Falling

by trynathink

It had been seven years. Of course they had a little of the other in them. Of course it hurt when the other wasn't there anymore. The separation could have been a day, an hour, a minute, and Grace was sure it would have hurt the same—a cleaver sailing straight through her soul, severing it into two. (Everyone Lives AU; sequel to 'Flying')

12. Run

Run

Regulus finds himself buckling under the pressure of Quidditch, classes, Head Boy duties, and being a Death Eater.

---

"And where are you going?"

Regulus froze in place, trunk screeching to a halt behind him. Seventeen years and he still couldn't help the surge of panic that spiked from his stomach at the sound of that voice—sharp, stinging, word made into whip. If Sirius were here, Regulus imagined he would scoff and continue on his way.

But Regulus was not Sirius. He had been reminded of this fact nearly every day of his existence.

"Well?" Mother demanded.

Regulus turned around, stiff and weary. "I'm going to King's Cross."

Her eyes, dark and bottomless as an abyss, flickered down to his trunk and then back to him. She drew herself up to her full height, stretching herself out until she seemed thinner than she really was. "It's early," she said at last, each word drenched with suspicion.

Regulus had, thankfully, prepared for this. "I'm meeting Rosier and Yaxley before we head on the train," he recited effortlessly. "We have matters to discuss on behalf of the Dark Lord."

Her lips thinned. "I see."

With that, she turned and disappeared down the dark hallway, shadows swallowing her whole. Mother had slowly become less and less enthused about Regulus's involvement with the Death Eaters. (It had begun around the time Bellatrix first made headlines for murdering a Muggle family in Liverpool. It was all fine and dandy when witches and wizards simply talked about eradicating Muggle filth, of course. But when it came down to getting your hands dirty—why, that was a different issue entirely.) Now, just the mere mention of You-Know-Who was enough to send her to an entirely different room.

Regulus stalled by the doorway for a moment. Mother had never been particularly affectionate, but he usually received some sort of goodbye, although "goodbye" was a rather kind word to label the warnings his mother fed him before the start of term. Don't you dare dishonor our name like your brother did could hardly be thought of as a goodbye—but it was the sort of goodbye Regulus had come to expect.

Except for today. Regulus seemed to have done too good a job at driving his mother away. Sighing, he shifted a drowsy Cliodna to his other arm and swung open the front door of number 12 Grimmauld Place. He dragged his trunk down the front steps hurriedly. As soon as his dragon-leather oxfords hit the cracked pavement, Regulus's hand tightened around the handle of his trunk and he Apparated away.

In a matter of seconds, he appeared by the rocky shore of Falmouth. His trunk thudded against the dark rock that splattered across the shore. Cliodna jumped from his arms, the journey having startled her awake, and took to the ground. Regulus fished his acacia wand out of his pocket and levitated his trunk. He began the long climb up to the Potter summer home, Cliodna trotting behind him dutifully. He hoped Grace wouldn't be cross with him for showing up out of the blue. They hadn't made any plans to head to the platform together, but Regulus hadn't been able to sleep last night. He had spent hours and hours in bed, tossing and turning, staring at the rich green of his canopy, thoughts of Dumbledore and You-Know-Who and Death Eaters filling his head. Somewhere in the midst of it all, he'd realized that today would be the first day Grace wouldn't have any family to drop her off at King's Cross. And although she would never admit it out loud, Regulus knew that it would bother her endlessly if she went to the station alone.

So, here he was.

He reached the hilltop in a matter of minutes. From beyond the door of the summer home, he could hear the faint banging and clanging of drawers and cabinet drawers. Hesitantly, Regulus raised a hand and knocked.

The noises stilled. The door opened a crack, and he caught a glimpse of Grace—a sliver of dark hair and a hazel eye. As soon as she caught sight of him, the door burst open and she latched onto him, tugging him inside, smiling fully. Regulus's heart thrummed with warmth. It had only been a day since he last saw her, but that day might as well have been a year with how long it stretched on.

"I didn't know you were coming today!" Her voice was bright, laced with surprise and sweetness. Her hands were still wrapped around his, and Regulus hoped they would never part. But then Cliodna lazed over and pawed at the hem of Grace's robes. She let go of Regulus and crouched down to pick up the needling cat. "Hullo, Clio—did you Apparate with Reg?"

Regulus followed after Grace, sticking close to her side. The house he had so carefully put right only a couple of days ago was in complete disarray again. Pots and pans spilled from the kitchen cabinets. The pillows adorning the pull-out lay on the floor. Half of Grace's school robes were in her trunk while the other half were laid on the dining table.

"Salazar, what happened?"

She let out a disgruntled groan. "I can't find any of my textbooks. You must've put them somewhere when you cleaned the other day. I've turned the whole house upside down looking—"

Regulus crossed over to the bookcase on the other side of the living room and pulled out Grace's textbooks. "I put them here. In the bookshelf. Where the books belong."

She faltered. "Okay, fine. You win this round."

He snorted softly and proceeded to help her collect the rest of her belongings. With a quick wave of her wand, everything was packed (somewhat messily) into her trunk. As she hauled the chest towards the front door, Regulus busied himself in the house, waving his wand furiously, levitating kitchen utensils back into their rightful cupboards and tidying the pull-out bed.

"Reg," Grace called out exasperatedly from the open door. "It's okay. You don't have to fix it."

Regulus's wand hand wavered mid-swish, causing the pillows to settle themselves at the foot of the pull-out instead of the head. He turned to Grace, scandalized. "You can't just leave the house in this state."

"I can, and I will."

"It'll attract Doxies."

"Well, that's what Doxycide is for." She waited patiently for him to lower his wand. When he didn't, she sighed and added, "Regulus, if you stay to clean up the house, you're going to miss the train."

It was the only thing she could have said to get him to stop. Regulus shoved his wand into his pocket and strode away from the mess. "Oh, fine—but you can't complain when you return for Easter and find you have to deep clean the whole house."

She scoffed. "I'm not returning here for Easter. James and I will have made up by then, and I'll be going back to Godric's Hollow, thank Merlin." She cast one last glance back at the house as she crossed through the door. "It gets drafty here at night. Even the Slytherin dormitory is better than this."

She started down the hill, trunk dragging against the ground behind her, Cliodna balanced haphazardly in the crook of her elbow. Regulus started after her, albeit at a slower pace. He knew he should have been more elated at hearing Grace announce that she would have made up with her brother by Easter…but he found himself feeling unexpectedly letdown. The feeling had nothing to do with James. It was the thought of Grace returning to Godric's Hollow.

While the past few days had certainly been stressful and nerve-racking, there had been the rare, quiet moment of rest and relaxation. The Potter summer home was out of the way, at the edge of a little-known town, forgotten and pushed aside by the sands of time. The only people who visited it were Regulus and Grace. It was something of a refuge, a place where Regulus was free to pace and think for hours on end, where Grace could curl up against Regulus's side on the pull-out, where they could tease each other over a hastily-made meal in the slipshod kitchen.

None of this would be possible when she returned to Godric's Hollow.

By the time they reached the bottom of the hill, past the anti-Apparition wards, Regulus was filled with such longing and nostalgia that he found himself missing Grace all over again even though she was right next to him.

He reached out a hand once they stopped and asked, "Do you want to Side-Along?"

It was a completely unnecessary offer. They could each Apparate perfectly well on their own, and it might have been better to do so by themselves. Any chance of splinching would be dramatically reduced, and it was generally far less stressful to warp through the atmosphere when you didn't have someone tugging along beside you—but Regulus wanted an excuse to hold Grace's hand.

"Okay," she said easily, and slid her hand into his. She gripped the handle of her trunk tightly in her other hand. Cliodna was balanced precariously on her shoulder. "I'll lead?"

"Sure."

And they were off. The air swallowed them, expanding and compressing as it funneled them forward. In a matter of seconds, they arrived at platform 9 and 3/4. Steam curled from the Hogwarts Express, enveloping the station. Witches and wizards dotted the platform, anxiously drawing their children close for one last goodbye.

"Ouch—! Cliodna—!"

Regulus turned to Grace in a flurry and found that the cat had leapt down and scratched her across the hand. Cliodna, wide-eyed and panicked, jumped away from the duo, racing towards the train in a blur of sleek black. Grace hissed and pressed her right hand against her left, trying to stamp away the pain.

Regulus winced at the sight. "I suppose she's not used to Apparating with you," he explained softly. He reached towards Grace. "Let me see."

She splayed her hand across his. With a gentle tap of his wand, the thin cuts closed and healed. His eyes flickered up to meet hers, and he was surprised to find her gaze infinitely warm—soft and supple as honey. Her lips were quirked into a gentle smile. Regulus wanted to swoop forward and kiss her very badly, have her so close to his side it might have seemed like they were stitched together, but they were in public and he was almost certain snogging her senseless at King's Cross for all the world to see would probably invite some sort of suspicion—probably from Rosier and Yaxley—so he settled on guarding her hand in his instead.

"We should find a compartment," he said, setting forward.

They only managed a couple of steps into the train before they were stopped by a stout girl with close-cropped dark hair and an unhappy glare.

"Black!" Bannerjee barked, striding forward. Her Head Girl badge was pinned to the front of her robes. It seemed to have been polished recently. "Thank Merlin, I've been searching for you everywhere! Your appointment was so sudden, I didn't have time to write to you about Prefect patrols. Kennedy and I made a rota at the beginning of the year, but it's not applicable anymore due to all the students who've chosen not to return for spring term. We've got to draft a new one—but, oh—" she glanced busily at the golden watch that adorned her wrist, "—I suppose there's no time to do that today between the Prefect meeting and patrols. We can try to compose a rough schedule after the meeting, but it might not be complete. Hopefully that'll be enough for Dumbledore. You got the owl to meet him after dinner tonight, right?"

She finished all this one enormous breath. Regulus stared at her, taken aback, wondering what on earth he had gotten himself into.

"Er—yes," he managed after a moment.

She nodded briskly. "Good, so we'll present a rough rota to him then. Have you got a spare moment now? We need to at least go over how we'll divide train patrols with the Prefects for today."

Regulus glanced at Grace. "Well, I was going to—"

Grace stopped him. "It's okay, go ahead. I'll find us a compartment at the end of the train."

It was where Rosier, Yaxley, and the new members were planning on meeting. Regulus balked at the thought of any of the Death Eaters in close quarters with Grace without him.

"You don't have to do that yourself," he started. "I can come and..." He looked at Bannerjee hesitantly. "Can't we go over patrols a few minutes before the meeting?"

Her brows flew up. "A—a—few minutes before the meeting?" she spluttered out. "You mean procrastinate even further?"

"I mean—it's just that—does it really seem like—" he fumbled.

"Reg, it's fine," Grace called softly, bringing his attention back to her. In a much quieter voice, she added, "I can handle them."

He didn't doubt that in the slightest, but he simply didn't like the idea of having Grace and Yaxley at each other's throats again without someone sensible around to talk them down. Regulus's eyes flickered back to Bannerjee, hoping he might be able to barter for some more time—just enough that he and Grace could finish this bloody Death Eater meeting and move on—but before he could, Grace slipped her hand out of his and took off on her own, levitating both their trunks alongside her.

Regulus looked at Bannerjee resignedly. "Alright. We need to divide patrols, is it? That shouldn't take more than a few minutes."

The Head Girl was pulling out a thick scroll of parchment. "We'll see…"

"Why don't we just pair Prefects off according to their House?"

"We can't do that." Bannerjee's eyes flew through the parchment. "Higgins has dropped out, and his replacement is Fawley. He and Macdonald don't get along—exes, you see." She rolled her eyes dramatically. "It caused quite the commotion in Ravenclaw last year. Anyway, we can't keep them together. It'll end in a fistfight if we do."

"Er—okay," Regulus said, digesting the information. "How about we pair off one Ravenclaw with one Slytherin and one Gryffindor with one Hufflepuff?" He glanced at the scroll. "That way we can have Fawley with Greengrass. She'll keep him in check."

"But then we'll have Macdonald with Rosier. That won't work." She cast him an unsure glance. "Macdonald is Muggle-born."

Regulus's stomach squirmed. He reached for his left arm uneasily, tugging the hem of his sleeve further down. "Oh."

"Rosier will probably…complain," she finished lamely.

"Right." He didn't have to tell her that Rosier would likely do much more than just complain. "We could do Hufflepuff and Slytherin? Rosier won't mind Abbott."

"That sounds good," Bannerjee said, taking out a quill to make the amendment.

Regulus watched her scratch out the old Prefects' names and write in the new ones. Abbott's name was placed beside Rosier's. Regulus wondered if he should pull aside Abbott after the meeting and apologize to her for what would undoubtedly be an unbearable patrol.

"Alright," Bannerjee said, beaming. "That takes care of the seventh-years."

Regulus's mouth went dry. "I'm sorry, just the seventh-years? That was just for the seventh-years?"

"Yeah." She began to unroll the parchment to its full length. "We can't do the same for the sixth-years and fifth-years. They've got the Snyde brothers. Those two will absolutely bully the poor Hufflepuffs they're partnered with. We ought to put them with the Gryffindors. Ah, but…"

As Bannerjee droned on about the hidden intricacies of partnering Prefects, Regulus found himself why on earth he had ever wanted to be Head Boy. Sure, the role brought on a certain prestige—but was it really worth all this trouble? Who in their right mind factored in Prefects' past relationships and blood status when forming a patrol system? Who possessed the immeasurable patience to sit and sift through all this information? And how in Merlin's name had Grace's hyperactive brother survived this?

Regulus glanced down the row of compartments. Grace had long disappeared into the depths of the train. They had all agreed to meet in the last car, but it would still take a few minutes to find the compartment Grace had chosen. He only hoped Yaxley and Rosier hadn't yet boarded the train.

"How about we let the Prefects decide who they want to patrol with?" he sighed, bringing Bannerjee's rambling to a slow. "That way no one will be partnered with someone they don't get along with."

"But if someone partners with their friend, they'll just slack off," Bannerjee protested.

"If it seems a pair gets on too well, we'll switch them with another pair. How's that?"

She considered this. "Alright… I suppose that will work. But then we won't be able to order the patrols until after they've chosen their partners."

"We'll just do it—" Regulus racked his brain, "—randomly."

"Randomly?"

"Whoever arrives for the meeting first gets the early patrol—along with whoever they choose to partner with."

"Huh." She smiled. "That's rather nice. That way the Prefects who show up on time will be rewarded. I like the way you think, Black."

"Er—thanks." Regulus glanced down the train car. "Is that it now?"

"Yeah. I suppose we could keep the partners for the spring rota, too. But we'll still have to figure out patrol slots for the whole month after the meeting. Other than that, I think we're all set. Thanks—"

He was already speeding down the narrow hallway. "Yeah, sure," he called back, hurtling through the car.

He traveled further and further down the train until he at last found the designated car. He flung open the first six compartment doors he saw—and gave six hasty apologies when the residents turned out to be complete strangers—before finally finding the one Grace had chosen. The door was tucked right in the middle of the row and had a wonky silver handle. He pulled and saw, to his immense relief, that the others hadn't arrived yet. Grace was curled up in the corner of the compartment with a newspaper in her hands. Cliodna had found her way here, too; the cat was stretched out on the seat opposite Grace's, yawning and lazing under the sunlight that spilled from the open window.

"I suppose the others haven't arrived at the platform yet," Regulus commented with heavy relief, settling beside Grace.

She barely heard him. Her eyes were furiously scanning a Prophet article she had managed to procure. Regulus leaned over her shoulder, curious to see what had so thoroughly captured her interest. His gaze caught the title of the article, and his stomach tightened when he saw it was about the scuffle at Grace's parent's funeral.

"Where did you even get that?" Regulus asked. The edition had come out days ago. No one was selling it now.

Grace scowled and turned to the next page. "Someone threw it at me."

Regulus blinked in surprise. His lips settled into a thin, hard frown. "Who?" he asked, fully intending to assign the offender detention once he found them.

"I dunno. I was turned around." Her eyes sped over the page speedily. She scoffed. "Look at this—it says I'm the aggressive one. Me. That—that's simply preposterous! James was the one who pulled me aside! Was this Skeeter woman even at the funeral?" She glanced up at Regulus heatedly. "I can't believe people actually read this rubbish!"

"It's not meant for people who have any sense."

"I'd like to tell Skeeter about all the times James tried to give me away as a baby. Did you know he snuck me into a visitor's bag when I was just four months old? I can only imagine how my parents suffered during his toddler years… And I'm the problem child. Ridiculous. Absurd. As if—"

Regulus snatched the article from her hands. "Don't pay it any mind," he said, crumpling it up and tossing it out the open window. He ignored Grace's protests. "That paper's a waste of Galleons."

She stared at him with disbelief. "You… You just chucked the paper!"

"So?"

"It's writing. It's like you just threw out a book."

"That wasn't a book. It was a pile of trash." Normally, Regulus would balk at the thought of even creasing any paper with printed text. But any writing that disparaged Grace could hardly be called writing.

She rolled her eyes and turned away, sinking deeper into the seat. "I can't believe you chucked it… I was reading that."

"No, you were arguing with it."

"I was contesting the so-called facts presented—"

The compartment door swung open. Grace's lips clamped shut and she shrank further into the plush material of the seats. Regulus turned around and found Rosier sauntering inside, his new Prefect pin polished and stuck to his chest. Behind him was dark-haired, square-jawed Herwick Snyde, the Keeper for the Slytherin Quidditch team. Snyde threw himself onto the seat opposite Grace and Regulus and kicked his feet up, displacing and angering Cliodna, who fled towards Regulus's lap.

"Er…" Regulus began, frantically petting Cliodna in an effort to have her stop snarling at Snyde. "You've joined, is it…?"

"Oh, yeah," Snyde drawled.

"I recruited him," Rosier beamed, settling beside Regulus.

"I let you say you recruited me," Snyde corrected. His eyes wavered to Grace and Regulus. "I was all set to join. My cousin's been a part of the Dark Lord's circle for a few years now." His gaze lingered on Regulus. "Didn't expect that you'd be a part of it, though. But I suppose that makes sense. Subtlety is more your style, given how you play Quidditch." He moved on to Grace and grinned suddenly. "Merlin, am I glad to meet you."

She stared at him warily. "You…are…?"

"Of course I am!" Snyde's lit eyes turned to Black and Rosier. "It's absolutely genius to have Potter in on this. Do you two have any idea how many connections she's got in this school?" He looked back to Grace eagerly. "I've got to know—where did you get all that Basilisk skin from? Mercer was absolutely livid when you took all his business. And when—"

"Wait, you did what?" Regulus said, turning back to Grace.

"Snyde's dorm-mates started a black market sometime in their fourth year," she explained hurriedly. "Remember? I told you I was helping some students with their potions."

"You did say that, but you neglected to mention the part about a black market, and—hold on…" His face went white. "Do you mean all the times you asked me to order rare potions ingredients—that wasn't for tutoring students? That was to—"

"Sell back at exorbitant prices? Yes."

"Grace!"

"I couldn't tell you all the details," she argued. "You'd just made Prefect. You needed plausible deniability in case I ever got caught." After a moment, she added, "I was going to tell you after we graduated…"

Snyde was looking severely disappointed. "You mean to say Black was just ordering all those ingredients for you? You were never smuggling it into the castle from Knockturn Alley or something?"

Grace stared at him. "Do you think I have the time to go all the way to Knockturn Alley just to get some Basilisk skin for a couple snotty teenagers?"

"You're a teenager, too!" Snyde protested.

"But I'm not snotty."

"Are you sure about—"

"What are you lot shouting about?" a new voice asked.

Regulus looked towards the compartment door and saw, to his incredible irritation, that Yaxley had arrived. And along with him was Gibbon, brows raised haughtily as he surveyed the students before him. Grace tensed beside Regulus.

"You recruited Gibbon?" Rosier said, a shred of surprise touching his words.

Yaxley forced Snyde towards the window side of the compartment and sat down. "Yes," he said. His icy gaze flew from Death Eater to Death Eater before finally landing on Grace. His face soured. "And you brought in her."

Gibbon had settled on Yaxley's other side. His lips broke into a jeer as soon as he caught sight of Grace. "Oh, Merlin," he said. "What use is a cripple to—"

Regulus's jaw tightened. "I would choose your next words very carefully, Gibbon. Anything you say about the Dark Lord's Seer will inevitably make its way back to him."

"Seer?" Snyde said, eyeing Grace with renewed interest.

Gibbon swallowed his words and turned away. "Just a joke…" he grumbled quietly.

"Right…" Rosier said, eyeing him warily. "Well, now that introductions are over—"

"Wait, I want to hear more about the Seer thing!"

"Well, you're not going to," Grace snapped at Snyde. Her eyes had turned stormy. If Regulus had to guess the reason behind her bad mood, it was the presence of Yaxley and Gibbon. She looked to Rosier. "Is there an actual reason we're all here?"

"Yes, there is," Rosier assured. "First of all—" he turned towards Regulus and grinned, "—I suppose congratulations are in order." Rosier clapped Regulus on the back, and he winced at the contact. What in Merlin's name had he done to deserve this sort of special attention? "It'll be much easier to do what needs to be done now that one of us is Head Boy."

"Or harder," Gibbon said lazily from his perch by the door. He was picking at his fingernails. "If Black's Head Boy, don't you think Dumbledore and McGonagall will be paying much closer attention to him?"

"So?" Rosier said defensively. "Black's a model student. They won't be suspicious of him."

"Yes, but perhaps they'll be suspicious of those around him," Gibbon countered. "Meaning us. Meaning we'll have to be on our best behavior—isn't that right, Yaxley?"

The pale-eyed boy scowled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you can't frolic around hexing every Mudblood you happen upon in plain view of professors," Snyde said. Yaxley's brows furrowed, and Snyde rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. You can't honestly think you've been discreet this whole time, can you? You've been lumbering around the castle like some gigantic oaf—"

"Go on and finish that sentence, Snyde," Yaxley sneered. "See what'll happen."

Regulus wondered where on earth Yaxley got his bravado from. Although the seventh-year was as vicious as they came, Snyde was still much larger than him, with a brawnier, stockier frame. By the time Yaxley got his wand out, Snyde would have him in a headlock.

"We're getting off track," Regulus interjected sharply, before Snyde could say anything that might further incense Yaxley. They didn't need a repeat of last term's train ride, when Yaxley and Rosier had quarreled so intensely about who would head the Hogsmeade stint that Yaxley ended up nearly setting their compartment on fire. "It's for the best that we all remain discreet, especially since three of us will be meeting with professors now and again." He looked at Rosier and Snyde, both Prefects, meaningfully.

"Obviously," Snyde said.

Rosier merely shrugged. Regulus supposed this was better than nothing. He slid against the back of his seat, glancing at his left. Grace was leaning against the glass of the half-open window, seemingly having checked out of the conversation. Regulus couldn't blame her.

"Was there another reason to gather us all here that doesn't have to do with Black's appointment as Head Boy?" Gibbon asked with heavy boredom.

"Oh, right," Rosier said, perking up. "The Honeydukes cellar."

Yaxley let out a huff of irritation. Grace's eyes snapped to Rosier.

Gibbon frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Are you talking about the secret passage?" Snyde asked. "Is that how you lot have been getting out?"

"It's how we planned on getting out," Rosier corrected. "We used it first week back to get to Hogsmeade, but when we were returning, it was sealed up. Had to walk all the way back to the castle using Disillusionment Charms." He grumbled unhappily at the memory of the long, sweltering trek back. "We thought it was just that we couldn't use the tunnel from the outside, but it turns out it's been sealed from the inside, too. I reckon Filch found it and had it closed."

Murmurs of agreement followed. Grace shot Regulus a brief, panicked look. He returned it with one of confusion. Had she…?

"That would make sense," Grace threw in haphazardly, speaking for the first time in several minutes. "He's always lurking around odd nooks in the castle—probably trying to sniff out secret passages."

"Filthy Squib," Yaxley muttered under his breath.

"Was that passage the only way to get out?" Gibbon questioned.

"It was the only one we knew of," Rosier said.

Snyde turned to Grace. "Well, surely you know of another one, Potter."

All eyes were on her now. Regulus knew for a fact there were at least three other passages out of the school, the knowledge of which had been passed on from James to Grace, although he couldn't remember the precise location of any of them. He also knew that Grace would rather pry her teeth out of her mouth than reveal the location of any of these passages to them.

"What makes you think I know about secret passages?" Grace demanded. "I told you I just had Regulus order me the ingredients I needed."

A frown overcame Snyde's face. He huffed and threw himself back against his seat. "Salazar, I'd always thought you'd be more exciting, you know?"

Grace narrowed her eyes at him. Regulus found himself frowning at Snyde, too. "So sorry to disappoint," she snarled.

"Have you tried unsealing the Honeydukes passage?" Gibbon suggested.

Rosier gave him a withering glance. "Of course we did. What do you take us for?"

"You know, we could just walk out," Yaxley said.

Snyde stared at him. "Just walk out? Of what? The school?"

"Yes."

"You want us—all six of us—to just head out the front door and walk out of Hogwarts when we're very much not supposed to?"

Yaxley scowled at Snyde. "Well, obviously, I don't mean to do it just like that."

"Oh, then how exactly did you mean it?" Snyde mocked. "Did you want us to dress up in costumes and walk out? Shall we pretend we're part of a traveling circus and we're leaving the school to get to our next venue?"

"You imbecile—!"

"Anything from the trolley, dears?"

Silence swept through the compartment door in an instant. All six students turned towards the trolley lady with an expression bordering incredulity. The poor old woman stared back helplessly.

"We've a discount on Butterscotch Brains," she tried after a moment, lifting a package of what seemed to be mushed-up pancakes.

Yaxley sneered. "Do we look like we want your—"

"Actually, I'll take a Butterscotch Brain," Snyde cut in, scoffing at Yaxley. "Maybe it can replace the one you've got in your head. We'll just walk out." He rolled his eyes. "Merlin, have you always been this thick?"

Yaxley whipped his wand out of his pocket, orange sparks lighting from the tip, while Snyde dug out his own and held it up threateningly. Regulus was beginning to wonder if he was simply cursed with bad luck.

"Let's put this aside for now," Regulus tried valiantly. It was a shame no one was listening to him. "We've got much more important things to discuss."

"You should watch your tongue, Snyde," Yaxley sneered. "You might lose it one day."

"I'm not as daft as you to misplace my tongue, Yaxley."

He bristled. "You know that's not what I—"

"Well, obviously. Haven't you ever heard of wordplay?"

"Have you got any nougat?" Gibbon asked the trolley lady as the commotion continued in the background.

"Are you serious right now?" Rosier gaped at Gibbon.

He shrugged. "I like nougat."

"Alright, but now's hardly the time—"

Regulus buried his sigh deep within himself. He turned and met Grace's faintly amused eyes. Somehow, he was sure she was thinking the same thing he was: We're surrounded by idiots.

---

The bickering didn't stop until it was time for Snyde, Rosier, and Regulus to leave for the Prefect meeting at the front of the train. Even then, Snyde was reluctant to allow Yaxley to have the last word. In the end, he had to be physically pulled out of the compartment by Rosier. Regulus followed behind the duo with heavy resignation, Grace beside him.

"If you'd given me a few more minutes, I would have had him," Snyde grumbled to Rosier. "Besides—who cares if we're late for this bloody meeting? We're with the Head Boy."

Regulus felt his power as Head Boy was being vastly exaggerated. The most he could do was spin some excuse about their tardiness, and while the other Prefects might not question it, Bannerjee certainly would. As each step brought him closer and closer to the front of the train, Regulus found himself feeling less and less enthused about this meeting—perhaps because he hadn't prepared what he would say or because the role didn't truly feel like it belonged to him or because it simply didn't seem to matter in the grand scheme of things. Whatever the reason, Regulus found himself straggling behind as Snyde and Rosier disappeared into the front car. Grace had followed him all the way, likely thinking that tagging along for the walk was a better alternative than staying with Yaxley and Gibbon back at the compartment, and frowned as she caught sight of his grim expression.

"Are you alright?" she asked, pulling him towards a gap in the compartments, blocking the way to the restrooms.

He should have been asking her that. "I'm fine," he assured. It was only a meeting, after all. Hardly anything to be worked up over. "How do you feel?"

"About that disaster of a meeting?"

Her tone was so flippant and unaffected that Regulus found the corners of his lips ticking up. "Yeah."

"It was a disaster," she said matter-of-factly. "Has it always been like this? How did any of you manage to get anything done?"

"We didn't," he said. Anything they had managed to accomplish—the Hogsmeade Horror, scaring students with rumormongering, recruiting people into their fold—had been managed with absolute apathy on Regulus's part and the utmost buffoonery on Yaxley and Rosier's ends. The prime motivation behind any of their actions was fear of what might happen if they didn't follow through on their instructions. "It wasn't this quarrelsome when it was just the three of us… I suspect things might start spiraling out of control."

She glanced down at the end of the car, eyes lingering on the door Rosier and Snyde passed through. "I didn't know there'd be so many of them now. Merlin, we almost have enough you-know-whats to form our own Quidditch team."

Regulus snorted at the thought of Yaxley and Rosier on broomsticks. "They wouldn't be any good, though."

She looked back at him and smiled when she saw his features had relaxed. "No, they wouldn't." A few more Prefects passed them. Grace's smile dropped from her face as she caught sight of them hurrying along. "You should go. If you're late, Bannerjee will be upset again."

Regulus was reluctant to leave. "Where are you going to go?"

She shrugged. "I'll probably wait around for you."

His heart soared at the idea but it quickly plummeted. "I've got to discuss the spring rota with Bannerjee after the meeting—and then patrol. I dunno how long I'll be."

Her shoulders slumped. "I'll wait for Ophelia then." She paused and then added in hushed tones, "We won't be having another you-know-what meeting today, right?"

"No. I think Yaxley and Snyde are a bit too…excited to discuss the Honeydukes tunnel right now. We'll probably revisit it later."

She grimaced. "Ah, right, the Honeydukes tunnel…"

He recalled her odd expression during the meeting. "Did you already know it got sealed?"

"Yeah. I was the one who sealed it."

His brows flew up. "You—Merlin, Grace!"

"It was after the Hogsmeade scare. I didn't want your lot coming into the castle. Of course, I didn't know you were already in the castle." She heaved a sigh. "I could always go back and unseal it. I'd rather we kept using the same tunnel instead of finding a new one. The fewer ways into Hogwarts the others are aware of, the better."

"No, they'll be suspicious if it's suddenly open again."

Grace nodded in agreement. "Yeah, they'll figure it wasn't Filch, which would only raise more questions."

"We'll just keep it sealed. And we'll find another way out, one that doesn't involve another secret passage."

"Okay," Grace said, but she seemed wary at the prospect.

"Don't worry," he said quietly. "We'll figure it out."

A wan smile flickered across her lips. "I know."

He took a step back, towards the front car. "I'll see you later?"

"Yeah." She squeezed out of the alcove. "I'll go and—" she waved her hand uselessly, "—wander."

"Alright," Regulus said and turned towards the front car. His sole goal was to get to the meeting as quickly as possible so that he might finally get a moment alone (and a normal train ride) with Grace.

He went through the door. Bannerjee, who was mid-speech, shot him an affronted look over the rows of Prefects. Regulus shrugged half-heartedly. He couldn't find it in himself to care about being a few minutes late when the reason behind his lateness was Grace.

The meeting dragged on for far longer than Regulus thought necessary. Bannerjee took an unnecessarily long amount of time explaining the new Prefect partnering system, and, once she finished, the Prefects took far too much time choosing their partners. In the end, Regulus went around shoving Prefects together and declaring the whole enterprise finished, much to the irritation of a few.

Once the partners were taken care of and the Prefects were assigned their patrols for the day, Bannerjee pulled Regulus aside to discuss the full rota for the spring. Regulus drew up a loose plan in a matter of minutes, feeling this was enough of a guideline to show Dumbledore later, but Bannerjee insisted they agonize over every last detail for what felt like hours.

As it turned out, it was hours.

By the time they were finished, the sun was beginning to set. Regulus finished his own patrol speedily—docking a few points from some rowdy students in the hallway—and began to search for Grace. He barely made it out of the second car when he was greeted (in his view, accosted) by Slughorn and ushered into the aging professor's private compartment for a small meeting with other members of the Slug Club. Regulus spent the soirée wishing he was anywhere but here, refusing the, quite frankly, disgusting crystallized pineapple he was offered, and internally screaming every time Slughorn clapped him on the back and referred to him as m'boy.

Slughorn only set his captives free once the day turned dark and the train began to pull in. Regulus was swept by a flood of students erupting from the train, hurtling along the path that led to the magically-drawn carriages. Regulus followed at a fast pace, searching through the crowd for that familiar head of wild dark hair, that gleaming pair of golden eyes.

He caught sight of Grace at the same moment he saw the line of white carriages. She was a few meters ahead, accompanied by a stiff-lipped Greengrass and—unfortunately—a drawling Gamp. Regulus dashed forward, intending to join her in the waiting carriage and, hopefully, save her from whatever torturously dull story Gamp was in the middle of telling. But he was a moment too late. The carriage rolled away just as he approached the queue.

He waited for the next one.

Luckily, it was swiftly boarded by three other students—a gaggle of fifth-year girls who kept shooting him strange looks the entire ride—and took off. They arrived at the castle just a few minutes after Grace's did, and Regulus managed to find Grace just as he passed through the gates. The large double doors of Hogwarts were thrust open. The light of the castle spilled into the night, drawing students in. Regulus made it to Grace's side just as they passed inside.

"I'm sorry," he burst, ushering her a little away from Greengrass and Gamp, letting the swell of incoming students eclipse them from sight. "I didn't realize my patrols would be longer, and then Slughorn wanted—"

"It's okay, I figured something happened."

But she still seemed troubled—brows drawn, lips thinned and curved into a deep frown. Regulus racked his brain, trying to come up with an apology that didn't sound like a pathetic pile of excuses. He followed alongside Grace quietly, the torchlight flickering over them, students milling all around them. The farther along they went, the more uneasy Grace became—and it became abundantly clear to Regulus that her mood had nothing to do with him but with all the students that surrounded them. As they parted through the crowd, Regulus realized that there were a few clusters of students staring at Grace, pointing at her and turning back to whisper rapidly to their friends.

"What's…?" Regulus began in confusion, whirling around.

"Don't look," Grace hissed.

"What?"

"Don't look at them."

"What's going on?"

She kept her eyes—hard and sharp—on the floor. There was a storm brewing in her voice. "They all read the article, too."

Regulus's stomach dropped to his toes. "You mean…the one I chucked out the window?"

"Yeah." She struggled with something for a moment. "This happened on the train, too. There have been some rumors spreading, according to Gamp. It's a pile of steaming rubbish, of course, but…"

"But?"

She didn't finish, preferring to continue staring at the stone of the floor like her greatest desire was to set it ablaze with her eyes. Regulus's gaze skimmed over her worriedly. Grace sometimes pretended she didn't care about what others thought, but the awful truth was that she did. She absolutely did. She cared about what her brother thought, even if it was all nonsense, even if what he said was said with nothing more than the intention to hurt. She cared about what her friends thought, especially when it was in relation to her, especially when it was about her pranks or her talent or even as something as mundane or fleeting as a joke she made that morning. She cared about what students had thought of her last year, when news of her magi-neurological disease had come out. She cared so much she couldn't help but hear what people had to say about her, no matter how pitying or disgusted or mean-spirited they were.

Regulus didn't want to have her go through all this again, especially when it was really all for him. After all, that nasty article would have never come out if it wasn't for their plan. Guilt rolled into Regulus like a rockslide. He reached down to take Grace's hand and gave it a light squeeze, trying to stave off his own tornado of emotion as well as hers.

"It'll blow over," he promised. He would make sure of it—somehow, some way. "It always does."

"Yeah," she said but didn't seem very comforted by the thought. She wriggled out of his grasp. "I've got to go to Ophelia. I'll see you later—tomorrow, I guess."

They parted as they reached the entranceway. Grace went off towards the end of the Slytherin table, swiftly followed by a cool-headed Ophelia Greengrass. As Regulus passed through the throng of students, he saw a particularly vicious Ravenclaw eye Grace and whisper to her friends, "I heard she was waiting for her parents to croak, just so she could get the inheritance. As soon as they were in the dirt, she revealed her true colors."

Regulus caught a glimpse of the Prefect badge stuck to her chest. Mira Finchley, he recalled from the meeting. He filed the name away, deciding to switch her over to the much dreaded weekend patrols once he got the chance, and seated himself at the front of the Slytherin table. He was quickly joined by the usual crowd: the Rosiers, Yaxley, Snyde and his younger brother, and a few others. Pleasantries flew over the table. Regulus barely heard the surrounding chatter; he was filled with so much irritation and anxiety, he found he couldn't focus on anything but the dismal situation he and Grace had found themselves in. (He briefly wondered if the Black vaults contained enough money to buy The Daily Prophet. Once he owned it, he could personally fire Rita Skeeter and make certain she never finds employment ever again.)

He glanced down at the other end of the table, where Grace was sitting opposite Greengrass. The distance wasn't more than a few meters, but it might as well have felt like miles. Regulus felt the separation slip his heart, splitting it far and wide. It was for the best. He knew that. He knew that Greengrass and others might find it suspicious if Grace suddenly began sitting with him at the other end of the table. He knew that Dumbledore might be keeping an eye on Grace—either at the behest of James or out of simple curiosity. He knew all this, but it still hurt. His heart still ached.

His thoughts ran wild and rampant in his head. He jumped from worry for Grace to worry for himself, fear of You-Know-Who to fear of Dumbledore. The hour passed by in a daze of anxiety. Regulus hardly realized he'd finished his food until the tines of his fork hit an empty plate. He stared down at the clean porcelain, the faint ghost of his reflection staring back at him, and realized he didn't feel the slightest bit full. He felt hollow.

Crowds of students poured out of the Great Hall, heading to their respective common rooms. Regulus rose with the others—the yawning Rosiers, Snyde snickering with his brother and pointing discreetly at Yaxley—and walked alongside them, leaden and flat, not quite registering each footfall. They separated somewhere along the way, the Slytherins heading down, Regulus going up, feet trudging on, step after step, relentless. The echoes carried through the deserted hallway. They sounded empty, too.

He reached the Headmaster's Office far too quickly for his liking. Bannerjee, of course, was already there, chatting animatedly with Dumbledore. Regulus quickly checked the strength of his mental shield before crossing the threshold and stepping inside.

"Ah, Mr. Black," Dumbledore greeted, blue eyes sparkling behind his half-moon spectacles. There was a small, kind smile nestled above his beard.

"Hello, sir," Regulus said softly, keeping his voice low so the undercurrent of nervousness would be less obvious. He took a seat beside Bannerjee. "How are you?"

"Rather well, all things considered," he said cheerily. "And you?"

"I'm good," he said, feeling as though he might puke any moment now.

He tore his eyes away from Dumbledore's strangely serene form, focusing on the edge of his desk, the glint of the wood as the flame of the hearth struck it. Bannerjee started to introduce the new rota they had come up with after the Prefect meeting on the train, listing out the partners the Prefects had chosen for themselves and the slots they had decided to assign those Prefects for the spring term. Dumbledore nodded along politely, adding his two cents now and again, about whether or not they were certain they wanted to have Hufflepuffs patrol the towers instead of the lower levels, closer to their common room, and other mundane things. As the conversation flew by seamlessly, Regulus found his anxiety ease and abate. He threw in the occasional 'yes, sir' and 'of course' when he needed, but other than that, he refrained from bringing any sort of attention to himself. While Dumbledore didn't seem like he was particularly suspicious of Regulus, this could all be part of some large plan the old wizard had concocted. Perhaps he intended to throw Regulus off-kilter by acting so warm and kind?

But as the hour passed and Dumbledore ended the meeting by offering the duo some lemon drops, Regulus found himself doubting his suspicions about the Headmaster. An overwhelming calm radiated from Dumbledore, and Regulus could not help but wonder if he couldn't just hang around after Bannerjee left and simply tell Dumbledore everything—about the Mark stamped into his left wrist, about the other Death Eaters in Hogwarts, and about the risky plan he and Grace had concocted. Regulus knew he might come across as completely criminal, seeing as his parents were longtime proponents of blood purity and his cousin was a notorious follower of You-Know-Who—but surely Dumbledore wouldn't hold his family against him, right?

Bannerjee descended the stairs. Regulus skirted by the entrance of the office, thoughts swirling like a hurricane.

"Is there something on your mind, Mr. Black?"

Regulus's head snapped up. Dumbledore's blue eyes—deep and imploring—searched his. There was something unsettling about that gaze. It washed over Regulus like an ocean wave rearing over the water before crashing down. Vast and endless, like the old wizard was ready to swallow him whole. Regulus opened his mouth but found he could not say anything related to his current predicament. He wanted to trust Dumbledore. He wanted it so very badly—to shed the Mark that had been blistered into his skin, to give his eyes and ears and mouth to another cause, to hand off his entire life to somebody—but he couldn't. He didn't know Dumbledore. He didn't know how far Dumbledore's kindness might stretch. Regulus had been a Death Eater for many months now. Suppose Dumbledore didn't believe he wanted to turn sides? Suppose he didn't even want Regulus?

No, it had to be James. It had to be James, because if there was one thing Regulus knew about James Potter, it was this: he loved his sister. It did not matter if the Order was desperate for a spy or if they already had twenty: if Grace told James she was a Death Eater and wanted out, there was no tree he would uproot and no rock he would upturn to help her defect to the Order.

Regulus looked away from Dumbledore and scrambled for some excuse. "Er—no, I was just… I was just wondering… What happened to Cresswell? Is he okay?"

Surprise flitted through Dumbledore. He leaned away from his desk and steepled his fingers together. "I assure you Mr. Cresswell is perfectly fine. He—and many others—went into hiding in lieu of returning to Hogwarts. I'm sure you understand why."

Regulus nodded jerkily, only half-hearing the words. "I see. I—I'll be off now."

Dumbledore studied him for a moment. "Is that all you wanted to know? Are you sure there isn't anything else you want to say?"

I'm a Death Eater, but I never wanted to be one. I want this to be over. When will it be over?

"No, sir. Nothing at all."

---

"GET UP, YOU LAZY LOUT!"

Regulus shot out of his bed, heart hammering. He reached out to the bedside table, scrambling wildly for his wand. When his hand found the hilt, he caught sight of Renard, the Slytherin Quidditch Captain, dim and shadowed under the weak light that filtered through the drapes. The burly, copper-haired boy hovered at the end of Regulus's bed, an absolutely garish grin plastered to his face.

"Feeeeeeeelix," Rosier groaned from the next bed over. "Whyyyy?"

"Shut up, Magnus."

"Go awaaaaay." A pillow was lobbed from Rosier's bed. It landed a foot short of Renard.

"This is why you didn't make the team," Renard scoffed.

"Waz happenin'?" Gamp's sleepy voice floated over from the last bed.

Regulus propped himself up and rubbed at his eyes. He turned to look at the peek in the curtains. From what he could see, the sun was still rising. Confusion flooded his mind. What in Merlin's name was going on? He looked up at Renard and said, with the utmost eloquence, "Huh?"

"What?" Renard said, as though it were perfectly normal for him to barge into the seventh-year boy's dormitory like this. "You thought I wouldn't take this match seriously?"

"Match…?" Regulus repeated drowsily.

"It's Slytherin versus Gryffindor in less than a month!" Renard declared. "If we lose to those gormless buffoons, I'll never live it down. I've drawn up a whole new training schedule specifically for this match, and—" he glanced at the drawn curtains, "—we're already five minutes behind!"

"Renard, if you don't shut up and get out, you won't live to see the upcoming match let alone play in it," Yaxley growled from the other side of the room.

Renard's cast an unsure glance at Yaxley's hangings. He loomed over Regulus's bed and dropped his voice to a whisper. "I'm giving you five minutes to get ready and march down to the Quidditch pitch. If you're not there in time, you won't like what happens next."

With that, Renard swept away, the emerald green of his Quidditch robes flapping behind him. Regulus stared at the spot Renard had been standing in for roughly thirty seconds, wondering what on earth he had possibly done to deserve Renard as a captain, before forcing himself up and trudging to the bathroom. He got ready—albeit somewhat messily—in record time and whizzed over to the Quidditch pitch. He arrived panting and gasping for air, as did several other members of the team.

"Merlin, Felix," Snyde groaned, unable to keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time, "it's the first day of classes."

"Do you think the Gryffindors care if it's the first day of classes? No—they don't. They will take any chance they get to obliterate us this match, and I won't allow for it. We need to be—"

"How'd you even manage to get the pitch booked?" Ludwig interrupted. Her blonde hair had been tied up messily, and she was glaring at Renard as if she'd like nothing more than to bury him alive.

"I did it before we left for holiday."

Selwyn, Ludwig's fellow Beater, stared at the captain with growing disbelief. "You're an absolute madman, you know that, right?"

Renard grinned. "Oh, you don't know the half of it."

He quickly made sure they knew the other half of it. In a matter of minutes, Renard had pulled out a long scroll of parchment which contained their training regimen for the next few weeks and the plays they would need to learn for the upcoming match. After reviewing the material, he directed his sleepy team towards the outskirts of the field, instructing them to run laps until their legs gave out. I don't care about winning the Cup, Renard declared as he ran alongside them, somehow filled with inexhaustible energy. Perhaps it was his hate that kept him going. I just don't want Gryffindor to get it.

By the time they ran through all the warm-ups, the sun had reached its zenith, coating the field in rosy pinks and warm yellows. Regulus swept into the sky on his new Nimbus model, watching with growing boredom as Renard yelled his fellow Chasers into submission. No doubt Regulus would get his fair share of shouts and scowls from Renard, but until then he might as well enjoy the moment. He swung through the sky, wringing his scarf tight against his face as the cold bit into his skin, passing over the outermost corners of the pitch, rounding the hoops at the far end, only stopping when he reached the near-empty stands.

There were always a few people at the stands during practice: usually replacements for the team or those who were thinking of trying out next year. Sometimes, players' girlfriends or boyfriends stopped by, too, because they wanted to offer support, or because their partners had asked them to, or because they were supposed to head to breakfast together after practice was over, and so on. Selwyn's girlfriend, a plain girl with a cleft chin, stopped by frequently. She was here now, along with a few of Ludwig's giggling friends. They were clumped together in the middle of the stands. Seated a few rows above them was Grace—solitary, bundled up in at least five layers, fiddling with her gloves, staring emptily into the horizon.

A spark of thrill raced through him. For the first time, Regulus was glad he was out on the field. He reared his broom forward and completed another round across the pitch, making sure to hover by the top of the stands. He looked back and found Grace's eyes—golden as the rising sun—stuck to his form. Warmth filled him. It all felt so normal, suddenly: being awoken at the crack of dawn by Renard (that twat) for Quidditch practice, running through the cold until his limbs were worn and weary, seeing Grace perched atop the stands, watching him with the same quiet enthusiasm the other players' girlfriends and boyfriends did. (Was that what she was now? His girlfriend? It sounded funny. It sounded wonderful.)

But as quickly as that sense of normalcy arrived, it fled. Regulus realized with alarming speed that it was too early in the morning, and the only reason Grace would ever be awake now is if she hadn't been able to go to sleep in the first place.

Regulus hurtled through the remainder of practice in his haste to have it end and reach Grace. He entertained Renard's insane requests, practicing spiral dives from ridiculous heights and dodging Selwyn and Ludwig's haphazardly thrown Bludgers. The grueling hour and a half of Quidditch practice ended just as breakfast in the Great Hall was halfway over.

Regulus's teammates touched their broomsticks to the ground. Wheezing and panting, sweat stains blooming across their uniforms, they dashed madly for the changing rooms. Regulus burst through the door, throwing his broomstick to some far corner of the room and shrugging his shirt off.

"Did you see Potter come out?" Snyde said, coming up beside him. He was grinning. Regulus decided he didn't like it when Snyde smiled. There was something unpleasant lurking underneath the leer. Perhaps it was the yellowish teeth. "Think she came to see me?"

Regulus quickly amended his previous thought: he didn't like it when Snyde existed. "She came because we're heading to breakfast together," he made up and turned away before the conversation could continue further.

He flung off his sweaty uniform and quickly slipped on his spare set of robes. As soon as he was adequately dressed, he raced out of the room, intending to leave Snyde far, far behind. He sprinted towards the stands, clumsily fixing up his tie, his green-and-silver scarf haphazardly wrung over his shoulders.

Grace was already waiting for him down below, hands running along the strap of her bag. She smiled at him. Dark smudges rested under her eyes. Regulus wished he could wipe them away.

"How was practice?" she asked, matching his fast stride. They began the trek away from Ludwig's cluster of friends. "Renard seemed to be in a particularly vicious mood today."

Practice had been absolutely awful, but Regulus didn't want to weigh her down with the gory details. "It was fine." He finished with his tie and looked down at her. "How'd you know I'd have practice today?"

She scoffed lightly. "How could I not? While you were having your meeting with Dumbledore, Renard got a hold of some Firewhiskey last night and kicked up a fuss in the common room. Started shouting about how the upcoming match would be the most important one of the century. An 'age-defining match,' according to him." She rolled her eyes. "He said he'd be working you lot down to the bone."

Regulus grimaced. "Well…at least he's true to his word."

"I don't understand why he's so obsessed with Quidditch all of a sudden. He didn't give a rat's tail about the match against Ravenclaw before holiday."

"It's because this one's against Gryffindor."

"Ah," she nodded in understanding.

Once they were far enough from the others, Regulus leaned closer to her and asked, "Did something happen?"

She shifted. "It's nothing, really. Just that… I went to the owlery last night. To deliver the letter I wrote to Dirk. And, well—" her voice was a shadow brushing the ground, "—the owl flew back. Almost immediately. I know it probably means that he's just gone into hiding and cast an Undetectable Charm or something, but I keep thinking… What if it's because he's…"

Dead.

The pain in her voice bit into his heart. Regulus stopped in his tracks. "He's not," he said instantly, almost promising. "I asked Dumbledore last night. He said Cresswell went into hiding. He can't be dead."

The cloudy expression on her face cleared. "He really said that?"

"Yeah. And if something really did happen, I'm sure he would have told the whole school. But he hasn't. So, Cresswell must be fine."

"Right," Grace nodded absently. She was chewing on her bottom lip. "But why'd he leave in the first place? What happened? He didn't—"

"You two aren't going off without me, are you?" a chipper voice interrupted.

Grace's lips stitched shut. Regulus turned around and found Snyde striding towards them, a new, even worse grin plastered to his face. Blue eyes lit and dancing, he joined the duo, pushing between them. His broomstick was slung over his shoulders, and he made a big show of flourishing the handle, where the words Thunderstick 1001 were neatly engraved, towards Grace.

"Heading to breakfast, right?" Snyde said, looking between them.

"Right," Regulus grumbled.

Grace frowned. "Er—yeah?"

"Then we'd better go before it ends," he declared, bounding forward. He locked eyes with Regulus. "Merlin, you'd think Renard would at least finish practice early enough so we'd get enough time to eat. Wouldn't want the team to faint from malnutrition, you know?"

"Yeah," Regulus forced out through pursed lips.

"To be honest, I don't feel too good about how Renard's going about this whole match," Snyde continued. "Gryffindor is definitely going to go full offensive. We can't exactly counter with even more offensive tactics, can we? The match is going to turn into a battle if we do. Don't get me wrong—I'd like to show those oafs their place, but not by risking my own neck." He shrugged noncommittally. "We should just cheat and get it over with. Melvin Marks is the replacement Keeper. He's in my brother's year. Apparently, he's scared of his own shadow. We could probably get him to throw the match, but we'd have to put the current Keeper out of commission first." He paused for a moment, waiting for Regulus or Grace to weigh in, but neither had anything to say. Snyde cleared his throat noisily. "Well, no matter what, I'm sure we'll beat the Gryffindors. What do you think, Potter?"

She looked at him, eyes filled with utter disinterest. "I don't particularly care."

Regulus's lips quirked into a small smile. Snyde's shoulders fell.

"Er—yeah," he backpedaled, "I suppose it doesn't seem like much considering all the other stuff we'll be getting up to."

"Right," she said dryly. Her eyes flitted to his broomstick. She raised a brow. "Why're you lugging that thing around? Shouldn't you leave it in the shed?"

Snyde passed the broom to his other hand, brandishing it proudly. "Oh, you know," he said grandly, "can't just leave a broom like this cooped up in a shed."

"Why? It hasn't got feelings, has it?"

Regulus stifled his laugh with a hasty cough.

"Well," Snyde sniffed, "it's meant to be seen, I mean. Cost nearly five hundred Galleons. I can't just leave it in some dusty old shed. And you know Filch comes by to clean—whenever he decides to get off his arse to do the job, of course." His expression morphed into one of distaste. "What if he took it? A Squib like that's probably never laid eyes on something as nice as this. He'd steal it in a heartbeat. You know, Selwyn once left his shin guards in there overnight, and…"

He broke into a story about how they'd disappeared the following morning and how he was almost positive Filch had taken them. Why Filch would bother with a Beater's shin guards was beyond Regulus.

Grace let Snyde ramble on and on, lingering behind as he surged forward with the strength of his story. Regulus kept in pace with her. He glanced down and furrowed his brows when he saw she was fiddling with her left sleeve. Her right hand rose and pressed against her left forearm, and although Regulus couldn't see through the fabric, he knew that was where the Dark Mark had been branded into her skin.

"What's wrong?" he asked, voice hushed.

Her hand froze. "It feels weird," she murmured. She moved her hand down. Her fingers played with the hem of the sleeve. "Like an itch…"

Regulus caught her hand with his own before she could scratch it. "You can't," he said softly, gently interlacing their fingers together and drawing her right hand away from the left. If she touched the Dark Mark for just a moment too long, then he would be notified.

"It just doesn't feel right," she said again, helpless and desperate.

Regulus's heart constricted. He knew what she meant. He had felt it, too, in the weeks following his initiation. His left forearm seemed heavier than his right, as though it was weighed down by the dark ink stamped into it. Sometimes, it didn't seem to be a part of his body, as if the appendage were cut off from him, someone else's arm, someone else's Mark. Sometimes, it burned, a sear against skin, blistering. Sometimes, like Grace said, it was an itch he simply couldn't scratch.

There was nothing they could do about it. The feeling came and went. All Regulus could do was keep her hand in his and hope to never let go.

---

Two weeks went by in a haze of assignments, Quidditch practice, and Head Boy duties. With N.E.W.T.s coming up, professors were piling on so much work that Regulus barely had a moment to himself. He made a semi-permanent home out of a hidden table in the library, leaving nearly all his belongings—books, half-finished essays, worn-down quills and inkpots, spare scarves and gloves—there while he was in class or in the Great Hall for a quick meal. He was running around the castle so often that this system was much more preferable to packing and carrying all his items every other hour or so. Every day was spent waking up at an ungodly hour for Quidditch practice, running laps and completing exercises until his limbs were strained and sore, dashing off for a quick nibble and then heading to class, and then another class, and yet another class—until it was time to attend some meeting with Bannerjee or Dumbledore or Slughorn. Each day was spent running in circles. Each day was an imitation of the last—except for the day Regulus received a letter from Narcissa.

After dinner, he gathered the other Death Eaters and ferried them up to the seventh year boy's dormitory. Gamp and Wilkinson were asked (read: threatened) to avoid the room for the next few hours as Regulus discussed the contents of the letter with the others.

"There's to be a meeting with the Dark Lord at the start of February," Regulus announced, flattening the letter on the end of his bed, where he was sitting cross-legged. Grace was at the head of his bed, back flat against his mound of pillows, drawn into herself. The others were dotted around them, Rosier and Yaxley lounging on their own beds, Snyde sprawled on the floor, Gibbon standing woodenly by the entrance. "We're expected to attend."

Gibbon raised a brow. "That's it? That's all the letter says?"

Regulus nodded, but apparently this wasn't enough for the Ravenclaw. He swooped forward and picked up the letter from Regulus's bed. His eyes flew over the penned words swiftly, and he frowned once he reached the end.

"This just says you're supposed to send a birthday present for someone named Lucius on the fifth!"

A weary sigh escaped Regulus.

"We always get meeting dates like that," Rosier explained from his perch. "You can hardly expect his cousin to write to us and say, 'Oh, the Dark Lord is expecting you round for tea and biscuits at noon tomorrow.'" Snyde snorted. "If it's intercepted, we'll be thrown in Azkaban before the day's up."

"But what if this really is about you sending a birthday present—"

"It's not," Regulus snapped, snatching the letter back. "Lucius's birthday is in November, not February. Instead of debating the validity of the letter, can we move on to the obvious problem: how are we getting out of the castle on the fifth?"

"According to Yaxley, we can just walk out," Snyde drawled.

Yaxley flung a dirty sock Snyde's way. The younger boy deftly rolled out of the way.

"No luck with secret passages, right?" Rosier asked, ignoring the scuffle.

Snyde shot Yaxley a dark glare before returning to the conversation. "I asked around," he told Rosier, "but the common one is the Honeydukes tunnel. There are rumors of another passage on the fifth floor, but no one knows where it is."

"We could try searching for it…?" Rosier began unsurely.

"Who knows how long that'll take?" Grace countered immediately, leaning forward. She was adamant to keep the knowledge of other secret passages, well, secret. "We should have another way out of the castle in case we never find another passage."

"Are you sure the Honeydukes tunnel can't be unsealed?" Gibbon threw in.

"We're sure," all five of them chorused.

Gibbon deflated. "Fine."

"I think we should just walk out. It'll be dark, and if we cast Disillusionment Charms, no one will notice us," Yaxley said.

"And walk all that way to Hogsmeade to Apparate?" Rosier said, appalled at the prospect. "I won't do that again."

"Oh, we have to Apparate?" Snyde asked hesitantly. "I haven't taken the test yet. It's in April."

"What did you think we'd do? Fly all the way to Malfoy Manor?" Yaxley sneered.

Gibbon's brows rose. "That's not too bad an idea."

"What isn't?" Rosier said.

"Flying."

"We can't do that," Regulus said, frowning. "The manor is too far away to fly to. We'd have to start at daybreak to reach it in time."

"No, I mean flying to Hogsmeade. We can store our broomsticks somewhere, and Apparate from there."

Rosier beamed. "Brilliant! And then we won't have to walk—"

"How is it you're on board for this but not my walking out idea?" Yaxley demanded. "There's a much higher chance of being caught if we'll be flying out of the castle. Any idiot can just look up and spot us. We can't charm the broomstick to just disappear, can we?"

"Also," Snyde interjected, "I still can't Apparate."

"You can Side-Along with someone," Rosier said dismissively. He looked to Yaxley. "Couldn't we—I dunno—get some invisibility cloaks and just wear those while we fly?"

"Invisibility cloaks?" Gibbon repeated. "Where in Merlin's name do you suppose we get our hands on six invisibility cloaks in less than a month?"

Grace perked up. "Mercer. He's got to have some."

"Oh, right!" Snyde shot up from the floor. "He definitely has some. Invisibility cloaks have been a big hit since the start of the year. Lots of students want to sneak out to Hogsmeade."

Gibbon stared at them. "And Mercer is…?"

"He runs a black market," Grace explained.

"He's my dorm-mate," Snyde said at the same time.

"Wait, hold on," Regulus interceded, trying to wrap his mind around the conversation. It didn't help that part of his thought process was still stuck on the Ancient Runes essay he had to finish tonight. "You want us to fly out of here wearing invisibility cloaks?"

"Seems fine to me," Rosier shrugged. "Surely they'll be long enough to cover the brooms—or most of the brooms. It'll be dark, so even if there's a bit sticking out, no one's bound to notice."

The idea sounded absurd, but that's not what was bothering Regulus. He looked to Grace. "Are you okay with flying? You don't—"

"You can't fly?" Snyde interrupted loudly. "Didn't you ever take first-year classes?"

"She didn't," Yaxley said before Grace could respond. "She's got her—" his lips curled with disgust, "—condition."

The corners of Snyde's lips dipped. "You mean the Seeing?"

Gibbon rolled his eyes.

Regulus's jaw clinched tight. "It's not that," he snapped, eyes narrowing at Yaxley. "She doesn't have a broomstick—and neither does Rosier."

"So, what?" Snyde shrugged. "We can borrow from the team. There'll be enough." His eyes lingered on Grace. "And if Potter doesn't have experience flying, she can ride with me—"

Regulus's face, pinched with burning irritation, flew from Yaxley to Snyde.

"I'll be fine," Grace interrupted, voice harsh. Her gaze, severe and stinging, was still on Yaxley. "I can fly perfectly well."

Regulus relaxed at the words but his heated glare didn't lift from Snyde in the slightest. He made a mental note to make certain Grace took her dose of Clear-Head Concoction on the fifth.

"Alright," Rosier said, throwing fretful looks across the room. "So, it's settled. We'll just fly out on the fifth."

Snyde nodded his assent. "I'll ask Mercer for the cloaks."

"What exactly happens during these meetings?" Gibbon asked.

Rosier immediately jumped in to answer the questions, spouting off about the various tasks and missions other Death Eaters had been given and how vigilant the Dark Lord was in keeping tabs on them. As the conversation flowed and morphed into something more casual, Grace left, excusing herself in favor of finishing a Charms essay in the library.

Regulus stayed behind, if only for a few more minutes. Leaving abruptly to follow after her would be strange, he decided, and so endured Rosier's prattle for a little longer. Once Snyde and Gibbon grew bored and left, Regulus slipped out of the room. He bolted down the stairs, dashed out of the common room, and sped to the library. In the far back, behind rows and rows of bookshelves, was Grace. She was settled at the partially hidden table Regulus usually camped out at between classes. Laid out in front of her was a half-filled scroll of parchment and nearly a dozen textbooks.

Regulus took the seat beside her and pulled his own books and scrolls—leftover from when he was working before dinner—closer to him. He rolled his quill between his fingers but found himself unable to write. He glanced at Grace unsurely.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She was gnawing at her bottom lip, eyes flying through an open book about non-verbal spells. "Yeah," she said absently. "You?"

"Yeah." His eyes didn't lift from her form. "When I mentioned the flying, I didn't mean to—"

"I know." She sighed and set the book down. Her head lifted towards him. "They're just pricks."

"Yeah." He thought back to Snyde, and an instant dislike swelled within him. Just the mere thought of the sixth-year left a bitter taste in Regulus's mouth. "They are."

She hummed in agreement, turning back to her essay. Regulus dipped his quill in its inkpot and set to carefully translating the runes he had been assigned. As the minutes ticked by and he fell into the rhythm of the runes, he found his mind wandering. His thoughts turned to Narcissa's letter and the upcoming meeting. What was so important that it was required they attend in the middle of term? It couldn't be that You-Know-Who was planning on assigning them some great, critical task or anything like that. After all, what in Merlin's name could a couple of seventh-years accomplish while under the watchful eye of Albus Dumbledore? If anything, the meeting was simply a way for You-Know-Who to check-in and assert control over his youngest followers. That and, perhaps, make use of Grace's Seeing.

"Why're you staring at me?"

Regulus startled. His eyes were stuck to Grace's profile, tracing the tumble of her dark hair, the furrow between her brows and the wrinkle of her nose as she worked through her essay. He hadn't realized he'd turned to look at her.

"We should meet later, when we have the chance," Regulus said softly. "We need to figure out what to do about your Seeing."

Her grip tightened around her quill. "Okay. Later."

Regulus could see the weight of the task crushing into Grace. It was an enormous thing to ask of her—to See without Seeing—but it had to be done. They had to fool You-Know-Who. But they didn't know how. The books in the library about Divination proved useless when it came to inducing visions, and Vablatsky's journal was simply filled with warnings about what would happen if Grace ever did See. Regulus had shown Grace his translations of these sections of the journal: Vablatsky had described a 'madness of the mind' that would slowly overtake Grace if she ever forced open her Inner Eye. So, they had agreed to keep it closed, just like Vablatsky wanted. But if that was the case, how could Grace ever convince You-Know-Who she could See?

It was an impossible riddle, one Regulus wished desperately they could receive help with. It was just the two of them out here, huddled away in the library. They could only do so much between classes and other priorities. They could only devote so much time. They could only give up so much sleep.

Regulus's hand stilled over his parchment. "What if," he tried hesitantly, "we went to your brother now?"

Grace dropped her quill and turned fully to him. "We can't," she insisted. "We don't have anything to give him. I've got to have something under my belt before we go to him—some secret or plan that's so important he won't have any choice but to let me spy. That's the only way he'd let me in the first place. If I haven't got anything and go to him, he'll say I can't do it. He'll—I dunno—he'll say something." She frowned tightly, upset with James or herself or with the constraints of the plan—Regulus couldn't tell exactly what it was, just that there was some dimension to this whole thing that was bothering her.

She was approaching this in the Slytherin way: to get James to agree to the plan and invite them into the Order, they needed to show James they were capable. They needed to give him some piece of information. But Regulus didn't feel like this applied here, not with James. He didn't think James would need a reason when it came to Grace.

"I don't know. I can't think straight right now," she continued. She rubbed her hand across her face, trying to wipe away the weariness. "Can we talk about it later? I'm tired."

She turned back to her essay, and Regulus could feel that distance again, spreading out between them like an earthquake splitting the ground, except it seemed a thousand times worse than the distance he felt during classes or meals. It was a distance that wasn't physical in the slightest. They were right next to one another, but Regulus had never felt further apart. It had only been two weeks, but that had been enough. That had been enough for Regulus to lose touch. He didn't know what she was losing sleep over. It might not have had anything to do with the plan at all. It could be that she was simply overworked from classes or that Slughorn had been giving her trouble again or (Regulus's stomach tightened at the prospect) it could be her condition that was bothering her. They hadn't sat down and had a proper chat in what felt like eons.

"Do you want to have dinner tomorrow night?" he asked, hoping this would fix it. Hoping beyond hope that tonight would be enough, because—between patrols and Prefect meetings—he did not know how many tonights he could devote to her.

She turned to him with surprise. "What?"

"Dinner," he repeated. "We don't have to discuss the plan. We can just talk. Tomorrow night. In the kitchens. Just us."

A wan smile flickered across her face. "Just us and about a hundred house-elves, you mean."

His heart thrummed with warmth. He inched closer. "Do you think we should get a hundred more?"

She snorted and closed the remaining distance between them, leaving her chair in favor of burying her face into his chest and winding her arms around his neck. "I miss you," she let out.

"I miss you." His hand ran through her hair. "So, that's a yes, then? Dinner tomorrow?"

"Yaxley and Rosier will wonder where you've gone."

"If they ask, I'll tell them I had to finish an essay."

She lifted her head to look at him. "Are you sure?" she questioned. "Because if we do this tomorrow and it's nice, I'll want to do it every other week."

And Regulus would let her. He'd let her have him every day if he could. His hand lifted from the back of her head and lingered against the curve of her cheek. He drew her up to him and pressed a tender kiss against her lips. She looked up at him, eyes bright and lovely as molten gold. Her hands flew up to cradle his face. Regulus felt her fingers thread their way into his dark hair.

"I'm sure," he said softly.

She melted into him. "Okay," she smiled. "I'll see you then. Don't forget to bring the extra hundred house-elves."

---

The rooms loomed overhead, large and never-ending. The blacks and greys of their depths stretched on and on. Regulus rounded the walls. He was not sure where he was going, if he even needed to be somewhere, just that he ought to be going. Moving. He knew somehow, by instinct or lesson, that if he didn't go, something awful would happen. If he did not travel between these rooms, if he did not step from shadow to shadow, if he stopped and stilled—he would never move again.

So, he kept going. Feet trudging onward. Room after room. Black and grey. Hallways twisting and rearranging. The hollows of Grimmauld Place melted and reformed into the endless, winding floors of Malfoy Manor. The silver frames of high-hung portraits flashed over him. Regulus didn't stop to look at them. He kept walking. Past the parlor, past the lounge, past the dining hall. He looped through the entire manor until the only place left untouched and unvisited was a long, narrow corridor leading down to a door. It was open just a crack. Light streamed through the sliver in the doorway, spilling onto the floor.

It was the exit.

Regulus brightened. He walked faster, steps quick and hurried—jogging at first, then running, then reaching. Hands out, the shadows of the hallway looming ever closer, the walls closing in, the door still so far away. Somehow, impossibly, infuriatingly still so far away.

If he was just a bit quicker. If he could just—

"Black!"

The weak light of dawn filtered through the half-shut curtains of the boy's dormitory. Regulus shot awake, back straight and rigid, heart racing. There was a cold sweat stuck to his forehead. He turned to the source of the shout in something of a haze.

It was Renard, arms crossed over his chest unhappily. "Black!" he said again disapprovingly. "Everyone's already down at the pitch. Did you forget?"

"Forget?" Regulus croaked, half-feeling like he was still in his dream. (Was that a dream? It was fleeting fast. He could only remember the large rooms and shadows pressing down on him like cinderblocks, but he knew it wasn't quite a dream. It was a nightmare, but he didn't know why he had been so frightened during it. It had only been a door.)

"I told you yesterday," Renard sighed. "Gryffindor had the pitch booked for Fridays at this time, but I managed to convince Hooch to give us their slot and bump them down to the evening instead. That way we get the daylight."

Regulus vaguely remembered this. "Oh. Er—right," he began, scrambling out of bed. He reached for some robes. "I'll be down there in ten."

"Good. And when you get there, you can do a lap for every minute you were late."

And he did. He ran around the pitch until his legs felt weak and wobbly as jelly. Then, he climbed onto his broom and tore through the air in relentless spirals and dives until his head was spinning from the force of it. By the time practice ended, Regulus's body was so sore and sleep-deprived, he hardly knew where he was walking. Somehow, amongst the many hallways of the castle, he caught sight of Rosier, whom he shared nearly all his classes with.

Regulus drew himself together and followed after the brown-haired boy. He passed by door after door, all the same in appearance, in the slant of the wood, in the size of the frame, all the same in that none were the door Regulus was looking for. He dragged his feet on, marching, following. Rosier disappeared into a door at the end of the corridor. Regulus went inside only a moment later.

It was Transfiguration. McGonagall was ruffling through some scrolls of parchment by her desk, waiting for class to begin. Regulus's gaze spun over the class. There was Rosier, of course, lounging at a desk in the middle of the class. There was Gudgeon, goofing off near the back with a few of his friends. And then, in the very corner, there was Grace—hunched over her table, hands closed tightly, frowning heavily. But she might as well have been beaming, because that's how Regulus saw her: a beacon of light in the dim classroom, the only good thing left in the world.

His feet brought her to him before his brain could tell them to. He collapsed into the seat next to her and began to pull out A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration.

Grace stared at him, alarmed. "Regulus," she hissed.

"Yes?" The word fell from his mouth like sap being leeched from a tree—slow, dreary. He barely heard the word leave him.

"You're not supposed to sit here."

His brows knitted together. "What?"

He looked up, first at Grace, whose hands were wrung into each other, and then at the front of the classroom, where Ophelia Greengrass was making her way in. The auburn-haired girl strolled inside, bag slung leisurely over her shoulder. She made it halfway towards Grace's table before stopping mid-stride and frowning tightly.

Because she was supposed to be sitting with Grace. Because they had been sitting together since the start of the year. Because Regulus had become a Death Eater and stopped partnering with Grace.

The reality of the situation hit him violently, and he nearly fell out of his chair. "Oh, Merlin, Grace," he said frantically. Greengrass didn't know they had made up. Greengrass thought Regulus was becoming a Death Eater and Grace was trying to stop him. If he and Grace were suddenly sitting together but there was no indication that he had been 'saved,' then Greengrass would start thinking… "I didn't realize. I'm sorry. I—I forgot—"

Grace swallowed thickly, tearing her eyes away from Greengrass, who wordlessly moved on to a different table. "It's okay. If she asks, I'll make something up," she said, but she sounded so tired, too.

Guilt crushed Regulus like a boulder. He should have been paying more attention. He should have gotten more sleep. He should have finished his work faster so he could have gone to bed earlier. He should have—

"Are you okay?" Grace asked after a moment, eyeing him.

Regulus tried to swallow down his anxiety. He refused to meet her gaze, keeping his eyes fixed steadily on McGonagall. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

Her voice was filled with such warmth and care that, for a moment, Regulus wanted to do nothing more than fall into it. But to fall would mean to stop, and there could be no stopping. There wasn't a moment to rest, and, besides, he didn't want to worry Grace with pointless nightmares or Quidditch stress. What did any of that matter next to their plan? What did that matter next to his mistake?

"I'm sure," he said quietly.

She gave a small nod and looked away, glancing back at Greengrass, who was sitting three tables over. Regulus hoped he could make this up to her.

"A—are we still on for dinner tonight?" he asked.

"I can't," she said, voice low and sorry. "I have detention."

Concern bloomed within him. "Detention? How?"

Her lips pursed. She looked away from him. "Jenkins was saying something."

She didn't have to say anything more. Regulus knew this was because of the rumors that had begun at the start of term. Although most students were now occupied with other news—mostly the latest Death Eater attacks—there were a few who still stopped in the hallway to sneer at Grace. Jenkins was likely one of them. Jenkins was also likely in the Hospital Wing now.

"I'm sure he deserved it," Regulus said lightly.

"He did."

"Do you want to try for tomorrow night?"

"For dinner?"

"Yeah."

Her eyes flickered up to meet his. Dark circles were rung underneath. It had been so long since Regulus had seen Grace well-rested that they didn't even seem out of place anymore. "Don't you have patrol tomorrow?"

He blinked in surprise. "No, I don't. It's Wednesday today."

"Regulus, it's Thursday."

How could that be? He tried to recall each day of the week, but it was a blur of memory, a daze of tossing and turning in bed, being abruptly woken up, running through the bitter cold, running down stairs and through hallways, running his hand across paper, running his mind over problems, running and running and running…

"Oh," he said faintly.

---

Nights became longer than days. Nightmares kept Regulus up so often that he soon found himself waiting out the night, staring up at the deep emerald of his hangings, waiting for the minutes to pass, for the sun to rise, for another day of running to begin.

He proved to be immeasurably patient. Soon, it was the end of the month and the day of the Slytherin-Gryffindor match. Haggard and uncaring, Regulus staggered onto the field, following the procession of his teammates. The Slytherin stands up above roared with approval as the team came into view. They were quickly drowned out by a volley of boos issuing from the other stands.

"—and Seeker Regulus Black!" Ewan Finchley finished.

Regulus's eyes swung up to the commentator's booth. He frowned as he caught sight of Finchley's silhouette against the glass. He harbored an intense dislike for the commentator simply because he was the younger brother of Mira Finchley, who, as far as Regulus knew, was singlehandedly responsible for spreading at least three different rumors about Grace's 'burning hate' for her parents.

"The captains are shaking their hands—and, apparently, locked in a staring contest," Finchley rattled off.

Regulus looked over to the center of the field where, indeed, Renard and Halloway were staring at each other fiercely, eyes wide and unrelenting. They refused to part for several seconds, each apparently waiting for the other to back out first. It was only after Hooch gave a warning blow of her whistle that the two separated and returned to their respective teams, but not without glaring darkly at the other first.

Regulus mounted his brooms as his teammates did. Hovering over the ground, he waited until Hooch blew her whistle before shooting off into the air. He searched the air for the Gryffindor Seeker, a fourth-year girl by the name of Mia Kao, and found her fluttering far above the Gryffindor hoops, already scanning the field for the Snitch. Regulus settled himself near the center of the pitch but far above the action.

"—Renko has got the Quaffle!" Finchley announced. "Renko goes straight for the goal. Gryffindor Chasers Halloway and Henderson are right on his tail, angling to catch the Quaffle as he tosses it. Gryffindor Beater Wilson shoots a well-aimed Bludger Renko's way just as he reaches the Gryffindor goals, but—oh! Slytherin Beater Selwyn dives forward and knocks the Bludger away before it can hit his teammate!"

Slytherins cheered with reckless abandon. Gryffindors protested the save. Regulus wondered if he might have been able to get out of his match by feigning sick.

"Renko shoots but—oh, this is a shock!—he aims too far left and Gryffindor Seeker Kao swoops forward and bats it away. That's right, folks—the Seeker batted it away while Gryffindor's Keeper continues to guard the rightmost hoops."

Regulus frowned from his perch. He leaned forward hesitantly, watching the Gryffindor side of the pitch with confusion. Something wasn't quite right.

Evidently, Ludwig and Selwyn thought the same. They raced through the field and began to knock Bludgers in Kao's direction, hoping to drive her away from the Gryffindor's goals and prevent her from helping the Keeper. This only served to anger Gryffindor's Beaters, who were now intercepting Selwyn and Ludwig's throws and re-routing them towards Regulus.

He dropped down a meter in the air as a Bludger whistled past him. Another was, thankfully, blocked by a harried Selwyn.

"While Slytherin Chaser Renard attempts to keep the Quaffle away from the Gryffindor Chasers, the Slytherin and Gryffindor Beaters are now engaged in a battle to see who can knock the other team's Seeker out of the sky first. Quite an interesting—perhaps even risky—game plan if I say so myself."

Regulus rolled back on his broom as he narrowly avoided yet another Bludger. Selwyn came back to his rescue, looping around to slam the Bludger away yet again. It barely made it a meter before one of the Gryffindor Beaters, Eric Bones, hit it back, this time aiming for Selwyn.

It was too close to stop with his bat, so Selwyn was forced to do a barrel roll and avoid the path of the Bludger. He righted himself on his broom and faced Bones angrily. "WHAT THE FUCK'S WRONG WITH YOU?" he shouted.

Bones's lips were twisted into a scowl. "WHAT THE FUCK'S WRONG WITH YOU?"

"WHAT?!"

Regulus decided to use this moment to fly away from the zooming Bludgers. Just as he reared his broom forward, he saw Bones throw down his bat. It tumbled down to the ground. Regulus stopped mid-motion, absolutely baffled by the absurdity of the match.

Selwyn was, too. "WHAT'RE YOU—"

Bones thrust one gloved hand into the depths of his robes and pulled out his wand. He lunged forward, swiping his wand through the air. A jet of orange light flew from the other end. Selwyn dove out of the way. The spell hit the middle ring of the Slytherin hoops, setting it aflame.

Selwyn's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "WHAT THE—"

"THAT'S FOR KILLING MY MUM AND DAD!" Bones roared, raising his wand once more.

Realization hit Regulus. Nearly all of Bones's family had been wiped out during the summer in a Death Eater raid. In a frenzy, Regulus urged his broom forward, trying to put as much distance between himself and Bones as possible. There was no telling what he might do next.

"Holy mackerel!" Finchley shouted from the booth. "It seems the Slytherin and Gryffindor Beaters are now dueling in mid-air. The captains are joining the fray now, hopefully to talk some sense into—no, nope, they're joining the duel, too, it turns out."

Hooch blew her whistle, the shrill sound ricocheting through the field. Regulus brought his broom to a halt, hovering far above the stadium, but no other player did. The Slytherins, incensed by the gall to attack one of their own, were now fanning out over the field, trying to trap the Gryffindor players. Jets of light flew between the two teams. Renard was screaming at Halloway. The Quaffle lay down in the field below, stuck in the dirt and long-forgotten.

Hooch flew up into the middle of the fight, waving her arms wildly, trying to stop the duel from escalating—but it was already too late. Hexes and jinxes were flying over the field. Regulus maneuvered himself out of the way, angling his broom away from the brewing storm. He reached into his pockets for his own wand and cast a shield charm as soon as he found it. A spell aimed his way rebounded off of it and hit Ludwig instead, causing thick ropes to appear out of thin air and trap her. She lost balance on her broom and was bucked off, hurtling towards the ground.

The stands were booing and cheering all at once. Professors were rapidly exiting their seats to help diffuse the situation. Hooch lunged forward to help Ludwig.

The remaining Slytherins roared in fury and shot their own mix of curses at the Gryffindors. The field was awash in magic. Sparks and flashes of light flooded the sky. Gryffindors and Slytherins alike were knocked from the sky by rebound spells. Regulus ducked through the onslaught, trying to keep out of the way. He dove down, hoping to touch ground and make it to the safety of the stands. Just as he was beginning his descent, a jet of red light hit him in the back.

His body seized up. Immobile and unable to control his broom, Regulus found himself thrown off. In a matter of seconds, he was plummeting to the ground. He willed himself to move, for the Stun Spell to wear off, but it was to no avail. It did not matter how much Regulus wished and hoped. He was still falling.

---

He awoke to a deep throbbing at the base of his head. He groaned and shifted over, one hand reaching back, trying to snatch away the pain.

Another hand stopped him—smooth and gentle.

"What's…?"

"You're in the Hospital Wing."

Regulus blinked blearily and rolled over. He hefted himself up and took a look around. It was indeed the Hospital Wing: cots arranged along the walls, vials of potions floating through the air, groaning and grumbling students confined to bed. Across and around him were members of the Slytherin and Gryffindor teams alike, some guzzling down goblets of draughts, others sound asleep (or perhaps unconscious). Regulus turned to his right and saw Grace.

His heart flew into his throat.

"It's not bad," she assured him softly. "You cracked your skull when you hit the ground. Pomfrey administered a little Skele-Gro while you were unconscious."

Regulus skimmed a hand over the back of his head and hissed when he hit a tender spot.

Grace nearly shot out of her seat. "It still hurts?" she questioned. "I can get Pomfrey to—"

"No, no," he assured her instantly. He didn't want her to go. "It's fine. I'm fine."

She eyes him uneasily. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." His eyes darted across the room, tracing over the other players. "What happened? How long was I out for?"

"It's only been a few hours. It's around eight in the evening now. As for what happened…" She sighed heavily. "Dumbledore managed to stop the dueling a few minutes after you went down. We couldn't really see what was going on from the stands, but he cast something and anyone who was still on their broomstick was frozen in mid-air. He was furious. Slytherin and Gryffindor have both lost two hundred points."

Regulus couldn't give a damn about House points. "How come so many of us are in here? Other than me, I only remember Ludwig falling from her broom."

Grace grimaced. "There were other injuries. I caught sight of Halloway when he was being carried in. His whole arm was torn up. I think it might've been a dark curse…"

Bile crawled up the back of Regulus's throat. "Oh…"

They settled into an uneasy silence. Regulus felt the weight of the world pressing into him. Was this how bad it was now? They couldn't even have a Quidditch match without hurling hexes and spells each other's way?

Grace shot him a fretful glance. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I am." He didn't know how to tell her he wasn't.

She rose from her chair. "I'm going to get some draught from Pomfrey. The dose of Skele-Gro was small, but it probably still hurts."

"No, Grace, you don't have to—"

But she didn't make it out of the small alcove. As soon as she took a step forward, another face appeared in front of the gap between the curtains. Tall and unnervingly cool, Ophelia Greengrass stepped through. Grace stared up at her with something like shock, her brain trying to puzzle out why Greengrass had come here.

"O—Ophelia?" Grace choked out.

"So, you were here," Greengrass said loftily.

"What?"

"We were supposed to finish our Transfiguration essay in the library together. You didn't come. The only reason you wouldn't show is if something happened." Greengrass's eyes flickered down to Regulus. "This is the only thing that happened."

"I was just checking on Regulus," Grace tried to explain away.

Greengrass pursed her lips. "Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm a fool," she snapped.

"I—I didn't—"

"I knew something was off," Greengrass cut in. Her voice had always been sharp—needling, biting—but today it was absolutely devastating. There was something enormous stirring underneath her words, some beast that had been awoken. Her icy blue eyes flickered between Grace and Regulus. "I thought, for a moment, you two had made up. It would make sense. It's what you wanted." Her eyes landed on Grace, and she shrank under the intensity of Greengrass's glare. "You wanted to help him. But if you did that, if you accomplished your goal—why does he still sit with Yaxley and Rosier?"

Regulus could see Greengrass working through the events of the past few weeks. He didn't know what all she had seen, what she had noticed, what she had pieced together. She might have been suspicious from the start. She might have seen Snyde come up to Grace now and again. She might have seen how little Rosier and Yaxley sneered at Grace nowadays.

Greengrass's pale eyes flitted between them before landing solidly on Grace and narrowing in suspicion. She moved forward, arms darting out, and before either of them had a chance to react, her hands caught onto Grace's left arm. The sleeve was forced up and the Dark Mark—inky and coiling against Grace's golden skin—came into view. Greengrass dropped Grace's hand like it was fire. Grace rose like a whip, tugging her sleeve back down, mouth opening and closing, trying to find something to say. But what could she say?

Greengrass's face closed off; every ounce of suspicion and fear bled away. She stared at Grace, unfeeling, cold and implacable. "Traitor," she said, and then turned her back on Grace and walked away from the cot without a single glance back.

Regulus looked to Grace and saw the weight of that single word work through her. It was crushing, shattering. The lines and planes of Grace's face crumpled and fell. The worst thing a Slytherin could be, after all, was a traitor.

He searched for something comforting to tell her but came up with nothing. What could he tell her? That it wasn't true? No matter what happened, they were traitors. While they were Death Eaters, they were traitors to those who weren't. Once they became spies, they would simply be traitors to the Death Eaters. There was no escaping this brand. The only person they would not be betraying was each other.

"Grace…"

"Don't," she said, voice on the cusp of collapse. "Don't say anything."

She moved forward, and each step was hard and unrelenting. She wrapped her hands around the curtains and flung them together, shadowing the two of them. And then she turned back around, sharp and fast. Her eyes were cloudy with unshed tears. Regulus felt choked at the sight.

"I'm fine," she said, voice strained and splintering.

"You're not," he said, and his voice was wavering, too.

"But it's what we say. It's what we always say. I'm fine. Even when it's so blatantly not fine." She pressed the hilt of her palms against her eyes and bowed her head. "Why do we say that, Regulus? Why do we keep saying that?"

It hurt him to see her so distraught, like an arrow sinking deep into his heart. He had never known Grace to be so deeply unhappy. She was a ball of bright light when things went her way and a roaring flame when they didn't. She was hardly ever sad and sluggish. Regulus wished he could drink her misery into his own soul—but he already had so much of his own.

"I don't know," he admitted after a moment. "I suppose…it's so we don't worry the other."

"But we should. We should worry about each other. I want to worry about you, Regulus." She moved her hands away and turned to him. Her eyes were teary but fierce. "I want to worry about you, and I want you to worry about me. We only have each other now."

"I know, Grace. I know."

They stared at each other. An awful, stony silence ate away at his insides. He didn't know what to do or what to say. The world had just been flipped on its head. What was Greengrass going to do, knowing what she did about Grace? What was Grace going to do?

Grace lumbered back to her chair and sat down heavily. "Should I start?"

"Start what?"

"Telling you how I really feel," Grace said quietly. She didn't wait for his reaction before launching right into the thick of it: "It's only been a month, and I'm already sick of this. Not—not of you and the other you-know-whats. Not of the plan. It's…it's the rumors. They're not as present anymore, but they were in the beginning and—and I know I shouldn't care about what other students are saying about me, but I do. It hurts to hear them say I hate Mum and Dad, that I've always hated them, that I was happy when they died. It's—it's so cruel to hear." She was blinking away tears. "And I keep feeling guilty thinking about it, because it shouldn't matter—not when we've already got so much on our plate, not when we should be focusing on the plan—but I can't help it. I…I can't…"

Regulus was reaching for her hands. "You're allowed to be upset about that, Grace," he consoled quietly. His own voice was thick and choked. "It's okay if you—"

She shook her head wildly. "But it's not! It's not because I keep hearing that James must have never liked me. That he must have realized, and that's why he pulled me aside at the funeral. And—and—what if they're right? I keep having these dreams of James. I'll be going to our cottage to tell him everything, and he'll tell me he doesn't want to be a part of it, that what I'm doing is stupid, that he likes not having me in the house—" her voice was breaking but she surged on, "—that he doesn't want me to be his sister. And I just… I want to go to him now and just tell him everything and have it be done with so I don't have this stupid fucking nightmare anymore, but we don't have anything useful to give him yet so of course we can't. I just have to sit here and wait. Every day is just waking up and waiting and not having the friends I used to have and having nightmares about James leaving or You-Know-Who torturing me, and—and—nothing is fine." She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and turned her aching eyes on Regulus.

His mouth was dry. "Grace, I'm sorry—"

She shook her head. "You don't have to say anything. I just needed to say it. Tell me how you feel now."

"I—I—" He was having a hard time gathering his voice. There was so much roiling within him, some great whirlpool of emotion he had been smothering and stuffing down deep inside him for years and years now—ever since Sirius left. He didn't know what would happen once he unleashed it, but he knew Grace was right. They only had each other. They could only trust each other now. "I'm afraid," he admitted at last.

"Of what?"

"I don't know exactly… I just know that I am. I feel like something terrible is going to happen every day. I feel like something terrible does happen every day—Renard screaming me awake in the morning and Bannerjee pestering me about patrols and Dumbledore glancing at me from the teachers' table during meals and all the Runes work I've been assigned and—and—I know it's nothing to do with our plan, but it still bothers me. I wish it would all stop. I wish I could just stop, but I know I can't. I can't. I have to keep doing all of this, so I can keep doing our plan. I think—I think I'm afraid that if I stop or if I mess up, someone will get suspicious, someone will find out what we're doing, and our plan will fall apart. I'm so afraid I'm going to mess it up, Grace. I'm so afraid that our plan—" the door from his nightmares suddenly flashed in his mind, that long hallway, his hand extending and extending and never quite reaching the knob, "—will never succeed despite our best efforts."

She reached for his hand and folded it into hers. "If this plan doesn't work, we'll try another one."

"And if that one doesn't work?"

"Then we try another one. And if that one fails, we try another. We keep trying. We think and we try something new."

Regulus didn't doubt this. Between the two of them, there was always a backup plan. But when would the planning end? When would he finally be allowed to stop? He had not been offered a moment alone since Sirius left. Every day had been spent piecing back together the fragile image of the House of Black. Every day had been spent saving face: becoming heir to the family, becoming a Prefect, becoming a Death Eater. Every day had been spent for someone other than himself. Every day had been spent running and running to keep the wheel of his family moving. Regulus wanted to do nothing more than rest.

He didn't know how to tell her all this, but he didn't have to. Her gaze didn't lift from his.

"You still feel awful," she noted.

"Yeah."

"Good. Me, too."

And as soon as she said it, he realized that was all he really needed to hear. As long as he was running, Grace would be, too.

---

A/N : I hope you're all safe and well! If you're social distancing or self-isolating, I hope this chapter brought you a little entertainment. I'm also stuck indoors for the foreseeable future, so maybe I'll be pumping out more chapters? We'll see.

This was originally supposed to be from Grace's POV but I kept hitting a dead end. So, I switched over to Regulus. I hope it's not too awkward or strange to read. I've been cobbling this chapter together for a while now, so I feel like some parts read smoother than others.

As always, thank you for the follows, faves, and reviews. Please keep letting me know what you think!

Random Reader : thank you so much for all the chapter-centered reviews you left! I loved going through and reading all the little things you noticed. I'm glad that you enjoyed Flying, too! This is a fix-it story, and we'll see how Grace and Regulus end up preventing the original course of events as the story progresses (I don't want to give away any spoilers, haha). I'm so touched that you liked the "Always" scene between Grace and her dad! I have a hard time writing Sirius, because there's stuff that he's done in-character that seems so dissonant from what he says in the books; I'm chalking it up to him simply being immature or too full of himself right now, and that'll eventually be fixed. I have a mini character arc for him planned, so hopefully your feelings about him will change! I do love Sirius's character, but I'm still trying to stay true to how he thought Remus was the spy before Peter's betrayal, etc. I'm sorry those last few chapters were so emotionally heavy, but I'm also glad that you enjoyed them and found yourself immersed in the story! Onto your questions: Dirk is okay, I promise. The visions of the Death Eaters are yet to come. Voldemort didn't see them; Grace's memories surrounding the plan were so choked with love he couldn't bear to see the memory in full (we'll get more into this later). We'll find out who was tied up and more about the prophecy later! Also the "they" is almost always just Death Eaters. The visions alternate between Grace's memories and visions of what Voldemort will be doing in the future; Grace isn't present herself in any of the visions, she's just watching what Voldemort is doing with his minions (the formatting is weird on ffnet; it's more obvious on AO3 since I can right-flush text). I like how you summed up that Grace did manage to trick Voldemort in the end, but "at the same time nothing is going according to plan." That's a great way to phrase it! Thank you again for the wonderful reviews! :)

fangirling2.0 : ahh, thank you! I can't wait for James and Grace to makeup too, haha

LoveFiction2019 : thank you!

Nortia2 : thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed Grace and Reg!

Piffthemagicdragon21 : your review was so sweet! Thank you!

puppyduckster : Thank you so much for the thoughtful review! I wasn't really looking forward to writing Kreacher, but I surprisingly found myself enjoying writing him! He's such a fun little character to play with.

QueenAnarchy2.0 : PM'd you! :)