Chapter Thirty-Three

Harry was fine.

He was fine.

He wasn't totally bricking it, that he was finally going to be seeing his dad – for real, almost – for the first time in his whole life. Nope. Not at all.

It was what Harry had always wanted. To finally see and know the man who his mother, his Uncle Sirius, his Uncle Remus had always spoken so highly of.

Still, as much as he reasoned with himself that they were only memories – long ago passed – and that they really didn't change much, in the grand scheme of things, as his father was dead and buried and there was nothing that could be said or done that could change or make that better; as much as he even believed it, he knew that this would mean something great. It would mean the whole damn world, if he could finally just know who he was.

It was something that had plagued him since before he could even remember, the confusion he felt about the feelings he had regarding his dad. How he was told that James Potter was his father and that he loved him very much and would be with him if he could, and how Harry must love him in just the same way. There must be this connection between father and son. He must feel it.

Harry braced himself for disappointment.

Just because he was finally going to see James Potter, that didn't guarantee he was going to feel what he was supposed to feel.

Suppose Harry hated what it was he and Snape found?

Suppose James Potter was a terrible husband, an impotent father?

Did Harry really want to know all of that?

He pushed aside the doubts because it was too late for them, now, as he stood readying himself in Snape's office.

Snape had not been surprised by the consent form he had presented to him at his Friday's occlumency lesson in the slightest. Had just given him a single nod and a time and place; the next day at seven am to commence the procedure and, so, here he was.

Bricking it.

"So, how does this work?" Harry tried for nonchalance, as Snape moved about behind his desk, barely even acknowledging his presence.

"Have you looked into the written information I provided you with at our last lesson, Mr Potter?" Snape asked, as he opened up a small wooden case, the inside of it lined with six filled potion phials.

"Yes," Harry nodded; "Twice."

"Then you are aware that the process is as dangerous as it is invasive. You must work with me Potter, which is something that goes directly against all that we have been attempting to achieve throughout our Occlumency tutorials," Snape lifted a phial from the box as he spoke, pouring the liquid into a goblet; "Should you attempt to resist, too forcefully, the repercussions would be unpleasant for both."

"Repercussions?" Harry repeated; "You mean, the part in here –" he lifted the parchments he had lain on the desk upon his arrival, flicking through them, "- that says we could become, well…brain dead?"

"The very one," Snape stated, clicking the case shut and stashing it away under his desk; "Though you are, of course, going to the more drastic of conclusions in that regard. That has only ever happened once, and I am not so foolish as to let it get quite as far as that. Considering this is a recreational exercise, the slightest suggestion of resistance on your part, and I will withdraw and that will be the end of it."

"But…well…what if we go to something I don't want to see? Or something that's…you know, scary? What if I see Vol –"

"Do not say the Dark Lord's name!" Snape interrupted him, quickly, his eyes flashing.

Harry pressed his lips together, realising the slip.

Snape eyed him, uneasily, for a moment and Harry wondered if, maybe, this 'Dark Lord' of his would actually be inside his head now, watching this very moment. Drawn to them by the mentioning of his own, forbidden-to-be-spoken-of title. He was pretty certain that Snape was worried about the very same thing.

"There is an element of control and consciousness in this procedure that one doesn't quite have when under the mercy of a legillimens. It is for this reason that you must work with me here, Potter. We cannot both be attempting to pull in different directions."

Harry only nodded, his eagerness to get started rendering him totally obedient.

Snape approached him, the goblet he had filled held tight within his hand, and he nodded at the nearest chair; "Sit. The procedure requires a state of calmness. It may, in fact, be of benefit if you were to engage in a little of the meditation you claim you have managed to master over the summer."

Harry hesitated – maybe not quite so obedient – glancing at the armchair Snape had indicated; "Oh. Well…I wouldn't say I've mastered it –"

"Sit and do it, Potter," Snape said, pinching the bridge of his nose, with obvious impatience.

Harry sat down.

He closed his eyes and attempted to clear his mind of all that he was feeling; his nervousness and his uneasiness, his excitement and the eager anticipation that had been gripping him ever since Snape had said that he would do this.

He was going to see his dad.

Snape cleared his throat and Harry opened his eyes.

The goblet Snape held was now suspended directly in front of him.

Harry eyed it for a few seconds, at how the potion within it shimmered and steamed in the dim light, but, just when it started to move away from him, the beginning of a disparaging comment on the Potion Master's lips, Harry quickly grasped it and downed the potion in one go.

Harry gagged, immediately, and quickly reached up to cover his mouth; as if that would stop the regurgitation, if it should come back up.

"Not the most pleasant of substances, indeed," Snape said, taking the goblet and heading back in the direction of his desk; "But it…effectiveness…a few moments…"

Snape's voice sounded far away.

Everything seemed far away.

Everything out with the confines of his own mind was fading away; Harry suddenly felt himself utterly relaxed and overwhelmed with thoughts and feelings, in touch with them in a way that even meditation had never managed to achieve.

Memories began to swirl around him, as if the only thing that even existed within this universe was himself and his mind and his tiny remaining morsel of connectedness to the outside world just fell away into a blur.

The first person Harry saw was Grace.

"Look." His little sister's eyes were bright and delighted, sparkling as they looked at him, while feathers floated up from the bedclothes between them.

She was gone in a swirl, further memories rising up and fading out, his mum, his Uncle Remus, their faces and their voices.

"He's dying isn't he? … Mum, are you okay?"

"Well, your dad, he was very bright. Incredibly loyal. And far too cocky for his own good."

"Do you love my mum?" He was suddenly very young and there was an ice cream in his hand as he looked innocently up at his Uncle Remus; "I wanted you to marry her."

It blurred and began to fade but Harry tried to cling to it and it rippled, gaping apart and coming back together.

He was seeing everything through the eyes of the boy in the memories; feeling every emotion, every response to all that was taking place around him back then.

"I don't think I love my dad at all!" The little boy – himself - burst into tears, a feeling of utter lostness and guilt overwhelming him, and pressed closely into Remus.

His Uncle Sirius swirled into vision; "I don't want you to be scared, Harry, not for a second."

"But it's scary, Uncle Sirius."

"I know. But, you know, me and your mum, we have a really special little boy waiting at home for us and, hey, no way are we not gonna come home to that kid. 'kay?"

Grief, it suddenly washed over him with such overwhelming intensity that Harry gasped, fighting back against the memories and it swirled out and broke apart, his Uncle Sirius' face the last thing to go before it suddenly became Malachi's. A much young Malachi.

"Hi."

"I'm Harry."

"I'm Malachi."

"Was that your dad? …he looks like my uncle….so do you."

"I don't know him."

It swirled and faded and morphed into another, still him and Malachi; still little boys and an escapade Harry barely remembered.

"I'm gonna go and look for Uncle Sirius…will you come?"

"Okay."

They were trekking through the fields, through the woods, on a train; Hagrid appeared in a flash and then Hogwarts, and Dumbledore in his office as he and Malachi sat huddled in the same chair eating sweets with delight. Suddenly, he was in someone's chambers and his mum was walking on by, and Snape was there –

"Potter."

Snape's voice was suddenly clear as day in his mind and the memories levelled out.

His mind was entirely open to them, an ocean of memories floating on by, and darker corners and a distant horizon, and Harry was curious – he had just seen Snape and his mum, a second ago – and he pushed on that, knowing that he could, now that Snape had spoken the incantation to grant access to them, and another memory came to him.

His mum was sitting at a table and she was smiling widely at someone sitting opposite.

Harry and Malachi were huddled beneath his invisibility cloak, peering at her through the window of the Foundation bistro.

Harry, little Harry, started to move to see the other person more clearly; Harry, himself, seeing everything through the younger one's eyes.

"Potter." Snape's voice was sharper.

The memory vanished, and Harry had the vague thought that Snape had pushed it away. Something he wasn't supposed to do. He wasn't supposed to fight Harry on the memories.

"You will need to cast your mind back further than that," Snape's voice was calmer, now; "Try for your father. Or your mother, if need be. Your earliest memory."

Harry could barely find a thing of his father.

He found Sirius throwing him up the air. He found Remus holding his hand on his first ice-skate around a rink. He found Sirius handing him an ice cream. He found Remus carrying him on his back. Sirius tickled him mercilessly. Remus listened intently as he cried.

He pushed harder, looking for James Potter, and he was met with the cold dead eyes of the man his mum and Uncle Sirius had taken him to see as a child.

"I'll take over, Potter," Snape's voice finally said; "Don't resist."

They were pushing deeper, further, into places Harry wouldn't know where to look. Memories of his mum tying his shoelaces, passing him breakfast, wiping his face, kissing his cheek, taking his hand, scolding him, smiling at him, laughing and reaching for him.

His mum was everywhere.

And then they pushed further, and further, going deeper and deeper, and Harry could feel himself as a baby, being held in her arms and sung to sleep and kissed goodnight and being tossed into the air…

That wasn't his mum.

James Potter's face was suddenly before him.

Harry knew that it was him, but he didn't know this face, so much; young and smiling and alive.

Snippets passed by, as Snape guided them through, looking for something more substantial.

It took seconds but all the flashes, the laughter, the voice and the smiles of his father, they were everywhere, all around them;

"That's my boy!"

"Sirius; check out what Harry can do."

"My boy, flying before he can walk!"

"Now we won't tell Mummy you got ice cream for breakfast, Son."

"Integro." It was Snape's voice.

The blur of memories suddenly levelled out. Harry found himself peering through blurry eyes, those of an infant – himself, he realised – and there was a soft gurgle from him as his eyes settled upon James Potter – his dad – a few feet away.

He seemed to be wrestling with a long, thin stick of some sort, that looked vaguely familiar to Harry, but he wasn't entirely sure what it was.

"Ah, I bet you're wondering what this is, eh, Pronglet?" his dad said, all of a sudden, flashing him a smile as if he had read the older Harry's mind.

"Well," he stepped towards him, kneeling down, holding the stick in one hand and pointing to it with the other; "This, my son, is a fishing rod," he reached up, fingering an almost imperceptible wire that ran the length of it down to a reel; "And this is a line," his dad went on, before he lifted up the very bottom of the wire and held up a tiny, brightly coloured item that was attached to the end; "And this, down here, is a fly!"

His dad sounded awfully proud of himself, as if this were entirely new knowledge to him and something that had to be boasted about and shared.

Harry, the baby, made a soft squeal in delight at the proximity of his father and his dad grinned and chuckled his chin, before he got back to his feet and continued to mess around with the item – the fishing rod – and only succeeded in getting himself into a tangle.

"Ha. Good grief."

His dad shook his hand, attempting to free it from the line, and shot another smile in Harry's direction; "And why does Daddy have this, when a wand would be so much less of a pain in the … sorry –" he held up a hand for a second, before flicking it up, as if in concession; "- an annoyance? Well. Your Mummy has asked that Daddy go with your Grandfather for a little fishing trip this weekend. Yeah. Sounds spectacular, right?"

His dad reached down, winding the reel, and then snatched his hand back with a yelp when the fly nicked his hand; "Bugger!"

He looked at Harry, sharply, who was chuckling, now; bubbles of baby laughter at the antics of his father.

"I mean, ouch." His dad corrected himself, with a smile, before lifting his hand and closing his lips over the wound, giving a sook, before he gave the hand another shake and then lifted the rod once more.

"Oh, the things we do for our women, Harry."

He wound the reel, sighing when the line didn't wind back fully, and rolled his eyes; "Ten fabulous hours in the cold, smelly lake with Grandpa and Vernon Dursley."

He lifted his eyes, skywards; "Oh ho, just kill me now, why don't you?"

"Could you be any more overdramatic?"

It was his mum's voice.

Harry couldn't see her for a second, though baby-Harry was just as eager to see his mum as he was.

And, then, she came into view; holding an armful of folded clothing.

She was so very young, and her hair was longer, and her eyes were brighter, not yet jaded by the world waiting behind these walls, and she was smiling, warmly, in his father's direction.

His dad smiled, affectionately, in turn, before turning his attention back to the fishing rod he was messing around with; "I'll let you know on Saturday night. If I make it back alive. The boredom just might do me in."

His mum laughed and came over to him, to Harry, unbuckling and lifting him from the bouncer he realised he had been seated within and kissing him on the cheek, as she turned back to face his father; "Oh, I'm sure you'll find something to entertain yourself with."

"Are you making reference to my earlier efforts?" his dad grinned from where he was stooped on the floor, resting an arm over his knee and turning a hand up in an innocent gesture; "Vernon is just far too sensitive."

"Please," his mum said, smilingly, as if she knew he was only teasing; "It's one afternoon."

"One full day," his dad pointed out; "In October, no less. Well past fishing season, I'll bet."

"Oh, and you know all about muggle fishing season now, do you?"

"I may have read a book," his dad said, giving a proud nod.

"Well, I am impressed!" his mum remarked, hoisting Harry up further on her hip and approaching his dad, before she nodded at the fishing equipment that was scattered here, there and everywhere; "And is this you putting your newfound knowledge to use?"

His dad held up the fly that had nicked him; "Pretty, right? Quite the catch. I think I'll call this one 'The Lily'."

His mum laughed and kicked his shin, making him yelp and laugh as he grasped at it; "Careful. If I'm injured I won't be able to go."

"Oh, if wishing would make it so!" his mum declared, laughingly, before she plonked herself down in his lap, his dad's arms coming up to wrap around them both.

He pressed a kiss, first, to his mum's cheek and then to the top of Harry's head. A kiss that Harry, the observer, felt as if it were happening entirely to him.

"Thank you for doing this," his mum said, earnestly, smiling at his father, endearingly; "I know there's other things you'd far rather be doing."

"No kidding," his dad said, though it was said without bitterness and his smile was still wide, as he pressed his forehead to her temple; "There's a game. Betters are pretty sure it's coming home. Sirius will never forgive me for missing it if we do."

"No reason he has to miss out on all the fun. Take him with you," his mum said, widening her eyes, playfully, as she did, and his dad laughed.

"I might just do that."

"Oh no you won't! Don't you dare!"

His dad's laughter only increased at his mum's vehement response and he tightened his hold on them, pressing another kiss to her cheek; "You get wound up so easily, Wife."

"Oh. You drive me to it," his mum said, lifting her chin, still smiling. Still so, so happy.

His dad leaned in, kissing her properly this time, and his mum kissed him back.

Eurgh!

Yeah, this was getting a bit gross. Harry didn't need to see that aspect of their family life, thank you very much. He wished he could turn away but he was entirely at the mercy of Baby-Harry's line of vision.

Thankfully, his infant self took pity on his prying eyes and let out a squeal, interrupting the display and putting an end to the gross-fest.

"Don't think we've forgotten about you, little man," his dad said, his attention suddenly entirely for him, as he reached down and plucked him up from his mum's arms and got to his feet, holding him up and giving a spin.

"James be careful with him," his mum's previously playful manner was quickly snuffed out at his father's antics.

His dad lowered him, flashing his mum a smile, before pressing another kiss to baby-Harry's – to his – forehead. And, then, his dad smiled down at him with such adoration that Harry couldn't deny it. He knew it. He felt it. The love his father had for him.

Harry swallowed, feeling the lump rise in his throat.

Baby-Harry did not quite feel the sentiment, letting out a whimper.

His dad's expression changed from the one he wore of deep affection to an ironic smile, as he rolled his eyes; "Want your Mummy, do you, Son?"

Baby-Harry's whimpers became a cry.

His dad pressed his lips to Harry's cheek, before he took a step towards his mum and Harry felt himself being passed back over to her.

"He's tired, I think," his mum said, by means of explanation; "I'd hoped he'd fall asleep watching you but it seems Daddy's stories are just too exciting for that."

His dad chuckled and he placed a hand on Harry's head, caressing his forehead gently with his thumb, as Baby-Harry wiggled in protest – totally ruining the moment, by the way, as grown-Harry who was watching would have happily stayed much, much longer – before his mum took a step back towards them.

"Come on then, Sweetheart," his mum lifted him up onto her shoulder, patting his back, and he could no longer see his dad; "Let's get you down for a nap."

Harry blinked.

Suddenly, the moment was gone.

Snape was sitting across from him, stoic as ever, as if they hadn't just been dipping into the deepest recesses of his mind.

But Harry barely even noticed Snape in that moment.

Every thought, every feeling he had, was entirely for his dad.

Harry got to his feet, tears prickling in his eyes, and hurried from the room.

The Muggle Studies course was progressing so slowly.

Malachi could wait no longer, what with them still being stuck on only the second topic of this term – electricity – and had simply read on ahead of where he needed to be until, far too soon, he had come to the end of the textbook and was only craving more.

He'd found a book in the library, eventually, in a tiny section at the back that had a small amount of volumes on muggles and the muggle world.

It was scarce and grossly outdated, but Malachi was happy just to get his hands on anything.

He wanted to know everything.

And he wondered – hoped – he could convince his dad to take him into muggle London or even, just, muggle Edinburgh later that year when he went home for Christmas. If he could go into their stores, he'd maybe find some more interesting books; maybe he'd even get to meet one, properly, a muggle. He had always simply ignored them, on the rare occasions that he had ever been in their presence, but now he was keen to talk and know them.

"Malachi!"

Harry plopped down, suddenly, in front of where he was lying back against the bookshelves in their usual, hidden, spot in the library.

"Hey," Malachi said, casting the book aside as he pushed himself more upright; "You alright?"

Harry looked totally freaked out.

"Yeah," Harry waved a hand, before he went on, whisperingly; "Listen. You and your dad live in Crail, right?"

"Sh!"

"I know, I know," Harry waved a hand, dismissing Malachi's – obvious, logical – alarm, before he pushed on.

"Well, you must know a bit about fishing then, right?"

Malachi met Harry's look with a frown.

Small fishing boats made their way back in towards the harbour, as the sunlight began to creep over the horizon.

Julia allowed the curtain to fall back into place, as she stepped away from the window, making her way back in the direction of the bed with a faux-coy smile.

"Here we are, lads and ladies, and welcome back to day six of life under the covers!"

Julia flopped back down onto the mattress with a bounce. It really was far more comfortable than her own, just as Regulus kept insisting, but she didn't quite admit that.

"Nowhere else I'd rather be, Miss Bradbury," Regulus said as he reached up from where he lay tangled amongst the bedclothes to take one cheek in his hand, drawing her to him, and to press his lips to the other.

Regulus Black was a sap.

Sure, he hid it all behind jokes and banter, the man he really was, but it was all entirely evident in those eyes whenever he looked at her. And he knew it, too, for he'd always avert or close them whenever their conversations started to tread a little too close to personal on his side.

Julia had fancied the pants off Regulus Black for years.

Since the very first time they had spoken at Harry's seventh birthday party. It was so, so long ago now but she could remember it all as if it were yesterday. That million-dollar smile and those haunted grey eyes and the way he had looked at her with such longing when she had told him, flat out, the honest truth that she didn't do regrets; nope. She didn't have a single one.

Julia had been hooked from the get-go.

It was rather alarming, actually, for she had never been quite so taken by anyone before.

It had all come to nothing.

The very next week, Eugene Hopkins had struck, killing Andromeda Tonks and five others and, almost, Regulus with them.

Regulus had resurfaced, alive and well, a few months later; a 'Coming Home' Fundraiser being thrown at the Foundation in light of the fact, and they had wasted no time that night. Julia had never been coy – no, not ever – especially when it came to getting something she wanted, and Regulus was entirely the same. Within less than an hour, they were in his office, clothing shed, and she had finally gotten what she had craved and wondered about since that day in the Potters' kitchen that summer.

Regulus defected the very same night.

Their timing had always been atrocious.

Regulus lifted a croissant from the tray that his house elf had brought through to them a little while earlier. Why he needed a house elf – Kreacher – for such a small residence, Julia didn't know, for when she had asked him outright, he had averted those eyes and given a shrug and a bashful smile, making an excuse as to how he was entirely unable to take care of himself in Malachi's absence and perhaps she'd like to have a go.

Yep. A sap.

Even if the suggestion was an entirely appealing one.

Once Voldemort had fallen, the second time, and she and Regulus had become reacquainted there was a change in him. A distance that had always been there before, yes, but a brokenness in addition to that; the weight of his brother's death laid heavily upon him and Julia had made the mistake – once and never again – of mentioning him, because she'd known Sirius well before it had all gone down.

And, so, they had carried on in rather the same manner as the first time. It was all banter and flirting and fooling around, whenever the opportunity arose – and their circles crossed enough for it to be relatively frequent – but Regulus never stuck around for it to mean anything more and Julia was entirely happy to just go with the flow – it wasn't like she was looking for anything – and so, that was how it all went.

Julia didn't know what had happened to turn all of this around some weeks ago.

She didn't know what had happened that had finally made this all click.

All she knew was that Regulus Black had brought her home, almost a week ago, and neither had left the confines of the little cottage since.

"Won't they be missing you at the Foundation?" Julia asked, lifting a croissant and taking a bite.

"Nah," Regulus waved a hand, dismissively, before licking the jam that spilled from his own from his fingers; "I'm not that important."

Julia laughed, through a mouthful; "You're the Founder!"

"And lo! The Foundation has already been founded," he said, flashing her that knee-weakening smile of his; "Years ago, in fact."

"It's really amazing. What you did there."

Regulus averted his eyes, clamming up, as if entirely on cue; "Only money."

"It's not only money," Julia rolled her eyes, at his attempts at modesty; "They don't call you the 'People's Sweetheart' for nothing."

Regulus chuckled, lifting his eyes skywards, for a second; "Oh that. Now, that happened because of my recurrent rising from the dead a few years ago – and not everyone was particularly happy about it, you might remember – along with an article written by a Miss Meredith Snow. And no, I have absolutely no idea who she is, before you start wiggling those eyebrows at me," he finished up with a pointed finger in her direction and a grin.

Julia smiled widely back at him. He may not, but she knew Meredith Snow very well. Something Regulus was entirely in the dark about.

She finished up the last bite of the croissant she held.

Regulus reached up when she did, thumb going to the side of her mouth and, with a tender touch, brushed off a smear of jam left behind. He met her eyes, warmly, as he popped his thumb between his lips to lick it off.

Regulus had a way about him that was almost sinful; an ability to touch and kiss in such a manner that he could fool a woman into believing that she was the one and only person in the world for him.

A testament that could be backed up by half the women this side of the Northern Hemisphere.

Lily's warnings were entirely unnecessary. Julia knew that she wasn't the only one.

Still, with each day that passed, each night where he had hinted that she didn't really need to go home just yet, she could stay a little while longer in this hideaway – and that if she were so inclined to do so it would be more than fine by him – she was finding herself less and less able to keep herself grounded.

Entirely swept away by all of this and what it could be – because, Julia, it won't – and, despite her doubts and her scepticism, she was totally fine with just going along for the ride. She'd rather feel it than not, after all, and she'd meant it when she told him from the off that she didn't do regrets. She didn't turn away and wonder at what she had missed out on.

Screw that.

She took his face in her hands, kissing him soundly in response to his teasing, and he returned it in kind. Gentle fingertips upon the flesh of her side, trailing upwards until they brushed back the hair that had tumbled over her shoulders to frame them.

"Hmm," Regulus made the sound, approvingly, as he drew back; "You taste like strawberries."

"You taste like morning breath."

Regulus burst out laughing; "Oh, lovely."

Julia grinned and touched her forehead to his, her own fingers unable to help trailing the curls of hair at the top of his chest as they always did; "What are the plans for today, then, Mr Black?"

"Plans?" his eyes twinkled – another jolt through her – and he tilted his head to glance down at the tangled bedding and their very undressed bodies amongst it; "We need a plan of action for this?"

He leaned in and touched his lips to the dip where her neck met her shoulder, his hand coming up to caress the flesh of the other. Julia sighed. Sinful, sinful, sinful.

"Hmmm. I thought we'd go out," Julia stated, the idea coming to her, all of a sudden.

Yes. Out! Perfect. Nothing like a bit of fresh air to bring some perspective. Maybe that would give the hazy cloud of lust and longing and utter bliss the chance to dissipate so she could think a little bit more clearly and plant her feet back on solid ground.

Regulus froze in his administrations, before he drew back with a frown to look at her; "Out?"

He repeated the word as if it were an entirely foreign concept.

"Yes. Out," she pressed the palm of her hand to his chest, putting a little distance between them; "You asked me here to show me the village, didn't you?"

Regulus pointed at the closed curtains; "I meant from the window."

Julia laughed, unable to help herself, and he smiled, brightly, at the response. She took his face in her hands, pressing her lips to his one more time, and then rolled over and flung her legs over the side of the bed to get to her feet.

"Come on. Get dressed."

Julia set about dressing herself, ignoring the way her heart was beating just a little too fast at his – well, his everything; touch, presence, eyes, voice – and only looked back at him when he approached her, his hands on her hips from behind.

He pressed his lips to the tender flesh behind her ear, before speaking in a murmur against it; "Julia –" Ugh, it always got her when he used her name; "You know we can't actually go out."

Julia shot him a questioning look over her shoulder; "And why is that, Sir?"

He tilted his chin forward, eyes entirely on hers, even when he spoke sincerely; "You know why. You know why I'm here."

"Oh, don't think you can fool me into thinking you spend all your time cooped up in these four walls, Mr Black," she turned to face him fully, grinning as she raised her eyebrows; "I've heard Harry's stories about what you boys got up to this summer."

Regulus grinned in turn, glancing away and looking amused at the reminder, before he met her eyes again and shrugged; "You're only young once. I wanted to show the boys a good time."

"But not me?"

Regulus' amusement dimmed somewhat, a little furrow on his brow as he considered her statement; "The boys are already hunted. It doesn't matter if I'm spotted with them."

It was the sad, true fact; Harry and Malachi's circumstances.

"Ah!" Julia lifted her chin, smiling wickedly; "So this is all about protecting me is it, then?"

"Well," he shrugged, lips twitching; "That goes without saying."

"Oh, it does, does it?" Julia said, laughingly, before she pressed a finger to his chest, raising an eyebrow; "You have never worried about that before. Why the sudden concern?"

Regulus looked a little thrown at the statement.

And then he looked guilty.

It was entirely true, after all, the two of them had been fooling around for years – in very public places, to boot, certainly more so than this tiny muggle fishing village – and he had never once told her that it was dangerous for her to be around him. Even her own flat and the pub they had been meeting in for days on end in September were right in the centre of London, hardly a place that they wouldn't be spotted.

"It's different now," Regulus said.

Julia was very, very curious, even if she knew he wouldn't elaborate further. She risked it, the inevitable clamming up that would follow, wondering if maybe this would be the time he would actually talk; "How so?"

Regulus didn't talk.

But he gave her a smile, a smile that lacked the teasing cheekiness that she was used to from him; rather, it was warm and sincere, and she dared to think that maybe, yes, things were a little different this time.

Julia stepped forward, kissing him again – she couldn't quite get enough of them, as sinful as they may be – and he drew her closer, trying, she guessed, to distract her with his touch once more.

That wouldn't be working this time, nope.

Julia drew back and reached for her jeans, climbing into them and pulling them up; "Come on. I want to see the harbour."

"Julia –"

"I'm a big girl, Black," she told him, because there was no way that she was going to be ducking about in the shadows, when even fourteen-year-old Harry Potter was happily going out into the world with Regulus Black by his side; "I can take care of myself."

"Still, there's obviously a need for discretion," he stated, as he rubbed his hands up her arms, looking at her almost imploringly as he did.

"There's discretion and then there's excessive," Julia pointed out, with a teasing smile; "You think you can keep me locked up in this shoebox as long as I'm seeing you?"

Regulus looked uneasy and she wasn't entirely sure if it was the statement about keeping her locked up or the implication that they were something more than they actually were that caused it.

"Besides," Julia said, stepping towards him and taking his hands with a smile; "As lovely as it has been, hanging out under the covers with you all these weeks –" Regulus smiled; "I think it just might be time for us to head on back out into the big bad world."

Regulus held her look for a moment, before glancing in the direction of the window; "Hm. And what a big bad world it is."

Julia squeezed his hands, drawing his gaze back to her, and she gave him a small smile; "So, what do you say, Mr Black? You up for showing me a good time?"

Regulus kept his eyes on her for a moment. And then he smiled, giving her a nod.

"Alright."

Julia smiled, as he tugged on her hand.