.

Chapter 6

.

The Sword of Gryffindor. The fucking Sword of Gryffindor.

That's the only price the goblins would accept for going back on their promise to another witch/wizard.

Poppy's no fool; she'd gotten the goblins to agree to a magically binding contract to ensure they'd follow through with their end of the bargain, but first she's got to get that damn sword. That alone proves the little buggers don't think she can manage it.

Bleeding hell. It's abundantly apparent she won't be getting any sleep tonight. Some things are better done as soon as possible. God, her stomach is rolling with nerves; she's already thrown up twice this morning on the train back, but it's not exactly every day you plan to steal a priceless artefact out from under the nose of the greatest living wizard of the current era.

She's always been like that though, Poppy's always been one to throw up when the nerves hit. Lily could just power through them with no problem and Petunia didn't exactly get rattled. She's more the type to scream it all out. Which means Poppy's the nervous wreck of the family.

Given what she knows of the future though, that's hardly a surprise.

Regardless, she'd rather get sick on occasion than suffer a nosebleed, without fail, every time she went flying. There's a very good reason her older sister wasn't on the Quidditch team.

Slouching further down into her seat, Poppy's eyes scan the Slytherin table, forcing herself not to focus on any individual one. Just a quick glance.

But it's enough to assert Regulus isn't there.

She'd been expecting it, he'd be stupid to try and return. He's out of her life now, there'll be no reason for them to ever meet up again and that's… strange to consider.

Swallowing the chunk of meat in her mouth is harder than it should be, even though there's no reason whatsoever for it to get stuck in her throat. Regulus had just been a distraction, an indulgence. He'd always rubbed his 'pureblood superiority' in her face throughout the years.

Poppy can be honest with herself; it's felt good to leave him breathless and gasping, to prove no matter how inferior he believes her to be, she could still draw that effect out of him. Could get him completely lost in her presence.

It'd been a two-way street though, and now that she's finally found her way off of that road… it's odd. To not have the distraction there anymore. She doesn't have time to be pondering over this, not really.

She has things to get on with.

That starts with the Sorting Hat.

.

She waits until morning. Moving at night is far too risky; that's when everyone expects a heist to take place. Instead, Poppy puts her plan into place as the sunlight begins to pour across the horizon.

The Room of Requirement creates her a passageway into the Headmaster's Office, leaving a small opening upon the wall that the shelves rest against, the shelves that contain the Sorting Hat.

A quick spell as the little door transparent and after ensuring that Dumbledore is indeed out of the room, Poppy pushes open the little threshold and reaches for the hat.

She freezes in place when she spots Fawkes.

Beady black eyes stare back at her, surrounded by a magnificent plumage of red and gold feathers. The perfect bird to represent Gryffindor, Poppy concludes.

They stare at one another for a few seconds, the immortal bird's gaze heavy before it lets out a warbling tune. It's a short song, one that echoes through the room and it doesn't make her quake, doesn't strike fear into her heart.

But it doesn't inspire any kind of bravery either.

.

Settling back into the room of requirement, Poppy lays back against the chair that materialises beneath her, fingers still curled gently around the brim of the Sorting Hat.

She'll be missing her first lesson, charms, but she's already studied ahead on the topic; she has no need to really attend. The little slap on the wrist she'll get for skipping will be well worth it.

Slowly lifting the headwear up, Poppy lets it drop atop her fiery locks, chewing nervously upon her bottom lip. It's already well past chapped, a little more gnawing isn't going to hurt it now.

"Now here's a mind I remember well. Your barriers are good, girl, but not good enough."

That's fine, all Poppy needs is for them to alert her to someone looking into her mind; she's quick enough that she could flee from anyone looking into her head. And when it comes to the one person she can't run from, well it's not exactly like she's going to be meeting up with Voldemort anytime soon, is she?

"I'll not be giving you the sword."

"What?! Why not!"

"Because it is meant for a Gryffindor," the hat grumbles, shuffling about upon her head, an illusion of making itself more comfortable atop her skull when all she wishes to do is rip it right off.

"Does that really matter? I'm being brave here, can't that make me an honorary Gryffindor?!"

There's a sharp stinging in her palms and Poppy hastily unclenches her hands, wincing at the red little crescents her nails have dug into the meaty pads of her flesh. Blood beads up from a few of them; perhaps she should start keeping her nails trimmed shorter.

"It's not about what qualities you show, it's about what you value," the Hat mutters, leaning its weight back until Poppy is forced to look up, to gaze into the mirror she'd not even noticed forming. The hat is scowling at her, leathery lips twisting the worn material into a deep frown. "Were you asking for Slytherin's dagger, I wouldn't have been able to sit atop your head before I coughed it up. But Gryffindor? Bravery and chivalry are the two traits you value least of all."

"It's those traits that get you killed," Poppy bites out, mind whirling with all that she knows of the future, all that'd get eaten up.

"You could tell-"

"I'm not telling Dumbledore!"

She can't.

She can't because Dumbledore sees the big picture. He'd been willing to sacrifice Harry like a lamb for slaughter, to throw him to the wolves to ensure the safety of the sheep. What's to say he won't do the same with Lily? Won't wait until she pops out a saviour and then he'd just let it all run its course, get rid of Voldemort and thus allow the time to leisurely track his Horcruxes down?

"Now Miss Evans, Albus would not-"

"You said it's the traits we value. Just because he was a Gryffindor, doesn't mean he'd help me. Doesn't mean he wouldn't condemn my sister and nephew to save more lives. He weighs it by lives he could save. To me, Lily is worth the entire wizarding world put together. She's my sister." The last part is stressed as greatly as she can manage.

There's a moment of still silence as they stare at each other's reflection, both too stubborn to concede to the other. Poppy swallows, looking away first.

"I don't suppose that Slytherin dagger was a real off-"

"Take me back to the office, Miss Evans. Even if I had the dagger, it is not goblin-made. Perhaps you should focus on removing Voldemort's physical body from the chessboard before worrying about a permanent solution."

.

.

.

.

"A snack, Master Regulus?"

Kreacher's huge eyes stare up at him, wide and adoring as he presents the plate of beautifully crafted sandwiches.

Slouching further into his chair, Regulus' eyes drift over to the window, glancing out across the snow-covered countryside that the glass presents. He's in France now, secreted away by his Aunt Cassiopeia as she works her magic.

Already the tapestry has declared him dead and, bless his wicked little soul, Kreacher has agreed to follow after him, faking his own death in the process. Regulus would well and truly be lost without his dear friend.

But that doesn't change the fact he is practically in exile here, stuck with the Dark Lord's Horcrux stored away in a warded box until he can figure out how in the name of Hogwarts he's supposed to destroy it.

Thinking of the castle, that magical place he had gotten to call school, has a surge of bitter-wistfulness crashing over him.

He should be there right now. He should be breakfasting by the Slytherin table, under the watchful eyes of the great walrus Slughorn, listening to the sniped little whispers of his fellow housemates as they discuss the war. He should be doing his best to not garner Dumbledore's attention, should be looking down upon the mudblood populace with a disdained expression upon his face.

He should be catching sight of pomegranate red and forcing himself to turn aside, to not give the game away.

Only the game is up and, most infuriatingly, it feels as if he has lost.

"Master Regulus?"

The concerned croak brings Regulus back to himself, his eyes focusing upon Kreacher who seems to be wavering on if he should keep offering the sandwiches or set them aside in hopes of getting him something better.

"My apologies, Kreacher. I am missing Hogwarts and the company there." Damn. He hadn't meant for that last bit to slip out.

It is well known amongst his family that Regulus is very much an introvert, something his father had despaired over. Apparently, that made it so much harder to find him a good pureblood wife, especially when Regulus would not bother to give anyone not of interest to him the time of day.

"Master Regulus' company?" Kreacher slyly enquires, lips twisting up in interest. Though they look nothing alike, the expression itself reminds him of Evans, of that content kneazle with the cream look.

He's so tired of keeping this a secret. What's the point now? It's all over anyway, they'll never cross paths again.

"Evans saved my life, Kreacher."

"Evans?" Kreacher parrots slowly, a frown on his wrinkled features. "A half-blood?"

He's not speaking of her presence there, or what she was doing there. But he is declaring she had been the one to save his life. This is within the wording of what she demanded of him. Evans needs to learn to articulate her debts with greater care.

"A mudblood."

"A mudblood!" Kreacher despairs, bug eyes wider than usual as he drops the tray of sandwiches. A quick flick of long fingers has it disappearing but the damage is already done.

Despite himself, Regulus can feel a bitter smile twisting at his mouth, recalling Evans who'd never once stopped acting like the uppity-little mudblood she was, but had been so much taller for it.

"I slept with her."

"Master Regulus!" Kreacher wails, dropping to sit upon the floor.

No doubt his whole vision of Regulus has been shattered in these moments and Regulus just laughs, a tinge of hysteria expressed with the vocalisation. Seclusion is supposed to turn a person mad, but to happen this fast? Mayhap his Black blood is catching up with his after all. It certainly got Bella and Andy.

"She's like a Quidditch pile-up, Kreacher. I just couldn't look away from her, couldn't stop from crashing into that madness and I'm all the worse off for it."

Kreacher whimpers, still staring at him and Regulus laughs again.

Evans has fucking ruined him. That much is clear.

More waffle on these two idiots. A little look into Poppy's head, and Regulus is already starting to get cabin fever.

Thanks for reading,

Tsume
xxx