Ice

Grace and Regulus meet.

Grace was huddled in the far corner of the library with an entire shelf's worth of books spread out in front of her. The titles ranged from the more serious Divining Death and Doom to the utterly dull Portents to Predict Weather. All books, she had found, were not very useful. But she was desperate.

"Ooh," Sophia said, buried deep into a copy of Harbingers of Hate: Using Prophecy to Cut Off Bad Influences. "This one says that if a crow is persistently following a friend of yours around, then the friend must be up to something wicked. But—if your friend is followed around by two crows, then they're alright." She lifted her head up from the book thoughtfully. "Is it that the second crow cancels out the first crow's bad energy, you think?"

Grace bit back a groan. "This is complete rubbish," she sighed, setting aside her own book, Steps for Successful Seeing. "Half these books were written by people who don't even possess the Sight."

Ever since she had failed to pull Regulus aside, Grace had devoted herself to working on a new angle of her plan: tapping into her Inner Eye. This proved much more difficult than she initially thought, and, without Vablatsky there to guide her, she had turned to the library for help.

Except the library wasn't much help, as it turned out.

Sophia's gaze returned to her self-help book. "Divination is a popular industry. People love reading this stuff."

"People love reading about hacks," Grace corrected, snatching Sophia's book out of her hands.

"Hey!" the young girl protested. "I was reading that!"

Grace squinted at the passage the Ravenclaw had been reading. "Are you really going to decide who your friends are based on what sort of birds are following them around?"

"Maybe," Sophia sniffed. She reached a hand out.

Grace reluctantly gave her the book back. "You don't need a book to tell you how to judge a person's character. I'm sure you can figure it out yourself."

"Oh, I can. I'm waiting to get to the part that tells me how to cut someone out of my life."

Grace frowned. She had taken care of Moaning Myrtle weeks and weeks ago, thanks to the Bloody Baron. "Who's bothering you now?"

"Preston, Green, and Golightly," she ticked off. "They're not as irritating as they used to be. Not since I hexed Preston with the modified Bat-Bogey spell you taught me. But now I think they think we're friends or something. Which we're not."

Grace snorted. "Well, if that book doesn't tell you how to get rid of them, I think another round of that Bat-Bogey would do just fine."

Sophia smiled at the idea before returning to her book. Unwillingly, Grace returned to her pile of books and pulled out another. This one was called Five Effortless Steps to Foretelling the Future, and she knew almost instantly this one would be another dud.

Despite her inclinations, she opened to the first page and began to skim through the section:

My journey into the unknown first began when I unknowingly switched cress for oleander in my nightly dreamless sleep potion. The resulting concoction forced open my Inner Eye, and allowed me to traverse through the future.

Grace immediately set down the book. Nearly all of these books relied on some sort of tool—either an implement to interpret one's Inner Eye with, like a crystal ball or tarot cards, or some sort of potion or herbological treatment to induce visions. But this wasn't what Grace wanted. The sort of Seeing she had read about—the ancient type of Seeing, the prophecies tied with true Sight, the medieval cases she had pored over—weren't spurred on by anything in particular. One moment the Inner Eye was closed, the next it was open.

She had hoped the process simply required intense focus. And she had tried that; she had closed the hangings round her bed and sat in the shadows for what must have been hours, trying to grapple with that invisible boundary that separated now from later. She had used nearly every trick Vablatsky had taught her over the years—still the waters of your mind, keep your thoughts calm and clear—but nothing had come of it.

Grace shoved her books aside and stood up, grabbing her knapsack. "Come on," she told Sophia absently. The day had only just begun, but she already felt knackered. "Care of Magical Creatures starts in a few."

Sophia bounded up in an instant, shrugging on her coat as she followed Grace out of the library, through the maze of hallways, and into the Hogwarts courtyard.

"I just hope Kettleburn won't have us actually handle the animal this time," Sophia chattered as they walked. "The bowtruckle he gave me last class nearly bit off my finger! I don't think it was too chuffed about being taken out of its tree. I'd much rather we just observed them in their natural habitat instead of passing them round from student to student. It's probably very disorienting for them, don't you think?"

"Probably," Grace agreed, and was secretly very relieved when they reached Kettleburn's class. Usually, she was more than happy to be swept up in Sophia's ramblings, but today she simply wanted to sulk.

Sophia frowned as she caught sight of three particularly troublesome Gryffindors. "Oh, great," she muttered.

"Hello, Sophia," one of them waved.

Sophia glared at him. "You're not allowed to call me by my first name, Green."

He startled. "Oh—er—sorry, Sophia."

The Ravenclaw sighed. Grace pushed past the trio of Gryffindors, hoping today's class would go by as quickly as possible. There was a terrible ache growing in her temples, and she wanted nothing more than to head back to the dormitory and curl up in bed.

"Potter," one of them called out snootily as she stepped by. "I see you're still swaggering about like you own the place."

"Hello, Preston," Grace acknowledged lazily while Sophia harrumphed at him. "Try not to be too much of a wanker today, will you?"

"Only if you promise not to be such a prat," Preston said easily.

Grace merely shrugged in response before walking over to Kettleburn. The old man was holding onto a box that was rattling wildly.

Preston stared after her, shoulders slack, frowning. "What? No response?" He looked pointedly at Sophia and asked, "Oi, Hornby—she alright?"

"It's been a long day."

He stared at her. "It's ten o'clock in the morning."

Sometime after the Quidditch match, Greengrass suddenly became Ophelia. Grace wasn't entirely sure when it had happened. She refused to entertain the possibility that she had begun it. She was almost certain that it was Ophelia who slipped up first and called Grace by her first name instead of her last, and, of course, Grace had to return the favor.

So, Greengrass was Ophelia now.

But the change in name did little to change the personality. The Slytherin Prefect was still as snarky and acerbic as ever.

"It's like the practice is making you worse," Ophelia snipped after the fifth time Grace failed to produce a corporeal Patronus.

Grace bristled. She pocketed her wand and collapsed onto one of the many chairs that littered the empty classroom.

"There's no point," she said, voice steely. "Only a handful of people have gotten it, and I'm just not going to be one of them."

The majority of the class was still stuck on producing spirals of silver. It didn't exactly help that Vance didn't have anymore advice to give on the subject of Patronus charms, preferring to tell students to simply 'hold the feeling in your head and practice and practice until you don't need to hold the feeling any longer.'

What in Godric's good name was the feeling supposed to be? Here Grace was, practicing and practicing to capture something she had not felt in weeks, and—honestly—Ophelia wasn't wrong. She was getting worse. The strong coils of silver she once produced had now lessened to wisps of bleak grey light.

Ophelia settled down besides Grace. "Once you've got a good memory down, the rest is simple. Really. I'm loathe to give Vance any credit, but she's right. It's the practice."

Ophelia gave her wand one delicate swish. From the tip burst an elegant, long-beaked crane. It dawdled around the room for a moment or two, shaking out its large, luminescent wings, snapping its thin beak open and shut, before dissipating into nothing.

"Quite showing off," Grace muttered.

"I'm not," Ophelia insisted. "I'm just showing you it can be done."

It couldn't be done, not for Grace. She felt too tired to even think about being happy. She wished she could go back to the common room and collapse onto one of the plush emerald couches, but she was still due to finish an essay for Transfiguration.

Ophelia sighed. "What's bothering you?"

Grace glanced up sharply. "Nothing."

"Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"…No."

Ophelia studied her for a moment, the muted green of her eyes tracing over Grace's hunched form carefully. Finally, she said, "Did you ever end up talking to Black?"

Grace's shoulders stiffened. "No."

A bout of tense silence followed. Ophelia leaned away. Grace knew the taller girl didn't like Regulus—or Yaxley and Rosier. Grace knew Ophelia knew more than she let on, and Grace absolutely didn't want to find out exactly how much she knew.

Grace rose and grabbed her bag. It was stuffed with a dozen new books from the library. "I'm going to go to the common room," she said, rubbing at her eyes. "I think I'll—"

"Has he joined?" Ophelia cut in, voice low, shadowed.

Ice flooded Grace's veins. She didn't meet Ophelia's eyes. "Joined…?" she questioned, careful to keep her voice airy.

Ophelia was not amused. "You-Know-Who," she pressed. "Has he joined You-Know-Who?"

"No," Grace lied, because it wasn't her secret to tell, because Ophelia shouldn't be burdened with that knowledge, because—despite the fact she knew it was true, despite the fact she had seen that skull and snake on his forearm—she still couldn't bring herself to say yes.

Ophelia gave her a jerky little nod and relaxed. "Right. Must be that Rosier and Yaxley are trying to recruit him, then. I know Rosier's joined. I saw his Mark on the train back in September. He was showing it off." She shook her head. "Idiot."

Grace was very still. Her grip around the strap of her bag was so tight, her nails were digging into the flesh of her palm. She didn't quite understand what was happening, only that she didn't like it. It was trouble enough harboring the secret. If anything got out, if anyone else found out—it would be chaos.

"If you know," Grace began very slowly, "why haven't you told anyone?"

Ophelia's brows rose. "Who would believe me? I don't have any proof, and both of Rosier's parents are on the Wizengamot. I think the more important question is that you obviously know, so why haven't you said anything?"

Grace's lips thinned.

"Are you trying to stop him?" Ophelia continued. "Black, I mean."

Could she stop what had already been done?

"I'm trying to save him," Grace corrected. "But to do that, I need to at least talk to him."

"Then talk to him."

Grace gave Ophelia a withering glance. "Believe me, I've tried. But he seems to have gotten it into his head that if we communicate at all, it'll just make whatever situation he's in worse."

"Corner him somewhere private."

If only it were that simple. "I don't know how. I can't get him alone."

He was always surrounded by Yaxley and Rosier. Merlin, it was like they were his security detail or something. And Grace knew Regulus wouldn't fall for another trick, not after what she did to get him into the Room the first time around.

"Then get him in a place that's so crowded no one will notice if you whisk him away. Like—" Ophelia's eyes widened, "—Slughorn's Yuletide party! It's in a few days, on the first of December. The whole room will be crawling with Ministry members and old students and current students. It's the perfect place to pull him aside."

"I don't have an invite to Slughorn's party, and I'm fairly certain he has wards up to prevent me from gatecrashing."

"Well, he can't stop you from being someone's plus-one."

"Whose plus-one?"

"Mine."

Grace gnawed at her bottom lip. "I dunno… Even if I managed to corner him, I don't think he'd want to talk to me."

Actually getting Regulus alone was just half the battle. Having him amenable to hold a conversation was a different matter entirely. Grace wasn't sure how to convince him to speak with her just yet.

"Are you kidding me?" Ophelia burst. "I think he'd give an arm and a leg just to talk to you again. Have you noticed the number of times he looks at you during meals? During classes? Merlin, it's practically obscene."

"I—the—what?"

"Sweet Circe, you're both hopeless," she sighed.

"Stop!" Grace yelped as she felt Ophelia tug through her dark, tangled hair with a brush. She twisted around and tried to snatch the hairbrush. "Stop—Merlin, agreeing to attend tonight's blasted party with you was not an invitation for you to hurt me."

Ophelia deftly avoided Grace's reach. She turned Grace's head back around, towards the mirror, and raised the brush once more. "I've barely touched your hair. Salazar's serpent—is this really how you live your life? I don't think a comb has ever touched your head."

Grace grumbled quietly to herself as Ophelia forced the brush into her hair. She stared gloomily at her wan reflection. Her eyes were rung with circles from sleepless nights, and her lips were splotchy and swollen from the constant nervous gnawing. The locks of hair Ophelia was brushing through simply grew frizzier and more unkempt.

This was a hopeless attempt.

"I don't need to look nice," Grace said scathingly, as though the very thought were unconscionable. "I just need to be there."

"You don't think it would look suspicious if everyone else is dressed to the nines and you look like you just rolled out of bed?" Greengrass tossed her brush, giving up. "Forget it, we'll just tie your hair up into something vaguely resembling a knot."

Ophelia swung her wand over Grace's head, and the hair began to rise of its own accord, twisting and knotting and settling into intricate patterns. Within a matter of seconds, Grace's unruly, thick hair had been neatly done up into an elegant twist.

"Huh," Grace said, patting at her hair. "Doesn't look half-bad."

"That's all you've got to say?" Ophelia demanded. "That's practically a miracle I just performed."

Grace shrugged and swirled away from the mirror, facing Ophelia fully. The auburn-haired girl had gotten ready hours ago. Her own hair was done up in a similar style, with loose strands framing her thin face. She was wearing a new dress from her mother's clothing line: a complicated mesh of glimmering emerald green silk and string.

"How did you even get that on?" Grace wondered, marveling at the delicate array of loops and bows that strung up the back of the dress.

"It's self-tying. My mother wouldn't put a dress as ambitious as this in her collection without that sort of charm, obviously."

Grace rolled her eyes. "Obviously."

Ophelia rummaged through her trunk for a moment before pulling out a powder box and handing it over to Grace. "Here. Dab that on your face while I try to find a dress you won't ruin by the end of the night."

"What's wrong with my dresses?"

"You don't have a dress."

"I have a perfectly good set of robes." Grace gestured at her standard black robes. She'd laid our a fresh set on her bed this very morning.

"You are not wearing that tonight. Do you know how many Ministry members Slughorn has invited?"

"I don't care about Ministry—"

"But I do, and you're my plus-one. I won't have you come dressed sloppily. It'll reflect badly on me." Ophelia was throwing dress after dress from her trunk. A shimmering mound of fabric was growing steadily on her bed. "Now put that powder on."

Grace sighed and twisted off the cap. "What's this supposed to do?"

"It's glamour powder."

"I don't need glamour—"

"You do. You look like you haven't had a good night's rest in years." Ophelia looked up from her trunk. "I've got dreamless sleep potions, if you—"

"I'm fine," Grace said flatly, and wheeled back to the mirror.

She patted the powder puff onto her face. With each press, the sallow tinge to her skin disappeared. The contours of her face shimmered under the hazy light of the dormitory. The bags under her eyes faded completely. She seemed brighter, livelier.

She didn't look like how she felt.

"Ah, this one's old," Ophelia said, fishing out a dress from the very bottom of her trunk and dusting it out.

It was long and made of golden velvet, with an off-shoulder neckline. Grace thought she would look absolutely ridiculous, but she comforted herself with the thought that she wouldn't be at the Slug Club party for very long. She grabbed the dress from Ophelia and, in a matter of minutes, had slipped it on.

At least it was soft and comfortable.

She took another glance at the mirror, and found that she looked quite nice. If Mum were here, she'd probably say Grace looked darling. And it might have been true: Grace looked tall and elegant and lovely—but she also looked stiff and smothered and wooden.

Grace reached around to the back of her head and slowly undid the intricate tangle of locks that kept her hair up. It fell down quickly, in thick waves, curling against her face and her collarbone, framing her in glorious disarray. She slipped her wand behind her ear.

"Why?" Ophelia said, aghast. "Why would—"

"I look good enough," Grace said firmly, already making a quick dash for the door. "Come on, we'd better get going before we're late."

Grace fled from the dormitory. Ophelia followed behind, sulking quietly as the two made their way over to Slughorn's office. As the duo wound closer and closer to their destination, Grace found herself feeling less and less sure. It was a short walk since they were already in the dungeons, but each step felt like it took a year. What if Regulus didn't show? What if she couldn't get him to listen? What if he didn't agree with her plan?

There were so many things that could go wrong. So many things had already gone wrong.

Grace stopped just a few steps short of the party. Her stomach rolled with unease. On the other side of the door, she could make out the soft thrum of a violin, the quiet chatter of Ministry officials and Hogwart's most prized students.

"Hey," Ophelia said, coming up besides her, "it's just a party."

But it wasn't.

"Yeah," Grace muttered. And because she didn't want to seem silly, suddenly added, "I'm just not jazzed about seeing Slughorn. Part of me wonders if he'll stop me from entering."

"I'll handle him," Ophelia promised. She swung open the door, and tugged Grace inside.

Slughorn's office seemed to have expanded in size to accommodate the absurd number of guests he had invited. The large room was congested with circles of people, long tables with various hors d'oeuvres, enchanted evergreen trees, ice statues, and much more. Wreaths of holly and pale blue streamers spanned the ceiling. In the far back, a small and utterly dull band of classical musicians were strumming their stringed instruments.

"Oh, ho, Miss Greengrass," Slughorn chortled merrily, strolling up to the well-dressed Prefect. "Glad you could come make. And who did—" The smile dropped from his face the instant he caught sight of Grace brooding besides Ophelia. "Ah, Miss Potter…"

"I brought along Grace as a thank you, sir," Ophelia explained. "She's been helping with Ancient Runes, you see."

Slughorn stared at Ophelia with unabashed confusion. "Runes?" he repeated. "But she's not in—"

"Oh, she's not, but she knows how to read them. Self-taught. It's rather impressive."

Slughorn's gaze traveled back to Grace. "I see," he hummed thoughtfully. He stepped aside, and gestured to the rest of the room. "Well, I won't keep you from enjoying the festivities, Miss Greengrass. And, Miss Potter…perhaps I'll reach out to Professor Vector on your behalf? See if we can't make use of that talent of yours—"

"Er, no thanks," Grace said speedily, already dashing away. "I've got too much on my plate as it is." She disappeared into the cluster of guests alongside Ophelia. "If he gives me an invite to his next Slug Club, I'm going to blame you."

Ophelia rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't worry about that. I'm sure you'll do something to anger him before he gets the chance." The taller girl perked up. "Oh, look, they've got Battenburg cakes. Delightful."

Ophelia scurried towards the arrangement of finger foods, and Grace followed behind sullenly. Her eyes roved over the crowd of passersby, but she couldn't spot Regulus's mop of neat dark hair.

"Hullo, Greengrass," a familiar voice greeted.

Grace's head snapped up and her brows furrowed as she caught sight of Dirk. He had cleaned up for tonight, too. His normally bedraggled hair was slicked back and parted, and he'd traded in his usual stained robes for something crisp, clean, and well-fitting. In his left hand was a swirling goblet of dark wine.

"Dirk?"

"Grace," Dirk acknowledged. His eyes flitted over her golden dress. "You look like a big Galleon."

She frowned tightly. "You look like a knobhead. What are you doing here?"

He reached over for a cucumber sandwich and stuffed the whole thing into his mouth. "I was invited, of course." He chewed noisily and swallowed down the sandwich with a gulp of wine. "I only came so Slughorn could introduce me to the head of the Goblin Liaison Office. Sort of glad you two are here now, though. It was getting boring."

Grace glanced between Dirk and Ophelia. "You two know each other?"

"Of course I know Cresswell," Ophelia said loftily. She had finished her cake and was now delicately dabbing at her lips with a handkerchief. Grace felt like she had suddenly been transported into an alternate universe. "He's one of the few bearable people in Slug Club."

"Bearable?" Grace repeated. "Dirk is bearable? I—you know what? I'm not even going to ask." She pointed at the glass in Dirk's hand. "Where'd you get that from?"

"There are a bunch of bottles near the back." He jerked a thumb back to where the musicians were playing.

Grace took her wand out. "Accio wine bottle," she said, and a bottle of Ogden's finest flew into her open hand.

"Pour me some, too," Ophelia said, conjuring some glasses.

They divided the wine between themselves, and promptly stood back to survey the guests. Grace didn't recognize most of them, but Dirk and Ophelia seemed to know a few from previous Slug Club meetings.

"Oh, look, it's that bugger again." Dirk pointed at a weedy, balding man in the corner. "Wouldn't stop talking to me about his begonias last time he was here. Sounded like he wanted to marry them or something."

"He's a horticulturist," Ophelia said. "Of course he wouldn't stop talking about his flowers."

"Horticulturist? Really? God—Slughorn has the dullest guests."

Grace tuned out their conversation as she scanned through the droves of people. She spotted a couple of professors weave through the crowd, someone she was fairly certain was the current Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, and quite a few Aurors—but no Regulus.

Grace finished off her goblet of wine and set it aside. "I don't think he's coming," she told Ophelia lowly. Part of her wasn't surprised. If she were in his shoes, she didn't think she'd come down to a party, either.

Dirk leaned towards them. "Who are we talking about?"

"Black," Ophelia said.

"Ah." Dirk's eyes swept around the room. "Yeah—might not show. Haven't seen him around the past few Slug Club meetings."

Grace's shoulders slumped. "I knew something would go wrong. I shouldn't have come."

She made to move, but Ophelia stopped her. "You're not leaving."

Grace raised a brow. "I'm not?" she said flatly.

"No. Even if Black doesn't come, you should still stay. You need to—" she floundered for a moment.

"Relax," Dirk supplied.

Ophelia gave a curt nod. "Exactly. Relax. Decompress. You've been holed up in the dormitory reading books and translating runes every single night. You hardly chat during class or meals since you've got your face buried in some ancient tome half the time. And—"

"And you're a right bore in Potions," Dirk interjected. "You haven't made a proper joke since Halloween."

Grace's jaw clenched. "Do you expect me to just throw everything away and gallivant around the castle like some fool while the world turns to shit? Do you think I should—"

"Don't twist my words," Ophelia said warningly. She held Grace's eyes for a moment before softening and adding, "I don't know precisely what it is you're trying to accomplish, Grace, but I don't think you'll ever finish whatever it is you intend to do unless you take care of yourself, too."

Grace looked between Ophelia and Dirk, both wary and sincere, and swallowed thickly. How could she just sit here and while away the time? Time her parents did not have? Time Regulus was running out of? How could she waste something so precious? It felt wrong.

Dirk straightened. "I've got an idea," he said suddenly, and sped off to the musicians clustered in the back.

"I can't just sit here and do nothing," Grace said helplessly. "I can't just not…" Read and work and plan and on and on.

"The world won't burn if you spare a moment to enjoy yourself," Ophelia said.

The soft strum of the violin faded out before picking up, faster than before. Music swelled from the back of the party, and slowly overcame the room. The tempo was quick, vivacious, and swept up the room in a flurry. Whoops and cheers traveled through the crowd.

"Something tells me you're going to miserable no matter what. If that's how it's going to be, fine." Ophelia said. She held out a hand. "But at least be miserable here."

It was hard to resist that logic. Grace took the hand, and Ophelia spun her around, to the beat of the music, through the crowd. The two of them circled through the room, Ophelia leading, Grace whirling and whirling—dress flaring out, hair whipping around. And although both her feet were planted solidly on the floor, Grace felt very much like she was flying. She treasured that feeling—the easy throw of her body as she spun, the fractured light of the chandelier as it lit her, the lively thrum of music as it wormed its way into her bones. A bubble of lighthearted laughter escaped her.

"See?" Ophelia said, smiling triumphantly. Under the sweeping light, her hair shone like copper. "A little joy never killed anybody."

Grace returned the smile. "I wish I'd been friends with you sooner. Right from the start, actually. I wish I'd talked to you more in first year."

"I don't think you'd have been able to handle me back then," she said honestly, and spun Grace out again, right into a returning Dirk.

"Oi—you lot started dancing without me?" Dirk demanded.

Grace snorted and took him into her arms, spinning him around just as Ophelia had done for her. His dress robes flapped about him ridiculously. Another peal of laughter tore from her mouth.

The trio twirled and twisted through the party, and—step by step, inch by inch—Grace found her unease slipping away. The spirited beat of the music was joined by bursts of laughter and her friend's chatter. The night seemed brighter somehow, seemed young and endless.

It wasn't until the three of them took a break and headed back over to the tables for a drink that Grace was reminded of the reason she had come down to Slughorn's party in the first place.

"Black at three o'clock," Dirk murmured as he passed Ophelia and Grace each a fresh glass.

Grace looked to her side, and, sure enough, Regulus was slipping through circles of Ministry officials. He was wearing one of his old dress robes: dark with silver lining. His hair was settled into soft, barely brushed curls. Strolling along beside him was Rosier, dressed similarly—but with a cunning smile to boot.

"That's surprising," Ophelia hummed quietly.

"I can't talk to him here," Grace said immediately, frowning. Music blared all around them. "It's too loud."

"Don't worry about that," Dirk said. "I can fix that."

Grace's brows creased. "What do you mean—?"

He was already walking away, goblet of wine tight in hand. Just as he approached Rosier and Regulus, he tripped—seemingly over air—and tumbled into Regulus, spilling his drink all over the taller boy.

"Ah, whoops—" Dirk began, only to be swiftly cut off by a furious Rosier.

Rosier lifted Dirk up by the collar and pressed his wand into the Hufflepuff's neck. "How dare you, you filth—"

Regulus, dripping with wine, rose and tore Rosier away from Dirk in an instant. He swept Rosier towards the door. Dirk stared after them for a moment before shaking his head and padding back towards Grace and Ophelia.

"Now's your chance," he told Grace. "He's likely heading to the bathroom to wash up. You can corner him when he comes out."

Grace grabbed him by the shoulders. "Dirk—thank you," she said earnestly. She caught sight of a passing girl with honey-blonde hair and an idea suddenly struck her. "Oh, and I apologize in advance for this, but it's for your own good."

"What's for my—?"

Grace pushed him into Abbott. Dirk yelped as he went down, but he landed safely in the young woman's arms.

"Cresswell?" Abbott said in surprise as the gangly Hufflepuff clung onto her.

"Abbott," he squeaked, cheeks colored bright red. "Er—how are you?"

Grace grabbed Ophelia and left the blushing duo of Hufflepuffs. They made their way towards the edge of Slughorn's party, and peeked their heads out the door. The boy's bathroom was just down the hall.

"Do you know if he took Rosier with him?" Grace asked.

"He did."

Grace frowned. "Bollocks. Rosier will be suspicious if I approach them."

"I can take care of Rosier," Ophelia promised, stepping away from the party.

"Er—you can…?" Grace said hesitantly, following.

The cool dark of the hallway engulfed them. The light from the party grew dimmer and dimmer until it was completely eclipsed by protruding walls and stone pillars. Further down, Grace could make out two voices arguing.

"Over here," Ophelia whispered, slinking behind a column just a few feet away from the bathroom.

Grace slipped in besides her, flattening herself against the wall. She took her wand out once more and quietly cast a disillusionment charm over herself and Ophelia. They immediately blended into the background. Grace strained her ears to hear the conversation echoing from the bathroom.

"—cursed him, you would have had five Aurors on you in an instant!" Regulus said, voice hard and thoroughly irritated.

"Shove off," Rosier said. "None of it would have even happened if you'd been paying attention to where you were stepping instead of gawking at Potter—"

"I don't gawk—" Regulus began severely.

"Oh, save the theatrics for Yaxley. I don't mind so long as it's just looking you're doing. I can't blame you, either. She cuts a nice figure. Shame she's—where are you going?"

"Back to the dormitory. This is a waste of time," Regulus said as he emerged from the threshold of the bathroom.

Rosier caught up to him quickly. "We've got a job to do—"

He stopped walking and wheeled around, eyes blazing. "Do you honestly think any of the Aurors in there are going to let anything slip to a couple of seventh-years?"

"They might if they've got enough Firewhiskey in their system," Rosier said obstinately.

"That's not going to happen. Slughorn never has enough alcohol at these events for anyone to get fully drunk. Face it, this is a pointless task."

"Doesn't matter. We're still meant to do it."

Ophelia ducked closer to Grace and whispered in her ear, "I'm going in."

She swiftly removed Grace's disillusionment charm from herself and stepped out from behind the pillar, making her way to Rosier and Regulus under the cover of the shadows. Her heels clacked loudly against the stone floor. Regulus's mouth snapped shut. Rosier turned around wildly.

"Who's—" Rosier began.

Regulus shushed him.

"There you are," Ophelia drawled as she entered their line of sight. "Slughorn was concerned when he saw you two run out, and wanted me to check that everything was fine." She raised a brow as she caught sight of Regulus's sopping robes. "Everything is fine, isn't it?"

"It is," Regulus snapped, pushing past Rosier and heading down another corridor that lead to the Slytherin common room.

"Black," Rosier started with heavy exasperation. "Hold on—"

"Oh, leave him," Ophelia said, and wound an arm around Rosier's before he could dash off after Regulus. "More fun for us."

Rosier froze and turned to Ophelia with new eyes. "Er—alright…?"

Grace waited with bated breath as Ophelia led Rosier back towards Slughorn's office. As soon as she sure they were out of sight, she recanted her disillusionment charm and slunk out of her hiding spot. She hurtled down the same corridor Regulus had disappeared into.

She didn't catch a hold of him until she rounded on the entrance to the common room. The fall of her shoes amongst the quiet of the dungeons caught his attention, and Regulus came to a halt.

"Rosier, I told you—" he began irately as he turned around, but stopped once he caught sight of her. His eyes were glued to her frame. "Grace?"

"Hullo," she said rather lamely. "I need to talk to you."

His spine grew rigid. "Grace, I—"

"I know what you're going to say. But let me just tell you this: if we don't talk now, I'm just going to do more and more stupid and reckless things to try to talk to you. Might as well save us both the trouble and stop beating around the bush."

She held his gaze defiantly. After a moment of silence, Regulus's shoulders slackened in defeat.

"Alright," he agreed. "But not here. We'll go to the Room."

He gestured back the way they came, and Grace took the first few steps forward, acutely aware of his presence behind her. She wanted to say something—she wanted to say everything—but found she couldn't figure out how. Her tongue felt heavy and clumsy.

The gold of her dress draped over the steps as they climbed up and up to the seventh floor. It was late enough that there weren't any stragglers about. The torches that dotted the far walls did little to combat the dark. Under the shadows, Grace felt tense and stilted and awkward. She wanted the night to flow like wine. She wanted to breathe slow and easy.

She decided to break the silence.

"How come Yaxley wasn't with you?" It wasn't a subject she was particularly interested in, but she thought it might be best to start off easy. "I only saw you and Rosier."

Regulus didn't answer immediately. His shoes shuffled against the stone floor. It wasn't until they reached the final set of spiral stairs that he sighed and said, "Yaxley's father was outed as a Death Eater months ago. Slughorn wouldn't have allowed us to bring him along."

"Oh."

"Yeah." He paused and glanced at her unsurely. "I didn't know you were coming tonight. Did—er—Cresswell invite you?"

There was an undercurrent of something there. Grace refused to get caught up in it. "No," she said. "It was Ophelia."

"Greengrass?" He seemed surprised. "She's hardly the friendly sort."

Grace shrugged. "Said I needed to get out of the dormitory."

Regulus didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. They'd reached their destination: the blank expanse of wall that housed the most intricate magic either of them had ever witnessed. Grace took a deep breath and passed by it three times. Give us a place to talk, she thought earnestly. Give us a place where no one will disturb us. Give us a chance.

The door appeared—large and wooden, with a golden knob. Grace pulled on it and entered a small room with a flickering hearth and plush armchairs. Green tapestries hung down from the walls. There was a cluttered cabinet with various bric-a-brac pushed to the side.

It was a common room just for two.

Grace took one of the armchairs, settling down just on the edge of the seat. Regulus took the one opposite her, and nervously drummed his fingers across his thighs.

"Well?" he asked.

The warm glow of the fireplace washed over him, softening the sharp contours of his face. The grey of his eyes flickered over her. His dress robes had long dried, but there was a large purple stain right across the center.

Her heart was full of memories and words. She didn't know how to begin, just that she needed to. Just that there was this fluttering in her belly. Just that there was a world of pain that she needed to unravel. She took a deep breath.

"My parents have Dragon Pox," she burst, and immediately regretted it. Because that wasn't what she'd meant to say. Because she didn't want to have this be about her again.

But that was how it all began.

"Oh, Grace…" Regulus said, and his voice was so damned soft, so choked with warmth and empathy, that Grace found herself unable to continue for a moment.

She dropped her gaze from his. She had been hiding her frustration and her anxiety and her loneliness deep inside her. There wasn't any time to comb through the complex tangle of emotions buried in her heart; there wasn't any time to cry and collapse and wish things were different—because what was the point in doing any of that? But somehow, hearing him say her name like that—with such infinite tenderness—made her wish anyway. She burned for things to have gone differently.

She shook her head. "It's okay—I mean, it's not. But it's okay as it can be. Besides, it's not the Pox I wanted to talk to you about. It's that—when I was sitting with James at St. Mungo's…I realized something. I realized that—that—the world is just shit, Regulus. It really, really is. Everything is on the verge of collapse. Mum and Dad are stuck in the ward, counting down the days. James is off fighting against You-Know-Who, putting his life on the line every other hour. And I just—I just couldn't stop thinking…" She lifted her head up and met Regulus's somber gaze. "If everything does collapse, I can't lose you, too."

She took a pause, let the words sink in. She was glad Regulus didn't say anything, didn't interrupt. He knew there was more.

"I'm sorry," she said. It came out as a whisper. "What you told me and showed me last time…it hurt me, but I didn't think it would have hurt you, too. I was too wrapped up in myself at the time. I didn't listen to you before, and you needed someone to listen to you. I'm sorry for that."

"It's okay," he said gently. "I would have done the same if the roles were reversed."

It was the most beautiful lie he had ever told her. Grace knew full well he would not have done the same. It was in Regulus's nature to listen, to sit still and think on a problem for hours and hours before attempting to solve it.

"Will you tell me what happened?" she asked.

"It doesn't exactly paint me in the best light." He ran a hand through his hair, and leaned forward. "And—and... You don't need to hear it, of course, not if you don't want to. And I understand why you wouldn't want to."

She shook her head, and held his gaze in her own. "Tell me," she commanded softly. "Tell me everything."

He let out a breath. "It's always been like this with my family. You know that. The whole blood purity thing—for centuries and centuries it's been like this. It's in our family motto. It's in our ancestry. And it's so hard to escape it. When your whole life's screaming this at you, how could you possibly ignore it?" He swallowed thickly. "I know what people would say to that, though. I know what Sirius would say. That people have left, so why can't I? Uncle Alphard rebelled in his own way. Andromeda eloped. Sirius ran away. So, why couldn't I?"

She knew the answer to that question. It was an easy one: loyalty. Because you're you, she wanted to say. Because you're so loyal, too loyal. How could you even bear the thought of leaving the family that raised you, terrible as they may be?

He shrugged half-heartedly. "I don't really know the answer to that. I suppose…in my head, I figured it would be too much of a betrayal. I know Mother isn't…always right, but she loves us, in her own way. When Sirius left, it broke her a little. How could I leave, too?" He took a deep breath and continued, "So, I stayed. I stayed because I couldn't leave, and because I was too afraid to leave. And things have never been great in our house, but it only got worse when Sirius left. Mother has always been obsessed with image: the Black family, a bastion of purity. She craved respect and power and admiration. And then her eldest son, her heir, ran away." He smiled humorlessly. "You can only imagine how well she took that."

"I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "You've nothing to apologize for."

She didn't believe that in the slightest. "I tried, Regulus," she said quietly. "I tried so hard to convince Sirius to come back, to get him to think of you and what all he'd left behind. But he seemed convinced that if you really wanted him back, you'd leave yourself. He seemed convinced that you'd choose him."

Regulus closed his eyes briefly, pressing the hilt of his palms against his lids. "He always liked to make everything about him."

"James told me he regrets it, now and again."

He eyes snapped open. "What use is that?" His gaze flitted away from her own. "What use is that?" he said again, this time quieter.

They sat in this silence for a little while, the silence that swayed between them like the gentle rolls of the sea. Between them, a hundred million unsaid things began to unfurl. Grace thought of how she railed and railed against Sirius, her face red, her hands balled into fists, tears streaming down her cheeks despite herself. Traitor, she had screamed. You left him. Traitor!

But she had abandoned Regulus, too, so wasn't she, in some small way, the same?

"What next?" she asked, disrupting the quiet.

"Father died," he sighed. "The head of the family was gone, the wayward heir had run off. People—and by people, I mean other pure-blood families—were turning their noses up at us, gossiping about us. Mother wanted to do anything and everything possible to get us back into good standing. And then, of course, Bellatrix came along."

Grace had never met or seen Regulus's oldest cousin. She had hardly heard of the woman. Anything she knew about Bellatrix Lestrange came from Andromeda. She knew that Bellatrix was like bramble—tough to the end, a rough, prickly thing. She knew that Andromeda was a little afraid of Bellatrix, a little unsure as to what end her older sister was willing to go.

"And she was telling us about this society she had joined. It had been going on for some years now, and only the most worthy—" his lips curled as he spat the word out, "—were in the know about it. She told us the names of a few others—Rosier, Malfoy…respected families, families my mother approved of, families my mother wanted approval from." He deflated, shoulders slumping. "It was only supposed to be once. I only went to appease Mother, to say, 'Look, I went. Is that enough? Are we done now?' But when I went, he was there."

"You-Know-Who?"

He nodded sullenly. "I didn't really know who he was at first. He was…silent. He didn't talk much, just asked the others to do the talking—updates and whatnot. And as the others talked, as they told him about what they were up to…I realized what this really was. And I realized who he was. And I realized what it was Bellatrix was really a part of." His voice retreated back into himself, and he took a moment, considering his next words. "It was only supposed to be once," he said again, voice cracked and faint, grief-stricken.

Her bones ached something awful. She wanted to take Regulus and knit him into her heart. She wanted to reverse time to last year, stop him from going with Bellatrix. She wanted to go back to the summer of fourth year, and take Regulus along with Sirius back to the Potter cottage.

"I didn't have to take the Mark, not immediately," he continued. "But I couldn't stop attending the meetings. Bellatrix was adamant about that. She said if I didn't show, they'd assume I was a traitor. They'd assume I passed along what I'd heard to the Ministry or to Dumbledore or something. And it didn't help that Mother still didn't realize what this was. It wasn't some stupid society. It wasn't just a few pure-blood families gathered in the parlor. It was a group of killers. Every other week, I was sat in a room with a bunch of murderers and torturers, and every time, I kept wondering…at what point will they stop me from listening and start me on doing?"

It was taking every ounce of her willpower not to stop him right there. Her stomach was twisting and turning. Her lungs felt tight and empty. Please not that, she thought desperately. Please tell me you didn't.

"The longer I was there, the more my chance to leave disappeared. Until, one day, Bellatrix told me I'd have to take the Mark and do my part, or I'd be killed. Because, if I didn't do as told, that'd make me a blood traitor. And there was no room in their new world for blood traitors." He bent forward once more. "And there was a threat against Mother, too. I knew Sirius was already in danger, on account of him having run away. Andromeda, too. I figured, if anything—if I was on the inside—then maybe I could protect them all, for a little while, long enough that they might have a chance to get out of the country or something."

"Andromeda has gone into hiding," she assured him. It had been a year and a half ago, just as Bellatrix Lestrange began to make headlines. Grace had received a hastily written letter from Ted and a plea to take care of herself. "Sirius is…"

"You don't have to explain about him. I know he's fighting against us." Regulus rubbed his hand over his face. "I don't think I'll ever run into him, thankfully. They don't trust us—Rosier, Yaxley, and me—to do anything serious yet, not like what the Prophet headlines, not like what Bellatrix does."

Grace's lips dipped into a slight frown. "What about the Hogsmeade Horror?"

"Yaxley's idea." There was a sharp edge to Regulus's tone. "I thought there was a better way to go about it, but he was adamant and I didn't want to him to harbor any more suspicion against me. We were supposed to just…spread some panic once we were back at Hogwarts, put some doubt in people's minds about Dumbledore's ability to protect students." He glanced at Grace. "It's a very big thing on the Dark—I mean, You-Know-Who's mind. He's almost…afraid of Dumbledore, I'd say. Like maybe Dumbledore would do to him what he'd done to Grindelwald."

Grace digested his words. "Right… I—I think I understand."

"I know I had chances to leave. I know I did. I just—" he grappled with himself for a moment, "—didn't notice any of them until it was too late."

"You're not out of chances," Grace told him. "I'm still here. I want to help you. I want to get you out of this."

He shook his head. "It's not possible. Wilkes tried to leave during the summer. He was dead before he hit the floor."

"We're different."

Regulus's brows rose. "We?"

And despite the thundering in her heart, the fact that everything in her lineage rebelled against the very idea, she took a deep breath and said, "I want to join."

He rose from the armchair like a whip. The grey of his eyes was sharper than ice. "No. Absolutely not."

He strode to the door. Grace leapt from her seat and intercepted her path, stopping him.

"Just—hear me out on this—"

"We're not discussing this. "

"No—wait! I've got a plan. You can't get out of this by telling You-Know-Who to just stuff it and leave. We both know that. But you can get out a different way. You can weaken his power from the inside—"

"What you're suggesting will get me killed, Grace!"

"But I'll be helping you!"

"You'll get yourself killed, too!"

"I haven't told you the whole plan yet. Dumbledore's got this Order, you see—"

He froze. "How do you know about that?"

"James let it slip. And I've been doing my own research for weeks and weeks now. Dumbledore tried to assemble a group against Grindelwald, too. I reckon he's actually succeeded this time for You-Know-Who. I think we can use that to our advantage—"

"We're not using anything to our advantage," Regulus said sharply. "There's no point in entertaining this—"

"If you'd just set aside your reservations and listen, you'd know this is a good plan," Grace insisted. "I've considered everything—"

"It's absolutely not a good plan. You can't—you can't just waltz in and join the Death Eaters. You can't—"

"Not without you, I can't—"

"I won't help you with that—"

"But you've got to, because it's the only way I can help you—"

"You don't have to help me!"

"Of course I have to, you prat! Mum and Dad have got Dragon Pox, and James is risking his life every day for the Auror Office, and—and you—" Grace's throat felt like it was collapsing inward. "You heard what I said, Regulus. You heard me: I can't lose you, too."

Several things flitted through him all at once: surprise and sorrow and chagrin. "Grace," he said, "I can't lose you, either. You don't know what he's capable of. I won't run the risk of you being found out."

"I won't be, not if I'm careful about it. I have a—"

"Plan," he completed. "I know… But you don't know what you're signing up for. I can't let you do this, not for me."

He tried to reach around her, but Grace grabbed his arm and stopped him again.

"Listen to me," she said—pleaded, more like. "I need you to listen to me."

Regulus looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time. "I always listen to you. You know I do."

She did know that. Regulus, with his patient smile and his still fingers and his open ears, always listened to her. Even when she hardly knew what she was saying herself, he did. But that wasn't the case here. He was listening to her, but it was just the surface he was catching hold of. There was so much more happening than couldn't be contained in words. Grace could feel it thumping in her chest, this tremendous epiphany, this overwhelming revelation.

It was more than Regulus having made a terrible mistake. It was more than Grace having turned him away when he needed her most. It was more than the Death Eaters and the Aurors and You-Know-Who.

"Listen to me," she repeated, and her hands skimmed up his arms until she had his face cradled in her palms.

She brought herself up to him and pressed her lips tightly against his. In that one warm, desperate kiss, Grace tried to convey everything she had been hiding in her heart. Can you hear it? she wanted to ask. You listen to words, Regulus, but this is bigger than any word I know. Tell me you hear it.

It was the movement of his lips against hers and the wild ramming of her heart against its cage and the curl of her fingers into his feathery hair and the way Regulus stumbled forward and the way Grace caught him in her arms.

After one long, trembling moment, Regulus pulled away. His fingers swept through her hair. His eyes were both cool and warm—as striking as the sky before a storm and as soft as spun honey.

"Do you understand?" she asked.

"I've always understood you," he said.

"Then you know what I'm going to do."

"Please," he begged, "you can't—"

"I can."

"You shouldn't."

It made her heart ache, how it almost seemed like they were discussing a risky prank instead of espionage. "You know I'm going to do this," she told him lowly. "The only question now is whether or not you'll help me."

His eyes flickered to a close. He breathed deeply, and Grace knew there was a war in his head, too. There was his love for his family, whatever was left of it, and his love for her. There was the pull of loyalty, stretching him in two entirely opposite directions. There was that softness within him, trying so hard to survive the battering of cruelty coming its way.

"Of course I'll help you," he croaked out. "I'll always help you. You won't be alone. Not like I—" he took a deep breath. "You won't be alone."

He took her hands in his and led her back towards the armchairs. Grace collapsed into the plush cushioning. Regulus settled down opposite her.

"Explain it to me," he said. "I know you wouldn't have come to me without a full-fledged plan."

She smiled weakly. "Essentially, we become spies for Dumbledore's Order. I don't figure they have any spies, because then the war effort wouldn't be going as badly as it is. I overheard a conversation between the Minister and Dumbledore, and it seemed Vance might be a part of the Order, too—"

"She definitely is," Regulus said wearily. "We were warned about it before we came to Hogwarts."

Grace nodded. "Right. So that means the Order has ties to the Auror Office and the Ministry at large. They're trying to gain the upper hand on You-Know-Who, but things aren't going their way. We can't go directly to the Auror Office, because they'd never believe we'd just defect like that, so spying for the Order is our best shot. And if we were to spy on their behalf, it'd turn the tide. They could actually take down You-Know-Who, and we wouldn't be traitors because we were never really Death Eaters. We'd be heroes."

"And what if we're found out?"

"Then we book it, fake our deaths, and have the Order hide us somewhere."

Regulus frowned. No doubt he didn't think it would be as simple as that, but they could come up with a more elaborate back-up plan later.

"And what if the Order and the Ministry don't manage to defeat You-Know-Who? What if he wins?"

"Then we're Death Eaters, and we're safe—until we can get out of the country or something."

Regulus nodded slowly. "Okay, fine. Suppose it all works. Suppose You-Know-Who doesn't suspect. Suppose we get all the right information we need. Suppose the Order and the Ministry wins. Why do you need to be a Death Eater, too, Grace? If it's spying that can get me out, then I can do that on my own."

"You need my nerve," she said easily. "That, and you need James."

"James?"

"James and Lily are members of the Order. I don't think they'd vouch for you to enter as a spy. Let's face it—they don't know you that well, and Sirius has more than colored their opinion of you."

"But he'll vouch for you," Regulus said in understanding.

"Yes. Once I'm accepted as a spy, I can vouch for you. That's why I need to be a Death Eater."

"Alright, fine. But you don't know how difficult that'll be, given your family history. You-Know-Who will be suspicious right off the bat."

"That's sort of where you come into play, Regulus. You'll have to convince him and the other Death Eaters that I'm different from my family."

He shook his head. "I can only say so much. I don't think they'd buy it, not when you're so close to James and your parents."

"I'll convince them we're not close."

"How?"

"A public split with James. It won't be hard. We always get into fights."

"About pure-blood ideology?" Regulus said incredulously

"It won't be hard," Grace promised.

"Have you two talked about this already? Does James know—"

Grace shook her head. "No, he doesn't. And I can't tell him, not immediately. He wouldn't let me, and would probably storm the castle to arrest you and the other Death Eaters here. I've got to wait till I'm in with you lot before I can tell him."

"So if you were to get into an argument with him…"

"It wouldn't be a fake one. Well—it would be fake to me, but not to him."

"Are you sure about this?" Regulus pressed. "Even if you manage to get James well and angry at you, I don't know how convinced You-Know-Who would be at at the act."

And here was the final detail of her plan. Here was the last piece that completed this towering tangle of trickery and deceit.

"It won't matter if he's convinced, not really. I've got something You-Know-Who wants."

Worry creased his brow. "What do you mean?"

"I can See."

"I don't understand."

"You-Know-Who is looking for a Seer. I know he is, Regulus. I saw the Prophet article about Vablatsky's death. She died by her own hand, but Death Eaters were there. You-Know-Who wants a Seer."

The planes of Regulus's face were tight and rigid. "It was a passing idea. I don't know if he's serious about it."

"Must be pretty serious about it if he tried to recruit one of the most famed Seers of the century."

"What do you mean you can See? What he's looking for is more than just tarot cards and—"

"I know. And I can do more than that. I haven't—" she bit back a groan of frustration, "—I haven't quite figured out how yet, but I'm practicing. Before Vablatsky died, she compiled notes and scrolls about her students. And she wrote about me. She wrote about my condition, and it's related to something called Seer's—"

"—snag?" he completed.

Grace's words died in her throat. She didn't have to ask him how she knew that, because she already knew. Regulus had always read more than she ever cared to, especially when it came to Hywell's disease. Regulus had just about devoured every book the Hogwarts library had to offer on magical energy disorders after Grace had come clean to him about her condition in first year. Of course he had stumbled upon the phrase Seer's snag.

"So you know?" she said immediately, and her voice morphed from eager to vexed. "How come you didn't tell me?"

He gaped at her. "I did tell you! Not the exact name for it, probably, but I told you about how ancient wizards thought magi-neurological diseases were connected to Seeing. You thought it was a steaming pile of rubbish! And—honestly, Grace—it is."

Grace vaguely remembered this, but she refused to feel bad about it. Regulus had probably told her this back when he was going through his 'research phase.' He had droned on and on to her about the history of Hywell's, the genetics behind it, how prognoses were formed; amidst the deluge of information, how could she have possibly caught onto the idea of Seeing?

"It's not rubbish," she said hotly. "This isn't some dusty tome you found in the back of the library. Vablatsky left behind an entire journal. She wouldn't lie to me. This is real."

"What if—" he shook his head suddenly. "No—wait. Okay, suppose it's true. Suppose you figure out how to induce visions. Are you really willing to give You-Know-Who that advantage? Even if we are funneling information about his activity to the other side, it won't mean anything if you're providing You-Know-Who with knowledge of the future."

"Regulus, I wouldn't actually tell him anything! I think I'd need to give him a genuine prophecy to convince him in the beginning, but after that, I'll just fake it."

"Fake it?" he repeated dubiously.

"Yes," she said, drawing out the word. She leaned against the back of the armchair and studied Regulus's pensive form. "This is a good plan. Maybe not a perfect one, but it's our best shot."

He didn't answer immediately. He seemed to dissecting all Grace had said, picking apart the plan piece by piece, checking that each step interlocked tightly into the next, making sure there was no chance of error. Grace watched him, twisting her hands in her lap. The flames of the hearth crackled quietly.

After what might have been eons, Regulus finally spoke:

"Okay," he said. "But there is a lot we need to do in preparation. You can't just split from James overnight. You'll have to start fracturing the relationship now. It helps that you're in Slytherin and he was in Gryffindor. Oh—and you'll have to learn Occlumency, of course. I can teach it to you, but it'll take time. And—"

Grace could not stop the slow smile working its way across her lips. Regulus faltered and frowned at her.

"This isn't like a prank, Grace," he chided. "This is serious."

She rolled her eyes. "I know that. It's just… It's nice to be together again."

It's nice to be on the same side again.

He softened. Grace saw it instantly: the hard lines of his face fell away. His shoulders slacked, and he eased back into his seat. The silver of his eyes caught the gold of hers.

"Yeah," he agreed. His gaze flickered over her face before retreating. He shook his head slightly. "I can't believe you came up with all this just for me."

"Regulus," she said, and his name felt like so much more than just a name. It felt like starlight and her bursting heart and an ocean of hope. "I would go to the ends of the earth for you."

A/N : It's the first chapter of 2020! I've been waiting to give you guys this chapter for so long. I really hope you enjoyed it, and that Grace and Regulus's reconciliation met your expectations!

Happy New Year! And, as always, thank you for the faves, follows, and reviews! Keep letting me know your thoughts :)

Violet Potter-Black : So sorry about the tears! I hope this chapter made things better :)

puppyduckster : Thank you so much for the wonderful review! This Greengrass is definitely not Daphne and Astoria's mother; she will be their aunt, though. Haha, you nailed Regulus's reaction to the Amortentia. I'm also looking forward to fleshing out Grace's relationship with Greengrass! I'm glad you're so invested in Grace and Regulus; I hope this chapter cleared up any doubts/met your expectations! They've definitely made it past their first major hurdle, but there are many more to come.

Nortia2 : Thank you! I'm so glad Grace stands out to you!

QueenAnarchy2.0 : Once again, the depth and warmth of your review has me speechless! Thank you so much for all the compliments and insights! I'm really happy with your summary of Davey; it was never my intention to have him come across as a bad character, per se, and I liked how you described him as "bit stubborn, headstrong." I do have a few things in mind for Davey, but they're very minor, and I'm not sure if I'll actually get to it considering how much I need to cover in this story. Dirk definitely knows he's good at reading people and absolutely uses this to his advantage. It's why he's in Slug Club and why he's Head Boy and why he's hoping to be a work for the Goblin Liaison Office (he'd be very good at diplomacy). So glad you enjoyed Greengrass! I love your idea of Greengrass being super tough and cold and Lila being an absolute sweetheart. And I'm so, so happy that you loved all the little book entries I wrote up! I definitely think the more Grace got into the commentating, the more she enjoyed it. I could see her doing it again rather than playing on the field. You mentioned your birthday is coming up; even if it's already passed, I'd like to wish you a Happy Birthday! :)