𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬 // 𝐉𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐮𝐬

Chapter Fifty-Two

PART I REGULUS

War is a strange thing. It bends the rules of normal life. Of normal morality. Warps everything to revolve around it. It had never occurred to Regulus that a body could be used as a weapon. He had somewhat assumed that, as a society, they were all agreed that certain things were sacred.

He was wrong.

The Ministry refuses to return the bodies of the dead Death Eaters to their families without a comprehensive list of names detailing everyone who was part of the attempted coup. No one, of course, agrees to supply such a list and so dozens of bodies go unclaimed. Unburied. Unmourned.

And Evan Rosier is one of them.

His mother waits a week before she decides to have a funeral anyway. Dozens of people dressing in black and attending the Rosier home where a large portrait of Evan is suspended in the middle of the living room, winking and smirking at everyone who walks by. Regulus finds it hard to breathe every time he sees it. Doing his best to avoid it all together.

Somehow he ends up on the stairs with Barty, passing a flask of firewhisky back and forth. They don't talk. There isn't anything to say. There have been speeches all day, from family members, friends. Neither Regulus nor Barty get up. Regulus has no desire to showcase his grief. Besides, he barely recognizes the Evan everyone else is talking about—the perfect son, perfect student, perfect friend—Regulus loved Evan. He really did. But "perfect" is not the word he would use to describe him.

Mrs. Rosier had pleaded with Regulus to tell her about her son's last moments. And so he had, hands shaking in his lap the whole time. He had told her about how well Evan had fought, how he'd saved Regulus, how brave (not idiotic, or delusional, or selfish) he had been to take on Alastor Moody. How he'd almost won. How he'd died quickly and peacefully—though he isn't entirely sure that last one is true. Nothing about that moment had felt peaceful to Regulus.

He did not tell her that he held Evan in his arms. That he let him go. Left him behind.

The thing that hurts most. Well, besides all of it. Is that he doesn't think that Evan would have done it. Left him behind, that is. He never had before.

He's passing the flask silently back to Barty when Cerci appears. He'd lost her sometime after they made it through the line of people offering condolences. He's said "I'm sorry for your loss" so many times today he's not sure he knows what the words mean anymore.

"How're you two holding up?" she asks, her eyes soft, running them over. He isn't sure what they look like. Probably pathetic. He feels pathetic.

Barty holds up his hand, palm down, and wiggles it. Cerci gives him a small smile.

"Fair enough. Why don't we get out of here huh? Go get some food? My treat."

"There's food here," Barty says, though he doesn't even sound like he's making an argument, more just stating a fact.

"Yeah, but I feel like you two could benefit from maybe not being here anymore."

Barty makes a noise that might be a laugh or a scoff, Regulus can't tell. Cerci's eyes finding him, asking a question.

"Reg?"

He holds her gaze for a moment before looking over at the doorway to the living room, just the edge of Evan's portrait visible.

"Yeah," he says finally, voice rough. "Yeah lets go."

He isn't paying attention to where Cerci is taking them, doesn't think Barty is either, the pair of them asleep on their feet. Death is one of those things—you have nothing to compare it to—which makes it very difficult to hold. Evan is dead.

He's dead.

He's dead.

He's dead.

Regulus knows that. Knew it the moment it happened. Saw the empty look in his friend's eyes. But he still...can't quite...grasp what it means.

It's not until Cerci is shoving him into a leather booth after Barty that Regulus realizes they've ended up at the Leaky Cauldron. It's empty mostly, people don't go out much these days, it's not safe.

Because of you, hisses the voice in his head.

He smothers it the best he can. He can only handle so much guilt at once.

"What can I get you folks?"

Regulus blinks up at the overly chipper witch who has just arrived at their table. She smiles at them, pad of paper and QuickQuotes Quill floating beside her head.

"Whisky," Barty says, voice flat. He's leaning back against the booth, expression as blank as his tone, "lots of it."

The waitress's smile slips, replaced by confusion—she looks like she's trying to figure out whether or not to take him seriously.

"Just bring us the bottle," Regulus says, satisfied when he sees the quill finally move.

"Also a pitcher of water please," Cerci cuts in. "And three burgers with chips."

When the waitress turns towards her, her face lights up. "Oh my god, Cerci! I didn't even see you there, how are you?"

Cerci's face goes red instantly. "I'm—I'm good—great—well," she looks quickly at Barty and Regulus and then back at the waitress. "Not great, obviously—just came from a funeral, so, bit sad actually, but also, also...great right now, well, here, cause chips and...you or...stuff," all of that comes out more or less on the strength of a single breath, leaving Cerci looking rather deflated at the end of it, and panting ever so slightly.

"Oh," the waitress clearly does not know what to do with any of that. "Well I'm sorry to hear about the funeral..." there is a very awkward pause. "I'll just go get your order shall I? Bottle of whisky, water and three burgers, coming right up," she offers them a slightly less confident smile than the one she was originally wearing, quickly turning away, clearly glad to escape their table.

"Come here often?" Barty asks flatly.

Cerci rolls her eyes. "It's the Leaky, everyone comes here often."

Which Regulus doesn't think is exactly true—none of the waitresses know his name—but he's not about to bring that up.

Cerci is staring into the restaurant with an almost longing look on her face, teeth worrying her bottom lip. "I hope she doesn't forget the chips. Do you think she will? She didn't mention them at the end but maybe she was just shortening "burgers and chips" to "burgers", y'know? To save time?" she looks across the table at Regulus. "What do you think?"

Regulus blinks back at her. "I think it's probably fine."

Cerci nods but doesn't look at all convinced, nails tapping on the tabletop. "You know what?" she declares after a few seconds. "I'm just going to go check—can't have a burger without chips."

"Apparently," Regulus watches her get up and head towards the bar. In her absence a more obvious silence settles around him and Barty. It's thick and stagnant and uncomfortable.

"It doesn't work without him does it?" Barty asks, not looking at Regulus when he speaks but staring vaguely off into the distance.

"What doesn't work?" Regulus asks, even though, of course, he knows.

Barty replies by lifting his hand and swirling it between them.

"No," Regulus agrees after a brief pause, "No it doesn't."

Barty just nods. "He was an annoying prick," which makes Regulus snort. "But I think he was also kind of my favourite person, you know?"

"Yes," Regulus says too quickly. If it's possible to mourn someone too quickly. Too needfully. It is undeniable that Evan has left a hole in Regulus's life. One he carries around with him maybe more than he thought he would.

"Was it really quick?"

Regulus blinks. "What?"

"You told his mum it was quick. Was it really?"

Right to the chest.

Regulus can see it like it's still happening in front of him. It took a while for all his memories to come back after his head injury, but he has them now.

Evan standing there, grinning, so fucking cocky. So fucking self-assured. Until his back hit the ground.

"Yeah," Regulus clears his throat. "Yeah it was quick."

"Avada?"

He nods. "I think so."

"Good."

He can't help but think of Evan's lifeless eyes. Someone so full of...everything honestly, suddenly just a shell.

Good is not the word Regulus would use.

"Wooph okay," Cerci says as she walks back towards them, cheeks slightly flushed and a smile on her face that she is clearly trying to hide. "She didn't forget the chips, and also, I have our drinks!" she's carrying a bottle in one hand and three glasses in the other.

"Thank fuck," Barty mutters under his breath, and honestly, Regulus can't say he disagrees.

"Careful—careful there's one more step, lift your foot up and...perfect, okay," Cerci is slightly out of breath as they make it up the stairs, Regulus leaning on her almost completely.

He's drunk.

Absolutely, out of his head, drunk.

"Wheresbarty?" he slurs, not bothering to leave space between his words.

"We dropped him off at his flat remember?"

"Oh yeah," he doesn't, not at all, but he can't think of any reason Cerci would lie about such a thing.

They stumble into his bedroom, all the lights out, Cerci clumsily spilling Regulus onto the mattress. Not a second later there's a crack.

"Is Master Regulus injured?" comes a scratchy voice that makes Regulus groan and hold his head. He thinks his hangover is already starting.

"No Kreacher, he's fine, he's just...tired..."

"He is looking ill!"

"Mhm, do you think you could be a darling and fetch him a glass of water and a hangover potion if he has any?"

"You is sure he is not being hurt or sick?"

"Positive," Regulus can't see Cerci from his position on his back in the middle of his bed, but he's pretty sure she's smiling. "But he will be tomorrow morning without that potion."

There's a pause.

"Ah," Kreacher says finally. "I will be getting it then."

There's another crack and Regulus groans—maybe it's more of a whine but he doesn't want to admit that to himself. And suddenly he's hit with the memory of lying on the dining room table, clutching his head as Kreacher popped in and out of the room.

And James.

And James.

And James.

"He was here," he says before he can stop himself. Too drunk.

"Who was here?"

"He was here in my bed," Merlin what would eleven year old Regulus have thought about that? "And he was so pretty."

Cerci sits down beside him, legs crossing under her skirt. "Regulus," she says slowly, he looks over at her. She seems very big like this—with him on his back. "Do you have a beau?"

He doesn't know how to answer that question. Doesn't want to say no even if it's true. Mostly true. He doesn't know what him and James are—other than a mess. His eyes flutter closed and he says the only thing that feels real in that moment.

"I love him."

"What the heck!" Cerci punches him playfully in the arm and Regulus pouts even though he barely feels it. "Why didn't you tell me! I have to meet him! I have to give him The Talk!"

"The Talk?" Regulus asks, eyebrows raised.

"You know, make sure he's aware that if he hurts you he'll be dealing with me."

"Oh, very scary," Regulus says flatly, prompting Cerci to punch him again. "Ow!—okay, point taken."

She smiles.

"Anyway, you can't talk to him, he left." It's an effort to make the words come out fully formed.

"Left, like, forever?"

"He just left."

Regulus sighs, staring up at the ceiling.

"I'm so tired of being left behind," he says eventually, voice small, "even if it's my fault."

"Aw, Reg no. You're not being left behind. I'm here, right?"

He looks at her again, trying to return her smile. "Yeah, yeah you are," he manages eventually.

A few moments pass and Regulus has started to drift a bit when Cerci says: "We're not—er—talking about Evan right? That's not who you're in love with?"

That makes Regulus laugh, it's a giggly-snorty sound, juvenile and unbecoming. "Merlin no. He'll love that though, the idea of me being secretly in love him." And then Regulus feels something in his chest catch. "He would have loved it," he corrects himself, the sudden hot pressure of tears behind his eyes. Merlin he hates being drunk. He brings his hands up to his face, hiding it.

"Fuck," he hisses, voice shaking. "I miss him so much."

"I know," Cerci says softly.

"I'm going to miss him forever."

"Probably. But that's a good thing."

Regulus lets out a wet laugh before dropping his hands. "How could that possibly be a good thing?"

Cerci shrugs, tucking her hair behind her ear. Regulus can't really see her face in the dark so he's not exactly sure what her expression is. "That's kind of the most meaningful way to remember someone—missing them. It means they mattered. It means you loved them. Those are good things."

Regulus is feeling a little blurry so it takes a moment for that to really sink in, but when it does, something in his chest eases a little. "Thank you," he says finally, voice rough. "That—that helps."

And he thinks maybe he really means it.

Regulus does not remember Kreacher coming back. Or falling asleep for that matter. Regardless, he wakes up the next morning tucked into bed with a glass of water and a hangover potion sitting beside him on the table. With some effort he's able to sit, mouth stale and dry, head pounding. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and then pauses, waiting for the spins to cease and his stomach to stop threatening to purge itself. And then he reaches for the potion.

It's barely down his throat and he already starts to feel relief, a cool sensation wafting over him, like a damp cloth has been placed on his forehead. He chugs the water and stands, walking into the bathroom. He feels more human after a shower and brushing his teeth, fixing his hair in the mirror before his hand reaches out—instinct, habit—he freezes when he realizes what he's doing, suddenly caught staring at his own reflection.

after all of that,

James's voice rings loud in his head.

All of the pain you caused so that you could survive, here you are KILLING YOUR FUCKING SELF.

He keeps staring at his reflection, hand beginning to shake. Surely, after seeing James again, after being given a purpose, a way to redeem himself, he can let it go. Let the ghosts go. Surely he can focus his attention entirely on his new plan. And do it sober.

Really?

Regulus winces at the voice.

Just gonna forget about me huh?

It feels like Evan is standing right behind him, head tilted, smirk hanging from his mouth.

Oh c'mon Reg, you can't really be surprised to see me, right? I mean, if it weren't for you I'd still be alive.

"I know," he croaks, eyes suddenly squeezed shut. The thing is, it doesn't really sound like Evan. The voice maybe, but the words, the cruel lilt—Evan might have spoken to other people that way but never Regulus.

You reckon my mum will ever get my body back?

Regulus's hand tightens around the mirror's edge.

Or will I just rot in the Ministry forever? Where you left me?

"God, stop."

The voice laughs. Nothing like him. Exactly like him.

No.

You don't get to make demands. Not now. Not after what you did to me.

And that's it. That's all he has in him, swinging the mirror open and reaching for one of the bottles.

Evan laughs again.

Damn Reg. I knew you were weak, but I didn't know you were quite this pathetic.

Regulus doesn't argue. He's not sure he could ever sink low enough to surprise himself.

His thoughts are duller when he heads down the stairs a few minutes later. The voices silenced. Nothing but indistinct murmurs in the corners of his mind. He knows he won't be able to keep this going, especially with James. But for now at least...it helps.

He'll stop when he has to.

When he absolutely has to.

"You is being awake sir!" Kreacher says as Regulus walks into the kitchen, the smells of breakfast wrapping around him like a warm hug—coffee and sausage and eggs. Regulus has barely made it to the table before Kreacher is sliding a full plate towards him. Regulus doesn't sit, looking down and then back up.

"Cerci?"

"Miss Greengrass is in the library," the house elf points emphatically at the plate. "Eat."

"Not hungry."

He isn't fast enough to duck out of the way when Kreacher hurls a dish towel at his face.

"No! No, no, no!" Kreacher chants, throwing his arms up in the air as Regulus pulls the towel off his head. "You will be eating this!" There is something like violence in his eyes.

"Okay, okay, jeez," Regulus puts his hands up in surrender, doing his best not to laugh because Kreacher really does seem very serious. "I'll eat it, I promise, I just want to see what Cerci is up to first."

"Take it with you then!"

Regulus arches his brow. "You're going to let me eat in the library?"

"I is being desperate!" and Regulus gets the feeling that he is one more question away from getting another dishtowel thrown at him.

"I'll eat it, I promise!" he takes a bite out of one of the pieces of toast to prove his point.

Kreacher crosses his arms over his chest, still glaring. "The whole thing Master Regulus."

Regulus rolls his eyes, picking up the plate as he swallows. "Fine. But I'm doing it in the library," and then, for good measure; "and I'm going to get crumbs everywhere."

Kreacher winces. "You is being very like your brother right now sir."

That makes Regulus stumble, but when he turns back Kreacher is facing away, washing the dishes. He knows that Kreacher only meant that he's being a brat. But that comparison has never been easy for Regulus to swallow and he just wasn't...expecting it.

Eventually he gets his feet to start moving again.

Cerci is sitting at the back of the library in one of the old velvet chesterfields, her legs pulled up and feet tucked under her, a book open in her lap. Regulus drops his plate of food on the coffee table between them before collapsing into the other chair.

"Brought you food."

"Already ate," she says cheerfully. "Kreacher's eggs benedict may be the most amazing thing I've ever put in my mouth."

Regulus gives her a weak smile even though she can't see it, leaning over to pick at his plate now that there's no chance of pawning it off on Cerci. He manages to get down a few more bites before he gives up, sitting back in his chair.

"I'm sorry about...last night."

Cerci looks up, her eyes soft. "One of your best friends just died Reg, you're allowed to get a little...messy."

He isn't sure why that makes his chest grow so tight but he just nods stiffly. "Thanks," and then, desperate to change the subject. "Which room did you sleep in then?"

"The purple one," looking back down at her book.

Regulus can practically hear his mother shrieking in Scotland at the insinuation that there is a purple room in her house. "Which one?" he asks, mildly amused.

She waves her hand in the air dismissively. "You know, second floor with the floral wallpaper and the little purple flowers."

"Ah, Aunt Mildred's room."

She looks up at him again. "It's somebody's bedroom? I thought it was a guest room?"

Regulus shrugs. "I mean, it is now."

"What happened to Mildred?"

"She died."

Cerci's eyes grow wide. "Please tell me she didn't die in that room?"

Regulus can't keep the grin off his face. "Don't worry, Kreacher changed the sheets. Well, at least I think he did."

"Oh my god! You are the worst!" Cerci tries to kick his legs, but Regulus pulls them up onto the seat of his chair, laughing.

Cursing his name under her breath Cerci turns back to her book. It's a big leather bound thing, with long pages of cursive writing Regulus can't quite make out from where he's sitting.

"What are you looking at then?" he asks.

"Hogwarts's registry."

He arches his brow. "Looking for Voldemort?" she makes an affirming sound. "And how exactly are you going to find a name you don't know?"

"Well, I figure he's got to be from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight right?"

"Seems likely."

"But we know all those families, so I wonder if he's the last of his line, I'm looking for names that have disappeared—Gaunt, Peverell, Shafiq—seeing if anything pops up."

Regulus nods thoughtfully. "Any luck?"

She lets out a breath, blowing the hair off her forehead. "Not really. It doesn't help that I'm not exactly sure how old he is so I'm only guessing about what years I should be looking at. What about you?"

Regulus blinks. "Me?"

"You said you would look into Voldemort," and when he continues to stare blankly at her. "The name? Its origins? see where he got it from?" she doesn't say "duh" but it feels like it's implied.

"Right," the potions are making his thoughts too sluggish for this and he can already see the concern creeping into Cerci's eyes. "Er—no mention of a Voldemort in any kind of mythology or history I can find. My best guess is it's French in origin. Seems to be three words put together: vol—de—mort."

Now it's Cerci's turn to look blank. "Sorry, is that supposed to mean something to me? Because I'm pretty sure you just made a bunch of noises."

Regulus rolls his eyes, though it's work to hold back his smile. "You could interpret it a couple different ways. It could mean flight from death or flight of death or stolen from death. My money's on the first one though."

Cerci's biting her lower lip, rubbing her chin. "So maybe he's French then? And his name, his real one, might be french too?"

Regulus shrugs. "I mean, could be. But I'm french, and my name is Regulus Black so..."

She grimaces. "Good point." She's looking a little dejected, which Regulus just can't have, so he reaches his foot out and nudges her's.

"Hey," he says, "you got another one of those registries for me to look through?"

She smiles, reaching beside her where Regulus can now see a stack of near identical books piled on the floor by her chair. "Do I ever."

The Hogwarts school registry is about as interesting as you would imagine. Lists of names, dates, signatures. Regulus tries to keep his eyes focused, tries not to let his mind drift. This is important. He needs to figure out what Voldemort is using as a Horcrux and where he's keeping it. And in order to do that he needs to know who the fuck Voldemort actually is.

"What if this is all pointless," he says after about an hour of running through lists of names. "What if he's choosing his object and his location based on strategy not...sentimentality?"

Cerci makes a dismissive noise. "Please, an egomaniac like Voldemort? Everything he does revolves around himself, I can't believe this would be any different."

Regulus actually feels his mouth fall open and when he doesn't manage to form a reply Cerci looks up.

"What?"

"I just," he struggles to get his voice back, half laughing. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Why not? It's true."

Now he really does laugh, short and disbelieving. "Well for one, because he's—he's who he is. And two, because I think lots of people would disagree with you."

She looks at him quizzically. "About what?"

"That he does everything for himself. He's the leader of the revolution, he wants Wizards to be recognized as above all other beings, to protect their magic. That's—lots of people believe in that."

But Cerci rolls her eyes. "Lots of people are idiots. Voldemort doesn't care about Wizard-kind. He cares about Voldemort."

Regulus finds his eyes bouncing around the room, suddenly paranoid that somehow they're being listened to because this—even if you think like this, most people know better than to say so out loud. At least in Grimmauld Place.

"Well..." Regulus says eventually. "I've never heard anyone put it quite like that."

"That's because I'm smarter than everyone else, obviously," she shoots him a wink, turning to the next page in her registry. Regulus watches her for a moment.

"Have your parents' views changed? The last you said they didn't care much either way, they just didn't want to get involved?"

Cerci rolls her eyes. "It's about the only thing my mother has ever not wanted to get involved in. But no, that's still how they feel. Wait it out, commit to no one, and cozy up to whoever wins."

"It sounds like you don't agree with that?"

She sighs, giving up on the registry for the moment and sitting back in her chair. "I think...I think there's a lot of this that I don't understand. Politics is not my strong suit. But...I liked Timmy Finchley."

Regulus blinks, feeling like he's missed something. "Timmy Finchley?"

"He was my partner in Herbology in fifth year and sixth year and he was nice. And funny. And he helped me out this one time when I didn't know the answers on a pop quiz."

None of this is clearing anything up for Regulus. "I don't understand...what does Timmy Finchley have to do with the war?"

Cerci stares back at him. "He's Muggle born."

There's a beat of silence.

"Oh."

"And he was brilliant at Herbology," Cerci goes on. "Probably the best in the class. Better than me. So I don't know how you could say he wasn't a real Wizard. How you could say he didn't deserve to be there. Or that his magic wasn't as strong as everybody else's because it was. Or—what about Mary Macdonald?"

Regulus feels something like nausea at the mention of Mary Macdonald. "What about her?"

"She was like, the most amazing Quidditch player I've ever seen."

Regulus gives her a look. "The most amazing?"

Cerci rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, after you, of course."

"Thank you."

"But she was amazing, you can't deny that?"

"No, I can't."

"And she's a Muggle born and if Voldemort had his way we never would have gotten to see her play and that would have been a shame. Like sucking some of the beauty out of the world."

"You really think Mary Macdonald is that important?" Regulus asks before he can stop himself.

Cerci blinks at him. "I think everyone is important," and then, while Regulus is still trying to grasp that; "So I'm not claiming to understand all the complexities of what is going on here. But I do know that Muggle borns deserve to be treated better than they have been. And I've never met any Muggles, but I'm sure the same goes for them." It's so simple for her. Caring. It isn't like that for Regulus. It's this tangled up thing, hard to drag to the surface, to sort out. For Regulus caring is a finite resource, like he has to be careful who he chooses to spend it on or he'll run out. He's not sure why that is. Not sure what's wrong with him.

"You've never said anything to me."

Cerci's brows draw together. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I am," Regulus manages, flipping his left forearm up without even thinking. He sees Cerci's eyes snap to it and then back to his face. "But you've never said anything?"

It takes her a moment, her eyes thoughtful, Regulus can practically see her mind turning. "Do you think Timmy Finchley is less of a Wizard than you?"

Regulus pokes and prods that thought. "No."

"Even though his parents are Muggles?"

Regulus nods slowly. "Yes," because he's nothing if not rational, and rationally he knows that Muggle borns got top marks in plenty of his courses, not just Timmy Finchley.

"Then why exactly do you have that thing on your arm Regulus?"

He opens and closes his mouth. Not sure what to say. There are so many reasons. So many that he can't believe the one that makes it out of his mouth is: "I was scared."

And he had been, whatever James thinks. He really had been.

Scared about so many things.

Still is.

Cerci gives him a sad smile. "Like I said, I don't understand all the complexities."

It's an out he knows he doesn't deserve. That he feels dirty for making her give him. He wants to tell her that she doesn't need to, that he's not worth bending her morals for, but just as he's opening his mouth the house shakes.

Regulus rolls his eyes even though his whole body goes tense, hands gripping tight to the arms of his chair.

"Merlin," Cerci scrambles to keep the book from slipping off her lap. "He's still trying to get in?"

Regulus grits his teeth. "Yup."

"You'd think he'd take the hint."

Regulus gives her a wane smile. "Taking hints is not Lucius's specialty"

There's another shake, a few books falling off the shelves around them. It doesn't usually go on for long—Lucius trying to break his wards—like he's just tapping on his door, reminding Regulus that he's there. That he wants in.

"It wouldn't...I mean, you don't think it would be simpler just to see what he wants?" Cerci asks tentatively, clearly aware that she isn't seeing the whole picture.

"No," he can't quite bring himself to explain more than that, but Cerci just nods, not forcing him to.

"Aren't you worried about what he'll do when he sees you again? He'll have to eventually right? If Voldemort summons you?"

"Lucius won't do anything in public, especially not in front of Voldemort," or at least that's what Regulus is banking on. He hasn't seen or spoken to Lucius since the day of the attack on the Ministry.

Another thunderous shake ripples through the house.

He's locked them all out of his wards at this point; Lucius, Narcissa, Bellatrix. Fuck family. Besides, the last thing he needs is one of them showing up and figuring out what him and Cerci are working on.

"Hold on," Cerci slams her finger down in the middle of the page she's reading. "I recognize that name."

Regulus looks up. "What name?"

But Cerci isn't paying attention, already scrambling through the pile of books at her side and pulling up a relatively small one.

"Cerci, what name?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," she mutters, still flipping through the book.

Regulus scrunches his face. "Riddle? That's not a pureblood family."

"No, that's not the name I recognize," Cerci mutters.

"Is it Tom? Because I hate to break it to you but that's a pretty common name."

"No I—ah ha!" she says triumphantly, before holding up the book to show Regulus.

He leans forward, squinting. It's a book on the Scared Twenty-Eight he realizes, and she's showing him a page dictating the members of one particular family, finger pointing to a name.

"Marvolo Gaunt," Regulus reads out loud before looking back at Cerci. "You think there's a connection?"

"Tom might be a common name, but Marvolo is not."

Regulus can't really argue with that.

Cerci has started scanning the page for information about the Gaunt family. "Hey, they're descendants of Salazar Slytherin," she looks up at Regulus. "Isn't Voldemort a Parseltongue?"

"He is."

"That's a pretty rare skill, Salazar's descendants are some of the only wizards known to have that."

"Okay," Regulus takes a deep breath, trying not to let them get ahead of themselves. "But where the hell does Riddle come from? I've never heard of any Riddles."

Cerci shakes her head, flipping to the index of her book and quickly scanning down the list of words and names. "No, they're not part of the Twenty-Eight anyway."

"So that means," Regulus says slowly. "That means if this is Voldemort then..." he can't quite say it out loud, certain if he does the Dark Lord will suddenly appear and send a streak of green light through his chest.

"I'll write to Madam Pince, ask for some older registries, see if I can find any Riddles at Hogwarts before this. And maybe some other student records—honour rolls, Quidditch teams—see what else we can find out about Tom."

"I'll check the histories," Regulus gestures to the bookshelves behind them. "See if there are any references to Riddles there."

Cerci nods, seemingly still deep in thought. "It would make sense though," she says eventually.

"What would?"

"Voldemort being a half-blood."

Regulus laughs, because he's never heard anything that would make less sense.

"No, think about it though," Cerci goes on. "If he was a pureblood we would have grown up with him, or his mother or his aunt. We'd have gone over to his house for tea or holiday parties. But no one seems to know him, no one seems to be attached to him. Meaning..."

"He isn't one of us," Regulus finishes and then, before he can stop himself, he laughs again. "Christ. The Dark Lord, spokesman for blood purity, might have a Muggle dad."

"Or mum," Cerci adds quickly.

Regulus dips his head in acknowledgement, still feeling utterly bemused by the whole thing. Still certain they must have it wrong. "Merlin," he says, swiping a hand over his face, "this all just got so much more complicated."

He doesn't take any potions before he goes to bed. He is trying. To be better. For James. He's trying not to give up. It's the least he can do. Unfortunately that means he doesn't get much sleep. One nightmare bleeding into the next.

No, please, please, please. I'm a good man. I swear. I'm going to get married, please.

Regulus, I want you to know, that our door is always open okay? If you ever need it.

Come on Reg, have a little faith in me yeah?

They're relentless. The ghosts. Being in his head feels like being on a boat in the middle of a storm. No matter how hard he tries he just keeps taking on water. Every time he thinks his thoughts have shown him the worst of it something more painful comes along and he's sinking all over again.

Eventually he gives up on sleeping. Shaky and sweaty, he lies in his bed, clutching at James's present. He wears it all the time now, never takes it off. Sometimes he talks to the stars, other times he just holds it, letting James's magic hum in the palm of his hand.

Spring.

Spring.

Spring.

It helps. It doesn't fix anything. But it helps.

There's a crack and suddenly Kreacher is standing at the foot of his bed.

"Good, Master Regulus is already awake," he says as Regulus sits up. "Miss Cerci is waiting for him."

Regulus blinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Cerci? Is here?"

"Yes sir."

"Now?" he looks out the window, it can't be later than eight in the morning. "Why?"

"I is not knowing the courting rituals of witches, but she is here."

Regulus rolls his eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you we're not courting, Jesus."

"Well courting or no courting she is being here and waiting, so sir should be getting out of bed."

Regulus dramatically throws the blankets off of him. "Yeah, yeah, tell her I'll be down in twenty minutes."

Kreacher scrunches his face. "You should not be keeping ladies waiting so long."

"Well then ladies should call ahead of time," he says as he gets into the shower.

Twenty minutes later Regulus is traipsing down the stairs, curls warm and soft from the drying spell he used. Cerci is standing at the bottom waiting for him, still wearing her coat.

He arches his brow. "Not staying?"

"We're going on a field trip," she announces giddily.

"A field trip? Where?"

"Bath."

Regulus stops at the bottom of the stairs, bemused smile on his face. "Why?"

"Because," she says, eyes twinkling, "that's where the Slytherin Archives are."

"The Slytherin Archives?" he repeats slowly. "What the fuck is that?"

Cerci rolls her eyes. "It's where they keep the historical records of the Slytherin family. They have a whole room dedicated just to Salazar—his papers, books, letters, some personal items his relatives have been willing to give-up...or sell. I was thinking about going even before yesterday, but now that we know Voldemort might be a descendant of Salazar I think there's a good chance the Horcrux will be something to do with him."

Regulus takes this all in, hand going unconsciously to the locket around his neck. "So we're going to Bath," he says finally, causing Cerci to smile.

"So we're going to Bath."

They Apparate onto the steps of a rather unassuming building—tall and thin, made of a warn white stone, with a slate roof and giant chimney. It's cold today, nearing December, and Regulus wraps his arms around himself as his teeth start to chatter. There's an ornate snake shaped knocker on the door but instead of using it Cerci turns to the small intercom on the wall beside it and presses a button. There's a long pause, Regulus dancing back and forth between his feet trying to keep warm, before a crackly voice speaks to them.

"Hello?"

Cerci leans forward. "Hi! It's Cerci Greengrass, I have an appointment with Madam Wormstahl to go through the archives this morning?"

There's another pause and then a buzzing noise as the door in front of them clicks open. Cerci walks through with no hesitation, seemingly unafraid, Regulus, on the other hand, slips his wand into his palm. He does not much like walking into strange buildings unarmed.

They enter what appears to be a reception area, with dirty white wall-to-wall carpeting and some generic harp music playing in the background. The witch behind the desk in front of them doesn't look up from the magazine in her lap.

"Take a seat," she waves vaguely at the rickety chairs pushed against the wall. "Wormstahl will be with you shortly."

"Okie dokie," Cerci says happily.

The minute they're sitting a wave of exhaustion hits Regulus, reminding him that he hasn't slept. He didn't take any potions this morning either. Which is an improvement. Should be an improvement. Except it's left him feeling...delicate. A little weak. A little shaky. And so fucking tired. He sighs, leaning back in his chair and resting his head against the wall.

"Hey," he hears Cerci ask softly, "you okay?"

"Hmm," he answers. "Just tired."

He's only going to rest his eyes for a second.

Just a second.

Just—

Evan is lying in his arms, his body a heavy weight, eyes staring straight ahead.

Oh no.

Oh no.

Oh no.

Not again.

Please not again.

Regulus holds the body closer, tightens his grip, a promise not to let go. Not this time.

Evan's dead unseeing eyes suddenly begin to move, it's unnatural, sending shivers down Regulus's spine as they find him.

Don't leave me.

I won't.

I won't.

I promise I won't.

Don't leave me here.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

Don't leave me here Regulus. Don't leave me behind. I don't want to be alone. Don't let them have me.

I won't.

I won't.

I won—

But the hands come out of nowhere. Appearing from somewhere in the dark. Reaching fingers wrapping around Evan's ankles, his wrists.

Regulus struggles, he kicks and thrashes but it's no use. They pull Evan out of his hands.

NO!

No!

No!

And he's so focused on Evan, on the loss of the weight of his body in his arms.

That he doesn't realize he's being pulled under too.

At least not until the moment he stops being able to breathe.

"Regulus!"

He jolts awake, nearly falling out of his chair and wincing away from Cerci's hand on his arm. She instantly pulls back, concern scrawled across her face as Regulus struggles to remember where he is. The woman behind the desk is finally looking up, and there's a new woman—she's small, draped in a green shawl, hair pulled back in a bun.

Regulus drops his head between his knees and tries to breathe, nails digging into his thighs. Fuck.

Fuck this isn't good.

He's shaking, sweat covering every inch of his skin. It had felt so real.

"Regulus?" Cerci's voice is soft as she crouches down next to him, not trying to touch him again.

"Sorry," he wheezes, hating himself for this. Hating himself for all of it.

"It's so okay that I don't even have a word for how okay it is."

That makes Regulus huff out a laugh. Or at least something laugh like.

"We're in Bath," she says, somehow knowing that being reminded of what is real and happening and now, will help. "At the archives, getting ready to do some sleuthing."

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

God he's getting so tired of this. He doesn't remember ever having panic attacks this frequently before.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Stop this, he shouts at himself. Stop this right now. You're being ridiculous.

He forces himself to sit up straight even though he's still shaking. Even though he probably needs more time. He can't stand the feeling of having everyone in the room staring at him. Slowly he relaxes his hands, pulling his nails out of his thighs.

Inhale.

Exhale.

"Okay," his voice is gravelly but at least it comes out of his mouth.

"Okay?" Cerci asks, and Regulus nods. She watches him for a few more seconds, like she's giving him time to take it back, and when he doesn't she turns to the woman standing behind them—Wormstahl, Regulus presumes. "Okay," Cerci says more clearly, "we're ready."

The woman looks a little startled, "We can reschedule if you aren't feeling...up to it, today?"

Cerci looks back at Regulus who shakes his head. They're here already and besides, they don't have much time. He isn't exactly sure what Voldemort will do when he learns about James's baby, but he doesn't want to wait and find out.

"Well," the woman adjusts her posture, seeming to accept that she isn't going to get rid of them, not that Regulus blames her for trying. "Follow me then."

She heads down the hall in front of them, Cerci standing up and offering Regulus her hand. He actually has to take a minute, bracing himself against the chorus of

weak

weak

weak

that runs through his head before he can force himself to take her hand. Knowing he needs it.

"Do you want me to let go?" Cerci whispers as they follow their guide, fingers still laced together.

He grits his teeth. "No." Because it helps. Having something solid. And real. Having something he can trust.

He's getting worse. The anxiety, the panic—it's getting worse. The potions help, but they have their own side effects, Regulus knows that, he does. Knows that people get addicted to them. Maybe he's one of those people, he can't tell, it doesn't feel quite that simple. He just knows that he can't go to James like this. He needs to find a way to get himself under control.

"The archives here cover a wide variety of areas," the woman in front of them says before pulling out her wand and unlocking the door on their right. Everything about this building is bland and uniform. Regulus isn't sure what he was expecting exactly, but after growing up in Grimmauld Place he can't help but feel that Salazar would not have appreciated his legacy being stored in such drab surroundings.

"The Slytherin family has a long and complicated history spanning many centuries," she opens the door and leads them into a room with a low ceiling, harsh lights, and rows and rows of shelves. "But going off your letter you're specifically interested in Salazar?"

"Yes that's right," Cerci says cheerfully, looking around.

"Everyone always is," in a tone of voice that can't be described as anything other than disdainful. "A pity, when the family has done so much more than simply help build a school."

Regulus looks over at the woman, a bit impressed that she's just been able to make the founding of one of the most infamous magical schools in the entirety of human history sound unimpressive.

"Over there we have artefacts," she gestures to a row of cabinets by the windows. "They're locked, but the outside is labelled with the contents so if you wish to view any of the items you must tell me and I will handle them for you. You are not permitted to touch any of them yourself, understood?"

Cerci shoots Regulus a look before smiling at the woman. "Absolutely."

They receive a curt nod in response. "The shelves in front of us are all the paper documents we have. These," she puts great emphasis on the word, "you may touch yourselves but you cannot write on them or near them, there will be no folding down corners or underlining of any kind, understood?"

"Absolutely," Cerci answers again, causing the woman to stare her down for a minute, like she's trying to figure out whether or not she's being mocked.

"Very well, feel free to have a look around and ask me if you have any questions."

Cerci turns to Regulus, eyebrow raised. "Well, what do you reckon?"

He looks out at the mountains of stuff in front of them, not sure how exactly they're going to sift through all of it to find anything useful. Eventually he shrugs: "You start at one end, I start at the other?"

Cerci smiles. "Perfect."

It would probably help if they had some idea what they were looking for. Mostly Regulus is just trying to see if there are places or objects that Salazar brings up a lot. Though most of his writing seems to be purely academic. Discussing different material breakdowns in potions—which, yes, okay, Regulus does actually find interesting—and comparing various chopping and brewing techniques. He has one letter to a friend in which he goes on for three pages about the appropriate thickness for cauldron bottoms.

He also writes a lot about the need of Wizards to guard themselves against Muggles. He does not think that they should be attempting to build political relationships with them, does not believe the Muggles can be trusted to honour any agreements they make. He writes very strong letters to the prominent leaders of the Wizarding world at the time. Not politicians as much as petty lords, each with their own tiny fiefdoms and array of vassals.

Which is fascinating.

Unhelpful.

But fascinating.

Regulus sighs, pushing the hair out of his face as he pulls out another folder of letters. He's expecting more of the same—politics and potion theory—but then he reads the first line:

Ma moitié

Regulus stops. Rubs his eyes. Reads the line again.

Ma moitié

My other half. My better half. That's what that means, he's heard his father use it when referring to his mother once or twice. It's meant for intimates. Friends, lovers—

Ma moitié,

I was on a walk the other day, in the forest around my home, and I couldn't help thinking about that time when we were young. Fifteen? Sixteen? And you declared that you'd had enough of farm work and from now on you wanted to instead be an adventurer. The look on your father's face, I thought for certain he was going to end you. But then, you always got away with more foolishness than the rest of us (don't even try to deny it you know it's true). So instead he told you to go on, to try to be an adventurer, to survive on your own in the wilderness without all the comforts of the farm. You were the only one of us who didn't seem to know exactly how that was going to end.

I would have been happy to leave you to it, but, of course, you weren't having that. Wherever you went I was bound to follow. So we loaded our sacs with a few supplies, and a map we could barely read, and set off on what was inevitably going to be an absolute failure. That first night, out in the wilderness, it rained, do you remember? Started pouring and neither of us knew any spells to keep dry, so eventually we found a cave—well, or at least a spot where the cliffs hung out just enough to offer us some shelter.

You started a fire, both of us stripping out of our wet clothes and laying them out to dry, down to nothing but our undergarments. We hadn't even kissed yet at that point and seeing you, standing there in all your youthful glory, was absolute agony. You were beautiful even then, before you had properly grown into yourself, properly become the hero everyone knows you as today. Colour high in your cheeks from the fire, hair plastered to your head from the rain. I'm rather impressed I didn't just fall to pieces right then.

And then. You had the audacity to turn to me and beckon. BECKON. Honestly, one smooth gesture, one flick of your wrist. "We'll have to sleep together," you said, so self-assured, as though it was the most natural thing in the world, "to ward off the cold." Ha. But Merlin help me I was powerless against that. The pair of us lying down, the single blanket we'd brought wrapped around us. I swear my poor heart almost combusted at the feel of you against my back, your arm around my waist, mouth at the nape of my neck.

Do you remember what you said then? Do you remember? The fire dying, the sound of the rain in the trees surrounding us, me slowly drifting to sleep in your arms you said: "I want to always be this close to you."

I'm not sure I've ever recovered from that. Even all these years later.

I know there is a great deal of life that separates us now, that things are not nearly as simple as they were when we were fifteen. But I can't help but hope that you still long for the days when we fell asleep in one another's arms. Can't help but hope that after it all you still want to be that close to me. Because not a day goes by that I don't feel your absence at my side. That I don't ache with all the time we've lost.

One day maybe, you will feel the urge to be an adventurer again. And find your way back to me.

Yours always,

S.

Regulus stares at that last line for a long time.

S.

It's not possible. It's not. Before he can stop himself he starts flipping through the other letters. Most of them start the same way "Ma moitié" a few just begin with "Love" others have no beginning address at all but instead start as though already in the middle of a conversation. He's nearly at the end when he finds what he's looking for, pulling the letter out of the stack,

Hello G,

it starts, and Regulus feels his heart run head first into his ribs.

Because it's impossible. Unthinkable. And yet...and yet...

G&S

Still staring at the page in front of him Regulus gets up and stumbles towards Madam Wormstahl. "Was Salazar Slytherin married?" he asks numbly, looking up at the older woman. She puts down the parchment she'd been reading.

"No, he—"

"FAMOUSLY A HERMIT!" Cerci calls from somewhere in the stacks. "I told you that the first time we met Reg JEEEEZ."

Regulus rolls his eyes, the woman in front of him looking somewhat disgruntled. "He was a recluse later in life," she goes on when she's composed herself again, "moving out to the country and socializing only when forced."

"But his line doesn't end with him?" Regulus asks.

"No, it was continued by one of his cousins."

"He didn't have any brothers or sisters?" Regulus can hear Cerci walking towards them from the back of the room.

"No, his immediate family and most of his mother's relatives were killed when their home was attacked by Muggles."

Cerci gasps. "Oh my god that's awful."

The woman nods soberly. "Yes, quite, he was haunted by it for most of his life. Luckily, however, his father's family lived to the South and therefore the Slytherin line was able to continue."

"But that means there are no direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin?" Cerci is at Regulus's side now, looking a little concerned.

Wormstahl nods again. "That's correct."

"No," Cerci shakes her head. "No it isn't. I've read the histories of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the Gaunt line claims direct lineage to Salazar."

Wormstahl doesn't roll her eyes, but Reg thinks it's a near thing. "Yes well, people will claim a lot of things if they think it will gain them status and power. But I am telling you now Salazar never had any children, or if he did, they were illegitimate and unrecognized."

"And what about Godric Gryffindor?" Regulus cuts back in, feeling a little impatient. He couldn't care less about bloodlines right now.

Both Wormstahl and Cerci turn to him with surprised expressions on their faces. "What about Godric Gryffindor?"

"Did he marry?"

Still looking confused, Wormstahl nods, slowly. "Yes, Godric married, had several children. Though later in life I believe him and his wife amicably agreed to live apart. And he moved out to the woods, tiring of being in the public eye."

"He moved out to the country," Regulus repeats, almost laughing. "Like Salazar?"

"Well I doubt very much it was the same countryside."

"But you don't know?"

She adjusts herself in her seat, clearly uncomfortable admitting that there is something she doesn't know; "No, I don't believe the exact locations of either of their homes have ever been discovered."

"So they might have lived together then?" Cerci pipes up, sounding intrigued.

Wormstahl shoots her a disapproving look. "I very much doubt so. I can't see why either of them would want to."

No, Regulus thinks, looking back down at the letters in his hands, no I'm sure you can't. He does laugh then, because James was right. Ridiculous, illogical, absurd James Potter had been right. He brushes his thumb gently over the S at the bottom of the page in front of him.

"I'm not sure what about that is amusing to you," Wormstahl wraps her shall more tightly around her shoulders.

"Nothing," Regulus shakes his head, trying to get his expression under control. "Just...thought of something else. My apologies. One more question, these letters," he holds them up, "Are their counterparts somewhere? It seems like they were all written to the same person."

Wormstahl pushes her glasses down to the tip of her nose and motions with her hand for him to pass them over. Reluctantly, Regulus does.

"Ah yes," she says as she begins to flip through them. "The love letters."

"Love letters!" Cerci says excitedly, shimmying her shoulders. "How scandalous."

The woman glares at her. "There is absolutely nothing scandalous about them, it was perfectly suitable for a man of his stature to write letters to the woman he was courting."

"But he never married," Regulus asks as she hands the letters back to him.

"No."

"And we don't know who he was writing to?"

"These were found floating around on the black market, being sold for a very hefty price. Older families sometimes fall on hard times and take to selling heirlooms," the disgust she feels about this is clear on her face. "But the counterparts weren't with them, nor have they been found anywhere else. It's possible Salazar burnt them, jilted lovers almost always prioritize themselves over historical record."

Cerci starts to laugh and then quickly turns it into a cough when the woman's ere swings in her direction.

"Got it," Regulus says, holding back his own smirk. "Thank you," he turns around and gives Cerci a little shove. "Behave," he whispers as they head back towards the shelves.

"Jilted lovers prioritize themselves over historical record," she repeats, barely containing her giggles.

Regulus spends the rest of their time at the archives shamelessly reading the letters. He goes slow, desperate for every detail, wishing he had the other half of the conversation, that he could know what Godric was saying back. There are so many of them—years worth—that by the time they're leaving, several hours later, he still hasn't managed to get through them all.

Madam Wormstahl escorts them back to the front door and Cerci thanks her graciously for her help as they step out into the wintery afternoon.

"Where are you going?" Regulus asks as Cerci starts walking down the steps and onto the street. "We can Apparate from here."

"Pfft," she says, staring up at him from the pavement. "Come on Reg, we're in Bath," she throws her arms out. "Lets sightsee."

Regulus makes a disgusted face. "You want me to be a tourist?"

"Oh come on you snob, humour me. Besides, you spend too much time shut up in your house anyway."

"Do not."

"Do too."

Regulus rolls his eyes. "Fine. What exactly do you want to sightsee then?"

She beams at him. "I knew you'd come around. There's a great ice cream shop just down the street."

"Ice cream, Cerci it's freezing!"

"Oh it's fine," she says as she starts walking, hands stuffed in the pockets of her coat. "Well, come on!"

Grumbling Regulus follows, though he isn't happy about it.

The ice cream shop is small and cutesy—everything pink with white frills. Cerci makes small talk with the cashier, stopping only to ask Regulus what flavour he wants. When he once again insists that it is too cold for ice cream she just orders him chocolate.

"This is absurd," his teeth chatter as they push back out into the cold, clutching their ice creams, since there was nowhere to sit in the shop.

"You're being dramatic," Cerci says, steering them towards an open bench with a view of the street. It's all old buildings and cobblestones. Undeniably pretty, even if Regulus refuses to admit so out loud.

"I can't eat this Cerci," he says as they sit down. "I'm going to get hypothermia or something."

She rolls her eyes, pulling her wand out and giving it a tiny flick. A second later Regulus feels the unmistakable sensation of a warming charm descending on him. He turns to her, sarcastically aghast.

"That was illegal!"

"Yeah well," she licks her ice cream. "The Ministry has bigger things to worry about then a cheeky warming charm."

And, well, Regulus can't exactly argue with that.

It's quiet out, likely because of the cold, a few people walking down the street with grocery bags in their hands, shoulders pressed together, heads bowed against the wind. It's mid-afternoon, the clouds drifting in front of the sun and occasionally blocking it from view, though the beams that slip down twinkle and sparkle off the windows of the buildings on either side of the street.

"So," Cerci says eventually, "did you finish them?"

He looks over at her, there's a spot of ice cream on her nose that he considers telling her about but ultimately decides not to.

"Did I finish what?"

Cerci rolls her eyes, "Oh come on, you were glued to that one spot for hours—the letters! Did you finish them?"

"Oh," he takes a lick of his own ice cream, which he has to admit, is very good. "No, there were hundreds of them, it looks like they were talking that way for years. But it shouldn't take me too long to get through the rest."

"You're planning to come back?" Cerci asks, sounding surprised, and it's work for Regulus not to grimace. He probably could have kept that last sentence to himself. He opts not to answer and to instead focus a ridiculous amount of attention on his ice cream, but he can feel Cerci's eyes on him.

"Regulus..." she says his name slowly. "Did you—you didn't...steal the letters did you?"

Again, he doesn't answer, but he does shoot her a look that has Cerci throwing her hands in the air and nearly chucking her ice cream across the street.

"Are you kidding me! You know that's an actual crime, right?"

Regulus licks his lips, shrugging. "Yes well, like you said, I think the Ministry has bigger problems right now."

"Honestly," she mutters, head shaking. "I can't take you anywhere," though there's a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth that suggests she doesn't mean it.

"Oh come on, I couldn't leave them there with that woman, they deserve better than that."

"So you orchestrated a rescue mission for some love letters?"

"Well when you put it like that it sounds ridiculous."

Cerci has started to giggle, which Regulus does not appreciate, the noise filling up the empty street around them, bouncing off the stone walls. "You're such a sap."

Regulus just rolls his eyes, returning his attention to his ice cream and refusing to look at her again until she calms down. He's not a sap. Absolutely not. Ask anyone.

"You know," she says, once she's pulled herself back together, licking the melted ice cream off her hand. "I like the idea of writing love letters."

Regulus turns to her, feeling the shift in her tone—the new sincerity she's trying and failing to hide. "Yeah?"

Cerci nods, not really meeting his eye. "It's really intimate, reading a letter about someone's feelings for you. It's this way to be close to them, to give them a part of you, that isn't about..."

"Sex?"

She sighs, sounding tired. "I guess. It's just—sometimes when you stand in a room with someone and you try to be vulnerable it feels like...a means to an end. But with love letters it's...you have all these feelings and you're telling this person and it connects you to each other and neither of you is expecting more than that. The point of a love letter is just to feel."

She bites down on her lower lip nervously. "Is that a stupid thing to say?"

Regulus shakes his head. "No."

"I just, I have all these feelings in my chest, and I want to give them to someone but...I don't know how to do that without leaving them wanting more."

Regulus looks out at the street for a moment, thinking. Trying to figure out what to say. Finally, after swallowing the last of his ice cream, he speaks: "Is there...someone specific we're talking about here?"

Cerci's cheeks flush pink. "I—maybe."

"Okay, that's—that's good. That's cool. Um..." Merlin he's bad at this. "Is he...nice?"

"She's amazing."

Regulus nods, laughing a little. "Well okay, not to, y'know, state the obvious here but, have you tried...talking to her?"

"Of course I've talked to her," Cerci says, but her voice is a little too squeaky to be believable. It takes about three seconds of Regulus staring silently back at her for Cerci to crack. "I HAVE talked to her," she says again, "A lot. About school and her job and where she wants to travel and how her favourite vegetable is squash because it's decorative and tasty."

Regulus arches his brow. "You've talked about her favourite vegetable?"

Cerci glares at him. "That's a perfectly reasonable thing to ask someone."

"I'm sorry, you actually ASKED her about her favourite vegetable?"

Cerci throws her arms in the air. "Can we not mock me right now!"

"Fine, fine, sorry," Regulus bites down on his lip, trying to hold in his laughter. "Okay, so you've talked...about...vegetables," Cerci looks ready to punch him again so he moves on quickly, "But have you, you know, talked about how you...feel?"

She continues to glare which has Regulus holding his hands up in surrender. "Listen I'm just saying, she can't read your mind—well, unless she's good at Legilimency, in which case I guess maybe you don't have to tell her anything."

Cerci rolls her eyes. "She's not reading my mind."

"Well, then..."

Cerci groans, taking a large bite out of her ice cream cone and then, with a full mouth: "Whamt do I evwen sway?"

Regulus grimaces, "You have terrible table manners, you know that?"

Cerci kicks his foot. "First of all," she says once she's properly swallowed her food. "There's not even a table here. And second of all, you're spending too much time with Kreacher, you're starting to sound like him."

Regulus kicks her back.

"Just tell your stupid crush that you have a stupid crush on her."

"You say that like it's simple," some of the amusement has drained out of her voice, and Regulus knows that she has more to say so he lets the silence linger, lets her find her words. "I just—" she starts and then stops, sighing in frustration. "I just want to be with her all the time."

"Okay, so tell her that—I mean, maybe not exactly that, that sounds a bit like she might wake up to find you hovering at the end of her bed watching her sleep or like, saving strands of her hair or something. But a more casual version of that."

Cerci makes a disgruntled noise. "I don't know how to be casual."

Which Regulus thinks might actually be true.

"Maybe try just asking her on a date?" he suggests, fairly certain that's something normal people do casually.

Cerci looks uncertain again, biting her lip. "But won't that be like leading her on? Don't dates normally end with, you know, shagging?"

"No," Regulus says, and then, "I mean, I don't think so? Honestly I've never really been on a date."

Cerci's head snaps towards him. "What! Not even with your boy toy? I really am going to have to have a talk with him."

Regulus rolls his eyes, hating the way the colour rushes to his cheeks. "I don't have—ugh, I can't even say it."

"Boy toy?" she grins as he pushes her. "Too late to take it back Reg, drunk you already spilled the beans. Though he neglected to mention that this boy hasn't taken you on a date!"

Regulus shakes his head, looking away and trying to keep his expression under control. "It's complicated," and then, because he's being reckless, "Actually, I guess we've been on one date. Kind of."

"Oooh, tell me more, I need ideas."

"We went swimming," Merlin that was so long ago. He sees little flashes—warm sunlight, James smiling at him from the water.

"Like you went to the beach?"

"No, it was...kind of...a waterfall."

"Excuse me!!!" he feels Cerci sit up beside him but he vehemently refuses to look at her, face already too red. "Your date was to a waterfall! That is like the most romantic thing I have ever heard!"

"Yeah well," Regulus does his best to keep his voice blank, "he's stupid like that."

"Stupid romantic, you mean?"

"Okay, can we move on now please? I thought we were talking about your love life?"

"I don't have a love life," she says, loud enough that she scares some of the pigeons that had gathered not that far from them.

"Well ask this girl out and you will," and then, when she starts grumbling under her breath, he knocks their shoulders together. "Listen just...just be honest, that's all anyone can ask," he feels like a fucking hypocrite as the words leave his mouth.

And then something else occurs to him. "Have you...talked to your mum about...any of this?"

Another groan leaves Cerci's mouth. "No, she's still inviting eligible bachelors over for dinner every weekend. It's torture."

Regulus grimaces. "I've always hated dinner parties."

"It wouldn't be so painful if any of them were half-decent, if maybe I could at least like one of them, you know? But they're all awful."

Regulus can imagine, he's been forced into close proximity with the sons of pureblood families for the majority of his life. Barty and Evan were always the only two he could stand. Or maybe that's misrepresenting things, because they were also the only two who ever gave him the time of day. Everyone else wanted to play with Sirius. Regulus can't blame them. He wanted to play with Sirius too.

"What about your mum?"

He blinks, coming back to the present. "My mum?"

"Isn't she trying to marry you off as well?"

"Ah," with everything else going on, his mother's desire to find him a wife has somewhat fallen off his radar. "To be honest, I haven't really been...speaking to her."

Cerci looks surprised. "And she hasn't just shown up at Grimmauld?"

"I think—" Regulus clears his throat. "I think my father dying is taking up a lot of her time right now," he doesn't quite manage to say that without his voice cracking.

"Oh Reg," Cerci reaches out, squeezing his hand. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, really," he takes a deep breath. "It's been coming for a long time I just..." he looks away. "I feel bad, about not going to see him, but I don't want to worry him. I want to be...I'm not...right now just isn't a good time."

He'll see right through me.

I'll break his heart.

Regulus lets out a shaking breath. "Okay, changing topics again—did you find anything useful in there," he nods back towards the archives.

Cerci grimaces. "Not really, except that nothing is missing from their collections—nothing out on loan or stolen."

"So if Voldemort is using something connected to Slytherin he didn't get it in there."

She nods. "Apparently members of the Gaunt family are still alive and have some heirlooms they haven't sold, or at least that's what Madam Wormstahl said. She gave me their address so we can try visiting them, see if they know anything."

Regulus runs a hand over his face feeling a little overwhelmed by all the things they don't know. "We're also gonna have to figure out how to destroy the thing once we find it."

"There wasn't anything in the book you read?"

Regulus lets out a frustrated sigh. "I don't have anything in my notes but it's possible I wasn't paying enough attention at the time, that I missed something. Except now I can't go back and check because—"

"Voldemort has it," she finishes for him and Regulus nods. "And the only other copy is at Hogwarts."

"And I can't exactly see Dumbledore handing it over to either of us."

"No," Cerci agrees. "Lets put a pin in that for now, there must be another book about Horcruxes out there. But first we have to figure out what we're looking for and where it is. Agreed?"

Regulus sighs. "Agreed."

"Go team!"

He snorts as she throws her hand up in the air like they're at a Quidditch match. "I don't think this is a "go team" moment," he says, but Cerci only makes a disbelieving sound, looking at Regulus very seriously.

"Any moment is a "go team" moment if you try hard enough."

And, well, Regulus isn't about to argue with that.

The second he gets home he rushes up to his bedroom and starts pouring over the letters. Greedily eating up every line. From what he can tell these were written at least a decade after Salazar left Hogwarts and they seem to go on for a decade more before they stop.

Because Godric finally came, whispers the childish voice in his head. Because Salazar finally let him in. Because after spending nearly their entire lives orbiting around one another it was finally time. Alone in the woods they spent their old age together. Hidden from the world.

Or at least that's how Regulus is deciding the story goes.

Unwilling to accept anything else.

He feels a little giddy, his head filled with pages and pages of words. Words that aren't his own and yet sometimes feel so close to his heart that he's certain he's thought them himself. He wants desperately to tell James. He knows he'll laugh when he finds out, knows his head will grow at least another two sizes.

He'll say something like "Of course I got it right. I can't believe you ever doubted me."

Before Regulus can stop himself he's getting off his bed and sitting down at his desk, pulling out a fresh piece of parchment and a quill. Something in him feels lighter than it has in days, in weeks, in years and he knows it's silly, knows it's half-in his head. But maybe—maybe if Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor could find one another after all they'd been through. After all that had happened. Maybe Regulus and James could too.

His quill draws elegantly across the page, the first words squeezing his heart.

Dear J,

PART II REMUS

It's morning, and Remus is shamelessly staring at a slumped over Sirius Black, barely awake enough to keep his head out of his coffee. His hair is an absolute disaster—sticking up in all directions, static-y and probably in need of a good wash. The sunlight is soft and it makes the whole flat glow a sort of warm yellow, but especially Sirius, who looks almost golden in it. And for a moment, just this moment, Remus's life is beautiful.

"Hey," he nudges Sirius's foot under the table and Sirius looks up, eyes still half shut, lines on his face from the bedsheets. "I love you."

Something almost...sad, seems to flicker across Sirius's face before he wipes it clean. "Love you too," he croaks, not quite able to meet Remus's eyes.

Alarm bells ring faintly in Remus's ears as his brows draw together. "Pads what's—" but he's interrupted by some extremely loud and rude tapping on the window. He turns to see an owl, perched on the sill outside their living room, waiting to be let in. He spares one more look for Sirius who has his head down again, before he gets up to let the bird in.

"Here you go," he hands it a piece of bacon from his plate as he starts to detach the letter from its leg. The minute the roll of parchment is free the bird takes off, leaving Remus staring after it, a little startled. "Not expecting a response then?" he mutters to no one in particular as he closes the window and returns to the table.

"Who's it from?"

Remus shakes his head, sliding his finger under the wax seal and unrolling the parchment. "Didn't recognize the bird," he mutters. However, the minute he sees the handwriting he knows who it is.

Dear Remus,

The request you made has been carried out. They'll be expecting you any day now.

Hope you are well,

A. Dumbledore

He reads the lines over a few more times before he finally starts breathing normally again. He always gets worried when he receives post from Dumbledore.

"Moons? Rem? Oi! What does it say?"

He looks up to see Sirius wide awake, staring at him with a worried expression. He must have zoned out for a second. "Sorry—everyone's okay, promise, it's nothing like that," he sees Sirius's shoulders relax ever so slightly. They're always expecting bad news these days.

"Will you uh," Remus clears his throat. "Will you come somewhere with me?"

"Anywhere," Sirius answers so quickly that Remus thinks his heart may actually melt. Sirius flushes, looking away like he's embarrassed, but he still says: "You know I'd go anywhere with you."

It takes Remus a few minutes to recover from that.

A few lifetimes.

When his brain starts working again he folds up the letter and slides it into the pocket of his pyjamas, standing up and walking over to Sirius, kissing the top of his head. "Thank you," he murmurs into his hair before going to get dressed.

Of course it takes Sirius ages to get ready. He spends at least thirty minutes on his hair, though doing what Remus hasn't the foggiest, even after all these years. When Sirius finally comes out of the bathroom to find Remus leaning against the door with his arms crossed and his brow raised he rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah I know, I know," he grabs his leather jacket off of the back of the sofa where he tossed it yesterday.

"It's too cold for that," Remus says as Sirius comes towards him.

"You can't let the weather boss you around Moons, you gotta show it who's in charge," he shoots Remus a grin as they walk out the door, locking it behind them with the flick of their wands.

"That's a mad thing to say, you do know that right?"

"I would hope so. I'd hate to start saying sane things. Be bloody boring that."

Shaking his head Remus pushes Sirius in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron.

"We're not Apparating today," he explains when he sees the confused look on the other boy's face. They maneuver their way through the street, which is not nearly as busy as it would have been a year ago, or two years ago. The attacks and abductions are keeping people away. "We're taking the Muggle bus."

"I see," Sirius says carefully. "You planning on telling me where we're going or is this more of a surprise thing?"

"We're going to an orphanage," Remus does his best to keep his voice casual, like this is a perfectly normal thing to do. He's not sure he sells it.

"An orphanage?" Sirius repeats. "Why?"

"There's someone I want to see."

For a long moment Sirius doesn't speak, long enough that Remus sneaks a peek at him out of the corner of his eyes. He doesn't look angry, which is good, though what he does look Remus isn't quite sure.

"You're being very cryptic," Sirius says eventually.

Remus winces. "I know. I'm sorry," but he isn't sure how much he's allowed to tell him, knows he's already going against Dumbledore by bringing Sirius along he just—he isn't sure he can do this on his own.

There's another long pause before Sirius speaks again. "I'm glad that you're taking me with you this time," his voice is smaller than usual, and it breaks Remus's heart a little bit.

He reaches out, offering his hand, and Sirius immediately tangles their fingers together.

"I always want to take you with me, you know that right?" he says, looking at Sirius properly.

He sees that same sad look from earlier. "Maybe," Sirius says finally. "It's good to hear it though."

Remus squeezes his hand tight. "I always want to take you with me," he repeats.

They look at each other for a long time before Sirius speaks, "Thank you."

Remus lifts their hands up, kissing the back of Sirius's. "Christ Sirius, don't you have fucking gloves you're freezing."

And that makes Sirius laugh, breaking the tension. Sirius pulls his hand free so he can swing his arm around Remus's shoulders and pull him into his side. "What did I tell you about showing the weather who's in charge, huh?"

Sirius is fidgety on the bus. He has no patience, which always makes the process of actually travelling anywhere a chore. In a ridiculous way, Remus feels a little nostalgic about it, thinking back to all those trips on the train when Sirius couldn't sit still. Tapping his feet or jiggling his knees or, in their younger years, running through the cars causing chaos.

In the end it only takes them thirty minutes before they're walking up the drive of an austere looking brick building. There's a black metal fence around it, the lawn more mud than anything else.

"This place gives me the creeps," Sirius whispers as they make their way up the front steps.

"Didn't you literally grow up in a haunted house?" Remus asks as he holds the door open.

Sirius seems to consider this. "The ghosts were honestly the least creepy thing about Grimmauld, but I take your point."

They walk into a small reception area with white tile floors and harsh florescent lights. In front of them sits a brown haired woman behind a desk, she has a pug nose, and a pair of reading glasses on a chain around her neck. Remus suddenly feels uncertain, Dumbledore's letter had been fairly vague and he isn't exactly sure what he's supposed to say here.

The woman looks up at them and smiles. "Well hello there," she beckons them forward. "Don't be shy, don't be shy—my names's Aileen, how can I help you two handsome gentlemen today?" she has a friendly voice.

It's not until Sirius nudges him with his elbow that Remus realizes he's going to have to be the one to handle this social situation. He clears his throat, feeling thoroughly out of his depth. "Yeah, um, we're here to visit Charlotte?"

"Are you on her list?"

Remus blinks. "Her list?"

"Of approved visitors?"

"Er—yes?" Dumbledore said everything was arranged...

"Excellent, just give me your name so that I can double check."

"Right, okay, it's Remus Lupin."

"Ooh, that's a new one, I've never met a Remus before," she says as she walks over to the filing cabinets behind her and starts flipping through folders.

Sirius moves closer to him, their shoulders brushing. "Charlotte?" he asks quietly, but Remus only shakes his head. He can't explain who she is, especially not here.

"Ah! Got it!" Aileen pulls out a piece of paper, eyes scanning through it, Remus's heart hammering in his chest. "Oh you're her Uncle, how lovely. Do you mind just showing me some ID?"

"Uh," yes, actually he does. "I, um—" Merlin he's an idiot. Of course, they need ID. And now he's just standing here, looking dumb and suspicious. Jesus Christ. "I—"

"Oh, sorry mate," Sirius laughs, rummaging in his coat pocket. Remus sees the wand in his sleeve, sees the flick as he transfigures his sunglasses into a small plastic card. "Must have grabbed it by mistake on our way out," he hands the card to Remus and then shoots Aileen an exceptionally charming smile. "Sorry about that."

"Oh no problem at all," she smiles back before reaching her hand out to Remus for the card.

"Oh right," he fumbles a little, awkwardly handing it over. When her head is down, Remus mouthes the words "thank you" to Sirius, who gives him a wink.

"Excellent, well, everything seems to be in order," she hands the card back to Remus. "I'll just go get her shall I? I'm so glad you've come, she's been so sad since she was dropped off."

Remus's stomach squeezes, and he does his best to push the feeling away. To push his memories of Lupercal and everything Charlotte's life would have been like there away.

"So," Sirius says after Aileen disappears. "Is...is she your's?"

Remus blinks, turning to look at Sirius who is staring very intently back at him. "Is...she...my what?" he repeats slowly.

"Your kid."

And that question is so absurd that for a minute Remus is fully incapable of understanding it. And then he's laughing. Folded over, clutching his knees, laughing. "What?!" that's all he can get out. "How? How! Are you out of your mind?"

"Well what the hell else am I supposed to think?" Sirius says grumpily.

"Anything," Remus is still struggling to get control of himself. He straightens up, wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes. "Literally anything else. How could I possibly have a child?"

"Well I don't know what you get up to, do I?"

There's a truth in that that Remus doesn't want to touch right now. That he wants to pretend he can't hear.

"She's like five."

Sirius shrugs. "People have kids when they're fourteen."
"Blimey, not me," he can't even imagine—he didn't even know where to start with sex at fourteen.

Sirius makes a humming noise, potentially seeing the sense in this, having known Remus then. "Not your illegitimate love child you've been hiding away in a Muggle orphanage for years then? " he doesn't quite manage to stop his lips from twitching.

Remus snorts, "No, she's not."

There's a pause but Remus can tell Sirius isn't done. Can feel the words sitting inside him.

"Then who is she?" he asks eventually.

Remus swallows with some difficulty. He doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know how to explain without giving it all away. Wonders everyday why it matters. Because he trusts Sirius.

He does.

He does.

He does.

Except...

I was there too, in the office, when James said that Sirius smiled, when he told him what he'd done.

Remus shivers at the voice. At the memories. And he sees Sirius's brows draw together. Sees him reach out. "Re—"

"Remus!"

It's not a yell as much as a gush, like all the air flew out of her the moment she said his name. Remus and Sirius both turn to see Charlotte, holding Aileen's hand and walking towards them. Funny, Remus isn't sure he ever heard her say his name back at Lupercal. Truth be told, he wasn't even sure she'd remember him.

But not only does she remember, she's running towards him. It's instinct that has him bending down so that she can crash right into his arms. So that she can burry her little face in his neck.

"Aw look at that, precious," Aileen says, leaning against her desk.

Remus holds Charlotte close. "Hey," he says softly, at a loss for what else to do.

When she answers her voice is so quiet he barely hears it even though she's speaking right into his ear; "Are you taking me back?"

He has to close his eyes for a moment at the excitement in her voice. He's never wanted to lie to someone so badly.

"No," he says finally. "I'm sorry."

She sniffles and he's worried she's going to cry but all she does is nod against his neck and squeeze him tighter. With more effort than he would like to admit, Remus stands up with Charlotte in his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist.

"You've been given permission to take her off the grounds but we do require the children to be back by seven at the latest, so I'll ask you to be mindful of the time," Aileen explains, looking at them fondly. "Oh—and here's her jacket, I did try to get it on her, but she wasn't so sure she was going to want to leave with you. I daresay she's changed her mind though."

Sirius reaches out and takes the little pink jacket, thanking Aileen as Charlotte whispers: "I thought you might be him."

Greyback. She means Greyback.

Fuck.

He can't imagine what that would be like. Surrounded by a bunch of adults who can never make you feel safe because they can't be trusted with the truth. Remus remembers being afraid after the attack, remembers nights spent in his parent's bed. But at least they'd had wands. At least he'd known that they would fight Greyback if they saw him and not invite him over for tea.

"He isn't going to come here okay?" a promise Remus feels fairly certain he can make now that he's in Greyback's inner circle. Greyback has no interest in the children he turns until they're old enough to fight with him.

"Well," Sirius says, stepping closer, as Aileen returns to her desk. "Shall we go on an adventure?"

Charlotte turns her head to look at him, cheek still pressed to Remus's shoulder. He can feel the moment she sees him, sees his smile, and his dancing eyes, and his beautiful face. Sirius Black, the eighth wonder of the world.

"Hello sweetheart," he says. "Should we get your coat on?"

Remus isn't expecting her to speak, she did it so rarely on the farm. But then: "I'm too hot," she says in a soft voice.

"Ah," Sirius says wisely. "Like your uncle Moony then." Remus isn't sure if Sirius has figured out just how much that's true yet. He doesn't think so, based on the lightness of Sirius's voice.

"Moony?" Charlotte repeats curiously.

"Sorry, that's my nickname for Remus."

There's a pause and then. "I like Moony."

Sirius's smile is so bright that Remus has to look away.

"Me too."

It's a few seconds before Remus is able to find his voice again. "Charlotte this is Sirius, Sirius this is Charlotte."

Sirius makes a big dramatic bow that has Remus rolling his eyes. "M'lady."

Charlotte watches him for a moment before turning back to Remus and whispering in his ear: "Is he a prince?"

Remus has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back a laugh, making eye contact with Sirius who is looking at him questioningly. "She wants to know if you're a prince," he explains.

"Ah, is it because of my incredible manners and regal presence?" he directs the question at Charlotte who considers him before shaking her head.

"It's your hair."

And now Remus can't help it, he bursts out laughing, harder than he has in a while, Sirius breaking not a moment later.

"Alright, I like you, you can stay," he reaches over and musses her hair and instead of telling him to shove off like Remus surely would have, she preens.

Remus does insist that she wear her jacket, Charlotte making little huffy noises the whole time he's putting it on her, like she's humouring him. Sirius does a terrible job of hiding his snickering.

"Alright Princess, how do you feel about piggybacks?" Sirius asks once she's all zippered up.

"I like them," Charlotte answers decisively.

"Good, me too." Not a second later Sirius is kneeling on the floor, helping Charlotte clamour onto his back.

"So I was thinking we could go out for lunch," Remus says as the three of them traipse outside. "There are some nice restaurants around here and then maybe we could, I don't know, go to a park?" He's not got very much experience with children, barely remembers being one himself, but he feels like food and open spaces are a pretty safe bet.

"I mean, we could do that," Sirius says, in a voice that instantly has Remus narrowing his eyes. "Or...we could take her to the greatest sweet shop known to mankind."

Charlotte makes a small excited squealing noise.

"We're not taking her to Honeydukes."

"Why not?" Charlotte is resting her chin on the top of Sirius's head and Remus is trying very hard not to think about how adorable they look.

"Yeah why not?" Sirius mimics her tone as they stop just inside the front gates of the orphanage.

"It's dangerous."

Sirius arches his brow. "Literally how?"

And Remus doesn't have an answer for him exactly, just that the thought of taking her so far and exposing her to so much FEELS dangerous.

"Exactly," Sirius says, eyes looking up like he can see Charlotte through his skull. "You ever Apparated before kid?"

"Sirius—"

"Once, with mama."

Sirius nods. "Okay good, so you know it's going to feel a little wonky for a minute but you just have to hold on tight and breathe through it. Think you can do that?"

She nods her head, chin messing up his hair. "I'm strong."

"Oh, I can tell."

"Sirius."

The other boy looks at him, something a bit more sincere in his expression than before. "Lets give her some fun yeah?" He holds Remus's eyes with all the intent of someone who was never given much fun himself.

And how can Remus say no to that?

"She doesn't leave our sight," he says instead of yes, Sirius offering him a hand that Remus reluctantly takes. "And we'll have her back before seven."

Sirius nods. "Cross my heart."

Remus squeezes his hand before looking up at Charlotte who is bubbling over with excitement. Something he never saw at Lupercal. More time has passed since she was attacked, and that's likely some of the reason that she's thawed. But he also has no doubt that a bit of it is the magic of Sirius. Who when he looks at you, really looks at you, makes you feel like anything is possible if you want it bad enough.

A second later his feet are slamming down on the road just outside of Hogsmeade. Charlotte makes a little gasping noise when they turn towards the quaint town.

"It's beautiful," she whispers, and Remus can't help but look at Sirius who is looking right back, smiling.

"Yeah," Remus agrees. "Yeah it is."

If her eyes went wide at the sight of the town, they nearly fall out of her head when they walk into Honeydukes. Sirius gracefully lets her slide off his back and onto the floor, Charlotte instantly grabbing his hand. Honestly Remus is feeling a little overwhelmed himself. The moment they walk into the colourful shop that smells like something warm and sweet and safe, he realizes he hasn't been here since he left school.

For a moment his heart stutters. And he thinks he hears James laughing, sees Peter making a mad dash for the chocolate frogs, sees Sirius with that careless smile of his, hanging in the corner of his mouth. The worst thing in any of their lives is the potions essay they're all pretending isn't due the next day.

Remus lets out a shaky breath.

God he misses them.

Misses them so much some days he thinks it'll take him apart.

"This is a lot of sweets," Charlotte says, bringing Remus back to the present.

"True," Sirius nods his head soberly, "best to come up with a game plan," the three of them are still standing just inside the door, Charlotte and Sirius staring out at all that lies in front of them. "So where do you wanna start? Chocolate or candy?"

Charlotte seems to consider this quite seriously. "Candy," she decides.

Sirius grins. "Brilliant choice."

They end up needing a cart to hold everything Charlotte picks up as Sirius gives a rather informative tour of the shop. Remus thinks he must have studied the Honeydukes inventory harder than he ever studied for any class they took.

The tour finishes at the front counter where Charlotte is treated to a sample of about every fudge flavour imaginable and Remus is almost positive that he's going to be vanishing vomit before the day is done. By the time they leave the store Charlotte is practically vibrating, sprinting down the street when Sirius points out their next destination—Zonko's, of course.

"Stop at the corner!" Remus shouts after her, shaking his head as he looks down at the bags Sirius is holding. "I can't believe you bought all that."

"This? Please. I was holding back."

"And what exactly are we going to tell them when we take her home loaded up with sweets?"

"Pfft, we're not going to tell them about the sweets. Then they'll do something ridiculous like say she can't have them before supper or make her share them! God forbid."

Remus bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. "You're a horrible influence."

"Aw, is someone feeling grumpy?" Sirius makes a pouty face. "Here, have a sugar quill, those always put you in a better mood back at school."

Remus can't help laughing now, giving Sirius a good shove. "You're such an as—" of course it's at that moment that Charlotte decides to turn back towards them. "As-bsolute jerk."

Sirius smirks, far too smug. "Nice one."

Zonko's is about as chaotic as Remus remembers. Noises and flashing lights and things disappearing in puffs of smoke. It has none of the "cuteness" of Honeydukes. Zonko's is much more of a "fend for yourself" kind of place, which of course James and Sirius always thrived off of. Luckily there aren't many people there today, which lessens the urge Remus usually feels to get out as fast as possible. This is especially good since Sirius seems intent on taking his time.

"What are these?" Charlotte picks up a flat purple disk.

"Ah, you have good taste," Sirius bends down, gently taking it out of her hand. "These, are wings," with the swipe of his thumb a pair of child sized pixie wings sprout from either side of the disc, waving slowly in the air.

Charlotte gasps, her eyes growing wide as she stares at them. "Can you wear them?"

"Absolutely! This little guy goes in the middle of your back and then bam! You'll be floating—what does it say..." he double checks the sign. "A whole three inches off the ground!"

"I'll fly!" Charlotte's voice has gone up several octaves.

Sirius smiles. "In a manner of speaking."

Charlotte spins around, showing him her back. "Put it on! Put it on! Put it on!"

"Alright, bossy pants," he reaches forward when suddenly she spins back, nearly toppling him over.

"Wait, not on my jacket! On my shirt!" she starts fumbling with her zipper.

"Woah, hey, it's too cold for that. Why can't you put the wings on your jacket?" Remus asks, though she already has the thing half-off.

"Fairies don't wear jackets," she says, like it's a known fact. Remus resists the urge to tell her that these are not fairy wings.

Sirius helps her slide the jacket off and when Remus glares at him he shrugs. "Aw, c'mon Rem, I'll cast a warming charm on her. Fairies don't wear jackets, it'll ruin the whole aesthetic."

Remus rolls his eyes, "Fine."

Sirius turns back to Charlotte who is bouncing impatiently on her toes, waiting for her wings. He freezes almost as soon as he looks at her, the smile sliding right off his face. Remus immediately steps forward, not understanding what's happened until he sees that in the scuffle to get her jacket off Charlotte's shirt has been pulled away from her neck. And there, on the skin of her shoulder, is a puckering scar.

Teeth.

Sirius turns to him, a question in his eyes that Remus can't bare to answer out loud, so he just nods.

"Are they on?" Charlotte asks, trying to look back at them. For a moment Remus is worried that she's going to know that something's wrong but Sirius is nothing if not a performer.

"Just a second," he says, expression wiped clean as he presses the circle between her shoulder blades. "There you go. Now you just have to wave your arms—just a little—and the wings will flap."

She does, squealing and giggling when her feet start to lift off the ground.

"I'm flying! I'm flying!"

She's barely hovering really, toes only just in the air as she bobs about, moving her arms like she's swimming.

Sirius straightens up, standing next to Remus. "I think we're gonna need to get her a broom."

"Don't you dare!"

Sirius only laughs.

"Hey!" Charlotte sort of front-crawls towards them.

"If you put your arms down you'll be able to walk," Sirius says with amusement. Charlotte very noticeably does not put her arms down.

"You need some too!" she says, looking up at him.

"I need some wings you mean?"

She nods her head vigorously.

"You know what," Sirius pulls out his own purple disc. "I think you're right."

There are no words to describe the way that Remus's heart swells, when five minutes later they walk out of the store with Sirius and Charlotte holding hands and sporting matching pixie wings. He wishes he had a camera, James would die.

They find a bench to sit down on, Charlotte floating around in little circles in front of them, endlessly entertained by her new toy. Remus leans into Sirius's side.

"You're good with her."

Sirius snorts. "Helps that we're mentally the same age."

But Remus shakes his head. "No, I mean it. I've never seen her smile this much before. Never heard her laugh. It's—you're good at it."

Sirius looks over at him, brow raised. "It?"

"Kids."

Sirius is silent for a moment, a long moment, at least for him. He watches Charlotte fluttering around, his eyes distant. "I guess I just...know what I needed. What I wanted. When I was...a kid."

It still feels odd to say that. To have "kid" be something they were not something they are. You spend so much of your youth trying to convince everyone that you're grown, but the minute the world turns around and says "you, you're an adult, you're responsible" you can't help but feel that a terrible mistake has been made.

Because to Remus, Sirius is still a kid.

Sometimes he's even still trapped in that house.

He feels tugging on his sleeve and starts when he realizes that Charlotte is right next to him, her feet firmly on the ground for the first time since the wings went on.

"Hey, what's up?" he asks her, bending down slightly.

She bites her lower lip. "I wanna..." she looks at Sirius and then back at Remus, lowering her voice. "I wanna see your wolf."

Remus blinks. He hadn't been expecting that, maybe he should have been but...

"I never see any anymore," she goes on. "I miss them."

Even with all the time he's spent with Gabe recently it still feels so foreign to him, this affection for the wolf. Remus has never felt anything but shame and fear. He doesn't want that for Charlotte.

"Rem?" Sirius says, bringing Remus's attention back to him. "What did she ask?"

He opens his mouth and then closes it, not sure he can explain. Thankfully, he's saved by Charlotte tugging on his sleeve again. This time she doesn't stop until he's bent low enough that she can whisper in his ear.

"Is he like us?"

Remus doesn't know why that makes his breath hitch. Maybe because it's his biggest fear. He can hear Regulus Black's dead voice in his head: Haven't bitten him yet then?

"No," Remus finally manages, voice a little tight. "But he—he knows."

She looks back at Sirius before nodding. "So you can show me then?"

Merlin, can he? He's done it a few times since Lupercal—transformed on his own, or, well, by his own freewill. Gabe has always been there. Sometimes Gabe has bad days and he just needs...to escape. Originally Remus had suggested letting him see Charlotte but Dumbledore had denied that request. Incase somehow it lead to Gabe working out the relationship between Remus and Dumbledore and telling Greyback.

"Remus?" that's Sirius again, looking at him pleadingly, expecting some sort of explanation that Remus isn't sure he can give him.

Finally, after his eyes have done a circuit of the surrounding area, making sure no one is close enough to hear, Remus manages to make himself speak. "She wants to see my wolf."

Sirius's brows draw together, eyes bouncing between the pair of them, clearly trying to figure out if this is some sort of game. "But...it's not even close to the full moon?"

"Why would that matter?" Charlotte responds before Remus gets the chance.

"I—" Sirius lets out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry, I'm lost here. What are we talking about?"

Remus doesn't think this is the place to explain. Before he can second guess himself he's standing up and offering Charlotte his hand. Her eyes growing bright.

"Yeah?"

He nods. Short. Curt.

He's nervous. Partially because it's dangerous, and partially because Sirius is here. Is watching him. But he doesn't want all of Mia's hard work to be lost. He doesn't want Charlotte to see a cell at the Ministry every time she thinks about this part of herself.

"Moons," Sirius says, falling into step with them as they head out of town and towards the school. "What's she talking about?"

His hands are trembling, and he feels Charlotte give the one she's holding a squeeze. He's being comforted by a five year old. He nearly laughs.

"I'm gonna show you," Remus says finally.

Sirius scrutinizes him for a minute longer before nodding his head. "Alright."

They don't actually go to the school. Instead turning towards the forest that starts at the bottom of its grounds and stretches far beyond. He's not going to take Charlotte to the Shrieking Shack. He expects it's no better than a cell at the Ministry. He knows the forest isn't generally considered a safe place, but he's never been able to see the sinisterness that everyone else does. Some of the happiest moments of his life have happened between theses trees.

Still, he keeps a firm hold on Charlotte's hand, even when she tries to run off. While he might not be afraid of the forest like other people, that doesn't mean he's just going to hand it an unarmed five year old wearing pixie wings.

The whole time they walk Sirius shoots him nervous looks out of the corner of his eyes. For all that he loves springing them on other people, Sirius has never much liked surprises himself.

"Okay, this ought to be good," Remus says as they come to a small clearing, far enough into the forest that no one passing by on the outside can see them.

"Good for what?" Sirius asks as Remus takes off his coat and jumper and folds them carefully on top of a nearby tree stump.

"Wolf! Wolf! Wolf!" Charlotte claps her hands, floating around again now that Remus is no longer anchoring her.

Sirius doesn't bother responding to that, eyes on Remus who is a little worried he's going to throw-up. Instead he steps forward, and before Sirius can ask another question he presses a quick kiss to his lips.

"Don't be scared okay?" he says softly when he pulls away, Sirius's eyes desperately searching his, likely not finding anything helpful.

Remus steps back, making sure there's a good amount of space between him and the others. He notices Sirius moving closer to Charlotte and he tries not to take that personally. Exhaling he closes his eyes. He's gotten better at this, the last few times, the walls in him coming down a little easier. Still, he's more nervous this time, and it's making it harder to concentrate.

"Re—"

"Shhh!" Charlotte silences him and Remus has to bite his lip to hold back a laugh.

It's okay,

he tells himself.

It's Sirius.

It's only Sirius.

He exhales again, searching for the howl, the one that runs underneath his thoughts. His pulse. Always there. Steady. He tries to remind himself that it isn't scary. That it's just a part of him, like every other part. And then he pulls it forward. Makes it loud. As loud as it wants to be.

For a moment everything disappears.

And then it reforms and it is brighter and sweeter and realer.

"Holy shit."

He blinks his eyes open and sees Charlotte's beaming face, she runs towards him, Sirius making a grab for her.

He's afraid.

Afraid.

Afraid of me.

"Charlotte don't—"

Moony instantly lowers himself, dipping his head, trying to show that he's not a threat.

They both smell so familiar.

Especially Sirius.

Pack, he thinks.

Pack.

and pack.

and pack.

Charlotte is scratching behind his ears, making his back leg thump in appreciation on the ground.

"You're so cute," she coos, and he likes that, so he licks her—slobber covering half her face and making her giggle.

"Sirius come—come pet him!"

Moony turns to Sirius.

Sirius who does not come.

And does not pet.

Unhappy with this he gets up, careful not to knock Charlotte over as he walks towards Sirius. It's not until then that he realizes that there are tears in Sirius's eyes. His beautiful eyes.

Beautiful.

Beautiful.

Beautiful.

Moony whines, it's a desperately sad noise.

He doesn't want Sirius to cry.

He does not want Sirius to ever cry.

"Sorry—Merlin—sorry, it's just," he wipes at his face, voice a little shaky. "I've never seen you...I've never seen you look so...so happy. I've never seen your wolf look...you're just...God Remus I don't know how to explain it. I didn't know it could be like this."

Moony nods, though he's not sure that Sirius catches it, and he wants to hold him. To protect him. To sink his teeth into him and never let him go.

Instead he steps forward, knocking his nose into the centre of Sirius's chest, causing Sirius to laugh. He can hear his heart.

Thump,

thump.

thump.

"Hey, hi," Sirius says softly, petting him and then leaning forward and pressing several light kisses across his head. No one has ever kissed his wolf before. Something akin to a purr seems to grow from his chest.

Sirius chuckles. "You like that huh?" he kisses him a few more times for good measure, before pulling away, just staring. Moony stares back, not feeling any of the embarrassment he might normally.

Mine, he thinks.

He's mine,

mine.

mine.

"AHWOO!"

Both Sirius and Moony whip around at the noise, finding little Charlotte, floating in the centre of the clearing...howling. She looks at Moony and smiles.

"AHWOO!"

A second later he's joining her, head tilted back towards the sky, voice ripped from him like it's desperate to be free.

"C'mon Sirius," Charlotte says after a few seconds. "You have to sing too."

Moony turns back to him, worried he'll refuse, not sure why it's so important that he doesn't. There's a moments pause before Sirius's eyes find his. And then he howls. The noise shooting through Moony like an electric current. The sound vibrating in his chest.

The three of them sing.

Loud and proud and unafraid.

Pack.

Pack.

Pack.

Remus is able to patch his clothes back together with magic. He's still looking rough, but once he has his jumper and his coat back on it's not too bad. When he emerges from the trees he'd been hiding behind to make himself decent, he finds Charlotte no longer wearing her wings and instead sporting a little green backpack that Sirius is just zipping up.

When Sirius looks over at him Remus arches his brow; "You put an extension charm on that?" because there's no way all the stuff they bought today could fit inside there naturally.

Sirius nods, getting back to his feet. "And I'm gonna put a disillusionment charm on it before we get back to the orphanage, that way there will be no awkward questions."

"And I'll get to keep all my sweets!" Charlotte adds.

Sirius looks down at her fondly. "Exactly," he holds out his hand and she gives him a high-five without a moments hesitation.

Remus sighs. "Bad influence."

Their eyes meet.

"So you've said," and then something shifts in Sirius's gaze and he's stepping forward, wrapping Remus in his arms. It's one of those feel-it-in-your-bones kind of hugs. Sirius tucking his face into the crook of Remus's neck.

"Hey," Remus says softly.

"Hey," Sirius says back. And then; "Thanks...for showing me."

That makes Remus's heart tremble, and for a moment he has to close his eyes just to relieve one of his senses. He turns his head, kissing Sirius's temple. If he could, he would stay here forever. In this forest. In these arms. But unfortunately the world has not disappeared. And there is a rather sleepy looking toddler waiting for them.

Remus gives Sirius one last good squeeze before pulling back. "We should probably take her home," he gestures to Charlotte who chooses that moment to yawn.

Sirius nods, though he looks profoundly unhappy about it. "Alright you little menace," he says as he walks over to her, kneeling down and offering up his back. "All aboard."

By the time they make it up the walkway to the orphanage Charlotte can barely keep her eyes open.

"Someone looks like they've had a fun day," Aileen says when they walk through the door, Sirius carefully easing Charlotte off of him. She hugs his legs sleepily before moving on to Remus, whose jumper she pulls until he brings his ear down for her.

"You'll come back?" she whispers, causing Remus's heart to squeeze.

"Yeah," he clears his throat, "of course."

Charlotte nods, very matter of fact, and then: "Bring Gabe too."

"Okay little missy, your uncles have to go now, time to finish up your goodbyes."

And Remus desperately wants to grab Charlotte and carry her out of there. Desperately wants to take her back to Lupercal. To give her the beautiful life she was going to have. But he can't do any of that, so instead he hugs her one last time.

"I'll try," he whispers before she's pulled away, waving at Sirius as she goes.

They don't talk for a while. Walking out of the building and down towards the road in silence.

"So," Sirius says eventually, the sun setting above their heads. "That bite..."

"Greyback," Remus isn't sure he wants to know how Sirius was going to finish that question. "Or one of his followers," his stomach twists at the thought that right now that includes him.

"Bastard," Sirius hisses, hands in the pockets of his jacket. "I swear to god I'm gonna kill him one day."

Remus snorts even though he knows that Sirius isn't joking, which means there is nothing remotely funny about it. "I'll join you."

Now it's Sirius who's laughing. "Fun new date night activity."

"Jesus Christ," but Remus is smiling despite himself.

"Murder is the key to a healthy relationship."

"Pretty sure that's communication."

"Pretty sure you have to communicate to murder someone together."

And now they're both laughing, because they're terrible people, because they're children, because what else can you do? When the world is ugly and cruel, what else can you do but laugh?

They usually aren't particularly affectionate in public, for a great many reasons, but when they sit down on the bus Remus can't fight the urge to lean into Sirius, flicking his wand and casting a disillusionment charm over them. Sirius raises his brow but still sneaks an arm around Remus's waist, pulling him closer.

"You ever think about it?" Remus asks after a few minutes. "Having kids?"

Sirius snorts. "You wanna have my babies Moony?"

Remus scoffs, turning his face and burying it in Sirius's neck. He expects that to be the end of the conversation, but a few minutes later Sirius says:

"We can't now, because everything is...well...a mess," Remus wonders if he's talking about the pair of them specifically or the war in general. Frankly, he's too afraid to ask. "But later, when things are settled, safer, we'll get her out of there."

It takes Remus a pathetically long time to work out what Sirius is saying, and when he does he pulls back, staring at the other boy. "Charlotte?" he says. "You want to adopt Charlotte?"

"Well we can't leave her there. Besides, James and Lily's brat will need someone to keep it in line, you know that kid is gonna be an absolute terror," Sirius grins.

But Remus is still struggling to process this. "But she—it's hard, when you're young, it would be—her being...what she is...it would be hard. Wouldn't you rather..." a kid who isn't already broken, he can't say, doesn't even mean. At least not about Charlotte. Given the choice his father would have. His mother too maybe.

"I reckon we can handle it, don't you?"

And before Remus can stop himself he's kissing him, "I love you," he says when they break apart, staring into Sirius's eyes.

And whatever had been there that morning, whatever sadness, whatever hesitation, whatever doubt—Remus doesn't see it now.

"I love you too."