Emmeline Vance had always been a practical person.

At the age of eight, after a meticulous list of pros and cons, she had decided that Ravenclaw was the house that suited her best. She liked to think of herself as hardworking and loyal, but she also had to admit she struggled to focus on a project if she still had more questions about it. There always seemed to be more questions. Her curiosity overwhelmed most everything else, and it had been the deciding factor. Her parents had assured her the Sorting Hat didn't make wrong decisions, and if it was what she was meant to be, then this would be her house.

(She imagined, looking back, that describing some of the charms that would go into making a hat like the Sorting Hat and doggedly asking how the rest of it worked had also paid a large part in her sorting.)

Overall, she had been an exemplary student. She had been a prefect; president of the calligraphy club (the vote had been unanimous among the other two members); she had always been well-mannered and achieved excellent marks across the board in her exams. She applied to the Ministry well in advance of the deadline, wrote her essays on practical applications of the study of magic, and came with two glowing recommendations. As far as on paper went, she was the farthest thing from a vigilante you could imagine.

Yet in the summer of 'seventy-eight, Professor Flitwick had asked her in earnest, and she agreed almost instantly.

The decision made little practical sense. The Vances were half-blood, but she doubted anyone could actually name a muggle relative. They were not considered blood traitors, erring on neutrality, and having money didn't hurt matters. They had never been high society, but were considered 'alright, for half-bloods' so it had never been a question of being potential targets for Voldemort and his followers. She was a decent duelist, but hardly incredible. She wasn't terribly outspoken about muggle-born rights, though she did deeply believe them. In short, she had no reason to rock the boat.

But she chose to rock the boat.

Above all else, Emmeline believed it was choice that defined a person. You could be an exceptionally kind person, for example, but unless you chose to engage it, there was no point to it. Emmeline was a curious person, and she had little trouble engaging it.

There were other factors to it too. Despite her friends within her own house, Emmeline found herself gravitating towards the Gryffindor table after striking up an unlikely friendship with Marlene McKinnon in their third year.

(It was not a spectacularly interesting story. Marlene had told her she looked posh, Emmeline had given her the sea-faring origins to the term, they'd spent the rest of the day discussing pirates.)

It was here that the neutrality seal was broken, piece by piece. Far more so than in her own house, she found people sniffling at the table, frantic readings of the Prophet in case someone had not notified them - the presence of fear, but also the presence of bravery. In her N.E.W.T. years, she became closer to the group in general. She got to know Remus during her prefect rounds; she got to know James when - around six months in, as she had begun to realise the dates Remus was missing and began to form what had turned out to be an accurate hypothesis – he came right up to her to inform her Remus was a wonderful person and to threaten her if she told anyone; she got closer to Lily when she found out about that and yelled at him on Emmeline's behalf; gotten to know Peter when...no she didn't imagine she must have known him at all, but she had gotten to Sirius when he had asked for help looking into less than legal wards, since he was moving out. (Later, she would realise that this was a monumental thing from someone who despised asking for help and imagined that Remus had something to do with it.)

These were her friends, she realised that one day in her seventh year, and she was worried about them. Marlene's father was in magical creatures, Lily was muggle-born, James had run right into the fire, Remus was a werewolf - which came with its own set of worries about what people would think of him - and Sirius, she supposed, had run into a similar problem because of his background, but he'd never talked about it, and anyone who suggested he was even slightly purist-inclined got punched for their trouble. She had always assumed this was a temper problem, but having spent a considerable time in Order Headquarters, she began to suspect it ran a little more complicated than that.

When she had been asked, she thought of them, and the choice had been an easy one.

The fact she was unassuming had worked in her favour. Many of the friends she had made within the Order had not. She had idolised the strong women of the Order: Dorcas Meadowes, Alice Longbottom, Minerva McGonagall, and even though she'd lived, McGonagall wore scars of the losses they'd had. Emmeline had thrived within her group – the mad inventors in the Prewetts, long since murdered by Dolohov. Benjy Fenwick, they'd ended up picking up the pieces of him in the end. Dorcas had supposedly been hauled in front of You-Know-Who himself and killed. Alice...she would like to go and see Alice, but it didn't seem fair to cry over things she and Frank could no longer understand. Her heart bled for their boy, and for James and Lily's as well. In some ways, it had been a blessing that more children had not been orphaned from this.

At least, as far as she knew.

Sirius had been right about one thing, even if she'd been surprised to hear him of all people say it. There had been enough needless death. There would still be plenty of needful death. If there was a chance to end it before it stacked too highly, she wanted to take it. Not just for the next generation of Order members, but the realisation that the next generation of Death Eaters were also at that school. Fifteen-year-olds fighting in wars all because of this man. This was what it had come to last time, and how it was shaping up to happen again if they didn't find a way to snuff out the threat.

It was certainly something worth dying for, but perhaps more impressively, something worth living for.

This brought her onto the current divisive person cohabiting their headquarters. It was not as if they could do much about it; it was his home, and he had chosen to return to it. Even if his loyalty against the Death Eaters had been untested, Emmeline could appreciate that the decision in someone else's hands may have gone differently. She could not deny her curiosity pinged again at the idea of investigating the Death Eaters. She had questions, but the idea of speaking to Severus Snape about them filled her with discomfort. They weren't friends, and never had been. She did not understand his choice to join, nor the choice to leave. She despised not knowing things.

She had never been friends with Regulus Black either, but it was possible that they could be. If nothing else, he was definitely curious. She was good at curious. She'd had plenty of practice. Despite only a year between them at school, they had never really interacted beyond perhaps brief moments at prefects' meetings, or perhaps when Emmeline had made it down to the pitch. Somehow, even with this limited knowledge, she had trouble matching the person with the concept of the Death Eater. She understood these organisations had nuances, but there was something disturbing about how different it felt.

Perhaps it was age. Everyone who'd survived had changed in some way. She was not quite the same person who had guiltily taken a joint at a party at eighteen, not the same person who had wept into Gideon's shoulder after her first fight, not because anyone had been hurt, but because it had been quick, overwhelming, and not at all what she'd been imagining. She couldn't shake the feeling that in many ways, they were all still pawns being moved around a board by a handful of players and not understanding any of it while players on both sides were sacrificed.

But here they all were, and they all wanted the same thing. You-Know-Who removed from this world, permanently. If the magical world were ever to feel safe again, it had to be done, and with the Ministry denying it and the Death Eaters quiet, it was left to a subtle approach. That subtle approach had led her to ask Regulus Black to accompany her to a village graveyard in Yorkshire in search of answers to questions from fifty years before in the early hours of the evening.

Surrounded by overgrown weeds and faded, higgledy-piggledy graves encased inside the stone walls, it almost passed for peaceful. The mausoleums were degraded, but no less royal standing. It was hard to believe what happened here only half a year ago.

"This is it," she said, with a quiet but audible breath in and out. "There shouldn't be a Ministry presence, but vigilance is recommended."

Beside her, Regulus raked his eyes over the dreary graveyard, lingering on the towering statues and grazing the names as they walked. Behind the structures, a cloud-hazed sun settled on the horizon, ushering in the evening, and he, too, let out a sigh.

"Always," he agreed quietly, taking a few more steps in silence before adding, "Do you have a description of the grave? Harry did not go into detail during our conversation, and I did not specifically ask."

"Marble, large, worn. Three names." There had been three deaths under the name Riddle: two Thomas, and one woman, Mary. "Dumbledore saw the aftermath, but it's been a long time. I doubt there remains anything else. Even so, it is best to start at the beginning. Were you not aware of his heritage?"

Making a bit of a crinkled expression, Regulus shook his head. "Strangely enough, it never came up in the rallying speeches," he muttered dryly.

Emmeline puffed a quiet laugh. "I don't know, it looks like a grand estate," she pointed to the village over to the house on one side. "I would imagine he'd boast. But if it's muggle, perhaps not."

"He knew his audience, I will grant him that," Regulus said, eyes following the line of her point as they walked past a group of vases with long-dead flowers. "Muggle areas are one thing, but muggle wealth is quite another."

"The exchange rates are terrible at the minute anyway," Emmeline said, looking around for a large chunk of faded marble. She was starting to think perhaps someone had come out here to clean it up just in case. "Are you worried? Being here?"

With a little twist of his mouth, Regulus let out a soft huff. "Because of the escapees?" he asked, keeping his eyes flicking over the various graves in search of their large, marble target.

"Because this is where it happened," Emmeline clarified. "It's where everyone gathered last June."

"I find the people more unnerving than the place," Regulus admitted, mouth tightening a little. "Not that it isn't unsettling to imagine the scene, in a place like this, but the graveyard is just a graveyard, significant though it might be. It's not out of the realm of possibility that they could come back to it at this precise moment, could be watching for just such an investigation... but there is still some possibility that they would fail to jump to immediately inconvenient conclusions. I was seventeen when last they saw me, and dead the last they heard - circumstance can only mask so much, but it is something to hope for whilst preparing for the worst."

"So that is just the possibility of the Ministry, the Death Eaters, and the current residents not remaining immobile to worry about." Emmeline said, before she remembered what had happened a few months before and winced. "Sorry, I don't actually believe that will happen. I just can't stop my line of thought sometimes."

"It's the story of my life right now," Regulus said dryly, shaking his head with a subtly pinching expression. "As long as everything aligns perfectly, opposing sides stays in place, and no one pays too much attention, things will be fine."

"Do things ever align perfectly? I thought that was a myth." Emmeline stopped at what felt like some sinking ground, not just because she didn't want to get a trapped shoe, but because it bore resemblance to the description. Sure enough, faded names on marble. "Here." But... "I think someone has dug up the rest of the remains. Probably as a precautionary measure."

Whatever Regulus had been intending to say fell fast from his thoughts, and instead, he peered more closely at the marble, then down to the upset expanse of dirt as he nodded with a more heavy expression on his face. "Makes sense. Harry said they used bone from the Dark Lord's father for the resurrection ritual. I could find no indication of a reversal for any such ritual, but I suppose it's more convenient to have the stash on hand, should it be required again," he said sourly.

"I don't believe it would be that simple," Emmeline said, crouching down to feel the damp sinkhole in the earth. "While I can't place the potion either, at least two other ingredients would have to change. Blood extracted from a foe is not hard, many foes could be considered, but he went to great lengths for it to be Harry's blood for the new body. A willing sacrifice of flesh is not out of the question either, though given Peter owes Harry his life, it is possible it may offer some sort of protection as the new flesh if it truly came down to the Killing Curse again."

"Nothing about this has been simple," Regulus muttered, shaking his head, "Not then, and not now, but in the infinite wonders of magic, all options must be exhausted. Harry mentioned that his blood was used specifically to counteract the enchantment that had spared him as an infant. Presumably, that enchantment would not reset, so I would not expect the Dark Lord to need Harry's blood again, were the potion required once more. A tangential thought, perhaps, but one that makes the ritual another step closer to accessible for them, should we manage to stop him again..." A strange, frowning look crinkled around his eyes for a moment before he continued, "The role of Pettigrew's debt is a curiosity, if that is true, but it is difficult to predict who it would benefit, or if there would be any benefit at all."

"A debt is old magic, and I've long found the oldest magic is the most intense. You can find more loopholes in modern spellwork." With a heavy sigh, Emmeline stood up and looked across the hills as night began to settle. "I don't know if that's why Harry's blood was used. It may have been simply because he felt something to prove, as a baby did take him down last time, or if there are other factors." Like prophecies, for example. "I can't say how any of it will interact, but there are far too many things at play for it to be coincidence. There is something determined: he and Harry should echo one another - both with muggle lineage on one side and a very old magical line on the other, the sibling wands, the parseltongue, even being raised in the muggle world against the odds. The amount of things that have had to align for that to be the case...I don't put much stock in divination as a whole, but sometimes, it is as if magic has a will of its own."

"Harry seemed to think the use of his blood was connected to the enchantment," Regulus pointed out. "Apparently the Dark Lord could not physically touch him due to the enchantment's protective qualities, but the use of Harry's blood in the ressurection ritual removed that barrier." For a moment, Regulus seemed to be reeling through his own thoughts, but only a beat had passed when he granted a frowning nod. "I wouldn't call it a matter of divination, but I highly suspect there is more than coincidence at play."

"Harry doesn't have all the information yet, and I don't know when he will." Emmeline made a face. "That sounded judgemental. I know it's more complicated than that and that he's still young. He ought to be thinking about OWLs, or girls, maybe boys, quidditch. No one truly wants a teenager being what stands in front of the destruction of the magical world as we know it."

Lifting his brow with a measure of curiosity, Regulus turned his attention from the scene back to Emmeline's face - but only briefly, before he looked off toward the Riddle estate. "No, certainly not..." he said a little more distantly - uncomfortably - before stepping back from the grave.

"I'm making you uncomfortable?" Emmeline asked, before gesturing up to the house. "We could skip the house. I'm sure Tonks will understand, and we'd find another way to look."

"You aren't the source of discomfort," Regulus said, shaking his head. "I was just thinking… I would still like to take a look at the house."

"Is it rude if I ask what you were thinking about?" Emmeline said, trying to scrape off her shoe with moderate success on the embedded stones.

Regulus let out a little huff, hands burying in his pockets as they started the trek toward the large house in the distance. Silence lingered for a stretching moment, as if he was deciding whether to answer at all - then another beat later, he spoke: "Just thinking about teenagers and war."

Emmeline nodded in understanding. "I'm not sure how much you've heard about what's happening at Hogwarts, but I'm not sure it's better the war."

"I've heard about the chaos that has followed them from school year to school year, yes," Regulus said, shaking his head. "There are a great many factors at play, but it is my hope that we can resolve this is an more timely manner - or at least stifle its escalation."

"I meant this year," Emmeline said, looking around to make sure they weren't about to disturb anyone or anything. "The Ministry has sent a High Inquisitor to prevent all practical study of Defense, observe all classes, and if the more awful rumours are true, utterly terrorising the children, with a particular distaste for Harry and his little group. I imagine they want Dumbledore to step in simply so they can remove him, but the longer he doesn't step in, the more I worry."

With a flicker of surprise, Regulus shook his head. "Sirius mentioned that the Defense professor was dreadful, but I had heard nothing to that extent. Even if the Dark Lord was not a very present concern, they need to learn practical Defense for their OWLs this year."

"Not everything comes back to Sirius, and for good reasons." Having cleared the stone walls, they made their way towards the large hill through crunchy grass.

For a moment, Regulus was silent, then after a beat, he asked, "I must ask, though, on the subject of Dumbledore: is he always so difficult to contact?"

"No, not as a rule. I believe he's been trying to track something down without raising attention, and it has meant getting hold of him in his present state is harder. If nothing else, he ought to be back in a month or so, when the school term is over. Other than that, we usually go through McGonagall or if you're feeling particularly brave, his brother."

A spark lit behind Regulus's eyes, and as they walked, he pressed his lips to a thoughtful line. "I see."

"Normally, we'd run something like this past him, so I'm afraid we've gone a bit rogue," Emmeline admitted. She wasn't altogether comfortable with it, but they really couldn't wait. "But there are only a few possible locations. We know a little about the family, just from Tonks going and talking to people. It's a small village, and people talk. Three murders at the main house, in the summer of 'forty-three. They owned a lot of the land but weren't particularly pleasant people, supposedly, so no one was all that bothered. It should have caught the attention in terms of citation, so that one does not exist is more than curious. I suppose there must have been a mother, so perhaps there is another magical family in the area, and as such, it isn't classed as a muggle area. There was one more death, around a year and a half ago, someone who worked for the family. I suppose he may be cleaning up, so no one goes looking for a heritage he would prefer they did not find."

"Too late, hm?" Regulus remarked, though his expression had focused to a point, visibly turning the words over in his mind. "I assume that the two Thomases and the Mary listed at the grave were the three murders… It may not matter, but do we have a name for the worker who died?"

"Bryce. No magical connection, I'm afraid." Emmeline had thought to try that one herself, but it appeared a little too good to be true. "The only citation I found was some twenty years earlier, for a minor breach of statute. Hives, if I recall correctly. Again, not a name I know of, though pureblood history is not my strong point. It was handed off to the MLES. Scrimgeour has locked down everything there, so it's a little harder to track down what happened afterwards. I don't want to risk anyone getting fired on a hunch."

"What was the name from twenty years earlier, the one with hives? Was that locked down too, or only the events to follow?" he asked, expression keen as they closed in on the Riddles' old estate.

"Hmm. Something unusual. Happened by a shack over that way," Emmeline pointed out a grouping of unnervingly drooping trees, up ahead. "Tonks is going to wait up at the groundskeepers, but what she's waiting as, I've no idea...Morfan, was his name? Morfin? Old records aren't the easiest to decipher."

The barest hint of a smile lit the grey in Regulus's eyes, and he nodded, this time with more conviction. "Would it be possible for me to take a look inside the shack when we are done with the Riddle house?"

"Probably not legally," Emmeline tossed him a soft smile, because since when did that ever actually stop anyone. "Do you think it means something?"

"My interest is piqued," Regulus responded, vague though it was.

"There's the place I'm not sure where the other place is, paperwork only gets you so far." Emmeline shot him an exasperated look. "And if a muggle in 'nineteen-twenty getting hexed with hives is what piques your interest, we may have to re-evaluate this tentative friendship. Books, cursed objects, ugly jewelry, and illegal breaking and entering are one thing, but bodily sores are not the type of activity I enjoy."

"Not that kind of interest," he responded firmly, shooting her a pointed sideways glance in return. "Sirius has hexed far more people than I have. I just recognise the name."

"I wasn't comparing you," Emmeline said, giving a somewhat curious look in response. "Just a little humour to lighten the mood. I'm glad we may be on the right track."

Tension loosened in Regulus's shoulders and in the pinch of his expression as he nodded. "I think we are."

"Stop," Emmeline said. She immediately followed her own advice, pulling her robes around her. As much as this was a test to see if they worked well enough together without it falling apart, it wasn't a compare and contrast of the siblings nor some elaborate set up. "I didn't ask you because I was trying to trip you into saying something, for lack of a better term, Death Eater-eque. You have knowledge that I don't and may spot something I don't, and unlike a certain bright pink haired witch I can see from here, a knack for subtlety. I know Rome wasn't built in a day, but at least establishing some level of trust would make things easier. You're not an easy person to get a feel for, so a little leeway while I figure out navigating the nuances would be very much appreciated."

Regulus's mouth thinned to a line as he watched her face, as if taking a measure of the words - then settled on a nod. "I, too, am still trying to determine the expectations at play." He paused for a just a beat, tipping his gaze back to the Riddle house before adding: "The past six months have not gone the way I anticipated - not negative, so much as rife with a lack of context, I suppose you could say. But so much of this goes beyond positive, negative, neutral: There is a great deal at stake, in more than one respect... I suppose I don't want to mess it up, despite seeing clearly in my mind all the ways it could."

"You will find that no one is unaware of what's at stake, particularly those of us who've lived through it once before. While united by a common goal, yes, many of us became friends simply because spent so much time together, and for me, that makes it easier to weather the risks. Not for everyone," Emmeline raised her hands, thinking of Aberforth and his glowering, and Snape with his...general personality. "The only true expectation is secrecy. No one remains in the Order if they decide they don't want to, and Merlin knows I won't blame Sturgis if he decides he's had enough. And in terms of outside collaboration, it's much the same: secrecy above all else. You were just unexpected, and your knowledge of the Order is unprecedented, but no one was going to argue with Sirius about it. We all have things we have to show contrition for, and our weights to carry. While I cannot promise that everyone is thrilled at the idea of some information exchange, given your past, I'm not alone in believing that judging someone for their actions at sixteen and that alone is narrow-minded at best. I don't think we'll ever heal the fracture within the magical world if we split it into absolutes." Well, actually..."Beyond the absolute that You-Know-Who must be destroyed, of course."

Heaviness lifted from Regulus's expression as he nodded. "That is - without a doubt - an absolute I can agree with." Stepping forward again, he released a thoughtful huff of a sigh. "For what it is worth, I place high value on secrecy and discretion, even beyond the bounds of a charm. It is not easy for me to trust this situation either, when Azkaban could be an ill-tempered whim away..." He glanced back briefly to make certain she had begun walking to, before continuing his stride toward the Riddle house. "Even so, these months could have gone very differently - far worse - and I recognise that extension of trust, variable though it might be."

"You're secretive? I'd never have guessed, you hide it so well." In the gardens of the cottage was Nymphadora Tonks, human windmill. Clearly the girl wanted to make sure she was seen, but waving her arms around was unnecessary with that hair. Emmeline winced and gave her companion a look of exasperation. "Did I say something about the need for discretion? I feel as I did."

Unbidden, a little smile played at the corner of Regulus's mouth. "They are but words in the wind," he remarked wryly.

The looming Riddle manor was dusty and boarded, tells of neglect found with every step as Regulus and Emmeline slipped through the backdoor kitchen and into the foyer. This had not been the Dark Lord's home, Regulus knew, but rather the home of the Dark Lord's muggle father. It was hard to say if any clues could possibly remain if there was, in fact, someone tracing these old steps and smothering all access to that history - but there was more than one historical curiosity in place, and it was a starting place, if nothing else.

There were knickknacks of wealth all around, though there was an eeriness to them, uninhabited as the house seemed to have been been for some time. In what looked to be there drawing room, there was a large armchair situated before an unlit fireplace, but it was a small collection of photographs that called his attention.

It felt dizzyingly surreal to set eyes on the young man featured in so many of them, for though the elder parents were more comparable in age to the Dark Lord himself, he found himself both nauseous and unable to tear his eyes away from the snobbish young man. The youth rang wrong, the skin not pallid enough, and though the aged photograph - so still and lifeless - had no color, he was willing to bet those eyes had not been a harrowing red.

Even so, the resemblance was uncanny - jarringly so - and for a moment, he stood rooted.

"He is definitely covering his traces, I don't see any sign of-" Emmeline sounded to a stop behind him. "Everything alright?"

Twisting his mouth downward just slightly, eyes fixed with intent, Regulus nodded, lingering with a beat of silence before forcing himself to speak.

"Yes," he muttered quietly, then with more volume, added with a tap to the muggle photograph, "It's just...This photograph could be mistaken for the Dark Lord himself, if not for the complexion and the discrepancies in age." A beat of hesitation. "It is presumably his muggle father - resemblance is not unexpected - it was just...unnerving."

Moving closer, Emmeline took a look over the picture. "Not at all what I expected, but I suppose he can't always have looked monstrous," she said, after a moment. "I suppose that's another Harry echo we can chalk up. Though perhaps not, looking like one's parents is hardly unusual. I can tell a Weasley at twenty paces."

Regulus crinkled his nose at the reference to James Potter, but with practiced effort, he held his tongue. "Not unusual, no." Sirius had said on no few occasions that Regulus struck the image of their own father, though Regulus suspected it was not something his brother would want reported. "But a little unsettling, in this instance," Regulus admitted, but a few steps of physical distance between himself and the photographs before giving the room a more general scan.

"I would have assumed he'd remain masked," Emmeline commented, moving away from the pictures and looking around the room with disinterest.

"The Dark Lord didn't wear a mask," Regulus said with a shake of the head. Discomfort prickled at the back of his mind, tempting him to silence, but frustrations (so long unspoken) were bubbling on his tongue. "Everyone else did, at all times, but not him. When your followers have no name, no context, no leverage, I suppose there is no reason to fear them seeing your face. It makes for a bolder display." As he spoke, his tone tightened and his expression distanced, subtly narrowing around the eyes. (Absolute power- and absolute control-) "He knew each individual Death Eater - their fears, and their ambitions - but each individual Death Eater had - or I suppose has - a limited knowledge of the others, and even less of the Dark Lord himself."

For a moment, Emmeline looked uncomfortable before fortifying herself. "I don't understand it. Actually, I suppose I do, if you prey on people young enough, they'll give everything they have in the hopes of acceptance, affection, whatever they feel vulnerable about...but willing adults, I don't understand it. I'm sorry."

Regulus frowned, mind reeling with a string of memories and their associations: Acceptance, affection - responsibility, proof of usefulness… His adolescence had been charged with all sorts of reasons why throwing in with the Death Eater lot had seemed like the right thing to do, a foregone conclusion, a solution to what felt like a crumbling situation.

He could not speak for the adults that had been around him, but when he thought of Bella, he didn't really want to try. More likely than not, it had been belief in the method - fear for some, or power - but he'd been so wrapped up in his own experiences…

And even his own experiences felt too raw to expand upon - no matter how reasonable she seemed, no matter how many years had passed.

"It's difficult to say," he settled uncomfortably, even as he was filtering his expression to something more neutral.

"If it was easy, it wouldn't mean anything." Emmeline gave a wan smile. "Come on. I think Tonks has found something and may need to be rescued."

When Regulus and Emmeline stepped out into the Riddle gardens, Tonks was peeking into a shed where the gardener must have kept his tools - a disaster waiting to happen, certainly, but Regulus had the sneaking suspicion it had been more of an excuse to move on from the uncomfortable conversation, rather than anything else. For that, he felt a small measure of gratitude.

Peering over toward the trees which supposedly hid the beaten shack Emmeline had mentioned before - the place where 'Morfin' had hexed a muggle - Regulus's eyes narrowed in thought. In such proximity to the Riddles, it had to be connected to the Gaunts. Perhaps there could have been a trophy that the Dark Lord felt was worth taking in the muggle manor, but the photographs featured no notable clues in the way the Founders' tapestry had hinted at the locket, and the rooms had seemed quite ordinary, if he were to guess at what was ordinary for a family of wealthy muggles.

The Gaunts, however - if the Dark Lord had come to make horcruxes from the three Riddle murders, perhaps he had collected items significant to his mother's Slytherin bloodline, just down the way.

"You needn't feel obligated to stay if you have had your fill of investigations, but I would still like to take a look at that shack you were mentioning earlier," Regulus called back to Emmeline, who was telling Tonks about their (lack of) findings, though he didn't turn to look at them.

"I should go and relieve Kingsley," Tonks said, as she stifled a yawn. She was looking around as if she was still a little uncertain about leaving them to it.

"Go," Emmeline encouraged. "I'm curious too. If there's a problem, we can just come back when we're better prepared."

Regulus nodded in support, and within the minute, Tonks was apparating away, leaving himself and Emmeline to wander off for the next leg of their exploration. There was no telling what sort of protections the Gaunts might have placed upon their property - generally, those who were caught for hexing muggles went to other lengths to keep the muggles away, but if no other suspicious reports had registered, either the muggles could no longer perceive the shack, or the wards were not immediately accessible to those passing by, makes as they were by the trees.

They would see, soon enough.

Drawing closer, Regulus gestured at what looked to be the structure she had indicated earlier - and by far the most run down they'd seen. "This one, did you say?"

Emmeline nodded uncertainly. "There's no other places that fit, and it certainly looks as if it could be one thing disguised as another. Or I suppose it could just have gone to rot with no one left to care for it…"

Silently to himself, Regulus thought that it certainly was not the first house to fall to such a fate, though it was still a bit too depressing to voice, even if Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was getting some of its life back with all the cleaning.

"I suppose we will know, soon enough," Regulus remarked, thumbing his wand in his pocket as they approached the line of the property.

The hype and the anxiety were for naught, in the end, but the efforts were not without trial. After scanning the area for muggles hiding amongst the trees, Regulus cast a probing spell to check for protective enchantments - and when several triggered, he and Emmeline spent several minutes tearing and wading through the wards surrounding the beaten, mossy structure. Upon reaching the door, the giant snake ornament hanging out front was an unnecessary tip-off, but an encouraging one nonetheless. No further protections greeted them at the door, and in truth, it was almost anticlimactic the way the door simply clicked open after their unlocking spell, and when at last they were standing in the middle of the Gaunt shack, Regulus felt a swelling anticipation.

A certain amount of rot and decades-old mold wafted from a corner where pots had been left abandoned, looking as though the inhabitants had never bothered to wash their dishes before passing on. Such squalor was quite unlike what he would have expected from the heirs of Salazar Slytherin, and it showed on his face - but he did not pause long before making an immediate line to a shelf caked thickly with dust. Nothing but plates, and not the decorative sort - nothing out of the ordinary.

The lower half of the shelf had a few drawers, both of which Regulus wasted no time in investigating; inside were a handful of small artifacts - dark, from the look of them - one etched with runes, while others maintained a faint, eerie glow. Based on what he recalled of runes, the etched contained contained some horrible substance or another, but none of them struck Regulus as particularly meaningful, even if they were in the house that the Dark Lord's mother must have grown up in.

"Should you find any photographs, diaries, or objects of significance, kindly direct me towards them," he finally said, tentatively opening a cabinet to find potion ingredients. (He checked for basilisk venom, just in case - they seemed the sort - but with no luck. Far too expensive, judging by the shack itself.)

"You're worried about a repeat of the diary?" Emmeline said, still looking around with a measure of distaste.

"Something like that..." Regulus shut the cabinet, trying to stifle a cough as dust puffed out in a cloud. For a moment, he fell silent, feeling the weight of his search, and a small, niggling hope pulling taut at his stomach. With so few clues about the Dark Lord's past, to be standing in a house - dilapidated though it was - where the Dark Lord's wizarding family had lived as pure descendents of Slytherin, felt like a hotbed of potential. The Riddles had been murdered just down the road - the Dark Lord clearly came to this area - and if he knew his magical family was close by...

Glancing over at Emmeline, who had already settled into her own search, he thought that it was much less frustrating (and likewise less anxiety-inducing) than he expected, having someone along for the search. The last time he had followed the Dark Lord's trail on an exacting hunt for a horcrux, it had been Kreacher and himself with the promise of a miserable death, and for over a decade, he had gone at it alone. Though he still felt a measure of isolation padding the space around him at every step, that padding slowly chipped away, and these people were slowly creeping into that space.

With a tiny start, he realised he was staring at Emmeline's search rather than searching, himself, and without further comment began searching in the next drawer.

Suddenly, Emmeline stopped and tapped her heel against the floor. Frowning, she did it again and once again, it sounded out. "I think the house is raised," Emmeline said, crouching down. "That's not very usual for something this ramshackle. Do you think there's a crawl space under it?"

Twisting back around to look, Regulus spotted the floorboard in question, curiosity welling up. It would not be a completely isolated instance for the Gaunt bloodline, were there to be some secret passage hidden away - and he wasted no time in crossing the room to investigate.

"I suppose we shall see," Regulus said, pulling out his wand and tapping it to the surface, loosening the board to reveal a golden box nestled in the rot.

"What on earth-" Emmeline stuttered to a stop.

Immediately his demeanor shifted to focus, nearly reaching to snatch it from the hole before catching himself, remembering his surroundings. Retracting his hand again, he gave the wand a swish, testing for enchantments and protective wards. When the box gave no reaction, he let out a slow, measured breath. After sparing a quick glance to Emmeline, he carefully pulled the box out and cracked open the lid.

Inside was a single ring, golden cast with a patterned black stone set within. It looked poorly made, if Regulus was honest, but the aesthetic was truthfully not the primary concern, fascinating though an apparent heirloom might be.

Another quick check for curses and enchantments triggered a soft, golden glow - but whether it was telling of the soul within or something else, Regulus could not tell. Steeling himself, he tentatively picked up the ring between his thumb and index finger, heart thundering in his chest as he turned it over. Up close, he could see the stone's design more clearly: a triangle with a circle inside, and a line cutting down the middle. It wasn't a rune he recognised, but he supposed it must have meant something to the Gaunts.

And if it meant something to the Gaunt's… perhaps it meant something to the Dark Lord too...

"It almost looks like...but that would make sense, they do seem as if they'd be the type," Emmeline said, barely above a whisper. "I really think Bill should take a look at this before we muck about with it. It was important enough to stash."

Immediately, Regulus shook his head - slowly, but uncompromising in manner. "I recall that he is a cursebreaker, so I understand why you would account for that, but I came here for a reason, and I intend to examine it first," he responded firmly, closing the ring in his palm as he shut the box and slotted it back in the floorboards. Comforting though the paired search had been, her did not sign up for passing along potential horcruxes, whether or not they liked it.

Emmeline frowned deeply. "You don't think that's a little impulsive? They don't exactly seem like the type that keep normal rings under their floorboards, unless it was some bizarre attempt to deflect true allegiances."

That is very much the point, Regulus thought to himself, standing up and nudging the floorboard hideaway closed with the toe of his shoe. After checking his pocket for holes or wear, he dropped the ring inside and temporarily sealed the opening, a sense of finality to the movements.

"Some risks are worth taking. If it requires Bill Weasley's attention, I'm sure something can be arranged." He met her eyes then, thinking to himself that this was exactly the reason (or rather, exactly one of the many reasons) he preferred to work alone, but at least she didn't seem intent on making a duel of it. "We entered this investigative arrangement to build upon the tendrils of trust, so I ask that you extend that trust to me now. I would not make a point of this if it was not important."

"I wasn't suggesting you give up looking at it, merely that a cautious approach might mean you don't lose a finger. Or given where you just shoved it, something else of equal import. If you want to be the one to examine the ring, examine away!" Emmeline rolled her eyes theatrically. "I was right the first time, wasn't I? So dramatic."

With a subtle fluster, Regulus gave the floorboard an unnecessary 'smoothing press' with his foot. "My fingers are in fine condition, and they will remain as such. This isn't the first cursed object I've dealt with," he returned pointedly. Her expression was quirking at the brow, so after steeling his own, he added, "And once again, I'm not being dramatic. I'm merely explaining the situation."

"Need I remind you who the Unspeakable is? I'm also well versed in cursed objects," Emmeline huffed. "Excuse me for caring about your well-being. If you want to behave like a Gryffindor, by all means, have at it."

Along the line of his brow, Regulus cringed a subtle recoil and tensed against the accusation. (He was not a Gryffindor-)

"I'm not naive - I know how that can go. One does not need to intend for something to explode for that to happen, and I'm not taking my chances with additional variables. I can take care of myself just fine," he said tightly, and although some part of him felt guilty even as he said it, his mind clamped against the words, a flutter of thinly restrained panic pulling the rug out from under his feet. An acquaintance at best, she couldn't care that much, and if someone decided it was best to keep that ring from him when they were done examining it-

"Thank you for your time," he added, though the words hung heavy and uncomfortable in the air as he slipped past her toward the door.

"I am not an additional variable. I am the person who asked you here. You do not have the monopoly on intelligence, history and experience with potentially lethal spellwork, and suggestions that you do are condescending at best and outright rude at worst." Emmeline turned and took several large steps towards the door. "There is absolutely no reason to behave like you and you alone are allowed to do something dangerous. You may want to consider that cursed objects do not always have an obvious physical effect, so I am well within my boundaries to worry. I brought you along in one piece; I would like to make sure you return in the same condition, and it would make it easier if you weren't being so damn prickly and agreed to be cautious with your well-being."

Regulus paused in his step but did not turn around, and though her reasoned words rang sharp in his head, he could not soften the hard lines set so long before, a barrier to the horcruxes - his burden and his way to fight back in all of this - but of course she would not understand. She had spoken of everyone's contrition, but what could she have to be that contrite about? What could any of then?

"It's not about capability. It's about responsibility," he said, voice quieting, but no less set. He thought of his brother, then, telling him that running off and getting himself killed was out of the question - a small measure of guilt pricked, at that - but the other horcruxes were not deadly to the touch, so at least patterns were on his side. "I don't doubt your intelligence or your competence, but this is my responsibility. If the ring is what I think it is, then no one else is laying hands on it until I've taken care of the situation." Regulus hesitated only a beat before adding: "Pardon me if that's rude, but it isn't negotiable."

"You could have said that instead of saying 'this is what's going to happen.' I'm not unreasonable," Emmeline said, her lips pressing into a line. "I suppose asking why it's your responsibility and yours alone is out of the question?"

(Guilt… Leverage…) Regulus nodded. "I'm afraid so - but rest assured it is in line with our collective efforts."

Emmeline studied him for a long moment. "Alright. But don't talk down to me again. I've had enough pureblood elitist condescension over the years that it'll piss me off. Okay?"

For a moment, Regulus thought about putting forth his argument that he wasn't playing at condescension (this time, at least), merely stating the facts as they were (and his possession of that ring was going to remain fact) - but the ire of their words had cooled again, and the motivation to fight had cooled with them. Phrasing could be a balm or a beast…

"Talking down to you was not my intention," he settled. "However, I…" (refuse to be used) "...feel very strongly about this. That is all."

"And I merely wanted an explanation for you jumping about suddenly and being obstinate." Emmeline sighed, then waved him off. "Just attempt to remember that I'm trying not only to help but to put forward some measure of trust, despite the shifty behaviour? Then speak accordingly? Oh, and some sort of note absolving me in case you do end up dropping dead would also be nice. I don't want to hear the chorus of 'No, he's too sensible for that' when I voiced a perfectly rational concern and got overruled."

With a wry huff, Regulus nodded, and like a taut wire severed, the tension in his stance loosened again.

"How prudent of you," he remarked, the corner of his mouth tugging just slightly before adding, more soberly, "In all seriousness, I would ask that you exercise some discretion in discussing the details of the ring, at least for the moment. I would like to speak to Dumbledore on the matter and would rather avoid uncontrolled, speculative chatter. And before you get defensive, I don't mean your chatter is uncontrolled," he clarified with a pointed look, "but you cannot tell me that the others hold their tongues quite so well."

"In the future, that is all you need to say," Emmeline replied, seemingly satisfied with that. "I will keep my uncontrollable speculation to myself."

Regulus granted a nod, with satisfaction of his own. "Thank you. It has been a pleasure investigating with you, for the most part." At the corner of his mouth, a dry sort of amusement flickered subtly. "Shall we head back?"

"Some dramatics must be expected, with it being such a prominent family trait. I blame myself for not being better prepared." Unfortunately, Emmeline was not containing her laughter over the dramatics as well as she'd hoped. "But yes, HQ it is."

Regulus nodded, his smile small and wry as he caught her eyes for a fleeting moment - then with two cracking pops, they vanished.