Black Mask

by Ieyre

Christmas 1979—danger, secrets, lies and their shared history loom large over the Blacks' first Yuletide season as a reunited family. While life as a fugitive proves bleaker—and more boring—than Regulus could have imagined, a botched espionage mission at Malfoy Manor draws Sirius deeper into the Black family web. [Sequel to 'In the Black']

34. Chapter 34

"…Where are you heading, if you've got the choice?"

James lifted an invisible sword.

" 'Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart!' Like my dad." Snape made a small, disparaging noise. James turned on him. "Got a problem with that?"

"No," said Snape, though his slight sneer said otherwise. "If you'd rather be brawny than brainy —"

"Where're you hoping to go, seeing as you're neither?" interjected Sirius.

-J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

---

CHAPTER 34

---

"Colette…where are we?"

"In Lestrange Castle."

"Why did you have a portkey to Lestrange Castle on your bracelet?"

"Narcissa Malfoy gave it to me. As a Christmas present."

A pregnant pause followed Colette's explanation. Mrs. Potter waited for some context. After about ten seconds she realized it wasn't coming.

"…You realize," she said, staring at a wild boar mounted on the wall. "There are about fifteen questions that answer demands."

Colette grabbed Lily by the wrist and threw the invisibility cloak over them. She pulled her reluctant accomplice out of the foyer and into the main entrance hall of the castle, the belly of the beast. The lit torches and dusty red velvet carpet marked with some dubious looking matching stains were the only indications of life. The walls had either been charmed to repel noise, or the ancient stone absorbed it.

A blessing and a curse for intruders.

"The idiot told me not to tell you," Colette said, irritation obvious.

"'The idiot'?" Lily whispered. "Is that what you're calling Sirius now?"

"He deserves worse, the fool!" Colette seethed. "We met at his cousin's house. He was in disguise. I know now he was doing a mission for your Order, though I did not at the time. I have been staying with his mother and father, in London."

"You're staying with the Bla—"

Colette covered Lily's mouth and dragged her up against the wall. At that moment Bellatrix Lestrange and Evan Rosier rounded the corner.

"Where did you put him?" Evan asked, walking swiftly to keep pace with his cousin.

Rosier looked ready to kill, but Bellatrix was sleek and confident, a queen in her kingdom. Lily pressed her back against the wall and held her breath as they passed.

"Somewhere secure." Madame Lestrange shrugged her shoulders, dismissively. "My cousin needs a little time to…think things over. Don't worry, he'll keep until then. Someone is going to come looking for him."

"Those Aurors won't dare show their faces around here," said Evan. "They have no just cause."

Bellatrix smiled, grimly.

"You know I'm not talking about them."

They walked off in the direction of the main foyer. When the sound of their footsteps died, Lily let out the breath she'd been holding.

"That was bloody close."

"Regulus must be this way," Colette whispered, pointing down the hall.

They went in the direction from which Madame Lestrange and Evan Rosier had come. The passage led to an apparent dead-end, a windowless wall over which hung a tapestry depicting a man being mauled by a gigantic serpent.

"Lovely," Lily remarked, taking the cloak off.

"Where would you keep a prisoner in a castle like this?" the French girl asked, examining each wall carefully.

"It's a bit…medieval. So I'd say in the dungeon."

Colette ripped down the tapestry. Behind it was an unobtrusive wooden door.

"Well, I'll give them points for staying true to type," said Mrs. Potter. "If not creativity. How did you know that was there?"

"I remembered this door was here. My mother made me read a book about the history of the house and its design."

"Why would your mother do that?"

"She thought it would be useful," Colette said, grimly. "For when I marry Rabastan Lestrange."

"For when you marry—"

"—I do not think he will make me an offer, at any rate." She felt the edges of the door with her fingers, searching for a gap between the wood and stone of the castle wall. "And after this week, I do not think I should accept if he did."

Miss Battancourt tried to unlock the door, but after several attempts at 'alohomora', it remained firmly shut.

"It was never going to be that easy." Lily waved the younger girl away. "Stand aside. I find sometimes a simple charm can be best—"

She transfigured the door knob into a toad.

"—And sometimes you've got to use really powerful transfiguration."

"C'est incroyable!" The toad hopped over Colette's foot. "However did you think of that?"

"It's a trick I picked up from my husband." Mrs. Potter's lip quirked up. "He's—so clever about transfiguration, you know."

They pulled the door open. Lily tried to banish the thought of James—his face, his hazel eyes glinting with mischief behind his spectacles that had no right looking so damned attractive on his stupid long nose—the nose that she would dearly love to tweak right now (or punch!), if he was in front of her.

How dare Potter do this to her.

I'm going to kill him. It was only the thought of disembowelment at her hands that kept Lily from considering the very possibility somebody else would get there first.

A torch was attached to the wall. With some effort, Colette managed to pull it out of the rusty sconce. The two women stumbled down the spiral staircase, into the pitch black—down and down, until their feet unexpectedly hit the cobble stones of the dungeon floor. Surprised, Colette dropped the torch onto the floor—it went out.

"Oh, non."

Lily pulled the invisibility cloak off of the two girls and lit her wand. Colette snatched the torch up from the ground, embarrassed. They were in a small landing at the base of the staircase, which lead to a single wooden door. Slowly, the two women walked over to it. Lily gave it an experimental push, and it yielded to her touch.

She extinguished her wand and opened the door. Neither of them could see anything. Cautious of danger, the two women cautiously walked forward. Lily could feel Colette's hand on her shirt.

"Bellatrix?" a voice called out from the darkness. "Are you back for more?"

The two witches started—and then, when realization hit—

When she saw the face that voice belonged to, peering out from the bars of the single cell of the dungeon chamber, Mrs. Potter let out a colossal sigh and turned to her friend.

"I told you he would be here."

Colette dropped her hand from Lily's arm. The extinguished torch hung uselessly at her waist.

"Lily?" Sirius cried, squinting through the dark. "What the hell are you—"

Then he realized that it was Colette standing next to her, staring at him in numb shock.

"What are you doing here?" Colette and Sirius said, in unison.

Lily waited for one of them to speak. The couple (were they a couple? That affronted look from her and gobsmacked irritation tinged with longing from him did suggest as much) were too busy acting shocking and offended at each other's presence to answer the question.

"Apparently having a staring contest," said Lily.

Sirius snapped out of his daze first.

"What the hell are the two of you about?" He demanded. "How did you get here?"

"Your cousin apparently gave Colette a portkey to this house."

"And you were stupid enough to use it?"

Now that the shock at finding her husband's best friend had subsided, Mrs. Potter felt her irritation at Sirius's apparent ingratitude grow.

"I'm sorry, but your new girlfriend didn't exactly give me a chance to talk it over before she shoved it in my hand."

"She's not my girlfriend!"

Miss Battancourt, having recovered from the shock of finding one Black brother where she expected another to be, took a step towards the cell. The hand that held her wand trembled with suppressed emotion. Lily was a little afraid the French girl was in danger of using the torch she still grasped in the other hand as a weapon,

"What a surprise to see you," she sniffed—trying to sound cool and detached. "I thought you would be well on your way to Morocco, or the Cape—or wherever it is you said you were going to go."

"I changed my mind," Sirius shot back. "When I received a letter from Bellatrix that included my Christmas present to you snapped into twelve pieces!"

He pulled bits of a fountain pen out of his pocket and thrust them through the cell bars. Shocked, she dropped the torch and took the pile of springs and metal casing in her now-empty hand.

"What is she talking about?" Lily looked between them. "Why the hell would you go to Morocco, of all places?"

"Look, it doesn't matter—"

"You asked me to run away with you, and you say it 'does not matter'?"

"You asked her to do what?"

Sirius shrank against the combined force of their hard looks.

"It's not like that," he muttered. "She's—she's being…dramatic."

"I am not." Colette stared down at the pieces of the pen. "Madame Lestrange sent this to you? When?"

"This afternoon. She informed me of quite a few things when I got here, as well," he said, voice testy. "You were spying on some Death Eaters from behind a curtain at Rosier's party? What the hell were you thinking, Colette? You could have been killed!"

At his scolding, Colette's expression darkened.

"You are in no position to lecture me about dangers, Monsieur Black! I might've been better prepared if you had told me that Narcissa's husband and your cousin and her husband and brother were Death Eaters. You lie about everything. You have been lying to me from the very moment we met!"

"Of course I've been lying to you!" He waved his hands around his cell. "If this is the trouble you get in when I'm lying to you, imagine what would happen if I'd told you the truth. You have the curiosity and sense of a Kneazle in a dragon's den."

Colette sputtered out an indignant protest, only to be railroaded by Sirius Black in full rant mode.

"Poking your nose in where it doesn't belong, spying on Death Eaters, running headlong into a nest of them to rescue me—"

"—We did not come here to rescue you!" she interrupted him, Gallic temper in full force. "We came to rescue Regulus and Mr. Potter. We had not the slightest idea you were even on the premises."

The rebuff surprised Sirius, and his handsome face tightened, his eyes flashed with unmistakable surprise—and, unless Lily was very much mistaken, hurt.

"Well, I'm sorry to be such a disappointment."

Colette wilted a little at his wounded tone of voice, her confidence in her own righteousness wavering. Lily decided this was the opportune moment to step in before the row picked up again. They could be at it for some time if she didn't.

"Do you know where James and Regulus are, Padfoot?"

Sirius shook his head.

"No, but they're definitely here. They arrived not long before you did. One of them got the brilliant idea that Regulus should pretend he caught James on the grounds. The old fake prisoner gambit."

"It's not the stupidest plan James has ever come up with," said Lily, doubtfully. "But as he's often paired with you for these sorts of insane missions, that's not saying much."

"It might've worked, if Bella didn't know everything already. She never wanted me—I was just the bait for Regulus, to draw him out. And he fell for it."

"You mean, you both did." Lily groaned and buried her face in her hands. "You must be rubbing off on him."

"Don't blame me for my brother's idiocy! He did this all on his own."

Colette looked back down at the broken pen pieces.

"I…didn't even realize this was missing," she said, softly.

"That's flattering."

She looked up at him, with fresh wonder—her cheeks growing hot under the dim light of her and Mrs. Potter's wands.

"Did you—did you really come here because you thought I was in danger?"

Sirius sighed, his anger momentarily leaving him.

"I even went to your great aunt's cottage to check if you were there—but there was no one home, so I assumed the worst. I thought I was being so clever." His expression softened. "If you didn't come for me, how did you know Regulus and James were here?"

Colette started to explain about the letter again, but halfway through the story Sirius interrupted her.

"So, you don't notice when my Christmas present disappears, but one scrap of paper my brother left in his room escapes your possession, and you come running into a castle owned by blood-thirsty maniacs?" Sirius asked, incapable of hiding his sarcasm. "Just want to get the facts straight here."

"You're very touchy right now, Padfoot," Lily observed, examining the lock on his cell door. "Since we're here already, I guess we should rescue you as well. My idiot husband won't leave this place without you, in any case."

Lily tried every spell, charm and hex she could think of on the lock of his cell door. The last one, a particularly nasty number she'd picked up from an esoteric book of charms Professor Slughorn had lent her sixth year, bounced off it and around the room several times before dissipating in a puff of violet smoke.

"There's no point in bothering with that, Lily," snapped Sirius. "We have to get you two out of here, before she comes back!"

Lily put her hands on her hips.

"What, do you think we're going to stroll out of here and leave you behind in this dungeon?"

"You can't stay. This is my fault, I'm not going to let you pay for my mistakes. Prongs would never forgive me if I let something happen to you—I'd never forgive myself."

Colette looked back at the pieces of the pen. Her face hardened into a look of determination and she clenched her fist.

"I have an idea." The French girl stuffed what was left of her Christmas present in the small satchel that still hung at her waist. "I think I know of someone who will help us. I will go."

Now it was Lily and Sirius's turn to round on the third of their party with identical looks of disbelief.

"No, you won't!" Sirius jabbed his finger in her direction through the bars of his cell. "You're staying right here where I—I can keep an eye on you."

Colette's blue eyes flashed with willful spirit and stubborn determination.

"Do you forget that I am the one who has a wand, and you do not?" Miss Battancourt tossed her head. "And also that I am the one who is not trapped in a cell because of his own foolishness?"

Not able to come up with a suitable rejoinder to either of her jabs, Sirius decided to appeal to the one he assumed was the more sensible of the two.

"Lily!" Sirius said, desperate for an ally. "You—you stop her."

"I could, but I'm not going to." She rubbed her forehead. "I'm out of ideas. This might be the best chance we've got."

"I will be fine." Miss Battancourt straightened her cloak. "I was invited, remember? They will not question my presence."

"You may think that, but Bella knows all about us!" Sirius hissed. "You can't predict what she will do if she finds you here. And you're not exactly dressed for this party, are you? What's happened to you—you look like the Banshee of Balham."

Miss Battancourt ignored the perceived slight about her still rumpled gown. She tried to smooth down her windswept hair and make herself presentable while Sirius gave her a critical once-over, probably trying to goad her into staying here and arguing with him rather than walking into danger. Lily wondered if he could see the tear-tracks on her face from the dim light of their wands.

Probably not. He'd be a bit nicer to her if he could.

"Mrs. Potter—you must keep the invisibility cloak while I am gone."

"No, she mustn't. If you're going to wander around these halls, you're going to have something to protect yourself from her."

"Sirius is right, darling. I can protect myself."

Folding to their combined wills, Colette took the cloak and tucked it under her arm.

"I will be back soon, with help."

She left, a look of steely determination on her face that was somewhat incongruous with her delicate features. Lily turned back to Sirius, and was amused to see the look of fretful worry on his. It was so unlike him, the devil-may-care risk-taker. In spite of her irritation at Sirius, she couldn't help but be endeared.

"Who does she think is going to help us?"

"My cousin Narcissa, I guess."

"Is that likely?"

Sirius grimaced.

"Let me put it this way. The last time I spoke to Cissy, I told her that her olive gown resembled the color and texture of vomit."

"So we're doomed, in other words."

Sirius ran his fingers through his hair and over his face. Lily noticed there were several rising bruises, and the makings of a spectacular black eye. There was also dried blood he had tried to conceal, but without a wand, he couldn't properly clean himself up.

What have you been up to, Padfoot?

"Not necessarily. If Colette gets her to come down here, I might be able to convince my cousin to help us. If nothing else, I can play to her sense of vanity. She's always been incredibly embarrassed we're related—if I threaten to join up with Bella and her gang of thugs, Narcissa might consider that tantamount to social suicide and spring me loose at once."

"Her husband is a Death Eater," Lily pointed out.

"He's also a self-serving opportunist—which, while loathsome, can be a useful type in a pinch," said Sirius, voice grim. "And technically she doesn't know what Lucius is up to. As I understand it, he keeps that part of his life far away from his darling wife."

"What a way to find out! What if she doesn't believe you?"

"Oh, it won't take much to convince her—Cissy's not an idiot. I'm sure she's just looking the other way. She's in denial about it." He shook his head. "People in my family have elevated lying to oneself to an exquisite art form."

Lily gave him a long, piercing look that, even in the dark of the cell, he recognized. He knew she considered him to be as guilty of that trait as any other Black.

"Is it true you met Colette at a party at their house, Padfoot?"

"It's better than that." Sirius let out a strangled laugh. "It was the night of that Order mission I failed, and she was the reason I got caught."

He told his friend a sanitized and brief version of the story of the night he'd met Colette Battancourt, and the events that had followed, ending with the escapade the following evening and his mother's wand pointed at him, Colette and his motorbike.

Lily was not impressed.

"So you thought it was a clever idea to squire about town the girl who exposed you to your own father on an Order mission?"

"I was put in a position where I had to use my animal magnetism to keep her at bay."

He didn't attempt to say it with a straight face. Lily rolled her eyes.

"Who do you think you are, James Bond?"

"I can't help it if women find me so fascinating they make it their mission in life to discover all my secrets."

"I think she knows more of them than she'd like, at this point."

Sirius let out a long sigh. His friend shook her head. Impossible man.

"The most incredible part of all this is that she's been staying with your parents," Lily continued. "But it does explain why she got so upset when Marlene called your mother a bitch."

"It's not an act, either," Sirius snorted. "She's actually that sweet, that she'd get offended on my mother's behalf. It's not like Marlene was wrong."

"You don't think that, really."

"Don't I? She's the biggest bitch on the planet!"

"She's still your mother."

Sirius mumbled something unintelligible and lapsed into a brooding silence. Lily smiled.

"And that's the girl you wanted to run away to Morocco with." He leaned back against the wall and avoided her gaze. "The girl you tried to rescue from this dungeon, only to end up needing a rescue from her."

"You don't need to rub it in."

Mrs. Potter considered her next words with care.

"I never knew this side of you. You're not really sexy at all—you're chivalrous at heart, just like James. A regular knight errant."

"I am not. There was nothing romantic about it. It was a mistake. She read me the riot act."

"Yes, she told me she calls you 'the idiot' now."

"She never uses my first name. Too familiar. I'm just Monsieur Black to her."

"Monsieur Black the idiot."

Sirius shot her an unappreciative look.

"Were you really going to leave the country without telling us?" She pressed, in a gentler voice. "You know James would've been worried sick. In fact, I bet that's why he ran off with your brother like this."

"It wasn't my cleverest idea."

"Then why did you do it?"

"I didn't!"

"But you considered it. You planned to."

Sirius avoided meeting her gaze—but she thought she recognized that look, and where his thoughts tended towards—the two individuals whose presence in his life had upended everything for the last several weeks.

"You know, running away from home may not be the best solution to every row you have with your parents."

For a long moment, Sirius didn't reply.

"I realize that now," he admitted, finally.

The door at the top of the stairs creaked. Both of them turned their heads towards the door.

"Someone's here," Lily muttered. She extinguished her wand and stepped into an alcove on the far side of the room, the only spot not visible from the entrance to the cell.

Two sets of footsteps were audible from the dungeon cell. The sound of them descending the secret passageway echoed faintly. Sirius held his breath, waiting.

The steps stopped.

"I have returned," called the plaintive voice of Colette Battancourt, through the darkness. "And I brought help."

Something about the way she hesitated put Sirius on edge.

"Are you okay?" Colette lit her wand and stepped out of the shadows. "I hope you didn't run into any…"

Her companion joined her, and at the sight of him, Sirius trailed off.

"…Trouble."

Severus Snape's black eyes danced with seething malevolence.

---

"I have a headache. Tell them I'm going to bed early."

In all their years of marriage—and indeed, the years before their marriage, as they had always known each other—Orion could recall Walburga begging off of a family obligation perhaps only half a dozen times.

Mr. Black stood in the doorway and watched Mrs. Black, sitting at the mirror. His wife hadn't bothered to get dressed, but she didn't look ill. She gazed at him in the reflection with such intensity the glass should have either melted or shattered.

He sat down on the cushion next to her and toyed with her bracelet.

"If you're making an excuse to get out of this," he said. "It's infectious and we're both highly contagious."

Mrs. Black jerked her hand out of her husband's grasp.

"Was that a joke?"

Orion's lip twitched.

"I'm in deadly earnest. I'm not having dinner with your brother, my sister, your parents and my father by myself. I'd rather be up before the whole wizengamont."

She didn't return his gentle smile.

"You're unusually pensive, Walburga. What is it?"

"I've been thinking…that is—wondering."

"About—?"

"Whether I haven't—made a mistake."

She spoke of this possibility with the gravity another woman might've used when admitting to having committed a cardinal sin.

"I wasn't aware that was something you were capable of."

"Making a mistake?"

"No." He smiled. "Admitting to it."

She slammed her hair brush down on the vanity.

"This is not amusing, Orion Black!"

"I didn't mean to suggest it was," her husband smothered a laugh. "What's brought on this sudden surge of conscience?"

She huffed and turned back towards the mirror.

"That's not what it is."

"Aren't you satisfied with the way things have turned out? It seems to me that your plan is going just as you intended. Better, even!"

She pretended to be interested in the contents of her jewelry box.

"Nothing is certain."

"That's true. There's time to change course, if you've…changed your mind."

"I haven't changed my mind. I've—"

"—Lost your nerve?"

She tossed her head proudly at the thought.

"I just keep thinking about something…Lucretia said to me."

"What wisdom has my sister imparted this time?"

"It's all nonsense," Walburga murmured. "What does she know about children, anyway?"

"Very little. But she does know you."

She tapped her fingers against the vanity.

"She thinks my efforts will have the opposite of their intended effect."

Though it pained Walburga to admit it, she did look to her husband to see what his view were on her scheme.

"I believe I expressed a similar sentiment."

"I'm very aware you agree with her."

"That is not what I said," Orion replied. "There's something else that's troubling you."

Mrs. Black rose to her feet.

"I don't wish to discuss the matter. We'll only fall out."

"I don't intend to leave until you tell me. You'll hold up the whole hunt. And then your mother will come upstairs to tell you as much."

She hesitated.

"I've had one of my feelings." She turned to look at him. "About tonight."

"Your…'feelings'?"

He couldn't quite keep out the sardonic edge out of his voice, which immediately set her off.

"I knew you would laugh at me! My feelings are never wrong, Orion!" She paced up and down the carpet. "I don't like the idea of Regulus out in the world. He's not ready."

"You cannot keep him hidden away for the rest of his life," said Mr. Black. "I told you I am managing the situation."

"What if that's not good enough? How can you manage it from here, anyway?"

"You'd be surprised at my abilities. I have promised you. Don't you believe me?"

"It's not that, it's—"

He caught her hand.

"I swear no harm will come to the boy, Walburga."

She looked up at him.

"On what?"

"On my life."

His wife stared into his eyes.

"That—won't be necessary," she said, stiffly. "You know I don't care for dramatic oaths."

Orion gave her a sad smile and kissed the tips of her fingers—a gallant gesture the likes of which she had not experienced from him since before they were married.

"How else am I to prove myself to you?"

"You're my husband, Orion. You don't have to prove anything to me."

He wished, desperately, as he walked down the hall and away from her—that he believed that was true.

As it was, he still had much to prove.

And Orion Black intended to do so, no matter the cost.

---

"Snape?" Sirius yelped. "This is your idea of 'getting help'? Bringing Snape?"

Colette looked back at her companion. In their very brief acquaintance she had never seen a smile on his pallid face, and the look of raw, delighted glee Snape wore now did not, in her estimation, improve his countenance.

"Vengeance," said Severus Snape. "Is so very sweet."

He glided into the dungeon like a malevolent bat who was quite at home in his dark and dank surroundings, his black eyes gleaming with malicious pleasure. Having got over the initial shock of the arrival of one of his least favorite humans on the planet, Sirius matched Snape's expression of loathing, pound for pound.

"So, you really are one of their lot," said Sirius, giving Snape a look of intense contempt as he leaned through the bars of his cell. "I feel so much better for our side. If Voldemort is resorting to recruiting pricks like you, Snivs, we must be closer to winning this war than I thought."

Snape narrowed his eyes, but before he could reply, Lily stepped out from behind the door. Mrs. Potter's wand was raised in a defensive posture, her pale face sheet-white, her expression grim.

Snape turned his head a fraction in her direction. Though his face didn't change, his whole body seemed to go rigid, as if he'd been put in a full-body bind but was already so set in his slouched and spiderish posture that it didn't occur to him to tip over sideways.

"You're really here," he said, in a muted voice.

Snape unfroze and took a single step towards her. Mrs. Potter raised her wand—a dash of white -hot sparks sizzled at its tip, but the fingers gripping the handle were steady.

"I'm—I'm sure you meant well, Colette," said Lily, her voice nervously pitched one decibel higher than necessary. "But I'm wracking my brain to think of whether there's someone alive in the world who is less likely to help us than him."

Snape did not deny it. Colette looked between them, perplexed.

"But I…did I do wrong?"

"You mean besides bringing the person in the world who hates me the most down here?"

"There's a lot of competition for that spot, Black," said Snape, silkily. "There's no end of people who loathe you in this country. Many of them are here tonight." His eyes lingered on the dried blood and rising bruise on Sirius's face. "But I gather you've discovered that for yourself."

"I don't understand," said Colette.

"I suspect what you don't understand—" Snape turned back towards her, his lip curling with faint disdain. "—Could fill volumes."

Sirius banged his fist against the bars of his cell.

"Oi! You talk to her that way again, Snivelly, and I'll make you regret it."

Severus's lip curled further back—any more and he'd be baring his teeth at them.

"I assume whoever put you down here didn't leave you a wand, Black," said Snape. "So I'd be curious to see how you intend to carry out that threat."

"I can still reach through the bars and punch your greasy head."

Alarmed at this uncharacteristic threat of Muggle-style brawling from her paramour, Miss Battancourt stepped between the two men.

"There will be no need for that. But you are being rather rude to me, Monsieur Snape," said Colette, sounding put-out. "Considering that I took you into my confidences."

"I'm not in the business of appeasing people with my manners."

"That much is clear," Colette huffed.

He looked back at Lily.

"How did you get in this house?"

"That's none of your damn business," Lily returned, tersely. "I could ask you the same thing. But I think I already know the answer."

"You probably do," he replied, shortly. "Disappointed?"

"That would imply that I care what you do or am surprised by how low you've sunk. 'Repulsion' is a better word for what I feel."

The color rose on Snape's sallow face.

"Has anyone else seen you yet?" he asked. "Does anyone know you're here?"

"No. But I was invited," Colette interjected. "And I brought Mrs. Potter with me. We have as much right to be in this castle as you."

Snape raised an eyebrow, as if to say that he very much doubted any part of her story was true.

"You surprise me. I thought you were Narcissa Malfoy's friend."

"I am!" Colette shot back, defensive at being attacked on three sides at her choices. "Why should I not be friends with Mrs. Potter as well?"

"Most people wouldn't advise it."

"What he means, Colette, is that people who are friends with Mrs. Malfoy are generally not friends with the likes of me."

Snape did not argue with this explanation.

"How do you even know this girl?" he asked Lily, instead.

"Sirius brought her to my Christmas party," said Lily, voice tight, though she lowered her a wand a fraction. "I hadn't any idea she was connected to Malfoy, and I wouldn't have let her in my house if I had known."

"Which is why I didn't mention it, incidentally—"

"—Shut up, Sirius!"

Sirius shrank back in his cell.

"I didn't believe her at first, when she said she'd come with you," said Snape. "I couldn't imagine you with a witch like her."

Snape's gaze drifted from Colette, tearfully eyeing Black through the bars of his cell, back to Lily.

"But apparently you share the same execrable taste in men."

Lily's eyes flashed with anger.

"Fuck off."

The language from a woman like Lily Potter was shocking to Miss Battancourt, and even Sirius was a little over-awed by the vehemence of his best friend's wife. Only Snape seemed unsurprised at being ordered to do something so rude to himself.

"Lily—as much as I'm always in favor of telling Snape to do any number of vile things—can you possibly consider my position, as I do not at present have a wand in which to defend myself from a Snivel-rage?"

"As this is all your damned fault, Sirius, if Severus wants to have a go at you, I think it would serve you right."

"I do not think violence will be necessary," said Colette, aghast and in awe of Lily in equal measure.

"But why would you get Snape, of all people?" asked Sirius, not able to get over this particular point. "How do you even know Snape?"

The girl balled her hands into fists and marched over to Sirius's cell. Colette had not been expecting this reaction to her choice, and was obviously feeling put-out at being attacked for it.

"We met at Evan Rosier's party, if you must know!" she said, haughtily. "Your cousin made the connection."

Sirius pulled a face.

"That figures. Cissy really is introducing you to the worst people in this country."

Snape, who had not taken his eyes off of Lily for several minutes, dragged them away from her at last and focused his attention on the prisoner.

"I don't think I've ever seen you somewhere you're more suited to be than behind those bars, Black," he said, in a silky voice. "Did Lestrange put you in here? Or was it your charming cousin, the hostess?"

Sirius flushed.

"Let's just say my behavior wasn't up to Bella's standards, and leave it at that. By the way Snape, while we're on the subject—I'd appreciate it if you'd stop going around telling her and the rest of your Death Eater pals I tried to murder you." He snorted. "Frankly, I don't know which of us it insults more."

Snape's expression darkened.

"What do you mean?" asked Colette, alarmed. "Murder? What is he speaking of?"

"Do you deny it?" Snape asked, voice dangerously soft.

"Categorically. And as it's not exactly one of your brighter moments, Snivellus, I can't imagine what you think you'd gain by volunteering how completely thick you are to the general populace."

"You sent me to my death!"

"No, you almost got yourself killed. There's a difference. Being a potioneer, I thought you grasped fine distinctions."

"Are we really talking about this right now?" Lily moaned into her hands. "Of all things?"

"If I'm going to die at this twat's hands," said Sirius, haughtily. "I want the record straight!"

"Nobody's dying," said Lily.

"Yet," muttered Snape.

"But what happened between you, that he makes such an accusation?"

"What happened, Colette—is that I told this idiot where he could stick his greasy nose, he did, like a prat, paid the price for his own idiocy, and now he goes about blaming me."

"That's—not exactly how I would put it," said Lily.

"You and Potter sent me into the Shrieking Shack," said Snape, voice heavy with drama. "To be torn to pieces by a werewolf."

Sirius let out a loud and, given the circumstances, rather flippant laugh.

"Please. I merely made a suggestion about how you might satiate your curiosity to know my business—the business you were so intent on poking your nose into, because you had nothing better to do than try to get my mates and me expelled. You should be flattered I didn't think you'd actually be stupid enough to go down there. Who follows the advice of a person they claim to hate?"

"Someone like Severus," said Lily, cooly. "Which you well could have guessed, Sirius, when you were winding him up that night. But of course, you rarely, if ever, think about the consequences of your actions—exhibit one, us being here right now."

"Are you on Snape's side?"

"Choosing between the two of you is like choosing between the giant squid and an acromantula! It's the lesser of two idiots."

Colette was less interested in the bickering and history of the parties concerned—of which she could have little knowledge or context—than to know how a werewolf had taken up residence on the Hogwarts grounds. She asked Sirius as much.

"Remember the Shrieking Shack and the tunnel I took you through? It was down there."

"You led me through a werewolf den?"

"He doesn't transform there anymore!" Sirius exclaimed. "Besides, it wasn't a full moon or night when we were down there. And you enjoyed yourself."

"'He'?" Colette repeated. "You know the werewolf?"

"I told you I wasn't at liberty to say anything else, Colette—"

"—Don't you think people deserve to know the truth about your friend Lupin, Black?" Snape's eyes gleamed. "About what he is?"

Miss Battancourt gasped.

"Monsieur Lupin is the—the loup-garou?"

She rounded on Sirius, who suddenly looked as though he'd like to shrink into the wall.

"Erm—yeah, strictly speaking, he is."

"How could you not tell me that?"

"Yes, well—it wasn't my secret to tell, was it?" Sirius replied. "But he's perfectly safe, apart from full moons, of course! I swear. And you liked him when you met him."

"But that was before I…before I knew—"

"—That he was a monster?" said Snape. "A foul beast? A dark creature?"

"He is not a monster. He just has questionable taste in friends," said Lily. "And you suspected the truth about Remus—which makes Sirius's point that it was incredibly thick of you to listen to him not without merit."

"Thank you, Lily."

"Padfoot, will you shut up?" She turned on Sirius. "It gives me no pleasure to agree with you, particularly about an incident in which you behaved like such a colossal prick. I really can't decide which of you I detest more right now."

"Evans!" Sirius clutched his heart, offended.

"How flattering," Snape sneered.

"I don't understand why they are behaving this way," Colette said, in a perplexed and distressed voice.

Lily leaned her head against the wall, in the fashion of someone who is about to slide down to the floor exhausted.

"It's just how they are. They loathe each other, and always have. Not that I can blame Severus—James and Sirius used to use to bully him all the time when we were in school. But it's all so stupid." She sighed. "This was a mistake, Colette."

"I wouldn't have let her leave if I'd known she was bringing him," said Sirius. "I thought you were going to find Narcissa."

"I was," Colette snapped. "But I saw Mr. Snape, and he told me he had not seen Narcissa or her husband, and so I thought I'd…ask him instead. How was I to know Monsieur Snape hated you?"

"I told you all about him!" Sirius said, indignant. "Remember—Snivellus?"

It took a moment for Colette to recall the many somewhat childish (but what had seemed in the romantic thrill of the moment quite amusing) stories of his boyhood schoolyard nemesis, the aforementioned 'Snivellus.'

"I did not know that was Monsieur Snape!"

"Really? I thought it was obvious." Sirius waved a hand vaguely in Snape's direction. "Doesn't he look like a 'Snivellus'?"

"Forgive me for not connecting Mr. Snape to your juvenile sobriquet." The French girl let out a strangled growl of frustration. "You appear to make enemies wherever you go. It seems that half this country would die for love of you and the other half wants you dead! How am I to know which person is which?"

"I'm a—divisive figure," Sirius sputtered. "I—elicit strong emotions in people!"

"You do not need to tell me what emotions you elicit! I am quite aware, sir!"

"This is truly a revolting scene, Black," Snape observed, dryly. "How long do you intend to subject us to it?"

"Nobody asked you to be here, Snivelly."

"Actually, this French witch did."

"Well, as we've established, that was a mistake in judgement."

"I did not bring Monsieur Snape because I thought he would help you. I brought him because I thought he would assist Mrs. Potter."

Lily looked up, surprised. Snape's jaw tensed. Sirius just scratched his face and stared at his lady-friend in bewilderment.

"What's Snape got to do with Lily?"

"Their former association, of course!" She frowned at Sirius. "Mrs. Potter told me herself that she wished to make amends with him."

Sirius turned to Lily and gave her an incredulous look through the bars of his prison cell.

"You did?"

"I…don't know what she's talking about."

Lily twisted a strand of her hair around her left index finger. Snape was watching her with a raw intentness of expression that bordered on hunger, but which was barely visible through the low light of the dungeon.

"The night we met," Colette insisted. "Remember? You told me all about the letter you wished to send. About his mother—her being ill."

Snape frowned and opened his mouth, willing words to come out—but he couldn't think of any. Mrs. Potter, meanwhile, had the rare experience of being put on the back-foot and rendered incoherent because of it.

"But that was—I—I never—I never said I was talking about Severus Snape."

Colette dipped her head and glanced down at the floor—than back up at her new friend.

"But you were, weren't you?"

The look she gave the other witch was surprisingly keen. Lily opened her mouth—caught Snape's eye—and closed it again.

"Yes," she admitted, finally. "But how—" She turned on Colette, fingers coiled into fists. "—Could you have possibly known that?"

The younger girl shifted guiltily from one foot to another.

"Well, I—I knew who you were speaking about because I—had heard some guests discussing you at a party I went to the night before. I didn't know who you were when I heard them, of course," she added, hastily. "Mr. Snape was one of the parties concerned. They used your maiden name, and then when your husband called you 'Evans' I…made the connection that they were speaking of you, and you were speaking…about…him."

Colette seemed very embarrassed at the ability to infer personal information which she usually took so much pride in, mostly because Mrs. Potter was so clearly embarrassed at it.

To her relief, Lily decided to turn her wrath on Snape.

"Who the hell are you talking about me with at parties?"

Severus lost his stony defensive posture, in favor of looking sullen and put-upon.

"Does it matter?" Snape asked. "I was defending you, for what it's worth."

"From you it's worth very little."

"It was Monsieur Mulciber," Colette supplied, helpfully.

Lily made an involuntary retching sound.

"Of course." She pressed her mouth into a thin line. "Of course you're still hanging around with that cretin."

"As if your taste in company is any better." Snape's expression changed—a momentary falter, like a ripple on a pond. "Who told you about Eileen, anyway?"

At this illusion to her private, revealing conversation with Colette, Lily actually turned a little red.

"I—" Lily's angry demeanor wavered. "I…I don't remember. Dorothy Richards, I think. You remember her. She's a friend of Tuney's, I was back home to get some of my dad's old stuff out of her attic where she was keeping it for me—"

"And you'd thought a letter would help?"

"Of course not!" Lily snapped. "I was just—I was sorry when I heard about the news, that's all—"

"—No, you weren't," Snape cut her off. "You aren't sorry at all. Don't pretend you still care…or ever did."

Lily's jaw trembled with suppressed anger.

"This is why I didn't bother, Severus. I knew there would be no point. You can never take things at face value—you always assume the worst."

"I can only go off what I know."

The two of them glowered at each other. Sirius watched the lobbing of insults back and forth, torn between interest and confusion. Colette stepped between them.

"I was…not mistaken then, was I? About your…connection."

Lily stared at Snape, her expression shuddered—a window being shut.

"No," she admitted. "But that was a long time ago."

"It wasn't that long ago," said Snape, resentfully.

Lily ignored him.

"It's like I told you. He picked his side, and I picked mine."

"But surely," said the French girl, in a strained-if-optimistic tone of voice, "In a situation such as this, you will put aside these differences, and work together."

"Colette, he's a Death Eater."

Miss Battancourt had spent most of the last week in the company of several Death Eaters, which had admittedly not been comfortable, but had left her largely unscathed, so she didn't see the merits of Lily's point.

"But you are friends."

"We were, once," said Snape, voice cold. "And then she married my greatest enemy."

"'Your greatest enemy?'" Sirius repeated, with a snort. "What am I, chopped dragon liver?"

Colette marched up to Snape and crossed her arms.

"I would think any man who married Lily Evans would be your greatest enemy, sir."

There was an awkward silence—the expressions on two of the room's parties made the pause particularly pregnant.

Sirius looked from Lily and Snape. Neither was talking.

"Colette…what the hell are you talking about?"

She let out a guttural French sound of impatience.

"Is it not obvious?"

Sirius tilted his head, looking more canine than ever.

"What's obvious?"

It clearly wasn't.

"That Mr. Snape wished to marry her, of course! But they quarreled over his association with your cousin's friends and parted, and then she chose Mr. Potter to wed instead, and ever since then he has harbored a tenderness in his heart and the bitterest of regrets for what might have been."

They all stared at her—embarrassment, horror and comic disbelief mingling freely between all three faces. Snape had turned the color of raw cheese, and looked as though a plate of it had been stuck directly under his nose.

Then Sirius began to laugh.

"Oh, my God. Where do you come up with these mad ideas, Colette? Do they come straight from your head, or do you have inspiration from penny dreadfuls?"

"I think I am better versed in matters of the heart than you," she said, coldly. "But then again, who is not?"

Sirius clutched sarcastically at this verbal wound to his heart.

"Maybe I deserved that—but come on. Snape fancying Lily? I know you like Muggle fairy tales, but isn't that taking 'Beauty and the Beast' a bit too far?"

The fingers that gripped Snape's wand twitched. Mrs. Potter, somewhat recovered from the shock of hearing such an outlandish story of her love life, forced herself to correct the record and not give any indication of the effect such an excruciating tale had had on her emotions.

"Colette," Lily said through gritted teeth. "I think you're a bit…confused. I told you Severus was once my friend."

"And I did not believe you," said Colette, bluntly. "I thought you were being delicate. The way you spoke about him that evening, I believed he was your ex-fiancé, or at least another suitor. Why else would you be afraid about your husband finding out you considered writing him a letter, if it was not because he was a rival for your affection?"

On this point, Mrs. Potter—witch and potioneer extraordinaire—could conjure no defense.

"We were—friends when we were children," Lily said, faintly. "We're from the same town. We—sometimes met up at school."

"I see the difficulty. My grandmama told me friendships between boys and girls are very dangerous, which is why I was never allowed to have any myself. One of the parties always develops an affection which may not be…acceptable to the other."

Sirius's expression teetered between fascinated and disgusted. Snape, whose face had now turned the color of rancid milk, looked as though he wanted to melt into the floor or evaporate into thin air. Lily tried to manage her new friend's inferences without giving away just how embarrassing she found them—though her reddening face had already betrayed her.

"You misunderstood the whole thing. It was never like—we were never—" Lily fumbled with her hands. "We were never engaged!"

"I see. So Mr. Snape had an unrequited passion for you, then? He acts like the—what is the word for it?—the scorned lover." She gave him a look of profound sympathy. "I am so very sorry for you both. It seems an awkward state of affairs."

If looks could have poisoned, Colette would have needed to ingest half a dozen bezoars to survive Severus Snape's glare in that moment.

"God." Sirius looked between Snape and Lily. "It's true."

Sirius did the one thing that could make this situation even worse.

He burst out laughing.

"It—is—not—funny."

The sound of one of his least favorite people on earth cackling at his romantic misfortunes was too much for Snape to bear, and Colette had to restrain his wand hand from cursing Black into oblivion, Bellatrix's orders be damned.

Sirius clutched the bars of his prison cell to keep from sliding onto the floor.

"You're right—it's fucking hysterical. The idea of you, Snivelly, thinking there was a universe where you had a shot in hell with Lily Evans?" He shook his head and wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. "It boggles the mind. If I survive this, I can't wait to tell James."

"You don't need to tell him," snapped Lily, in an icy tone. "He already knows."

"What?"

Sirius let go of the bars of his cell and stood up straight, as alert as a hunting dog ready to retrieve a pheasant. He repeated the question, to which his friend only gave a clipped affirmation that yes, he had, in fact, heard rightly, James was perfectly aware of Snape's feelings for her.

"Since when?"

"Since always! Why do you think he picked on Severus so much in school? He was jealous of our—friendship."

Sirius's face twisted in horror. The idea that Snape was capable of possessing romantic feelings for anyone or anything had clearly never occurred to him. The idea that James might've felt threatened by said feelings was too much for him to take.

"You're barking."

"I'm not! James admitted it himself—under extreme duress, of course. We had a massive row, lobbing unpleasant things from the past back and forth, and it just sort of…came out." She looked at Snape, whose emotional state was somewhere between sputtering rage and icy shock. "I hope that gives you some small satisfaction."

"I am not capable of deriving pleasure from anything your husband does," said Snape, coldly.

"Well, he never told me," said Sirius, in a tone of wounded betrayal. "I want it on the record Snape, that I have never envied you Evans' attention, and that as far as I'm concerned, the only reason we ever had a go at you in school was because you're a twat."

"I do not know why it should be so bizarre to you that Monsieur Snape should have tender feelings for Mrs. Potter. That Mulciber man alluded to it as if among their social set as if it was a well known fact."

"Don't take stock in Slytherin gossip. It's Snape, Colette."

Colette gave him a look. Evidently this explanation did not move her.

"So? He is no different from any man—not even you."

"You're comparing me to him?"

"Why not? You both are very stubborn and très dramatique. And you become equally disagreeable in each other's company." Her lip twitched at how irate he'd become at the comparison. "I am seeing more similarities by the hour."

"I've never been more insulted in all my life," remarked Snape, caustically.

"Alright—I get the gist. Let's put it to the center of this nauseating tale." Sirius turned to Lily. "You didn't know about Snape fancying you."

Lily pursed her lips but remained silent.

"She knew," said Snape, suddenly, in a low voice.

"Severus—"

"You always knew."

Mrs. Potter threw her hands up in the air.

"What is it you want from me?" Her wand let out a burst of angry red sparks that made Colette recoil. "An apology? An explanation? I don't owe you either."

"All I want is for you to admit it—once."

"Admit what?"

"That you always fancied him!"

"Sev—"

"Three years ago you told me you hated James Potter. That you thought he had an inflated head, was a conceited, shallow, Quidditch-obsessed bully, and that you were literally counting down the days until graduation when you would never have to see the smug face of that unbearable prick ever again!"

Snape's eyes went wide—years of bottled up emotions coming out in one incoherent stream—like a champagne bottle full of liquid explosives.

"Funny how the high principles that prevented you from speaking to me for two years didn't stop you from marrying that prick eight months after we graduated."

Her face turned the color of a fire engine.

"I am not going to sit here and be lectured about hypocrisy by you of all people!" she spat, completely immune to Sirius's gawking and Colette's embarrassment at the spectacle she was making of herself. "By a person who claims my friendship meant something to him, when he goes around with people who want me dead."

Snape's self-righteous anger burst like a bubotuber pod, leaving him sputtering incoherently.

"I don't want—I would never let them—let anyone—"

"You want the truth, Sev? Fine, then—yes, I always liked him!" Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch. "I lied because I was embarrassed, and because I thought I was sparing your feelings—what a laugh to think of now. I should not have bothered—it clearly wasn't worth the effort. You weren't worth the effort."

Snape recoiled.

"Yes, you've made your feelings on that matter abundantly clear—three years ago and since. It's helped me sort out my own priorities."

"Don't you try to put what you've done on me. That was your decision. And joining them, for the record—it doesn't prove you're better than your dad. It makes you worse."

Snape flushed again.

"What does he have to do with it?"

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it? I don't have to be Sigmund Bloody Freud to know that's what this is about. Your dad hates your mum for being a witch, and you think it's because he's a muggle—when it's really because he's a drunk with an inferiority complex that you've inherited. Talk about hypocrisy—for you to go around calling people 'mudbloods' when you're the son of a coal miner! It makes me sick—it's pathetic—it's so—it's…"

She capped off this extraordinary rant by bolting to the corner of the dungeon and retching all over the floor.

The sound of a woman vomiting took all the wind out of the Snape's sails—he simply gaped at her. Even Sirius didn't know what to do, beyond bleating her name like a sheep a few times.

Colette hurried over to Lily and kneeled down beside her.

"Mrs. Potter—Lily—let me help you."

Lily bent over on the floor, clutching her cheeks—either to hide her face or to calm herself down. Her breathing came out in shallow, angry gasps which slowed after a minute or so.

"I'm fine, darling." She took Colette's handkerchief and wiped her face. "I'm…used to it by now."

Snape unfroze from his stunned torpor at being such an object of rage he had literally made Lily Potter sick.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked.

"It's nothing."

What little color remained drained out of Snape's face. Colette patted her awkwardly on the arm.

"My grandmama always says it is worst in the first three months."

Lily made the mistake of looking up at Severus at that exact moment. She had just the right mixture of guilt and embarrassment, masked with defiance—the same look she'd always worn when he tried to worn her of Potter's intentions—for him to guess the truth.

"You're…" he said. "Pregnant."

Knees shaking, Lily got to her feet.

"I'm married. It's a side effect. I realize you probably have little experience in these matters, but—"

"—You're having James Potter's baby."

His voice trembled with indignation, but it was somehow—feebler than all his previous self-righteous demands for explanations from Lily, and even he seemed to know it. The fight left Mrs. Potter in an instant, and she stared at him, not with anger, but a resigned weariness.

They had known there was no going back, but this—had a different sort of finality. She was not just James Potter's wife…she was the mother of his child.

"Why did you come down here, Severus—truly?"

Snape stared back at her.

"I don't know," he said, at last. "I just—wanted to see you, I guess."

It was such a brutally honest and horribly sad thing to say that even Sirius could not laugh at it.

"You should go, Severus."

She started to walk in his direction, then past him.

"No."

Snape stepped in front of the door to the stairwell, in front of her. Though he did not raise his wand against them, he made it clear that he would not let either woman pass, either. Colette eyed his twitchy wand-hand with trepidation.

"What are you going to do?" asked Snape. He tried to keep his voice neutral, but concern seeped into it, a jumpy anxiety that made him sound younger.

Lily's bright green eyes flashed with annoyance.

"Not tell you my plans, for a start. Now get out of my way, or I'll make you."

Snape didn't move. Colette looked back at Sirius and silently begged for him to intervene. He was, of course, only too happy to oblige.

"Look, Snape—you want to have a go at me, fine," said Sirius. "But let the girls go."

"Chivalry is not dead, apparently," Snape sneered in Black's direction.

Mrs. Potter raised her wand.

"I appreciate you being a gentlemen, Padfoot," Lily said. "But from where I'm sitting, it's two against one. We could take him."

"Lily, Colette only knows one curse!"

"This whole bloody scheme was her idea. And she's the one who brought him down here."

"Alright, fine." He turned to Colette and stuck his hands through the bars. "Colette, give me your wand."

"I will do no such thing!"

She clutched the strip of wood to her chest protectively.

"Why not? I'd make better use of it than you would."

"It was a mistake for you to come here," said Snape, dispassionately ignoring the bickering couple. "You need to leave before someone discovers you."

"I'm not going anywhere without my husband."

There was the barest flicker of emotion on Snape's face.

"Potter's here?"

His eyes flitted to Black.

"Afraid so."

"Of course. In his supreme arrogance he assumed he could single-handedly take on an entire castle full of opponents just to rescue you."

"Give him some credit, Snape," said Sirius. "There was a little more finesse to the plan than that."

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"He has backup?"

"In a…manner of speaking."

Snape didn't ask for elaboration.

"Where is he?"

"Upstairs somewhere," said Sirius, groaning internally that the situation—Snape's wand pointed at his chest, mostly—required he answer. "With—my brother."

"Then he's as good as dead." Snape didn't bother to hide how gleeful the thought made him. "Regulus hates Potter even more than I do."

"Is that possible?"

"But they came to this castle together," said Colette, naively. "It was all pre-arranged."

"Colette, don't tell him that!" said Sirius. "It's supposed to be a secret."

"You said the secret had been exposed—that your cousin knew."

"Yes, she knows. We don't know if he does. Snape's not that important, I doubt they tell him much."

The news was so surprising that Severus Snape didn't even seem to register Sirius's insult.

"I don't believe that," said Snape. "Why would Regulus ally himself with Potter?"

"They came to rescue Sirius, of course."

Snape's mind worked fast, and it didn't take more than a second for the full implication of her words to sink in. His eyes widened with surprise, then narrowed with—disbelief.

"He hasn't defected," he muttered, more to himself than any of them. "No one would be so stupid as to betray the Dark Lord—least of all Regulus. It's certain death."

"He thought it was," said Sirius, losing patience. "Then, lucky or unlucky for me, he got a reprieve. Now he's here with James, they're chummy—look, it's a long story, but suffice it to say that you're going to have to trust we're not making this bit up, Snape."

Snape looked around at Black, his expression unreadable. Sirius turned the gaze, rather insolently—but not like someone with the intention of deceiving his interlocutor. As if, Snape thought, with a sneer, Black was even capable of doing so.

"Whatever your brother has planned, it won't work." He turned to Colette. "Potter is, rather like your unfortunate par amour, unpopular with the people in this castle. They won't let him walk out of here intact—not if they can help it."

The French girl stepped between Lily and Severus.

"Then you shall have to assist us in rescuing him."

If Snape had Black's lack of self-control he would have laughed.

"And why would I do that?"

Snape's voice positively dripped disdain, but after a week spent in Walburga Black's company, Colette found herself immune to his powers of intimidation.

"You know Mrs. Potter will not leave without her husband. If you truly care for her, you will help her with the hope of nothing in return but her safety. If not, then you are just a pathetic coward infatuated with a married woman, who no witch could even pity, let alone respect."

The room was filled with an uncomfortable silence. Snape's sallow expression shifted from disdain to embarrassment and—for a moment, before it went blank again—resignation.

"Stay here," he said, to no one in particular.

"What are you going to do?"

Fathomless black eyes stared into blue. Colette, for all her natural modesty, was not to be intimidated in this. Finally Snape broke the stare with an impassive blink and a shrug, his mask firmly back in place.

"…I'm not making any promises."

He stepped away from Colette and skillfully avoided catching Lily's eye. She, for her part, welcomed not having to look him in the face again. Both of them had perhaps said all they ever would.

"Oi, Snape," Sirius called from his cell. "Wait a moment."

Severus paused at the door. He wouldn't give Sirius Black the satisfaction of turning around. That would mean he cared what Black thought.

"A word to the wise—I'd be careful of those people you call friends upstairs." His tone of voice was light—almost friendly, if you ignored the tinge of dislike Black would probably never be able to completely get rid of in Snape's presence. "If I were you, I wouldn't trust them further than I could hex."

"But you're not me."

"No—I'm not. I'm someone from the right sort of family, with good hygiene. They may hate me for my views, but they respect me for what I was born. And no matter what you do, you'll never have that. All you'll ever be to them is a half-blood bootlicker good for fetch and carry."

Snape's fingers twitched around his wand.

"I've an open invitation to join up with you lot," Sirius continued, casually. "They'd trade you for me in a heartbeat."

He gripped it, tighter—his knuckles going white—

"You know nothing."

"I know that my cousin offered you without a wand in exchange for my cooperation tonight. She thought I would enjoy making sport of you. I turned her down, of course, not being a sick, twisted perverse individual like her—plus, no challenge in it—but there is the matter of her offering."

"You're lying."

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

"Am I? Maybe. But you have to consider that I might not be." He paused. "If you really think I'm a murderer, Bella's got to be at least as bad."

He shrugged his shoulders.

"And for the record—James had nothing to do with sending you down there. All he did was save your skin. Just something to consider, Snivs."

Snape started to walk again. Halfway up the stairwell, someone caught his arm. He recognized the feeling of those fingers around his wrist. He would never forget what she felt like, for as long as he drew breath.

"What is it?"

He turned and looked at Lily Potter. All the anger was gone now, leaving only—regret? No, she regretted nothing of what she'd done. Sorrow for him? Pity, perhaps? Not that either.

"I just wanted to say—" She bit her lip. "That I really am sorry about your mother, Sev."

The worst part of it, Snape thought, as he climbed the stairs—was that he knew she was telling the truth.

---

"I thought you were bringing your fiancée." Wilkes peered into the face of the dark-haired man, bound, gagged and the de facto centerpiece of the drawing room, then looked at the man holding the prisoner's arms behind his back. "Got to say, Black, this is a step-down."

"Depends on your point of view."

Rosier stepped into the room, Bellatrix close at his heels. At the sight of their glorious hostess and her cousin/designated right-hand, Wilkes dropped his leering expression in favor of a more obsequious simper.

"Good work, Regulus," said Evan, his eyes flitting to James with the barest sign of interest. "This will be a Christmas treat for us all."

James let out an involuntary curse—or would have, had he not been gagged by magically and with cloth—as Madame Lestrange stepped into the light. She took in the sight of Regulus Black and his battered prisoner with her usual feline, bored contempt.

"You're late, Reggie."

"I just got back to the country today.'' Regulus returned her cool stare. "I missed the portkey and had to apparate to the porter's lodge and walk. And as I caught him," He shook James by the arm. "—I think it was well worth it."

"How was the Riviera?" Bellatrix sidled up to him. She showed no interest in his prisoner—yet. "Are we to congratulate you on your blushing bride?"

Wilkes and Rosier did little to hide their amusement. Regulus shrugged.

"It didn't come off. Not enough gold. The whole thing was a waste of time, but at least the weather was good."

"I hope you at got to play with her a bit," said Evan. "Before you returned her to her parents."

Bellatrix turned her eyes to James, at last exhibiting some faint interest in him. What she saw did not impress her, much. But then, very few people did—and blood traitors were rarely among their number.

She blinked and turned towards Regulus again.

"Where did you find him?"

"In the orchard. There have to be others around. We should send out a search party—"

"—That won't be necessary," Bella cut him off. "Where's his wand?"

"I snapped it in half and burned it," Regulus replied, automatically. "He won't need it after tonight."

Bellatrix raised one perfectly slanted eyebrow.

"That's so ruthless." Bella smiled, faintly. "And I thought you'd want a trophy, at least."

She peered back into James's face—as an accomplished appraiser of violence, this was a sight to savored. There was a rising bruise on Potter's eye, a cut across his lip—in short, plenty of evidence of a struggle.

"Have you got out of him what he's here for?"

"There's no point. I know who he's after."

Bella shot Rosier a warning look. Evan didn't say anything, but his lip curled—just a smidge.

"Are you sure?" she drawled. "There's a lot of scum about these days. I doubt this blood traitor's that discerning."

"He's obviously looking for my brother."

"You seem very certain of that, Regulus. Why would he be here?"

She stepped towards her cousin, her expression predatory. Not unusual for her, of course—but hardly comforting for him.

"It would be very foolish for him to wander into the lion's den, alone and unprotected. Does that sound like Sirius?"

"Yes," said Regulus, voice steady. "It's exactly the sort of idiotic thing he'd do."

Bella smiled.

"I suppose you're right. It does sound like…him." She delicately stressed the word. "I think you may be onto something, with this theory. We should send out a search party to look for any additional…intruders."

Regulus squeezed James's arm twice. Almost there.

"Great. I'll take him down to the dungeon first—"

"—Wait." Bella held up a hand. "Why the rush?"

Regulus froze.

"Don't you want to have a little fun with him first?"

Rosier's eyes darted between Regulus and Bellatrix with an animal cunning.

"There's no time for that," said Regulus. "We need to spread out and find the others—"

"There's always time for sport," Rosier cut him off. "This is Christmas, after all."

"Evan's right," Bella drawled. "We could all have a turn."

"I'm the one who caught Potter," Regulus cut her off, voice cold. "What happened to 'to the victor, go the spoils'?"

Wilkes and Rosier exchanged a look—impressed. Neither of them had ever seen Regulus stand up to her.

"Of course, I give you pride of place," said Bellatrix.

"I don't want pride of place. I want to be the one who finishes him off."

"Naturally. But you can't let him off easy—he's the scum who stole your only brother. Sirius replaced you with him—this blood traitor, married to fifth. You haven't forgotten that, surely?"

James felt the grip on the back of his shirt collar tighten painfully.

"How could I?"

The thought occurred to him that Regulus was probably not that good of an actor, and that, in this case, he didn't need to be.

The cold anger was real.

"You'll want to enjoy yourself. Take it slow." She toyed with her wand, caressing it like an old friend. "A dose of pain first, don't you think?"

"It's—" Regulus's voice faltered. "It's what he deserves."

"Then why don't you show us?"

At first the sound of the door opening was a great relief to James. Then he saw who it was standing there, and he realized that somehow this situation had got worse.

Snivellus—really?

"Apologies for the, eh—" The voice paused to take in the full scene. "—Interruption."

"Oh. You." Bellatrix raised one eyebrow. "What do you want?"

Severus Snape looked around the room, his expression impassive. His eyes lingered on the figure of James Potter—bloodied, with a black eye and bound wrists, being held by Regulus—for only a fraction of a second longer than the rest of the room's inhabitants.

"There's a guest in the hall who requires your attention," he said, at last.

"I'm sure there are any number of guests in the hall who want my attention," said Bella, haughtily. "Why's it your business?"

"I happened to be walking through the main hall when this man arrived. I was summarily summoned over and given the task of delivering the message. I assure you I was not angling to do it, but as no other worthy candidates were about, I was dragooned."

"Probably thought he was a servant," Wilkes muttered to Rosier.

"He dresses like one."

They both laughed. Snape, if he heard their comments, made no sign of having done so.

"Who is it?" asked Bella.

"No name was given. He said he was here to see his son and expected to be waited upon by the same. I gathered it is a relation of yours."

"What makes you think that?"

"He had no problem letting himself into your library to wait. He knew the layout of the house." Severus's eyes lingered on Regulus. "And the fact that he seemed to think I ought to know who he was without an introduction is indicative of the conceited self-importance that I associate with your family."

Bella's eyes narrowed into slits. Though their dark amusement was obvious, of the others, only Wilkes was stupid enough to laugh.

"Snape's right," said Evan. "All you Blacks are arrogant as sin."

James could practically feel the horrible dread of Regulus's realization setting in.

"It's my father," Regulus muttered.

"I did think there was an…unfortunate resemblance."

Rosier swore under his breath, but Bellatrix went very still. The news had come as a surprise—and she did not generally take well to surprises.

"What the hell is he doing here, Regulus?"

"I haven't—I don't—know why he—" He turned to Bella. "He shouldn't be here. I didn't invite him."

"He invited himself, apparently," said Wilkes, amused. "How did he even get in the hall?"

"My parents have a Boxing Day hunt every year," said Bellatrix. "He probably got a portkey from my father. Papa keeps one on hand for such occasions."

At the thought of her father, her jaw tightened with irritation.

"What could Uncle Orion possibly want from you, Regulus?"

"I—I don't know," said Regulus, and he meant it. Orion was the last person who should be here right now. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes.

"I suppose you'll just have to find out, won't you?"

"There's another thing," continued Snape, blandly. "Decatur and Harlow are currently removing ingots from the gold chandelier in the ballroom. They've a bet on about how much it's worth. In case that's of interest." He turned to Rosier and Wilkes. "And Rodolphus wanted you two. South parapet."

"Did he say why?"

"I can only assume he's concerned others will follow Potter, or are already on the grounds. If your defenses can be penetrated by someone as mediocre as him, then any number of undesirables may be lurking about and need to be…disposed of."

He savored the special pleasure that could only come from insulting James Potter. The fact that it was to his face and Potter couldn't respond was clearly a great bonus.

"Who the hell would dare?" snorted Wilkes.

"Black's brother is usually found nipping Potter's heels," Snape said, turning his face back towards Bella. "Or perhaps the mudblood wife will come for him."

James let out an involuntary curse and strained against his bindings. Regulus yanked him back with some forced and stamped hard on his back heel.

"Severus—about my father—" Regulus pleaded, once he'd got James 'under control' again. "Can you please tell him it's not a good—"

"—He said if you weren't in the library in five minutes he'd come looking for you himself." Snape gave James a disdainful look. "I suppose that could be awkward, given the circumstances."

"Get rid of Orion, Reggie," ordered Bellatrix, her voice steely. "I don't care what it takes."

"But—what about Potter—?"

"As everyone else here is otherwise indisposed," Snape drawled. "I'm only too happy to…take him off your hands."

Regulus felt James's whole body stiffen. He pinched his arm, trying desperately to keep a straight face.

"I'm the one who caught him. He's mine."

Bellatrix considered the matter.

"No," she said at last. "Snape's right. You've a family matter to deal with. And I think you may be a little too…close to the situation."

Severus's lip curled at the flash of blind panic that Potter, never the subtlest of thinkers in the best of circumstances, allowed to cross his face.

"Where do you want him deposited?" He gave James an evil smile. "Or is he to be finished off?"

"He may be useful to me, so I need him alive—for now," Bellatrix said. "Take him to the north dungeon. As long as he's not permanently damaged, you can do what you like with him."

"With pleasure."

Regulus hesitated, kept his grip firm on James's arm—and seeing no other option, was forced to play the only card he had left.

"I don't trust Snape not to kill him as soon as he's got him alone." He looked past Severus at Bellatrix, appealing directly to the most senior Death Eater in the room. "He hates Potter."

"So do you. What does that matter?"

"He fancies the mudblood wife." Regulus's voice rose. "He wants her for himself."

At this accusation—as humiliating for Snape as it was James—a hush fell over the room. Rosier and Wilkes exchanged amused glances, while Bellatrix gave him a contemptuous smile.

"If that's true, I can't blame him," said Wilkes. "I saw her once, in Diagon Alley. She's a pretty little slag—for a mudblood, that is."

"Snape will get his crack at it soon enough, I'm sure," said Rosier. "If this is what she likes, she's not exactly discerning, is she?"

Forgetting where he was and what they were supposed to be doing, James tried to wrench himself free of Regulus's grip and launch himself bodily at Wilkes—then Rosier. Regulus pulled him forcibly back and stamped on his foot for a second time—this time, much harder. James let out a silent string of expletives.

Snape's face became, if possible, even more mask-like.

"Is that true, Snape?" asked Bella.

"Of course it's not true."

"We could always lift the spell on Potter, and let him speak," said Regulus, shaking James. "I bet he'd know if it was a lie."

Snape walked over to Regulus, still clutching James's arm. His face was a smooth blank, the accusation unacknowledged. If you didn't know better, you might've thought he considered it beneath his contempt to even answer.

Regulus Black did know better.

"You should consider your own words carefully, Regulus," Snape said. "Or you might live to regret them."

Regulus and Severus stared into each other's eyes, each trying to read the other's intention. It occurred to Reg, as he stared into that unfathomable blackness—that there was more than one way to read what Snape had said.

It struck him, suddenly, how very deliberate the mention of Potter's wife had been. He had not once ever heard Severus Snape bring Lily Potter up of his own volition.

In any case, Snape had successfully boxed him into a corner—he had no choice. He could only hope his suspicions were right.

And so, with some reluctance, he handed James Potter over to his greatest enemy.

Oh, effing hell.

---

When Regulus entered the library, the first thing he noticed was his father, tall frame silhouetted against the fire.

The Lestrange family were not known for avid reading or an interest in bibliography, as a general rule, and so the room had a cramped, slightly perfunctory air—as if it had been put in as an afterthought, because the builders had known that its existence was expected and required to lend respectability to the bloodthirsty rustics who lived there.

It wasn't a room that engendered much enjoyment from the castle's current inhabitants. As far as Reg knew, the only person who spent any time in here was Rabastan, and that was just when he was trying to escape becoming a casualty in one of the tremendous rows between his brother and sister-in-law that left half the house's crockery incinerated.

Orion's steady, fixed presence made the library seem even smaller. Sirius's resemblance to their father had never been more striking to Regulus than in that moment—and the thought bolstered his confidence.

"Father—" He shut the door behind him. "What are you doing here?"

Mr. Black turned, and Regulus watched his expression shift from placidity to relief to cold, paternal anger in less than a second. He'd always been better at reading Father than Sirius.

"I might ask you that same question." He crossed the room and stopped in front of his younger son—loomed might've been a better word. "I gave you very specific instructions not to come to this house until you had informed me of your intentions and had received my instructions."

"I—was called early. I didn't have time to write you or send a message. I'm sorry I didn't wait for you, but as you can see, I'm perfectly fine."

"Your mother is worried," Mr. Black said. "She asked me to check in on you, and I felt compelled to honor her wishes."

Regulus had an almost pathological devotion to Walburga Black, and would have defended the actions of his mother that most wizards considered grounds for involuntary institutionalization—but even he had to bite back a curse under his breath. Her motherly intuition always came at the least convenient time possible—

Like when he was trying to rescue his brother from his own idiocy behind their parents' backs.

"Fine! You've done it. As you can see, I'm perfectly well—" He lifted up his arms to illustrate his perfect health. "—So you can go home and let her know as much."

At his younger son's uncharacteristic snappish attitude, Mr. Black frowned.

"I'm beginning to wonder if allowing you to do this was a mistake."

"Well, of course it is, if you insist on sabotaging me!" Regulus paced up and down the room. "You're jeopardizing my position, don't you see? You coming to check in on me like this makes me look like a child."

"I think your behavior more than speaks to that assumption."

His younger stopped walking and turned on his heel, with a fire in his eyes that seemed far more like the spark of his rebellious elder brother. Judging from his expression, Orion was having the same thought.

"I'm of age!" Regulus shot back.

"If you have to remind your father, you aren't acting it." Orion narrowed his eyes. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am trying to get rid of you—" Regulus's voice dripped with sarcasm. "That's what Bellatrix told me to do, and she's the one in charge in this house."

"I don't think you would be so vehement if it was just your cousin's word against mine." Orion took a step towards him. "Is there some other reason you want me gone? Anything you want to tell me?"

Regulus stared directly into his father's eyes.

"No."

"For what purpose did you ignore my instructions and come early to this house?"

"Rodolphus asked me to," he lied, smoothly. "He doesn't trust his security and he wants patrols on the grounds."

"I've told you I will not tolerate falsehoods from you, Regulus."

"I'm not lying."

There was a long pause.

"You will come with me—now," Mr. Black said, his voice icy. "This is not a discussion or a debate—it is a statement of fact."

Regulus, unlike Sirius, knew the right moment to hold back from an argument, and so he made no attempt to push back against his father's dictates.

"What excuse am I supposed to give for leaving?"

"Tell them your mother has fallen ill and you need to attend to her."

Regulus laughed, coldly.

"Nobody who knows the first thing about my mother is going to believe that."

"I don't care what they believe."

"And I do. It matters! This entire plan hinges on what they believe of me, remember?"

Mr. Black crossed back to the fire and stared deeply into it. Regulus recognized this as a classic Orion defense mechanism—his father had no argument against these words, and so his solution was to simply freeze his opponent out.

Regulus had no intention of being frozen out.

"You just don't think I'm capable of doing this. That's what this is about."

"Don't be absurd."

Regulus reached into himself and pulled out the most Black-like rejoinder he could muster.

"To you, all I'll ever be is a second choice—a spare, not Sirius. Even Dumbledore has more faith in me than you do."

The words had the instant desired effect. When he turned back around, Orion's expression had softened, he even looked chastened by the accusation. Regulus had a momentary flash of guilt in the pit of his stomach—but it passed quickly.

"If it means so much to you," said his father, after a long moment. "Then I shall go, as you wish."

Regulus slowly exhaled the breath he'd been unconsciously holding.

"There's an apparition point set up on the grounds—"

"—I am well aware of the way my niece has arranged her house, thank you."

Regulus looked up at his father, uncertain. Orion had slipped on the mask with the ease of a lifetime of practice. The younger Black walked over to the door and held it open. Orion didn't move.

"Are you under the impression that you need to escort me out of the house, Regulus?"

His hand slipped from the doorknob. He had a sudden memory of one of the few times as a child he'd been summoned to the study to be disciplined by his father for wrong-doing. He'd sneaked down into the kitchen to steal his dragon-pox laden brother a stash of his favorite biscuits and been caught out of bed. Orion had seemed to believe him when he'd said that he only wanted a cup of milk from the larder and hadn't even summoned Mama, which Reggie had been dreading more than anything. After a scolding he was instructed to go back to bed—without supervision. His papa evidently trusted him that much.

He could still get the biscuits for Sirius and no one would ever know. The thrill of a secret, of getting away with something he oughtn't do—was a new and somewhat heady feeling for the seven-year-old boy. And just as he had reached for the doorknob, a soft and unassuming question came from behind his father's desk.

"You do intend to return straight to bed, Regulus, don't you?"

"…No, Father."

Orion examined his fingernails. It was a gesture of dismissal that Regulus knew well.

"I'm sure you're aware that trust cuts both ways," Mr. Black drawled. "If I can trust that you're not lying to me about hiding something, then you can trust I will leave when I say I will. Wouldn't you say that's fair?"

Regulus tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat.

"Extremely."

---

Regulus and James had not had much time to discuss the possible scenarios that might arise from this plan before they jumped head-first into it. The younger Black brother had assured his one-time Quidditch rival that 'he had it under control'. James, unable to shake the feeling that something horrible had happened to his best friend ever since Aberforth had summoned him to the Hog's Head, only for them to find no trace of Sirius or the bike when they returned, had not pressed Regulus on what "had it under control" actually meant.

The way that Sirius had always described his twerpy little brother, James had figured he could trust that Regulus would not have gone forward with this plan without knowing what he was doing. If James was being honest with himself, he could admit that had more hoped than believed this.

Had he known that Regulus was going to hand him over to Severus Effing Snape, he might've thought better of letting the git tie his hands behind his back and put a gag around his mouth.

Reg was turning out to be Sirius 2.0.

Snape pushed him down a long, narrow corridor that wound around the outer edge of the castle. They reached a dead end and a grotesque wall-hanging that could very well be the last thing he ever saw (well, better that than Snape's face, anyway!)

"This is it, Potter."

He could feel the tip of Snape's wand between his back shoulders. James considered his options. There was always transfiguration—the element of surprise, plus the added bonus of scaring the piss out of Snape when he trampled him as a stag.

He also was considering what the hell he was going to do to Regulus when he saw him next, should he even survive.

"Turn around."

James did—slowly.

Snape had changed since James had seen him last—on the platform at King's Cross, when that slumped, spider-like figure had slouched out of his life for what he'd hoped was forever—not that Snape had been much of a going concern, at that point. His former schoolmate had filled out, and without the smug prefect's badge pinned on his robes, he seemed less like the loathsome, greasy Slytherin he had bested so often in school and more the Death Eater who could off him at any moment.

Still, he couldn't say he was afraid of Snivellus, exactly.

Snape examined him, face bloody, hands band and gagged—relishing the sight of his rival so diminished.

"Let it never be said that there is no justice in this world, Potter."

Snape leaned forward, and James saw his face reflected in those black, fathomless eyes and realized he had overrated his courage. He was afraid.

Not for himself, though.

He'd never realized until that moment what his father had meant when he said marriage made a man want to live for something besides himself. Regret was not an emotion James Potter was familiar with—now, in this moment, all he could think about was why he hadn't woken his wife up to kiss her goodbye before he left the cottage.

Then he felt his hands cut free.

Snape backed away from him. The two men simply stared at each other for a long moment, neither moving and speaking, until—

"I assume your wand is hidden somewhere on your person, Potter—or are you so incompetent that you need me to lift the spell that is mercifully preventing you from speaking?"

James snapped out of his daze. He pulled the gag out of his mouth, then reached down and fumbled with his trouser cuff, where he had stowed his wand. When he managed to get it out from where it had been sewn in, he wordlessly lifted the spell and massaged his throat.

Both men stared at each other for a long moment—then Snape turned on his heel and began to walk away.

Talk about an anti-climax.

"Where's Lily?"

Snape stopped walking. He didn't turn around.

"Why would you think I know where your wife is, Potter?"

His voice was low, dispassionate—not a trace of bitterness in it, only contempt. It wasn't the Snape he remembered. He'd either changed beyond recognition—or he'd got much better at hiding his emotions where a certain person they both cared about was concerned.

"Because she's the only one who could have ever convinced you to do that."

He waited for Snape to deny it—but the denial didn't come. So, it was the latter, then.

"Madame Lestrange ordered me to take you to the north dungeon. We are now in the center of the castle. If I need to explain anything further to you, you are as mentally deficient as I always knew you to be."

James's eyes darted to the tapestry behind him. There were no other distinguishing features to this spot, no windows or doors.

Snape started to walk again. James stared at the back of his head, hesitated, then—

"Thanks, Snape," he said. "I guess I—owe you one."

He probably shouldn't have—but James couldn't resist.

"You owe me nothing, Potter," said Snape, his voice icy. "If whatever sense of honor you claim to possess demands it, you may think of this as a repayment, and nothing more."

"Repayment for what?"

Snape's fingers tightened on his wand.

"That night. Black says you didn't know."

"About what?"

"Him sending me to my death."

"Oh—that." James frowned at the description, but think it the time to argue. "He's right. I didn't. But what has that to—"

"—I am under no obligation to you, Potter. That is the point." Snape snorted derisively. "Do not expect this generosity the next time I see you. I will not hesitate to kill you on sight."

James didn't doubt it. Of course, he had no intention of letting Snape get the first shot in.

The Death Eater began to walk down the long corridor—so long that he did not have the benefit of being able to duck out of his former rival's sight. James found himself, against all odds, following after the retreating back of Severus Snape.

"Wait, Snape!"

To James's surprise, he actually did.

"I just want you to know—that I never thought you owed me anything for that night. I did it because it was the right thing to do."

It was infuriatingly self-righteous that it stopped Snape in his tracks. No comeback was adequate for that degradation.

"Not that I should have had to—it was a bit of a git move on your part, wasn't it?"

When Severus Snape finally turned around to tell him as much, James Potter was already gone.

As usual, the prick had got in the last word.

Perhaps, thought Snape, as he headed towards the front doors of the castle—he had been right before. There was no justice in this world.

---

"Lily? Are you down there?"

Through the cacophony of voices bouncing off the dungeon walls, he made out the one that mattered.

"James? Oh, God, James—!"

Arms, freezing cold and as familiar as his own flung themselves around James Potter's neck. The woman they belonged to buried her face in his chest and screamed a series of epithets he could barely make out through the sobs. Something about killing him and making him sleep on the sofa until the baby came, which taken together didn't make much sense, but he wasn't about to point that out to her.

He got the general idea, anyway.

"It's alright, darling—I'm fine, see?" He tried to pry himself out of her arms. "The bruises aren't even real."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" his wife shouted, furiously. "How could you do this to me, something this mad, and not even leave a note in the damned flat?"

"I didn't want you to worry!" James said. "Besides, Regulus claimed there was no time for that—"

She slapped him on the chest, punctuating each hit with a one-syllable insult.

"I don't care what he said, you stupid—bloody—prat—"

"Sweetheart, please calm down—" He looked around for an ally, and his eyes fell on Colette. "Oh, erm—hello, again. I didn't know you were here."

Lily untangled herself from her husband.

"I am very glad to see you safe, Mr. Potter." Colette curtsied. "We came to rescue you and Regulus, you know."

"I didn't know, actually," said James, bewildered. "That's very, erm—good of you."

"You shouldn't bother wasting your good manners on James, Miss Battancourt," said new voice. "He doesn't appreciate them. In fact, he thinks they're pretentious."

James turned his head towards his best friend.

"Let me guess!" James peered through the bars of the cell behind her. "You were looking for us, but you found this prat, instead."

In spite of everything that had happened, Sirius couldn't help but grin back.

"Alright, Prongs?" He tried to keep his voice casual and light. "Looks like Reg did a number on you."

"All spells, none of it's the real thing. He's quite clever, your brother."

"If he was cleverer you two wouldn't be here right now. You realize this whole thing was a trap, right?"

"I was starting to get the impression, yeah."

"Never mind that. Where is he?"

James scowled.

"I don't know. We split up."

"You let him out of your sight?"

"I didn't exactly have a lot of options, being bound and gagged in a den of Death Eaters without access to my wand. I really thought I was done for for a minute, there."

"How did you escape?"

James sighed.

"You'll never guess." He gave his wife a rueful look. "Or maybe you will."

Lily glanced up at him. She decided to take that moment to hastily wipe the tear-tracks from her face.

"Oh!" Colette clapped her hands together. "Monsieur Snape."

"The very same."

His wife made a small, discreet noise in the back of her throat—somewhere between a cough and a gag.

"No way," Sirius laughed. "Snivelly really came through. Wonders never cease!"

"I knew he would help us," said Colette, turning to Sirius and giving him a look of superiority. "Did I not say he would?"

"It was a bit touch and go there for a minute," said Sirius. "You know, with certain people shouting at him about his Oedipal complex."

"So he was down here, then?" said James, careful to keep his tone of voice as neutral as possible. "I figured as much. He, er, pointed me in the right direction."

James turned towards his wife, who made no secret of her displeasure at the turn in conversation.

"Do I even want to know what you did to to make that happen?"

"You should count your lucky stars Colette could convince him to lift a finger to help you."

"As long as you weren't lifting a finger to help him with anything else."

Sirius normally would have enjoyed a laugh at James's expense—after having had to deal with prolonged Snape exposure, he thought himself entitled to it, in fact—but he was too good of a friend to leave the beleaguered husband out in the cold.

"Don't worry, Prongs—she and Snivs just had a bit of a dust-up. There were no consolation snogs in exchange for your life—unless you count a get-well card for his mum—"

"—Shut up, Sirius!"

Lily had said it so many times since her arrival in his dungeon that the law of diminishing returns was in full effect—he waved her away with ease.

"By the way, were you ever going to tell me that Snape holds a grand passion for Lily?"

James Potter gritted his teeth. This was the last conversation he wanted to have with Padfoot of all people, now or ever.

"I would think him being a Death Eater is a little more important right now."

"Well, I don't! It's far less interesting. And apparently Dumbledore already knows about that—Snivellus passes him messages from Voldemort. Bellatrix said as much. What do you think he means by it, not turning Snape in?"

"He'll have his reasons. Regulus knew about it as well—" said Lily. "He—told me your the flat last week."

"Oh yes, he knows all about it—and other things. Funny how you didn't mention that," said James.

His wife rolled her eyes. Whether they were talking about Snape the Death Eater or Snape's Unrequited But Still Rather Embarrassing Love for Her was beside the point.

"Like you needed me to tell you. You've suspected it about him all along."

"And I hope you can stop pretending you didn't know, too," her husband shot back. "But—we've a bigger problem than Snape, believe it or not."

Sirius groaned.

"What's happened now?"

James hesitated.

"It's your dad." The color drained from Sirius's face. "He's here. Upstairs, in the main hall."

"What?"

"It's how Regulus and I got separated. Snape came in the room, said he had arrived and that he wanted to speak to his son. Bellatrix sent your brother to get rid of him."

Sirius began to pace about his tiny cell, a ball of pent-up, frustrated energy.

"Let's hope he bloody succeeds, because that man is in no fit state to be tussling with Death Eaters!"

Colette furrowed her brow, instantly recognizing that there was more to his histrionic reaction.

"Is something wrong with your father?" she asked.

Sirius stopped pacing.

"I told you this morning I didn't want to discuss it."

"And I do not believe you."

"Well, even if you're right, it's—it's none of your business, Miss Battancourt. Besides, it's nothing."

Miss Battancourt raised her chin in stubborn defiance.

"You were upset this morning, and I believe it was about your papa."

He sighed—ever the long-sufferer.

"Don't you ever let things go, Miss Battancourt?" Sirius snapped. "You're like a dog with a bone."

"That's rich, coming from you," said Lily. "How did Mr. Black know he was here, James?"

"I don't know. They were all expecting Regulus to show up tonight. He had a portkey, everyone was giving him shite for being late—and your dad knew where to find him."

"Reg was going to come here tonight no matter what," said Sirius. "He and my father must've pre-arranged it behind my back. It makes sense, he couldn't stay holed up in my flat forever—it would start to raise eyebrows, even for tossers like Rosier and Wilkes."

"You are worried for him," Colette reached through the bars and laid a hand on his arm. "Tell me why."

He met Colette's eyes, and at her look of absolute trust, he capitulated.

"The night we met, that mission I was on? My father completed it for me. He passed the message I was meant to intercept onto Albus Dumbledore."

"Your father spied for Dumbledore?" Lily asked, incredulously. Sirius waved aside her disbelief.

"Yes, the Slytherin Common Room has officially relocated to Tahiti. The point is that Bellatrix knows he did. He's in danger. He and Regulus."

"How did Mr. Black even get in the castle in the first place?"

James explained what he'd overheard about the portkey Orion Black had acquired from his brother-in-law.

"Some Death Eater stronghold this turned out to be!" Mrs. Potter snorted. "Apparently anyone can get in."

"Not anyone," corrected Sirius. "People with influence. Like, say, a close friend of the hostess's sister who has a nosy streak and no sense of self-preservation." Colette tossed her head and made a very French sound of disapproval in the back of her throat. "Or her uncle who happened to be at a dinner party at her parents' house."

"Is that where your parents are?"

"Yes. Boxing Day Hunt at Uncle Cyg's. It's a stupid family tradition, like most of them."

"Perhaps we should take our chances walking out the front door," said Mrs. Potter, eyeing the stairs behind James. "We have the invisibility cloak—we could go in pairs."

Her husband looked hopeful—but Black's face hardened.

"That is too risky. You don't understand the security enchantments on this castle. No wizard or witch can get in or out without being invited, not even a member of the—"

Sirius stopped.

"Wait. That's it." He ran one hand over the stone wall. "This—this is a family house."

"What are you talking about, Padfoot—"

"—Don't you see? As long as a member of the family lives in the place, he can come without being detected. That's the whole point, being inconspicuous. It's how he got in the flat that night."

"See what?" James asked. "Who are you talking about?"

Ignoring him, Sirius lifted his head towards the ceiling.

"Kreacher!" he bellowed. "Kreacher, come here."

Nothing happened.

Sirius squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated. Think—think—think. In his twenty years of life, the family's servant had never once, that he could recall, willingly obeyed an order of his. He had rarely tried telling the elf what to do, even when he was a somewhat spoiled and willful child brought up to take for granted the position God had seen fit to give him by putting him on the earth a full year and a half before Regulus.

Kreacher had come to represent everything he resented about his parents, his family—the hypocrisy and arcane traditions which had always seemed to matter more than his feelings or will.

And now he needed Kreacher.

"Kreacher—come on." He leaned his head on the bars of the cell. "I need you to come here. If you're with my mother you mustn't tell her where you're going, though. It's very important."

There was nothing—not a glimmer of magic or recognition. Colette and the Potters both stared at him—the French girl opened her mouth to say something, but Sirius shot her a look and held his hand up, politely but firmly—in a manner that brooked no argument.

He opened his eyes, lifted his head and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Alright, if that's the way you want to play it, you worthless little ingrate—then fine."

He kicked the dirt on the floor, an elegant and aristocratic gesture of contempt that would have looked as at home in a gambling parlor or opera house as it did Bellatrix Lestrange's dungeon.

"I, Sirius Orion Black, heir to that same noble house of Black, greatest of its kind, command you to appear before me as your rightful master."

Lily jumped a foot in the air at the loud CRACK sound of the brown, wrinkled old elf appearing at her, James' and Colette's feet. Kreacher glowered at his master, somehow managing to contort his face into a cartoonish facsimile of Mrs. Black at her haughtiest.

"About damned time," Sirius spat at him through the bars. "Where do you get off, disobeying a direct order from me? You'll be lucky if you get out of this without having your fingers flayed in the fireplace."

The other three gaped at him, varying degrees of shock on their faces. Colette was perhaps the least surprised by it, having seen how the boy's mother spoke to the poor servant. This was tame by comparison.

"Sirius!" Lily said, aghast. "You can't talk to him that way."

Her friend waved her off.

"This is the only language he understands, Lily—don't get your knickers in a twist over it. You can't let him see weakness."

He was indeed unoffended by this strong language from his willful charge. Kreacher fixed his young master with a look of deep suspicion.

"Mistress told Kreacher long ago not to listen to Master Sirius's nonsense," the old elf muttered. "What does he want, Kreacher wonders?"

"It'll be difficult for you to obey your mistress if she's dead, Kreacher—and if you don't do precisely what I tell you to do, that is very well what may happen."

Kreacher's eyes, narrowed with the usual squint of distrust, widened in fear.

"Mistress…in danger?" he whispered, terrified—then shook his head, willing it not to be true. "No, no—it must be one of Master Sirius's tricks. He mustn't be here, he is supposed to be safe in his hiding place with Master Regulus. Why is he in Miss Bella's dungeon?"

"Not that it's your place to ask questions, elf, but suffice it to say that I am not here by choice." He used an imperious, business-like tone of voice that only Colette noticed was rather like Arcturus. "Miss Bella has betrayed the family. You are not to listen to her vile lies, because she is not only a threat to me, but to your master, mistress and my brother, and if something happens to one of them, the thought that you might've prevented it will haunt you till your dying day."

This speech had an immediate and lasting effect on the elf. His expression changed from fear and distrust to grudging respect.

Very, very grudging.

"…What must Kreacher do?"

"I need you to get these three out of here."

Kreacher took in the other three inhabitants of the room for the first time since he had apparated into the castle. Colette bent down and patted him kindly on his frail shoulder. He pulled away at this impertinence—until he realized who it was.

"What is Miss Cissy's friend the French girl doing in the dungeon with the young master? Mistress will be very angry at Kreacher for not—" His eyes shifted to the Potters. "—And why should Kreacher help the Potter boy and the mudblood wife?"

James's eyes hardened, but Lily put a hand on his shoulder to smooth his ruffled feathers.

"Call her that again and I'll pull off your ears, Kreach." Sirius looked to the other three, all confused at what good this irascible servant's presence was supposed to do them. "His magic will allow him to take one person out of the house at a time without being detected by any security measures Bella and her husband will have come up with."

"What about you, Padfoot?" asked James, frowning. "Can he get you out of that cell?"

The old elf's eyes had adjusted to the dark, and he noticed that Sirius was in a cell, where the other three were not.

"Mistress would not want Master Sirius in this place," he muttered, staring at the cell bars with fear. "She would not like it at all."

"It's not up to her, is it?"

"What did Master Sirius do to displease Miss Bella?"

"I told you, she's a mad cow—"

The sound of steps from above cut off the argument mid-stream. The two witches and James pulled out their wands in unison. Kreacher's ears perked up—he scuttled forward, eager at the familiar sound.

"It is Master Regulus!"

Regulus's pale face appeared in the doorway. His dark robes blended into the shadows, giving the eery impression his head was floating in midair. Unaware of the need for secrecy, Kreacher cried out with equal pleasure and fear.

"Master Regulus! Master Regulus. Kreacher is so glad to see him, though he should not be here, like his willful, disobedient brother who is such a bad boy."

Regulus stepped out of the shadows and looked down at the elf, puzzled.

"…Kreacher?" He knelt beside him and shushed the old servant. "How did you end up here?"

"How do you think he did?" his elder brother called from his cell. "I summoned him."

Regulus looked up from Kreacher, past the Potters and Colette and straight into Sirius's eyes. He betrayed no surprise at seeing Sirius locked up in the dungeon—he didn't even crack a smile or pretend to wipe a tear of relief. It wasn't exactly the brotherly reunion that Sirius had been hoping for, but it wasn't too far off from what he expected.

They'd never exactly been the effusive types with each other.

"And he listened to you?" Regulus stood back up. "How did you manage that?"

"I channeled my inner Walburga."

Regulus's lip twitched and he met Lily's gaze. She was also smiling, in spite of herself.

"That couldn't have been, ah—too difficult for you."

"Instead of sharing your recently acquired sense of humor, Reg," his brother shot back, voice deeply sarcastic. "Why don't you focus on convincing these idiots to go with Kreach?"

"We're not going until you're free, Padfoot," said James, firmly. "We bothered sneaking into this castle to rescue you, do you think we're going to leave without you?"

"I see you got away from Severus," Regulus remarked to Potter. James gave his one-time partner a caustic look in return—rather like the one he'd given him the last Quidditch match of his career, when Regulus had managed to catch the snitch from under his own seeker's nose.

"Yes, no thanks to you, Black. I thought the last person I'd ever see in this life was going to be Snivellus," said James. "What happened with your dad? Did you get rid of him?"

Regulus hesitated.

"Erm—yes."

Sirius had not spent eighteen years as Regulus's brother and not learned to recognize the telltale signs of weakness.

"What does that mean, Reg?"

"It means he's gone, alright?" Regulus turned to Mrs. Potter. "I assume you're the one who convinced Severus to let your husband go."

"No comment," said Lily.

Regulus smiled.

"I did tell you that you had nothing to fear from Snape."

"Did everyone know that Snivs was salivating after Evans but me?" remarked Sirius. No one answered him.

It was then that Regulus noticed Colette standing off to the side, shrinking back from the room's more domineering personalities.

"Oh—Miss Battancourt! What are you doing here?" He gave Sirius an accusing look. "Did you drag her into this?"

"Hardly! I had nothing to do with this French busybody coming here. She had an invitation from Cissy, and she came to rescue you."

Regulus's eyebrows rose in surprise. Colette had a sudden burst of courage and rushed towards him. She babbled her apologies and worst fears for his safety, all the while completely unaware of Sirius glowering at his brother from behind her back.

"I was so afraid that they found out about you because of me. I was worried. Are you alright? You're not hurt? I would never forgive myself if—"

Regulus grasped the girl by her shoulders and she fell silent.

"I'm fine, Miss Battancourt."

"It's all my fault." Colette pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. "I went snooping about your room, and I found the note you wrote the night you disappeared—curiosity is my worst quality, maman will tell you—and then your cousin discovered it in my diary, and I was sure that she had found out everything about where you were hiding, because I had written about it."

"You needn't blame yourself for that, Miss Battancourt," Regulus said, letting go of her arms. "Bellatrix knew all about me long before she looked in your diary. I suspect she was looking through your things because she was after some personal item my brother gave you." He pulled out an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Sirius through the bars. "Potter found this on a table in the Hog's Head. It's how we knew you were here."

Sirius snatched the envelope with the broken wax seal—the one that Walburga had given him, with the still blank spot where a motto had yet to be carved into it clearly visible—unequivocal proof that he had written Colette a letter the night before. That and the broken pen were all it had taken to draw him back down here, just as his cousin had known.

"She baited you and you fell for it."

"Cauldron, meet kettle," Sirius muttered.

Regulus ignored the jibe and looked back at Miss Battancourt, his expression softer.

"I hope my brother didn't disturb you by sending a letter in the middle of the night, and that he observed the proprieties." Regulus narrowed his eyes in Sirius's direction. "Why were you in Scotland, anyway? In the note you left you made it out like you were with Potter for the day, but he said the barman had you drinking up there for hours, like you'd had a great disappointment."

Colette blushed bright red and tried to creep back into a less conspicuous part of the room.

"It's none of your damn business, Regulus."

"When you expect me to cover for you to our parents, it becomes my business, actually."

The two brothers glared at each other. The Potters stood back, very aware of the hostile energy that only siblings in the midst of a conflict could produce. Colette timidly stepped between then.

"There is—no need to fight, now. We are all safe now, I am sure. I am only glad I didn't do more damage."

"Oh, honestly, Colette!" Lily threw up her hands. "It's not your fault that Sirius asked you to run away with him and had a fit of sullens when you turned him down."

"You did what?"

It was the first and probably last time that Regulus Black and James Potter had the exact same thought at the same time.

"Oh, great—thanks a lot, Lily—now I'll never hear the end of it."

James launched into the exact speech that Lily had predicted he would at the news (his wife managed to shut him up), but Sirius's brother maintained an icy silence that would have put Orion to shame. Sirius stared back at him, a silent argument ensuing.

Regulus broke eye contact first.

"I feel I've neglected my manners, Miss Battancourt." He bowed to her, all thought of his brother's behavior shelved for a time when he could shout at Sirius with impunity. "I didn't ask how you were enjoying your holiday. I'm sorry I wasn't at Grimmauld Place when you came to stay with my parents."

"I understand. You were…detained on other business."

"My mother has enjoyed your company." He glanced at Sirius. "You've become indispensable to her. I think she'll have a difficult time letting you go." He quirked an eyebrow. "But perhaps she won't have to."

Colette's cheeks flushed pink.

"Madame Black is a most gracious hostess."

Sirius lost his patience.

"Will the two of you stop exchanging pleasantries, for Merlin's sake?"

Colette turned away, embarrassed.

Regulus kneeled down next to the family's house elf and gently pried his claw-like hands from the bars he was attempting to break with his particular brand of magic.

"There's no point in that, Kreacher," he said, quietly. "You'll only hurt yourself."

"Mistress cannot discover that Master Sirius is not safe and at home—"

"—She won't," Regulus cut him off, voice firm. "Don't worry."

Kreacher reluctantly stepped back from the cell door. Regulus pulled up the sleeve of his robes. His injured arm was still bound in bandages. The ex-Death Eater unwound them from his arm, exposing his wound to the elements. The chunk of flesh that had been ripped out had, despite Walburga's ministrations, not yet begun to even scab over.

"You shouldn't take that off, Regulus," said Lily. "It hasn't healed properly."

"It's only for a minute."

The wound oozed on the floor; Regulus bit back a gasp of pain. A bite from an inferi was not like an ordinary injury. The dark magic repelled most healing spells for weeks.

"What the hell are you doing?" his brother asked, fascinated and disturbed.

"Getting you out of there." Regulus tossed the bandages on the ground. "You're welcome, by the way. Stand back."

Sirius was too shocked not to obey. His brother pressed the bare flesh of his arm, wound and all, against the hard metal of the door to the cell. The moment his flesh touched the lock it sizzled, filling the dungeon with the acrid scent of burnt skin. Regulus stifled a groan of intense pain. After about fifteen seconds he pulled away and collapsed onto his knees on the floor.

The lock clicked and the door swung open.

"How the hell," said James, as the two women rushed to Regulus's side to help him. "Did you do that?"

Lily and Colette pulled him to his feet.

"It's the spell. Only a Death Eater—someone who has been marked—can open that door."

Regulus rewound the bandage about his arm.

"Marked with what?"

Legs shaking, Sirius stepped out of the cell and approached his brother.

"The—Dark Mark. It's how he summons us. Mine didn't survive the cave, but the—" He bit his lip and grasped at his arm. "The enchantment remains."

Sirius looked at his brother as if he was staring at a stranger.

"Are you telling me that Voldemort carved a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth into your arm?"

Regulus started to laugh—it turned into a wheezing cough.

"It—sounds kind of stupid when you put it that way."

"How did you know you could open the cell door?"

"Because I have done it before."

"You've put prisoners down here?"

"And taken them out."

Sirius backed away from him, as if he was frightened. Regulus laughed.

"You didn't think I was the real thing, did you?" He leaned against the wall, struggling for breath. "You never have."

"What do you want, Reg? You want me to say I'm impressed with you?" He gestured at the prison cell. "Alright, I'm impressed. You're a big man—you could even take me."

His brother let out a weary, long-suffering sigh.

"No, I couldn't. And that's not the point." His lip twitched. "You know, Snape could've got you out of that cell—if he'd wanted to."

"Gee, I wonder why he didn't," said Sirius.

"He might've if you had only apologized to him," Colette pointed out.

"I'd rather die than apologize to Snape." Sirius knelt down and addressed his family's servant directly. "Alright, Kreacher. You're up. Time to do your job and get them out of here."

Kreacher gave James a look of pure loathing—pure Walburga—but he didn't argue.

"Prongs—you first."

James tried to argue that the girls should be taken out of the castle before him, but was shut down by everyone else in the room except Regulus.

"After what you put me through," said his wife. "I'm not leaving this place until I'm sure you're out as well."

In that moment she was so terrifying he didn't dare argue. Sirius took charge of the situation.

"It's practical. I need you to alert Frank and Moody about what's happened here. We need a concentrated raid of this house, but I don't want anyone but the two of them tipped off. Nobody else can know about this. That part is very important."

James trusted his friend enough not to bother asking why.

"What if I can't find either of them?"

"Go to the Leaky Cauldron—Dung's usually there this time of night. If there's anyone who knows how to get the authorities involved, it's him."

James looked as though there were many things he would like to say to Sirius, but he wasn't sure where to begin, so he settled on—

"I'm glad you're alright, Padfoot."

"It was stupid of you to come after me, Prongs." He hesitated, then grabbed his best friend about the shoulders in a gruff, one-handed hug. "But thanks."

James grinned at him—Lily trod on his foot. He kissed her goodbye, and he and Kreacher vanished.

"Now—" Sirius considered the two women. "There's the matter of what we're going to do with you two."

"I can stay," said Colette. "I am not afraid."

"Yes, we've established your lack of sense in that regard."

"If Regulus's cover has been blown," said Lily, briskly. "We need to let Dumbledore know as soon as possible."

"He's out of the country," said Regulus. "He has been since yesterday."

"It must be nice, being his informant and knowing his whereabouts," said Sirius, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I suppose it's on your information that he's left. Do you also have a way of getting in touch?"

"If Albus Dumbledore doesn't want to be found, you don't find him. He asked me to come to his office tomorrow to report on how tonight went, so he must be coming back soon. In the next twelve hours at the latest."

"We could go to Hogwarts to wait for him," said Lily.

"I've a better idea," said Sirius. "Kreacher can take the two of you to Grimmauld Place. Lily, you can pass on everything that happened tonight to the portrait of my great-great-grandfather, he's got a double in Dumbledore's office, the portrait will be on the family side if Dumbledore's away—Phineas Nigellus will let him know as soon as Dumbledore's back from wherever the hell he is. Colette will show you where the fireplace is in the kitchen, and you can floo back to Godric's Hollow, or even stay there for safekeeping. The house should be empty, and there's plenty of bedrooms. You can get some rest and wait out the storm."

"Nobody but Severus Snape knows we were even here, Sirius. I'm far more worried about you two than us."

"We won't be far behind you." He looked at Colette. "There's no need for tears, Miss Battancourt."

"I am not crying!"

Sirius pulled a handkerchief from his brother's pocket—much to Regulus's chagrin—and held it out to Colette. She discarded her damp one in favor of Reg's and blew her nose with no thought for her dignity.

"You'll look out for her, won't you, Lily?"

"I might. What do I get for my trouble?"

"How about I promise never again to mention Snape's undying love for you?"

"If only I believed I could keep you to that deal."

Kreacher appeared again and confirmed that the "awful Potter" had been deposited in London as per Sirius's request. When he was told his instructions, he had the good sense to take Sirius's glare at face value and not voice his less than charitable views on Lily Potter in his master and mistress's home.

Lily went first.

"Be careful, all of you." She squeezed Colette's hand. "See you soon."

With a crack, she and Kreacher disappeared as well, leaving Colette alone with the two brothers.

"Well, I—" said Sirius.

"That is—" Colette said over him.

They both fell silent.

"I'm going out in the corridor," said Regulus, loudly. "To keep watch until Kreacher gets back."

Sirius jerked his head around, and was annoyed to see a slightly smug, teasing expression on his brother's face as Reg disappeared through the door at the other end of the room.

"Real subtle, Reg."

Reluctantly at first, he turned and forced himself to look back at Colette. Whatever emotions had inspired her teary eyes before, he had regained control of them now. Sirius thought she looked deplorably calm and in control of herself, given the circumstances. He could've coped with hysterics and shouting—he'd had practice enough of both with his mother—but there was something about that steady look of expectation that disarmed him, made Sirius feel like an actor who had forgotten his lines.

He didn't know what to say. Nothing would be adequate.

"I think you know most of my secrets, now," Sirius said, at last. "It'll all be mundane from here on out. But I hope it was worth it."

"I don't—care about secrets."

"Well, I'm…sorry I lied to you, about who I was and what I was doing. At first I did it because I didn't know if I could trust you, and then I—tried to protect you. I thought the more you knew, the more you'd be in danger."

"And of course," Colette gave him a wry smile. "You were right. But it did not stop me from trying to know, did it?"

Sirius noticed the broken pieces of the fountain pen were still in her hand.

"Bit of a crap gift, in the end." He took both hands in his and gently pried them open. "You never even got a chance to use it."

"I'm sure you can always—get me a new one."

"Oh! You are presumptuous. What makes you think I'm going to go to all the trouble of getting you a new pen? It's not as though you took brilliant care of the first one I got you."

Colette tilted her head.

"If I'd known how sensitive you were to be about the gift, I would have tucked it my breast pocket, right over my heart."

"You may spare me your patronizing flattery, Miss Battancourt. There is no need. You can chuck trinkets I give you down the loo, for all I care!"

She took a step closer to him—with her hands in his, it had the effect of drawing Sirius towards her. Colette smiled, a sly, feminine, as if she knew a secret.

His secret.

"I've been thinking about what I should give you in return."

"I'm not five years old," Sirius mumbled, very aware that he sounded like he was. The image of Walburga and her endless pile of Christmas packages rose in his mind. "I don't need presents to be happy."

"What do you need?" Colette asked, smiling up at him through the tears she no longer bothered to conceal. "There's nothing you can think of that I can give you?"

Her face was very close to his—just like the night they met, eyes as wide and crystalline blue in a ballroom or under the torchlight in a dungeon, or against the snow that blanketed the castle grounds or—in a toilet stall at the theatre.

The sort of blue that could swallow you up like the sea and hold you close like a hot bath on a winter night at the same time.

"There might be one thing…"

Sirius put a hand on her shoulder. He felt sure he could feel her heartbeat through the thin silk of her cloak—or was that his own?

"You could…tell me how many freckles you've got on your nose."

"Certainly." She leaned forward. "Six."

"Is that all?" He squinted at her nose. "I don't believe you. I'm going to have to…check…that."

He touched his nose to hers. The smell of pine needles and camomile filled the place of the eyes he had hitherto been drowning in.

"Look at that…" He counted under his breath. "Six. You were right."

"Is there anything else?"

Colette's breath hitched in her throat.

"Well, you know…" She put her small hands on his shoulders. One of her fingers grazed his cheek. "While you're here anyway—"

Colette touched her lips to his—it was all the invitation either needed.

About damn time.

They crashed into each other.

At the feeling of her fingers in his hair, Sirius wrapped his arms around her waist—a hesitant, almost shy gesture—testing the waters, a gentle footstep from the shore into the wave of a rising tide. She wobbled slightly (is she on her tip-toes?) and he pulled her closer to steady her. When Colette let out a sweet hiccup of surprise (approving!) he lifted his right hand to the back of her head to deepen the kiss.

For a moment, wrapped up in this innocent's arms, Sirius felt something entirely new. It was the sensation of being caught—but not trapped. There was nowhere else on earth he wanted to be but here, he would not have traded places with anyone—indeed, he felt as though he couldn't, even if he had wanted to.

Once, that sensation would have frightened Sirius. Now it made him…safe. As though he belonged somewhere.

He had just decided to take a crack at disheveling the silky strands of her hair (what the hell were you supposed to do with your hands that wasn't totally indecent?) when there was a loud CRACK—

"Master Sirius! Master Sirius!"

Not even the elf's shrill cries of disapproval (oh, eff off, Kreacher) could have deterred Sirius from the warm, soft loveliness of Colette's embrace, but the sound of Regulus's footsteps brought her back to reality.

Colette violently jerked herself out of his arms. Sirius caught a glimpse of her expression—swollen lips, bright red cheeks, deliciously shocked—before she mechanically reared back her arm—

—And slapped him across the face.

Then he saw stars.

"Colette, what in the name of Merlin's sodding left—"

Sirius clutched his stinging face. The French girl stared, wide-eyed, at the rising red mark she had left behind and her own arm, as if she wasn't quite sure what had come over her.

"Oh, no—" She rushed over to her victim to check his wounds. "Does it hurt?"

Both Regulus and Kreacher were too shocked to stay anything. Sirius, as usual, had no such compunctions.

"Like hell!" he groaned, gripping his cheek. "What was that for? Was I that bad?"

"Of course you were not!"

She looked crestfallen at the very idea, which made Sirius feel marginally better—or would've, had his face not stung like the Whomping Willow had taken a crack at it.

"Then why did you do it?"

In the face of this direct question, the girl froze.

"I—I was told to," she admitted, guiltily.

"'Told to'?" She must've hit me harder than I thought. "By whom—?"

"Sirius—" Regulus stepped between them. "She needs to get out of here, remember?"

His elder brother lowered the hand that had been clutching his afflicted cheek. His brother's shrill cry had brought him back to the reality of the situation.

"Right—right." He shook his head, looking like a dog trying to get water out of his ears. "Kreacher—you know what to do."

The elf grabbed the hem of her robe. Colette, still in a tizzy, looked as though she wanted to say something more to him, but couldn't think of what—or didn't dare it in front of the other two.

"But I…I don't want to leave, not until I…I need to explain why I—"

"You'll be fine," Sirius said. "Whatever it is—you can tell me when I see you again."

She and the house-elf vanished with another CRACK.

---

Narcissa always took great care with her appearance—cosmetics never overdone, hair dressed impeccably, tasteful gowns that favored her fair coloring and flattered her figure.

Tonight was no exception.

Lucius knew his wife was the envy of all his associates and her friends—demure and dutiful, aware of her place in the long line of Mistresses of Malfoy Manor that had come before her.

"You put this house and everyone else in it in the shade, Narcissa."

She stood up from where she sat at the dining room table, alone.

"You mean that, don't you?"

Malfoy kissed her knuckles.

"Have you ever known me to be an idle flatterer?"

"I'm sure you've told your share of lies."

"Not about your beauty. There's no need." Lucius tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "We must go, dearest. We'll be late."

"We already are."

Lucius released her hand.

"The portkey. It's already gone." She turned and walked to the other end of the table, bent over the vase of hothouse orchids and adjusted them. "It wasn't properly enchanted—or they didn't bother with the right time in the invitation. We've missed it."

Lucius—sensing danger—didn't react. That was the trick when you were being baited by a woman. Never rise to it.

"How long have you known?"

"Oh—not long. I had one of the elves put it on the table here, and I was upstairs getting dressed. When I came down here it was gone." She tossed her head. "Really, I don't know why Bellatrix insists on these arcane security measures, anyway. Why can't she just have a man at the door, like everyone else does? I don't think anyone wants to break into that musty old ruin that badly."

"She and Rodolphus have their reasons."

Narcissa plucked a petal off of one of the flowers she'd been fussing with and dropped it, unceremoniously, onto the floor.

"Some reasons! Anyway, I suppose it's all a wash, now. We can't go."

"What about your father? Doesn't he keep a spare portkey—"

"—It's the middle of the hunt. And besides, if we go there, my grandparents will insist we stay." She wrinkled her nose, a sure sign that as far as she was concerned, the discussion was at an end. "Honestly, it's a relief. I'm so tired that I'd just as soon not go, and now we have an excuse."

"I thought you were excited to see Regulus."

"Oh, Reggie's polite enough. He'll call on us before the new year."

"It would be good for you to go. It will take your mind off things." Lucius paused. "I realize you are still upset about your friend's abrupt departure—"

"—Colette Battancourt has no effect on my emotions whatever."

The cold snap in her voice which reminded him uncomfortably of her sister said that the subject was closed.

"Our absence will be felt. And I did give my word we would go."

"Well, God forbid you ever break your word to Bellatrix," said Narcissa, icily.

"If you're tired, I understand. Given your condition it's to be expected. There are several business matters I have to discuss with Travers—"

"—It is Christmas," Narcissa interrupted, bluntly. "No serious trade will be conducted for the rest of the year. What business could you have with him that can't wait until Twelfth Night?"

Lucius stared at his wife. It was a rarity indeed that she drop the pretense of not understanding business matters. Whatever was bothering her, it was serious. He could guess the cause almost immediately.

"Did something happen between you and your sister?"

She turned towards him, and the expression of pure fury that he saw there reminded him more of Bellatrix than he had thought conceivable.

"I asked you a question!" Narcissa snapped. "What possible business could you have with those men and my sister that you must be there tonight?"

Lucius said nothing. His silence seemed to confirm what she already suspected.

"If it is as important as it seems to be, you can always trudge through the forest on foot. You'll do it alone, which is what I suspect you wanted all along."

Before he had a chance to even formulate a response, his wife was out the door and up the stairs.

Malfoy had a feeling that that night, for the first time in his married life, the bedroom—should he be foolish enough to even make an attempt—would be barred to him.

By the time Lucius's father found him in the study ten minutes later, he was already halfway through a glass of his favorite brandy. Lucius poured Abraxas a drink before the old man asked permission to join his only son. There was nothing that happened in this house—not even an argument between husband and wife—that his father didn't find out about sooner or later.

The two men sat in silence for a few minutes before the elder—always a ponderous thinker and careful with his words—broke the silence.

"You know, Lucius, that I consider a man's private affairs sacrosanct."

He didn't reply. With Abraxas and his particular brand of rhetoric, there was no need. The old Malfoy was no dramatist, but he favored soliloquy over witty repartee.

"I am sure you comfort yourself with the certainty—youth is always certain—that even if I did know your business I wouldn't comprehend it. I flatter myself, however, that, though I am less of a doddering old fool that you take me for—I would never insult you by interfering in those affairs."

Abraxas's expression softened…as much as the old hickory-nut of a wizard was capable of softening.

"I only give the advice any man would his only son. But you must allow me to do so without fear of it being misconstrued as anything more than affectionate…concern."

Lucius lifted his glass in ascent to the proposition. As if he would dare refuse Abraxas anything in his own house. Malfoy Senior cleared his throat before speaking.

"A man's fortunes rise and fall by three things—the loyalty he elicits in his friends, the fear in his enemies—and devotion of his wife. The key is to never neglect any one of these in favor of the others and forget that, when considering one's own interests, finding a welcome succor at the end of the day in the place a man lays down his head should be his chief concern."

Abraxas drained his glass.

"Just something to ponder, my boy."

He left his son by the fire.

Lucius did ponder.

---

The brothers waited in silence—until one of them could no longer bear it.

"So…you finally kissed her."

Great. Regulus small talk.

"No. She kissed me," Sirius said, voice muted. "And then she slapped me across the face."

Regulus shrugged.

"You can't take that personally."

He shot his younger brother a look of frank disbelief.

"How could I not 'take it personally'?"

Regulus peaked his head out the door of the dungeon and up the stairs.

"It's funny," Regulus observed, when he came back. "Everyone at school always thought you had a gift with women and really understood them. Imagine if they could see you now, wallowing because you got a slap after you took a liberty."

"I did not take a liberty. She started it! She wanted to as much as I did—more, even," Sirius scratched his head. "Nobody could understand that bird. She's mad. She said someone told her to do it? Who would tell her that?"

His brother gave him a pitying look but didn't answer.

The silence stretched on, the anticipation, and after a few minutes both brothers felt it, though it was the younger who voiced it aloud—

"Something's wrong," said Regulus. "He should be back by now."

Sirius straightened up, his face hardened. If something happened to Colette during their escape…

"Do you think he was caught?"

Regulus shook his head. He couldn't believe that a being as devoted to his family as Kreacher would have not fulfilled an order of this magnitude. He hadn't been able to leave Regulus behind that night in the cave, even when he had begged the old servant to do so. Kreacher had saved him—none of this could have happened, but for that.

"More likely he was summoned by another member of the family, and he can't come back."

"To supersede our orders, it would have to be someone higher ranking than you or me."

They both made the realization at the same moment.

"Dad!"

Sirius let out a series of curses that would have drawn the ire of their object, had he been unlucky enough to have heard them.

"Did you order Kreacher not to tell anyone where you are?" Regulus demanded.

"I don't remember! I don't think I got that specific, I was a bit busy trying to get half the people in the world I care about to leave this castle." Sirius rubbed his temples. "I told him not to tell Mum, I'm—pretty sure."

"He won't—if he thinks he's protecting her, he'd die before he told her."

Sirius let out a sigh of relief. Regulus was right, and for possibly the first time in life, the family servant's absolute loyalty to his mother was a source of comfort.

"It didn't occur to me that Dad would summon Kreacher." Sirius grimaced in annoyance, reminding Regulus of a much younger older brother, and the flashes of displeasure only Papa spoiling the mischief he'd dragged Reggie into could bring. "I thought you said you got rid of him."

"I did. He said he was going."

"And you didn't think to make sure?" Sirius shot back. "Why would he want Kreacher at this time of night, anyway?"

Regulus's eyes darted to the floor. Sirius recognized that very particular guilty look almost immediately.

"Reg…"

"I can think of one reason. Father might've—called Kreacher to check if you were in the flat," he mumbled. "I think he knew I was covering for you."

Sirius's face turning to such a thunder cloud of reactive anger that his little brother stepped backwards.

"The only way he could have possibly known that was if you gave me away."

"Don't ask me how he figures these things out!" Regulus said, defensively. "Sometimes it seems like he just—knows."

Sirius let out a groan of frustration and paced back and forth across the room.

"How is it that a literal spy still hasn't mastered the art of lying to his own father?"

"Like you're any better," Regulus shot back. He went out in the hallway and checked the staircase. "No sign of life. But Bella could come back here for you at any time."

"Bellatrix is going to be a bigger problem for him than me, Regulus."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Sirius dragged his fingers through his hair with frustration.

"She knows all about Dad completing my mission and passing on that message to Dumbledore. If Kreacher tells him we're here, he's going to come looking for us—and the longer the old man spends in this castle, the more danger he's in. We have to go rescue him."

Sirius's brother stared at him for a long time, his expression that frustrating, total blank that he had never—and now knew would never master. He'd made his peace with that, at least. Like his family and yet—unlike them.

That was Sirius Black.

"We don't have to do anything," said Regulus. "You need to get out of here."

"Even if I wanted to leave, I couldn't. Kreacher was the ticket out, and the damned elf has absconded, in case you've forgotten."

His brother stepped away from him, into the shadows of the center of the room.

"There are other ways of getting out of this castle," Regulus said, quietly.

"I don't care about 'other ways'. I'm not leaving this place until I know Dad is safe and I've got my wand back."

"I'll take care of Father. You don't need to worry about your wand."

"That's easy for you—"

"—I have it."

The hairs on the back of Sirius's neck stood up.

"I've had it for—a bit. I palmed it out of Bella's pocket when she came upstairs. She was too busy leering at Potter to notice."

Regulus pulled the ebony wand out of his pocket—which Sirius knew he had always viewed with an ill-conceived envy—and held it up.

Rather ominously, he did not hand it over.

"I'm really sorry about this, Sirius."

Sirius Black prided himself on his reflexes. He was battled-hardened, and had never been the sort of person to be caught off-guard—especially not at point-blank range, when he was facing down an opponent only a few feet away.

He dropped to the floor like a sack of mandrake bulbs.

Regulus fumbled around in his pocket and pulled out a silver ornament. He hurried over to his brother's prone form, kneeled down and turned him face up with surprising gentleness. Sirius's petrified face was frozen in an expression of disbelief turning to anger. Under other circumstances it would have been funny.

It wasn't, here.

"Look, I—I didn't want to do that—but I knew you wouldn't leave if I asked you to, and I need you to leave so I can do what I have to do. I didn't have a choice. You've never given me much of a choice, have you?"

He tucked the wand into Sirius's pocket, then pried open his brother's fingers. His hand was balled in a fist, presumably because before he'd been petrified he'd been planning on punching Regulus in the face.

When he got the fingers open he shoved the silver Christmas ornament into Sirius's hand.

"This is a portkey. It's timed. It'll take you safely out of here in—" Regulus checked his pocket watch—the one their father had given him, that had once belonged to Uncle Alphard. "—Eight minutes and forty-five seconds."

Regulus stood up and backed away from Sirius, as if he thought, by some miracle, that his brother would spring to life and attack him. If there was anyone who could have done it, it would be Sirius.

"You'll probably say I'm a coward after all this is over…maybe I am. You have to believe me when I tell you that I never meant for Mother and Father to find out about what I did…or you. When I got out of that cave, I wasn't in my right mind, and the first person I thought of to help me was—was you. It took all the strength I had to apparate to your flat." He squeezed his eyes shut. "If I'd known what would come of that I—wonder if I would have done the same thing. Probably I would've. I was so afraid of dying. I…still am."

It didn't matter though. It was going to happen, and as it was—he had to do things on his own terms. If there was anyone who could understand that sentiment, it was Sirius.

"Everything that's happened is my fault. You and our parents wouldn't be in this position if I hadn't put you there. And I never meant that. I know how much choice matters to you."

Sirius's eyes could still move—but they could see him. Regulus turned away from that gaze, not up to it anymore.

"I'm the problem, so I have to—get rid of the problem. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Regulus's voice began to shake.

"I'm grateful to you. This would be so much harder if I didn't know you'd be around to—look after things for me when I'm—when it's over."

He walked to the door and turned around, giving the prone form of his elder brother, still lying immobilized on the floor, a last look.

"Goodbye, Sirius."

---

This is turning into a once a quarter update situation. I hope this was worth the wait, at least it was really long and a lot happened (though left on a cliff-hanger with certain younger brothers and their infernal heroic streaks.)

I can't believe after four years I've hit the home stretch with this and am actually limping to the end. Thank you for reading (especially those who have stuck with it this long.) I've been working on a novel the last two years so prayers for that to work out are appreciated (it has a passing resemblance to this story in some respects.)