Curious to know what Regulus was up to during the 80s and 90s? Now you'll know^^. This is the chapter that feels the least like Harry Potter, but it's necessary.


Regulus landed in Mumbai on the 24th of October 1979. He had some money ('twenty pounds to a galleon, a pound and change to a sickle, a hundred rupees to a pound') a passport ('your passport is like your wand. Do not lose it!') and a new name : Reginald Gray. His hair had never been so short. The blue jeans, white shirt and burgundy blaser felt like a costume. His luggage, bereft of weightlessness and expansion charms, was packed full with almost nothing and dreadfully heavy. Edward Tonks had given him a thick illustrated book on the history of technology for the flight. A children's book. Simple enough to teach Regulus about a world he'd never been interested in.

He could pretend it was a class assignment. He could pretend he had magic, and just wasn't using it for now. He could pretend his missing half-arm wasn't attracting any attention.

Regulus was greeted at the airport by a man called Andrew Cassidy. Muggleborn. Hogwarts class of '73. The year between Narcissa and Bellatrix; a sixth year when Sirius had begun his first.

"Ted phoned me. Told me you'd have almost nothing and to get you settled." Cassidy's friendly smile was a relief. "Don't worry, I've got you." He led Regulus out of the bustling airport, frowning now. "Ted said you need a new name and a new start because Death Eaters want you dead. What happened to your arm?"

"The D- You Know Who. I lost my magic healing myself."

Cassidy stared. "Jesus... You met him personally?"

A mirthless smile curled Regulus' lips. Yes, many times. I felt so special. "I saw him cast the cruciatus on his own people. He's insane."

The older wizard seemed at a loss for words. "Tell me about it..." he finally muttered. "You went to Hogwarts? You look vaguely familiar. How old are you?"

Regulus pulled out his passport. "It says here Reginald is eighteen." Sixth months older than he was, something about the age of majority.

Cassidy stared expectantly, his lips tightening at the mistrust radiating from Regulus. "My parents got wiped," Cassidy finally said. "I left then... Stopped fooling myself that being Gryffindor meant fighting. Wizarding India has its own prejudices but no blood obsession."

Regulus nodded, surprised the other would reveal so much so quickly, but there was nothing he wanted to say.

Cassidy sighed when he realized Regulus was content to remain silent. "Alright, welcome to your new life, mate."

"I don't want to be interesting," Regulus finally said. "I would be grateful if you could speak of me as a squib who fled." A squib. Regulus cleared his throat, desperate to not show his despair. "I would prefer you did not speak of me at all. I... I've forgotten a lot. Memory charms. Before I managed to escape and find help. Questions are difficult."

Andrew Cassidy had come as a friend, and here was Regulus using what the man had just shared about his parents like a weapon. But without magic, how else could he protect himself? One slip, one legilimens, and he'd be even more dependent on the goodwill of strangers. Besides what Cassidy didn't know couldn't be used against him. Who knew how far the Dark Lord's reach was?

"There are mind-healers here. We could-"

"Not yet." Regulus had no idea what to do with freely offered concern. His instincts screamed at him to run, to disappear. Not that he even could, crippled as he was. "Please. I... I just want to know where I am."


Andrew lived in the South of India, in a region called Chennai, near a large city called Madras. It was the middle of monsoon season and Regulus felt like he was living an odd dream. Everything was so foreign : the bustling market streets, the long sand beaches, the tall buildings clustered around stunning temples, and, not so far away, slums filled with huts of straw and sheet metal. All of it was flooded but the weather did not discourage crowds. Madras made muggle London seem quiet and orderly.

Andrew chatted easily about his own past. He'd been friendly with Sirius, and that made things both easier and more difficult. Regulus soon realized he couldn't stay. He couldn't stand being a squib among the magical. He swallowed his pride and accepted money, clothes and all too many things, and headed out in muggle Madras clutching the only thing non-magical he was mildly familiar with : a photo-camera.

He was fascinated by the temples and churches. Yule, Samhain, Ostara, Beltane... The old rites were still practiced, life and magic celebrated, but after the Statute, practice had become increasingly political. In the name of traditions, many families, usually those who found the Statute too restrictive, had refused to alter centuries-old dark rituals, and the increasingly numerous Light families, excluded from the celebrations, began to dismiss them as relics of a more violent, less civilized past.

The architecture had caught Regulus' attention, but it was the gatherings, the joy, the feelings of belonging, that had him coming back.

The muggle gurus were happy to tell him a thousand stories. Regulus learned of Brahman and dharma, of atman, karma and moshka. He wondered for the first time about his own quest for truth. He feared that if he died too soon, he wouldn't be reincarnated as anything more glorious than a pet dog. Hopefully a beloved pet dog. But perhaps this was his reincarnation. The universe had taken pity on Regulus and Reginald was his chance to do things differently. His punishment was to be without magic.

The churches were fewer, less grand and less steeped in history. They were also full of Briton muggles, or of children of muggles who'd come from Britain. Grown in a world where strangers were disdained, Regulus was utterly disoriented by the warm welcomes he received.

Unlike the Hindus, the Christians did not consider their path only one among many. They were much more intent on persuading Regulus to believe their stories, to come back. They did not chastise him for his ignorance or lack of faith, rather, Regulus was taken aback by how thrilled Father Jerome had been when Reginald had begun coming regularly. The man's warmth, the lack of probing questions, and the idea that the weight of what Regulus carried could be shared, slowly replaced the fear that had clung to him so long by hope. Redemption. Could it truly be possible? Faith was something entirely foreign to him, but the promise of an end to his guilt, confusion, and loneliness, made him want, need, to believe.

Soon, Reginald was asked to participate to Church life. Taking photographs, printing posters. He watched small children on Sunday mornings, helping them color and cut out pictures while their parents and older siblings attended mass. It was all foreign to him, but for the first time in much too long he felt useful, and valued. It slowly stopped mattering so much, that these were muggles.

"You seem restless, Reginald," Father Jerome told him one day. "I've always known the Lord sent you to us for a reason, and today that reason may have become clear. Help is needed in the refuge. You would be an immense asset. And I don't doubt that doing good work will help ease that shadow on your soul."

And so Reginald went to offer his time at Chennai Grace Refuge, an charity outside of Madras that, mainly, helped abandoned children. It was a cluster of sturdy building two-story high, set-up in a U shape and surrounded by barbed wire and watchful dogs. Under the windows, protected from outside gazes, grassy grounds served as a playground and place for crafts. The refuge was home to twenty to thirty children, a handful of heavily-pregnant girls, and the occasional eloping couple asking for sanctuary for a few nights. The charity had been built by Christians, but while Brother Allen was the official leader, nothing happened without the agreement of Jayanti and Sanjana, two middle-aged Hindu women with loud voices, boundless energy and more love to give others' children than Reginald had seen most parents give their own.

After a trial of three months as a volunteer, where he'd given English lessons and mended clothes, organized play and listened quietly to nervous young mothers, and gone to bed absolutely exhausted, he decided he wanted to be part of this. The salary was a pittance, but he was given food and board, a tiny but air-conditioned room on the premises. Most importantly, he was needed. Behind the laughing dark-eyes and childish innocence, there was a seriousness to those muggle children, a sadness. Maybe he could make a difference.

Andrew Cassidy left him a phone number for emergencies. The wizard was no fool: Reginald Gray's speech, his manners, his ignorance of all things non-magical, some of the opinions he'd inadvertently let slip... it all suggested old-school pureblood. And so it amused Andrew to see Reginald take such a path. That said, he meant it with all his heart when he wished Reginald luck.


Reginald stopped thinking muggle and started thinking people. Some things took longer than others to get used to. The humid heat, the filth, the sight of hungry people, dead teeth, infected wounds, cripples... all those things so easily fixed with magic. A thousand indignities and discomforts now plagued his days (the bloody insects). Arranged marriages and castes were a hot topic among the white staff and volunteers, but those did not shock Reginald. Most of the Indian marriages looked at least as amiable as his parents' had been, and castes weren't all that different than blood purity. Donna Walker's outrage when she heard stories of overbearing parents and in-laws made Reginald snicker. If only she knew.

What baffled him were the obsession with light skin, and the roles of men and women. Oh, he'd grown up knowing that muggle men were beasts with the women, but he'd never paused to wonder why. A year in Madras made it clear muggle men weren't beasts, but that things were very, very different than at home. He'd never realized muggles couldn't control their fertility, that pregnancy was dangerous and young children terribly fragile. He'd not paused to consider that, without magic, women were significantly weaker than men. And the rest... well society had evolved to amplify the differences. Sometimes tragically so. Over three quarters of abandoned children in the foundation were girls, healthy girls. The few boys left on their doorstep were all disabled.

Donna Walker was headstrong and outspoken (which self-labeled 'humanitarian hippy' left their country at 22 to fly half-way over the world to volunteer in an orphanage wasn't ?) but even she spoke to him with a subtext that Reginald often failed to grasp. And the subtext he got from the others about spending time with a single woman his age... That he grasped more quickly, mostly because the older women soon stopped being subtle with him.

Hindus and Christian agreed on one point : a good man was expected to stay celibate until marriage. Donna had opinions about that. Very modern and scandalous ones, from the rest of the staff's reactions.

And so Reginald found himself in the utterly ridiculous position of refusing a willing woman he liked because he was afraid he'd blow up his new life by failing to understand the social ramifications of sex. He'd also never had so many people tell him they were proud of him because he'd not slept with a woman. His no-big-deal-it's-fun first time (well, second, the first had been a hilarious failure after which he and Medea had amiably bumped fists and sworn to never to speak of it again) would no doubt scandalize all those busybodies. And God forbid he reveal one of his great-uncles had shared most of his life with a man.


The orphanage had a special box, heated and padded, where a baby could be left. It was linked to an alarm system. Every other month, Brother Allen would find a newborn in it. Local unwed pregnant women, too often still girls, also fled here. The luckiest came with a sympathetic relative and then were welcomed back home. Others couldn't return, and so the staff and volunteers did their best to school them for factory work. Some older children came to them too, fleeing abusive situations. The staff and volunteers did their best to teach every child a trade, and to find adoptive parents for as many as they could.

Reginald didn't hope to rid a region of millions of its misery, but by helping others, one child at a time, one day at a time, his nightmares lost their claws. Yes, they had to send adolescents to factories when with greater means they could have given them a better education, better chances. Yes, some of the marriages their girls entered were not ideal (but they made sure to follow up, to make sure 'not ideal' did not become tragic). Yes, those disabled children could be given a relatively happy childhood but not protected in adulthood. But it was still better than nothing, better than anything Regulus had ever done.

Reginald, especially during the first years, would be tempted to call Andrew. A few flicks of a wand and the bright lad condemned to a life of charity could have walked again. A few potions, or a glamour, would have healed the sixteen year old's acid-burned face. Instead he prayed, for serenity, and did his best without magic.

He took pictures, most for the charity. The kids had little, but photo-albums was something he could give them. Some pictures sold, others were included in pamphlets to attract donors. Reginald became good at finding people willing to give money. He talked to local politicians, reached out for institutional support. Some of that led him places that reminded him of his previous life. He'd never truly forgotten how to talk to those who cared above all else about public perception.


"How many times did I tell you to get married?" Jayanti hollered. "Then this would not have happened!"

Reginald had been outside on a bench, marking the stories he'd had the older kids write. He raised his head to see Jayanti and Brother Allen striding towards him.

The heavy-set matron glared at him with a rare vehemence. Reginald's lips twitched. "Who is inconveniently in love me this time?"

But the way Allen rubbed his graying beard, as he would do when he was upset but trying to be a good Christian about the way he'd phrase things, was slightly alarming.

"Neetu is here," Jayanti said with a huff. "With a child."

"Oh. That's wonderful! I thought she was barren." Reginald's smiled died. Why would Neetu return? Had her relatives kicked her out? Was she alright?

Jayanti looked like she was going to throttle him. Allen sighed.

"A child, who," the gray-haired man said slowly, "if I may be so bold, looks like a perfect mix of the both of you."

What? Oh, Merlin.

Neetu had come from one of the nearby villages, fleeing domestic abuse. She'd been in her early thirties, and barren. She was lovely, funny and sweet. Regulus, tall for an Indian but otherwise lean, crippled, and not particularly assertive, was one of the few younger men she did not seem intimidated by. She'd stayed nine months, helping with the orphans until they'd managed to track down a relative happy to host her, and find the money to send her across the country.

"She was barren..." Reginald grumbled. Yes, sleeping with her was bad and sinful and everything. Still, he liked to think he'd given her confidence in her body, an appreciation for what sex could be like, and higher expectations of men. He'd also had dutifully stayed chaste for eleven bloody years, despite some of the teenage girls from the orphanage realizing he might make a decent marriage prospect. Luckily, sixteen-year-olds he'd seen grown up were not tempting enough to make him forget his good sense. They didn't need to be betrayed in the one place they'd felt safe.

"Not barren then?" he said wryly in accented Tamil. Neetu looked better than when she'd left. Better clothes, new shoes, makeup. He was glad to see it.

"I thought I was, I promise! They'd all always told me it was me, but the doctor I saw said they'd lied, that it was him. I'm sorry... "

She looked so distraught, clutching a wrapped up bundle against her. Reginald smiled and gently grasped her shoulders. He was the fool, for having taken a barely literate country woman who'd never seen an actual doctor at her word.

"Did you come back to ask me to marry you?"

She laughed faintly. That sweet smile. Neetu had not let a miserable marriage and worse in-laws steal her warmth, a warmth that had easily charmed Regulus. "No. I've found a job, and a good man. He's a widower, and he's kind, with a good position. I... he can't take me with the girl. He wasn't angry at me, only, you understand. She's beautiful, Reggie. I know you can take care of her."

Unfortunately, Reginald did understand. And as he was relieved she hadn't come back intent on marrying him, it'd be hypocritical of him to berate her. "You've given her a name?"

"Ananti." Gift. "I won't be angry if you change it. She won't remember."

Neetu turned the baby so it faced Reginald. Sleepy but awake, the girl stared back at him with wide black eyes. Her smooth bronze skin shone bright against her mother's darker complexion.

The baby, his child, smiled.

In that moment, facing an eight months old who smiled like his brother, he was Regulus Black again. 'What would you name your children?' Narcissa had once asked, giddily preparing her own wedding.

"Lyra," he whispered, his chest tight. "Lyra Ananti."

"Lyra," Neetu repeated, trying out the sound. "What is its meaning?"

"It's an antique musical instrument." He swallowed, willing the truth out after so many years of pretending he had no past. "It's a group of stars in the sky." He'd never thought to ask the Tamil word for constellation. "Those have meaning in my family."

"A good name then." She lowered her eyes. "Thank you for not being angry."

Reginald pressed a kiss on her forehead. Neetu could have been selfish, instead, she had crossed half the country to bring his daughter back. Now, both Neetu and the baby would have their best chance. "She's here now. I know you did your best. Shall I send pictures?"

Eyes tearful, Neetu shook her head, stepping away from him. "She can't be mine. I'm glad I could give you a beautiful baby, but she can't be mine, Reggie. She's yours."


"So now you're going to raise your own child, in the orphanage." Jayanti, cross-armed in her colorful sari, had a gift for making one feel like a scolded child, but after over a decade, Reginald had grown immune to her scowls.

"Yes, it'll show the girls men can be parents too. Expectations are healthy."

"We give our children as much love and attention that we can, but it can't compare to what parents give in whole families," Christine fretted. "The jealousy -"

"They already know life is unfair," Reginald snapped. "they'll deal with it. The child is here. I'm not going to neglect her in the name of some misguided idea at fairness, and if you suggest I put her up to adoption, I'll punch you. Metaphorically speaking," he added not wanting the argument to devolve into a full blown fight.

"You still must marry," Jayanti said. "Or this is going to happen again."

"It won't, and if I do fail to resist temptation, I'll put on a bloody condom."

"You'd better," Jayanti agreed, pointing a warning finger at him.

Christine glowered at them both. She was muscular woman in her fifties who'd been tending the grounds and taken charge of the charity's kitchen ever since her children had left home. Her husband was a pastor and she had the rigidity of people convinced of subscribing to absolute truth and used to being listened to.

"Reginald, you're still young, it's natural to crave companionship. Just set your mind to it and you'll find someone. You'll make a woman happy, and you'll have a family. Jayanti loves you for being the white man who forces the volunteers to reexamine their prejudices about Hindu arranged marriages, so surely you're not opposed to some... matchmaking?"

"Indeed, boy, I'll find you a fine Indian wife."

Reginald grinned fondly. He didn't doubt she'd have someone for him to meet within two weeks. His mirth died.

There would be no fully understanding Reginald Gray without knowing Regulus. No woman deserved a husband who'd forever lock her out. No woman would happily choose a one-armed poor foreigner; it'd be settling and he knew he'd come to resent it. "Well, I have a baby now," he said with a tight-lipped smile. "Ladies don't love that."

"Excuses, excuses. You'll be the saving grace of a poor soul who strayed like yourself."

Reginald stared at Christine flatly. "If marriage kept people from straying, we'd know."

Jayanti threw her hands in the air. "Enough! We must make inventory of what Neetu brought and see what supplies the baby needs."


"Whispers are your girl's a witch," Brother Allen said, lips pinched.

"Really?" Reginald exclaimed, a smile creeping on his lips. "What kind of magic did she do?" He'd thought that as a squib, he'd have no magic to give. Lyra was five, old for a first bout of accidental magic. But perhaps without exposure to mages or magic, a late awakening was normal.

"I hear she heals abnormally fast when she plays."

"That's harmless. As long as she doesn't make dead rabbits come alive to play with her..."

"You think it's funny?" Unlike Allen, Christine looked more alarmed than annoyed.

No Reginald was thrilled. And terrified. What was Indian policy regarding magical children and accidental magic? Would they come here? Take Lyra from him? He cleared his throat and put on the solemn face the others had been expecting from the start.

"I'll talk to her. She's five. I'm not going to let people mistreat a five year old because she heals quickly."

"Magic is the devil's work," Christine warned. "Take it seriously."

Reginald's eyes narrowed, something old and buried stirring inside him. Muggle, he venomously thought.

"No doubt, Satan makes everyone around the magical person act abominably towards the poor child, and then snatches all their souls up because those righteous wretches didn't think to repent." He smiled sarcastically. "Don't give in to temptation."

"Of course we won't harm the girl!" Allen said outraged, sending Christine an exasperated glance. "I'll try to put an end to the rumors, I'm just warning you in case things escalate."

"You didn't see it, Al," Christine said slowly. "Vanti fell of the tree. A terrible fall... Lyra, understandably scared, poor love, started telling Vanti 'you're okay', more and more forcefully. Until Vanti got up. I saw the child's spine twist, Reginald!"

"A miracle," Reginald said with an affected shrug. "Christine, are you seriously worried because a child wasn't paralyzed from a fall?"

"Miracle," the woman repeated weakly. "The heat must be getting to me. Just... the kids are whispering. It's hard to parse truth from twisted facts from the three to eight year old crowd. Talk to Lyra so she learns to deflect accusations and I'll make sure the others understand that benevolence is a virtue."

Reginald had to resist the temptation to encourage his little girl to practice. Instead, he hid himself behind what he hoped was benevolent paternal sternness.


Lyra was six and a half when Reginald finally saw it for himself.

A silly conflict between children. Eight year old Lajita telling Lyra she was too young to join the other girls' game. Lyra, upset, protesting. 'I'm not!' A merciless, 'yes you are, go with the babies.' Lyra, red-faced, shouting 'I'm NOT!'.

And suddenly she wasn't, hidden by an illusion that makes her grow twice as big. Lajita and the other girls screamed.

Swallowing back a laugh, Reginald ran to his daughter and picked her up, now an expert at doing everything one-armed. He met Christine's pointed gaze, and impatiently jerked his head towards the panicked children. He didn't need help with his own daughter.

"I didn't meant to!"

"You can't help it," Reginald assured her calmly. "The only way to not do any magic is to never want something very much. You'd be either the dullest child, or the most spoiled one."

She smiled weakly, her arms around his neck and her fingers curling tightly around his clothes. "Magic is the devil's work."

Reginald froze. His little girl's guilty black eyes burned into his. The sad confidence in her voice suddenly forced him to face the truth he'd been running from.

Lyra was a witch.

A witch could not grow among muggles.

She had no use for Reginald Gray. She needed Regulus Black.

He swallowed back the familiar fear, the guilt, attached to his old name. He could not keep his daughter ignorant from their world.

"Lyra, people are stupid about things they don't understand. I'm going to take you to see some good mages. You'll see there's nothing devilish about it."


"You're leaving?" There was no accusation, only a wistful sadness, in Brother Allen's tone.

"I have to. She can't stay here."

"You know I don't believe in magic... But I can't deny the poor child has been at the heart of quite a few incidents I just can't explain."

Regulus wondered, what would trigger obliviators to come. But the Statute was not in danger. Most of the time, children had been the only witness, or things had been dismissed as coincidences. People like Christine already believed in magic, and they would not run to the authorities or cause panic.

"I'll miss you, Al, but you have a whole team of excellent people. She only has me." And she needed to be around people who stopped referring to her as that poor child.

"I'm not trying to make you stay, Reggie. It's been nineteen years. You came here suffering, barely more than a child yourself; now you're a man who's found God, and himself. I'm glad, and I'm proud of you. It's time for you to walk your own path." Allen grinned and opened his arms. "Don't forget to send us good people, if the Lord sends some your way."

Regulus warmly returned the older man's embrace, eyes bright.

"Thank you, for everything."


"It's nice," Lyra commented, excitedly running circles around him as they entered Andrew Cassidy's garden. Even in the garden itself, the air was dryer, the heat pleasant instead of stifling, and lush plants grew with no care for climate or season. Regulus grinned at the tawny owl peering down at them from a lemon tree heavy with ripe fruit.

"Look up here. That's one of the short-distance postmen of the magical world."

Lyra stared. "This odd bird is a shape-shifter?"

Regulus laughed, launching into an explanation of post owls.

"Can't believe you waited so long to bring her here, Gray," Andrew said in way of greeting, a smile on his face. Like Regulus, he'd aged with the grace of mages, looking closer to thirty than his forty years. His robes were white and elaborate, in Indian fashion, five times heavier than Lyra's sari. Cooling charms encouraged sartorial excesses. His yew wand was visible on his hip.

Regulus would have liked to say that the sight of it didn't pain him anymore. It'd be a lie. Here he was doubly crippled. But he had to step up as a father. He was done running.

"It's Black, actually. Regulus Black."

He'd expected it to be the start of a conversation, but the sheer shock on Andrew's face was more than he'd bargained for.

"The Regulus Black? Weren't you murdered after stealing Riddle's Horcrux?"

Horcrux. Now that was a nightmare he'd thought buried long ago. Something he'd never expected Andrew to know. "How did you get so well informed?"

Looking dazed, Andrew welcomed them inside the house. After Lyra was led to Andrew's school-aged boy's bedroom and merrily distracted with animated plush-toys, Andrew dropped a stack of newspapers on the table before Regulus. "Read this. Then you owe me a story."

When Regulus had become Reginald, he had severed old ties. He had searched, and later prayed, for serenity and absolution. Madras had become home. Reading of England hit him harder than he'd expected.

Voldemort, killed in 1981, when he'd tried to murder baby Harry Potter. James Potter, Lily Evans, and so many others, murdered.

Sirius, wrongly incarcerated for thirteen years. Escaped. Cleared only after his death. A hero of the second war (the second war). Lord Black. Father had made him his heir once more.

Father, Mother, long dead.

Dizzy, Regulus read on.

Bellatrix had killed Sirius. How could she have? But Regulus remembered those last months, his cousin's madness. Bellatrix, dead during the Battle of Hogwarts.

The battle of Hogwarts, children, even younger than during his war, made to fight on the front lines.

Voldemort, dead for good, one year ago.

Regulus took a shaky breath. Seven Horcruxes. The tightness in Regulus' chest eased, replaced by a smile when he read Potter's statements about Slytherin's Locket : Kreacher was alive.

Harry Potter, twice vanquisher of the Dark Lord. Lord Black. How like Sirius, to flout all traditions and name his godson, a boy who already had a house name, who was already heir. Not that Regulus begrudged the young man his title. He owed Harry Potter more than the boy knew.

Sirius had had family he loved, in the end. Regulus was glad.

Today he understood where his brother's anger had come from. Why Sirius had been so cruel. Regulus had come to realize he'd been just as cruel, invalidating everything Sirius felt, telling him that it was all fair, that the abuse was Sirius' fault. He'd looked up at Sirius, his big brother, but Sirius had been a child himself. Too immature to know how to deal with the anger that consumed him. Yet somehow, unlike Bellatrix, Sirius had known to find people who treated him well. Regulus didn't hate their parents, he'd loved them and he knew they'd loved him, as much as they could love. But he didn't need to hate to recognize the harm they had wrought.

He desperately wished he could talk to Sirius.

Regulus had to put the newspapers down when he learned Edward Tonks was dead. Ted, the man who had put a passport in his hand, him, a Death Eater, and wished him well. Regulus wept for him, and for Andromeda, who deserved so much better. And Nymphadora, the little girl (no, not girl : woman, auror, mother. How many things Regulus had missed!).

Soon, another familiar name caught his eye: he hadn't been the only one to rethink his association with the Dark Lord. Merlin, Severus, you were so much braver than I ever was. Another conversation he'd never be able to have. I hope you found it in you to forgive yourself, old friend.

His heart grew lighter when he read of Narcissa lying to the Dark Lord during the low point of the Battle of Hogwarts, saving a half-conscious Harry Potter.

"I probably shouldn't have dumped it all on you like that -"

"No, Andrew, thank you," Regulus whispered. "It reminds me of what I still have." Narcissa, Andromeda. Kreacher.

So many people he'd convinced himself he'd never see again. So many things he'd locked away.

He stood up. "I need to go home." He couldn't afford to hide anymore. "Lyra, darling!"

Her eyes glued to the magical lights now floating in the living-room, the little girl clumsily ran into Regulus' leg. He chuckled, squeezing her shoulders.

"I need to say a name for me, like you're calling and want the person to come."

"Who?"

"Kreacher." He had no idea how far elves could hear, or pop. But the bond was one of blood, and Lyra was a Black. He had nothing to lose.

"Kreacher?" Regulus nodded encouragingly as she shot him a confused glance. "Kreacher!" She frowned when nothing happened. "Kreacher, Kreacher !" Lyra sighed. "Are you quite sure it's magic, Appa?"

"Quite. Concentrate."

She shut her eyes and balled her fists. "I am! Kreacher !"

Regulus couldn't quite believe it when a pop sounded in the room. Stooped, wrinkled, uglier than ever, but it was him.

Lyra squealed. "This is Kreacher? Sorry, I mean... hello?" she whispered wide-eyed, gingerly holding her hand out towards the hooked-nosed big-eared creature that barely reached her chest.

Regulus knelt next to his daughter. Poor Kreacher looked pole-axed.

"You don't remember, Kreacher" Regulus said thickly, "but you and cousin Meda helped me escape. She cut off the mark. I'm a squib now. I had to hide here, from the Dark Lord."

"Master Reggie?" Kreacher finally said breathlessly, his long fingers gently brushing Regulus' stump. He looked like the only thing stopping him from bursting into sobs was sheer shock.

"Yes. I'm sorry I had to lie. I missed you too."

"But, Appa, what is he?" Lyra whispered loudly, clutching onto his arm.

"Kreacher watched over me when I was a child."

"Like a demon?"

Christian charity had saved Regulus' life, but God would forgive him for dispelling some absurd notions about magic and creatures. "No, he's good. He's a house elf."

Elf, Lyra muttered soundlessly, a deep frown creasing her forehead. "Does he brings presents?"

Kreacher's wet eyes were soft as he gazed upon the girl. "Master Reggie be wanting presents for little Mistress?"

Regulus chuckled. "I'd like to go home. If it's safe for us."


Next chapter, we'll be back in magical England. No more chapters in Regulus' point of view are planned. It's time we heard from Andromeda again.