But when you hold me, in the fantasy it's so convincing, I shouldn't think the things I'm thinking, but now I've gone and let them sink in… I confess I get dirty thoughts about you; they get worse when I'm without you. Does that mean that I'm going to hell, or are you thinking them as well? Oh, I get dirty thoughts about you; they're so strong that I'm about to say them all to you out loud. God can't save me now. – Chloe Adams, Dirty Thoughts

October 14, 1978

"Holy fuck, Layla," Regulus hissed, leaning across their small table in a corner of the Three Broomsticks. Layla laughed, playing with her straw in her butterbeer; it was Regulus's first Hogsmeade weekend of the school year, so it was the first chance she'd had to see him since the academic year began. She had just finished telling him what had happened at the Banshee's Shriek, and apparently, he thought it was outrageous. "You could've been caught!"

Shrugging, Layla took a sip of her drink, then said, "If I hadn't, Lucius would have been caught for sure."

"Literally anyone else could've done it. Rabastan, Snape, Dolohov," Regulus argued. "The Daily Prophet said fifteen people got hurt in that fire."

"And no one on our side was one of those people," Layla reminded him, setting her glass down on the table. "And three of them were Order members, so I don't really feel bad about it."

Snorting, Regulus crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. "Oh really?"

"Yes, really," Layla said snidely, leaning forward, her elbows on the table. "I did what I had to do. No one gets away with coming after my family."

Both eyebrows raising, Regulus tilted his head. "Well, now that I believe, at least. It just doesn't seem like you to do something like that."

Drumming her fingers on the table, Layla said, "Yeah, well, maybe once it wouldn't have been. But out there… Fuck, it's different outside Hogwarts, Regulus. I didn't really believe the people who claimed that at first, but now…"

"Now, you see it for yourself," Regulus finished for her. Layla nodded, bouncing one knee anxiously in her seat. "Are you doing all right? I mean… The Banshee's Shriek aside. I know… None of this was exactly part of your life plan."

Glancing around the room, Layla shrugged and said quietly, "I don't know, Regulus. I suppose so. I mean… Lucius and I are good, you know? I like him; we get along. But the other stuff… It's exhausting, I guess. I had literally no idea the Malfoys did so much fucking philanthropy. Every weekend it's another charity ball or silent auction or Pureblood Women's Society Tea." Regulus snickered, and Layla rolled her eyes, smiling a little at the sound of his laugh. "And, you know, there are the meetings and the Dark Lord. Don't get me wrong; I knew that Lucius had… status… in this community. But I had no idea he was as powerful as he is. None."

"Really?" Regulus said curiously. "You know, it seems kind of strange that you two know so little about each other, from the day you and I first met. It was like you two were strangers. I thought you were supposed to be family friends?"

Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Layla shook her head. "I can't really talk about that, Regulus. It's… it's complicated."

"Does it have anything to do with those scars on your arm?" Layla's wide eyes snapped to him. He shrugged. "What, did you think I forgot? I've just been waiting for the right moment to ask."

Biting her lower lip, Layla thought for a moment about telling him the truth at long last. She couldn't, though; it would put him in too much danger to know. At least if the Dark Lord or anyone else caught on as things were, only Layla and Lucius, and possibly Snape, would have to pay the price. "I really can't tell you, Regulus. It would put you in too much danger to know." Regulus protested, but she interrupted, "No, seriously, please. Believe me. I want to tell you; you deserve to know. But if I tell you, it could cost you your life if it ever came out. Let's just leave it how it is; you know my blood status, and that Lucius saved my life. Isn't that enough?"

Frustrated, Regulus sighed and ran a hand through his hair, but nodded as he dropped the hand back to his chest. "Fine. We can leave it there. For now. But one of these days, Layla Malfoy, I'm going to get you to tell me."

Layla's smile was tinged with sadness. "I hope you do."

Regulus took a drink from his glass of butterbeer, and Layla let herself be entranced by the muscles of his arm for just a moment as he did. When he caught her staring and winked at her, she blushed beet red and dropped her eyes to her lap. "So, what else is new?" he asked, and Layla envied the way that he could so easily pretend that they felt nothing for each other. Or at least, she thought he made it seem easy.

Then another recent event crossed her mind, and the color started to drain from her face. "Oh, right."

Brow furrowing, Regulus asked, "What? Something wrong?"

Fingers resuming their tapping rhythm on the table, Layla mumbled, "I don't know. Maybe?"

"What's wrong?"

Layla took another sip of her drink, decidedly not ready to have this discussion. "It's nothing."

"Hey, no, don't do that," Regulus said, snatching her glass from her hand, setting it aside, and taking her hands in his. "You know you can tell me absolutely anything."

"Of course, I do," Layla said quickly. "It's not that, I just… I'm not sure it's true yet, or that I believe it, and I haven't decided what to do or…"

"Just tell me, Layla."

She made eye contact with his dark eyes, and she felt bad for causing the concern she found there. "It's really nothing to worry about me about, it's just… Well…" She glanced away at the wall for a second, steeling herself, then she looked back at him. "Well, fuck it, Regulus. I might be pregnant."

Regulus stilled, his grip on her hands tightening. "What?"

"My wand's been acting ridiculous the last few weeks. Taking extra attempts or more concentration to cast spells, or simply not producing any magic at all, or generating the wrong spell effect," Layla explained. "I took it to Ollivanders to get it fixed, and he suggested that the most likely reason for my wand to behave like that would be if it was picking up a second magical energy inside me…"

"Your… wand… told you you were pregnant?" Regulus said incredulously. Layla shrugged, glancing down at the table to avoid his intense gaze. "Have you been tested yet?"

"No," Layla admitted. "That's why I'm not entirely sure."

"Why the hell wouldn't you –"

"Because I don't want to know, ok?" Layla snapped. "I only turned eighteen a fucking week ago; I'm basically a child. I don't want to be pregnant. I don't want to know. Because if I get tested and I find out and I know for sure, then it's real, and I'm not fucking ready, ok?"

Regulus stared at her in disbelief. "You haven't told Lucius yet, have you?"

"Fuck, no," Layla groaned, leaning back in her chair. "He can't know."

"But he is the father, isn't he?"

Layla shivered, her stomach turning at the thought. "He would be, yes, if I were… But I'm not. I can't be. It's too soon."

"You have to tell him, Layla."

"Pfft." Layla rolled her eyes. "I can't tell him. If I am… I mean, I haven't decided yet. What to do about it."

"What do you mean, what to do about it? Layla, if you're pregnant, you're having a baby," Regulus said, confused.

"Not necessarily," she grumbled, freeing one of her hands from his and taking another swallow of her butterbeer.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'm too fucking young for this shit," Layla said, growing more impatient by the second. "Regulus, in case you didn't notice, I wanted to be a magizoologist. I wanted to be single. I wanted to be young. I wanted to wait and maybe consider marriage and kids in like ten more years. I didn't get my way on the whole marriage and career thing, fine, but kids… Fuck, I don't think I can do it, ok?"

"Are you suggesting," Regulus asked, his eyes narrowing at her, "that you might get an abortion instead of having a child?"

Sensing his condemnation, Layla's eyes flashed, and she picked up her coat and scarf from the empty chair beside her. "It's my choice," Layla snapped. "And I'll thank you to stay the fuck out of it."

"You're the one who invited me into it," Regulus growled back, grabbing his own coat and following her as she stood up. "You can't do that, Layla. It's not just your choice here."

"The fuck it isn't." Layla turned and stomped out of the Three Broomsticks with Regulus annoyingly close behind her. Fucking pureblood patriarchy. Merlin's beard, if Layla wanted to abort and wait to have a child with Lucius when she was older, that was what she would do, pureblood social rules be damned. On this one thing, a pureblood man was not going to tell her what to do. "Leave me alone, Regulus," she said over her shoulder, her Slytherin scarf now around her neck and slipping her arms into the sleeves of her favorite green leather jacket as she stepped through the bar's front door.

"Like hell," Regulus said with a dry laugh, his own wool coat already on. "Like I'm going to let you do something that incredibly stupid."

"It's my fucking body, and I'll do with it what I want," Layla said, glancing up and down the High Street, uncertain which direction to walk. When she hesitated, Regulus grabbed her by the elbow, pulling her along in his chosen direction. "Regulus!"

He pulled her into the dark, silent alley between the Three Broomsticks and the next shop over, pushing her against the wall and using his body to pin her there, ignoring her many angry protests. When his hand lovingly found her face, all the fight left Layla, and she tensed, still and quiet, trembling under his touch. "Listen to me," Regulus said, his voice firm but quiet. "For obvious reasons, I am personally not the least bit thrilled by the idea of you having Malfoy's kid. But you can't go get an abortion. Not because I actually care if you do or don't, but because if anyone else found out, it could ruin you. Beyond just fucking pureblood bullshit; your husband is at the top of the Death Eater chain of command, second only to the Dark Lord himself. If you get an abortion, especially without telling him, and any of them find out… They might kill you and replace you with another pureblood woman who is more compliant."

Layla's breath hitched, and Regulus brushed his thumb across her cheek. "Oh," she said softly, her anger deflating. Regulus wasn't trying to control her; he just wanted to protect her. Just like always. She really should have known. "I'm sorry for yelling at you. I didn't think about it like that."

"It's ok," he murmured, his eyes fixated on the violet lipstick painted on her lips. He cleared his throat, then said, "You know, ever since that night at the Banshee's… I can't stop thinking about how fucking good you taste."

The words alone set Layla's skin on fire. "Don't," she breathed. "Please, don't. I… we can't."

"I know," Regulus said heavily, contradicting his own words as he leaned in and captured her mouth with his. She moaned softly, melting a little too easily into the contact, her hands finding his chest, fingers digging into his shirt, but… It was wrong, and she knew too well how wrong it was. She pulled away, and he tried to chase her, but she used her hands on his chest to maintain a little distance. "Regulus."

A soft growl rumbled in his chest, and his hand trailed down the column of her throat. She leaned into the touch; she couldn't help herself. It felt too right and too wrong at the same time, just like her life. "I fucking love the way my name sounds when you say it like that, you know," he said, leaning his forehead against hers, but not making another move to kiss her.

"We can't do this," Layla repeated. "Fuck, I might be pregnant with his baby. We cannot do this."

"I know," Regulus said again, his breath hot on her face. "Why do you have to feel so fucking right and perfect? Like you were practically made for me by the deepest, oldest, purest magic in the world?"

Layla took a shaky breath. "I don't know," she said, her voice husky and seductive against her will. She just wanted to be good, so very good, to behave herself the way a woman and a wife should… But then Regulus's other hand brushed across her breast over her dress, slipping down her waist, skating across her hip. Fuck, everything about him felt so good. Tears welling in her eyes, she whispered, so quietly that she almost hoped he didn't hear her, "Please, stop."

Regulus did hear her, though, and instantly, his hands left Layla's body, and she whimpered a little at the loss. "I'll be good," he promised, taking a step back. "For you."

The double meaning of his words didn't escape her, but Layla felt she could breathe a little better with the space now between them. "Thank you," she mumbled, not entirely sure she meant it. She wanted to pull him back in, kiss him again, fuck him, love him. And it hurt deep inside to step away from him instead. Layla resolved there and then not to tell Lucius what had just passed between her and Regulus; what good did telling him to do? It would only hurt him and make her feel like a liar for struggling so hard to keep her promises to stay true to Lucius. She just would have to try harder to make sure it never happened again.

"You should go get tested," Regulus said, his shoulders shaking just enough for Layla to notice with the effort to restrain himself. "You should tell him if it's positive."

Layla nodded. "Yeah, I'll do that." Wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, Layla said, "For the people we love, right?"

Sighing, Regulus nodded back. "Right. For the people we love."

October 24, 1978

Knowing that it was a terrible idea, Layla looked straight into the bathroom mirror and tossed back a dose of Willow's Thorne, once again stolen from Lucius's seemingly endless stash of potions, both legal and illegal. She didn't care; she needed its blissful effects to steady her fucking nerves. It had already taken her a few days to work up the nerve to go get tested at St. Mungo's after her visit with Regulus, but now, she stared at the positive test results on the counter, and she wanted nothing more than to vomit. This had to be some sort of hellish nightmare. They'd only been married four months, only having sex for six; she was only eighteen. It didn't matter that he was six years older than her. It took everything she had not to scream at the thought of accidentally ending up as the mother to Draco Malfoy of all people.

Dropping her hands to the counter, Layla leaned against it, trying and failing to work up the courage to walk back out to the bedroom and tell Lucius she was pregnant. Instead, the potion began to kick in, and she relaxed too much, detaching from the reality of the situation. It was too much of a mind-twister, to have Lucius Malfoy's child. It was too absurd.

"Darling? Are you all right?" She hadn't heard Lucius enter the bathroom with her, but his hands found her shoulders, turning her to look at him. He took one look at her blown pupils and twitching skin and concluded, "You're high."

Giggling, unsure why it was funny, Layla answered simply, "Yeah."

"Why?" Lucius studied her face, pushing a dark curl out of her face. "Is something wrong? There's no Death Eater meeting tonight if that's why you…"

"Oh, you noticed that," Layla said, playing with the ends of his long blonde hair.

A dry laugh was his first response. "Of course; I know you, darling. You could never have sneaked that past me. Want to tell me what's getting at you?"

Layla hesitated as she braided his hair, looking up at him with wide eyes. "I'm not sure you'll like it," she admitted.

"Dearest," Lucius sighed, his hands resting on her waist. "If it bothers you, I want to fix it. I will do anything. If you want the Muggle Queen's jewels, I will steal them for you. If you want the moon, I will make it happen. If you want someone dead, I will kill them. Just tell me what you need, and I will do it."

His promises were so sweet, like honey in the air, that Layla confessed, "I'm pregnant." He froze for a moment, and his eyes clouded over with uncertainty. "You're the only one," she reassured him, and he instantly relaxed.

Layla picked up the paper from St. Mungo's and showed it to him. Lucius read it over carefully, then looked back up at her. "I don't understand; are you unhappy about this?" Layla's eyes dropped to her cashmere sweater, unable to bear his gaze. "Isn't this good news? The Dark Lord will be pleased."

"I don't fucking care about the Dark Lord's bloody pleasure," Layla said with far more boldness than she would have had sober. "We're too fucking young for this. I'm just a kid. I can't do this."

Lucius looked as though she had slapped him, and Layla immediately regretted speaking her truth. A few moments of painful silence passed between them, and then Lucius asked, his voice low, "Would you feel the same if it were Regulus Black's child?"

Defiant, Layla met his eyes and said fiercely, "Yes, I bloody would. It's not about that. It's about me. I'm not ready, no matter who the father was."

Lucius took a deep breath to steady himself, but Layla could sense the anger under his surface. "Perhaps I should have been more careful if that's how you feel about it," Lucius said, his voice tight and his shoulders tense. "But it's too late to do anything about that now."

She really wanted to cry at that moment, but the tears wouldn't come. "I don't want to do this," she said quietly, pleading with him to understand. "I'm… I'm scared. I've never, and… and I don't know how, and I'm not sure I can, and I just… Merlin, I'm so fucking scared."

Lucius's face softened as he realized what was really at the core of her reaction. "Oh, Layla," he wrapped her up in a tight hug, letting her hide her face in his broad chest. "Of course you're scared. It's only natural; this is new, and it's going to be such a huge change for you, for us. You've just barely gotten used to living here and being with me." Layla nodded into his shirt, unwilling to look at him for fear of upsetting him again. "You can do this. We can handle this."

"Can we?" Layla mumbled, not nearly as certain as he sounded.

"Yes, absolutely," he assured her, smoothing her hair lovingly. "Darling, I love you."

Uncertain, Layla looked up at him, surprised by the hopeful smile she found on his face. It wasn't the first time either of them had ever said it, but he offered the words so rarely that it made her question their truth from time to time. But when she looked up at him, his face so full of unadulterated love and admiration and hope, she believed him. He loved her, and he would burn the world for her if it was what it took to endear himself to her. She leaned up and kissed him briefly, then replied, "I love you, too."

October 31, 1978

"Oh, that's sweet, darling, that you think you'll get away with sneaking that," Rabastan teased as he plucked the Pumpkin Spice Daiquiri from Layla's hand, laughing at her whines and attempts to steal it back from her seat at the bar.

"Oh, stop it, Rab; it's a virgin," Layla complained, still trying to reach for the drink.

"Oh really now?" Rabastan smirked, then took a sip of the drink, laughing harder when the strong taste of dark rum hit him. "Like bloody hell it is."

"Rab –"

Rabastan slid the drink down the bar to the bartender and yelled, "Hey, she's cut off; she's pregnant." The bartender, some halfblood sympathizer, blanched, knowing full well who Rabastan was and who Layla was married to, then quickly nodded and dumped the drink, fixed a glass of water, and slid it down the bar to Rabastan as a replacement. Her friend grinned and offered her the water, and she pouted at him. "Like Lucius wouldn't fucking kill me for letting you drink pregnant."

"You're no fun anymore, Rab. You used to put a great deal of effort into making sure I was completely and utterly wasted," Layla grumbled, taking the water and sipping on it out of obligation.

"For highly nefarious purposes, if you'll recall," Rabastan reminded her, taking the seat next to hers at the bar. "Or would you prefer I make those sorts of advances again as well? Because I can always accommodate that."

Raising an eyebrow at him, Layla asked, "Feeling particularly brave, Rab? Lucius would turn your intestines inside out if you touched me." Rabastan burst into deep laughter again, and Layla grinned, satisfied. "Cut me some slack; I'm bored and I'm almost always a little nauseous. I need something else to do or feel."

"How far along are you?" he asked curiously, planting one elbow on the bar and resting his head on his hand.

"As if Lucius didn't tell you and every other fucking Death…"

"Who would want to fuck Death?" Regulus's sarcastic voice floated to her ears over the loud music of the Three Broomsticks, and Layla squealed excitedly, practically flying out of her chair as she turned around and hugged him as hard as she could. He grunted as he took the hit of her weight, laughing and letting his arms easily fall around her. "Good to see you, too," Regulus laughed as Layla beamed up at him, more than thrilled to see him again.

Rabastan, however, rolled his eyes. "Lucius is out of town, unfortunately. An emergency call from our friends in Bulgaria. So we're on babysitting duty tonight. And this one," he said, pointing an accusing finger at Layla as she giggled, "has decided to be difficult and test my patience."

"Oh really?" Regulus asked, looking down at Layla curiously.

Layla nodded, quite proud of being a problem for Rabastan. "Yep, I was sneaking a drink, but Rabastan had to be a stick in the mud and tell the bloody bartender I'm pregnant and get me cut off."

Regulus's face fell just a little, and Rabastan instantly picked up on it. "Oh, didn't you know, Black? Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy have made a little Malfoy baby. It's the talk of the town," Rabastan said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"Congratulations," Regulus said, the word so forced that Layla was surprised he hadn't choked on it, then he hugged her again, murmuring in her ear, "We're good, right?"

Nodding, Layla whispered back, "Yeah, of course."

"Ok," Regulus said, stepping back and raising his voice again. "So drinking and potions are obviously off the table for tonight. What would you like to do instead, Layla?"

You, was the first response that came to Layla's mind, but she swallowed the word, unwilling to give it voice. She shifted on the barstool, her blue eyes locked on Regulus, and for a moment, an idea crossed her mind, a dangerous one. Legilimens. Through their eye contact, she slipped from her body, from her reality, into his, for just a moment, and left the dangerous word behind in his conscious thoughts as loud as she could manage, then scurried away, through shadow and wind, back to her own mind and body. For a moment, Regulus's eyes widened, and Layla thought she may have gone too far, struggling to orient herself back into her own skin. He bit his lip and inhaled deeply through his nose, shaking his head a little.

Oblivious to the brief exchange, Rabastan said, "Well, I say we fuck shit up."

Rolling her eyes, Layla rolled her head over to one shoulder to look at him. "What the hell does that mean?"

Hopping off his barstool, Rabastan said, "It means I'm bored, and I want to do something fun. Come on."

Regulus gave Layla his hand and helped her off her barstool as she asked, "Come where? Rab –"

"Don't be such a baby, Malfoy," Rabastan taunted, brushing past her and Regulus and walking out the back door of the bar.

Layla moved to follow, but Regulus caught her shoulder and squeezed, whispering, "Legilimency, Layla? What a dangerous game you're playing. What would your husband say?"

With a quick suggestive glance up and down his body, Layla teased, "Maybe I'm growing to enjoy danger."

Layla slipped from Regulus's grasp, heading to follow Rabastan out the backdoor, but was cut off halfway by a massive body colliding with hers, knocking her back, through a swinging door, and into the empty kitchen. Her wand found her hand immediately, only to find the wand of Remus Lupin pointed in her face. "Hello, Mrs. Malfoy," Remus said, his tone decidedly less friendly than when they had bumped into each other in Diagon Alley.

"Lupin? What the hell?"

"Aww, that wasn't very nice. I thought that you pureblood wives were supposed to be all about fine manners and extreme politeness? I suppose you ought to invest in a few more etiquette classes." It appeared that Remus suspected her of fucking up the Order's mission to apprehend Lucius and the other Death Eaters at the Banshee's Shriek Club and was upset with her for it. Good; let him suspect her. She knew he had no proof.

"Let me try again, then," Layla snapped, the tip of her wand prodding against his chest. "What the fuck, Lupin?"

A wry smile tugged at the werewolf's lips. "Better." Layla shook her head, and he said, "Dumbledore needs you."

"Not this shit again," Layla groaned. "I am not joining the fucking Order, even if –"

"No, no," Remus said quickly, glancing nervously about. "He said to tell you that he found one, whatever the hell that means."

Layla's face immediately paled, and she couldn't be certain if the nausea that swept over her was from the news of a potential horcrux discovery or the pregnancy. "Fuck." Remus's brow furrowed, and he started to ask, but she said over him, "He's on his own. Fucking hell, I can't, not right now…"

"This seemed really important, Layla," Remus argued, lowering his wand. "You can't quit whatever this is now."

"Lupin, I'm pregnant," Layla said tiredly. His jaw dropped, so she went on. "Yeah. So I literally can't right now. Tell him he can wait, or he can do it alone, because I can hardly get space from these people to fucking breathe, much less… whatever the hell he expects me to do here."

Remus didn't say anything as Layla marched away, through the kitchen doors, and… landed right in Regulus's waiting arms. "Fucking hell, Layla," Regulus hissed. "What the fuck are you wrapped up in?"

"Nothing," Layla lied, but one look at Regulus's face told her that he had already heard everything. "Where's Rabastan?" she asked; it was a distraction tactic, a misdirection.

He wasn't falling for it. "I don't care," Regulus said icily, tightening his arms around her. With an angry popping noise, like the fabric of reality tearing, Regulus disapparated, pulling her with him. They landed on the carpeted floor of an unfamiliar bedroom. The Slytherin colors of emerald and silver were everywhere, draping the bed, walls, and windows. The Black family crest was painstakingly handpainted over the bed, along with the motto, Toujours Pur; beneath this on one wall was a collection of newspaper cuttings, all stuck together to make a collage, all featuring headlines about the Dark Lord and Death Eater crime sprees. Layla struggled to extricate herself from Regulus's hold, but his grip was firm as he demanded, "What the fucking hell have you done, Layla?"

"Let me go, Regulus," Layla begged, looking up at him with wide eyes. Regulus wasn't the sort to get angry easily, but this time, he was livid, more so than she thought she had ever seen him before. "Regulus –"

"Tell me the truth, Layla," he snapped, raising his voice at her. He let her stumble back from him, the bed catching the back of her knees so she fell to a seat on the bed. "I heard every fucking word that Lupin and you said, and you're damn lucky I'm the only one who did. So fucking help me, Layla, if you're a fucking Order spy…"

"It's not like that," Layla said as Regulus towered over her, chasing her steps to the bed. "Regulus, please."

His wand twitched in his fingers, as though he couldn't quite decide whether to curse her or not. Instead, he demanded again, "Layla, I am fucking begging you. Tell me the truth, about fucking everything, here and now. And I'll decide what the hell to do with it."

Genuine fear clutched Layla's heart as she began to realize that Regulus very well might turn her over to the Dark Lord to be interrogated, tortured, and killed as an Order of the Phoenix spy. "Regulus, please, you don't understand," she pleaded, but then his wand found her throat, and she noticed the hint of tears in his eyes, full of pain and mistrust and betrayal.

"So help me, Layla…"

"All right, all right!" Layla leaned further back on the bed, away from his wand, away from his fury. And at long last, she told him the truth. How a time-turner had brought her roughly twenty years into the past, how she was a Muggleborn Ravenclaw and a member of Dumbledore's Army as the new generation of the Order of the Phoenix, how she had fought her whole life to be part of the wizarding world. How Bellatrix and Lucius had tortured her, how the Lucius Malfoy they both knew now had found her in his home and rescued her with all of those puppet strings attached. How she had struggled all school year, vacillating between Lucius's offer of marriage and protection and the Marauders and Dumbledore's desperate attempts to recruit her. How the Dark Lord would be defeated in a few short years, only to return later on, more terrifying than ever.

By the time Layla paused to breathe, Regulus had sat down next to her, laying all the way back on the bed, and staring at the ceiling. His face was guarded, but his eyes gave away his true feelings as they so often did. Horrified, angry, confused, disbelieving, shocked. After a few minutes of painful silence, Regulus dared to ask, "What does all of this have to do with what you and Lupin were talking about tonight?"

Layla took another shaky breath. "Because I don't belong to the Order, and I'm not spying on the Death Eaters. It's never been about any of you. And the Order isn't involved. It's just me and… and Dumbledore. We agreed to it right before the school year ended."

"Why?" he asked, his voice cracking with pent-up emotion.

"The Dark Lord. You don't know what he's done. It's bad, Regulus. Worse than anything anyone could've imagined."

"Tell me."

Layla glanced back at him, his face set with resolve. No matter how badly the truth could hurt him, he was nonetheless determined to hear every word of it. So be it. "He's made horcruxes, Regulus."

Sitting up on his elbows, Regulus frowned. "A horcrux? You can't be serious. They're… that's…"

"No, you don't understand," Layla pressed, begging him to believe her. "Horcruxes, Regulus. More than one."

"What?" Regulus's face drained of all color, his dark eyes incredulous and hurt. "Layla, if you're lying to me…"

"Merlin's beard, I would never…" Layla hesitated, then amended, "I have only ever lied to you when absolutely forced, to protect myself and to protect you. I would never willingly choose to lie to you, and certainly not about something this world-ending."

"Fuck." Regulus dropped back onto the bed heavily, too overwhelmed to be bothered to maintain an upright sitting position. "How many are we talking about?"

"At least two, probably more," Layla answered. Regulus groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I know of one that he made while still a student at Hogwarts, and apparently, Dumbledore seems to think he may have discovered one. I haven't done anything, Regulus; I promise. My only responsibility to Dumbledore is the horcruxes, and I haven't even gotten a fucking hint of one yet. I promise I have never, ever, told him anything about you or the other Death Eaters. Please, you have to believe me."

Regulus cut off her pleading by pulling on her arm, yanking her down to lay on the bed facing him, and cuddling her as close to his chest as he could manage. Layla barely breathed and didn't dare resist him, still unsure where they stood with each other at the moment. "Is this everything?" he asked, mumbling into her hair. "No more secrets?"

Layla nodded. "Yes, that's everything. I swear."

Regulus nodded, stroking her hair as though to reassure himself that she was still there, still real, still existed. They said nothing for a long stretch, letting Regulus process the ridiculous amount of information until Layla squirmed with discomfort and unease. Finally, he said, "I bet Slughorn might know more about it. Like how many he may have made and stuff."

"Slughorn?"

"Yeah, Slughorn was the Dark Lord's potions teacher. The Dark Lord was a Slug Club member. Slughorn only really stopped talking about it openly the past few years when the war started. If the Dark Lord was still in school when he started this whole mess, he may have gone to Slughorn from some academic theorizing about it."

"I guess I could ask Dumbledore to…"

"Don't bother," Regulus said, his voice sounding tired and deflated, like this whole night had taken as much out of him as it had taken out of Layla. "I'll talk to Slughorn when I get back to school. If anyone can get him to be forthcoming about it, it's me."

"What?"

"You don't seriously think I'm going to let you do this alone, do you?" Regulus said, followed by a bitter laugh. "For the people we love, remember? Like hell you're doing this without me."

"You could get killed!" Layla exclaimed, horrified. No, absolutely not. She had never asked for his help; she'd half expected him to hand her over as a traitor to the Dark Lord. This wasn't his fight, his risk to take…

"So could you!"

Layla sat up, pushing away from him. "You – I – damn it, Regulus."

"Fucking damn it, Layla," Regulus growled, sitting up beside her. "If you're fighting this then so am I. End of discussion."

"Like hell. There's no reason for you to side with me on this. He's your precious Dark Lord. Shouldn't you be killing me to protect him?"

"Never." The word was spoken with such certainty that it caught Layla off guard. She cut her eyes over to him, and he stared back at her, fierce, resolved, and determined. "I love you. You take precedence for me over literally everything and everyone, no matter what it might fucking cost me in the end."

There it was, the words that they'd promised once already to never speak again. Layla searched his face, but he was so sincere, so courageous, so ready to sacrifice himself for her best interests… He was so different from Lucius, who was dark and confident that what was good for her was whatever he told her it would be. Lucius, who promised her everything money and magic can buy, except genuine happiness, except peace, except goodness, except change. Yet here was Regulus, offering to turn his entire world as he knew it upside down, to his own detriment, if it brought her happiness, peace, goodness, and change. Even when he didn't know who she truly was, even when he didn't know her story, even when it hadn't been easy, over and over, he had always chosen her, had always done everything he could to be kind and loving and good to her… She knew she shouldn't. She knew she could refuse. She could walk away that second and no harm would be done. Because no matter how hurt he was, he would never act out on revenge to spite her, to hurt her. Layla had made her choices, and while she refused to regret them… She could make new choices, too.

Layla initiated the kiss, quickly followed by straddling his lap, pulling a desperate groan from Regulus's throat. His hands instantly found her hips, his teeth nipping at her lip, his tongue tangling with hers. He hardened against her, one hand trailing up her spine and pressing between her shoulder blades, pressing her ever so close, and she moaned softly in response. Regulus shuddered at the sound, but he pulled back from her, just enough to look at her face, and asked, "What are we doing, Layla?"

Panting, Layla took his face gently in her hands, resting her forehead against his. She was allowed to change her mind, to make new decisions, to grow, to change. It didn't matter anymore that by conventional standards, this was wrong; it was right for her. "I love you, Regulus," she said, so soft, just a whisper of shared hope. "I'm… I'm fucked up and broken and scarred, and I've made bad decisions –"

"So have I," Regulus cut her off, his hand leaving her hip in favor of brushing her hair back from her face and remaining entangled in her curls. "Like ever fucking letting you go last year."

"Regulus," Layla whispered, tracing the shape of his trembling lips with a fingertip as first one tear, then another, spilled silently from his eyes. His grip on her hair and her back tightened, tense as he waited for the words she had yet to say, his entire body vibrating with anticipation and fear of rejection. "I love you." At long last, the words she was most afraid to speak, the ones she barely dared to acknowledge to herself in the coldest and darkest of nights alone in her bed. "Whatever this war brings, no matter what side we are on, I want to face it with you. Together. I won't let anyone take me from you ever again, and I won't let them take you from me, either."

Regulus's eyes searched hers, hopeless yet yearning, begging her to tell him it was all true, to repeat again that she loved him, to remind him over and over and over until he could finally believe it was real. Stroking a hand through his silky black hair, Layla leaned in and kissed him again, gentle, soft, tentative, the way that two teenagers' first kiss should have been if they had been given permission to develop their romance at their own pace for their own comfort. Then she pulled back just enough to be able to see his glistening eyes, and she breathed, "I want to be yours, for all eternity. I love you."

His body shuddered with what might have been a sob, and his thumb ghosted over her temple like he was terrified that if he applied too much pressure, she might vanish, that she wouldn't be real, nothing more than a mere dream. Then he asked, choking on the words, "What about Malfoy?"

Shaking her head, Layla finally spoke the truth she'd been afraid to admit for far too long. "I care about him; he's been a good friend, but… But I don't know that I love him. I think I do, but… Not truly. Not like you. Never like you. And I don't think, no matter how hard I tried with him, no matter how hard I tried to resist you, that I could ever begin to feel for him even a fraction of what I feel for you."

"You're pregnant with his baby," Regulus reminded her, a hint of bitterness lingering in the air. "When tonight is over, you still have to go back to him. What then?"

"I don't know, and I don't care," Layla said, tossing her wand onto the nearby nightstand. "If… if you're sure… If you're going after these horcruxes with me… It's just a matter of time. Before we're discovered, before we're caught, before we're killed… Or before we succeed, before we can escape to the protection of the Order of the Phoenix, before we can leave the Death Eaters, before I can leave him." Regulus's dark eyes lit up, a spark of hope. "Regulus, from well before I married him, I intended to leave, with or without him. And now more than ever, I am convinced that nothing I say or do could ever persuade him to turn against the Dark Lord or to abandon the Death Eaters. His love of power far exceeds any love of me or a child." His fingers began to play with her spine, sending a delicious shiver down her back. "But I could never leave if it meant leaving you behind."

"You'll never have to," Regulus promised, the vow heavy on their shared breaths. "I love you, Layla Emerson. Danes. Malfoy. And, if I get my way, Black." Layla's fingers trembled at the thought. "I will never, ever, fucking let you get away from me again." With that, he shot forward, whatever leash of control he'd had over himself snapping, kissing her with blinding passion, and just as she began to return the kiss, he scooped her up and twisted, dumping her on the bed underneath him in a single smooth movement.

He deepened the kiss, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, desperately trying to pull him closer. He managed to tear his lips from her mouth, only to latch onto her throat, dragging his teeth and tongue across her skin, his hands finding the hem of her black sweater, slipping under and up, until he found her naked breasts. Layla arched into his touch, softly moaning his name, and she felt him shiver before he guided her arms above her head, peeling the sweater from her body. Pulling back, Regulus admired her for just a moment, before Layla reached up and began yanking on his necktie, subdued whines begging him to take his clothes off as well. A roguish grin crawled across his lips, and he smacked her hands away, leaning down to suck her breast into his mouth, his tongue flicking her nipple. She gasped, his hand teasing her other breast, her hands finding and yanking on his hair.

Then his hand began an indecently slow exploration of her body as his lips continued to familiarize themselves with her chest, as though he was trying desperately to memorize every last millimeter of her body, just in case he never got the chance to know it again. Regulus ground his hips against hers, teasing, teasing so horribly that Layla simply could no longer resist touching him, feeling him; she needed more of him. She snatched his tie from where it dangled over her, stole his wand from where it rested beside them on the bed, and with a brief tap, vanished the tie into the void. Regulus's mouth finally released her breast, laughing as he said, "I liked that tie."

"Buy another then," Layla snarled, drawing more laughter from him, as she began to fumble in her haste with the buttons of his shirt. He shifted enough to let her undress him, his shirt and pants tossed carelessly to the floor. She bucked up her hips, helping him remove her skirt, her tights, and her panties, until she was completely naked before him.

He slid backward off the bed, and she protested, but the sound choked off in a gasp as he took hold of her thighs and yanked her forward to the edge of the bed, to where he knelt before her as though in prayer, tossed her knees over his shoulders, and before she could think straight, his tongue found and tasted her. The first lick was sheer relief, like she had been waiting for that moment her entire life. Then he continued to lick, taste, and suck; drinking from her as though he was a dying man in the midst of the dryest desert, and she was the only oasis, the only water source, to ever exist.

Layla squealed and squirmed and moaned, hips rocking, needy, desperate, against his face, and he growled with approval, pausing for a moment to nip at the inside of her thigh. Then his hand found her stomach, just between her hips, and he pressed down, pinning her to the bed, his thumb stroking at her clit as his tongue shoved deeper inside her, and her hands clung tight, one to the bedsheet, one to his hair, as a nonsensical string of pleas, prayers, and curses tumbled from her lips. His thumb pressed a little harder, his tongue stroked her a little deeper, and she shattered, back arching as much as the weight of his arm would allow, but he didn't stop, didn't slow, instead smirking against her, playful eyes alight with desire. "Regulus, please," she mumbled, barely coherent as she came back down; the only thought in her mind was how urgently she needed him inside her at that very moment, how irretrievably lost she was to him now.

Regulus moved, but not the way she wanted him. His mouth left her center, torturously licking up to her clit, sucking on her at the same moment that his fingers pushed inside her, stretching her further, then his teeth scraped against her, and she cried his name, tears blurring her vision as he pumped her until she fell over the edge again, until she trembled, sobbing, limp from the pleasure. At long last, he rose from the floor, a slow, satisfied, wicked smile playing on his face as he stalked up her body, peppering light, loving kisses across her bare, sweat-soaked skin as he climbed her, until at last, his mouth found hers, capturing her in another rough, life-changing kiss.

Her nails dragged down his chest, lower and lower, until they found his hard length, and she grasped it as if her life depended on it. Regulus shuddered, and his cock twitched in her hand. Biting his lip with a muffled groan, his eyes flashed as he pulled back to look at her face. "Play later," he growled between clenched teeth, his hand snatching her wrists and pinning them above her head on the bed. He nudged at her entrance, and paused, making Layla growl at him with frustration. But uncertainty tinged his gaze, and he asked, "Are you sure?"

Layla nodded, unable to reach up and touch his face the way she wanted, still pinned. "Yes. I have never been more sure of anything or anyone in my entire life," she reassured him. "I love you. I'm yours."

Regulus's sigh of relief, followed by his mischievous laugh as he teased her a little more, skittered across Layla's skin, down to her bones, sinking into her very soul. She gasped, squeaking in surprise when he finally slid inside her; when he finally sunk in to the hilt and paused, she could barely breathe, hardly think beyond where their bodies were connected, where their spirits began to converge and become one. "Say it again," he murmured into her ear, his voice thick with unshed tears.

She knew what he meant. "I love you, Regulus," she whispered in his ear, her hands finding the back of his head and shoulders as he let her go in favor of holding himself up better. He pulled back and thrust back in, slowly, building a steady, soul-shattering rhythm. "I love you."

Another thrust, and he pressed a kiss to her cheek. Then pulled back out and thrust back in again. "I'm yours," he panted, struggling to hold on to his control, to hold himself back, their eyes meeting.

Regulus didn't demand to own her the way Lucius did. He didn't command her to totally surrender or expect her obedience, her obeisance, her submission; instead, he offered himself, mind, body, and soul, to her, to be owned, to be claimed, to be possessed. It was everything. And at that moment, somewhere down in her soul, everything she'd been piecing together and becoming finally made sense, and she was at last willing to reciprocate in kind. "You're mine," she repeated back to him, adding, "and I'm yours."

Every inch of her burned and tightened, even as Regulus's control slipped entirely at her words, and he came inside her with a groan, collapsing to his elbow, just hovering over her body. He didn't stop thrusting in her until her own release tore through her again, several strokes later, with a small scream, pulling on him until he finally dropped down to her completely, rolling over and pulling halfway on top of him in a single motion.

Layla wasn't sure how long they simply laid there, in the comfortable silence, lazily touching each other, as if the eternal universe owed them as much time as they pleased to finally relax and just enjoy being with each other. She tried not to think about how it couldn't truly last forever, how the moment would eventually break down, how she would eventually have to leave, how she would have to go back to the manor, to him…

"When did you first know that you loved me?" Layla asked quietly, her fingers luxuriating in dancing up and down the line of his sternum, her head resting on the ball of his shoulder, his arm wrapped securely around her.

Regulus thought about it for a moment, then answered, "When I taught you to play Quidditch, and you responded by knocking me upside the head with the Quaffle." Layla laughed, more open and unguarded than she had been in years. "What about you?"

Mulling it over for a moment, Layla breathed his dark, moody scent in deeply before she answered. "That morning, after we'd gone and… when we sneaked out of school and were forced to kill those people. It was a couple of moments. I thought I knew first when you stayed in Ravenclaw with me, taking care of me, waking me from those nightmares, and encouraging me to cry and be honest with you. But I pushed it down, ignored it. But then when I got in that fight with your brother later, and you stepped up beside me, willing to take on the world at my side… That's when I couldn't ignore it anymore. I knew then, without any doubts." Regulus squeezed her a little tighter, his face unreadable. "Where are we, anyway?"

Regulus smiled a little. "My bedroom in my parents' house. My home."

His fingertips dragged across the bare skin of her stomach, just beginning to show the curves of her pregnancy. Shivering, Layla took his hand, stilling him against her, and he looked up to her, brows furrowing. "Don't," she whispered, the word almost sticking in her throat. Not now; she didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to remember what her body was doing, creating, for someone else. Not now; not yet.

"It's late," Regulus said softly, leaning in and kissing her forehead. "You have to go home."

"I don't want to," she admitted as he pulled back and began to push her to sit up.

"It's one in the morning, and we ditched Rabastan. He's not going to be happy about that."

"I don't care," Layla whined. "Lucius is out of the country, anyway."

"He took Narcissa with him."

Layla didn't think Regulus had meant to let that information slip, but now that he had, she whipped around to look at him with wide eyes. "What?"

Regulus winced like he already regretted bringing it up. "They actually had feelings for each other before you showed up and Lucius started chasing you. I mean, I don't know anything for sure, but…"

"He's sleeping with her?"

"I don't know," Regulus repeated, more insistently. "But I wouldn't expect him to leave you for her, especially now that you're pregnant with his heir. Pureblood men don't abandon their legitimate heirs."

Rolling her eyes, Layla got up from the bed, snatching her sweater from the floor and pulling it over her head. "Fucking purebloods…"

With an easy laugh, Regulus stood and handed her the tights he'd torn as he ripped them off her earlier. "Steady, darling; I'm still a pureblood, too."

"You're different," Layla said without a breath of hesitation. "You've always been different, from any of them."

Shrugging, Regulus watched her wrangle the tights back on, then began to dress again himself. The burning midnight ink of the Dark Mark on his arm caught her eye, entrancing her as she paused with her skirt in her hands. He caught her gaze, smiling sadly at her. "Focus, Layla. We're leaving, remember?"

She caught the double meaning of his words. "Right." As she fixed her skirt back into place, and Regulus buttoned his shirt, his tie now lost to the void, she said, "I love you, Regulus."

He looked up at her, a crooked grin lighting up his face, the very image of a cat in the cream. "I love you, too, Layla."