Chapter Thirty

Grace giggled, as she ran from one of the boys in the courtyard who chased her, her smile and her eyes bright, cheeks flush in the cool October breeze.

Severus tried not to stare too longingly at her.

He kept his glances between the window and the food before him – barely touched – as intermittent as possible, even if he did rush here, to this very spot, every Wednesday in an attempt to catch a glimpse of his daughter during her afternoon recess.

He was in the Bistro – could he claim this is where this had all begun? – and it was relatively quiet, what with it being only just past noon, and for that Severus was grateful. This was the only day he could escape to the Foundation so early, the one day that his classes at Hogwarts ended after the third lesson slot, but he shouldn't be greedy. Even this was more than he ought to grant himself.

Severus blamed Remus Bloody Lupin for his weakness. He was still furious, even a month later, at his taunt about how much he had missed that summer. How much he was still missing, as time ticked on by, as his daughter grew up and further away from him.

Severus wanted, desperately, to tell Lily to lock their door to the wolf immediately – it was an utter injustice that he could come and go within his home whenever he pleased, daring to love his wife and his daughter in his absence – but he hadn't. Not yet.

Lily had already given up so much for them.

Severus had simply avoided her in the aftermath, until he had a chance to simmer down from it.

"Professor."

He glanced up from where his eyes still followed the steps of his daughter, as she galloped across the pavement outside, and met the very same green eyes he had hoped he might see, peering through the glass.

Severus straightened – caught – and inclined his head; "Mrs Potter."

Lily sat down in the chair across from him, muttering a 'muffliato' as she did, and he shook his head, ever so slightly, with a careful glance around the room.

"You know we can't –"

"We can't? And yet it's not risky at all, what you're doing here right now?"

"She cannot see me. The windows are enchanted."

"You're torturing yourself."

"Hm. Quite the opposite, actually."

Lily gave him a small smile.

"Lily," Severus' voice was quiet, despite the charm she had cast, and he glanced around the Bistro. While, before, he had thought the handful of patrons were a miniscule number, now he saw the very same ones as far too many, a very real risk, and he wanted Lily to leave, lest anyone notice them together; "Please."

"A one-off, Severus. I haven't seen you for weeks."

"Get a meal, at least. Make it look like a lunch meeting."

"Alright," she said, looking at him carefully, and Severus realised he was being short with her. Hardly what she deserved, after these weeks of barely speaking with one another, but he was still simmering. He attempted to get his irritation under control, while she went up to the counter, returning before he had quite managed to a few minutes later with a sandwich.

"I haven't seen you in a while," Lily said, after a moment of silence.

The children were being called back into classes, and Severus said nothing until Grace slipped back into the building across the way, out of sight.

He drew in a breath, lifting his fork and taking a bite, tasting nothing as he finally answered.

"Things have been trying. Dumbledore, in particular, is concerned, with regards as to what is going on at the Ministry."

"Does he think Crouch is going to declare war?"

Severus met her eyes, before glancing carefully around the Bistro. It was such lunches as these that had triggered the start of rumours, years before. This was ludicrous.

And he was still angry.

"We all know that Crouch is merely biding his time," Severus said, forcing himself to push his annoyance down. It wasn't Lily's fault Lupin was in love with her and they had already argued about it, countless times before; "All is happening as it did before; people disappearing without a trace. Though it is being done so carefully that one wouldn't realise what was happening unless they knew to look. Nonetheless, it is safe to assume that as it is Ministry personnel being most primarily affected, the place is no longer quite so outside of the Dark Lord's touch."

Lily glanced around, speaking quietly; "What does Regulus say about it? He has connections, doesn't he, within the Ministry?"

"Goodness knows where Regulus' head is at these days." Severus rolled his eyes, wiping his lips with a napkin, finished. He had barely eaten anything, but he hadn't the appetite for it now.

Lily frowned; "Meaning?"

"Well," Severus said, tossing his napkin down; "I barely see him, as it is he has been peculiarly absent most afternoons these past few weeks, and when I do happen to come upon him his mind is certainly not on the more pressing matters at hand."

"Do you think he's in trouble?"

Severus shrugged. He did – though what kind of trouble, Severus wasn't sure – but he didn't want to talk about it. Not here. Not now. He didn't want to talk about anything with her, in fact.

Except Lupin, he realised.

"How's Harry?" Lily tried, and Severus realised, from the careful change in tone, that she had picked up on it now; that his distance was about more than just their current venue; "Still agreeable?"

Her tone was teasing, as she smiled at him, lifting her glass to her lips.

"Agreeable," Severus tilted his head, meeting her eyes, and he warmed a little under her smile; "Is that what I called him?"

"Something like that. How are the occlumency lessons fairing?"

"Improving, but slowly," Severus shook his head; "We shouldn't be talking about this. Not here."

Lily held his look, her expression serious, as she considered him. And then her eyes narrowed, ever so slightly, before she placed her glass back down on the table; "You're pissed at me. Why?"

"I am not. I don't get 'pissed'."

'I get downright furious, that's what I do', Severus' mind answered, inwardly, for his feelings on this matter would not be trivialised. He had put up with Lupin's interference in their lives long enough.

They were both silent and it was uneasy, Lily aware that something was wrong and him not entirely willing to discuss it. It was unfair, he told himself, futilely; Lily had already alienated so many people due to this secret, their secret, and Lupin was her closest. Even Julia had not been told the truth of them.

But, then, Lupin dared to believe it meant far more than it did, and he had taken it too far, this time.

Even over his dead body, Severus would not want that man sweeping into his place. Good grief, he could imagine no one worse for them.

"I don't want Lupin coming to the house anymore," Severus finally bit out, his tone sounding far less rational than he had hoped it would.

Lily frowned; "What?"

Severus didn't repeat the statement, he merely looked back at her.

Lily sighed, eyes closing; "Severus."

"Don't. I've had enough."

Lily looked at him, curiously, and still frowning; "Did he say something to you?"

"The usual."

"I can't just banish him from the house, Severus."

"Why not?"

"Because…because it's Remus. Severus, he's been there for years, since James –"

Severus clenched his fists in his lap, eyes darting around the ever-increasing number of patrons within the Bistro. They weren't looking at them, no one taking any interest, but they would if Severus didn't hold it together and continue to speak as if he were simply addressing a colleague and not the mother of his child, the woman he loved.

"I've had enough," Severus repeated his earlier statement, maintaining as calm a demeanour as he could – he actually managed it rather well, considering how his blood was boiling – and pushed on; "Bad enough I have to deal with that wolf interfering where I'm trying to assist Harry, I will not have him flaunting his relationship with our daughter in my face as well. No more."

Lily looked surprised at the words, frowning; "He said something about Grace?"

Severus bit the inside of his cheek. How was it he could keep his control, keep himself perfectly calm under the interrogation of the Dark Lord but when it came to her, his heart always found a way to creep out onto his sleeve?

"I'll talk to him."

"Yes. You will," it was clipped, the way he spoke, and he knew he shouldn't be taking this out on her, of course, but she was at least partly to blame. She surely knew how the wolf felt about her and she hadn't told him to go away, no, she had let him linger and love their children, as well, and Severus could not, would not suffer that any longer. No.

"Severus."

Severus got to his feet, the actual addressing of the issue only making him far more furious than he had been in the first place; "I knew we shouldn't have done this. This should have been discussed in private. There is more that I should have liked to say about it but as is." He glanced pointedly around the Bistro, before inclining his head; "Good day, Mrs Potter."

He turned and left, before he said anything further that he might regret.

Julia's laughter filled the small bedroom.

Regulus could bottle the sound in a potion's phial and he would have his very own, personal Elixir of Euphoria, that's how utterly screwed he was.

And he knew it.

Yet, Regulus was helpless to resist.

It had all started that one night, the night the month before, when he had opted to close his eyes as they lay in her bed, breathless and high in the aftermath of their activities – always so very good – rather than getting to his feet and dressing himself, leaving with barely a word. The latter, that had always been their way.

Contrary to Julia's teasing assertion, the following day had wound up being an entire day spent in bed and it was with great reluctance that Regulus had been dismissed as the afternoon faded into evening.

A day filled with touches and whispers and teasing and laughter, as they basked in the afterglow of the night before, in a way that Regulus had long since forgotten. All of this, everything they were doing, it was a thing of memory, of fantasy, that he had not dared to even think about in the years since he had lost Evelyn.

Upon leaving the flat, in the dim light of the September evening, Regulus vowed he would not go back there – he mustn't – because it was all too much, too far, and he shouldn't be feeling that little flutter in his chest or that stupid, ridiculous inability to stop smiling.

Regulus knew he was on very dangerous ground, as he left Julia that night.

But his resolve, his logic, totally failed to keep him under control, because that one day was enough, enough to plant the seeds, for her to get under his skin, and for days in the aftermath of it, she was all that he could think about.

It was a longing he could not shake until, finally, he had gone back to the place where they had met that night, the pub, in a vain attempt to convince himself that he wasn't there to see Julia - no, any woman would do – and he denied that the little lurch and soar of his stomach meant anything at all when he spotted her.

She had taken him home again that night.

Regulus had stayed another day.

It carried on in that way, for the rest of the month; him denying what he was doing, days passing, and then they'd come together once more, and have a day off pure bliss.

Today was another such day.

He had stayed the night – a second night, in fact – and they always spent most of the next day beneath the covers, simply stroking and whispering and laughing with one another, playing games and touching and kissing, as if it were all the most natural thing in the world.

"Alright," Regulus said as he stretched out in the bed, playing the game that Julia had suggested; "Where were you in…nineteen-eighty-one?"

Obviously, the year was not one chosen at random, it could not have been less so, but Regulus put on an air of nonchalance as he spoke the words.

"Nineteen-eighty-one?" Julia repeated with a knowing smile; "That is both incredibly broad and incredibly specific, Mr Black. Where were you in nineteen-eighty-one?"

Hell.

"Here," Regulus gave a shrug, then shot her a disarming smile and raised his eyebrows; "Your turn."

"Ha. Oh man, nineteen-eighty-one," Julia bent her elbow and leaned her head on her hand, glancing down at him where he lay; "That was a crazy year."

"It was?"

"Hm."

"How so?"

"Graduation. Freedom, the world, all that jazz."

"Sounds exhilarating," Regulus remarked, his smile becoming smaller, more genuine, at the wide-eyed remembrance of it; "And did Beauxbatons make itself a prison, in your eyes?"

"Everywhere's a prison when you feel you can't leave at will, Black," Julia shrugged; "The first half of the year was shite. Exams looming. Relationships ending. Apprenticeship rejections and acceptances, with crazy high conditions attached." Her voice grew softer, eyes leaving his to go to the fingers that trailed the hair on his chest; "Oh, and, uh…my mum died. So. Yeah. That kind of sucked."

Regulus swallowed.

He knew how that was; the grief of losing a parent; "I'm sorry."

"Oh, Black," Julia lifted a hand, waving it in a dismissive manner, but Regulus could tell by the loss of that familiar sparkle in her eye that she was still affected; "It was so long ago, now. All's done and dusted, so they say."

"Julia –"

She kissed him – which was so very lovely – silencing anything further he had to say on the matter, and when she drew back she carried on, smoothly.

"So, with all that happening, I took off for the hills the day school wrapped up. Dad was in Singapore, I thought I'd try my hand at being the dutiful daughter for a while. It did not go well –" they both laughed; "And then, well…you know where I ended up," Julia lifted her hand, drawing attention to the little tattoo on the inside of her wrist; "Ended up with the girls for a good while before I decided to come back here and take on the guy that made the decision to reject me from the Healing Programme. And here I am."

"How'd you convince him to take you on?" Regulus frowned.

Julia's eyes twinkled, and she shrugged; "I have my ways."

Regulus wondered if he ought to prod further but, really, there were so many other, far more interesting things to know about her than how she got onto the Healing Programme that had, eventually, brought her into his life.

Instead, he turned the direction back to something a little more personal, pushing aside the little voice inside his head that told him that he didn't deserve anything personal from her.

"Your father lives in Singapore? There's not much of a magical presence there."

Julia looked at him, carefully, a smile playing on her lip; "Oh, I doubt that would bother him too much."

"No?"

"Not at all, actually," Julia raised her shoulders in an unassuming shrug; "My parents are muggles."

Regulus simply stared back at her for a moment, in light of the statement. It was just long enough for the silence to become uncomfortable and for him to look like a complete arse.

"Ah," he offered, pathetically, and he inwardly cursed every ancestor of his line that he had no idea what to say. He tried for a smile, instead, though it felt forced.

Julia, rather than being offended, smiled widely, her eyes dancing with unbridled amusement and there was laughter in her voice when she spoke; "Why, Mr Black, you seem entirely thrown by that little statement."

Regulus relaxed, unable to help but smile broadly in turn, at the complete lack of offence she had taken to his assholery; "I'm afraid I don't know much about muggles."

"They make you uncomfortable?" she offered, by means of understanding.

"I wouldn't know, to be honest," Regulus shrugged, glancing down and reaching for her hand, to reassure her or himself, he didn't know; "My parents, well. They didn't encourage mingling."

That was the understatement of the century.

Julia knew that too – the Blacks were hardly an obscure family, after all – but she didn't call him out on it. She tightened her hold on his hand, instead, and it was, then, that he realised it was reassurance for himself that he was looking for.

Regulus lifted the hands that were joined, pressing a kiss to her wrist.

Regulus tried to steer the conversation elsewhere, rather than where it was dangerously lingering, though he was certain Julia must know what he had once been and what that meant.

"So, if you attended Beauxbatons you must have grown up across the pond? Pardon the assumption, but you seem rather British to me."

"Born and bred. Before my parents divorced – they divorced – we lived up in Peterhead, do you know it? Well. That's where we stayed until I was ten. Mum's French, she took me with her back to France after Dad split."

"Big change."

"You're telling me. Though, hey. Before that I was Hogwarts-bound. Like you. Had things all gone to plan, you and I could have met a hell of a lot sooner than we did."

Thank the deities they hadn't!

Regulus couldn't help but avert his eyes at the innocent statement because he knew, he knew, that if he had met Julia, if she had known him back then, there was no way she would ever dream of letting him touch her the way that he was now.

At best, he would have simply ignored her. And he refused to muse any further upon it than that, because all this talk, all this personal stuff they were treading on – which he always avoided – was stirring it all up within him.

It came to him in flashes, the memories of it all, the way he would sneer down his nose at the muggleborns and the half-bloods, laughing at the hexes and the jinxes his classmates would fire back and forth, all seeming so childish and utterly tame in comparison to the recollections that oh-so-quickly came next.

Flashes of fire and torture and screams of grief and of terror; helpless pleading and tears shed in his childhood bedroom. All of it stirring and coiling and gripping him so suddenly, amid this moment of sheer bliss, that he closed his eyes and sprung to his feet, needing, desperately, to get away from her.

He snatched up his trousers from where they lay discarded on the floor, stepping into them as he moved further away, and it was only when he stopped, mere inches from the wall, that he realised his heart was thudding and each breath came out harsh. He quickly tried to get it under control, to get it together.

He was mortified.

And he knew how this looked. That he had sprung and run from her, mere minutes after she revealed to him her heritage; she would obviously think he was bothered by her being muggleborn.

But then, maybe it was better that she did. For if she thought his problem was with her, her very being, rather than the utter wretch that he was, then maybe she would look at him with the disgust that he deserved and then she would push him away; if only, because he doubted he would be able to do it. To push her, to walk from her.

Even now, he hadn't left the room.

Regulus felt a hand on his back.

"Hey."

He drew in a steadying breath, looking over his shoulder at her, where she stood behind him.

If he was hoping for disgust, he was sadly mistaken. There was concern, certainly, which was the only additional emotion to the ones that she had always regarded him with; a look of complete warmth and trust and affection, and he did not deserve any of that. He didn't. Not from this incredible woman before him.

There was no insecurity in her eyes, no seeming consideration that the problem was her, too sure of her own worth and her own strength to be bothered, even if he was one to be bothered with it, a confidence that Regulus could only dream of having had himself, back then and, even, now.

Julia's certainty only seemed to strengthen the longer he looked at her. And, then, she smiled at him. It wasn't that teasing, twinkling, cheeky little smile, either, that he was so used to from her. It was open and kind and tender and understanding – so, so much more than what he ought to be given – and Regulus found himself going from wanting to run from her, to wanting to run to her.

To take her in his arms and never let her go.

Regulus drew in a breath, shooting her a smile in turn, and her eyes immediately rolled with the change in his demeanour.

"Well," he said, as he turned to face her, fully; "if you lived in France, you must know how to speak French."

Julia nodded, eyes widening dramatically; "Well, what do you know? I do, in fact, know how to speak French."

Regulus grinned and wrapped his arms around her, delighted when she did not resist.

"Sexy," Regulus growled, to her laughter, and he leaned down, nipping her earlobe with his teeth, teasingly, before wrapping her completely in a bear hug and backing her up towards the bed as he spoke, theatrically; "Oh! Say something absolutely ravishing to me, Miss Bradbury!"

They fell in a heap, him on top of her on the bed, and he lifted his head to look down at her, his smile bright while he kept her pinned to the mattress between his arms and legs; "I hear it's the most romantic language in the world."

"Oh, you are so full of bullshit, Black!" Julia was laughing and trying to pull her arms out from their pinned positions at her sides.

"What? It's true!"

Regulus chuckled, while Julia giggled and wriggled beneath him, attempting to free herself from his grasp.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her hair, before his nose nuzzled in closer and his lips went to her ear; "Do you think I'm going to let you go?"

Julia's movements abruptly ceased.

Regulus drew back, meeting her eyes.

If he'd thought the teasing comment he had made would disarm her it was nothing in comparison to how thoroughly bewitched he was left feeling by the look that she gave him, then, gazing up at him with a look of such adoration that Regulus was certain he had her fooled just as much as he did himself, at what all of this was.

He should stop this, some flicker of rationality reminded him.

It was fleeting and pitiful, barely holding a candle in comparison to the overwhelming want, nay need, that had gripped him at the look in her eyes and he went to her instead, lowering his face to hers.

Julia lifted her chin, expecting a kiss, but he didn't oblige this time; his nose brushed against hers, once, twice, before he trailed the tip up across the bridge to her forehead, and there he pressed a kiss, instead.

There was a small sigh beneath him, and he lingered as he was; lips to the soft skin of her brow and breathing her in.

"Regulus."

The way she breathed his name – his name – never failed to give him goosebumps.

Regulus lightened his hold, slightly, when he felt her attempt to reach for him, allowing it. Her hands reached up, taking his face in her hands and drawing him down to look at her.

For a minute, as they simply looked into one another's eyes, Regulus thought – feared – she might say something, something that would really bring reality crashing down upon them, in a way their earlier turn of conversation almost had.

She read his mind – she always did – and simply tangled her fingers in his hair – it was heavenly the way it felt when she did that – and drew him the rest of the way to kiss him; the kiss he had teased, before, and he made up for it, this time, and kissed her back with all the want and the need that she had evoked within him with merely a look.

When they eventually drew back, dazed and breathless in the aftermath, Regulus was not at all inclined to let her go – just as he had said – and he reached up, caressing her cheek, and it drew another of those small, sincere smiles of hers.

It would be a shame to kiss it away.

So, he leaned down to her shoulder instead, touching small, fleeting kisses across it, and he delighted in the way she shivered beneath him at his touch. Her lips found his, once more, kissing him with the same soft sweetness that he had been doing to her skin, and he liked it like this.

Gentle kisses and trailing fingertips and barely audible sighs, between all of the laughter and the teasing.

Regulus knew he was absolutely done for because he knew, with all the certainty in the world, that he should be a very happy man, indeed, if he could only keep doing this with her for the rest of his life.

If only.