Oh, tear ducts and rust; I'll fix it for us. We're collecting dust, but our love's enough. You're holding it in; you're pouring a drink. No, nothing is as bad as it seems. We'll come clean… Just give me a reason; just a little bit's enough. Just a second; we're not broken, just bent, and we can learn to love again. It's in the stars; it's been written in the scars on our hearts that we're not broken, just bent, and we can learn to love again. – P!nk, Just Give Me a Reason
December 30, 1978
The morning after the blow-up with Regulus, Lucius had been gone when Layla woke up. And the next day. And the next. And the next. She thought about going to see Regulus and trying to figure it all out, but she didn't have the courage to face him any more than she had the courage to try to find her husband and face him. It was well past dark before Layla couldn't take the days of deadly silence in the manor anymore. She yanked a leather travel bag from Lucius's closet, threw a few things in it, then added several potion flasks of silver liquid, just in case. Slamming it shut, she walked out of the manor, out into the pouring rain, not bothering with magic to protect herself from being drenched by the deluge, and once she passed the familiar iron gates, she disapparated.
Layla landed in front of the only place she could think of to go, the secondhand bookshop in Diagon Alley. The doors were already locked for the night, but the light still on inside the shop revealed that Remus Lupin was indeed inside, still shoving stray books back onto their shelves. Her heart clenched as she stood with her hand only halfway raised to knock on the door. Should she even really be here? Was this just yet another in a continuous series of poor choices? Should she just go home and be alone again? If one of the Death Eaters saw her here, they'd probably assume she was a traitor and kill her. She shouldn't be here; she should leave, walk away, go home…
Just as she'd decided to abandon this ridiculous idea, Remus's eyes snapped to the window, as if he'd heard her ragged, shallow breathing there, meeting her gaze. He rushed to the door and opened it. "Layla? What are you doing here?" For a moment, Layla floundered, unable to meet his green eyes, regretting ever stepping foot out of the safe isolation of the manor, and then he asked, "Are you ok?"
Something inside her snapped at the words, like a wire pulled too taut for far too long finally giving way to the pressure. She bit hard at her bottom lip to keep it from quivering as she shook her head. When she finally looked up at him, her body trembling under the icy rain soaking her coat as she said, barely audible, "Can – can I come in? Just – just for a minute, I just…"
Remus immediately reached down, taking the bag from her hand and opening the door wider, inviting her in. She hesitated another moment, then stepped inside. As the door closed behind them, she exhaled a mix of fear and relief. "What's going on, Layla?" Remus asked, his voice guarded and careful. As if he hadn't forgotten who she had married, as if he hadn't forgotten the incident in the Banshee's Shriek, as if he suspected her of being there at the Leaky Cauldron. As if he no longer was her friend. He didn't trust her; maybe he shouldn't. Maybe no one should. Maybe she didn't deserve anyone's trust. Maybe she shouldn't even trust herself.
Layla dropped her eyes to the mud caking her designer pumps, where the wet dirt was left behind in her footsteps on the hardwood floor of the store. She was going to die for this; she was sure of it. Her world couldn't go on like this. She'd made too many mistakes now. Layla said quietly, "I know this place, your offer… I know it was meant for if I ever wanted to abandon the Death Eaters entirely so that I'd have somewhere else to go, someone to keep me safe…" She could practically hear Remus frowning behind her. "I just… I can't leave yet. But… I can't breathe there, either."
The heavy thud of Layla's bag hitting the floor behind her made her jump, her hand tightening on her wand in the pocket of her coat on instinct. "Did something happen?" Remus asked. A broken piece of her sneered inside at the question, though her face showed none of it; did something happen? Of course, something had happened; what an insipid question. As if the answer weren't obvious.
Layla could hear Remus's every step as he walked around her, coming to face her, even as she scolded herself internally for mocking him, reminding herself that he was simply trying to draw her out of her shell so he could help, forcing her to say whatever was on her mind. She was the stupid one, playing games with deadly consequences like this, unfairly risking the lives of the people around her, those she claimed to love, without even so much as their knowledge or consent. The scars on her arm itched uncomfortably as she said, "It's completely stupid and entirely my fault. But I… I don't know what to do." When Remus crossed his arms over his chest, waiting patiently, she continued, the words coming a little easier now, "I love them both. But I can't keep torturing them both with it. And the Dark Lord… he'll kill me one day. Eventually. And I think I've accepted that but… the thought of dragging either of them down with me makes me sick. And with the baby gone…"
"You lost your pregnancy?" Remus asked, his expression falling as if that'd been the most unexpected and horrible thing she could've said. Then understanding lit his eyes and compassion faded, and his face hardened, as he said, "That was you; in Hogsmeade against Gideon Prewett. That was you and Malfoy trying to kill him."
Layla's eyes flashed with icy rage, and she looked up at him. "Lucius wasn't in Hogsmeade at all that day." How dare Remus try to turn this moment against her, against him, when she had walked in and offered her confidence, her vulnerability, so freely…
"So it was you whose curse rebounded off Gideon's shield. He figured you probably bled out and died from it."
"I nearly did."
Remus's eyes narrowed, any remaining sympathy draining away. "What do you want from me here, exactly?"
"I don't know…"
"Then maybe you should go home to your precious Death Eaters," Remus said harshly as Layla heard soft footsteps from the back of the store.
Her wand was drawn in a flash. "Who?" she demanded.
"Just me," Sirius's voice called from down the aisle, emerging from the back of the shop. For a second, he sounded like Regulus, and she couldn't help but wince. "Trouble in your dark paradise, kitten?" Layla lowered her wand as Sirius stepped out of the shadows behind Remus. He glanced at the bag on the floor behind her, then back to her, and he smirked. "Need a night away from the castle, princess?"
Part of her knew that she ought to fight him, argue with him, spite him, but Layla just couldn't summon enough energy to even care about his taunts after fighting with Remus first. She let out a shaky breath, eyes downcast, then spoke so quietly, so submissively, the way she'd taught herself to speak to the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord. "Yes."
Sirius raised an eyebrow at her, as though he'd expected more bite in her response. She couldn't blame him. It wasn't like her to not fight back against him, to flirt with lust and violence; it was learned, this holding of her tongue, to keep herself safe, to avoid pissing off her enemies, even the ones that appeared to be her friends. "Ok, come on, then."
"Padfoot –"
"Yeah, yeah, I heard it all, Moony," Sirius said, dismissing his friend's concerns with a wave of his hand as he stepped forward, right up against Layla's front, and reached down, picking up her bag from just behind her. "I'll be careful. I think she'll behave herself; won't you, Mrs. Malfoy?"
Layla half-heartedly glared at him, then nodded. Quiet; submissive; demure; broken. Whatever she had to be to survive, to get what she wanted, to not have to go back to them just yet. "Yes."
"See, Moony? It's fine."
Sirius's arm snaked around her waist, and she was surprised to feel her muscles relax into his strength, those Chaser biceps, as if her body still instinctively trusted its former partner after all this time, even if her mind didn't entirely agree. Remus shook his head and muttered, "It's your funeral, Padfoot."
The tight squeeze of disapparation sucked the air from her lungs, and as they landed on the front steps of a Muggle Edinburgh apartment, Layla took a weak breath to steady herself on her feet as the solid earth reappeared under them. Sirius took a step back from her, brow furrowing as he looked at her a little closer. She knew what he saw and felt that worried him; the sharp poke of her collarbones under her skin, the dark shadows under her eyes, the paleness of her skin. How she was wasting away by the day in that manor with those people, despite the pregnancy; not so unlike the state that she was in that first day on the Hogwarts Express that felt so long ago now, when they had first met. Her face was gaunt, her blue eyes dulling toward gray… As if rage and despair and grief and darkness were eating her alive from the inside out… And of course, the pregnancy had contributed to the process, as the fetus formerly within her had sapped nutritional resources from her, her own body choosing to prioritize its life over hers…
Sirius turned around without comment, unlocking the door with a wave of his wand and stepping inside, leading her into his home. The plush red carpet squished delightfully under Layla's feet; the wood paneling on the walls was warm and inviting. Wizarding photos captured moments in motion along the hallway walls as she followed Sirius further inside, of the Marauders, of James and Lily, of Sirius and Remus, of Marlene and Dorcas, of James's parents; all of the photos of him and his friends, his found family. As though to remind himself that someone out there truly loved him and would never hurt him the way the Black family had…
As Sirius sat down on the leather sofa, Layla froze on the threshold of the living room, uncertain of what she was doing or why she was there. She couldn't do this, couldn't be here, couldn't be with him. They would kill her, all of them, even Lucius, even Regulus; there would be no choice about it. She would die… Sirius looked up at her, head tilted, long hair hanging free, like a curious dog. "You're the one who saved Regulus the other day at the Leaky Cauldron, aren't you?" he suddenly asked, and it felt like the world shattered around her at the sound of his name.
Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor, her resolve to stay strong, to stay poised, to stay threatening and dangerous, to stay pureblood, breaking like a dropped glass. Sobs racked her body, drops of icy rain fell from her hair and shoulders to the carpet, and then Sirius was there, pushing her hair back from her face, helping her out of her muddy heels, pulling her free of her drenched coat, wrapping her up in a soft, warm blanket. Taking care of her again, as he'd once tried to do more than a year ago… "Easy now, kitten," Sirius murmured. "Just tell me about it. Have they made you take the mark?"
Layla shook her head, still struggling to catch her breath between the tears. She yanked blindly on the sleeve of her emerald mohair sweater, baring her forearm, exposing the nasty scarring and the ugly word there, but no trace of the Dark Mark. Her head fell back to the wall behind her, too weak to hold herself upright anymore. Sirius sat back on the carpet, one leg outstretched beside her, the other bent so he could rest an arm on his knee, the other hand propping him upright. He watched her, waiting for more information, so when she could finally stop crying, she sniffed and said, "How did you even know it was him?"
"Like I wouldn't recognize my own little brother, no matter what ridiculous costume he wore to try to hide from me," Sirius scoffed, waving his hand over his knee dismissively.
"That curse would have killed him. What was I supposed to do?" Sirius's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. "Like you wouldn't kill for the other Marauders," Layla accused, spitting the words as a snake spits venom. She hoped it hurt him the way Lucius's pain from Sirius's Blasting Curse months ago had hurt her, just a little, just a weak moment of vindictiveness.
Sirius thought about that for a moment, then said quietly, "I could, yeah. But I want to be better than my family."
"Then you're a fool," Layla said, sardonic in the small laugh that escaped her. "Because those people will do anything to anyone, without hesitation. Fighting fair will get you killed."
"Then so be it. I'll die knowing I was a better man than they were."
"And that's all that matters to you?" Layla asked, the question genuine.
Sirius shrugged. "I don't know if I'd say that. But it's better than dying knowing that I was no different, no better than them." Layla thought about that, letting the silence settle between them, letting the animosity in her chest over Lucius's injuries deaden as she considered the man who had once been her friend, even her lover, at one point in their lives. The quiet was less awkward than she'd expected. "What happened, Layla? I thought you were never going to walk away from that Death Eater husband of yours. Or my brother, for that matter."
A breathy laugh accompanied her answer. "Ironically, they happened." She rolled her head against the cool wall, meeting his eye line. "I love them both so much. And… and I'm fairly certain that Regulus isn't going to survive this war, and I don't know if I can save him." Sirius's eyes widened, but she pressed on, ignoring his fear, "But I can't let him go either. Even though I know it's hurting us both, hurting Lucius, I just… I can't walk away. And I think…" She took a ragged breath. "I think it's going to get us all killed in the end."
"You saved Regulus's life," Sirius reminded her, as though he thought that meant something.
"I only killed that witch and got him out of there," she admitted. "Lucius was the one who really saved him, healed him. I had no idea what to do to help. I was useless."
"Still counts." Layla scoffed, so he added, "You're still a good person, Layla." She threw him one of Lucius's classic glares of disdain, as if to say do you really think I'm that stupid? "I mean it. We've all got the potential for light and dark; what matters is what we act on."
"I killed a woman less than a week ago, and I'm not even remotely sorry for it," Layla sneered, "And you want to preach good and evil at me like I'm not the worst of sinners?" She knew she was lashing out; she knew she was trying to force him to see her the way she saw herself. Broken, full of pain and hatred, of war and death. An out of control monster that needed to be put down before it was too late for everyone else the same way it was too late for her own soul.
Sirius studied her tear-stained face, then said gently, "You're still working for Dumbledore, fighting to take down Voldemort, with whatever this mission is of yours. I don't think you'd have killed Bethany if you didn't feel forced by their side. You don't seem so very different than the first day I met you, to me." Layla shook her head, stubbornly refusing to agree with him, but lacking the energy or reasons to argue more. "Right down to the tears and the pleas to keep you away from the Death Eaters." His face suddenly lit up with a mischievous smile. "Oh! I know; should we fuck again, too? Might go a long way toward cheering you up." With a roll of her eyes, Layla lazily flicked a Stinging Jinx at Sirius, and he deflected it with a bark of laughter. "There you are," he teased. "I was beginning to wonder if you were still in there."
"I'm not sure I am," Layla admitted quietly, staring up at the popcorn ceiling with glassy eyes. She wasn't sure she even wanted to still be here for all of this.
"I don't think you'd be here with me if you weren't still you inside," Sirius said decisively, rising to his feet. "Want to watch a movie and eat popcorn?"
Layla looked at him curiously, then noticed the television set along one wall. He was an Auror; she'd confessed to him but a moment ago that she had been acting as a Death Eater and murdered a woman in battle, a friend of his even. Why wasn't he arresting her? "Yeah, ok."
Sirius nodded, heading for the kitchen and heating the popcorn as Layla slowly got up and settled onto the couch. When Sirius returned, he sat down next to her, the popcorn bowl in his lap and an arm tossed around her shoulders. It felt nice, calm, peaceful, and normal, like a long-forgotten memory of another world, one where magic was mere fantasy and there was no war, only love and family. Just before the horror movie started, Sirius asked softly, "What do you need, Layla? How can I help you?"
Layla took a deep breath, then settled deeper into his side. She still couldn't begin to fathom why he was doing any of this, why he wasn't locking her up and throwing away the key, why he was willing to help her at all. Beyond that, she couldn't understand why she felt ok here, why she was trusting him, why it was so much easier to breathe, to relax, to feel comfortable here with him. As she took a handful of popcorn for herself, she said, "I just need a little time. A little normalcy. To… remember who I am and what I want. To be human again." Sirius didn't say anything, just turned his attention to the movie and the popcorn. She wasn't entirely sure when she fell asleep during the movie, but she knew it was the first time in ages that she'd felt entirely safe as she did.
December 31, 1978
Layla woke up alone on the couch, bundled in an unnecessarily massive pile of fluffy blankets Sirius must have dumped on her in her sleep, to the smell of coffee wafting from the kitchen. She yawned and sat up, the sun streaming across the crimson carpet and onto the walls from the nearby window. She was surprised to find her wand still sitting on the nearby coffee table where she'd left it; she'd completely expected him to confiscate it during the night as she slept to keep her from killing him in his sleep. Sirius appeared from the kitchen doorway with two cups of coffee in his hands, leaning casually against the doorframe as he sipped at one of them. "Morning," he said, silently offering her the other mug.
"Morning," Layla mumbled, sitting upright and stretching her arms over her head.
She got up and walked over to him, taking the cheap mug, surprised when she took a sip and found it already had sugar and cream, though admittedly more sugar than she cared for. She quirked an eyebrow at Sirius, and he shrugged. "Took a guess," he said, his voice still thick with sleep. She half-expected her coffee to be poisoned or drugged, but no adverse reactions made an appearance and it tasted decent enough. "There are owls for you in the kitchen, you know." Layla shivered, dismayed; she wasn't ready to deal with her home life yet.
"What do they want?" she mumbled, taking another scalding sip of coffee.
Sirius tilted his head, studying her, his face inscrutable. "Malfoy's losing it that he can't find you and is begging you to come home; something about being worried for your safety. Seems to think other Death Eaters might have caught on to your secrets and harmed you. Regulus is freaking out that Malfoy came to him terrified that you were missing, and he's also begging you to at least come to him if you can't go home. They're both worried, though neither seems to really believe you ran away of your own free will."
Layla sighed heavily into her coffee, then lowered it and said quietly, "I just… I'm not ready yet."
"Did something happen between you three?"
"Yeah," she said tiredly, brushing past Sirius into the kitchen. The letters sat open on the island, but she didn't mind. If the situation had been reversed, she would've opened his mail too. She hadn't earned Sirius's trust; she certainly didn't deserve it, and she no longer freely offered hers to anyone from Gryffindor house. Or at least, she pretended she didn't as if she weren't doing exactly that right now.
Sirius followed her, never speaking, simply waiting for her to explain. She leaned back against the kitchen counter, staring down at the coffee in her hand. "I slept with Regulus," she admitted quietly. "And… he's joined me, to work for Dumbledore. To take down Voldemort." Sirius stared at her, slackjawed. "Then I didn't get to see him again for a while. And then last week when I did see him in Hogsmeade… It wasn't Lucius and I attacking Gideon; it was Regulus and I defending ourselves from Gideon. And…" Layla swallowed hard, the words sticking in her throat. "My spell rebounded, and I nearly died, and we lost the baby."
Sirius looked at her, a profound sadness shadowing his features. "Layla, I'm so sorry…"
Layla waved away his condolences, shaking her head. She couldn't be bothered to hear more half-hearted sympathies, even if he did seem sincere. "The loss hurt Lucius more than me, I think," she confessed, finally voicing her true feelings about it. "I wasn't ready to be a mother, anyway, but he…" She took a breath. "Anyway, I think the loss brought Lucius to his wit's end, so I… So I told him about working for Dumbledore."
Sirius's eyes widened, setting the empty coffee cup down loudly on the island counter. "Are you insane? He's going to kill you!"
Layla shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "No, he's not. I… I played it right, I guess. And… I guess his feelings for me are a lot more than I ever imagined they were because…" She took a sip of the coffee, then continued, "Because I won him over. He's on our side now."
"What?" Sirius exclaimed, nearly knocking over the mug on the counter in his shock. Layla flinched away from the clatter, too loud in the small space, too much like the sound of shattering prophecies and time-turners in another time, in another place, in another war. "Lucius fucking Malfoy, prince of the Death Eaters, probably only second to Voldemort himself, is working for Dumbledore?"
Shaking her head, she corrected, "No, for me. He couldn't give a fuck about Dumbledore or the Order. But me… Apparently, I'm everything to him. And I…" Her breaths came shallow and shaky. "I love Regulus; I really do. But I only allowed myself to give in and sleep with him because I truly believed that Lucius didn't love me or our child –"
"And now he's proven he does in a major way," Sirius surmised, and Layla nodded. "So now what?"
"I don't know," Layla mumbled, setting the half-empty mug on the counter behind her. "They argued after the Leaky Cauldron the other day, and I just… I couldn't choose or say or do anything. I just completely shut down, Sirius. I completely and utterly lost my shit; I fell to pieces. And then they both left me alone in that house for a few days without a word, and I just… I couldn't take it anymore. I had to get out. I was suffocating in there."
"Which, brings us to now," Sirius said, leaning one hand on the island, gesturing with the other hand at the letters there. She scrunched up her face at the pieces of paper; regardless of her lovers' concerns, she just couldn't bring herself to feel much more than self-loathing. "What are you going to do?"
"Hide?"
"Seriously?" Layla shrugged, refusing to look at him. Those men didn't deserve what she was doing to them any more than she deserved the way they had been darkening and twisting and tainting her spirit. Maybe all three of them were just evil at heart; maybe that was the real reason they were together. Sirius sighed, interrupting her internal monologue of negativity. "You know hiding isn't going to fix anything, right?"
"Leave it alone, Sirius," Layla said, her voice turning the least bit shrill. "I just need some fucking space from them to think, to breathe, ok? It's not like I've got a family anymore; I can't be the classic wife going home to her mother because I don't have a mother. Can you just cut me a little slack, please?"
Sirius watched her quietly for a moment, then said, "Ok. Do you need a shower?" Layla nodded, and he showed her to his bathroom. The delicacy with which he treated her didn't escape her notice; like she was a live wire and he didn't want to get electrocuted. That was just fine with her; maybe burning something down would help her feel better… She shook the thought out of her head as he left her alone in his bathroom, setting about the incredibly mundane task of showering instead of unleashing hell on the small unsuspecting flat.
When Layla returned to the living room, showered, dressed, and only a little more emotionally stable, she found Sirius sitting on the sofa, dangling in front of him, with a knowing smirk, one of the potion vials from her bag. "Really, kitten? I'd have thought something a little less hardcore would be more your party vibe." Freezing in the doorway, Layla's mouth fell open, but no words came out. Sirius made a show of looking at the potion label again. "Willow's Thorne? Where on earth did you get so much of this stuff? It's expensive as hell, not to mention illegal. Any other Auror would arrest you on the spot for distribution."
"Give that back, Sirius," Layla whispered, her hands shaking. For a moment, she almost wished he would arrest her. The cold fear and icy nothingness of the dementors in Azkaban had to be better than the raging, endlessly burning agony tearing through her soul now. She couldn't care anymore; her protests were just empty words…
Sirius raised an eyebrow at her, as though he thought he understood something suddenly. "This would certainly explain the spring break photo with the LeStranges. Would this stuff also happen to be responsible for more than a few of your other bad decisions of late? Like killing Bethany Jones at the Leaky Cauldron?"
"No, it helps!" Layla snapped, running a hand through her hair and propping the other on her hip, knowing full well that she was full of shit. It might shove away the fear, the pain, the anger, the trauma, for a little while, but then when it burned out of her system… "Those fucking Death Eaters are terrifying and difficult. You'd need a little magical help surviving too if you had to stare down Voldemort on a minimum weekly basis knowing full well that you are actively working to kill him and still fearlessly smile in his face and play pretty little pureblood hostess!"
Sirius frowned, then silently extended the potion back to her in response. Layla hurried forward and snatched it from him, turning her back on him and shoving it back in her bag with the other bottles. She didn't care if she went to Azkaban for having it, but then the thought of what Lucius and Regulus might do if she was arrested flashed through her mind. She grew serious and quiet, slowly catching her breath from where she was on her knees, staring down at the potions in her bag. Why didn't she just take one now and make these horrible thoughts and feelings go away? She was so much more functional with the potion in her system… "You need to get out of this," Sirius said slowly, cautiously. "If you have to resort to such drastic measures to keep yourself in this fight, maybe it's time to give up whatever the hell your mission is and walk away."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"I can't tell you."
"Why?"
"I just can't."
"Why?"
Layla's head lolled back, exhausted and frustrated, biting her lip to keep from snapping Sirius's head off, not bothering to look at him, still behind her on the couch. "You don't need to know. Dumbledore's orders. Secrecy is the only thing keeping me alive."
"I think you've brought me into this by hiding out here. Not to mention you've readily blown your cover for two Death Eaters."
"To recruit them! And yeah fucking right, you're in this," Layla whipped back around as she stood, surprised when she found him standing right behind her; she hadn't heard him move. She staggered back a step, and his large hand caught the small of her back so she wouldn't trip and fall over. She glared at him; she didn't need his help. Fucking blood traitor, the little vicious voice in her head snarled at him. She said instead, "I'm going to kill Voldemort. That's all you need to know. You don't need the details."
Sirius's eyebrows practically flew into his hairline in surprise, then he laughed, loud, long, and deep. Layla huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Kitten, please don't take this the wrong way, but you're no assassin," he teased, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear.
She pulled away from his touch, furious that after all he'd seen, all he knew she'd done and that only the half of it, he would still dare to underestimate her like this. "Don't pretend to know what I'm capable of doing to protect the people I love," she growled, but his hand on her back stopped her from getting far in her retreat from him. "I can do this. I have to do this."
"You aren't built for this," Sirius said, low and soothing. "Dumbledore is asking too much of you."
Layla pushed against his chest, but he didn't move a centimeter. "You don't know me," she protested, but the words rang weakly in her ears. "And if I have to tear myself apart and destroy myself and everyone around me to kill him, then so be it."
"That's insane."
"That's war; why do you think I didn't want any fucking part of it all last year?"
"Then what changed your mind?"
"I didn't have a choice," Layla said, growing tired of explaining herself constantly to everyone. "Dumbledore didn't give me a choice. I'm the only one who can do this."
"Why you?"
"You know why."
"The Time-Turner thing?"
"Yeah."
Sirius studied her face for a moment, then sighed. "You're not pregnant anymore?" Layla shook her head, unsure of what he was getting at. "Want a drink?"
A smile crept onto her face as relief at the offer sank in. "Fuck yes."
An hour later, the two were comfortably nestled on the sofa with half a bottle of firewhiskey down, Layla's legs across Sirius's lap, and he laughed loudly as she told him the story of Neville Longbottom dressing a boggart of Severus Snape in Augusta Longbottom's clothes. It felt good, relaxed, and easy to laugh like this with him, to tell silly childhood stories, to be Layla Emerson again instead of Layla Malfoy. It made all the pain and the nightmares fade away briefly, made her forget for just a little bit how bad a person she had become. She hadn't realized how much she needed a simple moment like this.
Unable to keep the thought at bay, she wondered for a moment if Lucius would have given her his time like this, if Lucius would ever laugh and relax with her like this, if Lucius would ever let her be herself without reservation or guile like this. Could Lucius give her time to forget the war and her sins and her crimes for a little bit, just once in a while? It wasn't as though she had ever actually tried with him; she realized she had never really given him a chance, never let her guard down, never let him get close. Even her attempts to open up with him were forever on edge, secretive, distant, utterly terrified that he would turn on her with that deadly skill of his and…
"Earth to Layla," Sirius snickered, one arm tossed casually on the back of the couch, the other holding the whiskey bottle and resting carelessly on her shins. Her eyes found his gray ones, sparkling with laughter and untold mischief, and she forced a smile half-heartedly. "There you are. Getting a little drowsy from the firewhiskey, kitten?"
Layla shook her head, the crystal tumbler in her hand nearly empty. "No, sorry. Just was… thinking." Sirius gave her his best curious puppy impression, so she added, "About home. About… him." About the way she'd always held herself back from him, guarded her heart against him. All this time, she'd never shaken the fear that she'd wake up one day and realize that the man she'd married truly was no different than the man who had nearly killed Ginny Weasley with the Riddle diary, who had attacked Layla and her friends in the Department of Mysteries, who had teamed with Bellatrix LeStrange and tortured her desperately for information on Harry Potter for the Dark Lord, who had nearly killed her over and over in the 1990s…
"Oooh, but which him?" Sirius said with a sly grin, propping his head up on his hand, elbow still on the back of the sofa.
Layla rolled her eyes. Sirius was still so childish; it was a bit comforting in its familiarity. It reminded her of her former Gryffindor friends; Neville, Hermione, Harry, the Weasley kids… "None of your business, that's who."
"Awww, come on," Sirius laughed. "Isn't that why you even came here? To think about them and it all and figure it out?"
"I came," she said before tossing back the rest of the whiskey in her glass, "to forget about them, actually. Just for a little bit."
"That seems to be going rather well," he said sarcastically, leaning forward enough to set the bottle down on the floor. He waved his wand and a music record started playing the Rolling Stones somewhere. The music reminded Layla of her father, and it soothed her heart at the same time as it made that ache all the more intense. "Well, let me know if you change your mind and want to talk about it." Layla flipped him off, even as he started casually rubbing up and down her shin with his palm. "Or, you know, the offer still stands to ditch them both and go back to our thing," he teased, his fingers dancing up over her jeans to her knee. "No strings attached and all that. Certainly a much easier life than all that cloak-and-dagger bullshit. No Dark Marks or unforgivable magic required."
Snorting, Layla batted his hand away from her knee. "Tempting, really, but no." The violent thought crashed through her mind of just how angry and hurt and sad Lucius would be when she got home if she cheated with Sirius. But worse still, if Regulus discovered she had slept with his brother again? Or worst of all, if she never did go home, if she stayed permanently… She shook her head, dislodging the image from her mind. The real situation was bad enough; no need to stress herself further with sheer imagination.
"You sure? We'd protect you, you know. The Order, I mean. From the Death Eaters, from Voldemort. From your exes," he laughed, but Layla could see the hint of seriousness in his words. It wasn't romantic love, but he still cared about her. If she asked him, he really would defend her and take care of her. She shook her head, her empty gaze drifting to the near-empty bottle on the floor, biting her lip. Sirius's eyes turned intense, studying her, indecipherable, then he said, "You probably ought to eat something. I could order something."
Layla tapped her fingers on the glass in her hand. "No, thanks," she said softly. Homesickness had lodged itself in her stomach, and she couldn't help but notice that it wasn't the manor she missed, but them. Both of them. She felt right and settled and certain when she was with both of them, for the most part, which did nothing to assist her in making any kind of concrete decision. Why did it have to be both of them? With a heavy sigh, she set her glass down on the side table behind her, redirecting her thoughts. "Sirius?"
"Hmm?"
"Do – do the nightmares keep you up at night, too? The memories?" A memory came to her, of the many nights that Lucius held her shaking form so close and secure, when the fear clung like ice and no amount of heat could warm her, when the terror made her feel like her heart would give out at any moment, when blood and death were all she could see until he hugged her close and held her tight and replaced the sight with the light of his wand and the blonde of his hair…
Sirius sobered a little at her question. "Sometimes," he admitted, looking her straight in her haunted eyes. "But that's what I have Remus for. We're there for each other when the quiet and the darkness get to be too much."
Another question dawned on her, one she'd never before considered asking, and she couldn't deny her curiosity the free reign of her mouth. "Are you and Remus…?" Sirius shook his head. Sitting up a little straighter, she followed up with, "Do you love him?"
Sirius grinned, and the expression was so sweet and affectionate that Layla already knew the answer before he said anything. "Of course. I love James and Peter, too. Normal families love each other like that, you know." Layla's smile was more genuine this time as she rolled her eyes at the way he hid one truth inside another. His ease and casualness and honesty were heartening. Then he turned the tables on her. "Do you love Malfoy?"
Another flash of memory flickered in her mind; the way Lucius hugged her, the way he made love to her, the way he protected her at every turn against any and all dangers. She remembered the way she'd felt about him on their wedding day when everything was said and done, down on that riverbank, when she'd been so scared and wanted nothing more than to bolt and run away from him like she was doing now, and the way he'd calmed that urge, had brought her back to herself and to him. The way he had looked at her in her wedding dress like she was everything he had ever dreamed, the way she had caught aflame at his touch, the way she had been willing to destroy the entire world and everything and everyone in it to be with him. And she knew; she knew things had to change, even if they all got hurt in the process, because if they didn't, someone would be hurt for sure. "Yes," she breathed.
"Aww, you're blushing. How adorable." He ducked when Layla waved her wand, the Bat-Bogey Hex missing him by only a few centimeters. "Ok, ok!" he laughed, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Now the big question. Do you love Regulus?"
Layla hesitated, remembering the way that Regulus had promised her his life, his world, no matter the cost. The way he made love to her, the way he surrendered himself to her. The way he made her feel safe and adored. The way he always stood by her side, no matter the odds, no matter the enemies. She did truly love Regulus; he was her best friend in the world. They trusted each other, helped each other, and supported each other, in ways she'd never entirely trusted or hoped for with Lucius. Maybe she did belong with Regulus instead of Lucius, maybe he was better for her, right for her, but her heart couldn't seem to get on board with letting Lucius go so she could be with Regulus. Filthy little mudblood. Death Eater whore. "Yes, but –"
"Ah, ah," Sirius interrupted. "No buts. If there's a but, then that's your answer. It's not him for you."
Layla dropped her eyes to her hands in her lap, fidgeting nervously with the hem of her tee. Why didn't what Sirius was saying feel right or true to her? She knew that cheating on her husband was wrong. She couldn't have them both; it would be wrong for her to even suggest that to them. But how was she supposed to just let one of them go, knowing it would break both of their hearts in the process? She couldn't. It would be better for both of them if she just disappeared and removed herself from the equation, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it, to go there. Cowardly little mudblood; you're no Gryffindor. Just a Death Eater whore. "Maybe you're right. I have to go home, don't I?"
Sirius nodded. "Yeah, but it doesn't have to be tonight. The when is up to you, but eventually? Yeah." Sirius glanced at the clock behind Layla. "Though, if you left now, you would be in time to kiss your chosen man at midnight on New Year's. Up to you."
Except she still hadn't chosen. Remembering her last New Year's Eve, the tears in the garden with Regulus rejecting her, the kiss at midnight with Lucius as his father announced their engagement to pureblood high society, Layla shook her head. She couldn't bring herself to repeat the moment, especially not knowing that she wouldn't be the only one in tears this year, no matter who she chose. "No, not tonight. In the morning, maybe." Sirius nodded again. Then they fell back into the easiness, the laughter, the Muggle music, allowing Layla to have just a little taste of a normal life, to not have to relive the constant nightmares, to not have to hate herself and her magic, if only for this one night.
January 1, 1979
"Rise and shine, Malfoy." Sirius's mischief-filled voice was not welcome so early after such a late night of drinking.
"Fuck off, Black," Layla groaned, her voice muffled by the pillow he had loaned her the night before.
His barking laugh was so unburdened, it made her own load in life feel just a teensy bit lighter. "No, come on, Malfoy. Get out of my bed. Unless of course, you're inviting me to get back into it with you." Layla's eyes snapped open, panicked, but then she remembered the night before better. She'd whined and begged and made excuses about being more drunk than him to get him to switch to the couch and let her steal his bed. He was full of shit, poking fun of her as always. "Coffee and more owls from forlorn lovers await you in the kitchen," Sirius informed her far too cheerfully as he walked back out of the bedroom door.
Layla moaned loudly, and she heard him laughing up the hall at her hangover misery. "Spare me the read; what's the summary?" she called at him as she slowly got out of bed and started getting dressed. At least if he relayed the information, she didn't have to be quite so emotionally affected by it.
A chuckle floated in the air, then Sirius yelled, "The gist? Regulus is getting desperate and scared begging you to let him know you're safe. Seems under the impression that Voldemort himself may have caught and killed you. And Malfoy… Malfoy is promising to give you anything and everything he can think of in the world if you just come home. Including but not limited to murdering the Dark Lord and anyone else who might dare make you feel unsafe or unwanted at home. Aww, homicide; how romantic."
Rolling her eyes, Layla joined him in the kitchen, and he slid her a mug of coffee on the kitchen island again. She leaned her elbows on the island, taking a slow sip of the once again too-sweet beverage. "He can be sweet and charming when he wants to be."
"Oh, yes, nothing says true love like sweet nothing promises of murder."
"Oh, shut up, Sirius."
Sirius snickered as he buttered his fresh toast. "So have you figured your shit out, then?"
No. Layla nodded. "Yeah, I guess I have," she lied. She hadn't figured out a single fucking thing; she just knew that she couldn't stay away from them anymore. She wasn't entirely sure that this supposedly grounding experience had actually helped her find herself or any answers, so staying longer seemed rather pointless, even if it was quiet and peaceful for once. The manor could be so stifling and oppressive, and the memories of being tortured there… Nonetheless, it was time to go home and face her men, whether she liked it or not.
"Great." Sirius turned back, taking a bite of his toast. "Because I have to go back to work tomorrow and try to arrest your husband and my brother on whatever evidence I can scrounge up. You know how it is."
The corner of Layla's mouth quirked up at his implications; their conversations had never happened. She was never here. Therefore, her words were inadmissible as evidence against them or herself. He was protecting them and her; whether out of consideration for her fragile feelings or to protect her even more delicate position to take down Voldemort for Dumbledore, she wasn't entirely sure. She suspected the latter was more likely, but maybe he still thought of her as a true friend, after all. "Of course. And as you know, I'll be going back to hexing your ass to oblivion every time you take so much as a step fucking near them."
"I would expect nothing less, kitten."
Layla tightened her grip on the handles of her bag as anxiety danced across her nerves, stepping out of the Floo Network and into the manor parlor. As expected, Lucius was collapsed on the sofa, his face white, purple bruises shadowing under his eyes, his face scruffy, his perfect long hair disheveled. What Layla didn't expect was Regulus, equally an exhausted mess, also unshaven with a hint of dark shadow along his jaw, standing behind the sofa with his back to her, watching the other entrance to the house with the tense shoulder muscles of an angry lion.
The whoosh of the fireplace caught both of their attention as she appeared in the house, and Lucius's face crumpled as worry gave way to relief at the sight of her, his shoulders sagging with his sigh. Regulus spun around, his wand raised as if he expected an attack, but the moment he saw Layla the weapon was forgotten, dropped to the floor as he raced around the sofa and swept her up in the tightest hug he could manage. Layla gasped as he squeezed the air from her lungs, and she hugged him back as he babbled incoherently about how scared they'd been for her. Lucius looked on with careful, guarded eyes as Layla looked at him over Regulus's shoulder; he hadn't moved from the sofa. When Lucius finally spoke over Regulus's fretting, he said coldly, "Where the bloody hell have you been?"
Layla hesitated to answer, knowing that neither of them would like the truth but fearing that if she withheld the information it may hurt them worse. She also knew that Lucius was hiding his anger, fear, and hurt behind a shield of ice as he so often did, and she didn't want to make that worse. She settled for something in between open truth and withholding. "A friend's place. An Order friend."
Lucius raised an eyebrow at her, but Regulus still refused to let her go, his fingers clinging to the fabric of the back of her blue angora sweater as though his life depended on it. "Don't ever scare us like that again," Regulus chided, his voice still almost shaky as the rest of his body.
Patting his back, Layla struggled to extricate herself from Regulus's embrace. "I'm sorry," Layla said softly, meeting Regulus's gaze as he finally let her step back from him, and she meant it. She knew that running away like that had been wrong and childish, and it probably hadn't even helped her any if she were honest. She still hated herself, the crimes she'd committed, and the future she faced, and she was still beginning to even hate magic altogether.
Layla glanced at Lucius, who said nothing and stared at the marble floor, and she frowned, confused, until she followed his line of sight and saw what he was staring at so intently. In between two of the marble tiles, where there was just a hint of space, were dark, rusty bloodstains. Her blood. The only remaining evidence of her near-death experience. She brought her eyes back up to Regulus's anxious, eager face as his fingers found her jaw and stroked it ever so lightly, like she might disappear again any second. Instead of following the instinct to lean into the touch, she pulled away from it, just enough he noticed, just enough that she could see his heart shattering in his eyes. "I'm sorry," she repeated, and his eyes widened as he understood. That because of her marriage vows, she couldn't choose him, she couldn't ask him to stay, she couldn't beg for more; she didn't want to hurt either of them anymore and couldn't think of a solution other than letting go.
"That's it, then?" Regulus asked, quiet and fragile. Layla winced and dropped her eyes to his chest, unable to look him in the eyes as she broke his heart. It wasn't as though she intended to choose Lucius over him, exactly; she meant to not choose either. She meant to leave them both, to protect them from her terrible doom, so they didn't have to see her like this, so they didn't have to watch her struggle and crash and burn and die and fail to take even a single horcrux with her in the process… Regulus exhaled hard, trembling all the more, then he stepped back. "Ok." He retrieved his wand from where he'd dropped it on the floor, then came back to the fireplace. As he picked up some Floo Powder, he whispered to her, "If – if you ever, ever, need me, you know where to find me. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not done fighting for you." Layla nodded, her hands shaking, unable to bring herself to voice the spiraling cacophony of thoughts in her head, as he turned back and nodded at Lucius, raising his voice to a normal volume. "Malfoy, just – be good to her, please. Be the better man she needs." His implication was clear; Regulus thought Lucius wasn't good enough for her.
Layla struggled to bite back an audible scoff as that voice in her head screamed in protest that she didn't deserve a better man, that there were no better men for her than these two anyway, that she simply didn't deserve anyone at all after everything she had done. Death Eater whore. Pureblood wannabe. Filthy little lying mudblood. Death Eater whore. Mudblood. Death Eater whore; mudblood; whore…
Lucius's eyes cut to Regulus, filled with the vicious fire burning down in his soul. "Wait a fucking minute, Black." Regulus stopped, the powder already in the fireplace now raging with green flames, and looked back at the older man on the couch. "You just – just wait there a moment."
Instead of cursing the shit out of Regulus as she expected, Lucius let out a ragged breath and looked up at Layla. Layla shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the bag still in her hands, dropping her gaze back to her blood still staining the marble floor. Why couldn't Lucius ever just let her handle things her way? She had it under control, and it wouldn't be long until it was none of his business, anyway… The green flames burned down, turning their average orange again as Regulus paused, and Lucius stood up, slowly crossed the room, and took the bag from her with trembling hands, tossing it carelessly on the sofa. Ever so cautiously, his shaking hands came up to hold her face, his forehead resting against hers as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, his breathing uneven, his shoulders unsteady. "What do I have to do to keep you from ever leaving me again?" he murmured, his voice full of the fear and vulnerability that he would never have shown anyone else.
Layla hesitantly reached up, her fingers toying anxiously with the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. "I'm sorry," she whispered back, afraid that if she said the words too loudly, he'd pull away from her, that she would break him, too, the way she was so deeply broken. "For sleeping with him. For not trusting you. For not… for not letting you love me, for not letting you in. For not letting you really know me. For being afraid of you. For being so wrong for you." Lucius made a harsh sound, somewhere between a choke and a sob. She raised her eyes to his, pleading as a couple of tears escaped her and slid down her cheeks, "Can you forgive me?"
Nodding quickly, Lucius's fingers tightened just a little on her face, careful not to hurt or frighten her. It almost amused her that he was taking such care, considering how little it mattered to her anymore; nothing he could do to her would be worse than what she put herself through. "Yes, darling. Absolutely anything. Just please, don't leave me again."
Layla's touch on his shoulder grew firmer, more confident. Her plan was still unaltered; the only way forward was to leave them both and just disappear forever. But her selfish little heart couldn't keep silent. "Don't sleep with her again, please," she mumbled, and his eyes flickered with surprise, then understanding as he realized she meant his affair with Narcissa Black.
"Never again," he promised, one hand sliding from her face, down her neck and shoulder blade, to the small of her back, tugging her to him, pressing her against him, reassuring himself that she was there. Then Regulus made an uncomfortable noise in his throat, and Lucius glanced at him, then back to Layla. Lucius started to say something, but…
Layla leaned into Lucius, brushing her lips against his just one last time, an unspoken question passing between them. Can they still make it? Can they still love each other; can they still be together? Or are they too broken, too destroyed, too lost to find their way back to each other? It was a plea, really, for him to make her stay, to save her again, to protect her from herself. Then he answered, claiming her mouth with vigor, pressing her back against the hearth. Yes, they could do this. Yes, he loved her, perhaps even more than she loved him, certainly more than she loved herself. Yes, they could survive anything as long as they stayed together. She was enough for him as she was; the rest didn't matter. He would always save her from any danger, including herself.
The tears flowed freely now, and Layla flung her arms around Lucius's neck, pulling him closer, pressing her body harder against his, desperate for him. She couldn't do it; she wasn't strong enough. Not after this. She had to do it; she had to leave them both, but she didn't want to. His thumb brushed over her cheek and came away wet with her tears, and he pulled back just enough to see her face. Shame burned through her until she couldn't meet his gaze, overwhelmed by that same sense of unworthiness of him, of his forgiveness, of his love, of his trust… Her fingers dug into the front of his shirt, a silent prayer of please don't leave me, of please don't let me run again, of please don't hate me…
Almost as if he had heard those begging thoughts, Lucius used his hold on her back to tug her closer, to tuck her face into the crook of his neck, his chin coming to rest on her dark hair after pressing a kiss there. "You're home," he murmured, petting her back with loving, soft strokes. A shuddering, small whimper escaped from her throat as she nodded into his shoulder, tightening her grip on his shirt as if her life depended on never letting him go, and honestly, it felt like it did. Home. Not just the manor, not the place they lived, but where he was, where their family was, what little family they had. Maybe she could be safe here; maybe she didn't have to die yet…
But then he stepped back, ignoring Layla's choked noise of protest, and said, "We have to figure this thing out. The three of us."
Regulus scoffed as Layla squeaked, "What?"
"I missed you every moment, every second," Lucius said, running a hand through the tangles of his blonde hair. "Your smile. Your laugh. The warmth of you in our bed. The smell of you on my pillow when you inevitably steal it during the night." Layla couldn't help a small, breathy laugh at that. "Whatever it takes, darling; whoever I need to be for you, I'll do it. I'll be that. I love you." She choked on another sob, pressing a hand to her mouth, desperately trying to make herself smother the tears, stop falling apart, stop being vulnerable, not with both of them here, not now… So very afraid to lose them, yet trying to force them away so she didn't have to bring them down with her…
"I – I – I'm so – so sorry," Layla said tearfully, shoving her face harder against her hand, refusing to look at either of them. She was clueless about what Regulus might be making of Lucius's little speech; fuck, she wasn't even sure herself where her husband was going with this. She guessed that he intended to force her to end her friendship with Regulus here and now, before romance could become a temptation again, before he got between them again… Little did Lucius know that she had planned from the moment she'd stepped into the manor to ruin both of their lives, to break both of their hearts, to surrender her survival at long last to Death who had been denied far too long what he was due, all so that they wouldn't have to die with her when Voldemort inevitably caught on to her horcrux thieving schemes…
"Darling, please don't cry," Lucius said, the subtle note of heartache leaking into his voice, but he made no move to touch her, to embrace her again, to comfort her. Because he didn't know the truth of what she planned, of why she was crying, of why she was apologizing; she knew if he did, he wouldn't hesitate. Even if it required force, he would stop her plan; he would save her from herself…
"What's your point here, Malfoy?" Regulus snapped, taking a step toward Layla, recoiling when she flinched away from him, unwilling to allow him to comfort her, to give him the chance to change her mind the way Lucius nearly had. He looked hurt by her further rejection, but he pressed on, "You're not going to convince me to back down; I would hope you're not too stupid to realize –"
"On the contrary, Black," Lucius interrupted, his voice hardening just a little. "If either of you could shut your mouths for two minutes and stop arguing with me and simply listen to what I have to say, you'd realize I'm trying to give the three of us a chance."
He couldn't possibly be saying what Layla had heard. She must be misunderstanding him. She dared to look up from the floor at him. She was pretty sure her heart had long since given way to a dark empty cavern, but she swore it squeezed in her chest at his words. "Give what a chance?" She barely breathed the words.
Lucius hesitated, the vulnerability of the moment completely unnatural to him. "Maintaining a relationship with multiple partners is far from unheard of in wizarding society," he said slowly, carefully sidestepping answering her question directly.
Regulus raised an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, with pureblood men who keep multiple pureblood women like a harem. What's your –" Then his eyes widened with recognition, and he gaped at Lucius. "Are you suggesting –"
"Harem seems like a strong word for it," Lucius grumbled, folding his arms across his chest and glancing over at the bag on the sofa.
Regulus continued as if Lucius had said nothing, "A ménage à trois? Seriously? I'm going on record now that I will not have sex with you, Malfoy." Layla shook her head. That's it; time travel's side effects must be finally getting to her. She was officially losing her mind. Because the constant trauma wasn't enough; time magic had to corrupt her mental state, too.
"I didn't fucking ask, Black," Lucius snapped, shooting a glare at the younger man. Then Layla's stunned face caught his gaze, and his expression softened. "If this is what you want, what you need, then… I can handle it. I can give you this." Unable to formulate a response, Layla simply stared at him as if he had lost his mind. He couldn't possibly want this; he couldn't possibly want her at all, much less badly enough to put up with this. "Darling, please say something," Lucius pleaded, and it made Layla realize that he was metaphorically on his knees, begging for her, her love, her time, her attention, her presence, at any cost, no matter what pureblood society or the Dark Lord or anyone else had to say about it, no matter how it may hurt his pride, his feelings, his needs. It was hardly the first time that he had told her that he could deal with it if she pursued Regulus as well as him, but…
Layla shook her head hard, eyes blurring with unshed tears. "I can't ask that of you," she said, aching to do exactly that, but she knew she wasn't worthy. She didn't deserve to win, to get her happily ever after with them. "I can't keep hurting you like that, and… and it would be incredibly unfair to you if you did allow this when I can't… When I can't handle allowing you to do the same with Narcissa." It was an excuse, a lame excuse, to avoid speaking about what truly bothered her inside…
Sighing, Lucius said, "That's not the same. Narcissa is… it's not the same."
"How? How is it not the same?" Layla snapped, hugging herself tightly as some small piece of emotional hurt lashed out at her husband. She knew none of it was his fault. She knew it was her. She was the problem; she was broken, ruined, mudblood…
"Because you've had my permission to be with Regulus from the fucking start," Lucius said, raising his voice as he flung a hand in Regulus's direction. "And at no point did you ever hide it or lie to me about it. But I – I was lying, I was hiding it, I was keeping her a secret. That is what makes it cheating. I betrayed your trust, and I swear I will never do it again. But I would never, ever demand that you give up someone you love and need every bit as much as you love and need me, just to satisfy my petty jealousy. And I do not, have never, needed Narcissa, and frankly, I do not trust her to be around you without harming you, whereas I feel reasonably certain that Black isn't going to slit my throat in my sleep anytime soon." His eyes dropped to the floor, and Layla followed his gaze back to that small bloodstain on the marble. Did that day haunt him too, the day she'd nearly died? But he would be better off now if she had died that day… "I've already nearly lost you, and if it weren't for Black… Then when you ran away without a word, I thought… I can't come so close to losing you again. Not when there's an easy solution to making you feel loved and happy enough to stay with me by having him here, too."
Regulus cleared his throat, and Layla's eyes slipped over to where he stood uncomfortably, still mere steps away from her. "Here? As in, you want me to live here with you both, Malfoy?"
"By all means, feel free to object," Lucius said, his tone darkening. "If you don't mind making her life more difficult and complicated, that is."
No, it was too much to ask of either of them. They deserved more, they deserved better than her. Mudblood. Death Eater whore. "Lucius –" Layla scolded, but Regulus interrupted her.
"No, it's – I mean, I suppose I could –"
"Are you serious?" Layla blurted, then clapped her hands over her mouth, afraid to wake up from this dream, to ruin this strange new little tenuous peace between the three of them. But she wasn't worth this fuss; this wasn't what she had planned. She was supposed to leave them so they'd both find someone better and live better, easier lives. She wasn't supposed to get a happy ending; she was supposed to…
Regulus bit his lip, the depths of his thoughts written on his face. "Layla, if it would make you happier, if it would make all of our lives easier and safer…"
Layla looked back and forth between them, terrified that at any moment they would reveal this all to be a sick joke on her. But Regulus stood stiffly, leaning his back against the fire-warmed hearth, watching her carefully for any sign that she would run away again, as if he would catch her if she tried, the way he had caught slippery Snitches as a Seeker for Slytherin house. Lucius even dared to take a step closer to her, offering her his hand, as though he too feared she would vanish again, and was imploring her to stay. Mudblood. Death Eater whore. Whore, whore, whore… Daring to trust them for just a moment, Layla breathed, "What are the rules?"
Regulus quirked an eyebrow at Lucius, equally curious about the rules. Lucius thought for a moment, letting his hand fall, then said gently, "The same as they've always been, I suppose. We keep it quiet because pureblood society will not look fondly at us for this. Black uses protection; we can't have anyone questioning the legitimacy of Malfoy heirs."
"Now, wait a minute," Regulus argued, pushing off the hearth. "The House of Black needs heirs, too."
"Surely you know that any child you had with my wife would be a bastard and disinherited, at best, if not outright killed by your psychotic mother at worst."
"Surely you know that I could protect my own children from –"
"Wait a damn second!" Both men fell silent as Layla's protest caught their attention. She could barely speak for the hyperventilating; she could barely breathe. This was too insane, and she didn't deserve such a major win as simply being with them both, and to already be discussing children like this… "Can't – can't both of you use protection? At least, for now… I'm not, I mean, after the – I can't do that again. Not yet."
Regulus and Lucius both reached for her at the same time, then let their hands fall awkwardly rather than making her choose. Lucius said softly, "Yes, we can do that. Until you're ready." He cut his eyes over to Regulus. "She's still my wife; it would only be proper and expected if her first child were mine. We could revisit the subject after that if you're so inclined."
Scowling, Regulus nodded. "Fair enough. Any other rules?"
Lucius shrugged and looked pointedly at Layla. "No more running away and not telling anyone where the hell you're going or when you'll be back, Layla. You can't scare us like this again."
"For all three of us." Lucius raised an eyebrow at Layla's words. She held his gaze, determined. If he laid this rule down, then her plan was already foiled; she couldn't shove them away, couldn't bolt, couldn't die, if she wasn't allowed to disappear from their lives. She fully expected him to back down if the rule applied to him as well. "I'm tired of the Dark Lord constantly tearing you away from me in the middle of the night without even so much as a hint of where you are or how long you'll be gone or if you're safe. If you have to leave, I want proper notice, the same way you're asking of me."
Nodding, Lucius said, "Agreed." She stared at him, openly flabbergasted. She'd meant what she'd said, but she'd never expected him to agree to those terms. He glanced over at Regulus. "Obviously, you must go back to Hogwarts and graduate school before all of this can properly take effect." Regulus nodded, his jaw tense, the muscles of his throat tight. Then something occurred to Lucius, and he said, "The horcruxes." The entire room stilled at the word. "We destroy them together, or not at all. It won't do to have something so massive hanging between us, breaking us apart. And I refuse to lose my wife as a traitor to the Dark Lord, either by defecting to the Order or by death at the Dark Lord's hand. If it means I must assist to make sure this is successfully done if we insist on following through with it, then so be it."
Hands shaking, Layla nodded quickly, her mouth dry. It was a sensible request, to be sure. Not that she wasn't still convinced her way was better, easier… "Absolutely. But Dumbledore is still part of that; he's the one who started all this, who even figured out what was happening. I won't cut him out of this mission. I haven't a clue what to do with the fucking things to destroy them without Dumbledore."
With a shaky sigh, Lucius said, "Very well, if you must. But no one else outside of the three of us living in this house can ever know. Understood?" Regulus and Layla both nodded. "Back to the matter at hand…" He turned his focus to Regulus. "I'm not going to pretend you're not here or that you aren't… intimate… with my wife. I expect you to respect me the same." Regulus narrowed his eyes but nodded his silent agreement. "Good. We've been friends a long time, Black; I'd prefer to not be enemies in this."
Unable to hold herself back anymore, Layla took two steps forward and threw her arms around Lucius's neck, hugging him tightly, silent tears falling from her eyes and soaking his shirt collar. He tensed for a moment, then his arms snaked around her waist and squeezed her hard, pulling her flush against him, exhaling a shaky breath into her dark hair. She didn't deserve this; it was too good to be true. She didn't deserve any of this, and nothing she ever did for the good of the Wizarding World could undo that. Filthy mudblood; Death Eater whore; whore, whore, whore…
A hesitant touch lighted on the back of her shoulder, and she pulled back from Lucius to look behind her. Regulus's hand was still on her shoulder, the set of his shoulders uncertain, nervous. Layla let go of Lucius, turning around and flinging her arms around Regulus, her mascara smearing a little on the shoulder of his white button-down shirt. He patted her back, soothing her, even as she mumbled, "Thank you," into his shoulder. It was stupid. It was selfish. It was incredibly unfair to them both. But even if it only lasted a single moment, she was so incredibly grateful for the two of them. Lucius briefly placed a reassuring touch on the small of her back, then stepped away to search out a bottle in the wine cellar, leaving Regulus holding Layla so tightly, even as her inner voice continued to scream obscenities at her for continuing to exist, to survive, for finding this small piece of true happiness for herself.
