"Dorcas," whispered Regulus, his face inches from hers. The light of the setting sun played shadows across her face under the branches of the bare tree.

"Yes?"

Regulus watched the white breath escape her mouth, a single puff, like a little cloud. It made him a little ashamed of his question. He paused, waited until the smoky tendrils had dissolved into the air. She sat on his lap, his arms holding her tight, faces at a right angle.

He took a breath and casually said, "Are you a pureblood?"

Her brows knotted into a frown. "Sorry?"

"Um. Pedigree. You've told me your father comes from a well respected family, but what about your mom?"

"My mom," she mused dreamily. "She's a witch."

"Good, okay, and her parents..." he said, prodding her on.

She yawned, clearly not in the mood to be prodded anywhere. Not now, when she was spending her precious time with him instead of taking a nap, which would be far more sensible. "Why do you care, anyway?"

"Well, I've got to know whether to send the wedding invitations my owl or by post, now don't I?"

She laughed out loud. They had spent the previous night in the library, studying the postal service for a test in Muggle Studies. In the little time actually spent studying, Dorcas was fully convinced that Regulus would never survive in the Muggle world if left to his own devices. He still wasn't entirely clear on whether electricity would be needed to send the letter and what function the postal code served.

"I don't think you'd be able to manage one letter, let alone the dozens needed to reach my extended Muggle relations," she shook her head in pity.

"So your grandparents were Muggles then?"

"If I said they were, would I get to watch you send these letters to them?"

He shivered in horror. "Of course not! I'd just buy envelopes for my maidservant Brunhilda to, erm, you know, write on."

"You silly, silly rich boy. There's no use in giving you an education, is there?" Dorcas giggled, and leaned forward to peck him on the cheek.

"So they're actually wizards?" Regulus said.

"You have to get me a ring first."

"A what?"

"Before you can send out the invitations. A really nice, crusty old diamond ring. It'd better be huge."

"An heirloom?"

"Most definitely. I want a big fat B on the jewel." She held out her arm, pretending to admire the stone on her finger. He kissed her finger like a French gentleman. Or what he presumed a Frcnch gentleman would do, having never met one.

"Heirloom jewels are a specialty of the family Black. What's the use of being aristocratic without jewels? I broke into my mother's jewelry once, years and years ago. She had rocks the size of snitches. All of them, probably over a hundred years old. Covered in gold and silver, positively dripping with rubies and emeralds."

Dorcas exhaled delicately, making that face that he loved so much. "What did your mother do when she found you with your hand in the jewelry box?"

Regulus grinned. "She was actually away with my father, somewhere in Russia for god knows what, with just the nannies back to look after us. After I found the box, I ran to show Sirius, and we pretended that we were pirates, come upon hidden treasure. We buried it in the yard and dug it up again. Eventually Sirius, of course the victorious pirate, took the box and hid it away."

"Your mother never found out?"

Regulus remembered lying in his bed, listening to his mother and brother screaming at each other, stomping up and down the staircases, slamming doors. Always an argument – but about the jewels? "No. He sold them when he left. He needed every cent he could get." He changed the subject again, very gentlemanly. "What was your mother's maiden name, then?"

Dorcas thought for a minute, her finger twirling a strand of brown hair. "Smith, I think."

"That's not a wizarding name."

"She was given it when she was adopted. She grew up Muggle. At least until she got her letter from Hogwarts."

"And her birth parents?"

Dorcas shook her head gently. "She never tried to find them, as far as I know. She always told me her parents were enough parents for her. What did she always say? Something like, we can't choose our families, but at least my parents chose me. Something like that. Said she would have chosen me."

"That's very sweet. Of course, I would have chosen you as well." He didn't want to push the subject. It made him uneasy.

"Somebody's looking for a kiss!" she laughed. He smiled, showing off his good manners. Nope, no hidden agendas here.

"And do I get one?"

She smiled and leaned into his cheek, finally her lips finding his. She loved his skin, she loved his mouth. She'd never told him, but she did.

He took what he was given, gratefully, and returned the favor. He, too, felt the electricity, the warmth of his skin on hers.

They hugged tighter and closer in the dying rays of the sunset.