Flecks of Rust

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1

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Regulus Black wakes to a sore throat, tight chest, and green eyes.

Rolling over, the heir to the House of Black splutters, forcibly attempting to cough up the phantom water that persists in his lungs.

There is a moment of hesitation, before two hands begin rubbing gentle circles into his back, one resting between his shoulder blades and the other just above the small of his back.

"Drowning sucks, right?"

The voice asks quietly as Regulus finishes dry heaving, fingers digging into the frozen grass beneath his hands and tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

In the distance, he can hear birds chirping, and the thick scent of tree bark prevails against all other odours nearby.

Still, the ghostly fingers of the inferni cling to his wrists, tugging at the fabric of his robes, pulling and pulling and-

A vial is pressed to his lips and Regulus drinks it down without even bothering to consider if it houses any poison.

Father would be so disappointed.

But still, he'd already expected to be held tight within death's claws, so his self preservation isn't exactly in top shape right now.

The familiar taste of calming drought washes down his throat and Regulus takes a steady breath, feeling his shoulders and arms shake with the effort of holding his torso up.

"Better?" The voice is distinctively female, English, and probably as young as he is.

Glancing to the source from the corner of his eye, for one brief second, Regulus honestly believes it is Potter's mudblood that's saved him.

But no, the more he looks at the young woman, the more he sees the sharp, refined angles of a Pureblood.

Not even the obscenely big cursed cicatrix that bisects her face into scarred and unscarred, with its branched lightning, distracts from her cutting features.

Crisp green eyes stare down at him, an amused, well meaning tilt to her lips.

With her wild curly red hair, in this night woven clearing, she's the only flash of colour present.

Shoving the woman's hand away as soon as his shaking limbs are somewhat under his power again, Regulus struggles into a sitting position, determined to climb to his feet.

Determined to get away and complete his self appointed task.

But then, the woman speaks again, and his entire being grinds to a halt.

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"So, I hear you're hunting Horcruxes."

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2

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"This is madness."

Glancing at the woman out of the corner of his eyes, Regulus tries to summon a frown to his lips, but finds himself failing spectacularly.

Harry's looking back at him with a sly tilt to her mouth, one red brow raised in such a way that it sends the branches of her scar flashing across her face.

"This is the last one." It was indeed. Regulus had gotten the locket, Harry had secured the ring, and together they'd broken into both Malfoy manor and Hogwarts. The former having been the closest call yet, and it was only because Harry had pulled an invisibility cloak out of nowhere that they'd gotten out with all their limbs attached.

In all honesty, when Regulus considers it, he could not have possibly asked for a better partner in crime.

Hariel Dorea Potter is the only daughter of Charlus and Dorea Potter, conceived shortly before the death of their only son. Making her James Potter's first cousin, and thus, just as much trouble as the former head boy.

But she's smart; she knows about the Horcruxes -and part of Regulus cringes, because there's more than one of them- and she has a plan.

He wishes it just didn't involve breaking into Gringotts.

Sucking in a deep breath, Regulus eyes the entrance to the bank again, before his gaze falls upon the sword strapped to Harry's belt.

The gleaming silver boldly proclaims the blade's previous owner as one 'Godric Gryffindor'. Infused with basilisk venom, it's the only weapon they can safely handle when it comes to destroying the Horcruxes.

True, they have several basilisk fangs, three each, in their bottomless pouches.

But it's so easy to get the venom on your own fingers if the correct safety measures aren't met.

Regulus doesn't have the slightest idea where Harry got basilisk fangs from, nor does he particularly feel like asking.

"Ready?" No.

"Will I ever be?"

Harry gives him a grin, so truly wild and impish that he's little doubt of her status as a true Gryffindor. She has to be, though she didn't attend Hogwarts, homeschooled instead, there's no other way she could be wielding the legendary blade by her side.

"Nope," Harry pipes cheerfully, grabbing hold of his hand.

Six months ago, he'd have snarled at the gesture.

Now he complies, now, excitement bubbles in his chest.

He's finally doing something right.

They've got a chance of getting this right.

"Let's go."

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Sirius Black was in Gringotts by pure chance when it happened.

He'd been checking on the last of his personal savings -not that he had much to worry about now, thanks to good old Uncle Alphard- when the floor beneath his feet gave an almighty groan.

Startling, Auror instincts kicked in before Sirius could even begin to comprehend what was actually happening, and he throws himself to a side.

Not a moment too late, for the marble floor gives an almighty heave as it shatters apart, a dragon surfacing from the new opening.

There's a moment of absolutely stunned silence, before an elderly woman breaks into hysterical screams, setting the tone of panic.

The goblins are already rushing forwards, but Sirius can tell they're barely going to have any sort of effect on this disaster.

It isn't until the triumphant cry that Sirius realises exactly what is wrong with this picture.

You know, if one discounts the fact a bleeding dragon had popped up out of Gringotgs floor. Like a violent, fire-breathing daisy.

"Damn it Potter!"

For a second Sirius thinks that it's actually Lily Potter sat up there, riding on the dragon's back.

But upon closer inspection, he numbly realises that no, that's not Lily.

Lily has ample curves and isn't as tall as this woman.

Nor does she have a whacking great big scar over half her face.

Nor is she on speaking terms with his assumed dead brother.

Never mind the whole 'let's break into a bank and escape on the back of a dragon' thing.

Which this woman clearly is.

Regulus, his little brother, is sat behind this woman with his arms wrapped around her waist and one hand clutching at a small golden cup, clearly their prize.

And it's not a look of terror upon his face, but one of wild excitement, and when he looks at the woman, the woman he called 'Potter', there's a hint of something in his eyes.

Sirius doesn't even realises he's just stood their gaping until the other Aurors arrive on the scene.

By that point it's far too late, the dragon having broken through the roof and taken to the air.

The only thing of the bandits left behind is the woman's scream for Malfoy to 'send her best regards to dear old Tom'.

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Sirius arrests Malfoy.

Sure, it's not for being a Death Eater but for potentially being an accomplice to the robbery; which sadly, he isn't.

But it cheers Sirius up anyway.

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3

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They fall into bed together, Potter's hips circling and grinding against his, her lips a furious red as they clash with his own, grappling for the upper hand.

As the sheltered son of a Pureblood, Regulus has no experience in this.

It's clear Potter doesn't either, but she more than makes up for that in her passionately wild enthusiasm.

It's not a meeting of a fairytale prince and princess.

It's a collision of two worlds; of Regulus' dark magic whirling and snapping, rich as chocolate and coiling like smoke, of Harry's grey magic surging and pulsating, cool as water and crackling like flames.

Harry's fingers dig into the curls of his hair, pulling his head to a side so that she can better access his neck, teeth grazing ever so lightly against his skin.

His own hands dip to the curve of her waist, threading into the fabric of her robes and pulling her closer.

Her lips do something, he fails to comprehend it, but when his mind returns to him, he's laid out on his back staring up at Harry. Her green irises are near invisible, given how wide her pupils have blown. She's unnervingly focused on him, and Regulus is taken by complete surprise when he feels her dainty hand wrap around his erection and squeeze.

He arches, gasping, and Harry's lips are on his again. He pulls at her lower lip in retaliation, tongue swiping at the roof of her mouth even as his hips buck into her teasing hand. If she keeps that up, he's going to come undone, unwind beneath her, and his pride will not allow such a thing.

It takes him a moment to figure out a plan, but once he has, Regulus flips the two of them, resting between the curves of Harry's thighs as he leans over her. But she doesn't seem bothered in the least by this, instead she just rolls her hips, hissing in pleasure at the contact she creates, and her legs wrap around his waist and press them closer to one another.

Her breath is hot as it fans across his face, her nose cold from the chill outside as she presses it to his cheek, teeth grazing across his ear for but a moment.

Warmth from her hands radiates against his ribs, tricky fingers having already pulled his robes from his head discarded them into some abyss somewhere. The smooth pads of her fingers are a startling contrast to the rough callouses of her palms, and they run against his sensitive torso in a pattern he can't quite make sense of.

His hips rock against her's once more, and Regulus realises he's never been closer to another before. Not just in the physical sense, but emotionally too.

Harry gets him, she understands and she doesn't judge and she just reacts. And after a lifetime of dealing with Slytherins, it's so refreshing.

"Regulus."

The way she moans his name, the way her lips wrap around the syllables, sends jolts of arousal coursing through his body as effectively as her taunting hands are doing.

Finally, he manages to disrobe her, leaving the two of them bare of outerwear and simply clothed in their undergarments.

Harry looks lovely, in a fetching shade of dark green that does wonderful things to her breasts and contrasts against the cream of her skin ever so nicely. With her heavy eyes, rosy lips and flushed cheeks, she looks like temptation personified, hair as red as sin and spilling out across the fabric of the pillow like liquid fire.

He can't help but to take her face between his hands, carefully cupping her cheeks as their lips meet again in a reckless collision.

He'd always laughed, mocked Sirius for how uncouth he was with whatever girl happened to be the flavour of the week.

He still would; Regulus cannot even begin to imagine allowing another to ever see Harry like this. Nor can he understand his brother just releasing himself with each and every woman he meets.

Only Harry has ever been the centre of his thoughts, only has Harry ever poked and prodded to the point he threw away all the pretences and just been.

He can not even begin to imagine sharing such passion with anyone else.

"Regulus," Harry croons, impatience in her voice as she tugs at the waistband to his boxer-briefs, short nails scraping against his hip-bones.

He quickly works her out of her bra, Harry's limited patience evaporating as she wandlessly banishes his pants.

A shame, he liked that pair.

Her own quickly follow into that obscure dimension; suddenly it's just the two of them, bare of all clothes and laid against each other with a tension hanging heavy in the room, stretching out across the mattress and its sheets.

Harry's just gazing up at him, lips ever so slightly parted with her hands having trailed up his chest to rest at his shoulders, and the trust in her eyes blows him away.

Harry's the one in charge when it comes to hunting Horcruxes, Harry's the one with the knowledge and she's the one who calls all the shorts. But right here and now, she's turning that over to him.

And Regulus has never felt so trusted, and yet, terrified.

After this, there's no going back.

He and Harry will be something, and everything in his chest burns for that, yet at the same time, he really doesn't want this to get spelled to hell. Doesn't want it to be like one of Sirius' usuals, to be like the games the other Slytherins has played.

He wants this with Harry.

"Stop thinking," Harry orders, and Regulus leans in, peppering a slow trail of kisses up from her jawline to the corner of her mouth, "just do."

And yeah, Regulus can play at being a Gryffindor for a few hours.

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Harry falls asleep when they're done.

It's probably not even a conscious decision.

There's still a light layer of perspiration glistening upon her scarred brow, nose pressing into the taunt skin of his arm, hot little breaths tickling at his chest.

Regulus has his arms wrapped around her, holding her close with his nose buried in her fiery mane, and he just can't sleep. It's not because he didn't enjoy it, not because he doesn't fell content.

It's because he's never felt more content than he is right now.

Lying here, Harry curled up against his side, one arm thrown across his torso and her legs tangled up in his, the room all but dripping with the smell of sex.

If he rolls over to face Harry, instead of lying here on his back contemplating his life, he'd be able to pull her close, to feel her ribcage a flutter beneath his arms, instead of just beneath the hand that currently resides on her waist.

She smells wonderful, something spicy and sharp and warm. Comforting in a way no other human has smelt to him before.

Not that he's ever been close enough to recognise many people by scent. His parents always smelt of Grimmauld Place; cold and haunty, while Sirius had always smelt of wet dog.

But Harry smells nice, her tent smells nice. Everything about Harry is nice, at least, to him.

Every aspect appeals to him, every part of her. The fact she knew right from wrong so well; it's taken him years and years to learn that.

She'd saved his life, hell, it was only because he'd dared to go after the Horcux that they'd even met. If he believed in a higher power, perhaps he'd consider she was his reward.

But no, Harry was something he'd have to work for every day for the rest of his life if he wanted to keep her.

And oh, how he wants to keep her.

Rolling over onto his side, Regulus pulls her closer, smiling when the woman moulds herself against him, pressing her face into her crook of his neck.

Her unmarried skin is butter soft against his own, as apposed to the hard tissue of the scars that scatter across her body.

He doesn't have scars, has lived a careful, safe life before the Death Eaters dragged him in. Even then, the one battle wound he got was so carefully healed that the scar is hair thin.

Nothing like what embellishes Harry's body.

He wants to know the stories behind them.

One is certainly a burn wound, from cursed fire. Another looks like a bite mark on her arm, one a puncture wound that looks suspiciously the size of the basilisk fangs that Harry had sourced.

His fingers trace a whip thin mark that rolls down her shoulder, the cicatrix stretching twice the lengthy of his hand.

He rubs small, imperfect circles into the slight dip between shoulder-blade and spine, feeling Harry's thigh press further against his own as she moves in her sleep. The sticky aftermath of their joining still remains, evidence they'd neglected to clean from their bodies.

His wand is...somewhere, in the room, Regulus isn't too sure where. It's starting to get uncomfortable, but Regulus cares more for staying here, wrapped up in Harry's comforting warmth and the rumpled bedsheets, than he cares for getting clean.

Tucking her head beneath his chin, he lets his eyes flutter shut, lets his hold on the woman in his arms tighten ever so slightly.

Maybe not tomorrow, but certainly someday soon, Voldemort will meet his end.

He's mortal now, they destroyed the last Horcrux mere hours ago.

But he knows that Harry will want to be there for it, will probably want to see the end.

Might even do it herself.

And while the idea of facing down the Death Eaters, facing down Voldemort, strikes fear into Regulus' heart, he knows for sure that he can't allow Harry to go it alone.

Not after all she's done.

Looking at the bare skin of his forearms, coiled around Harry's shoulders, Regulus feels a smile tug at the corner of his lips, and he presses a kiss atop Harry's head.

He'd worry about that later, right now, he'll focus on following Harry into the realm of sleep.

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4

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"And they road off on the back of a dragon?"

Dumbledore sounds incredibly sceptical, and honestly, Sirius can't even blame him.

He still doesn't quite believe it either.

After giving his promise to write up his own witness report for the Auror department, the former Black heir had taken off, heading straight to James' place where the very next Order meeting would be taking place later that day.

Which brought him to the present, hunched over the table with his hands anchored in his hair and a wild burst of emotions exploding like fireworks in his chest.

Regulus was alive.

Regulus was alive.

And robbing freaking Gringotts!

Like, what the hell?!

What was his little brother up to?!

Clearly he wasn't helping Voldemort anymore; not even an hour after they'd been forced to release Malfoy, word on the street was that Voldemort was gunning for Regulus and his mysterious companion.

As in, wanted them dead even more than he did Dumbledore.

Sirius didn't have the slightest clue what his brother had done to get that reaction, but he was proud as hell!

And worried.

Regulus was only nineteen! Nineteen years old and the man dubbed 'worst Dark Lord ever' was after his head.

Because he'd rode out of Gringotts on the back of a dragon.

Shaking his head, Sirius looks back up at Dumbledore, who's stroking his beard with a frown on his face, contemplating.

"You had no idea Regulus was alive?"

Sirius shakes his head hopelessly, looking up at the elderly wizard as if he'd have to answer to all his questions.

Hey, in his defence, it was possible.

Dumbledore was the smartest person he knew after all!

The man nods once more, firmly this time, lips parting beneath that white beard to speak.

Only for James to come barrelling out of the floo, hair wild and eyes wide. His gaze lands on Sirius, and he shoots to his feet.

"Sirius! Your brother just robbed Gringotts!"

And all Sirius can do is laugh.

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5

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"Are we really doing this?"

"Still questioning me, even now?"

"I like to think that maybe your crazy's run out by now, but then you go and drag me along into something like this."

Harry offers him a truly beautiful smile, the kind that lights up her entire face, and Regulus' heart does an awkward flip in his chest.

He still thinks she's crazy though.

It's been six months since they got the last Horcrux, almost a year since she pulled him out of the water and saved his life.

Six months of training, of showing up at Death Eater attacks and making a nuisance of themselves.

Dressed in grey, face-shielding cloaks of course.

As much as he believes his parents and their opinions are wrong now, it doesn't mean he wants them targeted.

Well, anymore than what Voldemort has already tried.

He'd gone after them a few days after the Gringotts incident -and even now, Regulus still cringes at the mess they made there- but he and Harry had managed to get them out safely.

Not without a lot of screaming from his mother, and Regulus had been forced to remove his hood to prove to his incredibly paranoid father that yes, he really was alive and leaving Grimmauld really was for the best.

He hadn't seen them since; the two were holed up doe where North, maybe Russia, in an old Black property.

The point was, Voldemort couldn't get at them.

Sirius was already opposing the descendant of Slytherin, and any other close family Regulus had was on Voldemort's side as it is.

So, he just needed to look after himself. Himself and Harry.

Capturing her hand in his own, Regulus held it up to his face, inhaling the scent of her skin for that one peaceful moment. He presses his lips to her knuckles, Harry's fierce features softening until even the scarring that decorates her face like ancient warpaint seems gentle.

"Please don't die," Regulus whispers, spell light flashing in the streets below them.

The wind that dances across the roof they perch upon waltzes through Harry's mane, and she smiles back at him, clasping her free hand over his.

"You stay alive too."

He nods, for there's not much else he can say to that, and Harry offers him another winning smile before all the amusement drains from her face.

He can see the moment when the battle-lust hits her, bleeding onto her face, calm swelling to the surface. Regulus wonders if it is only he who can feel the tension, and he takes in the jewellery that adorns her form.

Ravenclaw's Diadem. Slytherin's Locket. Peverell's Ring. Hufflepuff's cup that hangs precariously from her belt.

The Diary that is strapped to her forearm is the only one visibly damaged; Regulus had taken great enjoyment in stabbing through the Horcrux with a basilisk fang. Gryffindor's Sword didn't like being held by anyone other than an actual Gryffindor.

"Good luck."

He can't think of any more words. Can't quite figure out how to articulate the thoughts whirling through his head.

That this past year, despite all the hardships they'd faced, had been the best of his life so far. That he actually felt like he's lived, instead of just passed through life.

That he was doing something.

That he was feeling something, feeling everything, because she was there. Because Harry was sharing her mad world with him, had shared her mad self with him.

"Love you," Harry speaks so quietly that Regulus, at first, doesn't register it.

He startles, swinging around, but Harry's already charging off into battle.

And all Regulus can do is follow after her, protect her back, until he gets a chance to tell her he feels the same.

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"Tom Marvolo Riddle!"

There is a moment of quiet, of absolutely stunned silence, on the stretch of battlefield as that obnoxiously loud voice rings through the air.

Sirius Black blinks, gaze drifting from the Death Eater he'd just downed in that moment of stillness, to land upon the once duelling forms of Voldemort and Dumbledore.

Only, the former seems to have dismissed the Headmaster completely, turning to the source of the voice with cold rage burning upon his face.

Sirius swings around to see what the bastard is focusing on, and his throat seems to close up just as he gasps for breath.

Regulus is stood there.

Regulus is stood there alongside the red haired woman who'd broken into the bank alongside him, who had rode out on the dragon.

Looking at her now, at her fierce stance, sharp scarring and bold green eyes, he can see why he mistook her for Lily.

But the way she faces down Voldemort with that stare, how she has her wand -holly, from the looks of it- trained upon the man with not a trace of fear on her face; yeah, she doesn't resemble Lily at all.

Not even Dumbledore had been gutsy enough to face down Voldemort like that.

"My name is Hariel Potter," the woman cries, and beside him, James sucked in an awe breath, a noise that echoes with horrified surprise, "and I was born as the seventh month dies."

Sirius has heard the prophecy, he's heard the wording and he knows it could apply to any child that born at the end July, knows it could apply to his future godchild.

He also knows that Charlus and Dorea Potter, James' aunt and uncle, have defined Voldemort three times; it's why they're out of the country now. And he knows for sure that James doesn't have a sister, so if she's a Potter, than that had to mean-

"Avada Kedavra!"

Regulus and Hariel Potter dive out of the way of the flaring green curse, Potter throwing his little brother a shimmering cloak -and invisibility cloak- as she goes.

The curse was aimed at her.

"Sorry," she continues, completely unabashed as she deflects whatever manner of dark curse Voldemort throws at her, only her trembling arm giving away the power behind such a thing, "they were just so shiny I couldn't help myself."

She tilts the tiara she's wearing at the Dark Lord, a bitter smile on her face, and then they're duelling.

It's fast, it's furious, it's freaking terrifying.

Sirius has backed away, because not even Dumbledore had ever gone at the Voldemort like Potter is now; they're playing for keeps, playing to kill.

It chills Sirius to the bone.

It's only when a curse is deflected from hitting him, that Sirius even begins to remember the other threats, the Death Eaters.

Only, something is felling them, wand hands dropping to the ground as the offenders scream and clutch at their new stump.

It's Regulus, he realises with a numb sort of understanding.

Regulus who's slipping in and out of the battlefield; protecting the female Potter's back.

Something happens in that moment, Hariel Potter and Voldemort's wands connect, and there's a golden dome. He sees the spirits of the people Voldemort has killed recently, and he sees red battling green, pushing the deathly light further and further back until it greets it's creator.

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The silence that descends now is as stunned as the one that came before it, but it's the shell shocked kind.

The kind where something monumental has occurred, and it's taking a few seconds for your brain to catch up on the happenings.

Sirius is staring, and staring, but Voldemort's not getting back up. He's laid on the ground, wand out of his hand, sightless deaddeaddead eyes looking out into the nothingness of death.

And Potter's stood, not quite tall, hunched over a bit actually, but she's stood. She's standing, wild mane of blood red hair falling around her grey clad shoulders.

He's seen that grey cloak before, seen it when two grey clad strangers began turning up to battles six months ago and went about saving lives of the Order. Had fought the Death Eaters constantly.

Potter's bleeding from a nasty gash on her torso, though she doesn't press a hand to the wound.

It certainly doesn't stop Regulus from pulling her into his arms. His little brother presses his nose into her hair, arms half hidden beneath an invisibility cloak now wrapped around her shoulders.

It's as if the meeting between the two of them kick-starts the world again, and everything darts into motion around Sirius.

Death Eaters, those still with their wand arm, screech and scream just as Potter hugs herself close to Regulus and they disapperate away.

"She did it," James whispers in awe beside him, and Sirius stares once again at Voldemort's body, still waiting for it to all sink in.

Because yeah, it seems she did do it.

The war's over; Voldemort is dead.

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6

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This time when they fall into bed together, there's a hell of a lot more behind it.

They've had sex before, Merlin, they've had a great deal of sex before today.

But now, it's all out in the open. They've laid down their cards, showcased their feelings.

Regulus knows. He knows that he's been steadily falling more and more in love with Harry ever since she pulled him out of that lake. Ever since she snatched him up, pulled him into the whirlwind that is her life, dragged him along for the thrill ride that is Horcrux hunting.

But here they were, post battle, Voldemort dead.

New scar tissue runs across Harry's front as he carefully peeled back the half destroyed shirt, her grey cloak already a lost cause, deposited somewhere near the front of the tent with her invisibility cloak.

Slowly, he traces his fingers across the fresh pink line, which near bisected her from naval up to her left collarbone.

"Victory scar," Harry insists, cupping his face with her hands and pulling him up until their lips meet.

There's nothing rushed this time, there's no burning desire to just go at one another and reach the height of pleasure as quickly and effectively as they can manage it.

Harry's slow as she peppers kisses across her jaw, neck and collarbones. He takes his time as he runs his fingers across her exposed skin, tracing the swell of her breasts and the dip of her waist.

They move against one another, the quick race that dominated their earlier sessions absent now.

Regulus is sat, the headboard supporting his back as his teeth work at the tender skin of Harry's neck, nipping and sucking as he goes.

Sat in his lap, Harry's rocking her hips, moaning ever so nicely and clenching around him. One of her hands is in his hair, short nails scraping against his scalp while the other holds tight to his shoulder. His own hands rest upon her hips and thigh, drawing soft circles with his thumb whenever he can stop himself from clinging to her.

Harry's lips skim across his hairline, and Regulus looks up in time to meet the kiss she offers. It's wet and probably looks quite messy but he doesn't care.

It's just Harry and him, and if he wants to take his time playing with her, teasing her tongue back and forth as she rides him, then so what?

There's nothing more he'd rather be doing right now, than holding Harry close to him, until their chests are flushed against one another, and her breath is mingling with his.

He loves it, Merlin, does he love it.

She's just looking at him, with that soft smile on her face and there's not a hint that this is the woman who took down Voldemort.

This side of Harry is all his, will forever be his if he gets any sort of say in the matter.

She rocks her hips again, harder, and Regulus gives a grin as she kisses at his stubbly jaw.

Yeah, future later, love making now.

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They turn up at the at the Three Broomsticks four hours later.

There's parties going on all up and down the country; the mid winter chill has set in enough that Regulus' breath ghosts before him as they walk hand in hand towards one.

Harry's beaming, grinning like a loon and Regulus just can't seem to temper his own smile.

She looks wonderful, breathtaking really. She's got a glow about her, be it the aftermath of victory or the aftermath of really good sex -she told him that, repeatedly- whatever it is, she wears it well.

Fireworks explode over their heads, lighting the sky up with a vast array of creatures. There's even a red lion slaying a white snake, and while Regulus thinks that's terribly cliché and probably no good for young Slytherin students of Hogwarts to witness, he can see the likeness. Harry is as vicious as a lion, and with that name of wild red hair, well...

"All okay?" Harry asks, and Regulus realises they've stopped before the pub gardens' entrance. No one's really looking their way though; too caught up in the booze and festivities.

"Just wondering when we're gonna get arrested for the Gringotts thing."

In fact, it is something that still sits heavy on his mind even now. His vault; well, he doesn't doubt it's been drained to pay for the damages done to the previously inescapable building.

Harry, crafty little nymph she is, takes her gold wherever she goes, in a small, shrunken trunk on her necklace.

"Pah, I'll give them Gryffindor's Sword, you know, for however long it sticks around." Well, at least it's the start of a plan.

"Are the two of you coming in or not? Because I know a hell of a lot of people who'd be happy to buy you a drink."

Regulus freezes in place, because stood before him is Frank Longbottom, Auror and Order member. There'd been a time, not even two years so, when Regulus had duelled his man so that Malfoy could escape.

"You're not gonna arrest us for the Gringotts thing?" Harry asks beside him, and she looks genuinely curious, nevermind the fact she's digging them a deeper hole.

"Sweetheart, I don't think there's an Auror in England who'd try arresting you today."

Harry grins, a real, bashful thing and Regulus rolls his eyes before he can stop himself. Because really, she shouldn't be that pleased. Should she?

"Then yes, we'd love to come join the party."

Longbottom grins, opening the garden gate and allowing them passage. Regulus passes through the warding system, and the sounds of the party, the calls and yells of excitement and joy come upon him like a tidal wave. Harry's fingers in his are his anchor, the Black stares at the gathering of people with wide eyes.

This was nothing like the balls his parents had dragged him too, nothing like Slytherin's refined Quidditch victory parties.

And then, as if things could not possibly get worse, Longbottom opens his mouth.

"Look who's here people!"

.

It's a whirlwind, a hurricane of thank-you's and congratulations and so much gratitude Regulus can't even begin to understand all that's being said.

He just stands by Harry, attempting to look sincere and not show the absolute bafflement that threatens to bubble up and explode out of him.

If Harry senses it, she says nothing, instead greeting each and every person that speaks to her, grinning and smile and no doubt enamouring herself to them even more.

Not that she knew she was doing such a thing.

But he could see it, could see the way the rabble are up everything she said, stared at er with those side adoring eyes.

And then, comes the question of her blood status.

"Half blood," she replies, and Longbottom shoots Regulus the most confused look yet.

Regulus understands his confusion; the thought that Harry looked nothing like Dorea Potter, Charlus Potter's wife, had sat heavy on his mind the first few weeks he'd known her too.

But, giving birth to the boy who'd have been Harry'd elder brother, had he survived his infancy, had caused irreparable damage to Dorea Potter's reproductive organs.

And so, the two had decided upon a surrogate for their second child.

A muggleborn surrogate.

Regulus had spent weeks readjusting his views on Harry when he'd learnt this.

She was a Potter, a half blood. But, she was also the most magically strong person he knew, she spoke Parseltonuge and could probably run rings around any and every Pureblood.

Perhaps all at once.

All Regulus knew was that she was the most enchanting creature he'd ever met.

And he was going to marry her at some point.

It didn't matter what his parents said, didn't matter that he might get thrown from the family and be forced to work for a living. He had the grades to make something of his life; hell, he and Harry had Order of Merlins coming their way if even half these people were being truthful.

And there had been an awfully large bounty on Voldemort's head.

He'd get a job as a researcher or something, Harry'd do whatever Harry wanted to, they'd save up enough money to move out of the tent and buy a house.

And Regulus would like to spend the rest of his days with her, because she's made his life, so to speak. She's brought the excitement, the fun and the laughter and the love.

He wants to wake up beside her every morning, to take turns cooking breakfast, to get into silly little arguments with her -nothing like the blowouts his parents had- and then have the most mind blowing make-up sex, like they always did.

He wants to end every day by curling around Harry's form, arms wrapped around her like he could protect her from the world, even if she could take on all the demons and win.

He wants them to be a team, to always look to one another.

He doesn't want anything to change from what it is now, Regulus realises.

He's happy, right here, right now.

And as Harry presses into his side, turning down a man's offer for dinner by kissing his jawline, Regulus turns and captures her lips instead.

Because he's happy, and he won't let anything change that.

Not now, not ever.

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7

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Harry James Potter has two aunts.

The first is his Aunt Petunia, who's only talent seems to be he ability to play the completely normal housewife.

He hates visiting Aunt Petunia, even if Dudley's okay to play football with. The boy used to be a bully, until a few years ago, back when Mum straightened him out.

No, there's nothing special about his Aunt Petunia.

Aunt Hariel on the other hand; Harry adores her.

She's not his real aunt, more like his first cousin once removed, but she's the closest Potter relation his dad has near his age, so he's always called her Aunt Hariel.

Now, his Aunt Hariel is magical, and he doesn't just say that because she's a witch.

No, Aunt Hariel is kind of a hero to the Wizarding community; she took out the worst Dark Lord ever, though she did have help from her husband. She always points this out, and yeah, taking down so many Death Eaters is cool.

But still, that's not quite on the level of defeating a Dark Lord.

And this year, Harry's finally going to Hogwarts.

Hogwarts, where his Aunt is teaching.

Sure, she only teaches on Thursdays and Fridays, and sure she only teaches Defence to NEWT level students, but it'll be so cool to see her teaching.

Other students are allowed to sit in on the lectures she holds during lunch time down in the kitchens, and she runs the evening duelling club on Friday nights, and that's open to anybody.

It's not like he hasn't gotten to see his Aunt before though; the reason she works only two days a week is because she spends the other days looking after his little cousins.

Aunt Hariel has three kids; two boys and a girl, all younger than Harry.

Harry loves them as much as he loves his own younger sister, Ivy.

No, all throughout his childhood, Aunt Hariel and Uncle Regulus always brought Turais, Rigel and Lyra to play with them.

Or Harry and Ivy would go to their house in Hogsmeade and play Quidditch with them.

Sometimes his godfather Sirius -who happens to be Regulus' brother- would come join them too.

Sirius and Regulus have a funny relationship, Harry doesn't really understand it.

Sometimes they're at each other's throats, duelling with spells Harry knows to never repeat until he's done with Hogwarts, and sometimes they'll sit and laugh and joke.

He knows the two of them don't talk to their parents, a concept Harry can't even begin to understand. His mum and dad are amazing, he would never fall out with them.

But Regulus hasn't spoken to his parents since he married Aunt Hariel, Sirius hasn't spoken to them for even longer than that.

He knows that Uncle Regulus would never want his kids to stop speaking to him though.

Turais looks like a miniature of Uncle Regulus, just with Aunt Hariel's green eyes. Rigel has dark red hair, like a mix between his parents, and Uncle Regulus' grey eyes, a trait he shares with his sister. Lyra has black hair, but her smile is all Aunt Hariel.

Harry loves going over to the Black household, his Aunt's the best, though she does get a funny look on her face sometimes.

It's the same face Harry's mum wears when she's struggling on a hard charms problem.

As if she knows the answer, but just can't figure out the method.

He's never understood it, but each time Harry's asked, his Aunt has waved him off with a smile, so he's had no choice but to drop it. Irritating, but there's not much he can do about it.

"Hey Harry, you okay?"

Looking over at Neville, Harry smiles, nodding his head.

"Yeah, just got a feeling Hogwarts is gonna be great." And he does.

Harry's looking forwards to it all.

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A.N

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Ijust really wanted to write some FemHarryxRegulus; you can fill in the gaps here.

Tsume

xxx