Notes: Welcome to the sequel to "Renascentia: From the Ashes"! If you haven't read that story yet, we recommend doing so as several plot points will make very little sense without it. Please note that the huge chunks in italics are spoken French, as neither of your authors are fluent enough to write it out.

This is a self-contained chapter in France before we delve back into England and the war. This 'section' of the series will deviate much further from the book timeline than the previous one, as that one focused on the book timeline Order of the Phoenix and establishing a lot of what we want to do here and in the third installment. This one will have a few more POVs added in to make sure we can fully explore the story being told. The core is always going to be the Black family, but it's become a wider story too. Watch out for tag changes, as we'll add as we go and as things become darker, more will need to be added.

We both hope you'll enjoy the ride, and as always, questions and comments are encouraged.

Chapter 1

Though days might turn to weeks, to months, to a rapid-hurtling year, for all the changes Regulus Black had experienced back in London, it seemed just as many had stayed the same in same in the quiet French village of Belétang. The sweltering mid-afternoon sun was not dimmed by Dementor fogs; no panicked flyers littered the streets; and the milling people he had shared his days with for a decade and a half still looked far more curious than anxious about the plight across the Channel, if their lax appearances were anything to judge by.

In his chest, familiarity twinged with a gentle sort of tightness, and as the Black brothers strode away from the nearest designated apparation point, Regulus raked his eyes along the cobblestone paths, the shops, and just beyond the grassy park further down, he pictured the nearest patch of cottages where he had spent the majority of his adult life. Bundling inside of him was something between anticipation and dread, tingling with the knowledge that he was unlikely to go unnoticed for long. Such a strange experience it had been, to be known and unknown at the same time, to be seen by all at arm's length but considered no one of particular interest, beyond the fact that, upon his arrival, his French had still been a noticeable cry from native fluency.

They were nearly to the apothecary where Regulus presumed Julien to be - and although Sirius had already been made aware of the nature of their visit, he did not want to start that conversation with his brother present, lest Sirius or Julien start slipping isolated information into conversation.

With a soft huff, Regulus eyed the quaint little book and antique shop and thought of Emile - a grousy old man who had helped pull him to his feet with that job (demeaning as it might have felt), and who was undoubtedly grumpy about being left without word or warning. Rude though it was, perhaps he could avoid that conversation entirely if he focused on Julien and the basilisk venom waiting for him at the apothecary. With a centering shift, Regulus turned forward again.

"You do know where you're going, right?" Sirius asked him, in quiet English rather than apparently even trying in French.

Leveling a look back at his brother, Regulus responded with a little huff to his tone, "I lived here for fifteen years. Of course I do."

"It does seem your sort of place," Sirius replied. He'd stopped walking, and was now eyeing up the buildings with curiosity. "Looks traditional. Small, but you're small, so you wouldn't notice that. Quiet, but you like that - most of the time."

Rolling his eyes, Regulus adjusted the bag slung over his shoulder. "I'm really not that 'small,'" he countered, though his annoyance was mild. "But overall, it suited well, yes."

Before Sirius could quip anything back, the abrupt call of a familiar voice - a familiar little girl, to be specific - grabbed Regulus's attention: "Mssr Rian!"

From across the path, a blonde and lilac flash was scampering out of the sweet shop, forming quickly into the daughter of one of his friends in the village - little Genevieve, though her brother and parents were yet to be seen. "You're back!" she continued, and though the French language had been buzzing in the background side they had disembarked from the train, it was then that Regulus's mind seemed to shift back into its familiar patterns. Now only a few paces away, the girl was pulling something out of her pocket. "I finished a whole year at Beauxbatons - and I didn't get to show you my wand before you had to go! It's so pretty and has runes carved in it. Do Maman and Jean know you're here? Or Mssr Julien?"

Suspecting that she would chatter forth if he waited for a lulling moment, he cut in as she was thrusting the wand into his hand. (It was quite pretty - white in colouring, most likely aspen, assuming the wood wasn't dyed.) "Not yet," he responded as he, too, slipped into French. "I'm about to go see Mssr Julien just now. Is your Papa not here?"

"He's in Switzerland hunting down something for Mssr Julien. He'll be gone for whole week," she continued, "Are you staying?"

Regulus shook his head, handing her wand back. "We return tomorrow."

Genevieve huffed. "He'll be mad he was gone," she said, though she seemed to recover from the thought quickly, locking now onto Sirius, as if just noticing he was standing there too. "Who are you? I've never seen you before."

Regulus hesitated for a moment. The name Sirius had chosen for himself during the train ride was a bit on the nose, but he supposed his own had been, as well. "This is my brother, Leo."

Her skepticism faded to a smile, the words once again tumbling out all at once. "Hi! It's good to meet you, Mssr Leo. Are you taking a vacation? Do you live in England?"

Sirius, unfortunately, frowned in response. Perhaps he'd been trying to follow the conversation, but the young girl spoke swiftly. After a moment, he looked to Regulus with a pained expression. "I caught about half of that," he admitted. He hadn't had much of a problem up until now, but it had been all travel and minimal conversational to this point. He managed to respond with a clunky, if technically accurate, "Thank you. I have not been to France since I was small. Just a small -" he made a face, perhaps trying to remember the word. "- break?"

"Paris, right? When you were small," the little girl said with a look of curiosity on her face, "I remember Mssr Rian mentioned Paris. Do you not remember French very well?"

"He hasn't had much opportunity to practice," Regulus cut in before Sirius could answer, "We must be on our way, but pass along my visit to your Maman, and perhaps we can find a moment for you to tell your tales of Beauxbatons. Neither of us have ever seen it," he added, tipping his head towards Sirius.

The little girl nodded, and in another flash, they were two, once again. Regulus could see the apothecary just a few shops down, and he let out a sigh. "You can wander the shops. I should only be a moment."

"Assuming you don't run into any more errant children in the meantime," Sirius replied, obvious amusement colouring his voice. Nevertheless, he clearly wanted to go explore and have a look around for himself and this was ample opportunity, providing he didn't get into too much trouble.

"The probability is low," Regulus admitted. Her little brother Jean was most likely in the same shop she had been in, and Regulus had no need for sweets at the moment.

Upon entering the apothecary, its smell washed forth like a wave of nostalgia - different than the one in Diagon Alley, though it was difficult to pin down how - and when Julien looked over from inside the cabinet he was re-stocking, Regulus lifted a hand in greeting.

"Hello, stranger," Julien remarked, shutting the cabinet down with a soft thud. "Not sure if you noticed, but it's been a year. I was starting to wonder if England had swallowed you up." There was dry jest in his tone, though Regulus thought there might be a little twinge of something more serious in there, as well.

"It has been quite a year - and a year of relative quiet," Regulus answered, and although he would not say he had been exceedingly quiet on the whole, he certainly had been in the correspondence sense, which was truth enough.

"You completely dropped off," Julien persisted, eyeing Regulus with an arched brow even as he slipped behind the counter. "What were you doing that was so urgent?"

For a moment, Regulus hesitated- and then- "Family business," he settled uncomfortably.

"Really?" Julien brow arched higher, though he sounded more baffled than upset. "You could have just said, 'Julien, it's family business, I'll come back when I'm able, or when I need a regulated substance.'"

"It sounds bad when you say it like that."

"You're lucky I don't hold a grudge." Suddenly, Julien disappeared under the counter, his voice muffling a little. "I had to talk Gerard down when you ran off. He's going to be so annoyed he wasn't here."

"Gen said something similar," Regulus said, shaking his head.

"You saw them already?" Julien peeked up just briefly before ducking down again.

"She was at the sweet shop a moment ago," Regulus clarified as Julien rose again, this time with a brown pouch he placed on the counter. "I expect Emilie and Jean are out there in the shops, too, though I did not see them."

Julien shook his head, holding out the pouch. "Consider this an early birthday gift, in combination with what would have been last year's if you weren't so difficult to get ahold of."

Regulus lifted a shoulder, feeling a little sheepish at the silence, though he wasn't sure if the feeling had made it to his face. "I supposed I got a bit carried away."

"No kidding. It took you long enough to poke your head up."

Crinkling his nose, Regulus let out a little huff. "It has been...complicated…"

Without warning, and without any attempt at discretion, Sirius walked in.

"I think I've walked literally from one side to of this place to the next! It's that small." Sirius announced, looking back outward again then back in.. Upon noticing that Regulus was not alone, he winced and switched languages again. "Sorry, I think you were done."

Rolling his eyes, Regulus picked up the pouch, remarking dryly in English: "It cannot have been more than five minutes."

"Who is that?" Julien asked, brow lifting again as he leaned against the counter.

"My brother," Regulus answered, switching back to French in turn.

Julien made some sort of surprised, snorting sound. "You have a brother?"

"Yes, it is a cruel trick of-," Sirius promptly swore, which was at least something he knew how to get right. "I've forgotten the word for fate, if I ever knew it. And it was closer to ten."

Julien sniggered, and Regulus shook his head, peeking in the pouch for a visual confirmation before stuffing it in his pocket. "Cruel, indeed."

"Part of the 'family business' you were mentioning?" Julien asked lightly as he strode back over to the cabinet he had been stocking a moment before.

"Something like that." Crinkling his face just slightly, Regulus let out another little huff, finding it was more difficult to decide where to draw the line in truth and fiction when both were present. Creating that fiction for himself had not been so difficult when first he came - and it was a fiction he had relayed to Sirius on the train ride, which his brother mostly seemed to be sticking to - but somehow, the situation only felt more complicated, now.

"It sounded so dramatic and questionable when you left." (Privately, Regulus thought that both of those descriptions could probably be applied to the state of his family situation, but he said nothing as Julien continued, this time facing Sirius.) "What's your name, then?"

"Leo," Sirius replied, in a distracted tone. He looked at Regulus with clear amusement. "Did he just call you dramatic?"

Flattening his mouth, Regulus responded in a lofty tone, "My choice of phrasing upon departure, technically." (Of course, 'dramatique' would be the word his brother would notice - there were times when language overlap was a burden.) "I prefer 'vague.'"

"It's almost like you know him," Sirius grinned at Julien, but thankfully did not elaborate onwards. "Should I go do another circle around the place while you finish up?"

"That should not be necessary," Regulus responded with a headtip towards Sirius, then looked back to Julien. "My brother and I are going to go settle in. We can catch up later."

Julien granted a nod, and as they exchanged their goodbyes, dug back into the cabinet to resume restocking.

Sirius was already outside when Regulus stepped back onto the cobblestone path, and with a gesture toward the park and its glittering pond, he spoke again: "Just past the park is a small neighborhood; that is our destination."

"Was that your friend?" Sirius asked, once they had begun along the path. "From the letter?"

Regulus nodded, eyeing the pond as they approached - then veered to the side, towards the cottages ahead. "Yes. Julien."

Sirius nodded, accepting it without posing a further question to identity. "You get what you needed?"

Reaching in his pocket, Regulus briefly pulled out the dark brown pouch, held it for a few seconds, then put it in his pocket again. "Simple enough."

"You still have interesting taste in friends," Sirius replied, though there was no particular malice to the words for once. "Step up on the personal grooming, if older than I'd thought."

"I consider them to be interesting, yes," Regulus said wryly, shaking his head, and though the insult to Severus was obvious, it was casual enough to almost be considered something of an improvement, however far from civil it might be. (Severus had room for improvement on that front, too.) At least his brother wasn't looking for criticisms to lay upon Julien - something Regulus might have expected, when he was younger. In that sense, at least, he could relax somewhat.

"It's not what I imagined," Sirius admitted, a small crease of a frown forming as he fell into step.

Lifting an eyebrow, Regulus glanced over. "What did you expect?"

"Not...this," Sirius said, with a huff. "Somewhere you wouldn't have to deal with people, or be paid any mind to.."

"People are not all terrible," Regulus said, lifting his shoulder in a half-shrug, "It depends on the people, I suppose."

Sirius gave him a look, then snorted. "It's like I don't know you at all."

"Did you think I hated everyone?" Regulus asked, though even as the question passed his lips, he wasn't sure if he necessarily wanted a direct answer.

"Not everyone," Sirius said, after a beat. "Just...most people. They seem to get on your nerves, or cause you nerves."

Not so terrible an assumption - better than Regulus had expected, in light of his adolescent history as a Death Eater - and something in his stride relaxed just a little bit more. "Accurate enough," he said, tipping his head to the side and glancing over at his brother. "Though I would adjust slightly to specify I feel neutral about most people; I reserve my hatred and irritation for those who have properly earned it."

"Depends," Sirius added, "Sometimes, you don't even hate people when they've more than earned it."

With a prickle of discomfort, Regulus thumbed the strap of his bag, keeping his eyes forward this time. "It does depend, yes."

For a moment, it looked as if Sirius might breach the subject.

The moment passed.

"Luckily for you, I can hate people enough for two people." He said. "Maybe even three. It's a natural talent."

At that, the barest hint of a smile pulled at the corner of Regulus's mouth, and he felt no small amount of relief that Sirius had permitted the accusation to pass unspoken. More than likely, it was Bellatrix that his brother was referring to, and Regulus still did not know how to speak about her in a manner that made sense. "That is terribly lucky," he said, and the lift of his mouth tugged a little more. "I try to hate specific people enough to make up for the ones who are being pardoned, but the numbers do not always match quite right. How fortunate that your well of ire has capacity to spare."

"I'm just a deeply generous person," Sirius said, likely fully aware that the unspoken question was there and being passed over. "I like to spread my irritation around, not get too bound up in a single person." Though he did raise a finger, "Though exceptions have to be made, for people so utterly and completely worth all the bloody hatred in the world that they require more attention in the area."

"Of course," Regulus said with a nod, "It's important to have a functioning tier system when dealing with such things."

Sirius smiled, and shook his head. "You realise if anyone were listening into this, we both sound like we need our heads examined, right? Trying to assign a functional system to emotions and feelings like they make sense."

"We are not trying to assign a system," Regulus corrected, looking over with an arched brow, "I would argue that we have implemented it quite thoroughly."

"Would it not come out skewed?" Sirius asked, taking a few faster steps even though he didn't know where they were going well enough to be trying to take a lead. "There's plenty of people we both despise. Or at least, dislike. I'd argue the list is even growing."

"There are also quite a few that we both do like - a list that is also growing. By this logic, it may well balance. Or at least approximate a balance," Regulus countered. "In the end, I suppose it depends upon what you are balancing against. Are we balancing those we like against those we dislike, or just those I dislike against those you dislike? The pool in these two instance is going to be different, and will undoubtedly affect the skew in question."

"We have to like people now?" Sirius said, feigning distaste at the concept. "I didn't know that had to be part of it. I thought we were just going with levels of hate."

Regulus sniggered, shaking his head. "My apologies for bringing such a thing into this matter of hatred and its designated categorisations. If we are speaking in terms of hatred alone, I do not think our synchronised anger is any more problematic than our synchronised neutrality, so long as the supplementary ire compensates for the pardons."

Sirius scoffed in a comedically loud way, "Have you ever known me to be neutral about a person?"

"You should work on that. You're upsetting my equilibrium," Regulus responded, his tone jestingly cross.

Sirius gave his shoulder a shove as they wandered. "Your wide-spread neutrality is making me think you were adopted."

"I was not adopted," Regulus argued, his tone a little more sincerely cross.

"I wasn't serious," Sirius said, making a face at his own accidental pun.

"Out of the goodness of my heart, I am not going to make that pun worse," Regulus quipped, a little more lightly this time as he watched his brother's souring expression. When again he looked forward, he locked his gaze on the cottage ahead - his long-time home, here in France, and as modest as it had ever been. Perhaps it was not the sort of place he had ever imagined he might live, growing up - even before Sirius had given up his heirdom, there were more than enough sizable properties Regulus had assumed he might someday move into - but he felt a bit fond of the little house, all the same.

With a subtle gesture forward, he added, "And with that, we have arrived."

The place was smaller than Sirius had expected. On some logical level, he knew that Regulus would only have had only what he had on him and that someone would have noticed if he'd gone to Gringotts, and as such, he'd have had to make his way in a limited fund capacity. It'd been something he'd planned to do himself before their uncle had rendered the issue moot. Somehow, when he thought of Regulus, he still couldn't disentangle him from the religiously upkept ancestral junk and photographs that he clung to.

It was modest, but it was comfortable. It was warmer than he expected, in tone as well as in temperature. The money had obviously gone on the seating and books, neither of which surprised Sirius an iota, but it didn't look particularly personal unless you were looking for touches of Regulus himself. The very specific way he organised himself, the usual colour scheme, some trinkets - which meant that even without legacy, he was unable to kick the junk-hoarding tendencies.

This was Regulus without the weight of the House on him.

This is what home looked like for him without the crushing need to keep up appearances, to reproduce, to maintain the status quo. A quiet, comfortable existence where he made friends with the shopkeepers, where he could be friendly enough with the local kids to know about their families and where he could scope out the best spot to sit and read in a village untouched by the war.

Sirius felt a sudden pang of guilt. He knew that he had nothing to do with Regulus's choice to come back; he'd done that off his own back and obviously, Sirius was proud of that fact. Still, the idea of being wrenched from a life that seemed to suit him so well left an unpleasant churning in Sirius' gut at the thought of it. As much as he didn't want him to leave again, if this was what made him happy, it would be an act of profound selfishness to throw a fit over it.

(He never claimed he wasn't selfish.)

But with that in mind, Sirius wandered around a little, mostly just looking at things, grazing them and trying to discern something of their meaning. That Regulus the person existed beyond the concept of legacy should have been reassuring, and it was; it was just also confusing and conflicting because he hadn't been there to see that transition happen. It was possible it was a transition that would never have happened if he had stuck around, but it didn't make it feel any easier.

He tried to snap down the thought. He'd been in better spirits, off on an adventure, being able to give Regulus a little bit of trouble but only enough that he looked a bit cross in that hilarious way he always had rather than actually angry. He didn't want to slip into melancholy here, no matter how off-footed he felt.

"It's..." Sirius struggled to find the right word. "Comfortable."

Shifting slightly on his feet, Regulus glanced over briefly to assess his face for mockery before setting his bag on the desk pushed flush against the far wall. "It is."

Again, Sirius was ready to repeat himself; to say this wasn't what he'd imagined or expected. That born into their house, with its wealth and its privilege, he would choose comfort over ostentatious display. Appearances had always been everything.

But the thought didn't leave, because again, he realised that this too could simply be a part of the legacy. Number Twelve was large, yes, but large for a purpose: it held a ridiculous amount of objects, dangerous mostly, but all linked to family members long past or gifts. It held so many pictures that it was a wonder he could remember who half of them were. It had, at one point, been a brimming family home. Phineas and his wife had six children in that house, and somehow the house had seemed more alive when they'd had Ginny, Ron, Harry, Fred, George, and Hermione making using of it. It had felt noisy, just the right side of crowded then. It was a display, yes, but it wasn't completely for the sake of being a display.

The more he thought of it, the more he thought of their Aunt Druella and her home. That was ostentatious to the extreme. You could probably see that place lit up from space at the holidays. Famous artwork, commissioned portraits, high ceilings, renovations that seemed to go on forever. They'd never had any of that. There was a reverence to it, from their mother especially, but it occurred to him that their parents had never liked large displays. They made use of the house in their respective corners. He wondered if they had lived in a different house, if his Uncle had ended up getting married properly and having children and ended up in that house instead of them, if it would have been more like this. An emphasis on need, well-crafted and comfortable but hardly a display. Something less suffocating than a thousand year old tree bearing down and choking you with the pressure, reminders at every wall, table and pictures of the demands of being the last to hold your name and the expectation that you absolutely must not be the last overall.

"I like it better," Sirius announced aloud, after the long pause. "You can tell you live here."

For a moment, Regulus hesitated awkwardly, then settled into one of the cushioned chairs, olive green in colour and nestled between a window and a bookcase lining the outer wall. "I'm surprised you would consider that a point in its favour," he said with a wry lift to his tone, though there was a brush of awkwardness to his shift.

Sirius scowled at that. "What's that meant to mean?"

"There's no need to look so offended. You've called me boring enough times that it is reasonable assumption that you would find this boring too," Regulus pointed out, lifting his brow.

"It is boring. I'd lose my mind - whatever may be left of it - in a place like this." That wasn't the point at all. It reflected him, simply as he was. Someone who spends too much time studying, looking at books, wanting soft furnishings and not to intrude upon the world too much. There was even venom, a controlled substance ready for smuggling, to show his (often hidden) adventurous side. It didn't remind Sirius of anything but him; perhaps their father, but he couldn't imagine his father having an adventurous bone in his body. "But it's your home, not mine."

"That is fair," Regulus granted, "Hopefully you will not lose the remainder of your mind before we return to London."

"After Azkaban - or worse, a non-stop Grimmauld Place for a year, I have every confidence my mind will survive a little quiet." A little, not too much.

Besides, Sirius didn't want to lose the chance to look at the big secret that was his brother's private existence here. There were other secrets weighing on him, but for now, he wanted to experience the trust placed upon him fully and enjoy it. He had things they had to talk about, and he supposed that in the context of life outside of the insular society that was pureblood elitists, this was a Regulus that existed. Until now, he hadn't been sure a version of him would exist outside of those constraints. The Death Eaters, sure, perhaps even the society, but his surname? It asked more questions than it answered.

He tried to think of a way to put it. "It was always just you here?"

For a beat, Regulus took on a thoughtful expression, then nodded. "Just me."

Taking a deep breath before the plunge, Sirius placed his hands on his knees and sat down with the exhale. It needed to be talked about, he reminded himself. He liked that Regulus got on with the Order swots; he liked that he'd formed his own friendships and had a level of comfort with them that Sirius had not expected; but it was threatened by encroachment of a personal boundary on the brink of being crossed that Regulus (self-confessed to be terrible at knowing the difference between a thing and a capital T Thing) did not realise was even happening. "I know it's been a long day," Sirius started, "but there's a difficult talk I didn't want to have at the house. It can wait, if you want it to, but not before we go back."

Regulus paused the start of his reach towards a book, instead resting the hand on the arm of his chair and turning his attention to Sirius with a subtly furrowed brow. "I suppose now is as good a time as any - but what difficult talk did you have in mind?"

"The one about Emmeline Vance," Sirius let that sit for a beat before he continued. This could so easily be a sticky and badly done conversation, and he'd like whoever was to blame for it falling on him to give this talk to meet a painful end. "I think you need to set down some better boundaries, before she gets hurt."

Regulus furrowed his brow a little bit more, shifting his weight in the chair. "What do you mean?"

Shifting uncomfortably, Sirius tried to buy himself a moment to think about how to phrase it without it being completely humiliating.

Then he gave up, because the direct approach was going to be better when you couldn't really save face at all. "She likes you," he said, feeling the sudden need to go to class for how teenage it all felt. "But I know how you feel about her blood, even if I wish you could wake up and smell the bullshit about it. You need to find a way to tell her that's just not something you're okay with and try not to insult her in the process if you want to keep her friendship."

Sighing heavily, Regulus propped an elbow and secured his face in it. "I changed my mind. I don't want to talk about this."

"Me either," Sirius said, rocking forward a little in another fidget. Truer words had never been spoken, but he pressed on regardless. "It's going to be worse if you let her keep flirting, and with it being in the house, let alone the Order, the quicker it's addressed, the better. Otherwise, she's just humiliating herself."

For an uncomfortable moment, Regulus simply frowned into his hand, singling out a spot on the floor to stare at. "We are friends, and we talk. I don't know what is humiliating about that."

"If that was all it was, I wouldn't be having the most awkward conversation right now," Sirius huffed. He could see the telltale signs of both avoidance and a threatening shut down, but still felt completely ill equipped to stop it. So he took a run at it full steam in the hopes of getting it out and out of the way. "If you just want a mate, tell her that. Or that you're just not that into girls, if it's true. Look, crushes fade, but if you don't tell her and something more develops, it's going to be worse."

Regulus closed his eyes, face still planted in his hand and mouth pressed in a silent line. As much as Sirius joked Regulus was the baby, pretending to still believe in objects disappearing when you shut your eyes at thirty was a little much.

"Unless you do like her, and the problem is not with her crush, but with you thinking she's tainted."

"I'm developing a headache," Regulus said tightly, pushing himself up from the chair, and with a mutter, started to stride past his brother's seat: "Must be that long day you were talking about. I'm going to lie down."

Sirius huffed a sigh, but figured forcing it out was going to do more harm the good. He'd said his piece. It was up to Regulus to do something about it. "If you decide you actually do want to talk about it instead of having a headache, you know where I am."

Regulus paused with a half-twist, though his hand found his face once again in a sobered press. "I don't know what there is to talk about, or what you want me to say."

For all of the awkwardness of it, one thing was becoming increasingly clear. He was disturbed at the thought of it, or perhaps upset. Maybe he feared saying something would wreck the tenuous friendship and his place in the Order, but Sirius didn't believe Vance'd be that petty about it. "If you don't like her, letting her know quickly is the best chance of preserving what you have. I saw you together; you're comfortable not only in presence, but physically. It's something worth preserving. But if I'm reading that wrong and you do feel something friend related, and the reason you're upset is her bloodline, you might try talking to one of the few people you know who's had to combat similar thoughts before and knows it's not easy. I'm not here to give you shit about it, but I don't want anyone to get hurt."

Folding his arms across his chest with another uncomfortable shift, Regulus shook his head. "I know," he responded with a touch of ambiguity.

"It's the best time for you to think about it. There's no one else here to hear any of it. No chance of being overheard while you try and figure out what you truly think." Sirius gestured to the room, quiet besides themselves. "Ask stupid or shitty questions. Decide what you want, even if what you want is things to remain as they are. That's what I want."

Again, Regulus paused, then shifted towards the bedroom door. "I just - need a moment," he muttered, finishing the beeline to his room with his head ducked, and this time, did not take pause before slipping inside.

Sirius huffed a sigh. He supposed it could have gone worse, he didn't actually just jump out of the window and head for the hills, but it didn't exactly go well either.

He could wait it out, Sirius reminded himself. They had time.

With the door clicked shut behind him, Regulus had pressed his back against it, hands rubbing the stress away, but no pressure to the temple was proving effective in blotting out his brother's line of questioning. The prospect of Emmeline having feelings of the friend variety - and the way his own mood lept pleasantly in his chest when she was present - were trails his mind preferred not to tread. He did not like where those trails were likely to end.

Regulus could not say exactly how many minutes had passed since he slipped into the room, instead counting the passage of time by positions as he slid to the floor, sat on the bed, and folded his arms moodily on the back of the chair by the window - and in his mind, he turned over the idea of turning over the idea. On some level, he knew Sirius was right: that pain and embarrassment could easily escalate, and the question of purism was not one that went away when you closed your eyes… at least not out in Society, where eyes were never closed to blood.

He liked Emmeline - he liked Emmeline quite a lot more than felt appropriate for his situation, if he was honest, but he did not much like being honest about such things. Guilt gnawed at his insides for enjoying the growing closeness, and guilt gnawed at him for feeling guilty when his surroundings became rooted less and less in the purist expectations of his childhood, caught in some endless loop, and however simple 'deciding what he wanted' might sound, Regulus did not how to grasp either emotion, much less stop them.

Sirius spoke of 'deciding,' yet it pressed like a thick fog, intangible ideas that slipped through his fingers, even as he tried to hold them up for consideration. He did not know what he wanted from Emmeline, just that he loved talking to her more than anyone, that she was bright and lovely, sharp and witty; he knew he liked the way she found his eyes right away when he walked in, the muted playfulness and the way she loved Grimmauld Place for the ancient tell of family history that it was; it was a quiet sort of affection, and one he found that he did not want to sabotage, be it from action or inaction. He felt comfortable, felt the threads of trust weaving, but it was a new feeling, a new situation, and he did not know what he wanted or how he felt. Relationships could spiral away at the slightest shift, could withdraw from rejections (no matter how carefully phrased), and the thought of upsetting the present balance struck a gutting dread, however reasonable his brother's argument might be. (And if Sirius was right about Emmeline's feelings on the matter, it truly was quite reasonable, from a damage control perspective…He was not sure that he would ever grow accustomed to using 'Sirius' and 'reasonable' in the same sentence, but it was as it was.)

Night had long since spread its blanket of darkness over the village by the time Regulus stirred himself to leave his room again, uncertainty still lodged in his throat as he scanned the living area and spotted Sirius by the bookshelf, peering at the titles but not seeming to tug any from the shelves for more than a few seconds at a time.

"I wasn't sure I'd see you 'til morning," Sirius said, not turning around and instead placing a book down to look at the first few pages of the next one.

"Most of the books are out here," Regulus said. It was not entirely true - there were plenty of books in his room too - but it seemed a better excuse than most.

Sirius looked around, seemingly just because he wanted to be seen giving an eye roll, as he immediately looked away again. "You still look like you want to make a break for it," Sirius observed. "I'm guessing thinking about it didn't help."

"Not in any significant way, no." Regulus shook his head.

"This is why I don't think about things. Since I don't think getting a few drinks in you would help, and would probably make you sick, I don't know what to suggest." Sirius replaced the book again. "Other than just being honest."

"Being honest sounds like it ought to be simple enough," Regulus began with a huff, crossing over to the bookshelf to scan the titles himself, in search of some tangible distraction for when the mood became unbearably uncomfortable again, as he suspected it would. "I suppose it would be easier if I was, myself, more clear on an answer."

"At the risk of sounding like a teenager," Sirius said, "Do you like her?"

Regulus sighed heavily. "That does make it sound like an adolescent concern," he said, rubbing at his face, and upon eyeing the shelf, plucked a text on advanced protective wards. (A duplicate at Grimmauld Place, but good for review in light of the chaos mounting at home. He paused an awkward moment longer before retreating to the chair with his book. They had talked about it at St. Mungo's, he and his brother - and as much as it stung to have Barty flicker into his thoughts again, the feeling was no altogether dissimiliar. Attraction - desire for proximity - a kickstart to the chest, comfort, and a distinction from others- "By your potion-addled definition, I suppose I do."

"Then how I see it, you've got only a couple of options," Sirius said, mirroring the action without looking at what he was taking. "You can lie, and tell a version of the truth that is that you don't want anything more than you have for fear of ruining it or it causing friction in the war effort. She's not stupid, though. She'll probably guess your issues are with her blood. That is the perceived problem, right? Or you can try to figure out why a part of you is deciding she'll give you muggle germs."

"It is not a matter of muggle germs," Regulus countered uncomfortably, though he knew it probably sounded like a lie. To his mind sprung the stunning array of photographs taken from space with their unreal splashes of colour, and however convenient it would be if it was not so, he knew well that they were muggle. The Mars exhibit had been muggle, too, but even if he knew Sirius would not disapprove of such an outing, it felt embarrassing to say, so instead he shifted. "There are just… implications, I suppose."

"The implication that she's somehow inferior because her ancestors didn't exclusively shack up with magical people?" Sirius said, an edge slipping into his tone. "Or the implication that it'd be a relationship you wouldn't want to work out, because if it did, you'd have to deal with wanting a future that might downgrade your social status from ex-Death Eater to blood traitor?"

Stiffening, Regulus leveled a sharp look of his own. "I don't think she is inferior. If we are to talk about this, you need to stop reducing me to assumptions based on when I was a teenager." Leaning back in his chair, he opened the book in his lap (more from annoyance than an intention to read), but the cringing feeling lingered in his chest. The accusation did not feel completely right, but it did not feel completely wrong either, and he did not know how to articulate it properly when it was likely to sound the same to his brother's ears. "This isn't some self-sabotage mission. If I simply 'did not want it to work out,' then I am perfectly capable of intentionally sabotaging things I want no part of. I would have done so already, and we would not be having this incredibly uncomfortable conversation."

Sirius put both of his hands up, before shifting himself uncomfortably. "It's not the teenage assumption," he said, though he sounded more tentative than combative. "I don't think you believe she's inferior, or that it'd be some fool's errand to see what may happen. I only know what you have is a childlike terror at the idea of being branded a traitor, despite the fact that most of the old lines aren't exclusively screwing the same handful of families or they lie about it. If anything, I'd be warning her off because who in their right mind would want to risk falling in love and ending up with in-laws who think you're disgusting? Who would want to live in a place like Grimmauld Place, full of portraits ready to insult you at a moments notice?"

He shrugged hard. "But for some inexplicable reason, it doesn't bug her. Even the screeching remains of our dear mother doesn't seem to phase her. Which means if you actually like her, and for some weird reason, she continues to like you, you might get a shot at rebuilding a family that I think you truly, badly want. The only thing stopping you right now is you, and clinging to the belief that a pure bloodline and an ancient legacy are the same thing. I think you need to decide what kind of life you want, a kind you're willing to excuse or fight for depending on the choices you make and what kind of legacy you want to leave."

"I don't know what I want," Regulus said in strained tones, elbow propping on the arm of his chair once again, though some of the irritation had faded from his face and manner. "Or rather, the ideal situation is probably impossible, and I don't know how to feel about that… 'Toujours pur' - as opposed to 'parfois pur' - makes the intended legacy quite clear." Shaking his head, Regulus crinkled his nose, just slightly. "In truth, I don't really care so much about her blood, but the thought of being the one to break a near-millennium of recorded pureblood Blacks makes me feel a little sick to the stomach, considering there isn't anyone else for it to fall to," he said with a humorless huff, securing his chin in his hand. "Which I know you think is stupid, so you don't need to waste your breath."

"Nah, it's not stupid. It's exactly what you're supposed to feel." Sirius hunched forward, lowering his tone as if he were about to say something untoward. "I get why being part of this huge family is important to you. Just answer me this: why is blood 'purity' important to you? Not some person centuries ago, they don't really matter because if you'd stuck to their worldview, you'd be dead, and the line would already effectively be broken. Why in your House is blood purity important?"

Pausing for a moment in silence, Regulus glanced over at Sirius, supposing that he shouldn't be that surprised his brother was not tearing into him, in light of the previous year, but no matter how much time passed, he always expected the worst from such discussions. It had seemed to come easy to Sirius, blood traitorism, throwing himself in with Potter and the other Gryffindors with seemingly immediate gusto, never stopping to waver, but he figured he oughtn't be surprised about that either. Sirius had never been much for wavering in general.

With a thoughtful expression, Regulus lifted a shoulder, more out of discomfort than uncertainty. "Because… extensive history and expectations aside, although the majority might be dead, not everyone is, and I'm tired of having to choose." He paused for just a beat before adding, "I understand that Bellatrix is dangerous and not anything I should get my hopes up about convincing… But Cissa… I don't want to fight with you or Andromeda, but I don't want to fight with her either. Leaving the Death Eaters was bad enough." He shook his head, mouth turning wryly. "In a way, it felt easier to leave a group I knew would immediately try to kill me than it does to even think about trying to explain something like that to Narcissa."

"You didn't leave," Sirius corrected, quietly. "You went to what was supposed to be your death rather than try to face Mum, or Narcissa and everyone else, because you found certain death to be less horrifying than how they might react."

Regulus tensed, glancing up briefly before dropping his eyes again - and for the second time in the same conversation, his brother's words felt true and untrue at the same time. "There were other factors," he responded, his voice mirroring the quiet tones but sounding more like a recitation than he liked, considering it was true, too. "I could not ignore what I had discovered, and I was not going to force Kreacher to go through it again on purpose." Something cold and awful trickled over him in streams, weighing his mouth down to a frown. In a mad sort of way, death truly had felt a less horrifying alternative - less horrifying than inflicting another disappointment on them - less horrifying than breaking his promises to never let them down. With an unsettling lurch in his chest, he added, "I was going to die anyway."

"That you're so certain of that..." Sirios looked away, punctuating the statement with an irritated huff. "What is the point of having an ancient lineage if when push comes to shove, it doesn't protect its own? What is the point of a family at all if they demand loyalty from you, but give you none in return? I don't believe a legacy that demands compliance to a doctrine written before Hogwarts had its first graduates is worth preserving, if all it preserves is fear - of reprisal, of loss, of not measuring up, of having your identity ripped away from you for an act of compassion. That's not family, that's bloodlines, and if she's got even half an inch of sense, Narcissa should know the difference. Especially now, as one day sooner than she imagines, she may have her own child have to make the decision you did, whether to live with the truth and face her or die."

The frown on his face deepened, but for a moment, Regulus said nothing. He didn't like the way the words resonated in his head, echoing like some hollow cavern, didn't like that feeling like he was betraying something - or someone - by admitting, even to himself, that he agreed. It felt like a trap, though he knew it wasn't; there was no one lying in wait to spring their disapproval upon him, but he could not shake off the heavy weight on his shoulders.

"I know," Regulus settled after a moment, and though it didn't feel like enough after a spiel of such conviction, he could not find the right words to verbalise - so instead he sighed heavily, fingers drumming lightly on the open book sitting ignored in his lap.

"There is every chance that any of us won't see the war through," Sirius said hoarsely, after a beat. "If you spend the whole time trying to get everyone else's approval, you'll forget to take your happiness where you can find it and there may not be time for it. It could be you, or I, or Emme, or even Narcissa, because she would not be the first sister Bellatrix has lost her mind with over the issue of family. If you think it's better not to risk it and keep things as they are, or if you decide to say fuck it and see if you can feel strongly for someone else again, either way, just..." He swallowed audibly, not finishing the sentence. "You deserve to be happy, as much as you can for as long as you can be. Anyone says different's getting the shit kicked out of them."

The pang that struck was a more comforting one, laced with unpleasant truths but altogether reassuring on a level that superseded even the looming possibility of loss on both sides. With a subtle nod, Regulus flickered a muted smile, and however embarrassingly mushy the sentiment might be, it made him feel at ease - to hear it, and to trust it, chaotic though the war had become.

"Thank you." (For patience, for most-likely-sincere promises of retaliation, for caring-) As his frame started to relax, Regulus sat back in his chair, curling out of the rigid lean. "And whatever it may entail, you, too, deserve happiness. I know I was a bit dreadful about that, when we were growing up…" He shook his head. "...You could have given up on me at any time - back then, and even in the past year - but at the risk of more sentimentalism, I am grateful that you did not..."

Sirius made an exaggerated noise of frustration, contrasting the smile that was threatening to break out. "You must stop thanking me for giving a damn. Just because family and blood mean two different things me doesn't mean they're always mutually exclusive, nor do I go about giving up on people on a whim. I'm a very loyal person, long as you don't stab me in the back. Or the front, for that matter. Just don't stab me at all, that seems like a good rule."

Swallowing the remaining uncertainty, Regulus nodded, steeling instead a line of confidence through his bones and straightening his posture. "Indeed." Pressing his mouth to a wry line, he added, "Woe betide those who would betray that loyalty, yes?"

"My temper incites a lot worse than woe," Sirius told him, plainly. "But we're both total pricks when it comes to loyalties. That sixth year didn't end in a murder is a miracle. Bella will be your biggest problem. It's her sister; she will cause the biggest rift, as Narcissa may go with what she says regardless of what she truly thinks. Luckily, you have some experience in this area."

"I'm mentally preparing for the possibility," Regulus said, shaking his head. "However much I might dislike it."

"How are you handling Lucius?" Sirius asked. "He did prey on children, but I imagine her being his wife means he has some priority for her."

"He stopped attacking me when he realised who I was at the Ministry - or at least when he started to suspect," Regulus answered, "I do not know how much of it was shock, but for now, I am just worrying about Narcissa, Draco, and Bellatrix."

"I doubt it will last." Sirius shrugged, accepting that. "It depends what Bellatrix decides to do next, and who knows what that will be? She's more cracked than ever."

"Yes," Regulus began with a frown. "I wish it was easier to tell what she's planning without directly interacting. Mulciber was saying she had 'dibs' - it sounded like a taunt, but it doesn't exactly sound untrue either, even if Cissa indicated nothing of the sort." His frown deepened as he crinkled his nose.

Sirius gave a bark of laughter. "Oh, that's very prestigious." He made a wave motion with his hand. "It just means that anyone who's scared of her retaliation won't try and hit you with lethal curses when you're fighting. It's probably helped more than it'll hurt."

"Prestigious wasn't the word I was thinking," Regulus said dryly, though the jolt of his brother's unexpected laugh did help a little with the heavy feeling. It was easier to fend off one person than a swarm, even if it was the one person among their number that he most wanted to pacify - unlikely though it was. "I suppose it's a bit reassuring, in a terrible sort of way."

"It's probably how Ted - Tonks's dad - has survived this long. When it comes to her family tree, Bellatrix likes to do her own pruning." Sirius grinned. "If dad had a single rebellious bone in his body, I'd have thought that was her as well. Stage an accident not to run the risk. But she doesn't murder purebloods for fun, just everyone else."

"You do realise it is a bit mad to be grinning about our cousin wanting to kill us," Regulus remarked in deadpan tones, shaking his head.

"That's an improvement, I thought I'd gone more than a bit." Sirius laughed at him unapologetically. "Besides, it could be a help more than a hindrance there too. Everyone knows she wants me and Andromeda dead; she's tried a decent amount, and I'm still here here, so's Andromeda. But you is more interesting. Bellatrix no longer cares for houses, or blood other than abstract. Her loyalties, when pushed, are not based in the bonds of blood, but in the machinations of a madman. Narcissa can't see that when it's just me and Andromeda; we made the first step, and she can justify it that way. You just legged it, and no longer wish to be part of the Death Eaters. It's a lot harder to justify that. If it helps Narcissa understand that Bellatrix truly has lost her heart and mind, and that if she was told to, she would likely kill her with little hesitation, then at least she's going into this with her eyes open. It's your best shot at keeping her, if that's your desire."

"It sounds good in theory," Regulus agreed, though the subtle feeling of dread remained. "Or...I don't think good is the right word for it, as I'd rather she not want to kill any of us, but if it could possibly sway Cissa, at least that is something."

"If Bellatrix doesn't want to kill you, you're probably doing something wrong," Sirius reasoned, with a huff. "Besides, when it comes to liking half-bloods, Bellatrix can't say shit, can she? Look at who she's thrown her life away on. At least Emmeline is human, as human as any Unspeakable is."

For a moment, Regulus took pause, then nodded. "I suppose that is true. I actually forgot about that, for a moment - about the Dark Lord's situation, that…" Tipping his head, he added, "One might argue it's a little different when the name is in question, but it really isn't particularly fair, if so."

"The name really shouldn't be. It's a question of asking her out, Reg, not asking if she'd like to bear your children." Sirius laughed to himself, leaning back into a much more relaxed slouch. "I realise it's the only reason our parents got married, but that's not a high recommendation."

Flustering slightly with a brush off embarrassment, Regulus sat a little straighter. "You're the one who brought up the necessity of taking that into consideration."

"You're so easy to wind up." Sirius looked entirely too pleased with himself. Still, something had shifted again and he looked down. "It's a concern for you. You don't seem to like people all that often, so this could be it, either the name lives on or it dies with you. But I don't know if she's going to say yes to going out yet; usually you go out with someone a few times before you start asking if they want to have children, and if they'd like to, with you. You just also have to think whether you'd think even an inch less of any kid because they might have a muggle someone on their family tree. You spent half your life trying desperately to live up to aristocratic expectations in case ours thought less of you, you're still struggling with it; you wouldn't want another child to go through that. If I thought for an instant I'd make Harry feel like that, I wouldn't have said I'd take care of him."

"I know that." Some of the previous tension crept back in as Regulus thumbed a page of his book, and a little defensively, he added, "I'm not planning to sweep in and propose, and I'm not trying to ruin anyone's life, hypothetical or not."

"I don't think you'll ruin anyone's life on purpose. She's a big girl, you can sort out your own relationship. You've been doing fine so far, enough that there is a disgusting amount of flirting going on. Besides that, you've got your first vigilante meeting coming up, that should be enough drama for now. Destroy Voldemort, sort out whatever's left of the family, and potentially have a romantic entanglement," Sirius ticked them off on his fingers. "You really have filled up your social calendar for the year. You don't have time to get yourself killed, dibs or no dibs."

Regulus thought 'disgusting' was overstating it - he and Emmeline were really only talking - but he bit back the objection, knowing it would only make Sirius more delighted if he tried to defend the interactions further. "It's a bit exhausting, really. Surely Bella will understand if I am not up for adding yet another thing to the calendar."

"Speaking of calendar events," Sirius asked. "What do you want to do for your birthday?"

"I don't know," Regulus admitted, "I don't have anything particular in mind."

Sirius clarified, "You do want to do something for it?"

"It has been awhile since I've done anything in particular, but I'm not opposed to the idea," Regulus responded. "We were always at Iago for my birthday, but suffice to say that fell off some time ago."

Sirius raised his eyebrows, the beginnings of a smile indicating absolutely nothing good crossed his features. "So why don't you do that? You're not hiding from any of them anymore. I haven't been since after Uncle Alphard died."

Regulus looked over, prepared to tell Sirius that it was not just a little bit, but in fact completely mad to waltz into the summertime Porth Iago gathering. It could perhaps be considered a taunt - but it wasn't without merit in regards to opportunity, having everyone gathered.

He wanted to say it was a bad idea, because it probably was, but instead the corner of his mouth pulled up and he tipped his head. "How nostalgic."

"It's your right to be there as much as it's anyone's," Sirius said, as his smile grew. "It's always fun to make a bit of a statement. Dunno if it's the statement you want to make, but it would. Besides, can't see Voldemort taking the summer off to go catch a tan. Bella neither. It's probably as close to a safe territory as anywhere."

Regulus smiled a little in return. "That would be quite the image. I imagine they would find it confusing, to show up as if everything is normal, but there can be some value in stubbornly presenting something as acceptable until it is accepted as such."

"You are definitely stubborn," Sirius agreed. "It'll give you time to get your shit together and decide how you're doing about Emme, assuming you're not desperate to hash it out."

"Not desperate to do so, no," Regulus responded wryly, shaking his head.

"Then we ought to go," Sirius said, decisively. "Just for a few days. You can cause your first society scandal, then possibly go back to London in time to commit to a second. I can even attempt to behave, in the name of getting a complexion that doesn't make me like the dead walking. Or worse, Snape."

"My first society scandal. How gripping." Shaking his head with a brush of amusement, Regulus added in a loftier tone, "That settles it, then. If we die from our misestimation, at least we will die making a point."

"I'm not allowed to die yet, I've missed every birthday Harry's had - I was neck deep in an Order job for his first - but damned if I'm missing this one as well." Sirius huffed, some of his amusement draining from him. "We can use it to either commiserate or celebrate his OWLs. I don't think they give extra credit for having to do it all with a psychotic mass murderer in your head, while a sadistic beaurocrat uses curses on you."

"I don't think they do, no." Again, Regulus shook his head. "His birthday is shortly after mine, isn't it? If I'm recalling correctly from last year."

"The 31st," Sirius clarified. "Born as the seventh month dies was a very poetic way of putting it."

"Poetic, indeed." A twinge of curiosity coloured his voice as he added, "Is that from the prophecy?"

"What I remember of it," Sirius said, before frowning to himself. "It may have been paraphrased, but I doubt it. I've heard enough of James's poetry to know that it should be burned as a crime against literature. But I remember the parts about the criteria. Birthdate, parents, scar."

Regulus tipped his chin thoughtfully. Restricted though it had been this far, once again he wondered at the details and how they might related to the horcruxes. "I would like to hear it, if that is possible."

"Neville gave it to Dumbledore," Sirius shrugged by way of an answer. "I'm not sure if Harry is required to activate it now it isn't in Ministry possession or not, but there's little harm in asking. Neville might be a special case. Regardless, I'd like a word with the headmaster myself, so I'm sure you'll have time to ask. I think it's time Mum's room got vacated."

"Ah, yes, Buckbeak," Regulus began, tucking away the thought of prophecy in his mind. (With luck, Dumbledore would be obliging - and with more luck, it would be worth the listen.) "He will probably like being out in the world again. If we felt stifled in the house, I imagine he has grown tired of a single room."

"With everyone involved either disgraced or in prison, it should be safe," Sirius agreed. "I wouldn't mind knowing what he wanted Harry for today either, but I imagine I'll hear that from him before I see Dumbledore. Maybe he decided to take him along on interviews, see if he can figure out how not to hire a Death Eater if Harry's right there. Get it out of the way before term starts."

With a subtle snigger, Regulus nodded. "Perhaps so."