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')

14. Spoiled

Spoiled

Grace tries a two-way mirror, an owl, the Floo. Finally, she just knocks on the door.

---

They returned late in the night.

Regulus had been unceremoniously tossed to Grace after his so-called meeting with You-Know-Who came to a close. He was shaken, pale and tense, but not so bad off that he couldn't keep on his feet. Still, Grace took him in hand and Apparated back to Hogsmeade. She collected their broomsticks and led him to a passageway just a block over from Honeyduke's, uncovering a tunnel with only the sparse light of the moon to guide her.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked as they came out by the statue of Gregory the Smarmy. "We can stop by the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey won't ask questions—"

He shook his head. "No," he croaked out. "She'll know."

He wasn't wrong. Any decent Healer would recognize the lingering aches and trembles for what they were: after-effects of the Cruciatus.

"All right, do you want to head to the Room, then?"

He gave a jerky nod.

The two broomsticks were clamped between her left arm and her side. Her other arm was wound around Regulus's torso, steadily helping him climb up to the seventh floor. As soon as they made it to the blank wall opposite the tapestry, Regulus stepped aside to lean against a pillar. Grace crossed the wall three times, wishing with a sort of deranged panic for a room that Regulus could properly rest in.

A sleek door appeared. She pulled on the knob and saw a well-furnished, comfortable room. There was an enormous fireplace situated near the far back, flames fanning out from the hearth, coating the whole of the room in brilliant reds and yellows. A large and plush bed was pushed to the side, with a bedside table that held books and magazines to pass the time. There was even a small basin of water and a washcloth to freshen up.

"Here you go," Grace said, helping Regulus to the bed. "Do you still feel awful?"

He collapsed on the covers, spreading his arms and legs wide. His eyes fluttered shut. "It's not so bad. I don't feel like vomiting anymore."

Grace settled on the edge of the bed uneasily. "What about the aching? Is that still bad?"

"It's sort of like…Renard put me through fifty laps—"

She didn't believe him in the slightest. "Regulus—"

"All right, fine," he deflated. "It's more like Renard flung my body into the air and let it crash into the ground fifty times."

"Merlin, Reg—"

"I don't understand why it feels this terrible."

"What do you mean you don't understand? It's the Cruciatus, of course it feels terrible."

"You got it three times, and you made it back to the summer home by yourself," Regulus pointed out. "It was only once he did it, and I thought I was having my soul ripped out of my body until he stopped the spell—and even after he stopped it, I still felt like I was dying."

"I don't know," Grace said. "I suppose I have a high pain tolerance. I've been having seizures my whole life and—oh, wait—I took one of my draughts. That really helped. Do you think the Room can give us one?"

She looked about the Room expectantly, as though a flask of Draught of Peace would come flying through the ceiling any moment now.

It didn't.

"Well—I've got some in my room," Grace said, already easing off the end of the bed. "I'll run over and get it."

"No, wait, don't go…"

"I'll be right back."

"It doesn't hurt as much when I'm talking to you."

"That's because you're distracted. Here, read this—" she reached over him and took one of the magazines from the table, an old edition of Witch Weekly, "—and I'll get the potion and come back. You'll feel much better once you have it, I promise."

Regulus took the magazine gingerly. His lips dipped into a frown as he caught sight of the headline. "'All-Exclusive Sit-Down with Celestina Warbeck: The Spectacular Singer Tells All'—Grace, reading this would be more torturous than the Cruciatus."

"Don't joke about that," she scolded. She detangled her invisibility cloak from the two broomsticks and slid it on. "I'll be back by the time you finish that article."

"It'll take me an eternity to drag my eyes through this."

"Then I've got plenty of time," she said, slipping out the door.

She tightened the cloak around her as she sped down the stairs, hoping Mrs. Norris wasn't roaming about. James had always complained about the dratted cat's ability to sense a student nearby, even if said student was completely invisible.

Luckily, there was no cat in sight. Grace made it to the Slytherin common room in record time, wheezing from her mad dash. She shrugged off the cloak as she climbed the winding steps that led to the seventh-year girl's dormitory. She slowed her gait as she stepped into the room, careful not to make any noise that might awaken the others, and tiptoed to her trunk.

She swung open the lid and began to pull out all manner of items: spare robes, a deluxe pack of stink pellets, some crushed up pumpkin pasties. Shoved between two stacks of books—one school-related, the other accumulated from the library during her research about Divination—were her extra flasks of Draught of Peace. Grace quickly plucked one and set it on the end of her bed. She shut her trunk, but as she made to lock it, her hand wavered on the clasp. After a moment of hesitation, she lifted the lid again and dug in deep, shifting aside old books and letters, before finally finding what she was looking for. Buried at the very bottom of the trunk was a gilded two-way mirror. She would need it if they were going to contact James tonight.

She set the old thing beside the draught and closed the chest once more, clasping the lock shut and rising. Just as she grabbed the mirror and flask from her bed, one of the other bed's hangings ripped open. Grace froze over her trunk and turned her head to her left, where she saw Myrcella Rosier's head poking out through the curtains.

The two stared at one another for a moment.

"Did Magnus get back okay?" Myrcella asked at last.

Grace had last seen Rosier leaving through one of the many hallways of Malfoy Manor. Considering all the other broomsticks had been gone at Hogsmeade, she simply assumed he'd made it back to the castle—but she wasn't going to waste time just to check.

"Er—yeah…?"

Myrcella gave a stiff nod and disappeared back into her bed. Grace stared for a moment longer, wondering how much Rosier had told his sister about Death Eater activity, before shaking away the thought and closing her trunk. Potion and mirror tight in hand, she slipped on the invisibility cloak and scurried back to the Come-and-Go Room.

"Thank Merlin," Regulus breathed as soon as he saw her come through the door. He tossed the magazine aside. "Warbeck's first husband is an absolute wanker."

"Really?" Grace said. She uncorked the draught and handed it over to him before lying down beside him. "What'd he do?"

"Got with her just to advance his own career," he said between gulps. "Tried to stop her from singing so he could become more well-known. It was a mess."

"Rough."

"Yeah." He handed back the empty flask. "Although it does add some dimension to a few of her songs. I might have a newfound appreciation for her music, to be honest."

As he talked, Grace saw the potion take effect. The tension in his body fell away, and Regulus let himself fully relax into the soft mattress. He let out a breath—and with it went all the pain and turmoil of the past hour. His eyes flickered shut as he simply drank in the moment. A warmth slid over Grace. Tenderly, she raised a hand and brushed it through his hair.

"Better?"

"Yeah," he breathed. "Loads."

They stayed like that for a moment, Regulus taking deep breaths, Grace stroking his hair. But as the minutes ticked by and Regulus recovered, Grace found an awful guilt sinking into her heart. She had pushed it down earlier in the night, when her priority had been to get Regulus to Hogwarts and make him feel better. But now that Regulus was, for the most part, fine, she was confronted by the full force of that guilt.

"I'm sorry."

His eyes fluttered open. "It's not your fault."

"It is. He did that because he was upset with my performance, right? Because you're the one who convinced him I'd be helpful?"

A shadow fell over his face. "Well, yes…"

"Right. So, it's my fault—"

He caught her hand as it passed over his forehead again and brought it down, holding it against his cheek. "It's not your fault."

She wriggled her hand away and folded it tightly into her other one. "It is. I should have told him. I know what Greyback wants. He wants children—but—but I couldn't just tell him that. I couldn't just…"

"Children?" Regulus repeated.

"Yeah," Grace said numbly. "It took me a while to figure it out from the cards, but when I did, that's what it was… But I didn't tell him. I thought it was the right thing to do."

"I wouldn't have, either," Regulus said after he'd digested the information. "He's mental enough that he might've had each of us find a child to give Greyback as a tribute."

"I thought the same."

He softened. "It's fine, Grace. You made the choice you had to under the—"

"It should have been me," she said miserably. "I was the one who made the mistake."

"No." He shook his head. "I'm glad it was me and not you—"

"Reg—"

"When you came back after you were initiated, you looked half-dead, Grace. My heart stopped." He was working through some enormous emotion. His voice was wet. "And you said it was the Cruciatus—three rounds of the Cruciatus—like it was nothing. But it wasn't. It was everything. It was… Merlin, Grace, you'll burn yourself up to get what you want. I'm glad it was me and not you."

They stayed silent for a moment. The hearth hissed and crackled.

"At least it's over now," Grace said at last.

"Yeah." Regulus's eyes flickered over the canopy. "We won't have to go back for a while. He doesn't really need us while we're at Hogwarts. The last meeting we went to—Yaxley, Rosier, and I—was in September. That's when we were told to stir up trouble in Hogsmeade, and now—" his tone turned displeased, "—we've got to do it again."

Grace winced. "Yeah…"

"Can't believe Yaxley couldn't just keep his mouth shut—or at least have asked us beforehand. How're we supposed to do something like that again? After the last stunt we pulled, the Ministry stationed an Auror there. Salazar… I despise him."

"You hide it well."

It was strange, saying that now. There had been a time when Regulus couldn't hide anything at all. But times change, and with it, people.

Regulus exhaled slowly. "You learn to hide a lot of things growing up at Grimmauld Place."

Grace nodded absently. "Well—that's one thing we've got to tell James. Hogsmeade is going to be targeted again. And You-Know-Who's looking to kill a student."

"I don't really know how we can get out of that one," Regulus admitted. "The most your brother could do to help is station a few more Aurors to stop the trouble before it begins—but if that were to happen coincidentally the day we were planning to attack, You-Know-Who would be suspicious."

"That's true…"

"Honestly, I think the bigger issue is the assassination plot he's got planned."

"The Head Auror?"

"Yeah."

"But they already know. James's side already knows. One of the Death Eaters mentioned the Order was planning to ambush them on the night they chose."

"Yeah, so they should know that we know that—"

"How do we know that?" she wondered.

"I've no idea," Regulus said warily. "Lestrange just knows, and You-Know-Who doesn't question him on it. I reckon he's got an informant or something."

"Someone in the Order?" Grace said, alarmed. "Merlin, we'd better tell James that, too."

She shifted on the bed, sitting cross-legged beside Regulus, and reached for the mirror at the footboard. She positioned it carefully in front of her.

"What? Right now?" Regulus said. He hefted himself up, resting his back against the headboard, and began to comb through his hair with his fingers.

"Yeah," Grace said. She eyed him as he fixed up his hair. "You… You know you won't be talking to him, too, right?"

His hand dropped. "Yeah. I suppose that makes sense."

"It's best to ease him in," Grace resolved, shifting the mirror so Regulus was out of view. "I'll apologize, tell him what I've been up to, and when he seems good and calm, I'll introduce you. Sounds good?"

Regulus nodded. "All right."

"Okay… Well, here goes, I guess." Her heart was hammering against her chest, but she ignored the feeling. She lifted the mirror a bit higher. "Er—hello, James? Are you there?"

No response. The only face there was her own: wan and tired, dark bags circling her eyes.

"James?" she tried again. "It's me, Grace. I just need to talk to you for a bit, if that's okay."

Still nothing. A pinprick of panic eased its way into her heart.

"Maybe give it a few seconds?" Regulus said.

"Yeah, sure. He might be trying to find it…"

She set the mirror on her lap and wrung her hands together, fingers interlocking together. She tried not to think about the mirror, but it was sort of impossible. Barely fifteen seconds later, she picked the mirror up again, impatient for a response, and caught onto a pair of brilliant hazel eyes. Her shoulders eased—and then tensed when she realized they were her own eyes.

"James…?" she repeated uselessly.

"He's probably sleeping," Regulus said after a moment.

Relief washed over her. "Yeah—yeah, you're right. It's pretty late, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's—" he lifted his wrist and glanced at his golden watch, "—nearly one."

"Oh, yeah, he's definitely asleep. Probably came back from work knackered and went right to sleep." Her finger traced the gilded frame of the mirror. "I'll try in the morning. First thing."

"All right," Regulus agreed. "It's a work day tomorrow, though. You'll have to get him early, before he heads out."

"Right…" She eased into the bed, drawing up the covers. "Can you wake me up?"

"What do you mean? Are we staying here?"

"Yeah, I thought so."

"Oh." A slight pink dusted over his pale cheeks. "I mean—yeah, we can—"

"Why are you blushing? We shared the pull-out."

"I'm not blushing—and that was only once, because you were sad."

"Yeah? And what's the difference now, exactly? I'm sad my boyfriend's lying to me about his blushing—"

"I'm not," he protested. "It's just hot in here."

She rolled her eyes. "All right, sure—just so you know, if you were actually blushing, I would have said it was sweet."

A beat passed, and then: "Okay, fine. I was blushing. Just a little."

"Really? That's embarrassing."

"You know what? This one's on me. I shouldn't have believed you."

She laughed and shifted over to him, close enough to press a kiss against his temple, just above the edge of his brow. "I'm joking. It is sweet. You're sweet."

A small smile quirked his lips. Grace settled back down, on her side so she could see Regulus's profile. The hearth dimmed and went out completely, bathing the room in darkness.

"You're still feeling better, right?" she asked tentatively. "Nothing hurts anymore?"

He rolled over, so they were both facing each other. It took a moment to adjust to the dark, but soon Grace could make out the thick dash of his brow and the fine bridge of his nose.

"I promise you I'm fine," he said.

"Okay."

"We should go to sleep."

"Okay."

But neither of them closed their eyes. They stared at each for a moment. The events of the day rolled through Grace: the shadows of the meeting hall, the sibilant hiss of You-Know-Who's voice, the sharp red of his eyes.

"Do you think…"

"Think what?"

"It's actually possible to beat him?"

She didn't like the thread of terror that wove through her words, but she couldn't deny that it was there. She remembered the nascent stirrings of the war, the occasional Death Eater attacks, the Ministry raids. She had always thought it would stop—perhaps not as quickly as she'd like, but eventually. Now, she wasn't so sure. She had always held the idea that You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters were simply some ragtag, bumbling group of extremists, that the Ministry would prevail in the long run, that it wouldn't be so hard to infiltrate the group. But the meeting had completely flipped this notion. The Death Eaters were not fools. They were mad, perhaps, but disciplined, too: bright wizards and witches pulled from the Wizengamot and the Ministry. And they were utterly devoted to You-Know-Who.

She was no longer surprised that the Ministry had not been able to get a leg up on the war. How could they have? When You-Know-Who had insight into every move of theirs? When his plans were as clever as they were ruthless?

"I don't know," Regulus admitted after a long moment. "At first, I thought they were in over their heads, that soon the Ministry would catch up with them. When that didn't seem likely anymore, I just figured… Well, You-Know-Who is the lynchpin for this whole operation. If the Aurors could just manage to collect themselves and take him out, then everything would come tumbling down. But then he said something…"

"What?"

"During the summer, the Ministry was sending out Hit Wizards to get rid of You-Know-Who. Of course, they never really managed to get close enough, but a few Death Eaters were worried all the same. You-Know-Who dismissed them. He said they needn't worry because… Because he can't die."

Grace's brows shot up. "I'm sorry, he said what?"

"I know. It sounds mental—but he said it. At first, I thought he was just saying that, you know? To impress his followers. But he says stuff like that an awful lot—that he's 'gone further than any wizard ever has,' that he's 'conquered death.'"

"That's not possible."

"I know…but he's said it. I doubt most of the Death Eaters really believe him, save for Bellatrix and a few others. I didn't believe it either, not in the beginning, but then I started wondering if he's sort of telling the truth. What if he's just exaggerating only a little bit? What if he's got something that'll keep him alive, even if he's on the brink of death, just long enough so he can heal himself? What if he's got something that, if he does die, it'll just bring him back?"

"That's not possible," she said again.

"It doesn't seem like it is, but I've looked into it and there are a few things that could ensure immortality, or something like it. Things like the philosopher's stone or—"

"No—I mean, it can't be possible. It shouldn't be. Because if that's true, if he can't die, then…"

"I know," Regulus said quietly, mournfully. His silver eyes caught onto hers. "It'll just keep going on, the war."

And if You-Know-Who had time on his side, if he could just keep going, decades and decades later… Eventually, the Ministry would just give out—maybe even the world, too.

"We'll lose," she whispered.

Regulus reached a hand out. "He doesn't have to die for the war to end," he reminded her softly. "He could be imprisoned. Kept away from society. Like Grindelwald."

"Right…"

Somehow, she couldn't imagine You-Know-Who in a prison cell.

---

As it turned out, Regulus didn't have to wake Grace up early. Wracked with guilt over what had happened to Regulus and worried about James's reaction to what she'd been up to, she hardly slept during the night. She was already awake by the time Regulus was stirring.

"He hasn't picked up…?" he asked sleepily, catching sight of her with her knees drawn up, mirror resting on her lap.

Grace's gaze was steadfastly stuck to the mirror. "No, not yet. But it's early."

He stifled a yawn and rolled over to face her, the crook of his elbow caught under his head. "What time is it?"

"Er—not sure."

There wasn't a window in the Come-and-Go Room, but a low flame burst from the hearth when Grace first awoke, casting the room in a soft, dull light. Regulus shook out his left hand to glance at his watch. When he caught sight of the time, he bolted out of bed.

"Merlin's beard! It's eight—!"

"Really? Then he should be up by now." Grace peered harder at the mirror. "James—are you really not there? Hello—"

"We've got to head back to the common room and get ready—" he whirled around and got a proper look at her, "—wait, where did you get that?"

"Get what?"

"Fresh robes."

"Oh, they just appeared." She pointed at a dresser pushed against the wall. "There's another one for you in there. There's also a bathroom now."

"What?" Regulus twisted around and caught sight of a small door right next to the new dresser. It had certainly not been there last night. "When did that happen?"

"I dunno—maybe an hour ago? I was just thinking about how it'd be nice if this place had a loo, and it just happened."

Regulus stared at the door. "That's never happened before."

"We've never spent the night in the Room, so maybe it actually happens quite a lot?" Grace murmured absently. Her fingers tapped against the mirror restlessly before stilling. "You know what? I'm beginning to think he's stashed his mirror somewhere and isn't checking."

"Maybe." Regulus was rummaging through the dresser for fresh robes. "You could always just turn up to Godric's Hollow and speak to him in person."

"I was thinking that," Grace admitted. "But this needs to be a private conversation, and James always has someone over at home—usually Sirius."

Regulus's face soured. "Yeah, that might be a problem."

Grace set down the mirror. "If he doesn't pick up by the end of today, I'll send him an owl and tell him to get his stupid mirror. That should work, right?"

"Yeah, I think so," Regulus said, although most of his attention was now on the bathroom that had appeared overnight. He had opened the door and was now peeking through. "Salazar—it's got soap, too. This is brilliant."

"Yeah," Grace agreed, sounding significantly less enthused than he did. Her stomach let out a low growl. Sighing, she set down her mirror. "Do you think the Room might bring us food, too, if we asked?"

"Probably not. Food is one of the exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, after all."

She made a small, disgruntled sound in the back of her throat. "Do you think it's worth it to head all the way down to the kitchens to get breakfast?"

"The Great Hall is closer."

Her brows ticked up. "Good idea. I'll swipe some pastries. Is there anything you want?"

"Hmm… Honeydew slices."

"All right," she agreed.

Regulus disappeared into the new bathroom. Grace hefted herself off the bed and slipped out the door, tracing her way down to the Great Hall almost absentmindedly. Her thoughts were stuck on James, where he was, what he was up to, why he wasn't answering her. She had not used the two-way mirror very often, but she knew James and Sirius used their pair frequently. She had always assumed James had his mirror on standby, shrunk and stuffed into one of his bottomless pockets.

She trudged quietly into the Great Hall, making a beeline for the Slytherin table. She dutifully kept away from Ophelia, who was huddled in her own corner, and intercepted the middle of the table, where she took an entire platter of blueberry pastries from a group of fourth-years. Slowly, she worked her way up towards the other end, where all the seventh and sixth-years sat clustered. She deftly avoided Snyde, who was snickering with Rosier, and scanned the table for some honeydew slices—hell, even cantaloupe might do.

By the time she spotted what she'd been looking for, Myrcella Rosier had caught sight of her.

"Potter," Myrcella called out, tone surprisingly cordial, "there's room over here."

Myrcella nudged Yang aside, allowing space beside her on the bench. Grace stared at the copper-haired girl with something akin to horror. No amount of gold in the world would convince her to sit next to Myrcella.

"I'm just passing by," Grace said flatly, hoping that might be the end of that.

"No need," Myrcella said, as though the decision were entirely up to her. She reached a hand out and pulled Grace towards the seat.

Caught off-guard, Grace landed onto the seat abruptly, wincing as she made contact with the wood. The pastries jumped on their platter. Grace turned to give Myrcella a dark glare, but her eyes were trained on her plate.

"Now," Myrcella said primly, having apparently decided she and Grace were very good friends now, "what is it you've been up to these past few—"

"Haven't your parents ever told you not to speak with strangers?" Grace snarled. She stood back up. "Merlin, like I'd sit and exchange gossip with you after seven years of utter revulsion on your end."

"And what about the revulsion on your end?"

"You—"

"It's all right," Myrcella interrupted grandly. "The past is the past. I've always thought we'd be good friends, Potter. It's just that I wasn't sure what sort of views you held before. You can't fault me for not knowing."

"More like you wouldn't allow me to fault you."

Myrcella's lips twisted into a displeased frown. She turned her nose away. "Fine, Potter. If you really don't want to stay, then go. I suppose you're leaving to go attend to whatever it was that was keeping you out of the dormitory the whole night."

"Why don't you mind your own business, Rosier?" Grace sneered before reaching over the other girl's shoulder for a plate of honeydew.

With another glare, Grace turned around and stormed out of the Great Hall. She hurtled through the hallways and up the stairs to have a quiet breakfast with Regulus. And although they did have a quiet breakfast, nothing about it felt quiet in the slightest. Between the murmurs and soft laughs they exchanged, Grace was acutely aware of how loud and relentless the world was. It bothered her that they would have to storm Hogsmeade in less than a week. It bothered her that Myrcella was paying close attention to her. Most of all, it bothered her that James could not be reached.

All through the day, she tried the two-way mirror: between classes, during breaks, in the loo. By the time evening set, he had still not picked up or returned her call. She skipped dinner in favor of heading to the owlery, where she tore a scrap of parchment from her scroll and hurriedly scrawled out a note: Pick up your mirror. She signed it 'Gummy' (short for 'Gummy Grace,' James's favorite taunt after she got Drooble's Best Blowing Gum stuck in her hair when she was nine and had to have quite a few locks of her hair trimmed), and attached the letter to a nearby screech owl.

"Get it to him quick," she asked.

The owl gave a shrill hoot before spreading its wings and leaping out of the parapet. Grace watched it hurtle into the dark sky for a moment before retreating to the Come-and-Go Room. She was supposed to stop by the library to find some reading material that might help in finishing her Transfigurations essay, but she couldn't stomach the thought of writing line after line about a topic she didn't care about in the slightest. She wanted to do nothing more than curl up on a couch with her mirror and wait for James to talk to her.

So, that's what she did.

She waited and waited and waited. She nodded off sometime around midnight, waking occasionally to check the mirror and drifting back to sleep when it was clear James had not called it. The cycle continued all through the night, until morning came and Grace found herself with thirty minutes to spare before breakfast ended.

She grabbed her belongings and fled from the room, harried and worried, speeding down to the Great Hall. Regulus was already seated, throwing furtive glances all around the room, clearly alarmed by Grace's absence. She made her way over to him (sidestepping Myrcella in the process) and plopped down beside him. She was about to whisper her frustrations about James's silence when an owl tore through the air and landed right on top of her empty plate. It was the same screech owl she had sent last night, with a scrap of paper attached to its leg. It blinked its large yellow eyes up at her and gave something of a woeful hoot.

Thrill spiked through Grace before suspicion. She snatched the parchment from the owl's leg and flung it open, thinking—hoping—James might have responded with a time he would call later today. But as she rolled open the small scrap, she was met with her own handwriting: Pick up your mirror.

This was her message. The owl had never made it to James.

Regulus shot her a probing look. Silently, head ringing with confusion, she passed him the note. His eyes sped over the single sentence and then flew up to meet hers. There was a crease between his brows.

"Undetectable Charm," she explained quietly. Sometime after the funeral James and Lily must have gone into hiding.

"What now?"

All around them, Slytherins chatted and laughed together. Rosier was regaling Snyde with a story about a skirmish that occurred at a family-hosted gala some time ago. Fuentes was showing off the design for a custom-made ballgown her mother had ordered on her behalf. Gamp was boring some fourth-years further down with yet another conspiracy theory. Life, it seemed, went on—but Grace felt stuck. Where was James? What was he doing? How could she get to him? These questions rolled and rumbled through her head. They seemed to be the only thing that existed. She wondered, with a sort of numb horror, if James was hiding from her.

"I don't know," she said at last.

---

It took them a few days to come to an agreement over what to do next. Plans were waylaid as Yaxley ate up more and more of their time by orchestrating their upcoming appearance at Hogsmeade. Snyde had found out that there were now two Aurors stationed at the village, something that quelled Regulus and Grace's fear that a student might be hurt. But as soon as they began to relax, Rosier suggested covertly immobilizing the Aurors—an idea which Yaxley quickly decided meant killing the Aurors by taking them by surprise.

"It's ridiculous," Regulus said in shock for what might have been the hundredth time. "More than underhanded, more than despicable—it's stupid."

They were in the Come-and-Go Room, trying to find a way to obstruct Yaxley's plan.

"Of course it's stupid. That's why they think it's a good idea."

"Suppose they do actually kill the two Aurors patrolling the area. The residents will call more in, and when it's clear to them that we've murdered two of their own, they will send so many more to Hogsmeade, which will prompt so many more Death Eaters to—"

"I know, Reg," Grace said wearily. "You already made your case to them."

Regulus folded his arms against his chest and leaned heavily into the plush armchair he was seated in. "And they refuse to listen—"

"Because they're idiots. The best thing we can do now is make sure there aren't any students at Hogsmeade. Have you talked to Bannerjee?"

He soured further. "Oh, Merlin…"

"What? What happened?"

"I made it worse," he said grumpily. "I managed to get Bannerjee in just the right place, so she overheard Rosier telling some students that there was a big bash at Hogsmeade at the end of the week. She was absolutely appalled, of course. Rosier somehow managed to weasel himself out of any blame." He rolled his eyes. "Anyway, Bannerjee interrogated some students and found out that Mercer was selling invisibility cloaks. Naturally, she confiscated what he had and told Prefects to inform students that they were, under no means, allowed to sneak out to Hogsmeade for a bit of fun."

"This all sounds fantastic," Grace said honestly. "How is that worse? We don't want there to be any students in Hogsmeade, and she's told them not to sneak out."

"When authority tells you not to do something, do you listen?"

"Ah…"

"It turns out, by telling students not to sneak out to Hogsmeade, Bannerjee essentially advertised that students should be sneaking out to Hogsmeade." His lips curled into a frown. "What's worse is that Rosier is pretending that was actually a part of his plan for getting caught. Merlin…"

"Well," Grace began, struggling to find a silver lining, "if Mercer's products have been confiscated, then they can't sneak out—"

"Snyde's other roommate, Henderson, decided to take up Mercer's mantle and sell invisibility cloaks in his stead."

"Bollocks."

"Pretty much."

Grace let out an exasperated breath. "Why are students so intent on breaking rules? Why can't they just stay in one place and do as they're told?"

"You snuck out to Hogsmeade in September."

'That was different!"

Regulus raised a brow. "How?"

"Look, we need to focus on the real issue here," Grace said. "How're we supposed to ensure students don't get hurt? More than that, how're we supposed to make sure those Aurors don't die at Yaxley or Rosier's idiot hands?"

"I've got an idea."

"What is it?"

"You could, I dunno, tell James—"

"I've been trying—"

"Obviously the mirror isn't working," Regulus said. His own frustration was beginning to peek through. "I think you ought to go down to Godric's Hollow—"

"We've been over this. I can't just show up. We don't know what Order members might be there or what wards he might have put up. I know for sure Lily will be there—and she might not let me in." Grace's stomach lurched at the memory of the funeral. She'd be lucky if Lily ever talked to her again.

Regulus's shoulders fell. "I know, I know," he grumbled quietly. "It's just—time is a really big factor here—"

"I know that. I've been trying, Regulus. But it's like he's dropped off the face of the earth—him and everyone he knows! I tried to send an owl to Remus to see if he could tell James to respond to me—but that owl never came back! I don't know what's going on!"

"He's probably gone into hiding, too," he sighed.

"I don't know. Maybe." Grace ran a hand through her hair. "The only thing I can think to do now is call him using the Floo and yell at him to pick up his mirror. Whoever's there is bound to pass along the message to him."

"The Floo?" Regulus repeated. "Which Floo?"

"It can't be the common room's fireplace, of course. Someone might see me. So, I was thinking I'd use the one in the staffroom."

"No, you can't do that," Regulus argued. "The Floo is being monitored. If you break into the staffroom to use it, professors will investigate and find out who was called using their Floo. If it's found someone tried to contact James Potter and that spreads, everyone will think it's you—Yaxley and Rosier included."

"But if I do manage to contact James using the Floo, he'll know to tell Dumbledore not to investigate it—"

"That's only if you manage to tell him in time."

"It shouldn't take very long. All we've got to do is find a time in the evening when the teacher's lounge is empty. I'll go in and contact him. It shouldn't take more than a minute. If everything goes smoothly, professors won't even know their Floo was used."

Regulus digested it for a moment.

"What else can we do?" Grace continued. "Honestly, it's too risky for me to disappear during the night and head to Godric's Hollow. Myrcella's already asking me where I'm off to every time I come to meet you."

"All right, all right," Regulus sighed. "We'll try the Floo."

They had to wait until the next day to find an opportune moment to sneak into the teacher's lounge. Shortly before dinner, the staffroom was empty save for Professor Sprout. Regulus lulled her out with some story about a couple of fourth-years breaking into the greenhouse. While Sprout hurried off with Regulus, Grace broke into the room under the cover of her invisibility cloak.

It was quite small, with dark wood tables and mismatched chairs cluttered across the floor. Next to a large wardrobe was a raging hearth. Grace rushed over and grabbed the can of Floo powder that rested above the mantel of the fireplace. She crouched down, felt the warmth of the fire washed over her, and slipped off the cloak. Her heart hammered against her chest. She could not help but think back to those early days, before she had been branded a Death Eater, before she had pulled herself away from James so forcefully, back when her plan was young and invulnerable. She'd been foolhardy then. She always had been. It's the Potter way, her mother sometimes said, to jump in headfirst. Now, she could not help but think of what all she could have changed. Revisions swept through her mind. She ached to have trusted James more, trusted his love for her more, enough to have just admitted Regulus's predicament at the start of all this. Now, after those frosty weeks leading to her parent's death, after the horrible affair that was the funeral, she didn't know what sort of love James harbored for her anymore. She could only hope it was enough.

Quietly, she packed her heart deep inside herself and dug her fingers into the cup of powder. With one fluid motion, she sprinkled it across the hearth. The flames promptly turned a deep and dazzling green.

"Potter Cottage, Godric's Hollow," she called, leaning far enough forward that the fire tickled the tip of her nose.

As soon as she said it, the flames crackled, the connection disrupted, and the whole thing went out, leaving the hearth as nothing more than a pile of burnt wood and ash. Grace stared at the remnants in horror before relighting the fire, reaching her hand back into the cup, and beginning the process anew.

Again, as soon as the words Potter Cottage left her lips, the flames spluttered out and died. The Floo had been cut off.

"—oh, I very much doubt they would return a second time if we've scared them off the first, Mr. Black," Sprout's voice bled through from beyond the door.

Quickly, Grace set the can of Floo powder back on the mantel and threw on her invisibility cloak. Just as she disappeared, the door opened and Sprout toddled through with an amiable expression plastered on her face. A panicked Regulus was right on her heels.

"But, professor—" he began desperately.

"Don't worry, dear, I'll be having a talk with all the fourth-years tomorrow to get to the bottom of this," Sprout reassured, patting him on the shoulder in consolation. "Now, I'd best return to my grading."

"Er—okay," Regulus croaked out. His eyes flitted over the otherwise empty room, relaxing when he didn't catch sight of Grace.

Sprout returned to one of the tables. Grace slipped outside, following after Regulus. She whipped off her cloak, and Regulus jumped at her abrupt arrival.

"Sweet Circe," he breathed. "Well—what happened?"

"No answer," she said emptily. "It's disconnected."

A faintly troubled look passed over Regulus. "They might have closed off the Floo. It's a measure the Ministry has been recommending some families—"

"What if they didn't, though? What if… Godric—what if something happened?"

"No," he disagreed softly. "If something happened to James, Dumbledore would have informed you."

"Right. Yeah," Grace said, nodding along. It made sense, of course. But the turmoil simmering at the pit of her stomach didn't lessen in the slightest.

They made their way up the main staircase, hurrying up to the Come-and-Go Room. They kept quiet all the way, each worried, thinking pensively on what to do next.

Once they were inside the Room, Grace burst, "I have to go, don't I? If he won't pick up the mirror, and if we can't get to him via owl or Floo—it has to be in person. I have to get to Godric's Hollow."

"You can't disappear tonight," Regulus warned. "We have to meet with the others to figure out our positions tomorrow. Yaxley and Rosier will be keeping a close eye on us."

"And Myrcella," she added. She let out a small groan of frustration. "Merlin—it's all too fast—"

"And we still have to figure out how to get rid of those Aurors before Yaxley and Rosier do," Regulus sighed, collapsing in a nearby armchair.

Grace fell on the sofa across from him, splaying out over the cushions. "I've been thinking about that one. I figure if we get students out earlier than Yaxley or Rosier intend and the Aurors see a bunch of Hogwarts-age kids milling about the town, they'll be on high alert."

"Could work," he agreed. "They might bring in more Aurors to rally the students back to Hogwarts."

"Even if they don't, they'll at least be suspicious if a bunch of students appear out of nowhere."

"Right. It'll be harder to take them by surprise. How do you intend on getting students to Hogsmeade early? Rosier's supposed to be rallying them up to go together after supper."

"I'll 'accidentally' reveal a tunnel or something. They won't have to go with Rosier if they can find their own way to Hogsmeade. I'll seal it up later, after they come back."

He nodded. "All right, sounds feasible. And with James—"

"I don't know," she said. "I can keep trying the mirror, but he must have put it somewhere. He might not even have it… Merlin—what if he's not even at Godric's Hollow anymore? He might have gone to a safer house."

"That's what I was thinking," Regulus admitted. "The house might be abandoned."

"Good Godric…"

"It's still worth a try to check."

"Yes, but when?"

He didn't answer immediately. Grace's gaze shifted towards the ceiling. There was a candlelit chandelier swinging from the center of it. It looked disturbingly similar to the one at Malfoy Manor.

"Go tomorrow," Regulus said suddenly.

She turned to him. "What?"

"You can go tomorrow. At Hogsmeade. We'll all be beyond the anti-Apparition wards. With the extra students and the Aurors, Yaxley and the others will be too busy to keep an eye on you. You can go to Godric's Hollow. If James is there, you can tell him what's happening, and he can bring reinforcements."

It was a slapdash plan, but at least it was a plan.

"Okay," she agreed. "What if he's not there?"

"Then we have to figure something else out." Regulus hesitated for a moment. "If it turns out he's gone into hiding somewhere else…we might just have to go to Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore?" Grace exclaimed. "We don't know him—"

"He seems peaceable," Regulus argued. "I think if you went to him, he'd help you, and—honestly, at this point, I'm more worried about you than me. You-Know-Who isn't pleased with you. You need help."

She pursed her lips. "We can't go directly to Dumbledore. You know we can't. He's nice, I know—but he's clever, too. Why would he take two spies when one suffices?"

Regulus's gaze fell from hers. "I didn't say 'we.' I said 'you.'"

She eased herself up on the sofa, struck. "Reg—"

"If he can only take one, if he only wants one, it should be you. You're the only one of us who didn't join because they were cowed into it. If Dumbledore wants one spy, it should be you."

"No," she said. "It can't just be me. I promised you. I promised you, Reg. It's both of us or none of us."

---

Grace had no idea what to expect at Hogsmeade. She'd left the tunnel behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy open, which had been quickly found by a few prowling students. By the time Rosier set out with his contingent of students, she was sure dozens had made their way to Hogsmeade by themselves. She could only assume the patrolling Aurors were in a panic.

"Over here," Gibbon's disembodied voice floated through the air.

"Where?" Yaxley hissed. "We can't fucking see you, remember?"

"Over there," Gibbon stressed. "The woodsy area by the Shrieking Shack."

"What?" Snyde's distressed voice came through. "Over there? Isn't that place haunted?"

Grace let out a low sigh and tightened her hold of the invisibility cloak around herself before setting towards the spot Gibbon had decided would be their base of operations. As she arrived, she whipped her cloak off and stuffed it into the pocket of her robes. They were not her usual robes. A deep black and somewhat tattered, they had been handed to her—along with a silver-lined mask—by Yaxley. Apparently, it was the official Death Eater uniform.

"Where's Rosier?" Gibbon complained, having taken off his cloak as well. "He was supposed to be waiting for us."

"He did get his lot to Hogsmeade, right?" Snyde asked.

"He did," Yaxley said. "I saw him leave."

Snyde rolled his eyes. "Yeah, we all saw him leave, you plonker. I'm asking if anyone knows if he arrived."

"How would we know that?" Gibbon snapped. "We all just got here."

Grace turned to Regulus. His face was obscured by his own mask, but she was certain he was wearing the same exasperated expression she was.

"Let's just move on," Yaxley said, already marching forward, wand out. "Whether or not he made it, we still have to take care of those Aurors."

Snyde and Gibbon set after Yaxley eagerly. Regulus and Grace followed more cautiously, hands tight around their own wands. As they inched away from the outskirts of the town, coming closer to the center, they heard shouts—some of protest, many of demand. Alarmed, Yaxley picked up the pace, racing ahead. He stopped just short of the corner of the Hog's Head. The others caught up quickly.

"What is it?" Snyde asked.

"'What is it?'" Yaxley repeated. He turned to Snyde threateningly. "You said there were only two guards! Why are there five out there—"

"Five?!" Gibbon peeked his head out. "Sweet Circe…"

Grace followed suit, shifting closer to the corner. Just beyond the edge of the building, she could make out five Aurors trying in vain to corral wayward students. It seemed they were well aware Hogwarts students were not allowed to leave the castle, and they were pulling aside individual students to take down names. Several older students were trying to argue with Aurors. A few younger ones were bawling. Many were trying to flee back to Hogwarts.

"What in Merlin's name happened?" Snyde said in shock.

Regulus shrugged. "I suppose Rosier messed up."

"I'm going to murder that idiot," Yaxley growled.

"Never mind that," Gibbon said. "What are we supposed to do now?"

"What we're meant to do," Yaxley said. "What the Dark Lord instructed us to do."

And with those brave words of loyalty, Yaxley did what Grace felt was just about the stupidest thing he could have done: he stepped out of the cover of the building and charged towards the Aurors, wand aloft. Gibbon followed suit, more out of concern than any real faith in their mission. Snyde seemed rather reluctant to do anything at all—but he had to. They all had to, lest word reached You-Know-Who that they hadn't carried out his command.

With a heavy heart, Grace left the hiding spot and tried to get to Yaxley as discreetly as possible, if only to pull him aside and knock some sense into his brain. Unfortunately for her, an Auror had caught sight of Yaxley and was now shooting spells at him. Grace ducked into a narrow alleyway, wondering what on earth she was supposed to do now. The other Aurors, having spotted Yaxley in Death Eater garb, were now more concerned with getting the remaining students as far away from Hogsmeade as possible, taking two at a time and Apparating them away. Gibbon, meanwhile, was hurtling to help Yaxley, and—to Grace's utter horror—he grabbed Regulus to assist as well.

Yaxley and Gibbon were dueling with brutal strength. Regulus was trying to avoid the fight by leaving the area entirely, but he was pinned between Gibbon and a building. The Auror seemed to be more than well-matched for both Yaxley and Gibbon, out-maneuvering their more offensive spells and re-routing most of their own spellwork back at them.

She wasn't sure how long they would last.

"Potter!" Snyde said, coming up beside her.

She nearly leapt in surprise. "Fucking—you can't yell my name like that—!"

"Right, right, sorry—look, this plan's shot. We ought to get out."

"All right, then leave." She turned her gaze back on the duel, trying to find a way to help Regulus out of the situation he'd found himself in.

"Yeah, it's just, you know—"

Yaxley set out a blast of orange light. The Auror rolled out of the way, but the spell hit the shop behind him, creating an earth-shattering explosion.

"—I can't Apparate, so—"

Debris rained down on the Auror and the Death Eaters. Grace took the moment to hurl herself out of her spot. She darted forward, wand aloft.

"Stupefy!" she cried out.

The jet of red light hit the Auror square in the chest. Panic seized his face as he went rigid. Grace exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding in.

"Good one!" Yaxley crowed, using the chance Grace had provided to lunge forward. His wand arced through the air, aiming for the falling Auror. "Avada Kedavra!"

And—just like that—the panic eased away from the Auror. Grace had never seen someone die before, not right in front of her. This wasn't anything like how she expected it to be. She thought it might have been slower, time stilling and stopping all around her, the seconds dragging on long enough for her to do something, anything. But, instead, it all seemed fast, too fast. She blinked, and the body hit the ground—dead.

She didn't even have time to process what had just happened before Rosier came running towards them, black cloak whipping behind him, his mask slightly askew, having been hastily fitted onto his face.

"There's more coming!" he cried out.

It was an unnecessary warning. The unmistakable sound of Apparition filled the air—a blaring crack! every few seconds—as dozens of Aurors entered Hogsmeade.

Snyde tackled Rosier and held him by the shoulders. Wide-eyed and frantic, he cried out, "Get me out of here!"

In the blink of an eye, they disappeared. Gibbon seemed to take this as a sign to retreat, too, and within moments he vanished as well. Regulus tore forward, away from Yaxley, who was moving deeper into the crowd of screaming students, all by himself now.

Grace found herself swept by Regulus, her hand taken in his. They ran together, hurtling away from the students and impending battalion of Aurors. They fell into the line of hedges and shrubs that obscured the Shrieking Shack. Bramble scratched against Grace. Her grip around Regulus was tight and unrelenting. She fixed her destination in mind and, within seconds, they were gone, too.

---

They landed in a heap, collapsed into a bush of hydrangea. Grace scrambled up and tore off her ragged black cloak. She clawed at the mask that adorned her face and threw it into the dirt. It stared up at her silently, cold and indifferent. Her wand fell beside it. The old silver thing seemed dull and worn. Her stomach churned at the sight of it, at the feel of it, the memory of her hand outstretched, the red bolt reaching out to strike the Auror, and then Yaxley taking that moment to lunge—that awful flash of green streaking through the air.

She hadn't shot the Killing Curse, but it felt like she did.

"He actually…"

"Yeah." Regulus removed his own mask. He sat heavily amongst the flowers, knees drawn up, face pale and pinched. "He did."

The weight of that moment rested on them heavily. Grace stared forward blankly. Regulus rose shakily, dusting off the front of his robes. He cast a glance around the town square they had landed in. The sky was darkening fast, but the streetlamps had not yet been turned on. There were only a few people lurking about—some ambling along the cobblestone street, others stepping out of shops as they closed up—and none were by the bush.

"Where are we?" Regulus asked once he got his bearings.

"Godric's Hollow."

"Oh. Right." He looked around aimlessly for a moment before spotting a bench further along. He picked up his mask and rolled it into his cloak before looking at Grace. "Do you want me to come with you?"

She hadn't yet swallowed the sight at Hogsmeade. She stared at him, rattled. "Reg—"

"I know," he said quietly. His free hand caught hers. "I know."

"—that wasn't just some student. That was an Auror. The Ministry won't rest until they catch Yaxley and… And what about us? Are we accomplices?"

A horrified shadow fell over Grace's face but Regulus remained composed.

"Yeah," he said. Her stomach lurched. "We are. Until we help the Order, we are."

She tore her eyes away from him and nodded. "Right—right, I have to go to James—"

"Do you want me to come with you?" he asked again.

"No, it's okay. He might not take your presence well." She gathered her mask and cloak into one bundle and handed it off to Regulus before pocketing her wand. "You can stay around here. I'll come back and get you when James agrees."

"What if something happens?"

"Like what?"

"Like—" he struggled for the first time, "—if your brother reacts poorly—"

"No," she said immediately. "No, this is James."

"What if it's not just him there?"

She considered it. "Okay, do you see that path down there?" She pointed to a rundown lane that ran adjacent to a cemetery. "Keep walking down and you'll see this nice grove with some houses. Mine's the one with the thatched roof and hornbeam tree in the back. If I'm not back in an hour, go there, all right?"

"An hour's a long time…"

She leaned up and pressed a soft kiss against the crown of his head. "I'll be right back," she promised.

With that, she set down on the old, twisting path that led to the Potter Cottage. A shiver climbed up her spine as she found herself at the onset of the house. James was definitely there. She knew it from the healthy green shoots of fluxweed that lay in the garden, the pert and blinding white of the jasmine that encircled the house. James had revived Mum's garden.

She pressed on, unlocking the iron gate and stepping through. She felt a shift in the air, some quiet recognition of her arrival—the wards at work. A small bubble of panic burst in the pit of her stomach, but still she moved forward, coming onto the porch of the cottage. From beyond the door, she could just faintly hear rummaging—books being tossed aside, footsteps shuffling frantically. She took a deep breath, curled her hand into a tight fist, and knocked.

"I—ah, shit—" she heard James yelp as he tripped over something, "—I've got it, Lils."

It was hardly half a minute later when the front door swung open and she was met with the sight of James—tall and gleaming. His eyes roved over her. His glasses sat askance on the bridge of his nose. His robes, the sweeping grey all Aurors wore, were clumsily buttoned up, and he was missing a sock.

As his eyes met hers, his jaw fell open. "I—Grace?"

She couldn't keep her hands still, so she forced them into her pockets. "Yeah, hullo, I—"

"Merlin's fucking—you tripped the wards—" he proceeded to lower his wand before bringing it right back up with renewed force, "—wait, no, Grace is at Hogwarts. Who are you?"

"It's me…?" she said, dumbfounded.

He scoffed. "Right, sure. They tried this with the Longbottoms—"

"What in Godric's good name are you talking about? It's me!"

"What did we call each other when we were little?"

"What?"

His wand raised higher. "If you don't answer in the next five seconds, I'll stun you and take you along with me to the Ministry."

"I—I called you Jam-Jam, and you called me Grassie. I couldn't say 'James,' so I said 'Jam.' And you couldn't say 'Grace,' so you said 'Grass'—well, really, you probably said Gwass or something, but Mum ate it right up and—er—can you lower your wand now?"

He did, but the glower stuck to his face didn't waver. "Grace—"

"Yeah, it's me—"

"—what are you doing here?"

She suddenly felt very small. Her gaze fell from his. "Well. I, er, needed to talk to you. I tried to use the two-way mirror but it wasn't—"

"I can't talk right now," James interrupted. There wasn't a shred of sorry in his voice. "I've got to go to the Ministry. Something urgent's come up."

"Right. It's just that this is really important."

His lips thinned. "In case you didn't hear me right, something very urgent has come up at the Ministry for me."

"Yeah, okay—then, do you think you could just call me back on the mirror?"

He was already retreating back into the house. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"I broke it."

"You—what? Why?"

"Why?" he repeated. "Why do you think? I thought you'd call after that disaster of a funeral and apologize—and you never did! Like a fool, I sat moping around that blasted mirror before I finally decided it wasn't worth it and just threw it away—"

"That—that's what I'm here to do now," Grace insisted. "I'm here to apologize. I'm sorry, James. I really am, and I really do have to talk to you—"

"And I really can't talk right now."

"But I—"

"Merlin! What don't you understand? I've got to go. An Auror just died—"

"I know! I—"

"What? What do you mean you know?" Realization flooded his face. "Merlin's beard… You were there, weren't you? You snuck out to Hogsmeade. Is that how you got here?"

She winced. "Yes, but—"

"Merlin, Grace!" he burst. "Are you thick? We're in the middle of a war right now. There's a reason Dumbledore stopped visits to Hogsmeade. It's dangerous to have a bunch of underage wizards and witches roaming around in clusters. You're such easy targets for Death Eaters!"

"I'm not underage—"

"Yeah, well, you're not exactly a fully trained Auror, are you?"

Her lips pursed. "Neither are you."

A flash of hurt crossed his face, but it faded quickly. "Actually, I am now."

"Oh." She instantly felt guilty and tried to backtrack. "Er—congrats—"

He scoffed and moved to shut the door. Grace reared forward in blind desperation.

"Wait—James! You have to listen to me. It's about the funeral. It's—"

"About the funeral? Oh, why didn't you say so sooner? Shall I invite you in for a cuppa?" Every word that left his mouth dripped with a venomous sarcasm.

She recoiled from him. "I just want to… Look, I said some things I shouldn't have, but—"

"Yeah, you said quite a lot of things you shouldn't have," he interrupted. "'I'm so tired of our family,' you said. Do you know how long I spent thinking about that, Grace? How long I spent wondering where I went wrong? What I could have possibly done to offend you so deeply? What Lily could have done to deserve you hurling that—that word at her?"

"I didn't mean that, James." Her voice had never been smaller. "Really, I didn't—"

"You still said it. You still… Merlin, Grace," he exhaled.

"I didn't mean any of it. I was just looking for a fight. I didn't actually mean any of it."

"Really?" he said, and Grace was filled with momentary relief. But the hard look in his eye didn't falter, and he plowed on, "Because I think you were onto something. Do you remember what you said? You said they loved me best, loved me more. But the thing is, you got it flipped. Mum and Dad cared so much more for you than they did for me. Took you all over the world to search for Healers to cure you. It didn't matter the cost. You got the bigger room, more presents at Christmas, sweets past bedtime. You never got in trouble. It wasn't possible when it came to you. You could have lit the cottage on fire, and Mum and Dad would've turned a blind eye. I could have stepped on a floorboard too loudly while you were recovering from a paroxysm, and Mum and Dad would've taken my broom away for a week."

These were silly, childish examples, and James and Grace knew that. But they both also knew it was speaking to something much larger, something that had been ignored for a very, very long time.

"But I never complained," he continued. "I never held it against you. Hell—I still don't. S'not your fault you got saddled with one of the worst conditions out there. But what is your fault is how you handled it. How you assumed the worst of everyone—including yourself. Merlin—you thought I hated you in your first-year, just for being Sorted into Slytherin. You thought it was always about you, Grace: your condition, your Sorting, your feelings."

They stared at each other for one long moment. Grace's eyes were damp, and James's were bone-dry.

"I'm sorry," she tried.

"I don't want to hear it." The words fell from James's lips so carelessly, with such distance and coldness, that for a moment Grace thought this was a stranger and not her brother.

"W—what?"

His hand was on the edge of the door, ready to close it. Grace put her palm up against the wood. She had never considered this before, hadn't thought it needed to be considered. James was always there, had always been there. There wasn't a moment in her life when he wasn't. He was there when she was three and tripped down the stairs, trying to magic away the bruises with a toy wand. He was there when she had her first paroxysm, crawling under the hospital sheets at St. Mungo's so she wouldn't have to sleep alone. He was supposed to be there—by letter, by two-way mirror, by Floo. Grace was half-sure it was a law of the universe.

"I don't want to hear what you've got to say regarding the fight." James's voice grew hard. His hazel eyes—so like Grace's, so like their father's—flashed. "I'm not interested. Not anymore."

The world grew narrower. Grace's heart was beating so fast it was beginning to stumble over itself. "James, I—I can explain, I promise—"

"How?" he demanded. "How are you going to explain this? Are you going to pull out another half-arsed apology?"

The hand she had against the door was trembling. Her thoughts were scattered. "The reason I came is much more complicated. I just need you to listen for a moment. Just for a moment. I came to apologize and to tell you that—well, you mentioned your Order before. Dumbledore's Order. I want to join it. I want to help with the war."

He stared at her for half a second before breaking out into laughter. It wasn't anything kind or comical. It was a harsh laughter, rough and mocking—the sort of laugh he threw at students he'd jinxed when he was a knobheaded teenager. Grace had never been on the receiving end of it.

"You—you think you could join us?" He shook his head. "No—Merlin, Grace, you can't even follow simple instructions to stay at Hogwarts and out of Hogsmeade. Do you think the Order would take you in?"

"I was at Hogsmeade for a reason. I was—"

"You were only thinking for yourself is what you were doing," he cut in. "You only… You think only for yourself. You look out only for yourself. You're greedy, Grace. The Order doesn't have a place for people like that."

"James—"

"You want me to listen to you. You want me to forgive you. You want me to help you with whatever it is you need, but my feelings in the matter don't matter, do they? You want and you want, but you never give."

Her chin trembled. "That's not fair. You—"

"I wanted, too," he admitted. "I was spoiled, too. I'm not saying I wasn't. I wanted Mum and Dad to give me the whole world. I expected it of them. We both did. The difference between us now is that I've grown up. Sixth year knocked some sense into my head. Seems to me you still want everything. Seems to me you think you deserve everything."

"That's not—James, please, you've got to hear me—"

"You don't get it!" he cried out. His voice broke somewhere in the middle. "What you said… That hurt. It really did. It…" He shook his head and trailed off. "I've wasted enough time on this. I've got to go. The next time you think you've got an apology to offer up, save us both the time and just don't."

And then he closed the door. It wasn't loud. It wasn't like the slams of James's youth—one ear-splitting bang as he kicked the door shut whenever he was upset. This was quiet, heartbreaking. The door locked quietly into the frame with Grace's hand still pressed against the front.

Grace stared into the wood blankly and then she raised her fist and knocked again. There was no response, not even a small groan of annoyance beyond the door. She knocked again, knocked louder, knocked harder, knocked until her knuckles stung and ached, knocked until it was more like she was punching the door.

It was only when the lights began to flicker out one by one, dousing the house in darkness, that her hand retreated. She turned her back on the house she lived and laughed and loved in, the brother she lived and laughed and loved with, and began the long climb back to the town square. All the while, it was her own voice ringing in her head, her own plan swirling in her mind, mocking her. Wait. Find. James. Spy. Save. James had been the only constant, the only person she could truly rely on—and she had taken him for granted. People could only be hurt so much, and in her desperation to save Regulus, in her grief and her rage, she had pushed him too far away. She had wounded him to the heart. She had left him. She had chosen her side, and James had figured, very quickly, it was not the same as his own.

She staggered back to the hydrangea bush and found that Regulus was no longer there. The streetlamps were now on, casting soft spots of light over the area. Just a bit further ahead, at the cemetery, she spotted a robed figure. Had she not felt so dazed by the confrontation with James, she might have asked Regulus why he was lurking around a cemetery during the night like a serial killer. Instead, she reached his side silently and looked down to see what it was he was stooped over.

It was her parent's joint grave. She had never examined it closely before, but now, under the sparse moonlight, she could make out the epitaph engraved into the stone: I shall but love thee better after death.

It felt like a punch in the gut. She was reminded of one of those final moments with her father in St. Mungo's. Their hands clasped together, his pitying look, the promise that fell from his lips: Always, always, always. She had never told her father what it was she was going to do. If he knew, now, that she had joined You-Know-Who, that she had shot back an Auror to his death, that she had a plan but was failing terribly at it—would he have closed the door on her, too? James was like their father, and love could only stretch so far.

Tears sprang to her eyes. "Liar," she choked out, unsure if she was referring to herself or her father.

Regulus shot up at the sound but relaxed when he saw her. "Oh, I didn't know you—are you all right?"

She wiped at her face angrily and stalked away, each footstep digging hard into the soft earth. Regulus followed her out of the graveyard quietly. Under the light of the streetlamp, their shadows joined together.

"What happened?" he asked after the silence had gone on for too long.

"I messed up."

Regulus inhaled sharply. "What? What do you mean?"

She pushed past him and continued on to the hydrangea bush. "I hurt him too deeply."

---

She Apparated without Regulus, right into the mouth of one of the tunnels that led back to Hogwarts, and marched forward, trying to stamp away the hurt and anger roiling inside her, eating away at her.

She wasn't doing a very good job.

By the time she emerged in the castle, her eyes were streaming with tears. She and James had fought before, yes, but only so far as the other could take it. That had always been the unspoken rule. No jokes about Grace's condition. No teasing about James's crush. Sometimes they skirted the line, of course. Sometimes there was the jab about their Sorting, but never anything more. Except at the funeral. There had been so much more at the funeral, truth and fiction melding together until they seemed almost indiscernible from one another. They had each pushed and pushed and pushed until the bridge between them came tumbling down. Then go. If you're so tired of us, then just go. She hadn't realized it then: the finality of it all.

Now that she knew, it felt like another death. It felt like she was mourning all over again. The hurt of the funeral and the exchange at Godric's Hollow were inescapable—vast and strangling. It welled up inside her, thick and coiling, rounding and wrapping around her heart until she felt choked and crushed by the weight of it.

She rushed to the nearest bathroom in a blind haze, rubbing at her cheeks, almost wishing to pluck her eyes right out of her skull so that she might stop crying. She caught onto the edge of a nearby sink and hunched over it, dark curls draping over her shoulders. She took a few slow, shallow breaths, trying to catch a hold of her pain, trying to understand and control it.

But it, like so many things now, was beyond her control.

With great difficulty, she managed to slow the hammer-hard beat of her heart, managed to catch her breath and stop her tears. She lifted her head and caught her eyes in the mirror—a flash of hazel, her father's eyes, her brother's eyes—and the careful calm came undone. Fresh hurt tore through her, and suddenly she was weeping again. Her skin felt heavy, soiled and stained with the weight of her lies. Were they even lies? She couldn't tell anymore. They loved that you weren't me. Wasn't that true? Didn't the Gryffindors absolutely adore James? Didn't the whole school fall all over themselves just to get close to him? Didn't the professors dote on him? Award him Head Boy when nothing he had ever done warranted it?

Or—was she in the wrong here? James drank up so much light, shone so brightly, it was sometimes difficult to see anything but him. But if she had stopped a moment, if she had swallowed down her envy better, she might have seen what he had: a daughter coddled by her parents until the day they died, a student who had gotten as much sympathy and help as she had disgust.

Maybe they were both right. Maybe they were both wrong. Maybe the problem wasn't anything to do with the world or how it had treated them. She was beginning to think it had just been her—her outlook, her mindset—but she didn't know how to apologize for herself.

She was just Grace. She had never known herself to be so confusing, so complex.

"Oh, dear…" a small, high voice called out.

Grace hurriedly wiped the sleeve of her robe against her eyes and turned around to find Moaning Myrtle hovering by the stalls that lined the bathroom. This, it turned out, was the abandoned girl's bathroom. That certainly explained the lack of occupants.

"I'm just going—" Grace began gruffly.

"You're crying," Myrtle said in wonder, swooping over Grace. "My, my, I never thought I'd see the day—"

"Just—bugger off!" Grace cried out. She shot the ghost the most menacing glare she could muster, but, paired with her damp cheeks and red eyes, it did very little to scare Myrtle.

"Oh, no, I wouldn't dare," she giggled, whirling around Grace. "This is just too good. I haven't forgotten that game you started—the one where you threw objects through me and gave out points depending on which body part they hit." Her tone turned imperious. "You do know that it's uncomfortable for objects to pass through ghosts, right? It's like an itch you can't scratch."

"Shut up! Does it look like I care? Merlin—"

"What is it you're so upset about?" Myrtle prodded. "Lots of people come crying in here. I've gotten rather good at giving advice."

"It's none of your business. Go away."

"Is it that someone was mean to you?" she plowed on. "Most people are upset because someone's bullied them. I'd be rather surprised if that's the reason you're here. You're usually the one bullying other people, aren't you?"

Grace swallowed thickly and chose not to respond, whirling away from Myrtle.

The ghost floated after her, tutting quietly. "That's it, isn't it? Someone was rude to you. I don't think you've got a right to feel so bad about it. You're very mean. Do you know how many boys and girls have come in here crying about you?"

"I don't… I don't mean it, not really," Grace tried. I didn't mean any of that, James. "They usually start it, and I just throw their words back at them."

Myrtle wasn't buying it. She floated around the faucet. "Davey Gudgeon only ever wanted to tell you how much he cared about you. Did you know that?"

"He was bothering me."

"He just wanted to talk to you. He was a wreck after his big match. Lost the game and the girl. Sobbing like something wretched." She let out a ghostly sigh. "I would've let him talk to me… Smart and strong, what a catch…"

"Yeah? Well, you can go pine after Davey Gudgeon all you like if you just sod off and leave me alone."

Myrtle let out an indignant noise. She drifted away, back towards the stalls. "This is why no one bothers with you…"

"Good," Grace bit. "I don't want anyone to bother with me. I don't want—"

She was talking to thin air. Myrtle had vanished into the floor. Grace stared at the tiles with great fury, as though she might be able to telepathically communicate her rage to Myrtle, before a new wave of heartache and grief washed over her.

She fled from the bathroom, slipping through the shadows of the hall until she reached the seventh floor. Curiously, there was already a door in the otherwise blank space of wall, meaning Regulus had arrived at Hogwarts. She faltered at the sight of the door, briefly considering walking away instead of explaining to Regulus how deeply, how badly, she had failed, before realizing she could not afford to push away another person.

She reached for the knob.

Beyond the door, Regulus was curled in an armchair and deeply agitated. His forehead was wrinkled with lines. When he heard the door creak open, his head snapped up. There had been some semblance of frustration embedded in the planes of his face, but when he caught sight of Grace's red eyes and tear-slick cheers, it fell away. He softened, like he always had, like he always would.

"What happened?" he asked.

There was a bed in the corner of the Come-and-Go Room. Grace crossed the threshold and threw herself onto it, wishing she could sink into the mattress, fade away until there was nothing of her left.

"I messed up," she said numbly.

He rose. She could hear his shoes clack against the floor as he approached the bedside.

"What do you mean?"

"Am I stupid?" she wondered aloud.

"Grace…"

"Am I dumb? I thought… I thought I was doing it right. I thought I was doing okay. There were some rough patches, I know—" it was taking a great deal of effort not to let her voice collapse into a mess of unintelligible sobs, "—but I thought, 'At least we're getting there.' I thought, 'It doesn't matter the journey so long as we reach our goal.' But this—this isn't it. Everything went bad the minute we started. Everything went bad the minute I tried to help. And I thought… I thought James could fix it. Once I got to him. But…" Tears were welling up in her eyes again. She blinked her eyes shut. "He's angry. Really, actually angry. And I don't know how to fix it. I don't know that I can fix it. I—I don't know…"

And because it was Regulus, she didn't have to say much more about what happened on the front step of the Potter Cottage. He understood. Only he could understand how much it hurt to have a brother close his door on you.

"He won't listen to you," Regulus said quietly.

Grace eased herself up. "No… He didn't want to hear what I had to say. He thinks…"

Regulus perched himself beside her, on the edge of the bed. "Whatever he thinks doesn't matter. We'll figure out another way. We'll go to—"

"No, it does matter. It matters because he's right. He's right," she said bitterly, drawing further and further into herself. "I don't know what to do anymore. I never did, not really. I can't even See. I couldn't even get past that first hurdle, and I—" she felt like weeping and laughing all at once, "—I really thought I could be a double agent? Just like that? Merlin, he's… He's right. I'm selfish. I want so much, too much. I don't deserve—"

"No," Regulus said, and his voice was pained, too. "You've never been selfish. Look at everything you've given up for me."

"Because I wanted you, Regulus." Didn't he see? Didn't he understand it was just another dimension of her desire? That anything she gave up was just so she could gain something else? "I wanted you back."

"And what's so wrong with that?" he probed gently. "Is it so wrong to want?"

She shook her head. "It's that… I want too much, Regulus."

"No," he disagreed. "You've never wanted more than you deserve."

"I do. I've always wanted more. I wanted everything James got. When we were little, I wanted his broomstick, his owl, even his Hogwarts letter." She knew those were childish examples, but that was exactly the point. It had been years. She was much older now, but it wasn't as if those wants and wishes had disappeared. They simply changed. They grew with her, became more selfish, more impossible. She wanted the whole world. Sometimes, she thought she might get it. Sometimes, she thought the mere force of her want was enough to get her anything she desired.

"Because you were never allowed it." In the soft light of the Room, Regulus's eyes glittered like diamonds. "You only wanted what every other child got. You wanted to fly because everyone else could—and you should have. You deserved it more than anyone. You were meant to fly."

Slowly, surely, he turned her bitterness into tenderness. She couldn't even find it in herself to be surprised. He had always been better at Transfiguration than her.

"I know that… But now it's just…" She didn't know how to say it. She wasn't sure she knew herself anymore. "So much."

"What's so much?"

"There's just…so much," she said lamely. "There's so much I want."

He took her hands in his. His gaze was trapped in hers. "Like what? What do you want?"

And in the grey of his eyes, Grace saw herself, sapped and sullen, a yearning thing. In the part of his petal-soft lips and the tremble of his chin and the draw of his dark brow, she saw devotion. In the moment, which fluttered between them like a desperate bird, she saw that Regulus Black would go to the ends of the earth to give her anything and everything she wanted.

"I want the war to be over."

He reached up, cupped her cheek in his palm and kissed her softly, gently. "It will be," he murmured against her lips. "We'll find a way. We'll figure it out. It'll end. I promise you."

Her thumb traced over the sweep of his brow. "Okay," she agreed, and kissed him again and again.

"What else do you want?"

"I want to be forgiven."

"I forgive you," he said immediately. And even though it wasn't his forgiveness she was looking for, she felt a weight lift off her. He pressed a litany of tender kisses against her lips. In each kiss was a world of feeling. Grace was washed in affection and warmth and adoration. Her heart sprang, blossomed, a heat racing through her veins, lighting her limbs. She couldn't bear to be away from him. "What else?"

She was drowning in the love of him—in the soft curls of his dark hair, the straight sweep of his brows, the silver pools of his eyes, the hollow of his cheek, the sharp dip of his jaw, the perfect curve of his lips. His hands, ever gentle, ever tender, fluttered over her, and Grace thrilled at the touch—trembled under it, pulled him closer and closer, until there was no distance, until there was no space to breathe, until they could feel only the other because that was the only thing that existed.

"I want your heart."

"You are my heart."

He barely got the last word out when Grace crashed her lips against his once more, hungry and wild. They fell into each other, tangled into each other, caught in the mesh that was their lives and their love. Grace was a needling thing, a girl in greed. She reached and she reached and she reached, and Regulus fell. He fell so hard.

Grace grasped at him. The hearth of the Come-and-Go Room flickered out by itself. In the dark, they fit together perfectly, two halves of a whole. She wanted him. He wanted her want.

"You are my heart, you are," Regulus said again and again, half-strangled and breathless, like the only way he could hold onto the moment was by reminding himself of this simple fact, of this undeniable truth.

"You're mine, too," she promised him, and kissed him hard and fast, over and over again.

She wondered if he could tell the meaning behind each bruising kiss. The one she planted firmly on his lips said, My love for you is the only thing greater than my want. The ones that she trailed along his collarbone said, Let me love you until the sky is fire and the stars are dust. The gentle nibble at the lobe of his ear said, You are the only one who hasn't given up on me. All my want is for you.

---

A/N : I hope everyone is safe and taking care of themselves! I got a lot of questions on why Grace withheld information from Voldemort in the last chapters (consequently getting Regulus tortured): she, of course, didn't know that it would be Regulus who would pay for her mistake. Even if she did know, I doubt her decision would have really changed; she believed Voldemort might have actually taken some children to Greyback as a sort of tribute, and she didn't want to have children's lives on her hands. She's only eighteen, lost both her parents, got into a huge fight with her brother, was tortured by Voldemort, and has lost nearly all her friends; she isn't always going to make the best decisions.

As always, thank you for the faves, follows, and all the amazing reviews! They're super encouraging to read. Keep letting me know what you think!

Thank you : Wow, your review means so much to me! I agree, seeing JKR tweet that garbage made me SO angry. Like a lot of fan artists and writers out there, I do try to make this version of Harry Potter much more inclusive, and I will definitely continue to do so! The "bury your gays" trope is incredibly harmful and I can guarantee you that I am not setting up couples like Castor/Francis and Lila/Ophelia to become tragic figures; all will be well eventually. Very much appreciate that you're fond of the Potter family's diverse background; their image is very much inspired by diverse fan art online. If you're at all interested, I'd definitely recommend reading Harry Potter: Everyone Lives AU by AidanChase on AO3; it spans books 1-7, tries to correct everything JKR did wrong, and is chockfull of diverse representation that I think you might enjoy! If you'd ever like to talk more, you can also message me on tumblr! My username is dewclad :)

April : Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! On whether or not Regulus has grown out of his "telling" phase: it's more like he only ever "tells" to his mother. It's hard for him to keep secrets from Walburga Black—but we see that he does do it in chp 12 when she asks him where he's going and he lies. Somewhere in the past seven years, he's managed to control his panic and lie well enough that even she doesn't suspect. Regulus would never rat out Grace; loyalty is a sacred thing for Slytherins.

Guest (3) : Thank you for all the reviews and compliments! Yeah, I'd say Dirk is Grace's closest friend after Regulus. She doesn't get a vision every time she's tortured; it happens every time someone performs Legilimency on her, which is something we're absolutely going to explore. You're definitely not reading too much into it!

Graculus : okay wait that list is brilliant! Also, Rotter? Pretty accurate for them rn LOL. I'm really fond of Regulace, too.

violets/flamingcrabbutt/all your other hilarious aliases : your commentary was absolutely hilarious, thank you for that! I didn't think of that before, but now you *know* that if Grace ever gets married she will have boatloads of violets—hell, it'll be violet-themed—just to spite James. About whether or not we'll be seeing more of Remus: eventually. He's sort of removed from the story atm since he's up north doing werewolf shit for Dumbledore. Grace can't remember her visions, but she knows she had them. It's the same Davey Gudgeon! Sort of forgot about the scar though, haha.

Mars : Haha, "Death Toddlers" is hilarious and honestly the best way to describe them. Honestly, unsure if Voldemort has a nose at this point; sort of leaving that up to the reader's discretion. It's gonna be a while until we get to Francis, unfortunately :( Honestly, I haven't thought about Snape that much. He doesn't really factor into the story as I have it planned. Also, thank you so much for the compliments! Ngl, I *also* had Caelum written down, LOL.

puppyduckster : pls don't apologize! Thank you so much for being such a dedicated reader and leaving such nice reviews! Yeah, the last chapter was certainly a heavy one :'( But yes, Avery! Can't wait to get to him later on (it might be a while though)

Random Reader : Wow, thank you for the reviews! I'm glad you're so engaged with the story. I can only answer a few of your really wonderful questions because I don't want to give away spoilers:

"Are they really dating, have they talked about becoming official?" — Grace and Regulus have, hilariously, never had a conversation about their relationship, and this is only because *I* have no idea how to bring it up LOL. Like, it's been a while and it's way past the point where they'd be like "so….what are we?" I kind of just want to keep it this way. One day, years from now, Grace will roll over in bed and ask, "So….do you like like me?" And Regulus will be like, "jfc we're literally married?"

As for James believing Sirius's theory…. I honestly love the idea of Sirius kind of overcompensating and telling every single person he knows that his little brother is a Death Eater, and every single person being like…uh, yeah, sure mate. Because Regulus seems like a shy little nerd and has been underestimated his whole life. We get a hint of that in Flying, too, when Regulus fully confesses to putting Stinksap on Sirius's bed, and James still doesn't believe Regulus because he doesn't think Regulus would have the nerve to do something like that.

Your review on Flying was super insightful, especially regarding Binns's dialogue! Thank you for engaging with the story :)