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')

18. Empty

Just a warning: this chapter is quite intense towards the end. There are some injuries suffered, and the descriptions get a little graphic.

---

Empty

There is no coming back from this. There is only one place Grace can go now.

---

Grace was having a very hard time keeping still.

"How long, do you think?" she asked Cliodna while pacing across the sitting room. "If You-Know-Who just wants to have a few words with him…surely it wouldn't take so long, right? He should be back by now."

Cliodna, who seemed remarkably undisturbed by Regulus's absence, continued to paw at the bowl of kneazle nibbles by the fireplace. She seemed to find one she liked more than the rest and leaned down to gently pick it up in her mouth and chew. She settled by the warm flames of the hearth and finished off her snack. Grace watched the quiet scene unfold, wishing she could be this cavalier, too.

She strode back to the couch and collapsed heavily into it, sinking into the soft cushion. She dipped over to her left and picked up the golden wristwatch on the side table: her parent's gift for her seventeenth birthday. She rarely referred to it—mostly because she hated the feel of the cold metal against her skin—but she had dug it out of her trunk shortly after arriving back at the cottage to count down the minutes until Regulus returned. Her thumb caressed the side of the smooth gold inlay. It had only been twenty minutes since she left Malfoy Manor and came back to Falmouth.

"If he had to use the Portkey and get out," Grace mumbled quietly, trying to add up the minutes in her head, "then he'd be at Hogwarts. If something happened, he might have to tell Dumbledore. And that could take an hour or so, but…" Her gaze wavered back to Cliodna, who was now splayed on her back in front of the hearth, letting the warmth of the flames tickle her belly. "He would have come to me before going to Dumbledore, right?"

No sooner had she spoken the question aloud, a series of soft but persistent knocks fell against the door. She perked up and hefted herself off the couch. This was surely Regulus. The touch against the door was gentle enough that it could only be him. Grace made a beeline for the door. Cliodna rolled over and trotted over, too, mewling against the door, as though to confirm that this was indeed Regulus and she was very annoyed that he had not yet opened the door.

Grace pulled against the handle but found that it was stuck. She frowned and tried again.

"Grace—" came Regulus's voice from the other side.

"Yeah, I'm here," she called back, struggling with the doorknob. "I dunno what's happened. I think the knob is jammed, hold on—"

"No, I'm just holding onto it."

She dropped her hand from the knob and stared crossly into the wood of the door. "Why're you doing that?"

"Because we're supposed to ask questions."

"What?" she said in disbelief. "What are you talking about? This isn't the bloody Ravenclaw tower—"

"It's what Vance told us to do," Regulus said, a hint of exasperation leaking through.

Grace let out an irritated breath. "But…I know it's you. If someone were impersonating you, they wouldn't be asking to go through with the security precautions."

"Unless they were doing it to get you to think it was me."

"What? No, that's stupid."

"We should still do it. Just in case." A pause, and then: "I don't know if it's really you, after all."

"Okay, fine. I'll ask you a question. Just give me a minute to think of one…"

She could almost see Regulus nodding on the other side of the door. Beneath her, Cliodna was clawing at the wood irritably. Grace gently picked her up and tried to settle her down in her arms. She was having a hard time trying to conjure up some sort of question to ask. Her mind was more preoccupied with the events of the night: Peter Pettigrew's betrayal, You-Know-Who secreting Regulus away for a private conversation.

"What's my favorite band?" Grace asked at last.

"That is a terrible question!" Regulus cried out. "Everyone knows how much you love the Hobgoblins. You've got to ask me something only I would know."

"I can't think of anything! You've put all this pressure on me. Why don't you just ask the question?"

"Fine." A short pause followed, and then: "What's my…favorite book?"

"Are you joking?" Grace said. "I'm not allowed to ask you what my favorite band is, but you're—"

"Not everyone knows what my favorite book is! I'm awfully fond of A History of Magic, you know—"

"Regulus, I'm sure there are more people than just me that know your favorite book is The Miraculous Mage."

"I—okay, fine. That question was rubbish. Let me try another one."

Grace groaned loudly. "It's clearly us! If you were someone else, I'm almost certain you would have just blasted the door in by now."

"Well, of course it's me and not someone else, but we should do this now because what if in the future—"

"In the future, I'll just know it's you."

"How can you do that if you don't ask any questions?"

"I'll just know."

"You can't just know something like—"

Grace flung the door open and saw a neat and collected Regulus frowning at the entrance to the cottage. Cliodna immediately zipped towards Regulus and began to nuzzle her face against his legs.

"I'll know it's you," she assured. "Like I know it's you right now—because Cliodna went straight to you, and because you're favoring your left side—you always have ever since you got hit with that Bludger on your right in fifth year—and because your cloak is fastened all the way up to your neck even though it's so warm outside. I know it's you, okay? Now come inside."

He didn't come inside. He took a half step forward and pulled Grace into a bone-crushing hug. She returned the embrace just as deeply, breathing in the faint scent of paper and polish he always carried with him. They parted after a few seconds and Grace looked up into Regulus's shadowy grey eyes. She tucked an errant lock of hair behind his ear. He looked incredibly exhausted, but not all hurt. He was in almost the same state Grace had left him in.

"Nothing happened?" she asked.

He hesitated. "Something happened, but I don't really understand it."

And with those cryptic words, he made his way into the house and threw himself onto the couch. He stared pensively at the weak wooden beams of the roof. Grace hurried inside and sat down beside him, worry mounting within her.

"But you're okay, right?" she said with growing urgency. Her gaze flitted over him once more but she could find nothing wrong except for the gloom slipping over him. "Did he do something to you?"

Regulus looked over at her. "No, he just asked to borrow Kreacher."

Her entire body loosened. She relaxed against the plush cushioning of the sofa. "That's all? He didn't say anything else?"

"No, nothing." Regulus's brows were drawn together in confusion and concentration. "He said he needed a house-elf, so I called Kreacher. I told Kreacher to tell Mother that he would be needed for an errand on behalf of You-Know-Who. When he returned, I told him to obey You-Know-Who's instructions and to come back to me when he was finished. After that, You-Know-Who thanked me and told me to leave."

Grace struggled to see any malevolence in this simple interaction. Her eyes glanced over Regulus, who seemed particularly upset by this.

"Why do you think he needs a house-elf?"

"I don't know." His lips were pursed in thought. "I imagine he needs to bypass anti-Apparition wards or something equivalent. Something only a house-elf's magic can accomplish."

"Oh," Grace said softly. "Well, if that's the case, Kreacher should be back fairly soon."

He nodded absently. "It's just… More than what Kreacher might have to do, I'm worried about why it had to be Kreacher. He could have asked any other Death Eater for their house-elf, but he asked for Kreacher. I don't understand why."

Grace ran a hand through her already messy hair, batting away her curls. "I think it might not be so complicated. He might have just been trying to reward you."

Regulus looked at her incredulously. "Reward me?"

"He thinks he's the best thing to have happened to the world since Fizzing Whizzbees. And he asked you for a favor. Imagine if one of the Lestranges had been asked to lend him their house-elf; they'd be over the moon. They'd be touched. He probably thought you'd appreciate it since he's mental."

"But why me?"

"Because he trusts us now." She turned away from him, picking at a piece of lint stuck to the fabric of the couch. "Lestrange said so. He said Peter could come out because only the most trusted Death Eaters have been called. I suppose You-Know-Who was impressed by the prophecy and he's decided to include us in his inner circle."

Bewilderment flooded Regulus. He didn't seem to have realized this, or perhaps he hadn't caught onto the wording in the moment. There had been quite a lot to worry about.

"Right," he exhaled. "I forgot he said that…"

"I didn't," she said bitterly, drawing her knees up and hugging them tight against her chest. Her gaze flickered back to the roaring flames of the fireplace. Now that Regulus was back and safe, she was glad to devote herself to her anger again, that tense and unstable mix of hurt and fury that pierced her chest like a small prick—and quickly grew larger. Back at Malfoy Manor, the betrayal she felt when she saw Peter step out from the shadows shocked her into stillness. For a moment, everything stopped, everything shut down, and she simply watched him with quiet bafflement as he helped the enemies of his closest friends. She did not know Peter as well as James did, but that did not mean she didn't know him at all. He had visited Godric's Hollow on occasion, had laughed with James, Sirius, and Remus, spent sleepless nights with them, romped through the backyard with them, invented spells and planned countless shenanigans with them. Did seven years mean nothing? Did love mean nothing? Because James loved Peter. James loved his friends, and Peter was one of his friends. To do this… To give them up… To give up James—endanger James, betray James, hurt James—was unforgivable to Grace. It was more than betrayal. It was a crime, and one Peter would pay for dearly.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment. Grace looked vacantly into the bright fire of the hearth, until the light of it seared against her gaze, until she could feel tears prick the corners of her eyes. She couldn't make out much of Regulus from her periphery, but she could tell he was shock-still, too upset or confused to really do anything at all but just sit there and think.

Cliodna stretched out in front of the fireplace and let out a small sleepy noise before curling into herself. The sound prompted Grace to turn back to Regulus and say, "We have to do something about Peter."

Reg's faintly troubled face immediately crumpled, curdling into something bitter and distressed. And as much as her heart ached at the resent unfurling across his face, she could not help but feel assured. Something in her warmed because she knew, now, that she was not the only one who felt so wounded. Regulus understood, too. He did not know Peter very well, or at all, but he knew the meaning of this, the momentous betrayal that had just occurred, the hurt and pain this would bring. It made her heart sting less to know she was not alone in this.

"Did you—" he lifted his gaze to meet hers, mournful silver meeting aching gold, "—hear what You-Know-Who is planning to do about what Peter said? I—I'm sorry, I missed what was said…"

"It's okay," she said sympathetically. "It wasn't a lot. He doesn't care much about Rowle, Macnair, or Goyle in particular, but he also doesn't want the Order to diminish his numbers. He's having them stowed away into hiding so that they won't be ambushed or—or whatever the Order is planning for them, I'm not sure… Peter made it seem like the Order wants to kill them, but I can't imagine… I don't know. I also don't understand how Peter found out." She let out a breath of frustration. "Vance mentioned earlier that only a few people were being told of their plans at a time. Everything is in batches now, so they can limit what's leaked. There was one group assigned to Rowle, one to Macnair, one to Goyle. But Peter knew about all of them."

"Because it's not just him," Regulus said. "There are four of them."

Her shoulders grew stiff. "James wouldn't—"

"Not on purpose," he cautioned. "I meant the four of them have probably been assigned to different groups. But since they're all so close… I wouldn't be surprised if they've been talking about their missions with each other. If Peter was only assigned to one group, then James and Sirius must have been assigned to the others—and they must have told him."

"Merlin…" She closed her eyes briefly. She wanted to fault them for it, but how could she? If you trusted someone, wouldn't you tell them everything? Didn't she tell Regulus everything? How could James, Sirius, and Remus have known? How could they have realized Peter's betrayal meant their own, too? "We have to tell Dumbledore and Vance. We have to go to Hogwarts and tell them."

"Vance only said to go for emergencies—"

"This is an emergency!" Her eyes were wide and furious. "Peter needs to be—he can't be allowed to just go about his day! He needs to be punished for this, and—and James needs to know—"

"It's not a life or death situation is what I mean," Regulus said wearily. "You-Know-Who didn't give out instructions for counter-ambushes or surprise attacks against the Order. He just wants some of his Death Eaters to go into hiding. Even if we got the news to Dumbledore or Vance, we don't know where they might go. We just know it'll happen."

It made sense—but Grace was beyond sense. It was unfair to allow Peter to think he was safe and undiscovered for even a second longer. It was an injustice to let him visit James, chat with him and eat with him and laugh with him, until the holiday ended.

"It could become a life or death situation," Grace said pointedly. "Peter could pass on something else that endangers the Order."

Regulus mulled over the thought. "I suppose… But Vance isn't in Hogwarts. We'd have to go to Dumbledore—and what if Peter happens to be there? Vance mentioned Order members might stop by now and again, and we can't be found out. Especially not by Peter. He's seen us now."

Grace made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. "You're right—he could have gone anywhere, be anywhere. I wouldn't be surprised if he went to visit Dumbledore of his own volition, just to find something out." She threw her head back against the couch, eyes beginning to rove over the ceiling. "We don't need to actually be there, honestly. We just have to tell them about Peter. If we could just get a note to Dumbledore's office…"

Regulus's brows rose thoughtfully. "We could use Kreacher."

Grace shot up. "Right! He can Apparate into the castle. He could deliver a note to Dumbledore—and if there were any Order members there, they wouldn't recognize him—"

He grimaced. "Except for Sirius."

"Oh, yeah…" she faltered. "What if we just had Kreacher deliver a note to Pokey? And she could get it to Dumbledore? It wouldn't be unusual for a Hogwarts house-elf to be there. She could be cleaning his office."

Regulus was nodding along. "That sounds feasible. It shouldn't be too difficult. We'll just have to wait for Kreacher to get back."

"Then we'll wait for Kreacher."

---

It had already been dark when they left and returned to Falmouth, but now it seemed even more so. From the window of her parent's old room, Grace could see the horizon—the sea and the sky intermingling into one endless blanket of pitch black. They were far enough in the countryside that the stars above should have been evident, tiny pinpricks of light glowing in the distance, not enough to see anything of note but enough to feel at ease in the dark. But the sky was obscured. When Grace stared long enough, she could just make out the hazy outline of thick clouds rolling in, and the sight made her stomach lurch. She had come here to get away from the castle, from the endless run of the days, the worry that permeated the air, but now she ached to be back. She wanted to warn Dumbledore. She wanted to ruin Peter. She wanted to tell James. Here, in this remote cottage by the shore, she felt far away and useless. And with those heavy clouds clotting the sky, with the darkness swallowing the world around them, she felt even more so. Her only hope was for Kreacher to return and get the message to Dumbledore. It was not urgent, like Regulus had said, but it certainly felt so. She wanted to do something about it now. She could feel her blood pumping through her veins, her fury lighting through her. Something had to be done—but nothing could be until Kreacher arrived, so she waited.

Hour after hour passed. The dark grew deeper. Still, Kreacher did not return.

Her anger ebbed into something gentler, dragging her into exhaustion, and she soon found herself struggling to keep her eyes open. The bedding was soft and comfortable, and she sank into it, letting herself grow heavy, letting the mattress carry her and all the burdens that came with her. She wavered between sleep and wakefulness, half-thoughts drifting through her head. Kreacher will be here soon… We should prepare the note… She heard the sheets rustling, but it could only be Regulus. She shifted in bed, pressing her face deeper into the cushion of her pillow. Mum and Dad used this pillow once… Wonder if they'd mind me using it… Wonder if they'd mind Reg being here… Wind was picking up outside, whispering over the shore, squeezing through the house. She woke blearily, shivering, and reached a hand out in the lowlight to grab more of the quilt, but when her fingers danced over the other side of the bed, she didn't feel Regulus.

Her head snapped to the side, and she rubbed at her eyes. Blinking rapidly, she found that she was right. Regulus wasn't there. But he had been, right? Or had she dreamed that? She lifted her head and surveyed the room. The door was open a crack, where the firelight of the sitting room was just barely visible.

Grace rose and wrapped her blanket around herself before heading over to the sitting room. As soon as she opened the door, she saw Regulus hunched over on the couch, a book splayed over his lap. His left foot tapped nervously against the floor.

"What're you doing?" she yawned, padding over.

Regulus looked up. He was distraught, his face pulled into a sorrowful expression. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"No," she said, slipping onto the couch beside him. She leaned into his side. Her eyes fluttered to a close. "I woke up myself and saw you weren't in bed. Did something happen?"

"No," he said, and sounded upset by the fact. "It's just… I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd read something."

"What're you reading?"

He closed the book and regarded the cover. "Redefining the Runic Script: Why Context Matters."

"How do you consistently choose the most boring books available?"

She could feel his shoulders lighten and she cracked open an eye. Regulus snorted, a small smile flitting across his lips.

"It is sort of boring," he agreed. "I was hoping it might put me to sleep."

"Hmm… Probably didn't work because, one, you're sitting up and hunched over a book instead of lying in bed and, two, it's dreadfully cold in here." The hearth was a smoldering pile of ash. A few embers were keeping it lit, but the flames were low and weakening fast.

"That might explain it."

"Here," Grace said, unwinding some of her blanket and wrapping it around him, too. She nestled closer into him, dropping her head so that his chin could rest over it. "That's one problem solved."

She felt him shift and a soft kiss was pressed against her scalp. "Thanks."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

He tensed again. She untangled a hand from the confines of the quilt and laid it against his, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

"It's Kreacher," he admitted. "He's not back yet, and I'm just… I'm worried. I don't know what he's doing, whether or not it's dangerous. I can't even find myself to really care about Peter—and I'm sorry for that—but Kreacher is… He's important."

She was wide awake now and frowning. She lifted her head, brushing against his chest, to catch a look at him. She couldn't make out much of his expression, but she assumed it hadn't changed much from when she first entered the sitting room: drawn brows and a grimace tugging at his lips. Guilt burrowed into her chest. She hadn't realized Regulus might have still been worried about Kreacher. She'd mistaken his discomfort and distress early on and thought it had been about Peter instead.

"You don't have to apologize," she told him. "Kreacher is important. I'm sure he's fine. Like you said, it doesn't make sense for You-Know-Who to need a house-elf unless it's for something only a house-elf could accomplish. Kreacher's probably done his part already and is just waiting for You-Know-Who to finish up."

"But I told Kreacher to come back to me after he finished…"

"Maybe he has to Apparate You-Know-Who back? That's why he's waiting?"

"Maybe," Regulus said, but his tone was flat and unhappy.

Grace played with the hem of the blanket for a bit. Her fingers brushed over the sewn stars. "I'm sorry—I shouldn't have jumped straight into figuring out what to do about Peter. We should have talked about Kreacher first."

"We did talk about Kreacher first," Regulus assured. "But there's so little we know that there wasn't much to talk about."

"I meant your worry for Kreacher." Grace did not have much of an interest in house-elves before Regulus. She used to have a house-elf growing up, but it wasn't the normal sort of arrangement other pure-blood families had. Her parents had requested Dotty from the Ministry. They wanted someone who could Apparate directly to and from Grace and James while they were young and prone to wander off. By the time Grace and James had reached their mid-teens, Dotty had been dismissed and returned to the Ministry to be relocated to another family. Grace had always known Dotty would go and never really formed a bond with her. Why would she? She had a mother and father who doted on her, a brother who played with her, an entire town she was free to wander through. She never needed to pay attention to her house-elf—but Regulus did. To a child whose mother was mean and whose father was absent, whose brother was leagues ahead and would not wait, who had no true friends to sit and chat and play with—to that child, a house-elf was everything. To Regulus, Kreacher was the only person who would listen. (Perhaps, in part, because Kreacher had to listen to Regulus. But Grace knew from the brief encounter with Kreacher during the winter, from the way he threw himself to Regulus, that the crotchety old house-elf truly did not mind listening to Regulus.) To Regulus, Kreacher was friend and family combined. Of course he would worry.

"It's not anything that makes sense," Regulus said, somewhat sheepish. "I just can't help but think something might have happened. But you're right—he's probably just waiting for You-Know-Who to finish his business."

"Your worries don't have to make sense." She peered up at him through her thick lashes. "Are you going to stay up and wait for Kreacher?"

"I think so… I don't mind if you go to—"

"Then I'll stay up, too," she said resolutely. "Go on and read your book."

"Aloud?"

"Sure."

"You want me to read Redefining the Runic Script to you?" She could hear the amusement in his voice.

"Why not?"

With that succinct counterpoint, Regulus flipped open his book again, flicking through the pages until he landed on the chapter he'd stopped at. Grace nestled deeper against him, listening silently as he read. As expected, the book was dreadfully boring. Despite her best efforts, Grace soon found herself nodding off. The fire in the hearth went out at some point, and Regulus had to pause to relight it. But the sudden flare of light and gush of warmth only pulled Grace further into the embrace of sleep. She felt safe and comforted on this couch, with this blanket tugged around her, with the quiet crackle of the flames, with Regulus's delicate voice lulling her. She blinked tightly, trying to force her sleep back down. She was in the middle of battling off a particularly heavy wave of drowsiness when a deafening crack! split through the house.

The sound made her bones shudder. She startled and nearly toppled off the couch. Regulus threw aside his book and fell—not by accident but on purpose, catapulting himself forward to kneel on the floor. The fragile quiet of the night was disrupted by a mess of wet, trembling sobs. Cliodna jolted at the sudden noise, scampering away from her spot by the fireplace and rushing to a quiet corner in the kitchen. Grace batted away her blanket and stood up to cautiously approach Regulus's side.

"Kreacher," Regulus said in disbelief, because it was Kreacher he was crouching in front of, because it was Kreacher who was crying wretchedly, his small face scrunched up in terror, thick tears falling down his cheeks, thin cuts laced over his arm. "Kreacher—what happened to you? How do we help you?"

"M—Master," Kreacher wept pitifully, clinging to Regulus's robes. His voice was hoarse and cracked. "Please, water… Please…"

Regulus was up in an instant, scrambling towards the couch for his wand. He summoned a goblet from the kitchen and conjured some water to fill it. Grace took three long strides back to the bedroom and grabbed her own wand, her heart and her head churning. Her mind fled to the worst possible explanations for Kreacher's state. Had You-Know-Who tortured him? And for what purpose? She stopped by her half-open trunk and pulled out a flask of Draught of Peace before hurtling back to the sitting room.

Kreacher was gulping down his water. Regulus's wand traced over Kreacher's light wounds, healing the small cuts and scrapes across his arms.

"Here," Grace said, kneeling beside Regulus and uncorking the potion, "do you think this will help him?"

Kreacher was still sniffling, still shaking even as he drank. Regulus looked to her, his face tight with worry and fear.

"Yes, I think so." His fretful face returned to Kreacher. "Do you want some Draught of Peace, Kreacher?"

Kreacher did not stop drinking his water, but his eyes glanced up to Regulus and then to the bottle in Grace's hands. He lowered the goblet and said, "Potion for…Kreacher?"

"Yes," Grace said. She thrust the flask forward. Her own hand was shaking. "I think half will probably do."

Kreacher's eyes flickered over her. More than distrust for her, more than doubt and suspicion, there was fear bleeding into him. He looked unsure of himself and what he was being given. He looked utterly broken, vulnerable. Grace could see pain in him, and it made him appear tender, like a wound exposing soft flesh. Sympathy swelled within her. She could understand this. Hadn't she been tortured by You-Know-Who, too? Hadn't she been thrown to the floor, hands clawing, mouth screaming? The agony she had suffered then was the worst she had ever known. And Kreacher was so tiny… She suddenly felt foolish for thinking he might have ever been fine. No one was safe in You-Know-Who's presence.

She set the flask down in front of him to let him make the choice.

"It'll make you feel better," she said gently.

Kreacher nodded. He traded the goblet for the draught and took slow, long sips of it. By the time he had reached the halfway mark, he was beginning to calm, his tears drying, his shakes and tremors quelling. When he finished, he wiped at his mouth and looked tearily at Grace before shifting focus back to Regulus.

"Master Regulus," he rasped, hunching over the hem of Regulus's robes. "Thank you—saved Kreacher, helped Kreacher—thank you, thank you—"

But Regulus didn't want the praise. Grace could see it clearly. Kreacher's words did little to lighten the load setting into Regulus's heart. There was a pain of his own settling into him. Regulus's hands shook as he gingerly took Kreacher from the floor and guided him onto the couch.

"Kreacher, what happened?" Regulus said brokenly. His voice was a mere whisper. If he had been just a little louder, Grace might have been able to hear the tremble that ran across his words. "If you're feeling up to it, of course. If you can..."

"Yes, Kreacher can," he said with as much will and force as he could muster, but his voice still came out weak and wan. "Kreacher accompanied the Dark Lord as Master Regulus told him to. The Dark Lord told Kreacher nothing and simply took Kreacher to a cave hidden by the sea. The cave was bare save for a wall with powerful enchantments. Here, the Dark Lord stopped and commanded Kreacher to—to bleed. And… And Kreacher cut along his arm…"

Grace drew in a sharp breath. Regulus's hands tightened over his knees but he said nothing. Grace could see guilt and regret rock into Regulus, shadows falling over his face, sullen and forlorn, pangs of pain filling him, as though he had cut himself and let his blood spill in this dreadful cave, too.

Kreacher himself looked away fearfully, his right hand ghosting over his left. "Kreacher pressed the blood to the wall," he continued bravely, "And the wall opened to reveal a cavern. And in the cavern was a large lake. In the middle of the lake was a small island. The Dark Lord commanded a boat out of the shadows to take to the island. On—on the island… On the island there was a basin…"

He faltered again and looked up at Regulus. His eyes were bloodshot, glistening with tears yet to fall. Grace's hands twisted into her robes, a chilling dread sweeping over her. She did not understand what this cave was, why You-Know-Who took Kreacher there, what the importance of any of this was, but her heart hammered against her chest all the same. Perhaps it was the lack of certainty that frightened her more than the current of agony traveling through Kreacher.

"It's all right," Regulus comforted as best he could. His voice was choked. "You don't have to say anything more. You don't have to continue."

A long moment passed. Kreacher looked away, back down to the faded pattern of the couch. He sniffled quietly to himself. The hearth continued to flicker and crackle and although there was plenty of tinder for the flame to consume, its light seemed dimmer now.

"Kreacher will tell," he said eventually. "Kreacher will tell… There was a potion in the basin, and the Dark Lord commanded Kreacher to—to drink it." He barely got through the sentence before he burst into tears again. He ducked his head again and swung his arms around himself, as though to stop the pain of the moment from gripping him again. "And Kreacher drank… The potion burned, but Kreacher drank… Horrible… Horrible things… But Kreacher still drank… Such pain Kreacher has never felt… Kreacher cried for Master Regulus, for Mistress… All alone… Begging… The Dark Lord only laughed…"

Grace's throat was tight and choked. There was not much detail Kreacher was giving here, but his voice was so torn, his face so distraught, that Grace thought she might be sick. The Dark Lord only laughed. She could imagine it. She could see his pale, twisted face laughing, those blood-red eyes bright and mocking, as Kreacher thrashed in pain. Her eyes burned, her chin quivered. She glanced at Regulus and saw tears were slipping down his face, too.

Kreacher rocked himself back and forth on the couch. "When Kreacher finished, the Dark Lord took out a locket… The locket was dropped into the empty basin… And then—and then the Dark Lord returned to his boat and left without Kreacher… Throat burning… Kreacher needed water… There was water from the lake… Kreacher crawled to it and bent down…" He shuddered violently. "But hands reached out! Terrible, terrible hands—cold, dead—reached out, grabbed Kreacher! More and more came… Kreacher was frightened, begging… But then Kreacher remembered Master Regulus said to return when he finished." And, here, Kreacher's fear morphed into gratitude. He looked up at Regulus with wet, shining eyes, as though Regulus had saved him instead of damned him. Regulus returned this look with one of aching heartbreak. Grace could almost see the lurch in his heart, the split that drove through him, how terribly it hurt him to have failed someone who admired him so deeply. "Kreacher summoned his strength and came to Master Regulus. Kreacher came here."

Nothing was said. The shadows created by the hearth danced across the room. Regulus despaired and raged all at once, his sleeve rising to press against his wet cheeks, his jaw locked firmly. Grace laid a hand on his shoulder, a steady hand, a hand of comfort, a hand to say, I'm here, too. I'm with you.

"Kreacher, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I never thought… If I had only known, I wouldn't have… I'm so sorry," Regulus said woefully, messily, the words scattered and waterlogged.

Kreacher jumped in alarm. "Master Regulus has nothing to apologize for!" he cried out. "Kreacher is honored to have been chosen—"

"There was no honor in this, Kreacher. There wasn't… This was wrong. It shouldn't have happened to anyone. It shouldn't have happened to you. I'm sorry. Please know that. I need you to know that."

Kreacher still seemed unsure, but he didn't argue with Regulus this time. His thin, wrinkled face lowered and he gave a small nod of understanding. Outside, the first drops of rain were beginning to fall, pattering softly against the windows. A sullen silence swallowed the room. Regulus continued to watch Kreacher with such grief and heartbreak that it began to make Grace's chest ache, as though there were some physical crack beginning to pry apart her ribs. After a moment of quiet reflection, Kreacher looked up and asked for some more water, which Regulus conjured with such speed and diligence that he seemed to have done it before Kreacher even asked. Kreacher drank slower this time. Grace saw the corners of Regulus's lips twitch and tremble now and again, as though he wanted to interrupt and say something, offer more apologies—stronger ones, better ones—but he couldn't find the strength to say anything more. Grace found herself at a loss, too. She barely understood the situation at hand.

"Why don't you go home and rest now?" Regulus asked as the rain outside began to pick up. "Go to sleep and try to forget about tonight as best you can, Kreacher."

Grace reached down for the half-finished bottle of Draught of Peace. She put the stopper back in and handed it to Kreacher. "And if you feel any worse later, drink the rest of this."

Regulus nodded in agreement. "I'll check in on you later, Kreacher."

Kreacher's large eyes swung between them. His thin hands curled around the bottle. "Thank you, Master Regulus," he croaked.

"You don't need to thank me," Regulus said.

Kreacher's lips tugged down, ready to argue the opposite, but he seemed to realize this might only upset Regulus further so he said nothing at all. He hefted himself off the couch and gave Regulus a deep bow before Apparating away. The break in atmosphere was thunderous, ear-splitting, but it quickly faded, sucked into the solemn mood that clouded the sitting room. Regulus was very still, taut and high-strung, staring pensively into the hardwood. The moment seemed so fragile that Grace was afraid to even breathe too loudly.

"I did that," Regulus said eventually. "I did that Kreacher."

"No," Grace protested. "You couldn't have known…"

"But I should have." He turned towards her. His face was raw, cracked with shame and remorse. "He didn't ask for a house-elf because he thought one might be useful. I should have known… He wouldn't think a house-elf was anything more than a mindless servant. That's why he needed one. He needed someone he could command. He needed someone who would follow orders unfalteringly, someone who would suffer—someone disposable."

Grace felt like crying now, too. There was something awful splitting through Regulus's voice. The house had never felt smaller. The world had never seemed crueler.

"That's why he asked me," Regulus said. "He thought I wouldn't say anything if Kreacher were to die by his hands. He thought I wouldn't do anything about it. He… He thought I'd let him step all over me. And, you know what? He's not half-wrong."

Her heart stuttered in her chest, and she reached for him, desperate to pull him to her side, wipe away the tears, swallow him into her heart. She knew he didn't want to hear the other side—how fervently she disagreed, how he would have made all the right choices if only he'd known—so she didn't say anything. It might have made him feel worse to force him to hear it. She remembered how terrible and guilt-wracked she felt the day after Regulus had been tortured in her stead. She was obstinate in that it was her fault. (She still was.) Regulus might have been able to soften that conviction, but he hadn't been able to erase it entirely. Only time could do that. Only forgiveness from the self could do that.

"We'll fix this," she tried instead. "He won't get the chance to do this ever again—to do anything like this ever again. We'll make sure of it. I don't know what that locket is, how special it is to him, but we'll tell—"

"I know what it is," Regulus interrupted.

Grace faltered. "What?"

"I know what it is," he said again, voice short and hard.

He rose and stalked over to the bedroom. Grace followed after him. His steps were wide and impatient. He stooped down over his trunk and began to sift through it recklessly. Grace had never seen him handle any of his books with such carelessness. He threw them aside: his textbooks and novels scattered across the floor. He tugged out his spare robes and flung them away. Once his trunk was near-empty, he stopped, pulling out an old, leather-bound tome from the very bottom. He flipped through it rapidly, his hands shaking, but no longer out of dread. There was a wave of burning, stinging anger roiling within him. Something visceral was taking hold of him.

"I found this in my family library during the summer," Regulus explained. "It was some time after You-Know-Who had said he'd conquered death. I think I mentioned it to you."

"You did," Grace said hoarsely, watching with rapt attention as Regulus tore through the pages. "You said it sounded ridiculous but he said it with such confidence that it might have been true…"

"Yeah, so I read about it—conquering death—and I found some things that fit into what he'd been talking about. Dark potions, things like drinking unicorn's blood. And some alchemical options, too, like the philosopher's stone. But with that locket… There's only one thing, only one, that requires a physical receptacle…" He stopped on a page. Grace leaned over his shoulder and saw a horrible image of a man twisting in pain, his body mangled, splitting into two. "Here: Horcruxes."

He handed the book over to her. Grace shivered as she took in the picture again. Her hazel eyes swept over the small print of the page:

Produced from the intentional slaughter of a person, the Horcrux is perhaps the vilest of all magical inventions. If created successfully, the Horcrux will store a fragment of a wizard's soul in an object outside the body. Upon death, the wizard in question cannot die, for part of his soul yet remains to revive him. But, beware, for the trial of creation is not one the weak should endeavor upon…

The book began to describe the ritual intended to create a Horcrux, a process so gruesome and terrible that Grace found she could not read any further. She clapped the tome shut and looked up at Regulus, slack-jawed, mind dazed. (It had been mere hours ago when her largest concern was Peter Pettigrew. Now, his betrayal felt little more than a piece of empty gossip.) She struggled to make sense of this. Her immediate instinct was to get the locket, get You-Know-Who's soul—because that was what it was, after all, an actual piece of You-Know-Who, the only thing keeping him from dying and ending the war—and destroy it. But that thought was quickly overpowered by a primal and innate fear. Kreacher had almost died in that cave. Terrible hands, he had wept. Cold, dead. She did not know what You-Know-Who's cave of horrors held. She did not know what sort of enchantments had been put in place. She did not know if she could even touch his Horcrux. You-Know-Who was so wicked, so heinous, she would not be surprised if even a single brush against his soul struck her dead.

"I want to take it," Regulus said before Grace could tell him they ought to show this to Dumbledore and Vance.

Grace stared at him in disbelief. "What?"

His gaze brimmed with ferocious fury. "I want to take it. That locket, his Horcrux—I want to take it. It's not his any longer. The moment he put Kreacher in danger, he lost any right to anything he put in that cave. He—he—you don't understand, Grace. Kreacher isn't my house-elf. He's my friend. And he…"

"I know that," Grace assured as best she could. "I know that, Reg, I do. But I don't know if you can just go take it. Kreacher almost died in that cave."

"Yes! Because he meant for Kreacher to die there! He didn't drink the potion himself because he wanted Kreacher to drink it. He didn't give any water because he wanted Kreacher to suffer. He didn't tell Kreacher to go home immediately because he wanted Kreacher to die there, because he is cold and cruel, because he takes pleasure in pain, because he has no respect for life or loyalty—and—and… It can't go on like that! I've been just letting him do this… I've just been…" His eyes searched hers. "He did it to you. Three rounds of the Cruciatus. And I just let it…"

"You weren't there," she said, just as desperate, just as wounded. "Regulus, how could you have done anything then? You're not just letting things happen. Things just happen."

He shook his head. "No, no, that's not it. It's different. Don't you see?"

It pained her that she couldn't understand. "Reg…"

"It—it's been my whole life, Grace!" He was working through something enormous. There was such intensity in him that Grace found herself momentarily speechless, pulled into the whirlwind energy of his rant. "My whole life, I've just been letting people do things to me. Letting my parents choose the subjects I would take. Letting Bellatrix bully me into becoming a Death Eater. Letting You-Know-Who nearly kill Kreacher! And—and—I always thought maybe, one day, it would end. Maybe, one day, everyone will just leave me alone and I'll finally, finally be able to do what I want, but I don't think that day will ever come. I think it'll always be like this. I think I'll always just be used, and I won't ever say anything about it because—because I just can't. Because I'm not Sirius. I can't just scream back when I hear something I don't like. I can't just run away when things don't go my way. I can't just… I can't. But I have to do something, because it can't go on like this either, because…because… Do you know what I thought when I saw Peter Pettigrew in there? I was angry, of course, and then I just felt sad. Just awful, because I was looking at him and I was seeing some version of myself, some version where I kept letting myself be told what to do, where I kept letting people have their way with me. And I can't let myself become him. It's too terrible. I can't… And what he did to Kreacher… I can't let this keep happening. I won't allow it to, Grace. I won't. I refuse."

A hollow, flat silence filled the house. Outside, the rain was hitting the ground faster now, harder. Regulus stared at Grace, chest heaving. His grey eyes shone with unshed tears. Grace's head was spinning.

"He won't get away with this," she said in as calm a voice as she could muster. "When we get back to Hogwarts, we'll tell Vance and Dumbledore what happened, and they'll—"

"Wait?" he finished. "How long will it take, do you think, until Dumbledore has cleared his schedule to finally address that cave? How long until he's examined it? Until he's sent one of his Order members after it? And what if, after all his planning and waiting, You-Know—no, sod it. Voldemort. It's a stupid name, and it's the only way I'll address him from now on. What if Voldemort changes the location of the locket? He's unpredictable."

Grace couldn't be sure if Regulus was coming from a place of rage or calm, cold rationalization. It seemed to be some strange, off-putting combination of both. There was a streak of anger blazing through his words, but everything he said seemed perfectly reasonable. Dumbledore was not the type of person to rush into things headfirst; he would take his time understanding the nature of the situation. And, by the time he'd figured it all out and laid out a neat twelve-step plan, You-Know-Who might very well change the location of the Horcrux. Grace's eyes searched Regulus's. They were stormy. There was a tempest brewing in him. Grace did not remember much of her prophecy apart from the bright blaze of those visions and a few words. She had Seen a snippet of that cave: the murky grey water, the dead bodies being scattered underneath the surface. (Was that what had grabbed Kreacher? Were those poor victims Inferi now?) She did not want Regulus to step foot in a place like that, but the future didn't care about her wants. The future would pan out as it would. Perhaps Avery was right; perhaps prophecies were only meant to ensure what was to come. All moments affected the future, but this particular one, this thread that hung between herself and Regulus seemed more fateful and important than any other. If it was Regulus's fate to steal the locket, so be it. Grace would be there every step of the way.

"Okay," she agreed. "We'll take it. We'll go to the cave, and we'll take that locket. But give it at least a day, okay? Please? You haven't slept yet, and this is dangerous."

Regulus swallowed thickly, mulling this over. An uncharacteristic impatience clung to him. After a moment, he nodded his agreement.

Grace let out an exhausted breath. She helped Regulus collect his stray books and robes and toss them into his trunk. The downpour outside was quickly turning into a raging storm. They put out the hearth in the sitting room before collapsing into bed. Grace stared blankly up at the shadowy ceiling. Her heart still sped against her chest. She wondered if it might ever calm again.

"Reg," she murmured, "you don't have to be Sirius. You only have to be yourself. You only have to be kind and clever and thoughtful and determined and loyal—which is everything you already are. If I had it my way, everyone would be like you."

He didn't say anything, but the quilt shifted and Grace soon felt him press his cheek against her shoulder. It was dark enough that she couldn't quite make out his face. She reached a hand out and gently smoothed back his hair. Outside, the rain splattered down in thick sheets. The thin slates of the roof shook under the force of it. A blaze of lightning struck the shore, lighting the entire room in brilliant white for a half-second. The rumble of thunder followed only a moment later.

"I used to be afraid of thunderstorms," Regulus said quietly.

"Me, too." Her heart felt heavy for him. "I used to be afraid of a lot of things. I still am."

"But you don't let that stop you. You're brave." She could hear the undercurrent of self-loathing in there.

"You are, too," she said—declared, argued, promised. "Your love makes you brave. That's all bravery really is. It's love."

---

They were more worn out than they realized and quickly fell asleep. It was late afternoon by the time they woke up. The past few days at the cottage had been like a breath of fresh air. Each morning was rosy and warm, with gentle, sleepy smiles stuck to their faces as they awoke and padded off to get a start on the day.

Today was different.

They awoke within minutes of each other, and no smile or warmth accompanied them as they rose. After getting ready, they made a hasty breakfast of eggs and toast and sat beside each other at the small kitchen table. Grace took a few small nibbles of her toast, watching pensively as Regulus scratched at his plate with his fork and made no attempt to eat.

"I think we should go tonight," he said.

Grace had figured this might be the case. "Okay," she said slowly. "But do you think Kreacher would want to return so soon? We'll need him to show us to the cave, after all."

He faltered. "You're right… I'll have to ask him. I'd like for him to accompany us all the way inside since he's the only one who knows how exactly the cave works. But if he doesn't want to step beyond the threshold, I suppose that would be fine. He gave clear enough instructions. We should be able to figure it out."

"I don't think we should cut corners here," Grace said resolutely. "We can't do this sloppily. If Kreacher doesn't want to come tonight, then we should postpone till tomorrow—or whenever he wants to come. I think we'll need him. Without him, we'd have to go through that blood wall and the lake. I'd rather him there so he could Apparate us straight to the locket."

"All right," Regulus agreed after a moment. "But I don't think Kreacher should Apparate us directly to the island with the locket—at least not right away. Voldemort left without Kreacher. He might have set up wards as he was leaving, something to notify him if anyone trespassed into the cave."

Grace grimaced. "Yeah, maybe… Kreacher could take us just outside the cave, beyond the blood wall, I suppose. Wherever it was You-Know-Who first took him. And then we could try to detect if there are any wards up… But if there are, I don't imagine there's much we can do."

"If we can identify what sort of countermeasures he's put up, we would at least have an idea of how much time we have to take the locket before he arrives. Or we can try to disable the wards and work our way inside."

Grace set down her toast. A deeply troubled look crossed over her face. "Right, but… That's not… If his wards are tripped and he's notified that someone is entering his cave, he'll know it's you. Because he used Kreacher. That would put you in danger."

His answer was immediate: "That's a risk I'm willing to take."

She frowned. "Reg—"

"I doubt he would have additional wards," Regulus added. "His protection is the blood wall, after all. I was just bringing up the possibility."

"And it's a very real possibility… Suppose we can't disable his wards, if there are any additional ones. What then?"

"Then we figure out something else."

Frustration flashed through her. "Regulus, this is reckless—"

"When did you get so concerned about recklessness?" he shot back. "Your plan back in December was reckless, too, but I agreed all the same and we made it through, one way or the other."

"That's different. We didn't know what we were getting ourselves into. I didn't know what I was getting myself into. And—"

"Are you saying you wouldn't have gone through with your plan if you knew what you were getting yourself into?"

She faltered. Her hands curled into fists. "No, I don't mean that. Don't play with my words, Regulus. You know what I mean. I'm only saying that we know full well how dangerous this cave is, so we should be more careful than usual." She couldn't bear to see the annoyance and impatience rolling across his face, so she looked away, letting out a breath and facing the windows in the corner. The storm from last night had softened into an overcast. "And I feel…strange about this. I've Seen that cave before, I think. When I had my prophecy. I Saw You-Know-Who in a boat, rowing through a lake. He was dumping corpses. I think that's what grabbed Kreacher. I think it's Inferi."

"Kreacher was only accosted by those creatures because he dipped into the lake. That won't happen to us."

She glanced at him and saw that his face had softened. "I just have a bad feeling about this," she whispered. She remembered, too, something else but it was a mere wisp of memory, nothing more than a few words and a feeling of unshakeable dread. Kreacher's weeping last night had reminded her of it. Throat burning, he'd said. Water from the lake. Terrible hands. Back in the Room, when her plan was fresh and young, she'd practiced Occlumency with Regulus and something had happened then: her first glimpse of the future. Her Inner Eye had not been opened yet, so it was a weak flash, nothing she could hold on to, nothing she could remember solidly. But she knew she had Seen something. Water and hands and burning, she'd told herself when she came out of the vision. She didn't remember what the water looked like, what the hands felt like, what was burning, but she knew those words. She knew they conveyed nothing good.

"Grace," Regulus said tenderly, hands reaching for hers, "I know we can't be certain of anything, but nothing can go wrong here. If there are wards, then there are wards. We can deal with that. Between ourselves and Kreacher, I'm sure we can figure something out. If there are Inferi, then there are Inferi. We can deal with that, too. Inferi fear light and warmth, and we have our wands to cast as much light and warmth as we desire. There's nothing in that cave that we can't deal with."

"Nothing?" she repeated. "What about that potion?"

Silence followed. Regulus's hands slipped away from Grace's. She stretched her fingers out for a moment before knotting them into each other. More than being found out, more than the wall that drank blood, more than the Inferi that patrolled the lake, she was afraid of that potion. She had never heard of a potion that could do what it had done to Kreacher. She wasn't even sure what it had done to Kreacher. He'd been such a mess last night, his words all jumbled, half-sentences and phrases. She only knew it hurt to drink that potion, and it was a hurt she never wanted Regulus to experience.

"You're not drinking the potion," they both said at the same time.

Another spat of quiet followed. Regulus ducked his head sheepishly.

"Glad we have that in common," Grace said dryly.

"Kreacher's not drinking it either," Regulus added.

"He won't," she promised. "Honestly—I'm wondering if none of us have to. Maybe we could vanish it? Or summon the locket from the basin without dealing with the potion?"

Regulus seemed to struggle with something for a moment. He kept his eyes downcast. After a moment or two, he gave a stilted nod.

"Yeah, that should work," he said. "And once we have Voldemort's locket, we should switch it out with another, just in case. There are a lot of antiques at Grimmauld Place. Kreacher can nick a similar locket and bring it to us."

"All right," she agreed absently.

He gave a strained smile. "Good, so we're settled, then."

She didn't feel very settled. Her hands itched for her tarot cards, yearned for some security.

"I'm still not sure about this," she admitted. "It's just… You're right, I've done reckless things before but this feels… I don't know why, but this feels different."

Water and hands and burning…

(What had she Seen then? Why couldn't she remember? Was it a vision of Kreacher in the cave? Or was it something yet to come?)

"I know," Regulus assured, although Grace felt he didn't, not in the way she knew, "but I can't let this sit. It feels wrong not to do anything."

She could understand that. It had barely been a day ago when she felt it would have been wrong not to do anything about Peter Pettigrew—and that wrongness had felt so powerful, so consuming. To not do anything immediately seemed to be the ultimate moral transgression. She was hot-blooded. She wanted justice, and she wanted it to be swift: a sword striking down, heavy with the weight of gravity.

Now, she was sitting at a small kitchen table in the grey morning light, feeling very much like Peter Pettigrew was the last of her worries. Now, her blood felt sluggish and sad. Now, it felt as though the sword were aimed for her own neck.

Things could change that quickly.

---

To Grace's dismay, Kreacher agreed to return to the cave that night. He didn't appear particularly keen on leading them there, but for Regulus he would do anything.

They appeared at the edge of a jagged cliffside. One of Grace's hands was tucked into the pocket of her robes, fiddling with Vance's tube of lipstick. Her other hand was tucked into Regulus's, but his warmth did little to stop her from shivering against the cold air. They were high up but not so far out of the way that they could not still feel the whip and spray of the saltwater-infused wind as it roiled against the ocean underneath. The sea appeared less tame than what Grace was used to. At Falmouth, the ocean rocked and swayed gently, its off-white foam gently lapping against the shore. When she peered over the edge of the rock here, she saw the ocean rage against the cliff. It reared up, a burning, swirling mix of dark color, and thrashed against the rock painfully. There was a wildness here, a ferociousness—and she might have been more than ready for the challenge had she not been cursed with foresight. She still could not shake the dread she felt earlier today. If anything, it had only tripled, pressing against her back heavily, a strain only she could carry, a weight only she could See.

"Here, Master Regulus," Kreacher whispered, inching towards a small crack in the face of the black rock. "There is water in here. The wall lies further on."

Regulus nodded and released Grace's hand so he could take out his wand. "Could you help us detect any wards, Kreacher?"

The old house-elf nodded and craned towards the slit in the cliffside, peering inwards, as though he could see enchantments. Regulus began to wave his wand in spirals and arcs, murmuring under his breath. Grace fished out her wand and copied his motions. It became apparent only a few moments later that there were no wards present save for the cloak of anti-Apparition that shrouded the area, which Kreacher was thankfully immune to as You-Know-Who had not seemed to realize house-elves were not subject to the same magical laws as wizards.

"What a prat," she snapped, shoving her wand into her pocket. She had hoped Regulus would see sense and leave had there been wards up. "He probably thinks he's too good for wards."

"Probably," Regulus agreed. He pocketed his own wand, looking much more relaxed now. "Kreacher? Did you detect anything?"

"No, Master Regulus, nothing save for the enchantments that guard the wall."

"We won't bother with the wall," Regulus assured. "Could you take us to the island with the basin of potion? You can Apparate there, right, seeing as you left from there last night?"

Kreacher nodded. He reached both his hands out, one to each of them. Grace sighed quietly and gently took Kreacher's hand. The salty, chill air of the sea warped around them, funneling them forward. Within seconds, they were within You-Know-Who's cave. The moment Grace's feet met solid ground again, she knew this was the cave from her visions. She had been at a different vantage point before, but she recognized the still dark lake. When she peered over the edge of the island, she could not make out anything beneath the surface although she knew full well what lived there. She turned back to Regulus, who was approaching the basin that stood at the center of the island. It was made of a crude, greyish stone and stood atop a pedestal. The potion that filled it was a hideous bright green. Grace's stomach twisted at the sight of it.

"T—this is the one, Master Regulus," Kreacher said, voice trembling. "The locket lies within the potion."

Regulus looked to Grace. She could not make out much of his features. The cave was exceptionally dark, save for the light the potion emitted.

"Did you try to vanish it?" she asked.

"No."

She took out her wand and pointed it at the vile potion. "Evanesco!"

Nothing happened.

She frowned and moved closer. "Evanesco!"

"I don't think it will work," Regulus said softly.

Her head whipped to his. "What do you mean it won't work?" she demanded. "You said we would try to vanish it—"

"I know, but… This is his soul, Grace. I don't think there's any way of getting the Horcrux from the basin without drinking the potion."

She was shaking her head. "No, we agreed—"

"I know, but—"

"But what?!" she cried out, feeling very much like everything was spiraling out of her grasp. "But you knew then, too? You just agreed to agree?"

He swallowed thickly. "We weren't going to come to an agreement on who would drink the potion, so I thought I just wouldn't say anything."

"We didn't come to an agreement on who would drink the potion because nobody is going to drink the potion, okay?" She looked back at the basin and lifted her wand higher. "Accio Horcrux!"

As expected, nothing happened. Grace let out a noise of frustration. She should have seen this coming. Only a witch or wizard could access this place, and, as such, You-Know-Who had wards in place to prevent them from using their magic to counter his own. With a sinking feeling growing in her chest, she shoved her wand into her pocket and reached into the basin with her hand. She heard Regulus take in a sharp breath and move towards her. His hand met her elbow, trying to stop her, but her hand had already reached the potion—or something above the potion. There was an invisible barrier preventing her from reaching into the concoction and fishing out the locket.

"You can't drink that," Regulus said, clearly panicked.

"Neither can you!" she said before whirling towards Kreacher. "There are exceptions to magic when it comes to house-elves. Do you think you could vanish that potion, Kreacher? Please?"

His beady eyes moved from her to the basin. He peered up at it hopefully and snapped his fingers—but nothing changed. His thin shoulders fell. "Powerful enchantments guard the basin. The potion is protected against any means of tampering. Only a goblet intended to be drunk from can reach the potion…" He took a brave step forward. "K—Kreacher will drink the—"

"You won't drink the potion, Kreacher," Regulus said immediately. "I won't allow you to do that."

Tears were welling up in Kreacher's large eyes. "M—Master!" he gasped. "Master Regulus cannot be thinking about drinking the potion himself—"

"Kreacher," Regulus said calmly, "it'll be fine—"

"No, no, no!" Kreacher wailed. "Master Regulus cannot! What would Mistress think—"

"Kreacher, please—"

Grace stepped forward. She'd had enough of this. "Kreacher, please stop. Regulus won't be drinking the potion. I will."

"Grace!" Regulus said, stricken. "You can't—"

Kreacher stopped his sniffling. "The Potter girl promises?" he questioned, blinking up at her.

"I pro—"

"No, she does not promise," Regulus interrupted heatedly. His grey eyes were stuck on her. "Grace, you can't. Your mind is fragile as it is. This potion, from what Kreacher has said, is one that inflicts mental torture. You can't—"

"And you can't! You can't, either! You can't suffer for this, Regulus. You…" She stared at him brokenly. Her heart heaved painfully. "Why do you want to do this so badly?"

His eyes didn't waver from hers. "Because I want to be brave. Just… Just once in my life, I want to know I did the right thing."

"You've done so many right things—"

"Not on my own. Never on my own." He looked away from her, back at the emerald potion. "I'm going to drink it—"

"You're not!"

"Grace, I am—"

"No, no—" she waved her wand and conjured a goblet for herself, "—I'll—"

"Absolutely not," Regulus said, looking more frightened at the possibility of her undergoing the pain of the potion than himself. "Kreacher, take Grace—"

Kreacher jumped in alarm.

"No! You can't do that!" Grace said shrilly. "If you have him Apparate me out of this cave and leave you alone, I will never forgive you, Regulus."

He faltered. Kreacher, for the first time, seemed grateful for Grace's presence.

"Grace," Regulus said brokenly, "you can't drink that potion. We have no idea what sort of repercussions that could hold for you, for your Inner Eye. And—and I can't watch you suffer like that—"

"And you think I can watch you suffer instead?"

"You don't have to watch." His voice was so soft, so tender. It hurt Grace to hear him like this. "Kreacher, take Grace back to the Falmouth—"

"Regulus! You cannot stay here by yourself! You—"

"—cottage and come back here immediately."

This was the first order she had ever seen Kreacher genuinely reluctant to comply with. His thin hand curled around her wrist. Before she could even attempt to shake him off, she was pulled into a vacuum of dark browns and blues. Within a matter of seconds, she was in the sitting room of the Falmouth cottage

"You—you—" she spluttered.

She swung around, expecting to at least catch sight of Kreacher and demand he take her back to the cave, but the house-elf had already vanished. The goblet in her hand, a shoddy thing made of weak copper, dropped and clattered against the floor. Cliodna darted from the shadows and began to play with it. Grace stared emptily at the floorboards. Had Regulus really just done that? Disbelief choked her—and behind it was that dread again, surging through her, overwhelming, overpowering. She tore into the bedroom and began to rifle through the closet.

"Idiot," she muttered to herself. "Absolute idiot. Knobhead. Pillock. Git. Prat—utter, utter prat." After she overturned yet another stack of Regulus's books and came up empty, she remembered she was a witch with a wand. "Fucking—Accio Regulus's broomstick!"

The sleek broom flew into her open hand from beside the bookcase. Grace gripped it tightly and flung open the front door. She sped down the hillside and tried to find a spot by the cave she could Apparate to. She could not go directly to where Kreacher had first taken them because of the anti-Apparition wards, but she could go just a few meters above it. She shut her eyes tight, imagining the shape of the cliffside, the jagged rock that formed its face, the spray of the saltwater.

She had to get back. (Water and hands and burning…) She had to get to Regulus.

---

She landed against a rocky surface and winced as the stone bit into her. The sudden change in terrain made her lose her stance, and she tripped over the slats of stone that congealed together unevenly, knees bumping roughly against the ground. The grip she had around Regulus's broomstick was tight as a vise. She tried to peer through the dark that swirled over the cliffside but she could make out very little. The starlight that shone from the sky was too faint to see anything clearly. She fished her wand out and quickly lit the tip of it, casting a faint white, warm glow. She surveyed the area for a moment—a moment that felt too long, a moment that felt as though it were slipping from her—and spotted the unique curve and carve of the cliffside where Kreacher had first Apparated them to. The fissure which led to the cavern was much further down. It would be a treacherous climb to attempt on foot, and even more so in the dark.

Grace held her wand aloft to light her way. She mounted the broomstick and began to maneuver her way downward. The path grew constricted but she did not falter in the slightest, urging the broom on, carrying the same sort of diligence James did whenever he had to steer his way through a group of rival Chasers running him down.

As soon as she made it to the thin slit in rock that Kreacher had pointed out, she dropped the broomstick and began to inch her way into the crack of the cavern. The light of her wand swept over the interior. Seawater had swept into the area, flooding it. She could not see the entrance Kreacher had been talking about, the wall that demanded blood as payment. She only saw an endless tunnel of darkness, the color and strength of it so deep and thick that it seemed almost palpable—a roaring, almost alive darkness that waited at the edge of the collecting water.

(Had Regulus started drinking the potion? How far along was he? How much pain was he in?)

She stuck her wand between her teeth so the ball of light at its tip could continue to illuminate her, and she leapt into the pool of water. It was colder than anything she had ever known, the iciness of it sinking deep into her bones. Her head bobbed over the choppy waves, her arms struggling to keep her aloft and moving onward. Her fingers began to grow numb, her legs began to tire of kicking, but still she went on. The light at the end of her wand warbled over the water, casting soft splotches of hazy, glittering light. The further she waded inward, the more darkness she batted away. On and on she went, until she reached dry rock: the interior of the cavern.

She crawled onto the surface and took her wand in her hand. The light she carried swung around the room. It was a simple grotto: bare stone walls, the leaking seawater lapping against the ground. In front of her was a great, blank expanse of rock. There was no obvious path to another room, no clear way to get past this wall. But Grace remembered what Kreacher had said last night.

She snuffed out the light in her wand, drenching herself in darkness. She ripped up the sleeve of her robe and pressed her wand against her left forearm. She did not have to see to know where the Dark Mark was. She knew full well where that inky monstrosity lay on her skin.

"Diffindo!"

There was panic, hurt, and anger rolling in her voice all at once. The cut that sliced into her arm was deeper than she intended and she winced at the sudden sting of it, at the seeping saltwater that dripped into it. But she did not care about her own pain. She re-lit her wand and pressed her forearm against the wall, smearing the blood across the rock in one sweeping arc. Under the light of her wand, her lifeblood glittered like rubies.

The wall rumbled before her. A thin slit of silver light traced through it. Her blood seeped and faded into the stone. The wall disappeared into darkness. Grace jabbed her wand forward and took a step. She was on a small patch of rock far from the island at the center of the lake. She could just make out the greenish glow of the basin, a beacon in the everlasting dark. Regulus was stooped over the basin, dunking a goblet into the potion. Kreacher was crying.

Grace stumbled forward and only just managed to stop herself before her feet touched at the black lakewater that bordered the ground. She leaned down, bringing her wand low. Under her light, she could just make out a thin pale hand moving underneath the surface.

She moved back and let out a panicked cry. She swung around, trying to spot the boat Kreacher had taken with You-Know-Who, but there was nothing near her but craggy rock and deadly water. Her gaze shifted back to the distant island. With her heart hammering against her chest, she lifted her wand high and shot out sparks. Gold and silver, they burst over the high ceiling of the cave in a dizzying, dazzling display of magic.

"KREACHER!" she cried out, desperate. She waved her arms out to him. "PLEASE! I HAVE TO GET THERE!"

Kreacher looked out to her. She could not make out his features, just the shaking of his shoulders as he sobbed. He raised one bony hand and snapped his fingers. The water by Grace began to bubble and, from the depths of the lake, a small boat rose, pulled along by some invisible force.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," she gasped in one breath, clambering aboard without a second thought.

The boat began to move of its own accord, cutting through the lake. It moved with painful slowness. Grace tried to spur it to move fast, only barely managing to stifle the urge to stick her hands in the water and paddle the vessel forward, but the boat didn't appear to respond to outside influence. It acted on its own, controlled by the enchantments You-Know-Who had embedded within it. It would not go any slower or any faster than this, so Grace resigned herself to the wait. It was not more than a few minutes, but it felt like an eon to her. And as she drew nearer and nearer to the island, the drag of time only grew more agonizing. She could see Kreacher fluttering over Regulus in distress, trying to help him but failing miserably. Regulus drank deeply from the goblet. Somewhere in the motion, he faltered—and fell suddenly, violently, crashing against the rock with a cry. Grace stood abruptly in the boat, but it did not tip over.

She was close now, so close to the edge… Only a few feet away… Only two feet now… Three, maybe…

"M—Master Regulus," Kreacher wept, collecting the goblet Regulus had dropped. He'd filled it with more potion and was urging it towards Regulus. "Y—you must drink… You said to drink…"

Regulus twitched in pain. "No, please… No more… Please…"

Grace vaulted from the prow of the boat and landed just on the edge of the island. Her knees skinned against the hard rock, and she scrambled forward to where Regulus was pleading. She took him into her arms, both hands holding on to either side of his face. He looked up at her with dazed, lost grey eyes. He didn't seem to recognize her, but he clung to her all the same. There was so much fervor, so much desperation in him to be delivered from this pain, that Grace felt herself begin to cry, too. She hugged Regulus to herself, her tears falling into the flurried mess of his dark hair.

"No more," he begged her, voice slightly muffled. "Please, please…"

She looked to Kreacher tearfully. "What cup is he on?"

"Master Regulus f—fin—finished his third," Kreacher hiccuped. He shook his head violently. "Kreacher does not want to… Kreacher does not want to… But M—Master Regulus said Kreacher cannot let him stop… O—ordered Kreacher… But Kreacher c—cannot!"

She did not know what that meant, what the constraints of the order were: if Kreacher might prevent her from leaving with Regulus, if Kreacher might take Regulus away from her if she took him. If someone were to drink this potion, she wanted it to be her, but Regulus was already so far gone. It would not do to have two of them under the influence of its torture. So, with a heavy, brittle heart, she took the goblet from Kreacher and offered it to Regulus.

"Regulus," she said, voice shaking, feeling horrified at herself and furious at You-Know-Who, "if you could just… You need to drink this. I'm sorry, but you have to finish. You—"

He stared at her in horror. "No!" It was a scream torn straight from his heart. "Please, no more—!"

"I'm sorry." Her voice was cracked—hoarse and choked and tired. "I'm so sorry, but you have to. Regulus—"

She was easing the cup back to him.

"No!" he sobbed. "I can't, I can't—"

"You can," she soothed as best she could, rubbing at his back. "You can. You're braver than the best of us. You can. Please, Regulus."

She pressed the cup into his hands and guided it towards his lips. Something won out in Regulus. He continued to tremble and cry but he did not fight against Grace. He complied pitifully, letting her press the cool metal of the cup against his mouth, letting it rise, letting the potion swim down his gullet. When he finished, Grace took another cupful from the basin. Again, Regulus drank it down willingly.

At the sixth goblet, he resisted again, but not in a way that made sense to Grace.

"Stop!" he wailed. "It was me! It was me! He didn't do it—I didn't mean to—"

"I'm sorry," she wept as he drank. She said it again and again, until it was just white noise, sound without meaning, her guilt on loop.

She gave him another cup. Again and again, the poisonous green of the potion searing across his lips, his face slick with tears, his voice torn from his screaming pleas. He continued to shout nonsensically, begging his mother and father not to, begging Sirius not to, begging Grace not to.

"Not to what?" she wept.

"Don't…" he said feebly. "Don't go…"

Her hand caressed his cheek tenderly. "I'm not going, Regulus. I'm not going anywhere. I won't."

"Don't leave…"

"I won't." She was holding another goblet to his lips. "I won't go."

"Sirius…"

"He won't go, either, Regulus. He won't."

He thrashed against her. "Don't—!"

"Regulus…" Her hands shook. "Please, you need to drink this."

He drank it. He drank it, and he cried. He drank it, and he looked up at Grace like he'd never seen her before in his life. He looked up at her and begged for her to stop. He looked up at her and begged her never to leave him—and then he reversed and asked her to go far, far away. He begged her to disappear, to stop hurting him, to stop, stop, stop.

"Please…" he said.

"I—" she couldn't get the word sorry out. It didn't seem to be enough.

"Kill me…"

She bit back a terrified cry. Kreacher wailed beside her.

"Please kill me… Hurts…"

There was nothing left to say. She handed him a goblet once more, and Regulus drank. He drank, and he drank, and he drank. Cup after cup, sob after sob. He drank until he was scratching at his throat and his chest, until he was a heap on the craggy rock, until he was more tragedy than man.

With great difficulty, Regulus finished the last goblet and collapsed into Grace, limp. Kreacher immediately went to his side and revived him. Regulus stirred faintly. He blinked up at them blearily.

"You did it," Grace said softly, pain laced through her words. This was a hollow victory. "You finished, Regulus."

"Water…" he rasped. "Please…"

Kreacher gave Grace a worried look. "The cave will not allow water to be summoned."

Grace whipped out her wand and tried anyway. "Aguamenti!"

The stream of water spilling from Grace's wand disappeared almost as soon as it was conjured. She tried two more times—almost willing her fury to counter You-Know-Who's wards—to no avail. She twisted back to Regulus, who was breathing shallowly, and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"I'll get you water," she promised tenderly. "Soon, but not now. I need the locket now, Regulus. Do you have the locket?"

"Water…"

"I know, I'm sorry, but I need the locket you were going to switch out—"

"Kreacher has the artifact," the house-elf announced, tugging at Grace's sleeve. Sniffling and sniveling, he reached underneath his thin toga and pulled out the locket. It was goblin-wrought and shone even in the dim lowlight of the cave.

"Okay," Grace breathed. She laid Regulus carefully against the rock and rose to approach the basin.

Sitting at the base of the stone dome was the locket: You-Know-Who's Horcrux. It was far more magnificent than the Black family locket, a splendid work of gold and emerald. Grace reached a hand forward and plucked it from the basin. It did not resist. She whirled back to Kreacher and attempted to swap the two lockets, trading the one his hands for the one in hers.

Kreacher looked up at her, eyes wide. "Wait! Master Regulus ordered—!"

But the Horcrux had already touched his left hand. The replacement locket fell from his right and clattered against the ground. Kreacher looked up at Grace with pure horror and shame as his magic—the magic of house-elves, which put their masters' orders above all else—pulled him away. With a deafening crack! that echoed thunderously across the cave, Kreacher vanished along with the Horcrux.

Grace stared at the spot Kreacher had occupied a mere half-second ago. She trembled with disbelief, with fear. (How were they to get out without Kreacher? What sort of order had Regulus given him?) She had no time to ponder questions. She bent down shakily to the ground and picked up the Black family locket.

Regulus reached for her weakly. "I need water…"

"I know," she whispered. She was scraping at the bottom of herself, trying to find some reservoir of hope. But there was nothing there. "In a moment… Just a moment, Regulus…"

She reached for the basin, which was beginning to refill with the sickly-green potion. As soon as Grace's hand met the edge of the receptacle, her fingers curling around the cool stone, the world changed.

The cave was gone. In its place was an open plain of tall grass. It was nighttime. The moon climbed steadily overhead, a sliver of a crescent shining down below. Bramble and brush surrounded the area. Out of the thicket came Death Eaters, brandishing their dark, tattered cloaks, silver masks glinting cruelly under the moonlight. They marched forward.

"No!" Grace cried out. "Not now! Please—not now—I can't do this now!"

She was still hunched over the basin of potion, except it was no longer there. Her hands were touching thin air. She tried to trace the bowl as she remembered it, but she couldn't feel anything there. The locket wasn't even in her hands anymore. It was just herself, only herself, in the middle of some clearing as Death Eaters advanced. Their wands shot out and spells burst from the tips: red and green blazed through the sky. A group of rival wizards was battling them from the other end. Grace recognized some of them, but she didn't care to analyze the vision unfolding before her. She didn't need to See any of this. She didn't want any of this. She only wanted to go back.

"Stop it!" she shouted. "Stop it! I can't—make it end!"

But it didn't end. The night air was crisp around her. The marching Death Eaters let out indignant cries as spells were cast their way, whirring and whizzing through the night sky. She tried to calm herself, tried to even her breathing, clear her mind, hold herself still and silent, but it felt impossible. How could she do anything but worry? Nothing in her was still. Her heart raced. Her hands shook. Every fiber of her being trembled with fury and fright combined—and what a dreadful mixture it was. The feeling that enveloped her was draining, exhausting. She could not shake the image of Regulus looking up at her, grey eyes pleading, asking if she would kill him to spare him the hurt.

Each minute snowballed into the next. She felt she was running out of time, even though there was no time left to lose. They were stranded, she and Regulus. The journey without Kreacher was long and treacherous. She would have to drag Regulus onto the boat, through the water that flooded the outer cavern, and onto the broomstick. Frustration mounted in her. If only Kreacher hadn't left. If only wards worked differently. If only she could Apparate wherever she wanted—

Wait.

She had Vance's lipstick. She had the Portkey. They could go to Hogwarts. They could get Dumbledore. They could get Regulus water—help him, heal him.

Assurance filled Grace, warm and light. She found it easier, now, to empty her mind. She only had to get herself out of this vision, grab Regulus, and use the Portkey to get out. Her breaths evened out, becoming deep and slow. Still the waters of your mind, keep your thoughts calm and clear. It was as though a door were shutting in her mind, trapping the vision behind it. In a matter of moments, she found herself pulled out. She was back in the cave, hunched over the stone basin. It was now one-third full. Grace's right hand was frozen above it, the locket dangling from her fingers. She let go and watched it plop into the potion, quickly swallowed by the scintillating green. Grace turned to where Regulus had been lying—and found he was no longer there.

Again, panic surged through her, hitting her heart hard. She felt weak and dizzy from the fright that clouded her. Kreacher had only just left. She had wasted minutes trapped in a vision she did not want. And now Regulus was gone. She wondered, distantly, with cutting acerbity, what else could go wrong—and then she saw the surface of the lake, which had been calm and quiet mere minutes ago, rippling and bubbling. Something was struggling underneath.

"Regulus!"

She dove in without a second thought, and the moment her fingertips cut through the surface of the lake, a colorless, translucent hand jutted out and latched onto her wrist, dragging her down with surprising strength. The water of the lake spilled around her, curling and arcing around her from the force of the splash as she fell in. More Inferi reached out for her. She could feel their bony hands wrapping around her, the sharp scrape of their fingernails tearing at her cloak, running across her arms. Beside her was Regulus, firmly entrapped by nearly a dozen Inferi. They clambered around him greedily, slashing and clawing at him. His blood streamed out, curling into the water like smoke.

Grace kicked and screamed, choking on the water as it sped into her mouth. With her free hand, she managed to reclaim her wand from her pocket before it slipped away. With pure adrenaline coursing through her, she wrested herself free—not entirely, but just enough so that her chin bobbed above the swaying water—and pointed her wand at the snarling Inferi latched onto her arm. The hands that encircled her were thin and pale, but the veins that ran through were black as pitch. The Inferi let out a shrill cry and bit deep into her bicep. Its cold cheek pressed against her skin. It looked up at her with glassy, empty eyes.

"INCENDIO!" she yelled. "GET AWAY! BOMBARDA! INCENDIO!"

The Inferi closest to her were blasted away. A great roar of fire burst from her wand, skirting over the surface of the water before burrowing deeper. Hot and scorching, Grace's wrath made manifest, it blazed even through its natural enemy, making the water hot enough that Inferi began to screech in pain. They flocked away from her. Grace paddled closer to Regulus, reaching out. Another spurt of flame sped out her wand, releasing Regulus into her grasp. With one hand locked around his limp wrist, she pulled him towards her and began to make her way through the Inferi-infested lake. She was too far gone to know where the boat was now. The Inferi continued to cloud around her, striking towards her whenever the bubble of steaming water around her cooled, but she struck back with exploding charms to keep them at bay. The scorching water thrashed all around her, creating waves, allowing her to drag herself and Regulus along the rocky ground beneath the lake before being buffeted by the crashing water. She made her way back to the front of the cave slowly, fire racing all around her, Inferi hissing from the flames that struck through the water, that spiraled around her, an inferno of light and warmth.

She hefted Regulus onto the rocky shore and quickly scrambled up herself. Kneeling beside him, she shoved her hand into her pocket—and gaped with heartbreaking despair as her fingers went straight through. Her cloak had been ripped to shreds. The Portkey had slipped through and fallen into the lake. She looked out to the endless sway of the black water, the Inferi swirling underneath, nursing their wounds.

"Accio Vance's lipstick…" Her voice was a shadow.

She knew it wouldn't work, but she couldn't help but try. She was desperate. She had never felt so low in her life. Her head ached, her arms stung from the mix of saltwater that bled into the cuts the Inferi had scattered along her skin. There was no hope in this dark cave, only pain and suffering. She turned back to Regulus, who was shivering unconsciously. His own robes were in tatters. He was broken and bleeding, scratches running down the length of his arms, a terrible gash across his chest, like the Inferi had been trying to scoop the heart right out of him. She had to get him out of here, somehow, some way.

She struggled to hoist him up but eventually managed to have him lean on her. She stepped away from the lake, going back the way she came. The entrance of the cave had sealed itself once more. Regulus was bleeding very badly, but Grace refused to use his blood. She scraped one of her own cuts along the rock, and it opened up again, allowing her to leave. What waited beyond the cave was the rush of saltwater leaking in from the sea. She put her wand between her teeth again, letting the soft light from the tip guide her out. Her teeth grit against the silver wood. Her jaw was stiff and unrelenting. She used both hands to hold onto Regulus, but it was difficult to maneuver herself and him out of here with the water sweeping in. She worked her way out incrementally. The current of the water as it surged inward pushed her against the rough juts of rock that dotted the cavern. She positioned Regulus in front of her so she would be slammed against the walls instead of him.

Eventually, they made their way out. She thrust Regulus through the slit in the cliffside, where he fell to the ground in a heap. Grace found she could not continue any longer. Her limbs seared with pain from lifting. Her back hurt horribly from the hard jabs of stone. She kneeled over Regulus, panting heavily. Every part of her shivered, from the bone-deep cold of the water, from the horror of the cave, from the wounds that littered her body. Her face was wet with the water of the lake and her own tears. She reached one clammy hand out to wrap around Regulus's. The other pointed her wand at his heart.

"Rennervate," she pleaded. Nothing happened immediately, but she didn't stop. "Rennervate—please, Regulus—Rennervate! Rennervate!"

His eyes flickered open. A weak wheeze escaped him. She let out a choked noise of relief and dropped her wand to cradle his face in her hands. His eyes were hooked onto hers, but they were not his usual sharp, keen silver. They were clouded and dull.

"Can you hear me?" she asked, voice hushed, afraid that if she spoke too loudly she might hurt him further. "Do you understand me, Regulus?"

"Grace..." His voice was little more than a rasp, a word scraping itself across rock.

Grace's hands fluttered over his face tenderly. She held him close to her. "I'm here," she said. "I'm here, Reg. What do you need? I can—I can take you back home—or—or—can you call Kreacher? He can help you. He can heal you. Can you call back Kreacher, Reg? Please… P—please, Regulus."

He simply stared. Her heart felt so small, some prick of raw, stinging hurt unfurling in the center of her chest.

"Grace…" he repeated. It came out so weak. It was barely a word.

"Please," she said again. She wasn't sure who this plea was directed at.

"I lo—"

He let out a wet cough. Blood sprayed out from his mouth, splattering against the side of Grace's face, dripping down the length of his chin.

"No—no, no—NO—!" She shook his shoulders, trying to bring him back to her. But Regulus's eyes remained steadfastly shut. "Regulus—Regulus, please!"

She didn't understand. She didn't know. Was he hemorrhaging? What had that potion done to him?

"Episkey!" she cried out. A few of his surface wounds healed into thin scabs. Regulus's overall condition did not change. "Rennervate! RENNERVATE!"

He did not stir. A fresh spray of saltwater hit Grace from the ocean below. She clutched Regulus's body like her life depended on it. She pocketed her wand and reached out blindly for the broomstick she had abandoned here earlier. Once it was well within her grasp, she tenderly moved Regulus onto it. She came up behind him, so his body was leaning against hers. With a stamp of her foot, the broomstick was flung into the sky. The cold air whipped all around her, prickling her eyes and face. She had one hand wrapped around Regulus's chest while the other gripped the handle of the broom, piloting her forward. She had no idea what to do now, if anything could be done at all. They could not go to St. Mungo's with the Dark Mark on their arms. With the Portkey gone, it would take too long to drag Regulus through the tunnels that led to Hogwarts. Hope seemed little more than a dream. Grace's heart was drowning in despair and darkness. Regulus seemed only mere moments from death.

She passed beyond the boundaries of the anti-Apparition wards. There was only one place left. She stilled on the broomstick, allowing it to hover miles above the roaring sea. Her hand lifted from the handle to tighten over the other, locking Regulus against her chest, against her heart. Her eyes flickered to a close as she imagined a large bush of hydrangea, the loving brush of its soft petals against her cheeks, the uneven cobblestone of the pavement beneath her, the cool feel of the night air as it danced over her.

She vanished mid-air along with Regulus. The broomstick, left behind, dropped from the sky. Within seconds, it was broken and swallowed by the sea.

---

A/N : This chapter is quite a ride, but I hope you enjoyed it all the same. As always, thank you for the faves, follows, and reviews! Keep letting me know what you think!

Plumandcream : Oh, we'll definitely be seeing Jam-Jam ;)

Random Reader : Thank you! There's definitely a lot of action coming now. And yeah, Voldemort is getting really antsy about his Horcruxes, haha. I do have plans to maybe have Grace and Regulus take up permanent residence in Falmouth post-war (after getting rid of the Doxies, of course)! Honestly, for the first weird vision she had, she was just too startled and panicked to really pay attention to what she was Seeing (which was honestly just a toddler Harry playing in the backyard). There will be other snapshots of the future that might be more relevant, though!

"Lucky them they have Dumbledore and Van—nevermind" was so funny to read, haha. This week is definitely going to be one of the worst ones yet (and I needed Vance and Dumbledore to stay out of it for a bit). Thanks again for the wonderful review!

Mars : Thank you! Yes, Grace and Reg were both bumped up to like "inner circle" status (not like super inner circle, which is just the Lestranges and maybe a couple of others, but like all the Death Eaters who have proven their worth to Voldemort and aren't incompetent; Grace is there because of that bomb prophecy, and Regulus is there because he's the one who brought Grace to Voldemort's attention). So, no, none of the other Hogwarts Death Eaters were there, just them and some more high-ranking Death Eaters. LOL, yeah, Grace is definitely making waves in the Death Eater world. I'm glad you enjoyed the cottage life scenes! Definitely had a blast writing that :)