Chapter Sixty-Seven

Malachi woke in the night to the sounds of harsh throaty gasps and hisses coming from the other side of the room.

It took a second for him to be sure it wasn't just something – a lingering in his subconsciousness, maybe – from his dreams. Or, rather, a nightmare.

But the hissing and the harsh vocalisations continued – snake-like and sinister – and Malachi rolled over where he lay on the bed that Mrs Potter had transfigured for him, eyes seeking out Harry in the darkness.

"Harry?"

The hissing continued.

It was coming from Harry, Malachi realised, and he frowned, waking up fully, then, and chucked the covers off of himself to get to his feet.

"Harry?"

The rasping went on.

It was definitely Harry making those sounds, he could see his lips moving as he got closer, and Malachi wondered if this was what he had told him about, before, how he could speak to snakes – parseltongue – and maybe he was dreaming about them or something.

Harry's hisses and his rasps became more agitated and Malachi reached down, shaking his shoulder.

"Hey," he said, a little louder than his previous whispers; "Hey. Harry. Harry, wake up."

Harry's eyes opened suddenly.

But it wasn't Harry looking back at him.

Harry snarled and lunged, seizing Malachi by the throat with a hiss, and Malachi yelped – tried to – but his attempt was cut off with the air to his lungs and he grasped, desperately at Harry's hand and his arm and his face, slapping him and slapping him and slapping him as he choked for breath.

And then he was abruptly let go and he fell to the bedroom floor with a thud in a heap, gasping and coughing.

Malachi lay there, just trying to breathe, as he tried to make sense of what had happened.

"Malachi?" Harry appeared above him and he quickly reached up his hands to protect himself against another attack.

But it was Harry, this time, and his eyes were full of worry and concern as he hurriedly pulled him up to sit, crouched down beside him; "Malachi, are you alright?"

"What the hell was that?" his voice was a croak, a breathy whisper.

"I dunno. I dunno. I…that wasn't me."

"I know…who it was," Malachi wheezed, feeling a state of panic come over him as he did; "But…how did he…You were…talking that snake talk –" he coughed; "- parseltongue – what did you see?"

Harry hesitated, glancing away, as he tried to recall.

But then he shrugged, as he shook his head.

"I don't remember."

The curtain stirred in the breeze at the window, sunlight flickering upon them with its movements.

The sun had been up for some time; getting higher and higher in the sky, a reminder that time was ticking. Almost up.

She had to go.

If she were being honest, she was already late.

" – and in the last of these muggle pictures that my son has dragged me along to, this lunatic actually chases down the plane threatening to fly off with his beloved," Regulus finished up telling his story, as he rolled up the last of the pancakes Julia had brought through some while ago – a recreation of their first morning together, almost a year before – and he shot her a grin, as he lifted it to his lips.

"I kid you not, Miss Bradbury, if I were a muggle: I'd be the lunatic chasing down your plane."

Julia laughed as he took a bite.

She propped her head up on her hand where she lay next to him on the bed; "And what would you say when you caught me, hm? Would you beg me to stay?"

"Certainly not!" he said, in exaggerated offence, and he leaned in closer, so their noses almost touched; "I'd say take me with you. Show me the world."

"But not now?"

Regulus' chin tilted upwards, as he eyed her, amusedly, and he spoke with a laugh in his voice, belying a surprise that even she felt at what she'd unthinkingly said.

"Miss Bradbury. Are you asking me to run away with you?"

Julia glanced down, uncertainly, before she lifted her eyes with a coy smile back to his.

Regulus' own grin became a smile in turn, awfully close to the sincere ones she loved, and he seemed to actually think about it – if only for a moment – before his look turned wry and he shook his head.

"It would be just the same, Julia," he popped the little bit of pancake he had left into his mouth and then reached for her hand; "You would be just as miserable with me on the other side of the world, as you would be right here."

He pressed a kiss to the pulse of her wrist.

"I've never thought that I would be miserable with you, Regulus."

Regulus kept his eyes upon her, searchingly for a moment, before gave her a small smile and a nod, before he drew up her hand he still held and put it around his neck.

"Where would you take me?" he asked, laying his head down on the pillow and she did the same, facing him.

"Where'd you like to go?"

"Hm. Well, I would quite like to see where you spent that wild year of yours. I'd love to meet your cult."

"It's a Witches Coven, Black, women only."

"Well, I certainly have no objection to that."

Julia laughed, shaking her head; "And here was me thinking we'd be together."

"Oh," Regulus grinned and nodded, exaggeratedly; "Oh, we would be. In which case, you are quite right, and someplace more romantic would be in order. France, I think."

"France."

"Talloires, I saw it, did I tell you? Malachi and I, we had a look this summer. Beautiful place."

"Mhm. Yeah."

"But for you and I; I think I'd prefer Paris."

"City boy?"

"I am that. At least I was. In my own wild years. Circumstances –" he rolled his eyes, as if those circumstances were a mere inconvenience; " – they prevent me from settling in the cities. But I miss it. London. The hustle and bustle."

"Paris it is, then."

"Where would we live?"

"Top floor, balcony," she said, without missing a beat.

Regulus screwed up his face, shaking his head; "Ground floor, patio."

"Why the ground?"

"Safer for the kids."

Julia got a smile.

"There'd be kids?"

"Absolutely," Regulus' eyes gleamed, adorably so; "Five daughters –"

"Five –"

"And two more sons."

"You want eight children."

"Seven mini Regulus' and Julia's, running through the house; they'd have big brother Malachi run ragged."

Julia laughed, looking at him fondly.

"And he should like some siblings," Regulus said, a little more thoughtfully.

"Yeah?"

He got a wry smile, eyes on the sheets between them.

"I've quite cheated him out of that."

Julia bit her lip as he met her eyes; they looked at one another, one of those rare moments that she longed for where Regulus would just be real with her.

And she drew in a breath, offering a bit of herself in turn – kidding herself, that he didn't already have it all; "I'd like two."

Regulus got a small smile; "Two's perfect."

A heaviness settled upon them, then; a heaviness they'd pretended for the past twenty-four hours didn't exist. Just like before. Except, this time, it was waiting, making itself known sooner, and Regulus reached up, tucking her hair behind her ear and allowing his hand to linger there as he caressed her cheek, speaking quietly.

"You'll have your two, Julia. And your ground floor apartment with the safe patio for them to run around in. You'll find someone – not quite so dashingly handsome and charming, maybe – but that someone will turn your world upside down, like you have quite done with mine, and give you the world right back. You'll live the most incredible life, Miss Bradbury. I know it."

Julia tried to imagine it.

The free and easy life, with the faceless man and his children that Regulus spoke of.

But that image quickly changed. Morphed into one of them: she and Regulus, laughing and teasing one another on the couch in Crail, and Malachi rolling his eyes at their antics where he was reading on the chair beside them.

Julia didn't even know, anymore, which of the two was the fantasy. The lie.

She didn't know which would make her the bigger fool. To stay. Or to run.

Her eyes found his.

"Maybe, after all of this is over, you can come visit."

Regulus didn't smile.

He stayed sincere, shaking his head; "No."

Julia drew in a breath, averting her eyes.

"Julia," his voice was quiet, a murmur, and he leaned his forehead to hers; "I don't want you to spend your life waiting."

She felt the weight upon her heart – that had lifted upon seeing him again – settle there, once more, as if it had never left.

Regulus smiled, then, still earnest and true; "I want you to open every door. And take every chance. I want you to live, Miss Bradbury."

It was in that moment, that Julia realized it; the truth of it all.

She didn't want to live without him.

She was more frightened by it than warmed.

Until Regulus, she had always been happier alone.

"When do you have to leave?" he asked.

Julia didn't have to look at the timepiece to know that she was now – already – very late.

"We still have time," she whispered.

She wasn't entirely sure if that was a lie.

Regulus smiled, his look turning mischievous now. And she loved that, too. Frustrating as his smiles and jokes could sometimes be.

She loved everything about him, Regulus Black. Every smile and every touch. Every joke and every whisper. He drove her crazy and made her feel safer than she had ever known, all at once.

"You don't have to tell me twice, Miss Bradbury."

He lifted her chin, capturing her lips with his; once more.

But then again; just maybe not.

Harry waited impatiently in the basement.

Snape was late, again.

Harry hoped he wouldn't cancel altogether.

He had managed to fend off Malachi's fussing the day before – though neither had been able to sleep, again, after how he had almost unintentionally strangled him to death – and managed to convince him that he would speak to Snape about it. Not his mum, as Malachi was quick to insist, for she'd either not know anything or, if she did, she'd just keep it from him, anyway.

The door to the basement opened and Snape stepped inside.

He looked a bit better than he did, the first visit, but worse than the most recent one.

"Mr. Potter," he greeted him, hiding any surprise he may have felt at finding him waiting on the other side of the door; "Keen to begin?"

"I…I needed to talk to you."

Snape looked at him, closely, quickly picking up on his agitation; "Has something happened?"

"Yeah –" Harry nodded, but then he hesitated.

Realising and fearing what would happen if it happened again – now – and Voldemort saw Snape, instead of Malachi in front of him. Harry quickly turned his back on him.

"Potter. What are you doing?"

"It's him," Harry whispered.

There was a silence.

"Go on."

Harry did. Told him everything about the nightmare he couldn't really remember – it was mostly all Malachi's account of the incident – as he had experienced only the slightest of glimpses, as if he were being jerked back and forth from one place to the next.

He was slithering along the ground as if he were a snake, himself, and then it was just darkness, a dreamless sleep, and then he was back, and then he was in the snake again; almost as if he were untethered to his own body.

And he told him how when Malachi had woken him it hadn't been him but someone else – Voldemort, Harry knew – and how he had been completely unable to control himself as he'd felt himself lunge for him. Unable to stop himself as he felt his best friend's throat crush beneath his fingers, undulating desperately for air.

Snape remained quiet behind him for a few moments after Harry related the incident.

"Turn around."

"But –"

"Turn around, Mr. Potter," Snape sounded entirely calm, as if it were all business as usual; "Should it happen again, you and I will know of it. It will be necessary for you and I to maintain eye contact, so that I may attempt to locate this vision. There is no getting around that, I am afraid."

"I don't think it was a vision," Harry said, as he reluctantly turned, still not quite looking at Snape as long as he could help it; "I think he was in me. Or I was in him. Like…we were connected, somehow. But it was different to how it was last time. It was like…when he possessed me, at the Foundation, kind of. But…how could he do that, when we're so far apart?"

Harry hoped they were far apart.

"That is something that will require investigation," Snape stated, with ongoing enviable calmness; "Did you do as instructed – clear you mind of thoughts and emotions before going to bed that night? Have you been doing so, this summer?"

"I…well…yes, I have. I've been meditating every night. Usually. But…that was my birthday – and Malachi was staying –"

Snape sighed, averting his eyes, and Harry felt himself bristle at the obvious disappointment.

"These instructions are not optional, Mr. Potter. That, I believe, is where the error had been made."

"No," Harry shook his head; "No. It's never been like that before. Last time, they were like nightmares; this time, I was there. And he was here. It was like flashes; I was there and then I wasn't. I can't really explain it."

"Very well," Snape said – and Harry wasn't sure if he was really taking his word for it or not – and gave a nod of indication; "Let's have a look, shall we?"

Harry nodded, trusting him immediately, and quickly turned towards him, meeting his eyes. Certain that, if anyone could figure out what had happened, it would be Snape.

"Legillimens."

Harmless memories fluttered on by. Memories from the party, mostly. Grace being swung on the swing by Remus and Tonks. Mr. Black and Julia giggling in the garden. His mum appearing over his shoulder with a smile.
He and Malachi whispering into the night before they'd fallen asleep. And, then, Malachi on the floor beneath him, gasping for breath.

That was as close as they got before Snape lowered his wand.

"While I would have thought this were obvious, Mr. Potter –" Snape said, raising an eyebrow; "You are going to have to lower your occlumency barriers in order to grant me access to the memory."

"I'm not using occlumency," Harry frowned.

Snape eyed him.

"I'm not. Like you said, it goes without saying that won't help you find anything."

"Perhaps you are doing it instinctively," Snape said, dismissively, before he went on; "Try to relax. Pull forth memories from that night, if you can. Otherwise, do not resist."

Harry wasn't resisting.

Still, Snape couldn't find anything.

He tried again.

Again.

He could find nothing from that night - from the dream – other than what had come before and after the event. As if he didn't have the memory. As if it weren't his.

"I was in his head, right?" Harry said, with a frown; "And he was in mine. That negated the memories."

Snape looked bewildered, as he contemplated the situation in silence – Harry not privy to any of his thoughts on the matter – before he drew in a breath and met Harry's eyes.

"It is a unique circumstance," Snape finally said, as close to admitting that Harry's assertions that this wasn't like his usual nightmares was right, before he went on; "You must – and I cannot stress this enough, Mr. Potter – you must carry out every method I have assigned to you at the beginning of the holidays before every sleep cycle. Whether that be at night, or in the day, no matter how brief. Keep a record of any other such instances as this and relate them to either myself, or your mother, in the first instance. And it goes without saying that Mr. Black should sleep in another room, in the event of any other such visits."

"Oh," Harry said, before nodding; "Yeah. 'course. Makes sense. I'll just sleep in the living room this weekend when I'm over there."

"Under no circumstances are you to go to the Black premises –"

"What?"

" – until we understand exactly what we are dealing with."

Harry sighed, shoulders dropping at the injustice – he had been looking forward to going to stay with them all week, after being stuck in his own house for over four weeks, now – and he rolled his eyes, looking away.

"Now. In light of this recent turn of events, we shall go forth with this lesson somewhat differently than we have in the past. I am going to assist in strengthening your barriers; by doing so, there must be some give and take, and you are not to resist when I attempt to invade until I give this signal."

The signal was a turn of his hand at his side – almost a thumbs up, though Harry didn't think that's what Snape had intended – and he fought not to snicker at the ludicrous visual that induced.

"Oh…okay."

"Ready yourself. Allow me in. Push me back."

Harry did as instructed.

"Again."

Harry did.

Carried on in that way, several more times.

"Allow me in further."

Harry did.

Again.

Again.

Snape seeing more and more of him – all of his memories, some of which Harry, himself, didn't even really remember – with each attempt.

They carried on that way for what seemed like hours, and Harry began to feel bone weary with it, his brain exhausted by the exercise.

Until they finally stopped.

Snape lifted his chin.

"Now. Pull them up."

Harry did.

"Legillimens."

His mind was blank.

Snape couldn't get in.

Even the safest memories that Harry would allow float to the surface, the ones Snape had instructed he offer up, wouldn't rise.

It was just empty.

And Snape drew back, looking satisfied.

"Good."

Harry frowned, utterly bewildered; "Um…how is that good? He's gonna know what I'm doing. You said before that he can't know. He'd just keep trying."

"At the present time, there are more pressing issues to tend to. Such as ensuring your mind is a locked room should he attempt to try and possess it. These barriers - every night, after all of your exercises - pull them up. No exceptions, no matter how exhausted you may be."

Harry nodded, feeling uneasy, when he realized, then, that despite Snape's outward calmness and semblance of control, he was obviously just as uneasy about the whole thing as Harry was, if he had opted to abandon all their previous methods of occlumency in favour of something so baseless and lacking the nuance he had, previously, insisted was necessary.

"I shall return this weekend. Sunday."

"What if it happens again before that?"

"Go to your mother."

"I'd rather come to you."

Snape met his eyes, at that, the swiftness of which belying his surprise.

"I mean…" Harry didn't even know why he'd said that, much less understand when he realized he'd actually meant it; "I just mean, you and I have been working on this. Mum wouldn't know what to do."

"You mother is practiced in maladies of the mind, Mr. Potter," Snape said, in a reasoned tone; "That was, in fact, her chosen specialization when undertaking her Fellowship."

Harry just nodded; feeling foolish for even asking to be able to reach him, should he need to.

"Oh. Yeah. Right. I forgot."

Snape eyed him for a moment.

And then he gave a nod – "Sunday, then," – before he accioed some phials, stuffing them into his pockets, as he made his way from the house.

Severus had gone to Hogwarts at the first available moment, following his encounter with Harry, requesting a meeting with the Headmaster at his earliest convenience.

His earliest convenience, as it so happens, being that very night.

"- in which case, you ought to prepare yourself for several attempts on your life this upcoming year," Severus stated, as he finished up his report – Dumbledore requesting he begin with that, rather than the more pressing issue of Harry and the Dark Lord's newly realised connection.

"Not that the Dark Lord expects Draco to be successful," Severus added, knowing this was just another one of the Dark Lord's games. The Malfoys – Narcissa, more specifically – to bear victim to his recent exploitations.

Dumbledore regarded him with his usual calmness, from the other side of the desk, making no indication of alarm whatsoever that the Dark Lord had issued the order for his assassination.

"And you believe this to be the ploy that Voldemort intends to use to draw out his spy."

"As far as I am aware, the main contenders are myself and Narcissa; involving Draco and seeing where his mother were to turn – inwards, towards her family in the circle or outwards – ought to give him a good indication of where his traitor lies."

"He suspects she would turn to Regulus?"

"I imagine he has his spy – his elusive third – within the Foundation keeping an eye on that. She and Regulus remain close; but, then, she does so on the Dark Lord's orders."

"And is Regulus aware of what is underfoot?"

"No," Severus averted his eyes; "His conduct at present is as erratic, if not more so, than his cousin's. Should he learn that the candidates for the noose are either myself or Narcissa, in light of the events that transpired at Easter, I doubt he would take the news well."

"You are concerned for him."

Severus simply stared back at him; no need to confirm the obvious.

Dumbledore got a serene smile, accepting Severus' silence as answer, before he went on, smoothly; "And how are Harry's occlumency lessons coming along? You said on arrival there was a matter to discuss?"

"Indeed," Severus straightened up, at the more personal – not that Dumbledore ought to be aware of that – turn of conversation; "It seems that his nightmares have returned; the connection of minds between himself and the Dark Lord, despite the fact that his occlumency skills have vast improved. Indeed, they now surpass what I was able at his age of fifteen. Of particular notice, in this case, is that I was unable to find any trace of the memory of the event during our sessions; even while Mr. Potter was granting me access to do so."

Dumbledore regarded him, contemplatively.

"Is this the first time that this has happened?"

"As far as I am aware. Though Ha – Mr. Potter –" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, which Severus forced himself to ignore; " – explained that he was, in fact, entirely unaware of it happening. Had Malachi Black not been there to bear witness, he would not have been roused and the event may have taken place without him ever knowing. Which bring me to the second, more pressing point of concern; Mr. Potter, upon being woken, attacked Mr. Black, claiming to be under the influence of the Dark Lord, himself."

Dumbledore's expression barely changed.

"If the Dark Lord has the ability to enter his mind," Severus went on, "– to possess him – from the other side of the country, that is no ordinary mind link. Something bonds them. And if occlumency is not enough to control it, then it is something that needs to be severed; immediately."

"Ah," Dumbledore nodded, as if in agreement; "I have been pondering that myself, in recent months. Since the initial possession that took place at New Year."

"That one was less alarming; they were within one another's line of sight."

"Nonetheless, it established the fact that the two are joined. Two souls –"

"Souls?" Severus frowned; "The link is of their minds."

"Quite right, Severus," Dumbledore nodded; "It seems as if these two minds have established a link, a kinship, even, in light of the events that took place the night that Sirius Black gave his life for the boy."

"When he was Marked? That's what it meant? That they were to be bonded?"

"It is such an old form of magic; one cannot be entirely certain how a person may respond to being exposed to it. In this case, we can assume that the incident led to the two of them becoming bound to one another in a way which is quite rare and, indeed, unintentional. I doubt either understands what it truly means."

"And do you understand what it truly means, Headmaster?" Severus asked, in exasperation at the riddles.

Dumbledore got that serene smile of his; "Only time will tell if my guess is correct, Severus."

"And I suppose that information is not something that I am to be privy to?" Severus eyed him; "Despite my relationship with the child."

"Your relationship, Severus?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, again.

"As his instructor in how to maintain control over this link," Severus clarified; "And I should think it obvious that the Dark Lord's ability to possess Mr. Potter to do his bidding is not something to be ignored. He roams freely these halls and has family at home who are vulnerable."

Dumbledore nodded, lips twitching.

"Indeed, he does, Severus. And I entirely agree, that more needs to be done to learn of the nature of this connection between the two of them."

"Shall I take that task upon myself, Albus?"

"Certainly not, my boy, you have far too much to attend to as it is," Dumbledore dismissed the offer; "For now, your focus is to remain entirely upon Voldemort and what is going on within the inner circle."

"As one of the top contenders for his next execution, I find my place not quite so valuable as it once was."

"A risk of which you willingly partook, when you opted to direct the Order to come to Regulus Black's aid in April."

Severus glowered at him. Even if Dumbledore made it sound conversational, his disapproval at Severus' intervention was apparent.

"And I would do it again," Severus stated, unapologetically.

"So, you would, Severus. As such, we must now attempt to come up with a strategy of our own, in order to get you back into Tom's good graces. We cannot have you skirting the side lines, not at this crucial point in time."

"I am working on that."

Dumbledore gave a nod. Severus got the distinct impression that the Headmaster was working on that, too.

"That'll be all, Severus," Dumbledore said, giving him a warmer smile, now.

Severus got to his feet, heading to the door.

"Severus."

He glanced over his shoulder.

"Do stop in and see Poppy on your way back to your quarters. I believe the visit would do you some good."

Severus stopped himself from rolling his eyes, simply gave a nod – not that he had any intention of doing as he suggested – before he turned and made his way from the room.

Regulus and Malachi apparated back to the island with a pop.

"Prefer the theatre festivals to the music ones, Dad?"

"I got a seat; I approve."

Malachi laughed and Regulus shot him a smile, as they made their way back in the direction of the house.

"It's on all month, we could go again," Malachi suggested, enthusiastically; "There's some shows that looked cool. They need tickets, but I saw there was tons left on the stalls when …"

His son's voice trailed off, his eyes up ahead.

Regulus followed his gaze, wondering what had caught his attention, and realized – with a start and a flutter – that Julia was up on the porch.

Julia who, as far as he had been aware, had walked out of his life – again – just two days previously.

Instead, she was sitting down, by the door, as if she'd been waiting a while, staring out at the loch.

Regulus swallowed, feeling his mouth go dry.

"I thought Julia left?"

"Hm."

Regulus headed on ahead, Malachi on his heels.

"Do my eyes deceive me?" he called when he was in hearing distance.

Julia's head whipped in his direction, as he came to a stop at the bottom of the porch.

"Now, that can't possibly be you, Miss Bradbury," he said with a grin, as he raised an eyebrow; "I'm quite certain I gave her a most memorable sendoff not two days ago."

Julia got a little smirk, a chuckle, as she rolled her eyes and got to her feet, stepping down the single step so that she was now facing him.

She said nothing, though, simply looked at him.

Regulus drew in a breath, acutely aware of Malachi's eyes upon them, where he was standing unabashedly a couple of steps behind his back.

"Give us a minute, will you, Son?"

Even with his back to him, Regulus could sense his son's hesitation. But, after a second, his footsteps were heard on the porch and he glanced up, watching as he went into the house.

He met Julia's eyes.

"I um…I had Lily give me the address," she said, before she gave a little shrug and a smile; "I hoped the invitation still stood."

Regulus got a smile, shaking his head at the idea she'd ever be unwelcome; "Of course."

Julia smiled.

Regulus cleared his throat, glancing around them, before he stepped a bit closer; "Miss Bradbury, you'll have to forgive me, but…I am a little confused."

"Oh?"

She got a little grin. One he couldn't help but match, under her playful eyes.

"Shouldn't you be on the other side of the world, right now?"

She held his look; her playfulness dimming with each second that passed.

And then she shook her head.

"No," she said, with far more certainty than anything else she'd said thus far; "No, I don't think that I should."

Regulus' treacherous heart skipped a beat at the statement and the look that she gave him, as she said it. Her meaning more than a little bit clear.

"Oh."

He gave a little laugh, eyes lowering.

Julia looked a little less certain, then, when he lifted them back to hers.

She drew in a breath, before saying; "Well. Unless you were to suggest otherwise, of course."

Regulus stared back at her.

He knew he really should say otherwise. He knew he should march her down to that plane – well, another plane, now – and tell her to get on it and run and never look back. He should tell her he didn't want her – as if such nonsense were even capable of passing his lips– and that she should forget about him.

Go find someone else, have a life, live her dreams.

But he couldn't.

He'd already pushed.

And Regulus had never been good at that. He didn't push.

He'd always pulled. He'd always held on.

He never let people go.

Julia was the first.

And she had come back.

And he was not so selfless, that her coming back to him wouldn't test that resolve. In fact, his resolve had been more than a little flimsy in the first place; brought on entirely by a situation created by his own idiocy.

And he had always – always – been entirely at this woman's mercy, since the moment he'd opened his eyes in her bed the year before.

Regulus drew in a breath, giving her a smile; a surrender. And she smiled, in turn, when she realized – and he admitted – that he could not, would not, ever turn her away. She would have to be the one to go. And if she wouldn't…

Regulus reached for her then, and Julia came to him, no resistance whatsoever, and his lips found hers as his arms embraced her, drawing her closer.

It felt right.

Everything about her; the wayher lips parted beneath his and her hands clasped upon his neck and how perfectly she fit into his arms. As if she were supposed to be there, his foolish mind dared to think.

Regulus drew back, ever so slightly, to touch his forehead to hers, his voice a murmur when he spoke.

"You never cease to amaze me, Miss Bradbury."

Julia gave a little hum of laughter, of contentment, and looked back at him, her affection for him as apparent as it always was in her eyes.

"The feeling's entirely mutual, Mr. Black."

Regulus grinned.

"Will you come inside?"

She nodded.

Regulus' hand found hers, and he tugged her in the direction of the house, and she followed.

He tugged a little harder – playfully, so – and she stumbled with a laugh a few steps in front of him, and – keeping a hold of her hand – he lifted his arm up and over her head, wrapping it around her waist.

He drew her close and pressed a kiss to her cheek before he murmured into to her ear.

"If you don't like it; we'll find somewhere else."

Julia laughed; "Is that right?"

"Oh, indeed," Regulus nodded, as he reached over her to pull open the door; "My son hates it. So, if you should agree with him, I would be quite outnumbered."

He grabbed the doorknob, giving it a pull, and the two of them stumbled on into the house to find him.