Don't give me no lover if he ain't got the stones, 'cause I need a man who will fight for his own… Can't take the fire 'til you've fallen from grace; 'cause I need a man, a man who's got blood on his hands and the truth on his face. I've seen dark nights, but only the darkest light can deliver my love. I've seen dark nights, but only the darkest light can deliver my soul. – Dorothy, Dark Nights

November 3, 1978

The morning after Halloween, Layla had found Rabastan lingering over the Daily Prophet and a cup of coffee at her dining table, waiting for her. He hadn't said anything about the previous night or Regulus and Layla's escape from his watchful eye. Rabastan and Layla merely spent the next three days in companionable silence, the unspoken sins thoroughly ignored, until Layla couldn't stand the curiosity anymore. "Where did you disappear to on Halloween night?" she finally asked, her novel forgotten in her lap from her spot on the sofa in the library. She hoped her phrasing would distract him from her true point.

Rabastan, previously hunched over the nearby desk, looked up at her, his quill stopping. "I think you and Black were the ones to disappear mysteriously that night, wouldn't you agree?" Layla clamped her mouth shut, her teeth grinding. She wasn't particularly good at these social politics, it seemed. Rabastan considered her for a moment, then asked, "Is it really Malfoy's baby?"

"That's incredibly rude of you to ask," Layla snapped. "But yes, it is."

After a moment's thought, he shrugged and said, "Then when and where you and Black decide to fuck is really none of my or Lucius's business, I suppose."

If Layla could have choked on air, that would have been the moment she did. She picked up her book again and chose to hide her face behind it. Fine, that was just fine. Extramarital affairs, while always kept very hush-hush, seemed to be relatively normal to these purebloods. Marriage was for bloodline maintenance; anything outside of that was just icing on the cake. Fine then, if it meant Rabastan merely suspected an affair with Regulus… he could believe that. Especially since it appeared that he had no intention of informing Lucius of the information this time.

November 25, 1978

Nothing changed. The war continued to rage. Lucius continued to float in and out of the family manor, maintaining the illusion that he was nearly always there while simultaneously working to spread the Dark Lord's war to the continent. Layla alternated between charity work, Death Eater meetings, and appointments with a healer at St. Mungo's. Dumbledore had made no further contact, much to Layla's relief. What that meant for the horcrux hunt, she couldn't be sure. The Order and the Death Eaters continued to battle fiercely, and a few people died on both sides. It was sickening, to not step up, to not fight, to not tell the truth. But she couldn't risk the baby, and she couldn't risk her position, ready to steal the horcruxes at the first opportunity.

Somehow, Lucius always managed to show up for the healer appointments, steadily and enthusiastically at her side, and for all outward appearances, they seemed a loving couple. Inside, Layla struggled to maintain the facade. More and more, their relationship felt like a sham. And it wasn't just that Layla was in love with Regulus. It was Lucius, too; he pulled away from her more and more by the day, their relationship shifting as her pregnancy continued. She didn't think he necessarily cared for her any less; just that maybe, his feelings had never been love in the first place. For that matter, maybe neither had hers. Without the Willow's Thorne Potion and the alcohol, coping with life among the Death Eaters was dramatically harder, but it made her realize that perhaps her romantic feelings for him were artificially manufactured by magic, inebriation, deception, and sex.

The pregnancy still didn't feel entirely real to Layla. Aside from the morning sickness, that was already beginning to ease off, and a little extra pudge to her stomach, she didn't really feel or seem any different, and no emotional attachment had really formed to the child forming inside of her. At least, not yet. Layla held out hope that she could love her child better once they were truly here and alive, their own person.

As Layla sat up from the bed that morning, Lucius was already up, nearly dressed. He glanced at her in the dresser mirror, then said, "Good morning, darling. We have a brunch to attend this morning; best start getting ready."

Frowning sleepily, Layla rubbed at her eyes and said, "I can't go. I've already got plans."

Lucius snorted, the sound bitter. "Ah, yes, Hogsmeade weekend with Black, yes?" Layla's hand tucking her hair behind her ear now froze, hovering there. "Yes, darling, I know about your little dates with him. You're not very good at keeping secrets."

"I wasn't hiding it from you," Layla said, choosing her words carefully, slowly letting out the breath she had been holding. He knew about her and Regulus, at least to an extent. She could deal with that; her secret hunt for the horcruxes, her employment by Dumbledore, those things were still secret. She was still safe. "Unlike you and Narcissa."

Lucius's eyes cut to Layla; the tension was thick, choking, like smoke. His eyes narrowed as he asked, "Where did you hear that, my dearest?" Layla merely stared at him, defiant, unanswering. After a long pause, Lucius sighed. "It doesn't matter. Then I suppose we both know where we stand with each other."

"I suppose we do." Then Layla dared to ask, uncertain she really wanted to hear the answer, "Why?"

The corner of Lucius's mouth quirked up in a wry grin. "Because she and I understand each other. We're the same; we're equals."

"Unlike me," Layla surmised, shifting toward the edge of the bed.

"Yes, darling, unlike you," Lucius admitted. "However, it changes nothing between you and me. You are my wife and the mother of my child, and I will continue to love and provide for you as such. You will always have my full and utmost protection and loyalty. Unless, of course, you have reasons for me to be otherwise?"

Layla bit her lip, holding back all the different ways she wanted to curse him and spite him. Instead, she said, her voice ringing just the tiniest bit hollow, "No, nothing. You and I are the same as ever. We are husband and wife, and my entire purpose in life is the birthing and care of our children."

Lucius gave her a look of skepticism but nodded, walking away from the dresser to retrieve his suit jacket from the closet. "Very well then. You will have to cancel on Black today, I'm afraid. The Dark Lord would like to have a meal with us. A social call, I believe. You'd best prepare."

"Brunch with Voldemort? Are you bloody kidding me?" Layla exclaimed in disbelief, throwing the covers off her as she stood. "You expect me to sit to brunch with Tom fucking Riddle?"

Throwing her a dangerous look, Lucius snarled, "Do not think that because you are my wife you have free reign to test my patience. Watch the way you speak about the Dark Lord, dearest. He will have your respect and loyalty just as I do."

"He can bite my –"

"Layla!" Lucius snapped, swiveling with his wand suddenly pointed at her so quickly that she stumbled back a step. "I will thank you to hold your tongue, darling, unless you should like for me to do it for you." Layla's eyes widened and her mouth opened soundlessly, and a devilish smirk played on his lips. "Don't think I would? The Imperious Curse happens to be my specialty; if I must, to protect you and this family, I can and will absolutely curse you into silence and respect."

Layla backed up another step, fumbling behind her with one hand for her wand on the nightstand. Voice quivering, she said, "You wouldn't; not when I'm pregnant with our baby."

Lucius strode forward purposefully, driving her back into the nightstand with a painful stumble, her hand missing her wand as his hand shot forward and grabbed her wrist, yanking her toward him. The tip of his wand pushed her hair back from her face, and she couldn't help the small whimper of fear that escaped her throat. "You think so? Try me again, and let's find out," Lucius whispered, his eyes hard.

Layla swallowed hard, her heart beating wildly in her chest. Panic gripped her, and for a moment, she was back to seventeen, back to the Snatchers, back to being tortured; the man in front of her wasn't her husband, but her enemy intent on hurting her, breaking her, killing her. Survive, survive, survive, the word chanted through her mind, and she clung to it. "Lucius, please," she begged, the words barely audible. "I-I'm sorry."

Lowering his wand ever so slowly, Lucius, his height allowing him to tower over Layla, crowd her, intimidate her. Without warning, he leaned in, capturing her mouth with his, making her let out a startled squeal. He laughed against her lips, then pulled back. "I'm sorry, darling. Perhaps I was a little too harsh." Gently, tenderly, he wrapped his arms around her, cradling her head with his hands against his chest as she dissolved into tears. "There, there, now. I'm sorry. I've pushed you too far in your delicate state."

Layla couldn't stop herself from sobbing, letting herself hide in his chest. Her heart cried for Regulus, for his arms, for his love, for his comfort. She desperately wanted Regulus to come to rescue her, to take her home, to make her feel safe again. But she couldn't have that, not today. Not for a long time. Not until the horcruxes were all found and destroyed. Instead, Lucius continued to shush her, so gentle and loving, as if he weren't the very reason she was in such a distressed state in the first place. "How… how could you?" Her breath rattled, and she accused, "You love the Dark Lord and his power more than me and our child."

A dry laugh vibrated through his chest. "I admit that I admire the Dark Lord and his astounding amount of power quite a lot, but to say that I love him is quite extreme. I certainly don't love him more than my wife and my child."

Layla glared up at him with watery eyes. "Our child," she corrected.

He stroked her cheek and smiled at her. "Of course, our child." Lucius sighed, brushing his fingers through her hair. "Fine, fine. This once, and this once only, I think I can get you out of this brunch. I can tell the Dark Lord that you're feeling unwell with pregnancy symptoms and are resting in bed. But to be clear, there would be no sneaking out to meet Black in Hogsmeade. I will not be caught in a lie by the Dark Lord."

Sniffling, Layla nodded quickly. "Ok. Anything; whatever you want. Just please, don't make me see him again."

Lucius shushed her, his voice dark and sweet. "Don't worry your pretty little head, dearest. I'll protect you. You just stay here in bed, all right? Let me take care of it."

Late that afternoon, Lucius came back to their bedroom with a heavy sigh, tossing a leather book on the dresser with a heavy thud. Layla jumped, flinching away from the sound, where she sat upright in the bed, knitting tiny baby socks. When her eyes landed on the dark leather cover, her heart stopped. "What's that?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with, dearest," Lucius said tiredly, shedding his jacket and hanging it up. But Layla was already up, crossing the carpet from the bed to the dresser. "Merlin's beard, Layla, I said –"

Layla had already touched it, the cover adorned with that dreadful gold inscription, T. M. Riddle, and she knew. She knew what it was. The question was, did Lucius? An icy shiver crawled along her fingers as she touched the diary, asking Lucius, "What is it?"

"Not yours," he said, his patience already wearing thin. Layla assumed that whatever had occurred between him and the Dark Lord that day had been tiring for her husband.

"Is it some sort of magic?" Layla dared to press her luck. She had to know. She flipped carelessly through the blank pages, making a show of her inquisitiveness. She had to know what Lucius knew about it. If he knew the truth about it…

"Yes, very dark magic, so put it down, darling," Lucius said coldly, loosening the tie around his neck.

"What's it for?"

"Nothing you need to ever worry about."

Layla tilted her head to one side, feigning curiosity. "Did the Dark Lord give this to you?"

"Yes," Lucius huffed. "If you're so bloody keen to know, it's a weapon for our child to wield, in the future."

Layla's body went stiff and cold, as memories of her second year at Hogwarts flashed through her mind. No. Not her child. She couldn't; she wouldn't… "Our child," she said, horror nearly robbing her of her voice.

This time it was Lucius's face to bear a look of curiosity. "Interesting. Are you familiar with this weapon, my love?"

"No," she forced the word out, turning to look him boldly in the eye and ask, "What does it do?"

Lucius sighed, seeming displeased with her answer. She didn't think he believed her. "It will pass on the gifts and knowledge of the heir of Slytherin to our child, allowing him to open the Chamber of Secrets hidden within Hogwarts and unleash the monster inside, cleansing the school of those unworthy to practice magic."

Hesitating, Layla put the book down on the dresser top. This was the crucial moment, the one where she could test Lucius, possibly even break him. Or give herself away. She wasn't sure if it was worth the risk. She could attempt to turn him, force him to prove his loyalty to his child over his Dark Lord, or she could accidentally push him into a position of handing her over to the Dark Lord to be interrogated, tortured, and killed. Or worse. "People like me?" Lucius shrugged but said no more. "Would that not be a terrible risk to place on our child?" she asked, holding herself back. Lucius wasn't Regulus; she wasn't certain that Lucius really would choose her and their child over the Dark Lord, even if she explained the true dangers of the horcrux.

Lucius sat in a nearby armchair, exhaustion wearing on his face, and for the first time, Layla noticed the hint of dark bags under his eyes. "The Dark Lord's will is worth any risk," he muttered, but Layla got the impression that perhaps, Lucius didn't fully believe the words himself. "We will obey."

Slowly, calculating, Layla walked over to him, not entirely sure of herself. Lucius glanced up at her as she stood in front of him, reached up, and pulled her down to sit in his lap, adjusting his position to better accommodate her weight. She slipped her arms loosely around his neck, her bare feet dangling over the arm of the chair, as he lazily played with the planes of her stomach. "Even at the cost of the life of our child?" she asked, soft, quiet, leaving him emotional space to pull away, to resist her temptation to disloyalty, her sedition against his Dark Lord.

His fingers tightened on her waist, flattened across her stomach, almost protective. "It won't come to that," Lucius said quietly, but his eyes looked uncertain, though the line of his mouth was set. He met her gaze and asked suspiciously, "What do you know that suggests it might?"

"Nothing at all," Layla lied, the words rolling off her tongue, deadly and sweet. Was it wrong to not tell him? To keep from him what she knew happened to Ginny Weasley, to the last child forced to wield this supposed weapon? Was it cruel of her to withhold the truth of what very likely would become of their future child should they be forced to surrender to the diary? Layla decided that it didn't matter if it was; the situation would never get that far. Layla would destroy the diary, rip it to shreds with her bare hands if she must, to stop it from getting that far, to keep her child safe, whether Lucius agreed with her or not.

His eyes still narrowed at her, Lucius reached up and tapped her on the nose. Layla shook her head, scrunching up her face, as Lucius smiled at her, his mood lightening a little. "Very well, darling; keep your secrets," he said, teasing as he caught the back of her head with one hand, caressing her. "I'll puzzle you out one of these days, but I'm willing to take my time with you." He leaned forward and kissed her lightly, lovingly, then sighed, slumping back in the chair again. Layla said nothing, merely watching him for any signs of… well, anything at all, really. But the man she married was unreadable, a book with a blank cover that she had yet to open. "You intrigue me, dearest."

"Do I?"

"Indeed." Lucius studied his wife's face for a moment, noting every little hitch in her breath, every faint freckle on her face, the way her curls obscured her eyes when they fell in her face yet again. Layla stared back at him, unmoving, and then she felt it. The invasion, the push against her mind, his attempt to break into her mind. She shoved his probing magic as hard as she could, locking her mind down with a wall of hard wind and cold shadow. He retreated, raising an eyebrow. "Curious."

Layla scoffed, disentangling herself from him and standing. "Fuck you, Lucius." He chuckled darkly as she retreated to the bathroom, a brief escape, just to breathe, just to think, just for a second of peace.

It was around midnight that the owl arrived. The creature found Layla alone in the manor library, studying Secrets of the Darkest Art once more, as she often did when sleep evaded her on restless nights, dropping a letter in her lap before flapping back out the open window, left so for the night chill to remind Layla that she was still alive. Her name, Layla Malfoy, was all that was written on the outside of the folded parchment, and she recognized the elegant handwriting of Regulus Black. Ripping it open as quickly as she could, her heart fell to her stomach when she read the solitary word scrawled inside. Six. He meant the horcruxes. He had to; there was no other context in which the word made sense. Fuck; they were doomed.

December 1, 1978

As much as she loathed to admit it, Layla had learned quite a few things over the past year and a half with Lucius, with Regulus, with the Death Eaters. Beyond simply her magical talent and knowledge of the Dark Arts (some of which didn't seem truly dark at all to her), she had grown as an individual, adapted, and learned new, subtler arts and skills than Blasting Curses and Pepper-Up Potions, under the tutelage of her husband and his fellow Death Eaters. She was deadlier, sneakier; she was truly a force to be reckoned with now.

Tonight, Layla moved in the darkness and shadows, always avoiding the lamp lights, stalking through Diagon Alley as though she were an apex predator, a dark, beautiful, magical creature of the night. Her wand twisted and twirled restlessly in her fingers; her eyes never left her target. Lucius was away again, whether for the Dark Lord or for Narcissa Black, Layla couldn't say, nor did she truly care; it was her chance to get out and play, unseen.

As her unsuspecting target entered a shop up ahead, Layla slowed her pace, keeping her eyes open for anyone who may be watching her. Only once she was sure she would remain unseen did she dare to follow him into the shop. As soon as she stepped inside the warm store, the hefty smell of dusty old books filled her lungs, soothing her soul just a little. But she couldn't linger by the front door. Slipping among the stacks, she quickly got her eyes on her mark again, a small smirk spreading on her face. Spelled stilettos silent as a cat's paw, she saw he had removed his coat at the front door, and she couldn't help but admire the peek of a colorful new tattoo under his shirt sleeve.

Her approach was silent and deadly, but Layla refrained from striking too hard; death was not on the agenda today. She merely wished to toy with her prey. Her wand found the underside of his throat in the same moment that her hand found his long dark hair and yanked his head back, her mouth to his ear, whispering, "Hello, Sirius, darling."

She had truly caught him off guard; his gasp of surprise told her that. But Sirius Black would not be intimidated by anyone, and she knew that in her heart even before his defiant, sardonic response reached her ears. "Mrs. Malfoy. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Enjoying the game for a change, Layla smiled, even as her eyes caught Remus Lupin attempting to pull a wand on her out of the corner of her eye. She tutted, turning her head to look at Remus. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Lupin. Don't want to risk Padfoot here being caught in the crossfire." Remus's face hardened, fury boiling just under the surface, and Layla's smirk grew. "Now, to answer your question, Sirius, I have a message I need you and Lupin here to pass on to Dumbledore for me."

"The fuck?" Sirius growled, and then he started to bring his elbow forward, ready to slam it back into Layla's stomach to escape her grip.

Remus's eyes widened with panic, realizing what was happening and lunging for Sirius's arm. "Padfoot, wait, you can't –"

But as Remus grabbed Sirius's arm, Layla was already muttering an incantation. Her entire being turned to incorporeal shadow, for a span of mere seconds, just long enough for Siruis's elbow to brush right through her, harmlessly, and for Layla to release him and take a few steps back. Her body rematerializing, she couldn't help but laugh a little. Lucius had made for a surprisingly tolerable teacher of the Dark Arts, even if he was rather impatient. The two Gryffindor men stared at her with wide eyes, then glanced at each other, then back at her. "What the fuck, Moony?" Sirius snapped, irritated as the shock wore off, yanking his arm free from his friend's grasp.

"What was I supposed to do, Sirius; she's pregnant! I couldn't just let you –"

"What?" Sirius said, surprised, turning to look at Layla. At roughly fifteen weeks pregnant, with her heavy wool coat on, no one would have guessed she was pregnant, but with the idea already planted in his mind as he looked at her, he could tell it was true. His lips curled in a sarcastic grin. "Congratulations on the baby Death Eater, I suppose."

Rising to his bait, Layla started to retort, but Remus cut her off, asking, "What's all this about needing us to tell Dumbledore something?"

Layla caught the rude remark in her mouth, taking a deep breath and shoving it back down her throat. "Right," she said, refocusing. "Dumbledore. Six. Tell him there are six."

"What the hell does that mean?" Sirius demanded, taking two steps toward her as Layla stared him down, unflinching. Tilting his head like a curious dog catching a scent, he continued, "Are you part of the Order, Layla? Are you spying on Malfoy and the rest for us?"

Shrugging, Layla stood her ground, unmoving, unafraid. "I'm no member of the Order, Sirius. Just tell Dumbledore; there are six. Or there will be, at least, if he can't hurry up. And…" Layla hesitated a moment, then added, "And I'm sitting on one."

With a gentler hand than Sirius, Remus asked, "Layla, what's this about? We don't know what this means."

"And you don't bloody have to," Layla snapped, twirling her wand anxiously in her fingers. "Just tell him. There are six, and I'm sitting on one. That's enough; Dumbledore will know what it means." She glanced back over her shoulder, in the direction of the door, then back at Remus. Waving her wand, a random book from a shelf, looking almost brand new for a secondhand book, shot into her hand. "Check me out for this, Remus, and I'll be on my way."

Frowning, Remus did as instructed, leading her over to the register and ringing her up. Sirius followed, leaning his shoulder against the side of one of the bookshelves, angled so he was out of sight of the front door and shop windows. As Layla handed over her three galleons for the book – a title picked at random called Seelie and Unseelie: Magic of the Fae Races – Remus asked her, "Are you sure there isn't more we can do to help you, Layla?"

"If she's turned spy for Dumbledore, there's not much anyone can do to help her, Moony," Sirius said bitterly from his watch post. Layla refused to look at him; if anyone watched her from the windows, a glance in his direction would only give away the fact that anyone was there other than Layla and the store employee. Redirecting to Layla, Sirius said, "I hope you know how dangerous a game you're playing, Mrs. Malfoy. There are only two ways out; defect or die."

Layla met Remus's worried green eyes, her face resolved. As she shoved the book into her handbag, she nodded and said, "I know. I do what I have to do, for the people I love." Sirius raised an eyebrow at her as she turned away from the register, his eyes tracking her until she disappeared around the bookshelf and out the door of the shop into the wintery street, her hands trembling around her bag and wand.

December 16, 1978

The moment she saw Regulus in the street in front of the Shrieking Shack, Layla couldn't resist running to him and throwing herself into his waiting arms. She clung to him as he tried his best to melt them together into a single body, holding her as close as physically possible, though it was never close enough. "Are you ok?" Regulus croaked, his voice hoarse and thick with unshed tears.

"Yes, ok enough," Layla answered, pressing her face against his chest. "I'm so sorry; Lucius and the Dark Lord and, and, and…"

"Shh," Regulus shushed, his voice low and soothing. "It's ok; it's ok. We're here now." When Layla had managed to pull her breathing back from the edge of hyperventilating, Regulus, his voice much steadier now, asked, "What's happened? When you didn't show or write until yesterday, I was so worried."

"I'm sorry," Layla mumbled. "I was afraid to write; I didn't want to say the wrong thing and give anything away if the owl was intercepted." Her fingers fumbled, stiff in the icy chill of the snowy day, as she shoved her hands into Regulus's wool coat pockets for warmth. "The Dark Lord wanted a private meeting with Lucius and me last Hogsmeade weekend, and I couldn't come or let you know."

His hands, which had been rubbing up and down her arms and back to keep her warm, froze, and Regulus pulled back enough to look at her face. "What happened?"

Shrugging, Layla said, "I didn't go; Lucius allowed me to be 'sick' from the pregnancy. But…" Layla glanced around nervously, pulling one hand free to take her wand and muttering, "Homenum Revelio." When the spell detected no one nearby, she whispered, "The Dark Lord gave Lucius one of the horcruxes." Regulus's face, pink with the cold, fell, shocked. "Apparently, it's destined for our child's possession."

Regulus's face turned from surprise to anger. "Why, that bloody fucking bastard. How dare –" He stopped, taking in a deep, slow breath and holding it.

"Six," Layla pressed on, ignoring his outburst. "You're certain? How?"

Steadily, Regulus let the breath out, then answered, calmer, "Slughorn. I tried being charming to pull the information out from him, but, well, he resisted, so… So I stole it from him with Legilimency." Layla gaped up at him. "Please don't look at me like that," Regulus said softly, guilt laced in his voice. "I feel bad enough about it. I don't think he knows I found the answer I was looking for, but he definitely knows I poked around in his head. I'm afraid I'm no longer invited to his Christmas party. He doesn't even acknowledge me when I fail to turn in homework; last week he gave me an O on an essay I never even wrote."

"Oh, dear, whatever will you do with yourself?" Layla teased, hoping to lighten his mood. He gave her a small, half-hearted grin. "Hey, but seriously. You did what you had to. He'll understand that, in the end, I think."

Regulus shrugged, staring off into the distance over the top of her head, pensive. "Yeah, I hope so. I actually like Slughorn."

Shivering, Layla suggested, "Hey, why don't we head to the Three Broomsticks? It's freezing out here."

Nodding, Regulus wrapped an arm protectively around Layla's shoulder, directing them back toward Hogsmeade proper. As they walked, he asked quietly, "So, what is our plan? We have the information, but what do we do with it?"

"I've already informed Dumbledore," Layla whispered, careful not to be overheard by any passersby.

Regulus's eyes widened, and he dropped his gaze from the street ahead to Layla. "Impressive speed, considering you were afraid to write me about it."

"I didn't write him either," Layla said, the snow kicking up over the tops of her boots as she walked under Regulus's steady arm. "I used far more subtle methods."

"Does he know about me?"

"No. Not at all. Though I strongly suggest you tell him."

"How can I? He can't be trusted. I'm marked; he'll just turn me over to the Ministry."

Layla laughed hard, the thought striking her as particularly funny. "Regulus, I know for a fact that he is more than willing to accept anyone willing to work for him, no matter how dark or colorful their personal history is."

"Even –"

"Yes, even that," she interrupted, stopping outside Honeydukes to turn to him. He stopped with her, looking at her incredulously. "I've seen him do it before, in my – past."

Regulus raised an eyebrow, thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "Right. Yeah, ok, if you're really sure he'll actually help instead of just tossing me in Azkaban…"

The ground shuddering beneath their feet distracted them, both looking around, nervously scanning the streets and the sky. Not many others walking the village seemed to have noticed; the Christmas carolers continued to sing just across the street from the Three Broomsticks. Regulus pulled his wand, dropping his arm from Layla's shoulders, taking a step back to give them both room to move freely if necessary. Layla whispered, "What the hell was that?"

The sky was filled with snow clouds, but there was no sign of the snow falling yet. Layla's wand rested by her hip as anxiety shot through her nervous system, spinning around, desperately searching for the source. The students in the streets remained full of life, chattering, giggling, and playing in the snow. The earth under them stood still, but the air was shifting, the wind picking up. Regulus tapped Layla's shoulder, nodding in the direction of the sky. She turned to look, and her jaw dropped as the Dark Mark began to form in the wisps of the clouds up above. "Fuck," Regulus whispered. "We have to go, now."

"Do you have your mask?" Layla asked quickly.

Regulus nodded and looked as if he were about to ask Layla the same, but the panic began. A shadow shot down from the sky, slamming into the earth, right through the roof of one of the shops; which one, she couldn't tell from here, but the shop exploded instantly into black flames. Regulus grabbed Layla's arm, pulling her with him, saying, "We have to go, now!" The streets filled with screaming, Hogwarts students and Hogsmeade residents fleeing as Death Eaters began to pop up seemingly from thin air. Layla let Regulus pull her into the alley by Honeydukes to hide. For a brief moment, he kissed her, then he let her go and ordered, "Get back to the manor, now."

"Where the hell are you going?" Layla demanded as Regulus waved his wand across his face. A black hooded cloak now billowed around him, covering and obscuring his potentially identifiable clothing, and the silvery steel shine of his Death Eater mask replaced his face, concealing his identity altogether. "Oh, like fucking hell," Layla started, but then a flash of light caught Layla's eye, and she saw an Order member, one of the Prewett twins, backing into the alley, unaware of their presence yet. Regulus's dark eyes flashed a warning at her, demanding she leave, but there was no possible way in heaven or earth that she wouldn't fight with him. She most certainly would go nowhere without him. Layla waved her own wand at herself, her own hooded cloak and mask materializing. She locked eyes with Regulus, whispering, "For the people we love."

It was these words that caught Prewett's attention. He turned quickly, shouting, "Stupefy!"

"Protego!" Regulus countered, shielding himself and Layla from the spell.

Layla tossed her own spell, and the duel began in earnest. Ice and fire and shadow and Unforgiveable Curses and Stunning Spells flew in an array of colors from the three wands, all shielded and countered with stunning accuracy. But Prewett was older, more experienced, and he wore the two young, talented fighters down, and no backup came for either side. Screams from the main street floated down the alley, a melody by which the three found the rhythm of their spellwork. Until Layla slipped, casting a deadly dagger of pure, solid ice at Prewett, whose shield spell reflected the dagger back at her. Regulus reacted too slowly; Layla could not react at all as it came too quickly. The blade sank deep, right into her abdomen, and she didn't make a sound, too stunned, her eyes merely widening in silent terror.

Regulus cursed, throwing a spell to the ground, and a terrifying, utterly blinding cloud of darkness filled the alley, blinding Layla and Prewett both. She sank to her knees, unable to process what was happening, unable to scream, but then she felt a familiar pair of hands grabbing her underneath her armpits, disapparating and taking her with them.

The world folded and squeezed around them, until the two Death Eaters landed hard, stumbling and falling to the frosted earth. It was only then that Layla found her voice, that the sensation of the ice shard in her belly processed in her brain, and she screamed, clutching the wound, unable to move from where she fell, rolled, and curled in on herself. Regulus scrambled back to her, flailing in his efforts for speed, muttering, "Shit, shit, shit! Layla, Layla!"

"FUCK!" Layla shouted, rolling onto her back as Regulus's hands found her body again, pulling her back to him. As the pain raced through her, she began to sob, the blade buried in her to its icy hilt.

Regulus's own breathing heaved, betraying his distress at the sight of her wound as his fingers probed around it, making her scream again at the increased pressure. "Fuck, ok, come on, Layla," Regulus said, his voice panicked, as he scooped under her back and knees, picking her up, carrying her through the gates and up to the manor door. He kicked it as hard as he could a few times as Layla clung to him, sobbing into his cloak. Dobby opened the door immediately, screeching in distress at the sight of his mistress stabbed and bleeding. The house elf popped away as Regulus stormed into the house, dumping Layla on the first couch he found. "Merlin's fucking beard, this can't be happening," Regulus groaned, forcing Layla to stretch out of her fetal position. "Fuck, Layla, come on; don't you fucking go anywhere."

Layla reached out and grabbed tightly onto Regulus's cloak, digging her fingers in as hard as she could, her entire hope resting on his presence. "Please don't leave me," she begged as she began to consider that she might actually die from this.

"I'm not going anywhere," Regulus promised, ripping the mask off his face. "Where are the healing potions, Layla?"

Layla tried to think, but the pain shot through her again with every breath until she couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but scream and sob. Dobby's presence was announced by a loud pop, and the house elf shoved a small collection of potions into Regulus's hands. "Please, sir, save the mistress," Dobby pleaded, fearful for his mistress's life.

"Layla!" Lucius's voice cut through the pain, and she cried, anguished, not entirely sure if she was going to survive this. The pain was on par with, if not worse, than her torture experience with Bellatrix LeStrange. "What the actual fucking hell –"

"Just fucking help me save her, Malfoy," Regulus growled, sorting through the potions Dobby had provided. Layla felt her body spasm around the icy blade, and her head rolled to the side, staring at the white marble floor, blood staining it red and shining in the light of the fireplace. Layla felt Lucius's hands planted firmly on her shoulders, pinning her to the couch, and at first, she didn't understand or care why, but then she felt Regulus's hands, one flat on her stomach, one gripping the handle of the ice blade. Layla shook her head violently, afraid of the pain of removing the dagger from her, but the two men ignored her. Regulus counted down, "Three, two, one," then ripped the blade free from her flesh. Layla shrieked in pain, thrashing against their grip on her body, but they managed to hold her down. She could feel the air flowing into the now empty hole in her belly, the skin and muscles twitching in a wild frenzy of panic, the blood now flowing freely.

Then she felt Lucius's hand leave her shoulder, tear her Death Eater mask from her face, and then he was forcing a potion down her throat. She struggled not to choke on it, but she gagged anyway when she felt and flinched from the sting of another potion being poured on her wound by Regulus. Lucius backed off, helping her clear her airway and breathe again, before demanding she keep drinking the potion. All the while, he cursed Regulus to hell and back again, blaming him all the while for letting this happen, and Regulus silently took the abuse, unwilling to argue, likely blaming himself, too. When Lucius finally took the empty potion vial away from her mouth, Layla growled, "It's not his fault; it was my spell."

"You shouldn't have been fighting at all!" Lucius yelled, furious. "You weren't under any orders to stand and fight, you stupid girl! You should have run!"

"We were pinned," Regulus finally said, his voice quiet and even in contrast to Lucius's rage, but no less deadly. "She wasn't planning to fight, but I had already masked when the Order stumbled on us. If she hadn't masked the moment she did, she would have been discovered in her true identity associating with Death Eaters. She'd be on her way to Azkaban now."

"Instead of dying on our sofa?" Lucius spit the venomous words, but Layla reached up, feebly clinging to his long blonde hair.

Lucius dropped his eyes to her, his anger softening a little at the sight of her tears as Regulus administered another potion to her wound, and she felt herself beginning to stitch together again. "I'm ok," she said quietly, her voice still full of pain and tears. "I'm going to be ok. You're fixing it." She wasn't entirely sure if the words were meant for Lucius or Regulus, but she knew they both appreciated them, regardless.

When the two men finally finished the healing work, Layla's tears were mere stains on her face, having cried so much that she simply couldn't cry anymore. But the pain only faded, never entirely stopping. Lucius looked relieved, leaning down and kissing her forehead, but Regulus frowned, his fingers poking and prodding her abdomen, searching her for something. "Regulus?" Layla said tiredly, one of her hands reaching for him.

Regulus ignored her outstretched hand, his frown deepening. Lucius noticed this time. "Black?"

"Why is she still bleeding?"

"What?" Lucius snapped, moving around the sofa to kneel next to Regulus.

Layla's heart clenched in her chest as a horrid thought occurred to her. "Where am I bleeding?" she asked, but she knew the answer already; she could feel the blood soaking her jeans, dripping down her thighs.

Lucius boldly reached out, feeling his way from the tear in her coat and shirt where her knife wound would have been and down, under her clothes, until his hand was in her pants, feeling her skin for any other injury. Regulus bit his lip, his eyes lighting up in jealousy and fury at the sight, but he was too good a man, refusing to cave to that feeling. Lucius pulled his hand free of her jeans, coated with fresh, sticky blood. "Fuck," Lucius swore, at the same time that Layla let out a small scream of horror. "The baby."

"We don't have a choice; she has to go to St. Mungo's," Regulus said, his face unreadable as he clamped down on his fear, his rage, his panic.

"Then we go. We've healed her wound; Hogsmeade doesn't have to come into it…" Lucius rambled, fear for his child's life rising.

"My clothes," Layla groaned. "They'll give away that I was attacked."

Regulus stood, pulling her slowly up. "I'll help you change," he promised, but a snarl from Lucius stopped the two in their tracks.

"She's still my wife, Black," Lucius reminded him coldly. "I can take care of her."

"Is now really the fucking time, Malfoy?" Regulus said, his self-control breaking. "She needs immediate medical help."

Lucius waved his wand at Layla, and she yelped, thinking for a brief moment that he meant to curse her. Instead, her cloak disappeared, her clothes underneath mended and cleaned, until they looked new, the only sign of injury where she continued to bleed. Lucius stood, pulling Layla to him and away from Regulus. "You'd best go back to the school, Black, before you're missed and suspected."

"Like fucking hell –" Regulus argued.

"No, please," Layla begged, desperation filling her chest. "You have to go back. I'll be ok. Please, you have to be safe. For me."

Regulus took a sharp, ragged breath, then let it out. "Fine."

Lucius helped Layla over to the fireplace, and the couple took the Floo system over to St. Mungo's maternity ward, leaving Regulus alone in the manor.

It took several hours before the entire ordeal was over. Layla was never more grateful for all the financial donations Lucius had made to the magical hospital because she had never felt more cared for or attended to in a hospital in her entire life. Lucius never left her side, his face pale and shaken, his hands trembling as he held hers. It had genuinely surprised her to find that he cared so much about her and their child's lives; she thought, with their mutual affairs, that he no longer particularly cared what became of her. This experience very much convinced her otherwise.

The nightmare felt like it would never end, but when it finally did, the baby was lost, and Layla was forced to endure a magically-induced abortion when her body refused to give up her dead baby of its own accord. Now, Layla sat on the hospital bed, leaning on Lucius's shoulder, having shed so many tears that day that she just couldn't force them to come anymore, no matter how badly she wanted to. She'd lost her baby, and she had no one to blame but herself.

Lucius smoothed her hair, even as his own tears slipped into her hair, and his voice shook as he held her close and said, "I should have been there. I should have protected you. I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," Layla said, her voice hollow. Truthfully, she didn't know what to feel beyond the weight of her guilt. She had never wanted this in the first place, and despite being seventeen weeks pregnant, she'd only barely started to think of it as an actual child, as actually being her baby. The fragile emotional attachment had only just started to form, and now, it was ripped away. She felt evil for being somewhat relieved that it was over; she felt fake for simultaneously feeling grief for the loss. The fact that her own rebounded spell had been the cause only served to worsen her guilt.

Lucius kissed the top of her head. "We'll try again when you've recovered," he assured her. "We'll get through this."

Layla could barely bring herself to care as she asked, "You really want to go through this again?"

"We'll do it differently next time," Lucius declared, his voice so full of that charming authority he loved to project, but Layla knew, right now, it was a mask for his pain. "You will not face danger like that again. I'll protect you better; keep you closer to me. Keep you safer…"

Snorting, Layla said, "Right, I bet the Dark Lord provides excellent paternity leave benefits."

"Layla…"

"It's whatever, Lucius," Layla said, exhaustion taking over. "But if you want someone to blame for this besides my sheer stupidity, blame your fucking Dark Lord for putting us in this war in the first fucking place."

"Layla," Lucius hissed, hugging her a little tighter. "I want to be incredibly fucking clear, dearest. I do not in any way blame you for this, and you shouldn't either. It was an accident. It was not your fault."

Layla's body shuddered with a sob of tears she couldn't force herself to shed. "You can't mean that; it was my bloody spell…"

"Meant for someone else, who will pay severely."

"Lucius…"

"No," he said firmly. "No more. You, my dearest, were caught in a situation you should have never been in, you defended yourself and your child, and you did your best. It is not your fault, and the Order will pay. That's final."

Shivering, Layla hugged Lucius back a little tighter. "I just want to go home."

Lucius nodded, then hesitated to stand up. "Do you – would you prefer I bring Black to you, to keep you company tonight?"

Layla thought about it for a moment, then pulled back to look up at him. "No, not tonight. It's… It's not his baby," she said thoughtfully, frowning at the pain etched on Lucius's face as she trailed her fingers down his temple to the stubble on his unshaven jaw. "I just want to grieve with you, alone."

Lucius swallowed, then nodded. "All right. Then you shall have that."

The pair went home, and Lucius tenderly held her close, carrying her up the stairs to their shared bedroom, formerly his bedroom. Laying her down on the green and silver bedding, he crawled onto the bed beside her, curling up with her, tightening his hold on her waist. She snuggled up to him, her back fitted to his front, her arms clinging to her pillow. After several long moments of silence passed, she said quietly, "Please, don't blame Regulus. It wasn't his fault. He begged me to leave while I still could. Staying to fight was my choice."

Lucius stiffened behind her, but then he pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. "I have no intention to punish him like I do the Order if that's what you're implying." Layla twisted her neck to look at him. "I won't promise to like him, but he did the best he could today. I won't fault him for that."

"That's ok," Layla said softly, laying her head back down. "Because Narcissa is a bloody bitch, and I hate her." Lucius snorted a small dry laugh. "But I won't punish you for seeing her. I get it; sort of, anyway." She paused, then she asked, "Do you love her?"

"Do you love him?"

"Yes."

The lack of hesitation or guile seemed to stun Lucius into momentary silence. Then he answered truthfully, "No, I don't believe I do love her. She and I… we just… well. We understand each other. That's all."

Layla nodded into her pillow. "Ok." At first, she thought it was wrong to ask, but then she dared. "Do you love me?"

Lucius thought for a moment, then said, "I do, as much as I know how. I know I'm… rather cold and distant, and I don't spend nearly enough time at home with you. And I'm truly sorry for that. I'm far from perfect, but I'm doing the best I can."

Layla murmured, "I truly appreciate it, Lucius; I really do. I… I care about you so much. I love you too, in a way, I just…"

"Not like him," he finished for her, and she couldn't help but flinch from the generous understanding in his voice.

"I don't want to hurt you," Layla said, her voice small and afraid.

"It can't be helped, dearest." Lucius nuzzled his face into her neck, breathing her scent in deeply. "My mother was the same with my father. I understand. We Malfoy men are cold and cruel and harsh. It makes us rather difficult to love and be loyal to."

"You've never mentioned her before," Layla said, leaning back into his familiar touch. "I've never met her. Where is your mother?"

"In the graveyard of Holy Trinity Cathedral." Layla turned to look at him, and he shrugged at her. "Dragon Pox, eight years ago, while I was at Hogwarts."

"I am so sorry," Layla said, her lower lip trembling as she thought of the baby she would never get to name or bury. "I didn't mean to –"

"Darling," Lucius cut her off, kissing her sweetly, then pulling back, leaning his forehead against hers. "I'm all right. It was a long time ago. You need to rest; we both do. It's been a long hard day."

Layla laid back down but didn't close her eyes. "You weren't home when we got here earlier. Where were you?"

Lucius said, "Ireland. A simultaneous attack as Hogsmeade and a third location, distracting from each other, dividing the Aurors to weaken them. Dobby found me and told me what happened. I got home as quickly as I could."

"Thank you," Layla said, and she really meant it. "For coming, for being here. Won't the Dark Lord be upset?"

"He'll understand. Or if he doesn't, I can handle the punishment. You were more important."

"More important than the Dark Lord's orders?"

Lucius hesitated, but decided, "Yes. Always. You and our children will always be my first priority."

Layla nodded sleepily, too tired to drag the conversation out any further. "Ok." As she struggled to keep her eyes open, she added, "I do love you, Lucius. As much as I can."

"I know, dearest. I know."