Sacrifice - A Regulus Black Fanfiction

by booksturtlesandcats

Laire Leneldra Nape, a reserved Hufflepuff alum who found solace among the books as the diligent librarian of Hogsmeade Public Library, had grown accustomed to the tranquility of her routine. However, her unassuming life took an unexpected twist one brisk March morning with the arrival of Regulus Black, seeking a favor. (Also published on Wattpad @JessyTRoss)

Description: Laire Leneldra Nape, a reserved Hufflepuff alum who found solace among the books as the diligent librarian of Hogsmeade Public Library, had grown accustomed to the tranquility of her routine. However, her unassuming life took an unexpected twist one brisk March morning with the arrival of Regulus Black.

Regulus, bearing an air of mystery and urgency, approached Laire seeking a favor. Little did she know that agreeing to his request would catapult her into a whirlwind of unforeseen events and exhilarating escapades.

From clandestine potion brewing sessions to the secretive dissemination of underground newspapers, their collaboration led to endeavors that stretched far beyond the library's walls. Laire found herself immersed in a world of intrigue, embarking on perilous journeys into the depths of the Forbidden Forest.

As she navigated these uncharted waters, Laire discovered courage she never knew she possessed and uncovered secrets that tested the very fabric of the wizarding world. The once-timid librarian was now at the center of extraordinary adventures, where every turn brought new challenges and revelations, reshaping her life in ways she could have never imagined.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the related characters. The Harry Potter series was created by JK Rowling and owned by Warner Bros. This fanfiction is intended for entertainment only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of the original Harry Potter story belong to Warner Bros.

Trigger Warnings/Rating:This story contains material of a sensitive nature including themes of murder, physical and emotional harm towards marginalized groups, kissing, guilt, and depression that may be triggering for some individuals. Some Material May Be Inappropriate For Children Under 13.

Main Character Profile:

Name: Laire Leneldra Nape

House: Hufflepuff

Born: March 2, 1961: Elgin, Scotland

Home: Nape Cottage, Aranshire, Hogsmeade Valley

Career: Librarian, Hogsmeade Public Library,

British Wizarding Library System (BWLS)

Blood Status: Muggleborn

Romance/s: Regulus Black †

Friendship/s: Bilius Weasley, Irma Pince

Family Members: Imogen Nape (Mother),

Lachlan Nape (Father), Lenore Nape (Sister).

Wand: 10", English Oak, Unicorn Hair

Patronus: Gray Fox

Hair Color: Ashy Brown

Eye Color: Olive Green

Table of Contents:

Chapter 1 1

Chapter 2 3

Chapter 3 7

Chapter 4 9

Chapter 5 11

Chapter 6 12

Chapter 7 14

Chapter 8 17

Chapter 9 20

Chapter 10 22

Chapter 11 25

Chapter 12 27

Chapter 13 31

Chapter 14 33

Chapter 15 33

Chapter 16 35

Chapter 17 37

Chapter 18 40

Chapter 1

March 12, 1979

Hogsmeade Public Library, Hogsmeade, Scottish Highlands

A glimmer of light reflecting off the pillowy snow building up outside, fractured when it hit the glass window of the public library.

It glanced off a copper tea pot which was magically suspended in the air, filling a chipped ceramic teacup with steaming bronze liquid.

It danced over a maroon velvet settee where a dark haired young woman sat, her legs tucked neatly under her as she turned the pages of the leather-bound book in her hands.

And it stopped at the large wooden door which had just swung open in a gust of freezing wind; snowflakes dancing into the library like pixies spinning through the air.

Laire Nape, glanced up from her novel. It had been a quiet day, the steady snow and freezing winds keeping her patrons comfortable at home, rather than out and about in Hogsmeade. She took off her large brown-framed spectacles and yawned, her attention turning towards the person shaking snow off their cloak in the doorway.

"Can I help you?" She asked, taking a sip from her teacup as she stood. She recognized now, the hogwarts emblem embroidered into the wizard's cloak. A student. With the train not running due to the weather, it was highly strange to see a student in the village. Having just graduated the previous year herself, she knew there were restrictions around when students could leave the grounds.

He looked up at her, his eyes a startling cornflower blue. He removed his knitted cap, shaking out short hair, so dark brown it was nearly black. She recognized him instantly, Regulus Black, a year below her at Hogwarts and a Slytherin. She tried not to pass judgements on anyone based upon their house or their family, but with the escalation of war talk and hate crimes against muggles and muggleborns, and his family and house's involvement in both, she found herself automatically cautious.

"I need a book," Regulus said, no look of recognition in his eyes. He walked closer, pulling out a piece of parchment as he read the title off, "Secrets of the Darkest Art".

At that, Laire froze. The warmth from the flickering flames of the fireplace was not enough to stop the ice flooding her veins. That book? It was possibly the most dangerous book in the British Wizarding Library System.

Regulus casually rolled up his sleeves unaware that his words had paralized the librarian in front of him. His motion revealed a sliver of black on his forearm. Enough to take Laire's panic to an entirely new level.

"Get out," She said. Her voice frosted, hand shakily closing around the handle of her wand which was tucked into the waistband of her muggle jeans.

"What?" Regulus asked. He seemed genuinely confused by Laire's response.

"You need to leave. Right now." She said again, "The magic in that book … there's no reason to practice it, other than complete evil. To cast the spells or make that -that thing- described in that book. I won't help you with that".

Regulus followed the line of her vision, to the tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve. He quickly pulled it back down, as if that could repair the damage that had been done.

"You don't understand," Regulus insisted, "I want to stop it. I need to stop it. I need to stop him". Desperation radiated off of him, seemingly melting the snow off his boots, "Laire, if I don't stop it, he will be unstoppable".

She startled when he said her name. Her brain whirling as she processed what she had heard. He recognized her. He knew her name. But he referred to her by it rather than by her surname, or by the term, Mudblood. Worse yet, the thoughts of who he could possibly be referring to. Which of his Slytherin classmates could possibly be thinking of making a horcrux? Or worse, was it an adult in his life? His father? No… it couldn't be.

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." She said, her voice scarcely more than a whisper.

He response was a nod that burned her to her very core.

"No." She breathed. Her heart a stone sinking to the bottom of her stomach.

He nodded again. The desperation in his face making so much sense.

There were several moments of silence, the only sounds were the fluttering of magical pages and the crackling of the hearth. They looked at each other, a seventeen year old and an eighteen year old, suddenly feeling like they were holding the weight of the world on their shoulders.

"I won't give you that book," Laire said finally, "But I will find a copy and read it… I will find out and tell you how to destroy them".

Chapter 2

April 3, 1979

Nape Cottage, Aranshire, Hogsmeade Valley, Scottish Highlands

Laire's cottage in Aranshire was one of four or five cottages surrounding a small village center. On nice days, vendors would set up there to sell magical plants and herbs along with hand knitted clothing and homemade food.

There was a beautiful stone, crescent moon archway that welcomed visitors and flickering lanterns of magical fire that lit the way down a stone path. One that was well worn from hundreds of years of travelers.

A young boy could be heard giggling as he darted around the village on a small, toy wooden broom. His mother, apron in one hand and ball of dough in the other, warning him to stay away from the cliffside. The rocky overhang that lifted Aranshire above the valley below. With the exception of foggy days, Aranshire residents could look out their cottage windows or from the village center to a view of the great lake and the Hogwarts castle in the distance.

A short walk from the village was a station where the train stopped twice a day. It was the most common method of transportation for families with many children to juggle or items to transport. Laire herself, typically traveled by floo. A system that she had reinforced after the attacks against muggleborns started occurring more frequently. Both the fireplace in her cottage and the one in the library required passwords which she changed weekly. Even the door to her cottage was kept locked with charms that she updated almost on a daily basis. She wasn't quite sure why she bothered. The charms of an eighteen year old witch would do nothing to holdback the the power of a highly trained death eater or worse, he-who-must-not-be-named himself.

Perhaps she was overly paranoid, but the books she had been delving into on the dark arts certainly were not diffusing her anxious thoughts. Nor were her nearly-daily meetings with Regulus.

Today, they both sat perched in faded green velvet chairs around her fireplace. Laire's glasses continually slipping to the tip of her nose, and her pushing them back up with an index finger as she rapidly scanned the pages in the book she was reading.

"There is a spell in here to remove a human nervous system," She remarked to her companion. Her tone and facial expressions emoting exactly what she thought of that bit of magic.

"I can't read even one more page of this," She decided, her disgusted expression only amplified by whatever she saw on the next page. She shook her ashy brown bangs out of her face and stood up, stretching out her legs and heading towards the cast iron stove in the kitchen area, where a cauldon of beef stew was quietly simmering.

"Regulus, are we even sure he's planning on making one of… those?"

Regulus, ran a hand through messy deeply brown hair as looked up from the book in his own lap. He didn't say anything at first. Sometimes Regulus was like that, processing everything a moment too long before speaking. As though trying to gather his thoughts into the neatest little bundle possible. A far cry from his older brother, Sirius, who was famous when Laire had been at Hogwarts for speaking first and thinking second.

"A horcrux?" Regulus inflected, saying the word that Laire had been too scared to say herself, "I think he is already working on making one. I'm afraid to think how far along in the process he could be."

"We need a break," Laire inserted firmly, "We can't keep reading about this sort of magic without it driving us crazy".

She lazily waved her wand, deep in thought as the ladle she was controlling stirred the rabbit, carrots, celery, turnip, and broth around in the pot.

"This should be fine on the simmering for a while if you wanted to see something neat?" She asked, wondering if Regulus even had a bone in his body that wasn't a thousand percent focused on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named anymore.

"We really should focus on this, Laire." Regulus said with a stressed sounding sigh. His hand running again through his hair. Only increasing its messiness. "The more time we allow him, the closer he might get to making one".

"He may already have one" Laire pointed out, "When was the last time you slept? Or ate? Or thought of anything aside from dark magic?"

Regulus appeared to be genuinely considering this question.

"I think I slept on Thursday," He said, sounding quite unsure of himself.

Laire raised an eyebrow, turning her olive green eyes upon the rumpled hair young man, still sitting amongst the books at the fireplace.

"We were reading that book that kept breathing fire on Thursday. So I know for a fact you didn't sleep then. And today is Tuesday, Reg. This isn't healthy."

"This is my life, Laire. I did this. I have nobody to blame but myself. I've pushed everyone good away. I helped him get this powerful. My family helped to fuel his rise. I've hurt people. Genuinely good people. This is what I deserve. I've made my bed."

"Stop it," She insisted, "You're trying, Reg. That's more than most can say. When is the last time Lucius Malfoy made a plan to try to stop him? When was the last time your cousin Bellatrix tried to stand up for the defenseless? When did Antonin Dolohov risk death to limit his rise to power? You're not them, Reg."

He looked at her. For the first time since she'd met him in the halls of Hogwarts, Regulus Black looked like he might cry. This sadness was quickly replaced with an ice cold anger. His expression blank. His blue eyes piercing and cold as ice. It was an expression that reminded her all to well of the Regulus Black that she'd once known at the wizarding school.

"You have no idea what I've done. You have no idea what I'm capable of, Nape. Do you remember, Mulciber? What he did to Mary Macdonald? I was there. It was my idea, Nape." He laughed wickedly, in a voice Laire didn't recognize as the Regulus she'd come to know, "The Imperius Curse can be rather entertaining. Don't you think?"

For a moment, the shock froze, Laire in place. The reminder of the rumors that had circled the school. Mary Macdonald crying in transfiguration. Her eyes devoid of thought. Heavy rings around them from lack of sleep. Then, rage built in her as a response.

"You're disgusting," She hissed, "Mary still hasn't fully recovered from that. How could you possibly do that to another person? How could you be so hateful?"

"Another person?" Regulus smirked. A cold, wicked smile that licked at the threads of fear still circling in Laire's chest, "She's not a person. She's a mudblood."

If Laire had blinked she would have missed it. As it was, her rage almost prevented her from noticing it. The way Regulus flinched when he said the word mudblood. As though his own body was repulsed and repelled by the word.

"Interesting who you chose to go to for help then, Black. If you're so disgusted by muggleborns, I'm surprised you've been able to bear my presence for the past month."

"Well it certainly wasn't easy. But you certainly caved quickly enough when you heard who I was trying to stop. I wonder what he would think if your involvement in attempting to take him down?"

"I see what you're doing," She snapped, "So full of self loathing that you're trying to make me hate you too. You'd never tell him about me. The guilt would eat you alive. And ratting on me would take you down as well. Who would try to protect your brother then?"

"I don't give a bloody care about my brother," Regulus snapped back, rising to a standing position at a hight that now towered over Laire.

"Oh really? Then why do you carry around a handwritten note from him in your pocket? Seems a little sentimental for someone who doesn't care."

"How do you know about that note?"

"Did you expect me to just trust you? Just take you at your word?"

There was a painful silence, the peace from their moments of reading at the fireplace shattered. Both their voices had been raised to a level where Laire almost expected neighbors to come knocking. Not that anyone was brave enough to check in anymore as You-Know-Who had gained power. The cold rage and hate that had ruled Regulus' expressions now seemed to have fully melted away.

"You don't trust me." It was a statement. Not a question.

"Isn't that what you want?" Laire asked, her voice now filled with sadness instead of anger, "Me to hate you? Me to distrust you? Me to find you repulsive? You want me to confirm what you feel about yourself. What your brother says about you. How your parents treat you."

"I would never hurt you." This statement was uttered so quietly, Laire nearly missed it.

"Just go, Regulus. I'm tired of this back and forth right now. This woe is me. You're confusing. This whole thing is confusing. One second you want to stop him. The next you're talking just like him."

"I don't want to be him," Regulus said quietly, shoving books into his bag as he headed towards the door, "This is just me."

"No it's not," Laire responded as he stepped out onto the stones outside, "When you figure that out, come back and we'll take a look at some more books I've ordered".

Chapter 3

April 26, 1979

Nape Cottage, Aranshire, Hogsmeade Valley, Scottish Highlands

"I think I found something," Regulus said as soon as Laire had opened the door of her cottage. She hadn't seen him in weeks and he looked worse for wear. His cheeks were coated in an ungroomed layer of stubble, his hair was longer, his robes looked worn and the dark circles under his eyes certainly hadn't grown any smaller. Laire stepped back, removing her oven mitts and setting the loaf of poppy seed bread she'd been making on the table, as Regulus practically forced his way inside. As though he owned the place, he sat back in one of the chairs by the fire and unclasped his bag.

"Hello Laire," Laire responded sarcastically, "It's been a while. How are you? Hope those attacks in London Underground didn't upset you too badly? Sorry for how I behaved the last time I saw you?"

At this, Regulus paused, "I screwed up. I shouldn't have said what I said. It was true, about Mary. But I shouldn't have used it like a weapon. You're right. I'm mad at myself. Not you. And it pissed me off how helpful you've been. How… civilized. Even after everything I've done. I'm sorry."

"I don't want to argue with you. You can't keep going back and forth. You're either against him or for him. There's no inbetween. You either reject everything he stands for. Or you stand with him."

"I don't stand with him. I'm not for him. I shouldn't have used that word. I shouldn't have. I know that. I don't really feel that way about muggleborns. I know your blood… it's not mud, Laire. Honestly, It's probably a hell of a lot more pure than mine. You've always done the just thing. You've always seen right from wrong." He paused, faint flickers of guilt in his expression, "But I want to. I'm trying to."

Laire sighed, sinking down into the chair across from him, wordlessly moving past their fight. Wordlessly forgiving him. She reached out her hand for the book that Regulus was pulling from his bag. "Show me what you found"

He handed the book over, opening it to a dog-eared page as he slid it into Laire's hands. Her eyes flickered across the page like the candlelight dancing along the wall.

"This is a complicated potion," She said finally, "These ingredients… these steps. How the hell are we supposed to get You-Know-Who's saliva?"

"That's why I brought this to you. You were always at the top of our year in potions. I think you'd even have given Severus a run for his money if you'd been in his year. You're the only one I can trust with this. And don't worry about the saliva… I'll figure that part out."

"It's only been tested twice," Laire said, still scanning the page in front of her, "There's no guarantee it'll even work."

"I think we should try," Regulus insisted, "It's the only way I could find to determine if someone's soul is intact or not. This could tell us whether he's already made one. Whether we're too late to stop it."

"We'll try it. I'll figure out the rest of these ingredients if you can get the saliva." She shuddered slightly at this, "Oh, and for the record. There's no doubt I could have beaten Snape at potions had we been in the same year."

At this, Regulus laughed. The first real laugh Laire had ever heard from him. It was a sound that Laire certainly would not mind hearing again. But the true gift was the appearance of Regulus' blue eyes sparkling, a dimple appearing in one of his cheeks.

His head tilted slightly back. For a moment he looked their age. Her heart might have stopped in her chest for a moment.

Her childhood crush on the older Black brother completely forgotten. Any feelings she may have ever harbored for the mischievous laugh of the older Black brother paled in comparison to the way Regulus' made her feel.

She was relieved she managed to pull herself back together before Regulus could see her expression. His laugh faded as he drew his wand.

"You-Know-Who is highly skilled at legilimency. I've been practicing, but I can't risk my shields not being strong enough to hold him off while I attempt to get the ingredient from him. There's some things I don't want him to see. Weaknesses he could use against me. Against our mission." Regulus held his wand against his temple before pulling it away. The sliverly white strand of a memory swirled around the tip of his wand. He blinked a few times, as if clearing his head from confusion before unstoppering a vial from his bag and pouring the memory from his wand into it, "Hold onto this for me?"

"How do you know I wont be nosy and look at this?" Laire asked as he passed her the vial.

"I don't. Maybe me trusting you, is how I show you that you can trust me?" Regulus suggested, "Now why do we need saliva from You-Know-Who?"

He seemed confused, as though his mind was sorting through memories that didn't line up. "Wait, nevermind, don't tell me. I only need to know it's important".

He stood up, leaving the book and memories with Laire as he headed towards the door.

"I'll see you on the otherside, Nape."

Laire watched as Regulus left, the door creaking softly behind him. She held the vial containing his memories, her thoughts on the risks of what lay ahead. The weight of the task, the dark magic they were delving into, the danger of their mission.

As she sat alone in her cottage, lit by the flickering flames in the fireplace, the gravity of their situation sat heavily on her heart. She wondered if completing this potion- If practicing this dark magic- If blurring this line, was worth it in the pursuit of stopping a dark wizard. Regulus had insisted that Laire always knew right from wrong. But at this moment. With the book of dark magic in her lap, written in red as if in blood, she wasn't quite sure she knew the difference.

Chapter 4

May 3, 1979

Hogsmeade Public Library, Hogsmeade, Scottish Highlands

There was a pensieve at the Hogsmeade Public Library. It was rarely used and tucked out of sight on the second floor between a stack of magical cleaning manuals and some celebrity wizarding magazines.

As much as she didn't want to. Laire had spent the last seven days walking past this pensieve in her library and feeling drawn to it. In her pocket, Regulus' vial of memories felt as though it were burning a hole through the fabric. Laire wasn't sure which of her weaknesses drew her in this direction. Her trouble with trusting? Her curiosity? Either way, Regulus' words about trust were the only thing keeping her from tipping that vial into the pensieve and sliding inside his memories.

The more days that passed, however, the harder resisting her curiosity became. She hadn't heard anything from Regulus. Not a floo message. Not an owl. Not a patronus. Not even another unexpected late night visit to her home. There had been an attack in Liverpool and twelve muggles had been found from deaths so grotesque and unusual that the muggle media was struggling to explain it. Fear was spreading, thick, dark, and heavy through the wizarding community. Most patrons didn't even come to the library by themselves anymore.

Laire's focus was currently on her close friend, Irma Pince, who was sitting next to her at one of the library's corner desks. Irma had just gotten a job as the librarian at Hogwarts, but there was no semblance of joy in her expression. In fact, Irma's face was streaked with tears.

"He killed him himself," She was saying between quiet sobs, "Simply because he was there."

"You-Know-Who himself?" Laire quietly exclaimed, shock apparent in her voice, "What could he possibly want with your father?"

"Nothing," Irma snivelled, "He was just a muggle in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was trying to bring me some scones my mother had made. He wanted to help me clean up my house in Keenbridge before the prospective buyers arrived. He just wanted to help me get a good sale so that I had a nest egg to fall back on while I'm living at the school".

Laire was speechless. Her half-blood friend had been there for her all through their years as Hufflepuffs. Laire's own muggle parents had grown quite close to Kendrick Pince and would be devastated to hear the news. Without words to recognize her friend's pain, Laire pulled the black-haired witch in for a tight hug.

"I'm here whenever you need me to be," She said, gently rubbing Irma's back, "Tell your mother that too. Enid Pince is always just as welcome as you are at both the library and my house"

Irma dried her tears with the sleeve of her woolen grey cloak, "Speaking of my mom, she's waiting for me at The Three Broomsticks now. We're planning a nice memorial for him. I would invite you, but we're quite frankly frightened of gathering in large groups now."

"I know," Laire responded gently, "No hard feelings. Wish Enid the best for me".

She helped Irma to her feet and led the grieving witch to the library doors.

"Stay safe, Irma."

Even after the doors to the quiet, rainy streets had been closed for a while, Laire still stood there, staring emotionally at where Irma had just been.

There was too much at stake. Anything could happen. It was getting bad. As a muggleborn herself, Laire's own days could be limited.

"Screw it," She murmured to herself under her breath, pulling the tiny vial of slippery silvery liquid out of her pocket and heading for the second floor. This wasn't the time or place for secrets and regrets.

Chapter 5

December 3, 1967

12 Grimmauld Place, Borough of Islington, London

For a moment, Laire didn't understand where the was. The room had stopped spinning and she appeared to be in a well dressed dining area of some sort. A large woman with dark hair sat in front of her, and Laire flinched. Her body forgetting what her mind knew. Nobody could see her.

"Can you believe this nonsense," Walburga Black sat at her dining room table, her feet up on a stool as she took a draw from the cigar in her right hand and turned the pages of The Daily Prophet with her left, "Halfbloods and Mudbloods running the ministry". She snorted with disgust, flicking embers off the end of her cigar and onto the house-elf scrubbling the floor by her feet. There was a yelp as the sparks hit the flesh of the wrinkly, large eared elf.

"Kreacher is sorry, Mistress," The elf said devotedly, as though it were his fault for reacting in pain to live embers unexpectedly hitting his skin.

"Look at this, Kreacher," Walburga said, showing the photo in the newspaper to the elf, "They want more money to fund this Muggle Liaison Office. I've got a solution that would save us loads. Just drown them all like the runty mutts they are".

Kreacher nodded in frantic agreement, "Right you are, Mistress. Right you are."

There was a noise on the otherside of the room as a toy dragon slipped from the hands of a small boy, hardly more than four or five years of age. Next to him stood a taller boy, also young. Perhaps six or seven.

Laire hadn't noticed until this moment that the elf and the woman were not the only people in the room. The two boys looked startlingly similar. The only differences really were that the younger of the two had hair that was slightly more brown than black and the older of the two had eyes that were more grey than blue. Regulus and Sirus.

"They're not all bad, Mother," the young version of Sirius announced, "Ralfie, he lives next door, he lets me play with these toys. They're called hot wheels. They look like those things the muggles travel around in"

There was a moment of stunned silence and then the woman at the table rose from sitting to her full height. Which had to have been over six feet.

"You've played with a muggle?" She spat the last word like it was poison on her tongue, "You could get diseases. You could become infected". Based on the level of disgust in her expression, you'd have thought she just found out her son was collecting dead animals in his bedroom.

"He doesn't get me sick, Mother," Sirius said, clearly missing, or perhaps opposing, the level of revulsion in his mother's expression, "He's great! He's smart and we play all the time. He likes the same things I do. Like running and jumping in the mud. He's my friend".

"He is not your friend," Walburga insisted, her voice flooded with abhorrence and increasing anger, "I have told you again and again not to go near those dirty things".

"He is too my friend," Sirius insisted, growing more defiant by the second, "And he's not dirty".

As Walburga stepped closer to the boys, the smaller of the two, Regulus, stepped back. He was clearly picking up on this mother's anger moreso than his brother. Or perhaps he was just more afraid of it. He grasped his older brother's hand in his own tiny one. He really was small, his eyes huge blue saucers with long black eyelashes on his tiny face.

"You will never see this muggle again," Walburga said, her voice dripping with threat as she took another, rather angry draw from her cigar.

"I will," Sirius insisted, stomping a small red boot against the ground. His chin turned up defiantly. Rebelling against his parents even at his young age.

Walburga lunged forward, her hand closing around Sirius' forearm. Simultaneously, she pressed the lit end of her cigar into his open hand. As soon as Sirius cried out in pain Regulus pressed his way forward, trying to force his tiny body between his mother and brother. His mother simply backhanded him away as though he were nothing more than an annoying gnat. The tiny boy fell backwards, striking his head against the doorframe, hard enough to rattle the wood. A red mark already spreading across his small, fair cheek. Even then the only response from the child was to yell out, "No! Sirius!".

Unable to watch another second, Laire pulled herself away from the memory. Returning to the library. Her heart was pounding in horror. Regulus' first weakness was his brother.

Chapter 6

April 1, 1979

Nape Cottage, Aranshire, Hogsmeade Valley, Scottish Highlands

The second memory was much less jarring. Laire knew this place like the back of her hand. It was her own home… and it was a memory so familiar it could have been her own. She saw herself, sitting at the dining room table with Regulus, both of them intensely focused on the books in front of them.

Regulus turned the page of the tome in front of him, which oddly enough was smoking slightly, before getting up to pour himself a cup of water. His eyes turned upwards as something wet hit him on the shoulder. He looked upwards. His eyes finding a wet stain seeping alongside one of the beams overhead in the ceiling. He looked over at Laire, her attention still captivated by the oversized volume in front of her. She mindlessly tucked an ashy brown curl behind her ear as she read, which immediately slipped back out. A soft expression spread across Regulus' face. There one second and gone as soon as Laire felt his gaze and looked up.

"You have a leak," He told her, pointing upwards. Laire followed his point to the ceiling and sighed.

"Great, another one. I'd just cast Reparo if I could figure out where the damage was. But these leaks seem to be coming from secret locations".

"Keep reading," Regulus assured her, "I'll go upstairs and take a look".

"Thank you," Laire said with a sigh, stretching her arms up above her head. Her reading glasses slipping slightly on her nose, "I'm not sure I have the energy tonight for another leak hunt".

As Laire focused back on her book, Regulus started up the stairs. His gaze was still on her as Laire's nose crinkled at something she'd just read. There was something about the expression on his face. Sad? Scared? Protective? Affectionate? Perhaps all of the above?

Regulus stepped into the loft area, his eyes scanning the floorboards under this feet and the roof above him for signs of water damage. He looked around Laire's reading nook and then around and under her desk. He even moved her trunk to look underneath before looking around her bed. On the chair next to her bed, Laire had draped a sweater. It was too large for her, but it was one of her favorites and she could never resist wearing it on cold nights when the fireplace had trouble keeping up with the chill. There was a moment's hesitation before Regulus lifted the sweater, deeply inhaling the smell of the cream colored knit before placing it back on the chair, his hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

He paused, reaching back to where he had set the sweater. He felt the fabric of the chair. Then knelt down and felt the floor next to it. He then looked up at the roof overhead. He smiled, dimple and all, before wordlessly waving his wand at the barely noticeable leak he had just uncovered.

As he headed back towards the stairs, Laire watched as Regulus pocketed a small ribbon that she sometimes used to tie up her hair. She hadn't even realized it was missing. Jolting out of the memory and back into reality, Laire recognized the second weakness Regulus had been trying to keep from You-Know-Who. It was her.

Chapter 7

October 25, 1977

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scottish Highlands

Perhaps the right thing for Laire to have done in that moment would have been to step away from the pensieve. To put Regulus' memories back into their vial. To give him his privacy and show him that she was trustworthy. But that wasn't easy. As she watched the swirling silver liquid in the basin of the pensieve, she felt tempted to dive back in.

Regulus might have been searching for clarity that he could trust her. But these memories were giving her the clarity that she could trust him. Watching the conflict he had gone through as such a young child. Seeing the price of defying family expectations. Witnessing with her own eyes that Regulus wasn't just using her, or lying to her. That he actually cared. That maybe they were really friends.

This conflict that Laire felt wasn't very Hufflepuff of her. But then again, it had been a while since she was a uniform wearing, optimistic Hogwarts student.

Without any more hesitation, Laire leaned forward and dipped back into the memories.

October at Hogwarts was always an occasion. It was probably one of the more exciting months in a year at the school. The crisp autumn air settling over the ancient turrets and towers of the castle. Orange and red leaves swirling around the scarf wearing students studying by the Great Lake. The Great Hall, adorned with floating candles, candy dropping bats, and bewitched pumpkins. And Halloween itself was a favorite of most Hogwarts students.

The long tables of the great hall would be laden with a feast - platters of roasted meats, cauldrons of bubbling soups, and an array of delectable treats, each one infused with a magical twist. Laughter would fill the hall as students dressed in their most imaginative costumes transformed the Great Hall into a kaleidoscope of magical beings.

Regulus was sitting outside, his back against an oversized pumpkin which decorated the transfiguration courtyard. Next to him, lounged in the grass was Rabastan Lestrange. Standing above them, flipping through a textbook was Bellatrix Black.

Rabastan and Bellatrix were in an intense conversation about Minister of Magic, Harold Minchum.

"-He's just a puppet for the mudbloods in the ministry. Why do you think the Prophet only publishes the stories about violence against muggles and mudbloods? They don't want us to think about their attacks against us." Rabastan argued, biting into a pumpkin pasty which he'd unwrapped from a scrap of cloth tucked in his pocket.

"Well he's a halfblood. Of course he's not going to be as powerful, or stand on his own. They don't want to admit it, but we all know that means his magic is half as powerful." Bellatrix agreed.

"That attack on that muggle in Southampton, nobody wants to acknowledge that he had a history of violent attacks and armed robbery. He wasn't some innocent person." Rabastan handed Bellatrix a piece of his pasty, "They're trying to push us out and the ministry is just blind to it. Scratch that, the ministry is part of it".

"Oh for sure," Bellatrix agreed, "Everyone knows that squibs are more common in families with impure bloodlines. That halfbloods and mudbloods are less powerful. But you can't say that because it's not 'politically correct'. If we're not careful soon nobody will have magic. Soon we'll all be muggles. Their push for diversity is actually making everyone the same. We'll lose our culture, our art, our individuality".

Rabastan looked over at Regulus, "Black, you're unusually quiet today. What do you think?"

Regulus looked up, his attention torn from the letter that he had been reading and rereading in his lap.

"Huh? Oh, sorry. I got an owl from my mum, I guess I'm a little distracted today".

"Aunt Walburga? What did she want?" Bellatrix asked, eating her bite of pumpkin pasty and yawning as she looked down at Regulus.

"Apparently Sirius told her that not only is he not coming home for the holidays. He's apparently spending the summer with the Potters as well. She's pretty distraught"

"Of course she is," Bellatrix agreed, sitting down next to Regulus and resting a sympathetic hand on his arm, "Can you even imagine losing your oldest son to those blood traitors? Poor Aunt Walburga, she must be mortified and devastated."

"She is," Regulus agreed, "She does love him. He just never can keep from resisting her. Everything she says he has to do the opposite. He doesn't seem to see or care how it hurts her or father".

"She's got you, that counts for something," Rabastan said, "I think it's just time to burn Sirius off of the family tree. Some people just can't be saved".

Rabastan and Bellatrix both stood up, and dusted themselves off, looking at the clock in the courtyard.

"Black, you coming?" Rabastan asked when he realized Regulus hadn't stood up with them, "We have transfiguration".

"I'll catch up to you," Regulus assured them. Still focused on the letter in his lap. With a shrug his Slytherin companions continued on to class.

As Regulus reread the letter in front of him, Laire's heart panged at the expression of pain on his face. She recognized that look all too well now. She stepped closer through the memory so that she could read the letter over Regulus' shoulder. Squinting to focus on the text.

My Dearest Son, Regulus Black,

Our family and society are unraveling, causing deep concern about your brother's chosen path. While I know you occasionally align with his ideals, the thought of losing him is unbearable, despite our differences. Unfortunately, he plans to spend not only the holidays away but also the summer with the Potters, causing me great humiliation and heartbreak. With only two sons, the fear of losing one is overwhelming. Where did I go wrong in teaching him right from wrong?

You, my last true heir, are now my source of hope and expectations. Your loyalty to the Black family and our cause is crucial. Blood purity is more than tradition; it's our duty to uphold the magical purity within us. Your brother's defiance threatens us deeply, and I trust you to grasp the gravity of this situation.

The Dark Lord himself has summoned your father and me, emphasizing the importance of a Black heir's loyalty. You've been avoiding your responsibility, but it's time to step up and receive your dark mark, as he has made it clear that refusal means death for us all.

I implore you to reconsider any dangerous associations and recommit to the principles that sustained the Black family for generations. Associations with blood traitors or mudbloods jeopardize our name and lives, including your brother's. Your role is crucial in preserving our lineage and lives.

This Christmas, you must decide. The Dark Lord will meet us at the dawn of the new year. Remember that your actions reflect on the entire Black family. Do not let emotions cloud your judgment. It's time to stand for the principles that define us. I trust you'll choose the path that befits a true Black.

With Unwavering Expectations,

Walburga Black

This was the reason that Regulus must have finally taken the plunge to get his dark mark and join the Death Eaters. The conflict he must have felt. The hate he recieved from his brother afterwards. A brother that he had been only trying to protect. Maybe he did agree with some of the Death Eater ideals. But it was also apparent that he had experienced doubts. That he had perhaps agreed with some of his older brothers' more progressive ideas. He had just been a kid; scarcely more than fifteen or sixteen years old in this memory and already carrying the weight of his family on his shoulders.

Laire slipped away from the memory and back into the quiet halls of the library, the only sound was the rain beating against the windows. She felt more determined than ever to gather these potion ingredients. After all Regulus had been through, the danger he was currently facing, it was her turn to be brave too. It was her turn to do something that meant something.

Chapter 8

May 7, 1979

Nape Cottage, Aranshire, Hogsmeade Valley, Scottish Highlands

In Hogsmeade, Laire had managed to find Chinese chomping cabbage seed oil and African red pepper seeds at Dogweed & Deathcap and Brood & Peck had special ordered diricawl teardrops for her. The Apothecary in Diagon Alley provided dragon liver (ethically sourced) and Aconite fluid. She had even traveled to Holyhead in Wales to get powdered root of asphodel, blatta pulvereus, and left handed nazle powder. A few ingredients she'd even collected herself, traveling the scottish hillside on her trusty Tinderblast. A broomstick known for being not as fast as the Cleansweeps or the Comets, but highly resilient.

Currently, all the ingredients were simmering in a cauldron in the woodshed behind Laire's cottage. It required a quarter stir to the right each evening at dusk, and Laire had just stepped outside to carry this task out, when she heard the light flutter of leaves. Looking around, she spotted a bright shimmering, ghostlike animal approaching from the treeline: a patronus. She thought it was a coyote at first before recognizing it as a gray fox. For a moment the fox stood silently before her. Then it spoke, in a voice that sounded exactly like Regulus.

"On my way. I've got it."

The fox turned on its heel and disappeared back into the forest. Its message conveyed.

Laire breathed in relief. The more days that had passed, the more her concerns had grown. She feared that Regulus had been caught or that he hadn't been able to get their final ingredient. She had been checking The Daily Prophet consistently, unable to relax until she'd confirmed that Regulus' death wasn't one of the dozens that filled the headlines each morning.

Coming up the hill towards her, Laire recognized Regulus' stride. He seemed tired but still smiled politely at and crouched down to speak to, Laire's ten year old neighbor, Oliver Ollivander who was building slingshots in the doorway of his family's home. Conversation complete, he finally approached Laire, sliding his rucksack off his shoulder with an exhausted sigh. He stepped behind the stack of firewood that concealed the woodshed and its potion from Laire's neighbors and sunk down on a log. He smilied tiredly up at her, his singular dimple flashing on his cheek.

"That was easy," He said with a jokingly sarcastic smirk.

He looked well. No noticeable injuries or harm to his body. Laire's stress alleviated as she leaned in, throwing her arms around Regulus' sturdy presence.

"Thank Merlin you're okay" She said, her fingers tightly gripping Regulus' muscled back, "I thought for sure he'd catch you".

"You of little faith," Regulus said with a stunned laugh. It took him a few seconds before he hugged her back, his chin resting on top of her head as he pulled her in.

"It's You-Know-Who. He's not exactly trickable." Laire defended. Breathing in Regulus' smell of pine and parchment as she pressed her cheek into his chest.

Their embrace lingered. Laire listening to the comforting thud of Regulus' heartbeat through his chest. His scent and steady heartbeat calming her racing thoughts. They parted slightly, Regulus leaning back enough to make eye contact. He brushed a lock of Laire's hair behind her ear.

"I made sure to cover my tracks," Regulus assured her, his voice carrying a mix of determination and weariness. He pulled back, reaching for his rucksack and rummaging until he retrieved a small vial containing a single tiny piece of cotton. "The final piece," he said, handing it to Laire.

"His - His saliva is on this?" Laire asked, her voice full of breathless anxiety. This was the closest she had ever come to You-Know-Who and the closest she hoped she would ever get again.

"I hope it's enough," Regulus said with a nod, "I swabbed the side of his goblet after he drank from it."

The gravity of the situation sank in as Laire carefully took the vial, her fingers trembling slightly. She knew the risk Regulus had taken to obtain this minuscule sample. Their plan hinged on this tiny piece of cotton. Laire unstoppered the vial, tilting her chin to silently direct Regulus to the woodshed. As they entered and looked down at the pale gray potion bubbling softly, Laire took a shaky breath.

"Well, it's now or never." She tilted the vial and pulled the cotton fragment out with a careful wave of her wand. With another careful movement from her wand, the cotton wrung itself firmly over the cauldron. Nothing noticeable dripped from the cotton into the cauldron, but a soft humming noise began to emit from the liquid and the bubbling of the potion suddenly stopped.

"If it changes color, it means his soul is already broken. No longer whole." Regulus read from the volume that sat next to the cauldron. For a moment the pair looked at the humming grey potion, praying it would stay this color. Praying that they weren't too late to stop Voldemort from creating a horcrux. But, with a sharp inhale of air from Laire, the potion turned a deep midnight black.

"We're too late." She breathed. Her heart lurching recklessly against her ribs, "He already made one."

A steam began to rise from the black liquid, spreading upwards and sneaking through the cracks in the roof of the woodshed. Outside, there was a loud crash of lightning. Regulus made a noise of pain, his hand clasped over his forearm. His dark mark shining through his robes and between his fingers.

"And now he knows that someone knows."

A frantic energy of panic spread over the pair. Simultaneously and without words, they both came to the same conclusion: they needed to dispose of this potion immediately and discretely.

"I shouldn't have let you brew this so close to your house." Regulus said. He reached for his wand, murmuring incantations under his breath. A series of spells, forming a containment field around the cauldron, isolating the potion from the outside world. The blackened liquid churned within its magical enclosure.

"Let me?" Laire asked, her mind racing for a way to neutralize the potion as she flipped through the book of dark magic they had found the potion in, "I'm a big girl. I made my own choices here. I knew the risks."

"This might work," Regulus murmured, leaning over Laire's shoulder, his attention on the book as well. His finger tracing over a page etched with an intricate diagram. "But we need an ingredient, a rare herb known as Silverthorn."

Laire nodded, determination etched across her features. "I'll go. It's risky, but I know where it grows."

"I'm not letting you go by yourself, after the sun has set, into the Forbidden Forest," Regulus snapped, seeing the direction Laire's gaze traveled.

"Do you have another idea, Reg?" Laire asked, frustratedly running a hand through her long wavy hair, "There isn't a shop open this late, and we'd just call attention to ourselves by purchasing it anyways. Also, one of us has to stay here and keep the containment wards up, if they fall, he could potentially track our location."

"Then let me go," Regulus insisted, his strong hand wrapping around Laire's wrist.

"You can't, Reg. You've got no idea what the herb looks like or where to find it. And isn't it just as dangerous waiting here. Hoping the wards don't fall. Hoping Death Eaters don't arrive." Laire argued, gently prying Regulus' fingers off of her wrist.

She didn't wait for the blue-eyed man to try to come up with another argument. She was already scared enough as it was. Her flight or fight signals firing off in her head like a lighthouse scanning the sea. A particularly persuasive argument from Regulus might keep her frozen in place. After all, she wasn't a Gryffindor. Nothing about Laire felt particularly brave.

"I'll be back." She promised him. One hand tracing a reassuring line down his back as her other hand pressed something into his free hand. His vial of memories; returned to their owner. Breathing in, Laire imagined the air flooding her lungs to be courage. She turned and quickly left the shed, pulling her mulberry cloak more tightly around herself as she began her journey towards the Forbidden Forest.

Chapter 9

May 7, 1979

The Forbidden Forest, Hogsmeade Valley, Scottish Highlands

The air was thick with tension as Laire navigated the path towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Every rustle of leaves, every whisper of the night made her pulse quicken. The knowledge that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might be aware of their intrusion fueled her steps with a sense of urgency.

The forest loomed ahead, its shadowy expanse daunting even to the bravest of souls. Yet, Laire pressed forward, her determination outweighing her apprehension. She knew where the Silverthorn grew, a patch tucked away in the heart of the forest, far from prying eyes.

Crossing the bridge, walking past dozens of warning signs, Laire's heart thundered in her chest. The forest was dark during the day, but at night, even her whispered lumos charm did little to light the way in front of her. Vivid greenery painted the landscape, a tapestry of ferns, moss-covered rocks, and twisted roots that snaked across the ground. Thick underbrush obscured visibility, creating a labyrinthine where paths twisted and turned, seemingly leading nowhere and everywhere all at once. Laire flinched at the sound of an owl hooting overhead; Her senses on high alert.

As she stepped deeper into the trees the darkness only grew. It seemed to have a presence of its own, pressing closer and closer to the nervous witch. The air that Laire shakily inhaled was thick with the scent of damp earth and the fragrances of ancient trees and wild, untamed vegetation. She jumped again at a chorus of rustling leaves and creaking branches, embarrassed that her legs were shaking slightly with each and every step.

The moments stretched into an eternity as Laire ventured deeper into the forest, her senses heightened, every sound magnified in the silence of the night. Her heart hammered in her chest, a constant reminder of the danger that surrounded her. The occasional hoot of an owl, the fleeting glimpse of a unicorn, or the distant growl of some unknown beast only heightened the sensation of panic that was pressing into Laire's lungs.

Finally, she reached the secluded grove where the Silverthorn thrived. The moon cast an eerie glow upon the leaves of the herb, their silvery hue shimmering in the darkness. Laire wasted no time, carefully plucking the required leaves and securing them in a small pouch. She had to act swiftly, every second spent within the Forbidden Forest felt like an eternity.

The forest seemed to hold its breath, a hushed silence that was both eerie and stifling. She couldn't afford to linger, not with the imminent danger that loomed in the shadows.

With the pouch securely fastened, she spun on her heel, heart pounding in her chest. Her mind raced, trying to retrace her steps back through the paths she had traveled to reach this secluded spot. Her wand was clutched tightly in her hand, ready to cast any defensive spell at a moment's notice.

Her heart was a drumbeat in the silence, urging her to move faster, to escape the clutches of the forbidding forest. The moonlight danced on the leaves, casting fleeting glimpses of spectral shapes that seemed to flicker at the edge of her vision.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Laire spotted the familiar path that led her out of the depths of the forest. Her breath hitched in relief as she quickened her pace, the adrenaline-fueled sprint back to safety.

Emerging from the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Laire's chest heaved with exertion and adrenaline. The familiar silhouette of Hogwarts loomed in the distance, a beacon of safety amidst the shadows. She didn't pause to catch her breath, instead hastened towards the woodshed.

Chapter 10

May 8, 1979

Nape Cottage, Aranshire, Hogsmeade Valley, Scottish Highlands

With the Silverthorn clutched tightly in her hand, she pushed open the door to the woodshed, finding Regulus still diligently maintaining the containment wards. Their eyes met in a brief moment of silent understanding, and Laire wasted no time in reaching for the cauldron. The blackened potion churned within, awaiting the remedy that might just save them from the imminent danger.

With steady hands and unwavering determination, Laire dropped the leaves of the Silverthorn one by one into the potion. Each second felt eternal as they waited. Then, the potion fell silent and turned increasingly transparent as it slowly seemed to evaporate from the cauldron in front of them.

For a long moment afterwards, Regulus and Laire just stared at the empty cauldon before Regulus finally spoke.

"That was insanely reckless." He said, his voice scarcely more than a whisper.

"We didn't have another option." Laire said, her voice scratchy. Her fear hadn't completely extinguished in her throat.

"I should get out of here," Regulus said finally, his blue eyes seemed lost in thought, "I need to start thinking about next steps. If You-Know-Who already has a horcrux… this is much worse than I thought. I need to figure out how to find it. How to destroy it."

"Please don't go." Laire's voice sounded almost desperate, her hands trembling an embarrassing amount with the adrenaline that was still coursing through her veins. Why couldn't she have been born with the courage of a Gryffindor or the ambition of a Slytherin? Maybe should could have actually changed something. Maybe she could have stood up for people like Mary Macdonald in her attack at Hogwarts. Or stopped people like Irma's father from facing the consequences of others' hatred.

Regulus' gaze seemed to refocus on Laire, reading her fear, doubt, and guilt as though she were the pages of a favorite novel. His gaze softened and he stepped towards her, pulling her into his arms, "You're okay, Laire. You're safe". He looked out through the window and up at the sky. "It's late, it must be after midnight." His eyes returned to her, "I'll stay."

Laire tiptoed downstairs in her nightdress, pulling her thick, oversized cream sweater over her head. Her bare feet cautious on the wooden floorboards to not wake Regulus who was fast asleep in an armchair in front of fireplace. Filled now with faintly glowing embers instead of crackling logs. Cold, Laire added another log to stoke the fire. Then she looked over at the sleeping Regulus. He seemed so peaceful asleep. His chest slowly rising and falling with soft snores. His dark brown waves falling haphazardly over his forehead. He seemed younger this way. His age more apparent.

He stirred slightly in his sleep, his enviably long eyelashes fluttering softly. Regulus shifted, his hand seeminly seeking the warmth of the woolen blanket draped over his legs. His features were relaxed, yet his brow held the faintest hint of worry, a testament to the burdens that lingered even in his dreams.

Laire approached him quietly, the softness of her footsteps barely disturbing the silence of the room. She tucked the blanket more snugly around him, an instinctual act of care. An unexpected urge to smooth back his hair and kiss his forehead stunned her for a moment and she resisted the impulse. Instead, heading towards the cast iron stove to begin heating water for tea.

The clink of the kettle on the stove broke the stillness, resonating softly in the room. Laire moved about, gathering the necessary components for tea, a familiar routine that provided a comforting sense of normalcy in the midst of chaos.

Pouring the hot water into a teapot, Laire let the fragrant steam envelop her senses, momentarily distracting her from the heavy thoughts that lingered. They now knew You-Know-Who had split his soul and increased his indestructability. Their mission had only increased in its impossibility. She selected a blend of calming herbs and poured the tea into two delicate cups, each carrying a warmth that extended beyond its contents.

Carrying the cups over to the armchair, she placed one on the small table next to Regulus and settled herself into the other, letting the comforting aroma of chamomile and lavender soothe her frayed nerves. Her mind whirled with thoughts and concerns. How could anyone ever possibly defeat a man who was no longer a man? Was there even a witch or wizard close to being powerful enough to do so?

Her mind jumped to her previous headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. He was the most powerful wizard she could think of. After seven years under his direction, he felt familiar and trusted to Laire. It might even feel good to pass this responsibility off to an adult. Or at least someone who was more of an adult than she was.

Regulus shifted once more. This time, instead of reaching for a blanket his eyes fluttered open. Sleepy blue lakes that he rubbed with his fists, before stretching his neck from what must have been an uncomfortable upright sleeping position.

"Hey." He said, his voice deep and heavy with sleep.

"Hello." Laire responded, taking a sip of her tea and glancing out the window at the rising sun.

"What time is it?" Regulus asked, rolling his shoulders in a stretch and following her gaze out the window.

"It's just after seven." Laire told him before gesturing towards the tea cup on the table next to where Regulus was sitting, "I poured you some tea".

"Thank you," He said, his voice still thick with sleep. He ran a hand through his hair. "Last night… it was hard. You can trust me. I never meant for you to have to put yourself in danger like that".

"The danger is only going to increase going forward, Reg." Laire said, the stress of that thought woven into her words. His comment about trust built in her stomach like a storm cloud, "I violated your trust, Reg. Your memories… I watched them".

"You… all of them?" The betrayal in Regulus' voice made the storm cloud in Laire's stomach grow and darken.

"I'm shouldn't have," Laire told him, pulling her knees up to her chest, her bare feet against the velvet of the chair cushion. "I was scared and curious and maybe a little distrustful. I'm so sorry, Reg, but to be honest with you, if I could do it over, I would do the same thing."

"You're right, you shouldn't have." He took a deep, angry swig of his tea, seemingly unbothered as the scalding liquid slid down his throat, "I trusted you. I've been trusting you."

"I know," Laire said, her voice laced in sadness. She wanted to reach for Regulus' hands but didn't know how it would be received, "I should have trusted you. I do trust you now. The things you went through, Reg. The expectations from your family. You always trying to protect your older brother, even at the cost of yourself. You always trying to protect and help me. Someone you've only really started to know a few months ago. That little boy in the first memory, Reg. He didn't ask for this. He didn't ask for any of this. You got dealt a bloody shite hand and you still try to put everyone else first."

Regulus remained silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the tea in his cup. He took a deep breath before speaking, his voice softer now, "The memories… they're personal." His gaze shifted to Laire, his eyes carrying an indescribable mixture of vulnerability and anger.

"I'm sorry. I've invaded your privacy." She traced the delicate patterns on the teacup with her fingertip, avoiding his gaze. "But I needed to understand, Regulus. We're in this together. I needed to know how you got tangled in it."

"You can't understand what it's like, to have your past laid bare… and you still haven't seen it all. The horrible things I've done…" Regulus said, his eyes distant, lost in thought.

"I can't understand," Laire agreed quietly, a sense of remorse settling in her chest, "Let me try to. I saw your memories. You can look at mine. Whichever ones you want".

Regulus sighed, a mixture of frustration and weariness evident in his features. "You can't 'I showed you mine you show me yours' to fix this situation, Laire."

"No," Laire agreed, her voice tinged with sympathy, "It won't fix what I did. But it could help. I forced your vulnurability, let me offer you mine. We can try to make things right, together."

The room fell into a heavy silence, the only sound the faint crackling of the dying embers. Regulus sipped his tea thoughtfully, his eyes again distant, contemplating their situation.

"I guess I wouldn't hate knowing how Laire became Laire." Regulus finally agreed.

The room lapsed into a contemplative silence, the teacups cradled between their hands offering a sense of comfort amid the turmoil. The weight of their conversation still hung in the air, but a shared resolve seemed to knit its way between them.

Chapter 11

May 12, 1979

Hogsmeade Public Library, Hogsmeade, Scottish Highlands

The past few days, Laire and Regulus had fallen into a comfortable pattern. Regulus would sleep on the armchair in the living area (and never comment about how much it hurt his neck), they would drink tea and flip through books searching for horcrux information, they would cook roasts and clean together. It was frankly a little domestic and it scared Laire how easily they had fallen into this routine.

Every morning, she awoke excited to see his smile or hear his voice. His advice and conversation during the day was filled with insight and challenged her to keep on her toes. At night, a tight hug before she went to bed, kept her sleep nightmare free. She would never say anything to potentially risk the perfection of each day and their growing friendship, but each time their hands brushed or Regulus wrapped her in a hug, Laire found it harder and harder not to blush. Harder and harder to deny feelings that were unspooling in her gut like a ball of yarn. A death eater and a muggleborn, her friends would argue, was a heartbreak or worse waiting to happen.

Today, the pair was cautiously going through a box of books that Laire had ordered from the Middle East. This required caution because on occasion a book would dart out a claw or fang, burst into flames, or scream explicatives in languages neither understood. Their hope was that one of these tomes could provide answers to their questions on horcruxes.

"I found it, 'Secrets of the Darkest Art'" Laire said, shock evident in all her features, "I've been trying to get this book since the day you first walked into the library. But there's only a few copies in existence."

Regulus practically vaulted over the stack of books he was going through to get to the book in Laire's hands, "This is the one that has the answers."

Tension hung in the dusty library air, as thick as spiderwebs as the pair opened the book.

"Bloody hell!" Laire frantically flipped through the pages as Regulus looked on in disappointment, "What language is this in?"

The book was written in strange symbols. Similar to the languages studied in ancient runes but these markings and pages seemed even older than the languages that Laire had studied in that class.

Regulus didn't say anything as he carefully turned each page of the book. It was as though he hoped to find at least one page written in a language the pair could decode… or at least recognize. But each page revealed the same mysterious language.

"We'll work on finding someone to translate it." He said, it seemed as though he were trying to reassure himself moreso than reassure Laire.

Both witch and wizard sat back exhausted. The past several days had been filled with searching. Hope immediately followed by disappointment. Their eyes tired from reading. Their hands stained with ink and the types of dirt and dust that lingered on old parchment.

"We could take a break and make some tea?" Regulus suggested, his tone conveying the same frustration that was easily read on his face.

"Actually, there's something else we should do," Laire pointed across the second floor of the library to the pensieve, nested between its stacks of books and magazines. "You want answers. I can't give you the clarity you're looking for. But I can offer you this."

She started towards the pensieve, her wand drawing memories like tiny shimmering ghosts from her head. She released them into the simmering surface of the pensieve. It getting more use recently, than it had in years.

The memories swirled in the pensieve, each one a glimmering echo of Laire's past. Regulus watched with a mix of curiosity and trepidation as the images danced across the surface, forming into distinct scenes that floated in the silvery mist.

Laire glanced at him, her expression a mixture of vulnerability and resolve. "I know I invaded your privacy. I needed to understand. Maybe these can help you understand me, too."

Regulus hesitated, his gaze fixed on the memories swirling before him.

"Are you sure about this?" Regulus finally asked, his voice soft, laced with uncertainty.

Laire nodded, her eyes holding a depth of emotions.

With a slow, cautious breath, Regulus leaned forward and dipped a finger into the shimmering surface of the pensieve, letting the tendrils of memories wrap around his arm, crawling upwards and into his head, into his thoughts. The scenes coming alive, drawing him into Laire's memories.

Chapter 12

July 20-22, 1971

Nape House, Elgin, Moray, Scotland

The first letter came tucked amongst their bills. Its formal seal caused it to stand out amongst the other mail. A thin woman with a kind smile and gentle green eyes sorted through the mail in a small cozy kitchen. Worn wooden countertops, soup simmering on the stove, childrens' artwork on the refrigerator, and toys on a cluttered, round kitchen table.

Setting aside several overdue bills. The green-eyed woman's hands found the letter with the formal seal. As she turned her head to read the name on the letter, a spattering of freckles could be seen across her nose. Red curls fell just past her shoulders in loose waves, arranged in a practical yet stylish manner.

"Laire," She called in a thick Scottish accent, "Letter for you!"

Eleven year old Laire entered the room, her curiously piqued, "For me, Mum? Who's it from?"

"No name." The woman said with a shrug, she seemed a great deal less curious than her daughter. In fact, her attention had already wandered to something else, "Lachlan!" She called, "Can you take out this trash, it's starting to smell".

Laire sat down at the dining table, her legs swinging, too short to touch the ground as she opened the envelope in front of her and pulled out the piece of parchment inside.

Dear Miss Nape,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

A man had entered the kitchen while Laire was reading, he was narrow and spindly with messy brown hair and wire rimmed spectacles. He was bagging up the trash when Laire held up the letter.

"Mum? Dad? What's this?"

He curiously took the letter in his hand and his wife looked on to read over his shoulder.

"Where'd she get this, Imogen? Did this come with the mail?" Laire's father, Lachlan asked. His accent just as heavy as his wife's.

"Yes, it was tucked in with the bills." Imogen responded, "Looks like some kind of prank? Or cult, could this be a cult-y thing?"

"Clearly garbage." Lachlan responded firmly, putting the letter and its envelope into the bag of trash he had been in the process of tying up.

And with that, the letter was temporarily forgotten.

The second letter came in a loaf of bread that Imogen had ordered from the baker and a young girl, eerily similar in appearance to Laire, had carried it inside.

The bread, still warm and wrapped in paper, had sat innocently on the kitchen counter as the little girl, perhaps Laire's sister, began setting the table for dinner. The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the room.

As Imogen sliced the bread, a crinkling sound caught her attention. Nestled within the loaf was another piece of parchment, the same formal seal adorning the envelope. Imogen paused, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"Another one?" she said in shock, holding up the unexpected piece of mail.

Laire's eyes widened with surprise. She eagerly reached for the envelope and unfolded the parchment within. The same words greeted her, the message unchanged from the first letter. She read it aloud, her voice tinged with excitement.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry... again!" Laire exclaimed, her heart pounding with a mixture of curiosity and disbelief.

Imogen and Lachlan both turned, their expressions a mix of bewilderment and incredulity.

"Surely this isn't normal," Imogen murmured, exchanging a puzzled glance with Lachlan.

"Two letters? One in bread?" Lachlan raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident in his tone.

"Where's my letter?" Laire's sister asked, stretching up on her toes to look at the piece of parchment.

"It's just some sort of strange scam, Lenore," Lachlan assured the Laire's sister, "It's nothing special."

Laire's excitement faltered, uncertainty creeping in as she watched her parents' reactions. "But Mum, Dad, it's a real school! A magic school!" she insisted, her voice filled with hope.

Imogen sighed, her features softening as she glanced at her daughter. "It's just... odd, Laire. Not something we've heard of before."

Lachlan nodded in agreement. "Let's not jump to conclusions, love. There must be some explanation for this."

They exchanged a concerned glance as though unsure of what to make of the mysterious letters that seemed to defy explanation.

The third letter was hand delivered by a tall, severe-looking woman with dark hair tied up in a bun. Minerva McGonagall, the letter writer herself.

Minerva McGonagall stood sternly at the door as Imogen and Lachlan exchanged puzzled looks.

"Good evening. I am Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," she announced in her poised tone.

Lachlan and Imogen glanced at each other, their expressions a mix of confusion and curiosity. Laire and her sister watched with wide eyes, a sense of anticipation hanging in the air.

"I have come to speak with you regarding the letters Miss Nape has received," McGonagall continued, her demeanor formal yet tinged with concern.

"Letters? You mean those strange things that arrived in our mail?" Lachlan asked, his skepticism evident.

"Yes, precisely," McGonagall confirmed, her expression unwavering. "It appears there has been a misunderstanding and a regrettable mistake in the delivery of our acceptance letters. I keep telling Albus that we have to greet new muggleborn students personally"

Imogen's brow furrowed, her curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

"These letters were indeed meant for Laire," McGonagall explained, gesturing towards the girl, "They are official invitations to attend Hogwarts. We deeply apologize for the confusion and any inconvenience this may have caused."

"Is this some sort of prank?" Lachlan asked, his hand resting protectively on his daughter's shoulder, "This is the furthest thing from believable."

As Minerva McGonagall observed Lachlan's skepticism, she let out a faint sigh. With a flick of her wand, the room's ordinary atmosphere shifted, as teaspoons began to dance on the table, a vase of flowers near the window spun in circles, and sparks emerged from the tip of her wand. The family gasped in awe at the magical display.

Imogen's eyes widened, her mouth slightly agape in astonishment. "Lachlan, I don't think this is a prank."

Lachlan blinked, dumbfounded by the unexpected spectacle. He glanced at McGonagall, then at his daughters, his expression caught between disbelief and intrigue. "What in the..."

Minerva McGonagall halted the display, letting the room return to its normal state. She looked directly at Lachlan. "Mr. Nape, the existence of magic is real, and Laire has shown the potential to learn and develop her magical abilities."

Imogen reached for Lachlan's hand, her eyes filled with understanding. "Lachlan, remember when I told you about that strange occurrence with that new broom I bought?"

Lachlan nodded slowly, recollecting an incident when their broom had mysteriously floated around the room, defying gravity in Laire's presence.

"It's not a prank," Imogen continued, her voice calm but resolute. "Our daughter has something extraordinary, and it seems there's a whole world out there we know nothing about."

Minerva McGonagall nodded in agreement. "Laire has a gift, a magical gift. Hogwarts can provide her with guidance and education to master it."

Lachlan leaned back, his expression shifting from skepticism to astonishment. "So... you're saying our daughter is a... witch?"

Minerva McGonagall nodded. "Indeed, she is."

Laire beamed, her eyes shining with hope. "Mum, Dad, I really want to go to Hogwarts. Please, can I?"

Imogen and Lachlan exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. After a moment, Lachlan exhaled deeply, his expression softening. "If this is what you truly want, Laire, then we'll support you."

Imogen smiled warmly, squeezing Lachlan's hand. "We'll learn about this together as a family."

Minerva McGonagall observed the family's resolution with a nod of approval. "I assure you, the wizarding world will provide Laire with experiences beyond imagination. She will be in good hands at Hogwarts."

With hesitant but curious expressions, the Nape family appeared to begin to accept the reality that their daughter possessed magical abilities, and that she could be destined for a world they had never before imagined.

Chapter 13

January 2, 1973

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scottish Highlands

A pretty dusting of cotton white snow covered the skylights in the Hufflepuff common room. Healthy green plants and vines off all types hung around these skylights, soaking up the rays of sunlight they could still touch on this cold winter day. Cauldrons overflowing with bright green leaves hung over a common room that was still showing the events of the new year the day before. Candles and vases on end tables and coffee tables were surrounded by empty butterbeers and firewhiskeys.

"We've got to clean this up before Catchlove gets back from the hospital wing." A squat young girl with caramel skin, brown hair and brown eyes said, looking around the room with a concerned expression on her face.

"Don't you think it's a little too convenient that the only house head or prefect that stayed here over Christmas got food poisoning the day before New Years?" An awkward looking freckled boy with vibrant orange curls responded.

"Are you suggesting someone from Hufflepuff gave Greta Catchlove food poisoning? We're Hufflepuff, Weasley. Not Slytherin."

Another student approached them to join in the conversation, her black hair held up with a clip that appeared as a softly snoring dragon. By her side was the short and quiet Laire Nape.

"Bilius. Mary." The black haired witch greeted before inserting, "I'm sure nobody poisoned, Greta. It was just bad luck. She's been trying all different creations while trying to figure out how to charm her own cheese. She probably poisoned herself. You should have seen the gouda she was sampling the other day. It was actually emitting green smoke."

"Irma." The freckled boy responded, gawkily shifting his hands, "Yeah, you're probably right. All these 'pranks' the Slytherins have been pulling recently have been freaking me out".

"Pranks?" Mary responded with a raised eyebrow, "You mean 'attacks', Weasley. Let's call them what they are. Otherwise these 'pranks' wouldn't only be targeting muggleborns".

"The marauders are annoying, but at least their pranks usually don't hurt people." Irma said.

"Pince, we all know you're in love with James Potter. Of course you're going to defend him." Mary interjected.

"Oh come on," Irma said with a deep maroon blush, "We weren't talking about that, Macdonald. We were talking about the Slytherins. I mean, look at Laire. She's barely said a word this year since Malfoy filled her trunk with blood and mud on the train. And what was his punishment? A single detention where he had to clean desks?"

"I talk." Laire inserted defensively, "I talk all the time."

Irma sighed and wrapped an arm around her friend, "Of course you do, Laire. Just not as openly and trustingly as you used to".

"I'm just worried about my parents and my sister." Laire said softly.

"They'll be okay," Bilius reassured her, awkwardly patting her head as though she were a small dog in need of comforting.

The room buzzed with conversation as students sleepily reentered the room to tidy up. The four friends joined in. A perk of Hufflepuff house tended to be that if someone needed help, there was always others willing to assist.

Mary hefted a sack filled with discarded bottles, eyeing the scattered remnants of the night before.

"Seriously, though, who leaves this much of a mess? It's like a troll went on a bender," she remarked, depositing another empty bottle into the sack.

Bilius chuckled, glancing around. "Well, we can't blame the trolls this time, can we?"

Laire, spoke up softly. "It's always like this after celebrations. But... it's worse this year."

Irma nodded, her expression solemn. "Yeah, tensions are high. Especially with what's been happening. Muggleborns choosing not to go home for the holidays, so that they don't accidentally lead Death Eaters to their muggle families. It's hard to shake off that feeling."

"We need to stick together more than ever," Mary said, her tone resolute. "Look out for each other. No one else will."

Just as they were gathering the last bits of debris, the entrance swung open. Greta Catchlove stood in the doorway, looking a mix of weary and surprised at the sight of the bustling students. She took in the garbage bags and the assembled group.

"I just can't." She said with a tired wave of her hand, "I'm going to bed, just have this cleaned up by lunch".

Chapter 14

May 12, 1979

Hogsmeade Public Library, Hogsmeade, Scottish Highlands

With the memories still swirling around in the pensieve, Regulus stepped back. His facial expressions were impossible to read and he didn't speak.

Laire used the moment of silence to retrieve her memories and restore them to their rightful place.

"I didn't know you had a sister." He said finally, his head slightly tilted as though his brain was still processing the information he'd just received, "And you look so much like your dad. But with your mom's eyes."

Laire just nodded wordlessly as Regulus sorted out his thoughts.

"They seem like wonderful people. Your sister, she looks almost exactly like you. How old is she?"

"We're irish twins," She said with a small smile, "She's eleven months older than me. She manages a day nursery now. Never once blamed me for somehow getting magic when she didn't."

"And I didn't know you were close with Mary Macdonald." Regulus added, "It must have been hard on you when she died."

"When she was murdered." Laire corrected, "We both know that wasn't the result of a gas leak. She was a powerful witch".

Regulus nodded somberly, acknowledging Laire's correction. His eyes bore a weight of understanding.

"She was indeed," he agreed quietly. "A loss to the magical community."

Laire's gaze flickered briefly to the pensieve, memories still fresh in her mind. "Mary had a fervor for justice. She was never one to back down from what was right. We could do with more people like her."

Regulus regarded her thoughtfully.

"Thank you for sharing," he said sincerely, breaking the heavy silence. "I appreciate the trust."

Their shared moment of vulnerability and understanding seemed to fortify their unexpected bond.

Chapter 15

May 17, 1979

Hogsmeade Public Library, Hogsmeade, Scottish Highlands

Language books were a lot easier to request from other libraries than books on dark magic. Nobody had any questions for someone trying to learn a new language. Meanwhile, when asking for books on dark magic, people tended to be on alert. The library in Hogsmeade already had copies of "Ancient Runes Made Easy", "Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms", and "Advanced Rune Translation", Irma Pince had lent Laire a copy of "Spellman's Syllabary" from the Hogwarts library, and the Diagon Alley Public Library had "Rune Dictionary" and "Languages and More" available. The only thing left to do was to dig through these books and compare any languages found to the runes in the "Secrets of the Darkest Art".

Laire had also put a request in with fellow librarians in the British Wizarding Library System to see if anyone was familiar with the language and could translate. So far, they had done nothing but strike out. Which wouldn't have felt so frustrating if it didn't feel like the fate of the European wizarding community was resting on their shoulders.

As news of new attacks flooded the front of The Daily Prophet, so did news about witches and wizards fleeing to the Americas or towards Asia. A muggleborn colleague of Laire's had even pulled her children from Hogwarts and moved the entire family to Brazil so that her son and daughter could attend Castelobruxo, safe from the terror that was plaguing Europe.

At this moment, Regulus and Laire were both illuminated by the rays of sunshine peeking through the library's second story windows as they sorted through the books before them. Regulus looked exhausted. He didn't talk much about what happened when he went out in the evenings with the Death Eaters, or met with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but it seemed to be slowly taking its toll on him. This morning, a headline about the murder of an entire boarding school dorm of muggles, had Regulus vomiting for at least an hour in the toilets while Laire had rubbed soothing circles on his back.

Since then, he'd been nearly silent. Focused only on decoding the book before them. Which he did with an almost desperate energy. Only speaking, to occasionally snap at Laire that she was reading too slowly, or that she hadn't found enough books, or the right books. But his anger wasn't really directed at her. It was meant for himself. For the things he'd seen and not stopped. For the things he himself had done. Laire knew this. She saw the weight of what he was shouldering and could feel the tension in him, a palpable mixture of frustration, fear, and guilt.

As Laire persevered with her attempts to translate the intricate runes, cross-referencing them with the languages they had gathered, Regulus began to pace. His pacing heightening the feeling of stress that already covered the air like a blanket.

"For Merlin's sake, can you read a little faster?" Regulus snapped as he started on what must have been his twentieth lap around the room.

"Well the pacing is certainly helping with that." Laire responded sarcastically.

"I'm sorry if the stress of saving the world is weighing on me." Regulus shot back with an equal amount of sarcasm.

"There's nothing here anyways," Laire said with a sigh of frustration, "I'm supposed to have a new shipment of books coming in from Koldovstoretz tomorrow. We can look more then."

"The more time passes, the more bloody people die, Laire!" Regulus rose his voice, the loudest she'd ever heard the usually quiet man be,

"There's nothing more we can do right now." Laire responded gently, "Maybe there's someone we could go to for help? At the ministry? Or Hogwarts?"

"I came to you for help." Regulus snapped, "We don't need to involve anyone else. The more people who know a secret-"

"I know, Reg." She thought for a moment, "When was the last time you did anything other than worry, Reg? You need a break. Let's go for a walk? We can get some tea to-go from Madam Puddifoot's and then you can help me gather Horklump Juice for my Wiggenweld Potion recipe".

Regulus hesitated, clearly determined to keep searching for a translation but knowing that goal was out of reach for today.

"Come on, Reg. Even you can't argue that a healing potion would be helpful at a time like this?" Laire persuaded.

"Okay." Regulus finally agreed.

He stretched, revealing a sliver of skin around his hips from where his shirt had come untucked during his reading and pacing. Laire flushed and averted her eyes, as Regulus retucked his shirt and donned his robe. He ran a hand through his hair and started towards the door. Seemingly oblivious to the cartwheels that Laire's heart was doing.

"You coming?" He called back to her and Laire scrambled to catch up.

Chapter 16

May 17, 1979

Hogsmeade Valley, Scottish Highlands

Moments later Regulus and Laire were walking through Hogsmeade Valley, hot flasks of tea steaming in their hands.

It really was a beautiful day. Finally starting to look and feel like spring. Flowers covered the hillside and the steep and rocky cliffs were covered in flourishing firs and a healthy looking moss. It was easy to see the turrets of Hogwarts in the distance though the clear sky.

Looking over, Laire saw that Regulus seemed a smidgen more relaxed. He was looking up at the sky a faraway look in his eyes.

"Watch where you're going." Laire said with a laugh, catching Regulus' arm to keep him upright as he stumbled over a root in the path. He looked down at her and smiled back. Her relief at seeing his dimple again almost caused Laire to stumble herself.

"You have a beautiful laugh." Regulus told her, "It lights up your whole face. Turns your eyes into peridots. I don't think I ever noticed it before. You don't laugh very often."

"We haven't really had much cause to." Laire said, turning and beaming with excitement when her eyes caught the familiar purple, mushroom-like creatures hiding in the cracks of the cliffside. "Perfect!" She exclaimed nearly skipping over to drain juice from the Horklumps before them."

"I would go foraging with you all the time if I knew it made you this happy." Regulus said and Laire turned to see he was smiling. His hands in his pocket. A relaxed expression in his eyes and in his stance.

"I love potions," She defended with a blush, "One of the best parts is finding ingredients on your own instead of buying them. Gives me an excuse to spend some time in the countryside. Helps me forget everything for a little bit."

"It is beautiful out here." Regulus agreed, looking out over the valley and startling slightly when a small brown rabbit hopped across his path.

"We're lucky to be so close to this." Laire said. Her expression almost dreamy as she looked down the hillside at the lazily winding river where a few deer drank. "It's honestly why I never moved further away after graduating. My parents wanted me to come closer to home and my sister raves about the city. But I just couldn't leave this. It's more magical than actual magic."

She looked over to find Regulus' eyes on her. A strange expression on his face, he said, "You're my best friend."

His admission, simple yet profound, lingered in the air. Laire felt a surge of warmth which caught her off guard. Her cheeks flushed with a mixture of surprise and delight as a genuine smile spread across her face.

The serene landscape seemed to hold its breath as Laire processed the weight of his confession. Regulus had always been reserved, guarded in his emotions, yet this admission struck a chord within her, stirring emotions she hadn't dared acknowledge. She cared for him. A lot. Like to the point where there was almost nothing she wouldn't do for him. Maybe she even loved him.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the valley, Regulus turned towards Laire, a newfound sense of ease evident in his expression. "Thank you," he said softly, breaking the silence. "For today. For the walk."

Laire smiled in response, a genuine warmth in her eyes. "Anytime, Reg. We all need a break now and then."

"I was there." Regulus said after a moment, breaking the peaceful silence, "The headline this morning. About those teenagers. I was there. I saw it and I didn't stop it. It was the worst thing I've ever seen in my life. Macnair, Dolohov, Lestrange, Mulciber, Crabbe… It's like they weren't even human. There was no sympathy. No hesitation. Just… hatred."

"I'm so sorry." Laire said, running her thumb over the back of Regulus' hand as she squeezed it in her own,

"Don't be sorry for me, Laire. I could have stopped it. I should have stopped it. I didn't. I'm just as guilty as they are." He was clearly in pain admitting this, but there was also a sense that a weight was being lifted from his chest. As though his confession was healing.

"You couldn't have stopped it. How many Death Eaters were there? You just mentioned five. Do you really think you could have taken them all on by yourself? Even if you had? Could you live with the consequences afterwards? When You-Know-Who found out and punished not only you, but your whole family for your actions?" Laire wished there was more she could do. Something magical she could say to ease these burdens that Regulus carried.

He didn't speak again. Seemingly lost in his thoughts, but when Laire squeezed his hand. He squeezed back. They lingered a while longer before the growing shadows hinted at the approaching evening. As they made their way back towards the library, Regulus seemed a bit more at ease. For today, that would have to be enough.

Chapter 17

May 20, 1979

Hogsmeade Public Library, Hogsmeade, Scottish Highlands

At last, the wizarding community had something uplifting on the horizon. The buzz in Hogsmeade and across Great Britain revolved around the upcoming International Quidditch Tournament. It provided a welcomed escape—a topic brimming with excitement and innocence. Conversations easily drifted toward the anticipation of the Chudley Cannons squaring off against the Caerphilly Catapults. It offered respite from the grim reality of escalating reports about missing muggleborns, glaringly highlighted in each edition of The Daily Prophet.

Focusing on which shade of green signified support for the Kenmare Kestrels or the Holyhead Harpies became a far simpler pursuit than confronting the unsettling truth. While the Death Eaters initially targeted Muggles and Muggle-borns to instill fear, their recent shift toward attacking 'blood traitors' added a new layer of concern. Rumors swirled that resistance groups were drastically outnumbered, a chilling reality harder to swallow than the news of the Montrose Magpies selecting a new captain following the tragic demise of Fabius Watkins.

Laire attempted to shift her attention to this new information rather than dwell on the all-too-familiar names recurring in The Prophet. Among them were acquaintances from Hogwarts, like Marlene McKinnon, the Bones family, and Fabian and Gideon Prewett—a handful of names that Laire recognized while reading through the list.

Choosing to succumb to fear would've been simpler, following the path of many who fled to the Americas. Yet, Laire couldn't entertain that option. There was too much at stake here, especially her family's safety in Scotland. Abandoning them wasn't a choice she could live with.

Also, with Regulus now part of her life, everything had changed. His commitment to the Death Eaters and to his family meant she couldn't simply leave. If he couldn't run away, neither could she.

This wasn't an easy decision. She wasn't a Gryffindor. Night after night, she meticulously fortified the protective wards around her cottage, almost obsessively. Her vigilance peaked as she scrutinized every visitor entering the library, scanning for any hint of the dark mark. She tried not to cue Regulus into her panic and fear, but as they'd grown closer, he seemed to be able to read her moods as easily as the texts they sorted through daily, still looking for a translation.

He stayed over at least three times a week, never once complaining. Despite her thoughts that her amateur cooking and his habit of sleeping upright in an armchair might have been wearing on him.

In an attempt to be couragous and defiant, Laire had purchased tickets to the game. She'd even been working on a polyjuice potion to disguise herself and Regulus prior to the game. Thanks to her obsession with reading the paper, she'd found a purebood couple who had been in an accident involving a Thestral and were currently recovering in a rehabilitation center in France. Unable to attend the game themselves and sequestered from the general public, they were a strong disguise. It was also surprisingly easy to pretend to be a medical testing facility and order hair samples.

Perhaps it was the stupidest thing she'd ever done. She didn't even like Quidditch that much. But Regulus did. And Laire felt a desperation to live before she died. Especially because death always seemed imminent nowadays.

Laire had been focused on a combination of researching the Nott family so that their disguises would hold up, and searching for a translation for the book, when the bell rang, signaling that somone was entering the library.

"Can I help you?" She called, looking up over the book she was currently invested in.

"Maybe." A voice returned. A large smile spread across Laire's face as she recognized the freckled man in front of her.

"Bilius Weasley!?" She exclaimed, "As I live and breathe! I haven't seen you in an eternity."

"I know." Bilius responded, stepping around a table to give Laire a large hug, "I'm sorry. It's been crazy. I wish I had more time to catch-up, but I'm hoping for your help with something. I don't know if you read The Daily Prophet, but my sister-in-law's brothers were killed."

"I saw that, Arthur's wife Molly, right? Her brothers Fabian and Gideon?" Laire inquired sympathetically, breaking the hug to see her red-headed friend's expression. He looked tired, as nervous and awkward as ever, but also determined.

"They were… handling something for us. Something I'm hoping you can help with. The Prophet is covering things up, trying not to show us how bad things really are. They only publish the names that people would notice if they didn't publish. We estimate that the death count they post is only a fifth of what is really happening."

Bilius looked towards the door and around the library after almost every word. As anxious as Bilius had always been at Hogwarts, this was overkill, even for him. His transparent fear, along with his words, turned the blood in Laire's veins to ice. A fifth? The death count that she'd been carefully reading, terrified of, each morning only published a fifth of the real deaths? It also drew another question. Would she been a name that was published when she died? Or was she one that they would consider "forgettable".

"Who is 'we'?" Laire finally asked, her voice sounding impossibly small.

"I can't tell you that." Bilius said, genuine regret spreading across his face, "I'm only allowed to be having this conversation with you because I swore that you're trustworthy and reliable."

"What do you need me to be trustworthy and reliable with?" She asked, cutting straight to the chase.

"We have a newspaper. It publishes the names and attacks that The Prophet wont. Along with information that could help keep people safe. So far we've been able to alert two communities to upcoming attacks before they happen. Each paper is charmed so that only those with the password can decode them and the password is changed daily." Bilius spoke in a hushed tone, his eyes still scanning the library for danger, "We want your help to distribute it."

"What?" Laire hissed under her breath, "That's impossibly dangerous. I have his supporters in here every day. If I got caught-"

"We know the risks." Bilius insisted placing a comforting hand on Laire's arm, "Think about it. This location, it's central. People can easily access it. It's a way to get people information they might need. I know that's important to you, Laire. But I won't pressure you. The danger is real. Think about it and send me an owl when you decide. Keep it simple, just a yes or no. They're intercepting our communications."

He slid a piece of parchment into her hand, an advertisement for a new book written by Kennilworthy Whisp.

"The password is 'He-Who-Must-Be-Blamed'" Bilius told her.

Laire simply stood there in shock as Bilius turned and left the library. Her shock almost tangible in the air. The Bilius Weasley she'd known from Hogwarts, the close friend she'd rescued from embarrassing situations on more than one occasion, was not the same as the man who had greeted her today. He was certainly more ballsy. But also harder. Like the war had beaten him down and then built him back up. She wondered if she seemed just as different to him as he did to her.

She could just throw away the paper. Never think about it again. Just an advertisement for a book about Quidditch in the bottom of a trashcan. Regulus would probably tell her to do just that. He'd grown increasingly protective as the attacks had increased.

But Bilius' trust inspired her. It scared the crap out of her. But it inspired her too.

She carefully touched the tip of her English Oak wand to the parchment and whispered the words "He-Who-Must-Be-Blamed". Even saying the words felt like putting a beacon above her head.

The parchment in her hands grew, the words "Hellhoundry: The News of Resistance", spread across as though being written with an invisible quill. And so, Laire began to read.

Chapter 18

May 30, 1979

Dyfi Forest, Gwynedd, Mid Wales