced death. I'm beginning to think I do not want to be in
the middle of all this.

Lupin yawns. My eyelids feel heavier and I can feel the beginning of a migraine. It is still
dark outside, but according to the goblin made timepiece on the wall it's nearly three in the
morning.

"I think we should continue this tomorrow." Lupin says tiredly and eyes my brother with a
pointed look. He then stands up and pries the bottle from Sirius's hands.

Sirius glances at me. "Night, Reggie." He grunts, and I get the feeling that he's dismissing
me. What an arse. Even though he apparently is the head of my house now, he clearly lacks
subtlety.

I roll my eyes and stand up, swaying slightly as I move towards the door. I need to rest, now.

Fuck. I enter my room, after what seemed to be a thousand steps. I hate not being able to
apparate. I glance around in the darkness. The room is dusty and the air is stuffy, but
everything seems to be untouched. Kreacher has probably kept the place in order in my
absence. I sigh with relief and crash into my bed with my clothes on, falling asleep
immediately.

Grimmauld Place, 1 August 1995

I wake up with a groan. My head is pounding. My mouth is dry. I need something to drink.

I slowly blink and see the sun shining brightly behind the emerald and silver curtains of my
bedroom. What the hell? How did I get here? It takes me a moment to remember as the
memories from last night fill my mind.

"Kreacher," I say weakly, and immediately hear a faint pop beside my bed.

"Master calls Kreacher?" The elf murmurs, and I squint at it. I didn't really realise it last
night, but the elf certainly looks much older than I remember. Well, it is older, isn't it?

"Could I have some water? And some Pepper-up Potion?" I croak to the elf, who nods
fervently.
"Of course, master Regulus!" Kreacher squeaks and disapparates. Soon the elf emerges again,
with a glass of water and a purple vial of Pepper-up Potion. I sit up on the bed and lean
against the headboard.

"Thank you, Kreacher." I say wearily and inspect the potion a bit longer than I normally
would, my throat making a protest – which is quite unsurprising after last night. I eventually
drain the potion and the water, while my elf stares at me with wide eyes.

"What is it?" I ask, not unkindly.

Kreacher's ears quiver. "Master is alive." The elf whispers.

I smile. "Yes, I am. I'm glad to see you are as well." I say, and it is the truth. Kreacher might
be the only one in this place – and this time – I actually can trust.

"What happened here after I…left?" I ask, and Kreacher lets out a miserable sob.

"Mistress is distraught with grief after master Regulus disappears and Master dies." The elf
wails. "She kills herself in the end," the elf blubbers.

Fuck. This is too much. I don't want to think about the fates of my parents right now. I
swallow deeply. "You stayed here after? Alone?"

Kreacher nods. "Until Master Sirius, the filthy blood-traitor, comes back." He mutters, and I
narrow my eyes at the elf's words. Kreacher seems oblivious.

"Who else lives here? Who comes around here?" I ask. I want to prepare myself if I happen
to stumble on someone who I'm not too friendly with.

Kreacher pulls its ears. "Master Sirius forbids Kreacher to tell."

I groan inwardly. "You can tell me, Kreacher. You can trust me," I say patiently, and smile at
the elf.

That does it, apparently. I learn that in addition to my brother and the werewolf, a whole clan
of Weasleys live in here as well as a Muggleborn witch and my brother's godson, Harry
Potter. Mother would be so proud. For a moment, I amuse myself by imagining how she
would react if she saw all these people running around in her house, until the thought of her
makes it hard for me to breathe. Instead I focus on Kreacher, who tells me that several Aurors
and other questionable people stop by every week. One of them is my old friend, Severus
Snape. I wonder what he's up to nowadays. I'll undoubtedly find out soon enough.

I know I have to ask about the Horcrux. "What happened to the locket, Kreacher?" I ask
gravely. Kreacher starts to shake with fear.

"Master Regulus…Kreacher tries to destroy it, like master tells it to. But Kreacher is
unsuccessful. The locket is not breaking." The Elf says miserably, eyeing me with a
frightened look in its eyes.
Of course. I should've known that Kreacher wouldn't be able to destroy it. I vaguely
remember reading something about the methods, and I'm quite sure my elf doesn't share the
knowledge.

"Where is it now?" I ask hastily. I truly hope Kreacher has kept it safe.

Kreacher eyes me warily. "I keeps it in the drawing room. With mistress's other artefacts."

I wave of relief washes over me. "Could you bring it to me?" I ask kindly, and Kreacher nods
eagerly before disapparating. A minute later, the elf presents the locket to me, and I examine
it closely. I can feel the dark magic thrumming inside of it. Images of the cave, a hundred
Inferi and the horrendous self-destructive thoughts – a lovely side effect of the poison – start
to swarm in my head.

I feel dizzy. I quickly place the locket into my bedside table drawer. I ask Kreacher to lock it
so that no one else but me can open it.

After Kreacher has locked the drawer with its magic, I ask the elf to clean up my room and
retrieve me a fresh set of clothes while I take a shower in the bathroom attached to my
bedroom.

I almost groan as I step into the steaming hot shower. A warm stream of water runs down my
body, washing away the grime from the last twenty-four hours. I sigh and lean my hands
against the tile wall as the water pours onto my back and neck. I twist my left arm and see the
gruesome mark. I loathe it. How could I have been so stupid? Why couldn't I have been like
my brother? I only did what was expected of me, and where did that get me in the end?

I'm overwhelmed by the thoughts that circle in my head. I've lost everything and everyone.
I'm trapped in another time; in the future. I can't go back – I know what fate awaits me there.
But I don't know if I belong here either.

Before I finish washing, I briefly consider getting myself off, but eventually decide against it
and step away from the shower. I don't think even masturbation is going to clear my head. I
get dressed, and find my room to be rid of the dust. I hope Kreacher will expand his cleaning
skills to the rest of the house, since what I saw last night…well, let's just say the place is
rather filthy.

I walk downstairs, slowly, quietly, trying to listen to the other occupants. It's quiet, and I
gather everyone is downstairs having breakfast. The smells that float in the air are divine. I
suddenly walk faster towards the dining room on the ground floor, my stomach rumbling as I
descend the stairs. Once I get there, I pause in confusion. I can hear voices of conversation,
laughter, and clattering of plates and goblets coming from the basement. The others must be
having breakfast in the kitchen, which is not as fancy and spacious as the dining room. I
shake my head in bemusement and walk down a set of narrow stone stairs towards the
basement.

I push the kitchen door open, feeling quite nervous.

"Reggie!" My brother exclaims happily. He's looking cheerful and relaxed – quite the
opposite from what I saw last night. "Come here," He says with a grin and makes room at the
table between him and his godson.

Everyone is staring at me, and I'm feeling rather uncomfortable. I glance around the kitchen.
It's equally filthy as the rest of the house, but otherwise exactly like I remember it. The iron
pots and pans are hanging from the ceiling like they always have. The large wooden table in
the centre of the room hasn't moved an inch. The people who sit around it though, are
something new entirely.

"Everyone. This is my brother, Regulus." Sirius introduces me with a wide grin, and based on
the unsurprised looks, I can only assume that the others were already aware about my arrival.

"Pleased to meet you," I say politely to everyone, my voice tight. Everyone murmurs their
greetings as I move smoothly to sit down next to my brother.

They are all still staring at me.

"So, you've met Harry and Remus already," My brother says. "This is Arthur Weasley and his
wife, Molly," Sirius says and nods towards a ginger-haired man and woman, sitting on the
opposite side of the table.

Mr. Weasley grins at me and gives me a nod. "Good to meet you, Regulus." He says. I nod
and reply accordingly.

"How are you adjusting, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asks from me, and I'm a bit stunned by her too
familiar approach. She's acting like she knows me, or like I'm a child or something.

I clear my throat. "I'm fine, thank you."

"Coffee or Tea?" She asks kindly.

"Tea, please," I say and give her a polite smile. She flicks her wand and a steaming mug of
tea appears in front of me.

"These are our children," Mrs. Weasley says and eyes the several children scattered along the
table. "The redheads, at least. Although, I always think of Harry and Hermione my own as
well," She continues with a chuckle, nodding towards the brown-haired witch and Potter,
who sit side by side next to me.

"Fred and George are the ones at the end of the table, then Ronald, and Ginevra." She says
and I nod and greet them. The children – or well, teenagers – greet me with suspicious looks
before they resume their meals.

I sip my tea and eat my breakfast in silence. I listen as the Weasley children bicker about
something with their parents. Potter too stays quiet and I can feel him studying me from the
corner of his eye. Lupin and my brother discuss Ministry politics, which seem to be the same
as in my past.
Everyone's acting like nothing's different. Like nothing strange has happened. As if a stranger
isn't sitting amongst them. Or that the said stranger doesn't currently possess a piece of the
Dark Lord's soul, or, at least, have that piece of a soul kept stashed in his bedside table.

After breakfast, Mr. Weasley leaves for work, and Mrs. Weasley orders everyone – the
children, that is, since I'm sure as hell not going to take orders from a blood-traitor who has
taken over my home – to wash themselves and then to their chores.

I yawn and take another piece of toast from the serving plate. As I nibble it absently, the
kitchen slowly clears and only my brother and I stay at the table.

"So…How are you doing?" Sirius asks, drumming his fingers against the table. He takes a sip
from his coffee, and I'm quite sure he has spiked it with alcohol. God, my brother's a proper
drunk.

I scrunch up my nose in distaste as I eye his cup, and he barks a laugh.

"I'm fine," I reply plainly.

I'm far from fine, actually, but us Blacks are taught to keep our emotions to ourselves.

Sirius sighs. "Yeah." He mutters, evidently far from fine as well.

We stay silent for a while.

"What did you mean yesterday?" He suddenly asks. "You said something about facing death.
About sacrificing yourself," He says, and gives me a scrutinising look.

I try not to groan. Fuck. How am I going to explain that?

"I only assumed it must have happened since that was what the spell required," I say simply.

"What does that mean? Where were you before you came here?" He asks sharply.

I shrug indifferently. "Dunno. I don't remember." I say, and he scoffs.

"You're lying, Reggie." He says tersely, and god, he looks just like father. I can't think of him
right now. I can't handle it. I look away and clench my jaw.

There is a short silence before Sirius sighs again. "We're cleaning up the house, to make it
more habitable, to serve as headquarters. Care to join us?" He asks, and I shake my head with
incredulity.

"Me? To clean my own house?" I huff and give him an unbelieving look. "You must be well
out of your tree if you think I'm going to scrub the floors, brother." I retort with a sneer.

He grumbles something under his breath, finishes his coffee with a single gulp and stands up.
"Whatever. We'll be in the drawing room." He says moodily and leaves the kitchen.

I heave a sigh, and finish my breakfast.

As Kreacher starts to clean the kitchen, I wonder what to do next. Feeling like a stranger in
my own home, I decide to look over the house as I wait for Dumbledore to arrive.

I walk upstairs to the ground floor and step into father's study, which is opposite to the dining
room. The room is dark and musty, and the black curtains are drawn in front of the windows.
The place is crawling with spiders, doxies and other pests. I purse my lips, really hoping I'd
had a wand on me, and make a mental note to discuss that with Dumbledore. Or someone. I
glance at father's desk, and it's neat as always. I walk closer and open one of the drawers – his
Firewhiskey stash is intact. Smirking slightly, I close the drawer and leave the room. The
hallway is dark and quiet, but I can hear a faint muttering from the wall behind moth-eaten
velvet curtains. Feeling curious, as I do not remember it from before, I walk closer and open
them. And I freeze in shock.

I'm facing a woman in a portrait, who starts to scream, her eyes rolling in her head as she
stares at me.

"M-Mother?" I croak as I take in the woman in the portrait. She's old; her skin is yellow, and
she's wearing a black cap and veil.

The woman lets out a strangled moan, her eyes widening and for a moment I think she's
going to faint – if that is even possible.

"Regulus!" She screeches.

"Mother?" I ask again in shock. What is happening? Why is her portrait here? I swallow
deeply as I stare at her.

"Oh! Regulus! My dear son, worthy son, the heir to my House! Finally, my son is here to
cleanse this place from the Half-breeds, mutants and freaks! I thank you Salazar!" She wails
incoherently.

"I'm – I – " I manage to choke, completely stunned by what I'm seeing. I haven't even had the
time to deal with my parents' deaths, and now I'm facing my deceased mother's portrait. It's…
paralysing. I'm having a hard time to breathe.

"So…I see you've met mother." Sirius says from the foot of the stairs, watching me with an
amused expression.

I stare at him in disbelief. "You think this is funny?" I gasp, and my brother hasn't got the
time to answer me, before mother starts to screech again.

"Yoooou!" Mother shrieks, a sneer taking place on her face as she sees my brother. "YOU!
The Blood-traitor, abomination, the shame of my flesh!" She screams. "I thank Merlin that the
rightful heir of my House has finally arrived to rid this place from filth!" She continues, now
drooling as she screams with dedication.

Oh, mother. I sigh with exasperation and bewilderment. This is all kinds of fucked up.
Sirius grins at her. The fucker. "You're deranged, dear mother. I know you love it when I
bring the scum around," My brother says cunningly and laughs as he flicks his wand at the
portrait. The curtains close and my mother's screams are muffled, and soon fade away.

I'm still trying to process what I have just witnessed. My head starts to hurt. I need to lie
down.

I walk up to Sirius, who has the audacity to smirk at me. I'm shaking in anger, grief, and
disgust. I give my brother a proper shove and he staggers backwards, bumping towards the
wall as I push past at him towards the stairs. I need to get away from him.

"Reggie…come on, I'm just having a bit of fun with her, is all…" He says with a hint of
remorse in his voice.

I turn swiftly and give him a cold look. "You're sick." I say simply and turn around, and head
towards my room.

I hear my brother sighing wearily.

Once I return to my room, I have to suppress the urge to smash things, to throw things. If
only I had a wand, I could actually do so. With a wand, I could cast a silencing charm and
destroy my room without anyone being any wiser, but since I don't, all I can do is to take in
deep breaths, and try to calm down.

I go to lie in my bed and stare at the canopy. I think about my parents, and try to remember
every last detail about them. I think about father, who was silent, but always eyed me with
pride, even if we weren't in public. Father complimented me for my school records, and
started to explain the family investments to me, training me to be the next Head of House
Black. I think about mother, who always smothered me with praise. She was overjoyed when
I turned out to be just like she wanted.

Only two days ago, they were here. And now they are gone, forever. I grit my teeth and try to
swallow the lump in my throat. Even though I wasn't as close with my parents as I was with
my brother during our childhood, they were still my parents.

My blood.
 Long Way Down
Chapter Notes

I'm back! Here you go :)

Chapter 4: Long Way Down

Grimmauld Place, 1 August 1995

Kreacher pops into my room and announces that my former Headmaster has arrived, and is
waiting for me in the library. I sigh and stand up from the armchair I've been lounging in. I've
spent the morning contemplating my impending conversation with the old wizard; what he
already knows and what he will ask from me – and what exactly I wish to include with him. I
recall Dumbledore's brief intrusion into my mind, and I'm quite sure he doesn't know about
the locket. What he does know, is that my every intention was to betray my former master,
and to find a way to destroy him. What he did see, was the cave and the creatures guarding it.
I know this, because these were the thoughts and memories most forefront in my mind last
night.

I know what I will do, and what I will say to him. Before I open the door to the library, I clear
my mind and close the walls guarding it. This is going to be a long and tiresome day, and it is
only afternoon.

"Are you available to discuss certain matters, Mr. Black?" Dumbledore asks as I enter the
library.

I nod, and he smiles and gestures for me to take a seat on the sofa near the fire. I sit down
silently as Kreacher appears with a tray of tea and biscuits. How the old wizard managed to
get the elf to perform that, is beyond me. Kreacher hasn't exactly been taking care of the
house or itself either.

I thank my elf before it disapparates.

"So," Dumbledore says as he lifts his cup and examines its intricate details. "I think we
should talk about your whereabouts last night, before you travelled into this time." He says
simply and takes a sip of his tea.

I study him for a moment before I clear my throat. "Of course. However, I should warn you,
that my memories from last night are not the most detailed," I tell him, even though I
remember everything that happened in the cave; every last excruciating detail. He might be
the Headmaster, and the leader of the Order, but I am a Slytherin, and I did fight for the other
side. I will not share more than it is needed to gain his trust.
Dumbledore eyes me carefully, and I can't decide if he believes me or not. "Not to worry. We
can start with the most obvious one, then." He says simply, watching me expectantly. "Why
did you turn against your master?"

I roll my eyes inwardly, having predicted his first question. I give him a steady look.
"Because I didn't share his beliefs," I say and can feel the muscle in my forearm twitching. I
try to ignore it as I continue, "at least not to the extent of killing others for them." I know how
it sounds, since I most certainly knew what I was up against before I joined the Death Eaters.

"I joined him because of my family. I joined the Death Eaters because I thought I didn't have
a choice. Needless to say, I regret it now," I say honestly and stare into his speculative eyes.

Dumbledore listens to my words carefully before nodding slowly. "A family…It can be a
burden, and yet so necessary and important to have," he says cryptically, almost lost in
thought.

There's a short silence before the old wizard speaks again. "You didn't only turn your back to
him, but aimed to destroy him, yes?" He asks sharply, and the thoughtful look in his eyes is
replaced by something…inscrutable.

"Yes," I say simply, all the while reading him, trying to fathom what he knows. What he's
seen.

"How?" He presses on.

I supress a shiver of unease as I look into his hard gaze, the friendly look in his eyes vanished
long ago.

I decide to speak partly the truth. "It came to my knowledge that the Dark Lord had a secret.
Something he was keeping from everyone. I never learned what it was, but I found out its
location," I say darkly.

"The cave?" Dumbledore asks calmly. "You were there?"

I give him a curt nod. "Yes."

He hums quietly, evidently contemplating if I'm speaking the truth. "And what did you see
there?" He asks, and I can hear urgency in his voice, even though his expression is mostly
unreadable. And I know he hasn't seen it. The locket.

I calm myself before answering to him. I need him to believe me, and there's no room for
uncertainty. "A bunch of corpses that had been bewitched to do his bidding. Inferi." I say
dryly, since I'm sure he's seen them in my mind as well as the cave. "Other than that, nothing.
Whatever was there, is not anymore." I say simply.

The old wizard stares at me for a long while, staying silent. I begin to feel slightly nervous,
but I manage to keep my impassive mask on. He's testing me, trying to see if I falter. He's
trying to decide if he can trust me, and I can see a flicker of suspicion in his eyes. I keep the
memories regarding the locket tucked safely in the deepest corner of my mind, but he doesn't
seek entrance into my mind. I wonder why? Because I would. I was a Death Eater, after all.
Probably still am in his eyes.

"Your brother seems delighted by your presence," he says all of a sudden, his blue eyes
searching something from mine.

I arch a brow at him. "Not sure if I agree with your assumption," I say with wry amusement.

I don't know what the situation between me and my brother is. The last time saw him, before
my time-jump, I told him to stay away from me. Sure, we were close when we were younger,
but as we grew older and were forced to choose sides, the wedge between us deepened. We
rarely spoke to each other after he ran away from home, and it wasn't for the lack of trying on
his part.

"He trusts you." Dumbledore says and gives me a knowing look.

I try not to shift in place. My brother was always so easily trusting, so open, and very much
failing to see the faults in the people he cared about. I wonder how much of that has
remained, after being betrayed by one of his closest friends. But at the same time, I
understand the real intent behind Dumbledore's words. I must hand it to him, he is rather
insightful; the way he's using my brother to ensure my trustworthiness.

"I know." I say a bit stiffly.

Dumbledore seems to consider this. "Does he have a reason not to trust you?"

"No." I say truthfully. Because I wouldn't betray him. I'm not saying we're in the best place at
the moment, and I'm not saying that I trust him. But he is my brother. And in this time, he is
the only family I've got.

Dumbledore seems satisfied enough. "Very well. Then I can assume the rest of us don't have
any reason not to trust you either."

I nod silently.

"Splendid." He says after a short silence, a hint of enthusiasm in his voice. "Now that it is
sorted, we can discuss your existence in this time, and, well, how do we move on from here,"
He says lightly, sipping his tea.

"That would be acceptable." I say, my mind whirling with thoughts and matters I wish to
solve. "What happens to me? How long do I stay here? Am I dead to the world?" I ask
bluntly.

Dumbledore considers my questions for a bit before he speaks. "I'm afraid I do not hold all
the answers to your questions. I can only guess, and based on what we learned yesterday
about your arrival, I assume your stay here is permanent." He says, and I give him a muted
nod. I don't know if I'm happy about it, but it's not like I had much to go with where I came
from.
"When you went missing in the late seventies, you were announced dead. I believe even your
family tapestry bears a date of your passing." He says, and I'm slightly taken aback.

I know the tapestry is charmed to change the details by itself when a member of our family is
born or deceased. But shouldn't the details in the tapestry change again since I'm…well,
alive?

Dumbledore seems to guess my line of thought. "The magic in your ancestral tapestry is
unfamiliar to me and I shall not, therefore, speculate upon it," he says with a hint of a smile.
"However, I am afraid your passing to the rest of the wizarding world is something we cannot
change. At least not now, when a war is surely on its way." He says gravely.

"What does that mean? I'm stuck inside my home until the war is over? Like my brother?" I
ask bitterly. I know we breached this topic the previous night, but I need to know every
aspect of my current situation.

He gives me an apologising look. "I'm afraid so."

I scoff. "That could take years." I point out, and he only nods in agreement.

Well…Fuck me.

"The moment we reinstate you as a citizen of the wizarding world and as a member of House
Black, all eyes turn towards you. If Voldemort is alive, he will most certainly want you to
serve him. He will want to use you. And perhaps, to punish you. I trust you know this
already." He says, and I nod. Of course I know. But the idea of being trapped inside my home
with my drunken brother and a herd of Weasleys is just not that appealing.

"I don't have a wand." I say grimly. "I'm I allowed to obtain one?" I ask, feeling slightly
petulant.

I need a wand. I doubt I can remain sane without the ability to use magic, especially in the
midst of all these people. And even though I have studied wandless magic – and as it seems
that I'm in a house arrest for an uncertain amount of time, I most probably will continue
studying that sphere of magic – I still know I'm no match to anyone without a wand.

Dumbledore seems thoughtful. "There might be a way to acquire you one. I will have to look
into that," He says obscurely.

I give him a resigned nod.

"As I mentioned last night, the Order is gathering here the day after tomorrow. I hope you
will join the meeting?" He says, eyeing me with a questionable look.

Do I have any choice? Sure, I could say no and stay in my room, but…I want to know where
we are at the moment. I need to know everything that is going on. I tell him so, and he gives
me a pleased look.

"Then I will meet you the day after tomorrow." He says and stands up. I get up as well and
nod him for farewell.
Grimmauld Place, 3 August 1995

I've been keeping to myself for the past two days, staying in my room and trying to wrap my
head around everything, trying to figure out what to do with the piece of the Dark Lord's soul
that rests not so peacefully in my bedside table. I haven't slept well, and I know it is mainly
because of the artefact, which thrums with dark magic so powerful it can slip into my mind
when my guard is down – when I'm asleep.

Because of that, I decided to avoid sleeping, and instead have been wandering around the
house at nights, after everyone's retired to their rooms. Or so I thought they would be. On the
first night I ran into my brother, but after I politely told him to bugger off and let me be for a
while, he seemed to understand I needed some space.

On the second night I stumbled on the teenagers in the staircase while they were sneaking on
and off each other's rooms. If only their parents knew what they're up to. Well, it's not like I
care.

It is Thursday afternoon, and I decide to stop by mother's room on the third floor. I've been
putting it off for a few days now, since I know it will be hard to see the place without her. I
know the Weasley parents are staying in father's room – yes, I know. Arranged marriage and
all – and the twin Weasleys occupy the guest room on the same floor. The third room –
mother's room – is empty of inhabitants, and I assume no one stays there in fear of some
horrid curse attacking them when breaching her room. To be honest, mother probably has had
that set up for intruders.

Or at least, I thought it was empty. As I open the door and step in, I'm ashamed to say a high-
pitched scream escapes from my mouth. I'm face to face with a large creature, half horse, half
eagle. A Hippogriff. The creature lets out an angry snarl and charges at me, its long and
deadly-looking talons in its front legs raised, ready to slice me in half.

I manage to bolt from the room and slam the door behind me. I'm ready to sprint towards the
stairs, but the Hippogriff doesn't follow, so I assume the room is warded to prevent it from
escaping. I let out a shocked, deep breath and lean against the railing in the hallway, trying to
steady my pulse. I notice that one of the Weasley children – the girl – is smirking at me from
the next landing.

Bloody urchin.

"BROTHER!" I yell and start to make my way downstairs. I soon hear a familiar voice that is
screaming from the top of her lungs. "Stains of dishonour, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors,
children of filth!"

Fuck. I forgot. Mother.

"Reggie! If you insist on whinging, I recommend you do it in the confines of your room. Or
ANY room!" My brother yells with an annoyed voice from downstairs.
I reach the ground floor and see him wrenching the curtains of our mother's portrait together.
Mother is still screaming like a lunatic.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" I drawl sarcastically over the screaming. "I must've missed the memo of 'do
not enter mother's room if you don't want to suffer a gruesome death'!" I snap at him, a sneer
curling my lips.

Sirius rolls his eyes and lets go of the curtains. He quickly flicks his wand towards the
portrait before mother has a chance to screech another litany of obscenities. He then grimly
nods his head towards the basement. I let out a weary sigh, but follow him into the kitchen.

Apparently, it is dinner time, and the current occupants of Grimmauld Place are all gathered
in the room, some of them chatting with each other in smaller groups, while some are busy
setting the table with stacks of plates, or helping Mrs. Weasley to cook.

There are others as well. I recognise two Aurors from my time and there's also someone who
seems vaguely familiar; a girl, in her early twenties, her short hair a vivid shade of pink.
Based on what she's wearing I'd say she's an Auror as well.

Where have I seen her?

"Regulus Black." The girl in the bubble gum pink hair says with an impressed look and walks
over to me to the doorway.

I arch a brow at her. "Yes?"

The girl – woman perhaps – laughs. "What? Can't recognise your cousin?" She says
teasingly, and I hear my brother chuckle as he leans against the wall close to us.

Then it suddenly makes sense. "Nymphadora…" I say in a mild surprise. I've never actually
met the woman – or girl then – but the Black family features are unmistakable. She looks
very much like her mother, Andromeda.

She scrunches up her nose and I hear a few stifled laughs at the table.

"I prefer Tonks. Or Dora." She says bitterly. "Mother has a peculiar sense of humour," She
says flatly and I smirk at her. I might just call her Nymphadora from now on.

"Good to meet you, cousin," I say, and she surprises me by enveloping me into a quick
embrace.

I stand rigidly in place, not knowing how to react.

"You too," She says lightly and when she releases me, I'm introduced to two other Aurors;
Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody. I know who they are. The other one was quite
known and feared in the Death Eater circles. It was said that he was quite the madman, and to
be honest, he definitely looks the part.

Mrs. Weasley orders everyone at the table, and I sit between her and my cousin. Everyone
starts to eat and the conversation flows. They all seem to be discussing about some hearing
Potter is going to attend.

"Why are you going into a hearing?" I ask Potter, who sits opposite to me, next to my brother.

He's surprised, since I haven't really spoken to anyone before this. "I, uh…performed magic
in front of my muggle cousin," He says bluntly. Many heads turn towards us.

I arch a brow at him. "Quite careless," I say, and he actually rolls his eyes.

"I think not. Especially when two Dementors threatened our lives," He says harshly.

I lift my brows in surprise. Dementors are roaming the streets? Things must be worse than I
thought.

Potter is staring at me with a challenging look, and I feel a twitch of annoyance. "You
performed a Patronus charm? That is rather…advanced. Although, I have to say, I'm not
surprised," I say dryly.

His green eyes flash with irritation. "What is that supposed to mean?" Potter asks with a tight
voice.

My brother drapes a calming arm around Potter's shoulder. "I think what my dear brother
meant was that he is not surprised that you are as talented as your father was," Sirius says
calmingly, his grey eyes briefly narrowing towards mine. I inwardly roll my eyes and turn my
focus on my plate.

"So, cousin," Nymphadora says beside me, eyeing me with a scrutinising look. "What's your
story?"

I give her a shrug. "I'm sure you know all about it already…" I say wryly and she smirks.

"Well, only the outline of things. I mean, it's not that hard to learn the gossip around here."
She says and winks at the teenagers on the opposite side of the table. I resist the urge to glare
at them.

"Well?" My cousin says and nudges me.

I turn towards her with an expressionless look. I can see everyone glancing at me
surreptitiously as I answer to my cousin. "I'm afraid I can't remember anything about the
circumstances before my arrival." I say, and I can see Potter staring at me from the corner of
my eye.

My cousin shrugs. "Too bad." She says easily and returns to her meal.

I notice that the werewolf is watching our conversation closely. I arch a brow at him, and he
narrows his eyes a bit, seeming to contemplate something. It feels like the air is thick with
suspicion and doubt.

I eat my dinner, which is some sort of a stew Mrs. Weasley has prepared. It is rather good,
and I wouldn't complain even if it wasn't. I have manners. Unfortunately, the same cannot be
said about the Weasley spawn as they cause disturbance throughout the dinner. Apparently,
being a pureblood has nothing to do with one's comportment.

After dinner, the teenagers are dismissed and more people arrive. At least ten more people.
Everyone eyes me with curiosity and uncertainty as they take their places around the table.
Some of them recognise me and gasp in shock before they start to whisper to the person
sitting next to them. As my former house-mate Severus Snape walks in and locks his black
eyes to mine, he stills in mid-walk. Before anyone can start shooting questions, Dumbledore
walks in and asks for everyone to stay silent so that he can explain the situation.

As Dumbledore speaks about my circumstances by giving away only the necessary details,
Severus doesn't move his stare away from me. I look back with a blank expression, both of us
probably wondering if the other one can be trusted. How is he here? He was a Death Eater as
far as I remember. Has he changed sides? If so, how is he alive still?

"How can we be sure that he can be trusted?" A man, who looks vaguely familiar asks.

Some of the people around the table mutter with low voices.

My brother arches a brow at the man. "He is my brother, Doge," he says heatedly.

I'm a bit taken aback by my brother; the way he stands up for me, how he believes in me.

"That doesn't necessarily mean his goals are well-intentioned," A man whom I recognise
from school; Sturgis Podmore says calmly.

"Didn't you just hear Dumbledore?" Sirius asks with annoyance. "My brother's mind was
searched through, to make sure he's not a Death Eater anymore."

I flinch, and Severus notices. His stare turns to curious. I look away from him and study the
other occupants in my kitchen.

"And how is that possible, by the way?" Says another familiar voice.

Emmeline Vance. Hmm. How should I describe her? I mean, I know her from school. Rather
well, if I may add. Let's just say that there was a short period in our fifth year where we got to
know each other very well in the confines of various broom closets.

I turn to look at her with a blank look. "Whatever do you mean by that?" I drawl, and her
gaze hardens.

"How does one turn his back to Voldemort and live to tell about it?" She asks harshly. I
swallow but hold her gaze. "I mean, it didn't work for Snape here either." She continues,
glancing carefully at Severus.

I lift my brows in comprehension. So…Severus is a spy. Of course. But to which side he

really is loyal? I hear my brother scoff and see him glare at Severus, and I realise he has been
in the same room with my former Slytherin house-mate for over a half an hour, and behaved
himself at least until now.
Dumbledore clears his throat. "Gentlemen. Ladies. As I said, I have spoken with Mr. Black,
and I have searched through his mind to make sure he is what he says. The most important
thing is that we do not speak about his existence in this time, since Voldemort would most
likely try to use this for his favour. We do not know the exact detail how Mr. Black has
managed to travel to this time, but I assure you, the little information we know is best to be
kept in secret." Dumbledore says, and everyone looks at him with a hint of wariness and
doubt in their expressions.

I hope the children received a good scolding for what they've done. Reading aloud a ritual
that practically oozes of dark magic. Even though I am grateful that they did it, there could've
been far worse consequences. I mean, it is my family we're talking about.

"I also want to point out, that Mr. Black is participating this meeting because he shares our
goal. Destroying Voldemort." Dumbledore continues and gives me a meaningful look over
his half-moon spectacles.

Bloody brilliant. It seems that there is no way for me to stay indifferent in this war, even if I
wasn't keeping safe a crucial part of the plan to finish the Dark Lord.

There's more murmur, but no one questions me further. They go through the recent Death
Eater sightings, unusual occurrences, missing people. And I listen closely. It seems like we're
in the same situation we were when I took the mark.

In the beginning.
 Symmetry
Chapter Notes

Here again! Oh, and I know Harry's hearing in the book was Thursday the 12th of Aug,
but since it is not accurate (as 12 Aug 1995 is actually Saturday), the day in this fic is
changed into a weekday: Friday, 11 Aug 1995.

Chapter 5: Symmetry

Grimmauld Place, 3 August 1995

After the Order meeting, I follow Dumbledore into the library. He presents me a wand, and I
lift my brows in surprise. The old man has kept himself busy.

"Mr. Ollivander suggested that this would be best suited for you." He says simply.

I'm feeling slightly baffled and frown at him. Weren't we supposed to keep my existence
hidden? Isn't it already bad enough that a roomful of Order members know about me?

Dumbledore smiles. "He assured me that everything we discussed would stay between us."

I nod slowly and take the wand from his outstretched palm. I can feel my magic thrumming
in my veins, moving towards the piece of wood. I inspect it carefully; it's nothing like the one
I used to own, and I even feel the wand trying to resist my magic.

"Cherry wood with Dragon Heartstring. Eleven inches, fairly resilient," He says, and I lift my
eyes to meet his. "Cherry wands may possess a truly lethal power, especially when paired
with Dragon Heartstring. It is said that that kind of a wand should be never owned by a
wizard without an exceptional self-control and strength of mind." Dumbledore says as he
studies me. I move my gaze back to the reddish-brown wand between my fingers, feeling
how it tries to faintly fight back before eventually settling, accepting me.

"Why don't you try it?" Dumbledore says gently, watching me expectantly.

I give the wand a wave and transfigure one of the reading lights on the side table into a bird.
It's not entirely flawless or fluid, but I can still feel a wave of satisfaction flow through me.

Dumbledore looks impressed. "Seems to work nicely enough," He says lightly.

I clear my throat. "Yes. Thank you."

His eyes twinkle behind his half-moon spectacles as he assesses me. "A wand is nothing
without a wizard, while a wizard can do all things without a wand," he says simply.
I stare at him silently, feeling somewhat uncomfortable after keeping my mind closed for so
many hours.

"Well, I'm afraid I must be going now. I'll be in touch," Dumbledore says after a short silence
and nods before he leaves.

An hour later I'm still in the library, alone, practicing spells and relishing the fact that I finally
have a wand – and really, it feels like I've been without an arm for the past couple of days –
when the girl; Potter's friend, walks in.

"Oh! Sorry, Mr. Black, I, um…didn't realise someone would be here." She stammers.

I stare at her. She's biting her lip, and her eyes are widened slightly. I give her a shrug. "I'm
not that surprised." I say wryly, but when she doesn't get my sarcasm, I clear my throat. "I
mean, have you met my brother? He doesn't exactly spend his leisure time in a library…" I
say, a small smirk playing on my lips, and she lets out a nervous laugh.

"Do you mind if I browse your library? Or, um…Do you want some privacy? I can come
back later…" She says unsurely.

I gesture towards the long shelves in the vast room. "By all means," I say, and she gives me a
small smile and a nod before she rushes towards one of the shelves on the back wall.

I resume my seat on the sofa and continue testing my new wand. Charms seem to work
properly, but I still have a bit of trouble with Transfiguration.

Some time later I hear muttering from the opposite side of the room. I glance up and see the
girl, leaning against a shelf, a book spread open on her palm and her eyes glued to the text. I
take a moment to study her features. I assume that she – and the rest of the teenagers – aren't
that much younger than me, probably in their last years of school.

She's wearing tight jeans and a loose, long sleeved shirt. Her hair – a mess of tangled curls to
be exact – is drawn up into a loose bun. I amuse myself for a moment by thinking what she
would look like without that shirt. What would her hair look like, fanned out on my pillow?
She seems to feel my stare and glances up. She blushes slightly and clears her throat, looking
slightly uncomfortable. I shift my gaze away and concentrate on Transfigurations.

"If you lessen the pressure of the motion, the spell will be more powerful," She quips from
where she stands.

What? I turn to look at her and arch a brow. Apparently, she has been staring at me as well.

"I'll manage," I say, a bit stiffly. A schoolgirl tries to tell me how to perform spells? Really?

"Oh, sorry…I just meant that…um…I didn't mean to offend you," She says and looks
embarrassed.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "You didn't. Now what did you mean?" I can't believe I'm
letting her teach me, but I'm also intrigued to find out if she's right.
She walks towards me and after a hint of hesitation, sits next to me. "Erm…May I show
you?" She asks nervously, and I nod, studying her features.

She waves her hand in the air, copying the wand motion of the charm I'm practicing. She
could perform magic around me and inside this house, since it is full of adult wizards and
witches, but she apparently won't take any risks. I stare at her long, graceful fingers move and
examine her slender figure again, my eyes running over the sharp angles of her jaw and her
full lips as she babbles something about wand movement and intention. I watch carefully
when she smiles, and I feel…nothing. I assume it has something to do with her being a
schoolgirl, or just…not being my type.

"Reggie, you in here?" The library door opens, and my brother walks in. He's staring at us
with surprise before his lips curve slightly and he walks towards where we sit.

"Oh, hello, Hermione," Sirius drawls, and I can see his eyes flashing with mirth.

The girl – Hermione – narrows her eyes at my brother as she stands up. "Sirius," she says
tightly. She turns to look at me with a small frown. "It was nice to talk with you, Mr. Black."
She says, and I hear my brother snort quietly. What a wanker.

"It's Regulus," I say politely, and the girl nods before she walks away from me and pushes
past my brother, exiting the library.

"Mr. Black," my brother says with a mocking voice. "May I join you?"

I roll my eyes at him and gesture at the empty seats around me. "What did you do to piss her
off?" I ask indifferently as Sirius plops down in an armchair facing me.

He chuckles. "Nothing," He says innocently.

I know this act. And I know when women are angry with him. He is sort of an expert in it. I
arch a brow and give him a bored look.

He shrugs. "Well, I might've yelled at Kreacher a bit. And she possibly saw it."

I scowl at him. "Why would you yell at my elf?" I ask with frustration.

Sirius grins. "Why wouldn't I? You do remember how it just loves my character?"

The resentment I'm feeling dissolves with his words. Of course I remember. How mother
made Kreacher treat Sirius poorly. How she forbade the elf to bring him food or water when
my brother was grounded and locked up into his room. But I know Kreacher only did what its
mistress told it to do.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Please ignore Kreacher from now on, okay? Don't yell at it,
don't mistreat it, and for the love of Salazar, do not beat it up!" I say exasperatedly.

Sirius looks away. "I make no promises," he says darkly and summons a flask from
somewhere.
And he's drinking again...Brilliant. I sigh inwardly and stare at the bottle with dislike.

"So?" I prod him. "The girl?"

My brother barks a laugh. "She's worried about Kreacher's living conditions. Apparently, she
has this whole cause dedicated to the poor creatures, to champion their rights in the
Wizarding world…" He says and then smirks mischievously. "She's a feisty little thing, you
know?"

Oh, Merlin…That does not predict anything good. I know how my brother was, of course,
when we both were in school, which was a couple of years ago for me. But many, many years
for him. And he hasn't changed a bit. "You can't be serious," I huff, and I instantly regret my
choice of words.

He grins. "But I am Sirius." He winks at me, and even though I've spent my entire life
hearing those fucking ridiculous words, they still make my lips quirk up with amusement.

I clear my throat and school my expression. "Still…you know she's like…your godson's
girlfriend?" I ask incredulously.

"No, I think they're just friends," He says indifferently.

"Nevertheless. She's still a child…" I remind him with a reproaching voice. Since when did
my brother become this creepy old man? Although, I suppose he always was a bit disgusting
with his various liaisons.

My brother's eyes widen comically, and he bursts in laughter. "Merlin, no! Eww, Reggie," He
says and looks slightly appalled. "What I meant is that I saw how you were making eyes at
her," He chuckles and waggles his brows at me.

I give my brother a much-needed eye roll. I did examine her features, but that doesn't mean I
want anything more to do with her. I don't really know what to say to my brother, so I decide
not to continue our discussion about the witch and instead change the topic into something
else entirely.

"Are our parents buried in the Black family crypt?" I ask, and my brother's hand stills in mid
swig.

He slowly puts the flask on the table between us, clenching his jaw. The Blacks have a crypt
in Highgate, North London, where all our family members – except the ones disowned – are
buried. I doubt my brother has been there after he ran away from home.

"I assume they are." He grits out, staring darkly at the table.

I understand that talking about them is difficult for him. It is for me, but for different reasons.
My brother obviously hated them, and our parents didn't exactly hide their dislike towards
Sirius either. Nevertheless, I suspect a small part of him feels bad for not being there when
they died.

"I'm going there," I say, a bit defensively, since I expect him to stop me.
He stares at me for a bit and gives me a curt nod. "I'll go with you." He says, and my brows
lift in surprise.

"Okay." I say slowly.

Grimmauld Place, 5 August 1995

I wake up to particularly disturbing noises. Fuck, my head is pounding. What happened to

me? Why does it sound like a herd of Centaurs is stomping up and down the stairs?

I blink slowly, and peer through half-closed eyes. I'm in my room, thank Merlin. I assume it
is morning, since the sun peaks through the drawn curtains. Well, at least I have drawn them
closed last night.

Last night… I try to remember it, and a scatter of images flood into my mind. I went to see
my parents' graves with Sirius, and then afterwards…we got pissed in father's study. I moan
with nausea as I remember the several shots of alcohol I downed, and my stomach churns
nastily. I'm gonna be sick.

I moan again.

"Reggie. If you're gonna chunder, I suggest you take it to the bathroom," My brother mutters
from somewhere close.

I curse and leap to my feet from the bed and run towards the bathroom, almost stumbling on
Sirius – who for some reason is sleeping on the floor next to my bed – as I go. Thank Merlin
I get into the bathroom in time and empty my stomach successfully into the porcelain bowl.
After a few minutes of unpleasantness, I wash my face and return to my bedroom, swaying as
I go. My brother is chuckling quietly on the floor. I kick him on the side as I walk past him
and slide back between my sheets.

"Ouch, fuck, Reggie…" He groans, and I can hear him shifting on the floor. "Feel better?" He
asks innocently.

"Bugger off." I mumble back. I can feel the pounding in my head getting worse. "What did
you do to me? I feel like shit."

Sirius sniggers. "Oh, brother. This was all you. You insisted on mixing up vodka and
Firewhiskey," he says with delight in his voice.

I groan again. "Please stop talking."

He barks a laugh. "Well, as nice as it was to stay with you, I'm gonna head to my own bed
and try to catch some much-needed sleep," he says and as I open my eyes to look at him, I
see him standing up and making his way towards the door.

"Thank Merlin." I mutter dryly, but then something nags at me. "Why didn't you go there in
the first place?" I ask, and for some reason I'm not sure if I want to hear his answer.
My brother clears his throat, his hand stilled on the doorknob, his shoulders tense.

"You didn't want me to." He says quietly, not turning to look at me.

Bloody fuck. I knew I shouldn't have asked that. Images of me asking him – no, pleading him
– to stay with me, images where I tell my brother how scared I am, how lonely I am, drift
into my mind. I groan inwardly. I'm so fucking embarrassed right now.

I stay quiet, and he eventually speaks. "I'll see you later, Reggie." He says softly and exits my
room.

"Fuck," I mutter and press my face against my pillow.

Grimmauld Place, 11 August 1995

Days go quickly by, and I've spent them in the library, occasionally sleeping through the
nights there as well since I hate to let my guard down for the locket and its dark magic. And I
can't really place it anywhere else, not when the house is swarming with people.

After Dumbledore questioned me and supposedly presumed that I was trustworthy, I decided
it was time to start researching the methods to destroy the Horcrux. Even though I did make
some groundwork before I went to the quest to find the locket, unfortunately, the artefact –
and the soul in it – remains intact. I already knew that Salazar Slytherin's locket itself bears
some ancient powers, and when enhanced with Horcrux magic – which basically is a portion
of the Dark Lord's power – I assume I'm up against a powerful and unpredictable artefact.

What I do know, is that a Horcrux must be put beyond the power of magical reconstitution,
destroyed beyond magical repair. I have formed a list of curses I would like to try against the
locket, and since I can't exactly try them inside this house, I now need to find an appropriate
place to practice them. It doesn't help matters that my brother and Lupin are keeping a careful
eye on me, and it is undoubtedly impossible to leave this place unnoticed after our little
outing to the graveyard. Destroying the Horcrux is necessary, but it must be done in secret.

After weighing my options, I concluded that once the teenagers go back to Hogwarts, this
place will quiet down a bit, and then I might have my chance to slip out without anyone
noticing.

It is now Friday evening, and the place is abnormally quiet. Usually the teenagers and the
adults are traipsing up and down the stairs, making insufferable noises and causing my
mother to scream her lungs out downstairs. But I haven’t heard anything for a while now. I
vaguely remember that Potter's hearing was earlier today, and then I realise that everyone
must have gathered in the basement. I'm not really upset that no one asked me to join them,
but I am somewhat interested to learn what happened in the Ministry.

Have they really expelled the boy? The Boy Who Lived. At least, that's what some people
call him. I roll my eyes. What a fucking ridiculous name. But at the same time, I can't deny
that it is quite incredible that an infant has somehow managed to defeat the greatest dark
wizard I've ever known.
My brother of course told me all kinds of things about his past during our visit in father's
study last week after the graveyard. While part of the night is still kind of hazy to me, I
remember talking with my brother about his godson and his godson's parents. I sort of pity
him. The boy. The expectations, the attention, the loneliness…It must have been difficult for
him.

I need a break. I haven't found anything useful today, and I know there are still more than a
handful of books scattered around the library that could contain something regarding
Horcruxes. What can I say – our family has their share of dark and obscure books. With a
sigh, I flick my wand to clean up the small pile of books and notes and decide to stop by the
terrace downstairs for a bit of a fresh air. The backyard and garden are not enormous, but
they're safe from prying eyes and ears.

As I slip outside and close the door behind me, careful not to make any noise to disturb
mother's portrait, I almost suffer a heart failure.

"FUCK!" I wheeze, startled, when I see the other person occupying the terrace. It's Potter.

He glances up to me, the remains of a scowl edged on his face. I realise something must be
bothering him, but I don't like the way he stares at me. He doesn't say anything, and only
shifts his gaze back to the sky. The sun is setting, and as he looks at the rays of light in
different colours of red, yellow and orange, I look at him.

Potter is sitting on the terrace, pulling his knees against his chest with his arms draped around
them. His jaw is placed on the top of his knees and his face tilted slightly upwards. I stare at
his profile, and even though there is a significant resemblance between him and his father,
there are some differences; his much slenderer figure, and the shorter nose for example.
Although the untidy black mop of hair seems to be quite the same.

"What are you doing in here?" I ask, and I try to make up my mind if I want to stay or to
leave.

He shrugs. "Needed some peace and quiet, I guess." He says quietly and turns to look at me.
"You?"

"The same, I suppose." I say and glance around me. The place is empty of furniture, so I
conjure a couple of garden chairs and sit on the other one. Potter eyes the vacant chair
hesitantly, before he clears his throat and stands up.

"Cheers," He mutters and sits down on the chair next to me.

We stay silent for a while, both staring into the distance before he breaks it and speaks. "So…
what's up with you?" He asks stiffly, glancing at me from the corner of his eye.

I huff at him. "With me?" I ask and give him a pointed look before I continue, "What do you
think? You do realise what happened to me is rather abnormal, right?" I say flatly.

What is it with that kid? I mean, is he oblivious, or something? His lack of discreetness is as
appalling as his unkempt mane of hair.
Potter arches a brow. "Well…I know everything about abnormal," He says with a thin smile.

I lift my brows quickly in recognition. "Yeah, so I've heard," I mutter. My brother told me
about the various, dangerous situations into which the boy has been put by others, or even by
himself when he has played the hero. I want to ask what it was like, meeting the Dark Lord
and seeing him resurrected, but I don't.

"I heard you killed a Basilisk." I say instead.

His mouth curves up a bit. I find the look on his face irritating. "Yeah, I did. It was a couple
of years ago." He says simply.

I want to sneer at the smug kid. Okay, so perhaps he doesn't look that self-satisfied as my
mind makes me see. But still. A couple of years ago? He's a child. I tell him so, and he
laughs.

"I'm fifteen." He says a bit defiantly. "But yeah, I was twelve then. So…I was a child," He
says and smirks at me when he sees me rolling my eyes.

"How did that even go? Don't tell me you just happened to run into it?" I ask with a hint of
sarcasm.

He sighs and rubs his neck awkwardly. "It was Voldemort, actually." He says, and I feel
myself tensing at the name. He notices, and his gaze shifts to my left forearm. He stares at the
place he knows where my mark is, hidden under my robes, and I can see a shadow of disgust
in his expression. I stay still and study him carefully.

"Voldemort possessed a friend of mine with his old diary, opened the Chamber of Secrets in
Hogwarts with her help and unleashed a Basilisk to prey on Muggleborns." He says a bit
absently, his eyes still glued to my arm.

"Luckily no one died, and I managed to get into the chamber and finish the creature with the
help of Dumbledore's Phoenix bird." He says, his gaze flickering to my face.

The whole thing just sounds so fucking absurd and unbelievable, that I can't help but shake
my head in mild disbelief. "Where was Dumbledore? I find it rather implausible that he
would have sent you to kill a fucking Basilisk with only the help of his bird," I say and give
him a dubious look.

His cheeks redden slightly. "Dumbledore was asked to step down as a Headmaster by the
School Governors. There had been many attacks towards Muggleborns, and even though
everyone was only petrified by the snake, they apparently still felt it was the right thing to
do," He says with an irritated look.

I get the feeling he doesn't want to continue talking about it, so I only give him a curt nod.

We stay silent for another while, and the sun is slowly creeping down behind the garden and
other buildings around us.
"So…How did the hearing go? You suddenly in a need of a hiding place?" I ask lightly. As if
the wizarding world could do that to the boy who lived, I think bitterly.

He smiles. "Oh, it was…okay, I guess. I can go back to Hogwarts." He says with reserve in
his voice.

I arch a brow at him. "I can see you are screaming with delight," I say dryly.

He sighs. "Yeah, I'm relieved, but…It was a close call. They apparently hate me in the
Ministry…" He says and grimaces a bit.

I stare at him intently. I've read some of the Prophets from the past months. I'm surprised the
Ministry is not taking seriously anything the boy has said about the Dark Lord's resurrection,
and even more so as I've read how they write about Potter and Dumbledore in the paper. In
short, the Ministry is in denial.

I'm also a bit taken aback how easy it is to talk with my brother's godson. The thought of it
seems so fucking strange. But in reality, he's only three years younger than me. Still, he is an
annoying, whinging brat who evidently doubts my every move. He loathes Death Eaters,
former or not, that's certain. The look in his eyes says it all.

I clear my throat. "Why did they let you go then?" I ask.

Potter clenches his jaw. "Dumbledore testified." He says tightly. Something about the
Headmaster is evidently rubbing him up the wrong way.

"Or…perhaps it was your status as the Boy Who Lived that prevented them from throwing
you into Azkaban." I say wryly.

Potter groans and shakes his head in frustration.

We stay outside and chat for a while until the sun has set and it is dark outside.

"I should go," Potter mutters eventually and stands up. He stretches his back and I find
myself staring at him.

I clear my throat. "Yeah, you should." I say tightly, eager to get rid of him.

Potter's brow furrows slightly before he leaves without another word.

I stay put and stare into the distance. Even if it was…tolerable talking with him, most of the
time I am irritated by his presence. I feel somewhat confused, as I can't make up my mind
about him.

After a while of silent contemplation, I stand up from my chair and head towards my room
for the rest of the night.
 Fire Meet Gasoline
Chapter Notes

Hope y'all have enjoyed the holidays.

Here's the next chapter, let me know what you think! Oh, and Sirius's lines in Sirius-
Harry floo-call are almost entirely from OotP.

Chapter 6: Fire Meet Gasoline

Grimmauld Place, 1 September 1995

A month has gone quickly, and now the house feels empty. The teenagers have left towards
Hogwarts this morning, and the Weasleys have moved back to their home. It is finally quiet
in Grimmauld Place.

Even though I've tried to stay away from everyone for the past month, I haven't really
managed to avoid entirely the collection of other inhabitants and the various people who have
gathered here for the Order meetings or simply for dinner. While I haven't seen Severus since
the meeting in the beginning of last month, I have been acquainted with Weasleys' eldest son
William and my cousin Nymphadora, who have both visited Grimmauld place almost every
day.

Not every member of the Order has been as eager to engage into a conversation with me as
some have. Perhaps they remember who I was. Perhaps they have their doubts about my
sincerity.

My thoughts are interrupted as my cousin Nymphadora steps into the library, where I am
currently researching.

"Here's my favourite cousin!" She calls. I turn to look at her direction and see my brother and
the werewolf following her. So much for the peace and quiet.

"Hey!" My brother says and stops in midstride. "I thought I was your favourite cousin?" He
says to Nymphadora with a mock hurt look on his face.

The werewolf rolls his eyes while Nymphadora shrugs innocently and walks towards me,
snatches the book from my hands and plops down next to me on the sofa.

"What are you reading?" She asks as she props her feet on the table and starts to browse the
book while I grit my teeth together. "Oh, Merlin this looks boring." She mutters.

"And how are you today, dear Nymphadora?" I ask snidely, with every intention to annoy her
since she has the audacity to interrupt my tranquillity.
Sirius chuckles as he and Lupin sit down in the armchairs opposite us.

Nymphadora sends a scowl at me, but eventually her lips turn into a sly smile as she hands
my book back. "Just came to see if you're up for a little duel," She says mischievously.

"What?" I ask with confusion.

"You do know what a duel is, little brother?" Sirius quips with a knowing smile and my
nostrils flare. I've always been younger than him, sure, but now even more so. And he doesn't
hesitate to remind me about that little detail.

"Belt up," I say to him and give him a bored look, even though the suggestion of a duel
sounds intriguing.

Nymphadora eyes our banter with amusement. "So?" She says and nudges me. "You up for
it? Sirius's been boasting about finishing you off all morning," She says with a devious smirk.
I know she's trying to bait me into it. How in the hell was that woman not in Slytherin?

I arch a brow at my brother. "Not bloody likely." I say with a scoff.

"Oh, come on, brother. It's just a small, friendly sporting competition," My brother says with
a huge grin. "You have to practice with your new wand," He says shrewdly.

I roll my eyes. "I can practice fine on my own," I mutter, and my brother looks
contemplative.

"Okay. I mean, I understand if you feel intimidated to duel me. I have several years on you,"
He says slyly, probably knowing already that I'll cave in. It's not like I'd let my brother go on
by thinking that he could best me in a wizard's duel.

"Fine." I grumble and put my book on the table. Nymphadora and Sirius exchange knowing
smirks. Brilliant. I've been tricked by a Gryffindor and a Hufflepuff.

"Stupefy!" My brother yells, and I dodge his spell with ease. I respond with a Full Body-Bind
Curse and follow it up with a Knockback Jinx. Sirius deflects the first and dodges the other,
all the while sending a trip jinx at me, followed by a stinging hex.

"Fuck!" I hiss as I take both spells and stumble, but manage to keep my footing and avoid his
next hex. I have to give it to him – he's fast.

Sirius barks a laugh. "Oh, brother. You didn't think I'd forget how you play?" He asks
tauntingly.

The git. I send a couple of mild hexes towards him while I adjust my stance and think about
my next move.

We're still in the library, as it is the most spacious room in our house. We've made enough
room on the floor and warded the bookshelves and furniture. No need to make a mess.
Needless to say, we've done this before, when we were younger. Before my brother ran away
from home.

Lupin and Nymphadora watch our duel with a mix of amusement and interest. My brother
and I continue sending hexes, jinxes and mild curses towards each other while deflecting and
dodging what the other sends forward.

A half an hour later we're both sweating, exhausted, and slower in our moves. I manage to hit
Sirius with a spell I've been wanting to test and for a moment, my brother is staring at me in
confusion until he begins to shift in front of me.

Both Lupin and Nymphadora snort as they realise what is happening, while I eye the black
dog in front of me a bit smugly. I flick my wand and retrieve my brother's wand from the
floor. "Now who's finished who off?" I ask with a self-satisfied smile.

My smile falters as the dog starts to approach me slowly, carefully, its grey eyes glinting
threateningly. The dog bares its teeth and lets out a low growl.

"Sirius?" I ask hesitantly and take a step back. "You can shift back now." I say, and the dog
growls again. I'm beginning to feel a bit nervous. He is still my brother, isn't he? He
understands what I'm saying...? I mean, I haven't really faced him like this before. I only
learned about him being an animagus a couple of weeks ago, but didn't really confront him
about it. And now I'm starting to regret that…Fuck!

I take another step back, and then the dog charges towards me. I scream – because, hell, a
fucking bear-like dog is attacking me and I don't know if it's going to eat me slowly or just
kill me – and I don't even have time to repel the beast with a spell before it has knocked me
on the floor and my wrist is trapped between its sharp teeth. The dog sits on the top of my
chest and growls.

"Sirius," I groan under the dog's heavy weight and grab it by the scruff of its neck with my
other hand. "Let go of me," I pant with a warning tone.

The dog narrows its eyes at me, its jaws tightening around my wrist, and lets out another
growl. My wrist stings like hell. And then I know my brother understands me. I know what
he wants me to say.

"Ouch! Fuck," I wheeze. "Fine. You win, you fucking arsehole," I grit between my teeth, and
instantly the dog lets go and shifts back to my brother.

"Oh, thanks Reggie," Sirius says and grins at me, still sitting on top of me while he takes his
wand from my hand.

I shove him hard. "Now get the fuck away from me," I hiss at him, and he finally stands up,
laughing, and holds out his hand for me.

I narrow my eyes at him but stand up with his help. Nymphadora and Lupin are shaking with
laughter, and I send an angry glare towards them.
"I can't even begin to understand how you think of that as a win," I grumble as I go to the
sofa and sit down, feeling quite exhausted.

Sirius barks a laugh and comes to sit next to me. He puts his arm over my shoulder and pulls
me closer. "Aww, Reggie, I love it when you're all angry and broody. Not to even mention
how I've missed your girlish screaming."

I wrench myself away from his grasp. "Fuck off." I mutter, and Sirius merely grins at me.

"Okay, if you children have had enough fun, I'd like to have a round with this handsome man
here," Nymphadora says and winks at Lupin. The werewolf seems a bit uncomfortable, and I
notice my brother staring at his friend with a knowing smirk.

"Um. Sure, why not." Lupin mutters and they take their places in the middle of the room.

They duel for a while, and I have to say, the werewolf is clearly better but for some reason,
he doesn't put enough effort into the duel. It seems that he's going to let my cousin win. I
assume there's something going between them, or, well, perhaps the guy is just a wimp. My
cousin eventually wins and narrows her eyes at Lupin, probably knowing he's been terrible
on purpose.

We eat dinner together and then Nymphadora and Lupin are off into a mission, to follow a
lead they have on one of the suspected Death Eaters.

Grimmauld Place, 7 September 1995

I wake up with a jolt, feeling quite overwrought. "Ah, shit," I gasp as every muscle in my
body twinges with sharp pain. It feels like someone is trying to slice my left arm in half.
What the hell has happened to me?

And then I remember. The Horcrux. A collection of memories rush into my mind: an
apparition into a forest in the countryside, dark curses soaring in the air which were all
repelled by the locket, the whispers in my head and my arm burning in pain. Evidently, it was
a fruitless trip. If I hadn't been able to call Kreacher to take me home, it could've ended worse
than it did.

I am still alive. And it hurts like hell. I groan and force my eyes open.

"Take it easy, Reggie," Sirius murmurs next to me, an anxious look on his face. He's sitting
on a chair next to my bed where I'm currently situated, chewing the fingernails of his right
hand while his eyes are studying me carefully. I glance towards the windows – it's dark
outside, and I have no idea how long I have been unconscious.

"What day is it?" I grunt and close my eyes briefly when my head stings with pain. "What
happened? I need a Pain Relief Potion," I mutter, trying to ignore the soon to be raging
headache and the aching in my body – in my arm, to be more specific.
I can feel a wave of a diagnostic charm float over me and I give my left arm – which is
resting on top of the blanket – a small glance. The mark is visible, but it looks like nothing
I've seen before. The skin surrounding the Mark is burned severely, and it looks like it will
take a lot of time and effort to heal it. Apparently, the Horcrux recognises a Mark of the Dark
Lord. Or the other way around. A slight miscalculation on my part.

Sirius glares at me. "You tell me, brother," He says sharply and nods pointedly at my arm
before he flicks his wand and summons a vial of something. "I mean, you take off without
telling me and then come back barely breathing, covered in blood and mud," Sirius continues
angrily. "What the hell were you up to, Reggie? What happened?"

"No idea," I say quietly and look away. I want to pull my arm away from his scrutinising
stare and put it under the covers, but I can't move a muscle.

Sirius lets out a frustrated sigh and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Knew you'd say that…" He
says with a bitter tone. He tosses the vial on the bed, close to my injured arm. "Pain Relief.
You'll live, brother," He says dryly.

My lips quirk up involuntarily, but the amusement I feel fades when I reach for the vial. I grit
my teeth and try to move only the other half of my body, since that side doesn't feel like
someone is carving my skin with a blunt knife. It feels only slightly less horrible. I let out a
loud huff of breath, laced with swearwords and finally manage to crab the vial.

Sirius eyes my ministrations with interest. "Need a hand?" He asks simply, and I want to
throw something at him.

"Wanker," I grunt when I manage to uncork the vial and toss it down. I wait a few minutes
and we're both silent. My headache dissolves but the pain in my arm seems more intense. I'm
breathing heavily now, trying to ease the pain by staying calm, trying to mentally push the
pain away.

"Why the fuck isn't it working?" I hiss at my brother.

Sirius frowns, seeming slightly worried. "It should…" he says, evidently trying to figure out
what to do. "Perhaps Dumbledore could – "

"No." I grit through my teeth and give him a hard look. The last thing I want is to get my old
Headmaster involved, to ask me questions I cannot answer. If Dumbledore is not yet aware of
what I've been up to, then I'd like to keep it that way. "I wouldn't want to bother him. Besides,
I assume the pain will ease once my arm is healed," I say resignedly and close my eyes for a
bit. It fucking hurts.

My brother gives me a suspicious look. "Reggie…Either you tell me now what you were
doing, or I'll floo him," he says steadily, a satisfied glint in his eyes, supposedly knowing I
have no choice if I want to keep Dumbledore out of this.

Even if he seems like a carefree drunk at times, apparently, he can still pull the Black
arrogance and perseverance when necessary.
I let out a weary sigh. "I was trying to get rid of it," I say stiffly, glancing at my arm, the mark
and the blackened skin surrounding it.

Sirius blinks a few times, staring at me with a scrutinising look, evidently trying to decide if I
am lying or not. He knows me so well, but I suppose the damage in my arm makes him
believe me when he eventually nods and casts his eyes down, to my relief. It is too dangerous
for him to know. For anyone to know.

Sirius clears his throat. "Yeah, you're right. About healing your arm," he says a bit
uncomfortably and takes a small jar from my bedside table. He's looking unsure.

"What is it?" I grit out, my body shuddering slightly from the pain I'm experiencing.

Sirius cringes. "This ought to help. But it will hurt like a son of a bitch," He says and eyes me
closely.

"Give it," I grunt and hold my hand for him – the one not burning with searing agony.

He doesn't give me the jar, but instead gives me a grave look. "Hold on," he says tightly.

When his fingers touch the marred skin of my arm, I let out a gut-wrenching scream. My
breath is stolen from my lungs as the pain fills every corner of my body and mind. My body
tremors but I will myself to stay still while my brother quickly applies the healing salve to
my arm. To be honest, I can't really pay attention to him, other than to hope that every second
of the torture will be the last.

Finally, he leans back and lets out a puff of breath, and the last thing I can see is concern
edged into his face before I slip into unconsciousness again.

Grimmauld Place, 9 September 1995

The next time I wake up I'm feeling considerably better and I'm grateful that my brother
hasn't contacted anyone. He asks me about the night before, why did I do it, but I tell him to
mind his own business. Grudgingly, he lets me be and orders Kreacher to take care of me.

On Saturday morning, I drag myself downstairs, bleary eyed after a rather sleepless night. I
haven't still fully recovered but I'm getting there. I need to keep going, and I need to get out
of my room.

Lupin and Nymphadora haven't been here after the first of September, and apart from my
slight accident two days prior, I haven't really seen Sirius as he tends to sleep the days and
stay up at nights. I suppose he feels bitter since his friends are away, doing something for the
Order while he's staying in the background, watching everyone, but not being able to
participate.

I open the door to the kitchen, and I'm quite taken aback when I see my brother there, at the
stove, flicking his wand over the pots and pans, dressed only in his pyjama bottoms. It is not
ten yet, and he's there, wide awake, sipping coffee and making breakfast. Which is quite
unexpected.

"Um. Morning," I mumble and stand in place, wondering where Kreacher is.

He turns to look me and flashes a quick grin. "Well, good morning, Reggie. Coffee?" He
asks, and hands me a cup.

I murmur my thanks and sit down with my coffee while he goes back to his ministrations. I
clear my throat. "Why are you here? Where's Kreacher?" I ask, and I find myself unable to
tear my gaze away from his bare back, which is covered by scars and tattoos.

He shrugs. "Sent him into an errand. And why wouldn't I be? It is my home." He says
indifferently, as if he's been here every morning.

After a moment, my brother levitates the food on the table before sitting across me.

"Okay then. Care to put on some clothes?" I ask and look at his bare chest pointedly. More
tattoos, more scars. The sight is somewhat unnerving.

He arches a brow. "Nope," he simply says, and inspects a parchment he's picked up from the
table.

I sigh inwardly. "What's that?" I ask as I sip my coffee. I wonder if someone from the Order
has written to him. I'm slightly interested to hear what is happening in the outside world,
since the Daily Prophet Sirius has subscribed to cannot exactly be trusted.

"A letter." Sirius says absently, not looking at me.

I roll my eyes. "I'm aware. Who's it from?" I patiently ask. God, my brother can be annoying,
even as an adult.

He sets the letter down, his brows turned into a frown. "From Harry…" He mutters and rubs
his temple. "His scar's been hurting again…" he says and I stare back in bewilderment.

"His what?" I ask, annoyed by his vagueness.

He finally looks at me and clears his throat. "The scar on his forehead, the one Voldemort
gave him when he tried to kill Harry," He says darkly, and I vaguely remember having seen a
glimpse of it.

I nod, my mind whirling. "So…he's connected to the Dark Lord?" I ask, and Sirius blanches.

"What?" He asks sharply. "Why would you say that?" He demands.

I shrug. "Just a thought." Which, based on the look on my brother's face, is correct.

Sirius looks contemplative. He shakes his head slowly. "They are connected. Dumbledore's
not sure how deeply, but even Harry knows there's some sort of connection. His scar has hurt
before and he's seen some visions, about Voldemort's doings, and…" He trails off, letting out
frustrated sigh. "I just…I don't know what to do," He says harshly, looking a bit lost.

I get that he is worried about Potter. I mean, the boy hasn't exactly had it easy. Not only does
Potter share a connection with the Dark Lord but he has also fought against the man, duelled
him in front of a dozen Death Eaters, before even reaching the age of fifteen. But I'm only
now realising how much my brother cares for him.

I try to wrap my head around the whole situation, the link between Potter and the Dark Lord,
the possibilities and the threats it could entail.

"I don't know what to say, brother. Is it only hurting now or is he seeing something? Are
Potter's visions even trustworthy? If there's a connection between him and the Dark Lord,
who's to say his mind is not being altered or controlled?" I ask after a thoughtful silence.

If that would be the case, then we'd all be screwed. If the Dark Lord controls Potter, he could
finish us off quickly, seeing as Potter has lived in the Headquarters of the Order, and heard at
least some of the confidential information.

Sirius shakes his head. "I dunno…" He says and stares into distance, worry edged into his
eyes.

"Well, you can't really owl him back, you know? If the Ministry is in denial, and the Ministry
Witch is there to make sure Dumbledore doesn't go campaigning about the resurrection of the
Dark Lord, we can assume they are scanning the letters in and out of the school," I say
pointedly. "You should think of another way – perhaps you could inform someone in the
Order?" I ask and take a piece of toast from the plate my brother has brought to the table.

Sirius's eyes widen slightly as he looks at me. "You're right, Reggie! I can't owl him, but I can
floo him!" He says excitedly, leaping out of his seat.

I give him an incredulous look. Was that how my brother interpreted my advice?

"Brother," I try to caution him, but he is busy hurrying away from the kitchen, not paying
attention to me.

"Fuck." I grumble and try to assess the situation. A notorious mass murderer and an escaped
convict flooing Hogwarts in the middle of the day? Not the most sensible plan, I'd say.

"Sirius!" I yell and dash after him.

In the evening, I sit on our drawing room sofa, absently reading a book while my brother
crouches on the rug in front of the fireplace and keeps popping his head into the flames,
trying to connect to the floo in Potter's common room in Hogwarts.

I watch him murmur a string of curses and shake my head in bewilderment. That fucking
idiot is going to get caught soon.
As if knowing what I'm thinking, my brother turns back to look at me over his shoulder. "I'm
only checking the common room for a couple of seconds each time. No one is going to see
me," he says with an insisting voice.

I roll my eyes and turn a page. "Wouldn't be so sure of that…" I mutter.

Sirius huffs and after a while, he tries flooing again.

"I was starting to think you'd go to bed before everyone else had disappeared," Sirius
suddenly speaks, his head in the flames.

I assume he's managed to catch Potter alone in the Gryffindor tower.

"I've been checking every hour." Sirius continues after a moment.

I can't hear anything from the other side, but I see my brother listening intently and then
speaking with an amused voice, "Just for a few seconds to check if the coast was clear."

Yes, well. It is a way to spend one's day.

There's another short silence before my brother speaks, "Well, I think a girl - first-year, by the
look of her - might've got a glimpse of me earlier, but don't worry," he says hastily, "I was
gone the moment she looked back at me and I'll bet she just thought I was an oddly-shaped
log or something." He says and chuckles.

"You sound like Molly," my brother says with a hint of annoyance. "This was the only way I
could come up with of answering Harry's letter without resorting to a code - and codes are
breakable," He says matter-of-factly.

Oh, so Potter's not alone in the other end. Perhaps the redhead and the Muggleborn witch are
with him? The discussion in the fireplace continues.

"No, it was very good," my brother says, and I can hear a smile in his voice. "Anyway, we'd
better be quick, just in case we're disturbed - your scar," He says more seriously, and I listen
attentively.

I'm curious to learn more about the connection between Potter and the Dark Lord – and I
have a feeling that my brother hasn't told me everything he knows.

"Well, I know it can't be fun when it hurts, but we don't think it's anything to really worry
about. It kept aching all last year, didn't it?" Sirius says.

I give him a scrutinising look. Sirius had contacted Lupin about the scar right after breakfast,
and even though they were both suspecting something, my brother has apparently decided not
to alarm the boy by his thoughts.

"Well, now that he's back it's bound to hurt more often," my brother says softly.

"I doubt it," Sirius continues after a short silence, and I can see him grimacing into the
flames. "I know her by reputation and I'm sure she's no Death Eater –"
I wonder whom are they talking about? The Ministry hag?

Sirius lets out a weary sigh. "Yes, but the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters,"
he says prudently. "I know she's a nasty piece of work, though — you should hear Remus talk
about her," he says, and I can hear the bitterness in his voice.

"No," Sirius says into the flames, "but she drafted a bit of anti-werewolf legislation two years
ago that makes it almost impossible for him to get a job."

Yep, talking about the Ministry hag. I've heard my brother and some members of the Order
rant about the witch once or twice during the past month.

"Scared of them, I expect," my brother says with amusement. "Apparently, she loathes part-
humans. She campaigned to have Merpeople rounded up and tagged last year, too. Imagine
wasting your time and energy persecuting Merpeople when there are little toerags like
Kreacher on the loose," he says with a wry voice.

I narrow my eyes at him and Sirius waves a hand at me as if to brush away the subject, not
even glancing at me. Wanker. It isn't a secret that there is a great difference in our opinions
when it comes to Kreacher.

"So, what are Umbridge's lessons like?" Sirius asks suddenly. "Is she training you all to kill
half-breeds?" He says, and I suppress a snort.

"Ah, well, that figures," my brother says with a contemplative look. "Our information from
inside the Ministry is that Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat."

Even though I suspect the Order has not disclosed the most crucial matters to me in the
meetings, I've heard of this one. At the end of last month Fudge created a bunch of new laws
to make improvements in Hogwarts, laws that allow him to select an appropriate person for a
teaching post if Dumbledore is unable to provide one.

"That's exactly what he thinks you're doing," Sirius says quickly, "or, rather, that's exactly
what he's afraid Dumbledore's doing - forming his own private army, with which he will be
able to take on the Ministry of Magic."

Yes. That is our Minister…

My brother is listening again before he speaks. "Yep. Fudge thinks Dumbledore will stop at
nothing to seize power. He's getting more paranoid about Dumbledore by the day. It's a
matter of time before he has Dumbledore arrested on some trumped-up charge." He says
dryly.

"I don't know," Sirius says after a short silence. "I haven't seen anyone from the Order all
weekend, they're all busy. It's just me here," He says, and I arch an incredulous brow at his
back.

What am I? Thin air? In the midst of my annoyance I still hear the note of bitterness in
Sirius's voice.
"Ah…" Sirius mutters, a bit uncomfortably. "Well, he was supposed to be back by now, no
one's sure what's happened to him." He says, and I wonder whom is he talking about. "But
Dumbledore's not worried, so don't you three get yourselves in a state; I'm sure Hagrid's
fine." He says quickly.

So…the half-giant is missing? This is turning out to be quite an informative floocall.

"Madame Maxime was with him, we've been in touch with her and she says they got
separated on the journey home - but there's nothing to suggest he's hurt or - well, nothing to
suggest he's not perfectly okay," Sirius says with a reassuring voice.

I frown at him. I'm trying to figure out if he is lying to them or not. I understand the need to
mellow the news to the kids, especially when they cannot do anything. Still…what I can
gather from my brother's behaviour, he is worried about Hagrid's whereabouts.

"Listen, don't go asking too many questions about Hagrid," my brother says hastily, "it'll just
draw even more attention to the fact that he's not back and I know Dumbledore doesn't want
that. Hagrid's tough, he'll be okay."

My brother's silent for a moment before he speaks again. "When's your next Hogsmeade
weekend, anyway? I was thinking, we got away with the dog disguise at the station, didn't
we? I thought I could —"

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," I mutter and roll my eyes. Sirius sends a quick glare
towards me over his shoulder.

He then chuckles into the flames. "Oh, that," he says, grinning, "they're always guessing
where I am, they haven't really got a clue –"

He's been interrupted, and I hope to Merlin the kids have some sense in their heads.

"All right, all right, I've got the point," my brother says with a displeased tone.

I suppose the kids have some sanity in their heads.

"Just an idea, thought you might like to get together," Sirius continues tightly.

My brother is silent for a moment before he speaks again. "You're less like your father than I
thought," he says finally, a definite coolness in his voice. "The risk would've been what made
it fun for James," He says bitterly.

And naturally, when needed, my brother can also be a petulant and imprudent arse.

"Well, I'd better get going, I can hear Kreacher coming down the stairs," Sirius says with an
unreadable voice.

What a fucking liar.

"I'll write to tell you a time when I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can
stand to risk it?" He asks a bit sourly. Then he extracts himself away from the flames and
closes the floo connection with a flick of his wand.

He turns towards me with a scowl on his face.

"Congratulations, brother," I say snidely. "You're an arse."

Sirius glares at me. "Bugger off," He mutters and leaves the room.
 Poking Holes

Chapter 7: Poking Holes

Grimmauld Place, 8 October 1995

I'm in the kitchen, listening to my brother and Severus bickering. The Order meeting is about
to begin, and the two of them are already trading insults, far from behaving like the adults
they are. The room is full of people, as most of the Order have joined in today's meeting. I sit
between my brother and Nymphadora, across from Dedalus Diggle, Emmie Vance and
Severus.

After a while, Alastor Moody clears his throat from the other end of the table. "All right,
everyone!" He says loudly and the chatter fades. My brother and Severus settle into staring at
each other with utter contempt.

"So, as it has been confirmed that Podmore is going to do time until the end of March, Bill
Weasley will take care of his…assignment," Moody says, his eyes flickering to me before he
gestures to the ginger haired wizard next to my cousin. "And as we now know he was
subjected to an Imperius Curse, we have to be more careful in the future," he continues.

Even though I haven't been trusted with the information, I know there is something – a
mission – that most of the Order members are assigned to. I already know about the guard
post in Hogsmeade, which is mainly to keeping an eye on Potter and possible Death Eater
movement in the village, but in addition to that, the Order is guarding something else.
Something in the Ministry. Something that was Podmore's assignment.

Regardless of the Wizengamot charging Podmore with trespass and attempted robbery at the
Ministry, it is clear that Podmore wasn't there to steal anything on his own accord. Which
means that the Order is guarding something that the Dark Lord wants. I reckon it could be
anything. Supposedly something to do with the Department of Mysteries. It is rather
entertaining to keep assuming, since the Order's secrets are so poorly protected that they
could simply let me in on them. While I stare blankly ahead, I hear many protests about
Podmore's sentence around the table.

"Is it possible to appeal? Can't the Auror office provide any evidence that he was acting under
the curse?" Emmie – well, Emmeline asks. I give her a long stare, and she turns to look at me
with narrowed eyes. I lift my brows slightly, trying to provoke her. The witch quickly moves
her attention back to Moody who is speaking again, her posture now stiffer than it was.

It has been going on like this since my arrival. Whenever she's participating in an Order
meeting, it is obvious that she's somehow bothered by my presence. I suppose going down
memory lane can be…troublesome.

"…unfortunately, since Fudge and his henchmen will not see reason, as usual," Moody says
with irritation.
We talk more about Fudge and his politics; how he is doing everything in his power to assure
the wizarding world that nothing has changed, even though there have been signs,
occurrences that he must have had noticed as well. The conversation shifts to the situation in
Hogwarts, and Severus explains the latest irrationalities the new High Inquisitor has put in
motion.

"Speakin' of somethin' put in motion," Mundungus Fletcher quips from further along the
table. "Stopped at Hog's Head yes'erday durin' my watch shift an' saw somethin' ya'll wanna
hear," He grunts and everyone turns their focus on him.

Apparently, yesterday was Fletcher's shift to guard Hogsmeade, and it seems that the twat
decided to neglect his duties…again.

I truly do not understand why the Order is still trusting Fletcher with these challenging tasks.
I know that they need a knave like him, someone who hears things the others don't, but that
doesn't mean he needs to be involved in the missions. Everyone should realise that the man is
a vulnerability to the Order. I am also certain he's stolen from my family's priceless
possessions. I make a mental note to ask Kreacher to investigate it.

"The kids were meetin' up 'n the pub, an' they were speakin' abou' formin' a secret defence
grou' where they're gonna practice spells they aren' allowed or taugh' in school," Fletcher
explains. There's a loud chattering and a mix of gasps and amused sounds in the room.

"What?!" Molly Weasley's voice booms above everyone else's. "Who exactly was there?" She
demands, narrowing her eyes at Fletcher.

The man in question shrinks back a bit from the fierce look in Molly's eyes, while my brother
sniggers quietly next to me.

"I would like to know more as well. Whose idea was this? Who is leading them?" Moody
asks grimly, glancing at Severus. I look at my old friend as well, and Severus merely rolls his
eyes, seemingly bored.

"Potter, I assume. The arrogance certainly runs in the family," He says derisively, and my
brother clenches his jaw next to me.

"Don't tempt me, Snivellus," Sirius growls warningly.

Severus sneers at him and opens his mouth, evidently to make some retort but I manage to
interrupt him. "Sev." I say tightly and give him a meaningful look.

We've gone this over many times in our past. My brother, Potter and Severus had a habit of
allowing themselves to be provoked into a duel. Even though I didn't get along with my
brother back then, or we somewhat ignored each other in Hogwarts, I still occasionally
restrained Severus from lashing out at my brother, preventing him from doing something he
might have regretted later. The difference between them was that while the impulsive
Gryffindors were eager to challenge Slytherins, they weren't responsible for creating some of
the most vicious curses.
Severus looks disappointed but stays quiet.

Moody clears his throat. "Gentlemen," He grunts and arches a disapproving brow at Severus
and my brother before he continues. "Dung, what else did you hear?" He asks gruffly and
looks at the man, while his glass eye is fixated at our end of the table.

As the conversation goes on, it becomes clear that it is indeed Potter who formed a defence
group during the Hogsmeade weekend, and they intend to meet weekly to practice defensive
and offensive spells. The others talk about it for a while, and Molly especially seems quite
bothered by the thought of her four children joining such activities while the school is under
the Ministry's watchful eye.

My brother obviously thinks it's hilarious, while I'm siding with the majority opinion – that
forming such group is careless and dangerous, not to mention foolish. But then again, they
are young, and there is a war approaching, so a part of me understands their motives to learn
to defend themselves.

Sirius announces that he'll try to contact his godson through the floo again to ask him details
about this group and their meeting in Hogsmeade, and even though Moody warns him about
the risk of his exposure, my brother reassures him that he will not get caught. Molly sourly
commands Sirius to pass on a message for Ron, forbidding him to join in said group, as his
future will surely be ruined.

Grimmauld Place, 9 October 1995

"FUCK!" My brother yells from somewhere downstairs, while the portrait of my mother
starts to scream uncontrollably. "REGGIE!" He calls, and I can hear him running up the stairs
towards my room.

I let out a weary sigh and put a marker on the book I'm reading in my comfortable armchair
before my brother barges in, looking slightly alarmed.

"Reggie!" He says, panting slightly as he walks towards me.

I lift my brows at him. "Well, how nice of you to knock, brother," I say blankly and give a
pointed glance to the door. I can still hear mother moaning her usual slurs downstairs.

Sirius waves his hand in dismissal, looking grim. "That hag – Umbridge – almost caught
me," He says harshly.

"What? How?" I ask with alert, my annoyance quickly dissipating. I stand up hurriedly and
stare between the door and my brother anxiously. He was almost caught? Does she know our
whereabouts? My mind is whirling with questions while Sirius paces in front of me, tugging
his hair in frustration.

"That fucking bitch almost snatched me during the floocall!" He says, seething. I relax a bit.
So, we're probably not in an imminent danger. I doubt that she can she track the floocall since
my father has set up strong wards in this house. Still, it is something we should investigate.
"I'm sure I got away in time, otherwise we'd have company already…" He continues,
although he looks uncertain.

I clear my throat. "You need to inform someone." I say seriously, and he nods. "Close the floo
after that, ward it and…and stop contacting Potter," I order with annoyance in my voice, and
he nods again, leaving my room while clenching his jaw and muttering under his breath.

Grimmauld Place, 5 November 1995

It is the end of yet another Order meeting. There hasn't been any significant news, besides
Hagrid finally arriving to Hogwarts after his mission. McGonagall, who has joined the
meeting this time, tells the others that she hasn't yet had the chance to speak with the half-
giant privately, but she will do so as soon as possible. She also sourly informs my brother and
Molly that Potter and Molly's twin sons have been banned for life from Quidditch before she
takes off. Severus's lips twitch with glee while my brother scowls and sends him a nasty look.
I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.

Sirius has kept his word and hasn't contacted Potter since the incident last month. The past
month has been largely the same as the month before. With few unpleasantries. Like the
unfortunate occurrence on Halloween, when my brother got himself half out of his mind with
alcohol and ended up unconscious for three days – a stunt that would have been fatal to a
mere muggle. And that one time, when my brother lit the ground floor on fire after having a
little spat with our mother's portrait. After we managed to stop the flames, it turned out that
while everything else in the hallway had burned, her portrait had still survived without
suffering any injuries at all. My brother hadn't really appreciated the irony of it.

As the room clears, I notice that Severus is still there, eyeing me impassively.

"May we speak?" He asks, and I nod and gesture for him to follow me. My brother stays in
the kitchen with Lupin, both watching us carefully as we leave.

Even though Severus and I were friends at Hogwarts, there is a certain coolness between us
now. Naturally, he interrogated me after our first meeting, undoubtedly due to others' request.
What he learned during the Veritaserum laced conversation was much the same Dumbledore
had learned after my arrival. To my relief, my old friend was merely focused on making sure
I wasn't working as a spy for the Dark Lord, and thus the information regarding the locket
remained hidden.

"What is it?" I ask politely as we enter the library and place a couple of silencing charms to
the door. I sit down in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace, and Severus follows my
lead after a moment of hesitation.

He clears his throat. "The Dark Lord is planning something ambitious," Severus says slowly.

I nod. We already established that in the meeting. "Is he not always planning something
ambitious?" I ask wryly.
Severus arches a brow. "You have spent too much time with your imbecilic brother," he says
with a hint of sneer in his expression.

We haven't discussed privately in weeks, even with Severus occasionally joining the
meetings.

I shake my head in amusement. "Still?" I ask, and even though he and my brother quarrel
almost in every meeting, I am slightly stunned that they are holding their school grudges
against each other after so many years.

He narrows his eyes at me.

"I take that as a yes." I say simply. "What is he planning then?" I ask, changing the subject
back to the Dark Lord.

Severus frowns. "I have my suspicions."

"And you're not going to tell me what they are." I conclude for him, not really surprised if
that is the case.

He gives me a long stare, a blank expression on his eyes, and I know he doesn't truly trust
me. Well, I suppose he is entitled to that. As a double agent, there are only so many you can
trust.

"Potter's connection with him…the Dark Lord will try to use it. He will try to lure the boy out
of the castle," Severus says eventually.

I arch a brow at him. "And Potter will take the bait?" I ask. Even though I do not know Potter
well, I still doubt that he would completely place his trust in his visions.

Severus scoffs. "There's no doubt in that. The boy is an arrogant little twit, just like his father
was, with that insolent sense of entitlement and a spiteful sense of humour," He grits out with
an angry sneer on his face.

I lift my brows in mild surprise. He is definitely bothered by the boy.

"Can't someone rein him in then?" I ask quizzically. Wouldn't it be beneficial for the Order if
the connection between the boy and the Dark Lord was closed down?

Severus looks bitter. "I've discussed this with Dumbledore. I think the boy needs to start
learning how to close the connection himself. Unfortunately, the Headmaster doesn't share
my line of thought."

"Occlumency?" I ask. Severus gives me a curt nod. Learning the skill would make sense.
Although, I understand Dumbledore's hesitation. Not everyone can learn the skill. Not
everyone can learn to close their minds. In worst case, it could only enhance their connection,
which the Dark Lord could ultimately use in his favour.

"So, there's nothing to do then?" I ask and rub my temple. My head is hurting.
"Evidently." He says grimly.

We trade a few thoughts regarding the recent Order meeting before Severus leaves back to
Hogwarts.

Some time after our conversation, my brother enters the library.

"What did Snivellus want?" Sirius asks with a suspicious voice as he walks towards the
seating area.

I roll my eyes and don't even bother to look up from my book as he drops down in an
armchair opposite to me.

"Well?" He presses on, and I glance at him. He's staring at me with a narrow-eyed look. Like
he's certain that I am plotting something with Severus.

I put my book away and give my brother a reproaching look. "Really? Snivellus? Still?" I
merely ask.

Sirius arches a brow at me. "Really. Now, what did he want?" He asks sharply.

I know that my conversation with Severus did not contain anything the Order couldn't know.
Or what they didn't suspect already. "Has Potter mentioned anything about his…connection
to the Dark Lord?" I ask, and the look on my brother's face turns unreadable.

"What did Snape say?" He says coldly.

I lift my brows slightly.

"I don't trust that fucking slime ball, in case you were wondering," Sirius says harshly.

I let out a weary sigh. "I gathered." I say dully. "Severus suspects that the Dark Lord might
use the connection."

"How?" Sirius asks quickly, a mix of alarm and suspicion in his eyes.

I shrug. "Invade his mind, possess him. Not sure." I say neutrally.

My brother only gives me a contemplative look but doesn't say anything.

After a moment I stand up, ready to retreat to my quarters when I remember something. I
search my pockets and dig out a small parcel. "Happy birthday, brother." I say and toss him
the gift.

Sirius catches the parcel with a baffled look. After recovering from the surprise, he arches a
brow at me. "My birthday was two days ago," He says with a withering look.

I give him a thin smile. "Well, you weren't exactly up and running two days ago," I say
pointedly, referring to his alcohol induced coma. After the incident, I learned that his friends
– Potter and his wife – had died at Halloween. And that he was mourning them.
Sirius flinches, the events undoubtedly still raw in his mind. "I suppose you expect me to be
grateful that you gave me something…" He grumbles, looking away.

I shrug. "Well, if it helps, I spent your money," I say with a small grin before I turn and leave
the room.

Grimmauld Place, 20 December 1995

Time has passed again, and even though I have continued my research about the ways to
destroy a Horcrux, I haven't really managed to find anything I could try on the damned
locket. There is Fiendfyre, of course – magic so powerful I suspect could do the trick – but
since it isn't actually written anywhere that it would destroy a Horcrux, and, well, it is quite
impossible to learn to cast and maintain, I have continued to search for other means.
Unfortunately, I have read through every book in the Black library that even hints towards
Horcruxes, as well as the ones that cover the darkest, most vicious spells.

My brother is self-indulging in pity and Firewhiskey again. It is something that seems to be

occurring nearly every time one of his friends or Order members – usually Lupin – leaves
and we are left alone in Grimmauld Place. My brother and I rarely seek each other's
company. But this close to Christmas and having witnessed his whims and mood swings long
enough, I decide to go to him.

He is in father's study, leaning back in the armchair behind the desk, gazing out of the
window to the snowy street behind the half-opened curtains. His customary Firewhiskey
bottle is nestled between his hands, on top of his lap. I suppose he looks a bit…miserable.
Wistful. Hopeless.

"What do you want, Reggie?" He grunts quietly. He doesn't turn to look at me, but instead
takes another swig from the bottle.

I arch a brow at him, even though he doesn't see my expression. "What's with the pity party?"
I ask blankly as I take a couple of steps forward and slump into a chair facing the desk, across
from him.

He shrugs. "Decided to make today more entertaining."

I lift my brows at him and give him a dull look. "Yes, I can see how entertained you are," I
drawl and hold out my hand for him, expecting him to give me the bottle. Truthfully, he looks
rather dreadful.

Sirius chuckles dryly and hands me the liquor. I take a swig and cough a bit. I haven't drunk
Firewhiskey, or anything with alcohol for that matter, in a long time, not after visiting my
parents' graves. After the strong taste, it burns deliciously, and I take another gulp.

"Easy there, rookie…" Sirius says with laughter in his voice as he snags the bottle back.

"Sod off." I mutter and study him as he stares out of the window.
We stay silent for a while. "You have an addiction, you know?" I say to him. He drinks to
take his mind off from the bad things, I reckon. He's always been like that, closing himself
off even when the bad things weren't so…extensive. He's at his best when he has someone
and at his worst when he's alone. And I know I'm partly to blame for his loneliness.

My brother gives me a scornful glance. "Yes, well, let's just say I'm full of childhood
traumas," he says dryly.

I shake my head at him. "Don't we all know that," I mutter quietly.

Sirius scoffs. "And what is that supposed to mean?" He says with a sharp voice.

I give him a shrug and a blank look. "You. Blaming either yourself or your family about
every bad thing that has happened to you," I say, accusation heavy in my voice.

Sirius looks like he's tasted something vile, but he doesn't say anything as he turns his gaze
away from me. There's another silence.

"What about your godson?" I ask, wondering what Potter would think of his godfather if he
could see him now.

Sirius scowls at me. "What about him?" He asks gruffly.

I shrug. "It is Christmas soon. You don't mind that he sees…this?" I say and gesture him.

Sirius fights to keep his expression blank. I know I've hit a sore spot. "Whatever. It's not like
I'll be seeing him very soon. He can't be here with me. Dumbledore's made sure of that…" He
says darkly.

I lift my brows in a mild surprise but just as I'm about to reply to him, loud shouting erupts
from upstairs, stirring mother's portrait awake.

As mother starts to scream her usual obscenities, we both leap to our feet and dash away from
father's study, wands at the ready.

"Filth! Scum! You're both a disgrace to my family! How dare you sully the house of my
fathers-"

"Shut up, you lousy hag!" Sirius roars at her and throws a silencing charm to mother's portrait
just as her eyes are bulging from their sockets with anger.

I give him a reprimanding look, and Sirius merely shrugs and jerks his head upstairs, where
we can still hear someone yelling. "Care to investigate that, or are you worried about dear
mother's feelings?" He asks with exasperation and makes his way quickly up the stairs.

I bite back a remark and follow him.

We stop in front of the room where the noise is coming from; the same one Potter and one of
the Weasley kids occupied during the summer.
"It's Phineas," Sirius says quickly, kicking the door open while pointing his wand inside the
room.

There's no one there, and as we step into the room, Phineas Nigellus, the portrait of a
previous Headmaster of Hogwarts – which, for reasons I do not know is moved from
downstairs hallway into this room – gives us a bored look as he leans into his frame.

"Finally." Phineas scoffs. "I've been shouting here a great amount of time." He says with
irritation. I share a look with my brother.

Sirius clears his throat. "What is it?"

"The current Headmaster wishes me to deliver you a message." He says grimly.

We both stare at him expectantly.

"Arthur Weasley has been gravely injured and his wife, children and Harry Potter will be
arriving into your house shortly," He says with a bored voice.

"Fuck." Sirius mutters and we share another glance, this one more alerted. We both know that
Arthur Weasley has been on a mission.

Phineas arches a thin brow at my brother, evidently annoyed by his language.

"Tell him we're delighted," I quickly say to the portrait, and immediately the previous
Headmaster disappears.

We both stare at the empty portrait in silence, until Sirius clears his throat and looks at me, a
hint of fear in his eyes. "Come on, they'll probably be downstairs in a bit."

We move quickly down the stairs and hear clattering from the basement. As we enter the
kitchen, I hear Kreacher muttering profanities to our guests. Sirius growls with annoyance
and aims a kick to the slightly deranged elf, but I manage to yank my brother backwards, so
he misses it.

"Kreacher," I say warningly, and I give a sideways glare to my brother. "Prepare us some tea
and then go clean up the quest rooms," I say to the elf and Sirius clenches his jaw but refrains
from saying anything, and instead focuses on the five teenagers who have materialised in our
kitchen, scrambling back to their feet.

As my brother goes to help the youngest Weasley up, I glance at the others. They're all
looking scared and anxious.

"What is it? Why are you here?" Sirius asks from all of them.

I realise we both probably smell like we've been just drinking, which we have.

"Phineas Nigellus told us that Arthur's been injured – " My brother says, but one of the twins
interrupt him, suggesting that he should ask Potter what had happened.
Everyone turns their eyes at Potter, including me. The boy in question stammers as he starts
to explain himself. Apparently, he has seen a vision about a snake attacking Arthur Weasley
in an empty corridor. I exchange a look with my brother. We are both aware that the Dark
Lord has a snake, and apparently, he has used the snake to attack Arthur Weasley. Why Potter
has seen everything, is rather obvious. He's seen the Dark Lords mind.

Everyone is quiet after Potter ends his story, and Potter's friends give him grim looks,
supposedly expecting him to give them more information about the situation. Kreacher
provides us a large tray in the middle of the dining table, filled with a teapot, several cups, a
selection of sandwiches, scones and fruits. I give the elf a grateful nod before it slips away
from the kitchen.

"Is our mum here?" The other twin asks from my brother, and Sirius shakes his head at him.

"I'm not sure if she even knows yet what is happening, or if she does, she's probably on her
way to see your father," Sirius says carefully. "What's important is that you're safely out of
Hogwarts before that Ministry hag could've interfered into this," He says, and the Weasley
kids start to argue with my brother.

They of course want to go to see their father, who apparently has been taken into St Mungo's.
My brother thinks that they can't go before their mother has arrived there, as it would look
suspicious if they'd just show up in the hospital before Arthur's wife even has been informed.
I have to say I agree with my brother.

While they have at it, I glance at Potter. He's looking guilty, remorseful even. I suspect he
thinks he's had something to do with the attack.

Sirius's voice is slowly becoming more irritated, and just as I'm about to suggest that
everyone should calm down, the other twin shouts at my brother about him not risking his
neck and being content of hiding in his house. I can see my brother going very stiff, his
fingers pressing tightly into fists.

"Enough." I say darkly. Both twins shut up and scowl at me, while Sirius grits his teeth
together. "Let's just wait for your mother's arrival before anyone does anything stupid." I say
grimly and gesture at the table. "Sit down." I say firmly.

The twins stare at me defiantly for a moment but eventually everyone sits around the table.

Sirius lets out a sigh. "I'm sure we'll hear from her soon enough. Come on, let's all have
something to eat and drink while we wait, okay?" He says kindly, eyeing the teenagers and
waving his wand at the tea tray. Cups levitate slowly in front of everyone, along with a small
plate with a sandwich and a fruit in each.

We sip tea from our cups in silence, and all that can be heard is the soft clinking of cups
touching the table, and the sound of the kitchen fire burning.

I sit next to Potter, and I can see him clenching his jaw every five minutes. He's trembling
slightly, swallowing deeply, his gaze fixed on the table in front of him. I share a meaningful
look with my brother, who then eyes his godson with worry.
Then a burst of fire appears in the air, and a phoenix tail feather and a scroll of parchment
drop on the table. Everyone gasps in shock, and my brother snatches the parchment from the
table. "This must be from your mother," he mutters and gives the letter to the twins, who start
reading it aloud.

It seems that Arthur is alive, but in a critical condition still. Molly writes that she'll go the
hospital, advising her children to stay where they are.

The mood is dark, and I can see fear in everyone's eyes. The news that Arthur is in a critical
condition seems to shake everyone. We stay in silence, avoiding each other's eyes and the
night goes on.

During the early hours of the next morning my brother suggests that we ought to get a couple
of hours of sleep, but the kids merely scowl back at him. I'm tired as fuck, but I'm not going
to leave my brother to handle a group of anxious teenagers alone. I also want to know what is
going on.

We stay put, and the night goes on. At some point, both twins have fallen into a light slumber,
and I can see Potter exchanging worried glances with my brother every now and then. After a
long silence, a long night, and a long wait, it is finally morning. The door bursts open and
Molly Weasley steps into the kitchen, looking white and apprehensive. She manages to give
her children a small smile as she tells everyone the news. Arthur's going to be all right.

The kids hug their mother while she tells them more about his condition. Relieved, my
brother jovially starts preparing breakfast with his godson. Molly eventually expresses her
gratitude to Potter, and then to my brother and me for looking after her children throughout
the night. My brother seems very pleased and even more so, when Molly asks if they can all
spend the Christmas in Grimmauld Place. I feel a mix of annoyance and excitement as my
brother agrees enthusiastically.

As my brother and Potter step into the pantry for a chat, I decide I need to sleep more than I
need food, so I slip away from the kitchen and make my way into my room, where I fall into
my bed, exhausted from the sleepless night.
 Revelation
Chapter Notes

Here you go :) For the sake of consistency, some of the lines are from OotP.

Let me know what you think!

Chapter 8: Revelation

Grimmauld Place, 21 December 1995

I'm in my bedroom, well, not really my room, but the one Ron and I shared the last time we
were here, at Grimmauld Place. I stare at the wall opposite to me, trying to stay awake by
pressing myself against the hard metal bars on the bedstead. I try to focus on the sound of
Ron's snoring, but it only makes me want to close my eyes more. I can't let myself fall asleep.
Not after what happened the last time I slept. Not after dreaming about being inside a giant
snake and then attacking Mr. Weasley. Because that is how it went. It was me. I was the
snake. And now I have to stay awake, so I don't hurt anyone else.

Eventually Ron wakes up, and I make it seem like I too had a quick nap. We go to lunch and
change our clothes before heading towards St Mungo's. Everyone around me seems to be in
high spirits after being on pins and needles the previous night, desperately waiting news
about Mr. Weasley.

Sirius is thrilled to have so many people surrounding him again, not to mention by the
prospect of having everyone staying at Grimmauld Place for Christmas. Even though I want
to feel that same joy and relief, I can't help but feel terrified.

After lunch, we travel across muggle London by Underground, with Tonks and Mad-Eye
escorting us. Tonks tries to chat with me while we sit side by side on the train, but I only
manage to mumble something to her in reply. I really don't feel like talking to anyone.

We get off in the centre of London, where we step into the busy street, packed with Christmas
shoppers. I follow the group and eventually stop in front of a large department store,
called Purge 6z Dowse Ltd.

"Here we go," Moody says as he walks past me towards the display window.

The store seems to be empty and it looks like it has been abandoned in the middle of
restoration. I hear two women make remarks about the store, wondering if the place is ever
going to open as they pass us and the building.
My eyes travel along the front of the building, from the rusty doors to the chipped dummies
in the display window, but I see nothing that indicates that the place is a wizarding hospital.
Just as I'm about to ask Moody where the entrance is, Tonks speaks to one of the broken
dummies. Realising how odd it must look; leaning against a window of a closed department
store and speaking to a dummy, I quickly enter through the glass with the others after the
dummy gives Tonks a small nod and beckons us to move forward.

What awaits us on the other side of the glass is not a bunch of old and dusty dummies, but a
large reception area of the wizarding hospital. St Mungo's Hospital.

The waiting room is filled with several wizards and witches, some of them sporting nasty
disfigurements or obvious magical injuries, while others merely sit on the wobbly,
mismatched chairs and flip through magazines or chat with each other, seeming perfectly
well. There's a man with canary feathers instead of his hair, and a long feathery tail trailing
behind him as he walks across the room. A woman is literally barking to one of the
receptionists as she desperately tries to explain herself.

I learn that the witches and wizards with a crossed wand and bone embroidered in their lime-
green robes are called Healers, the equivalent of doctors in the muggle world. Mrs. Weasley
talks with one of the receptionists and a moment later we follow her towards the Dai
Llewellyn Ward on the first floor.

On our way we pass several Healers who hurry along the corridor, and many doors which
lead to examination rooms from where sounds of moaning and howling carry out. Eventually
we find Mr. Weasley's room and Mrs. Weasley ushers me in with the rest of her family, while
Mad-Eye and Tonks stay behind in the corridor.

I step into the small room occupying three patients. Mr. Weasley is at the far end, looking
rather cheerful, all things considered. He chatters happily about everything but the topic
where he had been when the attack had happened. Fred and George try to badger him about
it, but Mrs. Weasley soon reins them in.

After a while, Fred, George, Ron, Ginny and I step outside to wait while Mad-Eye and Tonks
join Mrs. Weasley to chat with Mr. Weasley. We of course know they'll be speaking about the
attack, and the twins dig out a handful of Extendable Ears from their pockets. We start to
listen to the conversation behind the closed door, and indeed they are talking about the attack,
how the snake got in – wherever it is Mr. Weasley was – and how it got out before no one
managed to capture it.

Then they mention my name. My heart starts to hammer uncomfortably inside my chest.

"…So, Potter says he saw it all happen?" Moody asks with an indistinct voice.

"Yes," Mrs. Weasley says, sounding anxious. "You know, Dumbledore seems almost to have
been waiting for Harry to see something like this," she continues quietly.

"Yeah, well," Moody grunts, "there's something funny about the Potter kid, we all know that."
I can hear the others hum with agreement. "Dumbledore seemed worried about Harry when I
spoke to him this morning," Mrs. Weasley says carefully.

"Course he's worried," Moody says with a hint of irritation. "The boy's seeing things from
inside You-Know-Who's snake. Obviously, Potter doesn't realise what that means, but if You-
Know-Who's possessing him —"

I rip the Extendable Ear out of my own, not able to listen anymore. Shaking slightly, I glance
at my friends, speechless by the speculation inside the hospital room. My friends stare at me,
Extendible Ears still hanging from their ears, a mix of fear and shock on their faces.

The travel back to Grimmauld Place is quiet, and I cannot even look at the others. I feel
filthy, stained and disgusting. Even though I had been suspecting that I am possessed by
Voldemort, hearing it from the others feels like confirmation. I reckon this is the reason
Dumbledore doesn't want to look at me. Because Dumbledore would see him. Voldemort.

I am the weapon he was after. He wanted to possess me to learn about the Order. He wanted
to use me to hurt others around me. And he has succeeded. That is why I'm constantly being
guarded or followed. The Order members guarding me are not there for my protection, but
for the protection of others around me.

The thought makes me feel nauseated. The moment we step into Sirius's house, I run upstairs
into my room. I need to figure out what to do next. How to protect the others from me.

How can I be the snake? How is that even possible? Questions keep flooding my head as I
pace across the room. Was Voldemort an Animagus? And when he possessed me, we both
turned into snakes? Is that even possible? Did Voldemort somehow apparate me to London
and back?

As minutes go by, I'm more and more convinced that I'm putting everyone around me in
danger. If Voldemort can possess me, he could learn where the Headquarters of the Order of
the Phoenix is, and he could attack most of its members. I know what I must do. I need to
leave. The others are safer if I'm not here.

After making up my mind, I start collecting my things. I know I can't go back to Hogwarts
either. I can't be around wizarding people. So…Privet Drive it is, I conclude with a sinking
feeling in my stomach.

Just when I have managed to drag my trunk halfway across the room, the portrait of Phineas
Nigellus, a previous Headmaster of Hogwarts, speaks.

"Running away, are we?" He says with an unpleasant tone.

I turn to look at the previously empty portrait, and there he is now, leaning against the frame,
eyeing me speculatively.

"Not running away, no," I reply to him curtly and turn to continue towards the door.
"I thought," Phineas says slowly, "that to belong in Gryffindor house, you were supposed to
be brave. It looks to me as though you would have been better off in my own house. We
Slytherins are brave, yes, but not stupid. For instance, given the choice, we will always
choose to save our own necks." He says simply, an amused glint in his eyes.

I narrow my eyes at the portrait, feeling annoyed. "It's not my own neck I'm saving," I say to
him simply and pull my trunk a bit forward.

"Oh, I see," Phineas drawls indifferently, "this is no cowardly flight - you are being noble."

I know he's only trying to goad me into some unguarded response so I ignore him and finally
reach the doorknob.

"I have a message for you from Albus Dumbledore."

I whirl around. "What is it?" I ask urgently, dropping my trunk loudly on the floor.

"'Stay where you are.'"

I lift my brows at him, waiting for the message. "I haven't moved," I tell him. "So, what's the
message?"

Phineas rolls his eyes. "I have just given it to you, dolt," he says simply. "Dumbledore says,
'Stay where you are.'"

Confusion fills me. "Why?" I ask hastily. "Why does he want me to stay? What else did he
say?"

Phineas shrugs. "Nothing whatsoever," he says, studying his nails as though they are more
interesting than the conversation.

Anger and frustration surge inside me. That's it? Stay where you are? After everything I've
been through, after everything that has happened during the past few days? Or months. Or
even years. And Dumbledore doesn't have anything else to say to me.

I feel bitter, untrustworthy. I feel betrayed.

"So that's it, is it?" I say darkly. "'Stay where you are'! That's all anyone could tell me after I
got attacked by those Dementors, too! Just stay put while the grown-ups sort it out, Harry!
We won't bother telling you anything, though, because your tiny little brain might not be able
to cope with it!" I say nastily.

"You know," Phineas says loudly, "this is precisely why I loathed being a teacher! Young
people are so infernally convinced that they are absolutely right about everything. Has it not
occurred to you, my poor puffed-up popinjay, that there might be an excellent reason why the
Headmaster of Hogwarts is not confiding every tiny detail of his plans to you? Have you
never paused, while feeling hard-done-by, to note that following Dumbledore's orders has
never yet led you into harm? No. No, like all young people, you are quite sure that you alone
feel and think, you alone recognise danger, you alone are the only one clever enough to
realise what the Dark Lord may be planning –"
"He is planning something to do with me, then?" I interrupt him, feeling almost triumphant.

Phineas arches a brow at me. "Did I say that?" He says with a bored voice. "Now, if you will
excuse me, I have better things to do than listen to adolescent agonising… good day to you,"
he says with finality before he moves away from his frame, disappearing from it.

I let out a frustrated growl. "Fine, go then!" I yell at the empty frame. "And tell Dumbledore
thanks for nothing!"

My words fall on deaf ears, since the frame remains empty and silent. I aim an angry kick to
my trunk, and only manage to hurt my foot in the process. "Shit!" I grunt and hop towards
my bed, leaving my trunk where it is as I lay down on the ragged covers. My head feels
heavy with thoughts. So much has happened during the past couple of days. Was it only
yesterday, when I was under the mistletoe with Cho Chang? I try to remember my first kiss
but I can't. I just can't.

I'm afraid to go to sleep, even though I'm so tired that I could probably sleep while standing
up. What if I turn into a snake again? What if I kill someone? My eyes feel heavier and
heavier, and I can't keep myself awake anymore.

As soon as sleep takes over, I start dreaming about the door. It's the same dream I've had
multiple times now. I want to get through the door, but I can't. I try to open it, because I know
that inside…lies something I desire the most.

Grimmauld Place, 22 December 1995

In the morning, the Weasleys and my godfather are cheerfully putting up Christmas
decorations. I decide to stay away from everyone, and instead spend the day in the many
unused rooms in the house. I succeed to avoid company, at least until Hermione arrives and
orders me to come back to my room to talk with the others.

After a long talk, it seems that my friends think I'm not possessed, and in the end, I let myself
believe them. I want to believe them. Nevertheless, believing it doesn't put me completely at
ease. There is still a connection between me and Voldemort. But how deep and dangerous,
that is the question, isn't it?

Sirius at least is fully enjoying the situation. He's filled with laughter and joy, bouncing from
room to room, chatting happily with everyone while decorating the house and humming
Christmas songs. I realise it must have been a long time since he has had the opportunity to
celebrate Christmas with friends and family. As I study him, laughing with Fred and George
in the drawing room corner, my mind drifts to the night we arrived here.

I hadn't paid much attention to it then, but I now remember how he had smelled like he had
swallowed a bottle of Firewhiskey and a pack of cigarettes. He had been unshaven and
dishevelled. Even if he had visibly brightened the moment he saw us, there was still a flash of
misery in his eyes. I wonder how he has been these past months.
When the schoolyear started and everyone left Grimmauld Place, I thought he wouldn't feel
like he was left behind, or left alone. Because he still had his brother here. I glance around the
room, and almost everyone else is there, or in the kitchen downstairs. Except for Regulus.

"Hey, Ron?" I say and glance at my friend, who is in the process of separating a bunch of
silver Christmas ornaments from a tangled pile – the only ones not cursed, Sirius had said
before discarding several other boxes of decorations.

Ron grunts absentmindedly, and after managing to separate one ornament from the others, he
turns to look at me. "Yeah, mate?"

"Have you seen Sirius's brother?" I ask quietly, and my gaze flickers back to my godfather,
who I'm rather sure just discreetly passed a small parcel to the twins. I hope Mrs. Weasley
doesn't find out about it, since my godfather has been in her good books the last couple of
days. I look at Ron again. "I mean, he is still here, right?"

Ron seems thoughtful for a moment. "Yeah, I reckon he is. Haven't seen him though. Why?"
He asks and tears a couple of ornaments away from the pile while cursing under his breath.
Mrs. Weasley has forbidden us from using magic, and Ron has made it clear what his
thoughts are regarding that. Even though we probably could get away with it since there's a
handful of adults who use magic near us, Mrs. Weasley doesn't want to take any risks.

I contemplate what to say. I don't want to speak badly about my godfather, but I reckon Ron
too has seen the change in him. I look at Sirius again when I speak quietly. "You think it's
been shit for him? Being trapped in here while his friends are out there?"

Ron too glances at his brothers and my godfather. "Probably…Although, it makes me

wonder…"

"What?" I ask quickly and turn to look at my friend.

Ron gives me a knowing look. "You know, if Sirius and his brother are not getting along as
well as they let everyone think back then…"

I give him a slow nod. "Yeah, that's what I thought…" I mutter, a deep frown between my
brows.

We continue with the decorations, and my thoughts wander back to Sirius's brother. I feel a
pang of irritation on behalf of my godfather. He's been through so much in his life already…
Why won't his brother be there for him, when he needs it the most?

Grimmauld Place, 25 December 1995

On Christmas morning, Ron and I open our presents in our bedroom with Hermione and
Ron's siblings. I make a quick dash to the bathroom while the others head towards
downstairs, and when I emerge into the hallway, I run into Regulus.
"Oh. Hi." I manage to say, surprised to see him finally. It is clear he's been avoiding
everyone.

He gives me a curt nod, looking moody and irritated. "Hello."

The tone in his voice makes me bristle. "Merry Christmas," I say with a hint of sarcasm in
my voice.

Regulus lifts a brow at me. "Yes. Merry Christmas." He says simply and gives me a once
over, clearly disapproving my attire. Everyone, but him of course, is wearing their night gear
for Christmas breakfast. Not that I'm expecting him to join us.

"Excuse me," He mutters and pushes past me, heading towards upstairs.

I grit my teeth together. His behaviour is annoying, and I can't understand why he has started
to act like a prick. I manage to shrug the thoughts away and make my way to the basement.

Later that day we visit Mr. Weasley at St Mungo's again. He's looking much better, and we
stay there for a while until Mrs. Weasley finds out about her husband letting his Trainee
Healer try muggle stitches into his wound. Mrs. Weasley's shrill voice fills the corridor as
Ron, Hermione, Ginny and I run for the tearoom.

On our way there, we run into familiar faces. At first, we bump into Lockhart, our previous
twat-of-a-professor who's locked up in the Spell Damage ward after the Memory Charm he
cast by Ron's damaged wand backfired. After we manage to shrug him off, we see Neville
and his grandmother, visiting Neville's parents who happen to be at the same ward.

I knew about Neville's parents, what happened to them, but for some reason, I hadn't realised
that they would be here. Last year, Dumbledore told me about them, how they were tortured
into insanity by Death Eaters, and I even saw Dumbledore's memory of the court trial where
Bellatrix, Rabastan, Rodolphus and Crouch Jr. were sentenced to life in Azkaban because of
it. Hermione, Ron and Ginny are shocked by the news and stay silent on our way back to
Grimmauld Place.

"Where's your brother?" I ask from Sirius as we sit in the drawing room sofa after Christmas
dinner, watching as Remus tries to show Ron and Hermione the correct posture for duelling
in the middle of the room. Ginny bickers with her mother in one corner and the twins are
somewhere in the house, probably causing mischief.

Sirius shrugs and glances at me. "Dunno. He's…better off alone, I reckon," He mutters, and I
can hear resentment in his voice.

"Are you not getting along?" I ask hesitantly. Even though Sirius told me that they weren't
close during their schoolyears, I thought the situation would change since both of them would
be stuck in this house, unable to leave. And now they are even on the same side, fighting
against Voldemort. They're brothers, for Merlin's sake! And when Regulus first came into this
time, Sirius was ecstatic. I remember them spending at least some time together then, but
now it seems that they have strayed. Severely.
Sirius sighs and rubs his neck. "We are. Don't worry about it," He says wearily, and I can see
that there's a lot left unsaid.

I give my godfather a long stare, but I'm interrupted by Hermione, who suggests we go
through a couple of spells she thinks I could teach the DA after we go back to school.

There is a mix of pride and amusement in Sirius's and Remus's eyes as they watch Ron,
Hermione and I practice – without casting – and discuss Hermione's spells as well as the ones
I picked up from the books Sirius and Remus gave me for Christmas.

Grimmauld Place, 31 December 1995

New Year's Eve has never really meant much to me, unlike what comes after. The New Year;
the promises, the possibilities. When I was younger, my father used to say it was a time of
rebirth and starting fresh. Of course, those tales ended well before I went to school. When
Sirius and I became old enough to attend Hogwarts, we became old enough to take care of
ourselves. And father became competent in shutting himself off. Mother was…well, she was
deluded. But she did what she thought was best for her family. Like I did, for a long time.

I've spent the late evening in the library, flipping through pages of books, not really reading
anything. Truthfully, I haven't been able to focus into anything during the past ten days. Not
after sitting with my brother at father's study and witnessing how lonely he actually is. I
probably should've had seen it earlier, and perhaps I did. While I have had my project to
concentrate on, Sirius has had plenty of time to visit the memories from the years he spent in
Azkaban. To think about his losses.

I too have lost many things. My life, for starters. Not that it would have been a great one, had
I managed to escape the cave. But I still might have had my parents and my freedom.

As the clock strikes midnight, I toss the book away from my hands with a sigh and stand up. I
walk to the windows to see the fireworks lighting up the sky. I feel empty. Irresolute. It's been
five months since my arrival and nothing has happened. I've been inside these walls for five
fucking months and I've done close to nothing. Sure, I've probably read twice every single
book I imagined could help, and there was that one, rather unsuccessful trip to the forest, but
other than that…I'm finding myself in a need of something. I just don't know what it is.

The door opens and closes, and I glance towards it. Potter stands there, eyeing me warily.

"What is it?" I ask blankly. I wonder why is he here, in the middle of the night?

He shrugs. "Was on my way upstairs and thought I'd stop by."

I give him a suspicious look. "Why?"

"What's your problem?" Potter asks sharply, approaching me.

For a short moment, I'm surprised by his words. Then I let out a dry laugh. "My problem?"
"Yes." He says with a tight voice. "Why are you suddenly avoiding everyone, and so bitter, so
angry?" He asks, a deep frown edged on his face.

"You are still speaking about me, right?" I ask slowly, giving him an incredulous look.
Because, hell, he's just described how he usually is.

Potter grits his teeth together. "What is that supposed to mean?" He says hotly and steps
closer to me.

I feel a shiver of thrill when I manage to annoy him. His hands are fisted and his eyes are
blazing with anger. I give him an impassive shrug. "I guess you have to figure that out."

He scowls at me. "Whatever," he mutters. "Should've guessed you only cared for your own
wellbeing. That you'd be exactly like Sirius told me you were…"

I arch a brow at him. "Oh? Do tell?" He is starting to annoy the pants out of me, and I have a
fleeting thought that perhaps this was just the thing I needed. A row with someone.

He's standing right in front of me, staring at me with a defiant look in his eyes. "He told me
he hated you…because you were soft enough to believe your parents, because you joined to
be a Death Eater without hesitation, because you abandoned him for the sake of your parents
and their beliefs." He says darkly.

I laugh loudly, disregarding the small pang of hurt his words manage to bring up. What the
fuck is he gibbering about? My beliefs? Well…I admit I might've shared the Dark Lord's
beliefs on some point, but in the end, I'm rather sure both my brother and I know I had no
choice. My parents had no choice. Or, well, there was a choice – to be killed. Running away
like my brother did just wasn't an option for the rest of us.

I give him a cold look. "You're naïve. You fail to realise the world isn't black and white." I
say plainly, and he frowns at me, evidently processing my words.

He looks contemplative, unsure even. My blood is pounding in my veins and I want to smack
at his ignorant face but I clench my jaw and stand still.

"Then why are you avoiding him? You're both stuck in this place. You can't leave." He says
finally, with exasperation in his voice.

I scoff at him. "What happens between me and my brother is none of your concern," I say
with a chilling look.

"Can't you see that he's suffering? You're the only one he's got, and yet, you don't seem to
care enough," He says heatedly, his magic radiating angrily from him.

I know that Potter is right. I have seen how my brother is. Perhaps that's the reason his words
sting a bit. "You know what? Fuck off." I say coldly, and I'm about to turn away from him,
but he pulls a wand on me. He's got some bloody nerve. Not six months ago was he in a
hearing after misusing magic in front of a muggle.
I narrow my eyes at him, and I'm breathing heavily as the tip of his wand presses into my
chest. I can feel the power of his magic, waiting to be set free.

"I dare you," I grit out, and he's trembling with anger.

"You'd deserve it," He says harshly. I grab his collar and drag his face closer to mine. I can
feel his breath puffing against my face, his hand gripping my wrist.

"Then by all means, do what you intended to do," I say ferociously. I've had enough of his
irksome attitude, and it's time to call his bluff.

We glare at each other but then something happens, a stirring of the air. I can't explain it, but
I'm certain Potter senses it as well since suddenly, his gaze becomes unfocused, unsure,
flickering down.

A mix of annoyance and confusion run through me. It feels like time is going slower, and I'm
trying to wrack my brain to figure out why.

After what feels like a long time, I finally come around to my senses, regaining
consciousness. Realising how closely we are standing and that he's been staring at my mouth,
I hastily push him away. Potter stumbles backwards, his wand clattering to the floor, a look of
embarrassment and shock crossing his face.

He quickly snatches his wand from the floor and flees the room without sparing me a glance.

What just happened?

I retreat to my room, and pace across the floor for a long time, trying to wrap my head around
the incident. Why? I ask, but don't receive an answer.

It is two in the morning, but I can't sleep.

I am playing the scene from the library in my head. Over and over again. What the hell even
happened? My head spins and an image of him flutters into my mind. An imagination, but
still so real-like. Potter, standing in front of me, a tight grip on my wrist, his lips against
mine. Shit…I can still feel his warm breath puffing against my face. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Why
the fuck am I thinking about him?

"Fuck!" I growl aloud and shove my hands through my hair, tugging it with frustration.

Eventually I lie down on my bed. I can feel a headache coming, and I press the bridge of my
nose with my fingers, trying to make up my mind. Should I confront him? Should I go
downstairs in the morning and act like nothing happened?

But nothing happened.

My imagination happened. I try to suppress the images my brain has conjured for my
torment. Potter, breathing against my face. His fingers tightening on my wrist. The heat of his
magic pressing to my chest from the tip of his wand. His eyes flickering to my lips.
But fuck, I can't make them go away. And to my utter mortification, I realise I'm fucking
aroused. How is that even possible? I mean, it's Potter…A fifteen-year-old teenager.

FUCK! This can't even be legal. I don't have a fucking clue…I remember his bewildered
expression before he fled the library.

And then I remember another thing. My brother. Sweet fucking Salazar, my brother will kill
me if he finds out. No. Scratch that. My brother is going to transform into a dog and eat me
alive. The likelihood of that happening helps me to make up my mind and I decide to stay
hidden in my room until the very end.
 Into the Fire
Chapter Notes

And we're back in business! Thank you for reading and reviewing!

And since we somewhat follow the events of OotP in this fic, some of the lines
(Snape/Sirius argument) are from there.

Chapter 9: Into the Fire

Grimmauld Place, 3 January 1996

"What is the matter with you?" Hermione asks with an exasperated tone as we slip into the
bedroom Ron and I share. "You've been in a foul mood since New Year's, Harry…are you
still worrying over being possessed? I thought we went through that already?" She continues,
a hint of worry edged on her face.

"It's not that…" I say wearily and sit on my bed.

She sits down next to me, eyeing me carefully. "Is it because of Sirius?"

I know I'm not the only one who has withdrawn from the company of others. My godfather's
mood has been darkening drastically during the past couple of days. I suspect that it has
something to do with the date of our departure back to Hogwarts drawing nearer.

I shrug. "Yeah, I guess so." I mutter.

At least, my godfather is partly the reason for my gloominess. I am sad to leave this place.
For the first time ever, I don't wish to go back to Hogwarts. Because of Umbridge, because of
the Ministry. They've taken almost everything from me. The one place I have ever felt like
home doesn't feel like that anymore. I've lost the right to play Quidditch, and even lost some
of my friends. I don't want to leave Sirius behind, and if I didn't have DA waiting for me at
Hogwarts – the only thing that now brings me light in there – I would've quit school and
begged my godfather to let me stay with him.

Of course, there is something else bothering me as well.

For the past two days I have tried to figure out what happened in the library on Sunday night
with Regulus. But I don't have a clue. Why did it feel like…like I was drawn to him? And
why I wanted – oh god, I can't even believe I'm thinking about this – to kiss him? I've tried to
think about Cho, the way she felt in my arms, how it felt to kiss her, but I just can't. Every
time I try to bring up the memories of her, of my first kiss, I can only think of the library two
days ago.
Hermione gives me a sympathetic look. "Harry…" She starts uneasily, and even though my
mind has been elsewhere, I have a fair idea of what she's about to say. "It's not your job to
take care of him. He's an adult and you're a child," She says prudently.

"Oh, you know what I mean," She continues with exasperation after seeing the scowl on my
face. She knows how much I detest being called a child after all I've been through. After all
we've been through.

I shake my head in disagreement. "Hermione…I know you might not get it, but he's the only
family I've got." I say tightly. "Of course I worry for him."

Her eyes widen a bit. "Of course," She says quickly. "But that doesn't mean you should be
taking care of him. It should be the other way around." She says with a small smile.

I know that she's right. But I also know my godfather is not well enough to take care of
anyone but himself at the moment. Not that anyone has to take care of me. I'm quite capable
of taking care of myself.

"He'll be all right," Hermione says reassuringly, squeezing my hand gently. "I mean, at least
he has his brother here. I'm sure whatever it is between them, they will solve eventually."

Apparently, I'm not the only one who has noticed the situation between the brothers. I don't
have time to reply to her before Ron barges into our room, complaining loudly about his
mother and how he can't wait to be back in Hogwarts. His eyes linger on our clasped hands
before he clears his throat and informs us that we're leaving in a moment to see his father and
then for a quick stop at Diagon Alley.

As Ron walks stiffly out, I give Hermione a puzzled look. What was that? Hermione replies
with a roll of her eyes and stands up to follow Ron downstairs. It's obvious I have missed
something.

As we come back to Grimmauld Place from our outing, Mrs. Weasley hands me a parcel.

"Harry dear, would you be so kind to take this to Sirius? I have to start preparing dinner, it's
getting late already," She rambles and disappears into the basement, ordering the others to
help her.

Glad to escape the dinner duties, I start to make my way upstairs while everyone else
grudgingly follows Mrs. Weasley downstairs to the kitchen. I'm almost on my way to the
second floor when I hear my godfather's bark-like laughter echoing from the drawing room
on the first floor.

I stop in my tracks and frown at the closed drawing room door. He has to be there with his
brother since everyone else is in the kitchen, and by the sound of it, they are actually
enjoying each other's company. After a moment's consideration I turn back towards
downstairs, deciding not to interrupt them.

"Is it you Harry?" Sirius's voice carries into the landing.

How the hell does he know I'm outside the room? …Must be the canine sense of smell. I
walk into the drawing room and find Sirius and Regulus, sitting on opposite sofas in the
seating area with two tumblers of Firewhiskey on the coffee table between them.

Sirius's face breaks into a bright grin as his eyes meet mine. "Harry! How was your trip?
Everything okay with Arthur? Come on, sit with us," he says lightly, seemingly in a good
mood.

My eyes flicker towards Regulus for a moment, who stares somewhere over my left shoulder,
an unreadable look in his eyes. I give my godfather a noncommittal shrug and walk towards
them. "Er…yeah. I suppose the trip was okay. Got everything I need for school," I say half-
heartedly, not exactly enjoying speaking about returning to Hogwarts. To Umbridge. "Mr.
Weasley seems to be healing nicely. He'll be released from Mungo's in a matter of days," I
continue with a bit more enthusiasm in my voice as I stop next to Sirius's sofa.

He gives me an understanding smile and nods. "Yeah." he mutters, the sparkle of joy slowly
disappearing from his eyes. He becomes slightly pensive, as if remembering that once Mr.
Weasley is released from the hospital, the Weasleys don't need to stay at Grimmauld Place
anymore, since the reason Mrs. Weasley decided to stay here was to be closer to St. Mungo's
and her husband. I decide to interrupt Sirius's thoughts before his good mood fades
altogether.

"Um," I say and gesture to the parcel in my hands, "Mrs. Weasley asked me to give you this."

Sirius eyes me and the parcel, and I can almost see gratitude in his look. He clears his throat.
"Ah, my order has arrived," he says and stands up from the sofa, a thin smile on his lips.

"Cheers, Harry." He says when I hand him the parcel.

I lift my brows in question and Sirius merely winks at me. "I'll tell you later," he says with a
hint of secrecy in his voice as he pats me on the shoulder. "I'll be upstairs for a bit, if you
don't mind?"

"Yeah, of course," I say and glance at Regulus, who is staring at us thoughtfully.

"Reggie?" Sirius says and gives his brother a meaningful look.

Regulus shrugs indifferently. "By all means, brother."

The next moment, Sirius has slipped away from the room, and I'm wondering why I am still
here.

"Er…" I mutter and turn to leave, but Regulus stops me after two steps.

"A word, Potter."

Brilliant.

I turn back to face him. He's standing now, leaning against the end of the sofa, watching me
carefully. It's not the first time I've seen him after the incident on New Year's Eve, but we
haven't spoken to each other after that. Before now, at least.

"Um. Yes?" I ask and try to find a spot to look at. My eyes roam over the brightly coloured
oriental rug, over the half empty cabinets that previously held a vast collection of cursed
articles, over the dark patterned walls, and then stop at him. As our eyes meet, I feel my face
heating up.

Regulus frowns at me. "What happened in the library?" He asks with an expressionless voice.
His eyes are inquisitive and accusing, and making me feel very anxious.

I cough awkwardly and move my gaze away from him. What happened, indeed? I have no
explanation.

"Well?" He drawls, still leaning against the sofa and looking so…casual.

I wish I could be so indifferent, so casual. Instead, I rub my neck awkwardly. "I-I…I don't
know," I say with frustration and give him a helpless look. I really can't explain it. I can't
explain what came over me. Why did it feel like I wanted to…to kiss him? A bloke. I didn't
even know I liked blokes. I mean, I kissed Cho, right? Or, she kissed me, but either way, she
was a she, you know?

"…And I don't…you know," I continue and wave my hand at him, trying to express my
thoughts.

His brows lift slightly and he walks towards me. "Me neither." He says slowly, a hint of
uncertainty in his voice.

I nod at him. "Great. Brilliant. Well, I'm glad we established that," I say to him, feeling quite
uncomfortable. I swallow nervously when he stops right in front of me.

"Then what was that?" he asks curiously, a scrutinising look in his eyes.

I grit my teeth. "I dunno." I mutter as my eyes dart around the room again. I'm slightly
intimidated to stare at him in the eye.

He huffs and my eyes are drawn into his face. To his lips. No, no, no…Not his lips. I stare
into his eyes and his grey ones are staring back straight into mine. Why did I have to look at
him?

"You are doing it again." He says mutedly after a small moment.

Shit. I let out a nervous breath. What does this mean? "I'm…I…I don't…" I stammer. FUCK!
What the hell is wrong with me?! My cheeks are burning with embarrassment, and my body
actually shakes with anxiety. He's probably going to throw a punch at me soon. Or perhaps
he'll laugh at my face and tell everyone about my crazed behaviour.

What he does is the exact opposite. He takes a step towards me and I freeze in place. Our
bodies are almost touching, and I can feel the warmth of his body and the energy of his magic
buzzing between us. I only now notice that he's about five inches taller than me. His gaze is
fixed downwards, at my mouth. Shit. My breathing quickens, my heart pounding in my chest,
and I can swear he's leaning closer to me. Or, perhaps I'm reaching towards him?

Is this one of my freakish dreams?

Then the drawing room door opens.

"Hey, Harry, are you –" Hermione starts but her voice trails off as Regulus and I jump away
from each other. Hermione gives us both a long, strange look before she collects her
thoughts. "Um. Dinner's ready," she says with a hint of bewilderment still in her eyes.

I swallow hard. "Yeah. Yeah. Sure." I say quickly and rush past her towards the kitchen, not
daring to look back.

Grimmauld Place, 6 January 1996

I've been spending most of my time with Ron, Hermione, and occasionally with my godfather
– at least, whenever he's not sulking in his room. We're returning to Hogwarts tomorrow and
it seems like these two weeks have flown past so quickly that I haven't had the time to enjoy
them as much as I would've wanted to.

During the past few days, I've decided to forget about the undefined interactions with
Regulus, since I'm not further finding out the reasons for my unusual feelings now than I was
a week ago. Even if I was into blokes, which I'm fairly certain that I'm not, I wouldn't act on
it and most definitely would keep it to myself, because, well, I reckon people discuss about
my life enough as it is.

In the middle of my wizard's chess game against Ron, Mrs. Weasley steps into our room and
asks me to go downstairs to meet Snape. Brilliant. I already get to see his greasy black hair at
school, but now he has to come and ruin my last night in here.

Grudgingly, I walk down to the kitchen, where I find Snape, Sirius and Regulus sitting at the
long kitchen table. My godfather and Snape are glaring at each other while Regulus cleans up
the scattering of parchments, quills and scrolls from the table with a couple flicks of his
wand. The room is rather clean; the high sideboards bordering the walls where plates, cups,
saucers and old silverware used to be in a muddle, seem to be now polished and organised.
Kreacher's been busy.

"Er…What is it?" I ask from the doorway and look at the group unsurely.

Snape orders me to sit down and Sirius trades a couple of heated words with him until
Regulus interrupts the men and glances at the seat next to Sirius, requesting me to sit there.
Our eyes lock for a couple of seconds, and I swallow deeply before we both look away and I
move towards the table.

As I take my seat, the school rivals throw in a few more jabs until Snape informs me that
Dumbledore wants me to study Occlumency. Whatever the hell it is.
When Snape tells me he's the one who's going to give me private lessons once a week in
order to learn how to shield my mind from outside penetration, starting on Monday, I turn to
look at my godfather for help. Sirius starts to argue with Snape, while Regulus merely shakes
his head with exasperation.

A few moments later Snape starts to leave, but my godfather stops him.

"Wait a moment," Sirius says with a tight voice. I glance at him and almost flinch at the
menacing look he has trained at Snape.

Snape turns around slowly, the familiar sneer plastered on his face. "I am in rather a hurry,
Black. Unlike you, I do not have unlimited leisure time."

Sirius's fingers convulsively clench into fists before he forces them to relax. "I'll get to the
point, then," he says stiffly.

I glance at Snape, who obviously has reached to his wand under his robes, and then at
Regulus, who looks relaxed, even though his eyes are watching carefully at the two men.

"If I hear you're using these Occlumency lessons to give Harry a hard time, you'll have me to
answer to," Sirius says, the threat as evident in his voice as in his words.

Snape lifts a bored eyebrow at my godfather. "How touching. But surely you have noticed
that Potter is very like his father?" He asks silkily.

I bristle and scowl at Snape. Regulus gives me a studious glance before his focus is back on
his brother and Snape.

Sirius gives Snape a gleeful look. "Of course, I have," he says proudly.

Snape eyes my godfather with a triumphant look. "Well then, you'll know he's so arrogant
that criticism simply bounces off him," he says simply.

That fucking wanker.

As I'm glaring at Snape, barely keeping my mouth shut, Sirius launches up and sends his
chair clattering to the floor as he marches to Snape, his wand trained at his former school
rival. Snape has his wand at the ready, and then the two men are keeping each other at wand
point, both looking enraged and bitter.

"Sirius!" I yell after realising how bad the situation is. Of course, I've seen them trade insults
before, but this is the first time I've witnessed my godfather lose his temper – well, if we're
not counting Pettigrew, and let's face it; he was entitled to it then. I stand up and approach the
men slowly.

Sirius continues as if he has not heard me at all. "I've warned you, Snivellus. I don't care if
Dumbledore thinks you've reformed, I know better –"

"Oh, but why don't you tell him so?" Snape asks tauntingly, his wand pressing onto Sirius's
stomach. "Or are you afraid he might not take very seriously the advice of a man who has
been hiding inside his mother's house for six months?" He continues and lets out a small hiss
of pain as the tip of Sirius's wand heats against his neck.

Sirius gives Snape a dark look. "Tell me, how is Lucius Malfoy these days? I expect he's
delighted his lapdog's working at Hogwarts, isn't he?"

Snape's lips curl into a sneer. "Speaking of dogs…Did you know that Lucius Malfoy
recognised you last time you risked a little jaunt outside? Clever idea, Black, getting yourself
seen on a safe station platform… gave you a cast-iron excuse not to leave your hidey-hole in
future, didn't it?"

Sirius snarls at Snape, the tip of his wand heating more by the sounds Snape is making.

"Sirius. Don't!" Regulus yells sharply from the table where he's still sitting at, far from
relaxed at this point. He's looking furious. Frightened.

After a moment, both Snape and Sirius seem to regain control of their emotions.

Sirius's jaw tightens as he lowers his wand and takes a couple of steps back, his eyes cold,
glaring at Snape's sneering face for a moment before he rushes out of the room.

Snape puts his own wand away and arches a brow at Regulus, who looks back with a
disappointed look in his eyes.

"May I speak with you for a moment?" Regulus asks mutedly from Snape after glancing at
me quickly.

Snape gives him an expressionless nod and I take my cue and hastily leave the room, feeling
their eyes on my back.

After Potter takes his leave, I throw a couple of spells to the door for privacy. Severus takes a
seat again at the table, this time opposite to me.

I don't even bother to comment on his little spat with my brother. "Does the Dark Lord know
that Potter saw the attack?" I ask simply, studying his features. A flicker of mirth flashes in
his black eyes, as if he had been expecting the question.

Severus nods grimly. "Naturally. And as I suspected some time ago, he will try to use it on
his behalf." He says silkily.

I give him a curt nod. "Are you apt to teach Potter?" I ask, a small hesitation gnawing inside
me. I know that Severus and James Potter hated each other back in school, probably even
more than my brother and Severus did. I've also learned that my Slytherin friend isn't exactly
fond of Potter. I assume it has something to do with his hatred towards Potter's father.

Severus's lips curl into a sneer. "Believe me, I did not sign in for the task," he says bitterly.

I give him a light smirk. "I gathered," I say and wonder how fast he will read me. "Whom are
you reporting to?" I ask discreetly.
His brows lift slightly, and I know he's already suspecting something. "What makes you ask
that?" He questions, eyeing me with a calculative look.

I shrug indifferently. "You will know soon enough." I only say. Because of course he will. I
can already picture my friend quivering with glee when he finds out about the incidents
between Potter and me.

Fucking Severus.

Grimmauld Place, 8 January 1996

I'm standing in my room, staring at my outstretched fingers, reaching towards the bedside
table. My fingers are barely touching the surface. The surroundings are blurred, but
somehow, that doesn't bother me. I feel…light. I feel at ease. It feels like something's there.
Calling for me. If I blink, I think I might see it. See him. See his soul. But I don't want to. I
don't want to see it. Everything will be more terrifying if I do.

My left arm prickles, first lightly, then disturbingly. Then it starts to ache. I turn the arm
slightly, my forearm up, and let out a soundless gasp. The Mark is glowing with heat.
Burning like a hot coal. I hear a cold voice, hissing inside my head.

A sharp pain sizzles through my spine…

"AAAAH!" I scream with surprise and pain, tumbling to the floor from the library sofa.

"FUCK!" I curse, and grip my left forearm. What the hell is happening? My arm is on fire.
FUCK. It hurts.

Moments later, Sirius bolts into the library.

"What is it?" He asks hurriedly, running towards me, wand at the ready.

I'm still rolling on the floor, shuddering in pain. "The Mark," I pant out. "I burns," I hiss.

Sirius stares at me with wide eyes before his gaze shifts down to my arm. "Shit," he grumbles
and aims a numbing spell to my arm.

The pain decreases considerably, and I let out a sigh of relief.

"Cheers," I wheeze and pull my sleeve up. The Dark Mark is darker and more raised than it
was the last time I looked at it. The skin surrounding it is thin and red.

Sirius grimaces. "That's fucking appalling," He mutters as he stares at my arm.

I sneer at him. "Trust me, it fucking feels appalling," I grind through my teeth and try to stand
up.

My brother quickly takes a step towards me and helps me back to the sofa, while my arm
keeps throbbing painfully.
"Something's happening. He's summoning us." I say to him after a short silence. From the
weary and grim look in his eyes I assume he had already figured it out.

My brother lets out a long sigh and rubs his face, supposedly thinking what to do next. He
then nods and makes his way out of the library.

Hours later, well after midnight, I'm in the basement with several Order members, all of us
gathered around the table.

Something has happened indeed. Something dreadful.

"There's been a mass breakout from Azkaban," Moody starts with a dark voice. "I only have a
half an hour before I'm needed in the field again," He says gruffly, taking a large gulp of
coffee.

Anxious murmuring echoes in the room. Frightened and shocked gazes are exchanged.
Moody is the only Auror taking part in the meeting as every other Auror has been called to
work after the news had reached the Ministry.

"Who?" Lupin asks blankly.

"Ten Death Eaters," Moody grunts, and smacks a paper on the table. It's filled with black-
and-white photographs of nine wizards and of one witch. I recognise my cousin. This can't be
good.

There are gasps and troubled chattering along the table. I see a headline above the pictures
and assume the paper is a draft of the following day's paper. When I read the headline, I curse
inwardly.

I glance at my brother, whose nostrils are flaring. There is no mistake he hasn't seen it as
well.

Moody clears his throat and points at the paper. "Today's paper." He says simply. "Ministry's
view is that Black is behind the breakout, and is aiding the escapees." He says, and my
brother scoffs loudly and crosses his arms over his chest.

"You can't be serious!" Molly Weasley exclaims at Moody. Many others argue around the
table as well.

Moody slaps his palm against the table. "Quiet everyone!" He takes a deep breath and
continues, "The fact that they're putting the blame on Black shouldn't come as a surprise to
us." He says wearily. "Now. I recommend each and every one of you stays in constant
vigilance, and that you take care of your safety precautions. We will regroup later this week
when Dumbledore is able to join us, to go over our plan. Until that we continue our shifts as
normal, but cease any additional assignments." Moody concludes and many of the members
nod in agreement, while others shake their heads in bewilderment, still stunned by the news.
It's almost two in the morning when the rest of the members leave. Lupin has already
retreated to the guest room he often stays in, and I'm about to drag myself into my room, into
my bed, when Sirius stops me in the entrance hall.

"You okay, Reggie?" He asks quietly. I take in his appearance. He looks worried. He's
worried about my well-being.

I swallow. "Yeah, I suppose." I say, and then on an impulse I add, "And you?"

He threads his fingers through his hair, making it even shaggier than it was. I always thought
the gesture was only an act for the ladies, because, well, I'm fairly sure they loved it. But now
I see it as a stress sign.

"I dunno," He mutters finally, and I nod.

I know how he feels. I'm worried as fuck, and I reckon he is too. And the unpleasant part is,
we can't really do much. We're both stuck in this house, hiding from everyone. It is somewhat
frustrating.

We start walking up the stairs. "You want to have a go at duelling tomorrow?" I ask, surprised
at my own words. I don't even know what made me ask him. Perhaps it is the only thing I can
think of after finding out the events that occurred last night. Training our skills is beneficial,
especially when the Dark Lord's forces have increased with ten more followers.

My brother glances at me from the corner of his eye, giving me a quizzical look. "Why?" He
asks suspiciously.

I give him an incoherent shrug. "You suck at it."

He chuckles. I think he knows why I'm asking. I think he gets that I want to do something.
That I want him to do something as well.

My brother gives me a long look before he speaks. "I suppose we shall see then." He says
shrewdly before we step onto the topmost landing and head towards our respective rooms.
 Unsteady
Chapter Notes

Another chapter this week! Slowly moving forward, following the events in OotP...Let
me know what you think! :)

Chapter 10: Unsteady

Hogwarts, 8 January 1996

It's the first day of school after the holidays, and I already wish I could return to Grimmauld
Place. By lunch I've explained to at least six members from DA, who have asked me the date
for our next meeting, that I'll inform them about it as soon as I've worked it out. A persistent
Zacharias Smith isn't satisfied, and I get to explain to him that I have to take remedial
Potions, so I can settle the date after I know more about my weekly schedule. Of course, the
twat looks at me like I'm actually stupid and wonders loudly how poorly I must be doing in
Potions before leaving towards the Great Hall.

Ron promises to jinx Smith from my behalf, but even that doesn't help with my mood.

But then we run into Cho.

I'm…I don't even…shit. Hermione and Ron slip discreetly away, the good friends they are,
and then I'm alone with her in the hallway. I swallow hard, my mind whirling as I try to
figure out what to say to her.

She asks about my holiday, and I lamely reply with only a few words. I can't focus. Do I
fancy her? I assume so, since all I can do is to stare at her lips. They're quite nice. Soft.
Feminine.

Bollocks. My mind is wandering, and she's still talking, and I haven't heard a word. It has
something to do with the upcoming Hogsmeade trip a couple of days after Valentine's Day. I
do not read the situation very well, and only after she walks away with an abashed look on
her face, I understand what she was implying. She wants me to ask her to go to the village
with me. She wants me to ask her on a date.

"CHO!" I exclaim, and run after her.

She turns around and I stop in front of her, panting slightly. "I'm sorry. I, um…Would you
like to go into Hogsmeade with me, on a date?" I ask, stumbling in my words a bit.

Her soft lips turn into a wide smile. "I'd like that," She says with a bashful look, her cheeks
pink.
"Okay, great…That's sorted then. I'll um…I'll see you then. Or before that. Definitely before
that. But not like, on a date. I mean, we'll see each other between classes, before our date." I
mumble incoherently.

I realise I do not know how to express myself. Luckily Cho doesn't seem to care.

I'm grinning the whole way down to the Great Hall, where I assume Ron and Hermione have
gone to, but before stepping inside, an odd feeling washes over me. I feel…almost guilty.
Why is that?

I frown at the entrance as in my mind, the soft lips of Cho's transform into a pair belonging to
someone else entirely. I wonder, would they be equally soft? But hard at the same time? Or
demanding in a way that can be only achieved with…what, experience? One's personality?

Why am I even thinking about them? Why am I thinking about him?

My head is spinning, my scar is prickling, and I can feel a headache coming. I quickly turn
around and walk towards the Gryffindor Tower, to my dormitory. I decide to skip lunch and
rest for a bit before our afternoon classes. I'll need all my strength for tonight.

Hogwarts, 9 January 1996

Yesterday night was utter rubbish. I hate him. Snape. He's teaching me to learn Occlumency,
a skill that I could use to close my mind from intrusion, and to shield myself against
possession.

Generally speaking, Occlumency sounds reasonable, and I'm even slightly interested to learn
about the mysterious branch of magic, but with Snape teaching it…let's just say, my curiosity
might be fading rapidly.

Last night was something I hadn't been prepared to. I got to relive some of the most painful
and embarrassing memories from my past. The worst was Cedric's death. And the Dementors
attacking Sirius. I would not have wanted to see the highlights of my childhood under Uncle
Vernon's brutal discipline either, along with a handful of other memories.

It seemed impossible to clear my head so that I could have blocked Snape out, especially
when he was breathing in my neck, sneering and insulting me when he was not attacking my
mind.

Although, I managed to get some information out of him, so I reckon it wasn't a completely
fruitless session. I learned that I was inside the snake's mind – the one that attacked Arthur –
only because that is where Voldemort was at that time. Voldemort had possessed the snake,
and because I share his thoughts and his emotions through our connection, I saw everything.
Snape told me that because Voldemort now knows about our connection, it is essential for me
to learn to close my mind.

The most notable matter I learned about during last night's session, was the door. The door
I've been constantly dreaming about. The door through which I want to walk, but I can't. Last
night, I learned the door's location. Or actually, I remembered it. It is at the end of the
corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries, in the Ministry of Magic.

All in all, my first Occlumency session left me raw and aching, feeling rather nauseated and
with a lot of mixed-up information. Then, right before I lied down in my bed last night, I
experienced something…something quite unnerving. Voldemort was happy. Really happy. I
could feel his delight wash over me, taking over, and it was terrifying.

It was long after midnight before I finally fell asleep, my mind filled with questions and
worry. Why was Voldemort feeling so ecstatic?

"Morning," I grunt as I slip down to sit next to Hermione in the Great Hall. It is rather early,
and there is only a handful of students in the Gryffindor table.

She gives me a tender smile and pours me a glass of pumpkin juice. "You're up abnormally
early. How did you sleep?" She asks softly and eyes me carefully.

I stifle a great yawn. "Not enough, apparently," I grumble in reply and reach for the teapot.

Hermione frowns. "What happened? Did you see something? Did your scar hurt during the
night?" She asks, and I heave a sigh.

"No. I dunno," I say with a bit of frustration and take a long swig of hot tea. I had a raging
headache throughout the night, and saw a mixture of odd dreams featuring a stormy sea, fire
and the door inside the Ministry. Personally, I blame Snape for leaving my mind so open and
vulnerable.

Hermione purses her lips and gives me a scrutinising look. "Harry…" She says and her
features soften. "I wish you'd tell me what's going on with you…" She mutters quietly, her
eyes searching mine.

"What do you mean? I tell you and Ron everything," I say with a hint of defiance in my voice
as I snatch a piece of toast from the platter in the middle of the table, ignoring the small
twinge of guilt I feel. I haven't exactly told them everything, have I?

Hermione stays quiet and worries her lip, eyeing me unsurely.

"Oh!" She suddenly exclaims, as if remembering something. "I forgot to ask, how did it go
with Cho?" She asks, and I blink at her in reply.

"What?" I ask, wondering what is she talking about.

Hermione gives me a strange look. "Cho, yesterday, in the hallway? You remember? What
did you talk about?" She asks with her brows slightly lifted, a small smile playing on her lips.

And then I remember. Yesterday, I was going to tell Ron and Hermione about the Hogsmeade
trip I agreed to go on with Cho, but then I skipped lunch and nearly missed my afternoon
classes, and somehow it slipped my mind. "Oh, um…yeah. We're going on a date. To
Hogsmeade," I say simply, and she gives me even stranger look.
"Okay? And?" She presses on, and I frown at her in confusion.

"What?" I ask, not understanding what I am missing.

The look in her eyes shifts from incredulous to perplexed and then, slowly, her eyes widen.
She looks as if she's contemplating what to say.

"Oh, nothing. Although, I've been meaning to ask…" She says vaguely, glancing around us.
"…About you and Regulus."

I nearly choke on the gulp of tea in my mouth. I cough loudly, my eyes watering as Hermione
claps me on my back.

"You alright, mate?" Ron quips as he drops to the bench opposite to us.

I manage to clear my throat. "Yeah, I'm okay," I wheeze, and give Hermione a wary look as
Ron starts to load his plate.

Her expression displays worry, but I can see a hint of something in her eyes. Something that
makes me very uncomfortable.

Thankfully, her attention turns to the arriving morning post. The Great Hall is filled with
whooshing noise as the hundred or so owls circle around the large room, trying to find their
recipients. Hermione accepts the Daily Prophet from the delivery owl and flips the paper
open with a loud shriek.

"What?!" Ron and I both exclaim with dread. Many of our classmates who have only just
arrived to breakfast eye us curiously.

Hermione places the paper flat on the table with trembling hands, and everyone around us
stares at the moving pictures on the front page. Ten Death Eaters, sneering from their black-
and-white photographs, have escaped from Azkaban.

"Bloody hell," Ron mutters from the opposite side of the table.

I bristle when I read the headlines. The Ministry is blaming Sirius for the breakout. I wonder
how my godfather has taken the news.

And now I know the reason Voldemort was beside himself with joy last night.

Hogwarts, 17 February 1996

Weeks have gone by, and it has been a big load of crap, to put it mildly. Umbridge has taken
control over Hogwarts; she's lurking in the corners, supervising most of the classes where she
takes notes and judges the Professors' capability to teach their subjects.

My scar is hurting constantly, and I sense Voldemort more often and more intensely in my
mind than I did before the holidays. I can actually feel what he is feeling most of the time. It's
appalling. It's making me nauseated, and I'm beginning to suspect that my mind opening
more easily has something to do with the Occlumency lessons. I feel like I've become more
vulnerable, free to outside attacks. I'm dreaming about the door every night, and I can't help
it. I can't stop, whatever I try. It's exhausting. Clearing my mind at nights does nothing.

The only thing that has brought me even a sliver of happiness, are the DA meetings. Every
single member in our group has advanced in defensive and offensive magic. Everyone is
working hard, understanding the necessity to be able to defend oneself. The mass-breakout
from Azkaban certainly only improved everyone's determination.

Today is the first Hogsmeade trip of the year, and I've promised to take Cho there, on our first
date. I manage to clean up a bit before I head downstairs for breakfast, feeling quite nervous.

In the Great Hall, Hermione pesters me to meet her at the Three Broomsticks around midday,
but she doesn't tell me why. In the end, I promise her I'll be there, hoping that Cho doesn't
mind.

After breakfast, Hermione, Ron and I walk together into the Entrance Hall, where Hermione
says her goodbyes to us before leaving towards Hogsmeade. Ron too leaves through the oak
front doors towards Quidditch practice while I stay to wait for Cho. I feel a pang of jealousy
as I stare at my friend's retreating back. I wish I could play Quidditch. I wish I could at least
fly, but I can't because my broom is confiscated. Because of Umbridge.

"Hey Harry," Cho murmurs next to me, eyeing me shyly.

I almost wince from surprise, but manage to give her a nervous grin instead. She looks
beautiful. Should I tell her? Or would it sound too eager?

"Um…Hey. So, er…Shall we?" I say eventually, and glance at the doors.

She nods and takes my hand, guiding me outside. It feels…strange. I dunno. Good, perhaps?
Her hand is warm, and her fingertips rest smoothly against my knuckles.

We continue walking along the path towards the village. Minutes go by, and I take in our
surroundings, eyeing the snow toppled trees with interest as well as the students in front of
us, laughing whilst throwing snow at each other.

Should I say something? Circe, this is awkward.

I'm relieved when Cho starts talking about Quidditch, and then I remember that she too plays
the sport. Before I know it, our conversation flows easily, and I feel slightly ridiculous for
thinking that going on a date with her would've been uncomfortable or difficult.

We eventually reach the village and browse through the shop windows for a while until it
starts to snow heavily. We take refuge in a small teashop I haven't visited earlier, but instantly
know I'll never set a foot in again. The place is packed, with tiny tables for two, and
everything is decorated with lace and pink embellishments. I notice that in almost every
table, there's a couple holding hands. I suppress a shiver of discomfort and follow Cho to one
of the small round tables.
"So, er…" I mutter and glance around us.

Cho eyes me and the place with a sweet smile. "Cute, isn't it?"

It's horrible. "Yeah, um…I guess so…" I say unsurely, presuming she might be offended if I
tell her how the place actually gives me the same kind of creeps as Umbridge's office does.

The matron, Madam Puddifoot, pushes past the narrow space between the small tables and
stops next to ours. "What can I get you, m'dears?" She asks with a kind voice, glancing over
the teashop before looking at us again.

Cho gives her a familiar smile and orders us two coffees. Does she come here a lot? And is
she holding hands with her dates during coffee? I groan inwardly when I notice that Roger
Davies and his date start to snog at the table next to us. I quickly look away and stare outside
from the window. Merlin, I can hear the smacking sounds their lips make. The air feels a bit
suffocating, and I realise my face is heating up.

"So…Umbridge's a bitch," Cho says and god, I could just hug her for bringing up a subject I
can grab onto and ignore the unpleasant sounds Davies and his girlfriend make.

I grin at her. "She's one of a kind. I wonder if she's secretly a Squib, you know?" I say with a
hint of amusement.

Cho nods eagerly. "Yeah, probably. Would explain how she never wants us to use magic.
Because she couldn't then control us," she says thoughtfully.

We trade a couple more spiteful thoughts about our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor
before we fall into silence. The subject is thoroughly covered in our DA meetings after all.

I try to ignore the activities occurring at the next table and suddenly remember that Hermione
requested me to meet her at the Three Broomsticks. "Um…Hermione asked me to meet her at
the Three Broomsticks at lunchtime. Do you want to come with me?"

Cho gives me a disbelieving look. "You're meeting Hermione Granger? Today?"

I frown at her. "Yeah. Well, she asked me to, so I thought I would. D'you want to come with
me? She said it wouldn't matter if you did."

Cho narrows her eyes at me. "Oh…well…that was nice of her," she says, her voice as chilling
as the look in her eyes.

Another silence between us, and Cho seems to be more interested in looking at Roger Davies
and his date than hers.

"He asked me out, you know," she says quietly, not looking at me. "A couple of weeks ago.
Roger. I turned him down, though."

I lift my brows at her, feeling confused. Why is she here with me then, if she'd rather be with
Davies?
"I came in here with Cedric last year," Cho says, looking through the window with a wistful
expression.

She has got to be kidding me. She's bringing up Cedric? Now? On our date?

Cho takes in a stuttering breath. "I've been meaning to ask you for ages…did Cedric…did he,
um…mention me at all before he died?" She asks, her voice barely a whisper.

I stare into her eyes, which are brimming up with tears. I swallow hard. I can't talk about it.
About him. Even her bringing him up like this makes me almost see the flash of green, the
high voice of Voldemort when he ordered Wormtail to…No. I can't. I can't think about it.

I look away. "No. There…there wasn't time for him to say anything," I say tightly. "Erm…
so…d'you…d'you get to see a lot of Quidditch on the holidays? You support the Tornados,
right?" I ask, trying to change the subject before either of us breaks down.

Too late. She's already crying silently. I suppress a weary sigh. "Look," I say hesitantly, "Let's
not talk about Cedric right now…let's talk about something else, yeah?"

Cho's eyes turn cold. "I thought you'd understand!" She snaps, her tears now flowing more
freely. "I need to talk about it! Surely you n-need to talk about it t-too!" She says loudly, her
voice stuttering. "I mean, you saw it happen, d-didn't you?"

Shit. Everyone is watching us. Everyone probably knows of whom she is talking about.

A shiver of discomfort trails down my spine. "Well…I have talked about it," I say quietly to
her, "to Ron and Hermione, but –"

She lets out a shriek of outrage. "Oh, you'll talk to Hermione Granger!" She says angrily,
looking very much insulted. "But you won't talk to me! P-perhaps it would be best if we
just…just p-paid and you went and met up with Hermione G-Granger, like you obviously
want to!" She says with a trembling voice, her face now wet with tears.

My mind whirls in panic as I try to find the right words, as I try to figure out what did I do
wrong. "Um…Cho?" I manage to say, but she shakes her head, brushing her tears away.

"You should go, Harry," she says with a sniff. "I don't know why you asked me out in the first
place if you're going to make arrangements to meet other girls right after me. How many are
you meeting after Hermione?" She asks coldly, her previously soft lips turned into a frown.

I stare at her in disbelief. "It's not like that!" I say, and then realise that she's hurt because I
had arranged a meeting with Hermione even though I'm on a date with her. She thinks that
I'm seeing other girls as well, and the thought is so ridiculous that a chuckle escapes my
mouth.

Oh no. I groan inwardly as she stands up quickly, a deep scowl in her eyes.

"I'll see you around, Harry," she says harshly before rushing towards the door, away from the
horrible teashop, away from me. I try to call after her but there's no use. She's already gone.
Brilliant. With a great sigh, I put a Galleon on the table and follow her out to the main street,
ignoring the dirty looks most of the people are sending towards me.

It's still snowing hard, and the streets are empty. A mix of confusion, annoyance and relief fill
me as I mentally go over the past hour, trying to figure out what went wrong. Why did she
mention Davies? And why in Merlin did she have to bring up Cedric? Did she honestly think
that we could discuss Cedric's death over a nice cup of coffee? What was she thinking?

With an audible growl, I make my way towards the Three Broomsticks, hoping Hermione
will be there already since I'm rather sure I'm early. As I step inside the pub, I stumble upon
Hagrid, who is heading out. We exchange a couple of words and after Hagrid leaves, I finally
find Hermione. She's with Luna Lovegood and…Rita Skeeter, an ex-journalist who wrote a
bunch of utter shite about me in the Daily Prophet last year.

What the hell is Hermione doing with her?

Hermione explains everything to me, and it turns out that she wants Skeeter to interview me.
She wants me to tell Skeeter everything that happened in the beginning of last summer, when
Cedric died and when Voldemort was resurrected. Every last detail. And then, Luna's father
will publish the story in his magazine, the Quibbler. The whole idea is as horrifying as it is
thrilling.

So, I go ahead and tell Skeeter everything.

Grimmauld Place, 26 February 1996

I'm slowly waking up, and I can feel the sun warming my face through the window. Who the
fuck opened the curtains? Then my neck tingles, and my insides warm pleasantly. Something
smooths down my chest, over my ribcage, brushing my hipbone. Fuck, it feels so good.

"Mmm…" I hum sleepily, enjoying the soft touches and…lips against my neck?

The said lips suck the skin below my jaw, and I actually let out a gasp while all the blood in
my body rushes downwards. Right to my prick.

"W-What?" I mumble and blink, squinting at the other person supposedly sharing my bed.

A jet-black hair, unkempt and unruly. Impossibly green eyes.

I wake up with a jolt to a loud banging on my door.

"Oi! REGGIE!"

What the hell? I jump up from my bed, my legs tangling in my sheets, and eventually land on
the floor with a thud and a muffled groan. It takes me a moment to realise where I am, and
who's howling behind the door. The room is dark, but I can see the sun shining brightly from
the small gap between the heavy curtains. What time is it?
"Sirius?" I grunt as I stand up and throw the sheets back to the bed. To my empty bed. Like it
should be.

I shake my head and drag myself to the door and open it, blinking as the sharp light from the
landing hits my eyes.

"Just came to see if you're still alive, brother, given that you usually wake up a couple of
hours before me, at least," My brother says lightly and gives me a once over. Suddenly his
expression shifts into a sly amusement.

Supposedly, he's taken notice of the strain in my pants. I roll my eyes at him. "Did you have
something to say or did you come here to gape at my dick?" I ask with irritation, shifting
slightly behind the door.

Sirius barks a laugh. "I'm clearly interrupting something," He says cheerfully. "Have at it,
then. Breakfast awaits downstairs."

"I'm not – " I start but he cuts me off.

"No, no…you go ahead and finish and we'll talk later," My brother says with a teasing wink
and turns to head downstairs, chuckling as he goes.

"Dickhead," I mutter at his back.

Sirius turns to look at me with a gleeful smile. "Says the wanker."

I groan and turn back into my room, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary,
and hear my brother laughing mercilessly in the stairs.

I don't know what surprises me more; that I'm not having nightmares because of the locket or
that I'm dreaming about Potter instead.

"What are you two reading?" I ask from my brother and Lupin as I enter the kitchen half an
hour later, freshly showered and well-dressed. Both men are hunching over a magazine that is
propped up against the teapot, staring its pages intently while sipping coffee and tea from
their cups.

"What the fuck is a Crumple-Horned Snorkack?" I ask as I squint at the back cover of the rag.
A familiar pair of green eyes blink back at me behind the teapot. His face is taking a whole
page.

Fuck. Images from my last night's dream surge to the forefront of my mind. My ears are
drumming, and I press my eyes shut for a second, trying to clear my mind. As I open them, I
notice Lupin eyeing me with a contemplative look.

"Good morning, Regulus," Lupin greets me kindly.

I grunt in reply and move towards the table to sit down opposite to them.
Sirius glances at me, a smirk playing on his lips, evidently the earlier encounter still fresh in
his mind. "Dunno what's a Snorkack, but that's not what we're reading about," he says and
glances at the paper. "It's – "

"Potter," I say hoarsely, and both my brother and Lupin give me strange look. I clear my
throat. "Potter, I presume?" I ask, managing a neutral tone.

My brother shoves a sausage into his mouth and swallows after a couple of chews. "Yeah.
Harry's made an interview with Skeeter…" He says, and I'm mildly interested.

"About?" I ask, aiming for nonchalance.

Kreacher emerges then from the pantry, a look of delight on its face. The elf snaps its fingers
and an assortment of breakfast items appear in front of me. I thank my elf, taking note how it
seems more happier, healthier now than it did when I came here nearly seven months ago.

"See for yourself," Sirius says and throws the rag in front of me.

I glance at the cover, at his face. Potter is grinning shyly back, and I have to tear my eyes
from his face before my brother and Lupin start suspecting anything. The headline says he's
telling the truth about the Dark Lord and the night of his resurrection.

Well, now I'm intrigued.

I flip the correct page open, and start reading. I vaguely notice my brother and Lupin leaving
the kitchen on some point, but I don't bother glancing up.

Grimmauld Place, 2 March 1996

Another Order meeting. Another hour or so about Death Eater sightings, Ministry news, and
it all seems to be the same. Nothing's happening, but still something is. The Order has finally
decided that I'm trustworthy and they tell me what exactly are they guarding at the Ministry.
A prophecy. A prophecy about Potter and the Dark Lord, about their fates. I'm told that no
one knows what it says, but I doubt it. Prophecies are often made in front of a witness, and it
seems foolish to put so much effort on something they are not sure about, not when the Order
is already short of operatives.

Severus lingers in the kitchen after the meeting, and I already know it by the look in his
expressionless black eyes. He's seen something. I didn't have a doubt, really, since I didn't
expect Potter to be any resistance to him.

After everyone else leaves, I flick my wand to the door to cast some privacy spells and turn
calmly towards him.

Severus's lips turn into a sly smirk. "You are full of surprises, Regulus," He drawls and takes
a seat at the table.

I roll my eyes, refusing to be ashamed. Nothing has happened. "Well? Say what you wanted
to say about it," I say blankly, not showing any emotion to him as I sit down opposite to him.
Severus lets out a dry chuckle. "Potter...Really?" He asks with a mocking voice, his eyes
shining with glee.

I arch a brow at him. "I seem to remember someone coveting his mother," I say dryly. I'm not
really coveting Potter, am I? I realise my mistake when Severus's smirk widens.

Fuck.

Although, I should be glad that the only memories he has been able to rifle through are
Potter's. Sure, he has seen many things in my mind, but every single one has been something
that I intended for him to see.

He shrugs, eyeing me with a triumphant look. "At least we were the same age. And she
wasn't as useless as her husband or son," he says with slight contempt.

I shake my head in disbelief. "You truly ought to get over it, Sev…" I mutter, and he sends
me a glare in reply.

"You should keep your distance to the boy," He says darkly, a hint of sneer on his face.

I arch a brow at him. "And why is that?" I say plainly, not bothering to point out that his
statement is irrelevant. I haven't seen the boy after he returned to Hogwarts.

Severus's lips twitch slightly with amusement. "Don't play stupid with me, Black. We both
know the boy is dangerous," He says slowly. "The connection to the Dark Lord is stronger, I
have felt it," He says, his dark eyes unreadable. "By socialising with Potter, you take the risk
of exposing your existence."

"Oh? Didn't know you cared, Sev," I say with a provoking smile.

He narrows his eyes at me. "I don't. Because I'm not as ignorant and moronic as your brother
and his imbecile friends, and I advise you refrain to be so as well," He says harshly and
stands up to leave.

I stare at him silently before I speak. "Perhaps they know something we don't," I say quietly,
and we both know what I am talking about. Sev and I have always lived by guarding our
hearts. Numbing the feelings of affection, closing ourselves from others. That is the only way
to be a Death Eater.

"Trust me, they don't." Severus says tightly. "It is a weakness neither of us wishes," He says
with a grim look and leaves the room.
 Family Tree
Chapter Notes

Thank you for reading :) Please review!

Chapter 11: Family Tree

Hogwarts, 13 March 1996

"Get up, Potter," Snape drawls with an oily voice as I lie face down against the cold dungeon
floor, panting slightly.

I scramble up, scowling at him as he has managed to send me tumbling to the ground yet
again. This time I've seen a handful of memories I didn't even remember existed, mostly
about Dudley and his gang bothering me.

"That last memory," Snape says suspiciously. "What was it?"

I rack my brain and try to remember the last memory he viewed through the headache that is
threatening to take over. "I don't know," I say wearily as I straighten my glasses. "You mean
the one where my cousin tried to make me stand in the toilet?"

Snape arches a brow at me. "No," he says with a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "I
mean the one with a man kneeling in the middle of a darkened room…" he says with a
pointed look.

I swallow hard. Rookwood. Snape has seen the vision I had some nights ago about
Rookwood and Voldemort, and…the weapon. "It's…er…nothing," I say nonchalantly.

Snape narrows his eyes at me and I look quickly away, even though I suspect that he could
successfully use Legilimency without making eye contact.

"How do that man and that room come to be inside your head, Potter?" Snape asks darkly.

"It was just a dream," I mutter and fix my gaze at the parchment scrolls on Snape's desk.

"A dream?" Snape says threateningly. There's a short, uncomfortable silence before he speaks
again, "You do know why we are here, don't you, Potter?" he asks with a cold voice. "You do
know why I am giving up my evenings to this tedious job?"

I give him a jerky nod. "Yes."

"Remind me why we are here, Potter," he says silkily.

"So I can learn Occlumency," I say, frowning at the floor.

"Correct, Potter. And dim though you may be, I would have thought that after over two
months of lessons you might have made some progress. How many other dreams about the
Dark Lord have you had?" He asks, and I send him a quick glare.

"Just that one," I say stubbornly.

Snape eyes me speculatively before he speaks. "Perhaps…perhaps you actually enjoy having
these visions and dreams, Potter. Maybe they make you feel special…important?" He asks
tauntingly.

I grit my teeth together. "No, they don't," I say tightly, my hands clenched into fists.

"That is just as well, Potter," he continues menacingly, "because you are neither special nor
important, and it is not up to you to find out what the Dark Lord is saying to his Death
Eaters."

Rage surges inside me. "No, that's your job, isn't it?" I blurt, and instantly regret it.

The room temperature seems to drop as Snape eyes me with a chilling look. He speaks after a
short silence, his voice soft even though his eyes are burning with anger, "Yes, Potter. That is
my job. Now, if you are ready, we will start again."

"One…two…three…Legilimens!" He says, and of course I haven't prepared myself for his

attack.

I try to close my mind as a memory of hundred Dementors approaching me takes over my

mind, their breathing rattling as they try to reach out to me. I manage to lift my wand and cast
a Shield Charm, and send Snape staggering backwards. His wand soars through the air, away
from us, and then the strangest of visions fill my head.

A small, dark-haired boy with a tear-stained face, hovering in the corner of a sitting room,
clutching a worn plush toy. A greasy-haired teenager watching others from the shadows,
trying not to be seen by anyone.

"ENOUGH!" Snape yells and sends me crashing towards the shelves behind me, causing
several glass jars with miscellaneous potions ingredients shatter to the floor as I hit them.

Snape stares at me with his eyes widened in surprise, his hand shaking as he summons his
wand back. He flicks it to the mess in my feet, vanishing and repairing the damage. "Well,
Potter…that was certainly an improvement…" he says, slightly out of breath. "I don't
remember telling you to use a Shield Charm…but there is no doubt that it was effective…"
He says simply, eyeing me with a speculative look.

I don't dare to speak. I'm rather sure I've just been inside Snape's head and seen memories
from his childhood.

"Let's try again, shall we?" He says darkly.

Bollocks. I'm certainly going to pay for what I did. Snape counts to three, and I try to clear
my mind, even though I know there is no use. He enters my memories effortlessly, and I'm
back in the Department of Mysteries, approaching the closed door I've dreamt about so many
times.

But this time, the door is open. My insides jump with excitement. There's a mysterious blue
light glowing inside the room.

"POTTER!" Snape yells, anger evident in his voice.

I open my eyes, not recalling how I ended up on the floor, lying on my back, panting as if I've
run a marathon.

"Explain yourself!" Snape snaps, glaring at me.

He starts to rant about how I'm not even trying, how I'm not taking this seriously, how utterly
lazy and ungrateful I am. I'm about to argue back, but then, a loud screaming noise reaches
our ears.

"What the…?" Snape mutters, both our eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Another scream. We glance at each other silently before promptly leaving the dungeons.

As I reach the Entrance Hall, I find it packed with students who are circling Professor
Trelawney and…Umbridge, who is apparently sacking Trelawney and banishing her from
Hogwarts.

McGonagall steps in to help Trelawney, and eventually Dumbledore appears and informs the
toad-faced woman that he has hired a new Divination teacher, and as the Headmaster, he has
the authority to give Trelawney permission to continue to live at Hogwarts. Umbridge looks
like she has swallowed a mouthful of bile. I can see it in her eyes; there will be retribution.

Grimmauld Place, 15 March 1996

I wake up with a cold sheen of sweat on my skin. It takes a couple of moments for me to
realise that what I saw in my dream did not happen, even though it felt so real. I take a deep
breath and rub my face, trying to remember the details of my dream.

My brother and I were caught by the Dark Lord. We were questioned and tortured in the
customary way, but then the Dark Lord invaded my mind, and found out something.
Something I'm now straining to remember. I remember screaming. I remember feeling
terrified. But I can't remember why. Perhaps it was the Horcrux?

I turn to glare at my bedside table. The locket is still there, pulsing with dark magic,
poisoning my sleep, making me anxious. I've recently dreamt more and more about people
suffering and being tortured. My parents, my brother, myself, even Potter. It's exhausting. I'm
frustrated because there's nothing to do with the locket. I can't destroy it, since it is somehow
protected against Death Eaters. I wince inwardly as I remember the burnt flesh on my skin
under the mark after I tried cursing the locket. And even though I'd be able to fight through
the pain without passing out, I haven't got any means to destroy a Horcrux.

The only way has to be Fiendfyre, I'm quite sure of it, but I can't practice the curse without
someone who can put the flames out in case I am unable to. I can't practice it without risking
the cursed fire of going out of control. And I don't know anyone who could help me. I'm
fucked.

I crawl out of my bed with a small groan and head to my bathroom for a long shower.

An hour later, I'm in the middle of my breakfast tea as Sirius steps into the kitchen.

"Morning," He grunts and flops onto the bench across me, snatching the coffee pot and
pouring himself a large cup of coffee.

"Good morning, brother," I say casually, feeling slightly amused by his bleary and rumpled
look.

Sirius arches a brow at me before he tucks into his breakfast.

I browse the last pages of today's Prophet, which is rather pointless since the paper is filled
with garbage nowadays.

"You've been busy," I say and throw the paper in front of my brother.

A large part of the front page is dedicated to my brother, his appalling mugshot filling the
page, a headline 'Black sighted' screaming on top of it. The story continues on the next page,
with eyewitnesses' testimonies how my brother has been seen in several muggle towns in the
past three months.

Sirius glances at the paper and lets out a dry laugh. "They must be getting desperate. I mean,"
he says and peers at the second page, "what in the name of Merlin would I be doing in
Bicester?" He asks and smirks at me. "Half of these are completely fabricated," he continues
with an incredulous shake of his head.

I lift my brows at him. "And the other half?"

My brother merely shrugs at me. "What of it?"

I scoff. "You are careless, did you know that?" I ask and take a sip from my tea. "And not to
mention, going out would be against the Order's wishes."

Sirius rolls his eyes. "I'd go mental if I couldn't step outside every now and then. Besides, I
haven't been seen anywhere near London," He says wearily, simultaneously tearing his toast
into tiny pieces onto his plate.

I suppress the urge to comment on the possibility of his insanity. "Right," I say instead,
feeling too tired to chastise him.
"Moony and Dora are coming later today," My brother announces after snatching another
toast from the basket on the table.

I arch a brow at him. "Why?"

"Moony's birthday," Sirius continues, seeming more cheerful. "Well, it was last week,
actually, but he was on a mission then."

I stare at my brother. "So…?"

Sirius smirks. "So. Blind drunk it is," He says with a wink and stands up. "Participating is
mandatory," he says pointedly and leaves the kitchen, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

"Ooh, can we play a drinking game?" Nymphadora asks as soon as we sit down in the library
seating area. She takes two Firewhiskey shots from Sirius's outstretched hand and plops down
on the couch next to Lupin, handing him the other one. "Do we have Veritaserum?" She asks
with a sly grin.

Lupin shakes his head with amusement while my brother and I object hastily.

Nymphadora narrows her eyes at us, looking intrigued. She tosses down the shot and makes a
face.

"Okay, old people, and…well…little cousin," She says and throws me a quick grin, "What
now?"

Sirius smirks at her. "Now…nothing! We enjoy our drinks and the company. Welcome to the
adulthood, Dora," he says, toasting her before taking a hefty sip. "Be sure to take some notes
since Moony's not going to get any younger," He adds with a wide grin, while the three of us
either roll our eyes or shake our heads in exasperation.

I throw back my whole drink and place the glass on the coffee table, coughing slightly.
"Thank you for the drink. Many happy returns," I say blankly at Lupin before I make a move
to stand up.

Lupin nods at me, while my brother and Nymphadora make objecting sounds.

"Where do you think you're going?" My cousin asks with a demanding voice, her pink
eyebrows arched high on her forehead.

I clear my throat and smile politely at her. "I'm in a desperate need of a beauty sleep, cousin,"
I say snarkily, but she stops me by lifting her hand.

"Nope. If I'm required to merely sit and drink, then you, dear cousin, are too," She says with a
pointed look, levitating the bottle of Firewhiskey towards her and pouring herself another
drink before filling my glass again.

We stare at each other for a moment before I sigh and lean back against the armchair while
Sirius and Lupin chuckle lightly.
There's a short silence during which we all merely sip our drinks.

"…So, Reggie…Have you and Vance rekindled your…friendship yet?" My brother asks with
a sly look in his eyes.

I give my brother a blank stare and swear inwardly. I thought Emmie and I had been discreet
enough for everyone else to be oblivious that we were…well, that there was something
between us.

Nymphadora laughs. "A-ha! I knew I had a sneaking suspicion for a reason," she says
triumphantly. "The way you two gawk at each other and trade jibes, well, it's rather obvious,
actually…" She continues, looking thoughtful.

I scoff. "I'm afraid we haven't. And even if we did, you'd be the last person to know," I say to
my brother with a honeyed tone, while he, Nymphadora and Lupin are all cracking up like
some bloody morons. "Well, that applies to the three of you…" I add while narrowing my
eyes at their sniggering.

The truth is, I have thought about it a lot lately. I've thought about her, about our short-lived
liaison during our Hogwarts years. I've tried to figure out if the thought of her would rouse
any feelings that have perhaps subsided. I've thought about her, because otherwise, I'd think
about him.

"Oh? Well, I definitely must invite her the next time we're having a little get together," Sirius
says with a sly grin, sipping his drink.

I roll my eyes at him but say nothing.

Two hours later, my brother and I are by ourselves in the library, in a middle of a deep
discussion about our father and how he was in our childhood. Nymphadora and Lupin have
excused themselves some time ago, and I'm assuming they're not coming back from their
'quick stop by the kitchen for a few snacks and drinks'.

"...I reckon it was mostly grandfather Pollux's…subtle encouragements to embrace our blood
purity," Sirius says with a mirthless laugh.

I grimace, remembering exactly what resulted from defying him. "Yeah. Well, you should've
kept your mouth shut," I say bitterly, the images of the first Christmas after my brother had
started Hogwarts fluttering into the forefront of my mind.

First-year-Sirius had been filled with that annoying and heedless Gryffindor pride, boasting
about equality and how our family was being misled. Grandfather Pollux had been enraged,
demanding our father to beat his own son up in front of the family, in order to purge my
brother's mind.

Father had never been the same after that. Yes, our parents had been strict with us – well,
mostly with my brother – during our childhood. But that incident had clearly been a turning
point. Father had become absent, had begun drinking and drawing away from the rest of us,
preferring his own company. Mother had started to listen her father more and to lean on him.
She had stared to embrace his views.

And yet, Sirius never changed. It was like he was asking for it. He knew what mother and
grandfather, and even our father would do, how they'd react. But my brother still resisted
them. Needless to say, he got beat up a lot, mentally and physically, before he eventually ran
away to live with the Potters.

My brother lets out a weary sigh. "You know what they say…Parents kill more dreams than
anybody," he says darkly.

I shake my head and look away from him. "Don't." I mutter. Of course, I don't blame my
brother for anything. I know he was a victim of abuse. I just don't know if have it in me to go
through it anymore.

From the corner of my eye, I see my brother drawing a long swig straight from the
Firewhiskey bottle. I swallow hard before I clear my throat, my eyes fixed at the glowing
embers of the fire. "Did you really hate me?" I ask quietly, Potter's words echoing in my
head. I know Potter was most likely exaggerating, or perhaps my brother was when he had
said the words to Potter. But for some reason, they have come back to haunt me.

Sirius grunts as if his thoughts are interrupted. "…Did I what?" He asks with a bewildered
look.

I shrug at him. "Hate me. For not staying by your side. For siding with them. For
joining him," I say and study his reaction carefully.

My brother blinks a couple of times, a deep frown taking over his features, as if he's
contemplating his answer. "Yes and no," He says, licking his lips. "I didn't understand it then,
but I do now. We're not the same, Reggie. But still, whatever you do, you are my brother." He
says intently, his dark grey eyes brimming with emotion.

Hogwarts, 29 March 1996

A couple of weeks have passed and everything has changed. We got caught - the DA. It's
over now.

Marietta Edgecombe, Cho's friend, ratted us out to Umbridge, causing Dumbledore to flee
from the castle after taking the fault. Because of her, Umbridge is now the Headmaster.
Because of her, the one thing that was keeping me sane in this place is gone.

Umbridge is certainly satisfied now. With Dumbledore out of her way, she can make the rules
now, and there's no one stopping her anymore.

At least, her first days as the Headmaster weren't easy. Fred and George set loose a large
selection of fireworks of their own design, and really created a mayhem in the school.
Professors, students, and even ghosts were making Umbridge run around the castle, not even
trying to help her to keep order as the fireworks were causing a big mess.
We decided to hold a party in Fred's and George's honour today, and the common room is
packed. But unfortunately, I can't let myself enjoy it. As I stare at the dancing flames of fire,
my mind wanders to what I witnessed only hours ago at Snape's office.

I saw my father, Sirius, Remus, Pettigrew and my mother. It was strange to see him, my dad.
He looked just like me. But now it seems that our looks are the only trait we share, since we
are nothing alike otherwise. What I saw at Snape's office was Snape's memory of them.
Snape's memory of being bullied by my father and his friends. My father hung Snape by his
ankles to show off, to…to please Sirius. I can't even believe it's true! Everything Snape has
said about my father seems more or more the truth, and it's unbearable, a nagging feeling
fluttering around in my head.

"Blimey, Harry! …Heard what Hermione said to Fred and George?" Ron says excitedly as he
drops down on the couch next to me.

I'm startled, and blink at Ron a couple of times before I register what he's just said to me.
"Huh?"

Ron smirks. "Said that they were brilliant," he says with amusement and pops a couple of
Bertie Botts into his mouth.

I grin at him, remembering the rebellious look on Hermione's face when we saw Umbridge's
reaction to the fireworks. "Well, they are brilliant, aren't they?" I say lightly, trying to push
away the bitter thoughts still circling my mind.

Ron hums in agreement and then frowns at me. "You okay, mate?" Ron asks, eyeing me
warily.

I shrug and rub the bridge of my nose under my glasses. I give him an insignificant grunt in
reply.

He eyes me with a contemplative look for a bit. "Is it Cho?" He asks carefully, sipping his
Butterbeer, his eyes never leaving me.

I groan inwardly. I almost forgot about Cho in the midst of other events. We had an argument
about Marietta, about how she betrayed us. I think Cho and I are done – or if there ever was
us, I can't say. Whatever it was between us, I know I can't be with her, it just doesn't feel
right. I feel like…like we don't understand each other. I don't know if it has more to do with
her still mourning Cedric, or her siding with Marietta, who sold us to Umbridge. I feel like
Hermione and Ron are the only ones who understand me, and even they have troubles doing
so every now and then.

"How'd you guess?" I ask and let out a long sigh.

Ron looks slightly uncomfortable. "She was, um…"

I want to roll my eyes. "Crying?" I ask tightly.

Ron nods with a grimace.

"If I'd get a sickle every time she does that…" I mutter and take the Butterbeer Ron offers me
and uncork it.

Ron lets out an amused sound and we sip our drinks in silence. I look at the far corner of the
common room, where Fred and George are taking orders from their housemates,
enthusiastically talking about their newest product; Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs.

With a huff, Hermione sits down on the couch to my other side. "Can't believe they're taking
orders from their classmates…And Fred said that they used all their fireworks for their prank
the day before. How do they even have the means to produce more products?" She rambles,
looking slightly annoyed and bewildered.

Of course they have the means. They have the gold I gave them at the end of last year. A bit
of information that I'm keeping to myself.

"…And I certainly hope they're not foolish enough to work under Umbridge's nose," she
continues with a hint of worry in her expression.

Ron waves aside her doubts. "C'mon, Mione, you know they're smarter than that…I mean,
have they ever been caught from creating or carrying banned stuff in school?" He asks easily.

I remember the sizes of their files in Filtch's office. They were enormous. Both Hermione and
I give Ron an incredulous look.

Ron grimaces. "Bloody hell. Yeah. So…basically they're done for."

"Yep," I say, while Hermione nods, chewing the inside of her cheek.

Ron groans. "Mum's gonna murder me…Well, first, she's gonna murder them, but then she'll
come for me for not keeping them in check," He says wearily and stands up. "I need to go
and try to talk some sense in them," He mutters and heads towards his brothers, who are in
the middle of discussion with a suspicious looking Neville.

There's a short silence, during which Hermione eyes me closely. "So, um. How are things
with…Cho?" Hermione asks carefully.

I look at her and lift my brows. "I take it you know already?" I ask resignedly.

Hermione sighs and nods slowly. "Yes. I saw her at the girls' bathroom on the third floor on
my way here," she says gently. "Heard her telling her friends that you two were fighting. That
you…are not dating anymore?" She asks hesitantly, watching me curiously.

I let out a huff. "Well, that's new to me. Didn't even know we were dating. Or that we broke
up, for that matter…" I say dryly. "But yeah, we had an argument. And I still can't believe
how she's choosing her friend's side in this. Marietta's. I just can't..." I say with frustration.

Hermione gives me an understanding smile. "I know, Harry…" She says softly and then
worries her lip before she speaks again. "So…what are you going to do about it?"
I frown at her. "Um…nothing? I don't really see any point of doing anything. It didn't really
go well in the first place, so why bother fixing something that will never happen?"

"Oh?" Hermione asks, looking intrigued and surprised.

I shrug. "Yeah."

Hermione stares at me with a thoughtful look.

"What?" I ask, feeling slightly uncomfortable under her gaze.

She clears her throat. "Does this…um…have something to do with…someone else?" She
asks quietly.

"What? No," I say, feeling slightly puzzled. "What do you mean?" I ask and take a sip from
my Butterbeer.

Is she talking about Cedric? That Cho's still not over him? A memory flickers into the
forefront of my mind. An afternoon at Grimmauld place; the stuffy smell of the drawing
room, a pair of steel grey eyes with a scorching gaze. And the various feelings surging inside
me…

Hermione arches a brow, clearly seeing the change in my expression. "Oh, you know very
well whom I'm talking about," She says simply, and I feel a sharp tug of unease in my
stomach.

"Bloody hell…" I mutter. I can feel my face reddening under her knowing gaze. "You're not
going to let that one go, are you?" I ask quietly and look away from her, gritting my teeth
with irritation.

She stays silent for a while, supposedly thinking of her next words.

"Harry…" She then says, placatingly. "I just wanted to say that you can talk to me about it.
About him."

I glance around us and then look at her. "I don't really know what to say…" I say and
swallow hard. What can I say? Something happened, with…with him. With Regulus. I
haven't yet figured it out myself, and every time I try, I somehow end up pushing the thoughts
back into the dark corner of my mind.

"Well…um…do you…like him?" She asks carefully.

I huff and instead of answering her, I stare at Lavender and Parvati, who are in a middle of a
rather promiscuous dance routine on the makeshift dancefloor.

Hermione lets out a disapproving noise when she sees them. "Godric, they are imprudent,"
she says with a distasteful look, rolling her eyes at Dean and Seamus who ogle them without
abashment. And as I look around, I see they're not the only ones. Ron too is eyeing the girls
with an enthralled look in his eyes. As soon as Hermione sees him, she goes stiff, her
knuckles whitening as she grips the edge of the sofa.
I shake my head slightly, supposedly reading the situation correctly. I know there's more to
Hermione's and Ron's relationship than just friendship. But I'm not sure if the two of them
know that yet.

Hermione clears her throat and tears her eyes away from the scene. "Well?" She asks and
gives me a scrutinising look.

I chew the inside of my cheek, trying to think of what to say. I decide to go with the truth,
since I know very well that she's the only one who could possibly solve the mystery with me.
"I don't know. I think so. I mean…I haven't…I'm not…um…" I stammer. It can't be this hard
to say out loud.

Hermione stares at me patiently, waiting for me to say it. I let out a long sigh and rub my
neck. "I didn't know I'd be into blokes," I say, almost inaudibly, even though there's no one
around us and there's music playing rather loud. I don't even know how should I feel about
the thought.

Hermione nods slowly. "Because you liked Cho as well?" She asks cautiously.

I shrug. "Yeah. I don't know if I should just forget about the whole thing…"

Hermione frowns. "Do you want to?"

"No. I've tried, though. But somehow, he keeps creeping back into my mind," I say wearily.
I'm actually amazed that Snape hasn't been able to catch my thoughts and memories
regarding him.

Hermione nods thoughtfully and eyes me hesitantly. "Did something happen between you
two? Did you…um…did you kiss?" She asks, whispering the latter part.

I feel my cheeks heating up. "Erm…Not exactly. I mean, if you wouldn't have come then, I
think we might've…" I mutter awkwardly.

"Oh." Hermione says quietly. "Yes, well…I thought it was something like that…"

I lean forward, my elbows against my knees and rub my eyes with my palms, letting out a
small groan. "I don't know what to do. What to think. It's all a bloody mess, Hermione," I say
with a slightly shaky voice, and glance at her.

She brushes her hand over my shoulders, a small smile on her lips. "Well, just so you know, if
you are into boys, it doesn't change anything." She says shrewdly, and then worries her lip.
"But what should you do about it, I can't say. You probably can't do much, since you can't
really contact him and because we're staying here for Easter to prepare for our O.W.L's. For
which we will revise, by the way," she continues with a strict look.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," I grunt and give her a small smirk. "I'm actually stunned that
you'd let yourself have a free night from studying," I say and glance deliberately at the party
around us.
Hermione shrugs. "Yes, well, I suppose Fred and George are entitled to a party after what
they did," She says simply, a smile tugging her lips.

I nod in agreement. "So, no more partying?"

Hermione gives me a stern look, resembling McGonagall rather much. "No more."

Grimmauld Place, 15 April 1996

I'm in the middle of my afternoon tea and a promising text I've found from the library. It is
my ancestor's journal, actually, and I have to admit that I'm rather intrigued by it. The man
keeps raving about blood purity and ways to enhance it for the most of the journal, but the
interesting part is about ancient rituals.

"…Sirius?"

I'm startled by the noise, and then I realise the voice is coming from the fireplace. Shit. What
if someone sees me? Why the hell is the floo open? As I stare at the fireplace, Potter's head
appears in the midst of flames, an anxious look in his eyes.

Has something happened? Several images from my dreams from the past couple of months
pop up into the forefront of my mind.

I clear my throat. "Potter."

"Oh. I thought you were…never mind," Potter mumbles, looking slightly uncomfortable, as if
not really sure what to say.

"Yes. Well. What is it?" I ask eventually, mildly annoyed by his perplexity. Didn't the
Ministry hag close the floo-connections in the castle? I stare at him closely.

"Um…I just wondered — I mean, I just fancied a chat with Sirius," He stammers, not looking
at me.

I arch a brow at him. "You fancied a chat?" I ask slowly, the incredulity evident in my voice.
"So…you decided to floocall him, just to chat. Regardless of what nearly happened last
time?" I ask blankly and give him a withering look.

Potter has the grace to look embarrassed. "Um. Could you just…get him?" He asks weakly, a
desperate look in his eyes.

Clearly something is wrong. I stare at him for a small moment and then send a Patronus to
my brother, ordering him to the kitchen right away.

Potter eyes my actions with a mix of interest and awe, supposedly because of the shape of my
Patronus; a lion. He looks away as I lock my eyes with him.

"How are you doing?" I ask bluntly, and he shrugs. There has been some discussion in the
Order meetings how the school is run, now that Dumbledore is not there anymore.
"Okay, I guess…" He mutters.

"How's Occlumency? Has Severus given you a hard time?" I ask mutedly, hoping that my old
friend hasn't brought up the instances I've requested him to keep to himself.

Potter looks at me and shrugs. "It's okay. Nothing I didn't expect from him," He says grimly.

I nod slowly. "Has he said anything…about…" I say hesitantly, my voice trailing off since I
can't say it out loud.

Potter quickly shakes his head. "No. Nothing. I think he hasn't seen – "

"He has, trust me," I interrupt him with a sharp voice.

Even with the flames flickering around him, I can see his face colouring. Potter's mouth
opens and closes a couple of times, as if he wants to say something but he doesn't know what
or how.

He sighs and rubs his neck, his gaze sweeping the floor. "Well…that's…um…" he mutters,
seeming like he doesn't know how to continue.

"Unfortunate. Yes, it is." I say, trying to seem indifferent. "But he won't be a problem."

"Oh?" Potter says and looks at me with surprise.

The kitchen door opens. "Hello, brother. How nice of you to ask me to join your company,"
My brother drawls as he walks in, staring at me expectantly. Lupin follows him in as usual,
behaving like the other end of a magnet.

I roll my eyes at my brother and jerk my head towards the fireplace. "You have a visitor." I
grunt and let out a weary sigh. "Try to be more careful this time, dear brother."

Sirius doesn't even register my last sentence, as his attention is completely focused on the
fireplace and his godson. "Harry!" Sirius exclaims with a mix of joy and worry. "What is it?"
He says quickly, rushing towards the fireplace and kneeling in front of it.

I take my leave, as I assume what Potter has to say is only intended for my brother and
Lupin. It's not like I'm overly interested to hear what he has to say. And, well, my brother
probably won't shut up about it, so I'll undoubtedly learn exactly what they have discussed.

A moment later, I lie down on my bed and stare at the canopy, a scattering of images filling
my mind, every one of them about Potter.
 Wolves
Chapter Notes

I'm back! Let me know what you think...

...And don't be mad at Reg ;)

Chapter 12: Wolves

Grimmauld Place, 5 May 1996

On Sunday night, the Order meeting is nearing its end. There're only ten of us, so the agenda
is relatively quickly gone through. Vance is sitting opposite to me, wrapping up her
explanation about some proposed legislations regarding the control of Magical Creatures.
Apparently, she's running the Wizengamot Administration Services in the DMLE.

As she speaks, my gaze sweeps over her features. She is rather well-preserved for her age;
not quite how she looked during our Hogwarts years, but close. Her eyes flicker to mine and
there's a small snag in her speech. No one else notices, but I can see her cheeks tinging a bit
while irritation flashes in her eyes. I suppress a smirk. I need this, distraction. Something,
anything to take my mind off from him. Potter. His annoying face keeps popping up in my
dreams, and even sometimes to my thoughts when I'm awake.

This thing between Vance and me first happened a couple of weeks ago, after I decided that I
needed to know if there still is some form of connection. I needed to know if kissing her
could feel the same I imagine it would feel with him.

It didn't. But I still went to her the next time she came here. She has been clear from the start
– that she doesn't want any strings attached, and she doesn't want anyone to know. A deal that
is working a bit too well for me, in my opinion.

After Vance is done, the meeting is adjourned and everyone starts gathering their belongings,
shuffling towards the fireplace and upstairs to the hall. I clear my throat. "Miss Vance, may I
have a word?" I ask politely, a blank look on my face.

She arches a brow at me but nods afterwards. I gesture for her to follow me, aware that my
brother's eyes follow us, evidently filled with mischievous glee.

The moment we enter the library she jumps on me. I let out a muffled gasp against her lips
and manage to kick the door shut. Fuck, she's nothing but excitement.

"Eager much?" I drawl as I break out from our kiss, a teasing smirk on my lips.
She arches a brow at me and presses a hand between my legs, squeezing my hardening cock,
undoubtedly making a point. "You wanted to talk about something?" She says sweetly, her
lips hovering against mine.

Well, fuck. Talking about distraction. "N-Not really." I breathe and pull her into a heated kiss.

Soon the vast room is filled with sounds of sighing and moaning as our mouths are crashing
against each other, sucking, biting, licking. It is easy to let go and give into it, to forget
everything else. And it is just what I need. Vance lets out a soft moan when my lips find her
neck and my fingers the buttons of her trousers.

She grips my jaw and pulls me back to meet her lips, pushing me slowly towards the couch in
the seating area, while I work on her trousers. She slaps my fingers away right when the
backs of my feet finally make contact on the couch. I drop to sit down on the couch, panting
slightly as I watch her shimmy out from her clothing.

"Circe…" I murmur, eyeing her half-naked body. She chuckles and throws a couple of
privacy spells on the door. My dick is aching in my slacks, and I know I'm probably going to
come undone embarrassingly fast. Her fingers find the buckle of my trousers, and a moment
later my slacks and my briefs are drawn down to my ankles.

"Shit…You sure this is a good idea?" I ask when a flicker of doubt crosses my mind, even
though my fingers flex against her hips as she settles on my lap.

"You're not?" She asks coyly, and then my cock is tightly between her fingers.

I let out a groan. "Definitely not."

Grimmauld Place, 6 May 1996

It's early, and I slip into the kitchen after another restless night. My heart is still thrumming in
my ribcage after an uncanny dream I had last night.

"Well hello there, cousin," Nymphadora drawls behind her teacup, with a voice no Hufflepuff
should be able to accomplish.

I suppress a scowl and sit down opposite to her. "Good morning, Nymphadora," I say with a
satisfied grin. She makes a face at her name but still, a sly smirk takes over her features.

"Had a nice night?" She asks innocently, a knowing look in her eyes.

I groan inwardly and roll my eyes at her. I snatch the morning Prophet from her and view
over the first pages while I feel my cousin's narrowed eyes fixated on me. There's nothing
interesting in the paper, so I toss it away and tuck into the breakfast Kreacher has kindly
provided for us.

"Sooo…reminiscing an old fling, huh?" Dora asks, a wry glint in her eyes.

I scoff. "Hardly."
Nymphadora smirks. "Not what I heard." She says gleefully.

I force myself to remain indifferent and take a sip of my tea. "What did she say?" I ask
plainly.

My cousin eyes me with a scrutinising look. "She said…that you are hung up on someone
else."

My stomach jolts unpleasantly. "She…What?" I say mutedly, frowning at her. Vance and I
haven't really discussed our lives, on that level at least. And the interesting part is, that she
doesn't have it wrong, however hard I try to ignore it.

Nymphadora shrugs. "That's what she said."

I let out a huff, my brows pulling into a small frown. "I haven't said anything of the sort to
her."

She gives me a pointed look. "You didn't need to. So…Who's the lucky girl?" She asks and
winks. I can feel my eyebrows twitch even though I otherwise manage to keep a straight face.
"Oh…Or boy, perhaps?" She continues, watching me closely, a hint of confusion in her eyes.

Cursing inwardly, I clear my throat and place a disinterested expression on my face. "I have
no interest in continuing this discussion, cousin," I say simply.

Nymphadora arches a brow at me. "Suit yourself." She says with an amused look, just as my
brother and Lupin enter the kitchen.

I'm actually pleased to see them, that is, at least until I see them exchange a sly look after
seeing me.

"Fun night?" Sirius asks with a wide grin as he sits down next to me.

Lupin sits next to my cousin and they glance at each other, something secretive in their eyes.
I wonder what exactly is going on between them, and if my cousin is not bothered that the
man is over ten years older than her age.

Yes, I realise Vance is nearly the same age as Lupin, and the age difference between us is
even more dire than with Lupin and Dora.

My brother nudges me, eyeing me expectantly when I turn to give him a bored look.

"How was it?" He asks quietly, waggling his brows.

Merlin he's distasteful. And apparently not at all bothered by the fact that his little brother has
been messing around with a thirty-something-year-old woman.

"Come on, Reggie…Loosen up a bit," He says with ease and winks at me, snatching a strip of
bacon from my plate.
Nymphadora and Lupin watch our conversation, looking mildly entertained. I let out a weary
sigh. "If you must know, my evening was sufficiently…pleasant," I say plainly, not giving
anything more away.

Sirius barks a laugh. "I'm sure it was…" he says and turns to load his plate with the wide
selection of breakfast assortments on the table.

"Well?" Nymphadora asks with a small grin. "Is she still here? You gonna bring her breakfast
to bed? Make her an honest woman?" She asks, teasing me, clearly knowing that I'd do no
such thing, and obviously aware that Vance had left last night, supposedly after their little
conversation regarding me.

I huff at my cousin, her earlier comment still disturbing me. "What are you even doing in
here?" I ask from her with mild irritation. "Don't you have a home? A job? Anything?"

Nymphadora shrugs indifferently. "Couldn't be without my little pet here," She says with a
mischievous smile, glancing affectionately at Lupin, whose cheeks redden instantly.

My brows arch with interest as I lift my cup of tea to have a drink. "Your what?" I ask,
feeling bewildered.

Sirius chuckles next to me. "Not that perceptive, are you Reggie?" He asks, stuffing eggs and
beans into his mouth.

I give a mildly disdainful look at my brother, who has apparently become even more of a slob
than he was in his teenage years. I then turn to assess Lupin and my cousin.

"You're couple, then?" I ask blankly. Inwardly, I smirk as I think how my parents, my aunt
and my uncle would've reacted if they knew she was associating with a werewolf.

"Yeah, something like that," Nymphadora says easily, while Lupin seems a bit hesitant,
shifting on his seat uncomfortably.

I choose not to say anything, but I can't ignore a small surge of discomfort inside me. What is
it? Worry? Am I caring for my cousin's wellbeing? …What is happening to me?

Grimmauld Place, 7 June 1996

"I'm telling you, the Ministry has turned the school into a spectacle!" Moody shouts with a
mix of anger and amusement in his voice.

The past month has gone quickly, and even though Potter has made a permanent appearance
in my dreams, I decided to put an end to the additional encounters with Vance. It just didn't…
feel right, I suppose. She said she doesn't mind, and actually seemed a bit pleased by the
decision. We both knew it was going to end probably sooner than later, so there was no need
for dragging it out. The last time I saw her, she told me to make up my mind and find my
happiness. Whatever the hell that meant.
Most of the Order has gathered again in the kitchen on this late Friday night. Even both
McGonagall and Severus are attending. They have recounted the happenings at the school
from the past month, and it is causing a lot of discussion, both frustrated and gleeful.
Apparently, after Molly Weasley's twin sons left the school in late April, the remaining
students started to fight against their new Headmistress, Dolores Umbridge. The Ministry
Hag.

The previous Headmaster, Dumbledore, is attending the meeting as well, listening the
discussion with a troubled look behind his half-moon spectacles. I can only assume he is
worried for his students' safety.

"Severus?" Dumbledore asks as the subject of Hogwarts's current state has been gone over.

Severus turns to look at the old man with an unreadable expression. A few members still
continue their discussion with hushed tones.

"How are your private lessons with Harry?" Dumbledore asks and eyes Severus closely.

Severus doesn't falter, doesn't even blink when he drawls. "They are as dull as ever."

Dumbledore gives him a scrutinising look before the next subject is taken into consideration.
The Prophecy. Before I tune in to the latest reports of various guard shifts, I inspect Severus's
features. I know the man is lying. Because I know him. His eyes flicker to mine, and I can
see a hint of warning in them.

He wants me to keep my mouth shut, to keep my thoughts to myself, and he will do the same.
Wanker.

I wonder what has happened? Has he seen something intriguing in Potter's mind? I assume he
would have said something if he had.

As the conversation moves on, I learn that the Dark Lord hasn't made any advances towards
the Prophecy after the incident with an Unspeakable, Broderick Bode. Of course, it isn't
public knowledge, but the Order suspects that Malfoy put Bode under the Imperius curse and
forced him to try to collect the Prophecy. After Bode's failure, the man was murdered in St
Mungo's during Christmas holidays, supposedly on the Dark Lord's command.

The reason for the Dark Lord's hesitance became clear before Easter, when Severus informed
the Order that Rookwood, a former Unspeakable, now a prison escapee, had given the Dark
Lord a rather important bit of information. The Dark Lord learned that only the people whom
the prophecies refer, can acquire them from the Department of Secrets. The Order of course
has known this part, and it has been a slight advantage to us. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord
now knows only he and Potter are able to collect the Prophecy.

Severus announces that the Dark Lord is confident on his success of obtaining the Prophecy.
He hasn't been trusted with the details, but it is clear the Dark Lord is planning something.
We speculate Severus's news a bit, and it seems that either the Dark Lord is planning an
attack to the Ministry, revealing himself at last, or he's planning on using Potter to collect the
prophecy for him.
It is past midnight, when I make my way back to my room from the kitchen where I have
enjoyed a late-night cup of tea to help me sleep. I stop in midstride, as I hear incoherent
noises in the hallway. My brother must be sulking in father's study again. I contemplate for a
moment if I should go to him, or continue upstairs.

I make up my mind and walk towards father's study, towards my brother. I slip into the room
and glance around me; a faint strip of moonlight lies across the floor, leaving everything else
into darkness. It is not the first time I've found him here, in a mix of a mood swing and self-
indulgence.

"Hello, brother." Sirius grunts from behind father's desk.

I take a couple of steps closer, rounding the table, and find him sitting on the floor, a
Firewhiskey bottle between his hands.

"Amusing yourself again?" I ask wryly and walk up to him, before sliding down on the floor
next to him.

He passes the bottle to me, and I take a hefty swig, coughing slightly as the liquor burns in
my throat.

Sirius merely hums and gazes pensively out from the window. I study his features, wondering
where his thoughts are.

"So…what are you moping about in here?" I ask quietly after a short silence.

He shrugs and takes the bottle back, still looking away from me.

"Okay then," I say with a small sigh and stare at him as he takes a swig from the half empty
bottle.

I know how this goes, even though it usually makes me feel somewhat irritated. It might take
some time until he opens up and tells me what is bothering him, and then sometimes, it
doesn't. I've learned that waiting silently usually does it.

We haven't really been good at it, sharing things. Talking about our feelings. Perhaps we were
in our childhood, but not anymore. Everything is more complicated now. We both keep many
things to ourselves, because in the end, there are only so many one can truly trust.

He clears his throat. "Just…had a difference of opinion with Dumbledore…"

I watch his features carefully. "About?"

"Harry," Sirius grunts, his eyes flickering to mine for a second.

I nod slowly. "Again?" I ask, because this isn't the first time my brother has argued with
Dumbledore about Potter.
Sirius sighs. "I want Harry to live with me, like he should." He says, his voice oddly sober
and determined, even though he should be thoroughly pissed after all the alcohol he must've
taken. "Lily and James made me Harry's godfather and his guardian in case something
happened to them." He continues with a stricken look. "I have money now. I have a place, a
very secure place, where he has more than enough space," He says wearily, gazing forward
with a mix of deep worry and attachment.

"But? Why wouldn't he live here then?" I ask, not because I necessarily want Potter to be
here, but because I know it is something my brother wants. What he needs. Even though I
suspect he's probably not in any shape to take care of anyone but himself, I understand what
it means to him. What Potter means to him.

Sirius lets out a frustrated growl and takes another gulp from the bottle. "Lily's blood…her
relatives. There's some enchantment there, protecting him. As long as he's with Lily's blood,
Voldemort cannot hurt him…" He says bitterly, chewing the inside of his cheek in thought.

There is a short silence before I speak, more to myself than him. "So it all comes down to
blood," I mutter.

"Apparently."

Another silence.

Sirius clears his throat. "So, Emmie, huh?" he asks with a hint of slyness in his eyes as he
glances at me.

I roll my eyes and snatch the bottle from him.

"You know, you should invite her to dinner, get her to know your family and Head of House
properly," he says with a grin, looking proud as he straightens himself up and smooths down
his clothes.

I shake my head slightly and give him an incredulous look. "Don't bother. We're not a thing."
At the arched brow my brother gives me, I continue. "There's nothing between us anymore." I
say and take gulp of Firewhiskey.

Sirius's expression shifts to a sincerer one. "Oh. What happened?" He asks with a slight
frown between his brows.

I shrug. "It was never going anywhere. It's different now. We're different now," I say blankly
and stare at the Firewhiskey bottle on my lap. It's a lie and at the same time, it is not. I'm the
one who is different now.

"How so?" Sirius asks quietly. "Is it the age difference? I mean, I have to say, it threw me off
a bit in the beginning, but once I'd get past that, I – "

"It's not that," I interrupt him quickly, not really understanding why I'm talking about this
with him. But when I think about it, I know the reason. There's something in my brother's
presence that makes me at ease. He can be a frustrating prick when he wants to – and most of
the time he is – but deep inside, I know I've missed talking to him. And I've missed him.

Sirius stays silent and waits for me to continue.

I let out a sigh and hand him the bottle back before threading a hand through my hair. "I only
started it because…because I was trying to forget someone. Someone else," I say and
swallow hard, not able to summon enough willpower to continue or to look at him.

Sirius lets out a small chuckle. "What you just said…was the height of idiocy. Why'd you
think it would've helped?" He says cautiously, his voice almost soft.

"I don't know," I say and shake my head slowly, realising how foolish I have been and how
lucky I have been for not hurting anyone in the process.

"So…what now?" My brother asks as he inspects me carefully, a hint of worry in his grey
eyes.

I look at him hesitantly, inwardly hoping he will not kill me once he finds out. "Maybe I'll do
something about it."
 On My Mind
Chapter Notes

Surprise! So...One chapter left for OotP, as this story kind of follows the books - with
small (and not so small) tweaks here and there.

...enjoy!

Chapter 13: On My Mind

Hogwarts, 10 June 1996

"No, no, Incarceration Jinx's counter-spell is the Revulsion Jinx," Hermione explains tensely
to Parvati and Ernie, whom she has been arguing with while we've waited for the Defence
Against the Dark Arts practical exam to start.

Ron gives me a look and we both decide to stay out of it, knowing it's easier that way. Since
the OWLs started, Hermione has been lashing out on everyone who dares to question her
knowledge, or somehow distract her revising routine.

Today's exam is actually the first one I'm positive I will pass. I'm also quite confident that
everyone from the DA will have top marks on the practical DADA, since we've been
practicing nearly the whole year behind Umbridge's back. I'd do almost anything to see her
face after she finds out that most of her students are not in fact failing the practical part, even
though she hasn't taught us anything useful.

We're nearly halfway through the OWLs after last week's Charms, Transfiguration and
Herbology exams, and I can't wait for them to end. Because that means summer holidays will
start and I'll finally get away from Umbridge. I'll finally see Sirius…And I'll see Regulus as
well. My stomach clenches with anticipation, and I know it has nothing to do with the
upcoming exam. I have had a long time to think it over, and I know there's something
lingering between us. Something I intend to find out.

"Some of us don't need to worry about the sort, Granger. In fact, when you know the right
people, you don't have to worry about anything. But of course, you wouldn't know about that,
since you didn't even know magic existed before you came here," Malfoy drawls behind us,
his cronies sniggering stupidly next to him.

Hermione's cheeks redden as she turns towards Malfoy, her eyes narrowing at him.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Ron and I both say wearily.

Hermione lifts her chin proudly. "At least some of us don't need the right connections to pass
our exams. We do it simply by talent, Malfoy," She says sweetly, and turns away from him.

Malfoy splutters as Ron and I, and several others around us chuckle at his expense.

"…You filthy little – "

"Something the matter, Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall's sharp voice demands behind us.

Ron and I share a smirk while Malfoy clenches his jaw, grumbling something under his
breath.

"Didn't think so," McGonagall continues and turns to eye the fifth-year students gathered in
the Entrance Hall. "Now, everything is ready for your practical exam. The first group of
students will be called in shortly. I suggest you all focus on the upcoming exam, instead of
nonsensical fuss," She says with a stern look before continuing her way on the hallway.

Forty minutes later, and twenty minutes after Hermione has entered the Great Hall with
Anthony Goldstein, Gregory Goyle and Daphne Greengrass, my name is called.

I step inside after Ron has given me a supportive pat on the back and whispered an
encouragement, "you'll be brilliant, mate."

I'm facing Professor Tofty again, and I'm a bit more relaxed now, since he doesn't feel like a
complete stranger anymore. I perform all the counter-jinxes and defensive spells with ease
and Tofty's eyes shine with delight.

"Bravo, Mr. Potter!" He exclaims after I demonstrate a faultless Boggart banishing spell. "…I
wonder…"

I lift my brows at him quizzically. "Yes?" I thought that was all the exam required.

Tofty glances around us before he speaks. "I've heard rumours that you have mastered a
Patronus Charm already, even though it is a NEWT level charm," he says conspiratorially, his
lips twitching into a small smile.

"Oh." I say, a bit surprised. "Well, yes, sir. I guess I have…" I say hesitantly.

Tofty grins. "Brilliant, indeed. And, well…I might be able to give you a bonus point for
showing me, if you don't mind, Mr. Potter," He says eagerly.

I grin at him. "Certainly, sir." I say and my eyes flicker towards Umbridge. Picturing how she
would look like being sacked, I raise my wand and say, "Expecto patronum!"

The familiar silver stag bursts from the tip of my wand, and gallops across the hall. Everyone
turns to look at the Patronus and then me, most of them with awed expressions. All except
Malfoy and Umbridge, of course. I stifle a laugh and turn back to Tofty.

"Marvellous, Mr. Potter! Simply brilliant!" He says excitedly. "You may go now," He says
with a wide smile.
As I pass Umbridge and take in the smug look on her face, I can't help but smirk at her
widely.

Hogwarts, 17 June 1996

I'm sitting in the Great Hall at breakfast, my eyelids slowly dragging down on their own
accord.

"Mate, you need to brighten up. It's our last exam, and after that, freedom," Ron says
encouragingly, shoving me lightly with his elbow.

I let out a grunt in reply and take the cup of coffee he offers me. "Didn't exactly sleep last
night, not after what happened," I mutter and take a sip. I don't actually enjoy coffee, but I
reckon it is what I need right now.

"Yeah, that was a bloody spectacle. I wonder if Hagrid's okay…And where has he gone to…?
And what about McGonagall…She isn't exactly young anymore, and taking four stunners on
the chest like that, who knows how long will it take for her to recover," He says worriedly
while loading his plate.

Hermione narrows her eyes across from us. "Umbridge shouldn't have done that. Who knows
what damage she has done to Professor McGonagall…?" She says furiously.

Last night was our Astronomy practical exam, and it was bad enough that it had taken place
on a Sunday night – apparently the sky hadn't been clear enough on Friday night – but
Umbridge had decided to accost Hagrid in the middle of our exam. Umbridge's intentions to
banish Hagrid became clear when she and five Aurors, at least by the looks of them, started
firing spells at him. Thanks to Hagrid's thick skin, the curses bounced off of him, but left
McGonagall – who had come down to stop the conflict – unconscious on the grounds, after
having four stunners fired straight at her.

I don't exactly have high hopes for getting an OWL from Astronomy, but that's not bothering
me the slightest. After the exam, most of us Gryffindors stayed up in our common room to
discuss and speculate the happenings of that night, cursing Umbridge and plotting her
downfall until the early hours of the next day. I have never hated the woman more than I do
know. I don't even know what would be the suitable punishment for her, after all she's done.
Although, I have to say, Ron's suggestion of feeding her to a box of starving Blast-Ended
Skrewts seemed reasonable.

My last exam, History of Magic, is scheduled to start after lunch, so there really isn't time for
a nap, even though it could probably only help me focus on the exam. I spend the morning
and midday revising with Ron and Hermione in the library, trying not to fall asleep as I read
the dull text about the Gargoyle Strike of 1911.

After lunch, we're back in the Entrance Hall, waiting for the tables to be cleared before we
can take our seats in the Great Hall.
As soon as I've sat down and faced my examination paper, I feel exhaustion taking over me. I
know I need to focus. This is the last exam, and then we're free as Ron put it. My eyes keep
trailing to the windows, over the light-soaked grounds, over the Great Lake.

"You may turn over your papers," Professor Marchbanks calls from the front of the Hall,
turning over the giant hour-glass. "The exam begins."

I turn over my paper and stare blankly at the questions. It seems that everything I've revised,
every bit of Elfric the Eager and Egbert the Egregious I remembered yesterday, has somehow
flown out of my mind. I curse inwardly and skip a couple of questions until I find something
I actually can answer. I quickly start to scribble my answers, likely getting the names and
years wrong. My brain feels fuzzy and slack. I remember reading about Goblin Rebellions
just before lunch. Why can't I remember the details about how they began?

I'm distracted and realise I've been staring at Parvati, who sits in front of me, for some time.
Shit…Everyone around me is scrawling to their parchments furiously, their heads bent
towards their tables. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to remember the details about the
trolls that had caused the breach between Pierre Bonaccord and Liechtenstein…trying to
remember how Goblins had tried to attend and had been ousted from the meeting…trying to
ignore the quills scratching everywhere…trying to ignore the sound from the hour-glass,
where the sand is trickling through noisily…

I'm suddenly in the corridor in the Department of Mysteries. It is dark, and I can barely see
around me. I try to run forward, along the hallway but it seems like ages before I reach my
destination…

The black door swings open as soon as I step before it, and I walk through it, into the circular
room with several doors…

I feel the need to rush forward, towards the second door…I walk hurriedly, ignoring the odd
mechanical clicking noise, towards the third door…

I'm finally in the room, larger than the Great Hall in Hogwarts, larger than the Ministry
Atrium, filled with shelves and glass spheres from floor to ceiling…I need to get there in
time, I need to see…I have to succeed this time…

I run towards the number ninety-seven and turn left after reaching it. I hurry along the
corridor between the tall shelves. At the end of the corridor, there's a shape, lying on the
floor.

As I reach the shape – a man – I lift my hand and cast a Cruciatus Curse, feeling thrilled by
the power, by triumph…The man screams in pain, trashing on the ground, and I let out a
high-pitched laugh before lifting the curse.

"Lord Voldemort is waiting," I say silkily, my white hand clutching my wand, the next curse
ready to burst out.

The man lifts his head slowly, his face bloody and twisted with pain, but still a defiant look in
his grey eyes. "You'll have to kill me," Sirius gasps, gritting his teeth.
I let out another cold laugh. "Undoubtedly I shall, in the end," I say darkly. "But you will
fetch it for me first, Black…you think you have felt pain thus far? Think again…we have
hours ahead of us and nobody to hear you scream…"

I scream as my godfather starts to scream again in agony, the scene ahead dissolving and
changing...

And then I'm back in the Great Hall, lying on the stone floor, panting as if I've run a
marathon, my scar on fire, and every eye fixated on me.

"No, I don't need to go to the Hospital wing, really. I'm fine, sir," I try to explain to Professor
Marchbanks.

He eventually lets me go, thinking I have examination pressure, or something of the sort. He
suggests that I lie down, but as soon as I'm left alone in the Entrance Hall, I decide to hurry to
the Hospital wing. I need to see McGonagall.

A moment later, I barrel through the Hospital wing doors and then learn that McGonagall was
transferred to St Mungo's this morning.

Fuck!

I run away, determined to find Ron and Hermione. We need to do something. We need to
save Sirius. He has him. Voldemort has Sirius…

As soon as I find my friends, I quickly tell them what I saw. Both Hermione and Ron are
shocked by the news, and I can hear my voice shaking as I speak. Sirius…I'm feeling anxious
and terrified. I have to go to him. I need to go to him…But how am I going to get to the
Department of Mysteries?

I realise I've asked the question out loud as Ron stammers, "G-Get there?"

"Yes, we need to get going right now! He'll kill him, Ron! He'll kill Sirius!" I say urgently,
fear gripping my stomach.

"…But…Harry…" Ron says weakly.

"What? What?" I ask, beginning to feel frustrated. Don't they realise Sirius is in danger?
Don't they realise he's being tortured? That he might be killed?

Hermione worries her lip before she speaks. "Harry…How would Voldemort get into the
Ministry of Magic without anyone realising he was there?" She asks carefully.

"I don't know, Hermione!" I yell. "What we need to figure out is how to get there, don't you
see?" I say imploringly.

Hermione swallows hard. "But Harry…Think about it…it's five o'clock in the afternoon, and
the Ministry of Magic must be full of workers. How would Voldemort and Sirius have got in
without being seen? They're probably the two most wanted wizards in the world. How could
they have entered without Aurors noticing?"

I let out a frustrated growl. "I don't know! Voldemort used an Invisibility Cloak or
something!" I shout at her. "Anyway, the Department of Mysteries has always been
completely empty whenever I've been – "

"You've never been there, Harry," Hermione mutters quietly. "You've dreamed about the
place, that's all."

I feel a cold surge of rage go through me. "They're not normal dreams! How do you explain
Ron's dad?" I yell at her, not feeling bad at all when she cringes slightly.

Ron clears his throat awkwardly. "Harry's got a point," He mutters, giving Hermione a
tentative look.

Hermione chews the inside of her cheek in thought. "But…It just sounds so…unlikely, Harry.
How could Voldemort have Sirius when he's been at Grimmauld Place? We would know
about it, surely, by now. His brother would've informed the Order," Hermione says insistently.

We continue arguing, and I'm starting to feel desperate. Every minute passing is more torture
for my godfather. The door to the empty classroom we are situated in opens abruptly and
Ginny and Luna slip inside, worried looks on their faces.

I need to do something, and even though Hermione has a point – that Voldemort might be
doing this only to lure me in to the Department of Mysteries - how could I not go? He's the
only family I've got.

I tell her that, and Hermione's eyes glitter with tears. "Okay. Okay," She says placatingly,
worrying her lip. "But first, we need to make sure that Voldemort is not planting these visions
in your head."

"And how are we supposed to do that?" I ask bitterly.

Hermione's brow furrows for a moment before she speaks. "We'll have to use Umbridge's
fireplace and see if we can contact him," She says, looking terrified by the thought.

"Luna and I can draw Umbridge away again, Harry," Ginny says with a determined look,
while Luna nods slowly, a soft smile on her lips.

I let out a weary sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose under my glasses. "Okay, fine. But if
he's not there, I'm going to the Ministry."

Hermione starts to form a plan for us, pacing between the desks while the others suggest
whatever they can think of. Ten minutes later, the plan is set in motion. While the others go to
guard the hallways and distract Umbridge, Hermione and I slip under the Invisibility Cloak
and make our way towards Umbridge's office. We make it inside without problems, and I
quickly toss the Cloak away and throw myself in front of the empty grate, grabbing a handful
of floo powder before throwing it into the logs stacked neatly in the fireplace.
"Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!" I say hastily, and stick my head into the green flames.
Images of different fireplaces start to whirl in front of my eyes, and I screw my eyes shut to
ease the spinning of my head until I feel it slowing down, and then the empty kitchen of
Grimmauld Place appears in front of me.

"Sirius!" I shout, trying to listen carefully for any noises. The place is eerily quiet. No one is
there. "Sirius! Are you there?!" I yell again, but no one answers.

I start to panic, and call Sirius again, then Regulus, and also Kreacher, over and over again.
No one answers.

"Shit…" I mutter, and I'm about to shout again, but just as I've opened my mouth, I feel a
sharp pain in my scalp. I'm being pulled backwards from the fireplace so abruptly that I
manage to inhale a mouthful of ash. As I cough violently and blink my eyes, Umbridge's
toad-like face comes into my view.

No…

"You think I was going to let one more foul, scavenging little creature enter my office
without my knowledge? I had Stealth Sensoring Spells placed all around my doorway after
the last one got in, you foolish boy. Take his wand," She says menacingly to someone as she
tightens her grip in my hair.

My eyes begin to water from the burning feeling on the top of my head, and I feel someone
wring my wand away from my grip. Then Umbridge drags me upwards and I scramble into a
kneeling position, noticing Malfoy leaning against the window and twirling my wand
between his fingers, a smug smirk plastered on his face and Bulstrode; who is pinning
Hermione against the wall, her large forearm pressing at Hermione's windpipe. Then the door
opens and Crabbe and Warrington push forward gagged and tied Ron, Ginny, Luna, and
Neville.

"Got 'em all," Warrington says with a satisfied grin as he shoves Ron roughly forward.

Umbridge must be pleased, even though I can't see her face. I can only feel the tight grip of
her stubby fingers against my scalp and her thick wand pressing to my neck as she stands
behind me, eyeing the others.

"Good, good. Well, it looks as though Hogwarts will shortly be a Weasley-free zone, doesn't
it?"Umbridge says sweetly, giggling slightly afterwards.

I try to swallow the bile that threatens to rise in my throat. Merlin, I hate her. I
really, really hate her.

She summons Snape after assuming I was trying to contact Dumbledore through her
fireplace, and that I'm in a dire need of a couple of drops of Veritaserum. Snape enters some
time later, not even blinking at the sight of us, or the Headmistress assaulting her students. He
is dismissed right after Umbridge finds out he hasn't got any Veritaserum, since Umbridge
has used every single drop of it. Before Snape steps out of the room, I desperately try to tell
him that Sirius is in danger, but the man merely sneers at me and leaves.
No, no, no…He was my last hope…

Umbridge is left in a raged state, and she comes to the conclusion that I'm ought to be
punished – with the Cruciatus Curse. I can only stare at her with a mix of defiance and
disbelief, but it is Hermione who stops her ministrations right before the curse is uttered. She
makes up a plan as she goes, one that leads up to Hermione and me walking towards the
Forbidden Forest, while Umbridge trails behind us, her wand at the ready.

Grimmauld Place, 17 June 1996

My brother and I have been practicing duelling again in the library. We've put up our usual
silencing charms over the room in order to keep our mother's portrait from screaming her
head off to the slightest of voices that carry downstairs. Even though we've set up a couple of
protection charms on the shelves surrounding us, we still manage to make some damage
during our little spar, causing Kreacher to hastily collect the ancient books into safety. After
the healthy match, the elf sullenly starts to clean our mess, ordering my brother to help him. I
laugh at Sirius's incredulous expression and leave the room.

I'm on my way downstairs when a muffled voice carries to the staircase. "Hello? …I'm not
getting any younger here…"

I pause in mid-stride and look back at the door to the room next to the library, where I know
the portrait of my ancestor, Phineas Nigellus is situated. Realisation hits me.

"Brother!" I yell and make my way back to the second-floor landing, entering the room
where I find a bored looking former Headmaster of Hogwarts, yawning in his portrait.

I stare at him expectantly, and he huffs. "It's about time…" he drawls.

"Well?" I ask plainly, not in the mood for his attitude.

His lips curl into a sneer. "And where is the other you? Your worse half?" He asks airily.

I suppress an eye-roll and send a messenger Patronus to my brother. "He'll be in a minute.

What is it about?" I ask primly.

Phineas yawns and eyes his fingernails. "Oh, something about that Potter boy being touched
in the head, I presume…"

I arch a brow at him as my brother barges in the room.

"What is it?" Sirius asks demandingly, staring at Phineas with an alerted look in his eyes.

"Professor Snape is involuntarily asking for your well-being, Mr. Black." Phineas says to
Sirius, a gleeful look in his eyes.

Sirius stares at the portrait with incredulity. "What?"

Phineas sighs dramatically. He really seems to enjoy this shit. "I'm merely forwarding a
message."

"Well then, do it already," Sirius barks.

Phineas scoffs. "I have no idea how you managed to outlive all the other Blacks, when it is
apparent you are the least suitable heir to our ancient and most noble house." He spits.

I groan inwardly. "Phineas." I mutter and give my brother a warning look before he ends up
throwing something at the portrait. "Would it be possible for you to deliver the message to
us?" I say through gritted teeth, trying to sound calm.

Phineas considers me for a moment before he nods. "Mr. Potter thinks your brother is in the
Ministry. That he is in danger." He blankly says, and then turns to look at my brother.

What the fuck? Why would Potter think that? Has he seen something? I share a dubious look
with my brother.

"Professor Snape is inquiring if you are indeed sitting comfortably within the confines of
your home, still letting others do the heavy lifting?" Phineas asks from Sirius, a small smirk
curving his lips.

Sirius seethes.

"Sirius," I say with a low voice.

My brother scoffs before he speaks. "By all means, tell Snivellus that I'm in very good health,
in my manor, comfortably sitting on my arse and playing with my galleons," Sirius says
nastily, and Phineas actually snorts a bit as he nods at my brother.

"And tell Snape to pass the information to Harry," my brother continues before Phineas
leaves the painting.

I turn to look at my brother and the confusion I'm feeling is mirrored in his expression.

"You reckon Harry's seen something?" Sirius asks with worry apparent in his voice.

I let out a weary sigh. "Probably. If he thinks you're in the Ministry, then the Dark Lord is
most likely trying to lure him in there…" I mutter, my mind whirling from the news.

"Shit…" Sirius grunts, shoving his hands through his shaggy hair.

"You should contact the others," I say grimly and stay in the room as Sirius makes his way
downstairs to make the floo-calls.

Phineas doesn't return and after a while, I leave the room to clean myself up. An hour or so
later I exit my room in order to find my brother. He's deep in conversation with Lupin, both
men looking troubled as they sit in the kitchen. My brother's clutching a small mirror
between his hands. I know what it is. It's part of a two-way mirror, probably the same one my
brother and I used as children. Only now Potter supposedly has the counterpart.
It's over nine in the evening, and I realise I haven't eaten since lunch because of the disruption
after our duelling practice. I ask Kreacher to prepare us something and sit down at the table
next to my brother.

"What's going on?" I ask as I study my brother's features. He looks worried. Anxious.

Sirius shakes his head slightly as he gnaws the side of his cheek, his eyes fixed to the table.

Lupin clears his throat. "Sirius hasn't been able to contact Harry. We just wanted to make sure
he knows Sirius is safely at home, so that he wouldn't do anything irrational. Unfortunately,
there is no way to contact anyone at the school."

I arch a brow at him. "What about the portrait?"

Sirius shakes his head again. "No use. We already tried it. Phineas said the Headmaster's
office is empty," He grunts.

I nod slowly. "If Snape informed Potter where you are, then I'm sure there's no need to get in
a flap about it," I say calmly, even though I feel anything but.

Sirius sighs and threads a hand through his hair. "I really fucking hope so…"

We stay silent for a long while, and eventually Lupin leaves back to his place while my
brother and I head upstairs and go to sleep.
 Stay With Me
Chapter Notes

Here you go!

Thank you for reading, commenting and leaving kudos :)

Chapter 14: Stay With Me

Grimmauld Place, 18 June 1996

I wake up with a jolt. What time is it? I glance towards the window; it is still dark outside. I
am feeling uneasy, like something is not right. I grab my watch from the nightstand. It's not
yet one in the morning.

"Ouch!" I hiss in surprise and pain, dropping the watch to the floor. The Dark Mark on my
left forearm is prickling slightly.

I wonder what it is about…I know it's nothing good, even without the nagging feeling I've
got in the bottom of my stomach. The pain in my arm is gone as soon as it came, but now I'm
awake and restless. I lie still for a moment, trying to sort out my thoughts before I push the
comforter away and drag myself onto my feet and head to the en-suite bathroom to relieve
myself, rubbing my forearm as I go. As I'm washing my hands, I hear something.

"What?" I mumble, frowning at my reflection in the mirror while I listen attentively.

A door is thrown open on the top landing and someone's in the stairs. Sirius? I quickly make
my way towards the bedroom door after snatching my wand from the nightstand. As soon as
I've opened the door to the landing, I can hear my brother calling me from downstairs, and
then cursing loudly as our mother's portrait has awoken because of the noise.

"Blood traitor, a stain of my noble house! How dare you show yourself to me!"

"Shut the fuck up you rotting woman!" Sirius yells and a moment later the screaming ends.

I move downstairs as my brother moves up, both of us heading towards the second landing
from where I can hear muffled noises.

"It's Phineas!" Sirius hisses, bolting silently into the room where the portrait is situated, and I
follow him in, knowing that something is wrong indeed if he's trying to summon us in the
middle of the night.

Phineas looks serious, all his previous disdainful and indifferent demeanour gone. "Professor
Snape requested me to forward another message to you," he says quickly. There's a dreadful
anticipation in the air as my brother and I stare at the portrait.

"Mr. Potter is in the Department of Mysteries," Phineas continues.

Sirius takes a sharp breath while I become rigid. What?

"W-What?!" Sirius eventually splutters, and I swallow hard, definitely not expecting the
portrait to say that.

A small sneer flickers on Phineas's face before he speaks. "Do not presume I will repeat
myself to you. Professor Snape requested me to inform you that he only learned the news
himself, and that he is not able to leave the school since its current Headmistress is missing."
Phineas says, scrunching up his nose in distaste. Sirius growls with frustration.

"Umbridge?" I mutter, feeling dazed, but Sirius cuts me out.

"Is he alone in there? Harry?" My brother demands from the portrait, shaking with…fear?
Well, I can't say I'm not feeling unease myself.

"Five students have left the school with Mr. Potter…Professor Snape requested me to also
inform you that…his followers have been summoned," Phineas says stoically.

A cold sensation trickles down my spine. Death Eaters.

Sirius curses and turns sharply on his heels, fleeing from the room.

"Fuck! This can't be happening!" Sirius roars, his voice raw as he runs downstairs. I run after
him, and as we stumble into the kitchen, he goes instantly towards the fireplace and throws
floo-powder into it, shouting the name of Lupin's place.

"MOONY!" Sirius yells, his head in the flames.

I'm gritting my teeth in apprehension as I think over the last couple of minutes we spent
upstairs with Phineas. Shit…What the hell is that idiot Potter playing at? Going to the
fucking Ministry, where the Dark Lord supposedly wanted him to be? Was he possessed?
Didn't Snape pass on the information to Potter? Is the Dark Lord himself there, waiting for
him? He probably is. If not, the Death Eaters definitely are. I felt it. The Mark.

Fuck. We need to get in there.

Sirius shouts at Lupin, makes a couple of more floo-calls and then straightens his back,
turning towards me. He's shaking all over, gripping his wand tightly between his fingers, his
eyes widened with dread.

"Reggie. Harry's in there, he's in trouble. I have to – " he says, his voice breaking slightly. He
swallows deeply and hastily summons his clothes from upstairs and with another flick of his
wand, dresses himself, replacing the nightwear he had on.

I nod and do the same. "Sure, let's go then." I say, trying to stay calm, even though my wand
hand trembles slightly.
Sirius shakes his head sharply. "No. No. Reggie you're not coming." He says blankly and lifts
his wand for disapparation.

"What?!" I snap at him, stepping closer to him. "Of course I'm coming with you," I say,
feeling disgruntled. I take a hold of his wrist and give him a daring look.

"You're not coming!" He yells, trying to disentangle himself from my grip, his eyes gleaming
angrily.

I press the tip of my wand against his chest, my brows furrowed with intent. "You're not
going to stop me, brother." I say darkly. I'm not going to let him go without me. I need to be
there, for him, for Potter.

Sirius lets out a frustrated growl and his hand closes around my throat. I gasp in surprise, my
wand clattering to the floor as I stumble backwards and grab his hand with both of mine. I
can only stare at him in utter disbelief.

Sirius gives me a maniacal look. "You're fucking staying, do you understand me?" He barks,
a look of panic crossing his eyes. "You are staying here, so I'll know you're safe! Do you
fucking understand me, Reggie?!" He yells, his voice shaking with both anger and fear. "I'm
not putting you in danger," He continues and shoves me away before disapparating.

I drop down to my knees, gasping for breath and coughing violently. That fucking son of a
bitch!

My throat is on fire, throbbing painfully as I pant on the floor. My head is spinning while I
try to think what to do next. I fucking can't be left behind!

I then realise that my brother took my wand.

"Fuck!" I croak and sit back, my knees bent and my elbows resting against them as I press the
heels of my palms against my eyes. Shit…If I had the strength, I would be throwing things,
yelling even.

Eventually I stand up and make my way upstairs – I might be able to ask Sev to get me help
through Phineas's portrait.

"Phineas!" I yell at the empty portrait as soon as I arrive into the room, panting slightly from
rushing up the stairs.

A short moment later, he appears in the frame.

"Is Snape there?" I grunt.

His eyes flicker to my neck. He's silent for a moment before he speaks. "Yes." He says
simply.

"Tell him…tell him to come here. Now. I need him to get to the Ministry. And I need a
wand." I say promptly, and with a hint of annoyance in Phineas's eyes, he leaves the painting
again.
I pace in front of the portrait, waiting for Phineas to come back. Fuck, I should be there now,
I should be with my brother. I should be there with Potter.

Phineas appears after a couple of minutes. "Professor Snape is unable to come. He has strict
orders to remain in the school while the Headmistress is amiss." He says simply.

"Shit." I grumble, and Phineas gives me a look of disdain. I narrow my eyes at him, feeling
irritated at both the portrait and my…friend.

A suspicion flickers into my mind.

"Ask Snape how the Dark Lord knew when to expect Potter in the Ministry?" I say mutedly.

Phineas doesn't say anything, only leaves his frame while I stay in place, staring at the
portrait expectantly.

He reappears shortly. "Professor Snape asked me to tell you to keep yourself from asking
questions you already know the answers for." Phineas leaves before I can make any other
requests or objections.

Was it him - did Severus relay the information to the Dark Lord? What the hell is he
scheming? And did he just betray the Order?

"Fuck!" I scream, and throw the nearest item I can get into my hands at the portrait; a small
wastepaper basket from the corner of the room. But nothing happens. The portrait remains
empty.

Then I remember my elf. "Kreacher!" I yell, and the elf appears at my feet with a small crack.

"I need you to take me to the Ministry." I say hastily.

Kreacher looks hesitant. "Blood traitor Black has point. Master Regulus is safer here," The
elf mumbles, not daring to look at me in the eye.

I clench my jaw angrily. "What?" I seethe. "Kreacher…" I say warningly. "I'm ordering you."

Kreacher's eyes are brimming with tears as it finally looks up at me. "Kreacher hears blood
traitor master. He says master Regulus is safe here. Kreacher takes order from Head of
House." He squeaks and disapparates with a crack.

"NO! KREACHER! COME BACK!" I scream again. No, no, no…

What now? How the fuck can I get there without a wand?

I run back to the kitchen. I need to be at the Ministry, and even though not having a wand
puts me into a slight disadvantage if I need to actually duel someone, that's something I can't
worry about now. I decide to use the floo to get closer to the Ministry – somewhere at Diagon
Alley, and then walk the rest of it. Whitehall should not be that far, probably a ten-fifteen-
minute walk from there.
It is a good plan, but unfortunately, as soon as I grab the floo powder from the bowl, I realise
Kreacher has closed the floo-connections in and out of the house.

I swallow hard and take a deep breath, resisting the urge to call up my elf and beat it to within
an inch of its life. How fucking dare it?

I sit down weakly at the table, feeling utterly desperate.

After a while, I glance at the watch on the wall – it's already two thirty in the morning. Over
an hour and a half has passed since I woke up with a sore forearm.

And then I feel something.

I let out an audible wince. A sharp pain inside me, and a…a pit in my stomach is all I can
feel. All I can think about. I feel raw on the inside, incomplete somehow.

I'm suddenly filled with dread, as if something terrible has happened. And I have a faint idea
what it means.

"No," I whisper, completely stunned. "No, no, no…" I continue, my voice rough, a lump
forming into my throat as I trash away from the kitchen, running hurriedly towards the
drawing room where our family tapestry is situated.

I barge into the room, and my eyes are fixed on the wall.

My insides go instantly cold.

"No…" I breathe. No. No. I stare ahead in disbelief; my lungs devoid of air. This is not
happening. This can't be happening. I stare at the wall, and let out a shocked cry.

My eyes start to burn, I'm blinking rapidly, and I'm fucking annoyed because I can't see
properly, as everything's blurred. But I can still make out the embroidered, elegant lettering in
the old faded tapestry, and the dates under my brother's scorched name.

3 November 1959
d. 18 June 1996

"NO!" I roar and drop down to my knees, shaking violently. It feels like my insides are
burning. Like my throat is closing up. Like my heart is shattering into million pieces.

"Sirius…" I gasp. A sob escapes from my mouth, and only then I realise I'm crying.

No…He's not gone. He can't be.

An unbearable pain rips through my chest, making it hard to move, hard to see straight, hard
to exist.

"No…no…" I mumble, over and over again, trying to will the letters away. I push the heels
of my palms tightly against my eyes, and bright white spots form into my vision. This is not
happening…I can't let it happen…He has to come back.
"D-Don't…" I wheeze, my voice wavering so fucking much I don't even recognise it.

"…Don't leave me." I whisper, struggling to breathe, tears running freely now down my
cheeks. "D-Don't leave m-me, brother…You're all I've g-got."

Hogwarts, 18 June 1996

"I know how you're feeling, Harry," Dumbledore says softly.

Anger surges inside me. How can he say that? How could he know?

"No, you don't," I snarl at him, turning away from him, looking out from the window of his
office. But everything I see outside; the Quidditch pitch, the edge of the Forbidden forest, the
path towards Hogsmeade, all of it reminds me of him. Sirius…

And it's all meaningless now.

"There is no shame in what you are feeling, Harry," Dumbledore continues, "On the contrary,
the fact that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength." He says quietly.

I grit my teeth in the mix of pain and rage I feel and whirl towards him, a sneer forming into
my face. "My greatest strength, is it?" I say with a shaky voice, my voice rising with ferocity.
"You haven't got a clue. You don't know…"

"What don't I know?" Dumbledore asks calmly.

I glare at him. "I don't want to talk about how I feel, all right?!"

"Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human – "

"THEN I DON'T WANT TO BE HUMAN!" I scream and take a hold of the nearest trinket I
can see. I throw the instrument against the wall, breaking it into tiny pieces. I can't help but
think how the broken device mirrors me perfectly.

I feel broken. Beyond repairing.

I take the next item on the table, flinging it across the room. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE
SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANY MORE!" I
shout and break more of Dumbledore's possessions. After destroying every single item from
Dumbledore's side table, I seize the small table and throw that towards the fireplace.

"You do care," Dumbledore continues, unaffected by the fact that I'm breaking apart his
office. He eyes me coolly. "You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with
the pain of it."

"I DON'T!" I yell, my voice cracking. I can't do this. I can't. I – this can't happen to me. My
eyes are stinging with tears that threaten to burst, and the feeling of rage surges inside me
again as I look at Dumbledore. I want to break him. I want to hurt him. I want to make him
feel like I do. I focus on the anger, because the alternative, I can't bear to think about it…
"Oh, yes, you do," Dumbledore says, still as calm as he has been the whole time. "You have
now lost your mother, your father, and the closest thing to a parent you have ever known. Of
course you care."

"YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I FEEL!" I cry, my face scrunched up in pain. Why must he say
that? Why must he bring them up? Why must he torment me? "YOU - STANDING THERE -
YOU – " I yell, not able to say anything anymore, because the feeling of pain, the feeling of
sadness and loss washes over me. I need to get away from here. I need to get away from
Dumbledore.

I need Sirius.

Grimmauld Place, 18 June 1996

Even though I know the tapestry is never wrong, it has to be now. It has to be.

Because I'm here, aren't I?

And it was wrong about me.

I let out a strained sound and scramble back to my feet as hope flickers in my chest. I run
upstairs to the library, and curse fervently for not having a wand on me. In a flurry, I grab
several books from different parts of the room. There has to be something I can use to bring
him back. There has to be.

"KREACHER!" I scream, brushing my wet face with the backs of my hands. The elf pops
inside the library, looking at me cautiously.

"Yes, master Regulus?" It squeaks.

I take in a shaky breath. "I need…I need a book. Something. Something to bring him back," I
mumble quickly, waving my hands over the library.

"Master Regulus?" Kreacher asks in confusion.

I throw a couple of books across the room, nearly hitting Kreacher with them in the process.
"I SAID I FUCKING NEED A BOOK, SOME KIND OF FUCKING RITUAL TO GET MY
BROTHER BACK!" I yell angrily, and Kreacher looks taken aback. I know the elf is used to
screaming since it has lived with my mother, but I reckon this is the first time I've yelled at it.

"Shit…" I choke and rub my face. I swallow hard, trying to close my mind, to shut away all
the fucking feelings that are storming inside me.

"Go, um. Find Lupin. Or Dumbledore. Someone. I need a wand. And I need to know what is
going on," I say stonily to Kreacher, who gives me a quick bow before it disapparates.

It's fucking late. Or early. It's actually morning, five-thirty to be exact. But who fucking
cares?
The library door opens.

Lupin walks in, his bloodshot eyes trained at me, his brows lifting slightly as he takes in my
appearance. I look like a mess, I think. I'm sprawled on the floor, leaning against the back of
the sofa, the contents of our library scattered around me, and a half-empty Firewhiskey bottle
nestled between my hands.

Lupin stares at me with a stricken look.

"What?!" I snap at him, scrambling to my feet. "What happened?" I demand from him as I
lean against the sofa, unsure if my feet are able to carry my weight. "Is my brother…" I
mumble, not able to finish the sentence, whatever it was going to be.

Lupin swallows hard. His whole demeanour is annoying the shit out of me. "S-Sirius is…
gone. I saw it happen," He chokes, evidently trying to hold back tears.

Every bit of air leaves my lungs. He's truly gone?

"H-How?" I breathe. He knows what I'm asking about. I need to know how he died. I need to
know who is responsible of my brother's…I can't even think about it without blackness
threatening to overcome my vision. I blink furiously as I wait for him to answer.

He swallows hard before he whispers. "Bellatrix."

I take in a stuttering breath, while my mind screams at me, my stomach clenching so hard I
think I might vomit soon. Anger, so fucking terrible anger surges through me. I throw the
Firewhiskey bottle across the room.

"FUCK!" I roar and shove my both hands into my hair and pull it in distress, trying to
suppress a…sob? A fucking break-down?

"Regulus…" Lupin says carefully, his voice hoarse and shaky, his throat bobbing as he keeps
swallowing. "Dumbledore…Dumbledore said that this house – "

"Bella." I say darkly, interrupting him as realisation hits me. Since I'm officially dead, the
next in line after Sirius is…Bella. I want to kill her. I'm fucking making her suffer. I'm going
to take everything from her and enjoying every single moment of it.

"We don't know for certain. I know Sirius intended to leave Grimmauld Place to Harry, just in
case if something…h-happened..." He says with a pained look. "But we don't know if your
parents have somehow managed to disregard that," he continues quickly.

Truth to be told, I wouldn't be surprised if they'd actually managed to do that. And in that
case, my home will fall to the hands of the person who murdered my brother.

"But we might be able to figure it out…with the help of Kreacher," He says hesitantly,
clearing his throat as he quickly wipes the corners of his eyes.

I clench my jaw and give him a curt nod before summoning Kreacher. The elf pops back into
the library moments after.
"Master Regulus summoned Kreacher?" The elf says, watching me carefully.

I force myself to stop gritting my teeth in anticipation. "Kreacher. Who is your Master? Who
is the rightful heir of this house?" I ask stonily.

Kreacher looks disenchanted. Fuck…this can't be good.

"Harry Potter."

Thank fuck! I let out a shaky breath of relief and nod at the elf. "Good. Good…Now, bring
me another bottle," I say emptily, while Lupin tries to protest.

"Regulus, you really shouldn't – "

I narrow my eyes at him. "I'm doing whatever the fuck I want, Lupin," I snarl at him, and take
in a calming breath as Kreacher reappears with a full bottle of Firewhiskey and two crystal
tumblers which the elf sets on the coffee table. I stumble to the table as I'm already a bit
drunk, and snatch the bottle, unscrewing it as I glare at Lupin.

"Now, if you don't have anything else to say, I suggest you leave," I say coldly before taking
a long swig straight from the bottle.

Lupin stares at my ministrations with a tormented look before giving me a slight nod. "I'll be
back," he says quietly before slipping away from the library.

"Don't bother," I grumble to the empty room.

I'm in the centre of a cold, dark, rectangular room, standing in a great stone pit some twenty
feet deep. Surrounding me are rows and rows of stone benches, climbing high towards the
ceiling. In the middle of the room, in front of me, on a raised stone podium is an archway
made of stone.

And my brother is standing on the other side of it.

"Sirius!" I breathe, relief filling me, worry twitching in the back of my head. "What is this?"

Sirius smiles at me, standing in place. "Hey, brother."

I try to move towards him, but I find I'm unable to. "Where are we?"

My brother frowns slightly, as if only taking note of our surroundings. "I don't really know."
He says and winces abruptly, screwing his eyes shut.

"Sirius?" I ask hastily, not able to move forward, to go to him, even though I try.

He shakes his head slightly, blinking at me. "I feel something…Like…Something pulling me."

Then he stares at me in wonder. "We were here," he says quietly, his eyes flickering around
the room. "Harry was here," He says, and his eyes widen with fright. "Harry! Is he, Reggie, is
Harry – "

"He's fine." I grit through my teeth.

Sirius looks confused. "What is it?"

I swallow hard. "You…you died, brother. You died saving him. Potter," I say, and I can't stop
the bitterness slithering into my voice, nor the steady, aching pain in my chest.

He considers my words and gives me a stunned look.

"Sirius. Are you dead?" I need to know, even though there is little to none evidence that he
would be alive, since I'm quite positive I'm dreaming.

He speaks slowly after a moment. "I don't feel like I'm dead. I feel like I…want to exist. I
don't – " He stops as his face scrunches up with focus.

"There are others. I can hear them. I can hear them calling me. Summoning me. Urging me to
move forward, to go on," he continues, looking puzzled.

"…But I…I don't know if I'm ready, brother. I don't…I heard you. I heard you, Reggie," He
says, his brows knitted together as a look of pain fills his eyes.

I let out a small gasp, my eyes stinging with tears. "You heard me?"

Sirius nods, his throat bobbing as he swallows. "Yeah. And I'm not sure if I'm ready to let you
go, brother."

"Sirius…Don't – in any circumstance – do not follow them. Promise me, brother? Promise me
that you won't go to them?" I say intently, and Sirius stares at me for a long time before he
speaks, a pained look in his eyes.

"I promise."

I'm shaken up from my dream as I fall, head first, to the floor from the sofa where I had
apparently passed out.

"…ouch…fuck…" I mumble against the thick carpet, slowly dragging my hands up to lift my
body. A sharp feeling of nausea overwhelms me, and I moan in anguish.

My head is pounding, my mouth is dry, and I feel overall wrecked. I pull myself up to sit on
the floor, leaning against the sofa as the events from last night surge back into my mind. The
agony I was in is coming back with a full force.

Sirius…

I swallow deeply, and shake my head. I can't think of it. I can't. It hurts too much.
I rub my face and try to recall the dream I had right before I woke up. He was there. Sirius
was there, and we were – my eyes widen slightly as I remember what he said, how someone
was urging him to move onward. How he felt that he wasn't ready to leave me. How he
promised he wouldn't.

Even though I know it was a dream, I still have this…odd feeling in pit of my stomach, that
has nothing to do with the amount of alcohol I induced last night and this morning.

I need to see the tapestry again. I need to know if there's some magical trace that could help
me to bring my brother back. If I was able to travel through time into the future, there might
be a way to bring him back.

I stand up with a groan and make my way downstairs towards the drawing room.

As I push the door open, my legs give out. I scramble up and get a hold of the door while I
stare at the tapestry.

Beneath my brother's name, beneath his date of birth, his date of death keeps flickering.

"…What?" I mumble and walk quickly closer, so close I can touch the textile, the
embroidered lettering. Lettering that keeps fading completely at times.

"Sirius…?" I whisper, my mind spinning.

What does it mean? Is he alive?

Where is he?
 Let It Go
Chapter Notes

Finally some Regulus/Harry interaction. I'll only say...Bear with me (or well...Regulus)
:)

Chapter 15: Let It Go

Grimmauld Place, 13 July 1996

"I see you've finally taken a leaf out of your big brother's book, huh?" Sirius says with mild
amusement as he studies my rumpled exterior through the archway.

I roll my eyes at him. "Bet you're just loving this," I grumble, not bothering to tidy myself up.
What good would it do?

My brother frowns, looking contemplative as I take a seat on the cold stone floor.

"How are things?" He asks tentatively, sitting on the floor as well.

I shrug. "The usual, I reckon. Dementors swarming all over the place, Giants attacking
cities…" My voice tight and trailing off.

"What else?" My brother asks intently, his grey eyes fixed at mine.

I swallow hard and close my eyes briefly. Two days ago, Vance's lifeless body was found near
Number Ten, Downing Street. And a day after that, Amelia Bones was found in her home,
brutally killed.

And it is only starting.

"Who?" Sirius asks, his gaze hardening.

I clear my throat. "Amelia Bones, and…Vance."

Sirius's eyes widen slightly and he nods slowly. "…I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Me too." I mutter tiredly. Even though I wasn't close with Vance – at least, in some
respects – her death still stung. She was someone I knew before everything changed. Before I
became a Death Eater. Before I travelled into the future.

And while Bones wasn't part of the Order, the Head of the DMLE murdered supposedly by the
Dark Lord himself has to only mean one thing. He's planning on taking over the Ministry.
We sit silently for a long while, and it's not unusual during these uncanny meetings we have,
meetings, that usually happen when I'm three sheets to the wind – which seems to be the case
more often than not these days.

And because of that, I've started to have doubts, I've started to suspect that I'm merely
picturing everything. That my brother really is gone, and this is how I'm dealing with it. I
want to believe that there is something else, that there is a bigger picture. I want to believe
that I wouldn't be here, talking to my brother through an old, crumbling archway if he truly
was gone.

The problem is, that no one else seems to agree with me. No one else dares to have such high
hopes like I do. I've talked with Lupin, who stops by every week, and I've discussed with my
cousin, who has come by a couple of times, but hearing what I have to say seems too hard for
them to deal, too unlikely to have any hope for.

I've even talked briefly with Dumbledore, questioning the reality of this, of my brothers…
existence. He merely told me that even if I was dreaming, it doesn't mean that it is not real.

Still, he also said that he doesn't have any information that could help me to figure out if my
brother truly is forever trapped behind the Veil – which I've learned is believed to separate
the worlds of the living and the dead – or is there a possibility for him to come back. This
part of the Department of Mysteries is unknown to most of people, even more so than the
Time Room, which I'm told was there, at least until Potter and his friends destroyed the place.

"Talk to me, brother," Sirius says quietly, studying my features carefully.

I lift my gaze slowly to meet his, and I can't stop the helpless feeling spreading inside me. I
need this to be real. I don't want to move on. Not if there is a sliver of a chance to get my
brother back.

"I don't know what to do…" I say with a weary sigh. "I've researched everything I can get my
hands on, and I will continue until I find something, I promise, but…"

"But what?" Sirius asks with restraint, supposedly knowing my thoughts already.

I clench my jaw, willing away the headache that threatens to take over. "What if…What if I'm
only dreaming?"

Sirius curses under his breath, standing up and struggling in place, trying to reach out. We've
tried this several times before – it is not possible to walk around in here. We merely stay in
place and see and talk to each other through the archway. Sirius threads a hand through his
hair, a habit that tells how frustrated he is.

"You're not, Reggie. Trust me. You're not." He says dejectedly.

My head is throbbing with pain, and I know what that means. "I need to leave soon," I say
weakly, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Talk to Harry."
I shake my head. "No," I say stoically, my eyes fixed to the ground.

Sirius huffs exasperatedly. "You can't blame him, brother. It wasn't his fault, and you know
it."

Of course I know it. It's just easier to blame him. My head is pounding now, my vision
starting to blur.

"Talk to Harry, Reggie."

The Burrow, 2 August 1996

My sixteenth birthday dinner is served in the fairy-light-decorated garden in the Burrow.

Despite Mrs. Weasley's protests, our topics keep slipping to the gloomy side.

I take a careful look at Lupin as he wearily describes the latest Dementor attacks. It's obvious
that the full moon three days ago has taken its toll on him.

"…And they've found Igor Karkaroff's body in a shack up north. The Dark Mark had been set
over it…well, frankly, I'm surprised he stayed alive for even a year after deserting the Death
Eaters," He continues with a deep frown.

The topic brings Regulus to my thoughts again, and now that there's finally someone who
actually has seen him after…well, after what happened in the Ministry, I quickly swallow a
mouthful of roasted beef and clear my throat. "What about, um, Regulus?" I ask from Lupin.

Everyone turns to stare at Lupin as he shifts on his seat uneasily. "Regulus…is…handling it,"
he says simply, staring at a crook on the table with a strained expression.

The last two weeks I've been at the Burrow, I've spent most of my time playing Quidditch in
the Weasleys' orchards with Ron, Ginny and Hermione. Mr. Weasley and Bill; who's moved
back to Burrow, and Fleur; who is staying here for the summer – much to Mrs. Weasley's and
Ginny's dismay – have been busy working from morning to night every day, and thus haven't
been able to go to see Sirius's brother.

Lupin, on the other hand, has met him every week, if what Bill mentioned the other night was
true.

"Yes, well," Mrs. Weasley says slowly, "perhaps we should talk about something diff–"

"I'd like to go see him. And Grimmauld Place," I say quickly, interrupting Mrs. Weasley. An
empty feeling spreads in my stomach from the mere thought of going to the place where my
godfather had been living alive and well just a couple of months ago, but it is something I
know I'll have to face.

There's an uncomfortable silence, and I suppose everyone's afraid to broach the subject, at
least when I'm around.
"Well, I suppose, if Regulus agrees, you could go there," Mr. Weasley says carefully,
glancing at Lupin, who looks reserved.

He scratches his greyish stubble for a short moment before nodding almost reluctantly. "I'll
ask him. And well, since Sirius left you the place, you ought to have the right to go there in
any case," He says with a wistful look.

I share a look with Ron and Hermione as Bill and Mr. Weasley start to talk about Florean
Fortescue and Garrick Ollivander, who both have disappeared from Diagon Alley during
summer.

Grimmauld Place, 4 August 1996

Two days after my birthday celebrations, I'm standing in front of Weasleys' fireplace. Before
I'm able to reach to the box for floo-powder, Lupin puts a hand on my shoulder and stops me.

"Harry…just…be patient with him, will you?" He says, seeming hesitant. "I'll be still coming
with you, but just so you understand. Regulus is…struggling," he says quietly, looking
straight into my eyes expectantly.

I nod at him, trying not to show how much the thought of Regulus struggling worries me.
"Yeah, of course."

Lupin gives me a sad smile before he removes his hand and takes some floo-powder from the
box. He throws the powder into the fireplace and green flames roar into life. "Number
Twelve, Grimmauld Place," He says and steps into the flames, vanishing from sight.

I take a deep breath as I grab a handful of floo-powder and step into the green flames after
giving my destination. I almost collide with a handful of pots and pans that soar across the
kitchen of Grimmauld place.

"What – " I mumble and take a look around. The place is a mess. There're dirty dishes
everywhere, empty bottles of different kinds of liquor – mostly Firewhiskey – scattered
around the surfaces, and newspaper pages littered on the floor.

I spot Lupin, who's in the process of tidying the place up with the help of his wand, a
concerned look in his eyes.

"Where's Kreacher…?" I wonder, and there's a loud crack in the room as Kreacher appears at
my feet.

Kreacher scowls at me. "Master called Kreacher," it grumbles, and then under its breath, "…
half-blood brat thinks he can order poor Kreacher around…"

I give Lupin a baffled look, but he merely looks resigned.

"Give the elf an order." Lupin says quietly.

Feeling confused, I stare at the glaring elf and speak with a strict voice, "Kreacher. I order
you to clean this mess up," I say and gesture at the untidiness around us.

The elf sends me a final glower before it starts snapping its fingers, sending newspaper pages
into neat piles, making the dirty dishes clean themselves up above the sink, vanishing the
spots of spilled liquids and foods from the table and floor.

At least Kreacher is not screaming at me, or trying to hurt itself as it was the last time I saw
the elf. It was only some weeks ago, when Dumbledore informed me that I'm now the rightful
owner of Grimmauld Place and…Kreacher. The elf protested loudly, and quieted down only
after I gave it a rather harsh order to shut itself up and return immediately to Grimmauld
Place and stay there with Regulus.

But why hasn't it been taking care of this place? Because I didn't give it an order to do so? I
grit my teeth and curse inwardly.

"Kreacher. Where's Regulus?" I then ask from the muttering elf, but Kreacher doesn't need to
answer as the door to the kitchen swings open, and a ragged looking Regulus Black staggers
inside.

My insides warm momentarily, but the feeling is quickly replaced with uneasiness as I see the
empty look in his eyes, and the unsteadiness in his step.

He observes us with a small twitch in his brow, otherwise an unreadable look on his face.
"Thought I heard your irksome voices," he merely says and walks towards the dark pantry,
only to emerge back a couple of seconds later.

"Kreacher, what did I say about stocking up," he says to the elf with a displeased look as he
brandishes a half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey he has snatched from the shelves.

So…this is how he's handling it.

Kreacher cowers a bit. "Master Regulus, Kreacher is sorry, so sorry! But Kreacher could not
leave, it could not leave home!" Then the elf turns to look at me with deepest loathing.
"Master forbid it to."

Both Lupin and Regulus turn to stare at me, the former with puzzlement and the latter with
his eyes narrowed, a hateful look in his eyes.

"You what?" Regulus asks darkly, and takes a couple of steps towards me. "You…you forbid
my elf to leave this place?" He asks with a menacing look.

I swallow hard and shake my head slightly, trying not to be affected by his behaviour. "N-No,
I–"

"Do you have any fucking idea what that means? Do you?" Regulus asks slowly, his voice
still low but cold.

I open and close my mouth a couple of times, feeling slightly intimidated as his eyes flash
dangerously. Why is he so…angry?
Lupin clears his throat and fixes a hard look at Regulus. "Calm down, Regulus. You know
Harry didn't have any other choice. You know Kreacher knows too much about the Order. We
can't let it leave the house anymore, not when its Master isn't here to supervise it," he says
calmly, even though his eyes are blazing at Regulus and there's a hint of warning in them.

Regulus stares at Lupin, and then me. "I suppose this means I have to leave the house then, if
I wish to eat." He says blankly and turns on his heels and leaves the kitchen.

I gape after him. "Is that – does – has he been here the whole time, without anything to eat?"
I ask from Lupin, feeling horrified.

Lupin rolls his eyes. "Of course not. He's merely being dramatic. I have produced him all the
necessary supplies whenever I've visited him. We still can't risk for him to leave the house
either," he says wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"...I just haven't supplied him the alcohol he apparently has been overusing…" He adds and
then turns to follow Regulus with a tired look on his face. "Come on, Harry."

This is not what I expected…at all. We walk to the second landing and find Regulus sitting in
the library, in an armchair, staring at the empty fireplace. He turns towards us with a
contemplative look in his eyes.

"I apologise. I haven't been treating my guests properly," He says aloofly, and I'm not sure if
he's being scornful or apologetic.

Lupin gives him a nod and then Regulus speaks again, "I'd like to speak with Potter. If you
don't mind, Lupin." He says expressionlessly and takes a sip of the amber liquid in his crystal
tumbler.

I give Lupin a reassuring nod as he lifts his brows at me in hesitation.

"I'll be downstairs," Lupin says with a tight smile before exiting the library.

I walk towards Regulus, feeling nervous. His eyes are trained at the glass in his hand. I sit
down on the sofa, close to his armchair and gnaw at my bottom lip as I try to think what to
say to him.

This is not how I wanted to see him, to talk to him – about us, or what is going on between
us. It seems like a thousand years ago when we were here by ourselves the last time. And so
much has happened after that. Now the only thing I can think of, is how sorry I am for him,
and how miserable he must be. At least, we both might now have someone who truly
understands how the other one feels. And what the other one has lost.

"How are you?" I ask cautiously.

He swallows hard before placing the glass back to the coffee table and leans forward with his
elbows on his knees.

"Brilliant." He says plainly, not looking at me.

I purse my lips and give him a pointed look, even though he hasn't even glanced at me. "Oh?
I dunno, somehow, it doesn't seem like you are," I say grimly.

He shakes his head slightly and pushes the heels of his palms against his eyes. "Don't. Don't
act like you have any idea – "

Annoyance surges through me. "But I do!" I interrupt him with a rough voice. "I do know.
Don't you get that?" I ask angrily, my jaw tight as I try to keep my temper in check. "I've lost
him too."

He whirls to look at me, his eyes narrowed. "And whose fault is that?" He asks darkly.

I let out an outraged scoff, losing the ability to speak. He's blaming me? He's blaming me for
Sirius's…No. No, no, no, I can't think of it. I feel a lump forming in the back of my throat. It's
bad enough that the thought follows me into my dreams every night, but hearing it from
someone else is…unbearable.

"I'm…I…" I say, my voice faltering, not able to say anything to him. Not able to deny it.

His grey eyes burn with rage. "If you hadn't gone there…If you'd just fucking stayed where
you were supposed to – I'd…I'd have my brother," He says harshly, his face slightly
scrunched up, a pained look in his eyes.

There's a pressing silence during which we merely stare at each other, his eyes filled with
grief and mine…with regret.

I swallow hard and take a stuttering breath. "I know," I give him a bitter nod. "I know that.
And there's not a day gone by that I haven't regretted it," I say with a stricken voice,
swallowing the bile that threatens to rise in my throat. There's no use for excuses – even if
there are good ones. I checked. I flooed to see if he was at Grimmauld Place. But no one was
there to answer. What was I supposed to do? Was I supposed to let it go? Who would've let it
go after that?

He looks away to take a sip from his drink – and empties the whole glass in one gulp. The
glass makes a heavy thud as it slams against the table.

"I think you should leave now," He says quietly, almost pleadingly, his voice trembling.

I press my lips together, willing away the burning in my eyes and what follows after. I want
nothing more than to keep apologising, to make him feel better. But I can't. Because I'm the
reason he's lost his brother. Sirius went to the Ministry because of me. I'm the reason he's
dead.

The Burrow, 31 August 1996

The last weeks of summer have been mostly gloomy and dull, even though I have been with
my friends and in my second favourite place in this world – the Burrow.
As we visited Diagon Alley a couple of weeks ago to get everything necessary for school, we
ran into Malfoy and his mother at Madam Malkins. After the unfortunate encounter, Ron,
Hermione and I saw Malfoy give his mother the slip and sneak into Knockturn Alley.
Naturally, we followed him under the Cloak and saw him doing business with Mr. Borgin at
Borgin and Burkes antique shop. Apparently, Malfoy wanted to fix something, so badly he
even threatened Borgin with someone called Fenrir Greyback. There wasn't much more
information to be discovered from their short meeting, and thus Malfoy's business remains a
mystery.

What bothers me the most in the whole thing was the satisfied look on Malfoy's face as he
left the shop – a sure sign it can't be anything good. After discussing it with Hermione and
Ron thoroughly for a couple of days, they became disinterested in Malfoy's possible schemes,
which only managed to annoy me more.

"Yes, we've already agreed it was fishy, Harry," Hermione says, giving Ron a meaningful
look from the windowsill where she's sitting at and rifling through her new copy of Advanced
Rune Translation. "But haven't we agreed there could be a lot of explanations?"

"Maybe he's broken his Hand of Glory?" Ron suggests from the floor where he's twiddling
with his broomstick. "Remember that shrivelled-up arm Malfoy had?"

"But what about when he said, 'Don't forget to keep that one safe'?" I say knowingly. "That
sounded to me like Borgin's got another one of the broken objects, and Malfoy wants both."

"You reckon?" Ron says absently as he checks the balance of the broom handle.

"Yeah, I do," I say impatiently. When neither of my friends say anything, I continue,
"Malfoy's father's in Azkaban. Don't you think Malfoy'd like revenge?"

Ron looks up at me with his brows lifted in confusion. "Malfoy, revenge? What can he do
about it?"

"That's my point, I don't know!" I say with a frustrated sigh. "But he's up to something and I
think we should take it seriously. His father's a Death Eater and…" my voice trails off as I
gaze out of the window.

That must be it. Malfoy…Malfoy is a Death Eater! He has to be!

"Harry?" Hermione says carefully. "What's wrong?"

"Your scar's not hurting again, is it?" Ron asks with a nervous voice.

"He's a Death Eater," I say quietly, still staring at the window, not really seeing anything
through it. "He must've replaced his father as a Death Eater," I say and turn to look at the
others.

There's a short silence, and then Ron bursts in laughter. "Malfoy? He's sixteen, Harry! You
think You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join?"

"It seems very unlikely, Harry," Hermione says dubiously. "What makes you think…?"
"In Madam Malkin's. She didn't touch him, but he yelled and jerked his arm away from her
when she went to roll up his sleeve. It was his left arm. He's been branded with the Dark
Mark," I explain, as if it is obvious.

Ron and Hermione share another meaningful look. I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I know
they're not convinced. We continue to argue for a bit, until I leave the room to get my
Quidditch gear cleaned up before leaving to Hogwarts. I'll prove them wrong.
 Lies
Chapter Notes

The story continues, slowly but surely. And Harry and Regulus will meet again!
...well...in about 2 chapters :D
Thank you for reading, and especially for letting me know your thoughts on this fic! :)

Chapter 16: Lies

Hogwarts, 14 September 1996

"When do you reckon your next lesson with Dumbledore is gonna be?" Ron asks quietly as
we walk down the stairs towards the Great Hall on Saturday morning.

I give him a slight shrug. "Dunno," I say lamely, still feeling a bit confused by the first
lesson, which occurred a week ago.

In our first lesson, Dumbledore showed me a memory he had acquired from Bob Ogden, an
employee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Ogden had visited a man named
Morfin Gaunt, who was suspected of performing magic in front of a Muggle. I then learned
that Morfin was in fact Voldemort's uncle, who lived with Marvolo and Merope; Voldemort's
grandfather and mother. It was all very fascinating, to learn about Voldemort's past and his
family, but I haven't yet put it together how exactly the knowledge will help me survive as
Dumbledore seems to think.

The past two weeks have been busy, and if I thought that the sixth year in Hogwarts would be
easier compared to the fifth, since we don't have to sit our NEWTs until next year, I was
badly mistaken. The workload is enormous and the professors are expecting more and more
from us. I haven't got a clue how Hermione manages all Charms, Defence Against the Dark
Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions, while I only have
five subjects and after two weeks it feels like I'm completely worn out.

"Should we go see Hagrid today? I think we owe him an explanation," Hermione asks after a
short silence, chewing her lip, a thoughtful look in her eyes.

We haven't really spoken to Hagrid after the school started, and haven't even seen him that
often, as Hagrid doesn't eat his meals at the staff table anymore. I hope he's not hurt that the
three of us are not taking Care of Magical Creatures anymore.

"We've got Quidditch try-outs this morning!" Ron says exasperatedly. "And we're supposed
to be practicing that Aguamenti Charm from Flitwick! Anyway, explanation to what? How
are we going to tell him we hated his stupid subject?"
"We didn't hate it!" Hermione says persistently and takes a seat at our house table in the Great
Hall.

"Speak for yourself, I haven't forgotten the Skrewts," Ron says sullenly as we sit down side
by side, opposite to Hermione. "And I'm telling you now, we've had a narrow escape. You
didn't hear him going on about his gormless brother — we'd have been teaching Grawp how
to tie his shoelaces if we'd stayed."

"I hate not talking to Hagrid," Hermione says quietly, frowning at the table.

"We'll go down after Quidditch," I say, trying to assure her. I miss Hagrid too, but there're so
many other things on my plate at the moment. For example, Quidditch.

"But just so you know, trials might take all morning, since so many students are hoping to
join the team," I warn her, not able to stop the nervous tone in my voice. Why so many
students are suddenly interested playing Quidditch? I don't recall past years' trials to have had
so many eager students joining the team. "I dunno why the team's this popular all of a
sudden," I mutter, trying to ignore the tenseness I'm feeling.

Hermione rolls her eyes as she spreads butter on her toast. "Oh, come on, Harry," she says
with an exasperated look. "It's not Quidditch that's popular, it's you! You've never been more
interesting, and frankly, you've never been more fanciable," she continues simply, as if it was
obvious.

I almost choke on my cereal as Ron makes a pretend gagging noise into his scrambled eggs.

Fanciable? Me? But…

Hermione gives us both a frustrated look before turning back to me. "Everyone knows you've
been telling the truth now, don't they? The whole Wizarding world has had to admit that you
were right about Voldemort being back and that you really have fought him twice in the last
two years and escaped both times. And now they're calling you 'the Chosen One' — well,
come on, can't you see why people are fascinated by you?"

I suddenly feel very hot, and my cheeks prickle slightly in embarrassment. At the same time,
I feel a pang of resentment, since the one person whom I think I'd like to be fascinated by me,
hates me. I try to shake the thoughts away before focusing back on Hermione, who is
apparently continuing her list of reasons why to be spellbound by Harry Potter.

"…from the Ministry when they were trying to make out you were unstable and a liar. You
can still see the marks on the back of your hand where that evil woman made you write with
your own blood, but you stuck to your story anyway. And it doesn't hurt that you've grown
about a foot over the summer either," Hermione finishes, ignoring Ron as he tries to get her
attention.

Her eyes sweep over my face, studying my features. Seeing straight from my eyes what or
whom I'm thinking about, she gives me a sad smile.
We were at the Burrow, a couple of weeks before leaving to Hogwarts, lounging on the warm
grass in the Weasleys' orchards, watching Ron and Ginny practice Quidditch.

"What did he say?" Hermione asks quietly, her eyes trained at Ron and Ginny, a small
grimace appearing on her lips as Ron nearly collides with a goal post.

"Who?" I mutter absently, making a mental note that if Ginny would circle from the left, it
would give her better advantage to the outer post…

Hermione huffs, and I glance at her. She gives me a pointed look, and I realise who she is
talking about. Regulus.

I give her a tense shrug. "Well…what you'd expect, I reckon," I say, my voice tight as I move
my gaze back to Ron and Ginny, even though I'm not really looking at them.

Hermione stays silent and from the corner of my eye I can see her studying me.

I let out a sigh and rub my neck, tired of even thinking about my visit to Grimmauld Place.
"He, um…didn't want to talk about it," I say – lie – since I don't have it in me to repeat what
he said to me. I'm so…so angry at him, for blaming me, but at the same time, so disgusted
with myself for being so stupid, so careless, so naïve...

"And, well, I'm apparently the last person he wants to see right now," I continue thickly, the
condemning look he gave me then still bothering me.

And it's not like I was expecting him to be ready to talk about Sirius. At least, not yet.
Because the mere thought that my godfather's gone…I can't handle it. But I just - I wanted to
see how Regulus was, to let him know that he's not alone. That I too have lost someone.

But I sure as hell wasn't expecting him to say those things to me.

Hermione frowns at me as she gnaws her bottom lip in thought. "I'm sorry, Harry…" She
says quietly. "You've both lost so much," she continues, her eyes glittering.

"Yeah." I say gruffly, trying to put my focus on Ron and Ginny, who are now bickering about
the last goal Ginny made.

"I think…I think you both probably need time. You know - time to heal, before you can talk
about Sirius…or think about anything else…" She says hesitantly.

"Yeah." I say again, more forcefully, not really in the mood to talk about my godfather or his
brother. Not really having the strength to think about them without getting angry and
frustrated…and sad. I stand up on my feet and grab my broom before turning to look at her.

"You up for a two-a-side?" I ask, aiming for a light tone, as if we hadn't been discussing
anything pressing.

Hermione sighs and gives me a contemplative look. She then shakes her head, standing up as
well. "No. I think I'll go back inside. I have to start with my Arithmancy essay." She says
astutely, and waves at the others before leaving towards the Burrow.
I hear Ron complaining quietly about Hermione's inability to unwind as he stares at our
friend making her way back towards the house, her bushy hair bouncing against her back.

The post owls arrive, and I'm shaken from my thoughts. It seems that this year students are
receiving even more mail than usual, supposedly from their worried families. I feel slightly
bitter, since I don't really have anyone who'd write to me. The only one who did is now gone,
and somehow, losing Sirius feels even worse.

Hermione opens up her copy of the Daily Prophet, and we learn that there have been more
Dementor attacks and that Stan Shunpike has been arrested – which is outrageous, since,
based on the article, he was detained after gossiping about Death Eaters' secret plans. It's
obvious he wasn't hurting anyone, and it is likely that he was only trying to make out he
knew more than he did.

"They probably want to look as though they're doing something," Hermione says with a deep
frown. "People are terrified — you know the Patil twins' parents want them to go home? And
Eloise Midgen has already been withdrawn. Her father picked her up last night."

"What!" Ron says, gaping. "But Hogwarts is safer than their homes, bound to be! We've got
Aurors, and all those extra protective spells, and we've got Dumbledore!"

Hermione looks uncertain. "I don't think we've got him all the time," she says, almost
inaudibly, glancing at the staff table. "Haven't you noticed? His seat's been empty as often as
Hagrid's this past week."

I look at the staff table, and see only his empty chair. "I wonder what he's up to…" I mutter
quietly, glancing at my friends.

Hermione chews the inside of her cheek. "I think he's left the school to do something with the
Order," she whispers. "I mean…it's all looking serious, isn't it?"

I give her a grim nod, thinking about the day before, when our classmate Hannah was taken
out of Herbology – her mother had been found dead earlier that morning. Hannah left
Hogwarts immediately.

We eventually leave the Great Hall and walk towards the Quidditch pitch, where I'm going to
run my very first try-outs.

"I thought I was going to miss that fourth penalty," Ron says thoughtfully as we walk across
the grounds, towards Hagrid's Hut. "Tricky shot from Demelza, did you see, had a bit of spin
on it —"

"Yes, yes, you were magnificent," Hermione says, with a mix of amusement and
exasperation.

"I was better than that McLaggen anyway," Ron continues smugly. "Did you see him
lumbering off in the wrong direction on his fifth? Looked like he'd been Confunded…"
I hum in agreement and glance at Hermione – whose face has turned pink. What? Is that…
has she got something to do with the try-outs? I arch a brow at her, and she gives me a
helpless look, which outright confirms my suspicions. Has she really Confunded McLaggen?
Bloody hell…If McLaggen ever finds out, he'll be furious, and most certainly would blame
me for it, as he already thinks I'm favouring my best mate.

Ron's oblivious to our little wordless conversation as he keeps on describing his every move
and every goal he saved in great detail.

As we reach our destination, we see Buckbeak; which is tied in front of Hagrid's hut. The
Hippogriff's sharp eyes follow our every movement, and even though I'm sure it remembers
us by now, the creature still lets out a small screech, its sharp talons rising stiffly from the
ground.

While Hermione makes a nervous comment about the creature, I quickly go closer to
Buckbeak and give it a low bow, without breaking eye contact. A second later, the Hippogriff
bows back to me.

"Hey there," I say quietly to Buckbeak after Ron and Hermione have performed their bows
without problems but still put some distance to the creature.

Buckbeak takes a couple of steps towards me and pokes at my arm lightly with its large beak.
I lift my hand slowly, holding my palm up. "How are you?"

Buckbeak makes a small croaking sound and nuzzles its beak against my palm. I can't help
but smile sadly at the creature as I'm flooded with memories of Grimmauld. Memories of
Sirius. I wonder if Buckbeak misses him as well.

The Hippogriff blinks at me, and give it a small nod. "Yeah, me too," I say softly, and from
the corner of my eye I notice that Hermione and Ron have moved further along, towards
Hagrid's front door.

I wonder when did Buckbeak come back to Scotland? I remember Dumbledore mentioning
something about Hagrid picking it up from Grimmauld Place, but I'm curious to know how
long had Regulus been taking care of it. Especially since he rarely went to his mother's old
bedroom after meeting Buckbeak the first time. A small chuckle emerges from the base of
my throat at the memory.

I wonder how he is doing…Living alone, his family gone, trapped inside that house, with
anger and resentment keeping him company. Much like Sirius seemed to be after the Order
was reformed.

Grimmauld Place, 13 October 1996

I'm waiting him in the kitchen, and he appears, precisely when he said he would, not a minute
late.
"Severus," I say coolly, studying him carefully. My fingers are nearly twitching with the need
to grab my wand at the sight of him.

A faint smirk lifts the corner of his mouth as he takes the seat opposite to me, his eyes
sweeping over me. "No need for that, I assure you."

Annoyed that he's managed to perceive my thoughts so well, I lift a challenging brow at him.
"Oh?"

Severus rolls his eyes. "By all means, say what you are bursting to get out," he drawls.

I narrow my eyes at him, the air around us darkening slightly. "Are you behind this?" I ask,
my jaw tight, and he has to see something else than coldness in my eyes, since his expression
softens slightly.

"Yes and no." He says, almost resignedly, and I can see a hint of an inward struggle in him.

Severus stares at me for a while before he continues, "I had a reasonable assumption what the
Dark Lord was planning. I didn't possess all the details…But I knew. The minute Potter told
me that your brother was being held his captive, I knew," he says grimly.

Anger surges through me. I look away from him and press my eyes closed, gritting my teeth
together so hard my jaw aches.

"I had no intention to let Potter go to the Ministry, but the boy managed to slip away while I
was absent a mere moment."

I give him a dark look, and Severus shifts in his seat, perhaps from uncomfortableness,
perhaps from guilt.

"Why?" I ask sharply. "Why didn't you tell Sirius? When you contacted us to see if my
brother was here? Why didn't you tell me?" I ask, my voice cracking, the feelings of
bitterness and anger trying to take over.

Severus sighs wearily, looking so old all of a sudden that I'm reminded he's not a young man
anymore. "…I did tell you. Almost a year ago, I told you about my suspicions." He says
slowly, a calculating look in his eyes.

I shake my head with frustration, shutting away all the maddening feelings I've got circling in
my mind. Keeping myself from cursing my…old friend, if he even is that anymore. He's told
me, yes, that he had suspicions. But somehow, it seems that he knew when the Dark Lord was
going to carry out his plans.

"I was under the impression that Potter was with the previous Headmistress, but obviously I
was mistaken. And for that, I apologise." He says solemnly.

I watch him carefully. "And not coming to my aid, after my brother had locked me here? Not
sending anyone to help me? Do you apologise for that?" I ask steadily.

Severus gives me a long look. "If I had…do you think Sirius would have appreciated that?"
I swallow hard at the mention of my brother's name as it sounds so foreign coming out of
him. "You have hardly agreed with my brother in the past."

Severus nods slowly. "I appears, that there was something we both agreed upon, after all," he
says expressionlessly.

It's the best he can do, I know. Because I know him. But I still need to know more. "How did
you know Potter was there? In the Ministry?"

Severus's eyes flash with something, and a shiver runs down my spine as I realise. The
summoning.

"After the Dark Lord requested his followers to meet him, I asked a previous Headmaster,
Everard, to see if Potter indeed was at the Ministry. After receiving confirmation, I contacted
you," he says with an unreadable look.

I give him an absent nod, the events from last June running in my head. Severus had known
about the Dark Lord's plans, and had had a good assumption when everything was going to
happen. Severus had told us that Potter thought that my brother was in the Ministry, but he
hadn't mentioned about anything else. Once he had found out where Potter was, he had
contacted us immediately. I know this speaks for his allegiance to the Order, but even if
Dumbledore trusts the man, I'm not so naïve to believe that he's innocent, that he hasn't had a
hand in anything. I know this isn't everything. There's still more.

There's always more.

"Vance?" I ask suddenly, disappointment crawling in my stomach as I see him looking

quickly away.

I let out an exhausted sigh. "…Don't you ever get tired of it?" He knows what I mean. Tired
of betraying the people he cares about, tired of being the reason for somebody's pain. "How
many others have you watched die?"

He huffs and a small frown appears between his brows, his black eyes revealing his thoughts,
revealing him. It's one of the few and rare moments I've seen regret in him, seen the fear and
self-hate, seen him through the hard and cold mask.

"Lately, only those whom I could not save," he says quietly.

Hogwarts, 22 October 1996

"Did you know — then?"

"Did I know that I had just met the most dangerous Dark Wizard of all time? No, I had no
idea that he was to grow up to be what he is."

"You know, sounds like he was a bit mental, even as a kid," Ron says after we've taken our
places around one of the gnarled Snargaluff stumps, continuing our discussion from earlier
and pulling me back from my thoughts.
I was only able to tell Ron and Hermione about my last night's lesson with Dumbledore on
our way to Herbology, as they'd both been asleep when I got back to the common room, and
there had been simply too many listening ears this morning at breakfast. But now I kind of
wish I hadn't told them. It's not that I don't trust them, it's just that I'm suddenly not in the
mood for speculating the memories Dumbledore showed me.

Last night we viewed Dumbledore's memory, from a time when he went to see young Tom
Riddle to the orphanage. In the memory, he told Voldemort that he was a wizard, and that
there was a school for his kind, where one could study magic.

I can't stop thinking about how…how similar we are, Voldemort and I, at least when he was
younger. How neither of us knew anything about magic, but still thought that there had to be
something special, something different in this world. How we both felt that there was
something different about us. Raised without parents, without love, both so eager to accept
being a wizard. To accept a purpose for one's life.

"But I still don't get why Dumbledore's showing you all this. I mean, it's really interesting and
everything, but what's the point?" Ron asks with a thoughtful look.

"I think it's fascinating," Hermione says excitedly. "It makes absolute sense to know as much
about Voldemort as possible. How else will you find out his weaknesses?"

I let out a weary sigh. "Yeah, I guess you're right…" I say and try to figure out something else
to speak about. "So how was Slughorn's latest party?"

"Oh! It was quite fun, really," Hermione says as she pulls on her protective goggles. "I mean,
he drones on about famous exploits a bit, and he absolutely fawns on McLaggen because he's
so well connected, but he gave us some really nice food and he introduced us to Gwenog
Jones…"

My focus drifts away once Ron and Hermione start to bicker about Gwenog Jones, the
Captain of the Holyhead Harpies, and I suddenly remember the moment I was about to leave
Dumbledore's office last night. How my gaze had fallen upon the little table on which
Marvolo Gaunt's ring had rested during our last lesson, but was no longer there. I remember
Dumbledore was wearing it the day we visited Slughorn, but the next time I saw it, the ring
had been on that table. And now it is gone. I recall the secretive look in Dumbledore's eyes as
I questioned the ring's current location, how he had ushered me out right after. I wonder…

I'm shaken back from my thoughts again as Professor Sprout speaks with a brisk voice,
"Quite enough chat over here! You're lagging behind, everybody else has started, and
Neville's already got his first pod!"

We hastily start to work with our lump of wood and after a tough but victorious wrestling
match we manage to pull a pod from it. Hermione and Ron start arguing, mostly about the
upcoming Christmas party Slughorn is organising, and also about how Ron is not part of
Slughorn's selected group of students.

I know there's something else underneath all the quarrelling, that there is more between the
two of them than just friendship. I've been suspecting it since last year, but now it seems even
more probable. The thing is…after everything that happened with Cho, and after everything
that didn't happen with Regulus, I'm not sure how I feel about my two best friends having
more than friendly feelings for each other.

What if they start dating, and then break up? What if they have a falling out and they'll never
be friends again? Would I then have to choose one of them? And whomever I'd choose,
would still be wrong. Whenever Hermione and Ron have been fighting, it has been awful.
And I don't know if I can handle that anymore.

What if they start dating, and then forget about me? What if they'd be so besotted with each
other, that they'd want nothing more than to be by themselves?

After a couple of more minutes them bickering, I accidentally break a bowl while trying to
open up a pod, and my friends stop speaking altogether, as if remembering we're in a middle
of a class, and that I'm still with them. The rest of our lesson goes without another word from
any of us.
 Lonely Together
Chapter Notes

Here's the next chapter, and after this one, our brooding boys finally, finally, meet again.
So stay tuned, and let me know what you think of this one! :)

Chapter 17: Lonely Together

Grimmauld Place, 4 November 1996

I wake up, gasping for air, my wand at the ready before I can even see my surroundings
clearly. I'm in my room, and everything seems to be in order, but I still flick my wand to test
the wards of the house.

No one else is here, just Kreacher and I. There's nothing but silence.

I groan as my head starts to spin, and I drop back against the pillow as the nauseating feeling
takes over. I try to decide if I should just try to get some sleep or crawl out of bed with a
Sober-up-potion. But then I remember that I don't have any. Lupin, the bloody wanker, took
the last vials and all the ingredients for that sweet little remedy, I reckon, trying to make me
quit drinking.

"Fuck…" I moan as my stomach lurches uncomfortably. The morning after truly is the worst.

And it's not that I've been drinking daily, or even weekly – although I might have been, since
sometimes I really don't seem to notice time going by – but yesterday…It would've been – it
was his birthday. And I saw him again. Sirius.

During the past four months I've seen my brother several times, and since during many of
those times I've been completely sober, I don't believe our meetings to be some sort of
drunken false memories my brain has made in order to shield me from mental pain.

No, I still don't believe he's gone. The date in the tapestry keeps flickering every now and
then, and he seems so…real…every time we speak. I have researched every possible fact,
legend and myth about the archway I've been able to get my hands on, but so far, I have
found nothing. Not even Sirius has learned anything about the place he's trapped in, and since
I don't dare to speak to anyone about it - at least, not more than I have already spoken to
Lupin and Dumbledore - there's really not much to do.

I rub my temple as my head starts to thrum slowly, but surely. Fucking hangover. I thought
only Muggles were supposed to suffer from it, since us wizarding folk have magic to solve
these things.
"KREACHER," I croak, and take a steadying breath as my stomach rolls again.

The elf appears next to my bed with a loud crack, the sound of it vibrating nastily in my
skull. "Master Regulus summoned?" Kreacher asks cautiously.

I let out a weary sigh. "Bring me something…anything…please." I rasp and the elf snaps its
fingers, immediately summoning a tall glass of cold water and a phial of blue potion.

"Pain Relief potion, master Regulus. Kreacher is not have means to get master anything…
better," Kreacher says apologetically, self-reproach evident in its eyes.

I give the elf a sharp nod and regret it instantly as my head starts to pound with pain. I let out
a small wince before I speak to my elf. "It's okay, Kreacher. Could you please prepare me
some breakfast? I'll be downstairs…shortly," I say, and swallow quickly as the image of
breakfast is making bile to rise in my throat.

As soon as Kreacher disapparates, I stagger up from my bed and rush into the bathroom to
empty my stomach.

"Ugh…" I groan a few minutes later as I slump down on the floor of my bathroom, leaning
my head against the cold tile wall.

His laugh echoes in my head. I close my eyes and take a deep breath as I feel the sharp tug of
pain that follows.

"Feel better?" He asks innocently.

"Bugger off." I mumble back. I can feel the pounding in my head getting worse. "What did
you do to me? I feel like shit."

Sirius sniggers. "Oh, brother. This was all you. You insisted on mixing up vodka and
Firewhiskey," he says with delight in his voice.

I groan again. "Please stop talking."

I blink, feeling out of sorts as the memory dissolves from my mind, leaving me to sit alone in
the empty and cold bathroom.

It felt so real. Almost as real as last night's conversation with my brother.

"You've been drinking again, brother," Sirius says, giving me a disapproving look.

I arch a brow at him. "Yeah? Who cares if I'm sober or not…" I mutter sullenly and look
around us. The chamber is as cold and dark as it has always been. Nothing has changed.
Nothing ever changes.

Sirius stares at me, working his jaw. "I care," He says quietly, a defiant tone in his voice.

A flicker of anger rolls in my chest. "Well, you're not here with me, brother," I say dryly,
immediately regretting my words.
A deep frown takes place between his brows, his eyes flashing with hurt, because of what I
said. The topic is something we've decided not to bring up. We've agreed not to go there.
We've agreed to have hope.

"Sirius – " I start guiltily, but he interrupts me.

"Forget it, Reggie. I don't want to waste this time by arguing with you," He says with a sad
smile, his expression hardening a bit. "Although, I thought we agreed you're not drinking
anymore?" He says with a half-hearted smirk. "Have got nothing left for me when I manage
to come back, since you've been sozzling your way through every bottle in England that has
alcohol in it…" He says lightly, a hint of a grin on his lips.

I can't help but smile at him, but then I remember why exactly I was drinking in the first
place. I look away and clear my throat. "Well, it's not every day your big brother turns thirty-
seven…" I say, my voice slightly thick as I try to swallow the lump from my throat.

"Shit…" Sirius merely says, and as I look at him again, I can see the stricken look in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Reggie…I'm sorry that I can't be there with you."

There's a short silence, and then, "FUCK!" He yells, pulling his hair in frustration. "I fucking
hate this! Haven't I fucking suffered enough?!" He continues, his words aimed to the ceiling
high up.

We don't usually have any excess time to deal with, since our meetings are almost over before
they have even properly started. But what I've gathered, is that my brother is in some kind of
midpoint – not with us, but not yet in nothingness. And how he's been describing everything,
it seems that there are others, who are past that midpoint, but that could mean anything.
Souls, ghosts, his own mind playing tricks. You name it.

I have no idea how long can he stay there, and if it is even possible for him to return, but I
know I don't have any choice except to believe he'll come back.

With a deep sigh, I stand up and make my way downstairs.

As I open the kitchen door, I stop in surprise. Lupin's there, but Kreacher hasn't come to
inform me.

"Regulus," He says kindly, a cup of tea between his hands as he studies me.

I grunt in reply and take a seat opposite to him, and start to load my plate with toast, bacon,
sausages and eggs. At least my appetite has come back. Between a bite toast and a gulp of
tea, I glance at him. There're dark circles under Lupin's eyes. I suppose he too remembers
what day was yesterday.

There's a short silence before he speaks. "Do you still see him?" He asks with a careful tone.

I chew the mouthful of bread slowly, contemplating my answer. As I take in the worried look
in his eyes, the uneasiness in his posture, I decide not to burden him with my thoughts. With
the truth.
"Well…of course I dream about him. Everything around me reminds me of him," I say
simply, and take another sip of my tea.

He seems to be weighing my reply, and then nods slowly. "I know what you mean. Sirius is…
often in my thoughts," he says with a gloomy look.

I look away in search of the paper as I'm really not in the mood to continue the conversation.
I spot the Daily Prophet at the end of the table, and after shaking it open and propping it
against the pitcher of pumpkin juice, I hear Lupin clearing his throat, and then silence.

"…What?" I say dryly after a moment, feeling his hesitation in the air. I glance at him over
the paper, where I've been skimming the article under the headline DEATH EATERS: HOW
THEY CHALLENGE SECURITY MEASURES.

Lupin scratches his neck, looking slightly uncomfortable. "There is actually something
important I would like to discuss with you."

"I gathered," I mutter, and wait for him to continue.

His lips twitch slightly, but then he becomes serious and frowns at me. "The Order is going to
assemble again, and I was sent here to –"

"To ask if you could use my home as your Headquarters again?" I interrupt him with an
arched brow.

Lupin lifts a hand in reassurance. "We of course understand if you wish not to," he says
quickly.

I stare at him for a while in silence. "Are you trying to tell me that the Order hasn't gathered
after what happened in the Ministry? After the Dark Lord appeared in the open, and let the
whole wizarding world know he was still alive?" I ask sceptically. I'm not buying it.

Lupin's cheeks tinge with red. "Yes, well, the Order has gathered, but…" He trails off,
looking embarrassed.

"You were sparing my feelings? Giving me time to heal?" I ask sharply, feeling annoyed all
of a sudden.

Lupin sighs wearily and gives me a determined look. "Frankly, we did not want to include
you since you were a liability."

My brows lift with surprise. I wasn't really expecting him to say that, even though he might
be correct. Lupin stays quiet as I process the information.

"And now?" I ask curiously.

Lupin looks resigned. "We could use Grimmauld Place, as it is one the most heavily protected
homes we know of. And…we could use your knowledge." He says simply, a considering
look in his eyes. "That is, if you're done with that shit," he continues and gives a meaningful
glance to the empty Firewhiskey bottle on the corner of the table.
I let out an amused huff. "Well, might as well be, since you're the one keeping that shit away
from me…" I mutter, and Lupin chuckles faintly.

There's a short silence, and then Lupin speaks again, his expression shifting to a hesitant one.
"Have you talked with Harry? After summer?"

I look away and frown at the fireplace, a mix of shame and guilt circling in my stomach. No,
I daresay I haven't. I wanted to…I wanted to see him, to write to him and…well, I wanted to
apologise for what I said. I know he wasn't the reason my brother died. I know who's
responsible for that. But it just felt too…difficult, contacting him after the way we parted.
I've come to understand that my brother meant the world to him, that Potter must've felt like
he got a piece of his parents back through my brother. And then it was all taken away from
him, again. And I made sure he didn't forget how his actions played a part in that.

"Regulus?"

I swallow hard and turn back to look at Lupin, clearing any hint of emotion from my face.
"No. No, I haven't." I say tightly.

Lupin gives me a long, sharp look, before he sighs and his expression becomes conflicted.
"It's not too late, you know?" He says quietly, his eyes searching something from mine. "I
don't know the specifics what went on between you two, but it seems that both of you have
lost someone you loved. And you might be able to console each other," he continues, a sad
smile on his lips.

I take a deep breath, trying to ignore the sharp tug of pain and longing for my brother that are
caused by his words. But I can't ignore the feeling of guilt that nags me whenever I think
about Harry Potter.

"Yeah," I say with a curt nod. "Maybe I'll write to him."

Hogwarts, 30 November 1996

I stare at the snow falling slowly down on the other side of the window as I sit in the common
room, unable to focus on my Transfiguration essay. Even though I have managed to do more
schoolwork during the past few weeks than I have ever done, I'm still having a hard time
doing it right now, since a group of annoying girls sit at the next table and do nothing but
stare at me and…giggle.

"Hey, Harry," Neville says and drops down to sit opposite to me, blocking the girls' view. I
can hear them making disappointed noises.

"Neville!" I say and give him a thankful look. Neville frowns as he takes in my wide grin, but
then he understands as he glances over his shoulder. "Been dodging some mistletoes lately?"
He asks with a smirk.

I narrow my eyes at him. "I swear if I see one more branch hanging in my way, I'll set it on
fire," I grunt, feeling frustrated. "I've been late from class three times this week, and I've been
lucky that none of those have been DADA, since I know Snape at least won't take any
excuses," I continue darkly.

And it's not like they're innocent, plain and regular mistletoes. I know for a fact that some of
them are actually charmed to keep you in place if you manage to stumble across them, and
that the charm breaks only when you kiss the person who placed the charm. Which might be
unfortunate if that said person is nowhere around.

Neville chuckles and then clears his throat, sobering up. "Yeah, well. I reckon they just want
to get you to invite them to Professor Slughorn's Christmas party…" He says with a shrug.

I let out a groan. "I'm still trying to figure out how to get out of it…" I grumble.

Neville shakes his head with an amused glint in his eyes. "You won't. I heard Slughorn asking
Hermione about your schedule…seems like he's planning to get you there."

I sigh and rub my temple, not in the mood to think about Slughorn and his stupid parties.
"When did you last see Hermione?" I ask instead. I've not seen my friend after classes, and
not at dinner either.

It is not exactly unusual, at least in the past couple of weeks. Since…well, since Ron and
Lavender hooked up. And now Ron and Hermione are fighting, or, they're not even speaking
to each other, so I don't really know what they are anymore.

Hermione doesn't want to stay in the common room when Ron and Lavender are there, and
since the couple is mostly glued to each other and into the common room sofa, Hermione has
been spending all her time at the library when she's not in class.

Neville looks uncomfortable. "Just a while ago, when I was heading back to the tower. She
was, um…coming from the girls' bathroom…not looking well," he says quietly, glancing
towards the sofa in front of the fire, where our friend and his girlfriend are situated, having
spent the entire night with their lips locked.

I let out a weary sigh. "Yeah…I better go look for her, then…" I mutter and put my
schoolwork into my satchel. I give Neville a nod and then make my way towards the portrait
hole, pulling the Marauder's Map from my bag to check if she's gone to the library.

Just before I've managed to step outside, the painting swings open, revealing Hermione.

"Oh. Hi, Harry!" She says, a tight smile on her lips as she glances warily into the room. As
soon as her eyes stop at the sofa, her expression becomes cold.

"I'm actually going to go to my dormitory, so, if you'll excuse me," She says quickly, her
voice too high to be normal, even though she tries. I grab her hand, stopping her in her tracks.

"Hermione," I say quietly. "Don't, please? Can't we all just…stop this?" I say helplessly and
pull her closer to me so I don't have to raise my voice.

Hermione narrows her eyes at me. "There's nothing to stop, Harry," she says sharply, and
glances towards the fireplace again, where Ron and Lavender continue to be oblivious of our
presence. "…apparently," she continues with a look of mild disgust as the smacking sounds
reach our ears.

I squeeze her hand, trying to get her attention back to me. "Are you mad because they're
together? That he's snogging her?" I ask quietly, trying to get confirmation to my suspicions,
as she hasn't really said anything of the sort to me.

Hermione scoffs. "Ron can very well snog whomever he wishes!" She hisses to me, "I am not
his mother. And as he's clearly forgotten his friends, I think I'm better without him as well!"
She whispers furiously, and snatches her hand away, whirling around and storming to the
girls' dormitory.

The sight of her striding across the room must've gotten Ron's attention, since he speaks to
me for the first time during this evening. "Hey mate, you going somewhere? It's getting late,
so…be careful, eh?" He says with a sly smirk, before returning his attention back to
Lavender.

I groan inwardly and decide to call it a night as well. My best friends are fighting, barely
speaking to me either, and setting aside the short discussion with Neville today, even my
other classmates seem too busy to hang out with me. I've never felt more alone.

Grimmauld Place, 13 December 1996

On Friday night, I'm spending my time in the library when my cousin emerges through the
doors.

"Is he hiding in here?" Nymphadora demands as she walks further.

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. "Good evening, cousin," I drawl, making her huff as she
walks to the seating area and drops down in an armchair, next to the sofa I'm situated on.
"Please. Make yourself at home."

Nymphadora gives me a bored look. "As if you aren't here every night, eagerly waiting for
someone – well, Remus – to keep you company," She says bitingly.

I lift my brows at her. "Trouble in paradise?" I ask innocently, knowing very well that Lupin
has broken off their little…agreement, for some moronic and noble reason. We haven't gone
into details, since our conversations usually are only the overall picture of a situation, but
even though Lupin hasn't said much about it, I know how to read the rest.

Nymphadora glowers at me, and I lift my hands in surrender, not wanting to end up in the
wrong end of her temper. Or her wand. "Fine. Can I offer you some tea?" I ask, more
genuinely now.

She lets her head fall back against the armchair and gives a grunt of agreement.

I summon Kreacher and ask it to prepare a light snack and tea. Then I merely listen as my
cousin starts to explain exactly what is bothering her.
"I just…I don't know what to do…" She says wearily. "I know, know, how he feels, but…I
don't understand it!" She says with a frustrated voice, her eyes closed and her face aimed
towards the ceiling.

This isn't the first time she has come here to see me when she's not on guard duty in
Hogsmeade, but it is the first time she's opening up about her relationship with Lupin. I
assume she hasn't wanted to bother me with her problems before, or, after the Ministry.

I take a cup of tea from the tray Kreacher has brought us, wishing I'd have Firewhiskey
instead, since that would help me bear to listen to the complains that are surely on their way.
Because there ought to be plenty of those, knowing how my cousin is, and also…how Lupin
is.

It is somewhat strange, how I've somehow managed to get to know these people, my brother's
friends, and actually wanted to get to know them. The indifference I once felt towards them
has vanished altogether, replaced by…some sort of attachment, I'd say.

My cousin's tirade goes on like I've predicted. After half-an-hour she takes a deep breath and
summons a bottle of Firewhiskey from her purse.

I scowl at her. "You had that all this time and you still let me suffer through you whinging
without any alcohol?" I ask sullenly as she pours liquor into two tumblers.

She gives me a wry look. "Had to be sure you listen and earn it first," she says simply, and
hands me a glass. "Cheers," she says and takes a hefty gulp from her glass.

I follow her lead and relax against the cushions, feeling warmth spreading in me as I sip my
drink.

"You do realise how much you resemble your brother?" She says lightly, eyeing the glass in
my hand pointedly, a hint of a smirk on her lips.

I give her a slight shrug. "Yes. I know he would've been utterly amused…"

Nymphadora's smile is more wistful than teasing.

"So…you gonna see Harry during the holidays?" She asks abruptly, making me twitch
slightly. Her eyes narrow with suspicion.

"Why would I meet him?" I ask stiffly, willing myself to stay disinterested. Why does she ask
that? Does she know something? Has she guessed something?

"Just asking," she says, her eyes still watching me carefully. "Heard you guys had some
argument over the summer…And now that it's settled that the kids are coming to stay at the
Burrow for Christmas…" she continues simply, a curious look in her eyes.

As if what was discussed in our last Order meeting – about Potter spending his Christmas at
Burrow and Mrs. Weasley suggesting we'd all get together over the holidays, and thus
making me act like a nervous wreck – didn't make my cousin suspicious.
I clear my throat. "Well, yes. We had." I merely say, looking away.

"Right…" She says quietly, almost knowingly.

I look back at her. "And to answer your question earlier, Lupin is not here. He's on a
mission."

She startles, her eyes widening with surprise and worry. "What? Where? Why wasn't this
discussed in the last meeting?" She quickly asks, looking disgruntled.

I give her another shrug. "No idea. Came up after that, I suppose," I merely say. I do know
where Lupin is, since he told me about the mission himself, but he also asked me not to
reveal the information to my cousin. I understand it is a somewhat dangerous task he intends
to accomplish; trying to infiltrate a pack of werewolves in the west, trying to gain their trust
so that he'd be able to hear any news regarding the Dark Lord and possibly persuade the
werewolves to our side.

And when she looks at me as she now does, with a mix of concern and annoyance and
torment in her features, I understand Lupin.

And she understands where he's gone.

Hogwarts, 19 December 1996

"Hey Mione," I say as I drop down to sit opposite to her in the library. A shushing sound
carries through the quiet place, somewhere behind the shelves, and Hermione gives me a
pointed look.

I shrug sheepishly, making room for my books and schoolwork at the table, piling up her
books in a neat stack as she focuses on her Charms essay.

Christmas is approaching with a full force, and there's only two days, well, only one day of
school left before we board the train and head towards the Burrow for the holidays. At least I
hope we'll all be there.

"Hermione…" I say tentatively as she finishes her essay with a final dot and flicks her wand
to the parchment to clean the smudges, making the ink dry faster.

"Hmm?" She hums distractedly, and then glances at me. "Oh. No." She merely says
dismissively, knowing exactly what I'm going to ask.

"Please, just…come with us, yeah?" I ask, feeling a bit desperate as she only gives me a stern
look. "You don't even have to hang out with him, I mean, I'm there…Ginny's there, the twins,
I reckon even Lupin and Tonks…"

Hermione lets out a deep sigh. "Harry…You don't understand."

I shake my head slowly at her. "Yeah, I do. You obviously liked him. But now you can't even
be in the same room with him…" I say resignedly.
Hermione frowns and looks away, hurt flashing in her eyes. "I've made my decision. I already
told my parents I'll be with them, and we're probably going to see relatives and…" She says,
her words ending up with another sigh.

There's a short silence.

"You know, Harry, you should be careful. Apparently, Romilda Vane and her brainless friends
are planning to slip you some Love Potion," she suddenly says, as if remembering it, and
proceeds to explain how she overheard them in the girls' bathroom.

I let out a scoff. "I'd like to see them try," I grumble. "And if you were there, why didn't you
confiscate the potions?" I ask exasperatedly, feeling irritated again.

Hermione rolls her eyes. "They obviously didn't have the potions with them. I'm just warning
you. You should take someone to the party, Harry…I think that would get them off of your
back for a while," she says, her voice gentle even though her eyes show how frustrated she is.

"Yeah, well. There's no one I…" I mutter, my voice trailing off when a black-haired boy with
grey intense eyes pops into my mind. I rub the bridge of my nose, shrugging off my thoughts.

"I don't suppose we could go together?" I ask with a small cringe, remembering how annoyed
Hermione was in our fourth year when Ron asked her the last minute.

Instead she gives me an embarrassed grimace. "I, uh…I might've asked McLaggen already."

"What?!" I ask loudly, and give her an incredulous look.

Hermione shrugs awkwardly.

I haven't got any time to press further information as Madam Pince stalks around the
bookshelf and orders us out since it is near closing time and we are making too much noise,
disturbing her precious books. But I know I'm sure as hell not going to let this one slide.
 Someone To Stay
Chapter Notes

You know, just cause it's Friday... And I just couldn't wait to give you guys this!

Chapter 18: Someone To Stay

The Hogwarts Express, 21 December 1996

"What are you going to do?" Hermione asks as soon as we step into an empty compartment
and cast a Muffliato to the closed door, knowing there's no trouble using a bit of magic on the
train.

I shrug as we take opposite seats on the benches. "I dunno…I mean, I think I should see
him…" I say unsurely. "I just…" I mutter, my voice trailing off. I just don't know if I'm able
to face him, even though his letter suggests that he only wants to apologise.

A couple of days ago, on Thursday night to be exact, I received a letter from Regulus. I didn't
really have much time to talk about it with Hermione before this morning, since yesterday we
had a busy day with all our classes during the day and Slughorn's Christmas party in the
evening.

Hermione lifts her brows a bit. "You never told me what exactly did he say to you when you
went to see him in the summer?" She asks with a gentle voice.

I swallow and look away, remembering his words like it was yesterday. How bad they had
felt, especially since at least partly, he had been right. I know I didn't kill my godfather, and
I'm not the reason he's gone. But I didn't close him out of my mind, and I blindly believed the
visions to be real…

"Harry? Did he…he blamed you for Sirius's…death, didn't he?" Hermione asks very quietly,
an anxious look in her eyes.

I frown at the floor and take a steadying breath before nodding lightly. "Yeah."

Hermione lets out an outraged scoff. "He shouldn't have. Harry, that was –"

"No, Hermione. He was right," I say tightly and look at her. "Not…not completely, but…I'm
partly to blame." I say, clenching my jaw.

Hermione shakes her head hastily. "No. Harry, no, you're not. You know who did this.
You know who's behind this all."
"Yeah." I only say wearily, not wanting to talk about my godfather's death. I look out of the
window, to the snowy countryside whirling under my gaze as the train pushes forward.

After a short silence Hermione speaks again. "If we're going to determine whether or not you
are going to meet him, I think we should hear it again," she says with an expectant look.

I give her a wry glance, but comply since I really need her insight in this.

I pull the folded piece of parchment from my pocket, open it, and read the letter aloud after
clearing my throat.

Potter,

I am aware that I might be too late, but I hope you will still take this into consideration.

I would like to apologise my behaviour the last time we met each other, as I now understand
what I said was harsh and caused purely by my own unhappiness.

To settle matters, if it isn't too inconvenient for you, I would be grateful if you could meet me
during the holidays.

R.A.B.

Hermione chews her bottom lip in thought as I push the letter back to my pocket. "Well?" I
ask impatiently.

Hermione hums in thought. "Well, I think you should go," she says slowly. "He obviously
wants to apologise in person, and he even has admitted in there that what he said last summer
was unreasonable," She continues, nudging her head towards my jacket pocket where I have
slipped the letter.

"Yeah…" I say, going over the letter in my head once more. "Yeah. I'll meet him." I say more
firmly.

Hermione looks excited. "Great! I'm sure it goes well, Harry." She says with a reassuring
smile, and then gives me a meaningful look. "And you know…You might even have an
interesting Christmas..."

I arch a brow at her. "As interesting as your night with McLaggen?" I ask, unable to hold it in
anymore, now that Ron's not around. I have to admit, I was stunned when I first heard that
she was going to take McLaggen to Slughorn's Christmas party, at least until she told me
why. Apparently, she only took him as her date to annoy Ron.

I'm still not sure if that's better than if she was willingly dating the bloke, since now she's
only trying to make our friend jealous.

The plan hadn't gone exactly how Hermione had thought, as it seemed that McLaggen didn't
have any other aspiration for the evening than to snog my friend senseless and…well…
probably to get into her knickers. So…she basically spent the night hiding from him.
Hermione groans. "Don't remind me, Harry. I think my lips are permanently bruised because
of him," She says with an uncomfortable shiver.

I gape at her. "You actually snogged him?!" I yell just as the door – which we apparently
forgot to lock – opens. Ron stands there, with Lavender peeking behind him to our
compartment.

"W-What?" Ron mutters quietly, looking from me to Hermione, confusion written all over his
face.

Lavender seems to understand the situation more quickly. "Ooooh, you snogged Cormac? At
the party?" She gushes, an excited look in her eyes.

Hermione stares stonily at the pair in the doorway.

"Oh, Hermione, can I go tell Parvati?" Lavender continues, even though we all know that
Parvati – and every other person in the train – will be told anyway before we even have
reached the King's Cross Station.

Hermione shrugs stiffly. "Be my guest."

Ron seems to not notice that his girlfriend leaves to see her friends, since he's busy gaping at
Hermione, his face red with…anger, and hurt.

I feel utterly ashamed by my mistake. I certainly did not make things easier for anyone. I
clear my throat, trying to steer the conversation away from the topic, hoping that we could all
forget about it. "Hey, mate, you gonna join us?" I ask carefully, but it seems that Ron's still
having a staring contest with Hermione.

"Ron?" I ask again.

Ron flinches, and turns to look at me. "No, I'm…I'll go find Lav," He mutters and then leaves
the compartment, closing the door behind him as he walks stiffly away.

I close my eyes in embarrassment as I lean forward and bring my hands up to rub my face.
"Shit…I'm sorry…" I say, not able to look at Hermione.

She sighs, and I imagine her giving me a reprimanding look because of the swearing. "…It's
okay, Harry. It's not like you planned for him to hear that…right?" She asks, tentatively.

I lift my head quickly, and give her an incredulous look. "Of course not!"

"Okay, okay," She says then, in a calming manner. "Then let's just…forget about it. I'm sure
Ron will forget about it as well…" She says simply, looking anything but assured by her
words.

"Yeah." I mutter, not really believing her either.

The train ride continues more or less in silence, and only when Ginny, Neville, Seamus and
Dean join us in our compartment, we are able to let go of the unfortunate incident and enjoy
the rest of the ride with our friends.

The Burrow, 22 December 1996

"You sure you didn't see them together?"

"Yes, I'm sure, like I told you already," I say, and then mutter, "a million times."

"I'm only checking!" Ron says with irritation, obviously hearing my every word. We're at the
Burrow's kitchen, helping Mrs. Weasley to prepare dinner by peeling a mountain of sprouts.
We've managed to already go through the suspicious encounter between Snape and Malfoy I
witnessed at Slughorn's party, and we've moved – again – to what happened between
Hermione and McLaggen.

Yesterday, after we arrived here, I talked with Mr. Weasley, and told him that I had been
writing with Sirius's brother – not really explaining it further – and that I'd like to meet him,
if it wasn't a problem for them. Mrs. Weasley had overheard our conversation and decided
that I shouldn't be going alone, as we might as well all go and bring the poor man something
to eat.

And now we're making dinner for an army to take with us before we go there. Apparently
Mrs. Weasley has visited Grimmauld Place a couple of times during the past month,
supplying Regulus and Kreacher food as Lupin has been on a mission somewhere.

"Aaah, George, look at this. They're using knives and everything. Bless them." Fred says with
amusement as the twins enter the kitchen.

"I'll be seventeen in two- and a-bit months' time," Ron says grumpily, "and then I'll be able to
do it by magic!"

"But meanwhile," George says as he sits down at the kitchen table and puts his feet up on it,
"we can enjoy watching you demonstrate the correct use of a — whoopsadaisy!" He says as
he flicks his wand, making the knife slip in Ron's hand and making it cut his thumb.

"You made me do that!" Ron growls at his brother, sucking his cut thumb. "You wait, when
I'm seventeen —"

"I'm sure you'll dazzle us all with hitherto unsuspected magical skills," Fred says with a bored
voice.

"And speaking of hitherto unsuspected skills, Ronald," George continues, "what is this we
hear from Ginny about you and a young lady called — unless our information is faulty —
Lavender Brown?"

Ron narrows his eyes at his brothers, his cheeks slightly pink before he turns back to the sink.
"Mind your own business."

I try to ignore Ron and his brothers, not really wanting to participate into their bickering.
"What a snappy retort," Fred says simply. "I really don't know how you think of them. No,
what we wanted to know was… how did it happen?"

"What d'you mean?" Ron says, turning back to them, looking suspicious.

"Did she have an accident or something?" George says with a slight grin.

Oh no…I have a bad feeling about this…

"What?" Ron asks incredulously.

"Well, how did she sustain such extensive brain damage?" Fred says with a wink.

Ron growls and throws the sprout knife at Fred, who sniggers and turns it into a paper
airplane with a lazy flick of his wand.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Weasley has just entered the kitchen to see Ron's knife performance.

"RONALD!" she screams furiously. "Don't you ever let me see you throwing knives again!"

"I won't," Ron says, "let you see," he adds, speaking under his breath as he turns back to the
sprout mountain.

Mrs. Weasley is already explaining the twins about who is going to stay in which room
during the holidays, since Lupin will most probably stay here from Christmas onward, as the
full moon is on Christmas Eve. Fred and George assure their mother that if it will become too
uncomfortable, they can always floo over to their apartment for the night.

Grimmauld Place, 22 December 1996

I walk through the green flames, entering the kitchen in Grimmauld Place after Mrs. Weasley,
Ron, Ginny and the twins. Mr. Weasley, Bill and Fleur are still working, all of them joining
us for dinner as soon as they get off from work.

Regulus is there, sitting with…Tonks, of all people, at the long kitchen table. The place looks
very different from what it was during my last visit. Gone are the stains, the empty liquor
bottles, the stacks of newspaper. Even though the same pots and pans hang from the ceiling
above, the large wooden table is spotless, as is the rest of the room. It is almost
unrecognisable.

And he looks different, somehow. Healthier, brighter. There's a ghost of an amusement on his
features as if he's shared a laughter with Tonks before our arrival. Regulus greets us stiffly as
usual, and his eyes linger on mine for longer than with the others, before he tells us to make
ourselves at home.

As Mrs. Weasley busies herself with the stove – much to Kreacher's apparent annoyance –
and tells the rest of us to go upstairs as she finishes with dinner, we leave her be and follow
Regulus and Tonks towards the second floor, where we enter the library.
After a while of awkward small talk, the twins inform they'll go visit their old bedroom on
the third floor, hinting that they might've actually left something in there. Ron, Ginny and I
exchange a suspicious look, but say nothing. Who knows what they're up to…

Ron suggests a wizarding chess game after another silence, and none of us seem really
enthusiastic about that, since at least Ginny and I know how brilliant Ron's at it.

"I actually was wondering, that…um…" I say and glance at Regulus.

His brows twitch upwards. "Yes?"

I scratch my neck, feeling anxious. "If it's okay for me to visit Sirius's room?"

Regulus seems surprised, but nods. "Of course. Do you want me to…?"

"Yeah. Yeah, okay," I quickly say, grateful that Ron has managed to talk Ginny into that chess
game after all, and thus their attention is focused elsewhere.

Although, as Regulus and I stand up and walk towards the library doors, I notice Tonks's
stare following us, a knowing smirk on her features.

We make our way upstairs, both of us silent, only our steps echoing in the staircase. We stop
on the third floor to listen to the noise carrying out from the guest room Fred and George are
occupying, and when all we can hear is laughter and discussion – and not, well, explosions –
we continue upstairs to the fourth and topmost landing.

There're only two doors, and as I step into Sirius's room after Regulus, I realise I've never
been in the room before. Regulus waves his wand to light the lamp on the bedside table and
the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The room itself is spacious with dark wood flooring
and a large four-poster bed with red hangings and a golden duvet, placed almost in the middle
of the room. On the left side of the room there's a small reading nook: a comfortable looking
armchair in front of a large bookshelf, next to a pair of tall windows, framed by red and
golden curtains. On the right side of the room, next to what I presume is a bathroom door,
there's a large desk against one wall and a wide wooden wardrobe against another. But what
is the most interesting part in the room, besides being decorated with a vibrant red and gold
theme, the entire wall behind the writing desk is filled with different kinds of posters and
pictures, some of them moving and some not.

I take a couple of steps closer to see the moving pictures, and instantly notice a large, framed
photograph of my father and Sirius, grinning widely at the camera, their arms thrown over
each other's shoulders. I smile at the two young men in their school robes, old enough to be in
their last years at Hogwarts.

There's another, smaller picture, also from Hogwarts, where Sirius is surrounded by half a
dozen girls who fawn over him, batting their eyelashes while Sirius winks at couple of the
girls, biting his lip and looking smug as hell. I huff at the picture and shake my head in
amusement.
"Brother sure liked the attention back then…" Regulus mutters wryly, and only then I
remember he is in the room with me. Regulus's gaze flickers to another picture, and he
becomes solemn. I follow his line of sight, and see a picture of the brothers, taken obviously
after Sirius escaped from Azkaban and after Regulus came into this time. They are at
Grimmauld Place, in the drawing room, leaning against a sturdy, but intricately detailed
dresser, neither of them looking at the camera as they're busy laughing at something, perhaps
something one of them had said.

I can't help but smile at the picture. Both of them look so carefree…and happy.

"That was my birthday, actually," Regulus explains as I examine the details of the picture.
Both men are wearing dress robes. "Last May," he continues quietly.

I glance at him, suddenly curious. "Oh?"

Regulus's lips twitch upwards. "Yeah, my brother insisted to organise a ball in my honour,
even if it was mostly the two of us. Though he managed to get some of the Order members to
pop by as well…" He says pensively.

I clear my throat. "That explains the dress robes," I say lightly.

Regulus's lets out a small chuckle. "Yeah. Fun night. At least after brother stopped dragging
me to dance with him," he says, his smile fading as a small frown takes place between his
brows.

And I know where his thoughts are. It's not exactly easy to look at the picture, to see my
godfather so joyful, and not think about the fact that he died only a month after it was taken.

"I'm sorry." I blurt out, turning to look at him, away from the photograph.

Regulus arches a brow at me. "I was under the impression that that was supposed to go the
other way around," he says dryly.

I give him a helpless shrug. "Still am. Sorry." And it's the truth. I'm sorry he lost his brother.
I'm sorry I lost my godfather. I'm sorry for playing a part in what happened to him, even if it
was Voldemort's doing. Even if it was Bellatrix who ultimately killed him.

Regulus sighs, and then fixes a hard look at me, making my pulse speed momentarily. "Look.
Potter. I…I know you're not to blame for this, for what happened to my brother. You're not
the reason Sirius is gone. I know that. And I apologise if I made you believe so. I apologise
that I…that I hurt you," he says steadily, and then swallows. My gaze flickers briefly at his
bobbing throat as I process his words.

"I…thanks." I manage to say, my throat constricting as I move my gaze back to his eyes. I
can feel my shoulders relax slightly, as if a heavy lift has been taken away.

He studies my features, an inscrutable look in his eyes before he turns his attention to the
writing desk, to a stack of small photographs piled neatly on the table.
"They're the only ones that came off." He says, and after seeing my puzzled look, he
continues, "from the wall." He points at the wall behind the desk, and only then I notice small
empty spots in the midst of all the posters and larger photographs.

"Sirius enjoyed annoying our mother, putting most of these up with Permanent Sticking
Charms and other spells, so thoroughly that he himself was unable to take them off
afterwards," He says with a small smirk playing on his lips as he glances at some of the
posters featuring Muggle bands, motorcycles and…bikini-clad girls.

A small laugh escapes from my throat. "Yeah, seems like he had a lot of nerve," I say and
stare at a poster where a bikini-clad girl leans against a motorcycle, staring coyly at the
camera.

Regulus clears his throat. "You can take them," he says and gestures to the stack of
photographs.

"Oh. You sure…?" I ask, my hand moving towards them hesitantly.

"I am," he says curtly. His expression then turns into a wry one. "And, well, seeing that you
own everything in this house…" he says, a sly smile curving his lips.

I roll my eyes at him. "You know it's not like that…" I grumble dryly, and Regulus huffs a
laughter, backing away to lean against the bed post.

I take the photographs and follow Regulus, and take a seat on the bed, where I spread them,
wanting to see as many as I can in one view.

A surge of emotion stills me, numbs me. There are so many of them. So many with my mum,
dad, Sirius, Lupin…even Pettigrew looks young and innocent, untroubled in the pictures he's
included in. There's one where my parents kiss and Sirius stalks behind them, trying to startle
them, but they end up attacking Sirius, bringing him down to the living room floor in, what I
assume is Godric's Hollow.

There's one where the Marauders are outside, playing some sort of piggyback game by
themselves, in what looks like the middle of an orchard. Similar to what the Weasleys have,
but still different. I wonder where the picture has been taken.

There's dad and Sirius again, in their Quidditch gear, their brooms tossed over their
shoulders, hairs windswept as they beam at the camera. I wish I'd seen them play…

"I'll be downstairs…" Regulus says quietly, and I give him an absent nod, absorbed in staring
at the pictures in front of me.

A while – twenty, maybe thirty minutes later, I pocket the pictures, opting to continue looking
at them later.

As I walk downstairs, a delicious whiff of Mrs. Weasley's stew carries to the stairway, and
instead of going back to the library, I decide to return to the kitchen, my stomach rumbling
agreeably. I walk past the third floor where I still hear Fred and George chattering, past the
second floor where I assume Tonks, Ron and Ginny are still, engaged into the chess match,
and then, on the first floor, as I'm about to walk past the drawing room, I stop in my tracks.
The door's open, and Regulus is there, crouched in front of the Black family tapestry, his
fingers brushing the textile.

I frown and enter the room, closing the door behind me. "Hey." I say quietly, and walk to
him.

Regulus gives me a conflicted glance before he looks away, dropping his hands to his sides as
he straightens up.

"What's –" I manage to say, my words stopping in my throat when I see where his fingers had
been.

Under Sirius's scorched name, in the tapestry, there's his date of birth, and under that, there is
– there should be – his death date. But the spot is empty.

"Harry," Regulus says quietly, and I can't even focus on how him calling me by my first name
makes my stomach jolt, as words merely tumble out of my mouth.

"What is this? What are you…Is this you? Wh – I mean, shouldn't there be –" I stammer, not
really knowing how to continue. What the hell is going on? Why isn't Sirius's death date
there? He is dead. I saw him die.

Regulus lets out a weary sigh. "Listen. I don't know if I should be telling you this, since
nobody else believes me, but –"

"You're saying he's not dead?" I ask sharply, interrupting him, a sliver of hope running
through me, quashed by desperation and disbelief.

Regulus lets out a small wince, his eyes trailing over the room before returning back to me.

"Yes." He says quietly, giving me a challenging look.

But this is – what – is not – I mean, this is nothing to be argued with…Sirius died. He's gone.
I was there.

Whatever the hell Regulus thinks, is…wrong.

"You're…" I say, and swallow hard, having a hard time to gather my thoughts.
"You're..." Wrong – I want to say, or in denial, but I…can't. I give him a long look before I
speak, quietly and very deliberately.

"Prove it."

Regulus appears to be startled by my words, and he frowns faintly before he speaks.

"The last words my brother said to you, was ordering you to get out, take the prophecy, grab
your friend Neville, and run," he says slowly. "Then he started duelling our cousin."
A cold shiver runs up my spine, because I remember the words, I remember how he looked at
me, with fear and fierce protectiveness. I remember every word. And somehow, Regulus
knows them too. Of course, it is possible that some of the others at the Ministry might've
heard Sirius, but I doubt it. There was too much of noise coming from everywhere, and no
one was near us at that moment, the moment before he ran to duel Bellatrix.

"I-I…" I say, my voice faltering, an overwhelming feeling taking over. "…How would you
know that?" I whisper, gaping at him in shock.

Regulus's brows knit together in a deep frown as a pained look flashes in his eyes. "I've seen
him. At first, I thought they were dreams, but they're not. Not after I saw this," He says and
looks at the tapestry, at the empty spot.

"I've talked with him. About a lot of things," He continues calmly, studying my reaction.

I can only stare ahead with a stoical look. How can this be possible? I try to wrap my head
around the thought as Regulus proceeds to explain to me how he thinks his brother is being
trapped, not yet moved on, but not with the living anymore. That he's struggling, trying to
stay there, trying not to go to the voices that are calling for him. That there has to be some
studies about the Death Chamber in the Ministry, that there has to be a way for him to come
back.

"You're not saying anything." Regulus says after a short silence.

I rub the bridge of my nose, feeling stunned, speechless. What should I say to all of that? I
begin to shake my head in bewilderment, while Regulus's posture stiffens, his expression
turning blank.

"Hey, I don't –" I try to explain, trying to tell him to give me some time to think about this,
but the door opens, and yet again someone interrupts us.

"Oh, Harry, Regulus…dinner's ready." Mrs. Weasley informs kindly and then turns to walk
back downstairs.

Regulus gives me one last expressionless look before he swiftly turns and walks towards the
kitchen.

I could have handled this better. Bloody hell.

The Burrow, 26 December 1996

"Really, Molly. You are too kind," Lupin says for what feels like the hundredth time.

I was invited to the Weasley residence for late Christmas dinner. A dinner, that usually takes
place on Christmas day, but because of Lupin's…illness, it was decided to be kept later. And
it's not that I mind, since, well, I didn't have any plans for the holidays to begin with.

As I glance around the large table in the crammed kitchen, I amuse myself with the thought
what my brother would say to me if he saw me right now. What he'd think if he saw me
sitting amongst these people, not really bothered by my surroundings in a way I would have
been in the past – although, I have to say the place seemed a bit odd at first – with Mrs.
Weasley's handmade Christmas jumper on top of my pressed shirt, a clothing which
apparently everyone here wears during the Holiday.

I sit between Ms. Weasley and Potter, opposite to Ms. Delacour, who occasionally flashes a
wide sweet smile at our direction, making the young woman beside me bristle with irritation,
while Potter and his friend Weasley struggle to keep their faces from colouring as they clear
their throats loudly. A part-Veela, that goes without saying.

We haven't traded many words with Potter, and it is obvious he has been avoiding my gaze
since I arrived here. I know I shouldn't have said anything to him. I should've lied. I should've
told him that the tapestry was merely malfunctioning, that it was only doing so because my
brother was disowned. Anything would've been better than the truth, it seems.

It is not difficult to keep the feelings of irritation and disappointment to myself. I really
wasn't counting on him to believe me. Potter, on the other hand, has not mastered the art of
shutting his emotions away, if the confusion and frustration radiating from him have anything
to go with.

I'm relieved that no one else has taken interest in his odd and sullen behaviour, as everyone is
busy focusing on Lupin's and my cousin's inaudible and tense interaction, in which my cousin
sends the poor man several glares, while Lupin, sitting opposite to her, tries his best to ignore
them.

After dinner, everyone retreats to the brightly decorated living room, to listen to the wireless,
to play Exploding Snap, and overall relax. My cousin bids me and everyone else her
goodbyes, as she is due to a night shift at the Hogsmeade village. As soon as she's gone,
Lupin retreats to stand in front of the fireplace, a stricken look in his eyes as he stares at the
dancing flames.

At first, I do not really pay attention to anyone as I sit in the corner on one of the two large
sofas, contemplating the right moment to take my leave, but as Mr. Weasley and Potter –
situated in the armchairs close to me – start discussing something regarding the Malfoy
Manor, an inspection, or so it seems, my interest is piqued.

"I checked, Harry," Mr. Weasley says with a low voice. "I went and searched the Malfoys'
house. There was nothing, either broken or whole, that shouldn't have been there."

"Yeah, I know, I saw in the Prophet that you'd looked…but there's actually more to it," Potter
says quietly.

He then proceeds to explain something that is even more interesting. Something about
overhearing Severus offering his help to the Malfoy boy, about making an Unbreakable Vow
to Narcissa.

"Has it occurred to you, Harry," Mr. Weasley says kindly, "that Snape was simply pretending
— ?"
"Pretending to offer help, so that he could find out what Malfoy's up to?" Potter says quickly,
a tense tone in his voice. "Yeah, I thought you'd say that. But how do we know?"

"It isn't our business to know," Lupin says suddenly, turning away from the fireplace and
facing Potter and Mr. Weasley. He glances at me, knowing that I've been listening to the
conversation as well. "It's Dumbledore's business. Dumbledore trusts Severus, and that ought
to be good enough for all of us."

"But," Potter says, seeming hesitant. "Just say — just say Dumbledore's wrong about Snape
—"

"People have said it, many times. It comes down to whether or not you trust Dumbledore's
judgment. I do; therefore, I trust Severus." Lupin says simply.

"But Dumbledore can make mistakes," Potter argues. "He says it himself. And you" — he
glances at me before fixing a firm look at Lupin — "do you honestly like Snape?"

"I neither like nor dislike Severus," Lupin says simply. "No, Harry, I am speaking the truth,"
he adds to Potter's sceptical expression. "We shall never be bosom friends, perhaps; after all
that happened between James and Sirius and Severus, there is too much bitterness there. But I
do not forget that during the year I taught at Hogwarts, Severus made the Wolfsbane Potion
for me every month, made it perfectly, so that I did not have to suffer as I usually do during
the full moon."

I lift my brows to that bit of information, as it doesn't sound like anything the Severus I knew
would do from the kindness of his heart. And the part about Severus making an Unbreakable
Vow just seems…unbelievable. Something I will certainly bring up the next time I meet him.
But even if the Vow is probably just what they had said - a way to find out what the Malfoy
kid is up to - there's no doubt that the man is scheming something.

The two of them continue arguing about Severus for a while, until Mr. Weasley suggests a
nightcap, leaping to his feet to prepare eggnog.

As Potter and Lupin start to talk about Lupin's mission, and then about his youth and how he
became a werewolf, I decide that that is my cue to leave and head back home after thanking
my hosts.

I slip out from the kitchen door moments after Regulus, hoping to catch him before he
reaches over the wards where he can disapparate. But he's there, standing on the porch, his
back against the house, gazing up at the dark and starry sky. I suddenly feel goose bumps
erupt up my spine that have nothing to do with the cold winter air.

"Hey," I say as he turns towards me from the sound of the door. "You're leaving already?" I
continue, feeling uncertain. He hasn't as much as glanced at me during the whole night. And
it's not like I've been actively trying to start a conversation with him, but it's just…it's been
rather difficult, being around him after what he told me.
He studies me with an unreadable look, his hands in the pockets of his pressed trousers, the
silver embroidered dark green Christmas jumper Mrs. Weasley had knitted for him making a
bizarre contrast to his usually smart appearance. "Yes," He says quietly.

I know I came to see him for a reason. I know there's something I want to discuss with him.
Something I need to say to him, but I'm at a loss of words.

Regulus clears his throat after a minute's silence. "What did Scrimgeour want from you? …I
heard he came by earlier?" He asks with a hint of curiosity in his voice.

I lift my brows with a mild surprise, feeling relieved and disappointed at the same time. I take
a step towards him, mirroring his stance and push my hands in the pockets of my jeans – it's
not exactly warm outside, even with the warming charms Fred and George set up into the
garden before dinner.

"Er…Yeah, he did," I say with a sigh. "Just what you'd expect, I reckon…Asking me to be
the Ministry's mascot, to pretend they're winning the war against Voldemort," I say, unable to
stop the bitterness seeping into my voice.

Regulus still flinches at the name, even though he has heard it at least once every time I've
been in his company. He lifts a hand and threads it through his hair, and only now I notice it
has grown longer since the last time I've taken a good look at him. He resembles so much of
his brother, that it nearly hurts.

"I suppose you turned him down, then?" He asks as his eyes flicker over my face, watching
my expression carefully.

I give him a shrug and a small smirk. "Don't see there could've been any other way…"

He nods slowly, still staring at me with a contemplative look, almost as if forgetting himself.
I rub my neck as I start to feel a little too self-conscious under his gaze, and then he suddenly
looks away, frowning at the frozen rose bushes at the end of the porch.

"I was actually just leaving," he says with an undecipherable voice, looking back to the house
behind us. "Needed a bit of fresh air before heading back home," He continues and with a
nod, he walks past me towards the apparition point.

I'm fighting an inside battle, the one I've been having since Sunday, when he told me about
Sirius and his last words. I want to believe him. Even if it sounds mad. Even if it's
impossible.

If there's even a small chance to get Sirius back, I know I'll do anything.

"Wait."

Regulus turns around with an inquisitive look on his face, instead of an annoyed one, which I
had been expecting. "Yes?" He asks quietly, staying in place.

I quickly make the couple of steps to him and take a deep breath before speaking. "What you
said about…about Sirius," I start awkwardly.
His expression remains neutral as he speaks, but I can hear anticipation in his voice. "What
about it?"

"I'm…I…" I mutter and lick my lips, anxious to say it aloud, since that'll make it final. "I
believe you. I want to believe you. That – that he's not gone. That Sirius's not gone." I say
finally and look at him intently.

I've had time to think this through. What Regulus said to me, my godfather's last words…
there's no way anyone but me or Sirius could've recited them, word for word. And then
there's the tapestry. And the missing body. It's just…It has to be true. I need it to be true. I
need him back. I need him so much it hurts.

Something flickers in Regulus's eyes, relief, perhaps…or fear, maybe. Either way, he looks
more open he has in a long time, his brow furrowing slightly as he swallows hard.

"I'm glad." He breathes after a short silence, not at all the withdrawn and imperious man he
usually is around me and others. He looks younger like this, more vulnerable.

The silence between us stretches, and deep down, I don't want it to end. Because I don't want
him to leave. Regulus too seems uncertain, like he's indecisive about something.

"I would like to – "

" – Are you sure you don't want to – "

We both start at the same time, and I let out a small chuckle as the corners of his lips turn
upwards. I lift my brows expectantly, signalling for him to speak first.

His eyes run over my face, assessing, before he speaks. "I would like to request a meeting
with you," he says tensely.

I give him an amused look. "A what?" I say, unable to stop the grin spreading. Is he asking
me to stop by at Grimmauld?

Regulus rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean," He grumbles and then frowns, looking
unsure. "Perhaps we could have dinner…"

As I feel my eyebrows lifting with surprise, he quickly continues, "To discuss my brother's
circumstances, of course."

"Oh!" I manage to say between feeling stunned and gleeful and, well, disappointed. "Of
course," I tell him, the grin persistent on my lips when he actually blushes.

"You can stop beaming like a loon, Potter," he says tightly, looking flustered.

I let out nervous chuckle. "Sorry, I…it just sounded a bit different in my head, I guess…" I
say, grimacing inwardly at my wayward thoughts.

He arches a brow at me, suddenly looking sombre. There's an intense silence as we both stare
at each other, trying to read the other.
"…And what if it was? Different, I mean." He says finally, his voice quiet and careful.

My throat feels tight all of a sudden. Are we talking about the same thing here?

"Um...I, um…" I stammer, feeling the colour rising upwards from my neck.

A small frown appears between his brows. "Look, Potter – " he starts with a frustrated look.

"Yeah, I think I'd like that," I say quickly, not wanting him to take his words back.

Regulus's eyes widen somewhat. "Oh." He says, seeming too stunned to say anything else.

"Yeah." I say, feeling the need to fill the awkward silence.

Regulus clears his throat. "That's…good. I think," he says, looking still bewildered even
though his lips curve up in a small smile.

I can't stop myself from mirroring his expression. "So…um…what about tomorrow?" I ask,
struggling to keep the eagerness and nervousness seeping into my voice.

He notices though.

Regulus takes a step towards me, standing now so close that I could touch him if I extended
my arm. Even thinking about it makes my heart beating faster. I release a shaky breath and let
my gaze trail up his frame, until I meet his darkened eyes.

He gives me an almost imperceptible nod, his eyes dropping down to my lips for a long
moment. "Tomorrow's good," he says quietly.

The anticipation is killing me. The mere thought of him leaning closer to me – not
downwards since I'm now almost as tall as he is, which is strange, because it's so different
from what it was almost a year before – makes me think all kinds of thoughts. Makes me feel
curious, excited…itching…craving.

"What were you going to say? Earlier?" He asks, his voice so soft and so low it makes my
head spin.

It takes me a moment before I understand what he is asking. "Um…I was…just going to ask
if you'd like to go back inside to talk," I say, feeling out of breath.

Regulus gives me a small smile. "Tomorrow?" He asks instead, his eyes moving across my
face, studying me.

I swallow down the disappointment and frustration I know have everything to do with him
leaving and respond to his smile. "Tomorrow."

Regulus nods me goodbye and squeezes my arm lightly before he turns and walks towards
the apparition point.
I stare at his retreating back until he vanishes into the darkness. Only after I hear the faint pop
of disapparation, I release a loud puff of breath that changes into a quiet laughter.

I'm grinning all the way back to the house. Sirius is alive. And Regulus is…well, he's
something, isn't he.

Definitely an interesting Christmas.

 The Way
Chapter Notes

I seem to be way ahead of my posting schedule! Promise me you won't get used to this...
;)

Chapter 19: The Way

The Burrow, 27 December 1996

I wake up, bleary eyed, after tossing and turning for the better part of the night. There were
just too many thoughts circling in my head. I must've been awake until two or three in the
morning, listening to Ron's faint snoring while I went through the details of last night's
discussion with Regulus over and over again.

I spent a large amount of time wondering and worrying over Sirius, how alone he must be
there, how afraid he probably is, stuck in the chamber, only voices keeping him company. I
know it would be the last thing Sirius will admit to his brother, not wanting to make him
more anxious or upset than he already is. And he is, I could see it in his eyes. But there was
also hope, and there was relief when I said I believed him. When Regulus realised that he
wasn't alone in this.

There's a crash in the staircase and Mrs. Weasley's loud voice, scolding the twins. Ron groans
loudly in his bed, pulling the pillow from under his head on top of it, trying to muffle the
sounds coming from outside of the room.

I toss my pillow towards him. "Wake up, sleeping beauty," I quip as I roll out of bed and
throw a shirt over my head before propping my glasses against the bridge of my nose. "I can
smell the breakfast, mate," I continue and walk towards the door as Ron turns on his side,
grumbling under his breath.

I leave my friend be and make my way downstairs towards the kitchen, meeting Ginny on the
first floor.

"Hey, Harry," She says between a yawn, looking as tired as I feel. "Didn't sleep well, huh?"
She asks after giving me a quick glance before we descend the last steps to the hallway on the
ground floor.

I shrug. "Well, you know. Your brother snores," I say lightly, and she snorts.

"Like a freight train, I know," She says with a smirk. We enter the kitchen and find Fred and
George there with their mother, who's in the process of giving her sons an earful. Apparently,
the twins had left something in their room that had caused a mild explosion as Mrs. Weasley
tried to enter their room to pick up dirty laundry.

Fred winks to us as George continues to soothe their greatly annoyed mother. "Mum, Fred
and I know we were inconsiderate. And once again, we apologise," He says with a remorseful
smile, his hand resting reassuringly on her shoulder. "And, you know, if there's anything,
anything, we can do to make it up to you, just say the word," He continues, and for a
moment, I think he might be overselling it, but then Mrs. Weasley's expression actually
softens.

"Alright, boys…" She says with a warm smile as she gazes at her sons, who both are dressed
impeccably in identical purple set of robes, ready for a day in the office. "Oh, you boys look
so handsome!"

Both Fred and George give their mother an identical charming smile. Merlin they're good.

"Come on, let me wrap you a lunch to go with," She continues and turns to pull food from the
cabinets.

Ginny rolls her eyes as she takes a seat at the table and proceeds to load her plate from the
lavish breakfast selection. I follow her example and sit opposite to her, next to Fred, who is
finishing emptying his plate.

"And maybe there's still that cake from last night…?" Fred asks innocently, while Ginny
narrows her eyes at her brother.

"You better not take the rest of it," She mutters, while Fred and George chuckle under their
breaths.

Mrs. Weasley ends up giving them both hefty pieces of last night's chocolate cake, while
Ginny continues to look sour. The twins say their goodbyes and before they leave, Fred turns
to me.

"The sleeping beauty still rolling around in his bed?" He asks slyly, and I can't help but
wonder if that was a coincidence or do they have more of those Extendable Ears lying around
in here…?

Making a mental note of the possibility, I give him a light shrug. "Yeah, probably."

Fred and George exchange a mischievous grin before they leave the kitchen. Five minutes
later Ron yells and swears loudly as he thumps down the stairs, and before he's reached the
ground floor, the last of the green flames from the fireplace have vanished, along with the
twins.

"THOSE – BLOODY – "

"Ronald," Mrs. Weasley warns from behind the stove.

Ron barges into the kitchen, dripping wet. His hair is also purple, several inches longer and
plastered to his cheeks and against his shoulders. Both Ginny and I snort loudly towards our
plates, trying not to choke on what we eat.

" – WANKERS!"

"Shame on you, Ronald Weasley!" Mrs. Weasley says sharply and turns to look at her son,
and I have to give it to her; she doesn't even flinch. Her mouth stays in a firm line, while I
have to bite my lip hard as I try not to laugh, and Ginny can't even do that, as a loud snigger
escapes from her.

Ron scowls at us and then he turns on his heels and marches back upstairs.

Mrs. Weasley huffs, and after a short while, she joins us at the table.

"Mum, are we going to stop by at Diagon any time soon? Preferably before Hogwarts? I need
a new broom polish and some Owl treats for Arnold," Ginny says after taking a long sip of
tea.

I give her a puzzled look. "Isn't Arnold a Pygmy Puff? I mean, can you feed them Owl
treats?" I try to rack my brain to remember what was said about those little creatures in the
Care of Magical Creatures, but as I draw a blank, I reckon that the creatures were probably
not even mentioned. Which really isn't that surprising, knowing Hagrid and his creatures of
choice.

Ginny shrugs. "Yeah, they'll eat almost anything, but Arnold seems to have taken a liking to
Owl treats specifically."

"Well, I need to discuss with your father first," Mrs. Weasley says to Ginny, looking hesitant.
"I do not think it is safe enough for us to go there without him, or at least…" Her voice trails
off as her eyes flicker to me.

"I don't have to go," I say quickly. "I can stay here, really," I continue, trying to give her a
reassuring smile. It's not that I don't want to go, but the Weasleys have done and sacrificed
already enough for me. I wouldn't want to inconvenience them any further.

"Oh, nonsense, Harry. Of course you can come, dear," She says softly. "I'll ask Arthur if we
can go today. He said he'd be only stopping at the office, and would come back before lunch."

Then I remember that I didn't actually say anything to the Weasleys about my plans to meet
Regulus today. Woops.

"Oh…actually, er – I've, um, agreed to meet Regulus today," I say hastily, trying not to
stumble in my words. Ginny's already looking at me with a curious expression.

Mrs. Weasley lifts her brows in surprise. "Oh. Well, I suppose we could all go then," She
says, looking thoughtful.

"No! I mean…It's okay. I'd rather go alone, if that's fine for you?" I say, and force a stricken
look on my face. "He…um…promised I could look over more Sirius's stuff today…" I
continue, hoping they'd get the message.
Which they do.

Ginny and Mrs. Weasley share a sympathetic look, before Mrs. Weasley speaks. "Of course,
dear," she says kindly, a sad glint in her eyes. "What time are you meeting him?"

Shit. Why didn't we talk anything about time? "Um…after breakfast, I suppose," I say tensely
and chew the inside of my cheek. Is he even awake at this hour? It's nearly ten, but I know
Ron would've been asleep longer than this if his brothers had let him. And if Regulus is
awake, would he expect me to come later?

"Alright, dear. You should go and get ready then. And come back for dinner, would you?
Regulus is welcome to join us," Mrs. Weasley says as she flicks her wand to send our empty
plates towards the sink.

"Yeah, I…okay." I say awkwardly and give them both a tight smile before standing up and
walking swiftly upstairs, hoping that Ron's not going to be too bothered by my plans.

Grimmauld Place, 27 December 1996

I stumble into the kitchen in Grimmauld Place twenty minutes later, grimacing as I imagine
how annoyed Regulus will be if I'm waking him up.

He's not sleeping. He's there, sitting at the table, reading the morning paper and drinking tea.
He looks at me only after a couple of seconds have passed, as if first finishing a sentence he
was reading.

"Potter. I was wondering when you would show up," He says, the left corner of his mouth
tugging up. "Come on, have a seat," he gestures opposite to him.

"Hey. Yeah. Sorry, I didn't know what time I was expected…" I mutter and sit down at the
table.

"Tea?" He asks politely, summoning a cup and a saucer from the cupboard that stop in front
of me, hovering slightly in the air.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks," I say and give him a small smile, thankful to have something to do with
my hands.

He flicks his wand again to fill my cup and places it on the table, his scrutinising eyes never
leaving mine. Shit…memories from last night come crashing into the forefront of my mind,
and it is a struggle to keep my breathing steady and my cheeks from blushing.

Nothing goes by him, it seems, as his lips curve into a knowing smile.

"Sleep well?" He asks with a sly glint in his eyes as I take a sip from the cup, and manage to
get it in the wrong pipe.

Coughing, I place the cup back on the table, while Regulus lets out a small chuckle.
I clear my throat. "Not really. Too many things on my mind, for some reason…" I say
pointedly.

He gives me a nod. "Yeah, same here."

After a short silence, I remember there were a couple of things I wanted to talk to him about,
in addition to the reason I came here.

"I never thanked you," I blurt out, and as his brows twitch slightly in confusion, I quickly
continue, "For the photographs. So…thank you. It means a lot, you know…" I say earnestly,
not really able to say more since I'm not so good with words. I hope he will get the point
though.

His brows lift up a bit in surprise, and he licks his lips thoughtfully. I'm forcing my gaze to
stay at his eyes.

"Yeah, I figured…" He says, looking uncertain as he looks briefly away.

"Oh?"

He looks at me, a wistful look in his eyes, the look he seems to have when he's thinking about
his brother.

"Sirius…" He says with a sigh. "He told me about your parents, what happened to them. And,
well, he told me about the people you live with when you're not in school, how they don't
even speak about your parents. And how miserable it must be for you…"

Wow. I wasn't expecting that. Sirius had obviously been worrying over me, even though I did
wonder, the whole fifth year…Why couldn't I live with him? This is the Headquarters of the
Order of the Phoenix. I know there is ancient magic protecting me at the Dursleys, but still,
this place is the safest place after that, I'd reckon.

Regulus seems to understand my train of thought, as he studies my expression before

continuing. "He wanted to have you here, living with him. At times, it was the only thing he
spoke of," He finishes with a wry smile.

I swallow hard. God, I cannot even think about it, what it would've been like. I shake the
thoughts away and take a deep breath.

"I wanted to ask about the house…" I say carefully, changing the subject.

Regulus gives me an inscrutable look. "What of it?"

My fingers toy with the cup as I contemplate how to approach the subject. "Um…it feels…
wrong. To own Sirius's house. Your house," I say, chewing the corner of my mouth as I try to
gauge his reaction.

Regulus shakes his head. "There's nothing to do about it. At least not until…until my
brother's back," he says, the last words coming out more tensely.
I nod slowly, still feeling bothered by the fact that I own this house, and a House Elf, while
Regulus is the one who lives here, whose home this place is. Regulus is Kreacher's master,
not me.

"Look, Potter. I don't care. I assume you'll continue to let me stay here, and let the Order use
the place for their meetings – "

"Of course I will!" I hastily say, horrified by the possibility that he might have had any
doubts about the assumption.

Regulus smirks at me. "All is well, then." He says simply and stands up. "Will you join me in
the library?" He asks, his voice softer now.

My throat suddenly feels too dry to form words, so I give him a curt not instead and stand up
hastily and follow him upstairs.

We walk into the seating area in the library, and as soon as we've sat down next to each other
on the couch, Potter speaks.

"Tell me everything," he says, and with an apologetic look, he adds, "Again."

I give him a wry smile and nod slowly, contemplating where to start. Contemplating how
much should I tell him. How much I want to reveal to him.

"It started after the Ministry. I was…not in a good place back then," I start, and try to shrug
the uneasiness I start to feel as I recall last summer.

"You were…drinking?" Potter asks quietly, a searching look in his eyes.

I give him another nod. I wasn't actually expecting him to not know. "Yes. The first time,
after Sirius…" I say and wince. "…I got wasted. I wanted to forget. I wanted to feel nothing.
Because I had nothing," I say, my voice rough, and I can't look at him anymore, I can't see the
pity in his eyes and talk about this at the same time.

"Shit…" Potter mutters, but stays still, doesn't say anything else as he waits for me to
continue.

I swallow hard and focus on what happened after that. "I saw him then. Sirius…In the Death
Chamber in the Ministry. I was there with him, and we could talk through the archway," I say,
my voice steadier now.

"At first I thought I was dreaming. After I woke up with the worst hangover in the century, I
went to see the tapestry. I don't know, I must've felt there was something different. And there
was. The date of his death, flickering. Disappearing. And I knew just then, that I hadn't been
dreaming," I continue and move my gaze back to him.

Potter's looking at me with a mix of wonder and pain in his eyes – eyes that are bright with
tears.
I curse inwardly and look away again, swallowing down the feelings of grief and loss. But
then his hand curls over mine, giving comfort, distracting me from the sullen thoughts.

Potter clears his throat. "What happened then?" He whispers.

I take a deep breath before I continue, my eyes fixated on the coffee table. "I kept drinking.
And we kept meeting. Sometimes we'd meet when I was sober, but then everything was
always blurrier and fleeting. He told me that even though he's alone in there, there are voices,
voices that are calling for him, urging him to move on…"

Potter's hand twitches briefly on top of mine.

"He told me about the fight in the Ministry. He told me what he said to you. And, well, he
told me to get my head out of my arse and talk to you," I say and give him a dry smirk.

The corners of Potter's lips curve momentarily upwards, but then he looks thoughtful. I have
a faint idea of what is going on in his head.

I sigh wearily. "It was more of a pride matter, than anything else, really. I knew what I said to
you was impulsive and unreasonable. I knew as soon as I had said the words."

"Don't worry about it," Potter says quickly, his thoughtful expression clearing as he waves a
hand in dismissal. "So…do you still see him?" He asks curiously.

I shrug. "Not as frequently as I did when I was cracking a bottle."

"So you stopped?" Potter asks tentatively.

"Didn't really have a choice. Lupin cut my supply and even without him meddling in my
business, it wasn't so much fun in the end when my brother would only give me shit about
my lifestyle," I say dryly.

Potter lets out a light snort. "Well, I'm with them on that one," He mutters quietly.

After a short silence, I continue. "I started to research the place, tried to find even a bit of
information about it, but there really isn't anything. Even Dumbledore told me that literature
regarding the Death Chamber might not even exist. The only people who have any
knowledge about the place are the ones who work there and study it. The Unspeakables."

Potter lets out a huff of breath. "Dumbledore knows Sirius is trapped in there?" He asks with
confusion and irritation written all over his face.

My eyes move over his features and he must see the resign in my eyes as he scoffs. "He didn't
believe you?"

I hum in agreement. "Well, neither did Lupin. And I admit that the subject might be a bit too
unbelievable, especially when coming from a man who's been on a bender for the past several
months. I mean, you probably would have been the same, had I not found a way to prove it to
you." I say simply, and Potter gapes at me.
"I…I dunno what to say…" Potter says, looking disturbed.

I shake my head slowly. "You don't have to say anything."

Potter looks at me with those troubled, saddened eyes, and all I want is to make him smile
again.

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry I didn't believe you at first. I know it took some time to get my head
wrapped around the thought, but you don't have to worry. I'm not backing out on this," he
says determinedly, his fingers entwining slowly with mine, making my stomach jolt with joy
and anxiety in equal measure.

"I know," I say thickly, not trusting long sentences anymore. "Thank you," I add, fighting the
urge to stare at our joined hands.

We both jump slightly as Kreacher apparates with a loud crack to announce that lunch is
ready, and asks where we want to have it served.

"Here's fine," I say roughly, quickly extracting my hand from Potter's grip and moving to sit
closer to the edge of the couch as Kreacher flicks its fingers and arranges our lunch on the
coffee table.

Potter too moves closer to the table, and we start to eat in silence.

After lunch, Potter asks if we can go to Sirius's room again, and once we get there, we spend
a long time in silence, staring at my brother's photographs and posters, and only after a small
hesitance, go over his belongings.

I know brother would kill me if he knew that I was rifling through his bedside table,
chuckling at the various items and magazines he keeps there.

But it is Potter who finds the jackpot.

"Hey, look at this." Potter says distractedly, his focus on a photograph he has fished out from
the bottom of Sirius's writing desk drawer. He walks to me and hands me the picture, an
inscrutable look in his eyes.

It's a picture of my parents, and…baby Sirius. Mother's holding him in her arms, and father's
arm is curled protectively over her shoulders, his other hand playing with Sirius's foot.

I don't know when the picture was taken, but it must have been before I was born. And I'm
not really surprised that he'd kept it, even after everything. This is probably how my brother
wants to remember them. Mother actually smiles at the camera, and father at Sirius.

They look so different, so happy. They look like a family, and I suppose they really were a
family. Until they weren't.

I thread my fingers through my hair as I tear my eyes from the picture. "Let's…let's put it
back," I say as I hold the photograph out for him, my voice a bit tighter than I thought it
would be.
Potter proceeds to put it where he found it, and as he straightens up and turns to me, he looks
uncertain.

"Can you, um…can you tell him something? From me?" He asks, and I know he means my
brother.

"Yeah, sure," I say and I back away to sit down on Sirius's bed.

Potter chews the inside of his cheek in thought until he speaks, still standing next to the
writing desk.

"Tell him…that I miss him," he says quietly. "And that I'll be alright. Tell him that his
brother's not alone anymore. That we'll get him out, together, even if it takes time, even if it'll
be hard. We'll get him out," He says and fixes me an intense look.

I let out a stunned puff of breath, all kinds of fucking emotions rising up inside me. "Fuck.
You just aim straight and throw true, huh?" I ask incredulously, and Potter huffs a laughter
before he becomes sombre.

"Tell him?" He insists.

I roll my eyes exasperatedly. "Yes, I'll tell him," I grumble.

We eventually move back to the library and I show him the only references I have found from
our library that even hint that there is a place between the living and the dead.

The day goes quickly by, and soon it is dark outside.

"I have to leave soon," Potter says after glancing at the timepiece on the wall. "Uh…come to
dinner?" He asks tentatively, chewing his bottom lip as he gives me a searching look.

And fuck, if his words from earlier, or the light touch of his fingers against mine didn't
distract me enough, this will. My eyes drop involuntarily down to his lips, and I swallow
hard. And I know I'm not in any state to be in anyone's company. At least anyone other than
Potter's, that is.

"Another time," I say as I move my eyes up and give him a strained smile. I can't really do
much better right now.

We walk downstairs into the kitchen, and there's a tense silence when Potter turns towards
me.

There's something in his eyes and the way he looks at me, something that makes my insides
squirm with the need to touch him. With the need to feel him against me.

Potter surprises me by taking a step towards me. He takes my hand, laces our fingers together
and tugs me closer. And I can't do anything but follow him blindly, too stunned by his
initiative. Too worked up about the possibilities that could result from this.

He's looking nervous, hesitant as our bodies are nearly touching.

"Okay?" He asks quietly, his eyes nervously running over my face as he licks his lips.

Oh, fuck…I'm ruined.

I give him a curt nod, and swallow audibly. "Okay."

Potter leans closer to me, slowly, almost frustratingly so. Until our lips touch. Then it feels
like my head is made of liquid, like every coherent thought has dribbled out of my ears. The
only thing I can feel, or think of, is him. His mouth, his scent, the way he is warm and soft
and equally hard at the same time. The way he clutches my hand, and the way his lips press
against mine, so confidently, so effortlessly, the nervousness long gone.

His nose brushes mine as he moves slightly, tilting his head for better access, sending shivers
down my spine. My heart is hammering in my chest, and the need to touch him, to taste him
grows inside me, making every inch of me awake and alive and eager for more.

Knowing that I can't let this…craving inside of me take over, I pull away, only so much that
our lips are not touching, but our breaths still mingling. Potter leans his forehead against
mine, his eyes closed, his body trembling, and I try to steady my hands and my rapidly
beating heart, before I speak.

"Wow, that was…" I say quietly, finding myself at a loss for words. That was, wasn't it.
Fuck…I can't even think straight.

"Yeah, wow…" Potter breathes, a light chuckle escaping from him. "Can we just…can we do
that again?" He whispers unsteadily.

I suppress a grin and nod faintly. "I think we might be able to," I say steadily.

As Potter lets out an amused huff, I touch the line of his jaw and his lips part slightly, his eyes
opening and fixating on mine. I gently pull him towards me and close the distance between
our lips again.

Potter shudders from the contact and places a hand against my chest as he kisses me back,
tentatively, slow at first, but then more firmly.

And Salazar, it feels like nothing I've felt before.

Minutes go by, hell, it might as well be hours, but the kiss still ends too soon. Potter leans
back this time, a dazed look in his eyes, his cheeks glowing, and his lips…his lips soft and
red and so fucking delectable.

I swear the image of him right now is already imprinted somewhere into my brain, and I'm
never going to get rid of it. Not that I'd even want to.

"I should go," Potter says reluctantly, gives our joined hands a sad smile before letting go of
me.

I manage to collect myself together and trail a hand though my hair as I lick the taste of him
from my lips.
"Yeah. They'll worry if you won't show up soon…" I mutter distractedly.

I push away the thoughts of frustration and unhappiness I suddenly feel, into a dark corner of
my mind. But that doesn't help with the fact that I don't want him to leave.

Potter frowns as he studies my features. "Could we…maybe…see each other? Before I go

back to Hogwarts?" He asks, his voice mixed with uncertainness and anticipation.

With a jolt of relief, I give him a small smile before I speak. "Yes."

Potter's lips twist into a lopsided grin. "Okay. I'll, um…I'll let you know when I can come by,
yeah?"

I nod at him and then he turns towards the fireplace. He grabs a handful of floo powder and
throws it into the fire, yelling the name of the Weasley home. With one last, lingering glance
towards me, he walks into the green flames and disappears.
 Flames
Chapter Notes

Still focusing a bit more in Regulus/Harry, at least until Harry goes back to school ;)
Thank you for reading!

Chapter 20: Flames

The Burrow, 3 January 1997

"How's it going?" Ron asks as we pack away some of the Christmas decorations in the attic.
"I mean, with Regulus," he continues as he wipes his brow after managing to wrestle the
multiple strings of lights – non fairy – into a one small box.

I almost drop the glass ornaments I'm holding as my hands jerk with surprise. What does he
mean? Does he know something? I didn't tell him – or anyone, for that matter – about what
happened with Regulus at Grimmauld last Friday. I'm still trying to process the whole
incident in my head. And it's not actually that easy to think about anything rationally since
he's in my head all the time, and all I can think of is how it felt when our lips met, how it felt
to be close to him, to touch him. It's making me crazy, making me think all sorts of thoughts,
some of which I wouldn't even dare to say aloud.

The fact that we've seen each other afterwards a couple of times, whenever Regulus has
joined us for dinner at the Burrow, hasn't helped either, as there hasn't really been a chance to
speak with him alone. Nothing more than a few subtle glances or a brush of our knees under
the table has happened during those nights, of course, as the Weasley house has been full of
people. I'd say both Regulus and I have been perfectly civil and distant towards the other. But
now I'm starting to suspect if the others see something more than that.

"W-What do you mean?" I ask as I keep my focus on the task, trying to at least keep my
voice steady since I know my face is slowly becoming more coloured than it usually is.

I can see Ron shrugging from the corner of my eye. "Dunno, just thought you guys were in
better terms…And aren't you gonna go there again tomorrow?" He mutters and curses when
he finds another pile of Christmas lights behind him.

I clear my throat. "Yeah. I am. And yeah, we're okay, I guess." I say quickly, and Ron gives
me a quizzical look as he takes in my features.

Shit.

Luckily Ginny saves me from further questioning as she pops by at the attic to announce that
lunch is ready. She's waving a handful of letters in her left hand, an amused look in her eyes.
"Speaking of being 'okay'," she says, her brow arching towards her brother. "Someone seems
to be missing her…" she glances at the letter on top, "…Won-Won," she says, her nose
scrunching up with a mild distaste.

I can't stop the quiet snort that escapes from me, causing Ron to send a nasty scowl at my
direction.

"Been reading through my mail, huh?" Ron asks from his sister with irritation and stands up
to snatch the pile of letters from Ginny's outstretched hand.

Ginny rolls her eyes in exasperation. "Not something I'd do even if I were bored out of my
mind," She says dryly as Ron pockets the letters and stalks away from the attic.

"You, know, I think she actually expects you to reply to her owls!" Ginny taunts with a quiet
snigger as we follow Ron downstairs.

After lunch Ron, Ginny and I lounge in the sitting room, talking about Quidditch tactics even
though all my thoughts are in the next day. Tomorrow, I'm going back to Grimmauld, to talk
with Regulus about my godfather's situation, and Merlin knows what else. Everyone else
thinks I'll be going through Sirius's stuff with his brother. I know it's bad to lie to everyone,
but honestly, I don't even want to think about the conversation that would follow if I'd told
them the truth.

I don't think anyone but Hermione would approve whatever it is that is happening between
Regulus and me. Maybe the others would, over time. But still, I know what everyone would
think. He's older than me, and, well, he's a man. And if those are not the details that would
come up, then there's him going through a rough patch, his drinking problem, the fact that
he's a former Death Eater, and the list goes on…

Nothing in the list bothers me so much as it confuses me, but I still don't think that it's
anyone's business. I actually might not care what everyone else would think, because that's
something I've learned to ignore over the years – other's opinions about me. Nevertheless…
until I know what this is, this…connection between Regulus and me, no one else will know
either.

As for the other subject…Sirius…well, despite Hermione supposedly thinking that there isn't
anything wrong with my thoughts or feelings regarding Regulus, I still think not even she
would believe me about Sirius's situation with the proof that I have. She'd say that Regulus is
only dreaming about his brother, that it is his way of coping, and now he's dragging me into
believing that my godfather's alive somewhere, making me go through the loss and grief all
over again.

At least, I can imagine her words to me would be something of the sort. I remember Regulus
mentioning how neither Dumbledore nor Lupin had believed him, and the thought makes my
insides prickle with annoyance. Had they even asked Regulus to give them proof, like I did?
Or had they merely tossed away the subject, a subject that was obviously eating Regulus
alive, without really listening, thinking it wasn't worth investigating?
Our conversation about Quidditch comes to an end when Ron receives another owl from
Lavender. Ginny and I exchange an incredulous look while Ron's attention is elsewhere. That
woman is seriously hanging onto him like a hungry person. Ron grumbles something under
his breath about replying to Lavender and slips quickly into the stairway.

"Merlin…that's not healthy," I mutter as I stare at Ron's empty seat, a deep frown between
my brows. "Or…is it…?" I ask hesitantly from Ginny, feeling greatly confused. Is this only
about Ron not handling it well since it is his first girlfriend? And what about…well…do
blokes expect similar attention?

Why the hell am I even thinking about that?

Ginny lets out a short laughter. "No. Certainly NOT healthy," She says seriously, and then her
lips pull into a small smirk. "Didn't think he'd let it go on for this long…" She mutters, the
thoughtful look in her eyes trained at the coffee table. Is she talking about Ron and
Hermione?

"Erm…What do you mean?" I ask mutedly, wondering if we're thinking about the same
thing.

Ginny levels me with a pointed look. "You know very well what I mean. I'm talking about
Ron being a bloody idiot and trying to get Hermione's attention by making her jealous, while
Hermione does exactly the same," she says dryly. "They're not exactly very subtle," She
continues, and then her expression changes into a searching one as she studies my features.

Does she suspect something? Have I been as obvious as Ron and Hermione have? Merlin all
this…secrecy is really taking its toll on my nerves.

I cough uncomfortably and stand up. "Yeah, I know what you mean…" I mutter and jerk my
head towards the stairway, escaping the situation. "Bathroom," I say and move hastily
towards upstairs.

Fortunately, when I come back downstairs, Mr. Weasley, Bill and Fleur are all back from
work and Ginny's observant eyes are focused elsewhere for the rest of the night.

Grimmauld Place, 4 January 1997

"Hey," I say as I emerge from the fireplace and find Regulus at the kitchen table, watching
me with an expectant look that quickly changes into something unreadable.

"Potter," He says with a polite nod. "Tea?" He asks and gestures at the table. "You've had
lunch already?"

I study his features for a bit before taking a couple of steps towards him. "No, thank you. Yes,
I've eaten." I say quickly, swallowing the light-headedness I'm suddenly feeling.

Regulus inclines his head and stands up from the table, giving me a long, contemplative look
before moving towards the kitchen door, the corners of his mouth curving slightly upwards.
We're both silent as we ascend the stairs and enter the drawing room on the first floor before
heading straight to the tapestry to see the missing date of Sirius's death.

"Has it come back at any point after last summer?" I ask absently as I watch closely at the
ancient textile and try to see something – anything – that could give us a hint of my
godfather's situation.

Regulus clears his throat as he leans against the tapestry next to me. "Every once in a while,
but even then, it is always flickering," he says quietly.

I glance at him. "When's, um, the last time you talked with him?" I ask tentatively, and
Regulus's brows twitch slightly as he stares at me quietly.

"Two months ago," he says after a short silence, his voice tense, but the look in his eyes
detached.

Oh.

I nod slowly, my eyes going back to trace the scorch mark on the tapestry. "I'm…I'm sure
you'll see him eventually…" I say weakly, my words not even convincing myself.

I swallow hard and straighten up from my crouched position before fixing him a steady look.
"What can I do to help him?" I ask, feeling determined, feeling hopeful.

Regulus eyes me for a moment before he gestures towards the seating area where a handful
of books and notes are scattered over the coffee table.

He flicks his wand at the mess, organising everything as we sit down side by side on the sofa.

"Remember when we looked at some of the literature I had managed to find about the place
between the living and the dead?" He asks, glancing at me before flipping open his notes.

I give him a quick nod. "Yeah. Yeah, sure. Something about a Veil separating the two worlds?
And you…you suspected that the literal veil I saw hanging in the Ministry could be a portal,
or a manifestation of the Veil?" I ask hesitantly. Regulus gives me a nod before I continue,
"But…what I've been wondering is that in your…meetings…with Sirius, you said that there's
no veil hanging in the archway? And when I was at the Ministry, there definitely was one," I
say and chew the inside of my cheek as I recall how the dark curtain had fluttered silently
after Sirius had vanished through the archway.

"I think…I think that there has to be more to it," He says slowly, a thoughtful look in his
eyes. "As the Veil is believed to separate the worlds of the living and the dead, and somehow
linking the two worlds, I assume the place where I've talked with my brother is somewhere
between. Somewhere he's trapped in," he continues steadily.

I give him an absent nod as I recall seeing the archway for the first time. "I heard them. The
voices. Before the duelling started, I was there with my friends, and when I stepped closer to
inspect the archway, I heard…whispering. Heard them calling me, urging me to follow
them," I tell him, and Regulus's eyes widen slightly as he listens to me.
Regulus flicks his wand to add something into his notes. "I think what we need to focus on, is
how to tie him back into this world," He says reflectively before looking at me again.

"But how – that is the question, isn't it? I don't suppose there's actually a spell or magic that
powerful to make that happen," I mutter, unable to stop a hint of resignation seeping into my
voice.

Regulus gives me a wry smile. "You'd be surprised how much my ancestors have achieved.
Sadly, I haven't come across of magic that could successfully bring a person back from the
dead," He says with a mild frown, and after seeing my sullen expression, he continues, "Still,
there are powerful spells and magic only my family seems to have uncovered. Certainly
dangerous…definitely comes with a price and consequences one would have to carry the rest
of their lives, and even after."

I give him a hard look. "I don't care. As long as we can save him," I say determinedly, to
which he rolls his eyes and mutters something about Gryffindor predictability.

"The problem is, that even if we gather a list of spells and find a way to get into the Death
Chamber, where I presume the magic has to happen, there's no guarantee that we will
succeed, or that we will have another chance at trying – yes, Potter, we, as I'm sure as hell not
going to let you do it by yourself – " he finishes with an exasperated tone after seeing my
arched brow.

I try to hide the grin that's threatening to spread across my face. I clear my throat and nod at
his notes. "What do you have?" I ask, becoming solemn very quickly as Regulus starts to
explain different types of blood magic his ancestors have used to bind creatures and slaves,
and…women to their masters.

Later that night we have a list of some of the most horrifying sacrificial spells and rituals I
hadn't thought even existed. Regulus thinks that this is only a start, that if we only have one
shot in the Ministry – and it's not even necessarily guaranteed that both of us survive this
kind of magic without…well, consequences – we need to find out everything there is. So, we
agree that Regulus will keep on digging into his ancestral secrets while I on the other hand
will go through the Hogwarts library.

"There might not be anything else than this," Regulus says, warning me of the possibility as
he glances at his notes. "I'd be surprised if Hogwarts had something we could use, but I
suppose it is worth to look," He continues, and then gives me a scrutinising look. "As long as
you won't do anything stupid in order to do that," He says with a stern look, and it is clear
he's waiting an answer.

I give him a lopsided grin. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Regulus arches a brow but continues on the topic. "Once all the possibilities have been
looked at, we will start planning how to actually get into the Ministry without getting caught.
With the current situation in the wizarding world – the disappearances, the tightened security
– I assume it won't be an easy task, and nothing like last year," he says, eyeing me carefully,
hinting at the incident in the Ministry.
The incident where six underage students of Hogwarts had managed to get into the Ministry,
and into the Department of Mysteries without anyone noticing.

"As soon as we get an opening, I reckon we should use it," I say matter-of-factly.

Regulus gives me a small shake of his head. "No, I think we should not," he says and I open
my mouth to disagree as he continues, "You still have the trace in you. It could be even more
dangerous to enter there if you are still underage and can't perform magic without them
knowing," he says, a twitch of uneasiness flickering across his brow.

Oh. Didn't really think about that…

Regulus eyes me with a speculative look before he speaks again. "Despite the fact that I am
most likely the one to perform this magic, I still might need you to get me out," he says
quietly, his voice blank before he puts the parchment filled with spells on a small stack on the
table.

I blink at his nonchalance, but decide not to argue as Regulus levels me a look that tells me
the conversation is over.

Well, it might be…for now, at least.

I let out a weary sigh and start collecting the books that are now scattered on the floor and on
the sofa. I glance at the watch on my wrist – it is already nearly eight in the evening, and
dinner time. A time when I promised to return to the Burrow.

My eyes meet Regulus's several times during the short moment we gather the items to the
coffee table. He feels warm next to me, the look in his eyes curious and…slightly heated, and
the way his lips start to twitch upwards after he sees the bashful smile on my face just makes
me want to stay for a bit longer. After everything is organised on the table, I realise he
could've just waved his wand to do all of that in a blink of an eye. But he hadn't.

I turn to him, and the air seems more tense, heavy with anticipation. Suddenly we are lunging
at each other, our lips crashing together, our hands grasping the other in desperation. My
hands press against his shoulders as Regulus takes a hold of my waist. As our lips slide
eagerly together, melting against each other, tasting, craving the other, I feel the tips of his
fingers moving slowly over the fabric of my shirt. His soft touch makes me shiver and let out
a stuttering breath before threading my hands through his smooth, long hair. Regulus breathes
out heavily and deepens the kiss, pulling me closer, making me mad with expectation.
Making me want more.

As if reading my thoughts, his tongue brushes my bottom lip, and a shock of electricity runs
up my spine, my stomach clenching pleasantly, and I let out a strangled gasp against his lips.
My fingers tangle into his hair and take a firm hold of it, and it is nothing like the last time.
The last time we kissed was slow, tentative, exploring, but still reserved. There's nothing
gentle and slow now. This kiss is consuming, hungry and hard, filled with urgency.

After only a moment of hesitation, I open my mouth and press my tongue against his, tasting
him, earning a muffled groan from his lips while his fingers press against my hips more
securely. And Merlin, he feels so good that I'm afraid I'll lose myself into him. My toes are
curling inside my trainers, and I'm struggling to keep myself in place, to keep myself from
crawling over his lap. Regulus tilts his head and breaks the kiss, his lips moving downwards,
across my jaw and my neck with soft kisses, the pace suddenly slower, more intimate. I can
only exhale ragged puffs of air as I battle my emotions for control, as I try to wrap my head
around this.

His touch makes my skin tingle with need, and when his teeth lightly drag against my throat,
I jerk in surprise.

"Bloody hell," I gasp, my fingers tugging his hair hard as a wave of desire washes over me.
My head feels dizzy, as if all the blood and all the coherent thoughts in there have left,
travelling to other places in my body.

I can feel Regulus's smile against my neck before he dives back to meet my lips, swallowing
any further noises erupting from between us. Shit…this is…this is more than I anticipated,
more than I dared to dream about, more than I've ever even imagined feeling. My hands pull
him closer, my tongue seeking his, drawing a surprised, quiet sound from his throat as our
kisses turn more demanding, more desperate.

I'm just about to give in to the need to get even closer to him when there's a loud crash from
downstairs, and silent cursing in the hallway as the portrait of Walburga Black starts to
scream with a litany of obscenities. Regulus and I jump quickly away from each other. We
share a shocked look for a fraction of a second before grabbing our wands and rushing to
stand up. A moment later the portrait is silenced and Tonks's voice carries from the stairway.

"Harry? …Regulus?" She calls, a hint of irritation in her voice. "That bloody umbrella
stand…" She mutters as she opens the drawing room door.

As Regulus and I stare Tonks in surprise, Tonks blinks a couple of times, clearly trying to
read the situation; where both Regulus and I stand in alert in the middle of the room, our
wands at the ready, our appearances most likely very dishevelled.

Regulus clears his throat and puts his wand subtly away, drawing my attention to him.
"Cousin. To what do we owe the honour of your presence?" He asks, his voice still not as
stable and void of feeling as it usually is, even though his face is a perfect mask of
indifference. He glances at me, his lips red and swollen and slightly parted, and did I really
do that to him? He looks so ruffled, his clean-shaven cheeks tinged with red, and a hint of
dazedness pushing through his blank expression as our eyes connect. And I can't do anything
but stare at him as I try to suppress a smug grin.

Then I remember Tonks and move my gaze quickly back to her, only to see that her stare has
turned from startled to inquisitive and suspicious.

"You’re late for dinner, Harry. Molly sent me to see if everything's okay." She says slowly,
her eyes moving fast between Regulus and me. "You okay, Harry?" She asks after a short
silence, studying my features, glancing at Regulus with a small frown between her brows.
"Oh! Yeah, er…lost the track of time, I reckon," I say sheepishly, and definitely aware how
my cheeks are heating up.

Tonks's eyes narrow a bit. "Right," she says again with that slow, calculating voice. "You
should go though. Before Molly comes here to check herself," she adds, almost absent-
mindedly as her focus is fixated on Regulus. Regulus only stares back at her coolly.

"Yeah. Um. Yeah. I should…go," I mumble back, unsuccessfully trying to read the two
cousins and their thoughts. "See you later," I mutter to Regulus before I quickly exit the room
and run downstairs towards the fireplace.

As my cousin continues to stare at me with a condemning look, I sigh inwardly and move
back to the sofa. I lift my brows slightly at her to indicate that whatever she's here to say, she
ought to say it.

"Care to tell me what's going on with you and Harry?" She asks casually, her eyes never
leaving mine.

I arch a brow at her. "What are you implying, dear cousin?" I ask calmly.

Nymphadora walks to me and sits down next to me on the sofa before levelling me an
exasperated look. "You know very well what I'm implying, cousin. The secretive looks
you've been trading at dinners were enough to give me the impression even without this," she
says and gestures at me, "happening."

I merely raise my brows in a mute question.

Nymphadora scoffs. "Oh, don't give me that. Don't assume I'm as ignorant as the others might
be. I'm a Black, for Circe's sake. And the longing, subtle looks you've been exchanging with
Harry – I practically invented them!" She says, her voice filled with frustration and bitterness,
and I know exactly to whom she has been casting those kinds of looks.

I suppress a much-needed eye roll and instead give her an indifferent look. "Why do you
care?"

Nymphadora seethes. "Of course I care!" She says quickly and then her brows pull down
together and her voice becomes gentler. "Just…I…do you think this is…wise? You've both
lost someone, and…well…" Her voice trails off as she averts her gaze.

I narrow my eyes at her. "What?" I ask, my voice a bit colder now. "Do tell what your
thoughts on this…matter are," I continue, already guessing what she's on about.

Nymphadora lifts her chin up slightly. "I think that…maybe Harry is attaching himself to you
because you remind him of Sirius. That maybe Harry doesn't know what he wants, and
maybe he is confused," she says simply, even though there's a hint of doubt in her voice, as if
she's questioning her own thoughts still.

A surge of rage travels through me.

How fucking dare she? How dare she assume that…that I'd take an advantage of Potter like
that? And he's not attaching himself to me because of my brother. He can't be. This…
whatever this is, started long before my brother got trapped in the archway. Long before the
events in the Ministry.

I clench my jaw but say nothing to her, since everything I want to say would be too crass for
her to hear. She leaves shortly after with a weary sigh, and then I'm alone with my thoughts,
with doubts seeking their way into my head.

What if…What if this is only happening because of what happened to my brother?

Hogwarts, 7 January 1997

"He also said that Scrimgeour has had him followed, and that the Minister's trying to find out
where Dumbledore's been going when he's not at Hogwarts," I say quietly as I finish my
recap about the previous night to Ron over the breakfast. "And even though Dumbledore
didn't want to tell me, I bet he's been searching clues about Voldemort's past the whole
time…" I whisper quickly as glance around us to make sure no one's paying us any attention.

As Ron winces at the name, I chew the inside of my cheek and think about the homework
Dumbledore had given me. Homework that seems almost impossible for me to accomplish if
Dumbledore himself hasn't had such luck.

"I just don't know how I'm supposed to do what he asks from me..." I say with a weary sigh.

Last night was the third lesson with Dumbledore, where we once again viewed memories of
Voldemort, from a time during his last years in Hogwarts. The first memory, Morfin Gaunt's
memory, showed us a scene where a sixteen-year-old Voldemort came to see his uncle.
Voldemort learned about his parentage, his Muggle father and grandparents, whom he
murdered with Morfin's wand before planting a false memory into Morfin's mind, making his
uncle believe that he was the one who had killed the Riddles. Apparently, Morfin spent his
remaining days in Azkaban, agonizing about losing his father's ring.

The second memory, Professor Slughorn's memory, was a short one, but according to
Dumbledore, the most important one he had collected. The memory seemed to be from one
of those Slughorn's get togethers, as there had been a handful of boys and girls in their mid-
teens, surrounding the younger version of the Potion Master. Voldemort was one of the
students, looking handsome and relaxed in the midst of his classmates, his grandfather's ring
gleaming in his finger. Something odd had happened in the memory, twice, as the room had
been filled with fog for a moment before it had cleared. The memory had ended soon
afterwards. Dumbledore explained that the memory had been tampered with, and he assumed
that Slughorn had done that himself because he is ashamed of what he remembers.

Before I returned to the Gryffindor Tower, Dumbledore gave me a mission – to secure the
true memory from Slughorn. He told me that trying to take the truth from Slughorn by force
might do much more harm than good, and for some reason, Dumbledore believes that I
would be able to penetrate Slughorn's defences and persuade him to divulge the real memory.
Ron gives me a small shrug. "Dunno, mate…I mean, he loves you," he says after swallowing
a mouthful of fried eggs. "Won't refuse you anything, will he? Not his little Potions Prince,"
He says and smirks as I send him a mild glare.

"Just hang back after class this afternoon and ask him?" Ron continues, seeming to believe
that that's all it takes to get the memory from Slughorn.

"I dunno…" I mutter but our conversation comes to an end as Lavender slides to sit down on
Ron's other side. I empty my cup of tea and make my excuses, not wanting to hang as their
third wheel.

I meet with Hermione in the snowy courtyard after breakfast and before our classes, as
Hermione still refuses to remain near Ron's presence, preferring to eat early and then spend
the remaining time either in the library or outside.

After explaining everything I saw in the memories and what Dumbledore expects from me, it
is obvious that Hermione is not as confident of my success as Ron is.

"Slughorn must be determined to hide what really happened if Dumbledore couldn't get it out
of him," she says quietly, looking warily around us, even though we have secured our
surroundings with a subtle Muffliato. There's no one in the courtyard, only the two of us,
huddled on a stony bench with a couple of Hermione's warming charms making the cold
weather feel almost tolerable.

"Horcruxes…Horcruxes…I've never even heard of them…" She mutters and stares into
somewhere distant.

I can't stop the disappointment that fills my stomach. "You haven't?" I ask, and rub my
temple. What now? If Hermione doesn't know the answer to what Horcruxes are, who then?
She's practically swallowed the content of the Hogwarts library by now, so I doubt that the
Horcruxes are even mentioned in there.

Hermione sighs. "I know, right…" She says and purses her lips with irritation. "Still, I think
we could take a look at the restricted section, but we'd need a permission to do that…" She
says and worries he lip in thought.

I nod slowly. "I could ask Dumbledore. It's not like he doesn't want me to prepare myself," I
say vaguely, hinting towards the prophecy.

Hermione gives me searching look, knowing the meaning behind my words. "Well, yes, if
you can, that would make things a bit easier…" She says absently, my comment regarding the
prophecy obviously still bothering her a bit.

Truth to be told, what bothers me more, is the fact that I now have more than one matter to
research in the library. But still, I know that in order to find what I need to help Sirius, a
permission to go through the books in the restricted section could come in handy. I clear my
throat before I speak. "Yeah, okay, I'll ask."
Hermione hums, still seeming slightly absent-minded, although now it seems that her
thoughts are back to Horcruxes.

"They must be really advanced Dark magic, why else would Voldemort have wanted to know
about them? I think it's going to be difficult to get the information, Harry. You'll have to be
very careful about how you approach Slughorn, think out a strategy…" She says and eyes me
with a small frown between her brows.

I give her a slight shrug. "Ron reckons I should just hang back after Potions this afternoon…"

Hermione scoffs and the look in her eyes turns dark. "Oh, well, if WonWon thinks that, you'd
better do it," she says, not bothering to conceal the bitterness in her voice. "After all, when
has WonWon's judgement ever been faulty?" She continues irately, rolling her eyes in
exasperation.

I let out a small sigh. "Hermione, can't you —"

"No!" She hisses angrily, standing up and storming away so quickly I haven't got a chance to
say anything back.

"Shit…" I mutter and press the heels of my palms against my eyes in frustration. I was really
hoping the holidays would've helped with the situation, but it seems that Hermione's still as
adamant to stay away from Ron as she had been in December. I wish that Hermione would
stop being so stubborn, and that Ron would pull his head out of his arse.

Why does everything have to be so bloody complicated?

I have enough complicated in my life as it is. Trying to learn about Voldemort's past, to learn
how to destroy him…Trying to research dark magic to get back my godfather…Trying to
find out what Malfoy's up to.

And well, trying to figure out what it is that's happening between Regulus and me. Merlin,
has it truly been only three days since I last saw him?

I wonder what happened after Tonks came to Grimmauld last Saturday? She was obviously
suspecting something, but what exactly? I assume Regulus hadn't said anything to her, but if
I'm being honest, I don't know if I'd mind if he did.

I only know that I feel…different…around him. Good different. And I don't want to lose that.

…Should I write to him?

And if so, what would I write about? It's not like I'm going to pour my heart out to him in a
letter, especially if I can't even voice the feelings inside my own head.

I can't ask him anything about Horcruxes, and I don't really think he'd be interested to offer
me help to try to settle the situation with Hermione and Ron.

What I'd like to know, is if he's seen Sirius. Only…the last time I asked that, I had the feeling
that I was pressuring him. And if getting pissed is the only way for Regulus to see his brother,
I'd rather he didn't.

As the warming charms start to fade, I stand up with a final, strained huff of breath and make
my way towards my first period Charms class.
 Flaws
Chapter Notes

Extra long chapter this time, mostly following Harry since that is where the shit
happens. More Regulus in the following chapters, promise ;)

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

Chapter 21: Flaws

Grimmauld Place, 1 February 1997

"Finally decided to show up, huh?" My brother says, his voice sounding weary and quiet in
the cold chamber.

I move to stand up from the stone floor and run a hand though my face as I try to blink the
wooziness away, still feeling the effects of the Firewhiskey I drained before I passed out.

"Sirius," I croak and narrow my eyes at him. He looks thinner, his face gaunt and greyish. But
the look in his eyes is what makes my insides clench with fear.

"You look like shit," I manage to breathe, my stuttering voice betraying everything I feel
inside.

Sirius's mouth twists ruefully. "You're one to talk, brother…have you actually come across
with a mirror lately?" He asks, a small frown between his brows as he studies my features.

I give him a mild shrug. "It has proven to be rather difficult for me to see you," I say, aiming
for an indifferent voice.

And it has. After two months of silence I decided to try to consume enough alcohol to make
me pass out. It had worked before. The first time it didn't happen, I merely woke up hungover
and confused, determined to try again. It wasn't until the third time when I began to feel
desperate, after waking up from my bedroom floor, the room nearly destroyed as if an
Exploding Charm had gone off in there. And according to Kreacher, it had. Apparently, I was
lucky to survive with only small cuts and bruises which the elf had managed to heal quickly.

Sirius huffs exasperatedly, his eyes flashing with recognition. "Reggie – "

"Don't." I interrupt him, knowing what my brother's going to say. "I'm not going to stop. You
might as well accept it," I say with a warning in my voice.

Sirius clenches his jaw and gives me a conflicted look before I continue, "Harry says hi."
My brother's expression quickly turns into something between astonishment and excitement.
"How is he?" He asks quickly, his eyes searching clues from mine.

I give him a small smirk. "Stubborn and predictable as ever. Wanted me to tell you that he's
doing okay," I say and as I expected, Sirius's eyes widen with shock.

"You told him?" He asks slowly, his eyes now guarded and…accusing.

I arch a brow at him. "Disappointed?" I merely ask, staring straight at him, determined not to
waver under his hard gaze.

Sirius scoffs. "What do you think, Reggie? I mean, are you closer to solving out how to get
me the hell away from here? Are you? Because if you aren't, I have no fucking idea how
could you be so stupid to drag my godson into this!" He says, his voice rising with anger.

I grit my teeth as a surge of rage flows through me. "Fuck you." I mutter and look away,
trying to calm myself, trying to remember that this might be the only chance I've got to speak
with my brother, ever again. Trying to remember that he doesn't know how utterly lonely I've
been for the past months; how fucking desperate I've felt because I haven't been able to see
him even though I've nearly drowned myself in alcohol.

"Reggie…" Sirius says softly after a short silence. "Reggie look at me…" He says, sounding
as desperate as I feel.

I finally move my gaze back to him, and all the air leaves from my lungs. He's not crying but
his eyes are too bright…too sad. He looks so hopeless, so…broken. The look in his eyes tells
me exactly how thoroughly desolate he must feel.

"I'm sorry," He says quietly, staring at me intently. "I shouldn't have said that," he whispers.

I swallow down the anger, pain, sickness, and all the fucking miserable feelings that try to
overthrow me as I look at my brother.

"We're going to get you out, I promise. Whatever it takes." I say, my voice rough as I battle
with my emotions and the dizziness I'm beginning to feel, which indicates that our time is
slowly coming to an end.

Sirius gives me a half-hearted smirk. "Wasn't expecting anything less of you, brother."

I try to speak to him, try to tell him that he needs to keep fighting, that he needs to have faith,
and above anything, he must not give up.

But eventually, the light-headedness takes over, leaving me into darkness.

I'm lying in my bed, hours after waking up from the dream. My throat constricts and it feels
impossible to move. To continue. I stare at the canopy of my bed, seeing nothing but blurred
colours, feeling numb and defeated at the same time.
It's getting difficult to open the connection, and seeing him now was harder than ever,
especially when so many months have passed after the last time. So many months of
suffering and loneliness. For both of us.

The look in his eyes haunts me, makes my insides twist with pain, makes it difficult to
breathe.

What if this was the last time that we spoke to each other? What if last night was the last time
that I saw him?

What if he's going to give up? What if he's going to let go? He looked so…hopeless. So
beaten. And hell, it's been eight months, and I'm no closer to get him out as I was then.
Would it be easier for him to let go? I know it sure as hell wouldn't be for me. But…is it
selfish of me to demand him to hold on, to continue the misery?

If we're able to execute our plan to sneak into the Ministry next summer, after Potter's
birthday, it will be another six months for Sirius to stay there and fade away.

And there's no certainty that anything I try would work. What then?

How would I be able to tell my brother that I'm going to give up on him? How could I ever
tell him that?

He would never give up on me, if our roles were reversed. Not now. Not ever.

Knowing that I made a promise to him, and that he'd do anything to get me back to him gives
me strength. It helps me to lock away all the feelings of doubt and overcome and focus on
what is important. To get my brother back.

Hogwarts, 2 February 1997

I'm sitting in a reading nook in the corner of Hogwarts library, turning the pages of a mouldy
book, a book, which title has long ago faded, but which pages are still in a readable
condition, as Hermione slumps in a chair opposite to me. She's holding a handful of books I
know she's pulled from the restricted section.

Hermione lets out an exasperated huff as she pushes her bearings into a pile on the table,
before picking up the topmost one, a book that looks as decaying as the one I'm going
through.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to see Dumbledore to ask for a permission to the restricted
section, assuming he'd demand to know what I was going to be looking for. I was more than
surprised after he merely gave me a scrutinising look over his half-moon spectacles, before
nodding and saying that he'd inform Madam Pince.

And since then, Hermione and I have been spending every spare moment in the library, where
my friend has been researching Horcruxes and where I have been pretending to do the same.
What I've really been looking for, is magic that could help Regulus and me in our little quest
to get Sirius out from the Veil.

"I can't believe we haven't found one single explanation of what Horcruxes do!" She hisses
quietly after flicking her wand to cast a Muffliato around us. "Not a single one! We've been
going through the restricted section for days now, and even in the most horrible books, where
they tell you how to brew the most gruesome potions – nothing! All I've found was this, in
the introduction to Magick Moste Evile – listen – 'of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical
inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction' …I mean, why mention it, then?" She says
impatiently, slamming the old book shut.

The book lets out a ghostly wail. "Oh, shut up," Hermione snaps at it and takes another book
from the pile, while I give her a shrug and move my gaze back to the book I've been reading.

It doesn't have anything about Horcruxes, of course, since I've already skimmed the book
through, but it does dwell on about shaping and manipulating life-force, a force that allows
life to appear and exist, grow and flourish throughout the universe. The subject itself is
already interesting, but moreover, it could be something that could help us to get Sirius back.
Maybe.

I can feel Hermione's gaze on me even before she speaks. "What are you reading?" She asks
curiously.

I look at her, hoping that my eyes don't betray me. "Uh, nothing helpful, I reckon. Just a
bunch of gibberish about spiritual and mental powers…" I trail off and move to stand up. "I'll
check what is left in the shelf I've been going through," I mutter and walk towards the
restricted section before Hermione can question the book further. As I reach the section I've
been perusing, I quickly stash the volume into my schoolbag and pull a couple of dark
looking books from the shelf before returning back to our table.

We continue reading in silence until lunch time. After lunch, Hermione goes back to the
library, this time to study, while I go towards the Quidditch pitch to practice with a sullen
looking Ron.

"You've been spending much time with Hermione," he mutters as we walk side by side on the
narrow path, surrounded by knee-deep snow. "Hanging out in the library every moment you
get…" Ron continues, giving me a suspicious look.

I lift my brows at him. "She's just helping me to research about…" I say and take a quick
glance around us, "Horcruxes," I whisper. "You know, the thing Voldemort mentioned to
Slughorn," I continue pointedly.

Ron's ears turn slightly red in embarrassment even as he shudders to the name. "Yeah, um,
sorry if I haven't been helping you out…" He says quietly, looking down. "It's just…
Lavender," He says with a weary sigh. "It's like…like she'll suffocate if I'm not spending
every second with her," Ron continues, sounding guilty and annoyed.

I shake my head at him. "Remind me again, why are you with her?" I ask and eye him
incredulously.
Ron sighs again. "Lately…I've been asking myself the same thing, mate…" He grumbles.

We're silent for a while before Ron stops in his tracks and turns towards me. "Is she…
Hermione…is she seeing anyone?" He asks carefully, looking slightly worried, as if bracing
himself for my answer.

I lift my brows, not really surprised since I reckon his feelings for our friend haven't gone
anywhere even though he is currently dating another girl. "Not that I know of," I tell him with
a shrug before continuing towards the pitch.

Ron looks relieved and follows me, staying silent for the rest of the way until we reach the
pitch where we spot Lavender and Parvati sitting at one of the stands. Ron lets out a small
groan of annoyance as Lavender shrieks my friend's 'pet name', loudly enough for the rest of
the Gryffindor team to hear and snigger at.

Exasperated by Ron's cowardness to face the situation and end the relationship when he
clearly doesn't want to be in it anymore, I turn towards the rest of the team and order
everyone in the air with more briskness in my voice than they are used to.

After a good ten minutes of unleashing my bad mood to my teammates, Ginny hovers closer
to me, giving me a narrow-eyed look.

"Who made your face look like a smacked arse today, Potter?" She asks dryly as she watches
her boyfriend dodge a Bludger before sending the Quaffle towards Demelza.

I huff at her. "Just your brother, I suppose," I grunt, knowing fully well I shouldn't let it
bother me as much as it does. What's going on between Ron and Hermione is none of my
business, but it still affects to our friendship. It still affects everything. And there're more
important things to worry over than their quarrel. There are more important things they too
should focus on. Like for example, what is Malfoy scheming? Or…what secret powers has
Voldemort possibly gained during his Hogwarts' years and after? Or…even though they don't
know about it, at least not yet; how long can Sirius stay in the Veil, before it is too late to
save him?

Ginny sighs as she glances at Lavender and Patil at the stands, where the former is gripping
the railing and cheering for Ron, who in turn is actively trying to ignore her and focus on the
practice. "Yeah. Well, my brother's an arse. You should know that by now…" She says
wearily. "Just…Don't take it on the team if he's being insufferable. The rest of us don't
deserve that," She says with a harsh voice, making me feel like a prat.

"Yeah. Sorry," I say guiltily, and then jerk my head towards the others. "Go on, let's see what
you've got," I say and give her an apologetic smile. Ginny smirks at me before shooting
towards the other Chasers, continuing the practice.

Hogwarts, 1 March 1997

It seems like February has gone in a blink of an eye, and that I haven't really succeeded to
accomplish anything. At least, anything I'm supposed to do. I'm no closer to persuading
Slughorn than I was in the beginning of January, and after three Apparition lessons, it feels
like I haven't made any progress there either. Nothing interesting has come up in the library,
which made a frustrated Hermione suggest that we'd stop the research for now, and that I
should focus on getting that memory from Slughorn since that would most likely answer the
question.

Instead of doing what I should do, for the past few weeks I have been trying to figure out
what Malfoy is up to. During our first Apparition lesson three weeks ago, I heard Malfoy
argue with Crabbe, about something that is going to happen. Something in which he needs
Crabbe and Goyle to keep a lookout for him. Since I still firmly believe Malfoy to be a Death
Eater, it's not like I could just ignore his comments. I need to know what he's planning.

I'm in the middle of making my habitual check on the Marauder's Map for Malfoy, something
I've done nearly every morning, as Ron slowly wakes up in the next bed.

"Happy birthday, mate," I say and throw him a package that flies across the air to the foot of
his bed and in the middle of a small pile of presents that are likely delivered by the house-
elves of Hogwarts.

"Cheers," Ron says to my direction after a long yawn and then starts to open his presents.

There's a short silence, filled only with the rustling of paper, before Ron speaks. "Nice one,
Harry!" He says with a wide smile as he admires the new pair of Quidditch Keeper's gloves
I've given him.

"No problem," I say to him before moving my focus back on the Map. "Hey…I don't think
Malfoy's in his bed…" I mutter, but Ron's too busy to unwrap his presents to answer me.

"Seriously good haul this year!" He announces, and I look up to see him holding up a heavy
gold watch with odd symbols around the edge and tiny moving stars instead of hands. "See
what Mum and Dad got me? Blimey, I think I'll come of age next year too…"

"Cool," I say and give the watch an approving nod. But something in the Map is still
bothering me, drawing in my concentration. Where is Malfoy? He's not at breakfast, not in
his common room, or his bed…

"Want one?" Ron asks thickly, mouth full of Chocolate Cauldron, holding out the box.

I glance at him again. "Oh. No thanks," I say and curse silently at the Map. "I swear, Malfoy's
gone again!" I grumble with annoyance. Where in the hell he has vanished…again?

"Can't have done," Ron says before stuffing a second Cauldron into his mouth. "Come on.
Let's go to breakfast. I don't wanna Apparate with an empty stomach. Although…I suppose it
could make it easier…" he continues as he gets up from his bed and starts getting dressed.

I tap my wand at the Map and put it away before getting dressed as well. My thoughts still
linger on Malfoy, on his continuous disappearances, and the best way to tail him without
being spotted and being late for classes when I notice Ron's stopped in his tracks, in the
middle of the dorm while I've already walked to the door.
"Ron?" I ask, and take in his appearance. He's looking out of the rain-washed window, with a
strangely unfocused look on his face.

"Ron? Breakfast," I say, my voice slightly louder as I take a couple of steps towards him.

"I'm not hungry," he mutters, still staring into the distance.

What? I blink at him in confusion. "I thought you just said – "

"Well, all right, I'll come down with you," Ron says with a sigh. "But I don't want to eat," he
continues plainly.

I give him a suspicious look. "You've just eaten half a box of Chocolate Cauldrons, haven't
you?"

"It's not that," Ron says with another sigh. "You…you wouldn't understand."

I'm beginning to feel baffled, but know that if I'm not going to breakfast before it's over, I'm
the one who has to Apparate with an empty stomach. "Fair enough," I say eventually and
decide to head downstairs by myself.

"Harry!" Ron suddenly says, his voice filled with alarm.

I turn quickly back to him. "What is it?" I ask hastily, trying to assess him, trying to see if he's
okay.

"Harry, I can't stand it!" Ron says, looking frustrated.

The bafflement only grows inside me. "You can't stand what?" I ask, now feeling alarmed. As
I take a good look at my friend's features, I notice he looks like he's about to be sick.

"I can't stop thinking about her!" Ron says hoarsely.

What? I can only gape at him. Is he…is he talking about Lavender? Or Hermione? I'm really
not sure if I want to engage into that conversation right now. "Okay…Why does that stop you
having breakfast?" I ask instead, trying to make him see some sense.

"I don't think she knows how I feel," Ron says, looking desperate…and…besotted.

He must be talking about Hermione. Because Lavender definitely knows how he feels. Or
does she? Although, I reckon Hermione's the one who doesn't really know how Ron feels. I
clear my throat uncomfortably. "She probably does," I say tentatively, deciding it could mean
either of them. "I mean, you've been hanging around with her for the past five years?"

Ron blinks at me. "Who the hell are you talking about?"

"What?" I ask in confusion. "Who are you talking about?" I say, and can't help but stare at my
friend incredulously, as if he's lost his mind.
"Romilda Vane," Ron says softly, and his expression turns into a dreamy one, as if the mere
name of the girl has brought him immense happiness.

I stare at Ron for a long time, trying to figure out if my friend's joking. "This is a joke, right?
You're joking," I say with a frown. Still, it doesn't feel like a joke and that's what alarms me
the most.

"I think…Harry, I think I love her," Ron breathes, looking desperate.

What the hell?

"Okay," I say and shake my head unbelievingly before walking up to Ron to take a better
look at his glazed eyes. "Okay. Say that again with a straight face."

Ron merely looks at me, and if eyes could be shaped into hearts, his definitely would. "I love
her," he says breathlessly. "Have you seen her hair, it's all black and shiny and silky…and her
eyes? Her big dark eyes? And her –"

"This is really funny and everything," I say, starting to feel irritated. "But joke's over, all
right? Drop it."

I turn to leave and then Ron hits me at the back of my head. He fucking hits me!

Staggering, I turn around. "What the hell?" I yell, and then see the look on Ron's face. The
rage in his eyes. His fists are drawn up, and he looks like he's going to take a swing at me
again. Before he manages to move, I pull my wand and fire the first incantation that comes
into my mind.

"Levicorpus!" I yell and Ron lets out a surprised roar as he's being yanked from his feet, to
hang upside-down from the ceiling.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I yell at him.

Ron's face is quickly turning into a purple one. "You insulted her, Harry! You said it was a
joke!" He shouts back stubbornly.

"What?" I snap incredulously. "This is insane!" I say angrily. "You're insane! What's got into
–"

And then I notice the box of Chocolate Cauldrons lying open on Ron's bed, realising what is
going on. Remembering what Hermione warned me about before Christmas.

"Where did you get those Chocolate Cauldrons?" I ask suspiciously from my friend.

Ron gives me an annoyed huff. "They were a birthday present!" He insists, struggling in mid-
air. "I offered you one, didn't I?"

I suppress a frustrated growl. "You just picked them up off the floor, didn't you?"

"They'd fallen off my bed, all right? Let me go!" Ron says, sounding confused.
I pinch the bridge of my nose before looking back at my mate. "They didn't fall off your bed,
you prat, don't you understand? They were mine, I chucked them out of my trunk when I was
looking for the map. They're the Chocolate Cauldrons Romilda gave me before Christmas
and they're all spiked with love potion!"

But only one word of this seems to interest Ron.

"Romilda?" Ron says hastily. "Did you say Romilda? Harry…do you know her? Can you
introduce me?"

I stare at my friend with disbelief, taking in the tremendously hopeful look in his eyes. After
mulling over the situation and deciding what to do, I finally speak to him. "Yeah, I'll
introduce you," I say. "I'm going to let you down now, okay?"

I flick my wand, making Ron crashing back to the floor, since, well, the bloody twat managed
to get a sore lump to the back of my neck. Ron simply stands up to his feet again, grinning at
me.

"She'll be in Slughorn's office," I say confidently, leading the way to the door.

"Why will she be in there?" Ron asks anxiously, hurrying to keep up with me.

I quickly think of a reply. "Oh, she has extra Potions lessons with him."

Ron seems to be okay with my lies. "Maybe I could ask if I can have them with her?" Ron
says eagerly.

"Yeah, great idea," I say as we step into the common room, where I spot Lavender, waiting
beside the portrait hole.

Shit…

"You're late, WonWon!" Lavender says with an exaggerated pout. "I've got you a birthday –"

"Leave me alone," Ron says impatiently, barely glancing at her. "Harry's going to introduce
me to Romilda Vane," he says and pushes his way out of the portrait hole.

I grimace inwardly and glance at Lavender, who now looks close to tears. I give her an
apologetic look before quickly following Ron through the portrait hole, hoping that Slughorn
will be able to sort this out.

Hogwarts, 8 March 1997

"And that's Smith of Hufflepuff with the Quaffle," a dreamy voice speaks, echoing over the
grounds. "He did the commentary last time, of course, and Ginny Weasley flew into him, I
think probably on purpose, it looked like it. Smith was being quite rude about Gryffindor, I
expect he regrets that now he's playing them — oh, look, he's lost the Quaffle, Ginny took it
from him, I do like her, she's very nice…"
I whirl around to stare at the commentator's podium. Surely nobody in their right mind would
have let Luna Lovegood commentate? But even in high above the stands there is no
mistaking that long, dirty blonde hair, nor the necklace of butterbeer corks. My eyes shift to
look beside Luna, at Professor McGonagall, who's looking very uncomfortable, seeming to
be having doubts about appointing Luna as a commentator.

"…but now that big Hufflepuff player's got the Quaffle from her, I can't remember his name,
it's something like Bibble — no, Buggins —"

"It's Cadwallader!" Professor McGonagall yells with irritation. I let out a quiet snort before
moving my focus back on the search for the Snitch.

Moments later, I hear McLaggen shouting instructions and criticism at Ginny for allowing the
Quaffle out of her possession, and the next second, Cadwallader scores.

I curse under my breath and fly closer to McLaggen. "McLaggen, will you pay attention to
what you're supposed to be doing and leave everyone else alone!" I yell at him with
frustration.

"You're not setting a great example!" McLaggen shouts back, his face red with annoyance.

"And now Harry Potter's having an argument with his Keeper," Luna speaks serenely, while
both Hufflepuff and Slytherin students below in the crowd make cheering and jeering sounds.
"I don't think that'll help him find the Snitch, but maybe it's a clever ruse…"

"Bloody fuck!" I swear quietly and turn around from McLaggen, focusing again to what I'm
supposed to be doing, trying to scan any sight of the tiny, winged golden ball. Minutes go by,
and Ginny and Demelza both score a goal, earning cheers from Gryffindor supporters in the
stands. Then Cadwallader scores again, making things level, but Luna doesn't even mention
it, and instead babbles something about interestingly shaped clouds and the possibility that
Zacharias Smith, who had so far failed to maintain possession of the Quaffle for longer than a
minute, was suffering from something called 'Loser's Lurgy'.

"Seventy-forty to Hufflepuff!" Professor McGonagall barks into Luna's megaphone.

"Is it, already?" Luna wonders dreamily. "Oh, look! The Gryffindor Keeper's got hold of one
of the Beater's bats."

What?!

I spin quickly around to see that McLaggen, for some fucking reason, has pulled Peakes's bat
from him and seems to be demonstrating how to hit a Bludger towards an oncoming
Cadwallader.

Fucking hell.

"McLaggen!" I yell angrily. "Give him back his bat and get back to the goal posts!" I roar as I
fly towards him. McLaggen takes a swipe at the Bludger just as I'm closing in, and in a
fraction of a second, I realise he's sent the Bludger straight at me, before it hits home.
A blinding, sickening pain fills me, I can hear distant screams, and then, it's nothing but
darkness…

The next thing I know, I'm lying in a warm and comfortable bed, a small lamp shedding light
into what looks like the Hospital wing in Hogwarts. It's dark outside. I wonder what time it is,
and how long I've been here? I let out a soft groan as I try to get rid of the bleariness in my
eyes.

"Nice of you to drop in, mate," a familiar voice says.

I turn my head slightly, and see Ron in the next bed, grinning at me. "Hey mate," I croak and
lift my hand to my head, which feels strangely heavy. There's a stiff turban of bandages
around it. "What happened?" I mutter groggily as I try to sit up.

"Cracked skull," Madam Pomfrey says softly as she appears out of nowhere, gently pushing
me back to lean against my pillow. "Nothing to worry about, I mended it at once, but I'm
keeping you in overnight. You shouldn't over exert yourself for a few hours."

I feel a surge of rage as I remember what happened. "I don't want to stay here overnight," I
grit out through my teeth and sit up. "I want to find McLaggen and kill him."

Madam Pomfrey actually rolls her eyes at me before she pushes me back more firmly. "I'm
afraid that would come under the heading of 'overexertion,'" she says sternly, and lifts her
wand, pointing it at me. "You will stay here until I discharge you, Potter, or I shall call the
Headmaster," she says finally and then turns to go back into her office.

I curse under my breath while Ron eyes me with amusement. "D'you know how much we lost
by?" I ask him bitterly, hoping to wipe that annoying giddy look from his face. And
succeeding in it.

Ron frowns at me, his expression turning into a sour one. "Well, yeah I do," he says
apologetically. "Final score was three hundred and twenty to sixty."

"Brilliant," I say through clenched teeth. "Just fucking brilliant," I growl, and Ron – who
usually swears like a sailor – gives me a startled look. "When I get hold of McLaggen —"

"You don't want to get hold of him, he's the size of a troll," Ron says reasonably. "Personally,
I think there's a lot to be said for hexing him with that toenail thing of the Prince's. Anyway,
the rest of the team might've dealt with him before you get out of here, they're not happy…"

Ron's words don't help me feel better – I know he's partly glad that McLaggen messed up so
badly, since he probably now thinks he doesn't have any trouble getting back to the team. But
he wouldn't have had any trouble. I mean, even if McLaggen had played well, I still would've
wanted Ron back. He's a good Keeper, at least when he doesn't let his nerves get the best of
him. He fits better with the whole team, and he actually listens instructions.

Our discussion moves towards Malfoy, when I tell Ron I was almost late from the game. "I
just want to know what he's up to," I tell Ron. "And don't say that it's all in my head, not after
what I overheard between him and Snape —"

"I never said it was all in your head," Ron says quickly, hoisting himself up on an elbow and
frowning at me, "but there's no rule saying only one person at a time can be plotting anything
in this place! You're getting a bit obsessed with Malfoy, Harry. I mean, thinking about
missing a match just to follow him…"

"I want to catch him at it!" I say hotly, feeling frustrated. "I mean, where's he going when he
disappears off the map?"

"I dunno…Hogsmeade?" Ron says, yawning widely.

"I've never seen him going along any of the secret passageways on the map. I thought they
were being watched now anyway?" I say pointedly.

"Well then, I dunno," Ron mutters with a sleepy voice.

I stay silent as I try to figure out how to follow Malfoy without missing classes or, well,
Quidditch. If I only had the Minister's power, and I could just assign people to tail upon
Malfoy.

There's a low, rumbling snore from Ron's bed. After a while Madam Pomfrey exits from her
office to check on her patients, and I close my eyes to let her think I'm asleep in order to
avoid her scolding me to be awake still.

After she has dimmed the lights and returned back to her office, I lie awake and stare at the
ceiling, recalling the previous times I've been in the hospital wing after a Quidditch injury.
The last time I'd fallen off my broom because of the Dementors, and the time before that, all
the bones had been removed from my arm by the berk, Lockhart…That had probably been
the most painful injury by far…I still remember the agony of re-growing an armful of bones
in one night, a discomfort not eased by the arrival of an unexpected visitor in the middle of
the —

I sit up abruptly, my heart pounding, my bandage turban moving slightly to the side. I know
how to tail on Malfoy. I know how to have him followed without missing my classes or
Quidditch.

I frown into the darkness as I whisper quietly. "Kreacher?"

There is a silent crack, and Ron groans softly in his sleep, but by the sounds of him, he
doesn't fully wake up.

I quickly point my wand at the curtains surrounding my hospital bed. "Muffliato!" I whisper,
and then light my wand silently. Kreacher's standing on the floor, near the foot of my bed.

"Master called me?" Kreacher croaks quietly, sinking into a bow even as it gives me an
annoyed look.

"Yeah, I did," I say quickly, not wanting Ron or Madam Pomfrey to wake up – I can explain
everything to Ron later on. "I've got a job for you."
"Kreacher will do whatever Master wants," Kreacher says, sinking so low that its nose almost
touches its gnarled toes, "because Kreacher has no choice, but Kreacher is ashamed to have
such a master, yes —"

"Thank you, Kreacher," I grit trough my teeth. Hell, apparently the elf can maintain a polite
behaviour only when I'm in Regulus's presence. "Keep your opinions about me to yourself," I
say warningly, before I continue. "I want you to tail Draco Malfoy. I want to know where he's
going, who he's meeting, and what he's doing. I want you to follow him around the clock."

Kreacher gives me an alarmed look. "Master wants me to follow the youngest of the
Malfoys?" The elf asks slowly. "Master wants me to spy upon the pureblood cousin of my…
my old Master?"

"That's the one," I say blankly, knowing already I have to specify my request to cut off any
loopholes. "And you're forbidden to tip Malfoy off, Kreacher, or to show him what you're up
to, or to talk to him at all, or to write him messages or…or to contact him in any way. Got it?"

The elf seems to mull over my request for a while before it gives a sullen bow and speaks
with a voice oozing of resentment, "Master thinks of everything, and Kreacher must obey
him, even though Master wills bad to the pureblood cousin of Master Regulus, even though
Master brings filth to his house, even though – "

"That's settled, then," I hiss sharply. "I'll want regular reports, but make sure I'm not
surrounded by people when you turn up. Ron and Hermione are okay."

After Kreacher has left, I turn off the light from my wand and realise how tired I am. I only
manage to put my wand back to the nightstand and settle against the soft pillow, before sleep
takes me away from reality.

As soon as I've drifted off, I feel a presence near me, and blink wearily.

Regulus is there, standing next to my bed, his eyes flashing with worry and curiosity.

"Hey," I mutter drowsily. "Am I dreaming?" I ask, because he can't have come here, in the
middle of the night. This has to be a dream.

Regulus's mouth twitches. "And what if you were?" He asks with a low voice, his eyes
studying mine.

I yawn and my eyes don't seem to want to stay open. "I'd say it's nice to see you," I mutter,
my eyes drawing closed, a small grin spreading my lips.

"Thought you promised not to do anything stupid," Regulus says quietly, although, I think I
detect a hint of amusement in his voice.

I let out a small huff of laughter. "You think I cracked my skull willingly, huh?"

There's silence again, and I try to open my eyes and fight against the slumber. Then I feel his
fingertips lightly brushing against the back of my hand.
Realising that he really must be here since I'm definitely not dreaming that, the weariness
leaves me immediately, and my eyes snap open.

"You're here?" I whisper, gaping at him in amazement.

Regulus's lips curve upwards. "How hard did you hit that head of yours, Potter?" He asks and
moves his hand away from me.

I can't focus on the disappointment I feel by the lack of his touch when other, more pressing
thoughts fill my head. He's really here. Inside Hogwarts. Shit, he shouldn't be here. Ron
could wake up any moment, or Pomfrey…What if he's seen by someone?

"Relax." He says softly, evidently seeing my panicked expression. "I'm not going to stay for
long," He continues and gives me a searching look. "As soon as you tell me why you are
expecting my elf to follow my cousin, I will not burden you any longer," he says blankly, his
eyes now speculative and wary.

"W-What?" I stammer, feeling startled, and then let out a frustrated groan. That conniving
little creature. The elf has snitched on me. I clench my jaw and huff, "Kreacher wasn't
supposed to say anything…"

Regulus arches a brow at me. "Did you actually forbid it to tell anyone, or just my cousin?"
He asks dryly, seeming to know the answer.

Shit…of course. I knew the elf accepted the task too willingly. Brilliant. So, Kreacher
must've gone to see Regulus.

"Didn't think so…" Regulus continues with a wry smile. "My elf came to me, and told that its
Master has given it an assignment. To follow my cousin around the clock, to find out who
he's meeting, and what he's doing when he's not in class. Sound familiar?" He asks, his gaze
hardening.

I gape at him, not really knowing how to answer. My look gives me away, naturally.

"Potter," Regulus grits out, looking exasperated. "Why the hell would you do that?"

I lift my brows in bewilderment. He sounds so…upset. "So…you reckon there's something?

That I could find something?" I ask quickly.

Regulus gives me an incredulous look. "Of course there fucking could be something. He's a
son of a Death Eater. Didn't it occur to you that you'd better stay away from him?" He says
forcefully, looking angry all of a sudden.

I roll my eyes at him. That's old news. Malfoy's not his father. "Malfoy's no danger, believe
me. He's a coward." I grunt and look away.

"Then why have him followed?" Regulus asks sharply.

That's just it…I reckon Malfoy himself wouldn't be a danger to the others, but if he's in a
middle of a Death Eater plan, where there are others, to whom he can provide information of
Hogwarts…or if he's doing something for them…I have no idea. I just know that I don't trust
Malfoy. I eventually give Regulus a casual shrug. "Dunno. Just…have a feeling, I suppose."

Regulus looks away, his expression contemplative. "If Kreacher is to follow him, you keep
your distance. You do not go near him," He says after a short moment, or, well, more like
demands.

I give him an incredulous look. "Why wouldn't I? Why are you talking like he's, I dunno,
Voldemort, or something?"

Regulus twitches at the name, and turns his eyes back to me. They're cold, and furious.
"Because I knew his father. And his mother."

I stare at him, trying to read him, mulling over his words. What were they like in Regulus's
time? Did the Malfoys kill and torture innocents? And if so, are they still the same people
they were? At least, Lucius Malfoy's actions speak against that. He has had several chances
to kill me and my friends. But he hasn't.

As Regulus's gaze gives nothing away, I let out an annoyed huff and change the subject.
"How are you even here? You cannot Apparate into Hogwarts…I bet Dumbledore's noticed
the moment you stepped through the boundaries of the school," I say, a freckle of worry
colouring my voice.

Regulus eyes me with an infuriatingly knowing look. "Wouldn't he have noticed that you
summoned Kreacher here in the first place?" He asks calmly. When a deep frown takes place
between my brows and unease fills my stomach, he continues, "No, I do not think that
Kreacher Apparating here would alert the Headmaster, since the anti-Apparition wards do not
exactly apply to elf-magic."

"And as for me being here, well…perks of being a dead man," he says indifferently. "…
Kreacher brought me here," he says after seeing my disbelieving look.

There's another short silence, and then he speaks again, his eyes fixated to mine, "Stay out of
trouble?" He asks quietly. "Otherwise my brother will murder me once he gets out, and then
I'll be sad not be able to bother him anymore," he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes,
looking much like his brother.

I lean back on my pillow and grin at him, my eyes moving over his face, stopping at his lips.

"Oh, I'm sure he'll murder the both of us…" I mutter quietly, swallowing hard as Regulus
licks his lower lip in thought and then hums in agreement.

"Yeah, I think he actually might," he says, leaning closer to me, his right hand resting next to
my head, and then his mouth is inches away from mine.

His eyes sweep over my face, as if trying to memorise it before he speaks. "Better be good
then…" He whispers and slowly straightens up, amusement flickering in his expression as he
hears the quiet, frustrated groan escaping from my throat.
"I have to go," he says, and evidently sees the disappointed look in my eyes as his mouth
turns slightly downwards.

I give him a nod, trying and failing to say anything to him, knowing that this is not the time
or place to discuss anything I need to.

The next moment, Regulus slips between the curtains surrounding my hospital bed, and then
I hear a silent crack, signifying that he has left with Kreacher.

I don't really know how long I stay awake after that, and when I finally fall asleep, I dream
about intense grey eyes, a faint touch of fingertips against my skin, and a warm breath
ghosting across my lips.

In the morning, Ron and I are discharged from the Hospital wing, and even though I go over
the details of last night several times in my head, I'm still not entirely sure if Regulus had
actually been there, or if I was simply dreaming.

Hogwarts, 10 March 1997

I walk quickly towards the Headmaster's office, not wanting to be late from our meeting. I
give the gargoyle the password Dumbledore had provided in his letter, and the stone figure
leaps aside, revealing the spiral staircase.

As soon as I've stepped onto the topmost step, Professor Trelawney pulls the door open from
inside and gives me an incredulous look.

"So this is the reason I am to be thrown unceremoniously from your office, Dumbledore!"
She says with a dramatical voice, a wounded expression behind her magnifying spectacles.

"My dear Sybill," Dumbledore says, sounding a bit exasperated, "there is no question of
throwing you unceremoniously from anywhere, but Harry does have an appointment, and I
really don't think there is any more to be said —"

"Very well," Professor Trelawney sniffs. "If you will not banish the usurping nag, so be it.
Perhaps I shall find a school where my talents are better appreciated…" She says
indifferently, and then pushes past me, disappearing into the staircase, stumbling slightly on
her way.

"Please close the door and sit down, Harry," Dumbledore says wearily.

I quickly obey him and then move towards Dumbledore's desk, where I take my usual seat,
opposite to him.

"Professor Trelawney still isn't happy Firenze is teaching, then?" I ask curiously.

"No," Dumbledore says with a small sigh, "Divination is turning out to be much more trouble
than I could have foreseen, never having studied the subject myself. I cannot ask Firenze to
return to the forest, where he is now an outcast, nor can I ask Sybill Trelawney to leave.
Between ourselves, she has no idea of the danger she would be in outside the castle. She does
not know — and I think it would be unwise to enlighten her — that she made the prophecy
about you and Voldemort, you see." He says resignedly.

"But never mind my staffing problems," Dumbledore continues with a wave of his blackened
hand. "We have much more important matters to discuss. Firstly — have you managed the
task I set you at the end of our previous lesson?"

Shit.

"Um," I say, feeling guilty as Dumbledore gives me an expectant look. I've been so busy with
everything else; with Apparition lessons, Quidditch, Ron being poisoned, getting my skull
cracked and the quest of finding out what Malfoy is up to, I have almost forgotten about the
memory. "Well…I asked Professor Slughorn about it at the end of Potions, sir, but, er, he
wouldn't give it to me." I say, knowing how feeble it all sounds.

Dumbledore is silent for a while, before he speaks. "I see."

He gives me a scrutinising look over his half-moon spectacles before continuing, "And you
feel that you have exerted your very best efforts in this matter, do you? That you have
exercised all of your considerable ingenuity? That you have left no depth of cunning
unplumbed in your quest to retrieve the memory?"

Bloody hell.

"Well," I mutter, trying to think how to justify my actions, or the lack of them, I reckon.
"Well…the day Ron swallowed love potion by mistake I took him to Professor Slughorn. I
thought maybe if I got Professor Slughorn in a good enough mood…"

"And did that work?" Dumbledore asks after I fall silent.

"Well, no, sir, because Ron got poisoned…" I say and grimace inwardly.

Dumbledore gives me a small nod. "Which, naturally, made you forget all about trying to
retrieve the memory; I would have expected nothing else, while your best friend was in
danger. Once it became clear that Mr. Weasley was going to make a full recovery, however, I
would have hoped that you returned to the task I set you. I thought I made it clear to you how
very important that memory is. Indeed, I did my best to impress upon you that it is the most
crucial memory of all and that we will be wasting our time without it," he says, sounding
disappointed, even though there's a small smile on his lips.

A hot, prickly feeling of shame spreads from the top of my head all the way down my body.
Dumbledore had not raised his voice, he did not even sound angry, but still, I think I'd rather
have him yell at me, since the disappointment feels even worse.

The silence between us makes my insides clench uncomfortably, and then I have to say
something, to make it better. "Sir…I'm really sorry. I should have done more…I should have
realised you wouldn't have asked me to do it if it wasn't really important."
Dumbledore's eyes soften a bit before he speaks. "Thank you for saying that, Harry," he says
quietly. "May I hope, then, that you will give this matter higher priority from now on? There
will be little point in our meetings after tonight unless we have that memory."

I give him a determined look. "I'll do it, sir, I'll get it from him."

"Then we shall say no more about it just now," Dumbledore says, his voice kinder now, "and
instead continue with our story where we left off. You remember where that was?"

"Yes, sir," I say quickly. "Voldemort killed his father and his grandparents and made it look as
though his Uncle Morfin had done it. Then he went back to Hogwarts and he asked…he
asked Professor Slughorn about Horcruxes," I say, feeling a pang of shame.

"Very good," Dumbledore says. "Now, you will remember, I hope, that I told you at the very
outset of these meetings of ours that we would be entering the realms of guesswork and
speculation?"

"Yes, sir".

"Thus far, as I hope you agree, I have shown you reasonably firm sources of fact for my
deductions as to what Voldemort did until the age of seventeen?" He says, looking at me
expectantly.

I nod at him.

"But now, Harry," Dumbledore says, "now things become murkier and stranger. If it was
difficult to find evidence about the boy Riddle, it has been almost impossible to find anyone
prepared to reminisce about the man Voldemort. In fact, I doubt whether there is a soul alive,
apart from himself, who could give us a full account of his life since he left Hogwarts.
However, I have two last memories that I would like to share with you," Dumbledore says
and gestures at the two little crystal bottles gleaming beside the Pensieve that is positioned at
the table between us. "I shall then be glad of your opinion as to whether the conclusions I
have drawn from them seem likely."

Hearing his words, that he actually wants my opinion, makes me feel even more ashamed and
all the more determined to acquire the memory from Slughorn. Dumbledore merely lifts the
first of the two bottles into the light and examines it.

"I hope you are not tired of diving into other people's memories, for they are curious
recollections, these two," he says, looking thoughtful. "This first one came from a very old
house-elf by the name of Hokey. Before we see what Hokey witnessed, I must quickly
recount how Lord Voldemort left Hogwarts," he says and fixes me a grave look.

"He reached the seventh year of his schooling with, as you might have expected, top grades
in every examination he had taken. All around him, his classmates were deciding which jobs
they were to pursue once they had left Hogwarts. Nearly everybody expected spectacular
things from Tom Riddle, prefect, Head Boy, winner of the Award for Special Services to the
School. I know that several teachers, Professor Slughorn amongst them, suggested that he
join the Ministry of Magic, offered to set up appointments, put him in touch with useful
contacts. He refused all offers. The next thing the staff knew, Voldemort was working at
Borgin and Burkes," Dumbledore says simply.

I lift my brows in surprise. "At Borgin and Burkes?" I say, feeling stunned.

"At Borgin and Burkes," Dumbledore says calmly. "I think you will see what attractions the
place held for him when we have entered Hokey's memory. But this was not Voldemort's first
choice of job. Hardly anyone knew of it at the time — I was one of the few in whom the then
Headmaster confided — but Voldemort first approached Professor Dippet and asked whether
he could remain at Hogwarts as a teacher."

"What? He wanted to stay here? Why?" I ask quickly, not able to mask the bafflement in my
voice.

Dumbledore makes a low humming sound and looks contemplative. "I believe he had several
reasons, though he confided none of them to Professor Dippet," Dumbledore eventually says.
"Firstly, and very importantly, Voldemort was, I believe, more attached to this school than he
has ever been to a person. Hogwarts was where he had been happiest; the first and only place
he had felt at home."

I can't stop the uncomfortable feeling spreading in my stomach by his words. This isn't the
first time I've felt there're too many similarities between Voldemort and me.

Dumbledore eyes me with a knowing look before continuing, "Secondly, the castle is a
stronghold of ancient magic. Undoubtedly Voldemort had penetrated more of its secrets than
most of the students who pass through the place, but he may have felt that there were still
mysteries to unravel, stores of magic to tap. And thirdly, as a teacher, he would have had
great power and influence over young witches and wizards. Perhaps he had gained the idea
from Professor Slughorn, the teacher with whom he was on best terms, who had
demonstrated how influential a role of a teacher can be. I do not imagine for an instant that
Voldemort envisaged spending the rest of his life at Hogwarts, but I do think that he saw it as
a useful recruiting ground, and a place where he might begin to build himself an army."

I scoff quietly. That sounds about right. "But he didn't get the job, sir?"

"No, he did not. Professor Dippet told him that he was too young at eighteen, but invited him
to reapply in a few years, if he still wished to teach," Dumbledore says simply.

"How did you feel about that, sir?" I ask hesitantly.

Dumbledore gives me a wry smile. "Deeply uneasy," he says. "I had advised Armando
against the appointment — I did not give the reasons I have given you, for Professor Dippet
was very fond of Voldemort and convinced of his honesty. But I did not want Lord Voldemort
back at this school, and especially not in a position of power."

Even though I already feel like I know the answer to it, I have to ask. "Which job did he
want, sir? What subject did he want to teach?"
"Defence Against the Dark Arts. It was being taught at the time by an old Professor by the
name of Galatea Merrythought, who had been at Hogwarts for nearly fifty years,"
Dumbledore says, his expression not giving much of anything away.

"So, Voldemort went off to Borgin and Burkes, and all the staff who had admired him said
what a waste it was, a brilliant young wizard like that, working in a shop. However,
Voldemort was no mere assistant. Polite and handsome and clever, he was soon given
particular jobs of the type that only exist in a place like Borgin and Burkes, which specialises,
as you know, Harry, in objects with unusual and powerful properties. Voldemort was sent to
persuade people to part with their treasures for sale by the partners, and he was, by all
accounts, unusually gifted at doing this."

I let out a small huff. "I'll bet he was," I say dryly.

"Well, quite," Dumbledore continues with a faint smile. "And now it is time to hear from
Hokey the house-elf, who worked for a very old, very rich witch by the name of Hepzibah
Smith."

Dumbledore taps the bottle with his wand, and the cork flows out before he pours the
swirling memory into the Pensieve. "After you, Harry."

Two memories later, I walk back to my dormitory, my head swirling with newly acquired
information, buzzing with the jigsaw of Voldemort's schemes and goals. The first memory
showed us Voldemort meeting with an old lady, Hepzibah Smith, who made the mistake of
trusting the wrong man. Smith showed Voldemort two of her greatest treasures while having
tea with him, and two days later, she was found dead in her home, while her house-elf had
taken the blame. Voldemort had left the scene with Hepzibah's cup and locket – artefacts that
had both once belonged to Hogwarts's founders – before vanishing from the wizarding
community for some time.

The second memory was one of Dumbledore's, when Voldemort had come, once again, to
apply for a job, ten years after murdering Smith. I can't say seeing him didn't make me
shudder inwardly. His appearance hadn't yet been snakelike or his skin pearly white as it is
today, but he hadn't been the handsome Riddle from his schoolyears anymore. His features
seemed burned and blurred, and the whites of his eyes had acquired a permanently bloody
look – the same eyes that would become entirely scarlet in the future.

I know I need to form a plan to acquire the memory from Slughorn. Dumbledore couldn't
have made it more clear how essential it is for us to see. A final, missing piece of the puzzle
we need before we can know for sure, and before everything will be clear.

And this time I'm determined to get it.

 All We’ve Done
Chapter Notes

I KNOW...it's been ages! Been busy working and not writing unfortunately :( Hopefully
I will have more time to write during the summer though. Nevertheless, I hope you guys
are still with me and continue to read this story. More plot (and more Regulus POV)
happening in the upcoming chapters, promise ;)

Chapter 22: All We've Done

Grimmauld Place, 28 March 1997

Warm fingers entwine slowly with mine, determined bright green eyes with a steady gaze.
"I'm not backing out on this."

Those same eyes, the intense look, giving me the confidence when my own is wavering. "Tell
him that his brother's not alone anymore. That we'll get him out, together."

The hospital ward, his head wrapped up in bandages, his mind still seemingly in disorder
from the injury, but those same eyes, that earnest and believing look still heavy in them, his
mouth pulled up into a relaxed grin. "Oh, I'm sure he'll murder the both of us…"

The look of doubt before I left…

The look of disorientation…confusion. And the words of my cousin's running in my head,

over and over again.

"Just…I…do you think this is…wise? You've both lost someone…maybe he's attaching
himself to you because you remind him of Sirius. That maybe he doesn't know what he wants,
and maybe he is confused…"

"Fuck," I breathe out quietly and toss the letter back to my desk.

I let out a huff of annoyance and press the heels of my palms against my eyes, resting my
elbows against the smooth surface of my desk.

Why did Nymphadora have to open her mouth? Why did she have to interfere? Why did she
have to plant these thoughts…these doubts in my head?

I lower my hands and glance at the letter, dated over a week ago. It's a letter from Potter.
Asking me how am I holding up, asking if I've seen anyone, if I've heard anything.

Asking if he could visit me during his Easter holiday.

…Visit me! Like he'd need a permission for it.

I let out a weary sigh, not knowing what to write to him, not knowing if I even should write
anything back.

What if she's right?

I swear under my breath and push myself away from the desk. I flop down back to my bed,
deciding to rest for a bit. It is still early.

Lupin's probably going to visit today. He's made a habit of doing that, usually some days after
the full moon, even though he should be somewhere with the werewolf pack, on his mission.
I haven't really seen anyone during the past month, except him.

I feel like nothing is happening, like nothing is moving forward. Everyone else might be, but
not me. I'm still here. Locked up in my home, desperately trying not to let myself be affected
by how uncontrollable everything around me is. But still trying not to forget what is
important.

What is important…

My brother. Destroying the Horcrux. Destroying him. The Dark Lord.

I feel like I have changed. Everything feels more out of my control than ever, and even things
I could control, I don't. I'm not the same man I was two years ago. Probably even different
from the one before my brother's…death…or whatever it is that it should be called.

Perhaps it is the loneliness that does it, or feeling inadequate. Will it ever change?

I lie on my bed for several moments before I drag myself downstairs, remembering only then
that I don't have Kreacher there to prepare me breakfast.

"Brilliant," I mutter as I open the kitchen door.

"What is?" Lupin asks from the table, where he's sitting at, with a cup of coffee in one hand
and the Daily Prophet in other.

There's a pot of coffee on the table as well as a small assortment of breakfast items.

I give Lupin an accepting nod before I speak. "Breakfast," I grunt and sit down opposite to
him and start to load my plate. "I should invite you here more often," I mutter wryly and pour
a tall cup of coffee for myself. I need caffeine to clear my head.

Lupin lets out an amused sound. "Let me know when you actually start inviting me here…"
He says lightly and turns his focus on the paper, a small curve on his lips.

I eat in silence, and some time after Lupin finishes the paper and hands it to me. I give him a
curt nod and shake the paper open, wondering how many people have been reported missing
or found dead this time. I presume at least no one I know, since Lupin would've said
something.
It turns out, there isn't much in the paper – at least no mentions of attacks or deaths, or
arrests. It has been quiet for a few weeks now, and nothing more than Fletcher being arrested
and sent to Azkaban has happened. Apparently, he had been impersonating an Inferius during
an attempted burglary. Serves him right, I think, even though the Order's now using their
resources to get him released.

It is unnerving, that nothing's happening. Like something big is about to go on soon. It makes
my stomach twinge with uneasiness and the marred mark on my forearm prickle with alarm.

I let out a sigh and drop the paper on the table. "Nothing worth mentioning then…?" I say
and glance at Lupin, who has been eyeing me carefully behind his coffee cup.

His mouth twists down a bit. "Nothing the Ministry is aware of, at least. But I have heard
rumours…" He says slowly, looking very tired and almost overwhelmed.

My brows lift up. "What have you heard?" I ask sharply, knowing already that it can't be
anything good if he's heard something from the werewolves. Maybe they are organising now,
maybe they've received orders to attack…

It's fucking frustrating to live like this, to be in constant anticipation and alert.

Lupin sighs wearily, placing his cup on the table. "They're planning something. Don't know
what exactly, but I think we need to ask the Order to assemble, to see if anyone else has heard
anything…" He says, a deep frown between his brows.

I give him a nod and stay quiet, my mind whirling again. Is this it? The big one? And if it is, I
have to have a chat with Dumbledore. Because the Dark Lord will not be finished until the
piece of his soul, his safeguard is finished.

Why didn't I do it sooner? There could have been a chance that the object had been destroyed
already, and when facing a situation like we now might be facing, we wouldn't have to worry
about it. We would then have a chance – if there ever was going to be one. I'm feeling
restless, going over every bit of information I've learned about the Horcrux in my head. I'm
so absorbed with my thoughts that I don't notice Lupin is talking to me.

"…Regulus?"

"Hmm?" I ask, shaking my head slightly to clear my thoughts. "What is it?"

Lupin watches me studiously. "I asked, how are you?"

I shrug indifferently. "Fine."

He gives me a conflicted look, seemingly not taking my word for it, but still not pressing the
matter further.

"Have you talked with anyone?" He asks, almost subtly. "Other than Kreacher," he quickly
adds, before he looks around the kitchen. "…Where is the elf?" He continues with a puzzled
look.
"Potter needed it," I say curtly and drink my cup empty.

Lupin's brows lift slightly. "Oh? Why?"

"Not my business," I merely say, not in the mood to explain how Potter's stalking my cousin.
Not trusting myself to stay unaffected enough to speak about it, since even thinking about the
subject makes me uncomfortable, makes my head spin with frustration and worry. If
Kreacher wasn't reporting its findings to me as well, I would have found a way to stop it.

Lupin looks thoughtful for a moment before he speaks, "You've been in contact with Harry?"

My insides do a small flip, and I look quickly down at the table, pouring myself another cup,
even though I'm already uncharacteristically fidgety, and definitely not in a need of another
dose of caffeine in my veins.

"He…asked if he could visit me. If he could stop by at Grimmauld. On his Easter holiday," I
say, a bit roughly as I busy myself with my cup.

Lupin lets out a noncommittal sound and as I glance at him, I see him watching me carefully.
"And what did you say to him?" He asks casually, a contemplative look in his eyes.

I clear my throat, feeling slightly awkward. "I haven't said anything," I say and fiddle with
the handle of my cup.

Lupin eyes me for a moment in silence, evidently processing my words. "You should. Let
him come see you, I mean. Let him come to Grimmauld. It…it means more to him than you
might think…" He says hesitantly, and scratches his scruff of a beard before he continues.
"Harry has been denied a lot of things during the past years, for his protection, of course…
but…I'm not so sure if that was the right thing to do." He says, a frown appearing between
his brows. "He might have had more time with…with Sirius," he finishes quietly.

My eyes flip back to meet his. "I'm not my brother." I say, with a hint of hardness in my
voice.

I don't know why I'm saying this to him. Maybe…maybe since it is the thing that is bothering
me the most about Potter. Does he think of me as my brother? Not romantically, definitely no.
Merlin. But…is he so desperate to find a way to connect to my brother that it doesn't matter
what he gets?

"I don't think Harry thinks of you as your brother, Regulus," Lupin says after a short moment,
his expression searching.

I really fucking hope so. I clear my throat and change the subject before he starts asking
questions I don't want to answer. "How long are you staying?" I ask and flick my wand to
clear the table, sending our plates into cleaning in the sink.

Lupin rubs the bridge of his nose. "I'll be in London at least until the Order meeting," he says,
looking drained. "Which reminds me, I need to make a floocall and see if Dumbledore could
organise the meeting as soon as possible," he says and gives me a small smile before he
stands up and walks towards the doorway.

"Write to him, Regulus," Lupin says, lingering at the door, his voice authoritative and kind at
the same time.

As soon as the door closes behind him, I let out a frustrated sigh and fold my arms on the
table and drop my head to rest against them.

Hogwarts, 31 March 1997

There's a sound of footsteps, as if someone's running up the stairs to the Astronomy tower,
towards me.

"Harry!" Hermione calls quietly, out of breath as she spots me leaning against the railing and
watching over the dim grounds at dusk.

"Hey," I say as I watch her walking closer and stop next to me.

Hermione's eyes sweep over the grounds, and I know what she's probably thinking; even
though it's dark, the view is still nice.

"It's so peaceful," she says after a short silence.

I hum agreeably as I watch a pack of Thestrals fly low over Hagrid's Hut.

"Why are you here?" Hermione asks quietly, her eyes at the Forbidden Forest.

I lift one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Wanted some peace and quiet, I reckon."

Hermione turns to eye me with a look that tells me she knows there's something bothering
me. She stays quiet, waiting me expectantly to turn to look at her.

I eventually do and rub my neck awkwardly. "It's…Regulus."

Hermione's brows lift up slightly. "Oh?" She says tentatively, her eyes moving over my face.

As I chew the inside of my cheek and contemplate what to say to her, she continues, "Has
something happened? Between you two?" She asks softly.

I let out a weary sigh and turn back to lean my forearms against the railing, not able to look at
her in the eye if I'm to confess anything to her. She did ask me, a couple of weeks after
Christmas, inquiring if I'd met him. Regulus. I merely told her that we went to Grimmauld for
dinner with the Weasleys and then Regulus and a bunch of other people spent the Christmas
day at Burrow. Hermione hadn't pressed the matter further, and I hadn't said anything more to
the subject.

It's not that I didn't want to talk about it with her, just…I needed time to think things through.
And then I became distracted by Malfoy. And by Dumbledore's lessons. And by Quidditch.
And then I saw him again, in the infirmary, and I was reminded of what I was missing,
underneath of everything else.

Merlin, my brain sounds like a proper sap.

"Yeah. Something has happened," I say wearily. Hermione stays quiet, listening, waiting.

"We…well, we kissed. During the holidays. And again before I left back to Hogwarts," I say
quietly, feeling my neck and my cheeks warm up with embarrassment.

Hermione let's out an intrigued hum. I glance at her. She's smirking.

"Stop that," I grunt, equally pleased and annoyed by her reaction.

Hermione lets out a quiet giggle.

"I mean it," I mutter and look away, not able to talk about this if she keeps grinning at me like
that.

Hermione clears her throat and her voice becomes sombre. "Okay, but Harry…why didn't
you say anything earlier?"

I shake my head slightly and stare at the grounds. "Dunno. I…I needed time. To process it. To
figure out what it meant…" I say unsurely.

"And? Did you? Process it?"

I've done nothing but processed it after the infirmary. Every bloody night, I've been
processing it. Thinking about him, thinking about how bummed out I felt after he left. How
frustrated I felt when he didn't kiss me then. I've been processing it so much that I even wrote
to him, asking if we could meet.

I let out another deep sigh and scratch my head in thought. Why the hell hasn't he replied? I
know he has received the letter since Hedwig came back a couple of days afterwards, hooting
reassuringly before requesting a handful of owl treats.

"Yeah. I…I want to see him. Talk to him. I need to know what's happening. What's gonna
happen," I mutter distractedly, my mind still somewhere between meeting him that night and
the week after that, when I sent him the letter.

Hermione steps closer to me, placing a hand against my shoulder. "So write to him. Maybe…
maybe you could see him. I mean, it is a relatively safe place, after all, Grimmauld Place.
And we have still nearly two weeks left of our Easter break," she says sensibly.

I glance at her. "I did. He didn't write back," I say, trying to look indifferent, even though I
can hear my voice betraying me, letting both of us know exactly how much that bothers me.

"Oh. When? How long ago? …Has something happened?" Hermione asks quickly, looking
thoughtful and anxious at the same time.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. This can't be happening again. First Sirius, and now – granted,
there hasn't been any uninvited fake visions about anyone, but…that has been one of the
thoughts running in my mind lately. "Two weeks ago."

Hermione frowns, her face turned to the grounds again, seemingly in thought. After a short
silence, she speaks, turning back to me. "I think you should go to McGonagall. Tell her that
you are worried. That you'd like to know if he's all right, and if you could meet him?"

I arch a brow at her. "And what if he's not replying because he doesn't want to meet me?" I
ask, unable to stop the feeling of anxiousness spreading again inside me. What if?

Hermione scoffs. "Then he should be a man enough to put that into writing."

I hum noncommittally and ponder over her suggestion. Maybe she has a point. Whatever it is,
I need to know that he's there. Unharmed. So that I can sleep at nights. "Yeah, okay, I'll go
see her."

Hermione smiles brightly at me. "Brilliant! Now…Can we maybe go back to our common
room? It's freezing out here," She says, shivering slightly.

I give her a small smile and nod at her, digging out the Invisibility Cloak from my school bag
and throwing it over us so we won't get caught by Filch on our way back to the tower.

"Thanks," I whisper to her as we make our way along the halls.

Hermione squeezes my arm gently. "No problem."

Hogwarts, 1 April 1997

It's Tuesday morning, and we're in the middle of breakfast in the Great Hall. It's not exactly
early, since it is our Easter break, but there are only a handful of students scattered at the
house tables.

"I swear to Merlin, Harry, if that elf pops into our dorm in the middle of the night again like
that, I'll strangle it!"

"Ron!"

I cringe at my friend. "Sorry, mate." I say and give him an apologetic look. Kreacher came to
visit me last night, to give a report of its findings about Malfoy. Luckily it was only Ron and
me, since all our other dormmates have left to their homes for the Easter break. I know for a
fact that Kreacher had done it on purpose, since there have been many chances for it to give
me a report about its project at times when I have actually been awake. But I'll take what I
can get.

I notice Hermione narrowing her eyes at me. "Harry…? Why is Kreacher appearing into your
dorm in the middle of the night? Don't tell me you're still making it follow Malfoy!" She
hisses quietly, glancing quickly around us.
I shrug. "What if I am? And it's for a good reason, Hermione. Kreacher has found out where
Malfoy's been disappearing from the Map!" I whisper hastily, feeling smug. I knew the snake
was up to something.

Hermione falters slightly. "What is it?"

"Apparently, Malfoy's been making visits to the Room of Requirement!" I tell my friends
excitedly, but still keeping my voice down. "He's been polyjuicing Crabbe and Goyle into
different students every time! Kreacher told me that there are usually two girls waiting for
him on the other side of the wall, and you already know that I've seen Crabbe and Goyle in
the Map, hovering on the seventh floor nearly every day," I say with a victorious smile.

Ron snorts loudly at his cereals. "Crabbe and Goyle…as girls. Now that's a sight I'd want to
see," He says, grinning slyly.

Hermione purses her lips and seems to be thinking over something. "But that can mean
anything, Harry," she eventually says, sounding a bit unsure.

I let out a frustrated huff. "He's a Death Eater, and he's up to something," I whisper darkly.

Ron shifts uncomfortably while Hermione rolls her eyes. "We don't have any proof, Harry.
You know, I wish you'd stop wasting your time on him. You should instead focus on
Slughorn, and getting that memory! We know Malfoy's practically harmless. A bully, but,
well, a coward." Hermione whispers primly.

Ron lets out a low groan and frowns a bit. I glance at him before I fix a hard look at
Hermione. "I've tried to talk with Slughorn nearly every day now, but he's doing his best to
avoid me! And I know Malfoy's a coward, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have friends who
aren't," I tell her firmly. "I'm not gonna stop until I find what exactly is he doing in there."

Hermione lets out a long sigh and focuses on her tea. A moment after, the morning post is
delivered. There is a remarkably smaller flock of owls soaring over the hall than usually, as
most of the students are visiting their homes during the holidays.

I spot Hedwig immediately, and stare at it in puzzlement as the owl drops closer, before
gracefully landing in front of my plate, its leg outstretched, and a letter in its grip. I feel a
peculiar jolt in my stomach. I wonder. I hope. I force my fingers not to shake and I'm
definitely not looking at Hermione, who most likely is eyeing me with a knowing expression.
Hedwig sneaks a piece of bacon from my plate before taking off with a soft hoot.

Ron lets out a long groan next to me.

"Um. Mate?" I ask quietly as I take in my friend's purple and straining face, putting the
envelope down on the table before opening it. I can wait a bit longer.

"Ron?" Hermione asks worriedly, her eyes moving across Ron's face from the opposite side
of the table.
"I'm fine." Ron grunts, looking anything but. Ron let's out a wheezing sound. "Those bloody
wankers…" he hisses abruptly.

Hermione and I both stare at him in bewilderment.

"Mate, wha- "

Ron growls, pressing a hand over his stomach. "U-NO-POO…" He grits out, sweat beading
into his brow.

Hermione's still stunned and worried, when I understand what is happening.

April Fools' Day. Ron seeming like he's constipated. I quickly bite back a grin as Ron excuses
himself and walks quickly away from the hall, undoubtedly heading towards the hospital
wing.

Hermione turns to look at me. "What was t…oooh!" Hermione says, realising in midsentence
and her expression turns into something between concerned and amused.

"How did they even manage that?" She eventually wonders with a disapproving tone.

I grin at her. "Dunno. But they're kinda brilliant," I say with a mild grin, not worried for my
friend since I know for a fact that Ron's brothers' constipation-causing product is not as
painful than it is uncomfortable. Yes. They got me during the holidays.

"Potter!" McGonagall's brisk voice stops me on my tracks after breakfast.

I'm near the front doors to the castle, on my way to see Hagrid by myself. Hermione, not
truly convinced by the harmlessness of the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products, has gone to
see that Ron indeed is okay in the infirmary.

I quickly turn to meet the stern gaze of the Head of my House, wondering briefly if I've done
something wrong. "Professor?"

"Follow me," She merely says, and turns on her heels, walking towards the staircase,
presumably towards her office.

Shit. What have I done now?

We're both silent on our way upstairs, and I try to rack my brain to figure out if I've actually
done something that'd have me in detention. Well…there is the whole following Malfoy
around with the help of Kreacher. An Elf that does not live in the castle, but at Grimmauld
with Regulus. Oh…Maybe she knows about his short visit at the school. Bloody hell. I
wonder if she'll let me see him after whatever she's going to scold me for.

As soon as we step into her office, she whisks her wand to close the door and flicks it once
more to…silence the room? Merlin…
McGonagall sits at her writing desk, and nods at the two chairs facing her, on the other side
of the desk. I gingerly sit down and lift my brows slightly in question, trying to keep an
innocent and unknowing look on my face.

She purses her lips slightly before she speaks with a low voice. "Your attendance has been
requested," she says and looks at me pointedly.

I must be frowning at her in confusion, as she gives me an impatient look and continues, "At
Grimmauld Place."

My eyes widen slightly in recognition and I quickly clear my throat. "At Grimmauld?" I ask,
or croak, more like.

"I will be waiting for you at the Headmaster's office at five o'clock on Saturday afternoon.
Don't be late," McGonagall says firmly, her eyes narrowing at mine, scrutinising me.

I swallow hard and try to calm my nerves. Has Regulus contacted the Headmaster? It seems
like he has. I now wish I'd read his letter at breakfast. Maybe I'd had a bit of foresight and
could have prepared for this. "Er…yeah. I won't."

McGonagall's eyes watch me carefully. "I will return for you on Sunday before lunch," She
says, and as my brows lift with surprise, she gives me a strict look, "And I presume I will not
have to emphasise the importance of your safety, Potter." She says, her voice grim. "You are
not to leave the house during this visit."

I nod at her hastily. "Yes, I won't, Professor. You can trust me." My voice sounds calm and
serious, if not a bit eager, but my insides, my mind is bursting with excitement.

It seems that I'm allowed to stay at Grimmauld, unsurveilled, for a whole night. Something I
haven't been permitted to do even when Sirius was there. How in the name of Merlin had
Regulus accomplished that?

Grimmauld Place, 5 April 1997

I walk nervously the last steps to the door of the Headmaster's office. I've barely slept the
previous night, unable to shake away the numerous thoughts swirling in my head. I finally
read the letter, the moment after I left McGonagall's office on Tuesday, actually. And I read it
many, many times after that as well.

The letter hadn't been long. Regulus had merely apologised the delay of his response, and had
written that he had requested the Headmaster to allow me to stay at Grimmauld for a short
time during the Easter holidays. He hadn't said how exactly had he managed to persuade
Dumbledore, but explained that everything had been taken care of.

It had been relatively easy to explain my visit to Hermione and Ron. While Hermione had
given me a pleased smile, and a faintly meaningful look, Ron had merely grunted, oblivious
to anything else, and told me that he wished that he could've come too and skip the
Apparition exam practice at Hogsmeade, as he was fairly sure he was going to bollocks it up.
I knock on the door, and after hearing a quiet 'enter', I walk inside, feeling nervous.

"Good afternoon, Potter," McGonagall says, and inclines her head. "Shall we?" She says, in a
way that doesn't sound a question.

I give her a nod and glance around the room. We're alone. "Where's D- the Headmaster?" I
ask, remembering that I hadn't seen him at lunch in the Great Hall either.

McGonagall gives me an unreadable look. "The Headmaster has some urgent matters he
needs to attend to. He will not be joining us," she says, her voice firm as she takes a handful
of floo powder from the mantel.

I quickly walk up to her and follow her example. After she gives me a curt nod, I throw the
powder into the empty fireplace, and instantly, green flames roar into life. I keep my voice
steady as I call the place that has been in my dreams and my thoughts more than I want to
admit, and walk into the heatless, emerald green fire.

It doesn't take long until I stumble into the familiar drawing room. I step aside to make room
for McGonagall as I dust away the soot and glance around me.

"Potter," Regulus greets me politely, standing in the middle of the room, his hands clasped
behind his back, looking immaculate as ever.

I don't have time to reply anything other than a quick 'hey', before McGonagall steps
gracefully out from the fireplace and with a quick flick of her wand cleans both of our attires.

"Cheers," I mutter, and McGonagall arches a brow at me. "Professor," I hastily add, not sure
if I'm imagining the faint amusement flickering in her eyes.

"Black," McGonagall greets Regulus after turning to look at the man in question.

Regulus gives her a nod. "Professor McGonagall, I'm pleased to see you again," he says
courteously.

"Likewise," McGonagall says, and to my surprise gives Regulus a hint of a smile before
glancing back to the fireplace, "There will be no one else joining us from Hogwarts tonight,
so you may close the connection," she says evenly.

Regulus's brows twitch slightly but then he inclines his head and his focus shifts to the
fireplace. He lifts his hand to wave his wand, supposedly closing the floo connection. I
wonder if this fireplace is connected only to one place? And that is why we have been always
using the one in the kitchen?

"Have others arrived yet?" McGonagall asks as she walks towards Regulus.

I walk hesitantly behind her. Others?

…Of course…there has to be an Order meeting here today, otherwise McGonagall probably
wouldn't have followed me here.
Regulus clears his throat. "Yes. Everyone except Mr. Weasley and Mr. Shacklebolt were able
to attend," he says, his gaze briefly flickering to me before returning back to McGonagall.

McGonagall gives Regulus a noncommittal nod before she turns to look at me. "Potter. As
agreed earlier, we do not need to draw unnecessary attention to your presence in here, so, I
assume you are able to entertain yourself upstairs until the meeting is over," she says, not
unkindly, even though her voice is firm and final.

I look between her and Regulus for a short moment. "Of course. I'll be upstairs," I say
eventually, trying to stay unaffected by the knowledge that the Order is gathering here.
Trying not to feel irritated by the fact that once again, I am not invited to join them. Not
giving Regulus or McGonagall another look, I walk quickly away from the drawing room,
feeling both of their eyes in my back as I go.

A couple of hours later, it is half past seven in the evening, and there's a small knock on the
door to Sirius's room.

"Come on in," I mutter, distractedly, as I'm in the middle of reading through a large stack of
different newspaper articles my godfather has kept. Many of them are about me. Some are
about Voldemort, Death Eater attacks, disappearances and so on.

I turn to look at the door as Regulus steps in through it.

"Hi." I say, watching his features carefully.

His expression is tense, and it seems that he's bothered by something. I stand up quickly and
take a couple of steps towards him. "Has something happened?" I ask, before he even has
time to reply to me.

Regulus lets out a weary sigh. "No," he mutters and heads towards his brother's bed,
slumping on the edge of it and levels me with an assessing look. "You wanted to talk?" He
asks, his expression giving nothing away.

I let out a small huff. "Don't change the subject. Why did you meet? What was discussed?" I
ask, feeling irritated all of a sudden. "Or are you even allowed to tell me?" I ask, unable to
shed the bitterness away from my voice.

Regulus's mouth quirks up a bit. He stays quiet for a while, his eyes watching me carefully as
I move to sit down next to him, still watching him expectantly.

"There have been rumours coming in from different sources. It has been too quiet. The Order
suspects that the Dark Lord will try to take over the Ministry soon," Regulus says quietly,
looking away with a contemplative expression.

Take over the Ministry? Bloody hell. Even the mere suspicion is troubling. Would he truly
have the power to do that? I suddenly start to feel anxious. He needs to be stopped. I need to
get that bloody memory from Slughorn. I could've had done that already. I could've had
succeeded earlier. Maybe we would now know more about those Horcruxes. Maybe we'd
know how to destroy him. Maybe we already would've succeeded doing that. But I didn't,
and now there's a risk of Voldemort taking over the Ministry. If he'll do it – what is stopping
him then? We all saw how easily the Ministry took over Hogwarts the previous year –
regardless how powerful Dumbledore is.

Shit.

I jump up from the bed and start to pace in the room. I have to make a plan. I have to get that
memory from Slughorn.

"What is it?" Regulus asks quietly, his voice blank.

I pause in the middle of the room, glance at him as I try to organise my thoughts as I try to
figure out how to get to Slughorn. For a moment, he looks almost apprehensive.

"I'm…" I grit my teeth together, wanting to tell him everything, but knowing I can't. "I have
to do something."

Regulus arches a brow at me. "And how would you do it? How would you stop the greatest
Dark Wizard there is?" He asks with a dry voice, looking at me calmly.

I give him a long look before I move back to sit next to him. I can tell him something, at
least. "I have no idea. But I know I have to try," I say quietly.

Regulus's eyes snap back to mine, and he gives me a scrutinising look. "The prophecy?" He
asks mutedly.

I lift my left shoulder in a mild shrug, watching his reaction.

Regulus looks down at his hands, fingers laced together and hanging loose between his
spread knees. Despite his relaxed posture, his jaw is working, and his eyes are blazing. I
wouldn't be surprised if he had already suspected what the prophecy was about before this
discussion. He suddenly swears under his breath and presses the heels of his palms against
his eyes.

"Hey…" I say. "It's okay…yeah, I mean it sucks but I've had time to think it through," I say
as I put a calming hand against his shoulder.

Regulus turns slowly to look at me, lowering his hands. "How in the name of Salazar would
one ever think that through?" He asks darkly, a deep, cold look in his eyes. Seeing right
through me.

"I-I…I don't have a choice, I suppose," I mutter and look away, his gaze too piercing and too
hard for this discussion. "It said that…that either must die at the hand of the other. And that
neither can live while the other survives…" I recite from memory, keeping my voice steady.

Truth to be told, I haven't really thought about it. I mean, I know what needs to happen, but…
it just seems kind of…hopeless – that I'd succeed, and be the one who walks away from it
with my limbs still attached and my heart still beating. I know that even without a Horcrux,
Voldemort is more powerful than me. But I also know that he has his flaws, his weaknesses,
and maybe there is something there, that could help me. So, I have to try.

Regulus is silent for a while, and I can feel his eyes trained at me. Then he lets out a huff of
breath. "That's…that's…" He mutters and pauses. I turn to look at him. There's worry in his
eyes. And confusion. "Do you really think you have a chance?" He asks quietly.

I give him a thin smile. "I'm still in school. I'm not even of age. He has…powers most people
would only dream about. And you obviously think I have little to no chance beating him," I
say wryly, and Regulus's brows furrow as he watches me silently.

He leans back to lie down on the bed, his legs still planted on the floor, and lets out an
exhausted puff of breath. "Bloody hell. I told…I told my brother that I'd watch over you. That
I'd help you. And I'm fucking it up…" He says, almost inaudibly, his eyes closed, his mouth
twisted into a grimace.

I feel a flicker of lightness inside me by his words, and can't stop the grin spreading across
my face. Then I mull over what he's actually said and let out a faintly amused sound. "It had
nothing to do with you. You can't change a prophecy…" I say and let myself watch his
features more closely than I usually do, now that his eyes are closed. The sculptured,
aristocratic features, the sharp nose and cheekbones, the night-dark hair. I try to recall how
his clean-shaven skin feels like, try to recall the taste of his full lips.

"You're staring at me," Regulus murmurs, and there's the slightest tinge of pink blush on his
cheeks as he opens his eyes.

I bet my cheeks' colour matches his, but I don't look away from him, and instead offer him a
guilty smile.

His mouth curves into a smile, before he frowns and becomes sombre. "No…I meant
something else. Something I should have done a long time ago…" He mutters quietly, staring
at the canopy of the four-poster bed, the look in his eyes weary and dark.

I feel intrigued but refrain from asking, as it seems to be something that he doesn't want to
talk about.

"I saw him," Regulus says after a short moment, and my eyes move back to his face.

"Sirius?" I ask quietly.

He nods and remains silent as he pulls up to sit straight.

"How was he? What did he say?" I ask quickly, feeling that familiar pang of helplessness
course through me as I think about my godfather.

Regulus's gaze flickers to my eyes before he looks away. "Not good," he says with a deep
sigh, that same helplessness briefly crossing his features. "I know…I know that he's not going
to give up…but…I don't know if that's enough," he says, his face scrunching up with misery
for a short moment before he clears his throat and schools his features. "He was excited to
hear you're okay, though…" he says, clenching his jaw.

Without saying a word, I reach out to his hand that is resting on the bed between us, and
thread our fingers together. His hand feels warm against mine. I give it a small squeeze,
trying to reassure him that we're getting his brother out, trying to let him know that I'm here,
and that he's not alone.

Regulus gives me a mildly confused look and stares at our joined hands. "What…what are we
doing here, Potter?" He asks quietly, his voice flat.

My stomach jolts and I swallow hard. It is something I'd like to know myself as well.
Something I've been trying to figure out during the past months. I mean, I have been aware of
my…well…interest towards him for a long time now, but until last December, nothing had
happened between us. I just…I just feel like I, like I want to be with him. But does he want it
too? And Merlin, I can't even think about these things without feeling my skin flush with
embarrassment, so how the bloody hell I'm supposed to say it to him?

"Hm?" He asks, clutching my hand to grab my attention.

I nervously lick my lips as my eyes move between his, opting to take the easy way out. "I'm,
er…what do you want?" I stammer, watching him in anticipation.

Regulus's lips twitch slightly, evidently knowing that I don't want to be the first one to lay my
cards on the table. There's a long silence, before he speaks. "I want to be sure of you. Of your
intentions, what you want and why you want it," he says slowly, his eyes watching me
closely.

"I want to be with you," I blurt out, and even though there's blood pounding in my ears, I
don't miss the soft, relieved breath that he lets out.

Regulus smirks at me. "What does that even mean?" He asks, sounding amused, while his
thumb traces my knuckles, making my skin tingle.

A grin starts to spread across my face. "Don't know, actually. I'm not exactly good at
relationships," I say with a small grimace.

His eyes darken slightly. "Oh? So that's what it means? A relationship?" He murmurs with a
low voice and leans closer to me, his eyes flashing with glee, his mouth curved up slightly.

I can feel my pulse quickening and anticipation coursing through me as his eyes drop down
to my lips. He's definitely good at this...

"Shut up," I breathe, right before his lips find mine and press against them.
 Light
Chapter Notes

Less than 2 weeks, I'd call this an improvement ;) Okay, finally our plot moves forward
a bit...let me know what you think! :)

Chapter 23: Light

Grimmauld Place, 5 April 1997

My head is spinning, and I know there's still a lot to be discussed, a lot to be revealed, but the
only thing I can now focus on, is him. The way his breath comes out in quiet puffs, the way
his lips part every few seconds, following my movements. And even though the kisses
themselves are soft and innocent, both of us are panting slightly, as if we're starved for more.

Then there's a rumbling sound.

I become still and pull back slightly, frowning at him. "Was that – "

Potter bites back a grin and gives me a bashful look. "Might've skipped dinner…" He says, a
little hoarsely, and doesn't move his hand away from the back of my head.

I huff out a laugh, trying to swallow down the pang of disappointment. Of course there's
something interrupting us.

"Come on, let's get you something to eat," I say after a short moment and stand up from the
bed.

My brother's bed. I don't even want to imagine what he'd think about this. Nothing joyful I
presume.

Potter follows my lead and then we're on our way downstairs, both silent, and sharing subtle
glances every now and then. I hope there's still Molly's stew left so we don't actually have to
start to prepare anything as Kreacher is busy carrying out Potter's orders.

Which reminds me…

"When is my elf going to be released from its duty?" I ask as we enter the kitchen.

Potter gives me an unsure look. "Do you need Kreacher to be here? I'm…I'm sorry I didn't
even ask before I gave Kreacher its task…I mean…I-I didn't realise it would take all of its
time, and you wouldn't have anyone here – "
"It's fine, Potter," I say tersely as I flick my wand to summon the leftovers from the dinner
Molly had brought to the meeting, fixing Potter a serving at the table before moving towards
the pantry in search for drinks.

There's no alcohol, which would've been a godsend, to calm my nerves that seem to always
be on overdrive whenever I'm in Potter's company. There's only Butterbeer and Pumpkin
juice, so I snatch a couple of Butterbeers and walk back to the table, handing Potter the other
before sitting opposite to him and opening my bottle.

Potter starts to eat in silence.

"I'm sorry…" He says quietly after a short moment. "…But if it is okay for you, I'd be
grateful to have Kreacher helping me for a bit longer…only if you're okay with it…?" He
rambles, his voice careful.

I give Potter a long look. "I'll live." I say in a plain manner and take a sip of my drink. Potter
gives me a nod.

Another silence.

I stare at the table as my thoughts drift back to our discussion in Sirius's room. The discussion
about relationships.

"What is it?" Potter asks, and as my eyes move back to meet his, I notice the small furrow
between his brow, the uncertain look in his eyes.

I clear my throat. "You do realise we cannot actually tell anyone about…what has happened
between us?" I ask slowly, eyeing his expression warily.

Maybe it would be different if the Dark Lord was finished. And maybe if there wasn't a war
going on.

Potter inclines his head. "I know," he says quickly, and then cringes slightly. "Although, I
might've told Hermione…" He says with an apologetic smile.

I lift my brows in surprise. "Oh? What did she say?" I ask, feeling intrigued.

Potters shrugs. "She told me to come here. To meet you…" He says, his cheeks warming as
he eats a couple of mouthfuls of beef stew.

Interesting…

I stay silent and then he scratches his neck and looks slightly uncomfortable under my stare.
"She's known for a while now, actually…I reckon she's suspected it long before I told her
anything…" He mutters.

I give him a noncommittal sound and take a sip from my drink. "Nymphadora knows," I say,
watching his reaction carefully.

Potter splutters.
I arch a brow at him. "She did interrupt us in January, and she's proven to be very
perceptive," I say pointedly, my jaw tightening as her words fill my mind again.

Potter's eyes move over my face, examining me. "What did she say?" He asks quietly.

Even though I was expecting him to inquire about my cousin's thoughts regarding…us, I
suddenly find myself hesitating. Should I tell him what she said to me and what truly has
been bothering me since December, or not?

What Potter said to me upstairs – it might indicate that my cousin is in fact wrong, and that
Potter knows exactly what he wants. Or…it means that he is making decisions and actions his
unconscious mind has determined for reasons he doesn't understand. Reasons that have
everything to do with saving my brother.

I take another sip from the bottle before I fix him a scrutinising look, deciding to come clean.
"She thinks that I remind you of Sirius, that you might not know what you want," I say
mutedly.

Potter scoffs and gapes at me. "That's not how it is!" He says promptly, his mouth opening
and closing a couple of times before he continues, "I mean, of course you remind me about
him, how could you not? …But…whatever this thing is, between us," he gestures with his
hand, "It started way before the Ministry," he says in a determined manner.

"And…I would want to…you know…even if he was here…" He adds, his cheeks colouring
as he stumbles in his words before averting his eyes to the table.

I suppress a smile. "You'd want to snog me even if my brother was here?" I ask simply,
feeling slightly amused as the redness in Potter's cheeks only darkens and he starts to
stammer.

"I-I mean, not in front of him, or anything…" He says and rolls his eyes at me as he realises
that I'm merely taking the mickey out of him.

Potter finishes his stew and then we start discussing the findings he has done in the Hogwarts
library, regarding our own mission – the mission to get Sirius back. We move upstairs into the
library where we go through Potter's notes and take a look at a couple of books which he has
brought with him, as well as my observations from the past months.

"Have you seen him more than that one time?" Potter asks after we've finished and merely
lounge on different ends of the sofa.

I shake my head slightly. "No. I haven't."

Potter hums and watches me carefully. "Have you tried? Seeing him?"

I clench my jaw as I feel a sting of resentment. If only he knew how much I've tried. How
fucking desperate I've been.

Supposedly, Potter notices my hardening features as he hastily continues, "I'm only asking
because the last time you said…you said that you'd need to drink…and I don't think – "
"Occasionally," I interrupt him, and then let out a weary sigh. "Unfortunately, it seems that
even that is not helping as it once did…" I say and rub my neck, feeling stiff after sitting in
the same position for too long.

Potter frowns at me but remains quiet.

"It was February. The last time," I say resignedly, the images of my brother seeping into my
mind. The desperateness in his voice, the desolation in his eyes. "He looked…weaker.
Hopeless. And broken," I whisper, unable to look at Potter and meet his wide, empathy-filled
green eyes that I know are staring straight at me.

"I told him that we will get him out, but…"

Potter clears his throat silently. "But what?" He asks tentatively.

I wish I had Firewhiskey now. Or anything that could numb these…feelings inside me. I
empty my mind and turn my gaze to him, finally. "What if he'll give up before we even try to
get him out?"

Potter's brow furrows, and he looks away, chewing the inside of his cheek in thought.

"I have hope," he says quietly, staring at the empty fireplace facing the seating area. "You
know, I've survived many things. Succeeded when it seemed impossible. I mean, I did duel
Voldemort when I was fourteen and lived to tell about it," he adds and glances me with a dry
smirk. "So I have to have hope. For Sirius," he says matter-of-factly, and fixes me a stubborn
look.

I swallow hard, feeling too stunned by his words, too overwhelmed by them. Then I clear the
tightness away from my throat and give him a wry smile. "It would have been something, to
see you outsmarting the– him. For the tenth time…" I mutter, consciously not paying
attention how Potter's brows lift in surprise at my words. Potter's eyes have always darkened
somewhat, whenever I've called him that; the Dark Lord. And I don't really blame Potter, as
only his Death Eaters do so.

But I'm not one of them anymore.

"He must have been disappointed," I continue, my mouth twitching.

Potter blinks at me before he snorts and shakes his head. "It was the fourth time. And I
haven't outsmarted anyone. I've been lucky," he says offhandedly. "…And believe me, he
was." He continues, a mix of amusement and darkness in his voice.

There's a short silence, and Potter yawns widely.

"Bed then?" I ask, feeling rather tired myself. It is close to midnight already.

Potter chews his lower lip before he replies, with a thoughtful look, "Yeah."
As we reach the topmost floor, there's tension in the air. We stare at each other, and then
glance towards the two doors in the landing. It hasn't been voiced, but both of us know that
Potter will stay in my brother's room for the night. And even though I certainly wouldn't kick
Potter off my bed if he'd decided to stay there, I am discreet enough not to ask him.

Potter actually might be thinking along the same lines, if the small blush on his cheeks is
anything to go by. He hesitates only for a moment before taking a couple of steps towards
me.

"Good night, then," He says quietly, his hand slowly reaching up to touch my waist, his
impossibly green eyes wide and watching carefully my reaction.

I can already feel how dry my throat is, and how uncomfortable my slacks suddenly are. And
I swear to Salazar, I have never reacted like this with anyone else.

I lean closer to him and incline my head until our lips are nearly touching, but not quite. I can
feel Potter's warm breath against my lips and for a moment, I wish I'd had the audacity to pull
him with me to my room. To my bed. The mere thought of it makes me somewhat hard and it
is all the more difficult to stay calm and respectful towards him.

I know I should stop this before I do something we both might regret later. For Merlin's sake,
he is not even of-age yet…

But then he moves his hand up a couple of inches, his fingers pressing against my side more
firmly, and I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. I slide my hands up his chest and
around his neck, pulling him closer until our lips meet.

The kiss is instantly frenzied and excited, vibrating with energy. Potter's other hand finds its
way to my hair, fingers tangling in it, pulling me towards him. And I try to stop the breathy
sigh escaping from my lips, try to suppress the warm shiver that racks through me, but end up
failing brilliantly. I can feel him smile briefly against my lips, and I want to tell him off for it,
but my words get stuck into my throat and all my thoughts vanish as he slips his tongue into
my mouth, the tip of his touching mine, slowly, tentatively.

Fuck.

Both of us groan to the intensity, too caught up in the taste of the other, and every time our
lips meet and our tongues touch, it becomes rougher and more passionate. I move my hands
down and take a hold of Potter's waist while his grip stays relentless; the fingers of his other
hand pressing into my skin through my shirt, while his other hand is buried into my hair,
angling my head for his mouth, his lips and tongue giving no mercy to mine. And fuck, how
this determined, bold behaviour of his only makes me want him more…

Neither of us slow down, and instead hold on to the other more securely, as if the mere
thought of breaking the kiss would somehow make it stop.

It isn't until Potter starts to walk backwards to one of the rooms – Sirius's room – while still
holding me in a tight grip and kissing me desperately, when I quickly break the kiss.
"Circe. Potter," I pant as press my forehead against his. "We really fucking shouldn't."

"I know," He whispers, but makes no move to pull back, and instead drags me closer to meet
his pelvis.

If there's still blood in my brains, it will surely travel down to my dick after I feel exactly
how fucking aroused he is. "Fuck," I wheeze. "You're killing me, Potter," I groan and move
back an inch or two, enough not to be pressed against him.

Potter lets out a nervous, breathless laugh and swallows hard. "I'm sorry…so…I guess…I
guess this is good night, then?" He says quietly.

I try to clear my head while slowly pulling away from him. "Yeah." I manage to say, my
voice hoarse, which instantly brings a smile on Potter's lips.

"Stop grinning," I say as I narrow my eyes at him, still unable to sound nothing but wrecked.

"Good night. No wandering in the halls. And no leaving the house, or McGonagall will
undoubtedly make my life very unpleasant," I grumble, while Potter lets out a quiet snort
before he salutes me, turns his back on me and walks into my brother's room.

I swallow deeply, my eyes still on the closed door of my brother's room. It is likely that Potter
is going to be the death of me…

I let out a small huff of irritation, mainly a reaction to my own impulsiveness, before I walk
into my own room and close the door behind me, knowing that I have several things to
accomplish before I can even think of retiring to my bed and allowing myself to give in and
fuck my fist while thinking of nothing else but Potter's lips and tongue.

Grimmauld Place, 6 April 1997

I wake up with a cold sheen of sweat covering my body, my jaw aching, supposedly after
gritting my teeth together in my sleep. The dream I had last night…it felt very real.
Horrifyingly so.

It is still early, so I lie still in my bed for a moment, gathering my thoughts, trying to separate
the actual memories apart from the vivid visions I dreamt about last night.

The cave. The poison. The Inferi.

A memory.

The Dark Lord standing over my curled-up body. No…he never tortured me. I always did
what he asked, and never disappointed him. Until I did.

It has to be a dream.

Shocked, piercing green eyes, now lifeless, staring upwards. Bodies around me, unmoving. A
cold laugh before the Dark Lord turns his deadly stare towards me and lifts his wand to end
the final piece of those who had resisted him.

…A dream.

"Circe," I mutter and press the heels of my palms against my eyes, so hard that I begin to see
stars instead of the images that are still lingering in the forefront of my mind.

Eventually, I get up from bed, wash myself and get dressed before I walk slowly downstairs,
feeling worn-out. On the first landing, delicious scents of breakfast reach me, and I blink in
confusion before I remember that Potter's here.

Making breakfast. Merlin forbid, I've become the worst host there probably is.

The door creaks slightly as I slip into the kitchen. My brows pull into a small frown as I see
him. Potter's standing at the stove, wearing an interesting set of Quidditch themed pyjama,
his posture relaxed as he turns strips of bacon, mushrooms and scrambled eggs in the frying
pan. Without magic.

"Good morning," I mutter and walk closer to him, the frown deepening between my brows.

"Morning," Potter says, glancing at me with a bright smile before turning his focus back to
the task in hand.

I watch his ministrations curiously. "Why didn't you summon Kreacher? Or me?"

Potter gives me a funny look. "Why would I have done that?"

"To use magic?" I say wryly, flicking my wand a couple of times to set the table and prepare
tea for us.

"I thought I could use magic in here, since it's not a Muggle house, and I'm close to a Wizard
or a Witch who is of-age?" He asks pointedly.

I've always assumed it would be so, but since I'm not actually alive, officially, I wouldn't
push my luck. I tell him so, and Potter merely shrugs.

"Whichever it is, I decided not to. I like the Muggle way," he says and becomes slightly
aloof. "…Do it at the Dursleys whenever I'm there…" He continues, more silently now,
keeping his eyes at the stove.

I arch a brow at his back and retreat to sit at the table. "I'm sure you do," I reply
expressionlessly, and wonder briefly what else the poor Muggles are making him do. From
what I've heard from Sirius, they are not exactly what you'd call pleasant people.

"Oh, those came earlier," Potter says and points at the Daily Prophet and a small letter on top
of it, both unopened. He gives me a scrutinising look as he brings the pan to the table and
loads the contents of it into a platter. "Why is Dumbledore writing to you?" He asks, his voice
nonchalant but his eyes betraying his curiosity.
I lift my brows at him, and Potter blushes slightly before he turns and steps towards the
counter to drop the pan there. "Why are you reading my letters?" I ask blankly, watching with
mild amusement as his ears turn red.

"I'm not!" He says quickly and walks back to sit at the table, opposite to me, giving me a
sincere look. "I swear to Merlin, I'm not – "

"Okay, fine. You're not." I say and stare at him intently.

Potter chews the inside of his cheek as I flick my wand and pour us both some tea.

"Thanks. And, well, I just recognise his hand writing, is all," he says casually and begins to
load his plate.

I give him a noncommittal sound, not wanting to discuss the topic further. Even though I
know it has everything to do with Potter. If he truly is the one who has to be the end of the
Dark Lord, then he should know. He should know what is hidden in this house. What needs
to be destroyed. But I need to speak with Dumbledore before that.

I take a sip of my tea and reach out to pull both the letter and the paper closer, dumping the
latter one on the table between us, and opening the letter instead.

Potter gives me a hesitant glance before he takes the Daily Prophet and starts rifling through
it.

The letter from Dumbledore is short, as I already assumed it would be. Last night, after
retiring to my room, I sent a letter to him, explaining that I have urgent matters to discuss
with him, and that I have information regarding the unfortunate place I had visited nearly two
years ago. His response is what I expected.

Dear Mr. Black,

Thank you for your letter. I would most certainly be interested to hear your thoughts and the
information regarding the matter.

If it is not too much of an inconvenience for you, I hope you are able to join me in my study
today, on Sunday, the 6th of April, at nine p.m.

Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore

So…It seems that I'll be visiting Hogwarts today. As I glance up at Potter, I notice him
watching me attentively, his bright green eyes filled with interest. The corners of my mouth
lift up slightly as I flick my wand to vanish the letter, and a small frown appears between
Potter's brows.

"What time are you expected to return?" I ask, moving his focus away from the letter.

"Hm?" Potter hums, looking puzzled before he realises what I've asked. "Oh! McGonagall
said she'd be here before lunch. So…I reckon before noon…?" He says unsurely.
I nod and glance at the old timepiece on the wall; it is not yet half nine in the morning. "Is
there something you wish to do? I suppose we did look over the material thoroughly enough
yesterday, but we can view it again," I say, giving him a questioning look.

Potter mulls over my suggestion for a moment, before there's a mischievous smile curling his
lips. "I have a better idea…"

I certainly hadn't predicted this to be Potter's 'better idea'. I hadn't even thought that he knew,
before he outright suggested it, explaining how my brother had once shared the information
with him.

So, for the better part of the last two to three hours, we've been situated in the drawing room
seating area, where Potter has watched me silently, occasionally rifling through The Standard
Book of Spells, Grade 1, and requesting me to perform simple charms wandlessly.

It is awfully strenuous, to perform magic without a wand, even if it is only an easy spell to be
cast. So far, I've levitated books and small items, severed and mended pages of parchment,
made Potter's feet dance, disarmed him, frozen him, and made him ticklish. And he's only
eager to see more. And to learn how.

Unfortunately, my ability to perform wandless magic is only so extensive.

"I have some literature about wandless magic if you are interested," I say as we take a break
and lean back in our respective armchairs. "You also need to be able to clear your mind for
it."

As Potter's excited grin fades noticeably, I give him an amused look. "That a problem?"

Potter lets out an irritated huff. "That's putting it mildly…" He grumbles.

I bite back a grin. "So I've heard," I say and give him a teasing smirk.

Potter narrows his eyes at me. "Yeah, okay, I'm bloody awful at it," He says eventually, and a
grin slowly spreads across his face. "Although, I remain to be convinced that my teacher was
rubbish…" He continues sourly.

Knowing how Sev feels about Potter, and how difficult he is to work with even if he isn't
holding a grudge, I incline my head. "I might not use the exact wording, but I recognise your
problem," I merely say, and Potter shakes his head as he lets out a huff of laughter.

We spend the rest of the morning in the seating area, entertained by unimportant chit-chat,
until McGonagall arrives to escort Potter back to the castle.

As soon as the green flames of the drawing room fireplace disappear, I call out for Kreacher,
summoning it.

There's a loud crack, and a sullen looking elf – my elf – appears at my feet. "Master Regulus
summoned?" Kreacher grunts, looking as if it is torn between feeling grateful and morose.
I give the elf a small smile before I nod at it. "Yes. I need you to open the drawer in my
bedside table."

Kreacher gapes at me for a good while, its large eyes widening in terror, while it becomes
frozen in fear. I give the elf a stony look, and it understands I'm not to be questioned.

A second later, Kreacher snaps its long fingers and disapparates.

Hogwarts, 6 April 1997

I walk out from the Headmaster's office with McGonagall moving briskly in front of me.
Dumbledore's nowhere in sight, yet again. Is he even in the castle?

As soon as we reach the Great Hall, I nod at my Head of House and head quickly towards
Hermione and Ron, who are situated at the Gryffindor house table, a bit further from the
handful of our housemates who have stayed in the school during Easter break.

"Harry!" Hermione says quietly, a bright smile on her face – a bit strained around the edges,
and I can only assume she's had an argument with Ron.

"Hey, mate," Ron greets me, giving me a lopsided grin. "Guess who managed to Apparate?"
He says, lifting his brows slightly.

"Really?" I ask, unable to hide my surprise. "That's great, Ron!" I quickly continue, grinning
at my friend and patting him on the back as I sit down next to him.

Ron rolls his eyes good naturedly. "Always the tone of surprise…" He mutters, and then eyes
me more carefully. "What is it?"

The anxiousness and resoluteness must be readable from my expression. After last night,
after Regulus told me about the rumours, and after he told me about his brother…I just knew
I needed to do something. And fast. I need that memory. I need to destroy Voldemort. So,
before I left Grimmauld Place today, I decided that I'd do it today. Use the Felix, like Ron
suggested some weeks ago.

"Okay," I say and glance around us. "I'm doing it. Tonight. Take the Felix," I whisper and
watch my friends intently.

Hermione lets out a small gasp while Ron's hands twitch against the table.

"I think you're doing the right thing, Harry," Hermione says quickly, and Ron nods in
agreement.

"Yeah, yeah. There's something else you need to know…but not here," I say and cringe
inwardly as I notice McGonagall giving me a narrow-eyed look. "Later," I grunt.

My friends seem to understand and swiftly move our discussion into non-secretive topics.
"WonWon!" A high-pitched sound yells some time later, and Ron actually flinches before
turning to look at the approaching Lavender, a tense expression taking over his face.

Hermione and I share a subtle roll of our eyes. Ron is such a coward. He obviously doesn't
want to be with her anymore, but doesn't have the bollocks to end it…

"Hey, Lavender," Ron says steadily, while Lavender taps her foot and looks slightly
frustrated.

"We were supposed to meet at the library, like, twenty minutes ago!" Lavender says and gives
Ron a wounded look.

Ron clenches his jaw. "Yeah, sorry, I forgot. Shall we go then?" He asks, forcing a smile at
her.

When Lavender merely gives him an impatient lift of her brows, Ron stands up and grunts a
resigned "later then," to Hermione and me.

As soon as they are out of our hearing distance, Hermione scoffs. "I can't believe him," She
says disbelievingly.

I shake my head. "Yeah."

"Okay, so, what are you going to do? …With Slughorn?" Hermione asks, whispering the last
part.

"I dunno," I shrug. "I reckon I'll take the potion later at night and then just…go to see him."

Hermione nods slowly. "Okay. I think, just to be on the safe side, you should go right after
dinner – just so you won't get caught wandering the halls or anything."

I give Hermione an incredulous look. "Hermione…I'm taking liquid luck. I doubt that I'm
gonna be caught by anyone…" I say, and when Hermione merely purses her lips, I quickly
continue. "Okay, fine. I'll do it after dinner."

Dinner comes and goes quickly, and then Hermione, Ron and I vacate the empty boys'
dormitory. After I've shared everything I learned about yesterday's Order meeting with them,
I dig the small bottle from my trunk and eye it cautiously.

There's no time like the present…

I feel my hands trembling slightly as I unstopper the vial. I take a deep breath before tipping
it into my mouth, careful to take only a bit. If the potion is as valuable as we all believe, I
know I'll need it for other purposes later. Hermione and Ron sit tensely on my bed and watch
me with alarmed looks, waiting as seconds go by.

Hermione lets out a deep breath. "How does it feel?" She asks, worry edged into her eyes.
Ron gives me a knowing grin. "It's a great feeling when you take it. Like you can't do
anything wrong."

Hermione gives him an incredulous look. "What are you talking about? You've never taken
any!"

Ron shrugs offhandedly. "Yeah, but I thought I had, didn't I? Same difference really…"

"Harry?" Hermione asks again, her voice barely a whisper.

The potion itself tasted rather sweet, like honeyed water. I frown as I feel nothing, and I'm
about to say so, when suddenly an exciting sense of invincibleness courses through me, a
powerful surge, making my insides glow with control, like I could do anything, like I could
achieve everything.

Suddenly, getting the memory from Slughorn feels like a mundane task, like it could be done
by merely snapping my fingers. I let out a small huff of breath and grin at my friends.

"I feel great! I feel brilliant!" I beam at them, my chest expanding with resoluteness. I know
what I need to do. "I'm going to down to the kitchens."

Ron and Hermione gape at me for a moment, and it really looks a bit funny. "W-What?" They
both stammer, looking utterly bewildered by my plans.

"Harry, you were supposed to go to Slughorn's office," Ron says edgily as both he and
Hermione stand up quickly.

I nod slowly. "I know what I need to do. Don't worry, mate." I pat Ron on the shoulder. "I'll
see you in a bit," I say, cheerfully, and make my exit.

The common room is quiet, and there's only Lavender sitting near the fire, her eyes glued at
the boys dormitories. I give her a small nod before I exit through the portrait hole, walking
energetically towards the ground floor, towards the school kitchens.

I hum a soft tune under my breath as I walk through a door in the Entrance Hall and take the
stairs downwards. As I reach the familiar painting of a bowl of fruit, situated in a brightly lit
broad stone basement corridor, I lift a hand to tickle the pear on the painting. Instantly, the
pear starts to giggle and turns into a large green door handle, revealing the entrance to the
Hogwarts kitchens.

I step quietly inside into the enormous, high-ceilinged room, located right under the Great
Hall, with matching set of house tables, with mounds of glittering brass pots and pans heaped
around the stone walls, and a great brick fireplace at the other end. I spot Slughorn in the
seating area at the fireplace, sipping wine and beaming at the elves that carry a large tray of
different sorts of cakes and pastries onto the coffee table.

I move quickly closer, clearing my throat lightly as I reach the seating area. "Professor! Good
to see you!" I greet good-naturedly, smiling at the man in question.
Slughorn jumps slightly as he sees me. "Harry! You nearly gave me a fright!" He says, a bit
breathless as he peers at me. "What brings you here, m'boy?" He asks warily and places his
goblet on the table.

Wheels start to turn in my head, and I know exactly what to do. I give the Professor a
meaningful look, as if I'm letting him in on some secret. "I suppose we both like to enjoy a
little evening snack, every now and then," I say with a wink.

Slughorn chuckles and nods agreeably. "Right you are, Harry."

"May I sit with you, Professor, or would you prefer to be by yourself? I don't mind, really," I
say politely, and Slughorn merely beams at me and gestures for me to sit into the armchair
closest to him.

Slughorn lifts the bottle of wine and gives me a questioning look. "I have had it tested for
poison," he says with an assuring voice.

"Thanks," I say with a nod, and then he flicks his wand and an empty goblet and plate appear
on my side of the coffee table.

Slughorn waves his wand again to fill my goblet with wine. The Felix in my head tells me to
be mindful of it, that I'm not allowed to drink much of it, and instead have to make sure that
Slughorn's goblet is never empty.

"So, what brings you down here, Harry, other than to enjoy a little evening snack?" Slughorn
asks as he lifts his cup to salute me before he takes a generous gulp from his goblet. I follow
his lead and lift my cup, but only pretend to take a sip from it.

I hum thoughtfully, knowing that he's still cautious of me, and probably suspects that I'm here
merely for the memory. "Well, it has been a bit taxing lately, with everything happening in
Hogwarts and in the Wizarding world…I suppose I just needed to relax a bit."

Slughorn nods slowly. "Yes, you might be right…It has been rather stressful for us teachers
as well. At least, compared to my old days…" He says, watching the dancing fire with a
reminiscent look.

"Were those days a lot different from today?" I ask softly.

There's a short silence, and then Slughorn chuckles. "Well, I was mainly stressed out by a
roguish quartet, always causing mischief when the teachers weren't looking," He says lightly,
turning to look at me meaningfully.

"My father and his friends," I say with a smile.

Slughorn nods at me, a wistful smile on his lips. "Your father was very talented, succeeding
in almost anything he did," He says kindly, but then I detect a small hint of amusement in his
expression.

"Almost?" I ask with a small grin, and while Slughorn lets out a hearty laugh, I use the
opportunity to fill up his goblet.
After wiping tears of joy from his eyes, Slughorn fixes me a knowing look. "Your mother.
She was a spitfire, a force of nature. One of the most talented witches I've seen brewing
potions in my class. And one of the most kind-hearted persons I've known," he says fondly,
and then chuckles. "But she wasn't fooled by your father, at first, at least…No, she gave back
in kind to his teasing during the years, until…Well, I reckon, until they both grew up and fell
in love," Slughorn says with a grin and reaches out to grab a small pastry from the tray, and
swallows it in one mouthful.

"She was in the Slug club?" I ask, feeling intrigued. Of course, I'd seen the photographs in
Slughorn's office, but he hasn't really spoken about my mother earlier.

"Oh, yes! I mean, along with many other talented witches and wizards," He mutters, a hint of
suspicion in his voice.

I know I need to be careful, and not to bring her up…at least not yet. But at the same time, I
can clearly see that she is a sore spot to him. "Who else? Was Sirius there?" I continue,
speaking with a light tone.

Slughorn chortles, his double chin wavering. "No, Mr. Black seemed not to care about his
connections as much as his brother did."

I lift my brows at Slughorn, and he continues with a nod, "Yes, Regulus was one of the
students in my 'collection' if I might say so…Shame what happened to him…" He says with a
pitiful look. "He was destined to become a great wizard…" He says, and empties his goblet
with a large gulp, filling it immediately after.

Our conversation flows onward, and Slughorn, who becomes expansive under the influence
of the drink and by my interest regarding his selected students, happily jumps into a long
explanation about various members of the Slug Club over the years.

Slughorn becomes so absorbed in his stories, that he fails to notice when I refill his wine
bottle and goblet, performing the charms flawlessly without saying the incantation aloud.

An hour or so later, Slughorn is speaking with a thick voice, reminiscing my parents again,
telling me how great they were.

"I wish I'd known them," I say softly, staring at the fire. "I wish I'd known them before they
died…"

Slughorn represses a large belch. "Oh dear. Yes, that was…that was terrible what happened.
Terrible…terrible…" He mumbles, filling his goblet and taking a long gulp. "I don't suppose
you remember it, Harry?" he asks quietly, squinting at me slightly.

I give him a sad smile. "No. I was only one when it happened…But I've found out pretty
much what happened that night. My dad died first. Did you know that?" I ask, looking at him
intently.

"I — I didn't," Slughorn stammers, looking surprised.

"Yeah…Voldemort murdered him and then stepped over his body towards my mum," I
explain plainly.

Slughorn shudders to the name, but doesn't avert his eyes from mine.

"He told her to get out of the way," I say blankly, knowing what I need to say to break him.
"He told me – Voldemort told me – that she needn't have died. That he only wanted me. She
could have run," I say, not trying to hide the sadness crossing my expression.

"Oh dear," Slughorn whispers, looking horrified. "She could have…she needn't…that's
awful…"

"It is, isn't it?" I say quietly, watching Slughorn closely. "But she didn't move. Dad was
already dead, but she didn't want me to go too. She tried to plead with Voldemort…but he
just laughed at her."

"T-That's enough!" Slughorn says suddenly, hiccoughing slightly. "Really, my dear boy,
enough…I'm an old man…And I don't need to hear…I don't want to hear –"

"I forgot," I interrupt him, a kind smile on my lips. "You liked her, didn't you?"

"Liked her?" Slughorn repeats, his eyes glassy from the wine and sadness. "I don't imagine
anyone who met her wouldn't have liked her. Like I said, one of the most kind-hearted
persons I've known. And so brave…It was the most horrible thing…"

"But you won't help her son," I say curtly. "She gave me her life, but you won't give me a
memory."

A tear escapes from the corner of Slughorn's eye and I don't move my gaze away. And neither
does he.

"Don't say that," he mumbles. "It isn't a question…If it were to help you, of course – but no
purpose can be served…"

"It can," I say firmly. "Dumbledore needs information. I need information."

I know I need to give him more. And I know he will not remember our conversation in the
morning, given his state of inebriation. I give him a serious look. "I am the Chosen One. I
have to kill him. I need that memory," I whisper grimly.

Slughorn gasps, and stutters, "Y-You are the Chosen One?"

"Of course I am," I say coolly, watching him expectantly.

"But then…my dear boy…you're asking a great deal. You're asking me, in fact, to aid you in
your attempt to destroy – "

"You don't want to get rid of the wizard who killed Lily Evans?" I interrupt him, my voice
hard.
Slughorn seems so shrink in his seat. "Harry, Harry, of course I do, but —"

"You're scared that he'll find out you helped me?" I ask quickly, and it is evident that we both
know it to be true, when Slughorn merely stays quiet and stares at me with an alarmed look.

"Be brave like my mother, Professor," I say with a pleading look.

Slughorn shudders and a couple of tears trickle down his plump cheeks. "I am not proud…I
am ashamed of what — of what that memory shows," he whispers thickly. "I think I may
have done great damage that day."

I nod slowly. "You'd cancel out anything you did by giving me the memory," I say, my voice
still firm while my eyes beseech him. "It would be a very brave and noble thing to do."

There's a long silence, and only the sound of the fire crackling fills the air around us. I briefly
wonder where all the house-elves have gone, but keep my eyes fixated on him. Then, very
slowly, Slughorn puts his hand into his sleeve and pulls out his wand. He fishes out a small,
empty bottle from the pocket in his robes.

Time seems to go slower and I hold my breath when scared eyes gaze into mine before
Slughorn brings his wand to his temple, pulling it out slowly, extracting a long, silver thread
of memory, and then lowering it into the bottle. Hands quivering, Slughorn reaches out and
gives me the stoppered bottle.

I give him a grateful look. "Thank you very much, Professor."

"You're a good boy, Harry," Slughorn says with a teary voice. "And you've got her eyes…
Just…don't think too badly of me once you've seen it," he whispers dejectedly.

"I won't. I promise," I say quietly, and before I've even finished my sentence, Slughorn is
passed out in his armchair.

I let out a deep sigh, brushing the angry tears away from my eyes as feelings of bitterness and
unfairness find their way back to my mind. The Felix is wearing off.

I glance at the large timepiece on the wall as I tuck away the small bottle of memory. It is
nine in the evening. It is not too late to meet with Dumbledore and show him my
achievement. The faster I get the memory to him, the better. I glance at Slughorn, who is
snoring peacefully in the armchair, and then take my leave.

Nearly sprinting towards the third floor, thrilled that the password to the gargoyle is the same
as it was the last time I visited the Headmaster, I take two steps at a time in the moving stone
staircase, reaching the top very quickly, and a little out of breath.

I knock sharply into the double wooden door, hoping that the Headmaster has returned to the
school as I haven't seen him in a couple of days. There's a small moment, and then, I hear a
quiet 'enter'.

Feeling anxious, I push through the doors, only to freeze in place.

Dumbledore's there, standing behind his desk, looking weary and severe.

With Regulus. He is standing on the other side of the Headmaster's desk.

They are both watching me curiously.

"Wh –"

"Harry. To what do we owe this pleasure?" Dumbledore says attentively.

"Sir, I've…" I mumble, glancing at Regulus and then back to Dumbledore. "I've got it," I say
pointedly, knowing that Dumbledore will understand immediately what I'm talking about.

I do trust Regulus, and I want to tell him everything, but…for some reason, I feel like I need
to have the Headmaster's approval first.

Dumbledore stares at me behind his half-moon spectacles, looking rather stunned for a
moment. Regulus's eyes flicker over my face but he says nothing.

Then Dumbledore smiles brightly. "Harry, this is spectacular news! Very well done indeed! I
knew you could do it!"

I reply to his smile, and then Regulus clears his throat.

Dumbledore turns towards him, his smile shrinking slightly but not disappearing. "And now,
I believe we have in our hands another piece of the puzzle," he says mysteriously and gives
Regulus a scrutinising look.

"Um, sir?" I ask hesitantly, not wanting to intrude, but still very, very curious to hear what
Regulus is doing here.

Dumbledore gestures at the two armchairs facing his desk. "Please, sit. Both of you," He says
kindly, and takes his own seat before steepling his fingers on his desk, excitement crossing
his features.

As soon as both Regulus and I have taken our seats – and exchanged a pair of dubious looks
– Dumbledore speaks.

"I believe we have some memories to examine."

 Time
Chapter Notes

Diving into memories...thank you for reading!

Chapter 24: Time

Hogwarts, 6 April 1997

"I believe we have some memories to examine," The Headmaster says, something close to
anticipation in his voice. "Perhaps we could, if you may, Mr. Black, start with yours," he
continues, his sharp eyes flickering to mine as he speaks.

There's a short silence, and I can feel Potter frowning at me even without looking at him.

"Mine?" I ask blankly, already having an inkling about what he is asking.

Dumbledore nods, a small smile on his lips. "Am I correct to assume that there is more to the
story regarding your arrival into this time than you let on, when I briefly looked into your
mind nearly two years ago?"

I nod slowly at him. "Yes," I merely say, and glance at Potter, who stares at me in confusion,
before I turn back to the Headmaster. "You wish to look at my memories?"

Dumbledore beams. "Precisely." Although, I think I can detect a hint of sympathy in his
features as he evidently sees my hardening jaw.

I came here with the intention of explaining everything to him. Explaining what I have
learned about the Dark Lord, what had happened in the cave, and why I had kept everything
from him until now. But this – this is something I hadn't expected. What the Headmaster is
asking, is for me to relive one of the worst events of my life and sharing it with him. And
apparently, with Potter.

I could say no. I could refuse. But now I know it wouldn't be enough to gain his trust. And if
I wasn't bothered by someone else seeing me at my weakest, I would send the Headmaster
and by the unfortunate extension, Potter, to view them by themselves. But I am, so I know I
will need to accompany them.

After a short moment I incline my head and will myself to stay indifferent. To keep the mask
in place. "So be it." I say quietly, keeping my eyes at the Headmaster as I draw up my wand
and bring it to my temple, focusing on the memory. The dark, vast cave. The unnerving
silence. The black, bottomless lake, its surface still and unmoving until it was not. The
greenish light in the middle of the cave, reflecting from widened, large eyes, filled with
horror. The emerald liquid and what lay in its depths. The means to reach it.

The pain. The terror. The agony.

And the dead. All of them.

There's pity in Dumbledore's eyes as the Headmaster summons a large stone basin from a
corner cabinet and places it on the table between us, moments before the silvery thread
breaks and flows from the tip of my wand.

I stand up, my eyes fixated on the basin as I bring my wand upon it and lower the memory
into it. Instantly the silvery substance begins to swirl, shimmering slightly.

The Headmaster clears his throat. Potter stays silent as he too stands up and takes a step
closer to the table.

"After you," Dumbledore says quietly.

I turn my gaze to Potter, and his green eyes are filled with anticipation as he watches me.
Should I warn him? Should I tell him what to expect? As I look at him silently, worry and
alarm begin to take place in his features.

I presume he knows to expect…something unpleasant.

Potter's hand twitches, moving an inch towards me, and I quickly tear my gaze away and
force my focus back to the Pensieve. I take a steadying breath as I touch the contents of it
with the tip of my wand.

And then I'm falling through the spinning darkness.

It's an eerie sight, watching the events to occur. Watching yourself to experience it. It is quite
different than just thinking about it. I stare at my past self, at the scene ahead, but my head is
empty; everything is sealed behind the tight walls of my mind. Nevertheless, I remember,
I know exactly what it felt like, how utterly terrified I was. How unbearable the pain was.

I watch stonily as my past self gives orders to my elf, commanding it to force the potion
down my throat if necessary, to disapparate with the object if it comes to it, saving itself if it
is threatened. I watch as I drink from the goblet filled with green, shimmering potion, again
and again, until I'm screaming in anguish.

Potter gasps and both him and the Headmaster stare at the past me with horror and complete
surprise. Occasionally, I can feel their worried gazes flickering towards me, the present me,
that is, but I keep my eyes on the scene.

It isn't until my past self is slumping to the rocks, seemingly unconscious, when the barriers
of my mind start to crumble, and dread starts to slowly fill me. I watch as Kreacher wails
upon my body, and then, after a short moment, it seems to remember its orders. The elf
snatches the locket from the bottom of the basin, and turns back to me. Only to find my past
self slowly crawling towards the lake, fingernails scraping the hard stone as silent sobs fill
the still air of the cave.

I can feel myself shivering as I watch the creatures rising from the lake, an army of Inferi,
and Kreacher trying to desperately pull the past me away from them, trying to disapparate.
But it can't. Not with me.

Potter lets out a strained sound next to me as we watch my past self to order Kreacher to
leave without me, to do as we had agreed and tell no one about it.

Kreacher struggles with the direct command, for the first time in my life. I remember how it
felt to look at its grief-stricken eyes for one last time before it disapparated. I remember
thinking what my brother would do, how he would act if our situations were reversed. How
brave he would be, how he would face death with his head held high. I remember trying to be
like him.

Potter's hand brushes mine, tentatively, and I grab it hard, trying to anchor myself, trying to
brush off the flicker of hopelessness and desolation I remember feeling right before the end.
Right before the dead corpses reached me. Right before I lost consciousness.

The memory ends and then we are back in present time, back in the Headmaster's office.

A second later, a chair tumbles backwards as Potter marches up to me and pulls me into a
tight embrace, cursing under his breath simultaneously.

"Shit…I'm – Merlin," Potter mumbles with an uneven voice, his words muffled by my hair,
while I stand rigidly in place.

My eyes are stinging slightly, and I'm surprised by the feeling. It has been a long time since
I've felt like that. I blink quickly, clearing my mind before I glance at the Headmaster.

Dumbledore's standing at the window, gazing into the dark evening, his back to us.

Potter is breathing heavily against my neck, as if trying to calm himself. I pull back slightly,
locking my eyes with his, and give him a reassuring look. "It's fine. I'm fine now," I say
almost inaudibly, so that only he can hear me.

His face is scrunched up with confusion and worry. "What were you doing down there? Did
you – did you know what would happen?" He asks, his voice wavering slightly, his tone
desperate as his eyes travel across my face, trying to understand what he had just witnessed.

I clear my throat and pull away from him. "You'll find out soon enough," I say aloofly,
squeezing his arm before taking a step back to my seat.

Potter stays in place, staring at me with a mixed look of bewilderment and frustration, and
before he has a chance to speak, before he can demand an explanation, Dumbledore turns
back to us, a grim look in his eyes.

"I understand it must have been difficult to relive those memories, Mr. Black," he says
gravely. "And I hope that you know how grateful I am that you did share them with us," he
continues, before taking his seat behind his desk, eyeing me sincerely.

I sit down in my armchair and give him a curt nod.

"But – but what was the point of it? What difference did it make, to see him – to see that?"
Potter asks exasperatedly, stumbling slightly in his words, looking somewhat horrified.

Dumbledore gives Potter a strained smile, "It did make a difference, I assure you, it did.
Everything will make more sense after we look at the other memory. If you may, Harry?" he
says, levelling Potter with a pointed look.

Potter frowns at the Headmaster for a moment before he lets out a weary sigh and pulls out a
small flask, with silvery substance twirling inside of it. He clenches his jaw as he steps
forward and tips the contents into the Pensieve.

"This is a memory of Professor Slughorn, some fifty years ago," Dumbledore explains,
studying me as he speaks. "I had procured a similar memory from him, one we have watched
with Harry earlier this year, but unfortunately, it had been tampered with."

"By whom?" I ask, feeling slightly uncomfortable. I glance at Potter, who merely gives me a
determined look.

Dumbledore smiles. "Professor Slughorn."

I nod slowly. "He wanted to hide something." I say, and look at the Headmaster expectantly. I
remember how the Potions professor always saw it important to give the perfect appearance
of himself.

"Indeed. And now, as Harry has succeeded in the task I gave him; to acquire the original
memory from Horace, I think we should see exactly what it was," the Headmaster says, and
gives Potter and me an encouraging look before he gestures for us to inspect the memory.

I know that fifty-odd years ago, the Dark Lord had attended Hogwarts. I presume we are
about to see him as a student.

And once again, I tumble through the darkness. As I find myself in a familiar office, and see
the familiar – albeit younger – Potions professor sitting in a comfortable looking armchair, a
glass of wine in one hand, while the other pushes a handful of crystallised pineapple into his
mouth, I almost smile at the familiarity. The man really hasn't changed a bit.

My amusement quickly vanishes as I look over the scattering of students surrounding

Slughorn, and see him. The Dark Lord. He looks…young. Somewhat carefree – and innocent.
Nothing like he was when I met him. But there is still something familiar in his features…
almost an imperceptible hint of that vicious man I began to loathe the moment I took his
mark.

Then the Dark Lord's past self speaks, making me cringe with discomfort. It is too familiar.

"Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?"

"Tom, Tom…if I knew, I couldn't tell you," The Potions professor says lightly, somewhat
scolding him. "I must say, I'd like to know where you get your information, boy, more
knowledgeable than half the staff, you are..."

Tom…I know that the Dark Lord was Tom Riddle in his youth. Not many of us – of them, his
followers, knew that.

In the memory, the boy – Tom Riddle, gives a pleased smile at the professor, while the other
students laugh admiringly at their comrade.

"What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn't, and your careful flattery of
the people who matter — thank you for the pineapple, by the way, you're quite right, it is my
favourite. I confidently expect you to rise to Minister for Magic within twenty years. Fifteen,
if you keep sending me pineapple. I do have excellent contacts at the Ministry," the professor
says with amusement twinkling in his eyes, and while the other students chuckle, I inspect
closely at Tom Riddle's features as he looks even more pleased of himself.

Their conversation goes on, until a small golden clock on the professor's desk chimes. The
Potions professor then orders the students to their beds, and one by one, they leave. All but
one.

"Look sharp, Tom, you don't want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you are a Prefect
–"

"Sir, I wanted to ask you something." The Dark Lord – Tom Riddle – interrupts with an
apologising smile.

Slughorn looks surprised, but then nods at his student, "Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away."

Tom Riddle's eyes sharpen slightly. "Sir, I wondered what you know about…about
Horcruxes?"

My eyes widen slightly, and what the hell? Surely the Dark Lord hasn't received his
knowledge from a Hogwarts professor? I quickly walk closer, to examine the pair more
carefully, ignoring the curious looks Potter and Dumbledore throw at my direction.

Professor Slughorn stares at Tom Riddle, a wary look in his eyes. "Project for Defence
Against the Dark Arts, is it?" He asks, but his voice betrays him. It is certain that the
professor knows exactly what is and what is not included in the Defence curriculum.

Tom Riddle gives the Potions professor a bashful look. "Not exactly, sir. I came across the
term while reading and I didn't fully understand it."

Slughorn seems to be contemplating his answer for a bit. "No…well…you'd be hard pushed
to find a book at Hogwarts that'll give you details on Horcruxes, Tom, that's very Dark stuff,
very Dark indeed," he says finally.

Tom Riddle inclines his head in agreement. "But you obviously know all about them, sir? I
mean, a wizard like you — sorry, I mean, if you can't tell me, obviously — I just knew if
anyone could tell me, you could — so I just thought I'd…"

It is apparent that Tom Riddle knows already how to use people, how to have someone in the
palm of his hand. He knows exactly what to say and how to say it to wield Slughorn. The
professor's expression changes into a hesitant one, and I know that Tom Riddle has
succeeded, even without seeing it in his eyes.

"Well…" Slughorn says, his eyes fixated on his box of crystallized pineapple, "…well, it can't
hurt to give you an overview, of course. Just so that you understand the term. A Horcrux is
the word used for an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul."

"I don't quite understand how that works, though, sir," Tom Riddle says, his voice innocent,
but his eyes, his eyes flashing with sharpness and excitement when the professor does not
look at him.

What an oaf...How can he not see past the charm and flattery, past the potential success of a
student?

"Well, you split your soul, you see," Slughorn says, glancing at Tom Riddle, "and hide part of
it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot
die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. But of course, existence in such
a form…" Slughorn's voice trails off as he grimaces at the thought. "…few would want it,
Tom, very few. Death would be preferable."

Tom Riddle looks more and more like the man I met and once served as hunger and greed fill
his expression. I suppress a shiver as his eyes flash with something dark. "How do you split
your soul?"

The Potions professor looks uncomfortable. "Well…you must understand that the soul is
supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against nature," he
says, a frown appearing between his brows.

"But how do you do it?" Tom Riddle asks quietly, his voice soft, even though the intent in his
eyes is evident.

Slughorn swallows hard. "By an act of evil — the supreme act of evil. By committing
murder. Killing will rip the soul apart. The wizard intent upon creating a Horcrux would use
the damage to his advantage: He would encase the torn portion —"

"Encase? But how — ?"

"There is a spell, do not ask me, I don't know!" Slughorn says sharply, shaking his head as he
stares at his student with widened eyes. "Do I look as though I have tried it — do I look like a
killer?" He stammers, looking somewhat horrified.

"No, sir, of course not," Tom Riddle says quickly, an apologising look in his eyes. "I'm
sorry…I didn't mean to offend…"
Slughorn lets out a deep breath. "Not at all, not at all, not offended," he says weakly. "It is
natural to feel some curiosity about these things. Wizards of a certain calibre have always
been drawn to that aspect of magic…"

"Yes, sir," Tom Riddle says quietly. "What I don't understand, though — just out of curiosity
— I mean, would one Horcrux be much use? Can you only split your soul once? Wouldn't it
be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces, I mean, for instance, isn't
seven the most powerfully magical number, wouldn't seven — ?"

My blood runs cold. What in the name of fucking Merlin? No…It can't be. It can't fucking
be…

Images of the cave run in my head, spinning, mixing with whispered conversations behind
masks, with a cold voice, his voice, boasting how he has pushed the boundaries of magic
further than anyone ever has…

"Merlin's beard, Tom!" Slughorn yells, interrupting my internal turmoil. "Seven! Isn't it bad
enough to think of killing one person? And in any case…bad enough to divide the soul…but
to rip it into seven pieces…"

Slughorn stares at Tom Riddle with his eyes widened in shock, as if he is deeply regretting
their conversation. "Of course," the professor then says quietly, "this is all hypothetical, what
we're discussing, isn't it? All academic…"

Give me a fucking break…I glance at Potter as Tom Riddle quickly assures his professor.
Potter's expression is something between livid and worried. I move my gaze to Dumbledore
as the Potion's professor asks Tom Riddle to keep his mouth shut; the Headmaster stares at
the scene stonily, only a small furrow between his brows.

I give the younger version of the Dark Lord a final, searching glance, and swallow down the
unpleasant feeling rising in my throat as I see how his face fills with some kind of distorted,
cold happiness. He has what he wanted. He received the information he needed. And the
Potions professor, utterly unaware, has helped one the most dangerous wizards there is to
become immortal.

"Thank you, Harry, Mr. Black," Dumbledore says quietly. "Let us go…"

Moments after we land back in the Headmaster's office, my mind is still reeling. The Dark
Lord did not intend to create only one Horcrux, but several…seven. Did he succeed?
Presumably he did…

I stand in place, in the middle of the circular office, unable to suppress the feelings of failure
and shock. What I did, what I thought I would accomplish, was…foolish. Of course the Dark
Lord would make sure there would be more safeguards than merely one. How in the name of
Salazar did I not see it?

"Mr. Black?" Dumbledore says softly.

I move my gaze towards him, and only then notice that both him and Potter are back in their
seats, both watching me attentively.

I swallow down the bitter thoughts swirling in my head. "There's more than one?" I ask
quietly, my voice muted, and even though I already know it to be true, someone fucking may
as well say it to me.

Dumbledore inclines his head, and there's something close to triumph in his eyes before it is
replaced with sympathy. "I'm afraid so," he says gravely.

Potter gapes at me. "You knew?" He asks, surprise written all over his features. "All this time,
you knew and you didn't say anything?" He asks quickly, his voice becoming sharp, accusing,
as a deep frown takes place between his brows.

"Harry…" Dumbledore says, his expression kind, but a hint of warning in his voice. He turns
to me, and adds, "Please, sit, Mr. Black."

Feeling resigned, feeling weary about it all, I force myself to move towards the others and
take the seat next to Potter.

The Headmaster crosses his fingers at his table. "I understand your hesitance, Mr. Black.
Considering that the subject is rather…sensitive, I think the matter is too dangerous to be
confided to people you might not fully trust. But, as I said before, I hope that you know how
grateful I am that you did share it with us today," he says, and I give him a nod.

"As for the memory we saw – I have been hoping for this piece of evidence for a very long
time," Dumbledore says after a short silence. "It confirms the theory on which I have been
working, it tells me that I am right, and also how very far there is still to go…but…it also
tells how much we have accomplished already."

I stare quietly at the Headmaster as Potter speaks. "What do you mean? What have we
accomplished? Did he actually make one? A Horcrux?" He asks, his voice filled with
confusion.

In any other situation, I would definitely point out how slowly Potter comprehends the details
given to him.

I share a blank look with the Headmaster, before he answers. "You heard Voldemort. What he
particularly wanted from Horace was an opinion on what would happen to the wizard who
created more than one Horcrux, what would happen to the wizard so determined to evade
death that he would be prepared to murder many times, rip his soul repeatedly, so as to store
it in many, separately concealed Horcruxes. No book would have given him that information.
As far as I know — as far, I am sure, as Voldemort knew — no wizard had ever done more
than tear his soul in two."

There's a small pause in his speech as he seems to be contemplating his words. "Four years
ago, I received what I considered certain proof that Voldemort had split his soul,"
Dumbledore continues.
"What – " I say, but I'm interrupted as Potter speaks the same time.

" – Where? How?" Potter asks hastily, glancing at me, still a hint of wariness in his eyes.

Dumbledore gives us both a calm look. "You handed it to me, Harry. The diary, Riddle's
diary, the one giving instructions on how to reopen the Chamber of Secrets."

I'm taken by surprise, and then hit with a memory.

'Voldemort possessed a friend of mine with his old diary, opened the Chamber of Secrets in
Hogwarts with her help and unleashed a Basilisk to prey on Muggleborns.'

It seems that Potter has had one as well…A diary so powerful that it could open the Chamber
of Secrets and set free a Basilisk to finish Salazar Slytherin's work. Why did I not realise it
then? My eyes move between Potter and the Headmaster expectantly, waiting for one of them
to explain more.

"I don't understand, sir," Potter says, gnawing the inside of his cheek anxiously.

"Well, although I did not see the Riddle who came out of the diary, what you described to me
was a phenomenon I had never witnessed. A mere memory starting to act and think for itself?
A mere memory, sapping the life out of the girl into whose hands it had fallen? No,
something much more sinister had lived inside that book…a fragment of soul, I was almost
sure of it. The diary had been a Horcrux. But this raised as many questions as it answered.
What intrigued and alarmed me most was that that diary had been intended as a weapon as
much as a safeguard."

"What?" I ask quietly. It seems odd for the Dark Lord to part with one of his most priced
possessions, as it most likely wasn't a simple task to create them.

The Headmaster gives a small nod. "Well, it worked as a Horcrux is supposed to work — in
other words, the fragment of soul concealed inside it was kept safe and had undoubtedly
played its part in preventing the death of its owner. But there could be no doubt that Riddle
really wanted that diary read, wanted the piece of his soul to inhabit or possess somebody
else, so that Slytherin's monster would be unleashed again."

…And if Potter hadn't ended the monster – he fucking killed a basilisk, for Merlin's sake –
what would be left of Hogwarts now?

"What happened to the diary?" I ask, after clearing the sudden tightness away from my throat.

"I destroyed it," Potter says quietly, and as I turn to look at him in utter disbelief, he gives me
a searching look. "I stabbed it with a basilisk fang."

I blink at him, all the research I've done in the nearly past two years whirling in my mind, and
there hasn't been anything about it, I'm sure of it. But it makes sense. The King of Serpents
has immense powers, and its venom is rumoured to be an extremely poisonous substance, one
of the few poisons that are not curable by Bezoars. It probably would be able to damage the
object containing the soul fragment to a point beyond any and all physical or magical
repair…

"The venom…" I mutter, almost inaudibly, watching Potter nod in confirmation.

All this time, the solution has been at Hogwarts. All that research. All of it has been for
nothing. I don't even try to suppress the feelings of bitterness, anger and regret when they
finally find their way into my consciousness and taint my every thought.

"Quite correct," the Headmaster says, taking note of my disgruntlement and gives me an
understanding look before he continues, "And the careless way in which Voldemort regarded
this Horcrux seemed most ominous to me. It suggested that he must have made — or had
been planning to make — more Horcruxes, so that the loss of his first would not be so
detrimental. I did not wish to believe it, but nothing else seemed to make sense. Then you,
Harry, told me, two years later, that on the night that Voldemort returned to his body, he made
a most illuminating and alarming statement to his Death Eaters. 'I who have gone further than
anybody along the path that leads to immortality'," Dumbledore explains, and I will myself
not to twitch to the words, as I can almost hear them in my head, only, they are spoken with
the cold, malicious voice belonging to the Dark Lord.

Dumbledore continues after a small moment, looking at Potter, "That was what you told me
he said. 'Further than anybody!' And I thought I knew what that meant, though the Death
Eaters did not. Well…not all of them, at least," He says and gives me a furtive look.

I merely stare blankly back.

"I believe he was referring to his Horcruxes, Horcruxes in the plural, which I don't believe
any other wizard has ever had. Yet it fitted: Lord Voldemort has seemed to grow less human
with the passing years, and the transformation he had undergone seemed to me to be only
explainable if his soul was mutilated beyond the realms of what we might call 'usual evil'…"

That explains a lot. Although, I thought only one Horcrux had been the reason for his
transformation. Potter asks about a Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance – a stone with
astonishing powers, one of which that produces an Elixir that makes the drinker immortal.

Dumbledore looks thoughtful. "I am convinced that he intended to continue to rely on his
Horcruxes. He would need nothing more, if only he could regain a human form. He was
already immortal, you see…or as close to immortal as any man can be. And we all heard
him; 'Wouldn't it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces…isn't seven
the most powerfully magical number.' Yes, I think the idea of a seven-part soul would greatly
appeal to Lord Voldemort," the Headmaster says.

Of course it would…the Dark Lord is many things, but meagre is not one of them.

"He made seven Horcruxes?" Potter gasps, his voice rising. "But they could be anywhere in
the world — hidden — buried or invisible —"

The Headmaster lifts a calming hand and Potter becomes quiet. "I am glad to see you
appreciate the magnitude of the problem. But firstly, no, Harry, not seven Horcruxes: six. The
seventh part of his soul, however maimed, resides inside his regenerated body. That was the
part of him that lived a spectral existence for so many years during his exile; without that, he
has no self at all. That seventh piece of soul will be the last that anybody wishing to kill
Voldemort must attack — the piece that lives in his body."

Potter gives the Headmaster an incredulous look. "Fine, six Horcruxes, then. How are we
supposed to find them?" He asks with a hint of exasperation in his voice.

"You are forgetting…you have already destroyed one of them. And I have destroyed
another," the Headmaster says simply.

"You have?" I ask quickly. Both Potter and I watch the Headmaster curiously.

"Yes indeed," Dumbledore says, lifting up his blackened hand. "I'm afraid we need to fill you
in some of the details we have been discussing with Harry during the past year, Mr. Black,
but after a quite immense research regarding Voldemort's past life, I was fortunate enough to
stumble across a ring that once belonged to the Gaunts. To Voldemort's relatives," he
explains, and then glances at his withered hand. "What I did not foresee, was that there was a
terrible curse placed upon it. And without Professor Snape's quick reaction and exceptional
skill, I wouldn't now be here to tell you about any of it."

"Severus…Severus knows?" I ask carefully.

Dumbledore shakes his head slightly. "No, he does not know the full extent of the events. I
am confident that the only people who know about the Horcruxes, besides Lord Voldemort,
are now sitting in this room."

"And the ring…it is destroyed?" I ask slowly.

"Yes." Dumbledore says. "As is the diary."

"But there are still four left! And they could be anything, couldn't they?" Potter asks hastily,
looking a bit desperate.

Dumbledore's eyes flicker to mine before he gives Potter an obscure look. "Ah, indeed they
could, but as we learned only moments ago, there is one more that Mr. Black is undoubtedly
aware of," He says and turns to look at me expectantly.

Potter whirls towards me, a small frown of confusion between his brows before his eyes fill
with realisation. "The cave? There was something? The…the locket! The Slytherin locket!
Kreacher had it, didn't it?" He asks urgently, the betrayal in his eyes long since vanished,
replaced by excitement and intent. "Where is it now? Is it destroyed?" He adds after taking a
quick breath.

I'm surprised that he knows about the locket's origin, but I assume it is one of those 'details'
the Headmaster and Potter have discussed before.

"No. But I have it."

After a long discussion, and a long explanation, I've learned many things about the Dark
Lord's past. We've come to the presumption that there are three remaining Horcruxes to be
found, and four to be destroyed. The Slytherin locket, Helga Hufflepuff's cup, the Dark
Lord's pet snake Nagini, and the fourth object, supposedly something that has perhaps once
belonged to Gryffindor or Ravenclaw.

"Now…" The Headmaster says after a short silence, his eyes fixed to mine. "Seeing as you
have brought the object with you to our meeting, would it be possible for us to examine it?"
He asks, a kind, and…knowing look in his eyes.

My lips twitch involuntarily. Of course he knows I brought it. I briefly wonder if going
through my memories was truly necessary, but…at least my intentions are now clear to
everyone.

Potter gapes at me. "You – you have it with you?"

I give Potter a grim look as I pull out my wand and wave it over the pocket of my robes. A
small box emerges from it, floating slowly towards the table and then landing softly in the
middle of it. I flick my wand once more and the box opens, revealing a heavy golden locket,
engraved with an ornate, serpentine S – Salazar Slytherin's mark.

"Merlin…" Potter whispers as he stares at the locket, green eyes blown wide. "I can…I can
feel it," he says, grimacing.

The Headmaster's eyes narrow at Potter for a moment before he hums thoughtfully. "Magic
always leaves traces, and when it is something this dark, this evil…I presume most people
would feel it," He says, almost expressionlessly. He then levels me with a searching look.
"You have tried to destroy it?" He asks, even though it sounds more like a statement.

I give him a small nod. "I was…quite unsuccessful," I say blankly, forcing the memories of
the incident to stay hidden in the furthest corner of my mind.

The Headmaster's eyes move over my face, until his gaze flickers to my left forearm.

"What?" Potter asks sharply, following the Headmaster's gaze. "What happened?" He
prompts.

There's a short silence as I contemplate my answer.

"It seems that the Dark Lord's mark holds features I had not anticipated. There is a possibility
that I may be unable to destroy a Horcrux," I say, rather stiffly.

"W-What?" Potter stammers, and then, for once in his life, he actually grasps something
when there really is no need to. "Show me."

I give him an exasperated look, and when both he and the Headmaster stare at me silently, the
former with defiance, and the latter with a hint of curiosity, I let out a sharp huff of breath and
pull my sleeve up.

Potter lets out a horrified sound while Dumbledore's eyes widen with surprise.
"But…I don't understand," Potter says, his voice slightly thick as his eyes keep drifting down
to my arm, even as I draw my sleeve back down. "If you knew you couldn't destroy it, why
did you…or were you still going to –" he mutters, and then realisation hits him, " – You were,
weren't you? You were still planning to destroy it?" Potter demands sharply.

"Yes. And I still intend to," I say darkly, speaking to the Headmaster.

Dumbledore shakes his head to Potter, who is undoubtedly in the process of disagreeing.

Potter then huffs loudly. "I want in. I want to get rid of it. Of them. I need to get rid of them,"
He says forcefully.

And to my ultimate surprise, the Headmaster merely gives Potter a thin smile before he nods.
"Yes. I think you have earned that right."

As Potter gives the Headmaster a surprised but pleased look, I want to point out how
audacious that is, letting him participate in something so dangerous. Potter is still a student,
and even if he has fought the Dark Lord, and has faced many dangers, and even if he is the
one who needs to be the end of him, shouldn't the boy be kept out of harm's way until that
moment? Shouldn't he be trained to protect himself, preferably in a safe environment?

But I say nothing. I say nothing, because there's fire in those bright green eyes, unwavering
resoluteness, and I know that any objecting word would be pointless.

The Headmaster seems to guess my line of thought, and his mouth twitches slightly before he
clears his throat and levels us with a serious look. "I suggest we form a plan to destroy the
locket," he says and glances at the artefact on the table. "As the school is unfortunately
understaffed at this moment, I propose we will gather in two weeks' time to carry out the
plan."

And another hour passes by as we discuss the details; the means to destroy the Horcrux –
apparently Potter had slayed the Slytherin beast with a sword, a relic that once belonged to
Gryffindor, that now carries the powers of the snake venom; the suitable place where we will
execute the plan – which is decided to be an uninhabited area outside of school borders, on
the other side of the Forbidden Forest, far away from the village of Hogsmeade, and
Hogwarts. We also decide to leave the Horcrux with Dumbledore as he will most likely be
the one of us to actually destroy the object. At least I hope he will.

It is pitch dark outside when our conversation reaches to its end. I assume it is close to
midnight.

"Now, as I believe we have successfully considered all the necessary aspects regarding our
plan, I must insist that we end this meeting, so that we may all enjoy a good night's rest
before the chores of the next morning," Dumbledore says, looking somewhat tired as he gives
Potter and me a small smile.

Potter nods obediently, evidently taking note of the lateness of the hour, and stands up. He
gives me an incomprehensible look and seems to hesitate.
The Headmaster clears his throat quietly. "I was planning to retreat to my quarters for a little
while before closing the floo connection," he says airily, a meaningful look in his eyes as he
peers at us over his half-moon spectacles.

Then, without another word, the Headmaster tips his head as if to wish a good night. He turns
and makes his way to the door in the wall behind his desk, and disappears through it.

There's a silence, and both Potter and I blink at each other.

"That was…" Potter mutters, an amused frown taking over his features as he glances at the
door the Headmaster disappeared trough. "Think he knows what we'd do?" He asks, looking
a bit bothered.

My lips curve slightly upwards. "Oh? We're about to do something?" I ask quietly, feigning
surprise even as I walk closer to him.

Potter stays silent for a moment, his eyes moving across my face, darkening a notch. Then he
leans towards me, grasping the back of my head and pulling me close for a lingering kiss.

As the kiss ends, moments later, Potter's eyes are closed but he stays where he is, his breath
ghosting against my lips. "Something I wanted to do since this morning…" He murmurs.

I give him a smile when he peers at me between his lashes. "The feeling might be mutual," I
say with a low voice, and Potter lets out a quiet snort.

"Might?" He asks, pulling back a bit, a grin spreading across his face.

Truthfully, it's not even close to what I have wanted to do since morning, or since last night.
But as we are situated in the middle of the Headmaster's office, surrounded by a wall filled
with portraits, with most of them eyeing our situation with interest, I decide not to enlighten
Potter.

"It is," I merely say, feeling rather captivated by the way his green eyes lighten up at my
words.

His eyes trail down my body, stopping at my left forearm. He lifts his free hand and gently
brushes the fabric of my robes. "Potter," I say with exasperation, knowing already what goes
on in his mind as deep lines appear on his forehead.

"It's Harry," He says quietly, his eyes moving back up to meet mine, his fingers lightly
closing over my wrist.

Amusement and excitement mix up in my stomach as I give him a small nod. "I know.
Harry."

Potter's mouth quirks up but then he becomes sombre. "When we go there…to destroy that –
that thing…could you try not to risk your life in there?"

My brows lift with a mild disbelief. "Would you make such promise?" I ask simply, and
Potter shakes his head stubbornly.
"That's not the same thing, you've got that mark – "

"And you don't have the skill or the powers I do, and yet there's no stopping you, is there?" I
ask, my voice calm, but my eyes give him a look of warning.

Potter lets out a weary sigh and looks at me sincerely, his thumb brushing the line of my jaw,
making the situation a hell of a lot more intimate than it had been. "I just…I don't want
anything to happen to – "

"Don't worry about it, Harry," I say softly, interrupting him, not wanting to go there.

Potter drops his hand as I look away and clear my throat to get rid of the tightness in it. "I
have to go," I say as I look back at him.

He gnaws his bottom lip in thought, and then inclines his head slightly. "Yeah. Me too," he
mutters, seeming a bit chagrined.

"Come here," I mutter, and pull him into a soft embrace, touching my lips against his temple,
before whispering to his ear. "Good night, Harry."

I feel him smiling against my neck as his head drops slightly. "G'night."
 So Far
Chapter Notes

...I know!!!! It's been ages again (1 month it seems, but you know, feels like a year...)!
Unfortunately vacation ended with the free time I had, and work took its place. So...bear
with me :)

Chapter 25: So Far

Grimmauld Place, 11 April 1997

I roll my eyes inwardly at the sight that awaits me in the kitchen on Friday morning.
Nymphadora's there, sitting nonchalantly at my kitchen table, rifling through the morning
paper. Not that I wasn't expecting her to visit at some point after the previous Order meeting,
where she had bestowed a mix of dubious looks upon me during the gathering.

Even without her evidently knowing about Potter spending the night at Grimmauld, I
assumed she would be returning to seek information about Lupin. The werewolf had been in
the meeting, but had left the moment it had ended, presumably to dodge my cousin's
inquiries.

I haven't actually discussed their relations with either of them, as it is none of my concern,
but it is evident that something between them still lies unresolved.

Seeing her now, looking rather…worse for wear, makes me wonder if she has been as
miserable and lonely as I have been for the most part after my brother was taken from me. It
makes me wonder if Lupin too is feeling what she has to be going through. Her hair is
nothing like the bright customary shade of bubble-gum-pink she'd had when we met the first
time in this decade. And while she had been looking rather drawn in January, she's now
thinner and less colourful than ever.

"Good morning, cousin," I say with an expressionless voice, before flicking my wand at the
kitchen cupboards, summoning a cup of coffee and some toast.

Nymphadora places the paper down and gives me a hesitant look as I sit down opposite to her
and watch her stonily. She lets out a defeated sigh and frowns at the table. "I'm an arse," she
says with a quiet voice, and then gives me an apologetic look.

I lift a brow at her and stay silent. I might as well use the rare moment to see her squirming.

A muffled groan escapes from her lips. "I'm sorry. What I said before. About…about Harry. I
was out of line," She continues, looking at me intently while her voice remains careful.
I give her a mildly conceding look.

"And there's obviously things that I…that I don't know. Between you two…And…" She says,
looking extremely uncomfortable as my expression remains blank.

" – and I mean, how long are you going to make me grovel here?" She asks impatiently, her
eyes narrowing at me as the smallest twitch curves my lips.

I don't suppress the amusement from my expression. "You did offer me a vantage point here,"
I say pointedly, and sip my coffee as a smirk lifts my mouth.

Nymphadora rolls her eyes, but seems relieved. "I'm grateful to provide the entertainment,"
She says dryly. "But really, I – " She continues with a softer voice.

"All is forgiven," I merely say, interrupting her, and nod at the paper. "Anything new in
there?"

She blinks at me and then shakes her head slightly, "No, not really. It's been so quiet that it
makes me restless," She says, picking, seemingly unconsciously, at the sleeve of her robe.

I nod grimly at her. "I know what you mean."

There's a short silence. "Shouldn't you be at your post, guarding the school?" I ask casually,
between bites of toast. Even if it is doubtful that the Dark Lord would attack the school in
broad daylight, I know it is understaffed due to the Easter holidays.

Nymphadora waves a hand in dismissal. "A day off," she says, and then her eyes glint with
mischief, "Don't worry…everyone, including your…better half, is exceptionally intact," She
says airily.

I give her a long, deadpan look. "You had to go there, hm?"

Nymphadora smirks at me. "It was only fair," She says with a half shrug, her voice light. "I
mean, what old Phineas had to say about you two, well…" She continues knowingly, her sly
grin widening.

Fuck. I fucking knew I've become careless around Potter. Naturally my ancestor hasn't
missed a thing and probably has been waiting to see me after the incident in the Headmaster's
office, undoubtedly consumed by excitement.

My cousin evidently sees my discomfort, as she starts to cackle.

"Remind me to move him to the attic," I grumble, even as I feel my skin warming up a notch.
Fucking Potter, messing with my head like that.

Nymphadora snorts. "You'll do no such thing," She says, knowing already that I will not.

Unfortunately, the portrait of my ancestor is too valuable to be moved out of sight, as it is the
only connection this house has to the school and its Headmaster.
I give her a wry look. "Did you have something else you wanted to talk about, or did you
really come by just to bother me?"

The small amount of colour that had returned to her features, fades slowly away. She lets out
a weary sigh. "Yeah, well…I think you know," she says, her voice quiet and softer.

I watch her closely as she looks away, her lips pursing into a rigid line. After a short moment
she gives me a strained look. "Have you talked with him? Remus?" She asks stiffly, her eyes
moving over my face.

"I might have." I merely say, and at her frustrated expression, I continue, "He came by a
couple of weeks ago."

"And?" She asks impatiently. "We all know Remus's the one who heard the rumours about
werewolves congregating, even if it came from Mad-Eye," She says darkly, referring to the
meeting, where Moody had revealed some troublesome news regarding the northern pack and
their plans.

"Your point?" I ask, feeling slightly irritated by the narrow-eyed look, and the suspicion in
her eyes. "You expect him to divulge his experiences of his undercover mission in a pack of
werewolves over tea and biscuits?"

Nymphadora huffs. "I can hardly imagine you to enjoy tea and biscuits…" she says under her
breath.

I give her an amused look. "I have my moments."

There's a hint of a smile on her lips, before she becomes sombre. Merlin, she's got it bad for
him.

"He seemed to be unscathed," I say as I take the paper and flip over the pages. "Evidently not
the best months of his life, but then, there are only so many who could do what he does," I
mutter, and glance at my cousin.

She stares back with worry and fear in her eyes.

Nymphadora stays until lunch, and she uses the morning to explain about the dull patrols in
the Hogsmeade village, and the occasional run ins she's had with Harry and his friends. She
gets exceptionally annoying as she starts to wonder loudly what will Molly Weasley say
when she hears that Harry and her youngest child, Ginevra, will not become a thing as Potter
is now swept off his feet by a Prince Charming – her words, not mine.

I sigh with relief when I'm finally left alone. The rest of the day passes by in the library,
where I go through my notes regarding the Horcrux research and what I've added after last
week's meeting with Dumbledore and Potter.

I have a mission to prepare to.

Woods outside Hogwarts borders, 19 April 1997

"…The lightning struck tower…Calamity. Disaster. Coming nearer all the time…"

Yeah, well, Trelawney might have been right about something…

Firstly, Malfoy celebrating – whooping in the Room of Requirement – did not really help me
to focus on our mission but then, then, Trelawney had babbled about her interview with
Dumbledore, when she'd applied for the job many years ago, and it turns out that the Death
Eater that had interrupted them, that had leaked the information about the prophecy to
Voldemort – it had been Snape! Snape all along!

"Care to enlighten me about the twist in your trousers?" Regulus asks with a tight but quiet
voice as we stand in a small clearing near the edge of the forest, outside school borders.

I knew one of them would soon question my mood, as I haven't really spoken after we met at
the Headmaster's office, before Dumbledore apparated us here, near the edge of the
Forbidden forest – the other edge, that is. It seems that the Headmaster is able to apparate
through the school wards as he pleases – something I'll definitely tell Hermione later on.

Dumbledore trails some feet ahead, waving his wand to create protective enchantments
around the area we chose to do the deed in.

To destroy the locket.

Anger flares in my chest again, and I know, I know I need to focus. With effort, I manage to
swallow some of the rage down and look blankly at the black-haired man next to me. I
wonder if he knows the true depth of his friend's betrayal.

"It's nothing." I grunt back and move my gaze back to Dumbledore, who seems to be
wrapping up with his spellwork.

I feel Regulus's eyes on me, the scrutinising stare, but he stays silent.

But Dumbledore doesn't. "Harry?" The Headmaster asks, walking back to us, his eyes
watching me with a mix of worry and curiosity. "Has something happened?" He asks kindly,
stopping in front of me.

I grit my teeth together but can't suppress the burst of anger, "Snape happened!" I hiss and
glare at them both. "He's the one who told Voldemort about the prophecy. He was the one
who made him mark me as a target!"

Regulus's expression doesn't change while Dumbledore frowns slightly. "When did you learn
this?" The Headmaster asks calmly, his eyes flickering to Regulus before returning back to
me.

I let out a frustrated sound. "Trelawney told me. And you…you knew all this time – but said
nothing to me!"

The rage bubbles inside me again, and this time I'm unable to control it.
"WHY WOULD YOU LET HIM TEACH AFTER THAT? AFTER HE TOLD
VOLDEMORT TO GO AFTER MY MUM AND DAD!?" I yell at Dumbledore, nearly
panting as I try to control my anger.

Why, why would Dumbledore trust him? Why would he trust Snape after all that?

Dumbledore takes in a deep breath, even though he seems to be quite calm already. "He made
a terrible mistake," He says softly.

I scoff loudly.

"Please listen to what I have to say, Harry," Dumbledore continues, his expression serious.
"Professor Snape was still a Death Eater at the time when he heard about the prophecy. Only
after he learned what would his master do, of whom he was about to kill – "

I let out an irritated growl. "Snape never cared about any of us, not my father, not my mother,
and certainly not me! You expect me to believe – "

"Even in darkness, feelings of remorse are hard to dismiss," Dumbledore says wearily,
interrupting me. "And I believe this is in fact the greatest regret of Professor Snape's life. It
was the reason he wanted to return. To turn his back to his master."

I want to shake him, to make some sense to him. Doesn't he know how good Snape is
deceiving people? I give Regulus an incredulous look. He stays as expressionless as ever,
although he seems to be listening to our words intently.

"You know him. Snape. Would you believe him in this?" I ask sharply from Regulus, who
watches me with a calculating look in his eyes.

"Harry, enough. I trust Severus completely." Dumbledore says quietly before Regulus can
even open his mouth.

I take in a steadying breath, suppressing the scream of anger and frustration that threatens to
burst out. "I don't. I know he's up to something. That Malfoy's up to something. And I just ran
into Trelawney, who was kicked out from the Room of Requirement by him – by Malfoy!
And she told me he was celebrating something!" I say heatedly.

"What do you think they are up to?" Regulus asks calmly, seeming a bit curious.

Dumbledore lifts a hand to interrupt me from answering. "We have discussed this, Harry.
There is nothing suspicious happening in the school. I promise you, while we are here, the
school remains protected," he says sternly, his blue eyes flashing momentarily with
something close to a warning. "Now. I would like for us to focus on our mission. We are here
to destroy a Horcrux."

I stay silent for a moment and stare at the ground between our feet. I know it is pointless to
argue with him about this. But at the same time, I know there is something going on, that
Malfoy and Snape are both up to something. Something bad. And now they both probably
know that the Headmaster is away from the school, and who knows how long it will take to
destroy one ugly heirloom.

Because of that, I made some precautions. Before we left, when Dumbledore asked me to get
my Invisibility cloak from my dorm, I met Ron and Hermione, and hastily explained them
everything. I told them to take the Felix, just in case, as I have a strong feeling of suspicion
regarding Malfoy's schemes. Hermione of course was sceptical – she thinks he's just a bully,
a narrow-minded kid. But he's not. I just know it. Malfoy has changed. He's not the bullying,
prejudiced child anymore. He's a Death Eater. I know he's capable of more. But I hope it
doesn't come to it.

"Do you remember what we agreed, Harry?" Dumbledore asks after a short moment. "The
conditions I had for you attending this mission?"

How could I forget. I'm to do nothing, and merely stand next to the Headmaster as he does all
the work. "Yes. I'm to stay behind and observe, and obey your every command, without
hesitance," I grumble and move my eyes to meet his with a defiant look.

Dumbledore gives me an approving nod, and then a small smile. "Brilliant. We can start
then." He says, placing the locket on top of a large tree stump and taking a step back to pick
up the sword from the ground. "Your turn, Harry."

It was agreed that even though they would need me to open the locket, Dumbledore would be
one to finish the object, as we learned that there might be some difficulties for Regulus to use
the sword against the Horcrux. After disposing the locket, we agreed that Dumbledore would
apparate us back to the castle.

In my head, it sounds simple, at least.

I focus on the locket, concentrate on the letter S gleaming on its front. I imagine it as a
serpent, ignore the way the object starts to move threateningly, as if something terrible is
waiting to get out.

As soon as the quiet hiss, a snarl, really, leaves my mouth, I know it is nowhere near simple.

The golden locket opens and immediately we are blinded by a dazzling light. And right after,
a loud blast follows, taking us all by surprise. My scream is muffled as I'm thrown away
several feet from where I was, landing hard on my back. Luckily there's grass to soften the
hit. Still, my head is swinging as I blink and take in my surroundings.

It seems that Regulus had been hit by the blast as well, as he is slowly gathering himself and
moving to stand up. But Dumbledore is still there, standing in front of the tree stump, the
Gryffindor sword in the other hand, and the other in the air, pushing the…magic…away from
us, towards the locket.

"Come on," Regulus says gruffly and pulls me back up to standing before he takes a hold of
his wand and walks quickly towards Dumbledore.
Then, a cold voice fills the air, stopping us in our tracks, making the hairs in my neck to stand
up.

"…Albus Dumbledore…"

"…We meet again. Come to fight me? Finally stopped hiding behind stronger men…and yet…
you are still weaker than a mere part of me…"

"Don't listen to it!" I yell, while Dumbledore has stilled, frozen before the tree stump, his
hand still outstretched, fighting against the dark magic that is oozing from the locket.

"I see you now…I know what you have done. I know your regrets…It makes you weak. It
makes you…vulnerable…"'

Dumbledore's hand starts to tremble, and I wonder if he has the strength to hold the Horcrux
back. "Stab it!" I yell, and make a move towards the Headmaster, only to be pushed back by
another pulse of dark magic.

This time I keep my balance, but…I can't move. "Regulus!" I shout, starting to feel alarmed,
starting to feel afraid.

Regulus grits his teeth and tries to force himself to move, unsuccessfully.

"Stab it!" I yell again, panic edged into my voice. Alarm gripping my insides.

But it seems that Dumbledore doesn't even hear me. It seems that he's in some sort of trance
and using all his willpower to deflect the dark magic.

Dark smoke starts to seep upwards from the locket, while Voldemort's high-pitched laugh
echoes in the dark clearing. The smoke clears enough that I can see three figures taking
forms, floating in the air, over the locket.

Two young men, and a girl.

Dumbledore flinches when the girl starts to speak to him with a soft voice.

"I tried to stop you, brother…I tried to help…"

Dumbledore lets out a small gasp, his grip on the sword slowly faltering, until the Gryffindor
heirloom drops to the grass with a soft thump.

I stare at them in shock, until I realise that the girl had called Dumbledore her brother…
Dumbledore has a sister?

"…I tried to make it better…Why…? Why did you do it…? Why did you hurt me…?"

"Don't listen to it!" Regulus bellows suddenly, still straining to move. "Finish it! Destroy it!"

One of the figures, one of the young men, turns to Dumbledore.

"…It was you, brother. You are the reason she is dead. You are the one who brought this upon
us…You! You gave her away…for greater good…"

The last words are spoken with such malice, that the Headmaster seems to visibly shrink
from the weight of them.

“I’m sorry,” Dumbledore breathes, his body shivering. “I never meant it to happen, never!”

The girl watches Dumbledore sadly, while one of the men – the one calling Dumbledore his
brother – snarls at him.

“…We would’ve been better without you! Without him!”

Dumbledore’s head falls slightly. After a short silence, he nods. “I know,” he says, resignedly.
“I wish – I wish it had been me instead…”

My head reels as I try to understand the situation. What are they speaking about? Are those
people Dumbledore's siblings? And I know, it shouldn't even matter. Not now. Nothing
matters more than getting rid of that poisonous thing.

"Headmaster! Do it!" I shout, almost desperately, and then…then many things happen at
once.

Regulus growls next to me, his face distorted with pain, and even though I've moved my
attention momentarily towards him, trying to gauge the situation, to see if he's okay, from the
corner of my eye I see sudden movement.

The figures surge upwards, and a second later, a strong pulse of dark magic explodes, not
towards Dumbledore, but towards us. Regulus and me.

And the next moment, Dumbledore has turned towards us, wandlessly summoning the
explosion away from us, and for a small moment, a second really, I think we are going to
survive, but then, Dumbledore has his back on the locket, and doesn't have time to deflect the
blast that hits him, sending him flying several feet across the clearing.

I yell in shock, and only as I run towards the Headmaster, I notice that the spell that kept
Regulus and I in place, is broken.

"NO! No, no, no…Dumbledore…sir…" I pant as I reach him, collapsing onto my knees
beside him, dread and nausea mingling in my stomach.

Dumbledore lies on his side on the soft ground, his eyes closed. He looks uninjured, as if he's
merely sleeping, but I need to know that he's going to be all right. I need him to be okay.

"Potter, not yet!" Regulus shouts, sounding angry all of a sudden. "We need to destroy it!"

But I don't care. I need to see that Dumbledore is breathing first. "Sir…" I say shakily,
placing my trembling hand against his shoulder.

Dumbledore stirs and a long, relieved breath leaves my lungs.

"He's okay! He's – " I say urgently, and my voice is stuck in my throat as I see Regulus at the
tree stump.

No…

The sword is in his hand, his expression is focused, looking almost enraged as he lifts the
sword up, preparing to strike.

"Regulus, no!" I yell in panic, but he doesn't listen.

He doesn't stop either. As soon as the blade touches the locket with a clang of metal, a loud,
painful scream is ripped from his throat.

I barely catch the high-pitched, drawn-out cry – the Horcrux – as it is mostly covered by
Regulus's agony.

"NO!" I roar, and scramble to my feet, running towards him, gasping in shock, horrified by
the way Regulus shudders violently and shrieks in pain for several moments until no more
sounds erupt from his mouth, and his body lurches towards the ground where it stays,
unmoving.

I curse inwardly as I reach him, the nauseating helplessness filling me again as the people
around me keep hurting, keep taking strikes for me. I only give the briefest of looks towards
the Horcrux, at the shattered remains of the locket on the tree stump, making sure it is indeed
destroyed, before I move my focus back to him.

"Regulus?" I whisper, feeling breathless, my voice thick as my eyes move quickly over his
body, searching for wounds. "Please be okay, please be okay," I mumble, my voice trembling.

Regulus lies on the grass on his back, eyes closed, the sword still held loosely on his right
hand, but his left…the fabric of his cloak on his left arm has burnt away almost completely,
revealing a large distorted, sizzling burn injury.

The Mark.

It's bad. The wounds are deep. I struggle to swallow down the bile that threatens to rise in my
throat. The skin on his forearm is charred, and there's a several inches long area of white,
waxy looking skin, speckled with red dots. But he's breathing. It's a raspy sound, but it is still
there.

Thank fucking merlin.

"Shit…Don't you dare dying on me," I grit through my teeth and quickly glance back to
Dumbledore.

I need him to help Regulus. Luckily the Headmaster is gaining consciousness, and then he's
moving quickly towards us.

"Harry…" He sounds stricken as his eyes find Regulus and he sees the state he is in. "I'm – "
"Help him," I interrupt the Headmaster, my voice pleading but sharp.

Dumbledore nods, his expression clearing into a blank one. He kneels on Regulus's other
side, on his left side, and waves his wand slowly over the injured arm. He repeats the spell
several times.

The moment stretches on, and I'm holding my breath, ignoring the way my pulse is pounding
in my ears, and how my head is thrumming steadily. He has to be okay. But...what if the
curse, or whatever the hell dark magic the mark has, what if it is something that can't be
healed? What if he won't wake up?

I swallow hard, not letting myself think about the possibility, not letting myself tear up. Not
yet.

My eyes move over Regulus's face, and I unconsciously lift my hand to slowly push away a
stray lock of hair from his forehead. I need him. I need him to be okay.

I watch, feeling utterly helpless again as Dumbledore uses magic to lift Regulus's injured arm
up a couple of inches from the ground and conjures wordlessly a large moist bandage before
wrapping it gently over his wounds.

"W-Will he be okay?" I ask faintly, worry evident in my voice, and only now notice how my
hand still hovers over the side of Regulus's face, cradling his cheek. Even though he's
unconscious, there're still deep lines of anguish visible in his expression.

Dumbledore gives me a weary glance, not looking at all like the all-powerful and great
wizard I'm accustomed to. "The curse was not fatal, but it may be disastrous if not healed.
This will help keep him steady. We need to get him to the infirmary," he says, sounding
exhausted.

His words help the dread and nausea inside me dissipate only slightly. But that's the best he
can do, and the sooner we return to the school, the sooner Madam Pomfrey can start making
sure that Regulus will heal. That he will be well.

I chew the inside of my cheek as I watch the Headmaster more closely, trying to figure out
how much the struggle with the Horcrux affected him. How much it has weakened him.

"Will you be okay, sir? What it said…what he said…" I ask hesitantly, my eyes following
Dumbledore's movements as he slowly pushes up to stand on his feet.

A small smile lifts up the corners of his mouth. "You don't have to worry about me, Harry,"
he says, and glances at the sky, his mouth opening as if he's about to say something else.

But instead, shock fills his expression, his body recoiling.

"Sir…?" I ask, confused by the sudden change in his demeanour, and move to look at the
same direction, only to mimic his expression.

Below the starry night, far across the forest, on the other side, a dark mass looms, high in the
air.
The Dark Mark.
 Fade Away
Chapter Notes

I think you guys know what to expect...

Chapter 26: Fade Away

Hogwarts, 20 April 1997

There is no mistake. The Dark Mark looms above the Hogwarts castle, it is clear even from
the distance. The green skull with a serpent tongue. The mark that is left after the Death
Eaters – after Voldemort – has killed someone. Coldness sweeps through my veins, and I feel
numb. And compared to the emotional storm I've been in for the last hour, I now feel utterly
terrified.

Ron and Hermione are there. Ginny, Neville, Seamus, Dean and Luna. And everyone else.

Is he there? Is Voldemort there?

Panic and despair fill me. My throat feels tight, and I can't breathe.

"…Harry!" The Headmaster shouts, shaking me by the shoulders. I only now realise he
must've been trying to get my attention for a moment or so.

His voice is hard, but when I finally blink and manage to shake away my stupor, I see it in his
eyes. Alarm. Fear. Graveness.

I swallow hard, trying to move past the distress, trying to force my brains to think what to do.

Dumbledore takes a step away from me and casts a spell. A Patronus. He mutters something
to the silvery Phoenix that has erupted from his wand before it soars away, flying into the
night.

"Harry. We need to go back to the school. Now." Dumbledore says urgently as he turns back
to face me, moving briskly towards Regulus. He waves his wand over the black-haired man,
and the slackness in Regulus's body disappears, instantly becoming rigid.

"A simple Freezing charm to help us keep him stable and his body unmoving before we reach
the infirmary," he explains to my questioning look. He turns slightly away, towards the tree
stump, and retrieves the remains of the Slytherin Locket, pocketing it after a brief glance at it.
"I sent a message to Rosmerta, to alert the Ministry," Dumbledore says hastily. "Take out
your Invisibility Cloak and put it over both of you. Then take his hand, Harry."
There's no twinkle behind the half-moon spectacles, no reassuring smiles or looks. Just the
weary expression, laced with fear and apprehension.

I follow the instructions, even though the cloak doesn't fully cover both Regulus and me. I
take Regulus's hand and then reach out to Dumbledore, expecting him to Apparate us back.

I know I need to go back. I need to go to my friends, to see that they are okay. I have no idea
how long it has been since we left the school, no idea if Ron and Hermione actually took the
Felix. What if they didn't? What if something has happened to them? Or any of my friends? I
told them to guard the corridors, to alert the teachers if they saw anything abnormal. I'm the
reason they've left the protection of their common room tonight.

Dumbledore gives me a serious look. "Do you remember what we agreed, Harry?" He asks
and takes my hand, his stare determined.

I give him an unsure nod. Is he expecting me to hide? To run? Then why is he taking us with
him?

"When we go back, you will stay hidden until I have made sure there is no danger," he says,
reminding me, his blue eyes watching me with a piercing look. He must've seen the conflict
in me, as he continues, "You will keep Regulus hidden, as he is unable to protect himself.
You will keep him safe, Harry, until he can be moved to the hospital wing."

Bloody hell. The will to fight, to rush to help my friends, decreases significantly as I glance
at the black-haired man, lying stiffly on the ground. Fear gropes my stomach at the thought of
Regulus getting hurt. I know I can't let that happen. We need to get him to the hospital wing,
where he can be properly healed. Dumbledore said it himself – if he doesn't, it might be
disastrous.

I know I need to protect Regulus, now that he's unable to do it himself. And I know I can't
win any fights – duels – like that.

"Promise me, Harry." The Headmaster says, his voice hard again, his eyes flashing.

I clench my jaw but give him a stiff nod. "I promise."

Before either of us can say anything more, I feel the familiar tug behind my navel, and
scramble to grab both Dumbledore and Regulus tighter, just in case.

Seconds later, we land inside the Astronomy tower, and as I blink and take in my
surroundings, I realise that we've Apparated into a hidden tier below the ramparts – a small
space I didn't even know existed in the tower.

Both Dumbledore and I listen carefully, our eyes sweeping over the latticework above us,
trying to determine if we are alone. The tower is quiet, and empty. Nothing seems to be out of
the ordinary. Dumbledore waves his hand in the air, undoubtedly performing wandless magic
to check if the tower indeed is empty. After turning back towards me and Regulus – who is
only partly hidden beneath the cloak, the Headmaster gives me a small nod.
"A-Are we in the right place?" I whisper to him before pulling off the cloak and taking my
wand from my pocket.

Dumbledore's gaze flicks over the tower once again before he speaks to me, "Take the cloak,
Harry. Go find Severus. Tell him what happened, and speak to no one else. Then come back
here," he says with a firm voice.

My brows lift in confusion. "What about him? Regulus? We can't leave him here," I start to
argue, but Dumbledore lifts a hand to interrupt me.

"I can place enchantments over him, to make sure he will remain unseen. But we need to alert
the others first. It can be so that no one in the castle even knows that they might be in
danger," He says quietly, moving towards Regulus, his expression unreadable.

I can only stare dazedly at the Headmaster as he waves his wand over Regulus, casting
intricate spells. A moment later, Regulus's body has disappeared from sight.

Then the Headmaster turns towards me. "You can go through the tapestry," Dumbledore says,
his eyes moving towards the slim tapestry, positioned against the wall, close to the narrow
stairs that lead to the upper level.

I frown at the picture, a unicorn in captivity, certain that I've seen it before, but only
somewhere else.

"Go, Harry. Go now!" Dumbledore says with enough urgency to break the numbness that has
started to take over yet again.

I try to push away the anxiousness that I'm beginning to feel as all the possibilities of what
might happen next – all the threats – start to whirl in my mind. With a deep breath and a curt
nod, I throw the cloak over myself after a last glance to the spot where I know Regulus is
situated. Clutching my wand tightly, I make my way towards the small tapestry, but before I
can even push it away to reveal the passage, faint noise reaches our ears.

My body stiffens as Dumbledore merely cocks his head to listen.

Running footsteps. Drawing closer. The noise becoming louder.

I start to take off the cloak while Dumbledore walks quickly to the stairs that lead to the
ramparts. "Keep it on, Harry. Keep yourself hidden. Do not speak or show yourself without
my permission. Do you understand?" He says, his expression hard.

I chew the inside of my cheek, feeling conflicted. I know I promised him, I know.

But then I see his eyes, pleading me, asking me to trust him. I know what I have to do.

With great effort, I lower my wand and give the Headmaster a look of defeat. I pull the cloak
back over myself, and Dumbledore walks hastily up the stairs and to the upper level, just
before the door there flies open.

I peer through the grid above, and watch as Malfoy comes into my view.
"Expelliarmus!" Malfoy yells, and I'm about to shout, to growl at him but I realise I can't
speak. I have no voice.

And then I realise something even worse. Dumbledore has cast a spell to immobilise me. I
can't move.

All I can do is watch how Dumbledore's wand flies across the tower, straight into Malfoy's
extended palm. What was he even thinking? Using his concentration to make sure that I
would stay hidden, that I didn't take any risks to try to help him. I think about a litany of
curses. Making sure I was protected, had costed Dumbledore his wand.

"Good evening, Draco," Dumbledore says simply, giving no hint whatsoever that the
situation – or even seeing Malfoy there – has surprised him.

Malfoy's gaze moves quickly over the tower. "Are you alone?" He asks quickly.

Dumbledore merely watches Malfoy curiously before he replies. "Are you?"

Malfoy swallows deeply before lifting his chin up a notch. "No. The Death Eaters are here. It
was me," He says, his voice triumphant, even when his eyes are terrified. "I figured out a way
to let them in, and right under your nose!"

I can see a hint of disappointment in Dumbledore's expression. "And where are they now? I
would have thought they were eager to confront me. Instead, they sent…you?" He asks, his
voice kind.

Malfoy scoffs. "They are on their way. Some of your guards stumbled into their path, but it
won't be long now...And you have no idea what I've done. What I'm capable of," Malfoy says
with a hiss.

Dumbledore gives him an acknowledging nod. "Many things, I'm sure. But I'm also
convinced of what you are not," he says, still keeping his voice kind, understanding. "You are
not a killer, Draco."

Many things whirl in my head, and I shiver inwardly. Malfoy…? Malfoy wants to…to kill
Dumbledore? And…what guards? Someone from the DA?

And then, Dumbledore smiles at Malfoy, a pitiful look in his eyes. "In fact, I know a great
deal about what you have done, Draco, seen with my own eyes what you are capable of," he
says, and I can see that Malfoy's expressionless mask starts to slip yet again, taken over by
that same weariness and alarm that I've seen flickering in his features many times this year.

"You nearly killed Ronald Weasley and Katie Bell, by the result of your weak attempts to
take me down. I have to say, Draco, if you were actually trying, you haven't put forth enough
effort," Dumbledore says, almost lightly, as if they are not discussing Malfoy's attempts at
murder.

Malfoy's jaw clenches, and he stares at the Headmaster for a long time before he speaks.
"Trust me, I have," He says darkly.
There's distant shouting, and a large crash, somewhere close to the Astronomy tower. Both
Malfoy and Dumbledore incline their heads towards the sounds.

The Headmaster moves his gaze back to Malfoy and watches him calmly. "How did you do
it, if I may ask? I have to say, Draco, I am quite…curious to learn how you were able to
introduce your new friends into my school – something I had thought was…impossible."

Malfoy doesn't reply to him, and instead seems to be listening intently to the muffled yelling
and smashing.

I want to yell at Dumbledore, to shove him. Malfoy's focus has faltered and he's not even
looking at Dumbledore! He could use wandless magic – hell, he could even take a couple of
quick steps and whack Malfoy in the head. But instead he does nothing, and merely stares at
the boy in front of him, a pitiful smile on his lips.

Dumbledore takes a small step sideways, and that snaps Malfoy's attention back to him.

"Don't move! Or I'll…I'll – " Malfoy grunts, but is interrupted by the Headmaster.

" – I don't think you will kill me, Draco. It is not as easy as some might think. In terms of life,
it costs dearly. And it is something one simply cannot come back from." Dumbledore says
softly, and doesn't move again. "But you did succeed bringing people here, who might be able
to assist you in your aspiration. So, as we wait for your friends, tell me, Draco, how did you
do it?"

Malfoy's hand, still holding his wand trained at the Headmaster, trembles slightly. His face is
white, and he swallows hard before he replies. "The broken Vanishing Cabinet…the one
Montague got lost in last year. I mended it."

"Ah." Dumbledore says, as if contemplating this method, and deciding that it is acceptable.
"Genius indeed. There is a pair?"

Malfoy narrows his eyes at the Headmaster, but still replies, "At Borgin and Burkes. And no
one didn't even realise it, not even when Montague told everyone the story – how he could
sometimes hear the sounds coming from the school, and other times from the shop. No one
but me understood that the two cabinets make a passage between the shop and the school."

Dumbledore offers his compliments to Malfoy, while my blood boils with rage. That fucking
Death Eater. He's been planning this all along – planning to let the Death Eaters into the
castle, to kill and torture innocent people. Malfoy's done that. Planned to kill Dumbledore.

And I was right. All along, I knew he was up to something. But I never realised, I never
could have imagined it was something so horrifying.

"But even if you have given this cabinet issue a great deal of dedication, I assume there were
still times when you hesitated? Times when you…wished not to succeed? …And during
those times, you gave it a weak try. By sending me a cursed necklace, by sending me
poisoned mead…While all along, I knew it was you. I knew it, because Professor Snape told
me."
Malfoy's expression hardens. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you shouldn't trust him. He's
been helping me! Snape made a promise to my mother. He's loyal to us. To him," he grits
through his teeth.

And yet Snape was the person Dumbledore wanted to be notified about the situation in the
school. How sure he actually is about Snape? I close my eyes and try to force the
enchantment to break. But nothing happens. If Snape is a double agent, and loyal to
Dumbledore, why didn't he say anything about the cabinet?

Dumbledore merely smiles at Malfoy. "We may have to agree to disagree in this matter,
Draco. But you must have had some help outside Hogwarts as well…? Someone, perhaps, in
Hogsmeade…ah. Indeed. Rosmerta. How long has she been under the Imperius Curse?"

Malfoy arches a brow at the Headmaster, his posture stiffening. "Figured that part out, did
you?"

Dumbledore gives him a small nod and speaks, "Yes, I'm afraid so…And very clever of you,
Draco, to think of using her as the means to deliver the necklace – and the poisoned mead. I
suppose poor Mr. Filch wouldn't even think of checking a bottle of Rosmerta's," he says, his
voice mild and contemplative.

How the hell is he doing it? I would've…I would've – and why in the name of Merlin is he
prolonging their conversation? Dumbledore could very well end him. He could throw Malfoy
off the tower, if he truly wanted. But he's not doing anything. He's not doing anything, even
though he knows that there are Death Eaters roaming in the castle, harming innocent
students. Even though he knows that Regulus lies here with me, in an urgent need of care.
And the Mark in the sky. Someone might have been killed already.

A flicker of worry passes over Malfoy's expression as a loud explosion erupts from
downstairs. I pray to Merlin, Circe and Morgana that my friends are okay. That they are still
alive.

As Malfoy reveals the means of communication between him and Rosmerta, I nearly bite my
tongue – at least I would if I could move it. Hermione's galleons – our charmed galleons. The
bloody bastard has stolen that and used it to evil. Used it to give commands to a woman he
has Imperiused. A wave of revulsion crashes the bottom of my stomach.

"Yeah, and I got the idea of poisoning the mead from the Mudblood Granger as well!
Overheard her to complain about Filch not recognising potions…" Malfoy continues bitterly,
and waves of anger join the nausea in my stomach.

That fucking wanker. I'm going to end him. I'm going to throw him off the tower. How
fucking dare he?

Dumbledore chastises Malfoy for his language, and Malfoy merely bursts into dry laughter.

"You're going to be dead soon – I'm going to kill you, and still you care whether or not I use
an offensive word?" Malfoy asks, watching Dumbledore incredulously.
The Headmaster merely gives Malfoy a piercing look – something that seems to make him
shrink in his place a bit. "I do not think that it will be you, Draco. If you had had the will to
do it, you would have done it already. I am unarmed. Defenceless. You have the upper hand,
Draco. But the question is; will you do it?"

Malfoy seems to be taken aback by Dumbledore's words, and he flinches as the sounds of
yelling and crashing seem to be nearer now. Whoever they are, must be fighting their way up
the staircase that leads to the tower. "I have to," Malfoy gasps, all the remaining colour
disappearing from his features. "I have to kill you! Otherwise…he'll kill me…He'll kill my
family," He says, looking devastated. Scared.

Dumbledore gives Malfoy a searching look. "I am aware of the complexity of the situation,
Draco. In fact, that is the reason I have not approached you on the matter. I knew that if Lord
Voldemort searched through your mind, and found out that I had offered you protection, he
wouldn't hesitate to act upon his threats," the Headmaster says matter-of-factly.

Malfoy shudders at the sound of the name.

"You can still stop, Draco. You still have options. You can choose the right side,"
Dumbledore says, imploring him.

Malfoy's face scrunches up with torment. "There's no going back," he whispers, his whole
body shivering.

"I can help you. The Order can help your family. You can be kept safe," Dumbledore says
hastily as the noises from downstairs become even louder. "Do the right thing."

Malfoy opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, supposedly at a loss of words. It seems
that he wants to listen to Dumbledore, that he knows what the right thing is, and even wants
to do it. It is clear from the way his hand – the one holding his wand – drops against his side.
The look of despair he gives to the Headmaster confirms it.

But then, the door bursts open with a loud bang, and Malfoy's defences are back up, and the
unreadable mask in place, hiding him again. Four people in black robes push behind Malfoy
into my view.

The Death Eaters.

Fear grips my spine. They've obviously won the fight that was taking place downstairs. Does
it mean that they've – that they've killed someone? My lungs are suddenly empty, and I can't
breathe. What if…what if – shit, I can't think about that right now. I swallow down the
tightness in my throat and force myself to focus on the confrontation between Dumbledore
and the Death Eaters.

One of them – a woman – is cackling happily, "What do we have here…? Dumbledore,

wandless, cornered! …Well done, Draco! I have to say I had my doubts about your
capabilities…"
Dumbledore gives the woman a polite nod. "Good evening, Alecto. And Amycus, too," he
says, glancing at the man next to Alecto.

They are both tow-haired, with round faces and smiles that do not reach their eyes, alike
enough in looks that they have to be brother and sister.

Amycus lets out a loud snort. "Still resorting to mockery and wit when things turn bad, huh?
Even now, minutes before your death?" He asks, a leering smile on his face.

Dumbledore gives Amucys a sympathetic look, something that seems to anger the Death
Eater even before he speaks, "I'm merely upholding good manners. It is never too late to
learn, Amucys."

"You bloody – "

"Do it." One of the Death Eaters interrupt Amucys's outburst, and everyone falls silent.

The man is the largest of them all, and even without the raspy, chilling voice, and the
positively nauseating reek of dirt, sweat and blood coming from him, he looks terrifying; his
hair is matted and grey, his hands filthy with sharp, yellow nails, and his eyes…they are
flashing with…hunger and malice.

Dumbledore stiffens only slightly at the voice. "Fenrir."

The Death Eater in question gives a ferocious smile. "Pleased to see me again, Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore stays expressionless. "Unfortunately, I cannot say that I am, Fenrir."

A shiver runs down my spine as I recognise the man; Fenrir Greyback – the most savage
werewolf alive. His mission in life is to bite and contaminate as many people as possible, to
create enough werewolves to overcome the wizards. At least, according to Lupin. Greyback
is the one who bit Lupin when he was a kid.

The conversation moves on, and the werewolf in question now grins at Dumbledore, showing
his dirty, pointed teeth, specked with blood. "Even if young Draco didn't wish me to join him
here, I wouldn't have missed this trip…too tempting…so many innocent, delicious throats to
be ripped out," he growls, a ravenous look in his eyes.

My head spins, and I suppress a gag. Malfoy looks like he's about to pass out, and he is
actively avoiding to even glance at Greyback. He's afraid of him. And who wouldn't be?

There's a loud bang downstairs, and I can hear someone shouting loud enough to hear what
they are saying. It seems that the Death Eaters have blocked the stairs, and escaped their
opponents, and not…just maybe not killed anyone. Hope flickers in my chest. I can hear
spells firing downstairs, people trying to remove the blockage.

The fourth Death Eater speaks, pulling me out of my dizzying thoughts, "Draco, do it now!
We don't have much time!"
Malfoy swallows deeply, and stares at Dumbledore for a moment, his hand shaking violently
as he lifts his wand and points it at the Headmaster.

I want to shout, want nothing more than to break the enchantment Dumbledore's placed upon
me, so that I could curse the fucking wizard – a boy, really.

Dumbledore stands calmly in place as the Death Eaters exchange heated words, and try to
reign in Greyback, who thinks that he should be the one to finish Dumbledore, and then, once
more, the door bangs open, and finally! There's help. I would slump in relief if I could move
a muscle.

Snape is there, his wand at the ready, his black eyes moving over the area, seemingly trying
to gauge the situation. What the hell is he waiting for? He had the element of surprise; he
should've just started firing curses at the Death Eaters. Instead, he watches Dumbledore
quietly, as one of the Death Eaters starts to inform him about the slight snag in their plan.

"Severus…" Dumbledore says suddenly, his voice quiet and soft. The sound of it chills my
blood.

Dumbledore is giving Snape a meaningful look, pleading him.

W-What the hell?

Snape walks slowly towards Dumbledore, an unreadable look in his eyes. He walks past
Malfoy, while the other Death Eaters back away a bit.

What is he doing? Why isn't he helping Dumbledore?

The look in Snape's eyes flickers, and I can see something close to loathing in them.

Dumbledore's blue eyes shine with recognition. With trust. He gives Snape an imploring gaze
as he whispers, "Severus. Please…"

Snape raises his wand and points it. Straight at Dumbledore's chest.

No…no, no, no…

"Avada Kedavra!"

A soundless cry of terror fills my mind as the curse – the green jet of light – hits Dumbledore
and he's flown backwards across the room, over the railing, and straight into the night,
disappearing from sight.

I'm screaming in pain and horror. I'm shouting and sobbing in shock, but no sounds leave my
mouth, and my body still stays unmoving as the Death Eaters quickly start to exit the tower.
 Day One
Chapter Notes

So this is the end of HBP! Wow...and I originally thought that this was gonna be those
short ones. We'll see about that, wont we ;)
Long chapter, and no beta (you know who you are): you'll probably catch some typos.
But, I'm hoping you'll still enjoy this one!
Let me know what you think!

Chapter 27: Day One

Hogwarts, 20 April 1997

The words echo in my head, over and over again, making everything else fade into the
background.

Avada Kedavra!

It didn't happen, it couldn't have happened. No. Snape – he, he must've missed. Dumbledore
must've somehow fooled everyone, and he is in fact alive. He has to be.

A moment later, I realise that I can move again, and as a choked cry of anguish bursts from
my lips, I can only think of one thing that needs to be done.

The Death Eaters have exited the tower only moments ago, and with mixed rage and
confusion, I start to sprint towards the stairs – only to freeze in place as something moves in
the corner of my eye and a small, almost inaudible groan fills the silence.

Shit. Regulus!

I grit my teeth together and move quickly towards his now visible body, even though every
fibre of me wants to race after Snape and Malfoy, because I know – I know that they are the
answer to this…this turmoil inside me. That reaching them will somehow solve everything.

But not before I've checked him. Made sure he's still breathing.

"Come on, Regulus…" I mutter, my voice rough and thick.

Regulus doesn't move again and stays still, breathing steadily.

I give him another assessing look before I grab my Invisibility Cloak and throw it over him,
guilt already making its way up in my throat. "Please be okay…until I come back," I whisper,
my voice shaking, the conflicting emotions weighing so heavily inside my chest, that they
will probably suffocate me soon.

I tear my eyes from the now disillusioned man and leap towards the narrow set of stairs,
running two steps at a time. The upper level is empty as I already predicted, and I don't waste
any more time in there, and instead run down the stairway, after the group of Death Eaters.

Blood is rushing in my ears, and the distant sounds of battle now become louder as I descend
the spiral staircase in the Astronomy Tower. There's debris everywhere, and more than once I
stumble on the steps. But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters, except catching Snape.

It feels like an hour later, when I finally barge through the door that leads to the darkened
corridor, filled with dust and the sounds of duelling. People are running everywhere, curses
and spells flying in the air.

"Harry!" Lupin yells close to me, looking at me with a stunned and relieved expression,
before he quickly pulls me down by the scruff of my neck as a jet of purple zooms over our
heads, blasting against the wall not far from us. Both Lupin and I turn to throw a curse at the
Death Eater aiming at us, and one of us manages to land a stunner, as the man falls hard
against the floor of the corridor.

"Where were you?" He asks hastily, blocking hexes and curses of one large blonde Death
Eater, who manages to cause quite the disarray as he keeps firing spells in every direction.

I shake my head, and look quickly around me. Tonks is duelling a Death Eater further down
the corridor, where Ron and Ginny are facing one as well. "Did you see Snape?" I demand,
my gaze still sweeping over the duelling people close to us and further away. "Did you?"

Lupin frowns in confusion but his focus shifts momentarily as he goes to block another set of
curses that are flown towards us.

"Yes, he ran with Draco – across the hall, just moments ago," He says quickly, and gives me a
once over. "Harry what are you – "

"I need to go!" I say hurriedly, my voice a hard growl. "Listen. Reg – he's up there. He needs
to be taken to the infirmary," I explain hastily, and cast a quick shield charm to block a curse
aimed towards us. The brother and sister – who were duelling Tonks, Ron and Ginny, start to
retreat. Ron and Ginny follow them while Tonks starts to duel the large blonde wizard
instead.

"What?" Lupin says, looking utterly perplexed. "Regulu – "

"Help him, okay? I need to go!" I grit out, and Lupin looks like he's about to argue but then
gives a sharp nod.

I run towards the duellers, ducking the curses that are zooming everywhere and dodging the
erratically moving people, trying to make my way down the corridor, trying to catch the
brother and sister – who are blocking Ron's and Ginny's spells as they back down and head
towards the grand staircase. I need to get to Snape before they do, I need to –
"Crucio!" The woman, Alecto, yells and her curse misses Ginny by two inches.

Shit.

Ron screams angrily and aims a knockback jinx at the woman, hitting her straight in the
chest, sending the Death Eater to fly several steps down. Alecto's brother, Amycus, snarls and
throws a blasting curse at the stairs, right in front of Ron and Ginny, destroying a large chunk
of stairs between them.

Ron and Ginny shout in surprise and jump quickly backwards just as I reach them, and now
there's more than half of the stairs missing between the Death Eaters and us, and nowhere to
go but back, giving Amycus the opportunity to run down to his sister and drag her away.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit…

"Harry!" Ginny cries with relief when she finally notices me. "What are you doing here?
Where were you?" She asks hastily, between sending hexes and curses at the retreating Death
Eaters, hitting a suit of armour and several portraits instead. They are soon too far from us.

"Harry!" Ron echoes. "You alright, mate?" He asks quickly, wiping sweat from his brow.

I give them a quick nod as I run all the possible shortcuts in my head. "No time. Need to go!"
I yell, already sprinting up the small number of stairs left and almost slip in a puddle as I turn
around a corner.

A puddle of blood.

Two bodies lie there, faces down against the floor, unmoving. I swallow hard and force
myself to focus, to run towards the tapestry where the nearest shortcut to the Entrance Hall is
hidden. This floor – it has to be the fifth one – is otherwise deserted, and it seems that the
fighting has moved from here to other floors and corridors.

Gritting my teeth, I shove the tapestry aside and race down the steps, several at a time,
leaping over the vanishing step halfway down the concealed staircase. The closer I get to the
Entrance Hall, the louder I hear the shouts and screams. Fear and worry grip my stomach as I
burst through the tapestry at the bottom of the hidden route.

There are smears of blood speckled over the flagstones, but no casualties, other than a group
of terrified looking Hufflepuffs in one corner. McGonagall is there though, duelling two
Death Eaters while yelling at the students to retreat to their dorm. Their spells are flying
everywhere, blasting against the stone, shattering the windows, and then, one of their spells
whirls across the hall, right over my head, and with a loud crash, the Gryffindor hourglass is
broken into pieces, sending rubies to fall down with a loud clatter.

"Impedimenta!" I yell and the other Death Eater is lifted off his feet, flown across the air
before smashing against the marble staircase behind him.

Knowing that McGonagall can handle the remaining opponent by herself, I wheel around and
rush towards the oak doors that are blasted open, jumping over the falling rubies that flood
the floor like blood, ignoring the yells of the others, the bangs and crashes coming from
upper levels.

As soon as I get a lungful of chilly night air, I spot three figures – Snape, Malfoy, and the
blonde wizard – running across the grounds, heading towards the gates, towards an
Apparition point.

I don't think so.

Gathering all my strength, I start to sprint towards them as fast as I can, ignoring the pain in
my lungs, and the dizziness in my head. As I run further, I see a series of lights in the
distance – spells…aimed at Hagrid.

Hagrid's there, trying to stop the escape, trying to help.

No…

I choke down a sob as Hagrid takes spell after spell in the chest, but miraculously, the blonde
Death Eater doesn't manage to take him down. Meanwhile, Snape and Malfoy continue their
flight towards the gates.

"NO!" I scream, running past Hagrid and the blonde Death Eater, aiming my wand ahead, at
Snape's back. "Stupefy!" I yell, missing them both.

Snape shouts something to Malfoy before he turns towards me, raising his wand.

"Cruc – " I gasp, but Snape blocks my spell swiftly, sneering at me.

Behind us, the blonde Death Eater sends a curse to set Hagrid's hut on fire. The cool night air
is warming rapidly and the grounds are suddenly illuminated by the flames. While Hagrid
yells back at the Death Eater, I try the Cruciatus curse again, only to be blocked again by
Snape.

"Your attempts are weak, Potter," Snape hisses angrily, "You do not have it in you to – "

"Incarc – " I growl, and Snape deflects my spell again. "Fight back!" I scream, my lungs now
stinging from the smoke. "You coward!"

Snape looks livid. "You are calling me coward, Potter?" He snarls. "What would you call
your father, I wonder…"

"Stupe – "

Snape flicks his wand, easily blocking my spell. "You'll need to learn to shut your mouth and
your mind, Potter, otherwise you won't stand a chance!" Snape yells, his voice taunting,
before he turns towards the blonde Death Eater. "Now come! We need to go before the
Ministry turns up – "

I'm about to send another curse at Snape, but then, suddenly, an unbearable pain flares over
my body, sending me face first towards the ground. "AAAAHH!" I scream, when sharp
needles stab my skin, and my insides burn as if I've swallowed acid. A Cruciatus Curse.

"No!" I vaguely hear Snape yell to someone. "Do you not remember your orders?! Potter
belongs to the Dark Lord! Now go! We have to leave!"

The blonde wizard had cast the curse.

The curse is lifted and I'm left there, curled up on the grass, gasping for breath. I lift my head
to spit a mouthful of blood – probably bit my tongue or my cheek – and I see the brother, the
sister and the blonde Death Eater sprinting towards the gates, following Malfoy.

I stagger to stand up on my knees, swaying slightly as I feel a murderous rage surge up inside
me. I hate him. Snape. I want to hurt him. For what he did. I want to kill him.

"Sectum – "

My curse is deflected, and Snape walks quickly towards me, his wand at the ready, plain fury
in his dark eyes. I try to cast a non-verbal Levicorpus, but he blocks me again.

"How dare you use my own spells against me, Potter?" He yells, and flicks his wand, sending
me to fly backwards several feet.

I hit my head hard against a rock, while Snape summons my wand and throws it away. "I
invented them! I am the Half-Blood Prince! …Trying to use them against me, Potter, just like
you father did, the wimp!"

Snape stops next to me, and even though I can still taste the blood in my mouth, even though
I can't even see clearly anymore, I try to lunge at him, to attack him. Snape merely casts a
spell to force me to lay back.

"K-Kill me then! Just like you killed him! I'm wandless. Defenceless. Just like h-he – just like
Dumbledore was," I gasp, tears prickling in the corners of my eyes. "You fucking coward – "

"Do not. Call me a coward, Potter!" Snape yells, his voice wavering. His eyes are widened
with shock and his expression filled with agony.

A second later, he strikes me with a painful curse, and as my vision keeps blackening and
then clearing up, I vaguely register how a Hippogriff – Buckbeak – flies down to attack
Snape.

Snape manages to escape, and all that is left is the screeching of the Hippogriff, Hagrid's
wails and the thrumming in my head.

"…Harry! Speak ter me, Harry…"

Hagrid's voice breaks through the blackness and through the haze, and I'm slowly blinking,
regaining consciousness.

"Hagrid…?" I rasp, pushing upwards to sit on the grass. "…okay?"

Hagrid's there, crouched next to me, his black eyes brimming with worry and confusion.
There're gashes on his skin, couple of places trickling with blood, but otherwise he looks to
be okay. At least I hope so.

"'Course I am! Fang too…Takes more'n that ter finish me…" He says, taking my arm and
helping me to stand up. "Yeh all righ', Harry?"

I'm trembling all over, forcing my lungs to work, even though every time I breathe, it hurts
like hell. Ignoring the pain, I give Hagrid a weary nod. Then I remember the hut…The fire!

" – Fire!" I croak, the only word I manage to push out.

"S' taken care of…took a couple o' minutes fer me ta remember the spell," he says, lifting the
pink, flowery umbrella.

I turn to look at his house, and instantly, the smell of extinguished wood floods through my
nostrils. The hut is badly burnt.

"S'not too bad. Dumbledore'll be able ter put it back in a jiff," Hagrid grunts and starts to talk
something about Bowtruckles, but his words disappear behind the images of the Astronomy
tower that start to flicker in my mind, and behind the sharp pain that fills my chest.

"…Hagrid," I say weakly. I need to tell him. He needs to know, because every second that
passes adds more guilt, more pain to the bottom of my stomach.

" – Snape…" I grunt, interrupting Hagrid's inquiries about the Death Eaters. "Snape. H-He
killed." I manage to gasp, swallowing hard before I continue, "He k-killed Dumbledore."

Hagrid blinks at my words, and then proceeds to contradict me, evidently thinking that I've
managed to hit my head too hard. He tells me that Snape was only following the Death Eaters
on Dumbledore's orders.

I try to argue Hagrid but he doesn't believe me. And who would blame him? Snape was
supposed to be on our side. Dumbledore…he trusted Snape. I'm tired, feeling too weak to do
anything but walk, so I resign myself to follow him numbly as he urges us back to the castle.
He'll know soon enough.

As we approach the castle, I can see that many of the windows are now lit. Students have
woken up, only to find traces of battle – or to witness the actual battle – and find their
Headmaster to be…dead.

My gaze flickers to the Astronomy tower, and I blink quickly as my eyes start to burn. On the
ground, there's a group of people, gathered at the foot of the tower. Hagrid mutters something
next to me, wondering what are they doing, what are they all looking at.

Moments pass, and it feels like I'm not even here. It's like I'm watching all of this from a
distance. Watching how we finally reach the group, and how Hagrid slowly breaks apart
when he understands what has happened. I watch as people around me – students and
teachers – stare at the wizard lying on the ground, first with shock, until the initial surprise
settles and gives room for grief, for sadness, for tears.

I watch as I slowly walk towards the man – the greatest wizard I've ever met – lying on the
grass. He's slightly curled up, as if he's sleeping. I crouch down beside him and reach out to
straighten the half-moon spectacles upon his crooked nose. As I wipe a speck of blood from
his mouth with my sleeve, the pain in my chest makes it hard to breathe, and the tightness in
my throat is making it impossible to swallow.

Another one, broken, taken away from me. Another one who I will never speak to again. Or
see again. Another loved one, gone.

Regardless of my efforts to suppress them, the tears force their way out from the corners of
my eyes, and I have to look away from him, from his peaceful expression.

My eyes catch something gold glittering on the grass, close to my knees.

The remains of the locket.

He's gone. Dumbledore's gone and he's still there. And I'm alone.

I stare at the locket for a moment. Not alone. Regulus. He's…he's, Merlin, I hope – I pray that
he's still alive. Guilt and shame flood my chest as I pocket the remains of the locket and stand
up. I shouldn't have left him there. I should've stayed with him, made sure he was taken to the
infirmary. Why did I follow Snape? What good did it do?

I need to go there, I need to go to him, to see that he's okay, that he's still alive.

I almost bump into Hermione as I turn on my heels.

"Harry…" She says, her voice wavering, tears glistening in her eyes. "You should…come,"
She whispers and takes my hand, starting to pull me away from Dumbledore, away from the
grieving crowd.

I study her expression and fear grips my chest. "Regulus. Is he…is he…?" I gasp, unable to
even say the words. I can't bear the thought of losing him as well.

Hermione shakes her head quickly. "He's alive, in the infirmary," she whispers, and relief
settles somewhere inside me, between the anger, the grief, the worry and the pain.
"Everyone's there, McGonagall, Lupin, Ron and Ginny," she says, evidently aiming for a
calmer tone.

"…Hermione…who else is dead?" I ask quietly, not even trying to steady my faltering voice.
I need to know. I need to brace myself.

"None of us. Don't worry, Harry." Hermione says weakly. "Neville and Flitwick were hurt,
and Bill…"

I swallow hard and watch her worried expression. "What about Bill?" I ask anxiously as we
climb the stairs towards the hospital wing, ignoring the sobs and cries that pierce the air
around us.

Hermione gives me a troubled look. "Greyback…he attacked Bill…" Before I can start to
panic, she continues, "but he wasn't – wasn't a werewolf so we don't know…how Bill will
turn out…" She says quietly, her hand trembling against mine.

I focus on moving forward, staying silent for the rest of the walk as Hermione explains how
one of the Death Eaters got hit by a Killing Curse, and how she, Ron and Ginny were
protected by the Felix potion, as every curse that was aimed towards them, had missed.

As we step into the hospital wing, there're people gathered around three beds. Neville is lying
in the first one, seeming to be asleep, while Luna sits close to the bed, whispering something
to him. In the next one, there's Bill, looking almost unrecognisable with the deep gashes
lining his face and torso. Ginny and Ron hover next to his bed while Madam Pomfrey is on
the other side of it, taking care of his wounds. Lupin stands between Bill's bed, and the next
one – where Regulus lies in, unconscious still, with Tonks by his side.

I take in a shuddering breath as I drop Hermione's hand and walk quickly towards the last
bed, towards Regulus.

"Harry…" Lupin says with an uneasy voice as I stop at the foot of Regulus's bed and stare at
him, clenching my jaw as I try to swallow down the guilt.

Lupin moves closer to me and puts a hand lightly against my shoulder. "Are you all right?"
He asks quietly, and I can feel his worried gaze on the side of my head.

"I'm fine. How's he?" I ask bluntly, my eyes moving over Regulus's frame.

He looks…peaceful enough – at least there're no lines of pain or suffering visible in his

expression. His black hair is a tangled mess against the pillow, only accentuating the sharp
angles of his pale face. His left arm is resting on top of the thin sheet covering most of his
body, bandaged, from his fingertips up to his shoulder.

"Madam Pomfrey did what she could to help him…to save his arm. She said that it is going
to take a while to heal the damage the curse did, and…that…he might never regain full use of
his left arm…" Lupin says, his voice filled with uneasiness.

Merlin...his arm…he might never…shit…

No…I can't think about that right now. "But he's gonna live?" I ask, my voice thick with
worry as I turn to look at Lupin.

Lupin nods and gives me a sad smile. "He's alive, Harry. He's going to survive this," He says,
trying to reassure me, trying to calm me.

It helps, only a little, but it's still something. "How's Bill?" I ask as my gaze flickers to the
bed he's lying in.

The others explain Bill's situation with short sentences, and I move closer to my friends after
a moment of hesitation. I know Regulus is not going to go anywhere, and that I'm going to be
across the room, but still…I'm a bit reluctant to leave his side again.

I give Ginny and Hermione quick hugs, and wrap my arm around Ron's shoulders as we stare
silently at his brother and Madam Pomfrey, who tends his wounds with a foul-smelling paste.
Pomfrey explains how healing magic doesn't work on the damage caused by a werewolf.
There is no cure.

Lupin clears his throat and tells us that Bill probably won't be a true werewolf, as Greyback
wasn't turned into one when he attacked Bill. But that it will likely have at least some impact
on him. Ron starts to talk about Dumbledore, how he must know a way to help his brother,
and I press my eyes closed, unable to repeat the words. Unable to tell another person how the
Headmaster is…how he's…

But I'm saved by Hermione, who was there, on the grounds. She saw his body, surrounded by
people. She tells the others in the infirmary, her voice high-pitched, trembling, but she tells
them. That he's gone. That Dumbledore's dead. Everyone looks from Hermione to me, as if
asking me to confirm it, and when I merely watch the floor, my face scrunched up in pain,
there's no question about it. The news shakes up everyone, and then there're shocked
outbursts, and after that, a long, quiet moment.

"What happened, Harry?" Lupin asks finally, his eyes searching mine.

"Snape. He killed Dumbledore," I say bitterly. "I saw it. I…we were there, Regulus and I. We
saw the mark and we came back as soon as we could. Regulus was…he was hurt,
unconscious, and I was…I promised him I would make sure Regulus was safe, and that…that
I wouldn't try to help him, but he s-still…Dumbledore still immobilised me," I stammer,
swallowing hard. "I couldn't do anything," I whisper.

There's a collective gasp around me as the others learn who had been behind it. Someone
they had trusted. Someone who was supposed to be one of them.

"Malfoy was there first. He disarmed Dumbledore, and…and Dumbledore…he let him.
Malfoy tried to kill him but he…couldn't," I mutter, frowning at the floor as I try to recollect
the events in the tower. "Then Snape walked in, and he…he didn't hesitate. Shot a killing
curse straight to his heart," I finish, my voice breaking.

Both Hermione and Ginny weep silently, holding each other. Madam Pomfrey lets out a loud
sob, and the others don't look that much better. A moment later, there's a song – a phoenix's
song – that fills the room. Fills the pressing, sorrowful silence. After what feels like several
minutes, the door to the infirmary opens, and McGonagall walks in, looking tired and battle-
stricken. Her robes are torn and stained with blood, her hair a mess, and there are bloody
gashes in the visible skin on her face and hands.

"Molly and Artur will be here soon," She says as she takes in the crowd, and then spots me.
"Harry…what happened? Hagrid said that you…that you were with…with the Headmaster,
when it happened?" She asks, a mix of sadness and confusion in her voice. "He also
mentioned Professor Snape – "
"Snape killed him. He killed Dumbledore," I say blankly, unable to skirt around the topic,
wanting to get it out, wanting to be relieved of the responsibility of bearing the news. As
McGonagall gasps and seems too shocked to be standing up, Pomfrey conjures her a chair
and she falls into it instantly.

I walk towards Regulus's bed and slump down on the vacant chair next to it. McGonagall,
Lupin and Tonks continue discussing the matter, how utterly taken by surprise they are, how
all of them, on some point, had wondered, had doubted. I swallow down the lump in my
throat, suppressing the urge to ask the others; why they hadn't done anything about it. Or…
maybe they had. I know I had. I had questioned Snape, many, many times. And always,
Dumbledore told me that he trusted him. That he believed in him.

I tell the others how Snape had passed Voldemort the information about my parents. How he
had played a part to seal their fates. How he had come to Dumbledore afterwards, asking him
to forgive him, telling him that he regretted it. The others – Lupin specifically – stare at me
incredulously, not believing for one second that Snape regretted what had happened to my
father.

The discussion about the evening goes on, and the others inform me how Snape had been
alerted, how chaotic everything had suddenly been. Apparently, Dumbledore had told
McGonagall and few others that he was going to leave the school for the night, and he had
asked Lupin, Tonks and Bill to patrol the corridors, for extra security. I had nearly accused
him that he was leaving the school unprotected…but instead, Dumbledore had done
everything he could to protect it in his absence. The thought doesn't help to fill the emptiness,
to brush away the sorrow, nor the anger.

I explain to the others how the Death Eaters had been able to enter the school, how it had
been Malfoy, who had helped them with a pair of Vanishing Cabinets, using the Room of
Requirement. Ron and Hermione look devastated. They know exactly how sure I had been
that Malfoy was up to something, but still, both of them had doubted me, hesitated to believe
me.

It doesn't matter anymore. What is done is done.

Ron and Ginny tell everyone how they had been watching the Map, how they had followed
Malfoy, and how the Slytherin had thrown Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder into the
corridor as soon as he had realised that he'd been followed, and managed to smuggle a group
of Death Eaters safely into the school. Lupin continues to explain how my friends had found
the Order members and how they had found the Death Eaters only moments after, and then
the duels had started.

Lupin tells how one of the Death Eaters supposedly had broken away to set up the mark, and
after that, it was all disorder; curses flying everywhere, people running across the corridors.
He tells how they had thought that Snape, who had run towards the Astronomy tower, had
gone to catch the Death Eaters. How they had thought that Snape was there to help the Order.

How wrong everyone had been.

Tonks starts to talk, to explain what had happened afterwards, how the blonde Death Eater in
the corridor had managed to blow up the whole ceiling, and then Snape and Malfoy had run
back to the corridor from the Astronomy tower – how they had let them pass, as everyone
had thought that they were on their side.

Another silence.

"What I don't understand, is…why my cousin was with you? What were you doing with
Dumbledore?" Tonks suddenly asks, her scrutinising eyes boring into mine from the opposite
side of Regulus's bed.

I feel everyone's gaze at me, but luckily, I am saved from answering by the hospital wing
door, that suddenly flings open.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are there, followed by Fleur. They take in the crowd until their worried
eyes settle at Bill. Mrs. Weasley rushes quickly towards her eldest son, tears streaming from
her eyes. Lupin and McGonagall start to explain what had happened to an anxious looking
Mr. Weasley, and how they think that Bill won't be a true werewolf. They also explain what
had happened to Dumbledore.

Feeling too overwhelmed, to see Mr. Weasley's expression crumble at the sight of his son, to
see how the news of the Headmaster affect him, I take in a deep breath and turn my focus on
Regulus.

I wish he would wake up. I wish I could make sure that he's really okay. I take his hand – his
right hand – into mine and brush my thumb lightly over his knuckles.

There's some argument between Mrs. Weasley and Fleur, and then, to everyone's surprise, the
two witches are crying, and…embracing each other.

What…? …I will never understand women.

I glance at Tonks, who watches the incident with a knowing look, before her eyes settle at
me, and then, slowly moving to where my hand is joined with Regulus's. There's a flicker of
sadness in her eyes, before it is replaced by resoluteness. She stands up and walks to Lupin,
who is standing close to the foot of Bill's bed.

"See that?" Tonks says quietly to Lupin, her eyes blazing. Lupin seems to grow smaller under
her demanding gaze. "He's bitten, and she still doesn't care!"

Lupin lets out a weary sigh and rubs awkwardly his neck. "Dora…you know it's not the – "

"Don't you dare say to me that it is not the same! I've told you – many times – that I. Do not.
Care. I want to be with you," She says, her voice trembling but her eyes still watching him
intently, stubbornly…lovingly.

Shit. It's…how haven't I…

"You're better off without me, Dora…I'm too poor. Too old. I…I could hurt you – and I," He
huffs, looking frustrated. " – I would never forgive myself if I did."
The others give their comments, encouraging the two to solve whatever it is between them, to
do what they both seem to desperately want. Lupin's resolve seems to be crumbling.

But then, it vanishes altogether, when a quiet voice close to me speaks.

"It's about time you pull your head out of your arse, Lupin."

My head whirls towards Regulus, and he's – he's awake, looking groggy, looking worse for
wear. But he's there, awake, alive, and my heart soars.

"You're alive," I gasp, dumbly, since I knew he was alive, but seeing him now – it's like an
unbearable weight has been lifted from my shoulders, like the tightness in my throat has
eased up a bit.

Regulus blinks slowly at me, a ghost of a smile at his lips. "Someone needs to watch over
your reckless behind," he says wryly, and then he closes his eyes for a moment before
opening them again. A small frown appears between his brows. "Why are you crying?" He
whispers, but I don't have time to answer before Madam Pomfrey rushes towards us.

"Mr. Black," Pomfrey says kindly, and gives Regulus a smile as his attention moves to her.

I quickly wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.

"How do you feel? Does your arm hurt?" She asks, while waving her wand over Regulus's
body, supposedly to perform some diagnostic charms. Lupin and Tonks slowly approach his
bed, while the others watch the scene from their seats.

Regulus's frown deepens, and he lifts his right hand, dropping mine as he reaches towards his
left one.

"Easy," Pomfrey warns him, and then Regulus lets out a painful grunt. "Fuck." He grits out
silently, and it must hurt like hell for him to swear in front of other people.

Madam Pomfrey seems unperturbed and merely flicks her wand over Regulus's arm.
"Better?" She asks after a moment.

The clench in Regulus's jaw disappears and he lets out a long, relieved huff of breath. "T-
Thanks," he whispers, and closes his eyes, falling into unconsciousness yet again.

I glance quickly at Madam Pomfrey, who casts the diagnostic charms again, and then turns to
look at me, Lupin and Tonks. "He'll be all right. But the arm…I cannot say yet. It needs more
time to heal, and I don't know yet how much he has lost its range of motion," She says with
an apologetic look.

"Thank you, Poppy," Lupin says and gives her a small smile.

I want to say more, to ask more. I want to know what's going to happen to Regulus. But no
words come out from my mouth.
Madam Pomfrey puts an assortment of vials onto the bedside table. "He needs to rest now,"
she says, and gives me a pointed look. "We will know more when he wakes up again."

The matron leaves to check on Bill, and I turn my gaze back to Regulus, while the heavy
anxiousness fills my chest again.

There're voices everywhere. Mumbling. People around me, speaking in hushed tones. I try to
focus on them, to listen to them, but I cannot make out the words as everything slips away
from my mind's grasp. There's haziness, cloudiness in my head.

I feel light, but…at the same time, darkness pulls me down…

The voices again. Clearer now. Lupin's voice. My cousin. I let myself relax, knowing that if
they are around me, speaking softly, I'm not in an immediate danger. At least I hope I'm not.

What happened? Where am I?

It feels impossible to grasp on a thought, on a memory. Everything is too hazy. Where was I
before I…fell asleep? Lost consciousness?

…The woods. Potter. Dumbledore. The locket.

Fuck.

The fucking Horcrux.

And then…my arm. I can't feel it. Can't feel anything.

…Am I dead?

I try to open my eyes, eyes that feel like they weight twenty pounds. I need to focus.

But…the dizziness swallows me again. Everything blackens. The world disappears.

There's pain. A steady, throbbing ache.

There's brightness…And under me, softness. I'm lying in a bed. The smells in the air…a
hospital.

I focus on the sounds. There are some, and I listen carefully. Whispering. Close to me.

My cousin again.

On the other side…a weight pressing my arm. Is someone holding me down? But the pain is
on the other side. Dull, but still there.

The Mark. The curse. The Sword of Gryffindor.

Why did I have to be so foolish? …Acting like a careless Gryffindor.

Merlin, my brother would enjoy this immensely.

My brother…If he won't kill me for almost having myself killed, I will consider myself
lucky.

I try to swallow, but it feels like my throat is coated with sandpaper.

I blink harder, and manage to finally crack my eyes open.

Definitely a hospital. The hospital wing of Hogwarts. It's dark, and quiet – only a small lamp
shedding dim light to the ward.

Potter's there, next to my bed. By the looks of it, he's using my right arm as a pillow as he
leans against my bed in his sleep.

On the other side, my cousin and Lupin. Sitting next to each other, pulled against each other
in a soft embrace.

It's about time.

"WhatdidImiss?" I mumble and watch with amusement as they jump in surprise, hastily
disentangling and leaning towards me.

"Reg?" My cousin asks quietly, her expression anxious as her eyes move across my face.
"How are you feeling?"

"Wha…?" Potter murmurs sleepily, and after two seconds, he's wide awake and alert again.
"Regulus?" Potter says quickly, grasping my hand, his eyes shining with hope and worry as
they study mine.

I let out a quiet grunt. "Water," I breathe, and then there's a glass with a straw close to my
lips. I take a couple of heavenly mouthfuls, and even though my throat stays sore, I'm feeling
immensely better.

"Are you hurting?" Lupin asks softly, watching me attentively.

I watch at their worried and expectant expressions, and then give a small grimace. "…Could
be better."

My cousin looks at me wryly and lifts a vial with purple potion from the small table next to
my bed. "Poppy said you could have this once we made sure you had regained your senses,"
she says, her brows lifting in question.

"I'm fine," I say with no small amount of irritation. "I'm in the infirmary. And by the looks of
it, Lupin's finally stopped being a twat," I say dryly, feeling satisfied as Lupin's cheeks
redden. "…And Potter here is staring at me like I'm about to quit breathing soon, so please.
Give me the bloody potion," I grunt and give her a withering glare. Shit, it really hurts right
now.
Potter too blushes, while my cousin lets out an amused sound. "Fine, fine. Sorry. I had to
make sure that you wouldn't drop unconscious again…" She says with an apologising smile,
and tips the vial against my lips.

I swallow the potion quickly, and immediately the pain in my arm disappears.

"Better?" Potter asks quietly, still that concerned look in his eyes.

He looks almost desperate. He looks…like…something that I can't quite place, and I have a
feeling that it is not entirely because of me. "What happened?" I ask Potter, watching him
closely.

Potter swallows hard, his eyes dropping away from mine. So, something has happened.

"Who was it?" I ask quietly, having an inkling of the reason for the grave expressions
everyone seem to be having.

When Potter's eyes fill with grief, realisation sinks in. But I need to be certain. I turn towards
Lupin and my cousin. "…Dumbledore?" I ask in dismay, my voice almost inaudible.

A sorrowful look crosses Lupins face, before he nods, "Yes."

Having something confirmed is different from having a strong suspicion about something.
There's a heaviness in my chest, hopelessness finding its way to every corner of my mind.
The Headmaster – the only wizard powerful enough to fight…him…is gone. The thought…it
terrifies me.

"How did he die?" I ask, because I need to distract myself. I need something else to focus on.

Lupin's brows pull into a deep frown. "It…it was – "

"Snape. He did it," Potter says then, his voice hard.

I turn to look at him, surprised by the blankness of his expression. By the hatred in his tone.
And most of all – I am shocked as I process his words.

Sev…

He…killed…? What the hell has happened? I watch Potter carefully, but there's only
emptiness in his eyes. Severus Snape killed the Headmaster? No…it can't be. He wouldn't…
he wouldn't risk everything like that. I know him. Knew him. That is not something he would
do, not…not without…no. There has to be something else.

There has to be something. A reason.

"I saw it happen," Potter says darkly, as if guessing my line of thought – and when
did that happen? Since when Potter's been able to read people?

" – In the Astronomy tower. You were unconscious. Malfoy was there, and he – I knew he
was up to something. Malfoy had a mission…to kill Dumbledore," Potter continues, anger
shaking his voice. "But Malfoy couldn't do it. He was too weak. Then…Snape came in, and I
thought – I thought he was there to help, but…" He says, pausing to take in a calming breath.
"He just looked into his eyes," Potter says weakly, watching me, like he's desperately trying
to understand the whys and hows in the scenario.

"How – how could he do that…? He just…" Potter gasps, and swallows hard as his eyes start
to fill with tears. "He looked straight into his eyes and did it. The Avada Kedavra…"

A tear escapes from the corner of his eye. Seeing him like that; his face scrunched up in
repressed emotion, looking so frightened, so…lost…It makes my insides clench with worry.
Not caring one bit that my cousin and Lupin are right there, sitting in silence, I lift my arm
slowly and bring my hand close to his jaw, brushing away the wet trail on his cheek with my
thumb.

Potter sniffs and grabs my hand, clinging to it with both hands. "And then you were…And
I…I didn't k-know if – "

I give his hand a small squeeze. "I'm fine, Harry." I say quietly, reassuringly.

Lupin then clears his throat and mutters something about giving us a moment, while visibly
dragging my cousin away – who is gazing at us with a mix of triumph and amusement.

As they step outside the infirmary, I glance around the dark room, and see two sleeping
patients and recognise the strikingly beautiful woman dozing off in a chair next to one of the
beds. Ms. Delacour. The patient must be William, her fiancé.

"Are they okay?" I inquire, nodding towards the other patients.

Potter grimaces. "Well, yes…and no. Neville's gonna be fine, I suppose, but Bill…he was
attacked by Greyback."

Automatically, my eyes are drawn towards the windows, where I can see the waxing gibbous
moon. I frown at Potter, as I recall seeing Lupin, human and looking well. At least, as well as
he can be only days before the full moon.

"He wasn't turned then. So, Bill's most likely not going to be infected," Potter mutters
wearily.

I nod slowly, and watch Potter more carefully. There're several gashes and dried blood on the
visible skin, his eyes are red-rimmed, and he twitches unexpectedly as he lowers our hands
back to the bed.

"Were you hurt?" I ask, watching his reaction closely.

Potter's brows twitch, and he swallows. "Yeah…but no more than the others, I suppose," he
says dismissively, seemingly more interested to stare at our joined hands.

I watch him silently. Cruciatus, by the looks of it. The subtle twitching, something I only now
realise he's tried to suppress for the better part of our conversation, is a tell by itself, but
there's more – the redness in his eyes, the haunted look that clouds his expression at times.
I swallow down the rage, and the anxiousness I feel – because if I'd been there…I would have
killed them. But still…it is pointless to think about it anymore, to feel that way now, when
there's nothing but healing to be accomplished.

And then there's my arm. I move my gaze to it, and examine the bandages wrapped around
the marred flesh cautiously. I still can't feel anything. I can't move it, but I presume it is under
a spell – to force the arm to stay unmoving until it is healed enough. And…will it heal?

"My arm…" I whisper, and Potter lets out a quiet sigh before he speaks.

"Pomfrey said…she said that it will take time…and that…" He says, stammering slightly.

I turn to look at Potter. "What?" I ask simply, keeping my expression blank, even when dread
flickers in my chest.

"It…y-you might not be able to use it as much as you have…" He says, looking anxious.
"But…I can get Pomfrey – she can explain it better, I mean, I'm – "

"No. It's okay." I say, and grab Potter's hand before he has the chance to get up. I close my
eyes, forcing myself to stay calm, to empty my mind. What has happened, has happened. I
knew the risks and the consequences when I took the sword. I know I'm lucky to be alive.
And fuck, I need something else to think about. I don't want to imagine the possible effects
and conditions the curse in the mark has left me in. I need…I need him.

I open my eyes, and see him watching me silently. He doesn't say a word as I pull his hand
closer, placing it next to my head on the pillow, forcing him to come closer, to lean over me.

His bright green eyes, filled with innocence, and…grief, move searchingly across my face,
and only when I slip my hand on the back of his neck and pull him closer, to meet my lips, he
seems to relax, and then, there's a soft gasp of relief against my lips.

Hogwarts, 25 April 1997

Five days. Well, six. Almost a week since the day it happened. When Snape betrayed
everyone. When he killed the Headmaster. I wonder where he is right now? Has he received
some reward from his master, after accomplishing something even Voldemort himself was
unable to do? The thought makes my insides churn with rage and nausea.

And then the whole half-blood prince rubbish. I really should've shown the book to
Dumbledore. Anyone, really. Anyone would've recognised his writing. Maybe that would've
been proof enough to show what he truly is…a murderer.

But it doesn't matter anymore, because Dumbledore is not here. He's gone, and he's not
coming back. It feels like I'm losing everyone close to me, everyone who matter to me.
Dumbledore, my parents, my godfather – no, not him. Not yet, at least. Because Sirius
actually might have a chance to come back.
A sharp twinge of guilt passes me as I think about my godfather – I haven't really thought
about him in a while. I hope he is okay. I don't know what I'll do if he is not.

Somehow…Dumbledore's death feels…easier to accept. Maybe because he had lived. Maybe

because I had time with him. He did accomplish many things, and he mattered to many
people. He's affected so many lives, I don't know if he even knew. He was important to many
others. And he was important to the fight against Voldemort.

Now, though…it feels like…like I've lost a layer of protection. Like I'm all by myself,
carrying this…responsibility. Like he had been sharing the load, until his death.

Still, it's strange to think of a world where he doesn't exist. He's been a constant presence,
part of Hogwarts for so long. And now, we are supposed to continue our lessons for the next
two months, like nothing has happened.

When so much has happened.

McGonagall is the Headmistress now. Many people from the Ministry are here to attend
Dumbledore's funeral, and there's a certain breeze of change. There are rumours that the
school might even close.

But I already know I'm not coming back to Hogwarts. I know what I have to do, and I have
been thinking about it, a lot. It's my responsibility, destroying the Horcruxes. Destroying
Voldemort. There's no one else. Well, except Regulus, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let
him near one of those things again. Not after what happened to him.

Regulus left after spending the night in the infirmary, to continue healing at Grimmauld
Place. Since the Minister, some Ministry employees, many parents of students, and several
others started to pour into the school, to give their respects and attend the Headmaster's
funeral, it became too dangerous for Regulus to stay here. He's still in a rather bad shape, and
his arm is constantly hurting. The good news is, that he has been able to move it already. But
apparently, it will be a slow and painful recovery. Before he left, we agreed to keep the
contact at minimum, since last weekend brought up so many complexities to the surface.

Firstly – Dumbledore had been the secret keeper of Grimmauld Place. From what I
understood is that the Order had gathered the moment Regulus had returned home, to make
him as the new secret keeper. Just in case…since, well…

And secondly – Snape knows about Regulus. And now that he's shown his true colours, it
might be so that Voldemort has already been given the information.

If Voldemort has found out about Regulus…he'll be even graver danger than the rest of us.
Because of course Voldemort would want to capture him, to use his information. A time-
travelling ex-Death Eater. And, maybe he wouldn't have a place in Voldemort's ranks
anymore, since, well, destroying a piece of his former master's soul, but that doesn't mean
Voldemort wouldn't be interested to learn what Regulus knows. And maybe torture and kill
him afterwards.
So, no owls for us, and definitely no floo-calls. And two – maybe three long months before I
can actually see him…

"Thought we'd find you here," Ron says quietly as he slumps down to sit on the grass next to
me, under the beech tree, on the edge of the Black Lake.

Hermione follows him and perches herself on my other side, a hesitant look in her eyes.
"What were you thinking about?" She asks, and waves her wand to cast a privacy charm,
followed by a mild warming charm. The days are still somewhat chilly.

I shake away the gloomy thoughts and give her a strained smile. "Everything, I reckon," I say
wearily. "The funeral. Sirius. Regulus. The mission – and what happens next…"

Hermione shares a meaningful look with Ron, before she clears her throat. "You know you're
not alone, Harry," She says softly.

"Yeah, mate. We'll figure it out together," Ron says encouragingly, patting my shoulder.

We haven't actually discussed it, but I suspect that Ron has a vague idea about what is going
on between me and Regulus. It's just that…in the midst of all that has happened, the topic
seems inconsequential. But I suppose there will be a time and need to talk about it on some
point in the future.

I nod slowly. "Yeah, I know," I mutter and watch the lake, where the giant squid makes
ripples in the otherwise smooth surface. I don't, really. Even if I've told them everything that
happened in the woods, and everything I've learned about Horcruxes, there're still things that
they don't know of. And I don't know if I actually want them to know more. Because in the
end, someone always gets hurt.

My friends are finally in a good place. Ron's not dating anyone, and Hermione is more…
relaxed. They're actually beginning to act like the friends they were before this year.

"How's Bill?" I ask Ron, to change the subject. I assume he is okay since we've visited him
and Neville in the infirmary every day before both of them had been discharged.

Hermione purses her lips slightly, evidently understanding my tactic. Luckily Ron doesn't.

"Not bad, I reckon. Got two women to fuss over him now," He says with a wry smile.
"Mum's been beside herself with excitement – y'know, now that she actually gets along with
Fleur, she can't wait to start to prepare for the wedding…"

"Merlin, are you talking about her?" Ginny groans as she walks closer and throws herself on
the grass next to her brother.

Ron lets out a quiet snort. "She's not that bad," he says nonchalantly, even as his ears tinge
with red. "And how did you hear that over Hermione's charm?"

Ginny arches a brow at him, as if making a point, but then she lets out a weary sigh. "I
suppose if mum can stand her, then I can as well…"
The conversation moves on, but I'm too distracted to follow it. My focus is entirely on Filch,
who has started to carry and place white wooden chairs into several rows not far from us.

That's where it is going to happen later today. Where Dumbledore will be laid to rest.

Hermione notices after a moment, and she nudges me softly. "We should go inside. There'll
be people crowding in here soon," She says, and then I remember that the Minister is in fact
here, and as I've successfully managed to avoid him until this point, there's no reason to
stumble into his path now. I give her a quick nod and stand up to move inside.

Grimmauld Place, 21 May 1997

"Good afternoon, cousin," Nymphadora says with a wary voice as she steps into the drawing
room. "…Or should I say, good morning?" She adds, before letting out a choked sound.
"Merlin it reeks in here! You, what, decided to try drink your way into a coma as soon as the
cats were dragged out?"

I let out a small grunt and don't bother turning to look at her. It's too comfortable where I'm
situated; lying on the sofa, my face against the cushion. I've been awake for some time,
actually, recollecting and replaying the conversation I had with my brother at some point
during the night.

Lupin and Nymphadora have been constant thorns on my side ever since I came back home
from Hogwarts. I know they're helping, as I've had quite the healing to do during these past
weeks. But still, the only thing I have wanted to do is to see my brother, to tell him
everything, so that he can tell me what to do.

I know I can trust him, and somehow…Sirius has always had my back. He always knew –
knows – what to say, and what to do in a tight spot. And if there has ever been a tight spot,
it's now. The Headmaster is dead. Killed by…by Sev, of all people. I still can't process the
thought, but, unsurprisingly, my brother sure was able to.

"…Reggie, what the fuck! How can you be so bloody naïve to think that there was a reason?"
My brother yells at me, pulling his hair with frustration.

The enragement manages to bring some colour into his gaunt appearance. He looks older,
and the deep eye hollows and the tired, haunted look in his eyes makes my stomach curl with
nausea. I'm afraid to ask how he is, because I don't know if he's strong enough to lie to me
anymore.

Instead I let out a deep breath. He's still here. He's still fighting. And I can't waste this
opportunity to feel pity for him, as I know he sure as hell doesn't want that. I can grieve for
him on another time, when I'm alone, filled with longing and fear.

"I…" I swallow and turn my eyes to meet him again. "Let's not talk about it. I have other
matters – more important ones – to discuss with you, brother," I say gravely, and Sirius stops
gritting his teeth and gives me a mixed look of curiosity and dread.
"What is it?" He says with a hard voice. "I though you said no one else died. Y-You promised
me, brother," He says, and swallows hard. "You promised that Harry is – "

" – He's fine." I say, feeling irritated. "It's something else…" I mutter, and quickly go through
the topic in my mind, and what I thought I wanted to say to him, to tell him. But for some
reason, the words don't come out. There are so many things my brother doesn't know, and so
many things I don't want to burden him with.

But I need to. I need him to know.

"Then what is it, Reggie?" Sirius asks, his voice anxious as his eyes travel over my frame.
"Has something happened…to you?"

With a deep frown between my brows, I lift my left arm – and fuck, it still hurts, even in a
dream – and pull the sleeve up.

Sirius lets out a choked sound. "W-What…?" He whispers, panic crossing his expression.
"Reggie…what did you do…?" He asks, looking horrified. His voice is trembling and his
eyes…they're too bright.

Circe…this is too hard. I clear away the sudden tightness in my throat and lift my chin up
stubbornly. I'm not going to keep this from him. Not anymore.

"I…I found out his secret…"

There's a poke at my ribs and then the sofa close to my feet dips as someone sits on it.

"You with me, Reg?" Nymphadora says, a hint of worry in her voice.

I sigh wearily and tilt my head slightly so my voice is not muffled by the sofa. "Yes, cousin.
To what do I owe this pleasure?" I say dryly, and keep my eyes closed, to keep away the
spinning of the room.

Nymphadora huffs. "What was that about? You know you shouldn't be doing that – you
should be resting! Your arm…and the healing potions, you do know they all lose their effect
with Firewhiskey?" She scolds me, her voice rising.

Merlin, I need a sober-up for this.

"…Kreacher," I grunt, and there's a faint pop next to the sofa.

"Master Regulus summoned Kreacher," the elf says.

I open one eye to squint up at the elf. "Bring me sober-up."

Kreacher bows low and disapparates, returning only seconds later with another pop.

"Oh, no, you don't," My cousin snaps and snatches the vial before I can take it from Kreacher.
"We both know this will mess with the healing even more. Merlin, do you not care at all?"
She says incredulously.
I glance at the elf, slightly amused by the way it is scowling at my cousin. "You may go,
Kreacher," I say wearily and turn to give a hard look at my cousin.

"No. I do not. Now kindly hand me the bloody potion."

Nymphadora stares at me for a while, her eyes narrowed with annoyance, until she sighs and
slams the potion into my outstretched palm.

"Fine. Whatever suits you, cousin." She says tightly, her hair turning into an angry shade of
red. "I'm off to work," She says as she makes her way towards the door. "Be nice to Remus.
Tomorrow's the full moon, and well, he doesn't need to bear with your piss-poor character,"
She says over her shoulder before she closes the door behind her with more force than
necessary.

Before guilt starts to mingle with the alcohol-related nausea, I toss down the contents of the
vial and slump back against the sofa, closing my eyes and ignoring the rapidly increasing
pain in my left arm.

Apparently, my cousin was right. The sober-up cleared what little there was left of the
healing potion in my system, and now…it's going to be several hours before any potion will
help to ease the pain. There is a healing charm, one that could help take the edge of the pain
away, but, funnily enough – the curse is protected against my own magic. I almost laughed
when William, who also happens to be a curse-breaker, told me so after the last Order
meeting.

Thirty minutes later, I walk into the library, gritting my teeth against the stinging pain. Lupin
is there, looking comfortable in an armchair next to the fireplace, an open book on his lap. He
lifts his gaze to me as I walk towards him.

"You're awake. Feel better?" He asks kindly, and I glare at him before throwing myself into
the next armchair.

"Now that you mention it, no," I say gruffly and watch with irritation as his mouth twitches a
bit with amusement. The bloody git knows exactly what's happening.

He lifts his brows at me, an innocent look mixing with the tired expression that seems to take
over every time before the full moon. "Oh? Something I could help you with?" He asks,
taking pity, it seems.

"If you would be so kind." I say tightly, and almost sigh with relief when Lupin wordlessly
pulls his wand from his pocket and flicks it at my left arm.

I give him a curt nod to thank him. There's a short silence.

"I'm going to be stationed at Hogsmeade next week. No use infiltrating a pack anymore.
Dumbledore's death made it too dangerous," he says, staring at the coffee table, seemingly
lost in his thoughts. "…And it also might have opened up some new threats against the
school," Lupin continues resignedly.
I know this already, since it's one of the topics that has been discussed in the two Order
meetings after the battle of the Astronomy tower. But it still makes me – and everyone else
uneasy.

Lupin coughs lightly. "You want me to, um…" He mutters and scratches his neck before
giving me an awkward look. "…to pass on a message?"

So now he's finally addressing something he must've been thinking many weeks now. Lupin
obviously saw what happened in the infirmary, and probably had had his doubts already
before that, since he hadn't looked surprised then. But he hasn't said anything afterwards,
anything hinting towards Potter and me, or the infirmary.

I watch him closely, taking note of the way he's almost fidgeting. I'm half-tempted to say
something outrageous, just to mess with him, but…he's actually asking out of consideration.
So, I settle to something bland.

"Just…tell him to stay out of trouble."

I want to say something about the Horcruxes, about finishing the Dark Lord. I want Potter to
know that he's not alone, that I'm fighting alongside him. I want to tell him that I met my
brother, and that I told him everything. But I can't.

Lupin nods slowly and after a moment his focus moves back to the book.

My mind is already miles away, in the conversation I had with my brother, about the Dark
Lord's secret.

"…Could you fucking stop calling the fucker that?" Sirius says, his voice heavy with
annoyance.

I lift my hands up in a calming gesture. "Fine. Although, one might say that it is not the main
point of this conversation," I say dryly, and my brother throws a glare at me.

"Oh, I'm allowed to throw a fit from whatever subject I choose, brother, after you so kindly
informed me that you – and my fucking godson – are singlehandedly trying to destroy one of
the darkest wizards there is!" He growls, then takes a couple of breaths, as if trying to calm
himself down.

At least he's not outright screaming at me, as he was for what felt like an eternity after I
finished explaining the Horcruxes and the mission to destroy them. The ear-splitting yelling
was followed by an overwhelming hopelessness, anger, self-hate, dejection, and now…anger
again.

I roll my eyes inwardly. "That's what you are focusing on, brother? Not…not the fact that we
know, finally, his secret, and the way to end him?!" I ask incredulously.

Sirius scoffs. "You could let the Order handle this. In fact, I'm surprised you haven't already
done it," he says, and gives me a challenging look.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" I ask, feeling disgruntled, even though I know my
brother's only trying to provoke me. "Did you miss the fact that an Order member killed the
Headmaster?! And besides, do you not know how obnoxiously stubborn your godson is?" I
huff, "I'm fairly sure he will try to throw me off from this mission whenever he deems fit."

Sirius arches a brow at me. "Try?"

I give my brother a blank look. "He can try."

Sirius lets out a short laugh, and watches me strangely for a short moment. "Didn't know you
had it in you, brother," he says quietly, giving me an almost approving look.

His expression clears, and for a moment, he seems to struggle with his emotions. "I still don't
like it."

I let out a sigh. Out of relief, perhaps. "I know. But you heard what he told me about the
prophecy. You know that he won't stop, no matter what," I say with a hint of resign, looking
away. "He needs to do this, and I need to help him. I need to make sure he will get through
this alive," I say quietly, watching my brother's feet while chewing the inside of my cheek, and
it actually only then hits me.

What I need to do. What my part in this is.

I glance up at my brother, and see his eyes widening with surprise, and he looks at me with
affection and gratefulness.

"…So…are you two…?" Lupin mutters suddenly, watching me over the top of his book.

I glance at him, and roll my eyes. "You had to ask, did you?" I say dryly.

Lupin lowers his book back to his lap and gives me a wide smile. "Well, it is quite funny," he
says lightly.

I lift my brows at him. "What of it is funny?" I ask, keeping my expression blank.

Lupin's grin turns into a mischievous one. Shit…I might know where this is going.

"Only the part where I imagine what your brother would have said – and how he would have
reacted if he was here," He says, looking wistful and amused at the same time.

So…I might have left some things unsaid during the discussion with my brother.
 When We Were Young
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 28: When We Were Young

4 Privet Drive, 21 July 1997

It's the third time I'm reading the letter, even though there's nothing really in it. There's
nothing that could give up the sender, and the content is vague enough that it doesn't give
anything away. It is merely a simple and short greeting, not even requiring an answer. But I
still know who's it from, even without the tell-tale opening and closing. I'm rather certain he
would never address anyone else in such unmannerly way.

Potter,

I hope this letter finds you well. I apologise for not writing sooner, even though it has been
too long since our last meeting. Here, everything remains as unexceptional as always.

I trust all is well with you and your family.

Until we meet again.

I let out a quiet snort. Family indeed…If the Dursleys can be called as such.

I'm glad my aunt, uncle and cousin have mostly left me be after meeting with Kingsley and
Mr. Weasley a couple of days into my holiday.

The last weeks in school went by in a numb haze. Dumbledore's funeral came and went, and
so did the additional occupants in the school. Everyone tried their best to focus on their
education, to be present in their classes, even though for the most of us, it felt pointless after
the realisation of being at war. Somehow, it still helped. It helped to focus onto something
entirely different than seeking revenge and trying to form plans and gather forces for battle.

But then came the end of school year, and it was our last day in Hogwarts. My last day.
Before we left the school on the last weekend of June, Lupin pulled me aside for a quick chat
in the Entrance Hall.

"Harry, can I talk to you for a moment?" Lupin says quietly, watching the students pour into
the horseless carriages – the ones pulled by Thestrals.

"Yeah, sure…" I say to Lupin, while Ron and Hermione eye me curiously.

I merely shrug at my friends and tell them I'll catch them up in the train.

Lupin gives me a curt nod and walks towards one of the classrooms on the ground floor. I
give him an assessing look, and study his weary demeanour. I really hope nothing bad has
happened. I wonder, is it something about Regulus? Has something happened? I haven't
heard from him in a month, and even then, it was through Lupin, who has been stationed at
Hogsmeade since the end of May. Worry and anxiousness start to mingle in my chest as I step
into the classroom after Lupin.

Lupin flicks his wand to the door, undoubtedly casting privacy charms, before he takes in my
expression.

"Oh! No, nothing has happened, Harry. I apologise, I should have said something right
away," Lupin says quickly, his cheeks flushing with red.

I let out a relieved huff and give him a tight smile. "'S all right. What did you want to talk
about?"

Lupin gestures at the two chairs closest to us before taking a seat on one of them. "I wanted
to talk about this summer, and the situation we are in," He says gravely.

I sit down and give him a tight smile, knowing what he's about to ask from me. "I know what
the situation is. I know we're at war. I know that I need to go back to the Dursleys, and that
I'm not supposed to run around in Surrey. I'll be good. I promise," I say tiredly, and then
chew the inside of my cheek and eye Lupin hesitantly. "…Just…you'll come for me, yeah?" I
ask quietly, a flicker of uncertainness going through me.

Lupin frowns as I speak, a sad smile on his lips. "Of course we will, Harry." He says
promptly. "The agreed plan still holds," He says, giving me a reassuring nod.

It was decided earlier this week that Mad-Eye would be side-along-apparating me to one of
the safe-houses on the 24th of July, a week before my birthday, while the Order leaked false
information to the Ministry – which we now believe to be infiltrated by Voldemort and his
Death Eaters – that I would be leaving Surrey on the night of my seventeenth birthday, when
the protective spells will break.

"There is something else," Lupin continues. "The Order will provide a safe-house and a
transport to Europe for your family," he says.

What? "Wh – You mean the Dursleys?" I say with a hint of incredulity in my voice.

Lupin gives me a nod.

"Yeah, not my family. But…I suppose it's better to have them out of the picture," I mutter
bitterly.

Lupin sighs. "Harry, you know that if Voldemort finds them, he will – "

"Of course I know," I grit out sharply, interrupting Lupin. I force my jaw to relax and the
anger to dissipate. "I'm fine with the plan. Good luck for the poor soul who has to make them
agree with your plan."

Lupin's mouth twitches. "Don't worry. They will understand."

They didn't. At least, not before arguing with me about the matter more than twenty times
during these past weeks. They didn't understand it when Kingsley and Mr. Weasley explained
them that the disappearances and the accidents the muggle tv had been reporting, are
Voldemort's doing. Not when they were told that once I turn seventeen, the protective charm
that keeps me and the Dursley's safe, will break. Or when the Order told them that they are
positive that if Voldemort finds them, he will try to get to me through them.

Only after my cousin told his parents that he will go with the Order people, that he believes
me, did my aunt and uncle stop questioning me. And then they started packing. And ignoring
me.

There're still three days before the plan will be put into motion. I know I should start going
through my belongings, to pack the essentials into my rucksack, but instead, I stare at the
letter – the only contact I've had to the wizarding world during the holidays, after Kingsley's
and Mr. Weasley's brief visit. The only words I've received from Regulus since Merlin knows
how long ago. And...it's enough, for now. He's alive, and that's what matters.

I hope he is doing better now. Probably still healing from the curse, but…at least he's written
to me. Let me know that he's okay. Circe, I wish I could talk to him. But I know I can't, not
yet. Not until I'm with the Order.

With a weary sigh, I drop the letter on my desk, next to a small stack of newspapers I have
already organised. My eyes flicker briefly to the topmost issue, the one with the article by
Elphias Doge. Dumbledore's obituary. With mixed feelings of sadness and embarrassment, I
wonder yet again, did I know the late Headmaster at all? Did I even try to get to know him? It
seems that our conversations always revolved around me, were always about the plan to
destroy Voldemort, to think of a way for me to survive. But the Headmaster had been young
once. He'd had a brother and a sister, a complicated family history; with his father's
conviction and his mother's and later, his sister's, deaths. Even though Dumbledore probably
wouldn't have had confided in me about his past, the possibility to ask, to get to know him,
no longer exists.

The second issue, just under the one including Dumbledore's obituary still makes the hair on
the back of my neck stand up with rage and my stomach fill with nausea. There is an article
by Berry Braithwaite, interviewing none other than Rita Skeeter, who what it seems has
written a biography called The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore.

Bloody tart. I should've known the article she wrote about me in my fifth year, the one that
actually showed me in a good light; with only truth printed and not the usual rubbish Skeeter
spreads, was a rare exception.

I should've known she would still be a problem. And now she's written a book, disgracing
Dumbledore, defaming him. Saying that the relationship between the late Headmaster and me
had been…unhealthy…sinister. Implying that in his youth, Dumbledore had dabbled in the
Dark Arts.

And I know that it is definitely not him, not Dumbledore. He would've never…but the idea
just makes my chest expand with anger.
4 Privet Drive, 24 July 1997

After using the past three days to go through my school trunk and my belongings probably
for the first time since my first year at Hogwarts, I'm finally ready. I've packed all the
essentials: my Muggle clothing, the Invisibility Cloak, a potion-making kit, some books, the
Marauder's Map, a photograph album I received from Hagrid years ago, a handful of letters
and my wand are all stuffed into the rucksack that is now propped up against the wall next to
the door.

I also came across the mirror my godfather gave me – the one that is connected to its pair –
and there's really only a fragment of it left, as it had been lying in the bottom of my trunk,
broken. Seeing it again, made all the feelings of resentment and anger, and…regret surge
upwards. If I had only realised I had it, and used it when it mattered, I might still have Sirius.
He wouldn't need to suffer where he now is undoubtedly suffering. With heaviness in my
chest, I decided to pack the piece as well.

Everything else, I've either tossed away; the old quills, a cracked and worn-out Sneakoscope,
a handful of dried potions ingredients and single socks that no longer fit, or pushed into one
of the closets: my school robes, a cauldron, parchment and quills as well as most of my
school books.

I spend the rest of the day in my room, after informing the Dursleys that the people they are
supposed to go with, are arriving early in the evening. I don't need to be around them, and
they sure as hell do not want anything to do with me. I'm the reason they have to abandon
their home for, and to start a new life. I'm the reason they are now in danger.

The Dursley's have left, less than hour ago, with the weirdest of goodbyes. There isn't really
much left to be said after sixteen years of disdain and neglect. After checking my room for
the final time and making sure I have everything ready I need to take with me, I decide to
spend the last moments in this house where it all started – in the cupboard under the stairs.

It feels odd, to sit here. The space definitely felt larger back then – but I suppose I'm the one
that has outgrown it. Still, I remember it like yesterday, when I didn't know anything about
magic. When I thought my parents had died in a car accident. I remember how my uncle had
lost his temper when I told him about my dreams, about the flying motorbike. I remember
receiving the letters. Hundreds of them. And meeting Hagrid. And Dudley's pig's tail.

I chuckle to the memory.

I remember how Dudley used to make my life a living hell, how he used to blame me for his
every misdoing, and how he didn't skip a chance to beat me up after chasing me around in
Little Whinging with his group of bullies.

But then it all changed. I remember the night when he lay curled up on the ground,
whimpering and shaking, begging me to help him. The Dementors. Somehow, Dudley
changed after that. Maybe he actually started to think that I wasn't a complete waste of space.
At least, that is what his reluctant parting today seemed to hint towards.
The silence and my musings are interrupted with an abrupt, booming sound, coming from
outside. I stand up quickly, forgetting where I am, and hit my head on the low door frame of
the cupboard.

"Ouch…" I mutter, rubbing my forehead as I step into the hallway and move towards the
kitchen.

As soon as I spot them in the back garden; Hagrid standing next to a large motorbike,
Hermione, Tonks, Bill and Fleur dismounting from Thestrals, while the others; Ron, Lupin,
Kingsley, Mad-Eye, Mundungus, Fred, George, and Mr. Weasley hop off from their brooms –
I run towards the door and yank it open.

"It's about time," I say, almost breathlessly. "Why are you all here?" I ask then, confused,
remembering that Mad-Eye was supposed to side-along me.

I'm surrounded by my friends, and the joyous greetings are quickly interrupted by a tense
Mad-Eye, who ushers everyone inside to go through the new plan.

"Oh, Harry, we've missed you!" Hermione says and gives me a tight hug. Everyone else
chatters lightly as they take their seats around the kitchen.

Ron grins lopsidedly at me and ruffles my hair. I give him a mild glare back. "Alright, mate?"
He says, just as carefree as ever. And it's just what I need right now.

"Hey, Harry," Tonks says, pushing towards our little group. "Guess what?" She says, with a
mischievous glint in her eyes. I can't help but notice that her hair's back to the bright shade of
pink, something it hasn't been in a long time.

I don't have time to answer before she lifts her left hand and wiggles her fingers. There's a
ring in one of them.

"Y-You…?"

Lupin steps next to her, slipping an arm around her waist. "We got married," He says, his
smile somewhere between sheepish and apologising.

"I'm…wow." I say, stunned by the news. "Congratulations!" I say quickly, grinning widely at
the couple.

Lupin nods his thanks and then says, "I'm sorry you couldn't be there. Most of our friends
were not, in fact. Only Andromeda and Ted, and…Regulus. We wanted to keep a low profile,
you know…?"

"Yeah, of course…" I say quickly, and then an image flickers into my mind. Regulus
participating Lupin's and Tonks's wedding, and…meeting his cousin – the one he hasn't met
apparently in years. I wonder how did that go.

Tonks must've seen my doubtful expression, as she lets out a quiet laugh. "Yeah, there were
some…snags on the road…but, in the end, it was a pleasant reunion," She says with a wink.
 "Oh," I say, feeling now more curious than anything. "What h – "

"All right, gossip time is over!" Mad-Eye booms and everyone falls in silence.

Mad-Eye then proceeds to explain the changed plan; how the Order thinks that the Head of
the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Pius Thicknesse, is working for Voldemort,
and thus we have to abandon all transport that can be detected by the Trace.

Mad-Eye explains that we will use brooms, Thestrals, and Hagrid's motorbike to leave the
place and move towards a safe-house, and it all sounds quite simple – although there seem to
be some definite flaws in the plan, but I listen attentively.

When Mad-Eye gets to the part about seven Harry Potters flying in the night, and tells me
that six of them, my friends included, have agreed to drink Polyjuice Potion to disguise
themselves as me, I finally open my mouth and outright refuse.

There's no point to argue in the end, and sooner rather than later, I find myself climbing into
the narrow, black sidecar attached to Hagrid's motorbike. I watch as six of my clones mount
their brooms and Thestrals, each paired up with an Order member.

My head is spinning and my heart is beating rapidly in anticipation. I take a deep breath to
calm my nerves. Then, with an ear-splitting roar, we take up into the night sky, and the next
moment, all hell breaks loose.

Chapter End Notes

We're back in business...a little cliffhanger to start the DH, eh? ;) Let me know what you
think!
 Without Me
Chapter Notes

DH continuing with the Seven Potters...and what comes afterwards. Enjoy ;)

Chapter 29: Without Me

Surrey, 24 July 1997

Even if this is a far cry from what I wanted, I have to admit that the plan is smart. Seven
Harry Potters flying in the air tonight, with all of them heading into different safe houses.
After that, everyone is expected to travel to the Burrow with Portkeys.

Smart, but dangerous.

As Moody shouts instructions to everyone and counts to three, I feel only dread in the bottom
of my stomach.

Hagrid steers the motorbike upwards, climbing higher and higher, and I watch, feeling
disoriented, until the place I once called home mixes into a blur of hundred small dots. I turn
my focus upwards to check if I can spot the others, but just then, without warning, several
hooded figures in brooms appear in the air.

Death Eaters.

I whirl towards Hagrid as bright jets of light start to zoom behind us. "Hagrid!" I yell, quickly
taking out my wand from my rucksack. "Death Eaters! We need to turn back! To help the
others!"

Hagrid glances behind us, and then starts to swerve and duck as four Death Eaters trail
behind us and start to shoot curses at us.

I hastily throw a couple of stunners towards the closest one, but then, one of them hits the
motorbike with a spell, and suddenly, we're upside down. Hagrid swears loudly while I
scream in terror and hang onto the sidecar with everything I have. I try shove my legs deeper
into the sidecar and push myself back into it with my other hand, while keeping my wand
hand free to block the curses that are thrown towards us. A second later, Hedwig's cage slips
past my knees.

"No, no, no!" I grit out through my teeth and manage to grasp it with my wand hand just
before it slips away.

The cage opens and Hedwig takes off, flying straight towards the Death Eaters.
"NO!" I yell, let go of the cage and try to grab the owl instead, but it's too late.

There's a flash of green and then, the frozen owl drops quickly towards the ground.

"No! Hedwig!" I gasp, and stare numbly at the spot where the snowy owl was only seconds
ago.

As the sidecar lurches again, reminding me that the bike is still hanging upside down, I
swallow down the lump in my throat and try to focus on the now. One of the Death Eaters
manages to hit Hagrid as well, and I need to get a bloody grip. I cast a shield charm around
us, deflecting one of the purple jets aimed at us.

"Hagrid!" I yell again, and a moment after, Hagrid manages to turn the bike back up. Thank
Merlin.

Hagrid continues to swerve and I continue to throw spells at the four Death Eaters still on our
heels. As I quickly glance around us, I notice Tonks and Ron duelling three Death Eaters
whilst trying to shake them off. The rest of our group is further behind, and the only thing I
can see are bright coloured spells flashing in the sky like a mix of fireworks and a
thunderstorm.

"Turn back! We need to help the others!" I yell at Hagrid again, sending a stunner after
stunner towards the Death Eaters, occasionally ducking low into the sidecar to avoid the
curses thrown at me.

"No Harry! I've me orders! The others have theirs!" Hagrid shouts over the roaring engine,
and then presses a button after telling me to hold on, and the next moment, a solid wall erupts
from the exhaust pipe. The Death Eater closest to us doesn't have time to dodge the wall, and
is hit by it and dragged towards the ground.

The remaining three Death Eaters start to fire curses towards Hagrid instead of me, who tries
his best to shake them off. But after he takes three purple and red jets of light in the back of
his head, his body slumps forward, over the handlebars.

"NO! HAGRID!" I yell in shock, which quickly turns into dread as I realise the motorbike is
slowing down. "Shit!" I curse, firing a string of stunning spells towards the nearest Death
Eater, managing to deflect and avoid the curses that are sent towards me. "HAGRID WAKE
UP!" I scream.

The Death Eaters are closing us up.

"HAGRID!"

Hagrid grunts and shifts in his seat, while the nearest Death Eater is only some feet away,
lifting his wand threateningly.

"…'Arry?" Hagrid says with a confused voice, his head turning from side to side, evidently
trying to assess the situation.
"HAGRID, GET US OUT OF HERE!" I yell in panic, managing to stun the Death Eater
closest to us.

Immediately, the Death Eater goes slack, and falls down from his broom, towards the ground.
With a sick feeling in my stomach, I realise what I've done, but then, with relief and
disappointment, I watch as one of the remaining two Death Eaters suddenly shoots
downwards to save their unconscious friend before they hit the ground with a certain death.

Then, several things happen at once; Hagrid finally regains his senses enough to accelerate
the motorbike. I cast another spell towards the remaining Death Eater, trying to slow him
down, and when he dodges the spell, his hood slips away, and…it's Stan Shunpike.

His face is blank, he's looking right at me, and as he raises his wand, I don't even think before
I yell the disarming charm.

"It's him! It's him!" A Death Eater, probably one of the two that I dropped with the stunning
spell, yells further behind. And then both Stan and he disappear.

What?

"Harry?" Hagrid shouts, still steering the motorbike forward. "Where are they?"

How did they know that I'm the one? Fear grips my chest as I look wildly around us. There's
no one. Only the blowing wind surrounding us, and the glittering lights of cities below us.

"Harry?" Hagrid yells again with a nervous voice.

Clenching my jaw, I take another look around us, then turn towards Hagrid, "I don't know!
Just – just get us out of here, Hagrid!"

Hagrid nods and tells me to hold on, and then he hits a large purple button beside the
speedometer. With a thunderous roar, the motorbike hurls forward, with white flames
bursting from the exhaust. The sidecar rattles threateningly as we move forward with an
intense speed, and I'm holding on to it for dear life.

Hagrid bellows something, but before I can yell him back that I can't hear anything, suddenly,
a ripping pain hits my forehead.

It's the scar. It's burning. I scream in pain and press my both hands against my temples.
Through the agony, I catch a sight of two Death Eaters, surrounding us again, throwing curse
after curse at Hagrid.

And then – him. Voldemort. Moving in the air, without a broom, without a Thestral. Without
anything. He is flying.

Feeling like my head is splitting open, I can barely see Voldemort lifting his wand and
pointing it at me as the pain forces my eyes shut.

"Avada – "
But then, something happens. My wand arm moves away from my head, reaching out to
where I know Voldemort is, and I swear to Merlin that I'm not doing it, since I can barely stay
conscious due to the pain, but my wand is trained at him, and I can feel the magic streaming
through my veins, surging towards the wand. I grit my teeth and manage to squint at
Voldemort, thinking that this is it, this is my end. That's when a golden stream of light bursts
out from my wand, colliding in the air with the jet of green that has erupted from Voldemort's
wand, and a second later, there's a great explosion.

As I slip towards blackness, the last thing I'm aware of, are red eyes, filled with outrage and
complete surprise, and the fact that the motorbike is now surging downwards, with no one
steering it.

Dorset, 24 July 1997

"They should be here any moment now." My cousin's voice fills the silence.

I hadn't noticed her stepping onto the porch, but then again, my mind has been elsewhere
since the mission started. I still can't get over how mindless and foolhardy the plan was. Why
move Potter before his birthday? Why expose him – and everyone else – into such danger?

Moody thought it would be the perfect opportunity, with more than satisfying decoys –
something I'm finding hard to believe Potter agreed to – and that merely leaking a false trail
to the Ministry would solve all the problems.

At first, I thought the old Auror was Imperiused. Then I decided that all of them – as the rest
of the Order hastily agreed to the plan – were out of their minds.

"We should hope so," I merely say, not looking at her, but feeling her arched brow trained at
the side of my neck.

"You seem…awfully invested in him. Harry, I mean," Andromeda says with a calculating
voice.

This time I turn to look at her, allowing her to sweep her grey eyes over my closed features.
Her expression is inscrutable, perfecting the Black character.

"He must mean a lot to you, for you to come here, to make sure he is intact," She says airily,
her perceptive eyes watching me, scrutinising me. Reminding me of Sirius.

They were much alike in our youth, my brother and Andromeda. Always spending time by
themselves, plotting something together whenever my aunt, my uncle and my cousins came
to visit us at Grimmauld. If Andromeda hadn't run off and married the Muggleborn, I would
have been surprised for them to not have been betrothed to one another. Whatever my brother
felt, I know our parents were not monsters, and probably would have encouraged their
relationship.

I keep my expression blank. "And what if I was merely here for the company of my beloved
cousin?" I say politely, and Andromeda rolls her eyes.
"Oh, please. You know I always adored Sirius over you," She says with a small twitch in the
corner of her mouth.

I lift my brows in acknowledgement. "Didn't they all." I say impassively.

A ghost of a smile flickers on my cousin's lips, but then, without warning, excruciating pain
flares from the fingertips of my left hand, surging towards the remains of the Mark.
"AAAH!" I yell and clutch my arm, dropping onto my knees from the weakening pain.

"Reg?!" Andromeda shouts, letting her reserved demeanour slip for a moment to utter the
nickname she had once called me in her youth. Her features are filled with worry as she
rushes towards me. "What is it? What is going on?" She asks, her voice sharp but her touch
soft and careful as she places a soothing hand against my shoulder.

The pain leaves as abruptly as it came, and I'm left panting, on my knees, on my cousin's
porch. "Something bad," I manage to gasp, right as Andromeda's husband, Edward Tonks,
bursts through the door, his wand at the ready.

There's a moment of silence, then my cousin takes my left hand in hers. There's still a nasty
sting in the centre of my forearm, but I breathe through it. "Does it hurt?" She asks, her voice
hard, her eyes flickering between my arm and my face. "Was it…was it him?"

I swallow through the tightness in my throat and give her a sharp nod. "I'm fine," I grunt and
move to stand up.

My cousin backs away while her husband walks closer to us, his wand and his eyes trained at
the darkened lands surrounding their home.

"It was him." I say and give the others a grim look. "They are summoning him."

I pull my wand from the pocket of my robes, and notice my cousin doing the same. All three
of us stare silently ahead, peering towards the lands and the cloudy skies behind the
protective enchantments surrounding my cousin's home.

A couple of minutes later, we catch a glimpse of the tell-tale flashes of light in the distance.
Spells flying in the air. A group of figures approaching us.

Then an explosion of light, illuminating the sky and the grounds. My cousin gasps and I grip
my wand tighter. There's nothing we can do without breaking the enchantments, and for a
short moment, none of us can even see anything but brightness. Then, the darkness ascends
once again, and there's a large motorbike soaring through the air, heading straight
downwards.

Edward is the quickest to act, and he aims a spell towards the bike, to reduce its speed, while
my cousin throws another spell to soften the impact as the bike hits the ground with a loud
thump.

My cousin's husband is already running towards what seems to be the remains of the
motorbike, the Half-Giant and Potter, but before I can even move, Andromeda grasps my
arm.

"You should stay back. Until we confirm who they are," She says with a stern voice, her eyes
narrowing into mine.

I purse my lips but know that she is right. There is a chance that they are in fact Death Eaters,
and both of us know what are the risks if I'm seen by the wrong people. That, and there needs
to be someone warning the rest of the Order if it comes to that.

I give my cousin a nod, and she lets go of me before walking swiftly towards the arrivals.

Dorset, 25 July 1997

My head is throbbing, and I feel sick. I let out a groan.

"Potter?" A quiet voice says.

It's Regulus.

I blink through the haziness and see him close to me, sitting on the edge of a sofa I'm lying
on. The room – a sitting room – spins around me, and I can feel the nausea rising from my
stomach.

I let out a pitiful moan before I lean over the sofa and vomit on the floor.

"…charming." Regulus says dryly, vanishing the evidence as I take a couple of deep breaths,
the stink of it still invading my nostrils.

I lean back against the sofa and close my eyes. "Only for you," I say weakly, and Regulus lets
out a small snort.

"Harry?" Hagrid's voice booms in the room. "Are yeh alrigh'?" He asks, his voice trembling a
bit, and I can picture his black eyes filled with worry.

"Never better," I mumble, and try opening my eyes again, willing the nausea away.

Feeling a lot better this time, I glance around the unfamiliar, light-coloured home. There're
paintings hanging on the walls with moving contents, a vase of wildflowers in the centre of a
small dining table close to the sitting room where I'm situated in. Hagrid's standing next to an
armchair close to me, looking a bit banged up, a look of concern on his features.

"You okay, Hagrid?" I ask, needing the confirmation that he isn't badly hurt. He took so many
curses that it's amazing that he's still standing.

Hagrid's mouth pulls up in a fond smile. "'m alrigh', Harry. They've got ter try harder 'an tha'
ter finish me!" He says, waving his hand in dismissal.

With relief, I give him a small smile and look at the others. Next to Hagrid, there's a kind-
looking man with a round belly, and a woman with sharp features and piercing grey eyes – a
woman who looks strikingly familiar. I glance at Regulus, who is still situated at the edge of
the sofa, watching me silently, and I realise that they look very, very much alike. The woman
has to be Andromeda, Sirius's – and Regulus's – cousin. The one that was disowned and
blasted off the family tree. And the man must be her husband. Which means Hagrid and I
have arrived to the correct place.

"Hello there, son," The man says, watching me with a soft smile. "Ted Tonks. Dora's father,"
He says with a nod, confirming my thoughts. "This is my wife, Andromeda," He continues,
gesturing to the woman next to him.

"Erm…Hi," I mumble and then the events from before hit me. I quickly lunge upwards, "The
Death Eaters! Voldemort!" I gasp, but Regulus pushes me back down to the sofa.

"They're gone," he mutters, glancing at the others before arching a brow at me. "Would you
stay put for a while? I only finished patching you up," He says with a hint of annoyance in his
voice.

"What?" I grunt and watch him and the others in confusion, then realise that there's a steady
ache in my ribs and in my nose. They must've been broken, and recently healed. "Oh." I say
dumbly.

Andromeda gives me a piercing look before she speaks. "How are you feeling?" She asks, but
continues before I have a chance to reply, "What happened? Hagrid told us that you were
ambushed by Death Eaters…and him. How did they know you were being moved tonight?
What happened to our daughter?" She asks with a sharp voice, and I almost miss the warning
glance Regulus gives her.

"Um…They knew. Somehow. They were chasing us and…shooting curses at Hagrid. Then…
then he came. Voldemort. And something happened. Just before we crashed. He – he
vanished…" I try to explain, but realise how disjointed I sound.

"That'd be our wards. No one within a hundred yards of our home can enter without our
permission," Mr. Tonks says, and that explains how Voldemort had vanished after the
explosion. Mr. Tonks watches me searchingly. "Is Dora alive?" He asks with a colourless
voice.

Shit… I don't even know. I hope to Merlin everyone is okay. "I…I don't know what happened
to the others. I need to go to the Burrow," I say and move to stand up before Regulus has a
chance to stop me. "There's a Portkey, right? One that takes me there?" I ask from Mr. Tonks,
and he gives me a hesitant nod.

"It is set to go in ten minutes from now," he says and walks closer to me, handing me a rusty
keychain. "Sit down, son." He says wearily and takes a seat in the armchair next to the sofa.

"Dora'll contact us as soon as she's safe, you know that," he says to his wife, who stares at the
Portkey with a deep frown between her slim brows.

Andromeda turns to look at her husband and gives him a long look. "I know," she says
eventually, and then moves her focus to me again, her brows lifted slightly, as if questioning
why am I still standing.

I quickly sit down next to Regulus as Hagrid and Mr. Tonks start to talk about Hagrid's
motorbike, agreeing that Hagrid will come back for it later, since they do not have the time to
fix it before the Portkey goes off. In the meanwhile, I glance at Regulus, and finally take a
good look at him, knowing already that he's been watching me this whole time.

At first, there's only blankness in his expression, but it quickly changes, into worry, relief and
exhaustion, and I want nothing more than to make him feel better, to close the distance
between us and brush away the anxiety edged into his features. But that obviously won't
happen in front of the others.

Andromeda watches her cousin carefully, a knowing glint in her eyes, before she clears her
throat and excuses herself to the kitchen.

Regulus's eyes trail behind her, narrowing slightly, before they move back to meet mine. "We
saw something – an explosion, right before you crashed into my cousin's lands. What was
that?" He asks, looking at me searchingly.

I look down, knowing how bizarre it will sound. I try to think over an explanation to what
actually happened there. How the hell did my wand do it in its own? Is that even possible?

"Harry?" Regulus asks quietly, a shot of sparkles tingling along my skin when his fingers
brush lightly mine.

I glance up and give him a dumbfounded look. "He tried to kill me and I…my wand…it…
kind of…fought him."

"What?" Regulus asks sharply, and there's a silence in the room.

Andromeda stands in the doorway, holding my muddy rucksack, a stunned look in her eyes.

"Voldemort…he shot me with a Killing curse and…my wand – it deflected it," I say, looking
at the others helplessly.

There's only silence and mixed looks of shock and astonishment in the others' features.

"Fuck…" Regulus whispers with dread, almost inaudibly, but apparently, it doesn't go
unnoticed by his cousin, who wrinkles her nose at Regulus.

"Behave," Andromeda says sharply to Regulus as she walks closer to hand me my

belongings. "What you told us is…unheard of. Avada Kedavra cannot be blocked by a spell,"
She says to me, looking contemplative. She gives Regulus a meaningful look before her eyes
flicker to the keychain in my hands.

"You should prepare yourself for the Portkey," She says, retreating to stand next to her
husband, and only then I notice that the rusty keychain has started to glow.

I stand up quickly, holding up the Portkey, and Hagrid takes a couple of steps towards me,
touching the chain as well. I watch as Regulus too stands up.
"Y-You'll come?" I ask uncertainly.

Regulus merely nods and touches the Portkey. He then glances at Andromeda and Mr. Tonks.
"Thank you for your hospitality, cousin. Edward," he says, and while Andromeda's lips twitch
with amusement, Mr. Tonks chuckles.

"How many times do I have to remind you to call me Ted, son?" Mr. Tonks says lightly.

Regulus gives him a polite smile. "At least once more," He murmurs, right before the Portkey
activates, and we're suddenly pulled into nothingness by an invisible force, and only seconds
later, colliding against soft grass in front of the familiar home that is held up mostly by
magic.

The Burrow.

Immediately, I know that something's wrong. We're alone in the front yard, and it's silent, but
then, Lupin bursts out from the house, his wand at the ready. As he walks swiftly towards us,
I notice Regulus moving a bit so that he's almost standing in front of me.

"Lupin! Wh – " I start with relief, but then my voice dies off when Lupin grabs Regulus's
neck with his other hand and trains his wand against his chest with the other.

"HEY!" I yell, but Lupin speaks at the same time.

" – What was your brother's last request to you?" Lupin demands sharply.

Regulus seethes, but his voice is calm as he speaks, "He ordered me to stay at Grimmauld. So
that he'd know I would be safe."

Lupin's eyes narrow at him. "Are you betraying us?" He grits out.

"What the hell?" I ask, annoyed, stepping towards Lupin, who releases Regulus and then
trains his wand towards me.

"Lupin. He's not an impostor. None of us are," Regulus says warningly.

"What creature sat in the corner the first time that Harry Potter visited my office at
Hogwarts?" Lupin asks urgently, his eyes searching mine.

"Um – "

"Answer me!" Lupin yells.

"…Lupin," Regulus growls, while Hagrid yells his objections.

"A Grindylow in a tank!" I say quickly, after racking my brain.

Immediately Lupin's wand hand drops and he takes a step back. Regulus's wand, that I only
notice had been trained at Lupin, drops as well.
"I'm sorry. But I had to make sure," Lupin says wearily, his eyes moving between us three.
"There's no need to check Hagrid – the Polyjuice Potion doesn't work on half-giants," he
continues, and then rubs the bridge of his nose.

"One of us has leaked the information to Voldemort. The only people who knew you were
being moved tonight, were the ones with you tonight, and also Molly, Ginny, Dora's parents,
Molly's great-aunt Muriel, and Regulus," he says bitterly.

I chew the inside of my cheek, before I shake my head sharply. "No…I think not.
Voldemort…he didn't know which Harry was me, until…until the very end. If one of us is a
traitor, he would've known in the beginning. And Hagrid and I wouldn't have stood a
chance…" I say, swallowing hard when I remember what happened to Hedwig.

"What?" Lupin asks quickly. "He found you? How? What happened?"

"How did he know it was you?" Regulus asks curiously.

I frown and think back to the events of the night. "I…there were four Death Eaters following
us, trying to…well, mostly trying to hit Hagrid," I say and give the half-giant a worried look,
before I turn back to the others. "Hagrid managed to shake off one of them, and I stunned
one, but then, one of their hoods slipped off and I saw Stan Shunpike – you know, the
conductor on the Knight Bus – and I…I tried to disarm him, since I sure as hell wasn't going
to stun him and send him to his death," I say quickly, while both Regulus and Lupin watch
me with frustrated looks.

"You do realise that such generosity will not be handed to you by the other side?" Regulus
asks darkly, while Lupin lets out a weary sigh.

"Harry…did it occur to you that perhaps…perhaps they recognised you because of that
spell?" Lupin then asks, disappointment crossing his features.

I stare at him numbly, until I have to look away, feeling too ashamed to look at him. It makes
perfect sense. The Death Eaters saw me duelling Voldemort a couple of years ago, using the
disarming charm to escape him. Of course they would recognise me by the spell. How could I
have been so stupid?

"We should go inside," Lupin then mutters.

I swallow down the guilt and glance towards the house, before looking at Lupin. "Is everyone
okay?" I ask, feeling anxious, and the feeling only intensifies as Lupin gives me a grave look.

I know something's wrong. My throat feels tight. I'm almost too afraid to ask.

"What happened?" Regulus asks quietly, as if knowing my thoughts. His eyes are scrutinising
Lupin's features.

Lupin gives us a strained look, and swallows hard. "Mad-Eye. He's dead."

There's a stunned silence. Mad-Eye. The Auror who had survived so much, who had fought
so bravely. Already endured one wizarding war, and now, he's gone.
"I'm…what…" I mumble, not really knowing what I want to say, because there's nothing to
say. Nothing that can help with the complete surprise and dread that follows as I realise that
we've lost another powerful ally.

"Let's go," Regulus says quietly, tugging me forward, breaking the haze I'm swept in.

Lupin and Hagrid are already entering the house. Where everyone else is waiting.

The night goes on by recollecting the events of the evening, speculating over the possibility
of being betrayed, and in a contemplative silence. After everyone has shared their parts of the
night, and after Alastor Moody's death has been thoroughly discussed, Potter ends the
suspicious thoughts and chatter by telling everyone to trust each other, proclaiming that he
trusts each and every one of us with his life.

Lupin and William leave to retrieve Moody's body, and Potter tries to leave as well – with a
noble reason behind it, I'm sure – only to be guilted to stay. He looks sour and eventually
excuses himself outside after arguing with the others about what happened with him and
Potter's wand.

Potter's friends soon follow him outside, and I let them be, not wanting to intrude their
moment. Instead I sip my Firewhiskey and wonder how long does it take for Lupin and
William to come back so that I can make my excuses and return to my home.

"So, Regulus…" George Weasley says, watching me with a mischievous look.

I glance at him. "Yes?"

George's brother Fred smirks at me. "We heard some rumours…"

I groan inwardly. Give me a bloody break.

My cousin snorts quietly in the corner where she's staring outside from the window, evidently
trying to see when her husband is returning.

I arch a brow at the twins. "You should not believe everything you hear," I merely say and
stand up, turning towards Mrs. and Mr. Weasley.

"I'm leaving. Thank you for having me," I say politely, and both of them wish me goodnight,
after telling me that I'm more than welcome to stay the night, and free to come by whenever I
wish – except the wedding, which I am apparently required to attend.

I manage to catch Potter just as he's entering the kitchen from the back door with Ronald and
Hermione.

"You're leaving?" Potter asks, looking confused. "Why?"

I glance at Potter's friends, who quickly nod at me and walk hastily towards the sitting room
where the rest of the people are gathered.
"I do not wish to overstay my welcome," I say mildly, but when Potter glowers at me, I
continue, "I'll come back," I say and give him a wry smile, "Apparently there's a wedding
taking place next week."

Potter frowns and chews the corner of his mouth in thought.

"You are not going to leave this place until you are of age?" I ask quietly, watching him
carefully. Truthfully, I would be more than happy to let Potter stay with me at Grimmauld,
but I know that it is not an option. It would be positively foolish for Potter to try to leave
anywhere before the Trace is lifted.

Potter's brow twitches, and he blinks at me. Then he lets out a deep sigh and rubs his neck. "I
don't know what I should do," He mutters unsurely, looking away.

"Yes, you do," I say softly, and Potter's eyes whip back to mine. He looks a bit taken aback,
as if he wasn't expecting my answer to be so blunt. Even when we both know it to be true.
Both of us know what he is going to do.

"I'm not going back to Hogwarts," he says determinedly, setting his jaw.

I give him a nod. "I assumed as much." There's a silence, and it seems like Potter wants to
say more, so I wait patiently.

Potter swallows deeply. "…I know what I have to do," he whispers, his eyes moving across
my chest before slowly trailing back up to meet mine. "…but if I do that…" He continues,
clenching his jaw, a strained look in his eyes. "You know what that means then," he says
heavily.

Of course, I know. What Potter means, is that this is a goodbye. That what we had planned, to
get back my brother – he cannot do it, since Potter's going to be searching pieces of him,
trying to end him.

I watch him silently for a moment, watch him squirm with guilt. Watch him as he desperately
tries to tell me all of that without saying the words.

"You expect me to let you go alone?" I ask steadily.

Potter lets out a frustrated huff, and his face scrunches up a bit. But before he can start to
argue, to tell me that he wants me to stay safe, I lift my arm and place my hand on the side of
his face.

My thumb brushes against his cheek, and Potter's eyes close for a moment, a soft breath
leaving his lungs. "W-What about…what about Sirius?" He stammers, looking regretful.

"There's nothing we can do right now. We both know that right now, there's a very slim
chance to get into the Ministry without getting caught," I tell him, and watch how his bright
green eyes fill with doubt and confliction.

"…But it's my burden to bear. I can't have other people risking their lives over mine," He
says stubbornly, with a small shake of his head.
Still, Potter doesn't move away. His arguments are weak, and I know how to outweigh them.
"Dumbledore included me in your mission for a reason, Harry," I say, levelling him with a
stern look. Potter frowns, his resolve faltering. "And besides, I made a promise to my brother.
I promised him that I would do whatever it takes to protect you," I continue, knowing that
that at least, will crumble whatever resistance there is left in him.

Potter takes a shuddering breath and gives me a searching look, relief and hopefulness
reflecting from his eyes.

"Okay," he whispers after what feels like a long moment.

I continue observing him for a while, before leaning closer to him and tilting my head
slightly. Potter's eyes darken and his hands trail up my chest until he takes a hold of my
robes, pulling me closer to meet his lips with a frustrated sigh.

Potter's lips are soft, and the kiss is gentle, careful, even though his fingers are curled into my
robes with a death grip. My other hand finds its way to Potter's waist, and then, the kiss
deepens, growing more heated. I run my tongue along his bottom lip, and Potter lets out a
soft gasp, his mouth opening, his tongue quickly finding mine. I hum as the touch of his
tongue sends a wave of heat down my body.

Potter's hands slide up my chest and curl behind my neck, his fingertips tangling into my hair,
holding me in place as he continues kissing me more forcefully than before, his tongue
flitting inside my mouth, brushing against mine, brushing away every coherent thought in my
mind, making me dazed and breathless.

There's a shifting sound near us, and we quickly break apart, turning to look towards the
voice.

George Weasley is there, leaning against the kitchen counter on the other side of the room, a
sly grin pulling up his lips, and a bowl of peanuts in his hands.

"Oh, by all means, do carry on," He says, and throws a handful of peanuts into his mouth, his
eyes glinting with amusement and mischief. "Don't mind me."

I clear my throat and glance at Potter, who is flushed and wild-looking, trying to give his
friend's brother a murderous glare.

"I should go," I mutter after an uncomfortable silence, and Potter turns to look at me, a mix of
confusion and embarrassment in his features.

He scratches his head and gives me an awkward look. "Yeah. Um. I'll see you…when you
come back here…" He says and clears his throat, looking anywhere but me and George.

I'm quite sure that I can hear quiet sniggering from the other side of the room, but I don't stay
long enough to confirm that, and instead give Potter a curt nod and leave through the kitchen
door, hastily making my way towards the Apparition point.
 All The Stars
Chapter Notes

Happy reading!

Chapter 30: All The Stars

The Burrow, 31 July 1997

I wake up with a startle as something hits my face and I almost drop off from my camp bed.
"W-Wha…?" I mumble, blinking furiously as I try to shove the pillow – that is definitely not
mine – away from my face.

Ron's in his bed, giving me an innocent look.

"What was that for?" I grumble and throw the pillow back to him.

Ron shrugs, catching the pillow. "You were muttering in your sleep," he says, stretching in
his bed. "Who's Gregorovitch?" He asks curiously.

"Who?"

"Gregorovitch. You were repeating the name," Ron says expectantly.

I yawn and try to remember the dream. There was a man…I was searching for someone. It
must've been this Gregorovitch. "Dunno," I say and close my eyes for a bit, leaning against
my pillow. "What time is it?" I ask and stifle another yawn.

"Almost nine. Mum's probably gonna come soon to check on us. I bet there's a pile of new
chores for us to accomplish before the wedding," Ron mutters dryly and yawns loudly.

I hum in agreement. The past week has gone quickly while making everything ready for the
wedding. It became clear a couple of days in, that Mrs. Weasley has been keeping Ron,
Hermione and me busy with household tasks, after she learned that the three of us are not
going back to Hogwarts, and are going to continue with the work Dumbledore assigned to
me. Ginny told me the other day that her mother thinks that she can somehow delay us from
leaving if we have no time to plan.

There hasn't really been much time for anything else than the nonstop cutlery cleaning, de-
gnoming the garden and helping Mrs. Weasley cook different kinds of foods for the wedding,
excepting the two times my friends and I have managed to sneak into Ron's room to discuss
my plans. Well, our plans now.
"Why are we sorting books when we are having a much-needed break from wedding chores?"
Ron asks with a hint of irritation as Hermione hands him another book to put on one of the
piles.

Hermione arches a brow at him. "We're sorting out the ones we need to take with us," she
says simply. "When we're looking for the Horcruxes."

I chew the inside of my cheek. I know that that's what the both of them said before, at
Hogwarts, that they're going to come with me. And it was mentioned the night we came here,
when I told them about Voldemort torturing Ollivander. But it needs to be addressed again. I
need them to understand the danger of this mission.

Ron's lips twitch. "Oh, of course!" He says and gives us both a stunned look. "I didn't realise
we're gonna hunt Voldemort down in a mobile library!"

Hermione narrows her eyes at Ron and slaps his arm gently. "Quit it and start organising."

"Listen…" I say, eyeing my friends with a frown.

Hermione rolls her eyes. "Here he goes…"

"Yep," Ron agrees, heaving a sigh, and they continue sorting out books as if I haven't spoken.

"What? No, you need to listen – "

Hermione whirls towards me. "No, Harry. You are the one who needs to listen. We've been
through this already. Ron and I are not going to back out on this. We are coming with you,"
She says heatedly, setting her jaw in a stubborn manner.

"I know we talked about this, but you need to understand the dangers – "

Ron sighs. "Listen, mate. We do. We've been preparing for this the moment we left Hogwarts.
Longer even. Hermione's Obliviated her parents, made them move to Australia, for their
protection. They don't know her anymore," he says, levelling me a serious look.

Hermione's eyes glisten with tears.

I'm speechless. Hermione's parents…what if she never sees them again? "I'm…" I mumble,
trying to swallow the lump of guilt in my throat. "I'm sorry," I say quietly, watching my
friends apologetically.

"They were going to be in danger whether I was your friend or not. I'm a Muggleborn, and
that already puts me and my parents in danger," Hermione says with a small voice. "Just…
can we stop arguing about this and start making plans?" She asks, giving me a pleading look.

I swallow hard, and watch my friends for a moment, amazed by their support and resolution.
"Of course. Thank you." I say, a grateful smile on my lips.

Hermione nods, and then gestures at the books. "I've been packing for days, trying to gather
everything necessary from potions to books and clothes, so that if it comes to it, we can leave
at a moment's notice," She explains, and lifts up a small, beaded bag for us to see.

"You've been packing…there?" I ask incredulously.

Hermione levels me with an unimpressed stare. "Seriously, Harry. Have you ever heard about
this thing called magic?" She mutters lightly and then pulls out her wand, flicking it at the
purse, and summoning a bunch of books from it.

Ron chuckles but then his laughter dies quickly as he takes a look at the books Hermione
places between us. They look rotten, the leather spines are faded, splattered with something
dark. "These books are about Horcruxes – well, mainly how to create them," Hermione
explains, and with a cringe, she opens the topmost volume, rifling through the pages. "This is
the one that gives explicit instructions on how to make a Horcrux. Secrets of the Darkest Art
– it's a horrible book, really awful, full of evil magic. I wonder when Dumbledore removed it
from the library…if he didn't do it until he was Headmaster, I bet Voldemort got all the
instructions he needed from here."

There's a short silence, before Ron speaks, "If those books were in the library, why did
Voldemort have to ask Slughorn how to make a Horcrux, then, if he'd already read that?"

"I think he only approached Slughorn to find out what would happen if you split your soul
into seven, already knowing how to make a Horcrux," I mutter, recollecting the conversation
with the Headmaster after seeing Slughorn's memory. "I think you're right, Hermione, that
could easily have been where he got the information," I say distractedly.

Hermione nods thoughtfully. "And the more I've read about them, the more horrible they
seem, and the less I can believe that he actually made six. It warns in this book how unstable
you make the rest of your soul by ripping it, and that's just by making one Horcrux!"

"Voldemort…he told Dumbledore that he had pushed the boundaries of magic further than
they have ever been pushed…" I say, remembering the memory where Voldemort had applied
for a job at Hogwarts.

"Isn't there any way of putting yourself back together?" Ron asks slowly, giving the books a
disturbed look.

"Yes," Hermione says gravely, "but it would be excruciatingly painful."

"Why? How do you do it?" I ask, feeling curious.

"Remorse," Hermione says then. "You've got to really feel what you've done. There's a
footnote. Apparently, the pain of it can destroy you," she says, pointing at one of the pages. "I
can't see Voldemort attempting it somehow, can you?" She asks with a mirthless smile.

"Do they tell you how to destroy one?" I ask, scanning the page Hermione has opened.

"They do, actually," Hermione says, putting the book down and gingerly opening the next
one, as mouldy as the first one. "The book warns Dark wizards how strong they have to make
the enchantments on them. From all that I've read, Basilisk venom seems to be one of the few
really fool proof ways of destroying a Horcrux."

"But the sword – " Ron starts to say, but is interrupted by Hermione.

" – was imbued with the venom," Hermione says, and Ron gives her a wry look. "And as we
know, Goblin-made items absorb anything that makes them stronger," she continues.

I nod hastily at my friends. "We need the sword."

"Okay, great. Do you have it lying around somewhere?" Ron asks lightly.

I frown at the floor. "No. It…I dunno, Dumbledore must've taken it…"

"Brilliant," Ron grumbles. "It's not like we can go and ask him for it…" He mutters.

Hermione narrows her eyes at him but turns again to peer at the book in her lap, letting out a
small sigh. "I think we don't necessarily have to have the sword – or a Basilisk fang…I think
we need something so destructive that the Horcrux can't repair itself. The problem is, that
there are very few substances as destructive as basilisk venom, and they're all dangerous to
carry around with you. That's a problem we're going to have to solve, though, because
ripping, smashing, or crushing a Horcrux won't do the trick. You've got to put it beyond
magical repair…"

There's a long silence as we all slip into our thoughts.

"Hold on," Ron says suddenly, looking at the books suspiciously. "I mean, it's brilliant that
we've got these instructions now, but…how in the Merlin did you get these books, if they were
removed from the library?" He asks, narrowing his eyes at Hermione, who blushes furiously.

"Um…I might've…taken them without permission," she says, and hastily explains how she
had summoned them from Dumbledore's study after his death.

Kind of brilliant.

"I think we need to decide where to go from here," Hermione says practically, flicking her
wand at the books and packing them back into her bag. "We need a place where we can plan
to find the next Horcrux in peace, and I'm thinking that we are not going to have another
opportunity here. Too many eyes and ears…" She says and gives us both a shrug.

"Yeah, tell me about it…" Ron grumbles.

I chew the inside of my cheek. I know I promised I'd take Regulus with me. What if…what if
we could go to Grimmauld? The place is quiet, and only the Order members have access
there. Maybe Mrs. Weasley wouldn't try to stop us there?

"Harry?" Hermione asks, watching me searchingly.

"Um…Grimmauld Place?" I ask, and eye my friends hesitantly. "I…um…kind of agreed with
Regulus that he'd come with us…"
Ron's brows lift slightly, while Hermione gives me a knowing look.

"I mean, Dumbledore did include him in our mission…" I tell them, even though they already
know it, after I explained the events of the night when we had destroyed the locket. "And he,
you know…destroyed one," I say, feeling as if I'm trying to explain myself to them.

"Yeah, makes sense," Ron says casually, and then he gives me a scrutinising look.

"What?" I ask, frowning at my friend as his ears turn slightly pink. I glance at Hermione, and
see her lips twitching. "What is it?" I ask again.

Ron clears his throat and looks a bit uncomfortable. "Um…I mean…I sort of…overheard
something…from Fred and George," He stammers, looking anywhere but me.

Shit. I'm both curious and afraid to ask what he has overheard.

Hermione rolls her eyes. "Ron told me what he'd heard, and I explained it to him. There's
nothing wrong about it, right, Ronald?" She says sharply, giving Ron a pointed look.

"Yeah, no! Of course not…" Ron says quickly, glancing me with a strained smile.

Bloody fuck.

I feel my cheeks and my neck heating up with embarrassment.

"So, it's decided then!" Hermione says brightly, breaking the awkward silence.

Ron and I both quickly mutter our agreements, and then, the quietness is broken again, this
time by Ron's mother who looks angry and dishevelled as she sees us three together. She
quickly ushers us back to our chores.

"It's like being a house-elf," Ron whispers, glaring at the stairs where his mother has
vanished with Hermione at her heels. "Except without the job satisfaction. The sooner this
wedding's over, the happier I'll be."

I arch a brow at him as we make our way to the guest room to sort out the wedding presents.
"Yeah. Then we'll have nothing to do except find Horcruxes. It'll be like a holiday, won't it?" I
say dryly, and Ron lets out a loud snort.

"Well, happy birthday anyway," Ron says with a grin.

I turn to look at him with surprise. "Yeah, wow…I forgot! I'm seventeen!" I say excitedly,
and immediately grab my wand and summon my glasses, which of course, zoom past me to
the floor.

Ron sniggers and watches with amusement as I send his things go flying around the room,
and use only magic to get dressed – which makes Ron smirk and recommend that I do my fly
with my hand.
And then suddenly, he looks a bit uneasy. "You know…it really would've been better to know
about…things…before I got you this," He says and moves to sit on his bed and open the
drawer in his bedside table, "But, I mean…I suppose you could still use it…for other
purposes…" He mutters and extracts a rectangular parcel, throwing it towards me.

I catch it, and lift a brow at him. "A book?"

Ron scratches the back of his head. "Yeah. You can bin it if you want…Or whatever," he says
with a frown.

I give him a questionable look and tear the paper open. "'Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm
Witches'," I read from the front, and yeah, it is a bit uncomfortable, but at the same time…it
is hilarious.

I burst in laughter. Ron stares at me with a dumbstruck look, before his lips start to twitch.

"Yeah, I'll be sure to look for tips from here," I say breathlessly, waving the book, while Ron
too joins my laughter.

And if there was some awkwardness between us, it's gone now.

I receive more presents downstairs during the breakfast, and it's amazing. Mr. and Mrs.
Weasley give me a golden watch; a traditional gift to a wizard when he comes of age, Mrs.
Weasley explains. From Hermione I receive a Sneakoscope, and from Bill and Fleur, an
enchanted razor. From the Delacours – Fleur's parents, who arrived the previous night –
chocolates, and from Fred and George, an enormous box of the latest Weasleys' Wizard
Wheezes merchandise.

I was a bit hesitant to open the twins' present, since, well, they had been throwing some
meaningful looks and subtle comments to my direction the following days after George
witnessed the kiss. But it seems that they're over it, which is a relief.

"Arthur told me to wish you a happy seventeenth, Harry," Mrs. Weasley says, placing a stack
of bacon on my plate. "He left early for work, but he'll be back before dinner," she continues,
and then watches me thoughtfully for a moment.

"Hm?" I voice as I chew down a mouthful of scrambled eggs and bacon.

Mrs. Weasley gives me a tight smile. "As you know, we cannot invite Regulus," She whispers
his name, before glancing around the room – undoubtedly checking for the Delacours – "here
for your birthday celebrations," She says, and then clears her throat. "Perhaps you would
want to go there tonight, after dinner?" Mrs. Weasley finishes, a soft smile on her lips.

Ron starts to cough loudly, almost choking on his pumpkin juice. Hermione pats his back and
tries to keep a straight face.

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Weasley says, giving Ron – who looks to be recovering from his near-death
experience – a mildly disapproving look, "You really should focus more on eating, Ronald,"
she says motherly.

Ron gives his mother an incredulous look, while I manage to swallow without choking in my
food, and with horror, I think of all the possible ways this conversation could turn out. "W-
What do you mean…?" I ask carefully, decidedly not looking at my friends, who I know are
most certainly sharing amused looks.

Mrs. Weasley gives me a questioning look. "The twins mentioned that you two have become
very close," She says lightly, and I can feel all colour draining off from my face.

"I think it is wonderful, Harry, for you to have befriended him," she continues, starting to
clean up the kitchen at the same time. "There was a time when I was actually very worried
for him. After his brother's…" Mrs. Weasley's words trail off, and she clears her throat, her
cheeks tinting with red. "…I'm glad that things are looking better for him now," She finishes
with a kind smile.

"Y-Yeah." I manage to croak, still sitting stiffly in place, wondering if Mrs. Weasley knows
about the extent of our friendship or not.

"Anyway," Mrs. Weasley says, waving her wand to the cleaned-up plates, sending them back
to the cabinets, "We are expecting you back here tomorrow morning, to prepare for the
wedding."

Oh. Well. I guess I can't say no to that. "Okay. Yeah. Thanks," I stammer.

"Isn't Regulus invited to the wedding as well?" Hermione asks quietly. "How are you going to
hide his identity from everyone?"

Mrs. Weasley chews the inside of her cheek before she speaks, "Arthur and I talked with him,
and asked if he would be willing to be disguised as one of our relatives – just like Harry,
actually," she explains, glancing at me.

Just the previous night, it was decided that I'm to be disguised as a red-headed distant relative
of Mrs. Weasley, with the help of none other than Polyjuice Potion.

"We trust everyone we have invited, but, well, there's always a risk of slipping out something
after a couple of Gillywater Cocktails," Mrs. Weasley continues, and gives us a knowing
look.

Ron snorts at his breakfast, while Hermione's lips turn up into a grin.

"So, we agreed that Regulus would arrive later, when most of the other guests have arrived,
to avoid any unnecessary questions about his origins," She says, and for a moment, looks
slightly stressed out.

And that's not at all surprising. There's been a ton of things to do to prepare for the wedding,
and that is just the foods, cleaning the place, decorations and such. But I'm sure there're a lot
of things that I don't know about, for example all the extra security measures the Weasleys
have done in addition to the ones already in place. I'm grateful to them both, Mr. and Mrs.
Weasley, to take such measures to keep me safe.

Even though I told Mrs. Weasley not to prepare anything particular for my birthday, that just
a regular dinner would be more than perfect for me, there's still a long table set up in the
garden, decorated with a number of purple lanterns hanging over it. There're purple and gold
streamers draped over the trees and bushes, and a golden large balloon in the shape of
number 17 at the other end of the table, waiting for the evening to arrive.

The rest of the day goes uneventfully, until Mr. Weasley comes home, accompanied by the
Minister, Rufus Scrimgeour.

After a rather weird and intense discussion between the Minister, me, Ron and Hermione,
Scrimgeour leaves with rage and bitterness in his step.

We return to the garden, and as soon as the wards close up behind him, everyone is curious to
hear what he had wanted to discuss with us.

"Dumbledore left us items in his will," Hermione explains, placing the copy of The Tales of
Beedle the Bard on the table, for everyone to see.

Ron and I follow her example by placing our own items on the table – the Deluminator and
the Snitch – which draw several curious looks and muttering as the objects are passed along
the table, from hand to hand. We do not mention anything about the sword, but the meaning
is not lost to Ron, Hermione or me.

Dumbledore had wanted to give us the sword to destroy the Horcruxes. And as Scrimgeour
denied us that part of Dumbledore's will, we can only assume the sword is still located at
Hogwarts.

After no one can come up with an explanation to why Dumbledore had left us any of the
objects, we start eating dinner. The dinner is followed up by an enormous, beach-ball-sized
Snitch cake, and a loud chorus of "Happy Birthday". Lupin and Tonks arrive too, grateful of
being late and missing the unfortunate visit of the Minister.

"Happy birthday, Harry," Tonks says, smiling brightly as she and Lupin step into the garden.
"Seventeen, eh?" She says, pulling me into a hug.

I grin and hug her back. "Yeah. I'm still amazed I've survived this far," I say jokingly, and
Tonks snorts and pulls back, giving me a disapproving look.

"I never thought you wouldn't," She says with a wink and then steps forward to greet Mrs.
Weasley.

Tonks looks positively joyous, her pink hair glowing in the night. Lupin, on the other hand,
seems rather troubled.

"Everything okay?" I ask quietly from Lupin, who shakes my hand and congratulates me.
Lupin gives me a strained smile. "Of course, Harry," he mutters, and then gives me a small
parcel. "From Dora and me."

I thank him and open the present, "Um – "

" – It's a resizable potion making-kit with basic ingredients, and a small supply of healing
potions and ointments," Lupin says when I eye curiously the miniature suitcase.

"Oh! Wow. Thanks," I say, and give him a thankful smile.

Lupin nods, looking a bit more relaxed now. We're interrupted by Hagrid, who is wearing his
best, and horrible, hairy brown suit. Hagrid hands me a present; a small, slightly furry
drawstring pouch – mokeskin pouch – which Hagrid explains are rare, and the owner of such
can hide anything there, and is the only one who has access to the objects in it.

After thanking Hagrid, we return to the table, where Fred and George are distributing drinks
for everyone. George hands me a tumbler of Firewhiskey with a not-so-subtle wink, before
moving towards Hagrid, presenting a bucket-sized glass of wine to the half-giant.

The evening goes on, and after several drinks and eating most of the cake, the party starts to
break up. The Delacours retreat to the house, wishing everyone good night, and the Lupins
soon follow, leaving towards their home.

As I'm helping to clean up the plates to the kitchen – with magic, naturally – Tonks catches
me on the porch.

"Heard you're having a second party tonight," She says with a mischievous grin.

It takes a second for me to realise what she's hinting at. "Wh – I'm – " I stammer, instantly
flushing bright red.

Tonks sniggers. "Tell my cousin I said hi," She whispers with a wink, and then returns to
Lupin, who awaits patiently by the end of the lane.

I splutter incoherently and hastily retreat into the dark kitchen before anyone – mainly Fred
and George, as I'm sure they'd instantly draw their own conclusions – can see how flustered I
am.

After calming down, I go back to the garden, where Mrs. Weasley informs me that Hagrid
will escort me to the Apparition point, as he will go back to his tent for the night – a tent he
had set up for the wedding, as there really is no extra room inside the house, not with Mr. and
Mrs. Weasley sleeping in the sitting room. Before I leave, Mrs. Weasley hands me a bag,
explaining that there're leftovers from the dinner and cake, for Regulus.

I wish everyone good night, trying my best to avoid the twins' sly grins, and then I follow
Hagrid towards the end of the lane.

"How are things at Hogwarts?" I ask as we walk past Mr. Weasley's garage, filled with
Muggle objects, both working and broken ones.
"Well, we go' some newborn unicorns there. Been somewha' busy with 'em...I'll show yeh
when yeh get back," Hagrid says merrily, hiccoughing at the same time.

I try to give him a convincing smile and nod. There's no point of explaining him that I have
no intention of returning to Hogwarts. Not now, at least.

"There it is," Hagrid says as we approach a large oak tree just outside the inner wards –
apparently, there are a lot of security measures put up in the surroundings of the Burrow.

"Okay. Um. See you tomorrow, Hagrid," I say, feeling rather nervous, knowing it has nothing
to do with the act of Apparating the first time after the Trace has been lifted.

Hagrid waves his hand as I turn on the spot, concentrating upon my destination, with jittery
and excitement mixing inside me.
 Fever
Chapter Notes

Back so soon, what is this?? Well, the 30. and 31. chapters were originally a one long
chapter.

About this one – well, there’s a small part bordering explicit (seriously, a small part) –
and I didn’t really want to cut it out from this or change the rating into Explicit (since I
don't know how explicit this'll get, if any ;)). But still, I want to warn you guys that it is
there. For those who want to skip it, I’ve added a couple of horizontal lines, so if you
feel like it, just skip from the first line in Regulus’s room to the next one.

Okay then, now that that’s off my chest – enjoy reading, everyone ;)

Chapter 31: Fever

Grimmauld Place, 31 July 1997

The door of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, with its serpent door knocker materialises in
front of me as I apparate on the first step. I quickly walk inside, after taking a glance around
me to make sure no one has seen me. The streets are empty.

Quietly, I make my way into the drawing room on the first floor, and find Regulus sitting
there, waiting for me.

"Hi," I say and push my wand back to the pocket of my jeans, feeling slightly breathless.

We've seen each other a couple of times after the rather awkward encounter in the Burrow's
kitchen, and both of those times have been dinners at the Burrow with several other Order
members surrounding us. Needless to say, there hasn't really been an opportunity to speak in
private, about anything.

Regulus walks up to me, his expression blank and giving nothing away. Then, he takes my
hand and pulls me towards him, his lips twitching upwards into a ghost of a smile.

"Many happy returns," he murmurs, and then leans closer to place a soft kiss on my lips.

Even if it is over quickly, I can feel my stomach bubbling with excitement and my cheeks
colouring instantly. "Thanks," I say to him, unable to suppress a grin.

"Oh!" I say then, remembering that Mrs. Weasley packed something with me. "You hungry?"
I ask, lifting the bag in question. "Mrs. Weasley sent you some leftovers."
Regulus blinks at the bag before looking at me, a small curl in his lips. "Sure," he says,
glancing around the drawing room and then gesturing at the seating area and the coffee table.
"We can eat here."

Even though I am definitely not hungry and urge Regulus to do most of the eating, I can't
stop myself from having a piece of the leftover cake. It might be the best one Mrs. Weasley
has made so far. That, or maybe it simply tastes better when I can share it with him.

"Anything exiting happen?" Regulus asks after he has finished eating, and after Kreacher has
cleaned everything away.

We're both situated on the couch, turned towards each other, and I think this is the most
relaxed I've seen Regulus.

I give him a tight smile. "Oh, yes. Scrimgeour came to offer his best wishes," I say dryly.

Regulus stiffens, and his brows lift up in surprise. "What happened?"

I dig up the mokeskin pouch from the pocket of my jeans as I speak. "He came to deliver
Dumbledore's will," I explain and pull out the Snitch from the pouch. "Dumbledore gave Ron
his Deluminator; an object you can put out and restore lights with, at least, that's what I know
about it now, there could be other features, and to Hermione; a book – don't remember the
name – and to me, this," I say and show him the Snitch, its wings fluttering lazily against my
palm.

Regulus is silent for a moment before he speaks. "Why would he give you that?" He asks,
looking contemplative.

I give him a small shrug. "Scrimgeour thinks there's something inside it. Apparently, Snitches
have flesh memory – "

Regulus gives me a mildly amused look. "I know. I played as Seeker for my house team at
Hogwarts."

"You did? I knew it!" I exclaim, grinning triumphantly at him, remembering how Ron and I
had been bickering about if after I'd seen the picture of Regulus and the rest of the Slytherin
Quidditch team in Slughorn's office – and how Ron had insisted that the position Regulus had
been in in the picture, suggested that he was actually a Chaser, not a Seeker.

Regulus lifts his brows in question.

"Um. Never mind," I say quickly, and then gesture at the Snitch in my hand, "I've touched
this one before."

"You have?" Regulus asks curiously, his eyes moving over the small ball. "…It doesn't look
to be reacting to your touch, though."

I nod, a sly smile pulling up my lips. "Well, what the Minister didn't know, was that I didn't
actually touch this with my fingers," I say, grinning widely at Regulus's puzzled look – I
mean, it's not every day I manage to do that to him.
"I almost swallowed it," I continue, bringing the small object to my lips, brushing them
against the cool metal.

Regulus looks impressed, and we both lean towards the Snitch, trying to see if anything
happens – and something does.

There's writing. Dumbledore's handwriting engraved upon the smooth golden surface.

I open at the close.

"What does that mean? I open at the close?" I ask, glancing at Regulus with confusion.

Regulus looks thoughtful, but eventually shakes his head. "I haven't a clue," he mutters then.

There's a short silence, during which I try to rack my brains, thinking hard at the words, that
have now vanished from the Snitch.

"…Maybe Hermione has an idea what this could mean…" I mutter absently, still running the
words in my mind.

"Perhaps." Regulus says, watching me studiously. "Anything else happen with the Minister?"
He asks then.

I glance at him and let out a quiet snort. "You think I would be here, if I hadn't acted
mannerly?"

Regulus watches me with an amused smile on his lips. "When have you ever acted
mannerly?"

I shrug. "I have my moments. It helps if I know by fact that the Minister is merely trying to
find an excuse to haul me back to the Ministry," I say with a mirthless laugh. "His methods
are…of his own kind."

Regulus expression darkens. "He threatened you?" He asks with a colourless voice.

"No, not straightforwardly. You know, just expressing his disappointment for my lack of
cooperation," I say, and then remember something else Dumbledore intended to leave me.
"Dumbledore left me the sword of Gryffindor, but Scrimgeour wasn't willing to give it to
me," I say bitterly, and Regulus lets out an annoyed huff.

"Of course not." He mutters, his brows creasing into a deep frown.

I don't know if he's thinking about the last time he touched the sword, and the pain that
followed, or the fact that we almost had a Horcrux-destroying weapon in our hands.

Either way, I shuffle towards him and take his hand, slipping my fingers through his. Regulus
licks his lips absently and stares at our joined fingers with a strange expression.

I clear my throat and crawl even closer to him, into his space, gently placing my hand against
his shoulder. "Let's think about that later, yeah?" I murmur, before leaning in for a kiss.
Regulus grunts softly, kissing me back, before taking a hold of my waist and pulling me
slowly to sit on his lap.

"Oh…" I mutter in surprise, and dive back to meet his lips with a sigh, while his hands rub
circles to my waist, sending delightful shivers down my spine.

Fuck, it feels so good. I want to move, to squirm against him, but I don't want anything to
interrupt this – the way our lips glide against each other, the soft puffs of breath mingling, the
quiet grunts – Regulus – and the soft sighs – me, embarrassingly – but then, Regulus moves
his lips away from mine, trailing them delicately along the line of my jaw. When he starts to
suck the skin under my jaw, I unintentionally jerk towards him, letting out an embarrassingly
low groan as both his lips and the friction I feel when our hips meet send a flashing pleasure
into my groin.

Regulus pulls back a bit, breathing heavily, leaning his forehead against my shoulder. "Do
you…" He mutters, pulling slightly back to look at me in the eye. He swallows hard before
he speaks again, "Do you want to…go upstairs?" He asks quietly, almost nervously, like he's
holding back, restraining himself.

He looks intense, with darkened eyes and flushed features. My eyes trail down to his lips,
that are swollen and very red. My mind obliges me to remember that between us, I can
definitely feel him hard against my thigh. The knowledge only adds more warmness into the
bottom of my stomach. I know that I don't want this to stop, that I want to see where this
leads to, but I don't know if I have the courage to say it. Instead, I nod quickly to him, trying
not to overthink it.

"Yeah," I breathe, trying to ignore the hint of awkwardness I feel as we disentangle ourselves
and I back away to stand up.

The walk upstairs is quiet, and I mentally run the possible outcomes this could result. What
are we actually doing? What exactly is he expecting of me? I'm feeling nervous, but at the
same time, I can't seem to wait, since, as soon as we step onto the topmost floor and Regulus
gives me a hesitant look, I grab his hand and pull him towards his room.

As we walk over the threshold, I realise I've never been there. In his room. It's a bit smaller
than his brother's, where I've actually spent a night some months ago. I walk slowly further
into the room, while Regulus stops behind me.

It's definitely better organised than Sirius's room: there're no posters of bikini-clad girls or
photographs of his friends set up on the walls, and it's very minimalistic – there's only a
bureau on one corner, next to a small reading nook. In the centre of the room, however, is a
large bed with canopy, curtains and everything. Every colour in his room is either black,
silver, or emerald green.

"No point of wondering what house you were in at Hogwarts," I say jokingly, and turn to
look at Regulus.

He looks back at me with a slightly reserved look. "We don't have to…We can go downstairs
if you want," He says quietly, his eyes moving searchingly across my face.
I swallow hard. I know it would be easy to go back. But I've imagined him – this – so, so
many times now. And I want to know…to see it through. I shake my head at him. "No, I was
just. I mean, I've never been here…" I say, feeling a surge of boldness and back away slightly,
until my feet touch his bed.

Regulus's eyes widen slightly, but then, he moves to close the door behind him and walks up
to me. He looks serious: the sharp angle of his jaw has become even sharper, and I know
what he's about to say when the look in his eyes change into a stern one.

"Look. I want to." I say nervously, sitting down on his bed. "I just…um…don't really, you
know…know what to do, exactly…" I stammer, and give him a slightly helpless cringe.

Regulus watches me quietly for a moment, before giving me a slight nod and then leans
towards me, to close the distance between our lips.

Our lips only brush each other, before I pull back and crawl backwards to the centre of the
bed.

Regulus's eyes darken and he clenches his jaw, following me, settling himself next to me.

"Come here," He breathes, reaching out to me, and I surge towards him, closing our distance
with a heated kiss.

Instantly, Regulus grabs a handful of my hair, pulling me closer as his lips move against
mine. Heat and excitement flow through my body, and we're both soon panting against each
other between open-mouthed kisses. I press myself against him, still keeping a bit of my
weight off of him with my other hand while smoothing the other up against Regulus's chest. I
can feel his heart hammering through the fabric of his robes, and as my hips slot against his, I
feel a groan rumbling in his chest beneath my fingers.

Regulus turns his head away, breaking the kiss and cursing under his breath. He looks at me,
licking his lips. "You're sure?"

I swallow hard and clear my throat, trying to suppress the want and the nervousness to think
clearly. "I…yeah. I am," I say quietly, and then chew the corner of my mouth, feeling
hesitant. "…I-I mean…maybe not…um…everything…right away…you know?" I ask,
stumbling in my words, trying to stay unaffected as my cheeks start to burn.

I'm relieved when Regulus nods quickly. "I'm good with that," he says, his voice slightly
hoarse. "Lead the way, I suppose?" He says, adjusting himself on the bed, looking a bit
hesitant.

His body is tight, full of tension under me, and there's a definite shiver racking through him
as I run my hand along his side, moving it downwards. I bring my face closer to his, until our
lips are almost touching. "Can we…um…take this off?" I ask, tugging the fabric of his robes.

Regulus nods, and without saying anything, he moves to sit up, takes off his robes and puts
them aside, revealing simple black t-shirt and black trousers underneath, before he leans back
to lie down on the bed, taking a hold of the side of my neck and guiding me back partly on
top of him. I lean in and let him cover my mouth with his, let him push his tongue inside my
mouth and taste me as my fingers continue their path down against his chest, his belly, and
then, skimming at the skin between the edge of his trousers and the hem of his shirt.

Merlin, I'm actually doing this, aren't I?

My fingers stay there for a moment as I'm distracted by Regulus's lips, and how they seem to
be feasting upon mine; sucking, licking, and…biting them, making me feel drunk and
euphoric and starving for more.

I can only gasp against him, before Regulus murmurs quietly, between kisses. "Potter…"

I blink my eyes open, only now realising I've been keeping them closed. "Yeah?" I breathe,
assessing his features.

"Move your hand," He says with a roughened voice, looking rather intoxicated by desire.

I give him a sharp nod and do as I'm told, my fingers trailing lower and lower, while our lips
continue their exploration, uninterrupted. At least, until I find the unmistakable bulge in his
trousers. After a split second of uncertainty, I give it a gentle squeeze, and a shuddering sigh
escapes from Regulus's lips, making the pleasure flare up in my body, making it impossible
to stay still anymore.

I start to grind my hips against him, moving the heel of my palm against his erection while
gasping, moaning and shivering against him. Regulus's hand travels from my side to between
us, his fingers teasing the buttons of my jeans for a moment, before I gasp a ragged "Yes,"
against his mouth, and then, then, his fingers are inside my jeans, inside my underpants,
and…

Fuck.

Regulus is touching me, the palm of his hand gliding along my length, making stars explode
behind my eyelids.

"Bloody hell…." I pant, and just as I get accustomed to his touch and the level of pleasure it
brings, Regulus's hand closes around my cock and starts slowly to stroke, drawing an
embarrassingly loud whine from my lips. I'm swearing incoherently as the overpowering
feeling fills me, the pleasure radiating in me, rushing into my every fibre, making me pulse,
making me melt until I can't hold off any longer and spill myself into his hand with a deep
moan. As the blood is rushing back to my brain, making me dizzy, I almost miss the way
Regulus groans against my ear, his other hand pressing mine against his groin.

I feel weightless and my mind is swaying. Everything happened so fast, that I don't think I
have even realised it yet. There's a long moment, during which I rest my forehead against the
crook of his neck, trying to gather my thoughts, trying to return to the present moment.

It's never felt like that. Never. And I've definitely done this by myself before. It's. Wow. I tell
him this, still stammering in my words, still embarrassed to speak about it even after what
happened, and Regulus lets out an amused huff.

"I know," he murmurs with a drowsy voice.

After we've both caught our breaths, and after I feel his pulse beating in its normal rhythm, I
pull slightly back and study his features silently. Regulus looks…contented…irresistible. His
hair is tousled, his cheeks are glowing, and his lips are full and red and how the hell have
ever managed to keep mine away from them? But his eyes are what draw my attention…so
dark that they're almost black. Watching me with hesitance, with nervousness…and with
affection.

I lick my lips and lean down to place a soft kiss against his. Regulus's eyes flutter at the quick
caress, but then he shifts and I realise where his hand is still situated.

I give him a small grimace. "I think we need to get cleaned up," I mutter, but Regulus merely
sits up and pulls closer his robes that are folded neatly on our feet. He takes out his wand
with the hand that's not currently in a mess and inside my pants, and flicks it at my groin.

Before I can even feel startled or try to stop him from severing my manhood, Regulus frees
his other hand, and I realise he's cleaned us up. I watch mutedly as he repeats the process to
his own slacks, and then places his wand on his bedside table.

I love magic.

"Are you okay?" Regulus asks, eyeing me searchingly.

I give him a small smile, feeling drained and sleepy all of a sudden. It has to be getting late.
"Yeah," I say, stifling a yawn. "A bit tired," I mutter, and then glance at Regulus's bed around
us before looking at him, lifting my brows slightly in question. Should I stay here? Or is he
expecting me to leave?

"By all means," Regulus says, nodding while standing up from the bed. "I'll be back soon,"
He says and slips through the door leading undoubtedly into his en-suite bathroom.

I probably should take a shower. There're more than enough bathrooms in this house without
having to wait for Regulus's to be available. But instead, I slump down against the pillows.
After a moment's hesitation, I strip away my shirt and trousers but leave my underpants on
before I slip inside the covers.

Regulus emerges from the bathroom after a couple of minutes, stops in his tracks as he sees
me, and then, very slowly, takes off his shirt and slacks, putting them neatly on his bedside
table, placing his wand on top of them. And even though the Mark and Regulus's scar had
been visible earlier, my eyes are trained at his forearm for the first time tonight. It's the first
time I'm seeing the Mark after the woods. And it looks rather nasty. I wonder if it still
hurts...? I wonder if he can still feel Voldemort summoning his Death Eaters, like he had
before.
Regulus seems to guess my thoughts as his expression hardens before he slips inside the
covers, next to me. We're both lying on our backs, our eyes aimed at the canopy of the bed.

"…Does it hurt?"

"It's fine, Potter."

I let out a frustrated huff. "Are you just saying that, so I'd leave it?" I mutter and glance at
him with a lifted brow. "Show me."

Regulus looks annoyed, but eventually turns towards me, leaning on his right side. He
stretches out his left arm from beneath the covers for me to see.

I mirror his position and take his hand, turning his arm so that I can inspect the Mark. Or
what is left of it. "It looks…painful," I say quietly, my eyes flicking to his.

"It was."

His expression is unreadable, and he actually flinches as my fingers trail close to the Mark.
"Don't touch it."

"Why?" I ask, feeling both curious and alarmed at the same time. "Will he know?"

Regulus shrugs. "He might. I doubt it…but no one actually knows for certain."

"Oh." I mutter, quickly removing my fingers from the Mark and the surrounding skin.

There's a silence. "When is it going to be healed?" I ask quietly.

Regulus gives me a long look. "There is a possibility that it won't," he reminds me, lowering
his hand to rest on top of the covers.

I know as much - Madam Pomfrey told us so. But there's still a possibility that it will. I give
him a slow nod, chewing the inside of my cheek in thought.

"What happened after you left Hogwarts?" I ask, giving him a searching look.

Regulus averts his eyes, his brows twitching slightly. "Nothing particular. I stayed here.
Lupin and my cousin baby-sat me. Went to a wedding. Got wasted and saw my brother," he
lists flatly, and I lift a hand stop him.

"You saw Sirius?" I ask hastily, my eyes moving along his face, silently urging him to tell me
more.

Regulus nods, his eyes focusing at mine. "Yes, I did. I told him what happened," he says with
an unreadable look. "I told him everything."

Everything. That's…not great, necessarily.

"How…how did he take it?" I ask gingerly. Horcruxes, Dumbledore's death, Snape…I can't
imagine how he could've taken any of it well.

Regulus arches a brow at me. "As good as you would imagine."

So…not well. I imagine Sirius in the chamber, pacing in front of the archway, shouting at his
brother, pulling his hair in frustration.

God, I miss him.

"How is he?" I ask, my voice thick. The familiar mix of longing and hope fill me, as it does
every time I think about my godfather.

Maybe…maybe we could try to sneak into the Ministry, even if we were hunting down the
Horcruxes. It's not like we know where they are. We don't actually have anywhere to go from
here.

"He's…still there," Regulus says bluntly, turning to lie on his back, looking away from me.

Which means that Sirius is there, hanging by a thread. Bloody hell… "You think we could…I
mean, what if we tried – to get into the Ministry? We don't know where to go from here,
where to look for the Horcruxes, but Sirius – "

" – It might be too dangerous. The Ministry has gone over a change during these past months.
There are too many spies inside. And there is a chance that the Ministry is soon – if not
already – in his grasp. The only reason I would go there now, is if there is a Horcrux hidden
somewhere inside the Ministry," Regulus says, staring at the canopy with a contemplative
look.

Regulus glances at me. "We'll wait, until the opportunity presents itself. In the meantime, we
need to focus on bringing him down."

"Ron and Hermione are with us." I tell him, although I suspected that he already knew. "We,
um…sort of…agreed that we'd come here, to plan how to find the Horcruxes, after the
wedding. You know, since it's nearly impossible under Mrs. Weasley's watch…" I mutter,
resisting the urge to blush with embarrassment under his hard stare.

Regulus's brows lift up slightly. "Oh?"

"I mean. If you're okay with it…" I say hesitantly, and when I see how his eyes flash with
amusement, I quickly add, "Please don't say that it's my house."

"It is," Regulus says simply, but then there's a ghost of a smile on his lips. "I don't mind."

We talk a bit more; Regulus wants to know everything about the night of the seven Potters,
especially the part when I faced him and how I think my wand acted. I tell him everything I
remember; about Hedwig, about Stan, then the pain, Voldemort, my wand – and Regulus
listens intently. It isn't until the wee hours of the morning before we both fall asleep.
Grimmauld Place, 1 August 1997

I wake up to a buzzing sound. Potter's wand. Feeling exhausted, as if I haven't slept at all
during the night, I slowly open my eyes. The sun has risen already, and the light is shining
through the opening between the curtains. It's the day of the wedding, and Potter needs to
leave soon. Yet, he doesn't even acknowledge his wand that is buzzing merrily next to his
pillow.

"Potter," I grunt, suppressing a yawn.

Potter lets out a small noise of frustration, and then grabs his wand, ending the buzzing noise.
His breathing turns heavier.

"I expect Mrs. Weasley to retrieve you personally if you are not at the wedding venue within
thirty minutes," I say to him, knowing that he's heard me as the peaceful look on his face
turns into a grimace.

"I'm tired…" Potter mumbles, his eyes closed.

Then, he lets out a weary sigh and blinks his eyes open, turning to look at me with sleepy
eyes and ruffled hair.

"Morning," He murmurs, his dishevelled appearance strangely appealing.

"Good morning," I say back, watching him as he grabs his glasses from the nightstand and
puts them on, blinking away the sleepiness. Potter then looks between us with a small frown,
evidently realising how undressed we are. His ears tinge with red as he brings his eyes back
up to meet mine.

Last night was…It was a long time coming, and I think we both know that. But still, even if it
was only a short moment, it was…quite incredible.

"Breakfast?" I ask Potter, and I'm unable to suppress a smile as he gives me a bashful look.

We both get dressed and before we walk downstairs, Potter takes a quick stop to the
bathroom to freshen up a bit. As we approach the kitchen, I remember I had something for
him. A birthday present of a sort. I summon it from the drawing room where I left it last
night, and Potter eyes me curiously as we step into the kitchen.

Kreacher is already there, breakfast ready and the table set. The elf gives us both a rather
offended look, before bowing low and disapparating with a loud crack.

"W-What…what was that?" Potter asks with a bewildered look as he takes a seat at the table.

My lips twitch involuntarily. "I would assume Kreacher was expressing its disapproval for us
sharing a bed last night," I say casually. Potter gives me a disturbed look, and before he has a
chance to say anything, I continue, "It is quite unusual in the pureblood culture, to openly do
such before any sort of contract or betrothal between the two families."

Potter splutters, nearly spilling his tea onto the table.

"It's w-what? Um…I'm – there's no – and we're not – you know…?" Potter stammers, his
face turning bright red.

I watch him with amusement. "We are not. I was merely explaining Kreacher's behaviour to
you," I say simply, and Potter gives me a mixed look of incredulity and relief.

"I have something for you. A belated birthday present," I tell him, and then hesitate.
"However, it might be the wrong moment. I would not wish to give you false expectations."

Potter's brows lift up slightly and he looks curious. "Oh? I promise I'll try not to read too
much into it?" He says, giving me a hopeful look.

A small smirk tugs up my lips, and I wave my hand, wandlessly revealing the silver ring in
the middle of the table, covered with geometric figures and symbols.

Potter's eyes widen comically. " – T-That's a – a ring," He says, voice faltering. "I'm – um. W-
What?" He breathes, giving me a look that borders disbelieving and horrified.

"It's my brother's ring. He got it from your father – at least that's what Sirius told me when we
were young. I stumbled on it some time ago, and put it aside. For you," I explain, eyeing his
reaction carefully.

"Just to make myself clear - it doesn't mean anything to me," I continue, giving Potter a stern
look.

Potter frowns at me for a short moment, before letting out a nervous chuckle. "Okay. That
helped," He says, and tentatively reaches for the ring.

"Go ahead," I say and nod at him.

He takes it and inspects it carefully, before looking at me with a question in his eyes. "Does it
do something? I mean, why would my dad give Sirius a ring? I mean – " he says, his voice
dying off, his expression turning into a horrified one, before his eyes nearly bulge out. " –
They weren't – I mean, no, they couldn't have been! Merlin, I'm – "

"Before you work yourself into hysteria, Potter, no – I do not believe they were like that," I
say quickly, interrupting him.

Potter looks disordered and slightly relieved.

"This ring was most probably given for its properties of healing and enhancing magical
capabilities," I explain, and Potter's expression turns into a curious one.

"A healing ring? A ring that makes you stronger?" He asks, doubt and eagerness mixing in
his eyes. "Is that actually working?"

"Not against harmful curses. Definitely not against the Unforgivables," I say, giving Potter a
firm look. "I wouldn't go testing its capabilities to find out."
Potter gives me a sheepish grin, as if he was considering the option to try out the ring's
powers.

I lick my lips absently, before nodding at the ring. "There is an addition to it, however."

"Oh?" Potter asks, his eyes flicking to the ring, as if he could see it merely by looking at it.
"What is it?" He asks after a short moment, eyeing me studiously.

"It's a Portkey – to here," I say and glance around us. "It activates with the incantation
engraved to the inside of the ring," I tell him, and as Potter's eyes scan it closely, and
undoubtedly find the inscription, I continue, "I would refrain repeating it now, as it can be
used only once."

Potter throws me a withering look. "I figured," he says blankly, and then eyes me with a mix
of surprise and confusion. "You can create Portkeys?"

I shake my head, a small frown taking place between my brows. "Unfortunately, no. I asked
Moody to perform the spell after I was made a Secret-Keeper of this place," I explain, and
there's a flash of sadness in Potter's eyes as he nods at me.

After a short silence, Potter looks at me with a soft smile on his lips. "Thank you. I appreciate
it," he says earnestly, and the way he gazes at me, with gratefulness, sincerity and affection, it
makes me want to look away, as if I'm not worthy of the look he gives me. But I force myself
to stare back at him, to welcome the feeling of lightness that settles somewhere in the bottom
of my stomach.

Potter eventually blinks and gives me a sad smile. "I have to go. There's a wedding," he says
with a deep sigh, and stands up from the table.

I nod and follow his example, escorting him towards the entrance hall on the ground floor.

Before he leaves through the door, we share one last kiss; soft and gentle, a promise of
something more.
 What's Good
Chapter Notes

It's wedding time! Enjoy reading, folks. And forgive Reg, okay? :)

Chapter 32: What's Good

The Burrow, 1 August 1997

I'm standing at the edge of a large white marquee, a seating plan in my hand, waiting for the
wedding guests to arrive. Even though I came back early in the morning, the day has gone
quickly by with the last-minute preparations. Now I'm feeling too warm and uncomfortable,
and I wonder if it is because the Muggle I have disguised myself into has a solid forty pounds
of weight on me, without any mentionable height difference. Even breathing seems to be
breaking a sweat.

The garden looks completely different to what it was before: there's a vast, white marquee
with long rows of thin golden chairs on either side of a long, purple carpet. The supporting
poles of the marquee are entwined with white and gold flowers, and the ceiling is a mix of
fairy lights and a magnificent flower bed. Two large bunches of golden balloons stand on
each side of the point where Bill and Fleur will become husband and wife. The garden is
trimmed into perfection, everything is blooming, and there isn't even a hint of garden
gnomes, chickens, or the old wellington boots that usually decorate the lawn.

"When I get married," Fred grits through his teeth, while trying to straighten his dress robes.
"I won't be bothering with any of this nonsense. You can all wear what you like, and I'll put a
full Body Bind Curse on Mum until it's all over."

George gives his brother a contemplative look. "She wasn't too bad this morning,
considering… Cried a bit about Percy not being here, but who wants him."

Ron snorts quietly, while Hermione arches a brow at the conversation.

"Oh blimey…brace yourselves, here they come, look."

The first batch of wedding guests have apparated at the end of the lane, where the apparition
point is set up. Everyone is wearing bright colours and rather unusual designs with different
patterns in the fabric. Some have real flowers and vines curling up their arms, while others
have robes and hats that are embellished with shining diamonds. There is a definite hum of
excited chatter as the group approaches the marquee.

"So…Barny," Fred says pointedly, after guiding the group of Fleur's relatives to their correct
seats. "How was it with the cousin-whatshisname?" He asks innocently, although, I can detect
a sly twinkle in his eyes.

Regulus is not here yet, but he too has been supplied with Polyjuice Potion with a stolen hair
from another redheaded villager of Ottery St. Catchpole. We're both being explained as some
distant cousins of Bill.

"What do you mean?" I ask with narrowed eyes, feeling irritated by the meaningful look the
twins exchange.

George shrugs unaffectedly. "You seemed awfully blissful this morning," He quips while
Fred snorts, and then they both start to snigger. Ron coughs loudly, his face turning into the
shade of a ripe tomato – matching perfectly mine.

I try to stammer something to their merciless teasing, but I'm saved by Hermione who gives
the twins a threatening glare. "Exactly how old are you?" Hermione asks with a sniff, and
plasters a polite smile to the next batch of approaching guests.

Both Fred and George school their features, their expressions turning into grave ones. Until,
twenty minutes later, when Regulus arrives.

George throws a similar line at Regulus as he did for me, but both he and Fred are rendered
speechless when Regulus merely replies with a blank look, "Why don't you accompany us the
next time? I'm sure there is plenty of room for gentlemen like yourselves." He gives the twins
a small twitch of a smirk before he moves to join the rest of the wedding guests and takes his
seat inside the marquee.

Hermione chuckles silently next to me, while Ron and I stare at Regulus's back with our
mouths open in amazement. Fred and George on the other hand, are both red-cheeked with
embarrassment, standing there with completely dumbstruck looks.

"That was…fun. I think I'd like to join your cousin for a while, if that is okay with you,"
Hermione says, giving the rest of us an amused look before walking towards the marquee and
Regulus.

Fred and George excuse themselves, to help out some of Fleur's Veela cousins, and Ron
speaks after a short silence. "Mate. He's officially invited to every family gathering we have,"
He says with a serious look.

I snort and shake my head in exasperation. "Whatever you say…"

"Ronald, is that you?"

An old witch with a beaky nose and red-rimmed eyes approaches us, giving Ron a
scrutinising look.

”Your hair's much too long, Ronald. For a moment I thought you were Ginevra," she says and
glances at a wizard walking past us. "Merlin's beard, what is Xenophilius Lovegood wearing?
He looks like an omelette. And who are you?" she asks me with a demanding voice.
I swallow audibly, and luckily Ron's response is quick. "Oh yeah, Auntie Muriel, this is our
cousin Barny."

Ron's great-great aunt gives me a narrow-eyed look. "Another Weasley? You breed like
gnomes," she comments, and then arches a brow at Ron. "Isn't Harry Potter here? I was
hoping to meet him. I thought he was a friend of yours, Ronald, or have you merely been
boasting?"

Ron clears his throat, stammering slightly his reply, "No – he couldn't come –"

Muriel lets out an exasperated huff. "Hmm. Made an excuse, did he? Not as gormless as he
looks in press photographs, then," She says and glances at me, "I've just been instructing the
bride on how best to wear my tiara," she says primly. "Goblin-made, you know, and been in
my family for centuries. She's a good-looking girl, but still – French," she mutters, with a
small twitch in her nose. "Well, find me a good seat, Ronald, I am a hundred and seven and I
ought not to be on my feet for too long."

Ron gives me a suffering look as he leads her away, and I let out a relieved breath.

"Wotcher," a voice says partly behind me.

I turn around with a smile, recognising Tonks's voice, and give her a once over. "Hey Tonks.
Nice hair," I say with a grin.

Her hair is blonde and straight, reaching down to the small of her back. Lupin's with her,
giving me that strained smile again. I wonder if everything is okay with him…

"Arthur told us you were the one with the curly hair," she whispers as I lead them towards
their seats. "Everything went okay?" She asks conspiratorially, evidently hinting towards last
night.

I wish everyone would just drop it. It's none of their business. But there's no teasing in
Tonks's eyes, so I merely give her a nod. "Yeah, it was okay."

"What are you talking about?" Lupin asks curiously, talking for the first time.

Tonks gives him a look, as if she is explaining something to a child. "I'll tell you another
time, honey."

Tonks winks at me, and then she and Lupin take their seats on the row in front of Regulus.
This gives me the opportunity to exchange a quick look with him. Even if I hadn't met him in
his disguise of a redheaded, long-limbed teenager, I'd instantly recognise him from the
familiar blank expression and rigid posture. I give him a small grin, to which he replies with
an amused twitch of his lips.

Tonks doesn't miss our exchange, and subtly glances at Regulus, before turning back to me
with an arched brow, as if telling me how obvious we are. I hastily go back to the front of the
marquee, to see if I'm still needed with guiding the guests.
Instead, I bump into Ron, who is talking with the most peculiar looking wizard. The man is
slightly cross-eyed with shoulder-length white hair and robes of an eye-watering shade of
egg-yolk yellow. The wizard Ron's aunt called Xenophilius Lovegood. This must be Luna's
father, then.

I introduce myself, and immediately fix my eyes to the odd symbol, something like a
triangular eye, dangling in a golden chain against his chest. Luna joins her father and greets
us with a glowing smile, somehow recognising me through the Polyjuice potion.

There's a rather awkward discussion about Gnome saliva, before Luna and her father leave to
take their seats.

Hermione joins us then, looking slightly flushed. "I just met your Great-Aunt Muriel. You
know what she said to me?" She asks Ron, who grimaces.

"Do I want to hear it?" Ron asks tentatively.

Hermione lets out a quiet, dry laugh. "She said, 'Oh dear, you are the Muggle-born, aren't
you?' and then, 'Bad posture and skinny ankles.'"

Ron lets out a quiet wince and looks apologetic. "Don't take it personally. She's rude to
everyone. Said I look like Gin…can you imagine that?" Ron says incredulously, and when
Hermione gives him an assessing, contemplative look, Ron grumbles, "Don't answer that."

Hermione sniggers, and Ron clears his throat. "Seriously, you look amazing, Hermione," he
says gently.

I too take a glance at her. She’s wearing a floaty, lilac-coloured dress with matching heels,
and her hair is shiny and straight. I voice my agreements.

Hermione blushes slightly, and gives us both a bashful smile. "Thank you."

"Nightmare, Muriel is," Ron mutters after glancing around us to make sure she's still seated
inside the marquee. "She used to come for Christmas every year. Then, thank God, she took
offense because Fred and George set off a Dungbomb under her chair at dinner…"

"Talking about Muriel?" George chuckles, approaching us with Fred. "She just told me my
ears are lopsided. Old bat. I wish old Uncle Bilius was still with us, though; he was a right
laugh at weddings."

Hermione frowns at the twins. "Wasn't he the one who saw a Grim and died twenty-four
hours later?"

George shrugs. "Well, yeah, he went a bit odd towards the end."

Fred nods in agreement. "But before he went loopy, he was the life and soul of the party," he
says, a reminiscent look in his eyes. "He used to down an entire bottle of Firewhiskey, then
run onto the dance floor, hoist up his robes, and start pulling bunches of flowers out of his –"

"Yes, he sounds like a real charmer," Hermione says dryly, while Ron and I burst in laughter.
Ron wipes his eyes, still chuckling. "Never married, for some reason."

Hermione rolls her eyes. "You amaze me."

We continue to joke around until it is time to sit down – the ceremony is about to start.

The wedding ceremony itself goes without anything particular occurring. Bill and Charlie –
the latter of whom is now accustomed to his new, brutally short haircut – stand side by side,
waiting. Then, the bride glides up the aisle with her father escorting her.

As soon as Fleur meets Bill at the end of the aisle, all nervousness disappears from Bill's
eyes, and there's only adoration and happiness in his gaze.

During the ceremony, I detect several witches sobbing quietly into scraps of lace or discreetly
wiping their eyes. Finally, the couple is bonded for life with a shower of silver stars that fall
upon them, surrounding them as they share a loving kiss in front of the crowd.

The chairs are soon moved aside by magic, gathering around small tables, making room for
the dance floor in the centre and the vast buffet table that appears on the other end.

"Smooth," Ron says, nodding in approval as the waiters emerge from each side, carrying
silver trays of pumpkin juice, Butterbeer and Firewhiskey as well as an assortment of small
tarts and sandwiches.

Most of the guests queue up to congratulate the couple, but Ron pulls us away, towards the
buffet table, explaining that we'll have time later. We grab some food and sit down at the
table in the far corner. Thirty minutes later Luna joins us, telling us everything that happened
during some exploration trip she was on with her father to study Merpeople in the beginning
of the summer. My focus starts faltering at some point during the conversation as I
subconsciously search Regulus in the midst of the wedding guests. Luna seems to realise that
I'm not actually listening, and she gracefully leaves to search for her father.

Some time later, after everyone has visited the buffet table for their second – or in Ron's case,
third – helpings, the band starts to play, and soon Bill and Fleur glide through the dance floor.
The couple is followed by Mr. Weasley, who leads Madame Delacour onto the floor, and Mr.
Delacour, who offers his arm to Mrs. Weasley.

"You mind, mate?" Ron asks quietly from me, glancing at Hermione and the dance floor.

"No, not the slightest. Have fun," I say lightly, and my friends take off to the dance floor, as
do most of the guests.

For a moment, I stare at them, feeling rather lonely. Then, with a jolt, I realise Regulus has
sat down on Ron's empty seat.

"You enjoy dancing, Potter?" He asks almost inaudibly.

I let out a shaky breath and glance around us, making sure no one has heard him. "Um…
dunno. I'm not very good at it…" I say with a shrug.
Regulus gives me a long look, and it is a bit weird, with the disguise and everything. "I can
teach you if you want," He says with a low voice.

I want to snort and tell him how odd all of that sounds coming from the redheaded villager's
mouth, but I'm interrupted by Viktor Krum who drops to sit down on my other side.

Regulus immediately stiffens, but Krum doesn't notice, as he is busy staring at Hermione and
Ron on the dance floor and questioning me about their relationship status after I introduce
myself as Ron's cousin Barny. He brings up Luna's father, asking if I know the man. Krum
then explains some worrisome opinions about Luna's father, especially about the sign the
man is carrying upon his chest. Grindelwald's sign, Krum tells me.

"Grindelwald…the dark wizard Dumbledore defeated?" I ask incredulously.

I can practically feel Regulus's calculating look trained at Krum and the back of my head.

"Exactly." Krum says, clenching his jaw. "Grindelvald killed many people, my grandfather,
for instance. Of course, he vos never powerful in this country, they said he feared
Dumbledore – and rightly, seeing how he vos finished. But that," He says, pointing at
Xenophilius. "That is his symbol, I recognised it at vunce. Grindelvald carved it into a vall at
Durmstrang ver he vos a pupil there. Some idiots copied it onto their books and clothes
thinking to shock, make themselves impressive – until those of us who had lost family
members to Grindelvald taught them better."

"Oh. I'm…are you sure that it's Grindelwald's sign?" I ask, feeling puzzled. If that is actually
his sign, shouldn't someone else have recognised the symbol?

"I am not mistaken," Krum says coldly. "I walked past that sign for several years, I know it
vell."

Regulus clears his throat. "It could be so, that Mr. Lovegood doesn't know what the symbol
means," he says politely.

Krum looks at Regulus with surprise, as if only realising he's sitting there. Krum shrugs and
gives me a dark look, and then draws out his wand, twirling it between his fingers. "I really
hope so," He murmurs, and then leaves with a huff, moving towards the drinks table.

I stare dumbly after him. Then something strikes my memory. "Gregorovitch," I whisper,
excitement coursing through me.

"What?" Regulus asks, bemusement in his expression.

"Gregorovitch!" I whisper again, urgently, waving my hand towards the direction Krum
disappeared to. "Krum's wand was made by him – he's a wandmaker!"

Regulus gives me a scrutinising look. "And?"

"He's, um…" I mutter, glancing around us, before leaning towards Regulus. "I saw
something, in a dream. He is looking for Gregorovitch, and I couldn't figure out the name,
until now. He already has Ollivander, and now…he's looking for another wandmaker…" I
whisper quickly to his ear.

Regulus pulls slightly back, his jaw tight. "You never told me about Ollivander," he says
mutedly.

"Oh…" I mutter, and then glance at the table, recollecting the conversation between us at the
Burrow. "I must've forgotten."

Regulus gives me a searching look. "How often do you see into his mind?" Regulus asks
quietly, reserve in his eyes.

I frown at him, not understanding why he's interested in that, when we now know that
Voldemort is after wandmakers. It has to have something to do with how he was unable to
duel me, and how my wand acted on its own.

"I…I dunno. Does it matter?" I ask, feeling irritated.

Regulus's expression hardens. "It does."

I let out a surprised huff, and then decide that I need to see my friends and tell them the news
– maybe they will be more interested to hear what Voldemort is doing. I stand up quickly, tell
Regulus that I'm going to go find Ron and Hermione, and move hastily away from the table,
before he can say another word.

Two minutes later, I feel like a bloody git for acting like that. Hermione and Ron are nowhere
to be seen. Cursing inwardly, I turn to look back at the table I left Regulus in, but find it
empty.

With a sigh, I finally sit down at the nearest table, accompanying an old wizard who looks
vaguely familiar. After a closer look, I realise that he is Elphias Doge, a member of the Order
of the Phoenix and the writer of Dumbledore's obituary. I lean in to whisper to the man's ear,
explaining who I really am. Mr. Doge seems surprised but delighted, and we start to talk
about Dumbledore and his obituary. I mention Skeeter to him, and Doge seems angered by
Skeeter's suggestions about Dumbledore twiddling with the Dark Arts when he was young.

We are then accompanied by Ron's Auntie Muriel, who overhears us talking about Skeeter.
Then. Then I learn the most shocking bit of news.

Muriel mentions that Dumbledore's sister Ariana – the one who died – was kept in a cellar by
their mother. Apparently, Ariana had been different, and thus kept out of sight.

Like I had once been, by the Dursleys.

Had Dumbledore really left her like that, at their mother's mercy, while he went off to
Hogwarts to enjoy his freedom and education?

It gets worse.
Muriel hints that it was Ariana who killed their mother, and then, that Ariana's death – which
happened soon after their mother's – was actually Dumbledore's fault.

What I heard in the forest, when the locket was creating false images to torment Dumbledore
– they were…were they not false? I remember Dumbledore's crumbled expression, and the
pleading look in his eyes when his brother told Dumbledore that he was the reason she was
dead. That Dumbledore gave her away for the greater good…Nausea twists in my stomach,
and I'm struggling not to throw up.

Had Dumbledore really killed his sister?

According to Muriel, there had been a coffin-side brawl at Ariana's funeral, where Aberforth
– Dumbledore's brother – had shouted that it was all Albus' fault that Ariana was dead and
then had punched him in the face. Apparently, Dumbledore hadn't even defended himself in
front of the others.

I'm beyond shocked. I don't know what to think. Mr. Doge merely sits there, trying to defend
Dumbledore's actions and memory in a feeble manner.

Then I hear something that I definitely consider as the final straw. The Dumbledore family
lived in Godric's Hollow.

After that, I don't really register anything Muriel or Doge says. I don't even know if I'm
entirely aware of my surroundings anymore.

I feel empty. Kind of betrayed. Dumbledore never mentioned it, that we had once lived in the
same place. Is his family buried next to mine? Had Dumbledore seen their graves? Why
hadn't he said anything? Had he thought that it didn't matter to me?

Well, it did. It does. He could've taken me there. Or at the very least, tell me what the place is
like. But he chose not to include me in his personal life. He chose not to give me something
that would've meant a great deal to me.

I excuse myself from the table, feeling too dazed to sit and listen to any more of that. I
stumble forward, and finally find Hermione who is sitting on a chair next to the drinks table,
in the middle of tending her undoubtedly sore feet while her shoes lie forgotten next to her on
the floor.

"I simply can't dance anymore," Hermione says and lets out a quiet groan as she rubs the sole
of her foot.

I slump to sit down next to her as she continues, "Ron's gone looking to find more
Butterbeers. It's a bit odd. I just saw Viktor storming away from Luna's father, it looked like
they'd been arguing –" She says, and then turns to look at me.

"Harry? Is everything okay?" She asks quietly, worry edged into her voice.

I open my mouth, not knowing where to even begin, but I don't have a chance to say
anything, because right then, a silvery form appears through the ceiling of the marquee,
slowing down and finally, stopping in the middle of the dance floor.

A Patronus.

There's a tense silence, and many of the guests back away from the silver lynx. The lynx
opens its mouth, and the deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt starts to speak.

"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."

For a couple of seconds, everything seems frozen. Until everyone realises what was said.
Then, people start to panic, to scream, to rush away from the marquee. Hermione and I both
jump up from our seats and glance at each other with panic written into our expressions.

"Find him! I'll find Ron! We'll meet you at Grimmauld," Hermione says quickly, her voice
trembling with fear.

I give her a jerky nod, and just then, several dark figures apparate inside the marquee,
creating more panic and chaos. The wards of the Burrow are broken. Many guests
disapparate the moment they realise it is possible to do so, but several stay behind, running
aimlessly towards safety, while wands are drawn and spells are being cast.

Shit.

I can hear Hermione screaming for Ron, and I look wildly around me, trying to find Regulus,
but unable to yell his name, since there's the risk of someone hearing me. I push forward
towards the other side of the dance floor and see that some of the Death Eaters are shooting
spells towards the guests.

"Protego!" I hear someone yelling, and then see Lupin and Tonks raising their wands against
some of the intruders, trying to protect the guests.

I'm being pushed and shoved by people around me, and end up stumbling through the crowd
as occasional jets of light fly above me. "Shit…where the hell are you?!" I curse under my
breath, and try to move towards the other side of the room. I hear more spells, more shield
charms being cast, and I pray that Hermione and Ron have already escaped into safety.

What if something's happened to them? Or Regulus? Bloody hell, we should've stayed

together!

Then, after what feels like a long moment, I finally see Regulus, gazing wildly around the
room, trying to find me. Relief fills my chest and I run towards him. As soon as we meet,
Regulus grabs my hand in a tight grip and I feel him turning on the spot.

The world spins around me, darkness pressing in upon me, and then we land on the top steps
outside of Grimmauld Place. Immediately, Regulus pushes me inside and follows me after
gazing at the street behind him.

Regulus flicks his wand in the air, his eyes moving around the entrance hall. "We're alone."
He mutters after a moment, turning to look at me.
"D-Did you see Ron? Hermione?" I ask quickly, my voice faltering. I try to swallow the
tightness away from my throat. "Hermione said…she said that they'd be here. What if they
got caught, what if – "

"Calm down, Harry," Regulus says with a hard voice. "I'm sure they'll be here any moment."

We stay in the hall, both staring at the front door, our wands outstretched.

I chew the inside of my cheek, and soon I'm tasting blood. Seconds turn into minutes, and for
a moment I wonder if I clench my jaw any harder, will my teeth break?

Then, finally, the door opens, and my friends are there.

"Bloody hell," I grunt, and rush forward, throwing myself towards them and pulling them
both into a bone-crushing hug.

Hermione lets out a quiet sob, while Ron wheezes slightly. "Mate, you're crushing my
windpipe…" He mutters, and I eventually pull back.

"I-I thought…I thought – " I gasp, and Hermione nods, her eyes glistening slightly.

"I know," She says shakily, and pulls me into another hug. "We're safe now."

Ron pats me on the shoulder, and moves past us, further into the hall where Regulus is
waiting.

"Let's go downstairs," Regulus mutters the moment Hermione and I pull away from each
other.

The three of us follow him into the kitchen, where Kreacher puts together some tea and
sandwiches for us.

"The others – everybody at the wedding –" I say, the first to break the long silence. It must be
getting close to midnight already.

We're sitting at the long wooden table in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, with Hermione and
Ron opposite to Regulus and me.

"We can't worry about that now," Hermione says with a small frown, her fingers playing with
her cup. "It's you they're after, Harry, and we'd just put everyone in even more danger by
going back."

Ron frowns but then nods. "She's right. Most of the Order was there, they'll look after
everyone."

I don't miss the flash of doubt in Ron's expression. I rub the bridge of my nose. "Yeah." I
mutter, even though the mere thought of leaving everyone behind makes my chest ache with
fear.
"Is there a way to find out what's going on…?" Ron asks, glancing at Hermione and then
Regulus.

Regulus's brows twitch slightly. "If he has taken over the Ministry, there is not much to find
out. We cannot trust anyone…" He says mutedly, a contemplative expression in place.

Ron lets out a frustrated sigh, and Hermione takes his hand, giving it a small squeeze.
"They'll be okay, Ron, I'm sure of it," she whispers.

Her words go to deaf ears as Ron stands up and starts to pace in front of the fireplace.

"Should we try to send a message to them?" Hermione asks, eyeing Regulus and me with a
hesitant look.

Regulus licks his lips in thought. "It might cause harm to them – I think we should wait for
them to contact us – "

Regulus's voice fades away as a sharp, searing pain fills every corner of my mind. I let out a
loud shriek of pain, grabbing my head with my both hands. There's a large shadow in front of
my closed eyelids, and fury that is not my own, poisoning my veins.

"Harry!"

I blink my eyes open, realising that Regulus is holding my head between his hands, while my
own are clenched into tight fists on my lap. There's a deep worry edged on Regulus's face.

"What did you see?" Ron asks immediately, leaning against the end of the table. "Did you see
him at my place?"

"No…" I mumble, "I just felt…anger. He's really angry," I mutter, my head still pounding.

Regulus eyes flash with something, and he glances at Ron, and then Hermione.

"But that could be at the Burrow," Ron exclaims. "What else? Didn't you see anything? Was
he cursing someone?"

I feel the weariness spreading into my bones. "No, I just felt anger – I couldn't tell –"

"Harry? Your scar is hurting again? Why didn't you say anything? I thought…I thought that
the vision of Ollivander was the only one…an exception. But…has there been more than
that? Is the connection still open?" Hermione asks, her voice alarmed.

I grit my teeth against the dull pain on my forehead. "It did close, for a while," I mutter,
closing my eyes to concentrate better on the present. "I – I think it has started opening again
whenever he loses control, that's how it used to –"

"But then you've got to close your mind!" Hermione says harshly, sounding frightened.
"Harry, Dumbledore didn't want you to use that connection, he wanted you to shut it down,
that's why you were supposed to use Occlumency! Otherwise he can plant false images into
your mind. Remember –"
"Hermione, enough." Regulus says quietly, his hands dropping away from my head.

Hermione falls silent, and so does everyone else, and I'm glad for it. I don't need the reminder
how the connection – how me trusting the visions I've seen – led us into a trap before, and
how because of that, because of me, my godfather is now alone in a place we cannot access,
not dead, but not living either.

I let out a small sigh and mutter my excuses as I stand up. I need to freshen up a bit. Splash
some cold water on my face, as my forehead feels like it's burning.

As I make my way to the first-floor bathroom, I can't help but regret that my friends and
Regulus saw what happened. I wish I hadn't told them about the connection, as I'm sure they
will discuss it in detail while I'm gone. Resisting the urge to throw up, I rinse my face with
cold water, wash my hands and go back to the kitchen, the pain in my scar building up. I
know that the connection is going to open up soon – I can feel Voldemort's rage simmering
behind my consciousness.

Right after I step back into the kitchen, Hermione lets out a small shriek. Everyone draws
their wands out, but the only thing that happens, is a familiar looking silver Patronus
appearing on top of the table.

A weasel. Ron's father.

There's a frozen silence as we wait for the Patronus to speak.

"Family safe, do not reply, we are being watched."

The Patronus disappears and Ron lets out a relieved noise, slumping down on his chair and
dropping his head against Hermione's shoulder before closing his eyes. "Thank bloody
Merlin…" He whispers.

Ron gives me an apologetic look and starts to speak, but I don't give him a chance and
instead wave it off with a tired nod. Right now, my entire skull feels like it's on fire – the pain
is shooting from temple to temple – and I even though I can see Hermione speaking, her
voice doesn't come through my cotton-stuffed ears.

"I think I need to lie down," I mutter, my voice unsteady. I stand up for the second time and
sway in place.

Regulus stands up too and steadies me. "Kreacher can take you," I vaguely hear him saying.

There're some words exchanged, and then, the weirdest thing happens as Kreacher side-
along-apparates me into Regulus's room – it feels completely different from human
apparition. Almost easing the pain for a moment, before it returns with a full force as the elf
disapparates.

I collapse on the floor to my knees, the pain threatening to rip my head into pieces. I don't
know if I'm whimpering, or if the person in the vision is, as the image clears up and a
firelight lit room appears around me.
I lift a white, bony hand with an unfamiliar wand, and whisper with a cold voice, "Crucio."

The giant blonde Death Eater at my feet starts to scream and writhe in pain. After a short
moment, I lift the curse. "More, Rowle, or shall we end it and feed you to Nagini? Lord
Voldemort is not sure that he will forgive you this time…You called me back for this, to tell
me that Harry Potter has escaped again? Draco, give Rowle another taste of our displeasure.
Do it, or feel my wrath yourself!"

The vision finally starts to fade away, and the last thing I see, is Malfoy's terrified white face.
I blink at my surroundings, panting as if I've run several miles.

Regulus is there, kneeling in front of me, his eyes widened with shock.

The moment Kreacher disapparates with Potter, I turn to look at his friends. "How often has
he had visions?" I ask from Ronald with a demanding stare.

The boy gives a half-shrug. "Not as often as before…But every now and then…" He mutters,
and then frowns at the floor.

"Regulus…?" Hermione speaks, eyeing me with a worried look. "What if he can see into
Harry's mind? He'll know everything. About the Horcruxes, about you…Even without him
causing false visions, it's…it's dangerous."

"I know."

"We have to do something," Hermione continues anxiously, worrying her lip.

"I know. I'll speak with him," I say wearily, running a hand through my hair.

This has been quite the evening. The Death Eater attack at the wedding, finding out that
Potter's connection to the Dark Lord is still going strong…How can we make sure that
Potter's mind is not open to him? That the Dark Lord is not already there?

Ronald lets out a loud yawn and Hermione says something about not wanting to stay alone
tonight. I tell Kreacher to set up a room for them on the first floor – the same one she and
Ronald's sister stayed in some time ago.

We walk upstairs in silence, and the two of them offer their good nights, quietly, both looking
utterly worn out, before they disappear through the door.

I make my way towards my room on the topmost floor, and freeze in place as I see him.

Potter is kneeling on the floor, in the middle of the room, gasping, a look of agony stretched
over his features.

"Circe…" I whisper, and quickly move closer to kneel in front of him.

He whimpers, and then…blinks his eyes open, looking anguished, tired, relieved.
"Hey," Potter croaks. "Sorry."

I frown at him, wanting to shout at him to not apologise for this. I want to shake him to fight
it, to make him unable to do this to him. Instead, I clench my jaw and pull him to stand up.

"You need to rest, Potter," I say quietly, guiding him towards my bed.

I strip him from his robes and slacks and then push him to lie down on the bed after drawing
the covers away for him.

"…Tryin' to get me into bed?" Potter mumbles as his head hits the pillow, his eyes closed, a
hint of a smile on his lips.

I shake my head in mild amusement and pull the comforter up to his chin. "I already did."

Potter snorts, but soon drifts off to sleep.

I watch him for a long moment, before I retreat into the bathroom, letting the heat of the
shower wash away the anxiousness and the heaviness – the guilt – lingering in my chest.

After freshening up, I pull on a pyjama, and then crawl into my bed next to Potter.

He lets out a soft sigh, but doesn't stir.

I know it is wrong, what I'm about to do. I need to be sure. I need to find out if he is there, in
Potter's head, trying to feed him visions, trying to control him. I need to know.

I take in a deep breath, and then focus on him. "Legilimens," I whisper, staring at his head,
seeking access into his mind. Potter doesn't react, and soon enough, the events from tonight
start to flicker in the forefront of his mind.

I rifle through them, one by one, layer by layer. Not focusing onto them more than is
necessary – I'm doing enough wrong as it is – and finally, I find the vision he saw. It's him…
Potter is seeing his consciousness. The Dark Lord, torturing, who looks like…Rowle. Then
he orders Malfoy into the task. But before that…Rowle – reporting to the Dark Lord about
the attack at the wedding. How they were unable to find Harry Potter there. How they are
now in the process of locating the places of Potter's known associates. Something…
Something about Potter leading them to him, by using the Dark Lord's name.

The rest of it is a blur, and for a moment, I hesitate. I know there are more. More visions.
What if there's something Potter has seen but can't remember? Something he hasn't realised is
crucial? But I know I can't. There is a possibility that he will not forgive me for this.

I close my eyes, retreating from his mind, and then, as the heaviness and apprehension start
to gnaw at my chest, I pull him closer, his back tightly against my chest, my arm thrown
protectively over him, his scent in the air, calming me.

I finally fall asleep.

 Circles
Chapter Notes

We're back in the game! Let me know what you think of this one :)

Chapter 33: Circles

Grimmauld Place, 2 August 1997

I feel the bed shifting next to me.

Potter's still there, sprawled against me, his legs tangled with mine, his other hand splayed
against my chest, fingers twitching slightly.

I crack my eyes open and see him propped up on one arm while lying on his side, watching
me carefully.

"Hey," He murmurs, a smile curving his lips.

I could get used to waking up like this.

"Good morning," I say back, blinking away the drowsiness. "How are you feeling?" I ask
quietly, giving him a scrutinising look. He does look better, quite the opposite from what he
was last night.

Potter gives a half-shrug. "Not bad," He says lightly, and then, with hesitance, he slowly
leans closer to me and brushes his lips softly against mine.

Definitely could get used to waking up like this.

He doesn't move away, so I kiss him back, taking a hold of his waist. Potter grunts against my
lips and presses closer to me, causing delicious shivers running down my spine, making all
the blood in my head to travel to my groin, making me gasp into the slow and gentle kiss.

Then the events from the previous night come flooding back.

"…Wait," I breathe, and Potter pulls slightly back, his green eyes dark and his features
flushed.

"Yeah?" He asks, a small furrow between his brows, his eyes moving between mine.

I clear my throat and force myself to stay still and not give in to the divine friction I know is
only inches away.
"We need to talk."

Potter's frown deepens, and then he moves further away, disentangling his legs. I try to ignore
the feeling of emptiness it causes.

"Okay?" He mutters, watching me with reserve.

I take in a breath, schooling my features, and watch him blankly. "I looked into your mind
last night."

It takes a couple of seconds for Potter to react. Then he gives me a look that is mixed with
hurt and confusion.

"Why? Why would you do that?" He asks, sounding anxious. Frightened.

Potter moves to sit up on the bed, his posture stiff and withdrawn.

I let out a weary sigh and sit up on the bed as well, turning towards him. I watch him for a
moment before I speak. "I apologise. I had to know. I had to make sure he wasn't there,
feeding you visions," I say stiffly, and rage mixes into Potter's expression.

"You had no right," He says coldly, his eyes narrowing at mine.

I give him a slow nod. "I know."

Potter gapes at me, then lets out a small scoff, shaking his head. "I'm…I'm gonna go
downstairs," he eventually mutters, stands up, and without sparing me another look he leaves
through the door, slamming it shut.

I let out a long, suffering sigh. Brilliant.

A half an hour later I leave my room, freshly showered and dressed. There's a tense silence
the moment I step into the kitchen. Ronald and Hermione are sitting side by side, opposite to
Potter, mirroring their positions from last night.

"Good morning," I say expressionlessly and move to sit down at the table next to Potter.

Ronald and Hermione both mumble their good mornings, while Potter merely lifts his brows,
not moving his eyes from the morning paper.

After a long moment, Ronald clears his throat and speaks. "Anything new in the Prophet? …
Anyone we know dead?"

Potter glances at his friends and then me, a scowl in place. "Dunno. Why don't you ask
Regulus? He's figured out a straight line into our enemy's head, you see?" Potter says with a
dry voice, pushing the paper to the opposite side of the table, before standing up. "I'll be at
the library," he grunts, and leaves the kitchen.

Fucking brilliant.
Both Hermione and Ronald give me matching incredulous looks. "What was that?" Hermione
asks quietly, wincing when there's a definite slam of a door, and my mother's portrait starts to
scream the usual obscenities.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Kreacher…" I summon the elf, and as soon as it appears at
the end of the table, I ask it to silence my mother's portrait.

Kreacher leaves with a small grumble, as if it is a tedious task, even though we both know
how the elf loves to talk with her.

"I looked into his mind last night, after he fell asleep," I explain to the still bewildered teens.

Ronald's eyes widen with surprise, while Hermione lets out a loud huff and speaks with a
shrill voice, "You did what?!"

"…You mean, you broke into his mind?" Ronald says harshly.

I lift my brows at them. "I merely made sure the Dark Lord is not occupying his mind."

Hermione shakes her head, her brow furrowed. "You told me you'd discuss it with him," she
says accusingly.

"I know. I didn't," I say, annoyed that I feel the need to explain myself to them. "I
apologised."

Ronald blinks at me. "Unbelievable…" He mutters and then snatches the paper, starting to
skim it through.

Hermione stares at me for a moment with disapproval written into her eyes, before her
expression softens somewhat.

"Harry's obviously hurt by this," she says, and I feel a twinge of guilt in my stomach.

Of course I know he is hurt and angered by what I did, and I don't blame him. Still, it was
something that could not have been avoided. Had the Dark Lord been there, in control of
Potter's mind, and the rest of us oblivious to it…there wouldn't have been a next morning for
any of us.

"…Maybe…maybe you should try harder? To apologise?" Hermione suggests gently.

I avert my eyes and clear my throat, nodding silently at her.

Regulus enters the library not long after I've barged in here. I'm still angry about what had
happened, even though I know, I know, it was actually a rather clever idea. How else would
we know if Voldemort was there, looking at my thoughts, finding out about Regulus, or
finding out about our plans to end Voldemort and destroy his Horcruxes?

The thought was brilliant. Is brilliant. But he should've asked me. I would've given him
permission. I still would. I trust him.
With mixed feelings of anger and injustice, I glare at the golden lettering in the spine of a
random book, trying to find a way to let go of the poisonous thoughts.

Regulus walks closer, stopping next to me, turning towards me. "…Harry, I'm sorry," He says
quietly, his voice softer than usual, his tone apologising.

I glance at him, the annoyance and the hurt dissipating, my resolve faltering as I take in his
sincere expression, the pleading look in his eyes.

I swallow hard, and with a small nod, I reach out to him. Regulus pulls me close to him into a
soft embrace. I feel settled and warm again as I breathe in his soothing scent and rest my
forehead against the crook of his neck.

"I won't do it again." He murmurs next to my ear.

I give him a small shrug, still holding onto him. "I think you could. Just…" I say, pulling
back a bit to look into his eyes, "…I will be the one deciding if and when. Okay?"

Regulus gives me a curt nod, looking grave. "Of course."

I watch him quietly, unable to suppress a small smile, unable to stay mad at him any longer,
not when he looks like that, so bloody earnest. So remorseful.

"Can I kiss you now?" I ask softly.

Regulus looks stunned for a fraction of a second, then he gives me a mildly amused look,
licking his bottom lip. "Anytime."

I press my hand gently against the side of his neck as he leans closer to me, my fingers
tracing the line of his jaw. I close the distance between us, and Regulus's grip on my waist
tightens when his lips fit against mine with purpose, our mouths soft and open and hungry for
more.

Sighing into the kiss, I slide my hand upwards, tangling my fingers into his hair and tugging
gently. A soft grunt escapes from Regulus's lips, and then I feel his tongue, seeking access
into my mouth.

The door to the library opens and there's a loud clearing of one's throat, breaking the
delightful shiver I feel warming my blood.

"Ron!" Hermione hisses with an exasperated tone as Regulus and I pull hastily away from
each other, both more or less flustered.

Ron scratches his neck with an embarrassed expression. "Should we, er…talk about our
plan…?" He asks, giving us a pointed look even when his ears tinge with red.

I let out an uncomfortable cough. "Yeah. Sure." I say, scratching at the back of my head,
before I move towards the seating area and plop down on the sofa.
Hermione shakes her head and gives Ron a withering look. "I can't believe you just did
that…" She mutters to him, and follows my lead, taking a seat in one of the armchairs.

Regulus and Ron too follow us and sit down, the former with an indecipherable look, sitting
next to me on the sofa, the latter taking a seat opposite to me in an armchair, eyeing me with
a meaningful and determined expression.

Hermione starts to speak after clearing her throat. "I want to make sure we are all on the same
page here. If we are to do this," she says, giving Regulus a hesitant glance. "There cannot be
secrets between us."

Regulus stares blankly at her. "I have nothing to hide."

Hermione gives him a nod and turns her gaze to me. "Harry?" She asks with a gentle look but
firm voice.

I lift my brows up. "What?"

When Hermione merely stares stonily back, I let out a frustrated sigh. "Fine." I huff. "I'll let
you know all the delightful details the next time Voldemort's mind overpowers mine," I
continue gruffly.

Hermione gives me an uneasy look.

Regulus stands up suddenly and moves towards the windows that are facing the street.

"What is it?" Ron asks, stands up and walks next to Regulus. "Blimey…" He whispers after
taking a look at the window.

Both Hermione and I jump up from our seats and join Ron and Regulus.

There're two black-cloaked men walking slowly down the street, gazing up towards the
houses. I can't see if either of them is wearing a mask or holding a wand, but both have their
hoods covering their heads. They definitely do not look like Muggles.

"Are they – "

"Yes." Regulus says, interrupting me. "Death Eaters," he says quietly as Hermione gasps.

Ron shakes his head and stares at the men's retreating backs. "How in the Merlin's saggy balls
did they find us?" He breathes.

"Maybe…maybe they're watching to see whether we turn up. They know that Harry owns the
house, after all," Hermione says thoughtfully.

"What? How would they – " I start, but I'm interrupted by Hermione.

"Wizarding wills are examined by the Ministry, remember? They'll know Sirius left you the
place," she says quickly. She glances at Regulus, a small frown between her brows. "How did
you know they were there?" She asks, giving him a strange look.
How, indeed…I eye Regulus curiously. Does he have some kind of connection to other Death
Eaters through the Mark, or something?

Regulus watches as the Death Eaters take one last, sweeping glance behind them and then
disapparate. "My father put a lot of effort to magically protect this place," He says simply,
turning to walk back to the seating area. "I know when someone Apparates within one mile
of this house."

"Oh." Hermione says, sounding impressed. Ron and I share an equally impressed look.

"Rowle…" Regulus mutters after a short silence, after Hermione, Ron and I have taken our
seats in the seating area.

"What about him?" I ask, feeling the phantom pain on my forehead when I remember that it
was Rowle who had been tortured last night.

Regulus eyes us for a moment before he speaks. "I saw Rowle talking to him, when I looked
into Harry's mind," Regulus explains mutedly.

Then he turns his contemplative gaze at me. "He said something about you…leading them to
your location. By using his name," Regulus says quietly.

Hermione and Ron both let out a gasp.

"What if it's not the will?" Ron says slowly. "What if there's some kind of, I dunno, a taboo in
his name?" He continues, looking horrified and excited at the same time.

Hermione gives Ron a doubtful look. "I don't know…that…sounds…I mean, how could they
even have done that?" She asks incredulously. "How can they place a tracking spell – because
that's what it is – into a name…?" Hermione continues, looking each of us with complete
bewilderment. "I'd say they're here because they know Harry owns this place…"

"Is that possible? To place a tracking spell on his name?" I ask from Regulus, concern edged
into my voice. What else Rowle could have meant?

Regulus stares at the table with a thoughtful look. "I don't know." He says eventually, his
frown deepening. "It might be possible. He has the Ministry at his disposal now."

Ron gives Hermione a triumphant look, but it lasts only a second, before he watches us all
with a grave expression. "I suggest we steer clear of using that name, for now. Just in case,
yeah?"

Everyone silently agrees, still more or less stunned by the possibility.

We go over the events of the wedding, and I tell Hermione and Ron about the conversation
with Krum. We talk a bit about the weird sign – Grindelwald's sign – which none of us know
about, but agree that Hermione and Regulus, who are most well-read in our group about
wizarding history, will look into that. Then I tell them how I realised after seeing Krum's
wand, that Gregorovitch, the man I tried to find in one of my dreams, is actually a
wandmaker.
I explain Regulus the vision I had about Ollivander, the one I saw the night we came to the
Burrow. Ron and Hermione already know, as they kind of came to see me as soon as it ended.
More and more what I saw in that vision makes sense now. Ollivander had told Voldemort to
use another wand to fight me, after the unfortunate duel that had taken place at the graveyard
over two years ago. But even that hadn't worked, apparently, as Lucius's wand had broken
into pieces as my spell had collided with it.

Regulus listens quietly, watching my features carefully. I wish I'd know what he is thinking.

"…I still have no idea how to explain the golden flames…" I say, giving the others a helpless
look. "But it looks like Vol – " I stop as Ron gives me a warning look, " – he is looking for a
different wand. Powerful enough to beat me, I guess…"

There's a long silence, and everyone seems to be contemplating the topic. If Ollivander wasn't
able to give Voldemort a proper answer, would Gregorovitch? There's also a chance that
perhaps Ollivander knew the solution for Voldemort's dilemma, but kept his mouth shut,
being loyal to the Order – although I doubt it.

Knowing that my wand has some kind of higher power, something that might be able to win a
duel against Voldemort, is reassuring. But also knowing that Voldemort is doing everything in
his power to seek a mightier weapon to destroy me, is rather... horrifying.

Regulus seems to guess my line of thought, as he changes the topic after giving me a
meaningful look. "Why don't you show them what you saw in the Snitch?"

Hermione and Ron eye me curiously as I nod and pull the small mokeskin pouch over my
neck and dig up the old Snitch from it, its wings still fluttering feebly. "You remember this?"
I ask from Ron and Hermione.

Ron smirks, shaking his head slightly. "Yeah. I still can't believe he left you that thing…I
mean, what the hell was that about?"

"I know," Hermione says after pursing her lips to Ron's language. "When Scrimgeour made
you take it, Harry, I was so sure that something was going to happen!"

"Yeah, same here. But then I realised something. I didn't actually touch this thing with my
hands…you remember?" I ask, lifting my brows a bit.

"Of course!" Ron yells, while Hermione stares at me with a bemused look. "That was the one
you nearly swallowed!" He continues, grinning widely at the memory.

I nod and put the Snitch against my lips for the second time in a couple of days, and put it on
the coffee table for the others to see.

"There's writing," Hermione breathes with excitement, and snatches the Snitch immediately
closer, inspecting it with Ron. "I open at the close…Is that – is it Dumbledore's handwriting?"
Hermione asks enthusiastically, looking at me after a beat, supposedly after the inscription
has faded once again.
"Yeah, I think so," I say as Ron mutters the words he's read under his breath. "But what do
they mean?"

Twenty minutes later, no one has an answer. We continue to look at the items Dumbledore
left to Ron and Hermione.

Ron displays the Deluminator, clicking it twice to take out the lights and bring them back
again.

"The thing is," Hermione mutters after a minute, "we could have achieved that with a spell or
Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder."

Ron nods and gives the device to Regulus for an inspection. "I know," Ron says with a shrug.
"But it's still cool…and you know, apparently Dumbledore invented it himself!"

"But why would he give it to you? Is there something else it does?" I ask, frowning at the
device as Regulus turns it in his fingers with an inscrutable expression. "I mean, why would
he give any of us these things?" I continue, nodding at the table where the Snitch and the
book Hermione was given lie next to each other.

"I think he knew the Ministry would confiscate and examine everything in his will, but that
still doesn't explain why he didn't say anything about these when he was alive…" Hermione
mutters, almost absently as she starts to browse through the book.

I try to rack my brain, to remember anything Dumbledore might have mentioned about these
items, during the many meetings we had last year. But I can't think of anything. Could there
still be something I have missed?

"And as for this book." Hermione says, glancing at the others, "The Tales of Beedle the
Bard…I've never even heard of them!"

Ron gives Hermione a dumbstruck look. "You've never heard of The Tales of Beedle the
Bard? You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm not," Hermione says hesitantly, glancing at Regulus and me. "Do all of you know
them then?"

I shake my head quickly. "No."

"Well, of course I do!" Ron says loudly, eyeing Hermione and me with disbelief. "I can't
believe there's actually a book I've read that you haven't..."

I notice Regulus's lips twitching as I glance at him.

"It's a wizarding story book for children," Regulus explains to Hermione and me, then turns
to look at Ron. "I'm not surprised Hermione or Harry have not heard of it."

"Oh." Ron says lamely, then eyes us with suspicion. "What stories did you hear when you
were children?"
Hermione shrugs, "'Snow White and the Seven Dwarves' and 'Cinderella' –"

"What's that, an illness?" Ron asks, a mischievous look in his eyes.

Hermione rolls her eyes, even though there's a ghost of a smile on her lips. "So, these are
children's stories?" Hermione asks, turning the pages and examining them.

"Yeah." Ron says, and leans closer to Hermione to glance at the pages. "Although, I'm quite
sure my copy wasn't written in runic script…"

"But I still don't understand why Dumbledore thought I should read them?" Hermione asks
with a small frown, confusion taking over her features.

Hermione's question is left unanswered, and some time later, Kreacher announces that lunch
is ready. We decide to take a break, and continue making plans after we have eaten.

During lunch, I remember the disturbing bit of information I heard at the wedding. About
Dumbledore and his family. I tell the others everything Muriel had said, trying not to sound
too bitter, but knowing that I fail brilliantly as Hermione fixes me a strained look and
Regulus eyes me thoughtfully.

Ron reminds us that his great-great aunt is over hundred, and sometimes, rather deranged.

"But why would she say those things? And why didn't Doge defend Dumbledore?" I argue
him, pushing the food – fish pie – around on my plate, my appetite lost the moment I brought
up the topic.

Hermione chews her bottom lip in thought. "I don't know, Harry…but that…definitely
doesn't sound like the Dumbledore we knew…" She says, trying to reassure me. "I'm sure
there's more to the story. There has to be."

I let out a scoff. "Muriel said Dumbledore's sister was held in a cellar. For being different.
Kind of reminds me of someone…Oh, wait, yeah. Me!" I say loudly, anger seeping into my
voice.

Hermione and Ron both let out a wince, but Regulus gives me a scrutinising look. "Care to
elaborate?" He asks stiffly.

The rage I'm feeling falters as I first don't understand what Regulus means, but then I
remember that he doesn't know. "Um…I'll explain it later," I mutter at him, ignoring the look
of discontentment Regulus gives me in return.

"Harry…" Hermione starts with a careful voice, "I still think there's the possibility that Ron's
aunt and Doge didn't know everything –"

"You didn't hear it, in the woods," I interrupt her, the events of that night flashing into my
mind. The night Dumbledore was killed by Snape. I swallow down the bitterness the mere
thought of my previous DADA Professor rouses, and instead focus on what happened in the
forest.
"…When the Horcrux created those images, Dumbledore's brother and sister, you didn't hear
them – how they were both accusing him for what happened to her," I say hotly, shaking my
head in exasperation.

"I was there." Regulus says quietly. "I remember what they said."

I whirl towards him and give him a demanding look. "Well? What do you think happened?"

Regulus's eyes move slowly over the table before he speaks. "The Horcrux. It was part of a
very dark soul. One that doesn't hesitate to use someone's weaknesses. To take someone's
life," he says darkly, and then fixes his gaze into mine, "One that doesn't think twice about
murdering an innocent child."

I struggle not to avert my eyes from his hard gaze, understanding the meaning behind his
words, even before he continues, "I would not place my trust into something like that."

Both Hermione and Ron eye Regulus with appreciation and surprise.

There's nothing more to say about the subject. I understand that there can be other aspects to
the story, and I need to find out more to know for sure.

Still, that does nothing to remove the resentment I feel towards Dumbledore, for never saying
anything. For never treating me like I mattered more than an average student.

Because he mattered to me.

"Let's go this over again," Hermione speaks, and I want to pinch the bridge of my nose.

She starts to go over every detail and information we have regarding the pieces of the Dark
Lord's soul that still remain intact, for what has to be the twentieth time.

Or the hundredth.

Ronald's eyelids are already drooping, and it is getting late: the sun has set and the library is
lit with a number of candles and firelight.

We have been at this for many, many hours now with only a short break in the form of dinner
in between.

As Hermione and Potter debate about the third Horcrux – the unidentified one – I glance over
the vast amount of research: every book from my library and from Hogwarts's, that have
something to do with ripping one's soul into pieces, are strewn over the coffee table, along
with Hermione's research notes and mine.

We know there are means to destroy the objects – both of which reside inside the Hogwarts
castle. But before we should concern ourselves with the topic of obtaining these weapons, we
ought to find a Horcrux.
We've concluded that the snake is most likely with its master, and thus not the one we try to
advance first. That leaves us the Cup of Hufflepuff and the unidentified object. We can only
presume this object has some historical value, as most of the others have.

"…And as we know, it is not the sword since it was used to destroy them – but there might be
something else that has belonged to Godric Gryffindor. So, I think we should research the
history of both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw," Hermione says, and leans towards the coffee
table to write it down.

Ronald stifles a yawn. "What about the cup? Do we have any ideas where to find it?" He
asks, frowning at the others.

Hermione glances at me with a hesitant look. "Well, as Regulus said before, there is a
possibility that it is trusted to another Death Eater, like the diary had been…" Hermione says,
chewing the corner of her mouth. "…Although, it might not be, not after Lucius gave his
away, and Vol – " Ronald clears his throat loudly, and Hermione lets out an annoyed huff
before she continues, "– um – he probably now knows that it is destroyed."

"If he knows the diary has been destroyed, won't he know about the others too?" Ronald
speaks, lifting his brows in question. "Like, the locket? And the ring?"

Potter nods thoughtfully at his friend. "Dumbledore once said that You-Know-Who was…
arrogant. That he thought that he alone knew the secrets of magic. Maybe…maybe he doesn't
think anyone could know about the other Horcruxes, or even that anyone could've known that
the diary was a Horcrux, since he thinks he has covered up his tracks well enough. I mean,"
he mutters, glancing at me, "He thought Kreacher died in the cave…And he thought no one
knew that Morfin was his uncle, and that Morfin would die in prison and no one would
realise that his memory had been altered," He says, eyeing us with a small frown creasing his
brow.

"Although – he left Slughorn alive..." Potter continues uncertainly, chewing the inside of his
cheek in thought.

"Perhaps he was confident that his old teacher would stay quiet. That the mere threat of the
Dark Lord would be enough," I tell him, and Potter's lips twist into a mirthless smile as he
looks at me.

"Yeah, that bit him right in the arse, didn't it…" Potter mutters with his brows raised up.

There's a short silence, before Ronald speaks again, with a disappointed tone in his voice,
"so…we don't have a clue where they are, right?"

Hermione gives him a withering look. "Unfortunately, no, we don't."

Potter yawns widely. "Maybe we should continue tomorrow?" He asks wearily, leaning his
head against the backrest of the sofa.

Everyone grumbles their agreements, and after organising the books, parchments and quills
into neat stacks, our group leaves the library, to retire to our beds.
Grimmauld Place, 3 August 1997

I almost stumble in my steps as I see someone in the library, having thought that I would be
the only one up this early in the morning.

Our sleeping arrangements didn't change from the previous night, and as much as I enjoyed
spending the night next to Potter, I barely slept as my thoughts kept drifting towards the
mission and the details surrounding it. Eventually, after listening Potter's peaceful sleep for
quite some time I decided to continue my research, knowing it would be the only way to ease
the restlessness inside me.

It is still dark outside: the sun will start to rise soon. Hermione is situated in the seating area,
curled into one of the armchairs in front of the flickering fire, her feet tucked beneath her.

"Good morning," I greet politely, and walk further into the library.

Hermione lifts her head from the book where her nose is nearly buried, to give me a surprised
smile and a nod. "Good morning, Regulus," she says and lowers the book on her lap.
"Couldn't sleep?"

I give her a noncommittal sound in reply, and then move past her, towards the other end of
the library. We have work to do.

During the summer, after I came back to Grimmauld Place and was healed enough for Lupin
and my cousin to leave me be for a brief moment every now and then, I did browse through
several books that could help us determine the origins of the piece of the Dark Lord's soul
that still remains unidentified. The Headmaster was dead, and as he was the most acquainted
with the Dark Lord's past, he also had the best insight in matters regarding the Horcruxes.
How unfortunate for us.

I walk slowly around the library, running the list of books in my head that could provide to be
useful. Summoning them wandlessly, one by one, a small collection of books trails behind me
as I sit down in the seating area, organising them on the coffee table with a flick of my wrist.

Hermione watches my movements carefully over her book, and eventually she lowers it,
closing it before placing it on the coffee table between us.

"What are those?" She asks and gives the books I brought a curious glance.

"Historical artefacts, wizarding history, anything that mentions one of the Hogwarts
founders," I tell her, and take the topmost one, Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding History, and
open it after shifting in my armchair into a better reading position.

"Go ahead," I murmur at her, my eyes and my concentration already in the text.

Hermione picks up the next book, and then there's silence, only filled by occasional questions
and comments as we go through our respective volumes.
There is something rather soothing, sitting in calmness and quietness while the sun starts to
slowly rise outside the tall windows, bringing light into the dark corners of the library.

After nearly two hours, two books, and two feet of notes, we decide to have a break and go to
breakfast.

Potter and Ronald are already in the kitchen, both looking sleep-ruffled and still not entirely
awaken, grumbling their good mornings to us.

"Did you two sleep at all last night?" Ronald asks wryly after a large gulp of coffee.

Hermione gives him a pointed look. "Not all of us need a ten-hour beauty sleep."

Potter snorts and then lifts his brows at Hermione and me, a hopeful look crossing his face.
"Solved our mysteries already?"

"Hoping to get out of research?" Hermione counters him, giving him an unimpressed look.

Potter and Ronald exchange a sheepish look. "I suppose…" he says with a small cringe.

Hermione huffs. "No such luck."

Ronald groans and thumps his head against the table.

There's nothing particular in the morning paper, which is somewhat unnerving as the
Ministry – and by extension, the Daily Prophet, is now in control of the Dark Lord. It is
unlikely that he would not use it in his advantage.

After breakfast, we are back in the library seating area.

Potter frowns at the table as he speaks. "At least two of the Horcruxes were hidden in places
that had some kind of meaning to him – the Gaunt Shack and the cave…I think we ought to
start with places that were important to Vol – "

"Didn't we agree not to say that?" Ronald quips suddenly, interrupting him.

Potter gives his friend a wry look but then nods. "Fine. I think we ought to go over the places
that were important to You-Know-Who. Where he lived and visited..."

Hermione nods in agreement. "Sounds good to me. Any suggestions?" She asks, glancing
each of us.

"Well, there's the orphanage where he was born and raised. Then there's Hogwarts. Borgin
and Burkes, and then…Albania," Potter says, and I have to admit to be slightly impressed by
Potter's knowledge about him, even if it is through Albus Dumbledore.

Ronald scratches his jaw thoughtfully. "Would he have hidden anything in the orphanage?
Wasn't he…kind of…miserable there?"
Potter gives him a quick nod. "Yeah, I think he wouldn't have. I think he was determined to
escape there, and…somehow, I don't see him hiding a part of his soul there…"

I clear my throat. "I agree. It would seem below him to place such essential part of him
among the people he despises. The Muggles," I say simply, and don't miss the way Hermione
flinches.

Potter hums quietly. "Dumbledore once said that V…You-Know-Who," he quickly corrects,
"wanted to know everything there was about magic, that he was a bit obsessed by it. He
would've sought out something…more magical."

"Like?" Ronald asks with his brows lifted.

Potter shrugs. "Hogwarts. Ministry of Magic. Gringotts even."

Ronald lets out a dark chuckle. "I'd rather take Albania than either of those three…" he
mutters.

"There can't be anything in Albania," Hermione says thoughtfully. "He'd already made five of
his Horcruxes before he went into exile, and Dumbledore was certain the snake is the sixth,"
she continues. "We know the snake's not in Albania, it's usually with Vol—"

"Oi!"

Hermione grits her teeth and narrows her eyes at Ronald. "Fine! The snake is usually with
You-Know-Who—happy?"

Ronald gives her an innocent smile. "Not particularly."

"And I can't see him hiding anything at Borgin and Burkes." Potter says with a small shake of
his head. "Borgin and Burke were experts at Dark objects, they would've recognised a
Horcrux straightaway."

Hermione nods in agreement. "But surely, if he had managed to hide something to Hogwarts,
Dumbledore would've found it?"

"Not necessarily. Even Dumbledore didn't know all the hidden secrets of Hogwarts.
Remember the Chamber of Secrets?" Potter asks pointedly. "If there was one place that was
really important to him, I bet it was Hogwarts. His first real home, the place that meant he
was special…"

Ronald gives his friend a long, hesitant look. "You sure you're talking about You-Know-Who
now, and not yourself?"

Potter narrows his eyes at him and is about to argue before I interrupt him.

"It could be possible, that the place holds some significance to him. After all, it was there,
where all of it started, where he recruited his first followers," I tell the others.
"…and where he murdered the first time." Potter grumbles, his face hardening as he stares at
the table.

I give Potter a glance, but choose not to say more to the subject, since even if Potter's
argument is probable, I doubt it would be the reason the Dark Lord would hold the place in a
sentimental value.

Ronald lets out a weary sigh and rubs his face before he speaks. "So, Hogwarts, Gringotts
and the Ministry. Brilliant," he says ironically. "Where do we go first?"
 Don’t Forget About Me
Chapter Notes

Hello everyone! The next chapter is here! Let me know what you think :)

Chapter 34: Don't Forget About Me

Grimmauld Place, 4 August 1997

"Bloody hell, that hurt!" Ronald yells and gives Potter a mild glare.

Hermione winces next to me as Potter quips back to his friend something about it hurting
much more when receiving one from the end of the Dark Lord's wand. Potter's
using his name and everything, a defiant look on his face, as if to challenge us to reprimand
him for it.

I suppress the irritation Potter's behaviour rouses, reminding myself that he is young and…
that he might be entitled to his anger.

Before we retreated to the library, there was something rather unpleasant to be found in the
morning paper during our breakfast.

Potter is wanted for questioning about Albus Dumbledore's death.

It seems that the Dark Lord taking over the Ministry and the Daily Prophet has gone
smoothly and silently, until today. The Ministry has announced several matters in today's
paper.

A new Minister, Pius Thicknesse, is replacing the recently 'resigned' Scrimgeour. Naturally
Scrimgeour's death goes unmentioned. This is quite what we had speculated – a new Minister
under the Dark Lord's control, avoiding an uprising amongst the wizarding community by not
publicly declaring to seize the Ministry.

There is also an investigation against Muggle-born wizards and witches and for that purpose,
a Muggle-born Register has been created, to keep track of them, to be interviewed by the
Ministry. Which is undoubtedly a polite way of saying that these Muggle-borns will be
convicted as criminals and sent to Azkaban.

Attendance to Hogwarts has been made mandatory for every young witch and wizard,
evidently to control the magical population as well as to capture the Muggle-borns.

Needless to say, the announcements were not disregarded or taken easily amongst us. Potter
especially was greatly affected by them, immediately letting his anger and short temper get
the best of him.

It wasn't until Ronald had suggested – after learning the day before, that my brother and I
used to do so – a practice duel in order to dissolve some of the rage, that Potter had somewhat
composed himself.

Hermione lets out a weary sigh, her eyes flickering to the Prophet's page that is opened on the
coffee table, the announcement about the Muggle-born Register on display. "How is this
happening…?" She whispers, shaking her head slightly. "How could people let it happen?"
She says in disbelief, her eyes moving to mine, a lost look in her eyes.

I lick my lips absently, thinking it over. "People are afraid. It is a rather intelligent plan," I
say, and the frown deepens on her face.

Silence falls between us, and soon both of us follow Potter's and Ronald's practice more or
less absentmindedly. The library is full of bright jets of light bursting from their wands –
definitely a slower and calmer pace than I had initially thought it would be – while the
occasional grunts and a rumble of swear words fill the silence.

Only a handful of their spells zoom towards our direction to the seating area, but it doesn't
matter as they do not pass the protective enchantments we have set up surrounding their duel.

After the duelling practice and lunch, Regulus and Ron start to inspect Ron's Deluminator in
the kitchen, and eventually I make my excuses and head to the terrace in the back garden. I
need some peace and quiet to think. To try to figure out a way – something – to stop
Voldemort faster. To think of a way to find his Horcruxes and destroy them before he
becomes powerful enough to be unstoppable.

I stare blankly at the heavy fog, my mind in a distant place. Everything that's happening,
it's…it's making me furious, and at the same time…it makes me feel incompetent. Everything
Voldemort does, it makes me sick with worry and fear. After Dumbledore's death, it seems
that everything has become so easy for him to accomplish. Taking over the Ministry, weeding
out the Muggle-borns. Delivering fear and uncertainty. Breaking the Order into small pieces,
making it impossible to stand against him.

And I know it's only the beginning.

"Harry?" Hermione says quietly as she steps outside, interrupting my contemplation.

I glance at her as she walks up to me and sits down next to me on the terrace. She stares
ahead, looking worried, chewing the inside of her cheek. I wait silently, knowing she wants to
speak about something. I wonder if she's having second thoughts.

I wonder if she's already reconsidering the mission she has stepped into. There is a price on
my head, after all, something that's putting her in even more danger than she necessarily is.
She could leave the country, let the rest of us handle the situation. She could go to her
parents, to Australia. I doubt Voldemort would be interested to seek out the Muggle-borns
from there.
She lets out a weary sigh. "We'll figure it out," she says then, nodding to herself more than to
me, before turning towards me. "We'll stop him and fix everything," she says slowly.

I grunt softly. We can try…but it's very much a needle in a haystack situation that we're
dealing with.

I rub the crick in my neck, trying to suppress the pressing feeling of powerlessness and the
need to do something about the situation. Maybe we will figure it out. But it could take
months to investigate Voldemort's past and try to find if there is someone who knew anything
useful, anything that could even hint towards the unidentified Horcrux, or where the rest of
them are located. It could take years. And even then, it's unlikely that we'd find anything.

And how many lives are lost before we do?

It would be easier to ask Voldemort himself where he's hidden them. The mere thought makes
a dry chuckle escape from my throat. Hermione lifts her brows at me, a question in her eyes.

"Never mind…" I mutter, drawing my knees up and resting my chin against them. "They still
at it?" I ask, glancing at the closed door.

She looks frazzled, has been like that since we left Hogwarts, and there's a constant small
frown edged between her brows, something that has intensified after the morning's news.

But now, her expression softens and she merely rolls her eyes, her mouth twitching slightly.
"I saw it best to leave them be. Ronald insists that Dumbledore had wanted him to use the
device to something, and, well…he seems to be taking Regulus's words and opinions to
heart," she says, and there's a small purse on her lips before her eyes widen a bit. "Not that I'd
think he's not magically advanced, I'm just…" she trails off, looking hesitant.

"…You feel replaced?" I ask, a hint of a smile curving my lips.

Hermione shakes her head and lets out a small laugh. "Perhaps. I'm being daft, aren't I?" She
then asks, grimacing at me.

I let out a quiet snort. "I bit," I tell her and nudge her arm with my elbow. "You know we'd be
a mess without you."

She gives me a small smile that fades away quickly. It's followed by a scrutinising look.

"What?" I ask cautiously.

Hermione's eyes trail over my features before she speaks slowly, like she is selecting her
words carefully. "Did…did you and Regulus talk about the…connection and…what
happened after your vision?"

I let out an irritated huff and look away. As the subject is not something I want to delve in,
then, no. We didn't. Not beyond the words we exchanged in the library, when Regulus came
to apologise.
After that, there hasn't been much of a discussion just between the two of us. For the past two
nights, we've merely slept next to each other. At nights; both of us too tired and tense to even
think of opening up a discussion. And in the mornings; Regulus has been long gone when
I've woken up. I know that we need to talk – we have many things to talk about – but there's
just too many other, more important matters to consider before that.

And it's not that I'm mad at Regulus about it, what he did…not anymore. I'm mad that
there is a connection between Voldemort and me and that there's nothing I can do to make it
go away. I'm mad that there's something…something that Voldemort put in me, when he
cursed me all those years ago. Something that makes us connected. Something that makes me
feel like I'm endangering the others. I hate it. It makes me feel…contaminated. It makes me
feel like I'm an outcast.

"No." I grunt in reply and watch as the fog thickens until it starts to rain. "He apologised.
Dunno if there's anything to be discussed anymore. Vo – I mean, You-Know-Who," I say and
give her an exasperated eyeroll. " - has a way to open the connection, and there's nothing I
can do about it," I say wearily.

Hermione hums in thought. "What about Occlumency? Have you tried to – "

I let out a deep sigh, cutting her sentence short. "I don't see how it helps anything. After the
lessons with –" and I have to grit my teeth and suppress all the anger and hate that surges
inside me when I think about Snape. "– I think my mind was even more vulnerable after
those lessons. So…no."

Hermione nods slowly, watching me with a look that tells me she knows exactly what I'm
thinking. "You could just try to close your mind without anyone trying to break into it," She
says shrewdly. "Maybe…maybe there are better ways to practice it than what you learned
from…um…Snape," she says with a grimace. "And…you could ask Regulus to help you with
it?" She asks carefully, and then quickly continues. "Without entering your mind."

I could do it…it just didn't seem to help at all before. But maybe Hermione has a point.
Maybe there's another way to practice it…or something. I take off my glasses and rub the
bridge of my nose. "I suppose it can't hurt…" I mutter and see a wide smile on her lips as
soon as I have my vision back.

There's a long, comfortable silence, during which both of us stare emptily at the pouring rain.

"…He seems quite…accomplished." Hermione mutters, still staring ahead, as if partly talking
to herself.

I give her a questioning look, and when Hermione glances at me, she clarifies. "Regulus, I
mean. Did you know he can cast spells without a wand?"

I nod. "Yeah. He said simple spells are easier to cast and maintain than the more complicated
ones…" I say, the memory of that one day spent in the drawing room, filled with smiles and
laughter, popping into the forefront of my mind. "…I think he went through half of our first
year spellbook once," I continue, and chuckle. "It was brilliant."
It was a good day. But…everything seems to have changed after that. There wasn't a looming
darkness over our heads that day, and the day wasn't filled with anxiety and occasional
hopelessness. That day, I had a plan, and I had Dumbledore.

"Oh?" Hermione asks, giving me a scrutinising look. "Did he teach you?" She asks gently.

My depressing thoughts dissolve and I let out a small snort. "He couldn't, even if he
wanted…Don't really have the patience for it," I say and give her a small smirk.

Hermione lets out a small laugh. "I'm sure you would, Harry. You are a brilliant wizard, you
have to know that."

And wow, her words manage to stir something inside me, something that makes me feel
rather overwhelmed. "Thank you," I mumble, feeling my cheeks warming up. "But I'm
nothing without you guys."

Hermione shakes her head slightly, a small smile on her lips. I know she disagrees, but at the
same time, maybe she knows that I'm right. That we're stronger together.

"We should go inside," I say and stretch my legs before standing up and holding out a hand
for Hermione. "Maybe they've found something…"

Hermione looks doubtful but nods and takes my hand as she stands up.

"You should talk to him," she says as we step inside the house, her voice quiet, trying not to
disturb the portrait of Mrs. Black. "Even if we are trying to find a way to destroy You-Know-
Who, and fight against him, that doesn't mean you cannot have anything else…" Hermione
continues and gives me a hesitant look. "…It sounded like you were happy that day."

I swallow, knowing she's talking about the day I made Regulus show me wandless magic.
And I was.

"Yeah, I know. I'm…" I mutter, my voice trailing off as a dark figure moves in the hallway.

"Shit!" I shout and pull out my wand quickly, but before I can cast a curse or a protective
spell, the figure moves into the light, hands in the air in a sign of surrender. It's Lupin.

"Harry, wait!" Lupin says hastily. "It's me!"

Walburga Black's portrait starts to scream but I don't pay attention to it, and instead, I keep
my wand steady, a curse on the tip of my tongue. "Prove it." I say, and notice that Hermione
has taken a similar kind of stance next to me, her wand at the ready.

There're running footsteps coming from the kitchen, and then Regulus and Ron emerge to the
hallway.

"What the bloody hell is happening?" Ron asks, his wand at the ready, but his grip relaxing as
soon as he sees Lupin.
Regulus merely assesses the situation and then stares at Lupin. Why is he not drawing out his
wand?

"I am Remus John Lupin, werewolf, sometimes known as Moony, one of the four creators of
the Marauder's Map, married to Nymphadora, usually known as Tonks, and I taught you how
to produce a Patronus, Harry, which takes the form of a stag," Lupin says hurriedly, and then
glances at Regulus, who looks more amused than anything. "And it would be quite
impossible for me to be anyone else since I am not the secret keeper of this home," Lupin
continues, lifting up a brow at Regulus.

I lower my wand, realising just then that Regulus would've done something if he had thought
there was a danger. I give Lupin a sheepish grin. "I had to ask, just in case."

Regulus flicks his wand to his mother's portrait, silencing the screams as Lupin speaks.
"Speaking as your ex-Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, I quite agree that you had to
check. Ron, Regulus - you shouldn't be so quick to lower your defences," he says, and aims a
small grin to Regulus.

Regulus stares back with a deadpan expression, before he clears his throat and nods at Lupin.
"Good to see you."

"Likewise," Lupin says, looking tired but smiling all the same.

"What's going on? Is everyone okay?" I quickly ask, stepping closer to shake Lupin's hand.

Hermione greets Lupin with a quick hug, and Ron gives the man a wide grin and a nod.

"Everyone's okay. Can we go to the kitchen?" Lupin asks, "We've got some things to
discuss."

As soon as we take our seats at the kitchen table; Hermione, Ron and I sitting opposite to
Lupin and Regulus, Lupin starts to explain the events from the past days.

"We're all being watched – you too, if you've noticed a couple of Death Eaters in the square
outside – "

"Yes, we know," Ron says quickly, urging Lupin to continue.

" – I had to Apparate very precisely onto the top step outside the front door to be sure that
they would not see me."

Regulus summons Kreacher and asks it to prepare us sandwiches and tea, while Lupin
continues his story.

"I'd have been here two days ago but I needed to shake off the Death Eater tailing me," Lupin
says. "So, you came straight here after the wedding?"

"Yes," I tell him. "As soon as the Death Eaters arrived. Nothing much happened after that,
besides the two Death Eaters patrolling the streets."
Lupin nods, looking relieved.

"We were wondering, how did they know to look for Harry from here…?" Ron asks, giving
Lupin a tentative look. "I mean, could they track him somehow?" Ron asks, leaving out the
discussion we had about tracking Voldemort's name, and the words Rowle had said to his
master.

Lupin gives a small frown. "They can't know you're in here or I'm sure they'd have more
people out there. I believe they're merely staking out everywhere that's got any connection
with Harry." Lupin says, his eyes flickering at me.

I don't miss the knowing look Hermione gives to Ron, as if telling him 'I told you so'.

"Tell us what happened after we left, we haven't heard a thing since Ron's dad told us the
family was safe," I say to Lupin, and both Ron and Hermione fix their attention to him as
well.

"Well, I think it would've been a lot worse if Kingsley hadn't saved us," Lupin says tiredly.
"Thanks to his warning, most of the wedding guests were able to disapparate before they
arrived."

"Were they Death Eaters or Ministry people?" Hermione asks quietly.

Lupin gives her a mirthless smile. "There isn't much of a difference any more. It was a
mixture of both. There were about a dozen of them, but it seems that they are still unaware of
Regulus's existence, and were merely hoping to find Harry there," Lupin says and glances
first at Regulus and then fixes his gaze at me. "Arthur heard a rumour that they tried to
torture your whereabouts out of Scrimgeour before they killed him; if it's true, he didn't give
you away."

My brows lift in surprise and I look around me. Both Ron and Hermione look as baffled as I
feel, and even Regulus's brows are drawn into a small frown. Needless to say, none of us had
expected that from the previous Minister, and instead quite the opposite. I feel shocked but
grateful. The man's last act had been to protect me.

"The Death Eaters searched the Burrow from top to bottom," Lupin continues after
swallowing an enormous bite from his sandwich. "They interrogated those of us who
remained for hours. They were trying to get information on you, Harry, but of course nobody
apart from the Order knew that you had been there. At the same time that they were smashing
up the wedding, more Death Eaters were forcing their way into every Order-connected house
in the country. No deaths," Lupin adds quickly, when he sees our alarmed expressions. "But
they were rough. They burned down Dedalus Diggle's house, but as you know, he wasn't
there," Lupin says, and then his eyes flicker to Regulus.

"…And they, uh, used the Cruciatus Curse on Tonks's family," Lupin says with a careful tone
in his voice, and as he sees how Regulus's eyes darken, he quickly continues, "They're all
right – shaken, obviously, but otherwise okay."
Regulus's face remains expressionless, but his eyes are storming with rage. He stiffly makes
his excuses and leaves the kitchen. I'm almost on my feet, something inside me making me
move, making me compelled to follow him, when Lupin interrupts me.

"Let him go. He's probably only going to make sure his cousin is actually alright," Lupin says
with a small smile on his lips as he glances at the kitchen door.

I frown at the table and resume my place. I didn't know Regulus was even close to
Andromeda, but then, I don't really have a healthy cousin-relationship myself to know what is
a normal amount of worry between cousins.

I wonder if Regulus has some form of connection to his cousin, other than the floo? At least,
we have closed the floo-network in this house since there's too much of a risk of Ministry
gaining access here through it.

Lupin watches us carefully for a moment before he speaks. "I trust you have read this
morning's paper?" He asks, his eyes searching mine.

I let out a frustrated huff. "You mean, read how I'm now suspected of Dumbledore's murder?"

A soft smile takes over Lupin's features. "You know it is merely an excuse to allow the Death
Eaters question people of your whereabouts."

Yeah, I realised that. But still, it makes rage surge inside me. I know what happened in the
tower that night. I know who killed him. The thought that someone would believe what is
written in the Prophet, makes me want to scream and throw things.

"The Death Eaters have got the full might of the Ministry on their side now," Lupin says.
"They've got the power to perform brutal spells without fear of identification or arrest. They
managed to penetrate every defensive spell we'd cast against them, and once inside, they
were completely open about why they'd come."

"Why didn't You-Know-Who declare himself Minister for Magic?" Ron asks.

Lupin takes a sip of his tea before he answers. "He doesn't need to. Effectively, he is the
Minister, but why should he sit behind a desk at the Ministry? His puppet, Thicknesse, is
taking care of everyday business, leaving Voldemort free to extend his power beyond the
Ministry."

Ron cringes at the name.

"Naturally, many people have deduced what has happened: There has been such a dramatic
change in the Ministry policy in the last few days, and many are whispering that Voldemort
must be behind it. However, that is the point: They whisper. They daren't confide in each
other, not knowing whom to trust; they are scared to speak out, in case their suspicions are
true and their families are targeted. Yes, Voldemort is playing a very clever game. Declaring
himself might have provoked open rebellion: Remaining masked has created confusion,
uncertainty and fear."
So…like we speculated then.

"…And now that Dumbledore is dead, you, Harry – the Boy Who Lived – were sure to be the
symbol and rallying point for any resistance to Voldemort," Lupin explains and gives me a
weary smile. "But by suggesting that you had a hand in his death, Voldemort has not only set
a price upon your head, but sown doubt and fear amongst many who would have defended
you."

There's a long silence between us.

"And then, the icing on the cake; the Muggle-born Register."

Hermione's expression hardens.

"People won't let it happen," Ron says heatedly.

Lupin lets out a sigh. "It is happening, Ron. Muggle-borns are being rounded up as we
speak."

Ron shakes his head with an incredulous expression on his features. "But how are they
supposed to have 'stolen' magic? It's mental, if you could steal magic, there wouldn't be any
Squibs, would there?"

"I know," Lupin says, his fingers tracing the edge of his cup, a small frown between his
brows. "Nevertheless, unless you can prove that you have at least one close Wizarding
relative, you are now deemed to have obtained your magical power illegally and must suffer
the punishment."

Ron looks outraged. "But that's rubbish!"

Hermione places a hand over his on the table. "We know that. And I think – I hope – that
most of the wizarding people know that too." She says with a strained smile.

Lupin nods in agreement, before he fixes me a scrutinising look. "Harry, I…I'll understand if
you can't confirm this, but the Order is under the impression that Dumbledore left you a
mission."

"He did," I say slowly, having an inkling of what he's about to ask.

"Can you confide in me what the mission is?" Lupin asks, his expression serious but his voice
hesitant.

I watch him back for a long moment, hoping that I could tell him everything but knowing that
I can't. It is a risk that we cannot take. Too many people know already. "I can't, Remus, I'm
sorry. If Dumbledore didn't tell you I don't think I can."

Lupin gives me a disappointed look. "I thought you'd say that. But I might still be of some
use to you. You know what I am and what I can do. I could come with you to provide
protection. There would be no need to tell me exactly what you are up to."
I feel tempted by his offer…Maybe we could use him, to take his offer and let him help. And
maybe it could be possible to do so without letting him know about our mission. My
speculation is interrupted by Hermione's bewildered look and confused tone of voice.

"But what about Tonks?" she asks.

"What about her?" Lupin counters, sounding…too distant, for some reason.

"Well," Hermione continues. "You're married! How does she feel about you going away with
us?"

Lupin averts his gaze and stares at the table aloofly. "Dora will be perfectly safe. She'll be at
her parents' house."

"What?" I ask, feeling more baffled by the minute. "Why would she stay there?"

Tonks is an Auror, isn't she? Why would she go into hiding when there's a fight to be fought?
When her husband is there in the midst of it as well?

"Remus," Hermione says with a careful voice. "Is everything all right…you know…between
you and – "

"Everything is fine, thank you," Lupin says sharply, interrupting her.

Hermione blushes, while Ron's brows lift up and I too give Lupin an incredulous look.

Lupin lets out an exasperated sigh and looks like he's swallowed something bitter. "Dora is
going to have a baby."

What? Well... that is something unexpected!

"Oh, how wonderful!" Hermione squeals suddenly, undoubtedly as dumbstruck as I feel.

"Excellent!" Ron follows, a wide grin on his face.

"Yeah. Wow. Congratulations, Remus!" I say, smiling brightly at the man.

Lupin on the other hand…doesn't look at all excited by the fact that he's going to be a father.
Instead, he brushes it off with a tight smile and continues the previous topic. "So…do you
accept my offer? I cannot believe that Dumbledore would have disapproved, he appointed me
your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, after all. And I must tell you that I believe we
are facing magic many of us have never encountered or imagined."

Ron and Hermione both give me a confused look.

What the hell?

"Just – just to be clear," I say, feeling stunned. "You want to leave Tonks at her parents' house
and come away with us?"
"She'll be perfectly safe there; they'll look after her. Harry, I'm sure James would have wanted
me to stick with you." Lupin says, speaking with such indifference that I almost can't believe
what I'm hearing.

Is this truly the same man who taught me once, not only to protect myself, but helping me
become my best self? …And now, he's abandoning his own kid, exchanging his family for a
chance of an adventure?

"Well," I reply slowly, "I'm not. I'm pretty sure my father would have wanted to know why
you aren't sticking with your own kid, actually."

Lupin's eyes widen with hurt and surprise as if I've slapped him.

From the corner of my eye I notice both Ron and Hermione sitting tensely, watching the
situation with shocked expressions.

Lupin swallows hard. "You don't understand."

"Explain, then," I say sharply.

Lupin watches me for a long moment, before he rubs the bridge of his nose and starts to
speak. "I – I made a grave mistake in marrying Dora. I did it against my better judgment and
have regretted it very much ever since."

What the bloody hell?

I let out a frustrated huff. "So – so, you're just going to dump her and the kid and run off with
us?"

Lupin suddenly jumps on his feet, glaring at us with such anger that for the first time, I
realise exactly what is inside him – the wolf. "Don't you understand what I've done to my
wife and my unborn child? I should never have married her! I've made her an outcast!" Lupin
yells, his eyes glinting with fury, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

"You have only ever seen me amongst the Order, or under Dumbledore's protection at
Hogwarts! You don't know how most of the Wizarding world sees creatures like me! When
they know of my affliction, they can barely talk to me! Don't you see what I've done? Even
her own family is disgusted by our marriage, what parents want their only daughter to marry
a werewolf? And the child – the child – " Lupin yells – gasps – his hands gripping his hair, a
hysterical look in his eyes.

"My kind don't usually breed! It will be like me, I am convinced of it – how can I forgive
myself, when I knowingly risked passing on my own condition to an innocent child? And if,
by some miracle, it is not like me, then it will be better off, a hundred times so, without a
father of whom it must always be ashamed!"

"Remus!" Hermione gasps in shock, her eyes glistening with tears. "Don't say that – how
could any child be ashamed of you?"
I shake my head slowly as I clench my jaw, feeling overwhelmed, feeling enraged, feeling so,
so, so fucking angry. "Oh, I don't know, Hermione," I say to her, my voice shaking as I try to
not scream at the man in front of me. "I'd be pretty ashamed of him."

I stand up and step closer to Lupin, who looks like I've said something unforgivable.
Something extremely hurtful. And maybe I have. But I don't care. I cannot care, because
what I'm hearing…it cannot fucking be what I'm hearing. Not from him.

"If the new regime thinks Muggle-borns are bad," I continue, glaring up at Lupin. "What will
they do to a half-werewolf whose father's in the Order? My father died trying to protect my
mother and me, and you reckon he'd tell you to abandon your kid to go on an adventure with
us?"

Lupin lets out an outraged scoff. "How – how dare you? This is not about a desire for – for
danger or personal glory – how dare you suggest such a – "

"What the hell is happening in here?" Regulus loud voice cuts through him.

There's a tense silence, during which both Lupin and I glare at each other, both of us
breathing heavily and seething at the other.

Regulus closes the kitchen door and walks closer to us. "I asked, what is happening in here?"
He asks with a cold and sharp voice.

As I calm down, I realise I might've gone too far. My thoughts are confirmed when Lupin's
expression turns sad and hopeless.

Hermione clears her throat. "Um…we, um…learned that Remus and Tonks are going to have
a baby," she says, trying to sound enthusiastic but failing miserably. "…And, um…there was
a…misunderstanding…"

Lupin gives me a long look, filled with disappointment and hurt before he nods to himself. "I
should go," he mutters, turning towards the door, towards Regulus.

"A word, Lupin? Before you go." Regulus says flatly, and then steps towards the door,
waiting Lupin to follow him towards upstairs.

Lupin doesn't say anything, and merely walks quickly through the door followed by Regulus,
who throws us a threatening look, wordlessly telling us to stay put.

When the door is closed, I let out a shaky breath and walk back to the table, slumping down
opposite to Hermione and Ron, feeling like there's a heavy force pressing down my
shoulders.

"Mate…" Ron mutters after a moment.

I shake my head and stare at the table. "I don't want to hear it," I whisper, feeling too
overwhelmed, too guilty, too…weighed down. My mother's screams fill my head as well as
the thought of my father and my mother both desperately trying to protect me until their last
breath.
"I know. But…you shouldn't have said that stuff to him." Ron says back.

I swallow down a frustrated scream and instead take in a calming breath. "He had it coming."
I say roughly. "Parents…shouldn't leave their kids unless – unless they've got to."

Hermione lets out a small sigh and reaches out to grab my hand across the table in a soothing
manner. I pull my hand away, feeling a sudden urge to be left alone.

"I'm…I'll be upstairs," I tell my friends and leave the kitchen before they have a chance to
say anything back.

I walk through the empty hallway, heading straight towards the stairs, going up without
stopping to listen if Regulus and Lupin are still somewhere having a chat.

Finally, I reach the topmost level and enter Sirius's room. I close the door quickly, and then
walk across the room to the pictures – the photographs on his wall. I have my own stack
somewhere in the midst of my belongings, but I'm not really in a mood to try to find them.
This is fine.

These are more than enough; the one with my father and Sirius in their school robes, looking
carefree as they grin at the camera. The one with the Marauders, all chuckling merrily. The
one that quickly became my favourite; photograph of Sirius and my mum – something I had
originally missed but then found later, when I stayed the night here some months ago – where
the two of them are standing in the crowded Great Hall, in mid-laugh, wearing dress robes
and holding onto what possibly are their Hogwarts diplomas.

My mother and my father. Sirius. It's everything I need right now.

After what must be at least an hour, the door to Sirius's room opens. I'm sitting on the floor,
leaning against the side of Sirius's bed, having gone over the argument with Lupin in my head
at least a dozen times. I don't regret what I said. But I regret how I said it. I didn't want to hurt
him.

Regulus slips into the room, walks across it and sits down on the floor next to me.

"Did you come here to reprimand me?" I mutter half-jokingly, staring straight ahead.

Regulus stays quiet for a moment before he replies. "No. You are old enough to take
responsibility for your actions."

Brilliant. That really helped. I tell him so, and Regulus lets out an amused huff.

"Lupin left. Back to my cousin," he says then, fixing me a searching look.

I look back at him, still feeling guilty. "I probably shouldn't have said those things to him…
but…if that's what brought him back to Tonks, then…I'm glad," I say hesitantly.

Regulus nods slowly. "We'll see." He says simply.

I wonder what Regulus said to Lupin? What did they talk about?

"Why are you here?" Regulus asks, a hint of curiousness in his voice.

I give him a mild shrug. "Dunno. Just…wanted to be alone for a while, I guess," I mutter,
glancing at the photographs, decidedly not thinking of how only thirty minutes ago I was
standing before the wall, breathing through the ache and longing in my chest and blinking
through the blurriness in my eyes.

Regulus's eyes follow mine and he stares at the moving pictures. "He's not abandoning his
child, Harry," he says quietly and then gives me a meaningful look. "He's scared. He thinks
he's putting his family in danger."

I let out a small scoff. "That's – that's ridiculous."

Regulus hums in agreement and then arches a brow at me. "If only I'd know of whom he
resembles."

I frown at him, but it comes to me a second later. Yeah, me, probably. How I thought, and
still occasionally think, that I'm the one who's putting those close to me in danger, because of
the connection between me and Voldemort.

"Yeah. Well. It's different," I mumble, and look away.

There's a short silence. "How is that different?" Regulus asks plainly.

I glance at him from the corner of my eye and find him staring at me, expressionless as ever. I
let out a sigh and pluck invisible lint from my shirt. "Well, firstly, I doubt his son is going to
be anything other than a human. After writing an absurdly long essay for Snape about
werewolves, I'm quite sure they can only infect humans in their wolfish form, during full
moon, by biting them…"

I don't miss the way Regulus's expression darkens by the mention of one murderous
Professor.

"…And secondly…setting aside that one day in each month; his mind is purely his own. Not
contaminated by anyone, not available for someone to use it as they please," I say bitterly.

Regulus is silent for a while. "I know what I did was wrong. I should have asked for your
consent, but I couldn't take the risk," He says gravely, "You see into his mind, Harry. You feel
what he feels, you see what he sees. And it…" Regulus lets out a frustrated sigh. "…It
fucking terrifies me."

He levels me a strained look, mixed with remorse and alarm. I blink back at him, then
swallow thickly.

"I'm not angry about it, not to you. I mean, I was," I correct, when I see Regulus lifting his
brows. "But I know why you did it. And I know that…that if he had been there, seeing what
I'm seeing, hearing what I'm hearing…we wouldn't stand a chance against him…" I say, and
then I take in a deep breath, knowing that I need to speak about it with him.
"…I hate it." I continue quietly, my gaze trained at my hands on my lap. "I hate that I'm
connected to him. I hate that there is even a possibility that I'm putting my friends in danger.
It makes me feel…dirty somehow…like someone who's unwanted, and completely unlike
anyone else in the world."

Regulus's hand slips through mine, his palm upwards, while he keeps his gaze trained at the
wall of the pictures. "I know how you feel."

I stare at his arm – his left forearm, partly hidden under my arm, covered by the sleeve of his
robe, but I know it is still there. The link to Voldemort. The Mark.

And I realise how much I've missed this. Talking to him. Feeling him.

"Can I ask you something?" I ask, watching him carefully.

Regulus glances at me from the corner of his eye. "Yes."

I clear my throat. "Is there…you know…a way to practice Occlumency that wouldn't include
anyone breaking into my mind…?" I ask with a tentative voice.

Regulus gives me a thoughtful look. "There might be," he says slowly.

"Okay. Could you, um, could you teach me?" I ask, scrunching up my eyes as I give him a
small grin.

Regulus's lips twitch with amusement. "I thought you said, and I quote; 'I'm bloody awful at
it'?"

I let out a small snort. "You forget the part of my rubbish teacher. I mean, maybe this one'll
know what he's doing," I say lightly, giving him a small nudge.

I detect a small amount of colour on top of his cheeks as Regulus shakes his head with mild
exasperation. I can't stop the grin spreading my face.

"Come on, I'll try my best." I say to him, my face serious.

Regulus gives me a smirk. "I'll hold you to it."

After a long silence, I tell Regulus about my childhood. What happened at the Dursleys. How
I lived in a cupboard, under the stairs, how they didn't allow me to ask about my parents, how
they later on despised me even more when I got my letter. How miserable I was, every single
time I went there. And I tell him why I needed to go there, until I was seventeen. I tell him
how thrilled I had been when I had found Sirius. When for a small moment, I thought I'd get
to leave the Dursleys, and stay with my godfather.

But now, none of it matters. Sirius is not here, and I doubt that I'll be seeing the Dursleys
anymore.

Regulus watches me silently until I've finished, and we're left staring at each other in the
darkness that has fallen outside. His eyes move over mine before he speaks. "Thank you for
telling me."

I smile at him in reply.

"So…what now?" I ask, not feeling tired yet – it must be still early in the night. "Research?"

Regulus gives me a wry smile. "Research."

 Dream State
Chapter Notes

Well hello there! Mind the rating, there's some fluff in the first part of this ch ;)

Chapter 35: Dream State

Grimmauld Place, 10 August 1997

I blink my eyes open slowly, knowing that Regulus is still there next to me. Watching me.
Making sure I'm…me…and that I'm all right. Probably because of what happened last night
during our research session – which was actually not a session, since how could that be if that
is what we do all day, every day?

Studying. Researching. Practicing duelling whenever one of us is on the verge of losing their
minds – which means Ron or me – and going over endless discussions regarding Horcruxes
and Voldemort and magical history. Not any closer to finding out about the remaining
Horcruxes than we were ten days ago.

"…Mornin'" I mutter to Regulus as soon as my bleary eyes find his.

Regulus lies still, his features relaxed but his grey eyes sharp. "Good morning. How – "

" – I'm fine." I interrupt him tersely, feeling annoyed that I'm making the others worry about
me. I'm annoyed that I'm too weak to resist the visions, but at the same time, even though I
know I should, I'm still not actively trying to stop them. Like I didn't last night…

Ron, Hermione and Regulus all chuckle to a joke I made, all of us tired after going through
several books about magical history and historical artefacts, after analysing if Voldemort
would actually use this and that object as a Horcrux. Suddenly, a searing pain shoots through
my scar.

I swallow hard, gritting my teeth together and quickly make my excuses, explaining to the
others that I need a break. As soon as I'm outside the library, I sprint towards the bathroom
across the floor and throw the door closed after me, before slumping down on the floor with a
low moan, gripping my head between my hands.

The pain intensifies and soon, my vision is swimming, and all I can hear is the pounding in
my head. I close my eyes, and immediately a different scenery springs to life.

I'm gliding along a dark street, between high buildings with timber framing – a place I
haven't visited before. I approach one of the houses and then my white, long-fingered hand
knocks against the door.
Excitement courses through me as the door opens. There's a laughing woman, but as soon as
she takes a look at me all humour leaves from her expression and is replaced with alarm and
terror.

"Gregorovitch?" A cold voice – my voice – says.

The woman tries to close the door, crying something in…German? ...while shaking her head
furiously. Her attempts are futile, since a mere flick of my wrist forces the door to open,
making her retreat inside the house while I follow her.

I demand to know where Gregorovitch is, but as the woman fails to give me a satisfying
answer, a green string of light soars from the tip of my wand, straight to her chest. The
woman collapses to the floor, at the feet of two young children, their eyes round with fear.

"HARRY!"

I force my eyes open, force the vision to the back of my mind all the while knowing that the
same wand that murdered the woman, is now trained at those children.

The door to the bathroom bursts open and when a pair of calm hands are placed upon mine
in a soothing manner, I realise I'm curled upon myself on the floor, my hands still gripping my
head.

Hermione is there, kneeling next to me, her eyes moving over my face with a worried look as
she pushes my hair away from my sweaty forehead.

"What happened?" Regulus says from the door, before taking a couple of steps towards me
and crouching over to give me a closer look.

"N-Nothing…" I mumble. "I fell." I say – or, well, croak, and I'm quite sure I've been
screaming since my throat is sore.

"Harry, please don't insult our intelligence," Hermione says after taking in a deep breath.
"We know your scar hurt in the library, and you're white as a sheet."

I grimace at the floor and slowly stand up with the help of Regulus. I sit down on the edge of
the tub and rub my face before I speak. "Fine. I've just seen Voldemort murdering a woman.
By now he's probably killed her whole family. And he didn't need to. It was Cedric all over
again, they were just there … "

"Harry, you aren't supposed to let this happen anymore!" Hermione cries with frustration.
"Dumbledore wanted you to use Occlumency! He too thought the connection was dangerous
– Voldemort can use it, Harry! What good is it to watch him kill and torture, how can it
help?"

"Because it means I know what he's doing," I mutter, and that is the truth. I don't enjoy the
visions but at least they give some sort of advantage.

"So…you're not even going to try to shut him out?" Hermione asks incredulously.
I sigh wearily. "I'll try, but…we all know how lousy I am at Occlumency. It might not help."

"You never really tried!" She said hotly. "I don't get it, Harry – do you like having this special
connection or relationship or what – whatever – "

I stand up quickly, a deep glare on my face. "What did you say?" I growl, and feel Regulus's
hand on my shoulder trying to calm me down, while Ron gives me a warning look beside
Hermione. I take in a shaky breath. "Do you think that I like it? Would you like it?"

"I – no – I'm sorry, Harry. I just meant – "

"I hate it, I hate the fact that he can get inside me, that I have to watch him when he's most
dangerous," I say harshly, but then look away. "…But I know I could use it – we could use it
for our benefit."

"Dumbledore –"

"Forget Dumbledore. This is my choice, nobody else's. I want to know why he's after
Gregorovitch."

"But Harry – "

Ron squeezes Hermione's arm. "Let it go, Hermione. Harry decides," he says hesitantly,
cringing slightly at the surprised scoff Hermione throws at his direction.

Hermione gives all of us a disbelieving look, and takes a couple of steadying breaths before
she speaks very quietly. "You decide," she says to me, and swallows. "But try to remember
what was the price you paid the last time you trusted those visions, Harry," she says gravely,
and then storms off the bathroom.

My insides twist with nausea and guilt.

Ron grimaces at Regulus and me. "That went well, eh?" He asks half-heartedly. "I think I'll
turn in for the night," he mutters, before turning to follow her.

I let out a wavering breath, trying to ease my pounding heart, to stop my ringing ears and my
racing mind.

"Come on," Regulus says quietly, nodding his head at the hallway.

After going into Regulus's room last night, I collapsed face first into bed, feeling
overwhelmed and drained, but in the end, I didn't catch sleep until the morning hours. My
mind was too occupied by the connection and its advantages and…the danger that lies within
it.

At first, I decided that I need to at least try to shut Voldemort away from my mind. But then,
another thought came up to me. What if I could control it? Could it be possible for me to see
into his consciousness whenever I want? To open the connection whenever it is needed?
Without him knowing?
And most importantly; could it be possible to navigate through his memories?

Regulus's hand squeezes mine, and I push the thoughts away to a more appropriate moment,
preferably to be reviewed again, when the others are not agitated by the possibility of
Voldemort taking control of my mind. I smile sleepily at Regulus, feeling slightly lightheaded
when the corners of his mouth turn upwards as a reaction.

"You want to talk about it? About last night?" He asks quietly, while his fingertips brush my
knuckles.

I swallow hard. I do…but not now. At least not all of it. "I think…I think that I should try to
learn Occlumency," I say hesitantly, watching his reaction carefully.

Regulus gives me an indecipherable nod, but somehow, I know that he's pleased at my
answer.

"So…how do you practice?" I ask, lifting my brows at him. "Trying to close my mind?
Because I've tried, and I don't think anything's happening."

Regulus's lips twitch with amusement. "On the large-scale, yes. What you ultimately want to
learn, is to compartmentalise…learn how to isolate your thoughts and memories into
compartments, how to close them carefully and protect them with layers of wards within your
mind. And then, you keep them there. As long as it is needed."

That sounds…difficult. "Oh." I mumble and blink at him. "How?"

Regulus's eyes move over my frame in thought before his eyes narrow back to mine. "Have
you ever tried to push certain thoughts or feelings away to help you focus better? And then
return to them in a proper moment?"

Well that I definitely have done, even without thinking. "Yeah," I answer with a mild shrug.

Regulus nods slowly. "That's a start," Regulus murmurs and leans closer to me, his lips
pressing against the skin below my jaw.

His touch makes a shiver run down my spine. "Aren't we practicing?" I mutter, my breath
hitching as Regulus's lips suck at the arch of my neck lightly.

"We are. Aren't you compartmentalising?"

And then I realise what he's on about. What this is about...

I quickly try to pull up a memory, or a thought – anything – into the forefront of my

mind, anything else than the soft lips trailing down my neck, the delightful sting of teeth
nipping at my skin, and the smooth lick of tongue that sends a warm wave of pleasure from
my neck straight downwards, straight to my dick.

Needless to say, I'm failing brilliantly, and it definitely doesn't go missed by Regulus, not
when I let out an embarrassing loud gasp.
"Compartmentalise, Potter. You need to isolate this before you can start to focus on different
matters," He mutters against my collar, while his fingers trace the hem of my shirt.

I let out a frustrated groan. "You're killing me."

Regulus stills, pulls back slightly, and watches me with a scrutinising look. "Put the feeling
into a compartment, and then close it, decide that you are returning to it later," he says
calmly.

I swallow hard and nod, trying to do exactly what he says. What should I think then…?

"You don't have to replace it with anything," Regulus continues, evidently reading my
hesitant look correctly. "You just have to decide to keep it there."

I sigh wearily, close my eyes right as Regulus's fingers move, rucking up my shirt. Soft hands
touch my skin, and I push everything away into a small compartment – and I'm already
doubting how long I can keep it there as soft fingertips are replaced by even softer lips.

"Circe," I whisper and jump slightly, opening my eyes to see Regulus kissing my stomach,
inching slowly downwards, his hands holding me gently in place by my sides. Merlin. Is this
happening? My skin is melting everywhere he touches, and every time he does, a tingling
spark of pleasure trails down my body. I can hear myself panting. Is this really happening?

"Potter?" Regulus asks, lifting his head up and watching me carefully. Expectantly.

Expecting me to fucking close my mind when he's literally inches away from my dick.
Bloody bastard.

I swallow hard. "You've got to be kidding me," I breathe, my mind and my body coiled with
excitement and desire.

"Tell me to stop and I'll stop," Regulus says quietly, watching me with a hint of hesitance in
his eyes.

Circe. I definitely don't want him to stop. I take in a shaky breath and close my eyes. I can do
this. I can keep my mind blank. At least for a minute. I can go on without thinking about the
fact that my trousers are being opened and dragged down. I'd already call that success, since
if what's happening is actually what I think is h –

"Fuck!" I hiss, everything coming back in full force, every ounce of pleasure and want and
hunger I've managed to hold off, they all come back, and they're all out there, making me
gasp and arch and moan desperately. My hands flail for a bit before they find a solid pair of
shoulders and then grab them, using them as some kind of anchor.

I'm feeling delirious; the touch, the pressure, the pull…it's overwhelmingly intense. It's so
delicious, so good, that I make the mistake of opening my eyes.

"Oh my fucking god," I pant in shock as my eyes find the heated grey ones, take in Regulus's
features, the way his lips are wrapped – shit, shit shit! The pleasure spikes inside my body,
everything tightening inside me, and the next second I'm exploding; satisfaction and thrill and
heaven mixing inside me before I'm left gasping and trembling against the bed.

And I'm rather sure I've actually lost a couple of seconds since when I blink back to
consciousness, Regulus is settling next to me, watching me searchingly. Questioningly.

I give him a lazy grin. "I failed."

Regulus snorts quietly. "I figured. Did you even try?"

I try to give him an affronted gasp, but I fail at that too. My expression is probably still filled
with contentment and laziness. "I did. And I almost succeeded. But then you had to…you
know. Take my trousers off."

Regulus lets out a short laugh. "Would you rather I hadn't?"

I shake my head quickly. "No. Definitely not. That was. Amazing. I'm only wondering why
haven't we done that before?" I babble through a wide grin. "I mean, is that gonna be a
recurring part in our lessons?"

Regulus shakes his head slightly in exasperation, an adoring smile on his lips. He moves to
lie down on his back and stares at the canopy. "Probably not. You need to learn to
compartmentalise first," He mutters with a small smirk on his lips, and then adds quietly,
"But…I've wanted to do that for a long time."

My heart jumps into my throat. "Yeah?" I breathe, and gnaw my lip in contemplation,
gathering my courage. "What…what about the other way around?" I ask, feeling a blush
spreading over my cheeks.

Regulus turns his head towards me, giving me a surprised look. "Y-Yeah. That too."

I watch him for a short moment, before making up my mind and leaning closer to him,
feeling curious, feeling like I'm stepping into the unknown.

But I'm nothing if not determined.

"Harry!" Hermione calls from the armchair, a book open on her lap. She's watching me with a
soft smile. "Feeling better?" She asks, marking the spot and closing the book.

I give her a nod and walk towards the seating area. "Yeah, loads. You had breakfast already?"
I ask, since that's where I'm coming from, and where I left Regulus and Ron.

I sit down on the sofa, on the end closest to Hermione's chair as she nods, "Yes, I did…I
woke up early," she says and stretches her back. "Usually Regulus too is awake early, but I
reckon he slept late today…"

"Yeah. We practiced. Um, he…he taught me Occlumency," I stammer, and I hope to bloody
Circe that Hermione doesn't notice how my face is heating up.
"Oh!" Hermione looks pleasantly surprised. "How did it go?" She asks, her voice curious.

I want to curse Regulus, for making me associate him…and…what happened…to

Occlumency. Merlin. I force the pleasant memory into its compartment and close it tightly,
feeling actually proud of myself.

"It went…well," I say with a shrug, and I would have continued feeling proud, but then,
Regulus and Ron step into the library and my eyes are glued at Regulus. And all I can think
of, as my eyes trail up and down his frame, is this morning and how bloody incredible it was.
And then I catch the knowing look Regulus gives me.

Turns out I'm bloody awful at Occlumency.

"Well, it takes practice," Hermione says kindly as Regulus and Ron take their seats next to us;
this time Ron sprawls down next to me on the sofa, while Regulus takes a seat in the
armchair next to Hermione's.

"Huh?" Ron asks curiously.

Hermione nods at Regulus and me. "Regulus is teaching Occlumency to Harry. To block out
You-Know-Who," she says shrewdly.

Ron nods slowly. "Yeah, that might be smart."

Regulus clears his throat. "I admit that becoming an Occlumens without any help from a
Legilimens to test your barriers is…rather difficult. And it will take time," he says and
watches me mutedly.

I chew the inside of my cheek. Now could be the time to tell them. I clear my throat. "Um…
I've been thinking…" I mutter, my eyes moving from Regulus to Hermione to Ron, and then
stopping at the table.

I can feel everyone staring at me in expectation.

"What if…what if I could control it? Learn how to control it? And…use it when I want…" I
say hesitantly, then glance at Regulus.

He's watching me closely, undoubtedly trying to figure out my motive – the reason why I'd
want that.

Hermione shifts in her place, and I turn to look at her. "You mean the connection? Access to
Voldemort's mind? But…why?" She asks, giving me a bemused look, and waves an
exasperated hand at Ron's objection about using the name.

"You want access to his mind. To his memories…?" Regulus mutters, and I push my chin out
and look at him in the eye. To my surprise, I don't find him watching me with a dubious look,
but instead a contemplative one.

I give him a curt nod.

Hermione gasps. "You want to track down the Horcruxes?"

Ron too lets out a sound, something mixed with surprise and cheer. "That's brilliant! Can you
do it?"

Hermione shakes her head slowly. "That's…that's too dangerous, Harry, I mean…he'd know.
He'd know that you are there, seeing everything..." She says with a deep frown, before she
turns to look at Regulus, her voice becoming uncertain. "Right?"

I watch Regulus's expression closely. The fact that he hasn't said anything yet, gives me hope.
I can practically feel how on edge Hermione and Ron both are as they too wait for the
verdict.

Regulus frowns at the table, and after a short moment he speaks. "I'm afraid I do not know
enough about the connection to be certain." He seems like he's selecting his words carefully.
"What I do know, is that the Dark Lord is highly skilled protecting his mind, and even
attempting to breach it might result to…an unwanted outcome."

Regulus's grey eyes move up to meet mine. "If the Dark Lord is not aware of you sharing his
consciousness when he opens the connection…you might be able to use it against him. I
might even say that it is essentially the only way to access his mind."

Hermione huffs. "But that is only if You-Know-Who doesn't know about the connection
being open anymore. And Harry would still need to have the skill to navigate through his
mind."

Regulus nods in agreement. "Harry would need to be accomplished in

Occlumency and Legilimency before we could even entertain ourselves with the thought."

I let out a scoff. "But that could take years!" I shout, shoving a hand through my hair in
exasperation. "Isn't there any other way?"

Ron clears his throat. "Could…you know…Regulus do it?"

Hermione starts to argue with Ron, while I nod excitedly at my friend and then turn to look at
Regulus. "Is that possible?"

Regulus's frown deepens. "I…I don't know. That is something I haven't studied, or even heard
of…" He says slowly, and then his eyes move searchingly between mine. "Even if I could, I
wouldn't be able to protect your mind, Harry," he says quietly and gives me a strained look.

"But it could be possible…" I say stubbornly.

Regulus lets out a weary sigh. "…In theory…it might be possible for someone else to access
the Dark Lord's mind through yours when the connection is open. But…I'm not going to try
that."

Hermione looks relieved, while Ron looks disappointed.

"Why?" I ask in confusion. I can't help but feel slightly…betrayed. Why wouldn't he do it? If
it could be possible? If it could be a way to access the last two Horcruxes?

Regulus gives me a grave look. "I'm not strong enough."

Hermione shakes her head. "And even if Regulus was, Harry, it's too dangerous. You heard
Regulus. What if You-Know-Who takes control of your mind?"

"Then I practice Occlumency! Every bloody hour of every day, if I have to," I say sharply
back, my voice rising. "Don't you understand that this could be the way to end him?" I ask,
watching both Hermione and Regulus with narrowed eyes. "…A way to end him before it is
too late! End him before he's wiped half of the wizarding people and Muggles from
existence!"

Hermione gives me a conflicted look. "Of course we know that, Harry! But you need to think
about the risks!" Hermione says heatedly. "Even if you learn Occlumency, what if he still
realises what you are trying to accomplish? What if he sees Regulus? What if he feeds you a
false memory, and someone ends up dead because of it?!" She asks with a shrill voice.

Her words sting in my chest and make my head spin. I take in a deep breath, trying to calm
myself. Trying not to engage into a screaming match with her. I know there's a risk. But
there's also a possibility…

"Maybe we should, you know, er…talk about something else for a while…?" Ron asks
tentatively, cringing slightly at the situation.

Regulus nods and flicks his wand, sending books and notes flying to the table. "I agree."

I keep to myself for the rest of the day, annoyed at the others for dismissing my idea so
quickly, disappointed that the solution wasn't something the others, besides Ron, agreed on.

The others leave me be and after a rather unsuccessful day of research, we agree to continue
the next day, and head to our quarters for the night.

I feel Regulus's gaze at me the whole time we get ready for bed, studying my mood,
scrutinising me.

I clear my throat and watch him change into his nightwear. "You said that it's more difficult
to learn Occlumency without having a Legilimens to test your barriers?"

Regulus glances at me over his shoulder, before slipping on a long-sleeved shirt. "I did say
that."

"Can we try it? With Legilimency?" I ask after a minute.

Regulus walks towards me, his face blank. "Why?" He asks simply, stopping straight in front
of me.

I swallow quickly. "So that I'd learn faster."

Regulus's brow twitches. "And this sudden need of yours doesn't have anything to do with
you hoping that I would try to access the Dark Lord's mind through yours?"

I lift my chin up and stare back defiantly. "This has everything to do with it."

Regulus watches me silently, something dark flickering in his eyes. "Very well then. I can
help you to learn Occlumency. Nothing else."

I shrug back, knowing already that this is something I'm accepting now, but only temporarily.
"Fine by me."

"Are you ready?" Regulus asks with a low voice, his eyes narrowing into mine.

Bloody hell. I hadn't expected him to want to start already, but he was probably counting on
it. The git. I hastily try to compartmentalise my thoughts, intentionally pushing them away,
locking them securely and drawing up imaginary wards and shields over them. I'm glad that
Regulus gives me time to get ready, as this is something I wasn't allowed to do before.

Finally, I let out a long breath. "I'm ready," I whisper.

"Legilimens."

And it's nothing like before. Nothing like it was, when Snape – the murdering wanker – did
this. With Snape, it was blunt and dizzying and…it actually hurt. Snape went through my
memories brutally, ripping them open and then tossing them away. Then there's Voldemort.
When he's in there, it's only searing pain, pulsing agony and nauseating light-headedness.

I was expecting something between those two. But no.

Regulus eases into my mind quietly and tentatively, as if asking for permission to be there.
He brushes at my empty consciousness, pushing himself deeper, trying to gain access to my
memories, the compartments that are hidden behind the imaginary defences. It feels…weird.
Not painful, but more like…requiring me to continuously focus on the existence in my mind.
It is rather…strenuous.

Regulus finds my hidden memories and thoughts easily enough, but before he moves
forward, there's an actual touch on my fingertips. He's holding my hand, squeezing it lightly,
as if trying to remind me to fight him back. Or, at least, that's how I imagine it. I squeeze
back his hand and then reinforce the walls in my mind, before Regulus starts breaking
through them.

Even if he is fairly gentle, it still takes an enormous amount of strength to fight him. As soon
as he breaks through a one point of my wall, they all shatter completely, and everything is at
his reach.

Regulus skims through the topmost ones, and I feel a jolt of amusement – his amusement –
when he passes through my determined thoughts about learning Occlumency and then
persuading Regulus to do what I want.
While Regulus examines the memory from last night – the one in which Voldemort killed that
woman and her children – I desperately try to hide the ones that I don't want him to see, but
it's like I'm coaxing him to view them the more I try to hide them.

I squeeze Regulus's hand hard when the familiar cemetery materialises in the forefront of my
mind, with the familiar circle of dark-clothed and masked men.

Suddenly, the memory disappears as Regulus exits my mind, and we're both left panting
heavily, leaning against each other in exhaustion.

Regulus's forehead is pressed against my shoulder, and I can feel the heavy puffs of breath he
lets out. Apparently, this wasn't only pushing me to the limit.

"You okay?" Regulus asks quietly, without lifting his head up.

I keep my eyes closed and take in a couple of deep breaths before I reply to him. "Yeah.
You?"

Regulus merely nods against me.

We stay like that for a moment before we agree to lie down on the bed.

"Is it always like that for you?" I ask, unable to help my curiosity. Regulus seems…
weakened.

Regulus shakes his head, which is an accomplishment itself, since he's sprawled face down
on the bed.

So…he was just making it easy and painless for me. That is probably why it took so much
out of him.

He turns his head slightly and squints at me. "What was the last memory?"

I look away, not in the mood to explain how Voldemort tricked me to the cemetery, how he
killed Cedric, how he was resurrected – although, I reckon Regulus already knows most of
the events that happened that night, through Sirius.

"Can we talk about that on another time?" I ask wearily, stifling a yawn.

"Of course. Good night, Potter."

Grimmauld Place, 11 August 1997

"Give it to me, Gregorovitch."

My voice is cold again. My long-fingered white hand is lifted, my wand pointed at a man
hanging upside down in mid-air.

The man has grey-white hair and a thick beard, both streaked with blood. He looks terrified.
"I have it not, I have it no more! It was, many years ago, stolen from me!"

I let out a hiss. "Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Gregorovitch. He knows…He always knows."

Gregorovitch's eyes widen with fear, and then suddenly, my surroundings start to cloud, and
after a second, a dark corridor materialises around me, and I'm hurrying towards a room,
bursting into it, and…there's a young man with blonde hair on the window ledge.

I fix my eyes at him, and see the intruder grinning wickedly at me before he aims a Stunning
Spell from his wand and jumps out of the window, laughing.

A moment later, I'm back in Gregorovitch's hiding place, staring at the horrified man. "Who
was the thief, Gregorovitch?"

"I do not know, I never knew, a young man –"

My lips curl into a snarl as rage courses through me.

" – no – please – PLEASE!"

"Crucio," I hiss silently and watch, almost curiously, as Gregorovitch's body twists and
shudders in agony, and when he screams and screams and screams.

After a long moment, after Gregorovitch's voice is long gone but his body still twitching, I
flick my wand again. A burst of green light erupts from it, bringing silence and stillness into
the room.

"Harry!"

I feel something sharp on my shoulders. My head is pounding. My scar is prickling. I'm

shaking violently.

I force my eyes open, my teeth clattering, and I find Regulus crowding over me, looking
alarmed, his both hands grabbing my shoulders. He must've been trying to shake me awake.

"…D-Dream," I croak, and Merlin, I've been screaming again.

Regulus grits his teeth together and gives me a look that might as well say; 'I am not even
going to dignify that with a response'.

I swallow hard, still panting, still shivering. "I-I didn't mean it to happen," I breathe, closing
my eyes, trying to calm down.

"What did you see?" Regulus asks warily, slowly pulling away from me.

I frown deeply, trying to remember every detail I saw. "He's found Gregorovitch. Voldemort
tortured him, and…read his mind. He…wanted something from him. Something that was
stolen from Gregorovitch…" I mumble, trying to make sense of what happened in the dream.

"What did he want?" Regulus asks quietly.

I rub my eyes with the heels of my palms. "I dunno," I say wearily. "But I think I've seen the
thief somewhere…I just can't place him…"

If the theft had happened several years ago, how does the thief look familiar? Where have I
seen him? And why had Voldemort killed Gregorovitch? Why hadn't he asked a single
question about wandlore from the man, when he was so obsessed to find out a solution to the
problem between our wands?

It must be close to midday when I finally drag my feet down to the kitchen, finding it empty.
Kreacher still serves me breakfast, with its customary scowl that always takes place
whenever Regulus is not around.

I eat quickly and drown a cup of tea before making my way towards the library.

"If it isn't the sleeping beauty," Ron quips merrily from the centre of the room, where he's
apparently duelling Regulus.

He earns a sting onto his backside for turning his back to Regulus.

I snort as Ron whelps in surprise and pain, and definitely see a twitch on both Regulus's and
Hermione's lips.

Ron turns back to Regulus with a sour look, grumbling something about Slytherins as I make
my way to Hermione and sit next to her on the sofa.

"Hey." I mutter and watch as Regulus aims a stream of mild Stinging Jinxes at Ron, who
manages to block and swerve all of them.

Hermione watches me with a scrutinising look. "Hello." She says mutedly.

So…she probably knows about last night.

I lift my brows at her. "You know about my dream?"

Hermione's jaw sharpens. "Yes." She says, her lips pursing slightly.

Ron curses behind us, but it seems that their duel is not that serious, as Regulus and Ron
pause to chat every now and then.

"If you would just learn to apply Occlumency – "

I let out an exasperated sigh, "Hermione, I literally just practiced with Regulus before I went
to bed."

Hermione looks hesitant, but nods. "Well, I suppose that is the only good news in this
scenario…"

I lift a brow at her. "You're not even mildly curious what I saw?"
Hermione narrows her eyes at me. "Not really. What you saw might as well be a load of
rubbish. Because we cannot trust it." She says pointedly.

I nod slowly, my eyes flickering to Ron and Regulus, who are in the middle of training some
kind of modified Shield charm. I bet Ron would want to know more.

There's a small sigh and then Hermione speaks, her voice softer now. "Okay. Tell me then."

I give her a tight smile before my expression turns into a grave one. "He's found
Gregorovitch, and he wanted something from him. Something that was stolen. And…I've
seen the thief. I just…I dunno where…"

Hermione listens closely. "Well…Regulus told us most of that already. Do you remember
anything else?"

I frown at the table, trying to clear my head and access that memory, that dream, which I tried
to compartmentalise, to be used later…needless to say, I didn't actually succeed in it.

"I dunno…" I say, glancing up at her, "…Do you think Voldemort could be after something
that he aims to turn into a Horcrux…?"

Hermione gnaws at her bottom lip as she contemplates my question. "I think not…I think he
has pushed his soul to the limit. What he has done, has already been risky, and he must know
it as well. I don't think it is possible for him to split the remaining of his soul anymore,
without serious consequences..." She mutters thoughtfully, and then sighs. "But of course, I
cannot say for sure…"

I nod at her. It seems…unlikely, that Voldemort would do something that could make him
lose everything…so…there has to be something else.

I watch absently at Ron's and Regulus's duelling practice, while Hermione returns to her
book. After a moment, I turn my focus at her. She's still reading the book Dumbledore gave
to her. The storybook for children. Trying to make sense why would the previous Headmaster
give it to her.

"Have you found anything?" I ask, watching the runic script, unable to understand a single
rune in it.

Hermione shakes her head slightly, and then, after browsing a couple of pages, she frowns at
the book.

"What?" I ask, curiously.

Hermione glances at me, looking a bit rattled.

"There's this odd…symbol…appearing on some pages," she says, before leaning towards me
with the book. "Look," she continues, pointing at the top corner of one of the pages.

I give her a shrug, "You know I didn't take Runes, Hermione," I mutter and look at the
symbol; a triangular eye, its pupil crossed with a vertical line.
"That's just it. It's not a rune, and it's not in the syllabary, either. And I can't figure out what it
is…Have you ever seen it before?"

I frown at the symbol. It looks fairly familiar. Then it hits me.

"Hermione…" I mutter, watching her closely. "Did you research Grindelwald's sign?"

Hermione shakes her head. "No, Harry, I mean, yes, we browsed some books about him with
Regulus the other morning, but there was nothing mentioned about his sign, so we – " She
stops suddenly, her eyes widening, before she gasps loudly. "Godric!" She yells then, gaining
Regulus's and Ron's attention as well.

"This is his mark, his sign, isn't it!" She shrieks triumphantly, waving the book in front of my
face.

I nod at her, while a wide grin spreads across my face. Her excitement is contagious. Ron and
Regulus stop their practice and join us in the seating area.

"What is it?" Ron asks, wiping sweat from his brow, while watching at us curiously.

Hermione grins at them. "Harry just helped me to solve something! I'm not sure why, not yet,
but for some reason, Grindelwald's sign is inked in the book Dumbledore gave to me!" She
explains hastily.

Regulus lifts his brows, looking intrigued, and Hermione gives him the book, still opened on
the page where the sign is visible.

"But what does it mean…?" Ron asks after a short silence.

Yes…what, indeed? Why would a symbol of Dark Magic be used in a children's book?
Unless…unless, someone put it there afterwards? Is Dumbledore trying to warn us
somehow?

Grimmauld Place, 15 August 1997

I slam the paper on the table, making my friends jump slightly from surprise.

"What now?" Ron asks, dread in his eyes, while Hermione's eyes move over me searchingly,
trying to gauge the situation.

I scowl at the Prophet. "Skeeter," I say bitterly. "I think I need to read her book, after all," I
mutter and then push the paper, with its 'Exclusive extract from upcoming biography of
Albus Dumbledore' article to the opposite side, for Hermione and Ron to view.

It's only the three of us now. Regulus has been…in a mood for the past three days, right after
he saw my memory of the fight in the Ministry during our Occlumency practice. Right after
witnessing his brother's last moments for the first time.
He has been keeping to himself, staying mostly in the drawing room, even asking for us to
leave him alone. So, we have. Even if it made me feel somewhat affronted, since…it's not
like we haven't supported each other before…and it's not like I'm not missing Sirius as well.

I wonder if Regulus's been trying to see him…or…if he is now having second thoughts about
his priorities. What if he decides to try to save his brother? Well…we wouldn't let him go by
himself. I shake my head slightly. Even the thought is ludicrous, since none of us would walk
out from the Ministry alive…

Hermione scoffs loudly. "…all the juicy details about the shocking and fiery friendship
between Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald are explored in the explosive new
biography, The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, by Rita Skeeter," she recites from the
article, that doesn't really reveal anything, but hints that the two men – well, apparently boys
then – did quickly become inseparable.

Ron grimaces at the article as he reads it, and then shakes his head slightly.

Hermione stays quiet after she's finished, chewing the inside of her cheek in thought. She lets
out a small sigh. "Well, I suppose we could read it, if it has anything about Grindelwald that
we don't already know – which is a lot." She says hesitantly and gives me a weary look. "…
Then again, every word of it might be a complete lie."

"I know," I mutter, rubbing my neck. "But even if it is utter rubbish, I think we could use a
short break in all the research we've been at for the past two weeks…I mean, I don't know
about you two, but I need to get out from this house," I say and glance at the paper on the
table. "With or without the book."

Hermione gives me a strained look. "I know that there's only so much we can find out by
staying inside. On some point, we need information from the outside. But I can't say that
leaving here doesn't make me a bit anxious…"

I know what she means. Leaving the only secure place – our safe place – makes me feel
uneasy. But I need a break. I need to go outside, or I'm going to go mental. We're cooped up
in here, doing nothing but researching, duelling, and reading, reading, reading so bloody
much that I'm afraid I'll want to scratch my eyes out soon. I'm finally starting to understand
Sirius, and hell, he stayed here for a year, barely leaving the place!

In the end, it is decided that we'll start making outings, armed with my emergency Portkey –
which takes some awkwardness to explain to my friends – and the Cloak.

And even though I'm relieved by the decision, there's something bothering me…a nagging
feeling in the pit of my stomach…and I know it has everything to do with Regulus.
 Lost It All
Chapter Notes

Decided to post this at the same time as Ch35, as this one contains a lot of dialogue from
the DH.

Happy reading!

Chapter 36: Lost It All

Grimmauld Place, 21 August 1997

I pace in front of the fireplace in the drawing room for what must be the tenth time in a short
while, feeling the anger course inside me, the fear and the frustration mingling in my mind.

I curse inwardly, knowing that it is pointless to utter the words out loud, since there is no one
here to listen. Well, Kreacher is, but the elf doesn't really respond unless it is summoned.

Potter and his friends have left to meet Xenophilius Lovegood, a man who was seen wearing
Grindelwald's symbol at the Weasley wedding. And I'm here. Not by choice.

"We're going to leave first thing in the morning," Potter finishes after explaining me the plan.

When Potter and his friends decided that it is necessary to leave the house and acquire the
book, I argued them – well, mostly him, since he is the one who has a price on his head.
When they managed to get the book and read it, and after everyone had recovered from the
surprise and the mixed feelings it led to, they started making plans.

Plans that didn't include me, it seems.

I narrow my eyes at Potter, who lingers on the doorway, as if he's not sure if he is welcome to
my room and my bed anymore. "May I assume you are merely informing me that you are
leaving?" I ask darkly.

Potter looks down, a small frown forming between his brows. "Yes." He says quietly.

"And you expect me to let you?" I ask, my voice sharper.

Potter cringes as he moves his gaze back to mine. "We thought – I thought – that it's too
much of a risk for you to come," he says, lifting his chin up in a mild defiance.

"And why is that?"

Potter trails a frustrated hand through his hair. "Because…no one knows you are alive…what
if we're caught and…"

I arch a brow at him.

"Fine," Potter says with a sigh. "Lunas's father, he doesn't know you. And if he does…he
might think that you are a Death Eater. And we can't have him doubting us."

"I thought you said he was an ally?" I ask warningly, walking closer to him.

Potter grits his teeth. "He is. Luna's a good friend. And her family openly supports me."

I stop in front of him, watching him studiously and wondering if what he's saying is merely an
excuse after what happened some days ago. When I saw the memory.

There's a long silence, but the look in Potter's eyes is resolute.

"Then you must go," I murmur and move past him, towards the hallway. "I'm going to – "

"To the drawing room?" Potter asks tightly, sounding disappointed.

I turn to look him over my shoulder, but he stands still, his back to me. "Yes."

My thoughts move from last night to our last Occlumency training.

Teaching Potter Occlumency and helping him to close his mind from outside threats has
proven to be somewhat…exhausting. And we are both equally guilty for it.

Some days, Potter has surprised me with the strength of his mind. Some days, on the other
hand…it feels like he hasn't actually advanced at all, and my attempts to break through his
walls have been a mere child's play, after Potter loses his resoluteness and becomes an open
book.

As was demonstrated some days ago.

It was difficult. For both of us. Witnessing my brother's last moments.

Seeing Sirius in his element, filled with excitement, with fire in his eyes, and with the fierce
need to protect the others. Watching his brilliant spellwork as he fought against multiple
opponents. And then…Watching as he was cursed by my cousin. Feeling the coldness and
hopelessness spread in my chest as Sirius slips through the Veil, his grey eyes filled with
confusion and despair. Feeling the rage and the vindictiveness.

And Potter…he tried to fight me on it, he really did. But I had to see it. He didn't stand a
chance. I had to see the memory and my brother's last moments, even though I knew it would
tear me apart.

I haven't really slept in several nights. Instead, I have sat by the tapestry, staring at my
brother's flickering date of death and trying to recollect our last conversation. But nothing
comes to my mind.
How long has it been since I've last seen him?

I have to admit I was a bit surprised by Hermione's words at breakfast the other day.

"I want to go and see Xenophilius Lovegood."

I lift my brows at her. "What?"

Hermione peers at me over the book; the Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, the book she's
been reading nonstop for the past two days. The book I refuse to even look at anymore, not
without feeling a surge of bitterness and anger mixing inside me, not after finding out about
Dumbledore's past and everything he left unsaid. The only good thing the book has brought,
is to clarify me who was the thief that took something from Gregorovitch. It was Grindelwald.

"Xenophilius Lovegood, Luna's father. I want to go and talk to him," Hermione says carefully.

Ron gives Hermione a quizzical look. "Why?"

Hermione places the book down, in the middle of the table and gives both Ron and me a
grave look. "It's that mark, the mark in Beedle the Bard. Look at this!"

I grit my teeth but lean over to see the spot her fingers are tapping unrelentingly. There's a
photograph of the original letter that Dumbledore had written to Grindelwald. It still makes
me nauseous to think that this cannot be argued to be a lie, since the letter is written by
Dumbledore's familiar handwriting.

"The signature," Hermione says excitedly. "Look at the signature!"

And indeed – there's something. Dumbledore has replaced the A of Albus with a tiny version
of the same triangular mark inscribed upon The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

"It keeps cropping up, doesn't it?" Ron mutters as he stares at the symbol.

Hermione nods. "I know…And it's not like we can ask Dumbledore or Grindelwald what it
means – I don't even know whether Grindelwald's still alive – but we can ask Mr. Lovegood.
He was wearing the symbol at the wedding. I have a feeling that it might be important…"

And that has us standing in front of the most peculiar looking home I've ever seen. The path
leading to the tower-like building is filled with odd plants, trees and hand-painted signs.

I take in a calming breath before knocking three times on the thick black door, a door that's
studded with iron nails and a knocker shaped like an eagle. Seconds after, the door opens and
Xenophilius Lovegood stands in front of us, barefooted, his long white hair ruffled and his
clothing stained. He has changed quite a lot from the last time I saw him.

"What? What is it? Who are you? What do you want?" Xenophilius asks sharply, his eyes
moving from Ron to Hermione, and then, to me. "Oh."
I give the man a polite smile and hold out my hand. "Hello, Mr. Lovegood. I'm Harry, Harry
Potter."

Xenophilius merely stares at me, studying me carefully.

"Um…would it be okay if we came in?" I ask hesitantly. "There's something we'd like to ask
you."

Xenophilius's focus falters slightly. "I…I'm not sure that's…advisable," he mumbles and
looks around us in the garden. "Rather a shock…my word…I…I'm afraid I don't really think
I ought to – "

I clear my throat. "I promise you, it won't take long," I say quickly.

"I…oh, all right then," Xenophilius mutters, ushering us in and slamming the door tightly
shut as soon as we've entered the hallway.

If it is warm outside, it is even hotter inside. Why doesn't he use magic to cool the
temperature a bit? Ron confirms my thoughts by wiping sweat from his brow and giving me
an incredulous look. We walk after Xenophilius to the kitchen, which is very…unique.
Colourful and lively. Just like Luna.

A wrought-iron spiral staircase is positioned in the middle of the room, and as Xenophilius
asks us to follow him upstairs, we do. The room above seems like a mix of a living room and
a workplace, filled with objects, books and papers on every surface and littered on the floor.

Xenophilius tinkers with one of the objects – an old-fashioned printing press, perhaps –
before turning to us. "Why have you come here?"

Hermione gasps suddenly, pointing at an object placed on the opposite wall: an enormous,
grey spiral horn, one that resembles a unicorn's horn. "Mr. Lovegood – what is that?"

"It is the horn of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack," Xenophilius says.

Hermione shakes her head quickly. "No, it isn't!"

I lift a brow at Hermione. "Hermione…now is not the moment…" I mutter.

"Harry, that's an Erumpent horn! It's a Class B Tradable Material and it's an extremely
dangerous thing to have in a house!" She says heatedly.

Ron and I share a quizzical look.

"How do you know it's an Erumpent horn?" Ron asks from Hermione, taking a couple of
steps away from the horn.

"There's a description in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them! Mr. Lovegood, you need
to get rid of it straightaway…don't you know it can explode at the slightest touch?" Hermione
says urgently.
Xenophilius looks harried. "The Crumple-Horned Snorkack is a shy and highly magical
creature, and it's horn –"

"Mr. Lovegood. I recognize the grooved markings around the base, that's an Erumpent horn
and it's incredibly dangerous - I don't know where you got it –"

"I bought it," Xenophilius says sharply. "Two weeks ago, from a delightful young wizard who
knew my interest in the exquisite Snorkack. A little surprise for my Luna. Now," he says,
turning towards me. "Why exactly have you come here, Mr. Potter?"

"We need some help," I tell the man, before Hermione can continue arguing about the horn.

"Ah…Help…Hmm," Xenophilius mutters, his eyes flickering to my scar. "Yes. The thing
is…helping Harry Potter…rather dangerous…"

Ron frowns at the man. "Aren't you the one who keeps telling everyone it's their first duty to
help Harry, in that magazine of yours?"

Xenophilius glances at the printing press, still banging and clattering in the corner. "Er - yes,
I have expressed that view. However –"

"That's for everyone else to do, not you personally?" Ron asks sharply.

Xenophilius remains silent, his eyes nervously darting between the three of us.

"Where's Luna?" Hermione asks then. "Let's see what she thinks."

Xenophilius seems even more alarmed at the mention of his daughter. "Luna is down at the
stream, fishing for Freshwater Plimpies. She...she will like to see you. I'll go and call her and
then – yes, very well. I shall try to help you."

Xenophilius disappears into the staircase. I share a puzzled look with Hermione and Ron.

"Cowardly old fart. Luna's got ten times his guts," Ron grumbles.

Hermione purses her lips but looks like she's agreeing with Ron.

"He's probably worried about what'll happen to them if the Death Eaters find out I was here,"
I say, to Xenophilius's defence.

Hermione shakes her head slightly. "I think he's an old hypocrite, telling everyone else to
help you and trying to worm out of it himself. And for heaven's sake keep away from that
horn," she says sharply, when I cross the room to glance out from the window.

I'm glad that I kept my head and didn't ask Regulus to come with us. I wanted to, I really did.
But I meant what I said, and…Xenophilius has proven that my hunch was correct. Had
Regulus been here, Xenophilius probably wouldn't even have opened the door to us.

I move away from the windows and let my eyes trail over the room. There's a strange object:
a stone bust of a beautiful witch with a stern expression, wearing the strangest headdress I've
seen. There're two golden ear trumpets curving out from its sides, and a tiny pair of glittering
blue wings stuck to a leather strap that runs over the top of the witch's head, while one orange
radish is stuck to a second strap around the witch's forehead.

"Look at this," I mutter, watching the object closely.

Ron hums next to me, "Fetching…I'm surprised he didn't wear that to the wedding."

"Ah, you have spotted my pet invention," Xenophilius says as he emerges from the staircase,
a tea tray between his hands, making us all jump slightly as we hadn't heard him coming
back. "It is modelled, fittingly enough, upon the head of the beautiful Rowena Ravenclaw.
'Wit beyond measure is a man's greatest treasure!'" He says proudly. "May I offer you all an
infusion of Gurdyroots? We make it ourselves."

He doesn't wait for any of us to say anything, before he starts to pour the deep purple drink
into the cups. "Luna is down beyond Bottom Bridge, she is most excited that you are here…
She ought not to be too long, she has caught nearly enough Plimpies to make soup for all of
us…Do sit down and help yourselves to sugar," Xenophilius rambles, and then distributes the
drinks before removing a pile of papers from one of the armchairs and sitting down.

"Now. How may I help you, Mr. Potter?"

"Well…it's about that symbol you were wearing around your neck at Bill and Fleur's
wedding, Mr. Lovegood. We wondered what it meant," I say hesitantly, as all three of us sit
down on a small sofa.

Xenophilius gives us a curious look. "Are you referring to the sign of the Deathly Hallows?"

I glance at Hermione and Ron, and by the puzzled looks I know that they too don't have any
idea what Xenophilius is talking about.

"The Deathly Hallows?"

Xenophilius nods. "That's right. You haven't heard of them? I'm not surprised. Very, very few
wizards believe. Witness that knuckle-headed young man at your brother's wedding," he says,
nodding at Ron, "who attacked me for sporting the symbol of a well-known Dark wizard!
Such ignorance. There is nothing Dark about the Hallows – at least not in that crude sense.
One simply uses the symbol to reveal oneself to other believers, in the hope that they might
help one with the Quest."

"I'm afraid I still don't really understand," I tell him, and take a sip of the odd-looking drink
out of politeness, and nearly gag. The taste is quite…disgusting.

"Well, you see, believers seek the Deathly Hallows," Xenophilius explains and sips the
disgusting drink with a delightful expression.

"But what are the Deathly Hallows?" Hermione asks curiously.

Xenophilius puts away his cup and rubs his hands together. "I assume that you are familiar
with 'The Tale of the Three Brothers'?"
I shake my head, while both Hermione and Ron say 'yes'. I give them a puzzled look.

"Well, well, Mr. Potter, the whole thing starts with 'The Tale of the Three Brothers'…I have a
copy somewhere…" He mutters and starts to glance over the cluttered room.

"I've got a copy, Mr. Lovegood, I've got it right here," Hermione says suddenly and pulls out
The Tales of Beedle the Bard from the small, beaded bag.

"The original?" Xenophilius asks sharply, looking rather intrigued. "Well then, why don't you
read it out aloud? Much the best way to make sure we all understand."

Hermione gives Ron and me a hesitant look before she clears her throat. "Er…all
right…'There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at
twilight –'"

"Midnight, our mum always told us," Ron interrupts from his comfortable position on the
too-small sofa.

Hermione gives him an irritated look.

"Sorry, I just think it's a bit spookier if it's midnight!" Ron says with a shrug.

"Yeah, because we really need a bit more fear in our lives," I mutter under my breath.

Ron snorts and Hermione purses her lips before she continues. "'In time, the brothers reached
a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers
were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge
appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path
blocked by a hooded figure. And Death spoke to them –'"

"Sorry," I interrupt incredulously. "But Death spoke to them?"

"It's a fairy tale, Harry!"

"Right, sorry…Go on."

"'And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of the three new
victims, for travellers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to
congratulate the three brothers upon their magic and said that each had earned a prize for
having been clever enough to evade him.

"'So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any
in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard
who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river,
fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother.

"'Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate
Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a
stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would
have the power to bring back the dead.
"'And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest
brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he
asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being
followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility.'"

"Death's got an Invisibility Cloak?" I interrupt again, a smirk forming into my lips.

"So that he can sneak up on people," Ron says easily, mischief glinting in his eyes.
"Sometimes he gets bored of running at them, flapping his arms and shrieking…sorry,
Hermione."

As Hermione goes on with the story, reading how the three brothers went on with their lives
with their new gifts from Death, my mind starts picturing a world where these objects exist…
And really, it's not that hard, since there are such things as Invisibility Cloaks – I even have
one. But the idea that it's from…Death…is a bit…ludicrous.

And the wand – it couldn't hurt to have an Elder Wand in your sleeve…a wand that will help
you win any duel. A wand that would probably beat Voldemort himself. A wand that could
make me invincible.

But then…then there's the stone. At first, it seemed like the most inconvenient of the Death's
gifts, but…what if you could really bring back the dead? What if you could see the people
who were taken from you? And talk to them?

" – 'And so Death took the second brother for his own'," Hermione continues reading, and my
eyes flicker towards the others. Ron is lounging on Hermione's other side, his legs stretched
out and there's a focused expression on his face as he listens carefully. Xenophilius is staring
out of the window, looking like his mind is somewhere else.

"'But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find
him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off
the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend,
went with him gladly, and as equals, they departed this life.'"

Hermione closes the book after she finishes.

There's a short silence before Xenophilius seems to realise that the story's over. He then gives
us a meaningful look. "Well, there you are."

"Sorry?" Hermione says in confusion.

"Those are the Deathly Hallows," Xenophilius says. He then lifts a quill and parchment from
the table nearby. "The Elder Wand," he says and draws a straight vertical line on the
parchment. "The Resurrection Stone," he continues, drawing a circle on top of the line. "And
finally, The Cloak of Invisibility," he says, drawing a triangle, surrounding the circle and the
line, completing the symbol that has been in our thoughts these past days. "Together, they are
the Deathly Hallows."
Hermione frowns at the picture. "But…there's no mention of the words 'Deathly Hallows' in
the story."

"Well, of course not," Xenophilius says simply. "That is a children's tale, told to amuse rather
than to instruct. Those of us who understand these matters, however, recognize that the
ancient story refers to three objects, or Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor
Master of Death."

The Master of Death?

"Luna ought to have enough Plimpies soon," Xenophilius says suddenly.

"When you say 'Master of Death' – " Ron asks slowly.

"Master," Xenophilius interrupts. "Conqueror. Vanquisher. Whichever term you prefer."

"But then…do you mean…that you believe these objects – these Hallows – really exist?"
Hermione asks, and I can hear how hard she tries to keep disbelief out of her voice.

Xenophilius lifts his brows innocently. "Well, of course."

"But…Mr. Lovegood, how can you possibly believe – ?"

"Luna has told me all about you, young lady," Xenophilius says sharply. "You are, I gather,
not unintelligent, but painfully limited. Narrow. Close-minded."

Hermione gapes at him.

"Perhaps you ought to try on the hat, Hermione," Ron says with a subtle smirk, nodding
towards the ridiculous crown.

Hermione shoots a warning glance at Ron before turning her focus back to Xenophilius. "Mr.
Lovegood…We all know that there are such things as Invisibility Cloaks. They are rare, but
they exist. But –"

"Ah, but the Third Hallow is a true Cloak of Invisibility, Miss Granger! I mean to say, it is
not a travelling cloak imbued with a Disillusionment Charm, or carrying a Bedazzling Hex,
or else woven from Demiguise hair, which will hide one initially but fade with the years until
it turns opaque. We are talking about a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer
completely invisible and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no
matter what spells are cast at it. How many cloaks have you ever seen like that, Miss
Granger?"

Hermione opens her mouth but then closes it quickly. She's probably thinking the exact same
thing I am, and based on Ron's expression, so is Ron. The cloak Xenophilius just described is
stowed in Hermione's beaded bag.

Xenophilius looks satisfied. "Exactly. None of you have ever seen such a thing. The
possessor would be immeasurably rich, would he not?" He glances out of the window. It must
be close to midday soon.
"All right," Hermione mutters, "Say the cloak existed…but…what about that stone, Mr.
Lovegood? The thing you call the Resurrection Stone?"

"What of it?"

"Well, how can that be real?"

"Prove that it is not," Xenophilius counters.

Hermione looks irritated. "But that's – I'm sorry, but that's completely ridiculous! How can I
possibly prove it doesn't exist? Do you expect me to get hold of – of all the pebbles in the
world and test them? I mean, you could claim that anything's real if the only basis for
believing in it is that nobody's proved it doesn't exist!"

Xenophilius looks smug. "Yes, you could. I am glad to see that you are opening your mind a
little."

"So, the Elder Wand," I say quickly, before Hermione can continue arguing with the man.
"You think that exists too?"

"Oh, well, in that case there is endless evidence," Xenophilius says. "The Elder Wand is the
Hallow that is most easily traced, because of the way in which it passes from hand to hand."

"Which is what?" I ask bluntly.

"The possessor of the wand must capture it from its previous owner, if he is to be truly master
of it. Surely you have heard of the way the wand came to Egbert the Egregious, after his
slaughter of Emeric the Evil? Of how Godelot died in his own cellar after his son, Hereward,
took the wand from him? Of the dreadful Loxias, who took the wand from Baraabas Deverill,
whom he had killed? The bloody trail of the Elder Wand is splattered across the pages of
Wizarding history." Xenophilius drones on.

I glance at Hermione, trying to see what she's thinking about it, but based on the small frown
between her brows, the people Xenophilius mentioned seem to be actual historical people.

"So, where do you think the Elder Wand is now?" Ron asks.

Xenophilius gives a light shrug. "Alas, who knows? Who knows where the Elder Wand lies
hidden? The trail goes cold with Arcus and Livius. Who can say which of them really
defeated Loxias, and which took the wand? And who can say who may have defeated them?
History does not tell us the exact line, but merely the beginning."

"What do you mean?" I ask, growing more curious by the minute.

Xenophilius sighs. "Many of us Questers believe that the three brothers in the story were
actually the three Peverell brothers, Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus. That they were the
original owners of the Hallows," he says, sparing another glance at the window.

The names do not say anything to me, and while Hermione and Ron are both still frowning,
Xenophilius stands up and moves towards the staircase. "You will stay for lunch?" he asks,
glancing at us before descending the stairs. "Everybody always requests our recipe for
Freshwater Plimply soup."

"Probably to show it to the Poisoning Department at St. Mungo's," Ron mutters under his
breath.

"What do you think?" I ask quietly from Hermione, after we've made sure Xenophilius
cannot hear us.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione says with a weary sigh, "it's a pile of utter rubbish. This can't be what
the sign really means. This must just be his weird take on it. What a waste of time."

Ron hums in agreement.

"You didn't believe it either?" I ask from Ron.

"Nah, that story's just one of those things you tell kids to teach them lessons, isn't it? 'Don't
go looking for trouble, don't go pick fights, don't go messing around with stuff that's best left
alone! Just keep your head down, mind your own business, and you'll be okay. Come to think
of it…maybe that story's why elder wands are supposed to be unlucky."

"What are you talking about?"

"One of those superstitions, isn't it? 'May-born witches will marry Muggles.' 'Jinx by twilight,
undone by midnight.' 'Wand of cider, never prosper.' You must have heard them. My mum's
full of them."

Hermione gives Ron a stern look. "Harry and I were raised by Muggles…We were taught
different superstitions. But I think you're right…It's just a morality tale. It is obvious which
gift is the best, which one you ought to choose –"

All of us speak at the same time;

"The Cloak."

"The Wand."

"The Stone."

We exchange a surprised look.

"You're supposed to say the Cloak," Ron says to Hermione with an eyeroll in his voice, "but
you wouldn't need to be invisible if you had the wand. An unbeatable wand, Hermione, come
on!"

I shrug at them. "We've already got an Invisibility Cloak."

"And it's helped us rather a lot, in case you hadn't noticed!" Hermione continues. "Whereas
the wand would be bound to attract trouble –"
"Only if you shouted about it," Ron counters. "Only if you were prat enough to go dancing
around waving it over your head, and singing, 'I've got an unbeatable wand, come and have a
go if you think you're strong enough.' As long as you kept your trap shut –"

" –Yes, but could you keep your trap shut?" Hermione asks wryly, "You know the only true
thing he said to us was that there have been stories about extra-powerful wands for hundreds
of years."

I lift my brows at her, "There have?" Ron and I both ask.

Hermione gives us an exasperated look. "Honestly, have you listened at all during the History
of Magic course?"

Ron and I glance at each other, our lips twitching upwards. "Nope." We say in unison.

Hermione sighs. "The Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, they crop up under different names
through the centuries, usually in the possession of some Dark wizard who's boasting about
them. Professor Binns mentioned some of them, but…it's all nonsense. Wands are only as
powerful as the wizards who use them. Some wizards just like to boast that theirs are bigger
and better than other people's…"

Ron snorts loudly.

"But how do you know that those wands – the Deathstick, and the Wand of Destiny – aren't
the same wand, surfacing over the centuries under different names?" I ask Hermione.

Ron hums quietly. "What if they're all really the Elder Wand, made by Death?"

There's a short silence before Ron speaks again, eyeing me searchingly, "So…why would you
take the stone?"

I give him a mild shrug, having already anticipated the question. "…Well, if you could bring
people back, we could have Sirius...Mad-Eye...Dumbledore...my parents," I say. "Although,
according to Beedle the Bard, they wouldn't want to come back, would they?" I continue
quietly. "I don't suppose there have been loads of other stories about a stone that can raise the
dead, have there?"

Hermione pats my shoulder. "No," She says softly. "I don't think anyone except Mr.
Lovegood could kid themselves that's possible. Beedle probably took the idea from the
Sorcerer's Stone; you know, instead of a stone to make you immortal, a stone to reverse
death."

All three of us scrunch up our noses at the smell that is wafting up from the kitchen. I hope
Xenophilius is not expecting us to eat that…

"What about the Cloak, though?" Ron says. "Don't you realise, he's right? I've got so used to
Harry's Cloak and how good it is, I never stopped to think. I've never heard of one like
Harry's. It's infallible. We've never been spotted under it –"

"Of course not – we're invisible when we're under it, Ron!"
Ron nods quickly. "But all the stuff he said about other cloaks, and they're not exactly ten a
Knut, you know, is true! It's never occurred to me before but I've heard stuff about charms
wearing off cloaks when they get old, or them being ripped apart by spells so they've got
holes, Harry's was owned by his dad, so it's not exactly new, is it, but it's just…perfect!"

"Yes, all right, but Ron, the stone still doesn't make any sense," Hermione argues quietly.

I stand up, needing to walk around a bit since the sofa really is too small for the three of us.
As I glance around me, I almost jump in surprise as I find my own face staring back at me
from the upper level. What…?

I move closer to the staircase and realise that it is not in fact a mirror…but a painting. I start
to walk upstairs.

"Harry? What are you doing?" Hermione hisses quietly.

My friends follow me and soon we emerge to the next floor, where I find more paintings; of
me, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville.

"Wow, Luna," Ron breathes as he examines them.

I take in all the details in her room; the picture of a woman and a younger looking Luna,
hugging. Odd trinkets on the bedside table. Flowery mural on one of the walls. It's all so
Luna, so familiar. But something seems out of place.

"There's dust everywhere," Hermione whispers after a short silence. "How odd…" She says
slowly as she takes in the empty wardrobe.

"What's going on?" Ron mutters.

Xenophilius makes a clattering noise downstairs and we all decide to quickly step back to the
sitting room. Not long after, the man emerges from the staircase, carrying a tray with bowls,
undoubtedly filled with the foul-smelling food.

"Mr. Lovegood," Hermione says slowly. "Where's Luna?"

Xenophilius stops in his tracks. "Excuse me?"

"Where's Luna?" I repeat Hermione's question.

Xenophilius looks nervous. "I – I've already told you. She is down at the Bottom Bridge,
fishing for Plimpies."

Ron gives the tray a meaningful look. "So why have you only laid that tray for four?"

Xenophilius gapes at us, his arms shaking slightly, the tray rattling.

"I don't think Luna's been here for weeks." I finally say, watching the older man sharply. "Her
clothes are gone, her bed hasn't been slept in. Where is she? And why do you keep looking
out of the window?"
Xenophilius suddenly drops the tray, crockery smashing against the floor while soup floods
everywhere. All three of us quickly draw our wands. By the looks of Xenophilius's hand near
his pocket, he was about to as well.

Just then, the printing press gives out a mild burst, spurting out numerous Quibblers that fly
around the room, falling at our feet.

"Harry, look at that," Hermione whispers, her wand still pointed at Xenophilius.

I glance downwards. My face is in the front of the Quibbler, above the words 'Undesirable
Number One' and 'Reward: 10.000 galleons on his head'.

Fuck.

"The Quibbler's going for a new angle, then?" I ask coldly, overwhelmed by his betrayal. I
thought Luna's father supported me, and that he could be counted as an ally. "Is that what you
were doing when you went into the garden, Mr. Lovegood? Sending an owl to the Ministry?"

Xenophilius swallows nervously. "They took my Luna," he whispers. "Because of what I've
been writing. They took my Luna and I don't know where she is, what they've done to her.
But they might give her back to me if I – If I –"

"Hand over Harry?" Hermione grits through her teeth.

"No deal." Ron growls. "Get out of the way, we're leaving."

Xenophilius gasps. "N-No…you can't…They will be here any moment. I must save Luna. I
cannot lose Luna. You must not leave."

I stare at the man, stunned that he'd do this to us, but at the same time…my parents gave
away everything for me, too. "Don't make us hurt you. Get out of the way, Mr. Lovegood."

"HARRY!" Hermione screams suddenly, her voice filled with dread.

It's too late.

Figures on broomsticks fly past the windows, and that's when we make our mistake – taking
our eyes off from Xenophilius.

I barely have time to tackle Ron and Hermione down as Xenophilius's Stunning Spell zooms
over our heads.

Instead, it hits straight at the Erumpent horn.

Time stops for a fragment, and then, there's a massive blast; an explosion, blowing up the
entire room. I'm flown backwards, straight to the opposite direction with all furniture and
paper and rubble, and end up hitting my head against the wall with a thud.

Everything is black. Then, images start to spin inside my head, until I can grasp
consciousness.
My ears are ringing, and as I blink my eyes open, they sting from the thick white dust
surrounding me. "Hermione! Ron!" I croak, hoping that they can hear me, as I really don't
hear anything. I cough as I try to take a lungful of air through the dust and call out my friends
again.

Half of the ceiling has fallen down and the end of Luna's bed is hanging out from the hole.
Torn parchment is littered everywhere as well as pieces of rubble, concrete and metal.

There's a sudden movement near me, and I quickly lift my wand, thanking Merlin that it is
still in one piece – and in my hand. Luckily, it's only Hermione, covered in dust. She quickly
presses a finger against her lips when she sees me opening my mouth.

The door downstairs bursts open at the same time.

"Didn't I tell you there was no need to hurry, Travers?" a coarse voice speaks, "Didn't I tell
you this nutter was just raving as usual?"

Xenophilius whelps in pain. "No...no...upstairs...Potter!"

One of the incoming men growls. "I told you last week Lovegood, we weren't coming back
for anything less than some solid information! Remember last week? When you wanted to
swap your daughter for that stupid bleeding headdress? And the week before…?"

There's a crash, and Xenophilius makes another pained sound.

"…When you thought we'd give her back if you offered us proof there are Cumple Headed
Snorkacks?" The voice speaks roughly, whacking sounds – and Xenophilius's gasps –
punctuating his words.

"No – no – I beg of you!" Xenophilius cries desperately. "It really is Potter, Really!"

There's another loud banging sound, "And now it turns out you only called us here to try and
blow us up!" The Death Eater yells, while Xenophilius sobs in pain.

"The place looks like it's about to fall in, Selwyn," the other man – Travers – says in an
unruffled voice. "The stairs are completely blocked. I Could try clearing it? Might bring the
place down."

"You lying piece of filth!" Selwyn growls. "You have never seen Potter in your life, have
you? Thought you'd lure us here to kill us, did you? And you think you'll get your girl back
like this?"

"I swear...I swear...Potter's upstairs!" Xenophilius whimpers.

"Homenum Revelio." Travers grunts from the foot of the stairs.

Hermione lets out a quiet gasp, and the next second, I can feel something sweep over me.
They'll know we're here.

"There's someone up there all right, Selwyn," Travers says a moment later.
"It's Potter, I tell you, it's Potter!" Xenophilius insists, his voice wavering.
"Please...please...give me Luna, just let me have Luna..."

Selwyn scoffs. "You can have your little girl, Lovegood, if you get up those stairs and bring
me down Harry Potter. But if this is a plot, if it's a trick, if you've got an accomplice waiting
up there to ambush us, we'll see if we can spare a bit of your daughter for you to bury."

Xenophilius weeps quietly, but it sounds like he's moving towards us, trying to get through
the mess in the stairs.

"Shit," I whisper, glancing over, trying to see where Ron is. "We have to get out of here," I
tell Hermione, before I start to quietly dig myself out of all the rubble.

Hermione manages to locate Ron, nearly covered in pieces of furniture, paper and dust, his
head only peeking from between them. We quickly move closer to him, all the while
Xenophilius approaches us in the staircase. Finally, Hermione manages to free Ron, levitating
the pieces of wood and metal away from him.

"All right." Hermione whispers. "Do you trust me Harry?" She asks urgently.

Xenophilius is almost at the top of the stairs.

I give her a quick nod. Hermione digs through her bag and extracts the Cloak.

"Okay. Ron, put the Cloak on. Both of you, hold on to me, tight," She instructs.

"Why me? Shouldn't Harry –"

"Ron, now's not the time!" Hermione hisses, "Just put it on!"

Ron does so without saying anything more, and we both grab on to Hermione.

"Hold tight…any second now…"

The moment Xenophilius's white, tear-stricken face appears at the top of the stairs, Hermione
screams. "Obliviate!" Aiming straight to his face.

Then, not even a second later, she aims her wand to the ground. "Deprimo!"

There's another blast – smaller than before, but we all fall downwards, landing in the middle
of the kitchen with a burst of rubble and dust, holding on for dear life.

Someone shouts in the hallway, and I barely make eye contact with the two utterly
dumbfounded looking men – Death Eaters – before Hermione turns on the spot, pulling Ron
and me with her into the spinning emptiness of disapparition.

We quickly stumble inside the house, having apparated on the top step outside Grimmauld
Place and then collapse, panting, in a pile of exhaustion and relief in the hallway.
"That treacherous old bleeder!" Ron wheezes, pulling the Cloak away and giving it back to
me. "Hermione, you're a genius, a total genius! I can't believe we got out of that!"

Hermione looks drained. "Didn't I say it was an Erumpent horn, didn't I tell him? And now
his house has been blown apart!"

"Serves him right," Ron growls, wincing as he pulls a finger-sized stick of wood from his
thigh. "Shit," He curses, pressing the wound.

Hermione frowns at him. "No, let me," She says and flicks her wand at the cut, healing it
instantly.

"Cheers. What'd you reckon they'll do to him?"

"Oh I hope they don't kill him!" Hermione whispers anxiously, "That's why I wanted the
Death Eaters to get a glimpse of Harry before we left, so they knew Xenophilius hadn't been
lying!"

"What?"

All our heads turn quickly towards the hallway, and only then I pause to think that it is a
miracle that we haven't already woken up Regulus's mother's portrait. I quickly realise that
Regulus must've been keeping the portrait quiet. And has been there the whole time, waiting
for us.

"Um…" Ron mumbles.

Hermione glances first at Regulus and then me. "Ron, we should…get cleaned up," she says
and stands up, extending her hand for Ron.

Ron gives her a quizzical look. "But 'Mione –"

"Not now, Ronald," Hermione says through her teeth, and then gives me a meaningful look.
"We'll talk later in the library, okay?"

I nod slowly at her. "Um…yeah. Sure."

Regulus stays quiet, his expression unreadable as my friends walk past him towards upstairs.

I stand up slowly, trying to gauge the situation. Trying to figure out how angry he is, since,
even without knowing half of the story, he already heard the worst of it. How disappointed at
me he will be, when he learns that I've risked my life, and my friends' lives for what? For a
children's tale?

But Regulus continues to watch me silently.

I trail a hand through my hair, which is covered in dust, and give him an apologising shrug.
My shoulders drop in defeat. "I'm…I'm sorry…I should've –"
But the rest of my words die in my throat as Regulus walks up to me in two long strides and
pulls me into a searing kiss.
 Waiting Game
Chapter Notes

I was supposed to post this two days ago, you know, as an anniversary post! :D Ha! Can
you believe it's been one year already?? Time flies...And can I say that I'm just blown
away that some of you have had the patience to follow this for one year?? :)

Anyway, I'm thankful for everyone who enjoys this story. Let me know what you
thought about this chapter!

Chapter 37: Waiting Game

Grimmauld Place, 21 August 1997

"You're not mad at me, are you?" Potter asks for the second time in a short while.

I lift my head up, slowly taking in his features; he's standing at the bathroom door, freshly
showered, his clothes slightly sticking to his frame and his hair plastered against his neck and
forehead. He's watching me with worry in his expression, gnawing his lower lip.

I'm not mad at him. I am feeling somewhat dismayed by Potter taking such a risk, putting
himself into such danger...If I'm mad, then all that is directed to myself, for not being there.

Like I wasn't when I lost my brother.

"…Regulus?" Potter asks quietly, walking up to me and hesitantly sitting on the bed next to
me.

I let out a small sigh and glance at him. "I'm not mad, Harry. I regret that I wasn't there."

Potter lifts his brows up. "I asked you not to come. You didn't really have a choice," he says
simply, giving a nudge to my arm, a small smile on his lips.

My eyes trail over the faint cuts and bruises on his visible skin, before finally moving up to
meet his bright green ones. "Then I'm glad that you are well," I say quietly.

Potter gives me a searching look; the same one I've seen many times over the past days. I
know what he's thinking. What he's about to ask.

The memory.

I clear away the sudden tightness in my throat. "We should go downstairs," I mutter and stand
up, grimacing inwardly at the disappointment that flickers into Potter's expression.
An hour later, we are sitting in the library. The events of today have been gone through and
chewed over by the group.

"Why did you hide Ron?" Potter asks from Hermione, a small frown between his brows.

Hermione gives her friends a sad smile. "Well…after we saw what happened to Xenophilius
– they kidnapped Luna because he has helped you, Harry – I thought if they didn't see Ron,
they might leave his family alone…"

"Hermione…" Ronald mutters quietly, a grateful look in his eyes. "But…what about your
parents?"

Hermione glances at the coffee table with a tight smile on her lips. "They don't…know who I
am. And they're in Australia. They should be safe there."

I wonder if she knows the risks of what she's done to her parents. Even if we all survive this,
it is possible that they are not coming back. Memory charms are like that. One can reverse
them, but there is no certainty that the person who was under the spell will be the same. And
the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that she is in fact aware of what might
happen, but has decided not to include her friends with the small bit of information.

"You're amazing…" Ronald breathes, throwing an arm over her shoulder and pulling her
closer to him on the sofa.

"Yeah, you are," Potter agrees, nodding quickly, leaning his elbows against his knees as he
sits in the armchair. "I don't even want to think what would have happened if you hadn't been
there…"

Hermione's bashful expression turns quickly into a solemn one. "I hope Luna is going to be
all right…I can't stop thinking if they'll do what they threatened, after what happened today,
if they'll…" She whispers, blinking hard as her eyes fill with tears.

If the Dark Lord knows that the girl is a close friend of Potter's, then no – the girl will not be
killed. Not until they have Potter.

"…They won't," Ronald says slowly, supposedly thinking along the same lines. He gives us a
tentative look. "She – she'll probably be in Azkaban. We'll get her out, one way or another…
if she survives the place."

Hermione swallows hard and presses her hands against her eyes.

Potter too looks anguished by the thought. "Sirius did. Luna will too." Potter says
determinedly.

None of us comment on the fact that my brother wasn't exactly in his right mind after he
escaped, and he never really fully recovered from it.

Hermione sighs wearily. "I only hope that the Death Eaters seeing us didn't make her
situation worse."
There's a short silence.

"The whole trip was a mistake." Hermione mutters, staring at the coffee table in disbelief.
"We didn't learn anything useful. Xenophilius probably came up with all that Hallows
nonsense just to keep us there for the Death Eaters!" She says, shaking her head with a
frustrated expression.

Ronald hums thoughtfully. "I don't think he came up with it. I think he believes in them. And
based on what he said, there're others as well…"

"Whether he or someone else believes it or not, I don't see how that helps our situation,"
Hermione says wryly.

"Well, if the Hallows exist – "

"They don't!"

As Hermione, Ronald and eventually, Potter too start arguing over whether or not the
Hallows exist, I think over the events of their unfruitful visit. It seems that they had risked
their lives to no avail. Even if the Hallows exist, the information doesn't benefit our mission,
as we do not have access to those objects.

"– But there is no proof of an unbeatable wand, Harry!" Hermione says with an incredulous
look in her eyes, her voice rising from frustration, pulling me out from my thoughts.

Potter huffs. "You said yourself that there have been powerful wands in wizarding history!"

Hermione lets out a deep sigh. "Yes, there have. But nowhere it says that the wands were one
wand. Or that they were actually more powerful than other wands, and not the wizard or
witch carrying them," she says simply. "And let's not even start talking about the
Resurrection Stone," she continues, her nose scrunching up at the name. "There is no magic
that can do that."

Potter lifts his brows at his friend. "My wand did, at the cemetery – the same kind of pale
forms that were mentioned in the story. I saw my mum and my dad. And Cedric. I talked to
them. And in the story, the second brother even lived with the girl from the tale." He says
slowly.

I watch Potter closely. There's a shadow behind his eyes, and something close to sadness…
and despair in them. It makes me feel uneasy.

Then there's the subject, which sounds a bit familiar – like the connection I have with my
brother.

But would that be enough? Would a mere dream or imitation be enough?

Potter's friends stare at him with concern edged into their expressions.

Hermione gives Potter a small smile. "You just said it yourself, Harry. They were merely pale
imitations of them…"
Potter glances at each of us, before clearing his throat and then quickly continuing. "So, um,
what about the Peverell brothers Xenophilius mentioned? The ones he believed were the first
ones to own the Hallows? …Do they even exist?"

Hermione frowns slightly. "Well, when Xenophilius mentioned them, I knew that I'd heard
the name before. I wonder if…" She says, her eyes moving to meet mine with a questioning
look.

I give her a nod. "They were a medieval pure-blood wizarding family, one of the first to
become extinct in the male line," I explain, recollecting the information that was drilled into
me and my brother in our childhood.

"What does that mean?" Potter asks, watching me curiously.

"It means that the Peverells didn't have any descendants through male line, to keep the name
from dying out. They might have had descendants through female line, but I doubt that they
were kept in a record at that time," Hermione says and glances at me.

"Not that I'm aware of." I say, and at the same time, Potter gasps loudly.

"The Gaunts!"

All of us turn to look at Potter with mixed expressions of bewilderment and curiosity.

"Dumbledore showed me a memory of the Gaunts! Marvolo Gaunt – Voldemort's grandfather

– he told some Ministry employee that he was descended from the Peverells!" Potter says
excitedly, ignoring Ronald's huff as he mentions the Dark Lord's name. "Marvolo was
boasting with the ring, the one that became a Horcrux, telling the Ministry wizard that it had
the Peverell coat of arms on it!"

I am aware that the Gaunt family – one of The Sacred Twenty-Eight – was recorded to be the
last known descendant of Salazar Slytherin. I am also quite convinced it is their only
admirable achievement. The members of said family were known to be violent and unstable,
due to generations of inbreeding.

The Gaunts undoubtedly had a fair share of the Slytherin heirlooms in their possession, some
of which, like the locket, have been recorded in wizarding history. However, I haven't heard
of anything that has belonged to the Peverell family.

"Peverell coat of arms…" Hermione mutters, staring at the table in contemplation. "It that
their sigil? Did you see it?" She asks finally from Potter.

Potter shakes his head, staring into distance as he supposedly tries to remember the memory.
"There were some scratches upon the stone in the ring. I only saw it properly after
Dumbledore had cracked the ring open," Potter mutters, and then his eyes widen with
realisation.

He blinks at us for a second. "It's the stone! It has to be! The scratches…weren't scratches –
they were the Peverell coat of arms; the sign of the Deathly Hallows!" Potter says excitedly,
jumping to his feet before he starts pacing in front of the fireplace.

I want to stop him right there, as everything he says is mostly speculation. Before I can say
anything, Ronald curses under his breath, giving his friend an amazed look.

"Blimey. You reckon Marvolo knew about them? About the stone being…the Resurrection
Stone?"

Potter stops in his tracks and turns towards us before he shrugs at his friend. "Probably not.
He didn't seem like a person who reads children's stories to his kids – or a one who has
studied wizarding history."

"Could it…could it still work, even after Dumbledore used the sword –"

Hermione scoffs loudly, interrupting Ronald. "You can't be serious, Ron. Neither the
Resurrection Stone nor the Deathly Hallows exist!" She speaks with a shrill voice, and then
turns her exasperated gaze at me. "Please tell me you don't buy this nonsense, Regulus! That
you actually believe in facts and logical reasoning."

Potter scowls at her. "Don't push him."

I let out a weary sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose as Potter and Hermione continue
arguing over the stone. I block away the bickering sounds and try to think this through.

It could be possible. The Deathly Hallows. Even if I have never heard of them. If such things
as the Chamber of Secrets or the Philosopher Stone exist, then the Deathly Hallows…not
quite impossible.

Or, the symbol could mean something else entirely. But I can't deny that it is meaningful.

"…you want it to be true, so much, that you try to force everything to go with the story!
There's no proof that there is a wand more powerful than others, nor that there is a stone that
can bring back the dead. The only thing we know exists, is the cloak, and for what we know,
there could be others –" Hermione says sharply, her voice filled with ire and frustration,
before it falters. "…what is it?"

I glance up at Potter to find him staring at Hermione with amazement and fear in his eyes.

"Harry?" I ask quietly, watching him closely.

"He's after the wand," Potter says slowly, then looks each of us in turn, realisation in his eyes.
"Voldemort's after the wand…"

Hermione lets out a loud groan of annoyance, while Ronald frowns at Potter. "How d'you
know? And you mind stop calling him that?" Ronald asks with a grimace, hint of irritation in
his voice.

Potter shakes his head slowly and turns to stare at the flickering flames that bring light and
shadows to the darkened room. It must be getting late.
"That's why he has Ollivander. And why he killed Gregorovitch. He's after the wand. Even if
he doesn't know about the Hallows – and he probably doesn't, if he's changed a Hallow into a
Horcrux – he must've heard about an unbeatable wand…" Potter mutters at the flames, his
body tense and his jaw clenched.

There's a short silence, before Potter continues. "Dumbledore had my father's cloak – he gave
it to me in my first year. Why would he even have needed it? He was powerful enough to use
magic to disillusion himself. I bet he had it because he knew what it was…"

Hermione sighs deeply. "Harry, we don't know that it is…a Hallow," She says, scrunching
her nose up slightly. "Yes, it quite fits Xenophilius's description, but – "

"And then there's the stone," Potter mutters and starts to hurriedly dig through the mokeskin
pouch on his neck – and what a ridiculous place to store your belongings – and pulls out the
Snitch. Potter stares at the golden ball with a contemplative look on his features, that are
partly obscured by the fireplace. "What if…?" He whispers, and then turns to look at us.
"What if Dumbledore left it to me? In here?" He says, green eyes filled with both certainty
and shock.

"…Harry, you're making assumptions, of things you wish were true. We don't have any
proof." Hermione says tiredly.

"How can you not see it, Hermione?" Potter asks, shaking his head in frustration. "The
Deathly Hallows are real, and we've got at least one of them – maybe two. If we can get the
third one before him –"

" – Harry, stop," Hermione grits through her teeth. "You're getting carried away! If
Dumbledore knew about them, he would have told you!"

Potter shakes his head heatedly. "Not necessarily. He's left loads for me to figure out myself!"

"Not things like this!" Hermione nearly yells back at him. "We need to focus. On Horcruxes."
She says forcefully.

She gives a mild scowl at Ronald and me. "Feel free to jump in and express your views on
the matter," she says bitingly.

Potter stares at us with his brows lifted in expectation. "Well?"

Ronald opens and closes his mouth a couple of times. "Um…some of it seems believable,
but…I dunno, mate. I mean, maybe Mione's right. Maybe we ought to focus on Horcruxes
first. Then…then the Hallows…"

Potter lets out a small huff and arches a brow at his friend. "Figures…" He mutters, before
turning to look at me with a defiance in his eyes. "You've been awfully quiet the whole time.
I suppose you're with them then?"

I blink at Potter, somewhat speechless as I feel a sudden twinge of familiarity. I know the
look and what happens after I give him my answer. Because I have experienced it several
times in my childhood. Yet, whenever Potter acts in a way that reminds me achingly much of
my brother, it always takes me by surprise.

I let out a small sigh and level Potter with a serious look. "Destroying him is our priority. If
we hope to achieve that, you know that it is crucial to find the Horcruxes."

Potter watches me with disappointment in his eyes. He nods slowly, then looks around us.
"Right. Well. Good to know your thoughts on this…" he mutters and then clears his throat,
his expression hardening. "It's getting late. Think I'll turn in…" He says and leaves us,
walking towards the door. "…G'night." He voices right before the door closes softly behind
him.

Grimmauld Place, 16 September 1997

I stare at the canopy above the bed, my heart still drumming against my ribs. There were only
shadows and coldness in my dreams last night, but I know it was him. That I was in his mind
again.

It's different than before – has been for quite some time. The visions are not clear anymore
but blurred, and I can't make much out of them, even if I try very hard. It is as if the
connection is not as strong as it once was.

The thought of it being a result of the Occlumency and compartmentalising I have been
trying to practice every day, has been gnawing on me. And still, I haven't stopped.

I rub my eyes and glance around the room. Sirius's room.

Spending the nights in here instead of Regulus's room just…happened. It wasn’t exactly
intentional.

It started a couple of weeks ago, when I couldn't sleep. I came here to think, and I ended up
watching my parents’ and Sirius’s grinning faces in various photographs on the wall. After
staring at them for quite some time, I needed to know more. I needed to know more than just
what my parents looked like. I was sure that Sirius – having been so close to my father –
could maybe have something that was missed by Regulus and me when we went through
Sirius's things. Perhaps there still were letters, or even a diary.

Turned out there was something. A letter from my mum to Sirius. And yeah, it felt a bit…
wrong to look something as private as a letter, but the fact that I saw my mum's handwriting,
which was as neat and beautiful as she apparently was herself, it…changed something in me.
Somehow, it made her more real. Not just an idea, but an actual person who existed and who
– who loved me. My mum had sent Sirius a picture of one-year-old me, flying across a sitting
room with a toy broom – something Sirius had apparently bought me for my birthday –
laughing merrily as a pair of legs chased after me.

Reading the letter didn't really make me feel better. Quite the contrary. It brought up all that
longing and injustice I only rarely feel when I think about my parents, consuming me with
the thoughts of what was taken from me.
But, there was something else in it. Apparently, my parents were friends with Bathilda
Bagshot; the author of A History of Magic, the woman who told Skeeter everything about the
Dumbledores, and the woman who, according to Ron's Auntie Muriel, still lives in Godric's
Hollow.

The woman who evidently told my parents bits and pieces about Dumbledore's past.

…I don't know how much to believe, actually, because it seems incredible that Dumbledore
could ever be friends with Gellert Grindelwald.

And that is essentially how I started to, and I quote Hermione's words; 'obsess about
something that is not there'.

The Hallows.

The past weeks have gone over quickly. I've tried to find more clues about Bathilda, the
Hallows, the Cloak and the Stone. Tried to find out if there is any way to test that my cloak is
The Cloak. Tried to find out if there is any way to open the Snitch.

I’ve continued my research, even after the only reactions I got from the others, after I showed
them the letter and the attached photograph, were smiles of sympathy. And in Hermione's
case; a couple of pointed words, urging me to focus on what is important right now.

The Horcruxes.

But the truth is, we don't have anything to go on with. At this point, every single book has
been read that even mentions historical artefacts. Every memory I viewed with Dumbledore
has been perused and discussed thoroughly. Hermione, Ron and I have been taking turns to
skulk around in Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, and even some smaller Wizarding villages
under my cloak, but there's nothing. It's eerily quiet everywhere. There are people, briskly
walking down the streets but nobody stops to chat with the others. Apparently, everyone just
wants to take care of their business and return to their homes as soon as possible. And the
Death Eaters – or Snatchers, in some cases – they merely stroll down the streets, quietly,
but…with a threatening purpose.

Then there's Regulus, who is still…inattentive, has been ever since he saw the memory. Sure,
he has joined our research sessions and discussions, and after the whole Xenophilius incident,
he even reminded us what is important and what should be our priority right now.
Nevertheless, there's still something off with him. His thoughts are somewhere else – a lot
like mine, I suppose. He hasn't commented on the matter of me staying the nights in Sirius's
room. At first, I wondered if he was even aware of it, since he too tends to spend his nights
away from his room, sometimes returning close to midday to freshen up, occasionally
reeking of Firewhiskey. But then, after the second night, during breakfast, he gave me a long,
contemplative look. And I knew that he knew. But the problem is, that don't know what to do
with him, or what to say to him. It seems that every time I have tried to approach him, he
manages to deflect me.

And I hate that. I hate that there're these…things between us, dividing us further apart. I don't
know how to stop that from happening. But I know that I miss him.
I move slightly in the bed and something hard presses against my spine. "…Ouch," I wince
and pull the offending object from under me. It's the Snitch.

I fell asleep with it. Again. I just wish I could understand what the inscription means. What
is the close? I've been thinking this over for many nights now. Weeks even. If the Stone is in
there. And the possibilities of having it in my possession.

What if…what if the Stone is actually what we need to pull Sirius back into this world? If
Sirius is between the worlds, between the living and the dead, could the Stone actually bring
him back? And not just as a pale imitation of life, but the whole, solid, complete wizard that
is my godfather?

Last week, I mentioned this to Regulus. He wasn't overly delighted by my theory, and
instead, was bitter and very sceptical about the possibility. In the end, he told me it was best if
I went to bed and stopped bothering myself with children's tales.

If we had Sirius – he would know what to do. He would see the sense in searching first the
Hallows and then Horcruxes.

What I'd give to get him back…probably anything.

But then, I remember the fact that as long as Voldemort exists, there's no chance of going to
the Ministry and getting my godfather back. And then, I remember Luna, writhing away in
Azkaban.

And as if summoned, the guilt washes over me. I know what I should focus on, I know. But
even if I focus on destroying Voldemort, I just, I can't stop thinking how much it would help
to have all the Hallows in my grasp – or even just the wand – before I actually face him.

I swallow through the thickness in my throat and glance towards the windows, and watch for
a long while as the yellow stripe of dawn nudges back the night sky between the red and
golden curtains.

With a deep sigh, I force myself up from the bed and after a quick freshening up, I make my
way downstairs.

"Morning," I mumble and take my seat opposite to Hermione. Regulus and Ron are most
likely still sleeping.

Hermione eyes me studiously before she nods at me. "Good morning," she says with a quick
smile and continues to fix her tea.

The paper's not yet here, nor the usual breakfast Kreacher usually prepares for us.

I stand up from the table and walk to the cupboards, flicking my wand to the kettle to prepare
myself some tea, feeling Hermione's eyes on my back the whole time. "You want toast?" I
mutter without turning to look at her, summoning a large plate, marmalade and several slices
of bread.
"Um…yes, please. Thank you, Harry."

There's a long silence as I continue to prepare breakfast. When I return back to the table with
a plate stacked up on toast and a cup of tea floating in front of me, I can't stay quiet anymore.

"What is it?" I ask bluntly, feeling a hint of frustration as I see the discontented look in her
eyes.

"You have to talk to him," she says, giving me a pointed look.

I look at her, chewing the inside of my cheek in thought. I know I should. But how? How can
I fix this? I let out a weary sigh and trail a hand through my hair. "I've tried. He doesn't want
to talk."

Hermione arches a brow at me. "Have you really?" She asks curiously, sipping her tea. "It
looks to me like you're…spending all your time in Sirius's room, thinking Merlin knows
what," she mutters, an edge to her voice, before her focus is trained at the small window
where a brown barn owl is tapping the glass softly, the morning paper between its beak.
Hermione moves quickly to the window and opens it up a bit to pay the owl and grab the
paper.

As soon as she sits back opposite to me, I level her with blank look, feeling a twinge of
annoyance. "The Hallows. And you know, there's a possib –"

"For Godric's sake, Harry!" Hermione moans exasperatedly, slamming the paper against the
table. "Why can't you understand that the sooner you stop your – your obsession – the sooner
all of us can return back to normal, and do what is important!"

I let out a huff. "You don't even know what I was about to say!"

Hermione takes in a deep breath, evidently trying to calm herself. Her eyes move across the
front page and a deep frown takes place between her brows. She swallows hard and then
turns the paper around so that I can see the headlines.

'Three Muggle-borns imprisoned after proven guilty!'

There's a picture of the familiar courtrooms in the Ministry, and under that, a short article
about three children; two witches and a wizard, who had been caught boarding the Hogwarts
Express, on their way to Hogwarts for the first time. And now – now they have been tried and
found guilty. For…for not having Wizarding relatives.

Nausea stirs inside me. Those were children. Barely eleven years old, thrown into Azkaban,
because of him.

Hermione takes in a shaky breath. "Do you need a better reminder?" She asks with a sad
voice, before standing up and turning to the cupboards, to fix herself another cup of tea,
sniffling as she moves.

I swallow deeply, gritting my teeth in anger and frustration. This is wrong. This is so. Bloody.
Wrong. And then my eyes flicker to another article, in the bottom corner of the front page.
'New Headmaster brings Ministry approved order to the school"

And all the anger and frustration turn into white hot rage as I see the hook-nosed, black-
haired man, staring sullenly at me from the small picture attached to the article. Fucking
Snape.

I almost let out a menacing growl, but then I glance at Hermione, who is taking her seat again
at the table, the look in her eyes weary and…hopeless. And I can't have that. I can't have her
going hopeless. Not her.

I clear my throat, trying to swallow down the fury. "I'll talk to Regulus. We'll – we'll figure
something out. We'll have something to move on to," I say to her, trying to reassure her.

Hermione gives me a tight smile in return before she takes back the paper and starts rifling
through it. And we both know there's a very small chance of any one of us figuring out
something that could help us.

Nevertheless, I reckon it is time to revisit the idea of Regulus trying to access his thoughts.

The mattress dips slightly close to my feet. I crack an eye open, feeling the weariness
washing over me.

Messy black hair and bright green eyes.

"Potter," I mutter, closing my eyes again.

I don't really remember the events from the previous night – there was probably alcohol
included – but I am quite certain I did take a Sober-Up potion, since I do not feel completely
decaying.

"Hey," Potter says quietly.

A short silence.

"Can we talk?"

Ah. Talking. Something grave, I presume, from the tone in his voice. I tell him this, my eyes
still closed, and Potter lets out a small snort.

"Did you see him?" He asks carefully.

I blink my eyes open and give him a scrutinising look. I wish I fucking did. I've tried. And
the more I fail to see him, the more agitated it makes me. "I didn't."

Potter nods slowly, watching me with a worried expression. "When will you stop?"

Never. I clench my jaw and remain expressionless, even though in my head, I'm screaming
with frustration and despair. "I'll stop when I have my brother back," I say harshly, and Potter
flinches. Brilliant.
He lets out a deep sigh and covers his face with his hands, leaning his elbows against his
knees. As the silence stretches on, I move slightly upwards to lean against the headboard.

"What good will it do?" He whispers after a short moment, sounding tired.

And I want to pull him closer, to tell him how it will do good, how it will give hope. It will
give me the assurance that he is still there. At the same time, I want to tell him how every
time I've seen my brother in that place, it haunts me. It makes my skin crawl for days. Weeks
even. Seeing him makes it hard to return to live in this world, knowing that he's there, alone,
waiting.

Instead, I close my eyes and swallow down my thoughts, locking them down somewhere
deep.

"You know what I did there? In his room?" Potter asks, his voice still slightly muffled by his
hands.

I open my eyes to look at him. "Hm?"

His hands move upwards, until the heels of his palms rest against his forehead, his fingers
tangling into his hair.

"I kept thinking about the Stone. And how, if we'd have it, maybe…maybe we could have
Sirius as well." Potter lets out a mirthless laugh. "But then. Then I remembered what needs to
happen before we can even think of going into the Ministry. And then, I realised – even
though at first, I was sure he'd back me up – what he would do. Sirius would try to destroy
Voldemort. He would focus on the job that Dumbledore gave to us."

I know he would.

I watch Potter studiously for a moment, before he turns his gaze at me, his expression
bordering on desperate.

"I need you. I need you to read my mind again. To read his."

Several emotions flicker past my mind, and I compile my thoughts before I give him an
answer. "I can't do that, Harry," I say quietly, looking away from him. Away from the
pleading, impossibly green eyes.

"Why?" He asks, quietly, insistently.

I shake my head slightly, glancing back at him. "What you're asking, has never been done.
Has never been tried by anyone. Accessing one's mind, navigating in it, it is a very
complicated and delicate practice. And what we'd be doing; adding an entirely new
dimension. The uncertainty and vulnerability it brings – the consequences could be…
disastrous."

Potter watches me steadily, his jaw hard. Merlin forbid. He's not backing out on this, is he?
"I might not possess the skill to perform such Legilimency, Harry. I could ruin everything. Or
you could, if your mind is not strong enough," I tell him, trying to make him see that even a
small slip could be detrimental. "The Dark Lord is too powerful."

Potter continues to stare at me, before his eyes widen slightly. "Not every moment. You
said…when he opens the connection – "

"That seems to be a time when his guards are down. When the barriers of his mind are
weakened. This is merely an assumption." I tell Potter impatiently.

When the Dark Lord accidentally opens up the connection between his and Potter's mind, that
could be a way in.

In the event that it is accidental.

Potter looks somewhat enthusiastic. "Could we – next time I'm in his mind, you could, I
mean, we could try it?" Potter asks hesitantly.

I give Potter a look. There is quite some practice to be done before we can even tempt
ourselves with the thought.

Potter gives a sheepish nod, understanding my line of thought. "Yeah, probably not. We need
to practice. So, um. Have a go."

I groan and drop my head back against the headboard. "Potter. Let me wake up first."
 Seek And Find
Chapter Notes

Finally some action. Let me know what you think!

Chapter 38: Seek And Find

Grimmauld Place, 24 September 1997

"You've gone mental!" Ronald exclaims before Potter even finishes his proposal.

Proposal about going to Godric's Hollow to meet Bathilda Bagshot in hope of finding out
about historical artefacts, or something that could help us to find the Horcruxes.

I can feel Potter tensing next to me on the library sofa. He huffs with irritation. "You didn't let
me finish what I wanted to say!"

Ronald shakes his head. "We've avoided that place for a reason, Harry…You-Know-Who is
bound to keep the place under his watch," Ronald says and then glances at Hermione and me
with a questioning look. "Didn't we all agree on that?"

The three of them have been taking fruitless trips to visit the smaller Wizarding villages
during the past few weeks. But this particular village – it was agreed by all of us, that none of
us will go there, as it is quite possible that the Dark Lord is expecting Potter to visit there.

Hermione is curled up in one of the armchairs, worrying her lip in thought. "Well, yes, we
did," she says slowly. "It's just that…we are in a dead-end," she says with a weary sigh.
"We've read everything, we've gone through every bit of information and still we are not any
closer to finding out where he could be keeping the Horcruxes, or what even is the final
object," Hermione continues and glances each of us in turn. "This may be our only lead to
them…"

"But Bagshot – she's not even in her right mind, is she?" Ronald asks pointedly and leans
forward in his seat, watching Potter with a meaningful look. "You remember what Muriel
said, Harry?"

Potter clenches his jaw. "I remember. But I still agree with Hermione. It's either that or…" he
mutters, his eyes flickering to meet mine. "…Or we try to read You-Know-Who's mind to see
if we could get the information from his memories."

I frown at Potter. The thought is tempting. But we both know that even though we have
continued the training, and Potter has made progress, there is still a lot to be done. "You need
more practice," I say quietly, and Potter nods in agreement.
Hermione gives us a wary look. "I still think that that – trying to read his mind – is the very
last option. There are immense risks in it, and we wouldn't necessarily get what we hope for."

"So. Godric's Hollow then?" Potter asks, defiance in his eyes. When neither Ronald nor
Hermione answers, Potter turns to look at me. "Regulus?"

I watch Potter, my thoughts clouded by last night.

"Sirius!" I gasp after seeing my brother's appearance.

He's thin…too thin. His clothes are ripped and his face – his beautiful face is now deathly
pale, his eyes dark hollows. There're chunks of his hair missing, replaced by red spots in his
scalp. His fingernails are blackened and cracked, and there's something dark…something red
staining the tips of his fingers. The edges of his frame are blurred and I'm not sure if we are
in the same place than before. There is no archway, no rows of benches surrounding us.
There is actually nothing around us. Only greyness.

Seeing my brother finally fills me with both joy and dread. Then, when my brother speaks, all
I can feel is nausea and coldness.

"Regulus." Sirius rasps with a voice I hardly recognise. He's shaking where he stands, barely
holding up.

I swallow down the terror, the nausea and the anguish I feel. "…Sirius…" I almost sob.

Sirius starts shuddering more and more, and he seems to be having a hard time focusing on
my existence. "I-I t-tried, b…b…brother," he croaks.

His eyes roll to the back of his head, and then he's falling, falling, and I am unable to catch
him.

"NO!" I scream. "DON'T! PLEASE SIRIUS!" I cry, beg, weep.

But he's gone. And I'm alone.

"…No…" I gasp, staring at the empty space in horror. "No, no, no…" I croak, my throat
closing, the air leaving my lungs.

I can't breathe anymore.

He's gone.

"No…"

…Regulus!

There's a whisper somewhere, someone calling me, but I'm still here, alone.

…Regulus!
"REG!"

I wake up with a jolt. And Potter's there, staring at me with worry and fear in his expression,
his fingers pressing against my shoulders.

"W-What?" I mumble, blinking hard, trying to focus on the present.

I'm in my room. In my bed. I'm trembling, and there is panic and nausea swirling in the
bottom of my stomach.

"You were dreaming," Potter whispers, his concerned eyes moving over my face.

His thumb brushes against my cheek, wiping away the wetness from my skin.

I make a sudden move to sit up on the bed.

"Regulus?" Potter asks, apprehension in his voice.

"Sirius," I mumble, my eyes moving hopelessly over the room, trying to remember the details,
trying to remember how he sounded. But it fades away, away from my grasp. "I can't…" I
breathe, trying to swallow down the queasiness. "I can't remember…"

Potter places a hand against my shoulder "It's…it's okay –"

"No!" I grunt and leap onto my feet, knowing that I need to do something. But what? What
can I do?

"Nothing of it is okay, Potter," I say bluntly, not turning to look at him.

Instead, I move towards the armchair to pull on my robes. I need to see it. The tapestry. If
there's a change. If my brother is really – but I can't even think about it. The mere thought
makes my chest ache with pain.

"Excuse me…" I mutter and quickly leave the room.

Not ten minutes later, Potter enters the drawing room, closing the door silently behind him.

"What did you see?" He asks as he walks closer to me.

I am standing in front of the tapestry, my back against the door – against him – my eyes glued
at the spot under my brother's birth date. A spot that is empty – that has been empty during
most of the nights I've spent here.

There's a short silence. Then a soft sigh right behind me. "I wish you'd tell me."

Warmness against my spine. A touch. Potter's head is resting against my back.

I frown at the tapestry. "I always remember," I mutter, hoping, pleading, that what I saw, was
in fact a dream, unlike the others. "I always remember his words. How everything looked. I
always remember everything. But not now."
There's a short silence. "What if…what if this time, it was your imagination? A dream?"
Potter asks, his voice unsure.

How I'd want that to be true.

But there's another thought, gnawing at my insides.

What if…what if all of it – every dream and vision I've seen of my brother – has been that?
My imagination?

"Reg?" Potter asks again, pulling me back to present.

Potter and his friends are staring at me in expectation.

There is only one way to find out, is there? Only one way to be certain that what I've been
seeing for the past year – longer even – is not my imagination, but some…odd connection
between my brother and me. That my brother is there, trapped between two worlds.

And the one way is ending him. The Dark Lord needs to be finished before any of us could
walk into the Ministry and out alive.

With that in my mind, I nod at Potter. "We'll go to Godric's Hollow."

Potter, Hermione and Ronald all give me looks of surprise and disbelief.

"We?" Potter asks faintly, his eyes moving between mine.

I arch a brow at him. "I'm with you. After what happened the last time, I thought I made
myself clear," I say and give Potter a blank look.

Potter looks away, mildly ashamed, and frowns at the table before nodding slowly. "Right
then." He mutters, and then glances at his friends. "What about you?"

Both of them agree to go without any hesitance.

And that is how we start planning a visit to the famous Wizarding village, a place that surely
is a trap, but also, at the moment, one of our only options.

Grimmauld Place, 25 September 1997

"I think we have enough Polyjuice for all of us," Hermione mutters as she scribbles
something in her notes.

We're at breakfast, continuing to make the plan we started last night. A trip to Godric's
Hollow.

And even thinking about going there makes me equally nervous and excited. It's the place I
lived with my parents. The place where we had happy moments together, the place where I
came from. I can't wait to see it and to connect somewhere, finally.
But at the same time, I'm anxious to go there. It is where Voldemort killed my parents. Where
my parents are buried.

"…We already discussed that we'd take safety precautions, which are Polyjuice potion,
Harry's Cloak and the Portkey," Hermione lists as she views over her notes, before glancing
at us.

"And I think we ought to practice our defensive spells a bit before we go," she says simply,
her focus again at the parchment, her quill moving against it.

Ron guffaws next to me. "What now?" He asks incredulously, his voice slightly muffled by
the strip of bacon hanging halfway from his mouth.

Hermione arches a brow at him. "Charming, Ronald." She then gives us all – even Regulus –
a stern look. "None of us has practiced duelling in a long time. I think we need all the
safeguards we can get. And that includes being prepared to defend ourselves."

I lift my brows at Regulus, who sits next to Hermione and sips his tea in silence. His mouth
twitches slightly. "Hermione's right. We should at least review the basic defensive spells," he
says, almost impassively.

Hermione gives him a pleased nod while Ron and I share a flat look.

"Excellent," she says brightly. "We'll start after breakfast. Now, when we do go to Godric's
Hollow, I think we should probably move in pairs, so that we wouldn't draw attention to
ourselves. And I reckon that at least one of us – maybe two – could take the cloak to begin
with…" she says, and her eyes flicker to meet mine.

"I'm not taking the cloak, Hermione," I say forcefully, giving her a determined look. "I'm not
going to go there and – and – hide under my cloak. It's my home. Or it was."

Hermione chews the inside of her cheek in thought while she eyes me carefully. I stare back
in defiance, and finally, when no one says anything, she lets out a frustrated huff. "Fine.
You're off the cloak then," she says bitterly. "I hope you won't make us regret that
decision…" she adds quietly and continues making her notes.

I swallow the urge to say something back.

Two hours later, after a preliminary plan – Hermione's words, not mine – has been put
together, we're back in the library. For the first time, I'm standing in the middle of the library
floor facing Regulus, intending to duel him, while Hermione and Ron sit close to the
fireplace, both of them eyeing us with mixed looks of curiosity and excitement.

"Ready?" Regulus asks softly, a calculating look in his eyes.

I arch a brow at him. "Are you ready?"

The corner of his mouth pulls up a bit. "Clever, Potter."

"Oh, it's Potter now, is it?" I taunt him, and Regulus shakes his head, replying me with a
sudden stinging hex, hitting me straight to my left thigh.

"Shit!" I shout in surprise, and quickly parry him with a couple of hexes of my own while I
definitely hear Ron snorting a laugh at the seating area.

Regulus deflects my spells with ease and flicks his wand, sending a nonverbal Stunning spell
towards me, which I manage to block with a hurriedly – and loudly – shouted Shield charm.

Regulus casts several Stunners, one after the other, and manages to break my Shield charm
relatively quickly.

"Stupefy!" I grit out as I duck downwards to avoid another red stream of light from Regulus's
wand. "Expelliar – "

"Don't even think about that, Potter," Regulus says sternly, his wand moving at the same
time, and a Binding spell is sent towards me; two thick ropes zoom from Regulus's wand,
which I'm barely able to avoid by jumping to the side.

Regulus continues his stream of offensive spells and I'm straining to keep up with him, to
block his spells with a Shield charm or simply lunging away from them.

"Why?" I grit through my teeth, meeting him with a nonverbal Impediment jinx – which
Regulus has to actually dodge since he doesn't have time to block it with a Shield charm.

Regulus huffs. "You are joking, right?" He says before sending a Trip jinx at me, which hits
me on my toe as I try to swerve it.

"Ouch!" I grunt as I fall towards the floor, face first. What Regulus doesn't anticipate, is a
hex. "Locomotor Wibbly!" I shout as I land on the floor with a roll to the side, using my
Seeker's reflexes.

Regulus swears under his breath as he collapses on his hands and knees on the floor.

"Expelliarmus!" I yell and Regulus's wand flies in a beautiful arch through the air, straight
into my outstretched palm. I give him a smirk and stand up slowly. "Not joking. Still seems to
be a handy sp – "

What the hell? My…my tongue's glued to the roof of my mouth.

Regulus looks up from the floor, an amused glint in his eyes. The wanker used a Langlock
hex on me. Without his wand.

He closes his eyes for a moment, and then both our wands fly back into his hand.

Bloody hell.

I'm helpless without a wand. There's nothing I can do, since I can't do wandless magic, like
him. All I could do, if situation was real, is to run.
Or charge at him, and try to take my wand back by force.

Which I do, precisely two seconds after, right when Regulus rids himself from the Jelly-Legs-
jinx and stands up. I let out a muffled yell to distract him, and then throw myself at him,
taking him by surprise, making us both tumble towards the floor as I wrestle the wands away
from his grasp.

Regulus howls in pain when I land on top of him and as he takes the brunt of the collision
against the hard wood.

"What the hell, Harry?" Regulus grunts as he tries to grab the wands back, unsuccessfully, as
I basically sit on top of his stomach. I manage to grab his both wrists and press them against
the floor.

"Get off me!" Regulus huffs with irritation, his cheeks tinging with red.

I vaguely register that Hermione and Ron are howling with laughter.

Knowing that I'm rubbish at nonverbal spells, there really seems no point to continue the
duel. So, instead, I lift my brows at Regulus, indicating for us to stop and for him to remove
the hex from me.

Regulus narrows his eyes at me and murmurs a wandless spell, freeing my tongue from the
hex. "You really should practice your wandless casting, Potter," He grunts and moves to sit
up, forcing me to climb off of him.

He smooths his rumpled clothes and trails both hands through his hair to flatten it.

"That was a good start," Hermione says appreciatively as I slump in an armchair closest to
the couch where she and Ron are situated, feeling drained. "And I happen to agree with
Regulus, Harry. Both Ron and you use very little nonverbal spells," she says and gives us a
stern look.

Regulus sits down in an armchair next to mine, looking as pristine as ever. As if he hadn't
been just duelling, blocking and dodging spells. The prat.

Ron looks as disgruntled as I feel. "Well, go on, you two show us then how it's done, won't
you?" He says dryly.

I grunt in agreement.

Hermione and Regulus share a look. Hermione shrugs. "I'm up for a practice if you are?"

Regulus stays expressionless. "By all means," he says and inclines his head before standing
up again.

As the two of them take their places in the middle of the library floor, I move next to Ron to
get a better view of the duel.

Which is an amazing thing to watch.

They're both silent, their wands and their bodies moving quickly but gracefully; brown long
curls sweeping through the air every time she turns, while black robes swish quietly as his
wand slashes in front of him.

Regulus is faster, and perhaps stronger than her, but Hermione…wow. She's using so many
different spells, that I'm quickly losing track of them. There're wand movements I haven't
seen before, and even Regulus has to rely to dodge her spells at times, since some of them
shatter his Shield charms instantly.

"Show offs," Ron mutters wryly next to me and takes a more relaxed position, his eyes still
tracking the duel.

I let out a hum of acknowledgement.

"She's brilliant, though…" Ron says softly, his focus completely at her, a slightly dazzled
look in his eyes.

A smile curves my lips. "Yeah?" I ask, and watch Ron closely. I know there's something
between them, and there has been for quite some time. They have been sleeping in the same
room for a couple of months now. Perhaps even in the same bed? "Have you told her?"

Ron arches a brow at me. "Told her what?"

"That you fancy her."

Ron's ears tinge with red, and a sheepish smile spreads over his face. "Er…I mean…yeah.
Sort of. We're – um – she knows," he mumbles and looks quickly away, his eyes back to the
duel.

The amusement I feel quickly dissipates and I frown at my friend. Are they together? Is there
something else they're not telling me? Are they talking about our situation, about the mission,
about the war, without me?

And as bitterness swirls inside me with those thoughts, I realise I've been keeping things from
them as well.

Sirius.

But…it's not like I could tell them. I know they wouldn't understand.

"…Harry?" Ron asks, his eyes moving searchingly over my face.

"Huh?" I blink.

"I asked – well – about, you know. You and him." Ron manages to say without flushing,
before he glances at Regulus.

Regulus and me.

What about us? Well, first of all, I'd like to know that myself. I'd like to know what he is
thinking most of the time. Or what he is feeling. He's been distancing himself for so long, that
I'm having a hard time remembering what it was like before, or what if felt like before.
Before the wedding, before the memory of Sirius's death. Before everything started to go
downhill.

I shrug at my friend, feeling powerless all of a sudden. "It's complicated," I merely tell him.

Ron nods slowly, watching me thoughtfully. "Are you…are you sure taking him with us is a
good plan?" Ron asks quietly, his eyes flickering back to Hermione and Regulus, who are
both still focused on their duel, moving and casting as efficiently as they were in the
beginning.

I watch Regulus, and yeah, I know there're risks, of us stepping into a Death Eater trap, but
Regulus – he's a very skilled wizard, an excellent duellist, and he can even do magic without
a wand. Not to mention, he probably can fight dark magic with dark magic.

I clear the tightness away from my throat. "Why wouldn't we take him? I mean, I reckon if
we were to get caught, he'd probably be the only one of us who'd manage to escape…" I
mutter, and Ron grunts in agreement when Regulus finally manages to hit Hermione with a
full Body-Bind-curse – after being knocked on his arse by her. And before either Ron or I
have time to gasp and stumble to our feet to help her, Regulus aims another spell at
Hermione's falling body, easing her slowly and softly to the floor.

Godric's Hollow, 1 October 1997

A week after we decided about the trip, it's finally happening. We're actually here, walking
along the outskirts of the village that sometimes haunts me in my dreams, even if I haven't
yet seen it, even if I have no memory of the place.

Hermione and I are disguised as an elderly couple, while Ron and Reg are Polyjuiced as two
middle-aged men; one of them tall and lean, sporting a short brown hair and thick moustache,
while the other is slightly shorter and bulkier, and completely bald.

Regulus – the shorter one – is hidden under the Cloak, while Ron – the taller one – is paired
with him.

"Remember," Hermione whispers as she glances behind her towards Ron and Regulus.
"Constant vigilance."

Ron snorts quietly as he starts walking away from us, in purpose of finding another entrance
to the village with Regulus.

Hermione and I make our way slowly through the old stone-made arch gate and along the
narrow main street of the village where half-timbered medieval cottages line up the road on
both sides. It's getting dark and the streets are mostly empty, with only a few people walking
past us – Muggles by the looks of them. Hermione moves tensely next to me, her fingers
undoubtedly gripping her wand inside the pocket of her long coat, while her other arm is
linked through mine.

We walk in silence until we reach the centre of the village; a round clearing that is lit with
street lights and surrounded by shops, a church and a pub filled with voices and laughter. And
in the middle of it all, there’s some sort of…memorial obelisk. But as we walk closer, it starts
to change in front of us.

"…What is that?" I whisper in dread, my arm jolting against Hermione's.

Hermione squeezes my arm. "Relax. It's not a threat. Just…just look," she says back quietly.

And – there's a statue. Of people. A man, a woman, and…a baby. A family.

My family.

"Is that – "

"Yes, it is," Hermione murmurs softly as we stop in front of it.

While Hermione glances surreptitiously around us, I stare at the statue. I stare at the man with
glasses and messy hair, the man who looks very much like me. I turn my focus on the
beautiful woman with a soft smile, holding her child – holding me – in her arms.

My parents.

My gaze flickers towards the church. There must be a graveyard nearby. Where they are
buried. "Hermione let's – "

But my words die in my throat as Hermione's grip on my arm tightens close to a painful one.
"What is it?" I hiss as I turn to look at her, but Hermione doesn't look back.

"Someone's there, watching us."

Her words send chills running down my spine and I slowly turn to where her eyes are glued
at; in the middle of the street, in the direction we came from. There's a small figure. An old…
woman.

Is it…could it be Bagshot? If she is, she must've known we'd come to see her! And – what if
Dumbledore told her that I'd be here? What if he left her instructions?

"Is she…Bathilda?" Hermione says, almost inaudibly. "Does she know that it's us?"

"She must know," I mutter to her, when the woman inclines her head, as if asking us to follow
her.

"Should we follow her…?" I continue as the woman beckons us towards her again.

Hermione shivers next to me. "I don't know…perhaps we should wait for the others?" She
whispers.
I glance around us. We're alone. I look back at the woman. "Are you Bathilda?" I ask, quietly,
but loud enough for her to hear me. Hermione flinches next to me.

The old woman nods slowly, waves her hand for us, urging us to follow her, before turning
around and walking away from us.

"Hermione, we need to go," I say quietly, taking a step towards the woman, pulling Hermione
with me.

Hermione still looks hesitant, but follows me without a word.

We walk behind the woman along the silent streets, turning left from the main street, to one
of the alleyways where it is darker. After taking another left, and then right, she finally stops
in front of a small, poorly maintained cottage. A flicker of uneasiness passes me, as I have no
idea how far we have walked from the clearing. I have no idea where Regulus and Ron are.

But the feeling quickly dissipates. I'm quite certain Bagshot can be trusted – after all, she's a
friend of Dumbledore's!

It's eerily silent, and the woman – Bagshot – opens the door with difficulty, before moving to
the side and gesturing for us to walk inside.

The smell inside the house is rather horrible. It smells like dust and mould and something…
decaying. I glance around the hallway. Newspapers are stacked in every corner, the paint is
peeling from the walls and the floor is sticky with dirt.

Perhaps this wasn't the best idea, after all…

Bathilda walks closer to me, and the smell intensifies. I have to breathe through my mouth to
keep myself from coughing. She looks very old this close; her skin is blotchy and wrinkled,
her eyes sunken hollows and the lenses of her eyes clouded with grey and white. Her clothes
are stained and moth-eaten. Her eyes move across my face before she pushes past us,
inclining her head towards what I assume is the sitting room.

Hermione is staring at me with a horrified look, swallowing hard. "We should go back. Wait
for the others," she whispers quickly.

"Come!" Bathilda calls from the other room.

Hermione gasps next to me, her fingers pressing against my wrist.

I shake my head at her. We've come this far. I admit that it doesn't look like she's in any state
to be useful to us, but I have to see it through. Perhaps there is something…

"It's fine, come on. We'll be quick," I tell her, and pull her with me towards the other room.

Bathilda bustles around the sitting room, her shaking hands trying to light the candles. I
quickly move closer to help her, wondering how long she has been here alone, and if she has
forgotten how to use magic. Magic she could use to clean up the filth and dirt.
As I light the last of the candles on a cabinet, my eyes flicker to a handful of framed
photographs placed on top of it. I can barely make out the movements through the dust. I pick
up one of them and brush away the thick dust from the surface with my hand.

It's the golden-haired boy. The thief. Grindelwald.

And then I remember. I remember reading from the book, The Life and Lies of Albus
Dumbledore, that Grindelwald had once stayed here, with Bathilda. That he was – is? – a
relative of Bagshot's.

"Mrs. – Miss – Bagshot?" I ask, turning around to see Bathilda watching me closely. "I know
who this is," I tell her. "He – he took something, from a man called Gregorovitch. Do you
know what it was?" I ask urgently.

Bathilda narrows her eyes at me, but doesn't say anything.

"Do you know what it was? The object?"

"Harry, I don't think – " Hermione starts.

I shake my head at her and turn to look at Bathilda. "Why did you bring us here? Did
Dumbledore tell you I'd be here? Did he leave instructions to you?" I ask, taking a couple of
steps towards Bathilda.

Bathilda watches me silently for a moment, but then she moves her head, nodding at the door
in the corner.

Does she have something for us? Is it…is it a Horcrux?

Bathilda walks slowly to the door and opens it, revealing a set of stairs. She jerks her head
again, gesturing for me to follow her.

"Come on, Hermione," I murmur, and walk towards Bathilda.

But when Hermione takes a step, Bathilda starts shaking her head furiously.

"What is it?" Hermione asks with a deep frown.

I look between the old woman and my friend. "I dunno…maybe she wants only me to follow
her?" I say unsurely.

"Harry, I don't think you should – "

"It's all right, Hermione. Just wait here. I'll be down in a bit," I tell her and leave my friend
downstairs, leave her worrying her lip and watching me in concern.

Bathilda walks silently upstairs, tottering on the uneven steps, and I follow her, hoping that
she doesn't fall backwards. We finally enter the upper floor, and Bathilda leads me into a dark
bedroom, stepping on the side to close the door behind us as I walk further into the room.
"Lumos." I whisper. When I turn around, I have to stifle a gasp.

She's standing right in front of me.

"You are Potter?" She asks quietly.

I give her a clear nod. "Yes."

She stays silent and still, only her eyes moving along my face. My heart is beating rapidly,
my skin prickling with anticipation.

"Have you got something for me?" I ask from her, and feel excitement coursing through me
as Bathilda nods and moves her focus towards a chest of drawers, partly behind me.

"Yes. Over there." She whispers.

I give her a small frown. Is she waiting for me to go and have a look?

"Okay. I'll – I'll get it." I mutter and turn towards the chest, and then I feel something.
Uneasiness. Agitation.

"Ah!" I gasp, slamming a hand against my forehead. My scar starts to pulse with pain and my
vision becomes blurred.

Hold him! A cold voice speaks inside my head.

What is happening? I quickly turn back to Bathilda, and nearly choke in horror.

Her body – it collapses to the ground, and where she was just standing, is now the snake,
emerging from…from inside her.

The air leaves my lungs, my insides fill with fear and nausea, and the snake stares me for a
fracture of a second, before it attacks.

I have barely enough time to lunge to the side.

"HERMIONE!" I yell, and the snake strikes again, its long teeth on display.

"HARRY!" Hermione screams from the staircase.

I lift my wand but the snake is faster; its sharp teeth find the shoulder of my wand arm,
pressing into my flesh with a deadly grip, making me cry in agony.

My shoulder and arm become instantly numb, and my wand flies away from my grasp,
clattering to the floor.

My vision swarms and the snake's grip is unrelenting. Hermione yells, her voice coming from
somewhere closer, and then, a splitting pain tears at my shoulder as the snake is blasted away
from me.
"Harry!" Hermione cries in panic, and I can see her, vaguely, running closer to me. She ends
up taking most of my weight as I collapse against her.

"Come on," she sobs, pulling me with her, towards the…the stairs?

"NO!" Hermione yells suddenly, pushing me towards the floor as the snake dives towards us
again. "Confrigo!"

The room – and everything in it – explodes around us. Splinters of wood and glass fly over
the room, raining upon us, cutting our skin open.

"Come on, Harry!" Hermione shrieks and drags me towards the stairs.

Warm liquid runs down my torso, making my clothes soak with something.

With blood.

My scar is on fire. "He's coming, Hermione!" I gasp, stumbling down the stairs. "He's
coming!"

As soon as we emerge back to the sitting room, the front door bursts open. I start to crawl
onward, trying to fight against the nausea, the pain and the numbness on the right side of my
body. The burn in my forehead becomes unbearable; I'm unable to see clearly, unable to
move. The pain shoots through my body, suffocating me. Disorienting images fill my mind
and I press a hand against my eyes. But I only see him.

At the main street of the village, gliding towards us.

"Ron!" Hermione screams with relief. "Disapparate, now!"

I force my eyes open, and can make out their figures; Ron and Regulus…they're…they're
fighting, sending spells after spells towards the front door.

"We can't! Anti-Disapparation wards!" Ron shouts, panic in his voice, right before he blasts
the ceiling down between Voldemort and us.

"They're here!"

No...no.

Is this it? The end?

"Harry!" I hear Regulus yelling, but the dizziness starts to take over.

He's coming.
 At Night
Chapter Notes

Enjoy. And happy holidays everyone!

Chapter 39: At Night

Grimmauld Place, 5 October 1997

There's a soft knock against the door.

Hermione slips into the room – my father's study – and peers at the darkness until she spots
me, sitting on the floor behind the desk, my back against the wall. The exact place where I sat
with my brother, for what feels like a lifetime ago.

Come to think of it, before the past couple of days, I don't even remember the last time I
visited the room, as I have been rather engaged with other things lately. Still, it remains quite
the same; perhaps with a lesser number of spiders and dust. Kreacher evidently has been
keeping the place in order.

"Regulus?" Hermione asks quietly and takes a couple of steps closer to me.

I turn my focus to her from the black curtains and the sliver of moonlight that creeps into the
room between them.

She looks tired; with dark patches under her eyes, her shoulders sagging from the stress of
the past few days.

"Is there any change?" I ask after clearing my throat. My voice is somewhat hoarse, after not
using it in a while. Not after proving how utterly useless I have been in our efforts to heal
Potter. To save him.

While I have been keeping Potter's unconscious form company, she – with Kreacher's
assistance – has done most of it; treating the wounds the snake inflicted upon Potter.

The fucking snake.

Hermione sighs wearily. "Well, no. But he's not worse either. He's stable," she says and
chews the inside of her cheek as she looks away. "He would be better if he was at St
Mungo's."

"We both know that that's not going to happen, Hermione," I say with a warning in my voice.
It would be madness. The Death Eaters would take him before he could receive any care.
And we already decided that this – Grimmauld Place – is the safest place for Potter.

"I know," she says sharply, her eyes moving across my face. "It's just…It has been over three
days. And I fear that my skills are not enough…" She continues, her voice softer. Her
expression looks more vulnerable now.

I clench my jaw and look down. "I'm afraid you are our only hope now."

She takes a deep, shaky breath, and I wonder if I am putting too much pressure upon her. I
look up and see the exhaustion in her eyes and see how tired she is from taking the initiative
and carrying the burden.

"I'm sorry." I say quietly. "You should rest. I'll go to him."

Hermione watches me closely with a grim expression before giving me a small nod.

Upstairs, I find Potter, lying in my bed, partly tucked under the comforter; his right arm
resting on top of it. Even though his eyes are closed and his skin is paler than I have ever
seen it, he is still breathing. There're multiple diagnostic charms hovering over his frame,
most of them white and glowing softly. Some of them are light grey. The ones over his arm.

They were black some days ago.

My eyes move over his shoulder and the spot that is covered with a large dressing.

I remember how he screamed, how he gasped in agony. The image of Potter writhing in pain
haunts my mind every moment of every day. I haven't slept in a long time. And I suspect
neither have Potter's friends.

I remember the blood. He was covered in it.

When we stumbled into the kitchen downstairs over three days ago, grateful to be alive and
to escape through the anti-Apparition wards with Potter's Portkey, I remember how lifeless he
felt in my arms.

"No…" I gasp, taking a hold of Potter before he collapses to the floor. "No, no, no…" I grit
out and press my hand firmly against the wound on his shoulder.

My fingers are quickly coated with warm blood.

"Help!" I yell, and Hermione and Ronald emerge closer with their wands out, both ready to
fight until they take in the situation. Until they see Potter hanging in my arms, unmoving.

Dread fills their expressions. It is quiet.

For a moment.

"Ron!" Hermione shrieks as she waves her wand to vanish Potter's robes and shirt before
siphoning the blood away. With another flick, she conjures a dressing. "Summon the antidote
from my bag!" She orders. "And transfigure something where we can lay him down!".

Ronald nods. "On it," he breathes and transfigures a mattress from a nearby chair, before
moving it as close to us as he can get.

I'm still standing, holding Potter up and pressing the wound. I watch his blood trickle down
my wrist.

Hermione looks at me, her eyes wide with fear. "Let's put him down first. And…and then, take
you hand off and when I say so, press the dressing against the wound," she says tightly, and I
almost miss the small shake in her voice.

I give her a quick nod and carefully lower Potter down with the help of Ronald. I remove my
hand. Blood is oozing from the wound and pooling into the mattress under him.

"H-Holy shit," Ronald gasps, his voice wavering.

"Now!" Hermione yells after she's cleaned the wound, and then the dressing is hovering
inches away from Potter's shoulder.

I quickly push it against the wound, while Hermione takes a vial from Ronald. Her hands are
shaking badly now. "H-How we are going to make him drink this?" She asks, panic in her
eyes.

I exchange a grim look with them. "We need to force him into consciousness."

"Godric," Hermione whispers, her eyes wide with fear. But still, she lifts her wand. It wavers
in her grasp. "Hold him still," she says to Ronald and me, before aiming her wand at Potter's
chest.

"Rennervate!"

Silence.

And then – Potter's eyes blink slowly open. There's a moment of hopefulness in the air, but
then…then…his face distorts with anguish.

Potter lets out a gut-wrenching scream, before gasping for breath. The next moment, his eyes
roll to the back of his head, and his entire body starts to tremble, to shudder violently.

"Merlin, he's seizing!" Hermione shrieks. "Ron, help me move him to his side!"

"Don't let go," she adds to me as they move Potter's jerking body and adjust him.

The shaking stops eventually, and then we shuffle him back to his original position. He's
unconscious again.

"Bloody hell," Ronald growls. "How can we get him to drink it?" He asks, dread in his voice.
He needs the antidote now, or we might lose him. And I have no fucking idea what to do if he
cannot stay conscious long enough to drink it. I'm holding my hands against the deadly
wound, while my mind stays blank without a single thought; a healing spell or a potion, or…
any way to help Potter.

I have never felt this powerless.

"We could…" Hermione mutters, worrying her lip in thought.

"We could what?" I ask sharply, knowing that we need to act soon. The dressing is slowly
filling with blood. "Conjure another one," I tell her, and Hermione frowns at me before she
realises what I meant, and quickly flicks her wand to conjure another dressing.

"Don't remove the other, just put this over it," she instructs and I do as she says.

"What can we do, Hermione?" Ronald asks, holding the antidote – which we are not even
sure will work.

Hermione chews the inside of her cheek. "We could do it the Muggle way," she says, and
hastily continues when both Ronald and I give her exasperated looks. "With an IV injection."

"A what?" Ronald asks desperately, right as I ask, "Can you do it?"

Hermione looks unsure, but nods. "I think I can. I've read about it, and seen it done…"

"Then get to it," I tell her, and watch with wariness as she conjures a small device with a long
needle.

"W-What the bleeding hell is that?" Ronald exclaims as Hermione inspects the device first,
before flicking her wand and filling it with the antidote.

Hermione gives us a frightened look. "I'm going to administer the antidote intravenously,"
she says, and then rolls her eyes at Ronald when he merely continues to look bemused.

"I will push this needle into Harry's vein and then force the antidote into his bloodstream."

Ronald looks nauseated at the thought. And I would probably feel both nauseous and curious,
if I was not consumed by the pressing need to get Potter healed.

"Do it," I say with a nod, when Hermione gives me and Ronald an uncertain look.

She takes in a deep breath and peers at Potter's arm, as if searching for his veins. After what
feels like a long time, she presses the needle through his skin, and then…pushes the antidote
into him.

"And now," Hermione says unsteadily. "We will see if the antidote worked."

She casts a diagnostic spell at Potter's shoulder and there is a tense silence. A thick, black
mist appears above my fingers, surrounding Potter's arm and chest, reaching all the way to
his stomach.
Hermione lets out a choked sob while Ronald gasps in shock.

The air leaves my lungs and I grit my teeth together to force the feeling of dizziness away.
"We need to brew an antidote. Use his blood – use the venom in the wound."

Hermione gives me a panicked nod, and starts to move up to gather the essentials, when
Ronald's gasp makes her flinch and stop in her tracks.

"Look!" He says hastily, pointing at the black mist over Potter's chest.

It is decreasing.

"The antidote worked!" Hermione shrieks, disbelief and relief flickering on her face.

I nod slowly, watching how the mist continues to shrink, and eventually, focuses only on the
immediate area of the wound.

But it doesn't disappear.

Hermione clears her throat. "It…seems to be working, at least. I think – I think we need to
research it to make sure. If it is not working…we don't have much time to figure out another
solution."

"Kreacher," I grunt, and the elf appears close to us.

"Master Regulus called?"

"Bring Miss Granger everything she needs."

Kreacher bows and turns to Hermione, who starts to explain what exactly she is searching
for. Kreacher disappears and returns only moments later, with a stack of books appearing
next to Hermione.

Her hands are shaking again. "Let's take care of the wound, first," she says with a tight jaw,
and starts casting healing charms at Potter's shoulder.

I blink away the memory, focusing on him. Potter's here, now. He's not dead. Not yet. The
antidote worked. After two days and eight injections by Muggle method, the thick, black mist
slowly turned into pale grey.

I let out a weary sigh and walk up to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. He looks rather fragile
like this. And I know he is not. He is stronger than I originally thought, even after he's lost so
much.

Potter is determined. A survivor. And his magic, it is powerful. Overwhelming.

I place my hand against his forearm and close my eyes. I feel the steady hum of his magic,
with all its capability underneath. Some of it, I suspect, is not originally his. Some of it is
darker, coursing inside him like a growing storm.
And even though I've known for a long time that Potter is the one who has the power to
destroy the Dark Lord, now I really understand it. All this power and potential, hidden behind
a pair of smudged glasses and a messy mop of hair.

I wonder if he is aware of what he carries inside?

Many witches and wizards are not. Some are; those who have practiced reaching into their
magic, feeling it. Much of it is similar to what one does when casting spells wandlessly. As
the wand is merely a way to control the magic inside us – it is still there without the wand;
accessible, readable.

I was always better at this than my brother, detecting magic and interpreting its small nuances
like this. I suppose my brother lacked the patience. He said it was a waste of time.

An opinion he shared with Potter.

"This is a waste of time," Potter growls after I carefully exit from his mind, and after both of
us collapse to lie on the bed where we were sitting on only moments before.

Another half an hour spent inside his head, watching memories from his childhood –
something that manages to rouse both vindictiveness and pity inside me. Something that
makes us both feel sour afterwards. Potter detests visiting those memories, and I on the other
hand…I am reminded of my own childhood and the family I lost.

I watch him quietly. "You have made progress."

Potter turns towards me and props himself up on his elbow. He gives me a long look. There's
a hint of sadness in his green eyes.

"What is it?" I ask, mirroring his position. I wonder what else is in his mind, what he has
succeeded hiding from me.

And he has been successful. There are many thoughts and memories inside his head that I
have no access to. And I desperately want to know what they are. What is he hiding from me?

His expression turns into a hesitant one. Potter swallows hard and his eyes move down,
between us. Redness tinges his cheeks. "I'm – are we – do you not want –" He mumbles and
then sighs, his shoulders sagging with defeat.

I feel the sudden need to hold him, to reassure him, so I grab his hand. Potter's eyes snap
back to mine, watching me intently.

"I have not changed my mind," I tell him, and Potter gives me a mixed look of relief and
exasperation.

"Then – I mean –" He mumbles, his voice trailing off.

I look away, a small frown forming between my brows, heaviness in my stomach. "I have…not
been quite right, lately." I say slowly, thinking of all the nights spent in the drawing room and
of all the conversations I have tried to avoid.
Potter sighs softly. "I know. But…don't go away," he says quietly, a pleading edge in his
voice.

I quickly move my gaze back to him, and there's so much vulnerability and hurt in his eyes
that I want to shake him and promise him that I will never leave him.

But I won't. Because of who we are and because of the situation we are in. I cannot make
promises like that when it is not certain that we will survive this war.

"I'm here now." I say, and try to say everything else with my eyes.

He nods slowly and then there's a flicker of a smile.

I watch him carefully and pull him gently closer. Potter follows without hesitance, closing the
distance between us and between our lips.

And as I hear a small sigh against my lips, I can only think; how in Circe was I able to forget
how good this is? How right it feels?

The room is still quiet.

It has been over three days.

I let my shoulders sag as I lean my elbows against my knees, pressing the heels of my palms
against my eyes.

Why did we go there?

I should've known better. We should've known better.

We could have lost everything. We still can. If Potter doesn't make it, then…who will
defeat him?

If Potter doesn't make it, then…am I able to move on?

I take in a deep breath and let it out.

When have I not lived in a constant fear?

There is movement on the bed.

My head whips at Potter's direction, just in time to see him blinking slowly at the canopy of
the bed. There's a broad patch of sunlight on the bed, warming up Potter's upper chest.

"Harry?" I whisper, part of me unable to accept the possibility of him waking up after this
excruciating wait. The other part of me is filling with gratefulness and lightness. I quickly
move to sit closer to him.
Potter's eyes flicker all over the room, and a flash of panic appears into them. "Where'm I?"
Potter mumbles, panic in his voice. "Wha'ppened?"

He starts to lift himself up from the bed but I push him down carefully. "Harry, calm down.
You were hurt, but you're okay now," I tell him quickly, and once Potter goes slack under me,
I quickly check the diagnostic charms. They look the same. Which is both relieving and
disappointing.

"How do you feel?" I ask, my eyes moving across his face, trying to detect any hint of pain.

Potter closes his eyes and swallows with difficulty. "Like a giant snake…tried to eat me," he
says, his voice croaky.

My mouth twitches at the same time as a small smile appears on his lips. "Bet you'd laugh at
that," he mumbles, his breathing slowing down, becoming deeper.

He's asleep.

I let out a long breath, filled with anxiety and dread and distress, swallowing down all the
feelings that threaten to overpower me.

He's going to be fine.

Grimmauld Place, 9 October 1997

I stare at the glowing embers of the fire and clench my jaw against the discomfort in my
shoulder that has changed from a dull ache into a sharply throbbing pain.

"So, all of it – was for nothing. Voldemort knows about Grindelwald. We only gave him more
answers." I grunt, feeling frustrated and bitter as I turn to face the others.

We went there – into Godric's Hollow – to only endanger and hurt ourselves. Bathilda was
long gone, and all we found was the snake. Nagini. And the mere thought of the creature
brings shivers down my spine, making anxiety press against my chest.

Most of my nights have been filled with dreams of Nagini emerging from inside Bathilda,
leaving me drenched with cold sweat and shaking in fear before Regulus's voice has breached
through the terrifying visions, banishing them – only until the following night.

"Harry, perhaps we should continue this tomorrow," Hermione says softly, eyeing me with a
hesitant look.

Ron clears his throat and frowns at me. "Yeah, mate, you don't look so good. You ought to
rest…"

I bristle at their comments. Regulus doesn't say anything, but merely watches me with that
blank stare, evidently agreeing with the others. After all, he has seen what I've become at
nights. A shivering mess.
I have been up and walking for some days, but they still insist treating me like I'm…delicate.
As if it would be too burdensome for me to discuss the events of that night. The night we all
almost died.

What I've learned so far, is that after the snake bit me, we were surrounded. Our escape with
the Portkey Hermione, Regulus and Ron used, happened only seconds before the Death
Eaters managed to get through the blockade Ron had created. And he was there. Voldemort. I
saw him. I saw him gliding along the streets towards Bathilda's house.

And I felt him. His rage.

I felt him when he destroyed the village, and everything that was in it. All those people,
buildings…the statue and my parents' graves probably too.

Hermione told me that most likely what was held up by magic, survived, along with the
people in those buildings. But we all know that the village was not only inhabited by
wizarding people.

And that's not all of it. I've been remembering some of Voldemort's thoughts from that night,
after I woke up from the three-day unconsciousness. Voldemort knows. He's knows who the
thief is – he saw the picture at Bathilda's house, right after he tore the village apart. He was…
very happy.

Anger rises inside me.

"I don't want to rest! I want to finish him! I – I want to make him pay!" I yell, and pant as my
head starts to spin. I stop pacing in front of the fireplace and steady myself at the mantel,
closing my eyes and trying to focus.

"Harry?" Regulus mutters quietly, evidently watching me with a worried look. Like they all
are.

I take in deep breaths, and the dizzying feeling passes.

"Harry?" Hermione says too, and stands up from the armchair nearest to me. "Sit down for a
moment."

I grit my teeth and turn towards the others. "I'm fine."

I'm not. I can feel how all the colour has left from my face, and how cold sweat trickles down
my neck. My whole arm is in a constant pain.

Hermione narrows her eyes at me. "You are overwhelming yourself. Sit. Now." She says
harshly, crossing her arms against her chest.

I stare at the others darkly for a moment, knowing that I'm being pointlessly stubborn. And I
really fucking need to rest. "Fine." I huff and shuffle closer to her, and then slump down in
the armchair. "Happy?" I mutter sourly.
Hermione arches a brow at me. "Not in the slightest. But that will do for now. At least as long
as you are being a bull-headed prat."

I'm about to argue, but then Ron claps his hands together, a strained smile on his face. "Now
that that's sorted... Did you see anything else? Anyone we know? What You-Know-Who is up
to?" He asks hastily.

I frown at my friend and chew the inside of my cheek, my mind running over every memory
and every feeling that I know was Voldemort's. After Godric's Hollow, all I knew was
darkness and anger – evidently the days I was unconscious. And then I woke up four days
ago, and many things have come back to me. The moment of thrill when Voldemort finally
identified the thief - the one who stole from Gregorovitch. How livid he was when his
followers didn't capture us. How he took his anger out on the village, destroying most of it,
suffocating it with his rage.

I haven't really seen anyone, as everything has been blurred by pain and anguish. I know he
tortured people; most likely his followers. I tried to close my mind, to push his consciousness
away, to make the pain in my head stop. And after using all my strength, I did it. It was
overbearing, it made me weak, it made me lose consciousness, but I closed the connection. It
doesn't make any sense, as I am still healing from the attack – and I reckon I might be
slowing down my healing process by doing so – but, perhaps…perhaps that is the reason I
succeeded. My mind protected me, and has protected me, whenever I've been at my weakest.

When I was overcome by grief after losing Sirius, I pushed Voldemort out. He took over my
mind at the Ministry and I pushed him out. I closed my mind.

"I dunno," I mutter and frown at the coffee table. "I…I don't remember," I tell Ron, not in the
mood to explain my accomplishments, when there's a growing ache in my head and a steady
throb in my arm. I shift in my chair and let out a hiss as a sharp pain flares down from my
shoulder.

"Kreacher," Regulus says stiffly.

Kreacher pops at his feet. "Master Regulus summoned?" Kreacher asks politely.

"Bring Potter a healing potion. The earlier dose seems to have worn off already."

Kreacher bows low before I can say anything, and then pops back seconds after, this time
right in front of me. The elf pushes a vial of yellow potion into my hands and gives me a mild
glower. "Master is wise to obey Master Regulus."

And then it disapparates with a crack.

Ron hides a quiet snort in a cough while Hermione simply lifts her brows at me, urging me to
take the potion.

I swallow the annoyance I feel for being patronised and down the potion in one gulp. And
sigh with content.
"Better?" Hermione asks with a small smile.

I give her a weary nod. "Yeah."

There's a short silence.

"So…what do you reckon happens next? Now that You-Know-Who knows it was
Grindelwald who stole from Gregorovitch?" Ron asks with a contemplative voice.

I sigh and rub the bridge of my nose, my glasses going askew.

"We don't even know what it was," Hermione says simply. "Nor if it is actually something we
need to know."

"If the Dark Lord is searching for something and deems it important, it would be beneficial
for us to be aware of what it is," Regulus says quietly.

I stare at the table, a deep frown between my brows. What if it is something we could use
against him? What if it is an object he plans to make a Horcrux? Could he even create a new
one?

What if it is the Elder wand?

Hermione huffs, bringing me back from my thoughts. "And what? We'd go after it?" She asks
incredulously. "Jump into another reckless trip and risk our lives, knowing that he can't be
killed before we've destroyed his safeguards?"

Regulus arches a brow at Hermione's outburst.

"I just think that we should focus on Horcruxes now," she continues, her voice softer.

Regulus and Ron both nod in agreement.

"Harry?" Hermione says gently, catching my eye as I watch them, my mind still partly going
over the possibilities.

I know Voldemort will try to find Grindelwald – if he even is alive anymore. I know exactly
how obsessed he is about the…the thing he is searching for. But as he does that, we could
take an advantage of it. If he is searching for something and occupying himself with it, we
could make a move against him.

If we only knew where his Horcruxes were.

Bloody hell.

"I think we need to reconsider our very last option," I say, giving Hermione a pointed look.
"We need to look into his mind," I continue steadily. "Next time he opens the connection,
we'll be ready."
And how will we even do that, now that I've managed to close the connection, is another
matter I need to figure out.

Based on the silence, I know the others do not object the plan. They know it is our only
chance. My eyes move from Ron's anxious frown and Hermione's strained expression to
Regulus, who gives me a scrutinising look, concern mingling in his dark grey eyes.

"I promise, I'll heal myself before we do it," I tell him, and don't miss the way Regulus's
throat bobs as he swallows hard.

I recall how wrecked he has been after our Occlumency sessions, sometimes even more than
I have been. I wonder how difficult it will be for him, to navigate in my mind, to slip into
Voldemort's mind without getting caught? And how dangerous it will be?

I wonder if Voldemort could hurt him through me?

 Memory
Chapter Notes

It's been ages, I know... Better late than never, eh? :D

Enjoy my readers ;)

Chapter 40: Memory

Grimmauld Place, 2 November 1997

It's been a month, and there's nothing; no visions, no findings about Horcruxes. Nothing.

Our days have been going by with the same routine: breakfast, duelling and spell practice –
Hermione insists that I need to practice casting with my left arm, since even one month later,
my right arm still starts to ache in a duelling practice – and after lunch, there's research and
planning; more planning than research, as I doubt that there is a book in the Black library we
haven't read by now. Then, every night after dinner, Regulus and I practice Occlumency.

And after that…Regulus keeps his distance. Which is somewhat disappointing. It's not that
I'm expecting us to jump into long and intense snog, since we're both completely exhausted
after the practice. I know we ought to concentrate on finding out about the Horcruxes, but –
what if there will never be time? What if we die trying to win Voldemort, and our last months
are spent being thoroughly obsessed with the mission? What if we fail to find anything from
Voldemort's mind? If we fail to find the Horcruxes?

What if Voldemort completes the prophecy and kills me? Would he then be indestructible?
The prophecy did say there was only one with the power to 'vanquish the Dark Lord', didn't
it?

I let out a weary sigh and stare at my bare feet against the wood, kept warm by a charm,
before pulling my knees closer to my chest.

I have tried to open the connection, and only succeeded to get brief glances of unknown
villages and mountains. Voldemort must be searching for Grindelwald, and whatever it is that
Grindelwald has. What if he has the wand, and if Voldemort finds him? What then? Do we
even stand a chance if Voldemort has an unbeatable wand?

I feel frustrated, I feel like I need to do something, to go somewhere. To fight. Sitting here, at
Grimmauld, all day, every day – even if it is safer than anywhere else – has started to get to
me. It has started to get to all of us; it feels like the moments outside our schedule, we either
argue with each other, or keep our distance.
Ron has taken the annoying habit of clicking his Deluminator on and off whenever he is in
the mood, infuriating the rest of us. Ron even confessed he had expected Regulus and me to
succeed sooner – something that had led to a harshly spoken argument between Ron,
Hermione and me.

Hermione, on the other hand, has been bickering with everyone, even Regulus. She's been
spending many nights in the library, unable to believe that there is nothing in the books that
could help us.

And Regulus…he's been quiet. Watching us, and when he is not, his mind has been
somewhere far away. Always thinking.

It has been difficult getting out of the house, as there is constantly a pair of Death Eaters
patrolling the streets. We have no Portkey; no safeguards to escape through an anti-apparition
ward. It is too much of a risk to venture outside only in the hopes of spying on people, since
Voldemort and his followers have all the power of the Ministry now. And the possibility of
another trap is too likely.

No one from the Order has tried to contact us, and we all agree it is not bad, but not
necessarily a good thing either. The Prophet cannot be trusted anymore, but the paper hasn't
mentioned any Order members in the past months. I can only hope they are all safe.

I stare silently at the white garden, gaze up to the clouds as snow swirls above me and falls
slowly down. It will be gone by the morning, I reckon, as it is only the beginning of
November. But seeing it, seeing snow, still makes my mind drift to last year. To Hogwarts. I
wonder what is going on in there…I doubt that the first day of snow there is filled with
laughter and joyous snowball fights. Not when the Death Eaters rule the school.

I lift the parchment and tap it with my wand.

"I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good," I whisper, and stare as the familiar Map reveals
the place I used to call home.

After a long examination, I find all my friends – at least those I know to be at Hogwarts –
tucked into their beds.

I wonder if they are suffering there…I wonder if the Carrows – the brother and sister, who
were in the Astronomy tower the night Dumbledore died – hurt them. If the Carrows torture
them.

Regulus told me all about them, how the siblings were both young, like him, when they first
joined Voldemort's cause. How they quickly took positions in Voldemort's inner circle – his
most trusted Death Eaters – by following his orders blindly, losing all independent thinking
and opinions. Regulus told me how they both seemed to rely on using unrestrained violence
to compensate their lack of intelligence.

"Do you miss it?" Regulus asks, pulling me from my thoughts, making me scamper up in
surprise and almost throw a curse at him.
Regulus watches me as I lower my wand and try to steady my speeding pulse. "Thought
you'd be sleeping…" I mutter and bend down to pick up the parchment from the terrace,
where it flew after Regulus's unexpected arrival.

"I can leave if you'd prefer to be alone," He says expressionlessly.

I quickly shake my head. "No, no…I was just surprised, is all," I tell him and then see his
eyes flickering over the Map.

"Why would I miss something that is not what it used to be?" I say wearily, and open the
Map for him to examine.

Regulus takes a step closer to me, his eyes moving over the parchment, stopping for a long
moment at the small dot that displays 'Severus Snape', before moving on. "I've seen your
mind, Harry," he says quietly and watches with interest at the empty Slytherin common room.

He has. And I do miss Hogwarts, I suppose. It's the only home I've ever known. But it's gone.
Another thing Voldemort has taken from me.

Regulus clears his throat. "So, this is what my brother poured all his academic capability
into," he says, eyeing the Map closely before turning his gaze at me.

I give him a small grin. "Well, there was that thing about him succeeding in taking an
Animagus form," I say with a pointed look.

Regulus rolls his eyes. "That and pranking. Or so I've heard."

I let out a sound of disbelief. "You're saying he never pranked you?" I ask with amusement,
and then flick my wand at the parchment, muttering the words to close it before pushing it
back to my pocket.

Regulus arches a brow at me. "He wouldn't have dared," he says primly, but then frowns and
turns away, to stare the snowy grass in the garden.

After a short silence, he sighs. "I suppose he didn't want to be recognised as my brother. He
didn't really want anything to do with me, or our family," he says, before continuing very
quietly, "He was always different. Better than me."

I watch him carefully and then move closer to him, taking his hand. Regulus grabs mine with
purpose.

"You know that he didn't think like that. Not really…" I say quietly, watching how his jaw
works.

Regulus dips his head down an inch and nods. "I know. He tried. Tried to take me with him,
before he ran away from home," he says, turning slightly to look at me.

His expression is unguarded, vulnerable. "But I wouldn't go. I told him that I would do what
he was too weak to accomplish," he says, his voice cracking slightly before he closes his eyes
and shakes his head.
My chest aches for him. And for me. In the end, the hole that Sirius's absence left in both of
us cannot be dismissed. It is always there, as is the uncertainty and the anxiety of not
knowing if he will come back.

I place my hands over Regulus's shoulders and pull him closer into a warm embrace. Like
those reassuring ones my godfather gave me when he was still here, when I felt lost and
didn't know how to continue with Voldemort inside my head.

His warm breath puffs against my neck, and the next moment, everything in my head turns
upside down.

My scar bursts with pain, burning so intensely I almost pass out.

A landscape expands itself in front of my eyes, and through the agonizing pain I see clearly a
large, tall building. A grey and decaying tower. And I'm aware of his every thought.

I am him.

As I start to glide towards the structure, feeling nothing but elated excitement, overjoyed that
I've finally found it, found him –

I push hard, forcing Voldemort away, closing my mind from his thoughts and pulling myself
back to Grimmauld Place.

"AAAAH!" I yell and collapse onto my knees on the terrace, holding my head between my
hands and fighting against the burning pain on my forehead.

"Harry?" I hear Regulus asking, his voice sharp, his hands pulling me upwards.

I grit my teeth together, trying my best to keep myself present with Regulus. This is it, now is
our chance.

"Reg – " I gasp, taking in deep breaths while keeping my eyes closed and Voldemort out of
my mind. "H-He's there," I breathe, and feel Regulus's fingertips squeezing my arms. "He's
there, and you need to – to," I croak, shivering as a savage pain burns across my forehead.

"I know," Regulus says sharply, not letting go of me. "I know. I – " he says, voice faltering,
and I can hear him take in a deep breath. "Look at me."

My jaw clenched, I slowly lift my head up – and his hand is there, against my cheek, soft and
gentle.

"Open your eyes, Harry," Regulus whispers, fear evident in his voice.

I do as he says, and for a moment, there's only a pair of grey eyes, gazing back at me with
intensity; affection, worry and dread all mixing in them. I hear him whisper the familiar
words, feel him sinking into my mind, and the next moment, I slip back into Voldemort's,
unable to resist the pull of his thoughts.
I walk silently outside of the dark fortress, until I find the spot. I turn my head up, focusing at
the target; at the highest tower and the topmost window –

And Regulus is there; I feel him moving in my mind, I feel him searching. I blink and I'm
back at the terrace, and see him with my eyes – see him staring at me with absolute focus.
My scar is searing with pain.

There's a flash of something – a man with dark hair and white skin, sitting at the end of a
table; a satisfied curl on his lips, eyes red and menacing. He's watching intently a scene at
the other end of the table; where two hooded and masked figures lift their wands, aiming
them towards three, horrified girls. There is no sound – the girls' mouths are distorted into
silent, tormented screams. The smile deepens on Voldemort's lips. He feels satisfied by the
performance of his newest members – feels they will both do exceedingly well.

I gasp out a wretched sob – my head feels like it's splitting open. "No," I breathe. "I can't," I
grunt weakly, and slip back into Voldemort's mind, the pain in my scar nearly overcoming
me.

I'm flying upwards, keeping close to the dark stone, my gaze fixed at the small windows
where I know he will be. I wonder if he is expecting me to come. He must know I would be
here…he must know what Lord Voldemort would come to collect. Through the window – the
small slit in the dark stone – I see a figure; an undernourished and frail man, lying in a small
hard bed. Is he dead? Or is he sleeping?

Another slash of bright pain against my forehead, and I hear myself panting, feel myself
trembling against the wooden terrace, against Regulus. "No, no, no…no more," I groan with
a raspy voice, trying to swallow, trying to make it stop.

And I see something again – not the tower, not Grimmauld Place – Voldemort, in a dimly lit
hall, listening carefully, watching closely as his three followers give him reports of the most
recent raid. Two from his inner circle, and one; whom he thinks is the most promising one yet,
even with his young age. The boy carries the same efficiency, the same power, and the same
coldness than his cousin – but he seems calmer, steadier, more…obedient. There are some
small lingering doubts, but Voldemort knows that he too was still in school, when he
murdered his parents. He praises Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy and Regulus Black.

A scream of pain bursts out from my lungs, and I hear Hermione's voice, yelling my name,
like she is deep under water.

I focus on the small hole in the stone, focus on changing form, focus on transfiguring myself,
before pushing through the small window. I'm inside the cell. The moment I'm back in my
form, the figure moves under the blanket and turns to look at me, unsurprised, and lifts up to
sit on the bed. The skeletal man stares at me with hollowed eyes, with an empty gaze. He
smiles – most of his teeth are gone. "So, you have come. I thought you would, one day. But
your journey was pointless. I never had it," the man says, his voice long gone, only a whisper
now.

I feel anger bubbling inside me. "You lie!" I hiss and lift my wand, my white, long fingers
holding it in a tight grip. "Legilimens."
A flurry of images soar through my mind; two boys, young and carefree, laughing together.
Two men; Dumbledore and – and Grindelwald, both looking pained and betrayed, duelling. A
room with black-cloaked and hooded figures. A village filled with screaming people running
into every direction as hooded and masked figures move with raised wands. I feel both
Voldemort seeking Grindelwald's mind, and Regulus, moving through Voldemort's. But I
can't think. I can't speak. I can't move. I'm trapped in the middle, feeling only the pain and
terror in those memories.

I'm in a dark room, an office of sorts – Voldemort is sitting behind the desk, watching with
sharp eyes as a hooded and cloaked man walks away from him. His plans are moving on in
an agreeable pace. Another one will be placed into safety. He can soon focus on creating the
last one… Bellatrix Lestrange walks into his office, watching him with pure worship in her
eyes, interrupting him from his thoughts, asking about her cousin. She has turned out to be a
valuable follower. She has been with him for a quite some time now. She knows many things
about him, matters he has not shared with the others. He knows she would rather die than
betray him. And Lord Voldemort has rewarded her service with praise and utmost trust. He
tells her she ought to be proud of her kin – that he expects the young Black to rise quickly in
his ranks. He tells her Lord Voldemort has trusted Black with a task he will be most
appreciative for.

I'm wrenched back to my own body, shivering, screaming in pain. I plead it to be over, that
the pain would end – and then I'm him.

I'm Voldemort again, fury rising inside me as the frail man laughs at me.

"Kill me then, Voldemort. I welcome death! But my death will not bring you what you seek.
There is so much you do not understand…"

I lift my wand at the man, feeling nothing but anger and hatred towards him.

"Kill me, then!" The man demands, "You will not win, you cannot win! That wand will never,
ever be yours –"

I let out an enraged snarl, my wand slashing across the air; green light blazing in the
previously darkened room. The fragile man lifts up in the air from the force of the spell, the
lifeless body falling onto the hard, stone floor in an unmoving heap.

"HARRY!" Ron and Hermione both yell, and I'm back at Grimmauld Place, lying on the
terrace, panting, shivering, tasting bile in my mouth.

My scar is burning, blinding my vision, making me sick with pain. I throw up violently,
begging for the agony to stop.

"Bloody fuck!" Ron grunts, and moments later, the foul smell of vomit disappears. I take in
shuddering breaths; the clear, cold air fills my lungs.

After what feels like eternity, the excruciating pain in my forehead lessens into a steady
prickling one.
"Harry?" Hermione asks urgently, and I feel a soothing hand on my back. "Harry, please tell
me you're all right?" She asks, her voice thick.

I force my eyes to open slightly, and see Ron, on his knees in front of me, watching me with a
terrified look. Next to him, is Regulus – lying on his side, his eyes closed.

Panic flares inside me, and I try to stand up, but both Hermione and Ron force me to stay
down.

"Regulus?" I croak, reaching out to him, grasping his hand.

Hermione's fingers squeeze my shoulder. "He is unconscious, but steady. I did the diagnostic
charms, but we didn't have time to revive him before you started shaking all over and scream
your head off."

"How are you, mate?" Ron asks worriedly, peering at me.

I shake my head, feeling dizzy, feeling overwhelmed. My head is throbbing with pain, and I
know that it's not all coming from the scar; it must be from connection, from the several
presences in my head. I hope to bloody Merlin that it worked.

"Wake him up," I mumble, managing to swallow hard.

Ron exchanges a look with Hermione, before he nods at me. He then stands up, turns to
Regulus and points his wand at him. "Rennervate!"

I watch as Regulus slowly blinks his eyes open – he looks weak, overpowered. His eyes
immediately find mine.

"Harry?" He says, his voice close to a slur. "You okay?" He asks, worry and guilt taking over
his features.

I give him a small nod and wince as the movement causes another flare of pain to slash
through my brain. "'m fine. Just need to rest my head a bit," I mumble.

"Regulus?" Hermione asks carefully as Regulus pulls himself into a kneeling position.

Regulus doesn't answer to her, but drags himself closer to me and pulls me up into a
trembling embrace. I can feel him shaking against me, can feel him taking shuddering breaths
against the crook of my neck.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles against my skin.

It takes me a moment to realise what he said. "It didn't work, did it?" I ask, my voice rough.

Regulus shakes his head slightly.

Ron swears loudly. I watch as Hermione swallows hard, looking overcome by worry.
After a moment, she clears her throat and gives me a scrutinising look. "Do either of you feel
different? Like you would be possessed? Can we assume you are safe?" She asks, chewing
the inside of her cheek with an anxious expression.

I want to laugh. But I'm too tired. I have no fucking idea if we are safe. I don't know if
Voldemort realised what happened when he went to kill Grindelwald, if he knew that both
Regulus and I were inside his mind. I can only hope he didn't.

Regulus pulls away from me and helps me to sit on the terrace. He gives me a searching look,
then looks at Hermione and Ron. "I didn't detect anything that would hint to the Dark Lord
noticing what I did."

I glance at him, and don't even try to remember what went through in the last – who the
bloody hell knows how many – minutes. My eyes feel heavy, and my head is spinning. "I feel
like myself," I grunt, and press my palm against my burning forehead. "But I feel like shit."

Hermione nods quickly. "I think you both should get some rest. It is quite late, and I suppose
we could go this over in the morning," she says, worrying her lip. "Should I ask if Kreacher
could bring you something – something for the pain?" she asks hesitantly.

When both Regulus and I give her noncommittal grunts, she nods again and turns to tell Ron
to help us upstairs while she goes to find the elf.

As we pull ourselves upstairs – with difficulty, even when Ron half-carries us there – I can
only think of one thing; Voldemort was there, in Nurmengard, to retrieve the wand. The Elder
wand. Grindelwald didn't have it, and I would bet my Firebolt that Dumbledore had won the
wand from Grindelwald.

But Dumbledore is gone, and if the wand is supposed to be won by duel – by killing the
opponent – does that mean Voldemort lost his chance to claim it to himself?

Grimmauld Place, 3 November 1997

I have been awake, lying in my bed for quite some time, watching him. Watching Potter. The
Dark Lord's memories I saw last night have been intruding my every thought. I wonder, if he
felt my presence? I wonder, why those memories? Why memories I was somehow connected
to? If Lucius and Bella had been his most trusted followers, and he had given one of his
Horcruxes for Lucius to keep safe, does that mean Bella was trusted with a similar task?

What were his plans regarding me?

I shiver as I remember it; the dark room, the table and the cloaked figures around it, the
Muggles and – and the terror. I remember the despair. I remember causing the pain. The
torture.

Potter groans next to me, shifting closer to me. "Morning," he mumbles, his back against me.
I wonder where the Dark Lord had been last night? I know he killed someone – I felt the
darkness and coldness in his mind – but who had it been and where; those images were
distorted, hidden behind his other memories.

"Good morning," I say quietly and watch Potter lying in my bed, so close to me, looking so
comfortable that I wish we could stay here and forget everything else.

Potter reaches out a hand and when he finds mine, he pulls it over his chest, dragging me
closer to him. My fingertips rest over his skin and I press my face against his neck, close my
eyes and breathe him in. Potter lets out a soft hum.

"You know we need to tell Hermione and Ron what you saw, right?" Potter asks after a short
silence, his voice tentative.

"I know," I whisper against his skin. There are events in my past I do not wish to revisit, but
it seems that now it is necessary.

Potter's fingers squeeze mine and then he turns around facing me, placing his hand over my
hip. His eyes move carefully over my face. "Do you want to talk about it before we go
downstairs?"

I swallow hard, watching Potter for a short moment.

"You saw what I did," I say quietly, looking down, unable to face the innocent, bright green
gaze that is somehow even more intense without the glasses.

Potter nods slowly. "I saw," he says with a hint of disappointment in his voice. "Do you regret
it?"

I look at him and see him watching me with an uncertain look. "Serving him? Torturing
people?" I ask weakly. "Of course, I do."

"Then that's what matters," he says simply, green eyes blazing with intent, as if it would be
enough to pay for all the horrible things I've done in my past.

I let out a weary sigh, knowing that it is not as simple as Potter makes it sound.

After a short silence, Potter's hand curls around my neck, and he pulls me slowly closer to
him, so close that our lips are almost touching. "Now, if you stop sulking for a bit, I can snog
you senseless before we have to go to Ron and Hermione," he says, smiling against my lips,
while his other hand is busy tugging at the waistband of my pyjama bottoms.

I swallow down a groan and instead arch a brow at him. "I wasn't aware snogging included
the loss of one's clothing," I mutter, and I'm about to tell him not to mention his friends when
he is in my bed, curled against me, but my words are replaced by a soft moan as Potter's lips
press against mine and his hand slips under the waistband of my bottoms.

"Good morning," Hermione greets as soon as Potter and I step into the kitchen.
It is still quite early, but Kreacher is already preparing the full English breakfast. Potter and I
both reply to her accordingly and take our seats at the table, opposite to her.

Hermione watches Potter carefully over the rim of her tea cup as she takes a sip. "Everything
okay?" She asks, her eyes moving between us.

Potter shrugs dismissively. "We're fine…Should we wait for Ron before we start going
through last night?" He asks, glancing both Hermione and me.

A slight frown appears between Hermione's brows, but then she inclines her head. "We can
wait. He'll be downstairs in a moment."

Potter gives her a curt nod. "Anything in the paper?" Potter asks, looking at the Prophet that
is displayed before her on the table.

Hermione purses her lips, "The usual rubbish; they try to defame the Order, blaming them for
the 'unnecessary uproar in the Wizarding Britain' and supporting – well – you," she says,
looking unsurely at Potter. "For killing Dumbledore."

Potter bristles next to me, but takes in a deep breath before he speaks. "So, nothing new,
then?"

Hermione gives him a weak, helpless smile.

Kreacher brings us breakfast and soon Ronald joins us.

"So," Ronald grunts, after swallowing half a sausage. "Didn't work, huh?" He asks, watching
both Potter and me with disappointment.

I can practically feel the anger flaring inside Potter, but he doesn't have time to respond
before Hermione clears her throat loudly.

"Not that that is your fault," she says meaningfully at Potter and me, before giving Ronald a
sharp look.

Ronald looks slightly embarrassed and scratches his neck, his ears turning red. "Yeah, no. I
mean, it's too bad, yeah?"

Potter frowns at him. "It did not not work, either," he tells his friends, and then glances at me.
"Regulus did see some memories…"

I put my cup down and take in a calming breath before I start to explain what was it that I
saw in the Dark Lord's mind. Everyone stays silent, until I finish.

"Why do you think you saw those memories?" Hermione asks, watching me with a
contemplative look.

I move my gaze at the table, going over the same question that has been spinning in my mind
since last night. Why those memories? There is, of course, the simple explanation; his
subconscious recognised me and offered memories that were somehow connected to me. The
ones that I too remember.

But then, I shouldn't have been able to see the last one – the one that seems to be the most
crucial one. The one that was about his Horcruxes, the one hinting that the Dark Lord trusted
my cousin over everyone else.

I tell Hermione and the others my presumption. There is a long pause, during which she
watches me darkly, evidently thinking about the first memory. The one in which I, alongside
Amycus Carrow, tortured innocent people. Muggles.

Potter clears his throat before he speaks, ending the uncomfortable silence. "If Malfoy had
one to be kept safe, and Vol – You-Know-Who," he corrects as Ronald lifts his brows at him. "
- used you to hide another one, when he asked you to give him, um, Kreacher," he says to me
with a small cringe. "Could that mean Bellatrix had something to do with one as well?"

Hermione nods slowly. "That does make sense," she mutters, a small frown between her
brows. She lets out a weary sigh and rubs her temples. "It is a pity that you didn't see it," she
says, and then gazes at Potter and me. "Not that – not that this doesn't help us already!" She
adds hastily.

Potter grunts in agreement. "Well, I suppose we know what to search for now?" He asks,
giving me a questioning look.

Ronald arches an incredulous brow at his friend. "We do? Because that sounded an awful lot
like 'us not having a clue what to search, or where to search'."

Potter sniffs. "I meant, when we try the Legilimency again," he says pointedly.

"We will?" I ask quietly, at the same time as Hermione lets a disbelieving voice.

"You will?" She asks, her brows lifting up in surprise.

Potter gives me a long look. "I think we should," he says, watching each of us in turn. "I
think we are close, I mean, Regulus did see a memory of Vol – him thinking about his
Horcruxes," Potter continues with a serious look.

Hermione looks unsure. "I don't know, Harry…you were both more or less unconscious after
that. What if – if something worse happens the next time?"

It could happen – there is no way to prevent it, if the Dark Lord becomes aware of my and
Potter's presences and decides to take control. Neither of us is simply strong enough to fight
him, not like that, not when our minds are open and vulnerable.

"I'm sure he wasn't aware of anyone else's presence in his mind last night. I would've seen
something, felt something. And we might not have any other choice," Potter says, eyeing me
with a studious look.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asks curiously.

Potter turns to look at Hermione. "What I mean, is that soon, he will be too powerful for
anyone to fight him. He killed Grindelwald," he says grimly.

Both Hermione and Ronald gasp quietly. I am somewhat taken aback, even after Potter had
told about the Dark Lord searching for the man.

"And it was important to him – perhaps more so than anything else, because…because he
finally found the wand. The Elder wand," Potter says wearily, and all of us stare at him in
shock.

"He w-what?" Hermione asks slowly, her eyes widened with fear.

Ronald lets out a choked sound. "The wand is real? Does You-Know-Who have it?" He asks
hurriedly.

Potter shakes his head. "He doesn't have it, not yet."

Both Ronald and Hermione watch him incredulously. I frown at Potter. If Grindelwald did
not have the wand, that could only mean –

Hermione gasps. "Dumbledore!" She says quickly. "Dumbledore took it from Grindelwald
when he won their duel!"

Potter gives her a serious nod.

"So – what?" Ronald asks, watching each of us with a deep frown between his brows.
"Dumbledore had it?" He asks, his voice rising, excitement flickering into his eyes.

Hermione worries her lip. "He was, oh, Harry, he was buried with his wand!" She says
anxiously.

Potter looks at the table, his expression strained. "I know."

"What do you mean, you know?" Ronald asks suddenly, dread evident in his voice. "If we
know where it is, we should – we should get it! Before he does! Harry?" He asks, looking
ready to jump up from the table and storm towards Hogwarts, towards Dumbledore's tomb.

Potter shakes his head, frowning at his half-empty plate, looking somewhat pale. "No…
he's…he's already there," he whispers, pressing his eyes closed.

"What?" Ronald asks, gaping at Potter.

"Harry?" Hermione asks quietly, looking at him with worry.

Potter winces, his brows furrowing into a deep frown. "I think – I think I need to lie down,"
he mumbles and stands up abruptly, staggering in his feet.

I jump up just in time and catch him before he collapses to the floor. "Harry!" I yell, shocked,
my mind whirling.
The Dark Lord is at Hogwarts? Potter is seeing into his mind?

Potter shudders in my arms, gritting his teeth together, holding his head between his hands,
"No, no, no…!" He moans, shaking his head.

I vaguely notice how both Hermione and Ronald quickly move closer, their wands at the
ready.

"Harry," I say with a stern voice, forcing myself to calm down, knowing that I need to focus.

I need to succeed. I need to clear my mind, but right now, it feels as possible as asking the
memory from the Dark Lord himself.

"Regulus!" Hermione says sharply after Potter lets out a moan of anguish, his eyes rolling in
his head. "What can we do?" She asks desperately.

I glance at her and Ronald and then at Potter, forming a plan. "Keep him still," I mutter, and
then lower Potter on the floor, pushing him to lean against the wall behind the chairs.

Both Hermione and Ronald quickly move closer to take a hold of Potter, who gasps, his face
scrunching up with pain.

"Harry?" I ask quietly, taking his hands, pulling them away from his head. "Harry, I need you
to stay with us for a moment. Look at me," I tell him hastily.

My mind is empty, and then – then there is nothing but the bright green gaze, watching me in
dread.

"Legilimens."
 It's Happening
Chapter Notes

I'm still here...and there's a new chapter, yay! Happy reading :)

Chapter 41: It's Happening

Grimmauld Place, 4 November 1997

I feel light-headed, my eyes feel heavy and my mouth feels like it's filled with cotton. I try to
swallow past the dryness and rawness in there, and I know I've been screaming my lungs off
before losing consciousness.

There is a soft touch; a soothing sensation against my forehead, but it disappears after a
while, leaving behind a dull ache. My scar feels like someone has ripped it open and sewed it
carelessly back together.

I force my eyes open, fighting against the exhaustion. And I see him. Regulus.

He's sitting next to me on his bed, where I'm tucked into.

"Potter?" He asks quietly, a concerned pair of grey eyes moving across my face.

"Mmh," I grunt, turn my head towards him and immediately press my eyes closed as a sharp
pain slashes through my scull. "Fuck," I breathe, somewhat paralysed by the pain.

The soothing sensation is back. I take in a deep breath and feel myself relaxing. With great
effort I open my eyes again. His hand rests against my forehead, his eyes watching mine
carefully.

"Water," I croak, knowing better now to not move an inch.

Regulus nods, wandlessly summoning a goblet from the bedside table, and as he does so, the
pain flares back to my forehead.

I let out a small grunt of pain but drink the water, and then accept a phial with the familiar
yellow potion from him, tossing it down quickly.

"Better?" Regulus asks quietly, almost hesitantly, before flicking his wrist to send the goblet
and phial back to the bedside table.

As the healing potion takes effect and the pain slowly ebbs away, I realise he had done
something with his hands – a wandless healing charm of sorts.
I give him an assessing look. There're dark circles under his eyes and he looks as exhausted
as I feel.

"This is becoming a habit," I murmur, a lazy smile lifting the corners of my mouth.

Regulus huffs quietly and gives me a pointed look. "Something I take no pleasure in, I assure
you," he mutters, and then a small frown appears between his brows. "How are you feeling?"

The worst of the pain is gone, but my head is still somewhat spinning and my mind is an
open mess. Something not even the healing potion can help with, but only time, and, well, I
suppose Occlumency. I give Regulus a mild shrug.

"I'll live," I tell him, my voice still hoarse, and quickly continue as his frown deepens. "What
day is it?"

Regulus gives me a mildly surprised look. "Tuesday." He says slowly and gives me a
scrutinising look. "How much do you remember?"

I lick my lips and look away, thinking back to the last memory I can recall. Voldemort in his
office, accompanied by Bellatrix. Voldemort, telling Bellatrix that Wormtail has fulfilled his
assignment most exceedingly. Voldemort, ordering Bellatrix to stay put as he is about to leave
to take care of something that could possibly grow into a threat if he doesn't act now.
Voldemort, thinking that on that night, he will finally finish what he has started decades
ago…

I saw him. I saw them.

I saw Voldemort, gliding along the main street of Godric's Hollow; its shop windows covered
in spiderwebs and the corners of the houses decorated with carved pumpkins. I saw him reach
the house – saw him watch my dad through the window, where he was playing with his son…
with me. I saw my mum entering the room, smiling to the pair and gently running her fingers
through my father's hair as she spoke to him. I saw my father lifting me up and placing a kiss
on my cheek, before handing me to my mum who stepped away from the room. To take me
to the nursery…To wish me goodnight for the last time.

I saw my father, sitting down on the sofa and stretching his back, unaware of what is about to
happen.

And then – I saw Voldemort kill my father. My father, who didn't even have a wand on him,
who yelled to my mum to run, to take me with her and flee. My father, who dropped to the
floor the moment Voldemort's wand flashed green.

Moments later I saw my mother, trying to shield me with her arms, wandless, defenceless. I
saw her pleading Voldemort to kill her instead. To have mercy.

Voldemort killed her, like he killed my dad. I saw the life leaving her eyes, saw the bright
green gaze turn empty.
Then there was Voldemort, watching curiously at the threat leaning against the bars of a crib.
Voldemort, pointing his wand at me and casting the curse.

And then there was only pain.

That is the last thing I remember.

I swallow hard, blinking rapidly as grief and unfairness wash over me. I turn my gaze back to
Regulus and he nods slowly, knowing that I remember what we both saw.

He takes my hand gently in his. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his thumb brushing my knuckles,
his eyes tracking the movement.

I take in a shuddering breath and can't stop the tears anymore. There's so much sorrow, so
much anger and despair inside me that I want to yell. I press my eyes closed, swallowing
against the lump in my throat, swallowing down the urge to scream. Why me? Why were
they taken from me?

I feel his fingertips against the line of my jaw, feel his palm against my cheek. He doesn't say
anything but merely stays there, holding me as I take in heaving breaths and mourn silently
for the loss of my parents.

After a long while, after the worst of those feelings have passed, I blink my eyes open and
see Regulus watching me with deep concern.

I clear my throat and move to sit up, leaning against the headboard. Regulus removes his
hand and I quickly brush away the wetness from my cheeks.

I watch my lap as I put into words the thoughts that have been pressing my mind since I
woke up. "Is it pathetic that I'm glad I saw it?" I ask quietly, grimacing slightly.

Regulus lets out a small sigh and moves on the bed; situating himself next to me, leaning
against the headboard. "No." He says, watching me from the corner of his eyes. "Not if it
consoles you."

"Did – um – seeing him…Sirius. Did it console you?" I ask, remembering how Regulus had
forced himself through the wards in my mind, his need to see the memory of his brother so
fierce that it was nearly painful.

I almost regret my question when I feel him stiffening next to me. I recall how he had reacted
after seeing his brother falling through the Veil. It took him weeks to get back to normal. We
were barely speaking during that time…

Brilliant. Why the bloody hell did I have to bring it up?

Regulus lets out a long sigh. "It didn't. But – I had to see it. Not knowing how it happened,
not witnessing it – it was something that had been bothering me for a long time," he says,
looking straight ahead. He swallows hard. "It didn't console me. I just…know now," he says
quietly, turning to look at me, the weariness evident in his gaze.
I give him a slow nod. I can understand his way of thinking. But for me, it's not only about
seeing how it happened. It's also about seeing them. I have no memories of my parents, other
than what I've seen in Snape's mind, and now in Voldemort's. And how sad is that, to see
them only through my enemies?

"Hermione asked me to inform her and Ronald at the moment of your awakening," Regulus
says after a short moment, watching me closely. "May I send a word to them?"

I hastily agree and watch in mild admiration as Regulus conjures his Patronus – the lion –
and gives it a message to be delivered to Hermione. As the silvery lion disappears through
the door, leaving behind darkness and silence, I lean my head against Regulus's shoulder and
wonder if Hermione and Ron have seen his Patronus before, and how they will react to it.

Five minutes later, the door bursts open and a scowling Ron stomps into the room, cursing
under his breath. Hermione follows him, looking rather harried.

So…they probably hadn't seen it before.

"Harry!" Hermione then squeaks and runs across the room, throwing herself on the other side
of the bed before pulling me into a warm embrace. I feel the bed shifting on Regulus's side,
and know that he has stood up. "Thank Godric! We were so worried!" Hermione gasps, her
voice trembling.

I glance on the other side, and see Ron sitting close to where Regulus had been only moments
earlier. "Yeah, mate," Ron says quietly, the scowl now vanished and replaced by concern and
uneasiness.

"I'm fine," I mumble against Hermione's neck and give Ron a reassuring nod.

Ron's mouth quirks slightly up and he lets out a relieved sigh. "Thank Merlin…you made us
slightly wound up here for a bit…"

Hermione pulls away and takes a seat next to me, giving me a scrutinising look. "Are you
feeling all right? Like you are…you?" She asks hesitantly.

I give her a shrug. "I'm fine," I tell her, and then add. "I'm me."

Hermione relaxes an inch, but there's still a worried glint in her gaze. "Do you remember – "

"Yeah." I say tightly, knowing what she's about to ask by the careful tone in her voice. I'm
really not in the mood for a repeat of what happened with Regulus only moments ago. I
vaguely remember what else I saw; more conversations between Bellatrix and Voldemort and
of course, what happened at Hogwarts.

I swallow down the dread that threatens to overpower me. "He has the wand. Voldemort has
the unbeatable wand now," I say gravely.

Hermione lets out a shocked breath while Ron makes a sudden movement, alarm and
confusion mixing in his features. I watch them for a moment and see the same fear in their
expressions that I feel swirling in the bottom of my stomach. I turn my gaze to Regulus, who
is standing further in the room close to his writing desk.

He stares at the floor between us, a deep frown of concern between his brows.

I clear my throat. "Um…" I grunt, finding myself somewhat reluctant to go over the
memories.

"I told Hermione and Ronald what I saw in his mind," Regulus says with an expressionless
voice, his grey eyes meeting mine. "He gave it to her. The cup," he continues, and I give him
a nod, knowing that I had seen it as well, even though I can barely pull up the images into the
forefront of my mind.

"My cousin told the Dark Lord that she would keep it safe, hidden somewhere only he would
have access to," Regulus says slowly.

Hermione clears her throat. "We think it could be –"

"Gringotts." I say quickly, and Hermione gives me an eager nod.

"Well, yes – it would certainly fit the part; safe, hidden somewhere with only a selected
people to access it. Not to mention what you told us about your research with Dumbledore…
You-Know-Who was probably planning it in the first place," Hermione explains hastily, a
hint of excitement shining in her gaze.

Ron huffs next to me. "Bloody well planned, if you ask me…" He grumbles.

Hermione rolls her eyes at Ron. "No, what I mean, is that Gringotts is probably one of the
few places in the Wizarding Britain, V – You-Know-Who – has been unable to seize to
himself, as it is not ruled by wizards, but goblins," she explains. "It must have been bothering
him; growing up without stepping a foot inside that magical building, where so many
wizarding families – many of which became his followers – had ties to. And he must've heard
about what is rumoured to keep guard there, for the oldest of vaults," she finishes.

"Not a rumour," Regulus mutters.

Hermione lifts her brows in astonishment, while I give him a puzzled look.

Ron coughs loudly. "What?!"

Grimmauld Place, 6 November 1997

"I still think that using her – Narcissa – is barking mad," Ron states from the sofa, after we
have gathered into the library seating area to plan our next mission: breaking into Gringotts.

During the past two days, after finding out about Voldemort's memories, we have been trying
to think of a way to retrieve the cup from Gringotts, where we assume it is stored inside
Bellatrix's vault. Last night, Regulus brought up the possibility that we could use Narcissa to
get into Gringotts. As a Black – and one that is officially alive and not in danger of exposing
oneself – she would have access to the family vaults.

Naturally, Hermione, Ron and I were all against the idea, as it is Narcissa we are talking
about. One of Voldemort's followers. Why would she help us? We argued, until Regulus
suggested that should we decide to use her, we would be placing her under the Imperius
curse.

Something I find both unnerving and intriguing.

"I mean, we don't even know if she can get into Bellatrix's vault," Ron continues. "From what
I understood, you do have several of them?" He says, lifting his brows at Regulus, who sits
opposite to us in an armchair.

Hermione hums thoughtfully next to Regulus. "Yes, and it could be in some other vault
entirely – or not even in Gringotts," she says slowly, her brows pulled together. "…But where
else could it be?" She adds, glancing at us hesitantly, repeating the words each of us has
spoken at least once during the past two days.

Regulus clears his throat. "The Black vaults are one of the most secure ones in Gringotts. If
she were to store anything in the establishment, she would not have placed the cup anywhere
else. Not even the Lestrange vaults," he says steadily.

"Okay, then, so Narcissa can get into Gringotts? Would she have access to the vault itself?
Why would Bellatrix use a vault someone else has access to?" Ron asks, suspicion in his
voice.

"She would not. However, there is a spell," Regulus says with an unreadable look. "A spell
that was taught to the Head of House, to have access to the Black family personal vaults if
they deemed it necessary."

I arch a brow at him. "You guys sure trust each other…" I mutter.

Hermione throws me a wry glance before speaking to Regulus. "How do you know the spell?
And isn't Bellatrix aware of it? Would it even work for Narcissa? Or for you?" Hermione
asks, watching Regulus carefully.

Regulus inclines his head. "My father taught me the spell, and I highly doubt that my cousins
are aware of it, since the possibility to act as the Head of House Black remains in the male
line." He lowers his gaze to the coffee table. "Unfortunately, I cannot be entirely certain that
the spell will work for me, as there is no Head in my House."

I lift my brows at him. "Wait…there's no one?"

Regulus watches me silently for a bit, before he replies. "Not after Sirius."

Hermione arches a brow. "How patriarchal. So…we do not know if the spell can be cast
properly," she says with a sigh, rubbing her temple. "And would it even work? Didn't
Bellatrix assure V – You-Know-Who that she had made sure the cup was protected, and that
only he would have access to it?"

"If I am able to cast the spell, nothing can prevent it from gaining access," Regulus says
firmly.

Hermione nods and takes in a deep breath. "So, we need Narcissa to get us into Gringotts,
and we need Regulus in there to cast the spell…a spell, that might be impossible to cast so
that it would work," she says slowly, frowning at the table. "I don't like it," she says quietly,
glancing at us. "What happens if the spell cannot be cast to open the vault?" She asks,
worrying her lip in thought.

Ron clears his throat next to me. "How do we even get Narcissa to meet us, so that we could,
you know…set the curse on her?" He asks, scratching his jaw.

Hermione huffs. "I think we need to first think if we can even get the cup from the vault,
before we discuss this any further," she says with a hint of irritation in her voice.

There's a short silence as everyone thinks it over. Kreacher appears with a tray of tea and
when the elf disapparates with a crack, I remember my first trip to Gringotts. When Hagrid
and I went to retrieve a package from a certain vault.

"Goblins," I say to the others. "They have access to the vaults, don't they?"

Regulus and Hermione both seem to be contemplating my words. Ron looks alarmed.

"You mean we'd Imperio them as well?" Ron asks with worry in his voice. "Harry, that's
dangerous. You don't know goblins…they're vicious creatures…"

I frown at my friend and then look at the others. "Do we have any other choice?"

Hermione chews the inside of her cheek. "I don't know," she says slowly, looking frustrated.
"Would we even need the spell then?" She asks from Regulus.

"Using goblins should be considered as the last resort. The security measures placed
underground undoubtedly detect any magic cast towards goblins, and would alert everyone in
Gringotts. It would alert the Dark Lord as well." Regulus says quietly.

I give him a sharp nod. "I think we should try it. I don't see any other way to get to the
Horcrux," I say and lift my brows at the others. "What do you think?"

Ron curses under his breath. "So, we either succeed without raising an alarm, or we do not,"
he grunts, shaking his head slightly. "Brilliant. Let's go for it then." He says with a mirthless
smile.

Hermione looks somewhat reluctant, before she lets out a weary sigh. "As daring as it sounds,
I unfortunately cannot come up with anything else, even though I hoped otherwise," she says,
before nodding. "We should do it."
I nod at her, and then turn to look at Regulus. "How can we get to Narcissa? How can we
make sure she's alone and will not alert the Death Eaters…or, well, You-Know-Who?"

Regulus's gaze sweeps the table before he looks at me again. "I shall request a meeting with
her."

Ron splutters, while both Hermione and I let out incredulous sounds. "W-What?" I ask,
feeling utterly bewildered.

Regulus's brows twitch slightly. "I will write to her and ask her to meet me. My cousin will
certainly recognise my penmanship, even without me identifying myself in the letter," he
explains simply.

Hermione lets out a disbelieving huff. "What makes you think she'd come alone? Or come at
all? If she recognises you, why wouldn't she tell her husband? And You-Know-Who?"

"I know my cousin. She will be there. I doubt that she will arrive by herself, but I also know
she wouldn't dare to alert several others, before confirming the matter," Regulus says wearily.
"She would not pass on information to the Dark Lord before that."

We continue the discussion, eventually agreeing that Regulus will write to her as the Twilfitt
and Tatting's shop owner, informing her that her order has arrived for fitting. We agree to take
Polyjuice, as it is the only precaution we can use when running along Diagon Alley.

However, the plan cannot be carried out as swiftly as we thought, since Hermione informs us
that we have run out on both Polyjuice and some of its ingredients, meaning we need to first
acquire the necessary items and then brew the potion.

The day goes on and we put our plans into notes, trying to think of every detail and
everything that could go wrong.

A lot of it could.
 Stay Alive
Chapter Notes

Here we are again! So...there's a bit of everything in this chapter, including

fluff...bordering explicit, so if you wish to not read it, skip the part from where
'Hermione leaves to her room, downstairs', until the next horizontal line ;)

Chapter 42: Stay Alive

Grimmauld Place, 18 December 1997

Several weeks have rushed by. Our days have been spent by practicing duelling, by having
endless discussions regarding the plan and the necessary precautions we ought to take. We
have been preparing ourselves, even more so than we did before the unfortunate visit to
Godric’s Hollow. Still, there is a possibility that our group could be walking into a trap as
there is not point of placing our trust in my cousin.

My cousin, whom I haven’t seen in several years. My cousin, who I always thought bore the
most resemblance to me. I can only hope she hasn’t truly changed during the years. Using
Narcissa is a risk we need to take, as there is no other way to acquire something from a
Gringotts vault, not when none of us can chance exposing ourselves to the Dark Lord and his
followers.

“Good morning,” Hermione says as she steps into the kitchen and sits down opposite to me.
“Couldn’t sleep?” She asks and then murmurs her thanks as I flick my wand to serve her tea.

I glance at the timepiece on the wall. Five-thirty in the morning. Something I had apparently
disregarded when I ventured downstairs some time ago. I give her a noncommittal shrug and
sip my tea. After a moment, and after she has glanced at me for the fourth time, I clear my
throat. “And you?”

Hermione blinks at me and then gives me a strained smile. “Not really,” she says wearily. “I
have a bad feeling about the mission…that something will go wrong, and…” she says and
worries her lip, a contemplative look in her eyes.

“And?” I ask, feeling curious.

She gives me a small frown. “Well, frankly, I’m afraid one of us will let our…attachments…
go before the mission,” she says and looks away, her cheeks colouring slightly.

I nod slowly, knowing what she tries to say. It is something we have discussed several times
within the group, always ending up in an argument. Potter and the Horcrux are our priorities,
and once we seize the cup, it should be brought into safety – along with Potter – even in the
event we are subjected to an enemy attack.

“I’m, um, also anxious about Narcissa,” Hermione continues, giving me a hesitant look. “I
know you said she will most likely expect a trap, but I’m just worried she will, well –
outsmart us.”

I give her a mildly amused look, as this is another topic thoroughly discussed. “She might.
And as we have gone through before, we ought to expect her either alone or with another
Death Eater. I do not think she would share her suspicions to the Dark Lord before
confirming the matter herself. The Dark Lord does not approve his followers to presume
without reasonable evidence,” I say, and continue as she still looks hesitant. “Narcissa would
not take the risk of facing the Dark Lord’s anger after passing on information she is not
certain is true. I knew her quite well in our childhood, even if she was some years older than
me. We were much alike. Not as tightly fit as my brother and her sister, but we shared the
same…perception of things,” I explain, and Hermione gives me a stunned look.

“Her…sister?” She asks with her eyes widened in shock.

I swallow hard. “Andromeda.”

Hermione lets out a long huff of breath, smile curving her lips. “Oh. Of course!” She says,
and then a deep frown takes place between her brows, her smile vanishing. “It’s horrible,
what happened to her…what happened to her husband,” she says quietly, her eyes glittering
with sadness.

It is. Andromeda’s husband, Edward Tonks, was found dead not two weeks ago. Due to his
muggle-born status, the man had been on the run from the Ministry and succeeded to stay
hidden until now. My cousin had contacted me, had risked writing a short letter in which she
explained that her husband had been murdered. The news naturally came as a shock to our
group.

The only bit of good news was brought by Andromeda’s implication that recently, she had
been in contact with her daughter and her daughter’s husband.

I give Hermione a stiff nod and then focus on my tea. Minutes go by, then hours. Eventually,
Potter and Ronald arrive to the kitchen with sleep-ruffled hair and drowsy eyes.

“Everything should be ready for tomorrow,” Hermione says tensely, after everyone has
emptied their plates. “I’ve finished the Polyjuice Potion, and we have packed the necessary
items – if for some reason we cannot immediately return back here,” she continues with a
small frown, as if inwardly going through a list of items.

“As agreed, we will go through the Leaky Cauldron, as it is the only entrance to Diagon
Alley that is not tracked by the Ministry. To avoid the possible Death Eaters – and anyone
else who might take interest in an anonymous witch seeking entry to Diagon Alley – we
should leave early in the morning,” Hermione explains, glancing at her notes. “I will be
disguised and provide you safe passage to the back yard –“
“Hermione…” Ronald mutters with a worried tone.

“Shush Ron, it has been decided,” Hermione says tightly, giving the poor boy a sharp look
before she continues. “We will then move quickly to the clothing shop, and, um,” she
grimaces, “stun the owner, Mr. DuPont.”

“I doubt we all fit under the cloak,” Potter mutters as he sips his tea.

Hermione purses her lips. “We undoubtedly will not. I will walk to the shop disillusioned,
and the three of you will stay under the cloak. It will still be dark, that time in the morning, so
there will be a very small chance of anyone detecting a flash of an ankle or a shoe,” she says
shrewdly.

Potter gives her a nod. “What about when Narcissa comes? If she’ll even come?” He asks,
glancing at me.

“She will be there. And I will be Mr. DuPont by then,” I say simply. When Potter arches a
brow, I continue. “You three should stay out of sight and prepare to stun anyone who might
be accompanying her. If we are fortunate enough, she will arrive with a Death Eater, who we
can use as a disguise. If not, Mr. DuPont shall be escorting Narcissa Malfoy to Gringotts.”

Hermione clears her throat. “After Regulus leaves the shop with Narcissa, you two,” she says
and nods at Potter and Ronald, “will start patrolling the streets under the invisibility cloak,
while I will stay in the shop and keep watch.”

“What about the coins?” Potter asks from her.

Hermione nods sharply and places four galleons on the table. “These are linked to each
other,” she explains as everyone takes one coin, “and should work from a distance as well, as
we already tested with Ron the other day.”

She worries her lip before looking at me. “However, I cannot say if they will work within
Gringotts – I’m not that familiar with goblin magic…”

“We’ll see,” I tell her with a reassuring look.

I watch at the moving picture as my father twirls my mother around in the Gryffindor
common room, while Sirius, Lupin and Pettigrew laugh at something behind them next to the
fireplace. I wish I could have one night like that with my friends – one night in the Gryffindor
common room, when none of us thinks about Voldemort or Death Eaters or war.

The last day before our mission has gone quickly by, and most of the day has been spent by
going through the plan and all the necessary details, starting from our departure early in the
next morning until our arrival back here, whenever it will be.

I’m feeling anxious, like everyone else, I think.

There’s a soft knock on the door.

“Harry?” Hermione calls into the dimly lit room before her eyes find me.

“Hey,” I mutter and watch as she steps closer to me, her gaze on the photographs.

“Wow. There’re so many of them…” She mutters, a small smile forming to her lips as she
takes in most of them. “Is that…?” She asks, her focus on the picture of Sirius and Regulus,
from the party Sirius organised for Regulus’s birthday.

“Yeah. A couple or so months before he…um, went through the Veil,” I explain tightly.

Hermione sends a worried look towards me. “I’m sorry, Harry,” she says quietly.

I shrug and keep my gaze at the photograph. “There’s nothing we can do about it,” I say. Not
now, at least, I add in my mind.

There’s a short silence. “They both look very handsome,” she says and gives me a small
smile.

“I suppose,” I say, my mouth curving upwards.

“So, everything is okay between the two of you?” She asks hesitantly.

I chew the inside of my cheek. I think we’re good, Regulus and I. I hope we are. Mostly, we
have been focused on destroying Voldemort; researching Horcruxes and finding them,
strengthening my Occlumency skills, and so on. However, we have slept next to each other,
in the same bed, for several months. Of course there have been occasional discussions about
us, occasional snogs, and, well, occasional…more than snogs.

Hermione watches me silently, and there’s a knowing look in her eyes, as if she knows
exactly what I’m thinking. Then, suddenly, her expression turns into a solemn one.

“What is it?” I ask quietly, turning towards her, concern flickering in my stomach.

Hermione frowns at me. “I’m happy for you, Harry, but…”

“But what?” I ask with a tight voice, my eyes moving over her face.

“…If anything ought to happen to anyone of us, you – you know what is important?” She
asks, grimacing slightly.

I watch her for a while before I answer, my voice a bit hollow, knowing fully well what she
wants to hear. “The cup.”

“And you, Harry.” She adds, her brown eyes watching me intently.

I huff. “Hermione, I –“

“No, listen, Harry. You cannot play a hero. We need the cup. But we also need you alive,” she
says steadily. “Even if something happens to the rest of us,” she continues, her voice now
quiet.
I open my mouth, shaking my head but Hermione places her both hands on my shoulders.
“Promise me that you will run before playing the hero, Harry.” She says severely. “Promise
me that your life and the cup are your priorities.”

I stare at her for a long moment, stunned by her words. Then I realise, that she knows me too
well, knows how I would react if some of them would get hurt. I swallow hard as I look at
her unrelenting gaze.

“Fine.” I finally huff out, looking away as I clench my jaw.

Hermione watches me for another moment before she nods, seemingly satisfied. “Good.
Now, come on. It’s getting late. We need to be up early tomorrow.”

I let out a deep sigh and give her a nod, following her to the landing outside Sirius’s and
Regulus’s rooms. I wish her good night and then slip into Regulus’s room as Hermione leaves
to her room downstairs.

I glance around the dark room and see him there, hands in his pockets, still wearing his
pressed slacks and shirt, standing in front of the tall windows and staring outside, into the
evening. I watch him quietly for a while, wondering what is going on in his mind, wondering
if he is as nervous about tomorrow as I am. Does Regulus too have an anxious doubt in the
bottom of his stomach, warning him that what we aim to accomplish tomorrow is dangerous,
telling him that we are going to step into a trap?

What are his priorities? Will he take care of himself, or will he try to uphold his promise he
made to his brother, and do whatever it takes to protect me?

Knowing the answer already, as I know mine, I let out a weary sigh and walk up to him,
placing my hand between his shoulder blades. The tension in him melts slightly away.

“Potter,” Regulus mutters.

I let my hand trail down his back and curl against his waist. Regulus lets out a deep breath,
his head tipping forward. I move an inch closer and then press my lips against his neck. I
need to be close to him, to feel him. I need to empty my mind from these anguished thoughts
that keep mulling in my head, that keep the fear and anticipation circling in my chest. I want
a moment, when I can only think of him.

Regulus turns slowly around, his eyes moving over me, taking in my features.

“So. Tomorrow,” I say quietly, placing my hand back on his waist, my fingers light and a bit
unsteady against the fabric of his shirt.

He inclines his head a bit, steely grey eyes watching me intently. “Tomorrow. Are you
ready?” He asks mutedly.

I clench my jaw. “No – I dunno,” I say and look at him, feeling anxious about the next day.
“After what happened last time…” I mutter with a sigh, and glance at my fingers pressing
against his waist.

“You’re afraid? That someone gets hurt?” He asks simply, his voice quiet.

I give him a mirthless smile. “Of course. Aren’t you?”

Regulus watches me for a moment in silence. “Yes.” He says with a small nod, a strained
look in his eyes. Then, he swallows hard before taking a hold on the back of my neck and
pulling me closer to meet his lips.

The kiss is soft and slow at first, and there’s nothing more to say, nothing more to do but kiss
him back and let him make me forget the anxiousness I feel. As his fingers flex against my
hip and his lips move against mine, he makes all the awful thoughts that swirl in my head
disappear.

The kiss deepens, becomes hungry, desperate. Regulus’s tongue pushes against mine and I let
out a small moan, fire rushing through my veins. My hands find their way past his waist,
pressing against his back, urging him closer. Soon there’s no space left between us and when
our hips meet, it is so torturously good that we both groan into the kiss.

Regulus pulls back slightly and moves to breathe heavily against the side of my neck.
“Merlin…” He whispers.

I’m dazed by lust and can only pant and think of every inch of him that is pressing against
me, trying to figure out why there are still so many layers of clothing between us.

Regulus’s lips then move against my neck, sending shivers down my spine. Every kiss and
every touch of his tongue makes me inch myself closer to him, but it isn’t before I feel his
teeth on my skin, when I actually thrust my hips against him, unsteadily, breathless by the
friction we both receive.

“Fuck, Potter,” Regulus mumbles, pressing his forehead against my shoulder.

His fingertips slip under my shirt, knuckles brushing at the bare skin right below my navel,
drawing all my attention to that light touch.

I move my hands at the hem of my shirt and pull it off, throwing it over my shoulder. Regulus
swallows hard as he takes a hold of my waist, his gaze sweeping over my body.

He leans in for an intense kiss and I wrap my hands over his neck, keeping him there,
thinking I’ll soon become mad with want as I rub myself against him, gasping against his
lips. Regulus is relentless; thrusting his tongue into my mouth, making my pulse thunder,
making me want to beg him to – to – touch me.

Which I kind of do, a moment later.

“Reg,” I murmur against his lips, and as soon as his name has left my mouth, his other hand
makes a quick work to open my trousers. His fingertips graze the skin inside of my pants
before he stills, panting against my lips, his brows lifted in question.
I nod quickly. “Yeah. Yes,” I whisper and then groan as his hand slips inside my pants and
wraps around my cock, his lips meeting mine again.

The kiss quickly becomes absent-minded as all I can think of, is Regulus’s hand stroking me
in a languid rhythm, making me gasp, making me weak and intoxicated at the same time.

The fingertips of his other hand trail up and down my side, following the line of my ribcage,
before they start pushing my jeans and pants down my thighs. Regulus’s lips move down
again, sucking the skin below my jawline, and I have to bite my lip hard to not explode in
pleasure.

I can feel Regulus’s smile against my neck as a stifled moan escapes from my throat.

Then, he kneels on the floor in front of me, a somewhat smug smile on his lips, and Circe, it’s
too much; him leaning closer, and then – his lips wrapped around me, sliding up and down
my shaft. My toes curl at the overpowering sensation and choked moans are wrenched from
my lips every time he moves his tongue.

My pulse is pounding in my ears, and I have to force myself to keep my eyes open, to take in
the indescribable view, to watch how Regulus’s sucks me off, his eyes closed in content. I
vaguely notice that somehow, my fingers are knotted into his hair and when I tug it, Regulus
groans around me, sending delectable waves of pleasure down my spine.

“F-Fuck,” I grunt, feeling hot all over, feeling like I’m about to shatter in euphoria.

It’s so good, so good, that I can’t – I can’t –

I gasp out a loud moan that sounds a lot like his name, right before I explode into his mouth,
seeing only stars and panting like I’ve run a marathon, as a massive wave of bliss breaks over
me.

When I come back to my senses what feels like hours later, I almost stumble into Regulus,
who stands up gracefully, steadying me on my elbow.

He looks very dishevelled, and…aroused, his dark grey eyes blown wide, his lips parted and
wet.

…Merlin.

I give him a shaky grin, feeling still rather stunned and dazed, and then proceed to pull him to
the bed with me.

Diagon Alley, 19 December 1997

“Godric, I was sure it wasn’t going to work, not when Nott of all people decided to appear to
the Leaky Cauldron, exactly the same time we did,” Hermione whispers furiously after we
have stunned the shop owner of Twilfitt and Tattings, Mr. DuPont, and put up the necessary
security spells – to alert us when anyone is approaching the shop.
It’s close to five thirty in the morning and the pub had been nearly empty when we arrived.
Only Tom the barman, and, well, Nott – who most likely was there to keep guard - had been
there.

Nott undoubtedly would’ve taken interest of the unfamiliar woman, arriving alone to the pub
to trade a couple of words with the barman before making her way to the entrance to the
wizarding alley, if he hadn’t been Confunded by Ron.

I give her a nod. “Yeah. Good thing Ron was faster,” I say and nudge my friend.

Ron shrugs. “Got lucky, I suppose,” he says casually, while eyeing the street from between
heavy, dark brown curtains drawn over the windows.

The shop is small, like Malkin’s, but with less items on display, so there’s a bit more room to
move. Only a small part of one of the walls is dedicated to simple black robes, while
everywhere else there’s either a rack of unique, intricate dresses or formal dress robes.

Regulus is still upstairs in the shopkeeper’s personal quarters, turning into Mr. DuPont and
making sure the actual Mr. DuPont will stay unconscious until the next morning – something
we decided to take care of with a sedative potion.

“What is Nott even doing in here? He should be in school, shouldn’t he?” Hermione asks as
she walks to the wooden, sturdy counter, to peer over the items and search the drawers, a
deep frown between her brows.

I walk up to the counter and see her flicking through a large notebook. “Christmas holidays?”
I ask and nod at the notebook. “Do we know if Mr. DuPont has any appointments today?”

“He doesn’t,” a raspy voice says from the door that leads upstairs, managing to startle both
Hermione and me. It is Regulus with his new appearance and voice. Mr. DuPont is a tall and
broad-shouldered wizard with sharp brown eyes and a neatly trimmed moustache over a thin
set of lips that are pulled downwards. He wears heavy robes, adorned with animal fur.

“Nott, you said?” He asks, walking to us, his gaze sweeping over the table and the notebook.

“Malfoy’s friend. A Slytherin,” Ron grunts and looks at us over his shoulder, a hint of sneer
on his lips.

Regulus glances at Ron and the windows, before he nods slowly. “I’m acquainted with his
father.”

Which is not news, as we already knew that Nott’s father is a Death Eater. I wonder if Nott,
like Malfoy, has chosen to follow his father’s footsteps and joined the Death Eaters. Seems
probable – why else he would’ve been in the Leaky Cauldron at this time?

“Like father like son,” I mutter, while the others give me both tight and agreeing looks.

The hours pass in a snail’s pace. Soon, the sun has risen, and we’ve mostly been silent,
keeping guard at the windows, occasionally trading words. Regulus has kept sipping his
Polyjuice Potion every hour to keep his disguise, as we do not know if Narcissa will decide to
arrive earlier than the midday that was requested in the letter.

Ron groans and then stretches his back. “Can someone switch? I have to sit or I’ll faint,” he
mutters, stepping away from the sliver of window that is visible between the curtains, turning
towards us.

That’s when our alerting wards go off.

Both Hermione and Regulus glance up from the desk where they have been muttering quietly
about the next steps to take after the cup has been seized from Gringotts, echoing the
surprised looks on Ron and my faces over the windows.

Ron and I quickly scamper away to the far corner while Hermione lunges towards us, and
just after I’ve managed to throw the Invisibility Cloak over the three of us, hoping that we’re
not showing our feet, the door to the shop opens.

Narcissa steps in.

With two men accompanying her.

Fuck.

“Good morning, Mrs. Malfoy,” Regulus speaks calmly with Mr. DuPont’s raspy voice,
nodding at her and her companions.

The two men look around the shop. One of them is tall, muscular, dark haired and skinned.
His thick brows are furrowed into a scowl as his hawkish eyes dart around the room. The
other one is shorter, leaner and slightly hunched, as if ready to surge into an attack at any
moment. His brown and matted hair hangs to his neck. Both men are wearing sturdy, long
cloaks over their black robes and black dragon-hide boots. Narcissa keeps her focus on
Regulus, standing rigidly in front of him, her dark green winter cloak reaching to the floor.

“Mr. DuPont,” Narcissa says quietly, pulling the hood of her cloak off and taking a step
towards the counter as one of the men moves towards the windows, glancing outside.

Hermione, Ron and I exchange nods under the cloak, and then –

I throw the cloak away and aim my wand at the man on the window, while Hermione and
Ron focus on the other man next to Narcissa. “Stupefy!” I yell, hearing the same spell
echoing from Ron’s and Hermione’s mouths.

Time seems to slow down. The two men and Narcissa all turn towards us, pure surprise
written to their faces as three jets of red stream across the room, hitting their targets. Both
men instantly fall to the floor with a loud crash. Narcissa then whirls towards Regulus, her
wand at the ready, her mouth forming words, but she stills the next second as Regulus
whispers, “Imperio.”

Narcissa’s posture becomes relaxed, and the wand in her hand slips to the floor. Hermione
walks hastily next to the woman and collects the wand. She then snatches the invisibility
cloak from the floor, close to the windows and looks at the rest of us.

“What now?” She asks hastily, an anguished look in her eyes.

I swallow nervously. “Let’s take them upstairs,” I say to Ron, and give a wary glance at
Narcissa, and then at Regulus. “Is she really –“

“Yes. She is.” Regulus grits through his teeth, his wand still aimed at Narcissa.

I wonder if she is fighting against the curse, and if Regulus actually can keep her under the
spell long enough for us to retrieve the cup.

“Quickly, before someone comes!” Hermione hisses to Ron and me, and then starts to
rummage her bag, her hands shaking. “Bind them and gag them! Take a hair from each of
them, and their cloaks and shoes!”

I give her a curt nod, and Ron and I levitate the Death Eaters upstairs, not bothering to be
gentle, but trying to get them to the spare room – not the one where Mr. DuPont lies
unconscious – as quickly as possible. We put the men in a pile after pulling off their cloaks
and shoes, and then bind them and gag them with magic.

Hermione emerges to the room, holding two vials. “One of you should take the Polyjuice.
Give the other to Regulus,” she says, giving the vials to me, before kneeling on the floor in
front of the two Death Eaters.

“What are you gonna do?” Ron asks warily.

Hermione glances at us, exasperatedly. “Wipe their memories, of course. They saw us. Now,
make haste!”

Ron swallows and nods at me. “You should take it. If we’re caught and – “

“No, Ron, you – “

“Just take it, Harry! Ron’s right!” Hermione hisses. “And Ron – go downstairs to make sure
no one comes. Regulus’s potion will run out any minute now.”

Ron grunts his agreements and leaves the room, while I quickly pluck a hair from each of the
Death Eaters, before dropping them into each vial. Corking the other vial, I down the other in
a single gulp, gagging slightly at the mud-like taste.

Hermione doesn’t pay attention to me, but murmurs her incantations to the stunned men
while I suffer the familiar, albeit horrible effects of the Polyjuice Potion; gasping in pain as I
transform into the shorter man with brown, matted hair.

After the transformation is complete and I can finally take in a deep breath, I pull the man’s
cloak and shoes on, put my glasses to one of the cloak’s many pockets and grab the other set
of clothes and the vial before moving towards downstairs.

Narcissa lies unmoving on the floor.

“W-What?” I ask unsurely as I put the clothes and the vial on the counter before Regulus,
who is in the middle of turning back into himself.

Regulus stands behind the counter, his knuckles pressing onto the wood as a shudder racks
through him. “It is better she doesn’t see me,” he grunts, and at the next shudder, he is back to
himself.

I give him a small frown, watching as he straightens himself up and takes in a deep breath. I
nod at the belongings on the table. “Bottoms up.”

Regulus aims a wry look at me, before taking the vial and gulping it down, coughing loudly
afterwards. The transformation is almost as painful to look as it is to experience. Within
moments, a large, dark skinned man stands before us, pulling on his cloak and shoes after
altering his robes to fit him better.

“We have one hour,” the man grunts. “We should go.”

We quickly agree that while Regulus will accompany Narcissa to Gringotts, both Ron and
Hermione will patrol the streets under the cloak while I will watch the streets in my Death
Eater disguise.

Regulus moves his focus to Narcissa, a frown forming between his eyes.

“She’s fighting the curse, isn’t she?” I ask hesitantly as Hermione and Ron both transfigure
their looks slightly, just in case, before throwing the cloak over themselves.

Regulus takes in a deep breath. “I’ll manage.” He says simply, and then revives Narcissa,
flicking his wand immediately to cast the Imperius curse.

We step outside, glancing at both directions, but the streets are empty, even if it is close to
noon. This is of course better for us – less people to question our intentions. Our group
moves towards the wizarding bank, with Regulus and Narcissa walking side by side in front
of me, and Hermione and Ron under the cloak, somewhere on my left.

After a sharp turn in the street, we finally see it; the snowy white building, tall and made of
marble, towering over the nearby shops.

Regulus glances at us, nodding inconspicuously, before he and Narcissa continue their way
towards the bank. I cannot see him holding a wand, but I know he has it somewhere within
his robes. I swallow hard as Regulus and Narcissa walk past the two guards – wizards –
stationed outside the bank, and let out a relieved breath as the guards merely nod at the
couple.

There’re still goblins. And possibly more guards waiting inside the bank.

“We’re moving further on the road. Stay here and – and guard,” Ron mutters behind me.

I roll my eyes a bit but then incline my head at them, my gaze moving along the still empty
streets.
Twenty minutes later, there’s still no sight of anything unusual. But there’s no sight of
Regulus or Narcissa either. Hermione has sent a message to my coin, informing that all is
clear. There’s no messages from Regulus. Concern flickers in my chest, and I check the large
timepiece on top of the bank, for what has to be the tenth time. It’s nearly half one. We have
thirty minutes before the Polyjuice Potion runs off.

I’m inside the vault, facing mountains of golden coins and goblets, stacks of silver armour,
collections of rare potions and a large display of jewellery. The goblin – Bogrod – bows and
steps outside to manage the old dragon that keeps guard to the most ancient vaults.

It is eerily quiet and dark – the vault is lit only by a couple of flickering torches on the far
wall. My cousin stands in a relaxed pose, her hands clasped in front of her, an empty look in
her grey eyes. She has finally stopped resisting the curse, as I anticipated. It takes a lot of
willpower to break it, and the longer one tries, the harder it gets. I know this, since in my
past, I tried to train myself to resist it.

I move my focus to the chamber and lift my wand, casting detection charms over the vault.
Knowing my cousin, I’m not surprised to find a handful of curses set upon it, which I quickly
start to dismantle. It takes some time, and then, as the protective curses are down, I move
swiftly around the vault, searching for the cup, knowing what it’ll look like.

Time moves on, and right after I’ve gone through a cabinet filled with cups and other items,
cursing under my breath as there is no sign of the Horcrux, I notice my cousin moving
towards a long shelf on one of the walls. I watch her closely, feeling the connection, knowing
that her mind is still under my command. She moves gracefully, slowly, until she stops,
looking upwards.

There’s a cup on the shelf. It must be it. And she has – unconsciously – found it for me.

I nearly run to her, and after a quick spell to identify the item, making sure that it is indeed
the cup of Helga Hufflepuff, I grab it and push it into my robes. Then, with a flick of my
wand, I command her to follow me outside.

The door appears right as we stop in front of it, and we quickly make our way back to the
cart, passing the enormous dragon that roars angrily, spitting jets of fire behind us.

Bogrod controls the cart and steers us upwards, towards the bank.

“D-Don’t…” My cousin suddenly whispers next to me.

Fuck.

I train my wand at her, enforcing the curse, forcing her under again. But she turns towards
me, her eyes horrified, pleading. “My c-cousin…d-don’t,” she grits through her teeth.

I clench my jaw, focusing on the spell, watching blankly at her as she keeps struggling
against the curse. The next moment, we finally reach our destination, and I take my cousin by
her arm, steering her away from the bewildered goblin.
She trembles next to me as I walk her briskly through the bank, passing the many counters
and goblins, passing the guards. At the front doors, only moments before we step outside, she
grabs my arm and tries to pull me back.

“D-Don’t!” She says sharply, her fingers shaking against my arm, trying to force me to stop.
“H-He’ll kill my s-son!” My cousin gasps, her grip strengthening by the second.

Knowing that we need to get out of the bank, quickly, so that I can force her into submission
again, I practically drag her outside, drawing suspicious glances from the guards. But then,
just as we step to the street, and right before I can strengthen the curse, she manages to break
it.

“Voldemort!” She gasps, watching me with an expression filled with fear and shock.

And then, several things happen at once. A dozen people – a mix of Death Eaters and wizards
without masks – apparate in the middle of the street, in front of the bank. My cousin slips
away from my grip, screaming a wandless incantation towards me, which I barely manage to
block as curses start to soar through the air, all directed at me.

A powerful shield charm repels the collection of the jets of light just before they hit me, and
then, several people are running, yelling, throwing spells and curses as Ronald and Hermione
appear on the other side of the street, and as Potter starts to duel a handful of opponents on
the other side.

My cousin sends another stream of wandless curses, which I block, while stunning the two
guards closest to me.

“Ventus!” My cousin screams as I send a binding spell to one of Potter’s five opponents, and
before I can turn back to her, a hurricane-force wind sweeps me off my feet.

“Help him!” I hear Hermione yelling, and then she screams, “Bombarda!”

There’s a loud explosion in the middle of the street, people yelling and screaming, and two of
Potter’s opponents fly across the air from the force of it.

My cousin aims another force of power against me, which sends my wand away from my
grasp.

“I warned you,” she growls, looking livid, sending waves of force against me.

I bring my hands up, pushing her magic back wandlessly, managing to pull myself on my feet
again while Ronald runs closer to me, blocking spell after spell from the two Death Eaters
that advance us.

“Do you have it?!” Ronald yells, sending curses and spells towards the Death Eaters, his
wand moving fast to block the incoming curses. He manages to stun the other one of his
opponents.

“Yes!” I grit through my teeth, focusing on my cousin.

Narcissa lifts her hands up, takes in a sharp breath, and then –

“Diffindo!”

“AAAAAH!!” A powerful pain rips through me, and I can hear a scream erupting from my
throat as I grab my chest, feeling only agony. As I drop down to my knees, I’m straining to
keep myself conscious. And then I see blood. Flooding from my chest, beneath my hands,
trickling down as I gasp air into my lungs.

I look at my cousin and see her standing there rigidly in place, her expression pure terror, a
hand in front of her mouth. My vision starts to flicker. I can hear Potter yelling, screaming.
And then I see my cousin falling, falling to the ground.

Everything happens in slow motion. Seconds feel like hours. My head and my chest are
pulsing, my vision swimming. I move my head to see Potter and Hermione, further on the
street, surrounded, and Ronald, taking a hold of me, looking frightened.

I drift into darkness.

 Falling Away
Chapter Notes

What? An update? So soon?

Well, enjoy :) Thank you for reading!

Chapter 43: Falling Away

Malfoy Manor, 19 December 1997

We’re being dragged forward over the gravel and up the black stone steps into a dark, vast
hallway, where several portraits are hung on the walls on both sides. I glance at Hermione;
there's blood trickling from her temple, but her eyes are alert and aware, giving me a look of
warning.

She's ordering me to stay quiet and not to reveal myself, even though the four Death Eaters
manhandling us are quite certain that I am Harry Potter, and that the girl next to me is
Hermione Granger, regardless of our disguised looks.

They’ll know for certain as soon as Narcissa is revived, as she is bound to remember what
happened before she was put under the Imperius curse. I should’ve killed her instead of
stunning her. I should’ve harmed her after what she did. For what she did to Regulus.

Regulus – fuck, I can’t even think about him without feeling the urge to throw up, without
feeling overpowered by terror. What will happen to him? Is he even alive anymore? All the
blood…I recall the way he fell to the ground, with blood bursting from his chest. How does
one come back from that? My vision blurs and my chest tightens as I think of what might
have happened.

No…no, I can’t think about it, I can’t think about him. Not before I know for certain. Not
now. Not when there is no guarantee Hermione and I will get through this alive.

“Take them to the drawing room,” one of the men grunts, before turning to another hallway
on the left, disappearing into the shadows.

The house – the manor – is large, its hallways wide and dark. There's black marble shining
under our feet and thick, dark curtains pulled over the windows. We walk past many portraits
and busts, towards a pair of doors at the end of the hallway. I wonder if Voldemort lives here?
Will he be sitting on a throne on the other side of the doors? Even the thought of it sounds
ridiculous. However, this must be some kind of headquarters, or one of his servant’s home at
the least, as the place reeks with dark magic.
The remaining three Death Eaters shove us through the thick double doors, into a large room
with dark purple walls, chandeliers in the ceiling, more portraits on the walls and an
excessive seating area in front of the fireplace.

A seating area, where Lucius Malfoy and his son Draco Malfoy are situated.

Fuck.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lucius Malfoy drawls, standing up and moving towards us.
“Why is Smith held captive?” He asks sharply from the Death Eater holding me from my
neck, before glancing at Hermione and narrowing his eyes at her. “And who is she?”

“This is not Smith. We found these two from Diagon Alley, causing disruption. We think this
is Potter,” the tall man with short hair and heavy brows grunts from behind me.

His fingers press against my neck. I wonder if he is the one who took my wand in Diagon
Alley. I wonder if I could have a chance to seize it back…but even if I did, how fast would I
be against two Malfoys and three Death Eaters?

Lucius stills and then moves his blue eyes at me, watching me closely. “Potter, you say…
Why would you think that?” He asks slowly, glancing at the man behind me.

“They said his name, triggered the spell, and started duelling as soon as we got there. There
were two others, both men; one of them looked a lot like Roscoe, the other I didn’t recognise.
They got away – “

“They said the Dark Lord’s name…?” Lucius interrupts quietly, his eyes moving between
Hermione and me with a calculated look. He turns back to Draco, inclining his head. “Draco,
is this the Mudblood? Potter’s friend? Is she?” He asks urgently as Draco slowly walks
towards us.

I grit my teeth together, wanting nothing more than to smack my fist against both Malfoys’
blonde faces, but I’m distracted as I see the look of hesitation, the hint of unease in Malfoy’s
– Draco’s – eyes.

“I suppose.” Draco mutters, turning back to the fireplace.

And really, anyone who’s spent six years in a class with her, who’s spent six years
obsessively bullying her, would recognise her in an instant, even with her transfigured looks.

Lucius gives his son an exasperated look before he sneers at Hermione and me. “Where are
the real Smith and Roscoe?” He asks from the Death Eater holding Hermione in a tight grip
by her hair. “What happened to the two others?”

“We’re still searching for them. As for the other two; they disapparated,” the wizard with
gaunt features and narrow eyes says hastily. “The other one was as good as dead then, and
when the other disapparated, Travers got a hold of them, but they managed to escape.
However…Travers was dropped to Grimmauld Place.”
I almost gasp in shock. Ron…Regulus. They got away? And – and Grimmauld Place? The
Death Eaters got access to Grimmauld Place? Was Ron alone? Where’s Regulus? Fuck…I
glance at Hermione, and see that she too is shaken by the news.

There’s a triumphant look in Lucius’s eyes. “Grimmauld Place…that is something, I tell you
that,” he says with a low voice, narrowing his eyes at me. “Polyjuiced…” he mutters and then
turns to Hermione, bringing his wand against her neck. I grit my teeth together.

“Is the man next to you Potter?” He asks silkily from Hermione, his wand pressing against
her skin.

Hermione lets out a whimper of pain, and I struggle against the Death Eater holding me.

Lucius’s lips twitch. “I see…” he mutters. “I think…it is time to summon the Dark Lord,” he
says softly, a flicker of a smile on his face.

I swallow hard, knowing that this will be it. This will be our end.

Lucius pulls his sleeve up, revealing the black scull and snake tattoo, before slowly bringing
his fingers towards it.

The doors are slammed open.

“Do not summon him!” None other, than Bellatrix Lestrange, screeches from the doors.

Bellatrix runs to us, looking livid and…shocked. Narcissa – with her previously dishevelled
appearance neatened, and all evidence of a duel now removed – follows close behind her
along with the fourth Death Eater who brought us to this place. Bellatrix stops in front of us,
her heavy-lidded eyes sweeping over me and then Hermione.

“So, it is her…The Mudblood,” she says darkly, before turning to me. “And this…this one
here, is either Weasley…or Potter.”

Lucius eyes Bellatrix closely. “What do you mean?” He asks, his gaze moving from Bellatrix
to Narcissa, who looks somewhat terrified. “…Cissa?”

I watch her pale face and how her bony jawline tightens. I want to snarl at her, to lunge
towards her and severely harm her. She deserves it. She deserves to die for what she did.

Narcissa swallows before turning to look at Lucius. “Something happened,” she says quietly.
“I was there.”

I hold my breath as Lucius gives Narcissa a bewildered look. “What do you mean ‘you were
there’?” He asks indignantly, his sharp eyes moving swiftly over his wife.

Narcissa purses her lips. “I went to collect a purchase from Twilfitt and Tattings this morning,
accompanied by Smith and Roscoe. We were ambushed by Potter, Weasley and the
Mudblood.”

“Salazar!” Lucius says abruptly, grasping Narcissa by her shoulder.

“Mother?” Draco says with a tight voice, walking towards the group.

So…Narcissa ‘went to collect a purchase’. How…strange. Why doesn’t she tell them the real
reason she came to the shop?

Bellatrix lets out a bored grunt.

“Later,” Narcissa says stiffly to her son and husband. “I believe Potter and a fourth one of
their group used Polyjuice potion to turn into Smith and Roscoe,” she continues, glancing at
me with a cold look in her eyes.

Why doesn’t she mention anything about Regulus? Did she recognise him or not? Does she
remember? Even though she was Imperiused?

“Who was the fourth one?” Bellatrix asks with a low voice, her piercing gaze trained at
Narcissa.

Narcissa’s expression doesn’t change. “I couldn’t say. They were Polyjuiced from the start,
disguised as the shopkeeper. I was put under the Imperius Curse,” she says expressionlessly.

“Cissa!” Lucius says loudly, shock filling his features. He then turns towards Hermione and
me. “You…You will pay for this!” He growls, lifting up his wand.

“Control yourself, Lucius!” Bellatrix quickly shrieks, and Lucius’s wand lowers only slightly.
There’s something close to amusement in Bellatrix’s eyes as she watches Hermione and me,
moving closer to us. “Well, well, well…I didn’t think you had it in you, Potter. Or, perhaps it
was this…mystery person doing the dirty work,” she says, her voice calculative as she studies
my features. “One way to find out, there is…” she says icily.

I stay still, trying not give away any reaction.

“Give me his wand.” Bellatrix demands from the Death Eater holding me.

The man grunts and pulls out my wand, holding it for Bellatrix, who snatches it quickly.

“It is exactly like Ollivander described,” Narcissa whispers mutedly as the two women and
Lucius take a look at it, their eyes trained at the wand for a moment.

I swallow hard when I see Bellatrix lifting her gaze slowly at me, glee evident in her eyes.
“Got you now, Potter,” she whispers with a threatening voice. “Let’s see what you’ve been up
to, shall we?” She asks, cackling slightly. “Let’s see if you’ve been using magic you ought
not to…” She says menacingly.

“Prior Incantato!” Bellatrix hisses, flicking her wand at mine, and one by one, the spells I’ve
cast erupt from the tip of it, the wand movements shown as images in front of us. After a
quiet moment, during which Hermione and I exchange a tense look, Bellatrix waves her hand
to clear the images. “Still the pure, precious, little boy, it appears…” she says silkily, a
dangerous glint in her eyes.

Lucius clears his throat.

“Since we now have established that this truly is Potter,” Lucius says with a hint of a snarl in
his voice. “I will summon the Dark Lord and tell him that it was I, who captured – “

Bellatrix hisses loudly. “You will do no such thing, you insolent man!” She roars and narrows
her eyes at Narcissa, who stares back with a flicker of anxiousness in her eyes. “If what my
sister tells me is true, that – that someone forced her to go into my vault – that someone stole
– “ She growls, turning towards us, her eyes moving over Hermione and me.

“They went into Gringotts?” Lucius asks faintly, his eyes moving between Hermione and me.

“Did you search them?” Bellatrix snaps to a man next to the one holding me, ignoring
Lucius.

The Death Eater nods, pulling items from his pocket. Hermione’s wand. My glasses. Two
coins.

There is a tense silence.

“WHAT DID YOU TAKE?!” Bellatrix bellows at Hermione and me, looking enraged.

When neither of us answers, she pants slightly and then narrows her eyes at me. “Very well,”
she hisses. “Potter can wait in the cellar until his potion runs off. I will question the
Mudblood,” she adds, an evil glint in her eyes as she turns to look at Hermione. “I’m sure I
can help her tongue loosen up a bit…”

I struggle as I’m being pulled away. “No!” I yell. “Don’t hurt her!” I growl, but Bellatrix
merely sends me an amused look and lets out a small cackle, pulling a silver dagger from the
inside of her robes.

Fear grips my chest.

“Don’t worry, Potty…I will save you for the Dark Lord. He’s looking forward to seeing
you…”

“NO!” I yell, trying to wrench myself free, but the man holding me hits me in the back of my
head and my vision swims. Everything is blurred, I’m dragged down a set of stairs and then
some more…until...until there’s a scream somewhere above.

“…Hermione…” I mumble weakly.

The next moment, I’m thrown face first against hard stone. A door bangs shut behind me.

There's another scream.

“…H-Hermione.” I whisper, blinking furiously. It is dark and the ground is cold and moist.
There are no windows, and as I pull myself on my knees, my hand hits something.

Something soft.

“Is someone here?” I ask quickly, reaching out again. I feel…a hand.
A cold hand.

“W-What?” I mumble, squinting my eyes at the darkness while dread starts to fill me.

There’s a body. I crawl closer and let out a horrified sob as I see who it its.

Luna.

She’s lying there on the floor, her skin cold and her body lifeless.

“No!” I gasp, trying to feel her pulse, trying to shake her awake.

But she doesn’t wake up.

“N-No!” I breathe, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat, trying to control my body
that starts to shake uncontrollably as grief and despair try to seize it.

Luna…not Luna…

Then I see Ollivander. And next to him…Dean.

“No. No, no, no…” I wheeze, my throat constricting.

I stumble onward, trying to shake them awake, trying to – trying to make them conscious…
because they cannot be – they cannot be…

But they are. They’re dead.

I let out a choked gasp and stumble backwards, feeling how terror fills my insides, feeling
how fear tightens its hold in my throat.

I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I feel hopeless. I’m going to die. Just like them.

Hermione screams upstairs.

I let out a shuddering sob and feel tears against my skin, but don’t have it in me to brush them
away.

“N-No…Hermione, n-no…” I mumble and swallow convulsively.

I’m the reason we got caught. If I hadn’t sent that stunner towards Narcissa, if I would’ve just
focused on what I was supposed to, we could’ve gotten away with Hermione. I wouldn’t have
lost my wand. But then, if Hermione and I had escaped, Regulus and Ron probably wouldn't
have.

I let out a weary breath and let the despair fill my insides and take over every corner in me.

There’s no way out. I haven’t got a wand and I cannot open the door. I cannot save Hermione.
There’s no way out. I doubt I could disapparate even if I had a wand. They did it before – the
anti-apparition wards. No one can force their way through them.
I press the heels of my palms against my eyes. There’s no way out. I’m beginning to see stars
in my eyes. And while it hurts, it's nothing compared to the torment I feel when I open my
eyes and see the bodies scattered over the floor.

Luna and Dean. They were taken because of me. Because they supported me...

I wonder if Ron got away, if he managed to find someone or go to someplace safe. I pray that
Regulus is alive.

Regulus.

…Kreacher!

Kreacher was able to apparate when a wizard could not! I’m almost about to summon the elf,
but then I realise that it is too dangerous – if the Death Eaters have taken Grimmauld Place…
I cannot summon the elf.

I wonder if Kreacher is okay…

I chew the inside of my cheek. But – but there’s still…Dobby.

Could Dobby apparate in here? I scramble up to my feet and try to listen what happens
outside the cellar. There’re occasional screams and yells and I pray to Merlin that Hermione
will have the strength to endure it.

“Dobby?” I whisper, and immediately there’s a small crack echoing in the quiet cellar.

“Dobby?” I gasp, barely making the elf’s figure in the darkness.

“Master Harry needs Dobby’s help?” The elf asks, its voice…frightened.

I nod at it, but then there’s noise upstairs, close to the cellar. Footsteps, nearing us.

“Hide!” I whisper, and soon the door slams open and a burst of light flickers to the room
from a tip of a wand.

From a wand held by Peter Pettigrew.

“You,” I seethe at the man and without thinking I lunge at him, clamping my hand against the
man’s mouth to muffle the yell that soon follows. Dobby flicks its fingers and Pettigrew’s
wand flies to Dobby’s hand.

But the next moment, there’s a silver hand closing around my neck, pressing, grasping,
making me choke.

Dobby tries to force the hand away from me by magic, but it doesn’t budge. The elf whispers
in panic, “Harry Potter, no, no, no, Harry Potter!”

“I s-saved your life, W-Wormtail,” I wheeze, glaring at the plump, rat-faced man. “You o-
owe me your l-life!”
Pettigrew’s hand slackens abruptly, and just as I have taken in a deep, gasping breath, the
hand has found its way to Pettigrew’s throat, strangling him.

“Shit…” I hiss, trying to pry the hand away from his throat as the man keeps gasping and
gurgling. I snatch the wand from Dobby and try summon the hand away, but it doesn’t move.

It’s taking Pettigrew’s life.

Horrified, I watch as the last breath leaves from Pettigrew’s lungs and he slackens and
tumbles to the floor.

“Draco, go see what is keeping Wormtail,” Bellatrix’s snarl carries from upstairs.

I exchange a look of panic with Dobby. “Dobby. Are there any wards in here? Preventing
disapparation?” I ask quickly.

“Not anymore, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby removes them,” Dobby says squeakily.

I give the elf a curt nod. “Can you take Hermione? Without getting harmed? Can you
apparate there and grab her and disapparate?” I ask hastily from the elf.

Dobby nods quickly. “Dobby can do it, Harry Potter.”

I swallow hard. “Go upstairs, take Hermione and apparate her to – “ I think fast, feeling the
effects of Polyjuice Potion wearing off. There’s nowhere to go, really. Fuck. “Take her to my
old home on Privet Drive. I’ll meet you there,” I tell the elf, shuddering as I drag Pettigrew
away from the doorway. I move to stand behind the open door, blinking a bit before I realise
my sight is bad again. There’s a small crack close to me, indicating that Dobby has apparated
upstairs.

“Wormtail?” Malfoy hisses urgently from the stairs. “Lumos.”

The moment he steps into the cellar, he sees Pettigrew dead on the floor. The next second, my
hand and Pettigrew’s wand is trained at the side of Malfoy’s neck.

Malfoy swallows hard as I take a step closer to him. “So, it is you, Potter,” he whispers, a hint
of a sneer on his voice.

There’s a loud scream upstairs and a crashing noise. “Give me your wand,” I grit through my
teeth, pressing the tip more securely against Malfoy’s skin.

Malfoy snarls. “After what you did to my mother, Potter – “

“ - She gave it back as good as she got, believe me. Didn’t think of your dear mother to be a
coldblooded killer, but then again, it must run in the family.” I growl at him, and at that,
Malfoy stills.

As he turns towards me, muttering a confused “What?”, I use the distraction and wrench his
wand away from his grasp, taking a step back before training both wands at him.
Malfoy and I stare at each other, both frozen in place. My vision is rubbish and it’s dark, but I
think I detect a flicker of fear in his eyes, right when the noises become louder upstairs.
Someone is running towards us down the stairs. Suppressing the urge to harm him – to make
him suffer, so that Narcissa Malfoy can feel as anguished as I do – I finally wave both wands
at him.

“Stupefy!” I whisper, and then, focusing with my every fibre on my old home on Privet
Drive, I turn on the spot.
 Going Home

Chapter 44: Going Home

4 Privet Drive, 19 December 1997

A familiar room materialises around me; something I thought I’d never see again when
glancing back at it for the last time, almost five months ago.

It looks the same, but at the same time, it doesn’t. The walls are the same sickly peach colour
of my Aunt’s choosing, the writing desk is in place and the small bed made.

But my Hogwarts trunk is definitely not where I left it; at the end of the bed, closed. The
trunk is instead thrown open in the middle of the room. There’s a mess of ripped parchment
and my school books scattered over the room and trunk, with the wardrobe doors wide open,
its contents empty. Needless to say, someone’s been here.

I clench my jaw nervously and listen attentively – there’s nothing. Not a sound. Did Dobby
and Hermione make it? I glance out of the window that oversees the front garden; the street is
empty, even if it is early in the afternoon. I peer up to the cloudy sky, but no one’s there
looming on a broomstick either.

I hastily turn towards the door and then lift up one of the wands. “Homenum Revelio!” I
whisper, and a short moment later, the spell detects the presence of one person. “What…?” I
whisper in confusion, frowning at the door, before making my way through it. I look quickly
over the landing and stairs, but the house remains quiet and empty. Perhaps the spell does not
work on elves? Or... perhaps it is someone else.

With a wand at the ready, I creep down the stairs, avoiding the two creaking steps and finally,
as I reach the hallway, there’s a muffled whimper coming from the sitting room.

I freeze in place. “Dobby?” I whisper, hoping to Merlin that it is the elf.

“Harry Potter,” Dobby’s voice says very quietly.

I barge into the sitting room, anxiousness and relief washing over me. We escaped.

The sitting room looks more in place than my old bedroom did, but then I see them; Dobby,
holding Hermione’s hand and Hermione, lying on her back on the carpet, her eyes closed and
her body still.

“Hermione!” I gasp and run to her, throwing myself on my knees next to her. With my hands
shaking, I take a hold of her shoulders. Shock fills me, and I shake her gently. “No,
Hermione! Y-You have to be okay, Hermione, please!” I stammer, my eyes moving quickly
over her face and her body, searching for – for a wound, for something. “Dobby, what
happened? Is she – is she – “ I mumble, and then force down a nasty lump in my throat.
No. After what I saw in the cellar. After Luna – and Dean – and Ollivander – no. My pulse
quickens and my throat is dry. She can’t be, she can’t be…

“Miss Hermione survives,” Dobby says with a weak voice.

I almost don’t hear Dobby’s words, and when I register them, my eyes whip at the elf. “What
do you mean, Dobby?” I ask hastily, wanting to shake the elf to utter the words as quickly as
possible. “She’s – do you mean she’s going to be okay?” I ask desperately, looking back at
Hermione.

I feel her neck with my fingertips and there…there’s a pulse!

“Dobby, she’s alive!” I tell the elf urgently, looking at the creature again.

Dobby stands up from its kneeling position and takes a couple of staggering steps backwards,
holding its stomach.

“Dobby…? What is it?” I ask as concern flickers in my chest. I stare at the elf in
bewilderment and see its large, tennis ball-sized eyes filling up with tears and – and gratitude.

“Dobby helps miss Hermione,” the elf squeaks and then, its small hand drops to the side.

Coldness sweeps over me. A hilt of a dagger sticks out from Dobby’s stomach.

Bellatrix’s dagger. The one she was threatening Hermione with.

“No!” I gasp, stumbling on my feet, leaping over Hermione. I manage to catch Dobby just
before it collapses to the floor. “No, Dobby!” I yell, kneeling on the floor once more with
Dobby in my arms.

Panic and nausea twist in my stomach. This cannot be happening! No…I will save Dobby, I
have to!

“Dobby, just – just hold on! I’ll – I’ll help you!” I say with a trembling voice, looking quickly
around me and locating one of the wands within reach.

“Hold on, Dobby!” I gasp, grabbing the wand, swallowing down the bile in my throat as I see
Dobby’s eyes drifting closed and then open again. I suppress a sob of anguish as I see how
the elf’s head starts to loll from side to side. “No, Dobby, no…” I keep mumbling, while
aiming my wand at the wound, whispering hastily a simple healing spell Hermione taught
me. Even though I doubt it will do the trick.

When nothing happens, I curse under my breath. Why do I have to be so helpless? Why
didn’t I learn more healing magic?

“Dobby, hold on!” I breathe in distress, my throat constricting. “Something else, I have to
give you something else!” I ramble, then look at Hermione, and after a second has passed, I
remember she had packed us things to go with, in case we could not return to Grimmauld. If
only she had her purse with her.
But – but the Death Eaters didn’t have it, did they? They only had our wands and the coins!

“Accio beaded bag!” I bark hastily, and instantly, a small bag materialises against Hermione’s
belt and then zooms towards me.

I grab the bag, open it, and without thinking anything else, I summon the healing potion. A
small vial of bright red potion appears from the bag and I catch it before moving my focus on
Dobby.

“Dobby, here, this will heal you! We need to take the dagger – “ I say urgently, but then, my
words die in my throat.

Dobby’s eyes are closed and there’s a peaceful expression on its face. The elf is relaxed, its
body slack.

“…No.” I choke. “D-Dobby, don’t die…please don’t die…”

The elf doesn’t react. Nothing happens, except for despair filling my chest.

“Rennervate!” I shout, aiming my wand at the small, frail body in my arms. Hoping it will
help. Begging that there is still life inside the elf. “Rennervate! Please, Dobby! Wake up!
Rennervate!”

But nothing happens.

The wand in my hand drops to the floor. The room is silent. Hermione lies there next to me,
unmoving, but breathing steadily. And Dobby…Dobby gave its life for us. To save us.

I take in a shuddering breath and don’t even try to stop my stinging eyes from filling up with
tears. My head drops down and I close my eyes, still holding the small elf, feeling
overwhelmed by my failures. I failed to save them; Dean, Luna, and now…Dobby. And
they’re dead because of me, because Luna and her father helped me, because Dean was my
dormmate, and because Dobby…because Dobby came to rescue us.

And what about Regulus? My mind replays the scene, of Regulus falling to his knees, of
Regulus bleeding out on the street, of Regulus looking back at me for one last time before
losing consciousness and collapsing to the ground. If he’s gone too, that’s one more death on
my shoulders, one more person I failed to save. If he’s gone, what will I do then?

My throat tightens at the thought and I gasp out a sob. I’ll be alone again. I don’t even
remember the last thing I said to him.

“…H-Harry?”

I breathe in sharply and I wipe my cheeks fast with my hand, before whirling towards
Hermione, who blinks slowly on the floor, looking utterly exhausted.

But she’s there, conscious and rising up slightly to lean against her arms, watching me in
bewilderment.
Relief mixes into the despair I feel and I let out a shuddering breath, almost a laugh.

“Thank Merlin,” I gasp, watching her in disbelief, unable to comprehend how she can be
awake and not be in excruciating pain after what was done to her. Hermione seems to have
similar thoughts.

“H-How am I…how?” She asks, and then sees Dobby, still lying against my arm, its eyes
closed. Hermione’s eyes widen, panic and grief filling them. “No…Dobby…” She whispers,
tears gathering into her eyes.

And then I realise what Dobby had meant, what the elf’s last words meant…Dobby had
helped Hermione. Dobby had healed her. I watch the small body, wondering how much of its
strength it took. Wondering, if Dobby would still be alive, had it not healed Hermione? But…
would Hermione be?

I let out a long, weary sigh and place the small elf gingerly on the carpet. I know there is no
use thinking that. It cannot be undone, and knowing Dobby…I think the elf wouldn’t have it
any other way.

Hermione weeps silently, watching the elf’s body with a tormented look, probably having
figured out why she does have her strength again, after everything that happened during the
past hour or so.

We stay silent for a long moment, until Hermione sniffs loudly. “We should bury Dobby,” she
says softly, giving me a hesitant look.

I glance at her, give her a sharp nod. “Yeah. But not here.” I say and swallow hard. Dobby
deserves something better, something that hasn’t been tainted by the Dursleys.

Only then Hermione seems to realise where we are, as she blinks and takes in the
surroundings with a small furrow between her brows.

Then, a thought comes up and I give Hermione a small grimace. “And, er…we should
probably get a move on. I didn’t put up any security spells or wards…”

Hermione’s eyes widen in surprise and dread. “Harry!” She gasps and quickly jumps up to
her feet before looking around us in panic. “Oh, Harry, we have to run, we have to – try to go
to someone from the Order...Merlin, how fast will they find us now that we don’t have wands
–“

I interrupt her by handing out one of the two wands, the one I took from Pettigrew. “Luckily I
grabbed a couple,” I say with a small shrug.

Hermione’s eyes light up with relief. “Thank Godric!” She gasps, taking the wand, and busies
herself by putting up wards. She glances at me during it and gives me a small frown. “I hope
this is not Bellatrix’s wand,” she says quietly, before casting the next spell.

I grimace. “No…but it was Pettigrew’s…” I tell her grimly and then stand up slowly as
Hermione stills. “He killed himself,” I tell her, staring at the wand in her hand. “He…tried to
kill me first, but then I reminded him about – about him being in my debt. That I saved him
once,” I mutter, feeling somewhat uncomfortable.

Hermione nods slowly. “In the Shack. You saved him from Lupin and Sirius,” she says
quietly. Then she nods at the wand between my fingertips, her brows lifting up in question.

I too look at the wand, the one of the two that felt…better, that felt like it’s…mine, for some
reason. “Malfoy’s wand.” I say bluntly, and if that is not weird, I don’t know what is – that
Malfoy’s wand feels like mine…

Hermione’s brows pull into a frown. “Oh?”

I let out a sigh. “He came downstairs to check on Pettigrew, and…I dunno, Hermione.
Seemed like he didn’t really fight back as I took it from him,” I say, a bit puzzled, and
Hermione hums.

“Before – before you were taken to the cellar,” she says, swallowing hard, evidently not
wanting to speak about her torture. “Malfoy seemed somewhat…reluctant to identify me,
didn’t he?”

I give her a nod. “Yeah. So, I stunned him and disapparated,” I tell her, and add, “Dobby had
gone upstairs to get you,” I say quietly, keeping my gaze at the wand. I feel my eyes prickling
slightly as I think of the elf, and as I think of who was left in the cellar with Pettigrew and
Malfoy. I know I need to tell her now, because I don’t know if I’m able to later.

“Hermione,” I say with my voice hoarse. I swallow hard, forcing myself to calm down.
“There’s something else,” I say thickly and then look at her.

Hermione watches me with a confused frown, but there’s also fear in her eyes, as if she’s
expecting for me to tell her something bad.

“In the cellar…there were,” I start, steeling myself for what I know I have to say. I continue
almost inaudibly, “There were bodies.”

The images flicker into the forefront of my mind and I'm cruelly reminded what it felt like to
touch Luna's cold and unmoving hand.

Hermione gasps, and presses a hand over her mouth. “Who?” She asks urgently after a
moment, lowering her hand, that now shakes somewhat. “S-Someone we know?” She
whispers, looking horrified at the thought.

“Yes,” I tell her, my heart constricting. I try to clear away the tightness in my throat before I
speak very quietly. “Luna. Dean. Ollivander.”

Hermione gapes at me, before she lets out a loud, disbelieved gasp that soon turns into a set
of sobs. Her eyes scrunch up in repressed emotion and she shakes in place, while tears stream
down her cheeks.

I walk up to her and pull her into a tight embrace, feeling stricken, feeling overwhelmed by
sorrow.
We stay like that for a moment, holding each other, grieving the loss of our friends until our
tears have dried and until we both agree it is time to get a move on before the Death Eaters
come to check the Privet Drive.

“Where are we?” I ask from Hermione as an unknown view materialises around us.

We are in a dense forest, facing a small clearing that is surrounded by tall trees. The setting
sun shines through the branches, not warming anymore, but shedding streaks of light to the
frozen moss floor of the forest.

The scene ahead is comforting, making the weight in my chest ease up a bit.

Hermione gives me a small smile. “Forest of Dean. I came here with my parents once,” she
says and then worries her lip, her expression sobering. “Is this…would this place be okay to –
to lay Dobby to rest?”

I turn my gaze back to the inviting view. I breathe in the crisp and clean air and watch the
untarnished area, where everything grows wild and free. Free, like Dobby had been.

“Yeah.” I tell Hermione, giving her a weary smile. “I think Dobby would’ve liked this.”

I lay Dobby’s body gently down, against the ice-covered undergrowth and walk over to a spot
lit by the sun, the frozen moss crackling under my feet. “Here,” I mutter and glance at
Hermione. “I want to do it myself – dig the grave. Can you, um – “

I don’t have to finish my sentence as Hermione gives me an understanding look and flicks
her wand, conjuring a sturdy spade. I take it with a grateful nod, hoping the ground is not too
frozen underneath the icy grass.

As Hermione starts to put up wards around us, I throw myself into work; digging through the
somewhat solid soil, letting grief wash over me as I slowly but surely sink deeper into the
ground. I think about Dobby, the first time we met and how infuriated I had been towards the
elf throughout my second year, when Dobby had tried to save my life with some questionable
methods. I think about how many times the elf helped me after I set it free, during times
when I myself hadn’t figured out a solution; my fourth year, when Dobby sneaked into
Snape’s office and stole Gillyweed, making it possible for me to attend to the second task; my
fifth year, when Umbridge was watching us like a hawk, making it difficult for the DA to
gather – but then Dobby had found the Room of Requirement. I think about today, when the
elf had come immediately after I called it, helping me without question. Giving its life to save
us.

Hermione joins me in the small pit with another spade in her hands and starts to dig the grave
with me, unperturbed that my face must be swollen and blotched, or that I keep blinking
through the blurriness in my eyes.

I feel my scar prickling, feel Voldemort’s rage, and I know that he’s torturing someone.
Probably the people at Malfoy Manor – at least I suspect it was Malfoy’s home, why else
would they all have been there? But I manage to keep him out, I manage to keep myself in
present. I close my mind from him, not letting him ruin this moment, not letting him interfere
my grief.

It takes a long time, even with the two of us, but we stay silent and keep digging until the pit
is deep enough, until we are both exhausted and our muscles are straining. It must be hours
later when we are finally ready, as it is already dark.

Hermione pulls out a set of clothes from her beaded bag, almost as she knows what I’m
thinking. We put my jacket, Hermione’s hat and mittens, and Ron’s woollen socks and
jumper on Dobby, before laying the elf carefully into the small grave.

We give Dobby one last, long look, silently saying our goodbyes. Then, Hermione waves her
wand, filling the grave by magic. She casts another spell, and white wildflowers cover the
small burial mound.

It’s beautiful.

I take Hermione’s hand and give it a squeeze, grateful that she’s here, relieved that I’m not
alone. I think about Ron, thankful that he seemed to have managed to escape, hoping that he
did find safety. Even if it was without Regulus.

“They’re okay, Harry,” Hermione says quietly, staring at the floral bed. “Ron and Regulus,”
she adds. “Ron will make sure of it. He’ll save Regulus.”

Despair and anguish slither inside me again, taking a hold of my lungs, grasping for my
throat. I swallow hard before I reply to her. “I really hope so, Hermione,” I say and turn to
face her, still holding her hand. “I don’t know what I’d do if – “

But then, a searing pain bursts in my forehead, making me gasp, making my knees buckle.

“AAAHHH!” I scream, grabbing my head with both hands, trembling as unbearable pain
takes over, making my vision blur, making me think that my head will soon split open and
explode.

“Harry! …Harry!” I hear Hermione shrieking, feeling her arms around me.

The forest disappears, Hermione’s voice vanishes and images flutter into the forefront of my
mind, taking control of me, making me lose myself into them. Into Voldemort’s mind.

I’m in a room, circled by wizards – Death Eaters – and facing…facing a goblin.

“Tell me, goblin. What did they take?” I ask, my voice a sharp hiss, feeling enraged.
Feeling…frightened. It cannot be possible. Potter cannot know…No one knows…

The goblin in front of me stammers, explaining about the security measures, explaining how
the man escorting Mrs. Malfoy had opened the vault – without the goblin’s help. Something
that should be impossible.

I narrow my eyes at the creature. “As we have now witnessed, goblin, it is quite possible! Tell
me what they took!”
The goblin looks ahead with horror in its eyes, eyes that don’t dare to look at mine. “My
Lord, they took a…a s-mall golden c-cup.”

I stare at the creature for a split second and then, as unbearable rage sears through me, I
bare my teeth at it and scream. I lift my hands, feeling how the power, feeling how the anger
seeps from my fingers. The windows in the room burst into pieces at my will.

The goblin is lifted from the ground from its grovelling position with my other hand, as with
the other…I slash my wand through the air, watching with a small satisfaction as the green
jet of light hits the creature on its chest, before it drops to the floor, lifeless.

Like a storm, I move through the halls of Gringotts, ending every soul that comes in my way,
as they are all to blame for this, for bringing me the news about the cup, for letting…Potter
inside.

Potter. Somehow, the boy has destroyed one and now stolen another. Could he know about
them? My safeguards, my treasures. But how?

And if he knows, has he taken more than one? Has he destroyed more than one? Surely, I
would have felt it. No, it must be only these two, as these were the ones that were trusted to
my incompetent followers.

So useless, in fact, that they let the Potter boy slip through their fingers. When the boy had no
wand and was held captive. Lord Voldemort intends to punish them severely for this. But first,
I need to know. I have to make sure the rest of them are safe…

The cave…the shack…Hogwarts.

No, the boy cannot know about my connection to the Gaunts. No one did. And how could the
boy know about the cave?

But Dumbledore…Dumbledore knew my middle name. Dumbledore might have connected the
details. Dumbledore might have known about the cave. And what about the one in Hogwarts?

I hiss out a snarl as I think about the old oaf. Even after his death, he brings me nuisance.

I have to see myself that they are safe. I glance at Nagini, who slithers over the corpses of
several goblins, pausing next to me. “You will stay with me, Nagini.” I hiss at the snake in
Parseltongue.

The shack first. Then the cave. Then…Hogwarts.

“Harry!” Hermione says – sobs, her head against my chest. “Please, Harry…”

I let out a weary groan, blinking my eyes open.

Hermione whips her head up, her hands cradling my head, her eyes glittering in the darkness.
“H-Harry? You’re back?” She says urgently, her voice wavering.
My scar is burning and my heart is hammering in my chest. “He knows,” I croak to her. “He
knows I’m after them.”

Hermione lets out a gasp and I pull myself up to kneel on the frosty ground. “He’s going to
check the shack first, then the cave, and then…Hogwarts,” I say, giving her a meaningful
look.

“Hogwarts,” Hermione breathes, her eyes round. “He’s hidden something at Hogwarts…”

I nod at her quickly, suppressing a pointed ‘I told you so’. “He’s also keeping the snake close
to him, just in case.”

“So, the sixth one is – “

“Yeah, Hermione,” I say forcefully. We don’t have any time to spare. “We need to get going.
We need to go to Hogwarts before he gets there! He thinks the Hogwarts one is the safest,
since Snape’s there!”

Hermione stares at me, looking anxious. “How will we get there? The place is swamped by
Death Eaters! And we cannot apparate there!”

“Hogsmeade.” I say simply, thinking fast. “We’ll go through Hogsmeade. Do you still have
my cloak?” I ask urgently.

Hermione gives me a sharp nod, making a couple of swift steps to her beaded bag on the
ground and pulls out the Invisibility Cloak, before attaching the bag on her belt with a spell.

“Good,” I mutter as she hands me the cloak. “We’ll go under this.”

 Through the Night
Chapter Notes

Enjoy people, and thank you for reading!

Chapter 45: Through the Night

Hogsmeade, 19 December 1997

As soon as Hermione and I apparate into the main street of Hogsmeade, surrounded by the
thatched cottages and shops all covered in snow, we know something’s wrong.

A loud, screeching noise echoes throughout the village, and then several men – Death Eaters
– emerge to the street, stopping in the middle of it to peer around. “Someone’s here! Put it
out, Gordon!”

One of the Death Eaters flicks their wand and the village is quiet once more. And then,
there's a yell that makes both Hermione and me grab the cloak tighter around us.

“Accio Invisibility Cloak!”

But thankfully, the cloak doesn’t move an inch.

However, the men start to walk towards us, forcing us to silently retreat towards one of the
side streets. Our movements are clumsy as we try to stay completely under the cloak and
slow as we try to clean up our footprints from the snowy ground.

When we think we have managed to get far enough and as the frustrated yells of the Death
Eaters become distant, Hermione tries to disapparate.

“Harry…It’s not working,” Hermione whispers anxiously. “I can’t disapparate!”

I swallow hard. “Anti-Disapparation wards. They knew we would come,” I say, cursing
inwardly. “We need to run, Hermione. We can’t stay here,” I mutter quickly, but then…then,
the air suddenly gets darker…and colder.

No…

Hermione squeezes my arm, frozen in place against one of the buildings, giving me a terrified
look. “Dementors,” she whispers. “What do we do, Harry?”

There’s no other way – we need to use a Patronus charm, otherwise they’ll get us. And then
the Death Eaters will know our location immediately and know that it’s us. Bloody hell.
Soon, a group of Dementors come to our sight at the end of the narrow street.

“Cast the charm, Hermione. Think of something happy,” I whisper to her, lifting my wand,
my hand shaking violently.

Hopelessness fills me as the creatures glide closer, their rotting hands visible and their
breaths rasping in the silence. All I can see, all I can think of, are the images in my mind. The
small mound covered in white flowers. The cold hand against mine in the cellar and the frail,
lifeless body, innocent and wan. The fall. The blood pooling into the street. The emptiness in
his eyes.

Hermione waves her wand next to me, but nothing comes out from it; only wisps of silvery
fog. “I c-can’t, Harry,” Hermione whimpers, “I’m trying, but it’s not w-working!”

I manage to force the images away, knowing we have to make it. Knowing that we have to
get to the castle. “Expecto Patronum!” I hiss quietly, thinking of Hermione, thinking of Sirius
and Ron and Regulus. I need to make it, to save them. And I will.

A large, silvery stag erupts from my wand and I give it a small smile, before it turns and
charges towards the group of Dementors, banishing them from sight.

“Potter! It’s Potter! I saw it! The stag!” Someone yells seconds later, very close to us.

Fuck.

Just as I’m sure we’re getting caught now, as there are at least ten Death Eaters behind the
corner and only two of us, and there is no use of even dreaming of beating them, suddenly, a
door opens from the building behind us.

“Quickly, come inside!” Someone grunts silently.

Hermione and I scramble towards the voice – a tall man, it appears – and slip inside the
building.

“Upstairs. Keep the cloak on,” the man grunts and steps outside.

Hermione and I creep silently up the stairs close to the door we came in, and as we walk into
what seems to be a sitting room, we take a curious look around us. There’s a sofa and an
armchair placed in front of a small fireplace and a large painting of a blonde girl hanging on
an otherwise empty wall opposite to the fireplace. Two large sideboards line one wall, with a
door on either side of them – one from which we came in just now, and one which I assume
leads to a bedroom, or perhaps a kitchen.

“Where are we?” I whisper, looking at Hermione’s deep frown.

Hermione puts a finger against her lips. “Hog’s Head. Come on,” she whispers silently,
nudging her head towards the windows, where sounds of arguing can be heard from the
narrow side road.
The Hog’s Head’s barman yells something to the Death Eaters, conjuring a Patronus – a goat
– and then…

“They’re leaving,” Hermione whispers anxiously as we watch the group of ten or so men turn
away from the pub and its barman with sneering expressions.

“Thank Merlin,” I grumble as relief washes over me.

The barman steps back into the pub, locking the door and setting up some security wards – at
least, I feel some charms surrounding us. As our saviour walks slowly up the stairs,
Hermione and I step away from the window and walk further into the dark room before we
pull the cloak away.

The barman enters the room and like the last time I saw the man, I’m reminded of someone.

“You’re Aberforth,” I say bluntly, after realising what is now quite obvious. The tall and thin
man looks nearly as old as Dumbledore, with long, grey hair and beard and with exactly the
same pair of piercing blue eyes behind spectacles.

The man grunts at me, before flicking his wand to the windows, pulling curtains tightly shut.
He then proceeds to light up a set of candles on top of the sideboards and on the coffee table.

“T-Thank you, for saving us just now!” I hastily tell him, and as the man then walks towards
one of the doors and slips inside, still ignoring us, I share a small frown of hesitation with
Hermione.

What is he doing? What is he thinking? Surely, we can trust him? He’s Dumbledore’s brother,
for Merlin’s sake!

Aberforth returns with a plate of sandwiches and two Butterbeers, placing them on the coffee
table in front of the sofa, before giving us an assessing look. “You shouldn’t have come
here,” Aberforth says curtly, sitting in the armchair. “You must’ve known they’d set you a
trap, Potter.”

“I…”

“Eat,” Aberforth grunts, nodding at the sofa and the coffee table.

Both Hermione and I hastily take our seats and thank the man again, before tucking into the
meal.

Aberforth clears his throat, watching us with a contemplative look. “You should wait until
daybreak to slip away from the village, go north, and then apparate – “

“Hang on,” I interrupt him, realising what he’s saying. “We need to go to the castle.
Dumbledore – I mean, Albus, he gave us a mission. He left us a task that has to be done, in
order to –“

Now Aberforth interrupts me, by letting out a dry laugh. “My brother gave you a mission?”
He asks, narrowing his eyes. “He left you a task to be fulfilled? A nice task, is it?” There’s
darkness in his voice.

“Mr. Dumbledore, it is quite important,” Hermione tries, but Aberforth shakes his head,
glancing away for a bit, before focusing back to us.

There’s a tense silence.

“My brother was always good luring others into his many quests. It was always important,
for the greater good, and usually ended up into someone else’s loss,” he says, somewhat
coldly.

Hermione and I stare at him, stunned by what he’s saying. Aberforth’s eyes are fixated at the
oil painting on the wall.

“Why would you say that?” I ask him slowly, bothered by what he’s implying, bothered that
Skeeter’s article instantly floats into my mind.

Aberforth’s eyes narrow a bit, but he’s still gazing at the blonde girl, who watches back
calmly. “My sister was six years old, when she was attacked by three Muggle boys,”
Aberforth says.

Hermione’s eyes widen. “Mr. Dumbledore…is that, um, is that your sister?” She asks
hesitantly, looking at the painting.

Aberforth gives a small nod. “Ariana. The boys who attacked her – well, she was never the
same after that. It destroyed her, what they did. She wouldn’t use magic, but she couldn’t get
rid of it; it turned inward and drove her mad, it exploded out of her when she couldn’t control
it. At times she was strange and dangerous. But mostly she was sweet and scared and
harmless,” he says quietly.

I feel nauseated and Hermione stifles a gasp while looking horrified, and we both wait for
Aberforth to continue.

“My father took revenge on the Muggles and was thrown into Azkaban. My mother was left
with three children to look after. Ariana was to be kept safe and quiet – no one could know
about what she had become. And as time went on, my mother couldn’t handle Ariana alone,”
Aberforth says, watching his sister’s painting still, anger and regret in his eyes.

“I was the one who took care of her, when my mother couldn’t. Not Albus,” Aberforth
grunts, turning back to us. “No, dear Albus had much more important things to accomplish
than to look after his sickly sister…”

Aberforth takes in a deep breath, staring at the table, certain tightness around his eyes. “Then,
came a time, when I wasn’t there. My sister, she…her magic burst unexpectedly, and she
couldn’t control it. My mother was killed by it.”

I stare at the man in shock. How horrible…everything that happened to him and Dumbledore
in their youth. Their family broken like that. I almost don’t want to hear more, but I stay
silent as Aberforth continues.
“Albus was forced to stay home to take care of us, as he was the head of our house then. He
should’ve gone with that Doge to their planned travels, should’ve left me with Ariana.
Everything would’ve been better that way. But no!” Aberforth says, anger seeping into his
voice. “Albus came home and then met someone. Grindelwald.” Aberforth spits out the
name. “And then all he did was plan his new Wizarding order and look for Hallows with his
new friend. What was one sickly kid compared to the great plans he was forming for the
benefit of the whole Wizarding world?” Aberforth asks bitterly, looking into my eyes, his
gaze as sharp as his brother’s had been.

“So, naturally, there were arguments between us, as I didn’t really see eye to eye with my
brother regarding his great plans. And then, one day, one of the arguments…got out of
control,” Aberforth says coldly. “My brother’s best friend put me under the Cruciatus Curse,
since he thought that I didn’t understand the greater picture, that I was merely a silly boy who
needed to be taught his place. My brother tried to stop him, and then we were all duelling,”
Aberforth continues, a deep frown between his eyes. “Ariana, she…she couldn’t stand it, she
tried to make us stop – and – and,” he stammers, his voice breaking as he moves his gaze
towards the floor.

“I don’t even know who of us did it. She died.”

Hermione gasps loudly, tears in her eyes. Aberforth looks pale, pained and hopeless.

“It’s horrible, Mr. Dumbledore. I’m so, so sorry for your loss…” Hermione whispers.

I wish I had not heard Aberforth’s story. Any of it. I feel sick. I watch the painting of her, of
Ariana. Then, a memory flickers into my mind.

“He regretted it, your brother,” I tell Aberforth quietly, remembering the woods and the
locket. Remembering what Dumbledore had seen before Regulus had destroyed the Horcrux.
“He wished it had been him instead.”

Both Hermione and Aberforth give me stunned looks. Then Aberforth levels me with an
unimpressed stare. “No offence, boy, but that doesn’t sound like my brother,” he says
distantly, looking at me, but his mind is somewhere else.

I shake my head at him. “It’s true. The night he died, he – he saw you. There was a curse that
took over his mind, played with it, and Dumbledore – he saw you and Ariana,” I tell him,
leaving Grindelwald unmentioned. “He was anguished. He hoped it had been him instead,” I
continue, giving Aberforth a long look. “And now I understand why.”

There’s a short silence. Aberforth lets out a long sigh before he speaks. “It doesn’t matter
anymore. He’s gone. They’re both gone,” he says tiredly. “Albus is not here – so you don’t
owe him anything.”

I suppress an incredulous look and clear my throat. “Nevertheless, he gave me a job and I
intend to do it. It’s crucial for our success. If I don’t do it, if we don’t get into the castle, there
might not come another chance to defeat him,” I say pointedly, my voice and expression
sharp.
Aberforth watches me studiously. “Oh? And my brother thought that a barely-of-age-kid can
do that? Defeat him, even when my brother himself couldn’t?” He asks, wariness in his eyes.
“The Order’s finished, boy. He’s already won,” he adds, looking away with a deep frown
between his bushy brows. “You should run. You should both run and never come back.”

I shake my head at him, unable to believe what I’m hearing. “The Order’s not finished! Not
until the last member has died fighting him!” I say forcefully, my voice rising slightly.
Aberforth looks at me with an unreadable expression.

“I know how to destroy him and I’ll keep fighting him, even if it means that I’ll die trying,” I
say intently and take a breath before adding with a calmer voice, “I will not run from him
anymore.”

Aberforth watches me with a contemplative look for a long moment, before he stands up and
walks to the painting of his sister, his back on us, silent, thinking.

“Will you help us? Will you help us get into the castle?” I ask after a short silence, my voice
tentative.

Aberforth clears his throat and speaks with a soft voice, his words aimed at the painting.
“You know what to do.”

Hermione and I share a dubious glance, not really understanding what he’d meant, and then,
we watch with a small surprise as the girl in the painting gives Aberforth a wide smile, before
turning around and walking away.

Aberforth turns back to us. “There’s only one way into the castle. There are Dementors
keeping watch around the school boundaries, Death Eaters patrolling the village and school
corridors. I might be able to get you in unseen, but once you’re there…” Aberforth says,
giving us a dark look that tells us everything necessary. We are likely to get caught by the
patrolling Death Eaters.

“What is that…?” Hermione suddenly says, watching the painting, her eyes squinting at it.

I too turn to look at it, and there’s movement in it, looking like Ariana’s returning back along
a long tunnel.

And she’s not alone.

I stare at the pair walking towards us in amazement, as Neville, of all people, limps closer and
closer, until…until the painting opens like a door, revealing an actual tunnel behind him and
my friend standing there alone, looking worse for wear, looking utterly exhausted, but
grinning brightly all the same.

“Harry!” Neville says merrily, shaking his head in disbelief. “I knew you’d come!”

Neville jumps down and throws his arms around me, laughing.

I laugh with him, relieved that he’s alive, but somehow unable to completely believe that he’s
here in the pub with us. “Neville, how did you get here?” I ask as I pull back, but Neville
waves his hand and steps towards Hermione, pulling her into a tight embrace.

“Oh, Neville, it’s so good to see you!” Hermione says, delighted.

Her brows furrow with a deep frown as she leans away from him, concern taking over the
happiness in her eyes. “Neville…what happened to you?” She asks, her eyes moving over his
frame.

I give her an agreeing nod, taking a look at my friend’s battered exterior, the weariness in his
eyes and the deep, but mostly healed gashes on his visible skin.

Neville shakes his head a bit. “Nah, I’m fine. This was the Carrows on a good day. Seamus’s
worse, believe me,” he says with a small wink.

Somehow, it doesn’t remove the uneasiness I feel.

“Let’s go then, shall we? Everyone’s been hoping for you to come! They’ll be gobsmacked
though, that’s certain!” Neville says excitedly and then turns to Aberforth. “Oh, Ab, there
might be a couple of more people coming through, now that Harry’s back…”

Aberforth lets out a faintly amused grunt. “Hope they have more sense to apparate into my
pub to avoid the Caterwauling Charms than these two did!” He says, nodding at Hermione
and me.

“I suppose I’ve no hope of taking a kip tonight…” He continues, flicking his wand to clear
the table and then again to summon a large basket.

He hands it to Neville. “Have at it, Longbottom.”

Neville gives him a grin. “Always a pleasure, Ab. Just send the people to the passage, will
you?”

Aberforth waves his hand in a dismissal. “Yeah, yeah. Now get going,” he grunts, opening
the painting for us.

Neville walks in first and Hermione follows him. I turn towards Aberforth. “Thank you. You
saved us,” I tell the man and watch as a small frown creases his brow.

Aberforth takes in a deep breath and gives me a nod. “Don’t get caught.”

Moments later, we’re walking along the dark passage, only our wands bringing light and
guiding our step.

“Is it awful in there, Neville?” Hermione asks, worry flickering in her expression as she
studies Neville’s features.

I now detect a handful of gashes and bruises I hadn’t noticed at Aberforth’s.

Neville sighs, glancing at us. “No worse than you have, I suppose?” He says, and then
continues. “The Carrows – do you know them?”
I give him a grim nod, remembering the two of them from the Astronomy tower,
remembering what Regulus had said about them.

Hermione eyes Neville with a worried look. “Are they as bad as Umbridge?”

Neville lets out a mirthless laugh. “Umbridge was merely a warm up compared to those two.
The woman – Alecto – teaches Muggle Studies, which is mandatory now. You can guess
what the lessons are like,” he says, giving us a blank look.

Hermione’s brows are pulled into a deep, bothered frown and I swallow uncomfortably,
having a good idea what they are being taught in their Muggle Studies course.

“They also love a good torture,” Neville continues darkly. “Amycus, the bloke, teaches us the
Dark Arts, expecting us to use Cruciatus Curse on people who have earned detentions –”

“How horrible!” Hermione gasps, and I too stare at my friend in shock.

“Yeah.” Neville says heavily, shaking his head slightly as he walks ahead. “But it’s clear they
don’t want to spill too much of pureblood. I suppose they just want everyone to know who
has the power.”

There’s a long silence.

Then I remember it is Christmas holidays and that we saw both Nott and Malfoy outside of
school today. “How come you’re here?” I ask, giving Neville a small frown. “Didn’t the
holidays start already?”

Hermione whirls her head towards us. “Yes – we saw Nott and Malfoy –“

Neville laughs dryly. “Perks of being Death Eaters sons, I reckon.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asks with a puzzled voice.

Neville shakes his head, but not with amusement. “The holidays are cancelled. It’s mandatory
to stay in Hogwarts during Christmas now,” he says with a deadpanned look.

“WHAT?” Hermione and I both yell at the same time, staring at our friend in utter
bewilderment.

“But – but – they can’t!” Hermione says incredulously.

Neville gives her a wry look. “Yes. They can. And they have,” he says wearily. “A little
reminder to the families, who is in power and that they ought to behave – something I reckon
didn’t apply to at least half of the Slytherin house.”

Hermione and I both let out outraged scoffs. There’s a hint of a smile on Neville’s lips. “So,
what about you guys?” He asks, eyeing each of us in turn carefully. “Where’s Ron?” He adds,
and his expression quickly turns into a terrified one. “He’s not – he can’t be…?”
When Hermione merely bites her lip, I quickly reply. “We believe he’s all right,” I tell
Neville, but it manages to soothe the terror in his expression only slightly.

“We got separated,” I continue. “At Diagon Alley. Ron managed to disapparate, while
Hermione and I were captured by the Death Eaters.” I decide to leave Regulus out, as Neville
doesn’t even know about him.

Neville stops in his tracks, his eyes widening in surprise and triumph as he looks at us. “You
went into Gringotts?” He asks eagerly.

I nod slowly, wondering what he’s thinking and what he knows already.

Neville suddenly whoops. “I knew it!” He yells, punching the air. “I knew it was true! You’ll
just wait when you see Seamus’s face when he hears – he reckoned it was a rumour!”

“…Blimey,” Neville mutters in amazement as we continue our walk towards the school.
“Robbing a bank…ha!”

Hermione and I exchange a look and follow him, our shadows moving alongside on the
walls.

“Have you guys heard from Luna? Or Dean?”

My step falters as anxiousness and hopelessness start flooding me once more. I’m afraid to
look up at Neville’s innocent eyes and tell him the horrible news. That two of his friends are
dead – killed by Voldemort’s followers.

“Harry…?” Neville asks, his voice now hesitant, his steps slowing down into a stop.

I swallow hard and glance at Hermione. She looks pained, nauseated. I clear away the sudden
tightness in my throat before I look up at Neville. It’s not even a bit easier than it was before.
It still hurts to form the words, it still pains me to tell the news, and I’m still anguished by the
thought of losing them.

Neville watches me for a silent moment and then his eyes widen in shock. “…No…” he
breathes, his shoulders sagging. Tears flood his eyes and he stands there, bruised, roughened
up, but still with a hint of the familiar innocence of the Neville Longbottom I remember.

“I’m sorry, Neville,” Hermione sniffs and walks up to our friend to pull him into a warm
embrace, her voice wavering.

They stay like that, silent, but mourning, standing in the middle of a dark passage. I look
away and force myself not to break down. I need to keep my head; I need to focus. That’s the
only way of doing this – defeating him.

After a moment, I clear my throat reluctantly. “We should go,” I say to my friends quietly,
feeling somewhat anxious as my scar prickles sharply.

I know I can’t let myself to drift into his thoughts, but I can’t help but think what is
happening. Has he found out that the shack and the cave are empty?
Neville wipes his eyes discreetly and gives us a nod. “Yeah,” he says gruffly. “Let’s go.
We’re almost there.”

We walk silently in the dark tunnel, our wands throwing flickers of lights to the walls and the
tunnel ahead, which starts to slope upwards and then, as we turn a corner, the end of the
passage comes to our view.

At the end of the passage, there’s a door, like the one on the other end in the Hog’s Head.
Neville glances at us, his expression mixed with excitement and sorrow, before he opens the
door and walks through it.

Hermione and I follow Neville out of the passage and into a large room. There’re many
people, divided into smaller groups, chatting with each other. Then, one by one, they seem to
notice us.

“Look who I found!” Neville yells to the room, a hint of laughter in his voice.

There are gasps, cheers and many of them yell and whoop.

“It’s Potter!”

“Harry! – ”

“Harry’s here! And Hermione! – “

The people gather around us and then I realise that most of them are from the DA: Parvati
and Padma Patil, Lavender Brown, Seamus, Terry Boot, Ernie Macmillan, Anthony
Goldstein, Michael Corner and many more.

Then, both Hermione and I are hugged by many of the room’s occupants as well as shook
hands with and pounded in the back like we’ve won a Quidditch final.

Neville urges the others to pull back slightly and I finally manage to look around the room
more carefully. “Where are we?” I ask from Neville, my eyes gliding over the several
hammocks hanging from the ceiling, all in different colours, as well as the large tapestry
hangings bordering the windows; embellished with Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw
crests.

“The Room of Requirement, of course!” Neville says with a grin.

Seamus chuckles, stepping closer to pat Neville on the back. “Neville’s really got a hang of
this room. Figuring out how to keep all Carrow-supporters out, and then requested a way to
get us food. Ab’s been helping us out ever since,” he says, beaming, nodding at the door
behind us. “We were all hopin’ you’d come, mate,” Seamus continues, looking at me and
then around me. “Where’s Ron?”

“We got separated,” Hermione says quickly, stepping closer. “At Diagon Alley.”

Everyone around us falls silent as they listen attentively.

“They went and robbed Gringotts, mate,” Neville says, voice filled with knowing excitement
as he nudges Seamus.

“You – What?!” Seamus roars and bursts up in laughter, as do many others around us. “I
mean, we thought it was only a rumour, something they put up in the Prophet and spread
around to make you seem, you know – “

“Criminal?” I ask dully.

Seamus shrugs. “It’s brilliant! What were you after?” He asks with a wide smile. “What do
you reckon happened to Ron? Have you heard of anyone else?” He continues, his expression
becoming serious, his brows pulled into a small frown.

“We think he’s okay – that he got away,” Hermione says, seeming somewhat anxious and
skipping Seamus’s question about Gringotts. “Harry and I were caught by the Death Eaters
and they didn’t seem to have caught Ron and, um – “

“What?” Seamus asks quickly, his eyes widening surprise. There are many others gasping in
shock. “You were caught?”

I give him a grim nod, glancing at Hermione, taking note how her lip is quivering.
“Hermione was tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, and I – “ I say, my voice dying in my throat,
unwilling to say the words.

I frown hard at the floor, clearing my throat, forcing myself to continue. “ – I saw…”

“Dean?” Seamus asks silently, so quiet I almost miss it.

I whirl my head back to him, watching him in mild surprise. Seamus looks anguished and
weary. He knew…somehow, he knew already. With heaviness in my heart, I give him a
small, grave nod, confirming it. “I found them – Dean and Luna in the cellar I was thrown in.
They were – they were…” I croak, unable to finish.

As Seamus blinks away tears and looks down, many of our classmates and the DA members
learn the news and let out horrified gasps and mournful sobs. I notice Lavender and Parvati
hug each other, both crying silently and remember how often I saw the two girls in Seamus’s
and Dean’s company. There’s a group of Ravenclaws who look like Luna’s age, looking
shocked, and I wonder if Luna finally had made friends in her house, after being somewhat
teased and lonely for her first four years in Hogwarts.

After a moment, Seamus looks up to me, Hermione and Neville. He digs up a coin from his
pockets. “I had my doubts,” he says quietly. “We had exchanged messages for some time,
throughout the summer and from the start of term. But a month ago – he stopped answering,”
Seamus says heavily.

Hermione lets out a shuddering breath.

Then, a sudden pain flares my forehead and the room and its people start to disappear around
me. I grit my teeth together, turning away from my friends, forcing myself to stay in present
and not give myself into his mind.

There’s no use. However, this time, I’m not him – but I see him, standing in the shack,
screaming in rage, destroying the room around him. His anger floods through me, taking
control of me, making me gasp in pain.

And then the images of him disappear, leaving me breathless. He knows about the ring.

I turn quickly around to face Hermione’s look of concern and the bewildered looks of
Seamus and Neville.

“You okay, mate?” Seamus asks quietly, worry edged into his voice.

I clench my jaw, nodding at him. “I’m fine.” I grit out and glance at Hermione, giving her a
meaningful look. Trying to tell her that we have to get a move on, that Voldemort is coming.

Hermione’s eyes widen a bit and then she looks at Seamus and Neville. “Harry and I have
something we need to do,” she explains hastily to our friends.

“What is it?” Neville asks, his brows furrowed. “It has something to do with You-Know-
Who, doesn’t it? We’ll help you, Harry,” he says determinedly.

I breathe deeply against the still flaming pain in my scar, shaking my head with a hint of
irritation. “No. I mean, we can’t tell you. It’s – Dumbledore left us a job to do, and he –
he…”

“We’re all in this together, mate,” Seamus says, his eyes shining with that same
determination. “We’ve all been fighting against the Carrows and Snape, against the Death
Eaters. We’re loyal to Dumbledore and you, Harry.”

There are many agreements voiced throughout the room as people walk closer to us once
more.

I grit my teeth together and Hermione gives me a contemplative look.

“Let us help, Harry,” Neville says intently, and I’m about to reply, to tell him no, but then, the
tunnel door opens behind us. Familiar voices reach my ears.

I turn around, but Hermione beats me to it.

“RON!” She screams suddenly, and then, in a flurry, she’s sweeps past me, throwing herself
on my best friend’s neck, sobbing and squeezing him closer.

My mouth falls open as I stare at my best friend, unable to believe he’s there. My friend,
who’s accompanied by Fred, George, and…

“Regulus,” I whisper, gaping at the man walking after George, whose grey eyes are fixed
upon me with a piercing gaze.

“Potter,” he says, a small smile flickering on his lips. “Good to see you.”
I let out an unbelieving huff and take two wide steps towards him, before wrapping him into
a tight embrace.

“Ah!” Regulus hisses breathlessly, pulling back slightly, his hands clinging to my waist.
“Watch it,” he grunts tightly, and I see his expression distorting with pain.

My eyes widen in shock, my eyes dropping to his chest. He must be still healing.

He’s healing. He’s alive. I can’t…I can’t understand it. How the hell is he alive?

“You’re – I’m sorry, I’m – fuck – “ I stammer, still gaping at him. “You’re alive,” I breathe in
amazement, my eyes roaming over his face, unable to distinguish all the feelings flooding me
at the same time.

The corners of Regulus’s lips curl slightly upwards and I watch in amazement at the familiar
motion, knowing that I thought I’m never going to see it – and him – again.

As I watch him, the feelings inside me become clearer; there’s an enormous relief, taking
over the despair like a large stone has been lifted from the top of my chest. I feel light and
alive, like the ache inside me has been healed. For some reason, all of this is making my eyes
sting with tears and my brows pull into a deep frown.

Regulus looks at me silently, his gaze intense and – and he too looks both tormented and
relieved.

“I – I’m – “ I stammer, unable to form words, unable to tell him how utterly overjoyed I am
to see him. To feel him.

“I know,” he mutters, his voice thick. Then, gingerly, he pulls me towards him, embracing
me. A long, shuddering breath leaves his lungs. “I know, Harry.”
 Darkness Takes Over
Chapter Notes

Weeeell! This is the longest chapter yet in this story, (over 14k words) so you're
welcome and be kind as I have no beta :)
Let me know what you thought of it! Only a few chapters left in the story, just fyi...

Chapter 46: Darkness Takes Over

Hogwarts, 19 December 1997

“H-How?” I ask, still utterly amazed by the fact that he’s standing there, alive. “What
happened? How did you –“

“Later, Potter,” Regulus mutters, and then jerks his head towards the rest of the room.
Everyone is staring at us with mixed looks of curiosity and bewilderment.

I pull back from Regulus, clearing my throat. There’s a faint tinge of redness on his pale
cheeks. Ron then steps closer, grasping my shoulder and shaking his head slightly before
pulling me into a quick bear hug, grinning widely.

“Thank bloody Merlin,” Ron breathes, so quietly that I’m the only one who hears him.

As we lean back from each other, I notice both joy and worry in his expression. “You’ve no
idea how relieved I was, mate, when we got the message from Neville – or, well, Fred and
George did!” Ron says, and I give my friend a puzzled look.

Ron digs up a coin from his pocket and shrugs slightly. “Didn’t dare to use them to send you
a message, in case, you know…the Death Eaters got it,” he says with a grimace. “But then,
Fred got the message to his DA coin, that you’re here and that we’re gonna fight – “

“That is the plan, right, Harry?” George asks and steps closer after hugging Hermione. He too
claps me on the back with a huge grin. “Great to see you in one piece, by the way,” he adds
with a wink. “We’re gonna take over the school, right?”

My scar burns threateningly and I swallow hard, focusing on the present. “I dunno…Don’t
exactly have a plan,” I grumble, somewhat irritated.

Fred gives an indifferent shrug. “No plan, huh? We’ll just wing it then, as usual,” he says
simply, grinning at me.

Neville clears his throat, inching closer to us, watching warily at Regulus. “Um…not to be
rude, but, well…who is –“
“This is our friend, Rogue,” Fred explains with a straight face, throwing an arm around
Regulus, who stands stiffly in place. Fred then grins at Regulus, who looks back blankly, the
flash of sharpness in his eyes promising retribution.

Ron snorts quietly behind me and it is obvious Neville, Seamus and the rest of the people
don’t believe a word Fred’s said, but they don’t push it. Instead, Seamus claps his hand
together, looking at me with expectation.

“What now, Harry?” Seamus asks, and many of the room’s occupants move their focus from
Fred and his jokes back to me.

I glance at Hermione, who stands close to me and then at Regulus and Ron, who both watch
me as well. Somehow, Fred and George seem to take the hint and move forwards to chatter
with a group of Hufflepuffs.

“They could help, Harry,” Ron says quietly. “They don’t need to know all the details, right?”
He asks, and then to my surprise, both Regulus and Hermione give agreeing nods.

I hesitate, remembering how Dumbledore had told only Regulus and me about the mission
and had said it was okay for me to include Ron and Hermione in it as well, but no one else.
But is there a need to keep this top secret anymore? Isn’t Voldemort already on his way,
knowing perfectly well that I’m after the Horcrux that is hidden into the castle – and soon he
will learn that the rest of them are destroyed.

My eyes widen slightly and coldness trickles down my spine. “You have it, right?” I ask
quietly from Ron and Regulus. “Tell me you still have it.”

Regulus nods at me calmly. “We do.”

“Harry?” Hermione asks, her voice low. “If he’s coming, if he’s on his way – we need to act
fast. Everyone here can be trusted.”

With a last glance at my friends and Regulus, I turn to face the room, clearing my throat.
“Okay, people. We’re looking for something. An item. Something that can help us defeat
him,” I tell the others, grimacing inwardly. Everyone is focused on me, listening attentively
to my every word. “We don’t know what the object is, but, um, it might’ve belonged to
Ravenclaw,” I finish, looking at the group of Ravenclaws hopefully.

There’s a stunned silence.

“Isn’t there anything? Any items that are mentioned in the house history? Like the Gryffindor
sword?” I ask, suddenly feeling somewhat desperate.

Then, Padma Patil purses her lips. “Well, there is the lost Diadem of Ravenclaw, but that’s,
like, lost,” she says with a pointed look.

I want to groan inwardly. Brilliant.

“How long has it been lost?” Ron asks from her, but Michael Corner replies before Padma
says anything.
“It’s said that no one within living memory has seen it. So…long,” he says with an
apologising frown.

Bloody brilliant.

I press my fingertips on the bridge of my nose, my glasses rising up. I let out a weary sigh.
“What now…?” I grumble and then look at my friends.

“No one within living memory…” Regulus says quietly. “What about the – “

“Ghosts!” Hermione hisses quickly, her eyes widened in excitement as she stares at Regulus.

Regulus’s brows are lifted and he too has a hint of anticipation in his expression.

Ron rolls his eyes at the pair of them and then looks at me. “What do you reckon?” He asks
quietly.

Aware that everyone’s eyes are on us, I try to think quickly. Ghosts. Why the hell not? If no
one has seen the diadem in living memory, could the ghosts have seen it? Or heard how it got
lost?

“Yeah, let’s do it,” I mutter, turning back to the crowd once more. “Any of you know where
to locate the Ravenclaw ghost?”

We walk over the patches of moonlight on the floor, our footsteps charmed noiseless so that
they do not give us away. There are, after all, three Death Eaters walking in this school,
patrolling its corridors. I wonder what happens, when I meet him? When I meet my old
friend. Will he try to kill me? Will he try to take me to his master?

“Tell me everything,” Potter urges for the second time after we have seen Hermione and
Ronald disappear behind a corner, on their way to destroy the cup with my brother’s Map on
their hands, promising to find us later.

I let out a small sigh. “I was unconscious for the most of it,” I mutter, pulling Potter’s
Invisibility Cloak closer to me and keeping my wand at the ready. But the corridors seem to
be empty at this time of the evening.

Practically feeling Potter’s impatient gaze on the side of my neck, I continue, “Ronald pulled
me away. He tried to apparate us into Grimmauld Place but unfortunately, Travers got a hold
of him. Ronald disapparated again and left Travers there,” I explain, my voice dark as I think
about the half-witted Death Eater who had managed to keep himself alive during his
imprisonment in Azkaban, and returned to his master without any doubt. And now he has
access to my home. And Kreacher.

“Ronald saved my life by apparating us to his aunt and brothers, risking his and their lives in
the process,” I continue mutedly, my mind flashing with glimpses of agony, of several pairs
of hands, panic-laced shouts, and then…darkness. A shiver racks my body. I know I’m lucky
to be alive. If Ronald had not acted quickly, it would’ve been too late. I’m in his debt.
“What then? They – they healed you?” He asks carefully, keeping his voice quiet as we walk
onwards along the empty corridors.

I grunt in acknowledgement. “They healed me and did everything they could. The rest will be
dealt with time.”

We walk around a corner in silence, the cloak swishing quietly in the deserted corridors.

“Reg?” Potter mutters quietly, his fingers brushing my arm. “You should’ve stayed there, let
yourself heal properly.”

I let out a small huff. Of course, I’m not fine; I’m not properly healed. But there was no way I
would’ve stayed behind. I arch a brow at Potter and he inclines his head in understanding,
knowing already my thoughts.

“What about you? What happened? Did they take you to Wiltshire?” I ask, feeling somewhat
anxious. After regaining my senses and after the pain had subsided enough for me to think,
all I could see in my mind, was Potter and Hermione surrounded by the Death Eaters. All I
could feel was the terror that was evident in Potter’s eyes.

Potter lets out a weary sigh. “Um…yeah,” he whispers as we start climbing up the stairs
towards the Ravenclaw tower. “Bellatrix figured it was us, but didn’t summon him straight
away, since she knew we had been in her vault,” Potter says with a grimace. “She, um…
tortured Hermione,” he continues, his voice thick.

I look sharply at Potter and anger flares in my chest. Bella. It’s always her. Then I see the
anxiousness in Potter’s expression as he keeps his gaze away from me. “What about you?
What did they do to you?” I ask tightly, suppressing the urge to force him to look at me.

Potter swallows hard, looking stricken. “I was thrown into the cellar as Bellatrix tortured
Hermione. I-I f-found – “ Potter stammers, and then clears his throat, his jaw hardening. “I
found my friends there, dead.” He says, almost silently.

I stare at Potter, not as stunned by the news as I am distressed for him. No. It is a fact that
each of us will eventually lose someone in this war. I can only hope that for me…it is not
Potter.

“Luna and Dean. And, well, Ollivander was there too,” Potter whispers after a short silence.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I murmur, my fingers grazing his. Potter says nothing and a
moment later, we finally reach the spiral staircase that leads to the entrance of the Ravenclaw
common room.

The entrance, that is a stretch of wood on the wall with a bronze knocker in the shape of an
eagle in the middle of it.

“Is this it?” Potter whispers, glancing at me.

I haven’t been inside, but I’m quite certain this is the right place, based on what the
Ravenclaw students described earlier. I give him a small nod, before lifting my arm and
knocking.

The noise resonates loudly in the empty corridor. “Shit…” Potter grunts under his breath and
quickly looks behind us.

Then, the beak of the eagle knocker opens. “I am always in front and never behind. What am
I?”

Potter looks at me with his brows lifted. “They really weren’t taking the piss,” he mutters,
referring to the group of Ravenclaws in the Room of Requirement, who gave us the way to
their common room and explained that at the entrance, one must answer a riddle correctly to
gain permission to enter. “What do you reckon it is?”

I watch Potter, contemplating the riddle. “The future,” I say quietly, my eyes still at him.

The door swings open. Potter’s brows lift slightly upwards. “Good one,” he mutters under his
breath.

We step into the empty and quiet common room; a wide and circular space with long, arched
windows on the walls that are surrounded by blue and bronze curtains. As I glance around the
elegant, but comfortable furniture and take in all the intricate details from the mantelpiece to
the portrait frames and the domed ceiling painted with stars, I have to admit that the place is
somewhat more inviting than the Slytherin common room in the dungeons, mostly because of
the view behind the windows displaying the mountains and green forests and the lack of
constant coldness.

Potter lets out a small, astonished sound and steps away from under the cloak, making his
way to the tall statue of white marble opposite to the door; the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw.

He leans closer, looking more closely at the diadem carved on top of the statue’s head. “’Wit
beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure.’” Potter mutters quietly.

“Which makes you pretty skint, witless,” an amused voice says in the darkness. An achingly
familiar voice that makes my spine trickle with unease.

Alecto Carrow.

Potter staggers quickly away from the statue, lifting his wand. I throw the cloak away, my
wand at the ready, a curse on my lips, but before neither of us can do anything, Alecto presses
the Dark Mark on her skin.

Instantly, Potter collapses on his knees, yelling in pain. At the same time, my left arm burns
savagely, making me stumble in my steps.

“If my eyes aren’t betraying me…” Alecto whispers, watching me in amazement. “Regulus
Black!” She gasps, her voice excited and thick with bewilderment.

“In the flesh.” I mutter, my jaw tight as I breathe through the pain in my arm. I see how her
posture relaxes, how her wand hand drops to her side. “It’s been a while, Alecto.”
Relief mixes into the astonishment in her expression, “I don’t know how, but – “

What she is about to say, is cut off by the flash of my wand, by the curse that hits her straight
in the chest. Alecto drops limply to the floor, her eyes closed.

I stare at the witch silently, a witch whom I’ve always more or less loathed, a witch who
thought we were good friends - perhaps even more than friends - after what we went through
together many, many years ago.

How utterly wrong she was.

Potter coughs, lifting up to sit on the floor, panting, his eyes moving from Alecto to me. He
looks…horrified.

“You – you killed her?” He croaks, staring at me with a mix of disbelief and shock in his
expression.

I narrow my eyes at him, his reaction bothering me quite a lot. “No, Potter. I cursed her into
an enchanted slumber. She will not wake up without an antidote,” I tell him, leaving unsaid
that even with the antidote, it will take a long time for her to recover.

“Oh…okay then,” Potter says and stands up, looking almost…relieved.

I feel a surge of irritation by his reaction. “The only reason I didn’t kill her, is because I knew
her. Because she helped me, long time ago,” I tell Potter, giving him a dark look. “If you
believe I will refrain from killing a Death Eater when facing them, you are greatly mistaken,
Potter,” I tell him, my voice harsh.

There’s a deep frown between Potter’s eyes and he stares at me for a long moment, his bright
green eyes innocent and contemplative.

He then gives me a small nod. “Okay. Okay,” he says with a determined expression and
walks up to me, taking my hand.

Then, there are sounds of many doors opening in the dormitories upstairs, and the ceiling
shakes slightly as several footsteps start to draw nearer. “Come on, we should not be seen,” I
whisper, reaching out to snatch the cloak from the floor, before throwing it over us.

As several students pour into the common room from the two doors leading to the
dormitories, Potter and I back away towards the far corner.

“ – is she…dead?”

“Looks like it – “

“ - But what happened?”

Several students whisper hurriedly with anxious looks on their faces. One of the students
pokes Alecto with their feet, but the woman stays limp, lying on the floor.
Potter starts panting next to me and I turn my focus to him. “Harry?” I whisper silently.
“What is going on?”

There’s a look of anguish on his face and then he blinks at me, wearily. “He’s in the cave.”

I stare at him in surprise, but then, there’s a loud yell on the hall, outside of the common
room.

Most of the Ravenclaw students freeze in place as Amycus’s voice carries through the door.

“I dunno! Will you bloody let me in! I’m a teacher! Alecto! Are you there?!”

Something loud blasts against the door; Amycus is trying to force his way in, sending spells
against the door and screaming for his sister.

Then, another voice, calmer, speaks outside the common room. “Good evening, Professor
Carrow.”

“McGonagall!” Potter whispers urgently, glancing at me.

I give him a nod and listen as Amycus forces Professor McGonagall to answer to the riddle
for him.

The Ravenclaw students in the common room quickly vanish back to their dormitories, right
before the door opens.

Amycus steps in and lets out a yell of shock after seeing his sister on the floor, close to the
statue. He runs to her, and then looks up to the two doors leading to the dormitories.

“W-Who – “ he growls, his posture stiffening, his body shaking with anger. “I will kill them.
Kill all of them. He then grabs his hair with both hands. “No…No, no, no…She called him.
She told him we had Potter. And now they’ve killed her!”

McGonagall leans towards Alecto’s body, before straightening up. “She’s not dead. And what
on earth are you talking about Potter?” She asks coldly.

Amycus narrows his eyes at McGonagall. “We were told that Potter will try to get inside the
Ravenclaw Tower. The Dark Lord told us to call for him if we caught Potter!”

Potter and I share a look of unease, both holding our wands at the ready.

“Why would Potter try to get inside Ravenclaw Tower?” McGonagall asks sharply. “Potter
belongs to my House!”

Amycus lets out an exasperated snarl. “What does it matter, old hag?” He hisses, and then
looks back to the dormitories. “We could…we could say the kids did it. They ambushed her,
forced her to call for him, and then cursed – “

“You will not do such thing, you coward!” McGonagall says tightly, her eyes blazing with
anger.
Amycus lets out a dry laugh. “You defying me, hag?” He asks with a dark voice, taking a step
towards McGonagall.

I feel Potter gritting his teeth together, as if suppressing an urge to run to them and send a
curse on Amycus’s back.

“Your time is over. It is the Death Eaters who are in charge here, the Dark Lord who makes
the decisions now,” Amycus growls, moving closer and closer to McGonagall, until he is
inches away from her.

McGonagall doesn’t look away and I have to hand it to her, I didn’t think of her to defy a
Death Eater in these circumstances, as it is quite possible that the penalty for that is death.

“You'll back me up or you'll pay the price,” Amycus says, confirming my thoughts, before
spitting in her face.

Potter tears the cloak away from us in rage, his wand lifted as he marches closer. “You should
not have done that,” he growls menacingly.

As Amycus turns around, his eyes rounding in astonishment when he sees both Potter and
me, Potter yells, “CRUCIO!”

A gasp of shock leaves my lungs as I see the look of hate in Potter’s eyes, the flicker of
satisfaction…and the hunger as he watches the Death Eater trashing in the air, screaming in
pain, clawing his body, before Potter flicks his wand and sends the now unconscious man
hard against a bookcase. Amycus drops to the floor, unmoving.

Potter stares at him for a moment, panting. He glances at me, but then looks back at
McGonagall. “I see what Bellatrix meant. You have to mean it,” he says, his voice calm, but
somewhat hollow.

“Potter!” McGonagall gasps in shock. “What are you doing in here? You shouldn’t be – you
know how dangerous it is, and you attacked – “

“Minerva,” I mutter, stepping closer.

McGonagall gives me an exasperated look. “Regulus too? Merlin’s sake – “

“Professor,” Potter says coolly. “Voldemort is on his way. He knows I’m here, knows that I’m
looking for something – something that can help us to destroy him,” Potter tells her urgently.

McGonagall stumbles on her steps and falls to sit down in a nearby chair, looking somewhat
overwhelmed.

As Potter explains what we are looking for and asks if she has an idea how to get into contact
with the Ravenclaw ghost, I step closer to look at Amycus, who starts to stir.

Before I can lift my wand, a spell hits Amycus in the chest, stunning him, and then he’s being
lifted up and tied into the ceiling. I look back at McGonagall who watches me with slightly
pursed lips, evidently realising what curse I had used at Amycus’s sister.
“If You-Know-Who is on his way and he knows that you are here – “

Her sentence is drowned by Potter’s moan of pain. As I run to him, Potter holds his head
between his hands, leaning slightly forward, gasping.

I cover his hands with mine, calling him, distressed by the thought of the Dark Lord having
this much control over Potter’s mind.

“Harry!” I say urgently for the third time, and finally, Potter blinks at me tiredly.

“He knows the cave is empty,” he mutters, before shaking his head slightly and looking at
McGonagall.

I let go of one of his hands, but hold on to the other.

“He’s on his way and I need to find the diadem, Professor. Dumbledore told me to do this, he
explained everything to me!” Potter says urgently. “We need to secure the school and
evacuate the students. There’s a way out that no one knows of – it leads to the Hog’s Head.
Voldemort won’t be interested what happens in Hogsmeade, as long as he knows that I’m in
the school,” Potter explains hurriedly.

McGonagall is silent for a short moment. “That is what we shall do then. You two find this –
object – and leave the rest to us,” McGonagall says, standing up, giving us a determined look.
“However, something needs to be done to the current Headmaster before that,” she adds with
a hint of a sneer on her face.

“Let me – “ Potter growls, but McGonagall interrupts him.

“We must alert the others. Follow me. And put that cloak back on.”

We make our way hastily through the corridor and down the spiralling staircase,
McGonagall’s tartan dressing gown billowing behind her, while Potter and I follow her under
the cloak, silently, our wands at the ready. At the foot of the stairs of the Ravenclaw Tower,
McGonagall sends three messenger Patronuses to the other Heads of Houses, which
disappear into different directions. Following one silvery cat’s steps, we walk through two
passages and reach the third floor, where McGonagall suddenly stops in her tracks, in the
middle of the corridor.

With her wand lifted up, she speaks into the darkness. “Who’s there?”

“It is I,” a low voice says.

A voice that once made me feel at ease, that meant friendship, trust and solidarity, but now
only betrayal and distrust. A voice that cannot belong to anyone other than Severus Snape.

The man who I used to call my friend, steps from behind a suit or armour.

Potter stiffens next to me, and as I stare at the man, dressed in his black robes and watching
McGonagall with the familiar cold expression, I only feel…resentment towards him. He
betrayed me. He betrayed everyone. If there had been anything else related to Dumbledore’s
death’s circumstances, surely Severus would’ve come forth already. Surely, he would’ve tried
to find me, confide in me. Seeing him finally, somehow confirms it. He is not who we
thought. He serves the Dark Lord. And he killed Dumbledore.

“Where are the Carrows?” Severus asks from McGonagall, his voice quiet but his eyes
watching sharply around her.

“Wherever you told them to be, I expect, Severus,” McGonagall says briskly.

Severus takes a step closer. “Is he with you?”

“Who are you talking about? Amycus?” McGonagall asks.

Severus’s eyes sweep the corridors behind McGonagall, twice passing the place where Potter
and I stand.

“Potter. He is here.”

“Oh?” McGonagall asks, unimpressed. “Why would you think so?”

McGonagall must’ve seen Severus’s hand twitch, as she hums thoughtfully. “But of course,
you Death Eaters have your own ways of communication,” she says darkly.

“Why are you out of bed at this time, Minerva?” Severus asks quietly.

“I thought I heard a disturbance,” McGonagall says simply.

Severus looks at her for a short moment, before he speaks. “Is Potter with you? Because if he
is, as the Headmaster, I must insist – “

Potter moves before I have time to stop him, throwing the cloak away, stepping towards
Severus, his wand hand trembling as it is pointed at the man.

“How dare you call yourself that?!” Potter yells, his voice trembling with rage. “How dare
you stand there, after you murdered him?!”

Severus’s wand slashes across the air so fast that I only have time to pull Potter away from
the spell that was aimed at him, and right that moment, Severus notices me, his eyes
widening slightly.

All of us have our wands pointed at him.

I watch him in disbelief. “You will not commit another murder, Severus!” I say warningly,
pushing Potter behind me and taking a step towards him, feeling somewhat enraged.

McGonagall is faster than me, as a purple jet of light soars through the air towards Severus
from the tip of her wand, but Severus manages to block it with a powerful shield charm.

Time slows down as all four of us start to duel in earnest, wands slashing through the air, fire
soaring across the corridor, changing form into water, changing form into knives, which in
the end blast against the wall close to Potter.

“Move back!” I yell at Potter, before blocking a curse sent towards me, and sending one of
my own back. It hits the windows behind Severus as he swiftly moves to the side, to parry
McGonagall’s curse.

Then, Professors Flitwick, Sprout and Slughorn emerge from behind the corner.

“No!” Flitwick yells, charming the suits of armours to attack Severus, and he finally has to
pull back as there are too many of us, and only one of him.

He looks straight into my eyes, brows furrowing, before his shield charm breaks, and with
flurry of black robes, he vanishes through the broken window behind him.

“COWARD!” McGonagall yells as she reaches the window.

“My, oh my! Potter! And – and Mr. Black!” Slughorn says loudly in astonishment as
McGonagall, Sprout, Potter and Flitwick stare at the window after Severus, who has learned
to fly without a broom, it seems.

I turn to my old Head of House. “Professor,” I say politely, nodding at him.

“How is it – but you are – is it even possible…?” Slughorn stammers, his mouth hanging
open and his eyes round as they move up and down my frame.

“Yes, yes, Horace. Regulus is back. And he’s with the Order,” McGonagall says impatiently,
looking each of the professors in turn.

Professor Sprout watches me with a sharp look. “I trust Minerva. If you are with the Order,
then…it is good to have you back, Mr. Black,” she says with a tight smile.

Professor Flitwick gives an agreeing nod beside her.

Slughorn splutters but then manages to collect himself. “Yes – yes. Very good, indeed!” He
bellows, still watching me with an amazed look.

“Professor!” Potter yells suddenly, his face scrunched up in pain.

My stomach sinks. He must be in the Dark Lord’s mind again.

“He’s coming now! Voldemort’s coming! We need to barricade the school!”

“What is the meaning of this, Minerva? Barricade the school? You-Know-Who is – what?
Where did the Headmaster go?” Slughorn stammers, fear evident in his voice.

“Our Headmaster has been dismissed,” McGonagall explains to the professors. “And his
name is Voldemort, Horace. He is coming, and we need to protect the school. I suggest we
place basic protection around the place, then gather our students. Every underage student will
be evacuated, but if any of those who are over age wish to stay and fight, I think they ought
to be given the chance.”
“The protection will not last long, but it gives us time to get the students into safety,” Flitwick
says promptly, and McGonagall nods.

“I expect each of you to get your houses to the Great Hall, where I will give further
instructions,” McGonagall says.

Professors Sprout and Flitwick both nod and murmur their agreements, before Sprout leaves
hastily, muttering about plants. Flitwick steps to the window and aims his wand to the castle
grounds, casting spells nonverbally.

While McGonagall joins Flitwick to cast spells, Potter walks up to them, to discuss with
Flitwick, I assume about the Ravenclaw ghost.

“Mr. Black, good to see you…alive,” Slughorn mutters, still taken aback. “Mind if I ask what
happened to you m’boy? How have you not aged…?”

I give my old Head of House a polite smile. “I’m afraid it is a rather long story, sir. One,
which I may be inclined to explain to you, one day,” I say, pointedly, and Slughorn gives me
a nod, understanding to back off.

“Reg!” Potter then breathes, running towards me, “we call her by her name!” He says hastily.
“She’s her daughter!” He continues, eyes glinting in excitement.

“Her daughter…?” I ask, thinking quickly. Does Potter mean, that Rowena Ravenclaw’s
daughter is the ghost of Ravenclaw?

“Let’s go then,” I murmur to Potter as McGonagall finishes with one of her spells and returns
to us.

“Minerva! Is he really coming?” Slughorn asks, upset, as we start to make our way along the
corridor, back to where we originally came from. “Is this wise? If he - if he finds out, and
punishes – “

“Horace,” McGonagall says sternly. “Please bring your students to the Great Hall. If you
wish to leave with them, you may, but remember this; if any student from your house lifts a
wand against us, we will duel to kill.”

Slughorn splutters, taken aback. Potter and I share a surprised look.

“Of course not, Minerva, how could you – “

“The time has come for Slytherin House to decide upon its loyalties,” McGonagall interrupts
him. “Go and wake your students, Horace.”

Slughorn leaves towards the dungeons, looking speechless.

McGonagall turns to us. “Did you two have something you were looking for?” She asks
briskly.
Potter nods, moving to grab the cloak. “We have. Thank you, Professor,” he says, before
pulling me to the nearest classroom.

I close the door behind me, locking it with a spell. “Call her, then,” I tell Potter, feeling
anxious.

Potter takes in a calming breath, before he speaks. “Helena Ravenclaw!” He calls, slightly
unsurely, to the empty classroom.

Nothing happens.

Then, suddenly, a ghost with waist-length hair and floor-length cloak appears in the middle of
the room. The Grey Lady. Or, Helena Ravenclaw.

“Why have you summoned me?” She asks quietly, watching both of us in doubt.

“We need your help. We need to find the lost diadem and we wanted to ask if you knew
anything about it?” Potter asks tentatively, lifting his brows slightly.

There’s a cold look in the ghost’s eyes. “I cannot help you,” she merely says and turns to
leave.

“WAIT!” Potter yells, desperately. “We need to find it, it is crucial!”

Helena Ravenclaw watches Potter and then me with a haughty look. “You are hardly the first
ones to ask the whereabouts of the diadem. Generations of students have inquired me the
same thing.”

Potter sighs exasperatedly. “I’m not trying to get it because of its powers! I’m trying to defeat
him – defeat Voldemort! We need the diadem for that! Do you know what happened to it?”

Helena Ravenclaw looks stunned for a moment, before she speaks very quietly. “My
mother’s diadem. I…I stole it. I ran away with it.”

“My mother sent a man after me, someone who had loved me for a long time, to find me. He
tracked me to where I was hiding. He – he became violent,” she whispers, looking at the
floor. “The Baron always was a volatile man.”

“The Bloody Baron?” I ask, and Helena nods at me.

“And - and the diadem?” Potter asks carefully.

Helena lets out a sigh. “It remained where I had hidden it when I heard the Baron blundering
through the forest towards me. Concealed inside a hollow tree.”

“What? Where?” Potter asks hastily.

“A forest in Albania. Somewhere I thought I could be in peace.”

“Albania…” Potter mutters, his eyes flashing with realisation. I too am aware that the Dark
Lord had visited Albania.

“You’ve told someone else about this, haven’t you?” Potter asks calmly, even if his eyes are
watching her intently. “You’ve told him? Tom Riddle?”

The ghost stares at Potter for a long time, looking shocked. “I – I did,” she whispers, remorse
in her voice. “He was…very persuasive. He was…flattering…he understood me…” she says,
closing her eyes.

“I know how he is,” Potter says simply.

So, the Dark Lord had learned about the lost diadem of Ravenclaw during his school years,
and after graduation, he had sought the artefact and turned it into a Horcrux. The question is,
how did he bring it to the school?

“—the night he asked for a job!” Potter says suddenly, his voice filling the silence.

“What?” I ask, only now remembering of Potter mentioning it before.

“He came to ask for a job from Dumbledore! He knew Dumbledore wouldn’t have given it to
him, but it was a good excuse to come back to the school and hide the diadem!”

There’s a long silence as both Potter and I think hard. Where did he hide it?

“If there is nothing else – “

Potter quickly shakes his head, smiling at the ghost. “No, thank you for your help!”

She leaves quietly through the wall.

“Where did he hide it…?” Potter asks, frowning at the wall where the ghost disappeared
through. “What place did he find, that would remain hidden? Where no one else would find
it?”

We stare at each other for a long while.

“ – Room of Requirement.” We say in unison, and then smirk at each other.

And as it is said aloud, it is quite obvious. The Dark Lord was obsessed to find out about
magic, to find out all the secrets of magic. And the Room of Requirement is definitely one of
them. Something I hadn’t heard or seen in my time at Hogwarts. I doubt even my brother and
his friends had found the place, as it is not visible in their Map.

“Let’s go,” Potter says, nodding at me. “We need to tell everyone to go to the Great Hall
anyway, we’ll get a chance to search the room then.”

Less than ten minutes later, Potter and I are standing in front of the stretch of a wall,
requesting an entrance.
As soon as we step in, I notice that there are a lot more people than there previously was.

The Order of the Phoenix is gathered there, in midst of the students.

“Harry! Regulus!” Lupin yells, pulling each of us in a tight hug. “We thought – we didn’t
know – “

“Harry!” Mrs. Weasley draws Potter into an embrace, while many of the Order members pats
a hand on my shoulder, and then Potter’s.

“What is happening?” Lupin asks from me, a deep frown between his brows.

“Voldemort is coming,” Potter announces to the room. “They’re barricading the school and
soon evacuating the students through this room. And, yeah, Snape’s run for it!”

There’re loud whoops and cheers echoing across the room.

“Everyone is asked to gather in the Great Hall for further instructions,” Potter says, and
Shacklebolt nods at us, before leading a large group of Order members and students away
from the room.

As Potter is greeted by the Weasley members and his other friends that have stuck around,
Lupin puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Where’s my cousin?” I ask him, arching a brow at the wide grin on the man’s face.

“She’s with my son,” Lupin says quietly, a bewildered smile on his lips.

It takes a moment before his words register in my mind. “Your – she – a son?” I ask,
surprised. “But she wasn’t due until…until –“

“The beginning of February,” Lupin says, nodding. “Seven weeks early, small but healthy.
He’s a Metamorphmagus,” he says excitedly. “Changed the colour of his hair an hour after
his birth!”

I gape at him and somehow, unexplainedly, the news bring me joy. “How’s Dora?” I ask,
feeling a sting of worry.

“She’s fine. Wanted to be here, but, well, couldn’t,” Lupin says with a small grimace.
“Fought tooth and nail, but in the end, she decided to stay with him. Edward. After Dora’s
father,” he continues softly.

“Congratulations, Lupin,” I say finally, realising that I’m smiling widely at the man.

Lupin grins at me and he looks younger than before. “Harry and you will probably need to
fight for who’s to become the godfather.”

“W-What?” I stammer, staring at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

Lupin shrugs. “Dora suggested Harry, but…I thought you could do well too,” he says with a
lopsided smile.

I’m quite taken aback by this and Lupin chuckles as he sees the astounded look in my eyes.
“Not to worry. We’ll discuss it later.”

Potter then joins us, hearing the news. I watch him and Lupin as Potter congratulates the
fresh father, and as Lupin pulls a photograph from his robes. The Weasleys gather around to
watch, and I back away slightly, watching instead at the several younger students that start to
filter into the room, who are led through the passage towards the Hog’s Head pub.

It has begun.

It must be at least a half an hour later, when the last of the underaged students disappear
through the portrait hole. Aberforth comes to announce his displeasure of using his pub as
station for the refugees, but in the end, he tells that most students have managed to
disapparate into safety from his pub, and then grunts in agreement to fight in this war and
leaves through the room entrance towards the castle.

After a commotion between Ginny and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and then Percy and the rest of
the Weasley clan, everyone starts to leave towards the Great Hall.

Everyone but Regulus and me.

Trying to explain it to the others as vaguely as possible, we are finally left alone, standing in
front of the room in the corridor.

“You ready?” I ask, glancing at him.

Regulus gives me an intense look before nodding.

I start to pace in front of the blank wall, thinking hard, knowing exactly where I’m trying to
get to.

…The ugly bust of an old warlock, standing on top of the table. The one on top of which I
put the wig and the dinged tiara, which was an exact copy of what I saw later on in the
Ravenclaw common room. The Horcrux, the lost diadem of Ravenclaw, in the place where
everything is hidden.

All the noise; the running footsteps, the urgent shouts, everything disappears as we step
inside the room. The room has transformed into a magnificent chamber, with ceiling so high
it is hard to see, with endless rows of torches lining the walls. A room, filled with objects,
hidden objects; towers of books, and furniture, reaching up to the ceiling, piles of clothing,
banned objects, potion ingredients, decorations, jewellery… The tall piles rise like columns
all over us, with narrow aisles between them.

“You know where to look from?” Regulus asks, looking a bit stunned by the view ahead of
us.
I give him a nod, squinting my eyes forward, recollecting the last time I came here, the paths
I took. “Yeah. This way,” I tell him, taking the nearest aisle to the door, speeding along the
path that soon divides into three new ones.

“Voldemort thought he was the only one who knew about this place,” I explain to Regulus,
taking the path in the middle, passing a large table of potion bottles with shimmering contents
still in them.

“Why did you come here?” Regulus asks, his eyes moving rapidly on the objects we pass, his
wand at the ready.

I shrug. “Had to hide something,” I merely say, not in the mood to explain that it was Snape’s
book I hid, because he’d seen me using one of his spells against Malfoy. Sectumsempra.
Obviously, I hadn’t known what the curse did before using it, otherwise I wouldn’t have used
it. I still remember the way Malfoy was lying on the bathroom floor, in a pool of blood. Not
unlike Regulus, at Diagon Alley. I feel slightly sick at the thoughts.

However, I suppose Regulus might already know what happened, as he has searched my
mind and seen most of my horrifying memories. He watches me closely, but doesn’t ask more
questions. We walk ahead in silence for a long moment, walking past the pillars of chairs,
books and junk, occasionally taking a new path when the old divides.

“We’re nearly there…” I mutter, recognising the large pile of broomsticks, and soon, there it
is; the scorched looking cupboard with the ugly bust of an old wizard, and on top of it…

“Is that it?” Regulus asks quietly.

I nod hastily, stretching out my hand in order to seize the diadem, feeling my pulse speeding
up, as if confirming that this is the object that I’m looking for.

But then, there’s a voice behind us.

“Hold it, Potter.”

Regulus and I quickly turn around, our wands pointed at…

“Malfoy.” I grunt.

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, standing at the end of the aisle, their wands pointed at us.

Feeling a wave of exasperation, I let out an impatient sigh. “Look, Malfoy, we’re kind of in
the middle of something, so…run along,” I tell him with a sneer, and Malfoy’s eyes narrow
into mine.

“I think not,” Malfoy says coldly. “That’s my wand you’re holding. I’m here to get it back.”

I lift my brows at him. “You brought mine in the exchange?” I ask snidely, nodding at the
wand in his hands, which doesn’t look like mine, and why would Malfoy even make the
exchange?
“No.” Malfoy grunts. “This is my mother’s wand. If you think the Dark Lord would let
anyone touch yours, you're out of your mind, Potter,” he says bitterly.

I lift my brows at him. “Why aren’t the three of you with Voldemort, then?” I ask
offhandedly.

Malfoy looks bored, but Crabbe drones on about their plan to grab me and take me to their
master, explaining how they followed me and heard what we talked about outside.

“That doesn’t explain how did you get in, though,” I point out, and Malfoy sneers at me.

“I practically lived here during the past year, Potter. I know how to get in.”

I nod slowly, knowing that we need to hurry. I try to think of a way to snatch the diadem and
run.

“Congratulations. A brilliant plan,” I say with a mocking smile. “However, we kind of have
more important things to do, so – “

“You’re awfully quiet, cousin.” Malfoy says, his eyes trained at Regulus, who stands slightly
behind me. “You’re not going to let this bespectacled idiot to assign orders, are you?”

I almost gape at Malfoy. Of course. Narcissa has told her son. I wonder if everyone else
knows? If Voldemort knows?

“Cousin?” Crabbe asks, looking very slow as his face scrunches up in thought. “What do you
mean by cousin?”

“His name is Regulus Black,” Malfoy says impatiently to his friend. “He used to be one of
them – one of the Death Eaters.”

“One of us, you mean, Malfoy,” Goyle says darkly, surprisingly fast to realise what Malfoy
had said. “You mean that he was one of us?”

Malfoy merely rolls his eyes at Goyle.

“So, that means, that he’s a traitor, doesn’ it?” Crabbe says threateningly.

“I reckon it does,” Goyle grunts, and before anyone of us realise, his wand is slashing
through the air, “Crucio!”

Regulus manages to dive out of the way in a split second, and the spell hits one of the
towering piles behind him, causing it to crumble down in the aisle. Regulus rolls away just
before a heavy trunk smashes to where he was lying.

“Stop!” Malfoy yells as Goyle lifts his wand for the second time.

But then, suddenly, Goyle is lifted in the air, and for a second, I don’t even realise what spell
had hit him, and who had done it, before I see the fury in Regulus’s eyes, and then – Goyle’s
moan of anguish echoes in the chamber.
“NO!” Malfoy yells, while his friend whimpers, trashing in the air, howling in pain. “STOP
IT!”

Crabbe aims his wand at Regulus. “Avada Kedavra!”

“NO!” I scream in panic, sending a tripping jinx at Regulus, so that the Killing Curse misses
him by a fracture, but cuts off the Cruciatus Curse on Goyle at the same time.

“No! Don’t kill them!” Malfoy shouts at his friends, into no avail, as Crabbe aims another
Killing Curse towards me.

“YOU WILL FUCKING PAY FOR THAT!” I shout, using my seeker’s reflexes, and lunge
away from the path of the curse. Feeling murderous, I scramble up, and then, a stunning spell
after stunning spell bursts out from my wand at Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. Regulus quickly
pulls himself onto his feet, sending his own curses towards the three of them. In seconds,
Crabbe crumbles down, unconscious.

One after the other, Malfoy and Goyle lose their wands as they dodge and lunge away from
the curses and spells sent on their way, and then they’re wandless, standing in the middle of
the path, staring at us in horror.

I use the moment to lunge towards the old bust, snatch the diadem, and as I turn back, I see
Regulus, hatred in his eyes, glaring at the two unarmed wizards, his wand lifting up, a curse
on his lips.

“COME ON!” I yell to Regulus, grabbing his arm and wrenching hard. “I GOT IT, LET’S
GO!”

Regulus doesn’t say anything, but follows me, and then we’re running along the pathway,
into the other direction where we came from, trying to make it towards the door.

There’s a scream behind us.

“What was that?!” I yell as we jog on.

Regulus looks back and swears loudly. “Fiendfyre!” He yells, and I look back, nearly
stumbling in my steps.

Crabbe is there, at the end of the pathway, apparently revived and cackling as fire erupts from
his wand.

“Merlin,” I gasp as I see a large, building-sized fiery chimaera, rising upwards, setting into
fire everything it touches.

We’re going to burn alive if we don’t get out. “D’you know the courter-curse?” I yell at
Regulus as we start to run faster towards the parts that aren’t succumbed in flames.

“Yes!” Regulus grunts, glancing around. “But it’s too powerful now, I doubt he can control it
anymore!” He yells, and then takes a right from the path, “Come on, here!”
But as soon as we step into a new path, a fiery dragon soars towards us. “Shit!” I yell, and
then we run back, only to see flames on our original path. We quickly run towards another
path, where we can’t see any light. The flaming creatures keep chasing at us, as if knowing
where we are, as if they are alive and intent upon killing us.

Then, there’re flickering lights ahead in the path we are running along. “No!” I gasp, looking
frantically around. “Brooms!” I yell at Regulus, waving at the deserted pile of brooms
halfway on the aisle.

We both grab a broom and soar upwards, right before a fiery lion and a chimaera burst into
each other. We barely manage to dodge them as the flaming beasts rise upwards in a massive,
fiery torch.

The whole place is on fire; there are several fiery beasts surging up and down, their mouths
moving in the midst of junk, their tails flicking, setting everything on fire. The air is hot and
it is difficult to breathe in the black smoke rising upwards. I feel dizzy, but force myself to fly
onwards, to where I suspect the door to the room is.

“Help!” I hear somewhere from the ground. “Potter! Help us!”

I glance around me and see them – Malfoy and Goyle, climbing up a tottering pile of
furniture, trying to escape the flames surrounding them on the ground.

“Potter!” Regulus yells warningly. “Need I remind you that they tried to kill us five minutes
ago?!”

I shake my head at Regulus, swerving a burst of flames that rises up ahead of me. “I can’t
leave them!” I yell back, and then surge towards Malfoy and Goyle, knowing that Regulus is
right behind me.

“Come on!” Regulus shouts to Goyle, who hastily climbs behind him. “Potter, you better get
to that door!” Regulus barks before taking off, aiming him and Goyle towards the far corner,
where I can see the entrance between the clouds of black smoke.

But then, as I help Malfoy climb behind me, the diadem slips from my hands, falling
downwards. “No!” I yell, and then, I dive after it.

“POTTER!” Malfoy screams in panic, his fingers pressing tightly on my shoulders. “What
the hell are you doing!? Get to the door, Potter! NOW!”

A fiery dragon surges from the side towards us, sweeping the aisle with its tail, and I have to
make a tight turn to the right to dodge it.

“POTTER! You fucking lunatic, you’re going to get us killed!”

“Shut it, Malfoy!” I yell, my eyes moving frantically across the pathway I assume the diadem
fell onto.

I can see the aisle when the dragon rises upwards, aiming for another charge, and then, I see
it – the diadem - lying on the ground. “There!” I shout, making another dive, avoiding the
surge of flames at the same time.

I dive, straight down, ignoring the way Malfoy keeps screaming into my ear, yelling how
we’re going to die, and grit my teeth against the pinching pain caused by his fingers pressing
tightly against my skin. As soon as my fingers curl around the object, now scorched, I plunge
upwards, swerving left and right, avoiding the flames, dodging the fiery tails and the surging
peaks and talons, and finally, I see the entrance through the smoke and fire.

Aiming the broom at it, we surge on, and after seconds, the clear air fills my lungs as we
crash into the corridor beyond the room.

Malfoy rolls away from me, gasping, sobbing and retching. Someone yanks me up forcefully,
and before I have time to push them off, or find my wand, a pair of lips are crashing against
mine, pressing in with need, with urgency, while long fingers hold my head in place, touching
my jaw, snaking into my hair.

“Reg,” I gasp against his mouth. I pull slightly away, my hands slipping around his neck.
“I’m fine. We’re fine,” I mumble, my eyes searching his, before moving across his face,
taking in the blackened skin, taking note of the couple of scorches on his neck, before
returning back to the pair of grey eyes, filled by despair.

Regulus nods once and then twice, breathing hard, his hands shaking against my jawline.

I touch his cheek, my fingers moving gingerly against his skin, moving close to the singes.
“Are you hurt?” I ask quietly.

“No,” Regulus breathes, and then, we both realise that we’re not alone, as running footsteps
echo in the corridor. It seems that the fight has begun in earnest, as the walls shake around us
and bursts of light soar behind the broken windows.

I take a step back, looking around. Malfoy’s there, on his knees, whimpering, mumbling
Crabbe’s name in despair, while Goyle tries to pull him up.

Crabbe must’ve died in there.

“HARRY!” Someone screams, and I turn back, wand at the ready again, but instead relief
fills me.

“Hermione! Ron!” I breathe, right before my friends lunge at me, pulling me into a tight
embrace. “What took you so long? Did you do it?” I ask shakily.

Ron and Hermione pull back and Hermione holds out the cup of Helga Hufflepuff, now
distorted and broken. A wide grin spreads on my lips. “YES! But how?” I whoop, and then
remember what is still clutched tightly in my hand.

I lift up the scorched diadem.

“Is that – “
I nod. “Yeah. The diadem of Ravenclaw. It’s…I think it’s destroyed,” I mutter, looking at it
closely, and as I do, it cracks down in the middle into two, and there’s a distant…scream of
anguish.

“The Fiendfyre.” Regulus says finally, while Hermione’s and Ron’s eyes widen in terror.

“What?” They gasp in unison.

I shake my head at them. “Crabbe did the curse,” I mutter, glancing at Malfoy and Goyle.
“He’s dead.”

“What do we do with them?” Ron asks darkly, his eyes narrowing at the two Slytherins.

Malfoy gives me a worried look.

“Nothing.” I grunt at Ron. “They don’t have wands. And we just saved their lives, so it would
be bloody foolish to have a go against us anymore,” I say, aiming my last, sharp words at
Malfoy and Goyle, who both give small, agreeing nods at me.

“What now?” Hermione asks, looking at me. “We’ve destroyed all but – “

“The snake,” I finish for her. “But we don’t have a way of destroying it – “ I start, and then
frown at her. “Hang on – how did you do it?” I ask, looking at Hermione and Ron in urgency.

Hermione beams and looks at Ron. “With these!” She says excitedly, and then points at what
Ron is holding in his hand.

I frown at them, and then realise what they are. A handful of fangs. “How did you – from the
Chamber of – and you took some with – “ I stammer, and Ron and Hermione share a
knowing grin.

“It was all Ron,” Hermione says, giving Ron a heated look.

Ron gives us a sheepish shrug. “I have the Deluminator, remember? And after I used it to get,
you know, Regulus and me to my aunt’s place – “

“I thought you apparated?” I interrupt him, glancing at Regulus.

Regulus looks uncertain. “I assumed.”

Ron shakes his head. “No, no. I couldn’t – they had new wards, so I couldn’t get in, and well,
Reg was bleeding on me, and it was the only thing I could think of in that moment,” Ron
explains, and I can only gape at him, shocked, trying to shake the image of Regulus dying
and Ron desperately trying to save him out of my mind.

“Ron…” Hermione says weakly, watching him with tears in her eyes.

“ – After Grimmauld, I apparated us into the woods close to my home, and I knew I couldn't
go there, because that would be the first place they'd try to look for me, right? So I took out
the Deluminator and pressed it, asking for help, for anyone to help us – and from it, came a
large ball of light. And…it kind of…absorbed us,” Ron explains with a bemused look.
“Whatever it did, it brought us straight into my aunt’s sitting room,” he continues with a
shrug. “And when Hermione and I told you guys we’d handle the cup – we knew there were
two weapons that worked against them, and knew the location of the other!” He says
excitedly. “So, as we reached the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets in the bathroom, I
suggested we’d use the Deluminator to get us in and out – and it worked!”

There’s a stunned silence. “Wow, Ron. That’s…amazing!” I tell my friend, because now –
now we have a way to kill the snake. It’s the only one left, and then –

Suddenly, there’s a loud bang, and the floor starts to crumble down.

“RUN!” Hermione and Regulus scream, and we all lunge into different directions.

I realise, after seconds, that I’m falling downwards with the floor. In panic, I try to jump
away as chunks of rock are soaring into every direction, trying to make it to safety.

I hit my shoulder hard against a wall, but manage to dodge everything else flying on my
direction, and after realising that I’ve fallen to the floor beneath we were just moments
before, I scramble up hastily, coughing, and trying to see through the thick dust filling the air
around me.

“Everyone okay?!” Ron yells, his voice carrying from the upper floor, from somewhere I
can’t see.

“I’m fine! I’m down here!” I yell at Ron. “Reg? Hermione?” I shout, panic flaring inside me
at the long silence after my words.

“They’re here!” Ron yells suddenly, sounding relieved as more coughing sounds carry
downstairs. “They’re okay, Harry!”

I look up, frowning hard at the thick dust still keeping my friends hidden, fighting the urge to
climb upwards to make sure they really are okay, to make sure that Regulus is not lying there,
unconscious, and Hermione –

“Stay where you are, Potter,” Regulus grunts from upstairs, as if knowing my thoughts.
“We’re coming down!”

Then, yells and shouts start to come nearer, and as the dust settles, I can see several people
duelling at the end of the corridor.

Fred and Percy, duelling against three hooded and masked men.

“No, Potter, don’t!” Regulus yells abruptly, but it’s too late, as I’m already running towards
the group in order to help them.

“Harry! Nice of you to join us, mate!” Fred says joyfully, as if we’re not in a midst of a
battle.
Dodging a curse flying straight at me, I flick my wand at one of the Death Eaters, making
him tumble down on the corridor, his mask slipping away.

“Minister!” Percy says, sounding gleeful. “I was hoping to get a chance to have a go with
you!” He yells, before charging towards the man, his wand aimed high, before settling into a
duel with Thicknesse.

A moment later, Percy’s curse hits the Minister straight into his face. “Oh, I forgot!” Percy
shouts at the man now kneeling in front of him and wailing in pain. “ – I’m resigning!” Percy
grits through his teeth, sending Thicknesse flying across the corridor to collide with a wall.
The man slides down, unconscious.

Fred laughs and whoops next to me and together, we manage to stun the two Death Eaters.

“I can’t believe you’re joking, Perce, I dunno if I’ve ever – “

But before Fred can finish the sentence, there’s a thunderous, loud blast on the wall close to
us, and then, a force so powerful that it sends us all flying through the air.

There’s nothing I can do, but pray that we survive the blast. Seconds later, I hit my head
against the hard marble floor and gasp in pain. The world swims around me, and my head
feels like it will split open any moment.

“HARRY!”

“FRED!” Percy yells in panic. “No!” He gasps somewhere on my right.

The way his voice breaks, makes the air leave my lungs. It makes me feel terrified.

“…No,” I mumble, trying to move, trying turn to my side. Cold air flicks against my face.
The castle wall has been blasted open.

“Potter, I fucking told you to wait!” Regulus’s voice carries to my ears, and soon there’s a
pair of hands, gingerly pushing me to lie on my back. “Are you hurt?” He asks hurriedly, and
right after, I feel a diagnostic charm sweeping over me. The next moment, something is
tightening against the back of my scull. By the warm feeling in my neck, I gather I must’ve
been bleeding, and now…Regulus has healed me.

“You…fucking…arse,” Regulus grits through his teeth after a moment, letting out a long,
weary sigh, and as I blink, I see him sitting next to me, looking overwhelmed, his arms
resting on his knees that are pulled up.

Knowing that I’m not seriously injured by his reaction, relief fills me, at least for a second.
Then I remember Fred. And then I hear Percy sobbing close to me. “Is Fred – “

“He’s breathing!” Hermione screams through Percy’s wails.

I try to move up, but only manage to move my head towards the group. Hermione is kneeling
next to Fred’s unmoving body, her wand flicking rapidly over his chest, while Ron is
crouched on his other side, his wand too casting some charms at his brother. Percy sits next to
Ron, pressing his forehead against Fred’s hand.

“W-What?” Percy shouts, his voice trembling, pulling back slightly. “H-He’s w-what?”

“Fred’s alive, Perce!” Ron yells, and I let out a long, gasp of relief, lowering my head on the
ground.

There’s a short moment of silence, and then Ron and Hermione both stand up. Percy stays on
the ground, still holding onto his brother.

“What about the house-elves?” Ron suddenly asks from the rest of us, his eyes widening
slightly.

Hermione frowns at Ron. “What do you mean? We’re not asking them to fight – “

“No! I meant, we need to order them out, to safety! I doubt anyone has had the time to –
umph!”

There’s a muffled sound, and the fangs Ron had been holding clatter to the floor as Hermione
jumps at him, pressing her lips against his, kissing him with passion, with longing, and
need…

Regulus and I share an unsurprised look, and there’s a flicker of a smile on his lips. Finally.
Finally, the terror and the worry has left from his eyes.

And in the midst of the battle, with cold wind blowing to the corridor, with the walls shaking,
with distant screams and shouts, I take in a deep breath and close my eyes for a bit, just to
rest for a small moment before we are needed in the battle once more.

But as soon as I close my eyes, pain sears through my brain, paralysing me. I let out a
soundless gasp and as I blink my eyes open, I’m not in the castle anymore. I’m him.

I’m Voldemort.

The sounds of the battle are distant, and I watch calmly as my followers wreck the castle,
watch as the several Giants bang the walls, smash the turrets and squash the opponents that
dare to fight them, watch as my Death Eaters fire curses and spells, knowing what the jets of
green mean. I am satisfied, but…Potter is still there. And I need something before I can face
the boy.

“My Lord?” Lucius’s weak voice speaks behind me. “My – my son…my son is – please, my
Lord, let me go there…I will fetch him back and I will bring Potter – ”

“No, Lucius,” I say coldly, turning to look at the weak man, covering in the corner of the
room, still trembling, still showing the after effects of the Cruciatus Curse I cast on him, after
messing up the day before. “Potter will come to me. And your son deserves whatever he gets.
He did not join me, like the rest of the Slytherins. He decided to stay there,” I say
venomously.
Lucius bows his head, whimpering slightly.

“Be useful, Lucius, and bring Snape to me. I need to speak with him,” I order Lucius, before
turning my back again to him, moving my focus back to the cracked window.

“Of course, my Lord,” Lucius mumbles, before stumbling out of the room.

I look at my snake, slithering on my feet, protected by a charm. “I need the wand, Nagini. I
need it to keep us both safe…now that only the two of us are left…”

With a gasp, I’m back in the castle, I’m me again. And once again, Regulus is kneeling
beside me, watching me anxiously.

“He’s in the Shrieking Shack!” I gasp, looking around me urgently.

Both Hermione and Ron are standing behind Regulus, with worry in their eyes.

“He’s in the Shack, and he has the snake with him!” I say, moving to sit up. Regulus pulls me
upwards, frowning at me.

“He’s not even fighting?!” Hermione asks, fuming. “He’s there – sitting – waiting for the
others to do the dirty work for him?”

I give her a weary nod. “He knows all the rest are destroyed,” I explain hastily. “He knows
I’m after the snake! And he thinks I’m going to go to him – he knows it, because that’s where
the snake is!” I tell the others.

“Any one of us could go, Harry,” Ron says, looking at the others. “I will do it – I’ll take the
Cloak and the fangs, and he won’t even see – “

“No, Ron!” Hermione gasps. “I’ll do it!”

I shake my head at them. “No, no. I will go – you two – get Fred and Percy out of here, and
go make sure the house-elves – “

“I will do it,” Regulus then says, looking at me with a blank look. “If anything happens, then
–“

I frown at him, taken aback. “No, you won’t. You’ll stay here and help the Order!”

“Potter,” Regulus growls. “Don’t make me stun you, because Salazar forbids, I will – “

“Fine! We’ll go together, and Ron and Hermione will get the elves and help the Order,
okay?” I ask, scowling at him.

After a moment, Ron and Hermione mutter their agreements, while Regulus and I stare at
each other for a while longer, as if having a wordless battle with our eyes.

“Fine.” Regulus finally grunts and then stands up, helping me up as well.
By a miracle, Potter has managed to hold on to his Invisibility Cloak, and we throw it over
ourselves after wishing Hermione and Ronald good luck and leaving them to agree a plan to
move Fred into safety with Percy.

We run towards downstairs and everywhere we look, there’s either a teacher, student or a
member of the Order fighting against several more opponents. We run through a tapestry,
taking a shortcut to the first floor where we can get to the Entrance hall, stunning as many
opponents as we dare without risking of hitting anyone on our side.

Turning a corner, finally facing the Entrance hall, a terrifying view opens in front of us;
gigantic spiders are pouring inside from the open doors and from the windows in the Great
Hall.

There are many unmoving bodies scattered on the floors, some of them dragged by others,
while several duels are being fought next to them.

“No!” Potter gasps next to me, shocked. “STUPEFY!” He yells, aiming at one of the spiders,
one that is looming in front of Augusta Longbottom and her grandson. With the force of three
stunners, the spider finally rolls over, its legs upwards.

The Longbottoms advance on the next spider.

“Crucio!” A man yells further along the hall, aiming at two girls who duck and swerve and
send their own curses towards the man. The next moment, one of the girls is attacked from
the side and bitten in the neck by none other, than…

“Greyback,” Potter growls, aiming his wand at the werewolf as we stagger down the stairs.

This time, both of us send a stunning spell, and the creature is swept by his feet and thrown
brutally across the air, straight into one of the hourglasses, which breaks in the contact.

A wave of rubies tumble to the floor, mixing up with the blood that has already stained the
marble.

Professor McGonagall, Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley are all in the Great Hall, in the
middle of a duel, each fighting one opponent, their spells so powerful that the air is crackling
with magic.

Chrystal spheres and Snargaluff pods fly through the air towards the spiders, thrown by
Peeves who whoops and jeers at the Death Eaters.

Hagrid emerges from behind us, running towards the entrance, where more spiders come
pouring inside, causing screams of terror. Several jets of lights zoom towards the spiders,
from Death Eaters wands as well as their opponents. Hagrid pushes on, trying to stop the
others from hurting the spiders – for reasons I cannot understand – and in the end, the half-
giant is dragged away by the spiders, which retreat, escaping the shower of spells.

“HAGRID, NO! COME BACK!” Potter yells, and then sprints off from under the cloak,
running after the spiders, without caring one bit if anyone sees him.
“HARRY!”

“HAGRID!”

I run outside, cursing inwardly at Potter’s stupidity, and then see him several feet ahead,
stopping in his tracks.

There’s a fucking Giant in front of him. “POTTER COME BACK!” I scream as the Giant
stomps onward, swinging its arm, and then, with a blow that makes the whole ground
tremble, the Giant’s fist hits one of the towers, crushing it completely.

I gape at the scene, at the destruction, at the screams of terror, at the people running into
safety as the tower starts to crumble down, its large rocks squashing anyone that gets hit by
them.

“Come on!” Potter yells, wrenching me away, pulling me on, and for a long moment we run
towards the forest, away from the battle, until – until the air freezes around us. We stumble in
our steps.

“Dementors!” Potter gasps next to me, his voice trembling.

Waves of fear flood me as I see them – hundreds of them – gliding towards us, their ragged
breaths tasting the air, ready for a feast.

“No,” I gasp, my legs unsteady, my throat constricting. There’s an image taking over in my
head; the one of my brother, who stares at me through the Veil, looking weak, looking
broken, watching me with eyes that are empty, eyes that are telling me to let go, telling me to
give up…

“Come on, Reg!” Potter says forcefully, yelling the incantation next to me, trying but failing
to conjure a Patronus.

I can’t move, I can’t lift my wand, I’m useless. It looks like Potter cannot do it either. Despair
fills me as I move my eyes at the creatures closing in on us, and I know that this is it. Nothing
is going to save us from this.

“I’m not fucking giving up,” Potter growls next to me. “Not when we still have hope!”

There’s a sudden burst of light, and then, the most beautiful thing. A large stag, brighter than
I have ever seen a Patronus, its light taking the pain and sorrow away, pulling me back from
the darkness. I can breathe again. I can feel again.

I blink at the silvery creature, and as I feel hope swell in my chest again, knowing that as
long as Potter is there, I cannot give up, I lift my wand.

“Expecto Patronum!” I yell, and watch with lightness spreading inside me as the lion and the
stag charge against the Dementors, making them scatter, driving them away until none of
them can be seen.
Potter grabs my hand and squeezes my fingers, looking at me with a deep, piercing gaze in
his bright green eyes.

I swallow hard, holding his gaze.

“Let’s go,” Potter says eventually. “To the Whomping willow!” He continues, urging us to
move quickly forward.

We run again, towards the forest, and finally reach the great tree, with its whiplike branches.
“There’s a passage under it?” I ask as we slow down, panting slightly. I remember seeing it in
my brother’s Map.

Potter nods and peers at the tree, searching for something.

“You know how to freeze it?” I ask, quickly avoiding one long branch that slashes where I
stood moments before.

Potter nods again and levitates a nearby stick to a small knot in the bark of the tree.

The willow stills.

Potter leads the way and we crawl into a low-ceilinged tunnel. He throws the invisibility
cloak over us before we silently start to walk, both hunched, towards the other end. As we
reach the end of the tunnel, there are movement and voices coming from the room ahead,
where the entrance to the Shack is blocked by an old crate.

Silently moving forward, Potter and I stop right in front of the crate and look through the
gaps in the wood.

Severus is there, standing very close to us. The snake slithers across the floor in front of him,
and then – I see him.

Finally, after several years, I see him again. The Dark Lord. Dread ripples through me as I see
what he has become. A beast. A non-human. Nothing like I remember, and yet, in ways, quite
similar.

Severus speaks to the Dark Lord, urging his master to let him go back to the battle, so that he
can bring the boy – Potter, I presume – to him.

I stare at my old friend and wonder, when did this happen? When did he change?

“I have a problem, Severus,” the Dark Lord says quietly, pacing further down in the room.

“My Lord?” Severus says, taking a step towards his master, turning slightly, an
expressionless look in his eyes.

The Dark Lord lifts his wand – the Elder Wand – showing it to Severus. “It doesn’t work for
me, Severus. The Elder Wand should make my magic even more magnificent, and it doesn’t.
I am a powerful wizard. It should make me invincible. It should allow me to do magic that
has never before seen or done. I feel no difference between this wand and the one I procured
from Ollivander all those years ago.”

Potter shivers next to me, gritting his teeth together. I glance at him, but he merely shakes his
head.

“I have thought about it, Severus, and I think I know what the problem is,” the Dark Lord
says, a threatening flicker in his voice.

Severus stays still, undoubtedly knowing that nothing good will follow, that his master is
enraged. That he will be the one to suffer his outburst, as no one else is around to bear it.

“You have been very valuable to me, Severus. More than the others, perhaps. Which is why it
took me so long to make the decision,” the Dark Lord says slowly, his eyes cold.

“My Lord?”

Potter shivers again, and this time, he brings his fist to his mouth, to suppress a moan of
anguish.

Fuck. I grit my teeth together, my eyes moving between Potter and the Dark Lord, who
explains Severus how his previous wands had not worked against Potter, asking him if he
knew why. Severus stays silent as the Dark Lord continues to explain about the Elder Wand,
how he sought it, how he took it from Dumbledore. How it still doesn’t work on him, even
though it is the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick.

“…and then I knew why. Perhaps you already know it, Severus? Perhaps you knew why I
requested you tonight. The legend says that the wand refuses to perform to any other than its
rightful owner,” the Dark Lord says threateningly, his voice a whisper. “The Elder Wand
cannot serve me properly, because I am not its rightful owner.”

No…I swallow hard, holding Potter in place, who’s shaking violently in my arms, and gape at
the Dark Lord in disbelief. He’s going to murder Severus. The look in his eyes tells me
everything.

Severus is the rightful owner of the Elder Wand – because he…he’s the one who killed
Dumbledore.

“My Lord,” Severus breathes, lifting his wand. But he has nothing on his master.

The Dark Lord hisses silently, and then – then the snake lunges onward.

I let out a gasp, while Severus screams in terror. The snake attacks once, twice, sinking its
long teeth into my old friend’s neck.

All air has left my lungs, and all I can think of, are the days in my past; the long nights in
front of the Slytherin common room fire that were spent by studying and discussing our
futures; the smiles that were so rarely traded between us; the comforting presence of the
other, after our first mission, after the first…killing. All I can think of, is that my friend is
gone, and he will never come back.
Blood sprays from the wound, before Severus slumps to the floor, gurgling silently.

“I regret it,” the Dark Lord says quietly, his eyes empty, before holding out his hand to his
snake and disapparating with it moments later.

Potter gasps loudly right after and I take in a shuddering breath. He’s still – Severus is still
moving.

We manage to move the crate away and slip inside the room, kneeling next to him, next to the
man I used to call my friend, to a man who is dying. A man, holding onto his neck with a
hand, his face pale.

I let out a huff of despair, forgetting everything else except for making sure he lives – that my
friend lives – and quickly pull out my wand, trying to heal the wound, trying to help him.

I only know that can’t let him die.

Severus grabs my hand – the one holding my wand and swallows with effort. He looks up at
me and gives me an intent look, and there’s so much in his gaze, that I can’t breathe. Regret
and weariness, and…fondness. Severus shakes his head slightly, squeezing my hand.

“No!” I gasp, trying to wrench my arm away, but at the same time, he lets go of the wound.

Blood splatters everywhere, and Potter yelps, before quickly placing his hands at Severus’s
neck, to stop him from bleeding out.

Severus looks at me, anguish in his glittering eyes, beseeching me. Asking me to let him go.
Asking forgiveness. He tears his eyes away from me as my face scrunches up in sorrow.

“T-Take them,” Severus gasps, giving Potter a fixed look.

Tears are slowly streaming down from his black eyes. Tears that glow with silver.

He’s giving Potter his memories.

“Reg?” Potter asks quickly, and I swallow hard before conjuring a flask, handing it to Potter,
who still holds one hand to Severus’s wound, and with the other, he bottles the tears.

Severus gives me a long, weary look, all the walls of his mind now crumpled down, and I can
see him – the boy I once knew – through his black eyes. Then, Severus moves his focus on
Potter once more.

“Look at me,” he whispers to Potter, his eyelids flickering closed, before he forces them
open.

Potter frowns at the man.

“L-Look at me.”

Potter gives him a hesitant nod and looks, not understanding why.
I do.

It seems, that after all these years, the last thing Severus Snape wants to see before he dies,
are Lily Evans’s eyes.

The walk back is silent. Halfway to the school, Voldemort’s voice resonates through the
grounds.

“You have fought valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery,” he speaks with a
cold voice.

Regulus and I turn to look at each other. There’s a haunted look in his eyes, but he seems
more alert at the sound of Voldemort.

“…You have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by
one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste.
Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour.
Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured,” Voldemort says calmly.

“I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you
rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end
of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences.
This time, I shall enter the castle myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish
every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.”

I swallow hard.

“Let’s go back,” Regulus says wearily, moving forward.

I follow him silently, Voldemort’s voice and his words echoing in my head. As we reach the
castle, it is eerily silent and completely wrecked. The Entrance hall is still stained with blood
and filled by rubies that are scattered over the floor, but all the bodies have disappeared.

We walk silently into the Great Hall, where everyone seems to have gathered. The house
tables are moved to the side to serve as a station for treating the injured ones. There are many
people gathered around into small groups, discussing, crying, comforting each other. Then we
see where the dead have been placed; in a row, close to the entrance.

Regulus stops in his tracks, his focus on a man close to us, who is crouching next to a woman
lying on the floor unmoving, her eyes closed and her bubble-gum-pink hair bright against the
pale marble.

Lupin lifts up his gaze, as if knowing that we’re there. His face scrunches up in pain and a
sob is wretched from his lungs. Regulus’s shoulders sag as he stares at the woman on the
floor. He walks up to them and sits silently next to his cousin, before pulling his knees up and
pressing his head against his hands.
I gape at them, unable to believe that Tonks is dead, unable to bear the pain in my chest nor
the sorrow I feel for Lupin and for Regulus.

I look away and see many others, crying over their loved ones, until I find – until I see them.

A group of redheaded wizards and witches, gathered around a man with slightly balding,
bright red hair; a man with glasses and tall, thin build.

No…

Something heavy sits against my chest, making it painful to breathe. Mr. Weasley…Tonks.
And how many more, I can’t even look. I can’t bear the thought of it – for it is me, who he
wants. If I had given myself to Voldemort, would these people have survived? If I just had
made a deal with him – but would Voldemort have honoured it?

I swallow hard and look once more with anguish creeping up my throat as Mrs. Weasley sobs
silently, holding her husband’s hand while stroking on the top of his head. I look at Ron,
crying against Hermione, and George, Percy, Bill, Charlie, and Ginny, all trying to comfort
each other, mourning their father.

Taking in a shuddering breath, I quickly slip out of the hall, knowing that I can’t be there. I
don’t deserve it. They all died because of me. Because I haven’t faced him.

But I will. I will face him. I just – I need to be by myself for a moment, I need to be away
from my friends – anyone, really, who might stop me.

Remembering then, what Snape had given me, I decide to go to the Headmaster’s office to
look at Snape’s memories.

I run through the empty halls and barge into the Headmaster’s office not ten minutes later. I
look around the circular room, look at the empty portraits, looking for Dumbledore – but he’s
not there. Nothing in the room reminds me about him; all the trinkets and the peculiar objects
are gone as well as Fawkes.

I walk up to the cabinet; the stone Pensieve is in place. I numbly pull the flask from the
pocket of my robes and pour it into the basin, glad to be somewhere else than present, hoping
that this – that looking Snape’s memories will make me forget, at least for a short while.

It must be a long while later, when I finally stumble away from the Pensieve, gasping for air.

What I saw, what I witnessed, is nothing I had imagined.

Feeling stunned, in disbelief, I stagger backwards, away from the stone basin, until my back
hits a wall. Sliding down, I look blankly ahead, repeating the words that were said in my
mind.

Hearing what I heard; what Dumbledore told Snape…

Even if I was ready to face Voldemort before seeing Snape’s memories, all I want to do now,
is to hide – hide somewhere far away, so that he can’t get to me. Because…it turns out, there
is no hope for me. All this time, I thought, I felt I could do it, that I could win – that I could
actually fight Voldemort and live to see the day after that.

But now…it turns out, that I can’t. Because my fate – my whole existence, really, is to die at
his hands. Voldemort cannot be killed before he kills me first.

A quiet sob leaves my lungs. I wish my parents were here. I wish Sirius was here. I wish
Regulus was here. I wish they’d be here, telling me what to do, telling me to run, telling me
that they’d protect me, that they’d do anything there is to keep me safe.

Tears stream down my cheeks, but I’m too tired to brush them away.

My mother – so many of his memories were about my mother. I glance at the basin, a deep
frown between my brows. My mother grew up with him – they were friends. He…Snape…he
loved her. He loved my mother. There is so much history between them, so many years of
friendship – and I never would’ve guessed. I never would’ve guessed by the way Snape was
treating me since the first day we met.

He hated me. Like he hated my father.

And Dumbledore’s death – there had been more to it, after all. It had been an agreement
between Snape and Dumbledore, because he knew. Dumbledore knew Malfoy would try to
kill him, and Dumbledore knew he would die regardless of what happened, because of the
ring. And he had wanted to save Malfoy’s soul.

Many of the memories were about Regulus. Snape and Regulus spending time at the library,
at their common room, at the grounds; discussing in hushed tones about something urgent,
while giving unimpressed looks at my father and his friends. A shared laughter at their house
table in the Great Hall – and all I could do was to stare at Regulus as he looked so…young.
So innocent.

I think about Regulus, his touch and his breath ghosting against my lips, his presence that
calms me, that makes me feel at ease. I think about the piercing, grey eyes that I will never
see again, that can’t look at me anymore.

I think about my parents and Sirius… perhaps I will see them instead? Perhaps…there is a
place, where they are waiting for me?

Dumbledore knew everything. He knew I wouldn’t have the strength to continue, had I
learned what must happen before this very moment. He knew I had to see my friends suffer,
the people close to me die, before I would do it.

Because he knew me. He knew I would do it for the people I love.

With a heavy heart, I brush the tears away and stand up, knowing what I need to do. Even if I
wish to not do it, I know that it has to happen. Voldemort must kill me.
It is the only way the others can live.
 Still In This Fight
Chapter Notes

So, our story soon comes to an end...Only one chapter after this one, can you believe
that?!

...It's been over 1,5 years since I started this, and realising that this is actually ending
soon, and getting to the point of writing the ending scene, is so...surreal. But at the same
time, fulfilling. :) Enjoy reading!

Chapter 47: Still In This Fight

Hogwarts, 20 December 1997

It is almost three in the morning. Almost the time when Voldemort is expecting me to meet
him in the Forbidden Forest.

Quietly, I walk down the stairs under my Invisibility Cloak, feeling numb, feeling empty. I
can only think of destroying him, because that is the only thing that gives me strength to go
to him. To finish what he started.

I wish it could've happened differently, and not like this; walking up to him, accepting death,
and not raise my wand against him. I wish I could die in a fight and leave this place like my
parents did, like Sirius did, like Tonks and Mr. Weasley did...

The corridors are empty, as everyone is still in the Great Hall. It makes this easier, to not see
them – the ones who will survive and live to see the next day.

As I reach the stairs that lead to the Entrance Hall, I see Neville and Oliver Wood, carrying a
body from outside. Something sinks in my stomach.

Colin Creevey.

I watch as Wood takes Creevey's body alone towards the Great Hall and how Neville stays
there, at the front doors, looking wearily ahead. I look at him, and then make my decision. I
don't know if neither Ron nor Regulus have the strength to do it anymore, not after what they
have lost. And I just can't put it all on Hermione. She has done so much already, lost so
much. Neville will be now the fourth one to bear the knowledge, to know the way to destroy
Voldemort, once and for all.

I walk silently to Neville, passing the doors to the Great Hall, from where voices and
movement carry over, and as I stop beside Neville, I pull the cloak off.
It takes a second for Neville to realise I'm there.

" – Bloody hell, Harry!"

"Hi Neville." I say quietly, looking ahead at the dark grounds.

Neville narrows his eyes at me. "What are you doing in here?"

I give him a long look. "I have something I need to do…"

Neville shakes his head, his eyes widening with realisation. "No, Harry, you don't – "

"I'm not going to hand myself in, Neville," I lie, my voice tight. "But listen," I continue, "the
snake needs to be destroyed. Voldemort's snake, you know it?"

Neville gives me a slow nod. "Yeah, I've heard of it."

"Kill the snake."

Neville doesn't question anything. "All right," He says firmly.

I give him one last nod, before taking a step forward. Neville takes a hold of my wrist before
I'm out of reach.

"We're not giving up, Harry, you know that, right?" Neville asks quietly. "We're fighting until
the end."

My throat constricts as his words sink in. I nod at him jerkily, and Neville seems to
understand. He lets me go, and I throw the cloak back over myself and walk towards the
forest, my breath making small clouds of mist in the cold air.

I don't look back.

I pass Hagrid's hut, now empty and dark, and I wonder if Hagrid survived. I force away all
the memories about Hagrid that threaten to overwhelm me, and keep my focus on the forest.
At the edge of it, I see them.

Dementors, gliding amongst the trees, waiting for their prey.

I let out a shuddering breath, knowing that I can't do it anymore. I have no hope, I have no
happy thoughts. I'm in the end, and the chapter that has been my life is closing.

I open at the close.

With a gasp, I quickly retrieve something I didn't even remember carrying with me.
Something that had stuck at my neck, even through the incident at Malfoy Manor.

The pouch. And the Snitch inside it.

I pull out the small, golden ball and stare at it for a moment. And then, I understand the
meaning behind the words.
I bring the ball to my lips, whispering the words. The golden ball breaks into two, and
inside...

The Resurrection Stone.

Pushing the remains of the Snitch back to the pouch, I take the stone in my hand and look at
it, bitterness and amazement mixing inside me as I marvel Dumbledore's plan again; how he
had thought of everything. How he had known how to push me through the last obstacles,
how he had known how to give me strength to take the last steps.

I close my eyes and turn the stone over in my hand three times, thinking of them. Thinking of
my loved ones.

Even before I open my eyes, I know it worked. I know they are there. Blinking my eyes open,
I see my parents, smiling at me.

I look at my father, who looks so much like me; with his untidy hair sticking into different
directions, his long nose and his mouth that are both shaped like mine.

I look at my mother, with her long hair and her bright green eyes, the exact copy of mine.

"You've been so brave," she says softly, her eyes moving across my face.

I gaze at her in awe. I can only think what it would have been like to grow up with her alive,
to talk with her, to be hugged by her.

"You are nearly there, Harry," my father says calmly.

I turn to look at him, and at the way he looks at me, with a reassuring and pleased look in his
eyes, I feel…at ease.

"You're very close. We are so proud of you," he continues, a fond smile on his lips.

I nod at him, swallowing hard through the tightness in my throat. Knowing I have to ask.
"Does it hurt?"

My father shakes his head. "No. It will be like falling asleep. He will want to do it fast. You
will not suffer, Harry."

I take in a shuddering breath. "I wish you didn't have to die for me," I say, my voice shaking,
my eyes stinging with tears. "I wish no one had to – "

"Harry," my mother says kindly, watching me with a loving smile. "You're our son, Harry. We
would do it a thousand times again, and not have it any other way," she whispers.

My throat constricts. "Sirius…Mr. Weasley…and Tonks…"

My father levels me with a firm look. "Harry. They all chose to fight against Voldemort. You
cannot blame yourself for what happened. They chose to fight for their loved ones, to protect
them, like you are now choosing."
We stay quiet for a while, before I nod, more to myself than them. "Will you stay with me?" I
ask, somehow knowing that the Dementors will have no effect on me, as long as I have my
parents on my side. "Will they see you?"

"They will not see us, Harry. And we will stay until the very end," my father says with a calm
voice.

I shiver in the cold weather, tugging my cloak closer before taking in a deep breath, nodding
again. I then walk forward, under the Invisibility Cloak, with my mother and father beside
me, passing Dementors with ease, moving deeper and deeper into the forest. I look at them,
my parents, and somehow…they are more real to me now, than everyone else in the castle;
who seem like they are already a mere memory.

After a while, we spot two Death Eaters; Yaxley and Dolohov, and I follow them, knowing
where they will lead me. Knowing, that soon I will face him, and face death. Soon, I will stop
existing. Soon, I will be with my parents.

We reach our destination, where the Death Eaters, most of them without their masks, stand
silently, surrounding a clearing with fire flickering in the middle of it, surrounding
Voldemort, who stands in front of the fire. Waiting for me.

As Yaxley and Dolohov report the news to their master; that there were no signs of me,
Voldemort lifts his head, examining the fire.

"I am…disappointed. I thought he would come," Voldemort says with his cold voice.

There's a tense silence. I pull off the cloak and push it inside my robes along with my wand. I
look at my parents, one last time, before moving my gaze at the Resurrection Stone in my
hand, dropping it to the frozen ground, knowing that he cannot have it. That even if
Voldemort would get the cloak from me, he would never be the Master of Death.

"…It seems, that I was…mistaken," Voldemort says slowly.

"You weren't." I say with a clear voice, stepping closer to the clearing.

My sudden arrival causes some commotion amongst Voldemort's troops. Several Death
Eaters yell and gasp in surprise, pulling out their wands, while a couple of Giants on the other
side of the clearing stand up, roaring in a way that makes the ground tremble.

"NO!" A voice yells as I walk forward, until I'm facing Voldemort, who stands on the other
side of the fire.

"NO HARRY, NO!"

It's Hagrid. I glance at the voice and see him there, tied into a large tree. He yells again, but is
immediately silenced. He keeps staring at me with terror in his beetle black eyes.

Everyone watches me with surprise and excitement, but I only focus on him. Voldemort.

I watch as the red eyes glint with contemplation, with triumph, as they assess me.
"Harry Potter," Voldemort says softly. "The Boy Who Lived. The boy…who came to die."

There's a tense silence. It starts to snow, slowly, gently, the snowflakes melting before even
reaching the ground.

I look at the red eyes, not seeing him, not Voldemort.

I see them. Regulus, Hermione, Ron, Sirius, my parents, Lupin, Tonks, the Weasleys. All of
them.

The Elder Wand is lifted up and Voldemort's mouth is moving, but I'm already someplace
else. I'm not in the clearing, where dozens of Death Eaters watch with bursting excitement,
where Hagrid's cheeks are wet with tears.

I'm at Hogwarts, sitting at my house table, laughing with them; Ron and Hermione. I'm at
Grimmauld Place, watching from the doorframe of the drawing room as Sirius and Regulus
finally meet each other, finally reunited. I'm at the Burrow, laughing as Fred and George are
being reprimanded by their father, who then winks at his sons in the end. I'm at Godric's
Hollow, being hugged by my mother, smiled upon by my father…

There's a flash of green light, and then…nothing.

Silence…and light.

I blink my eyes open and realise that I'm lying face down against a flat surface.

Pulling myself up slowly, I look down at my body, which is surprisingly intact. I watch my
fingers moving, marvelling the fact that I'm still able to do so.

But what is happening? I – I died. Voldemort killed me.

Is this…is this heaven?

I look around me, and everything is white. As my eyes move, surfaces and edges are forming,
coming into existence; a domed glass roof, high above in sunlight; a hall of sorts, so large
that I can't see the end of it.

Everything is quiet and the place is empty, but suddenly, there's something making a noise.
Something pitiful. Something…struggling.

And then I see it; a small form on the ground, not far from me. I shudder as I look at it;
burned skin on a distorted body, left there, unwanted.

I walk closer, even though I feel…revolted by it.

"You cannot help."

I turn around, and there he is. Albus Dumbledore. Watching me calmly, his robes swishing
quietly as he walks towards me.
Somehow, I'm not surprised to see him. It is, as if, I was expecting him.

"Harry." Dumbledore says, smiling at me. "You wonderful boy. You brave, brave man. Let us
walk."

I follow him, and after a short walk, we sit down at the two white seats in the middle of our
path.

I watch Dumbledore in silence and he looks just like I remember him; the same crooked
nose, the same half-moon spectacles, and the same bright blue eyes twinkling behind them.
His both hands are white and untarnished. His robes are clean and intact, the dark blue fabric
flowing to the floor.

I want to be angry at him, I really do. But…I also need him to explain everything to me. I
need the answers more.

"You're dead." I tell him, a small frown between my brows. Because this can't be real. "Am I
dead too?"

Dumbledore hums thoughtfully. "I am dead, Harry," he says softly, his eyes moving over my
face, looking carefully. "But as for you…I think…you can decide. If you wish to go back, I
mean."

I gape at him and urge him to explain it to me, because it just seems…mad.

After a moment, after hearing Dumbledore's thoughts, after learning how exactly I could
even be alive, I stare blankly ahead. "It was…my mother, all over again," I mutter.

Dumbledore smiles at me. "Voldemort took your blood, thinking it would strengthen him,
knowing that it would allow him to touch you. What he didn't understand, is that by doing so,
he kept the enchantment and your mother's sacrifice alive."

I nod, feeling empty, feeling stunned by this revelation. "And my wand?"

"Your wand…when you overpowered Voldemort, that night at the cemetery, purely by your
courage, I believe your wand – it took some of Voldemort's power in it. And the next time
your wand met him, it recognised Voldemort. It protected you against him."

I look at him. "My wand holds Voldemort's powers in it?" I ask apprehensively.

Dumbledore nods thoughtfully. "Only against him. Only against Voldemort."

There's a long silence.

"The Deathly Hallows," I say, needing him to explain it.

Dumbledore lowers his head, letting out a sigh. "The Hallows…they exist."

"Can you forgive me?" he then says, looking at me with regret in his eyes. "Can you forgive
me for not trusting you? For not telling you? Harry, I only feared that you would fail as I had
failed. I only dreaded that you would make my mistakes. I crave your pardon, Harry. I have
known, for some time now, that you are the better man."

I frown at him. "What do you mean?"

There are tears in Dumbledore's eyes. "I was a fool. I tried. I aimed to be better, I wanted to
be better…"

"Be what?" I ask, stunned by his behaviour.

"The Master of Death, Harry," Dumbledore says quietly, a rueful smile on his lips. "It seems,
that I wasn't strong enough. Like you are."

I don't really understand what he means.

"You know what it cost me as I searched for them, as I pursued them. You know about my
sister, Harry?" Dumbledore asks faintly.

I nod at him. "Yeah, I know."

Dumbledore lets out a weary sigh. "You cannot despise me more than I despise myself."

"But I don't despise you –"

"Then you should," Dumbledore says calmly. "My sister was ill, and I should've been there
for her. I should've been there for my brother. But I cared more about the quest. More about
finding the Hallows with Grindelwald. More about our great plans to benefit the whole
wizarding world! I wanted more from life, Harry, than what I should've done," he says
bitterly.

"And then…My brother tried to stop me, tried to make sense in me," Dumbledore says with a
sad smile. "We duelled. Grindelwald, he…lost control. He became what I always knew he
was underneath, but chose to disregard. And Ariana…she paid the price."

Tears now flow freely down Dumbledore's crooked nose.

He continues after a short moment, after pulling himself slightly together. "And then, years
went by and I hid inside the Hogwarts walls, keeping myself safe there, knowing that in
there, I was not tempted by power. I busied myself with the training of young wizards, while
Grindelwald…he was raising an army. They say he feared me, and perhaps he did, but less, I
think, than I feared him…I feared the truth, Harry," he says, giving me a remorseful smile.

"I feared, that I would finally find out who it had been. Who had killed my sister. And the
thought that it had been me, was…unbearable. I was a coward. And I think…Grindelwald
knew it. He knew what I feared," Dumbledore says with a deep sigh. "Until finally, I had to
face him. And you know what happened then. I won the duel. I won the wand."

I stay silent, watching ahead, remembering what I saw when Voldemort went to kill
Grindelwald. I tell Dumbledore, that Grindelwald tried to prevent Voldemort from getting the
wand by lying to him, and Dumbledore nods weakly.
"It was said, that Grindelwald showed remorse during his last years. I hope that is true. I
would like to think that he did feel the horror and shame of what he had done. Perhaps that lie
to Voldemort was his attempt to make amends, and to prevent Voldemort from taking the
Hallow, from becoming invincible."

I nod at him, slowly. "Or…maybe he did it, because he didn't want Voldemort breaking into
your tomb?"

Dumbledore takes in a shuddering breath.

"You are the worthy possessor of the Hallows, Harry. Not Grindelwald. Not me," he says,
watching me searchingly. "Only you would have the strength to not use them. Only you
would have the strength to use them when it is necessary."

I stare at him, stunned by his words, the anger towards him seeping away from my chest.

"But why did you have to make it so difficult?" I ask, only partly exasperated.

Dumbledore lets out a small chuckle. "I was counting on your friends, Harry. Counting on
them, to slow you down, to look at all the angles before you acted on your emotions. I
wanted to give the Hallows to you, at the right time, even though I now see that perhaps you
would have reached the same outcome," he says, and I give him a bewildered frown.

"You are the true Master of Death, because the true master does not seek to run away from
Death. He accepts that he must die, and understands that there are far, far worse things in the
living world than dying."

I take in a deep breath, feeling overwhelmed by Dumbledore's words, and then a thought
comes to me. "Did Voldemort know about the Hallows?"

Dumbledore shakes his head slightly. "I assume he did not. He didn't recognise the stone
when he made the Horcrux, and I doubt that he would've been interested in the stone or the
cloak. He would've thought his magic was enough, that he didn't need the cloak. And as for
the stone…Voldemort fears the dead. He does not love."

"But the wand…"

Dumbledore smiles. "Yes, Harry, I was sure he would go after the wand. And you know
already what I agreed with Professor Snape," he says wearily. "I intended for him to get the
wand."

"It didn't work out, did it? Voldemort's got the Elder Wand."

Dumbledore inclines his head. "That is true. However, should you decide to return, I believe,
that there is a chance that he may be finished for good."

I stare ahead, thinking of my parents, and everyone who already died for me, who died
fighting Voldemort.
Dumbledore hums next to me, as if guessing my thoughts. "By returning, you may ensure
that fewer souls are maimed, fewer families are torn apart. If that seems to you a worthy goal,
then…you know what to do."

After a long silence, I look at the old Headmaster and give him a small nod.

I know what to do.

We both stand up, and Dumbledore gives me one last smile, before turning his back, before
walking away.

"Wait." I say to him, and Dumbledore stills, turning back to me. "Is this real? Our
conversation? Or is this happening inside my head?"

Dumbledore smiles widely at me, suddenly looking blurred and sounding very distant. "Of
course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean it is not
real?"

I smell the forest again and feel my Invisibility Cloak under my robes, between my stomach
and the cold forest floor. My body aches, my limbs are twisted into odd directions, but I don't
dare to move. Because I'm back. I'm alive. And I'm in the middle of a clearing, filled by
Death Eaters and…Voldemort.

I listen carefully. There're murmuring sounds. Hurried movements, whispering.

" – My Lord?" Bellatrix's voice whispers. She sounds…worried.

Did – did something happen to Voldemort?

Then, Voldemort speaks. "Move aside," he snarls hastily, sounding out of breath. "I do not
require assistance!"

Something definitely happened. Did…did Voldemort feel it? When the piece of his soul was
destroyed? Did he collapse like I did as a result?

"Examine the boy," Voldemort says suddenly. "See if the boy is dead!"

Fear trickles down my spine, and I suppress a swallow, trying to hold myself still. They will
see, and they will notice as soon as someone comes closer. They will know. At the latest
when they feel my pulse, feel my heart beating and feel my warm body against the cold
ground, they'll know that I am alive.

A moment later, I feel someone's presence. Hands; small, soft – a woman's hands – are
examining me, feeling my neck, feeling my chest.

Then, a whisper, almost silent, spoken right next to my ear. "Is Draco alive?"

My scull prickles. Is Narcissa going to announce that I am alive? She almost killed Regulus.
Why would she spare me? I decide to tell her the truth, and pray for Merlin, Circe and
Morgana that it'll make the desired effect.

"Yes." I breathe back, forcing myself to stay still as Narcissa stands up.

"He is dead!" Narcissa says with a clear voice.

I force myself to stay still and not gape ahead in utter surprise. She lied to Voldemort, in
order to help me.

Instantly, cheering sounds fill the air, mixing up with laughter and whoops of joy.

Through the yells, through the laughter, I hear Voldemort, laughing as well, and then, "You
see!? I killed Harry Potter! Harry Potter is dead!"

More cheering sounds.

"Watch!" Voldemort shouts. "CRUCIO!"

Expecting it to come, I focus on staying limp, deciding not to feel pain as Voldemort's curse
lifts me into the air.

But there is nothing. The pain…is not there. The only thing I can feel, is the air ruffling my
hair, and the frozen grass against my cheeks as my body falls back down.

Several Death Eaters laugh merrily at the show, and Voldemort too lets out a contented sigh
before he speaks again, now sounding…excited. "We shall go to the castle, and show them –
let them know who is the most powerful wizard! We shall show them, what has become of
their…saviour," he says mockingly.

Howls of laughter erupts again, mixing into jeering sounds and screams of joy.

And then – I suppress a gasp of distress as Voldemort orders Hagrid to carry me back to the
school.

The half-giant takes me gently into his arms, weeping silently, holding me carefully as he
follows Voldemort and his troops towards the school, whispering my name in despair.

At the edge of the forest, Voldemort orders everyone to stop, and then, with his magnified
and cold voice carrying over the grounds and over the school, he speaks.

"Harry Potter is dead! He tried to run away, he abandoned you while you all fought bravely
for him, while many of your side gave their lives for him!" Voldemort yells, and several Death
Eaters shout their agreements.

"You have lost. My fighters outnumber you. You have no leader anymore."

"But…the Dark Lord is forgiving! I will accept you, to join me, if you come forth without
resistance," Voldemort continues, a cold satisfaction in his voice.
"…However, anyone who dares to oppose me, will be killed," he finishes, and then with his
voice back to normal, he chuckles as his followers yell triumphantly and laugh at the prospect
of killing someone.

My eyes are trained at Lupin as we listen to the Dark Lord's words. As we hear what he says.

Harry Potter…dead.

It can't be true. He can't be…he can't be gone.

Lupin's brow furrows, and more and more around us, people start to whisper, to gasp, to cry
in dread. I stare at Lupin, frozen in place, trying to decide if what has been said, is a lie. My
mind is empty and my chest is heavy with anxiousness, with nausea.

He can't be dead.

"Let's go," Lupin whispers shakily.

I follow him, walk behind the crowd, feeling numb, feeling like I am somewhere else. It can't
be true – and why are we still moving? Why are we so eager to see, if the Dark Lord is lying?

Why would he lie?

As we reach the doors in the Entrance Hall, several screams of horror reach my ears.

No…

And then – then I see him. Potter. His body at the Dark Lord's feet, against the cold ground.
Unmoving. Innocent. Fragile.

Harry Potter is dead.

I take in a shuddering breath, and the air is knives, stabbing my lungs, puncturing my chest,
making me bleed inside. Then my throat constricts, trying to prevent me from breathing,
because what is the point of it anymore? There's a hand against my shoulder…comforting
me? Holding me back?

I stare blankly at the body on the ground, and I can't hear anything, I can't see anything else.
Only him.

And then, whether it is a thousand years later, or merely ten minutes, something happens.

The hand shoves me hard, the people that were frozen in place start to move, to run. Spells
are being cast; jets of light zooming into every direction. And suddenly, the air is filled by
screams, yells, shouts, and the ground trembles as the two Giants start to fight with a third
one, and above, a mass of large birds – Thestrals, attacking the Giants, screeching violently.
Several Centaurs charge towards the Dark Lord's groups, and everything is in disorder.

I'm being manhandled inside, and someone yells into my ear.

"Regulus! Pull yourself together!"

It is Lupin, his voice full of shock. "We're fighting!"

I stumble back into the Great Hall and lose sight of Lupin, not seeing where he disappears as
I'm shoved forward. Duels are being fought everywhere I look, some of the Centaurs are
chasing Death Eaters, and there are house-elves – led by…by Kreacher, of all – that are
attacking the Dark Lord's followers, sticking knives into their opponents' feet.

I'm stunned, my vision swimming, my mind desperately trying to grasp a hold of the present.
I feel like a mere shell of the man I was; unable to think anymore, unable to move, unable to
fight. Because there's nothing inside me anymore.

There's nothing worth fighting for anymore.

" – NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!"

I blink, and I see my cousin, duelling Molly Weasley.

Hundreds of people cease to fight, and instead watch the two duels taking place in the middle
of the Great Hall; a snarling Bellatrix duelling Molly Weasley, the air crackling with magic
around them; and the Dark Lord, a cold fury in his red eyes as he strikes and smites curses
with all his power at McGonagall, Lupin and Shacklebolt.

And something – something flickers in the back of my head. I'm reminded of something, of a
memory. I watch, petrified, as Molly's wand flicks and twirls, and when my cousin – when
Bellatrix hisses out a snarl, and then…she smiles. Threateningly, menacingly, and I
remember the last time I saw it, when I saw the vicious glint of triumph in her eyes.

It was when my brother fell through the Veil. I make a sudden move towards the pair, and
sure enough, seconds later, Bellatrix hits Molly with a curse that makes the other woman
scream in anguish and fly across the room, where she crashes against the wall and falls
limply down.

There's a loud cackle echoing clearly in the hall, while several people scream and sob,
shocked and terrified.

"Now, little girlie…shall we continue?" Bellatrix says sweetly at the youngest Weasley.

Ginevra's trembling hand lifts up, her wand at the ready, her jaw tight as tears stream down
her cheeks.

"I think not, cousin." I say calmly at Bella, stepping into her view. "Go help your mother," I
grunt at Ginevra as Bellatrix screeches with laughter.

"Itty, bitty, Regulus!" She screams, her cackling laugh echoing loudly in the Great Hall. "I
heard rumours about you, of course, but seeing you now, I have to say, cousin, what I heard
didn't do you any justice," she says with a sickly-sweet voice, tutting, before flashing a
psychopathic smile. "Oh, cousin, you haven't aged a day!" She screams with delight.
I arch a brow at her.

"Came to crawl back under my protection, did you?" She hisses threateningly, a smirk on her
lips.

"Or…" She growls, her features darkening, "are you truly as senseless as your beloved, late
brother, thinking you have any way of surviving this, that you could overcome me?!"

I watch her blankly, and she roars with anger before sending a stream of curses at me. I block
them swiftly, sending my own magic soaring towards her. Soon, the air is hot by the surges of
light as both of us swerve and avoid the other's curses, fighting silently, but with utmost
focus, knowing what the other is capable of, knowing that it only takes a second of
carelessness to lose everything.

"Too bad you missed your brother's demise, little cousin," Bellatrix taunts, looking livid as
none of her curses strike me, and lets out a small shriek as one of the jets of green from my
wand nearly hits her on her arm.

Bellatrix bares her teeth. "A waste of space, he was!"

Rage swells within me, almost overwhelming. Rage that rises in my throat like vomit – the
anger and hatred towards my cousin shaking me inwardly, filling the emptiness inside me,
giving me strength.

She then laughs maniacally. "You should've seen the look in his eyes – the pleading – " she
dodges a curse, " – the begging – " she avoids another Killing Curse, "the despairing –"

The pure white jet bursting from my wand hits her straight into her stomach. Bellatrix stares
at me in disbelief, her expression close to outrage. Then, the very next second, her body
shatters into fragments, as if she had been made of crystal.

The hall is silent, and there is nothing left of her but a pile of sparkling dust on the cracked
marble floor.

Suddenly, howls and cheers of triumph erupt from every corner of the hall, only to be
overpowered by the Dark Lord's scream of shock echoing louder than anything else.

Magic bursts from his wand, and his opponents are blasted away, flying across the room
before he turns his enraged and violent gaze at me.

"YOU!" The Dark Lord screams, raising his wand, his red eyes filled by terrifying hate.

The curse, powerful and invincible, soars across the air, aimed straight to my heart, and I
stare at him, knowing that I'm unable to stop it, that I do not have the strength, not after
putting my last ounce of power into destroying my cousin.

"PROTEGO!" Someone screams, and a powerful shield charm materialises in front of me,
right before the curse reaches me, hitting the shield charm instead, blasting it into
nonexistence.
" – HARRY!"

"HARRY'S ALIVE!"

Several people yell excitedly, and I can only gape at him. Potter. He's there, alive, and for a
moment I can breathe again, until I realise what is about to happen. The crowd falls silent as
Potter and the Dark Lord start to circle each other.

Potter shouts instructions to people around him, and then he and the Dark Lord taunt each
other with words, while everyone else in the hall holds their breaths, most of them – at least,
it seems so – hoping, begging that it will be Potter who stands alive after this.

The Dark Lord jeers at Potter, enraged by him, by Potter's words, which are uttered in such
calm manner, that I didn't know could be done in front of the most terrifying wizard there is.

They circle one another for a long moment, and Potter tells him that – that Severus was never
his servant. That he and Dumbledore had agreed upon the late Headmaster's death, months
before it had happened. That the moment the Dark Lord had gone after Lily Potter, Severus
had been Dumbledore's man.

I stare at them, feeling shocked, feeling anguished for my old friend. Severus had been
Dumbledore's spy, all along, had been working against the Dark Lord until his end.

The Dark Lord starts to laugh, mirthlessly, coldly, threateningly. "It doesn't matter anymore,
does it! I have the wand – the most powerful wand there is, and whatever Snape had been
working on with Dumbledore, they failed! I killed Snape!"

Potter looks at him calmly. "You killed him. But Snape was never the master of the wand."

The Dark Lord snarls.

"Draco Malfoy was. He took Dumbledore's wand against his will, never knowing what he
had done – "

The Dark Lord screams in frustration. "Then I will seek out Draco, you fool – "

Potter huffs, almost like he is amused. "I already have Draco's wand, which I took from him,
against his will."

The Dark Lord's eyes sharpen, and he hisses out a snarl of exasperation. Rage glinting in his
red eyes, he lifts his wand, shrieking the incantation.

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

There's a loud explosion, a powerful wave of force that shakes the castle, throwing many of
the watching crowd over, making them tumble to the floor.
I watch, on my knees as the Elder Wand sails in the air, in a high arc, straight into Potter's
outstretched palm.

And the next moment, the Dark Lord falls backwards, hitting the floor, his body broken.
Finally dead.

Potter stares at him – what is left of his enemy – and then – everyone is screaming,
whooping, laughing, running towards him, weeping in joy.

I stare at the scene, unable to believe that Potter is there, that Potter has survived, that Potter
has done it.

He has destroyed the Dark Lord.

Hundreds of them; Aurors, members of the Order, students and their parents, teachers,
villagers, house-elves, Centaurs…everyone is squeezing towards Potter, trying to touch him,
pull him, hug him, thank him…

I watch as most of them cry earnestly with tears of joy, with tears of relief, and then, I'm
seized from the side, hugged tightly by Lupin, and then by Hermione, and then Ronald, and
then – then Potter is there, has somehow managed to squeeze through the crowd, and he's
there, staring at me with his impossibly green eyes. A look so piercing, I stop breathing.

With a huff, I pull him into a tight embrace, holding him close, breathing him in, closing my
eyes, feeling his heartbeat against my chest, feeling his shuddering breath. And I thank all
Merlin, Circe and Morgana, that I have him here, intact, and in my arms.

The sun has risen and there is hope and relief in the new day. The tables in the Great Hall
have been put back to their original positions, and people are mingling between them, all of
them wanting to talk to Potter, to be in his company. The saviour.

I watch, wearily, as the Boy Who Lived is handled and moved from between the groups of
people who are mourning, celebrating, all thanking him, all expressing their gratitude.

As more time passes, several owls reach us; Kingsley Shacklebolt has been named temporary
Minister for Magic; the Imperiused witches and wizards everywhere in Britain have come
back; the Death Eaters are being rounded up; the innocent ones in Azkaban will be released.

The Dark Lord's body has been moved out of sight, into a dark chamber in the far corner, and
the bodies of those who were fighting against him laid carefully into another.

I watch with mild amusement as Potter, sitting on the other side of the hall, glances around
him, before slipping under his Invisibility Cloak and disappearing from sight. Having a good
guess what he is up to, I move my gaze to Hermione and Ronald, who sit by themselves, not
far from where I am situated with the remaining members of the Order.

Both Hermione and Ronald tense abruptly, their eyes flicking across the room, and then they
leave their seats, making their way quickly towards the Entrance Hall.
"What do you reckon they're up to?" Lupin asks quietly from my left.

I glance at him and hum thoughtfully. "I trust we will find out, sooner or later," I tell him, and
then glance at the werewolf's hands – Lupin is unconsciously twiddling the wedding band on
his finger.

"Have you been in contact with Andromeda?" I ask, wondering if she already knows about
her daughter.

I doubt there is a soul left in the wizarding Britain – or world, perhaps – who doesn't know
that the battle is over.

Lupin nods jerkily, his jaw tightening. "Edward's okay. Andromeda…she'll be here. S-She –
she wants to – to s-see h-her…" Lupin says, his voice shaking, his face distorting with pain.

I let out a small sigh, watching closely at the man who tries to suppress his tears next to me.
My brother's best friend. And somehow…my friend as well. "Let me know if there is
anything I can help you with."

Lupin frowns hard at the table as tears stream down his cheeks. "Thanks, Regulus. I – I…
thank you." He says thickly, before taking in a deep breath and wiping his face with his
hands. "I should go, see if Andromeda has come."

With that, Lupin excuses himself and disappears into the crowd.

As I look after him, I notice a pair of eyes, studying me. A pair of grey eyes, not unlike my
own, belonging to a woman with long, blonde hair and sharp features.

Narcissa.

She watches me with an imploring expression, before her gaze flickers towards the Entrance
Hall.

I murmur my excuses to the people at the table and stand up, moving to meet the woman. The
woman, who tried to kill me. The woman, who, I heard, saved Potter's life.

"Narcissa," I say quietly as she steps into the Entrance Hall, where large pieces of the marble
staircase are missing, the floor still littered with rubble, rubies and bloodstains.

I lean against the wall next to the door, and she doesn't see me at first, but she doesn't flinch.
She turns slowly to face me, and watches me for a long moment.

"Regulus," she says, her voice calm and clear. She swallows hard, her gaze moving down,
trained at my chest. "Can you…can you forgive me, for what I did?" She asks weakly, and
then looks up. There are tears in her eyes.

"Almost killing me?" I ask blankly, watching her with mild curiosity. Wondering if her words
can be trusted.
She lets out a small gasp, and there's a tear trailing across her cheek. "Yes," she breathes. "I
regret it. I wish I could take it back." There's sincerity in her eyes.

I watch her for a long moment, contemplating her words, her plea.

"I will decide it upon your future actions, cousin."

Narcissa nods slowly. "I wasn't expecting any less of you, dear cousin," she says quietly, and
with one last look of intent, she turns gracefully and returns to the Great Hall to her husband
and son.

I watch her walk away and then watch the others, still rejoicing at the victory, still mourning
for those who were lost, and I decide to take a walk, to be by myself for a moment. I long for
sleep, but I know I have to wait for him. I know Potter will come to me, to explain everything
to me, and I will wait as long as it takes.

He does, some time later, find me under the beech tree, gazing at the frozen lake.

"Hey," Potter says wearily, sitting down next to me on the warm and dry patch in the midst of
snow-covered grass, courtesy of my warming charm.

I glance at him. "I used to study here," I tell him, and Potter nods, slowly.

"I know." He says gently. "I saw."

I look at him again. "Severus's memories?" I ask hesitantly, and then Potter starts to explain it
to me, telling me what he had seen in the memories Severus had given him.

He tells me about the memories from Severus's childhood, memories about Lily. Potter
explains how he had seen Dumbledore asking Severus to perform the task, to kill the dying
man, to spare him from others who might not show him mercy. Potter tells me about the
Horcruxes, about Dumbledore's plan, and why he had to go and face death. Before he
finishes, he tells me about the memories of me.

And I listen closely, knowing that there is nothing to be done for them, for any of them, as
they are all gone. Lily, Severus, Dumbledore.

I stare ahead, towards the lake, thinking about him, about Severus. How tragic his life was…
how he had lived his whole life loving someone who did not love him back – not in the way
he needed. How alone he had been, during the last years of his life…

After a long while, Potter takes my hand, squeezing it.

"You're free, you know?" He says eventually. "You don't have to hide anymore."

I contemplate his words. Perhaps he is right. Perhaps…I am free now. Free to walk outside of
Grimmauld Place. And Potter is free too, free to walk outside, free to go back to his home,
wherever it might be.

"What now?" He asks, his fingers moving against my knuckles.

I look at him, and I keep my voice steady as I speak. "Home."

He thinks for a moment, tilting his head, and then nods. "Yeah. I'd like that."

I lift my brows at him.

Potter shrugs. "I mean, I do own the place, after all…" He says simply, before cracking a
smile.

With a sigh of amusement, I pull him closer, closing the distance between our lips, revelling
in the fact that I'm able to do that, that I'm able to feel him warm and soft against me.

Our lips glide against each other for a while, unhurriedly, affectionately, intensely, with
occasional smiles curving our lips. The kiss deepens, and Potter gently places his hand on my
back, pulling me closer. We keep tasting each other on our tongues, which caress and
entwine, reunited, languid, until both Potter and I pull back slightly, more or less breathless.

Potter leans his forehead against my shoulder, chuckling slightly. "You've no idea how long I
wanted to do that…" He mutters, his fingers drawing pictures against my back.

"Since yesterday?" I ask quietly, spotting Hermione and Ronald further along the grounds,
evidently knowing that we are here, but discreetly looking away.

Potter snorts. "I can't believe all of this – everything – it happened so fast…"

I hum in agreement, my eyes still at Potter's friends, a thought coming into my head. "…Am I
to assume one Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley are to join us at Grimmauld Place? Even going
as far as calling it their home?" I ask lightly, sensing how Potter stiffens.

"I'm – well –" Potter pulls back, grimacing. "Yeah?" He says, squinting his eyes, lifting his
brows up, giving me an innocent look.

I shake my head in a mixed amusement and exasperation.

"You do own the place," I say pointedly, teasing him, and then my fingers find their way
around his neck and press him against me once more.

And finally, calmness sweeps over me.

 Future Looks Good
Chapter Notes

This is it! The final chapter! It has been nearly two years since I started writing this
story, and ~1,5years since I started posting!
Enjoy my readers :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 48: Future Looks Good

Ministry of Magic, 20 January 1998

Kingsley sighs wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose before levelling me with a suffering
look. “Potter…you know I wouldn’t be asking this, if it wasn’t essential. We are on the same
side now, and the wizarding citizens need to know that,” he says with his low, calm voice.

I chew the inside of my cheek, contemplating his request while my eyes trail over his office;
a circular room with a high ceiling, blue fabrics mixing with dark wood, with several
portraits hanging on the walls, and a seating area near the fireplace on the other side of the
room, opposite to his intricate detailed, claw-footed writing desk we are sitting at.

What Kingsley asks – me joining the Ministry, stating publicly that they are the good guys
now – has been something thoroughly discussed between the members of the Order.
Something I have been hesitant about, and haven’t been able to decide if it is something I
should do.

It’s not that I don’t believe in Kingsley, since he’s brilliant, and I more than trust him, but…
the Ministry is a large institute, he’s only one man, and surely, there are still one or two loose
ends that have not been yet handled. And me, showing support for an organisation that keeps
hags like Umbridge in their payroll – well, that’s just…not what I thought I’d do, even for the
greater good, even if it is to rebuild the wizarding Britain.

“This about Umbridge?” Kingsley asks, a scrutinising look in his eyes.

I let out an irritated huff, crossing my arms.

“ – because I intend to keep my promise, Harry. I will have her sacked – “

“It’s not just Umbridge,” I say harshly, interrupting him. I trail a hand through my unruly
hair. “It’s all the shit this place has put me through during the past years!” I say, somewhat
heatedly. “And yeah, it is a bit about Umbridge too – I mean, how many others like her there
are still? …And don’t even let me get started about the Wizengamot,” I hiss disdainfully.
A Wizengamot, that consists mostly of the exactly same members that were there when
Fudge was the Minister. A Wizengamot, that sentenced the Malfoys last week – including
Narcissa, who actually helped to bring Voldemort down – into Azkaban, regardless that
Hermione, Ron and I spoke on their behalf. Granted, Narcissa and Draco will only be there
for six months, but Lucius, well…he received a life sentence.

And now, the same Wizengamot intends to hold an assessing hearing of Regulus Black, to
decide if they should sentence him from the crimes he did twenty years ago.

Kingsley sighs. “I am working on it,” he says, voice tight. “I’m fairly certain that Regulus
will not be sentenced. The public knows his story by now, knows his assistance to the Order,
his contribution in the second wizarding war and defeating Voldemort. However, we must
follow the rules of our government, and declare him innocent in the eyes of law,” Kingsley
explains coolly.

“I trust you know we have quite the many issues to fix inside the Ministry, as well as
outside,” he continues pointedly. “And you speeding things up – helping us to rebuild both
the Ministry and the Wizarding community – well, it certainly would not be unwelcome.”

I stare at his table, knowing that he needs an answer. It’s been a month already. I take in a
deep breath and then look at him, keeping my expression blank.

“I have conditions.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “I assumed as much. Name them then,” he says, inclining
his head, before lifting his brows in question.

I clear my throat, the discussion between Hermione and me last night flickering into my
mind.

“Hey,” I mutter, after seeing her sitting alone in the library, curled up into an armchair, a
thick, dusty book on her lap, and a cup of tea steaming on the coffee table.

Hermione hums in recognition, even before she tears her gaze away from the book. “Hey,
Harry. What is it?” She asks gently as she lifts her head and looks at me.

I glance around us hesitantly.

“We are alone,” Hermione says, now watchful and curious. “Did you want to talk about
something?”

I give her a firm nod, and then, just in case, I cast a silencing charm at the door. Hermione’s
brows rise high on her forehead as I walk up to her.

“I need to show you something,” I say simply, and take a seat on the sofa. “Come here,” I
add, inquiring, and now Hermione looks both cautious and intrigued.

She moves to put her book on the table next to her tea, before standing up and quickly taking
a seat next to me. “Okay. What is it?” She asks, her eyes round with anticipation.
I pull my mokeskin pouch – the one Hagrid gave me – from the pocket of my trousers, not
really feeling the need to carry it around my neck anymore, and dig through it for a moment,
before pulling my hand from inside the pouch.

“This.” I say, opening my palm for her to see.

Hermione lets out a small gasp. She’s silent for a long moment, her eyes at my outstretched
palm, a contemplative expression on her face before she turns her gaze to me. “Why?”

“I have a plan,” I tell her, and I know that she can see it from my gaze, I know that she
realises what I’m talking about, what I intend to do.

Hermione worries her lip, a deep frown between her brows. But she doesn’t say anything
more to the subject, and I’m glad for it. Instead, we start discussing my upcoming meeting
with Kingsley, and what he expects me to do.

“Bloody hell,” Kingsley grunts after I explain my request to him. “Can’t you just ask for
Galleons?” He asks, exasperated, before muttering, “although…we don’t exactly have those
either…”

“I just want to say goodbye,” I tell him, watching him intently, trying to make him see the
despair in my eyes. “Ten minutes, no more.”

Kingsley looks deeply unsatisfied and is quiet for a moment. “Five,” he finally grunts. “And
no more,” he says, clenching his jaw. “And you bloody well can pray I’m still the Minister
after pulling these strings,” he adds, before narrowing his eyes at me. “And I will personally
drag you back by your disorderly mop of hair, if you try to do anything imbecilic. Do you
understand?” He asks, his voice dark.

I give him a quick nod. “Of course.”

“And I’m expecting you to give a speech tomorrow.”

I groan inwardly, but keep my expression sincere. “I would be honoured.”

Kingsley huffs with annoyance. “Very well, then. When do you wish to do this?”

“Now?” I ask, squinting my eyes a bit, giving him a mild grimace.

Kingsley rolls his eyes, muttering something about his dinner and then proceeds to stand up.

He takes us through his mostly empty floor – it’s getting late, and I assume many of the
Ministry employees are already finished for the day – nodding at his secretary; a young
blonde woman, whose name is Mafalda…well, I think with a small frown, it could be
Miranda too, and then, we walk in silence, only bumping into a handful of people on our
journey from Level one; Minister for Magic and Support Staff to Level nine; Department of
Mysteries.
As soon as the voice in the lifts tell us that we have reached the Department of Mysteries, and
as soon as the grilles slide open, I’m struck with a memory. I remember, like it was yesterday,
when my friends and I came here, and when I finally walked through the plain black door
after months and months of dreaming about it.

If the Level one and Atrium were quiet, the second-lowest level of the Ministry is eerily
silent, with its flickering torches making shadows run against the corridor walls.

Kingsley looks at me carefully. “You okay, Potter?”

I realise my breathing has quickened. I clear my throat and nod at him jerkily. “I’m fine. Is –
is no one here?” I ask, feeling somewhat bewildered and on the edge, as no one is
questioning the purpose of our visit.

Kingsley lets out an unconcerned sound. “Unspeakables rarely work after five in the
afternoon,” he says wryly, evidently gutted that he is still here at this hour, well over eight in
the evening.

He then gestures at the door at the end of the corridor, and we make our way there before
walking through it. I step into the large, dimly lit room after Kingsley. The round walls are
lined with black doors, and like before, as soon as the door closes behind us, the room starts
to rotate.

As the room stops, I turn to look at Kingsley, my brow arched. “I hope you know your way
out of here,” I say, a hint of irony in my voice.

Kingsley scoffs quietly and proceeds to step towards the door immediately to his right.

I lift my brows in surprise as the familiar view opens inside the door. “How did you – well,
never mind.” I grunt, after seeing Kingsley’s smug expression.

I walk into the large chamber, where in the middle of it, several feet lower from the door,
stands a raised stone podium with an archway made of stone.

I stare at the crumbling archway and the torn curtain hanging from it. The Veil.

I’m speechless, painfully reminded of the last time I was here as the memory starts to unravel
itself in my mind, even against my will. My chest feels tight when I see, at the forefront in
my mind as Sirius falls through the Veil, again and again.

Kingsley clears his throat next to me.

I blink quickly, slightly ashamed by the wetness in my eyes.

“I’ll be back in five,” Kingsley mutters, and then he turns away, closing the door behind him.

I gape at the now closed door for a second and then glance around me, surprised that he
actually left me here alone.
My eyes move over the courtroom-like benches surrounding the pit, before I walk down the
descending stone steps. As I reach the pit and the stone arch, my eyes are glued at the black
curtain.

I try to listen attentively. But there’s nothing this time. Why had I heard all those voices last
time? Was it…was it because of the piece of Voldemort’s soul inside me? I suppose I’ll never
find out.

The curtain flutters slowly in the still air.

Taking in a deep breath, I walk closer to it, until I’m right before the swaying Veil – still
keeping some distance, just in case. However, even if I can’t hear the voices, I can feel it
again; like there’s something – someone’s presence behind the curtain.

Knowing I don’t have much time, I hastily dig into my mokeskin pouch, pulling my hand up,
and…the stone.

The Resurrection Stone.

I watch silently at the small item, at its carved surface where the Deathly Hallows sign rests. I
close my eyes, turning the stone three times in my hand, knowing that it didn’t work the last
time I used it and tried to summon him, but hoping it would now.

A month ago, when I was about to walk into the forest to die, I turned the stone, and I asked
for my parents and…Sirius. But he didn’t come. The Stone brings back the dead, but it didn’t
bring back Sirius. Which can only mean Sirius is not dead yet.

I feel…somewhat moronic, standing here, in a vast chamber, in front of a stony arch, alone,
eyes closed, holding a stone. It has to work. I need it to work.

I open my eyes, squeezing the stone in my hand. I need him to be here.

…There’s nothing. There’s no one.

Only silence.

“Shit…” I mutter and try again, pressing my eyes closed and turning the stone over in my
hand, knowing that soon Kingsley will be back, and that this is very likely my only chance of
coming here.

Regret washes over me.

Why the hell didn’t I tell Regulus?! Why didn’t I speak with him, make a plan, practice the
magic we researched? Why in the bloody name of Merlin I didn’t do that?

“Aargh!” I growl as after the third try, nothing happens. “Come on, Sirius!”

I start to feel desperate. My lungs try to work hard, to breathe in air, but it gets more difficult
by the second. I start to panic. Nearly hyperventilating, my hands shaking, I try again and
again, until a scream of frustration and hopelessness is torn out of my throat, and I throw the
stone away, hoping it will disintegrate into million pieces, so that I don’t have to look at the
stupid thing ever again.

I frown. There’s no sound. Nothing clatters on the floor, there’re no cracking sounds. There’s
nothing. I blink, looking around me, looking at the Veil. The stone is not there.

But on the other side of the Veil, visible through the ripped and torn curtains...there’s
someone.

I nearly scream in surprise as a cold shiver runs down my spine. And then – I realise I know
the man standing behind the Veil, his shoulder’s hunched, the black, shaggy hair falling
loosely over his shoulders.

“ – SIRIUS!” I gasp.

I gape at him, unable to believe he’s there. My godfather, looking scruffy, looking weary,
looking like he’s about to fall apart, but – but he is there. I’m afraid to close my eyes,
because, what if this is in fact the fabrication of my disordered mind? What if he’ll be gone
the moment I open my eyes?

Sirius frowns at the floor, muttering something, shivering.

“Sirius?!” I say again, urgently, unable to move, unable to break this – this spell, or whatever
the hell it is, because I can finally see him with my own eyes.

“Don’t…” He mutters, looking pained. “…N-not…n-not r-real,” he gasps, shaking

vigorously his head.

I frown at him, bewildered. “…Sirius? What is it? I’m – I’m here,” I tell him, trying to stay
calm, trying to make sense of him. “It’s me – Harry!”

Sirius’s face distorts with pain. “N-No!” He grunts, grabbing his matted hair with his both
hands, his face disappearing behind them. There’s a raw whine echoing in the room, and only
when he screams, I realise it’s him. “I’m n-not coming!”

I stare at him in horror. “…Sirius?” I say, very quietly, my heart beating rapidly. I don’t know
what I should do, but I know I need to see him clearly, I know I need to hold him. To make
him see me, and feel me.

Stepping quickly to the side, to avoid the Veil, I’m finally facing him. I watch him in wonder;
he’s so real... As real as he was when I saw him the last time! He has to be here, and I think…
I think I somehow…I brought him back.

It must’ve been the stone…

“Sirius…?” I whisper hesitantly, and when the ragged looking man merely trembles in front
of me, his face still hidden, I slowly reach out to him.

As soon as my fingertips touch the back of his hand, Sirius lets out a loud yelp, his body
jerking violently.
I clench my jaw and proceed to take his hand into mine, pulling it down, squeezing it. “I’m
here, Sirius,” I tell him, my voice thick. His eyes are pressed tightly shut. “…I’m here, and I
came to take you back home.”

Sirius’s shoulders sag, the corners of his mouth turned downwards. “I’m so t-tired…” he
whispers. “…p-promised him…p-promised I’d stay…”

I swallow hard, my eyes stinging. “Sirius, I’m really here, I promise you. Please, come with
me,” I urge him, taking his other hand into mine, pulling it down. “I promise, this is real,” I
say, my throat constricting, begging inwardly that it is.

Because I don’t know if I can survive if it isn’t.

“Come here,” I croak, pulling him closer into a tight embrace, and Sirius gasps, leaning
heavily against me. “I promise, I’m real,” I breathe shakily against his shoulder, and feel him
stiffening, but not letting go.

“…Harry?” He whispers mutedly.

I nod quickly. “Yes! It’s Harry!” I gasp, trying to pull away, to see him finally, but Sirius lets
out a sob of anguish and squeezes me tightly against him.

“Harry!” He breathes, shaking his head. “…Harry!”

Then, he leans back, staring at me in wonder and in overwhelm. His gaze moves across my
face, taking in every detail before the grey eyes meet mine and fill with tears.

“I-I…I can’t believe it!” He wheezes, tears trickling down his cheeks. “I can’t – I –“ he
croaks, shaking his head, his eyes never leaving mine, beseeching mine. “Am I…am I alive?”
He asks, his voice weak and frightened.

I try to give him a reassuring look, but it’s been too long, and I can’t stay calm, I can’t stay
collected. “Yes, you’re alive!” I rasp. “You’re back! I have you back!” I let out shaky breath,
quickly wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

And I swear, there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, before he draws me into another hug, this
one a bit shorter. “I’m alive…” Sirius whispers with a muffled voice, before pulling back and
watching me in amazement. “But – but how?”

I shake my head slightly, not really knowing how to answer to him, and if I should be
answering to him right now. Knowing that Kingsley is due to stomp inside any moment now,
evidently much later than a mere five minutes he promised me, I give Sirius a solemn look. “I
will explain everything to you, I promise. But – we need to go soon, and – well – will you
trust me?”

Sirius looks taken aback, but then, he gives me a small nod.

“I’ll take us to Grimmauld, and I’ll explain everything to you,” I say in a calm manner, even
though I can feel myself shivering in anxiety.
Sirius watches me with a small frown, before nodding again.

“Are you hurt? Can you walk?” I ask as I remember his appearance, noticing again how weak
and thin he looks.

Sirius grunts, shaking me off. “Lead the way,” he mutters, tearing his gaze away from me.

Just as we turn towards the door, but before we can take even a step towards it, Kingsley
walks inside the chamber-like room.

“Are you ready to –” There’s a hitch in his voice. “W-What in the name of Merlin?!”
Kingsley shouts, gaping at Sirius.

I start to explain Kingsley what happened – which is somewhat difficult, when I intentionally
leave the stone unmentioned – and luckily, Sirius mentions something about hearing voices
before he walked through the Veil, that he felt someone…asking for him to come back,
Kingsley’s expression changes from suspicious to bewildered. I too feel a bit unnerved by his
words and decide to ask him about that later.

I try to make Kingsley understand how important it is that Sirius will be at home and in a safe
environment, and not prodded and poked by the Healers – a comment that earns a narrow-
eyed look from Sirius.

Kingsley hesitates. “I still think you ought to go to Mungo’s…” He mutters, watching Sirius
with a scrutinising look. “And if you think I’m satisfied by your explanation, well, you will
be deeply disappointed,” he grunts, his suspicious gaze moving from Sirius to me.

“Kings…“

“Don’t ‘Kings’ me, Potter,” he says sternly, looking stressed. “I expect you back here,
tomorrow morning, to make an official statement about this before your…public speech,” he
grunts, a hint of smugness on his features.

Kingsley then looks at Sirius. “And you will go to St Mungo’s tomorrow, understood?”

Sirius gives him a nod.

“You do realise I’m only letting you go now, because I consider you both as my friends and I
trust your words?” Kingsley asks tightly. “And it would be a shitty thing to do to neglect my
instructions, especially if it comes out that the Minister has granted his friends certain
privileges,” he continues, lifting his brows pointedly.

“What?” Sirius asks faintly, gaping at Kingsley.

I grimace. “Yeah, um. Kings is the…um…Minister for Magic,” I say to Sirius. “I’ll tell you
everything, I promise, once we get into Grimmauld Place,” I say hastily, my eyes moving
over Sirius’s frame, frame, that seems to be swaying a bit.

“Potter…?” Kingsley mutters, evidently taking note of the same thing, evidently thinking
more and more about St Mungo’s as the sane option.
“We should go,” I grunt, and proceed to pull my Invisibility Cloak from beneath my robes.

Kingsley arches a brow at me, but lets out a sigh. “Fine. Pull it on, Sirius.”

We make our way up the stone steps and I make sure to keep Sirius directly in front of me,
holding a small piece of the fabric of the Cloak between my outstretched fingers.

Kingsley escorts us to the Apparition point at the Atrium. As we walk across the dark wood
floor in the empty grand hall, and under the vibrant blue ceiling with its golden, moving
symbols, I spot the security desk and its guard; Jacob something – who apparently has started
in the post recently.

Jacob nods at us, before turning back to his task; closing the several floo gates for the night.

I turn to Kingsley, giving him a grateful look. “Thank you,” I say quietly.

Kingsley nods tightly and then says, “until tomorrow.” He then turns away, moving towards
the lifts, presumably going back to his office.

“…Ready?” I mumble under my breath.

“Yeah,” Sirius says with a soft grunt.

He takes my hand, squeezing it lightly, and then, focusing on home, focusing on the number
twelve, Grimmauld Place, I turn on the spot and disapparate with Sirius.

We apparate into the front steps of the house – even with the war over, Regulus had decided
to keep his father's security wards in place, and make it impossible to apparate inside
Grimmauld Place.

I glance behind me, in the darkness, but the street is quiet and empty. I push Sirius inside,
into the hallway, before pulling the Invisibility Cloak off of him.

Sirius looks exhausted and overwhelmed.

“Kitchen? Drawing room?” I ask from him tentatively, and as he takes a shaky step forward, I
wonder if I should help him.

“Drawing room,” he grunts, and then, another shaky step, his breathing getting laboured.

Then I remember that Kreacher is here, and the elf can help Sirius to move quite a bit faster.
“Kreacher!” I call the elf, and Sirius lets out a huff of irritation.

The elf appears at my feet with a loud crack and gives a small bow, before noticing Sirius.
The elf gapes at its old master, before slowly turning back to me. “M-Master called?”

I give the elf a nod. “Take Sirius to the drawing room to rest and then bring, um, something
to eat…?” I say, wondering if Sirius can actually eat something.
“Potions,” Sirius grunts, his eyes rolling in his head.

My eyes widen in slight dread. “Yeah! Potions! Healing Potion, Blood-Replenishing – um,
bring them all!” I say hastily to Kreacher, starting to seriously question my decision to bring
Sirius back home.

What if he has some – some, internal damage I’m not aware of… Bloody hell, I need
Hermione for this!

As Kreacher takes Sirius by his hand and disapparates, I quickly run upstairs to the second
floor, barging into the library, where I suspect Hermione is situated. But the room is empty
and dark.

“W-What…?” I mumble, walking briskly out, and making my way downstairs to the first
floor – to the drawing room.

There’s a loud shriek and a crash in my destination.

Hermione!

I run into the room, panting slightly, and see Hermione, standing in the middle of the room,
utterly amazed and stunned, gaping at Sirius as if he’s some sort of alien, a cup of tea
shattered on the carpet next to her.

“SIRIUS!” Hermione screams, her voice tight and high, and then she spots me. “Harry! H-
How in the – how is this –“ she turns back to Sirius, who is sprawled on the sofa, leaning his
head heavily against the backrest and about to pass out if something’s not done about it. “Y-
You’re a-alive?” She stammers, stumbling in her steps as she moves closer to him.

“Hermione!” I say urgently, almost running to them. “He’s hurt!” I say harshly, sitting next to
him, and right then, Kreacher apparates close to me, placing a large tray of potion vials and
bottles on the coffee table.

Hermione’s already on it, waving her wand to cast a diagnostic charm, muttering under her
breath as vapours of light smoke appear in the air, hovering over different parts of Sirius’s
body. She snatches a small vial from the table. “Drink this, Sirius,” she says, her voice
shaking.

“…It’s a modified Vitamix Potion,” she quickly adds, even though Sirius merely glances at
the vial before tossing it down. “– to ease the symptoms of severe malnourishment,” she
mutters, almost like she talks to herself. “What then – the Healing Potion, or the Blood-
Replenishing –”

“Just give him something,” I urge her, feeling panicked, my eyes locked at Sirius, who looks
about the same as before.

Hermione narrows her eyes at me. “You do realise that if he ingests these in the wrong order,
they will lose some of their healing properties?” She says pointedly, and then decides on the
Blood-Replenishing Potion, handing it to Sirius, who downs it with unsteady hands.
“Are you hurting?” Hermione asks with worry in her eyes, mixing in with her bewildered and
shocked expression.

Sirius shakes his head slightly. “I’m fine,” he breathes, looking anything but. “Just need to lie
down for a bit,” he mumbles, and moves sideways to collapse on the sofa with a small groan.

“Sirius?” I ask hastily, scrambling up and kneeling on the floor, next to his head. “Are you
really okay?” I ask, my eyes moving over his features. “Should we go to St Mungo’s –“

“I’m fine, Harry,” Sirius grunts, forcefully, keeping his eyes closed. “Just let me rest for a bit,
then I’ll be right as rain, I promise,” he mutters, and I share a deeply concerned look with
Hermione.

Hermione casts the diagnostic charms again and gives me a small frown. “They do look
better,” she says quietly, her eyes flickering to Sirius’s face. “I think we should let him rest
for a bit…and monitor his vitals.”

She stands up and takes a couple of steps towards the fireplace, glancing at me with a sharp
look.

“What is it?” I ask as soon as I’ve walked up to her. I look back at my godfather, who looks
worse for wear, but somehow, he manages to appear peaceful as he sleeps.

Hermione gapes at me. “What is it?” She hisses, throwing a meaningful look at Sirius, “What
is it?!” She repeats, looking stunned. “How the hell is he alive, Harry?!” She whispers
furiously, her eyes moving up and down my face.

I give her an incredulous look. “What do you mean? I showed you the stone yesterday, didn’t
I?” I whisper, feeling irritated. “I basically told you I’d go to him!”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “Yes, Harry, you did,” she whispers, exasperated. “I thought you
were going to – to see him! Talk to him! But…not bring him back!”

I frown at her. “Are you disappointed? That he’s back? That I managed to bring him back?” I
ask heatedly.

“Of course not!” Hermione hisses. “I’m just –” She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose,
before levelling me with a serious look. “I didn’t even think it would be possible, and –” her
voice trails off, and she gives me a suspicious look. “…Did you…did you know you’d
succeed? That you could bring him back?”

I chew the inside of my cheek and give her a sheepish look.

“Harry!” Hermione whispers, her eyes widened in shock and realisation. “You…you knew!”

I let out a weary sigh. “Yeah. I had a good suspicion that I could.”

Hermione gawks at me in disbelief. “But – but…how?” She asks, watching me closely. “How
is he alive? The stone shouldn’t be able to bring someone back to life.”
I watch Sirius and the grey-white vapor hovering over his frame. “He...um. He wasn’t dead.”
I mutter and grimace as I glance at Hermione, who takes in a sharp breath and stares at me in
utter surprise. “It’s a long story,” I continue, my gaze moving over Sirius’s face. “Regulus has
seen him, in his dreams…that have not been actual dreams. Then there’s the tapestry…”

“What about it?” Hermione asks hastily.

I turn to look at her. “Sirius’s death date is not visible. Regulus and I, we thought Sirius was
sort of... stuck in there, in the Veil - not dead but not living either.”

Hermione lets out an incredulous huff. “But…but why?” She asks, her voice tight. “Why
didn’t you tell us? Ron and me?”

I watch her features carefully, hoping that she won’t be offended. “Would you have believed
me? Or us?”

Hermione looks hurt.

“Hermione,” I mutter, giving her an apologetic look.

Hermione clears her throat and moves her focus on Sirius. “It’s fine, Harry,” she says with a
slightly higher voice. “What…what is important, is that Sirius is here, alive.” She says
shakily, still not looking at me.

“Does Regulus know? What you planned to do in the Ministry?” Hermione asks after a tense
silence.

She finally looks at me, and it is clear that me not including her in the matter of Sirius’s
circumstances is still bothering her, but at least she tries to think past that.

“No, he doesn’t,” I mutter, wondering how Regulus will react.

It’s been weeks, months even, when we’ve spoken about Sirius the last time. Regulus has
been somewhat…tense during the past month. Ever since the Prophet announced that he is
alive, Regulus’s contribution to the war has been much speculated in various issues. That,
and the fact that every time one of us leaves Grimmauld Place, there’s always a picture of it
in the next day’s paper. Because of that, and the pressure from the Wizengamot, Regulus has
been spending long days, and sometimes even nights at Hogwarts, where he, and several
other volunteers have been working on rebuilding the school and its grounds.

Hermione nods and looks at Sirius. “Sirius seems to be doing rather…well. At least
physically,” she says mutedly. “You saw the diagnostic charms; there wasn’t anything
alarming,” she adds, but then chews the inside of her cheek, glancing at me undecidedly.

I nod quickly. “Yeah, I know. What is it, then?” I ask, trying to decipher her expression.
“Why do you have that look on you?”

Hermione presses her lips together, before she speaks. “He’s probably not that well…
mentally,” she says quietly. “He was there, inside the Veil, for a long time, and…we don’t
really know what it has done to him.”
She gives me a serious look. “Sirius needs to see a Healer, Harry. Just to make sure he’s
being treated correctly.”

I swallow hard, knowing that she’s right. “Yeah, I know…he’ll go tomorrow, okay?”

Hermione nods somewhat reluctantly, her eyes at Sirius and over the pale grey puffs of
smoke that are still left and visible. “He needs to be monitored throughout the night,” she
says, gazing at him in wonder, and then turns to look at me, a small smile on her lips. “I still
can’t believe he’s back.”

There’s a long silence, during which Hermione and I take our seats next to Sirius; Hermione
in the armchair close to the sofa, and me next to Sirius’s feet, on the sofa.

“Where’s Ron?” I ask, knowing that Regulus will soon return from Hogwarts, where he left
to this morning, to work on rebuilding with the many other volunteers. However, Ron was
still here before I left to see Kingsley.

Hermione smiles tightly. “He’s with Ginny. Bill’s staying with Mrs. Weasley at Mungo’s,
Charlie had to go back to Romania for a couple of days, and Percy’s at Hogwarts.”

I let out a defeated sigh, feeling anguished. Mrs. Weasley is still at Mungo’s, put into a
magical coma until her body heals from the damage Bellatrix did to her. I feel rage storming
inside me as I think about her, and thank Merlin that Regulus was able to finish her off.

The Healers think Mrs. Weasley ought to heal completely, but that it will take time. In the
meantime, her children will have to live their daily lives and mourn for the loss of their
father, as well as hold themselves together without their mother’s help.

A moment later, I feel the wards ripple, knowing that someone has apparated outside
Grimmauld Place front door.

Regulus is home.

Both Hermione and I stiffen in our seats as we hear the soft footsteps on the stairs, and then –
of those said steps hesitating outside the drawing room before the door opens. With the sofa
back against the door, Regulus sees only Hermione and me.

“Hello, Regulus,” Hermione says brightly, springing up from her armchair. “Um,” she says,
looking at me with a hesitant expression. “Can I go tell Ron?”

I think quickly, and then nod at her. “Yeah, but no one else than him and Ginny…yet, okay?”

“Of course.”

She leaves hastily, excitement and bewilderment still on her features, and I realise that
Regulus is still standing next to the doorway, watching me with a contemplative look,
murmuring his goodbyes to Hermione. As soon as Hermione has left the room, and the door
has shut with a light click, Regulus lifts his brows at me.

“Tell about what?” He asks steadily, walking slowly towards me.

I clear my throat, and then, Regulus has circled the sofa and sees – well – he sees both Sirius
and me. “Well…this.” I croak, unhelpfully.

Regulus stands rigidly in place, completely stunned. He stares at his brother in shock, utterly
speechless, his throat bobbing as he swallows convulsively.

“S-Sirius?” He whispers mutedly, and Sirius actually stirs in his sleep.

“…Reggie…?” Sirius mumbles, his eyes still closed.

Regulus breathes out roughly, his body shaking. He collapses onto his knees, right in front of
Sirius and takes his brother's hand in his, squeezing it lightly. “Sirius…” He repeats, his voice
shaking, his eyes intently on Sirius, a stricken expression taking over his features.

There’s a small grin on Sirius’s lips. “…Told you ‘m not leavin’ you, brother…”

Regulus lets out a huff of breath, a mix of relief and exasperation, before leaning his forehead
against Sirius’s chest.

“Thank fuck.” Regulus rasps, before letting out a muffled sob.

I grin at the pair of them, feeling overwhelmed by joy and excitement. Finally, after months
and months, Regulus has his brother back. And I have my godfather back. Sirius even looks a
bit better now, with a hint of colour on his cheeks and a small smile on his lips. I feel…light.
Like finally, there’s nothing to be fixed anymore, like everything I desperately wanted has
been given to me. Like all that should be, is.

Watching at the two brothers, reunited at last, knowing what they mean to each other and
knowing what this moment means to both of them, I feel overcome by love and happiness.

And then I realise, that…perhaps they wish to be by themselves. That perhaps I should give
this moment to them, and them only. Feeling slightly left outside, I remind myself that we
will have time to talk, that I still have both wizards in my life, and even though it feels like
everything have and will change – some things will be the same.

I stand up quietly, but before I can take a step towards the door, Sirius opens his eyes and
looks at me.

“Don’t go,” he says with a hoarse voice, holding out his hand – the one not squeezing
Regulus’s – and giving me a tired but warm look. “Want my family here.”

Grimmauld Place, 21 January 1998

It’s snowing. It’s dark and cold, but I feel calm.

“Bloody hell!” Potter gasps, stumbling on his steps as he slips to the terrace.

I give him a mildly inquiring look as Potter sighs, closing the door behind him.
“Didn’t know you were here,” he mutters, watching me closely, pushing his hands into the
pockets of his jeans. “Sirius, Hermione, Ron and Ginny are in the kitchen, owling to
Remus...”

I nod slowly, wondering how Lupin will react. Even I had been completely taken by surprise
by Sirius’s presence, and I still knew my brother was alive the whole time. At least I hoped...
And how Potter had even managed to do what he did, without saying a word, without making
any of us suspicious, I do not know.

I wish I knew what Potter is thinking these days, but it seems that he has finally mastered the
ability to close his mind and embraced the impassive expression.

“How did it go?” I ask, inquiring about his day, my eyes travelling over his features.

Potter left to the Ministry early in the morning, only to return late in the afternoon, some time
after my brother and I returned back from St Mungo’s, where we spent our day watching as
numerous diagnostic charms were cast upon Sirius, while he was expected to answer to an
endless list of questions. At least my brother seems to be feeling a bit better than he was
yesterday, and on the road back to his old self – if flirting with his Healer, or making jokes
about his time in the Veil are anything to indicate such a thing.

However, I wonder what held Potter up in the Ministry and whether he was given a position
there.

Potter grunts, taking a couple of steps towards me before slumping down to the bench next to
me, facing the garden. “I suppose it was okay,” he mutters, staring ahead, a furrow drawing
itself between his eyes.

“We ought to call you Auror Potter from now on?”

Potter’s mouth twists in a mild smile, before he sobers. He lets out a deep sigh. “Auror
Trainee.”

I let out a small huff, not actually surprised by the news. “How dare they?” I say with a low
voice, giving Potter a teasing smirk.

It was expected that the Ministry would not outright hand him an Auror position – but, it is
likely they have shortened his program somewhat.

Potter gives me a half-smile. I watch him closely.

“You seem…not to be bursting from excitement, for some reason.” I point out. “Was this not
what you hoped for?”

Potter sighs. “…It was. But now, I’m not so sure,” he says quietly, watching me hesitantly.
“It’s…well, the Ministry,” he says with a small grimace. “…What if…what if I’m only in the
program because they want to use me as the face of reparations – to be their saviour?” He
continues bitterly. “That is what today was about. Speaking in front of the press, about unity,
about the Ministry, about me being proud to be one of them.”
We stay silent for a moment and I study his features, contemplating his words.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Potter,” I mutter eventually as Potter looks
away, his mouth pursing in a rigid line. “You can go back to school. Or, you can decide not
to.”

Potter hums under his breath, before fixing me a curious look. “What about you?”

What about me? I have no plans, nothing. I hadn’t presumed I would survive the first war, let
alone the second. But here I am, still young, albeit several years after my graduation. What
should I do?

“Perhaps, I will do nothing, and merely exist in this fine house of yours,” I say simply, and
Potter snorts.

“Sod off.” He grumbles, shaking his head, a grin tugging the corners of his mouth upwards.

“Sirius is looking better, after…well, what went on last night,” Potter says after a short
silence, giving me a worried look.

Ah, yes. The events from last night. When my brother woke up screaming like he had been
tortured, and then as I went to his room, he proceeded to choke me into unconsciousness.
Luckily, or perhaps, unluckily, Potter had emerged soon after, only to witness my brother
weeping over my still body.

I had been revived moments later, not overly excited to discuss the events. A fact that still
remains. I gathered that Sirius must have been dreaming while he attacked me, and I truly do
not blame him for what happened. Not after what my brother has been through, with all those
hopeless years in Azkaban, and then inside the Veil; not dead but not alive either, wasting
away.

“Reg…?”

I shake my head slightly, looking away. “He’ll be fine.” I say to the darkness, almost
inaudibly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Can I…can I do something?” Potter asks cautiously.

I turn to look at Potter, somewhat amazed by him; the boy in his muggle clothes, his wild
hair, slightly hunched posture, his brilliant green eyes. “You brought him back,” I say heavily,
glancing at the space between our fingertips on the bench, before reaching out and taking his
hand into mine. “That’s more than enough, Harry,” I murmur, moving my gaze up to meet his
eyes. “Thank you.”

Potter gazes at me, and the look in his eyes is intense, but…affectionate…and loving.

Something warm floods in my chest as I think of him, of his expression, of what he might be
feeling. And before I know it, I’m leaning towards him, leaning and desperately wanting to
be close to him, to hold him, to close the distance between our lips, to taste him, to desire
him, to relish him, to love him.
Our lips ghosting against each other, our breaths mingling, Potter whispers, “Too bad we
can’t sleep in the same bed anymore.”

I groan and press my lips against his, trying to not picture it – of Potter sleeping in my bed –
and all the moments we have wasted until now.

Suddenly, the door opens, and Potter and I jump away from each other, before my brother
steps outside, watching us with a mild surprise.

Because now, my brother is back, being none the wiser what his godson and his brother have
been up to while he has been suffering, waiting at the gates of death to be saved. Needless to
say, my brother would not pass it with a shrug.

No. He would in fact strangle me.

“Everything okay?” Sirius asks, his worried grey eyes – so much like his brother’s – sweep
past me, before he sits next to me on the bench with a small sigh. Exactly on the same spot
where Regulus sat mere moments ago.

I give my godfather a small grin and a firm nod. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

Sirius smiles warmly, throwing an arm over my shoulders. “You don’t know how good it is to
be back…” He mutters, gazing into the darkness, his expression sobering.

I watch him, watch his features, knowing that those said features were once very different,
very handsome. I wonder what Sirius would’ve looked like, if his life had been different…if
he had never met my father. Would there have been a permanent emptiness, deep in his eyes,
or those hard lines of worry and torment edged all over his features? Would his eyes have
been shining with glee, instead of only a fragment of what I know they once were? Would he
have been full of life, carefree and happy?

I feel anguished by the thought of him suffering so many years of his life. I feel helpless, I
feel sick by the thought of him wasting away in a cell, surrounded by Dementors, for twelve
years – only to escape to a life of a fugitive, and then…something even worse than Azkaban.

“Don’t, Harry,” Sirius says softly, pulling me closer, seeming to know exactly what I’m
thinking. “I’m here now. I’m not going away anymore.”

There’s a lump in my throat and I try to swallow past it, my voice thick as I speak. “I’m so
fucking happy I have you back, Sirius,” I whisper, blinking hard, and Sirius snorts.

“…And clearly, you and Reggie both are in a desperate need of an adult to show you how to
behave,” he quips, squeezing me.

I smirk. “Oh yeah?” I say, huffing out a faint laugh. “Let me know when you find one…”

Sirius sniggers. “The cheek of you!” He says, with a mockingly shocked voice.
We stay outside for a while and just…be in silence, both immersed in our thoughts.
Eventually, we decide to return back inside – Hermione, Ron and Ginny had sent the owl to
Remus, asking him to stop by and conveniently leaving out the small, minuscule thing of
Sirius’s return from their letter.

I chuckle inwardly as we walk upstairs to the drawing room, trying to picture the surprise on
Lupin’s face.

At the drawing room door, Sirius takes a calming breath and winks at me, before opening the
door.

Regulus and Remus are there, sitting opposite to each other, each in an armchair. I assume
my friends have stayed in the kitchen.

Both men turn their heads towards the door as Sirius steps inside, a wide smile on his face.

Remus gapes at Sirius as if he’s seen a ghost.

“…P-Pads…? Remus breathes in shock, stumbling up from his chair.

Sirius bites his lip, grinning at his best friend. “The one and only, Moony!” He says, opening
his arms wide.

Remus stares at Sirius for a second and then lets out a desperate voice, something between a
gasp and a sob. “Sirius!” He wheezes, and as Remus runs to his friend, more or less weeping
in joy and amazement, Sirius meets him halfway, embracing him in a tight hug.

I smile at the two grown-up men, clinging to each other, both shaking, both laughing, both
crying...

I feel my chest ache for Lupin, who, between sobs of anguish, tells his best friend that his
wife – the love of his life – is dead, tells without hope in his voice, that he’s left alone with a
son and a memory of her.

And Sirius is taken aback, quite stricken, really, but he holds his friend tighter, telling him
that he’s not alone anymore, that he will be there for him, that all of us will be there for him
and his son.

After a while, Sirius and Remus move back to the seating area, and I watch them for a
moment, smiling as Remus proceeds to show a picture of his son, Edward. Sirius’s eyes are
glinting with excitement and joy again, like they were when he was younger. Even Regulus
looks to be at ease, enjoying the company.

Quietly, I step away from the doorframe and move back to the kitchen, deciding to let Sirius,
Regulus and Remus to catch up.

I push the kitchen door open, finding Ron, Ginny and Hermione there, sitting at the long,
worn out table in the dimly lit room.

“Hey, guys,” I mutter, slumping next to Ginny, opposite to Hermione and Ron.
Hermione smiles widely at me. “Well?” She asks excitedly, pushing a bottle of Butterbeer
towards me.

I huff lightly, a smile spreading to my lips as I take the drink from her. “Everything’s like it
should be.”

Ginny smirks at me. “Except the matter that you and Regulus haven’t told Sirius yet,” she
says simply, exactly the same time as I draw a swig from the Butterbeer, and naturally end up
spluttering and coughing while warmth spreads on my cheeks.

I put the bottle on the table and stare at her in disbelief, before turning to give Ron and
Hermione an accusing look.

“Relax, Harry,” Ginny says, an eyeroll in her voice. “I figured it out a while ago…” She says
with a shrug, sipping her own Butterbeer. “It’s kinda hot, actually…” She says, squinting at
me, as if assessing me.

The red colour on my skin deepens. “T-Thanks. I guess,” I croak and look quickly away,
busying myself with the bottle between my fingers.

Ron gives his sister an incredulous look, before shaking his head at me, wordlessly saying
‘girls’.

“Let’s not…um. Mention it to anyone. Yet.” I say, glancing nervously at Ginny.

Ginny shrugs. “Don’t look at me, I’m not the one who’s unable to keep secrets in our family,”
she says, giving an arched brow at Ron. “I mean, if I hadn’t known already, I’d definitely let
you blame Ron now…”

“Oi!” Ron says, narrowing his eyes at Ginny. “If I were you, I’d be more careful what I said
and when – especially if you want me to be nice to Neville – “

Hermione actually rolls her eyes, letting out a frustrated groan.

“Neville?” I ask, bewildered.

Ron growls something under his breath.

Hermione ignores Ron and gives me a slightly demeaning look, as if asking where the hell
I’ve been for the last five years. “Neville and Ginny are dating.” She says with a smile,
before turning to look at Ron. “And you’ve always been nice to him, Ronald, and will
continue to do so, regardless if he dates your sister.”

Ginny stifles a laugh, winking at me as Ron looks back at Hermione, his lips pursed into a
rigid line…but, a somewhat sheepish look in his eyes.

“How’s your mum?” I ask from Ron and Ginny, hoping that she’s better, that she will soon
return back to the Burrow, which is too silent without Mrs. Weasley there, ordering everyone
about.
Ginny’s expression is slightly strained. “She’s…better, I suppose. They’re talking about
laying off the magically induced coma, to see if she’s ready to wake up yet…” She says,
looking anxious. “I’m going there, tomorrow. Bill’s barely been home during the past week –
before Charlie left, they kind of…took turns,” she says with a half-shrug.

“What about Percy?” I ask, tentatively, not really knowing what the situation is with him and
the rest of his siblings.

Ron looks somewhat displeased. “He’s okay, I suppose…blaming himself for what happened
to…to…”

He doesn’t finish, but we all know what was left unsaid. Mr. Weasley.

“Percy’s been home a couple of times – I suppose every time the Headmistress has ordered
him to take a break,” Ginny says wryly. “He’ll be at Mungo’s tomorrow, though.”

I nod at her. “Wanna stay the night? I can ask Kreacher to make you a room,” I tell her,
knowing that even if she could just floo here in the morning and travel to Mungo’s, perhaps it
couldn’t hurt to be with friends and family, especially before what they will have to go
through tomorrow with Mrs. Weasley.

Ginny gives me a grateful smile. “I’d love to.”

“Ginny can stay with me,” Hermione says, ignoring Ron’s gasp of protest.

I’m secretly glad, since, well, if I can’t spend the night next to someone, why would the
others be allowed to?

Ginny grins at Hermione. “I see a slumber party happening…” she says, and then her eyes
widen slightly in excitement. “We should have some wine!”

Hermione purses her lips at Ginny, while Ron splutters. “You’re not even of age yet, Gin!”

Ginny sniggers at her brother. “What of it?”

The girls don’t end up having a wine-induced slumber party – and instead, we spend the rest
of the night in the kitchen, eating snacks and talking about everything but not the war, until it
is nearly midnight.

As we drag ourselves upstairs, we bump into Regulus on the first floor.

“Night,” Ron mutters to Regulus, Hermione and Ginny, continuing his way upstairs to the
second-floor bedroom, where we both have stayed before, and where I spent the last night
alone.

Regulus nods at Ron, and then at Hermione and Ginny, who retreat to the bedroom on the
first floor. Ginny gives us a knowing look before shutting the door behind her.

“Going to bed?” Regulus asks quietly, staying within a polite distance, even though his eyes
sweep over me somewhat longingly.
“Yeah.” I glance at the drawing room, which door is slightly ajar. Sirius and Lupin are
visible, still at the seating area, deep in conversation. “You?” I ask, and watch him carefully.

“Yes.” Regulus says, and then clears his throat, glancing at the stairs. “After you,” he says,
inclining his head.

I give an awkward, jerky nod, before moving towards the stairs. We walk in silence, Regulus
right behind me, until we reach the second floor. I stop next to the bedroom door.

“So.”

“Yes.”

“Um.”

Regulus’s brows twitch, a dark look in his eyes, and then, time slows down as he takes a step
towards me, places a hand against the line of my jaw and leans in for a soft, lingering kiss.

For a moment, I can only appreciate the pliable lips against mine, the faint press, the way he
makes my lips tingle, before I feel the urge to take more, to feel more, to make this longer.

It’s over too soon, before it properly started, and then I’m watching him walking away from
me, taking the stairs up towards his room as I’m left in the hallway, out of breath and hoping
for more.

Dorset, 5 March 1998

Thursday afternoons are spent at my cousin’s cottage these days, by having tea and taking
occasional strolls over the vast garden surrounding the house, if the weather permits so.

Not long after my brother came back, Lupin agreed to stay with Andromeda, so that my
cousin could help him raise his son. The werewolf was offered a position of a Quill Control
and Rune Translation clerk in the Minister for Magic Support Staff, which he eventually
accepted, after Andromeda insisted, more than once, that she would be delighted to take care
of Edward during his working hours. There was also my brother, who might’ve threatened to
personally kick Lupin’s arse to the Ministry if he heard his friend speak one more time about
putting a burden on anyone.

I walk with Lupin in silence and watch my brother and my cousin, who pushes forward a
stroller some distance away. Occasionally, Sirius leans closer to see if Edward is still asleep.
Occasionally, his hand hovers politely behind the small of Andromeda’s back.

“Have you spoken with him yet?” Lupin asks quietly, eyeing me from the corner of his eye.

I walk forward, staying silent for a moment. “No.” I should, probably. I should tell my
brother what has happened between his godson and brother, should tell him that every night
he doesn’t stay at Grimmauld Place – which are not nearly as many nights as I’d hope –
Potter spends the night in my room, tangled in my sheets.
Lupin lets out a contemplative sound and then moves his focus on my brother and cousin.

I look at the werewolf’s features for a moment. It is clear that everything that has happened to
him lately; getting my brother back, starting a new job, having people around him to help him
to live his life, have done a lot. Lupin looks younger and healthier I’ve seen him in a long
time, reminding me about the young man I knew in my Hogwarts years.

My cousin told me, only some weeks ago, how unwell Lupin had been before and after the
first full moon after the battle – after losing his wife. Lupin had been unable to bring himself
to rise out of bed in the morning, not to even mention taking care of his son. And then, she
told me, how different it had been the next month, when Sirius had been there the whole
time, making sure to fulfil his promise. Making sure Lupin would never be alone anymore, in
wolf-form and not.

“He might not take it as badly as you think,” Lupin mutters, grimacing at the words,
evidently aware how surreal and overly optimistic they sound.

We stay silent for the rest of our walk, until we return to the house.

“How are you enjoying your new celebrity status, dear cousin?” Andromeda asks as she
summons a tray with four cups of tea to the light-coloured sitting room, exchanging an
amused look with Sirius, who sits next to me on the large sofa.

I’m beginning to think whether I should’ve taken Lupin’s offer to give his son a bath–
something he tried to ineffectively claim to be one of the tasks performed by one’s godfather.

A subject I’m equally as taken aback as I am thrilled of. Being Edward’s godfather, that is.

I give my cousin a blank look. “I’m afraid I do not follow.”

Of course I know what she has meant by her comment. The fact doesn’t escape me, as
everywhere I go in the Wizarding Britain, somehow, everyone recognises me – everyone.

It began last month, after the Wizengamot hearing I attended, in which my name was cleared
with the announcement regarding my actions during the past year or so; how they were a
crucial part of winning the war against the Dark Lord. Naturally, such result would have not
been decided, if several members of the Order, and the Minister himself had not been
speaking on my behalf.

After the hearing became public, it seemed that everyone was discussing it – as well as my
appearance and my existence in general – everywhere I went. It didn’t really help that most
times, I was, and still am, accompanied by the rest of the war heroes; Potter, Hermione and
Ronald.

It was…manageable, for a handful of days, at least. Until the issue of the Witch Weekly was
published, and with it, an article I had nothing to do with – except it was a ten-page story
about my life, including several pictures, some from twenty years ago, and some from the
past three months.
The reporters had me painted as a suffering war hero, desperately seeking acceptance, as well
as seeking someone to help me heal and move on from the horrors the two wars have left in
my heart and soul.

Or something like that.

Sirius snorts quietly next to me, shaking his head slightly.

My brother, who – after the announcement of his innocence had been issued by the Ministry
– cowardly decided to remain in his Animagus form when stepping into any public wizarding
area. He wasn’t even required to attend to his Wizengamot session, and what was written of
him afterwards, was not even close to what happened after my hearing.

Potter, on the other hand, is mentioned in every issue of every magazine and paper, along
with occasional posts about Hermione and Ronald. Several photographers have irritably
taken a habit of lurking along Potter’s route to work, either making him late from his training
as he tries to take a detour to Whitehall, or causing him to grit his teeth the next morning
when his picture appears in the day’s paper.

“I am quite comfortable visiting only the houses connected to Grimmauld Place, until my
fame subsides,” I tell my cousin, a hint of a sneer on my lips.

Andromeda looks slightly amused, even though her expression stays blank.

Naturally, there are only two houses that are connected to Grimmauld Place; Andromeda’s
cottage and the Burrow.

I trace the handle of my cup with my fingertips, eyeing my cousin studiously. “Have you
been in contact with your sister?” I ask airily, expecting her to say no, and merely trying to
provoke her.

I doubt that the two sisters will ever be close, with or without a Dark Lord, as they never
were.

Andromeda gives me a scrutinising look. “Have you?” She asks, her voice low. “I heard
rumours what she did to you.”

Sirius’s jaw tightens next to me. I lift my brows slightly in acknowledgement. “She
apologised.”

My brother scoffs loudly, but doesn’t say anything. The topic has been thoroughly discussed
already. Narcissa is currently in Azkaban, serving her sentence. Considering what she did
during the final battle for our benefit, and the fact that I am in one piece, I asked my brother
to not seek revenge on my behalf, and leave the matter be.

Andromeda eyes me closely for a moment, before she clears her throat. “As a matter of fact,
my sister has contacted me recently,” she says, her blank look moving between my brother
and me.

“Oh?” Sirius asks curiously. “What’d she want?”

Andromeda arches a brow at him. “That shall remain between me and her,” she says tightly
and then continues, her eyes moving to meet mine. “She did leave a note to Regulus,
however.”

I lift my brows in question as my brother gives me an incredulous look.

“I haven’t read it.” Andromeda says indifferently.

I watch her closely, and it is apparent the reason for that is not due the lack of effort. Still, I
am quite certain she has merely tried to search it for harmful magic.

“Why would she write to you here?” My brother asks sharply from me, his eyes flashing with
infuriation. “Why not Grimmauld Place?”

Why indeed? Perhaps, Narcissa knew how my brother would react. I give Sirius a mild shrug
as Andromeda proceeds to explain that the note in question remains in her study, which I am
allowed to use for the purpose of reading it.

I make my excuses, quite happy to escape my brother’s accusing stare, take the stairs up to
the first floor and enter the room to the right – Andromeda’s study.

The room is not as large as the one at Grimmauld Place, but a bit more inviting; there’s a
calming view to the garden, with dark grey, heavy curtains framing the large windows and a
thick, white rug on the floor. I make my way to the small writing desk, where nothing but a
single letter is placed upon, with my initials on top of it.

R.A.B.

I sit down in the armchair behind the desk and bring my hand up, moving it slowly across the
air, over the parchment.

There’s magic – some sort of spell, protecting the letter. I frown at the letter, wondering why
would Narcissa send me a letter in the first place, and put the effort of protecting it with
magic. I wonder if she has done it while in Azkaban, which is not impossible, but
improbable.

A moment later, I recognise the spell, and can finally open the letter.

It’s not what I expected. I read the parchment twice, my brows rising slightly.

I can almost hear it; my brother’s laughter and Andromeda’s. I remember it clearly; a warm,
summer day, at the Black cottage in Truro, Cornwall. My brother and Andromeda, sneaking
behind our backs, sniggering, both acting like children, even though my cousin was going to
start her sixth year the following September, while Sirius would be stepping into the
Hogwarts Express for the first time.

I remember Narcissa, always scowling at them, disapproving their amusements, telling me

how her sister was to behave herself, as she was soon to be betrothed to someone. Always
leaving it open, even though we both knew our parents had been discussing it; marrying off
Sirius and Andromeda. Perhaps Narcissa knew it wasn’t going to happen. Perhaps she knew
who had attracted her sister’s attention.

I remember long walks in the orchards, calm days spent at the cottage. I remember feeling…
content.

And I remember feeling safe. Which is why, my cousin found me there, more or less
unconscious, many years later, the day after I took my mark.

Kreacher had been there as well, taking care of me. It had been possibly the worst experience
of my life, so far. I had murdered an innocent, tortured many, and finally, I had been branded
with the most appalling mark. And taking it was unbearable. It was torture, worse than the
Cruciatus Curse. I was weakened, and sought a place where I could be weak, where I could
break down. Not Grimmauld Place, certainly not in front of my parents.

No, it had to be someplace I could be in peace, and where no one would think to look for me.

Narcissa did. She visited me, the next morning. Asking if I regretted it. Naturally, I told her
no. She left soon afterwards and it was never discussed.

Except now, it seems. She has given me the cottage, which she had inherited after I killed her
sister.

I stare at the letter for a long while, reading the words of apology, of sincerity, before folding
the parchment and slipping it into the pocket of my robes.

I’m about to return back to the sitting room, but find Lupin at the doorway, holding Edward
in his arms. I glance inside the room, where my brother and my cousin are still situated,
unaware that there is an audience.

My cousin is weeping silently, while my brother holds her, patting her on her back.

Lupin turns around, gives me a grim look, and then inclines his head towards one of the
rooms; the guest bedroom on the ground floor. I follow him quietly into the room, and see
that it has been enlarged into a convenient-sized suite, in order to inhabit Lupin and his son.

I watch as Lupin puts Edward down to his crib, pushing his curled, blue hair away from his
brow. I watch, transfixed, as he leans down to kiss his son’s forehead, before tucking him in
bed.

“I haven’t really seen her like that, before. Not even…not even when the news about Ted
came,” Lupin murmurs, leaning against the crib, his now reddened eyes at Edward, blinking
hard.

I’m not surprised. My cousin and I learned at a very young age to keep our feelings to
ourselves, as showing them to the others could be seen as a weakness in a person’s character
– at least, according to our parents. At the same time, I’m equally unsurprised that my cousin
has let herself fall apart in my brother’s company. Sirius never acted the way I did, or the way
that was expected – he always defied our parents’ beliefs. Furthermore, Andromeda and
Sirius were once very close, sharing many thoughts and characteristics, which were quite
different from the rest of the family.

Lupin takes in a deep breath and speaks after a moment. “It’s good to have him back,” he
says quietly. “He’s done so much, been there for us, that I can’t even think how we survived
without him…” Lupin mutters, turning to look at me.

“We didn’t.” I say simply. Not really. From the moment I lost my brother, part of me became
empty. And perhaps I was able to fill it with the quest to find the Horcruxes, or with the
mission to destroy the Dark Lord, but as soon as he was gone, as soon as the final battle
ended, I felt it; the emptiness, more vividly than I had ever felt before.

And then, Potter brought him back to me…and I became whole again.

“Yeah,” Lupin murmurs, a rueful smile on his lips. “Still, sometimes I wonder, why…” He
says, voice trailing off. The man grimaces, and shakes his head slightly.

I give him a searching look, seeing through the torment and anguish, the longing and
loneliness. “…Why Sirius and not Dora?” I ask quietly, and Lupin’s jaw tightens as he looks
away.

“Yes.” He whispers, looking regretful.

After a short silence, the door opens. We both turn to look at my brother at the doorway.

Sirius’s eyes move between Lupin, me, and the crib. “What’re you two moping around in
here?” Sirius asks quietly, a small frown forming between his brows.

Lupin gives him a tired smile and walks up to him. “Nothing, Padfood,” he says lightly,
patting my brother on his shoulder before leaving the room.

The Burrow, 5 March 1998

“Bloody fuck!” I yell in surprise, spinning around and burying my face into my palms.

“H-Harry!” Hermione shrieks. “Oh, Merlin! No. No, no, no…”

There’s a loud thump, and then, “what the –”

“ – What are you doing?!” I yell with a high-pitched voice, trying to force the images away
from my mind, while hoping that the fireplace will swallow me.

“What do you think, mate?!” Ron growls menacingly.

“It’s Thursday!” I hiss, to my defence.

Silence.

Then, “shit.” Ron mutters.

“I’m – I’m – gonna, um – wait outside,” I croak, decidedly keeping my eyes as closed as
possible as I stumble through the Burrow sitting room, ending up in the kitchen without
tripping down, before throwing myself hastily outside.

A great shudder wracks through me. I’ve just seen my best friends…shagging.

I feel slightly nauseated, and somehow…dirty.

The door opens moments later. Ron clears his throat behind me. “So…Is there any way we
could, um…forget that…that happened…?” He asks, a grimace in his voice.

I turn to give him a pained look. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have come!”

Ron nods hastily. “Yeah, I know. We must’ve –” he mutters, waving his hand towards the
house, “got the dates mixed,” he says, giving me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, mate.”

Hermione joins us after a while, and at first, it is somewhat uncomfortable to look at each
other in the eye, but as we go back inside and Ron starts to read Ginny’s latest letter, the
incident is quickly forgotten.

“...She did what?” I ask in disbelief as Ron reads how Ginny and Charlie had gone to see a
local Quidditch match, and after the match, she’d had the nerve to ask one of the players if
she could try their broom. And they’d bloody well agreed!

Hermione smiles as she busies herself in the kitchen, making us tea, while Ron reads the rest
of the letter, giving Mrs. Weasley’s best to all of us.

Mrs. Weasley was fully recovered over a month ago. Then, as she returned home and saw
that everything there reminded her of her late husband, she decided to visit Charlie, who had
to return back to Romania for good, and took Ginny with her.

And Ginny could’ve stayed here, with Bill, Percy, the twins and Ron to look after her, but
even with knowing that she wouldn’t be seeing her friends or boyfriend in months, Ginny
agreed to go with her mother. She told Ron, Hermione and me that she needed a change of a
scenery, and with Hogwarts still under restoration, she didn’t need to be in Britain. She told
us that what she needed, was to start healing, somewhere that didn’t remind her of what she
had lost.

That left the Burrow empty for a while; the twins have their own apartment upstairs to their
shop; Percy decided to stay at Hogwarts, and Bill apparently got a place with Fleur. Ron
thought of it for a while, even spoke to me about it, before he asked Hermione to move in and
to ‘watch the house’ with him.

I smirk inwardly, as both of them are still acting like they’re not actually living together, but
merely ‘watching the house’, until Mrs. Weasley and Ginny will return.

“Have you thought about going back to school?” Hermione asks after flicking her wand and
levitating three teacups and a tray of sandwiches on the table.
Ron groans quietly. “It’s only the beginning of March, ‘Mione!” he says with exasperation.
“And now that Perce’s gonna be teaching there…I dunno if I wanna go back…” He says and
gives me a grimace.

Percy wrote to Ron the other week, informing that he had been offered a teaching position at
Hogwarts, as the new Transfigurations Professor – which he had accepted.

“But,” Ron adds after glancing at her stern expression. “I suppose I’ll go if you go…?”

Hermione narrows her eyes at him. “You should go for yourself, and your education, for your
future,” she says firmly.

Ron arches a brow at her. “I have a feeling that our school grades don’t really matter,
whatever we’ll do after school,” he mutters, before munching down a sandwich in two bites.

Hermione purses her lips, but we all know Ron’s right. They’ve both been offered junior
level positions in the Ministry. And even my Auror Trainee programme was shortened to one
year, instead of three.

“Well, I’m not going,” I mutter, taking a sip of my tea. “Training lasts until the end of this
year, and then…I suppose I’ll join the Aurors,” I say with a small shrug.

Hermione gives me a studying look. “Is that what you really want, Harry?”

I think about it – I’ve been thinking about it quite a lot – and nod at her. “Yeah. I wanna be an
Auror.”

The training has been both brutal and very tiresome so far. Some days there are ten hours of
nothing but combat training, duelling and practicing hexes and jinxes and their counter-
curses. Other days are dedicated to brewing different potions, recognising various poisons as
well as learning how to track and how to be stealthy. And then there are days that are spent in
the office, my nose attached to a book.

And I wouldn’t trade it away for anything.

Grimmauld Place, 6 March 1998

Everyone – who could make it, at least – has gathered at Grimmauld Place for Remus’s
birthday party, held some days before the actual date, as the full moon will be too close to it.

Hermione and Andromeda have prepared a large cake, while Sirius and the twins went
somewhat overboard with decorations; making the house unrecognisable with bright coloured
banners hanging in every corner, with bunches of balloons placed here and there, all with
either ‘Happy’ or ‘Birthday’ inscribed in them, and with fairy-lights flickering in every dark
spot. There’re even golden confetti flickering down from the ceiling that disappears before
hitting anyone, and not making a mess.

“Impressive,” Regulus mutters behind me, his eyes surveying the room.
I glance at him, and then my eyes drop downwards, and I grin widely. “Hey, Teddy,” I greet
the baby in Regulus’s arms, who, I think, has recognised me.

Teddy watches me calmly, his tuft of hair flickering from brown to a black one. I smirk at
Regulus, who narrows his eyes at me.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” he says darkly.

I let out a quiet snort. Ever since Teddy was a month old, he’s been giving some form of
reaction when seeing me.

I lift my hands up in surrender. “Just saying…” I mutter, giving him a pointed look.

Regulus scowls at me half-heartedly, knowing fully well that this whole thing is me taking
the piss out of him – something I’ve been doing for several weeks, whenever we are in
Remus’s and Teddy’s company.

It started after Remus told me that they – Tonks and him – had been thinking of whom to ask
to be Teddy’s godfather; Regulus or me. And even though Remus had said that it had been
Tonks’s idea to ask me, he and I both agreed it should be Regulus. He’s much closer to
Remus and was closer to Tonks than I was.

So, Remus asked Regulus to be Teddy’s godfather, and here he is now, holding his godson,
protectively and carefully, all the while trying so hard to look indifferent.

“You seem to be pretty good with babies,” I tell him, teasingly.

Regulus arches a brow at me. “A baby.” He corrects, and his eyes are fixated at the seating
area, where a burst of laughter is erupted.

Sirius, laughing with Remus, and…Andromeda.

I frown at the group. “I think I’ve never heard her laugh before,” I murmur to Regulus. “She
sounds like – like Tonks.”

Regulus’s smile becomes strained. “Sirius…” He mutters, watching his brother with a
contemplative look.

“Hmm?” I ask curiously.

“My brother and my cousin…they were close when they were younger,” Regulus says,
moving his focus back to me.

I frown at him. “Close? Like…close?” I ask quietly, taking a step towards him.

Regulus’s lips twitch as he glances at his brother again. “He certainly wished,” he says,
almost silently, before clearing his throat and looking at me. “I believe they were merely
close friends, due to their similar beliefs and experiences.”
“Weren’t you at Hogwarts at the same time?” I ask him, trying to remember if Sirius or
Regulus ever mentioned it.

Regulus eyes his brother and cousin with a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Yes. When I started
at Hogwarts, Sirius went to his second year, and Andromeda to her last. I believe she got
together with her late husband during her last year.”

“Was she disowned then?” I ask, glancing too at the group on the other side of the room.

Regulus huffs lightly. “For dating a Muggle-born?” He asks, arching a brow at me. “Unlikely.
However, the said Muggle-born did manage to impregnate her during their final school year,
which was not taken as lightly.”

“Oh.” I breathe, looking at Andromeda. So…Tonks had been born right after Andromeda had
graduated, and because of that, she had been disowned by her family. But Sirius had still seen
her. I remember him telling me once that Andromeda was his favourite cousin. He must’ve
continued seeing her and her family, even after she was disowned. I mention this to Regulus,
and he nods in agreement.

“He did. I spoke rarely to my brother after he…left home –“ Regulus says, a small frown
between his brows. “– but I presume he kept seeing her until…”

“Until he was taken to Azkaban,” I continue, and Regulus gives me a small nod.

I look at him, trying to picture him and Sirius at Hogwarts, craving to hear the stories what it
had been like for them, wanting to know more. I wonder how close the two brothers had been
before they had started at Hogwarts. I wonder, had they still spent time together before Sirius
had run off from home, regardless of belonging to different houses…Had Regulus had other
friends besides Snape? Had they all been future Death Eaters? Had he dated anyone?

I stare at him, somewhat struck by the look in his eyes, which feels even more intense when
I'm standing closer to him. I let my gaze move over his face, taking in all the details; the
angular and sharp features; the deep, dark grey eyes, framed by thick, black eyelashes; and
smooth lips that I long to feel against mine.

“Potter…” Regulus says warningly.

I blink at him. “Hmm?”

Regulus gives me a tight look. “We are in company,” He says with a low voice.

Both of us move to look ahead as Fred and George approach us a second later.

“If it isn’t the lovebirds,” George says with a quiet voice to his brother, his eyes twinkling
mischievously.

“George,” I grit through my teeth, looking quickly around, praying that no one has heard.

Fred sniggers, clapping me on my shoulder. “Not to worry, Harry, we only came to say
goodnight,” he says with a wink. “Business calls early in the morning.”
The brothers say goodnight to us and Teddy, before turning away, towards the fireplace.

Fred turns around in the middle of the room, gathering everyone’s eye. “Oh, and our dear
brother wanted to give you a handy trick of closing one’s floo – something he himself hasn’t
yet maste– OUCH!” Fred yelps in mid-sentence as Ron sends a jet of red sparks that hit Fred
straight on his backside.

There’s laughter, Ron’s face is completely red, and the twins disappear through the fireplace.

Regulus gives me a strange look, before turning his focus on Teddy. “I think this one is ready
to turn in.”

I look at Teddy, who is indeed peacefully sleeping, even with the commotion in the room.

“I agree.” Andromeda voices close to us, her sharp look – knowing look – moving over my
face, before she turns it to her cousin.

I feel slightly flustered, instantly wondering how long she has stood there; what she has heard
and seen…

Regulus hands Teddy to Andromeda, their eyes locked, watching the other expressionlessly.
Andromeda then gives Regulus and me a smile, before saying good night and walking up to
Lupin.

Lupin embraces his son, before letting Andromeda to leave with the infant towards her home.
He then sits down with Sirius, and they exchange some words, before Sirius glances at us.
There’s something in his gaze that makes me feel unnerved. A second later Sirius is again
deep in discussion with Lupin.

“I should…go talk to Ron and Hermione,” I mutter to Regulus, who seems equally distracted
by his brother.

“Yes. I – we’ll talk later.” He grunts, and then walks off towards Bill, Fleur and Kingsley.

“Hey,” Potter mutters, stepping into the library. I greet him back before placing my glass of
Firewhiskey down on the table.

It must be close to two in the morning, some time after the last of the guests – Lupin – left to
his home. Andromeda took Edward home earlier in the evening, urging Lupin to stay and
enjoy his party. And so he did, I presume. He and my brother - and Potter, it seems -
proceeded to empty the liquor cabinet in the kitchen after Lupin’s other guests left.

Potter walks towards the seating area and slumps heavily down next to me, letting out a deep
sigh. He’s sitting very close to me and reeking of whiskey.

“How much did you drink?” I ask quietly, giving him a scrutinising look.

Potter shrugs, watching me with an easy smile. “Does it matter?”

I grunt in disagreement, taking my glass from the table and taking a sip. “Take some Sober-
Up before you go to sleep. Or you’ll wish you did, in the morning.”

“Spoken like someone who has regrets…” He says, arching a brow at me in question.

I let out a small huff. “Which I trust you know of, already.”

Potter watches me closely. “Not all of them,” he says pointedly.

I watch him with a studying look. “If you are now referring to any regrets related to drinking,
I have some, that mostly are about unwanted physical effects after drinking too much.”

Potter nods slowly. “And those that are not?”

I give Potter a long look. “Are you trying to find out if I have been involved with someone
and regretted it?” I ask, wondering why is he asking me such a thing. I am not my brother,
who I believe has experienced such incidents with different women.

“Yeah.” Potter says simply, giving me a searching look.

“No.” I tell him tightly, looking away, and downing my drink. “My regrets have never been
of the sort.”

There’s a short silence. “Sirius?” Potter then asks quietly.

I let out a long sigh, watching the fireplace, where the fire is almost out but the embers are
still glowing red. “Yes.”

Potter’s hand covers mine, squeezing my hand. “He’s back now.”

I give him a wry smile. “All thanks to the Saviour.”

Potter rolls his eyes, groaning. “Stop. I hate that.”

“What? Being the Chosen Boy?” I ask, stifling a smirk.

Potter’s grip in my hand tightens. “Man.” He says, scowling at me.

I arch a brow at him. “You might be of age, Potter, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you are
a man.”

Potter huffs, shaking his head. “That’s…bollocks,” he grunts, pulling away. “After all I’ve
done, I’d expect people to think of me as something else than a boy.”

“Is that what you want? To be taken seriously? To be respected? To be regarded as an adult?”
I ask, watching him closely, knowing that I haven’t given him what he wishes. I haven’t
considered him as an adult, but a boy who needs to be protected.

Potter gives me a long look. “Is that too much to ask?”

“No.” I tell him seriously. “It is not.”

Potter nods slowly, leaning closer to me. “Good,” he says, his eyes at my lips, a darkened
look in them. “Because I think I’d like to tell you, what I wished I’d do, every morning.
Sober-up or not,” he murmurs, resuming back to the start of the discussion. He gives me an
intense look, and a delightful shiver runs down my spine.

“I might have an adequate presumption,” I tell him, my voice tight.

Potter’s bright green eyes drop to my lips again, and then, he fucking licks his own.

And all of the sudden, there’s a strong urge inside me to lunge at him, to – to make him stay
in place as I devour him. A shaky breath escapes from my throat as Potter’s fingertips brush
my thigh.

“Potter…” I warn him, knowing that my brother could walk in any moment.

Potter shakes his head. “He’s sleeping. Trust me. I listened, before I came here…” He moves
his hand upwards, and fuck, I want to jump on him.

But it seems that Potter is faster, as in a swift, fluid motion, he’s halfway over my lap, his leg
between mine, his thigh pressing against my cock, while his lips capture mine in a searing
kiss.

A stuttering gasp leaves my throat as Potter pulls back slightly, only to change the angle and
press his lips once more against mine.

We kiss, passionately, our gasps and groans and the wet noises from our lips sucking each
other filling the silence in the room. My fingers tangle into Potter’s messy hair, tugging it
lightly, drawing out grunts from him, making him shiver, making him writhe and push
himself against me, his hips eagerly grinding against mine.

“Fuck, Potter –” I groan as a delicious mix of excitement and desire crashes over me.

Potter nods quickly, his lips moving lower, until they latch on to my neck; kissing, sucking,
licking. “Y-Yeah. Yeah. We should do that.”

I’m momentarily breathless, as if Potter has punched me in the stomach, but instead, my
insides are filled by another wave of heat and desire and…inexplicable need to have him, to
touch him, to ravish him…

I let out another groan, my head dropping to the backrest of the sofa as Potter continues his
ministrations; kissing and sucking my neck in the most feverish manner, while his hips keep
rolling unsteadily against mine.

Then, I see something in the corner of my eye – movement. I turn to glance towards the door
to the library and jerk violently, causing Potter to dislodge himself from my lap and fall to the
floor with a sharp grunt and a loud thud, but I can’t let myself to look back at Potter, to
apologise him, since all I can see is a pair of furious grey eyes, in a face which expression can
only be described as outrage.
“ – What th– “ Potter mutters, glancing up at me, but I can’t hear the rest of Potter’s
complaints, as his words drown under my brother’s scream of rage.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING IN HERE?!” Sirius bellows, still standing rigidly at
the doorway, panting slightly.

There’s a shocked silence as both Potter and I gape at my brother.

Sirius shakes his head, staring at us with an unbelieving look, as if trying to figure out if his
eyes have betrayed him. A moment later, he seems to come to the conclusion that yes, what
he saw, happened, as he continues with a growl, “One of you fucking better explain. Right
now!”

Potter stands up slowly from the floor, looking horrified, and at the same time – I cringe as I
realise it – utterly debauched. He trails a shaky hand through his messy hair that stands out
even more than usual and swallows convulsively, evidently trying to figure out what to say.
Potter gives me a helpless look and then turns his shocked gaze back to my brother.

And my brother, on the other hand, is now shaking, looking like he’s on the verge of losing
his composure. Knowing how this could end, I quickly clear my throat and stand up,
surreptitiously smoothing down my rumpled robes as move towards him.

“Sirius…”

Sirius’s hand twitches, and I realise that he’s holding his wand. My eyes track his fingers and
how his knuckles whiten against the wood.

“What the fuck, Reggie?!” Sirius hisses, his eyes blazing in anger. “What the fuck are you
doing with my godson?!”

Potter too takes a step towards my brother. “Sirius, I can explain – “

“ – Potter.” I grit through my teeth, hoping that the tone of my voice is enough for him to
realise to shut the fuck up.

Sirius’s eyes do not move away from me, but they are scrutinising me, searching for
something.

“Legilimens.”

“Fuck! – No – wait!” I yell, but Sirius is already delving into my mind before I have the
chance to put up any walls and push him out.

“Aaah!” I gasp in discomfort as Sirius moves brutally through a handful of memories

regarding Potter, many of which include my bedroom. I finally manage to force my brother
away, by lifting up the defences of my unsuspecting mind, and before I can even blink,
Sirius’s fist collides with my face, making waves of pain, sharp as knives, slash through my
head, making me crash to the floor on my back.
For a moment, everything is blurry before the room swims back into focus. I blink and see
Potter, stumbling towards my brother.

“Sirius STOP!” Potter yells, and what I can see through the blood splattering to my eyes from
my split brow, is that Potter is standing in front of him, holding him in place.

I push up to sit on the floor and see my brother panting, his eyes moving between Potter and
me.

“You – You – “ Sirius croaks, shaking his head slightly.

“We’re together,” Potter states hastily, his voice wavering slightly.

Sirius gapes at him.

Brilliant, Potter.

I stand up as my brother huffs out a sound that is something between incredulous and
amused. He disentangles himself from Potter’s grip, and starts to pace in front of him.

“Fucking…mad…together…my – and my – fuck –” he mumbles, glaring at us every now

and then. “I need a bloody drink for this,” he grunts, and shaking his head, he walks to the
seating area, moving firmly past the sofa and to the farthest armchair there is. He then
proceeds to summon a Firewhiskey bottle straight from the pantry downstairs, instead of
summoning Kreacher to serve him.

Sirius breathes heavily, staring at the table in front of him, clenching his jaw. Potter and I
exchange a quick, grim look as we wait for the bottle, which soon soars through the air, and
by a miracle, is still intact.

As my brother takes a long swig straight from the bottle, I murmur a quick healing charm,
and with a flick of my wand, my brow is healed. The swelling and bruising however require a
paste – something I have to retrieve later. I stand in place, waiting for my brother to speak, to
react, knowing that this is not over yet.

“Sit.” Sirius says darkly, nodding his head towards the sofa, where Potter and I were only
moments ago. “Explain.”

Potter and I take our seats, facing him, facing the expressionless face of my brother’s.

“You’re together?” He asks from Potter. “What the hell does that mean?”

Potter cringes and then clears his throat. “Um. We…um. A relationship,” Potter says faintly,
and I’m a bit surprised he has managed to say the word aloud. However, I am also proud of
him.

After all, he has just informed Sirius that his brother and godson are in a relationship.

My brother, who is known for his protectiveness and quick temper. Sirius’s expression gives
nothing away, but he stares at Potter intently, before glancing at me. “How long?”
“For a year,” I tell my brother, and Sirius’s eyes narrow slightly.

“So…you’ve lied to me, for a year?” Sirius asks threateningly.

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes at him. “What was the point?” I ask, giving him an
unimpressed expression. “Why torment you more than you were already bearing?”

“You should’ve told me,” he grunts, before taking a hefty swig from the Firewhiskey bottle.

I watch him calmly. “You know now,” I say, silently asking, what he’s going to do about it.

Sirius hums under his breath, eyeing Potter with a contemplative look. “Why my brother?”
He asks mutedly.

Potter glances at me from the corner of his eye, a strained expression on his face. “Um…”

Sirius’s gaze hardens. “You love him, then?” He asks, still an intimidating hint in his voice.

Potter huffs a shocked breath, and I stare at my brother, completely taken aback. Why the hell
would it matter?

“Well?” Sirius presses, his expression blank, but his eyes glinting dangerously.

Potter stammers incoherently for a bit, before he replies. “Y-Yes.”

I can feel my brows rising as my gaze is drawn to him. That’s…well, something, I think,
feeling dazed.

Sirius nods slowly, looking away, chewing the inside of his cheek, contemplating Potter’s
words.

“And does he love you back?” Sirius asks suddenly, his sharp eyes trained at Potter.

I give my brother the most disbelieving look I am capable of.

Potter stiffens next to me, before clearing his throat. “Y – I think so. Yeah.”

My brother fixes me a long look, and I hold his gaze, glaring at him for forcing both Potter
and me into this…unbearable uncomfortableness.

After a long moment, he nods again. “Okay. Fine.” He says simply, a scrutinising look in his
eyes.

“What?” I hiss, irritated and bewildered.

Sirius arches a brow at me, his eyes darkening. “It means fine; you can date my godson,” he
growls, and then gives me a warning look; a look that promises pain and suffering if I
somehow fuck it up.

My brother leaves after a tense silence, muttering something about our cousin, which makes
me suspect that it had been Andromeda, who had said something about Potter and me to my
brother.

“That was…the weirdest, the most terrifying discussion I’ve ever had.” Potter mutters faintly,
staring at the coffee table with a horrified look.

I let out a long breath. “Yeah.” I watch Potter, his previous words echoing in my head.

He turns to look at me, a small frown between his brows, his eyes trained at the evident
swelling above my eye. “You look like shit.”

I let out a quiet snort, a grin spreading across my face, and even though the movement makes
one side of my face sting unpleasantly, I don’t want to stop.

Grimmauld Place, 27 March 1998

I open the kitchen door and the delightful smell of breakfast instantly fills my nose. The table
is set by trays of food. Regulus is at the counter, his back to the door, in the process of
making tea – which is something he rarely does by himself, instead of asking it from
Kreacher.

A small grin spreads across my face as I take a look at him; his slightly messy hair and the
short-sleeved shirt and pyjama bottoms he’s wearing. An attire that is quite unusual for him.
I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen him in the kitchen and not wearing his pressed slacks and
oxford shirt.

It’s been too long since I’ve seen him like this; like he’s just woken up. I wonder if the last
time was two weeks ago, when Sirius was away for the full moon? The mere thought of the
night and the next morning makes pleasant waves of warmth run down my body, makes my
pulse racing.

“Quit staring, Potter,” Regulus mutters, glancing at me over his shoulder.

I give him a small smirk and walk up to him, pressing my front against his back. “Good
morning,” I murmur, taking a hold of his hips as I press a kiss against his neck.

“Good morning,” he says steadily, keeping his gaze at the teapot. “Tea?”

“Yes please,” I say, and lift a hand to trace my fingers against the marred skin on his left
forearm – where there’s still an area of fading ink, the tattoo deformed long before Voldemort
died.

Regulus lets out a weary sound, and as I look at him, I notice there’s certain tightness in his
features, which probably means that something is bothering him.

“What is it?” I ask quietly, moving to his side to lean against the counter, keeping my eyes
trained at his face.

He gives me a strained smile. “Nothing for you to worry about. Had a bad night,” he mutters,
moving his gaze away.
His knuckles are white against the dark wooden counter.

I frown at him, wondering how bad they were – his nightmares. And how regular he has
them? We both know I had them, after the war. And it did a lot, that we could talk them
through during the night as we slept next to each other. Now, we don’t.

Knowing that Sirius can walk in to the room any moment – but not really caring a bit, at least
not now – I cover his hand and pull it away from the counter, forcing him to turn towards me,
and then proceed to wrap my arms around him, enveloping him into a tight embrace.

A long sigh of relief leaves from Regulus’s lungs.

“Tell me about it,” I say against his shoulder, still holding him tightly.

I feel his stiff posture slowly relaxing. And he tells me; how his own memories had haunted
him throughout the night; memories of him killing and torturing, him serving blindly. I listen
quietly, and then remind him how he has changed, and while he can’t erase of what
happened, he has done good – and he can still continue to decide to do good and do the right
thing.

After a long silence, I slide my hands behind his neck and pull him gently to meet my lips in
a soft kiss. We kiss for a long, unhurried moment, still leaning against the counter, but
without a pressing need, knowing that there will be a time for that later.

And as expected, Sirius soon comes barging in, looking even more dishevelled than his
brother. The man grunts a greeting of sorts, not commenting at the obvious fact that his
godson and his brother had been snogging until the moment he stepped into the kitchen.
Sirius slips to sit at the table, hiding himself behind a cup of coffee and the morning’s paper.

I lift my brows slightly at Regulus, before taking a seat opposite to Sirius.

“How are you?” I ask from my godfather. I take a sip of my tea before placing the cup on the
table.

Sirius grunts behind the paper, before putting it down. He looks tired. He glances at his
brother. “I’m fine. You?” He asks, eyes moving between me and Regulus.

Both Regulus and I murmur our responses, and Sirius’s eyes linger at his brother, before he
tucks into a large plate of eggs and bacon.

As Regulus sits down next to me, Sirius gives me a searching look. “Know what day it is?”
He asks quietly.

Of course I know. However, I have the feeling it means more to my godfather than to me.
“My dad’s birthday.”

Sirius nods and then looks away, a deep frown between his brows. “Was wondering if you’d
come with me,” he says then, glancing at me. “To the cemetery.”
I lift my brows at him. “Of course!” And then I remember, that the whole village was
destroyed by Voldemort.

“What?” Sirius asks after seeing my hesitant look.

“The village. Harry saw it being destroyed.” Regulus says quietly, looking at me with an
expressionless look.

“What?!” Sirius repeats, staring at us with a horror-struck expression.

I grimace at Sirius, knowing there are many things still untold to him. “Um…you remember
when I told you about the trip to Godric’s Hollow? And how we did a narrow escape?”

Sirius arches a brow at me. “You mean the trip in which you got bitten by a snake and nearly
died?” He asks, turning his sharp look at Regulus.

Regulus’s jaw tightens and he looks away.

“It’s not his fault,” I tell Sirius with a firm voice. “I wanted to go. Hermione and I agreed
we’d go. Ron and Regulus…we pushed them into it.”

Sirius lets out an exasperated huff, shaking his head slightly. “What about the village then?
What happened there?”

I frown at the table, trying to recollect the vision I saw, during the days of my
unconsciousness. “I saw into his mind. Voldemort’s. I saw how enraged he was, after our
escape. I saw him…blowing up the village.” I mutter, grimacing at the horrified look on
Sirius’s face.

“It is possible that everything magical was left intact,” Regulus comments to the silence.

Sirius sighs wearily, looking away from us, looking older and more burdened than I’ve seen
him in a long time.

After a short silence, Sirius eyes me with an overcome and dejected look. “There’s one way
to find out, is there?”

Godric’s Hollow, 27 March 1998

As we walk through the village, I am surprised to see it less destroyed than I thought. It
seems, that the wizarding people living in it have been helping the muggle villagers; restoring
homes and shops all around the place.

Sirius and I only stop to look at the cottage – my old home. Sirius explains me that the place
is protected by spells, mostly to keep Muggles away. There’s a charm disguising the house,
so that Muggles do not see a decaying cottage, but instead a small copse of trees, and a
Muggle repelling charm to prevent them from entering. The cottage is still standing, after all
these years, with a partly blown away roof, its walls covered in ivy and the grass outside
waist-high.
It looks forgotten, but it is not. Many wizards and witches have visited the place. Many have
left messages to the memorial sign. Sirius asks if I want to go in, to see the house from inside
– apparently only I can do that, as I am the only blood-relative to James and Lily.

I don’t. Not today, at least.

We continue our way towards the cemetery, stepping through an old kissing gate and finally,
seeing rows upon rows of old tombstones. Sirius takes in a deep breath and moves forward,
evidently having been here before this day. I wonder, as we pass several headstones, how
many times has my godfather been here?

Some of the names carved into the stones catch my eye, reminding me of someone I know, or
someone I’ve heard of.

There’s spring in the air; vibrant bluebells carpet the woodland floor here and there, while
tree and flower buds surround us and the cemetery.

Sirius slows down, and finally, we’re there. Standing over my parents’ graves.

There’s heaviness in my heart, mixing up with excitement, dread, and…grief.

It’s the first time I see it, and the stone – the tombstone over my parents’ graves – has been
here, sitting in the graveyard, for sixteen years. A stone of white marble, the black words
engraved upon it clear and easy to read.

JAMES POTTER
BORN 27 MARCH 1960
DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981

LILY POTTER
BORN 30 JANUARY 1960
DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981

Seeing their names there, brings up all the feelings I’ve disregarded or tried to suppress; the
grief of losing them. The unfairness of not knowing them, even though I should have. The
anger towards Voldemort for taking them away from me, for taking away my childhood. The
jealousy towards Sirius, because he had had time with them and he had known them, like I
should have known them. And worst of all, there’s the small part of me wishing I’d died with
them.

I’m tired of asking why, why me, but at this moment, I can’t think of anything else. A tear
trickles down my face, followed by another one, and then another, until everything is blurred.
And I let them fall, I let myself cry at the loss of my parents.

There’s a hand over my shoulder, and only then I realise I’m silently weeping, that I’m
shuddering, that I’m mourning. I’m mourning for my parents whom I never knew.

Sirius says nothing, but merely stands securely next to me and holds me against him while
soothing his hand down my arm. And I’m glad for that.
 After a long moment, I take in a deep, calming breath and wipe my face against the backs of
my hands. As I put my glasses back on, I finally read the message engraved under their
names.

“’The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death’," I say quietly, speaking aloud the words
carved into the stone. “What does that mean?” I ask, weakly.

Sirius is silent for a while, before he answers. “Living after death,” he says quietly, his voice
slightly thick with emotion. I feel his eyes at the side of my face, but I can’t look back.

I stare at the message, feeling empty at the words, thinking how they are gone and unaware
that their son is standing here with his godfather, missing them, missing the life that could
have been, had they not died the way they did.

Sirius squeezes me again, before dropping his hand and taking a step closer, kneeling over
the grave.

I watch him as he stares at the names on the stone and as he lets out a long, shaky breath,
before picking up a small bluebell flower close to him.

Sirius pulls out his wand and waves it over the flower, transfiguring it into a beautiful wreath,
filled with red roses and white lilies.

“Happy birthday, Prongs,” Sirius whispers, placing the wreath against the stone. “Harry and I
are gonna be okay, mate.”

I swallow against the tightness in my throat, blinking hard as Sirius stands up after a moment
and returns to stand next to me, pulling me close once more, reminding me that we’re not
alone. That we have each other.

And I have a feeling that my godfather is right.

We’re gonna be okay.

Chapter End Notes

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