lizy2000, creelluk, clove111, Cae-Leigh Ann, BlueOcean24124437, Blue Luver5000, livinglibrarylove (?), NumberlessFic, C.B. Weasley, Senyuu, Anistasti, Meltykiss08: Thanks so much for all of your reviews/support!
Blue Diggold: Wow, thanks for such a long review! Thanks for the reassurance (not a Muggle Death Eater btw), I'll see if I can add more Snape. I think he's kind of conflicted, because they're quiet and good at potions, so he likes them, and at the same time the Marauders... Thanks for the info about the parents, but I think I'm too far gone to change the parents' names (especially now they're both dead), but I'll keep that in mind! It definitely explains some stuff! Emma isn't Peter, don't worry ;) The Wonka thing would be awesome if it existed in the Wizarding World too!
Nik1804: Yeah, Sirius is a git here...
Guest: Good guesses! The answers are below...
malecftw: Haha your comment made me laugh!
NamesAreImportant: Yeah, I love Rabastan! More EmmaxReg soon I promise! I changed the names, because if Charles's wife was a Black, I don't think he'd have been prejudiced (but I like Charles as James's dad's name).
Guest (from chap 11): Emma feels more embarrassed and ashamed of what really happened, than admitting that she slept with Sirius (even if she didn't), but thanks for the review :D
And thanks to Ash-Caro-Lynn for Beta-ing! Slowly getting through them!
The words were like a punch to the stomach. Literally.
Black dots appeared in her vision as Emma stumbled back. A cold chill washed over her in several waves, but at the same time the confines of the hallway seemed stifling. There was only one place she could turn to, the one place where she could forget about everything bad that happened in her cursed life.
Because that's what it felt like: she was cursed. Everything she tried to set right seemed to collapse, and everything she left for a later date was whisked out from underneath her feet, as though life was mocking her. Think you've got time for that? Think again.
She should have known she couldn't turn her back for even a second.
Out on the Quidditch pitch, the last of the day's light was fading from the horizon. The cool November air dried the beads of sweat she hadn't even noticed form on her face. The chills were still coming, but she could ignore them, pretend that they were merely the result of the autumn cold settling in for the night.
You would think I was used to this by now, she thought grimly. A Thestral soared through the night sky, reminding her of their earlier lesson. She remembered why she could see them now, remembering the Giant's head sliding to the ground as the Gurg delighted in his new gift. A gift she had given him. Emma supposed that that was the first death she had been responsible for. She hated herself for not even giving the Giant a second thought.
Just like we don't give Muggles a second thought, she reminded herself with disgust, recalling the previous day's events. The face of the man, staring up at her in horror in the graveyard. There was no difference between wizard and Muggle. Not when they were dead. Why should there be one when they were alive? If it weren't for wizards, her father wouldn't have survived. If it weren't for wizards, her father would still be alive.
The irony of it sent a bubble of hysterical laughter from Emma's mouth. The sound reverberated unnaturally around the pitch and she clasped her hands to her face, as if to force the feeling back down.
She had always assumed that Charles would still…be there. She had vowed to show him what a fool he'd been, in the end. She had been expecting his shameful but still cheeky grin as he hung his head, a habit James had picked up on, when he welcomed her back into his arms. She had half been hoping that it would be her first year all over again, that after a stern conversation with her mother he would tell her that he still loved her, that he had never stopped.
But the conversation with her mother had never come to pass.
Because she had killed her mother too. How many people would pay for her ambition? Was this what it meant to be a Slytherin? Was this what the greater good meant? Was the greater good even worth it?
Emma closed her eyes, concentrating on taking breath after breath. By now, she could identify the tell-tale signs of being overwhelmed. It would not do to panic right now. She needed to calm her thoughts, needed to organise herself.
Who was the strongest person she knew?
What would the Dark Lord do?
An hour into Emma's introspection, she felt more lost than ever.
Were wizards really that different to Muggles? Should Muggles be persecuted for things that only some Muggles did? But what if the families of Muggleborns only accepted them because they were family? But Charles hadn't accepted her, even if they were family.
Were Muggleborns lesser wizards? Regulus's research had proved their cause just, but Lily Evans had simply set all of their theories ablaze with a toss of her flaming red hair. Besides, not all Purebloods were good wizards. Though the Dark Lord had suggested that that was to do with impure genes...
The Dark Lord was indeed a formidable wizard. He wouldn't just ignore these flaws. Though he inspired fear in the hearts of his followers, including Emma herself, he was extremely intelligent. She would just ask him the questions. She wasn't deviating from the cause, simply clarifying the case of Lily Evans. She would just have to find a way to ask him in person, away from the prying eyes of Death Eaters looking for spies.
With a short nod of her head, Emma regained conscious of the world around her. She was shivering from the cold, almost shuddering. The sky had faded to an inky black, pinpricks of starlight the only means of observing her surroundings. In this dim light, the shadows cast by the Quidditch posts seemed distorted, out of this world. They comforted her, more than familiar surroundings would. In this time of doubt, she could rely on Quidditch to make her feelings seem clear. Plus, in this netherworld, it was hard for reality to affect her.
Although Emma felt like she was in a state of dreaming, she had enough sense to realise that she might do herself some damage if she didn't warm up quickly. Conjuring her favourite bluebell flames, she held her hands over the flickering light. The pain of the blood warming in her hands was a distraction, but a welcome one. It gave her something to concentrate on, the way the Muggle problem allowed her to dwell on something other than the hammer that seemed to be pressing itself further and further into her chest.
A wave of warmth rushed over her body in the form of a cloak. A presence settled itself next to her and without even turning her head, Emma knew it was Regulus. Questions vaguely bubbled up in her mind, but they were quashed by the peacefulness of the night. Whatever it was, it could wait. Regulus would explain it anyway. He wouldn't have come to the Quidditch pitch for anything else.
'You should keep warm on a night like this,' he admonished softly.
There was no need to warn Regulus to keep his voice down. He could read an atmosphere the way others read books. Emma assumed that it was a trait left over from childhood instincts. Merlin knew that he would have needed them.
'So what brings you out?' he asked.
This was a first. Usually Regulus sat in companionable silence, and it was left to Emma to break it. Sometimes, they would lie in the middle of the pitch for half of the night, before mutually deciding to go back to the castle. Then again, the past two years had changed them. Emma wasn't sure that it was for the better.
She swivelled her head to face him, surprised when she saw her feelings mirrored in Regulus's expression. The blank mask was gone, disappeared without a trace, allowing her to see the deject misery colouring his features. His grey eyes had lost their spark, their inquisitiveness that Emma usually associated with her friend. They were half-closed, allowing Emma to see the curving sweep of his eyelashes, as black as his hair. They were slightly clumped together, silvery with the reflection of the firelight.
Wait…has Regulus been crying? she asked herself, waking from her trance-like state.
Now that she had a clear look at him, Regulus's whole face had gone slack from despair, as though he had given up. His mouth was downturned. On his features, it seemed as like a haughty, arrogant expression, but Emma instinctively knew that it was to reign in the pain. She knew it all too well. Upon further study, Regulus's grey eyes were rimmed red and puffy, a sure sign that he had been crying.
She was about to ask him that very question, when she stopped herself short. That wasn't the way things went, with Regulus. She couldn't make him look weak, not when it was Slytherin's most hated trait. She couldn't deprive him of the one thing Regulus prided himself on – his composure.
She remembered that fateful Occlumency night all too well. She needed to coax the story out of him, a story she wasn't all too sure she wanted to know. But it was too late to think of something now, the silence had already gone on for too long and he was giving her a strange look.
Realising her lips were pursed as if to talk, Emma surprised herself by saying, 'Have you ever done something unforgivable?'
'As in an Unforgivable Curse?' he asked, also holding his hands over the flames.
Emma muttered a spell to make the fire larger. The scene reminded her of when they had camped out near the Giant's enclave. Why are you remembering that day, now of all times? She quashed the thought. Why didn't you tell Alecto what you clearly wanted her to do?
Wrenching her mind back to Regulus, she already felt better, now that she wasn't left alone with only her thoughts for company.
'Something along those lines,' she agreed.
'Can I skip this question?' he joked half-heartedly. He was rewarded with a look and the pretence of humour was dropped. He seemed to think for a minute, as though he wasn't sure he wanted to answer her. 'Nothing I've done, as such...' His voice became quiet. 'More like something I didn't do.'
'Like with your brother?' Emma asked.
Something about the night made secrets seem like a betrayal. She asked him upfront because she was sure the subject wouldn't be avoided. This strange reality with half-lights and shadows would remain apart, separate from their day to day lives. Anything could happen, just like what happened on the Quidditch pitch didn't affect the players' relationships.
'Like with Sirius,' Regulus agreed, the name echoing a little around the stadium. It seemed as though Regulus was summoning the memory of his brother to serve as witness to his crime. 'I...'
He clamped his mouth shut, but it seemed like an involuntary reaction. His eyes dropped to the dancing blue flames. 'There was something I should have done, but I didn't. I'm too much of a coward. Sirius was right...'
Emma moved closer, tentatively putting a hand on Regulus's arm. It was warm to the touch, even through the woollen jumper. When he didn't move, she tilted her head, forcing him to look her in the eyes.
'Trust me. I'm the last person to judge you on that front,' she said firmly. 'I left things the way they were with my father instead of trying to explain. Now…it's too late to do anything.'
'I watched as the Dark Lord killed mine,' Regulus's voice was little more than a whisper.
Emma willed her face not to betray her shock. She waited for the rest of the story.
'She…Bellatrix…saw Sirius. Last night...' Regulus paused, as if the words were stuck in his throat. When he next spoke, his voice was hoarse.
'During the battle,' he said, 'Sirius was there. He must have joined the other side. So much for Dumbledore's "protect those at school" policy. Oh well. He's seventeen, I suppose that's what counts. Anyway, when I realised there were too many of them and made for the exit, Bellatrix grabbed my arm. She told me that she was calling a family meeting, right then.'
Another deep breath.
'When we got to Grimmauld Place, Narcissa was already there. Druella and Cygnus were abroad, collecting money from their French accounts in order to help us finance this war, so they were absent. But my parents…it was as if they already knew. My mother was white, my father barely rose from his chair. Then Bellatrix broke the news. Of course, Mother turned into a raving lunatic. She shouted how she would kill the ungrateful boy, and Bellatrix was all ready to march on Hogwarts, just the two of them. Of course, Narcissa stayed silent. I saw the wisdom in her course of action.
'Then Father had to get in the way. He told mother that blowing Sirius's name off of a tapestry doesn't change blood. Sirius is their son, simple as that. Blood before anything else. Toujours pur. Well, Mother didn't like that. She went completely off the rails, calling him a traitor, saying that this "blood" must have come from him, Orion, because Walburga didn't have that stench running through her veins. I've never seen her so angry in my life.
'So the blood had to go. Even Bellatrix stayed back for that part, though I don't know if that's because she thought my mother could handle the situation or if she was genuinely scared. I was ready to vomit; the only thing stopping me was the thought of the wand turning onto myself. Narcissa was the calm one. She walked up to me, put a hand on my shoulder and a finger on the Dark Mark. I don't know what she expected, but I suppose that she thought anything was better than the scene before us.
'The Dark Lord arrived to see my father's blood staining the carpet, my mother slashing wildly here and there. It didn't even touch him. He was above such pettiness. With a single flick of his wand, he sent my mother to the armchair and Imperiused my father to stand. The Imperius didn't work, and the Dark Lord didn't like that. My father stood up afterwards – he always did like the dramatics. The Dark Lord asked my father what the most important thing was, what we Death Eaters were fighting for.
'My father had the strangest look on his face, as though he was the one with the power, not the Dark Lord. For a second, I was sure that the Dark Lord was... afraid. As though Father knew something that could undo him. Father smirked, but he only said one word: "Blood". The next thing I knew, there was a blinding green light. I think you know what that means.'
Just as Emma thought Regulus's tale was over, he shook his head, a sob escaping his lips. Emma drew nearer, trying to infuse her friend with her strength, ashamed of her own problems. As they had before, they were nothing near to the horror Regulus was going through. He continued, not even noticing her presence.
'I stood there, without making a noise, the whole time. What kind of a son am I? What kind of a person is that despicable?'
Shame flowed through Emma, removing the last trace of cold from her body and squeezing her heart in a death grip. She couldn't stand it any longer, Regulus's guilt for something he took no part in, the same questioning in his tone as he spoke of the Dark Lord.
'I made Alecto kill Charles,' the words tumbled out one by one, as though they couldn't wait to be free.
They hung in the air, as though burned with a wand, alongside Orion's bravery.
Regulus's eyes widened, his jaw going slack. But only for a second. Then Emma saw understanding in them, an understanding that she herself didn't quite realise, but knew that it was what she had needed. Her crime suddenly seemed less monstrous and before she knew it, she had thrown herself into his arms, knocking him to the ground in her desperation.
She wanted to bury her face into his chest and never come out, because here she was safe from the world and the world was safe from her, and it didn't seem like she was quite as lost and as bad a person as she was coming to know herself as, but whereas she shut her eyes tightly, Regulus lowered his face to look at her, leaving her nowhere to hide, the way she had stripped him bare minutes before.
Suddenly, Emma realised that Regulus was kissing her and she was kissing him back and when her eyes darted back to his she saw the same shame, the same fear, the same self-loathing that she had been feeling ever since she had killed her first parent, let alone now there were two, and then they were kissing again, searching for a way to bury their feelings without self-destructing, because they were Slytherins, and Slytherins were survivors.