"Oi, Selwyn, how's the weather looking?" asked James as he walked by. "Rain?"
James Potter, in a diabolic plot to drive her insane, had taken to very loudly and very obnoxiously greeting her whenever they saw each other. He wasn't the only one—it seemed to have become something of a fad or inside joke between all the seventh-year Gryffindors to say hello to her in the worst ways possible and watch as she stewed in anger. Thus far, the most awful one had been when Remus Lupin somehow convinced Peeves to write her a song which he serenaded her with when she walked down the hallway. She had hexed him for that and then felt poorly for doing so.
Just that morning, Dorcas Meadowes and Alice Fortescue caught her in the hallway and began talking to her about how excited they were for the game and how they hoped Ned would do well. Though she wanted to solely blame James Potter, she was quite certain that Lily Evans had set her friends up to it at as well. If Lily wanted revenge for Ellis' harsh words, she needed to try harder than mere annoyance. Apparently, telling these people she didn't want to interact with them was an open invitation to invade her life.
Her only solace was that they had not yet found her hideout in the lavatory. Myrtle was terrified of the Bloody Baron, so after a few threats, she had learned to keep her mouth shut. But, it was impossible to avoid them in the Great Hall.
"Why are you doing this?" asked Ellis, at last.
"Huh?"
"This stupid scheme."
"Saying hello to our Club President? Do you think we should make pins or something? Matching shirts?" He held his hands up innocently when her cheeks colored, fury coursing through her veins. "Joking," James said with a grin, "We respect your position of authority."
"I will shove that Head Boy badge down your throat and watch you choke on it."
"That's exactly the kind of thing you would say."
"I am saying it."
"Exactly."
Ellis was ashamed to say that she wrote both her mother and father, pleading with them for advice on what to do. Ned found it hilarious, and he had taken to sharing childhood stories of Ellis' infamous tantrums like the time she'd wanted a wand so badly that she blew out the windows to Mr. Ollivander's shop when she was nine or how she'd gone to primary school for a few days but ended up being expelled when she covered one of the other children in crayon wax for saying she was strange.
Her father, still dealing with Mr. Mulciber's trial (they had not issued his sentence yet as the Minister was insistent on questioning him further considering the recent attack), wrote back:
Ellie,
Make friends, darling. Though, Gryffindors certainly are an interesting choice (please do not use share that with your brother).
Love,
Edward Selwyn
Her mother ignored the contents of her letter entirely and sent:
Dearest,
Horace wrote to me recently and tells me that you've been approved for your own project in alchemy. I've written to my old professor at Beauxbatons—you may recognize her name on the texts—and asked her to send along some suggested readings. She mentioned that you may write to her if needed. I'm so so glad that you have such a dear friend as Helena that it has inspired you to endeavor on such a monumental project. Do not be put out if it does not progress as quickly as you like—these things never do.
I'm not sure if I ever mentioned this, but there was a student at Hogwarts which led me to study what I do. It is not the kind of story to be told in a letter, so ask me when we see each other next.
…
All my love,
O.R.S.
There were three more pages, but Ellis would read them later. She looked at the two books included with the letter and was shocked to find that the books were incredibly old. Centuries, perhaps. They had no titles, but along the inside cover of each book was a jagged script reading:
Perenelle Delamere Flamel.
Ellis' fingers curled away, suddenly afraid that she would damage the books somehow. She loved her mother more than ever, for looking beyond her complaints and nonsense and finding a way to be beside her even if she wasn't.
There was another package with her mail addressed to Evan from her mother. Ellis thought for a moment to vanish it and pretend that it had never arrived. Odette did not know how to stop loving and Ellis did not want her mother to be hurt by Evan's indifference and non-replies, but she knew that there was no way to disentangle them. Since Evan's mother died, her mother tried everything to make sure he had somewhere to turn if he needed an escape as Mr. Rosier was known to be a monster. It was a fruitless effort.
"Here," she said, handing the package off to Evan as she passed by him. "There's a letter for you as well."
He looked down at it and sighed heavily, "She doesn't need to keep doing this."
"Tell her that yourself."
Ellis was determined to avoid any further ambush from her newfound fan club of Gryffindors (or as she saw it, a mob). As soon as she escaped the Great Hall, she shot a quick glance around, making sure no marauding seventh-year was lying in wait around the next corner. Tucking the centuries-old books under her arm, she made her way down a corridor on the second floor.
Eventually, she reached the door to the girls' bathroom. The hinges squeaked ominously as she slipped inside.
"You again," moaned Myrtle from one of the stalls. Her ghostly head, translucent and tear-streaked, peeked around the corner.
"Did you miss me?" asked Ellis, closing the bathroom door behind her.
Myrtle wrinkled her nose. Moaning Myrtle was a Ravenclaw when she was alive, and Ellis used her as a study partner for her O.W.L exams, but they'd known each other since first year as Ellis grew. She seemed to have taken her own interest in Ellis' determination to fix the bathroom. It was not as if Ellis had a great love for lavatories or plumbing, she just wished to leave a lasting mark on the castle. Establish a legacy of her own.
"My mother enchanted the broom closet on the fourth floor. If you enter it and close the door, then knock thrice, it turns into a bedroom," explained Ellis.
"She was always sneaking in there," cried Myrtle, shaking her head. "Shamelessly too. She wasn't even married. It was so…French."
"I thought it'd be nice to start a little tradition, so before my seventh year is done, I'm going to enchant this room."
"Another bedroom?" asked Myrtle, snidely.
"Do you know the come-and-go room on the seventh floor? How it appears when you need something? I'm sure there are a lot of girls who come here and cry—"
"You're at the top of that list."
"—so, when they need somewhere to hide, they'll find this place, except it won't be as creep. Maybe a lounge? Or a study-room?"
Myrtle was quiet and then sighed heavily. "But, I died here. How am I meant to do my haunting if all the girls suddenly want to come in here?"
"Here?" asked Ellis, sharply.
"Right there," said Myrtle, pointing towards one of the sinks. Myrtle, who usually spent her time pestering Ellis about her own social failings, suddenly brightened. She looked as if she had a secret, she was desperate to share. "Ooooh, it was dreadful," she dragged the words into a high pitch, "But I won't tell you! No, I won't!"
"Myrtle, did you…" Ellis hesitated. "…hurt yourself?"
"You'll never know," she sang, floating higher into the air. "Oh, yes, Odette was so terrible. She came to ask me too. Order me to tell her like she was so important. I was the one who died, why was she angry? I won't say it. You'll never know—oh, I bet you hate that! You're so nosy, after all. Messing with things you shouldn't—I'll tell the Baron you're in here. He'll be angry."
"Why would he be angry?"
"He doesn't like this place. Never did. Peeves knows it, so he hides from him here—it's the WORST."
After Myrtle stormed furiously through the wall, Ellis slowly approached the sink she'd pointed to. She examined it closely. The tap didn't work and no matter what spells Ellis cast, they seemed to have no affect. Even anAguamentihad no effect as the moment the water hit the sink's basin, it began to dry up and disappear. She took a close look at the pipes and found nothing, but as she stood, she saw it.
On the side of one of the copper taps was a tiny engraving of a snake, curved into a serpentine 'S'
That evening, Ellis found herself standing in front of the portrait of Salazar Slytherin. He was tall with dark hair and dark eyes and handsome, cloaked in a green so dark, it was almost black. Wrapped around his wrist were delicate strings of gold off which hung a simple locket inlaid with glittering, green stones that coiled to form a serpentine 'S.' It was easy to mistake it for a snake.
"Asking for forgiveness?" asked Barty, snaking an arm around her shoulders as he spotted her. "What'd you do now?"
"Why does he never speak?"
"We're not worthy of our great founder's words, love."
"Do you think he'd speak in Parseltongue if someone tried it?"
"You do have a wicked tongue—" Barty smiled and pinched her cheek lightly, making Ellis shove him away with a roll of her eyes. Once. She had kissed him only once. It had been an experiment between two teenagers, back when she wasn't sure she would like kissing and Barty conveniently happened to be there. "—but, not that wicked."
She nodded to herself and then shrugged Barty's arm off. "If this painting goes missing—"
"Mum's the word." Barty mimed zipping his mouth with a toothy smile. "Now, love, I believe you were going to teach me that curse you used on Mulciber."
Ellis shook her head, "I never said that. You'll abuse it."
"Only a little."
"That's enough to get me in trouble. You have no self-control."
"Doesn't that make it fun?"
"Don't you have other bad choices to make?"
"This is a bad choice," he said, pinching her arm lightly. "Talking to you always is. Look, Reggie's already coming to the rescue."
True to his word, Regulus was approaching them, but not to rescue her. No, he was likely there to rescue Barty from the wrong end of her wand. As Barty snickered, she kicked him in the shin as hard as she could. He groaned, jumping away from her. Satisfied, Ellis, who had been avoiding Regulus, promptly left before he reached them.
That evening, the portrait of Salazar Slytherin did go missing and despite Professor Slughorn's immediate call for a search, it was never found.
September turned into October and with the first game of the Quidditch season quickly approaching them, she saw less and less of Helena and Ned. The Inter-House Cup started last Saturday in October, right before Halloween. Helena as the most senior chaser had no choice but to spend most of training the two new chasers and returned to the dorm late in the evening, looking haggard. She often slept right after showering and scrambled to do her assignments between classes.
Ned was forced into a grueling schedule, waking up at the break of day and having a three-hour practice up until the first class started. It was his O. year too, but he didn't seem nearly as worried as she was about his future. "I'm gonna play for Puddlemere," he'd say.
Maybe he would—she'd get free match tickets in exchange, so Ellis decided not to crush his dreams. It wouldn't do well to be on his bad side if he made it big.
Ellis focused on reading, and she could almost always be found with her head buried deep in a book. Most pages in Perenelle Flamel's book were indecipherable at first glance—handwritten notes, scribbles in a language she recognized as Old French, diagrams of runes she sometimes struggled to understand. But when she turned to a chapter near the middle of the second volume, her eyes caught on something that made her mind race:
"Le Sortilège d'Extraction: A means to draw malevolent magic from the afflicted, known in modern parlance as an "Obscurus."
Ellis's eyes narrowed. She could barely make out the scratchy writing beneath the title—more archaic French, hastily translated in a margin note:
"Always fatal…the host cannot survive."
The sentence ended abruptly. Ellis knew what an Obscurus was; the dreaded power emerged from repressed magical children, an unstable, dangerous force.
"Always fatal," she whispered to the empty Hospital Wing, turning the page carefully. "Unless what?"
But the next paragraphs had already moved onto a different topic. She frowned, flipping to a following chapter, only to find references to gold metallurgy.
To forcibly extract something like an Obscurus would kill its host? Would the same happen to Helena if they attempted to extract her blood malady? The curse was old—had it grown more powerful over the years? How could she test that? Could she anchor the extracted power?
If she could refine the extraction spell and modify it to tackle the Dark Magic she detected in Helena's bloodstream, if she could anchor it… perhaps her she could hold the darkness in place, keep it from killing the host.
Her brow furrowed in decision. She needed more resources, and she knew exactly where to look, or rather, from whom. Her uncle had a vast knowledge of the Dark Arts—tomes that were nowhere near polite reading, let alone Hogwarts library-approved. If anyone could discreetly send her something, it would be him.
Uncle,
Your dearest niece kindly requests that you send her the following books (or somehow obtain them) along with a nice assortment of cursed objects (for purelyacademic purposes):
Secrets of the Darkest Art
Magick Moste Evile
The Manuscript of Mortiferum Magus
Arkane Hematology
Unholy: Bindings and Bonds
I would like to speak to you before Christmas as well, if you have time.
Be well,
Ells
It only took three days for Ellis to receive a reply, which isn't a reply at all, but a black wooden box carefully wrapped in cloth. Ellis did not need to open it to know that her uncle had sent her everything she requested. A card rested on top that simply reads: Be careful.
Ellis' next task involved catching rats.
But, before that, there was the first Quidditch game of the season. It crept up so suddenly that Ellis had entirely forgotten about it until Helena rolled her out of bed and threw her into a chair, painting green and silver flags on her cheeks without her consent. Logically, she knew she should support her own house, but with their lackluster team and the dream squad that James Potter had put together, including her own flesh and blood brother, she was feeling less than enthusiastic. Still, she would swallow it down and hope for Helena's victory.
The mood in the Great Hall before a Quidditch match was usually rife with excitement, but when she and Helena arrived there, it was somber as a funeral. She made for her usual seat, but both her and Helena were intercepted by Ned, who dragged them out of the hall with hurried, urgent steps and then showed them the paper.
The Daily Prophet that morning read:
MULCIBER SR. SENTENCED TO THE DEMONTOR'S KISS.
Helena gasped, but Ellis stared at Ned somberly, confirming that she had already known to expect this.
"Where's Mulciber—"
"Saw it and left with Avery and Snape. Evan went after them."
"He can't play," said Helena, shaking her head. "He won't be in the right mind to—"
"I can handle it."
"It's not you that I'm worried about, it's the rest of us who have to reign him in." Helena skimmed the papers and then read a line aloud, "At the request of the Chair, Lord Edward Selwyn, the Kiss shall take place tomorrow afternoon at Azkaban to be attended by the Chair, the Minister of Magic, and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Mr. Bartemius Crouch Sr."
"It was all Crouch," snapped Ned. "Father's never given a sentence like that in his life. A Dementor's Kiss? Even Gellert Grindelwald got off lighter."
Again, Ellis thought back to the concert, the heavy weight of a cloaked Death Eater atop her, his breath fanning her face—Selwyn. The lines were already drawn in the war, and it was clear that their ploy at neutrality had been compromised, likely long before she and Ned entered Hogwarts. Her father's job was dangerous, and the Prophet was painting him as a hardliner. Maybe, he was. Maybe, he'd always been. Maybe, all that pride they carried about their name meant nothing when faced with the horrifying ordeal of what it meant to be a pureblood.
By the time they reached the field, the stands were already packed. The Slytherin green and silver banners flapped proudly, though their usual fierce confidence seemed somewhat subdued. Across the pitch, the Gryffindor section was a sea of red and gold, their cheers echoing loudly as James Potter's team appeared for warmups.
Ned and Helena exchanged a few quiet words before they both turned to her. Helena's face was painted with determination now, her earlier somberness shoved aside.
"You'll be alright?" Helena asked, giving Ellis a once-over.
Ellis managed a half-hearted smile. "I'll cheer so loud you'll think I care who wins."
Ned snorted.
Helena rolled her eyes. "Try stick to one side."
Ned reached out and clapped Ellis on the shoulder. "See you after."
Ellis watched as they both jogged off toward their respective locker rooms. She sighed and turned to head up into the stands, weaving through clusters of excited students. The Slytherin section was buzzing. Ellis slipped into a seat near the front of the stands, trying to avoid any overly enthusiastic supporters.
From her vantage point, she could see the entire pitch. The Gryffindor team moved like a well-oiled machine; their warmup drills flawless. James flew with an effortless grace that made it hard not to watch. Ned was there too, chatting animatedly with Dorcas Meadowes. Sirius was off to the side, fixing his gloves as he gaze lay fixed on Regulus.
Mulciber was on the field. He didn't look any different from normal, but the way everyone's gaze kept flickering over to him told Ellis that whatever he was saying was nothing good. Their newest chaser, a wiry third-year, looked pale and nervous. Ellis's stomach sank. They were going to get slaughtered.
The whistle blew, and the players took their positions. The crowd roared as the Quaffle was thrown into the air, and the game began.
Ellis leaned forward, her eyes darting between the players. Gryffindor struck first, with James scoring an easy ten points. Slytherin's Keeper barely reacted, and the jeers from the Gryffindor section were deafening. Helena swooped in moments later, intercepting a pass and launching the Quaffle toward the Gryffindor goal. It was a brilliant shot, but Sirius' bat came out of nowhere, sending a Bludger hurtling toward Helena. She dodged it, but the Quaffle veered off course, missing the goalpost by inches.
Thirty minutes into the match, neither side had scored more than a handful of goals, but the tension on the pitch was palpable.
High overhead, Ned angled his broom in a steep dive. He had caught sight of a golden glint near the Slytherin goalposts. Farther off, Regulus was also in a determined chase, robes snapping behind him.
And Mulciber looked ready to explode. He gripped his bat with white-knuckled fury, jaw set like stone.
Ellis' fingers digging into the wooden edge of her seat. The brooms converged in a chaotic scramble: Ned in red-and-gold, Regulus in green-and-silver, racing for the Snitch.
James zoomed by with the Quaffle cradled under his arm, dodging a Bludger that whizzed dangerously close to his head. On the other side of the pitch, Sirius was caught up aiming Bludgers at Slytherin Chasers.
Suddenly, Mulciber peeled off from his position and dove after Ned. He barely glanced at Regulus—his target was fixed. Fury raged in his eyes, and Ellis knew exactly what he was thinking. She stood from her seat.
A hush swept the stadium as the Snitch flickered left, closer to the ground. Ned dove sharply, hugging his broomstick for speed. Regulus followed, more controlled but equally fast. Mulciber roared in behind them, bat raised. He swung at a passing Bludger, sending it careening after Ned with deadly accuracy.
Ned jerked to one side just in time, the Bludger missing him by mere inches. But Mulciber wasn't finished. Snarling, he closed the gap, leaning low over his broom. Then, in a reckless, savage move, he slammed his shoulder into Ned's back.
Ned lost his grip. He spun in midair, broomstick spiraling away before he plummeted, crashing onto the grass with a sickening thud. Gasps rippled through the stands, followed by a stunned hush. Ned lay crumpled on the pitch, dust and fragments of grass swirling around him.
"Merlin—no—" Ellis's breath seized.
High above, Regulus abruptly turned. He dove after Mulciber, who had already landed near Ned's motionless form. Ellis could see Mulciber's face, twisted with something beyond anger. There was no reason in his gaze—only raw, animal fury.
Before Ned could even push himself upright, Mulciber ripped off his beater's glove and lunged. He sent the broom clattering, raised his fists, and started hammering Ned's arms, chest—whatever he could reach. Ned tried to kick him off, but Mulciber caught his leg, pinning him down with brutal force.
A deafening uproar surged through the crowd. Whistles blew frantically as the referee bellowed. Ellis was halfway down the stands, wand in hand, lungs burning.
Regulus touched down first, skidding on the grass in front of Mulciber. He seized the back of Mulciber's uniform. "That's enough!" he snarled, wrenching Mulciber away from Ned.
Mulciber twisted in Regulus's hold, eyes wild. "Get—off—me!" he roared. "They're celebrating—" His words broke off, replaced by a furious growl. He snapped a punch straight into Regulus's jaw, sending the younger Black staggering backward.
Before Mulciber could lunge again, Sirius barreled into him from the side. The impact knocked Mulciber clear off Ned and to the ground with a heavy thud. Sirius, still clutching his beater's bat, stood in front of Regulus.
"Fancy a trip to Azkaban, Mulciber?" Sirius bellowed. "If you're lucky, you'll get a nice big kiss too."
"I don't mind going if I get to send you to hell, Black," hissed Mulciber, spitting blood. He struggled to rise, arms shaking with hatred. "All of you—worthless scum—I'll kill you, him, and that cunt of a sister he's got. How about that?"
Avery crashed down into the fray. Avery yanked Regulus's arm, sneering, "Thought you were one of us."
Regulus shoved Avery away, breath ragged. "Unless you've forgotten, I'm more than you'll ever be. Get your filthy hands off me."
The tension erupted like lightning: Avery hurled a punch that caught Regulus's cheek, sending him reeling. Sirius roared, batting Avery's arm away and swinging his beater's bat dangerously close to Mulciber's head to keep him back.
The stands descended into bedlam. The other players landed in a flurry of robes and frantic shouting, some trying to break up the fight, others egging it on. Angry shouts melded with the crackle of stunners until the entire match became a roiling mass of fists, spells, and curses spiraling out of control.
Ellis reached Ned at last, dropping to her knees beside his still form. Her lungs burned. He wasn't stirring. A spatter of grass clung to his hair, and his eyes were closed, face devoid of color. "Merlin—Ned—what do I—" She knew a few healing spells, but she didn't know which ones were best. A surge of panic filled her.
Regulus spat out a mouthful of blood, dragging his sleeve across his face, and crouched to Ned's side. "I've got it. I'll—" He swallowed hard, fingers twitching. "Go get Mulciber."
Ellis looked up to see James vault off his broom, Quaffle discarded. He joined the chaos, throwing himself between Sirius and Mulciber, trying to break them apart. Helena, trying to help James drag Mulciber away from Sirius, reached into the fray. "Stop it!" she shouted, voice laced with both fury and desperation. "You've all gone mad!"
Helena managed to catch hold of Mulciber's arm for the briefest second—but he spun with terrifying speed and lashed out, knocking her backward. Helena lost her footing, crashing onto the grass.
"Try that again!" Mulciber snarled, half-deranged. His eyes rolled, frantic. He bellowed over the noise, "I'll deal with you later, Greengrass, I promise."
There was a bright, furious flash—whatever spell she tried was muddied by her rage, emerging as a sharp burst of force that sent Mulciber stumbling.
Ellis hissed through clenched teeth. A wave of crackling magic rippled from her wand tip as it slashed through the air.
Mulciber ducked, low and fast. He caught her wrist in a viselike grip, trying to wrestle the wand from her hand. "You're next," he snarled, breath hot against her face. "You fucking bitch, I'll—"
She drove her elbow into his ribs.
He pivoted, pulling Ellis off-balance, but she twisted in his hold, using the momentum to slam her forearm across his jaw. A savage crack resounded, and Mulciber staggered, rage bright as lightning in his eyes. He lunged again, free hand grabbing a fistful of her robes. For a moment, they locked eyes in raw, animal fury.
Mulciber tried to shove Ellis onto her back. She twisted sideways to avoid the blow, jamming her knee into his thigh. It wasn't enough to drop him, but it rattled him. A bolt of red light flashed by, so close it singed the air with heat. It hit Mulciber's shoulder, causing him to snarl and reel back.
"Get up," Ellis snapped at Mulciber. Enough was enough. "Let's see who dies first."
She raised her wand again, summoning every bit of focus. Before she could cast, however, a thunderous roar of magic tore through the sky. A brilliant, golden light slammed down between Mulciber and Ellis, separating them. The sheer force of it crackled across the pitch, snuffing out curses mid-air and knocking brawling players apart like puppets with severed strings.
"STOP THIS AT ONCE."
Professor Dumbledore's voice cut through the noise like a blade. He stood at the edge of the pitch, robes billowing, eyes filled disapproval. His wand was raised. The moment the golden light solidified, he lowered it, stepping forward onto the grass. In his wake trailed Professor McGonagall, Professor Slughorn, Madam Pomfrey, and other staff, all sprinting in horror at the sight.
Panting, bruised students remained scattered around the pitch, still trembling with fury or shock. Dumbledore's stern gaze swept across the carnage, resting pointedly on Mulciber, who seethed in place, pinned by the wave of magic. Sirius stood tensely near his brother, jaw set.
Ellis stood shakily. The stands were deathly silent—no cheers, no jeers—only the hush that followed a storm.
"In all my years," Dumbledore said, voice cold but controlled, "I have never witnessed such a disregard for life and safety on the Quidditch pitch. This stops now."
Mulciber, disoriented, stumbled up, face twisted with hate. Avery tried to help haul him upright, while Sirius, chest heaving, cast a quick glance at Regulus—who was clutching his jaw, blood trickling from a split lip. The two Black brothers exchanged the briefest look, tension and some flicker of unspoken understanding.
Then Ned stirred—just faintly. His eyelids fluttered, and a strangled moan escaped him.
With a sharp grimace, Ned's fingers twitched at his side. Ellis blinked, following the movement—and realized his hand was clenched into a fist. He uncurled his fingers slowly, blinking through the haze of pain.
He was holding a small, glittering sphere—the Snitch.
He blinked and groaned as he tried to sit up. He tilted his head, and a grin stretched across his face, "Think I'll make it to Puddlemere?"
Something between a cry and a laugh escaped her. James threw himself forward and seized Ned off the ground, lifting him high into the air. The silence broke with a loud roar of noise as the Gryffindors caught sight of the Snitch held proudly in Ned's hands.
"MERLIN, OUR BOY'S DONE IT!" shouted Carlisle, snatching the microphone from the poor Hufflepuff announcer's hands. "EDMUND SELWYN'S CAUGHT THE GOLDEN SNITCH! YOU ROTTEN SNAKES—"
No one bothered with changing out of their uniforms. Ellis was swept along with the Gryffindors despite Professor McGonagall and Professor Slughorn trying to round them all up to administer punishments. Professor Dumbledore was busying guiding Mulciber away, a hand pressed to his shoulder as he spoke to him in a low voice. Ellis watched them go, feeling a growing sense of dread. Though the feeling remained, tight as a not deep in her belly, it was soon overridden by the sound of laughter.
She was deep in her cups, irresponsibly so, but someone—she wasn't sure who—had told her that she couldn't possibly outdrink them. Perfect Prefect Selwyn, she'd been called. These stupid idiots were loud, foul-mouthed, and Merlin, did they keep their liquor stocked.
"Will you please find a room with a bed and fuck?" asked Ellis, rolling her eyes as James and Lily went back and forth about sending the younger years up to bed. She got up and dragged the two fifth year perfects out of their seats, ordering them to round the straggling fourth years and make them disappear.
"Not a bad ide—"
"Potter!"
"I was James five seconds ago."
"Oh," said Ellis, looking between them. "Already done it?"
"No," said Lily, hotly, but her flushed cheeks gave her away. "I wouldn't touch him, even if he were the last man on Earth."
"You want to keep it a secret? That's freaky."
That earned her a laugh from Remus Lupin, who had been largely quiet. He was the one that you needed to watch for most. The prefect badge he carried was nothing but a thin veil for his own troublemaking habits. Though, Ellis did notice that his quietness also translated to a kind of innate kindness that would have died a quick death in Slytherin.
Peter Pettigrew was the odd one out of the group. He had straggly, mousy hair with a pointed nose and watery eyes that made him look perpetually afraid. Ellis wasn't sure why he was friends with the Marauders, as she often heard them berating him or outright ignoring him. He hid in the shadow and usually, it was Remus Lupin who took to ensuring that he was keeping pace with them.
Ellis knew that he was a Hat Stall, like her. The only one in Hogwarts, save for Professor McGonagall. The Sorting Hat had been torn between the same two houses for both Peter and her. Ellis didn't know what it was like for him, but her sorting had been a long argument with the ancient and unwashed hat.
Ellis expected to feel a sense of comradery, but she was rather ashamed to be in the same category as the sniveling creature. He opened his mouth several times, saying something in a low voice to James that got flapped away by a flailing arm. Rather than speak up again, he shrunk into himself, hoping not to be seen. Pathetic.
"Why don't you let him speak?" asked Ellis, staring between James and Sirius. How easily they denied being associated with purebloods when they had all the same vices. Pride, arrogance, and infuriating sense of superiority.
"Sorry, Pete, what was it?" asked James, looking chagrined.
"Professor McGonagall said to wrap it up by midnight."
"Minnie did? We should go invite her up here to celebrate," said James, rubbing his chin. A thoughtful look took over his face. "She's been pretty down since…"
They all shared a look, and the mood plummeted instantly. Ellis had no idea what they were talking about. She was a bit more interested in her brother. He was snogging some girl in the corner who was certainly not the love of his life, Mary Macdonald.
Weren't all boys the same?
Mary didn't seem troubled by this development at all. In fact, the way she was eyeing Marlene McKinnon told Ellis all she needed to know about her brother's prospects with the girl: abysmal. Ned was just as stupid about relationships as he was about Quidditch. It made little sense given that their mother was the foremost expert on the subject of 'love' in the world.
Ellis cupped her hands around her mouth, "Ned, did you learn the contraception char—"
He flipped her off without breaking away from inhaling the girl's mouth into his own. Ellis laughed to herself.
Ellis barely had a moment to process what was happening before Marlene and Mary seized her by the arms, dragging her toward the center of the room where an impromptu game of Truth or Dare had taken shape.
"Truth or Dare?"
"Magical Truth or Dare," clarified Marlene.
"What are the consequences?"
"You won't die," said Sirius, rolling his eyes at her for her caution. "If you fail to answer or refuse to do the dare, we snap your wand."
She jerked back immediately and the entire circle of Gryffindors laughed heartedly. Insane, she thought. All of them. She would have thought the girls to be more sensible, but they were all struck with the same affliction for trouble.
"He's lying," giggled Alice.
Dorcas yawned, stretching her arms over her head. "You get cursed to tell the truth for twenty-four hours."
Magical contracts were harder to break than normal curses or jinx, because they involved explicit consent. Most chose not to press the danger.
"If you're too scared—" started James, trying to goad her into it.
"I'm not scared. If I suffer the consequences, I'm not going to be tucked away in your little tower afterwards." She supposed it wouldn't be too difficult to feign an illness and remain in bed. "But, I'll play."
They all lay down their wands in in a circle, holding their wrists out. Lily muttered the incantation under her breath and a whisp of gold emerged from each of their wands. The thin threads wrapped around their wrists, remaining there for a moment and then dissipating. Ellis could feel the warmth creep up her arm and settled around her throat.
The first few rounds were relatively tame, and Ellis watched with a lazy sort of amusement as they all chose dare. James was made to dash up the girl's stairs as fast as possible. He almost made it to the first floor before sliding down and crashing against the back of the sofa. Lily was dared to drink a concoction that Marlene made which looked fatal, but she swallowed it down with a pinched expression, only threatening to gag once. Peter Pettigrew was dared to ask one of the lingering sixth years out on a date—Ellis felt that was a little meaner than the rest.
And then it came to her turn.
"Truth."
There were a few groans, but Dorcas shushed them and leaned across the space, looking at her closely.
"Is it true that cast an Unforgivable on Mulciber?"
"Dorcas," hissed Lilly, shocked at the severity of the question.
"Yes," said Ellis, with a careless shrug. "If Dumbledore hadn't intervened, I might have tried my hand at Killing Curse too. He'd deserve it."
Mary downed her shot glass nervously.
"Can you cast an Imperius Charm?" asked Dorcas, even as Lily told her to back off. "Karkaroff's been teaching us about them, but Dumbledore's banned him from showing them outright. He thinks he might target the Muggleborn students for demonstration, but we need to know how to throw it off."
"This isn't fun," said Ellis, reaching for another shot glass. She downed it quickly, praying that the burn would stop the sudden itch she had to curse everyone in the room.
"War isn't fun, Selwyn. We're trying to survive and your lot—"
"I'm not a Death Eater," said Ellis, plainly. She pulled her sleeve back, revealing nothing more than the budging scar she'd gained at the concert.
Lord Voldemort would pick them apart one by one if they thought in such stark terms. There were plenty who joined his side not because of a hatred of muggles, but a hated of wizards. Werewolves forced to live in the shadows and under the boots of the Wizarding World. Giants cast into forests. Goblins tired of bowing their heads to wizarding gold. Dementors.
She was worried about the last one. Minister Minchum likely thought he was doing the world a favor by increasing the number of Dementors in the country, but Dementors thrived on misery, and nothing was more miserable than war.
"If you want to learn to throw off an Imperius Curse, learn Occlumency. It's the same concept. nothing will prepare you for the real thing, so try not to get yourselves in a situation where it gets cast on you."
"Why don't we learn that at Hogwarts?" asked Mary, nearly shrinking into herself when Ellis' gaze landed on her.
"You have two purebloods here—I'm sure they can explain the last millennia of wizarding politics to you," said Ellis, with a roll of her eyes. "And no one said you had to stop learning magic once your graduated."
They exchanged sheepish glances between themselves.
"Merlin, you people need to lighten up. If Lord Voldemort ruins Quidditch, I'll off him myself."
She took her wand and spun it, reminding them that they were still playing a game. By some grace of luck, it landed directly on Sirius. He narrowed his eyes as he contemplated his options, leaning casually against Remus. There was something going on there, but Sirius was too much of a pureblood to realize it was an option and Remus seemed internally torn on whether to act.
"Truth."
"If you had a child and they were a Squib, would you disown them?"
"Never. That kid would make the 'ol hag croak. Double the joy." Sirius grinned and downed his drink, "Cheers, Selwyn."
He spun his wand and must have cursed it, because it slowed and landed directly on her. He threw her a goading grin, telling her that she was screwed either way. But, she had a bit more apprehension about what he'd ask her than what he'd make her do.
"Dare."
"Jump in the Black Lake."
James shoved him, "That's such a waste."
"Naked."
Ellis blinked. A common dare in Slytherin. "That's so cliché."
"It was either that or snog Snivellus, and I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."
"I'd rather pick Snape," she muttered, but she did dust herself off and stood. Gesturing for the Gryffindors to lead the way. Lily urged everyone to be quiet, which made James shout out that he was Head Boy, and it was his duty to patrol the halls.
Remus trailed, watching as Sirius pestered Peter with a rousing retelling of the fight on the Quidditch pitch. Alice was sharing how her and Frank Longbottom, who graduated two or three years ago and was now an Auror, were planning on getting engaged. Ellis had her ears glued to that conversation and wondered if she'd be invited to the wedding. Longbottom's mother was a stickler for tradition and the Longbottoms were part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight (even if it meant very little to them).
Though weddings were happy events, Ellis couldn't help but feel that the rush of engagements from Maisie to Helena and now Alice were all because of Lord Voldemort's strangling hold on the world. Three Death Eater attacks had left dozens of dead in Ireland just yesterday. Another in London had been explained away as a gas explosion by the muggles. Everyone was afraid that they wouldn't live to enjoy life, so they were hurtling at full speed.
It was the first and only time that Ellis felt as if she were lagging behind the rest.
Remus shuffled around in his pockets. The sleeves of his sweater were a bit too short of his long arms and of them had a hole in it. His scarred face twitched as he fumbled with a lighter and finally brough a cigarette to his mouth.
Remus caught her watching him and asked, "Want one?"
Ellis wasn't sure what the appeal of cigarettes were. They smelled odd and she barely tolerated potions fumes. "No."
Remus shrugged. He looked at her thoughtfully, "Sorry about Sirius—he's got this complex where his best thought is his worst one. And the situation being what it is, it's a knee-jerk reaction to be a total dick when he sees green."
"You shouldn't apologize on another person's behalf."
"He won't ever do it," said Remus, smiling wryly.
"He's a Black."
"Yes, he is."
A smile was exchanged between them.
They reached the lake's edge and Ellis quickly discarded her clothes, earning a few shocked shrieks and a hoot of laughter from James. She ran in quickly. The water was a few degrees short of freezing, but she preferred the cold. The warmth of the Gryffindor common room made her feel as if she were about to set on fire. She didn't know how they could breathe in air that stifling.
"It's actually nic—" A short shrill scream cut through the air and then nothing but the ripple of water. Lily rushed forward immediately wading through the water as James hurried to look for her. Ellis laughed to herself.
Beneath the water, Ellis could vaguely hear their arguing, but there was a humming song echoing distantly across the water that was far more beautiful. She wanted to listen to it forever. She started to wander off, swimming toward the sound. A minute went by and then almost two and Ellis was forced out of her stupor by the sudden and urgent need to breath.
Ellis emerged from the water, torn between laughing and gasping for air. Mermaid song was dreadfully dangerous, she thought. She didn't like the notion that the warm-water mermaids were more beautiful. She thought that there was beauty to be found here as well.
"I thought you'd drowned," said Lily, still pale, shivering as her wand cast light across the black waters.
"I'm a wonderful swimmer," said Ellis, shaking her wet hair as the song left her ears. "And no offense, but the lake is Slytherin territory. We literally live under it."
She wanted to hear the song—no, she had to get out of the water and set her mind straight. Ellis waded forward slowly; the slick lake weed pulling at her legs. James kicked his foot into the water and splashed Lily, laughing when she started and nearly tipped backwards into the water herself.
"Sirius," said Remus, chasing the other boy as he ran off laughing. Ellis narrowed her eyes, realizing it was her clothes in his arms. "SIRIUS, GET BACK—"
"COME AND CATCH ME, MOONY!"
He nearly did, but Sirius dodged him and threw the bundle of clothes at Marlene McKinnon who caught them and started running too. Ellis was certain that they'd forgotten about her entirely as Alice and Mary joined the chase, laughing and shouting.
Ellis sank lower into the water, thinking that she might enjoy living with the mermaids more than with people.
No one noticed the quiet set of footsteps approaching from the castle side of the lake. A new voice cut through the air. "Out rather late, aren't you?"
Regulus.
Ellis grimaced at once, muscles tensing. He was standing with the moonlight reflected in his calculating grey eyes. The bruises he gained after the game were all gone and Ellis realized that she'd forgotten to thank him for taking care of Ned. Everything happened so fast that she'd been swept off the field before she could check on him or Helena.
"R-Regulus," stammered Peter, nearly dropping the shoe he'd been thrown in alarm.
Regulus gave a cool, thin-lipped smile. "Pettigrew." His eyes swept over the rest. "Lupin and…of course, my dear brother…and James Potter. Causing trouble?"
Sirius stalked back toward them, making no attempt to hide his irritation. "No more than you."
"It's past curfew, and as a prefect, it's my responsibility to see that students follow the rules." Regulus paused, gaze trailing across the assembled Gryffindors before returning to Ellis. "And you're a prefect too, Selwyn. You've got no excuse at all."
Ellis rolled her eyes and sunk beneath the black waters once more.
"You lot—" Regulus jerked his wand at Sirius, Peter and the girls. "A week of detention. All of you, tomorrow evening at seven. Filch will be delighted to have extra hands cleaning out the trophy room or whatever pitiful task he assigns."
"You can't just—" James began, but Lily tugged at his sleeve, exchanging a quick glance with Remus.
"A prefect is well within his right, Potter. You should know that as Head Boy." Regulus's tone was deadly calm. "If you'd like to quarrel, I'd be more than happy to make it two weeks' worth. Care to keep going?"
Sirius opened his mouth, but Remus tugged him back with a firm hand around the wrist.
"We're leaving," Lily announced. "James, come on. Now."
Sirius hesitated, trying to burn a hole through Regulus with his glare, but eventually followed his friends. The group trudged off, looking sullen and muttering under their breath. Their footsteps faded into the darkness, leaving Ellis alone with Regulus.
He regarded her for a moment. His hands clenched into fists at his side, spine tight with tension.
"Well?" she prompted, voice hoarse.
"I suppose those are your clothes lying about?"
She nodded, "And my shoes."
He sighed. "A few drinks and you've lost all sense," he muttered. With a flick of his wand, her clothes flew toward him. Only one of her shoes returned. She wasn't certain what happened to the other.
Ellis swam a few strokes closer to the shore, close enough that she could see Regulus's expression—eyes narrowed, mouth pressed in that familiar line. He gave the bundle of clothes a cursory glance, as though her predicament was nothing more than an inconvenience.
"Are you going to hand them over," she said pointedly, "or would you rather stand there all night?"
Regulus lowered his wand arm, gripping her clothes in a neat fold under his elbow. One of her socks slipped loose and landed by his feet, but he didn't bother picking it up. If anything, he appeared content to watch her flounder.
"If I give them back too quickly," he said, in that polished voice of his, "you'll run off without letting me enjoy this spectacular display of yours."
"You must be exceptionally bored if you're prowling about, hoping to catch me in a compromising position."
His lips curved—just a little. He let a beat pass before replying, "Is it cold?"
"Up for a swim?"
To her surprise, he moved as though he might join her. He laid her clothes on a flat rock near the water's edge, then bent to untie his shoes. Ellis watched; eyes narrowed.Was he really…?
Ellis thought that he might have been insane when he rolled up the legs of his trousers and stepped into the lake, hissing under his breath at the frigid temperature. The look he shot her was half-reproachful, half…something else that makes a shiver run down her spine.
"Come here." His voice is low, thick.
She swam a few feet forward. With a graceful, practiced motion, he circled his wand in the air above her head. The water around her stirred, taking on an inky darkness, then coalesced into a soft, velvety cloak that draped itself around her shoulders. Ellis jolted at the unexpected warmth that wrapped around her, as if the fabric itself radiated heat. She stared at the conjured cloak in astonishment.
A small gasp slipped from her throat before she could swallow it back. "What spell is that?"
Regulus gave a dismissive shrug. "An old one."
"Which one?" she asked, pressing for more, but his mouth flattened.
"I'm not here to give you a lesson."
Ellis huddled deeper into the cloak, letting its surprising warmth seep through her waterlogged skin. She eyed him for a long moment, realizing he was standing waist-deep in the lake just to ensure she didn't catch her death. He looked more irritated than ever.
She lifted her chin defiantly, ignoring the trembling of her limbs. "It's not like I came out here at or Dare. Which turned out to be startlingly dull—until your brother confiscated my clothes."
"A dare," he repeated, and there was a withering note in his tone. "Your judgment is questionable as always."
"Is it?"
"It is."
She snorted. "Are we adding that to the list of things you dislike about me?"
A muscle in his jaw twitched. He didn't move away—if anything, he edged closer, and the water rippled between them. "Are you done freezing yourself half to death?" he asked. "Because I'm done wading in here."
In a swift motion, he guided her toward the bank. The water lapped at their legs, and Ellis's toes sank into the soft mud beneath. The cloak he'd conjured stayed firmly in place, seemingly untouched by the water. She glanced down, curious how it managed not to get soaked, but Regulus nudged her.
"Watch your step," he ordered quietly.
They reached the shoreline, and she took an unsteady step on the slippery grass. He released her arm the moment her feet met solid ground, as if he were afraid holding on too long would sully him. Ellis pressed her lips together, wanting to say something—thank you or perhaps ask about the spell again. But her mind whirled with a dozen half-formed replies. Her stomach gave an unpleasant twist.
Sensing her hesitation, Regulus retrieved her clothes from the rock and passed them over without another word. The single shoe he'd managed to summon earlier dangled from his fingers; the other was nowhere in sight.
"Get dressed," he said curtly, averting his gaze as best he could from her as she adjusted the cloak and began tugging her garments on beneath it.
"Thank you," she said at last, softly.
His only response was a slight incline of his head. He held himself a fraction too rigid. She met his gaze one last time before he turned. The tension in his shoulders remained, but there was the barest softening at the corner of his mouth.
Regulus wordlessly dried his clothes. He smoothed the rolled cuffs of his trousers back into place and slipped on his socks and shoes. As Ellis pulled her clothes on, he wandered a short distance away. She craned her neck, following him with her eyes as he bent down by a tree's gnarled roots and tugged something free. When she was fully dressed, he returned, dangling her missing shoe in one hand.
He knelt and lifted her foot, catching her off guard. Ellis wobbled, lurching forward to cling to his shoulder for balance. His hand brushed the sole of her foot, shaking off a few tiny stones lodged in her skin before he slid her slipper on. Then, just as carefully, he repeated the gesture on the other foot. A peculiar wave of heat flared in her chest at the unexpected gentleness of it.
Regulus stood again, his gaze skimming over her face. She felt her heart give an anxious jump. She kept still, almost breathless, while he stepped back, posture rigid and chin held high.
"I think you've forgotten you're a witch," he said coolly.
He tapped his wand against the top of her head—much like the dryness charm she had once used on him in the library. Warmth bloomed along her scalp, and she could feel her soaked hair drying rapidly, settling into messy waves around her shoulders.
"It's not straight," he noted, his sharp gaze lingering on the curls.
"I usually charm it," she admitted, lifting a hand to thread her fingers through her newly-dried locks. "How did you end up out here?"
"Your brother," he said simply. "Apparently, he decided you needed a personal escort back to the Common Room. He sent me a note."
"Ned did?" He must have been more worried than he let on.
"Does he know how to write? I can only imagine him gripping his quill as if it were a tree trunk."
She paused, deciding not to defend Ned's penmanship, "He didn't get the same lessons I did."
"Sirius and I were always forced together. The heir and the spare," said Regulus. "Surprisingly, those were the times we got along best. Sirius liked showing off what he knew, and I was glad to have someone's attention. And now, I never seem to lack attention."
"It must be suffocating."
Regulus regarded her a moment. "Yes, it is."
Silence enveloped them. She tried to gather her thoughts, but the only thing she could feel was a surge of empathy.
"I wish it weren't," she said at last, her voice quiet. "When we were young, and you would tell me that you'd get punished if you acted like I did—crying and complaining and whining. I thought your parents were terribly cruel to you."
"Yours are terribly soft," he murmured, mimicking the crest of her accent. "But that's not to say that I didn't wish for the same kind of warmth at times. My parents have different ways, so don't pity me—"
"It's not pity to want someone to be treated kindly."
"Why would I need their kindness when I have yours?"
Ellis thought those were the most violent words she ever heard, because she wasn't kind to Regulus. She hated him viciously at times, wished that her time at Hogwarts had come to an end so she could escape him, hoped that he'd die quick and early with the regret still etched on his face over the choices he'd made and things he'd said. And yet. Yet.
Yet.
She thought suddenly of the Tales of Beedle the Bard and the Warlock's Hairy Heart which "had grown…blind and savage in the darkness…and its appetites…powerful and perverse." And wondered if the same happened when one was left in the dark without an ounce of kindness offered to them. How strange she must have seemed to the likes of Regulus, who was born into a family that saw power and purity as love.
Ellis had been lucky to be born. Her mother lost six daughters to miscarriages before her. A macabre twist on being the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. Her parents showered her and Ned with love. Ellis expected that she would come to Hogwarts, make friends with the same warmth that she came to expect at home, but those hopes were quicky struck down.
"You should have higher expectations of kindness," she murmured.
"How can I? Even at your own expense, you told your father to let Mulciber say goodbye."
Ellis froze.
"He came by and took Mulciber to the Ministry. They've haven't come back yet." Regulus wandered closer, his arm brushing hers. He did not move away. "You never told your father what Mulciber did. I understand not telling me, but—"
"I don't need my father to clean up for me. He only knew about him because Ned mentioned what he'd done to Mary Macdonald and some of the other girls."
"It won't ever pay off," Regulus warned, a note of urgency entering his tone, "Trying to teach monsters like him—"
"I didn't do it for him. I asked for my father's sake. He doesn't deserve to suffer Mulciber's animosity and the consequences of my disagreements with him."
Ellis's chest twisted, but she continued, "And, also, I don't believe that the Ministry should have the right to use a Dementor's Kiss as a punishment for anything. I don't think that they have the sense or moral compass to determine whether someone should live or die. I don't think Lord Voldemort has it either."
Regulus flinched as if struck.
"It is very easy to call someone a monster, but when you're all wearing the same mask, how is anyone meant to tell the difference?"
The tension around his eyes deepened. For a second, she thought he would lash out—or worse, turn his back without another word. Instead, he exhaled slowly, tension falling from his shoulders.
He studied her for a moment, and the flash of conflict in his eyes shifted—almost as if he found her earnestness unexpectedly amusing. Then, a low chuckle escaped him.
Rather than answer, he laughed. Loudly, warmly. "Why do you fight me on everything? You can save the philosophical debate for the Ministry or…" He swallowed, face souring, "…Lord Voldemort."
The name hung heavy between them. She could not recall if Regulus had ever dared to use it before.
"I'm not scolding you for having a heart." Regulus shifted, taking a step closer. Their gazes locked, and a wave of heat settled under her skin. "It may shock you to know that I have one too."
"And much as it'd make my life easier, I'm not entirely content with swallowing down every order I'm given," he said as his eyes danced with mirth. "There are things that I want too—things the Dark Lord can't give me."
He didn't elaborate, but the way he looked at her in that moment made it impossible to pretend he was talking about politics or blood purity. A pulse of heat shot through her. His hand brushed lightly against hers—deliberate or accidental, she couldn't be sure. But the contact was enough to draw forward an aching heat.
"Like what?"
His gaze flicked to her lips, then back up. "You're clever," he said evenly, though a hint of wry amusement tugged at his mouth. Both were standing a breath too close "I'm sure you can guess."
Ellis had nothing clever to say at all.
A FEW HOURS EARLIER
REGULUS BLACK
Edward Selwyn was a slim, man with high cheekbones, a slender nose, and eyes that seem to hold an undercurrent of melancholy within their steely gaze. His silver hair, casually tousled, was just on the cusp of disarray. He was tall more so than imposing and moved with the unhurried poise of someone who did not seek to command attention yet inevitably drew it. Regulus had only ever seen him from a distance and only on the platform at King's Cross Station. He had clearly come straight from the Ministry as he was still wearing the plum-colored robes of the Wizengamot.
"I see Professor Slughorn still hasn't recovered from my time at Hogwarts," he said, dryly. "Nice of him to ruin my day without giving me the chance to do the same to him."
Regulus didn't know what to say. It was rather strange to be meeting Ellis' father. He didn't think the man needed an escort, but Professor Slughorn had seemed terrified of letting him roam the castle alone and gripped Regulus' Quidditch jersey so tight he was surprised to see it hadn't torn.
"Did they not let you go to the Hospital Wing?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "You're bruised all over."
Edward pulled his wand out and Regulus was surprised to see that it was ordinary compared to the white, ivory wood he was used to seeing Ellis use. Cool heat spread across his face and his skin tightened where the ache once was before receding. He stretched his jaw out and then nodded his thanks. Part of him was still caught under the man's glass-green gaze, but another part was already mapping out the similarities to Ellis. They have the same eyes, the same nose, the same mouth, but the rest must've come from her mother.
"Professor Dumbledore is waiting—"
Edward shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "Where are Ellis and Ned?"
"The Gryffindors won, so I imagine they're off celebrating with them."
"Who caught the Snitch?"
His fingers curl around empty air. It hadn't seemed important to reach for the gold when the rush of heat reached his blood, but Edmund—Ned—kept his eyes on it. Snatched it out, despite the fist bashing his face. "Ned did."
A proud smile flashed across his face. A surge of envy filled him. Senseless envy. His parents are his parents—he cannot change them. Cannot fix them. All he can do is love them in the only way he knew how with his respect and obedience, but Merlin, does he want their pride and love too.
"Ellis taught him. I was convinced it was a waste of time as our family isn't known for putting out Quidditch players, but she's always been a good flier herself. I think she was trying to avoid interning at my office."
"It seems like a waste of talent to put her behind a desk," commented Regulus. It would be—he cannot imagine Ellis stuck in a dark room without windows, hidden behind endless stacks of paperwork. He liked it best when they went to the Hospital Wing in the afternoons, the evening sun spilling in through the windows, threading her dark hair with scarlet and gold.
Edward laughed warmly and leaned forward, "You're very bright, Regulus. What will you do after Hogwarts?"
The fact that he knew his name should not have been so surprising, but he cannot picture Ellis Selwyn singing his praises to her father. No, he imagined she complained about him quite a bit. "It hasn't been decided yet."
"You're welcome to come work with me. It's hard work, but enjoyable." Edward's mouth pressed into a sympathetic line. "We need eager, gifted people—young wizards and witches willing to put in the time. But it's years of schooling beyond Hogwarts, and then there's the licensure..." He grimaced in half-hearted amusement. "If I had to do it twice, I might not."
Regulus was careful with his response. "I'll take that into consideration."
"May I ask you something?"
"It depends," he said, warily. "Is this an official question from a member of the Wizengamot?"
"I'd like you to answer it as if it was."
He cocked his head, waiting to hear the question. In fact, he was terrified, but this was a different kind of fear than what he felt before the Dark Lord, a different kind of fear than he'd grown up with. Lighter and less heavy—he liked it more. Could tolerate it better. Didn't seize up and freeze in the face of it.
"Is there anything illegal that's occurred between Mulciber and my children that I need to know about? Something I may need to make disappear."
"It's rather reckless for a member of the Wizenga—"
"It's rather reckless for a teenage boy to join the Death Eaters, but I haven't said a word on that, Regulus. Nor will I.
Every muscle in his body locked into place. He thought himself stupid for dismissing Edward Selwyn so lightly.
"It seems a shame," Edward continued, "that so many young, clever wizards fall prey to a man like the Dark Lord. That's not a judgment—my own brother is rather devout in his admiration, too. I know you weren't given many choices. But Dark Lords come and go. It's best to fight for the future you want, not the one you think he'll give you."
He leaned in slightly. "It helps to keep ties with both sides, especially in cases like Mulciber's. So, I'd appreciate an answer."
"It was a public fight on the Quidditch pitch."
"I'm not talking about today. I was a Slytherin once too and I need to know if he'll say something that he shouldn't."
His mind flashed to the Hospital Wing—Helena's thinly veiled accusation that it was his fault for leaving Ellis alone, Ellis' intense, overwhelming discomfort with the story. And then, inevitably, to Mulciber.
Mulciber, whom he could barely stand to look at these days, because just the sight of him sent rage surging through his veins. Mulciber, who deserved exactly what his father was getting. But if there were a way for Regulus to be the one to deliver that pain—to make it known that it was him who passed the sentence, him who played executioner—he'd do it a thousand times over.
"Yes, then?" said Edward, reading his expression with ease. "How serious was it? I can get the rest from Mulciber myself."
"There were Unforgivables involved."
A moment of stillness passed.
"I see."
They walk to Professor Dumbledore's office in total silence. Regulus stated the password he'd been given and climbed the steps. He hadn't changed out of his Quidditch uniform yet and suddenly felt the exhaustion creeping up on him. It vanished quickly as Edward Selwyn pushed past him.
In a single move, the Chair of the Wizengamot pulled Mulciber from his seat and struck him across the jaw with his fist. Dumbledore was out of his seat as well, wrenching the two apart as Mulciber stumbled back spewing blood.
"I know, I know," snapped Edward, shaking Dumbledore off.
"It seems that temper of yours has never dulled," said Professor Dumbledore, gravely. "Now, Edward, if you cannot behave, I'm afraid, we'll need to call your wife—"
"There's no need."
Mulciber sneered, holding his face tightly, "Wait until the Prophet hears about what their precious—"
"Mr. Black, if you don't mind giving us some privacy," said Dumbledore, gesturing to the door. He wanted to stay and listen in but knew that no one would allow it.
Mulciber's glare caught his, but Regulus didn't flinch. Instead, something cold and cruel stirred within him, an instinct that urged him to smile. So he did—slow and deliberate, a predator baring its teeth—watching as Mulciber's scowl faltered, just for a second.
Later that evening, Regulus found himself alone in the Astronomy Tower, pretending he wasn't counting the hours. It was humiliating how much he cared. By now, Ellis Selwyn was most likely tucked away in Gryffindor Tower with her brother, well out of harm's reach. There was no logical reason for him to be here, waiting. Yet he'd promised to be there if she needed him, so he would wait.
He was leaning against the cold stone parapet when a paper bird fluttered into his lap.
He opened the note:
Black,
Thanks for not being a dick and kicking me while I was down. My sister's downed a bottle of firewhisky, so go pick her up and tuck her in—she's the naked one by the Black Lake.
Your rival Seeker,
NED SELWYN
Regulus stared at the note, reading it twice to be sure. Ned Selwyn—he could count on one hand the number of conversations they'd had. Once when Ned was a first-year, asking for directions to the Potions classroom, and once more in the library over a mispronounced spell. They lived in entirely different circles, but even so, Regulus had always been aware of him—Ellis's young brother, the blubbering fool best known for his loudmouth and idiotic friends.
A reluctant smile tugged at Regulus's lips despite the note's absurdity. Without bothering to analyze the million questions crowding his mind, he slipped the parchment into his pocket, left the Astronomy Tower, and headed outside.
He found Ellis exactly where he'd been told.
And he knew he was screwed. Absolutely fucked beyond human understanding.
I am heir to the Most Nobel and Ancient House of Black, he reminded himself. The Dark Lord has given me his trust. He's marked me as one of his followers.
But right now, the words felt hollow compared to the irrational, thrilling need that consumed him. Every ounce of logic told him that his place was at the Dark Lord's side, that his name and his bloodline demanded a certain future. Yet here she was, bathed in moonlight—so devastatingly beautiful that it hurt to look at her.
He couldn't even recall the precise moment it happened—that shift in him from mild intrigue to all-consuming obsession. Maybe, it'd been like that from the start. Somewhere between stolen glances and sharp words, the laughter and warmth hidden in her letters, or the way she pressed her lips together when she was about to say something she'd regret but said it anyway, he'd lost himself. There had been a hundred small moments that culminated in this single point of no return, like tiny stars aligning to form one catastrophic constellation.
He would have given up anything to have Ellis Selwyn—anything to have her look at him the way he'd always wanted her to. It was dangerous and he knew it, but that knowledge only made the feeling sharper, more potent. All I want is her and only her.