When Regulus emerged from the fireplace into his new townhouse, he saw something a far cry from the building of his first visit. The Green House, as he had come to call it - Latin names were seen as even more pretentious now than they had been during his youth - had taken on a new life in the few weeks since he had decided to call it home.

Regulus walked around the main hall and speculatively opened doors to run an eye over the latest progress. Furniture had been placed in all the key areas, and there was a great deal more light now that all of the old and decaying shutters had been removed from the large windows. So many times in his life Regulus had wished for more light, both literal and figurative, now, he had a near abundance of both.

The townhouse had been uninhabited for a long time, and it had shown. From the records, Regulus didn't believe anyone had resided there for over a hundred years, however, at least the previous occupant's style had been more reserved than that of his mother and was therefore easy to correct.

Narcissa hadn't even known the property existed when Regulus had first brought her there, which had not a surprise. When Walburga Black had married his father, she had decided that living in a townhouse was the 'modern' thing to do and as it would be the home of the Black Family Patriarch, she had simpered and cajoled until all of the similar properties were shut up and removed from the ledgers. It was only because Regulus knew of this that he had known where to look to uncover the forgotten properties.

Walburga had told his father at the time that hierarchy needed to be observed, and it wouldn't be done to have someone living in a better home than them. His mother had never advocated sharing toys. What was yours, was yours, and everyone else could look elsewhere or stick a pin in their eye.

Looking around the polished wood floorboards and dark green walls covered with gilded-framed artwork they had discovered in the archives, Regulus conceded that Walburga might have been right to act in such a way; his house was only half finished and it was already superior to hers, though in a less central location.

Any thought to competition was a thing of the past as Regulus knew he had no fear of the Grimmauld Place of today outshining his home. Potter could tear that place to the ground and rebuild it a new, and he would never be able to burn out the sadness that lingered into the walls. Though Potter seemed happy to live in a mausoleum, Regulus supposed it was less off-putting when it wasn't the tomb of your family you were walking around in.

Regulus stepped out of a large receiving room as he heard small feet pad heavily on the floor above followed by some disgruntled speech, too muffled to understand from where he was standing. He tried to school his features so that he wasn't smiling if Kreacher suddenly appeared, but it was a hard-won battle.

Kreacher and a band of elves that Narcissa had left at his disposal had been working tirelessly to get his new residence clean, and Narcissa had been overseeing the necessary restoration and fit out. Regulus had been hesitant to allow his cousin full reign on the project after all Malfoy Manor was lovely, but it wasn't exactly to his design. But Narcissa had claimed that the works were her gift to him, so he couldn't politely refuse, which was exactly her plan.

Regulus walked further up the hall towards the sweeping staircase listening to the echo of his hard bottomed shoes on the uncarpeted ground as he regarded the ceiling roses that had been cleaned yesterday - according to Kreacher's report. He heard the floo activate behind him and he turned in time to see Narcissa step out of the grate, looking as immaculate as ever.

"I trust everything meets with your approval," she said, without a hint of trepidation over his response.

"Quite," Regulus answered succinctly and smiled when she huffed. "It is wonderful, Narcissa, as you well know."

Narcissa raised an eyebrow and sauntered past him in a billow of robes that made Regulus question where Severus had initially got the idea for his dramatic entrances from.

"One would think indeed, though it would not kill you to say so."

Regulus nodded to allow her point but kept himself quiet as she guided him through the primary rooms that were near completion. Regulus went along with the unplanned tour, even when they revisited places he had already seen, and when they spent what he considered to be far too long discussing the arrangements of glassware and scatter cushions.

It was a lot for Regulus to take in. In some ways, he had been studying and planning for most of his life in preparation for this moment. Before Sirius was blown off the tapestry, Regulus had assumed it would be his lot to take a wife and go and find some forgotten property to inhabit and then populate with sombre, dutiful children but later everything had changed. Somehow he had become the heir, and the expectations had unexpectedly got worse.

When he had been at Hogwarts, Regulus had looked at his older brother with envy, believing at the time that Sirius didn't fully appreciate the increased freedoms he had as the heir. Sirius could make the rules, or so Regulus had thought. Then Sirius was gone, and Regulus realised just how imagined that freedom was, he would never have been allowed to slink off, he would have had to remain at Grimmauld Place, living under the watchful and critical eye of his mother until he stood in his father's place. Even then, Walburga would have still been there, pontificating from the shadows. She hadn't been the type to move to a dowager house. She would have insisted Regulus marry a compliant, pretty sort of witch and then she would have steadily ruined the poor girl's life by always complaining that she could never do anything the way she wanted.

Regulus glanced down at the ring on his finger and let himself clear his mind. Sometimes when he was lost in memories, he would swear he could hear his mother's shrill voice or feel clawed, wet fingers at his throat. He concentrated on the weight of the ring and its familiar sheen until the thoughts disappeared.

He looked around the house he had just selected, a house far too big for one. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. The expectations were still there in this time frame. The world around him might have been more modern, but he could see the old ways seeping in from everywhere. He was the heir to an old house, possibly the last of the ancient houses that still had a notion of power despite its vicious fall. Regulus twisted the ring on his finger as he followed along with what Narcissa was saying and made sure to make the appropriate noises of appreciation at the right moments. At least his mother was dead, he comforted himself, though seeing Walburgha attempt to combat the witches of today would have been a sight. Not enough to wish her back, but a thought all the same.

Soon, Narcissa tired of having him for a monosyllabic shadow and sent him off to go exploring upstairs while she got an update from Kreacher on the works they had planned for the kitchens.

The dismissal suited Regulus well, though he made sure to look crestfallen to be bereft of her company. Narcissa almost laughed as his face twisted into dramatic regret, and the short show of mirth made her almost look as young as he remembered her. Regulus slunk off before she could question his direction and waited until he heard a door close in the distance before he increased his pace to the centre of the house.

Regulus had meant to go to the library for the longest time. He hadn't been at Grimmauld Place long enough after Hermione's grand reveal to seek out what he wanted, and while he was sure that the Malfoy library would have what he needed he was equally sure it would have a system in place that would record any book that was taken from within its highly polished depths - which, given Regulus' desired reading material, he found to be entirely unacceptable.

The day before, Kreacher had let him know that Potter had agreed to the removal of what remained of the Black Library. Regulus had tried to feel grateful about it, but it had irked him to have to ask for the remnants of his birthright. Though he conceded that Potter had at least been quick to give his consent. Apparently, he had told Kreacher that he was 'no great reader', Regulus believed that he was no great mind either considering the value, both monetary and otherwise, that he was happily signing away.

Regulus moved amongst the neatly ordered stacks and let his hands drift over the spines of a few of his father's favourites - the safe ones in any case - as he got his bearings in the newly furnished room. Towards the back, a small seating area had been set up in front of a large fireplace with a rather impressive looking and well-stocked drinks trolley over to its left. The sight of it made Regulus feel old. This would be his place now, his place to plan and scheme and plot the future of his family name, the rebuilding of his once-grand house. This home would become its new seat of power, with him as its leader: not his father, not Sirius, him.

Regulus' steps momentarily faltered in a somewhat uncharacteristic display of emotion as he regarded the second chair that had been placed into the alcove in front of the unlit grate.

The chair intended for his use was easy to distinguish; it was large and stately, made out of an aged leather of the darkest green. There were no adornments that would fall into the camp of frippery; it was as powerful looking as it was expensive, and it had been built to withstand generations of use. It would be the chair that his sons would eventually sit in, after spending their formative years climbing up onto its seat and awkwardly resting their hands onto the arms and frowning to make each other laugh when they thought no one was looking. It was everything that was expected.

The other chair was a different matter entirely. Regulus did not have a head - or heart for that matter - for interior design, but he assumed it was typical in such seating arrangements for chairs placed together to be twins, or in a case where that could not be managed a near facsimile would be used. Narcissa was continually talking about the importance of symmetry, and yet in this little arrangement, it appeared to have been forsaken entirely.

The chair on the other side of the fire - the one that would traditionally be for his Lady - was different. It was made of light brown leather and was no doubt of the same origin as his own, but this one looked worn. There was a dimple in the centre of the seat that made it look comfortable, and a large cushion in a hideously mismatched fabric that was nestled against the arm. A rather heavy-looking grey red throw with gold stitching was settled over the top, ready to cover the sitter's legs and as Regulus catalogued all of the features he came to the sudden realisation that there was no doubt in his mind exactly who the chair was intended for. If he thought about it he could almost see her there, wearing a jumper as thick as the blanket and staring up at him as he poured them a drink; a single, sock-clad foot poking out from under the throw distracting him as he tried to beckon her to join him in his own seat.

Regulus was thankful he was alone when the image came to him so powerfully that he almost staggered back from its intensity. He also managed to resist the urge to call Kreacher to chastise him for his choice of furnishings. His elf had always been too clever by half, and Regulus knew Kreacher would claim 'it was just a chair', insinuating that any further inference was all in Regulus' head, all while he wore a knowing, toothy smile.

Instead, Regulus backed away from the currently empty chairs and looped back around the stacks with an impression of nonchalance - it was good to practise, even if you were not observed - before he found what he was looking for.

The section was scant, even in a library as extensive of that of his forefathers some subjects were too rare to offer much, the material simply didn't exist.

His hand stilled before he reached for the volume that seemed the most promising, as he questioned for the hundredth time if he was going to do this. The gilt lettering on Animae Dimidium Meae was almost completely faded, though the leather of the book itself appeared reasonably intact. Regulus imagined most of the damage had been done by sunlight in the general neglect that had occurred since his parent's deaths. It was unlikely that this volume had been consulted often, having learnt the history of his family as a child, Regulus couldn't think of a single ancestor who would have had cause to pursue the contents of the text in front of him. Black's married for many reasons, though love was not considered a useful enough bargaining chip for it to be considered in such matters.

Regulus' fingers danced across the spine for a moment before he went in search of another place to sit down, one far away from the perfectly situated area he had come across earlier.

When he was finally comfortable, he cracked open the spine, and the book fell neatly into what appeared to be two even halves. Regulus scoffed. "Figures."

Hermione gently put her clipboard onto the floor and shrugged into her cardigan as quietly as she possibly could. As she had people pinned tightly to her on both sides, she had to practically dislocate her shoulder to do so, but it was worth it not to disturb the conversation currently in process.

Their entire department, which was a grander way to label the ten or so people she worked with, had been ensconced in the only meeting room they had available for their use, for nearly an hour. Even with their scant numbers, the room wasn't big enough, so the table had been moved out to accommodate the additional chairs.

The room was less slick than Hermione had imagined in all her daydreams of working at the Ministry, the paintwork was chipped, the chairs were mismatched, and there was no tea or coffee making facilities to speak of. A more pressing concern was that the air conditioning charms were faulty and so the temperature varied from subtropical to virtually arctic at an alarming rate. Over the course of the last ten minutes she had got so could her teeth were chattering, and Hermione was immensely grateful that Matty had told her to bring an extra layer with her before they entered.

The department had registered a maintenance request for the room, several in fact, but it appeared in this, like in everything else at the Ministry, their brand of conscious led politics came last.

The department had these full briefing meetings every two weeks, and it was a chance for everyone to update each other, and more importantly Finola, on what they had been doing. Or as Matty had referred to it before they entered, 'time to justify your paycheck'.

After a briefing from Andrea - a tiny witch Hermione had never before seen as she was always out in the field - involving a ten-foot scorpion that had been found in Northern Africa that was, Merlin help them all, apparently sentient , Howard got up from his chair to present his preliminary analysis on the current House Elf Bill. The team were debating the potential success of lobbying for amendments to the existing legislation.

Hermione wanted to suggest setting the musty paperwork on fire, as part of her work with Howard she had read all three hundred of the pages that made up the existing legislation and they were so outdated it was laughable. But, Hermione held her tongue; she was learning. The little girl with the bleeding heart that had blistered her fingers knitting for freedom had been tempered by experience. They did good work in this department, but they had to do it piece by piece to win over the old guard, or in some cases, flummox them by giving them so much paperwork they were frightened they'd look stupid by not agreeing.

Finola had likened their work to restoring a once beloved crockery set. While it was true that the collection was now so battered and worn it would have been easier to get a new one, there were still so many people that were set in their ways that would never settle for a new service. So instead they searched for the pieces that were the most cracked, or in some cases, lost entirely, and they not only mended them but they made them better, replacing whole sections when they could get away with it.

Hermione jostled forward to peel off her cardigan and blew a hard breath upwards at the hair that was now sticking to her forehead as the temperature in the room now sored. The group bandied around the subject for nearly half an hour as no one could decide where it would be best to start. The conversation wasn't aimless, far from it, but to Hermione - as newly diplomatic as she was trying to be - she felt they were wasting time worrying about how mister so and so would feel when these issues were happening now.

Hermione listened and fiddled with her pen as she considered the problem until the image of Dobby came unbidden to mind. For the first time in a long while she remembered the brave, eager elf as he had been, full of life and thrilled to be with Harry after a lifetime of misery living with the Malfoy's. Through Dobby, Hermione had finally understood that some elves - most if she were honest with herself - would never be truly happy unless they had a good master to serve. Unfortunately for them, good was a relative term.

"What if we initiated a complaints system?" she said before she had thought about it, her mind was still fixed on too large eyes looking up with a gleam of devotion.

All of the considered voices in the room disappeared within a second. The Ministry employees - her colleagues she supposed - turned to look at her and Hermione tried not to shrink back behind her notes. She might have been intimidated, but they didn't need to know that. Though feigning confidence was easier said than done. This wasn't the same as a school where everything counted towards a particular mark, and her peers were unlikely to be even listening. This was a new environment entirely, one where she would have to build a reputation and earn her stripes, all while navigating the broader political landscape that even after seven years in the magical world felt so foreign to her.

"Go on," Finola encouraged with a single quirked brow, and Hermione cleared her throat.

"At the moment, as I see it, the biggest issue we have is not with the antiquated laws themselves but with reporting of issues in the first place. Not a single house elf has reported infractions to the Ministry in the last decade, and it's not surprising. They are likely to view it as a huge betrayal to speak to another wizard; it would go against the bonds they view as sacred to their families. Bonds that they do not feel are corroded no matter how badly they are treated. What if we were to set up something that was informal, maybe even anonymous? What if we set up reporting so that complaints were initially received by another elf?"

Finola seemed to chew the matter over for a few moments before she nodded, just once.

"Interesting idea, it might have legs," she replied succinctly. "Hermione, while we still have you, work with Howard. I think there's something in that - put together a proposal."

"I can… I can do that," Hermione replied a little awed, even as the rest of the team began to pack up around her. She would be assisting in writing a proposal to help in the reforms for House Elves.

"Do you have an elf you can speak to that would be happy to provide direction and feedback?" Hermione blinked away her rambling thoughts and her mind turned to another elf, one who she wouldn't have even described as happy on his best day.

"Yes, yes, I do."

Hermione realised as she said it that that had been what she was missing before. Sure she'd had good intentions when she was up half the night making badges that no one wanted, but she had never consulted the elves to find out what they thought. The war had taught her many things as it had forced her to grow up. It had been youthful, the privileged-tinged folly that had told her she knew better than a whole species. It would be different this time. This opportunity was too valuable to squander.

Finola nodded again before tipping her head towards the door, and Hermione suddenly realised that she was the only one left behind. She gathered up the rest of her things and barrelled back onto the floor, hoping to review her week so she could clear ample time to deliver on her new task. She didn't make it back to her desk before Howard placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Lunch tomorrow?" he asked warmly, "you bring the paperwork; I'll bring the sarnies."

"That would be great," Hermione answered with a broad grin, a smile that was cut off as she got a swift, though relatively slight, elbow to the ribs.

"Dial it back, would you Hermione? Too much of this peachy-keen attitude and oversharing of ideas and you'll end up replacing me," Matty said with a wink.

Hermione grinned. "Unlikely I think," she responded primly. "I could convince the Wizengamot to fund Wolfsbane out of their own pockets, single-handed, and I could still never replace you. Finola loves you too much."

"How could she not, look at this face," he replied and pulled a gurning expression.

Hermione waved him away as she sat at her desk and pulled together her work so far on the House Elf Bill to review before tomorrow. She looked over her list and saw that she had just enough time to tally the crime numbers into the report she had been asked to produce, though as she reached for her paperwork, she disturbed some other parchment on her desk.

Her drinks with Draco - you couldn't call eating a salad next to someone who pounded four double whiskies meeting for 'tea' - had been two days before and that morning Hermione had received a sort of thank you letter. Sort of as in the words were never mentioned, but she had picked them up in the general tone along with an apparent desire to further the acquaintance unless she was very much mistaken.

Once she and Draco had faced the shared demon of the events of her capture, they had drifted to more comfortable talk on safer topics; what people from school were doing and the like. Hermione couldn't say that she had enjoyed their time together, and she had told Draco as much, which had made him snort into his third glass of amber liquid and do one of his almost smiles.

Hermione's discomfort wasn't his fault, at least not entirely, but the subjects that hovered between them were comprised of things that she typically didn't speak of. Dragging them to the surface was not without a cost, and Hermione knew Pansy had noticed her tired eyes the last two mornings. But if she could pull Draco back from wherever he was disappearing to in his own mind, maybe it was worth it, perhaps it would help her as well. She couldn't discuss these issues with Harry; his guilt was too heavy a burden for him to be able to listen without apologising. She didn't want his pity. Ron was too angry to discuss it with her, even now Hermione could see how his fists would clench whenever he caught sight of her arm. It was better than pity, but only just. Regulus had only asked her about it once, and Hermione had shut down the conversation immediately. His knowing glance had penetrated her deeper than any of the cuts Bellatrix had made on her body and Hermione wasn't ready to be challenged in the way she knew he would challenge her. It made Draco safe. It was a rather ridiculous notion given their history, but it was true all the same.

Hermione glanced down at the half-completed parchment and tried to ignore how troubled she felt. She was partway through a reasonably generic reply to Draco, she had started it on her lunch break but as she didn't feel in any rush to respond - she was sure Draco was hardly awaiting her response with bated breath - so it could come home with her. What she was troubled by, was the feeling that since meeting Draco had been his cousin's idea, she owed Regulus a note. The idea had bubbled up in her mind as soon as she had received Draco's letter, and no matter how she tried now that she'd had it, she couldn't push the thought away.

The problem was that Hermione couldn't tell whether she simply wanted to let Regulus know they had met from a sense of politeness or whether she was just inventing a reason to contact him. The later was much more dangerous than the former.

A very chippy voice in the back of her mind reminded her that she could not berate him for failing to contact her when she was avoiding him as well. Hermione had dragged him forward in time, and she was a modern witch, if she wanted to take some control who was to stop her?

Hermione sighed before pulling a piece of parchment out of her neat stack and gave herself up as a fool as her pen hit the page.

Regulus walked into Lucius' study and tried to ignore the negligible weight of the newly acquired book in his pocket. Needing to distract himself, he sat down behind the desk and reviewed the paperwork that he had been sorting through the day before. He hoped this would be the last time he used this room to do so. Work on the house was nearly complete and in a day or so there would be nothing outstanding that could not be completed while he was in residence. Though he was grateful for Narcissa for giving him access to the room - more so because it was indicative of her easy acceptance of him as the head of the family than anything else - it cast darker shadows than those caused by the ornately carved furniture.

Regulus could remember being called into this very room to meet with the Dark Lord for the first time, all of their initial encounters had been in this room. It had made Regulus feel as if he were being summoned to receive praise, access to the private studies of your elders was not to be taken lightly in their world, and Voldemort had known just how to play them all to create the image he wanted.

Soon, too soon, the tête-à-têtes they had shared had become the kind of memory where you questioned whether they had happened at all, and gone were the warm rooms with soft furnishings and softer praise. It was all cold floors and dark circles after that.

But that first time there had been no kneeling and no pain. There had been a large desk, this large desk, and a seat for both of them. There had been the illusion of equality. There had been a spun out tale that they would be joining a club of a kind, and that ever desired word exclusivity had been thrown around with tantalising abandon.

Voldemort had sat in Lucius' hard-earned chair and steepled his fingers as he regarded Regulus' calm expression. If it had been anyone else, Regulus would have raised an eyebrow when he felt the intrusion against his mind, but he had hidden his physical reaction - even as his internal walls went up like steel lined shutters.

Regulus shook his head to clear the memories and focused instead on the here and now. At the end of the large desk was his portion of the 'day's mail and he decided to begin there. Though he had no great desire to read through the post, he was keen to put off yet more hours of pouring over the family account and investments. He needed to see the Goblins, but he couldn't do that until Kingsley pulled his finger out of his backside, and that didn't appear to be happening anytime soon.

There were numerous receipts for things either Narcissa or Kreacher had ordered, and some were for seemingly excessive amounts, but Regulus barely reacted. When receiving instruction from his father on matters of finances, he'd had the chance to witness his mother's version of 'necessary' spending. Walburga Black made Narcissa Malfoy look frugal. It turned out rare creature taxidermy was as expensive as it sounded.

At the bottom of the pile were two handwritten notes. Immediately he recognised that one of them bore Hermione's handwriting, which was unexpected, to say the least. Regulus debated with himself whether it was best to open it first or save it till last? In the end, he darted a glance towards the door before he ripped open the envelope and cast his eyes over the small amount of script.

Mr Black,

Draco and I met for 'tea' as you requested. You can ask him about the inverted commas, though I imagine you already know enough that such a conversation would be unnecessary.

I think I understand why you asked me to go now. I don't want to reveal too much and betray a confidence, but I wanted you to know that I will do what I can to help.

I should also make you aware that he has asked to keep our meeting private, as such Harry and Ron do not know. Harry mentioned that he had spoken to you about your library, and I would be grateful if you didn't mention it to him in any of your future correspondence. I don't think they would care, but they wouldn't like the secrecy, honestly, neither do I but I understand why it's necessary in this case.

Miss Granger

In any other circumstance, Regulus would have viewed such a letter as entirely inconsequential, but he knew better. During the time he had known Hermione she had never communicated with him any more than was absolutely necessary, and while this could hardly be described as an enthusiastic attempt to begin a dialogue, it was more verbose than any of her previous letters by miles.

The second letter he opened with less interest and found himself unsurprised when the sender became apparent. Daphne Greengrass apologised profusely over several paragraphs for not contacting him sooner; she had been on the continent with her family she explained. There was an anecdote about her sister that Regulus skimmed and a not so subtle hint at her availability for a more private dinner in the future.

Regulus let the letter fall onto the desk and eyed the two personal notes he had received while they sat next to each other. He imagined they had both taken the same amount of study to complete. Regulus felt he knew Hermione Granger - though not as well as he would like - and he could imagine she had wrestled with herself over how much to say, or possibly whether to write at all. He believed that as soon as she had resolved to contact him, she would have let the words fall as they would - and sent the letter off before she could rethink it.

Hermione was without artifice to an almost ridiculous degree. With the slightest prod, she would divulge the thoughts that sat in the furthest recesses of her mind. She hadn't yet learnt the value of her dreams and opinions, and Regulus intended to teach her when she would be more amenable to letting him.

In direct contrast, Daphne's letter, while perfectly lovely, had the air of conscious study and definite revision. Though the parchment was pristine and the letters were perfectly formed, there was a higher prize to be found in Hermione's more matter and less art approach. However, whatever his protracted musings concluded, Regulus knew there was only one of the parchment pages that he would keep.

After a few hours of boring himself to tears reconciling offshore accounts that had been left unmanaged for decades, Regulus went in search of Draco.

Over the previous weeks, Draco's drinking had continued, and Regulus had been perfecting a more casual approach to keeping an eye on him. Narcissa had given up all pretence of trying to seem unconcerned, and as such, most of her interactions with her son ended badly. On the one hand, Regulus wanted to reprimand him for showing such little respect, but at the same time, he understood the pressures Draco had been put under as well as anyone. Not to mention how he too knew the particular taste of anger that came from realising that most of the plagues that had blighted your life had been started by actions your parents had undertaken without considering how they might have affected you.

Regulus knew he did Narcissa, and even Lucius, a disservice by putting them in the same category as his parents. But they were similar in many ways, many more than they would like to admit he was sure.

Regulus was sure that most of Draco's anger was directed at Lucius, but the Malfoy Patriarch wasn't there, which inevitably meant it got released on less culpable people if any of them could be described as such. It was better than letting it fester. Unresolved anger led to resentment so quickly, and Regulus had seen what had become of young men shaped by bitterness all too often.

For once, Draco was not hidden away in the shadows, at least not entirely. He had chosen to sit in one of the larger receiving rooms and though he was drinking - Regulus supposed he should be relieved he hadn't moved onto hiding it yet - he was also reading. It was moderately comforting to find him occupied by something more than the glass in his hand for a change.

Regulus had been trying not to ask Draco about Hermione. He knew Draco had contacted her after he had all but pushed them together, but he had stopped himself from pressing any further, until today that was. Now that he knew they had met Regulus found he couldn't leave it alone, as he probably should have.

He was sensible enough to realise that he had to back off if Hermione had any hope of helping Draco. His cousin would not react well if he felt she was doing it out of some kind of obligation, or worse, pity. So, Regulus promised himself that he would let their friendship play out without interference. After this one time.

"I understand you met with Miss Granger," Regulus said in lieu of greeting as he moved into the room and took a seat.

"Hermione. Yes, I did. Did she send you her report?"

Regulus took more note of his use of her first name than he did of his snide tone. He told himself that Draco and Hermione had gone to school together and nothing more and that a possessive reaction would cause more questions than he could answer at present. The ludicrous idea of Narcissa's son being a potential love rival was one of those moments when the jump in time seemed to rear up and slam into his chest. Regulus wasn't sure if he should feel more like forty than nineteen, though, he certainly felt older dealing with the swirling in his head.

"Nothing of the sort I assure you," he replied carefully.

Draco looked like he would say more until he simply shrugged and turned another page in his book.

"Did it help?" Regulus asked, and for a moment he thought Draco was going to ignore him, but after a few seconds, he could tell that he was thinking hard about his response.

"Not at first, but I think it will, in time."

Regulus' skin itched at the ambiguity of Draco's reply, but he was comforted that if he really wanted to know more, he could ask Hermione. She said she wouldn't give him any details, but he didn't need those, he would know how she felt by the look on her face. She was even worse at concealment at Draco, mainly as she didn't seem particularly minded to try.

"Has she spoken to you yet about… about what happened to her here?"

Regulus ran a hand through his hair and affected a shrug that was too stiff to be convincing. "She will, in time."

When Regulus found Kreacher, he was jumping around like an elf half his age, apparently measuring up an ornate, mahogany sideboard.

"As accommodating as our hostess has been, I'm not sure Narcissa has given us leave to take her possessions in the name of refurbishing The Green House."

Kreacher only broke his enthusiastic movements to give his master a long-suffering glare. "Kreacher is measuring for reference only," he replied succinctly before his eyes roamed over the sideboards gold and lacquer inlay which left Regulus in no doubt of Kreacher's feelings on the suitability of the furnishings to be found in Malfoy Manor.

"I am glad I ran into you," Regulus continued as soon as Kreacher had finished, he knew better than to interrupt the elf when he was busy. "Could we go to my room?"

Kreacher nodded his assent and without warning popped them into their new location. Regulus took the change in his stride and moved over to his dresser to take off his outer robes.

"I wanted your opinion on a matter of… some importance. With our move to the new house now imminent I am conscious that your duties are soon to increase and I do not want you to be overworked. I understand that you are… fond of caring for Miss Granger, so I wondered whether it might be best to get her an elf of her own, someone to watch over her and see to her needs?"

Kreacher stared at him, unblinkingly for a moment before he replied. "It is Kreacher's duty to serve… Miss Granger."

"I don't think of it as a duty Kreacher," Regulus replied as he sat down on the edge of the bed so he could be closer to Kreacher's height. "I am not upset with you, in fact, I would have asked for your assistance had you not freely done so before I asked, but I think it might be best if we engage another elf."

Regulus knew he had lost the battle before it had begun when Kreacher's small arms crossed over his chest and he drew up his spine, so he was at his full height.

"Kreacher will continue to care for Miss Granger. Miss Granger is a kind witch. Miss Granger did something for Kreacher, the biggest thing, the only thing and Kreacher will repay her."

"I understand," Regulus replied kindly, "but you can't boss her around as you do me, you do not have the same relationship with her."

Kreacher huffed, and Regulus got the firm impression that had his elf suddenly rematerialised before him into a young witch he would have had his hand out examining his fingernails with smug indifference.

"Miss Granger invited Kreacher to her house for dinner. Miss Granger wants Kreacher's opinion and guidance on work for the Ministry."

"Does she indeed?" Regulus replied as a smile crept onto his face. "Well, I can see you've become even more important since we last spoke, I best leave you to your other engagements, but if you could see me before you leave? I have a note I would like to send to Miss Granger."

Hermione was sat on one of the tall stools at her breakfast bar, shaking her head at Kreacher with a fond expression on her face. She had invited the wizened old elf over to her home - for once he wasn't just letting himself in and rearranging her cutlery or some other such task she would be told was urgent - so she could ask him some questions about the lives and practises of his kind, but he had taken over the hosting role rather quickly.

After Kreacher had shooed her away from the kettle, Hermione had decided to give up her protests and tuck into the biscuits that he had brought along from the Malfoy Manor kitchens. As soon as she had taken a single bite, Hermione had admitted that they were a lot nicer than the ones she had bought for the occasion and Kreacher had looked at her as if he couldn't believe the matter would have ever been in question.

When they got down to business Kreacher seemed slightly horrified by the idea of an elf not enjoying his servitude - seemingly the few months of Regulus being back had chased away the elf's memories of looking after them while they were on the run - but after a while, he seemed to calm as Hermione continued to labour the point that she was purposefully asking his advice due to his pedigree, experience and excellent connections.

Once Hermione had explained, for the third time, why she thought some elves might wish to complain, Kreacher stood on the stool that he had been perched on at patted the top of her head.

"Master Regulus always cared about Kreacher and other elves. Kreacher should have known you would, Miss Hermione."

Hermione tried to ignore the ongoing comments about her likeness to the little elf's master and instead focused on what he did say that was useful for her proposal for reform. It was a hard task, especially when he occasionally broke off in the middle of a sentence to stare at her wistfully. Hermione imagined that now that she had brought Regulus back from the dead, she would never be able to do anything that would dim her light in Kreacher's eyes. It renewed the anger she felt behind her cause, how could anyone take such devotion and manipulate the kindness of one of these creatures?

After dinner was over, Hermione eventually won the battle to do the dishes, but before she could get there, Kreacher held her back.

"Kreacher nearly forgot," he said as he reached into his tunic and pulled out an envelope with an ornate seal.

Miss Granger,

First, he brings you your tea and now you are having a private dinner together? I feel I made my feelings on you being 'set up' with any wizard of my acquaintance perfectly clear, should I have been more specific with regards to my elf?

Treat him kindly, Miss Granger, he is family to me.

Sincerely yours,

Mr Regulus Arcturus Black

Kreacher looked over Hermione's shoulder and smiled a toothy smile before popping open the kettle to refill it. "Master Regulus always be such a good boy."

In spite of herself, Hermione smiled and tucked the folded up parchment into her pocket.

A/N: Hello, incredibly patient internet friends, this fic is back! I have been through the existing chapters to give them a bit of polish (and *cough* to remind myself of where we are). The next chapter features a sit down with Regulus and Kingsley, the beginning of Hermione's last term, the return of Regulus' painted ancestor and mention of an upcoming gathering that will put all of our players in the same room. Yikes!