Tighten Up by The Black Keys

Livin' just to keep goin', Goin' just to be sane

All the while not knowin', Such a shame

I don't need to get steady, I know just how I feel


July 28th, 1979

Ivy had hoped that Bellatrix would forget her promise. After all, the plan to discuss her impending marriage to Regulus had been put forth over a year ago, the same night that Bellatrix and Avdima fell ill with Dragon Pox. Unfortunately, the disease hadn't addled her brain enough to make her entirely forget such a thing.

Once the owls started coming a few weeks ago, she'd made a last ditch effort at avoidance, thinking that she could get away with forgetfulness. Alas, the horrid woman was hell-bent on making it happen, as she'd shown up on the Greengrass's doorstep two days ago.

Thus, she was seated at the Lestranges' dinner table, trying not to think about Hazel's mutilated eye in a nearby jar as she ate her knickerbocker glory.

"It really is a pity," Bellatrix sighed. "That we weren't able to schedule this before your graduation as we'd discussed."

"My apologies," Ivy said politely. "For the misunderstanding. Fernando won't be delivering anything of importance from now on, I've already seen to it."

"It's so hard to find a decent owl nowadays," Narcissa said sympathetically. "Why, just this morning, my most trusted screech owl dumped my correspondence in the morning porridge."

"They don't breed them like they used to," Bellatrix sneered. "Like they don't breed witches and wizards of such high calibre as us anymore. It always comes down to impure blood. Without it - useless."

Holding in a comment about pure blood rendering Bellatrix useless, she swallowed her ice cream. "Anyhow, Regulus and I have always wanted an autumn wedding. Rest assured, I wouldn't have gotten married without consulting the two of you for marital advice."

"I will say, it's odd," Bellatrix pushed her wild curls over her shoulder. "That you're not getting married straight out of Hogwarts. Cissa and I's parents would've had our heads for such a thing."

"I swear," Narcissa laughed, the sound light and tinkling. "They had heart palpitations when I told them Lucius wanted to be married in July instead of June. They thought he was going to back out of the marriage contract… By the way, would you like me to send over those books I mentioned earlier? I could have them to you as soon as morning."

"I'm sure," Bellatrix said to Ivy. "You feel bludgeoned to death by now, learning all the ways to please Regulus. We've been going on for, what? Two hours?"

This was just the social cue she'd been waiting for; one that signalled the end of the discussion about sex. Talking it through had been especially torturous, seeing as her recent near-encounter with it had hardly been ideal.

She'd not told Regulus or Theya about what Wilkes tried to do to her, though it wasn't for lack of trust. Ivy merely had no idea what to say aside from the fact that it happened. She'd been hard at work pushing the memory to the outer recesses of her mind, in hopes of being safe from it.

"Has it really been two hours?" Narcissa asked.

"Three," Ivy forced a pleasantly amused tone. "And please send the books along, Cissa. I'm sure they'll be of great help."

"Lovely," the blonde smiled. "Let me know if you learn anything interesting. We witches need to stick together."

Merlin, she wanted to vomit.

Instead, she returned the smile and turned back to her knickerbocker glory. She finished it slowly, despite wanting to speed through it, and leaned back in her chair once finished. "I suppose I ought to be off, then."

"Before you go," Bellatrix held up a hand. "There's something I think you should know."

"Oh?" Ivy's stomach sank, as she'd been hoping for a quick getaway.

"I'm afraid," Narcissa pursed her thin lips. "It's about Wilkes and Rosier."

Her mouth dried up instantly, and her throat was quick to close at the mention of their names. Swallowing hard, she put on a quizzical frown. "What about them?"

"Well," Bellatrix said. "No one had heard from them since our operation the other night. Rodolphus went back to the forest to see if there were any signs of what happened and came across their bodies."

"Bodies?" Ivy cocked her head. "You don't mean to say that they're-"

"Dead, yes," Narcissa said quietly.

Feigning surprise, she leaned back in her chair.

"My husband," Bellatrix continued. "Found Wilkes in quite a state - his head entirely bashed in. Rosier, though, didn't have more than a scratch on him. Best we can figure from the autopsy, someone used the Killing Curse on him. A belt was found closeby, as well as womens' underthings, which were ripped."

"What happened?" Ivy recalled with a cold rush of horror that her initials were embroidered on many of her knickers.

"That's the cheeky bit." Bellatrix went on. "We've seen the Order blow wizards to bits, but brutally bashing someone's head in? Or killing them without so much as a fight? It's not their prerogative… Some think that we have a spy."

Ivy had expected the other night to bite her in the arse, but not this quickly. Her first instinct was to run or throw out some Avada Kedavras across the dinner table, but they hadn't accused her of anything yet. Running or duelling would be a definitive admission of guilt and there was still a chance that her initials weren't on that particular pair of knickers.

"But we've always been so thorough." She let worry seep onto her face. "With who we let into the Dark Lord's circle. How could this happen?"

"You forget," Bellatrix drawled. "That we already know of one individual with ties to the Order. Not to mention, very good incentive to turn on us. Pettigrew has been close with those blood traitors, Black and Potter, since childhood."

"But that doesn't explain the womens' knickers," Narcissa read her mind aloud.

"No, it doesn't," Bellatrix leaned back in her chair. "Which is why all female Death Eaters are now under suspicion."

Ivy blanched.

"There's no need to look frightened," Bellatrix raised a brow. "Clearly it wasn't you, Snape already verified that you were with him all night after he separated from Travers."

"What do you believe happened?" She asked softly, keeping her relief buried far away from her expression.

"Bella and I have discussed it thoroughly," Narcissa chimed in. "There's no way to know for certain, but we have a few theories. I'm sure you know of Wilkes' reputation, how he liked to debase women?"

Ivy tried to keep her voice even. "I have heard that."

"Well," Narcissa continued. "We think it likely that one of two things occurred. Either, Pettigrew was indeed involved, or Wilkes and Rosier decided to touch the wrong witch. One of our own, it would seem, considering the circumstances. It could also be that Pettigrew killed Rosier after Wilkes was killed by someone else."

"So," Bellatrix cut in. "We wanted to caution you against drawing attention to yourself. Even though you didn't have anything to do with it, others may think that you did."

"But Severus can vouch for me," Ivy protested.

"And Rodolphus can vouch for me," Bellatrix said. "That doesn't mean either of us should let down our guard. The others are as quick to kill as they are drawn to paranoia."

That's something we have in common, she thought. "And what of the Dark Lord? What does he think about all this?"

"He doesn't know much at all," Narcissa said. "According to Lucius."

"And you are not to tell him," Bellatrix added. "He would torture every single one of us if the thought even crossed his mind that there was a spy. I see no reason to undergo that. Not when we've got nothing to go off of yet aside from suspicion. But don't worry Ivy, if we do have a spy, we'll find him and gut him."


Regulus hurried through the Haven's garden, headed for the entrance beneath the balcony. Ivy's owl had told him to come over straight away, and although that was ominous, she'd assured him that she was alright. Even so, his pace was quick as he treaded over the mossy stones to the double glass doors.

Throwing them open, he headed for the staircase to the right. Climbing it two steps at a time, he passed through the spacious, dark hallway into the small library, whose shelves had since been filled. At least, most of them had been, now that he'd begun moving his vast collection over.

Despite Ivy already having expressed that she was fine, it was a relief to find her with her legs dangling over the side of a deep blue armchair, Muggles Who Notice by Blenheim Stalk in hand. Theya was similarly occupied by a book so worn out that the lettering was unreadable, though she had her feet propped up on the table between them.

He let loose a quiet breath of relief. "What's happened?"

They looked up at him, Ivy giving him a small smile of greeting.

Theya, however, turned to stare at her. "Shall I?"

"Yes," she closed her book and set it on the table.

Theya got to her feet, giving Regulus a nod as she left the room and started down the stairs, book tucked under her arm.

"What was that about?" He took the empty chair, ignoring its warmth. "What happened?"

"She's just giving us some privacy." Ivy straightened in her seat, placing her elbows on the table and gazing at him seriously. "There's something I need to tell you about the mission the other night, and it's going to be difficult to hear."

"I knew something was off," Regulus said immediately. "I knew you were shaken up about something."

"Thanks for not pushing me," Ivy ran a hand through her loose white hair. "I'll preface it by saying that I'm alright now… or, as much as I can be." She took a breath and averted her eyes. "After that Death Eater edged out Potter and Pettigrew, he tried to rape me. I was incapacitated, like I said, but I fudged the bit where he… touched me."

Regulus had been angry before, terribly so at times, but it was nothing compared to this. This was cold to the point that he wasn't sure he could even call it anger. This was more like wrath; hard, unyielding, festering, and all-consuming. His vision was overcome with murderous fantasies of severing a faceless man's head from his body and peeling his skin from his living flesh while he begged for mercy.

"Are you alright?" Ivy's voice drew him out of his thoughts.

He realised that she had placed a hand atop his fists, which were clenched so hard that his fingernails had drawn blood from his palms.

Looking up to see the concern in her silver eyes, he slowly released the tension from his hands. Silently, he pulled a handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his robes and wiped away the blood. Once finished, he shook his head once to banish the visions that threatened to overtake him again.

"This shouldn't be about whether or not I'm alright." Fingers now clean, he tucked the cloth into a pocket and retook her hands, covering them with his own. "The real question is, are you?"

Ivy swallowed. "Like I said, I'm as well as I can be, considering."

"Who was it?"

"Wilkes." She gripped his hands tighter. "Before you attempt murder, you should know that I already bashed his head in with a rock."

"How many blows?"

"Eighteen."

He tried to take solace in this. As much as he wanted to flay the prick, the kill was rightfully hers. Just as Ariadne would one day be his to claim.

"I killed Rosier, too," Ivy went on. "He didn't touch me - he wasn't a part of it at all. He just saw too much and was in my way."

"I see." Trying to control both his rage and his sorrow on her behalf, he took a calming breath and looked at their hands clasped together. Flying off the handle and making it about himself was not what she needed or deserved. "I'm glad they're dead."

"Me too."

There was silence between them as he pondered the best way to handle the situation. Having been through something similar, he tried to think of what he would've wanted said to him.

"Can you still feel it?" Regulus eventually asked, watching her beautiful, harrowing face. "His touch? I still felt Ariadne's for a long time afterwards."

"Mostly his belt," Ivy's voice was hardly a whisper. "He wound it around my throat. Choked me with it. It… tightens with every difficult moment and loosens with every easy one… I don't know what that's going to mean for us." She looked up at him, eyes brimming with tears. "I'm sorry, I-I don't know when we're going to have sex again."

Horrified by this, Regulus got up from the table. Circling it, he grasped either side of her armchair and turned it to face him. Getting to his knees in front of her as tears spilled down her cheeks, he reached out. When she didn't flinch away, he placed his hands on the sides of her face and held her gaze.

"Don't ever apologise for that again," his voice was low and aching. "It's not your fault; don't take responsibility. For all I care, you don't have to so much as kiss me on our wedding day if you don't want to."

Ivy sniffled. "I promise, it's not that I don't want to be with you that way, I just…"

"You don't need to explain yourself," Regulus said gently. "Loving you has never been about sex, and it never will be. All I care about is that you are well. Take as much time as you need, love."

Leaning his forehead against hers, he felt her fingers take hold of his. Listening to her cry, that deep, carnal wrath rose inside of him again. It was all he could do to push it down, to do what she needed instead of what he wanted, which was to slaughter someone.

Feeling her shift, he opened his eyes, only to find that she had leaned forward, pressing her lips against his. His eyes fell shut again and he kissed her back lightly, with nothing behind it except the intent to protect her.

Regulus was the one to pull away, and when he did, she was smiling through her tears.


Having filled Regulus in on the repercussions of killing Wilkes and Rosier, Ivy descended the staircase with him close behind. Spotting Theya lounging on the sofa, she smiled to herself; she'd thought that telling them would make her feel worse, but the belt around her neck had loosened for the time being.

Reaching the first floor, she went to the tall, dark-wooded storage cabinet that Theya had helped her pick out. It stood against the wall near the black, floor-length mirror in the corner and she opened the doors. Fiddling around in the mostly empty drawers until she located the invisible cloak, she withdrew the silvery material.

"I also asked you two to come here," Ivy wound it around her shoulders, causing her body to vanish. "Because of this."

"Where did you get that?" Theya gawked, though she quickly leapt to her feet and raced over to examine Ivy's missing form.

Regulus was close behind. "That can't be what I think it is."

"I stole it from Potter the night of the mission - and what do you think it is?" Ivy drew the material over her head and hunched, causing Theya to inhale sharply in wonder. Walking around them slowly and silently, they stared at where she'd last vanished.

"An Invisibility Cloak," her boyfriend answered with a tone of astonishment.

"You think so?" Ivy shouted.

They whirled round as she revealed herself with a cackle.

Passing the cloak to Theya, the golden-haired witch grinned ear to ear as she enveloped herself and disappeared. Her footsteps, however, were loud, so when Theya ended up behind her, Ivy turned and yelled: "Boo!"

Her shriek and Regulus's laughter echoed off the walls.

When Theya took the cloak off, she was scowling.

Regulus was quick to grab it from her. He held it up high, analysing it closely. "Why would Potter have a thing like this? How would Potter have a thing like this?"

"Dunno." Ivy shrugged as they prodded the silvery material and turned it over in their hands. "All I can tell you is that Pettigrew knows about it. And if he does…"

"The others do too," Regulus grumbled.

"That would explain a lot," Theya's brow was furrowed. "About how the Marauders got around Hogwarts. Though, you'd think they would've gotten less detentions if they had this at their disposal."

"Honestly," Regulus said. "But just think of all the things we could do with it; spy on Death Eaters or get Horcruxes out of hard to access places."

"I don't think we should go out of our way to use it," Theya chewed on a nail. "If Potter could lose it, we could too. And more importantly, if we're somewhere we shouldn't be and this comes off… Well, Death Eaters are fickle and Ivy's already under suspicion."

"I think you're right," Ivy conceded. "I daresay that me being under suspicion means you two, by association, are as well. We've always been so publicly close, it wouldn't be a stretch for anyone to assume that, if one of us was caught, the rest of us were probably involved too."

"We're the Slytherin bloody Marauders, aren't we?" Regulus murmured.

"Maybe…" Theya said quietly. "Maybe it's time we told Severus about us."

"Absolutely not," Ivy replied.

"No," Regulus shook his head vigorously. "No way."

"Hear me out," Theya said tentatively. "It's not just the three of us that are publicly close; it's the four of us. If we're under suspicion, he probably is too. He doesn't know what we're doing, which means that he's the most likely to get us caught by accidentally mentioning something he isn't supposed to. Not to mention, if one of us is caught, he'd likely be deemed guilty by association - if he doesn't know what we're up to, how would he know to hide?"

"It's not a good idea," Ivy told her firmly. "In Peru, he told me in no uncertain terms that he isn't interested in going against the Dark Lord. Losing his power isn't worth the risk to his life."

"But he doesn't know what we know," Theya said mildly. "He doesn't realise that there's a way to defeat You-Know-Who, or that we're already on our way to making it happen."

"He's not ready," Regulus said. "And you're basing the idea on too many ifs. If he said something he shouldn't, when he's not exactly the chattiest of people. If he needed to hide, when we haven't been caught. If he knew how to defeat the Dark Lord, when taking him on is already too much for him to consider. We'd be forcing more peril onto him and we know he doesn't want it."

"If he changes," Ivy sounded like she was trying to soften the blow. "We can reconsider. As of now, though, I think the answer has to be no."

Theya gave a nod of acquiescence, staring at an unfixed point over Ivy's shoulder.

Despite her assent, Regulus sensed that they hadn't heard the last of this argument.


August 4th, 1979

"Why're you all blotchy?" Theya asked. "If you needed to run errands before your interview, you could've visited another time."

"It's fine," Ivy wheezed as the door swung shut behind her, leaving her before the Floo Network Authority's secretarial desk. "I just stopped by Gringotts."

"Ah," Theya nodded knowingly.

A little bit at a time, she had been withdrawing her money from Gringotts and stashing it at the Haven. The last thing she needed, if she ever was revealed to be a spy -or a Death Eater- was to have no money because she couldn't access her vault. All it had taken for Wilkes to deem her a traitor was a single non-violent conversation between her and an Order member; she didn't have much faith that the others would be lenient if their suspicions heightened.

"So this is your office." Ivy remarked roughly, holding her side as it started to pinch.

"It's not so much my office," Theya propped her feet up on the desk. "As it is the place where I'm allowed to sit sometimes. And I do mean sometimes - usually by now, Mr. Madson's already kicked me out so he can have his morning tea in peace."

"He's about to kick you out right now," a tired-looking wizard passed Ivy and grabbed the door to the office. "If you don't get your grubby shoes off the desk."

Theya straightened immediately. "Sorry, sir!"

"Don't let me catch you doing it again, Greengrass." The wizard, who Ivy assumed was Mr. Madson, slammed the door behind himself.

"Is that a common occurrence?" She pointed a thumb at the door. "He doesn't seem to like you much."

"He adores me," Theya waved a hand. "He just doesn't know it yet."

"Right," Ivy rolled her eyes.

Taking in the room, as she hadn't done so since entering, she glanced around to find that there wasn't much to look at. The room was small, windowless, and the walls were a murky shade of beige-grey. There was only enough room to walk around Theya's desk to the hallway beyond it, and a single poster on the wall read: Enunciate when you Floo, or end up in Timbuktu!

"Blimey," she muttered.

"Terrible, isn't it?" Theya sighed happily. "I love it."

"Uh, why?"

"It's cosy," she shrugged and spun round in her chair. "Plus Edgecombe monitors the fires, and when Mr. Madson isn't around, she lets me listen in.

"You get paid to eavesdrop on people's conversations?"

"Yeah, it's great fun." Theya stopped spinning to eye her. "How are you getting on, though? Must be nervous for your interview."

"Terribly," Ivy admitted. "Reginald said schmoozing is the best way to get a job, but I've never been very good at getting people to like me."

"You got me to like you."

"Well," she smirked. "You're easy."

Theya narrowed her hazel eyes. "I've some life -and interview- advice for you."

"What is it?"

"Be more likeable."

"Thank you, that's terribly helpful."

"It's what I'm here for."


Fidgeting with her fingers, Ivy waited alone in a windowless, blank-walled room, seated across from an empty chair. She and the chairs were the only things inside, making her feel like she'd been jailed. Having zero experience with interviews, she didn't know if this was what she should have expected, or if it was some odd circumstance specific to the Department of Mysteries.

The place wasn't very well insulated, as she could hear people talking on the other side of the door. Perhaps it was just her anxiety, but she could have sworn that she heard her name once or twice.

Momentarily, a grey-robed woman entered the room and snapped the door behind herself. She was tall, with dark brown hair that was pulled back tightly into a bun, and brown eyes that were fixed on a clipboard. When she took the seat across, it was another moment until she looked up.

"Maryanne Parkinson," she held out her hand. "How do you do?"

"Ivy Selwyn." She grasped her hand, startled by the witch's last name. "I'm well. And yourself?"

"Quite sufficient. You know my niece."

Niece, not daughter, she thought in relief. "Not well, I'm afraid."

"Well, she knows you." Vivienne's aunt looked up at her sternly. "The amount of times I heard your name over Christmas dinners… She doesn't like you one bit."

"Nor I her," Ivy said reflexively.

It was a stupid, thoughtless remark, but there was a whisper of a smile on the interviewer's mouth. "You come highly recommended by Sere Greengrass. Charming woman. As is her daughter. I understand you two are… close." Her last word was clipped, as though their friendship was a strike against her.

"I'm not prone to gossip the way she is," Ivy said slowly. "If that's what you're getting at. I understand why you're called Unspeakables, and if I'm hired, I intend to uphold the name."

She wanted to pat herself on the back for that one, but the witch squinted and jotted down a note. "Ten seconds alone with you told me that you've twice the amount of sense as that girl. Although that's not saying much."

Ivy debated whether losing this job opportunity would be worth knocking a few of Ms. Parkinson's teeth out of her skull. Still, she kept silent. She wasn't good at making people like her, but she most certainly knew when to keep her mouth shut.

Fidgeting with her fingers in her lap, the interviewer's gaze flitted to them, then back to her clipboard, where she wrote something else down.

Ceasing the movement immediately, Ivy nearly huffed aloud. She was better than this, revealing inopportune emotions when she'd spent years suppressing their telltale signs. Fixing her posture to appear more confident, she tilted her shoulders back with a neutral expression.

"What are your skills?" Ms. Parkinson asked.

Hearing her name in the corridor again, she cleared her throat. "I'm never late and willing to arrive early if you ask it of me. I can also stay late, if you need. I'm happy to collaborate with coworkers, within the Department and without, plus-"

"That's all well and good," the woman cut her off. "But what makes you qualified for this position instead of, say, the person I interviewed yesterday who has experience?"

She opened her mouth.

No words came out.

Ms. Parkinson jotted down another note with her quill.

Ivy's eye twitched, as she could not think of a response for the life of her. Additionally, not being aware of what she was writing was maddening. To make matters worse, she could still hear people talking on the other side of the door. When she honed her attention in on it, she swore she heard her name again.

"I'll be plain with you," the interviewer sighed. "You do not appear to have any skills we could make use of."

The entitled snob in her wanted to throw a fit, but she held her composure. "Look, I know this didn't go well, and I don't want to make excuses, but it's very hard to focus with those voices out in the corridor. I've heard my name probably four times now."

"Voices," she echoed.

Now I've really done it, she thought bitterly.

Deciding that she'd made enough of a fool of herself, she just nodded. Resuming her fidgeting, since there was no point in concealing it anyway, she watched Ms. Parkinson get to her feet and open the door.

Expecting to be told to leave, she was taken aback when she heard: "Show me."

"Show you what…?"

"There's no one out here, Ms. Selwyn; I want you to show me where the voices are coming from."

Certain that she was being mocked, Ivy got to her feet and stomped to the door. "You know this is really unprof- oh… there's no one out here."

"As I said," the witch almost sounded amused. "Now, show me where the voices are coming from. Go on."

Unsure of what to do with herself other than to follow orders, she looked to her left. The murmurs weren't like those that the Dark Lord's Horcrux gave off. There was no low hiss, no tug in her gut. Instead, the loudest voice sounded sweet, familiar, beguiling.

Leading Ms. Parkinson through the black-tiled walls to the end of the corridor, she looked left again. Peering down the hallway, she spotted a single black door at the far end. "It's coming from there."

"Continue," the witch told her.

Unsure of herself still, Ivy padded closer as the torches cast eerie blue-white light. Standing before the door, she looked questioningly at Ms. Parkinson, who inclined her head.

Pulling on the handle, they reentered the Entrance Chamber she'd come through earlier. The circular room was entirely black, with handleless doors surrounding them. The marble floor reminded her of the Black Lake, as it looked like a stretch of dark water.

When the door closed behind them, the walls rotated for several moments, before coming to a standstill. Thoroughly disoriented, she heard her name again and walked to one of the identical black doors. The same voice was calling her, alluring and gentle, but promising of adventure like wind blowing over the icy peaks surrounding Hogwarts.

"It's coming from behind this door," Ivy told her.

Ms. Parkinson tilted her head just slightly. "Do you know who the voice belongs to?"

"Yes, but you'll think I'm a nutter if I tell you who."

"Tell me."

"It's my little sister. She's dead."

The witch raised a dark brow, though this appeared to be as much emotion as she was willing to convey. "Curious. How did she die?"

Offended, Ivy stuck her nose in the air. "I'm not sure I'm willing to discuss that."

"How old were you?" Ms. Parkinson asked, unfazed.

"Is this part of my interview?" She refrained from adding, or are you just insolent?

"It is."

Ivy gave a huff. "Young."

"Did you watch her die?" The witch asked calmly.

"Blimey! Do all your potential employees get such special treatment?"

"Some," Ms. Parkinson smiled wryly. "Did you?"

"Yes. And that's the last question that I'm going to answer about that. Now, if you're through with these deeply inappropriate questions, will you please show me the way out?"

"Of course." The woman obliged by walking her over to a door, though she didn't open it. "I'll walk you to the lift, but before you go, I would like to retract my earlier statement. If you're still interested in the position, I'll make you an offer."

"Really?" Ivy's eyebrows shot up. "Of course, I am."

Perhaps she shouldn't be, but truthfully, she was terribly intrigued.

"Good," Ms. Parkinson gave a curt nod. "We'll owl you a date for when you may return to take the exam. If you pass it, the position is yours. Perform well on the job, and one day when something opens up, you may be eligible."

Ivy wanted to squeal like Theya or do a jig, but she merely inclined her head. "Thank you. May I ask, what's behind that door?"

"Perhaps you'll find out one day. Now, come. I'll bring you to the lift."

Ms. Parkinson opened the door, leading them into another black-tiled corridor. They walked in silence to the end of it, where a lift was waiting. The grey-robed woman held it open for her and Ivy stepped in. Once she was bound for the eighth floor, she took hold of a golden rope hanging from the ceiling.

It was a relatively short ride, and she quickly arrived with a resounding jolt.

Stepping out with whiplash well established in the side of her neck, she took a moment to rub it out. A few witches and wizards were waiting for lifts, dawdling in boredom or talking up their coworkers. Beyond the golden gates that guarded the lift room, she could see the Atrium. It was terribly big, with gilded fireplaces and a bright blue ceiling that had shifting golden runes. There wasn't too much activity, as it was the middle of the work day, but a few witches and wizards meandered through the room, emerging from the Floo or heading for the lifts.

"Ivy?" A voice came from her right.

Looking over, she held in a groan. "Rodolphus. How are you?"

"Well enough," he walked away from a waiting lift with a grin. Clad in black robes with his dark hair styled in what she thought was an intentionally effortless way, his bright blue eyes looked her over. "What are you doing here?"

"I just left an interview with the Department of Mysteries."

"In that lift?"

"Yeah."

Rodolphus let out a low chuckle. "Never take that lift. You've got a kink in your neck now, right?"

"Mhm," she dug a thumb into the side of her neck and held the pressure against the pain.

"Every time," he sighed. "Say, want me to massage that out? I've very agile fingers."

Ivy gave him a minorly disdainful look, which was nothing compared to the scathing one she wanted to give him. He was a flirt, she'd always known this, but the complete lack of decency never ceased to make her bristle. "Regulus will take good care of me, don't you worry."

"I'm not worried," Rodolphus shrugged nonchalantly. "Did you get the position, then?"

"Probably. I have to pass an exam first."

"Hm… Let me walk you to the Floo."

"That's not necessary. Somehow, I think I can find my own way, seeing as it's a few metres in that direction." Pointing towards the golden gates, she set off towards them. Hearing his footsteps catch up with hers, she nearly sent a Crucio his way.

"Nonsense," he slowed and held the golden gates open for her with a small bow. "A lady should never have to find her way on her own."

Kill me now.

Entering the Atrium, Ivy walked as quickly as she could to the nearest Floo.

She was about to grab some glittering powder when Rodolphus caught her wrist. It was controlling, though not painful, and he leaned in to whisper in her ear. "That exam is going to be invasive. Ensure that you aren't vulnerable to Veritaserum or Legilimency before you take it."

Ivy yanked out of his grasp and kept her distance, eyeing him with dislike. "I thought it was a written exam, so they can see how well I'd write department memos."

"That's certainly all they'll have you do on the job," Rodolphus stepped close again, keeping his voice low as he stared over her shoulder. "But you'll be privy to little things, here and there, that no one outside of the Department is allowed to know about. They don't call us Unspeakables for nothing."

"Us?" Ivy wanted to back away, but let him remain close for the sake of privacy. A glance around told her that no one was listening, but his demeanour told her that this exam was a well-kept secret.

"Yes," Rodolphus said under his breath. "I don't expect we'll work together much if you pass the exam, but I'll be around. Don't show up for the exam if you can't protect your mind."

"How could they possibly get away with that?" Ivy hissed under her breath. "Anyone with a lick of sense would know when they've been given Veritaserum."

"It's an altered version," Rodolphus continued in a hushed tone. "Not only will you tell the truth, but you'll desperately want to. Kind of like a love potion." His gaze flicked down to her mouth. "Have you any experience with them? The way they make you feel?"

As she stepped away, his blue eyes glittered with amusement.

It was nauseating to think that, in his head, she was just some pretty little thing that could get his dick wet; he probably hadn't thought about murdering Hazel in years.

"Drugging prospective employees," she tried to regain her temper. "Is unbelievably illegal."

Rodolphus just grinned. "Welcome to the Department of Mysteries."


August 20th, 1979

Regulus hurried onto the front step of 12 Grimmauld Place, shutting the door behind himself and effectively blocking out Walburga's insistence that he sit for tea with her. It wasn't a smart move, leaving mid-tirade, but he'd had enough. Bustling away from the battered front door and into the sunshine, he twisted on the spot before dear old Mumcould reel him back in. Mind set on Diagon Alley, as he was determined to find a job today, he eventually landed on the cobblestone street.

Now in the archway that separated the Leaky Cauldron from the shoppes, he slid his wand away, muttering some choice words about drowning Walburga in her tea. He then straightened his expensive black robes and set off.

Regulus didn't much care where he wound up working, just that he ended up working somewhere, lest he continue to be at his parents' mercy. He'd had quite enough of sitting with Walburga and Orion at every meal, pretending that their mere presence didn't make him want to gouge his eyes out. There were only so many excuses for why he couldn't be at their beck and call, and he was rapidly running out of plausible ones.

Stomping over to Quality Quidditch Supplies, Regulus slid through the door. Inhaling the scent of broom polish, which had always had a certain appeal to him, he walked past the sleek Quaffles and brand new Bludgers to scope out the shop counter.

The place wasn't terribly busy, but he did have to wait in line as parents bought their children new broomsticks, bragging to the employee behind the till about how their little one was going to be a Quidditch star one day. It was dull conversation, but by the time he reached the counter, he was certain that he would take it over his miserable parents.

"Yes?" The light-haired teenager behind the till quirked a brow.

"I want to work here," Regulus said confidently. "How can I submit an application or schedule an interview?"

The boy laughed rudely. "You want to work here? Why?"

"I need a job."

"Well, you can have mine."

"Really?" Regulus's eyes widened.

"Er… no," he snorted. "I need the Sickles, mate. Knuts, really, with what they pay me. You, however, with your posh little robes, hardly look like you need the money." Seeing the irritable look on his face, the boy rolled his eyes. "We're not hiring anyway."

"Where is hiring?" Regulus snapped.

"Nowhere, really," the teenager scratched the back of his neck. "Why d'you think I work here? I suppose there's Borgin and Burkes down Knockturn Alley, but you'll get those fancy robes stolen right off your back if you go down there."

"Thanks," Regulus turned to leave. He paused for a moment, though, then dug in his pocket. Pulling out a small sack of Galleons, he dropped it on the counter and pushed it over to the pimply teenager.

"What's this for?" The boy frowned. "I'm not doing you any sexual favours, if that's what you're getting at."

"Fucking hell." He shook his head and went for the door, calling over his shoulder. "That's the spending money I had on me. Clearly, you could use it more than I could."

"Posh little prick," the boy muttered under his breath, simultaneously swiping the bag.

Regulus laughed as he left the shop.


Pushing open the rickety door belonging to Borgin and Burkes, Regulus stepped inside. His brows shot up at how many customers were within, as there were far more than had been in Quality Quidditch Supplies, despite this shop being far gloomier. Two occupants looked to be vagrants, and this theory was proved correct when an oily-haired man started chasing them out with a musty old broom.

Jumping out of the way, Regulus jostled into a wealthy-looking woman with bright red hair, who turned round as though to yell at him. However, the anger vanished from her face upon spotting him, and her eyes ran quickly down the length of his body, then slowly back up to his face.

"Well," she looked at him from beneath her lashes. "Aren't you handsome?"

Instantly uncomfortable, he moved deeper into the shop without a word. Hearing a tsk of annoyance from the witch, he ducked behind a glass display case. Pretending to be interested in a shrivelled hand, he avoided eye contact with the creepy masks that lined the walls and tried to get his mind back on track. He was here for a job, not to ogle severed limbs.

Fortunately, he was saved needing to strategise his next move, as the oily-haired man from before appeared at his side. "That there is the Hand of Glory. Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder."

"Oh?" Regulus said politely. "Sounds very useful."

"It is," the shopkeeper gave a crooked smile. "For only two hundred Galleons, it could be yours. I'll even throw in a candle for free, since you seem like a refined chap with good taste."

He was almost tempted by this offer, despite how absurdly priced the product was. After a moment, though, he shook his head. "Honestly, what I'd really be interested in is a job."

"A job?" The wizard dropped his grin to give him a bewildered once over. "What's a man like you need a job for? You's a Black."

It was Regulus's turn to look confused. "Have we met?"

"Doubt it," the shopkeeper nodded at the pin on his cloak. "Family crest. I know all the symbols of you pureblood folk. Some of my best customers are Blacks."

Seeing as the place appeared to be full of Dark items, this didn't surprise him in the least. "Right, well, doesn't matter why I need a job. I'm looking for work and I heard you're hiring."

"Alright," the oily-haired man folded his arms. "What's your name?"

"Regulus. And yours?"

"Borgin. Do you have any relevant experience with being a shopboy?"

"No," he said confidently. "But I'm willing to learn."

"Do you have any experience with working… at all?" The wizard sounded distinctly unimpressed.

"No," he repeated. "But I'm willing to learn."

Borgin gave a boorish laugh. "What exactly is it that you think you can offer?"

Regulus thought fast. "I can start right away."

"Right away," he echoed. "As in, right this second?"

"Er… yes?"

"You're hired, then, Black," Borgin grinned crookedly. "Go behind the counter to the back of the shop and ask for Longbottom. He'll get you started. And don't go sniffing around my office, or I'll hang you from your toes before you're even caught."

Regulus hardly heard the comment about his office. "Did you say Longbottom?"

"Yeah." The wizard scowled, clapping rudely in his face. "Are you deaf? Go!"

He hardly thought that this was a good way to retain the Black family as customers, treating the heir like some useless shopboy. But then again, he'd wanted to be a useless shop boy, hadn't he?

Trudging over to the dusty counter, he peeked around the corner to the back of the shop. Aside from a worn-looking door on the left -which he assumed led to Borgin's office- the space consisted of one large room with shelves covering the walls. In the middle of the dimly lit room stood several mismatched tables with miscellaneous products piled haphazardly atop.

And there at the far end of the area, shelving items, was Frank Longbottom. His back turned, he wore an apron and thick brown gloves.

Rotten luck, he thought despondently. Regulus glanced over his shoulder to find Borgin watching him with a disdainful look.

Hurrying on, he entered the back room and cleared his throat. "You work here?"

Longbottom turned towards him. His gloved hand was midway to a high shelf, as he was currently stocking a deck of bloodstained playing cards. Catching Regulus's eye, the cards slipped out of his hand and scattered to the floor, while his lip curled with distaste. "What are you doing here, Black?"

"I work here now." He walked over to give Longbottom a hand.

But he was already flourishing his wand, restacking the deck onto the shelf before tucking away the wood. "Why?"

"I might ask you the same question." Regulus shoved his hands into his pockets, looking around at the Dark objects surrounding them. "Thought you were an Auror."

"I am," he said gruffly. Going back to his task, he grabbed hold of a hangman's rope. Moving closer to Regulus without looking at him, he placed it on a shelf that was colour-coded with a very old orange sticker.

"That really clears it up, thanks."

"Believe me, I'd much rather be at my other occupation, hunting down people like you."

"People like me?" Regulus smirked. "I didn't know lowly shop boys were being targeted by the Auror office."

"If the shoe fits," Longbottom said smoothly. "Don't worry, Black, you'll get yours."

"Pretty sure I already am," he muttered. "What do I do, then? Borgin said you would get me started."

"Grab an apron," he said flatly. "And gloves, they're on the other wall. You can help me shelf all this junk."

"What're the gloves for?" Regulus crossed the room to pull an apron over his head. Once tied, he stuck his hands into an oversized pair of brown gloves that definitely hadn't been washed in years.

"Half the stuff in here will kill you," Longbottom said unenthusiastically. "If you touch it directly. And Borgin doesn't want us using magic to stock things. Thinks we'll break something."

"Why'd you bother telling me about the gloves?" He gave a short laugh. "Could've just let me touch something and keel over. Would've saved you the trouble of hunting me down."

"I'm not like you," he answered snobbishly. "I'll never kill just because it's the easier way."

Regulus rolled his eyes. "You lot are some of the most self-righteous people I've ever had the displeasure of meeting. You should check that hero complex of yours before it gets you killed."

"Is that a threat?" Longbottom glared at him hatefully.

He laughed at how easy it was to rile up Order members. "It's a warning. When you say I'll never kill just because it's the easier way, people like me hear I'm going to get myself killed solely for the sake of being a pompous arse… Call it friendly advice."

"You know," his face turned bright red with anger. "That I could arrest you for threatening an Auror, right?"

Regulus shrugged, unbothered. "You could, but you won't. Now, this is all a bit more insufferable than I'm willing to deal with, so are you going to tell me how to do my job or not?"

Longbottom looked like he was mere seconds from taking the easy way.

He was going to enjoy working here.