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Regulus had always considered home to be the place you lived. The place you had acquired or inherited. The place your blood relatives - or your spouse - shared with you. The past many years since his unfortunate incidence in the cave he'd been longing for home - for his home to be exact - and had been lamenting his constant movement. Only the small companion clinging to his side had made him forget that longing however briefly. Yet a child shouldn't be living like this either. A child needed a stable home, parents, school, friends... none of which he could provide.
He looked down at the small figure holding his hand while she drew invisible figures with her index finger on it as they walked slowly. She was wearing one of his shrunken down cloaks, charmed with a warming spell. He lifted his head again and shook it as worry creased his forehead in their familiar pattern. Just five years ago he would’ve never thought he’d be on the run, let alone be taking care of a three-year-old that wasn’t even his.
He was all she had though. All she ever knew. As he once again looked down at her she lifted her head and stopped drawing on his hand. She gave him a toothy grin, her dark eyes sparkling with a happiness he’d never seen reflected in anyone in his family with the exception of… he sighed and forced a smile in return.
The sun’s ray sharpened further as it rose over the horizon and he saw it illuminate her tan skin, giving it a bronze glow clearly indicating to him that he needed to find somewhere for them to seek shelter or he’d end up with yet another burn.
He picked her up much to her dismay and started walking in quicker strides. Disapparating was out of the question. He didn’t know who controlled the Ministry at this point, and if it happened to be his former brothers in arms who’d managed to secure quite a few positions last he had any dealings with them, they’d be monitoring any activity of this kind especially so close to a wizarding village and he could not risk exposure – especially not with her. She needed him. She had no one else.
“Reg?”
“Yes, Ilarya?”
“I want tea,”
He chuckled at this, “You’ll have your tea soon, darling.” He knew she wasn’t actually going to be drinking any tea. The first time she tasted it, she’d hated it and he’d poured some juice for her instead. She’d thanked him for the tea and when he attempted to correct her she’d stubbornly insisted on calling it “tea”. It was a struggle until he’d finally agreed to let her call it whatever she wanted to call it. They both knew what she wanted anyway, and he knew that she knew to differentiate between his sort of tea and hers.
“Reg?”
“Yes, Ilarya?”
“I want a thtory.”
“Once upon a time there was a king and queen who cou-“
He felt a sharp slap on his lips, “No!” He grabbed her small wrist and pulled her hand away from him as he looked sharply at her, “Ilarya, what did I tell you?”
She pouted at him without answering.
“Ilarya,” his voice rose slightly in a warning tone, and he felt a slight stabbing sensation in his heart when her lower lip trembled but he stood his ground.
“Sorry Reg… I won’t do it again,” she said with a small voice. He pulled her closer and gave her a kiss on her forehead. He knew of course that she’d do it again. She always did.
“Did I tell you about the dark knight who rescued the little princess from the tower?”
Ilarya shook her head then leaned rested it on his shoulder.
“Well, it started in a cave…”
He told her the story of his escape from the cave with the embellishments of a muggle fairytale, though he was light on the gruesome details of his escape and the subsequent events that led him to hide in a muggle orphanage in Ireland two years later. It was there he encountered a heavily pregnant young woman of the name Ilaria Murray. The woman had already been there this morning and asked for help which the orphanage had initially refused her. Later that day, she’d returned.
He had been teaching the younger children the alphabet when he overheard the argument from the hallway. He’d given the children pair assignments before he’d exited the room and the woman from earlier that morning had returned to make her plea again.
“Mrs. Campbell, I would appreciate you take this somewhere else, there’s a lesson going on.”
Mrs. Campbell and the woman both turned to look at him.
“My apologies, Mr. Sterling,” she gave him an apologetic look, then turned an accusatory glare at the other woman, “You see? You’re disturbing the peace here. You need to leave immediately! There’s a hospital nearby where you can give birth.”
The woman though had gone completely silent, staring at Regulus with a shocked expression, and Regulus had started to feel uneasy. Mrs. Campbell had touched her shoulder in concern as she turned her face back to face Regulus, “I know our boy here is handsome, ma’am, but staring is considered rude in these parts,” she’d tried with humor.
The woman had blinked and turned her head rapidly between between Mrs Campbell and Regulus until she settled on facing Mrs. Campbell. “I… will leave. I’m sorry for being such a bother. I suppose… it’s these… pregnancy inklings, you know. I thought this might be the… best place to… Anyway, I was wrong, and I’ll be asking for the directions to the hospital at the reception. Good day to you Mrs. Campbell, Reg- uhm… Mr. Sterling,” and she’d hurried as much as she could with a heavy belly that clearly gave her unimaginable discomfort.
Mrs. Campbell turned to him, “Strange girl. Did you see the stick she took out?”
He had not. He had been rooted to his spot at the accidental mention of his first name – a name Mrs. Campbell had been nice enough not to mention, and yet… she knew it.
“Mrs. Campbell. Perhaps we should consider letting her stay until her child is born.”
“Mr. Sterling, there are not enough funds for it. The government has been working tirelessly to put us out of business. We’re on our last leg here. We cannot afford another mouth to feed, let alone two.”
Of course, he’d known that. He’d been telling her how to budget the remaining funding. He had been well aware of how dire the situation here was. Yet she knew his name. Furthermore, she had a wand. She was clearly a witch, and considering the help she required wasn’t that of a hospital or her own family, it either meant she had no family, or she was in the sort of trouble her family would disapprove of, and considering the help she required wasn’t a magical one, the trouble likely had something to do with muggles.
“I think she should stay. I will provide, if necessary.”
Mrs. Campbell gave him a calculated look, “She doesn’t look easy on the eyes at all, Mr. Sterling. What’re you up to?”
Regulus gave her a smirk, “That’s for me to know.” He didn’t deny that he did indeed have ulterior motives; Mrs. Campbell was not stupid. She’d figured him out quite easily the first few months. Denying would only make her more curious.
He’d taken her hand, gave the back of it a short, courteous kiss and smiled mischievously at her flushed face before he’d returned to the children under his care.
Later that night a knock was heard from the door and the woman had gone in. He gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk and studied her face as she struggled to sit. Her eyes were dark, and freckles littered what little skin she showed, the highest concentration of freckles being across her nose. With the exception of her eyes and nose, she’d looked nothing like the child she’d borne, he’d later reflected.
They’d sat for a while, staring at each other until he broke the silence, “How do you know me?”
She didn’t answer for a bit. She looked contemplatively at him, studying his face as intently as he’d been studying hers, no doubt, “You’re Regulus Black. Former Slytherin student. Star Seeker. Horace Slughorn’s pride and joy,” the last part was said in a mocking tone, “I’m surprised you don’t recognise me. After all, you were the one who’d helped me to madame Pomfrey after my unfortunate mishap by the stairwell.”
She was, of course, referring to the time a student had fallen off one of the moving stairs and broken both her legs. He’d just returned from the last Quidditch match of the year and was going to be taking his broom with him to the dungeon to pack it when he’d heard screaming. It wasn’t some heroic feat where he’d flown off to save the day, but a pathetic young boy’s eagerness to show off after hours in the air. He always had an impulsiveness that he’d been curbing successfully, but when he'd been flying, that impulsiveness would rear its ugly head and he’d do something stupid, like fly indoors to save some girl he cared nothing for, just to show that he could. Of course, she had been rather appreciative of his help, but he’d later gotten reprimanded for flying indoors since she damage had already been done.
Ilaria had stayed in the orphanage for a week before she went into labour, and in that short time he’d ended up befriending her – something that he never been able to do easily at Hogwarts.
Ten fingers, ten toes and a hearty scream; that’s what they’d said when he’d gone into the room and saw Ilaria look down at the baby in her arms with a far-away look. She’d looked up when he’d neared the foot of the bed and gave him a weak smile.
“A girl,” she croaked out, her lips chapped, “I have half a mind to name her after me,” she’d laughed before coughing. “Screamed as soon as she entered the world. I don’t fault her for it.”
“Quite a set of lungs,” he’d simply said. Ilaria’s plan was to give up the child. Something that didn’t sit right with him. A child needed a family. A magical child needed a wizarding family. He felt it irresponsible for her to leave it here among muggles, but he’d argued with her enough, and she had told him in no uncertain terms that she’d made her choice.
“Yes, maybe she’ll become a soprano.”
“I was talking about you.”
She’d looked at him in disapprovingly then.
“And what happened?”
“Hm?” Regulus looked at the small child in his arms as he walked into the first inn they’d seen. He ordered a room for the night, and then some tea and juice and a meal for them to share. When she was done drinking, she repeated her question.
“Where was I again?”
“The dragon took the queen from the tower.”
“Ah, yes. This resulted in the dark knight’s very harrowing time getting to know the princess. They did not get along well, you see.”
And they truly hadn’t. He was twenty years of age and had taken it upon himself to guard the only magical child in this place. It was his responsibility. Her birthright. Abandoning her to the muggles was out of the question. But every time he attempted to hold her, she’d scream bloody murder, and she refused to be fed by him. He for his part, refused to change her, though that had ended up being a responsibility of his once she started warming up to him. Suddenly, she’d preferred him over everyone else.
Soon enough everyone had started calling her his girl, as if she was his sole responsibility – which she was, in all honesty, in regard to her magical education – and she became less and less a child of the orphanage and more an extension of Regulus himself.
For the next two years since her birth, it was relatively peaceful, albeit difficult with the further cuts to the funding of the orphanage. He’d taught her a fair bit in those two years, and she even spoke rather well for her age compared to the other children, which was to be expected, of course, given her magical background.
One day, he’d woken up to screaming, and he’d bolted out of his room to investigate. Jenny, one of the orphans who since had volunteered to help out with the younger orphans in exchange for the shelter of the orphanage now that she’d come of age was pointing at a crying Ilarya with a wild look in her eyes, “She’s of the devil!”
Regulus had immediately gathered Ilarya in his arms and had looked sternly at Jenny. He’d learned quickly, when something irregular happened, the muggles would resort to blame this “devil” for it. He’d wondered initially if the devil was some dark wizard of old, but had quickly come to stop caring. Now, Ilarya was accused of being “of the devil” and he’d found he didn’t care much for that.
Ilaria had been making the stacking toys fly. A joyful occasion for a wizarding family, but it was apparent the muggles didn’t appreciate such a milestone.
After word had spread, they had to flee the orphanage. He had to lay low, he knew. They couldn’t stay one place at a time, and they certainly couldn’t stay in Ireland anymore. He knew that if anyone at the Ministry had gotten as much as a whiff of the existence of a magical child who was performing impossible feats, they’d investigate, and if any of his former brethren were to recognise him, he’d be done for.
As Regulus watched her eat, his heart ached at the thought of the sort of life she was missing out on. She truly needed a home, somewhere to stay put and not wonder when they’d sleep in a comfortable bed, or why she couldn’t have this or that. So far it didn’t seem to bother her, but he knew that one day, his presence in her life wouldn’t be enough and she’d want a better life with better people, and he could never begrudge her for it. After all, his own blood had not deigned to give him a thought before he left him in favor of other people, though Regulus very much found he could begrudge him this.
It would be good, he thought, if she left for a better life. That’s all he wished for her. And he… well, he could settle down again without fear that she’d be caught in the crossfire were he to be caught. He could be in a house with a hearth and bedrooms, a kitchen… perhaps Kreacher could visit too.
But the more he thought of this nice house with its utilities and uses his heart constrained at the thought of not having Ilarya in his life. She had become a purpose. Not the purpose, but a purpose of great importance, nonetheless. He was… he was raising her. Not very well, he knew, but she was content for the moment.
He listened to her babble on about the hipp’giff they’d seen flying above them earlier that day and how pretty it was and if she could “pretty, please” have one.
“We’ll see if the toy store has one, darling.” He said to somewhat appease her, and she smiled widely as he leaned forward to correct her handling of the spoon in her hand.
A shadow fell over Regulus and he turned his head to see the familiar, worn face of Albus Dumbledore looked down on him with his typical, infuriating twinkling eyes and Regulus held his breath as he looked back at him.
“Mr. Black, I must say, it’s a surprise to see you here considering word of your demise had reached us some time ago.”
Ilarya let go of the spoon and tilted her head in curiousity, “Who’re you?”
Dumbledore extended his hand to Ilarya, and Regulus had to restrain himself from slapping it away, “I’m Albus Dumbledore. I was a teacher of your father’s.”
Regulus startled at this wording and was about to correct him when Ilarya beat him to it, “He don’t have teachers. He is a teacher.”
“Is that so?” Now Dumbledore was staring at him in interest.
“The alphabet,” he mumbled, and picked up her spoon to give to her, “Eat.”
“I can do magic,” Ilarya said, holding the spoon tightly.
“Ilarya!”
“But he’s your teacher.”
Regulus massaged his forehead, ignoring Dumbledore’s chuckles, “As you can see, she’s a talker.”
“I do see." Dumbledore seemed charmed by her. He'd better be, that old bat. "I have a proposition for you.”
“I’m not becoming a Defence teacher.”
Dumbledore raised a brow, “How did you know that’s what I was going to ask?”
Regulus sighed and clasped his hands together, “We had a defence teacher every year. Very questionable types. Especially, professor Thumbleweed, you remember him? The nutter?”
“That’s beside the point,”
“The point is, you can’t find anyone to hire, because they leave at the end of the year. Amaranthine’s exit was memorable.”
“How did Amathine go?” Ilarya ask.
Regulus hesitated, “I’ll… tell you when you’re older.” He then turned back to Dumbledore, “You see my point now, I hope?”
“Regulus,” Dumbledore said, his voice taking a grave tone, “You can have any of the vacated positions you'd like, and,” he nods towards Ilarya, “Your…” he seemed to hesitate, looking between them as if trying to determine what to say next, “daughter can come with you. I want to talk to you further, in regards to what I had in mind, but I’ve found something, and I think you might be able to shed some light on it. To stop Voldemort once and for all.”
Regulus flinched. He didn’t mean to. He promised himself he would never allow this snake to control him again. Yet here he was, scared of a name.
“What makes you think,” he said with gritted teeth, “that I’d be interested in his demise?”
“Why, Regulus,” Dumbledore leaned back, an easy smile playing on his lips, the twinkling in his eyes somehow intensifying, “Who else would pretend to be dead for five years?”