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Chapter 9

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"Oh Petal."

Her lower lip isn't wobbling. It isn't.

Poppy stands in the kitchen that has been her home for more than a decade now, hands forcibly stuffed into her pockets so she can suppress the urge to wrap them around her waist. She doesn't need a faux form of comfort like that. This isn't something to be ashamed of. It's a little slip up, something that'll have consequences for the rest of her life but one that Poppy's determined to embrace.

It's not knotweed growing in her now; she's nurturing what she's determined to see as the most beautiful little bud ever burgeoned. It's something she's going to treasure, fuck what the rest of her world thinks.

But it's still hurting, still cutting deep to see her parents look at her like that. Sure, the expression was instantly wiped from their faces, but she hadn't missed the slight disappointment, the slight pity.

Their youngest daughter, freshly eighteen, still single and suddenly very much pregnant out of wedlock. That's a big problem right now in the seventies. Well, nearly eighties, one more year to go.

Regardless, it's not something well looked upon.

And while Poppy doesn't care how others perceive her (when has she ever? She'd have curled up and wished to die after the first 'mudblood' comment if that were the case)… this is different. These are her parents she's telling.

"And you're keeping it?"

Are her mother's first words and Poppy nods sharply, hands fisting, nails digging into the flesh of her palm. She's ignoring the guilt pooling in her stomach, senseless guilt at that. She hasn't done anything wrong by her standards, other than being unprepared that is. Even then, it's not as if she hasn't been steadily building a nest-egg of cash throughout her years.

"Well I wish the bastard who put you in this position were still around so I could wring his neck, but there's nought we can do about that. We'll help you wherever we can, Petal." This is it, this is why she's such a daddy's girl.

Because while her mother is evidentially trying, her lips are pressed into a tight thin line and her resemblance to Petunia is clear right now. It's easy to see where her eldest sister gained her mindset from. Still, her mother loves her; she's holding her tongue.

No, it's her father that's said the words she's needed to hear, to the point it's coaxing hot tears to her eyes.

"Thanks," Poppy croaks, voice irritatingly hoarse as she steps into her the hug her father offers, clutching the coarse material of his work-shirt. "I'm pretty sure I can take care of it all, Dad, there's ways I can deal with this and still come out on top." Of that, Poppy is unquestionably sure.

Just like waking up in the body of a baby, just like sitting down to a tea-party and realising her sisters are called Petunia and Lily Evans, like meeting the grease-stain that is Severus Snape for the first time and truly realising what she's in for, Poppy will take it all in her stride. She's got no other options than to do so.

First thing's first, she has to start getting some of her affairs in order. It's clear that dealing with the Horcruxes before Voldemort's attack on Lily and Potter just isn't going to happen now, not when she's got this on her plate.

So, she's going to have to get rid of him, temporarily. Removing Voldemort from the equation would make society safer as a whole and leave him incapable of defending his Horcruxes.

And all she's got to do is get in a kill shot at the most feared wizard in history. Easy.

Not.

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Stuffing an iced finger into her mouth, Poppy sucks at the sweetness that persists on the edge of her finger, forcibly not looking at Lily from the corner of her eye.

To say her sister is suspicious would be a damn understatement. Lily knows she's left Hogwarts and now she's looking for a house in a magical community? Yeah, it's no wonder her elder sister keeps shooting her dubious looks whenever she believes Poppy won't notice.

But she's noticed.

"Where are you getting the money from for a house anyway?"

"I set up a smuggling ring at school," Poppy deadpans, pulling the lapels of her jacket tighter. It's not too far from the truth.

The Room of Requirement had been a treasure trove much like a medieval Cave of Wonders, full of bountiful carp students had needed to hide and then forgotten about, not had the ability to access again. Gold, silver, all sorts of gems (really, these purebloods are crazy, bringing those kind of things to school) but also, artefacts that'd long fallen out of fashion and were now coveted as a statement of wealth or intellect.

All of which the goblins had been happy to buy from her, selling on for a greater price with cliental who'd trust them far more than they would a dirty little mudblood.

Though it bites to know she's losing money, Poppy's managed to amass enough to afford a house and (as long as she lives frugally) not have to worry about working for a year or two. She'll get by.

It's difficult enough to imagine how things'd have gone had she not taken such pre-emptive measures.

"Keep your secrets," Lily mumbles, the amused smile on her face warmer than the spring sunshine, "I'll get them out of you eventually." That is painfully true.

Already Poppy has started to gain weight around the stomach area and just this morning she'd had to turn down Lily's offer of medium-rare steak for dinner. No undercooked meat and her preferred medium-rare is just too risky now. Which sucks because it's her favourite meal.

Of course, Lily is well aware of such a thing too, hence the increasingly suspicious looks.

Hell, she'd rather have not brought Lily house-hunting with her at all, but the elder redhead had begged; Potter and the rest of his boys are on a man's weekend away, whatever that means. Thus, sibling bonding time.

"Okay, that's it! Tell me what the hell's going on, Pop! I know you weren't exactly thrilled with Hogwarts, but I figured you'd stick it out because you're certainly not struggling with the coursework; you had straight O's!"

There's a hand wrapped around her wrist, though it's far from the harsh grasp that Regulus had once held it with. That'd been the start of all this, hadn't it?

Poppy laughs, shaking her head, one hand coming up to scrub at the side of her face but there's no tears. Hell, she's pretty sure she used every last one up when she broke the news to her parents two weeks ago.

"It's funny. Both you and Petunia have your lives together, houses, men that treat you like queens. But I'm the one having a baby first."

The fine, mist like drizzle that'd been surrounding them becomes thicker, fat raindrops smacking against the flustered skin of her cheeks and Poppy feels the water clump her eyelashes to one another.

It doesn't wash anything away though, doesn't make her feel clean or refreshed. The rain cannot wash away the evidence of her life because she's not concrete, she's the earth, soaking it all up instead and she'll use it to become stronger, to keep growing.

Sighing, Poppy reaches into her bag, drawing forth and umbrella far longer than her bag should have been capable of storing and props it up over the both of them.

Lily is still staring at her, lips parted, as if she's tried to speak but the breath, the words have just been caught on her teeth, incapable of escaping.

"Surprise," Poppy drawls, trying to smother the panic that's starting to flare in her chest.

It's always been there in her chest, at first an underlying 'what if Petunia and Lily realise I'm some stranger that's taken over the body of their sister?', only that's never really been the case. Poppy Evans has always been her, Lily and Petunia have only ever known her and they love her, strange quirks and all. That doesn't matter.

But with the acceptance from that train of logic came the inescapable 'what if I ever let them down', the 'what if I disappoint them' lingering persistently, like a bad case of common cold.

"You're having a baby?" Lily asks quietly, her grip suddenly that much stronger; it'll leave imprints in her forearm if she keeps it up much longer.

"Yeah, thi…" Poppy trails off, uncertain.

She can't call it a thing, not anymore. Not now that she's acknowledged it, now that she knows it's human and someday it'll breath and it'll laugh and it'll call her Mama.

"I- yeah. There's a baby growing in me."

It's not a fig tree, strangling her insides, it's a precious little bundle that she's got to look after. It's hers and no one will ever be able to take that away.

"Oh my- Poppy! You didn't even say you were…"

This time it's Lily that halts her words, looking sheepish and Poppy knows exactly what she'd been able to say. She'd never said she was in a relationship.

"There's no relationship, Lil. Hell, I don't even know if I can love someone the way Potter's blessed enough to have you love him." Holding up her hand to starve off whatever denial Lily's about to sprout, the younger Evans sister fiddles nervously with the handle of her umbrella, sucking in the flesh of her lower lip and all the while wishing dearly that she'd not finished off those iced fingers so fast. "Look, what we had, Lily, was sorta like poetry. It wasn't good, but it wasn't bad either, it just made me feel something and for me, that was enough."

Those interactions with Regulus, it'd made her feel alive, made her feel like she wasn't just marching on into a battle to save her sister's life. In those moments, they'd just been Poppy and Regulus; there'd been no outside world and she'd just been able to forget it. To just focus on carefully styled (and not so carefully styled) hair, thawing silver eyes and greedy pale hands.

"Maybe not the epic romance you've got with Potter but, for a time, it was ours."

"You have to get a cottage in Godric's Hollow. Then we can help you out whenever you need it! Oh, I love babies, Poppy and if you live nearby when James and I have kids."

Laughing and ignoring just how wobbly the sound is, Poppy links her arm through Lily's, trying to push down the grateful grin.

"Like I'd trust Potter with my spawn. I don't think I'd just him with a cat, never mind a baby."

Because of course Lily wouldn't judge her.

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"You wicked little child, why are you looking through that book?"

Peering blearily up at Aunt Cassiopeia, Regulus snatches up a bookmark to hold his place in the text.

Admittedly it is quite gruesome but to kill a Dark Lord he's going to have to pull out all the stops. Yet, he's not found one thing yet that he could pull off without months of practice.

Regulus is no fool, he's well aware he cannot just learn one trump card spell and expect it to take Dark Lord down. No, while Regulus may have been one of the better duellers of his year-group (behind Evans, always behind Evans) he's nowhere near the level that'd be able to take the Dark Lord on and live.

Salazar damn it, he'll never be able to get rid of the bastard if he didn't find something useful soon.

Hence, he's flicking through an astoundingly dark tome filled with time-delay curses and all sorts of archaic rituals. There has to be something in here that'll grant him the ability to off the Dark Lord, something clever and efficient. He could really do without Cassiopeia's hovering.

"How can I help you, dearest Aunt?"

"Don't you give me that cheek, boy. Show your death-faking aunt some respect." She sniffs prissily, nose high in the air and a smirk tugs involuntarily at Regulus' lips.

"My apologies. As to why I am looking through it… research."

"Research? Not to deal with the scorned secret lover, is it?"

The expression of distaste crosses his face before Regulus can help himself.

Would he kill Evans off? No. Kreacher has already offered him such a thing and Regulus had swiftly turned him down, perhaps too swiftly. While the idea of Evans continuing on with her life, finding some filth to settle down with and raise her mudblood children with is… discomforting, the concept of a world sans said Evans is even worse. Narrowly so, but it's true.

"For the Dark Lord, actually."

"Pah, everything you've done so far is for that blasted Dark Lord. Aunt, I need to fake my death, Aunt, I need to untraceably kill someone, Aunt, I need some more groceries."

"Kreacher deals with the groceries," Regulus grumbles, settling himself into the plush leather chair with a deep sigh. Aunt Cassiopeia is on a roll it seems, charging forwards Hippogriff style with no acknowledgement of his exceptionally bored expression.

"Just once do something for the scorned secret lover, I need details, young man."

"I'm not giving you blackmail to put in that accursed book." No matter how open-minded Cassiopeia seems, no matter how she disapproved of the Dark Lord, she's still a Black. Toujours pur. Regulus isn't going to run the risk of her his aunt kicking him from her protection; he's far too much of a Slytherin for that.

"Just you watch, I'll find out, Regulus Black, I always do."

I have no idea where I'm going with this.

Thanks for reading,

Tsume
xxx