(A/N)An epilogue, to make up for the severe lack of anything for the past month or two. This is end, finally.

Regulus Black, ageless now, was laid to rest in the Black family plot, still part of the constellations he had learned and loved and, in the end, died for. Bellatrix Lestrange was not there; she was already in Azkaban. Andromeda Tonks was not there; she was working overtime at the Ministry research lab that had finally hired her. Sirius Black was not there; he was getting drunk with his chosen friends and brothers, and trying to forget about his real one. Only Narcissa Malfoy lifted a handful of dirt over her cousin's grave, whispering, "I miss you, Regulus." Then she let go of the muddy clump, grass and roots clinging to her hand for an instant before they fell to the black wood coffin. A flick of her wrist loosed the last plant, and the flower drifted softly to rest on the three handfuls of dirt in the grave: a soft, pale blue forget-me-not.