
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8470711.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Hermione_Granger/Draco_Malfoy, Various_Relationships
  Additional Tags:
      Violence, Het_and_Slash, Explicit_Language, Explicit_Sexual_Content,
      Alternate_Universe, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Canonical
      Character_Death, mentions_of_non-con_elements, Implied/Referenced_Child
      Abuse, Non-Linear_Narrative, Characters_That_Died_in_Canon_Survive
      Because_Fanfic_Magic
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-11-04 Updated: 2017-10-01 Chapters: 9/38 Words: 41850
****** Presque Toujours Pur ******
by ShayaLonnie
Summary
     Bellatrix's torture of Hermione uncovers a long-kept secret. The
     young witch learns her true origins in a story that shows the
     beginning and end of the Wizarding wars as Hermione learns about her
     biological father and the blood magic he dabbled in that will control
     her future. (Complete version is on FFN. I am uploading chapters to
     Ao3 as I edit them.)
     Beta Love: Fluffpanda, Nykizta, azuthlu
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
***** Pater *****
April 1998

Hermione sat in the first-floor drawing room of Black Manor, staring straight
ahead at the large tapestry that hung on the stone wall. It had weathered many
generations, protected by strong family magic, and all the names that were
magically embroidered in perfect calligraphy still stood out in black stitching
among the Slytherin green background.
Raised voices argued in the room next to her. The door was closed, but no
Silencing Charm had been cast; she couldn't, for the life of her, comprehend
why the people on the other side hadn't thought to do so. The sheer volume and
intensity of their shouts were liable to wake the Muggle neighbours, who were
currently unaware that a number twelve existed between numbers eleven and
thirteen, Grimmauld Place: the Ancient and Noble House of Black.
"I should have been told!" Sirius screamed. His voice was hoarse and emotional;
he had been yelling for hours and crying for days prior to the start of this
particular argument.
Hermione couldn't be sure exactly what any previous altercations consisted of,
as she had been unconscious for most of them.
She had woken up in the guest chamber adjacent to the drawing room at Grimmauld
Place, initially not realising where she was. A familiar set of worried emerald
green eyes stared back at her from within the darkened room, red-rimmed with
dark circles beneath indicating a severe lack of sleep. Harry hadn't slept well
for the majority of the year but, then again, none of them had. Constantly
being on the move and hunting for Horcruxes didn't allow for proper midday kips
and stress-induced insomnia had been detrimental to everyone's health.
"How long?" Hermione whispered.
Harry gripped her hand tightly. "Four days," he muttered softly. "Gods,
Hermione, I thought you were . . ." he said, his voice cracking as the memory
of her echoing screams floated through his mind.
She reached out, muscles weak, and lightly ruffled his permanently messy black
hair until he cracked a smile and tears flowed out in earnest, which was
actually what she had been trying to prevent knowing how Harry hated it when
people saw him get too emotional. She felt guilty for putting him in such an
emotionally fragile state. Taking care of Harry had become second nature to the
young witch who had spent six years forcing him and Ron to do their homework,
and the better part of a seventh making sure they were eating, even if it was
only wild mushrooms and the little bits of fish they were able to catch anytime
they found themselves camped near rivers and lakes.
"Did everyone else make it out?" she asked.
Harry frowned. "Dobby," he whispered.
Hermione felt a tight pain in her chest she knew to be grief. It was amazing
that she still wasn't numb to the feeling. "Oh, Harry," she said. "I'm so
sorry."
"Ron said that Bill and Fleur buried him in the garden of Shell Cottage," he
told her. "I haven't been by to visit, but Ron says it's beautiful. Bill carved
a headstone and Luna arranged flowers," he said softly. "Ollivander, Griphook,
and Dean got out safe as well."
"Why aren't wethere?" Hermione asked curiously.
Harry shrugged. "When . . . when everything happened at Malfoy Manor," he said
the word with disgust, "Dobby was taking us to Shell Cottage like I told him to
but . . . he'd been injured mid-Disapparition and we ended up separating from
him and Ron when he . . . I don't know why, but I was holding onto you and I
knew I had to take over or else we'd get splinched, so I thought of Grimmauld
Place."
They hadn't been to Number Twelve since September. Since they had accidentally
led Yaxley, who had tailed them via Apparition, to the steps of Black Manor.
Hermione managed to kick the Death Eater off and immediately Apparated herself,
Harry, and Ron elsewhere which ended with Ron splinched and their Horcrux hunt
delayed several days. Harry had sent a Patronus immediately to Sirius, telling
him that Grimmauld Place may have been compromised and to get to safety.
The teenagers had waited for three weeks before the familiar image of a large
silvery Grim wisped its way in the opening of their tent, informing them, in
Sirius's voice, that he had gotten out in time and, thanks to some clever
spell-work which he "wasn't at liberty to discuss" (which could only mean
illegal and very likely in the grey tones of light and Dark Magic), that the
Ancient and Noble House of Black was safe once more.
They had sent word back telling Harry's godfather of their safety and nothing
more. Grimmauld Place had been a decent hideout in the beginning, but they had
put it, and Sirius, at risk far too easily just by staying there when they
should have been out, physically tracking down Horcruxes. Eight months since
the official beginning of the hunt and they were only one locket down. Hermione
had wondered to herself how long it had taken Dumbledore to figure out how to
destroy the Gaunt ring. Despite not knowing that it had been a Horcrux as well,
it had taken Harry a full school year to destroy Tom Riddle's diary — though it
hadn't been in his possession the entire time — but going off of those numbers
didn't bode well for the rest of the Horcruxes. They couldn't very well spend
the next three to four years on the run trying to destroy the dark vessels in
the hopes that Voldemort didn't destroy their world in the process.
"Why Grimmauld Place?" she asked curiously. "Why not Shell Cottage? We were
already supposed to have been going there."
Harry frowned and reached out to wrap one of Hermione's curls around his
finger, a habit he fell into whenever he was nervous, "I . . . I guess I was
thinking of Sirius," he whispered.
Hermione winced as memories of Malfoy Manor flashed through her mind.
===============================================================================
"Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback," Bellatrix ordered the
deranged werewolf.
"Wait." The wicked witch hesitated, her heavy-lidded eyes staring at Hermione.
"All except . . . except for the Mudblood."
They had been on the run for so long, tired and broken and one small slip of
the tongue and Snatchers were at their doorstep — or tent flap as it was.
Hermione had hastily thrown up a series of complex wards to keep them out while
she turned and began altering their features. Her own would have been easily
looked over had her face not been plastered all over the Daily Prophet for
months labelling her a known Muggle-born associate of Harry Potter, but Ron and
Harry's features were unavoidably recognisable. While there were redheads all
over Wizarding Britain, that vibrant shade of red, paired with specific facial
features spoke only of the Weasleys. In addition to Harry's scar, his ethereal,
emerald green eyes were a dead giveaway.
She had changed her own hair to a dirty-blond and adjusted the shape of her
nose, gave Ron a head of brown hair, and altered Harry's eye colour to brown
before she tried to glamour the scar on his forehead. Nothing happened. In a
panic, as the Snatchers gave up on taking down the wards and had resorted to
ripping through them, Hermione had hit him in the face with a Stinging Hex,
muttering apologies to her best friend as a hideous werewolf descended upon
them all.
The glamours hadn't been strong enough. They had still been partially
recognised by Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, but Bellatrix had called for Draco to
confirm their identities. Hermione felt bile rise in her throat as the insane
witch grabbed her nephew by the back of the skull and shoved him so close to
Hermione's face that her vision was filled with nothing except the trademark
molten silver eyes of Draco Malfoy.
When Bellatrix finally let Malfoy out of her personal bubble, she took the
opportunity to really look at him. Draco looked much worse than when she last
saw him, as he fled from Hogwarts on the heels of Severus Snape, Harry
screaming, "Murderer!" behind them. Draco had looked terrible for most of sixth
year, and while Harry had spent the majority of time at school insisting that
Malfoy was a Death Eater plotting a plot most terrible (which, apparently, he
had been), Hermione took notice of the way the Slytherin's clothes hung off his
body too loosely, how he never ate in the Great Hall, rarely spoke in class,
and during Prefect rounds she had caught him hyperventilating more than once in
dark alcoves.
Now, he looked much worse. Sickly thin and pale with dark circles under his
stress-induced, red-rimmed eyes, the Slytherin stared at her with obvious
recognition and swallowed hard, taking a moment to presumably come up with a
lie. Apparently, the best that he could summon at that moment was, "I can't be
sure. It might be them, but I'm not certain."
Regardless, Hermione appreciated the lie. Considering the worried looks on
Bellatrix and the elder Malfoy's faces, they would have needed to be one-
hundred percent certain before summoning Voldemort and Hermione was grateful
for the seedling of doubt that Draco had planted in their minds. Unfortunately,
with a certain famous sword discovered in their possession and Bellatrix
Lestrange determined to get back in the good graces of her Dark Lord, they were
not even close to seeing the clearing of the woods.
Harry and Ron were taken away, screaming and pleading to stay in exchange for
the witch. "No!" Harry was yelling, fighting against the grip of the werewolf.
"Take me instead!" Ron had shouted as they dragged him away into the cellar of
Malfoy Manor. Even Draco seemed to twitch in understanding of what was to
happen to the young Muggle-born witch, but whatever he might have thought to do
to stop his aunt, his parents were gripping his arms to keep him still and
silent, Lucius digging fingernails into the skin of his son in anxious
anticipation.
The first Crucio felt like death.
The second made her pray for it.
But it wasn't until Bellatrix's frustration began to peak that things took a
genuine turn for the worse. Determined to find out who exactly she was dealing
with, the unhinged witch had aimed her wand at Hermione and began to dismantle
the glamours she had put on herself, spell by spell. Any normal witch or wizard
with a decent understanding of transfiguration could have ended the visual
trickery easily, but Bellatrix Lestrange's thirst for control and desire to
witness agony led her to do it as painfully as possible.
It felt like she had clawed her way into Hermione's magical core and began
picking it away, looking for physical traits and casting them aside, piece by
piece until the truth revealed itself. When she had apparently broken through
the glamour, what she saw only enraged the witch further.
"What are you playing at little girl?!" the woman had screamed. "You dare mock
me?!"
Hermione was beyond exhausted, sobbing, and could not understand what
conclusion Bellatrix's insane mind had drawn together.
"I'll teach you . . . " the older witch snarled and then Hermione felt a
stabbing pain in her arm. Thankfully, it wasn't long after that she had been
rescued by her friends and taken to safety. To the safety of Grimmauld Place.
===============================================================================
"My . . ." She looked down to her forearm which was now bandaged. "Harry . . .
what happened?" she asked her friend.
Harry decided the best way to breach the subject was by visual representation.
He reached into the drawer of the bedside table and removed a mirror from
within, handing it slowly to the witch who snatched it from his grip, bringing
it to her face. She didn't know why it hadn't shocked her to see it.
Bellatrix's reaction to the broken glamours might have been a clue, but as
Hermione took in her sudden abundance of black curls and grey eyes, she
understood, at least in part, what had happened.
Somehow when the insane witch had broken Hermione's glamours, she had done
something else, revealing the colouring that Hermione now wore. While Hogwarts
didn't offer classes in biology and genetics, Hermione understood enough of the
principles and the magical theories to know that certain traits solely belonged
to certain families. A specific shade of red and freckles meant Weasley; golden
blond hair and blue eyes made you a Greengrass; crimson hair and blue eyes led
to the Bones family tree; dark skin and green eyes belonged to the Zabinis; and
white-blond hair and silver eyes told the world that you were a Malfoy.
Inkjet black hair and grey eyes distinguished a witch or wizard from all
others, proudly proclaiming one's blood linked to the Ancient and Noble House
of Black.
Harry helped her to stand, her hands shaking slightly as she put the mirror
down on the bed and stood to her feet. Her best friend led her into the drawing
room to face the infamous Black family tapestry. It hadn't taken her long to
see it and when she did her breath caught in her throat and Harry needed to
support her weight as her knees buckled.
He wrapped her in his arms as he lowered her to the ground, sitting with her,
kissing the top of her head as he whispered, "Your arm wouldn't stop bleeding
and when we got here . . . Sirius carried you up the stairs and you bled a lot
on the floor. The . . . the house is magical and sentient in itself. Charmed
like Hogwarts to recognise certain things and . . . people."
"Blood wards," Hermione mumbled.
Harry nodded.
"Kreacher actually healed you," he said, gesturing to her arm.
She turned and stared at the boy incredulously, her newly discovered grey eyes
were wide.
"He's calling you his special Young Miss," Harry said, cringing at the memory
of the house-elf cooing over his best friend. Whispers of, "Young Miss ,
special Young Miss," echoed as he had watched the Elf Magic heal the cuts on
Hermione's arm. When Kreacher saw the angry red words and scarring that was
left behind, Harry witnessed the house-elf punish himself, almost creating a
dent in the marble fireplace mantle. Harry couldn't decide which he preferred,
Kreacher calling Hermione "the little Mudblood" or "special Young Miss". He
shuddered at the memory of the house-elf caressing the word carved on her arm,
muttering beneath his breath. If there had been any silver lining it was that
the curtains covering Walburga Black's portrait had remained shut, and Kreacher
hadn't cried out for his "poor Mistress" once since he had started tending to
Hermione.
Sirius and Snape burst through the door, continuing to yell at one another
until each man turned to stare at Hermione and Harry there on the floor in the
drawing room. Neither said a word. Snape looked positively wrathful and Sirius
had obviously been crying. The current Headmaster of Hogwarts and accused
murderer of Albus Dumbledore gave each of his former students a curt nod before
stepping into the adjacent bedroom. Sirius gave Hermione a pained smile before
following after Snape, slamming the door behind him.
"Is . . . is Sirius angry?" Hermione asked, trying to prevent the tears from
falling down her cheeks.
Harry shook his head. "Not at . . . and not about . . . he's just . . ." Harry
sighed and scratched his head. "He's mad that it was kept from him," he said.
Almost on cue, the screaming between the grown wizards began again.
"We need to figure out the next Horcrux," Hermione whispered and moved to
stand.
Harry's grip tightened as he held her down. "Absolutely not," he said. "You
were tortured Hermione, and . . . and I don't think you should even be moving
much until you're fully recovered. Don't look at me like that, I . . . I told
them. I told the Order what we've been trying to do."
Hermione gasped. "Harry!"
"I don't care," he said. "I know Dumbledore said that only the three of us
could know but . . . after everything that's happened, I think secrets for this
supposed ‘Greater Good' has done nothing but hurt people," he said, frowning.
"After we escaped, the Malfoys summoned Riddle . . . there was a big Death
Eater meeting where everyone was told what happened. Snape found out and came
straight here. He knew," Harry told her. "He brought you potions and a bunch of
books; I'm not sure what they are," he admitted. "But he's left his post at
Hogwarts with some kind of lie to the Death Eaters, and he told the Order some
things about how Dumbledore really died."
Hermione furrowed her brows. "Harry, you told me you saw him kill —"
Harry sighed. "I . . . there's a lot more to it than what I saw . . .
apparently."
"So Snape's . . .?"
"A good guy," Harry said almost disappointedly.
"And Malfoy?" Hermione asked.
"Still a ferrety git," Harry answered. "But he didn't give us away so . . . I
don't know." He frowned.
"So the two of you will soon become best friends?" she tried to joke.
Harry laughed. "How are you . . ." he began to say and then sighed. "Are you
okay? I know this is a lot to take in, and I'm sure once those two are done
screaming at one another, they'll answer whatever questions you have."
Hermione nodded. "I . . . I had a feeling something was . . . wrong," she
admitted. "When I Obliviated . . ." she swallowed. "Last summer, when I
Obliviated my p-parents," her voice wavered as she collected her emotions and
thoughts, "I felt that something was wrong. I meant to only alter their
memories with a charm, nothing permanent," she confessed, "but when I started
layering the magic, I found things. They had already had their memories altered
by someone else. I couldn't see what exactly, but they were specific and it
took me a while, but I was able to trace the origin of the charm back years."
"How long?" Harry asked.
"I can't pinpoint a specific day but . . ." she frowned, "I would say close to
the end of 1981."
Harry's eyes widened with a bit of understanding. "You think this happened
because of me?" he asked, horrified.
"Of course not," she insisted. "Even if it has something to do with what
happened to yourparents," she told him, "It's not your fault. I really wish you
would stop blaming the entire war on you. You're not Tom Riddle's endgame,
Harry, you're the mountain that's preventing him from destroying everything we
know and love. It's not your fault."
Harry nodded solemnly but turned away from her gaze. "So . . . what happened
with your parents?" he asked a moment later.
"The Memory Charms were too deep. I couldn't alter them without erasing it
all," she muttered, swallowing down her emotions. "That's why I chose to
Obliviate them. Permanently."
Harry reached for her hand. "I'm so sorry, Hermione."
"It'll keep them safe," she whispered. "So . . . tell me about the plan. How is
the Order involved?"
Harry cleared his throat. "Well, another Horcrux is destroyed," he told her.
"When we got here, you were out of it, but you kept muttering something about
Bellatrix's vault. Snape confirmed that she thought the Sword of Gryffindor was
in her vault, but that something else might be hidden away as well. The Order
had Tonks morph herself to look like Bellatrix. I'm not sure of all the details
of how they got it out without being found, but Tonks had burns all over her
body when they brought her back. Turned out to be Hufflepuff's Cup, like we
thought. Sirius was the one to destroy it. Said he really wanted to stab
something." He shrugged.
"And the others?" Hermione asked.
"Snape thinks it could be the lost Diadem of Ravenclaw. He's got McGonagall and
the D.A. looking for it while he's here," Harry told her. "The last, we think,
is the snake."
"Where's Ron?" she asked.
Harry winced. "He . . . he's a little freaked out about . . ." he made a vague
gesture to her face, "Well, you know he's not the most tactful person. We
thought it would be a little better if he stayed at Shell Cottage with Bill and
Fleur until he figured out how to talk to you."
Hermione frowned. "Because I'm different."
"Because you lookdifferent," Harry corrected her.
Hermione sighed loudly. "No, I'm . . . oh gods," she muttered. "I'm a
pureblood." She swallowed the word down like sand. "From a family that . . .
that . . ." She looked down at her arm. "And she . . ." She reached out and
touched the bandage on her arm. "Well," she frowned, "I'm not a Mudblood
anymore," she said bitterly.
"You never were," Harry said, glaring at her use of the word. "You're just
Hermione."
"Why is Professor Snape here?" Hermione asked, changing the subject. "I mean,
he brought me potions and books but —"
Harry shrugged. "Apparently, he knew the truth."
"This whole time?"
"Well, Sirius has been screaming at him for the better part of four days,"
Harry said. "It's only now that Snape's finally started yelling back actually,"
he added, looking at the closed door of the bedroom where the Potions Master
and Animagus were still shouting.
"—I should have been told!" Sirius screamed, his voice hoarse and emotional.
"How could you keep a bloody secret like this for so long?! She's nearly
nineteen-years-old!"
"Well," Snape drawled, "unlike you , Black, I actually keep secrets," hissing
out the last words with emphasis. "I don't just toss them aside to the first
blubbering idiot I think can —"
The distinct sound of fist on flesh echoed from behind the heavy wood. What
sounded like a noisy scuffle followed by colourful lights of hexes emitted from
the seam around the door, the bright light of a Petrificus Totalus filtered
under the crack near the floor, followed by a loud thud and the room went
silent.
Sirius exited, shutting the door behind him and pocketing his wand as he slowly
approached the pair of teenagers, kneeling down in front of them, running his
hand nervously through his hair. He smiled sadly at Hermione and reached out to
brush the edge of his knuckles affectionately against her cheek.
"Hey, little girl," he whispered, "You had us scared there for a while."
The tears finally came to her eyes and she blinked, allowing them to fall
against her cheeks. "Is it true?" she asked him even though she already knew
the answer.
Sirius wiped the back of his hand against his own eyes and nodded silently
before reaching out and pulling the witch into his arms, letting her sob into
his shoulder. "It's all right, Hermione," he said, stroking her black curls
tenderly. "Everything's going to be fine," he promised. "You and I . . . we're
going to be fine and we're going to find out everything."
"You're not mad?" she asked.
"At you ? Whatever for?" He chuckled softly. "I'm bloody thrilled about you.
Pissed about not knowing," he admitted as he pulled away from her, "I'm pissed
about a lot of things that were kept from me," he said softly and leant
forward, kissing her forehead. "I'm just glad you're alive and there's a little
piece of . . ." his words stuck in his throat. "I'm just glad you're alive," he
said.
"I don't . . . I don't even know what to call you anymore," she admitted
awkwardly.
Sirius smirked. "Sirius is fine," he said softly. "You're a little too old to
start calling me Uncle, I think," he admitted and pulled her again into his
arms.
She blinked tears away again, her blurry vision focused on the tapestry on the
wall behind Sirius where her name sat in elegant lettering.
                             Hermione Astra Black
                               September 19, 1979
Her gaze followed the line that flowed from her up to her father:
                            Regulus Arcturus Black
                                 May 12, 1961
                                d. May 31, 1979
 
***** Fides *****
April 1973
Regulus stood in the first-floor drawing room of Black Manor, staring straight
ahead at the large tapestry that hung on the stone wall. It had weathered many
generations, protected by strong family magic, and all the names that were
magically embroidered in perfect calligraphy; his own being the most recent
even though he was already eleven-years-old, twelve in a month's time. The
names all stood out in black stitching amongst the Slytherin green background.
He had always found the colour comforting, not cold like his brother always
claimed it to be. Raised voices argued in the room next to him. The door was
closed, but no Silencing Charm had been cast, but really, when did his parents
ever actually bother with one?
"You can't do that!" Sirius was yelling. "She didn't do anything wrong!"
"She has disgraced her family and our noble blood!" their mother shouted back
at him.
Regulus stepped closer to the tapestry, a subtle frown on his face as he
reached up and gently brushed his fingertips over the scorched mark that used
to read Andromeda.
"It's not fair!" Sirius shouted and Regulus winced. "You can't just throw away
family!"
When would his brother begin to understand that nothing in life was fair? Brave
and reckless, certainly, but there had to be at least an ounce of common sense
in every Gryffindor. How else would they have even survived long enough to even
make it to Hogwarts?
The youngest Black turned his back on the tapestry, the smell of the burnt silk
fresh and lingering in the air; it made his stomach churn to have watched his
mother turn and blast the name so easily off the Family Tree as if she was
banishing something as simple as a doxy off the wall. He felt sick to know that
across London in another one of the Black Manors, his Uncle Cygnus, Andromeda's
father, was doing the same to the duplicate tapestry in his home. Regulus
thought it was redundant considering the tapestries were all magically linked,
but his Uncle Cygnus was likely making a point to his daughters, just as
Walburga and Orion Black had made the point to him and Sirius.
The message was clear: Don't marry Mudbloods.
And for the love of Salazar, don't even think about breeding with them.
"You can't throw someone out of the family for falling in love!" Sirius was
yelling again. "What if it were me or Regulus that fell in love with a—" He
never finished the sentence. Though there was no loud sound from behind the
door save for a slight scuffle, Regulus had learned over the years what
the small noises meant.
Despite disagreeing with the way Sirius was going about it, Regulus agreed with
his brother. Certainly, they had been raised with blood standards that were
always to be observed—unless your name was Sirius Black—but blasting Andromeda
off the tree and disinheriting her completely seemed excessive. Regulus knew
little in matters of the heart, but he had seen the older couples at Hogwarts,
most of whom looked as though they had lost entire sections of their brains
just by being within sight of the witch or wizard they desired. Clearly, there
was little control when it came to who you fell in love with.
He never thought he would have to worry about it. He had been told on his
fourth birthday—when his magic first manifested—that one day he would grow up
and marry his cousin Narcissa, Uncle Cygnus's youngest daughter, who was just a
few years older than Regulus himself. It wasn't until he was eight that he
truly understood what "marry" meant, and at the time it hadn't seemed so bad.
When he turned eleven and got the pre-Hogwarts talk, he finally learned what
the actual purpose of marriage actually was: setting political alliances,
money, and reputation aside, it all came down to strengthening and furthering
the pure blood lines. Suddenly, marrying Narcissa seemed a bit more bothersome.
They only saw one another while growing up at family functions, and even then,
most of the attention had been on Sirius and Andromeda who were being coerced
into a betrothal themselves, though Andromeda was fighting it tooth and nail,
much to Sirius's great relief. It was, however, the reason that Regulus and
Narcissa were contracted at such a young age; it was much easier to control
children when they didn't know there was anything to fight back against.
He loved Narcissa, but in a sisterly way, which made the idea of breeding with
her in the future positively horrific, but he wasn't as bold or brash as his
brother and would never consider saying such things aloud. Leave the dramatics
to Sirius and Andromeda. Of course, he wouldn't exactly be seeing Andromeda
anytime soon, if ever again. Nor would he ever get the chance to meet her
daughter, a half-blood Metamorphmagus that she named Nymphadora.
He had seen his brother pocket the photograph of the tiny purple-haired infant
knowing, without a doubt, that the bruises he would wear back to Hogwarts would
likely match the little girl's hair if he got caught with it. Sirius didn't
appear to give a damn, though, as he decided to say loudly in the other room,
and he never had no matter what the consequences had been.
And the consequences had always been dire.
Growing up in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place had been uncomfortable, to say the
least. Their parents only ever handed out affection when they were in public,
and even then it was only ever given to Sirius who was the wonderful heir of
the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. Except when he wasn't behaving like
the wonderful heir of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, in which case
they had Regulus: the wonderful spare. It wasn't until Sirius went to Hogwarts
that Walburga and Orion even considered really putting effort into raising
their younger son, but when Sirius had written home after the Sorting, it was
ready, set, go for Project Scion Swap.
Regulus had been heartbroken that his brother, his best friend, would leave to
Hogwarts a year ahead of him. Despite their father telling them that boys
didn't cry—and they certainly didn't hug one another, especially in public—it
took both parents to separate the pair at King's Cross. Sirius knelt down in
front of his younger brother and wiped the tears from Regulus's face as the
scarlet steam train whistled its warnings of departure.
"Look for my owl; I'll write to you every week, Reg," Sirius promised him with
a bright grin that made him look completely out of place among his family at
all times, "and once you get to Hogwarts, we're going to have so much fun. I
promise I won't even care that you're a year younger. I'll sneak you into my
dorm and it'll be just like at home only better. You and me, Reg," he had
smiled, "the Black brothers are going to conquer Hogwarts. They'll be talking
about our adventures for centuries."
Sharing a dorm would never happen, of course. Sirius had taken three weeks to
finally owl home; when the letter did finally arrive, Walburga had sent a
Howler back in its place.
"You can hardly blame the boy for what a charmed Hat says," Orion had tried to
calm his wife down, a glass of firewhisky in his hand to help dull the ache in
his head that Walburga's current volume had created.
"Don't you dare try to let him off the hook for this!" she had screamed back.
"I know he did something. He must have done something to disgrace our family
this way."
Gryffindor. Centuries of grand green and silver tradition broken by a single
boy who their mother said was far too disrespectful, too reckless, and too
sentimental. They shouldn't have coddled him so much. They shouldn't have let
him outside so often. They, perhaps, shouldn't have let the boys spend so much
time together. They had instilled courage in their eldest son by letting him be
protective over his younger brother and Blacks weren't supposed to be
protectors, they were self-preservationists. Family first, and that didn't mean
one another, it meant the name, the motto, the blood. Regulus would need to be
educated from scratch. Sirius would need to be reminded his place.
When Sirius returned home for Christmas holidays he was a full Gryffindor; a
lion in and out which was ironic considering it had been Regulus that was named
after the brightest star in the Leo constellation. "Rubbish!" his mother had
said. "Star or not, your name means 'Basilisk' in Latin; King of the serpents!"
Serpent, unlike his brother, the disgraceful lion who was already being
labelled a blood-traitor simply because a shoddy old hat told him that he would
sleep in a tower and not a dungeon for the next seven years.
Sirius had been stubborn and proud and, even at only twelve, he was eager to
argue back and defend his new House loyalties. He openly talked about his new
friends with a joyful look on his face that their mother said made him look
embarrassingly effeminate. Sirius ignored her and went on and on about James
Potter ("Disgusting son of blood-traitors!"), Remus Lupin ("Wasn't his father a
wizard from a good family who threw away his future when he married a
Muggle?"), and Peter Pettigrew ("Who?"). By the time Sirius was bragging about
Albus Dumbledore—who he said was the greatest wizard since Merlin—and Professor
McGonagall—who he knew had a Hogwarts rivalry with Walburga when they had
attended school together and, therefore, should know better than to mention her
name—both of their parents were officially done with their eldest's smart mouth
and blood-traitor language.
Christmas that year had been spent in St. Mungo's after there had been an
"accident" where Sirius "fell" down three flights of stairs. Regulus had been
forced to open his presents at the foot of Sirius's hospital bed while his
brother looked on, drowsy from Pain Potions as their mother told him that
only good boys received gifts. Summer was worse when Sirius worked his way
around the underage magic rule by nicking their father's wand and charming the
walls of his room Gryffindor red. Another trip to St. Mungo's had Sirius
drinking down Skele-Gro after he "fell from his broom" and broke three ribs and
his collarbone.
Memories of the bruises, broken bones, and welts on his brother's body flooded
Regulus's mind when he was brought into the Great Hall beside the other first
years. He stared out into the crowd and found Sirius's face immediately,
grinning, waving, and throwing him a thumbs up.
"Black, Regulus!" Professor McGonagall called his name and gestured to the
stool in the front of the room.
When he slowly made his way to sit down he was shaking and terrified, trying to
hold it all in so as not to appear completely frightened. No need to be called
a cry-baby on the first night in whatever House he ended up in. Not brave, he
thought to himself. I'm definitely not brave.
You could be, the Sorting Hat said inside his mind. You have great potential to
be very brave and bold. I see greatness in you. Your heart is large and loyal
to those you care about, and your concern for others is astounding. I wonder
what brave things you could accomplish when that bold love is properly
directed?
I don't want it, Regulus had pleaded, thinking of the way Sirius had finally
broken down and cried in the middle of the night long after their parents had
locked him in his room to nurse his wounds two weeks before they had been taken
to Kings Cross. Sirius had fought back at every turn, appearing stubborn and
angry, but the moment he was alone, he quietly sobbed, cradling his injuries in
private.
Regulus tried like hell to get in to help his brother, but their mother had
locked the door with magic and, even if Sirius had been allowed to use it
outside of Hogwarts, she had taken his wand too. So Regulus quietly sat outside
of Sirius's bedroom, whispering what words of comfort he could think of that
might not get him hit too hard if their parents caught him. When Sirius had
finally fallen asleep, Regulus closed his eyes and wished that he knew the kind
of magic that would give them both a different family; one without expectations
and rules based on blood and Houses and the colour of robes you wore to class.
Slytherin, please, just put me in Slytherin, Regulus begged.
"Better be . . . SLYTHERIN!" the Hat shouted.
Regulus let out a deep sigh of relief and scanned the Great Hall until his gaze
fell on a matching pair of grey eyes sitting beneath red and gold banners.
Sirius frowned and looked down, clearly devastated. A lanky boy with sandy-
blond hair next to him patted him on the back consolingly; two other boys
sitting across from him—one short and a bit portly, the other tall with a head
of messy black hair—pushed a couple boxes of Chocolate Frogs toward their
friend to cheer him up.
Regulus slowly made his way to the Slytherin table where he was politely
welcomed and sat down beside a second year with a curtain of black hair hiding
away a scowl, the only thing easily visible was a hooked nose that wasn't
proportionate to the rest of his face.
"Black?" the boy asked, sneering at Regulus.
Regulus nodded.
"Are you related to the Gryffindor prat?"
Regulus cleared his throat, remembering that, while he wasn't brave like
Sirius, he couldn't show fear, not in Slytherin or else be labelled weak. "My
brother," he said firmly. "Is there a problem?" he asked, narrowing his gaze.
The older boy rolled his black eyes and looked away, a bitter expression on his
face. "Not unless you're anything like him."
No, Regulus thought sadly, I'm nothing like Sirius.
The bedroom door finally opened from the next room and Sirius was wiping blood
from his mouth looking wrathful but sufficiently subdued when it came to
speaking to his parents. There was nothing to be done to spare Andromeda from
being disowned. He slammed the large wooden door behind him and walked straight
up to Regulus, gripping him by the shoulders. "She's still our cousin, do you
hear me?" he said firmly. "I don't give a shite what some stupid wall says;
Dromeda's still family. A giant piece of fabric does not get to tell me who my
family is, I say who my family is. You agree with me, right?" he asked his
younger brother, unaware that his lip was bleeding again.
Regulus frowned at the sight, wondering how his older brother was able to
endure such pain. The beatings weren't as bad as they could be, he imagined.
Though there wasn't much confirmation, they had both overheard their parents
talking to one another about how Cygnus—or Bellatrix, as was her want to do—had
put Andromeda under the Cruciatus Curse when they had discovered her elopement
and secret half-blood child.
"Sirius why . . . why can't you just shut up and look down like you're supposed
to?" he asked, staring at the swelling on his brother's lip. "Next, she'll
blast you off," he whispered. "You can't let her do it," Regulus said firmly,
not wanting to admit that he was afraid such a thing would actually happen
and he would be left in Sirius's place. "Just . . . just stay quiet for the
next couple of years and you'll be out of here."
Sirius shook his head. "I'm not a coward," he insisted.
Regulus flinched at the statement, despite knowing that Sirius hadn't said it
as a way of calling out his brother on his own cowardice. "Why does it always
come down to bravery?" Regulus asked bitterly.
"Why does it always come down to saving your own arse?" Sirius snapped back.
"Fine, she's not your cousin anymore. Am I still your brother? Because
Dromeda's still on my family tree. Fuck that one," he said, snarling at the
tapestry.
Swearing and anger aside, Regulus knew Sirius was hurting. Andromeda had been
the perfect pureblood daughter, right up until the moment that she wasn't. She
had been sorted into Slytherin like a proper Black, trained up knowing all the
customs and traditions and expectations and, until the moment that she and
Sirius started fighting back about their arranged marriage, she had followed
each and every rule. Then she had apparently met a Hufflepuff Muggle-born named
Edward Tonks and all the pureblood education she spent seventeen years learning
went right out the window along with her maiden name and inheritance. So if
Andromeda, who had up until the last moment been the perfect pureblood
daughter, had been cast aside so easily, what did that mean for Sirius, who had
been fighting against his birthright practically from birth?
"You'll always be my brother," Regulus whispered the promise.
"Not unless he shapes up!" their mother said as she walked out of the room,
glaring her grey eyes down at her eldest child with a hate that Regulus only
saw at Hogwarts when Slytherin faced Gryffindor in Quidditch. Sirius turned and
glared back up at their mother and then without another word, turned, punched
the family tree and walked out of the room.
Their father exited the room behind Walburga, a glass of firewhisky in his hand
as though someone had put it there with a Permanent Sticking Charm, looking
annoyed and weary. Orion's eyes fell briefly on his wife before he sighed
irritably and followed his eldest son out of the room.
"You, my sweet boy," Walburga said as she turned to face her youngest with a
sudden smile on her face that actually looked painful and caused Regulus to
wince in sympathy. "One day you will be the Head of this glorious House and it
will be your job to keep filth away from our family, do you understand me?
Toujours Pur, Regulus," she said to him, reaching forward and grabbing his jaw
in her hand.
"But . . ." Regulus began, "I'm not the heir," he said. "Sirius will be the
Head of—"
"You," Walburga hissed, her eyes narrowing, "will be the Head of our Ancient
and Noble House and it will be your job to keep filth from the family, do you
understand me?" she asked again, her fingernails digging into his jawline; he
could feel the bruises beginning to form beneath the surface of his skin.
Regulus swallowed. "Yes, ma'am."
"Not just Mudbloods and Muggles," she insisted. "Blood-traitors are just as
bad, do you understand?" she asked. "Bring any of their lot into the House of
Black and it will defile everything we have worked so hard for . . . centuries
of purity, all gone!" her voice raised and Regulus forced himself not to
flinch. "Toujours Pur, Regulus," she snapped, shaking him by the grip on his
face, her nails digging further into his skin as she silently indicated he was
to repeat her words.
"Toujours Pur, Mother," Regulus said quietly.
"There's my good boy." She grinned. "Go and get ready for the party now dear,"
she said and patted him affectionately on the shoulder as though she had not
just nearly assaulted him as she would Sirius. "Your Uncle Cygnus isn't going
to let one nasty little blood-traitor ruin Narcissa's big day. Of course, it
should be your big day as well, but apparently the little trollop couldn't wait
a few more years for you to come of age," she said, rolling her eyes
dramatically, a bitter scowl on her face.
"It's alright, Mother," Regulus said irritably, already tired of defending his
decision on the matter. "I didn't want to marry Cissa anyway. Besides, she's in
love with Lucius and I just want her to be happy."
Walburga beamed at him. "See? And that's why you would have made a wonderful
husband for her. Still, I imagine breaking the contract wasn't your idea?"
Regulus shook his head. "No, ma'am."
"I hope you got something good for your sacrifice," she huffed.
Regulus held back from cringing.
When he had stepped foot inside the Slytherin Dungeons for the first time and
Professor Slughorn gave an "inspirational" welcome speech, he had been reunited
with his future bride and then introduced to her boyfriend, a fifth year
Prefect named Lucius Malfoy who shook Regulus's hand, said that they would sit
down and talk things out very soon, and then officially introduced him to
Severus Snape, the black-haired boy he had sat down beside in the Great Hall,
who was apparently now in charge of showing Regulus how things worked in the
House of Salazar.
He didn't hear another word directly from Lucius until Narcissa's fifteenth
birthday when she had shown up in the Slytherin Common Room with an emerald
necklace hung around her slender neck. All the girls squealed loudly and the
boys patted Lucius on the back, which Regulus thought strange considering, by
pureblood customs, jewellery of that magnitude meant something quite serious.
Everything made sense when Lucius had taken him aside and showed him an old
spell that he and Narcissa had found allowing a marriage contract to be broken
by both willing parties without the approval of their parents, which Regulus
knew he would certainly not get from his mother who had been fawning over
Narcissa and insisting that her niece call her "Mum" for years now.
However, Cygnus wanted the world to know that Bellatrix and Narcissa were
nothing like Andromeda, and so Bellatrix had been immediately married off to
the eldest of the Lestrange family and, despite the arrangement with Regulus,
Narcissa had been encouraged to entangle herself further into the wealthy and
Noble House of Malfoy which paralleled the House of Black in money and purity.
It hadn't been much of a sacrifice on Cissa's part; it was clear to anyone at
Hogwarts that she worshipped the very ground that Lucius walked on, which
either meant that she genuinely did love him, or she was an exceptionally good
actress; Regulus believed it was a bit of both.
The spell appeared like a simple blood sacrifice, not something most children
of the House of Black were unaccustomed to participating in, but there were a
few bits of the untranslated portion that left him feeling uneasy. Still,
Lucius was insistent and imposing and Narcissa looked utterly besotted with
him. Regulus hadn't even thought about girls in any context other than
classmates, unlike Sirius, who he had caught multiple times in the corridors
sniffing after witches like a dog after a bone.
What did it matter to him to break the marriage contract?
"What do I get out of this?" Regulus asked, looking up at Lucius who towered
over him, but Regulus stood firm, showing no signs of fear. He was a Slytherin
and would be damned if his bride—desired or not—would be stolen away from him
without proper compensation. He would be forced to endure whatever wrath from
his parents would come down upon him over breaking the contract and, aside from
the legalities of the spell that ensured promises of furthering the lineage of
both parties, Regulus saw clearly that he was receiving the poor end of the
deal.
"What would you like?" Lucius asked with a grin, apparently pleased that the
young Slytherin hadn't just rolled over and accepted the theft of his prize, a
prize that Lucius clearly coveted.
Regulus thought for a moment about the things that were important to him. He
had all the money in the world and didn't need anything from Malfoy in that
respect. Had it been anyone other than Lucius asking for Narcissa's hand,
Regulus would have insisted that she be treated properly and adored as she
deserved, but the way the blond wizard caressed her neck—even in front of
Regulus—made it clear that Narcissa would be treasured as a Malfoy bride. That
left only one thing . . .
"The House of Salazar is to leave my brother alone," he demanded. "He's already
been sent to the Hospital Wing twice this year because of random hexing in the
halls and on the Pitch."
Lucius scoffed. "He's a Gryffindor."
"He's my brother and the heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black,"
Regulus said firmly, sounding much older than his eleven years. "An attack on
him is a disrespect to my entire family, our name, and our blood. I give a hair
over what colours he wears here at Hogwarts."
"Snape won't like it," Lucius reminded him. "And I can only offer protection so
long as I'm here," he insisted. "Once I graduate, it ends."
Regulus nodded. "Understood."
"You realise you're basically giving Sirius Black a free pass to attack anyone
in your own House without retribution, correct?" Lucius asked him clearly.
"When my protection ends, they will remember everything he did and the wrath
will come down on him ten-fold."
Regulus hesitated as he pondered the ability to rein in his brother's antics.
The pranks were one thing, but Sirius held a genuine dislike for all
Slytherins—save for Regulus. The boy still nodded. "Let's end this marriage
contract, cousin," he said, smiling up at Narcissa.
***** Memoria *****
April 1998
The side effects of being under the Cruciatus Curse lasted much longer than
many would have thought. A combination of Bellatrix's expertise in the specific
curse paired with the length of time Hermione had been under it, made it near
impossible for the little witch to be left alone at night. The first time she'd
had a seizure in her sleep, Kreacher had woken the entire house, screaming for
someone to help his special Young Miss. Elf magic could heal, certainly, and
Kreacher had done his best with the grotesque carving on her arm, but some
things were best left to potions and time, both of which were necessary for
Hermione's recovery.
Snape did what he could, moving back and forth between Hogwarts and Grimmauld
Place, grateful that the students had yet to return to the school from Easter
holidays, giving him a mild reprieve from his duties as Headmaster. Voldemort
was on a hunt for something, the Elder wand if Harry was to be believed, and
the Death Eaters were left to their own devices while their master was on his
own mission. Unfortunately, that meant a lot of work for the Order. When the
cat's away . . .
When he was at Grimmauld Place, Snape brewed in a spare room on the fourth
floor, keeping Hermione alive and out of pain with a variety of potions that
she drank down with no complaint, once mentioning that she'd handled a worse
recovery at the end of fifth year when Dolohov's curse had her ingesting
upwards of ten potions a day for weeks until she was finally healed. Sirius and
Snape both requested she never mention that time again, and she couldn't
understand why.
Sirius had scarcely made it out of the Department of Mysteries alive, but he'd
been in worse situations and battles, and what Snape's issue was regarding the
Department of Mysteries was well . . . a mystery. She eavesdropped later on
when Mrs Weasley stopped in to bring food for everyone and the redhead asked
after Hermione's health.
"She'll be all right, won't she?" the witch asked. "It's not as bad as last
time?"
"Please don't mention that," Sirius pleaded. "Poppy told us all Hermione could
have died then."
"She could have died a few days ago as well," Mrs Weasley said softly. "They
shouldn't have run off. The Order should have stepped in right from the
beginning. Damn Albus," the woman cursed their fallen Headmaster. "If only he
had stuck around to tell us what he needed done."
"My apologies for disturbing your predetermined end-of-war schedule," Snape
hissed at her. "Perhaps I could have delayed killing him," the bitter words
rolled over the matron, "but regardless of timing, I can guarantee you that
Albus Dumbledore would not have shared with you anything he did not want to. He
told children his plans to end the war and, from what I've gathered, he didn't
tell them much. It was how the man worked. Little pieces of information at a
time to keep you coming back for more. He hand-fed all of his pets."
"We weren't his pets," Sirius argued quietly, his tone implied that he was
trying to remain in control of his anger.
"Of course, we were!" Snape snarled. "You the dog, I the snake," he said and
rolled his eyes. "And if you haven't figured it out yet, he had three favourite
little lambs, all ready for slaughter."
Harry slept beside her each night to make sure she was safe. Hermione figured a
lot of it was more for him than for her. They'd taken to sharing a bed when Ron
abandoned them on the hunt. For weeks they had tried to stay on a schedule. One
would rest while the other took watch, but after so long they were beyond
exhausted and one morning she woke to find Harry's arm draped over her
protectively, snoring next to her. She remembered smiling, for the first time
in weeks, and feeling safe. Feeling loved and a part of something
whole. Family. She had lost her parents to Obliviation, and so she clung to
Harry desperately to fill that familial void in her life.
A void that was starting to become familiar again.
When she wasn't resting from her injuries or begging for information from the
Order or, at the very least, something to do, she had taken to staring at the
Black Family tapestry on the wall. Her fingers gently raked over the
embroidered name of Regulus Arcturus Black, willing information to be parted
from the wall into her mind. Who was he? What was he like? Why did he have to
die? Who was her mother? Why did they give her away, and to Muggles of all
people? The Blacks, Regulus included, had been blood purists. Sirius and
Andromeda had been the only exceptions. Right?
Her recovery took a rough step in the wrong direction one night when Harry had
been summoned back to Shell Cottage to make plans with the Order. She woke in
the middle of the night feeling like she was being suffocated only to find
Sirius holding onto her tightly as her body thrashed in his arms. When she
finally stopped seizing, Hermione tried to hold back her emotions, but they
flooded her senses and she sobbed like a child against his chest while he
stroked her long black curls, kissing her forehead and muttering apologies as
though he had been the one to curse her.
Sirius whispered promises of protection. Told her that he would never let her
go and that she was a part of him and a part of his family and he would do his
best to take care of her from that point forward, no matter what it cost him.
Hermione's tears dried up as she breathed in Sirius's comforting scent, the
feeling of safety enveloping her in a way she hadn't felt in years, not since
she was a little girl and her dad—Richard Granger—hugged her tightly after
picking her up at Kings Cross Station after her fourth year at Hogwarts when
Cedric had died and Voldemort returned. She had been terrified deep down,
covering up her fears with Gryffindor bravery and bravado, but the moment her
dad wrapped his arms around her, she was small and fragile and felt like she
could really, truly let go and allow herself to be afraid and have those fears
chased away like monsters in the closet or the bogeyman beneath the bed.
Sirius made her feel like that again. Small and yet safe.
She reached a small hand up and touched his shoulder length black hair. Soft in
texture like her own and as black as midnight with a gentle curl to it. She
wondered if Regulus's hair had been the same. Wondered if he smelled like
leather and sandalwood like Sirius did and, if so, was it something that would
have calmed her as a child. Would he have hugged her and held her and calmed
her fears, eased her nightmares, and told her that he would chase away the
monsters? Hermione wanted to think that he would have.
Regulus Black had been a Death Eater, that much was certain. But he had also
defied the Dark Lord; tried to bring him down by stealing and attempting to
destroy a Horcrux. But he had failed, and his act of defiance had cost him his
life.
Had cost Hermione her father.
Sirius's hugs were both a kind comfort and a painful reminder to the witch.
When the seizures stopped and she could sleep alone through the night, Hermione
tried to get downstairs as quickly as she could every morning before Kreacher
appeared with a tray of a dozen different foods to serve her in bed. She had
tried pleading with the elf to let her downstairs, but he insisted that his
special Young Miss needed her strength, and then went blathering on about how
he was denied the privilege of caring for the special Young Miss, and how her
honourable father Regulus . . . "liked to eat porridge with blueberries, and he
liked bacon and tomatoes and beans but he did not like eggs and does special
Young Miss like eggs?"
"Eggs are fine, Kreacher, thank you, you really don't have to go to all the
trouble of—"
"Master Regulus, special Young Miss's honourable father, liked pumpkin juice in
the morning but tea in the afternoon and does special Young Miss like pumpkin
juice in the morning but tea in the afternoon?" he asked her.
His blue eyes stared up at her the same way that third years gaped at their
first unicorn in Care of Magical Creatures. It made her incredibly sad and
uneasy at the same time as though she wanted to dismiss him away but was
terrified of offending him, or worse, causing him to think he had done
something wrong and end up hurting himself in response.
Hermione offered a small smile. "Doesn't everyone drink pumpkin juice in the
morning?" she asked conversationally.
Kreacher scowled. "Master . . . filthy blood-traitor brat that he is," the
previously chipper elf hissed, "drinks coffee." He spoke in a tone that was
hateful and defiant and said the words as though coffee was the very worst
thing in the world simply because Sirius drank it.
Hermione frowned. "Kreacher . . ." she said hesitantly and then swallowed hard,
"I . . . I would like it very much if you stopped speaking ill of Sirius."
He stared at her in severe confusion.
"Please," she begged him, and frowned when he recoiled from the word as though
she had struck him. Hermione sighed in frustration. Never before had she wanted
a house-elf, least of all this specific one, but she couldn't help but think
that someone in the wizarding world should have written an owner's manual on
how to deal with them. "Kreacher," she cleared her throat. "I . . . I order you
to treat Sirius with respect," she said. "No more calling him names. No more
calling anyone names," she corrected.
Kreacher stared at her, his mouth open and his fingers twisting in the long
white hair that stuck out of his ears. Hermione cringed at the sight and then
added, "And please wash your hands before you go back to the kitchen," she said
nervously.
"Of course special Young Miss, Kreacher lives to serve the noble House of
Black," he said and bowed low to her.
Hermione pouted guiltily. "B-but . . ." she stammered, "don't let anyone treat
you badly. And only do things if you really want to. And if Sirius harms you in
any way . . . I . . . I give you permission to . . ." she tried to think of
something not so terrible that it would further provoke the strange animosity
between Master and house-elf. "I give you permission to give him tea instead of
coffee!"
Kreacher gaped at her with amusement as though she had just given him
permission to poison Sirius. A part of her immediately began to worry that
perhaps her new found uncle was allergic to tea leaves.
By the time Kreacher had filled her plate three times over, Hermione ordered
him to leave her alone, something that still made her guilty, but apparently
got easier with time. She slowly made her way down the stairs and into the
library, desperate for something to do other than to stare out her bedroom
window and wonder how the war was going on as no one was willing to offer her
any information lest they stress her out.
"You're supposed to be resting, Miss Granger," Snape drawled as she stood in
the doorway of the library, not even raising his black eyes to greet her as he
devoted his attention to a book on a table in front of him; quill in hand, he
made notes in the margins.
Hermione scrunched up her face at the sight as she reminded herself that books
with his notes in the margins should probably be looked at with caution
considering the trouble one of them had landed Harry in the year before.
"Black," she said quietly as she stepped into the room and sat down across from
him.
Snape looked up at her, raising a brow. "Beg your pardon?"
"Miss Black," she corrected, a bite to her tone. "Isn't that who I am? Or is
the tapestry wrong? Am I just some bastard child that was dropped on the
doorstep of a Muggle family; the castaway of the Most Ancient and Noble House
of Black? Did my father even give a—"
Snape closed the book loudly, slamming the cover shut and cutting her off of
her angry rant. She looked up at him with grey eyes, nervously twirling a lock
of black hair between two fingers. She was angry that she was being kept in the
dark about the war, which only served to remind her that she had been
apparently kept in the dark as to her own origins, but she certainly hadn't
meant to snap at the Potions Master like that.
Before she had a chance to officially apologise, he cleared his throat and then
spoke in a mildly threatening tone, "Be careful to choose your next words, Miss
. . . Black."
Hermione nodded her apology instead before asking, "So that is my name then?"
Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are not some . . .
bastard, Miss Black," he assured her. "Your biological parents were indeed wed.
I should know, I was present for the occasion," he added, rolling his eyes.
"You were at their wedding?" she asked, her interest peaked.
Snape nodded and then sneered. "Forcibly."
She hesitated before finally summoning the courage to ask him, "Who was my
mother? The tapestry doesn't say."
"I imagine your father charmed it as such," Snape answered, opening his book
once again and dunking the tip of his quill in a nearby ink pot, "the same way
he charmed it to keep your name off of it until Potter decided to let you bleed
all over magically enchanted floors. As for the identity of your mother, that
is not for me to say," he drawled.
Hermione frowned bitterly. The man clearly knew the answer to her question but
was purposely keeping the information to himself. Did that mean her mother was
a terrible person? Someone she would be horrified to discover had given birth
to her? She briefly panicked at the thought that her mother might have been
Bellatrix Lestrange. The House of Black was known for inbreeding and it wasn't
a secret that they'd married between cousins and . . . Oh Merlin! Hermione
paled. She descended from people who married their first cousins!
"She was not a Black," Snape said irritably.
Hermione let out a sigh of relief. "How did you—?"
"Gryffindors are unbearably transparent with their thoughts. It almost makes
the years I spent learning Legilimency a waste of time," he said.
"Why did he keep me a secret?" Hermione asked the Potions Master. "Why was I
not on the tapestry until I 'bled all over magically enchanted floors', as you
put it?"
"That is not for me to say."
"Then who can say it?!" she snapped. "I have questions, who can answer them for
me?"
Snape looked up at her and raised a brow. "After six years of putting up with
you knowing all of the answers to my questions," he said in a tone of
annoyance, "I find this new side of your personality much more intolerable.
However, at least you've ceased with the incessant hand raising."
"Can you tell me anything?" she begged him.
He snarled. "It is not—"
"For you to say," Hermione frowned, "yes, I know."
Several minutes passed in silence between them before Snape finished writing
something at the end of a page and closed the book, setting his quill down to
the side before capping the inkwell. "Your father would have the answers you
seek," he told her.
"Yes, well, he's dead, isn't he?" Hermione said in a quiet anger.
Snape very briefly narrowed his eyes at her statement. "Obviously," he said, a
note of sadness in his tone.
She looked up, catching his slight change in demeanour. "You knew him?" she
asked and he nodded. "What . . . what was he like?"
"More tolerable than his brother . . ." Snape said instantly and then added,
"and daughter."
Hermione smirked at him. "Does the Order need any help with research?" she
asked, peering over at the cover of the book he had been writing in, noting
that it was simply an old potions book. "Sirius and Harry won't let me assist
with anything else because of the . . . the seizures," she frowned. "I can't
brew anything because I'm likely to drop an ingredient and blow up the house,
and I can't even fight because my wand was . . ." She sighed as she reached
into her pocket to pull out the walnut wand from her robes that recently
belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry had apparently allowed Tonks to use it
during the infiltration of Gringotts, but Hermione woke up one morning and it
had been returned to her as though it belonged with her.
Hermione hated it.
"Is that her wand?" Snape asked the witch. "Strange thing to hold onto. A
keepsake from the time you were held prisoner."
"I wasn't held prisoner," she corrected him. "Harry and Ron were. I was
tortured."
"Prisoner just the same. A lack of bars does not indicate freedom, quite the
opposite," he insisted as though he knew from personal experience what it was
like to be kept. Perhaps not a prison, but a cage or a very tight leash.
Hermione frowned as she looked at the wand in her hand. "I kept it because I
need a wand and this one was available. Now . . . is there anything I can
research?"
"I left a stack of books in your room," Snape said, gesturing to the door.
"Not my room," she swallowed. "I don't live here. Besides, I've . . .
relocated."
It had been Kreacher's idea of course, but one that Hermione didn't argue with.
One evening after taking a bath, she wrapped herself in a soft towel and left
the bathroom to return to the guest bedroom where she had been staying only to
find all of her things missing. When she finally tracked them down, they were
neatly folded and stacked on a chair beyond a wooden door that read, Do Not
Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black.
She entered regardless and set herself up in her father's old bedroom, tearing
down any and every mention of Voldemort he had plastered to the walls. She left
up the photographs and the rest of the decor in the room. Green and silver
draped the bed, walls, and the windows and she was half tempted to turn them
all red and gold as a strange way of defying her father, something she had
clearly not been able to do growing up. Her Muggle parents had always been so
agreeable and anytime she was home from Hogwarts it was filled with vacations
and catching up. She wondered what Regulus Black would have thought about his
only child being sorted outside of Slytherin.
She left everything green and silver, though, much to Harry's distaste. When
asked why she refused to change it, Hermione shrugged and, with no further
explanation, said, "I'm comfortable here."
"I was told." Snape nodded. "Still, if you can't manage to carry the books to
your new . . . location, I imagine the elf would be pleased to assist you."
Hermione grimaced. "I don't like him waiting on me."
"He seems to enjoy it quite a bit. You would deny the little beast an ounce of
happiness?" he accused her, clearly amused when she gasped in reply. "Leave him
in the caring hands of the mutt who he loathes to serve and once tried to help
kill?"
Hermione shook her head, knowing that he was trying to provoke her into an
argument, quite possibly for his own entertainment. "How can Kreacher be so
devoted to . . . to Regulus but not to Sirius?" she asked, purposely not
referring to the dead former Death Eater as her father, something she was
struggling to do in her own mind as she fought the urge to separate herself
entirely from the man, but yearned to connect with him as well. "Were they so
different?" she asked. "He . . . my father," she looked down as she spoke the
word quietly, "couldn't have been more than eighteen-years-old when he died. I
know he was a Death Eater, but . . . but he was good in the end. Like you."
Snape scowled at her. "Do not presume to know a thing about me, Miss Black."
"He was only eighteen—"
"Draco Malfoy is an eighteen-year-old Death Eater, tell me, what do you think
of him?" he snapped at her.
Hermione recoiled from the words and looked away from the Potions Master,
anxiously twirling a lock of her hair between her fingers before finally
whispering, "I . . . I don't want to talk about Draco Malfoy."
He watched her mannerisms which seemed to annoy him further. "Interestingly
enough, I do not care to talk about Regulus Black. If you want to know more
about your father, go and read his diaries," he said, waving her off.
She looked up with sudden interest. "There are diaries? His personal ones?"
"Obviously or I would not have mentioned them." He stared at the girl
incredulously as he made to stand, gathering his belongings into his arms.
"Why did you have my father's diaries?" she asked curiously.
"They were given to me."
"Why would he—" she began but was cut off when Snape hissed in pain and grabbed
at his forearm.
"I have to go."
"The Dark Mark," she whispered, "He's . . . he's calling for you?"
Snape nodded. "Yes, and for once in my life I'm quite pleased to be
entering his company as it relieves me of yours." He snarled at her but
Hermione could see the strange worry in his black eyes.
She stood to say goodbye. "Umm . . . be . . . be safe, sir," she said softly.
She contemplated going downstairs to find someone else to pester for a job to
do or information on what was happening outside of Grimmauld Place, but when
she heard laughter coming from the drawing room, she frowned. She could hear
the sounds of Remus and Sirius, the latter, her uncle, going on and on about
some prank or other that Harry's father pulled back in Hogwarts. Sounds of
delight echoed up the hallways and stairwells and Hermione frowned wishing that
Sirius was sitting with her instead, telling her memories of Regulus.
Perhaps, she wondered, Sirius doesn't have any good ones.
She returned to her room—Regulus's room—with his diaries in her arms and sat
down on the green and silver bed, ignoring the large Black Family crest that
had been painted over it. She reached for the leather bound book, opening the
cover by using the tip of her finger with delicate ease, staring at the script
on the inside noting the owner and year.
September 1st, 1972
I sat with Sirius and his friends on the train even though Mother said I
shouldn't. He's a bad influence, she continues to say and, after seeing the
amount of Dungbombs my brother and his comrades have collected, I can't help
but wonder if she was right. Whatever personality traits our parents found
distasteful in Sirius before he left for Hogwarts, have been made worse by his
friends.
Potter encourages him through competition, one trying to outdo the other at
every turn. Pettigrew applauds his every move to the point where I
couldn't not roll my eyes at him. As much as I love my brother and have always
looked up to him, even I couldn't contort myself into such a position to kiss
his arse so well as Pettigrew does. Lupin seems to be the only logical mind of
the bunch, and yet, still a Gryffindor which, according to Mother, might as
well label one a blood-traitor from the start. He's a half-blood, though, so it
wouldn't really matter. I know because I asked him and then received glares
from each of Sirius's friends as though I had cursed them all.
Sirius says that blood status doesn't matter at Hogwarts.
I can't help but feel that, regardless of what my personal opinions on the
purity of ancestry are, it does in fact, matter. Especially now that I've been
sorted into Slytherin. I couldn't do it. The Sorting Hat appeared like it
wanted to give me the choice but I . . . I'm not like Sirius. Not brave like
Sirius. Or foolish like Sirius. He can take the beatings and the bruises, the
broken bones and the whipping . . . but I don't have it in me to willingly
martyr myself.
Not for principles I don't fully understand.
I met a girl on the train when I was sent to find the trolley. She fought me
for the last liquorice wand and called me a prat when I bought it right out
from under her nose. She traded me three chocolate frogs for the item and
laughed when I tried to kiss her hand after she introduced herself.
She was sorted into Gryffindor.
Sirius is wrong.
It all matters.
When Hermione woke the following morning, Regulus's diary held open on her lap,
she yawned and closed the book, eager to set it aside before Kreacher showed up
and started shovelling food at her. The witch turned to place the diary on the
table beside the bed and gasped at the sight of her vinewood wand sitting
there, pinning down a note that read:
Miss Black,
I believe this belongs to you.
S.S.
***** Amicitia *****
September 1974
"You have to take my second year," Regulus insisted as he sat down next to
Severus in the Great Hall, watching as his best friend slowly raised his eyes
from his copy of Magical Drafts and Potions, quill stuck between two ink-
stained fingers as he made notes in the margins of the text.
Two years spent with Severus Snape as his Slytherin "mentor" and Regulus still
couldn't quite understand how the older boy could read, write, and eat all at
the same time. Then again, with a book in one hand and a quill in the other,
setting down either at anytime for a brief forkful of food left little time to
converse, which aided with Severus's favourite pastime: avoiding conversations.
Severus raised a slender black brow and stared at his friend. "If you get rid
of your second year, Lucius will just assign you another," he told him, the
irritation in his tone indicated he was silently calling Regulus an idiot.
"It's the older year's jobs to look after the youngers; teach them the ways.
One isn't any better than another, and they're all irritating, trust me," he
drawled.
Regulus smirked. "Wonderful insult, Severus," he said and then quietly
applauded. "I'm irritating, well done," he sarcastically quipped.
Their first year as "assigned" best friends had been tense until Regulus made
Severus aware that he cared little for Severus's secret status as a half-blood,
and didn't share the same views on the boy's friendship with a certain redhead
that the rest of Slytherin House did. Regulus's great attention span in classes
made him top of his year, which allowed him the chance to study with Severus
without being labelled completely useless by the older boy.
They shared a passion for education and learning, books and Quidditch, though
neither had made the House team. However, it was their distaste for other
students that brought them together for the most part, and a strange reluctance
to end their friendship regardless of whatever offensive subject came into the
conversations. With Sirius being Regulus's brother, their conversations often
got heated; still, they remained friends.
"What's wrong with your second year, and why are you now trying to get rid of
him?" Severus asked, putting his book down in frustration, seeing that Regulus
wasn't going to just give up so easily. "He's been your responsibility for a
year, hasn't he?"
"He creeps me out and I'm finally at my breaking point," Regulus replied. "He's
twitchy as hell when he's quiet and when he's not he never shuts up. I woke up
this morning and he was standing by my bed, waiting for me to wake up. When I
opened my eyes he opened his mouth and didn't stop talking until I hexed him
silent and blamed it on a passing Hufflepuff."
When Lucius Malfoy had stood in front of the group of newly sorted Slytherins a
year ago and introduced Regulus to Bartemius Crouch Jr., he thought he could
try to emulate Severus with his new little shadow, but it became quickly
obvious that the boy had no respect for the authority that came naturally with
Regulus's one year difference in age. Then again, Regulus rarely offered the
same level of respect to Severus, but at least he knew when to shut his mouth.
"A chatty second year, how abhorring." Severus rolled his eyes. "I should say
your selling technique needs polishing. Why on earth would I take him now?"
Regulus sighed in irritation. "Take him off my hands and I'll help you with
your Transfiguration homework."
Severus bristled and sneered at his friend. "I hardly need help from a third
year, thank you."
Regulus smirked at the defiance of the older boy. "You do and you know it.
Don't act like you're better than me because you're older," he said
hypocritically. "I happen to know that you're tutoring two sixth years in
Potions. What are Mulciber and Avery giving you in exchange for that?"
Severus's black eyes darkened—Regulus hadn't thought that possible—and he
turned and glared at his friend. "That's none of your concern," he glowered as
he replied. After a moment to collect himself and return his face to an
emotionless mask, Severus spoke again, "Take the hex-free sign off of your
brother and I'll get rid of your second year twitching shadow."
Regulus frowned. "You know I won't."
Severus narrowed his eyes across the Great Hall where Sirius and Potter were
being reprimanded by Professor McGonagall for dancing on the Gryffindor table.
"You know what he's like and yet you do nothing but protect him."
The young Black ran a hand through his long hair, noting that it was almost as
long as Sirius's, but not quite as shaggy. He briefly wondered if his brother
owned a brush or comb, or simply let his hair dry that way to appear rugged and
rough. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw girls appeared to like that. "Normal, non-fatal
or permanently scarring retribution for anything he does is allowed," Regulus
said, his words well-rehearsed and clearly spoken before. "You know if I didn't
have Lucius's protection in place, Sirius would be dead."
It had been less than two weeks after Regulus ended his betrothal to Narcissa
in exchange for Sirius's protection that he was sat down by a group of fifth
years who had apparently been pranked by Sirius the month prior when the
Gryffindors—"Marauders", they called themselves—had put Sticking Charms on the
Slytherin's shoes, making them stuck to the floor of the Great Hall and late to
class. Evidently, their idea of proper retribution for a harmless joke was to
steal from Slughorn's storage, brew a Draught of Living Death and slip it in
Sirius's pumpkin juice.
Lucius had forbade the action as per his arrangement with Regulus, and the
other Slytherins had spent an hour trying to talk the young Black into removing
the ban on his brother. He had then spent the rest of his first and all of his
second year at Hogwarts running interference with his Housemates that were all
too eager to try and permanently take out Sirius. It was shocking, to see and
hear what wizards close to his own age were willing to do but, then again,
the Daily Prophet had been reporting on things out in the real world that
looked just as bad if not worse. Muggings, theft, torture, and murders. He
tried to avoid reading the paper. His mother would send him clippings that she
found important anyway, and he had no desire to know the rest.
Severus glared across the hall as Sirius tried to flirt his way out of
detention with McGonagall, the old witch looked sternly at him, her arms
crossed over her chest, but even from the Slytherin table they could see her
resolve slightly crack. It was far too difficult not to fall prey to the charms
of Sirius Black. "Maybe someone should just—"
"Watch it," the third year hissed at his friend, his normally relaxed tone of
voice tensing. "You might be my best mate Severus, but Sirius is my brother."
"He's a Gryffindor."
"So is Evans," Regulus pointed out, gesturing to the redheaded witch who was
arguing with Potter while Sirius sweet talked the Deputy Headmistress. "And you
put a similar protection in place for her. Don't think I don't know about it,
though, I'm not entirely certain what you had to give up in exchange."
Severus was seething. "That's different," he insisted. "For one, she's not
a menace to the rest of the school, and secondly, you know very well that my
protection for her has absolutely nothing to do with her being a Gryffindor."
Regulus nodded in understanding. It was true. Though they whispered it in class
and in the corridors, the word "Mudblood" was thrown around casually in the
common room and Lily Evans—the smartest witch in her year—had apparently
rankled the scales of a few serpents that wanted to bleed the girl dry if only
to show how filthy her blood really was. Regulus avoided conversations like
that, merely rolling his eyes at the statements. When asked if he'd like to
join in should they finally get the girl alone, Regulus evaded the offer by
talking about how difficult it was to get blood stains out of clothing. That,
surprisingly, was a passable answer. It was unfortunate how close his militant
blood purist parents were with the parents of other students in his House.
"The others are talking," Regulus spoke quietly, warning his friend. It was one
thing to talk about and threaten a Mudblood from another House, Gryffindor at
that, but it appeared the older students were beginning to take notice of
Severus's affection for the girl, and that would not be tolerated.
Severus sneered. "Let them talk."
Regulus sighed at the sight of Severus's stubborn face. "When Lucius graduates
next year, we're both screwed. They'll turn on Sirius and your little ginger
witch the moment he steps onto the train, and they'll turn on us for
even thinking about trying to keep them safe. We'll be forced to make a
choice."
"And what will you choose?" Severus asked, still looking across the Hall, but
instead of glaring eyes on Sirius and Potter, his black eyes were settled on
the redhead in question. She, in turn, was gathering up her books into her
arms, glaring daggers at the messy-haired wizard who was grinning up at her
from his seat at the table between Sirius and Lupin.
"In the long run," Regulus thought out loud, "I think it might be best to cut
ties."
"With House or blood?" Severus asked, turning his focus to his friend.
"In appearance? Blood," he replied. "If they think I'm loyal to one member of
my family who's already on his way out of his inheritance, then it'll be so
much worse for the pair of us. At least on this side I can try and control what
happens to him."
"I hate him, you know."
"And for good reason, I get it." Regulus nodded. "But I don't turn my back on
people I care about."
Severus chuckled, actually chuckled. "How Hufflepuff of you."
Regulus rolled his eyes. "Says the bloke fingering a Muggle watch in his pocket
that his girlfriend got him last Yule," he teased quietly.
Severus's eyes widened and then narrowed in the space of half a second. "She's
not my girlfriend," he hissed.
"She got you a watch," Regulus said as if that made his entire point for him.
"Granted, it's a hideous looking Muggle-made thing, it's still a watch. Did you
even explain the implications of such a gift to the little Muggle-born, or did
you just accept it like an idiot?" he asked, smirking when he could see the
slightest touch of pink tinge Severus's cheeks.
"It doesn't mean anything," the fourth year Slytherin insisted.
"Not to her."
"And what did you get from your own little lioness?" Severus asked.
Regulus bristled but kept the smug expression on his face intact. He and
Severus had known one another long enough—and well enough—to know which buttons
they could push. Lily Evans had always been Severus's biggest button and lone
vulnerability. Regulus, of course, had Sirius. Sirius and . . .
"Chocolates," he said with a shrug. "Because she's a pureblood and knows
better," he added with a smug grin. "Have a chat with Evans before she starts
handing out tie tacks and cufflinks to the wizards in her own House," he
advised with genuine concern. Merlin knew what a nightmare it would be if
Severus's Muggle-born sweetheart—whether she knew it or not—accidentally found
herself betrothed to someone. "My brother would tease her mercilessly for it,
but he would at least refuse them and, whether you like him or not, Lupin's
honourable enough to educate her should she do something as naive and ignorant
as give him said gift."
Severus's shoulders stiffened. "Something's wrong with him."
"You've said before," Regulus replied with casual irritation in regards to the
subject. It didn't take a complete idiot to figure out what was wrong with
Lupin, but Severus had always wanted proof. Proof of lycanthropy was a fool's
errand. A dead fool if he was successful in any sense.
"As I was saying . . ." Regulus continued, "if she hands Potter, Pettigrew, or
even Longbottom something, I wouldn't doubt that their parents would draw up a
contract on the spot. Trust me when I tell you that it's a bloody sacrifice to
get out of one of those."
"What did you give up to get out of your betrothal contract to Narcissa?"
Severus asked curiously.
Regulus scowled. "None of your business."
He was about to be attacked with a barrage of follow-up questions, no doubt,
when—of all unlikely creatures—a Muggle-born came to his rescue. The long-
legged redhead bounded to their table with the reckless bravery of a blind
lion. Each serpent turned to glare at her save for Severus and Regulus at the
end who greeted her with curt nods, keeping any thought of a smile to a
minimum.
"Hey, Sev!" Lily greeted him brightly, her very aura could glow even in the
brightest of lights. It was blinding. "Are you ready to go to the library?"
Severus nodded as he gathered his books together. "Almost finished."
"Black," Lily greeted Regulus with a smile.
"Evans."
"You coming to study with us?" she asked, as she always did, a polite
propensity she had begun years earlier when Severus had first begrudgingly
introduced the pair. Regulus never agreed to accompany them.
"Meeting a friend," he said, declining her offer.
She grinned knowingly at him. "Is it someone I know?" she asked.
His grey eyes narrowed at the implication in her tone. "Is it any of your
concern?"
She dropped her tone an octave and her bright green gaze turned slightly hard.
"If it's my friend, then yes, yes it is," she insisted.
Mother lion to a pride of unruly little cubs. Regulus couldn't help but wonder
how many would be sadly lost to injury and detention while their protective
lioness naively played with snakes. He sneered at her. "Well, she was my
friend first, so . . . so there."
Lily laughed, her eyes sparkling as she did so. "How is it that you're a snarky
little smartarse and yet you're still more tolerable than your brother?" she
asked him with a sweet grin that made him feel uncomfortable.
"I'm not a Gryffindor?" he suggested.
She smirked, rolling her eyes. "Very funny."
"I'm that too."
She shook her head at him "How are you only thirteen?"
"Well-bred wizards are taught to speak properly from a young age," he informed
her only to get a glare in reply. He sighed dramatically as he realised what he
had said and shook his head. "Not that . . . I didn't mean 'well-bred' as in .
. . blood. If I truly thought that way, would I even be speaking to you?"
"What are your thoughts on blood purity?" she asked him, her voice much too
loud.
Regulus felt Severus stiffen beside him. He wondered if they should learn
Legilimency for moments like this. So that perhaps he could look into Severus's
eyes and somehow silently tell his friend that he needed to get his pet
Gryffindor under control before she got them all killed.
"My thoughts are that it's perfectly fine for me to exchange pleasantries with
you in public," he answered, his tone short and slightly cold. "But don't
expect to get into a political debate with me in the middle of the Great Hall
at my own table," he muttered through clenched teeth, hoping that the point was
easily received. "Better yet, do yourself and Severus a favour and don't ever
bring it up at all."
Lily frowned at him and Regulus couldn't help but feel like she was
disappointed in his answer, as though she expected better of him. Better from a
Slytherin she barely knew. Gods, if his parents even knew he was speaking to
her and not calling her any number of slurs, he would be beaten like Sirius
often was.
She sighed. "Your brother may be a lot of things, but he doesn't care that I'm
a Muggle-born. I think he would actually be friends with me if I let him."
Regulus scoffed. "Yes. I'll remember that when the two of you exchange
friendship bracelets and my mother uses it to choke him to death," he said
sarcastically, but his eyes spoke the truth. He let her see it there in his
gaze, hoping that maybe she would understand. "That's what I think about blood
purity, Evans. Sev, always a pleasure," he said as he stood, grabbing his book
bag. "If you see Crouch, let him know I jumped into the lake and drowned and
he's more than welcome to join me."
He stormed out of the Great Hall, grateful knowing that he had another hour
before his next class began. The thought of silence was pleasurable after that
massive fuck up of a conversation. In front of the entire Slytherin table no
less. What was wrong with the bloody girl?!
"Hey, what's wrong with you?" a voice called from behind him and Regulus
jumped, caught unawares.
He sighed as he spotted the blond witch behind him. He smiled at her, something
few people were able to extract from the young Slytherin. The very sight of her
was cause to grin, though. Her hair was a giant mess of blond insanity. He was
positively certain that not a single curl went in the same direction. It was
longer than when he had first seen it on the Hogwarts Express that first train
ride to school when they had fought over sweets and became instantaneous
friends. He had watched her large mass of corkscrew locks as she had sat on the
Sorting stool, wondering how on earth the Hat would even fit on her head. When
it had shouted "GRYFFINDOR!" he felt a lump in his chest that sat there, bitter
for a week before he had run into her during a double Potions class and sat
down beside him, much to the shock of both Houses.
At the reminder of the thing that separated him from the witch, he scowled.
"Your Housemate is what's wrong with me."
"Lily?" she asked curiously, noting that the upperclassman had been by the
Slytherin table. "What did she say?"
"Nothing," he hissed as he walked, slowing his steps instinctively so she fell
in beside him. "Just walked over to the table and started asking me, in front
of my Housemates, what my thoughts on blood purity are!"
The girl sighed dramatically. "I don't get Slytherins. Why can't you just . . .
be friends instead of future political allies or adversaries?"
He scoffed. "Because that's not how it works."
"Do you even enjoy life?" she asked, reaching up and tugging on a lock of his
hair. He turned and did the same to her, twisting the blond curl around his
finger before yanking lightly on it. "Do you like being at Hogwarts? Do
Slytherins have fun . . . at all?"
She smiled at him and he willed himself to ignore the dimple that was etched
into her right cheek but not her left. He hated things that weren't
symmetrical; they drew his attention and caught him off guard. That single tiny
dimple had been plaguing him since first year.
"I have fun with you," he admitted.
"And if your Housemates thought I was more than just some study buddy?" she
asked him.
He swallowed down the words that threatened to vomit up. "Are you?" he asked
curiously.
She snorted. "Don't be a prat."
He decided to push his luck and ask, "Would you ever consider giving me a watch
as a gift for Yule?"
Her bright blue eyes widened and she turned and gaped at him, cheeks pink and
lips parted. Regulus couldn't help but wonder if this was what Sirius went
through every day. Girls were constantly staring at him, gaping in shock at
something either flattering or offensive he had said. Regardless of the words
they still ended up snogging him, something that made Regulus a little sad for
witches in general and a bit disappointed—while at the same time impressed—with
his brother.
"W-what?" the blond witch stuttered. "A . . . a watch? Why? Do you . . . d-do
you want a watch? From me?" she asked, clearly knowing the meaning of such a
gift. It was a relief, really.
"Hypothetical question," Regulus replied.
"Hypothetical answer . . . I'd . . . I don't know."
Regulus nodded as though her response meant nothing to him when inside he felt
sick with anxiety and fear of rejection. "You should talk to Evans about how
she behaves. She gave Severus a watch last Yule."
She laughed loudly. "Mother of Merlin! Did he accept it!?"
He smirked at her. "Yes. But he's smart enough to understand that she didn't
mean anything by it other than a gift for a friend."
"Is he wearing it?" she asked, her voice sounding far too much like the tone
she used to gossip with and he wasn't one of her little Gryffindor girlfriends.
"No," he insisted. "Keeps it in his pockets."
"Thank Godric!" She giggled. "That would be a disaster."
He nodded, but then out of curiosity asked, "Why do you say that?"
"Because she thinks of him like a brother."
"That feeling, I assure you, is not reciprocated," he replied, shaking his head
in grief for his poor love-stricken friend. Perhaps he ought to ask Narcissa to
find a girl for Severus. Someone to take his mind off of Evans. Sirius went
through witches like Cauldron Cakes, surely one wasn't any better than the
other?
"What about me?" the witch at his side asked.
"What?" Regulus blinked at her, pulled from his thoughts, his grey eyes drawn
to the lopsided smile she was giving him. The curve of her lip lifted on the
side with the dimple. It was damn distracting. He swallowed and then smirked at
her. "I don't know if Evans thinks of you like a brother. We're not that
close," he said and laughed when she punched him in the arm. "Ow! Aren't you
supposed to be a proper pureblood witch?" he teased. "Didn't your parents ever
tell you it was improper to hit a wizard?"
She blushed. "Don't be a git, you know what I'm saying."
"I don't know. You're just . . ." he hesitated, "you're my friend."
She frowned. "Oh."
"And . . ." He cleared his throat. "I would like you to not be anyone else's
friend."
She smirked looking up at him and suddenly he noticed that they had a
difference in height. Had she always been that short? That small and fragile
looking? But then again, the growing bruise on his arm said otherwise.
"That's a little selfish of you, don't you think?" she asked.
He shrugged, not offended by her words in the slightest. "I'm selfish with the
things . . . and people . . . I care about."
"Aww," she cooed at him, leaning her head on his shoulder as they walked,
laughing when he caught a mouthful of her hair. "Regulus Black, do
you care about me?"
"Shut up," he hissed.
"Aren't you supposed to be a proper pureblood wizard?" she asked, mocking him
as she gasped and jumped back away from him, grasping at her heart
dramatically. Gods, Gryffindors were theatrical! "Didn't your parents ever tell
you it was improper to tell a witch to shut up?"
Regulus smirked. "Couldn't tell you if they did. Mum screams so loud I went
deaf when I was eight."
The witch laughed and linked her arm with his as they continued to walk. "Come
my proper pureblood wizard," she said teasingly, "let us adjourn to the lake
where you will study things of higher education and I will be a proper
pureblood princess and simper at you while you regale me with tales of your
vast intellect."
"Hey, goldilocks!" Sirius shouted as he rushed over to them, draping an arm
over the witch's shoulders. "What are you doing hanging out with this little
git?" He smirked at his little brother.
"Having a lovely conversation about which of the Black brothers is more
attractive," she replied with a wink.
"Oh." Sirius stood back, adjusting his robes and running a hand through his
black hair. "Well, clearly there's a huge difference," he said and waggled his
eyebrows at her teasingly.
"Yes, huge as in your head." She laughed at him. "It's so big I think it
disqualifies you and Regulus wins by default."
"Ouch." Sirius clutched at his heart. "You wound me, my lady."
The witch giggled and rolled her eyes at him, letting go of Regulus's arm as
she made her way down to the lake, leaving the Black brothers behind. Sirius
grinned and leant next to Regulus, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
"Bugger off," Regulus snarled.
Sirius grinned, ignoring his brother. "She's nice. I like her."
"Go away!" Regulus snapped.
Sirius only widened his smile at Regulus's temper. "Have you kissed her?
Snogged in a broom closet? The one on the fourth floor is particularly large,
then again, it's nice when they're small. Very little wiggle room."
"You're disgusting." Regulus shook his head. "How do you even get girls to kiss
your stupid face?"
"I look like this," Sirius said with a smile and pointed to his face, which was
partially obscured by the red and gold tie that he had wrapped around his head.
Regulus frowned. "I look like that too, only less moronic."
"Yeah, but I'm not scowling all the time, am I?" Sirius smirked. "They love it
when you smile, Reggie. C'mon, give us a grin," he said and pushed his fingers
against Regulus's cheeks, trying to manipulate a smile out of the boy.
"Can you . . ." Regulus seethed as his brother continued to touch his face, "be
an adult for once in your life?"
"No," Sirius answered instantly. "I'm fourteen. Happy to not be an adult as
long as I can get away with it."
"Can you please be—?"
"Serious?"
"Fuck off!" Regulus growled and pulled away from his brother. "Please just . .
. go back to your merry little band of idiots," he said and gestured to the
Marauders who were on the other side of the greenhouses, roughhousing with one
another.
"They're not idiots," Sirius said, defending his friends.
Regulus stared at his brother incredulously. "Potter's laying on the ground at
this very moment, holding his groin because he leapfrogged over Pettigrew and
knocked his bollocks on the idiot's big fat head," he pointed out.
Sirius turned his head quickly to watch and, sure enough, James was groaning on
the ground with his hands between his legs. Peter was gripping the top of his
head, and Remus was laughing loudly, holding his hands against his side. "He
jumps too soon." Sirius sigh disappointedly and shook his head. "You have to
use the shoulders to give you the extra boost."
Regulus gaped at his brother. "How are you lot passing your classes? How
are any of you not brain damaged?"
"Remus keeps us in line when it's necessary."
"Can he try to keep you from hexing my Housemates?" Regulus snapped.
Sirius frowned. "I don't start it."
"Can you . . . Sirius, please . . ." Regulus begged. "Please stop. Just pretend
Slytherins don't exist if it'll get you through the day. Can you not make
things harder?"
Sirius ignored the pleading and looked back toward the lake where the little
blond witch was sitting beneath a tree, looking back at the brothers
expectantly. "Your bird looks lonely. Go kiss and make-up with her," Sirius
said, shoving Regulus toward her.
"She's not my . . ." He growled, watching as Sirius ran back to his friends.
"Fucking idiot," he mumbled under his breath as he reached the tree and his
sole Gryffindor friend.
"If it makes you feel any better, I do think you're better looking than your
brother." She smiled up at him as he took a seat beside her, trying not to let
colour reach his cheeks and give him away.
"It . . . I don't care about that," he insisted.
"Reg?" When his grey eyes met blue, she smiled softly. "I would."
"Would what?"
"Consider giving you a watch as a gift for Yule."
He smiled at her. A genuine smile.
When she opened her book bag to reach for her homework, Regulus looked down at
his own books and frowned at the sight of the Black family crest his mother had
the elves stitch on his book bag. Yule watch or not, affections or not, there
was no way his parents—blood purists that they were—would ever approve of a
match with Marlene McKinnon.
***** Nomen *****
April 1998
Her grey eyes fell over the words on the soft page that smelled of dust and
leather and something musky and just a touch sour but came together as a good
kind of stink that made Hermione feel at home. The old parchment, more than
likely tucked away in Professor Snape's office, private quarters, or even his
home, likely sat nearby while the Potions Master brewed; steam from the various
draughts infiltrating the air and eventually the pages of her father's diaries,
making them smell old and alive at the same time.
She remembered how Harry talked about Tom Riddle's diary in second year. How,
when he put a quill to the page and wrote down a question, the piece of
Voldemort's soul inside of the diary—the Horcrux—would write back. As dark of
magic as Tom Riddle's diary had been, Hermione was often tempted to touch
her father's diaries with ink in the vain hope that he would speak to her
through its pages, beyond the grave. Then again, there hadn't been a grave. Or
a body. Voldemort's inferi never released him.
She exhausted herself with research trying to help the Order. Sirius and Harry
always on her heels forcing her back to bed to rest when it was clear from her
red-rimmed eyes that she had reached a limit. She didn't want to tell them that
when she slept she had nightmares. The few times she woke in a puddle of sweat
and tears, only to find either one or both of them leaning over her, gently
rousing her from her anguished sleep, she lied and said it was all Bellatrix in
her thoughts. That, they would understand. They wouldn't ask questions, as it
was expected she would fear the woman who had tortured her—had cut into her
flesh.
She didn't tell them that she dreamed of a cave she had never seen; of an
island in the middle of a lake and a locket that had been long since destroyed.
She didn't tell them that she dreamed of an unquenchable thirst and of the
undead rising from the waters to pull her down with them. With him.
She didn't tell them she dreamed of drowning. Of dying like her father died.
Hermione breathed in the scent of the diary pages, forcing the tears not to
fall in mourning for a man she had never met. She let the smell of the
parchment wash over her, calm her and cleanse her and ease her worries. She let
his words ease her curiosities.
March 17th, 1976
I found Severus first. I should have known that he was planning something. For
all of the lectures he gives the younger years about staying one's hand until
the right moment, observation, preparation, and using resources like a good
Slytherin should . . . he sure acted like a reckless fucking Gryffindor. He's
been complaining about Lupin for years; too prideful to let it slide that
someone had a secret he couldn't know all the details about, I suppose. I used
to think he had issues with half-breeds and magical creatures, perhaps he was
worried for his fellow students. Then last Monday, I watched my best friend
stare across the Great Hall while Evans shared her dessert with Lupin—who
looked disgustingly sick and pale—and I could see the jealous rage building up
inside of my friend.
Idiot.
To let a girl—a girl who didn't even reciprocate his feelings—have such power
over him. Weakness. It clouded his thoughts and made him reckless. When I found
him pale and shaking in the common room last night, I could only have guessed
what had happened. Full moon plus a raging Slytherin with a Muggle-born fetish
and a werewolf who didn't even think twice about sharing a piece of chocolate
cake with the girl. Oh, the outrage. He caught me rolling my eyes at him and
called me a "pureblood prick" as though it were an insult. He can be such a
baby when he's heartbroken.
I met with Marlene for breakfast, ignoring the whispers coming from my own
Housemates. They all think that I'm fucking her, which is despicable despite
what the supposed customs are for young pureblood wizards. I watched from the
shadows while Lucius courted Narcissa, eager to make sure she was safe and
happy despite the fact I no longer had any claim on her. And not once—not
once!—did Malfoy step out of line with another witch. Pureblood customs indeed.
Maybe for purebloods of lower birth. Respectable families like the Blacks and
the Malfoys have no need to sully their names and their bodies by bedding as
many witches as possible before marriage. Well . . . except for Sirius.
I let my Housemates believe what they want. If they think Marlene is just some
stupid slag I'm putting it to, then she's claimed at the very least, and
they'll leave her alone. If not . . . gods, I don't even want to think what
would happen. It's bad enough that they all think I take it too easy on my own
brother, which I do, but to have them believe I was in love with a blood-
traitor Gryffindor? We would both be dead.
And I do love her.
Gods . . . I sound like Severus.
At least Marlene likes me back.
I wonder how long that will last.
"Does it say a bunch of shite about me in there?"
Hermione gasped at the intrusion and slammed the diary shut, bringing her grey
eyes up to her bedroom door to see Sirius standing there with a smirk on his
face. She wondered if her father had the same smile. Staring at the man, her
uncle, she was suddenly overwhelmingly pleased that she never developed a crush
on him as Ginny had one summer. Granted, she had been busy spending her nights
thinking of a certain werewolf that would remain unnamed and buried deep down
in the recesses of her subconsciousness forever.
"He loved you very much," Hermione said, gesturing to the diary in her hands as
Sirius stepped into the room and took a seat on the side of her bed. "Even if
you were—"
"An egotistical arrogant arse?" Sirius grinned at her.
Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling softly. "Something like that."
He looked at the diary, touching the cover briefly before pulling his hand away
and turning his attention to the witch. "How are you doing, little girl?" he
asked, smiling at her and affectionately tucking a loose strand of black hair
behind her ear.
She smiled at his attentions, the feeling of being loved and treasured by a
father figure again felt healing. His words, however . . . She wasn't ready.
Not really. "How are plans for the battle?" she asked curiously.
Sirius chuckled. "Sudden change of subject, that doesn't bode well," he said,
smiling when her nose twitched at being caught. "Plans are going well," he told
her. "As far as we can tell, Voldemort is still looking for the Elder Wand and
doesn't know that four out of seven Horcruxes are destroyed and we know the
identity of the other three."
Hermione flinched at the numbers. "Professor Snape is certain about the last
one?" she asked, forcing her bottom lip not to tremble. She was a Gryffindor
for Godric's sake!
Sirius frowned and nodded, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not happy
about it either, but it makes sense." He sighed, the weight of Azkaban and
years in war ageing him in the moment of reflection, in the moment where they
both silently acknowledged what they both knew: Harry was a Horcrux. "I've
never trusted the git but . . . Pensieve memories are hard to alter without
being noticeable. Plus, he willingly took Veritaserum that he didn't brew
himself. Threw a fit about it first, but he took it."
Hermione nodded, processing his words while her brain worked overtime. "And
you're sure Harry will survive it?" she asked worriedly.
"Me? I don't know . . ." he shook his head, "but . . . Snape and Moony and
even you have researched the hell out of everything you could get your hands
on. I can't lie and say I'm not worried. I'm bloody terrified."
"Do you trust Professor Snape now?" she asked him.
He cringed at the words but miraculously held his tongue. She wondered if it
had anything to do with her, this strange truce that had sprung up between the
lifelong rivals. "I . . . I don't know, Hermione," he admitted honestly.
"I think you should," she said. "I think . . . I think he had a rough life
too."
Sirius raised a brow. "Too?"
Hermione touched her father's diary. "He, er, Regulus," she said, frowning,
"was very detailed about his childhood. Your childhood."
Sirius looked briefly vulnerable and instinctively picked at a small scar near
his collarbone. He didn't seem to notice that he was doing it, but Hermione's
eyes flickered to the site, wondering if that was one of the many bones that
Walburga Black had broken. "Shite," Sirius muttered bitterly. "I . . . don't
tell Harry or . . . anyone, okay?" he pleaded with her.
"I don't think badly of you because of it," she said. "You were being true to
yourself. Protecting Andromeda and your friends and . . . and your brother."
Sirius nodded silently, still looking uncomfortable. Obviously not used to ever
feeling or appearing weak, least of all in front of a witch; a witch he had
spent the past few weeks saying he would protect and love as though she were
his own daughter.
"Maybe . . . maybe it was good that I was raised by Muggles," she said softly.
"I don't know the exact statistics, but children who are raised in abusive
homes could grow up to become—"
"Don't," Sirius said cutting her off, his tone cold and firm. "Regulus wasn't
cruel," he insisted. "He was an arrogant little shite when he wanted to be.
Smart and unafraid to rub it in your face. He was Slytherin, so he was cunning
and selfish at times. And gods did we fight, especially in those last few
years. But you . . ." Sirius paused and took a breath to calm himself.
"Hermione, I've jumped to a lot of conclusions about my brother in the past and
have had to have the truth shoved back in my ignorant face. He would never have
hurt you."
"He was a Death Eater."
"Yeah." Sirius nodded, pain lingering in his eyes. "Yeah, he was."
"You're sure about that?"
He looked down. "I saw the Dark Mark myself," he confessed but didn't
elaborate. "He really was one of them."
She frowned and then tried to reason, "So was Professor Snape and now he's
good. Regulus was good in the end too, wasn't he?"
Sirius nodded but then muttered, "Lot of good it did him."
She bitterly agreed with him. "Now . . . now I don't have a father. He never
even knew me." Her chest felt tight as she spoke the words but she tried to
remain in control of her breathing. The last thing she needed was for Sirius to
think she was any more fragile than he already believed her to be. "He died
months before I was even born."
The large Animagus wrapped his arms around the small witch and held her close,
rubbing her back and kissing her head. "You have me," he promised, pulling away
to look in her eyes—grey, like his own. "Officially I'm your Patriarch, the
Paterfamilias of your House and, without Reg here, that means you . . . you
belong to me in his absence." Before she had a chance to object to the
terminology, he clarified, "It means I'll take care of you. You and Harry. Once
this shitty war is over and Voldemort is dead, we'll be a family. A proper
family." He smiled sweetly at her and she couldn't help but return the
expression.
A proper family sounded wonderful right now.
A thought occurred to her. "I'm going with Harry when he goes to Hogwarts to
look for the diadem."
Sirius growled under his breath but then sighed loudly. "I was afraid you were
going to say that. All too eager to sacrifice yourself for the welfare of
others."
"Maybe I'm like my father," she suggested, her tone a touch bitter.
Sirius smirked at her. "Maybe. Your mum was a Gryffindor too, though," he said.
Hermione looked up at him with wide eyes. "Did you know her?" she asked,
desperate for information. There was nothing on the family tapestry and
Professor Snape wouldn't let a word of her pass his lips, so all Hermione had
to go on were small hints in the diaries, but even then there were so many and
she hadn't read them all yet.
"Marlene?" Sirius grinned and confirmed what the diaries had led her to
believe. "Yeah, we were friends. She was brilliant. Smart and funny and she
didn't put up with anything. Friendly too. You . . . I can see how you're her
daughter."
"Are you sure she's my mother?" Hermione asked, finding it strange at how easy
it was to say the word "mother" in reference to a woman she barely had
confirmation of, and yet acknowledging Regulus Black as her father, aloud, was
still a struggle. "It . . . I'm only up to his fourth year at Hogwarts," she
said, looking down at the leather bound book in her hands.
"My brother only ever had eyes for one witch and it was her." Sirius smiled, a
look of happy nostalgia lingered in his eyes and Hermione smiled at the sight
of it. "From the first moment they met on the train. It was rare for a
Slytherin to be friends with a Gryffindor. If . . . I mean,
obviously, you exist so somehow they made it work, at least for a time. Despite
being from two rival Houses."
Hermione nodded and then whispered, "In fair Verona."
"What's that?"
"A Muggle play," she told him. "Romeo and Juliet. You know it?"
Sirius scoffed, offended before dramatically speaking, "'From ancient grudge
break to new mutiny, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth
the fatal loins of these two foes a pair of star-cross'd lovers—'"
"'Take their life'," Hermione finished the verse with a frown. Sirius swallowed
and nodded as silence fell between them. Hermione wondered if the grief would
ever abate—grief for her Muggle parents, who were lost to her forever; grief
for her dead parents, who she would never know. There was also a lingering pain
that had stuck around for far too long—gods, if she could only will it away.
"Star-crossed lovers never have happy endings, do they?" she asked him.
Sirius frowned. "I can't bring your father back, and I can't bring back your
Muggle parents, but I'm going to give you a good life Hermione," he promised
her. "I know you're not really a little girl anymore but—"
"I would like to be," she admitted. "War took my childhood from me. I think I
would very much like it back."
He smiled brightly. "Would you like a pony, little girl? I'll happily get you a
pony."
She laughed softly, the first genuine laugh she had had in weeks. "I'll take
your hippogriff if you can tell him to stay on the ground at all times."
Sirius gasped. "You would take away my Buckbeak? Cruel, cruel witch," he
scolded her teasingly before standing and kissing the top of her head. "Get
some sleep sweetheart. We're infiltrating Hogwarts soon."
As Sirius walked out of her bedroom, he passed Harry at the doorway and leant
down, kissing the top of the boy's head as well. Hermione smiled at the sight,
never before feeling more like siblings with the Boy Who Lived than in that
very moment.
"Hey," he said as he approached her, hands awkwardly shoved in his pockets.
"How're you feeling?"
She shrugged and moved over to allow him room to scoot into the bed beside her.
"Better," she admitted. "No more seizures, very little pain. I'm ready to jump
back in the thick of it with you."
Harry frowned as he draped an arm around her shoulders, twirling a strand of
her black hair around his index finger and lightly tugging on it
absentmindedly. "What if . . . maybe you should stay," he advised.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Harry Potter—"
He winced at her tone. "Hermione, I can't lose you. I thought you were going to
die and it would have been all my—"
"It is not your fault," she hissed at him. "I am in this no matter what. Harry,
even if it weren't for you, I would still be a target because I'm a—"
"You're not, though," a voice said, interrupting her from the doorway. Harry
and Hermione both turned to see a nervous looking Ron standing there, hands in
his pockets, visibly anxious about stepping a foot into the actual room. "Not a
Muggle-born. Not anymore."
Hermione smiled sadly at him and tilted her head in a gesture that silently
invited him inside. He smiled and walked in, taking up the opposite side of the
bed, sandwiching the witch between both of the boys. "Sorry it took me so long
to show up," Ron mumbled and Hermione smiled her silent understanding and
forgiveness at him.
She looked down at a single curl of hair that fell over her shoulder as Ron
twirled it around his fingers, a recent nervous habit, she had noticed, that he
had picked up from Harry. The hair was black, the colour of a raven's wings,
the colour of the midnight sky, of obsidian and onyx. Black like her name. She
wasn't Hermione Granger anymore. She was Hermione Black, pureblood. She didn't
know how to be a pureblood, not especially in this war when it all came down to
blood. The scars on her forearm were supposed to have been a reminder—something
to constantly tell herself who and what she was and her value in the wizarding
world to those who wanted nothing but to oppress her, cast her out, or kill her
off. Now, the words were a mockery of something she felt she used to be.
"I don't care," she said, more to herself than to the boys. "I . . . it doesn't
matter what my blood status is. I'm in this war and I'm on the right side and I
will fight for that side no matter what. I'm not leaving you alone in this.
Never," she promised them.
Harry sadly nodded his head, clearly knowing what her response would have been.
"Sirius doesn't want you to go," he said and then smirked. "To be fair, he
doesn't want me to go either."
She rolled her eyes. "He's stubborn."
Ron snorted. "Don't even ask what my mum thinks about all of this. Any time she
brings it up I tell her that at least Ginny's tucked away at Hogwarts. She
clutches her chest all dramatically and starts praising Merlin."
"I wish I knew how to keep everyone safe," Harry confessed.
Hermione frowned at him. "It's war, Harry. People are going to get hurt."
"I know. Just . . . I hope it's none of our people," he said and Ron nodded his
agreement.
Hermione winced. "Harry . . . my . . . father, Regulus . . . he was a Death
Eater."
Ron turned his gaze away from her, clearly still not entirely comfortable over
the news that one of his best friends had turned out to be a pureblood. And not
just any pureblood but damn near Wizarding royalty. Not that the Weasleys ever
cared for such things. The news that her father had been a Death Eater was also
obviously eating away at Ron's very strict black and white way of thinking.
"I know," Harry said and sat up to turn and look at her, realising his words
must have offended her. "But he wasn't . . . I mean, he changed. He fought for
the right side in the end. He died a hero."
"But he was still a Death Eater," she said. "So was Professor Snape. What does
. . . do you think . . . do you think they're all bad? Malfoy didn't identify
us when Bellatrix—"
Harry's and Ron's eyes both widened. "He tried killing Professor Dumbledore. He
Imperiused Madam Rosmerta, cursed Katie Bell, and poisoned Ron," Harry said. "I
don't think he would have killed Professor Dumbledore in the end . . . but he
let Death Eaters into Hogwarts."
Hermione put a hand on Harry's shoulder to silently let him know that she
understood and she wasn't trying to defend the Slytherin's actions, but she did
have a point to make. "Professor Snape did kill Professor Dumbledore."
Harry furrowed his brow. "He's explained why."
Ron scoffed in reply.
"Do you think he's killed before?" she asked her friend, watching as he
emotionally struggled over the question. "Do you think they just hand out Dark
Marks for the hell of it? You show your pureblood credentials and suddenly
you're just in Voldemort's inner circle? What did they do to get in, Harry? Who
did they hurt? Who did they kill? I think it's highly unlikely that Professor
Snape has been sitting around brewing potions while the rest of the Death
Eaters go out on revels and kill and torture people," she said angrily. "Who do
you think my father killed to earn his Mark?" she asked, her voice rising and
breaking at the same time.
"Hermione . . ." Harry pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. "Don't
do this. He . . . there is forgiveness. He redeemed himself. Snape redeemed
himself."
"What about the Death Eaters we're going to be fighting?" she asked.
Harry shook his head. "They're different."
"Why?" she pleaded, her heart clenching painfully. "Because they haven't
redeemed themselves yet? What if . . . Harry we're going to fight these people
and we don't know who they are or why they're doing any of this. I don't know
why my father was a Death Eater. What if we go into battle and I kill one of
them? What if I kill Pansy Parkinson's dad? Theo Nott's dad is a Death Eater,
but he was always nice to me. What if I kill his father? What if I kill
Malfo—?"
"You're not going to kill anyone," Ron said firmly.
"I don't want anyone to die," she told him. "They all deserve trials. Fair
trials, unlike what happened to Sirius."
Harry nodded in understanding, but then he smirked as he tugged on one of her
unruly curls. "What about Voldemort?" he asked.
Hermione rolled her eyes and actually laughed. "I'll make an exception for him,
I think."
***** Fratres *****
May 1976
He really, really hadn't wanted to spend his fifteenth birthday in a fight, but
fucking Severus had apparently decided to make the entire world revolve around
him—which was quite the change of pace for Regulus—and suddenly every damn move
made between Gryffindor and Slytherin had something to do either with Severus's
ridiculous outburst by the Black Lake or Evans's sobbing hysterics over the
disbanding of their friendship.
"He has to stop it," Marlene was saying as she followed behind Regulus while he
made his way down to the lake. If she was determined to yell at him in order to
drag him into the theatrics their friends had created, he wasn't about to let
her do it in the middle of the Great Hall like she'd clearly planned on doing.
"Reg," she said when she finally caught up with him, tugging on the sleeve of
his robe to draw his attention. "He's been following her around and it's
getting to the point where others are going to get involved," she told him, and
he knew exactly what that meant. Others meant Potter, Sirius, Lupin, and most
likely Pettigrew, but only because he was always there, tagging along and
clapping like an idiotic puppet. "He threatened to sleep outside of Gryffindor
Tower and the Fat Lady was throwing a fit about it. Alice threatened to get
McGonagall and Mary had to take Lily aside to tell her everything about the
watch she gave him in case he tries to invoke some pureblood custom indicating
that they had an understand—"
"He wouldn't do that," Regulus said, rising to the defence of his friend.
Severus was a lot of things—including being an absolute idiot at this very
moment—but he wasn't someone who would try to trick a Muggle-born into a
betrothal in order to get her attention. "Besides, Severus is a half-blood," he
stated calmly, as though that made all the difference.
The ends of Marlene's curls began to spark and he did his best to hide the fact
that he was looking to where her wand was stashed in case she tried to hex him
for his comments. "I don't care if he's the offspring of a hippogriff and a
kneazle!" she screamed, "He is stalking her!"
Regulus rolled his eyes. "Well, why doesn't she just talk to him?"
"Because he called her a Mudblood!" Marlene said, stomping her foot for the
added effect. He supposed she thought it made her look angrier when in reality
it made her look like a little girl having a temper tantrum, and he was having
difficulties not admitting that he found it adorable.
When she audibly growled at him for a lack of response, he sighed dramatically.
"Everyone calls her a . . ." he began but caught the fire in her gaze and
backed out a bit, self-preservation at the forefront of his mind. "But not me,
of course not. Just . . . fuck, Marley, she can't toss aside years of
friendship with the bloke just because he called her a name in a really weak
moment."
She frowned. "Did he tell you what happened?"
"What Potter and my brother did?" he asked and shook his head. No self-
respecting wizard would openly admit that his pants were pulled down publicly,
in front of a group of peers and had to be rescued by a witch. "No. I had to
weasel the information out of a couple of Ravenclaws who saw the whole thing.
But that's exactly why I can't do a damn thing about him, Marley. It's my
brother that did it. Add this to the situation with the werew—" he stopped mid-
word, cursing himself for being too caught up in the moment and cursing Marlene
for making him that way.
She raised a blond eyebrow. "What did you say?"
"What? Nothing."
"You were going to say werewolf. Why would you say werewolf?"
"Why?" he asked her, noting the pink tinge to her cheeks. "What do you know?"
"What do you know?"
They stared at one another for a long moment of silence, Regulus questioning
her intelligence, which he knew was higher than most of her fellow lions. Then
again, he was genuinely shocked that most hadn't already figured out Lupin's
secret. "I know that I'm a Slytherin and I'll be damned if I'm going to give up
information just for the hell of it," he said and smirked at her.
She folded her arms across her chest defiantly. "What do you want in exchange?"
"From you?" He grinned. "A little less clothing could be optional—Ow!" he
snapped and recoiled from her fist as she punched him in the shoulder.
"Don't act like your brother!" she snapped at him.
Regulus actually laughed at her fury. "Why not? Whatever he does clearly works
for him."
"Yes, that's because he's a laughing, giggly, and idiotic Gryffindor."
"Aren't all Gryff—?"
She stuck her pointed finger in his face and he was half-tempted to bite it.
"Watch it," she threatened. "And you're a Slytherin. If you use your brother's
lines, they'll come off . . . I don't know, creepy," she said, ignoring the
offended expression that crossed his face. "He gets away with it."
Regulus frowned. "He gets away with a lot. Can't you . . . I don't know, have
Potter or Lupin rein him in or something?"
Marlene scoffed. "James? Not likely; he's worse than Sirius. And now that
Snape's called Lily that word—"
"It's just a word," he insisted. While he'd seen the impact of the slur through
his years at Hogwarts, it had taken him a long time to truly understand it.
Growing up in a pureblood household he'd been taught what Muggles and Mudbloods
were, but it was only upon arriving at Hogwarts that he understood how the two
were even connected. He'd never known what a Muggle-born was until he'd finally
met one. Still . . . they were all just words to him.
"—he'll never let up on him," Marlene continued, ignoring Regulus's
interjection completely. "And now Lily's not there to defend him anymore. And
it's not just a word," she said, jumping back to his statement, "It means
something to people who are hurt by it. Words can hurt people, Regulus!"
His patience was running thin. Words didn't hurt people. Fists and wands and
weapons hurt people. The broken bones and bloodied lips that Sirius received at
the hands of their parents . . . that hurt. Lily Evans didn't know the meaning
of pain.
"She's just being a baby!" he said angrily. "It's just a fucking word, Marlene!
Evans has no idea what real pain is! She lives a comfortable Muggle life, with
two parents who adore her, who don't even care that she's a witch. Then she
comes to Hogwarts and gets mollycoddled by all the professors because she's a
know-it-all little swot! She prances around the school ignoring our culture and
customs like she's above us, all while dragging Severus around like a backup
plan in case she doesn't snag one of the rich pureblood idiots that pant after
her, like Potter!" he hissed and then threw out, "And don't even get me started
on Potter!"
Marlene stood back and watched his rant. When he'd finished, she shoved him
hard in the chest, nearly knocking him over. "Don't yell at me, you arse! And
don't talk about my friend like that! You have no idea what her life is like!
Don't you dare judge her!"
"And you don't know Severus's life! Or my brother's!" he shot back at her,
furious at Severus for causing this problem, at Evans for being dramatic, and
at Sirius for starting the whole thing, to begin with. "You fucking Gryffindors
are so happy to go about thinking that you're better than everyone because
Dumbledore pats you on the head when you do something good, and you're quick to
judge when anyone else steps out of line, especially if they're not in your own
House!"
"Only when it comes to Dark Magic, yes!" Marlene said, taking note of the way
that Regulus briefly flinched at the words. "We are quick to judge! You think
it was one word that ended Lily's friendship with Severus? She's not weak. But
she is observant. She's been watching Severus reading Dark Arts books, books
that aren't available here at Hogwarts, even in the Restricted Section, which
means he either bought them himself in Knockturn Alley—"
He rolled his eyes. "Don't be dramatic."
"—or another Slytherin gave them to him! Your brother may be a skirt chaser, a
trouble-maker and, above all, a bully when he wants to be, but at least he is
not a future Death Eater!" she spat.
Panic flooded his chest and he reached out for the witch, placing a hand
against her mouth as he stared at her incredulously. "Keep your voice down!" he
hissed at her. "Are you out of your mind?" he asked, his gaze flickering around
the grounds, searching out anyone who might be within hearing distance.
Marlene struggled against his grip and finally broke free as she sunk her teeth
into his palm. "No! Keep Snape away from my friend," she snarled. "Who knows
what horrible things he'd do to her since she's nothing but a filthy Mudblood,
right?" she said, glaring at him before turning on her heels and storming off
back to the castle.
Fucking Severus.
===============================================================================
Regulus had fully intended on returning to the dungeons to confront his friend
and drag him out of his sullen mood by force if necessary—that is, if he didn't
hex him first. When he stepped into the common room and made his way toward the
fifth year dormitories, he caught sight of a group of seventh years standing
outside of Severus's room. "What's going on here?" he asked as he approached
them all, taking note of the extra pale look on Severus's already sallow face.
Mulciber turned and grinned down at Regulus. "None of your business, Black."
"Piss off, Mulciber," Regulus said, not in the mood to deal with the older boy.
"I'm not afraid of you."
The brawny wizard stepped closer in an attempt to intimidate the younger
Slytherin. "Maybe you should be. Maybe that brother of yours should be,"
Mulciber threatened, not even being subtle about it.
Regulus sighed in disappointment. Sometimes it was clear that the Sorting Hat
only took into account an eleven-year-old's family when placing them in a
House. He had a thought to write the Board of Governors, suggesting that in
addition to Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff, they implement a
fifth House simply called, "Other" for people like Mulciber who were too stupid
to be properly placed.
"Do I look to be standing in your way?" Regulus finally asked, officially tired
of everyone assuming he was Sirius's guard dog. Lucius Malfoy had graduated
Hogwarts already and the protection that was offered to Sirius on Regulus's
behalf had been lifted. It was clear, however, from the beginning of the year
that the rest of Slytherin House had been using Lucius and Regulus as an excuse
to not attack the Marauder.
"There is the pesky problem where Sirius is never without his little gang of
happy misfits," Regulus continued and smirked at the older boy. "Shame that
despite looking like absolute and utter idiots, they're quite adept at
duelling. Didn't I hear that Potter bested you in Defence last week?" he asked
Mulciber who was now growling down at him. "Knocked you on your arse with a
Melofors Jinx and you were walking around with a pumpkin on your head all
afternoon." He chuckled at the memory as Mulciber's face grew red. "Isn't that
a spell we all learned to cast and counter in second year?"
"You're on thin ice, Black. I could mop the floor with you if I wanted."
"Can you even afford a mop?" Regulus asked. "If not, I'm certain to have a few
spare Sickles lying about."
Mulciber hissed, "I'll kill you, you little—"
"You could try," Regulus said, clearly unafraid. Even if the rest of Slytherin
House didn't treat him like a prince—which they did—Slytherins were loyal to
their own and Mulciber openly threatening Regulus in front of witnesses would
do nothing for his own reputation. He'd be labelled a traitor and eliminated.
"Then again, I think you already want to," Regulus said, testing to see how far
he could push the older boy before he finally snapped. "I can see it your eyes.
Rage. You'd love nothing more than to curse the life right out of me." He
sneered. "But you won't. Because I may be younger, may be related to the great
Gryffindor git, but I am Regulus fucking Black, and I don't cower
to peasants like you, pureblood or not."
Whether it was Regulus's confidence or the mention of his family name, which
was as high as one could get without being a Malfoy, Mulciber backed off. The
older boy was still fuming, but he was smart enough to know better than to
attack a Black—a Slytherin Black at that. The seventh years all turned and left
Severus's room, slamming the door behind them.
"Do Blacks just naturally make enemies everywhere they go?" Severus asked.
"We're very charming people," Regulus commented dryly as he made his way
further into the room, pushing aside Severus's books to make room for a seat on
the bed beside his friend. "You should meet my parents. Then again, you're a
half-blood which in their opinion is just as bad as any blood-traitor or
Mudblood," he admitted. "Speaking of Mudbloods . . ."
Severus turned and glared at his friend. "Don't use that word in front of me."
"Why not?" Regulus shrugged. "I hear you've become quite fond of the term."
The other boy frowned. "I didn't mean to," he said softly.
Regulus nodded. "No. I understand that. But she won't," he insisted. "So do the
school a favour and stop moping in the common room, grow some bollocks and, for
the love of Salazar, stop stalking the chit outside Gryffindor Tower. You're
making an absolute arse of yourself."
Severus turned and narrowed his eyes at the younger boy. "Didn't know you
cared."
"About you?" Regulus scoffed, insulted, "Don't be stupid," he said. They were
best friends, despite the fact that Severus apparently reserved that title for
the redhead who was currently cursing his very existence. "Your antics have
caused an avalanche of shite that has finally tumbled through my door."
The older boy raised a black brow. "McKinnon?" he asked and Regulus nodded.
"Apologies for interrupting your grand love affair," Severus said
sarcastically. "You won't have to worry about it anymore. I'm done embarrassing
myself over Lily."
Praise Salazar! Regulus thought to himself. "Finally given up? Good for you.
Move on. Forget the incident ever happened."
"I doubt that option will be available to be," Severus drawled. "Mulciber came
to deliver me a letter."
"He looks a little inept for an owl," Regulus commented thoughtfully. "Who's it
from?"
"Lucius Malfoy."
"And what does the grand Slytherin Prince want of you?" he asked, trying not to
appear overly intrigued by the fact that Lucius Malfoy had personally reached
out to a half-blood still at Hogwarts, friends or not.
Severus looked down at the letter in his hands and whispered quietly, "He wants
to meet me."
"Has he forgotten you already?" Regulus asked, leaning back on his elbows and
looking far too relaxed. It made him the near mirror image of his brother,
something that irked Severus to no end. "Shame. I like to think you leave quite
the impression on—"
"Not Malfoy," Severus hissed. "He wants to meet me."
Silence filled the room and Regulus's relaxed demeanour fell away in favour of
stiff defensiveness. It didn't take an idiot to figure out who Severus meant.
"Why?" he finally asked.
Severus swallowed, glancing up at his closed door he threw a specific Silencing
Charm at it, one Regulus recognised as one of his friend's own creations.
"Mulciber and Avery . . . they wrote to their fathers and told them what I said
to Lily. Me publicly saying . . . they thought I'd finally chosen a side.
Apparently, Slughorn has also been talking about my brewing skills to the wrong
people. Or the right people depending on how you look at it." He frowned at the
thought.
"How do you look at it?"
Severus began, "I don't . . . I don't think I could hurt her," he admitted. "I
know I couldn't hurt her."
"They'll make you hurt someone," Regulus reminded him.
He wondered what it was like in other Houses. He imagined that the Ravenclaws
all got together to prepare for exams, quizzing one another. Hufflepuffs likely
sat in front of the fireplace, braiding each other's hair. Everyone knew that
the Gryffindors played Exploding Snap and talked about Quidditch non-stop.
Slytherins, at least as of the last year or so, discussed the Dark Lord and
whether or not it would be advantageous to join in his cause. There were
rumours and stories and myths about the wizard whose name was not supposed to
be spoken, though he had no idea why. Some said he wanted to take over the
Ministry. Others talked about his plans to eradicate Muggle-borns and return
the Wizarding world to the hands of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. No one appeared to
know who the man's family was or what exactly he was getting in exchange for
his efforts. What everyone did know, was that to join his cause, meant
sacrifice; violence, bloodshed, and a magical tattoo on your arm that linked
you to him. Regulus didn't want to ponder the significance of such a spell.
"Despite the unfortunate circumstance of having a Muggle father," Severus said
with disdain. "My mother's former estate, prior to her disinheritance, was
considered somewhat impressive in its time. Slytherins all, and purists at
that. They're recruiting among the old families."
"Which old families?"
Severus eyed his friend with disapproval as though he were questioning his
intelligence. "The oldest. Malfoy's already been marked," he said quietly. "So
has your cousin and her husband."
Regulus looked up in shock. "How do you know this? I doubt Lucius would put
things like that in a letter." Of course, it was no secret that Bella would be
eager to jump on board. Her distaste for all things Muggle was widely known and
if anyone was handing her a free-for-all Mudblood slaughtering buffet, she
would take it no questions asked. But Malfoy would never put himself under the
thumb of anyone else without there being something in it for him, and with all
the power and money in the world already at his fingertips, that could only
mean that the Dark Lord had something over the Malfoys; it was likely that
Lucius's father was already tied to the man.
"Mulciber has a big mouth and brags too much for his own good," Severus
replied. "He's to take the Mark this summer. I suppose I'm being brought in to
see if—"
"Are you going to do it?" Regulus asked, interrupting him.
Severus shrugged. "Maybe if I prove myself, I can see if he'll make an
exception for—"
Grey eyes widened. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" Regulus asked
incredulously. "Severus . . . you read the Daily Prophet every morning.
You know what they do. You know what they're about. And you're willing to just
sign yourself up so easily?" And all in the hope that the Dark Lord really
didn't care whether or not a half-blood kept a Muggle-born as a pet?
"Do I have a choice?" his friend bitterly asked.
Regulus shook his head, not knowing the answer. It did, however, bring up
another question. "Will I?"
===============================================================================
June 1976
He'd been surprised to find that his mother was perfectly agreeable to letting
him meet up with Severus over the summer. He'd thought about lying and saying
that he needed help with early O.W.L. revision but decided to test out the
truth first. Shockingly, Walburga Black had no qualms about her favoured son
spending time in Diagon Alley with a half-blood.
He was instantly anxious when he stepped through the fireplace with a new
cauldron and several books in tow to find his parents waiting for him; his
mother looking happy and manic and his father all but mentally checked out,
glass of firewhisky permanently attached to his hand.
"Regulus, darling," Walburga said as she snapped her fingers at Kreacher, who
silently took Regulus's things from him, vanishing from sight. "Did you and
your friend enjoy yourself? I've heard wonderful things about that Snape boy."
Shocked by the statement as his mother led him by the shoulders into the dining
room where supper was already set out, Regulus blurted, "He's a half-blood," in
an attempt to test the limits of his mother's newfound tolerance.
She waved off his words in a similar move that she used to brush off doxies.
"Some things just can't be helped."
Regulus frowned. "But you always said that—"
"Think of it like this," she said, interrupting her son. "House-elves are
simple, little creatures that we keep underfoot. They have magic, but it is
nowhere near as powerful as our magic. Some house-elves are helpful to keep
around to do the dirty work. Some house-elves have odd little talents that you
like to have on hand. And then other house-elves should be put out of their
misery," she said and gestured to the wall of decapitated elves. "Do you
understand?"
He raised a brow, forcing an amused expression to please her. "Severus is
apparently my house-elf?"
Walburga laughed and the sound was much too high for his liking. Orion, sitting
opposite his wife, cringed. "Don't be silly, my darling boy," she cooed,
petting his hair affectionately. "He will be the house-elf of someone much more
important than us."
He felt that same coldness in the pit of his stomach that he got when Severus
mentioned being invited to Malfoy Manor to meet the Dark Lord. He knew that the
event had already taken place, but not once would Severus mention it during
their outing and Regulus couldn't decide whether or not he actually wanted to
know the details. "Are we not the most important people in the world any
longer, Mother?"
Orion glared at his son. "Watch the cheek," he cautioned the boy.
Regulus nodded his head. "Apologies, I meant no offence," he promised and then
looked up as his parents began eating. "Are we not waiting for Sirius, or has
he run off with his friends for the summer already?"
"Your brother isn't feeling very well," Walburga said, bringing a glass of wine
to her lips. "He's in his bedroom."
Regulus briefly glanced toward the stairway that he could see through the open
door, his heart rate accelerating at the sweet tone his mother used when
speaking of Sirius. It was a tone of warning that he'd learned long ago.
"What's . . . what's wrong with him?"
"Oh, he'll be perfectly fine, I'm sure," she insisted. "Just in case, though, I
would suggest staying away from him," she said, her words an obvious threat.
"Now, we have a gift for you, my lovely boy."
Orion reached into his pocket and retrieved a black velvet box with the family
crest visible on the top. "Your mother and I believe that you're old enough to
wear it," he said, pushing the box across the table toward his youngest son,
"and you will wear it with honour and pride."
Regulus hesitantly opened the box and forced himself not to vomit at the sight.
"This is the Black family ring," he said quietly remembering the first time
he'd seen it. He had been nine and Sirius's eleventh birthday had just taken
place. The whole family gathered in front of the tapestry where their parents
made a grand ceremony of presenting the family ring to their eldest son and
heir. Sirius had taken it and worn it for years and, until this very moment,
Regulus had been under the impression it was still on his brother's hand.
He pulled the ring from the box to observe it closely. His parents might have
thought he was admiring the details when in reality he was looking for blood.
"Isn't it wonderful?" Walburga beamed. "It's goblin-made, of course, and is
charmed to automatically resize to fit the wearer. I think when you go back to
school in September, you will be the talk of the common room. All the young
society witches will be eager to see it. The heir of the Ancient and Noble
House of Black."
"This is Sirius's ring, mother," Regulus said without thinking.
"No, dear," she corrected him. "This is your ring. You are the heir to the
Ancient and Noble—"
He could feel the walls closing in on him, his vision blurring. "Sirius is the
heir. Firstborn son. This is Sirius's ring."
Orion narrowed his eyes. "Are you arguing with your mother? Over your
birthright?"
Birthright? Regulus swallowed. "No . . . I mean, of course not, father," he
cleared his throat and took a long drink of water from his glass in hopes of
stopping the sweat from forming across his brow. "I was taken aback. I'm
humbled, truly," he lied with impressive practice. "You both honour me with a
gift such as this and a title to match it. I will not fail you."
Walburga grinned. "We know you won't."
===============================================================================
When his parents finally left for a Ministry fundraiser to help support
improvements being made to Azkaban prison, Regulus ran as fast as he could up
the stairs to find Sirius's room locked. "Fuck!" Regulus muttered and ran up
several more flights to his parents' bedroom where he began digging through
drawers until he found what he was looking for: Sirius's confiscated wand.
Making his way back down the stairs, Regulus aimed the wand at Sirius's door,
"Alohomora!" and sighed with relief when it opened. An owl from the Improper
Use of Magic office would likely arrive bearing Sirius's name on it, but
hopefully, by that time it wouldn't be something Regulus needed to be concerned
with.
"Mother of Merlin . . ." Regulus gasped at the sight he was greeted with upon
entering the room. Instead of sick in bed, as his mother insisted, Sirius was
laying on the rug in the centre of his room in a pool of crimson. There was a
large gash on the back of his head where black hair was matting in dried blood,
and an already purple bruise covered the right side of his face. "Sirius!"
Regulus shouted as he fell to his knees beside his brother. "Sirius, open your
eyes. You stupid son of . . . what did you tell them? What did you say this
time?"
Sirius's eyes fluttered open. "T-they wanted me to go to the Malfoys," he
mumbled out the words. "I w-wouldn't go. I know what they . . . what they want
me to do."
"You need a Healer."
Sirius shook his head, wincing when the pain—which had apparently temporarily
abated—returned. "Will you owl the . . . the Potters?"
Regulus's eyes widened. "Are you insane? You want us both dead?"
Sirius tried to sit up but the blood loss was too great. "I'm not staying . . .
here."
"Then we agree on something," Regulus snapped at him. "If I don't get you to
St. Mungo's, you'll bleed out on the carpet and Kreacher will kill himself
trying to clean it up."
Sirius weakly laughed. "Blood-traitor's blood," he muttered and then fell
unconscious once again.
Regulus's hands were shaking as he stared at his brother, who was likely dying
in front of his eyes. "It's just blood," Regulus muttered. "It's just a word,
it's just blood, it's just . . . why does everyone have to make a big deal out
of . . . fuck. Sirius?" He looked down and nudged Sirius with the chestnut wand
in his hand. "Sirius! Fuck, fuck, fuck. Don't die! Don't die! Kreacher!"
With a soft pop, the spritely elf appeared beside him. "Young Master Regulus
calls for Kreacher?"
"Kreacher I want you to Apparate Sirius to St. Mungo's."
The house-elf scowled down at the bloodied body of Sirius and then hissed
viciously. "Kreacher is not supposed to go near the filthy stain on the Ancient
and Noble House of Black!"
Regulus growled defensively. "You are my house-elf and are bound to obey me and
I am giving you a direct order!" he said, noting the look of disbelief on the
elf's face. His parents had clearly given Kreacher an order to stay away from
Sirius, which meant they knew exactly what would happen if left alone. Sirius
would die. An unfortunate accident. They'd publicly mourn and Regulus would be
practically deified in the aftermath of Sirius's death. Oh, fuck. This was too
well orchestrated.
"Kreacher," Regulus said, lowering his tone and putting on a mask of
indifference that he'd perfected over the years under Severus's and Lucius's
tutelage. "Apparate my brother to St. Mungo's and . . . and . . . and leave him
there," he said, turning his nose up in feigned disgust. "Can't you see? He's
bleeding all over the carpets and further staining our honourable house. I
won't stand for such things. Get him out of here and tell the Healers that
greet you to call the Potters," he said and then added, "Blood-traitors deserve
blood-traitors, do they not?"
Kreacher seemed overly pleased with his orders and explanation, clapping his
hands in delight, unaware as Regulus slipped Sirius's wand in the pocket of the
Muggle jeans his brother was wearing. The house-elf finally stopped his little
dance and bowed low before Regulus. "Kreacher lives to serve the noble House of
Black," he said, gripping a handful of Sirius's blood-soaked hair, and
Disapparated them both.
Regulus promptly vomited.
===============================================================================
By the time he showed up at Marlene's house it was nearing midnight. He'd
ordered Kreacher to keep silent about taking Sirius to St. Mungo's, letting his
parents believe that somehow their eldest son had recovered long enough to
break out of his room, retrieve his wand, and run away. How Sirius escaped
wouldn't matter. He'd be blasted off the tree regardless, and Regulus, far away
visiting friends to show off his new ring—at least that's what the letter he
had left behind indicated—was innocent of aiding his brother.
"Reg?" Marlene said as she stepped out her front door when her mother mentioned
a boy on the porch. "How did you get here?"
"Knight Bus," he mumbled, sticking to the shadows.
She stepped forward, a concerned expression on her face. "Are you . . . Reggie?
You're bleeding!" She gasped and reached for him to search for a wound.
"Not mine."
"What . . . what did you . . .?"
"He can't know." Regulus shook his head. "I needed to tell someone, I can't
keep it in anymore," he said, his voice breaking as he struggled for breath.
"They tried to kill my brother. My parents they . . . they tried to kill him.
To replace him with me. I got him out but . . . he can't know. Marley, if they
think I helped him . . ." He shook his head, unable to think of what they'd do.
"He'll have been blasted off the tree when they find out he's left. He's not my
brother anymore. They'll want me to say he's not my brother." His grey eyes
were filled with unshed tears, and when she reached up to touch his cheek he
blinked, effectively breaking the dam. "He can't know. I have to . . . he needs
to hate me now. It'll be safer."
"We should tell someone what happened. An Auror," Marlene whispered.
He shook his head. "Father can buy off the Aurors. Sirius has ended up in St.
Mungo's so many times over the years and I know the Healers report it. They're
required to, but still . . . nothing happens. It doesn't stop. It never stops.
I think . . . I think it's going to get much worse," he said, reaching for both
of her hands, bringing them to his mouth where he placed kisses to her fingers,
ignoring the fact that it wasn't entirely appropriate to do so. "I think they
want me to do something bad," he admitted.
Marlene's eyes widened. "You don't mean . . . Regulus, please don't say . . ."
She panicked and tears started prickling at the corners of her own eyes.
"I love you."
Her mouth fell open. "What?"
His eyes met hers and he reached up, tucking a blond curl behind her ear. "I've
loved you since I was eleven years old," he admitted. "I had everything money
could buy growing up, but not love. Not friendship. I only had Sirius and now
he's gone. I had Severus but they're . . . they're bringing him in too and I
don't know if I can trust him if that happens. Not unless they make me . . .
all I have left in the world is you."
Her bottom lip quivered at the declaration and her heart swelled with
admiration and affection and fear and sympathy for the boy in front of her,
soaked in his brother's blood and pleading for her to keep his secrets to spare
himself and Sirius both of a worse fate. "I . . . I love you too, Regulus," she
whispered. "So much. You're my best friend."
His shoulders sagged in relief and he sighed loudly, releasing her hands and
reaching into his pocket. "Then . . . then honour me by accepting this gift,"
he said and pulled a simple string of pearls to present to her. "I know it
should be something better. Diamonds, emeralds, or rubies," he said softly.
"But they say that pearls are the tears of the gods. Perhaps you're my
Aphrodite."
"I'm not a goddess," Marlene said with a short laugh.
"Helen of Troy then," Regulus insisted as he clasped the necklace around her
throat. "The most beautiful woman in the world."
Marlene swallowed, not used to him being so openly sweet. "Men went to war
because of her."
Regulus nodded. "Maybe you'll keep men from going to war," he suggested. "White
pearls," he said, swallowing down the bubbling emotions. "Are for purity . . .
and . . ."
"Reggie . . ."
"Marley, I don't know what's going to happen, and I'll never ask you to follow
me into . . . wherever I might have to go," he promised her. "But I will try my
best to protect you. I need you to know that. I need you to know that whatever
I might do or say . . . you know who I really am."
Tears finally spilt over onto her cheeks. "You're a good person, Reggie. I know
that."
"Please remind me, if I forget?" he begged her.
She nodded and leant forward, brushing her lips gently against his. Regulus
responded immediately to the kiss. His first kiss. Their first kiss. Despite
being highly inexperienced, he did what he thought Sirius would do and pulled
the witch tight up against him, parting her lips with his own and drinking in
the sweetness of her breath. One hand pressed into the small of her back, the
other at the nape of her neck where he twirled a curl of her hair around his
finger. His tongue pressed past her lips and she made a mewling noise in
response and suddenly he understood everything his brother had ever said to him
in regards to the subject of witches.
She felt soft and warm against his hands, and she tasted of goodness.
His parents were set to sacrifice him to the Dark Lord.
Marlene McKinnon would be his salvation.
***** Pax *****
May 1998
Hermione Granger would be his damnation.
Draco was certain of it.
He should have been certain of it seven years ago when he'd first met the
little know-it-all on the Hogwarts Express—then again, it hadn't been raining
Fiendfyre at the time.
"Bloody hell, Vince! What were you thinking?!"
Draco had known what his friend had been thinking, at least slightly. The very
sight of Hermione Granger, even with black hair and grey eyes—something he had
yet to question as there was a battle going on—had set something loose in
Vince's brain that shouted brainlessly, "Mudblood. Must kill." When the Killing
Curse sent her way hadn't worked—much to everyone's relief except, naturally,
Crabbe—the idiot had set loose a Fiendfyre Curse that trapped them all inside
the Room of Hidden Things, which turned into a bloody oven.
He ripped Vince's wand out of his hand since he clearly could no longer be
trusted with it. Draco's mother's wand had been lost beneath a pile of things a
good thirty feet back and his original wand—his wand—was in Potter's hands. The
blond Slytherin made a mental note to fetch it back as soon as possible—as soon
as a flaming chimaera wasn't barrelling toward him. "Run!" he shouted at Vince
who was paling as he stared at the fiery beasts he'd created.
He could hear Granger screaming Potter's name beyond the fire and the sound of
it grated on his nerves to a point where, had he not been running away from
Fiendfyre at the time, he would have turned around and Silenced her for it.
When they'd reached an impasse in the room, encircled in the flames, he winced
and looked around for a way out, dragging Greg who was still Stunned.
"No! Rennervate!" he shouted, finally reviving his friend.
Greg's eyes opened and he screamed at the sight of the rising inferno.
"Shut up!" Draco bellowed, dragging Greg to his feet. "Look for a way out!
Where's Potter?" he demanded to know, looking through the smoke.
"Forget Potter!" Vince yelled and turned to make a dash for what looked like an
exit.
Draco turned to call him an idiot; it wasn't as though he were looking
to save the Boy Who Lived. It was, however, common knowledge by this point,
that the Gryffindor had a penchant for escaping death; if there was ever a time
to stick close to the Boy Wonder and his Weasel sidekick, now would be it.
However, when he tried to tell that to Vince, he watched as a giant fiery
dragon crashed down upon his friend, snapping jaws of flames around him and
swallowing him whole.
Greg was crying. "No, no, no . . ."
"Vince!" Draco screamed.
"Malfoy!" a voice called from above them, as the flaming dragon turned its head
in their direction. His silver eyes swept upward to spot Potter flying overhead
on one broom and Weasel and Granger on another; he felt immense relief at the
sight. Potter swooped down, trying to grab his hand, which Draco thought
slightly amusing considering seven years ago the boy couldn't be bothered to do
so.
"Me first!" Greg shouted and grabbed Potter's outstretched arm, shoving Draco
to the side in a sprint for survival. Later, if they lived through this day, he
would likely tell Greg that he understood; self-preservation was the Slytherin
way, after all. But right now, Greg was nothing but an arsehole who just stole
Draco's ride, forcing him to look to Weasel and Granger for help.
He looked up, desperate for help when he caught sight of the arm being extended
to him. He winced at the sight of the scar on the skin spelling out Mudblood.
Despite everything he'd been through—everything they'd been through—his initial
reaction at the sight of the word on her flesh caused him to recoil.
"You want to stay here?" Weasley yelled.
He'd been five years old when his mother caught him trying to convince the
house-elves to bring him pudding before dinner one night. He was scolded and
then told, "Don't touch the pudding until you've had your supper."
He was nine when his father caught him staring covetously at the wand enclosed
within the serpent-headed cane. When he attempted to reach for it, he'd been
disciplined and then told, "You may not touch a wand until you receive your own
in two years' time."
When he received his Hogwarts letter it had apparently been time for "the
talk". His father sat him down and explained—in great detail—the problem with
Mudbloods, also called Muggle-borns, and how they were magically inferior and a
plague on their society. "Do not befriend them, do not mingle with them, and do
not touch them," his father had insisted firmly and Draco waited for the usual
"until" that generally followed a "do not". It never came.
Do not befriend, mingle with, or touch Mudbloods. The point was very clear.
So when Draco stepped foot on the Hogwarts Express at eleven-years-old and
first met Hermione Granger, who excitedly attempted to tell him the entire
history of Hogwarts, he assumed she had been pureblood and was, therefore,
acceptable company in the eyes of his parents. She'd jabbered on and on about
the castle, its enchantments, and Draco grinned at the way her eyes lit up when
she told him about how the magic first felt when she had gone to Ollivander's
to get her wand. He understood the excitement and thrill of owning his very own
wand.
While he waited for Greg and Vince to track him down, having been told by his
father that his childhood friends were to remain with him as often as possible
because it was wise to travel in numbers, he enjoyed the company of the girl
beside him who asked him at least fifty questions about his life, his family,
and his anticipations for school.
"Slytherin," he answered when she asked what House he thought he'd be sorted
into. The girl made a contemplative face when he'd replied and then began
listing the benefits of each House, making an audible note that a Muggle-born
hadn't sorted into Slytherin in recorded history.
Draco laughed. "Well, no," he said. "They wouldn't would they? Slytherin's a
House for true witches and wizards, not filthy—" he stopped at the look of
horror on her face. "What?" he asked, confused by the way his new friend looked
like she was about to cry. Then it hit him.
Granger leant further, stretching her arm out for him. "Malfoy! Take my hand!"
she pleaded, her gaze desperate as grey met silver.
He took her hand, ignoring the voice of his father in the back of his head,
after all, it wouldn't have been the first time. Draco swung his leg up and
over the broom, gripping onto her waist for dear life and burying his nose in
her hair. Merlin. . . how was it that even through the smoke she smelled like
cinnamon?
When they burst through a wall of smoke to greet clean air on the other side,
the brooms and all five riders crashed to the ground, sounds of battle echoing
in the nearby corridors. Draco fell to the side and lay face down, coughing,
gasping, and retching as he tried to expel the smoke from his lungs.
"Anapneo," a familiar voice whispered nearby and Draco felt his airway clear,
fresh oxygen flooding him instantly. He turned, blurry-eyed, to find Granger
looking down at him with a worried expression. "Are you all ri—" she began to
say.
"C-Crabbe . . ." Greg was muttering, his body shaking as he stared at the blank
wall that hid the Room of Requirement. "C-Crabbe . . ."
"He's dead," Weasley said harshly.
Draco turned and glared at the redhead.
"Ronald!" Granger snapped.
There was silence for a brief moment and then a loud bang in another part of
the castle. Potter was quick on his feet and Granger and Weasley behind him.
"Granger!" Draco managed to shout. "Don't!"
She looked back at him, shaking her head before she turned and ran after the
others.
Bloody Gryffindors.
===============================================================================
She was shaking as she helped to support Snape who was deathly pale and barely
surviving. The antivenom they'd kept on hand after Nagini had attacked Mr
Weasley just a couple years earlier had come in quite handy when the trio found
their former Potions Master in the Shrieking Shack, bleeding out from the neck.
Plenty of potions and some quick wand work that Hermione had learned during her
unbearably boring recovery at Grimmauld Place under Snape's tutelage had the
recently retired Headmaster of Hogwarts temporarily patched up.
"You could have died!" Hermione yelled at him.
Snape glowered at her. "That is not your concern, you stupid girl! Now be
useful for once and grab the potion in my left pocket."
She and Madam Pomfrey each insisted that he stay down, resting, but when
Voldemort loudly declared the death of Harry Potter, Snape stood to see it with
his own eyes.
She helped the man make his way to the opening of the castle to stand beside
fellow Order members, Dumbledore's Army, and students who elected to stay
behind and fight. They passed by George Weasley who was kneeling at the side of
Fred, handing over a Pain Potion to help his twin with the broken leg he'd
sustained when a wall crashed down on them. Sirius was moving quickly with
everyone else, flanked by Remus and Tonks until he caught sight of Hermione and
rushed to embrace her, quietly thanking the gods that she'd made it.
He and Snape shared a curt nod before their eyes were drawn forward at the
sound of screaming.
Ginny rushed toward the Death Eaters, but Mr Weasley held her back. Hermione
inwardly cringed at the sight of her friend in pain, wishing that the redhead
could have been let in on the plan. But they needed real grief to sell it. She
imagined that—if it all worked according to plan—Ginny would have a few things
to say, loudly, to Harry.
When she caught sight of Harry's body in Hagrid's arms, instinctively Hermione
moved forward only to be held back by her uncle. "It'll be okay," Sirius said
quietly. "It'll be okay," he repeated, likely to remind himself.
The massive procession of Death Eaters came to a halt in front of the castle,
Voldemort himself leading them.
Ginny was screaming in her father's arms. "No! Harry!"
"Stupid girl!" Voldemort hissed. "You cry for that?" he asked, gesturing to
Harry's body with a flick of his wand. The Elder Wand, Hermione noted. "Where
was Harry Potter as you all collected your dead this past hour? While you all
washed blood of loved ones from your hands and offered up prayers to your gods
. . . while you fought bravely in the name of Harry Potter, he had already been
dead! Nothing but a boy who relied on the sacrifice of others. And now . . .
a dead boy."
"He's alive," Hermione whispered quietly. "He's alive. He's alive," she said
over and over again until the felt Snape's hand squeezing her shoulder in
support. She could feel Ron's hesitant hand in her own as well, and she let out
a sigh of relief.
"Now is the time to declare yourself!" Voldemort shouted over the large crowd.
"From this day forward, you put your faith in me! Give me your obedience, or
suffer the consequences!"
No one moved.
Voldemort's red eyes scanned the crowd. "You," he said, pointing a finger
toward Snape, "are supposed to be dead."
Snape sneered at the Dark wizard. "Sorry to disappoint you, my Lord."
"Perhaps," Voldemort began. "I will not offer clemency to . . . everyone," he
said, his focus still on Snape.
Bellatrix giggled beside him until her eyes fell on Hermione and she hissed.
"My Lord." She turned, her manic stare was pleading and she prostrated herself
at Voldemort's feet. "Give me Potter's Mudblood," she begged.
The Dark Lord smiled in amusement at the sight of the witch on her knees before
him; his most loyal follower, and by far his most psychotic. "Are you certain,
Bella?" he asked. "It appears as though the girl has quite a blockade of brave
wizards guarding her," he said, mocking the sight of Snape, Sirius, and Ron
standing in front of Hermione. "Very well. I offer my hand to any who will take
it, save for a few. Who seeks my mercy?"
"Draco!" Lucius Malfoy hissed, spotting a head of white-blond hair standing
beside Greg Goyle among a scattering of shivering Slytherins that had broken
out of the dungeons after being locked inside thanks to an unfortunate outburst
from Pansy.
Hermione turned to look at Draco, her breath catching in her chest when he
turned and made eye contact with her. She shook her head, silently begging him
not to move. "Don't . . ." she whispered words he couldn't hear, echoing his
own plea that he'd given her hours earlier outside the Room of Requirement.
"Draco, don't be stupid!" Lucius snarled at his son.
Hermione glowered at the man and his wife, the woman who might have married
Regulus once upon a lifetime ago, as they beckoned their only child to join
them on their side; the wrong side.
===============================================================================
"Draco," Narcissa said, finally reaching out for her son.
He looked up at the woman pleading for him to come to her. He hesitated still,
his eyes turning to look once more at Granger who was shaking between Sirius
Black and Snape, his own godfather who was clearly on the opposing side of the
war. When had that happened? And why the hell didn't he get me out of
this? Draco wondered, looking down at the Dark Mark upon his forearm.
Broken under the words of his mother, Draco moved forward with lead feet as he
crossed the barrier between sides, stopping when the Dark Lord reached out for
him, flinching in response. "Well done, Draco."
Draco nodded once and hurried to his mother, falling into her arms and holding
onto her tight, wondering how they were going to get away from all of this. How
was he going to save the people he loved? He could feel his father's hand on
his shoulder and Draco bitterly shook it off before turning to face the crowd
opposite the Death Eaters, his eyes catching Granger's immediately. Draco
didn't move, not even when his mother slipped a wand into his hand. He didn't
need to look, he knew what it was. His wand that she'd clearly taken from
Potter's body when the boy had finally fallen at the hands of the Dark Lord.
"Now don't be shy," the Dark Lord was saying. "Who's next?"
Draco's eyes widened when Longbottom stepped forward. Go back, you moron! he
wanted to snap at the idiot who looked like he could barely stand, let alone
fight. And if the boy thought he was going to take the Dark Mark, he would be
sorely mistaken that he could survive the ordeal in the shape he was currently
in. Draco had barely made it through the process himself.
The Dark Lord laughed, a high pitched sound that echoed in the grounds. "Well,
I must say I had hoped for better," he said and the Death Eaters around him,
save for Draco and his parents, shared in the laughter. "Who might you be,
young man?"
"Neville Longbottom."
"Welcome, welcome, Neville Longbottom. I'm sure we can find a place for you."
Bellatrix giggled. "Someone has to do the washing."
The Death Eaters roared with laughter.
"Now, now, Bellatrix. Let's not underestimate our young friend. By stepping
forward, he lives to see another day and—"
"I'd like to say something," Longbottom interrupted the Dark Lord. "It doesn't
matter that Harry's dead. This war wasn't about Harry. It was about something
much more. He's not the first to die and likely won't be the last. You'll die,"
he said, pointing at the Dark Lord with a shaking hand, the other holding
nothing but a tattered old hat. "It's not over," he said, reaching into the hat
and withdrawing a massive sword.
Draco's eyes widened at the same time as the Dark Lord raised his wand,
something similar to hope building in his chest. The Dark Lord aimed a curse at
Longbottom, who dove out of the way, carrying the blade in his hands high as it
came down upon the head of the giant snake.
"No!" the Dark Lord screamed.
Many things happened at once.
Longbottom threw his hands over his head as the Dark Lord aimed his wand at the
boy. In the corner of his eyes, Draco watched as Harry Potter's lifeless body
sprung up out of Hagrid's arms and he rushed toward Longbottom. Draco looked up
to see Bellatrix rushing forward; Granger on the opposite side, moving quickly,
unaware of the impending danger coming right for her.
Draco broke free of his mother's hold and ran for it. "Potter!" he shouted, and
when the black-haired wizard turned, Draco threw the hawthorn wand to him,
watching as he caught it and threw a shield up around Longbottom, deflecting
the Dark Lord's curse.
"Draco!" Narcissa screamed after her son and ran, Lucius on her heels as they
chased after the young blond toward the castle where battle had once again
broken out.
"Granger!"
He looked up to see Bellatrix descend upon the girl, flinging curse after curse
at her as easily as breathing. Granger, for all her strength, was fighting like
mad just to keep up. Draco raised his wand—the wand he'd taken from Vincent in
the Room of Requirement—and aimed as best he could while running and shouting,
"Avada Kedavra!"
He missed.
He missed and his Aunt Bella's glare turned and fixated on him.
"Come to save the Mudblood again?" she said and cackled at him. "I knew you
were lying when you said you couldn't tell who they were! Go on then, stand
where you belong, Draco! Next to filth!" She gestured with her wand, her dark
grey eyes manic as she followed him while he moved next to the witch.
Narcissa reached her sister and cried out, "Bella!"
"No!" Bellatrix snarled. "He's chosen his side! Expelliarmus!" she cried loudly
and both Draco and Hermione's wands shot into her hand. The crazed witch
giggled insanely as though she hadn't expected that to work.
"Shite," Draco whispered.
Bellatrix aimed her wand at the pair and, with a gleam in her eye, cried,
"Crucio!"
In a move that no one suspected and everyone was shocked to see, Hermione and
Draco turned and clung to one another as the curse hit, each trying in vain to
save the other. Draco, physically stronger, screamed as he turned his body to
take the curse in the back. Instantly his muscles constricted, tightening
around the witch in his arms and they both fell to the ground.
Pain burned through his body worse than the Fiendfyre had felt. He'd been under
the Cruciatus Curse before, even at his aunt's hands; clearly, Bellatrix had
been holding back at the time. It was damn near close to the pain he'd felt
when he'd taken the Dark Mark, only everywhere instead of just a central spot
on his arm that burned outward. Hot needles stabbed through every pore, along
each nerve in his body, and he tried to focus on anything to keep him from
blacking out. Granger's voice was it as she cried out for him, "Draco! Draco,
hang on!"
Someone shouted, "Stupefy!" and the Crucio ended. However, the Stunning Spell
had apparently missed its target. Thankfully, though, Bella had turned her
attention on whoever it was that had rescued them.
"Narcissa," Snape's voice was low and angry, "would you care to step away from
your sister so you're not accidentally cursed? Since she's just tortured your
son, I'd like to think you're smart enough to know what side of this battle you
truly belong?"
Narcissa was quick to move, though when she stepped toward Draco and Hermione,
Bellatrix shot a hex at her, burning her hand. The blonde looked up into the
eyes of her crazed sister who was grinning while tutting her. "Naughty, Cissa."
Bellatrix smirked. "If you'd like to take the little blood-traitor, by all
means," she said, standing back to allow Narcissa and Lucius to reach for Draco
should they were so inclined. "But you will leave the Mudblood."
"Do not use that word," Snape said with a velvety growl.
Bellatrix cackled. "Still strung up about Muggle-borns?" she asked. "You
were never one of us."
Snape sneered at her. "Unfortunately, I was," he admitted. "But that girl is
not only not a Muggle-born, she's my goddaughter and you will not touch her."
All eyes widened, Hermione's included.
"What?" Bella grimaced. "Who on earth, besides my idiot sister, would be stupid
enough to make you the godfather of a child?" She laughed.
Snape smirked. "Regulus Black."
Bella's eyes widened and she turned to glare down at Hermione, understanding
clicking into place inside of her Dementor-addled mind. "No!" she screamed and
raised her wand again but whatever curse was meant for Hermione, died on her
lips as Snape shouted, "Sectumsempra!" and opened Bellatrix's chest.
"Malfoy, are you all right?" Hermione whispered, looking up at the boy who was
twitching every so often, still hovering above her; a human shield.
His breath was heavy and his eyes wide as he stared down at her. "Black?" he
whispered the name, shocked by the declaration that had come from
his—no, their?—godfather. Neither said another word as Draco was pulled from
her by his father, leaving Hermione laying on the ground looking up at them all
with grey eyes.
"Is it true?" Narcissa said through a broken voice as she looked down at
Hermione, tears in her own eyes. She reached a tender hand out only to be cut
off by Snape who moved to stand protectively between the Malfoys and the little
witch.
"Severus?" Lucius stared at the man, his gaze narrowed.
At the sight of Bella's body bleeding out on the ground, Rodolphus Lestrange
screamed in grief and anger and violently rose his wand in Snape's direction.
"Avada Ked—"
"Stupefy!" shouted another voice. "Ha!" Sirius said, grin on his face as he
joined his family—and Snape—looking at the Potions Master with a smug
expression. "You owe me a life debt!"
"Avada Kedavra!" Snape yelled, aiming his wand over Sirius's left shoulder.
The Animagus turned and stared as the frozen body of Rabastan Lestrange, wand
still in hand and aimed at Sirius, fell to the ground, dead. "Shit," Sirius
said in disappointment over the fact that Snape had saved his life as well.
"If we're done here," Snape said and turned to reach for Hermione's hand to
pull her to her feet.
"Where's Harry?" she immediately asked.
"It's not possible," Lucius was muttering under his breath, his eyes fixed on
the little witch. He took a step forward only to find Sirius's wand jammed
under his jaw, all laughter gone from the man's face.
"Come near my niece, Malfoy," Sirius threatened, "and I'll happily make my
cousin a widow."
Lucius slowly raised his hands, sneering at Sirius as the black-haired wizards
took the little witch by the shoulders and led her away from the Slytherin
family. "It's not possible," he said again, ignoring the shocked looks on both
his wife and son's faces.
===============================================================================
The trio marched into the Great Hall where more fighting was taking place, each
man on either side of Hermione as they moved. She turned, looking back at the
Malfoys only once, surprised over their shock and desperate to end this war so
she could return to Grimmauld Place and feast upon the diaries of her father to
find out perhaps exactly why Draco's parents were so gobsmacked over the sight
of her. It couldn't just be the familial relation, could it?
"Good on ya, Moony!" Sirius shouted and Hermione turned to watch as her former
Defence Professor snapped the neck of Fenrir Greyback. A feeling of relief and
pride moved through her at the sight considering the rotten werewolf had pawed
her during her very brief stay at Malfoy Manor, groping her body and licking
his lips. The sight of his dead body at the feet of a man he'd long ago
infected brought her actual joy. At the realisation of her thoughts, she
inwardly blamed the Black blood running through her veins for feeling delight
over a man's death, even if it was that particular man.
"Hermione!" Ron yelled and pulled the witch into a hug. The pair of friends
sighed in relief over the safety of one another. "Did I see Malfoy take a curse
for you?" he asked, dumbfounded. "And Snape killed Bellatrix?"
"Where's Harry?" Sirius and Hermione asked simultaneously.
Ron shook his head.
"So it all comes down to this, doesn't it?" Harry's voice echoed in the Great
Hall and everyone turned to see the Boy Who Lived face off against Voldemort.
"Does the wand in your hand know its last master was disarmed? Because if it
does . . . I am the true master of the Elder Wand."
Hermione and Ron clutched at one another at the sight of their best friend, and
she watched from the corners of her eyes as Sirius and Remus both moved forward
at the same time toward the duelling pair as though to offer Harry backup.
The Malfoys moved into the Great Hall, Draco faster than his parents, muscles
still involuntarily twitching every few minutes as he stood just behind
Hermione and Snape, staring with anxious hope at the sight of Harry Potter
fighting the Dark Lord, Draco's own hawthorn wand in the boy's hand.
Voldemort snarled and Potter raised the wand defiantly and each cried out
spells simultaneously.
"Avada Kedavra!"
"Expelliarmus!"
Draco and Hermione both closed their eyes and prayed.
Please, no more war.
***** Bellum *****
July 1977
Fifth year had been an absolute nightmare at one end, and a dream on the other.
Miraculously, Kreacher had gotten Sirius to St Mungo's in time for the Healers
to do their job, saving his life. The Potters had been called, as Regulus
insisted. Soon, his brother was resting nicely in a large manor somewhere
outside of Yorkshire, likely playing Quidditch with his friends over the
holidays and being adored by the Potter family, despite his flaws, to
compensate for his shitty childhood.
Regulus wanted to feel bitter and jealous, but he knew Sirius deserved someone
to actually take care of him properly.
Meanwhile, Regulus was still existing in the aftermath of said shitty
childhood.
When it was discovered that Sirius had escaped his well-planned "accidental"
death, Kreacher had been punished severely by Walburga for allowing him to
escape. Not once did the elf give up the secret that he had actually been the
one to take Sirius away from Grimmauld Place, and was under the direct orders
of Regulus himself.
Not once.
"You did very well, Kreacher," Regulus whispered as he helped nursed Kreacher's
wounds late that night when his parents had gone to bed. "Your loyalty to me
will be rewarded. I promise you . . . I will never put you in this kind of
danger again."
He felt a bond wrap itself around his magical core, tying Kreacher's life force
to his at the promise.
As the elf grasped his hand, smooth fingers interlocked with Kreacher's
wrinkled and scarred ones; the elf looked up at him and the faint whisper of
"Yes, Master" brushed between them.
Sirius was blasted off the tapestry, and the family held a private ceremony
where Regulus was officially presented the family ring in front of his parents,
uncles, aunts, and cousins.
Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella made a big show about how Regulus would have made
a fine husband for Narcissa, though they didn't say such things within Lucius's
hearing. Regulus knew it was all lies and peacocking anyway.
Uncle Alphard offered sage wisdom when it came to governing the family and
slipped Regulus a book on how to magically work the family tapestry should he
choose to reinstate Sirius and Andromeda when he came of age.
Narcissa sweetly kissed his cheeks and congratulated him, making no outward
sign that his new title as heir of the family had anything to do with rumours
that Sirius had nearly died in St Mungo's after mysteriously ending up in the
lobby, covered in blood.
Regulus smiled politely at her, kissed her knuckles and shook Lucius's hand,
trying not to show any hint of emotion when the Malfoy heir took him aside and
mentioned that he had a friend who was very interested in making the
acquaintance of the one with whom the future of the Black family rested.
When Bellatrix showed up, the Lestrange brothers in tow, Cygnus and Druella
could be heard arguing with her in the entrance hallway.
"—can't just walk in with that on display! Show some subtlety!"
"Bella, darling, just because we're all family doesn't mean that everyone
completely understands—"
"I am not ashamed to show my loyalties!" Bellatrix screeched before walking
into the drawing room where the rest of the family was gathered. She wore a
short-sleeved black dress which was perfectly appropriate, especially since it
didn't appear her husband had any qualms with her wardrobe. Her left forearm,
however, was on prominent display; her pale, otherwise flawless flesh was
covered by a swirling black Mark of a skull and snake.
"Lucius," Bella said, greeting Malfoy first, which was a social faux pas since
she should have met first the Lord and Lady of the house, followed by her
actual Head of House (unless they were the same). Regulus knew that he would
then follow the Head of House, being the proper heir, and the line would go on
down the hierarchy.
He swallowed back his distaste at her lack of social adherences, but
immediately noted that no one else present—save perhaps, Uncle Alphard—blinked
twice at her actions. He felt anxiety bubble up in the pit of his stomach at
the implications. This was no longer a family. This was a meeting of followers
and, somehow, Lucius and Bellatrix were at the top of the newly established
chain of command.
Where the hell did that leave him?
Dark grey eyes turned his way, and Regulus lifted his chin as Bellatrix
approached him. "Baby cousin," she greeted with a devious smile. "All grown up,
are we?"
Regulus narrowed his eyes just a touch. "And hardly a baby," he said, taking
her hand and kissing it quickly. "Cousin, you're looking well."
She took his hand and clung to it, digging her nails into his forearm as though
she were sending a message. "You're looking like a proper heir to our Ancient
and Noble House. Not like the filthy blood-traitor that came before you."
"We do not speak of him, Bella," Walburga politely reprimanded her.
"And why should you?" Bella said with a grin. "In fact—" She turned her
attention once more to Regulus. "—as a gift for my precious cousin and heir to
our House, I will have that wretched creature strung up in the most gruesome
way possible. Or would you like to see him screaming? I've become quite adept
at the Cruciatus Curse," she said proudly. "I'm one of our Lord's favourites.
He says I have great potential."
"As much potential as you have as a favourite," Cygnus said with a slightly
irritable sigh, "your place is to stand as a wife to Rodolphus and to give the
man an heir."
Bellatrix smirked. "I'll provide an heir, all right," she said confidently.
Regulus noted the slight cringe on Rodolphus's face. He couldn't help but think
that when Bella spoke of heirs, she wasn't thinking of her husband.
Clearing his throat to change the subject, Regulus said, "As much as I
appreciate the gesture, cousin, now isn't the time to draw unwanted attention,
is it? Sirius may be a blood-traitor, but perhaps you should put your efforts
into dealing with Muggles and Mudbloods."
It had, of course, been his hope to redirect his family's wrath toward those he
cared little for. He knew of only one Muggle-born, and she'd broken his best
friend's heart, so what did she matter to him? As for Muggles, he'd never met
one before in his life. But if he were to soften his family's position in
regards to blood-traitors, there might be hope that his understanding with
Marlene would be properly acknowledged when it came time to publicly announce
their relationship. In the long run, it might help bring Andromeda and Sirius
back into the House as well.
"These," Bellatrix said with a grin and gestured as if his words were floating
in the air, "are the words of a true heir to the Ancient and Noble House of
Black. You should try to be a better influence on your little half-blood
friend."
"You speak of Severus?"
Bella laughed. "He has a bit of an . . . obsession we hear."
"Evans. A pesky little Mudblood," he spoke the rehearsed words as naturally as
possible. "She's hardly a problem though. An annoying little chit with no real
power or persuasion. Quite beautiful, or so I've been told. I've hardly looked
in her direction. I say let him keep his little pet. A poorly-bred owl is still
useful as a familiar when it needs to be."
Bellatrix giggled like a young schoolgirl tittering over her first crush.
Regulus inwardly grimaced as the sound washed over him.
Lucius was smiling. The sight was disconcerting. "Regulus, you and Severus are
invited to my home next summer. I hope you'll accept the invitation."
He knew what this was and knew what his answer was supposed to be. There was no
choice. "I'd be delighted, Lucius, thank you. I assume Severus has already
accepted?"
Lucius nodded. "He would be foolish not to. Anyone would be foolish not to. It
doesn't take a Legilimens to know that."
A coldness fell across his skin, and he smiled politely to disguise his fear.
So, the Dark Lord is apparently a Legilimens.
That would make things exponentially more difficult.
===============================================================================
September 1977
"Why do I need to check out books on Occlumency?" Marlene asked. "The library
isn't closed to you. Reg, is that a bruise?" She reached up to touch his cheek.
"What the hell happened?"
He brushed her hand away from his face. "I'm fine," he assured her. "Just had a
run in with Sirius on the way to Potions this morning."
She frowned. "Reg . . . maybe you should tell him—"
"I can't," he said, cutting her off. "I know what I have to do in order to keep
everyone I care about safe. For fuck's sake, they're already looking for
reasons to get rid of Severus and—other than his obsession with Evans—he's
shown nothing but loyalty and ambition to serve. I have to take care of him,
vouch for him. I have to know their plans so I can keep Sirius away from it all
. . . and you."
Marlene touched the string of pearls around her neck affectionately, and
Regulus felt his chest puff out, a swell of pride building within him at the
sight. "If they . . . If anyone knew the truth, I'd become a target. They would
use me against Sirius, and him against me. Gods forbid anyone find out about
you."
"I'm your dirty blood-traitor secret?" she said, scowling.
He cupped her cheek affectionately. "You are my treasure, and I forbid anyone
take you from me," he said, his eyes hard and cold at the thought. "I would
slaughter anyone who even tried."
She looked away from him. "Don't talk like that. You're supposed to be good,
remember? I'm supposed to remind you."
Regulus sighed. "I . . . I can't lie to you. I would hurt anyone who even
thought about touching you, but the people who would think about such a thing
would deserve to suffer. I can promise you that."
"Who else is going to suffer?" she asked nervously.
His posture stiffened. "A lot of people."
Her bottom lip quivered. "At your hand?"
He held his breath and swallowed, trying to force down the bile that was rising
in his throat. "Yes," he blurted out, quickly adding, "I don't want to. Merlin
knows I don't want any of it, but they have to think that I'm with them. I
can't give them any reason to doubt. It's why I'll take a Stinging Hex from
Sirius on the way to class and let him think that I'm a prick. It's why I'll
publicly ignore you and call you a blood-traitor even though you're the very
breath that gives me life."
"It's why you'll hurt people," Marlene whispered.
Regulus nodded. "Am I damned for it?"
She shook her head. "It really is going to be a war, isn't it?"
"Am I damned for it? For sacrificing others for—"
"The greater good?"
Regulus scoffed, angry. "Fuck the greater good. I'm selfishly doing this for my
own reasons. And those reasons need to be kept secret from the Dark Lord, who
is a Legilimens. Which means I need you to check out books on Occlumency, study
it yourself to keep Dumbledore out of your head if he ever gets suspicious.
Severus and I need to start learning immediately, though. We've only got until
next summer."
Her face paled. "What happens next summer?"
Instead of answering her like she wanted, Regulus leant forward and kissed her,
pulling her into the dark alcove and throwing up a quick Notice-Me-Not Charm to
distract anyone from spotting them as he did his best to distract his witch
from thinking about the growing war, his place in it, and the horror he would
have to face next summer . . .
When he would take the Mark.
===============================================================================
February 1978
Legilimency, it turned out, came naturally to both of the young Slytherins.
However, the consequences of such a natural talent were growing more and more
irritating.
"You're never going to pass your Transfiguration exam if you just sit and stare
at Evans during class," Regulus said to the annoyance of Severus, who was
throwing back a Pain Relief Potion after their most recent session in learning
Occlumency. "And don't deny it; I saw the memory."
Severus glared at him. "Then when you stumble upon a memory of her, look
elsewhere. Do you think I enjoy watching your memories of getting under
McKinnon's jumper?"
Regulus smirked.
The first day back at Hogwarts after the Christmas hols had Regulus pinning
Marlene against a wall in an empty classroom at the end of a long corridor that
had been closed off due to Peeves flooding the nearest bathroom. The water had
been cleaned up, but the rooms had been closed to classes until all the damage
was repaired.
As his hand snaked under Marlene's jumper, his thumb brushing against the
underside of a breast, Regulus made a mental note to do something nice for the
suddenly wonderful Poltergeist.
As delicious as her lips were and as much as he delighted in kissing
her—especially when he discovered the delectable noise she made anytime he
lightly bit her lower lip—he was finding himself desperate to touch and taste
the rest of her. Anytime he voiced his thoughts on such things, she would laugh
and tell him that he was more like his brother than he thought.
Regulus would be annoyed at the suggestion that he was as easily distracted by
girls as Sirius, but then Marlene would question him with a third year
Arithmancy equation while brushing her knee against the inside of his thigh,
and he would start babbling on about Ancient Rune translations in an effort to
show that he was paying attention. She would giggle, and he'd growl and swallow
her sounds.
When she wantonly moaned as he palmed her breast, he couldn't help but wonder
if sexual prowess was something that was gifted to the men of House Black,
considering his inexperience seemed to offer him few moments of inadequacy.
His ego quickly deflated when he spent five minutes trying—angrily—to unhook
her bra.
The first time he touched her bare skin with his hands, he groaned at the
softness of her. The first time he pulled a nipple between his lips, she moaned
loudly, and the sound alone had him coming. He did his best to hide his
expression of elated pleasure followed by complete mortification by burying his
face between her breasts—which was his new favourite place in the world—and
muttering a very quiet Scourgify while simultaneously continuing his oral
ministrations as her fingers dug through his hair.
Severus had made a disgusted face when he stumbled upon the memory. "Could you
be any more smug about this?" he snapped. "Are you even trying to put you your
Occlumency Shields, or is this some sick game you're playing to shove your sex
life with McKinnon in my face?"
Regulus sneered. "Unlike my brother, I'm quite content to keep my personal
affairs private, thank you."
They both shook their heads in disgust.
"I can't believe he didn't get expelled," Regulus said thoughtfully.
"Don't look impressed with your brother. It doesn't take a genius to be able to
convince a Hufflepuff to shag in a broom cupboard."
Regulus smirked. "No, but to get caught by the headmaster and only end up with
two weeks of detention? You have to admit, that's fairly impressive."
Severus rolled his eyes. "If you think it's impressive to be forced to walk
back to your common room without your trousers, then yes, very impressive," he
said sarcastically, "overwhelmingly awe-inspiring."
They shared a laugh at his expense, though Sirius didn't seem perturbed by the
now legendary story going around the school over how he'd left behind a pair of
trousers in a broom cupboard and walked away with black and yellow knickers to
add to a disgustingly large collection.
Done laughing, Regulus and Severus went back to their private Occlumency
lessons and hit a bout of success when they realised they needed to search for
shame-filled memories. Regulus caught only five seconds worth of Severus's
memory of being hung upside down in his underpants by Sirius and Potter before
Occlumency shields went up so strong they almost felt permanent. Severus saw
even less of Regulus's memory of finding Sirius almost dead in his room.
"Do you think it will be enough?" Regulus asked.
"To get in without suspicion of where our loyalties rest? Yes. Besides, we're
just looking to get through the meeting before we're Marked. And it's not as
though we're looking to take down his operation from the inside," he reasoned.
Regulus nodded. "No. Let the man conquer the world for all I care, so long as
me and mine are left alone."
===============================================================================
July 1978
Severus and Regulus waited outside the gates of Malfoy Manor until a Death
Eater approached, letting them inside without a word. They walked through the
grounds until they reached the centuries-old mansion to be greeted by a smiling
Lucius, who promptly introduced them both to his father, Abraxas, a man with
short white-blond hair unlike Lucius's which remained long and tied back with a
black piece of leather. Abraxas was, nonetheless, as intimidating as his son
and much less charming.
But he was nothing compared to the man they met next.
Lucius walked them both into the large drawing room where Regulus witnessed the
usually collected Narcissa, hands trembling ever so slightly as she poured tea
for a tall black-haired man sitting at the head of the table in Acromantula
silk robes. He looked as though he were Lord of the manor; Regulus assumed,
he technically was.
"My Lord, may I present Regulus Black," Lucius said, "and of course, you've
already met Severus Snape."
Regulus gave a polite nod of the head, and Severus did likewise.
The Dark Lord turned and appraised both boys with interest. He looked like any
other wizard but, though they could not see it with their own eyes, the aura
around him was blacker than Regulus's name, and the air in the room was colder
merely because this man sat within it.
"Ah, yes," he finally spoke, his attention falling first to Severus, "the boy
whose heart bleeds for Muggle-borns."
Severus swallowed what little pride he actually possessed, clearly recognising
the provocation and rising to meet it the only way he knew how without
appearing weak. "I am honoured to be remembered, my Lord."
The Dark Lord chuckled quietly at Severus's words, and Regulus briefly hoped
that neither of them blacked out at the sound. Their nerves were shot, and
they'd each needed to drink a Calming Draught before arriving at the manor,
just enough to ease the nerves but not so much as to cloud the mind and
accidentally lower their Occlumency shields, which were damn near perfect.
"At least he has a sense of humour. Tell me young Master Snape, how is your
little Mudblood?"
"Still won't speak to me, my Lord," Severus said casually as though speaking to
an old acquaintance.
Regulus snorted, not one to let Severus take all the attention, mostly because
if pressed, he was more than likely to bungle everything up for the both of
them. Better to divide the Dark Lord's attention equally. "He's all the better
for it," Regulus said. "The girl had a tendency to prattle."
The Dark Lord smirked, turning his focus on Regulus. "And the young Black heir.
I've been wanting to meet you for quite some time. Tell me, what are your
thoughts on your friend's little pet?"
Regulus shrugged, the brief movement of his shoulders lightly jostling the
sparse contents of his stomach, which were already threatening to evacuate due
to nerves. "I don't know how half-bloods are brought up, my Lord," he said,
"but purebloods are encouraged to practice their skills on unsuitable witches
before finding a proper wife. Perhaps if all the Muggle-borns served such a
purpose they would not constantly seek to rise to positions too high for their
birth."
The Dark Lord nodded thoughtfully as he brought the small teacup to his mouth.
Regulus cast a glance at Narcissa, who watched the man closely, as though any
moment he could easily declare that she'd tried to poison him and have her
killed for it. When he set the cup back down empty, her shoulders sagged with
obvious relief.
"Do you not think all Mudbloods should be eradicated?" the Dark Lord asked. "I
should tell you, young Regulus, that opinion will not be popular amongst my . .
. friends."
Regulus shook his head. "Just because a house-elf is of lesser magic than a
wizard, does not mean it's not useful," he said, practically quoting his
mother. "I have the ability to scrub the floors should the need arise, but why
would I ever do such a thing when I've a perfectly good servant on hand?"
"I see," the Dark Lord said, his expression one of contemplation. "You think
Mudbloods have a place in our world. Servitude."
"Killing them all would create a mess, would it not?" Regulus said, slyly
smirking.
"And the blood-traitors? Like your brother?"
Regulus was prepared for Sirius to be brought up. It was likely that the moment
his brother had been sorted into Gryffindor, Bellatrix would have been
jabbering on and on about her blood-traitor cousin and could she please
sacrifice him in the name of her Dark Lord for a pretty pat on the head?
"It would be a great tragedy against magic itself to spill such pure blood, my
Lord. Blood-traitors are lost children in need of a strong hand to bring them
back into the fold. If every wayward hippogriff was slaughtered when roaming,
soon the whole herd will perish."
"Ah." The Dark Lord grinned, and Regulus could sense Severus's hands clenching
at the sudden change of expression. "So, it is the caretaker that is to blame?
In the case of your brother, would that not be your own parents?"
"So you say, my Lord," Regulus said immediately. "Blame the caretaker, or
perhaps, the thief who comes in the night and opens the gate," he suggested,
his implication, in this case, being Dumbledore.
The Dark Lord's grin widened, and he let out a loud laugh that startled both
Severus and Regulus and even a few of his Marked Death Eaters that stood
nearby, Lucius included. Narcissa nearly dropped the teacup in her hand at the
sound.
"This is why I need fresh blood! Do you see Abraxas?" the Dark Lord said,
gesturing to Regulus. "There is little purpose in mindless slaughter when we
have conquerors in our midst. Tell me, Regulus. How would you like to sit on a
throne?"
Regulus had never been more pleased that Severus excelled at brewing Calming
Draught. A throne? A fucking throne? Was this a joke or a test? Regulus didn't
even want the bloody family ring!
He tilted his head curiously and smiled in a way to hide his growing nausea.
"I've always been a bit on the small side, my Lord. A throne might be too big
for my frame. I'd be happy enough now to ride a broom and play Quidditch.
Should you like to give a throne to me, I'd be more than happy for you to keep
it warm for me."
Severus finally broke his gaze away from the Dark Lord and turned his
incredulous stare upon Regulus, a silent Are you out of your fucking
mind? written across his face.
The Dark Lord merely smirked and reached for his empty teacup. Narcissa jumped
to quickly refill it much to Lucius's obvious relief. "I've always liked the
Black family. So very clever. Lucius, bring in our guests. These are neither
wayward hippogriffs nor useful house-elves," he said to Regulus as Lucius
disappeared through a door, returning moments later with two young girls, bound
with rope and gagged.
The Dark Lord stood and walked across the room to see them up close, and
Severus and Regulus followed behind him. "Muggles, both of them," he said with
a tone of severe disdain. "Tell me, Regulus, in your opinion, where
do Muggles stand in our world?"
Regulus looked into the eyes of the Dark Lord and saw the truth there. Blood-
traitors could be re-educated, Mudbloods could serve a purpose, but Regulus
could see that Muggles were nothing but a disease in the Dark Lord's eyes and
no amount of sweet talking would change his opinion of that.
This was the test. The test that, if failed, would kill he and Severus both.
"They are an infestation, my Lord," Regulus said, mimicking the look of
disgust.
"Very good, my boy. An infestation, did you hear?" The man leant down and
stared at the crying Muggles, who had been forced to kneel at his feet.
"Please, do mind the carpet when you exterminate them for me."
Regulus stiffened, and his breathing increased. Severus apparently took notice
of it and tried to intervene. "My Lord, I would request the honour of disposing
of them both as my friend is still underage and has the Trace on his wand."
The Dark Lord snapped his fingers, and a random Death Eater from the corner
approached the boys, extending a black wand out to Regulus. "Then use
a different wand."
Regulus took the wand, doing his best not to let his hand shake. "You are most
gracious my Lord," he said and then looked down at the girls kneeling before
them.
He and Severus had talked about this before when discussing the different
scenarios that could happen. Severus mentioned that he'd heard of a Numbing
Spell to help ease the burden of a Cruciatus Curse, should they be forced to
torture someone. They both agreed to appear offended should they be asked to
sully themselves by raping anyone, but murder . . . there was no way around
that. Regulus tried to reason that, if left alive, the girls at his feet would
be given to Death Eaters more inclined to enjoy themselves beforehand. Still,
he was terrified.
Be brave like Sirius, he thought as he raised his wand. "Avada Kedavra!"
===============================================================================
The pain from the tear in his soul rivalled that of the physical anguish that
came with taking the Mark.
The tip of the Dark Lord's wand touched his arm and set a curse upon his flesh
that felt like a branding iron. Instead of a burn that eventually went numb
from the pain, the iron stayed hot and his skin remained innocent as though
fighting back of its own accord even though Regulus pleaded with it to just
accept the Mark and end the pain.
"It's okay if you cry," Lucius whispered when he was ordered to bring Regulus
and Severus a glass of water to help them through the worst of it when they'd
screamed their throats raw from the searing pain. "We all cried. It's normal."
Regulus cried.
He screamed and sobbed and wept.
When it felt like there was a mild reprieve two hours in, he vomited in a large
bucket that Narcissa had conjured for him and, when the curse was over and his
forearm bore the brand, he looked up at the Dark Lord through sweat-soaked
black hair and thanked him for the privilege of suffering at his feet.
Severus recovered first and helped Regulus to stand where they were both given
a black robe and a silver mask. They bowed low before their Lord and were told
to enjoy the following year at Hogwarts but to expect their holidays to be
quite occupied.
They graciously bid farewell before Severus Side-Along-Apparated them to Diagon
Alley where they purchased private rooms for the night at the Leaky and cried
themselves to sleep.
***** Poena *****
June 1998
The room was dark, damp, and dreary.
It seemed that the original theme still prevailed after several thousand years,
the walls of dark stone, appearing damp as the torch lights flickered off their
smooth surfaces. High benches on one side sat the members of the Wizengamot,
all dressed in plum-coloured robes, a silver "W" embroidered on the front
signifying their honourable positions. Around twenty or so members sat in the
back rows, scattered and cluttered together in what looked like old school
cliques turned long-term alliances. Twenty-eight seats sat in the front—the
most important members of the Wizengamot: the Heads of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
Twenty-eight magical pureblood families dating back long before the
International Statute of Secrecy. The Heads of those Houses had been given
prominent seats on the Wizengamot, which offered them positions in the
governing of Wizarding Britain as well as additional power and influence over
their own House. Plenty seats were empty as the Wizengamot gathered. The seat
for House Shacklebolt was empty, as their Head of House took his place as
Minister for Magic. Other unoccupied chairs were just so because there remained
no one left to take it, such as the Houses of Crouch and Gaunt. Remaining seats
were empty because their Heads of House were unworthy to occupy them. The seats
of Yaxley, Avery, Carrow, Lestrange, Travers, Nott, Rosier, and Rowle all
remained unoccupied because the Death Eaters that held positions as Heads of
House would soon be sent to Azkaban if the Wizengamot had anything to say about
it.
One seat sat empty in the very centre; Draco was unable to look away from it,
his gaze tracing slowly over each individual letter engraved upon the fine
wooden finish.
Malfoy.
The large gathered crowd behind him and his family were busy with whispers and
murmurs, none of which gave him hope.
His mother gently squeezed his hand for support and, though his face gave away
not an ounce of emotion toward her, the gentle squeeze he gave back was his own
silent way of giving her the love and comfort she needed.
His father, on the other hand, sat beside his mother, a look of smug anger
painted on his features. Draco scowled at him. Even if Lucius Malfoy thought he
was going to get away with everything he had done during the war—or buy his way
into this Wizengamot hearing—it was foolish to appear like he had already
handed over the Galleons for his freedom. Even Draco knew better than to leave
himself so open to interpretation.
The fact that they were being tried as separate individuals but at the same
time was a publicity stunt. A photograph of all three Malfoys being dragged off
to Azkaban would look better on the front page of the Daily Prophet, even if it
meant that protocols and regulations were being overlooked and overturned all
for the aggrandisement of the new "lighter" governing regime.
He returned his attention to the seats of the Wizengamot, making note of each
absence and recounting in his head the last time he had seen or heard of each
missing member. A seat on the end of the bench looked different from the
others. While the twenty-eight that preceded it were well worn and aged, this
one appeared new. Draco's eyes focused closely on the engraved letters and upon
reading them clearly, he rolled his eyes with a dramatic flare, and a scoff
escaped his throat.
Potter.
Of course they would give Potter a bloody seat on the Wizengamot.
Though the family had not been considered a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight,
the Potters were a long line of purebloods dating back further than Draco knew,
despite no longer being pure. He could only imagine the sight of the seat being
presented to The Boy Who Just Never Knew When to Die.
While Draco and his family shared a holding cell waiting for trial, he imagined
Harry Potter was being gifted with gold, girls, and the fucking Order of
Merlin. Of course they'd give him an ancestral seat on the Wizengamot; he was,
after all, the only Potter alive and, therefore, Head of his House.
Draco swallowed the bitter pill and returned his angry stare to the Malfoy
empty seat, furious at his father for shaming it and leaving it empty in front
of them.
It was only the knowledge that Lucius had essentially been sacrificed to the
Dark Lord by his father the same way Draco had that kept him from publicly
estranging himself from the man who raised him. Then again, it was the same man
who raised him to loathe Muggle-borns. The same man who praised him anytime he
wrote home about a nasty thing he had called Granger or the one year when he
had accidentally given her teeth that fell down past her chin. He had been sent
back a basket of sweets for his efforts in "letting Mudbloods know their
place."
That all changed fourth year, though he had not had the courage to write home
to his father about that.
"Just thought I'd extend a hand of friendship and let you know that a few of my
Housemates have seen you in the library with Granger," Draco said, approaching
Viktor Krum as though they were old friends. He spent years masking his
emotions as he had been taught so, despite the fact that standing beside the
best Seeker in the world made him as gleeful as an eleven-year-old purchasing
their first wand, Draco kept a face of calm aloofness.
Viktor Krum looked at him. "Malfoy, yes?"
Draco smirked. Of course the best Seeker in the world knew the Malfoy name.
They were basically equals. "You've heard of me?"
Krum shrugged his massive shoulders. "You care for my visits with Hermoninny,
why?"
Slightly taken back, first at the man's mispronunciation of the Mudblood's
name—even if it was a ridiculous one, to begin with—and then over the actual
wording. Visits? He was spending time with the swot on purpose? "You have a
reputation and, as a friend, I'm offering you advice to keep it clean. Stay
away from filth like her. She's a Mudblood."
The great big oaf was suddenly standing, and Draco had not realised how tall
the older boy was until they were almost nose to nose though, with Krum having
several more years to him, it was more nose to chest. Instinctively, he glanced
to the side wondering where the hell Vince and Greg had wandered off to. He
took note of Theo in the corner of the room, but there was no way Nott would
put himself in harm's way to save Draco's arse.
"Do not speak ill of Hermoninny," Krum said firmly in a tone that left no
argument, though Draco would have loved to argue the point. "I see beautiful
witch, smart witch, powerful witch. You see blood." Krum scoffed as though
Draco were lower than the mud on his boots. "I prefer seeing witch."
Draco stared openly at the idiot, wondering briefly if Granger had slipped him
a Love Potion.
A week later, when she had shown up on the Bulgarian's arm at the Yule Ball,
his mouth fell open.
"Fuck me . . ." Blaise whispered at the sight of her.
Draco sneered angrily. "We knew he'd been spending time with her. It's hardly a
surprise that she'd be here with him."
Blaise laughed and clapped Draco on the shoulder. "I'm not shocked, I'm
actually hoping that if I say, 'fuck me' loud enough she might let me get a leg
over."
"Charming," Theo said, rolling his eyes.
Draco had not thought much about the girl from that point on, other than the
typical annoyance her very existence caused—though Krum's words had reminded
him of years earlier when he had first met the Muggle-born and had not thought
once about her blood status. She had been easily excitable for certain, but she
had been intelligent and easy to talk to. Beautiful though? Draco scoffed at
the thought.
It was not until he was placed before the Dark Lord the summer before sixth
year and told to practice the Cruciatus Curse on a Muggle that his Aunt
Bellatrix had picked up earlier that week. The girl had long, curly brown hair
and coffee-coloured eyes. Unlike Granger's, her face was covered in tiny
freckles, and she was older by several years.
But suddenly faced with a crying Muggle, who looked so much like his longtime
rival and being ordered to torture her . . . Draco froze.
He remembered every slur, every prank, every dirty look and foul thing he had
ever done to Granger, and his stomach lurched at the same time that his wand
hand shook. He knew, however, that he could not just stand there with the
threat of the Dark Lord at his back, his mother in the corner of the room
surrounded by Death Eaters that were more loyal to their Master than they were
to Lucius, who was tucked away in Azkaban unable to protect his family.
"Avada Kedavra!" Draco said, killing the Muggle in front of him instantly.
He had been put under the Cruciatus Curse by Bellatrix for his insubordination,
but his eagerness to murder Muggles had pleased the Dark Lord, and he was
branded a Death Eater that night. He had blacked out in the middle of it only
to wake up in his mother's arms as she silently sobbed while running her
fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, whispering apologies.
Draco He once thought that nothing in the world could hurt as much as taking
the Mark, but the idea that his mother might be sent to Azkaban for crimes that
had been forced upon her . . . Well, that hurt worse.
"Sorry, sorry," a redheaded man said as he entered the room late, taking a firm
place in the chair marked "Weasley" next to the new "Potter" seat.
Draco rubbed his face with his hands trying to wash away the image of a future
where Potter and Weasel sat next to one another on the Wizengamot. He did not
want to live in a world where idiots made such important decisions.
"Disciplinary hearing on the sixth of June," Kingsley Shacklebolt said in a
loud voice, "into offences committed under the order of Tom Riddle, also known
as Lord Voldemort by Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy née' Black, and
Draco Lucius Malfoy, all residents of Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England."
Draco rolled his eyes at the crowd around him as they gasped and flinched at
the name of the fallen Dark Lord. He was dead. Officially dead and had been for
over a month. How long were they supposed to be afraid of a name? Draco had
feared the person, if one could call him that. He had seen him face-to-face,
sat in the same room, lived in the same home, and ate at the same table. A
table that would need to be salted and burned later, he reminded himself,
should any of his family escape Azkaban.
"Interrogators: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic; Gawain Robards, Head
of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Hyperion Greengrass, Senior
Undersecretary to the Minister and Chief Warlock; Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius
Weasley."
Kingsley took his seat, and then Hyperion Greengrass, Chief Warlock, stood,
blue eyes falling first on Draco.
He tried to meet the man's stare but eventually broke, bitterly scolding
himself for doing so. He had met the wizard only once in his life when he was
ten and a marriage had been arranged between himself and the youngest
Greengrass daughter. A marriage contract that was now, more than likely, voided
due to Draco's potential future stint in Azkaban. They were all better for it.
Astoria deserved more than what Draco was.
"Lucius Malfoy, you stand accused of plotting and escaping from Azkaban prison,
of knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of your
actions taking upon yourself the title of Death Eater, of bearing the Dark Mark
upon your skin, and of following and supporting the Dark Wizard, Tom Riddle.
You are further accused of the illegal kidnapping and imprisonment of Garrick
Ollivander, Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and
Hermione Granger in your own home."
Draco closed his eyes to prevent himself from making eye contact with anyone in
the room as even more accusations were read aloud. The need to drown out the
words, the reminders of what his father had done in the name of a madman, was
overwhelming. He had nightmares about the whole war, but the mere mention of
the things that took place inside his own home left his skin feeling cold and
clammy.
"Narcissa Malfoy, you stand accused of following and supporting the Dark Wizard
Tom Riddle. You are further accused of the imprisonment of Garrick Ollivander,
Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger
in your own home."
Draco shook his head. He knew the truth. His mother had never willingly done
anything, not how they were stating it. She had only followed his father,
trusting him blindly in the hopes that Lucius Malfoy would put his family
first. The only thing she was guilty of was being an obedient wife.
"Draco Malfoy," the Chief Warlock spoke, and Draco opened his eyes as he felt
the blood drain from his face. "You stand accused of plotting the murder of
Albus Dumbledore, of the use of the Imperius Curse upon Madam Rosmerta of
Hogsmeade, of the involuntary cursing of Katie Bell and the involuntary
poisoning of Ronald Weasley. You knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness
of the illegality of your actions, took upon the title of Death Eater, bearing
the Dark Mark upon your skin, following and supporting the Dark Wizard Tom
Riddle. You are accused of crimes during raids of Death Eaters, including the
use of the Cruciatus Curse. You stand accused of crimes committed at Hogwarts
under the direction of Amycus Carrow. You are further accused of the
imprisonment of Garrick Ollivander, Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas, Harry Potter,
Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger in your own home."
Draco breathed heavily through his nose as his crimes were listed out before
him. He mentally acknowledged them all, though he certainly would have worded
it differently. He had, by no means, taken the Dark Mark upon his skin
knowingly or deliberately; it was not as though he requested such a thing. He
wanted to scream, wanted to tell them all the truth about everything, but
looking around at the Wizengamot he wondered, who the hell would even believe
him?
His concentration was broken as the door opened to the side of the room, and
two Aurors escorted in four people he never thought he would see again.
"Witnesses for the defence, Harry James Potter and Hermione Jean Granger,"
Sirius Black spoke as he walked in with Potter, Granger, and Weasley behind
him. The man parted ways with the younger wizards and witch to take his seat
amongst the rest of the Wizengamot.
Weasley separated from his friends and made his way to the crowded gallery
seats, stopping once to glare at Draco in the process.
Granger and Potter stepped to the centre of the room to stand before the
Wizengamot. Somehow, her hair was blacker than Potter's, and it was then that
Draco was reminded of the final battle when Severus Snape, his own godfather,
claimed that the girl was a pureblood, and not just any pureblood . . .
He had a hard time thinking about anything other than the words he had just
heard. Did they say witnesses for the defence?
Ten minutes later, Potter sat to the side between the Wizengamot and the rest
of the crowd, and every eye was on him as he was questioned.
"And you are certain what you witnessed Mr Potter?" Greengrass asked clearly.
"Positive. Draco Malfoy told Professor Dumbledore that he was ordered to kill
him because he and his family were being threatened."
"But he admitted to plotting to kill him?"
"He wouldn't have. Dumbledore offered to protect the Malfoy family, and Draco
lowered his wand. He wasn't going to kill him. I know it."
"But his actions directly led to the death of Albus Dumbledore. Mr Malfoy
orchestrated the break-in of Hogwarts, did he not?" Gawain Robards interrupted.
"It wouldn't have mattered," Potter insisted. "I've submitted Pensieve memories
as evidence for this trial, as well as for the exoneration of Severus Snape."
The crowd behind erupted, and even members of the Wizengamot turned red in the
face and began shouting expletives in protest. Draco paled at the mention of
his godfather, who he had not seen since the final battle.
"And is Master Snape too busy to grace us with his presence?" Robards said
sarcastically, still clearly bitter that the man had turned out to have been a
double-agent, thus getting away with any accused crimes.
"No," Potter said, glaring at him. "He's still recovering at St Mungo's after
he nearly died at the hands of Tom Riddle."
"A quick recess then to look into this new evidence," Greengrass said.
Aurors filled the room, some escorting members of the Wizengamot away, others
standing guard over Draco and his family as Potter and Granger were brought
alongside the Minister for Magic and out the door. He had to force himself not
to watch as Granger's mass of wild black curls bounced as she walked, fighting
the urge not to publicly praise Merlin—or more accurately and sickeningly,
Potter—that somehow, she had miraculously survived a war where she had been
personally targeted just because she existed.
A half an hour passed, and Draco was visibly anxious, his leg bouncing and his
fingers fidgeting with the chains that bound his hands together. "What memories
would Potter have?" he whispered under his breath.
"If I know Severus as well as I think I do," his mother said, her voice
straining to hold back emotion. "Then one of your accused crimes is about to
become my own."
"What did you say?" Draco's wide gaze turned toward his mother.
"Forgive me." She cupped his cheek with it affectionately. "It was not your job
to protect me. It was my job to protect you."
"I don't understa—"
The doors to the chambers opened once more, and the members of the Wizengamot
retook their chairs, but not before the Minister for Magic and the Chief
Warlock shook Harry Potter's hand, thanking him for bringing the evidence
forward.
As the whispers of the crowd died down, Greengrass retook his place among the
seats. "In light of this new evidence," he said, his attention falling on
Draco, "we amend the records to show that Narcissa Malfoy stands accused of
aiding in the plot to murder Albus Dumbledore. That being said, we find neither
her nor her son guilty of the actual murder, but the accusations will remain on
the records for posterity sake. Now, let's continue." He gestured to Gawain
Robards, who looked back to Potter.
Draco sat in stunned silence. He had plotted the murder of his former
headmaster. Although it was Snape who had thrown the Killing Curse, Draco had
still blamed himself for it. Yet, whatever memories that Potter handed over as
evidence had somehow implicated his mother as well, and somehow neither of them
were found guilty of the actual crime. Draco could not make sense of anything
that had happened so far in the trial.
His attention was pulled back into the dungeon when he heard the words "Malfoy
Manor" echo throughout the Chamber.
"And had you met the elder Malfoys before, Mr Potter?"
Potter nodded. "Yes, over the years."
"And how is it that they did not recognise you?"
"Hermione sent a Stinging Hex at me just before we were captured. It disfigured
me a bit."
Draco had to hold back a snort. A bit?
"But certainly Draco Malfoy would have known it was you?" Robards insisted.
"The two of you attended school together for six years, and there is
substantial proof that many altercations occurred between the two of you over
the years."
"Yes, which I imagine was why they insisted that he identify me. But he
didn't." Bright green eyes met Draco's gaze, and Potter almost seemed to smirk
at him. Draco scowled in response out of habit but then shook the look away and
responded by raising a confused brow.
"He didn't recognise you?" Robards asked.
"Oh, he did. Even if I didn't look like myself, Malfoy, er, Draco," Potter
corrected, and Draco made a face at him for using his given name. "He didn't
say he recognised any of us. He lied."
"Why would he do that?"
"Because he knew what would happen. Bellatrix Lestrange would call Voldemort to
collect us, and then he would kill us. Voldemort wanted to kill me himself, but
Ron and Hermione wouldn't have been spared. Ron was a blood-traitor, and
Hermione was a Muggle-born," Potter said, casting a look to the witch in
question who seemed to stiffen at the words. "We'd all have been killed if it
weren't for Malfoy."
I didn't do it for you, idiot. The rebellious words floated across Draco's
mind. He distinctly heard a loud grumbling snort come from behind him. It had
to be the Weasel, especially considering how Granger's focus turned toward the
noise, and she gave a scalding glare in its direction.
"And did either of the elder Malfoys attempt to divert the attentions of
Bellatrix Lestrange? As you've said, she appeared in charge of the situation,"
Greengrass commented, his eyes glancing to Lucius.
"No," Potter said clearly, though he appeared conflicted. "No, they were
adamant about finding out if it was really me, though Mr Malfoy especially
wanted to be the one to hand me over. Though Mrs Malfoy was no less
insistent then, she did, however, save my life later. And I would like the
Wizengamot to take this into consideration. In the Forbidden Forest, when
Voldemort asked if I was dead, it was Narcissa Malfoy who lied to him, looked
him in the eyes and said I was dead when I wasn't. If it wasn't for her, I
would not have made it out of the forest. I would not have defeated Voldemort."
Once again, the crowd erupted into whispers and murmurs, this time for so long
that the Chief Warlock had to use a Sonorus Charm to get the attention of
everyone in the room.
Draco turned to briefly gauge his parents' reactions to the declaration, but
neither gave away anything. Unfortunately, he had to turn his attention back to
the Wizengamot as Potter was dismissed. Taking his place was a girl he could
scarcely look in the eye, which did not seem to be a problem for her, as she
seemed resolutely determined not to glance his way.
"Miss Granger, I know this is a sensitive subject," Robards spoke softly as
though Granger was a delicate flower. Draco rolled his eyes. He had seen the
woman in action and knew that if the former Auror made one wrong move, he would
be hexed on his back faster than a Firebolt flew. "Is it true that you were
tortured within the Malfoy's home?"
The words triggered stress-induced nausea, something Draco had come to terms
with as a Death Eater hazard over the past two years, and he looked away from
the witch to avoid making it worse. Looking at
her always made everything worse.
"Yes. Though, I strongly doubt I'm the only person to have been so. Bellatrix
Lestrange hit me with the Cruciatus Curse," she said, pointedly leaving out the
fact that Draco's crazy aunt also carved her arm up. "And she also attacked me
at the final battle."
"With all due respect," Robards said, trying to gently guide her back to his
question, "Bellatrix Lestrange is not presently on trial. She's dead. We're
here to discuss the Malfoys."
"I am discussing the Malfoys," Granger snapped, her eyes narrowing at the man.
"Harry's right. Draco didn't identify us when we were at the manor. And when it
came down to it at the final battle, Draco gave Harry the wand that defeated
Voldemort. He also . . . He also saved me. When Bellatrix came after me again,
Draco took the curse she had aimed at me."
For some reason, he felt shame at her words despite the truth of them, and he
looked away from her, doing his best to drown out the sound of her voice; it
reminded him of the sound of her screams echoing in his drawing room. Somehow,
it worked, and soon he watched as the witch retreated to a seat beside Potter.
"I now ask the Wizengamot," shouted Hyperion Greengrass, "to raise their hands
if they believe that the crimes of Narcissa Malfoy deserve a sentence in
Azkaban?"
Draco was pleasantly shocked when not a single hand was raised. He smiled
genuinely as he felt his mother's hand clench tightly around his own and heard
a small whimper escape her lips, though she was quick to silence herself as she
turned her expression once again to stone.
"Very well." Greengrass looked to the Minister, who nodded as though giving
permission to continue. "We find Narcissa Malfoy guilty of plotting the murder
of Albus Dumbledore, and guilty of the imprisonment of hostages within Malfoy
Manor. She is sentenced to one year of house arrest, during which time her wand
will be confiscated, to be returned upon completion of her sentence."
Two Aurors approached them to unchain Draco's mother, and he frowned as she
desperately clung to his hands, not bothering to give his father a passing
glance as she was pulled away to have a Tracking Charm placed upon her person
before she would be delivered back to the manor.
"I now ask the jury to raise their hands if they believe that the crimes of
Draco Lucius Malfoy deserve a sentence in Azkaban?"
Draco let out an audible sigh of relief when only two hands raised—by people he
had never even seen before in his life sitting in seats far in the back giving
scowls forward at him and his father. He thought to take note of their names
when they stood to remember this moment, but instead he revelled in the fact
that, somehow, despite everything he had done, he was not going to go to
Azkaban.
"We find Draco Lucius Malfoy guilty of plotting the murder of Albus Dumbledore,
guilty for the use of the Imperius Curse, and the involuntary attacks on Katie
Bell and Ronald Weasley." Greengrass gave a long pause. "However, given your
age and under the circumstances of your bearing the Dark Mark, we believe that
you—like many—are a victim of war. You are found innocent of all other crimes
related to being a Death Eater."
The crowd behind broke into outrage, and Draco visibly recoiled, not wanting to
break eye contact with the Chief Warlock. He was still, however, concerned for
his own well-being, considering a large group of angry wizards shouted at his
back. Who knew how many of them were willing to curse him over the
pronouncement of his innocence?
"You are hereby sentenced to six months probationary magic where your wand will
be examined on a monthly basis to look for signs of Dark Magic. You are
required by the Wizengamot to make restitutions to the Wizarding community,
including financing the rebuilding of Hogwarts."
Draco gave a quick nod of acceptance. Though he had originally planned to do so
anonymously if given the chance, he was already more than willing to make a
large donation to the school. While he had often complained about it, wishing
he could have gone to Durmstrang instead, the past few years had taught him
that Hogwarts should have been his place of sanctuary against the darkness that
had been spreading in his home.
Before he could hear what would happen to his father, Draco was unchained from
his seat and led out the doors of the dungeon where his mother was waiting for
him in the hall. Quickly, she fell into his embrace and sobbed against his
shoulder.
"What's happened? What's to be done with you?"
"Nothing." Draco shook his head. "Six months probation, and I have to rebuild
the school." The words tumbled out of his mouth as he was still trying to
process his sentencing properly as well. His mother responded by crying harder
and holding him tighter, and he could only smile nervously, stroking his hand
down the length of her hair to comfort her.
It was less than twenty minutes later when an Auror came out into the hallway
and whispered to the guards.
"What's happened?" Draco asked.
"You're needed back inside," the Auror said and held the door open for him.
Draco paled at the thought that he might be called to be a witness in his own
father's trial, but by the looked of the Wizengamot, they had made their
decision regarding Lucius. Most of the members looked annoyed but smug, no one
moreso than Sirius Black, who was glaring menacingly at Lucius. The crowd, on
the other hand, looked displeased.
"Ah, young Mr Malfoy, please step forward," the Minister for Magic spoke with a
smile.
Draco hesitated for a brief moment before doing so, casting a glance at his
father who looked positively enraged.
"Lucius Malfoy, after being found guilty of all crimes, the Wizengamot
sentences you to three years of house arrest. Due to the nature of your heinous
crimes against the Wizarding world, as well as the endangerment of your own
family, you are hereby stripped of wand privileges," Greengrass threw out the
sentence.
Draco's eyes widened, and his father seethed. It was a light sentence all
things considered, and Draco figured that enough votes had been purchased to
keep his father out of Azkaban but not enough to bring down another, almost
equally emasculating sentence. He knew that his father had lost his wand to the
Dark Lord but had ultimately planned on replacing it, as had the rest of their
family. Now, it appeared that Lucius was forbidden from doing so.
"Because you used your influence and name to further the power of the Dark
Wizard, Tom Riddle," Greengrass continued, "you are hereby stripped of that
influence and name. Your Wizengamot seat, financial holdings, investments,
properties, positions, and titles are officially removed from your person, name
and magic, and will be passed immediately to your son, Draco Lucius Malfoy."
Gasps were heard all around the room and immediately Draco lacked the ability
to look at his father. Instead his eyes met those of Hyperion Greengrass,
followed by those of Kingsley Shacklebolt, who stood and extended his arm to
Draco.
"Do you accept this, Draco?" the Minister asked.
"I . . ." Draco's mouth fell open.
"You must accept it through a binding and take a Wizard's Oath."
Draco could not speak, but he nodded, not knowing what else to do.
"Mr Potter?" the Chief Warlock said. "If you're still willing, as we had
addressed earlier . . ."
Potter stood in the crowd, receiving what appeared to be a look of acceptance
from Granger and a look of resentment from Weasley before he made his way
forward, approaching Draco and the two elder wizards.
"I don't understand," Draco muttered quietly as Potter approached, his
instincts still telling him that the boy was an enemy and he needed to be on
his toes, suspicious of any movement. Like a serpent, Draco kept his eyes on
Harry Potter, as though waiting for him to strike.
"To take a Wizard's Oath, one needs a wand," Shacklebolt explained.
Draco's heart leapt into his throat as Harry Potter pulled a wand from his
robes. His wand. Draco's hand shook as he quickly moved to take it, drawn to
the object with great longing. Just before his fingertips could wrap around the
handle, he paused and looked up as though waiting for permission.
"It's yours, Malfoy," Potter insisted, handing over the Hawthorn wand.
The moment the small piece of wood connected with his hand, Draco let out a
slow breath as he felt the magic course back through him, calling out to him as
though the wand was reconnecting with its master, enjoying the feeling of
wholeness again. Unable to utter a word of thanks, Draco merely nodded his
silent gratitude, his gaze looking briefly over Potter's shoulder where he made
eye contact with Granger; she smiled, and Draco felt a strange calm come over
him.
"That's the wand that defeated Voldemort," Potter quickly pointed out, and
Draco's eyes widened. He had almost forgotten. "Do us all a favour, Malfoy, and
keep up its trend of good magic."
Unable to look at him a moment longer as Draco's pride threatened to fall, he
gave Potter a curt nod before turning his attention back to the Minister for
Magic, who held out his wand hand. Draco took it, and the two held one
another's forearms, nothing between them save their wands.
Greengrass pointed his wand above them and, as he spoke, two long silver
strands of light erupted from the tip, wrapping themselves around Draco's and
the Minister's hands.
"Do you Draco Lucius Malfoy, accept the responsibilities as the new Head of
your House? Do you willingly take upon yourself the positions, titles,
properties, and all powers attached to the Head of the Malfoy House?"
"I will," Draco almost whispered the words.
"This is outrageous! He is a boy and is not ready!" Lucius bellowed behind
them.
"Restrain him if necessary before placing the Tracking Charm on him,"
Greengrass insisted as two Aurors quickly moved to secure Lucius.
Draco watched as the silver strands around him and Kingsley pulsed, swelling
with magic before vanishing, and he reflexively removed his wand, placing it
securely in his robes, hoping to never lose it again.
The Wizengamot was dismissed, and Draco was led back toward his mother where
they sat, guarded by Aurors as the crowd was directed out toward the Atrium.
When Sirius Black stepped through the doors, standing aside as Potter and
Weasley moved on either side of Granger, leading her quickly away, Draco stood
to see where they were going only to be met with Aurors acting as though he
were going to attack the people who had just saved his life.
"Cissa," Black said, pushing past the Aurors and hugging Draco's mother, who
looked like she was struggling with the urge to burst into tears. "Everything's
going to be fixed now that this is over. I've got a long list of shit I need to
fix before the Black Estate is properly settled, but once I'm done, I'm making
sure that you're all right." He turned and looked at Draco. "The Wizengamot
feels that you should return to Hogwarts when it reopens this fall to retake
your seventh year. It'll give room between yourself and Lucius to allow you to
run your House without his influence. There will be plenty of people available
if you need help."
Draco nodded, disliking everything that had been said with the exception of not
living in the manor for another year. Still, going back to Hogwarts had not
been in his plans.
"Sirius," his mother whispered. "We . . . We have to talk. Is the girl—?"
"I'm not talking about that," Black said, his expression darkening.
"I mean her no harm."
"No? You left that to Bellatrix, didn't you?" Black said and then immediately
turned and walked away.
"Sirius! Sirius, you don't know everything about Regulus!"
Without looking back, he shouted, "No one does!"
End Notes
     Yes, this does mean that Hermione and Draco are technically second
     cousins. No, you do not need to point this out to me, I was aware of
     it before I wrote it. It's well known that the Black family and most
     pureblood families intermarried for generations. If it's not your cup
     of tea, I totally understand.
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