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Chapter Text

April 1998

"Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback."

They had been on the run for so long; they were so tired and broken.

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 their pursuers out while she turned and began altering their features. Her own appearance would have been easily overlooked 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. There were redheads all over Wizarding Britain, but that vibrant shade of red paired with specific facial features spoke only of the Weasleys. In addition to Harry's scar, his emerald green eyes were a dead giveaway.

She had changed her own hair to a dirty-blond and adjusted the shape of her nose, given 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 had happened. In a panic, as the Snatchers gave up on taking down the wards and resorted to ripping through them, she had hit Harry in the face with a Stinging Hex, muttering apologies to her best friend as a hideous werewolf descended upon them all.

The glamours had not been strong enough.

They were partially recognised by Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy immediately, so Bellatrix called for Draco to confirm their identities.

The insane witch had grabbed him by the back of the neck 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.

A dull silver, the colour of hard metal. In the right lighting, they sometimes appeared to glow. Torches and flickering candles around Hogwarts sometimes made them seem ethereal; as though she could actually see with her own eyes the magic inside of Draco moving.

Now, his eyes looked dull. The magic of the colour reminded her more of steel in need of a good shine. They lacked the sparkle that Ron's and Harry's held. Even Sirius, whose grey eyes still had a small glimmer despite his time in Azkaban and still more after last summer at Grimmauld place when he miraculously survived duelling Bellatrix in the Department of Mysteries with only a slowly healing curse wound to show for it.

When Bellatrix finally let Draco out of her personal bubble, Hermione had taken the opportunity to really look at him. He seemed so much worse than when she last saw him, fleeing from Hogwarts on the heels of Professor Snape with Harry screaming, "Murderer!" behind them. Draco had looked terrible for most of sixth year. While Harry had spent the majority of time at school insisting that Malfoy was a Death Eater (which, apparently, he had been), she had taken notice of the way his clothes hung off his body too loosely, how he never ate in the Great Hall, and rarely spoke in class. More than once during Prefect rounds, she had caught him hyperventilating in dark alcoves.

Now, he looked much worse. Sickly thin and pale, with dark circles under eyes that were red-rimmed by stress. Draco had stared at her with obvious recognition and swallowed hard, taking a moment presumably to invent 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 effort. Considering the worried looks on the faces of Bellatrix and the elder Malfoys, they would have needed to be one-hundred percent certain before summoning Voldemort. She was grateful for the seedling of doubt that Draco had planted in their minds. But, unfortunately, with a certain famous sword discovered in their possession and Bellatrix Lestrange's determination to get back in the good graces of her Dark Lord, they were not even close to seeing the clearing of the woods.

Greyback took hold of Harry and Ron, gripping each of them by the arm with his filthy hands and squeezing tight as he began to approach her. Hermione hated the way that she flinched.

"Wait." Bellatrix stopped him, her heavy-lidded eyes staring at Hermione. "All except . . . except for the Mudblood."

Harry and Ron were taken away quickly, screaming and pleading to stay in her place.

"No!" Harry yelled, fighting against Greyback's grip.

"Take me instead!" Ron shouted as they dragged him away, presumably to a dungeon. This place seemed like it would have a dungeon.

Bellatrix lifted her wand, and Hermione looked up at the woman in terror. Bellatrix had grey eyes like Sirius. A family trait no doubt. They sparkled as well, but not with the mirth of a Marauder. They looked hungry.

Hermione broke eye contact, unable to watch. Instead, she turned her eyes to the other occupants of the room.

Draco seemed to twitch in understanding of what was to happen to her, and she was even tempted to scream out, begging him for help. For a split second, he looked like he might have done so. Whatever he could have thought to do to stop his aunt was thwarted by the gripping fingers of his father, keeping him still and silent. It looked as though Lucius had dug his fingernails into the skin of his son's shoulder in anxious anticipation.

The first Crucio felt like death.

The second made her pray for it.

But it was not until Bellatrix's frustration began to reach a peak that things took a genuine turn for the worse. The torture curse stopped, but the spellcasting did not. Hermione could feel as Bellatrix began to dismantle the glamours she had put on herself. 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 magic and began picking it away, looking for physical traits and casting them aside, piece by piece, until the truth revealed itself. The spells were a relief from the pain, but Bellatrix's magic felt wrong and invasive. It felt cold and wet and acidic. Suddenly, the magic pushing inside of her seemed to hit a wall of sorts, and she actually jolted at the barrier. The coldness suddenly grew very hot, and the acidic nature of Bellatrix's magic felt corrosive. Like it had gone from lemon juice to battery acid. Something cracked in the wall inside of her, and it felt like her magic was fighting back.

No.

The fight inside of Hermione didn't feel like her magic.

Unable to cling to the protective magic or assist it in any way, she felt as it shattered to pieces. Her body jolted again and a tingling fire ran over her skin, down to her fingertips and toes and then back up her arms and legs, cascading over her face in a wave of heat and thrumming aches.

It took the air right out of her lungs.

She didn't even have a moment to catch her breath before a hand fisted in her hair.

"What are you playing at, little girl?! You dare mock me?"

Hermione was beyond exhausted, sobbing, and unable to understand what conclusion Bellatrix's insane mind had drawn together. The pain focused on her skull where Bellatrix yanked hard, and soft black curls drifted into her vision.

The gripping hand eventually released her, and she felt when the back of her head smacked into the marble flooring with a thud that echoed in her ears. Her vision shook, and in confusion, she wondered why the soft black curls were still in her face when she could see the blurred image of Bellatrix standing above her.

"I'll teach you . . ." the older witch snarled before descending upon her again, and then Hermione felt a stabbing pain in her arm as Bellatrix held her down by the throat.

It felt like the Cruciatus anchored to one singular spot until it began to move along her skin in sharp lines. She screamed and cried, and she sought out help again, only to see Draco shaking in his father's tight grip, and his mother covering her mouth in horror at the scene.

A bright light swooped overhead, and the pain ebbed just enough for her to blink away tears and see Ron and Harry running toward her with wands in hand. Loud footfalls and echoing magic shook the ground, and the last thing she saw before losing consciousness was Harry and Ron staring down at her in confusion.

Hermione sat in the first-floor drawing room of Grimmauld Place, 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 against 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 could not, for the life of her, comprehend why the men on the other side had not 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 seat of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

"I should have been told!" Sirius' voice was hoarse and emotional; he'd been yelling for hours and crying for days before the start of this particular argument when Harry had Side-Along Apparated her there immediately after escaping Malfoy Manor.

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 had not slept well for the majority of the year but, then again, none of them had. Constantly being on the move and hunting for Horcruxes did not allow for proper midday kips; stress-induced insomnia had been detrimental to everyone's health.

"How long?" she had whispered upon waking.

Gripping her hand tightly, Harry had muttered, "Four days. God, Hermione, I thought you were . . ."

She had reached out, muscles weak, and lightly ruffled his hair until he cracked a smile and the tears flowed out in earnest; which was actually what she had been trying to prevent. She knew Harry hated it when people saw him getting too emotional, and she felt guilty for putting him in such a fragile state. Taking care of Harry had become second nature to her. She 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 any time they found themselves camped near rivers or lakes.

"Did everyone else make it out?"

Harry frowned. "Dobby."

She had felt a tight pain in her chest she knew to be grief. It was amazing she was not numb to the feeling yet. "Oh, Harry. 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. Ollivander, Griphook, and Dean got out safely as well."

"Why aren't we there?" she had asked curiously.

"When . . . everything happened at Malfoy Manor," he'd said the words 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 had not been to Number Twelve since September. Since they had accidentally led Yaxley, who had tailed them via Apparition, to the steps of the house. Hermione had managed to kick the Death Eater off and immediately Apparated herself, Harry, and Ron elsewhere. That, however, had ended up with Ron splinched and their Horcrux hunt delayed by several days. Harry had sent a Patronus to Sirius, telling him that Grimmauld Place may have been compromised and he should get to safety.

The teenagers had waited for three weeks when the familiar image of a large silvery Grim had wisped its way into the opening of their tent. It had informed them, in Sirius' voice, that he had gotten out in time thanks to some clever spell-work he "wasn't at liberty to discuss" (which could only mean illegal and very likely in the grey tones of Light and Dark Magic).

They had sent word back telling Harry's godfather of only their safety and nothing more. Despite Sirius' wish to be involved in their plans, Dumbledore had left the secret of Tom Riddle's Horcruxes to Harry alone, and he'd only shared that information with Ron and Hermione. It was their job to find and destroy them. Looking back, she wished they had gotten the Order involved.

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. It had been 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. It had taken Harry an entire school year to destroy Tom Riddle's diary— even though it had not been in his possession the entire time and he hadn't known what it really was—but those numbers did not bode well for the rest of their Horcrux hunt. They could not very well spend the next three to four years on the run trying to destroy the dark vessels in the hopes that Voldemort did not destroy their world in the process.

"Why Grimmauld Place?" she asked curiously. "Why not Shell Cottage? We were already planning to go there."

Harry frowned and reached out to wrap one of her curls around his finger, a habit he fell into whenever he was nervous, "I . . . I guess I was thinking of Sirius at the time."

She had winced as memories of Malfoy Manor flashed through her mind.

She'd looked down at her bandaged forearm. "Harry, what happened?"

He apparently decided the best way to broach the subject was by visual representation. Harry had reached into the drawer of the bedside table and removed a mirror from within. She had snatched it from his grip and brought it to her face. She did not know why it did not shock 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 soft 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 she now wore.

While Hogwarts did not offer classes in biology and genetics, she understood enough of the principles and the magical theories to know that certain traits belonged solely 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 their blood linked to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

Harry helped her to stand, her hands shaking slightly as she put the mirror down on the bed and got to her feet. She was led into the drawing room to face the infamous Black family tapestry. It did not take 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.

Which was how she found herself now, sitting on the floor and staring up at the tapestry in front of her with a hole in her heart, a lead weight in her stomach, and a million questions running through her mind.

Harry 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 house is magical and sentient in itself. Charmed like Hogwarts to recognise certain things and . . . people."

"Blood wards," she mumbled.

"Kreacher actually healed your arm."

She turned and stared at him incredulously, her newly-discovered grey eyes wide.

"He's calling you his special Young Miss."

Sirius and Professor Snape suddenly burst through the door, continuing to yell at one another until each man turned to stare at Hermione and Harry on the floor in the drawing room. Neither said a word more.

Professor 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 her a pained smile before following, slamming the door behind him.

"Sirius is angry," she whispered, trying to prevent tears from falling down her cheeks.

Harry shook his head. "Not at . . . and not about . . . he's just . . ." He sighed and scratched his head. "He's mad that it was kept from him. That he didn't know."

Almost on cue, the screaming between the grown wizards began again.

"We need to figure out the next Horcrux," she whispered and moved to stand as she wiped at her eyes.

Harry's grip tightened as he held her down. "Absolutely not. 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 told them. I finally told the Order what we've been trying to do."

Hermione gasped. "Harry!"

"I don't care. I know Dumbledore said that only the three of us could know, but after everything that's happened, I think keeping secrets for the supposed 'Greater Good' has done nothing but hurt people," he said, frowning.

Her arm started to itch.

"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."

She furrowed her brows. "Harry, you told me you saw him kill—"

Harry sighed. "There's a lot more to it than what I saw . . . apparently."

"So Professor Snape's . . . ?"

"A good guy," Harry said, almost disappointed.

"And Malfoy?"

"Still a ferrety git. But he didn't give us away so . . . I don't know."

"So the two of you will soon become best friends?" she tried to joke.

Harry let out a small laugh 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."

She nodded. "I . . . I had a feeling something was . . . wrong," she admitted to him, swallowing down a mouthful of guilt. "Last summer, when I Obliviated my p-parents . . ." Her voice wavered as she collected her emotions and thoughts. "It felt like something was wrong. I only meant to alter their memories with a charm. Nothing permanent, but when I started layering the magic, I found things. They'd already had their memories altered by someone else. I couldn't see what exactly had been changed; they were specific, and it took me a while, but I was able to trace the origin of the charm back years."

"How long?"

"I can't pinpoint a specific day but . . . I would say close to the end of 1981."

His eyes widened in horror. "You think this happened because of me?"

"Of course not," she insisted. "Even if it has something to do with what happened to your parents, it's not your fault. I really wish you would stop blaming the entire war on yourself. 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?"

"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?"

"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. So 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."

"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. The last, we think, is the snake."

She nodded. That made sense. Looking around the room, she suddenly realised something. "Where's Ron?"

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."

She frowned. "Because I'm different."

"Because you look different," he corrected her.

"No, I'm . . . oh God. I'm a pureblood." She choked the word down like sand. "From a family that . . . that . . ." Glancing down at her arm, she reached out to touch the bandage there, and bitterness settled deep in her chest as she snapped, "Well . . . I'm not a Mudblood anymore."

"You never were," Harry said, glaring at her use of the word. "You're just Hermione."

"Why is Professor Snape here?" she asked, changing the subject. "I mean, he brought me potions and books but—"

Harry shrugged. "Apparently, he knew the truth."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "This whole time?"

"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 men were still shouting.

"—I should have been told!" Sirius screamed, his voice still hoarse and emotional. "How could you keep a bloody secret like this for so long? She's nearly nineteen years old!"

"Well," Professor Snape drawled, "unlike you, Black, I actually keep secrets. 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. Then, what sounded like a noisy scuffle, was followed by the colourful lights of hexes emitting 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.

The room went silent.

Sirius exited, shutting the door behind him and pocketing his wand as he slowly approached Harry and Hermione. He knelt down in front of them and ran a hand through his hair. Smiling sadly at her, he reached out to brush the edge of his knuckles affectionately against her cheek.

"Hey," he whispered, "You had us scared there for a while."

Tears finally flowed from 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. He reached out and pulled her into his arms, letting her sob on his shoulder. "It's all right, Hermione. Everything's going to be fine. You and I . . . We're going to be fine, and we're going to find out everything."

"You're not mad?" she asked amid a sob.

"At you? Whatever for?" He chuckled softly and leant forward, kissing her forehead. "I'm bloody thrilled about you. Pissed about not knowing. I'm pissed about a lot of things that were kept from me. 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."

"I don't . . . I don't even know what to call you anymore," she admitted awkwardly.

"Sirius is fine. You're a little too old to start calling me Uncle, I think," he admitted with a smirk and pulled her back into his arms.

She blinked away tears again. Focusing her blurry vision on the tapestry behind Sirius on the wall, she saw where her name now sat in elegant lettering.

Hermione Astra Black
b. September 19, 1979

Her gaze followed the line that flowed from her up to her father:

Regulus Arcturus Black
b. May 12, 1961 — d. May 31, 1979

Chapter Text

April 1973

Regulus stood in the first-floor drawing room of Grimmauld Place, 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 were magically embroidered in perfect calligraphy. His own name was 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 against the Slytherin green background. He had always found the colour comforting, not cold like his brother claimed it was. Raised voices argued in the room next to him. The door was closed, but no Silencing Charm had been cast. His parents never bothered to cast one.

"You can't do that!" Sirius yelled. "She didn't do anything wrong!"

"She has disgraced her family and our noble blood!" their mother shouted back.

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 Black.

"It's not fair!" Regulus winced at Sirius' volume, knowing it would never help his argument. "You can't just throw away family!"

When would his brother begin to understand that nothing in life was fair? Gryffindors were brave and reckless, certainly, but there had to be at least an ounce of common sense in each of them. Right? How else would they have even survived long enough to even make it to Hogwarts?

The smell of the burnt silk, fresh and lingering in the air, caused him to finally turn his back on the tapestry. It had made his stomach churn to watch his mother turn and blast the name so easily off the Family Tree as if she were banishing something as simple as a doxy. He felt sick knowing that across London in another Black family home, his Uncle Cygnus, Andromeda's father, was doing the same to a duplicate tapestry. Regulus thought it was redundant considering the tapestries were all magically linked and what happened to one would automatically happen to another, but his Uncle Cygnus would likely make a point to his daughters, just as Walburga and Orion had made the point to him and Sirius.

The message was clear: Don't marry Mudbloods.

And for the love of Salazar, do not even think about breeding with them.

"You can't throw someone out of the family for falling in love! What if it were me or Regulus that fell in love with a—" Sirius never finished the sentence, and Regulus winced in preparation. Though there was no loud sound that followed from behind the door save for a slight scuffle, Regulus had learnt 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 of the 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, when he was grown up, he would 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 genuinely understood what "marry" meant, and at the time, it had not seemed so bad. Then, when he'd turned eleven and gotten the pre-Hogwarts talk, he'd finally learnt what the actual purpose of marriage really was. Setting political alliances, money, and reputation aside, it all came down to strengthening and furthering the pure bloodlines. Suddenly, marrying Narcissa seemed a bit more bothersome. Even the dark family secret that no one ever dared mention under threat of Cygnus regarding Narcissa's very non-Black blue eyes and blond hair was enough to lessen the nauseating impact of what Regulus might have to do with her one day.

While growing up, they only saw one another at family functions, and even then, most of the attention had been on Sirius and Andromeda, who were being coerced into a betrothal themselves. However, 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 did not 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 was not 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 would not 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 had named Nymphadora.

He had seen his brother pocket the photograph of the tiny infant when Andromeda had dropped it following a stinging hex from Bellatrix across the face. Regulus knew, without a doubt, that Sirius would receive worse from their mother if he was caught with the photo. His brother did not appear to give a damn, though—as he decided to roar in the other room—and he never had, no matter what the consequences were.

And the consequences had always been dire.

Growing up in 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 Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Except when he was not behaving like the wonderful heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, in which case they had Regulus: the wonderful spare. Though he valued his life, Regulus firmly believed his parents should never have had children. He'd even overheard his father mutter such things after a good firewhisky. They weren't children; they were show dogs. Well-bred and housebroken and look how nicely they stand in silence and nod their heads when prompted.

It was not until Sirius was ready to go to Hogwarts that Walburga and Orion even considered giving equal attention to their younger son. Then Sirius had written home after the Sorting, and suddenly it was ready, set, go for "Project Scion Swap".

Regulus had been heartbroken that his brother, his best friend, would leave for Hogwarts a year ahead of him. Despite their father telling them that boys did not cry—and they certainly did not hug one another, especially in public—it took both parents to separate them at King's Cross. Sirius stood in front of him and wiped the tears from Regulus' face as the scarlet steam train whistled its warnings of departure.

"Look for my owl; I'll write to you every week, Reg," Sirius had promised him with the 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, 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 finally did 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 her down, a glass of firewhisky in his hand likely 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 should not have coddled him so much. They should not have let him outside so often. They, perhaps, should not 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 were not supposed to be protectors; they were self-preservationists. Family first, and that did not 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 of 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 who 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 his 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' 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 after Sirius had managed to work 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' mind when he had been brought into the Great Hall beside the other first years. He stared out into the crowd and found Sirius 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 crybaby 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 had whispered 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 King's 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, he could not because 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 of Chocolate Frogs toward their friend to cheer him up.

Regulus slowly made his way to the Slytherin table, where he was politely welcomed. He 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 was disproportionate 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 could not show fear, not in Slytherin or else be labelled weak. "My brother," he said firmly. "Is there a problem?"

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, feeling very, very small. I'm nothing like Sirius.

Pulled from his recent memories by the sound of a slamming door, Regulus looked away from the tapestry to see Sirius walking toward him, wiping blood from his mouth and looking wrathful but sufficiently subdued after speaking to their parents. There was nothing to be done to spare Andromeda from being disowned.

He gripped Regulus by the shoulders and firmly said, "She's still our cousin, do you hear me? I don't give a shit 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?"

His lip had started bleeding again.

Regulus frowned at the sight, wondering how his older brother was able to endure such pain. The beatings were not as bad as they could be, he imagined. He had heard whispers of what Bellatrix had been learning from friends she'd made after Hogwarts.

"Sirius, why can't you just shut up and look down like you're supposed to?" Regulus asked, staring at the blood on his brother's lip. "Next, she'll blast you off," he whispered. "And you can't let her do it," he 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."

Regulus flinched at the statement, despite knowing that Sirius had not meant it as a slight against him. Still, bitterly, he asked, "Why does it always come down to bravery?"

"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 was not. She was quiet and subdued unlike Bellatrix, and beloved by Cygnus because her hair and eyes matched his, unlike Narcissa. 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 from the start?

"You'll always be my brother," Regulus promised.

"Not unless he shapes up!" their mother said as she walked out of the room, glaring down at her eldest child with a hate in her grey eyes 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, pivoted, punched the family tree, and walked out of the room.

Their father exited the other room then, 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 Regulus before he sighed irritably and followed Sirius out of the room.

"You, my sweet boy," Walburga said as she turned to face him 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."

"But . . ." he began, "I'm not the heir. Sirius will be the Head of—"

"Regulus," Walburga hissed, her eyes narrowing as she grabbed his jaw in her hand and tilted his head forcefully to look up at her. "You will be the Head of our Noble and Ancient House, and it will be your job to keep filth from the family, do you understand me?"

Her fingernails dug into his jaw and cheeks. He could practically 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? 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! I'd rather smother the lot of you in your sleep!" Regulus forced down a flinch when she raised her volume.

"I-I . . ." Regulus stammered.

"Toujours Pur, Regulus," she snapped, shaking him by the grip on his face, her nails digging even 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, finally letting go of his face. "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 did 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."

"It's all right, 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. But, still, I imagine breaking the contract wasn't your idea?"

He shook his head quickly. "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. Narcissa introduced him to her boyfriend, a fifth-year Prefect named Lucius Malfoy, who shook Regulus' hand and said they would sit down and talk things out very soon. He was then officially introduced 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 Slytherin.

He did not 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 how well-connected he was, 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 both money and purity. It had not been much of a sacrifice on Cissa's part; it was clear to anyone at Hogwarts that she worshipped the very ground 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 had not 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 as long as it was properly severed? Not going through with it otherwise promised not only societal repercussions but magical ones as well such as the inability to form a bond with anyone else, infertility in both parties preventing them from "sullying" their lines, and the possibility of magical loss. No one had backed out of such a thing, or at least that had been documented as far as he knew, so the details were sparse.

"What do I get out of this?" He had looked 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 that came down upon him from his parents 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 Regulus had not just rolled over and accepted the theft of his prize, a prize that Lucius clearly coveted.

He thought for a moment about the things that were important to him. He had all the money in the world and did not 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 entirety of Slytherin House 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 Noble and Most Ancient 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 care little about 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. Still, it was worth it to try.

"Let's end this marriage contract, cousin," Regulus said, smiling up at Narcissa.

Chapter Text

April 1998

The side effects of being under the Cruciatus Curse lasted much longer than many would have thought. The 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 her to be left alone at night. The first time she'd cried out in pain 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.

Professor Snape did what he could, moving back and forth between Hogwarts and Grimmauld Place, audibly grateful that the students had yet to return to the school from Easter holidays, as it gave him a mild reprieve from his duties as Headmaster. Voldemort was searching for something—the Elder wand if Harry was to be believed—and the Death Eaters had been left to their own devices while their master was on the hunt. Unfortunately, that meant a lot of work for the Order.

When he was at Grimmauld Place, Professor Snape brewed in a spare room on the fourth floor, keeping Hermione out of pain with various potions. She drank them 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. Sirius and Professor 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 Professor Snape's issue was regarding the Department of Mysteries was, well . . . a mystery. She eavesdropped later on when Mrs Weasley stopped by to bring food for everyone and asked after Hermione's health.

"She'll be all right, won't she?" Mrs Weasley asked. "It's not as bad as last time?"

"Please don't mention that," Sirius pleaded. "Poppy told us all Hermione could have died after what Dolohov did."

"She could have died a few days ago as well," Mrs Weasley reminded him. "They shouldn't have run off. The Order should have stepped in right from the beginning. Damn Albus. If only he had stuck around to tell us what he needed done."

"My apologies for disturbing your predetermined end-of-war schedule," Professor Snape hissed at her. "Perhaps I could have delayed killing him, but regardless of timing, I can guarantee you that Albus Dumbledore would not have shared anything with you if 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 implying that he was trying to remain in control of his anger.

"Of course, we were!" Professor Snape snarled. "You the dog, I the snake. And if you haven't figured it out yet, he had three favourite little lambs, all ready for the slaughter."

Harry slept beside Hermione each night to make sure she was safe. She 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. She felt safe, loved, and a part of something whole. Family. She had lost her parents to Obliviation, 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. Her fingers raked gently over the embroidered name of Regulus Arcturus Black, willing information to be imparted from the wall to her. Who was he? What was he like? Why did he have to die? Who was her mother? Why did they give her away? The Blacks, Regulus included, had been blood purists. So why had they placed her with Muggles?

Her recovery took a rough step in the wrong direction one night when Harry had been summoned 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 had finally stopped, Hermione tried to hold back her emotions, but they flooded her senses. 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' 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 King's Cross Station after her fourth year at Hogwarts when Voldemort returned. She had been terrified deep down, covering up her fears with Gryffindor bravery and bravado. Then 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 a monster under 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' 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. He had failed, and his act of defiance had cost him his life.

Had cost Hermione her father.

Sirius' hugs were both a kind comfort and a painful reminder.

When 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 the 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' 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 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 hurt himself in response.

Hermione offered a small smile. "Doesn't everyone drink pumpkin juice in the morning?"

Kreacher scowled. "Master . . . filthy blood-traitor brat that he is, drinks coffee." He spoke in a tone that was hateful and defiant, and he said the words as though coffee was the very worst thing in the world simply because Sirius drank it.

"Kreacher . . ." she began hesitantly, "I . . . I would like it very much if you stopped speaking ill of Sirius."

He stared at her in severe confusion.

"Please, Kreacher." Hermione sighed in frustration when he recoiled from the word as though she had struck him. 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. No more calling him names. No more calling anyone names."

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."

"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 . . . 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!"

He gaped at her with amazement as though she had just given him permission to poison Sirius. A part of her immediately began to worry that perhaps her newfound uncle was allergic to tea leaves.

By the time Kreacher had filled her plate three times over, Hermione had to order 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. But, unfortunately, no one was willing to offer her any information lest they stress her out.

"You're supposed to be resting, Miss Granger," Professor 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.

He looked up at her, raising a brow. "Beg your pardon?"

"Miss Black," she corrected with 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—"

He closed the book loudly, slamming the cover shut and cutting off her angry rant. She looked up at him, nervously twirling a lock of her black hair between two fingers. She was furious that she was being kept in the dark about the war, which only served to remind her that she had apparently been kept in the dark as to her own origins, but she certainly hadn't meant to snap at him 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 silent apology before asking, "So that is my name then?"

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are not some . . . bastard, Miss Black. Your biological parents were indeed wed. I should know; I was present for the occasion."

"You were at their wedding?" she asked, her interest piqued.

Professor Snape nodded with a roll of his eyes. "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." He opened his book once again. "The same way he charmed it to keep your name off of it until Potter let you bleed all over the magically enchanted floors. As for the identity of your mother, that is not for me to say."

Hermione frowned bitterly. The man clearly knew the answer to her question, but he was purposefully 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 was descended from people who married their first cousins!

"She was not a Black," he 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."

"Why did he keep me a secret? Why was I not on the tapestry until I 'bled all over the 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?"

Professor 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 I'm free of the incessant hand-raising."

"Can you tell me anything?"

"It is not—"

"For you to say," Hermione frowned as she cut him off, "yes, I know."

Several minutes passed in silence between them before he 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."

"Yes, well, he's dead, isn't he?" Hermione said in quiet anger.

He very briefly narrowed his eyes at her statement, but then they softened in subtle sadness. "Obviously."

Catching his slight change in demeanour, she asked, "You knew him?"

He nodded.

"What . . . what was he like?"

"More tolerable than his brother," he 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 because they're overprotective. I can't brew anything because I'm likely to drop an ingredient and blow up the house due to some remaining hand tremors, 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?" Professor Snape asked. "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 in a prison, but a cage or on a very tight leash.

She frowned as she looked at the wand in her hand. "I kept it because I needed a wand, and this one was available. Now . . . is there anything I can research?"

"I left a stack of books in your room," he 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 had entered regardless and set herself up in her father's old bedroom. She tore down any and every mention of Voldemort he had plastered to the walls, but 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 holidays and catching up. She wondered what Regulus Black would have thought about his only child being sorted outside of Slytherin, especially into Gryffindor.

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?"

She 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? Were they so different? 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."

Professor 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 him, anxiously twirling a lock of her hair between her fingers again before finally whispering, "I . . . I don't want to talk about Draco Malfoy."

Her mannerisms 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."

She looked up with sudden interest. "There are diaries? His personal ones?"

"Obviously, or I would not have mentioned them." He stared at her 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 he hissed in pain and grabbed at his forearm.

"I have to go."

"The Dark Mark," she whispered. "He's . . . he's calling for you?"

Professor 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 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 reconsidered. 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' 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 above the headboard. Opening the cover of the leather-bound book by using the tip of her finger with delicate ease, she stared at the script on the inside.

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 can't not roll my eyes at him. As much as I love my brother and have always looked up to him, even I can't contort myself into such a position to kiss his arse as 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' 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 seemed like it wanted to give me the choice but . . . 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' diary 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. Turning to place the diary on the table beside the bed, she 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.

Chapter Text

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, a book in one hand, a quill in the other, and the need to set down either at any time for a brief forkful of food left little time to converse, which aided with Severus' favourite pastime: avoiding conversations.

Severus raised a black brow and stared at him. "If you get rid of your second year, Lucius will just assign you another." The irritation in his tone indicated he was silently calling Regulus an idiot. "It's the older year's job to look after the younger ones; teach them the ways. One isn't any better than another, and they're all irritating, trust me."

"Wonderful insult, Severus. I'm irritating, well done," Regulus sarcastically quipped.

Their first year as "assigned" best friends had been tense until Regulus made his mentor aware that he cared little for Severus' secret status as a half-blood, and didn't share the rest of Slytherin House's views on the boy's friendship with a certain redhead. Regulus' great attention span in classes made him top of his year, which allowed him the chance to revise with Severus without being labelled completely useless by the older boy.

They shared a passion for education and learning, books and Quidditch, though neither was on 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' 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 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. When he's not, he never shuts the hell up. I woke up this morning, and he was actually 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 one year ago and introduced him to Bartemius Crouch Jr, Regulus thought he could try to emulate Severus with his new little shadow. Unfortunately, it had quickly become obvious that Barty had no respect for the authority that came naturally with Regulus' 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 abhorrent." 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 him. "I hardly need help from a third year, thank you."

"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' black eyes darkened—Regulus hadn't thought that possible—and he turned a severe glare on him. "That's none of your concern." After a moment to collect himself and return his face to an emotionless mask, he 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, yet you do nothing but protect him."

Regulus ran a hand through his long hair, noting that it was almost as long as Sirius', 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," he said, his words well-rehearsed, having been spoken many times before. "You know if I didn't have Lucius' 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' 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 retribution for a harmless joke was to steal from Slughorn's storage, brew a Draught of Living Death and slip it in Sirius' pumpkin juice.

Lucius had forbidden the action as per the arrangement, and the other Slytherins had spent an hour trying to talk Regulus 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 who were all too eager to try and permanently deal with 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, apparently, far too difficult not to fall prey to the charms of Sirius Black.

"Maybe someone should just—"

"Watch it," Regulus 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." He gestured to the redhead, 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 suddenly seething. "That's different. 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. He 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, he 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 said 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' affection for the girl, and that would not be tolerated.

"Let them talk."

Regulus sighed at the sight of Severus' stubborn face. "When Lucius graduates next year, we're both screwed. They'll turn on Sirius and your little ginger witch the moment they step 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 at Sirius and Potter, his black eyes were settled on the girl in question. She, in turn, was gathering up her books into her arms, glaring daggers at Potter, 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.

"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."

Severus' eyes widened and then narrowed in the space of half a second. "She's not my girlfriend."

"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, but 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' cheeks.

"It doesn't mean anything."

"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' 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. 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' 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 a gift with cultural implications."

Severus' shoulders stiffened. "Something's wrong with him."

"You've said before," Regulus replied with casual irritation regarding the subject.

It didn't take a genius 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 . . ." he 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 things, though families like that might not bother to add in a magical contract."

"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 lion. Each serpent turned to glare at her save for Severus and Regulus, who greeted her with curt nods, keeping any thought of a smile to a minimum.

"Hey, Sev!" Evans greeted him brightly. Her very aura could glow even in the brightest of lights. It was honestly blinding. "Are you ready to go to the library?"

Severus nodded as he gathered his books together. "Almost finished."

"Black," she greeted Regulus with a smile.

"Evans."

"You coming to revise 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?"

His eyes narrowed at the implication. "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."

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."

She laughed, her eyes sparkling as she did so. "How is it that you're a snarky little smartass and 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 rolled her eyes. "Very funny."

"I'm that too."

Evans shook her head at him in clear exasperation. "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' 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, 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."

She 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.

"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."

"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."

"I think—" she began to say, but Regulus stood up and loudly gathered his belongings.

"Sev, always a pleasure. 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.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?" a voice called from behind him, and Regulus jumped, caught unawares.

He sighed in relief as he spotted the blond witch and offered a true smile, something few people were able to extract from him. The very sight of her was cause enough to grin. 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 seen it on the Hogwarts Express that first train ride to school when they had fought over sweets before becoming 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 had felt a lump in his chest that had sat there, bitter for a full week before she had run into their double Potions class and sat down beside him, much to the shock of both Houses.

At the reminder of the thing that separated them, he scowled. "Your Housemate is what's wrong with me."

"Lily?" she asked curiously. "What did she say?"

"Nothing," he hissed as he walked, slowing his gait instinctively so that she could fall in step 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 reached up and tugged 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 even like being at Hogwarts? Do Slytherins have fun at all?"

She smiled at him, and Regulus 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 girl you revise with?"

He swallowed down words he felt ready to vomit up. "Are you? More, that is."

She snorted indelicately, and the grin that followed caused her dimple to draw his attention. "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. Hell, he'd even seen some blokes react to Sirius similarly. Regardless of the words that came out of his brother's mouth, the girls 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 Sirius.

"What? 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."

He nodded as though her response meant nothing to him, though on the 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."

"Mother of Merlin! Did he accept it?"

Regulus 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 when gossiping.

"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?"

"What?"

Regulus blinked at her, pulled from his thoughts, his 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 down drifting thoughts and focused his attention on her eyes as he 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?"

"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 as a subtle blush on her cheeks deepened. "Oh."

"And . . ." He cleared his throat. "I would like you to not be anyone else's friend."

Her frown faded quickly, replaced by a delightful smirk. As she looked up at him, he suddenly noticed the difference in their height. Had she always been that short? That small and fragile looking? Then again, the growing ache on his recently-punched arm said otherwise.

"That's a little selfish of you, don't you think?" she asked as she tucked a wayward curl behind her ear only to have it spring back.

He shrugged, not offended by her words in the slightest. "I'm selfish with 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."

"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. "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 girl laughed in reply, a sound that delighted him to no end, and he smiled when she 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!"

Regulus groaned at the sound of his brother.

Sirius rushed over, draping an arm over the witch's shoulders. "What are you doing hanging out with this little git?"

"Having a lovely conversation about which of the Black brothers is more attractive," she replied with a wink.

Sirius suddenly stood back, adjusting his robes and running a hand through his 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 as she placed her hand on his forehead and gave him a shove. "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."

She giggled and rolled her eyes at him, letting go of Regulus' arm as she made her way down to the lake, leaving the brothers behind.

Sirius grinned and leant next to Regulus, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Bugger off," Regulus snarled.

Sirius grinned, ignoring him. "She's nice. I like her."

"Go away!"

Sirius only widened his smile at Regulus' temper. "Have you kissed her? Snogged in a broom cupboard? 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 groaned. "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 rolled his eyes. "I look like that too, only less moronic."

"Yeah, but I'm not scowling all the time, am I? They love it when you smile, Reggie. C'mon, give us a grin," Sirius said and pushed his fingers against Regulus' cheeks, trying to manipulate a smile out of him.

"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 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 currently 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."

Sirius turned his head quickly to look and, sure enough, James Potter was groaning on the ground with his hands between his legs. Pettigrew was gripping the top of his head, and Lupin was laughing loudly, holding his hands against his side.

"He jumps too soon." Sirius sighed 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."

"She's not my . . ." Regulus growled as Sirius gave him a little shove in her direction before running back to his friends. Taking a breath to compose himself, he walked toward the tree and mumbled, "Fucking idiot."

"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 eyes met blue, she smiled softly. "I would."

"Would what?"

She took a moment to answer, licking her lips before bringing in the bottom corner to anxiously bite at. "I would consider giving you a watch as a gift for Yule."

He smiled at her. A genuine smile that accompanied a deep warmth developing in his chest.

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. Suddenly, the warmth in his chest was dashed away and replaced by a cold, sinking feeling in his gut.

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.

Chapter Text

April 1998

Hermione's 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 her feel at home. The old parchment—probably tucked away in Professor Snape's office, private quarters, or home—had likely sat nearby while the Potions Master brewed; steam from the various draughts infiltrating the air and 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 they'd later found out—would write back. As dark as the magic of 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, from beyond the grave.

Then again, there hadn't been a grave.

Or a body.

Voldemort's inferi had never released him.

She exhausted herself with research trying to help the Order. Sirius and Harry were always on her heels forcing her back to bed to rest when it was made clear by her red-rimmed eyes that she had reached a limit. She didn't want to tell them that when she did sleep, she had nightmares. The few times she woke in a puddle of sweat and tears to find 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; it was expected that she would fear the woman who had tortured her.

She didn't tell them that she dreamt of a cave she had never seen, or 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 dreamt 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 did.

She had loved her Muggle parents—loved them still—but something inside of her had stirred her magic the moment she had traced her name on the Black Family tapestry up to Regulus. A longing that felt like it was outlining an emptiness inside, highlighting a missing part of her she hadn't known was there. She wanted to know this man. She wanted to know her father.

Hermione breathed in the scent of the diary pages, forcing tears not to fall in mourning for a man she had never met. She let the smell of the parchment wash over her, calm and cleanse her, 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 him stare across the Great Hall while Evans shared her pudding 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 doesn'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 guess 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 shit about me in there?"

Hermione gasped at the intrusion and slammed the diary shut, bringing her 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 her uncle, she was suddenly overwhelmingly pleased that she had 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.

She rolled her eyes, smiling softly. "Something like that."

He looked at the diary, touching the cover briefly before pulling his hand away. "How are you doing?" he asked, 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?"

"Sudden change of subject, that doesn't bode well," he said, smiling when her nose twitched at being caught. "Plans are going well. 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.

Sirius nodded, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not happy about it either, but it makes sense." He sighed, the weight of war and years in Azkaban ageing him in 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 the change being noticeable. Plus, he willingly took Veritaserum that he didn't brew himself. Threw a fit about it first, but he took it."

She nodded, processing his words while her brain worked overtime. "And you're sure Harry will survive it?"

"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?"

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.

"Shit," Sirius muttered bitterly. "I . . . don't tell Harry or . . . anyone, okay?"

"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."

He nodded silently, still looking uncomfortable. He was obviously not used to feeling or appearing weak, least of all in front of 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 was an arrogant little shit when he wanted to be; smart and unafraid to rub it in your face. He was a Slytherin, so he was cunning and selfish at times. And gods did we fight, especially in those last few years. But you . . ." He paused and took a breath to calm himself. "Hermione, I've jumped to a lot of conclusions about my brother in the past, and I've 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?"

"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, but 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 according to the tapestry."

Sirius wrapped his arms around her and held her close, rubbing her back and kissing her head.

"You have me," he promised, pulling away to look into 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 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."

Hermione looked up at him with wide, desperate eyes. "Did you know her?"

There was nothing on the family tapestry about her, 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. Even then, there were so many diaries to go through, 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, you know. Those that were, stood out. 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.

She 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 secret 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 his head as well. Hermione smiled at the sight, never before feeling more like siblings with her friend 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 tremors, 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. "I was thinking . . . Maybe you should stay here."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Harry Potter—"

"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."

Hermione looked up at the new voice coming from the doorway.

Ron stood there, hands in his pockets, visibly anxious about stepping a foot into the actual room. "Not a Muggle-born. Not anymore."

She smiled sadly at him and tilted her head in a gesture that silently invited him inside. He awkwardly grinned as he walked in, taking up the opposite side of the bed and sandwiching her between him and Harry.

"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, one 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, especially not in this war when all it came down to was blood. The scars on her forearm were supposed to have been a reminder—something to constantly tell her 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 used to be.

"I don't care," she said, more to herself than to the boys. "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."

Harry sadly nodded his head, clearly knowing what her response would have been. "Sirius doesn't want you to go. 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. 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."

She 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 not killed before?" she asked her friend, watching as he struggled with his emotions 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.

"Hermione—" Ron began.

"Who do you think my father killed to earn his Mark?" she asked, her voice rising and breaking at the same time.

Harry pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. "Don't do this. 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 really 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, nothing like what happened to Sirius."

Harry was the first to nod in acceptance, but after taking a moment to think about it, Ron followed. "You're right."

Silence settled uncomfortably in the room, eventually broken when Harry tugged on one of her unruly curls. "What about Voldemort?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and actually laughed. "I think we can make an exception there."

Chapter Text

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' ridiculous outburst by the Black Lake or Evans' sobbing hysterics over the disbanding of their friendship.

"He has to stop it," Marlene said as she followed behind Regulus while he made his way down to the lake. If she was determined to yell at him and 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."

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 see 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. He is stalking her!"

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Well, why doesn't she just talk to him?"

"Because he called her a Mudblood!" Marlene stomped her foot for added effect. He supposed she thought it made her look angrier, but in reality, it made her look like a little girl having a temper tantrum, and he tried not to admit he found it adorable.

When she audibly growled at him over his lack of a 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 shook his head. No self-respecting wizard would openly admit that his trousers were pulled down in front of a group of peers and that he had had to be rescued by a witch he fancied. "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 the majority of her housemates. Then again, he was genuinely shocked that most in the school 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?"

He grinned. "From you? A little less clothing could be optional—Ow!" He recoiled from her balled fist and began rubbing his shoulder.

"Don't act like your brother!"

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 his offended scoff and facial expression. "He gets away with it."

Regulus frowned, feeling the levity drifting away again. "He gets away with a lot. Can't you . . . I don't know, have Potter or Lupin rein him in or something?"

Marlene snorted incredulously. "James? Not likely; he's worse than Sirius. And now that Snape's called Lily that word—"

"It's just a word!"

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' interjection completely. "And now Lily's not there to defend him anymore. And it's not just a word. 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! And don't even get me started on Potter!"

Marlene stood back and watched him, looking calm and collected, like a parent waiting for their child to tire out from a tantrum. When he'd finished his rant, 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' life! Or my brother's!" he shot back, furious with Severus for causing this problem, Evans for being dramatic, and 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!"

"When it comes to Dark Magic, yes!" Marlene said, clearly taking note of the way 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, she's 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 troublemaker, and a bully when he wants to be, but at least he is not a future Death Eater!"

Panic flooded his chest at the way the words so easily fell from her tongue, and he reached out for her, placing a hand against her mouth as he stared at her incredulously. His gaze flickered around the grounds, searching out anyone who might be within hearing distance. "Keep your voice down. Are you out of your mind?"

Marlene struggled against his grip and finally broke free as she sank her teeth into his palm, causing him to release her and yank his hand away.

"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?"

Marlene glared at him before turning on her heels and storming off back to the castle before he could utter another retort.

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' room.

"What's going on here?" he asked as he approached them all, taking note of the extra pale look on Severus' already sallow face.

Mulciber turned and grinned down at him. "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 boy stepped closer in an attempt to intimidate him. "Maybe you should be. Maybe that brother of yours should be."

An open threat? 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' guard dog.

Lucius Malfoy had graduated Hogwarts, and the protection that was offered to Sirius on Regulus' 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 Sirius. Either because they were too cowardly or too inept to think of something that wouldn't get them caught. Or retaliated against.

"There is the pesky problem of Sirius' ever-present gang of happy misfits," Regulus continued, smirking at Mulciber. "Shame that despite looking like absolute, utter idiots, they're quite adept at duelling. Didn't I hear that Potter bested you in Defence last week? 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."

"Already planning a lucrative career, are we? I'm sure Filch would adore an apprentice, but you may need to bring your own supplies. 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 with a fearless grin.

Even if the rest of Slytherin House didn't treat him like a prince—which they did—Slytherins were loyal to their own; so this threat in front of witnesses would do nothing for Mulciber's reputation. He'd be labelled a traitor and eliminated.

"Then again, I think you already want to," he added, testing how far he could push his housemate before he snapped. "I can see it in your eyes. Rage. You'd love nothing more than to curse the life right out of me. 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' confidence or the mention of his family name, which carried as much weight as a name could 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' 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' 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 him. "Don't use that word in front of me."

"Why not?" Regulus shrugged. "I hear you've become quite fond of the term."

A pitiful expression fell over Severus' features. "I didn't mean to."

Regulus nodded and set a hand on his friends' shoulder. "No. I understand that. But she won't. 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 eyes at him, shrugging off his hand. "Didn't know you cared."

"About you?" Regulus scoffed, insulted, "Don't be stupid." 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 shit that has finally tumbled through my door."

"McKinnon? 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 me," 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, trying to appear relaxed. He knew 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' relaxed demeanour fell away in favour of stiff defensiveness. It didn't take a genius to figure out who Severus meant.

"Why?" he finally asked when he could tolerate the silence no longer.

Severus swallowed, and glancing up at his closed door, threw a specific Silencing Charm at it, one Regulus recognised as his friend's own creation.

"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."

"How do you look at it?"

Severus shook his head, looking like he could be sick at any moment. "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 the other Houses. He imagined 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 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 him 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 Abraxas Malfoy was already tied to the man, leaving Lucius with no choice but to go along with it or be disinherited . . . or worse.

"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?"

Severus shrugged, looking nervous. "Maybe if I prove myself, I can see if he'll make an exception for—"

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Regulus asked incredulously. "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 doesn't care whether or not a half-blood keeps 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 have a choice?"

June 1976

He'd been surprised to find that his mother was perfectly agreeable to let him meet up with Severus over the summer. He'd thought about lying and saying he needed help with early O.W.L. revision but decided to test out the truth first. Shockingly, she 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 looked happy and manic, and his father was 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' things from him and vanished from sight. "Did you and your friend enjoy yourself? I've heard wonderful things about that Snape boy."

Shocked by the statement, Regulus let his mother lead him by the shoulders into the dining room where supper was already set out.

"He's a half-blood," he commented in an attempt to test the limits of his mother's newfound tolerance.

She waved off his words in a similar move to the one 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. 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, gesturing 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 her, cringed at the noise.

"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 had gotten when Severus had mentioned being invited to Malfoy Manor to meet the Dark Lord. He knew that the event had already taken place, but not once had Severus mentioned 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."

Regulus nodded his head. "Apologies, I meant no offence," he lied 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, not looking at him as she brought a glass of wine to her lips. "He's in his bedroom."

He 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. 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, "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 remembered the first time he had seen it. He had been nine at the time, and Sirius' eleventh birthday had just taken place. The whole family had 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' ring, mother," Regulus said without thinking.

"No, dear," she corrected him as his father set his firewhisky tumbler on the table with a heavy hand. "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' ring."

Orion narrowed his eyes. "Are you arguing with your mother? Over your birthright?"

Birthright?

"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 well-practised ease. "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' room locked.

"Fuck!" he snapped 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' confiscated wand.

Making his way back down the stairs, Regulus aimed the wand at Sirius' door, "Alohomora!" He sighed with relief when it opened. An owl from the Improper Use of Magic office would likely arrive bearing Sirius' name on it, but hopefully, by that time it wouldn't be something Regulus needed to be concerned with.

"Mother of Merlin . . ." He gasped at the sight he was greeted with upon entering the room.

Instead of being 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 his black hair was matted with 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' eyes slowly 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' 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."

"Blood-traitor's blood," Sirius muttered with a weak laugh and fell unconscious once again.

Regulus' hands were shaking as he stared at his brother, who was likely dying in front of his eyes. "It's just blood," he 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 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 boy and then hissed viciously. "Kreacher is not supposed to go near the filthy stain on the Ancient and Noble House of Black!"

"You are my house-elf and are bound to obey me, and I am giving you a direct order!"

The look of disbelief on the elf's face told him that 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 would publicly mourn, and Regulus would be practically deified in the aftermath of Sirius' 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' and Lucius' 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. Blood-traitors deserve blood-traitors, do they not?"

Kreacher seemed overly pleased with his orders and the explanation. Clapping his hands in delight, he was unaware of Regulus slipping Sirius' 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' 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 him.

"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 did you—?"

"He can't know. 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."

"Reg," Marlene whispered and reached up to touch his cheek.

His eyes were filled with unshed tears, and when he leant into the warmth of her touch, he blinked, effectively breaking the dam and letting his cheeks grow wet. "He can't know. He needs to hate me now. It'll be safer."

"We should tell someone what happened. An Auror."

"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 reached 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."

Marlene's eyes widened, and tears started prickling at the corners of her own eyes. "You don't mean . . . Regulus, please don't say—"

"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. 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. Regulus wanted her love. He wanted her heart to swell with admiration and affection, but not 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 from 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 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. 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 sad little laugh.

"Helen of Troy then," he insisted as he clasped the necklace around her neck. "The most beautiful woman in the world."

Marlene swallowed, gently touching the pearls. "Men went to war because of her."

"Maybe you'll keep men from going to war. 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 on 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.

Suddenly, he understood everything his brother had ever said to him in regard to the subject of women.

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.

Chapter Text

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. He 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.

Draco 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.

"Fuck! 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, 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 started crying. "Fuck, fuck, fuck . . ."

"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. Fuck . . . 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.

Fucking 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.

Draco 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 the hell 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 other 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 while running, Lucius on her heels as they chased after him toward the castle where battle had once again broken out.

"Granger!"

Draco 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 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!" Both Draco’s and Granger’s wands shot into her hand. The crazed witch giggled insanely as though she hadn't expected that to work.

"Shit," 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, the pair turned, clinging 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 as 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 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, Bellatrix shot a hex at her, burning her hand.

“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, Granger’s included.

"What?" Bella grimaced. "Who on earth, besides my idiot sister, would be stupid enough to make you the godfather of a child?"

Snape smirked. "Regulus Black."

Bella's eyes widened and she turned to glare down at Granger, something clicking into place inside of her Dementor-addled mind. "No!" she screamed and raised her wand again.

But whatever curse was meant for Granger, died on her lips as Snape shouted, "Sectumsempra!" and opened Bellatrix's chest.

"Malfoy, are you all right?" Granger whispered, looking up at him as he twitched 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 her laying on the ground looking up at them all with grey eyes.

"Is it true?" Narcissa asked through a broken voice as she looked down at Granger, 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.

Sirius turned and stared as the frozen body of Rabastan Lestrange, wand still in hand and aimed at him, fell to the ground, dead. "Fuck," 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 Malfoy was muttering under his breath, his eyes fixed on her. 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 he and Snape took her by the shoulders and led her away from the Slytherin family.

"It's not possible," Lucius said again, ignoring the shocked looks on both his wife and son's faces.

Hermione 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.

Chapter Text

July 1977

Fifth year had been an absolute nightmare at one end and a dream at 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.

Meanwhile, Regulus was still existing in the midst 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 nurse Kreacher's wounds late that night after 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 magic, tying Kreacher to him, with 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 a faint whisper of "Yes, Master" brushed between them.

Sirius was blasted off the tapestry like Andromeda, 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' 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' hand, trying not to show any hint of emotion when the Malfoy 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' 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 before them all, "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 he could. "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." She reached up to touch his cheek. "Reg, is that a bruise? 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 asked, 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?"

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, learn 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 he and Severus. The consequences of such a natural talent were, however, growing steadily 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 his friend, 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 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 when he lightly bit her lower lip—he was finding himself desperate to touch and taste the rest of her. Whenever 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 Runes 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 his family, considering his inexperience seemed to cause 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 too quickly. 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 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' 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' 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. It's not as though we're looking to take down his operation from the inside."

Regulus nodded. "No. Let the man conquer the world for all I care, so long as the people I care about 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', which remained long and was 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; he technically was, Regulus assumed.

"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 it wasn't visible, Regulus could feel the aura around him. It was blacker than Regulus' 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' 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 practise 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 at 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 from the moment his brother had been sorted into Gryffindor, Bellatrix would have been jabbering on and on about her blood-traitor cousin and begging to 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 would perish."

"Ah." The Dark Lord grinned, and Regulus could sense Severus' 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." 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 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' 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 get him and Severus both killed.

"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 dipped in acid after it had been heated. Instead of a burn that eventually went numb from the pain, the iron stayed hot, sizzling, 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.

When the curse was over and his forearm bore the mark, 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 his feet. When they were standing, each was 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.

Chapter Text

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. On high benches to one side sat the members of the Wizengamot dressed in plum-coloured robes, each with a silver "W" embroidered on the front signifying their honourable positions. Around twenty or so members sat in the back rows, scattered and clustered together in what looked like old-school cliques turned into 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 of seats were empty as the Wizengamot gathered.

The seat for the Shacklebolt family 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 them, 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 crowd gathered behind him and his family, busy with whispers and murmurs, none of which gave him hope.

His mother gently squeezed his hand for support and, though his face gave not an ounce of emotion away to 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 out of this Wizengamot hearing—it was foolish to give the appearance that 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 flair, 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 had all changed his fourth year, though he had not had the courage to write home to his father about that.

The memory left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"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 had said, approaching Viktor Krum as though they were old friends.

He'd 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 had 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 in the first place—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 suddenly stood, and Draco had not realised how tall the older boy was until his nose was level with Krum's 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 had 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 experiencing general annoyance at her existence—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, but intelligent and easy to talk to. Beautiful though? Draco scoffed at the thought.

And then he had been placed before the Dark Lord the summer before sixth year and told to practise the Cruciatus Curse on a Muggle that 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 had frozen.

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'd known, however, that he could not just stand there with the threat of the Dark Lord at his back; not with 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 had 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 had been branded a Death Eater that night. He'd 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 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 Wizengamot 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 eaten 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 had taken place inside his own home left him 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 in the way 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 using the Imperius Curse upon Madam Rosmerta of Hogsmeade, of the involuntary cursing of Katie Bell and the involuntary poisoning of Ronald Weasley. Of knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of your actions, taking upon yourself 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, 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 of 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 done it. 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.

Potter and Granger walked alongside the Minister for Magic as they headed out the door. He had to force himself not to watch Granger's mass of wild black curls bounce 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-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-eyed gaze turned toward his mother.

"Forgive me." She cupped his cheek 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's 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 Severus who had thrown the Killing Curse, Draco still blamed himself for it. Whatever memories Potter had handed over as evidence, however, 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 attention of Bellatrix Lestrange? As you've said, she appeared in charge of the situation," Greengrass commented, his eyes glancing toward Lucius.

"No," Potter said clearly, though he appeared conflicted to do so. "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. 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 anyway, 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. "She also attacked me during 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 again, doing his best to drown out the sound of her voice as she continued to say his name; 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 could have been a place of sanctuary against the darkness 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 room 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.

His mother responded by crying harder and holding him tighter, and he could only smile nervously, stroking 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 look of the Wizengamot, they had already made their decision regarding Lucius. Most of the members looked annoyed but smug, no one more so 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, and taking into account time already served in Azkaban, the Wizengamot sentences you to five years 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 permanently 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 save him from 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. "I have no right to keep it."

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 drifting briefly over Potter's shoulder where he made eye contact with Granger.

She smiled, and Draco felt a strange calm wash 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 family?"

"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 withdrew his wand, placing it securely in his robes, hoping to never lose it again.

The Wizengamot was dismissed, and Draco was led back toward where his mother sat, guarded by Aurors as the crowd was directed toward the Atrium.

Sirius Black stepped through the doors, standing aside as Potter and Weasley moved to either side of Granger and led her quickly away.

Draco stood to see where they were going only to be met with Aurors who acted as though he were going to attack the people who had just saved his life.

"Cissa," Sirius 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 alright."

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," Sirius said, his expression darkening.

"I mean her no harm."

"No? You left that to Bellatrix, didn't you?" Sirius then immediately turned and walked away.

"Sirius! Sirius, you don't know everything about Regulus!"

Without looking back, he shouted, "No one does!"

Chapter Text

1978

"Locomotor Mortis!"

Regulus' legs snapped together. As if that wasn't bad enough, Sirius laughed as he followed the previous curse with "Colloshoo!" and Regulus' shoes were suddenly stuck to the ground.

The sudden displacement of his centre of gravity had him tipping forward and crashing, face-first to the ground with a thud.

"Fucking blood-traitor!" Regulus screamed, words slightly muffled by the cold stone floor.

"That'll be ten points from Slytherin for swearing," Potter said with a laugh, and Pettigrew giggled maniacally behind the pair as Regulus struggled to get up.

It had been over a year since Sirius had been blasted off the family tree, and Regulus played his part as the hateful blood purist. Forced to provoke his own brother into duels every now and again to prove that he loathed him—just to make sure no one else took the pleasure for themselves—often left Regulus bruised and bleeding. While Regulus was better at Transfiguration, Charms, and—forcibly—talented at using Unforgivables, Sirius had always been the better dueler.

"Maybe we should turn his hair red and gold," Sirius said with a chuckle. "Send him back to the dungeons sporting our colours."

Potter snorted. "Do it."

Regulus sighed and tried to look like he was putting up a fight while internally wishing that he had been sorted into Gryffindor.

Despite being the victim of their pranks, he didn't fault them for enjoying their youth.

While they played—generally harmless—jokes on their fellow students because it was funny, Regulus and Severus had already been sent out on three separate revels.

While Sirius was chasing the skirts of Ravenclaw witches, Regulus was forced to torture Muggles under the watchful eye of the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters who stood above him. Mentors, they were called, but everyone knew they were guards to make sure you did the job you were assigned.

While Potter was jinxing the grass beneath the Quidditch Pitch to always appear red and gold during games, Severus was forced to murder blood-traitors and Muggle-borns.

Regulus wondered what the brave Gryffindors would say if they knew what their school rivals got up to during the hols.

"Back off, Black!" Severus said as he came around the corner, wand releasing Regulus' shoes from the ground, allowing him to twist his body so he was finally looking up.

"Snivellus!" Sirius grinned. "Long time no hex."

Regulus growled at his intruding friend. "I'm fine!"

"Quiet, Reggie," Sirius said with a smirk. "The grown wizards are talking. Care for an official duel Snivellus? Wizard's honour that we'll play by the rules."

Severus sneered at them. "As though any of you have honour."

Potter clutched at his chest. "Ouch."

"Well, that was rude." Sirius pouted. "I don't think we're ready to be best friends yet, Snivelly."

Severus' body tensed up, and Regulus could see the rage building up inside of his best friend. While Regulus always had Marlene to lean on after being forced to don his Death Eater mask, letting her wand heal his wounds and her love heal his soul, Severus was alone. That meant that he bottled up everything he felt inside himself only to unleash it upon unsuspecting victims, usually the ones he was ordered to kill. But it had been far too long since his last release and too much was bottled up; Regulus could see that he was ready to burst.

Severus' wand was raised. "Sectum—"

Oh, fuck that, Regulus thought and flicked his own wand at his friend. "Langlock!"

Cut off mid-curse, Severus turned and glared at him with bitter, hateful eyes.

"What on earth is going on here?!" came the shrieking voice of Evans, wearing her Head Girl badge with the same air of authority that McGonagall wore her robes. She stormed down the hallway and glared at Sirius and Potter. "James! You're Head Boy! You're supposed to be better than this!"

"I told you that badge would go to his head," Marlene muttered as she appeared walking up behind Evans with Lupin next to her. She ignored Regulus completely as she glared at her Housemates.

Sirius grinned at her. "Hey, McKinnon. I've found you a pet snake," he said, gesturing to Regulus. "I seem to remember you used to like playing with them."

Regulus growled, but Marlene laughed and rolled her eyes. "You wish, Sirius," she said and then looked down at Regulus. "And he really wishes."

Sirius frowned. "Aww, poor Reg. Never gets the girl."

Regulus threw a nasty smirk up at his big brother. "What makes you think I've never had her?"

Marlene blushed bright red, her mouth falling open in feigned anger.

"For all you know, I've had her repeatedly and she loved it." He watched as all humour left both Sirius and Potter's eyes. Evans was practically glowing with rage. "In fact, I think I have had plenty of her, and she was delicious. Weren't you, McKinnon?"

Marlene scowled at him, lightly tugging on the string of pearls around her neck. "You're disgusting."

He took a quick look back at his brother, seeing that thin line holding back his restraint. Regulus took in a subtle, but much-needed breath. Here we go.

"Sweetheart, you're just upset that I got tired of fucking blood-traitors."

Two hours later, Marlene sat on the edge of Regulus' bed in the dungeons, a stolen magical map sitting open on the mattress to make sure no one knew she was there. How Sirius and his friends ever found such a treasure, Regulus would never know, but they didn't exactly keep the thing locked up tight. He was tempted to keep it for himself, but Marlene refused.

"Hold still," she said as she dabbed his split bottom lip with a towel. "Was it really necessary to go that far?"

Regulus hissed at the stinging pain from the cut. "Did I actually offend you?"

Marlene rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Yes, my poor damaged ego. How ever will I cope?"

He couldn't help but laugh at her sarcasm, which only caused the stinging pain in his lip to worsen.

"You were trying to get Sirius to hit you, weren't you?" she asked curiously, raising a brow at him in that dangerous way that said he'd better not lie to her or else. He'd yet to find out exactly what "or else" entailed.

"A fifth year caught you slipping out of the dungeons last week," he told her. "I had to make it look like I was using you. It helps that Sirius has a hot temper when it comes to defending poor maidens like yourself and I know exactly how to push his buttons to make him snap. I'll look like a hero to my House and the other Death Eaters, and my loyalties aren't called into question regarding you or my fist-wielding brother. The rest of the school thinks Sirius an honourable wizard defending women from the lecherous likes of Slytherins, and you're just a pretty witch caught up in a mess of Black family drama. Everyone else will think I'm just an arsehole."

She stopped cleaning the cut on his lip and leaned forward to gently kiss him. "Don't you get tired of playing the villain?"

Regulus frowned. "I'm not the villain. I'm doing what I can to keep the real villain from you."

She pressed her forehead against his and sighed. "After Hogwarts, can we just run away?"

"I would love nothing better than to run away with you."

He leant forward and pressed against her mouth, parting her lips with his tongue and tasting her. She whimpered and then moaned when his hand tickled its way up the inside of her thigh beneath her skirt.

She broke their kiss, giggling as he buried his face in her hair, nibbling on her earlobe as his fingers trailed along the edge of her knickers. "I thought you'd grown tired of fucking blood-traitors?"

Regulus pushed her back against the mattress and situated himself between her thighs, bending forward to nip at her throat as he moved her knickers to the side so he could touch her.

"I'll never tire of you," he said, watching with great interest as her back arched and she gasped for breath.

He wasn't lying; he'd never tire of that look on her face as he explored her perfect body. That expression only paled in comparison to the one she wore when he was inside of her.

Their first time, of course, had been an absolute disaster.

She'd been ridiculously shy when she had undressed, insisting that he not look at her while she did it. Regulus had sneaked a peek every now and then, but he'd been so paranoid about getting caught, that he was glad he didn't need to fumble with the buttons of her blouse or the godsforsaken bra hooks since his hands were shaking from nervous anticipation.

Instead of heated banter that they shared now—whispers of dirty words in the dark of the dungeon—they had been comically inept in their first attempts at poetic sweet nothings, spoken in the heat of the moment.

"Is it going to hurt?"

"What? How the hell should I know? I've never done this before!"

"Well, neither have I! And don't yell at me, Reg!"

"I'm not yelling just . . . fuck . . . just lay still."

"Did you remember the Contraceptive Charm?"

"What?! You're not on the potion?!"

"Of course, I'm not on the potion! Why would I need to be on the potion?!"

"Because we're having sex!"

"Not yet we're not, and with that attitude—"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please don't leave. I know the charm, I swear."

"Is it supposed to tingle like that?"

"I think so. That means the spell is working . . . maybe."

"Maybe?"

" . . . "

" . . . "

"What's wrong, Marley?"

"It's just . . . you're naked."

"Well, I'm not an expert, but that's generally how this works. I've read about it in books. They had diagrams."

"Prat. I just mean . . . oh, that feels good . . . you look . . . you look nice."

"You look sexy as hell."

"Poet. Is . . . is it in yet?"

" . . . "

"Reggie?"

" . . . "

"Reggie?"

"What do you mean 'is it in yet?'! No, it's not in yet! You'll bloody know when it's in, I guarantee that!"

"Apologies to your poor ego."

"You don't have to be sarcastic about . . . oh fuck, oh gods, that feels . . . Marley, are you alright?"

"I'm . . . I'm fine . . . Reggie, you can move. I'm okay. I love you."

"I love you."

Glad that he'd gained enough experience since that first time to avoid any further awkwardness, Regulus pulled her knickers down her legs and threw them to the side of his bed. They landed in a small basket alongside a Quidditch magazine and some sweet wrappers.

"I better get those back," Marlene whispered, threading her fingers through his hair as he brought his lips between her breasts, kissing the soft skin there. "You better not be collecting them like Sirius does."

Regulus chuckled and licked at her right nipple to distract her while he reached for the buckle of his trousers. "If I was keeping a collection, mine would be much less disgusting. I only have the one witch."

"Prat."

Her giggle was drowned out by a moan when he pressed himself, hard and hot against her centre. Rubbing up and down as he lined himself up, he leant forward to kiss the breath out of her as he pushed inside, slowly letting her envelop him, and grinning when she gasped against his mouth like she did every single time.

When she came minutes later with his name on her lips like a prayer, he committed the sound to memory; something to hold tight to when he would be summoned again by the Dark Lord.

Severus Apparated them into the backyard of the McKinnon summer home on a chilly night at the beginning of August. Marlene was insistent that she stay there to revise ahead for her N.E.W.T.s even though her parents and older brother were eager for a trip to Greece. In reality, being alone with Regulus had been something she said she didn't want to pass up.

She probably hadn't expected this, though.

"Snape?" she called out into the darkness. "Snape where's—? Oh, Godric!" She rushed out the door and fell to the ground beside Regulus who was being held upward only by the fistful of robes that were clamped in Severus' hands. "What happened?!"

"He was punished," Severus said, releasing Regulus' robes which caused him to hit the ground none too gently. "There was a revel tonight. Only instead of Muggles, the Dark Lord had us going after . . . members of a certain society."

When Marlene looked away from him, Severus sneered at her. "Which you clearly already knew about. I assume you plan on joining the Order as well, once you've graduated?"

"I want to help," she whispered, running her wand over Regulus' body, casting Diagnostic Spells as she went.

Severus snarled at her. "If you want to help, you'll stay hidden so he doesn't end up dead trying to save you! The Dark Lord wants the Order gone! Dumbledore's creating an army to fight him, and he's a fool to even try! They'll all be dead within a few years at this rate."

Marlene glared at him. "Are you going to kill Lily yourself?"

Severus looked like he was about to be sick. "She . . . Potter will take care of her now," he said, though the words were filled with doubt. "Something he'll be well prepared for now . . . now that he knows . . ."

"Knows what?" she asked.

Regulus coughed and struggled to sit up, tearing at his robes. They were cold and wet and felt like a growing infection. Like a sticky Boggart trying to crawl inside of his skin "Get these . . . Get 'em off!" he screamed. "I don't want them!"

He felt the wash of Marlene's magic flow over him, and suddenly he was struck with a Body Bind, his arms and legs going stiff and unmovable. Her cold hand pressed against his face.

"Oh, Merlin, he's burning up," Marlene said as she stood.

With a shaky flick of her wand, she levitated him into the house and up the stairs to the bathroom. With Severus behind her, she began stripping Regulus' clothes, lowering him into the tub which began filling with cool water.

"What happened to him?" she asked again as she released the Body Bind, allowing Regulus to sink against the back of the tub.

"Potter's parents are dead," Severus said quietly. "We . . . We didn't know who it was going to be, but Regulus, being the idiot that he is, openly refused to participate. You don't say no to the Dark Lord without being made an example. The others were set on him like a pack of wolves. Mostly Cruciatus, but . . . there were some Slicing Hexes as well."

She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes to remove the tears. "Reggie?"

Regulus slowly glanced down, noticing his undressed state and he turned, his head lolling to the side as he stared up at the beautiful witch. "I know you like me out of my clothes, darling, but I really don't think I'm up for a shag just yet. Give me ten minutes, maybe fifteen."

Marlene laughed sadly and kissed his forehead, pulling him against her chest.

Severus rolled his eyes. "Fix him up," he said. "But don't heal the scars. The Dark Lord will want proof that he was punished."

"Where are you going?" Marlene turned as Severus stepped out of the room.

"To receive my own punishment. I was only allowed to leave because he was bleeding everywhere. Carpets really are quite difficult to clean," he said bitterly, repeating the words that Regulus thought he might have heard from Bellatrix.

"I'll be fine, love," Regulus insisted once Severus was gone. He shivered slightly as the cool water started feeling less and less comforting the lower his temperature became.

Marlene kissed his forehead again, cast another Diagnostic Spell, and then drained the water from the tub.

"Marley . . ." He reached out for her hand. She pulled it away instantly, choking on a sob. "Marley . . ."

"Don't! Reg . . . you were tortured tonight! People, good people, died at the hands of Death Eaters—"

"Like me."

She shook her head. "No. Real Death Eaters who think that you're one of them and—"

"I am one of them. Just because I don't agree doesn't mean I don't partici—"

"They tortured you and killed other people!" she sobbed. "James could be a prat sometimes, but his parents . . . gods . . . this is . . . this is—"

"War."

"We're kids! We're too young, and I don't want you to die! I don't want you to go to war," she said, her voice breaking.

He sat up and wrapped shaking arms around her, small twitches remaining from the Cruciatus Curse from earlier.

Regulus had barely got a jostle from Bellatrix's wand, and he dreaded to think of the recovery needed should the witch eventually snap and let her full power filter through the curse.

"Love," he whispered. "I'm not going to die, and war was inevitable. You're my Helen, remember? The woman men gladly went to war for. Wasn't there some doting prince that whisked her away?"

Marlene rolled her eyes. "Paris, and he died in the war."

Regulus sighed loudly. "Pity. She devoted her life afterward to him though? Ever faithful and pure to the end?"

He knew the truth of the stories, of course. Being named after the stars that held origins in ancient Greek and Roman mythology meant that long before he learnt how to levitate feathers at Hogwarts, he knew the position of every star in the sky, their origin, and the variations of each and every story.

"No, she returned to Sparta with her husband, King Menelaus," Marlene whispered the words as Regulus stroked his fingers through her blond curls, twirling one around his finger.

Regulus smirked. "Ah, a king," he said. "That's much better than a prince, wouldn't you say?"

She scowled at him. "When he took Helen back to Sparta, he threatened to kill her for leaving him but she was too beautiful so he lowered the sword," she said, a tone of indignation and righteousness that generally had a way of either annoying or endearing her to him.

"You won't leave me though," Regulus said, brushing a lock of hair from her face and kissing her gently. "Will you? You'll stay my queen forever."

Marlene snorted. "You're hardly a king . . . or a prince," she added before he had a chance to argue. "But yes. I'll be with you until we're literally torn apart, which, as this is a war, is a very likely scenario."

Regulus ignored the theatrical way she liked to exaggerate and kissed her again. "There is nothing in the world I love as much as you."

When she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest he sighed.

"And . . . should we be torn apart, as you so delicately put it, we'll meet one another on some Fortunate Isle in the afterlife. Deal?"

August 20th, 1978

In the morning, I awoke in the arms of my Helen. The McKinnon summer home is beautiful and wonderful and filled with light. It's everything that Grimmauld Place isn't, and I'd like to throw up a Fidelius Charm, make the Secret-Keeper an elusive and immortal stray cat, trap Marlene inside of the home and never leave it again. I've been here for a few weeks, and I'd like to never leave.

Her bed—our bed until we return to Hogwarts—sits beneath a large circular window that faces the sunrise. When I wake in the morning, I watch the sun crest over the horizon, its rays reflecting against her skin. Her hair is the colour of honey and makes me think to write ridiculously sappy poetry that, would she happen upon it, she would tease me mercilessly for.

Has any man ever loved a woman more?

I hate myself for tainting her soul by looking at her, speaking to her, touching her. She's absolute perfection and purity when I watch the sunlight kiss her sleeping face. Then she wakes, opens those beautiful blue eyes and curses my very existence for not greeting her with coffee. She sits up and turns her head to check the time so quickly that those honey-coloured curls fling into my face. It's an absolute safety hazard. I despise being woken in the middle of the night with a mouthful of that hair.

But when the day or night has been bad—and it can be so very bad—there's nothing in the world more peaceful than burying my face and fingers in those locks.

Today was a bad day. Hell, this year was a bad year. But today was a particularly new brand of fucking awful. Unknown to Severus and I, Sirius and his band of mourning misfits were at the Leaky.

Stray charms and jinxes that used to happen at Hogwarts turned to Slicing Hexes and particularly cruel—but not Unforgivable—curses when we walked into the establishment looking for lunch and found Potter grieving the deaths of his parents. Deaths we were still suffering for because we chose not to participate. We didn't stop them either, and sometimes I think I'm damned for the lives I ignored more so than the ones I've been forced to take.

I stupidly approached them, glad that Lupin was in his right mind and received me with a pleasant welcome, insisting that we were adults now, all of age and everyone but myself out of Hogwarts. For a split second, I thought that perhaps I could just be done with the fake personality I've been forced into these past few years. Maybe I could reach out to my brother, the Order, and ask for help. Gods, it would destroy my pride entirely, but I don't think I can watch Marlene heal my wounds if I ever have the nerve to take another stand. What if next time I'm not punished for my own transgressions. What if he punishes someone else and makes me watch? I've seen it happen before to Wilkes' sister when he'd hesitated in killing a Muggle girl that bore a similar likeness to her.

I offered condolences to Potter and, though he didn't say a word, even Severus nodded in the man's general direction, likely trying to ignore the questions as to whether or not he had cried himself to sleep in Evans' arms when his parents were reported deceased.

It took encouragement from Lupin, but Sirius shook my hand and . . . fuck, if I didn't almost cry.

He'd be a liar if he said he wasn't tempted to as well. I saw his eyes go a bit glassy.

He misses me too.

Missed me. Past tense.

As a show of camaraderie, I took Potter and Lupin's hands—not in friendship; truce?—and everything seemed like it could go well for once.

Then . . . that fucking idiot Pettigrew stood up, wiped his greasy hands on his jumper, and smiled at me like old mates, even though he had this weird expression of jealousy and disgust moments before. He extended his hand and slipped, at least it looked like he'd slipped. The tosser gripped the sleeve of my robe in the process of falling, tearing it open and revealing my Dark Mark.

Fuck. Sirius saw it. The look on his face . . . I'll never forget it.

There's nothing to be done about it now. I have no brother. I had one once, but I'm positive I've broken his heart.

I'm now the beast, the villain, the monster that stole his brother away from him, and he's likely to take vengeance upon me if given the chance.

Can't blame him. He's reacting to a piece of the puzzle without knowing everything.

I wonder if we—Death Eaters—are doing the same.

Lucius very likely is. Kept in his gilded cage and raised in the image of his father. Bellatrix just enjoys the chaos. She'd likely fight for whichever side allowed her to do the most damage.

It doesn't matter though. Death Eaters, Order members, we're all killers and manipulators. I've seen firsthand that the Order doesn't exactly throw out Stunning Spells. Some Aurors do, hoping for an arrest, but Dumbledore's ragtag little group are cursing and killing and calling it The Greater Good. Attempting to eradicate Death Eaters the same way that the Dark Lord wants to rid the world of Muggles.

We're all going to die at the end of this. There's no hope here.

All this and I still have to go back to Hogwarts soon, sit in classes and pretend like I'm not a soldier on the wrong side of a war.

So I'll bury my sins and my secrets in these diaries, bury my nose and my fingers in Marlene's hair, and pray that one day I never come out of it. Which is likely, because I'm fairly certain her unruly mane will one day choke me in my sleep.

What a way to go.

Chapter Text

September 1998

With the help of a united Wizarding community, the damage that Hogwarts suffered during the battle was repaired over the summer. Though Sirius tried to get Harry and Hermione to rest and enjoy the end of war, they both decided they couldn't sit back and allow Hogwarts—their second home—to be reconstructed without their own hands and wands there to assist.

When September the first rolled around, Sirius pouted as he put Harry and Hermione on the Hogwarts Express, but he was proud that they'd both decided to finish their education. While he was a bit put out at being left alone at Grimmauld Place, he made them promise to write at least three times a week. He'd even bought two new owls for the express purpose, as Hermione had jokingly made him promise to not use Buckbeak as a messenger bird. A small tawny owl for Harry—though no one could ever replace Hedwig—that Harry named Eulen, and a black and grey barn owl for Hermione—to match her new look—that she affectionately named Leo, because the feathers around his neck looked like a lion's mane.

The ride to Hogwarts was relatively quiet, especially since the Trio—along with Neville, Ginny, and Luna—had thrown up Locking and Silencing Charms around their compartment to help ward off fans and potential enemies alike. When they finally arrived in Hogsmeade, there was a loud collective gasp as all the returning second through seventh (and technically eighth) years took in the sight of the herd of thestrals, waiting to take them all to the castle.

"Is it just me or does it feel weird being here?" Ron asked as they all sat down at the Gryffindor table, looking around the Great Hall as though a battle hadn't taken place there only a few months earlier.

Harry's eyes occasionally glanced toward an area of the room that everyone knew to be the place where he'd destroyed the Dark Lord. An expression on his face that said he was shocked, but pleased, that there wasn't anything there to mark it; no blemish in the marble floor or eerie feeling when someone walked over the spot.

"Because we've spent the last year on the run, hiding in the woods and at Grimmauld Place trying to take down a Dark Wizard?" Harry replied and then smirked at his friend. "Little bit."

"Better here than Grimmauld Place," Hermione said.

Ron shrugged. "It's not much different. Old building that's falling apart, creaky stairs, trouble around the corner." He and Harry shared a laugh, suddenly feeling like second years again, eager for a little mischief.

Hermione smiled at the innocence they eluded on their faces in that moment, but trouble was something she was not going to allow. "No trouble. Not this year. We finally have a chance to be normal and we're going to be normal," she insisted with the authority of a Head Girl, even though she wasn't. That honour had gone to Hannah Abbott with the Head Boy badge being given to Ernie Macmillan. It had, of course, been offered to Hermione, but she'd kindly rejected the badge, insisting that she wanted nothing more than to blend into the crowd, take her N.E.W.T.s and be a normal teenager.

"Hermione, we're never going to be normal," Harry said with a chuckle.

"You're never going to be normal," Ginny said to him, smirking. "And while the three of you can either choose to bask, shy away, or loathe the spotlight, I plan to enjoy the fact that—despite hating you all for it in the beginning—I didn't go with you on the hunt last year, and am, therefore, not a war hero. I'm going to live it up this year."

Hermione shook her head, laughing at Ginny's expression which was frighteningly similar to Fred and George. "Haven't you always?" she asked.

The red-haired witch shrugged. "There was a few weeks while I was dating Harry that life here was just . . . precious," she said with an innocent grin and Hermione knew exactly what Ginny meant. Despite Ron's need to fight it off, Ginny had been a carefree witch with no shame and an abundance of confidence to boot. Harry might have been her first love, but he was hardly her first anything else. "But I'm single, I'm back, and I'm no longer in danger because the Chosen One's in love with me."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Gin."

"Are you in love with me, Harry?" she asked as she turned her head to look at him.

He flushed pink instantly. "What? Er . . ."

"Exactly my point. Don't worry about it, I'm not about to burst into tears," she promised him.

Hermione smiled, glad that the pair were content to remain friends and had such ease with speaking about their ended relationship. Despite the horrors they faced over the past year, Harry and Ginny having time apart from one another had benefited them both greatly.

Ron was less than pleased. Harry, at least, could be trusted and he was not happy with the way Ginny was glancing around the room with a growing interest. "You could maybe calm it down with the eying wizards across the Great Hall," Ron hissed at his sister.

Ginny snorted. "Scared I'm making a checklist?"

"Yes!" he shot back.

"Not many Slytherins returned," Hermione commented, trying to change the subject and prevent Ron from making a scene. She looked across the Hall where the green and silver banners hung over the end table. The students gathered there had half the numbers as any other House.

Ron glowered. "Wish there were less. Rotten Death Eat—"

"Ron!" Harry scolded.

The redhead blushed and looked across the table at his friend. "Oh, sorry, Hermione," he said, wincing.

She shook her head in mild disappointment. "You need to get over your prejudices, Ronald. Remember what the Headmistress said. We have to be examples to the rest of the student body," she said, sitting up a little taller. "We're considered war heroes and, as much as you think that entitles you to nothing more than Order of Merlin badges and free broomsticks from companies who want nothing more than to take your photograph wearing and riding their merchandise," she continued and rolled her eyes when both Harry and Ron grinned over the memory of their recent meeting and subsequent photoshoot with the owner of Firebolt Brooms, "it also means we have a responsibility to help establish the kind of world we fought for. It's time for a change, and we need to be those changes."

"Well said," Harry agreed. "How much work will that be?"

Ginny and Ron shared a laugh as Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"Have you already made us timetables for it?" Ron asked.

Hermione scoffed. "I've hardly had the opportunity to . . ." she paused as all of her friends turned and stared at her incredulously. She sighed and reached into her book bag. "Fine, here," she said, removing several neatly folded scraps of parchment to each of them. "It has nothing to do with the inter-House unity that Professor McGonagall wants us to work at, but this is technically a N.E.W.T. year and I don't care what the new Minister says, you're going to take the tests! Am I clear?" she asked with a tone of finality.

"Yes, Hermione," Harry and Ron murmured together.

Ginny sat up and looked at the doors to the Great Hall. "Look there's Remus."

"Professor Lupin," Hermione corrected.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Whatever, I'm just glad he's back. Snape was a rotten Defence teacher and an even worse Headmaster."

"Ginny, he was a spy. He had a role to play," Hermione reminded her friend and then quietly added, "He's also apparently my godfather."

Ron looked up, surprised by the reminder. "Did he ever explain that, by the way?"

Hermione shook her head. "Not as of yet. He gives me the usual response any time I ask questions, which is to ask my father, meaning read the diaries."

"Find anything good?" Harry asked. "I'm not a big fan of diaries myself."

"Me either," Ginny said with a knowing smirk sent toward her ex and the pair shared a laugh that made Ron uncomfortable. He was less than inclined to easily forget his sister being possessed by a Dark Lord and his best friend needing to kill a giant snake to save her.

Hermione thought about her father's diaries and sighed. "Other than he had an unnatural obsession with my mother's hair?" She rolled her eyes. "No. Nothing good." She deeply frowned. "It's all regret and murder and torture and heartache. I'll be surprised to see if he's even sane by the time I finish reading the entries. It's honestly no wonder that he just . . ." She swallowed down the growing emotions, angry at herself for being strangely attached to a man she'd never met. "I'm sorry."

Harry put a hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to be sorry, Hermione. It's going to be fine."

"Are . . . are you going to tell people?" Ginny hesitantly asked.

Hermione shrugged. "I think some people already know. But until Sirius starts working through paperwork regarding my legitimacy as a pureblood heir," she said with sarcasm, "which I told him was unnecessary, I'll be going by Granger. I might keep my name anyway, depending on what the laws say. I'll never forget my parents, even if they weren't biological," she said firmly. "But I have a feeling the name thing would mean something important to Sirius. Like he wasn't alone in bearing the weight of it anymore."

Harry nodded. "It can feel a little heavy," he admitted, knowing the feeling himself all too well. "Granger or Black, you're still Hermione. I think . . . I think your parents would be proud of you. Probably both sets," he said with a smile.

She beamed at him and blinked away a few tears before reaching and squeezing his hand in thanks.

"What about the hair?" Ron gestured to her mass of black curls. "Can you glamour it?"

"I think it's beautiful," Ginny said, reaching up and running her fingers through Hermione's locks. "It looks like Sirius's hair," she said with a grin.

Hermione laughed. "Should I worry about you playing with my hair and imagining my uncle?"

The little redhead smirked. "Get a few butterbeers in me and ask me again."

"Ginny!" Ron yelled, his mouth hanging open like a fish.

"What?" She glared at her brother. "Sirius is fit."

"Ginny!" Harry and Hermione shouted at the same time.

"Ahem."

All four turned to look at Remus who was staring at them with a disappointed frown, though his eyes were filled with amusement. Hermione looked around to see that the whole Great Hall was staring at them and they'd apparently missed the Sorting Hat's new song. She blushed bright red and lowered her eyes. "Sorry, Professor," she whispered.

Remus smiled kindly at the Gryffindors and then turned, list of new students in hand, and called out the first name, "Andrews, Michael!"

A short, blond boy made his way to the stool at the front of the room, struggled to sit upon it before Remus placed the Hat upon his head. It sat for a good ten seconds before shouting out, "HUFFLEPUFF!" and the nearby table of excited badgers applauded loudly.

"Smith, Aaron!"

A boy with dark skin and bright blue eyes approached the stool, pretending to look confident, but his expression wavered when the Hat touched his head. He sat looking nervous until the Sorting Hat cried out, "RAVENCLAW!" and the boy gave a loud sigh of relief before joining the bronze and blue table.

"Belby, Nicolaus!"

The lanky black-haired wizard sat upon the stool, and the Sorting Hat had barely touched his hair before it shouted, "SLYTHERIN!" and the whole Great Hall fell silent.

Remus pulled the Hat from the boy's head, but still, he didn't move. His eyes looked back and forth across the Great Hall as the students from the other Houses stared at him in shock.

Hermione frowned. "Honestly, it's not as though we thought their House would be disbanded," she said, feeling great sympathy for the boy who looked like he didn't know where to go. "Slytherin is not synonymous with Death Eater."

"You can join your House now," Remus whispered to the first year, gesturing to the other end of the Hall.

Still, the boy made no move.

"Poor thing. Someone should—" Hermione began to say but her words stopped in her mouth when she saw a head of white-blond hair emerge from the small crowd of Slytherins.

Draco strode toward the front of the Great Hall, his head held high as whispers moved through the crowded tables at the sight of him. He ignored them all and walked up, nodded to Remus in greeting before placing a hand on the shoulder of the newest Slytherin, patting him once before leading him back to their table.

"Wow," Neville said, scooting down the table to sit beside Ginny. "Never thought I'd see Malfoy do something . . . nice."

"He did it for another Slytherin," Ron said as though that made all the difference.

Ginny scowled at her brother. "He also took a curse for Hermione, or do you not remember that?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest and looking much too like her mother when disappointed.

"He also gave me the wand I used to defeat Voldemort," Harry pointed out.

Ron bristled. "Fine, let's elect him bloody King of Hogwarts!"

"Would you be quiet!" Hermione hissed.

"Why did Malfoy take that curse for you, Hermione?" Harry whispered.

Hermione shook her head, clearly uncomfortable with the discussion. "How should I know?" she replied quickly. "Why did my father try to destroy Voldemort? Death Eaters do crazy things when they're trying to redeem themselves," she said brusquely, hoping to push off the questions.

Ron snorted. "Good luck with . . . I mean . . ." He paused and looked mildly ashamed. "Your father's different is all. He died a hero."

Hermione shook her head. "He was . . . sad and broken. Desperate. I don't think there really are heroes in the world. Just people struggling to choose between a multitude of difficult choices and then reaping the consequences no matter what."

"Harry's a hero," Ron pointed out.

The Boy Who Lived groaned loudly and Hermione smirked at him.

"All I'm saying is . . . there's a difference between what Regulus did and what Malfoy did," Ron said, shrugging his shoulders. "Regulus gave his life for the right cause in the end."

"What if Bellatrix had thrown a Killing Curse at Hermione instead of a Cruciatus?" Ginny asked. "Malfoy would be dead. He'd be a hero according to you."

Ron's eyes widened. "That's completely different!"

"Can we not talk about Malfoy or my father or curses or war?" Hermione asked, a desperate look on her face. "Please? We've missed the rest of the Sorting," she said, looking up as Remus took his seat at the high table and Professor McGonagall stood at the podium in the centre.

"Welcome, welcome students, new and returning," the Headmistress said. "Before we tuck in for a wonderful feast, I would like to take this moment to talk about the past and the future. These past few years have been terrible for many of us. War is never easy and many lives were lost. Those who lived through the war were forced to face countless horrors but have come to stand tall on the other side of them. We're strong. We're alive and we've a bright future to look forward to. We do not mourn the dead but instead will honour them by living in peace with one another from this point forward.

"That being said, I would like to introduce new and returning members of staff. Please welcome back Professor Remus Lupin, who will be taking over his old post as the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor," she said and Remus was met with a round of applause that echoed in the hall at a deafening volume, "and Professor Severus Snape, who will resume his position as Potions Professor." There was much less applause, but Hermione smiled brightly and cheered for her godfather, something that appeared to annoy him greatly.

"After a year away," McGonagall continued, "we would also like to welcome back Professor Rubeus Hagrid who will once again be teaching Care of Magical Creatures." Harry and Ron cheered the loudest at this announcement, and Hagrid blushed behind his great beard.

"I would also like to welcome back three individuals who obviously need no introduction," McGonagall said and Hermione turned, nudging Harry and Ron. "Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter will be assisting me in implementing changes here at Hogwarts." As their names were called, each stood. "While the Sorting Hat has just placed many of you in your new Houses, you are no longer restricted to remain there. Tables here in the Great Hall will no longer carry the banners of your House," McGonagall declared and then waved her wand. The red and gold banners above Gryffindor table changed to the generic Hogwarts crest, and the other banners across the Hall followed suit. "Common rooms have also been opened to all students for the purpose of nurturing friendships. I should remind you all that these are privileges and fighting with other Houses, especially within their own quarters, will be met with the strictest of punishments. Now, please choose a table and tuck in."

As planned, Harry, Ron, and Hermione left Gryffindor table.

Harry made his way to the Hufflepuffs where he was quickly welcomed by the Head Boy and Girl, who he wanted to sit down with to discuss plans for the inter-House unity project. Ron, the most uncomfortable about the new changes, made his way to Ravenclaw where he sat down between Luna and Terry Boot. Hermione squared her shoulders and made the long walk across the Great Hall, finding herself standing at the end of the Slytherin table looking down at Draco Malfoy who was staring up at her, a questioning eyebrow raised.

"May I sit?" she asked.

Before Draco had a chance to reply, the other side of the table adjusted to make room for her and she smiled politely down at Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass before taking a seat beside the witch. "Thanks," she said.

"Granger," Theo said in greeting, "welcome to Slytherin."

"It's not the Slytherin table anymore," Hermione politely corrected. "Technically."

"It damn well should be," Pansy Parkinson said bitterly from a few seats down.

"Shut it, Pans," Blaise Zabini said to her, rolling his eyes.

"I . . ." Hermione began, feeling uncomfortable as everyone's attention fell on her when she spoke. "I would just like to say . . . I'm very glad you all . . . survived."

Some of the Slytherins snorted at her obvious discomfort, but Theo quickly shut them up with a glare before turning his attention back to the witch. "The feeling is mutual," he said with a smile. "Will you be joining us each meal? It would be nice to talk about things other than Quidditch; the rest of these idiots can't keep up with me," he said, gesturing to his Housemates.

Draco sneered at his friend. "Excuse you? I can keep up with your conversations just fine, Theo."

"And some of us like to talk about Quidditch," Daphne argued.

Theo stared at her. "You don't even play."

"No," Daphne said and then grinned, "but I sure do like to watch." She winked at him and turned to smile at Hermione who couldn't help but laugh at the girl.

Theo rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You won't provoke me, Daphne. Look all you like," he said and waved his hand as though granting Daphne a royal dispensation to ogle Quidditch players.

Daphne laughed and bowed her head to Theo. "So gracious of you," she said in a sweetly teasing voice.

Hermione smiled and then cleared her throat at the interaction. "I feel as though I'm missing something important," she said thoughtfully. In reply, Daphne turned and held out her wrist which wore a lovely diamond bracelet. "Oh, how pretty," Hermione said and smiled.

Draco rolled his eyes. "She doesn't know what it means, Daph."

"Oh," Daphne frowned, "I forgot that you're Muggle-born."

Several people started laughing and Blaise leaned across the table to the annoyance of Pansy who he was in the way of. "You forgot that the most famous Muggle-born is a Muggle-born?" he asked his Housemate.

Daphne glared at him. "Shut up, Blaise. I meant that I forgot she wouldn't know what it meant," she insisted, turning away from the boy and looking at Hermione. "Theo gave this to me," she explained.

Hermione smiled in mild understanding. "Oh, so you're an item?"

Draco snorted and Daphne glowered at him before turning back to the other witch. "We're betrothed."

"Oh!" Hermione said loudly. "I should have known. I actually recently read about gifts being exchanged between a witch and wizard to signify an understanding," she said as she remembered the diary entries her father had written in regards to the custom.

"I didn't realise that books on pureblood culture existed," Theo said thoughtfully.

Draco's eyes narrowed curiously at Hermione. "They don't."

"I read it in an old diary," Hermione said defensively.

"Whose diary?" the blonde questioned.

She could feel the rage building inside of her. Gods, she could barely look at him without feeling it. "None of your business, Malfoy."

Theo held a hand out to his friend. "Ease up, Draco. We're done with the prejudiced shit, remember?"

Draco turned and glared at Theo. "I'm not being prejudiced!" he said, clearly offended.

"Fine," Daphne said as she brought a glass of pumpkin juice to her lips and took a sip. "We're done with the prattish shit."

"Was Snape telling the truth?" Draco whispered, ignoring his friends as he leaned forward, staring into Hermione's grey eyes.

Theo was intrigued. "What did Snape say?" he asked.

"He's her godfather," Draco blurted out.

Hermione's eyes widened and she glared at the boy with complete disdain, forcing herself not to cry at the way he looked at her, and the fact that he'd just betrayed a secret that had been hers to tell.

"What?!" Daphne turned to Hermione. "Snape's your godfather? How did that happen?"

Hermione barely acknowledged the other girl. "You're an arsehole and I hate you," she told Draco and then stood, grabbing her things and making her way quickly back across the Great Hall to sit with Neville and Ginny. Harry and Ron noticed her every move and they turned, focusing on Malfoy and giving the boy a daring glare. Draco caught sight of the duo and threw up a rude hand gesture in reply.

Theo smacked his hand and drew his attention. "What was that about?" he demanded.

Draco glowered down at his plate of food, suddenly not very hungry. "Granger's not a Muggle-born," he confessed. "I don't know how or what exactly happened, but something that . . . that happened to her in the war . . ." he paused, his angry expression fading to one of nausea as he recalled the sound of her screaming on the floor of his drawing room as his aunt tortured her, cut her, and broke through her Glamour Charms, revealing the black hair and grey eyes she was still wearing. Of course now her appearance made sense. "She's the daughter of Regulus Black."

Silverware hit plates loudly and the surrounding conversations at the Slytherin table stalled as all eyes turned to Draco. Blaise swore swiftly and glared at them until the younger students took the hint and resumed their activities. "Black? Black as in the Black family?" he hissed. "Fucking hell." He gaped. "That's . . . that's Wizarding royalty."

Draco sneered. "Isn't she a pretty little princess," he said bitterly.

"Draco," Theo cautioned his friend. "We've talked about this before. Leave her alone."

The blond looked up and glared. "Why does everyone think I'm going to hurt her?"

"Because you did before?" Theo offered.

Daphne was frowning as she watched the exchange happen between the two boys, noticing the silent way they communicated in between subtle words that clearly had double meanings. "What are you two talking about?"

"Nothing," Theo and Draco replied in unison, neither looking at her.

Daphne scoffed. "Fine," she said, clearly irritated. "Just so you know, when we're married, this secret crap is sooo not going to work for you."

Late that night, after everyone had settled back into Gryffindor Tower, Hermione, Ginny, and Luna lingered in the common room now that students could move with ease between Houses so long as they observed curfew. Ron, Harry, and Neville were playing Exploding Snap with Terry Boot and Justin Finch-Fletchley who had drifted over from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. A small owl appeared at the window, flew in, landing in front of Hermione where it dropped a small note.

"That's one of the school owls," Luna commented thoughtfully. "I saw the Head Boy and Girl in the owlery earlier tonight sending out messages for the Prefects. Apparently, it's much easier to use the little owls than hope you can track everyone down in the castle. Especially now that we're allowed inside the other common rooms."

Hermione opened the small envelope, patting the little owl on the head, who nuzzled her hand before taking flight again. "It's from the Headmistress. I have to go."

"Everything all right?" Harry asked, looking up.

"I'm sure it's fine." Hermione smiled. "She likely saw my dramatic departure from the Slytherin table and wants to talk to me about ideas on bringing them into the inter-House unity project."

When she reached the stone gargoyle outside of the Headmistress's office, Hermione scowled at the sight of a familiar head of white-blond hair. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?" she asked with a bitter tone, still upset that he decided to spew her personal matters to his Housemates at dinner.

Draco turned, hands in the pockets of his trousers looking far too casual. "Oh, I'm Malfoy again?" he asked her, "Funny, I seem to remember you calling me Draco when I was being cursed for you."

She glowered, torn between feeling angry that he'd throw something like that in her face, and guilty that she wasn't being grateful for his actions in battle on her behalf. "What do you want? A grand gesture of my gratitude? I saved your life in the Room of Requirement. We're even. Actually, no," she corrected. "We're so not even. You were a nightmare for years and then you went and . . ." Her voice caught in her throat and she clenched her teeth as she forcibly tried to keep her emotions in check. "You can't just . . . just . . ."

"What are you doing here, Granger?"

She pulled the small envelope from her robes. "I was summoned."

"So was I," he said, brandishing a similar note.

She frowned. "That doesn't worry me at all," she said nervously, whispered, "Courage," to the gargoyle and ascended the staircase ahead of him, eventually making her way into the office where her gaze fell on the Headmistress behind the large desk, Professor Snape standing beside her as well as three other surprising guests.

McGonagall stood and smiled tightly at the pair. "Welcome, Mister Malfoy, Miss Granger," she said and then started. "Are you still wanting to be referred to as Miss Granger?"

Hermione nodded. "For the time being. At least until I discuss it with . . . with my family," she said, doing her best to refer to Sirius as such; it made her feel less alone. At her words, she noted that Professor Snape rolled his eyes.

Professor McGonagall nodded politely. "Please have a seat," she said and gestured to the two chairs directly in front of her.

Draco turned and gaped at the sight of his parents sitting near the fireplace. "Mother? Father? How are you here?" he asked, terrified that something bad had happened. Had escaped Death Eaters returned to the Manor seeking vengeance? Had someone else died? Why were they at Hogwarts?

"They were given permission to meet here," said a voice from the opposite side of the room. Draco turned to see Sirius Black leaning back in a large chair, dragonhide boots kicked up on the edge of McGonagall's desk. "Special circumstances."

"Sirius?" Hermione said in a worried tone.

He smiled up at the witch, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Hey, sweetheart."

"What's going on?"

"I don't know the whole story," he said and tried not to smirk when McGonagall leaned forward and pushed his boots off of her desk, "but I promise you, I will fix this." Sirius reached forward and took Hermione's hands in his, looking like he was about to be the bearer of bad news, as if she was scheduled for an execution.

Draco frowned and looked back to his parents. "What's wrong?" he asked, noting that his mother looked far too emotional and his father appeared to have been severely offended.

"Well, it's no secret now that Snape decided to blurt the truth out in the middle of battle," Sirius said, glaring up at the Potions Master who didn't react at all, "but Hermione is my niece. Daughter of my brother, Regulus."

"And my goddaughter," Snape added.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and that. Anyway, when I was going through the paperwork for the Black estate," he said, turning to speak to Hermione, "one of my jobs as your Paterfamilias is to secure your dowry should you ever decide to get married."

Hermione bristled at the words and Sirius chuckled gently, slowly removing his hand from Hermione's increasingly tight grip. "Don't look at me like that, you know I hate this pureblood bullshit more than anyone. But, if you ever actually wanted it, I wanted to make sure it was readily available to you. Your choice. When I went to our Account Manager to set it all up, I found out that I wasn't allowed to set up a dowry."

Hermione frowned, suddenly offended. "Is it because I was raised by—"

"It's because your dowry had already been arranged and set aside automatically," Narcissa interrupted.

Hermione turned and stared wide-eyed at the older witch. "Excuse me? What does that mean?"

Narcissa looked down mournfully. "When I was a young girl, I was betrothed to your father. He was . . . a dear boy. I loved him very much," she said as though she were offering Hermione condolences on her loss.

The younger witch took in the look of sincerity on the blonde's face and she turned to her uncle, watching as Sirius emotionally withdrew. It seemed that Death Eater or not, Regulus Black had had the ability to leave an impression. Death Eater or not, his family, these people, still mourned him greatly. "I know about the betrothal," she said, turning her attention back to Narcissa. "I've read his diaries, er . . . well, most of them," she admitted. "He wrote that you'd performed a spell to break the engagement so that you could marry Mister Malfoy."

Narcissa nodded. "Yes. The betrothal contract we were bound under was old Blood Magic. As you've no doubt learned, our family was very heavily involved in such things. Breaking the contract involved a ritual where both parties needed to be in agreement, another suitor needed to be available, and a promise needed to be made."

Draco could see where this was going and he felt his vision blurring and his heart racing. He gently brushed his fingertips against the wand in his pocket, wondering if he would be fast enough to deflect a hex from Granger and, if so, would the Wizengamot judge him for self-defence, especially with so many witnesses in the room. "What promise?" he asked his parents.

Lucius scowled. "The contract doesn't just disappear. Blood Magic doesn't work that way."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "Oh, gods."

Sirius stood and placed a consoling hand on her shoulder. "Hermione, the betrothal is a promise between families. Between two parties and when broken, it is then passed from one generation to the next, the promise still intact."

Narcissa stepped forward, grasping her son's hands gently within her own, stood tall and formally addressed him. "Draco," she said softly, "you are, and have been since your birth, betrothed to Hermione Astra Black."

Chapter Text

1979

His seventh year of Hogwarts had been everything the years before hadn't. Instead of worrying about or fighting with Sirius, Regulus spent time with his friends.

Severus had graduated and was apprenticing under a Potions Master, sponsored by the Dark Lord himself, which Regulus tried not to think about.

Without his best friend there, Regulus was forced to interact with other members of his House. Thankfully, he was the only Death Eater and, despite there being constant reports of muggings, murders, and other attacks throughout Wizarding Britain, he was able to put the war to the side for the time being and talk about normal things like Quidditch.

Quidditch. Gods, it was a dream. He'd been put on the team the year before as Seeker, which should have been one of the happiest times in his life, but Regulus had been full of anxiety and performed terribly during every game.

They hadn't won once the entire year.

He had been shocked to find out that he was allowed to try out for the same position again in September. He won the spot easily, besting two fifth years, and made the team.

"Just don't fuck up again, Black," their captain said.

When they played Gryffindor in November, Regulus spent the majority of the game diverting the attention of the other Seeker, constantly making fake plays and low dives and, once, even flying past the Gryffindor stands to jeer at his rivals.

Marlene was dressed in gold and red, waving a large Gryffindor flag and shouting, "Slytherin Seeker sucks!" at the top of her lungs.

Regulus responded by smirking and flipping her a rude hand gesture.

McGonagall shouted about his deplorable behaviour and, when no one was looking, Marlene winked at him.

Flying was the most wonderful feeling in the world; when in the air, Regulus would smile at the feel of the wind against him as he closed his eyes.

He felt free.

Without Sirius there as a Beater on the Gryffindor team constantly gunning for him, and Potter leading the charge, Slytherin dominated Gryffindor in their first game.

Regulus caught the Snitch without breaking a sweat.

His team cheered and lifted him onto their shoulders. There was a party in the common room where he was labelled a hero.

A hero, Regulus thought to himself, liking the sound of it very much as he tugged down the sleeve of his shirt, making sure his Dark Mark was hidden from everyone, himself included.

When he went to bed that night, tipsy on firewhisky that had been smuggled in, he found his witch in his bed, waiting for him. How the girl was able to look submissive and smug at the same time, he'd never know, but she lay there in nothing but red knickers and a Gryffindor scarf looking like the kneazle that caught the snidget.

"I broke into Filch's office," she said with a devious little grin that made him want to kiss her immediately. He hesitated though, seeing that he had questions as to how she got in the common room, past all the prefects and professors. Before he could ask her, she held up a familiar-looking piece of parchment. "Look what your brother apparently left behind when he graduated."

"You little thief" Regulus laughed, jumping onto the bed and charming the curtains shut. "Are you going to keep it?"

Marlene shook her head. "We graduate this year, there's really no point, is there?"

No. No there wasn't.

If Regulus had his way, they would leave Hogwarts, run away and get married, and never look back.

They could leave for the continent and figure out some way of magically disconnecting the brand on his arm from the Dark Lord. He'd wondered recently if the Dark Mark could be used to track him should they actually succeed in getting out, but at a meeting over the summer the Dark Lord had stormed around in a huff, screaming about Abraxas Malfoy not responding to the summons. He'd had no idea where the man was, and it was days before Malfoy had been reported dead somewhere outside of France where he'd been away on business. Dragon Pox. At least that's what the official report said; what Lucius said.

Regulus hadn't paid much attention other than to note that the Dark Lord couldn't use the brand to track down his missing Death Eater and hadn't even noticed when the man had died.

The Dark Mark called Death Eaters to him; a one-way means of communication.

"Where'd you go?" Marlene's voice called him back to the room, the present, and the supple body beneath him. "Stay here with me."

"I'm always with you," he whispered and kissed her neck while he simultaneously tugged and pulled at his clothes, using the stupid-looking Gryffindor scarf she'd brought into his bed to tie her hands above her head.

He growled when she giggled at his attempted act of dominance; a lioness could not be leashed.

She was magic. A willing sacrifice on the altar that was his bed, smiling up at him as though he were something worthy to be sacrificed to.

The sight was pleasing at first but then almost disturbing and he leant forward, kissing her deep and hard, searching for the fight in her. When she growled a little and nipped at his lip, he let out a breath of air he'd been anxiously holding and then tugged the scarf away from her hands, releasing her.

Marlene frowned and looked up at his face in curiosity. "Reggie?"

"I . . . You should be able to escape if you want to."

She bit her lower lip and sighed. "Don't be there," she whispered. "It's just us. Always the two of us."

With Severus off learning to become a Potions Master, Regulus was forced to deal with his family during the Christmas holidays. He was desperate to sneak away to be with Marlene, but they were risking enough simply by being together at Hogwarts. Showing up on her doorstep during the holidays would draw attention, and considering he no longer had any close friends outside of other Death Eaters to spend time with, there were no excuses to get away from Grimmauld Place.

Or the gods awful Yule party his mother threw.

"Regulus, darling," Walburga said, looping her arm through her son's and pretending that he was escorting her around the large room, when in reality, she was practically dragging him.

"Come and meet some friends of your father's," she said and walked him over to a family of four.

The father, a tall man with dark hair, looked incredibly imposing, but after being in the presence of the Dark Lord, Regulus found fearing normal men rather pointless. The man stood beside a beautiful but cross-looking wife, and two young girls that looked near Regulus' age. One looked familiar.

"Antonin." Walburga smiled and allowed the wizard to kiss her knuckles in greeting, "Maria," she said to the older witch and the two kissed each other's cheeks. "This is my darling boy, Regulus. Dear, this is Antonin and Maria Dolohov."

Regulus nodded his head politely and shook the extended hand that Mr Dolohov held out to him. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," he said to the wizard and then lowered himself to kiss the knuckles of the witch. "Ma'am."

Dolohov nodded in approval of his manners and then gestured to the girls beside him. "These are our daughters, Isabella," he said, pointing to a girl no older than fourteen who had dark auburn hair, nearly black in colour except when the light reflected off of it. The locks were pulled up into a loose chignon with soft ringlets resting against her sharp cheekbones.

Dolohov then turned to the older daughter, a sour-looking girl who had her eyes narrowed at Regulus. "And . . . Arielle."

The smile the younger witch was giving him in addition to the scowl coming from the elder made Regulus formally put his hands behind his back and nod his head in their direction, a polite way to avoid having to kiss their hands.

Isabella looked like the type who would take a simple gesture as something far too intimate, and Arielle appeared like she'd curse him for the pleasure of it.

"Ladies," he said with a kind voice.

"Girls," Dolohov addressed his daughters, "why don't you go and get yourselves something to drink."

Arielle grabbed her sister by the hand and dragged her away from the small crowd, leaving their parents behind looking positively mortified.

"Apologies, Walburga," Dolohov said with an irritable tone, "we meant to leave the . . . other one at home, but she just can't be trusted. You know how it is. I trust you won't hold it against us."

Regulus turned his gaze briefly after the girls who lingered near a fountain that had been charmed to pour bubbling champagne that never lost its fizz. Isabella was glowering at her older sister who was scanning the room, looking like a prey animal desperate for an escape.

"Antonin," Walburga said, reaching out and resting a comforting hand on the man's arm, "what I have learnt about raising one horrible child is that all your hopes and dreams for the lost one are only amplified by the good child."

Regulus turned his attention back to his mother and offered a grateful smile. "You flatter me, Mother," he said while mentally counting down the days until he could return to Hogwarts.

He wondered if it were possible to Disillusion himself so he could slip into Marlene's compartment on the Hogwarts Express and drag her out to find a dark corner where they could exchange belated Christmas gifts since there was no chance he'd be able to send anything to her by owl.

"Little Arielle . . ." Walburga was explaining to Regulus despite not having asked her for more information regarding the girls, "due to no fault of her devoted parents, was sorted out of Slytherin like that wretch of a brother of yours."

Through years of practice, he hid away the sting of pain in his chest at the mention of Sirius with a well-placed sneer. "Brother? I was unaware I had such a thing. Am I not an only child, Mother? I dare say, I'd always hoped for a sibling."

Mrs Dolohov giggled. "He is delightful."

"Such a handsome boy, too," Walburga said, as she ran her fingers through his hair.

The action was unnerving as she'd only started doing it the past few years. Until Sirius had become the family disappointment, he'd always been the son who received the affection. And then, all forms of physical attention had become brutal and violent. Sometimes Regulus wondered when, exactly, his mother would turn on him as well.

"Could you imagine?" Walburga asked Mrs Dolohov with a gleam in her eye.

"Such lovely children."

Regulus raised a curious brow. "Are all witches so very vague?" he teasingly asked. "You feel you can trick us men with your beauty and your words? It hardly seems fair play."

Mr Dolohov chuckled, and both Walburga and Maria smiled pleasantly.

"Darling," Walburga said, gripping his arm and turning him toward the fountain where both Arielle and Isabella were still standing, likely waiting for one of their parents to direct them somewhere."What do you think of Isabella?"

Regulus swallowed. "Lovely girl," he said quickly. "I don't recognise her though."

"When Arielle was . . . misplaced," Dolohov said, "we didn't want to take the chance of another problem, and Isabella was sent to Durmstrang instead."

"Smart decision," Regulus commented with an approving tone of voice. "I assume you have a point, Mother?"

Walburga beamed at him. "We were thinking of an arrangement between you and the young Isabella."

His mind screamed a list of obscenities that he was sure had never before passed his lips, three of which he was absolutely certain Sirius had invented himself.

"An arrangement? Marriage?" he asked, the image of Marlene with a string of pearls around her neck at the forefront of his mind.

He pushed it back, hiding it like a treasure behind his Occlumency shields.

"With all due respect Mr and Mrs Dolohov, your daughter is much more deserving of a husband who will have time for her. My mother should be aware that my time is greatly occupied," he said and, with his right hand, reached across his chest and lightly scratched at his left forearm, making sure his mother took notice of the movement.

Walburga brushed off his excuses. "That's the beauty of this arrangement," she said brightly. "Antonin has been out of the country for several years, which is why you've not yet made his acquaintance."

Regulus looked up to make eye contact with the man who grinned at him and repeated Regulus' gesture of scratching at his left forearm.

Fuck, Regulus thought and strengthened his Occlumency shields to the point of discomfort.

"I've heard many good things about you," Dolohov said.

Regulus smiled politely and tilted his head in a gesture of respect before quietly saying, "I am honoured to be a name our Lord speaks well of."

He paused to look back at the Dolohov girls, appearing as though he were looking Isabella over with interest when in reality he was mentally wondering how he could get out of this situation.

"And . . . He approves this?" he asked. "I would never be so bold to make any decision regarding my life without His say so."

Dolohov seemed to approve of Regulus' obvious unwavering loyalty. "The subject will be brought up before you graduate Hogwarts."

Regulus nodded his head and forced a grateful smile on his lips. "Well then, I look forward to your correspondence."

His plans for seducing his girlfriend on the Hogwarts Express were left unfulfilled.

The morning he was to go back to Hogwarts, his eyes snapped open to darkness that still surrounded his bedroom as his forearm burned like a hot iron. He hissed at the pain and jumped from his bed, shouting down the stairs for his mother to come up with an alibi for his late return to school.

He returned from the revel outside of Surrey sometime after noon only to choke up the previous night's dinner as the memories of screams haunted his thoughts.

A family of four had been tortured and killed.

The father, a Ministry worker with a proclivity for putting his nose where it didn't belong, had stumbled upon information that the Dark Lord desperately wanted.

Regulus never asked what it was. It wasn't his place to ask things like that. It was his place to follow orders, and his orders had been to hurt the man's wife and children in front of him until he gave up the information.

Thankfully, it hadn't taken more than a threat to get the wizard to speak every detail of every paper he'd ever seen at the Ministry; of every word of gossip he'd heard in the lifts and down long stretches of corridors.

Avery had been in charge of the interrogation, leaving the torture of the family to Lucius, Regulus, and Macnair.

When the information had been gathered, Avery killed the wizard and told the others to do what they wanted with the rest, so long as they were dead in the end, before Disapparating away.

Macnair grabbed the wife by the hair and dragged her down the hallway screaming.

Regulus turned wide-eyed to see Lucius warring with himself as the children sobbed and cried so loud that eventually, the blond had to put a Silencing Charm on them in order to focus.

"Lucius . . ." Regulus whispered.

"You do it," Lucius ordered. "I . . . I have things to attend to, and murdering children is beneath me," he insisted, poorly concealing his own fear as he threw the job on Regulus' shoulders.

"Malfoy!"

Lucius turned and looked at him. "Do it before Macnair finishes with the wife. He's not one to be easily sated, and . . ." He glanced down at the children. "The lines which many of us refuse to cross, he will do so gladly."

The point made, Lucius Disapparated, leaving Regulus to clean up the mess.

He could hear screaming down the hallway, and a part of him wondered if it was possible to kill Macnair and somehow get away with it. While he struggled to find a way out of the situation, the screaming stopped, which meant that his decisions didn't matter.

He'd lost his chance to do the right thing.

"Any more left to play with?" Macnair's voice called from down the hall.

The children cried out in terror, and Regulus ruminated on Lucius' warnings about Macnair.

Swallowing down the rising bile, he whispered, "I won't let him hurt you."

Two jittery flashes of green left his wand.

My poor boy fell ill and we've taken him to St. Mungo's. Walburga wrote a quick letter and owled it to Hogwarts. His father will Apparate him to Hogsmeade when he's well again.

Her words hadn't been lies.

Regulus begged them to take him to St. Mungo's where he knew the Dark Lord would never step foot inside. He let the Healers fill him with Pain Potions and Dreamless Sleep.

When he thought of the dead children and Macnair's eager laughter amidst the screams, he fell sick, heaving until he cried. He'd sobbed so hard that his eyes were swollen, a pounding behind them so loud that he couldn't even make out his own voice.

When he was done vomiting up everything in his stomach including all the potions he'd been given, he cried because he needed to.

Because he couldn't stop.

Dear Severus,

The Dreamless Sleep Pomfrey keeps is garbage compared to yours, and I don't trust to ask Slughorn with the shit ingredients he has on hand here at the school. I would be very much appreciative if you would think of your friend who has N.E.W.T.s to prepare for. Festering pubescent dreams, while amusing during sixth year, are distracting when I'm needing to focus.

R.A.B.

The letter was filled with lies and secret code that anyone really looking could likely decipher, but desperate times . . .

At least he had one light in his world.

However, that sweet light had strangely turned into a sour bite of raging darkness every time Regulus looked her way. Being in different Houses really did have its problems. Communication with Marlene was damn near impossible unless she was able to sneak into the Slytherin common room, which she hadn't done since returning to school.

He'd picked a verbal fight with her in the hallway; called her a blood-traitor and a slag, which might as well have been translated into poetic words of love and passion. It was how they worked and had talked to one another the past three years. So why was she ignoring him now?

"Be careful next weekend, McKinnon," he told her. "Wouldn't want whatever's haunting the Shrieking Shack to come and snatch you up," he threatened in front of several of his Housemates and a few of hers.

Code: Meet me by the Shrieking Shack next Hogsmeade weekend.

She never showed.

"Hey!" he called out as he caught up with her walking back to the castle from Hogsmeade. He'd stood in front of the damn Shack for three hours without sight of her. When her massive head of blond curls came into view, he dropped all pretence and followed after her like a lost puppy looking for a scrap of food.

"Why didn't you wait for me at our spot? Marly?" he rushed after her.

She refused to look his way.

"Marlene!" he said and reached out to grab her arm.

She pulled out of his grip, tears in her eyes as she turned and glared at him. "Get away from me!"

She wasn't wearing the pearls. A pain like no other before seeped into his chest and began poisoning him from within.

"What the hell did I do?" he asked with pleading eyes.

She snarled, "Don't act all innocent!" and then reached into her pocket, withdrew the pearl necklace, and launched it at his face. "And take these back!"

"Marly!" he shouted, catching the pearls and rushing up to grab her before she ran off again.

She struggled against him, but he was much stronger and held her in place, nearly knocking them both over into the nearest snowbank in the process as he did his best to make sure she didn't reach for her wand.

"You're not going anywhere until I get a bloody explanation!"

"Isabella Dolohov!" she screamed in his face.

Regulus let go of her and grimaced. "What?"

Marly scowled and then hit him in the chest. "Her sister Arielle is a Ravenclaw and one of my friends! She told me in great detail how thrilled she is that she was passed up by the wretched Regulus Black, for her sister! You're getting married!"

That's what this was about? Regulus thought incredulously.

"The hell I am! My mother tried setting something up, and Isabella's father is another Death Eater," he tried to explain to her. "I couldn't very well say, 'Thank you, sir, for offering me your daughter's hand in marriage and, by the way, in the rare case that I don't get murdered by the Dark Lord for not following orders and having blood-traitor sympathies, do you think I could please keep shagging my Gryffindor girlfriend?'," he said in a mocking tone.

The two stood in silence, breathing deep as he tried to will away his anger and guilt and she tried to speak without crying.

"What're we going to do?" Marlene asked as fresh tears built up in her blue eyes, making them look like a spring sky reflecting off of the water in the Black Lake.

Regulus sighed, glad that she had calmed down enough to use plural pronouns. "I'm going to convince the Dark Lord that I don't want a wife and that any romantic interest right now would be counter-intuitive and distracting from following orders. I'm only seventeen so it's likely he'll believe me," he said with a chuckle and looked up to see her lip quivering and tears spilling over onto her cheeks.

"I . . . I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I know you'd never . . . I just . . ."

"Why're you crying, love?" He reached up and brushed the tears from her cheeks, ignoring the way that his hands were freezing. Her skin was as hot as her temper had been minutes earlier, and they both seemed to enjoy the change of temperature that the other provided.

"We're only seventeen," Marlene whispered. "Regulus, what're we going to do?"

He cocked an eyebrow and stared at her. "I just told you. I'll deal with the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord, and you just keep safe and off of their radar. When we graduate, we'll figure out how to just run away until the war ends."

She shook her head. "I can't run away with you."

His eyes narrowed in anger. "What do you mean you can't run away with me?" he demanded and then, before she had a chance to do any further damage by being so utterly recklessly Gryffindor, he looped the pearls back around her throat, clasping it. "And put your fucking necklace back on. Don't let me ever see you take it off again unless you're truly done with me."

"Reggie . . ." she whispered.

Regulus frowned, irritated with her for what he honestly hoped was just a weird emotional witch thing, and also irritated with himself for not being more considerate of her feelings, regardless of the origin.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You're starting to really worry me, and it's not like I don't already have a shit ton of things to stress about."

She looked up at him, devastation in her stare. "I'm pregnant."

Chapter Text

September 1998

"Betrothed?!"

Hermione's voice cracked as she screamed the word, her body going stiff as she gripped her wand instinctively. A year on the run from Death Eaters and Snatchers had taught her hand to grab her wand anytime her adrenaline spiked. And it had spiked to new levels.

"What do you mean betrothed?!"

Malfoy, who looked much less shocked and enraged, smirked at her. "Betrothed means intended to be married, Granger. Affianced. Spoken for."

She spun on her heel and thrust her wand toward him. "I know what it means, you evil fucking ferret!"

Professor McGonagall stood and looked to Sirius as though he should stand and hold Hermione back, but he simply grinned with pride, likely hoping that Hermione would hex the little blighter.

Malfoy raised his hands up, showing that he was unarmed which, in itself, was a threat to her. One curse sent his way and she'd be the one to suffer the consequences.

"Not evil," he said with a sly grin. "We've established that before, haven't we?"

Her anger faded so swiftly to sadness and hurt, that tears finally came to her eyes.

"I hate you!" she yelled and turned around, burying her face in Sirius' chest as she sobbed.

Sirius, clearly no longer amused by the situation, growled at Malfoy.

"Do you see?" Mr Malfoy snapped. "This needs to be stopped. She's clearly unstable."

"As much as it pains me to, I agree with Mr Malfoy," Hermione mumbled to her uncle as she tried to collect herself, refusing to look around and face the Slytherin family. "Not about my stability," she added with a hiss. "But this betrothed nonsense. How do we stop it? I refuse to continue the horrid tradition of inbreeding in the Black family! Sirius, we're blood-related!"

Clearing his throat, Sirius made eye contact with Mrs Malfoy, who narrowed her blue eyes at him. "Well, about that . . .'

"Don't. You. Dare," Mrs Malfoy threatened.

Hermione looked back and forth between the witch and her uncle. Sirius with his hair as black as Hermione's, and matching grey eyes. Mrs Malfoy sighed and pushed a strand of blond hair behind her ear and then made eye contact with Hermione. Blue eyes.

Resolved over that particularly horrifying issue, Hermione shook her head. "Regardless, I want out of this now."

Sirius winced. "Well . . . we haven't found a spell yet, princess."

"Save it with the terms of endearment, Black," Professor Snape drawled, "the girl is smart enough to know the only way that we can put an end to this contract."

Hermione wiped the tears from her eyes and turned to face her godfather. Their godfather. Gods, how much of her life was she supposed to share with Malfoy?

She shook her head at his words in bitter understanding as she recalled Regulus' diary entries about the breaking of his own betrothal contract.

"Mutual agreement to pass it to the next generation," she said. "That means that if I have kids—"

"Then we'll pass the cursed thing along forever," Mr Malfoy declared with an expression of utter loathing on his face. "I will not have the Malfoy name tainted by whatever half-blood spawn the girl eventually gives birth to."

Both his wife and son turned and narrowed their eyes at him.

Sirius growled again and took a step forward, wand raised. "Don't you dare speak to my niece like that, you son of a bitch!"

"Gentlemen!" Professor McGonagall shouted; the look on her face was harsh enough that every witch and wizard felt mild shame. Having taught each of them at various points over the past thirty years allowed her to have such an effect. "I agreed to host this little meeting to prevent hostilities. Perhaps you should ask the children what their thoughts are?"

When Malfoy turned and looked at her, Hermione struggled not to cry again. "How could my father have done this?"

Mrs Malfoy looked like she wanted to reach out to her, but she stopped herself when she caught a look of warning coming from both Sirius and Professor Snape. "It hurts a little to look too long at you," she said softly. "You look so like your father. This is not his fault," she added, even more quietly. "He was only eleven."

Hermione looked up and glared at both of the elder Malfoys. "Yes, I know. You used him!"

Mr Malfoy scoffed. "It wasn't as though I stole away his bride."

"No," Hermione snapped, "instead you threatened his brother's life, so Regulus sacrificed her in exchange for Sirius' protection."

Sirius raised his brows in shock and confusion. "I'm sorry, he did what?"

"You didn't know, Black?" Professor Snape asked, arms still crossed as he leant against the wall, looking the absolute picture of indifference to the dramatic scene unfolding before him. "You were set to have many accidents in those early years of Hogwarts, were it not for your brother's interference."

Sirius frowned; anger, guilt, and grief bubbling up inside of him that he was clearly unprepared to deal with. "That . . . that's not important now," he insisted, visibly burying his feelings. "Hermione is important now. What do you want to do? We can pass it along if that's your choice."

"No, we can't."

Hermione's eyes widened and she looked up at Malfoy's declaration. "What? Why not?"

The boy shrugged. "Because it has to be a mutual decision, and I decline to break the contract."

Her mouth fell open in shock, and she scanned the room, looking to the adults to intervene on her behalf. Sirius' eyes were wide in surprise. Professor Snape looked contemplative over the announcement, and Mrs Malfoy and Professor McGonagall both seemed intrigued.

Mr Malfoy, however, looked apoplectic. "I beg your pardon? Draco, you will do as you are told!"

Malfoy turned, looking completely unafraid of his father, which seemed a stark contrast to his entire life leading up to that moment.

"Last I checked, I am the current Head of our House. With all due respect, Father, the decisions you've made in the past regarding my future have not been in my best interest. I think I will take over from here, thank you."

"Draco." Professor Snape stepped forward as though to offer protection for the boy should Mr Malfoy do something stupid in retaliation for the lack of respect shown by his son. "This is not a decision to be made lightly."

"No," Malfoy agreed, "but it's made. I decline to break the contract."

She struggled to catch her breath as she stared at him, tears once again falling down her cheeks. Fury burned beneath her skin, a tickle of humiliation and what she would not define as heartbreak fluttering through the rage. "Why? Why would you do that? You hate me!"

He gave her his infamous smirk. "What ever gave you that impression?"

"Don't do this, Malfoy."

He yawned and stretched his arms over his head, taking more than advantage of his position. "I think I'll return to my dorm. It's been a very long day," he said and walked over, kissing his mother's cheek. "Goodnight, Mother. Please owl me in the morning to let me know you made it back home safely."

"Malfoy!" Hermione yelled as he made for the door.

He turned back and grinned deviously at her. "Goodnight, future wife," he said and then walked out, shutting the door behind him.

No, no, no, no!

How dare he! How dare he! He could not decide this for the both of them! She could feel her magic rising to the surface, creating static sparks that snapped at the ends of her hair as she screamed, "Draco!"

Three Years Earlier . . .

November 1996 – Sixth Year

"Oppugno!"

"Ow! Hermione! Gerroff me!"

Hermione stormed out of the empty classroom, slamming the door behind her where she immediately ran into a blushing Lavender Brown whose lips were still swollen. Bile threatened to rise at the sight of her dorm mate—and apparently Ronald Weasley's new girlfriend—and she pushed past the blonde and ran down the nearest corridor, determined not to cry in front of the other girl.

How dare he! How dare he! she thought to herself over and over again as she flew through the darkened hallways, not even bothering to cast a Lumos.

They'd been friends for over five years, and she could have sworn that there was something building between them, but one minor incident with some Felix Felicis—damn Harry for cheating to get that potion!—and Ron just threw it all away by snogging the first simpering girl that squeezed his bicep and told him how brilliant he was?

Damn you, Ronald Weasley!

She turned and angrily kicked the nearest wall, then winced at the pain that shot through her foot. She leant her back against the cold stone and sank to the ground, pulling her knees to her chest and quietly sobbing into her arms.

It wasn't as though she loved Ron, she was logical enough to know they were much too young for such serious emotions. But whatever they did have, was so easily thrown out the window by him, along with their friendship.

Did he really expect to be friends with her after this betrayal? After using another girl against her like some . . . some tool?

She scowled and a brief flash of what felt like vengeance ran through her. She wanted to get back at him and make him feel as foolish as he had made her feel. For years, she'd put up with his temper tantrums. Everything with Scabbers in third year, not to mention him provoking Harry into casting her out over the ordeal with the Firebolt. She'd taken it all in stride, trying to be logical about it. She would have apologised had she felt she was truly in the wrong.

And she had been wrong earlier that evening.

She'd thought—and so had Ron—that Harry had spiked his drink with Felix Felicis. So why was she being purposely hurt over it? She didn't believe in him, he'd said.

Well, she was done placating Ronald's fragile ego.

Now, in fact, she wanted to deflate it.

She began wondering if Cormac McLaggen would still be willing to go to Slughorn's party with her. That would certainly show Ron!

There was a noise around the corner that drew her attention, and she turned, brandishing her wand and moving to stand. She wasn't on duty, but she was still a Prefect.

"Who's there?" she asked, muttering a quick Lumos, and turned towards the noise to find a blond head bent forward in a dark alcove. A wizard was hunched over on his knees, hands threaded through pale locks, his shoulders heaving. "Malfoy?"

He turned, surprised at being caught, and Hermione could instantly see that his eyes were wet. Shocked at the sight, her mouth fell open and she just stood there, not knowing what else to do.

Malfoy wiped his face and then looked back at her again with an embarrassed scowl. "What the fuck do you want, Mud—" he stopped mid-word, almost looking ashamed, swallowing hard before continuing. "What do you want?"

What did she want?

She wanted her friends to treat her with respect. She wanted to not spend her night crying in the corridors. She wanted Ronald Weasley to know the pain and humiliation that she'd felt when she walked into Gryffindor Tower to see him snogging Lavender.

Looking at Malfoy as he stood up, adjusting his robes and reacquiring that air of smugness he carried with him . . . what she really wanted was the world to be a better place where she wasn't some filthy thing for wizards like him to look down upon.

"Why are you out of your common room?" she asked.

"Why are you?" he countered.

"I'm a Prefect."

"Not on patrol, you're not," he said knowingly. "I may not be a Prefect this year, but Pansy is, and I know the schedule. Aren't you supposed to be celebrating with the other idiots?" he asked, his tone bitter. "You did win the game after all."

Hermione scoffed. "When have I ever cared about Quidditch?"

He folded his arms in front of his chest and leant against the wall. "You show up to every game."

"My friends are on the team. I want to make sure they're safe."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Potter plays. It's never safe."

She knew that she couldn't threaten him enough to go back to his common room, and if she took points away it was likely that he'd just have Pansy retaliate later on. Still, he wasn't budging from his space against the wall and her curiosity was piqued.

"Why aren't you playing this year?"

His angry scowl returned. "None of your fucking business."

Instinctively, she held her head higher and said, "Fifteen points from Slytherin for being out past curfew."

He narrowed his eyes and uncrossed his arms. Hermione made sure to watch his hands to see if he would reach for his wand. "You can't do that! You're out past curfew as well!"

"I'm a Prefect," Hermione said coldly, officially tired of wizards feeling like they could just walk all over her. "I wonder who Professor Dumbledore will believe."

Malfoy glared at her, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. The expression unnerved her on an extreme level. "Give me the points back and I'll tell you why I'm not playing on the team this year," he bartered. A typical Slytherin move.

"Fine," she said, shrugging. She hadn't meant to take the points away, to begin with; with this deal, it was likely that she wouldn't have to hear her Housemates complain later about Pansy randomly attacking some poor Gryffindor to take away points for absolutely no reason. "Go ahead."

"I have more important things to do."

Hermione sighed irritably. "That's hardly an answer, Malfoy."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "That's the answer I'm giving."

"Why were you crying?" she asked, her voice quiet as though she were trying to preserve some of his dignity in case anyone else was lingering in the corridors late at night. Why she wanted to spare the boy any further embarrassment, she had no idea. He'd never given her a second thought other than how to make her life worse.

Malfoy stared at her silently for a long time before asking, "Why were you?"

Her cheeks burned hot, and she wondered how terrible she must look. Her eyes were likely puffy and red. She would need to stop by the prefect's bathroom before returning to her dorm so that none of her Housemates had a reason to believe she'd been at all affected by Ron's display at the party.

"Honestly?" she asked and then thought, what the hell? "Because my best friend thinks I don't believe in him and, after a misunderstanding, he decided to snog a girl in front of me because he thought it would hurt me."

Malfoy laughed. "Someone actually snogged Potter? Willingly?"

Hermione cringed. "Not Harry."

Malfoy clearly understood and then blanched at the thought. "Gross. Well, if you've tried to get him back for it, you've done an abysmal job. Crying will only make him realise that he's won."

She shrugged defeatedly. "Maybe he has. Why were you crying?"

His jaw tightened for a moment before he looked down and muttered. "Family problems."

She frowned and instinctively said, "I'm sorry."

He looked back up and glared at her. "Excuse me? You lot are the reason my father's in Azkaban."

"Voldemort is the reason your father is in Azkaban," she snarled back at him.

Malfoy's face paled as he visibly recoiled. "Don't say his name," he pleaded, voice bitter and full of such anger; for once none of it was directed at her.

Her gaze focused on him as his chest moved rapidly, and she realised he was having a panic attack.

He turned away from her, muttered several swears under his breath and banged his fist against the wall as he gasped for air.

"Malfoy, sit down," she ordered.

When he didn't move, she turned him by his shoulders in frustration and pushed down lightly, watching as he slowly descended, likely too focused on trying to breathe to care that a Mudblood was touching him.

Once he was sitting, she forced his shoulders back. "Sit up straight and take slow deep breaths," she instructed. "You're not going to die. You're having a panic attack. If you stop breathing, you'll pass out at which point your body will automatically start breathing again. That's the worst thing that could happen, I promise you. As long as you're sitting down, you won't hit your head against something if you black out. You'll be fine. I . . . I won't leave you."

When his breathing slowly regulated, he looked at her, his eyes rapidly moving as though trying to figure out a way out of this embarrassing situation.

"You don't have to be afraid, you know," Hermione whispered.

Malfoy scoffed. "You don't know what fear is, Granger."

She shook her head in exasperation. "I'm still sorry. Not for what happened to him," she admitted, "he did try to kill me and my friends after all. But . . . I'm sorry that the bad decisions of others have a way of hurting people close to them. It's not fair."

Silence took up residence in the corridor. It felt sticky and stifling. After what felt like several minutes passed, Malfoy broke through it.

"How did you know what was happening to me?" he asked her.

"After last year," she whispered, not mentioning the Department of Mysteries issue specifically again. "I woke up not being able to breathe. I worried too much and thought too much and got stuck in my head trying to figure out how to keep bad things from happening again. Eventually, I realised that sometimes bad things happen to good people."

The expression on his face hurt her. His hair hung in his eyes, not slicked back like he'd been wearing it for years. He wasn't scowling or sneering or calling her names and, for a split second, she was reminded of the boy she met on the Hogwarts Express that very first day. When they'd talked about school and magic and purchasing their first wands. They'd smiled and shaken hands and laughed together before everything was ruined when he'd discovered that she was a Muggle-born.

"Are you good, Granger?" Malfoy whispered. "Are you a good person? Filled with goodness and light."

Hermione couldn't tell if he was trying to mock her. "I'm not bad," she said. "Not entirely."

"I'm not evil," he insisted.

She frowned and then rolled her eyes over his theatrics. "No one thinks you're evil, Malfoy," she said and then looked at him as he raised an incredulous brow. "Okay, well maybe Harry and Ron," she conceded. "They've currently got a wager as to whether or not you're a—"

"You called me evil," he said, interrupting her. "Third year."

She sighed loudly. "I didn't mean it. But to be fair, you tried to have Buckbeak killed."

"That thing attacked me," he argued.

"You were being rude, and you know it. You deserved to get punched," she said and looked up to watch as he scratched at his nose. She smiled when she saw a tiny scar there, reflected in the moonlight.

When he caught her staring, he smirked at her. "Maybe I just wanted you to touch me," he said suggestively.

Hermione cringed and looked away, trying to hide away the blush that she could feel creeping up her cheeks.

He was a terrible person, awful in so many ways, and his father was clearly the role model by which he lived his life. But Hermione wasn't blind, nor was she a very good liar, even to herself. Draco Malfoy was fit. She knew it, all the other girls at Hogwarts knew it, and worst of all, he knew it.

"If that's the case then you are more twisted than I ever thought," she said quickly, but then added, "But you're not evil."

"I'm not evil but I'm not good," Malfoy admitted. "You're good. You've always been good."

She gaped at him, shocked by the strange display of openness. Whatever was bothering him was clearly something he needed to get off of his chest if he was confiding in her of all people. Then again, if she went around and told people she'd found Draco Malfoy crying in the corridors, who would believe her?

"You could be good too if you tried," she whispered.

"What does it feel like?" he asked as he turned his body to face her, his eyes filled with curiosity.

"Being good? I . . ." She frowned. "I don't think I know."

She barely noticed when he moved closer to her. She sat on the cold floor with her legs crossed at the ankles out in front of her, suddenly aware that he'd moved to perch on his knees His added height made him all the more intimidating, and she normally would have drawn her wand against him had he shown her an expression of anger, but he looked confused and curious and his complete lack of a glare threw her off.

When Malfoy leant close, his breath ghosted across her face; it smelled like peppermint.

"I wonder what goodness tastes like," he whispered.

Shocked by his proximity and words, Hermione gasped.

It was the absolute worst thing to do.

When her lips parted as she took in a nervous breath, suddenly, his mouth was on hers.

Frozen in absolute shock at his actions, she didn't move to push him away as her brain was telling her to do. Nor did she participate in the kiss which was what other parts of her body were desperately trying to encourage.

It was Malfoy! Draco Malfoy! Rotten, twisted, prejudiced Slytherin who had teased her for years and he was kissing her! Why was he kissing her? Questions and a series of theories ran through her brain as she tried to break free of the petrified state she was in.

When she felt his tongue move into her mouth, she tasted the peppermint she had only smelled earlier and a strange, new warmth pooled in her belly in response.

Her shoulders relaxed, a delightful shiver went up her spine, and suddenly she realised that she was kissing him back.

It wasn't like the sweet little chaste moments she'd had with Viktor, nor the awkward and accidental incident with Fred beneath a mistletoe the year prior at Grimmauld Place during Christmas hols.

This was something secret and forbidden and . . . and . . . fire.

How could a snake feel so warm? she thought to herself.

She melted, suddenly aware that he had an arm around her waist and was leaning her back against the floor, hovering over her body. She was in a vulnerable position, certainly, and logically she knew she should be at least a little afraid, but then Malfoy moaned. It was a deep satisfied sound, and she felt a strange swell of pride at the noise, whimpering herself when his fingers brushed against her hip.

Her own sounds snapped her out of the daze, and she pulled away from him quickly, breaking the kiss.

She panted, desperately trying to catch her breath as she looked up into his eyes, expecting revulsion but seeing a strange passion instead.

"What're you doing?" she asked shakily.

He stared down at her curiously, clearly warring with himself, then reached up to run the pad of his thumb against her bottom lip. When he moved his hand away, she pulled that lip into her mouth, worrying it anxiously between her teeth.

He smirked at the sight.

"Helping you hurt Weasley and getting back at my father at the same time?" he suggested and leant forward to kiss her again, this time more roughly, pressing his body against hers on the cold floor.

Hermione didn't freeze this time.

She found herself reaching for him. Found herself moaning at the taste of him. Her forbidden fruit tasted like citrus and peppermint and smelled like lemongrass and broom polish.

He threaded his fingers through her thick brown hair as he kissed her deep and hard, and she couldn't help but notice that it wasn't as . . . well . . . slobbery as Ron had made it look earlier that night with Lavender.

He's clearly not as skilled at kissing as Draco . . . wait . . . Draco?!

She broke the kiss once again, and Malfoy let out a growl of displeasure.

She wanted to tell him to get away. No, she wanted to want to tell him to get away, but she didn't. That was a surprising thought. Hermione knew she should just get up and run. But when she opened her mouth to tell him to get away from her, all that came out was, "No one can know about this."

Malfoy smirked at her, then lightly brushed his lips against hers in a way that left her dizzy.

"I won't tell if you won't." His voice lacked any disgust. As though she and this moment—this kiss—was a secret for him in the same way it was for her. A secret, not because of what people would think she was, filthy and unworthy of him, but because others just wouldn't understand.

It was forbidden and wrong and . . . and sinful.

Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged. She thought of Shakespeare's words, never having understood them better.

Goodness. He wanted to know what goodness tasted like and then he'd tasted her.

Was he trying? Actually trying to change? Trying to find in himself something he saw in her? She wondered what his family problems were with his father locked up in Azkaban. It had to be terrible. She wondered if he'd seen that the way his father lived could only lead to prison, and now he wanted a different way.

He gently tugged on her lower lip with his teeth, and she actually felt her eyes cross behind closed lids. Who knew a snake could bite so sweetly?

Give me my sin again.

When he eventually broke the kiss, they both were gasping for breath.

She waited for him to pull away from her, but instead, he moved his lips to her neck and left soft kisses down her throat, muttering, "Gods, why do you taste so good?" in a husky tone of voice that set her skin ablaze. "I shouldn't want you, but . . . fuck . . ." he groaned and moved his knee between her legs.

Shocked back to reality when something hard pressed against her thigh, Hermione placed her hands on his chest and pushed lightly. "We have to stop. Malfoy . . ."

He nipped at a spot behind her ear, and she keened. "Don't call me that, Granger."

"Hypocrite," she mumbled with a laugh that turned into a mewl when she felt his fingers creep beneath her jumper, skin on skin. That level of touch immediately rebooted her brain.

"Draco, stop," she said in a panic and watched, in shock, as he sat up immediately, pulling his hands away from her. She stared at him with wide eyes. "You . . . you stopped."

He glared down at her, clearly offended. "Of course, I stopped! You said stop. I'm not the type of bloke to take a witch against her will. I'm not evil, remember?"

Hermione couldn't help but chuckle. "You're not good either."

He shrugged. "Says the girl who got snogged and felt up by her best friend's enemy."

She blushed and then frowned. "Malfoy . . . Draco, you're not the enemy."

"Am I not?"

"Are you?"

He didn't answer her but instead stood up, pulling her to her feet and adjusting her collar and Gryffindor tie for her. He scowled at the colours before cupping her cheek. "Meet me back here tomorrow night?"

She chewed gently on her bottom lip.

He made a pleased little noise, his eyes drawn to her mouth, and suddenly his lips were pressed against hers again. Like a child sneaking in one more bite of pudding before the plate was torn away.

"This is not a good idea," she said between thundering heartbeats when they broke apart again.

Malfoy—Draco—smirked at her.

"It's not a bad one."

Chapter Text

November 1996 – Sixth Year

Kissing Hermione Granger had not been his plan.

His plan had been to get inside the Room of Requirement while the Gryffindors were off celebrating their stupid Quidditch win, fix the damn Vanishing Cabinet, and celebrate the fact that neither he nor his mother would be murdered due to his incompetence.

Unfortunately, no matter what he tried, the bloody thing wouldn't work; and then, his Dark Mark started burning.

He'd been told it would happen from time to time. There wasn't an efficient way to summon individual Death Eaters, so when the others were called, he would feel the same burning summons even though he knew better than to leave Hogwarts to answer it.

No, he had to stay there and fix the fucking cabinet.

He had to kill Dumbledore.

The pain in his arm radiated throughout his body. He ran to the nearest bathroom and stuck his head under cold water trying to stay conscious; he was in far too much pain to even think of using a Cooling Charm.

When the burn finally subsided, Draco dried his hair and left the bathroom, eager to go back to the Dungeons. On his way, he felt an overwhelming sense of panic and fell to his knees, cradling his head as he was wracked with desperate, terrified sobs.

That was how Granger found him.

He'd been horrified to be caught crying, but also relieved that it wasn't someone like Weasel who had seen him in such a weak moment. She was a swotty, self-righteous little thing, but strangely, she had her own weird sense of honour; Draco knew it was very unlikely that she'd go and gossip about his emotional breakdown in the back of a corridor.

And then he had noticed she'd been crying as well.

Gods, he hated when girls cried.

Pansy had used it as a manipulation tool, which worked fairly often up until the end of fourth year, when every boy in Slytherin was officially done with her outbursts. When Daphne cried, it was heartbreaking to watch because Daphne never cried. If she was caught in an emotional moment, she'd throw whatever was nearest to her at any observers and then run away, covering her eyes. Astoria was worse because she was so much younger.

He'd only seen his mother cry once: the night he was Marked.

It turned out that, despite having wanted to bring the girl misery for their first few years at Hogwarts, Draco now hated to see Hermione Granger cry.

And fuck Weasley for making her sad, had been a strange thought that passed through his head.

What did he care that her heart had been broken by the ginger idiot? What did he care that she had been in tears just minutes earlier from the look of it? He hated her, didn't he?

"You're too bold with your words, Draco," Severus had said two years prior when, during the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, Draco had been overheard telling Viktor Krum he should have let the Mudblood drown.

Someone, likely Dumbledore, had heard him and asked Severus to remedy the situation.

So Draco stood on the other side of his godfather's desk, awaiting a pointless lecture that would go nowhere considering they both felt the same way about the girl. At least he'd thought so.

"I'm not sorry for saying it," Draco said with a sneer. "I hate her."

Severus looked up at him appraisingly, stood, walked around the desk, and leant against it from the other side, towering over him. "Tell me: why, exactly, you hate Miss Granger?"

Draco scoffed. "Because she's a Mudblood."

He hadn't even seen Severus roll up a copy of Potions Monthly magazine, but he'd felt it when it thwacked against the side of his head.

"Stupid boy," Severus had said, shaking his head in disappointment. "What an imbecilic reason to hate a witch."

"W-what?" Draco asked, dumbfounded. "But . . . but you hate her too for the same reason."

"I do not bother hating fifteen-year-old girls," Severus said, rolling his eyes as though such a thing were beneath him. "I'm irritated by her presence and her non-stop repetition of textbooks, but hate? Hate is a powerful emotion. Now tell me, why do you hate Miss Granger?"

Draco had stopped and tried to think of a reason but all he could come up with was: Mudblood.

"She's . . . she's a Mudblood. I'm supposed to hate her."

"Because your father hates Mudbloods?"

Draco nodded.

"And are you friendly with your father's friends? Acquaintances with his acquaintances?" Then came the clincher: "Do you find yourself attracted to witches that your father—"

"No!" The point had been made. "So . . . so I hate her for . . . She broke my nose last year!"

"Ah. There. An appropriate reason. You may go."

For some reason, Draco had felt in that moment that his godfather had been trying to teach him something that he wasn't quite grasping. It was annoying. And he'd lied about hating her for the punching incident. Sure his nose had been broken and it had hurt like hell, but had been no worse than a Quidditch injury.

Hell, he'd strangely felt a glimmer of respect for the witch when she'd assaulted him.

So not hate. He didn't hate her. Hadn't hated her since a copy of Potions Monthly knocked the word out of his head back in fourth year.

Somehow, now that hate was no longer an option, a confused void was left inside of him anytime he tried to call her names or send a hex in her direction. What was the motivation?

Kissing her, though—oh, he had a reason for that.

He wanted to feel normal. No blood status, no war, no Death Eaters or Mudbloods. He was just a boy and she was just a girl and they were alone in a corridor late at night.

She was the epitome of goodness, and he was desperate to know what it felt like. What normal felt like.

He hadn't been disappointed.

He was shocked, however, when she'd shown up the next night, as he'd requested.

And so, in between fearing death at the hand of the Dark Lord, working on the cabinet, planning Dumbledore's murder, and revising for exams . . . Draco Malfoy felt normal and good in the arms of Hermione Granger.

His father would have Avada'd him on the spot had he known, which actually made the rebellious relationship—and it was essentially a relationship—that much sweeter.

January 1997

"What were you doing at Slughorn's Christmas party?" she asked him as they sat inside an empty classroom.

Her blouse remained on, but he'd gotten her out of her jumper, something he'd yet to return in the hopes that the snogging session could continue.

Christmas had been a nightmare at home where he'd been questioned on his progress and Crucio'd when he'd been found lacking. Kissing Granger was a wonderful distraction.

Draco smirked at her, admiring the love bite he'd left on her neck that she was currently unaware of. "Getting caught crashing. I thought that was obvious."

"But why were you there?"

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I saw you walk off with McLaggen," he admitted truthfully. "That idiot's known in all the Houses for being a little too hands-on with his dates."

The corner of her mouth turned up slightly. "You went to what? Save me?"

He scowled at her. "Shut up, Granger."

She stared at him. "Draco."

"Hermione."

She was Hermione now.

She pursed her lips in frustration. "Someone saw you speaking with Professor Snape after the party. What were you talking about?"

Fuck.

He recalled his conversation with his godfather in regard to his mission. Not a word of it could be repeated, especially to her.

"Aren't you going to wear your Christmas gift?" he asked, changing the subject and gesturing to the ruby necklace glittering in the moonlight that shone through the window. "I went to a lot of trouble picking it out."

Hermione shook her head the same way she had upon opening the gift. "Absolutely not. It's too expensive. People would ask questions."

Draco scowled, wondering if she knew much about pureblood traditions. He didn't think so, but he still wanted her to wear it. He wouldn't even hold her to the implications of accepting such a gift. It wasn't as though he'd actually be able to marry the girl one day.

"It would make me very happy, Hermione, if you would wear that necklace."

She shook her head again. "I didn't get you anything."

He laughed. "You don't need to."

As though she had enough money to buy him something he couldn't afford. Granted, he wouldn't mind if she'd let him get a hand under her bra.

"If you're not going to put the necklace on, then you'd better placate my wounded ego in better ways," he said with a leering grin.

Instead of appearing disgusted as she might have done a month or two earlier, she laughed and hit him on the arm. "You have the biggest ego of anyone I've ever met."

He smirked at her. "Sorry, all I heard was, 'You have the biggest of anyone I've ever met'."

When her eyes widened in shock and she opened her mouth to scold him, he kissed her long and deep and then laid her back down on the ground, shoving thoughts of the necklace and its meaning aside as she moaned into his mouth.

And she did, in fact, let him slip a hand under her bra.

"A bezoar!?" Draco yelled, kicking over a dust bin in the corner of the library that the Room of Requirement had built for them. It was the last time he'd let Hermione choose the snogging location to ask the Room for. "Are you fucking kidding me?!"

She sat nearby, chin in her laced fingers, elbows on the wooden surface of the table in front of her. "I'm just as annoyed with him as you are."

Draco scoffed. "I highly doubt that. Do you know how difficult it is to put together a proper antidote to poison? And Potter gets off with a fucking bezoar. How's he doing it?" he asked her, turning to her as she looked away. She knew the reason; whatever it was, pissed her off as well, but she wasn't confessing Potter's secrets. Damn.

"What are you and Crabbe and Goyle up to?" she asked instead, and Draco cringed.

"Family stuff," he said, waving her off. "I've told you before. It's nothing you need to worry about."

"We need to stay in the Room of Requirement from now on," she said, her tone serious. "Harry's paranoid, and we can't have him catch us in the prefect's bathroom or a random broom cupboard."

His bad mood almost instantly abated.

He walked over to stand behind her chair, twirling a lock of her brown hair around his finger.

"I really like the prefect's bathroom though," he said, and then leant down to whisper against the shell of her ear. "Then again, I suppose the room could just create a bath, couldn't it?"

He closed his eyes, requesting just that. When he opened them, he spotted a new door in the corner of the room and grinned.

"Feel like getting dirty so I can clean you up?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're disgusting."

"You love it," he said with a grin and then spun her chair, crashing his lips against hers and kissing the breath from her lungs.

They never made it to the bathroom in the corner.

They ended up on the strangely soft ground surrounded by piles of books; and somehow, miraculously, she lay before him like a lovely sacrifice on an altar, in nothing but her knickers, arms crossed over her chest and her bottom lip sucked between her teeth.

She was shaking with nerves . . . or fear.

Fuck . . . she feared him because the past few months couldn't erase the past six years.

He was an arsehole.

"Draco . . . I . . . I've never . . ."

"I won't hurt you," he whispered the promise, leaning down to gently kiss her, unwilling to show exactly how nervous he was in that moment as well. "I know. That's a laugh coming from me."

"You've never even said you were sorry for it," she told him. "For everything."

He blinked a few times, letting her words sink in. "Would it help? Would three little words make up for everything?" he asked, thinking of "I am sorry", though three other words teased at his consciousness. He forcibly swatted them away. "I'd rather be a man of action."

Her brows furrowed together. "Are you though? Sorry?"

She was afraid of him. Afraid that he'd hurt her.

Yes, yes, he was sorry.

He was a sorry piece of shit.

"Yes," he admitted.

When she looked away and exhaled in what he hoped was relief, he glanced down at his left forearm, glad that the glamour he'd put there hadn't faded; it had taken a good hour to get it to stick in the first place.

"I'm a Gryffindor," she said looking up at him, talking as he removed the last scrap of fabric that kept them apart, tossing it to the side and settling himself in the cradle of her thighs. "I'm not supposed to be scared."

Draco smiled at her. A genuine smile. "I'm a Slytherin," he said, positioning himself at her entrance. "I'm not supposed to be reckless."

He swallowed, waiting for her to give one last confirmation.

She anxiously nodded her head.

Leaning forward, he kissed her sweetly, a kiss full of promises that he knew he'd have to break one day. He thrust once, hard, sheathing himself fully inside of her and cringing as she cried. He knew from the bragging that went on in the common rooms that there were ways to make it less painful, but he'd been too prideful and embarrassed to ask. Now, he was regretting that.

He did what he could to make up for the pain, a part of him wondering if he could make up for everything else he'd done to her.

He moved slowly, stopping when needed until she told him it was okay to keep going. He took his time as best he could, even though it was a struggle not to come immediately. She was so warm and tight and she looked up at him with trust in her eyes that he knew he didn't deserve, but he treasured all the same.

He was gentle with her, kissing her, touching her, holding her close to him and whispering praises of how beautiful she was, how sweet she tasted, how good she felt.

When they'd finally parted, fully sated and sweating, he pulled her against his body, trying not to panic when he saw the blood-stain between them.

Filthy blood, the voice of his father echoed in his head.

Draco fought like hell to keep it out.

May 1997

When Weasley ended up drinking the poison meant for Dumbledore and nearly died, Hermione had known he had something to do with it.

They'd fought, and he'd denied everything, naturally, and she hadn't spoken to him for the rest of the month.

He'd been so focused on her that when the Dark Lord entered his mind over Easter holidays, he'd barely thrown his Occlumency shields up in time. But the Dark Lord had seen enough to know that there was a girl, a distraction, and threats were made to help motivate Draco along.

He thanked Salazar and Merlin that the Dark Lord hadn't seen her face in his memories.

"Draco, is everything okay?" Hermione asked him as they sat on a couch in the Room of Requirement that looked like the Slytherin common room.

He'd offered to turn everything red and gold, cringing as he spoke, but she'd only smiled and said, "No, I'm comfortable here," before she'd apologised for thinking he had tried to murder her friend—even though he accidentally almost had—and he'd forgiven her and kissed her like it could be the last time.

"You've been . . . acting strangely since you got back from Easter hols," she told him.

Draco sighed, stress etched on his soul, bags under his eyes, his robes hanging loose on his too-thin frame. "Just worried about my mother; don't concern yourself with it."

She frowned. "Draco . . . have you been eating? Or sleeping? You look . . ."

"Handsome? Sexy? Ravishable?"

"Sick," she said and he looked down, frustrated. "I'm worried."

"I'm fine, Granger."

"Draco . . ."

"I'm . . . Hermione, I'm fine. Just . . . family stuff."

"All right," she said, defeatedly, a bit of irritation in her voice that said for sure he was not going to get laid today, which was a disappointment because the cabinet still wasn't working and Draco thought it would be lovely to be slaughtered after a really good shag.

"I'm here if you need to talk to someone," she said after standing from the sofa and collecting her book bag. "You know that, right?"

He nodded, strangely grateful that the girl who he'd thought he hated, who he had been sure had hated him, somehow seemed to work concern for his well being into her overly busy schedule of keeping Potter and Weasley alive.

"Go," he told her. "I know you're stressing about that Arithmancy essay."

She smiled. "I'll see you tonight?"

"I'll meet you back here."

He spent another hour trying to work on the cabinet. When it still wouldn't work, he'd collapsed to his knees, struggling to breathe. His brain replayed the threats that the Dark Lord had made over Easter, and the way that the other Death Eaters and Greyback had whispered suggestive things that they'd like to do to the women in his life. Forgetting how Hermione had calmed him out of the last panic attack, Draco rushed out of the Room of Hidden Things and made his way to a bathroom where he gripped the edge of the sink and cried, wondering if the Dark Lord would just throw a Killing Curse at him, or if he'd torture him first.

"Don't," Moaning Myrtle cooed at him from one of the cubicles. "Don't . . . tell me what's wrong . . . I can help you . . ."

He shook his head and let the sobs move through his body.

"No one can help me," he told the ghost. "I can't do it. I can't . . . it won't work . . . and unless I do it soon . . . he says he'll kill me . . ." he gasped for breath and looked up, hoping that he wasn't a complete and utter mess.

In the reflection of the mirror, he saw a bespectacled face staring back at him from over his shoulder.

Shocked, embarrassed, and angry, Draco spun on his heel, raised his wand and shot off the first hex he could think of, which missed Potter by inches—the fucking snoop—and shattered a lamp on the wall instead.

He didn't hear the spell that was thrown back at him. It was annoying that Potter knew how to cast non-verbals, but Draco tossed a quick and silent Protego just in time to deflect.

His rage built as he stormed forward, angry at his rival for not having killed the Dark Lord for good the first time around, or maybe for being the secret ingredient that brought him back at the end of fourth year. Angry because it was Potter who was the object of the Dark Lord's hate and anger, but it was Draco who took the brunt of it. The psychopath was living in his home, was the reason his father had gone to Azkaban, and was likely, at this very moment, terrorizing his mother.

And there wasn't a goddamned thing he could do about it because the fucking cabinet wouldn't work!

Myrtle began screaming for the pair to stop.

Potter threw a hex that went over his ear, smashing the cistern behind him and sending water gushing out. Draco gasped at the feel of the cold water and was instantly reminded of the last time he'd been home. His aunt Bellatrix had put him under the Cruciatus Curse until he blacked out, and then woke him by throwing cold water on his face. The pain had been excruciating and the cold water after the fact had only made it worse. He could feel his damp, cold clothes, sticking to his skin, and he flinched at the feeling. Was he still in pain?

No, no, no, don't hurt me anymore! It hurts! I'm sorry! Mother!

Confused and caught up in the terrifying flashback, Draco raised his wand and shouted, "Cruci—" but stopped when Potter's spell hit him first.

"Sectumsempra!"

A sharp pain shot down through his body. It was different. New. Not the Cruciatus. This pain melted through him like a hot knife in butter, and he felt like he too was melting at the heat. His clothes no longer felt cold. Instead, his shirt felt obscenely warm. He thought to look down, but the edges of his vision blurred white.

Draco staggered backward and collapsed onto the floor with a great splash, his wand falling from his limp right hand. He vaguely heard Potter scream, "No!"

Tilting his head to the side and resting on the wet ground, he watched as the water around him ran red. Blood? Draco tried to suck in a deep breath but something caught during the inhale and he choked. Suddenly his mouth tasted like copper. His blood.

As the white around his vision grew dark, he realised that his blood was the same colour as Hermione's had been when he'd made love to her for the first time.

"Draco?"

He opened his eyes and saw her standing at the foot of his bed in the Hospital Wing. He remembered Severus bringing him there, whispering a Healing Spell that sounded like a song and the lightheadedness slowly abating, but the pain stuck around long after.

"He'll be left with a scar," Madam Pomfrey had said.

They'd apparently given Potter detentions and taken Quidditch away from him. Draco couldn't help but think that if their positions had been reversed, if it were Potter in this bed running a finger over the wound on his chest, Draco would be sleeping in a cell in Azkaban right now.

He didn't bother complaining though. What was the point? He knew he would be dead by the end of the year anyway. Part of him hated Severus for saving his life. At least Potter had tried to kill him privately and quickly. The Dark Lord would let Bellatrix or Greyback play with him first, and then probably make his mother watch when he finally died.

But no. He was saved now. Just wrapped up in bandages, smelling like hideous potions, and weak weak weak! He was too stupid to fix the cabinet, too useless to kill Dumbledore, and he'd let a boy who'd grown up without magic almost kill him.

Gods, he was pathetic.

"What do you want?" he asked, scowling at Hermione.

Her eyes were red. She'd been crying. Draco felt a bit mollified knowing that it was likely because of him. He didn't imagine she would be sobbing over Potter's detentions or lack of Quidditch, but finding out that her secret boyfriend was almost accidentally murdered by her best friend? That likely brought about a bit of sadness.

"I heard about what happened," she said, looking nervous. She looked afraid.

He hated that she was afraid of him, even now, after everything they'd been through during the last six months.

"I . . . I wanted to see if you were—"

"Still alive? Yes, no thanks to Potter. I hope the Dark Lord finishes him off. The world would be better for it."

She gasped at his words, and he felt angry at her shock that he'd say such things.

"Don't say that. He's my friend, and I—"

"Your friend almost murdered me, Granger."

She blinked at him several times, and he knew it was because of what he'd called her. Not a Mudblood, no, but back to Granger. Not Hermione. Never Hermione again.

"And I'm not defending that," she insisted after clearing her throat. "But Harry says you tried using an Unforgivable on him."

He glared at her, wondering if he looked just like the boy he used to be years ago. "I'd do it again," he admitted, though he didn't quite believe his own words. "Next time maybe I won't miss."

She started breathing heavy, shocked and horrified, and it was then that Draco knew. Knew that pain now would make it so that pain later wouldn't come. She'd likely celebrate his death if he were an absolute prick to her. Maybe if she hated him again, she'd stop being afraid that he would hurt her.

Unfortunately, to get her to hate him, he had to hurt her.

"Who . . . who are you?" she asked through tears.

He smirked up at her, narrowing his eyes. "Haven't you figured it out yet, Granger? I'm the villain."

She shook her head because she always had to make things difficult and argue with him. "No. You're scared, and you're hiding something, and you need to let someone help you. Let me help you!"

"I don't want help from you, Granger!"

It hurt to breathe again. Did Severus' healing spell not work? No. No. Not another panic attack. Fuck. Get out, Granger. Can't you see? Don't make me say it. Don't make me do it.

"Draco, please."

I'm poison. I'm ruin. I'm broken. I'm scared for you.

"I don't need the help . . ." he shook as he struggled to breathe, "of a filthy, fucking Mudblood."

She stared at him with tears in her eyes, and he clutched at his sheets to keep from breaking his resolve.

"I hate you," she finally said and, despite it hurting more than the curse he was currently recovering from, he felt relief.

"Good. Now fuck off."

Without another word or wasted glance in his direction, she left.

Draco fell back against his pillows, counted to sixty to give her the full minute to get as far from the hospital wing as possible, and then began violently punching the mattress beneath his fists to stop himself from crying. "Fuck!"

"That was a bit dramatic," a voice said from the next bed over as the curtain surrounding it was pulled aside.

Draco gasped and turned to see Theo relaxing there, hands behind his head, yawning as though he hadn't a care in the world.

"Why are you here?"

"Snape told me I could stay. Likely to make sure no one called the Aurors behind his back about you and Potter's little spat." Theo sat up and sighed, looking over Draco's body. "What a mess, mate. You did the right thing, you know. You were a massive prick about it, but you likely just saved her life."

Draco sighed and leant back on the pillows behind him. "She would have argued if I wasn't a prick. I'm dead. No use dragging her down with me."

Theo nodded in understanding. "If anyone knew—if your father knew . . ." He shuddered.

"Now she'll live. She'll live, and I'll be the prick she hates just enough that when I die, she won't even feel bad about it."

Theo scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Don't kid yourself, Draco. For some reason that I don't truly understand, I'm pretty sure that girl loves you."

Draco sighed. "She doesn't."

"And you're obviously in love with her."

He winced as he tried to roll over, eventually settling on closing his eyes to block out his friend. "Go away."

Chapter Text

1979

Regulus slowly opened his eyes, surprised to find himself in the Hospital Wing. Had he been in a Quidditch accident again? He felt his head for an injury but found only a small bump. He blinked several times and tried to sit up but felt woozy and exhausted.

"W-wha . . .?"

"Oh!" Madam Pomfrey rushed to his side. "Don't sit up too fast now, dear. You had a bit of a fall."

"Fall?"

"Yes, Miss McKinnon said she found you on her way back up from Hogsmeade, and that you'd tripped and fallen into a snowbank. You've no severe head injuries to account for your lack of consciousness, just the little bump. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you'd hyperventilated," she said knowingly, eyeing him with a silent question on her lips.

"I . . . I can't . . ."

He spotted Marlene in the corner of the infirmary quietly speaking to Professor McGonagall, who would occasionally turn and glare in his direction.

"Fuck," he whispered as his memory came back to him.

Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.

"She . . . is she . . .?" he began to ask, not realising that his hands were shaking as he nervously ran them through his hair. When he caught the movement, he fought to control himself, not wanting to appear weak or vulnerable. He was in the Hospital Wing, and who knew what potions Madam Pomfrey had slipped down his throat when he was unconscious.

"She's quite healthy, Mr Black," the mediwitch said. "How you'll fare once Minerva comes over here, is, well . . . debatable. It's a good thing you're already in the Hospital Wing," she added before handing him an Invigoration Draught and then leaving him to wait.

He stared at the potion and quickly put it aside. He was exhausted from the fall he'd taken when he'd apparently passed out, but his head was already buzzing with anxiety. As much as he'd like to fully wake up, an Invigoration Draught, especially one brewed by Slughorn and not Severus, would have him wanting to punch his fist through the castle walls just to relieve tension.

"Mr Black."

Regulus looked up into the hard, cold eyes of the Deputy Headmistress. How the woman was able to actually invoke guilt inside of him with a stare was unsettling. He didn't even care if he disappointed his mother, especially considering it was an inevitability. But this woman? Fuck, she had a way of looking at a person and making them question every decision they'd ever made. Currently, she was forcing him to question his ability to cast a Contraceptive Charm, which Regulus had to admit wasn't N.E.W.T. level work.

"Professor," he said, addressing her.

Her lips pursed, and she let out a choked sigh that almost sounded like a hissing cat, which was quite fitting. "Young Miss McKinnon has just informed me of the . . . situation."

His gaze flickered to Marlene who was staring at him nervously from behind McGonagall. From an outsider's perspective, it appeared as though the professor were protecting the witch, who was shaking with fear of whatever Regulus might do to hurt her.

He knew that look, though. That desperate look in her eyes that told him she wanted nothing more than to run into his arms so they could both reassure one another that this too would pass.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, young man?" McGonagall asked.

He assumed that she was looking for an apology. Something similar to, "I'm terribly sorry that I knocked up one of your cubs, and by your leave, I'll slither on back to the dungeons like the wretched little snake that I am." Perhaps she wanted him to wax poetic about what a shitty person he was, cry and plead for forgiveness for all of his wrongs. She didn't know how long that list was. He wondered if McGonagall was looking for him to make some grand declaration like Sirius would have.

"Hide her."

The older witch's eyes widened in surprise. "Excuse me?"

Regulus cleared his throat and spoke louder this time. "Hide her. Keep her safe. No one can know. My parents they . . ."

Oh gods . . . his parents. His mother!

Visions of Andromeda ran through his mind and years earlier when she'd been blasted off of the tapestry. Forget the Dark Lord for a moment; what would Bellatrix do if she found out about Marlene? Regulus could take a Crucio—and often had since becoming a Death Eater—but Marlene. They would hurt her. Torture her. Do unspeakable things to her to get rid of the life growing inside of her, and then she'd be killed for fun.

He felt sick.

McGonagall's angry expression told him that she had misunderstood his request. "You don't plan on taking responsibility then? I expected better of you, Mister Black. I don't even think your brother would have the nerve to abandon—"

"I'm not abandoning her. I am taking responsibility," he hissed. "I'm asking you for help to keep her safe because she's a Gryffindor and the daughter of blood-traitors, and I don't trust my mother to not kill her if I look the other way for even a split second. I'd marry her in this bed right now if I could, but the Wizarding world seems to be in a bit of a bind lately. Wouldn't you agree, Professor?"

McGonagall blinked rapidly at the outburst, looking to be a mixture of annoyed and proud which confused him. Gryffindors and their bloody emotions.

"I should report you to the Headmaster," she eventually said, but made no move to leave. Her words were a threat. A test.

"Don't," he pleaded, dropping his eyes and his attitude. "Not Dumbledore. Please."

"And why not?"

"I . . . I don't trust him," he said with a sigh. "Marlene told you which means she trusts you. I trust her. Most of the time."

McGonagall anxiously scratched the back of her neck; a nervous tick. "She will be an outcast. Our world progresses more and more every day, but a single witch with a child?"

"She's not single. That necklace she's wearing says she's mine," he said possessively, watching with a bit of relief as Marlene's cheeks reddened at his public display of claim, even if it was only to one other person.

McGonagall looked surprised by the claim as well, and it was clear that her hackles raised a touch at his tone. She was a progressive witch herself to the point that when she'd married, she'd kept her maiden name. It was apparent that the bit of dominance Regulus held over Marlene in that moment was not something McGonagall found amusing. She did, however, respect pureblood traditions, and when her eyes fell on the necklace around Marlene's neck, she sucked in a breath.

"It would seem . . . I was mistaken about your character, Mr Black," she said and then sighed loudly. "At least about one thing."

Marlene stepped around McGonagall and stood by the side of Regulus' bed, reaching a hand out for his and lacing their fingers together. She smiled when he brought their clasped hands to his lips.

"Are you okay?" she asked, reaching her free hand out and touching the bump on his head.

"Are you really pregnant?" he asked, trying to joke but failing.

She nodded nervously. "Yeah."

He stared at her stomach. There were no signs of her showing yet; it was far too early, but he couldn't take his eyes off of it, even clothed as she was. He remembered it hadn't been more than a month earlier he'd been licking honey off of her bare abdomen, fingers inside of her. The thought made him flinch a little now, slightly disgusted with himself, though he didn't really know why.

About one thousand questions ran through his mind as he began to wonder if he'd ever be able to touch her again without worrying he'd hurt her.

"Then I'm still panicking," he quietly admitted. "But I'm . . . I'm okay. As long as you and . . ." His eyes flickered again to her stomach, wondering if this was genuinely real or if he'd hit his head harder than he'd thought.

McGonagall cleared her throat. "I was under the impression that the two of you greatly disliked one another and have done so these past few years."

"That was kind of the point," Regulus said, rubbing his thumb over Marlene's knuckles. "Do you know of any other current Slytherin and Gryffindor romances, Professor?"

McGonagall frowned at his cheek and then turned to Marlene. "Miss McKinnon, have you told your parents?"

"My mum was the one who cast the spell to find out. They . . ." Marlene hesitated nervously, a sad look on her face. "I didn't tell them about Reggie."

"They should be Obliviated."

"What?" Marlene turned and gaped at him. "Reggie!"

He held tightly to her hand, not in the mood or condition to chase her around the castle should she get angry with him and storm out. One of them had to think logically.

"Marley, you're pregnant with my child. Do you have any idea how much danger I've put you . . . you both in?" he asked, burying down his own rising feelings. It was one thing for Marlene to see him break down, but he wouldn't give McGonagall the pleasure. "The fewer people that know the better. At least until I . . . Oh, gods, I need to get out."

Marlene sucked in a sharp breath.

"Get out of what, may I ask?" McGonagall questioned.

Regulus shook his head. "I may only be seventeen, Professor, but I'm not stupid. I know about the Order of the Phoenix, and I'm aware you are a member of it."

Predictably, she flinched in surprise.

"I also know that my brother and his friends are members, and they likely had a great deal to say about Severus and myself over the summer."

Her eyes flickered to his arm. "Nothing was proven."

Regulus lifted his sleeve. "Fine, here's proof," he said, exposing the Dark Mark in all its petrifying glory.

"Reggie!"

He expected the Deputy Headmistress to gasp, flinch away angrily, or look at him with revulsion. What he hadn't expected was pity.

"You're only a boy," she whispered, covering her mouth with a hand as she stared at the mark. "Only a boy. What are those . . . wicked men thinking?"

He hated pity.

"I'm only a year younger than my brother, Professor," he said bitterly, "and Headmaster Dumbledore is recruiting graduates for your side of the war very close to my age. Both sides of this war are making colossal mistakes. I'm . . . I'm just a . . ."

Casualty.

McGonagall squared her shoulders and reined in her emotions. "Yes, Regulus Black, what exactly are you?"

He looked down at the Dark Mark, pulling away when Marlene went to brush her fingers against it. She'd done it before, a comforting gesture that reminded him he wasn't what the Mark implied. But he couldn't let her touch it anymore. He'd infected her with his presence long ago, and she'd built up a strange immunity to the darkness he was sure was ingrained in his bones. But . . . the child . . .

"I'm a necessary evil," he confessed.

"You're not evil," Marlene insisted angrily.

Regulus frowned. "I'm not good."

He sighed and covered the Dark Mark once again and looked back up at the professor. "I've been trying to keep the casualties to . . . I was trying to save . . ." he said, trying to explain his actions with words she might understand.

He'd joined the Death Eaters because he didn't feel he had a choice. He'd be dead otherwise and, if not, others would be dead to teach him a lesson.

"My brother," he tried to say but then stopped and sighed. "But none of that matters now. I'm going to take care of them. But I need help."

"I can keep it hidden until graduation, I think," Marlene whispered. "But after that—"

"We run away. Hide somewhere under a Fidelius Charm."

McGonagall's eyes widened. "How do you know magic like that?"

"I've been planning this getaway for a year," he admitted. "I just didn't know it would have to be under these circumstances. There's an old cottage that belonged to my Uncle Alphard. Sirius ended up with his money, but I was given the properties. My parents don't know because Alphard was worried they'd try to take them from me."

"Professor McGonagall can be our Secret-Keeper," Marlene suggested and smiled hopefully at the woman.

Regulus bristled. "I was thinking Severus."

"Severus Snape?" McGonagall snapped. "Is he not another Death Eater?"

"Yes," Regulus replied, "but . . . he's different. Lost and confused, but he doesn't belong there any more than I do. I trust him with my life."

"Do you trust him with their lives?" McGonagall gestured to Marlene.

He thought about it for a long moment, not wanting to be rash and reckless, then slowly nodded. "Yes. He'll help, and then . . . and then I'll figure out how to get out. Stay hidden until the war ends."

"You could offer a great deal of information to a side that could end it."

Regulus scoffed at the suggestion. "No. I'm not joining your Order. I'm done fighting. I'm done being a soldier. Done being a pawn in someone else's game. And I won't have my family used against me. Not anymore," he said thinking of Sirius and then his gaze fell on Marlene. "Not this family."

Madam Pomfrey insisted that he rest in the Infirmary for the night. Marlene returned to Gryffindor Tower just before curfew.

When he finally thought he was alone in the Hospital Wing, he let the mask of maturity and adulthood fade away along with the Occlumency shields that he'd been holding up since waking, just in case Professor Dumbledore walked in.

The stress, fear, and anxiety hit him all at once like a punch to the chest, and Regulus curled into the foetal position and cried into his pillow, great big tears of fright. He began to feel the smallest glimmer of something that felt like pride and hope, but then fear once again that such hope would be ripped from him.

Marlene was pregnant.

He was going to be a father.

And they were all in grave danger.

So he wept now because he knew he wouldn't be able to later. He had to be strong for them.

He had to be brave.

Brave like Sirius.

His focus on his emotions wavered only once more that night, when he could overhear McGonagall from the doorway sadly whisper, "He's just a boy."

April 1979

Severus angrily stared at Regulus as they stood outside the small cottage that had once belonged to Alphard Black. He couldn't blame his friend for being surly. It was his nature, and a request like this wasn't something taken lightly.

"You're the only one I trust to keep them safe," he told him.

Severus narrowed his black eyes. "Why would I want to risk my life for your family? If you recall, I despise at least one member of your family. Narcissa is polite enough and, despite being a pompous arse, Lucius has become something of a friend. But Bellatrix is clearly out of her mind."

Well, he couldn't fault the logic there.

"And I'm to put my life in jeopardy for another Black?" Severus scoffed loudly and crossed his arms over his chest, burying his hands in the flowing black robes he wore. "Someone with the potential to be born gifted, repugnant, or unhinged."

Regulus rolled his eyes at the insults. Bellatrix was mental, yes, and Sirius could be reckless and obnoxious, but there was no doubt that any child of his would be brilliant.

"Do it because I need you, and you're my best friend," he said and watched with amusement as Severus grimaced at the implied affection in the words. "Don't scowl at me. You are my best friend."

"You spend too much time with your Gryffindor," Severus said. "You've gone soft."

"She's pregnant with my child," he said smugly. "I think I've clearly proven that I'm anything but soft."

Severus cringed, and Regulus laughed. He wouldn't let his sour friend get him down today.

He had spent a full month in a maddening mood at school trying to adjust to the prospect of fatherhood at such a young age. Because of his stress, he'd gotten into three separate fights. Hell, he was nearly kicked off of the Quidditch team when he abandoned the Snitch, mid-game, to barrel into a Hufflepuff Beater and punch him in the teeth for accidentally sending a Bludger too close to the Gryffindor stands.

But now he was happy. It was a strange feeling.

"The longer I know you, the more like your brother you appear," Severus said. "I dislike it."

"You're impossible." Regulus sighed impatiently. "Do you want to be godfather or not?"

Severus took a full two minutes of silent contemplation to answer. "I refuse to change nappies."

Regulus snorted. "That's what house-elves are for."

"Then I accept."

Trying not to show his great relief, Regulus reached into his pocket for his wand and, with it in hand, clasped forearms with his friend.

"Will you, Severus Tobias Snape, accept the position and title of godfather to the child of Regulus Arcturus Black? Will you care for and guide my child in the walks of life . . ." He paused as his focus was brought to their matching Dark Marks. "And in my absence, will you teach them, protect them, and do all that you can to assure their safety?"

"I will."

A bright gold light wrapped around their clasped arms, sealing the oath and promise before slowly fading away.

Regulus let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Severus."

The irritable man gave a curt nod and then gestured to the cottage. "Shall we get this over with now? Some of us have work to do."

They walked back inside the cottage, and Regulus smiled at the sight of Marlene standing beside Professor McGonagall. They were both wearing lovely dress robes, though he would have preferred a colour other than red.

A Ministry official stood beside McGonagall. The man glanced nervously at Severus, who had clearly threatened him with something in order to get him there.

When Minerva and Severus tied Regulus and Marlene's hands together, the Ministry official smiled at them and began the binding spell as Regulus started their pre-written vows:

"I give to you the first cut of my meat, the first sip of my wine," he said.

Marlene smiled sweetly at him. "Yours shall be the only name I cry into the night, and in the morning, I will smile for your eyes only."

"I will be a shield for your back, my wand and magic to serve and protect you always."

"No grievous words shall be spoken between us, for our love is sacred and pure."

Regulus smirked. "Even if we are not."

After she was done chuckling at his joke, she let out a soft sigh and said, "I will give you children."

"And I will keep them safe," he said, his promise heavy with worry.

"Above and beyond this, I will cherish and honour you."

"And I you," he said, bringing their tied hands to his lips, placing a kiss on the tips of her fingers. "Through this life, and the next."

Much like the golden light emitted between him and Severus outside just minutes earlier, a soft glow pulsed around them. The cords tying their hands together shifted colours, and the Ministry official smiled brightly. "Congratulations, I pronounce you both bonded for life!"

Regulus grinned and kissed Marlene, ignoring the irritable sigh that escaped Severus from behind him, and the clearing of McGonagall's throat.

Nothing could distract him from kissing his wife for the first time. His untied hand, however, drifted south and gently rested against the slight bump of her abdomen. As he kissed his beautiful bride, he made silent vows to his unborn child, promising protection above all else, in addition to making sure that they never grew up with parents like his.

Regulus broke the kiss and turned back to look at Severus, giving him a nod.

"Obliviate," Severus whispered, wand pointed at the Ministry official. "You can handle the cleanup, can't you Professor?" he said, looking at McGonagall, who was glaring at him.

"Make sure that marriage licence goes missing," Regulus told his friend. "It needed to be official of course, for the child to be considered legitimate and certain protection spells to apply, but a paper trail was a bad idea."

"Don't your parents have a family tapestry?" Severus asked.

Regulus grinned smugly. "Already taken care of."

When he'd come home earlier that week for Easter hols, he took advantage when his parents stepped out for a Ministry function. They had been eager to throw Galleons at causes they wanted to see flourish, usually ones that opposed the rights of Muggle-borns, half-breeds, and anything else that could help ease the Wizarding world into the future.

The moment they had stepped through the fireplace, Regulus whipped out the book Alphard had given him years earlier when he'd been given the family ring. It was meant to help restore Sirius and Andromeda to the tapestry when the time came, but now Regulus had other plans for it: keeping new names off.

"You've altered the magic on a family tapestry?" McGonagall asked with an impressed tone.

He nodded. "It won't show Marlene's name or our child's. Not until I take over the family estate and change it myself."

"Blood Magic?" she asked.

"Blood seals it and blood awakens it."

Marlene's eyes widened and she put a protective hand on her stomach. "You're going to make our baby bleed to change a tapestry?"

"Of course not. I don't even need the tapestry once I'm the Head of my House. And if we eventually want to lift the charm it only takes a small amount of blood. Sealing the damned thing, however . . . that took a bit more effort," he said, his voice tense as he remembered the amount of his own blood he'd been forced to spill on the floor of the room in order to cast the difficult glamour.

"That's quite the impressive charm work, Mister Black," McGonagall said.

Regulus smirked. "Perhaps. But I've always been better at Transfigurations."

She shrugged, unimpressed with him once more. "You do well enough, I suppose."

"Thank you again, Professor," Marlene said as she hugged the older witch. "We'll see you back at Hogwarts?"

"Take care, my dear girl," McGonagall replied as she returned Marlene's affection. As she put on her travelling cloak, she addressed Regulus. "And you keep her safe, do you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Then she looked at an irritable Severus.

"And you. Sort out your life and stop wasting your potential young man," she said in a scolding tone before Disapparating away, taking the obliviated Ministry official with her.

Severus scoffed loudly. "Gods am I pleased I don't have to go back to Hogwarts and put up with that ever again."

"Thank you for coming, Severus," Regulus said, taking his hand and shaking it in gratitude.

Severus nodded. "I'll be in touch," he said and then Disapparated.

Marlene rushed into Regulus' arms, squealing in delight that they'd miraculously gotten away with eloping.

She was pregnant, they were still students at Hogwarts, he was a Death Eater, and they were in the middle of a nasty war, but they were strangely happy in this moment.

"Are you sure we have time together?" she asked nervously, glancing down at his arm as though he could be called away from her at any moment.

"Absolutely," he said and kissed her forehead. "Mother thinks I'm off doing work for the Dark Lord, and He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named," he said with a chuckle, "is under the impression that I'm returning early to Hogwarts. I only had to see him once yesterday."

Marlene frowned, biting her lip nervously. "He didn't make you do anything terrible, did he?"

"Not this time. And never again," he promised as he pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head, cherishing this moment of peace. "Don't worry, he just needed to borrow my house-elf."

Chapter Text

January 1997 – Sixth Year

Despite the urge to run away as fast as she could before he could break her heart, Hermione had remained in the Room of Requirement with Draco, pulled tight against him, their bodies completely aligned. The lead-up to having sex with him had been anxiety-ridden. They had spent months secretly snogging in dark corridors and alcoves and broom cupboards. There was the occasional grope beneath the Quidditch stands, and the one time that he had enthusiastically licked her in the prefect's bathroom showers until she saw stars; but all of that was nothing compared to this.

Her body was sore but every nerve was lit up like a Christmas tree, buzzing with nervous energy that had her living in a moment of simultaneous arousal and fear. She ached in a delicious way that tempted her to ask him to have another go, but then she adjusted her position and felt a sting of pain that caused her to rethink the suggestion before it left her mouth.

Her fear lingered in the silence as he rested behind her, drawing lazy circles on the skin of her back and occasionally leaning forward to kiss her bare shoulder.

She wanted to cry.

It was one thing to let him kiss her that first night when she had been angry with Ron and the world in general; it had been a momentary lapse in judgement. Meeting up with him, again and again, could be blamed on hormones—because even Hermione Granger wasn't immune to basic human physiology.

But this?

They'd spend hours at night talking. Draco would ramble on about the physics and aerodynamics of Quidditch in a way that almost made the sport interesting. She would vent about Arithmancy and how certain variables were arguably too close to Divination for her liking. Then they would debate Ancient Runes translations and their application to both Charms and Potions.

Other nights—before Harry began stalking Draco with the Marauder's Map—they would meet up in the prefect's bathroom, and she would rub his shoulders, which were always tense with stress. He would brush off her concerns, saying it was nothing more than old Quidditch injuries flaring up. He would wash her hair, obsessively twirling individual curls around his fingers as he spoke, kissing her when she was distracted and then gently poking his fingers in her ribs until she laughed.

He would laugh, too.

His smile was brilliant. It was definitely preferable to the angry mask he wore when they were around other people. But he couldn't smile at her in public. Because she was a secret. His filthy secret.

And she had just slept with him!

She had lost her virginity to Draco Malfoy. The boy who had called her a Mudblood when she was thirteen and teased her relentlessly for years. The boy who had hexed her teeth and wished that a basilisk would kill her when he was only twelve.

Twelve!

How could a twelve-year-old have such hate that they could wish death upon a classmate?

Hermione decided that no matter how she felt about Draco Malfoy—and those feelings were exceptionally conflicted lately—she was certain that she despised his father, who had taught a twelve-year-old boy to hate.

She fell asleep in his arms and woke up without him.

There was, however, a note.

H,

If Snape catches me out past curfew again, I'm dead. You're a prefect still and have the luxury of getting away with things. Besides, if any professor asks where you've been, you can just tell them that you were saving the world because Potter needed your undeniably superior brain power. I left you regretfully but, knowing you, you'll likely be panicking over what happened tonight, so I've left a Calming Draught on the table.

D

Shaking from nerves as he had predicted that she would, Hermione stood, wincing. She noted with curiosity that he had done a Cleaning Charm on her and the floor before he had left; it was a bit awkward, but she wasn't going to complain about it.

She reached for the Calming Draught, contemplated the fact that she was blindly drinking a potion that Draco Malfoy had left for her, swallowed it down, and waited for the effects to kick in. They were almost instantaneous. She felt mildly more relaxed, but not so much that she felt the need to sleep again. The draught took the edge off, but her brain was still buzzing.

It buzzed all the way back to Gryffindor Tower where she ran into Ginny in the common room snogging Dean Thomas. Mistaking the look on her face for disapproval, Dean offered an apology to Hermione, said goodnight to Ginny, and then rushed up the stairs to the boys' dormitory.

When Hermione silently sat down on the sofa beside her friend, she hissed in slight pain and then struggled to cover the blush that crept up her cheeks.

"'Mione?" Ginny asked with a worried look on her face. "Are you okay?"

"M'fine," she said softly and then promptly burst into tears.

Ginny swiftly pulled Hermione into her arms, stroking her hand down her hair and shushing her quietly, offering generic words of comfort.

"It's okay . . . it's okay. Do you want me to go and get Harry?" she asked, not even bothering to offer to get Ron since he and Hermione were still not on speaking terms.

"No," Hermione shook her head emphatically. "Harry . . . Harry can't . . . Ginny, don't tell him I was crying, please? He'll ask too many questions and then get suspicious and . . ."

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" Ginny nervously asked. "I won't tell the boys. Witch's honour."

Before she had a chance to stop herself, Hermione blurted out the secret as though her life depended on it. "I had sex with Draco Malfoy."

Almost instantly, the weight on her shoulders eased and she let out a deep exhale on the end of a sob.

Ginny's eyes widened. "What? Did . . . did he—?"

Hermione shook her head. "It was consensual."

"Oh," Ginny said thoughtfully, her lips parted and her eyes flickered back and forth as though she were trying to figure out exactly what to say. "Well . . . umm . . . was he any good?"

Hermione laughed, cried again in Ginny's arms, and confessed the whole tale.

Ron purposely hurting her after the Quidditch match by using Lavender, running into Draco in the corridor and kissing him. She left out certain details like what happened in the prefect's bathroom and the one time she had cast a Notice-Me-Not on a corner in the dungeons and given him a handjob.

She told her about that night and how he had been strangely sweet and oddly gentle but commanding and careful at the same time. She told her about the Calming Draught and Cleaning Spell and how he had kissed her shoulder before she fell asleep.

"Wow," Ginny said and then took several deep breaths. "That's incredible! This is just like those awful dramatic romance books my mum reads."

Hermione frowned. "Star-crossed lovers never have happy endings, Ginny."

September 1998 – Eighth Year

Hermione screamed when she stormed into Gryffindor Tower to spot her friends sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace. Ron and Harry turned and stared wide-eyed at her. She knew she was acting more like a Black and less like a Hermione as she stomped her feet and shrieked, clutching her fists at her side and throwing a proper tantrum.

Ginny's awkward laugh broke her concentration and she turned and stared at the little redhead. "You!" She pointed.

"Me?"

"Upstairs, now!" she ordered and then made her way up to the girl's dorms.

Once inside, Ginny shut the door behind her and cautiously made her way to the bed where she sat down and waited. "Out with it. What happened? Are you okay?"

"Sooo not okay," Hermione admitted angrily.

She wanted to cry but was too furious to do so. She continued to pace back and forth, nervously twisting a lock of her black hair in her fingers as she tried to figure out how to speak without screaming.

"Umm . . . Do you want me to go and maybe get Harry?" Ginny offered.

Hermione's eyes widened. "What?! No! Harry cannot know about this! Not yet. Oh, Merlin, Sirius is probably going to tell him though."

"Tell him what?"

She took a moment to consider keeping it a secret. She wanted it to be a secret because it was just a ruse, a silly little inconvenience that would easily be handled, and so why bother telling anyone at all? But it wasn't.

After Malfoy had refused to end the contract and left, Hermione watched Sirius get into a screaming match with Mr Malfoy. Professor Snape had stepped between her and Mrs Malfoy, who tried to gently approach, looking like she might actually offer her advice, or perhaps apologise for raising an utter prat of a son. While Professor McGonagall took charge of the room and began the work of separating Sirius and Mr Malfoy, Hermione had looked up at her godfather.

"How can I break it without him? This has to be dark magic, right? Surely you know a way around it."

Professor Snape, arms crossed and looking more annoyed at the adults in the room than with her, glanced down and shook his head. "I would not attempt it. Pureblood family magics like this have caveats and consequences. Nevertheless, I shall endeavour to find more information."

The man had not looked confident that he would find any.

Before she'd returned to Gryffindor Tower, and after the Malfoys had been ushered through the Floo without another word, Sirius promised that he'd look through the library at Grimmauld Place. Professor McGonagall informed her that the library at Hogwarts did not contain books of that nature, but that she would reach out to a few contacts on her behalf.

Hermione's heart had sunk because they'd both been wearing a similar expression of unease as Professor Snape.

Screw it, Hermione thought as she looked at Ginny.

"I'm betrothed to Malfoy."

"Holy shit!" Ginny screamed and jumped to her feet. "How the fucking fuck did that happen?!"

Hermione shook her head and began to cry again as she tried to explain everything in between sobs of humiliation and fury.

"— and the rotten ferret refuses to end it! He's going to marry me, Ginny! Why? Why would he want to marry me?"

Ginny, who'd been supportive and comforting throughout the entire tirade, inelegantly snorted. "Umm . . . because he's in love with you?"

Hermione stared at her friend incredulously. "Have you been hit in the head by a Bludger?"

"Many times. Hermione, you and Draco dated in sixth year."

Scoffing, she shook her head. "That was not dating."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Whatever you say, Miss Black . . . or should I say, Mrs Mal—"

Hermione's left eye twitched as she levelled her with a glare so intense that Ginny shivered.

"Mother of Merlin, that Black temper sure is frightening. At least you know the worst you'll get from a Weasley blowing their top is a long-winded lecture and maybe a few fireworks in your pillow. You Blacks, though . . . downright scary."

Feeling the anger seeping out of her, leaving behind a feeling of helplessness and defeat, Hermione collapsed on her bed. "What am I going to do?"

"Confront the little prick," Ginny suggested. "I've never really liked him, but I was okay for a while because he seemed to be nice to you when you two date—er . . . visited one another in dark rooms around the castle in secret. But I remember the night he broke your heart."

Hermione remembered it too. She hated that the memory still stung. She'd actually grown a bit of a thicker skin in regard to Malfoy insulting and hating her only for that armour to melt and crumble over his sweet words, gentle kisses, passionate embraces, and intelligent conversations. And then he'd used that lack of defence to hurt her.

"I was half-tempted to go down to the Infirmary and finish the job Harry started in Myrtle's bathroom," Ginny said angrily. "I don't know why he broke up with you like he did, but clearly he still has whatever the ferret equivalent to feelings are."

Hermione scoffed in disbelief. "Malfoy doesn't have feelings."

"He didn't expose you to Bellatrix and he did take a curse for you in battle," Ginny offered.

"Fine. He has one feeling. Two at most." She'd actually been so grateful for him in those moments. Like she was seeing the Draco she'd come to know during sixth year versus the Malfoy she'd loathed. "I don't understand. Why bother to save my life and then do this? He saw how angry I was. For a few moments, he looked like he was too. Maybe. And then right when they told us the way to get out of it all, he just switched."

Ginny looked suddenly contemplative, chewing on her bottom lip as she paced back and forth in thought. "Well, do you think he could be using this betrothal contract as a way to get back into your good graces?"

Mouth open in shock, Hermione shook her head. "That's insane."

"I know, but think like a Slytherin. I mean, without both of you willing to end it, it can't end, right? So he's pretty much making it so you don't have a choice but to put up with him now."

Huffing, Hermione hissed, "Yes, what a romantic gesture; leaving me without a choice!"

Ginny shrugged. "It's his way to get a second chance with you without the risk of getting told to sod off. He's not dragging you down the aisle kicking and screaming. The magic is just making threats to you both, and he's using that to give him time. If he wanted anything to do with you, do you actually see Draco Malfoy opening up and being vulnerable enough to just . . . ask you on a date? After everything that's happened?"

"And risk humiliation? Never." Hermione chewed her thumbnail in contemplation. "Okay, this actually makes sense."

Ginny grinned, throwing up her arms in victory. "I say, why don't you make Malfoy regret the idea that he wants to marry you."

Hermione blinked and looked at her friend and then slowly mirrored her grin.

Draco sauntered into the Slytherin common room once again feeling like he was on top of the world. No longer a filthy, rotten Death Eater, nor a horrible failure. No, he was Draco Malfoy, future husband of Hermione Granger . . . er . . . Black!

He had planned, of course, to eventually try and regain the girl's affections. She had been the one bright spot of an otherwise horrifying sixth year, and he had thrown it all away; for a damn good reason of course. She would be dead, otherwise.

However, he had hurt her, and he knew it would take a serious amount of effort to regain her trust. But he'd been struggling to come up with a way to even approach her without making a fool of himself. Now, though . . . Well, now it wasn't as though he had to try very hard. All he had to do was literally refuse to break a contract and she had to at least give him time.

"You look far too happy for your own good," Theo commented nervously as Draco approached. "That look on your face never works out for the rest of us."

Daphne, perched on Theo's thigh, looked up curiously. "You look like the cat that caught the canary."

Draco grinned at his friends. "On the contrary. I'm the serpent that caught the lion."

"What did you do?" Pansy asked, arms crossed over her chest as she approached him. "And why do you look so happy? It's unnerving. Stop it."

He held his arms open and did a little performative turn, head held victoriously high. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said and then added, "and Blaise. You are looking at the future husband of one Hermione Black."

"Granger?" Pansy shrieked. "You're marrying Granger? How the bloody fuck did that fucking happen?"

Theo winced. "Gods, will someone Silence her?"

"How did you do it?" Blaise asked. "I know you're not stupid enough to Imperius her. And love potions are pathetic."

"And disgustingly horrific," Theo added.

"That too," Blaise agreed. "But truly, I'd be embarrassed for you if you needed Amortentia to get laid."

Draco glared at them all. "I had nothing to do with it, you bastards. Our parents . . . or well . . . my mother and her late father, may the brilliant man rest in peace, had a marriage contract. Blood Magic like the Black family enjoyed using in the old days."

"Oh gods," Theo groaned.

"Can't be broken, but can be passed from parent to child," Draco said with a grin.

Theo shook his head. "This is so bad."

"This is so brilliant!" Draco declared. "I don't even have to try very hard now."

"Try what?" Pansy asked. "You were actually going to try and get Granger?"

"Black," he corrected. "But yes, Granger."

"But she's a Mud—"

Mirth suddenly vanishing, Draco narrowed his eyes at his friend in a dangerous way that reminded everyone that, despite his innocence, he had still, at one point, been a Death Eater. "She's not anymore. She's higher on the Sacred Twenty-Eight than you, Pansy."

Theo scoffed. "Even if she weren't, he would still be after her," he stated firmly, bringing a hand up to gently curl around Daphne's waist. "After all, he thought she was a Muggle-born when he dated her for almost all of sixth year."

They all stared at Draco in shock, and Pansy emitted a shriek so high that it momentarily deafened everyone in the common room.

Daphne aimed her wand at Pansy's mouth."Silencio! Hold her back!"

Greg immediately grabbed Pansy's arms and forced her to stand still as she glared ahead at Daphne.

"Don't look at me like that. You were given fair warning. Now," Daphne turned and looked calmly at Draco. "What's this about you dating Hermione Granger?"

Draco scowled at Theo, the traitor. "We didn't date . . . per se."

"Gods, did you sleep with the witch?" Blaise asked, eyes wide. "Please tell me you are not that stupid. I thought Malfoys didn't engage in—"

"Of course not," Draco lied, jaw twitching. He ignored the way Theo's eyebrows raised to his hairline. "She's a pureblood witch that I'm engaged to. Her father isn't alive, but Sirius Black is and Snape's her bloody godfather. If I preemptively touched the witch, I would be dishonoured and likely beaten to death. Which is why I did not sleep with her."

His attention fell back on Theo, who was shaking his head in disappointment the same way Severus often did when Draco failed to get his Draught of Peace to turn the right shade of turquoise.

"You didn't know she was a pureblood then, though," Blaise pointed out. "So why didn't you sleep with her? Because you thought she was a Mudblood?"

"Stop saying that," Draco hissed. "And no . . . I just . . . I was obviously busy that year. That's not the point. The point is, I'm going to marry Hermione Granger, or Black, whichever she wants to be called. I'm getting her back. The gods have forgiven me."

"He's an idiot," Theo muttered.

Ignoring his best friend, a thought occurred to Draco, and true happiness nearly lifted him into the air and he was unable to stop his grin from spreading. "Can you imagine how furious Potter's going to be when he finds out?"

"Do you think he'll be that furious?" Daphne asked, gesturing to the door to the common room.

Draco turned around and saw Granger in the doorway, glaring at him. Her black hair sparked so furiously that it almost appeared to be on fire as she strode in his direction. She'd definitely recovered from the shock that she'd been in when he last saw her. Despite her change in appearance, she'd looked so much like the Granger he knew that he'd not paid much attention to her colouring. But now? Her black hair looked like an ominous shadow, and her grey eyes almost glowed in the dark. She looked like a spectral creature of great beauty like the ones from folk tales he'd grown up hearing. Beautiful, terrifying women that lured men to their deaths. He did his best to conceal his sudden fear of her.

"Hermione . . . love," he said with a grin. "What're you doing here? Couldn't stay away from me?"

He could hear Theo's heavy sigh, translated into "I can't believe you're this stupid."

"Oh, Draco," Granger said with a frightening smile. "Didn't you pay attention to the Headmistress' speech? We're all about inter-House unity now . . . dearest. And I thought I would just come down and visit you . . . sweetheart."

He tried to conceal a swallow of nerves as she growled the terms of endearment, coming closer to him with every step.

"I thought we should begin our union with unity in mind. Let's put the negativity of the past behind us, shall we? Only focus on the good moments we've shared."

Draco smirked at her. "I think that's very mature of—"

SMACK!

He yelped and fell backward onto his arse, clutching a hand to his nose.

"Mmm," Granger moaned slightly. "That felt almost as good as it did the first time. I do have to say Draco . . . darling, that is the most pleasure I've gotten out of any encounter you and I have ever had together."

From the sofa, Theo buried his laughter in Daphne's shoulder.

"I'm counting down the days to the wedding," Granger said viciously and then leant forward. Draco still managed not to flinch. Then she placed a kiss on his forehead and lightly tapped his cheek, sending small shocks of pain through his face.

"Goodnight, love," she said and then smugly walked away.

"You sure you don't want to stay for a visit, Hermione?" Daphne asked sweetly.

"Please," Blaise said with a grin. "And maybe a repeat performance?"

"Perhaps another night," Granger said with a genuine smile to his friends. Not to him. "I would like to get together with you later, Daphne. I'm very new to the pureblood world, and I have to admit I would much rather learn customs and traditions from a fellow witch than leave the instruction to my uncle or godfather. Have you all met them before?"

Oh fuck, Draco thought.

"My dear uncle Sirius Black, supposed murderer. And my godfather, Severus Snape." She turned her slightly crazed eyes back to him. "They're not very pleased with you."

Then she left the room, slamming the door behind her.

"Wow," Theo said, adding a low whistle.

"I call dibs on Hermione being my new best friend!" Daphne declared excitedly.

Blaise laughed and looked down at Draco, flat on the cold stone floor, still cupping his nose. "Mate, you are so fucked."

Hermione returned to her room, smiling briefly at Ginny but giving no details.

Ginny giggled and said, "This is going to be so much fun," and then rolled over in her bed to go to sleep.

Hermione, on the other hand, was wide awake, on edge with adrenaline and nerves over everything that had happened that night.

Betrothed to Malfoy. She angrily looked at the stack of diaries that had belonged to her father, sitting there mixed in with her other books. While she would rather read any research that Sirius or Professor Snape might find for her either on how to break the contract or information regarding the consequences of leaving it unfulfilled, she was drawn instead to thoughts of her father. Annoyed, she grabbed a leather-bound journal at random and flipped it open.

Reading the diaries had been nice at first, but chronologically doing so was causing her pain knowing that it all eventually led to the death of her father, something she was dreading as though it hadn't already happened.

Regulus Black was dead.

She'd known that long before she ever discovered that he was her father. But reading through his life in this way had been emotionally draining, like getting attached to a fictional character in a book, learning to love them through the words. Knowing what was coming in the story of her father's life . . . she could barely turn the pages and had, instead, started choosing passages at random during moments when she felt a need to connect with him.

He'd somehow, perhaps accidentally, betrothed her to Malfoy. And while he'd only been a child when Lucius Malfoy made this arrangement with him, he'd left no details on whether or not he'd known the outcome.

She needed to be angry with him.

April 13th, 1979

I married the love of my life in a small home left to me by my uncle, that Marlene has decided to call Iliad Cottage, because my sweet Helen thinks herself very clever. The cottage is small and comfortable, and there are large windows in every room which offer both an advantageous view of the nothing that surrounds us, and light. Light that neither Grimmauld Place nor Hogwarts could ever offer.

She, too, is the light.

She sleeps next to me, peaceful except when she starts snoring, and I'm forced to cast Silencing Charms on her in order to get any rest.

I don't rest, though.

I watch her, worry over her and the child inside of her. My child. Gods, I've no idea what I'm doing and I hope Marlene can't see it in my eyes. All I want to do is keep her safe, keep them both safe; but my not-so-blushing bride is a bloody Gryffindor and not the Spartan Princess I tell her she is. I want to lock her away, hide her from the world, but she's too bold, too brave, too damn reckless. She hates the war and wants to fight, and I'm sure that if it weren't for the baby, she'd be begging Dumbledore to let her into that stupid Order.

What would she expect me to do if we were faced off against one another? We'd both be dead.

Severus, ornery arse that he is, accepted my request that he be godfather. I feel a bit relieved there, I have to admit. He's positively insufferable, but he's nothing if not an honourable man who sticks by his word. He'll protect my child.

Child. Baby. They. Them. It.

Marlene wants to be surprised when it's born, and she refuses to cast the charm that would tell us the baby's gender. I respect her wishes not to know.

Which is why I waited until she was asleep to cast it myself.

I'm going to have a daughter.

A girl.

Fuck.

A little girl that I'm going to have to get through this war and raise up to be able to protect herself against wretched cads like Sirius. I'm dreading the prospect of tea parties and stuffed unicorns and an overabundance of pink. Gods, if she's anything like her mother, I'm positively done for.

Hermione frowned at the words because they made her want to smile, made her wish he'd lived, and she bitterly wiped away a falling tear on her cheek before turning the page.

April 14th, 1979

Kreacher showed up at Iliad Cottage.

Marlene found him half-dead on the front porch, and her screams of terror aged me at least ten years. I'm a weary twenty-seven now, going on twenty-eight. By the time the baby is born, I'm likely to be as old and decrepit as Dumbledore. If I make it to see her born.

Kreacher is only alive thanks to my brilliant wife's quick thinking and, apparently, my direct order that he should return to me when the Dark Lord was done using him for whatever he needed. This elf has suffered far too much for my sake. He woke up long enough to tell me what happened. A cave, a potion, a locket.

We're fucked.

This war won't end the way I need it to.

Not if the Dark Lord has done what I think he's done. What Kreacher tells me he's done.

Fuck.

Even Dumbledore can't kill him now.

Fuck!

The Dark Lord is a stain upon this world like the Dark Mark is a stain upon my soul. I need to cleanse this world and cleanse myself. I'm not looking forward to redemption.

Not if it means what I think it does.

Chapter Text

May 1979

Before Easter hols were over, Regulus returned to Grimmauld Place with Kreacher, allowing Marlene to go home to see her parents before their return to Hogwarts for the final few months of school.

At least . . . that was if everything went according to plan.

Before his parents brought him to King's Cross Station for the final time, Regulus, with Kreacher's assistance, scoured the Black family heirlooms littered about the house until he stumbled upon an old locket that had been passed down through the generations.

"Gaudy thing," his mother had said. "What do you want it for?"

"Practicing transfiguration detection," he easily lied. "I'm going to change it into something more lovely in appearance and hide it among a collection of originals to see if my classmates can spot the imposter."

Walburga beamed at him and kissed his forehead. "Such a bright boy," she said and didn't speak another word about the locket, which Kreacher said resembled the one he'd seen the Dark Lord slip into a basin inside a dark cave.

Slytherin's final Quidditch match against Ravenclaw ended in their favour when Regulus caught the Snitch in record time. He could have been scolded by the captain for it considering he hadn't given his teammates a decent enough lead in points, but they'd still won the Cup by twenty, and that meant celebrations were in order.

With his Housemates drunk and distracted, Regulus returned to his bedroom and shut the curtains of his four-poster bed before pulling out a scrap of parchment and nervously setting the tip of his inked quill against it.

Darling Helen,

I once asked you to be the person who would remind me that I was a good man. Remind me that somewhere, deep down, I remained unspoiled, untainted, unblemished. Sometimes I worry that I have allowed myself to become so very stained by my actions, forced or not. People have sobbed, bled, and died at my hand, and it's only my remorse for their suffering that keeps me intact. Otherwise, I fear my soul would shatter and I would no longer be human.

That is Dark Magic not even I would dare to play with. It's wickedness beyond comprehension.

If you're receiving this letter, it is because your indomitable spirit and bravery have rubbed off on me over the years, and I've done something incredibly foolish that will, hopefully, secure your safety for years to come. I promised you I would get out, that I would renounce the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord and I have. I will. But I can't sit by and wait for others to do all the hard work. Not when my family is at stake.

I want to be a good man, Marley. I've spent years feeling like a coward because I begged an old Hat to spare me the suffering my brother had endured at the hands of my parents when given red robes instead of green. What I wouldn't give now to wear those now as I go into battle. I would like a little courage to help along the way. To feel half the brave man I know Sirius to be. He's a reckless idiot, but he's happy. I think he's happy. I hope he's happy.

I hope you will be happy as well. Even if I'm not there to see you smile.

Give our daughter a strong name. Yes, daughter. I know you wanted to be surprised, but I'm a Slytherin and have a particular distaste for not knowing things immediately.

I worry she will need a strong name.

All I ask is that you follow the Black family traditions, and allow her middle name to be called after the stars. Astra, perhaps. It means 'stars' in Latin. I looked over an Astronomy book searching for a name that spoke to me, but nothing was good enough, big enough, or important enough for my daughter. No star bright enough. So, name her after all of them.

And tell her that her father loved her desperately.

And that he loved her mother more than there are stars in the sky.

I go to war now, my Helen. Secret battle in the hopes I remain undetected.

Forgive me.

Gods, please forgive me.

Regulus

He angrily wiped the back of his hand against his eyes and folded the parchment, sealed it with wax, and pulled another piece out, hurrying as he wrote.

Severus,

I trust only you to give this letter to my wife should I not contact you within the week. If I do, then feel free to call me an overreacting prat who has fallen prey to Gryffindor sentimentalities. If I don't, then you may think the worst. Help my mother plan my funeral and keep my wife far from it.

Protect her, Severus. And my daughter.

You have been the truest friend, and I often thank the gods that I was sorted into Slytherin, if only because I made your acquaintance. I offer few parting words to you, only that I hope you will find happiness in some form and that you will survive this war and have a chance at a better life. One where your decisions will be yours to make.

Ever your grateful friend,

Regulus

He sealed the letters up and made his way to the owlery to have them sent, hoping that Severus was still with his Potions Master and not at Malfoy Manor or any other place where the Dark Lord was plotting his plan for world domination. And immortality.

Can't forget the fucking immortality.

Before departing in the dead of night, Regulus pulled one more scrap of parchment and scowled down at the words as he wrote them across the paper.

To the Dark Lord,

I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more.

R.A.B.

With a shaky breath, Regulus tapped his wand on the top of his head, Disillusioning himself, and speedily made for the front gates of Hogwarts.

"Kreacher!"

He smiled softly when the elf appeared before him. He removed the Disillusionment so the elf could see him. At the sight of his master, Kreacher smiled brightly.

"Master Regulus calls for Kreacher?"

Regulus nodded. "Kreacher, I want you to take me where the Dark Lord took you. To the cave beside the sea, and beyond the cave and into the cavern you spoke of. The one with the black lake, and . . . and the island."

He regretted the necessary instructions as Kreacher began to shiver and shake.

"Master wants Kreacher to go back?"

"Master wants Kreacher to deliver him to the cave," he said firmly and then reached a hand out for his elf to take.

"Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black," he croaked and took Regulus' hand, Disapparating them both, far, far away from Hogwarts.

At first sight, the cave looked like a moving painting, glowing in the moonlight. A cool breeze brushed against his skin and left an uncomfortable shiver behind in its wake.

Regulus looked down from the cliff where he stood to see jagged rocks below, the foaming water churning and crashing against the outcrop of sharp stones. He immediately began to climb down, ignoring the pleas from Kreacher who called out in worried tones as he descended the rocks with determination.

When he reached the water, Regulus placed a hand down and withdrew it quickly, shocked from the icy temperatures.

"Kreacher, Apparate us into the cave."

No need to freeze to death before I finish the task, he thought to himself.

When he opened his eyes again after Kreacher took his hand, he looked around the dark cave and quickly removed his wand from the pocket of his robes.

"Lumos," he whispered and looked around the moss-slicked walls, curiously noting that the cavern Kreacher spoke of was not to be seen. "Kreacher, where next?"

The elf hesitated.

"Kreacher, you will take me to the cavern with the black lake," he ordered.

Kreacher worried his hands together before nodding slowly and then moving toward a wall on the opposite side from where Regulus stood.

"It asks for blood," he whispered, touching his hand to the stone.

Regulus followed him to the other side and placed his hand on the stone as well and sighed.

"Blood Magic," he muttered. "Always Blood Magic."

He opened his hand and aimed his wand at his palm. "Diffindo." He hissed when the magic cut through his flesh and blood began to pool in the centre of his hand.

"As though I haven't spilt enough blood in his name," he said bitterly under his breath before throwing the fist full of blood at the rocks and watching as a flash of silver reflected for a moment before an outline of an arch appeared.

He silently walked into the darkness, and eventually came to the edge of a black lake lit only by a misty green glow in the centre, reflecting off of the completely still water. Regulus' hands were shaking with terror as he stared down at the unmoving water, afraid to get too close because he knew what was lurking beneath.

"Dead hands," Kreacher whispered, pointing to the still lake.

"Don't touch the water," he instructed the elf who obeyed immediately by backing away and walking toward a narrow footpath along the edge of the cavern. Regulus carefully followed.

"There is a boat, Master Regulus, buried in the waters there," Kreacher said and pointed a long gnarled finger several feet away.

"I say we avoid the water at all costs, don't you agree?" Regulus asked anxiously and Kreacher nodded.

"Kreacher will take Master to the island," he said and took Regulus' hand once more. They Apparated directly in front of the basin, glowing green in the gloom.

He looked down into the basin at the luminescent emerald liquid and swallowed hard. Be brave like Sirius, he thought over and over, reaching a hand out to touch the potion that Kreacher had told him about.

When his fingers came in contact with nothing, Regulus frowned in confusion and looked down to see the elf holding a small crystal cup that had likely been left behind from the last time he'd been on this very island.

"Kreacher, give that to me," he said and held out his hand.

Kreacher shook his head and gripped the cup tightly. "Kreacher mustn't."

He sighed in irritation. His courage was fading fast.

"Kreacher, I order you to give me that cup," he said and watched as the elf fought and fought to hold onto the cup but held it out in the end. Regulus frowned at the sight, especially when tears started falling from the old elf's large eyes. He took the cup and set it down beside the basin then turned to kneel down in front of the small elf.

"Kreacher," he said and reached out to take the elf's hand in his own. "I'm not going to let you suffer any more for my sake. "I'm going to drink this potion—"

"No!" Kreacher wailed. "Master mustn't! It burns the insides! It burns!"

Regulus started shaking again at this description of what the potion inside the basin did to a person, or at least an elf, when they drank it. Be brave like Sirius, he thought again and closed his eyes to focus on that thought, allowing it to guide him.

"Kreacher be quiet!" he snapped angrily and waited for silence to fill the cave once again before speaking. "I'm going to drink the potion," he said and waited to see if Kreacher was going to interrupt him once more. When the elf remained silent save for a few sniffles, Regulus sighed. "And you're going to make sure I drink it all. When it's empty, I need you to grab the locket from the bottom of the basin, switch it with this one," he said and held out the old Black family heirloom, "and then Disapparate back to Grimmauld Place."

The elf shook his head. "Kreacher will not leave his Master behind."

"Kreacher will do as he is told. Because he is a good elf," he said, his voice softer. "And it would make his master very happy to see that good elf leave this horrid place and never return. I do not plan to die here, Kreacher. But if at any point I tell you to leave, you will do so. You will return to Grimmauld Place, destroy that locket by any means necessary, and speak not a word to the family. Do not tell my mother, not even if she orders you. Do you understand?"

Kreacher reached up and took hold of the end of one ear and nervously tugged on it. "Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of—"

"Kreacher lives to serve Master Regulus," Regulus clarified. "Who is the heir of the Noble House of Black. Correct?"

Kreacher took a moment to think about the words and then he slowly nodded his large head. "Kreacher lives to serve Master Regulus."

"Now, what are your orders?"

The elf swallowed and reached out, taking the Black locket from Regulus' hands. "Kreacher is to watch Master drink the burning potion that shows him terrible things, and when Master has drank it all up, Kreacher snatches and switches lockets. Then . . . Then Kreacher waits for Master to tell him to leave. Then he goes back to his home and destroys the locket and speaks not to his Mistress."

"Good." He stood up and looked down at the glowing potion, muttering "Fuck," under his breath and then dipped the crystal cup into the liquid, watching as it swirled inside.

"Please taste like firewhisky," he pleaded quietly before bringing the potion to his lips and swallowing it down as quickly as possible.

It didn't taste like firewhisky.

It tasted like fire.

Regulus hissed in pain as the burn swept through his mouth and down his throat, coating everything inside of him. He clutched at his side and propped himself against the basin for support. He felt something touch him and turned to see Kreacher, terrified, gently stroking his arm the way he'd done whenever he and Sirius were sick as little boys; long before the trouble of Hogwarts Houses and blood-traitor statuses meant anything within the walls of Number Twelve.

"Kreacher stays with Master," the elf crooned softly and continued petting Regulus' arm.

As quickly as he could, Regulus dunked the cup back into the potion and drank it down, hissing, coughing, choking each time he forced himself to swallow. He gasped for breath, the fire inside of him burning hot with each new gulp and every additional swallow. His eyes closed, and he slumped forward against the basin, slipping down until he was on the stone island, his arms curled in around his stomach, his body shaking.

His vision blurred before his eyes and, instead of a large black lake with still water, he saw Sirius' old bedroom at Grimmauld Place. Instead of darkness, a glowing potion in the basin above him and Kreacher sobbing at his side, he saw Sirius, there in a pool of blood.

"No . . . Sirius . . . " Regulus groaned. "D-don't . . . Can't let him die . . . Get up . . . Sirius, get up . . ."

"Master," Kreacher said, hovering over Regulus' body and weeping great big tears that fell, dampening Regulus' cheeks and neck.

"Kreacher . . . save him . . . save . . ." He blinked a few times, his vision pulling back into focus. "Kreacher," he swallowed and cleared his throat. "Help me up."

The elf did as he was told and helped to prop Regulus back up against the basin where he thrust his hand and the crystal cup back into the potion. "Kreacher . . . do not let me stop drinking this. Do not!"

Kreacher flinched in response but nodded his head quickly, his ears flapping with the movement as he watched, horrified, as Regulus quickly drank down two more cups full of the potion before letting out a yell of agony and falling to his knees.

"Be brave like Sirius," he sobbed aloud, not even feeling when his knees hit the stone below, something cracking, a bone likely. The pain in his chest and stomach was beyond words and his vision blurred again. "Brave like . . . like . . ."

"Sirius?"

Regulus looked up at the feminine voice to see Marlene standing there before him, a baby girl in her arms wrapped in soft fleece, its face hidden from view. "How can you be brave like Sirius?"

Regulus knew it was a mirage, a vision of things that were not real, but the desire to see the child's face was so great he could hardly remind himself that the image was false.

"Marley . . ."

"You're not brave like Sirius. Sirius Black is not a murderer," she said and scowled at him. "Look at the blood on your hands, Reggie."

Regulus looked down at his hands and, sure enough, they were caked in blood, both dried and rust-looking and also wet, slick, and fresh.

He choked at the sight, feeling like he was drowning, unaware that beyond the forced vision he was having, Kreacher was following orders and slipping the potion down his throat.

"No, no, no," Regulus sobbed as he tried desperately to wipe the blood from his hands off on his robes, but it was stained upon his skin like the Dark Mark.

"I didn't . . . I didn't . . ."

"Didn't murder people?" Marlene asked. "You did. You killed them."

"I didn't know how to say no. They . . . they would have killed you . . . killed Sirius . . ." He looked up at the child in Marlene's arms. "They'll kill her."

"So other lives are worth destroying to save us?"

"YES!" Regulus growled loudly and began choking again as Kreacher tipped another cup full of the potion down his throat. The fire burned and the blood on his hands remained and Marlene looked down at him with pity.

"Master must swallow," Kreacher whispered in Regulus' ear. "Master must drink. He told Kreacher so. Almost done. Almost gone."

Regulus looked out and upon the black still waters stood a crowd of lifeless faces. His victims. The Muggle girls he and Severus first killed when they'd taken the Dark Mark.

"No," he shook his head. "We had to! They would have . . . It would have been so much worse for you if . . ." he muttered softly as the corpses stepped closer to him. Men and women and . . . and the children of the Ministry worker that Lucius was too cowardly to kill himself.

"Macnair . . . what he would have done to you . . ." he sobbed, pleading for forgiveness, his soul racked with remorse.

"It's gone!" Kreacher shouted with delight. "Master, it's gone. Kreacher has it!"

Regulus gasped as the vision of Marlene hovered above the water, his victims just behind her.

"Thirsty . . ."

"What am I supposed to tell her, Reggie?" Marlene asked. "When she asks about you?"

Regulus crawled achingly slow toward the water, desperate for something to drown out the fire inside of him. "Tell her . . ."

"Master!" Kreacher shouted from behind him, and Regulus could feel something tugging at his robes, pulling him away from the water.

"Tell her . . . that I tried."

He felt the tips of his fingers touch icy cold water, and he yearned to drink from it, to ease the burn inside.

Before he could form his hand into a cup to take a drink though, something grabbed him.

"Dead hands!" Kreacher screamed.

Regulus tried to move back, but more hands broke the surface of the water and gripped his robes, tugging and pulling and dragging him closer.

He yelled for help but turned in time to see Kreacher clutching tightly to the switched locket, and he was reminded of why he'd gone there.

Brave like Sirius.

"Kreacher go!" he screamed as the hands on his body dragged him into the water.

Kreacher's wail filled his ears just as he was pulled beneath the surface. His eyes opened and widened at the sight he was met with. Inferi; an army of the dead standing guard over the Dark Lord's treasure. He felt the tiniest bit of smugness knowing that he'd robbed the Dark Lord—Voldemort!—of his Horcrux, despite the many obstacles he'd put in place. That feeling of victory was overpowered by blinding fear, and Regulus fought against the hands that held onto him, kicked and scratched until he broke the surface of the water again, gasping for breath.

His eyes turned toward the island to see that Kreacher was gone, as ordered.

It's done.

And then the weight of his enemies was too heavy, their strength too great to fight against. He fought for breath, his lungs crying out for help. Unable to hold it any longer, he opened mouth, desperate for air.

As the cold water enveloped him once more and replaced the breath from his lungs, Regulus closed his eyes and tried to find a good thought to cling to. Something to fill him up and take away the fear. Something strong enough to summon a Patronus if he knew how.

A good memory. A good thought.

All he could think of was her.

A baby girl in Marlene's arms wrapped in fleece.

Something worth dying for.

Chapter Text

September 1998

"So, no accepting gifts from other wizards, no public displays of affection with men that aren't considered family, even though—"

"I told you, Hermione," Daphne said with a shrug, "things are different in the Wizarding world. Magic kind of accounts for a lot of things and extended relations just happen to be one of them."

She nodded to Daphne, mentally reminding herself that she and Malfoy weren't actually blood related due to the Black family secret regarding Narcissa's parentage.

"And all my affections with Malfoy have to be chaste, at least publicly," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. As if that were going to happen—again. "It all seems very . . . old fashioned, and not in a classy way. It feels like men are given the right to do as they wish, and women are shoved in the corner to appear prim and proper."

Daphne shrugged. "That, essentially, is how it works."

"How can you stand it?" Hermione asked, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.

She was glad that she had been able to arrange the morning meeting with Daphne to go over the pureblood customs. She really, really did not want to learn from Sirius, who was likely to bungle it up considering how much he hated the customs and traditions himself. She, however, had a typically-Hermione desire to learn this new thing being placed in front of her, and excel at it; to prove a point to everyone who was waiting for her to fail.

"Is your contract the same as mine?"

Daphne shook her head. "No, Blood Magic contracts went out of style decades ago. If your father wasn't a Black, I'd have been shocked that he was involved in one when he was younger, to be honest. Mine with Theo's is very typical these days. All based on political alliances and money."

Hermione assumed as much considering Professor Snape and Sirius had yet to find any solid leads on books or even just papers written about how to break her and Malfoy's contract. Hermione had gone to the library to search on her own, even after Professor McGonagall had told her it was unlikely that Hogwarts would have anything of the sort. She'd spent hours upon hours scouring old tomes until her eyes hurt and her head pounded only to come up empty.

"And you're sure you can't get out of it?" Hermione asked, disliking the idea of her new friend having her life choices taken away from her in a similar way.

Daphne had been more help to her in the past few days with regard to her new pureblood status than Sirius and Snape had been in the past five months. Between the little hints in her father's diaries and Daphne's instruction, Hermione was ready to know everything she needed to.

"I could get out of it if I wanted to," Daphne said with a smile. "I don't want to, though. He's good and stuck with me."

"Gladly," Theo said as he approached the table with Blaise, leaning forward to kiss Daphne's cheek.

"Good morning," Daphne said brightly, leaning into the kiss.

"How are you, love?" he asked her, then looked at Hermione. "And Miss Black, are you joining us for lunch this afternoon? We do so enjoy your company."

"Dinner and a show," Blaise said and winked as he sat down beside Hermione, though she noted it was almost precisely two feet away, as per the custom. "Can I get a ringside seat for the next time you break Draco's face?"

Hermione smirked. "Where is his royal pointiness?"

"Meeting with Snape," Theo answered. "He looked terrified, for the record. We'll all be delighted to hear what happened. Though, he'll likely lie about it."

"Theo," Hermione said quietly, "how old were you and Daphne when your contract was signed? She's teaching me about the pureblood customs, but I've come to realise that my circumstances are quite unusual."

He nodded in reply. "Very unusual. Daphne and I were contracted over Yule during our first year."

Hermione's eyes widened. "First year? You were eleven!"

Daphne laughed sweetly. "It would have been done when we were toddlers. In fact, Draco was originally set to marry me, but his father supposedly thought that I'd be a distraction in school. They opted to contract him to my little sister instead, so that they wouldn't have classes together."

Hermione shook her head, trying not to let on that she clearly hadn't known about Malfoy's previous engagement to Astoria Greengrass. "That's despicable."

Blaise smirked. "That's tradition."

"It's still horrible. So why wait until first year then?" she asked, looking back at Daphne while Blaise and Theo poured everyone pumpkin juice.

Hermione noted that while Theo placed Daphne's glass directly in front of her, Blaise poured the drink for Hermione and then gestured to it for her to take, as it was an intimate thing to be "gifted" food from a pureblood wizard. Just another strange custom where her interaction with wizards was archaically limited.

"Theo's father wanted to make sure I was Sorted into Slytherin," Daphne admitted.

Shocked by the House prejudice, though she shouldn't have been, Hermione leant over and smacked Theo on the arm as though it were his fault.

He laughed at her outburst, clearly grateful that he didn't fall into the same category as Malfoy when it came to her penchant for violence. "Don't take it out on me. I didn't specify the Slytherin requirement. I was more worried about what House the Hat would put me in. Didn't take into consideration where it would send her."

"I was almost sorted into Ravenclaw actually. I nearly had a hat stall," Daphne said.

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "I think I remember that. The Hat wanted to put me in Ravenclaw too, but I wanted to be in Gryffindor," she said and watched in amusement as the two wizards cringed at the very thought. "It takes your choice into account, did you know that?"

Daphne smiled. "I assumed as much, considering where I ended up."

"So why not Ravenclaw?" Hermione asked. "Why did you voluntarily pick Slytherin?"

"Because of Theo." Daphne's smile softened as Theo leant forward and kissed her temple.

Hermione smiled sadly at the pair who seemed so well put together, an arrangement that actually made sense unlike the buggering mess that she was apparently stuck in. She sighed and drank from her glass, giving a quick nod of thanks to Blaise.

"So . . . I have a . . . a personal question," she began nervously. "If most of the Slytherins are betrothed by the time they get to Hogwarts, well . . . I mean to say, I've heard . . . rumours."

Blaise grinned. "That we're all sex gods?"

She winced, but then, at the look of smugness on his face, sat up straighter and smirked at him. "Not all of you."

The implication was that Blaise wasn't one of the wizards she'd heard about over the years when, in fact, he was the main cause of gossip. Theo and Malfoy as well, though they weren't spoken of as often or in as much detail.

"I can't speak in detail really," Theo said, clearing his throat, "especially with Blaise grinning like that. It puts us all off our appetites. But the rumours are essentially true."

Hermione stared at him. "You've cheated on Daphne?"

He quirked a confused eyebrow and looked at his girlfriend. "I thought you've been teaching her about pureblood customs."

Daphne shrugged. "Hermione, it's tradition that a wife is to be entered into a betrothal contract pure and intact; it's her gift to her husband."

Hermione could feel her grey eyes nearly turning red, and she scoffed in disgust. "Oh please," she said with incredulity, "virginity is nothing but a social construct that furthers the notion that women are property, belonging either to their father or husband. It's archaic nonsense."

"It's tradition," all three Slytherins said at the same time.

"Fine," she temporarily relented, shaking off the thought that she could persuade these three to think otherwise. "So, if she's willing to give you something so damn precious, what exactly do you give her?"

Blaise answered for him. "A good time. Ow!" he said, laughing when Hermione turned and hit him in the arm.

"He's not being crude," Theo said. "Well, he is, but he's not wrong. It's customary that at a certain age, pureblood males are expected to bed as many women as possible to, well . . . in simple terms, improve their technique."

Hermione's mouth fell open.

"I prefer looking at it as refining my technique," Blaise said with a grin. "I hardly needed any improvement from the get-go."

"That's . . . disgusting," Hermione said, making a face. "How on earth could you just have sex with a bunch of other girls when you're set to marry another?"

Theo, who was curling a lock of Daphne's long blond hair between two fingers, didn't look as smug as Blaise did. "Honestly, it's a tradition we're told about as soon as we start noticing witches. Fathers usually take their sons aside and tell them what's allowed and what's not allowed. We're all fairly certain that it was some randy arsehole who came up with the idea because his future bride didn't want to bed him. Granted, we were all young and stupid enough not to care at the time. After we grow up a bit, it usually starts to calm down," he admitted. "And then we feel like shit about it." He turned to Daphne, who was smirking as though she were proud to see her wizard in a humbled and contrite position.

"What do you mean usually calms down?" Hermione asked.

Theo gestured to Blaise, who winked at her.

She rolled her eyes and turned away from the lothario entirely.

"And girls are just fine with marrying men who've had sex with a bunch of half-bloods from other Houses?"

Because of course they would have to be half-bloods. No pureblood would sully themselves with a Muggle-born lest their prejudiced parents find out, and they couldn't bed other purebloods due to the witches being contracted to others. The only exception would likely be blood-traitors. Hermione was still thoroughly horrified, but mildly pleased that at least Theo appeared repentant of his brief sordid past.

"Well," Daphne said thoughtfully, "I assume that by this point he's pretty good at it."

Shocked by the admission, Hermione actually laughed.

"It wasn't that many girls for me," Theo admitted, slightly blushing. "Just enough to embarrass myself and then . . . not embarrass myself."

Hermione turned and glanced at Blaise, raising a curious brow.

"So very many. I'm disgusting. You've a right to cringe in my general direction," he said, though his tone implied he was nothing if not incredibly proud of himself.

She tried not to visibly gag, but instead narrowed her eyes in disapproval.

"I've been with so many girls I've had to start classifying them as colours. Purple, for instance, is very clingy," he said with a smirk and a nod of his head toward the Gryffindor table where Lavender was sitting down to lunch beside Parvati.

Hermione's eyes widened in shock that the Slytherin deviant had bedded her dorm mate.

Blaise waggled his eyebrows at her teasingly. "I've never tried Black before."

She shook her head incredulously, wondering how fast he would run away from her if she actually flirted back. Blaise was wretched, but she imagined he was well enough trained in his own customs not to actually encroach on another wizard's territory as it were.

"Dare I ask what your favourite colour is?" she hesitantly questioned.

He smirked at her, his eyes twinkling. "Red."

She stared at him in confusion, but slowly her eyes began to widen again, and she quietly whispered, "No."

"No?" Blaise said questioningly. "Strange. I remember hearing a lot of 'yes, yes, yes'."

Hermione jumped to her feet as soon as she spotted Ginny walking into the Great Hall.

"I have to go," she said and took a breath, purposely avoiding making eye contact with Blaise. "Daph, we'll talk again soon."

When she reached the Gryffindor table, she nearly tackled Ginny and dragged her back out from the Great Hall into a private corner where she threw up a Muffliato.

"Did you have sex with Blaise Zabini?"

Ginny blushed bright red and her brown eyes went wide as saucers.

"Oh my gods!" Hermione shouted. "Ginny . . . did you know that pureblood boys like him are basically told to sleep around as much as possible? It's like a disgusting sexual education and training!"

"Well," Ginny began, her blush quickly fading "I'd like to say that I gave him an 'O' for his efforts, but that seems like a cheap joke, and I should be able to come up with something better than that."

Hermione spent an hour crying in the prefect's bathroom wondering if it was possible that Malfoy had used her the same way that Blaise and Theo used other girls.

Used.

She sighed and admitted silently to herself, was a bit of an exaggeration.

Even the daftest of girls at Hogwarts knew exactly what they were getting into when they bedded Blaise Zabini. As for Theo, he looked genuinely remorseful for whatever past he had and, considering how polite he usually was, she had to wonder if whatever girls he'd been with before hadn't ended up with bouquets of purple hyacinths and white poppies along with beautifully eloquent notes of apology for his behaviour.

What had she gotten when Malfoy ended their . . . relationship? No, he'd apparently been betrothed to Daphne's sister at the time. Affair. Yes. Affair. When Malfoy ended their affair, all she'd gotten was a, "Fuck off, Mudblood," and a murdered headmaster weeks later.

When she was empty of tears, she returned to Gryffindor Tower, snatched up her book bag which now included a few of her father's diaries, and headed down to Hagrid's hut where she had asked her friends to meet her to give them the "good" news.

She'd rather be as far away from the castle as possible, perhaps back in London, but she knew that the gentle half-giant would be a good peacekeeper when it came to informing Harry and Ron that she was set to marry Draco Malfoy unless she could convince him to pass the cursed contract down to their future children and become in-laws with the boy instead.

As she approached the hut, a bright smile overcame her. She was met at the gate of the pumpkin patch by a familiar face. She bowed her head low, then grinned when the hippogriff trotted forward, pushing his beak into her palm and nuzzling her gently.

"What are you doing here, Buckbeak?" she sweetly asked the creature, who made a throaty chirping noise in reply.

"We're sticking around for a while."

Hermione smiled at the sight of Sirius standing in the opening of Hagrid's hut dressed in . . .

"Sirius, why're you wearing professor's robes?" She patted Buckbeak on the top of his head before she walked through the path up to her uncle.

He grinned down at her. "McGonagall asked me to hang back. She's implementing a lot of changes in the school this year and didn't have time to find a replacement for her Advanced Transfiguration class. I get to share a room with Remus like old times," he added with the brightest of grins. "I specifically requested that stipulation. He doesn't know about it yet."

"You're going to teach Advanced Transfiguration?" she asked sceptically.

He furrowed his brows and made an offended noise. "I'm quite skilled at it, you know. I managed to fully become an Animagus before I fully became a man."

Hermione made a face. "Didn't need to know that."

"Harry complained too," he admitted with a chuckle. "I'll only be around until she finds someone better, or in her words, 'Someone who won't send me to St. Mungo's'. I've been meaning to bring Buckbeak back to Hagrid for a while, though. It's not fair to keep him cooped up in that rotten house." He smiled when the large creature trotted over to him and lightly nipped at his shoulder until he put an arm around the great beast. "I think he's going to miss me."

"I bet he's missed flying," she said. "I bet you've missed the fresh air as well."

Sirius nodded. "It'll be good to be back at Hogwarts. It was always home for me. Plus, I get to be close to you and Harry and that's the most important part of my life right now."

Hermione frowned. "Are you going to behave?"

He scoffed. "What? Because of Malfoy?"

"Because of Severus."

Sirius pouted. "I can't believe my brother made that git your godfather instead of me."

She reached into her book bag and withdrew one of Regulus' diaries. "Read this one. I'm done with it, but it explains everything from you leaving Grimmauld Place up to the point where Peter Pettigrew purposely revealed Regulus' Dark Mark, likely to separate the two of you. I think he wanted to switch sides at that point."

Sirius frowned and stared down at the book in his hands. He looked like he wanted to make a joke or run and hide but instead, he swallowed hard and quietly admitted, "I don't know how to handle this. I spent twelve years blaming myself for James and Lily's deaths . . ."

"You didn't kill my father," Hermione told him. "Voldemort did."

Sirius sighed and shook his head in shame. "I could have helped him. I should have helped him."

"You helped me." She smiled and wrapped her arms around his middle, hugging him tight until he squeezed her back. "Harry brought me to Grimmauld Place, and you were there for me when I needed you. You didn't run off to Malfoy Manor to confront Bellatrix for what she did to me. You stayed with me. I think . . ." She paused and swallowed down her growing emotions. "I think my father would have wanted that."

"Thank you, Hermione."

"Can you do me a favour and make sure that Harry and Ron don't do something stupid when they find out about Malfoy? Neither of them are very . . . level-headed when it comes to him, and even if they mean well, I'm expecting this to go poorly."

He smiled down at her. "Got no choice. I'm a professor now. Have to issue detentions and . . . take away points and . . . shit."

"This is going to be a long year," she said with a heavy sigh, trying not to smirk at him when he laughed.

Smiling, the pair walked into Hagrid's hut and saw the faces of Ron, Harry, Ginny, Neville, Luna, and Hagrid himself.

"Blimey!" the half-giant said as Hermione took a seat between Ginny and Sirius, taking in her new colouring. "Ye look just like yer dad! Surprised I never saw it m'self. 'Course, I s'pose the glamour was put for that reason. Still . . . Good bloke yer dad was. Slytherin, sure, but right smart he was. There was some . . . er . . . trouble I know he got into but," and he turned to look at Sirius, "I guess them Black brothers always were a bit misunderstood."

"No harm done, Hagrid." Sirius patted the half-giant on the shoulder. "But speaking of Regulus," he said and looked at Hermione. "Do you want me to tell them?"

Hermione shook her head and then reached out for Ginny's hand for support. The action was immediately caught by Neville and Luna, but missed by Harry and Ron, who looked too nervous to notice subtleties.

"What's going on 'Mione?" Ron asked. "Sirius said something happened? Something about that note McGonagall sent you?"

"First, I need you all to remain calm," Hermione said and, when Harry's eyes widened, she added fervently, "Please."

He nodded slowly and furrowed his brows together. "Whatever it is, Hermione, we're here for you."

"It turns out . . . that my father was once involved in a marriage contract that was sealed with Blood Magic," she told them and watched as both Ron and Neville's eyes widened in understanding. Harry reacted only slightly later, mimicking the shock of his pureblood friends. "I know. Things like that haven't been done in regular families for nearly a century, but apparently the Blacks did them," she said and looked to Sirius, who was nodding his head in confirmation to his godson.

"So, Regulus got out of the arrangement when he was eleven because his betrothed was in love with another wizard. She was older than my father, so it made sense that she wouldn't want to wait." She nervously bit at her bottom lip, squeezing Ginny's hand tightly. "But to break the contract, they had to pass it down to their children instead. Which means that I'm engaged automatically just for being born, to the son of the woman that was once betrothed to my father."

"Bloody hell," Ron said with a frown. "You're engaged?"

"Are you . . . are you okay, Hermione?" Neville asked in a worried tone.

She shrugged. "I . . . I'm still processing it. We're looking for ways out, but what little was written down isn't forthcoming with details, and we're still unsure about any ramifications if I were to break it outside of a specific ritual that . . . is currently unavailable."

Harry was staring at her curiously. "Why're you being vague? You know who the wizard is? Who his mother is? The woman who was betrothed to Regulus?"

Hermione nodded.

"Who is she?"

She closed her eyes and took a slow breath before whispering, "Narcissa Malfoy."

"WHAT?!"

"Easy there, Ron," Sirius said, standing up to come face to face with the boy who already had a firm grip on his wand. "Sit back down. Don't make me say it twice."

"You're gonna let her go and marry that . . . that . . . that bloody Death Eater?!" he bellowed.

Sirius growled. "I don't let Hermione do anything. She makes her own decisions when she can, but unfortunately because of the Blood Magic, there's not a damn thing any of us can do about this arrangement right now!"

Ron fell back in his seat breathing heavily. "It can't happen. He'll hurt her."

Hermione scowled at him. "I think I've proven that I can take care of myself, thank you," she said bitterly. "And he won't hurt me. Not . . . not physically at least."

"What does Malfoy say about this?" Harry asked, clearly trying to keep a level head about the situation.

Hermione was eternally grateful that, despite the fact that she could see him wringing his hands, he was still ready to leap to her defence, ever the hero.

Sirius sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Says that he refuses to break the contract."

Ron made a snarling noise and started angrily tapping his foot against the ground. "It's not right. Should have thrown the lot of them into Azkaban."

Hermione sighed. "He was found innocent."

"He's a Death Eater!"

"So was my father!"

"He hates you, Hermione!" Ron stood, throwing his hands up. "The only reason he's going along with this marriage contract is because you're not a Muggle-born anymore."

"No, it's not," Ginny blurted out, rolling her eyes.

"Shut up, Gin! You don't know anything about it."

Ginny scoffed at her brother. "I know a lot more than you. Calm the hell down and let Hermione explain."

Ron scowled. "Explain what?"

Hermione frowned. She knew she would need to tell her friends before it got out, and the likelihood that Malfoy would tell everyone was high.

"Draco doesn't care about my blood status," she said softly.

"Draco?" Ron blinked. "When did you start calling him Draco?"

She looked up at Ron, who was solidly stubborn in his anger. Harry's eyes, however, softened. "Oh."

"Sixth year," she finally whispered.

Silence filled the room.

"Hermione . . ." Harry spoke, his gaze filled with worry.

Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes. "Please don't be mad. I . . . I didn't mean for it to happen, but it did and I . . . I didn't know how to tell you, and Ron and I weren't speaking and . . ."

Ron looked between the two in confusion. "What do you mean we weren't speaking? When weren't we speaking?"

"Sixth year."

"What do you mean? What happened during—Wait . . ." he stopped momentarily, lowering his arms. "Hermione?"

"Malfoy and I—"

"No."

"Ron—"

"No. No. You're Hermione. You're smarter than that," he insisted, shaking his head.

She scoffed, offended and angry. "Why? Just because I'm intelligent, I'm not allowed to make mistakes?"

"Was it a mistake?" Luna curiously asked.

Hermione held her breath for a moment as she truly contemplated Luna's question. She hadn't thought about her feelings for Malfoy, other than bitterness and heartache, for a long time.

"It . . . it didn't feel like it at the time. It felt . . . I thought that he and I—"

"Stop talking," Ron said quietly, pleading for her silence. "I can't . . . Hermione, it's Malfoy. How could you? I mean, what exactly did you do with him?"

"I don't think I want to hear this," Sirius groaned and sat back down, putting his head in his hands.

Hermione remained silent as she stared into the blue eyes of her best friend.

"Answer me," Ron demanded.

She shook her head.

Ron looked like he was going to be sick. "Gods, Hermione . . . how could you be so stupid?!"

The sudden expression on his face said that he immediately regretted the words he had recklessly let tumble out of his mouth.

Regret or not, Hermione felt her blood boil over, and she stood up and stormed toward Ron.

Sirius was back on his feet immediately, arms wrapped around her tightly. "Nope. Black temper equals bad outcomes. Trust me, sweetheart, I'm a bit of an expert here. Neville, Luna, you want to take him out for some fresh air?"

The other two nodded, and Neville grabbed Ron by the bicep, leading him out the front door as he attempted to stammer out an apology to Hermione.

When the door was closed behind them, Sirius waited a full thirty seconds until Hermione stopped struggling against his grip before putting her back down on the floor.

An awkward silence filled the hut that was eventually broken by Fang's snores coming from the large bed in the corner near the fireplace. Hermione exhaled slowly to calm herself and she looked up to see Harry staring at her, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Please say something," she begged.

"He didn't identify us," Harry said thoughtfully. "At Malfoy Manor he . . . he refused to say who we were. And then at the final battle, he took that curse for you. Hermione . . . does Malfoy love you?"

Hermione sobbed and shook her head no.

Beside her, Ginny was nodding her head yes, and Harry's eyes widened. He leant back in his chair in silence as he tried to add everything up that had happened regarding Malfoy over the last two years.

"Bloody hell. I . . . I won't do anything," he promised. "I'll . . . I'll try to keep Ron under control while you and Sirius figure out what to do. And I'll do whatever you want me to. I owe you that much."

Hermione sniffled and walked over to hug him close. "Thank you, Harry."

To let Ron cool off, Hermione stayed away from Gryffindor Tower the rest of the afternoon and late into the evening, opting to skip dinner in favour of a few snacks that she'd slipped into her book bag.

Dragging herself to the beech trees in front of the Black Lake, Hermione pulled out her father's diaries, secretly wondering if the tree she sat beneath was one that her parents had revised under during their early years at Hogwarts, before Death Eaters and Voldemort destroyed everything.

As was now her habit, she pulled a diary at random and flipped it open to the middle of the book, crossing her fingers that she would stumble upon something that was more than a recollection of Death Eater revels and heart clenching remorse.

She stared down at the entry in curiosity.

. . . Hidden. Hidden. Have to stay hidden. Gods, Marlene is going to kill me when she finds out the truth. If only I could send word. No. Can't send word. Have to stay hidden. Severus will fix everything.

Her eyes widened, and she jumped to her feet, rushing up the grass and through the castle doors, down the long stretches of corridors until she came to the Defence Professor's chambers where Sirius said he would be staying with Remus.

"Sirius! Professor Lupin!"

The door opened and a tired-looking Remus glanced down. "Hermione, is everything all right?" he asked, opening the door for her.

She stepped inside, catching her breath as she saw Sirius emerge from a side room.

"Hermione?" He paled slightly at the sight of her panic. "What happened? Is it Harry? Is it Malfoy? Did he do something to—"

"When . . . When did my father die?" she asked between breaths.

Sirius frowned. "Umm . . . the tapestry said he died the thirty-first of May in 1979. Why?"

She held up the diary, bookmarked by her thumb.

"Because this diary entry is dated the third of June, 1979."

Chapter Text

June 1979

Marlene sat at the table with the other Gryffindors trying not to shake as whispered theories floated around her in regard to the disappearance of Regulus Black. Her best friend, her husband, the father of her unborn child. She briefly touched her stomach before looking up at the high table where she made eye contact with Professor McGonagall and immediately put her hands back on the table.

Regulus had been missing for weeks. No one knew how he'd gotten out of the castle, where he'd gone, or how he ended up dead.

Dead.

The Daily Prophet had reported that Walburga Black had been seen weeping in the streets when she'd received the report from Professor Dumbledore that Regulus was missing from the castle. The old witch had apparently gone to the family tapestry to find his name there, embroidered in black, the date of his death as clear as that of his birth.

Marlene had briefly felt like grieving for Regulus' mother until the old bitch was quoted as screaming, "It's over, it's over, the House of Black is finished!" mentioning neither her dead son, nor the one who still lived.

The next day's paper had a front page article on the arrests of Sirius Black and Lucius Malfoy, who had been apprehended after a drunken brawl at the Leaky Cauldron. Witnesses said that each man had been overheard throwing accusations at the other over the supposed murder of Regulus.

Professor McGonagall had taken Marlene aside three separate times to ask if she knew anything, but the answer was always no. She knew nothing.

She practically lived in the Hospital Wing these days, as Madam Pomfrey looked over her care with rapt attention, making sure that the stress wasn't harming the baby.

Letters came flying in one morning in late June. Two came from Lily asking if Marlene was all right, as she'd heard from other Gryffindors that she hadn't looked well lately and had been going to the Hospital Wing often. Marlene insisted that she was fine, and it was worries over N.E.W.T.s. It had nothing to do with the death of Regulus. After all, last Lily knew, he and Marlene hated one another and hadn't been friends for years.

Another owl swept through the Great Hall, dropping a letter in front of her. Marlene opened it curiously, noting the lack of seal on the envelope. When she turned a single small piece of parchment over, she took a shaky breath and forced herself not to burst into tears at the familiar script:

O Helen! Helen! Helen! Yet awhile,

Yet for a little while, O, tarry here,

Till the dawn cometh and the shadows flee!

For in the gladsome sunlight of thy smile

Of heaven or hell I have no thought or fear,

Seeing I know no other god but thee

Marlene clenched the parchment in her hand tightly and, once back in Gryffindor Tower, threw it into the fireplace to get rid of the evidence.

Graduation was a somber affair. So many people were being killed by Death Eaters, and there were rumours that there was a plan for a Ministry takeover. Marlene met briefly with her parents, who stared in shock at her when she removed the glamour disguising her pregnancy. Knowing and seeing were apparently two very different things. Her father held her close, while her mother sobbed quietly. She kissed them both and promised to write, insisting repeatedly that for their own safety she could not tell them where she lived or who her husband was; this was something her father, specifically, had taken serious issue with.

"It's secrecy or no contact at all," she had told him and hoped he would understand. "I won't keep you from seeing the baby when it's born, but until then . . . please just stay safe."

Her parents agreed, but her older brother slipped a small piece of parchment into her hand on the way out. Marlene closed her eyes after reading it—an invitation and an address.

The Order of the Phoenix.

Gods, Reggie was going to kill her if he found out she was considering it.

When she finally arrived at Iliad Cottage, Regulus was waiting for her in the garden. She dropped all of her things and rushed into his open arms and held onto him as tightly as possible.

"I thought you were dead!" she sobbed into his shoulder. "Reggie, I thought you were dead!"

"So did I," he whispered as he kissed her cheeks, forehead, and the tip of her nose. "So did I, love."

"What happened? Your mother . . . she said the family tapestry—"

"I'm dead. Dead to the world. I did something . . . something stupid and reckless and now . . . now everyone thinks I'm dead. The tapestry at Grimmauld Place reads what I want it to. I charmed it, just in case. The Order of the Phoenix likely thinks I was murdered by Death Eaters, and the Dark Lord believes I was murdered by the Order."

"How? How do you know this?" she asked suspiciously.

"Because," a voice from inside the house drawled, "as he said, he was stupid and reckless." Severus moved to stand in the doorway. "Likely your terrible influence. He was much more tolerable before he married a Gryffindor."

"What did he do?" Marlene demanded and turned her narrowed gaze on Regulus. "What happened?"

"Yes, Regulus, what happened?" Severus asked angrily. "Do share if he ever decides to let you in on his little secret, will you? Idiot shows up on my doorstep soaking wet and half drowned and won't even bother to tell the man who saved his life why I had to save it in the first place."

Regulus smirked, but there was a sadness behind it. "I'm saving your life, Severus. It's taken care of. Now my life revolves around this witch," he said, kissing Marlene briefly before pulling away and putting his hands on her stomach, "and our child."

She eyed him. "You know what the baby is, don't you?"

He grinned at her and moved in to capture her lips in a sweet kiss.

Marlene couldn't find it in herself to be mad at him.

September 19th, 1979

Regulus blamed himself.

The stress of his faked death and the month Marlene believed it true had put too much on her, he was certain of it. The labour was intense, and he'd only watched, basically just doing anything Marlene told him to do the whole time. That was, until he was ushered out of the room by the midwife who Severus had Imperiused and brought to Iliad Cottage. Severus informed him that Marlene lost consciousness, and the baby had not yet arrived. Then, being the true friend that Severus was, he pulled out an expandable kit with over a dozen potions, and stepped back in the room to assist.

When he heard the sound of an infant crying from behind the door, he couldn't even bring himself to celebrate until he was told that Marlene was going to be fine as well.

There had been complications. Regulus could hardly hear the woman speak over the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears, but the message was clear: this would be their only child.

The midwife insisted that sometimes things just happened, but they should celebrate the one child they were given; celebrate the fact that both mother and daughter were alive and healthy.

"She'll be fine," Severus said, putting a hand on Regulus' shoulder.

"I did this to her."

"You gave her a daughter and kept your family safe from the Dark Lord. They'd be dead otherwise. Besides, you're dead. Does a dead man even need a male heir?"

Regulus shook his head. "I don't care about that. Let the Black name carry on with Sirius."

"Salazar help us all," Severus said sarcastically. "Give your wife another Blood Replenishing Potion in an hour and continue until they're all gone. I'll bring more in a few days."

"The baby?"

Severus looked like he was about to smile but then changed his mind. "Perfect. For a Black."

Regulus smiled in relief and gave a nod of thanks to his friend who Disapparated away with the freshly Obliviated midwife in tow.

Stepping into the bedroom, he nervously stared at his young wife holding the infant in her arms. "Are you well? Tell me the truth."

Marlene smiled, looking tired and still a little pale. "A little weak. So very tired. But happy," she said firmly as she looked down at the baby in her arms. "Come see her, Regulus."

He hesitated. "I . . . I'm afraid to. I'm the reason that you—"

"It happens, and we both made it through," she said, nearly snapping at him. "Regulus, come look at her. I don't need any more children. She's perfection."

"You're perfection," he countered as he stepped closer to the bed, glancing over the soft blanket that held his daughter.

She was all soft black curls, grey eyes, and pink skin. After such a long day, he expected her to be fast asleep, cuddled comfortably in her mother's arms. No. Not his girl. Less than an hour old, and her bright eyes were wide and filled with what looked like a curious wonder as they glanced around the room.

He sucked in a breath and reached out, tenderly touching the top of her downy head. "I am . . . foolish," he said as he sat down on the edge of the bed, unable to take his eyes off of the infant. "You were right. She's perfect. I never knew true love until this moment."

Marlene laughed, clearly not taking offense. "You're such a sap," she said with a bright smile. "You're really happy? You're okay with—"

"I don't need a son," he said, shaking his head. "She'll be an only child and spoiled rotten. Spoiled Blacks are notoriously horrible, you know. Nothing pink, though," he insisted. "No silly tea parties or stuffed unicorns. She'll be well-read and . . . and I'll teach her to fly, and she'll be brilliant and . . ."

Marlene leaned forward and kissed him to shut him up. "She'll have a pink, stuffed unicorn and as many tea parties as she wants. But yes, she'll be well-read. She needs a name first, though, bossy man."

Regulus bent over his daughter and breathed in the scent of new life; of a clean slate.

"'But the gods gave no more children to Helen once she had borne her first and only child,'," he said with a sad smile, "'the lovely Hermione, with the beauty of Aphrodite the golden.'"

December 1979

"It would make him so happy to know you're alive," Professor McGonagall said as she held Hermione in her arms, staring across the small sitting room at Regulus who was devoting the majority of his attention to raking his fingers through Marlene's hair. "He's very sad without you. Your supposed death was not easy on him."

"Not until it's over," Regulus insisted. "I love my brother, and I know, deep down, he loves me. But he would understand why I did this. This family comes first. My wife and daughter come before everything."

"You could help," McGonagall said; an old argument.

"I have helped. One day maybe you'll see how. Just . . . tell Dumbledore to kill the bloody bastard and end this," he said, his words angry and bitter. "I trust all of three people in this world, Professor, and if you were the head of the Order, perhaps I might be persuaded. I remain out of the fight. Or . . . along the sidelines, I suppose. I get information from Severus from time to time; perhaps you should just recruit him."

The devil they spoke of burst through the door, soaking wet from the rain that poured outside. He looked angrier than Regulus had ever seen him and utterly broken at the same time.

"What is it?" Regulus asked, fearing the worst. That perhaps the Dark Lord had discovered them and was on the way now.

Severus snarled at the sight of McGonagall. "When my clothes are dry, I will insist that you hand over my goddaughter."

Regulus breathed a sigh of relief. No Dark Lord approaching; just Severus being Severus.

McGonagall narrowed her eyes at him. "What's put you in such a mood?"

"As if you didn't know," Severus spat and stormed into the other room, returning moments later with dry clothes and a bottle of firewhisky. "Pour that," he snapped at Regulus, tossing the bottle into his hands. "And don't be stingy, Black. A large one."

Regulus rolled his eyes and stood, taking the bottle to the nearby cupboard where he stored a few tumblers.

Severus turned toward McGonagall and held his hands out. "Give her to me."

McGonagall glared at him and cast a look at Marlene and Regulus who both just waved her worries off. "You'll not be drinking with the baby in your arms," she insisted as she handed Hermione over.

"If you want to play with children so much, go and beg the Potters to play grandmother to their . . . child," he hissed the words.

Understanding, Regulus sighed and reached for a larger glass. "This will be a fun night."

"Pregnant," Severus said with a huff. "Lily's pregnant with the spawn of that . . . that . . ."

Hermione made a tiny cry, and Severus glared down at her. "Quiet."

"Sev," Regulus groaned.

Severus gave a nod of appreciation when Hermione went silent. "Obedient girl. You're the only witch whose company I find I enjoy these days."

Marlene smirked. "No offense taken."

"I stand by my statement. You're a Gryffindor," he said, turning his black eyes up to glare at Marlene as though she, too, had betrayed him. "They're not to be trusted."

McGonagall rolled her eyes. "Regulus has suggested that perhaps you would serve better on the other side of this war, Severus," she said, eyes twinkling with amusement as Severus turned and glared at her.

"I would rather crawl through Fiendfyre."

Regulus snorted, carrying the glass over to his friend, who securely shifted Hermione to one arm, reaching his free hand out for the firewhisky.

"Not that your company isn't a pleasant addition to my day," McGonagall said, her voice filled with irritation, "but I have many things to attend to before Christmas holidays are over and the students return."

When she was gone, Marlene took Hermione in her arms and left the two men to drink away Severus' woes together.

Regulus refilled the glass of firewhisky and handed it to his friend. "For what it's worth, I am sorry," he said. "But you knew it was coming. They married right out of Hogwarts. Divorce in the Wizarding world is—"

"I know," Severus said with a heavy sigh. "You started a terrible trend with this breeding thing. The Longbottoms are expecting as well. And Lucius and Narcissa have asked me to play godfather to their child. Why does everyone expect me to look after their children? I despise children."

Regulus' eyes widened as some invisible thing of dread dropped into his stomach. "Narcissa's pregnant?"

Severus stared at him. "Yes. Why?"

"Do they . . . do they know what it is?"

Despite being two drinks in, Severus' eyes were steady and sober as he carefully watched Regulus for a reaction. "A boy."

"Shit."

"Shall I not offer congratulations?" Severus asked curiously. "What are you hiding?"

Regulus ran his hands through his hair and sighed in frustration remembering the day he and Narcissa had broken their contract. It had not been all that complicated, and he'd not cared about the consequences at the time, being a child and all. But now . . . fuck, Marlene was going to kill him if she found out. "I'll tell you another time. Maybe when I've had a chance to fix it."

"Fix what?"

"I . . . I did something very stupid when I was younger."

January 1980

"Calm down! You're going to wake Hermione!"

"Now you care about Hermione?" Regulus snapped at his wife, fury rolling under his skin like a fever sickness. "Did you think about your daughter at all when you knelt before Dumbledore and pledged your life to his bloody fucking Order? Fuck! You didn't even consult with me on this."

Marlene frowned. "You would have said no."

"Of course I would have said no! I've seen the other side, Marley. I know what they . . . what I did to Order members. And you're . . ." He sat down and put his head in his hands remembering revels with Macnair, who would drag witches down the hall, the sounds of screaming echoing in whatever house they'd been told to attack. "Marley, they'll kill you. You have a daughter and a husband and—"

"And I am no better than the other wives and mothers that Death Eaters are attacking out there."

"Yes, you are," he countered with a growl.

Stupid, stubborn woman.

"Regulus, I have to do something."

Godsdamned Gryffindor.

"I can help."

Fucking hero martyr bullshit.

"My friends and family are out there. My brother and parents are in the Order. I can't stand by while they might be in danger. Your brother is there too, you know. Come with me . . ."

"No." He shook his head. "And don't say a word about me when you're there. Nor about Hermione. I want no one to know about her. I don't trust them. Just Severus and McGonagall and your family. Make them swear it as well. The Dark Lord wanted spies in the Order. I don't . . . I don't know if he ever found one, but if anyone even suspects that I'm alive, and that you and Hermione are . . ." His hands shook as his anger gave way to paralysing fear. "Fuck . . . Why couldn't you just sit back and let everyone else fight this bloody war?"

He knew her answer before she gave it voice.

"Because that's not who I am."

May 1980

"He thinks it's about Lily," Severus said, face pale and eyes empty.

Regulus had never seen him look worse. Not even when he'd found out about Evans and Potter reproducing. His friend was broken, guilty, and terrified. He could understand the fear that his friend was experiencing.

"Regulus, he thinks that Lily's unborn child will be his undoing. And I . . . I brought the prophecy right to him. I was the one that told him."

"Divination is—"

"I know," Severus snapped, hands buried in his hair. "It's insane but . . . but what if it's true? What if it's not true, and I've just handed over the execution order for a child and . . . and he'll kill her. He told me himself, he wants them dead. I pleaded, I begged him on my hands and knees to spare her life."

Regulus sighed remembering years earlier when they'd talked about taking the Mark, joining the Death Eaters and their reasons behind it. Severus had wanted to spare Lily Evans. Save her from the darkness by becoming it; embracing it.

"What did he say?" he asked, his voice quiet.

Severus laughed, a cold, angry laugh. "He would think about it. Then he suggested I marry Dolohov's daughter. The one you rejected."

Regulus didn't know how to help his friend, not without just wishing the Dark Lord out of existence; something that, thus far, had not worked. Not only for Severus, though. Regulus had never been overly fond of Potter and his wife, but Sirius loved them. And they were about to have a baby. A baby, that supposedly, had a great destiny.

There was no way the Dark Lord would let it be fulfilled.

"He's going to kill her," Regulus said on the end of a heavy exhale.

"Go to Dumbledore."

Regulus and Severus both looked up to see Marlene staring at them from the hall, tears in her eyes as she bounced Hermione on her hip.

"Severus, go to Dumbledore," she said confidently. "Tell him everything. He'll protect Lily and James and the baby."

Severus growled. "I give a hair for Potter or his—"

"Grow up!" she snapped, and Hermione whimpered gently at the sound of her mother's voice turning harsh. "It's a baby, Severus! What if the prophecy was about Hermione?"

Severus looked down angrily, a brief flicker of genuine remorse in his eyes.

After a moment, Regulus put a hand on Severus's shoulder, silently admitting defeat himself. "I can't think of any other way."

"I'll take you to Dumbledore myself," Marlene promised.

September 1998

"So," Severus said as he stared at Hermione and Black standing in front of his chamber door with Regulus' diary in hand, "for the first time in given history, instead of finishing a book to find the answers, you've decided to ask questions of me?"

"Snape," Black growled.

Hermione's grey eyes were wide and filled with anxiousness.

Severus struggled to force out the image of her as a baby in his arms, recalling instead the brown-haired know-it-all that was a constant thorn in his side, stole from his cupboards, and once set his robes on fire.

"Please, sir . . . is . . . is Regulus . . . ?"

Fucking Regulus.

"Dead to my knowledge," Severus said bitterly, figuring that eventually the girl would read through enough of the diaries to put the dates together.

Regulus would have made a much better novelist than the Death Eater he became. Severus had always found it slightly amusing that though the father put words to parchment, and the daughter absorbed them rapidly, both spent their youth with their noses buried in books.

The desperate looks on both the girl and Black's faces said that they wanted answers, and instead of reading the books like he'd told her to, they'd nearly broken down his bloody door demanding answers. Gryffindors lacked patience.

"The circumstances surrounding your . . . placement with Muggles were made should Regulus, in fact, be killed, and none left to care for you," he told her firmly. "As you were placed with Muggles, you can be assured that he is dead."

Black's face fell, and Severus struggled not to smirk as he actually felt a strange bout of empathy for the man, though he'd never admit such a thing.

Hermione held up the diary. "But the date—"

"Does it matter when he died?" Severus asked, his tone a touch softer. "He is still dead."

Black turned and snarled at him. "That's my brother you're talking about, you—"

Something finally broke inside of him, and Severus stepped forward, his frame tall and imposing as he came face-to-face with the ridiculous mongrel. "He was my brother too!"

He knew he was making a scene. His voice was louder and his tone sharper than when he snarled at incompetent children brewing in his classroom with a lack of attention that could easily get themselves killed.

Black was evidently caught off guard, and actually took a step back after a long moment. "When did he die?"

Severus sighed, hating that the memories still existed. "The last time I saw Regulus Black was in 1981. The last of October, to be specific."

Hermione's eyes widened. "B-but that's . . ."

"Indeed."

Hermione swallowed. "And . . . and my m-mother?"

Severus looked down, wishing he didn't have the answers to her questions. Some memories were worse than others. "Dead long before."

"How?"

"The McKinnon family was murdered by a raid," Severus began, recalling the night in great detail, though he would not tell the girl everything. Those nightmares, he would keep from her.

"It was about a year after the prophecy and my defection to the Order. The McKinnons were suspected of being allied with the Order, which was true. Marlene had been involved, much to Regulus' displeasure, for about six months before I sought out Dumbledore. It was she who vouched for me."

Black put his hands in his hair and began pacing, likely reliving those days as well.

"At the time, despite being a spy myself,' Severus continued, "the Dark Lord didn't like to put too much trust in any one individual, so I was not given foreknowledge about the raid. Pettigrew was in charge of that, I can only assume," he said and shared a snarl with Black at the mention of the man. "The raid that I did know about, I reported back to the Order, as well as to Regulus."

Black looked up. "Why Regulus? He faked his death to hide. Why would he—?"

Severus narrowed his eyes. "For you, you idiot. The second raid, and the only one I knew about ahead of time, was set against an Auror meeting. Regulus' greatest flaw was his soft spot for you. He left his home to watch from a distance, provide help if he could by playing noble vigilante," he said and rolled his eyes. "Locked inside a house with a restless wife and a babbling toddler would drive any man to seek attention elsewhere. Regulus sought to lower the number of the Dark Lord's army while Disillusioned. I'm still not entirely sure whether that was the influence of a Gryffindor wife or the famous Black mental instability seeping through."

Hermione sighed in frustration. "What happened?"

"I was supposed to return back to the Dark Lord and wait to be sent with the others to attack you," he said, looking at Black, "as well as Potter and the Longbottoms if they were there. Instead, I was sent to the McKinnons. Marlene was visiting her parents that night. I arrived with the second string as backup. Too late."

Black's mouth fell open. "The fire. I . . . I remember it."

"So do I. I caused it."

"You what?!"

Hermione reached a hand out to still her uncle's temper.

"Three Death Eaters had to have their memories altered because they caught sight of her," Severus said, gesturing to Hermione. "All the adults were dead when I arrived, Marlene included but, by some miracle, there didn't appear to be a man around willing to murder an infant. So I removed the memory of Hermione from their minds, set the place ablaze to remove any sign that she ever existed amongst the family, and then I took her back to her father."

The girl looked so heartbroken, and Severus hated Regulus for putting him in this position. And he hated her a little bit for making him be the one to break her heart.

"You would know all of this if you'd finished the diaries," he said, snatching the book from Hermione's hand, closing it shut and shoving it back at her.

Hermione bit her bottom lip, and Severus struggled not to feel guilty for upsetting her. "How . . . how did my . . . my father really die? How did he escape the inferi?"

Severus sighed as he remembered getting Regulus' letter begging him to look after Marlene and the baby. It hadn't been more than a few hours after the owl arrived, that the boy showed up at Spinner's End, coughing up water and claiming to be dying of thirst. He had been badly bruised with scratches all over his body, and Severus had needed to put him in a deep sleep just to get the water from his lungs without him struggling against the spells. When Regulus woke a full week later, long after Walburga Black had gone screaming through the streets of Wizarding London proclaiming his death, the boy sat up, cleared his throat and refused to answer a single question.

He sighed and looked down at his goddaughter, who had the misfortune of having the same questions he did.

"I have no knowledge of how he escaped, nor how he eventually died."

Chapter Text

September 1998

Hermione went back to bed after visiting Professor Snape to confirm the terrible details of her parents' deaths; a task she had been putting off for months.

It was one thing to know they were dead. She had known. Regulus's death had been well documented—or so she'd thought—and she and Harry had learnt about the original Order of the Phoenix, and the ultimate ends of those that died in the war.

When she'd learnt through the diaries that Marlene McKinnon was her mother, Harry had passed along to her a copy of an old photograph that he'd been given. They all stood there together, the original Order. Harry's parents and Sirius and Remus, Neville's parents, Dumbledore, McGonagall, the Prewetts, and there . . . standing between Dorcas Meadowes and Emmeline Vance was a witch with curly blond hair that looked just like Hermione's except for the colour.

There was a sad silver lining in knowing that her mother had been friends with Harry's parents. Though, it didn't matter now. They were all dead.

Her mother was dead.

Dead.

Dead for being a brave, reckless Gryffindor.

Hermione cried herself to sleep, mourning her Muggle parents who were lost to her, and her magical parents who had been deceased for the majority of her life. She couldn't even remember them.

When she woke, she decided that she would feel proud to be their daughter.

Regulus fought the Dark Lord; fought him for her, to protect her and her mother from a world he didn't want her to grow up in. Marlene joined the Order to stand for those who didn't have the ability to. Her parents were heroes as far as she was concerned.

And she figured they would want her to live and not linger on the past; not waste time mourning them.

Unfortunately, living meant accepting all aspects of her life, and one of those aspects happened to be a pointy-faced (and inconveniently handsome) Slytherin who, she hoped, spent his nights terrified that she would appear in the dungeons and smack him in the face again. The prat.

Refuse to break off the betrothal, will he?

Hermione made her way down to breakfast, sad to see Harry there without Ron. She sighed and took her seat across from her best friend. "Is he still mad at me?"

Harry looked up and frowned. "Hermione, he's not mad at you. He's mad at the situation. He's mad at Malfoy," he added. "Where is the umm . . . Am I allowed to call him names still, or will that upset you?"

She sighed as she stared at the foods in front of her, trying to find the energy to be hungry. "Just stay out of trouble, please. Call him whatever you'd like in private," she said and then added, "For now. I'm still holding out hope that Sirius or Professor Snape will find something. But if I can't get out of this then, well, I imagine we'll be seeing a lot more of Malfoy in the future."

"Ron's not going to be happy about that," Harry noted with a chuckle.

"You're being very adult about all of this," she said with a small smile as she finally felt fine enough to swallow a mouthful or two of pumpkin juice.

Harry shrugged, nibbling on his toast. "I faced Voldemort a few months ago. No offence, Hermione, but after thinking about it, I realised that your unfortunate love life, past and present," he noted with a pointed look that briefly made her feel guilty about keeping secrets during sixth year, "barely registered on my stress levels."

She couldn't help but laugh at his relaxed demeanour and mature perspective. "Hopefully Ron will learn to follow your example when it comes to Malfoy."

As if they'd been summoned by the gossip, the doors to the Great Hall burst open and Remus and Sirius walked through, each dragging a younger wizard by the collar of their robes. Ron and Malfoy were snarling and scowling at one another like rabid beasts, both equally bloodied as the professors pulled them past the tables to the other end of the Hall where the Headmistress sat.

Hermione and Harry stared at the scene, each already in a standing position, waiting for some sort of signal from Sirius or Remus to approach. The men quietly spoke with McGonagall and then, at the nod of her head, they dragged the culprits out of the Great Hall without another word.

"Let's go," Hermione said, and Harry followed quickly on her heels as they dashed after them.

When they reached the Hospital Wing, they moved immediately to the bed where Ron sat as Madam Pomfrey applied an ice pack to his face.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"Fucking ferret," Ron growled.

Hermione turned and peeked around the corner where she saw Malfoy in another bed, waiting for someone to come and tend to his wounds: a split lip and a cut over his eyebrow, from the look of it.

"Sirius, what happened?"

He sighed, looking beyond annoyed at the two of them. His expression barely softened when he turned to her. "Wizards these days lack the subtlety that we had as kids. If we picked a fight, it was either in front of a crowd because you wanted it to be seen, or in the shadows, so you could stay out of trouble. Remus and I stumbled on these two at the foot of the fucking staircase having a go at one another."

Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat.

"Sorry, Poppy," Sirius said, smirking at her. "I know, I know, I'm a professor for now. Have to hold my tongue."

"Malfoy's an arsehole," Ron snapped, drawing Hermione's attention.

"What did he do this time?" she asked in frustration.

Malfoy stood suddenly from his bed and loudly stormed over, glaring at Ron as his boots made a stomping sound with every step. He shoved a finger in Ron's direction, a look of absolute loathing in his eyes. He was furious and immovable, even as Sirius and Remus stood in front of him, preventing him from stepping any closer to Ron. "This twat called Hermione a Mudblood!"

She spun at the word and gaped at one wizard, then the other.

"I did not!" Ron shouted. "Not . . . er . . . not really. I was just sayin' that the only reason that he refuses to break your bloody contract is 'cause now you're er . . . not a Muggle-born."

"That's not what you said, and you know it!" Malfoy yelled.

Hermione turned swiftly and shoved the blond in the chest. "I don't care if he called me a Knockturn Alley slag! It is not your position to defend me when I am perfectly capable of doing it myself. And you have no right to care if anyone calls me a Mudblood. You did it for six years!"

Malfoy scowled, clenched his teeth, and shook his head. "Granger—Hermione, you don't understand. He can't do that. You're mine to defend. You'll be my wife."

She heard something pop in her head, and her left eye began twitching. "Madam Pomfrey, do you have a sufficient supply of Pain Potion on hand?"

Malfoy had always been intelligent, and he proved as much when he took a single step back from her.

Actually," Hermione said with a smirk, "I have a better idea. You want a pureblood princess? You want to marry a Black? You'll get it, Malfoy!"

She then stormed out of the hospital wing.

Draco froze as he watched her retreating form, wondering why he felt like he'd lost the battle when her words said that he'd actually won. Granted, he cared nothing for the whole pureblood princess nonsense she'd been spouting, but having her give in and accept the contract so that they could just be together was his exact plan. So why did it feel like he should start running?

He turned and glared at Weasley, the twat, and then made his way back to his own bed.

"Did you really call Hermione that word?" Potter demanded from the other side of the curtain.

Weasley sighed guiltily. "I didn't . . . I didn't mean it like that. I was trying to get to Malfoy is all. Reminding him what he used to think of her."

"You don't know shit about me, Weasel!" Draco snapped.

"You boys can't fight her battles," Professor Lupin said, interrupting the indignant noises that Weasley was making.

"Yeah, that's my job now."

Draco looked up to see Sirius Black standing at the edge of the curtain, able to glare at both of them.

"No," Lupin insisted. "Hermione, pureblood or not, Black or not, is a fully grown witch who has been to war and back. You can't coddle her. This is her life and all you can do is support her in whatever decision she makes."

"She said she dated Malfoy," Weasley said. "She . . . How could she?"

Draco's scowl vanished and he only knew that his mouth had fallen open because the split in his lip suddenly began stinging again. She'd told her friends about sixth year?

"Maybe Hermione saw something in Draco that no one else did," Lupin answered." At those words, Draco looked up and made eye contact with Sirius again, but then looked away quickly. "But whatever she and Draco did then, or do in the future, that's their business. If you're her friend, you'll stand by her. Be there for her. She's had a rough year and now the Wizarding world is expecting much more of her because of who her blood family is. It's not fair. Harry, her personal life is now going to be as talked about as much as yours."

"I never thought about it like that," Potter muttered. "I'll support her. We'll support her."

"He's not good enough for her," Weasley said.

Draco's scowl returned. As though he needed an idiot to remind him of something so obvious.

Sirius snorted, drawing his attention back up. "That's something we can all agree on. Then again, I don't think anyone's good enough for her. But if she chooses him, he's family."

"Isn't he—?" Potter began, but Sirius waved him off.

Weasley sighed. "Fine. I'll never be friends with the git—"

"I can still hear all of you!" Draco shouted at the curtain.

But Weasley went on as though he hadn't been interrupted. "And I'll never understand what Hermione was thinking but . . . well, she was smart enough to keep us alive all these years, yeah? Who'm I to question her decisions?"

Just then, Granger walked back into the Hospital Wing with her head held high. She didn't say a word but, instead, handed a folded parchment to Sirius who opened it, read the words and grinned.

That can't be good, Draco thought.

She smiled back sweetly and kissed her uncle's cheek before turning to leave, clearly refusing to make eye contact with Draco as she walked out the doors.

Sirius smirked and flung the curtain back, removing the barrier that kept Draco separated from the Gryffindors. As he approached the bed, Draco couldn't help but recoil slightly.

"Mr Malfoy," he said, formally addressing him, "my niece, Hermione Black has bid me deliver this to you."

He handed the parchment over.

Draco hesitantly took it, letting the parchment sit in his hand for a moment as he weighed it, wondering if he could tell beforehand were it to be set to explode.

His worries must have been visible, because Potter let out an amused snort.

Eventually, Draco's pride and stupid curiosity got the better of him, and he opened the letter, staring down at the neat but hurried penmanship.

Mr Malfoy,

I accept your proposal of a non-exclusive pureblood courtship under the conditions that you make amends to me and my family for past grievances, as well as earn the approval of my uncle and Paterfamilias, Sirius Black.

Sincerely Yours,

Hermione Astra (Granger) Black

PS: Be careful what you wish for, arsehole.

Draco stared at the words and swallowed hard, turning his gaze up to meet the stare of a grinning Sirius Black, formerly accused murderer and supposed lunatic; a man who had spent twelve years in Azkaban and miraculously escaped with his sanity intact—maybe.

"You and I are going to have fun, boy."

By the end of the day, Draco decided that he was going to somehow get back at Theo and Daphne for educating Granger about pureblood customs, specifically ones relating to a courtship. He'd cornered his witch outside of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom to demand what, exactly, her little note was about.

"We're not in a courtship, Granger," he said firmly. His lip was still split, because, in a rush, he'd forgone treatment from the mediwitch in order to chase down his fiancee once her potentially psychotic uncle had left the hospital wing. "We're engaged. Contractually obligated."

She smirked at him in reply. It was unnerving.

"Am I Granger, Hermione, or Black? Really, Draco, you ought to pick a name and stick to it. Remember, I'm a pureblood princess now," she said in a mocking tone, "I might get easily confused. And yes, we are contractually obligated, but did you know that when your mother and my father were likewise contractually obligated, she entered into a courtship with your father?"

The smirk on her face taunted him. She'd gotten the upper hand. How the fuck had that happened?

"See, I am allowed to date whomever I please, Draco—"

"Over my dead body, Hermione."

She acted as though he hadn't even spoken, which was irritating because he had hoped using her given name would have triggered some sort of reaction.

"So long as I marry no one but you, I can do what I want. And should I decide to date you again—if you want to call what we did sixth year actually dating—you're going to have to jump through all the pretty pureblood hoops that you claim make our society so great." She oozed sarcasm as she spoke. "If you don't want to court me, then you'll just get to sit back and watch as other wizards do. I might even see if uncle Sirius wants to throw me a debutante ball."

Draco audibly growled, and she laughed at him.

"Want to break the contract?"

He narrowed his eyes. Game on, little witch. "Never."

They entered the classroom and took seats in their typical groupings. To further inter-House unity, Professor McGonagall insisted that all core classes were now shared.

Hermione sat down between Ginny and Luna, obediently following pureblood etiquette by not sitting too close to Harry, Ron, or even Neville. On the other side of the room, Draco squared his shoulders as he leant back in his chair, sitting between Theo and Blaise.

Remus entered the room with a smile. "Defensive Charms today," he announced excitedly, clearly thrilled to be back in his element, not bothering to delay with introductory speeches. "Everyone pair up!"

When many of the students rose to find a partner, Hermione stood and walked over to the Slytherins. "Excuse me, Daphne," she said,purposely not making eye contact with Draco as she spoke, "I have a question about pureblood customs."

Daphne smiled up at her. "I'm happy to help, Hermione. Are you wanting to pair up today?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think that will be beneficial. I was just curious. I read somewhere that if a wizard was in any sort of contractual arrangement with a witch, it was his honourable obligation to defend her honour. If she were to, say, be hexed or jinxed, he would be required to challenge her attacker to a duel, is that correct?"

Daphne chuckled knowingly. "Yes, that's very accurate."

Draco scoffed, grinning as he twirled his wand in hand. "You're using a class assignment against me? Have at it, Hermione," he said and waved his hand to give her leave. "You're basically just giving me a reason to knock Potter or Weasley on their arses."

Hermione smiled sweetly at him and then, without breaking eye contact with Draco, loudly said, "Professor Lupin, It appears as though we've an odd number of students. Would you be so kind as to pair with me?"

"I'd be happy to, Hermione," Remus said, trying to conceal a small grin of his own.

Draco's confident smirk fell from his lips immediately.

Advanced Transfiguration was worse.

Draco had arrived late to class because, after being obligated to challenge Professor Lupin to a duel for letting a light Stinging Hex get through Hermione's shields, Draco had been Stunned for being too slow and hit his head on a desk when he fell. After a quick look over by the apologetic professor and Madam Pomfrey—who was chuckling at him as though she knew the source of his humiliation—he was sent on his merry way.

He strolled into class and saw that everyone was already sitting at their desks with their familiars. He spotted his Eagle owl at the front of the room, waiting for him. As he walked down the aisle, he looked to his left and scowled at Hermione. She smiled up at him, stroking the fur of the orange beast sitting in her lap like a villain from the Muggle comics he'd caught Greg reading once a few years prior. There was also a small black owl nuzzling Hermione's cheek from its tiny perch on her desk.

Draco huffed and took his seat beside Blaise who wasn't even trying to conceal his laughter.

"How's the head, mate?"

"Shut up."

Whispers in the room gave way to loud gasps and the sound of chairs scraping against the floor as a large black dog walked down the centre of the room toward the front.

Draco, instantly recognising a Grim, backed away and looked up—a strange protective instinct telling him to make certain Hermione was okay—to see the witch grinning.

The majority of the Gryffindors hadn't even moved in their seats at the sight of the dangerous omen.

When the dog got close to Draco, it turned its pale eyes on him and growled low, baring its teeth.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

And then it shifted into the human form of Sirius Black.

Draco's eyes widened and his inner mantra just echoed louder in his mind: FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!

"Welcome to Advanced Transfiguration!" Sirius said loudly as he turned and took a seat on the edge of the large oak desk. His professor's robes were draped loosely around his frame and the top of his collar was left unbuttoned. He was the very opposite of the well-composed image of Snape, something that was likely intentional.

"I am, very obviously, an Animagus. We'll be talking today about the very difficult and dangerous process of becoming an Animagus, as well as how it differs from human-to-animal transfiguration by way of charms. Now, let's go over the basics: who can tell me the definition of the word 'Animagi'? Yes," Sirius pointed across the room with a proud smile, "Miss Granger."

Hermione smiled and lowered her raised hand. "An Animagus is a witch or wizard who can shift themselves into a specific animal at will. The animal isn't of their own choosing, but is discovered during certain meditations and generally influenced by personality traits."

Sirius smirked at her. "Are you calling me a dog, Miss Granger?"

"If the paw fits, Professor," she said, and the class laughed.

"Ten points to Gryffindor," Sirius declared. "Now, who can tell me how being an Animagus differs from human-to-animal transfiguration."

All eyes turned and looked at Draco.

"You motherfuckers," he muttered quietly under his breath.

"Mr Malfoy? You have something to say?" Sirius asked, clearly very pleased with himself.

Ignoring the quiet chuckles coming from Theo and Blaise, Draco sucked in a breath. "The difference is that an Animagus has the ability to revert the shift at their own will, while human-to-animal transfiguration is a cheap trick," he hissed, "that forces a person into the body of an animal and keeps them there against their will until the spell is reversed."

Sirius nodded. "Well said. Ten points from Slytherin."

"From?!" Blaise yelled in a panic.

"Sorry," Sirius said with a chuckle. "Habit. Ten points to Slytherin. Now, you've all seen how an Animagus shifts just a few minutes ago. Let's see the difference with human-to-animal transfiguration. It's a very simple spell and the actual transformation doesn't hurt in the slightest, I assure you. Do I have a volunteer?"

No one raised their hands, and Draco sank down in his chair, wishing he'd remained in the Hospital Wing. Perhaps Sirius would be merciful, he hoped, considering the professor hadn't looked back at him again. That is, until Draco felt a sharp sting of pain at his ankle, making him jump from his seat.

"Ow!" He looked down at the floor where Hermione's orange cat was hissing and scratching at his foot, its bottle brush tail swishing back and forth against the floor.

"Mr Malfoy, so kind of you to volunteer," Sirius said happily.

Draco closed his eyes. He knew he could back out and sit back down, angrily waiting for someone else to volunteer to be transfigured; but then Hermione—and her batshit crazy uncle—would win, and Draco had no intention of letting that happen.

He ground his teeth and stepped forward with his head held high and his pride—at least temporarily—intact, turning back to glare at Hermione before he stepped up to her uncle.

Looking at the man's wand, he felt his determination waiver.

"Please," Draco said in a very quiet voice hoping that with his canine senses, Sirius would be the only one to hear him comment, "anything but a ferret."

They had lunch before separate elective courses later that afternoon and, instead of wallowing at the Slytherin table with his friends while the rest of the seventh and eighth years made comments about what a pretty pony he'd made—"Didn't you ask me for one of these recently, Hermione?" Sirius had asked when he'd transfigured Draco into a tiny white horse—he headed toward the Owlery. Draco called for his own Eagle owl in addition to five school owls, attaching scrolls of parchment to each of their legs and whispering their destination.

"Go as fast as you can," he said and sent them all on their way.

When it came time for dinner hours later, Draco had fully prepared for Hermione to somehow attack him on his turf by coming to sit with the Slytherins again. Instead, she remained at her own table, smiling and laughing with her idiot friends.

"Why're you grinning?" Theo asked. "What did you do?"

"What makes you think I did something?" Draco asked innocently, stabbing his fork into a pile of mashed potatoes that he had no intention of actually eating.

Blaise sighed. "How bad is it going to be?"

Draco smirked. "Explosive."

The evening owls began flying into the Great Hall, dropping off mail, copies of the Evening Prophet, and packages from home. A barn owl swooped down in front of Hermione, depositing a long rectangular box in front of her.

"Oh, what's that?" Ginny asked curiously.

Hermione frowned, not recognising the owl. "I don't know. I don't have anyone outside of Hogwarts who would send anything to me," she commented as she began to open the parcel.

Her mouth fell open, and her eyes widened.

"Good Godric!" Ginny shouted, drawing the attention of the rest of their table. "Is that a fucking diamond bracelet?!"

The diamonds practically glittered in the box, reflecting light from the floating candles above the table. Seething, Hermione glared across the room at Draco, who blew her a kiss.

She quietly growled and pushed the bracelet away, using the tip of her wand to do so, clearly not stupid enough to touch it, just in case.

When a second and a third owl suddenly dropped more packages in front of her, she felt her cheeks heat as stubborn rage brewed in her chest. "That rotten . . ." she muttered as she revealed each gift of jewellery: a pair of emerald earrings and then a sapphire brooch.

By the time that the fourth and fifth owls arrived bearing an opal necklace and a silver hairpin, she could feel angry steam practically rising out of her hair. Unable to control herself, she stood up, slamming her palms down on the table as she screamed, "Do you have any idea how many people are starving in the world?! Do something useful with your stupid Galleons!"

At the Slytherin table, Draco looked victorious as he watched her leave the Great Hall, stomping her cute little feet the whole way.

"Worst. Courtship. Ever," Daphne told him. "Amusing as hell, but I thought you'd be better at this, Draco."

Theo shook his head. "You bought Hermione Granger jewellery? Do you know the girl at all?"

Draco grinned, mentally marking a win for himself. "I know exactly what will piss her off."

"And making her angry is the goal?" Daphne shook her head. "Yeah, she'll definitely love you now, dummy."

"I spent my morning fist fighting gingers, duelling werewolves, and a very uncomfortable twenty minutes as a miniature fucking horse," Draco said with a huff. "She's earned me getting under her skin a little. And the best has yet to pop up."

Theo shook his head in disappointment. "What did you do?"

Draco grinned.

Hermione arrived in Gryffindor Tower and threw her bag on her bed. "That insufferable prat!" She stomped her feet a few times, getting her energy and anger out. "I could murder him, I swear! Maybe not murder, but serious disfigurement is in his near future! The absolute narcissistic, egotistical, arse! Jewellery, honestly? Do I look like the kind of girl that can be bought?"

"No," a tiny voice squeaked from behind her.

Hermione shrieked at the surprise, jumping back.

A little house-elf stood before her. She was very small with big floppy ears much too large for her head and bright blue eyes that stared up at Hermione, unblinking. She wore a pink, frilly, lace-edged tea towel as a dress and a red bow on the top of her head.

"I'm so sorry for scaring you," Hermione quickly said when she saw the elf shiver. "You've done nothing wrong. Umm . . . I thought, I mean, usually, the house-elves don't come up to the dorms. At least not unless we're sleeping. Is everything okay?"

The elf smiled brightly. "I comes when Mistress needs me."

Hermione's smile faded. "What . . .? What did you call me?"

The elf's smile widened. "I is a gift from Master to Mistress."

The twitch in her eye from earlier returned and then spread down, causing the left side of her face to pulse. She swallowed down hard, trying to remain calm as she whispered, "What? You . . . You're a . . . " Letting out a breath, she growled, "Malfoy, you son of a bitch."

The elf gasped and clutched at her ears, pulling them down tightly against her head. "Mistress must not speak ill of Master. He loves her very much! Bought her a house-elf to tend to her needs. Swotty takes care of Mistress now."

Dry air expelled itself from Hermione's lungs, and she gulped in a deep breath. "I'm sorry . . . what did you say your name was?"

The elf stood tall, which was almost amusing considering how very tiny she was. She looked happy and proud as she declared with a sweet voice. "Swotty, Mistress. Master chooses it."

Hermione desperately wanted to scream. Scream louder than ever before, but the tiny little elf looked so very happy, and Hermione was terrified of frightening the poor thing.

"That rotten little ferret," she said quietly under her breath. "I'll . . . oh, I don't even know what I'm going to do to him yet, but it's going to be so bad he . . . he'll be in the Hospital Wing for a month! Maybe even St Mungo's for spell damage."

She swallowed down the rising bile and turned her attention to the elf. "Listen . . . umm . . . Swotty," she said the word through clenched teeth as she sat down on her bed and kicked off her shoes, tugging at the sock on her foot. "It would please me so very much if you would take this sock."

The elf reacted, well, predictably.

"No!" Swotty wailed, fat tears rolling down her cheeks as she darted away from Hermione as though the witch was holding a red-hot poker stick in her hand instead of a sock. "Mistress mustn't. Swotty bes a good elf! She promises! She promises! Swotty waited for years and years to be bought to be a good elf! Now Swotty serves!"

And then, to prove herself worthy, the little elf began furiously cleaning Hermione's dorm room.

"Fucking Malfoy. Okay, please stop crying." Hermione sighed in defeat. "Swotty, if you are to be my elf . . ." she said, desperately trying not to vomit, "I insist you be paid."

The elf cringed in horror and disgust.

"I insist on it, Swotty!" Hermione said firmly.

Swotty's eyes darted back and forth as though she were trying to figure a way out of this, but in the end, she frowned and nodded her head. "If Mistress insists."

Hermione sighed in relief and thought, one elf down, thousands to go. "I would also like you to go by your actual name."

Swotty frowned. "Elves don't name themselves, Mistress. Waits for Master to give them a name."

Hermione grimaced. Fucking Malfoy. "Then . . . then since Master has given you to me, I would like you to pick your own name. It would please me very much."

"What name should Swotty pick?"

Sighing in frustration, Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose to stop the quickly forming headache. "Anything. Anything but Swotty."

The elf took a good long minute, contemplating in absolute silence before grinning madly and puffing out her chest with pride. "Swotty will call herself . . . Winston."

Chapter Text

September 1981

Severus walked into Iliad Cottage and sighed as he looked around, finding the living room immaculately clean but empty save for the small house-elf in the corner, polishing something that looked like it had been dusted already twice that morning.

"Master Snape," the older elf addressed him respectfully, nodding her head. "Master and the Young Miss are resting."

Severus sighed in frustration. "He's been resting for months. I brought you here to help him, not to enable him."

"Meela cleans the house and cooks the meals and watches the Young Miss when Master leaves," she said looking offended, if that were even possible, at Severus' implication that she was not doing her job.

He growled under his breath. "He's still leaving at night then?" Meela nodded. "This needs to stop."

He turned swiftly down the hallway, robes billowing behind him as he moved. He walked past Hermione's room, her crib untouched, and finally reached the master suite. He knocked once before opening the door quietly and peering inside.

Regulus was on the large bed, long black hair spread out on the pillows and blankets in a mess. The bags under his eyes were prominent, and he obviously hadn't shaved in weeks.

Severus narrowed his eyes at the sight.

Good days and bad. Mostly bad since Marlene died. Since Severus had rescued Hermione from the raid and set fire to the old McKinnon home. Telling Regulus that his wife was dead had been the hardest thing Severus ever had to do, and that was saying something since he'd tortured and murdered people at the behest of the Dark Lord. When suffering hit closer to home it was harder to ignore; harder to pretend it didn't really happen.

Penance. Vengeance. Punishment.

They'd joined the Death Eaters under the false idea that they didn't have a choice when in reality they did. The choice they didn't make at the time just seemed to be a poor one. They convinced themselves they had joined for all the right reasons. Self-preservation was high on the list, of course, but they naively thought they'd somehow prevent worse things from happening. Certainly, when paired with people like Macnair or Dolohov on missions, they could help speed along painless deaths as opposed to the horrors their fellow Death Eaters could inflict upon their victims. Blood was on their hands regardless.

Some might have thought Marlene's death was punishment for Regulus' sins.

Severus would attend Order meetings, having been under the thumb of Albus Dumbledore for over a year now to suffer the consequences of spilling an overheard prophecy to the Dark Lord; the same Dark Lord that was now planning the murder of the woman that Severus loved—and her family.

He'd begged for her to be spared and had played both sides to see it done, but after watching his best friend crumble to pieces, clinging to his daughter for life support to avoid drowning in his grief, Severus couldn't help but wonder who would save him should his plans fail.

The tiny witch in question was sitting up in the centre of the bed, her small hands patting Regulus' face. Her own mass of black curls had been tied back in a neat green bow; the clean work of elf hands. Severus cleared his throat and gave a tight-lipped smile to the child, briefly narrowing his eyes as she looked up at him and grinned.

"Sev!"

He gave half a smile to the little girl, the only person these days to elicit even the slightest hint of happiness from him. Everyone else was insufferable.

"Are you going to get up today?" he asked Regulus as he pulled Hermione into his arms, cringing a bit when she kissed his cheek and tugged on his hair affectionately.

Regulus didn't move.

"Regulus!"

"Papa sad," Hermione whispered in his ear.

"Meela!" Severus turned and passed the child over into the hands of the house-elf when she popped into the room. "Take care of Hermione while I deal with her father."

"Yes, Master Snape," Meela said and smiled sweetly at Hermione. "Come, Young Miss. Meela makes you lunch."

When the bedroom door shut behind the elf and Hermione, Severus sighed and sat down on the bed, looking into the empty, red-rimmed eyes of his friend. "It'll be over soon. The Dark Lord is planning to make a move within the next few months. Likely Christmas," he said with disdain. "He always was one to enjoy a good celebration. The Order is aware. Potters and Longbottoms are being moved to hidden locations."

"My brother?" Regulus asked in a hoarse voice.

Severus rolled his eyes. "Oh, you'll speak when it concerns people you give a damn about but no one else?"

Regulus shrugged.

"He was injured in a recent . . . scuffle with some of ours. The younger ones. Untrained. He killed Wilkes in battle. Avery's father as well. Rodolphus hit him with a decent Slicing Hex, but I'm told he'll live," he said. "You don't want to know how Bellatrix rewarded her husband for that one."

Both men shuddered at the thought.

"It will end soon. We need to make arrangements."

Regulus sighed and sat up. "I've told you before. If the Dark Lord wins, I'm leaving Britain. Hermione and I will vanish into thin air. Go to America perhaps. If he loses, we'll test the waters. See how the Wizengamot treats you in the aftermath."

Severus sneered at the man. He understood, of course. It was well thought out, and he might have done something similarly if their places were switched. "So glad to be your experimental subject. And if I'm imprisoned, you'll run away with the girl to France? You mentioned it before."

Regulus nodded. "She can go to Beauxbatons there. Change our names. If you go free, I suppose we'll come out of hiding. Beg for mercy for my actions."

"Ask forgiveness?"

Regulus laughed harshly. "Don't kid yourself, Severus, there's no forgiveness for what we've done."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Where's my daughter?"

Severus sighed. "With the bloody elf, who informed me today that you're still mucking about at night. Leaving the cottage. I don't even know why I bother telling you things. It'll get you killed in the end. You've turned yourself into a bloody—"

"Gryffindor?"

"Idiot."

"Did you know the Sorting Hat wanted to put me there?" Regulus asked. "I begged it—begged it—to put me in Slytherin instead. Didn't want to deal with the shitstorm that would come if I was sorted elsewhere. Didn't want to deal with my family. What family do I have now? Father's dead, Mum thinks I am, my brother hated me when he thought I was alive, and I got the only woman I ever loved murdered by my fucking brothers in arms."

Severus frowned and looked away from his friend, reminded of the sounds Regulus had made when he was told his wife, his childhood love, had been murdered. Severus himself held no affection for Marlene, but she had made Regulus happy and that made her, at the very least, valuable. Seeing her dead body on the ground of the McKinnon home beside her parents and brother, however, sparked a guilt inside him like he'd never before felt. He might have even stopped to mourn the woman himself had he not panicked when the other Death Eaters pointed out the crying child in the room.

"Hermione," he whispered to Regulus, pointing out that the man still did have family.

"Is all I have left in the world."

"And if you keep going out and playing vigilante, you're going to leave her an orphan. Killing Death Eaters will not balance the innocent lives you took. It will not avenge your wife. It will not end this war. It will most definitely not keep your daughter safe. But if you insist on being a reckless arse, arrangements need to be made for Hermione in the case of your inevitable death."

Regulus turned away, not wanting to look at his friend. "You're her godfather. She goes to you."

Severus growled, wanting to throttle sense back into the man. "I will not have the luxury of keeping her in any situation. If the Dark Lord falls, I will be outed as Dumbledore's man, and my life will be threatened by any Death Eaters that may slip through the legal system. If the Dark Lord wins, and I somehow survive, she'll be taken from me because she is yours."

"I don't trust anyone else," Regulus said, looking years older than he was.

"I would suggest Minerva, but not only is she loyal to Dumbledore to a fault, she believes Hermione died with the rest of the McKinnons," Severus snapped. "Why you people put me in charge of your children, I'll never know. I had to have this exact stupid conversation with Lucius and Narcissa last week. They, of course, want me to raise Draco should anything happen to them. If only to keep Bellatrix and Rodolphus away from the boy."

"What's he like?" Regulus asked. "Narcissa's boy."

Severus rolled his eyes and tried to keep the bit of affection he held for Draco out of his usually expressionless eyes. "Ever the image of his father. Spoiled positively rotten. Narcissa dotes on him with both pure adoration and fear."

"Fear?" Regulus asked, turning to look at him.

Severus nodded, thinking of how Narcissa's hands subtly shook when discussing plans for Draco if she and Lucius were killed or imprisoned for their actions. "The Dark Lord has been talking about the future at great length lately. His plans to murder Potter's boy are always at the forefront of his mind, but Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle have all recently had sons and swore them each to the service of our Lord," he said the title mockingly. "Little lambs sacrificed on the altar."

"Lucius did not offer up his firstborn then?" Regulus questioned.

"And it was noticed. The man played it off well, I think. Told the Dark Lord that he would prefer it to see his own child make the choice himself. It would bring honour to his name and other such nonsense," Severus said, rolling his eyes.

Regulus scoffed. "Lucius is a coward. Narcissa is blind. Keep the Malfoys away from my daughter," he said, his voice distant.

"Stay alive, and I won't have to bother. Same thing I told Narcissa," Severus said with an indignant huff. "Merlin help me, I'd rather glamour the boy and dump him off with Muggles than let Bellatrix—"

"Muggles."

"What?"

Regulus almost smiled. "That's the answer."

September 1998

Severus stared across the Great Hall at breakfast as owls swooped in, flocking to the tables to deliver the mail. The scene at dinner a week earlier with Draco, Hermione, and the boxes of jewellery had been repeated at each meal since. Small containers of priceless stones, long boxes filled with flowers, dresses, and one particularly attention-grabbing gift of a brand new Firebolt.

Hermione seethed, and Draco smirked, and the whole Great Hall watched, faces rapt with attention, to see what would happen next.

When Hermione set the boxes on fire, Severus' colleagues finally decided to step in.

Gryffindors jumped back from the flames, and every other House stood back in shock and watched as Hermione glared at her betrothed through the smoke, the fire reflecting in her grey irises. She looked positively enraged to the casual observer, but Severus knew that look. She was amused by Draco's efforts to irritate her.

Just like her parents; always so damned dramatic.

"You two!" Minerva growled and pointed to Black and Severus while Flitwick and Lupin extinguished the flames. "In my office. Now!"

They marched up past the stone gargoyle, looking like a pair of third years that were due for a punishment for starting a food fight or hexing one another in the halls. Black plopped down in the chair in front of the large desk, while Severus stood in the corner of the room.

"This has gone on long enough!"

Black smirked. "To be fair, it's only been a week."

"Miss Granger set fire to a table in the Great Hall!"

"Technically, she set fire to a broomstick. A pretty expensive one from the look of it too. Why he thought to buy the witch a broom, I'll never know. She hates flying, which I don't understand. Regulus loved it more than anything. Then again, he also keeps buying her jewellery. Boy even bought her a house-elf," Black laughed. "I was surprised to see it hadn't been freed, but then again Hermione's never really understood house-elf bonds. Sweet little elf, that Winston—"

"What do you want us to do about it?" Severus asked, cutting off Black's ramblings.

"You two are the only proper adults in their lives!" Minerva snapped. "They are children who were forced to grow up too soon in the middle of a war, used as pawns and weapons and forced to fight on opposing sides. Hermione has had her world upended with the discovery of her true parentage, not to mention losing her Muggle parents, and goodness knows what Mr Malfoy has gone through with that . . . that monster living in his own home during the war. And now they're forced into this arrangement, and I don't know about the two of you, but I've yet to find a way for them out of this without mutually agreeing to pass it along."

"They'll be fine," Black brushed her off.

Minerva stomped her foot dramatically. "For Godric's sake, they hate one another!"

Severus scoffed. "Your perceptive abilities are, as always, astoundingly poor."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means . . . like mother like daughter."

Black turned and glared at him. "You knew?"

"Knew what?" Minerva asked.

"You knew that Hermione and Draco were seeing one another the year before last, and you didn't do anything about it?" Black stood up and narrowed his eyes.

Minerva's mouth fell open in shock. "I beg your pardon?"

"I was a bit busy that year," Severus drawled. "Dealing with a ridiculous teenage romance was not on my list of things to do."

"Severus, they . . . they're your godchildren. Both of them!" Minerva said in a reproachful tone.

"And I remember vowing to protect and teach them, but offering advice on Contraceptive Charms and broken hearts was not in the job description," he snapped bitterly. "If it will keep you from screaming at me, I will endeavour to speak to the pair of them in order to stop the foolish public displays of affection and reciprocated disdain. Is that all?"

He'd fully intended on ignoring the issue in favour of seeing how it all played out, but when Hermione began screaming at Draco in the middle of his Advanced Potions class that same afternoon, Severus dismissed the rest of the students and held his godchildren afterward, scowling at them with narrowed eyes filled with impatience and frustration.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor."

Hermione's eyes predictably widened. "What? You're taking points from me? Didn't you hear him in class? He threatened to slip a Love Potion in my pumpkin juice! How can you take his side?"

"Because, Miss Granger, he's not screaming in my classroom," Severus said evenly. "And if you think that Mr Malfoy could actually get a Love Potion past you, then you're not practising . . . what did Moody call it? Constant vigilance?"

Hermione growled. "I shouldn't have to be vigilant. This was supposed to be a normal year!"

"You're a pureblood now, Hermione," Draco said smugly. "Whatever you thought was normal isn't anymore. And I didn't threaten to slip you a Love Potion, I asked you if you'd like me to brew Amortentia or just give you a bottle of my cologne seeing as they'd likely smell the same."

"Twenty points from Slytherin," Severus hissed at Draco.

Draco's eyes widened, and the stupid child actually looked like his feelings had been hurt by the removal of the points. "What? All I did was tell the truth! Why're you taking her side?"

"Because, Mr Malfoy, she's not an idiot," he snapped at the boy. "Miss Granger, you will leave my classroom with the instructions to cease all screaming as well as your current proclivity for pyromania at mealtimes. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," she said with a sigh and turned to leave but stopped just short of the door. "By the way, calling us by our last names doesn't make you any less our godfather. You're purposely trying to emotionally distance yourself from us, and it's very obvious."

"Out!"

Draco watched as Hermione left the classroom, and he turned and looked at Severus with an expression that spoke comradery; a look that was not reciprocated. "Do you see what I have to deal with?"

Severus sighed in frustration. "Draco, I have spent eighteen years watching you make many mistakes. From overindulging in treacle tart, to purposely provoking temperamental Gryffindors, to the asinine choices you have made that could have easily ended your own life countless times," he said and raised a hand indicating that he demanded silence when the boy opened his mouth to speak. "I watched, waited, and counselled the best that I could under the impression that one day, you would become a man and would learn from the mistakes of your youth. It is greatly upsetting to see that I was wrong."

Draco screwed up his face in anger. "I've learnt just fine. And I'm not the one making mistakes. She's—"

"A Muggle-born."

Draco's eyes narrowed as though Severus had just insulted her. "She's not. You said so yourself. Daughter of Regulus Black."

"Who died when she was two-years-old, forcing me to disguise her for her own safety and place her with mind-altered Muggles," Severus responded impatiently. "Eighteen years and a war where you were on the losing side, and you've yet to figure out that blood status does not matter? The girl may have been born to pureblood parents, but she was raised by Muggles for the majority of her life and took great pride in what she thought was her Muggle heritage. Her identity was stolen from her, and instead of gradually being able to come to terms with that, she is forced to endure another challenge: you."

"I'm not a—"

"You, Draco, are my godson, and as much affection as I can force myself to feel for any person, let alone a child, I can truthfully claim to have felt for you. But," he paused and stared at the boy, "you are a challenge to any you encounter; most of all the Muggle-born girl who was very unfortunate to find that she's not a Muggle-born after all, and is, in fact, tied to you for the duration of her life."

Draco frowned and looked away from him, clearly struggling to contain his anger. "I don't . . . I don't care about—"

"About her blood status? No. You stopped that during your sixth year."

The boy turned and gaped at him. "You knew?"

Severus kept his stony expression but was having difficulties not rolling his eyes. In the end, he raised an incredulous eyebrow and made an insulted scoff. "I was a spy for twenty years, Draco. I was able to keep the Dark Lord himself from knowing my true allegiance. Did you think that two hormonally inhibited teenagers, both of whom I am magically tied to, sneaking around the castle would escape me?"

"Why didn't you stop us?" Draco asked.

"Because I hoped some of your self-preservation would rub off on Miss Granger. And perhaps, in exchange, you would learn compassion from her."

"Hermione," Draco said, correcting him. "She's right. You're distancing yourself."

Severus sneered at the boy, truly tempted to smack him. "Your relationship with Hermione, however inappropriate at the time," he added and the look of disapproval could not be more clear in that moment, "was something I felt best to be cultivated, not dissuaded."

Sighing, Draco began pacing around the room.

"My efforts, I now see, are being wasted as you act the fool by provoking her to anger."

Draco opened his mouth, looking insulted, but Severus spoke again, cutting him off.

"And if you say that she started it, I will hit you. I'm aware these little games you are playing are merely for your own amusement, but did you ever think that perhaps if you put any actual effort into being kind to the girl, you would have her adoration instead of her fury to keep you entertained?"

He remained silent, hopefully reflecting on Severus' words.

"Draco, when you first found out about this betrothal, I cautioned you to tread carefully."

Draco frowned and turned his back to him, likely to hide his fears and vulnerabilities. "I'm good at making her angry."

"Obviously."

"I hurt her," Draco said quietly. "I hurt her a lot."

"And Gryffindors aren't known for being very forgiving," Severus said, his tone tinged with a touch of understanding that he hoped Draco knew better than to question. "I'm aware."

"Making her angry is easier than . . . than apologising."

Severus leant against the desk and allowed his shoulders to relax a touch now that the boy had dropped the arrogant attitude that had caused his blood pressure to rise. "Gryffindors wear their emotions on the surface. You would do well to mimic that behaviour . . . in this instance."

Draco nodded his head and then, after half a minute of silent contemplation, he turned and smirked. "Are you actually offering me relationship advice?"

Severus snarled, "Get out."

Hermione left her godfather's office but not the dungeons.

She had contemplated going back to Gryffindor Tower and ranting to her friends, or even visiting her uncle and Remus to let them know how she was feeling. Gryffindors, she thought. They were all just like her and a little too hot-tempered to offer any form of genuinely useful advice.

Ron would likely either laugh at her house-elf problem or offer to hex Draco in the halls.

Harry was busy avoiding Gryffindor Tower where Winston had taken over, stopping her self-imposed cleaning regimen only to seek out Hermione to make sure she was well, or to admire Harry from afar, having heard tales of the Great Harry Potter: friend to elves.

Sirius, ever the imposing figure that he adored being, would gladly follow Draco around in Animagus form, taunting him, if she only asked.

Remus would likely be helpful, but she knew her uncle would pout if she asked for Remus' help instead of him; he already had issues with Professor Snape being her godfather, though he at least understood Regulus' reasoning.

No, she couldn't go to the Gryffindors. She wasn't very close with the Hufflepuffs. She could barely understand Luna half the time which left out the Ravenclaws. That left only one other option.

"I am angry, Theo!" she said as she paced back and forth in the Slytherin common room. "He only wants me because I'm a pureblood now, and that disgusts me! He bought me an elf. An elf! He doesn't know a thing about me, doesn't care about me, and I hate him!"

Theo sat on the sofa, watching her wear a hole in the carpet. She'd stormed in, caught him off guard as he was reading by the fire, and gone into a massive rant about "that rotten ferrety bastard!" without even so much as a "hello, Theo, and how are you this fine day?"

When there was a lull in her ramblings, he took a breath and decided to participate in the conversation just in case those pesky rumours about the Black family's mental instability were true. "I take it your Gryffindor friends are used to little outbursts like this?"

She huffed. "I can't talk to them because they'll just attack him, and I . . . I don't want anyone to get in trouble."

He figured that trouble wasn't what she was avoiding. She didn't want to see Draco get hurt, at least by anyone but herself and, even then, her morally grey area always did lean closer to white than black according to rumuors.

"Well, first, calm down and stop crying," he advised and watched as she wiped at her eyes in confusion, clearly not having noticed that she'd started leaking tears.

"Second, Draco doesn't care about your blood status," he continued, and at her incredulous expression, rolled his eyes. "Don't look at me like that. He's been my best friend since we were in nappies. I know him better than I know Daphne," he said and then paused and carefully worded his next sentence. "And I know about sixth year."

Her grey eyes widened and her cheeks flushed.

Predictable.

"What do you know?" she asked, her voice barely a squeak.

Theo smirked. "Everything and more. Likely more than you."

"He . . . th-that was . . ." she stammered. "He was using me," she finally spat out angrily. "That pureblood tradition that you told me about—"

"The one where pureblood wizards are instructed to bed as many witches as possible? That tradition?" When she nodded her head, he clarified, "The tradition that Malfoys are historically known for ignoring?"

She opened her mouth, looking ready to argue more, but no sound came out. He'd silenced Hermione Granger. Someone should give him a trophy.

"Hermione, you're the only witch Draco's ever been with," he said quietly, glancing around to make sure that no one else was in the room with them. "I know because after he was with you the first time, he came back here and drank himself sick. I truly don't intend to embarrass you but . . . there was talk about blood," he said and watched as her face turned red right before she looked away from him. "He screamed about his father for a good hour, said your blood was red and not dirty like he'd been told his whole life. He said a lot of things that night."

She slowly turned back around, looking on the verge of tears. "He . . . But he broke up with me," she said in confusion. "Called me a Mudblood and said . . . And what about Astoria? Daphne said he was engaged to Astoria."

Theo nodded. "Who he's thought of as a little sister since we were children. Daphne and I are a lucky pairing," he tried to explain. "I learnt to love her. Most children that are betrothed at such a young age develop sibling-like love. It creates some nasty marriages. Most contracts are broken by the time they're out of Hogwarts."

"Then why—?"

"Sit down." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck, he's gonna be pissed I'm telling you this, but he's clearly too stupid to handle this situation on his own."

When she sat across from him, he took her hand between both of his own, hoping that what little friendship they'd recently cultivated would allow her to trust him.

"Hermione, sixth year over Easter break, Draco went home to report to the Dark Lord about his . . . mission. The man wasn't pleased. He entered his mind, nearly broke Draco doing it too," he said the words in a whisper. "Cracked his Occlumency shields enough to see . . . well, you," he told her and watched as understanding dawned on her. "Only not you. Draco said he was able to keep your face away from the Dark Lord. But he knew what you were up to. Knew there was a girl that was distracting him."

Hermione squeezed his hand tightly. "Oh my god."

"The Dark Lord assumed, since Malfoys are known to not venture outside of their betrothals," he said very pointedly, "that the girl in question was Astoria. She was kidnapped from her home and brought to Malfoy Manor. She was threatened . . . in a . . ." Theo hesitated and sighed at the memory of Daphne's crying when she'd been told by Draco himself what her sister had gone through on his behalf, "a variety of ways. They didn't physically hurt her, but they made Draco watch while she cried. She was fourteen for fuck's sake. They told him what they'd do to her. Essentially, what they wanted to do to you. Then they Crucio'd him."

He watched carefully as she flinched, pulling her hand back to rub against her left forearm which remained tucked beneath the sleeves of her red and grey jumper. He knew what was there though. Draco had told him.

"Slytherins are self-preservationists," he said, "and that means that people think we'll sell anyone out to save our own lives. But we keep one another safe. We protect what's ours."

She looked up at that. "I am not—"

"Make all the excuses you want to, Hermione," he said, cutting her off. "Blood status. Former rivalry. The fact that he's decided to take this contract thing and hold it over your head a little. Don't pretend that you don't know it's his way of trying to get a second chance. Don't pretend this little war the two of you have going on isn't some weird fucked up flirtation."

She scoffed, irritation taking over as she wiped at her eyes.

"You belong to him. He belongs to you. And I think you've both proven that time and time again. You kept the secret of your relationship from your friends, not because you were embarrassed but because you knew they'd attack him."

Grateful that she was no longer arguing back, Theo sighed in relief and patted her shoulder. "You kept him sane and alive that year, you know. He kept you hidden from the Dark Lord, tried to deny who you were as best he could to his crazy aunt, then took a bloody Crucio for you. The two of you stood side-by-side in battle, and then you testified to keep him out of Azkaban. Just one man's opinion here, but maybe, just maybe, you should start acting like you like one another when it's not a life or death situation."

Chapter Text

September 1998

Early Saturday morning, Hermione showed up at Remus and Sirius' quarters and knocked on the door, not surprised in the slightest that Remus was the one to crack it open. "Good morning, Professor Lupin," she said brightly. "Is Sirius awake yet?"

Remus smiled down at her. "Hermione, you know you can call me Remus when we're not in class."

She shook her head. "I have to set an example for everyone else. It's hard enough to get Harry and Ron to address Severus as Professor Snape, instead of just Snape."

"But you call him Severus," he pointed out with a smirk.

She grinned, pleased with herself. "I like to think that he likes me a lot more than he lets on."

Remus opened the door further. "Come on in. Sirius is in a mood, just to give you a heads up."

She stepped into the quarters and immediately chuckled at the sight before her. Two twin beds had been clearly transfigured from the typical one that resided in any professor's quarters; each sat on either side of the large room. On the right was a neatly made bed, an orderly desk with Defence books stacked according to size on the edge, and a set of quills next to a roll of parchment and an inkwell. On the left side of the room was an unmade bed covered in a set of robes, several rolls of parchment, and a pair of pants that hung off the footboard. Transfiguration books were strewn across the nearby desk accompanied by what looked like a plate full of half-eaten biscuits balanced over one of the open books.

The most amusing part of the obvious setup was the very distinct line that had been drawn down the centre of the room in bright yellow. She eyed the curious line and looked up at Remus with a smirk.

"Had to do the same thing when we were students. He and James were disgustingly messy," he pointed out and then reached over to adjust one of the quills on his own desk that wasn't facing the same direction as the others.

Sirius walked out of the loo running a white towel through his damp hair and smiled brightly at Hermione. "Morning, princess. Moony, you're out of shampoo."

Remus huffed. "Did you clean out the drain?"

Sirius rolled his eyes and looked back at her. "Moony thinks I shed."

Clearly exasperated, Remus shook his head. "I'll let you two have some time," he said before leaving the quarters, a copy of the Daily Prophet tucked under his arm along with several books.

"Not that I'm supporting the use of house-elves," Hermione said, grimacing when she picked a dirty sock out of a nearby chair and sat down, "but how is your room this dirty when I know the elves are supposed to be cleaning it? Surely you don't wreck it this bad every single day?"

Sirius grinned, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Remus doesn't like his things to be touched, not even by elves, and since I room with him, they don't touch my stuff either. I'm sure I could get them to, but this bothers him more," he said with a laugh. "What's up? Not that I'm not happy to see my favourite niece, especially since I know that her godfather," he said, still pouting over the fact that Regulus had not picked him, despite knowing the reasons, "likes to monopolise her time lately."

She rolled her eyes at him and smiled good-naturedly. "You two can stop with the adult rivalry. I know you made up for my sake. Or at least, made up as far as you could," she said with a shrug. "I actually came to talk to you about Draco."

"Is he causing more problems? Not that the house-elf gift wasn't amusing, because it was. Even you can see the humour in it." She bristled in reply, and Sirius chuckled at her. "It's good for you to learn house-elf culture, Hermione, and it's better for Winston to be in your gentle care than someone who will mistreat her. Leave it at that."

She reluctantly nodded. "Fine. I'll concede the point on the house-elves as long as you start treating Kreacher better."

Sirius groaned but then nodded. "Fine. For you."

"And no, Draco's not causing more problems. I'm just . . . I'm confused."

"You don't want to break the contract either," Sirius pointed out, looking not even remotely surprised by the fact that she didn't argue with him. "It's okay. I had a feeling it would come around to this. The boy is a right prat like his father when he wants to be, but he took a Cruciatus for you. You and I both know what that's like, and to willingly put yourself in front of one?" He shook his head and sighed. "You don't do that for someone you don't already—"

"Don't say it," she interrupted, wincing. "I'm not ready for that. Sirius, he broke my heart. I didn't want to forgive him, but he apparently did it for a good reason. Is it . . . is it okay to do something like that? Save someone by hurting them?"

His smile completely faded, and his gaze turned to the only neatly organised thing on his side of the room: a small stack of Regulus' diaries. "Yes," he said sadly as he ran a finger over the spine of one. "It's okay."

She stood up and walked to the bed, taking a seat beside her uncle. "I gather you read them?"

"I was a shitty brother," he said quietly. "Protected him for years at home. Took all the hits and then asked for more. I tried, gods, I tried to keep it going at Hogwarts, but we were in different Houses, and even though that shouldn't have made a difference, it did when a shitstorm was brewing with Death Eaters."

"What about when you weren't at Hogwarts?"

"Our parents made everything worse, of course," he said with a sigh and ran his hand through his still damp hair. "I never knew he was the one to save me, you know. I don't even remember him coming into my room. I was . . . I just remember pain and thinking, 'Fuck, I'm going to die,' and then the next thing I knew, I was waking up at St Mungo's with James' parents telling me that I was going home with them and that was that. When I got back to Hogwarts, there was a Howler telling me I was no longer a member of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, Reggie was wearing the family ring, and the way he looked at me . . ." Sirius' voice broke, and he struggled to clear his throat to disguise it.

She reached out and took his hand. "It's okay."

"It's not. I know he provoked me into those fights now. Called me names, picked on others to get me riled up. Gods, he even said some truly horrible shit to your mum to make me fight with him," he said and then let out a small chuckle. "Should have known that she never would have let a bloke call her names without smacking him herself. But she let me fight her battles instead and . . . Fuck, I was such an arsehole, and the entire time he was doing it . . . doing it for me. I wish—"

"Don't," Hermione told him as she pulled him in for a tight hug. "Regrets won't do anything for either of us now. You wish you'd been nicer to your brother, I wish both of my parents had survived. Sometimes, I wish I'd never found out the truth, so I could go on thinking about my Muggle parents who raised me. I love them. But they . . . they don't even know me." She felt tears welling in her eyes, and she struggled to fight them off. "I wish I hadn't needed to Obliviate them. I wish we hadn't needed to fight a war. Wishing and looking back doesn't help us move forward."

Sirius nodded as he squeezed her back. "You really wish that you hadn't found out?"

She sighed as she pulled her arms back from around him, leaning her head on his shoulder. "No. I could have done without the drama, but . . . I get you. Technically, Harry's really my family now as well. And in a way I still have my father." She gestured to the diaries. "Draco on the other hand . . ."

Sirius kissed the top of her head. "You say the word, princess, and I'll be a good dog and sign my approval off on the little prick. If you love him, he can't be all bad."

Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot, and she let out a quick breath before stammering, "I n-never said that—"

Sirius smirked. "Sure you didn't."

November 1998

Despite talking to their friends and family, not to mention the good scolding they'd both received from Severus, Hermione and Draco fell into a strange rut. Instead of fighting and arguing in the halls, they actively avoided one another, neither knowing how to move forward without making a grand spectacle of themselves.

Hermione kept to herself, revising and doing homework when she wasn't visiting with her friends or uncle. She had somehow swindled quality bonding time out of her godfather under the guise of Potions tutoring.

"How embarrassing would it be if people knew that your goddaughter could be out-brewed by Harry Potter?" she'd asked him one day.

He'd clearly seen the provocation, she wasn't exactly subtle, but either he didn't feel like arguing the point, or he genuinely wanted to spend time with her as well; either way, Hermione spent every Wednesday evening in the Potions Lab, learning directly at Severus' side.

Draco kept his head down and stuck to his studies, purposely ignoring Blaise's taunts and Daphne's questions, especially when Hermione occasionally visited the Slytherin table.

"In the name of inter-House unity," she would say, and then Blaise would roll his eyes and tell her that she was too embarrassed to admit that she loved snakes. She would blush and purposely look in the opposite direction of wherever Draco was sitting.

By the time November rolled around, Hermione was actually getting irritated that Draco had stopped his very public displays. The fact that she was bothered by it only annoyed her further, and she'd turned snappy toward her friends in response.

"I don't get it," Ron said with a shrug. "Can't you witches make up your bloody minds? You want us to buy you sweets, you don't want us to buy you sweets; you want us to hold your books for you, you don't want us to hold you books for you. It's exhausting. And don't look at me like that, 'Mione, you're making me argue for Malfoy without really knowing it and that just doesn't sit right."

She smirked at him from the other end of the sofa in the large common room. "Do you want me to just go and make a fool of myself in front of Draco? No. He started this. He should be the one to—"

"I don't want you to do anything with Draco," Ron said the name sarcastically, looking like he could be sick if she finished her sentence, "but, well . . . you were kinda pleasant toward the end of sixth year, despite the Lavender issue," he said, blushing slightly. "If that was because the ferret made you happy—and please for the love of Merlin don't tell me how he made you happy—then . . . well . . . you're my friend, 'Mione. I want you to be happy."

She stared at him in shock. "That's very mature of you, Ronald."

He gave her a lopsided grin. "I'm allowed a moment or two every few years."

The door to the common room opened, and Harry stepped inside with a goofy smile on his face that faded instantly at the sight of his two best friends. His green eyes shot wide open and he adjusted his tie.

"Hey," he said nervously. "What are you . . . I wasn't . . . What's up?"

Ron smirked at him. "Just telling 'Mione that I'm fine with her dating the ferret if it makes her happy. I've grown as a person. I'm mature now, she says. More than a teaspoon you think?"

Hermione smiled in approval. "Tablespoon. Definitely."

"Good job. Well done," Harry said, running his hand through his hair and avoiding eye contact with both of them as he moved toward the stairs. "I think Ron's right. Slytherins are fine company. War's over. Good people, the lot of them.'

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "Where've you been?"

Harry's smile faded instantly. "Nothing! No one! Nowhere! Mind your business, Hermione!" he yelled, wincing at the tone and volume of his words in obvious guilt before rushing up the stairs to the boy's dormitories.

Hermione laughed when she heard a door slam shut. "Gods, I'm not that obvious, am I?"

Ron laughed, still looking at the spot that Harry had vanished from. "Not that bad, no. I probably would have said something before, but he's been smiling a bit more lately. If anyone deserves it, it's him." He ran a hand through his hair and laughed. "You think it's who I think it is?"

She grimaced but nodded her head and then let out an exhausted sigh. "I've gotten to know the Slytherins our age pretty well this year, and there's only two single witches. One of them used to exclusively date Susan Bones, so I don't think Harry is her type. Leaves only one."

"Could be a wizard," Ron suggested. "He was pretty obsessed with Malfoy in sixth year. Worried about some competition?".

"Prat," Hermione said, laughing as she leant across the sofa smack his shoulder. "What do I do about Malfoy?"

Ron groaned, pulling a nearby pillow over his face. "Why are you making me play matchmaker? Isn't it good enough that I'm agreeing not to hex the git in the halls? Do you realise what your kids are going to be like? All pointed faces and smug attitudes."

"They could be more like the Black side of the family," Hermione pointed out, not taking the bait on the fact that he was purposely suggesting she'd have children with Draco.

He snorted loudly, the sound barely muffled by the pillow in front of his face. When he lowered it, he was grinning from ear to ear. "So they'll either be prats or crazy," he said and then ducked when she threw a book at him.

"Ronald!"

"You're just proving my point here!" he yelped when she smacked him on the head with a roll of parchment, and they both started laughing. "Look," he said when he caught his breath. "You're upset because you thought he wanted you only because you were a pureblood and then you had a fight and Snape yelled—"

"Professor Snape."

"—and now he's not paying attention to you. Have you ever thought about getting his attention? Making it obvious? Blokes don't catch on to the little games girls play."

Hermione smirked as an idea came to her mind. "You're right. I'll break him. But I'll need yours and Harry's help. Neville too, if he's up for it."

Ron paled slightly. "Why do I have a bad feeling about this?"

"If Draco hexes you over what I'll do, just do me a favour and tell anyone that catches you that it was a proper wizard's duel, and you started it? He'll break his probation otherwise."

"You're asking me to let the git hex me? Am I allowed to hex back?"

She grinned as the plan began writing itself into existence in her mind. "Hopefully, it won't come to that. He'll likely be more angry at me than anyone else. I'll tell you all the details before dinner." She quickly put her shoes on and jumped to her feet. "I'll be back, I have to go down to the Dungeons and talk to Theo and Blaise."

After breakfast, Hermione tucked her hand into the crook of Weasley's arm as he escorted her to Defence Against the Dark Arts. She caught Draco's eye in passing, and he glared at the physical connection between the two friends. When Weasley dropped her off at her desk, pulling her bag from off of his shoulder, she smiled and held out her hand to him, purposely ignoring the rest of their classmates when he kissed the back of it and turned to join Potter at their shared table.

"What the hell is she playing at?" Draco whispered to Theo, who shrugged.

"You stopped paying attention to her, maybe she's seeking it elsewhere."

"I stopped because any time I did, all she would do is scream at me," Draco hissed, glaring across the room when Seamus Finnegan approached Hermione to ask about a homework assignment, leaning much too close to her in the process.

Theo shook his head incredulously. "Did you ever think of screaming back?"

Draco turned and narrowed his eyes at his friend. "Scream at her? She's my intended. Do you scream at Daphne?"

"Daphne wasn't raised by Muggles. I also didn't spend the first six years of knowing Daphne calling her names before shagging her," Theo pointed out.

Eyes wide, Draco lunged at him and clamped a hand over his mouth. "Shut up! Her uncle isn't in this class, but if he finds out that I . . . that we . . ."

Theo rolled his eyes and pushed Draco's hand from his face. "Your secret loss of virginity is safe with me," he said. "All I'm saying is that you and Hermione had a relationship long before you ever found out that she was a pureblood, before you found out that she was contracted to you. Maybe start treating her like you did before, you know, when you actually liked her and weren't forcibly engaged to the witch."

Draco sat angrily contemplating the words. "I'm not supposed to yell at her. I . . . I hurt her. I can play pranks and rile her up but . . . yelling . . . I don't want to fight with her. I can't hurt her again. Haven't I lost enough of my honour?"

Theo sighed, looking bored, which was starting to piss Draco off. "She may be a pureblood now, mate, but she's not really one. Not like the other pureblood girls. Her hair and eyes changed colours, and she got a bunch of old books that her dad once wrote in. That's it. She's the same Hermione that you loved before. Correct me if I'm wrong, but she didn't give a shit about your honour back then, did she? Suspected you were a Death Eater even."

"I was a Death Eater, moron."

"Smart girl then. You're missing the point. The point is—"

"Who the fuck is that kissing her goddamned fingers?" Draco snarled, pointing a finger at some twat who was apparently eager for a broken nose.

"Dean . . . something. Used to date the Weasley witch. Are you going to do something about it?"

Draco scowled, grinding his teeth.

On the way to Transfiguration, Hermione tucked her hand in the crook of Terry Boot's arm, and Draco followed closely behind them the whole way, glowering at the sight. He was so busy trying to hold in his wrath that he nearly missed it when Hermione shivered and said, "It's a little drafty in here," and accepted a scarf from Neville Longbottom, wrapping it around her neck.

He cringed when Blaise patted him on the back in a gesture of sympathy. "Try not to think too much of it, mate."

Draco just nodded and turned forward to the front of the class where Ernie Macmillan was speaking to Professor Black, his hands held behind his back, standing tall and formal looking. Sirius gave a nod of confirmation to something and then shook the boy's hand and patted him on the back in a friendly gesture.

Draco watched carefully as Macmillan walked down the aisle and approached Hermione's table.

"Miss Black," he said, addressing her formally, by her birth name even, and Draco's eyes widened in shock and rage. "Would you do me the honour of accompanying me to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

Hermione smiled sweetly. "A date?"

"If you like."

"I'd love to, Mister Macmillan, thank you."

"Ow, ow, ow!" Blaise shouted, pulling his forearm away from Draco, who had unconsciously been gripping it.

By the time lunch came around, Draco was visibly shaking with rage.

He'd snapped at Blaise and Theo all morning long, and even made a third year Slytherin cry when he'd unknowingly walked straight into the warpath. He sat at the table with his friends, glaring across the Great Hall to where Hermione sat with Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood. Longbottom's scarf was still wrapped around her neck, likely making her hair smell like the greenhouses instead of its usual cinnamon scent.

"She's within her rights," Theo pointed out.

"Shut up, Theo."

"Do you think she'll really go out with that Macmillan, kid?" Blaise asked.

"Shut up, Blaise."

"He got the approval of her Paterfamilias," Daphne pointed out.

"Shut up, Daphne. Ow!" Draco glared at the witch who'd pinched his side.

"Maybe you should do something about it," she said, not threatened in the slightest by his bad temperament. "Have you offered to escort her to class? Have you offered her your scarf? Have you asked her to Hogsmeade? No."

"I bought her jewelry and dresses and—"

"A house-elf. Gods, you're an idiot," she said, rolling her eyes. "You did those things to annoy her, not to court her."

"I courted her sixth year," he snarled.

Theo shook his head. "You semi-dated her in sixth year. In secret. As though you were embarrassed or ashamed of her."

Draco growled and put his elbows on the table, digging his fingers through his pale locks and tugging on the strands in frustration.

"Go have a wank," Blaise said with a laugh. "Your intensity is a little much. You're acting like a bloody Gryffindor. Then again, she seems to like Gryffindors. Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs," he teased. "Maybe you should start . . . Hey, what's Potter doing?"

Draco looked up quickly, fingers still clinging to his hair, to see Harry Potter approach Hermione, a wrapped, red, rectangular box in hand.

"No. Not Potter. Not Potter," he muttered, not even realising it as he drew himself to his feet and began walking across the Great Hall, eyes focused on Hermione as she opened the apparent gift, withdrew a bracelet, smiled and held her naked wrist out for the black-haired wizard.

"No!"

His voice echoed loudly through the hall, and when it faded, silence followed.

He shoved his way past several Gryffindors, and shoulder-checked Potter until he was a sufficient distance away from Hermoine. Turning toward the girl in question, Draco glared down at her and, in a swift move, tore Longbottom's scarf from around her neck, throwing it back at the boy who was watching with wide eyes.

"No," he said firmly.

"No, what?" Hermione glared up at him defiantly.

"No more escorts, no more dates, no more scarfs, and absolutely no fucking jewelry from him!" he said, pointing at Potter. "You'll accept jewelry from him but not me? We're engaged! We're contracted! For fuck's sake we were . . ."

"Were what, Draco?" she asked, the scowl gone from her face. "Were we something? Were we really?"

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

"Nothing to say?" She folded her arms when the silence continued.

I have plenty of things to say! Draco thought. He was pretty sure his lips were even moving. Maybe.

"Well, if you'll excuse me, since you're clearly not here to do anything about it, Harry was about to give me a very pretty bracelet," Hermione said and then turned her back on the Slytherin.

He snapped.

Placing a hand on her shoulder, Draco spun her back toward him and used her gasp as an opening to press his mouth to hers, cupping both of her cheeks with his hands. He'd done it as a sign of dominance, of course, an answer to her challenge, a way to stake his claim as publicly as possible to warn off other men, but the feel of her lips again was bliss.

She was warmth in a sea of cold that was his life.

When she sighed and returned his affections, pressing her tongue into his mouth, he remembered how her kisses had kept him sane during sixth year when he was falling apart at the seams. She had been his sanctuary in a world of absolute darkness. She had been . . . and he had loved . . .

Gods, how he had loved.

"Ahem!" echoed the loud voice of the Headmistress from the high table.

With extreme reluctance, Draco pulled his lips away from Hermione to catch his breath.

Before he had a chance to say anything, she looked up at him, smiling, and possessively whispered, "Mine."

"Yours?" he asked with a sly grin.

She quickly nodded. "You."

He narrowed his eyes playfully in sudden understanding. "You played me."

"Very easily," she replied with a laugh and looked to her right where Potter was grinning smugly, the bracelet dangling from the tips of his fingers. The man whispered a quick Finite and the gem-covered gold strand transfigured back into a string of orange yarn.

Draco's eyes widened. "You planned everything? It was all fake?"

"Not this," Hermione said softly, reaching a hand up to touch his cheek. "This was never fake. Not for me."

He swallowed and tried to ignore the giggling whispers coming from her Housemates. "So you don't want to break the contract? You'll marry me?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Pureblood rules are so stupid. I'm going to date you, Draco Malfoy. Forget the contract."

He nodded in agreement and kissed her again, ignorant to the stares of everyone in the Great Hall. "I can do that."

"Can you do it somewhere else?" Weasley said with a laugh. "Some of us are trying to eat and watching the two of you snog is ruining even my appetite."

Chapter Text

November 1998

Draco stared at the witch, his witch, his girlfriend—not fiancee, because she had certainly made her point about that issue very clear, and he was more than happy to oblige.

"You're being completely irrational," he said, folding his arms across his chest.

They'd been officially dating for less than a month, and it had been touch and go for a while. She hated when he was rude to her friends, he detested that she preferred revising to snogging, and both seemed hesitant to engage in anything physical outside of a little kissing—Hermione because she was still learning to trust him, and Draco because he was positively terrified of Sirius Black finding out that he'd deflowered her long before he knew who she was and what that meant to him in a traditional pureblood sort of way.

He walked her to classes and held her hand in all of the classes they shared, except for Advanced Transfiguration. Not because Draco was afraid of Sirius Black—even though he was—but because Sirius would end up making a spectacle, drawing far too much attention in an effort to good naturedly embarrass them.

They had tried to sit next to one another in Advanced Potions, but Severus put a stop to that on day one when he insisted they be kept as far apart from one another as possible so that he didn't have to "put up with those sickeningly stupid grins" and that they needed to focus on their work and not "play footsie" under the prep tables.

Draco would occasionally sit with her at the Gryffindor table for breakfast, and she would visit him in the Slytherin common room at night, sprawled out in front of the fireplace with their books open, revising, while snuggled together as though they were trying to refit their individual puzzle pieces back together despite having been reshaped by war.

And they argued.

Often.

Hermione huffed and crossed her arms. "You're being a prat."

A smirk plastered itself across Draco's face and he tugged her toward him, hands on her hips. "Yes, and you adore me regardless," he said, whispering the words against her lips.

She pretended to groan in disgust.

"Please," he said quietly. "Do you see me? Do you hear this? I'm saying please. Malfoys don't beg."

"I don't consider it begging until you're on your knees," she said with a smirk, and when he opened his mouth to reply, she covered it with her hand and glared at him, "and I swear to Merlin, Draco, if you make one comment implying that I should be the one on my knees, I will hex your broom and not feel an ounce of guilt for it."

Draco chuckled against her palm, his eyes crinkling in the corners. He nipped the skin of her palm lightly until she released him. "You'd feel a little guilty."

She shrugged. "Maybe."

"Because you adore me."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Sometimes."

"And you're my—"

"Girlfriend!" she said quickly, eyes wide.

He nodded slowly and smiled. "I was going to say girlfriend. We agreed. Fuck the contract."

"Language," she scolded.

Draco rested his forehead against hers. "Please, Hermione. It would make me very happy."

She frowned and sighed loudly. "My whole House is going to go mental."

He grinned as if that was the whole point of this little argument. "I know."

"And my uncle will pitch a fit."

"But Severus will be happy. He might even smile." He sarcastically gasped at the very notion of such a thing. The noise elicited a laugh from Hermione that lit something within his chest, filling him with a pride that wasn't laced with arrogance.

"We should be so lucky," Hermione sighed in defeat. "Fine, give me the bloody scarf, Malfoy."

Draco beamed victoriously and removed his green scarf from around his neck, wrapping it around hers instead. "Are you going to wish me luck? Want me to catch the Snitch for you?"

Hermione groaned, her eyes filled with obvious worry. "If you want to do something for me, you'll sit the game out."

"Sorry, love. There's very little in the world that would pull a Quidditch player out of a match."

"I know," Hermione muttered irritably. "I've seen my friends play with broken bones and bleeding heads, for crying out loud. Maybe do something ridiculous to get it cancelled entirely. Retire Quidditch forever," she said and then sighed when he snorted in reply. "Please just be safe. And don't purposely hurt Harry either. I've seen the way the two of you try to knock one another off your brooms. It's horrifying."

Draco shrugged, making no such promises. "It's Quidditch. The danger is half the fun."

She frowned. "I've had enough of danger."

He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and then kissed her cheek. "This is fun danger."

Hermione looked down at the scarf wrapped around her neck, her fingers toying with the frayed ends. It was one of very few things Draco owned that wasn't immediately replaced with something new when it began to show signs of wear. He wasn't sure why he kept it. Maybe for sentimental reasons, or for luck. Either way, it meant a lot to him to part with, and for her to wear it, publicly.

"I happen to think I look ghastly in green," she pointed out, her tone teasing.

Draco smiled and then whispered softly, "I happen to think you're a vision."

Hermione made it to the Quidditch stands, sitting in her usual seat reserved for Gryffindors, though thanks to inter-House unity, the stands were speckled with a variety of colours instead of the overwhelming sea of red. Still, her new green accessory was eye-catching to her Housemates who stared at her, mouths gaped open.

"'Mione? Sweetheart?" Sirius said as he approached her, reaching out to touch the scarf with amusement in his eyes. "Some rotten snake seems to have charmed your pretty scarf green when we all know it should be red."

She sighed in frustration, not looking forward to the approaching match one bit. "Draco asked me to wear it. Begged, actually."

Daphne chuckled as she approached. "On his knees? Gods, please tell me he actually got on his knees to ask you to wear this." She took her seat nearby and nudged Theo, who was already sitting behind her, nose stuck in an Advanced Charms text. "Theo, put the book away and pay attention."

He looked up, blinking away the blurriness that came from focusing on text for too long. Hermione recognised it immediately. "What? Oh. Nice scarf, Hermione."

"Green looks awful with your colouring," Sirius grumbled.

"I have the same colouring as you," she argued.

"I know!" he shouted with great enthusiasm. "And green looks terrible on us!"

"Do I have to bring up the father issue?" she asked with a raised brow.

Sirius waved his hand at her dismissively. "Regulus would have looked better in red too."

Hermione smiled sweetly and curled into Sirius' side as she took her seat beside him, smiling when he draped a protective arm around her shoulders, shielding her from the chill. "I'll agree with you on that one. However, I'm being a dutiful girlfriend."

Sirius smirked. "Betrothed?"

"Girlfriend," she corrected. "We're ignoring the contract. I'm being a dutiful girlfriend and supporting my boyfriend as much as I possibly can with this stupid sport." She flung her wrist flippantly at the pitch where the teams were taking a warm-up lap. "Don't tell me that you didn't have your girlfriends wear your scarf during a match, even if they weren't in your House?"

"You assume I dated outside of Gryffindor?" Sirius chuckled.

Hermione looked up at him and grinned. "The Father Diaries tell all the tales."

Sirius huffed. "Fucking Regulus and his attention to details. Fine," he admitted, "I may have dated a few birds during my time as a student."

"How many?"

He laughed. "Pretty much all of them except your mum and Lily."

"What about my mum?" Neville innocently asked as he approached the stands, looking down at Sirius with a curious expression.

Sirius schooled his features into a sweet smile. "I took Alice to Hogsmeade once during fourth year," he admitted. "Just that once and there was no funny business," he said firmly and clapped Neville on the back as the boy smiled and passed him, taking a seat down the bench where a few Hufflepuffs had gathered.

Hermione leant in and whispered, "There was a little funny business, wasn't there?"

Sirius awkwardly cleared his throat. "Alice Brown was a looker. Shame for me she was head over heels in love with Frank Longbottom, and no amount of snogging—and I tried my best—could make her think of anyone else. 'Course, Frank didn't know it at the time which, I imagine, is why she tried to make him jealous."

Hermione smiled, enjoying a story from that time that had nothing to do with the war. "Did it work?"

Sirius gestured to Neville. "You're looking at the proof.'

Madam Hooch's whistle silenced the crowd just moments before everyone erupted into cheers for their chosen team.

Hermione leant forward, watching with interest as Draco and Harry shook hands down on the grass. Quidditch had apparently been cancelled during the last year, something Severus said he'd done on purpose to provoke Minerva, who was a self-proclaimed Quidditch addict. Hermione had a feeling it had more to do with the idea of the Carrows teaching students to use Unforgivables that were likely to end up used in the game, and a Cruciatus on the ground was easier to deal with than in midair.

Draco was beaming brightly, proud and happy to be back on a broom, back in the game. Harry, likewise, was obviously thrilled to once again take up his position as Seeker. The Captain badge had been a surprise to him, one that Ginny had willingly passed over; an "end of relationship" gift, she had called it, and Harry had laughed and thanked her.

The players took swiftly to the sky, and Hermione held her breath just as her vision was blocked. She looked up and sighed irritably when she saw Pansy Parkinson staring down at her.

"Black," Pansy said.

Hermione smiled up at the girl. "Technically, it's still Granger."

Pansy rolled her eyes and pushed Daphne over so that she could take a seat next to Hermione, who had a better view of the pitch. "Technically, it'll be Malfoy one day, so there's really not much point to even having another name, is there?"

Hermione shook her head and looked over Pansy's shoulder to Daphne, who was laughing. "You could just call me Hermione."

Pansy shrugged and wrapped her robes closer around her as a chilly breeze flew through the stands.

Hermione smirked when she caught sight of a familiar faded bit of red and gold peeking out from beneath Pansy's robes. "Nice scarf, by the way."

Pansy didn't take the bait.

"You like it?" she said, not even looking at Hermione as she spoke. "I stole it off of a first year."

Hermione chuckled. "Sure you did."

Luna's ethereal voice echoed in the stands, and everyone cheered as the game really took off when a flash of long red hair flew by them in a blur.

"Ginny Weasley with the Quaffle. She's flying very fast," Luna said. "I asked her once if she thought she was especially gifted at riding brooms very fast, and she asked me not to say things like that in public anymore. Oh look, Slytherin's Keeper, Titus Mitcham missed. I guess that means Gryffindor is in the lead."

Despite worrying for her other friends in the game, Hermione's head was tilted up, watching as two players dressed in red and green respectively flew higher and higher, circling one another like posturing animals, until they were nearly out of sight.

"Do they have to go up so high?" she asked nervously.

Sirius placed a hand on her shoulder. "Couldn't tell you, sweetheart. Never was a Seeker."

"It makes me nervous."

He chuckled softly. "You not liking flying is still so strange to me. Reg was practically born on a broom. He loved flying more than just about anything."

Hermione felt herself relax a touch at the mention of her father.

"I know," she said with a soft smile. "He talks about it in his diaries almost as much as he talks about my mother. To be honest, I often skip all the Quidditch bragging entries. There's only so many times I can read the words 'wind in my face' without cringing."

Collective shouting from the crowd drew Hermione's gaze lower, where two opposing Beaters were trying to hit one another with their bats only to have Madam Hooch blow her whistle and call a foul.

"Sure is interesting, though," Daphne said. "Your father was a Seeker, your best friend is a Seeker, your boyfriend is a Seeker."

Theo snorted, nose back in his book. "Sounds like someone was born to be a Quidditch groupie."

Hermione aimed a small playful hex at them both, which Theo deflected easily, grinning.

"Blaise Zabini tries to throw the Quaffle, but Ron Weasley catches it," Luna continued to commentate. "He has quite impressive reflexes. During the war, he helped rescue me when I'd been captured, and we spent a few weeks together at his brother's little cottage. He has very nice hands."

Hermione's mouth fell open. She turned to look at Neville for confirmation of this new development that was apparently Ron and Luna. "Hands?"

He stared at her, eyes wide as he shook his head in surprise. "That's the first I've heard of anything. Well done, Ron."

Pansy rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh, please, those two are made for eachother," she declared. "They'll create giant, doe-eyed, ginger sprogs and run off to live in a hideously crooked little . . ." She turned her attention to the crowd behind her, half of which were glaring in her general direction; those from her own house just looked disappointed. "I mean . . . awww," she said in a sweetly fake tone that was an octave too high, "how cute. It's a regular fucking fairytale."

Theo stared at his friend and then smirked. "Pansy," he said to draw her attention, which had been returned to the highest point in the sky where Draco and Harry continued to circle the pitch. "Nice scarf."

Without blinking, Pansy replied, "Stole it off a second year."

Hermione smiled knowingly. "Thought it was a first year."

Pansy scoffed. "Can you even tell the difference?"

"Oh, what a lovely day for rain," Luna's voice echoed loudly. "And I think Harry Potter has seen the Snitch."

Hermione and Pansy both jumped from their seats to move toward the railing in order to get a better view. There was the tiniest flash of gold before Hermione caught sight of Harry diving straight down, hand extended toward the fluttering ball several feet in front of him. Draco was inches behind him, both with determined looks on their faces.

"Oh, be careful you two," Hermione said, worrying the frayed ends of Draco's scarf between her fingers.

Draco took a sideways glance at Harry before he laid flat against the handle of his broom, pulling his legs in tight and ducking his head down a fraction of an inch. The manoeuvre helped him against the wind resistance and, slowly but surely, he edged out further, catching up to Harry who still had his attention focused on the Snitch.

"Draco Malfoy is side-by-side with Harry Potter . . ."

Luna probably said more, but Hermione couldn't hear anything over her own voice chanting in her head for both boys to come out of this game intact.

"I swear, Harry Potter if you pull one of those rotten trick moves . . ." Hermione threatened quietly. .

As the Seekers descended closer and closer to the ground, her eyes widened and she felt her heart beat in her throat.

"Pull up. Pull up! Pull UP!" she screamed as they closed in on the ground.

"Pull up you fucking idiots!" Pansy screeched loudly.

Harry and Draco both pulled on their broom handles with one hand, slowing their descent but still focused on catching the Snitch, each with a hand out, ready to snatch it from midair. They were so close, they could have been holding hands as they suddenly barrelled into the ground, toppling over one another and taking the fluttering gold ball down with them.

Despite the moment being intense, Luna's voice remained as calm as ever. "Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy have both crashed onto the ground. They look uninjured though. Can't tell if either of them caught the Snitch. They both seem to be struggling in a bit of a mud puddle."

Despite the height, Hermione leant over the rail to look. And just as Luna said, Harry and Draco were fighting one another in a puddle of mud at the bottom of the pitch, the Snitch nowhere in sight.

She groaned in frustration and mumbled curses under her breath involving "wretched boys" and "stupid sport".

The entire crowd had grown silent as they watched, and even some of the Quidditch players took a pause to chuckle at the scene below, waiting to see if either Seeker could find the Snitch in the mud.

"Get off me, Potter!" Draco shouted as Harry's knee pushed into his thighs, pinning him to the ground as they both struggled against the tangle of legs, and brooms. The added weight of the mud they'd collided into had likely saved them from a harder fall, but was now clearly making it more difficult to get to their feet.

Harry turned and kicked at Draco, who had the backend of his broom lying against the back of Harry's neck. "You're on top of me, Malfoy!"

"You would be so lucky! Where's the bloody Snitch?" Draco thrust his hands into the mud, feeling around for the tiny ball. "I just had it!"

"You mean I just had it!"

"You're out of your fucking mind, Potter!"

"Get off me, dammit!" Harry snapped, and pushed Draco in an effort to break free.

"I'm trying, you idiot, it's slippery—"

"Ow! You ferrety—"

"Fuck you!"

Up in the stands, their friends and families looked on in silence. The game eventually continued on above them after Draco shoved Harry's face directly into the mud, while Harry took a fistful of the wet dirt and lobbed it into Draco's open mouth.

"It looks like the Seekers have both misplaced the Snitch," Luna said. "Either that, or they've retired from Quidditch to take up the graceful art of mud wrestling."

Theo and Daphne laughed, while Hermione groaned in irritation.

Pansy looked completely unaffected by the outcome of the game as she stared down at the grass where both boys continued to wrestle, flinging dirt at one another while screaming obscenities. Madam Hooch and both Professors Snape and Lupin tried to separate them when they started throwing fists instead of mud.

"I'm not going to complain," Pansy huffed, "but the least they could do is take off their shirts."

Hermione stood at the foot of two beds in the Hospital Wing, a hand perched on the foot railing of each as she stared at them.

"Are you proud of yourselves?" she asked with a disappointed tone that would probably make Molly Weasley proud. "I know it's just a game and the fact that you're both alive at all should be something to celebrate, but I worried the whole time, and that alone should be enough to scold you!"

"You're being dramatic," Draco said, rolling his eyes.

They'd been stripped out of their gear and partially cleaned from their little spat so that Madam Pomfrey could treat the small wounds they'd collected.

Potter had a large bruise that ran the length of his left leg from the initial crash, and the impact had apparently made his head hurt which worried the mediwitch who checked him over to see if he'd somehow re-injured his skull that had been cracked during a Quidditch game sixth year.

Draco was a bit better off, though he looked just as poor. He was nursing a sore left shoulder and hand, but the right one felt perfectly healthy. He actively used it to dump sweets into his open mouth while Hermione scowled at him. He wasn't affected by her glare in the slightest, having too much fun cherishing the fact that she was angry because she'd been worried about him. It felt good to be worried about.

"You could have died!"

Draco and Potter both scoffed in response.

"I hate that stupid sport," she said, tugging at the end of the green scarf around her neck. "And a mud fight? Honestly. Are you twelve?"

"It's all a part of the game, right Potter?" Draco said, smirking up at the little witch as she fumed.

Potter nodded. "Yeah, Hermione, ease off."

Hermione's eyes flashed with fury, and she stomped her foot. "Oh, you're both impossible!"

"You love us though!" Potter said as she stormed away, flinging the doors closed behind her.

Draco smirked, enjoying the way her skirt swayed as she left. "She could have at least told us who won after we got kicked out."

Potter nodded in agreement and then tilted his head to the side curiously. "Was she wearing your scarf?"

Smug pride filled up Draco's chest. "She was."

"Damn," Potter said with a laugh. "How much begging did you do to get that to happen?"

"Malfoys don't beg."

Potter chuckled and leant back against his pillows, putting his hands behind his head. "I think this is the friendliest conversation we've ever had."

Draco sneered at him. "We're not friends, Potter."

Potter shook his head in agreement. "Not even close."

After a beat of silence, Draco extended his good arm to the side, holding the colourful box out. "Fizzing Whizbee?"

Potter grinned, reaching out and taking one. "Cheers."

Chapter Text

November 1998

Hermione glanced up at Draco from the corner of her eye and briefly narrowed her gaze. She was attempting to be a touch intimidating, but somehow he only grinned in reply to her pitiful efforts at silently scolding him into submission as though she were an adorable little kitten, batting at a dangling piece of yarn.

"You could at least pretend to revise," she pointed out as she returned her attention to the text in front of her. "You used to be intelligent a few years ago. We'd have lively discussions about Arithmancy variables and Rune translations."

"We also used to snog in broom cupboards. Want to have a go?" he asked with a devious grin just as his fingers toyed with the bottom hem of her skirt, the tips brushing against her knee.

Hermione fought to hold back the smile that twitched across her jaw as she remembered the intensity that defined their relationship during sixth year and how passionate but stressful it had been because of the fact that they needed to keep it a secret.

Now, well, the secret was out. She had fully expected him to grow bored with her without the added adrenaline, but there he was, just as enamoured with her as ever, and Hermione struggled to fully understand the how and why of it all.

She was just as thrilled with him and had, on more than one occasion since their rekindled relationship, been told by her friends to get a room because apparently even the stares they were giving one another across classrooms were "a bit much for public consumption".

"Finish your essay for Advanced Transfiguration," Hermione said, pushing a roll of parchment in front of him with one hand while prying his fingers away from her knee with the other. It didn't take much effort at all as he basically bent to her will when it came to setting physical limitations.

Draco made a pitiful noise as he looked down at the parchment.

"When we're done, I'll think about taking a walk with you around the lake. Isn't that what a proper pureblood girl would offer? I hardly think that broom closets are considered appropriate meeting places for us," she said sarcastically.

He snorted. "You're worried about keeping pureblood protocols?"

"My uncle would—"

Draco cut her off with a hearty laugh. "Your uncle is the most depraved person I've ever met. He told Potter, who told Weasley, who told everyone, that he had a collection of knickers he'd been gifted by girls of every House when he went to Hogwarts. And then last week in class he accidentally let it slip that he used his Animagus form to meet women and blokes in the park."

Hermione winced at the memory of that particular class. Though it was hardly a surprise to her. The Animagus tricks or the blokes. Draco did have a point, however. "Well, then my father would—"

"Hermione, from what you've told me, you were likely conceived in this very castle, when your mother used an illegally made map to sneak into the Slytherin dorm rooms to shag your father," Draco said and then chuckled as she grimaced. "I'm not trying to push you into anything you don't want, but you can be honest with me instead of throwing your family and pureblood rules out. As long as your uncle remains in the dark about how far you and I went in sixth year, I'm happy to follow your lead."

Hermione raised a curious brow at him. "Why is it so important that Sirius not know you and I had sex?" She judged that she'd said the words a little too loudly, because Draco flinched at them.

Draco sighed and rubbed his hands down his face. "It's stupid, and you'll hate it but . . . you know the whole deal about witches saving themselves for marriage? Well, we all think it's crap, but some families really stick to the old ways, A daughter is just as important as a son. Boys are valued because they carry on the name, but girls are valued because they're actually a magical rarity in some families. I wouldn't be surprised if Weaslette isn't incredibly powerful. She's the seventh child and the only girl born to the Weasleys in generations."

Hermione nodded in understanding, but the look on his face told her to wait for him to finish before voicing any opinions.

"There are rumours about a witch's magic being tied to . . . well . . . her virtue, and then there's Dark Magic that involves the maidenhead blood of a virgin." He made eye contact, and Hermione realised only then that she must have looked horrified. "I wouldn't have, you know. But I was technically a Death Eater when you and I . . ." He sighed and looked down, clearly ashamed. "It could be implied that I used your—"

"Gross," Hermione said and held up her hand, insisting that he cease speaking immediately. "Please stop. I know you didn't, that you wouldn't, and that's all that matters to me. If Sirius finds out—and he will likely find out, because I'm done with all of this being a secret—I will deal with any ramifications that come up."

Draco looked down at the blank parchment again, his eyes narrowed. "I've already dishonoured myself enough as it is, Hermione. If he thought that I might have—"

"You've done nothing of the sort and you stop that right this minute, Draco Malfoy. You are a good and brave person."

He practically glared at her for that.

"You are. You did what you could to protect those you loved. And you took a curse for me. I don't care what's on your arm."

He reacted on instinct. Even though it was well hidden beneath his shirt and the sleeves of his robes, he rested the palm of his right hand over his left forearm.

"You're good, and the only person you should have to prove that to is yourself. And me, if you get on my bad side again," she added with a smirk, happy to see him relax his posture a bit. "Perhaps the N.E.W.T.s board, as well. That is, if you ever actually consider revising instead of watching me read while trying to get a hand up my skirt."

He grinned and leant forward, pressing his mouth to hers. He wrapped one hand around her waist, tugging her until she fell off of her own chair and onto his lap instead. She made a squeaking noise of protest that Draco responded to by loosening his grip on her, only to smile when she buried her fingers in his hair.

"What was that for?" she whispered when he finally pulled away from her, planting another small kiss on her lips before doing so.

Draco sighed and pressed his forehead against hers. "The faith you have in me is . . . unwarranted. Though not unwelcome."

Hermione nervously bit her lip knowing that now was not the right time, but really, when would it be? And she didn't want to keep secrets from him. "Draco, I know about Astoria. And Easter," she said and heard him suck in a breath. "I know what you did for me. I know how you . . . fought and why. I know why you ended things with me that night in the Hospital Wing."

He frowned, looking like he was trying to avoid feeling exposed and vulnerable. Eventually, he let out a resigned sigh. "I didn't want to have to do that. I didn't mean any of what I said that night."

Hermione nodded. "I know that now. That's what matters. Now kiss me again," she said with a teasing smile.

"Broom cupboard?"

She rolled her eyes and climbed off of his lap after one more quick kiss. "After revising. I'll think about it."

"The Slytherin common room is open to everyone in the castle now," he pointed out with a grin.

Hermione chuckled. "Yes, it is. But the dorms are not. Not to mention Severus could walk in at any moment. Remember him? Angry godfather? Likes taking points away from us both now? Somehow, I think you'd actually be better off getting caught by Sirius."

Draco laughed and looked far too smug for his own good when he replied with, "I'm not afraid of them," as though he hadn't just admitted his worries over Sirius discovering the extent of their previous relationship.

She let the thoughts linger in her mind as she blankly stared at the books in front of her, occasionally glancing over at Draco who was finally putting quill to paper to knock out an Advanced Transfiguration essay that she was happy to not need to proofread; there would be no doubt that both Harry and Ron would be pleading with her later that night for her assistance, especially since they'd each wasted valuable homework time wandering off with witches. Harry with his not-at-all secret—though still a bit strange—paramour, and Ron, who had been seen from time to time blushing in the presence of Luna Lovegood.

"Draco and I had sex sixth year. We were both virgins at the time. He was already a Marked Death Eater, but he didn't . . . I mean to say, there was no Dark Magic involved."

Sirius Black currently hated his life.

He sat in his quarters that he shared with Remus across from his niece, who was holding a teacup in one hand, saucer in the other, legs crossed at the ankles as though she'd been raised immersed in pureblood lessons about etiquette and posture.

She spoke with elegance, pausing only once or twice as she made her little announcement that he was certain she'd practised in front of the mirror several times before walking down the stairs and knocking on his door. She was probably nervous as hell, but she was trying so very hard to not let it be known.

He couldn't help but think that his bigoted mother would have adored her until she opened her mouth and began lecturing about the treatment of house-elves or the necessity to provide free healthcare for werewolves.

He was so proud of the girl he could barely stand it.

Except the sex thing.

That was really ruining his day.

Not that he was disappointed in her, rather he just didn't want to talk about it. Harry, he could handle. Hell, he'd prefer to talk to Draco about sex, but Hermione was not only a girl—leaving him a bit clueless how to proceed from a fatherly position—but she was a bit intimidating when she got angry and defensive, not that he'd admit such a thing.

He also had Regulus and Marlene to think about, wondering what they would have wanted him to do for their daughter at any given moment. Oftentimes, he fell back on Marlene's side, knowing that she would have been much more relaxed with Hermione than Reggie.

He groaned and put his head in his hands. "Why do I need to know this?"

"Because you're my Paterfamilias, and Draco seems to be terrified of you finding out that he . . . well, had the milk before buying the cow."

From the other room, Remus laughed loudly, having clearly overheard the last phrase. He peered from around the corner and frowned. "Sorry. Werewolf hearing," he offered as an excuse, and Hermione smiled but rolled her eyes.

Sirius huffed. "Maybe he should be terrified. Pureblood wizards think they can do whatever they want with half-blood and Muggle-born witches because their parents might not know and understand the old ways. It's a shameful thing."

"A shameful thing that you exploited yourself on numerous occasions, Padfoot," Remus said, rolling his eyes dramatically. "You've no right to be upset with the boy over this. Hermione is a smart young witch who would likely have truly injured him had he forced her in any way. Besides," he pointed out. "If it were Harry sitting there telling you that he'd had sex with some witch, you'd be clapping him on the back for it."

Sirius groaned, feeling a bit disgusted with himself. "I know, and I'm the first to admit that I'm a little sickened by the fact that I'm falling into the double standard here, but I can't seem to help it. I want to help it, believe me. I'm being much too . . . ornery old man about this."

"What if Harry and Hermione had ever gotten together?" Remus asked. "How would you have felt?"

Sirius and Hermione both blanched at the suggestion, but Sirius was the one to speak. "Very conflicted. Can we get back to the point?"

Hermione sighed. "Draco. You're not going to hurt Draco, are you?"

"Not unless he gives me a reason to," Sirius admitted, shrugging. "Even then, I'm pretty sure as a professor I'm not allowed. Minnie might have words for me. You're a grown witch, Hermione, and we all know how you feel about one another. Still, if he's having some issues, I'll be more than happy to talk with him," he added, desperate to switch the gender on his conversational partner during this discussion.

She beamed up at him and flew into his arms once she'd set her cup and saucer to the side. "Thank you, Sirius. I'm so glad that this is the biggest problem I've had today. No war, no Dark Lords, no Mountain troll in the bathroom," she said and laughed. "Just semi-typical boyfriend issues that are easily remedied by a well meaning family member."

"I'm so glad that this is your biggest worry, princess," he admitted truthfully. "And I'm very happy to do it for you."

"Severus should be there as well," she added

Sirius' smile faded instantly. "I'm less happy."

Draco should have been used to women that took matters into their own hands.

He was eight when Pansy had come to the Manor with her parents for a garden party, and when the elves wouldn't allow them to have an extra slice of cake, she walked right up to the table and pushed it over, wrecking the whole thing so that no one could eat any more.

It was sometime toward the end of fifth year when Montague had been shoved in the Vanishing Cabinet and essentially had his brain broken by it. Daphne had thrown her hands up in frustration and tracked down the Weasley twins to demand to know what they'd done to the boy.

Witches were always taking action when men stood around and complained about things needing to be done.

He shouldn't have been surprised that Hermione had done the same.

He wasn't, however, pleased.

"You had sex with my niece," Sirius stated, glaring across the Potions classroom at Draco, who looked up at his godfather in hope of some defence but Severus just stood there, staring at his nails as though he'd found something stuck beneath one.

"I . . . Yes, sir."

"I suppose you'll be expecting . . . what? A challenge? A duel to avenge her honour? An interrogation as to whether or not you worked Dark Magic on the girl?" When Draco felt the colour drain from his face, Sirius scoffed loudly. "Are you fucking kidding me? Snape, is he fucking kidding me?"

Severus sighed loudly. "I still don't know why I needed to be here for this."

"What the hell did your father teach you, boy?" Sirius asked Draco. "Teenagers fool around in broom cupboards. It's a fact. I've got my own name carved into the doorframe of at least thirty cupboards in this castle alone, and while I did eventually think that one father or two might like to hex my arse, I wasn't anywhere near as afraid of them as you look to be of me right now."

"Bravery and foolishness do go hand in hand," Severus pointed out with a sneer.

Sirius rolled his eyes and ignored him. "Draco, Hermione makes her own decisions and boundaries with your relationship. You'll only ever have a problem with me if you cross those boundaries without her permission."

Draco nodded and swallowed hard. "I thought you'd think that . . . because I was a Death Eater."

Severus finally looked up and sighed loudly.

Sirius put a hand on Draco's shoulder. "You don't have Dark Magic in you, lad. I know that the war did a number on you. That you had to do some awful things you think are unforgivable—"

"I did and they are," Draco pointed out.

Sirius sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, war's over. You've been to trial. Nothing to be done but to move forward. You remind me of him, you know. My brother."

Draco looked up, eyebrows raising. He hadn't known much of Regulus Black, only what he'd been told by his mother growing up and lately by Hermione as she read her father's diaries, but what he did know was that being compared to the man made him feel . . . honoured. And unworthy.

"I . . ." he paused and looked over to his godfather.

Severus tilted his head to the side as though examining him. "There is a resemblance, of sorts," he said with a shrug. "You have the informal approval of her Paterfamilias and godfather, I would suggest moving forward."

Draco nodded, making a mental note to try and do just that. "Do you think her father would have approved of me?"

Sirius laughed, and Severus actually chuckled.

"Not on your life, mate," Sirius said.

Severus shook his head. "Regulus Black would have torn you to pieces, put you back together—slowly—and then delivered you back to his daughter but only after Obliviating you. He would feel guilty about it, but the man was not one to be trifled with. He had very specific hopes regarding his daughter, and keeping her away from Malfoys was at the top of that list."

Draco swallowed hard. "He knew about the arrangement."

Severus nodded. "I assumed so. He told me once that he'd done something very foolish in his youth, and often asked after your family, you specifically, once you'd been born. He did not want this arrangement to be made."

Draco frowned, clenching his fists. "I'm not sure how I'm supposed to react to that."

"React however you please," Severus said. "His issues were with your father, not you."

He wasn't sure whether or not he wanted the answer, but he still posed the question, "Do I want to know what those issues were?"

Severus remained silent for several long moments before shaking his head and answering, "No, you do not."

There was an awkward silence that filled the room, and Sirius began fidgeting uncomfortably. "Well, my job here is done. Said my piece, hopefully drove a point or two home for you. Relax a bit, yeah? The only thing you need to worry about with me is that essay on the Principle of Artificianimate Quasi-Dominance that's due next week."

Severus looked up, wide-eyed at the statement as though he were completely shocked that Sirius Black, of all people, was taking his job as a professor seriously.

Draco raised a brow. "I thought that essay was due this week?"

Sirius blinked and squinted his eyes in deep thought. "You might be right about that," he admitted and looked over at Severus, who was shaking his head. "I know," he said with a chuckle. "I'm not sure what Minerva was thinking either, making me a professor."

"At least you're not Lockhart, I suppose."

Sirius grinned and then looked back to Draco, clearly not wanting to linger on the fact that Severus essentially just complimented him. "So, are we good?"

Regardless of what Sirius had told him, Draco sighed, his shoulders heavy with burden once again as his thoughts got the best of him. "I'm not good enough for her,"

Severus rolled his eyes. "That is not for us to say."

Draco sighed in frustration. "It's just that—"

"That's not for you to say either."

Looking up, Draco made eye contact with his godfather, trying to let the man's words resonate.

"That is a decision best left to the witch in question I believe. You're worried about hurting her again. You shouldn't. Of course you'll hurt her again; it is the very nature of relationships. But do give the girl more credit. She's resilient," Severus said with an annoyed frown. "I should have known she'd be a Gryffindor from the beginning."

Draco stood outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, staring up at the painting while toeing the ground anxiously.

He'd left the company of Sirius and his godfather hours earlier and wandered through the halls of the castle, hands in his pockets as he contemplated his life and all the decisions he'd made up to that point. His father had always driven home the point of purity. Saving himself for his betrothed who would "be a witch of unbridled purity herself". It was unlike many of the other pureblood families, and Draco had, at the time, been grateful that Theo and Blaise were respectful of the individual family traditions instead of teasing him about it.

Sanctimonia Vincet Semper, Draco thought to himself, repeating his family words in his head as he moved through the castle. Purity Will Always Conquer.

It hadn't just been about blood, he realised. His father had meant purity of every action, every deed. Pure didn't mean virtuous. It meant firm, obedient, clean, intentional, and direct. He'd been told that staining himself or that of his future wife would be a sin against the purity of both his family and hers. It was one of the reasons why he'd been so terrified of Hermione's uncle finding out. He should have known that Sirius' issues would have nothing to do with Draco's personal demons.

"You're out past curfew," the portrait guarding the Gryffindor common room told him, pursing her lips and staring down at him with a disappointed look.

He turned his gaze up at the painting. "Are you not going to let me in?"

Her stern expression faded somewhat, and she whispered, "I've always been a sucker for a good romance."

The large frame swung forward when he muttered the password Hermione had told him earlier that day, revealing an entrance behind the portrait.

Stepping into the large common room for the first time, Draco grimaced at the temperature and immediately removed his robes, leaving him in his white Oxford shirt and pressed trousers.

Gods, how can they all live up here in this heat? he wondered to himself.

The room was spacious yet comfortable and cluttered with an overabundance of fluffy arm chairs, long sofas, and the largest collection of pillows Draco had ever seen, in a variety of colours ranging from red to scarlet to crimson to maroon.

The room was empty and dark, save for the light coming from the large fireplace in the corner of the room.

When Draco heard footsteps coming down the stairs to the far left, he turned and watched as Weasley appeared at the foot of the staircase to fetch a forgotten jumper from the back of a nearby chair.

The redhead looked up and met his stare.

"Malfoy."

"Weasley."

Weasley's focus flickered away from him to the back of the room where a long sofa had been turned away from the fireplace, facing instead the large window against the back wall. The moon hung high in the sky, only partially hidden by the crushed velvet curtains that draped down from the ceiling. Draco focused his gaze and could see long black curls flowing over the arm of the sofa.

"She sleeps down here sometimes," Weasley said. "Falls asleep in front of the fireplace writing essays or reading. We usually put up Silencing Charms and then shift the sofa so no one bothers her. She doesn't sleep well, so it's good when she rests."

Draco nodded in thanks and then, as Weasley turned to go back up the stairs, he called after him. "You're not going to pitch a fit for me being out past curfew? I'd have thought you'd be hell bent on watching Slytherin lose House points."

Weasley chuckled. "Trying not to be too much of a hypocrite these days," he admitted. "I'm just waiting for Harry to get back with his Invisibility Cloak so I can sneak off to Ravenclaw Tower."

Draco made a face, and Weasley laughed again before disappearing back up the stairs.

Making his way across the room, Draco walked around the large sofa and looked down at his witch. She was sleeping soundly with one of her father's diaries in her limp hand, nearly hanging to the floor. He bent down and plucked the book gently from her grip, glancing at the faded black ink briefly.

. . . told the house-elf that she could braid her own hair this morning. So independent and stubborn, my girl. She looked a mess, curls sticking out in every which way, and it took a series of charms to get the hair tie dislodged from the knot she'd created.

It amazes me how she walks around the cottage like she owns the place and barely has need of me.

Then the sun sets and she crawls into my bed because she can't stand to sleep alone—or maybe she knows that I can't—and she curls her tiny fists up against me, pushing her wild curls into my face the same way her mother used to, mumbling, "Goodnight, Papa," before drifting off without a care in the world.

Perfection. Wild, untamed, stubborn perfection.

My Hermione.

Draco closed the book and set it down on a nearby table. He knelt down in front of the sofa and his sleeping witch, reaching out to tenderly push a few of her wild black curls away from her face, a smile on his own as he watched her nose scrunch up at his touch. He leant forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead wondering if one day she'd be able to overlook the ridiculous betrothal contract and perhaps, if he begged—likely on his knees—she really would marry him. Not because of Blood Magic or a contract, but because she wanted to.

Staring at her, he thought that he'd very much like to go to sleep each night, looking at her peaceful face.

Slowly, Hermione's eyes opened, and she blinked away the sleep and smiled when she focused her gaze on him. "Mmm . . . have a good chat?"

Draco scoffed, pretending to be more irritated with her than he actually was. "You tattled on me to your uncle."

She nodded, closing her eyes once again and relaxing into the cushions. She reached out, lacing her fingers with his, and Draco brought her hand to his lips.

"Are you good now?" she asked him. "Or are we still worried that someone in my family is going to suspect that you deflowered me for dark purposes?"

He smirked, breathing in the scent of ink that always lingered on her fingers, even hours after she put her quill down. "I may not have used your virginal blood for Dark Magic, but you're naive to think I hadn't been thinking of sinful purposes at the time."

Hermione snorted and tugged him forward until he was leaning the majority of his weight on the sofa beside her. "Prat. You were just as nervous as I was at the time. And it wasn't dark. Nothing about what we did was dark. It was—"

"Magic," he whispered.

"Mmm." Hermione smiled sweetly and snuggled her face into his chest as he adjusted himself on the sofa to lay directly beside her. "You're cold. I like it."

Draco smiled and ran his fingers through her hair. "Well, it's a bloody furnace up here. Do you have a dragon locked away in the next room, breathing fire onto the walls?"

"Better than a giant squid," she said through a yawn, curling her hands against his chest, exhaustion making her forget that he didn't belong in Gryffindor Tower, especially after curfew. "Sorry I told."

"Don't be," he said, smiling as he looked up to see Winston, the little house-elf, appear with a blanket in her hands. She looked at him and hesitantly approached the sofa. With his nod of approval, she draped it over them, then smiled brightly before silently vanishing.

"Goodnight, Draco," Hermione mumbled as she cuddled herself into the blanket and against Draco's chest, just before falling back asleep.

He kissed the top of her head, black wild curls tickling his nose.

"Perfection," he whispered against her hair.

Wild, untamed, stubborn perfection.

"My Hermione."

Chapter Text

October 1981

Regulus sat at the small round table in the middle of the kitchen at Iliad Cottage, parchment strewn about the place, and tall carafe of pumpkin juice in the centre of the table. Hermione had insisted that he stop drinking so much firewhisky, or as she had coined it the "funny smelling brown liquid", and Meela had agreed with her. Being backed up by house-elves made the girl a menace.

"All right," he said, looking down at a notebook in front of him listing dates, locations, and names. "He'll make his move on Christmas. You're sure?"

Severus, looking exhausted and burdened, shook his head. "No. And it makes me unbearably nervous that I can't be certain of his plans."

Regulus nodded. "As it should. Is Dumbledore ready?"

His friend sighed in frustration and reached for his glass of pumpkin juice, taking a sip and then frowning as he realised—and not for the first time that night—that his drink was also non-alcoholic.

"I'm not told enough information from either side. The Order consists of people who've hated me since I was eleven, or people who've learnt to hate me over the years and now only barely tolerate my presence because Dumbledore tells them to play nice with the turncoat."

"And Evans?"

"Potter," he corrected with an instinctual sneer, and then his bitter expression gave way to something of sadness. "She apologised to me, you know? For not offering me forgiveness after the . . . incident."

Regulus remembered how Severus had grieved the loss of his childhood friendship with the witch. "Good," he said, still a touch defensive over the pain his best friend had endured due to the forgiveness that the redhead had withheld from him for all these years.

Still, Severus frowned, looking positively disheartened. "It doesn't matter. She's married now."

Rubbing his thumb against the wedding band still resting on his own hand, something he vowed he would never be parted from, Regulus advised, "Don't be a prat. She was your friend for years before you realised you wanted her to be more than that." He sighed and pressed against his wedding ring harder. "Don't turn away a friendship. Be grateful for what you get."

Severus looked up, noticing him fiddling with the band on his finger. He nodded in understanding. "I will."

When the uncomfortable silence passed, Regulus turned his attention back to the notes. "How's he going to do it?"

Both men were still furious that Severus had not been let in on the plot of the McKinnon's murders. The Dark Lord was spreading his secrets out amongst his followers. No single person knew everything about the man or what he was planning. It was a smart move on the Dark Lord's part, and positively enraged the pair who were desperate that he should fall.

"The plan that I know," Severus growled bitterly, "is that he's hoping to get through to the Secret Keeper."

"My brother."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Who else?"

Regulus ran his hands through his long black hair and stared down at the notebook in front of him where his brother's name was underlined multiple times. Sirius was a target. Not only because of who he was, but because of who he was connected to. Best friend to Potter and his wife. Godfather to their child who supposedly had the power to destroy the Dark Lord.

"Shit," he groaned. "That makes me nervous. Sirius won't give up his friends. He's too loyal for that. He'd die first."

Severus nodded in agreement. "Then the plan will be to kill him."

Regulus didn't flinch at the words, but internally he was screaming. He'd already lost too much. Lost his family, his freedom, his wife. Severus was half certain himself that he wouldn't survive whatever was to happen in the near future. Regulus wouldn't lose his brother. Not again.

"So, you find out when the Dark Lord plans to make his move," he said. "I'll Disapparate out and track down Sirius. I'll stun him if I have to. Drag his arse back here and lock him in the basement until it's all done and over with. The Dark Lord will be short one Secret Keeper and just angry enough to be weak and unsuspecting of an ambush. That's when you get Dumbledore and the Order."

Severus' expression was cold and hard and one of great determination. This plan needed to work. They couldn't live like this any longer. The world couldn't live like this.

"Papa?"

Regulus' stern expression melted away, and he smiled as his daughter stepped into the kitchen, rubbing her fists into her sleepy eyes. The large nightgown that Meela had dressed her in before bed had been tossed aside and replaced with one of his old Slytherin Quidditch t-shirts that hung well past her knees on her tiny frame.

He opened his arms to his daughter as Severus pulled all the parchments together and out of the way. "Come here, love."

Hermione crawled into his lap, burying her face into his chest and reaching up to curl a lock of his black hair around her tiny finger.

"Why are you awake, young lady?" Severus said, leaning across the table to give her a teasingly stern look.

She giggled, not intimidated by her godfather in the slightest. "Want a story."

Regulus kissed the top of her head. "You could have called for Meela."

Hermione shook her head stubbornly and clutched at his hair tighter. "Want you."

He sighed and held her closer, but adjusted her small body in his arms so that she faced the table as he disentangled her hand from his hair. "Papa's doing something very important with Uncle Severus, but when we're done, I'll come and read Babbity Rabbity, all right?"

She nodded but then looked at the stack of paper near her godfather.

"What's important?" she asked, pointing to the parchment, spotting a quill sitting there next to a notebook. Her eyes widened, and Severus glared at her, likely remembering two weeks ago when she'd gotten a hold of his phoenix feather quill and used it to draw a snake on her arm, trying to duplicate the tattoos that both her father and godfather had without knowing the meaning behind the mark.

Severus stared at Hermione and slowly pulled the quill further out of her reach, and she giggled at his response.

"We're trying to . . . Gods," Regulus sighed. "How do you explain something like this to a two-year-old?"

"You don't," Severus said. "It's asinine to try. She's a toddler. She has the memory of a pygmy puff."

Hermione laughed loudly. "I'm not!"

He reached across the table and touched her nose. "And what are you then?"

"Your favourite," she replied knowingly.

Severus scoffed loudly. "Well, that may or may not be true," he reasoned and, when Hermione jumped down from her father's lap to crawl into his own, he grimaced. "No, no . . . I don't need hugs. I don't like . . ." He sighed in defeat as she wrapped her arms around him and toyed with the hair on the nape of his neck affectionately. "Oh, very well."

Regulus smirked. "Softie."

Severus ignored the comment and looked down at the parchments and notebook. "If it should go bad?"

Regulus frowned, glad that Hermione was too young to understand what they were doing. "Like we planned. We meet here as always. If I don't return within twenty-four hours, have Meela come and track me down. She's been ordered to protect Hermione until either one of us comes to take her place, at which point, she'll serve to track down the other and then we reconvene at that point."

Severus nodded. "Two months. It doesn't feel like enough time."

"It's not."

October 31st, 1981

Severus burst in the front door of Iliad Cottage. "He's moving!" he shouted loudly, drawing Regulus out of the kitchen where he'd been carving pumpkins with Hermione. "He's going tonight!"

Regulus stood, wand in hand, gaping at his friend in shock. "What?! What do you mean . . . ?"

"I mean he's going after them tonight!" Severus snapped and began pacing in the room, running a hand through his shiny black hair. "The Lestranges were just sent out to hunt down the Longbottoms. The rest of us have been tasked with distracting known Order members"

"No," Regulus whispered as terror flooded his body.

"He's going after them tonight! Fuck!" Severus screamed and picked up a nearby empty glass, launching it across the room and watching as it shattered on the wall.

"Papa?" Hermione's tiny voice whispered from the doorway, and both men turned to see her staring at them with wide, frightened eyes.

She looked worried, as though she wanted to run to her godfather and make him feel better, as he was clearly upset, but also his tone of voice and volume had clearly scared her, and she was, instead, running into her father's arms for protection.

Regulus held her tightly and kissed her head. "Hermione," he whispered, "go to your room and stay with Meela."

"No!"

"Hermione . . ." He tried to use a stern voice but couldn't bring himself to do so. "Love, I will be back, all right?" he promised her, pulling away so that he could look into her eyes, grey like his own. "I have to go and help Uncle Severus with something very, very important. Something . . . something your mother would have been very proud of me for."

Hermione, hearing her father speak of her mother, frowned deeply and pulled at his hair anxiously. "Come back?"

He kissed her forehead and tried to put Hermione down, but she clung to him desperately. "I swear to you, love. Now go and stay in your room with Meela until I get home, okay?"

"Regulus, we have to go now!"

Regulus nodded and reluctantly pried Hermione's hands off of him. "I love you, sweetheart," he said, kissing her forehead and each of her round cheeks, trying to ignore the fact that her eyes were filled with tears.

"Love you," she whispered back just as Meela walked out of the hallway and took her hand. Regulus shared a look with the house-elf, and Meela nodded gravely before pulling Hermione away.

He grabbed his cloak, throwing it over his shoulders before reaching for his wand and securing it to a holster against his right forearm. "Last I heard, Sirius was holed up in a flat near Diagon Alley. I'll track him down there."

"And what if the Dark Lord finds your idiot brother before you do?"

Regulus' lips formed a tight line at the words, and he had to take a breath to calm his nerves. "Then . . . then I go to end it all myself. You get Dumbledore and . . . and take care of Hermione if this goes south. Keep her out of sight."

They stepped out the front door, slamming it shut behind them. "I'll see you on the other side of this," Regulus said, turning to face his friend.

Severus swallowed hard. "Don't let anyone make a fuss when I die."

Regulus forced a laugh and then embraced his friend. "Where's your Gryffindor spirit?"

Severus scowled. "You're not funny.."

The two friends took one last look at one another before Disapparating away.

November 9th, 1981

Severus stumbled through the front door of Iliad Cottage, stinking of firewhisky and whatever brand of Muggle scotch he'd found in his father's old cupboard at Spinner's End. It had been locked away in the master bedroom that Severus still hadn't moved into, despite the old man being dead for some time now.

He hadn't eaten more than a few meals since it had all gone to hell on Halloween.

Since . . . since they'd won.

Since they lost.

Since he fucking lost.

"Regulus! You . . . we . . . we failed—" He groaned when he stumbled into a table, banging his knee on the edge. "She's gone," he mumbled, forcing himself to be angry rather than grief-stricken as he had been for more than a week.

Gods, it had only been a week since Lily had been murdered. Since the Dark Lord killed Potter and her and the boy . . . "The boy survives," Dumbledore had told him when he'd fallen at the man's feet and begged for death. Told him that Lily's son lived as though that was somehow supposed to lift his spirits and make him say, "Well, at least there's that."

Severus didn't care that Lily's son had lived. She had died. Her husband had died. Sirius Black was to blame, and Regulus fucking failed!

They'd both failed.

Fuck . . . what had happened?

How did it all go so terribly wrong?

"The Dark Lord is dead and, she's still gone and I . . . fuck! Regulus!"

"Master Snape?" Meela whispered as she poked her head from around the corner, watching with wide eyes as Severus stumbled around the living room before collapsing onto the sofa where he planned on staying until he and Regulus could come up with a new plan. He'd been spared Azkaban thanks to Dumbledore's word, but Regulus . . . there was no saying how that would work out.

"Meela . . . get me a drink and . . . and get Regulus."

Meela worried the edge of her tea towel apron in her hands nervously as she spoke. "Meela . . . Meela has not seen Master for many days."

Severus looked up, instantly sobering at her words. "What? Where'd he go?"

"With you."

His mouth fell open. "He never returned?"

She shook her head and Severus ran a hand through his hair.

Halloween night had been an absolute mess. The Dark Lord had sent his Death Eaters to attack the Order. Severus had gone to Dumbledore, waiting for word from Regulus that Sirius Black was secured. When he was with the Headmaster, the old wizard clutched at his chest and frowned deeply, informing Severus that a charm he'd placed on Lily and James had been alerted.

"No," Severus had said and then watched in horror as the world fell to pieces.

Ten different Patronuses came flying through the window, each shouting a variety of updates, pleas, and angry words.

". . . James and Lily, it can't be true!"

". . . the boy, have you heard if the boy . . ."

"Where will he go? Albus, what do we do . . ."

And then the Aurors had shown up.

Severus, unable to return immediately to Iliad Cottage as promised, was taken into immediate custody with Dumbledore's vow that freedom would follow as soon as Harry Potter was safe and secure. When he was dragged through the Ministry of Magic, he was shoved into a cell between Lucius Malfoy and a sobbing Barty Crouch Jr, who had been picked up with the Lestranges. Both brothers remained silent, but Bellatrix was screaming in delight, telling anyone who would listen the details of how she had broken the Longbottoms.

"How can you cry out in joy at a time like this!?" Karkaroff had snapped at her. "The Dark Lord is dead, and we're all bound for Azkaban you stupid woman!"

"Our Lord will rise again! And you will be punished for your lack of faith, Igor!" Bella had cackled back at him. "Perhaps he will let me be the one to do it!"

"Is it true?" Lucius whispered. "Is he really gone?"

Severus nodded, not that Lucius could see. "Where are Narcissa and Draco?" he asked, eager to know if his godson had been harmed by either angry Death Eaters looking for vengeance or angry Aurors looking to punish.

"Safe at home," Lucius whispered. "Cissa's not marked, and I went quietly when they showed up."

"When they showed up?" Severus asked. "I take it you did not follow orders and do as you were told?"

Lucius scoffed. "I did what I had to do to keep my family safe. And where were you when our Lord fell?"

Severus sighed. "Where I was told to be," he said, though he didn't mention who had given him the order.

He didn't know how long he'd been in the cell when the Aurors started whispering and running down the long stretches of hallways. Eventually, the whispering turned to shouting. "Sirius Black! It's not possible! He was their best friend!"

Severus had leant forward and paid attention, eagerly looking for word on Regulus, though it was unlikely that the supposedly deceased Black heir would make a reappearance this soon after the Dark Lord's death. Still, the whole of the Ministry was gossiping, spreading what could have been rumours or truth for all Severus knew. What seemed to be a commonality on every tongue was that Sirius Black had murdered Peter Pettigrew and a group of Muggles, and had been found, half-mad, shouting that the deaths of the Potters were on his hands.

Severus had assumed that Regulus didn't get to his brother in time and would be waiting at Iliad Cottage to make their next move.

"He . . . I thought that he didn't get to . . . His brother turned on his friends," Severus told Meela, "and I thought he . . . Where is he?"

She frowned. "Meela does not know. Meela stays with Missy Hermione."

His eyes widened and he stood immediately. "Is she all right?"

The elf looked down. "Missy Hermione very sad. Misses her Papa."

"I'll stay with her. Go and . . . Go and get Regulus."

She hesitated. "Meela . . . Meela cannot."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "What do you mean you cannot? He's your Master. An elf can always Apparate to their Master. Now go."

"Meela cannot sense him. Master Regulus is . . ."

A chilling coldness flooded through his veins.

"No," he said. He couldn't lose Lily and Regulus. Not both of them.

"Meela is sorry."

Severus took a long moment to compose himself. He thought he should have cried in mourning for his fallen friend, but Lily's death had stolen every last tear.

"Umm . . . Meela, go and fix food for Hermione and umm . . . leave me with . . . with my goddaughter for a while."

He walked the short distance to Hermione's room, opening the door to find the little witch sitting in the corner of the room, toying with a stuffed owl in her small hands.

At the creak of the door, she looked up and her eyes brightened, and she ran directly into his arms.. "Uncle Sev!"

Unlike usual, where he tried to keep her at a slight distance, he scooped up his goddaughter and held her as close as humanly possible.

She and Draco were all that he truly had left in this world.

"Hello, Hermione," he whispered.

"Where's Papa?"

"He . . . I didn't bring him with me."

"Go get him," she said, and pointed to the door as though her words were a direct order.

"I . . . I cannot," he said, doing his best to hide the grief from his expression. "He . . . I will look after you now. For now."

December 23rd, 1981

Severus waited as long as possible, hidden away at Iliad Cottage with Hermione, Meela there to care for them both as he grieved for his friends and did his best to help the girl understand that her father was dead.

Though, he still did not know how.

It wasn't as though he could request an investigation. Regulus had been pronounced dead years earlier. He supposed that Blood Magic could be used to track down the body, but Severus was being highly monitored, the Aurors even going so far as to put a Tracking Charm on his wand for a short probationary period. Even still, he would have to use Hermione's blood to perform any kind of spell, and he wasn't going to cause harm to the girl, nor let anyone else even know she existed.

They had planned for this, after all.

When Dumbledore's owl tracked him down during a visit to Spinner's End for potion supplies, he'd taken the letter and sighed in frustration. His time for grieving was going to be over soon, and Hogwarts would expect its new Potions Master to arrive at the beginning of the year.

Slughorn was eager to retire and had only agreed to stay on an extra year because Albus had begged him to. But the war had left the old coot paranoid and he claimed his sadness over the loss of so many former students was too much to take and he was ready to part ways with the school.

Apparently, Slughorn could leave Hogwarts claiming grief, but Severus could not.

So, he did what Regulus asked and went in search of Muggles to take Hermione.

He'd investigated a few lingering around an adoption agency with paperwork in hand. But it was only when a man called to his wife, "Helen," that Severus' attention was grabbed.

Helen.

The stupid name Regulus had called Marlene.

Helen Granger was a kind woman. Both she and her husband were dentists, well off and healthy for their age, but unable to conceive a child of their own.

Severus had waited for the Tracking Charm to be removed from his wand, thankfully just in time, and he placed several detailed and complicated Memory Charms on the Muggles, before packing up Hermione's things.

"Where's Meela?" Hermione asked as she clung to Severus' robes after catching her breath following the Side-Along Apparition.

"I have dismissed her for now," he said. "You and I are taking a trip into the Muggle world, and elves cannot be seen by Muggles."

Hermione frowned. "Are Muggles scary?"

He scoffed. "Of course not. Don't be ridiculous."

"My hair feels funny." She reached up to touch the ball of frizz on her head.

Severus was quite good at glamours, but not as well as Regulus had been, and changing the girl's colouring had been complicated. Black genetics ran deep, and he'd had to anchor the charm to her magic in order for it to actually stick.

"That's because it's glamoured," he said as he adjusted her in his arms. "A strong spell too. Took me far too long to figure out how to weave it straight into your magic when you were sleeping. No one will mistake you for a Black now. You're as average as any other little girl. It would take a very powerful witch or wizard to break this charm, and I hope to the gods that we never have to see your black hair again."

Hermione pouted and then reached up to touch his locks. "I like your hair."

"Lying at such a young age. Impressive. You'll be a Slytherin for certain."

The thought calmed him somewhat. After sending word back to Dumbledore about accepting the position at Hogwarts, he was told that he would become Head of Slytherin House. He hated children, and the thought of having to be in charge of so many was nauseating. But he figured that in less than ten years, both Draco and Hermione would come to Hogwarts, be Sorted into his House, and there he could properly look over them both and fulfil the vows he'd made to their parents to protect them, teach them, and guide them.

Hermione continued to toy with his black hair. "Looks like Papa's."

He frowned and then set the girl down on the ground. "Come along, Hermione."

The Muggles were easy to distract while Severus converted their home office into a bedroom for Hermione. He transfigured documents and photographs and did his best to make it appear as though she'd always been there.

Less than ten years, he reminded himself, and she would be back where she belonged in their world, and he could figure out what to do at that point.

When he moved to leave, she realised what was happening and began to scream. "Don't go. Don't go. Don't go!"

He sighed in frustration, prying her small hands off of his robes and doing his best not to get emotional.

"I will see you very soon. These lovely people are going to take very good care of you until you come to Hogwarts. Then, and only then, can we . . . can I see you. It's too dangerous. Your father is gone, and your uncle has caused quite a stir with the media. If people were to discover your existence, it would bring down hell upon the both of us, and I would have to resort to doing terrible things like . . ." He groaned ". . . like trying to explain this situation to a toddler. Hermione, let go."

She flung herself to the floor and sobbed loudly. "I want my Papa!"

Severus, unable to see her cry for another minute—lest he change his mind and take her far away from Britain, labelling himself a potential fugitive—raised his wand at her and whispered, "Somnus," and caught her small frame as she fell into a deep sleep.

"Forgive me, child," he said, pressing a small kiss to her forehead as he placed the tip of his wand to her temple.

"Obliviate."

Chapter Text

December 1998

Severus made his way to the Headmistress' Office, grateful more than ever that it no longer belonged to him. When he'd been summoned to have a chat with Minerva, a part of him wondered briefly if it had anything to do with the fact that Draco had been occasionally sleeping in the Gryffindor common room these past few weeks.

He, unlike most other Heads of House, kept a stringent eye on his charges. It was why it was a rare moment that Slytherins were caught out of bed past curfew, though there were the occasional few that slipped by him because he was too busy dealing with matters of more importance. That, or he just couldn't be bothered that some hormonal teenagers had taken up residence in a broom cupboard from time to time. They were all adequately taught Contraceptive Charms. Regulus' accident—which did turn out to be in his favour, in the end—had taught Severus that any wizard over a certain age needed to know the charm, lest he be forced to deal with future issues as their Head of House.

But the others weren't like him.

Minerva, even when she was Deputy Headmistress, was tasked with so many of Dumbledore's usual responsibilities that, when it came to monitoring her own students, her attention to details had been found lacking.

What other excuse could there have been for Potter, Weasley, and Hermione to have been caught out past curfew so bloody often? They had a pattern, and the old witch had never once caught on and she, unlike Severus, wouldn't stand to allow for the occasional rebellion in a broom cupboard.

The worse for Gryffindor, he thought.

Without a little room on the leash to run, her lions often broke half the school when they decided to play with bending the rules, unlike his own House.

Lupin would likely be a bit more attentive when he could, and yet strict when needed. Though, Severus believed, that even if the werewolf knew about Draco and Hermione's current co-habitations in the Gryffindor common room—and not in the dorms, because he'd checked—he wouldn't have tattled on the pair to Minerva.

"Good morning, Severus."

"Is it?" he asked in irritation, crossing his arms and burying his hands in the sleeves of his robes as he stared across the large desk that used to be his.

He'd left it much the same as Albus had, minus the clutter, but Minerva had turned it into her own place of refuge, nearly wiped clean of the memories of the wizards and witches that had sat there before her.

"A Hogsmeade weekend where I'm not tasked with chaperoning and, therefore, should be able to enjoy time to myself. Yet here I stand before you."

Minerva pursed her lips and sighed. "I briefly thought that you would have been a bit more pleasant once your ties to Voldemort were severed."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Your memory must be failing you in your later years. I've always been this much of an arsehole. Dare I ask why I'm standing in your office?"

Minerva replied by removing a sealed black envelope from a drawer.

Oh, that.

"Is there a problem with my formal resignation? I've given it months ahead of time, which is much more than Slughorn gave when I was brought on as Potions Master. You have the rest of the year and summer to find a replacement."

"And you truly want to leave?" she asked, raising a brow at him.

He gave a curt nod in reply. "My job here will be done soon."

"A teacher's job is never done. There is always another generation of students to—"

"The students I vowed to educate will be graduating this year," he said pointedly. As though he would stick around for children who weren't magically tied to him. Merlin, just thinking about Hermione's twelve-year-old hand waving frantically in the hair and Draco's drastically inflated ego at thirteen made his blood pressure rise. And he was actually somewhat fond of those two. Other children? For however many more years until death came for him?

"I will exit this castle when they do."

Minerva nodded in understanding. "Hermione and Draco."

"Indeed."

She looked over the black envelope and smirked at the colouring, finding it humorous that the man perhaps subconsciously mourned his future retirement.

"I'm still cross, you know," she said as she slipped his carefully worded resignation into her desk. When she looked up and caught his curious expression, she clarified, "About Hermione."

He rolled his eyes. "You've mentioned it once or twice over the years."

September 1st, 1991

Severus had been distracted that whole day, knowing that they were coming. Lucius had been beside himself, owling all week about Draco's excitement at arriving at Hogwarts, ever reminding Severus of his duties as the boy's godfather; nevermind that he also had to be his Potions Professor as well as Head of House.

Between Lucius' owls, Dumbledore and Minerva hovering as per usual prior to the start of term, he also had to deal with Quirrell who appeared to be even more of a bumbling idiot than ever before. It irked him to no end that the man had been given the position that Severus himself coveted.

But no. Not even that was the worst part of his week leading up to the start of term feast.

Harry Potter was coming to Hogwarts.

Hagrid hadn't shut up about the wretched boy since he'd fetched him from Lily's sister's house and took him to Diagon Alley.

Severus hadn't bothered to ask Minerva how Hermione's first trip had gone. He wasn't supposed to know the girl, of course. She was a Muggle-born as far as the magical world was concerned, and for all anyone knew, Severus Snape had never even heard of Hermione Granger.

When the first years were brought in for the Sorting, he spotted them both immediately.

Draco stuck out with his white-blond hair like a wand casting off a Lumos in a sea of darkness. He held his little head high, and Severus took notice that some of the other children were already following him around. Others were giving him dirty looks. Great.

And there, standing nearby a redhead that could have only been a Weasley and a boy who was the mirror image of James Potter with Lily's eyes . . . was Hermione.

"Granger, Hermione!" Minerva called.

The girl stepped forward with determination in her eyes and perhaps a bit too much glamour magic in her hair thanks to him. Thankfully, the Hat fit on her head, at least.

Severus did his best not to look as though he cared where the bushy-haired girl ended up.

That is, until the damned hat shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Fuck."

June 4th, 1992

"I knew it!" Minerva was screaming and had been screaming for what felt like hours since he stepped one foot into the Hospital Wing to find her hovering over her pet Gryffindors.

The children had been brought in due to injury, magical exhaustion, and stress. Madam Pomfrey had given them each Dreamless Sleep to let them rest, the only thing keeping them blissfully unaware of the pandemonium happening around them as Minerva threatened to shift into her Animagus form, which likely thought itself a massive lion instead of the tiny tabby that it was.

He'd been called when, after Hermione had been brought to the infirmary, Dumbledore had gone looking through the student records to find out how best to contact her Muggle parents to let her know that she'd been injured but was well looked after.

That was when the records revealed that, like Harry Potter, Hermione had a magical guardian: Severus.

"I knew it!" Minerva said again, glaring at both Severus—who had kept this secret from her for nearly ten years, and Albus—who had been so distracted with the arrival of Harry Potter that year, that he'd overlooked the fact that the Hogwarts record book indicated that one of his arriving first years, was tied to his Potions Master.

Severus had waited all year to be approached about it and, when nothing happened, he rolled his eyes and made an under-the-breath statement to himself about Gryffindors and their lack of attention to details.

"You knew nothing," he said to Minerva.

"Well, I suspected!" she shouted with a great huff, and her face flushed red with embarrassment. "How common is the name Hermione, after all? And born the same year?"

"The same day as well," he said with a shrug and walked over to his goddaughter to see that she was not injured worse than Pomfrey indicated. "I didn't modify the dates. Only names and appearances."

"She died!" Minerva said, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation. "She died in a fire, Severus! Wait. But if Hermione is alive, then . . ."

He scowled, angry that the witch was trying to get her hopes up. "Regulus and Marlene are dead," he told her for certain. "I saw Marlene's body myself, and Regulus' fully-bonded house-elf could not locate him by any means. I believe Sirius Black may have added his own brother to his list of victims. What's one more, after all?"

She frowned and took in slow breaths to calm herself. "You have known about Hermione this entire time."

"I have."

"And never once informed me."

"It was for her safety, as you can imagine."

Minerva walked over to the other side of Hermione's bed, reaching forward and pushing a brown curl from the little witch's face, taking a moment to note the colour and texture. "Long term glamour?" she asked and he nodded. "I know it was not official but . . . Marlene was very dear to me, and Regulus as well in the end, though I doubt the boy would have ever agreed. I thought of Hermione as—"

"A grandchild?" he said and raised a brow.

She bristled and glared at him. "Don't be an arse! A goddaughter perhaps, though it was never official."

"Well, it is official in my capacity as her godfather and magical guardian," he said firmly.

"What do we do?" Minerva whispered.

Severus scoffed. "We do nothing. You could, perhaps, dissuade my goddaughter from befriending these two simpletons," he said, gesturing to Weasley, who was drooling on his pillow, and Potter who was being guarded by Albus as though Severus himself would hex the boy at any moment.

"You're judging them too quickly, Severus," Albus offered.

"Perhaps if she's in better company, then next year her life won't be in peril simply by being in their general vicinity. I've been charged with keeping the little chit properly educated as well as safe, and not only do they lead her into trouble constantly," he said, remembering earlier that year when the sight of his goddaughter next to the body of a mountain troll had nearly given him a coronary, "but conversations with them cannot be at all intellectually stimulating. I'd rather she'd have gone to Ravenclaw if not Slytherin."

Minerva rolled her eyes, ignoring his insult. "And her parents? The Muggles, I mean?"

"They believe her to be their blood; their only daughter and they love her as such."

"You know of her homelife?" she questioned.

Severus nodded. "Of course. I wouldn't just drop her off on someone's doorstep and never look back to see that she was being treated properly," he said and cast a not-at-all subtle look in Dumbledore's direction to drive home his point. "What do you take me for? For now, she is as safe as she can be, all things considered. She's a Muggle-born, and will stay a Muggle-born."

"A Black heir, though," Albus whispered thoughtfully.

Severus turned on the man instantly, wand gripped in hand as he glared at the older wizard. "I will bend to your will over most things, Albus, but when it comes to my godchildren, I have made vows to protect them at all costs."

Albus nodded, not appearing in the least bit intimidated, though Minerva looked torn, standing between the two.

"Mr Malfoy is well cared for by magical parents," Albus said. "As a Muggle-born, Miss Granger will find herself in many unfortunate circumstances, especially having befriended Harry Potter. Are you certain you want to take on the responsibility of being her magical guardian?"

Severus felt his teeth grinding together, furious that the man acted as though it were his position and objective to find correct and proper guardianship for the girl.

"I have been her magical guardian since she was orphaned; whether you knew about it or not makes no difference. Should I defer the position to you, Albus?" he asked sarcastically. "Because you've done so well in keeping your own charge safe and well cared for?" He gestured to Potter, sleeping in the bed, knowing the boy would likely be having nightmares about Voldemort and Quirrell had Pomfrey not given him a potion.

"I don't know what you mean. Severus."

"You forget, Albus, that I knew Petunia Evans for many years."

"She is Harry's family."

Severus rolled his eyes so dramatically it nearly triggered a headache, which was the last thing he needed today.

"Family is so very important, of course," he said with disdain. "And yet I dropped Hermione off with memory charmed Muggles rather than deliver her into the hands of Walburga Black," he added and watched with amusement as Albus did, in fact, flinch at those words. "If you'll excuse me, Minerva, Albus, I have things to attend to."

"I'd like to sit with her for a while," Minerva muttered and took a seat beside Hermione's bed.

Severus nodded and cast one last glance back at Hermione before moving toward the doors.

"You'll be interested to know, Severus," Albus called after him, "that it was Miss Granger who figured out your section of the traps guarding the Stone."

Severus grumbled, "Of course it was."

December 26th, 1992

The year had been going so well.

With the exception of blood on the walls, Slytherin's supposed heir walking around, and a monster in the castle, of course.

And then, because she was so very much like her idiot parents, Hermione had done something foolish and ended up in the Hospital Wing.

Again.

She was officially ruining his holiday.

Pompfrey stood quietly in front of him, awkwardly biting at her thumbnail after delivering to him the news regarding Hermione's . . . peculiar condition.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What do you mean, she's a cat?"

May 8th, 1993

He sat at the edge of her bed in the infirmary, wondering if he'd ever spent as much time in the Hospital Wing as this girl.

"It shouldn't have gotten her," he said, purposely not touching her hand like Minerva was doing, as though she were merely unconscious and not petrified. "She's not a Muggle-born. Not really."

"Neither is Penelope Clearwater," Minerva said, glancing down a few beds away to the other recent victim, "but the pair were found together. Hermione is alive, Severus. We'll make the potion to revive her and—"

"I'll make it," he snapped and pulled away from her angrily. "I've been making it. I never thought I would need to use it on her."

Minerva nodded and delicately wiped her eyes with a handkerchief that she tucked into the sleeve of her dress. "I'm going to go and tell the students that the Quidditch match has been cancelled. Potter and Weasley will want to see her."

Severus groaned knowing that if the boys walked into the room and saw him sitting anywhere near Hermione, they'd likely accuse him of being the one who'd hurt her.

"Then I'm leaving."

September 9th, 1993

It wasn't bad enough that Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban or that Dumbledore had decided to hire Lupin, a werewolf, to take the position that Severus wanted for his own, but Draco and Hermione had both begun coming into their own.

Hermione, who stood up for the downtrodden with a self-righteous tone of voice to rival that of her mother; and Draco, who mimicked Lucius' arrogance to absolute perfection.

They were both giving him a goddamned headache, and it was only nine days into the term.

Not to mention he'd received an actual Howler from Narcissa that morning, berating Severus for allowing Draco to be injured by a hippogriff, as though he were the one in charge of Hagrid and his bloody pets.

It had taken speaking to every one of his Slytherins to get the truth out that Draco had essentially been at fault by being obnoxious to the creature, despite Hagrid somehow actually teaching the children how to approach the beasts to avoid injury.

But Severus couldn't very well say such things.

And now the boy was milking the injury for everything it was worth.

In an attempt to ignore his godson, who was trying to get under Potter and Weasley's skin, he focused his attention instead on Hermione. Hermione, who was hovering over Longbottom, and with good reason.

"Orange, Longbottom," Severus snapped, ladling some of the boy's potion allowing it to splash back into the cauldron, so that everyone could see. "Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn't you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn't I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?"

The boy looked to be on the verge of tears, and Severus had to compose himself not to appear as though he felt guilty. Vincent and Gregory were also in this class, and the last thing he needed was for them to go blabbing to their fathers, and then he'd hear from Crabbe and Goyle about going soft on the 'blood traitors'. Fuck, Severus hated his life. He never was very good at holding in his temper and often lashed out at the most unsuspecting people. Then again, if this boy was left to his own devices, the entire school would explode at some point in the future.

"Please, sir," Hermione said softly, "please, I could help Neville put it right—"

"I don't remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger," he coldly snapped at her and watched as she lowered her gaze, her cheeks turning pink.

He fought hard to forget the image of a two-year old Hermione, sobbing her heart out at the news that her father would never return to her and then begging Severus not to go, not to leave her with Muggles.

Slytherins snickering in the corner at Hermione's expense drew his attention away from the girl, and Severus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose to ebb away the beginnings of a growing migraine.

June 9th, 1994

"Give me a reason," Severus whispered, his wand digging into the throat of Sirius Black. The man who, by all accounts, was responsible for the death of Lily. For the death of Regulus as well, as far as he was concerned. "Give me a reason to do it, and I swear I will."

Black stopped dead. Lupin, Potter, and Weasley were frozen as well.

But Hermione, of course, took an uncertain step toward him and said, in a very breathless voice, "Professor Snape . . . it . . . it wouldn't hurt to hear what they've got to say, w-would it?"

He sighed in frustration.

If only she knew, he thought.

If only she knew who she was and who this murderer was to her. If only she knew that Sirius Black, her uncle, was likely the cause of her father's death, either by his own hand or merely because Regulus had been so bloody desperate to save the idiot that he'd gotten himself killed in some sort of crossfire.

"Miss Granger, you are already facing suspension from this school. You, Potter, and Weasley are out-of-bounds, in the company of a convicted murderer and a werewolf. For once in your life, hold your tongue," he pleaded with her.

Why did he always have to be the bad guy, pointing out the obvious?

"But if . . . if there was a mistake—"

"KEEP QUIET, YOU STUPID GIRL!" he shouted at her, a part of him terrified that she'd distract him, and Sirius Black would get the upper hand. If he wasn't there to protect the children, there was no telling what Black would do. "DON'T TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!"

A few sparks shot out of the end of his wand, which was still pointed at Black's face.

Hermione fell silent.

November 13th, 1994

Rumours were flying in abundance.

The Dark Lord was on the rise.

Severus didn't know how, but his Dark Mark had begun to blacken again after all these years, which only meant the worst was happening. Everything they'd fought for. Everything they'd sacrificed was for nothing.

Lily. Regulus and his wife. All for nothing.

In addition to the disaster that happened at the World Cup, led by Lucius no doubt, Severus was receiving daily owls from every Slytherin parent demanding to know one thing or another about their children and how their education would be affected by the stupid Triwizard Tournament.

Not only that, but he apparently hadn't thrown enough of a fit in Draco's defence when Alastor Moody had transfigured the boy into a ferret.

"Going soft, are you?" Lucius had accused him and then, like clockwork, the owls began pouring in from parents of his students, many former Death Eaters like himself, and he knew he needed to appear on their side should the worst come to pass.

So when he approached class one day and spotted both of his godchildren surrounded by their friends, Hermione covering her face, he knew he was going to have a very bad day.

"Explain."

"Potter attacked me, sir—"

"We attacked each other at the same time!" Potter shouted.

"—and he hit Goyle—look—"

"Hospital Wing, Goyle," Severus said calmly.

"Malfoy got Hermione!" Weasley said. "Look!"

Severus stared at his goddaughter, who had beaver sized teeth that had grown down past her chin. It was horrendous, and he might have flinched had he not been so pleased to see that, despite the hex, the glamours he'd placed on the girl had held up.

He looked over at Draco who was grinning smugly. He wanted to smack the boy in the head and made a promise to do so later after a serious lecture about why he was fixated on the little witch. Perhaps, if he was very lucky, he could get Draco to think for himself and maybe change his opinions.

For now, however, he had a very unfortunate role to play.

Severus looked coldly at Hermione, then said, "I see no difference," making certain the children of Death Eaters heard him speak.

She let out a whimper; her eyes filled with tears, she turned on her heel and ran, ran all the way up the corridor and out of sight.

And Severus hated himself a little bit more.

December 25th, 1994

Watching her enter the Great Hall on the arm of Viktor Krum was a surreal experience he felt unworthy to witness. He felt as a godfather should, a distant uncle, and perhaps a concerned mentor. Not a father. Never a father.

Regulus should be here for this, he couldn't help but think to himself as she smiled at her date, blushed prettily, and moved to take her seat beside the Durmstrang student.

Severus looked up and glared at the corner where his Slytherins were gathered together.

Nott with Miss Greengrass, Zabini with a girl from Ravenclaw, Crabbe and Goyle dateless, but on either side of Draco as he stood beside Miss Parkinson, who was unaware that her date—and all of the young men—had their attention drawn to Hermione.

February 25th, 1995

"You're too bold with your words, Draco," he said, glaring at his godson, who had been overheard by Dumbledore of all people, telling Viktor Krum that he should have let Hermione drown.

As though any of the "captured" were in any real danger. As though Severus hadn't been present when Hermione was put to sleep and placed in that lake—despite angrily shouting at Albus for even suggesting such a thing.

"I'm not sorry for saying it," Draco said with a sneer. "I hate her."

Severus stared at the boy in frustration and then stood, walking around the desk and leaning against it from the other side, towering over him. "And tell me why, exactly, do you hate Miss Granger?"

Draco scoffed. "Because she's a filthy Mudblood."

If the word didn't stab him personally in the chest every time he heard it from grown adults that were too set in their ways, hearing it from Draco's mouth was a step too far. He was only a boy. Only a boy and yet close to the same age when Severus had uttered the slur against Lily.

Severus rolled up a copy of Potions Monthly that was sitting on his desk, and then thwacked it hard over Draco's head. "Stupid boy. What an imbecilic reason to hate a witch."

"W-what?" Draco asked, dumbfounded as he rubbed his head. "But . . . but you hate her too for the same reason."

"I do not bother hating fifteen-year-old girls." Severus scowled at his godson, who should have known him better than this. "I'm irritated by her presence and her non-stop repetition of quoting textbooks, but hate?" He shook his head. "Hate is a powerful emotion. Now tell me, why do you hate Miss Granger?"

Draco stopped, lost in thought, looking utterly confused.

Try, Draco, just . . . think for yourself for once, Severus silently urged him.

"She's . . . she's a Mudblood. I'm supposed to hate her."

Severus sighed, disappointed. "Because your father hates Mudbloods?"

Draco nodded.

"And are you friendly with your father's friends? Acquaintances with his acquaintances?"

Draco shrugged. "I suppose."

"Do you find yourself attracted to witches that your father—"

"No!" Draco blanched.

Finally! He's understanding!

"So . . . so I hate her for . . . She broke my nose last year!"

Snape smirked, knowing that the boy was lying, but he knew better than to push too far too quickly. He'd planted a seed.

"There. An appropriate reason. You may go."

June 18th, 1996

Severus looked up as Hermione breathed in deep, the bandage over her ribcage reflecting the moonlight. He sighed, feeling the weight of his age and his past and his vows sitting on his shoulders like boulders.

He wondered what Regulus would have thought had he lived to see his daughter face off against Dolohov, a man who'd once tried to marry his daughter off to Hermione's father.

She and her friends, led by Potter, had handled the Inquisitorial Squad and Umbridge—because they couldn't just wait for him to contact the Order—and had broken into the Ministry of Magic and battled Death Eaters.

Fucking Gryffindors.

"She'll live," Madam Pomfrey said, patting Severus on the back. "Here's some more Blood Replenishing Potion, if you're headed back to the dungeons," she added, handing him the vial reserved for Draco, who was suffering from prolonged nosebleeds after Ginny Weasley's Bat Bogey Hex earlier that night.

He nodded, sighing as he stood, wondering if anyone else wanted to give him another godchild and send him to an early grave from the stress of it all. He couldn't imagine how Molly Weasley survived with seven of her own children.

He took the vial and sighed. "Of course," he said, slipping it into the pocket of his robes. "Let me know if she needs anything more brewed."

Glancing at the ten potions sitting by her bedside, keeping her alive, he rubbed his head and then made to leave the infirmary before Sirius Black—who was currently arguing with Dumbledore over Harry Potter's endangerment due to secrets being kept—noticed him near Hermione's side.

"I'll tend to Draco. Someone should tell him that his father was arrested."

May 6th, 1997

"Stupid, stupid boy," Severus muttered under his breath as he carried—unsure why he didn't just levitat—Draco's body to the Hospital Wing.

He wasn't certain whether he was talking about his own godson, who had likely provoked Potter to attack, or the Boy Who Lived himself, who had—somehow—discovered one of Severus' own curses.

It, of course, had to be a book.

Potions most likely, which would, in fact, explain why Horace was so enamoured over Potter's sudden understanding of the subject. Cheating. The boy was clearly cheating and was using Severus' own knowledge and curses to—

"Hermione . . ." Draco mumbled as he fell in and out of consciousness.

Severus frowned. He'd been present when Draco had been hauled in before the Dark Lord over Easter break. Asked about his mission, berated for not letting his godfather aid him in whatever it was the boy had been told to do. Severus knew it was to do with Dumbledore's murder, which Albus had so graciously volunteered him for in Draco's place. Not that Severus wouldn't have done it regardless to save the boy. But something else was in the works and it made him very worried.

It also made him uneasy to watch as the Dark Lord entered Draco's poorly Occluded mind and pulled from it the brief glimpses of a weakness.

Severus had known about his godchildren finding comfort with one another that year, and he ignored the voice that sounded too much like Regulus insisting that Hermione be separated from the Malfoy boy.

He had hope that they could help one another. Save one another. Severus would likely be dead by the end of this war, and he trusted no one else to look after them.

Astoria Greengrass had been brought in and threatened; the Dark Lord had allowed Fenrir Greyback to lick the side of the girl's face while Macnair whispered filthy things in her ear, threats and promises of a horrible future if Draco failed in his task.

Severus fought the urge to protect the girl, a Slytherin, and therefore one of his own charges. Astoria had cried, and Draco had fought to control his anger even as his own aunt levelled her wand at him and cast the first of what would be several Crucios.

But Severus had to remain calm and quiet, knowing that standing up and making a scene wouldn't save his godson. As the boy thrashed on the ground, he used the distraction to slip into Draco's mind, pulling at the happy memories there, most surrounding his recent relationship with Hermione. He ignored ones that he'd prefer to never see, and instead, found small moments. Little kisses in the corridors, doing homework together in the Room of Requirement, and the occasional brush of fingertips when no one was looking.

Think of this, he thought, hoping the memories would keep Draco sane through the experience.

And now, after all of that, Draco was bleeding out in his arms because Harry Potter was an idiot.

After again casting the healing spell he'd created to counter Sectumsempra, and then placing Draco in Poppy's care, Severus angrily returned to the bathroom to scream and yell at Potter and demand he retrieve the book he knew he'd been cheating off of.

Once Potter was running off, Severus returned to the dungeons to seek out Theodore Nott, who he knew would keep watch over Draco in the infirmary, and would likely turn a blind eye when Hermione inevitably showed up to check on him.

November 1997

"The Carrows?" Minerva gasped, glaring at him with betrayal and grief in her eyes after the staff meeting.

He'd called everyone into Dumbledore's office—his office now—and informed them all of the changes to the curriculum, as per the Dark Lord's request.

Only two months into the school year, and it was already a nightmare.

He was overloaded with duties to the Dark Lord, to the school, keeping students safe, and working the long game to assist Potter in ending the war, all without being discovered by bloody well anyone!

All the teachers complained when he'd informed them that Amycus and Alecto were in charge of detentions now, knowing what that would entail. Very few were silenced with his glares. It wasn't a surprise that Minerva stayed behind to have a word. He was honestly a little shocked that she'd only called him a traitorous murderer six times since his appointment as Headmaster of the school.

"The Carrows are in charge of all the discipline? Are you out of your . . . Nevermind, clearly you're not right in the head. Likely never have been. I should have known long ago that—"

Severus growled and purposely ignored the portrait of Dumbledore behind him, pretending to be asleep without a care in the world, least of all for the shitstorm that he'd left Severus to clean up. "What you do not know, Minerva, could fill a library as large as this castle."

The witch huffed. "And are you aware that they are not just eager to punish Gryffindors? One of my prefects informed me this morning that Mr Malfoy refused to cast some of the horrid curses they're teaching them all and that, had it not been for Mister Longbottom speaking out of turn and drawing attention to himself, your own godson would have been the subject of some of their discipline. You made vows, Severus."

"And I am keeping them," he said, clenching his teeth. "One day perhaps, you'll discover how much."

December 1998

Minerva smiled up at him over Dumbledore's desk— her desk. "So, the children are grown, and you are content to go with them."

"I'd prefer to leave on my own, but someone needs to assist Draco with his new responsibilities, and as much as I know Black would love the opportunity," he said, rolling his eyes, "the man barely runs his own estate these days."

"You'll be missed."

He scoffed. "I doubt that."

Severus left Minerva's office and stopped by the greenhouses to fetch a few satchels of collected herbs that Pomona had gathered for his third year classes the following week.

On his way back toward the dungeons, he caught sight of the line of students preparing to leave for Hogsmeade. Watching with slight interest as Draco threw Hermione over his shoulder and spun her around while laughing, the little witch audibly scolding the boy, despite the grin on her face.

Surrounding them on all sides were Slytherins, Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws. Inter-House unity, just like they'd all hoped for.

He watched as Blaise Zabini openly flirted with Ginevra Weasley, the redhead laughing and rolling her eyes at something he said before going to stand beside Longbottom and Finnegan. Ron Weasley was surprisingly smiling at Hermione and Draco's display, his hand wrapped around the small waist of Luna Lovegood. Potter, meanwhile, was having a discussion about Quidditch with Daphne Greengrass, while Theo Nott nudged Pansy Parkinson, who was glaring at Daphne as though she'd somehow offended her.

"Draco, you prat," Hermione laughed as she shouted. "Let me go!"

Draco set her down in front of him, smiled and kissed her and then, within hearing distance of everyone gathered together, said, "Never."

While all of the teenagers in front of him groaned loudly, teasing the couple, Severus' mouth twitched slightly upwards at the display.

Chapter Text

December 1998

Draco threw Hermione over his shoulder and spun her around while laughing, thrilled to be able to take the witch to Hogsmeade for the first time that year as the tiny village had almost entirely been closed due to repairs needing to be made after the war.

He smiled as he spun her, even as she smacked him on the back insisting that she be placed back on her feet. She made some threat about people that would soon be coming to her rescue, and when he turned around to see Weasley grinning at them, and Potter in deep conversation with Daphne.

"Draco, you prat," Hermione laughed as she shouted. "Let me go!"

Draco sat her down in front of him, smiled and kissed her and then, within hearing distance of everyone gathered together, said, "Never."

Instantly, all of their friends groaned loudly.

"Too cheesy, Malfoy," Weasley insisted.

"So lame," Blaise agreed.

Lovegood smiled brightly and said, "I thought it was sweet," and almost instantly Weasley took her hand and brought it to his mouth, grinning like an idiot while everyone else rolled their eyes at the display. Suddenly, Draco and Hermione were no longer the centre of attention in the large group.

They were supposed to have been making plans for what to do in Hogsmeade while walking down, but the boys decided a snowball fight was in order instead, and Draco mistakenly hid behind Hermione thinking that her friends wouldn't dream of assaulting her.

He'd been wrong.

By the time they all arrived in the village, soaking wet, they had to pause and offer Drying Charms to one another. Then Harry stormed off in a huff when Pansy laughed at the way his hair looked like a pygmy puff after it had been spelled dry. She eventually sauntered off after him, using the excuse that she planned on teasing him some more.

No one believed her.

"Where to first?" Hermione asked the group.

Daphne took Theo's arm when it was held out to her. "Well, you two," she said, gesturing to both Theo and Hermione, "will likely need to hit the bookshop, and I want to go to Honeydukes at some point."

"Same here," Ron said.

Draco let out a sigh at the fact that he'd accidentally just invited himself to spend the day with all of them. Hermione chuckled, not bothering to mention that Harry would likely return to attach himself as well, once he was done throwing his temper tantrum.

"I need to go to Spintwitches for some more broom polish and maybe a new set of gloves," Ginny said, and Blaise turned and grinned at her, likely eager to make a comment about her polishing his broom.

Before he had a chance to, however, she'd reached out and taken Neville's elbow, tugging him toward her. "Come with me, Neville."

He blushed bright red and smiled at her, leaving Blaise looking positively dumbstruck.

Draco laughed and, when Hermione turned to raise a brow at him, he smiled and kissed her forehead.

"Right, so let's all go do our individual shopping and then meet up at The Three Broomsticks for lunch?" Hermione asked, smiling when almost everyone nodded in agreement.

"Hermione," Theo said, "Maybe we can find somewhere else to go to lunch?"

She frowned in confusion. Hogsmeade wasn't a very large village, so their options were limited. "Where? Because I'm not stepping foot inside Madam Puddifoot's and The Hog's Head is still closed."

Aberforth had put up a large sign in front indicating that the bar was closed and that potential customers should find somewhere else to drink in the meantime and to also mind their business.

"Why can't we go to The Three Broomsticks?"

"You can," Draco said under his breath bitterly. "I can't."

"What?" she asked, spinning around to face him and just noticing the slight tinge of embarrassment on his cheeks as he stared down at his snow-covered boots. "What do you mean you . . .? Oh."

Draco nodded curtly, reaching down and scratching at the Dark Mark still there on his forearm, hidden beneath his jumper. "Lifetime ban. Obvious reasons."

When he looked up, Hermione noticed that he caught Ron's stare. She was quickly reminded that it was less than two years ago when Draco had Imperiused Madam Rosmerta for months and his actions had almost—albeit accidentally—killed her friend.

The two continued to stare at one another as though trying to decide whether or not to acknowledge the obvious tension, ignore it entirely, or perhaps drop back into old habits and start shouting and hexing each other.

When Draco dropped his eyes to the ground again, Ron sighed loudly.

"I . . . I think I'll take Luna to Madam Puddifoot's," he said softly to the surprise of everyone in the group. "We'll see you all back at the castle, yeah?"

Ginny gave Hermione a sympathetic smile and then dragged Neville away to Spintwitches, Blaise curiously tagging along after clapping Draco on the shoulder in silent support.

Left there with Theo and Daphne, Hermione straightened her posture and snatched up Draco's hand. "Come on," she said. "I can buy books anytime, but Honeydukes is bound to be packed soon, and Daphne might cry if she doesn't get her treacle fudge."

Daphne grinned at the suggestion, and Theo smiled while Draco looked up at Hermione, looking like he was trying not to be obvious in his gratitude for how easily she redirected the attention and altered her plans to fit him.

"We can go to the bookshop," he offered quietly.

Hermione shook her head. "We won't have time," she insisted and at his confused look, she leant in and whispered in his ear, "After Honeydukes, you and I have plans."

"For what?" he asked curiously.

She grinned. "Cheering you up."

They spent a few hours roaming through the village, buying far too many sweets for their own good, restocking their ink and quill supplies, and picking up treats for their familiars.

"Leo doesn't seem to like the treats in the owlery," Hermione had said about her small little black and grey bird.

Draco didn't think the owl liked much in general, other than Hermione.

He'd been nipped at more than once just for sitting too close to her. Then again, the stupid cat was territorial as well, and Draco had scratch marks on his legs to prove it.

"Don't take it personally," she'd told him. "He hates everyone except me and Sirius."

"Are we going back to the castle?" Draco asked her as she headed back up the road leading to Hogwarts.

She smirked in reply, and her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. "A little detour," she said, pulling him in a familiar direction that had his eyes widening.

The Shrieking Shack.

When she turned back and smiled coyly at him, he stopped in his tracks and tugged on her hand, pulling her toward him and letting her tiny frame crash into his. He caught her in his arms, holding her still long enough to kiss her soundly.

"Didn't know you were one for tradition, Miss Granger," he said when he pulled away long enough to whisper in her ear.

Hermione laughed. "Come on," she said and continued walking toward the old dirt path that led toward the shack. When Draco hesitated, she turned back and looked at him. "Are you coming?"

He blinked curiously. "But . . . people usually just stand here and . . ." he said, gesturing with his hands and then turning back toward the trees behind them. "Or sneak off into the woods there for privacy."

She grinned. "I was thinking a little more privacy than a few trees."

"You don't mean to actually go inside that place, do you?" he asked, gobsmacked.

"Scared?" she teased.

"Yes," he admitted. "I mean . . . it's not likely haunted as they say but . . ."

She stepped forward again, pressing the palms of her hands flat against his chest as she leant up on the tips of her toes to kiss his lips. "It's not haunted. It's where Professor Lupin goes each full moon to transform. It's how he keeps everyone at the school safe from his werewolf form."

He stared down at her, consistently surprised by the things she knew that he was unaware of. "And you've been in it before?"

"Twice before this year," she said as they walked. "I first met Sirius in the shack, actually. That's where he and Professor Lupin told us about how Sirius became an Animagus when he was fifteen. He came out to the shack every full moon to keep Professor Lupin company. Sirius still comes to the shack with him now. Harry, Ron, and I cleaned the place up."

Draco caught a sudden frown. "Hermione?"

She cleared her throat. "It's fine. We had to clean it up because it had bad memories from the war. It's where Severus almost died."

Draco blanched at the thought. Though he'd been told about the attack after the end of the battle, he didn't know many of the details. He hadn't wanted to think about it. He'd seen what Nagini had been capable of, and to think that his godfather was almost killed by her?

"It was Ron's idea to add a bookshelf, actually," Hermione said with a laugh, pulling Draco from darker thoughts. "In case Sirius gets bored, I suppose. Then that prompted a long conversation over whether or not dogs could read, but I had to remind him that Sirius is not an actual dog."

"So you're saying," Draco said, following Hermione through the door to the shack, "that your uncle became an Animagus in his fifth year because his best friend was a werewolf?" he asked skeptically. "I mean . . . I knew he bragged about his skills at transfiguration, but I thought that was all ego."

Hermione chuckled, looking at the previously mentioned bookshelf to check that none of the few books left there had been harmed. "It is ego. But it's also the truth. Harry's dad became one too. Peter Pettigrew as well," she added as an afterthought.

Draco grimaced. "I knew about him. Some people really do fit their Animagus form."

She nodded.

"Mum and Aunt B . . ." he stopped and looked at her.

Hermione offered him a smile. "You can say her name. I'm not going to burst into tears you know," she said, making her way down the hall to a small sitting room and plopping down on a sofa.

"Mum and Aunt Bellatrix, they tried, you know," he said, still frowning as he spoke the witch's name. "Becoming Animagi. Got fairly far through the meditations actually from what they said, but then I guess my mum got pregnant with me, and it became too dangerous. And Bella . . . well . . . she lacked the patience to go through with it I suppose."

"Did they discover their forms?" she asked curiously as he took a seat on the sofa next to her and pulled her into his lap with a smile.

He nodded. "Mum's a dove," he said with a smirk. "Bella was a viper."

"I'd be a kneazle," she admitted shyly. "I did the meditation to find my form but was too busy to actually work on it. You?"

"Dragon," he said immediately and her eyes widened in shock. "I haven't done the meditations or anything, but I think it's fairly obvious," he said smugly, and she laughed and hit him in the arm.

"I don't know, I thought you made a very pretty pony when—" she began to say, but Draco cut off her words by crushing his lips against hers and drinking in the sweet sigh that escaped her throat when he held her close and ran his fingers up her side.

Unable to pull away from her again, Draco inhaled through his nose to breathe and caught the burning scent of cinnamon that was her hair—it was alluring and addictive. The smell of it, of her, sent tingles and heat all over his body that reminded him of the passion they'd had in sixth year, minus the terrifying fear that went along with always thinking he was going to die due to his ineptitude as a Death Eater.

Now he was thrilled, thrilled to have failed Voldemort in the task of destroying himself. Dumbledore had been wrong, Draco was capable of killing and had unfortunately proven that on more than one occasion when he was dragged to revels, wand practically shoved in his hand and aimed for him, with threats toward himself, his parents, and Astoria lingering overhead. He'd fixed the cabinet, let Death Eaters into Hogwarts, and had disarmed Dumbledore which allowed Snape to kill the man. He now knew the truth about that night and how his godfather had tried to spare him, had tried to save him, but it didn't hurt any less to know the things he'd done. The things he was capable of doing.

But that was where the Dark Lord had failed.

Draco knew remorse and hadn't become a monster in the process.

There was hope.

She was his hope.

Kissing him like he wasn't tainted and broken and damaged. Kissing him and moaning under him as he pressed her gently back against the sofa, hitching her legs up against his hips as though he were worthy of her trust.

When she tilted her hips, brushing herself against the hardness in his trousers, he groaned against her mouth and briefly lost track of his thoughts, because the only thing he could think of right then was her and the memory of her. How soft her skin was, how sweet she tasted, how perfectly warm and wet and tight she was. The memory of being inside her, connected to her as intimately as possible, was overwhelming and he struggled to pull his thoughts away because it was important that she know it.

He pulled back, breaking their kiss and stared down at her like she was some curiosity he couldn't quite figure out. Had she always been this way? Been insufferably intelligent and imposing and headstrong? Had it not been for Lucius and the Dark Lord, would he have grown up admiring her traits instead of trying desperately to despise them? Would he have pulled on her pigtails at twelve-years-old to get her attention instead of calling her a Mudblood and saying that he hoped she died.

Fuck . . . he'd actually said that years ago.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Hermione blinked. "What?"

"For being . . . for what I was. Who I was and I . . . I was cruel to you."

She stared up at him in confusion. "Haven't we . . .? Draco, we've been through this."

He shook his head. "I've never said it. Not really. You asked once and I . . . I skirted around the question but . . . I need you to know. I am so sorry."

She frowned and leant up, kissing him gently. Before he had a chance to utter another apology for something he'd done years ago, Hermione did the dumbest thing Draco had ever seen her do:

She whispered, "I love you," against his mouth.

An apology was difficult to mutter out, but this . . . this he could do.

"I love you," he replied and watched with a triumphant joy as she smiled at his words as though she hadn't expected them. The brightness of her eyes filled him with something akin to pride, so much so that he had to tell her again in the hopes of keeping the twinkle there in her gaze.

"I love you."

Back at the castle, they smiled and held hands and sat at the Ravenclaw table together because Ron said it wasn't fair that Luna was always being dragged around by her friends and everyone should sit with her instead. Theo, Daphne, Blaise, Ginny, and Neville all joined them while Harry and Pansy each sat at their own House tables, as far away from the other as possible.

"So dramatic," Hermione said, shaking her head. "You think if we just tell them that we know, they'll get over it?"

"I'm still trying to pretend I don't know," Draco admitted. "Did you know that Potter doesn't know how to properly cast Silencing Charms?"

Hermione blanched. "I wish I didn't know."

"Welcome to our world," Theo said.

As dinner finished up, Ron tried very hard to pay attention to Luna as she explained the difference between male and female Withersprogs, which were apparently tadpole-like creatures that used wings on the top of their heads to fly.

Hermione occasionally listened in on the conversation, picking up descriptions and ways to avoid them, still not really understanding their purpose or the reason Luna had brought them up to begin with. She was far too distracted by the other conversation happening at the table where Ginny and Blaise were arguing, loudly, and she was fairly certain it was that argument that caused Ron to put so much effort into distracting himself with Luna's nonsense.

"You can't be serious!" Blaise snapped, dramatically waving his arms at her. "I thought you'd be happy to have another go."

Ginny scoffed. "Gods, you are ridiculously full of yourself. Has any girl ever said no to you?"

"Of course they have," he said, his pride still clearly wounded and bleeding out all over the table in front of the audience of Draco, Hermione, Theo, and Daphne. Neville sat on Ginny's opposite side, desperately looking like he was trying to become invisible. "Hermione said no to me just a few months ago."

"Totally different reason," Hermione insisted.

"No, it's not!" Blaise said. "You turned me down—"

"You weren't even serious."

"—because of Draco, and the same thing is happening this time—"

"Not the same thing," Hermione said defensively, even as Draco smirked at the scene.

"—only this time it's because of bloody fucking Longbottom!"

Neville looked up at his name being called, eyes wide and looking as though he wanted to either run away very quickly, or reach for the Sword of Gryffindor and take a stand against his pride being attacked. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Blaise gestured to Ginny's fingers, laced through Neville's as though his point was being made for him. When no one reacted, he shouted, "Oh, come on!"

Ginny snorted, amused by Blaise's deeply wounded ego over being disregarded due to her new—as of that day—relationship with Neville.

"What?" she asked innocently, and everyone could hear Ron sigh loudly a few seats down. "Neville's fit."

Blaise scoffed and folded his arms across his chest like a petulant toddler.

"He is!" Ginny said defensively. "Look!" she added as she let go of Neville's hand to reach over and tug at the bottom of his shirt, yanking it up to reveal a surprisingly toned stomach.

Neville blushed beet red and pulled his shirt down, trying to hide his embarrassment by looking down at his half-eaten treacle tart as though it were about to sprout wings and fly away and his unblinking focus was the only thing keeping it in place.

"Well done, Longbottom," Daphne said with a grin.

Theo rolled his eyes as Blaise stood up and stormed away to the Hufflepuff table, taking a seat between two sixth years, who immediately began to simper at his sudden attention.

"Happy for you two," Hermione said with a sweet smile as she looked across the table at Ginny and Neville, who was now shyly smiling at the attention.

When she felt Draco bristle a little at the sudden focus on Neville, she leant her head on his shoulder and smiled as he relaxed his posture a bit. That is, until her tiny black owl came flying into the Great Hall with all the other owls that were delivering the evening post.

Leo landed on the table in front of them, nipping at Draco's fingers as they traced the skin of Hermione's arm.

"Fucking arsehold bird. My eagle owl is less of a menace," he proclaimed and sucked his injured fingertips into his mouth.

Hermione smirked and handed Leo a piece of chicken from her plate before watching the bird take flight once again as Draco's infamously terrifying eagle owl took up the suddenly empty space on the table, a letter attached to his foot with the Malfoy crest stamped in a silver wax seal on the envelope.

Hermione frowned at the sight of it, knowing it came from Draco's parents, the constant reminder that they weren't just a normal couple but were, instead, betrothed due to Blood Magic because of the generation that came before them.

"Your mother or father?" she asked quietly as Draco broke the seal.

He frowned but relaxed his posture, silently answering her question: Narcissa.

"She wants . . ." Draco said and then sighed, holding the letter out to her.

Hermione took it carefully as though it might have been cursed. She glanced down at the elegant script on the parchment, and her eyes widened over the pure insane audacity.

"What?! She can't . . . Is this a joke?" she asked and then turned and glared at Draco as though he had a hand in it.

When he reacted in shock, she felt guilty for her accusational tone, but then threw the letter down on the table and stood, storming out of the Great Hall.

"Fuck," Draco groaned and picked up the letter, reading it once again in the hopes that the words would change.

Weasley turned and glared at him. "What did you do to Hermione?"

Draco sighed. "Surprisingly enough, Weasley," he said through clenched teeth. "I'm not the cause of her foul mood."

He held up the letter.

"My mother," he said the word like a great burden, "has invited Hermione to join our family for Christmas," he stated and then added with a groan as he quickly skimmed the remainder of the letter, "at the Manor."

Chapter Text

December 1998

Hermione had left the Great Hall, anger boiling her blood as she tried to figure out what on earth Narcissa Malfoy could have been thinking, inviting her back to the Manor . . . for Christmas!

Her hands shook as she paced through the corridors, aimlessly wandering in the shadows, imagining the look on Lucius Malfoy's face as though it were his suggestion.

Yes, Cissy, bring the girl back to the place where your sister tortured her, broke into her magic, shattering a decade long glamour, and then carved a slur into her flesh. Let's set the Christmas tree right over the spot on the floor where the little former Mudblood bled; that should cover up the stain. Perhaps we should put up a new chandelier as well.

Her body shook with anger, and she barely even noticed the tears streaming down her face as she made her way to the quarters that her uncle shared with Remus.

She hesitantly knocked on the door and felt relieved when Remus, and not Sirius, opened to greet her.

"Hermione? What's wrong?" he asked immediately, beckoning her inside. "Sirius isn't here. Do you want me to—"

"No," she said quickly and then glanced across the room to Sirius' bed. Stacked neatly on his bedside table were her father's diaries. "I just . . . I . . ."

A warm hand touched her shoulder, and she sagged in relief as she felt seconds away from breaking.

"I thought I was doing so well," she admitted quietly. "It doesn't bother me much, you know. What happened with Bellatrix. I don't . . . I don't have nightmares anymore, and I don't flinch at the mention of her name, but . . . they want me to go back."

Remus frowned and took a seat. He gestured to another chair for her, and then reached for the teapot that sat in the centre of the table. He'd apparently been glancing over lesson plans, second years from the looks of it, and summoned a second cup from a nearby cupboard, pouring her some tea.

"Who wants you to go where?" he asked.

She sat down and gratefully reached for the cup, but did not take a sip. "Draco's parents. They've invited me to the Manor. For Christmas."

Remus' eyes widened in obvious shock. "Are you sure you don't want me to go find Sirius?"

She shook her head. "If he sees me like this and finds out why, he'll end up back in Azkaban."

"He's got a bit more control than that, I think," he pointed out with a soft smile. "Not much, but it's there. What does Draco say about this?"

"I don't know I . . . I screamed and then stormed out of the Great Hall. I needed . . ." she started to say, and then confusion took hold of her as she ran her thumb over the edge of the teacup where a small chip was, letting the sharp edge dig a bit into her skin. Her gaze flickered once again to the stack of diaries on Sirius' table.

"I don't know what I need."

Remus smiled sadly. "You need your father."

She looked up, surprised. "What? No."

"Hermione, it's okay," he said. "Do you know how much Harry depends on Sirius? He's here nearly every night. Whenever anything new happens in his life, he's here telling Sirius. Asking for advice, venting frustrations. He never had a chance to know his parents, and then the Dursleys were—"

"Miserable sods," Hermione mumbled bitterly, and Remus laughed which only caused her to blush at her words. "Sorry."

He shook his head and smiled. "No, they were. But now, Harry has Sirius and, despite being a man grown himself, he seeks out the only parental figure he has left. We never really grow out of needing our parents. Needing our family."

"I had parents," Hermione mumbled. "I'm different. I'm not like . . . Harry grew up with—"

"You had wonderful parents," he reminded her, squeezing her shoulder. "And you will always remember them. But you also never had a chance to know your biological parents. Parents who understood magic and the problems that come with our world. Parents who knew Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy and would have had advice to offer in your current circumstance. It's not a slight against your Muggle family to want your magical one."

Hermione frowned. "It feels silly. He's not alive and yet . . ." she said, once again looking over at the diaries. "How can you miss someone you've never met?"

Remus frowned. "You did meet him. You just don't remember."

"I want to remember," she admitted quietly and then finally took a sip of the tea, grimacing when she did. "Oh, Remus, this is just . . . just awful," she said with a laugh as she actually chewed on the grains of sugar in the back of her mouth. "Thank you."

He smiled and nodded. "Take them. I know for a fact Sirius is done reading those ones, and they rightly belong to you."

Back in the comfort of her dorm room, Hermione set down the stack of leather bound journals on her trunk and began flipping through them at random, searching for a specific entry.

When she finally found it, she smiled and brought the book to her bed, laying back and breathing in the scent of decades old parchment. She sneezed when a black feather fell out of the pages, tickling her nose. Picking it up off the bed, she smiled and made a mental note to purchase something for her owl the next time she was in Hogsmeade to maybe help with his grooming.

Setting her feather-bookmark aside, she looked down at the pages and let the slanted black ink draw her in.

July 15th, 1978

I'd never been so afraid in all my life. The summons to meet the Dark Lord felt like a death sentence, and it took everything in my power to keep up my Occlumency shields while Severus Apparated us to the gates of Malfoy Manor. The mansion is large and imposing and, like the Malfoys themselves, reeks of old money. I imagine the Manor had once been a beautiful place, perhaps filled with the sounds of parties and laughter, clinking glasses of champagne and a string quartet in the corner for a holiday ball. The only sounds I remember, other than the heavy beat of my own heart echoing in my ears, was the gentle rattle of china as Narcissa poured tea for the Dark Lord, sitting in the drawing room in a simple chair as though it were a throne.

He spoke to Severus first, asking about Evans. It unnerves me to know that the man is aware of Severus' affections for the Muggle-born. I could tell he was trying to provoke him. Trying to poke a sleeping bear in the hopes it would awaken and attempt to defend the honour of his lady love. Severus wasn't stupid enough to do such a thing, of course, but I still willingly put myself in the path between friend and . . . I don't rightly know what the Dark Lord is. But I stood there, all of sixteen years old and waxed poetic about indoctrinating purebloods and blood-traitors and using Muggle-borns as servants as though they were house-elves. I was witty and charming, and all I could wonder is whether or not my lies were believed and, if they weren't, would he kill me himself and did dying hurt as bad as I thought it would. Knew it would.

And then . . . then the Muggles.

Gods . . . I didn't want to.

Severus tried to take the task for me, to spare me, but they found a way around it. I try to tell myself that killing them was a mercy, even as I wondered if the Dark Lord kept more Muggles stashed away in the cellar of the Manor ,and that these two had been spared the torture that others would inflict upon them; given to Severus and I to dispose of painlessly.

Still, I let the Dark Mark brand itself into my skin, and I wept and sobbed through the pain . . . Gods, the pain was . . . and I let myself feel every bit of it, thinking that it was well deserved. Punishment for what I'd done. What I felt I had to do.

I had to do it.

When we Disapparated away . . .

I never want to go back there.

That place, that Manor, is a building of death and darkness and how many others had been killed there? Tortured there? Blood and sweat and tears—my tears—stain the floors.

I never want to go back.

I have to go back.

He'll call me, and I'll go and do as I'm bid because I have to. I can do it. I'll go back and stand where I cried and vomited, and I'll look the Dark Lord in the face as proof it didn't break me.

He didn't break me.

I can be brave.

I can be brave like Sirius.

Hermione closed her eyes and shed the last tear she'd been holding onto. Letting it cascade down the slope of her cheek and falling off of her chin to land on the inked pages.

"I can be brave," she whispered defiantly as she closed the diary and reached for a piece of parchment from her bag, pulling out a quill as well as she quickly wrote a letter of reply to Narcissa Malfoy.

A knock at the door pulled her from her focus as she folded the letter and sealed it up in an envelope, using a stamp that she'd been given by Kreacher before returning to Hogwarts, the Black family crest and a stick of black wax.

"Come in," she said, assuming it was Ginny or one of the other girls, offering her privacy after her embarrassing exit from dinner.

"You decent?" Harry's voice spoke softly, and Hermione's eyes widened as she peeked around her curtains to see her best friend standing in the doorway, a hand over his eyes.

She laughed at the sight. "How did you get up here?"

"Figured out how to disable the spell on the stairs," he said, still covering his eyes. "Can I . . .?"

"Oh for goodness sake, Harry, I'm not naked."

He breathed a sigh of relief and uncovered his face.

"Huh," he said, looking around. "Looks just like our dorm only . . . clean," he noted and then walked over to Hermione's bed, taking a seat beside her. "Ron told me what happened. Those sodding bastards. How could they actually think that you'd—"

"I'm going."

Harry stared at her. "You're what? Hermione!"

"I'm going," she insisted. "I won't let that place break me. Whether I like it or not, and I don't," she added quickly, "those people are Draco's parents and . . . and Narcissa risked everything for Draco. She loves him and wants to see him for Christmas, and they legally can't leave the Manor. He has to go to them, and if I'm to get to know them in any way, it has to be there. I don't like it, and I can't imagine they do either, but . . . I'm going."

Harry looked furious, and she understood why. The choices laid upon the table were not good ones.

"Do you want me to—?"

"No," she said quickly, grabbing his hands in gratitude for even offering to accompany her back to that place. "You're going to spend Christmas at the Burrow with the Weasleys and with Sirius. I'll go to Malfoy Manor for . . . a visit. And then I'll leave and come to be with the rest of you."

Harry squeezed her hands back. "It's your choice, but I don't like this."

"I know. Will you write to Mrs Weasley and see if Draco can come along as well?" she asked, and Harry nodded. "I should . . . I should tell Sirius what happened. Unless you already have?"

Harry blushed. "I might have . . ."

"Oh, Harry." She sighed and then wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. "I think he'll insist on coming with me. Perhaps I can ask Severus, as well. Surround myself with support that they will either respect or . . . be annoyed by."

She smiled brighter when Harry laughed.

"Walk with me to the Owlery? I have a letter I wrote, accepting Mrs Malfoy's invitation."

Harry nodded and stood, making his way to the door.

"So," she said, breaking the momentary silence. "Is the disarming spell for the stairs the same as it is in the Slytherin dorms?"

Harry paused and stared at her, and then after a long moment of contemplation said, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Hermione."

She laughed and took his arm as he led her down the stairs to the Gryffindor common room where Draco was waiting for her at the bottom.

"Granger," he addressed her, falling back on old habits which told her that he was upset. "I swear to you, I had no idea what was in that letter, and I'm going to write my mother and demand that—"

"I'm going," she told him, smiling to Harry as he stepped back, allowing them to deal with the issue at hand. "I'm going, and you won't be demanding anything of your mother. I've written her a letter, accepting her invitation. I'm going to the Manor with you for Christmas . . . not to stay," she insisted, waiting for him to ask questions. When he said nothing but instead stared at her with his mouth open, she continued, "And I'll be asking Sirius and Severus both to accompany us."

"My father doesn't have a wand," Draco said quickly, looking concerned.

Hermione smirked, catching his meaning. "I'll ask Sirius to behave himself."

"Hermione," he said, reaching out for her hand. "You don't have to—"

"I do," she replied back quickly. "I have to do this. That's your home. Your parents are stuck there, and I won't keep you from them. I also won't let your father think I'm afraid to go there."

"But you are," he pointed out.

She nodded. "Terrified. But I won't let that stop me. I can be brave," she said with a smile. "I can be brave like Regulus."

Sirius and Severus had both been less than pleased to hear of the news regarding their new Christmas plans, and that Hermione had accepted the invitation to Malfoy Manor without discussing it with either of them.

Still, they both agreed to accompany her and Draco to Wiltshire for the holiday, and then Severus shooed Sirius out of the dungeons because he didn't want his lab to "smell like mutt".

Several days later, when the fear finally began to fade a bit, Hermione was dropped into facing another wretched phobia.

"Pleeeease," Draco whinged, and Hermione glared at him. Not at him, exactly, but at the broom grasped within his hands. "Hermione, I won't let you fall. I swear it."

"You fall all the time," she pointed out.

"I do not," he said, clearly offended by her words. "I crash," he corrected her, "playing Quidditch. There's a difference."

The scoff of disbelief she let out was tinged with anxiousness that even she could hear.

"I've never just fallen off my broom, and I would never let you fall. Seeker reflexes," he said with a bright grin.

Hermione fidgeted with her fingers and tried to reason in her head all the many ways that this was a bad idea. "I'm . . . I'm not . . . flying is just unnatural and—"

"You're a witch. Witches fly. Your father loved flying more than almost anything in the world, you've said so yourself," he pointed out. "Your father and uncle both played on their Quidditch teams, your best friends ALL play, and I play. I'm not asking you to pick up a Beater's bat. I'm asking you to summon that Gryffindor courage you're always prattling on about and face another fear."

Draco wore a smug grin on his face; the expression he had when he knew that he'd hit just the right spot to provoke her.

"Fine," she said through clenched teeth. "But . . . we do this on my terms, agreed?"

Draco nodded. "As long as you're in the sky with your arms wrapped around my waist, I'm happy," he said with a silly smile that made her want to kiss him. So she did.

He grinned against her mouth and joyfully wrapped his arms around her waist, ignoring Professor Vector as she cleared her throat while passing them in the hall.

"You won't regret it. Once we're hovering over the lake and you can see the sky reflected in the water . . . it's the second most beautiful thing in the world."

She smiled at him, refusing to ask what the first most beautiful thing in the world was, already knowing his rehearsed answer to the question that would only make her roll her eyes at his sad attempt at flattery. "My terms, Draco. You swear it? We'll face fears together when we go flying."

He clearly picked up on her words but made the mistake of thinking that a Gryffindor couldn't be cunning enough to trick him.

"Of course," he said, not realising the mistake of his promise.

An hour later, when she led him by the hand toward the Forbidden Forest instead of the lake, Draco began to understand the ramifications of underestimating his witch.

"No, no, no." He dug his heels into the ground, even as she tried dragging him forward, toward Hagrid's hut, toward the pumpkin patch where the giant, grey, beastly chicken lay on the ground, tearing apart and devouring what looked to be . . . a ferret.

"We're facing both of our fears today, Draco," Hermione said, pulling on his arm.

"Easy for you to say, Granger! A broom never sent you to the Hospital Wing!"

"Correct. That's because when Madam Hooch gave instructions on how to handle a broom, I followed them instead of acting cocky because my need to show up a classmate overpowered my common sense," she said as he huffed at her. "I've already talked to Hagrid, and he says it's perfectly fine. He had a good chat with Buckbeak."

Draco shook his head. "That thing tried to kill me!"

"And bully for you, you tried to kill it back," she pointed out impatiently. "We're all even, aren't we?"

"It's a monster. It hates me. Look at it!" he said, pointing as they approached the small gate.

Buckbeak was indeed looking up, his head tilted to the side in observation of the pair, a tuft of fur hanging off of his large beak as he finished his dinner.

"Don't think I don't know what you're thinking," Draco said to the large creature. "He remembers me. Remembers the taste of my blood."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "First, he doesn't remember you. Second, he didn't bite you. He scratched you."

"Probably licked his claws clean while I was being rushed to the Hospital Wing to save my life," he mumbled under his breath.

Hermione laughed and then frowned apologetically when he turned and glared at her in reply. She stepped forward and placed both of her hands on his cheeks to draw his attention back to her.

"Draco," she said softly. "I won't let you get hurt, I promise. I've flown on Buckbeak before, and so has Harry, and so has Sirius. Many times. He's perfectly safe if you treat him with respect instead of acting all cocky and getting flustered because Harry Potter got to ride a hippogriff when you didn't," she pointed out and Draco mumbled something about "the Chosen One" under his breath in reply.

"I love you," she said sweetly, and that caused him to soften his defenses. "We can face our fears together."

He stared at her, noting the suddenly apprehensive tone in her voice at the last words, and he couldn't help but wonder if she was still talking about her fear of flying. Unlikely. She was probably more afraid of going to the Manor and facing the demons and the history there, and this was a stepping stone. Him trusting her so that she could also trust him. Facing their fears together. His of the bird, hers of flying, and perhaps both of their phobia of addressing one of the worst moments in the war for the both of them.

"I love you," he replied, and kissed her softly.

Hermione smiled and led him slowly toward Buckbeak, who stood suddenly alert, orange eyes staring at the pair carefully.

"Hello, Buckbeak," she greeted with a bright smile. "I was hoping we could go for a ride . . . er . . . well, not hoping really. I still deplore heights and flying, but I trust a living creature more than a bit of enchanted wood and—"

"Hermione," Draco said, interrupting her rambling. "You're chatting to a giant chicken as if it understands you."

Buckbeak snorted and turned glaring eyes on Draco.

"Oh fuck, it understands us, doesn't it?" he said, whimpering slightly and scratching at the scar that still remained behind on his arm from the last time he'd encountered the hippogriff.

"He probably smells fear," she said and then quietly added, "and arrogance."

Draco gave her a stern look, and she rolled her eyes.

"They're proud creatures, and you've done nothing but insult him. I insist that you be nice, Draco. This hippogriff saved my life, Harry's, and Sirius'. Now bow."

Draco swallowed hard and very slowly, with great trepidation, bowed his head before the beast.

"How come you don't have to bow?" he asked, his eyes barely looking to the side to see Hermione watching him carefully.

"I already did," she said. "Buckbeak knows and trusts me, so I only have to give a little nod of the head. I've earned his loyalty. Now you earn yours."

Draco continued to bow, even as Buckbeak just stared at him, occasionally tilting his large head from side to side.

The beast finally turned and looked at Hermione, and she smiled at him sweetly and then stroked the soft small feathers of his face.

Finally, the hippogriff relented and gave a small bow to Draco, who sighed in relief and slowly rose.

"Now what?" he asked.

Hermione stepped forward and took Draco's hand with a smile. She laced their fingers together, her palm to the back of his hand, straightening Draco's arm out toward Buckbeak.

"Now wait for him," she whispered, leaning her head against his shoulder.

Eventually, he relaxed into her touch, and turned to kiss the top of her head. He almost didn't even notice when the hippogriff had pressed his beak into the palm of his hand.

Draco's fingers ran over the smooth texture of the beak and then up between the eyes of the beast where he touched the feathers there, taking slow, deep breaths as he moved.

"Okay," he said on an exhale. "What do you say you and I show this witch what flying is really like?" He jumped a little when Buckbeak trotted forward, adjusting his wings as though readying himself for passengers.

Unlike horses that he'd ridden in the past around the Manor growing up, which usually came with saddles, Draco leveraged himself against Buckbeak's wing with his left foot and threw his right leg over the back of the animal, gently gripping the feathers at the base of his neck to steady himself.

"Woah," he said, and patted Buckbeak before turning to reach his hand out to Hermione, who suddenly looked anxious. "C'mon, Granger," he said with a smirk. "I faced my fears."

She nibbled her lower lip. "I honestly thought it would take you longer, and eventually you'd agree that maybe we should take this in small steps."

Draco rolled his eyes and reached for her again. "Hermione."

She grit her teeth, looking stubborn and determined, and gripped his hand, squeaking a little when he tugged her up behind him. She made an "oof" sound when she settled in, gripping the front of his robes tight enough that her knuckles turned a paler white than Draco's own skin.

"Ease up," he whispered, then nudged Buckbeak gently with his feet once he felt Hermione loosen her grip just a touch.

"This was such a bad idea."

"Take it easy on her, okay?" he asked the beast.

Buckbeak bent his knees and leapt up to the sky in one boundless jump, wings extended and flapping down hard against the ground, throwing leaves and dirt and a bit of snow up in their wake.

It wasn't like riding a broom, that much was certain, but Draco grinned with excitement once they flew up and over the Forbidden Forest, and he turned to watch as the sunset glowed in reflection off of the Black Lake.

"Look," he told Hermione. When she didn't respond, he sighed as he felt her face being pressed hard against his back. "Hermione, I thought you said you'd done this before."

She nodded quickly. "I didn't like it then either."

"You mean you didn't like jumping on a hippogriff and riding it up to the castle in a hurry to free your uncle who was being targeted by Dementors?" he asked sarcastically. "Why on earth wouldn't you have enjoyed that kind of flying?"

"Prat!"

"Hermione."

"Don't want to."

"Hermione."

"Too high."

"Love," he said softly, and she didn't reply back to the name, but she slowly loosened her hold on his robes and instead pressed the flat of her palms against his chest and abdomen.

"How high up are we?" she begged, her voice filled with trepidation.

"Hermione, open your eyes," Draco whispered, peeling one of her hands away from him to kiss the tips of her fingers.

She did open her eyes, and the first sight she was met with was the glimmer of water just beneath them as Buckbeak lowered down, brushing his claws against the surface of the lake that had yet to freeze over but was turning to ice just around the edges, surrounded by snow.

"Wow," she said as she noticed the colours of the setting sun on the water: bright golds and deep reds and the softest oranges and purples caught up in the giant bowl of the reflecting lake.

Flying this time wasn't as hectic and hurried as it was before. It wasn't shaky with Buckbeak's wings flapping hard against the wind, but instead was a soft glide.

Even as he took them higher, ever so slowly, Hermione felt the calm remain with her, smiling even as the last bit of colour drained from the lake and the sky, leaving instead a velvety black curtain above them, littered with bright stars.

"There I am," Draco said, pointing at the constellation for which he was named.

She smiled and sighed against him, pressing her chest to his back. "Don't get too smug there, dragon boy. My father named me after every star in the sky."

A warmth rushed through her, and she began searching out the constellation of Leo, where she knew her father's star rested.

"It's right there," Draco said, as though he knew exactly what she was doing, and he took the hand that was still wrapped in his palm and pointed up toward the familiar set of stars, pointing out the glimmering spot in the sky for which Regulus Black was named.

Chapter Text

December 24th, 1998

The ride home on the train was filled with a bit of trepidation as Slytherins, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Gryffindors all mixed together in various compartments.

Hermione remained with Draco, Ginny, and Neville, as well as Daphne and Theo. Blaise, boycotting anything to do with Ginny, had opted to create a bachelor compartment with Goyle somewhere in the back of the train. Ron was all too happy to follow Luna as she roamed, so long as they eventually found the food trolley at some point.

"Where's Harry?" Neville asked.

"Where's Pansy?" Daphne replied, and they all shared a collective groan. "I think it's time for an intervention."

Severus, Sirius, and Mr Weasley met everyone at King's Cross to escort most of the students back to the Burrow.

Severus had been requested to accompany Draco to the Ministry, where his wand would be checked, as per his probationary terms, by Aurors looking for Dark magic. It was embarrassing for him, and Hermione knew he hated it, so she was more than pleased to know that the six months of his punishment would be up before they'd return to Hogwarts.

She kissed Draco goodbye and smiled, placing a kiss to her godfather's cheek as well—ignoring his assorted grumbles—and turned to take hold of Ginny's arm before Disapparating away.

The Burrow was, as usual, a complete madhouse, and Hermione almost longed for the strange silence of Grimmauld Place. Home, she thought to herself as she imagined the large townhouse. Home.

The Burrow was cramped with too many people and too much food, with Mrs Weasley desperately trying to overcompensate for not being able to give every single child under her roof adequate attention. Fred and George stayed outside with Charlie and Bill, while Fleur remained inside with Angelina and Katie, offering assistance where they could.

The moment they arrived, Mrs Weasley wrapped both Harry and Ron in her arms together. She squished the boys against one another as she hugged them simultaneously and begged to know everything that she'd been hearing from Ginny's letters about Ron's relationship with Luna, as well as Harry's secret girlfriend.

Mrs Weasley eventually cornered Ginny and Neville and smiled when the boy went into a well-rehearsed speech about honouring boundaries and being respectful, which only caused her to beam with joy and kiss his cheeks, all while Ginny rolled her eyes.

While the rest of the family scattered around the house, Hermione sat at the foot of the stairs, watching them all with a happy smile on her face.

"And where's your young man?" Mrs Weasley asked as she sat down beside her.

Hermione looked up and sighed. "Severus took him to the Ministry, and then he's supposed to go home to see his parents. Likely giving his father a speech about what to not say to me when I show up tomorrow morning," she said, feeling nervous.

"Are you worried about going . . . going back there?"

She shook her head. "Not . . . not really. His mother's been perfectly kind to me since discovering who I was, but his father . . . Ugh! How can I show up there and pretend that I don't know exactly the kind of man that Lucius Malfoy is? I'd be pretending to be someone I'm not, and I don't want Draco to see me as that. As someone who will bend her morals just to make things easier for everyone involved."

"Nor should you," Mrs Weasley replied with a stern voice. "If that boy loves you, and Ginny and Harry both say that he does, then he knows you are a force to be reckoned with. You are not the future Mrs Draco Malfoy. You are Hermione Granger, or Hermione Black. Both are good, strong names with good, strong parents. And don't you let that big, blond, bigoted father of his make you think you're not worthy of their name. He should try to be worthy of yours."

Hermione grinned and kissed Mrs Weasley's cheek in gratitude.

December 25th, 1998

Christmas morning was just as hectic as ever, and Hermione did her best to load her gifts into her bag which still had an Undetectable Extension Charm on it. It turned out to be quite helpful, considering the amount of books and sweets that she received would have filled her Hogwarts trunk to the brim.

As she prepared to leave for Malfoy Manor, merely waiting for Severus to arrive, she was tugged into the hallway by Ginny, who had a glint in her eye far too reminiscent of her twin brothers.

"I need you to do me a favour," Ginny said with a bright grin as she held a small, plain-looking book out to Hermione. "When you go to the Malfoys, I want you to lose this somewhere in Lucius' study."

"What does it do?" Hermione asked hesitantly.

Ginny smirked, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "He once gifted me a book," she stated, her words only slightly bitter considering all the things that had occurred due to Lucius' actions regarding Tom Riddle's diary. "I am merely returning the kind gesture. Don't worry, it won't hurt you. It's very . . . gender specific."

Hermione paled slightly. "Ginny, I know he's a bastard, but the man is still Draco's father. What exactly will it do to him?"

Ginny shrugged and grinned. "It's not a bloody Horcrux," she said quietly and then added, "Just to be safe though, if you eventually want children, I wouldn't let Draco touch it."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "Oh, bollocks," she groaned.

Ginny laughed. "Not for long."

"Hermione?" Harry called from down the hall. "Snape's here, and we're ready to go."

"Professor Snape!" she shouted the correction back at him.

Ginny smiled and turned away while Hermione was left to join Harry, a raised brow in curiosity as she approached him. "And what exactly is this 'we'? Harry, you are not coming with us to Malfoy Manor," she insisted as she slipped into the travelling cloak he held open for her.

Harry smiled softly. "I know that. We're just making a stop first. I have a gift for you."

She stood in a familiar cemetery one year to the day of the first and only other time she'd been to Godric's Hollow. Then, she'd gone for support as Harry visited the graves of his parents for the first time. She'd watched, heartbroken, as her best friend cried while running his fingers over the engravings on the large marble headstone marking the final resting spots of James and Lily Potter.

Now it was Hermione's turn to cry.

"Oh, Harry," she said as she reached out and ran her fingers over the marks on the new, large, grey tombstone.

Regulus Black * Marlene Black

12 May 1961 * 8 June 1961

Died 31 October 1981

"I know they didn't have proper burials," Harry began, reaching out and putting a hand on her shoulder, "but I wanted you to have somewhere to go to visit them."

He turned back to look at both Sirius and Severus as they stood, observing the teenagers. "All of you."

Hermione's fingers lingered on the date of death. She knew that her mother was killed earlier, and the date of her father's death was only speculated, but it still felt correct. That night was when everything changed.

"They deserve to be honoured. Not just because they fought in the war and sacrificed their lives to bring down Riddle, but . . . they were your parents."

Hermione smiled and wiped the tears that were pricking at her eyes. "You put them next to yours," she whispered softly as she turned her head to look at the familiar marble headstone a few spaces down, already with a new wreath of Christmas roses set at the foot of it.

Harry gave her an awkward, lopsided smile and ran his hand through his messy hair.

"Well . . . yeah. We're all family, aren't we?" he asked and laughed softly when she stood and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Thank you, Harry."

"There's umm . . . something else. We . . . er . . . the three of us," he said, taking her by the hand to lead her back to Sirius and Severus. "We called in a few favours with Kingsley."

Severus stood tall, his black robes sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the others who dressed in Muggle attire covered by light coloured travelling cloaks.

"The Minister of Magic," he said, "has seen fit to have your father posthumously exonerated for his crimes committed as a Death Eater. Both due to his young age when he took the Mark, and because he fought against the Dark Lord, both before his suspected death and . . . after."

Hermione felt a strange relief sit on her shoulders as though she'd been carrying the burden of her father's guilt since discovering who he was and what he was forced into at such a young age. She smiled as she noticed Sirius looking as though he felt similarly.

She watched curiously as her uncle removed a long square box from his cloak, holding it out to her.

"Kingsley sent these to me this morning, but they rightly belong to you."

She opened the box slowly and gasped when she saw the familiar medals within it. She had one of her own, of course, an Order of Merlin, for helping to bring down Voldemort. And now, so did her parents.

"Thank you all," she whispered as she touched the awards. "So much."

"There's one more gift," Sirius said. "Something Snape and I have been working on."

She looked up at her godfather expectantly, and he frowned.

"It may not work. You were very young when I was forced to Obliviate you," he said with a sigh of frustration, "and there's no telling whether or not the memories can be returned, however . . ."

Sirius grinned and removed his wand from his coat, casting a quick Notice-Me-Not on the group so passing Muggles wouldn't pay them any attention.

"I've been practising," he said proudly.

Severus rolled his eyes. "Apparently a lack of proper lesson plans for his students has left your uncle with a great deal of free time."

Sirius nodded, ignoring the insult. "And I'm easily bored."

They both approached Hermione, placing the tips of their wands to her temples and closing their eyes to concentrate. Severus whispered a soft incantation that she couldn't quite make out.

There was a slight tingle behind her eyes that spread to her ears and settled somewhere deep within, radiating outward and tickling her nose. She twitched in response and then looked up as Sirius reopened his eyes.

"I didn't . . . I don't . . ." she said with a frown as nothing suddenly popped into her memory as she had hoped.

Sirius frowned and sighed in defeat.

Severus looked unruffled by the results. "As I said, you were very young. They might not return at all, or if they do, perhaps they will come back slowly over time. Even as dreams."

Hermione smiled, happy for the hope that sat within the thoughtful gift. "Thank you," she said and hugged them all in turn. "Happy Christmas."

Malfoy Manor was as imposing as it ever was. The feel of it was different however, Hermione could tell, though not by much.

Dark magic had stained the very ground that the once beautiful home stood upon.

They'd Apparated directly onto the grounds, she as a Side-Along companion to her godfather. BothSeverus and Sirius agreed that Hermione might not have been in a calm enough emotional state to go on her own, especially since the one and only time she'd been there had been traumatic. While she would normally argue, the fact that both Severus and Sirius agreed on something gave her enough pause to reconsider.

When her breath returned to her lungs, she swallowed down the rising bile that came with looking at the foreboding mansion. She took a deep inhale to settle her nerves as they made the long walk to the front door.

Before either Sirius or Severus could do anything, Hermione leant forward and banged her balled up fist against the door as hard as she could to make her presence known and perhaps also startle away the nerves inside of her.

When it opened, she expected to be met with the sneering face of Lucius Malfoy, so when her attention was drawn to a little house-elf instead, Hermione relaxed her face and felt mildly embarrassed for the glare that had just been there.

"Welcome to Malfoy Manor, Master Snape, Master Black," the elf began and then looked at Hermione. "Miss . . . Missy Hermione?"

Hermione's eyes widened, and a flash of memory came to her like a blinding light. It was like a strong wave of water crashing over her and then suddenly surfacing only to be met with a blazing sunrise. She could clearly see a small cottage with no other buildings surrounding it. She felt herself, so small, playing in the fields of flowers in the garden while an elf—this elf—cautioned her not to run so fast.

Before Hermione could say a word, the elf spoke again, reaching out and taking Hermione's hand as she did. "Missy Hermione is well again," the elf said, tears in her large eyes.

"Meela," Hermione whispered the name that quickly got caught in her throat.

"Meela was told but . . . Meela could not see for herself."

"You're . . . my Meela. I think I remember!" she said excitedly and looked back to Sirius who was beaming with happiness and Severus, who gave her a nod of approval, as though she'd accomplished something on her own.

"When I was forced to deliver you to your Muggle parents," Severus said. "I could not leave Meela behind at Iliad Cottage. You saw for yourself what confinement and loneliness did to Kreacher. Still, despite purchasing Meela for you and Regulus, she was bound to serve the House of Black."

Meela smiled up at the man. "Master Snape gives Meela to the young Master Draco and Mistress Narcissa."

Sirius furrowed his brows. "Wait . . . if you were bound to the House of Black, how was Bellatrix able to harm Hermione here last year?" he asked. "Why didn't you do anything?"

Meela frowned and began wringing her hands together, clearly upset. "Meela is bound to protect all of the House of Black," she whispered.

Hermione covered her mouth in shock and then knelt down to face Meela eye-to-eye. "You weren't able to act against any Master or Mistress of the House, and since it was Bellatrix, you couldn't do anything to help me."

Meela nodded, smiling again when Hermione took her long, wrinkled hand within both of hers and stroked it affectionately.

"Meela, I don't blame you. I'm just . . . I'm so happy to see you."

The elf cleared her throat, obviously trying not to be emotional. "Meela found Dobby, ask him to help," she admitted quietly. "Dobby was . . . Dobby was a good elf."

And then it all made sense.

There had been some speculation as to how Dobby knew they were being held at Malfoy Manor, but as the elf was killed in their escape, there was no way to find out the truth. But now they knew.

Meela.

Meela had called for help from the one elf that could act against witches and wizards.

Meela and Dobby had saved them all.

Hermione dabbed at her eyes with her sleeves before smiling and wrapping her arms around the small elf, who squeaked initially at the contact, but then smiled softly and ran her hands down the back of Hermione's long hair.

The sound of footsteps approached, and Draco opened the door to glance down at his Hermione kneeling on the front step.

"I thought I heard . . . Hermione . . . why're you hugging my elf?"

The reunion with Meela was short lived, but Hermione made a promise to figure out how to remove the elf from Malfoy Manor as soon as possible. She would even set Sirius to the task should she not be able to do anything herself. If the Malfoys needed a Black house-elf, Kreacher would likely be more than happy to serve, but they would not have Meela. Hermione couldn't stand the idea of her nanny elf living out the rest of her days in the place where Voldemort had done so much harm.

Meela was dismissed to attend to her duties by Draco, who remained shocked to know that he and Hermione shared yet another thing in common, and he took her hand within his own as he led her toward a small family room that, thankfully, sat as far away from the old drawing room as possible.

When they entered, Hermione was distracted by the rather large, twinkling Christmas tree in the corner. The beauty and colour of it were shocking; it stood out like a sore thumb in the home that seemed devoid of much light and life.

Mrs Malfoy stood and approached the guests, her long blond hair pinned back elegantly, her dress as finely made as money could buy, though nothing helped to completely cover the markings of stress that war had left upon the woman's face.

"Miss Granger, thank you for accepting my invitation," she said politely, a happy smile on her face as she looked tempted to reach out for Hermione, but instead touched Draco's arm instead. "I do understand what it must have cost you to return here. I just did not know how else to go about getting to know you. I'd written to the Ministry, requesting temporary leave, guarded if necessary, but I was told that they did not have the resources to provide Aurors to accompany outside the Manor. It . . . it means a great deal to me that you were willing to be so accommodating."

Hermione looked back to Sirius, who was ignoring his own cousin in favour of glaring at her husband. Lucius Malfoy sat in a wingback chair in the corner near the tree, glaring into a tumbler of firewhisky.

Hermione sighed, happy to see that, for now, all the men had decided to remain silent.

"This is Draco's home," she said, turning her attention to Mrs Malfoy, "and if he is able to return, despite the horrors he witnessed . . . My father, too," she added, "I understand that awful things happened here, and he was not afraid."

There was a scoff from the corner where Lucius sat, and he looked up to narrow his eyes at her. "How very like Regulus you are."

"Father," Draco warned.

Hermione squeezed his hand and held her head high as she took a few steps forward, unafraid of the wandless wizard before her.

"I take that as a considerable compliment, Mister Malfoy, though I doubt it was offered as such," she said, her tone indicating that she didn't care what he thought or said. "I do believe, however, I am more like my mother, Gryffindor and all. Still, I've been told recently I have many attributes of the Black family."

Lucius waved his hand at her dismissively, "The hair and eyes, yes."

She pursed her lips. "And the temper."

Mrs Malfoy cleared her throat and laughed sweetly. "Such lovely hair it is," she said, trying to ease the tension in the room.

Sirius looked to be practically vibrating with rage and his attempt to contain it.

"I was the family anomaly, as you can see," Mrs Malfoy said, gesturing to her own pale locks. Hermione could hear Sirius snort under his breath. "I remember being little and so very jealous of my sis—" She stopped and cleared her throat. "Andromeda's lovely dark hair."

Hermione ignored the awkwardness and smiled up at the witch. "Have you been able to reunite with your sister, Mrs Malfoy?"

"Please dear, call me Narcissa, we are family, after all," she said and finally reached out, taking Hermione's hand and linking their arms together as she led them both to a nearby sofa, nearest Lucius which left Sirius, Draco and Severus to all sit across the room, putting appropriate distance between the rivals. "To answer you, no, I have not been able to. I wrote a letter directly after the war, but I've not received a reply. It broke my heart to lose her, when my father—"

"It broke us all to lose Andromeda that way," Sirius said softly, ignoring the seats in favour of the bar on the far side of the room where he helped himself to a drink. He glanced once at Severus in question to be met with a curt nod. Afterward, he fixed a second glass and brought it over. They might not have been friends, but Lucius paid attention to the gesture as it solidified the other men against him in the very subtle and silent battle happening.

"I've been trying to take steps to repair the tapestry," Sirius said to his cousin.

Lucius smirked. "Bit difficult since you're not on it?"

"I'll be helping him," Hermione replied. "Sirius remains my Paterfamilias, but as I understand it, I am the last living heir to the Black family. Since it was my father who charmed the tapestry last, I believe I'll be able to restore it and those who were removed from it."

"Removed for good reason," Lucius said under his breath.

"Lucius," Narcissa said quietly.

"Father," Draco hissed louder.

The man turned and glared at his son. "You do not command me, boy. It may be in your name, but this is my house, and I'll not be silenced in it because my opinions differ from yours. Keep that in mind if you decide to marry my son," he said, turning his attention to Hermione, "Miss Black."

She smiled, looking not the slightest bit bothered by the outburst. "I will, Mister Malfoy. It isn't as though we'll live here when we marry, of course."

He tightened his grip on his tumbler. "This is the ancestral home of all Malfoys."

"And, as you've stated, I am a Black. A Muggle-raised one. And as delightful as your home is," she said sarcastically, "each witch puts a great deal of themselves into decorating their living space, and I have to admit, I feel I've already given enough of myself to this house."

Draco's posture stiffened, matching that of Sirius', while Narcissa pressed her lips firmly together and swallowed down the obvious shame she was feeling.

Lucius merely smiled as he looked up at Hermione from his chair. "If Draco's home disgusts you so much, you know the way out," he said and gestured with his glass of firewhisky toward the door.

Hermione scoffed. "The lingering Dark magic is palpable. I'd prefer to not be exposed to it for very long. It saddens me to know that Draco's parents are forced to reside here. I have a friend who is a Curse-Breaker. I could ask him to come and clean the place out, if you'd like," she said, speaking to Narcissa and not Lucius.

It was, however, Lucius, who replied. "A Weasley, no doubt. The half-breed."

Sirius growled. "Watch it."

The blond smirked. "I forgot how much you favour wolves, Black. Married yours yet?"

Sirius stood, his eyes blazing. "You listen here you, motherf—"

Hermione jumped to her feet and touched her uncle's arm gently, hoping to calm him. "Perhaps you and Severus could take a walk?" she suggested, looking over Sirius' shoulder with pleading eyes to her godfather.

Severus sighed. "Did he bring his leash?"

Narcissa cleared her throat, thankfully seeming to understand Hermione. "The gardens are beautiful, even in the winter. I've had little else to do with my time. The pair of you are more than welcome to explore."

Sirius glared once more at Lucius and then turned, kissing Hermione on the side of the head before walking toward the door. "I'm good on my own, thanks," he said and then left the room, leaving behind an awkward silence wherein both witches looked to be trying to calm themselves for the sake of everyone else present.

Eventually, Narcissa spoke. "It's very kind of you to offer, Miss Granger. The Curse-Breaker, I mean."

"Is she a Black or is she not?" Lucius asked.

"Hermione is just fine," Hermione said, ignoring Draco's father and, instead, favouring his mother with a gentle smile.

"Let's all be kind now, shall we?" Narcissa said. "It is Christmas after all."

"Is it?" Draco asked, rubbing his hands down his face as though attempting to wipe away the stress. "I'd almost forgotten."

His mother turned her eyes on him and sighed. "Don't be cheeky, Draco," she said as she stood and moved toward the tree, lightly kicking Lucius in the shin with the toe of her very pointed heels and narrowing her eyes at him reproachfully.

She withdrew a small box from beneath the tree. It was wrapped in silver paper with a delicately curled red ribbon around it, and she handed the box to Hermione.

"This is from me, dear," she said and smiled when Hermione opened the box to reveal a small photo album. "I . . . I found a great deal of old photographs, many with your father in them. I thought you might like to have them."

Hermione smiled brightly as she opened the cover to find an old family photograph of the Black household. Even Sirius was there, standing between Regulus and Andromeda, centred in the photo where neither of the disowned children could have been removed without damaging the entire picture. Her father, very small in the image, moved to reach for Sirius' hand, shying away from the camera and burying his head in his brother's robes.

"This is beautiful, Narcissa, thank you ever so much," Hermione whispered softly. "I feel quite terrible; I didn't think to get anything for the pair of you."

Narcissa took Hermione's hand and squeezed it gently. "I see a man with a proud smile on his face where my sad little boy used to sit," she said, gesturing to Draco, who was watching Hermione with a grin on his face as she flipped through the photo album. "That is gift enough for me, my dear."

Draco stood and reached for another box, bringing it to Hermione and taking the seat next to her as his mother abandoned it in favour of Lucius' lap, which caused the man to sigh in defeat and adjust the glass in his hand.

"I have something for you," Draco said. "I wanted something to honour your parents, both magical and Muggle."

Hermione, interest piqued, tore open the wrapping and stared down at a beautifully carved, wooden jewellery box. The carving was delicate and precise, made of vine wood, like her wand. The Black family crest was engraved in the centre with the House words wrapped repeatedly along the edges.

She smiled at the beauty of it, but frowned at the words. "Draco this is beautiful, and I appreciate the gesture, but this is the Black family crest. I don't see how this has anything to do with my Muggle—"

"I made it myself."

"Oh?" she asked, not understanding.

He swallowed nervously. "Without . . . using magic."

Her mouth fell open, and she reached up to touch his cheek, drawing his face to hers so that she could look into his eyes. She couldn't imagine how long it had taken him to create such a thing, especially with such beauty detail. While she wasn't exactly an artistic person (though she did pride herself on her knitting, even though it lacked perfection), she knew that something like this could not have been made on a first attempt. She made a mental note to ask him later how many injuries he received while carving into the wood.

"It's beautiful Draco, thank you."

He smiled, looking quite proud of his gift. "Open it."

Suddenly realising that it was a jewellery box in her hands, Hermione's eyes widened in nervous anticipation. She opened the latch and pried open the top of the box to be met with a very simple pearl necklace. Her lips parted, and her eyes watered at the sight, her fingers hovering over the small, white pearls with reverence.

"Severus had them," Draco said, a simple admission that they were, in fact, the very ones that had once belonged to her mother. "I know I once tried to offer you jewels—"

"Once?" Hermione laughed.

Draco smirked. "Once, genuinely. And you didn't understand," he said, reminding her of the necklace from several Christmases ago. "I thought about giving you that same ruby necklace, because I do still have it, but . . . it didn't feel good enough. So I asked Severus for help, and he told me that this was—"

"My mother's," she whispered. "These are the pearls he gave her."

Draco nodded and reached for the necklace, pulling it gently out of the box and unclasping the back of it. "And, even though they are already technically yours, I'd like to give them to you as well, in the hope that they hold the same significance for you and I, as they did for your parents."

Hermione nodded her head quickly, wiping away the tears as they fell onto her cheeks.

Draco grinned as he latched the pearls behind her hair, taking a moment to curl a lock of it around his finger, tugging softly.

"I love you," she whispered to him as though they were the only ones in the room.

Draco brought her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "And I you."

Chapter Text

December 25th, 1998

Hermione laughed and finished wiping the tears from her face, unaware that silently, Narcissa was doing the same as she affectionately touched an emerald necklace that hung around her own neck.

Severus cleared his throat, drawing their attention. He stood, removing a piece of parchment from his robes, handing it out to Draco, who looked down at the paper, eyes wide. "I have a gift for the pair of you. The Fidelius Charm has remained intact these many years and I have, from time to time, gone to check on the house to make certain it is in good repair."

Hermione's eyes widened, and she snatched the paper from Draco to stare down at the words:

Iliad Cottage

the home of Hermione Black and Draco Malfoy,

is in Arundel, West Sussex

"Iliad Cottage," Hermione whispered.

Narcissa's brows furrowed. "What is that?"

"My parents' home. Regulus and Marlene," Hermione clarified, staring at the paper. "It's where I was born," she added before looking up at Severus. "You're giving it to me?"

"It is yours by right. I've merely kept it for you."

She turned and smiled at Draco. "We have a house!"

Lucius scoffed loudly and struggled a bit to lift Narcissa off of his lap as he stood to glare down at Hermione. "This is preposterous. All Malfoys live in Malfoy Manor. When the two of you have children, they will be Malfoys, and they will be raised here! I will hear nothing of—"

"Be careful with your words, Lucius," Severus cautioned calmly, giving off a quiet, yet dangerous, aura.

Lucius spun and glared at his former comrade. "Don't you speak to me, Severus. Decades we were friends, and I find out that you've been a traitor the entire time! Consorting with Muggles and blood-traitors and Mud—"

"Expelliarmus!" Hermione shouted.

Severus had his wand drawn, aimed at Lucius while he looked for the actual threat, only to notice that Hermione was gripping not only her own wand, but Draco's in her free hand.

Draco, meanwhile, was glaring at his father, fist extended and clenched.

"Draco," Hermione said softly, stepping between the two Malfoy men, "your father doesn't even have a wand on him, and you're still on probation. Do us all a favour, and don't let anyone in this room be led to believe that I am affected in the slightest by a small word that lingers in small minds. One that, technically, doesn't even apply to me anymore."

"Blood-traitor will do," Lucius spat angrily. "Just like your parents."

She turned and narrowed her eyes at the man, refusing to budge when Draco stepped forward, wandless, as though he meant to put a stop to his own father's words.

Hermione spoke first. "I'd rather be a blood-traitor than a coward who tells a teenage boy to murder children," she snapped at the man. Lucius had been a Slytherin and a Death Eater, well-practised at keeping a mask to hide his emotions, but she saw the very brief way his eyes twitched at her words. "My father kept detailed diaries of Death Eater revels. I know a surprising amount of how Tom Riddle ran his little empire."

The mask completely cracked, and Lucius flinched at the use of Voldemort's given name. "You don't know anything," he said, almost slurring his words.

Hermione sighed as she realised that this sad man was burying his sorrows in bottles. "I know that you didn't have a choice to become a Death Eater because your father before you was already caught up in Tom Riddle's wake," she said, watching as Lucius settled back into his seat and poured himself a new glass of firewhisky only to have it taken from him by his clearly irritated wife. "I know that my father thought you were a good man once, and that was why he was so willing to break his contract with Narcissa. Because he knew you loved her tremendously."

Draco's parents made eye contact, and Lucius looked away from her quickly, his expression reading guilt.

"I know that that part of you is still good because you do love your family, but you let yourself be corrupted by the fear of a man who was so dark that he shattered his soul and recruited children from one side of a war while murdering the other side. A man who thought an infant boy would be his undoing."

Lucius looked up. "Was he wrong?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "About many things."

"But not that, I think," he said, looking smug.

"You're wrong too," she said boldly, adjusting her posture once more when she felt Draco press against her back as though he were waiting for her to buckle; the break in the fence to allow the bull to go rampaging. "Wrong about Muggles and Muggle-borns. I know that you mourned the death of my father enough to fight Sirius in public, accusing the Order for killing Regulus. And finding out that his original death was faked is probably why you're angry now. You feel that he betrayed you personally, forcing you to mourn for someone who wasn't actually dead."

His jaw twitched, the same tell that Draco had when he was trying to hide something from her.

"It's likely why you really don't approve of me."

Lucius' nostrils flared. "It is one of the reasons."

She smiled smugly at the man. "I also know that I don't care. Because you put a Dark object in an eleven-year-old girl's cauldron that unleashed a monster at Hogwarts," she said, remembering the book she'd promised Ginny she'd leave behind at the Manor, making a note to apologise later as it was just too sad a thing to do to a man already this broken.

"Because you and your friends tried to kill me and mine in the Department of Mysteries. Because you let your only son, who I love very much," she continued, taking a threatening step forward as she spoke, "follow in your footsteps when you knew perfectly well what kind of pain and suffering that came with it."

Lucius looked at his son and narrowed his eyes. "You let her command you now?"

"I let no one command me now," Draco stated proudly, filling Hermione's chest with a thrilling, buzzing sensation. "When we marry, tomorrow, next year, or thirty years from now, it will be our decision. Any children we have will be raised as far from this place as possible. If I could take you and mother away from here and burn it to the ground, I would, to keep you both safe."

Lucius stood again to argue. "Malfoys live in—"

"Then my children will not be Malfoys!" Draco snapped, finally pushing his way past Hermione to stand against his father. "Let them be Blacks," he said and then, when Lucius looked ready to burst with rage, he added, "Let them be Grangers for all I care," and watched as his father's eyes widened in horror.

Before the man could say another word, however, Draco stepped to the side and kissed Narcissa's cheek. "Mother, it was wonderful seeing you, and I'm sorry to leave you so soon, but I'd like to spend the rest of Christmas with Hermione and her extended family. I'll stop by in the next few days and visit before returning to Hogwarts."

Narcissa smiled proudly at her son, though her eyes were a bit glassy. She held up a hand to stop Lucius as he attempted to speak, and then pulled Draco into a gentle hug. She did the same for Hermione, who smiled at her.

"Thank you so much for having me," Hermione said. "I hate to cut this visit short, but perhaps Sirius would like to remain behind and visit with you?" She looked toward the door where her uncle had left earlier, likely doing his best to litter cigarette butts throughout the garden, or shift into Padfoot form to chase the peacocks around the estate. "I believe if you ask, he'd be willing to personally deliver a letter to Andromeda. He's annoying enough to demand a response from her as well."

Narcissa beamed at her, affectionately touching Hermione's black curls. "You are a sweet girl. Very much like Regulus. I'm so glad you came," she said and ignored the sound of Lucius storming out of the room behind her, slamming the door in a tantrum. She sighed and looked at Draco. "Your father is—"

"Broken," Draco said, sighing as he ran a hand through his pale locks in frustration. "He's very close to rock bottom, and I think only when he hits it, will he be humbled enough to start the climb back out. Maybe then he'll resemble something of the man you once knew. The father I'd always wanted."

Narcissa smiled and took her son's face in her hands, kissing his cheeks. "You are a good man," she whispered.

Draco smiled softly in reply. "I have a good woman to show me the way."

The pull of Apparition was slightly different as they pushed through the wards, and Draco felt himself accepted as Hermione Side-Alonged him to a dark hallway in front of an open bedroom. He blinked and looked around curiously, following as she stepped inside.

"This isn't the Burrow," he noted aloud, watching as she moved to the bed in the centre of the room, covered by a deep green duvet covering the mattress.

She turned and smiled sweetly at him. "Have you ever been to the Burrow before?" she asked as she sat down, and he moved to join her. When he shook his head, her smile widened. "Then how do you know? And try to answer without insulting my friends."

He smirked and then thought for a good long moment on how to say, 'Nothing here looks cheap' without getting smacked. "There's . . . I don't smell food? It's also quiet," he offered, and she rolled her eyes, accepting the answer.

"We're at Grimmauld Place."

His brows raised. "Black Manor."

Hermione snorted. "I wouldn't call it a Manor, but something like that."

"Do I get a tour?" he asked, looking around the room once again, noting immediately the Black family crest on the wall that should have jumped out at him at first sight. The silver and green in the room was almost overpowering. Even his bedroom back at Malfoy Manor wasn't so obviously Slytherin. It felt almost as though the room were trying to send a message.

"Do you want a tour?"

He turned and stared at his witch as she nervously fidgeted with her fingers, picking off a coat of lilac coloured nail polish that Daphne had painted on her a week earlier.

He spotted a few framed photographs on a nearby shelf, one in particular was of Hermione with Potter and Weasley, young enough that they couldn't have been older than twelve or thirteen.

"Is this your bedroom? It's very Slytherin, Hermione," he said, clearing his throat to hide the chuckle.

She smirked and pushed at his shoulder. "It was my father's room. My room now. I just haven't changed anything."

"Comfortable here."

She nodded. "Yes, actually."

A nostalgic smile crossed his face. "You said that. In the Room of Requirement," he told her, remembering the moment as though it were yesterday. "When I'd turn it into the Slytherin common room. I offered to change it to red and gold, a great sacrifice on my part I might add, and you told me not to. That you were comfortable." He grinned, feeling as though perhaps she truly had always been meant for him. Her father was Slytherin after all, there was a likelihood that she'd been exposed to a bit of green and silver when she was very young. "I like your room."

Hermione blushed prettily and whispered, "I like you in my room."

The coy, subtly coquettish girl sitting in front of him was a pale echo of the woman who had just left behind a memory of Christmas at Malfoy Manor that was never to be forgotten. She'd forced Lucius Malfoy out of his own family room as though she wasn't afraid of anything, and now, here in her own bedroom, she blushed and fidgeted and turned and smiled at him like the lamb instead of the lion.

"You stood up to my father," he said and reached for her hands, snatching one up and pulling it to his lips where he bestowed tiny kisses to the tips of her fingers.

She smirked. "It wasn't hard."

He kissed the inside of her wrist and then her forearm where the light lingerings of a scar remained, but he ignored the feel against his lips as he kissed the crook of her elbow.

"It was very," he whispered as he lifted the edge of her blouse to kiss her shoulder, "very sexy."

He pressed his mouth to the base of her neck, sucking lightly at the skin, his nose brushing against the pearls that he'd placed there not twenty minutes earlier and feeling a sense of pride and possessiveness come over him, knowing what they stood for.

Hermione moaned as he worked his way up her arm, coming to rest his lips against the skin of her neck. She felt his lips part and his tongue dart out to taste her before he lightly sucked and nipped at her flesh, likely marking her.

She didn't care.

He'd already marked her.

Long ago, branded himself into her like a hot iron.

"I didn't . . ." she said and shakily exhaled, "I didn't get you anything good for Christmas."

She swallowed hard and reached up, threading her fingers through his blond hair, marvelling at the soft texture, even as she gripped harder when he bit her.

"It might seem cheap, but I just thought that—"

Draco pulled away, eyes wide and dilated. "Yes?"

She nodded frantically. "Yes. Please, yes."

It was like coming home again, which Hermione thought very funny considering where they were at the moment. Surrounded in green and silver drapings that reminded her of the fake Slytherin common room that the Room of Requirement had created for them long ago. Books on the shelves, musty and old and smelling of leather and parchment, made her think of the library the room had conjured the very first night they'd . . .

"Oh gods," she moaned and arched her back as Draco slipped a hand up her blouse to cup her breast, his other hand roamed down to slide against her hip and thigh. Snaking his fingers beneath her bra, his thumb brushed a taut nipple, and Hermione shivered.

"Fuck. I forgot how responsive you were," he whispered and touched the nipple again, eliciting a repeat of the shiver.

As though she'd been challenged, Hermione rose to the occasion, gripping his belt and tugging hard. Suddenly, they were all fingers, and grasping, clutching, tearing away at burdensome fabric that's only known purpose was to keep them from feeling the desperate relief of skin on skin.

She wore nothing but pearls when he was done spreading her out like a feast before him, but instead of devouring her immediately, he cradled his hips between her naked thighs and wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him tightly; holding himself to her as close as possible, the side of his face nestled between her breasts so that he could hear the heavy beat of her quickening heart rate.

She hissed, and he growled when he finally slid inside of her, taking a moment to reacquaint himself with her body, allowing her to relax and adjust to the feel of him filling her completely.

And gods, he filled her so completely.

Every dark and empty void within her body and her heart and her soul sealed up by him in one moment by either his body or his words or his very presence.

When he finally moved again, rocking his hips back and then forward, the friction lit something inside of her, and she remembered, remembered, why she'd fought in a war. For freedom and goodness and light and all of that yes, but for this . . . for life. To feel alive.

She looked up into his silvery eyes. The sight of him above her, wet lips parted and panting, groaning as he . . . Made love to her? Fucked her? She wasn't entirely sure what to call it, because the heat between them was too hot and desperate to be gentle, but too sweet and delicious to be rough.

It had been too long, and neither of them were fit to last, so when Draco's rhythm became erratic, she felt an excitement bubbling inside of her, tension building, a fire stoking, a spring deep down twisting and twisting and twisting and . . .

"Fuck," Draco moaned as he thrust hard and deep, some animalistic instinct that almost forced his movements, and he struck something inside of her.

Hermione cried out, the twisting spring snapping loose. Her thighs squeezed his hips, her hands squeezed his shoulders, and the pulsing centre of her body tightly squeezed the hard length of him until it slowly faded and Draco rested his weight on top of her, sweat slick and comfortable.

Hours later, wrapped in green silk, Hermione rested her head against Draco's bare chest, eyes fluttering as she fought the urge to sleep. Their first physical reunion had been quick and heated, but recovery time was minimal, and she'd not even had the chance to leave the bed before he was on her again, this time rougher, harder.

She relished every moment and yearned for more.

Finally spent, she draped her leg over his thigh, pinning him between her body and the bed and nestled herself against his side with her arms wrapped around his waist, trailing her fingers up and down the delicious lines of his stomach and hips.

Draco distracted himself from her exploring fingers by picking through the books on her bedside table. "Is this . . . Hermione, have you magically highlighted portions of Hogwarts, a History?" he asked, gaping at the text in front of him which looked like it had a coloured chart hovering a fraction of an inch above the actual text in the book.

Hermione scoffed. "I couldn't use actual highlighters. It would damage the book. I take special care of my books, thank you very much."

"Says the girl who uses feathers for bookmarks," he said with a smirk, replacing the grey feather back between the pages where he'd found it.

She shrugged. "Leo's moulting. Put the book down and cuddle with me."

He looked down at her and raised a pale brow. "You're asking me to choose you over a book? I'd be hexed if I'd asked such a thing of you."

She laughed and grabbed the book, yanking it out of his hands and gently tossing it to the table. "Prat," she said and smiled when he pulled her up to kiss her deeply, his tongue languidly exploring her mouth. She sighed happily when they parted and she leant her head back on his chest, smiling when she could feel him twirling her hair around his fingers.

"I miss Hogwarts," she whispered. "The past few months have felt like we could be children again and not have to worry about things like war and growing up too fast because of war."

He nodded and kissed the top of her head. "I know what you mean. I think that's why sixth year was so—"

"Intense?".

Draco laughed. "It was an escape from the darkness. A reminder that we really were just teenagers. Rebellious youths."

"Mmm. Our only thoughts revolving around classes, exams, and—"

"Fucking," he growled in her ear.

"Draco," she moaned at the words.

He smirked and touched her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "Oh, she blushes. That's a bit misleading, Miss Granger," he said and leant forward to capture her lips, not giving much care to the fact that they'd both be swollen and sore by the next day.

His movements were stopped by a soft pop in the corner of the room, and Draco looked up to see a house-elf standing there. Unperturbed by the elf's presence, Draco didn't react, but Hermione squeaked and jumped and flung the green sheets up and over her head in horror as though they'd just been caught shagging in the Great Hall by McGonagall.

"Special Young Miss has returned. Would she and the Young Master Malfoy like a beverage or some sandwiches? Kreacher will make her favourites if she—"

"Kreacher, I'm fine!" Hermione shouted from beneath the sheets. "We're fine, thank you!"

When she peaked out from beneath the sheets and saw Kreacher was still there, she sighed and narrowed her eyes at Draco, who was grinning with his hands behind his head, amused at her strange modesty around the elf.

"How many bloody elves do you have, Granger?"

"Technically, only Winston, thanks to you," she said with a growl. "Kreacher and Meela are both bound to the House of Black."

There was another, louder, pop.

Winston, still wearing the red bow on her head, appeared. "Mistress calls for Winston?"

Hermione groaned. "Oh for the love of . . . No, Winston. You may return to Hogwarts, or . . . or wherever you'd like to be. It's Christmas, please just enjoy yourself."

The little elf took one look at Kreacher, before sticking her nose in the air as though Draco himself had taught her, and then vanished.

Kreacher looked positively affronted. "Special Young Miss has a new elf. Does she not need Kreacher? Should Kreacher ask for his head to be removed and put on the wall to be honoured with his ancestors?"

Draco's gaze widened, and he looked down at Hermione in mild horror. "What the fuck?"

Hermione sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "No, Kreacher. And like I said, you are not bound to me but to the House of Black. The House of Black always needs Kreacher, if Kreacher wants to be here. I will not have your head chopped off no matter . . . Ugh, no matter how much you want it to be."

Kreacher seemed to ignore most of her words, instead looking hopeful at the prospect of not being replaced. "Kreacher is needed?"

"Yes."

"What does Special Young Miss need Kreacher to do?"

She ran her hands through her hair trying to think of something that wouldn't be too horrible or overtaxing for the old elf, that would still make him feel useful. "Umm . . . oh, Kreacher, will you deliver a message to Sirius and let him know that I'm at Grimmauld Place? I don't want him to worry."

Kreacher nodded and then looked as though he was about to leave before he stopped and turned his attention back to Hermione and Draco. "Kreacher cannot."

Her brows furrowed. "Why not?"

"Kreacher does not sense Master Sirius."

Her mouth fell open, dread filling her chest, and she sucked in a sharp breath. "What?"

"What does that mean?" Draco asked with a tense frown. "Elves can always sense their masters."

Unlike the two humans, the house-elf didn't look bothered in the slightest. "Kreacher can only sense and locate the Master when he walks on two feet."

Hermione clutched at her chest and breathed deep. "Oh! Gods, I was worried for a moment." She relaxed as Draco ran his fingers down her back to help calm her. "In that case—"

"Hermione, your bird's here," Draco said, gesturing to the window.

Before either of them could leave the bed to open it for the little black and grey owl, Kreacher was at the edge, prying open the glass, allowing Leo to flutter inside.

"Come here, Leo." Hermione smiled as the bird perched himself on the headboard, holding his leg out to her, letting her take the rolled parchment from it before snapping his small beak in Draco's direction.

"It's from Sirius," she said as she opened the letter, ignoring Draco as he waved his hand at the bird, shooing it away from the bed. "He and Severus went back to the Burrow after we left and, apparently, the wards around Grimmauld Place let him know that we were here. He says to stay as long as we'd like as he figures we'd need some time to process what happened at your house."

"My parent's house," Draco corrected her.

"It's still technically—"

"No. Your cottage will be our home," he said and then immediately flushed, likely realising what he'd said. "That is . . . I mean, we haven't exactly discussed moving in together after Hogwarts. I'm sorry if I just assumed that—"

Hermione beamed up at him. "I want to," she said and then kissed him. "Home. The cottage. You."

Chapter Text

March 2nd, 1999

Winter came and went and, after taking a look around Iliad Cottage for the first time in years, Hermione returned to Hogwarts with Draco feeling like the world was slowly beginning to right itself. They had school to finish, both at the top of their class, potential jobs lined up—not that either needed one—and a beautiful home to return to once they left school for the last time. Hermione didn't change much of the house while they were there, a few charms to organise some things that were left behind, and she was adamant that Draco not begin making plans to turn the massive garden into a Quidditch pitch.

They returned to school and fell back into classes with ease, acting like regular teenagers and not veterans of war. Draco had even been able to convince Hermione to sneak back into broom cupboards from time to time. It was only when Potter had cornered them in the Gryffindor common room, teasingly asking them where they'd been earlier that night, that Draco learnt the reason for Hermione's constant suspicions of going anywhere outside the Room of Requirement during their initial secret relationship.

"This is why we had to meet in the Room of Requirement all sixth year? A bloody charmed Map?" he asked, glaring down at the large parchment in Potter's hands. He'd known a Map existed, having read bits of Hermione's father's diaries, but it was Potter's Map?

Potter and Weasley had been chuckling over the reveal as the four gathered together in front of the fireplace in Gryffindor tower. Draco wrapped his arms around Hermione, holding onto her since she was the only thing keeping him from pummeling her two idiot friends for spying on them.

"Ugh . . . the Room of Requirement, Hermione?" Weasley groaned. "Is nothing sacred?"

She laughed. "Shut up, Ronald. I know you sneaked Luna into the Prefect's bathroom yesterday."

He shrugged. "It was my birthday."

Draco smirked and whispered in Hermione's ear, "My birthday is June fifth."

"I know that," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Just pointing it out," he said and turned his attention back to her friends.

Weasley was focused on peeling open a box of Bertie Botts, and Potter was staring at the Map with a curious look on his face.

"So, charmed Map, Invisibility Cloak. Anything else I should know about considering you three have apparently been sneaking around the school for seven years with ease?"

Weasley snorted in disbelief. "Ease? You remember detention during first year? Forbidden Forest?"

Draco shrugged. "It's not my fault you got caught out after curfew."

"You were the one that caught us!"

Hermione sighed and pinched Draco's leg reproachfully. "No, we don't have anything else. Ron, calm down. Bygones and such."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he said and then looked up at Potter. "Harry, what's wrong?"

Potter looked up, eyes wide as though he'd been caught with a Play Wizard magazine instead of the heirloom Map. "What's happening? Er . . . Oh, it's nothing."

Draco frowned at how easily the two other Gryffindors believed the obvious lie.

"Hermione," Potter asked, brows furrowed in obvious concern, "is there a reason someone would vanish from the Map?"

She looked up curiously. "Why? Oh, it's a full moon. Sirius and Remus won't appear on it," she said matter of factly.

Draco raised a brow. "Why's that?" he asked, peering over Potter's shoulder at the Map, spotting the four of them in Gryffindor Tower, their names written over hovering footprints.

"Because Remus will have transformed by now and Sirius will be in his Animagus form," she explained.

Potter frowned, looking confused. "The Map shows Animagi though. How else would I have seen Peter Pettigrew during our third year?"

Hermione sat up straight into what Draco was learning was her lecturing pose. "Sirius explained it in class a few months ago when we were talking about elves, remember?"

When both Potter and Weasley just stared back at her, she groaned.

"Ugh, do the pair of you ever pay attention? Remember, Draco and I were asking why Kreacher wasn't able to sense Sirius in his Animagus form, and he was talking about the disconnect between wizard and animal.

"When an Animagus slips into his form, he has to fight the urge to give in to its animalistic instincts. It's like a switch in their head that they can consciously turn on and off. Elves can't sense them in their forms regardless of whether or not they flick on the switch, but the Map uses a locator spell to reveal the people around Hogwarts that traces their magical signature. But an Animagus technically has a double signature because of the extra layer of consciousness. It's similar, but not exactly, like a werewolf. So when Sirius goes into the Shrieking Shack with Remus, he gives in to the Animagus nature and becomes Padfoot instead of just . . . wearing him. When he makes the switch, he'll likely disappear from the Map the same way Remus will when he transforms into a werewolf."

Potter looked back down at the Map. "I guess that makes sense."

Hermione chuckled. "It's also why Fred and George probably never asked Ron why there was a man named Peter Pettigrew sleeping in his bed for the first three years he was at Hogwarts."

Weasley's face turned puce and he looked ready to be sick. "Can we not revisit that?"

Draco's eyes widened. "Pettigrew? Peter Pettigrew slept in your bed?"

"He was a rat at the time!" Weasley yelled defensively. "And . . . I don't want to talk about it," he added, crossing his arms over his chest while Draco laughed.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Pettigrew was in his rat form for so many years he likely slipped into his Animagus consciousness, which would make him not appear on the Map, but then after hearing about Sirius' escape, he came in and out of the Animagus mind which was why he appeared on the Map during our third year."

"I had always wondered about that," Weasley said, picking through the box of Beans and smelling each one, separating them into two piles. One was obvious "do not eat" like black pepper and grass, the other pile was questionables.

Draco thought about pointing out that the yellowish one in the questionable pile wasn't banana flavoured, like Weasley likely thought, but instead vomit.

"Can we go back to the fact that Peter Pettigrew slept in your bed?" Draco asked with a smirk.

Weasley narrowed his eyes. "Can we go back to the time when Gryffindor Tower was just for Gryffindors?"

Hermione smiled and leant into Draco's side. "You want to tell your Ravenclaw girlfriend that?"

Weasley's ears turned pink and he fell silent, which was bliss as far as Draco was concerned.

Hermione laughed quietly in victory, but eventually noticed that Potter had his attention pulled back to the Map. "Harry, are you all right?"

He looked up again and swallowed. "What? Er . . . yeah, I'm fine."

She frowned. "Is this about Sirius and Remus?"

"What? No, of course not," he insisted with a chuckle. "That wasn't even really a surprise. Not very subtle, are they?"

"Cauldron meet kettle," Draco murmured.

"What?"

Draco shook his head. "Nothing at all."

It was sometime near Valentine's Day when Blaise came pleading to Hermione and Draco, begging them to arrange an intervention for Potter and Pansy because the pathetic attempts at sneaking around were just getting out of hand. Figuring that Potter was worried about his friends reactions to his not-so-secret girlfriend, Hermione dragged Draco and a handful of others to the Defence classroom after dinner to corner him and beg him to out his relationship to the world.

Potter, in typical idiotic confusion, had misinterpreted the intervention and, instead, thought they were all there to confront Lupin and Sirius.

Before anyone had a chance to ask Potter if he'd been in the Slytherin common room lately, he'd stood up and made a grand speech about loving his godfather no matter what, and hoping that he would be able to find love with whoever that might be.

Witch, wizard, or werewolf; Sirius Black was apparently just a man happy to enjoy love.

And sex.

Potter and Pansy had gone on with their sordid affair, and Hermione reported that Lupin and her uncle had vanished the yellow line in the middle of their quarters and transfigured the two twin beds back into one large four-poster.

"Do you think they shag in the Shrieking Shack?" Weasley asked, and both Potter and Hermione groaned loudly in disgust.

"Why would you ask that? That's my uncle!"

"That's my godfather!"

"What?" Weasley laughed at their expense. "They left Hogwarts hours before the sun set. That's all I'm saying."

"How about we talk about your parents having sex then?" Potter spat, and Weasley grimaced, accepting defeat and tossing them each an apologetic glance.

Hermione stood, using Draco's shoulders to help leverage her to her feet where she then gently ran her fingers through his hair affectionately. "I need a drink to wash away the imagery from my head. Anyone want a butterbeer?"

Draco smirked up at her. "Firewhisky?"

She scoffed. "Nice try. Anyone want to help me?"

"You could call the elf," he suggested but was met with a set of narrowed grey eyes.

"I'll go," Weasley said as he stood to his feet, scooping up half the Bertie's Beans and putting them back in the box, vanishing the other pile with his wand. "I want to see if they've got some extra cakes from dinner."

"Play nice," Hermione said, pointing her finger between Draco and Potter.

Draco grinned. "Don't I always?" he asked and then, the very second that the door shut behind her, he turned on Potter. "So, what's actually wrong?"

Potter blinked. "What?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "You may be able to fool your friends, but you're so easy to read it's ridiculous really. So what's wrong?"

Potter frowned, looking affronted. "Why do you care?"

"Because I'm a fully reformed arsehole," Draco snapped impatiently. "Plus, ignoring the fact that whenever you're in a foul mood, Pansy's in a foul mood and no, don't even say anything because we've reached a state where your denial has become utterly pitiful." He held up a hand when Potter made to defend himself or come up with some other excuse as to how and why he wasn't actually dating Pansy Parkinson. "Even if that weren't the case, you acting all upset and pensive makes Hermione anxious and angry. I'd like my witch to not be those things. Angry sex is awesome, but she doesn't do anything when she's worried."

Potter glared back at him. "Can you not talk about your sex life with Hermione? She's like my sister."

Draco shrugged. "Depends, can you actually cast a proper Silencing Charm?" he asked bitterly. "Because Pansy is like my sister, and I really didn't need to know that she likes to be called a 'dirty little girl' in Parseltongue."

Potter's face turned bright red and his green eyes widened dramatically. It was almost worth being stuck along with the idiot.

"I . . . I . . . it's not what —"

"I really don't care about your clearly masochistic kinks, Potter," Draco admitted, only slightly relishing in the utter humiliation of the other boy. "You and I have a mutual understanding. I hurt Hermione, you hurt me, and the same is applied to you and Pansy whether you want to go public or not. I'm not talking about that though. I want to know why you're acting like you've got a great big secret."

Potter frowned and glanced back down at the large parchment in his lap. "I think I do have a secret. Or I found one."

"And? I'm not a bloody mind reader."

"You can't tell Hermione."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "I don't keep secrets from my witch."

"I think . . . it would hurt her. I'm not even sure I . . ."

"Spit it out, Potter!"

"I was looking at the Map and . . . I saw it."

"Saw what?"

"Regulus Black."

Draco blinked several times before staring at Harry Potter and wondering if the Ministry wasn't right about him being mental, all those years ago.

"What? What do you mean you saw Regulus Black?" he asked incredulously.

"I mean, Malfoy, that I saw his bloody name clear as day," he said defensively, tapping his finger against the Map.

"Where?" Draco demanded, grabbing the parchment from Potter's hands.

"In the Forbidden Forest. It was moving, just there," he said, tapping down on the parchment again. "I saw it, and I had to double-check because I thought it was Sirius at first, and I know he's supposed to be in the Shack with Remus. It was right there, and then it just . . . vanished."

Draco swallowed and tried to think of all the variety of theories that could explain this, none of which were adequate enough and every single one of them sounded absolutely insane. Potter had to have been mistaken. Maybe his spectacles stopped working. Or maybe . . .

"Animagi?"

Potter shrugged. "There's no record, but Sirius and my dad weren't registered either."

Draco could feel his heart pounding in his chest. "Severus told Hermione that he knew Regulus was dead because the house-elf, Meela, couldn't sense him."

"But if he was an Animagus?"

"That's just . . . he was only nineteen when he died. Most don't even achieve their transformations until they've graduated Hogwarts, and he was in the middle of a war with a wife and a child."

"My dad and Sirius made their first transformation when they were fourteen or fifteen," Potter said. "If that were true, then wouldn't the house-elf have sensed him the minute he transformed back?"

Draco frowned as his heart stopped pounding, replaced by a dull thud and a sickening feel of dread. "Unless he never did," he said and then wiped his hands down his face and groaned. "Fuck. Hermione cannot know about this. We need more information."

More information came the following day when everyone gathered together for Advanced Transfiguration. Potter spoke very little of what he'd seen on the Map, but both he and Draco made a point to ask as many questions as possible to try and figure out the potential mystery of the name. "The Map never lies," Potter had insisted.

"Professor Black?" Draco called out, raising his hand as he sat beside Hermione, who was doting upon the kneazle sitting in her lap, having transfigured his bright orange fur pink, making him look like a giant pygmy puff. "I was wondering if we could talk more about Animagi?"

Sirius smirked down and nodded as he leaned against his desk, crossing his arms. "Thinking about making the greatest decision of your life?"

Draco shook his head and chuckled. "Not quite."

"Worried about your form?" Weasley asked with a smirk, and Draco knew exactly what the redhead was implying.

"Yes," he replied honestly and then turned his attention back to Hermione's uncle. "I was wondering, how can a person tell the difference between an Animagus and an actual animal?"

Sirius raised his brows, amused at the genuine questions. "Well, they can't. Not even all Animagi can always sense each other out. For instance, I was an Animagus for years roaming around Hogwarts, and good old Professor McGonagall never knew it," he said smugly and half the class chuckled.

"Kneazles can sniff out Animagi though," Hermione said proudly as she lifted Crookshanks in her arms and kissed him right on his squished mouth. The kneazle gave Draco a look that could either be interpreted as "help me" or "I'm going to kill you in your sleep".

"Yes, they can," Sirius agreed. "Kneazles are incredibly intelligent creatures who are almost bred for the task of sniffing out Animagi. I could shift into my form, and Crookshanks would be able to pick me out of a lineup of other black dogs very easily. The only problem is that kneazles can sniff out Animagi, but if you were to put myself and Professor McGonagall in the same room and tell Crookshanks to find the hidden Animagus, he would pick either of us, even if you were searching for one specifically."

Potter raised his hand, drawing the attention of his godfather. "Is there any reason why an Animagus would stay in their form for a prolonged period?"

Sirius frowned, and Draco rolled his eyes. Way to play it subtle, Potter, he thought.

"Well," Sirius began, "that's a good question actually. Most are now aware that I remained in my form for a good length of time to avoid Dementors while in Azkaban. Like house-elves, they struggle to sense Animagi. I'm actually the reason they've installed anti-Animagi wards on the prison," he added with a grin. "I also remained in Animagus form for a long period during my initial escape. It was easier to stay on the move and be hidden. Plus, good folks would rather part with a little food for a homeless dog than a crazy-looking man in prison robes."

Weasley muttered quietly, "Animagi can stay in their form to hide as well. For years."

"That's true." Sirius nodded in understanding, and everyone could see the way he slightly tensed at the subject. "It takes a great deal of magical effort to remain in your form of your own free will and would do rotten things to the mind over a period of years without shifting back."

Potter looked down, angrily furrowing his brows, and both Weasley and Hermione frowned.

Draco, however, raised his hand again. "What do you mean, of your own free will?"

Sirius cleared his throat. "There are spells that can lock an Animagus in their form. It's much like human-to-animal transfiguration except those spells eventually wear off over time. It's a nasty bit of Dark magic. Right up there with Unforgivables as far as we Animagi are concerned," he said looking angry just talking about it. "You'll have to ask Professor Lupin if you want to learn more about it."

Draco nodded and then turned to look at Potter, whose eyes were wide.

"We have to tell Hermione."

Draco grabbed Potter by his robes and pulled him into a dark corner, glancing around to make certain they weren't overheard or seen whispering together. Hermione would know something was up, and Pansy was not above accusing Draco for stealing her pet Gryffindor.

"We don't have enough information," he snapped. "We don't even know if what you saw was—"

Potter narrowed his eyes. "You calling me a liar, Malfoy?"

"I'm saying the likelihood of us jumping to conclusions is pretty fucking high, Potter," Draco spat. "Even if we're right, we can't track him because no spell will work, we can't use your stupid Map unless he slips out of his Animagus consciousness, and we don't even know what the fuck he would be because there are no goddamned records that Regulus Black was a bloody Animagus. He could be a fucking unicorn for all we know!"

Potter's mouth fell open. "Records."

"What?" Draco snapped angrily.

"The diaries," he said, gripping Draco by the shoulders as though they'd just discovered some great thing and the boy was in a celebratory mood. Draco eased out of his grip just in case the Gryffindor was eager for a kiss as well. "You have to get the diaries. There would be something in them, right? Anything."

Draco sighed. "I've seen the diaries, Potter. There's nothing. Poetic references to Hermione's mother's hair, detailed descriptions of Death Eater revels and the self-hatred that comes after, and long-winded recounts of Quidditch games and . . ." His eyes widened as a thought dug itself into his mind and burrowed there.

"What?"

"No broom," Draco whispered.

Potter waited and then slowly asked, "Care to elaborate?"

"Hermione and I . . . After Christmas, we went to see Iliad Cottage," he explained. "The one that belonged to her parents. Severus kept it just as it was when Regulus and Hermione lived there. He swore that nothing was changed other than he'd kept it clean. Hermione's old toys were still on the ground in her room, and there were papers and notebooks, detailed maps of London and Wizarding villages."

"And?"

"There was no broom!" Draco practically shouted, gripping Potter's shoulders the same way that had been done to him not minutes earlier. "I know, because I was telling Hermione that the garden was a perfect place to build a Quidditch pitch, and I wanted to take a ride around to look at the property, but there was no broom in the entire house."

Potter looked confused. "So?"

"You're a Seeker, Potter. Just like me. Just like Regulus Black," Draco said, hoping that the other wizard could figure this out without it being spelled out for him.

It all made sense.

Regulus' diaries, the black and grey feathers Hermione used as bookmarks, the fact that Meela couldn't sense him. Severus had even mentioned that he'd no idea how Regulus arrived at Spinner's End, half-drowned when there was no sound of Apparition.

He hadn't Apparated at all. He'd escaped in Animagus form. Everything made sense.

Including the fact that Hermione's stupid fucking black and grey owl bit Draco at every opportunity.

"Tell me, Potter, what kind of wizard loves flying more than anything else in the world, doesn't have a fucking broom at his own house?"

Green eyes widened in sudden understanding. "One who doesn't need a broom to fly."

Chapter Text

March 1999

In a pitiful attempt at verifying their theory, Potter had "borrowed" Crookshanks for the day, following the half-kneazle around the castle whispering, "Find the Animagus, Crookshanks," while dodging the occasional attack from the beast. The first time, the orange cat had led him out to Hagrid's hut and he'd been in full investigative mode until he saw Sirius step out on the front porch and let out a defeated sigh.

"Not that Animagus, Crookshanks," he said and then quietly followed the beast up to the owlery where they'd run into Professor McGonagall trying to discipline one of her cats who had chased one of the smaller owls up onto the rafters only to get itself stuck there.

Draco, meanwhile, knew—knew—what Regulus' Animagus form was, and every morning when they'd go to breakfast, he sat beside Hermione and tested his theory as the owls came flying in with the morning post.

Leo, the little black and grey owl, would perch in front of Hermione, accepting pieces of bacon and eggs before rubbing his head into the palm of her hand. Draco would snake his arm around her waist or lean in close to brush his lips against her neck and, sure enough, the little beast would bite him.

It was funny, at first, provoking the little bird, until one morning when he'd realised that if he was correct, he'd been purposely trying to aggravate his future father-in-law by groping the man's only daughter.

From that point on, anytime Leo was near Hermione, Draco kept his distance. He too easily remembered his godfather's words regarding the man:

"Regulus Black would have torn you to pieces, put you back together—slowly—and then delivered you back to his daughter but only after Obliviating you. He'd feel guilty about it, but . . . the man was not one to be trifled with. He had very specific hopes regarding his daughter, and keeping her away from Malfoys was at the top of that list."

"We need to get that owl," Potter said, walking up and whispering to Draco as they made their way to Charms that morning.

Draco looked up, eyes wide. "You leave that fucking owl alone. Or get it yourself. I want nothing to do with it."

"If that thing really is Regulus, we need to convince him to transform back. Hermione deserves to know the truth."

Draco stopped and sighed, turning to face the other boy, waiting a few moments as other students passed them, some looking warily at the pair as though they expected them to start hexing one another. "First, we don't know that he's alive, we only suspect because you think you saw—"

"The Map never lies."

"—something on an old piece of charmed parchment. Second, if he is alive, we don't actually know that he's the bloody bird. It makes sense, of course, but still. Third, do you really think that he's kept to himself this long on purpose? Think, Potter, think," Draco said and tapped the side of his head with his index finger. "If that man loved his daughter, his best friend, and his brother as much as those diary entries say he did, then what would keep him in that form?"

Potter paused and then his mouth opened. "That curse. The trapping one that Sirius was talking about in class."

"Five points to Gryffindor," Draco said sarcastically. "We need to find out how to break the curse."

Potter frowned. "It's not really a curse. More like a Locking Charm. At least that's what Sirius said."

Draco turned and glared at him. "What? He didn't say that. Have you been talking to him about this?"

"Not about this specifically, but I talked with him later on. He is my godfather, you know. I asked him more about the spell and said I was worried that something like that could happen to him."

"And?"

"And he said that anyone can break it. I've seen the spell myself," he said. "Remus and Sirius used it on Peter Pettigrew at the end of our third year in the Shrieking Shack. They told Ron to give over the rat, and that if Scabbers wasn't actually Peter, the spell wouldn't hurt him at all; he'd just stay a rat."

Draco leant up against the wall and sighed as he tried to think of the various ways this could completely blow up in their faces. "We have to get that owl. Or, more importantly, you have to get that owl."

"Why me?"

"Because the little fucker bites me," he explained, and Potter laughed.

"Well, what do you expect?" he asked. "You are sleeping with the man's only daughter. Maybe you've got it coming."

Draco stared at him in silence for a good solid minute before smirking. "One letter, Potter. One letter to Pansy's parents is all it would take."

He received a glare in reply. "I'm not afraid of them. You think Pansy would let anyone, even her parents, boss her around? She'll leave me when she wants to," he said, for the first time since the beginning of the school year, actually acknowledging his relationship with the Slytherin witch.

Draco chuckled. "You're the bloody Chosen One, Scarhead," he said with a grin. "You think her parents will insist that she leave you? Half-blood or not, you're the Savior of the Wizarding World. One letter to Pansy's parents, and they'll be trying to arrange a betrothal contract between the pair of you."

Potter's face suddenly drained of all colour, and Draco grinned and clapped him on the back. "Welcome to my world."

"Fine, I'll get the owl," Potter muttered. "But I need to talk to Sirius and Remus. I don't actually remember the spell they used on Pettigrew, and I can't find it in any books."

"No, you wouldn't. Forcing an Animagus out of their form against their will might be as bad as forcing them into it," Draco said with a sigh. "Fuck. Can you ask them without being completely obvious?" He shook his head, not giving Potter enough time to answer. "Of course you can't. Fuck. I really don't want to tell them without having more proof than this."

"Telling who what without proof of what?" Hermione said, jumping out from behind the corner.

"Ahh!" Potter and Draco both shouted, scooting away from the witch with guilty looks on their faces.

She folded her arms across her chest. "What are you two up to? You've been sneaking around and whispering for days."

"Have not," Potter immediately said defensively, and Draco turned and glared at him for being so stupid. "I mean . . . it's . . . none of your business, Hermione, we're just . . . nothing."

Draco sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Quidditch. You could have said anything about Quidditch, and she would have just rolled her eyes and ignored us the rest of the day."

Hermione frowned, an equal mixture of anger and hurt in her expressive eyes. "Why are you two hiding something from me?"

Draco sighed in resignation. There was no use hiding it now. Not with her best friend looking so guilty one would assume he'd accidentally killed her cat.

"We need to talk to your uncle," he said. "Potter found something, and we've been trying to fix it. For you."

He reached out for her, threading his fingers through hers and pulling her close to his chest before she had a chance to let her anger over their secrets fester and run away. Draco kissed her cheek and then the space behind her ear and let go of her hand to wrap his arms around her waist.

Hermione frowned, looking over Draco's shoulder, as he buried his face in her neck. Harry finally looked up and furrowed his brows together in a look far too reminiscent of the moment she'd woken at Grimmauld Place after her encounter with Bellatrix, only to be told the ramifications of what had happened.

"Harry?" she whispered.

He bit his lower lip and sighed. "C'mon, Hermione. Let's go talk to Sirius."

Hermione sat on the small sofa in Sirius and Remus' room, staring down at the cold cup of tea in front of her that Remus had poured the moment they'd stepped inside. Draco sat next to her, rubbing the knuckle of his index finger against her arm, probably not wanting to impose himself too much into her personal bubble; she likely looked ready to run at any moment.

Harry stood in the middle of the room, facing his godfather with an anxious expression on his face. Sirius, leaning against the foot of the bed, subconsciously reached his hand out for Remus, who offered it without a word.

"Harry," Sirius said. "Do you realise . . . this is just . . . you know this sounds insane, right?" he finally said, landing on the feeling that was swirling around in everyone's heads when Harry had walked into the room and declared that he was certain—certain!—that Regulus was not only alive, but was an Animagus.

And not just any Animagus, but the bloody owl that Sirius had bought for Hermione.

"I saw it on the Map," Harry said.

"And you're certain it wasn't Sirius' name that you saw?" Remus questioned.

"It was during the full moon," Harry replied. "I watched the pair of you on the Map go into the Shrieking Shack. I know what I saw."

"I don't doubt you, Harry," Remus insisted. "This is just—"

"Insane," Sirius jumped in and then looked over at Hermione. "You all right, princess?"

She silently shook her head. "It . . . makes sense. The feathers."

"What feathers?" Sirius rose a brow.

"I've been finding black and grey feathers in books. The diaries. I thought that maybe I'd left them open while reading and . . . Leo's been moulting, so I thought . . . " She stopped to clear her throat before she let the emotions overwhelm her. "What if they were already there? The feathers. I don't remember them before I got Leo, but then again, I was only reading the early years of his diaries. Long before he could have had the chance to learn how to become a—"

"It's not . . ." Sirius said, interrupting her. "Most Animagi don't even begin the process until their last year of Hogwarts, and even then, it's under the guidance of a Master . . . and . . . he was too young, when would he have—"

Remus squeezed his hand. "You and James were fifteen," he pointed out. "And the Black family has always had a natural talent at Transfiguration."

Sirius nodded and then looked up at Hermione who sighed.

"It's my best subject," she said. "Always has been. Regulus' too," she added. "I wanted to compare my exam scores to my parents so I looked it all up. He got perfect scores on everything to do with Transfiguration. Well above his year."

Harry stepped forward and stood side-by-side with Sirius. "Where did you get the owl?"

Sirius shook his head. "Same place I got yours," he answered. "Just a shop."

"And nothing was suspicious about it?" Remus asked.

"I . . . I liked the colouring is all. Black and grey feathers. Made me think of Hermione's hair and eyes, and I thought it would be a nice reminder that she," he paused and looked at her, "that you were on my mind. That you had family thinking about you."

She smiled up at him and then finally pushed the cold cup of tea away. "We have to figure it out. If Draco and Harry are right, then he's been trapped in Leo's body for almost seventeen years. We need to free him."

Harry stood upright. "Do we go to the owlery then? You two know the spell," he said, looking back to Remus and Sirius.

Remus shook his head. "It's more complicated than that, Harry. Yes, we know the spell but . . . seventeen years against his will? We'll need at least two people casting, maybe three. And away from the castle."

Harry furrowed his brow. "Why away from the castle?"

"Because this isn't just a simple aim and shoot kind of spell. With the level of power we need behind it, the magic will envelope the entire surrounding area. If Professor McGonagall is anywhere near us when we cast, she'll feel it, and gods help us all if she's in her Animagus form at the time and we shift her against her will. Sirius will have to be in Padfoot form to make sure it works," Remus added and then looked to Hermione. "You'll have to cast with me, Hermione. Harry or Draco as well."

Draco looked up. "Not me," he said. "No offense but I'd very much like my wand to not have anything to do with this. My magic is still associated with Voldemort, it'll take years to fully be cleansed, if ever. If I cast on someone else that was given the Dark Mark, he'll feel it. It might make it a much more negative experience than it needs to be."

Hermione frowned. "He'd feel it?"

Draco nodded. "If someone casts magic on me, I can tell the difference between Death Eater and not. I think it was some sort of failsafe if . . . when there was a big battle. That way we'd always know who our . . . allies were," he said bitterly. "He'll have the same magic and . . . I don't want him to feel that. Not from me."

Sirius actually smiled at him. "Understandable."

"Where will we do it?" Hermione asked.

"Hagrid's hut," Harry suggested. "It's away from the castle and secluded. We could all be inside when we do it, and no one will know. Plus he . . . he won't be able to get out," he added as an afterthought.

"Why would he try to get out?" Sirius asked.

"Do you remember what you're like after prolonged periods as Padfoot?" Remus asked him with a raised brow.

Sirius nodded. "Fair enough. Can't think of what I'd do if I had wings. Right . . . ummm," He sighed and wiped his hands down his face. "Let's do this as soon as possible. I won't be able to think of anything else until it's over with. Hermione can you—?"

"I'll go to the owlery right now and meet you all down at Hagrid's," she said and jumped from her seat, rushing toward the door and leaving them all behind in utter silence.

Draco found her in the owlery, the grey and black bird perched on her arm, nuzzling its fluffy head into the palm of her hand. She was sitting on the window ledge, wiping the back of her hand against her eyes as she stared at the small creature, muttering softly to it. "Are you . . . are you really my . . .?"

"Hermione?" Draco called out to her.

She looked up quickly and then cleared her throat. "Got him," she said, trying—and failing—to hide the nervous emotion written on her face. "We should get going and umm . . . get this over with."

Draco reached out to stop her, putting a hand on her arm in the process only to get nipped at by the owl. He grit his teeth and held back the curse trying to force its way past his tongue. "Granger, stop."

"Not Granger," she said, shaking her head. "I'm . . . I'm a Black now, and he might be alive, and he might be my familiar, and this is all too real and . . . I'll have . . . what do I even call him?" she asked, looking back at Draco as her tears finally spilled over onto her cheeks. "He doesn't know me, and I don't know him, and he's not my . . . but he is and I . . . I mourned him!"

She winced when the owl released her arm and flew away, perching itself on a ledge near the door, staring at them as though waiting.

"I'd mourned him, Draco, and I never knew him, but the diaries made me know him and . . . and love him, and now . . . I don't know how to do this," she cried and fell into his arms the very second that they opened for her.

"Sure you do," he whispered in her ear. "You do what you Gryffindors always do. Recklessly wing it."

She huffed indignantly. "I do not just 'wing it'. Everything I've ever done, from studying for O.W.L.s to hunting Horcruxes had a very detailed plan to it."

Draco smiled and kissed her forehead. "No offense love, but those plans sucked. Everyone in the school knew that you had a nervous breakdown during O.W.L.s, and you, Potter, and Weasley starved for months that last year of the war. Did your massively detailed plan not include food storage?" He smiled and kissed her lips when they pouted at him. "Face it, Granger, and yes . . . you are Granger. Granger and Black and maybe one day Malfoy, but always Hermione," he insisted. "A Gryffindor to the core, who does that ridiculous thing that all Gryffindors do when they pretend to be brave when they're really, very scared."

She seemed so small in his arms then, a drastic difference from the woman who stood up to and yelled at his father during Christmas.

"What if . . . what if he doesn't like me? The conscious Animagus is different from the subconscious, and even Sirius is different when he fully embraces his mind as Padfoot. For instance, Sirius hates exercise of any form, and Padfoot loves to run and play fetch and—"

Draco kissed her to stop her words and her thoughts, and he only pulled away when she sighed into his mouth.

"He'll love you. Everyone loves you," he whispered. "And if he doesn't . . . I'll hex him," he said with a smirk.

Hermione smiled through her tears. "What if he doesn't like you?"

Draco forced himself not to visibly recoil at the suggestion. He knew he wouldn't be liked by Regulus Black but wouldn't admit such a thing out loud.

"Who wouldn't like me?"

Hermione laughed.

Draco and Hermione met Harry halfway to Hagrid's hut and the three walked down through the pumpkin patch with Leo perched on Hermione's arm. They'd brought along Crookshanks and Harry's owl, Eulen, to see how the spell would affect regular animals and magical creatures like kneazles, just to have all their bases covered.

Crookshanks jumped into the pumpkin patch, moving between the small vines and leaping from one large vegetable to the next, ducking out of the way when Buckbeak playfully snapped at Crook's tail before returning his attention to the pile of dead ferrets at his large feet.

Harry chuckled as they stepped into the patch, closing the gate behind him. "Don't get too close, Malfoy."

Draco glared at him, not paying attention to his position at Hermione's side when Leo leant forward and bit his elbow. He growled at the bird and then looked stubbornly at Harry before walking up to the hippogriff, giving a slight bow of the head and receiving one in return. He smirked as he pet the feathers above the large beak and turned his focus on Harry, who had his mouth open in shock at the display.

"Not so special now, are you?" Draco asked in a sing-song voice as he walked past Harry to make his way up the porch, opening the door for Hermione who was rolling her eyes at the display.

Harry huffed a little and looked over his shoulder at the hippogriff as though the beast had betrayed him by being friendly with anyone else.

Inside the hut, everyone crowded together uncomfortably. Crookshanks hissed at Eulen and Leo, who flapped his black wings in the cat's face in reply, and Hermione released her owl to fly up to the rafters before Crookshanks had a chance to retaliate.

"It's too cramped in here," she said and then looked at her uncle. "When you shift it'll be worse. Padfoot's far too big for this small hut."

"I'll step outside," Draco said and kissed Hermione's forehead, whispering, "Good luck."

"Can't believe it m'self," Hagrid muttered. "Regulus Black, here at Hogwarts, all this year," he shook his large head in shock. "Where d'ya think he was b'fore ya got 'im, Sirius?"

Sirius shrugged. "Who knows? The merchant at the shop said that all of this owls were rescues. Old familiars with broken bonds or ones that used to belong to the post but had been injured at one point or another. Some were found or captured, others from breeders. There's not really a way to trace it." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I suppose we'll have to ask him when this is over, won't we?"

Remus patted Sirius on the shoulder to give him the go ahead and within a split second, the tall wizard was replaced by the large black dog.

"Now," Remus said, looking at Harry and Hermione. "The spell is Prima Forma, and you flick your wand like this," he said, showing them the motion. "If it works, your wands should emit a bright blue light which will cover not only Leo, but will likely light up the entire hut."

"Will people see?" Hermione asked. "Through the windows, I mean?"

Remus nodded. "It's possible. If the spell is strong enough. But you shouldn't worry. Most of the other students are in class." He turned and looked at Harry. "You brought the Map?"

Harry nodded and removed the parchment, muttering, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," under his breath and watched as it opened. "McGonagall is in her office, Filch is in the dungeons, and all the other professors are in class. Snape too," he added.

It was an unspoken agreement between everyone that Severus be left out of the plan considering every one of them only believed it themselves about thirty percent or so, and they didn't want him to tell them they were all idiots for even suggesting such a ridiculous thing.

Hermione looked over at the Map almost wishing that it would suddenly say Regulus' name in the place where Leo was perched. But it wasn't there. All she saw was herself, Harry, Hagrid, Remus, and Sirius, whose name vanished from the Map. She looked up to watch the large black dog pad over to the corner of the room and sniff at Fang, who was sleeping in his bed.

"Sirius?"

Padfoot looked up at the sound of the wizard's name and blinked at Hermione. She looked back at the Map and smiled when she saw Sirius' name reappear.

"Well, we were right about the Map," she said thoughtfully, noting that Draco's name appeared outside of Hagrid's hut, moving back and forth in front of the door. She smiled, seeing the little dot pacing back and forth, a sense of warmth filling her knowing that he was so worried on her behalf.

"Let's do this. Leo," she called to the bird, whistling a little, and smiled when he flapped his grey and black wings and flew down to sit on the round table in front of them, tilting his head to the side to look up at her. "Ready?"

Harry swallowed and nodded, raising his wand up as Remus did the same and said, "On the count of three."

"One," Harry muttered.

"Two," Remus said.

"Three," Hermione whispered. "Prima Forma!"

Blue light burst from their three wands, all directed at the little black and grey owl, who flinched at the light but seemed otherwise unharmed as it enveloped him.

The spell swallowed the entire hut, covering each person, Crookshanks, Eulen, Fang, and Padfoot as well before the blue light, so powerful that it was, burst from the windows and beneath the door, nearly blinding them all in the process.

When it finally faded, Hermione's hands were shaking as she blinked to regain her vision, eyes staring ahead at the little black owl in front of her, feeling a great disappointment sink into her stomach.

"Did it not . . .?" she tried to say, but then felt a hand on her shoulder and turned, tears in her eyes to see Sirius standing behind her, looking just as grief-stricken as she felt. She sniffled and turned, falling into her uncle's arms.

The spell had worked.

But they'd been wrong.

"Help!" Draco screamed from beyond the door, and everyone jumped at the sound.

Remus, nearest the door, threw it open, his wand already raised, the others quickly behind him; all conditioned by war to be on the defence.

Draco was leaning up against Hagrid's hut, silver eyes as wide as they could possibly be, shaking as he stared ahead of him.

Sirius fell to the ground, the sound of his knees hitting the wooden porch echoed in the doorway where Hermione stood next to Harry, mouth open at the sight before her.

She sucked in a breath and gripped Harry's arm tightly.

Hagrid towered over them all, gaping into the pumpkin patch in shock. "Beaky?"

There in the corner of the garden, situated between large pumpkins and twisting vines, hovering above a pile of dead ferrets, stood Regulus Black.

Chapter Text

1973

Regulus stared at his brother curiously, wondering if Sirius genuinely thought he was smart enough to get away with what he was attempting. Mandrake leaves had a very specific scent. Regulus knew because Severus had been messing around with them in his potions experiments in the common room and had stunk up the place to the point where Slughorn had to come in and cast a variety of spells that would get rid of the stench.

Sirius' breath stunk of Mandrake leaves.

"Why so quiet?" he asked his big brother.

Sirius shrugged, holding a small portable chalkboard. He scribbled something down on it with a white piece of chalk that looked like it was barely a stub at this point.

Silencing Spell, Sirius wrote, turning the board around to face Regulus.

Regulus raised a brow. Seriously? What an idiot.

He rolled his eyes and played along. "Do you want me to remove it?" he asked, reaching for his wand.

Sirius immediately shook his head and stepped away from Regulus as though he were prepared to deflect the counter-curse to his silent problem.

"So you're content to just be quiet for now? That's not very like you," Regulus said with a smirk and actually laughed when Sirius growled at him before sauntering away.

"What's up with your brother?" Marlene asked as she approached him. "He and his friends have been acting strange lately."

"How long?" Regulus asked.

"Couple weeks now," she said. "James hasn't once said anything inappropriate to Lily, and Peter's normally pretty quiet, but even your brother is acting strange. James says they've taken a vow of silence in protest, but they won't say for what. Remus is the only one that's said a word."

He smirked knowingly. "Give it another week or so and they'll be back to their loud, obnoxious selves."

1974

"Seriously?" Regulus muttered, watching as James Potter followed Evans out of the library, leaving behind his book bag which had fallen over in his pathetic attempt to catch up with the witch before she had a chance to escape.

Inside were three textbooks, appropriate for Potter's year, and two other books.

Regulus picked them up and rolled his eyes. Your Inner Animagus and Animagi, a Meditative Study.

"You three are morons," he said and then, because if idiots like his brother and Potter—and gods, even Pettigrew—could do it . . .

Regulus slipped both books into his own bag and left the library with a smug grin.

1977

He watched quietly from the rooftop of the West Tower, staring as the black dog crept out from beneath the Whomping Willow. The dog looked back, tail wagging rapidly, as the werewolf emerged behind him, followed by a large stag carrying a small rat on one of its antlers.

Regulus snorted, carefully digging his talons into the shingles below his feet to gather purchase, the hooves of his back legs still weren't used to the angle he was perched at.

He watched his brother and his friends wander off into the Forbidden Forest, looking oddly happy; if animals could look happy. It left a pain in his chest, and he sighed, running his tongue against the inside of his beak, adjusting to the strange sensation of it as he tried to distract himself from the gaping hole that missing Sirius left inside of him. He looked down, orange eyes glancing at his front left leg which was covered in black and white feathers, hiding the dark mark there. He'd only gotten a proper look at himself once in the reflection of the Black Lake. Large wings and an impressive stance, his body covered in white and grey feathers, with a smattering of soft black ones through his wings and the inside of his left leg.

He thought about telling Severus what he'd done, but then he'd want to know why. Why had Regulus spent all the effort to become an Animagus? Despite everything they'd gone through and all the secrets they'd shared, he felt like he needed something for himself. Something that was just his. Of course he'd told Marlene, and she'd laughed and told him he was crazy, and then he promised he'd take her flying.

And flying was miraculous.

It felt like freedom to have the wind flow through his wings as he soared over the trees above the Forbidden Forest, staring down at the actual hippogriffs that Hagrid had corralled in a paddock there near the edge.

He'd gone to them the third time he'd shifted into his Animagus form, curious to see how the real things adjusted to his presence. It was almost as though they'd not even noticed, which was damn helpful when Hagrid had come out to feed the herd, curiously looking him over and then counting to himself.

"Huh . . . could've sworn there was only twelve of yeh. Guess yer my lucky thirteen then, aye . . . Buckbeak? That's a good name fer yeh, I think," he said and then scratched Regulus under the chin.

May 1979

His eyes turned toward the island to see that Kreacher was gone, as ordered.

And then the weight of his enemies was too heavy. Their strength too great to fight against.

As the cold water enveloped him once more and stole the breath from his lungs, Regulus closed his eyes and tried to find a good thought to cling to. Something to fill him up and take away the fear. Something strong enough that could summon a Patronus if he knew how. A good memory. A good thought.

All he could think of was her. A baby girl in Marlene's arms wrapped in fleece.

Something worth dying for.

No.

Regulus' eyes opened.

Something worth living for!

The inferi clawed and tugged and weighed him down, pulling frantically at his arms and legs, wrapping their hands around his throat, tearing at his clothes and skin.

He clenched his teeth tight and forced himself to fight through the remaining effects of the potion he'd poisoned himself with, channeling his magic into one last force of pure power. His arms that were being pulled down by the dead hands that gripped him, shifted into the long powerful legs and the talons at the end fought back, scratching and stabbing and pushing against his attackers. His back legs kicked and thrashed and he felt bones break as his hooves pushed against ribs and legs from behind.

When his wings sprouted from his back, the remaining inferi were flung away from him in a great push of water that created a forceful wave against the island above.

Regulus kicked at the bottom of the lake, using the momentum to break the surface of the water, wings pounding against the air as he carried himself up and out of the cave and then far, far away.

Returning to Hogwarts was impossible. It wasn't safe. Not for him, not for Marlene and the baby. So he followed through with his failsafe plan and soared as high as he possibly could, hidden behind storm clouds as he made his way to Cokeworth, grateful for the cover of night.

He descended, losing the strength to hold his form and crashed on the grass in front of Spinner's End, human once more, coughing and choking on the water that still lingered in his—suddenly too small—lungs.

He managed to drag himself to the porch before he fell unconscious to the sound of Severus' voice demanding, "What have you done?!" and the feel of a Disillusionment Charm washing over his body.

September 1980

"Reggie! Are you insane?" Marlene hissed, eyes wide as she stood on the back porch of Iliad Cottage, watching her one-year-old daughter cling to the feathers of her husband's neck as he trotted around the yard like a pony, making chirping noises as Hermione giggled.

Marlene chuckled as Hermione let out a loud squeal of joy, and then forced herself to purse her lips and narrow her eyes at Regulus as he walked over, allowing her to remove Hermione from his neck.

"Papa!" Hermione said, still laughing, and Regulus winced a little when she tore feathers from his skin.

He shifted back into his human form and kissed Marlene on the cheek before snatching Hermione back into his arms, frowning a little at the grey feathers in her tiny fists.

" She's fine," he said, ignoring the tsking sound coming from behind him. "It's not like I took her flying, Marley," he chuckled, adding a quiet "yet" under his breath. "Plus I put a Sticking Charm on her nappy so only you or I could take her off. Time for bed, little one."

Marlene only smiled and rolled her eyes as Hermione clung to Regulus' hair the same way she held onto his feathers. "I'm headed out for the Order meeting," she called after him. "And Severus is going to stop by afterwards for dinner, and you are not to let him drink away his misery again."

Regulus scoffed. "Potter's kid is only two months old, give the guy a break."

"When this war is over, we're going to find Severus a witch," Marlene said and then rushed over to kiss him and Hermione before Disapparating away.

"All right, princess," Regulus said, pulling the feathers out of Hermione's hands and shifting her from one arm to the other. "Babbity Rabbity or The Wizard and the Hopping Pot tonight?" he asked as he reached for a storybook, pulling it open and letting the pages fall to either side on their own.

"Dat," Hermione said, smacking her hand against the open pages of the book.

"No sweetheart," he said, shaking his head. "You're a little too young for that story. I'll tell you about The Three Brothers when you're bigger."

He took the grey feathers he'd snatched from her hands and slipped them against the spine of the book before flipping the pages.

October 31st, 1981

It happened too fast.

He'd gone straight to Sirius' flat, Disillusioned and hidden away, waiting for any signs of life. Death Eaters eventually came knocking, Dolohov and Macnair, and Regulus fought the urge to kill them both on the spot but knew that if they didn't show up where they were supposed to, it would look suspicious and that would only make the plan harder to complete.

The pair eventually broke through Sirius' wards, and Regulus slipped in behind them, shocked to see that Sirius wasn't there.

"Gone already," Dolohov whispered. "Do you think they went early?"

Macnair shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe."

"Don't pout," Dolohov scolded the man.

"Don't see what the big deal is. She's a pretty thing, and I only wanted a taste. Not like the Dark Lord is going to want her."

Dolohov scowled. "She's a Mudblood. I can't see how you'd sully yourself with that lot. Besides, you know fully well that the Dark Lord made a promise to Snape. If she lives, which isn't likely, the half-blood brat gets to play with her first. Now hurry. We need to track down the filthy blood-traitor before he finds out where Pettigrew is. He'll be a nightmare to stop if we don't get to him first."

Regulus blinked. Pettigrew?

"I'm not scared of Black," Macnair spat. "He's just the same as his brother. All talk and no play."

Dolohov turned and glared at his fellow Death Eater. "I don't care what your problem with Regulus was, you'll hold your tongue. And gods help you if you say anything like that in front of Lucius or Snape. The men held him as a brother."

"Still suspicious if you ask me," Macnair mumbled as the pair left the flat.

Fuck!

Where was Sirius? And what did Pettigrew have to do with anything?

Regulus began to think but then his mind was cut off as his Dark Mark burned and flared and pain shot through his arm like never before and then, just like that, it was gone. He looked up and noted that Dolohov and Macnair had Disapparated when they'd been called. To the Dark Lord's side, most likely.

He thought of sending word to Severus, but knew it might be premature. He needed to find Sirius and end this mess.

It was chaos.

Absolute chaos.

People were celebrating as word spread, rumours that the Dark Lord had been killed only hours after his supposed death. Regulus didn't want to hold his breath on that one. The sun rose and set. He searched and searched and lost track of the hour and what day it was. It wasn't until he saw Aurors drag a screaming Igor Karkaroff who was pleading for mercy, screaming, "It's fading! It's fading!" that Regulus even thought to look down at his left forearm to notice that the mark was, indeed, lighter than ever before.

Dead. The Dark Lord was dead.

He felt a weight lifted from his shoulders and struggled not to cry out in joy and relief. He wanted to celebrate. Celebrate, that is, until he'd overheard two Aurors whispering.

"Black? Are you certain?"

"I was there myself. He confessed, as far as I could tell."

"His best friends."

"They always were a little wrong in the head, that whole family."

"Is he in with the others?"

"No, Fudge and Crouch had him shipped right straight to Azkaban. Not even a trial."

"Who needs one? You said he confessed. Who would demand for a trial on his behalf? Whole world knows he was disowned by his own family. Only thing to be decided now is life in prison or Dementor's Kiss."

Regulus listened in long enough to get most of the story. They suspected Sirius had betrayed the Potters, and in a mad fury, had gone after Pettigrew who had likely seen Sirius' betrayal or done something else to earn his wrath. Pettigrew and a number of Muggles were dead, murdered by Sirius. Supposedly.

Regulus shook his head. There was no way. Sirius loved James Potter more than he loved his own brother, something Regulus had made peace with years ago, but still . . . facts were facts.

No one to demand for a trial indeed? He closed his eyes and Disapparated away, reappearing on the doorstep of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Swallowing his fear and his pride and the secrets he'd been keeping for too many years, he opened the door.

At the sight of her child, her supposedly dead child, Walburga Black dropped her glass of wine—celebratory wine likely, as she'd just been informed that her eldest son would be living out the rest of his life behind bars, surrounded by Dementors.

The expensive glass shattered on the floor, and Regulus was surprised when Kreacher didn't appear to clean it up.

"Where's the elf?" he asked.

Walburga stared at him, eyes wide looking panicked. "He . . . I sent him to . . . to Cygnus. Bella's been arrested and . . . How are . . . Is it really you?" she asked, looking as though she wanted to cry. "My Regulus? My boy? My only son?"

"Not only," Regulus said, pulling away from her hands as they moved to cup his face. "Sirius is alive and innocent, and he's been sent to Azkaban. We need to do something about it. They're not even giving him a trial, Mother. You need to say something."

Walburga scowled. "How are you alive? I was told . . . and the tapestry said you were dead! Kreacher showed up one night, sobbing hysterically and saying that . . . that you'd . . ." and at his stony expression, her eyes went cold. "You charmed it. How?"

"Blood Magic."

"Why?!"

"I have my reasons. I was protecting my family."

She snarled, "We didn't need protection! We needed our heir!"

"I didn't mean you!" Regulus snapped. "I meant Sirius and my family. My wife and daughter!"

Her face fell. "You . . . a wife and . . . you have a child? A girl . . . that's disappointing but . . . Who is your wife? Why all these secrets? She's not a Mudblood is she?!" she asked, recoiling in horror, her disgust completely masking over the brief expression of joy that had been there at the realisation that her son was, in fact, alive.

He stepped forward and took her by the shoulders. "It doesn't matter. If she had been a Muggleborn, it wouldn't matter. I am the heir of this House, and with Father dead, I am the Head of this House. I've returned home to rectify the mistakes I have made as well as the ones you've made. You're coming with me to the Ministry of Magic where I will claim my seat and demand that my brother be given a fucking trial over these asinine accusations!"

He released her and attempted to walk into the other room to search for the documents necessary to get things moving.

"You will do no such thing! You have no brother!" Walburga screeched.

Regulus spun on his mother, looking crazed. "Sirius Orion Black the third, firstborn son of Orion and Walburga, and heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Black! Brother of Regulus Arcturus and uncle to Hermione Astra! My brother!" he yelled, pounding his fist against his chest. "His parents abandoned him, and his friends are dead, and he has no one else to speak for him, but I will not leave him to rot in Azkaban!"

He stormed through the house, and Walburga chased after him, frantic and furious and screaming until her throat was raw, begging him to see reason.

Regulus stopped listening at some point. She was a crazy old bint, and he'd thought her basically harmless, at least to him.

He had been mistaken.

When he was busy looking in his father's study for the paperwork he knew he would need to show at both the Ministry of Magic and Gringotts when he withdrew money to hire the best solicitor that money could buy, she'd aimed her wand and silently disarmed him.

Holding the bit of wood in her grip, Walburga glared at him. "That blood-traitor ingrate ruined the reputation of this family, and then you died. I'll not have your name destroyed as well by letting the world know you're alive only to bury us by saving him! I would rather let you die all over again. I would rather see the House of my father burn to ashes with the death of my son than see him ruin everything it stands for."

He stared at his wand and then narrowed his eyes at his mother. "You think you can stop me? I swear to Merlin, woman, I will fly to Azkaban myself and kick the fucking doors down and pull him out with my bare hands, and if you think I need a wand to do that, you're severely mistaken."

His stare was menacing, and he smiled a little when he saw her bottom lip quiver in fear of him.

She took a moment to collect her thoughts before whispering, "There are no brooms in this house. No boys left to fly them."

He grinned smugly. "Don't need a broom."

She shook with fury and, before he had a chance to stop her, she snapped his wand in half.

Regulus, enraged by the action, shifted instantly and let the witch come face-to-face with an incensed hippogriff who reared up on his hind legs, let out a deafening roar, and made to attack.

She screamed in terror and aimed her own wand and hit him with something, he wasn't sure what, but it hurt like mad and slowed his movements, and suddenly, he fell to the floor, gasping for breath.

Walburga circled his body and then aimed her wand again, whispering a curse under her breath.

Regulus felt a sickening chill flush over his skin and everything felt tight and claustrophobic. He tried to shift back to ask her what she'd done, but it was obvious when nothing happened.

Stuck. Stuck. Stuck.

"Like I said . . ." Walburga whispered. "I would rather let you die all over again."

Another light flew out of her wand and the room went black.

When Regulus opened his orange eyes and blinked away the blurry vision, wincing as pain wracked his body, he looked around to see himself surrounded by bars. His legs and feet were cuffed in iron, and his wings tied down by rope. He tried to fight, tried to free himself, but all he was met with was resistance.

"Woah there, boy," a man said as he approached. "Calm down. We'll be there soon." He stepped close to the cage, and Regulus growled. The man laughed and pulled out a wand. "Careful there. I'd prefer you be conscious when the boat docks. But I've got no problem selling you off as meat instead of livestock. I'll get less money but less trouble as well. You get me?"

Boat?

The boat docked, and Regulus was pulled off in chains to stand with a herd of hippogriff, a baby Peruvian Vipertooth, and three thestrals. When taken to the black market, wherever they were, Regulus struggled and fought to break free which only caused him to expend unnecessary energy and end up being sold into an illegal fighting ring instead of the farm where eight of the other nine hippogriff went.

January 1988

Six years.

It had taken him six years to get free.

Six years of falling in and out of his Animagus conscious, retreating behind it and letting the animal take over. It was easier when the animal took over. Easier to eat, easier to fight, easier to kill. It was only when he was locked away in the pens, chained up like the beast that he was, that he remembered he was really a man. A man who'd killed before.

It didn't take much effort to bite the throat out of a lazy new caretaker.

First day on the job and he'd been told not to get too close to the wild one—"Watch yerself around the grey. Fucker's a menace,"—but he'd been careless and took Regulus' soft chirping to be a gentle coo instead of the warning that it was.

He approached Regulus without fear, without respect.

With the taste of the caretaker's blood still in his mouth, he kicked as hard as he could, breaking the chain around his back leg, and walked out the open door.

As he stepped over the body of the caretaker, he thought to himself, You should have bowed, motherfucker.

He flew and flew and flew until his wings ached and his muscles cried out in agony. He made it to the outskirts of Iliad Cottage, not surprised at all to find it empty. He and Severus had a plan, after all, and if his friend was able to keep his word, Hermione would be safe. Nestled somewhere in the arms of some Muggle family somewhere, without any idea that she was a witch.

Not knowing where else to go, he headed north, flying under the dark of night and hidden behind clouds until he reached Hogwarts. Landing in the Forbidden Forest, he joined the old familiar herd and allowed Hagrid to feed him extra, inwardly smiling at the gentle touch of the half-giant who actually cried at the sight of him.

"Ye came back!" he shouted joyfully. "Thought I'd lost yeh forever, I did."

September 2nd, 1993

He struggled to stay conscious of the things that happened around him.

Few things were able to bring him out of the Animagus state. Watching the first years come across the lake two years earlier had been a good moment. He'd slipped out of the small paddock Hagrid kept the herd in and walked to the edge of the Black Lake where he watched as the tiny children crawled out of the boats. He'd lost track of the years sometime back, but Hagrid had come to tell the thestrals and the unicorns and the hippogriffs all about how he'd been reunited with Harry Potter and taken the boy to Diagon Alley.

Regulus knew that Harry and his Hermione were the same age.

Harry Potter was coming to Hogwarts.

That meant Hermione was as well.

It took him some time to figure out which one she was. Severus had placed a decent glamour on the girl, but there was no way he'd be able to ignore the massive bushy curls on her head, even if they were the wrong colour.

She looks like Marley, he thought to himself and let the decade old grief in his chest linger a little before he relaxed against it, absorbing the familiar pain.

It was hard to stay conscious much after that. Knowing that she was safe was enough. There were mumblings over the years. A unicorn had been killed, and Regulus had tried to think like a human would, but the instinct to stick with the herd won out in the end, and he remained oblivious to the students in the Forbidden Forest, serving detention.

The following year Hagrid was gone for a time and, while grazing, he'd overheard the centaurs mumbling about spiders infiltrating the forest in an attempt to flee something in the castle.

It wasn't until one morning that he blinked out of his Animagus consciousness to see the group of students being led toward the herd. He spotted Hermione immediately, and Regulus trotted forward remembering how she used to climb on his back and grip onto his feathers so tightly.

"Hippogriffs!" Hagrid roared happily, waving a hand at the herd as he spoke to the gathered students. "Beau'iful, aren' they? Now, firs' thing yeh gotta know abou' hippogriffs is, they're proud," Hagrid said. "Easily offended, hippogriffs are. Don't never insult one, 'cause it might be the last thing yeh do."

Regulus was watching her, brown eyes—not grey like they should be—staring at Hagrid with rapt attention. Studious and attentive and staring at the herd with nervous excitement.

He wondered if she knew.

If she'd recognise . . . no . . . no. Severus would have Obliviated her. She'd already been two and far too smart for her own good. She would have said something to the Muggles or . . . no . . . She wouldn't remember him.

"Yeh always wait fer the hippogriff ter make the firs' move," Hagrid continued. "It's polite, see? Yeh walk toward him, and yeh bow, an' yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh're allowed ter touch him. If he doesn' bow, then get away from him sharpish, 'cause those talons hurt. Right, who wants ter go first?"

"I'll do it."

"Good man, Harry!" Hagrid roared. "Right then—let's see how yeh get on with Buckbeak."

Regulus looked up, recognising the name Hagrid called him, and watched carefully as a black-haired boy slowly approached. He shook out his feathers as Hagrid removed the leather collar from around his neck.

"Easy, now, Harry," Hagrid said quietly. "Yeh've got eye contact, now try not ter blink. Hippogriffs don' trust yeh if yeh blink too much."

Harry.

Regulus stared at the boy, searching, searching, search—there it is . . . the scar—just like he'd heard about.

The boy bowed before him, and Regulus swallowed, his eyes locked on the scar thinking to himself that this boy, just a boy, had killed the Dark Lord.

And he was grateful.

So very fucking grateful.

Yes, he thought. I'll bow my head to Harry Potter.

A quick fly around the paddock and Regulus was dumping Harry Potter back on the ground, hoping that Hagrid would ask the little Muggle-born girl to come up next. Hermione, Regulus thought as he stared at her only to watch as the half-giant directed her toward one of the chestnut-coloured hippogriffs instead.

He wasn't paying much attention when three boys walked over to him. Regulus bowed his head instinctively, desperate to get this over with so he could maybe walk over and see his daughter face-to-face. He didn't even mind it when the boys started patting at his beak and feathers.

"This is very easy," one boy drawled. "I knew it must have been, if Potter could do it. I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you? Are you, you great ugly brute?"

Ugly?

Regulus turned and glared down at the insulting boy, and his orange eyes widened recognising the white-blond hair and Slytherin robes.

Malfoy.

He let out a low, menacing growl and, while the boy was still smirking, a smug look that was far too reminiscent of Lucius, Regulus kicked up on his back legs and came down on the boy, talons extended, slashing through the thick robes and cutting the boy's arm with vicious delight.

March 1999

The boy stared at him.

Older now, less smug than he'd been as a child, when Regulus had joyfully knocked him to the ground. Much had happened to Draco Malfoy in those few years. Much had happened to them all.

Hermione, for instance, had black hair and looked like his daughter again. Regulus wasn't sure what had happened. He'd been locked away in the attic of Grimmauld Place at one point, and Sirius hadn't said anything, at least not to him.

It didn't matter though. Brown hair, black hair; she was Hermione.

He'd thought about kicking at the boy again, when Hermione had brought him to the pumpkin patch a few months earlier, but she had looked at him with pleading eyes . . . pleading for him to behave and not be the vicious beast that the Malfoy boy thought him to be.

And . . . well . . . it wasn't as though he was able to give his daughter anything else.

So he'd let them ride, and the three had gone flying out over the lake, and Regulus let himself be happy because she was flying with him again.

The first time had been horrible and she'd screamed—afraid of heights; he almost thought it funny—and then he'd been reunited with Sirius and gone from Hogwarts and from her.

But . . . then they'd gone flying, and he almost didn't care that she was wrapped around Draco Malfoy because she'd looked so fucking happy and he could hear them. Hear the boy call Hermione, "Love," and mean it. Really mean it.

"There I am," the boy had said and Regulus looked up, spotting the dragon constellation in the sky, rolling his eyes a bit at the declaration.

"Don't get too smug there, dragon boy," Hermione had said, and Regulus inwardly grinned with pride. "My father named me after every star in the sky."

My father.

He swallowed hard and, when they eventually landed, he pressed his face into the palm of her hand and breathed heavily. She knew. She knew him. Not that he was the great beast in front of her, but she knew that Regulus Black was her father. It filled him with joy.

Regulus had been too preoccupied with breakfast, lost behind the Animagus consciousness, and hadn't noticed the blue light coming out from beneath Hagrid's door until it had hit him. It didn't hurt, but he felt a distinctive tug on his skin that was itchy and unfamiliar . . . or at least . . . distant, as though he'd forgotten how it was supposed to feel after all these years.

And then his weight had shifted and his limbs didn't feel so heavy. He tried to swish his tail in irritation at the feeling, but there was no tail to swish.

"Beaky?" Hagrid said.

Regulus looked up at the sound of his other name, almost tumbling forward, unused to the difference in weight between his back legs and his front . . . hands?

He looked down. Hands. He had hands!

He inhaled sharply and glanced upwards at the group in front of him. Sirius. Sirius who looked broken and shocked and . . . was he smiling? Regulus opened his mouth to call out to his brother but then stopped, his throat was raw, and he wondered if he even knew how to speak after all these years.

No, of course I can speak, he silently scolded himself and then searched out for her.

For his . . .

"Hermione," he said, his voice raw and gravelly and deeper than he had remembered the last time he'd spoken, seventeen years earlier.

Chapter Text

March 1999

"Hermione."

She stared at the man, the man that was a hippogriff not two minutes earlier, her mouth hanging open in shock and her vision blurring with tears.

He looked just like Sirius. But not like how Sirius looked now. She was reminded of the Shrieking Shack, the first time she'd met her uncle.

Regulus wasn't starved or gaunt the way his brother had been after escaping prison. Nor was he sickly with matted hair. His hair, in fact, much like Buckbeak's feathers, was clean and soft-looking, despite the length, reaching the middle of his back. Black, like hers, like Sirius'; not a streak of grey. Regulus appeared overall healthy, though perhaps a bit uncoordinated and confused, as though he'd been Confunded.

He said her name again, his eyes not moving from hers, and she couldn't help but instinctively reach out for Harry, her rock, gripping his arm as tight as she could. Harry had been her life raft for so many years, and she was silently begging him to keep her afloat.

Draco, whose hand had slipped into her own, would understand.

Regulus moved to stand and, weak on human legs, he collapsed back to the ground and let out a deep growl of frustration that was much more beast than man. Angrily, he snatched a ferret carcass near his feet and threw it across the pumpkin patch in frustration.

Hagrid, clearly torn between how to process what had just happened, moved to assist the man, but Remus held an arm out to stop him and, instead, helped Sirius to his feet.

Despite Regulus looking a bit weary and slightly deranged, eyes flickering back and forth like a caged animal ready to strike at the first attack, Sirius moved quickly toward him until he saw Regulus' body stiffen at the sudden movement. Sirius paused, likely remembering himself and his personal understanding of Animagi, and stopped in his tracks to bow his head.

There was a long moment of utter silence where the two brothers stared at one another hesitantly before eventually, Regulus nodded back.

Sirius fell to the ground in front of his brother and looked him over, searching for injuries or scars or perhaps just hints and clues that this had really just happened because it was too painful to think he'd have to go back, go back and grieve all over again.

"Reg," Sirius whispered.

"I didn't know," Regulus said, his voice cracking slightly, suddenly looking all of seventeen again, the last time Sirius had seen him, instead of the grown man he was now. "I didn't know about Pettigrew. I swear I didn't know."

At that, Hermione felt Harry squeeze her arm.

Sirius pulled Regulus into his arms and clung to him like he'd never let go. "It's okay. Everything's going to be fine now."

He kissed the top of his brother's head as though they were ten and eleven all over again and Sirius was leaving for Hogwarts for the first time, reassuring his brother that nothing would change.

"Remus," Hermione whispered, and everyone turned, looking shocked that she was speaking or that anything outside of the reunited Black brothers was even happening. "We need Professor McGonagall to know about what's happened. He can't leave Hogwarts . . . for a number of reasons, but mostly for his own safety, and she needs to know that the school grounds will be housing him."

"Hermione," Harry whispered, but she ignored him.

"Hagrid, can he stay here with you? Anything inside the school will be too crowded, and he can't be left alone and—"

"Hermione," Sirius said, trying to catch her attention, having finally pulled away from his brother, who was back to staring at her with the eyes of a broken man.

"—his Animagus form has already developed a deep trust with you, Hagrid. Harry, you need to go with Remus and ask Professor McGonagall to use her Floo so you can contact Kingsley. R-Regulus' name has been cleared, but that was posthumously, and we need to make certain that there won't be any repercussions when it eventually gets out that he's alive. Get ahead of this thing before someone, gods forbid Skeeter, finds out."

"Hermione," Harry said again and pulled her back to him, his green eyes wide and expressive; and that expression was worry.

Hermione looked away from him almost instantly in discomfort and pulled out of his grip.

"Winston!" she called, wiping the backs of her hands against her eyes as the tears began to streak down her cheeks. When the little house-elf appeared, Hermione cleared her throat. "Would you be so kind as to go to the kitchen and get some broth?"

"Broth?" Harry questioned.

Hermione nodded. "Being in an Animagi form long term isn't healthy for humans. He's been well . . . well-fed," she said with a slight blush, looking up at Hagrid, who was still gaping at Regulus with a nervous glance, as though he didn't know whether or not to approach the man who'd—as of several minutes ago—been one of his favourite pets. "Unfortunately, he'll need to readjust to human food before he gets sick, but it needs to start immediately."

Winston was staring at the Black brothers, her big eyes blinking curiously. "Mistress is that . . .? Is that Mistress'—?"

"Please be discreet, Winston," Hermione pleaded, not answering the little elf's question.

Winston frowned but then nodded her large head, ears flapping as she did, and then Disapparated away with a pop!

"He'll need Vitamix Potion and some Calming Draught, and if someone could contact Madam Pomfrey and—"

"Granger," Draco whispered.

"I need to . . ." she said, voice breaking and her heart beating so loudly in her ears that it made everyone else sound like they were underwater. She cleared her throat and cast one glance back at Regulus before her hands started shaking. Then, her feet carried her away, back toward the castle.

Draco reacted immediately. "I'll go after her," he said only to be met with a low, instinctive growl coming from Regulus. He held his hands up in supplication and took a cautious step back. "Or . . . I'll stay right where I am."

"Go with Remus and Harry, while they talk to McGonagall," Sirius said to the boy, looking at Hermione's quickly retreating form. "You get Madam Pomfrey."

Regulus tried to move again but grumbled when his legs shook again.

"She'll come around," Sirius whispered to him. "It's . . . a shock."

Regulus stiffly nodded. "What happened? She wasn't supposed to know. She was supposed to be hidden for . . . for her own safety. How did she find out?"

Everyone stayed quiet, and all eyes turned and looked at Hagrid, the half-giant never one to be able to keep a secret properly. He seemed to catch the cue from them all, and pressed his lips tightly together.

"In time," Sirius said, keeping his expression as impassive as possible, casting a glance up at Harry, warning him with a look not to reveal anything. Not yet. "We'll tell you everything in time. Now c'mon. Let's get you inside while we wait."

Hermione ran.

She ran to the castle and, once inside, just kept running.

She'd been prepared.

She thought she'd been prepared.

Prepared to see him, prepared for Harry and Draco to be right, and they had been right!

But seeing him . . . it reminded her.

Reminded her that her Muggle parents were gone, and that her biological mother was most certainly dead, and there was no bringing her back as well, but there he was . . .

Regulus Black . . .

And the first word he spoke after seventeen years was her name.

Her.

He knew her.

And she knew him . . . but not really.

Shaking, she found her feet taking her down through the dungeons, pushing open the door to the Potions classroom as though her body were two steps ahead of her mind. She stood in the doorway, ashen and shaking with tears silently pouring down her cheeks as she started ahead through the classroom of small students and simmering cauldrons. Her gaze connected with Severus, who took in her appearance and stood.

"Class dismissed," he said immediately. "Turn off your fires and vanish the contents of your potions immediately and leave."

Hermione hovered in the doorway, still shaking, as each of the younger students—she wasn't even sure which years or Houses—worriedly whispered to one another about what could have possibly upset Hermione Granger, war heroine, before bursting into giggles and triumphant shouts that they didn't have to finish Potions for the day.

When the last student left the room, Hermione shut the door behind her and flew into Severus' arms, very much against his will, and sobbed into his robes.

He flinched at first, out of habit, before he swallowed down his own discomfort and carefully put an arm around her. "What's happened? Did Draco—?"

She shook her head. "He's alive."

Severus rose a brow. "Well, I should hope so. I've made multiple vows to protect that stupid boy, and if he'd gone and gotten himself killed, I would think I would be aware of it."

She pulled away from her godfather and looked up into his eyes. "He . . . Regulus is alive."

Severus pursed his lips and narrowed his gaze. "What kind of ridiculousness has led you to think—"

"He's outside right n-now . . . in . . . at Hagrid's . . . h-he . . . he's alive. I saw him. He said m-my name."

Sirius helped Regulus inside Hagrid's hut, practically carrying his little brother against his will, going so far as to lift the man onto the bed where he could lay back and rest. Sirius knelt by the side, staring into his face with such a variety of emotions it was hard to linger on just one.

Hagrid attempted to offer food before remembering Hermione's instructions and then, looking awkward in his own home, offered the brothers a moment alone.

"Reggie . . ."

"Don't. It's . . . It's all in the past."

Sirius shook his head. "I was awful to you. I hexed you—"

"I provoked you on purpose."

"I thought you were a Death Eater—"

"I was a Death Eater."

"I should have protected you."

Regulus sighed and reached out, putting a hand on Sirius' shoulder, pulling his brother forward until their foreheads touched.

"You did," he said softly and frowned when he saw Sirius' grey eyes were shining with unshed tears. "Siri, you fought them. Mother and Father. You knew who you were and what you stood for, and you bloody well stood for it. Do you know how long it took me to figure that out for myself?"

He shook his head, releasing his grip on Sirius and then leant back, enjoying the feel of a pillow beneath his head for the first time in almost two decades.

"Sirius, we were dealt a shit hand and did our best with it. I . . . I'm sorry I wasn't brave enough, brave like you, to figure life out earlier."

Sirius looked up, surprised. "Reg, I'm not brave. I'm reckless," he clarified. "Always have been, and I spent twelve years in prison to prove it. Bravery is . . . is admitting that you're afraid and . . . and not giving a fuck. I'm not brave, Reggie. You are."

"Am not," Regulus said, reminiscent of their shared adolescence years decades ago.

"I know what you did," Sirius whispered. "Everyone knows. The Horcrux."

Regulus' eyes widened, and he turned and stared at his brother. "It was destroyed? I mean . . . I know he's gone. I remember the battle, at least . . . a bit. It's a blur sometimes. But . . . it's gone?"

Sirius nodded. "So are the six others that he made."

The colour drained from Regulus' face, and he rested all of his weight back against the bed and pillows behind him. "Six more? Fuck," he mumbled and reached up to run a hand through his hair, a bit frustrated when it snagged, still unused to the feel of hair and not feathers. He made a plan to have it all cut away later. "You know about Hermione."

Sirius nodded. "We'll talk about that later."

"Is she okay?" Regulus asked, a deep frown etched into his face. "I mean . . . the Malfoy boy. He loves her. I remember, they came to fly one night, and I heard but . . . They know?"

"They know," Sirius replied. "The contract. It still exists."

"She's going to hate me."

"You give yourself too much credit. She may look like a Black, but she's got so much of Marley in her," he said with a smile and then reached out, taking Regulus' hand. His wedding band was still on his finger. "She was a good witch. A good friend. I'm glad she had you."

He moved to stand up and Regulus gripped his hand harder.

"Don't . . . don't leave me . . . okay?"

Sirius smiled and cupped Regulus' face in his hand. "You'll never get rid of me, Reg. Never."

"Mother of Merlin," a voice said through a gasp in the doorway, and both brothers looked up to see Minerva standing there, hand clutched to her chest and mouth hanging open as she stared ahead, her spectacled eyes locked on Regulus. "It is you."

Regulus forced himself to smile, the action far from instinctive. "Hello, Minerva."

She moved quickly into the hut and perched herself on the side of the bed, shoving Sirius away in order to reach Regulus. "Oh my boy . . . You . . . An Animagus?" she asked, doing her best to appear shocked and not impressed. "This whole time? What was the reason? Did you know you would need to go into hiding? Were you using your form to—?"

"Don't be absurd, Minerva," Severus drawled angrily from behind her, his dark eyes narrowed at the living form of his—previously thought dead—best friend. "He's a Black. He did it just to prove that he could."

Regulus smirked and leveraged his hand against the headboard to sit up so that he could greet his friend. "Good to see you, Severus."

Severus glared at him and scoffed loudly, crossing his arms over his chest defensively and looking far more cross than Regulus had seen in quite some time. "Had I been told that you'd decided to spend your life as an overgrown chicken, I might have been of some assistance over the years. Was the secrecy truly necessary?"

Regulus shrugged. "Sure felt like it at the time. Then again, most secrets feel necessary in the beginning," he added, his fingers lightly running against the inside of his left arm, eyes drawn to the now faded tattoo there.

Sirius cleared his throat. "A hippogriff, though? Isn't it rare to have a magical creature as an Animagus?"

Regulus looked up and raised an incredulous brow at his brother. "You're a Grim," he said, his tone of one that implied Sirius' stupidity.

"I'm a dog," Sirius replied, looking slightly offended.

"You're a Grim," Regulus repeated.

"I'm a labrador."

"Labradors aren't the size of a small bear, you idiot."

Madam Pomfrey walked in, squeezing past both Severus and Minerva to make her way to his side.

The mediwitch frowned at the sight of him and then, instead of falling to emotional pieces or bitter shock like everyone else, she got straight to work. "If the two of you are done behaving like children . . ."

She raised her wand and did a series of diagnostic charms, reading each one carefully before casting the next. After several minutes of silence while Sirius spoke with Minerva quietly about what would need to be done, and Severus stood, glaring over Poppy's shoulder, the mediwitch smiled.

"Your health is quite good, although there are some nutritional concerns. I'd also like you to get some Vitamix Potions in you and perhaps some Strengthening . . . Severus, can you—?"

"Of course," he answered immediately.

"Good. I know it would be more comfortable here in Hagrid's hut, but I'd prefer to keep you in the infirmary so I can better monitor you. After so many years in that form . . . I don't want there to be any lingering problems," she insisted and then looked at the bowl of steaming liquid that had been placed by the bed. "And finish that broth. Whoever thought of that is quite smart."

Regulus frowned. "Hermione."

Pomfrey smiled softly. "Oh, well . . . She's proven time and time again how brilliant she is, hasn't she?"

He looked up, his eyes connecting with his brother. "Where's Hermione?"

"Outside," Severus answered instead. "With Draco."

Slightly annoyed, Regulus tempered his feelings about the boy, or really, the boy's family.

"Can Severus and I have a moment?" he asked the gathered group, feeling a touch claustrophobic with everyone standing there just staring at him as though he was preparing to shift back into his Animagus form and fly away.

Minerva was the first to nod. "Of course. I'll return to my office and make certain Mister Potter was able to get in touch with the Minister."

Sirius patted him on the shoulder before he turned to reluctantly follow Minerva and Pomfrey outside. "I'll be right outside, Reg."

When the group had cleared, and the door was shut behind them, Regulus let out a breath of relief and leant back against the pillows once more.

Severus moved to sit beside him. "A hippogriff? When the fuck did you have time to become an Animagus?"

Regulus chuckled. "I always told you I was good at Transfiguration," he said smugly.

Severus scowled. "And you knew about Black and Potter and Lupin."

"I knew they were Animagi. And about the werewolf."

Severus looked angry but torn in whether or not he wanted to address that anger or merely let it go, which seemed the better of the two options. "And you've been here, at Hogwarts this whole—"

Regulus shook his head. "Not the whole time," he answered, remembering bits and pieces of the years where he wasn't even in the country, perhaps on the continent somewhere, he wasn't entirely certain. "I went looking for Sirius and ran into Dolohov and Macnair that night. They were sent to kill him but couldn't find him either. I'm guessing—"

"Pettigrew had been switched as the Potter's Secret Keeper."

Regulus sighed bitterly. "Yeah. Figured that one out too late. He's dead, yes?" he asked and felt himself relax at Severus' nod. "I went looking for my brother after I found out what had happened at Godric's Hollow. Heard about you and the others being taken in but . . . They weren't even going to give Sirius a trial, and someone needed to—"

"You went to your mother?" Severus asked, appalled.

"Vicious cunt," Regulus growled and angrily shoved at the bedside table, the bowl of broth nearly tipping over. He tried to grab it, but Severus caught it instead and sighed, bringing it up to his mouth, offering him a drink. After taking a large swallow, Regulus cleared his throat and continued. "Glad she's dead. Bitch broke my wand and locked me in my form. She sold me off to some fucking animal trafficker, and I ended up . . . It doesn't matter where I ended up. I flew back here because no one was at the cottage. I think I was gone for years. Time is . . . difficult to pay attention to. Seasons are easier but even they . . . blend and—"

"She's fine," Severus said.

Regulus frowned, figuring that he might have been rambling due to worries about his daughter. Figured, that Severus would notice. "She's beautiful. I remember . . . bits and pieces. I saw her come across on the boats. Good glamour, by the way. I remember attacking the boy, the Malfoy boy," he clarified. "And then Hagrid kept me in the pumpkin patch, close to his hut. I was separated from the herd, but I wasn't certain why."

Severus snorted. "You injured Lucius' son. Did you think you'd get away with it? There was a trial of sorts, and you were sentenced to death."

Regulus didn't comment as he put the pieces together, finding himself a bit too angry that he, a hippogriff, had been given a trial when Sirius hadn't been offered one.

After a minute of silence, breaking eye contact with Severus to sip at the broth that Hermione's little elf had brought him, he spoke again, "How did the glamour break? Did you tell her about me?"

Severus shook his head. "Now is not the time."

Regulus clenched his teeth. "Was she hurt?"

His friend only nodded. "It was war. She survived. Find it in yourself to be thankful for that, and do your best to let everything else go. She'll come around."

"Who hurt—?"

"She's a Gryffindor. They're very resilient," Severus said, interrupting him.

Regulus slowly nodded, rubbing his wedding band, relishing the feel of it against his skin, human skin. "Thank you. For keeping her safe," he said and then frowned, touching his ring once more. "I'm sorry. About . . . Lily."

Severus stiffened and then sighed, looking like a man defeated. "She and I were barely acquaintances by the end. Be more sorry that I thought you had died," he said bitterly.

"I'm sorry," Regulus said and then sat up, reaching out and pulling his friend into a tight hug that Severus refused to participate in.

"You are far too much like your ridiculously sentimental child. You weren't properly Sorted."

Regulus laughed. "I know. I've missed you."

Finally, with obvious great hesitation, Severus returned the tight embrace.

After several moments of silence, they parted. Released from Regulus' grip, Severus stood and dusted off his robes as though his friend was likely to have left behind feather dander. "Have your brother drag you to the Hospital Wing. I'd prefer not to have whatever you ate for breakfast vomited on my boots. They're dragonhide."

"Ferrets," Sirius said as he stepped back into the hut, clearly unable to leave them alone for too long; his hands were fidgeting badly, looking like he was desperate to just do something to stay occupied.

"Ferrets," Severus repeated, looking disgusted.

"He ate ferrets," Sirius confirmed with a smirk and then grimaced. "Ugh, I've watched you kill a live ferret and then eat it."

"I watched you kill and eat rats in that cave we stayed in a few years back," Regulus pointed out, remembering the short time they lived outside of Hogsmeade when Sirius had been on the run, remaining in his own Animagus form more often than not.

Sirius scoffed as though they were now playing a game. "Yeah well . . . when we had to move back into Grimmauld Place, I had to clean up hippogriff shit for two bloody years."

Regulus rolled his eyes. "I was an Animagus at the time, not like I could do it myself. Besides, I've seen you lick your own bollocks in your form; you don't get to judge me."

Chapter Text

March 1999

Regulus was brought to the Hospital Wing where Poppy and Severus took turns slipping potions down his throat before more broth and a bit of cooked food was brought in for him to eat. He struggled not to devour it like a man starved. It had just been too long since he'd tasted real food that wasn't raw meat, stale rock cakes that Hagrid would slip him from time to time, or pumpkins from the patch that he would break into when bored.

The Calming Draught kicked in sometime before sunset. Both Minerva and Severus left to attend dinner in the Great Hall while Sirius watched over him as he drifted off to sleep.

The potion didn't last very long, though. Sometime shortly after midnight, he supposed, Regulus woke to find a large black dog sleeping at the foot of his bed.

Slowly, he crawled out of the large cot and stood to stretch his limbs, eager to feel his human form again.

The sound of snoring pulled his attention, and he stepped around the curtains drawn around his bed to see a slumber party in the beds next to him. Some faces felt vaguely familiar.

A redheaded boy slept next to a blond girl that Regulus remembered used to sneak into the Forbidden Forest near the hippogriff paddock, where she'd feed them whatever she'd sneaked away from the kitchens before offering apologies that she couldn't stay longer, as the thestrals were expecting her.

In a large chair, rested a redheaded girl, her legs draped over the body of a tall, lanky boy who was holding her hand, even as they slept. On the floor in front of them was a boy Regulus knew at once: Harry Potter.

The only occupants in an actual bed were Hermione, his daughter, who was curled up into a ball, her fists clenching the robes of the blond boy she was breathing against.

Regulus fought the urge to growl, knowing that he had no right, and instead moved to her side, pulling a chair forward and sitting down in it.

He stared at her for a good long while, admiring the colour of her curls and the way that they stuck out in certain directions as though they had a mind of their own . . . so much like her mother.

He frowned as the moonlight came in through the window, lingering over her skin and reflecting off of the soft, silvery scar tissue. Small marks on her arms and legs, some small ones he actually remembered from when she was so very, very small and would trip and skin her knees. Those he could live with.

But there were others; reminders of war.

There was a deep and dark scar against her neck, and another on her forearm, mostly hidden beneath the boy's hand.

Curious, Regulus attempted to lift it away so he could get a better look, but at one touch, the boy stiffened.

Silver eyes stared up at Regulus, wide and panicked, bordering somewhere between fear and defiance, and his grip on Hermione tightened as he pulled her closer to his chest, looking like he was readying himself for Regulus to tear her away.

"Don't wake her," Regulus whispered.

The boy, Draco, reached for his wand and flicked it out toward the other sleeping students, casting what Regulus remembered to be a Muffliato; one of Severus's creations.

"Madam Pomfrey gave her Dreamless Sleep," Draco said. "She won't wake until morning."

Regulus nodded. "Not a regular Sleeping Potion?"

"She has nightmares sometimes."

Regulus frowned. "War?"

Draco nodded.

They stared at one another for a long moment of silence before Regulus turned and looked at the sleeping teenagers. "Do they not have rooms of their own?"

"Hermione wanted to check on you, and Madam Pomfrey didn't want to send her away. Bloody Gryffindors can't exist without living in one another's personal lives. They worry about her."

"I'm glad she has them."

Draco scowled. "She has me. I can take care of her now."

Regulus raised an amused brow. "How does she feel about that?"

"She'd hex me if she was awake," Draco eventually admitted. "Doesn't change anything. She's mine."

He was tempted to tell the boy that the witch had been his first, but he was strangely entertained at the way the boy was possessive over his daughter. Holding her tightly like he'd die without her.

Regulus rubbed at the wedding band on his finger and then muttered, "We'll see," before leaning back in the chair, never breaking eye contact with the boy.

Twenty minutes of silence passed, and Regulus's eyes fell on the faded Dark Mark on Draco's forearm, and he sighed.

"I was sixteen," he admitted.

Draco's eyes flickered to the faded Dark Mark on Regulus' forearm. "Seventeen," he replied with a deep frown.

Regulus nodded. "I thought I could protect my brother."

Draco swallowed. "My mother."

The two shared a moment of silent understanding where Regulus looked at the boy and saw it. Saw the guilt and regret and things that no boy his age should have to live with. He saw the blood, stained on his skin and his soul, slowly being cleansed away by the remorse there in his gaze.

It was a familiar gaze.

He'd seen it in his own reflection.

"I'm glad she has you," Regulus whispered before standing up and making his way back to his own bed.

After that first night, Hermione avoided him for four whole days.

Him.

Her father.

Regulus Black.

When her friends started questioning her about it, she started sleeping in the Slytherin common room instead. She reasoned that she and Regulus were perfect strangers, and people who actually knew him and loved him had more reason to be in the room with him than her.

Sirius had a full two decades worth of reconciliation to be had with his little brother, and Severus deserved time with his best friend. Plus Madam Pomfrey needed to make sure he was in good health, and Hermione would very likely just get in the way and . . . and . . . and . . .

But she occasionally kept nearby. And she asked Winston to check in on him. And she eavesdropped when Winston checked in on him.

"You're my daughter's . . . ? You're Hermione's elf?" Regulus asked Winston as she popped into the infirmary, Hermione listening just outside the door beneath Harry's Invisibility Cloak, too nervous to step inside the room even if she couldn't be seen.

Winston arrived with Regulus's breakfast on the fourth day, a plate of bacon, tomatoes, and beans—but not eggs, because Hermione remembered something that Kreacher had told her once—and a bowl of porridge with blueberries and a glass of pumpkin juice.

"Yes, Master Regulus," Winston said with a chipper tone. "Mistress says to give Master Regulus all his favourites to eat."

"How does she know my favourites?" he questioned.

Winston paused. "She says Master's elf, Kreacher, told her."

"Kreacher's still alive? Wow. That's . . . that's great. Thank you . . . umm . . ."

"Winston," the elf said happily.

Regulus chuckled. "Winston. Thank you. You're a good little elf."

Hermione scrunched her face up tight, trying to stop herself from crying over the fact that he was treating her elf so sweetly. She could have assumed, of course, that he would, given Kreacher's unblinking loyalty to the man. But Sirius had issues with the decrepit old house-elf, and Lucius Malfoy had been so very terrible to Dobby, which made her think that some wizards would treat some elves kindly while others poorly until someone insisted otherwise.

She shook her head, ridding herself of any escaped tears, and wrapped the Invisibility Cloak around her like it was a security blanket.

Up in Gryffindor Tower, where she'd locked herself away after the week's classes ended, Hermione was found sitting in the centre of Harry's bed, waiting for her friends to return from Quidditch practice.

When Harry, Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean all stepped through the door, laughing over some joke that Seamus had just said, they all stopped at the sight of her.

"Hermione?" Harry asked, frowning. "You all right?"

She silently shook her head no.

"Can we get a minute, guys?" he asked the others.

Dean, Seamus, and Neville all nodded, the latter smiling at her and offering a quiet, "Feel better, Hermione," before shutting the door.

Ron walked over and draped an arm around Hermione, who felt close to breaking.

"Is this a dad thing?" he quietly asked and frowned when she just started crying.

She nodded her head as she buried it in her arms, pulling her knees to her chest, and letting her body tip against him as he held her. Eventually, she lifted her head to catch Ron staring up at Harry, looking shocked and uncomfortable, clearly not knowing what to do other than stroke her hair.

Harry made eye contact with her, giving a sad little smile and nodding his head to Ron.

"Right," Ron said. "I'll leave you two for a bit then. I need a shower and don't want to sweat and stink all over you, 'Mione. Ferret might not be too pleased with you smelling like a Weasley," he said with a chuckle, and Hermione actually let out a soft laugh, thanking him silently.

When the door shut, leaving her alone with Harry, he sat down on his bed in front of her and sighed. "What's going on, Hermione?"

She sniffed. "When . . . when I was ten, about a month before I got my Hogwarts letter, I got sick. Nothing very serious, but enough where I was pretty much bed-ridden for a few days and fairly miserable. My parents had a holiday planned. There was a conference they were going to for work, and it was being held near a nice spot, so they thought they'd extend their trip by a few days and visit some old friends from University that were going to be in the area. But . . . but they cancelled their trip because I got sick. I was supposed to stay with my grandmother, my mum's mum, and she could have taken very good care of me. But they cancelled their trip, and my mum made me chicken soup, and my dad sat on the sofa with me, and we watched cartoons together."

Harry furrowed his brows. "Why does that make you sad, Hermione?"

She looked up, eyes still wet and sore. "Because they told me that even though they hadn't had a chance to be alone together in years, and even though they hadn't seen their friends since they left school, they would rather be with me than anyone else in the world," she said, hiccoughing, doing her best not to break into a fresh new set of sobs.

"I've . . . I've not gone to see . . . to see him . . . haven't said a word to him," she said, choking a bit on her words. "And what if . . . what if Regulus feels the same way that my parents did, and I've just been too afraid to . . ."

Harry pulled her into his arms and hugged her as tight as he could without knocking the breath from her lungs, letting her cry against his chest. "Do you think that you'd be disrespecting your parents if you went to see him?"

Hermione shrugged.

"Hermione, when I faced Voldemort, I saw my parents," he confessed. "I had the Stone, and I used it to see them. They were standing right there in front of me, and I knew what was coming. I knew what I needed to do," he said, stroking her hair until she pulled back from him to look in his eyes as he spoke. "I remember thinking, well at least if I die, I'll be with my parents. And then I thought of you and Ron and the other Weasleys and Remus and . . . and Sirius," he said, trying to clear his throat. "And it was absurd really, but I remember thinking that I felt selfish knowing that I was a bit happy at the idea that if I died, I could be with my parents, knowing what it would do to everyone left behind."

Tiny, quiet sobs shook her body as she listened to him.

"I think . . . at least I would like to think," he said with a heavy sigh, "that if my parents were . . . if they came back to me, I think I could love everyone. I would want to be with them, and still . . . you know . . . I'd still think of Sirius as a parent too. I don't think they'd mind. I think they'd understand. It was their plan, right? They did make him my godfather."

She nodded in understanding.

"Regulus and Snape planned for this. I mean, I doubt he thought that he'd be stuck as a hippogriff for seventeen years but . . . they knew what might happen. That he might not make it, and they planned for you to go and live with Muggles. He knew what he was doing. I don't think he expects you to suddenly revert to the little girl he knew all those years ago. Hermione, it's okay for you to want to have a father. I met your parents before. They were good people. They'd want you to be happy."

After a final dose of Calming Draught to help him sleep through the uncomfortable side effects of the Strengthening Draughts Madam Pomfrey and Severus insisted on, Regulus opened his eyes to look around the infirmary, realising that once again he'd slept the day away.

He sighed but then couldn't help but look for the silver lining: he was in a bed and not a paddock or pumpkin patch, sleeping on clean sheets instead of cold ground or itchy bales of hay.

He sat up in the bed and stretched his arms above him while yawning, bringing his hands down to run fingers through his now short hair, happy to feel the weight of it gone. Sirius had teased and said it made Regulus look like the older brother, and Regulus wasn't unkind enough to note aloud that Azkaban had aged Sirius in ways that being stuck as a hippogriff for over a decade could never have done to him. Instead, he told his brother that his long hair made him look like a girl, and the two had shared a grin as Regulus decided to ask for a haircut.

Eager to get up and walk around a bit, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and moved to stand but stopped when he caught sight of the witch sitting against the wall across from his bed, her legs folded beneath her. She was staring at him, wide grey eyes that mirrored his own, twisting a long black lock of hair between her fingers nervously.

"Hi," she said softly.

"Hi," Regulus replied, swallowing hard at the first sight of his daughter since he'd watched her sleeping in the arms of the Malfoy boy.

"I umm . . ." she mumbled, standing up and smoothing down her pleated grey skirt as she hesitantly approached him, wiping her palms on her red and gold jumper before extending a hand to him, posture straight and stiff. "I'm Hermione Gra—umm . . . Bla . . . I mean . . . I'm Hermione."

Regulus smiled softly and took her small hand within both of his, holding it gently instead of shaking it in introduction. "I know," he whispered. "I named you."

She nodded, not moving to withdraw her hand from him. "I . . . I always thought I'd been named after a character in Shakespeare," she confessed. "A Winter's Tale."

"I know of it," he admitted. "I suppose you know the truth though."

She gave him a small smile. "Daughter of Helen of Troy. Her mother was the most beautiful woman in the world."

"She really was," he gently insisted.

She laughed nervously, using her free hand to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. "I'm afraid I don't live up to the standard set by mythology."

"I disagree."

She stared at him for a long moment, and Regulus saw light reflecting off of moisture in her eyes. He said nothing, allowing her to take the conversation where she needed to.

"Still," she said, finally pulling away from him so that she could use both of her hands to nervously fidget, worrying the hem of her jumper in her fingers. "It's a bit appropriate I suppose. In my childhood I had no mother, my father was ever in the wars—"

"Though the two were not dead . . . not both at least," he amended with a regretful sigh. "You were reft of both. I should say, however, that we were there . . . at least for a time, in your early years receiving the caressing prattle from the tripping tongue of you, our little girl. There was, in fact, a time when you clasped about my neck with little arms that would not reach, and did sit, a burden sweet, upon my lap."

Hermine smiled, then corners of her eyes crinkling. "I'm not sure why it surprises me that you can quote Ovid so easily. Did you know the daughter of Helen, the original Hermione, was betrothed to a cousin?" she asked him. "Orestes. But he died of a snakebite."

"Died of a snakebite, or was a snake himself?" Regulus questioned, with a smirk.

Hermione awkwardly laughed. "Depends on which Hermione, I suppose. I happen to prefer the snake to the bite."

"As long as he's tamed, I suppose," Regulus said.

She smirked. "As well as you, I imagine."

"That doesn't say much for him, I'm afraid."

"I think it quite says a lot about him. I . . . I brought some of your things," she said, turning around and moving back to her chair where she withdrew a stack of bound leather books from her bag, returning to him, holding out the diaries. "I . . . I hope you don't mind that I read them. It was all I had, and I didn't know how else to—"

"It's fine. I meant for them to be read, one day, at least," he said, staring at the books and taking them from her tender grip, trying to recall what horrors and sins he had admitted in ink that his daughter had seen. "You read them all?"

Hermione nodded. "Every word. I originally skipped some of the Quidditch entries. Some pages had feathers as bookmarks, and I'm not sure if they were supposed to be there for someone to specifically come across anything important, or just perhaps accidentally left behind, pressed between pages. For a while I thought Leo, my owl, was moulting . . . he has black and grey feathers, you see, and Draco and Harry both figured out that you were an Animagus, and they thought my owl was you because I guess it made sense at the time because of the colouring, and I've named him Leo which is the constellation where Regulus resides, and Leo doesn't much like Draco, always biting and such . . . and well, he bit Luna just the other morning, and Daphne that same afternoon, so we think that perhaps he just has a dislike for blond hair and—" She stopped talking mid-sentence when she noticed he'd started to chuckle. "Sorry . . . I . . . what was it you said? I prattle?"

He nodded and smiled. "Your mother, my Marley . . . she did the same."

Hermione smiled brightly at that. "Was I always—"

"So talkative?" he asked and then smiled, nodding. "Since you first learnt your lips could form words."

Her smile increased and then, as silence once again took hold, she cleared her throat and walked back to her bag, pulling it and the chair closer to his bed.

"I umm . . . was wondering if you could help me with something. I've taken on a project for my N.E.W.T.s, trying to solve a theory that covers both Advanced Transfiguration and Advanced Charms. My hypothesis is that a Patronus can change not only due to emotional upheaval of sorts, but also if and when a person goes through the process of becoming an Animagus. For instance my Patronus is an otter, but I've done the meditations and my Animagus form would be a kneazle. I've asked Sirius, and he says that since he became an Animagus at such a young age, well before he could cast a Patronus, he couldn't know . . . and Professor McGonagall agrees, and I wanted to ask more in depth questions, but you can hardly form any decent theory on a subject group of only two. However, as they're the only Animagi that I know . . ." She paused and pursed her lips, "Well, that's not entirely true, I do know a beetle Animagus, but I'd rather not ever speak to her again, and I doubt she'd be willing to part with her secrets considering I'm still technically blackmailing her over the one that I'm aware of, and she's still likely very cross that I kept her in a jar for a few weeks, not that she didn't have it coming since she's a horrid—"

Regulus stared at her in awe. "You . . . you want me to help you with your homework?"

Hermione nodded, biting her lower lip. "If . . . if it's not too much trouble. It's just . . . Sirius and Professor McGonagall are staff members, and it feels a bit like cheating since they both teach Transfiguration. I thought about speaking to Severus, but frankly I wasn't in the mood for him lecturing me about silly wand waving . . . nevermind that a wand is completely unnecessary when undergoing Animagi training, and he's not even an Animagus himself. Still . . . he is proficient with a Patronus, but so is Professor Lupin and . . . and I'm prattling again, aren't I?"

Regulus smiled brightly. "Please, don't stop."

Hermione grinned and immediately pulled out a long roll of parchment and no less than three books covering both subjects, spreading them out across his bed, all opened to specific sections, each marked by a black and grey feather.

"I'm happy for you," Draco said, kissing the side of her head as she told everyone the following morning about how brilliant Regulus was, and that he'd helped her with her essay by offering insights from the perspective of someone who'd become an Animagus and struggled with the Patronus Charm. Then Regulus had watched for over twenty minutes as she'd showed him her otter over and over again, smiling with rapt attention as the spectral creature swam midair around the infirmary, pausing once to allow Hermione to send a message to Winston, requesting tea and biscuits.

"She still going on about her father?" Blaise asked as he sat down across from them. "Not that I mind. We're all thrilled for you, Hermione. There are, however, other things going on you know. For instance, I'm dating twins," he said and winked across the hall at Padma and Parvati Patil, who giggled as they made their way to the Ravenclaw table.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You remind me of my uncle sometimes."

Blaise shrugged. "What's that? A man irresistible to women and men alike?"

She nodded. "Something like that. I like to think of it more as a man who overcompensates with his sex life because he's a bit emotionally stunted. Take a page from Sirius's book, Blaise. Confront your fears. Embrace the idea of a loving committed relationship."

"And what? Shack up with a werewolf?"

"If that's your pleasure," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

Blaise scoffed. "I am not overcompensating for anything, sweetheart. I am moving on. No more chasing after Chasers," he said, casting a glance in Ginny's direction, then purposely ignoring her as she laughed into Neville's shoulder. "I'm happy as I am, thank you. Plus . . . twins!"

"Good on you, mate," Weasley said to Blaise as he sat down beside Hermione, Lovegood hanging onto his arm with a sweet smile as they joined the Slytherin table.

"I think it's lovely that Padma and Parvati are so good at sharing," Lovegood said serenely, and Draco nearly choked on his pumpkin juice.

"Nice catch last game, by the way," Blaise told Weasley. "I mean, it was Hufflepuff, but still."

Weasley nodded. "They've gotten better over the years. Still, doesn't surprise me that we came out ahead."

"Better hope that you got far enough ahead," Draco smirked. "Hufflepuff Seeker is rubbish, and when we play them in a month, I'm going to sit back on my broom and stare at the clouds for three or four hours, letting the points rack up before I steal the Snitch right out from under his nose. That Cup is mine this year."

"You wish, Malfoy."

Hermione sighed. "Sports and girls. I'm so glad that we've accomplished inter-House unity so that we could all participate in and enjoy these intellectually stimulating moments," she said sarcastically and then yelped when Draco pinched her side.

"Hermione," Daphne said as she sat down across from her friend, Theo at her side. "That bird of yours is a menace. I was just in the owlery trying to send a letter to my sister, and that bloody owl of yours attacked my head."

Hermione chuckled. "Sorry, Daph. I'm trying to break him of his hatred for blondes, I swear it."

"Ahem."

The table turned to see Potter standing there, holding onto Pansy's hand.

Everyone stared in silence for a good thirty seconds, watching as he began to sweat, before turning their attention back to their breakfast and speculation on how Gryffindor could get ahead in their next match against Ravenclaw.

"Our Beaters have opposing auras," Lovegood suggested. "You could use that against them. I know it would give an unfair advantage, but I have warned them repeatedly to start bathing in vinegar, and they haven't taken my advice."

"No one's going to say anything?" Potter asked.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "I told you this was a stupid idea, but you needed to go and make a big goddamned scene about it."

Weasley turned and cleared his throat, throwing his best friend a bone. "Oi!" he yelled, gesturing wildly to Potter and Pansy's clasped hands. "What the hell is this?!"

Immediately everyone broke out into laughter.

Chapter Text

April 1999

A full month passed, and Regulus was adjusting to life back on two feet.

Instead of staying with Hagrid once he'd left the infirmary, he opted to stay with Severus in the dungeons, offering apologies to the half-giant who shrugged it off and said he was actually a little relieved, as he'd been worried he would accidentally call Regulus "Beaky" and try to do something embarrassing like pet him or offer him a treat.

The old friends fell back into the comfortable shared space of the dungeons; having lived together for six years at Hogwarts made it a bit easier.

Regulus knew not to touch Severus' things, and Severus could relax in knowing that he didn't have to entertain Regulus, who was happy to fall into a comfortable armchair with a book rather than talk.

They did talk, though.

Severus, after being plied with a bit of firewhisky, confessed that in order to keep up appearances, he'd been particularly cruel to Hermione on a number of occasions.

Regulus asked if he treated her any worse than the other Gryffindors, and he'd admitted that no, Longbottom, Weasley, and Potter were usually his favourite intended targets. At the admission, Regulus frowned and told his friend that there were no apologies needed, at least not to him. He might, however, want to speak to someone about his temper and perhaps look into asking forgiveness for the children he did have a particular penchant for tormenting.

Severus told him about his life at Hogwarts, teaching, and how the Dark Lord had returned a few years ago, when Barty Crouch Jr—Regulus had been shocked that he'd survived Azkaban for more than a day—had succeeded in kidnapping an Auror, impersonating a professor, and tricking everyone for an entire school year.

"Have you written to Lucius or Narcissa?" Regulus asked one day, wondering what had become of his cousin and her husband as no one would tell him.

"No," Severus said with a tone that expressed his distaste in bringing up the subject of the Malfoys.

Over the weeks, Regulus adjusted to the presence of the many students and staff members who were eager to see him.

McGonagall, in particular, spent a great many afternoons inviting him to her office for a cup of tea and to discuss how to prevent future Hogwarts students from stealing books on Animagi training from the Restricted Section.

At least once a week, he left the dungeons to have a meal in the Great Hall, sitting usually between Severus and Sirius at the high table, making conversations with his brother and Remus, who had a familiar scar across his face.

"Did I do that to you?" Regulus asked. "I seem to remember confronting a werewolf that was chasing my daughter through the forest."

Remus had frowned and looked down in embarrassment. "Yeah, sorry about that."

Regulus shrugged it off. "She's safe now. Not your fault. I'd apologise for your face, but my brother seems to still fancy you." And he shrugged, leaving it at that.

Some afternoons he'd take a stroll down by the Black Lake and then sit beneath the old familiar beech tree, remembering when it was Marley, and not Hermione, sitting beside him rambling on and on about approaching exams.

"Professor Lupin isn't being hard enough on us," his daughter complained. "He's not the one administering the N.E.W.T. exam, and I'm positive that it's going to be absolutely awful. He's far too nice, and I'm blaming it all on Harry," she said, rubbing tired eyes because she hadn't been sleeping due to late night revision sessions.

He had to be told about her unhealthy study habits by both Harry and Draco when the two came to him for Seeker tips for upcoming games; Slytherin against Hufflepuff and Gryffindor against Ravenclaw.

Regulus found it amusing that he was actually rooting for both of the boys, though his own House alliance made him hope for a Slytherin victory. It wasn't as though Hermione enjoyed Quidditch anyway—breaking his heart.

He made it a point to promise her decent revision time with him, so long as it was outside, during normal daytime hours—leaving nights for sleeping, and that she would eat three square meals a day. She agreed and then proceeded to take up his entire day—much to his delight—when she wasn't in classes, asking his opinion on Gamp's Laws, his advice on whether or not showing her Patronus for her practical would be considered showing off, and whether or not Severus had ever shared his secrets to brewing Draught of Living Death, because she'd not paid attention to Harry during sixth year when he'd cheated from an old book.

He played along as well as he could, but when she started doubting her Defence skills, he laughed.

"Princess," he said with a smile. "You're going to get an Outstanding on that test."

She frowned. "I only got an 'E' on my O.W.L. for it, though."

He smiled at her. "So did your mother. Went a bit mental over it too," he said fondly. "And if it makes you feel any better, even if you do only get an 'E', I never even took my N.E.W.T.s."

It did not, in fact, make her feel better.

And Regulus regretted bringing it up.

She gaped at him in absolute horror, and then proclaimed loudly that no father of hers was going to walk around without a complete education, and she would demand—or ask very politely—that Professor McGonagall allow him to take the tests.

Regulus laughed at the absurd idea of taking his N.E.W.T.s twenty years too late, but couldn't do anything but go along with her idea . . . because she had referred to him as her father.

Regulus sat in the Slytherin common room, having been invited by Draco.

The other young snakes fled at the sight of him arriving, but he had a feeling it had more to do with Draco than him at that given moment. The boy clearly wanted a private audience.

It was . . . intriguing.

He sat down in a large armchair in front of the fireplace, and Draco stood there, still as a statue, head lowered ever so slightly. Only another Slytherin would have seen it as the contrite position that it was.

Regulus felt oddly like a King or, gods forbid, a Lord, preparing to bring down a sentence upon the boy whenever he managed to confess whatever sins he planned on admitting.

"I called her a Mudblood for years."

Ah. There it was.

"Why are you doing this, Draco?" Regulus asked, his brows furrowed in contemplation.

The boy sighed and ran a nervous hand through his hair, doing his best to keep eye contact with Regulus.

"I need . . ." he tried to say but then stopped, looking as though he was weighing his thoughts in the moment, perhaps regretting the invitation entirely.

Regulus, taking a grasp at Draco's thoughts, spoke first, "You have the approval of her Paterfamilias. Sirius agreed to let you court and marry her when you became official. I will not be ignoring that."

It had been slightly annoying, knowing that Hermione's future husband had been approved of by his brother instead of him, but after getting to know his daughter, he figured that approval of her love life wasn't something she outwardly sought.

Draco shook his head. "He was her Head of House at the time but . . . but you're her father. And you don't even know me well enough to know whether or not I'm good enough for her."

Regulus scoffed. "I know enough about you to say that you're not good enough for her," he admitted, figuring any father would say the same. "But that doesn't matter because no one would be. Still, she loves you, and that's what matters."

Draco swallowed hard. "I don't want secrets."

This wasn't just about approval. Draco was clearly burdened. Suddenly things were making more sense.

"You called her a Mudblood," Regulus said, provoking the boy to continue to lift the weight from his own shoulders. He couldn't help but wish that someone had been able to do the same for him when he was that age. Marlene tried but . . . she loved him too much. He knew that now.

The boy nodded his head and sighed, looking far too guilty for a wizard of his young age. Bearing the weight of his father's sins and his own. A former bully and a Death Eater, and not knowing how to repent for the simple actions of one when the other held so much more weight.

"She cried," Draco confessed. "A lot. And I hexed her in the halls. I . . . I wished her dead once. I was twelve, and there was a Basilisk, and she got petrified. When I found out, I . . . And I apparently tried to have her bloody father killed during third year."

Regulus almost laughed at that last one.

Hermione had told him the story in great detail. He'd been there of course, but couldn't trust his memory when it came to some events. He remembered attacking the boy, and Hagrid crying a great deal that year. He'd been pulled from the paddock to spend time in the pumpkin patch which was a nice change. And then there was a full moon, a werewolf, and he'd been flown to the West Tower where he was reunited with his brother and then they'd flown away together, on the run, flying and hiding and living in caves and feasting on rat carcasses and what little food Harry, Ron, and Hermione could sneak from the castle.

It had been news to hear that prior to helping to free his brother, Regulus had been sentenced to death thanks to Draco and his father.

"Are you sorry for that?" he asked.

Draco raised a brow. "Are you sorry for cutting up my arm?"

Regulus shrugged. "Not particularly," he admitted truthfully. "You were an arrogant little shit."

"Still am," the boy said with a self-deprecating laugh. Then his frown returned. "I'm working on it. My parents didn't know about Hermione, so they didn't know the contract existed and I was betrothed to another girl. Younger than me. I . . . I didn't want to marry her, and when the Dark L . . . when Voldemort told me . . . when I was Marked . . . I was told I had to kill Dumbledore."

"But Severus did it for you," Regulus said, finishing what he thought was Draco's ultimate confession. "I know all this. Severus told me."

"I slept with her. With Hermione," Draco blurted out and then—intelligently—took a step backward. "I was engaged to another girl, and I fell in love with your daughter and she's . . . she's the only one I ever—"

Regulus stood, his expression one of stone.

"You . . . are either very brave, or very stupid," he said, eyeing the boy with mild curiosity and a good mixture of severe annoyance. "Were you improperly sorted? Do you not understand self-preservation at all?"

Draco took a deep breath and stood his ground, though he did bow his head in respect, which caused Regulus to pause.

"Hippogriffs are proud and fiercely loyal," the boy said, "but only to people who have earned their trust. I haven't earned your trust, and frankly I'd like to get everything out in the open because I've been on the end of your talons once before, and I'd like to not repeat the experience. All secrets come out eventually, and I don't want to be thought of as someone who . . . I don't want to be a coward. As for being improperly sorted . . ." Draco paused, the corners of his mouth turning down.

Regulus knew the look. Shame. He decided to throw the kid a bone. "The hat tried putting me in Gryffindor."

Draco swallowed again and then very quietly, whispered, "Umm . . . Ravenclaw."

Regulus smiled. "Smart kid."

And he was.

Regulus respected intelligence, which made it difficult to stare at the boy who seemed to want either forgiveness or punishment, and know that he himself had no right or place to offer either. He was Hermione's father, yes, but she was a grown woman, and he hadn't raised her. Nor was he any better than Draco himself, considering he'd not even bothered meeting Marlene's parents before betrothing himself to her, impregnating her, and whisking her away in an elopement and selfishly hiding her away in a cottage.

"So you've come to let me absolve you of your sins?"

Draco neither confirmed nor denied. "Hermione forgives too easily."

Regulus nodded in agreement. Not once had his daughter screamed or yelled or even seemed even slightly upset with him for anything she'd gone through. It was his fault, his need to prove something, to himself, to his parents, to his brother . . . to Marlene . . . that got himself fake dead in the first place.

Perhaps if he'd just hidden away with Marlene, convinced her somehow to let Dumbledore and the Order work things out on their own, perhaps then he and Marley and Hermione would have been . . . No . . . regrets were in the past, and he had his daughter back. He couldn't stand to want anymore than that. He didn't deserve any more than that.

He had no place forgiving Draco.

There was nothing for him to forgive.

Still . . . the boy was practically prostrating himself at his feet, and Regulus wasn't completely misplaced by the Sorting Hat. This moment could prove very useful.

"What happened in the war?" he asked, taking a chance that he could use Draco's current guilt to get the answers he wanted.

Draco blinked. "Sir?"

"She has scars," Regulus clarified, catching the very subtle way that Draco flinched at the word. "Who gave them to her? No one will tell me, but I have a feeling you will. No secrets, yes?"

The boy looked down, breaking eye contact. "They're my fault."

"You cursed her?"

Draco shook his head. "I . . . I didn't stop it from happening. They . . . her, Potter, and Weasley were captured. Snatchers and Greyback, the werewolf."

Regulus breathed slow and deep at the name. "I knew of him."

"They brought them to the Manor, to Malfoy Manor. Father and Mother . . . we'd screwed up. Fallen out of favour with the Dark Lord, and he . . . he was angry with us. If we were the ones to bring him Potter, then . . . then he might have—"

Taking pity, Regulus sighed. "He would have found something else."

Draco nodded, seeming to accept the answer, though his guilt still obviously plagued him. "My father asked me to identify them. To verify that it was them before they called him, before they called Voldemort to come and kill Potter himself."

Regulus raised a brow in surprise. Not that Lucius let another fucking teenager do his dirty work, but that Harry and Hermione were both still alive after all of that.

"I wouldn't do it," Draco said, looking as though he was trying to feel proud of his actions, but couldn't quite get there. "I said that I wasn't certain who they were."

"You saved them."

Draco shook his head. "I really didn't. I could have but . . . but then Bellatrix—"

Regulus snapped to attention, grey eyes wide. "Bella? Bella was there?"

The boy nodded. "She's dead now. She . . . Severus killed her. Lestranges are dead as well."

"What did . . .?" Regulus began, pausing to take a slow breath as his fists clenched tightly at his sides. "What did Bella do to my daughter?"

Draco swallowed, finally seeing the trap that he'd fallen in; much too late to just crawl out. No, he'd need a rope now, and that could only be offered to him by the enraged man standing in front of him.

"She wanted information. Had Potter and Weasley locked in the cellar, and she kept Hermione to . . . to torture for information."

"Crucio?" Regulus whispered, horrified.

Draco nodded.

"How long?"

"I don't know, I . . . long," Draco said, looking down again, the memory of the day clearly flashing before his eyes.

Regulus was tempted to use Legilimency, but he wasn't certain he wanted to see that for himself. Knowing it happened was enough to make him ill.

"Hermione had glamoured herself a bit," Draco explained, "and Bellatrix knew it, so she . . . she dismantled the glamours but she broke through the magic and shattered Severus' glamour. Then she said she thought Hermione was mocking her by looking like—"

"The scar on her neck?" Regulus asked.

Draco nodded "Cursed dagger. I tried . . . I wanted to but—"

"Her arm?"

Draco frowned and took a very lengthy pause. "It says 'Mudblood'. I wanted to—"

Regulus shook his head and put a hand on Draco's shoulder. "You were only seventeen-years-old. Not expected to defy—"

"You did," Draco said. "I read your diaries too. I know what you did and why. You defied them all. Your parents and the Dark Lord and . . . but I didn't. I was a coward, and I let her get hurt."

"You were a boy, and Bellatrix Lestrange was a psychopath long before she ever stepped foot in Azkaban. Family meant nothing to her. She offered to murder Sirius as a gift to me. She would have killed you had you said anything. A seventeen-year-old boy is no match for a witch of her power. A grown wizard, on the other hand . . ."

A clear image began painting itself in his mind just before things started turning red.

"Sir?"

"I forgive you, Draco," Regulus said quickly and then made for the door. "If you'll excuse me, I need to speak with my brother."

Draco blinked, his eyes panicked at Regulus' sudden exit. "Sir? Regulus!"

Regulus stormed through the castle and out the large doors, schooling his expression when he spotted his brother and Remus taking a walk by the lake, falling into a predictable routine that Regulus was about to benefit from greatly.

He took a breath and did his best to calm himself as he approached the couple. "Sirius, Lupin. Beautiful afternoon isn't it? Lovely sunset."

Sirius grinned at his brother. "Didn't take you for a romantic, Reggie."

Regulus scoffed. If he only knew how worshipped Marlene had been. Then again, Sirius had confessed to reading the diaries as well, and was likely using this as an excuse to not bring them up.

"Never thought I needed to read you poems, Sirius," Regulus said, taking the bait with gratitude. "Care to walk with me? I haven't been able to see Hogsmeade yet, and I'd really like to see how the place has changed, but I . . . I don't want to go alone," he added, faking a look of anxiety and feeling only a little bad about it.

Sirius frowned at his expression, clearly taking the bait, but it was Remus who spoke up first. "We'd be happy to. Do you want to see if Hermione would like to join us?"

Regulus sighed.

Too easy, he thought. You'd think that after a goddamned war and spies and everything they'd been through that they would learn to look for signs of lying ,but no . . .

"No. I . . . I'd rather not. Just in case I can't handle it. I don't want her to see me . . . afraid."

Sirius nodded in understanding but then offered, "She's seen much worse, trust me."

Regulus tried not to react.

"I believe that," he said as they began walking, making their way down through the gates and against the brushing of the security and Anti-Disapparation wards around the school.

"How are you adjusting?" Remus asked.

Regulus nodded, scooting ever closer to his brother as he walked. "Quite well. It helps to have people to talk to. To catch me up with things that have happened in my . . . absence. It helps that the war is over and people that needed to die are dead. Voldemort for instance."

They both nodded in agreement.

"And Bellatrix," he added curiously, watching their faces as he spoke.

Remus deeply frowned, and Sirius outright growled, "Fucking bitch. Wish I could have killed her myself."

"I hear Severus got the privilege."

Sirius nodded. "I'll give it to him, he's got a good aim with a wand."

Regulus inwardly smiled, seeing his moment. On the outside, his frown deepened.

"Speaking of wands, I need to get a new one. Mother snapped mine. Could I . . .?" he said, looking at the chestnut wand in Sirius' holster on his arm, peeking out through the sleeve of his robes. He moved to touch but then withdrew his hand, looking ashamed for even thinking it. "I haven't held a wand in so long. I don't even know if I can still use magic. What if it's gone?"

Sirius frowned, his mouth falling open a bit. "Of course.! I didn't even think . . . We'll get you a new wand as soon as possible, Reg," he promised. "In the meantime," he said, pulling his wand from its holster, "here, take mine for a spin."

Regulus grinned as though it were Christmas.

"Don't mind if I do," he said with a shy chuckle and took Sirius' wand, flicking it once to cast an easy Lumos and then genuinely smiling at the feel of magic, pure magic, radiating through the bit of wood and back through his fingers, penetrating his very soul. Nothing had changed. His magic was just as strong as ever. Maybe even a little more considering it had been pent up for over a decade. That could be helpful.

"Can I ask a question, Sirius? No one will tell me what happened to Lucius. Is he in Azkaban? I'm worried about Narcissa."

Sirius scoffed. "Don't worry about those two. That fucker slipped out of Azkaban somehow, but his wand was taken; hers too. They're stuck at that old stuffy Manor under house arrest. Not allowed to do a single bit of magic."

Regulus looked up, ignoring Remus who had stopped walking toward Hogsmeade, his eyes staring at him with obvious suspicion.

"You've been to see them?" Regulus asked.

Sirius nodded. "Yeah, Snape and I accompanied Hermione over there for Christmas. Cissy wanted to get to know her future daughter-in-law and since she couldn't leave the Manor—"

"Severus went with you?" Regulus questioned, interrupting his brother. "So the wards aren't set up against Death Eaters or—"

Sirius shook his head. "No, we got in just fine—"

Remus took a cautious step forward, slowly reaching for his own wand. "Regulus?"

Regulus smiled. "Thank you, big brother," he said to Sirius with a genuine smile of appreciation. "Thank you for telling me everything I need to know. And . . . and I'm sorry."

Then, with Sirius' wand gripped tight in hand, he thought of Malfoy Manor and Disapparated away.

Sirius' eyes flew wide open. "What . . . Reggie! What the fuck?!"

Out of breath and gasping, Hermione and Draco ran down the road to Hogsmeade, having been directed there by a few third years who had seen Professors Black and Lupin and Hermione's father head out through the gates.

"Sirius!" Hermione called out to her uncle. "Where's Regulus?"

He spun on his niece. "He just fucking . . . That little shit! He Disapparated! Did he actually . . .? That little fucker stole my wand!"

Remus sighed. "Technically you gave it to him."

"What the fuck?! Where'd he go?"

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit," Draco mumbled in a panic. "We need to leave. I have to get home to Mother and Father. He knows. I'm so sorry, but . . . I told him. I told him what happened at the Manor."

Hermione gasped, eyes wide. "He's going to kill Lucius."

Chapter Text

April 1999

Malfoy Manor hadn't changed much. Not even the wards, which was a damn bit of luck for Regulus as he stormed right through the gates and kicked open the front door with a bit of magic.

His inner Slytherin was reminding him to take a moment, to think about his actions, his surroundings, and react appropriately. But then again . . . he had almost been sorted into Gryffindor.

Reckless felt pretty fucking good right then, and he didn't have time to think of the repercussions of his actions.

At the sound of the front door slamming shut behind him, a tall, blond wizard stormed into the foyer.

Regulus grinned darkly at the sight of Lucius, actually finding himself a bit thrilled to see how terrible the man looked.

At the sight of Regulus, Lucius' already pale face lost its remaining colour. Clearly no one had sent word to the Malfoys about his return from the supposed grave.

"Regulus," Lucius said in barely a whisper.

Regulus growled and stalked forward, Sirius' wand gripped in hand. "Lucius."

The blond glanced down at the glass of liquor in his hand, eyes wide. He swallowed and then actually threw the drink into the nearby burning fireplace, watching as the flames burned bright for a split second as the fire drank up all the firewhisky before returning to a dull glowing red.

He looked back up as though he expected to suddenly be a touch more sober and Regulus would have faded.

"You're . . . you're alive," he said in shock when he realised that Regulus was not a vision, not some hallucination caused by drinking.

Regulus scoffed. "Astute observation."

"How?"

"I think I'll keep my secrets to myself thank you," Regulus said with a sneer. "If I've heard correctly, you're all too willing to sell anyone out, so long as it gives you a leg up."

Lucius narrowed his eyes. "Heard that from your blood-traitor brother, did you?"

"No," Regulus said with a grin. "Your son."

Lucius swallowed and tried to school his expression to one of indifference, but failed terribly in the attempt. "You've spoken with Draco."

Regulus nodded, still moving closer. "Nice boy. Takes after his mother. He's very eager to prove his worth to me. See, he happens to be in love with my daughter. You've met my daughter, yes?" he asked and his eyes blazed as he glared up at the man who had once been a friend.

Lucius, smart man that he was, looked afraid. "Regulus—"

"About this tall," Regulus said, interrupting Lucius to raise his hand—wand still in grip—up to Hermione's height, "black hair like mine . . . wasn't black for a long time, for her own safety. Magnificent glamour Severus did. Shame it was broken the way it was. But I've been told that you know exactly how that happened."

"Regulus—" Lucius tried to step closer only to have the pointed end of a wand shoved under his jaw.

"In this very house, in fact," Regulus continued, speaking with an eerie calm. "Did the Dark Lord have his own room somewhere upstairs? The Master bedroom, I'd figure, considering everyone else in the world—this house specifically—were his personal slaves. Tell me, did Bella sleep in his bed even when he wasn't here? Is that where she stayed when she was here, with you, with all of you last year?"

Lucius swallowed, raising his hands. "Regulus . . . I don't have a wand."

"Yes, well . . . at the time neither did Hermione," he said, digging the wand against Lucius' throat further. "I named her myself, you know. After the daughter born to the most beautiful woman in the world. Helen of Troy. You know the story, do you not? Beloved Helen, a thousand ships sailed, many lives lost. A great war. Do you know about Hermione's father, Menelaus? He was King of Sparta. I always liked that title . . . King. I remember a Lord once offered me a throne to sit upon."

"A throne you turned down," Lucius pointed out.

"I did," Regulus said, nodding his head thoughtfully as he took several steps forward, forcing Lucius to stumble back. "I found I'd rather have a sword in my hand than an arse on a seat. Now, Menelaus was similar, a warrior. In fact, when a man tried to steal his wife out from under him, he nearly beat him to death and only the Gods spared the man. Could you imagine what he would have done had it been his daughter? His only daughter? Are you a praying man, Malfoy?"

Lucius closed his eyes as though he were thinking about praying right then. "You would harm an unarmed man?"

Regulus let out a barking laugh. "You're joking, right?" he asked with another laugh as though they were telling old stories of their youth like reunited friends.

Lucius opened his eyes and began looking around the room as though there were a way out.

"I've murdered unarmed Muggles here in this very house because a psychopath non-too subtly threatened my family. I killed Muggles, blood-traitors, Muggleborns and fucking children that you were too cowardly to even look at," Regulus said, his voice still low and calm but growing colder in tone with every word that left his lips, "leaving me to clean up the mess merely because I was the lesser of two still very fucked up evils.

"Regulus . . ."

"Evil, Lucius. He made us all evil," he continued, voice dropping to a whisper. "Voldemort made—" And he paused when Lucius flinched. "The name? Still? Despite him being dead you flinch at a stupid name, you fucking—WHERE!?"

Regulus finally snapped, gripping the back of Lucius' head, a fistful of blond hair in one hand that shoved the other man forward after spinning him around. He pressed Sirius' wand to the back of Lucius' head as he shoved him down a long stretch of hallway.

"Show me where my daughter bled out on your floors. Show me the exact spot where you stood and watched while an innocent little girl—"

"It was war!" Lucius shouted as he was forcefully led through his own home under threat, "and we thought she was a Mud—"

"Innocent girl!" Regulus snapped, pulling the wand away briefly to punch Lucius in the side of his head. "Blood status doesn't mean anything, you stupid, stupid fuck!"

The noise had echoed throughout the Manor, and Narcissa stepped into the hall, a terrified expression on her face. At the sight of the man assaulting her husband, her eyes filled with tears.

"Regulus. Regulus you're alive."

Pausing only a moment in his attack, Regulus smiled at his cousin. "Cissy, you're as beautiful as you ever were. But if you'll excuse me, I was just having a chat with your husband."

He turned his attention back to Lucius as the pair entered a large room that was magically sealed off.

Regulus broke down the wards with a swift flick of the wand and stepped inside, looking around as he spoke, "I don't care for your excuses, Lucius. My daughter was tortured, broken, and carved under your watch while you tried to get your own son to betray her."

Throwing Lucius into a wall, Regulus scanned the room, remembering that this was the place where he'd taken the Mark. Where he'd made his first kill. The chandelier was missing, and it seemed that the floors had been stripped, but this was the place. It reeked of Dark magic.

"Don't talk to me about betrayal, Regulus!" Lucius angrily hissed. "We were brothers, and you abandoned us all!"

Regulus turned back and pulled up the sleeve of his robe to point at the faded Dark Mark on his skin. "This? This mark? This didn't make us brothers. The love I knew you had for your wife made us brothers. Being Slytherin made us brothers. Lucius, this," he said and beat a fist against his chest, just over his heart, "made us brothers! And you betrayed it and me! I gave you Narcissa with my blessing under the conditions that you were to care for her, and instead you allow that monster to remain in your house, enslave your family, and brand your son. I'm fairly certain I could figure out a loophole that would make taking Narcissa back perfectly legal. Maybe if you just up and died—"

"Regulus, no!" Narcissa pleaded.

Lucius growled as he was forced to his knees by the wand in Regulus' hand. "You wouldn't dare."

Regulus took a long moment and stared, uncaring into the eyes of his former friend, his mentor. He slowly shook his head, agreeing with the man. "No. Because despite being the Death Eater that you were, Narcissa loves you. Just as my wife loved me despite my sins."

"Reggie!" Sirius shouted, suddenly appearing in the doorway of the drawing room next to Narcissa with Severus, Remus, Hermione, and Draco in tow.

Regulus swished the wand quickly, blocking their entrance. "Go away, Sirius, I'm quite busy."

Sirius snarled. "He's warded the fucking room! With my own wand!"

"Regulus, stop!" Draco shouted. "You don't want to do this! I know . . . I've wanted to hurt him for what happened to Hermione but . . . but Bellatrix is dead, and harming an unarmed wizard will only—"

"Make me feel very . . . very . . . pleased," Regulus said, glaring down at the man before him.

"How the hell are these wards so intricate?" Sirius shouted. "He hasn't held a wand in seventeen years!"'

"I've enough blood on my hands, so I won't kill you," Regulus told Lucius quietly. "But I was always a dab hand at a good Crucio, wasn't I? You should know. You taught me."

He grit his teeth and aimed the wand.

"Papa, no!" Hermione screamed.

Regulus pulled the wand away instantly at the sound of his daughter's cry, his face softening.

After a slow breath, he leant forward, whispering in Lucius' ear. "Do you hear that, Lucius? That is the sound of a Muggle-raised blood-traitor . . . your angel of mercy."

He pushed himself away from Lucius and dropped the wards of the room. He tossed Sirius his wand and watched as Narcissa rushed inside, wrapping her arms around her husband, sobbing with relief.

Regulus closed his eyes remembering how Marlene used to do the same when he'd return, beaten and bloodied after revels.

"You should thank the gods that the Muggles who raised Hermione instilled in her a sense of compassion," Regulus said over his shoulder to Lucius. "She didn't get that from me."

He walked through the group at the door, not looking at any of them, strong emotions long buried trying to crawl their way out of his throat. He wanted more than anything to disappear behind the Animagus consciousness and forget it all, but he was honestly afraid to shift in such a stressful circumstance, the worry of ending up stuck again lingering in the back of his mind.

He was pulled from his thoughts when a small hand took his own.

"You have to forgive him," Hermione whispered.

He looked down at his daughter, unshed tears in his eyes. His attention was drawn first to the scar on her neck and then the other on her arm. He pulled her quickly against him, resting his cheek on her head as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Have you?" he whispered.

"I'm working on it."

Regulus sighed, feeling a sense of relief pour over him. She'd called him Papa. She was hugging him. She was there and alive and safe and in his arms.

"You let me know when you have, I'll see what I can do," he promised.

"You're a hypocrite," Lucius spat.

Narcissa glowered down at her husband. "Lucius, be quiet."

"No!" he snapped. "He acts as though I forced his hand. As though he is any better than I am. We were all Death Eaters, one in the same."

Draco stepped between Lucius and Regulus before another fight broke out, this time without wands, a fight Regulus was certain to win. "Not the same, Father. I can only hope that you learn the difference."

Lucius sneered at his own son, looking betrayed. "And how are you three any different from me?" he angrily asked, flicking his hand toward Regulus, Severus, and Draco.

"Remorse," Severus replied with a bitter tone.

"Regret," Regulus said softly as he held onto his daughter.

Draco stared at his own father, tilting his chin up and holding himself tall. "Repentance."

Lucius stood in silence at their words and watched as the group turned to leave Malfoy Manor.

"Come on, Papa, let's go home," Hermione said, keeping an arm around him as they walked toward the front door to Disapparate.

He shook his head. "No. I'd . . . I'd like to see Marley's grave."

Sirius, Remus, Severus, and Draco had all returned to Hogwarts after making sure that both Narcissa and Lucius weren't injured.

Hermione, meanwhile, Apparated her father to Godric's Hollow, to the cemetery where Harry had placed a headstone next to his own parents, for hers.

"It's beautiful," Regulus whispered, running his finger over the engraving of Marlene's name. "She would have liked this. She loved Lily and James Potter. They were good friends of hers. I think . . . Marley would have liked to have her name here beside them."

Hermione frowned. "I wish she had kept diaries too. It was easier, learning to know you, to . . . to love you . . . because I had your words. But—"

"I'll tell you about her," Regulus promised. "You can have as many of my memories for a Pensieve if you'd like as well. You'll know her. I won't let you forget your mother."

Hermione smiled and hugged him close.

Wiping tears from his eyes, Regulus cleared his throat. "You must thank young Mister Potter for me."

"Call him Harry."

He nodded and then remembered her words at Malfoy Manor. "Will you . . . will you continue to call—"

"You're my father," Hermione said firmly and smiled when Regulus relaxed against her. "Should I remove your name from the headstone, Papa?"

"No." He shook his head. "Remove the date of death. When I eventually die, I want to be brought here. I know she's not actually buried here, but I want to be with her in spirit. This will be my final resting place. It's beautiful."

June 1999

Graduation was a calm affair.

So close to the anniversary of the final battle, few felt like celebrating with wild abandon. Instead, they'd all worked through their final exams, spent the rest of the school year lounging by the lake and laughing, enjoying one another's company—though Hermione and Draco did make use of the Room of Requirement once or twice—and then planned for their eventual departure.

Regulus welcomed his daughter, his graduate, with open arms as she approached him leaning up against the gate that surrounded Hagrid's pumpkin patch, a place he'd enjoyed visiting from time to time, reminiscing about a strange life with the half-giant.

"Seven N.E.W.T.s!" Regulus said with a grin and kissed her forehead. "I could not be prouder."

"What if I'd gotten eight?" Hermione questioned.

He rolled his eyes. "Well, yes, of course then."

"She would have had another mental breakdown if she'd had to revise for eight," Harry said as he approached the pair, a grin on his face.

"Hush up, Harry."

The boy laughed and then looked back at the lingering crowd spread out over the grounds. "I have to go and meet Pansy's parents," he said with a heavy sigh. "I'll see you on the boats to go back across, right, Hermione?"

She nodded. "I'll be there."

"Regulus," Harry said, shaking the man's hand, "you're coming to the Burrow for the party?"

"I'll be there."

Regulus and Hermione watched as Harry walked away, only to get caught up in a large hug from Sirius before making his way toward the stiff-looking couple standing near his no-longer-secret girlfriend.

"What happens after?" Hermione questioned as she and her father walked down toward the lake, smiling as they saw Hagrid preparing the boats for the graduating students to sail back across toward Hogsmeade station.

"Severus has decided to retire from teaching, and he's coming back with me to Grimmauld Place," Regulus told her. "Sirius is going to stay here at Hogwarts with Lupin, even if McGonagall sees reason and finds a decent Transfiguration instructor," he added and they shared a good chuckle. "He hates the old house, and I'd like to try and fix it up. Plus, I'd like to see Kreacher."

Hermione smiled. "He'll be so happy."

He turned and looked at her. "And are you coming home with me?"

She paused and bit her lower lip nervously. "Severus actually gave me Iliad Cottage. Me and Draco," she said as Draco approached, looking a bit uneasy.

"I won't . . . umm . . . I won't be going with you," Draco said.

Hermione's mouth fell open, and she let go of her father to reach out for Draco's hands. "What? Why not?"

"What were you planning on doing after Hogwarts, Hermione?" he asked.

"I was . . . well I've actually been offered an Apprenticeship with Professor McGonagall. Blacks are naturally talented at transfiguration," she said, and Regulus chuckled. "But she said I didn't have to live at Hogwarts, and that I could have the Floo at Iliad Cottage connected to the school and—"

Draco let out a heavy breath. "I suppose I could just live off . . . and Apparate if there's an official . . ."

"Draco, what's going on?"

He swallowed hard and then whispered. "I got in."

"Got in where?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise," he said and handed her an envelope that he'd stashed in the pocket of his robes. "I wanted to know what to do with my money and the businesses that are connected to my family. But I don't trust Lucius, and I don't know what I'm doing. So I asked Severus what he thought. He and I have been working on getting the paperwork for it over the last year . . . and I got in."

Hermione's eyes widened as she stared at the letter that she'd pulled from the envelope.

"Draco? Draco this is a Muggle University! You got in!" she squealed with shocked delight and threw herself into his arms, wrapping her own around his neck in excitement. "I'm so proud of you!"

Draco breathed a sigh of relief and then looked over Hermione's shoulder at Regulus, who was grinning at him.

"Congratulations, son," he said. "Your . . . mother will be very proud of you."

Draco nodded, rolling his eyes a touch at the specification. "Thanks. She is," he clarified. "I got an owl from her this afternoon."

Regulus nodded and then kissed Hermione on the top of her head before stepping away to go find Severus, allowing the young couple a moment alone to enjoy the last few minutes of their time at Hogwarts.

Hermione pulled away from Draco and looked up into his silver eyes. "And your father?" she asked with a nervous tone.

Draco smirked. "He is so very pissed off," he said, and Hermione laughed.

They walked, hand in hand, along the lake, every so often looking over at the crowd where their friends were celebrating with one another and the families that had come to offer congratulations.

Daphne was perched on Theo's back as he carried her from group to group to greet friends and families. Daphne's parents and younger sister, Astoria, were smiling at the couple.

Ron and Luna were speaking to Xeno Lovegood, while Ginny and Neville were attempting to sneak away from their feuding mother and grandmother, likely arguing about the details of their children's relationship and a potential betrothal contract that Augusta Longbottom would insist upon, regardless of Mrs Weasley's refusal.

Blaise—poor Blaise—was being yelled at by both Patil twins over something that Hermione and Draco couldn't make out, but two slaps across the face indicated that the relationship was certainly over.

Harry seemed to be doing better, hand in hand with Pansy as he was introduced to her parents, Sirius and Remus lingering not far behind.

Hermione took a deep breath and leant her head against Draco's shoulder. "Start of our lives."

Draco nodded, gently touching the pearl necklace she never took off. "Big start. Lots of changes." Then, with a teasing grin, he asked, "You want to marry me?"

Hermione stopped walking and pulled away from him, her eyes wide as she stared at his smug face. She paused and looked at his hands, noticing a lack of any small box, not entirely knowing how she felt about it.

"Are you actually asking?"

Chapter Text

2012

"You look beautiful, Hermione," Ginny said with a smile as she adjusted the silver comb in Hermione's hair, holding the shiny black locks in place. "It's not a traditional dress, but then again, there's not much about this wedding that's traditional."

Hermione laughed. "Draco and I insisted. I don't care what anyone says, pureblood traditions are all outdated sexist things. Did you know some of the centerpieces were supposed to include eggs?"

"Eggs?" Ginny laughed.

Hermione nodded. "Eggs. Some fertility thing."

"Merlin, help us," Ginny said, eyes wide. "Not like any of us need help with that," she added and rubbed her distended stomach. "Your godson, by the way, is a right monster."

"He's half Weasley," Hermione said with a grin. "You're likely to have another Fred or George cooking in there."

She looked in the mirror to adjust her mother's pearls while securing her ruby earrings; birthday gifts from Draco the year before.

"He's also half Longbottom. I was hoping for a nice quiet pregnancy, thank you," Ginny insisted. "You ready? Wedding of the century, up ahead."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Should be interesting."

She made her way down the long aisle, her eyes instantly searching out Draco at the other end, smiling up at her as he stood next to Harry, Ron, and Sirius.

When she reached the end, Draco held his hand out to her and kissed her cheek, muttering, "You're gorgeous," before passing her off to stand next to her friends and uncle, turning to walk to the other side of the aisle to stand opposite the collected Gryffindors.

Sirius leant in and whispered. "You sure you don't want a big wedding for yourself?"

Hermione snorted. "I'm having a hard enough time with people looking at me right now. I'd prefer to not be the centre of attention, thank you."

"Welcome to my life," Harry mumbled and wiped the nervous sweat from his brow as the audience all stood when the bride appeared at the far end of the aisle, her dark hair pinned up with a mixture of silver and gold pins, looking down at Harry with a teasing grin. "No one tell Pansy, but instead of taking a Portkey to our honeymoon, we're flying on a Muggle aeroplane."

Ron laughed. "She's going to kill you, mate," he said, watching as Pansy readied herself to walk down the aisle, adjusting her father's dress robes and tie.

Harry shrugged. "She'll be my wife by that point," he said with a chuckle.

Daphne reached the end of the aisle to join Draco on Pansy's side—a wizard as an extra bridesmaid because Pansy thought herself very clever; then again, Hermione stood with Harry.

Daphne smiled as her and Theo's seven-year-old daughter, Thessaly, followed behind, tossing rose petals in her wake.

Behind Thessaly walked two boys, one taking precise steps in tune with the music, carrying the rings on a small pillow with such care it seemed as though they had been secured with a Sticking Charm—just in case. He stopped, only once, to blow the black strands of hair that had fallen in his eyes, and to look up at his father and grin.

Draco smirked back at the boy and then gestured for him to turn around. When he did, the boy sighed in irritation and rolled his eyes at his little brother, who was stopping to pick up the rose petals that Thessaly had dropped.

"Canis," he hissed at his younger, blonder counterpart, who didn't look up at the call of his name. Eventually, the black-haired boy huffed, stomped his foot and turned around to march down to the end of the aisle, thrusting the pillow up at Draco.

"Pst," Sirius said and crooked his finger, motioning the boy over. "C'mere, Al."

The boy sighed and looked down as he marched toward his great-uncle Sirius, purposely avoiding the looks that both Hermione and Draco were giving him for throwing a fit at his aunt and uncle's wedding.

"What do we say about little brothers?" Sirius quietly asked.

Al sighed dramatically. "They never get left behind," he muttered, adding an, "I know, I know," before walking back down the aisle, offering Pansy an apologetic look before reaching out for his little brother.

Embarrassed, Canis had crawled into his grandfather's lap as he sat beside Severus and Narciss. Lucius had remained behind at the Manor, still not entirely comfortable venturing out into public without the ability to carry a wand.

"Go with your brother, it's okay," Regulus said with a smile to little Canis, who had buried his face in his dress robes, tiny rose petals still clutched in hand.

The two boys eventually continued their march down the aisle, hand in hand this time. Young Alphard moved to stand beside Draco, adjusting his robes and taking a moment to readjust the rings on his pillow as his father handed it back to him, making sure they were adequately attached and precisely positioned. He took only a small moment to observe the runes that had been carved into the rings with great detail.

Draco sighed and looked up at Hermione and mouthed, "Ravenclaw," at her, gesturing to their eldest son.

She nodded and held back a chuckle as little Canis pressed a few rose petals into her hand, and then proceeded to offer one to Harry, Ron, Sirius, and then ran to the other side to give the rest to his father, Alphard, Thessaly, and Daphne.

The audience all quietly laughed at the scene, and Hermione smiled, looking up at Draco and mouthed, "Hufflepuff."

He shrugged and then nodded, acknowledging the very, very obvious.

Pansy and Harry exchanged vows they'd written themselves, smiling happily as their friends and family stood with them in support.

Hermione and Draco had been pestered for years, starting immediately after graduation, as to when they'd be planning their inevitable wedding. Excuses came and went as one by one—or pair by pair as it was—each of their friends took their own trips down the aisle.

First Ron to Luna, followed by Daphne and Theo shortly after leaving Hogwarts. Two years after that, Ginny and Neville made the trip, and even Blaise had settled down with a Muggle he'd met at a coffee shop who always gave him an extra shot of vanilla in his daily latte.

Hermione and Draco initially said that they didn't want to rush. Too much needed to take precedence, first and foremost, the restoration of Regulus as the Head of House Black. Sirius gave up the title and then celebrated.

Their next excuse was that they wanted to wait for Draco to graduate from University, followed by Hermione receiving her Mastery in Transfiguration. Her article on the Animagus and Patronus affiliations was well received in multiple magical publications as she'd eventually achieved a full Animagus form of her own—still a kneazle—but had managed to keep her otter Patronus.

An otter Patronus that Draco shared once he'd finally been able to accurately perform the charm.

Babies started coming after that, and it gave a decent excuse for Hermione and Draco to hold off on a wedding. None of her potential bridesmaids wanted to be pregnant at the ceremony.

When Hermione got pregnant herself with Alphard, Lucius demanded that the pair do the right thing by getting married before the new Malfoy heir was born.

Hermione and Draco defiantly refused and then, just to drive the point home that the world had changed, they gave their firstborn son, the Malfoy heir, the middle name "Granger".

Lucius had made slow steps toward adjusting to the new world, but having his firstborn grandson named after a Muggle was a step too far. He and Draco had gotten into their now yearly argument over it, and Draco gave his father the ultimatum: adapt to the new world, or he would do something utterly Mugglish with the Malfoy fortune, for which he was still in charge of.

Lucius had called his bluff.

He really shouldn't have.

The home for war orphans and the primary school for Muggle-born children were both built and fully funded within six months, and the Malfoy scholarships for Muggle-born wizards and witches was established two months after that.

Lucius never spoke another word about it.

When Canis Severus came along two years later, born with hair as white-blond as his father, Draco and Hermione fulfilled the promise of the Blood Magic they were tied to, that said both families would continue through their union, and their second son became a Black instead of a Malfoy.

But just in case the magical contract was still at work, they eloped one weekend with Regulus and Narcissa as witnesses, and never said a word about it to another living soul. They didn't need a paper to tell them what they were to one another.

"It'll be confusing to have two sons with different last names," Lucius insisted when Canis was born, but Hermione and Draco laughed and assured him that somehow, the boys would remember that they were brothers, belonging to the same parents; the same family.

Canis' last name was less of an issue for everyone else, but Severus threw an absolute fit at the idea of any child being named after him. They'd settled on a middle name which kept him annoyed but silent, until Harry suggested that he would name his own child after the man, finding it amusing to provoke his old Potions Professor.

More years passed, and when Harry and Pansy announced their engagement, Lucius quietly sat Draco and Hermione down and asked when they were going to fulfill the Blood Magic created contract between the pair.

The two had smiled politely. And because he didn't want to give Lucius a reason to think he'd won anything, Draco had taken Hermione's hand in his and said, "Fuck the contract."

After Harry and Pansy's wedding, the family returned to Grimmauld Place where Narcissa had long since taken over, insisting that if Regulus and Severus refused to remarry—or marry in the first place in Severus' case—then she would have to do all their decorating for them.

Previously black and grey walls were painted over cream with hunter green accents throughout the house. Walburga Black's portrait was removed—after three years, six specially hired Curse-Breakers, a case of firewhisky and both Black brothers drinking themselves unconscious in celebration.

The family tapestry also, thanks to Regulus and Hermione's diligent charm work—though they were both much more talented at transfiguration—was repaired, returning Sirius and Andromeda to their rightful places.

Hermione smiled, standing in front of the old tapestry, doing her best to ignore her two boys who were chasing one another from room to room, giggling as they were followed by an old black dog nipping at their heels.

She stepped forward, touching her hand to the beautiful black stitching, connecting her name to those of her children and Draco, to her father and mother, as well as her Muggle parents, who had been a personal addition to the tapestry by Regulus himself; a gift for Hermione's twentieth birthday.

Sirius and Remus were there, connected to one another on the tapestry and linked to the Muggle-born son they had adopted four years earlier, who they named James.