Chapter Text
Fate creaks as she wobbles a little back and forth, her many weights and ties shifting and sliding to her rhythmic leaning
“You are being ridiculous!” She snaps as her scales tilt and even out again. “It doesn't make sense.”
“Sense?! I'm not making sense?!” Destiny's form flows and broils, rippling in swells and torrents like a boiling sea of ethereal water “What do you call what your doing then? Dollars?!”
Nearby the every cycling argument, Magic is lying on the ground, her colours of the mind turning rhythmically as if in some obscure tantrum. Love and Hate overlook her, polar opposites, one of thronging delightful flesh and the other of creaking acidic decay, and yet they both wear the same bemused and annoyed expression.
A little further back to the left, Order exists as a static form, frozen in pure grey harmony, he turns and huffs to Space and Time, standing all around him and also always several minutes in the future.
“This whole thing is getting out of hand.” He mutters in a perfect even tone.
Chaos enters, being unusually quiet, which makes sense as she is always seen and heard so being quiet is unexpected. She skitters along on her infinite appendages, one after another growing and fading in rapid succession, as she evades over to the Well of Stories. She swiftly grows a long antennae, reaching in to the cavernous maw of light and language, shifting for one concept in particular, a story already completed that she will make anew. She plucks out a copy of the very beginning and eyes it from all angels triumphantly. Laughing manically, in a way no one can hear, she careens away to treasure her prize.
Who knows how long it will take for Order or the others to notice. She has time to make a little change.
---
Red Lacewing
A gentle woman sits in a well worn armchair by the bay window of her small, homey cottage, her fiery auburn hair cascading around her face as she smiles down at the small baby boy bundled in her arms. Big green eyes stare up at her as she coos to him, bouncing a little and electing a gleeful little burble as he reaches his tiny hands up at her. His attention is distracted and he starts to gurgle at the window instead, drawing her own attention to a red butterfly fluttering outside, tapping against the glass rhythmically. It wasn't a type of butterfly she had see around before, and it was startling, wings a most vibrant eye catching scarlet like the colour itself was almost bleeding through the dewy morning glass. She picks up her baby to get a closer look, her son still gurgling happily as she watches the hypnotizing dance of glittering red.
She jolts back in surprise as a blur of black slams into the window with a disturbing thwack, barley missing the red butterfly, which quickly dances away from the danger. Gathering her sense, she leans to look out the window again. A large black crow flops around on the ground, cawing in aggravation as it tries to right itself, although one of it's wing is twisted at an awkward and broken angle. She watches it as it flounders about painfully and swiftly looks to put her son down, when he suddenly makes a happy cooing noise and a green glow rises around him, before dissipating in an instant. She startles and looks back out the window to see the crow flapping up to the fence with a newly mended wing, and brooding demeanour, before hopping away into the morning air. She bounces the boy and coos excitedly, beaming at him.
“James!” She shouts over her shoulder, “James come quick!”
James speeds down the awkward cottage steps with a flurry of movement, and he slides to a stop in front of her, his brown hair wild and glasses skewed.
“Lily! Wha-what happened? Is everything ok!?”
“Harry did magic!”
His slightly concerned look melts into a grin of wild glee “W-He did!”
She motions outside, with her elbows, as her arms are still full of her laughing little Harry, “He healed the wing of a crow. Through the window no less!”
James bounds up to her and carefully scoops the boy out of her arms, chatting happily at him. Lily laughs at the warm display, sighing in the glow of it all. She glances back outside and spies the red butterfly again, sunning itself lazily on the window pane.
Something slots into place. I thought, not really forgotten, a small sliver of something unsaid, carefully unfolds in her mind. Lily's smile fades a little and she looks back to James.
“Honey, can you put Harry down for his nap? I have to write a letter.”
He looks up at her, “Hm? Of course babe. Who to? Do you need the owl?”
“No, I'll send it by Muggle post. Non-magical means will be untraceable. Just an old friend.” She hums, a little despondent.
James nods, turning a little serious, “Is it-”
“James,” She says abruptly. “It'll be untraceable. Trust me.”
James thinks, furrowing his brow a little, before sighing. “I know, I do, I-” He glances at the butterfly, and sighs, “Tell him I'm sorry.”
She quickly pulls out a pen, spiral notebook and envelope, from the beige kitchen cupboard, “I will, but” she points at him commandingly, “One day, you will say it in person. One day mister.”
He nods shoulders, bobbing in mischievous resignation “Well, I mean yea.” Harry makes a fussy noise. “Oop, looks like someone is getting grumpy. Oh Lily?”
She looks back at him as she places her items down on the short coffee table “Ye-” She is cut off by James leaning forward and pressing a quick warm kiss to her lips.
“I love you” He hums.
She hums back “I love you too.”
James dances away, bouncing Harry in his arms and humming happily as Lily settles down to write, pen in hand and heart on her sleeve.
---
The car is a convertible, painted glossy bright red and a licence plate branded with the word Caravan. It roars down the high way with speed and accuracy of a force of nature, careening and swerving between cars as it thrills ahead. The car's mad dash slows little as the other cars get a little closer together as the flow of traffic suddenly tapers off and quickly grinds to a standstill. Up ahead, past a throng of bumper to bumper cars, a mail truck has overturned on the highway, spilling packages and letters all over the hot afternoon pavement in a flood of bureaucratic nightmares. The convertible shifts and carefully reverses itself onto the highway shoulder, spinning itself around and speeding over the divider back on the open highway again, now moving in the opposite direction.
---
Checkered White
She sweeps through the towering elegant halls of her manor home, glancing through the open doors as she passes. She huffs, tucking a stray blond hair from her elaborate bun behind her ear and picks up her pace a little, passing through another door into the dining room, she looks around and frowns.
He spends all day dramatically draping himself on every flat surface, but now that I'm looking for him, he's vanished. Typical.
She pauses, and stares at the tall Gothic windows, looking out at the yard, misty with the evening air as albino peacocks mill about, pecking the ground for worms.
Yesterday she was staring out the same window, overlooking the estate, being the queen of her small corner of perfection, while the peacocks were being proud, dumb birds. She watched as Eros, the largest of the peacocks and most well loved of the birds by her husband, as it rose its head to eye a white butterfly as it fluttered down over the yard, it's wings glinting and glowing in the sunlight like a rare jewel. As it landed on a nearby plant, batting it's wings gently, Eros creeped close, and snapping out its elegant neck, the butterfly vanished in a flash of beaks. There was a pause where Eros bobbed and shook his head before he began to shudder and hack, flapping and writhing desperately. She watched on in blank worry, the reality of what she was witnessing sinking into her. She thought to get help, but by the time the thought occurred, the bird had flopped over, and wasn't moving anymore. From Eros mouth, a white butterfly crawled free, flopping and sunning its wings awkwardly as it slowly righted itself and uneasily fluttered to freedom. She reminisces that it was poetic, if only Lucius took it better.
He will dramatically resurface before dinner, as he always does.
She tears here eyes away from the window and gives up her search for now. She strides down the hall, her quick snappy steps echoing along the marble until finally reaching the nursery, where she quiets her stride and carefully opens the door.
She pauses upon entering, seeing her husband hovering by the cradle, his long unfairly beautiful platinum hair, hanging gracefully over his shoulder as he stares down over the white wood bars. He doesn't look up to acknowledge her and she steps closer, looking him over carefully.
“Lucius? What wrong?”
He finally looks up, his cold blues eyes flickering over to her and then quickly back down to their son, snuggled under a fluffy white blanket and sleeping soundly.
“Oh, Narcissa, nothing, nothings wrong, everything is fine...” He sounds strangely despondent.
“You're not yourself.” She stands beside him, scanning him carefully. She was immensely used to the proud posturing and cold front, the strange absent look he wears now makes her increasingly wary.
She continues “Is everything alright with the Dark Lord-”
“I raised Eros myself.” She blinks at his blunt non-sequitur.
“I know. You've told me before.”
“Did I tell you father gave him to me because he was small and sickly?”
“...You did not.”
He sighs quietly. “He expected the bird to die so he could punish me for failing.”
“Yet the bird lived. And lived a long happy life in your care.”
“Until it choked to death on a butterfly.”
She watches him. What does he want me to say? For once, I can't really read him...
He speaks up again turning to look at her, his face a usual blank slate, but his eyes seemed wide and uneasy. “I am thinking...”
“A dangerous pass time. What are you thinking?”
“Am I like my father?”
Narcissa actually shakes her head to recover from the sudden turn of conversation. “I-I'm sorry?”
He repeats the question talking fast and desperate. “Am I like my father?! I'm I destined to be just like him; cruel, vicious, heavy hands and cold eyes, look at me!” Lucius snaps the last line startling Narcissa as he steps towards her, waving his snake cane around in a slightly wild manner, as he addresses her and himself. “I look like him! How he looked at my age, when I was born, I-I'm going to be just like him, I shouldn't even be near my own son-” He's suddenly talking louder his voice inching up in strange anger.
“Lucius!” She hisses slapping her hand over his mouth.
There is a moment of silence only interrupted by the soft sound of snuffling from the crib. The shifting quiets and she carefully moves her hand, a smirk gracing her lips.
“If your mother did that, your father would have killed her.” Lucius stares at her, eyes softening, and she continues, “I never even spoke to your father while he was alive, and he ignored me like I was a fancy but unwanted sofa.” She scoffs softly. “He was perfect noble and he was the worst kind of bastard. You're not him Lucius. You have the freedom to not be him.”
He unconsciously rubs his right fore arm, “Do I?”
She tracks his movement, and feels she's reading his mind again. “You have to make the decision yourself. Not me.” She says softly, “But I won't let you destroy yourself or this family.” There is no change in her voice, but her words carry finality to them.
He nods a little, absorbing her words, before motioning to the crib, “Could you, uh, could you help me pick him up?” His voice rises a little when finishes the sentence, motioning at the crib again.
Narcissa blinks at him, “You...want to hold Draco?”
Lucius sighs in slightly concealed aggravation, “I'm making a decision, I'm making a difference in my life, help me.”
Narcissa nods and steps past him towards the crib “Ok, goodness relax, he is asleep so we need to be gentle, arms like this,” She folds her arms together, close to her chest, “and use this hand to support his head, yes.” She watches him carefully.
Lucius nods, face etched in concentration as he mimics her motions. She smiles fondly at his concentration, before quickly and carefully scooping Draco out of his crib, unconsciously pulling his small fragile and warm body close to her chest, looking down at her little treasure. She looks up at Lucius who is waiting, arms still positioned and eyes filled with icy worry not normal for him. She ever so carefully deposits the bundle in his arms, positioning his hands just so and slowly taking her hands away. Lucius lets out a long breath, shoulders sagging a little, as he shifts his arms to hold Draco closer. His whole presence softens, easing a little with warmth not unlike the sun coming out after a snow storm.
“He's heavier than he looks...” He remarks off hand.
“I'll take him back if he wakes up, you won't want him to accidentally sick on you nice work clothes.” She hums easily.
He hesitates, “No. No it's ok, I have other outfits, I would like to hold him while he is awake as well.” He looks up at her sharply, “I would like to feed him too, If you would show me. And how does he play? Does he talk yet-”
“He's not old enough to do anything but babble, and of course if you're here, I will gladly teach you, the house elves could help as well,” She tuts at him “Don't make that face, they know what they are doing.”
Lucius stops rolling his eyes and wonders, “Do you think the Dark Lord would give me time off? For my son?”
Narcissa stares at him, “Honestly? No, I don't think so.”
Lucius nods, resigned and mutters something. Nacrissa swears it sounds like “Then what am I doing it all for?” but before she can ask, he suddenly winces, holding Draco a little closer, before suddenly handing him to her.
“The mark?” She says automatically.
Lucius nods, gripping his forearm, “He calls. I will be late, don't stay up for me.” He speaks dismissively, face and aura frosty again. He pauses before he leaves and looks at Narcissa, eyes unreadable, “Thank you, love.”
She nods back to him cool and collected, “Come back alive, Darling.”
He sweeps out the door, gone in a flash of silver, and Narcissa turns back to Draco smoothing his nearly pure white tufts of hair, as he sleepily blinks awake with a yawn.
She hums, pleased, “Hello little Dragon, you just missed him but, he'll be back.”
---
Black Swollowtail
Regulus was always an observer.
He was observer with his older brother. Regulus sat in his room, listening to the sounds echoing off the darkened walls of his home, screaming at each other, sounds of shattering glass, cries of pain and the tense silences that followed. Once he was sure his parents were away, he would slip from his room and downstairs, to where he would inevitably find Sirius, curled up in corner of the dining area and looking smaller than he was, with angry red lacerations on his arms, and tangled black hair obscuring his face from the orange glow of the fireplace.
“Go away Regulus.” He would groan.
Regulus would ignore him, pulling out the healing balm he had stolen from the parents bathroom, and settling beside him, to listen if just for a little while, to whatever he had to say, or to the brooding silence he chose to have instead.
He was an observer with the closest thing he could call a friend. He would wait around the corner, leaning against the cool grey stone walls, listening to the angry hissed slander and biting comments, spells tossed back and forth, until the cruel laughter would die down and the winners would scamper away. Once he was certain the commotion was over, he would turn the corner and carefully approach Severus Snape, a gangly shallow faced teenaged boy, a year older than him, with stringy black hair.
“Here to laugh as well?” He would hiss at him, curling back like an injured feral animal.
Regulus would stare up at him blankly, until he was convinced he meant no ill will and would allow him close enough to look over the damage his brother and motley crew had inflicted this time; burns, hexes, cuts, bruising, festering wounds, poisons, choking, humiliation, bleeding, he thought he had seen pretty much everything back then.
He was an observer when the person he really admired was lost. Lucius Malfoy was wearing a proper cool smile and was sickly pale when he got his dark mark, his father, an imposing deathlike figure standing right by his shoulder, and the Dark Lord caressing his forearm and whispering sweet platitudes. He waited to approach until Lucius was alone, sinking down with his back to the closed study door and a look on his face like he might throw up at any moment, as he traced his shaking fingers along his new brand, a skull with a snake coming out of it's mouth.
“Who are you?” he snapped when he noticed Regulus, giving a curious guarded stare.
Regulus approached casually and held out a bottle of expensive whisky he brought, motioning to the nearby empty sitting room. He would then spend countless nights after that one the same way, lending an ear as the man drowned his sorrows and drank himself sick.
Regulus observed the beginning of the end.
“I will kill the child. In a matter of nights, I will find where he is hidden, and kill him.”
He felt his own apprehension as the Dark Lord, a charming, intelligent beacon of the ideals they all believed in, uttered something that made him question everything. His apprehension was reflected in Lord Malfoy as his eyes grew hard and distant while his cool smile remained, and in Severus Snape's hands as he clenched them into fists and his mind raced behind his dead eyes.
Regulus observed the worst. Leaning up against the window sill, handsome features of a leader he followed through thick and thin and the face of a true monster, as he said those words to him with a thin cruel smile that seemed to split his face like a mockery of pleasure, while Regulus held his beloved house elf, Kreacher close against his body, silently begging his breathing to return to normal.
“Horcuxes, my loyal servant. I Will Live, Forever.”
Regulus decided he could no longer just observe. It was time for him to act.
But why would acting ever be easy?
Regulus is standing on a crystal island in the centre of a yawning crystal cave, having fished the cursed Salazar Slytherin Locket from black waters infused with dark energy. He attempts to get water from the surrounding cave lake to sooth his burning throat and throbbing head, only for twisted husks to crawl forth from the murky waters, the moment he touches the surface. Not hundreds, but thousands of them, reaching to him with rotting greying skin; Inferni, the most cursed kind of necromancy. He jerks back, and manages to cough enough to feel his voice again, he shouts to Kreacher, the older house elf watching nearby in apt horror.
“Kreacher! Get out of here!” His voice is raw like sandpaper, damn that cursed water.
Kreacher's wrinkled face twists in fear. “M-Master-”
Regulus cast a burst of fire from the end of his wand, placating the Inferni close, but more come from just behind them, more replacing ones pushed back, swarming forward in a sea of terror.
He snaps back, throat burning, “Go! That's an order!”
Kreacher has to comply, and with tears in his button eyes, he vanishes with a cracking noise that shakes the cave's crystal with a ringing sound.
Regulus diverts his attention back to the ever closer growing imprisonment of reaching arms and clawing hands. He tries to summon more power into his wand, but can only summon a shallow puff of orange flame, quickly swallowed as more haunting creatures reach towards him. He stumbles, back bumping against the pedestal as he tries to steady himself. He picked a good time to have his life flash before his eyes.
At least I did one god act before it all ends. Forgive me everyone.
As he feels the last of his energy start to leave him, the cursed shambling horrors growing closer, his eyes are drawn to a glint in the yawning cave's gloom. A black butterfly, flutters down in the dim bluish fire of the caves magical torches, dancing in a hypnotizing haunting way as it coasts down and lands ever so gently on the surface of the crystal lake, disrupting it's mirror quiet visage, casting elegant ripples around it.
One moment, thousands of Inferni crowded him, reaching to drag him down into a watery grave and then suddenly he was very much alone, every last mindless zombie thronging after the single black butterfly that rests on the water's veneer. He watches in absolute bafflement as the shambling hoard dives desperately after the little fluttery insect, which quickly hops upwards and away, slipping through their imprecise twisted fingers and skimming down to the water's surface again, making more graceful ripples, before again swooping away out of harms reach, time and time again. Regulus snaps out of his wistful bewilderment, and quickly stumbles to the chained boat on the islands shore, pushing it to take him away and back to the safety from where he came.
His journey out of the cave is a blur of rushed, jittery movement as he pushes himself forward until he tastes the salty sea air and has the wherewithal to apperate.
He feels the telltale pull of his navel and the unpleasant twisting and squeezing along with it, but doesn't fear any accidents, as he knows exactly where he is going, landing seconds later in a particular dank back alleyway, close to Sirius' muggle apartment. He quickly leans against the wall and swallows the bile threatening to rise in his throat, as he starts to slide along the cracked bricks, keeping his wits about him as he nears the corner that would lead right to the door inside.
I just need him to listen to me...Regulus' thoughts are disrupted by a commotion and he ducks by the wall listening.
He doesn't recognize the shaky pained voice. “P-Padfoot! Please! I-I had no choice! H-He would have k-k-killed me!”
“Then you should have died!” That voice was definitely Sirius, gruff and hardy, “How could you do this! They trusted you! I trusted you...” He hears a break of emotion in Sirius' voice, a crack like a heart breaking.
“P-Please. D-Don't let the Aurors find us! I-I can make it up to y-y-you!” The other voice really is familiar.
There is a pause before Sirius speaks again, and Regulus peaks around the corner. “Oh, your going to get what's coming to you, Rat.”
Regulus is watching as his brother, wild black hair, tall and lean muscle, as he has a shorter, rotund man with sandy blond hair pinned against the alley wall.
“S-Siruis!” The pinned man sputters, reaching in his pocket for something, and Regulus realizes it's Peter Pettigrew.
Sirius hisses, like he is about to yell something, when Pettigrew draw his wand and taps it against the wall.
“Bombardia!” Pettigrew yelps.
The wall by him explodes in a rain of stone debris, Sirius dropping him and stumbling back, dropping his wand in the commotion. Judging by the screams Regulus is now hearing, people were injured in the blast. Sirius dives for his wand, and Pettigrew strikes again.
“Tumultus!”
A cheering charm? Sirius in turn tries to steady himself to cast a spell and starts laughing. Not just any laugh, of course, but the unfortunate Black family signature laugh; wild, high and bonechilling. Regulus watches in shock as Sirius still manages to fire off a wild spell despite cackling like a lunatic, and then in even further surprise as Pettigrew mutters a curse to himself, slicing off one of his fingers with a quick sickening hiss, before he shrinks away, becoming small and furry, as he fully transforms into a rat, and dives into the nearby sewer grate.
Sirius swears and fires another volatile spell, all the while trying to prevent himself from laughing, but another wild outburst of pained and nerve wracking convulsions spill forth and a pair of Aurors rush into the alleyway, cloaks billowing around them. Sirius is disarmed by the taller one, his wand clattering to the ground and sliding towards where Regulus is still concealed, as he barks at them to try and explain himself, only to keel over with more hysterical hyperactive laughing.
Regulus decides to act again. He scoops up and pockets Sirius' wand, gliding out of the shadows he silently fires off two spells, sending the unaware Aurors into fits of itching and screaming as they try to rid themselves of invisible insects. He dashes forward, quickly grabbing the still shaking and unsteady Sirius around the waist, before apperating, again.
He is sure where he is going, at least he is when he feels the pull on his navel and the horrible uncomfortable noodling sensation, but after he lands he is less sure. He is standing in the dusty streets off a dead end town, a place abandon and dilapidated with neglect and time, air heavy with a stagnate air and chilled weather. He leans heavily on his brother who still shudders in unhinged chuckling, his eyes drawing up to the building looming in front of them, the only shabby looking crooked house with lights on inside.
Oh god, he is going to kill me.
He is distracted by Sirius gaining his wits enough grab him around the collar of his cloak and glare at him with burning fiery eyes.
“Where, uhah, where, huuh, where are we?!”
Doing the right thing is so much harder than it looks.
Instead of speaking, he shoves Sirius back, and then immediately throws up. It's just water, he hadn't eaten anything that day, but he was hoping to avoid nausea. He crouches down, clutching his head as a dizzying sensation slams into him and he nearly throws up again.
“wuhhah, Regulus what the hahahhhaa” Sirius collapses into another fit on uncontrollably giggles.
Regulus stays crouched as he tries to summon how to get Sirius to cooperate with him. He had a plan before but he can't remember it at all. He gets a better idea.
He speaks but his voice sounds like static and his throat is almost numb with pain “I saw you and Pettigrew! I want to help!”
He manages to look up to see that despite still chortling, Sirius has a wild dangerous look in his eyes.
He tries to get up, but can't manage, his voice faint and strained, “I'm the only one who can-”
They are interrupted by the door to the house they are in front of slamming open with enough force to echo down the streets and send all nearby stray animals fleeing.
Regulus looks up at Severus Snape standing on the doorstep, black cloak half open and dishevelled, sunken eyes red rimmed, black hair frayed like crazy, and wearing a twisted sneer on his face that could kill a lesser man.
“What the Hell!?” He barks at them voice a brutal growl.
Sirius stops laughing enough to speak again, “Snivillus!? I huhuah, I refuse-”
Snape is also speaking, fast and vicious as he storms towards them, wand drawn, “I swear to god I should-”
Regulus stops clutching his head from his still crouched position and quickly waves his wand, a burst of bright sparks erupting from its tip with an ear-piercing shriek. Both the other men startle and fall silent.
Regulus manages to force his voice back into working again. “Sirius was framed by Pettigrew! Snape is working with Dumbledore! There is more-”
He throws up again. The mucus on the cobblestone looks red, and Regulus realizes he must have thrown up blood.
Severus reacts first, brushing past Sirius and quickly grabbing Regulus firmly by the shoulders to prevent him from keeling over. Regulus still sinks a little and begins to cough violently. Through the pain and pounding in his head he hears Severus yelling at Sirius.
“Don't just stand there laughing you imbecile, help me get him inside!”
Regulus sags further into Sirius grip as he and Severus quickly and roughly drag him up the steps of Severus' home and deposit him inside on the closest dusty worn couch. His head is swimming and he forces himself to try and sit up with a soft groan, if only to get his face out of the awful musty cushions.
He takes stock of the cramped small interior, a joint living room, dining area and kitchen with unkempt mismatched furniture, crumbling fireplace and uneven bookshelf walls, the home literally overflowing with books of all kinds and ages, on every flat or solid surface. He assumes the books now scattered at his feet were on the couch before he was.
He hears Severus barking orders, “...right back, DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING!”
There is a short period of tense but blessed silence, broken by Sirius still giggling like a cretin, pacing near the now locked front door like a nervous guard dog, and Severus clinking about in the hidden cellar compartment in the book shelf behind the couch.
I can work with this.
The thought barely finishes crossing his mind before the unblocked fire place roars to life with a vibrant green, and an awfully familiar platinum blond strides through.
“Severus!” Lucius is speaking before he even crosses the threshold. “I came as fast as I could-” He stops dead in his tracks as he takes in the no doubt concerning looking situation.
In the next few seconds Regulus tries and fails to get up off the couch, Snape hits his head on something and swears loudly, Lucius pulls out his wand, and he doesn't even get a syllable out before Sirius full body tackles him into the nearby arm chair. Regulus finally succeeds in getting up and casts the first spells he can think of.
“Sed Et Baculus!”
This quickly pulls Sirius away and glues him to the dusty hardwood floor, while sticking Lucius to the worn blue armchair he was thrown into. Regulus picks up Lucius' wand and tries to talk again, waving unsteadily at them as he sways where he stands.
“STOP! Just, both of you, please, I-” He sinks back to the couch as he throat seizes painfully.
Severus reappears from the cellar with a murky red potion vial, and some unbranded wine bottle, taking in the scene before him and hissing in annoyance. He storms over and pushes the potion bottle in Regulus hand.
“Drink this, all of it.” He snaps his fingers at him, the lid on the bottle popping open, “It'll ease the pain and mend the burning but I will need to give you a full check up. You two,” He swiftly uncorks the bottle, pouring three shots of a dark golden liquid into the glasses he summoned, before slamming the bottle down by the unopened mail on the table. He picks up and forcefully hands the glasses to Sirius and Lucius, slamming the contents of his own glass back with a sharp grimace, “It's alcohol. Drink. I want nothing but silence for the next minute, starting NOW.”
Regulus did not need to be told twice. He knocks back the potion he was given, hissing in surprise at the hot tingling in his chest, and the taste of what he can only describe as rotten meat on his tongue, but he bears it. He soon feels a soothing sensation in his throat and the warmth in his core, as the pounding in his head ceases a little and his equilibrium returns. He focuses enough to see Severus finish his second drink, while Lucius hesitantly swigs his and Sirius struggles to drink while laying down and still half laughing.
After almost exactly a minute of silence, heavy laden with thick uneasy pressure, Severus speaks up.
“The Dark Lord is dead.” He drawls, clearly and calmly like speaking about out of season rainy weather.
Sirius squirms from his spot stuck to the ground and spits back, “Lily and James are dead too!”
Lucius looks up from his drink, face easily blank and smooth “Did the boy live? The baby?”
Sirius glares at him “Wouldn't you like to know!”
“He Lives.” Severus still spoke with the same calm tone, but his voice shook a little, fainter and uneven. “Dumbledore has the child. The boy killed the Dark Lord.”
Sirius hisses something obscene, writhing a little and Regulus finally gets his voice back,
“The Dark Lord is not really dead.” His timber is unsteady, but smoother than before so he continues, “He has Horcruxes.” Before the others can speak, he is up on his feet, suddenly more awake and aware, he begins pacing, despite the lack of floor space. “He tore out pieces of his soul and put them in objects. I have one, I just got it.” He motions to Lucius and Severus. “You've noticed it, of course, the disjointed logic, the cruel smiles, torturing his followers, even us who were considered his closest, it seemed like suddenly all his plans became nothing but sadistic chaos...” Lucius and Severus exchange wayward looks and Regulus rambles on in an elegant way, “It's no accident. He has been slowly ripping his soul up, losing his mind in the process. He probably hasn't been human since before we all joined....” Regulus trails off and closes his eyes, soaking in the mess that his life has become. “We need to find and destroy them or he will come back, and he will be so much worse...”
After a beat of silence, Lucius suddenly speaks up, “We...should not let him come back.”
Regulus looks at him in feint surprise, mirrored by Sirius, but not by Severus, who responds with, “I completely agree.”
Regulus nods, relieved, and Sirius finally un-sticks himself from the floor by sheer willpower, to get up and snap at them, no longer laughing, “What are you all talking about?! Last I checked you,” points at Regulus “ are a goody two shoes blood supremacist like mom and dad always wanted, with no one you care about outside of that crotchety old house elf,” Regulus frowns at Sirius' dismissal of Kreacher, but he plows on, pointing at Lucius, “ You are the blood purity poster child of cruelty and prejudice and were Voldemort's right hand.” Lucius doesn't wince when Sirius uses the Dark Lords name, he doesn't even try to protest as Siruis turns on Severus. "and YOU,” He points accusingly, as Severus decides to ignore him in exchange for going through his unopened mail, “You are the worst. A snivelling, cowardly snake, who can't keep his fat nose to himself because of his inferiority. You are a hateful bastard that takes childish antics and turns them to terrorism, and you are the worst kind of scum.” Severus doesn't respond, staring down at his letters with a unreadable gaze. “ I don't trust this at all.” Sirius huffs, worked up and out of breath, eyes burning with wild fiery energy.
Regulus honestly expected Severus to respond, but instead Lucius speaks up first. Finally unstuck from the arm chair, he gets up gracefully and sidles towards Sirius slowly, still speaking in his usual smooth and smarmy timber, “You are an idiot.” He smirks easily, “While you are not wrong about my own beliefs, I will stand by that mudbloods and halfborns are a drain on our society, you got some other things incorrect.” He motions to Regulus and Severus, casually, “We all had our reasons to follow the Dark Lord, for me it helped my goals in cleaning up our sick world, for Regulus it was to support my cause, for Severus he was granted money and resources to research where he would normally be turned away for his house and upbringing.” Lucius remains cold, but Regulus recognizes a edge of regret in is words, “It was hard, to ever doubt...him, he was magnetic and charismatic, words that made you believe anything, he was a powerful leader like no other. We didn't realize what we were all standing in before it was too late.” His gaze flashes coldly as he steps closer and looks directly in Sirius' eyes, who stands his ground, frowning. “I have a son you know. You would if you ever talked to your cousin Narcissa, or even your own brother. My son, he's barely a year old...I don't want him to live in a world with a monster like the Dark Lord.”
He could tell Sirius wasn't totally convinced, his eyes narrowing and jaw set. Regulus again expects Severus to jump in, but finds himself filling the sudden empty space, sparing a glance in Severus direction, where he was holding a strange envelope with a wide eyed unsettled look on him.
“Sirius what do you want us to do? Do you want me to take Veritaserum to pr-” Regulus cut himself off, abandoning the conversation to sweep carefully over to Severus, who had opened the letter and is now silently reading something off unfamiliar lined paper, his grip tight and his eyes showing despair Regulus did not know he could witness, “Severus, are you alright?”
Severus responds by burying his face into the papers he's reading with a heart wrenching whimper, his long hair pooling on the table and his shoulders shaking in distress. Regulus exchanges a wordless look with Lucius who watches on in blank confusion, as Severus quietly un-clenches the letter from his grip and instead shakily threads his fingers into his mussed hair, his head now resting on the wooden table top, before he lets out a nearly silently and terrible pained sob. Sirius dashes forward, snatching the crinkled letter off the table triumphantly before Regulus can stop him.
Sirius cackles, “What's this Snivillus? A love letter?”
Lucius' eyes flash furiously and he hisses a protest, but Regulus stops him with a hand, watching Sirius carefully as he reads the first few lines. His eyes go wide, his mad smile fading into shocked horror. Tension remains in the air, Severus still face down on the table silently weeping, as Sirius slowly sits down in the chair opposite, eyes glued to the page as horror turns to deep soul crushing regret, a faint broken cry spilling from him as he slaps the letter down on the table and begins to frantically mutter to himself, hot angry tears spilling forth from him.
“I-It's my fault! Oh god its all my fault?! I swear I didn't mean to let this happen, I should have been there-” He is speaking in an almost mad, desperate fashion of a man traumatically haunted.
Lucius looks at Regulus worriedly, “W-what exactly is going on?”
His voice goes a little higher at the end, a common tic he acquires when he is out of the loop. Regulus responds by carefully snapping up the fallen note and holding it to the light so they can both read the beautiful and precise handwriting.
Severus. I'm sorry. I want you to know that I have forgiven you for everything, I had years ago. We both did things that we regret and I should have tried to work it out. I should have made an effort to talk to you, to sort through what was happening to us, and I've been such a coward. I told myself you made your choice, that it was too late, but I should have tried anyway. I am as guilty in driving you away as James and Sirius are. I know now the world is not as black and white as I saw it back then, and I should have sought you out sooner. I hope you can forgive me.
I hope you can forgive them. James has apologized, but I refuse to let him get away with just saying it to me, I won't rest until he says it to you, face to face. I know what Sirius did, and I will not forgive him until he recognizes what he did was horrible, dangerous and totally unwarranted. I won't be able to forgive him until he apologies to you as well. Remus is horribly regretful about it, but he never says those exact words. Peter doesn't seem to know he's done anything wrong. I apologies on his behalf, for now.
Perhaps apologies are not enough, but I really want to start over. Not to forget about it all, there is too much that has happened to just erase our pasts, but I want to reach out at least, to let you know I'm still here, and I want us to be friends again. I know it seems like maybe it's too late, but I don't believe that. You always said I was a fool for being so hopeful, but I disagree. I think we need all the help we can get these days. I can't give you my current address, just send any letter you write in this same envelope, through Muggle post and it'll reach me. Perhaps I'll tell you the very strange series of spells I used to achieve such an effect when we meet again, in person. I'll introduce you to little Harry as well, but for now, please just write back. Please.
I've never told you, but you are a good man, and I've always believed in you. Always.
Lily.
Regulus carefully folds the letter closed and creases it into a neat square. He mutters to himself looking at Lucius who is levelling a concerned frown at the table, still hosting Severus and Sirius both trapped in horrible looping anguish. Regulus steps forward, picking up one of the stray heavy tomes off the bookshelf, before slamming it against the table top with all his might.
Severus and Sirius both jump up at the house shaking slam and stare at Regulus incredulously.
“We do NOT have time for this.” Regulus spits, leaning against the table, “By all means, grieve, Lily was a wonderful witch and the quashed redemption is horrible, not a word Lucius,” Regulus snaps at him as he opens his mouth to say something unwarranted, “but we have a very delicate and dangerous job to work on and all the arguing and angst is getting us nowhere.”
Lucius snaps at him, “I was going to AGREE with you Regulus,” He sweeps up beside him, “I was never” He pauses with a grimace, “partial to Mrs Evens,” He shakes his head and continues, “but I feel regret for this tragedy as well, and the only way to prevent any further tragedies is to find the...uh...”
“Horcruxes.” Regulus amends, “I don't know how many there are, only that he made more than one.”
Severus seems to calm significantly, roughly wiping the tears off his shallow cheeks he takes a deep fortifying breath. “He wouldn't let just any object hold his soul,” He hums, voice shaken but determined, “They will be things that mean something to him.”
Sirius tosses his hair out of is face and drums his fingers the table, focusing, “I don't know how I can help, but...” He shifts and roughly drags his hands through his hair, “Has he given any objects to you guys? I can't imagine he would leave them unattended, he probably put them somewhere safe but underplayed. He trusted you three right?”
“Not Quiet.” Lucius sighs, “He may not have questioned our loyalty but we were only trusted because we were useful to him, more than most. Even then I'm surprised he never told me or Severus about the Horcruxes. I don't know if he told anyone actually. He was adamant he would live forever, maybe he told Bell-” Lucius pauses as his cool mask exchanges for a look of dread. “Oh god.”
Sirius stares at him, “Wha-”
“I will be right back!” Lucius yells while sprinting towards the fire place, Sirius hot on his heels.
“Wait a second!” Sirius stops him by the couch, “How do we-”
Lucius hisses at him in agitation, “NO, I know where one of them is! It's in my home! I left them alone with it!”
Regulus speaks up, “Sirius, let him go.”
Sirius gives Regulus a narrowed accusatory glare, and Lucius quickly ducks past him snatching some dust out of the cracked jar on the fireplace mantel, throwing it in the fire pit.
“Malfoy Manor!” He snaps as he dashes into green flames licking out of the fire place, disappearing within.
Regulus picks up the booze bottle off the table, “Sirius, sit down, he'll be back,”
He hands the now tightly folded letter from Lily to Severus, who accepts it without a word, before lightly shoving him into a nearby seat. Regulus huffs in annoyance as Severus flicks his wand out and begins silently casting an array of different lights and words into the air. Sirius watches on, before slowly striding over and sitting heavily in the chair beside Regulus.
“This is such a goddamn mess...” He mutters to no one.
Regulus watches as Severus frowns fiercely at the reading from his diagnostic spells.
Sirius looks up at Regulus sharply, “We need to get Remus involved.”
Severus growls, beginning to argue and Regulus silences him with a stern look, before locking eyes with Sirius. “If you can convince him to work with us, we'll have him.” He leans back as Severus, tight lipped, resumes his spell casting. “We could use all the help we could get.” He huffs, glancing out the smudged window to the dark greying world outside, listening to the storm brewing in the distance.
---
Common Green Birdwing
Privet Drive was a perfectly ordinary suburban street lined with white picket fence and boxish houses, one after the other identical to each other. At number four lived the Dursleys, a little family of a stern stringy woman, a beefy walrus man and there chubby blond haired son. They were people who championed being ordinary to the nth degree, and would have it no other way. They would never approve of magic, rock and roll music, homosexuals or an unexpected baby being left on their doorstep.
Down the road to number four, a red convertible cruises quietly along the street, slowing as it sidles forward, finally parking by a flickering street light. The engine cuts and the headlights blink off, allowing total silence to flood the streets again. After a brief moment, the driver and passenger doors pop open and two women get out. Noctus gets out from the driver side, and hums to herself pleased, snapping the front of her leather jacket and nudging her her door shut with a chuckle. On the passenger side, Celeste get out, dusting off the long skirt of her turquoise dress, and glancing at her companion with a curious stare.
“So,” She hums coolly, “Why are we here?”
Noctus motions around her grandly, “Look!” She hisses with energetic fervour, “What do you see?”
“Well,” Celeste flicks her braided black ponytail, slamming the passenger door and casually sidling to the front of the car, casting her gaze to the surrounding street, “I see...lots of similar houses. Middle class cars. Lots of white picket fence?” She muses.
“Exactly!” Noctus claps her hand, tossing her uneven dark scarlet hair out of her face, “We are standing in...” pause for dramatic effect, “Suburbia.” She poses, arms wide as if presenting the mundane street to her.
Celeste stares at her, nodding a little “...and?” Noctus motions around her more enthusiastically and Celeste sighs, “I think, I'm not getting your point.”
Noctus straightens up and walks towards her, dancing a little. “This quiet corner of the world, untouched by the events around it.” She spins around grandly “None the wiser to the things going on right down the road, nay, right outside their doors.” She shimmies up and slides her hands easily around Celeste's slim waist, swaying with her a little, “Is it strange? To know whats out there, and yet to be able return here, to a perfect corner of normality and the perfectly ordinary.”
Celeste hums, her green eyes sparkling with steely curiosity, “Well yes, that actually is fascinatingly strange.” She spins Noctus gracefully, “Being on one side and then the other, and then to stand on the other side and look back...interesting indeed.”
They pause and stare at the quiet street around them, a cool wind passing them by as they take in the cut and past houses, and think about the cut and past paper people inside, ignorant to the strangeness out there, the bizarreness in the world, the conflicts and the harmonies, lost to them.
After a moment, Noctus looks up at Celeste her disposition a little nervous. “...Do you think we could ever have this?”
Celeste blinks at her in surprise, “...Really? You would want this?” She waves at the street.
Noctus starts to shake her head, but pause and looks to her warmly, “I would want it if you wanted it. I certainly wouldn't hate it.”
“I wouldn't hate it either.” Celeste thinks tilting her head a little, “But...well, I would want a reason of course.” She looks down and smiles sweetly at her love, “ I would like to have a child.” She huffs, and looks away, “Would we even be able to adopt?”
Noctus tugs her close, and bobs up a little, “Of course!” Celeste gives her a curious stare, and Noctus laughs and grins wide, “What's that look for? We would need credentials, and I'll make them for us. We would still need to fight for it, being you know,” She presses her lips together and sighs, “Us.” her good mood returns and she looks up at Celeste, her almost yellow eyes flashing with light, “but we would succeed eventually, I would make sure of it.”
“How would you get fake credentials?”
“Magic of course.”
“Really?”
“Really, really.” Noctus pauses and meets her gaze, warm and glowing, “Well? What do you say?”
Celeste hums and starts to sway her and Noctus back and forth, “I'm intrigued.” Noctus slips her hand into Celeste's threading there fingers together, and she dips the two of them into a slow spiralling dance, as Celeste continues, “But, goodness, are we even ready to raise a child?”
“No one is ready when they realize they are going to be a parent.” Noctus glints and speaks quickly, “I have books on childcare, buried somewhere...”
“Oh, that isn't necessary, I know plenty about raising children, I mean...” She motions to the car sighing, “You know?”
Noctus stops spinning and smiles wickedly,“I can turn it into a house.” Celeste's eyebrows jump up and Noctus smiles a little wider, “Oh whats this? Doubt? Don't ask, I'll tell you...” She leans up an whispers mischievously “Magic.” They start to twirl again Celeste dipping down to playfully nudge their nose together as Noctus continues eagerly “Just say the word! Three bedrooms? a greenhouse? twenty bathrooms? I'm sure I could swing it whatever way you wish!” Celeste shakes her head and laughs high and musically, “You laugh but I'm serious.”
Celeste chuckles and nods, “I know, I know, It's just.” She sighs and looks around whimsically “We'll never have this.” She looks back to Noctus smiling, “We'll have something like it, but what we will have...”
“Will be so much better.” Noctus adds eagerly, “Who needs a white picket fences? Our fence will be all the colours of the rainbow and the stakes will switch colours whenever they please.”
“You're right.” Celeste grins, “I guess I'm just” She laughs again, shoulders shaking, “I guess I'm getting baby crazy...”
Noctus barks an eerie laugh, “I'll be baby crazy with you.” She bobs up on her toes and presses her lips to Celeste's who responds with a happy sigh, before Noctus sinks back down and spins her around excitedly, “Dance with me Darling!”
Celeste laughs and whoops, spinning gleefully before dipping Noctus into a wild passionate kiss.
At number four Privet Drive, a bundle of blankets sits on the doorstep, housing a small sleeping baby, snoozing peacefully and carefully clinging to an envelope. A Green butterfly, bounces curiously down towards the sleeping babe, batting its wings excitedly as it dips down and lands on the babies nose. The baby snuffs, and sneezes, waking up in surprise and tossing the letter from it's hands. A wind tosses around them, the butterfly fluttering up and around as the baby babbles excitedly, and the letter is blown into the nearby underbrush.
Noctus pauses her and Celeste's mesmerizing dance and tilts her head curiously. “...I know we just confirmed we are baby crazy, but did I just hallucinate an actual baby?”
Celeste blinks in surprise and looks around, “No, I heard it too.”
They stare at each other in a silent question until they hear it again, a high pitch happy babbling, quite usual for a young infant. They swiftly move down the street, still holding hands as they carefully follow the excited chirping, leading them along the white picket fence they hum to each other in curious whispers.
“Number Four?” Noctus reads, as Celeste swiftly unclips the fence and strides up to shifting the bundle of blankets on the stone front steps, peering at it curiously,
“Oh!” She gasps.
Noctus wanders up beside her, “That's a baby alright.”
Celeste crouches down elegantly and Noctus carefully puts her hand on her shoulder as they watch the wee baby wiggle happily, reaching out to the green butterfly floating over head, before the glimmering insect drifts away, it's glinting visage floating off and fading into the dark night. The babies big emerald eyes focus on to them instead, and it coos reaching out to them, fussing.
Celeste tears her gaze away and locks eyes with Noctus. No words are spoken, they simply stare at each other, in a brief, silent exchange. The next moment, Celeste turns back, and very carefully scoops the baby up into her arms, gingerly cradling it close to her chest, a small glowing smile gracing her as she rocks the baby back and forth.
“Hello.” She coos as the baby reaches out to tap her nose. She chuckles and looks up to Noctus, who smiles back, bright and eager. Celeste swiftly and carefully rises, starting to sway her way back down the stone lane, Noctus jogging closely behind her.
Celeste huffs indignantly, but still smiles as she bounces the baby a little “Leaving them out here in the cold! How could they!”
Noctus clucks in agreement, “Irresponsible. Good thing we found em. Poor thing could have caught a flu.”
“Exactly.” Celeste sniffs haughtily, still glowing with glee “Let's get them inside and out of this chilly weather.”
Noctus hops ahead of her and skips over to the car, tapping the trunk and smirking. “Right this way, Madame”
Celeste curtsies cheekily as Noctus pops the trunk, opening it to reveal narrow wooden steps leading deep inside, golden warm light spilling out of the opening. Noctus lends her hand to boost Celeste on the steps, and she carefully sways down into the apartment below, Noctus close behind.
The apartment is one room, sporting a kitchenette, a double futon, a sunken couch pit with a table, several decorative potted plants and two folding closets, one which Noctus wanders over to and opens. She huffs at the bathroom, closes the closet and opens the other closet to reveal a corridor of countless items packed together in a strange chaotic but balanced jigsaw. She glances back at Celeste as she settles on the couches, laying the little baby down and carefully unwrapping the wound slightly dirty blankets it's nestled in.
“There is definitely a crib in here somewhere, I uh...” Noctus narrows her eyes into the dimly lit creaking hall. “I think I see it.” She clamours in and Celeste shouts after her.
“Be careful dear!”
Celeste gingerly checks the baby, looking for any worries while whispering little phrases at the gurgling bundle of joy.
“It's a boy!” She laughs aloud, hearing Noctus let out an excited whoop, somewhere deep in the bowls of the Things Closet. “No injuries, he's perfectly healthy outside of this scar here...” She gently traces the lightning scare on his forehead, “I wonder...”
“Found it!” Noctus tumbles out of the closet, a few squeaky toys and stuffed animals tumbling after her as she pulls free, holding the still folded wooden crib high, “We, uh, I'll need to assemble it again...”
Celeste looks up after carefully wrapping the boy back into a tight comfy bundle with a new knitted blanket. “He needs a name.”
Noctus nods and places the crib by the door, sweeping the assorted toys and bottles to the side before closing it.
“Any ideas?” Celeste hums, stepping out of the couch to help Noctus gather the scattered pile.
Noctus tosses a handful of assorted baby items on to the bed, wrinkling her nose, “I suck at names. You should start.”
“Hmm, Ok,” Celeste thinks, and then smiles at a little stuffed lion, “...Jericho?”
“Not bad, bit strange, but not really him...” Noctus nods, and quirks her eyebrow at a squeaky rubber snake “Belladonna?”
“For a boy?”
“Why not?”
“We'll never hear the end of it.” Celeste laughs, tossing Noctus a badger print milk bottle,“It has to go with McJones. How about ...Jazz?”
“Oh I like that but,” Noctus rolls the name on her tongue, “Jazz McJones, Jazz McJones, Sounds a bit weird to me...” She shrugs “What about...Ash?”
“Ash McJones is better than Jazz McJones?” Celeste teases, and she perks up, “Hadrian?”
“Oh I like that one!” Noctus beams “We would shorten it Harry.” She pauses as Celeste frowns at the raven needlepoint pillow “No?” Celeste shakes her head and tosses the pillow on to the bed, “Well how about-”
They both jump at a sudden grinding noise and they turn and watch as one of the potted ferns drags itself across the floor, slowly but surely towards the couch pit, gliding until its longest branch brushes the little baby boy's nose, who in turn erupts in enthusiastic giggling.
They look at each other and both speak the the same time.
“Leif!”
“Fern!”
Noctus winces, “I like Fern better!”
“Fern McJones!” Celeste announces clapping her hands together, “Yes, now that is good name isn't it.”
The two chuckle and warmly watch their new son, Fern McJones, as he bats at the fern's leaves fluttering above his head.
---
Purple Emperor
He looks out at darkened school grounds, out over the glassy water of the Black Lake, past the schools walls, and past that still, into the countryside, quiet and quaint in the sleepy, cool night. Albus Dumbledore wears no mask up here, he simply exists, seeing past the surface of what what his eyes see, he witnesses the subtle wobble of the earths turn and feels the lives he has witnessed, both alive and lost. He sighs and sags on the balcony railing as he feels the rot of his years, the white noise of the universe, and the weight of all his many sins. He hears the rumble in the distance, a storm brewing, but still far off.
He looks into the night and hums.
“Something is different,” He muses to no one in particular.
There is a piece that wasn't there before, but when he reaches out to the oddity, it draws away, dancing at the end of his finger tips, but never letting him touch it. How does he factor this in to the plan? The war? The boy...the boys presence has moved. It is not where he left it. He frowns and sighs, searching out where his grand scheme has gone askew, when a purple butterfly glides up to the balcony, landing silently by his hand.
“Ah? What are you doing here?”
The butterfly bats its wings lazily, it's vibrant royal colour glowing in the late moonlight as it peaks its face through the clouds.
“Oh? You do?”
It shimmies along the railing.
“Why don't you tell me where the boy is?”
It bounces up, gliding inside, Dumbledore following close behind.
“Oh, well that's alright then,” He hums stroking his long grey beard, “Do you know about what's on the horizon?”
It settles on the grand desk in the headmaster's office and he summons a bowl of cut orange slices.
“It's Ok, take your time,” He summons himself some tea and a bowl of yellow lemon drops “The night is young, we can talk later.”
He sits gently in his desk chair, brushing his striking purple robes down as he settles into a quiet peaceful contemplation, with the purple butterfly crawling happily on the summoned citrus.