"Regulus Acturus Black, there is something I would like to know. Now. You've skillfully avoided mentioning it in your letters while at school; you've somehow managed to slither around or redirect the matter in the weeks you've been home, and it stops here."

Regulus had never been immune to the fact that Walburga Black's voice was grating at the best of times. He knew it was about as pleasant and soothing as a squawking crow. Unfortunately, he also knew the squawking was about to turn into a screech which could rival that of a banshee. Bloody hell, he thought, but – in a tone that expressed only polite aloofness – replied aloud, "Yes, Mother?"

"Who dared put the heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black in the hospital wing? And don't tell me it was a quidditch accident! You don't end up with your head transfigured because of quidditch!"

This is exactly why I didn't tell Madame Pomfrey or anyone else what happened, Regulus thought bitterly. Of course Mother would insist to be notified whenever I visit the hospital wing. I should have just suffered the humiliation and sought Severus to help put me right.

"It was just one of those wretched Gryffindors," he answered in a disinterested manner, privately hoping beyond hope that the conversation would end there.

"I want a name, Regulus," she responded through gritted teeth. "Which blood traitor managed to accost you, hmm? Surely it wasn't a mudblood that could have bested you..?"

"Of course not, Mother."

With a deranged fury residing in her eyes, Walburga stared at her son, silently demanding an answer. Regulus felt a mixture of exasperation and trepidation. Surely she must know by now who cursed me, and for not the first time in his life, the thought that his mother was barking mad ran through his mind. He was backed into a corner. If he told her a lie, she would simply find out the truth through whatever Gryffindor she tried to seek retribution from. If he told her the true name of his offender, which she likely already knew, he would be subjected to immediate, harsh, and unjust discipline. Feeling dejected and bracing himself for what was to come, he spoke.

"It was Sirius Black."

Regulus, upon uttering his brother's name, watched Walburga's face get impossibly red. It reminded him of when a poorly-tended cauldron cherries right before it explodes. Then, as expected, the banshee screech burst forth.

"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK THAT NAME IN THIS HOUSE! HE IS DEAD TO US! HOW DARE YOU SHOW SUCH INSOLENCE YOU-"

Retreating to the depths of his mind, Regulus stared at the bottom of the staircase and waited for his punishment to be over – for the screeching to die down and the spells to cease their assault on his body.

After what felt like an eternity, Regulus dragged his aching legs up each step and finally into the seclusion of his room. He cursed every part of his life as he went – every part except one.

He cursed his mother for being the raving lunatic she was. He cursed his father for never interfering during the worst of her episodes. He cursed his body for not wanting to cooperate after the strain it was just put through. He cursed his brother for getting himself blasted off the family tree last Christmas, and he cursed the event that brought him to his latest distress.

Simon Hughes, a mudblood Hufflepuff in his year had been making lewd advances to a Ravenclaw fifth year, Samantha Selwyn, who was obviously intended. She had been wearing a broach bearing the Burke family crest proudly on her robes for months, indicating that she had clearly been promised to Delfious Burke, a seventh year Slytherin. Regulus was in the middle of telling the boy that mudbloods like him had no business being in the Wizarding World when Sirius had walked up behind him and stated that if he was going to act like an ass, he should at least look the part. That is how Regulus had found himself in the hospital wing with a donkey's head in place of his own.

Why can't Sirius understand that mudbloods hold no place among us? Can't he see that they disregard our traditions and pose a threat to the sanctity of our world? Can't he see that when the Dark Lord takes over, he will be ridiculed and ostracized for being so blind?

Regulus cursed it all again as he collapsed on his bed. In fact the only thing he didn't curse was the strange, magnificent secret that had showed up in most of his dreams ever since he could remember. He begged the Fates he would see her again tonight.

She was his solace in the complicated life he was born into, and if she was real, which he was most certain she was, he knew he was her solace, as well. A year ago Regulus had finally divulged to her that he had come to love her as much more than a friend, and proceeded to kiss her over and over with wishes of a real future in between. He remembered that her kiss felt like salvation and torture all in one, making him crave her actual lips more than ever.

Remembrance. That was the strange part – the part that made them both sure the other was real. There were many things that Regulus could remember from his dream love, as well as many he could not. They were specific things, things that would allow them to find each other – names, locations, regional animals and plants – which eluded them. They each knew they spoke of it; Regulus remembered one dream where they both only spoke the other's name over and over in hopes of recalling when they awoke, but while they could remember doing just that, neither could remember what name each spoke.

During wakefulness, he merely referred to her as Art in his mind ever since he was very young and decided to think up a name for her. He had no idea if it was actually part of her name, but he vaguely remembered one dream where they painted soldiers with wands and made them come to life and fight each other in epic battles; thus – Art.

Art had told Regulus once that she even tried to pull a memory of his face in order to show her sister, who was especially adept at painting and enchanting magical portraits. The idea was that the portrait could glean the information she had lost; as soon as Art tried to bring forth the memory for that purpose, however, she couldn't even remember what he looked like. She confessed that, after lying in despair for hours at not being able to recall his face and promising to herself that she would never attempt to mess with the Fates' plan again, she was finally able to bring his features to the forefront of her mind. That was when they both agreed that it was the Fates that brought them together in sleep. The Fates would allow them to truly meet one day. We need only wait. With that thought, Regulus was finally able to drift off.

The best part about their dream connection was that every time they entered their dreams, they remembered everything they had forgotten. That is why, when Regulus came upon his love he called out, "Sophia!"

She stood at the fallen elder tree where the two usually met, looking out at the body of water in front of them – her elegant, ancient looking robes swaying in the breeze. When they were ten, he brought up the concern that perhaps they were from different times and were never actually destined to meet in this life. She then explained that she was, in fact, born in 1961 just as he was. Her family line had simply remained secluded for many years, only truly allowing outsiders in when marriage contracts had been finalized and magically sealed. For this reason, everyday attire was one of a few things in her family that had progressed more slowly than the rest of the world. She elaborated that they did have outfits to wear on the rare occasion that they did venture into public – her father did that quite a bit – and her sister actually preferred the style, but it had always made Sophia feel too exposed.

She twisted around to greet him, silver hair flaring out as she went, looking every bit the angel she was. When his eyes met hers, his excited smile fell instantly. Anguish tore at his gut and he knew that something was terribly wrong. She had been crying, and her eyes shown with what Regulus thought was a mixture of despair, fear, and desperation. Before he could utter a single inquiry, she was in his arms, her face buried in his chest.

"Regulus. Reggie, they're dead. All of them… They're dead."

Her family. He knew that they were the only people she had emotional connections to aside from him and could only hold her as she fell apart. His mind almost burst with questions as he did. How? Why? Is she hurt somewhere? Surely, if that were so, she would alert me. She's supposed to be at the Peverell summer home, here, in England. Where is she now? Selfishly he wondered, is she closer to me than she's ever been? He had to allow her time to grieve, though. He knew that wherever she was now, she would not have someone else to depend on in this capacity while awake; if this small gesture was all he could offer her, he would. Still, her sobs were tearing at him, and he silently begged her to speak.

Once she calmed down her breathing, and the only outward signs of distress were the tears still flowing from her exhausted eyes, she still did not speak. Regulus realized that distracting her from the topic for a moment might not vanish her pain, but it could lighten it for a while and make handling her situation easier.

"When I was five, I was exploring this very forest and trying to find the best tree to climb. I knew I was in a dream from the beginning, because, well, I was never allowed to do something as uncivilized as to roam a forest simply for fun. Anyway, I was looking for the tree, when I registered a movement from the corner of my eye. I looked over and saw a girl – around my age at the time – walking parallel to me about three meters away and staring up at the treetops ahead of her. She was… captivating." At this pronouncement, he heard Sophia scoff and inwardly praised himself for his accomplished goal. "Her silken hair was this mystical assortment of pink, purple, blue and white – hair which would make any other little girl die from sheer envy. In her many layered, lacy robes, she looked like nothing short of a perfectly carved porcelain doll, animated to be the perfect little girl. Yes, even then, when young boys such as myself took little to no notice of girls, I thought her beautiful."

"Exaggerating things a bit, aren't you?"

Regulus ignored her in favor of continuing the tale. "I was determining the best way to capture her attention and interest when she stopped. Her gaze fell to meet mine and she smiled, but before I could speak, she turned and began to run away from me." Lacing his hand with hers, he paused for a moment to peer down at her and see the slight smile curving her full lips. "At first, I interpreted her abrupt departure as bashfulness. Then I noticed flowers sprouting up in place of her footprints and realized she was leaving a trail for me. I followed the trail even after I lost sight of the one making it. The flowered trail eventually ended at the base of a tree. I was scanning the area for the girl when I heard a melodic laugh from above and looked up. There you were, sitting on a branch, in the very best climbing-tree. The light had shown through the trees to lay upon your skin, highlighting your expression. You had this triumphant look on your face, and you –"

She interrupted to finish for him, "and I said, 'once you catch up, we'll see who can make it to the top first,' and then I won by an extreme margin."

"Now who's exaggerating? It was most definitely a tie!"

They laughed at that and she looked at him in bemusement. "Why?"

He knew exactly what she was referring to and readily replied, "because sometimes I need a good memory that isn't overshadowed by darkness. It keeps me composed and reminds me that things aren't always so dreary." He gently brushed his lips against her forehead and brought his free hand up to wipe away the remnants of her tears. "I thought you could use one, so I gave you one of my favorites."

She looked solemn then, and turned her gaze toward the lake at the forest's edge. "Do you remember telling me about the Dark Lord?"

"Of course. He's working to save the magical world – to bring back the Old Magics and eradicate the threat of muggles and mudbloods. He's extremely powerful. I admit that some of the things he's had to do to muggles are horribly gruesome, but it's an understandable move, a necessary evil to ensure his ideas be taken seriously and show him to be a strong leader." He paused for a moment, bewildered by her askance. "But as I recall, you seemed quite adamant in not wanting to discuss politics. Why? He isn't responsible for - for what happened, is he?"

She appeared to be steeling herself for her reply before regarding him once more. Her stare carried many things, the weight of which both terrified and entranced him. Gone was the desperation and fear he saw earlier. The despair was still present, but added to it was resolve. Whatever she was going to reveal to him – it was absolute for her, regardless of his thoughts.

Being more than just a pretty face, Regulus had already concluded that his wonderful, brilliant Sophia was a blood traitor. It couldn't be helped. She was sheltered, not to mention she's from the States, where MACUSA is so strict about muggle/magical interaction, it's like a whole different world. However, he wasn't worried; he knew that whoever was right and knew best would convince the other to be in harmony with his… or her views. It wasn't that he couldn't see her being right. He just couldn't see himself being wrong.

With her next words, he would learn just a sample of how wrong he could be.