PART ONE: IN VITAM
Chapter XIV: Queen of Cups Reversed
Shards of glass dug into my skin like a thousand white-hot knives. I lay on a stone floor, writhing in pain. Rain came down in buckets, flooding my mouth and ears. I couldn't breathe. Water was everywhere. A hand pressed down on my throat, squeezing tighter and tighter as it held me in place. My arms and legs remained pinned at my sides, useless. I couldn't escape the pouring rain no matter how hard I struggled. A flash of green light—
My head jerked up, and I found myself staring down at the open pages of Intermediate Transfiguration by Emeric Switch. Nearby, on the mahogany desk, rested the familiar black baseball cap. I fought back a sigh; I had fallen asleep in the Room of Requirement again.
I traced the brim of the baseball cap as I surveyed the grandfather clock. The time read 5:32 in the afternoon. Good, I hadn't dozen off for more than twenty minutes.
My Saturday afternoon meeting with Rosier drew nearer with each passing minute. Just the thought of being stuck in that cramped broom closet with him for another evening was enough to give me a headache.
What new theory Rosier had cooked up as to how I'd replaced the real Marlene McKinnon? Last time, he'd tried using the counterspell to a complicated appearance-changing enchantment. The spell had tickled, and I'd spent a good fifteen minutes of our meeting laughing my arse off.
"What's causing your laughter? The counterspell, or my inability to discover how you became McKinnon?" Rosier had asked.
"Both." I'd managed to choke out the word between giggles.
"It was a caution more than anything," Rosier had said with a scowl. "The longest recorded duration of the enchantment's effects is three hours. But it's not beyond belief that you discovered how to improve the enchantment."
"I'm flattered you think so highly of me."
At the memory, my mouth twisted up into a wry smile. I didn't often get to see Rosier looking frustrated and puzzled.
I flipped through the pages of Intermediate Transfiguration. Teapot into tortoise, hedgehog into pincushion, owls to opera glasses. I couldn't imagine how these spells would help me in any way. They were part of the third-year coursework, most likely to teach students the theory behind animal-to-object transfigurations. But how often would I need to turned an owl into opera glasses? Better to skip these chapters for now and return later to the ones that would be included in the NEWTs.
A yawn made its way through my body. I rubbed my eyes, fighting back the exhaustion.
"Did you have another bad dream?" Helena's sorrowful voice drifted through the Room of Requirement. I glanced over my shoulder and saw her standing beside the wall of mirrors, her translucent feet hovering several centimeters off the floor.
"Nothing new," I said.
A frown flickered across her face. "Perhaps you should ask Lily Evans to make you another Sleeping Draught."
I shook my head. After I'd sent her to the Hospital Wing, I didn't think I had the right to ask Lily for anything. "I'm used to it. How's Regulus Black?"
"I saw him with your friend Rosier this morning. I think your friend knows what happened last night," said Helena. "I could not hear them, your friend is always careful about such things, but he seemed angry with Regulus Black and those dreadful people over something."
I fought back a groan. I would've been just as happy as Wilkes if Rosier had never learned about what had transpired between me and the sixth-year Slytherin boys. The pain, the white-hot knives, still burned in my thoughts and now seeped into my nightmares. I stared down at the backs of my hands, smooth and unblemished. There was no visible sign that I'd been tortured less than twenty-four hours ago.
My hands curled into fists as I tried to focus on the important thing, the truth I'd learned. "Anything else? Did Regulus say anything about yesterday? About Bottlebrush?"
Helena shook her head. "I did not hear what he said to Rosier. But after that, when Regulus Black was alone with his friends, he remained silent while his dreadful friends carried the conversation." A thoughtful expression crossed Helena's face as she drifted across the room to the mahogany desk. "I do not think Regulus Black hates young Bottlebrush as his friends do. Though, he will go along with his friends' words."
"I don't think he hates Bottlebrush either. I think…" My gaze drifted down the black baseball cap. "I think I need to speak to Aaron Bottlebrush again."
I had told Helena only the bare essentials of what had happened last night. I wasn't ready to share my suspicions about Regulus Black with anyone yet. Not when the memory of my older brother's stifled tears still lingered like a shadow on my thoughts.
"There was not much else of interest today," said Helena, continuing her report. "Regulus Black had a sulk in the afternoon because your friend scolded him. I checked on Snape. He did not distance himself from his fellow Slytherins today. I found him doing Charms homework in the library with Iain Proudfoot and Cornelian Bulstrode."
Iain Proudfoot. So, it seemed Snape was following through with our plans. That meant I'd have to put some effort into investigating Persephone Rowle for a crime she didn't commit.
I fought back another sigh.
Meet with Aaron Bottlebrush again, investigate Persephone Rowle, chat in a broom closet with Rosier twice a week, eat meals with Marlene's friends, run with James three mornings a week, attend classes, do homework, catch up on four more years' worth of school work… Perhaps only managing to sleep three or four hours a night was a blessing in disguise. How would I fit everything in if I could sleep eight hours like a normal person?
"What is your plan now?" asked Helena.
I let out a long sigh. Step by step. "First, I'm going to review some more Transfiguration spells. Then, I'm going to see what Rosier has to throw at me next."
Two hours later, I found Rosier waiting for me inside the broom cupboard. He sat in a chair of dark wood, with his head bent over what looked to be a copy of Advanced Potion-Making. A strand of hair had fallen free from his perfect combover. It seemed almost out of character for him, and I wondered if his day had been as exhausting as mine.
He didn't look up when the door closed behind me, but he did say, "I heard you ran into some trouble with my housemates."
"I knew they wouldn't be able to hide it from you," I said. Then, I raised my wand, said "Sellaparte," and conjured a chair of my own.
"It was my mistake," said Rosier.
His words echoed through my thoughts, and I recalled the image of Regulus Black standing over me, hand extended, and an ever-polite smile on his face.
I waited for Rosier to say more, to explain how exactly it was his fault that his housemates had attacked me. However, he remained silent, and I knew he wouldn't answer even if I asked.
"Are all you purebloods like that?" I asked.
Rosier's head tilted slightly to the side. "Like what?"
"Regulus Black was like that too." I searched for the right word. "Polished. Practiced. The way he carries himself. He reminded me a lot of you."
A faint smile crossed Rosier's face, but there was no feeling behind it. "I suppose."
When I thought about it, James and Sirius didn't behave that way at all. Sirius, of course, had done his best to overwrite any signs that he came from the noble house of Black, but James always seemed so easy-going and carefree.
"'Pureblood' might be too broad a category," said Rosier. "Not every pureblood family has strict teachings. I believe you're asking specifically about the Sacred Twenty-Eight families."
There it was again. The Sacred Twenty-Eight. I was certain such a thing had never been mentioned in the Harry Potter books. However, this registry seemed important, especially to families like Rosier and Black.
"Can you tell me about it?" I asked. "What are the Sacred Twenty-Eight like?"
Rosier's expression remained careless, but his shoulders stiffened ever so slightly. "Is that what you want to discuss today?"
"Yes."
His mouth quirked up into a smile. An almost sarcastic tone entered his voice as he said, "The name 'Sacred Twenty-Eight' came about in the 1930s when Cantankerus Nott published his pureblood directory. The whole thing was a political move. The families mentioned on the list and their position in society stretch back far longer than any title given to them in a registry." Rosier leaned back in his seat, his eyes narrowing as he considered his next words. "It is not that Cantankerus Nott took the time to trace back every wizarding family with great detail. I am fairly certain James Potter has as close to a pureblood lineage as one can get, but his family is not on the list. Facts had very little to do with who was included on the list."
I frowned, trying to make sense of Rosier's words. "It seems to me that all Cantankerus Nott did was create a directory to justify these families feeling superior."
"Some old families, such as the Dovetails, had rather publicized marriage scandals. Edythe's great-grandfather famously married a muggleborn as his second wife. Cantankerus Nott could not include the Dovetails on the list even though they are as rich and influential in wizard society as the Malfoys. Similarly, the Weasley family, which is famous for their dramatic fall into poverty, is also known for their pureblood status. To not include them would call into question the credibility of the list."
"Sounds like a lot of waffling," I muttered.
Rosier nodded. "Yes. The pureblood directory was intended to create a single faction comprised of these families with old wealth, powerful lineages, and members who were high-ranking Ministry officials. Families such as Nott, Black, Malfoy, Rosier had always pushed for blood status-related legislation. With this 'official' registry, families like Shafiq, Greengrass, Crouch, and Macmillan were pulled into their circle. With these families joining ranks, they managed to have the voting majority. More emphasis than ever was placed on the importance of blood status, and much pro-pureblood legislation was passed in the early 1940s."
This conversation had delved further into politics and governance of the wizarding world than I'd expected, but I listened patiently as Rosier listed off some laws passed that required government recording of blood status and allowed tax reductions for old wizarding families.
"These laws remained in effect until the 1960s when Nobby Leach became the first ever muggleborn Prime Minister." Rosier's mouth twitched up into a smile. "Some senior members of the Wizengamot resigned in protest. You can imagine what families they belonged to."
"I imagine you've said their names already in this conversation," I said.
We shared humorless smiles.
"Over the next ten years, many of the pro-pureblood laws were abolished, and reforms were implemented to protect muggles and muggleborns. During this time, Dumbledore was both Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizenagamot. Together with Leach and then the successor, Prime Minister Eugenia Jenkins, they wielded enough political power to pass these new pro-muggle and muggleborn laws despite protests from many of the old wizarding families."
I could already see where this story was going.
"Many families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight were not happy with these reforms. Some families, Macmillan, Abbott, Ollivander, broke away from this faction as the views grew too extreme to tolerate. Those that remained tightened ranks. You can imagine then that these families, who place so much emphasis on blood status and lineage, did not do much to prevent Voldemort's rise to power."
"And many of these families joined his ranks," I said. "Like your family."
"It is not as black and white as that," explained Rosier. "The choices of individuals do not reflect the views of the family. The official stance of the faction is that Voldemort's extremist actions must be stopped. The private stances vary among the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Some families join his ranks wholly. Some families support him silently. Some families do not support his violence, even if they believe his cause just. Likely, there are individuals in all families who have joined his Death Eaters." Rosier paused and then added, almost sarcastically, "The House of Rosier, of course, condemns the actions of Voldemort and his Death Eaters."
I rolled my eyes. "And no one has put two and two together? All these families are pro-pureblood. This violent movement is pro-pureblood. Maybe the two are connected."
"'The wizarding community should respect the contributions and nobility of the old families by creating a distinction between purebloods and muggleborns in terms of legal status. But that does not mean that muggles and muggleborns should be subjected to violence and hate. The actions of these Death Eaters are deplorable and should be stopped immediately.'" Rosier's usual practiced smile appeared as he spoke the words in a bored tone, as if he'd memorized them by heart. He glanced at me and then added, "Any member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight will tell you that."
"Do they give you lessons on how to create a public appearance?" I asked with a scoff.
"Of course."
I hadn't expected him to give me such a straight-forward answer. I stared across the small broom cupboard and saw that while Rosier still smiled, something darker and colder had appeared behind his eyes.
"Everything is mapped out from the moment you are born," he said. "You are taught to speak a certain way, to move a certain way, to dress a certain way, to believe certain things. Everything is determined from your friends to your spouse. If you are the heir to the main family, then you are taught how to lead. If you the child of secondary branch, then you are taught how to follow. You are the pureblood child of the noble and ancient house of Rosier, and you must show it every word, action, thought."
Rosier leaned back in his chair. He spoke casually, as if this subject was unrelated to him.
I could understand now why Regulus Black would be drawn to someone like Evan Rosier, someone who had been raised in a similar manner and faced similar pressures. Unlike Draco Malfoy in the books, Rosier didn't come off as a spoiled brat, but rather a dignified and polished wizard. No doubt he had been raised on the same prejudices and arrogance as Draco Malfoy, but Rosier knew how to keep those beliefs hidden beneath a mask.
"Are you the heir to the main family, then?" I asked.
"Yes," said Rosier. "I am my father's only child. As he swears never to remarry after my mum's passing, we can assume I will be his only child. If I don't have heirs, then the next in line is my older cousin, and his son will inherit after him. The brat should be around eight years old now."
"Can women inherit?"
"Yes, but the Sacred Twenty-Eight have rules for that. The head of the main branch must have the family name, so a woman who hopes to inherit must have her husband marry into the family. The families can be surprisingly open as long as appearances are kept up. As long as you have a good pureblood marriage, have good pureblood children, and keep any secrets behind closed doors, the families will tolerate it. Of course, if that secret is having muggle blood running through your veins, then I promise your end will be much worse than simple ostracism."
It all sounded exhausting. I'd never been so glad to not be a wealthy noble.
"Did you really grow up like that?" I couldn't help the sympathy that colored my voice.
Rosier shot me a wry smile. "I did."
I searched for the words, searched for a way to explain my feelings. I could understand, in my own way, how burdensome a family could be. The constant knowledge that if I stepped one toe out of line, I would suffer the consequences. What must it have been like for Rosier? Growing up under those suffocating rules with nothing to look forward to but a lifetime spent imprisoned by those same rules.
In the end, all I could utter was a lame, "I'm sorry."
Rosier looked surprised. "Why?"
"Your family sounds like a bunch of tally-washers."
A hint of genuine humor filled his eyes, and I couldn't help but smile back.
No. And then, I realized. No. This was Evan Rosier. I couldn't smile at him; I couldn't empathize with him. No. This had to be another one of his games. Whatever this softness was, this atmosphere of ease, it was all a lie. No, I wouldn't let him trap me.
My expression turned cold as I forced myself to ask, "Is becoming a Death Eater determined for you as well?"
Rosier's smile never faltered even as it lost any trace of good feeling. "The House of Rosier condemns the actions of Voldemort and his Death Eaters."
With that line, I knew the conversation had ended. The small moment of him opening up, telling me about his life, had come to its close. I had slammed the door shut. Good.
"So," I asked, "what tests do you have for me today? Any more disgusting flower buds to throw at me? Is there a glowing bunny rabbit the removes disguises?"
It took Rosier a moment to respond. He took a deep breath, as if dragging himself out of his thoughts. Then, Rosier leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he said, "I realized that I had been too narrow minded in my thinking."
I frowned. "What?"
A hint of anger had crept into his voice. "While I searched for other explanations in the library, I uncovered this journal. Islamic in origin, very old, the translation is questionable. I managed to understand the gist of it though. A witch had recorded her encounter with a rare type of ghost. A type, she said, who could take possession of a human body."
Each word went through me like a white-hot knife. The world seemed to slid out of place around me. The only thing I could see was Rosier watching me through his heavy-lidded eyes.
"I had assumed," he said, "that you altered your appearance to take McKinnon's place. But that assumption may be false. What if the body remained the same, but the person inside had changed?"
I wished with all my might that I could deceive him, that I could keep my expression of neutral indifference would be enough to convince him that this theory wasn't true. But of course, Rosier could read the truth in the widening of my eyes and the slight tension in my jaw. I didn't need to say a word. He already knew his new theory had struck close to the truth.
Rosier's eyes narrowed, and then he asked, "What happened to McKinnon's soul? Is she trapped in there with you?"
"No." The reply came out automatically. I quickly corrected my tone to sound cool and confident. "I am Marlene McKinnon. How can another soul take my place?"
A knowing smirk crossed his face. However, I couldn't see any of the usual playful smugness in his stare. His eyes held only the low-burning anger that lingered there ever since I'd asked him whether his path as Death Eater had already been chosen for him.
Perhaps this was his revenge for my spiteful question.
Well, he'd succeeded. He'd succeeded not only in pissing me off but also in causing my hands to tremble, my throat to tighten, and panic to wash over me until I couldn't tell up from down.
Rosier's smirk faded slightly, and he looked almost worried. The arsehole. He wasn't allowed to worry about me.
"I need to study," I said before grabbing my things and fleeing the broom cupboard.
I didn't care that my flight confirmed his theory. My facial expressions had given it away regardless. Right then, I just needed to be far away. Far away from that arrogant, scabby, arse-headed knobdobber.
I hoped he choked on his own scrote.
"You can understand now how I feel tailing Snape and the young Black around." Helena's disembodied voice spoke in a whisper. "Dreadfully boring, is it not?"
I fought back the urge to sigh. I leaned back into the shadow of the pillar, trying to keep my movements small so as not to disturb the cloaking spell. A few meters down the corridor from me stood the tall and elegant Persephone Rowle. Her brown curls had been pinned up in a loose bun, and her Ravenclaw prefect badge glinted in the candlelight. She wore a warm expression as she chatted with Lily about the missed Charms classes.
"Your notes were very helpful," said Lily. Her back was to me, but I could picture her friendly smile.
"Glad to hear it." Rowle had a proper, polished accent, reminding me that her family was also on the Sacred Twenty-Eight directory. "Have the professors caught the culprit yet?"
Lily shook her head. "No."
"I hope they do soon," said Rowle. "It's difficult to imagine that person taking classes with us. I hope Dumbledore expels them when the time comes."
"Rowle does not seem like someone suspicious," murmured Helena.
Both Helena and I knew that Persephone Rowle had not swapped Lily's potion ingredients. I only stalked Rowle because I'd promised Snape that I would investigate her. However, I was curious why Snape had listed Rowle as a potential culprit. He wouldn't have said her name out of nowhere. Was she somehow involved with the Death Eaters? And even if she was involved, why would Snape know about the connection? I highly doubted she and Snape were secret pen pals.
Lily and Rowle's conversation slipped to trivial chatter. They talked about prefect duties and about the quickly approaching Halloween feast. Then, with a promise to see each other in Charms class, they parted ways.
I remained hidden behind the pillar, cloaked in the mentamon spell and pondering over the connection between Persephone Rowle and the Death Eaters.
When the corridor had cleared, the air shimmered as the silvery form of Helena appeared before me. "What will you tell Snape?"
"The truth." I stepped out from behind the pillar and started towards the Room of Requirement. "I followed Persephone Rowle, and she did nothing suspicious."
Helena drifted along beside me, deep in her thoughts.
The last three days had been almost peaceful in their uneventfulness. To my great relief, Rosier and I had developed an unspoken agreement not to mention anything that had happened Saturday night. We read one another's future in Divination class and even shared a joke when the Death card came up yet again.
The other Slytherins had kept quiet as well during this time. Snape had been dutifully spending his time with Iain Proudfoot and Elise Flint, while Regulus Black continued to hang out with his dreadful friends. Nothing unexpected or out of the ordinary.
While Helena stalked Snape and Black, I had been stalking Persephone Rowle. When she wasn't in class or on prefect duties, Rowle stayed in the library or the Ravenclaw common room. She had no contact with Slytherins from what I could see, and she had more muggleborn friends than just Lily. But Snape wouldn't name her for no reason, so there had to be something I had missed, something lurking beneath the friendly exterior.
Lily had started to feel better day by day, and our friends did their best to help her forget that someone had ever attacked her. Remus took over her patrol duties for the time being, and Peter had sat with her in the library when she needed to stay late one night.
Sirius had introduced us to his new girlfriend, Louisa Pickering. She seemed very sweet, and not at all someone I would be friends with. However, when I avoided her, Dorcas and Mary sent me looks of concern, and I'd been forced to befriend Pickering simply so they'd stop agonizing over my supposed broken heart.
The only thing of interest, really, was that James and Lily seemed to have gotten into a fight. It felt odd, since James had visited her frequently in the Hospital Wing. But it was impossible not to notice that they would avoid making eye contact or addressing one another directly. However, I couldn't see any anger or hurt between them, so perhaps a fight wasn't the correct answer.
But why else would they avoid looking at each other? Had some new development occurred between them? Was this sudden avoidance because—
"Someone is coming." As soon as she said those words, Helena vanished.
I heard footsteps and then spotted a thin figure at the end of the corridor. A boy with curly brown hair and Ravenclaw colors walked towards me. Candlelight fell on his face to reveal low cheekbones and a smattering of freckles.
I couldn't help but smile when I recognized Aaron Bottlebrush. It seemed luck was on my side.
Bottlebrush's eyes widened when he saw me and then a small smile crossed his face. "Hello, McKinnon."
"Hello," I said. "How are you doing? Have they bothered you at all since then?"
"No. Just a glare here and there, but they haven't said a word to me since." Bottlebrush hesitated. His fingers fidgeted with the sleeves of his robes. "I was looking for you, actually. Your friends—sorry, I asked them—said you often studied on the seventh floor."
"You were looking for me?"
"Are you busy?" Bottlebrush stared down at my bookbag, too nervous to look at me directly.
"I have time." I would make time if I had to. After all, this wasn't exactly a conversation that could be rushed. "Why did you want to talk to me?"
"I just, uh, wanted to thank you for helping me out." Bottlebrush stammered over his words. "I didn't know what to do. If you liked food—but you're a Hufflepuff so you live near the kitchens. But I thought I needed to do something for you. I don't know if you'll like it. If you don't, you can just throw it away and I'll get you something else—" In the end, Bottlebrush gave up on trying to explain and simply thrust into my hands a box of Honeydukes sugared butterfly wings.
"Thank you." I accepted the box with a smile. The smile was genuine. I'd never had any sweets from Honeydukes, and I wanted to see if the store lived up to its reputation. I glanced down at the box, surveyed the colorful images of fluttering wings painted onto the white cardboard, and then asked, "Would you like to try some with me?"
Bottlebrush's hazel eyes went wide. "Uh, y-yes."
"Great." I led the way down the corridor until we reached an empty window sill beneath a stain-glass window.
The blue and yellow panels depicted the image of a witch between two pillars. A golden crown rested on her head as she stared out at the corridor beyond. Bottlebrush and I took a seat at her feet, and I carefully opened the box. The candied butterfly wings were thin and delicate, a layer of dusted sugar covered lacy patterns of reds and blues. When I tasted it, the wing melted in my mouth, sweet and delicate.
"How is it?" asked Bottlebrush eagerly.
"You try one." I pushed the box towards him. "They're great."
He ate one himself, and a wide smile spread across his face. "I'm glad you like them."
As we sat in the light of the window, a memory flashed through my mind. My older brother and I crouched behind the house, sharing a chocolate bar. We'd giggled and laughed and ignored the shouts that came from the open kitchen windows.
"Do you have any siblings?" I found myself asking.
Bottlebrush looked at me in surprise and then shook his head. "Do you?"
"I do." I hesitated, remembering that I was now Marlene. My words had to be chosen carefully. "I have two brothers. We used to share sweets like this, hidden away from our parents. It was our secret time." I glanced sidelong to make sure Bottlebrush was listening. Then, I said, "Things that made us happy, things that made us sad, things that made us feel betrayed. We shared our stories and our secrets, over sweets."
I took one sugared wing and then offered the box to Bottlebrush. With careful fingers, he took another wing for himself.
"I was so scared when Wilkes hit me with that Unforgivable Curse," I said. "I wanted to help you, but in the end, I ended up in trouble myself. If it hadn't been for Black…" I shook my head, as if I didn't want to imagine what could've been. Then, I said, "I don't know why Black hangs out with them. He seems different from them, you know?"
When I finished speaking, a silence fell between us. I let the sweet butterfly wing melt in my mouth as I wondered if I'd gone about this the wrong way. Perhaps I'd misjudged what lay between Bottlebrush and Regulus Black. Perhaps Bottlebrush didn't trust me enough yet. Perhaps I needed to give him another push.
But as I puzzled over how to unlock Bottlebrush's secrets, the boy himself started to speak.
"He came to me first." Bottlebrush's voice didn't have the same uncertainty as when he nervously handed me the Honeydukes box. Instead, he seemed sad, as if he spoke of someone long gone. "Last year, the Slytherins saw me and another boy behind the greenhouses. They didn't do much then. They said a few mocking things, but they didn't hex me or anything. Regulus approached me a few days later. When I was in my usual study room on the sixth floor. I thought he meant to mock me, but instead, he offered me... He…" Bottlebrush waved his hand at the white box of sugared butterfly wings. "And then, he apologized for his friend's behavior."
I kept my expression one of concern, but inside, my head spun in circles.
"We ended up friends, of sorts." Bottlebrush continued as if in a trance. I didn't know if he even registered my presence anymore. "He would come find me in the study room, bringing with him eclairs or some other sweet from the kitchens. We would talk. About classes and about families. I knew there was something in particular he wanted to ask. But I was afraid he'd stop coming to visit once he got his answer."
A tightness spread across my chest. I understood. I understood all too well the feeling of knowing that once you crossed that bridge, there would be no go back, no return to the illusion of comfort and companionship. But still, the illusion had to end.
"And then, one day, Regulus did ask. How did I know I fancied other boys? What did it feel like? Had I ever fancied any of my housemates?" Bottlebrush's hands curled into fists. "I answered his questions, he thanked me, and then he never came to visit me in the study room again."
Bottlebrush said no more after that. When he reached for another sugared wing, a slight tremble ran through his fingers. I doubted he'd ever told this story before.
"Thanks for sharing with me," I said. "It must have been tough to see Black with that group. Even then, you didn't call him out. I don't think I could've kept quiet in your shoes. I'd have been so mad."
"I couldn't do that!" cried Bottlebrush. He stared at me with wide eyes. "I get it. He can't be open about it. He's part of the noble house of Black. You know what the old pureblood families are like."
A bitter amusement crept through my heart as I remembered my conversation with Rosier a couple nights ago. "Yes, I've heard. His whole life determined for him."
"His family has even picked out a pureblood girl for him to marry. He probably approached me because I wasn't part of his house. I knew that. Even then I still—" Tears started to form in the corners of Bottlebrush's eyes, and he quickly wiped them away with the sleeves of his robe. "It's always been like this. People coming to me, taking what they want, and I don't say a word about it."
"It's because you understand them," I said. "You understand why Black stays with his friends, why he can't be open about his thoughts and feelings. That you can understand others so well, I'm a little jealous."
Bottlebrush sniffled slightly, but he held his tears in. My brother hadn't liked to cry in front of me either. He would hold in all the hurt. Even when his eyes had been wet and his shoulders had trembled with the effort, he'd refused to cry in front of me.
I reached out an arm and gave Bottlebrush a quick hug about the shoulders. When I let go, Bottlebrush looked at me in surprise, and I said, "You can always talk to me."
Bottlebrush smiled. "You too. You can always talk to me too."
We didn't have much to say after that, and we couldn't eat any more sugared butterfly wings. Bottlebrush bid me goodnight before heading to sixth floor study room. I watched his slightly hunched shoulders as he walked down the corridor and disappeared from my sight.
The air to my left shimmered, and then the long face and sorrowful eyes of Helena appeared. She stared after Bottlebrush before saying, "He is too lovely of a boy to waste his time worrying over Regulus Black."
My eyes narrowed. He reminded me so much of my brother.
"Did you learn what you wanted about Regulus?" asked Helena.
"Yes." All those times I'd looked over at the Slytherin table to see Regulus Black sitting across from Rosier. All those times Black's eyes had shone with eagerness as he talked with Rosier. All those times Helena had warned me that the young Black idolized Rosier. Black had recognized me as Rosier's Divination partner, and Black had asked Bottlebrush if he'd ever fancied a housemate. "I think Regulus Black might fancy Evan Rosier."
"Yes," said Helena softly, "I am afraid you may be right."
A knot had formed in my chest. Rosier undoubtedly knew. How could he not? If he could see everything in my expressions, then he could definitely read the smiles on Black's face, the light in his eyes, the openness in his attitude.
Then, what did Regulus Black mean to Rosier? We'd never discussed Black in our broom cupboard sessions. I'd never wanted Rosier to know I had any interest in the younger Black. I tried to summon up the memory of Rosier's face as he spoke to Black at the Slytherin table. What expression had Rosier worn? Did he see Black as a friend…or someone to manipulate? However, in my memory, all I could see was Rosier's calm and collected mask.
Was Rosier part of the reason Regulus Black would join the Death Eaters? The Harry Potter books said Black had shared Voldemort's views on muggles. Maybe Rosier had nothing to do with that decision. Or maybe Rosier had everything to do with it. How could I change this? How could I change Regulus Black's fate? Was I supposed to drive a wedge between him and Rosier? Somehow, I didn't think either of them would let me get my way easily.
"What will you do?" asked Helena.
I released a long, drawn-out sigh. To that, I had no answer.
The reason why I was so reluctant to approach Regulus Black couldn't exactly be put into words. It went to the core of who I used to be, and the feelings I had towards the one person in my previous life who had unconditionally loved me. I couldn't use what I had learned from Bottlebrush to approach Black. I couldn't.
Besides, I didn't need Regulus Black.
I still had my growing friendship with Peter, and of course, I had my agreement with Snape. As long as those two people chose to help me when the time came, then I didn't need to approach Black.
I knew in my heart that my reasons for avoiding Regulus Black were thin. I had made a plan for myself, one to help me save the McKinnons. I'd sworn that I'd do whatever it took to achieve that goal. But now that my plan had gotten a little difficult, I started making excuses.
Pitiful, so pitiful. Even after dying, it seemed I hadn't changed. I said I'd escape that house. I said I'd stop drinking, I'd break up with that shit excuse of a boyfriend, I'd start taking my work serious. But as soon as something difficult happened, my boyfriend cheated on me again or I did something stupid while guttered, all my plans would be discarded. Back at the beginning, trapped in my own mistakes.
Even after dying, I hadn't changed.
But despite knowing that, I still couldn't bring myself to take that step forward. So, for the time being, all my plans in regards to Regulus Black were placed on hold, and instead, I threw my energy into other things.
I spent my free time holed up in the Room of Requirement. I ignored the splitting headaches the diadem gave me and focused on learning more spells instead. When the words started to twist and turn across the pages, I yanked the diadem off my head and knelt over the metal bucket, gagging and retching.
When I showed up for breakfast the next morning, Peter was worried. He hovered about me, like a nervous hen, making sure that I ate a proper meal.
Relief washed over me as Peter and I worked on our Transfiguration homework together later that day. See, I was making progress. I didn't need to approach Regulus Black.
When I met with Snape on Thursday, he was disappointed to hear my uneventful report on Persephone Rowle. He couldn't be mad, however, because he'd also found nothing suspicious about Elise Flint and Iain Proudfoot. I wanted to continue our chat, to talk about our lives and friends, but as soon as the reports had ended, Snape took off down the corridor.
These things took time, I reminded myself. I couldn't expect Snape to change overnight. Step by step, I would make progress. Snape would come around. Eventually. For Lily's sake.
On Friday morning, I was making my way through the sixth-floor corridors when a nasally voice hissed into my ear, "We need to talk."
Fingers dug into my forearm as someone grabbed hold and started dragging me down the corridor.
I twisted my head and caught sight of the pale face, greasy hair, and hook nose. My eyes widened, and I looked about wildly. The corridor was not empty. A couple of Ravenclaw third-years and a handful of Slytherin fifth-years watched Snape drag me around a corner and out of sight.
"People can see us," I hissed.
Panic rose in my throat, but Snape didn't seem to care. He didn't even bother to acknowledge my words.
The side hallway was empty at least, and there were no paintings to eavesdrop on our conversation.
"We can't talk long," I said, trying to pry my arm out of Snape's grasp. "People saw us."
Snape practically tossed me against one of the statues of armor. I grabbed hold of the iron armor to stop myself from tripping over my own feet. Snape's whole body seemed to tremble with pent up energy, and he kept pacing back and forth, unable to stand still for even a moment.
"What are you thinking?" I asked, still clutching the iron armor for stability. "People saw us. You think they won't spread rumors? Do you—"
"It was Elise," said Snape.
"What?" My mouth opened, but I couldn't find the words. What was he on about?
"Elise Flint," snapped Snape. "She's the one who switched Lily's potions ingredients."
My brain finally managed to catch up. I didn't know how Snape had managed to find Flint guilty, but if he had evidence, all the better for me. My gaze drifted to the end of the corridor. No one had come looking for me yet. What would I do if some Gryffindor decided I needed rescuing? Or worse, what if some Slytherin thought Snape needed help tormenting me?
"She had a bottle of dog rose pollen in her bookbag," explained Snape. "The culprit used dog rose pollen so that it'd react when mixed with the vampire blood. I asked her why she carried dog rose pollen with her and she couldn't give me a good excuse."
In my opinion, the fact that she carried the pollen made her less suspicious. The true culprit would have thrown away any ingredients that connected them to the crime. At least, that's what I had done.
Still, I wasn't going to tell Snape that. Instead, I frowned and said, "Maybe she wanted to use the ingredient for a potion."
"What potion?" sneered Snape. "She's not taking NEWT Potions or in Potions Club. And why wouldn't she have just told me? Why couldn't she explain the ingredient?"
Well, if Snape had interrogated her with this intensity, I wouldn't be surprised if she had stumbled over her words.
Snape paced in front of me like some kind of vengeful demon. His dark eyes were sharp with rage, and his thin lips trembled with fury. His black robes billowed with the frantic movements of his arms. I flinched as his hand came near me, but he didn't seem to notice.
"We shouldn't talk here," I said, my voice a low hiss. "What if someone sees?"
"Let them," snapped Snape. "So what if my so-called friends find out we're investigating the incident? What will they do to me? Rosier told them not to touch Lily. I'm allowed to care about my childhood friend, even if she's a mudblood."
I glanced towards the entrance of the corridor. Then, I asked, "Why would they even listen to Rosier?"
Unfortunately, even in his manic state, Snape wouldn't betray Rosier. "They wouldn't throw me out over this. Not when Edythe and Rosier agreed to keep Lily safe. But still, Elise went behind our backs and— Why? Why?"
"Calm down," I said as I took a step back from him. "Getting upset won't help us."
Snape took several deep breaths. His chest heaved beneath his gray sweater. At last, he managed to calm down enough to ask, "How are we going to take revenge?"
I bit down on my cheeks to stop myself from saying something I'd regret. "First, you need to keep it under control. What will happen if they figure out that you're trying to get revenge for Lily?"
Snape scoffed. "Why do I care? I'm worth more to them than Elise Flint."
"What do you mean?" I asked quickly.
But, once again, Snape ignored my question and kept talking. "Something that would leave scars. Make her suffer ten times what Lily had to. I would make her own potion explode on her if she took the NEWT class. Maybe her morning pumpkin juice—"
"Would Lily want you to take revenge?" I asked.
Snape stopped mid-rant and turned his dark gaze on me.
My stomach twisted itself into knots. I didn't like Elise Flint, who undoubtedly shared her friends' views on muggles and muggleborns, but I certainly didn't want her to suffer excruciating pain for a crime she didn't commit. Besides, the whole point of this was to get Snape out of his future Death Eater mindset. Somehow, I didn't think brutal revenge on Elise Flint was a step in the right direction.
"You're telling me," hissed Snape, "that Lily would want the person who did that to her to just walk away without consequences?"
"That's not what I'm saying. I don't want the culprit to just walk away either. But going out of your way to cause Flint pain? Do you think Lily would want that? When has Lily ever supported violence? Lily would want Flint to own up to her actions and be expelled from Hogwarts. Lily wouldn't want to lose her best friend because he was hellbent on revenge. Think about it!"
I threw Lily's name out there desperately, hoping to get some sort of handle on Snape's temper. Thankfully, her mention seemed to do the trick. The anger faded from his eyes, and his shoulders loosened. He took a step back from me, a hint of vulnerability creeping onto his pale face.
"What should I do?" he asked. "I can't just forgive Elise."
"You don't have to," I said hurriedly. I didn't dare imagine what Snape would do to me if he ever learned I had been the one to switch the potion ingredients. The fact that Rosier knew the truth was enough to give me nightmares. "Look, we'll work together, you and me. We'll find a way to get justice for Lily and for you to be friends with her again. And we'll do it in a way Lily would approve of. You don't need friends like Elise Flint, friends that don't respect you or acknowledge your feelings. You and me, we'll find justice for Lily."
I stared into Snape's black eyes, willing him to believe me.
At first, I thought my words had worked. The rage dwindled in Snape's eyes, and he was left looking a little lost. But then, Snape's shoulders stiffened. His gaze looked somewhere past me.
Cold dread closed like a hand around my neck. I looked over my shoulder, and I saw a female student standing at the end of the corridor.
The student had an angelic face with kind eyes, soft features, and a petite nose. She seemed as though she couldn't bear to hurt even a fly. Except I knew Edythe Dovetail to be anything but harmless.
How much had she heard? How much had she seen? How could I explain this away?
Dovetail's angelic face contorted into what might have been a smile. "I see. So that's how it is."
And then, without another word, she turned and left.
Panic seized my throat.
No. No, she couldn't leave. She would tell Rosier. She couldn't tell him. He was the only person who couldn't know. He would put two and two together. He would know that I'd injured Lily so that Snape would turn against his fellow Slytherins. And once Rosier knew…
I fumbled for my wand and, in a strangled voice, cried, "Confundo."
"McKinnon!" Snape grabbed my wrist, but it was too late to stop me. The spell had been cast.
Dovetail gave her wand a careless flick. She didn't even need to speak to repel my feeble attempt to stop her. Then, she glanced over her shoulder, gave me a cold smile, and said, "You always were an eyesore, McKinnon."
A/N: Hopefully, Rosier's explanation for the events leading up to the war make sense. I promise Rosier has a reason for everything he does... The reveal will come, eventually.
Regulus's (and Bottlebrush's) arc is only just beginning. I'm really excited to write more of it. I hope I can do it well.
Thanks to everyone who had read and reviewed this story, y'all are amazing!