He sent his letter with Sirius' misbehaviour the following morning, then joined his classmates in class.

The day dragged on the way most did—it was dreadfully boring. Neither Bella nor his parents replied to their letters but on the other hand, he got away with missing class yesterday so all in all it wasn't too bad. He had come up with the great excuse of not feeling well, which Avery actually backed up (though Regulus was quite sure he hadn't meant for it to sound as genuine).

Either way, Wednesday passed without incident and Thursday was looking to be the same if it wasn't for their new class after lunch: Defence Against the Dark Arts. The professor had left a good first impression last Sunday, but he was still nervous—the quality of the other teachers was subpar and he didn't trust the headmaster to suddenly hire someone competent.

To make things worse, apparently the subject was cursed (or so the rumour went. Ironic, really).

There were a few downsides to Defence Against the Dark Arts, as Regulus noticed when he took his seat, the first being that it was a shared class—all first years were crammed into the small classroom as they were for History of Magic and Astronomy, and that meant there weren't any seats left free, which brought forth the second downside: the Peasegoods.

Since the front was filled with Ravenclaws before he even got to the classroom, he had to resign to being pulled to the back by Catharina. Sitting sandwiched between the twins was something he would never get used to, that much was clear, but the worst part, and the third downside, was that Avery couldn't find a seat at the front either.

Avery sat down straight ahead of Regulus.

With the Peasegoods to either side of him and Avery to his front, this was already looking to be an eventful class, but when the professor entered the room from a back door in flamboyant rainbow coloured robes, he knew this would be hell on earth.

"Good afternoon, good afternoon!" He spread his arms as if wanting to hug the entire classroom. "I'm Cadmus Blackthorn, and I'm your new, well, first Defence Against the Dark Arts professor!"

What was with that man? Couldn't he act normal, as he had done last Sunday? Professor Blackthorn, still grinning from ear to ear, walked through the isle looking around the classroom. There were dragon-related items lying around such as scales and claws, and there was even something that looked suspiciously like a preserved dragon heart suspended in a jar of liquid. Had he put them there, or were they already here before he arrived to the school?

The professor came to a halt in front of a particularly large dragon skull that had been mounted onto the wall. "I used to work with these creatures," he said, turning to look around the class. "Magnificent beasts, they are. Powerful. Awe-inspiring. I—yes, Mr Smethwyck?"

A Ravenclaw sitting next to Avery had raised his hand. "May I ask, sir, why you'd give up on working with the most amazing creatures in the world to be a lousy schoolteacher?"

Some students laughed and others started to whisper, and Regulus had to admit the boy had a point—if given the choice between dragons and Hogwarts, he'd go with dragons any day.

The Defence Against the Dark Arts professor raised his hand slightly and the chatter died out. "A change of scenery, some new challenges! Dragons are great fun to work with, but students... you are the future!"

Regulus rolled his eyes but the Smethwyck seemed impressed by the answer, and he wasn't the only one. All around him, people were whispering excitedly.

The teacher had returned to his desk—on which he was now sitting, his feet dangling inches above the floor. "So! Who's up for defending some Dark Arts, eh?"

Did he really have to be so cheerful? It was sickening. Couldn't he just be some other form of incompetent, as Manning or perhaps Briseis—just assign some reading and be done with it! None of this fake cheer would increase his teaching skills, and Regulus found himself longing for the droning voice of Professor Binns of all people. Anything would be better than this.

Blackthorn jumped up from the desk and started to draw on the blackboard, chalk in his hand and back turned to the class. It lasted only seconds, and when he stepped aside, there were gasps, shrieks, a few confused faces and one very intrigued Regulus.

Professor Blackthorn had drawn a very realistic Dark Mark.

"Now, now, calm down. It's just a drawing, after all," he said. "It's not gonna hurt you."

After the class calmed down a little, he added: "Who here can tell me what that is? No-one?"

Regulus looked around the silent room. He didn't want to be the centre of attention, though he obviously knew what it was. But he was sure others knew as well. It was in the newspaper, and everyone reacted to this drawing... it was famous enough.

Then, one of the boys Regulus recognised and remembered to be a Slytherin, raised a shaky hand.

"Mr...?"

"Miller, sir. Aaron Miller."

Blackthorn moved over to Miller's desk. "Mr Miller, what is this symbol?"

"It's the Dark Mark, sir. You-Know-Who's followers use it when... when..." he gulped.

"When they've carried out an attack, yes," he filled in. "Professor Dumbledore has asked me to teach you the basics on how to spot his followers."

"Death Eaters," the girl sitting next to Miller chimed in.

"Right you are, Miss Hornby. Does anyone here know the things Death Eaters do that we have to fight against?"

Miller now seemed to be on the brink of tears, and Blackthorn moved away from him. "Anyone? Ah, Mr Avery, of course, go ahead."

Avery grinned back at Regulus before answering the question. "You've got the Unforgivables, of course—they can murder, torture, and there's mind control-"

A few students gasped.

"Mind control?" a girl across the room asked.

"Yes. The Imperius Curse. Care for a demonstration?" Avery reached for his wand, but Professor Blackthorn stepped in.

"Children, children, please—those curses are highly illegal!"

"You asked," shrugged Avery.

"I didn't ask for a demonstration of Unforgivables, I asked what things to look out for!"

"Well, I suggest looking out for the Unforgivables, sir," Smethwyck came to Avery's defence.

"Right you are, Mr Smethwyck, though I think it's more important for us to understand how to defend against such dark magic, and we don't need demonstrations to do so." He sat back down on his desk. "Let's start with the basics of defense, shall we? The most important thing to remember is to stay calm and focused, even in the face of danger. Fear is your worst enemy. Now, who can tell me a spell that can help counter the Imperius Curse?"

"There are none."

"Mr Miller, I'd appreciate it if you raise your hand next time, but indeed—the Imperius Curse cannot be countered with simple spells. However, there are ways to resist it, though only few can. Strength of will, mental fortitude, and practice could help you resist the Imperius Curse."

"So we do need a demonstration," said Avery triumphantly.

"No. We do not. I appreciate your enthusiasm, Mr Avery, but demonstrating the Unforgivables... there is no excuse to use these Curses—none!"

Professor Blackthorn continued the class with discussion about these Unforgivable Curses and Regulus had to admit that he was most likely the best teacher in all of Hogwarts.

The bell rang and he gathered his quill and inkset, which lay unused on his desk. The teacher had been so mesmerising to listen to he hadn't even remembered to take notes. He glanced sideways at both Peasegoods who seemed to be excited about the lesson, but Avery hurried out of the classroom so quickly he left behind a scroll of parchment.

He tucked it into his own bag and left the classroom alongside the Peasegoods.

"Did you see that Dark Mark?" Catharina asked, "it was so realistic!"

Regulus hummed. He had no interest in talking to them about the Dark Mark! He needed Bellatrix, he needed to get another look at her mark. The skull and the snake... they danced in the air last summer, they danced on the front page of the newspaper, they danced on the blackboard and even on his cousin's skin. And every time he saw it, the design was more beautiful.

He had to deal with them the long walk down to the dungeons, and when they reached the Potions classroom Regulus immediately took out his textbook to read. Or pretend to, at least—it seemed to work, for the twins' excited chatter died out in an instant.

Neither Professor Cres nor Slughorn werethere yet and the classroom seemed locked, so they waited outside as more and more pupils gathered.

Five minutes passed, then another five. Teachers who didn't show up on time for their own lessons... if this was anywhere but Hogwarts, it would've been a nation-wide scandal. It should've been.

"Such an eager student!"

He jumped up, the sudden noise startling him and bringing him back to the present. He managed a polite smile as he walked past Slughorn into the classroom. Professor Cres was nowhere to be seen—had he given up on trying to teach here? He wouldn't blame him. There wasn't much teaching going on.

"Come on, come in," Slughorn said, holding the door open for the other students.

Regulus sat down in the back of the classroom, as a means of avoiding his Head of House (or trying to, anyway—there was no escaping him). The Peasegoods sat down to his left and his right in the way they loved to do, as if trying to isolate him from the rest. That, or they didn't understand the simple concept of personal space.

Slughorn clapped his hands. "Welcome, welcome," he said cheerfully. "Not to worry, I am a capable Potioneer myself—Professor Cres will be back next lesson, Mr Orpington, you can put that hand down now... I am simply here to see what kind of meat we have in store!"

He rolled his eyes. He should know what 'meat' they had 'in store', he was there nearly every lesson, talking to certain students. He kept a painfully close eye on him, and refused to accept that he didn't have the intention to curse anyone, not even his halfblood dormmates. He was in this class to learn how to brew potions, not to learn whose parents were most exceptional.

And yet, he started the roll call as always. "Hektor Avery? How is your father?"

"He's well, sir, very well."

"Splendid, splendid!"

He flipped through the pages of his Potions textbook. So much potential all gone to waste. All because the headmaster kept people such as Slughorn or Binns or Manning.

At least with Cres here they'd done something resembling Potions, but now... Slughorn and Avery were still discussing Avery's parents and they'd probably still be talking next week. Oh, how he despised Avery. He had every reason to—Avery was quite possibly insane. Avery mocked him, taunted him ever waking hour. He and those dumb halfbloods were the worst dormmates imaginable. He'd almost consider going to Slughorn to request a change in dorms if it wasn't for Slughorn being biased against him. It wouldn't end well.

"Regulus Black?"

"Present," he said hastily, hoping Slughorn wouldn't try to talk to him about his parents as well. He wasn't in the mood. Moments as these made him more resentful than ever—why hadn't they replied yet? Why had nobody replied yet? He had to speak to them yet they ignored him as if he was nothing more than a filthy blood traitor, as if he was no better than Andy.

"You're Sirius Black's little brother, are you not?"

"Yes," he said, resisting the urge to throw his book at the teacher. Slughorn knew very well whom he was related to. Very, very well. It was all that seemed to occupy that head of his. Nevermind Potions, what's really important is everyone's family relations!

"Clever boy, very clever boy... I look forward to seeing more of you, Mr. Black."

He gritted his teeth. Seeing more of him was the last thing he wanted. He just wanted to brew potions and have fun. Did Slughorn not realise he just wanted to be left alone? Did Slughorn not understand that he had no interest in talking to him at all past what was strictly necessary? That his accusations at the start of the year were truly unfair, biased, and made him a horrible professor overall?

Probably not. He was a Hogwarts teacher, after all.

"Rosalinda Bulstrode? Say hello to your mother for me, will you?" Slughorn said, moving on from his table again last.

"Of course, sir!"

And so he continued the longest, most tedious roll call he had ever experienced. By the time Slughorn got to Morgan Stretton ("any news on your uncle's illness?", "no, sir, he's still in St. Mungo's.", "ah, such a shame..."), Regulus had read though the textbook thrice.

They had their first Flying lesson later that afternoon. They shared it with the Hufflepuffs, which was by far better than what he'd heard second-years had to endure. Whoever paired Gryffindors and Slytherins was out of his mind, not that Slytherin had a good house to be paired with. Everyone seemed to be unusually suspicious of them, even the teachers were no exception to this—not even Slughorn!

But still, Gryffindor was the worst of them, and he was happy he wasn't a student last year.

Flying was no big deal aside from that, though. He already knew how to fly, and most of the other Slytherins did as well. He didn't even want to know the reason for those who didn't.

He made his way back to the Common Room afterwards, and that's when he ran into an angry Narcissa.

"Is this your doing?" She waved a paper note in the air.

"What?"

"Bella wants me to smuggle you out of the castle next weekend, into the village. Well?" she pressed.

"I just... need to talk to her."

"So send her an owl!"

"I can't just owl her for this!"

"What could possibly be important enough for you to discuss with her in pers—oh no, you're not. You're not going to Hogsmeade, Reg. Not in a million years."

"But I need to see her!"

"That's your problem. I'm not doing this."

It turned out to not be his problem. After breakfast that Saturday, Narcissa shoved him into an empty classroom (for there were no lessons) and told him that she'd only smuggle him out, nothing more.

That was good enough for him.

"This is your winter cloak," she told him, holding up the black cloak with silver fastenings he'd bought with Grandmother Irma not so long ago. "I've cast a Disillusionment Charm on it, it should function as a makeshift invisibility cloak for now."

He took the cloak from her and threw it around his shoulders—indeed, he seemed to blend in with his surroundings save his head. He'd have to pull it over once they left.

"Thank you."

She hummed. "Bellatrix can be persuasive. Now come on, I don't want to be late for my meeting with Lucius."

Lucius this, Lucius that. He rolled his eyes. "Is there ever a time you don't think of him?"

"Of course there is, don't be silly."

"You talk about him a lot."

"I happen to like him a lot. Now be quiet or you'll be caught."

She ushered him into the Entrance Hall. He had the cloak pulled over his head, drawn tightly around him so not an inch of him would peek out from beneath it and give him away. This had to work. It just had to.

Filch stood by the door, as did a huge row of students wanting to go to Hogsmeade to get their names checked off a list. They joined the seemingly endless queue and when it was Narcissa's turn, he could swear Filch was staring right at him. He turned to Narcissa, suspicion etched into the lines of his face, but he remained silent as he allowed her to go on.

"Phew," he sighed as they went down the stone steps. That was close.

They reached the iron front gates after a few minutes, walked between the tall stone pillars topped with winged boars, turned left onto the road into the village, and left Hogwarts behind.

They'd done it. He'd done it.

"Where-"

"Shh!"

Amongst the bustling crowds that made up the High Street of Hogsmeade walked Lucius Malfoy, his face twisted into a wide smile that looked wholly out of character (even if he had only seen him a few times before, the last time had been when he had Sirius captured, which was just creepy).

"Cissy," he greeted her cheerfully, "my darling, it's been too long."

"It has been," Narcissa agreed and pulled him into a hug. Behind his back she gestured for Regulus to leave, to get out of the way.

Though he had no idea of where Bella would be, he left his cousin alone with her boyfriend and decided that at the very least, he was closer to finding Bella than he had been if he was stuck in the castle, so it was an improvement even if it didn't seem that way.

For a moment, he debated trying his luck with The Three Broomsticks—that's when he saw her. She leaned against the stone walls of the pub, nonchalantly brushing one of her curled locks out of her eyes.

Stay calm, he told himself. He walked towards her and pulled the cloak back from his head, fastening it around his shoulders against the cold autumn air.

She put an arm around his shoulders and guided him through the streets in silence. He had so many questions burning inside of him he had no idea where to begin—the Dark Mark above the house last summer? This recent attack on a pureblood family? Or the worst of all...

He glanced up at her as they reached a dingy pub. The sign had the shape of a severed boar's head and called it the Hog's Head.

She led him into the small room that made up the Hog's Head. The stench hit him like a brick wall. Was that dung? It smelt like it. Merlin, dung in a pub...

He had to force the bile back down his now burning throat and pinched his nose in a desperate attempt to make it more bearable. It didn't work, but he didn't retch again, thank God. He shuddered at the thought of people consuming food and drinks in this place—now his eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting he could see it was as badly cleaned as it smelt and the sole reason for the darkness was the grime covering the windows, the only source of light being the candles on the rough wooden tables.

They sat down at one of them. "Butterbeer?" Bella asked.

He nearly gagged. "No, thanks."

Bellatrix smiled. "Yeah, best you don't. Rodolphus says the food and drink here is great, but..."

"Doesn't look like it." He wrinkled his nose. "And what's that smell?"

"Apparently the owner keeps goats around."

"Goats? I'm never eating or drinking anything here, ever."

Bellatrix laughed softly. "Me neither. It's not very hygienic."

They stared at each other for a moment. He didn't mean to, but his eyes slowly trailed off towards her left arm. There was something about that mark, whether in the skies or hidden beneath the fabric of her robes... or even on the blackboard in a classroom...

Something about it drew him in.

"I know what you're thinking," Bellatrix said, breaking the silence. "But you've got to understand—it's complicated."

"I know that."

"No, you don't. You're young, and when you're young, you see the world in black and white instead of its many shades of grey."

"I can see colour! There's just not much of it in this pub, but I can see the blue skies and the green grass, and-"

"That's not what I mean," she interrupted. "Morality isn't black and white. Nor is it green or blue."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm not evil, Reg."

"I know you're not evil!"

The chatter around them died out and he felt the blood rise to his cheeks. The whole pub was focused on them, their eyes burning on his skin as they tried to figure out what was going on.

"Sorry," he mumbled, "but I know you're not evil."

"Shh," she hushed him. "We should go. We're drawing attention to ourselves..."

He got up, lifting his robes so they wouldn't touch the floor. Once outside, Bellatrix grabbed his arm and pulled him along the street, farther and farther away from the High Street.

"You need to be more careful, Regulus!"

They'd reached a residential area of the town, quaint little houses popping up here and there along the road.

"I said I was sorry!"

"Sorry isn't good enough," she hissed, "unless you want a repeat of last year."

He froze. "Are the baddies after us again?"

Bellatrix drew a sharp breath. "There are always people after you, Regulus. You're a Black."

"Is that why those purebloods were killed? From the Prophet? Did the baddies kill them?"

Bellatrix sat him down on a bench, the wood cold to the touch even with the layers of fabric between him and the icy surface.

"What you have to understand is that there is no good and evil. Your teachers will disagree with me, of course—Cissy told me about your new Defence teacher. Don't listen to him."

"Why not? He used to work with dragons!"

"Then he shouldn't have changed his career! Indoctrinating young minds with Ministry nonsense... don't you listen to him, Reg. He's bad."

"I thought there was no bad?"

"There's no evil, no. But bad people exist, oh yes. They're the ones you need to look out for."

"So did they kill that family?"

"No. I did."

A cold shiver washed over him, raising the fine hairs on the back of his neck. It wasn't the wind that gave him goosebumps, it was the glee in his cousin's voice, the pride she took in claiming that horrible, horrible murder...

"Why?" he croaked, his mouth suddenly dry. He wanted to get away from here, every fiber of his being told him to flee... and yet he remained where he was: frozen on the bench, staring up at Bellatrix with wide eyes. She reached for his hand but he scooted away from her and made himself small. He couldn't shake the terror that settled in the pit of his stomach, threatening to grow.

"Reg..." her voice was soft, but her eyes betrayed her. She didn't care. She killed a whole family, a whole pureblood family, she could easily kill him.

He was shaking now, though he didn't feel the cold any more. Flashes of green paired with her cackling laugh dominated his mind and when Bellatrix leaned closer to him, he pushed her away—again and again until he was engulfed by her robes, wrestling against the force of her hands keeping him still.

He didn't know how long they sat there for, but it felt like an eternity before he felt her breath against his ear, followed by a whisper: "you're family. I would never hurt you."

Wouldn't she? She allowed him to pull away slightly. She looked at him, smiling softly as she repeated her words. She would never hurt him. "And nobody else will, either. You're my responsibility, Reg. I'm doing this for you. For Sirius. For Cissy. I'm not evil."

He nodded, slowly. She wasn't evil, he knew she wasn't. Of course she wasn't. To think she was would be ridiculous, right?

Then why did he feel so scared? Why did he feel as if she could jump him at any moment?

Because he was childish. That's all it is, he told himself. Just childish fears. After all, he'd always been scared of upsetting her, hadn't he? She'd always been unpredictable in her anger. But she was his cousin and she meant well. So he shouldn't be feeling like this.

"You should go back to school."

"But-"

"No. I've already told you more than you seem to be able to handle. You're young, you don't understand that this is a war and that wars aren't pretty. Quit looking at me as if I'm some kind of monster."

"I never-"

"It's in your eyes. You're afraid."

He didn't know where to look. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right. I'll walk you to school, if you're not too scared of little old me."