Here we have it! Thank you tons and tons to everyone who reviewed, favourited or put this story on their alerts. And thank you as well to you silent readers (though some noise is appreciated too.)

Enjoy!

Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go,
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
But the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonnie and blithe and good and gay.

Traditional Nursery Rhyme

Wednesday's child is full of woe.

"My lord," Regulus breathed, the slightest hint of fear breaking through his veneer of obedience, bowing so that only the crown of his head was visible to the pale man he called 'lord'.

"Do you know why I have brought you here?" The man's voice was powerful and cold.

"My lord, I hope that I do. If I may be so bold as to speak freely before you..." He trailed off, waiting for permission.

Something sharp hit his cheek, drawing a line of blood perpendicular to his mouth. "When I ask a question, you answer directly."

Regulus bowed again, "Yes, my lord." A pause. "I believe it is..."

When Regulus returned to Grimmauld Place that night, his mother was waiting for him by the door.

"Regulus," She smiled emotionlessly at him, eying the thin line on his cheek. "How did it go?"

"Fine, mother." He pushed past her, into the house. "Is father home?"

"You know he is."

With a heavy sigh, Regulus Black began to climb the stairs, moving slowly, as if he expected to be called back down. But his mother made no further comment as he retreated.

He made his way to his room mechanically, his mind enveloped in more important things. The outcome of his meeting with the Dark Lord was still uncertain in his mind. He knew only so far as that someone would be punished for failure at Hoggs Hollow, where not three days ago, Malfoy and Yaxley had been unsuccessful in killing the three blood traitors the Dark Lord had singled out.

But that was not the most important thing. Punishments were far from uncommon among the Dark Lord's inner circle. No, his main cause for concern was much more personal – a nagging doubt that refused to relinquish its hold over a growing portion of his mind.

Since the Dark Lord's rise, his parents had made no indication that they doubted the cause. Although they rarely made mention of Regulus' odd disappearances, and only acknowledged his cousin Bellatrix's involvement obliquely, they never showed disapproval for the work they did.

Quite the opposite.

By avoiding the topic so delicately they only made it more obvious that they approved.

And at first, Regulus had been happy. An odd feeling, he noticed, for someone so used to the woe of being not quite good enough. But their respect for his involvement in the cause waned over time, as with most things, and Regulus was left doing something he had only felt a lukewarm passion for in the first place.

And now, with his brother becoming more heavily involved in the Order of the Phoenix, he began to feel the familiar woe returning to him. He was not made for fighting, on either side. He was not made for nobility or valour or The Cause – either one.

Lips drawn in a tight line, something that had become more common for him of late, he sat down on his bed and heaved a heavy sigh. Eyes closed, he took a moment to imagine how lovely it would be to feel a woman's touch, to be kissed, to have someone who cared waiting for him when he returned. Three things he had never known.

He roused himself from his daydream and reached over to his bedside table. He withdrew a journal and dull brown ostrich feather quill from a drawer.

He opened it, and teeth clenched tight, mouth fixed in a thin line, he began to write.

I was not made for happiness.

This is something I have come to realize over the course of my life. But I don't feel bad for it, and I certainly don't want pity for it. No, it is simply a fact that I must live with.

He paused a moment, eyes closed, breathing deeply.

After all this time, all the brief moments of uncertainty that flash before my eyes like so many troubled pictures, I have made up my mind. I will do the thing that I have been considering.

Another deep breath.

I know I won't survive. And even if I do, that death would be the favourable option. I know what the Dark Lord's followers are capable of. I know what Bellatrix is capable of.

This is my last entry. I must remember to thank cousin Narcissa, if I ever see her again, for giving me this book last Christmas. No doubt it was expensive.

What a waste.

He frowned and closed the book, withdrawing his wand from his sleeve.

"Incendio." He murmured, and the book fell to ash.

Side note: Hoggs Hollow is an actual place, though it's not anywhere in the UK, it's in Canada (Toronto, actually). But I thought it sounded suitably wizard to be used in this context.

Reviews are always met with kindness. (And again, if anyone has any ideas at all about Thursday, please tell me.)