A/N:

So, it's been a while.

Oops?

Please, I can explain! Basically, back in October, I got injured pretty badly because I was a bit clumsy with a felling axe. Chopped right into my left knee, riiiight down to the bone. Not fun, as you can imagine. I spent the next four weeks walking with a limp, which really slowed down my progress in school since it's a very hands-on course with a lot of walking involved. By the time my leg started healing, we were at end of semester and suddenly I had major projects and exams to study for, and was just too stressed to be writing TNN for you guys. (To be honest, still too busy and stressed, but hey I managed to fit in time to write this chapter, didn't I?)

So sorry for the wait everyone, and thank you to everyone who's still around after all this time! If you're new to the story, welcome, and I hope you enjoy!

-D.A Haven

Xx~xX

"How do you do it?" The tiny boy's voice was barely a squeak over the torrents of rain outside.

"...Do what?" The man replied, exhaustion clear in his voice.

"Make them listen."

The man gazed out the window, his hair hanging low over his brow and casting a faint shadow over his face. He seemed lost in thought, and the boy watched him closely.

"That spell... you're too young for something like that, boy," Regulus responded without looking in his direction.

The boy pouted, but stopped when it became apparent Regulus wasn't going to look over. He turned to look out the window as well, but seeing nothing but a cloudy grey sky and the tops of several buildings, quickly became bored and sunk lower into his chair with a silent huff.

"There is something else that I can teach you though," the black haired man continued.

Immediately perking up, the boy began eagerly waiting, knowing that any questions he asked would be ignored, and the man would simply teach him what he wanted to know.

"It is not magic, but do not think it any less important. It has saved my life as many times as any spell I have ever learned," the man continued.

The man finally turned his gaze towards Potter, prying his eyes away from the bleak view out the window.

"What do you think I am feeling right now, boy?" His black eyes were unblinking, holding him in a sort of staring contest that felt far too important to be a simple game.

The boy shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. How... how was he supposed to know?

"... I don't know."

"But you could" the man said.

"I don't know the spell," Potter responded quietly.

"You don't need a spell, boy."

Potter tilted his head to the side, puzzled, his mind racing, but unable to find an answer. What did the man mean?

The man gave a slightly exasperated sigh, something he seemed to do a lot when Potter asked questions. He rested his chin in his hand, yet another sign of just how tired the man truly was.

"Look at my eyes, child. What do you see?"

Potter stared, squinting and analyzing as best he could. The man's eyes were nearly solid black in this light, slightly bloodshot, and highlighted by the dark bags underneath them.

"You're tired?" He asked timidly.

The man snorted in what seemed like a laugh.

"Any buffoon could see that much, boy. Look deeper. What do you really see?"

He frowned and looked again. Look deeper? What did that even mean? He stared for what felt like eternity, studying every detail he could. The man was patient, simply waiting for a response.

"...Sad," the boy finally said. "You look sad."

The man paused for a moment, his face impassive. Then he broke into a slight chuckle, his shoulders twitching slightly from the shake, and the shadow of a smile crossed his face.

"Yes, child. Good."

"Why are you sad?"

He didn't know why it was important to him. Only that it was.

The man turned to look back out the window, hiding his face from the boy.

"Whether someone is lying or speaking from the heart, whether they are covering up their feelings or simply don't know what it is they are feeling, their eyes will always hold the truth. Words are worthless, always remember this, boy. Liar or not, anyone can speak untruths. But the eyes will always reveal what lays beneath the surface."

Potter turned to look out the window as well. The rain was coming down even harder now. It was getting difficult even to see the outline of the next nearest building, just across the street. He took those words to heart, the weight of them not fully realized but still remembered.

"...but you never answered my question."

In the reflection of the window, Potter saw the man raise an eyebrow.

"Why are you sad?" He repeated, more forcefully than before.

The man didn't smile this time, or chuckle.

"Perhaps one day, I'll tell you."

Xx~xX

The lights were fuzzy above Potter's head. Faintly yellowish, but soft and somewhat warm... like sunlight, but very clearly not. He lay there, squinting up at the indistinct shapes of light, until the sound of a door being opened drew his attention.

"Oh!" The woman's voice was surprised. "You're awake!"

He stared in confusion, as the most strangely dressed young woman he had ever seen closed the door behind her. Her skirt and blouse were a kaleidoscope of purples, pinks, blues and just about every other colour of the rainbow, as if she had walked through a fabric store and just grabbed a little bit of everything and patched it together. Her hair was long and braided, filled with beads and clips and other decorations which didn't seem to make much sense, but which clearly she had put there on purpose nonetheless. Her eyes were the same, a scattered mess of hazel, brown, green and blue, vibrant and visible even from across the room. They were gentle eyes, he noted. Kind.

"Wh-" he choked on his words, breaking into a cough. The strangely dressed woman

"W-who are you?" He was able to finish.

"An old friend of your father's," she smiled, rubbing his back in small circles. When Potter pulled away slightly, uncomfortable with the contact, her smile faltered a bit, and she pulled her hand away.

"M-my Father?"

She looked surprised for a second, but then that same warm smiled crossed her face again.

"Oh, yes! We went to Hogwarts together, back in the day... it all feels so long ago, now. Although it probably seems like ancient history to you now, doesn't it? You young'uns always think the world started right when you were born... ah, but where are my manners! My name is Isabella. And what might your name be, young man?"

Potter hesitated, completely off guard at the woman's friendly demeanor and sudden question. Just how was he supposed to answer that, and should he? He didn't know a thing about her, and where...

She frowned, a concerned look on her face, and set down a tray of food that he hadn't noticed before on the bedside table.

"Here, lad... do you feel alright, now?" She said, kneeling on the floor beside his bed and raising a hand to his forehead.

He leaned away from her hand, uncomfortable with just how close she was. Seeing his hesitation, her

"That will be enough, Isabell. He's been through enough, he doesn't need your questioning." The sudden, gruff voice of Regulus had never been so welcomed before.

Potter and Isabella both turned to look at the tall man who had appeared in the doorway. Regulus was dressed entirely in black as he almost always was, but looked far from normal. His hair was shaggy and unkempt, the first hints of a beard visible, as he clearly hadn't shaved in a couple of days. The redness around his eyes told Potter that the man hadn't been sleeping.

"It was hardly questioning, Reg. I just asked for the little tyke's name, not his life's story! Not yet, at least." The woman seemed to pout a little, pursing her lips in a mock display of sadness. "And how many times do I have to ask you not to call me that! Just call me Bella, like everyone else!"

Reg? Did she just call him Reg?

"I most certainly will not be calling you Bella, Isabel. I have no desire to ever hear my cousin's name again."

Isabella flinched slightly at the hostility in Regulus' voice, grimacing as something unpleasant seemed to be brought to mind. She shook it off though, forcing a smile back.

"Reg?" Potter interjected, completely confused.

Isabella laughed suddenly as a look of utter horror crossed Regulus' face.

"Do not ever call me that."

"Oh, why not, Reg? Or do you prefer Reggie now?" Isabella giggled.

Potter simply sat there dumbfounded. He had never seen someone... tease Regulus before. It seemed so strange somehow, but clearly the woman had done it before, possibly many times.

"My name is Regulus," he deadpanned. His eyes were flat as ever, but Potter could swear there was just a sliver of something else in those black orbs.

"Glad to see you haven't changed a bit, Reg," Isabella smiled.

Regulus sighed, the same, exasperated sigh he always gave Potter.

"You haven't changed much either, Isabel."

The woman smiled again, and Potter decided then that he liked her. There was just something about her eyes, something comforting. Like a warm fire on a cold day.

Twitch.

Potter glanced down, not surprised in the slightest at the sudden movement of the Notebook in his forearm. He was surprised, however, when he saw what his arm looked like.

The tattoo was still there, the open book still clearly visible, although both it and the pages that drifted up out of it were frayed around the edges. It seemed to be barely holding itself together, fragile and delicate now, when before it had been so present and commanding. Just as startlingly, was the ring around the tattoo. His skin was a deep red, sore and tender from the burns he had received back on the island. It was barely noticeable, though, when he compared it in his mind to the sheer agony that the original burn had been. The last thing he remembered... hadn't Regulus said something about a healer? He wasn't sure, everything from the fiendfyre onwards seemed so fuzzy...

While he had been distracted, it seemed like Regulus and Isabella had continued talking, or rather, bickering. When he finally glanced up at Regulus, the man looked back, and instantly straightened slightly.

"I must thank you again, for your services, Isabella. But we must be going now," Regulus said suddenly, cutting off whatever conversation they had been having before.

Isabella frowned, clearly unhappy at the sudden interjection, or rather, cancellation, of their talk.

"Reg, your kid just barely woke up, you can't mean to leave already, can you? He needs at least another few days to..."

"No," Regulus interrupted, his voice firm. "We have... unfinished business, Isabella. I'm afraid we can't wait any longer than we already have."

Isabella crossed her arms, stomping her foot down and raising her chin in defiance. While it made Potter shrink back a little, Regulus was utterly unphased. Perhaps because he stood head and shoulders over the woman, or maybe because he was used to dealing with Death Eaters... Potter wasn't sure.

"Two days. Your son needs rest, Regulus."

I'm not his so-

"I'm aware of what my son needs."

Potter didn't miss the emphasis Regulus put on the words my son. Nor did he miss the subtle glance that Regulus shot his way.

Play along, the man was saying.

Potter nodded slowly.

(He knew it was a play, a trick. But that didn't stop the rising swell of happiness he felt.)

"Come on, then, kid," Regulus said, gesturing for him to get out of the bed. Potter obliged, both him and Regulus ignoring the sudden protests of Isabella.

His feet hit the hardwood floor, and he wobbled for a second, to which Isabella loudly proclaimed something about him not being ready, but he was too drawn into his own head to hear her. His vision went dark for a moment as weakness filled his legs, and a pain in the back of his head he hadn't noticed before grew into a migraine. After a few seconds, it faded to a point he could ignore it again... and he left behind the concerned woman, towards Regulus and the doorway.

For a second, that same look of concern was there in Regulus' eyes, although the rest of his face remained impassive. Then he looked away, and the brief moment was gone.

"I'll make sure he gets his rest, Isabel. But we truly can't stay a moment longer."

He placed his hand on Potter's shoulder, turning them both out the door, and marching him forwards. From the room behind them, Isabella clearly wasn't done.

"Regulus Arcturus Black!"

Regulus flinched.

Potter's eyes widened. So that's his full name?

Isabella stood in the doorway behind them, her fists on her hips.

"If you walk out that door right now, you are not welcome back here anymore! So you bring your boy back in here this instant!

Her lips were pursed again, and she had gone rosy in the cheeks. She was clearly trying her best to seem stern, but her naturally impish and kind demeanor and strange clothing took away any semblance of severity.

The corner of Regulus' mouth twitched up in a smile.

"You don't mean that at all, Isabel."

The woman deflated, sighing loudly.

"...I know. But he still needs rest! A couple of days worth, at the very least! And don't forget to feed him properly from now on, he's as skinny as you were back at hogwarts, maybe more so! And don't forget your fruits and vegetables, and..."

Regulus outright laughed.

"Of course, Mum. Best behavior, as always." The teasing tone of voice Regulus used sounded completely foreign to Potter.

Isabella blushed, turning a bright tomato red.

"Well, someone has to remind you, or who knows what you'll get yourself into! I swear, you have a new scar every time I see you!"

"Ah, I... suppose there is some truth to that." Regulus smirked.

"...You'll come back sooner this time, too." She said.

"That didn't sound like a question," Regulus replied.

"That's because it wasn't. I expect to see you and your son back here, as often as you can! No more of this disappearing for nearly a decade stuff, understand? How was I even supposed to know you were alive, Reg? You couldn't even send an owl?"

There was pain in her voice now, even Potter could hear it.

Something dark crossed over Regulus' face.

"I... I'm sorry about that, Isabel. I'll do my best to come visit again, more often, but I need you to make me a promise first." There was nothing but grave sincerity in his voice.

Isabella returned his serious gaze, that concerned look on her face again.

"What is it, Reg?" She asked softly.

"You cannot let anyone know you have seen us, Isabel. Not a soul."

She gaped at them, confusion and worry in her eyes.

"Why? Are you... are you in trouble, Reg? Can't I help?"

"You already have, remember?" Regulus said, patting Potter's shoulder lightly. Potter did his best to smile reassuringly, despite the gravity of the situation.

"Not a word to anyone, Isabel. Please."

Potter's eyes widened in surprise at that. When had he ever heard Regulus say "please", before?

Isabella reacted the same way, just as unused to hearing Regulus say please as Potter was.

"...Okay, Regulus. But please, for my sake... be safe. Come back and visit next time without any new scars, yeah?"

She smiled again, the kind of smile where she closed her eyes. Even still, Potter could see the sadness behind it.

Regulus smiled back, just as sadly.

"I'll try."

He put his hand back on Potter's shoulder, this time with finality. Potter braced himself, clenching his gut against the sudden tugging he knew was coming.

"Oh, right! I nearly forgot! I never caught your son's name!" Isabella called out, extending her arm as if to grab onto Regulus' coat.

Regulus tightened his grip on Potter's shoulder, the only indication that he had heard her.

Then, with a familiar crack, the pair disappeared, leaving her alone in the room.

Xx~xX

Potter had never been to Germany before. He hadn't been sure what to expect (he never was when Regulus took him somewhere new) but being in the middle of the woods, seemingly miles from any sort of city, wasn't it. Everywhere he looked was just... trees. He didn't know what Germany was like, but somehow he got the feeling that this wasn't exactly the whole picture.

Regulus was even more withdrawn and quiet than normal, sometimes outright ignoring Potter's questions until the boy just gave up and sat on a rock somewhere. The man still hadn't shaved, and didn't bother tending to his hair as normal, so it hung low in messy tangles that cast menacing shadows over his eyes. He had spent the first day drawing lines in the dirt with magic, growing frustrated and scratching them all out again, only paying attention to Potter when it was time to eat from the meager pack of supplies they had brought. The second day, he began mumbling to himself, flipping through countless tomes and notebooks, drawing more lines in the dirt, before again clearing off the ground and starting over. It was then that he had stopped even answering the most basic of questions, so drawn into whatever he was doing that the man forgot to eat, and Potter had instead just left some food out beside him.

Today, the third day, Regulus was clearly even more frustrated than before. Potter sat cross legged against a tree at the edge of the small clearing they had set up their tent in, as Regulus gave a low, dog-like snarl, before blasting the ground with a curse, sending bits of dirt and stone into the air. The sudden viciousness startled Potter, though he didn't move from his seat.

Instead he tilted his head to the side, just as curious as Regulus was frustrated. He was smart enough to know that Regulus was planning something, and that it wasn't going well. He was even able to put together that it was probably finding the Death Eater, Wilkes, that was proving to be so difficult. What Potter couldn't put together was how sitting in the woods and drawing lines in the ground was supposed to help.

Over the past three days, without Regulus or even any of the magical textbooks he typically had to entertain him, he had spent his time listening to the Notebook. Since the fiendfyre, it's voice was different. Now that he understood what had been happening, how the Notebook had been possessing him more and more from the moment it entered his arm, he looked at it in a different light.

It's voice was no longer tempting. Those strange emotions he felt from it no longer affected his own, although he could still feel them. He had tried talking to it, on several occasions... but the Notebook was nearly as withdrawn as Regulus. At best, it would mutter, something that could only be described as a whimper or a cry, but nothing like the sounds a person would make. It seemed the fiendfyre had hurt it even worse than Potter had first thought.

Although talking to the Notebook was out of the question, he had succeeded in something else.

Taking it out of his wrist was becoming easier and easier.

With Regulus barely looking up from the ground, and the complete isolation of the forest, there was no one around to so much as notice the small, dark haired boy reading from a burned up leather book. And without so much as another person to talk to, he had nothing to do but read from it.

He had hesitated at first, of course. The Notebook was dangerous, he was more sure of that than ever... but even still, he couldn't ignore the burning curiosity he felt about it. Herpo, his supposed ancestor, had given it to a reason, right? Potter knew he couldn't fully trust the ancient dark wizard, but at the very least... Herpo had seemed to want Voldemort dead just as much as Regulus. That had to count for something.

You, not your father, not whatever wizards you call heroes in your day, but you will stop him. You are my heir. It is your duty. You will not turn away from this.

The words of his ancestor still played in his mind, as present as the moment he had heard them.

You will stop him.

Not his father, not Dumbledore or even... even his sister.

Dahlia Potter. The Girl Who Lived.

He closed the Notebook, snapping the leather covers shut in his left hand, and leaned back against the tree until he could stare at the sky.

He didn't think about his sister much. He knew the story, and the facts that every wizard in the world knew... Regulus had told him a long time ago. It felt like something he had just always known, at this point. Dahlia Potter was the savior of the world. Dahlia Potter stopped Voldemort on the very day she was born. Dahlia Potter was going to be the greatest witch of her generation... the next Dumbledore.

The facts and the myths and the legends all blended together with his sister.

Dahlia Potter was getting special training from Dumbledore before going to Hogwarts. Dahlia Potter could already duel a Death Eater and win. Dahlia Potter wasn't learning to fly on a broomstick, she was learning to ride a dragon.

Dahlia Potter was an only child.

And Potter didn't care.

Sometimes, he thought he should. One sibling living with their mother, all the attention and special treatment in the world, all the love and care she could need. The other sibling living a life on the run, chasing dangerous criminals while hiding from the Aurors, travelling with a man who should by all rights have been a stranger. A man who had put his life in danger multiple times, a man who was often so engrossed in his work that he forgot Potter even existed.

By all rights, he should have hated his sister.

But somehow, he just felt... nothing, for her. He had never laid eyes on his twin before. Never so much as seen a picture of her in a stolen copy of the Daily Prophet. The whole thing felt so incredibly distant from him that it felt like it had happened to someone else.

He barely even had any desire to meet her, really. Just a passing curiosity, to know what the girl who he could have been raised alongside was like.

I wonder if she has Herpo's eyes too?

It was the first time he had thought about it but... if he was the descendant of Herpo the Foul, then his sister would be, as well. So it was a real possibility that she had the same basilisk green eyes that he did, possibly even the ability to speak parseltongue.

It also meant that one of his parents was a direct descendant as well, although he really didn't have a clue which one. Maybe Regulus could help him figure it out? If Regulus would ever stop whatever he was doing in the dirt, that is.

The Notebook twitched, but this time, it wasn't inside his wrist but in his hand. Just a faint flutter of the cover, as if moved by a sudden gust of wind.

He flipped the book open again, pushing thoughts of family from his mind, letting that childish curiosity overtake him once more. When he had closed it, he had completely lost his page... something about Dementors, most of which had been too advanced for him to follow, but which he had read through raptly for nearly an hour. The random page he opened the book to was covered in something that looked like a graph, or a table, filled with strange symbols he had never seen before, but the second he lifted his right hand off the page, the Notebook began moving on its own. The pages lifted and turned, flipping by faster and faster, through hundreds of pages, until it slowed down and eventually landed on the exact page he had been reading before closing it. A charcoal sketch of a Dementor, cloak billowing in the wind and grey, lifeless mouth open in a silent scream dominated the right hand page, the left covered in scrawled notes about the creature.

Potter smiled, pleased that the Notebook had remembered his page again. It didn't always do this, he had found, but it was immensely useful when it did.

Herpo's notes on Dementors were the most interesting thing he had managed to find in the Notebook so far. Most of the pages seemed to be boring mathematics... arithmancy, maybe? Regulus had mentioned the word before, and it sounded right, but Potter really didn't know. For now, he couldn't understand it anyways, so what it was called didn't matter much.

But after hours of flipping through the book, he had come to the section on Dementors. Soul devouring, demon-like creatures that seemed to appear from nowhere, did not breed, and could not be killed. They were fascinating. Herpo's studies into them were extensive, pages after pages of notes, data from experiments and sketches. The sketches were by far his favourite. The way the thick, dark charcoal lines were animated by magic, giving life to what were already incredibly lifelike drawings left him awestruck. This picture in particular was one he kept coming back to, the sketch of a completed Dementor. Not a close up of a single part, or drawing of one from afar, but a perfect view of the creature from up close. The way it seemed to float on the page, drifting slowly up and down as it's cloak billowed, and it's one exposed hand reached out towards an imaginary prey.

Herpo's notes on the other page were nearly as interesting as the picture, if not as beautiful.

Nothing kills it. Nothing! Two years, and I'm no closer. I have yet to decide if this failure is a victory or a loss. If indeed they cannot be killed, then could my search end here? Could this finally be what I have been looking for? Only time will tell.

Time, and many, many more experiments.

Sometimes Herpo would write as if he were creating a textbook, or would organize every detail and fact with delicate care and planning. Other times, like on this page, he just seemed to let his thoughts spill out... more as if he were talking to a friend than writing.

Potter imagined being a necromancer didn't let you make many friends. He guessed then, that writing in a journal was probably the closest thing the man had to companionship.

It didn't sound like a very happy life.

There is another question I have, which occupies as much of my time as the supposed 'immortality' of the beasts. If they are capable of devouring souls, then where do said souls go? Where do souls go when a person dies, regardless of Dementors? It took years, but I was able to observe... something. The moment the soul leaves the body. The moment it utterly vanishes from this world, disappearing off to someplace I cannot begin to comprehend. It took just as many years to successfully observe this same phenomena when one's soul is drawn out by a Dementor.

Potter shuddered slightly at the idea of an experiment in which someone's soul was taken by a Dementor. How many people had Herpo sacrificed in his 'studies'?

I was able to conclude very little... but what I found is both exciting and terrifying. In that moment, after the soul has left the body, it begins to 'shimmer'. It flickers, like a candlelight moments before the wind puts it out... and then, disappears. Not extinguished, but gone. Moved on, to another place.

When the Dementors are involved, it is different. That moment of flickering light is extending, as the Dementor 'breathes' it in. And then in what should have been it's final moment, where it should have gone on to whatever afterlife, whatever heaven or hell may await it, it can't. The Dementor's breath holds it in place. It cannot leave. It cannot pass on. In that instant, it may have very well achieved the 'immortality' that I seek. The inability to die.

That is the exciting part. What happens next... that is the terrifying part.

It is not an exaggeration to state that the Dementor's 'devour' the souls of their victims. When the soul stops its flickering, when it has once again gone still, the Dementor consumes it. The soul enters the Dementor's body, never to be observed again. I have only suspicions as to what happens to the soul from there. Given the Dementor's immortality, I find it unlikely they are eating the souls, as we consume food. They need no nutrients in order to survive, after all.

I find it far more likely that those souls go... somewhere else.

Not the afterlife, indeed if such a thing even exists, but another place, different from heaven or hell. The disappearance of the soul is too similar, and my other experiments have all lead to the same conclusion.

There is another 'place'. Another realm where the dead may dwell.

Given the nature of Dementors, I suppose it must be a very cold, miserable place.

I can only hope a better future for myself, should I ever succumb to the miseries of death.

The sketch of the Dementor seemed less beautiful now.

A sudden gust of wind, laced with magic brushed by. Startled, he turned to look into the wind, which seemed to be coming directly from Regulus.

The black clad man was standing in the center of another set of lines on the ground, panting heavily, his back turned to Potter. The lines in the dirt now were glowing, and the wind seemed to stir the dirt, stones and sticks... pushing and pulling them around on the earth. Potter's eyes widened, both curious at what act of magic the man was performing, and excited that something seemed to have finally worked.

Regulus was completely engrossed in the spell, concentration etched onto his face so much so that he didn't notice Potter approaching the edge of the circle of lines. Potter stopped there, though, wary of coming too close and causing Regulus to lose focus. They both watched, one with a near manic intensity and the other with curiosity and excitement, as the sticks and stones arranged themselves into an arrow. It pointed off into the woods in a seemingly random direction, and stayed put, as the dirt arranged itself in clumps, which squirmed on the ground like some kind of worm. Potter watched in fascination as the earth itself began spelling out runes and symbols, none of which made sense to him, but to Regulus...

The predatory grin the man gave when he saw them sent a shiver down Potter's spine.

The wind cut out at once, stopping as abruptly as it had come. The moment the spell seemed to have ended, Potter stepped into the circle, getting as close to his 'father' as he dared.

Regulus had his 'scary face' on again.

"Found you." Regulus' snarl sent a shiver down Potter's spine.

"Who?" His voice was tiny, timid but excited.

For the first time in over a day, Regulus looked at him. That disturbing, wolf-like smile hadn't left his lips, nor had the violence left his eyes.

"Wilkes," the black haired man breathed, before turning to stare hungrily back off into the woods. Potter turned with him, looking at nothing in particular, but the horizon far off through the forest. "Pack the bags, boy."

Potter turned on the spot, obeying without hesitation as he began throwing their few possessions into a collection of leather bags on the ground, with magically expanded insides. The tent, their clothes and food... it only took him a moment. As he was packing, Regulus had begun twisting his wand through the air, dispelling whatever tracking magic he had been using on the earth. Quickly the enchantments and wards around their clearing were gone, leaving the space feeling empty for the sudden lack of magic.

When Regulus had finished, he found the boy standing beside him, their leather bags slung over his shoulder.

"Are we apparating again?" Potter's voice was so small in such a large clearing. Like the wind could snatch it away without the slightest bit of effort.

"No," Regulus rumbled. "We walk. Wilkes will have wards to track apparition."

Potter wasn't surprised when the man just started walking. He fell into step behind, shifting the oversized bags on his back into a more comfortable position. They were enchanted to be lighter than they should have been considering how much was in them, but they were still quite a burden on the small boy.

The second they left the clearing, the world grew dark. The tree canopy was thick, blocking out what had otherwise been a sunny day. The earth was mostly clear, few bushes or low branches to block their vision or get in their way. It was rather beautiful, Potter thought. It was his first time in a forest like this, where it just seemed to stretch on for so long... it was a very different kind of beauty than the cities he knew.

Ahead, Regulus made so little sound as he walked, Potter struggled to hear him. If he couldn't see the man's back, he wouldn't have even known Regulus was there.

"Boy," Regulus said, not slowing down. "You've noticed things are different this time."

Again, Regulus wasn't asking a question.

"Yes."

Keep answers short. Let him speak.

"You will not be staying behind."

Potter's eyes widening was his only response. He stumbled a moment, tripping over his own foot before catching himself. What? Regulus couldn't mean... was he actually going after a Death Eater? For Regulus, that wasn't something uncommon, but Potter always stayed behind. A hotel, a restaurant, even just in the tent... he never went with Regulus for the final was too dangerous, that was what Regulus had always said. Death Eaters were trained killers, every last one of them. He didn't even have a wand, for Merlin's sake...

So why would Regulus bring him?

(He wanted to go, he wanted to come along so bad.)

It didn't make sense. Regulus had never let him go on the dangerous ones before, what had changed? What was different now? What could possibly justify...

"This one... it won't be dangerous, like the others? That's why I can go?" Potter's uncertainty was muffled under the silence of the forest.

"...More dangerous," Regulus said, without looking back.

Potter's head spun even more. He felt like he was in a dream.

Why?

"You're probably asking why right now, boy." The man called back, raising his voice until it resounded confidently between the tree trunks. He turned then, never slowing down, but looking directly into Potter's wide green eyes. "Do you want to know?"

It was rare of Regulus to ask him if he wanted to know something. The answer was always, always yes.

Potter nodded shakily.

The flicker of a grin passed over Regulus' mouth before he turned back to where he was walking.

"Do not misunderstand... you will not be in the middle of the action. In fact, you won't be anywhere near it at all. But you will have a role to play in this, rest assured... it is time I truly begin to teach you."

Potter held onto every word, excitement and nervousness burning into every cell of his body. He shook from it all, barely containing his thoughts which wanted desperately to be set free and to roam into every possibility. What could Regulus be planning? What role did he have to play in this? Was he... was he even truly ready?

(Of course not.)

But he wanted to be. More than he had ever wanted anything before. The very thought of working with Regulus, of not having to be left behind...

Neither of them spoke a word the rest of the day. They walked for hours on end, Regulus setting a brisk pace that had Potter panting, his short legs struggling to carry the bags on his back that seemed to grow heavier with every passing minute. Beads of sweat began to coat his back, then the rest of his body, despite the temperature steadily dropping. He was panting as well, as they marched up yet another hill, steep enough that he felt like he was climbing a staircase. As the sun began to set, disappearing behind the rapidly darkening forest, Regulus paused for just a moment, slowing to walk directly beside Potter. He reached out suddenly, grabbing the strings of the bag and hoisting it over his own shoulder without so much as a glance.

Potter felt he could have collapsed right then in relief, and slept right there in the moss. Instead, he pushed his burning legs again, up another hill in what now seemed to him to be an endless forest.

Even when the sun had fully set, Regulus did not slow down. He reached deep inside the bag, drawing out a small piece of plastic Potter had seen several times before, a muggle lighter. Next was something Potter hadn't even been aware was in the bag, a stick, with one end covered in some sort of sticky black substance.

It made a rather impressive fire, after Regulus put the muggle lighter to it. The firelight cast dancing shadows off into the woods, creeping around the edges of vision.

Why Regulus didn't just use the spell... lumos, Potter recalled... he didn't know. But then, Potter rarely understood what Regulus was doing.

When Regulus did decide to stop for the night, Potter stumbled directly into his back. Regulus turned to frown at the boy, more with a sigh than anything else, and found himself staring down into startlingly green eyes that were already half closed. He watched in bewilderment as the boy simply dropped, slowly sinking to the ground, landing with a thump on the moss. The boy had been asleep before he hit the ground, and showed no signs of stirring.

Regulus sighed.

Perhaps I pushed him too far today, he thought.

The boy was just as light as always, skinny and underweight even though Regulus always did his best to feed him until the kid was too stuffed to move. Just how he stayed so thin was a mystery Regulus doubted he would ever solve, but after a long day like today, he wasn't inclined to complain.

He laid the boy, still soundly asleep, down on a simple bedroll, before laying his own down on the earth several feet away. It was warm tonight, warm enough that he could get away with leaving the tent in its bag. The bloody thing was a pain to set up, anyways... he couldn't understand why some muggles used them for fun. At least the boy seemed to be a natural with the thing...

A cold breeze blew through the stand, and whatever his mood had been before turned grim.

He turned to lay on his side, facing the boy who now lay motionless but for the rising and falling of his chest. It was easy to forget sometimes just how small the boy was. When he was awake, the boy was so full of curiosity, so full of life that he seemed much larger. Much more present, more commanding of whatever space he was in. There was an intensity to the boy that others his age didn't have, and at times it made him seem so much more significant. But here, in sleep, all of that was gone. The boy lay with his legs curled up to his chest, his head tucked in low. He barely took up a quarter of his own bedroll.

Potter looked like a strong breeze could just pick him up and carry him away, no more relevant or significant than a leaf on the wind. A tiny, helpless, blind creature, stumbling through an uncaring world, only brave enough to move forwards because of the back in front of him. Following Regulus with an undeserved trust, a trust so deep it was beyond question in the boy's mind.

It was hard to compare the Potter he saw now with what he knew the boy to be. What he knew the boy to be capable of. It was hard to think about Potter in that way, when he saw Potter as he was now... small. Powerless. Shivering in an ever strengthening wind.

It was even harder to think that someday, he may have to kill the boy that he had raised since birth.