A lifetime of service....

only_veetee — Wed, 28 Sep 2011 21:01:53 GMT

Title: Glare from the Reflection
Author: only_veetee
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Tonks delves into the darker side of Grimmauld Place
Warnings: sexual content, masturbation
Pairing: loosely Tonks/Regulus
Notes: I don't have any claim to these characters.

She knows Grimmauld Place is haunted.

only_veetee — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 02:55:55 GMT

Title: white blank page
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Regulus/Bellatrix/Lucius/Rodolphus/Rabastan/Barty/Severus/Peter, voyeur!Dark Lord
Summary: Regulus is welcomed to the fold.
Word count: 1852
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warning: Underage, rimming
Prompt: orgy

Fake cut!

only_veetee — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 02:53:47 GMT

Title: you can't leave this world behind
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Regulus/Lucius
Summary: They're brothers-in-arms now.
Word count: 582
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: Dubcon, underage
Prompt: bloodplay

Fake cut!

only_veetee — Mon, 28 Jun 2010 00:20:22 GMT

Title: Let the Rain Come
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: James/Regulus
Summary: Regulus and James, post-Quidditch game.
Word count: 1017
Disclaimer: All belong to JK.
Prompt: wet and messy

Fake cut!

New Fic

lexie_smith — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 13:41:47 GMT

Hi well My name's Alex and I've just posted to say that I have some Regulu's Black Fic that some people might like to read.

It's called These Eyes That We Share. Please if you do read the Fic, leave a message.

lexie_smith this is my profile.

tf_mods — Sun, 27 Apr 2008 11:38:27 GMT

The year is 2001. Voldemort was defeated nearly 3 years ago, and the wizarding world is busily rebuilding. The Death Eater threat has been eliminated, at least as far as the Ministry is concerned. Every witch or wizard who bears the Dark Mark has been hunted down and is either dead by their own hands or given the Kiss. There may be some stragglers, but the Ministry says they are so few and far between that there is no threat. The exceptions are only those who can prove they switched sides during the war. Such a pardon is rare and must be corroborated by an Order member. Relations between Muggle and Wizard have reached an all-time high. While not fully integrated, movement between the two worlds has become much more fluid. In fact, anti-muggle sentiments are not only frowned upon, but are extremely prejudiced against. There are even policies in place to completely eliminate the statute of secrecy and all its subsidiary policies within the next few years. Obviously, some are excitedly looking forward to the change, and some are very much threatened by it. Even more strangely, according to both factions, those known to be dead have been appearing. While no one seems to know the rationale, no one can deny that it is happening. Now, the Ministry is fighting two battles. One, to encourage Muggle and Wizard interactions, and the other to define where these dead citizens belong. Tempus Fugit is a Deathly Hallows compliant RPG. As this game begins nearly two years post war, the epilogue has not happened. We are looking for vibrant characters with a thirst to redefine the wizarding world. Original Characters are welcome, but please be aware that certain rules apply. This is an epic-style game. Plot arcs spanning months are welcome and encouraged! Please take a look at our rules before applying. Characters desperately wanted: Pansy Parkinson, Daphne and Astoria Greengrass, Theodore Nott, George Weasley, Hannah Abbot, Ernie MacMillan and many others! For specific player-driven plots we are very much in need of Andromeda Tonks! She would step into a very active plot already beginning. We also need Arthur and Molly Weasley. They are missed by their two youngest (who also wouldn't mind having their older brothers around!) While not listed as available or desired, we are accepting applications for those returning from the dead. However, before applying, please email the mods to discuss possibilities. Thank you. Aurors and other Ministry officials are very much encouraged! OCs welcome!

Rules	Cast List	Available Characters
General Game FAQ		Role Playing FAQ
Resurrected Characters		Death Eaters and Families
	Applications

Note to maintainers: Please delete if not wanted in community.

bloodredsummer — Wed, 29 Aug 2007 02:52:37 GMT

Title: What Lies Forgotten
Author: dark_fan (writing journal= chapter_28)
Rating: G
Prompt Set: 50.1 (Here is my table)
Prompt: Picture (#006)
Word Count: 170
Summary: "Where the hell is the spare parchment when you need it?"
Warnings: none, really.
Notes: My first prompt is done- yay! Oh- and I suck at titles.

(Picture)

only_veetee — Mon, 27 Nov 2006 05:18:08 GMT

I hope this is okay to post here.

For my NaNoWriMo, I did a Regulus/Severus centric fic ranging from Regulus' first year at school up until his death. It's around 50k right, and is probably to gain another 5k-10k before I finish it up. I was wondering if anybody would be interested in betaing it because I would very much like to post it. Or maybe even just bits of it? Because I need that's quite a bit to beta.

Thanks!

Slumming- Severus Snape/Regulus Black

bitterfig — Tue, 07 Nov 2006 02:05:20 GMT

Title: Slumming

Author: Bitterfig

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: Approximately 2660

Pairing: Regulus Black/Severus Snape

Warnings: Pre-slash, a bit of language, discussion of homosexuality, mature themes.

Disclaimer: I did not create these characters nor do I own them. I do not profit in any way from their use.

Summary: May, 1979. A group of Death Eaters in Muggle London to celebrate Regulus Black’s eighteenth birthday.

Author’s Notes: This story was written for Kinda Lush: A Young Severus Snape Ficathon using the prompt “Muggle London”. Both the Slits and the Tom Robinson Band are actual groups that were performing in 1979. Lyrics quoted are from “Glad to Be Gay” and “Hold Out” by the Tom Robinson Band.

Thanks to Nzomniac for Beta-reading this story.

Slumming

“I’m sorry, Reggie, but your propensity for slumming is getting completely out of hand,” Rodolphus Lestrange declared tauntingly. “It’s bad enough you’re forcing us to celebrate your eighteenth birthday in some hideous little club that even self-respecting Mudbloods have the good sense to avoid but now you’re telling me you’ve invited the Snipe as well?”

“Snape,” Regulus corrected him placidly. “His name is Severus Snape. Not Snipe, not Guttersnipe or half-breed or that wretched creature or any of the other names you call him.”

“Tell me, Reggie, did you plan this evening with the intention of making it as devoid of enjoyment for all involved as possible? If so, you’re a smashing success. Forget the horrible club and the company of Muggles, Snipe alone would ruin the evening. He’s the antithesis of fun; he’s like a dark cloud.”

“Divine, isn’t it,” Regulus quipped never taking his eyes away from the window.

Bellatrix Lestrange swept in, giving kisses equally deep and lingering to her husband and cousin.

“Surely you’ve noticed, Rodolphus, that Reggie is completely bewitched by Severus,” she said. Rodolphus blanched.

“You’re joking,” he said in genuine horror. “Reggie, please tell me you haven’t let that… that… wretched creature touch you.”

“Let him touch me?” Regulus sighed. “I’ve been practically begging him to for the past three months. He kissed me the day we met, the morning after I got my Mark, but not since then.”

“Well, I for one can fully appreciate your charms,” Rodolphus said running his hand over the curve of the boy’s ass. “My heart just breaks at the thought of you wasting them on that slimy little git.”

“I think they make a rather amusing couple,” Bellatrix teased. “The purebred and the mongrel if you will.”

“The peacock and the crow,” Rodolphus said joining in the game.

“I think crows are quite beautiful,” Regulus said distantly.

“Nonsense, baby,” Bellatrix sneered. “Crows eat the tripe out of corpses.”

“Here he is,” Regulus whispered. The bell chimed and Rodolphus threw open the door to Severus Snape, a scrawny thin, stoop-shouldered young man whose face was mostly obscured by his greasy black hair.

“Snipe,” Rodolphus greeted him. “We were just saying how lucky we are that you could come with us tonight. Muggle London can be so imposing to the uninitiated but since you’re practically a Muggle yourself…”

Snape ignored his taunts, focusing his attention entirely on Regulus.

“Happy Birthday,” he muttered gracelessly. Regulus smiled, delighted, and brushed a kiss across Snape’s cheek.

Rodolphus groaned, rolling his eyes. “This is simply too much,” he said. Bellatrix let out a cackle of laughter.

“Severus, dear,” she purred. “I’m worried about you. You look absolutely wretched. You’ve gone past pale to gray and you’re thinner than ever, if that’s possible. Even the Dark Lord himself takes time to sleep and eat.”

“And bathe,” Rodolphus added cruelly.

“Things are escalating,” Snape said with an icy sternness, his schoolboy awkwardness disappearing. “You must know that. When I’m called upon, I serve. I hope you would do the same.”

“Don’t doubt that I will,” Bellatrix said with equal steel. They were alike in that way, Regulus noted. They were themselves but they were also soldiers -- hard, unyielding, dedicated to Voldermort. He wondered if he would be like that when the time came. He suspected he would not.

It was late May; Regulus had been a Death Eater since February. So far he hadn’t really done much of anything. A bit of spying around Hogwarts but that wasn’t really so much different than what he would have done anyway - watching and listening.

He was eighteen now. In less than a month he would be finished with school. The time was rapidly approaching when Voldermort would call upon him to prove himself.

He didn’t want to think about it.

“We should go now,” he said. Bellatrix became all kittenish malice once more.

“I’ve engaged a car,” she announced. “I simply refuse to travel on that filthy Underground.”

Snape surveyed the dark, smoke-filled club packed with people in torn, written-on and simply outlandish clothing, their eyes ringed in black. Some of them had their hair fashioned into crests and horns and dyed bright colors or black. Quite a few were wearing large leather boots with nails poking through the eye holes, spiked and studded bands around their wrists promising violence. Between the maimed t-shirts, leather jackets, unfamiliar hairstyles and liberal use of eyeliner, the line between men and women seemed precariously blurred.

Regulus, who was wearing a black t-shirt, jeans and had a bicycle chain wrapped around his wrist like a bracelet, fit in reasonably well. However the Lestranges’ in their formalwear resembled nothing so much as a society couple that had wandered into a zombie movie. Snape, of course, was the worst. Warned to wear Muggle clothes, he had unearthed an ill-fitting gray suit that was clearly from another era and would have seemed out of place anywhere.

“What is this place?” Snape asked Regulus. “And why exactly are we here?”

“This is a punk club,” Regulus informed him. “I’m here to see the Slits and the Tom Robinson Band. You’re here because it’s my birthday so I get to make everyone do as I please.”

“What, you mean everyday isn’t that way for the Black family’s heir apparent?” Snape asked with a touch of bitterness.

“You’d be surprised,” Regulus said simply.

“What’ll you have?” a bartender demanded.

“A glass of your finest elf made wine for the lady and Firewhisky for the rest of us,” Rodolphus requested snickering.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” The bartender asked.

“Vodka shots, please,” Regulus requested passing the man a hundred fifty pound notel. “And keep them coming.”

“Reggie, I hope you don’t intend to get Severus drunk and take advantage of him,” Bellatrix teased. Regulus scowled fiercely at her then downed the shot of vodka the bartender had placed before him. Snape stared straight ahead refusing to acknowledge her remark.

A gaggle of women pushed their way through the crowd onto the stage. Their hair hung in dreadlocks, one was wearing a top hat, one carried an umbrella, another was wearing what appeared to be a pair of frilly bloomers.

“Are those witches trying to pass for Muggles?” Snape asked.

“Those are the Slits,” Regulus said. “They’re Muggles but I think they’re also witches, though not in the way that Bella is.”

“Thank goodness,” Bellatrix sneered as the women lurched into a strange, disjointed song.

“They do things to music that are quite extraordinary,” Regulus continued. “I think there’s a form of magic in that. The Wizarding world is too concerned with flashy spells that are visible and tangible. I think they ignore whole realms of magic because they’re too difficult to define. I think there’s a form of magic in putting together words, sounds, or images. I don’t think Muggles and wizards are as far apart as we like to think.”

“I think your cousin’s drunk already, darling” Rodolphus said to his wife. “He’s talking nonsense.”

“It’s closer to blasphemy than nonsense, I think,” Bellatrix said. Her eyes were flashing dangerously.

“If we’re so different, how is it that Muggles and wizards can have children together?” Regulus went on. “And how is it that wizards can be born to Muggles and Muggles to wizards? Isn’t that what Squibs are after all? Wizard-born Muggles.”

Bellatrix showed her teeth. “I think you need to shut up, Reggie.” She warned. “Or I might be forced to speak to Auntie Black about this. Just because you’re eighteen doesn’t mean you can’t still be beaten.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Regulus said quietly hanging his head.

“Don’t be so hard on the boy, Bella,” Rodolphus spoke up. “He doesn’t mean anything. He’s just trying to impress Snipe with how open-minded he is toward Muggles and the like.”

“I certainly hope that’s all it is,” she snapped. “It’s making me quite angry.”

“Well, let’s have a dance shall we to this extraordinary music.”

He took his wife’s hand and led her into the area before the stage. Though it was crowed with pogo-ing punk kids, Bellatrix and Rodolphus began to dance an elegant waltz to the fast, jerky music.

“I have something for you,” Snape said when the couple was safely out of earshot. “I’ve just taken over my parents’ old house at Spinner’s End you know and I’ve been going through their things. Most of it’s rubbish like this old suit of my father’s but there was one fine thing in the house - one fine thing I own - and I wanted you to have it.” He opened his hand, revealing a silver locket on a chain. “It was my mother’s. I’d like you to have it. I’ve had it engraved with your initials.”

“Thank you, Severus,” Regulus said solemnly. “It’s beautiful. Would you put it on me?” Snape cast his eyes around.

“Well, I don’t suppose anyone would notice in a place like this,” he said fastening the chain around the boy’s throat. Regulus smiled beguilingly.

“You like me then?” he asked.

“Very much,” Snape muttered looking away. Regulus took his hand.

“I wasn’t sure,” he said. Snape drew his hand away.

“Don’t, Regulus, not in public.”

“But you just said you….”

“Not in public,” Snape said somewhat harshly with considerable impatience. Regulus drank another shot of vodka, probably his sixth or seventh of the evening. Snape had hardly touched his first.

The Slits finished their set and the Tom Robinson Band took the stage. The first chords they played ignited howls of approval from the audience. Apparently the song was familiar to many of them. Strumming his bass, Tom Robinson started to sing.

The British Police are the best in the world.
I don't believe one of these stories I've heard.
'Bout them raiding our pubs for no reason at all.
Lining the customers up by the wall.
Picking out people and knocking them down.
Resisting arrest as they're kicked on the ground.
Searching their houses and calling them queer.
I don't believe that sort of thing happens here.

Sing if you're glad to be gay.
Sing if you're happy that way.

Quite a few people in the audience were singing along as if it were a drinking song; a couple of men near the stage were kissing. Snape jumped to his feet.

“I have to get out of here,” he said and pushed his way to the door. Dazed by Snape’s abrupt departure, Regulus rose and unsteadily followed him outside.

“Severus, what’s wrong?” he asked catching up to Snape who turned on him angrily.

“Why did you bring me here?” Snape snarled. “Did you want to see me humiliated?”

“No. I didn’t, I wouldn’t…” Regulus stammered, dumbstruck.

“That song, all those people singing along, those men kissing each other - the whole thing is indecent.”

“Severus, that song is about being gay. What do you think we are?” He was standing just behind Snape; defiantly he wrapped his arms around the older boy. Snape didn’t stop him but his eyes and his voice grew cold and empty.

“I like you, Regulus,” he said. “I’m attracted to you. I want to kiss you, I want to do other things with you, I want us to be together but I’m not happy about that. These are abnormal feelings, disgusting thoughts. Things have happened to me, when I was younger. They warped me, perverted my feelings. I’m not proud of that and I’m not glad of it.”

“There’s nothing wrong about it, Severus,” Regulus protested.

“I can’t expect you to understand,” Snape said icily. “You had a libertine upbringing courtesy of your sick family. You have no morals. You had a reputation at school when you were fourteen years old. There were stories about you with girls, boys, both of them together, even teachers.”

Regulus laughed uncomfortably, trying to turn it into a joke. “What, house-elves or centaurs or merpeople?”

“There were rumors about you and your brother,” Snape told him. “I never gave them credence until I saw how casually you go to bed with your own cousin and her husband.”

Regulus gritted his teeth, hurt, angry but he kept his arms twined around Snape.

“Stop defending yourself, Severus,” Regulus whispered. “You’re saying all these hateful things because you don’t want me to touch you. You don’t want me to care about you. It’s all right.”

“It’s not all right,” Snape said. “You have no concept of right and wrong. If you did, you wouldn’t want to touch me. You know what I do Regulus. You know what I’ve done in the service of the Dark Lord. I’ve tortured people, I’ve killed, and I’ve used curses that are unforgivable. My contribution, my only asset is my anger, my hatred and my willingness to hurt and destroy.”

“That doesn’t have to be all you are, Severus,” Regulus said. Snape’s detached coolness finally broke.

“Look, I won’t have you slumming with me,” he snarled struggling to pry himself free from Regulus. “You’re a dilettante, Regulus. Does it amuse you to mix with these Muggle punks, listen to their wretched music? Am I supposed to be another tent in your freak show, an ugly half-breed assassin?” He pulled free of Regulus who promptly collapsed to the sidewalk.

Despite himself, Snape knelt beside him. “Regulus, are you all right?” he asked.

“Lovely, lovely,” the boy slurred sitting up. “Things have just gone a bit blurry is all.” He caught Snape’s lapel. “Listen to me, Severus. I am not slumming. Not tonight, not with you. I brought you all here because I think it’s wonderful. Apparently you and Rodolphus and Bella just see them as a pack of freakish Muggles but they’re mad and creative and joyful. They’re beautiful, their music is beautiful, those men kissing is beautiful and that girl with the dreadlocks and her frilly bloomers on the outside is beautiful. As far as I’m concerned, you’re beautiful as well, when you’re not lashing out to convince me how wretched you are. Believe what you want Severus. If you want to believe the worst about me and yourself, I can’t change your mind.”

He unfastened the locket, held it out to Snape. “If you want this back,” he said, “you’re welcome to it.” Snape shook his head.

“I want you to keep it,” he said. “I… I’m sorry Regulus. I was cruel to you. I am afraid. You confuse me; I have trouble understanding how someone like you would want anything to do with someone like me.”

“You’re the one who’s putting me off, Severus.”

“If I kissed you again, then,” Snape said hesitantly, “it wouldn’t just be something for you to laugh about with Bellatrix and Rodolphus?”

“It wasn’t the first time. Are you going to kiss me then?”

“Not on the street like this,” Snape said looking nervously about. “Anyway, you’re about to pass out. I think I’d like you to remember.”

“Would you take me home then?” Regulus asked.

“To your flat?”

“No, to your home, to Spinner’s End.”

“You’re joking, Regulus. You can’t possibly want to spend the night there. It’s a nasty, rundown hovel. I haven’t got house-elves or really much of anything except a dreary lot of books.”

“I won’t try to seduce you, Severus. As you said, I’m due to pass out quite soon. I’d just like to be near you, though if you prefer your shame…”

“No,” Snape said. “I quite prefer you.”

He took Regulus in his arms and Side-Along Apparated them both. After they disappeared, the street was empty except for Tom Robinson’s voice echoing through the club doors as he sang:

The kiss on your lips tastes of wormwood
So swing low, Iscariot, my friend
I'm promising you
I'm gonna see it right through
I'm gonna hold out to the bitterest end
Hold out... hold out

I'm gonna hold out to the bitterest end.

</div>

irisri — Tue, 24 Oct 2006 22:33:56 GMT

Author: Irisri
Title: He would
Rating: PG, for mentions of homosexuality?
Summary: He didn’t understand why his brother got the attention. He was filthy, should not even be in the family. He disgraced the Black name with his colors of red, and his filthy blooded friends.
Pairing: Regulus (Gen)
Words: 299
Warnings: Implied incest
Disclaim: Regulus, Sirius, James, Lily, AND Reg’s and Siri’s mother isn’t mine.

He Would

Fic: Time Enough

bitterfig — Mon, 11 Sep 2006 18:50:49 GMT

Author: Bitterfig

Title: Time Enough

Pairing: Regulus Black/Severus Snape, Regulus Black/Lucius Malfoy

Summary: Regulus Black’s last days. Misplaced trust, and buying time.

Word Count:

Beta Reader: Nzomniac

Rating: R

Warnings: Slash, sex, dub con, allusions to incest and sexual situations between an adult and a child.

Disclaimer: I did not create these characters and I do not profit in any way from their use.

Author’s notes: Sixth of Seven stories on Severus Snape/Regulus Black written for the lj community 7spells using prompt set 2:5 “to the last syllable of recorded time.” Click here to view progress table.

…memory's like a train
You can see it getting smaller as it pulls away
And the things you can't remember
Tell the things you can't forget that
History puts a saint in every dream
Well she said she'd stick around
Until the bandages came off
But these mamas boys just don't know when to quit
And Matilda asks the sailors are those dreams
Or are those prayers
So just close your eyes, son
And this won't hurt a bit

Tom Waits

Time

Time Enough

Regulus Black was eighteen years old. He had run out of time.

The stony beach was chill in the mid-October night. Regulus was tired to the bone. For hours he’d been casting spells far beyond his capacity that somehow, fed by his desperation, had worked.

It had cost him everything. To get it, he’d crossed every boundary within himself. He’d used dark and unforgivable magic. A woman had been walking by the seaside as the sun went down. He’d trapped her with the Imperius Curse, made her drink poison for his sake. Whoever she had been, whatever her name was, he had reduced her to a body under his will, nothing more than the means to the ends he sought.

His only justification was that he had his prize. It hung around his throat, a piece of his Master’s soul. He would die, but he would take a part of Voldemort with him.

Something struck him, a bolt of pain, and he sank to the ground with the tide lapping at his robes and the wet, salty rocks pressed to his cheek. Looking up, he saw a man standing over him, tall and slender like a birch, his hair silver in the moonlight.

“Good evening, Regulus,” he said.

*****

Voldemort had wanted to see him.

“I’m disappointed in you, Regulus,” the Dark Lord said. “Your family is one of the proudest and darkest in the Wizarding world, yet you’ve not distinguished yourself in my service, and your loyalties are questionable.” His long, pale finger traced the line of Regulus’ cheekbone.

“You’re not as harmless as you seem, little Regulus,” Voldemort hissed softly. “I know to watch you; I was pretty once myself.” His face was handsome, yet horrible. He was a death mask--a red light burning in the empty shell of Tom Riddle’s body.

“It hasn’t escaped my attention that you’ve managed to attach yourself to my dear little Severus,” Voldemort went on. “He’s not much to look at or speak to, but he is one of my more powerful wizards. It hasn’t escaped my attention either that your mind is closed to me. And since you’ve taken up with Severus, his mind is closed as well. I don’t like my followers practicing Occlumency amongst themselves. Surely you can understand this.

“Since I can’t get inside your pretty head, how can I know you’re loyal. So I’ve devised a task for you, a way to prove your devotion.” He smiled almost lovingly and whispered in Regulus’ ear. “I want you to kill Sirius Black. I want you to kill your brother.”

*****

Lying by on the rocks beside the sea, in the sea, Regulus was glad that of all of them Lucius Malfoy had been the one to track him down.

He hadn’t wanted the Lestrange brothers, brutal and taunting, to be the ones to capture him. He hadn’t wanted it to be the creepy little blond boys, Barty Crouch Jr. and Evan Rosier, with their angel faces and imaginative cruelty. He didn’t want to suffer horribly before he died. But it wasn’t just that. He was willing to suffer horribly, but not until the thing around his neck, the Horcrux, the piece of Voldemort’s soul, had been destroyed. That it was Lucius Malfoy, and Lucius alone, meant there might just be room for negotiation.

“Let me go, Lucius,” he said. “I can make it worth your while.”

“You’re a despicable traitor, Regulus,” Malfoy said coolly, “but you may say your piece. I won’t stop you.”

“You’re not a fanatic.” Regulus shut his eyes as he spoke. The wheeling stars overhead were too bright. “You’re smarter than that, too smart to risk everything on Voldemort. You don’t plan to fall if he does, do you? You’re taking steps to protect yourself. It can’t be easy. The Malfoys are pure, but you’re not rich--not like the Black’s--but that can change. I’m the heir; I control the family fortune. Let me go and you can have anything.”

“Voldemort would know,” Malfoy said.

“It can be transferred gradually, through Narcissa. She’s family. It won’t seem suspicious.”

“Even if I were to let you go, one of the others will find you soon enough, and it would all come out.”

“Anything that happens tonight, it’ll be our secret and you’ll be the Secret Keeper. You’ll be the only one who can tell.” With great effort, Regulus pulled himself up and stepped close to Malfoy. He was thin from months of drugs, haggard from bad magic and fear, his wet hair hanging lank in his face, but he smiled as beguilingly as he could. Smiled and looked at the older man through his eyelashes. “Do you remember when you were courting Cissa?” he purred. “When you visited our summer house? Do you remember what we did in the maze while Cissa and mother were at tea? I kept your secret then.”

*****

“He wants me to kill Sirius,” Regulus said vacantly. He was lying on the floor under the table, the tangle of his works still beside him. Candle and spoon, dropper and needle--a kind of magic all its own. He was numb and calm enough to handle anything, even what Voldemort wanted him to do.

“Then do it,” Severus said. He was agitated, pacing, an edge of hysteria to his voice.

Regulus shook his head. “Not my brother,” he said. “Not Sirius.”

“You’re nothing but a whore to Sirius Black,” Severus said. His teeth were ground together, his hands clenched, nails biting into his palms. He was angry, always so angry. Regulus closed his eyes. “And I was never even that much to him.”

“I may be a whore to him now,” Regulus said dreamily, “but we loved each other once.”

He’d had a plan, not so long ago. He’d found out about the Horcruxes, found a weakness in the Dark Lord. It was mid-October, and if this hadn’t happened, this order to kill Sirius, he could have gotten them out by Christmas. Now there simply wasn’t time. He wouldn’t be able to cripple Voldemort as he’d hoped, but he still might hurt him a little.

“We have to leave now,” Regulus said. “Within the next few days. That’s time enough. I can’t do everything I wanted to, but I think I can do enough.”

“You can’t even get off the floor, Regulus.” Severus was scowling, his voice low and fierce. “I’m going to go to Hogwarts. I’m going to talk to the Headmaster. I’ll get him to protect us, at least to protect you, even if I have to crawl at his feet and beg.”

Before Severus left, he made a purification potion to undo the damage months of heroin had done to Regulus’ body. It was every junkie’s dream, no withdrawal, yet Regulus almost wished he’d never taken the stuff. It stole his calm. He felt the press of time like a physical constriction. It scarcely let him breathe. Time ran so fast without the drugs to slow it down, and there was so much he needed to do if he was going take even the smallest piece out of Voldemort. So much he needed to do if he was going to save even one of them, himself, Severus, or Sirius.

Or Bellatrix.

*****

Silvery hair falling across his face, lips parted. Regulus could almost have found Malfoy beautiful, but he was numb. More numb even than when he was high, smack addled and pin-eyed. As if the parts of his brain that carried fear and anger and shame and even grief had glowed so bright for so long that they had burned out like a light bulb filament.

Malfoy’s hand hooked his belt, drew him near. Bruising kisses, it was going to hurt. Malfoy wouldn’t beat him to a bloody pulp like the Lestranges would have, but Regulus remembered he could be cruel. It didn’t matter; he was too tired. Leaning heavily against Malfoy, he drifted into semi-consciousness as the man’s hands prowled over his body pulling open his clothes.

Malfoy pushed him to the ground, pinned him against the stony shore. He entered Regulus harshly, abruptly, without preparation. It was painful, but Regulus could stand it. He could take being fucked by his cousin’s husband. He had done it before, six years before at the summer house. He’d been twelve years old.

I never had any virtue to uphold, he thought. He could do this if it would only buy him a little more time.

*****

Severus had warned him not to trust Bellatrix, but he could not leave his cousin behind. She was pregnant--in six months, there would be a child. It was wrong for a child to live in darkness and madness. Regulus knew that too well. He had to tell her he was leaving, to ask her to come with him. He had to give her that choice.

The shadows of twilight played across her lovely face.

“He asked you to kill Sirius,” she gasped. She was shocked; she had loved Sirius too until he left. She didn’t want him to die any more than Regulus did. She drew him to her, his head against her breast. She stroked his hair, her cheek pressed to his forehead. “My own sweet boy,” she sighed. “My precious little cousin. When I brought you into this, I only wanted for us to be together. I never dreamed the Dark Lord could be so cruel.”

Her scent, her touch, as always, made him dizzy, but he knew she was lying. She’d handed Severus over to Voldemort’s most brutal ministrations long before she’d turned her attentions to her precious little cousin. She knew what Voldemort was, and Regulus knew what she was, but he had to give her the choice.

“I’m leaving,” he said. “The night after tomorrow, I’m going to disappear. You should come with me, Bella. You don’t want your child to grow up under Voldemort’s influence.”

“And what about Severus?”

In telling her his plans, Regulus had put himself in her hands. Part of him trusted her; part of him believed that in her heart the family meant more to her than the Dark Lord. He trusted her with his life because his life was without worth. He could not trust her with a life that did have value, if only to him.

“Severus is Voldemort’s man,” he said. “I haven’t told him anything about this.”

Bellatrix smiled and kissed him. It had been months since they’d kissed. He’d drawn back from all his lovers and kept to Severus, but if kissing him let her believe that he was done with Severus, that mattered more than fidelity.

Because Severus was right about her, she couldn’t be trusted. Even as her lips were against his, he felt her wand against his throat, and when she drew away, she spoke a curse, and the dark red electricity of it ripped through his body.

He knocked her wand from her hand, but she clung to him. He staggered to his feet, trying to push her away, finally striking her. He was horrified to be manhandling a pregnant woman, but he was more horrified when he started vomiting blood. The Lestrange brothers appeared in the doorway, drawn by her screams, wands at the ready. Regulus finally cast his cousin off him. He could not Apparate inside her house. He stepped onto the window ledge and fell through the glass into the night.

*****

It was not Lucius Malfoy’s body but time that pressed upon him. The mad rush of minutes wasted as he waited for the man to finish with him. Then there would be the magic, the transfer of funds, the sealing of secrets. Then he would find out if he had once again been mistaken in trusting.

Bellatrix had been his first mistake, his worst mistake. He had brought the Death Eaters down upon him and cut his time even closer. He had clues as to where the Horcruxes were hidden, clues but not specifics. Some of his leads were false--or he was not clever enough to follow them-- but in the seaside cave he had found his prize. When he turned his head, he could see the pendant lying on the stones, its chain encircling his throat.

Malfoy convulsed in orgasm then for a moment fell still, a dead weight against, on top of, and inside of Regulus. It was a moment that felt almost like tenderness and, for all his numbness, Regulus felt … felt a longing to cling to that tenderness as sharp and as painful as a physical wound.

Then, mercifully, the moment passed. Malfoy got to his feet, pulled his robes back around him, and conjured a quill and a scroll. There was business to be done, spells to be cast, and he had everything to gain. Regulus signed where he was instructed, knowing when they were done that Malfoy could easily hand him over to the Death Eaters, losing nothing in the process.

Malfoy whispered a spell, and a pure white flame consumed the scroll. The deal was done.

“Go,” Malfoy said.

“You’re going to let me go?” Regulus said in disbelief.

“I have everything that matters,” Malfoy said coldly. “I’ll leave someone else the hollow glory of being the one to bring you in.”

Regulus didn’t know why Malfoy was honoring their bargain. He was prideful; perhaps it thrilled him to deceive Voldemort. Maybe he cared only for his own gain. Maybe it amused him to let Regulus run, like a cat playing with a mouse. Maybe, in his twisted heart, he cared a little.

All his life, Regulus had cleaved to others to keep from being alone with his fear. First, his mother who balanced her kisses with screaming and hair pulling and bed without dinner. Then his brother, Sirius, whom he had held close long after the time had come to grow apart. Held with devotion, with servitude, held with sex when nothing else was left. There were tricks and love affairs, where sex was the only thing. These carried him day to day, sometimes hour to hour. Then there was Severus whom he’d wanted to love properly, for both their sakes.

“Lucius,” Regulus said. “When I’m gone, will you take care of Severus?” Malfoy’s pale, cold eyes were unreadable. “He’s powerful; Voldemort’s said so himself. He would be valuable to you. He would be a valuable ally.”

“You poor, sad little creature,” Malfoy said. “You won’t last a day.”

He lasted long enough. There was time enough for the Horcrux, time enough.

“You’re out of luck, Reggie baby.” Rabastan Lestrange hissed into his ear.

“Out of luck and out of time,” Rodolphus Lestrange cooed in his other ear. Rodolphus’ hand was at his throat, but the pendant was gone.

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Fic: Expectant (Snape/Regulus)

bitterfig — Mon, 11 Sep 2006 01:38:33 GMT

Author: Bitterfig

Title: Expectant

Pairing: Severus Snape/Regulus Black

Summary: October, 1979. Regulus believes he’s found the way out of the Death Eaters, but who deserves to be saved?

Word Count: 1278

Beta Reader: Nzomniac

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Implied slash, angst, adult themes.

Author’s Notes: Fifth of Seven stories on Severus Snape/Regulus Black written for the ljcommunity 7spells using prompt set 1:3 “In the room where women come and go.” Click here to view progress table.

Expectant

When he got the message from Regulus to come to the hospital, Severus Snape went.

He knew what had happened--Voldemort had found out.

He had known he would, known since Regulus first dared to say, “I’m going to find a way to get us out.” It hadn’t ended with that either.

“I know how we can get out,” Regulus had told him three nights before. He’d just shot up, again, and he was lying back on the bed sheets, eyes rolled up into his skull and his breath slow as sleep. “Get out of the Death Eaters, get away from Voldemort.”

“Regulus, you can scarcely keep that needle out of your arm for an hour,” Severus said wearily.

“I’ve found out how to hurt him.”

“If Voldemort could be hurt,” he said quietly, “don’t you think I would have done it?”

He flinched violently as Regulus touched his stooped shoulder. He hated that Regulus knew. Knew how weak he was, how cowardly. How easy it was to use him. How easy and familiar and almost comfortable it was for him to serve the one who’d broken him and turn his hatred on the innocent.

“There is a way,” Regulus said.

It might be true. Regulus allowed himself to be underestimated, but he had a way with secrets … secrets and seduction and forbidden knowledge. His gift for Legilimency wouldn’t let him into Voldemort’s mind, but there were people close to Voldemort he could access. And while Voldemort would never disclose a weakness to any one person, he might have dispersed among his followers harmless information that pieced together could be used against him.

“Whatever you know,” Severus said, “don’t tell me. I can’t be trusted. Voldemort has too much of a hold over me.”

“You’re stronger than you think, Severus. That’s why he’s always been so harsh with you. Even before you learned proper Occlumency, you were so guarded that it was difficult to use Legilimency on you. You can protect yourself from him.”

“Don’t tell me,” he repeated. “I won’t be the one responsible for your death.”

He knew how it would end. He had not expected it to end so quickly.

In St. Mungo’s, he walked up to the desk as if he were an empty body driven on by some unnatural force, an Inferi. He gave the name of Regulus Black, and they took him to a ward where the voices of women echoed from the walls and the rows of beds were filled with women. Regulus was there, not in a bed himself but sitting beside one of the beds. He was there for someone else. He was all right. Severus breathed again for the first time since he had gotten the message.

He thought he was composed, but, as usual, Regulus saw through him. Saw that his face was even paler than usual, and that relief had left him so weak he could hardly stand. He rose to his feet, wrapped his stick-thin arms around Severus who, though usually uncomfortable with any display of affection, embraced him back, fiercely clutching the wasted body of the boy he loved against his own bones.

“I thought you were hurt,” Severus choked. “I thought he had found out.” He was ashamed, ashamed for being so weak and--worse than weak--so stupid. If Voldemort had found out that Regulus was scheming against him, working to free them from his grasp, he would not be receiving messages from Regulus to come to the hospital. Regulus would not be hurt … he would be dead. Severus would also be dead.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I should have said more in my message. I didn’t think.” Severus composed himself and stepped back from Regulus, his face impassive and his voice firm once again.

“Do you ever think?” he asked. It was cruel but it was true. Regulus Black was a child. He thought and acted as a child. His intentions to take on the Dark Lord were laughable. Maybe, if he realized that, he would stop before it was too late.

“What are we doing here, anyway?” Severus snapped.

“It’s Bellatrix--she fainted. I brought her here.” He sat down beside her once more and stroked the dark hair of the woman in the bed. It fanned out about her on the pillow as if she were a fairy tale princess, pale skin that seemed to glow like a candle and lips of purple rose. “She’s sleeping now,” he said tenderly.

“She must have been very ill to have tolerated being placed on a ward and not in a private room. What’s wrong with her?”

“She was anemic; they gave her a potion for it. She’s pregnant, Severus.”

She was pregnant. She was going to have a child. That was why they were in this room where women came and went, spoke in hushed tones, apprehensive but almost joyful. He did not feel joy. He did not feel the warmth that glowed in Regulus’ voice. He felt cold. The cold of bare feet on winter floors, of threadbare clothes and long, chilly days sent outside, forbidden to return till evening. The cold of hunger and of anger, resentful eyes, chilly words. That was what “child” meant to him.

He would never have struck Regulus, but he found himself using words to the same effect.

“Since you’re taking such an interest, am I to assume it’s yours?” Severus said and watched hurt register on the boy’s face.

“You know that’s not true,” Regulus said. “She’s three months along. It’s October; the last time I was with her was February.” He took Severus’ hand, kissed the tips of his fingers, burned and stained from potions. He was so kind, so quick to forgive, so willing to love. That was why Severus was afraid for him every moment of every hour.

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” he said.

“I do.” Regulus kissed his hand again. “I can’t blame you for asking. You know what a slut I’ve always been.”

He wanted to tell Regulus that he had never been a slut. That he had been starving and taken what he was offered, and it was better that he had done that than learning to deny the hunger entirely as Severus had. He wanted to tell Regulus this, but he did not know how.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead. Regulus looked up at him. He was not beautiful, not as he had been when they had met eight months before. His chestnut hair was lank and dull, his cheeks were sunken, his skin sallow. There were dark circles around his violet eyes, but somehow they still shone. Somehow, he was still beautiful in his compassion, beautiful in his understanding.

Severus Snape, on the other hand, was not beautiful in any sense. He looked at the woman sleeping so, the expectant mother. Regulus looked at her the way he looked at Severus--with a love that did not ask if it was deserved.

Severus Snape knew he did not deserve to be redeemed, did not deserve to be saved or freed. And if he was unworthy, the woman lying before them like a sleeping angel was beneath even him. She was the one who had brought them into the Death Eaters, given them over to Voldemort. Whatever child she bore would be a tragic monster. Like him, like Regulus, it would never have a chance.

“You can’t salvage her, Regulus; you can’t salvage her child. Leave them to Voldemort,” Severus said. “I know you care for her, but you must not trust her.”

Regulus kissed his hand again, but said nothing.

</div>

Fic: Five Fragments of an Obsidian Heart

bitterfig — Mon, 07 Aug 2006 20:15:55 GMT

Author: Bitterfig
Title: Five Fragments of an Obsidian Heart
Character: Regulus Black
Fandom: Harry Potter
Beta Reader: Nzomniac
Author's Notes: Created for the 5trueloves lj community.

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter--bitter," he answered;
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."

-Stephen Crane

True Love 1: Sirius Black
Prompt #28: Secret
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Blackcest, slash, sex and sexual situations between children/teenagers, child abuse, language.

There was never a first time with Sirius. We had been in love for years before we ventured far enough away from the comfort of each other to learn that it was wrong. That boys were not supposed to love boys, that brothers were not supposed to love brothers.

Sirius found out first, of course. He was older than me, and braver. He was always willing to venture beyond the boundaries mother laid. He wasn’t afraid of her because he was the heir. In the end, he knew he mattered more than she did. That her importance was as the woman who had given birth to him. When she beat him, he knew she would stop short of killing him. I was the second son. I could never be sure.

Once, when I was six, I spilled a glass of wine and she hit me in the head with the silver goblet until my brains came loose. I was in St. Mungo’s for six weeks. When I woke up, I could see into other people’s minds while mine was closed to them. Later, I learned that this was called Legilimency and Occlumency.

Sirius was a talented wizard; magic came to him like breathing. Transformations, charms, and spells that others had to work at for days and weeks came to him with ease. I could have been a poor to mediocre wizard if I’d worked hard, which I didn’t. Legilimency and Occlumency were the only fields in which I shone. It suited me. It was the art of knowing the secrets of others while protecting my own.

There was never a first time with Sirius, but there was a first time that he knew it was wrong. Being older, being braver, he talked to other boys. He learned from them that it was strange that we kissed and when he crawled into my bed. He learned this but he never told me. I saw it in his thoughts that he knew and that he had chosen not to tell me because he wanted me more than he wanted to be good or right or clean.

He went away to school when I was nine. He learned things there that he came back wanting to try with me. That was the first time I saw the gold-eyed boy in his mind—the gold-eyed, brown-haired boy with scars on his cheeks who stood still as if he were afraid when Sirius touched him, but let him just the same. Sirius never mentioned that boy, but I knew he was my rival. I knew that to keep Sirius I would have to do much more than just stand there and let him.

It’s easy to please someone when you know what they want, what they’re afraid to say out loud but are longing for, what they wish you’d do. Whether it was an adult woman or an eleven-year-old boy, it was easy for me to be the best lover a person had ever had. Sirius taught me that. He never could get enough of me. Even when he stopped loving me, when he said he hated the sight of me, he still wanted me. My hands, my mouth, my ass, my legs wrapped around him, the words I whispered at the perfect time, my fingers inside him always knowing how much pleasure, how much pain.

I knew he didn’t love me. I knew he had stopped loving me a long time ago. He had to stop loving me. He needed me too much. Burned for me too strongly. Freedom was what mattered to him. He sacrificed his desire for me to his desire to be free. After that, he’d still fuck me, but it was nothing to him. I was nothing to him.

I never stopped loving him. Even when he treated me like a whore he couldn’t bother to pay, I never tried to punish him. I never tried to make him beg. When he wanted to take, I gave. It was the only way he’d have anything to do with me. I missed my brother. I missed him loving me. I missed him most when he was inside me, those times when he would forget himself and, out of habit, moan the words he used to mean. “I’m dying Reggie, you’re killing me. I love you so much, Reggie. I love you so much.

</div>

True Love 2: James Potter
Prompt #25: Destruction
Rating: R
Warnings: Slash, Blackcest, sexual situations involving underage characters (Regulus is 14, Sirius and James are 16), language.

James Potter was a self-important show-off with glasses and dark, unruly hair. He spent most of his time chasing around a red-headed girl named Lily Evans who seemed to genuinely want to avoid him. He played Quidditch—a game that bores me to death. He was also my brother’s best friend. When my brother ran away from home for good, he went to live with James.

How could I not fall for this boy?

He didn’t much care for me but, through the wonders of Legilimency, I had a way of putting myself in his path right when his resistance was at its lowest.

“Sod off, Regulus,” James snapped at me. “Even if you are Sirius’ little brother, if you don’t stop hanging about looking at me like that, I’m going to bash your face in.”

“Lily doesn’t understand you yet,” I said. “She only thinks you’re arrogant because she doesn’t know what you’re like inside. Don’t worry, when she figures it out, she’ll want to be with you.” It was exactly what he wanted to hear though he didn’t let on.

“You don’t have a clue what’s going on, Regulus. Shut up and leave me alone.” But he didn’t want to be alone. I draped my arms around his neck. He wanted to be touching someone.

“She’ll come around, Jamie,” I whispered reassuringly. “Until then, I can be here for you.” He grabbed me by the shirtfront in his protest, managing to pull me much closer.

“Look, I don’t fancy boys,” he said vehemently. “Sirius warned me about you. He said you liked to mess around with people’s heads and make everything dirty and disgusting.”

“I can give you what you want, Jamie.”

“Yeah? Then why don’t you drop dead?”

I kissed him. He didn’t stop me because, really, he’d been hoping that I’d keep going even though he was being so nasty. Because he was curious and as long as it was all my idea, it was okay.

James Potter was the only person Sirius really cared about. There was nothing “dirty and disgusting” between them. They were pure, like brothers are supposed to be. At fourteen, I had already figured out something the golden-eyed boy didn’t know at sixteen or eighteen or even twenty. That Sirius could fuck you without giving a fuck about you.

I don’t know if I ever really loved James Potter but having him mattered more to me than anything else in the world. I loved that he craved me, that his fingers dug into my back like nothing could make him let go. I had nothing to call it but love.

James Potter was a virgin when I got to him. Obviously, I wasn’t. Seduction was my only talent and I’d been practicing whenever I got the chance. Because I was his first, I got to define sex for him. I got to set the standard.

Sirius had been right to warn him about me. My intentions were bad.

I’d read Pierre Choderlos de Laclos’ novel Les Liaisons Dangereuses that summer and taken it to heart. Particularly the way Vicomte De Valmont seduces Cecile, a virginal young girl just out of a convent, and gives her an education in the erotic so as to ruin her for her future husband.

That was what I wanted to do with James. I wanted to ruin him. Ruin him for chaste, masculine friendship with my brother, ruin him for saucy Lily Evans who I really didn’t doubt would come around and go out with him eventually. I wanted to make the only person Sirius really cared about no better than me, about whom he couldn’t have cared less.

“No one else will ever make you feel like this,” I whispered and I called it love.

As it turned out, Potter wasn’t the sort to do anything by half, either, and we ended up making each other crazy. He went from seeking me out once in a while, rather like Sirius did, to wanting to see me everyday, then several times a day. If he glimpsed me in the hallway, he’d get hard, drag me to the boy’s room to suck him off between classes.

He accused me of using a love potion, of putting some sort of spell on him.

“I’m not clever with magic like you are,” I told him. “I couldn’t make a love potion or cast a spell like that if I wanted to.” I didn’t mention Legilimency.

It was spring and we spent nights rolling around on the green grass of the Quidditch pitch. We skipped meals to take advantage of empty corridors and common rooms. There were dark circles around his eyes from lack of sleep, mine too. We used potions to keep awake for our classes.

I finally collapsed and wound up in the hospital wing.

“What have you been doing to yourself, Regulus?” Madame Pomfrey asked me, raising an eyebrow. I told her I hadn’t been sleeping well. I told her I was concerned about finals. She knew I could care less about my studies, but she also knew I wasn’t going to tell her anything more so she left me alone.

That afternoon when she was out, Sirius came in. The hospital wing was deserted. He took off his clothes and got into bed with me. He made love to me the way he used to, not the sort of heartless shag he’d been giving me for the past few years. He kissed me gently, he held me, and he was kind. So kind, even though most of the things he said were terrible.

“You’re poisonous, baby,” my brother told me. “You debase everything you touch. You need to stay here, Reggie, stay in the sick ward. You belong here—you’re sick, you’re not right. There’s something seriously wrong with you wrong with you.” And he cried. He told me I was wicked and cruel, then he cried. “I did this to you. You used to be so sweet and good; you always did as Mum said. You were an angel and I turned you into a vampire…a beautiful, purple-eyed, little whore.”

“It’s not your fault, Sirius,” I told him. “You didn’t do anything to me. I’m bad and evil all on my own.”

“You have to keep away from my friends, Reggie,” he said.

“I will, I promise I will.”

James Potter got over me soon enough. I don’t know what damage I did him, but I must have loved him a little if only because I knew that what I did to him was the worst thing I had ever done.

</div>

True Love #3: Bartemius "Barty" Crouch, Junior
Prompt #13: Bad Habit
Rating: R
Warning: Blackcest, bdsm, slash, sexual situations between under-aged characters (Barty is 14, Regulus is 16), implied dub-con, drug use, implied pet abuse.

Sirius and his mates graduated fifth-year when I failed all my OWLs and sixth-year I was all alone. I’d have the occasional rendezvous with Sirius during a Hogsmeade weekend, but these didn’t count for much. Frenzied bouts of rubbing and thrusting in the fallen down, haunted house outside of town, then he’d go back to that boy whose sad, golden eyes intentionally saw nothing.

There had been a rumor about the school that this boy was a werewolf. That he’d attacked a student. Even though I knew how lycanthropy worked (I paid that much attention in class), I imagined he had become a wolf only after he fell in love with my brother. That for a month he would store up all the pain of all of Sirius’ petty infidelities, his thoughtless slights, his lack of love, then, when the full moon came, release it all in a frenzy of blood and animal madness. How else could he have loved Sirius so long and seem so calm? How else could he live unloved so long and seem so sane?

I myself was bad and crazy for lack of my brother’s love. I was all alone so I slept with anyone who wanted me, boy or girl, man or woman. I was getting quite famous around Hogwarts.

Barty Crouch rather snuck up on me.

He was shy but brave. He asked me out like I was a girl even though he was younger than me, a fourth-year. I thought he was sort of cute—a slender, towheaded boy with pale, flat, blue eyes. He was a rich kid, like me. His father was someone important.

We walked in the woods near Hogsmeade, Barty and I. I told him about some of my more recent misadventures and he blushed, though he seemed interested. I hoped I wasn’t frightening him. He seemed so innocent.

He’d brought wine with him—a good, white wine, cold from being carried around in his backpack all day. Sluts adore the illusion of romance. I thought it was so sweet, the way he was courting me. And all his thoughts were how pleased he was that I was there with him and how much he liked me and how cool it was that I knew about Muggle music and how keen Roxy Music and the Velvet Underground sounded. And I thought maybe I’d kiss him, after we’d had some wine.

We sat on a shelf of granite covered with moss and drank the wine. I was telling him about Iggy Pop, then the next thing I knew I was lying on my back, dazed, dreamily looking at the sky through the tree limbs, looking up at Barty who was looking down at me holding a cigarette (not smoking it, just holding it) and thinking how nice I looked lying there, how appealing. Then he put the cigarette out on my stomach. I hadn’t realized until then that my shirt was open. I could feel the pain of the burn, even through the fog in my head. I twitched and Barty smiled.

I had spent the afternoon thinking I was so sophisticated and he was just a child. Apparently, I’d been mistaken. There was much more to Bartemius Crouch, Jr. than I’d realized. I wanted to know what it was, I wanted to see it. I wanted to know what he’d put in my wine. It was divine.

Barty enjoyed hurting people. It gave him genuine pleasure…like ice cream or Christmas. Like kittens playing all in a heap. It made him smile.

I could make him smile. When I let him tie me up with cords in elaborate patterns and fussy knots, I could make him positively beam. Cigarette burns, strangulation, knives and lashes. I could make him positively radiant.

Barty was the one who introduced me to Muggle drugs. It was Valium he’d put in my wine that first day. Muggle drugs appealed to me because I associated them with the musicians I adored and because they were different from the potions and charms wizards sometimes used for similar purposes. Charms and potions ran their course and that was that. You were exactly the same person you had been a few hours before. Muggle drugs weren’t like that. Heroin and cocaine, Valium and speed—they got inside me, they changed me. Because there were consequences to them, they seemed real to me in a way that charms and potions never would.

I still saw Sirius sometimes. When he sent an owl telling me to meet him in town, I would go. Usually I have Barty heal the marks he inflicted, but whenever I went to see Sirius, I kept them. Sirius never asked about the cigarette burns along my ribs, the welts on my back and thighs or the rope burns on my wrists.

I was with Barty for the rest of my sixth year. I didn’t see him all summer and when fall came and we were reunited at Hogwarts, I realized something was very different—different for the better. Barty seemed to have outgrown his fascination with inflicting pain. He seemed perfectly content just to be with me in the usual ways that people are together without cords or knives or flails or cigarettes.

It was lovely. I hadn’t realized how much I missed simple things. Just being held and kissed, being able to return a caress which I certainly couldn’t do when my hands were tied behind my back.

I’d more or less stopped using drugs over the summer. With no pain to numb myself to, I didn’t start up again so I was thinking quite clearly during the fall of my seventh year. Thinking clearly enough to notice things besides whether or not Barty was happy.

I noticed that a lot of people were absolutely terrified of my lover.

I noticed that a lot of kids seemed to be having a hard time keeping their rats and cats and toads that autumn.

There are layers to Legilimency. I’d been content to register Barty’s good spirits and go no further, but this time I went deeper, this time I looked for the cause. I found it in images of tiny, mutilated bodies. Rats and cats and toads.

And for the first time, I wondered if I was the only person Barty had ever slipped a Valium in a glass of wine. It would have been easy enough to find out but, for the first time, I was afraid of what I might find looking into someone else’s mind.

I broke it off with Barty.

In a way, he was like the Muggle drugs he’d introduced me to. There were consequences to being with him. He changed me from the inside.

After Barty, I stopped using Legilimency the way I always had, the way I had used it on James Potter and countless other lovers. I had always known this was wrong but kept doing it. Before Barty, I assumed I was evil and twisted; of course I would do things that were wrong. After Barty, I had a hard time thinking of myself as a dark child. Maybe I was wrong, but after Barty, I didn’t see myself as evil anymore.

I became a Death Eater in February of seventh-year. It turned out Barty had been one since he was thirteen years old. He was the youngest of the Death Eaters. He may have been the most dangerous.

</div>

True Love 4: Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Prompt #12: Triangle
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Het, Blackcest, implied threesome.

Our girl cousins loomed large over Sirius’ and my childhood. Like the Graces, like the Fates, there were three of them—a trinity.

Andromeda, the eldest, was twelve years older than me. We looked alike—brown hair, purple eyes and fair skin. I was her pet when I was very small. She liked me even though I was the second son and had little importance then. Her sisters preferred to cultivate Sirius, but Andromeda had a weakness for the unimportant, insignificant and overlooked. It brought her quite a bit of trouble later on.

Then there was Bellatrix. She was two years younger than Andromeda. She had dark hair like Sirius did and pale skin and that same magnetism. Maybe that was why I liked her best, even though she wasn’t so kind as her sisters and regarded me as an exasperating tag-along…until about the time Sirius ran away from home and I became heir.

Narcissa was the youngest, closest to me in age though still six years older. She was very lovely, like a fairy tale princess. Long, golden blonde hair, huge eyes the blue of a clear sky. Of all the sisters, she was the one I knew the least. We never had much to say to each other because we were too much alike. She was as subservient to Bellatrix as I was to Sirus.

I was fascinated by these girls and the women they became. They were so beautiful, so vivid, so much a part of one another. They were three in one, an entity unto themselves.

Then, when I was ten years old, their triangle fragmented. Andromeda married a man who was Muggle-born.

The Black family was reeling for months. It was a tremendous scandal. No Black was supposed to say Andromeda’s name ever again, but I certainly heard it whispered often enough. Usually someone was asking, “How could Andromeda shame her family like this?” What I wanted to know was how Andromeda could leave her sisters like she had. I remember thinking that if Sirius ever left me I would die.

Of course, Sirius did leave me and the family Black. After that, Bellatrix (who was Bellatrix Lestrange by then) found me worthy of notice.

I knew what Bella was. She was the Marquise de Merteuil in Les Liaisons Dangereuses; a woman too intelligent and too passionate for the world she lived in, who, having no other outlet, used her gifts to manipulate people and advance her own social status. I knew this but I was sure there was so much more to her. I had seen her red-rimmed eyes after Andromeda left. I knew she could love deeply. I knew her heart had been broken.

Bella treated me like an adult long before I merited such treatment. She was like me, rather wicked. Nothing shocked her. I could tell her about my love affairs without her wailing that I was only fourteen years old and ought to be alone and frustrated as is the lot of the young.

We became very close over the next few years. I remember lying with my head on her lap, right after Barty, crying. “Don’t let it hurt you, little king,” she cooed. “To survive, you must have a heart of stone.” And I told her my heart was made of obsidian. That it was hard and dark but it shattered easily. She kissed me on the mouth and told me she had plans for me.

In the months to come, Bellatrix gradually introduced me to the Death Eaters—to their doctrines and protocols, their ends and their means. I didn’t agree with most of it. I didn’t believe in the things they did, but since I wasn’t sure what I did believe in, I just got drunk and went along with whatever Bella wanted me to do. I trusted her.

At some point during the process of drawing me into the Death Eaters, I wound up in Bella and Rodolphus Lestrange’s bed. I would have preferred it to have been just her. I’d never cared for her husband. No matter how much money he had or how suave he pretended to be, there was something crude and bestial about him. Still, if it meant being close to Bella, being wrapped up in Bella, I could tolerate being groped, leered at and manhandled by her charming husband.

My dalliance with the Lestranges proved short-lived. Not long after I joined the Death Eaters, I met someone for whom I was willing to give up all my other lovers. Of course, Bella was more than a lover. She was family and I did not stop loving or trusting her. When, after a brief seven months as a member, I decided to leave the Death Eaters, I went to her and asked her to come with me.

I trusted her.

It killed me.

</div>

True Love 5: Severus Snape
Prompt #19: Destiny
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash, violence, sex, character death.

“Why do you want me?” Severus asked. He’d asked me so many times. His long, bony fingers touched my cheek. Even after we had been together for several months, there was still something tentative in his touch. He expected to be rebuffed.

I took his hand in mine. It was calloused and stained from years of grinding herbs and mixing potions. He was only twenty years old, but he already had the hands of a man who had worked all his life. He was ashamed of this. He tried to pull his hand away from me. I wouldn’t let him, I kissed his fingertips. I kissed his palm and closed his fingers around the kiss.

“You’re so lovely, Regulus,” he sighed. “You could have anyone you wanted.”

“I have,” I said. “I’ve had everyone, but it wasn’t what I wanted.”

Severus thought we were mismatched, very different from one another. That I was beautiful and he was ugly, that my life had been as easy as his had been hard, that he was a monster and I was an angel. I didn’t see things like this at all. I thought we were very much alike, both of us monstrous and angelic, both of us deeply wounded in ways we could never tell.

We had different ways of dealing with our wounds. He kept himself aloft, maintained control, made himself cold and heartless and hard. I shot heroin and drank too much. I lost myself in what other people wanted me to be.

I wanted him because he was my mirror, and I knew that if I could break through his defenses, I could break through my own. If I could teach him to feel, I could save myself. If I could heal his wounds and save him from bitterness, I could save myself.

If we two could love, damaged as we were, then such as thing as love existed.

I believed this, believed it so strongly that I gave up Sirius. I told him we couldn’t be together anymore. That there would be no more illicit meetings, no more sex on his terms. It was the first time I’d ever refused my brother anything it was in my power to give.

Severus Snape didn’t want to have a heart, a soul, or even a body. He hated his body; he always wore concealing black robes. If we were among Muggles, he wore an old-fashioned three-piece suit and tie covering him from his throat downward. If he could have, he would have worn gloves as well—gloves and a mask. When we were together, I had to undress him; he could not do it himself in my presence.

He was painfully thin. He didn’t like to eat. It made him feel weak, to give into hunger. If he could resist it, he proved to himself that he was strong, that he was in control. He flinched when I touched his ribs, the shelf of his hip bones. His skin was always cold, a pale bruised grey. I wanted to fold him into my body, to cushion those bones; though the truth was I could offer him little comfort. I was becoming nearly as skinny as he was. My drugs were eating away at me.

Severus could be caustic, he could be cruel. He fought me every inch of the way. He fought to maintain his icy distance. He fought to keep himself untouchable. Even though he loved me, even though he wanted me, even though he wanted to be whole, he didn’t know how not to fight. I had to be relentless, but I was careful with him. I knew how hard it was for him to open himself, how hard it was for him to feel.

He was so scared the first few times we were together, trembling and panicked. The first time he took me, he had to hide behind his Death Eater’s mask, cover himself with the face of a skull. He was that ashamed of giving in to pleasure. The first time I took him, we were face to face and he screwed his eyes shut as I eased into him, his fingers digging into my shoulders, his legs clenched against my hips.

“Look at me, Severus,” I said when I was inside him, as I began to slowly move. I reached between us, stroking him. “Open your eyes.” He did. He had large, almond shaped eyes, black as obsidian, wide with fear.

“I won’t hurt you, Severus,” I promised him. “I would die before I did anything to hurt you.” I brushed the dark hair from his forehead, kissed him there. “I love you,” I whispered. He whimpered like a child and I felt wet warmth as he came in my hand. He pressed his face against my neck trying to hide that he was crying.

Being a Death Eater was destroying him. Voldemort’s hold leeching away everything that was good in him. It was destroying me as well. I was asked to hurt others. I was asked to kill. I did not realize I had principles till I was called upon to violate them.

We had to get out.

Severus was fairly important in the Death Eaters and, therefore, under scrutiny. I was a minor player, beneath notice and this, coupled with my ability to shield my thoughts through Occlumency, gave me the freedom to plan our escape undetected by the Dark Lord.

“Don’t trust your cousin,” Severus warned me. “If she thought it would earn her a moments notice from Voldemort, Bellatrix Lestrange would happily rip out your heart.”

I was sure he was wrong about Bella. He didn’t know her like I did. I couldn’t leave the Death Eaters without giving her the chance to break loose herself.

It was not the first time I had misplaced my trust. It was the last.

It’s funny. I’d always said what people wanted to hear—my mother and father, Sirius, so many lovers. I’d always given people exactly what they wanted, but even during hours of torture, I wouldn’t reveal the measures I’d taken against Voldemort and I wouldn’t admit that Severus knew anything about my plans to leave.

I had taught Severus enough Occlumency that he could hide what he knew. I hadn’t told Bellatrix he was involved. He, at least, could still survive. Not that Voldemort would take my word, or Severus’, that he was loyal. Proof was required.

They brought me before Severus, threw me at his feet. Voldemort stood behind him,

“Kill him,” the Dark Lord said. “Or you both die.”

Severus’ eyes were wide and wild with feeling and I could almost feel Voldemort’s breath on the back of his neck.

His lips moved soundlessly. “Forgive me.” I shut my eyes and hung my head. He killed me.

After I died, Severus Snape became untouchable, a bitter mask. I had wanted so much more for him but, in the end, the best I could manage was to keep him alive. After I died, he had no more lovers for fifteen years until, amidst hateful words and conflict, he and my brother joined viciously in the run-down kitchen of the house where I grew up.

Number twelve, Grimmauld Place…where Sirius and I used to walk in the gardens holding hands. Where he handed me a purple and gold iris he had picked from mother’s prize beds and kissed me on the cheek saying, “you’ll always be my favorite person in the whole world, Reggie.”

</div>

Fic: The Black Prince (Severus Snape/Regulus Black)

bitterfig — Fri, 04 Aug 2006 18:02:34 GMT

Title: The Black Prince

Author: Bitterfig

Characters: Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange, Severus Snape, Regulus Black

Summary: 20 year old Severus Snape’s first meeting with the newly initiated Death Eater Regulus Black. Kind of like Sleeping Beauty with teeth. And tongue.

Warnings: Snape/Black slash, implied threesome, implied alcohol abuse, implied cousin incest, sexual situations involving an under-aged character (Regulus is 17)

Thanks to my Beta Nzomniac

“You’re being prudish again Severus,” she scolded. “You don’t have a family of your own. You can’t begin to understand the tender feelings that exist between those who share the same blood, particularly when that blood is pure.”

The Black Prince

Severus Snape never knew quite what to expect when he visited Rodolphus and Bellatrix’s flat at 1313 Mockingbird Lane. Bellatrix delighted in taunting him with glimpses of the decadent lifestyle in which she and her husband indulged. It amused her to see how uncomfortable she could make him.

In the past he had found her lounging around in an array of revealing dressing gowns and lingerie, displaying fresh bruises and welts. Other times there had been men or women she would caress and kiss in front of him. Rodolphus, who made no secret of his disdain for Snape enjoyed the game as much as his wife. There was always evidence of his opium and absinthe use about, and he had no qualms about pornographic displays of affection with his wife or the string of anonymous men and women that flitted about them.

Snape had loved Bellatrix once with the innocence of a child. He had been a child when she claimed him, 17 years old, literally a schoolboy. He had thought she was what he had been waiting for all his life, someone who understood that he was special. For nearly two years she had groomed him, trained him, lavished him with care and attention then she had taken him by the hand and turned him over to Lord Voldermort.

That had been a year ago and during that year she had grown cruel towards him. “Do stop looking at me as if I’ve shattered your dreams, Severus,” she’d sighed languidly months before. “It bores me to death.” He believed she had betrayed him; he blamed her for what he had become and he hid it poorly.

She had sent one of her mockingbirds to him the evening before with a message to come to the flat at 10:00 a.m. “Let yourself in,” she had written. He expected the worst.

When he arrived at nearly 11:00 a.m., the Lestrange residence was much too quiet. He wandered from room to room finally locating them in the library, a beautiful room, white and deceptively light, French doors reaching up to its high ceilings. Between the narrow shelves of books hung a Tamara de Lempicka painting of a beautiful dark haired woman that might have been Bellatrix. She was naked her arms overflowing with dark blue and purple flowers. Such an abundance of flowers that blossoms had fallen to the ground and lay sodden at her feet.

Beneath the painting on one of the large gold and white chaise lounges the Lestranges’ doubtlessly kept around for just such a purpose three bodies were sprawled. The lady of the house was wearing little more than her black lace stockings, garter belt and a many tiered necklace of silver and sapphires. She was as always stunningly beautiful, even with her elaborate upswept hair-do from the night before fallen down and one of her inch long false eye lashes half off lying across her cheek at an odd angle.

Her husband was entirely naked. He had the long, perfectly muscled body of a panther. Though Snape had no intention of admiring Rodolphus Lestrange for anything he none the less found his gaze lingering over the man’s body until he noticed something that made his throat contract so harshly he could scarcely gasp a breath. Lestrange’s cock looked as if it had been dipped in blood.

Revolted, Snape turned his eyes away from Rodolphus to the third person who rested under and between the Lestranges’. It was a young man, a boy really. A lovely, lovely boy. Tousled chestnut hair fell across his forehead, his skin seemed glowingly translucent, and his face so angelic Snape almost forgot for a moment the utterly sordid circumstances he was in. However, he was immediately reminded of them by the state of the boy’s clothing. His white shirt was unbuttoned to the waist displaying his narrow, hairless chest and his trousers were similarly undone, low on his hips.

Snape had seen quite enough. Not wanting to touch the almost naked woman, he carefully covered his bare hand with his robe and shook Bellatrix’s shoulder rather ungently.

“Bellatrix,” Snape said sharply. “Wake up Bellatrix.”

She batted her eyes open, yawned and sat up languidly not bothering to cover herself.

“Dear little Severus,” she purred. “I wasn’t expecting you so early.”

He turned his eyes away. “According to your letter you were expecting me almost an hour ago.” She laughed.

“You’re too clever as always. After we sent you that message Rodolphus and I were having a little celebration with the newest Death Eater.” She gestured at the bottles of wine and absinthe, at the bodies beside her. “As you can see things got a bit out of hand.”

Snape couldn’t speak but he couldn’t hold his piece. “That boy, he’s a child Bellatrix. It’s obscene,” he managed.

“Whom did you kill last night Severus?” She asked coolly. “Whom did you torture? Was it one of those pesky Phoenix people, or some pure-blooded matron who just won’t see things the Dark Lord’s way? Some low-level Death Eater who’d stepped out of line?”

“Bellatrix, please, don’t.”

“You’re an inquisitor,” she said. “An assassin. I don’t look down on what you do. I understand it’s necessary to the cause but don’t profess to take the moral high ground with me. Whatever Rodolphus and I were up to last night with this child, he was willing and he’s still breathing which is more than I can say for whoever you spent last night with.”

He felt like she’d punched him in the stomach and sank down into a chair. Sensing she’d gone too far Bellatrix came to him and sat on his lap. He absolutely cringed beneath her.

“Really, Severus,” she sighed. “I don’t want to be cruel to you but you’re such a prude and I won’t be treated like a deviant because you’re terrified of sex. Let me assure you that child, as you call him. is just as old as you were when we met and just as capable of making his own choices.”

“Who is he?” Snape asked trying to seem rational. He wasn’t, he was desperate for her to get off of him. Being that close to anyone made him positively nauseous. “It seems like I’ve seen him before.”

“I’m sure you have,” she said. “He was in the same house as you at Hogwarts, but two years behind.”

Snape could picture it, picture the boy younger, smaller, not quite grown into his beauty in the Slytherin dorms, in the halls between classrooms, soft spoken, always quiet except that one day in the spring. He could hear the boy’s voice, drifting across the school grounds as apple blossoms fell like snow from the trees. He was frantic, was crying, shouting at someone. What was he saying?

“Don’t cut me off, please. Please talk to me. I’m not them. I’m not like Mum and Dad. You’ll always be my brother, I love you Sirius.”

Snape sprang to his feet, dropping Bellatrix unceremoniously onto her bum.

“My God, that’s Regulus Black,” he cried accusingly. “Sirius’s little brother. He’s your cousin.”

“You’re being prudish again, Severus,” she scolded pulling herself to her feet with a grace and pride he felt she did not deserve to possess. “You don’t have a family of your own. You can’t begin to understand the tender feelings that exist between those who share the same blood, particularly when that blood is pure.”

“He’s a Death Eater?”

“He was given the Dark Mark just last night,” Bellatrix smiled now, and pushed up Regulus’ sleeve to reveal the Death Eater brand. The outlines of the skull and snake lay under the alabaster skin like he had been born with it.

Seeing it Snape remembered how his own Dark Mark had been created with needles and ink, blood and pain. How it had burned. His own initiation had been so hard, so excruciatingly painful. Lord Voldermort might as well have broken every bone in Snape’s body and reset them according to his own requirements. But for Regulus Black initiation had apparently been as smooth as silk and as painless as intoxication.

“Jealous dear?” Bellatrix laughed. “Of course you are. That’s what makes you such an asset. You’re an absolute wellspring of resentment and ill will. Anyone can point a wand and speak a word, but when you cast a curse they really feel it.”

Rodolphus was stirring now. He shoved Regulus off him and stood up.

“Snipe,” he said cheerfully. “You missed a lovely evening but I’m sure you were doing something terribly important.” Snipe was short for Guttersnipe, the nickname he’d given Snape when his wife first took an interest in the younger man as a potential Death Eater. Rodolphus had never made the slightest effort to hide the contempt he felt for Snape, for his heritage, his personality, his looks, and most recently for the work he did for Voldermort.

It was not that Lestrange had anything against torture or murder. It just suited him to regard Snape as little more than a magical goon. And Rodolphus was not alone among the pure-bloods in making sure Snape never forgot for a moment that he would be tolerated only so long as he proved useful.

“I got your message.” Snape said flatly. “What did you ask me here for?”

“I met with Lord Voldermort and the Inner Circle yesterday. I’ve been made the Secret Keeper of what we discussed and some of it needs to be passed along to you.” He sighed as if this was the most unpleasant task he could imagine. “Shall we get to it then?”

“Perhaps you could do me the extreme courtesy of getting dressed first.” Snape snarled. Bellatrix and her husband exchanged meaningful looks.

“Such a prig,” Rodolphus laughed. “All right, Snipe, we certainly don’t wish to offend your delicate sensibilities.”

He and Bellatrix disappeared into their bedchamber leaving Snape alone with Regulus who was either still sleeping or comatose. Snape picked up his hand; it was limp, his pulse weak and his breathing shallow. Worrisome.

Snape waved him wand over the boy. “Antiveno,” he pronounced. Immediately Regulus’ breathing normalized. The Lestranges’ were careless with their pretty things. For all his precious pure blood, they might have easily let the boy die of alcohol poisoning in their lovely library.

Snape looked at Regulus. He was so achingly beautiful. In the end that was what it really came down to. For all the jealousy and resentment Snape felt towards this Black prince and his easy path, he had helped Regulus because he was beautiful. Because Regulus Black was so lovely, there would always be someone to help him; whereas Snape was ugly and would always be on his own. He would always have to try harder, be better, go further and it would never be enough. He fit in with the Death Eaters as poorly as he fit in at Hogwarts, or in the Muggle world.

With a recklessness born of self-pity, loneliness and the sleepless horror of the night before, Snape bent down and kissed the sleeping Regulus Black on the lips. It was a chaste kiss, like a child might give. He simply pressed his closed lips to the boys. He was in no way prepared for Regulus’ lips to yield under his, opening into a dark intimacy, sucking him in.

Snape was 20 years old and he had never been kissed before. Loving Bellatrix had been about worshiping her. He would never have touched her. He had participated in sex acts but he was either flat on his face or forced to his knees. Never face to face like this, even beyond faces, beyond masks, inside the secret recesses of the self. He had built up many defenses in his brief and difficult life but none of them protected him now. He absolutely melted.

Still, he couldn’t turn off his logical mind. He realized Regulus was not kissing him, that most likely he thought it was Bellatrix or even Rodolphus. He would be disgusted when he realized; he would be angry. Snape drew back but the boy moved with him. Finally, with considerable difficulty, he tore himself away and steeled himself, nearly trembling, to face Regulus Black.

“I apologize…” he began but got no further. Regulus’ eyes were open now and they were as arresting as the kiss. They were the deep purple blue of violets, unspeakably beautiful, literally breathtaking. Then the boy smiled, a smile so guileless, so generous Snape understood he would not need to apologize.

“I remember you from school,” Regulus said. “Your name is Severus Snape. You were in my older brother’s year. We were in the same house. You always seemed sad.”

Snape knew with absolute certainty that it would be the worst thing he could do, the biggest mistake of his life to get tangled up in any way with another member of the family Black. Sirius had ripped him to shreds. Bellatrix had tidily collected those pieces and passed them along to Voldermort to be reassembled into the evil creature he scarcely recognized as himself. But this one, Regulus, promised to be the worst of them all. He reminded Snape that he still had a heart to be broken.

</div>

Colorbar

darth_firefly — Thu, 20 Apr 2006 12:05:35 GMT

No fic from me today, just a colorbar that I made... Comment - and please upload to your own server.

Regulus Black is Toujours Pur Love

and one with dark hair...

Regulus Black is Toujours Pur Love

(sorry for the lack of code... I'll try and put it up when I'm home from work...)

The fic goes on...

darth_firefly — Wed, 19 Apr 2006 16:52:01 GMT

Sorry for the major posting here... work is dull and my computer at home is evil. (But no more updates today, promise.) Oh yes... guess who's back? +grins+

Title: Nocturne of the Stars
Rating: PG-13 (For the moment)
Pairings: None at the moment
Author's Notes: This story is a crossover with Sherrlyn Kenyon's Dark-Hunter series. AU starting at OotP.
Summary: There are dangers we do not see - evils we do not know about. While the world may seem to be chaos, there is order. Regulus Black made his choice in life - and in death makes another - that will not only affect him - but those that he cares about. Even those he will never meet

Dinner finished fairly quickly in Chara's mind. Perhaps it was the fact that she was actually enjoying herself, rather than dreading the event. Fred and George took off upstairs before anyone else had finished eating. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were gathered at their end of the table, talking to one another. Chara finished off her last meatball as Ginny turned to her.

“So what do you like to do, Chara?”

“You mean for fun?”

“Yeah. Do you play Quidditch?”

“No, I used to play a little, but I...” She frowned. “I really don't play anymore”

“Why not?”

“I just didn't find it fun anymore.”

“How could you not think it was fun?” Ron called from down the table.

“I just didn't.” Chara picked up her plate and Ginny's and carried it to the sink.

“Oh, you don't need to do that, dear...” Mrs. Weasley started to say.

“I like to help, Mrs. Weasley. It's the least I can do, the food was excellent.”

“Just because she didn't find it fun doesn't mean she doesn't like Quidditch, Ron.” Sirius stated from behind his bottle of butterbeer.

“I still like it, I just don't want to play it anymore.” Chara picked up Fred and George's deserted plates and carried them over. Mrs. Weasley started clearing dishes as well.

“So what do you like to do, Chara?” Mr. Weasley said.

“I... don't know. I don't really do much of anything. I study a lot, Professor Darrow I should study Herbology more, but I'm hopeless in that subject.” She walked over to the trio at the end of the table. “Finished?”

“What, oh yeah...” Ron said, pushing his plate towards her. Chara took his, Harry's and Hermione's plates over to the sink.

“You go sit down, I can manage.” Mrs. Weasley said, scooting her away from the sink. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

“Study? Don't you do anything fun?” Harry asked.

“Well, if you enjoy a subject enough, you might consider it fun” She smiled slightly. “I do like to watch Quidditch, even if I don't play anymore.”

“Do you have a favorite team?” Bill asked.

Chara resumed her seat, and checked her watch. “The Cannons – I think they're a bit like the Boston Red Socks.”

“Who are they?” Sirius asked.

“A muggle baseball team – they're supposedly cursed, along with another team.”

“Has it been investigated?” Hermione put in quickly, “the curse?”

“Considering they were cursed by a muggle, I seriously doubt it.”

“Are you a fan of these... Red Socks?” Mr. Weasley asked.

“Well, I'm sort of a fan, I don't get to follow them as much as I want, since getting hold of a muggle paper is sort of hard at school. So I don't get to know that much until I get home from school.”

Ron, meanwhile, had been grinning. “You're a Chuddly Cannons fan?”

“Sure. Are you?”

“You bet! Ever seen them play?”

“I wish. I've heard a game on the Wizarding Wireless at school once, but I didn't really get to enjoy it, since I was surrounded by Arrows fans.”

Ginny looked shocked. “You get to listen to the WWN at school?”

“Not all the time...” Chara looked surprised. “Don't you?”

“No!” Ron, Harry, and Ginny said together.

Sirius leaned back. “What about friends? What do you and your friends do together?”

Chara looked at the table. “I really... I really don't have any friends.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” Ron said.

“I'm not.” She looked up to see them all staring at her. “What?”

Mr. Weasley frowned. “It is very hard to believe that you have no friends, Chara.”

“Well...” Chara desperately wanted to get off this subject. “How far is it to Heatherow from here?”

“It's at least forty minutes by Underground.” Bill said. “You have to be there when, midnight?”

“No, at least nine-thirty, since I'm traveling internationally.”

Sirius stood and came down to the end of the table. “I still can't believe your guardians... what are their names again?”

“Ethan and Rebbecca Carlyle.”

“I can't believe they left you here, they certainly would have been safe in London.”

“Professor McGonagall thought it was best.”

“Well, still.” Sirius sat down hard in the chair Fred had occupied. “They could have insisted a little stronger. Then again, knowing Minerva, it was probably a good idea they didn't...”

“So how did you get to Hogsmeade from Little Whinging?” Ginny asked.

“I took the Knight Bus. An experience that reminded me of being on a roller coaster, minus the seat belts.”

“So what does this Ethan Carlyle do?” Mr. Weasley asked.

“He's a pediatric cardiologist.”

“What's that?” Sirius asked.

“He's a doctor, he specializes in the hearts of children.”

“He's a nutter then.” Ron said.

“What?” Chara said sharply.

“Muggle doctors are nutters.”

Chara narrowed her eyes. “Well, Ronald,” her voice sounded cold. “Doctors are what muggles have. They put just as much effort into their profession as healers do. Uncle Ethan is not a nutter. I'd like to see you take the heart of a child who passed away and put into one that's dying and make said heart start beating again.”

Ron went pink as the table looked from him to Chara and back again.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at her friend. “So I suppose my parents are nutters for fixing muggles' teeth?”

Harry looked at his best friend who looked like he was ready to crawl under the table. “So what does your Rebecca's do?” The last thing he felt like watching was a fight.

“Charity work.” Chara leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. “Junior League, volunteers at the hospital, this committee, that committee, and oh, Char, would you please run down to the Piggly Wiggly and buy a box of sugar cubes, the ladies are coming for tea.”

“She calls you Char?” Sirius said.

“Uh huh. Her and most of the family call me that.”

“Sounds like you don't being called Char.” Harry said. “How do you get Char from Chara?”

“From a five year old who can't pronounce it. ”

“What's a Piggly Wiggly?” Bill asked.

“It's a grocery store.”

Mrs. Weasley frowned and then went back to the dishes. “If you need to be at that Heatherow place by nine-thirty, we best get you over there. I don't trust this city at all...”

Bill stood up. “I'll take her there. I know where it is.”

“You don't have to...” Chara started to say as she stood up.

“Yes, he does.” Sirius said, also standing and crossing his arms. “I may not have gotten along with your father, but I know that he would want someone to take you there.”

“Say,” Ginny put in. “Can we get your addresses?”

“I suppose...” Chara lifted her bag onto the table and pulled a notebook out of it. “It'd be nice to get mail that wasn't a newspaper...” She scribbled two addresses on a sheet of paper and tore it neatly from the notebook. “There you go.” She handed it to Ginny. “I may have to send you a box, if the Owl Post here is being watched.”

“Don't you use owls in America?”

“It's rare, given laws about owning animals like owls. There is mail sent mostly by ravens. But the only ones who really do that is the newspapers when the bill is due. The American Wizarding Postal Service has pretty much eliminated the use for birds.”

“Your mail comes in an actual box?” Ron asked. “It just appears there?”

“It's not always a box, but they're the most common item used they work better for packages. I receive what little mail I get in a vase, except when I am at school, then I have an assigned box.”

“I can explain it to you later, Ron...” Mr. Weasley said. “Chara needs to leave.”

“It was very nice meeting you all.” Chara said as she went up the stairs with Mr. Weasley, Bill, Sirius and Ginny. “Thank you for dinner.”

“You're quite welcome, Chara. Least we could do, you did help Harry out today.”

“I only did what was right.”

“I wish more people took that to heart.” Bill said as they came to the door.

“Where's my bag?” Chara said, staring at the spot where she had left her duffel. “It was right here.”

Sirius frowned. “Kreacher.” He turned towards the stairs.

“Who's Kreacher?”

“The house elf, though why he would have your bag...” Bill stopped as Sirius charged up the stairs.

“KREACHER!”

Chara went to the foot of the stairs. “What the?” For at the sound of Sirius's shout, the portraits woke up. All of them, screaming, cursing and vying for attention.

Bill and Mr. Weasley charged up the stairs, stunning portraits as they went. Mrs. Black's shouts became more and more prominent.

“DIRT! SCUM, DEFILING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS! TRAITORS!”

Chara went towards the screaming portrait. “I hate wizarding paintings... I really do...”

“Don't...” Ginny grabbed her arm just as Chara reached the curtains that had flown back when Mrs. Black awoke.

“CREATURES OF WORTHLESSNESS, MUDBLOODS!!!”

Chara drew in a deep breath and shouted back. “WHO ARE YOU CALLING A MUDBLOOD?”

Ginny let go of her arm as Mrs. Black's gaze fell downward.

So great was the portrait's shock that Chara calmly shut the curtains. “I'm a bastard, not a mudblood, thank you.” She looked at Ginny. “What?”

“Nothing...”

Footsteps charged up the stairs and Harry, Ron and Hermione nearly fell into the passageway. “That...” Ron looked from Chara to the curtains and back again. “Bloody hell...”

“Chara?” Sirius leaned over a banister above them. “Could you come up here please?”

She nodded in reply and jogged up the stairs to the floor her uncle was on. Standing with him, dragging her duffelbag across the floor was a house elf that looked as if the strain from lugging the bag was about ready to make him collapse.

At the sight of her, the house elf dropped the bag and slammed into her legs, hugging them fiercely. “Little mistress has come home at last, now Kreacher won't have to worry about her anymore...”

“I don't live here...”

“Little Mistress must stay... your grandmother would want you to... stay with Kreacher, and take the house back from the scum that's infected it...”

“Would you please let go of my legs?”

Kreacher did so, backing away, bowing. “As Little Mistress wishes. Kreacher was only taking your bag to your room...”

Chara crouched down to the elf's level. “I can't stay here, Kreacher.”

Sirius watched, his arms folded. “Not that I wouldn't mind her staying...”

“I have to go back to New Orleans, Kreacher. Do you understand that?”

“Kreacher must take care of Little Mistress, it would be what the Mistress wanted. Kreacher must go with her then.”

Chara shook her head. “I can't do that. You wouldn't like living with me, I live with muggles, you know that, don't you?”

“Nasty things that they are, how my mistress wept when she found out who had Master's little one...”

“Somehow, I doubt that.” Sirius said. “If she had given a damn, she wouldn't have been left there...”

Chara looked up at her uncle and then back to the elf. “You have to stay here. Do you understand?”

“Kreacher understands... but he does not like it.”

Chara stood, shouldering her bag. “You'd hate it New Orleans. Not to mention I'd have to fill out about three hundred forms just so you could stay...”

“Kreacher lives to serve the ancient and noble House of Black.”

“And it's dirty as a sewer in here.” Chara said. “Go wash your face, Kreacher, you don't look like a noble house elf looking that way.”

“As Little Mistress wishes.” The house elf slunk away.

“That... Can you come over once a week and straighten him out for me?”

“You'd have to work that out with Professor Darrow and Headmaster Salvatore.”

“Wishful thinking...”

“He's off his rocker, that's for sure.” Chara answered as they went down the stairs, where everyone had already gathered.

Mrs. Weasley pulled Chara into a hug. “Thank you again for helping Harry out. It was very nice meeting you.”

“It was very nice meeting all of you too. And thank you for the wonderful dinner.”

“It was my pleasure dear.”

“It's a pity Tonks couldn't come for dinner, she would have liked meeting you.” Ginny added.

“Oh, I'm willing to wager this won't be Chara's only visit...” Mr. Weasley said. “Perhaps she can come again. I'm certain Dumbledore wouldn't object...”

“It'd be nice to visit again, when I have more time.” Chara smiled.

“We better get going.” Bill said, taking Chara's duffel bag from her.

“Good bye, everyone.” Chara said as she was ushered out the door by the Weasleys.

When the door closed behind them, Mr. And Mrs. Weasley went back down to the kitchen. Sirius went up the stairs quietly, to retreat up to where Buckbeak was. The rest of them went upstairs after him and to their respective rooms.

Hermione shut the door behind her and Ginny and locked it. “That girl...” She shook her head. “It's a shame she doesn't go to Hogwarts.”

Ginny knelt by her trunk and began looking for some parchment to copy down Chara's addresses for the others. “What if she was in Slytherin?”

“Why would she be sorted into Slytherin?”

“Only because nearly every family member she has was sorted into Slytherin.”

“Sirius wasn't, so why would she?”

“You never know how these things work, Hermione.” She sat down on her bed and, resting a piece of parchment on a book, she began copying the addresses. “But she seems to be very nice.”

“I wonder why she doesn't have any friends.”

“I think she doesn't realize she has friends.”

“How can you not realize that?”

“Aren't we her friends now?” Ginny said, looking up. “I'd like to think we are.”

****

Severus Snape walked resolutely through a corridor of the Malfoy estate. He had been expected to report on Harry Potter's trial to Lord Voldemort, since the Dark Lord had stated Dumbledore was likely to have told the entire staff of Hogwarts the outcome. He was also planning on informing him about Chara. Dumbledore had not suggested it, but Snape wasn't going to take the risk of someone else reporting it, and being punished for not speaking.

Although Snape knew that if Regulus was alive, he would never forgive him. If his brother found out, well – that was no concern of his whatsoever. Sirius Black could choke on his morning tea for all he cared. He knocked once on the door of the study.

“Enter.” Said a cold voice.

Snape obliged and and shut the door behind him.

Voldemort was standing with his back to him, his arms behind is back, staring out ad the night sky. “You're early, Severus. A quality that more of my Death Eaters would do to learn.”

Snape nodded in reply. “I came as soon as I was able to slip away unnoticed. Dumbledore is still unable to find someone to fill the Defense Against the Dark Arts position.”

Voldemort snorted. “That doesn't interest me, Severus. What happened today?”
“Potter was cleared. He will be returning to school.”

The Dark Lord cursed under his breath. “I suppose that is better than trying to find him again. At least when he is at school, one can know where he is.” He turned around. “There is something more you wish to tell me, Severus?”

“I have found out something that may be only of passing interest, to you my lord.”

“Indeed? What is it?”

“Regulus Black fathered a child before he died.”

Voldemort merely blinked. “I have questioned young Malfoy about his classmates. He has made no mention of a Black attending Hogwarts.”

“She does not attend Hogwarts. Nor is she a squib, though that might have been a blessing to her, considering who, or should I say what's been raising her.”

“Muggles.” Voldemort spoke the word with venom. “She's been raised by muggles?”

“I have spoken with her, my lord. From what she has told me, not one of her relatives offered to take her in when her mother was killed.” Snape shrugged. “Her paternal grandparents apparently arranged for several things before they died. I'm certain Mr. and Mrs. Black were appalled with the situation.”

Voldemort frowned. “Her father was a coward, that much is certain.” He sat down in the arm chair behind a mahogany desk. “So you have talked this this girl.. what is her name?”

“Chara. Yes. Apparently, she also witnessed the dementor attack on Potter.” Snape turned his gaze to the window. “From what I can tell of her, she believes in doing what she believes is right. I don't feel she is of any importance at this time.”

Voldemort did not respond to this. He too, gazed out the window. It was true that he had no need of another member of the house of Black in his service, considering Regulus had been a total fool. The apple rarely fell far from the tree. “You may go. Send Malfoy in to see me.”

Snape bowed slightly. “As you wish, m'lord.” He exited the room and shut the door behind him. He strode down the corridor towards Lucius. “He wants to speak with you now, Lucius.”

Lucius Malfoy nodded and want back up the hall towards the study. Snape turned to the window that the older man had been standing by and frowned. Things were beginning to move forward. In his mind, Snape did not consider his long dead friend Regulus a coward. Regulus had wanted to leave the service of the Dark Lord. It was not a task one could simply do. Karkaroff was going to find that out when he was finally caught. As for Bagman...

Regulus had died trying to be free – one of the few things that was worth dying for. Severus was not certain of all the details, but from what he could tell, there had been something that had caused him to want to leave.

Snape cursed under his breath and turned. He had only told Voldemort about Chara because he had met her first. Hopefully, she would be nothing more than what he had called her – a passing interest – why he was thinking of protecting her he had no idea. He barely knew her.

Maybe because Regulus Black was the closest thing you had to a best friend.

Snape shook his head and appareted to the closest point to Hogwarts possible.

Meanwhile, down in the study, Lucius was left standing, waiting while Voldemort taped his long fingers on the arm of his chair. The fact that Regulus Black had a child made no great difference. at this point. That wasn't what was perturbing him. “Lucius, as you know Severus was just here... and he told me something rather... interesting.”

“Indeed, my lord?”

Voldemort leaned forward. “What do you know about Chara Black?”

Lucius visibly flinched. “Very little, my lord.”

“So you do know about her. How long have you know she existed?”

The younger man swallowed and straightened the collar of his robes. “Several years.”

“Several years?” The Dark Lord's voice was a hiss. “Would you say – thirteen years?”

“Yes. I felt it would be rather...” He smiled nervously. “Rather hypocritical of me, to ah...”

“Take her in?” Voldemort stood. “What were you afraid of, a three year old killing you with a toy broomstick?”

Malfoy blanched. “If I had taken her in, and she had found out....”

“How?” The man's voice was a snarl. “There are only two people who know who Regulus Black's executioner was and they are standing in this room!”

Lucius swallowed. “I was... I was not certain if it would be prudent..”

“The damage has been done, Lucius. We shall not concern ourselves with what has happened to her.” Voldemort sat back down. “However, when those who went to Azkaban for me rejoin us, when they learn of this, they may see it as another...” Here, he chuckled. “Black mark on your record with them.”

Lucius frowned. “I trust my lord is also aware of the fact that Miss Black was at Potter's trial today?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Fudge wasn't aware of her existence. Most of the Wizingamot did not.”

Voldemort frowned and turned his gaze towards the window. “That I can believe. What was Fudge's opinion of her?”

“Apart from the fact that she pretty much cleared Potter, I would say that he found her to be, a decent person. It is also highly likely that Miss Black is indifferent to what happens here in England, my lord, as she lives in another country.”

He nodded in reply. “I will worry what to do with Miss Black later. For now, we have other matters to attend to – Send Bagman in to me.”

“Yes, my lord.” Lucius bowed out and left the room.

A few minutes later, Ludo Bagman slunk into the room, his face downcast. Anyone who saw him a month ago at the Tri-wizard Tournament would not recognize him now. His hair had gone almost completely white, and deep, heavy lines were now etched in his face. Ten minutes under the Cruciatus Curse had killed his spirit to resist the Dark Lord. “You wanted to see me, my lord?”

“Yes.” Voldemort stood. “I have a job for you... a rather important job.”

“Yes, my lord?”

“I want to you travel to the United States. There is someone who needs... watching.”

“Watching?”

Voldemort nodded. “You did a very good job of lying to the ministry years ago, and I'm willing to overlook, but not forget, your lapse of judgment.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

He waved this comment off. “You are the only one who is unlikely to be suspected of anything, just keep your mind on your job, and not on gambling.”

Bagman flinched. “Yes, my lord.”

“I need you to watch a person of interest. Do you know of a girl named Chara Black?”

Bagman thought for a moment. “Vaguely, my lord. I remember hearing something about her once from Crouch.”

“I want you to find her and observe her, and report back to me on anything you learn. I don't care if you think it's trivial, I want to know what is happening with her, because she could pose a threat to myself and my Death Eaters.”

“But she's just a girl...”

Voldemort stood and slammed his hands on the desk, “And some might call Potter a mere boy!”

Bagman swallowed. “Understood my lord. I shall prepare to leave at once.”

As he sat back down, Voldemort waved Bagman off with his hand. “Just go, perhaps Lucius will have a few details on where she is tucked away.”

“Yes, my lord.” Bagman bowed and left the room.

****

“Your family is very nice, Bill.” Chara rubbed the back of her neck and leaned forward in her seat. “It was very nice meeting them.”

“Well, my mom is always one for company. I'm surprised my dad didn't badger you with questions half the meal.”

“That wouldn't have been so bad.” She sat back up. “So you're the oldest?”

“Uh huh. I have two other brothers besides the ones you met. Charlie is in Romania, and Percy... well...”

“Percy?” Chara thought for a moment. “Is he built sort of like you, only with short hair, wears glasses and a rather smug expression?”

Bill nodded. “So you've met him.”

“I saw him, I wouldn't say that I met him...” She looked around. “He was there today. I hope you'll forgive me, but I think someone needs to pull that stick out of his butt and hit him over the head with it.”

Bill laughed. “I shouldn't laugh, but that's what my brothers and I have been thinking!”

Chara chuckled. “That was rather mean of me to say that, I mean, he is your brother and all...”

Bill shook his head. “No, no it's all right. Percy.... Percy is just the way he is, he can't change the way he is, and maybe he'll wise up eventually.”

“Yeah.” Chara yawned. “Excuse me. So what does Charlie do in Romania?”

“He works with dragons.”

“That must be incredible. I didn't get to take Care of Magical Creatures because the two slots it was taught in were full.”

“I bet you were disappointed.”

“I was. I ended up in Ancient Runes... which was the lesser of two evils. The other was Divination.”

“I take it Ancient Runes isn't your best subject.”

“The only thing I am worse at is Herbology. I am hopeless when it comes to plants. Aunt Becca doesn't even let me water the flowerpots on the porch.”

“How about you? Do your guardians have any other children?”

Chara turned and looked out the window. “Sort of...”

“Sort of?”

“Well, there was Adrian....” She swallowed hard. “But he died. Two years ago.”

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked.”

“It's okay. Really.” She smiled. “It seems like a lot longer than two years, actually...”

“Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. Just tired.”

“I can imagine. It's been a pretty full day. For all of us.”

The train slowed down, and Chara stood. “This our stop.” She shouldered her bag and the two left the train. “Are you going to walk me all the way to the counter?”

“Do you want me to?”

“No, just to the door is fine. I really do appreciate this, even if I pretended I didn't need someone to take me here.”

“It's not a problem, Chara. I don't get many opportunities to play the guardian.” He grinned.

Chara chuckled. “Sorry there wasn't a chance to play the hero...”

“We're not at the door yet.” Bill winked. They came up to the street level and through the chaos of people, cars, and buses heading through the area. “This place is a madhouse.”

“You should see the madhouse that is waiting for me in Atlanta.” Chara adjusted her hold on her bag. “Thanks again, for everything.”

“You're certainly welcome.” They came to the large glass doors outside a British Airways terminal. “You'll be all right from here. Oh, and check your book when you get a chance.”

“Okay I will.”

“Take care of yourself.”

“Sure thing.” She walked towards the door. “Bye.”

“Bye.” Bill stuffed his hands into his pockets and headed back for the Underground.

Chara wove through the people towards a counter and was soon setting her duffel down on a scale. “Good evening.”

“Evening miss. This your only bag?” The man behind the counter smiled.

“Uh huh.”

“Tickets and passport please.”

Chara fished out the requested items and pushed them across the counter. “There you are.”

“All right...” The man studied them for a moment. “Going home?”

“Yes. Finally.”

The man smiled and looked from the photo in the passport to her. “Cha..Char...Sara...”

“Chara. I know, it's a little odd.”

“It's original.” The man said as he handed back the passport and tickets. He then set about putting a long tag on the duffel bag.

“Yeah.” She tucked the items back into her messenger bag.”

“You are a resident of the United States, yes?”

“I am.”

“I'm required to ask you where your place of birth is.”

“Houston, Texas.” Chara leaned against the counter, her arms folded. “Do you need to know the date?”

“No, Miss Black, I don't. You're leaving from gate seven. Boarding begins in an hour.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” Said the man as he hefted the duffel onto the moving conveyor belt behind him and Chara wove into the mass of people and headed for her gate.

The people thinned out after she went through security. Here, only ticketed passengers moved about, some rushing for flights, others dragging themselves from their gates, glad to have finally arrived. Chara stopped outside a very large gift shop that seemed to have every sort of collectible item in it, from bells to spoons. Stepping inside, she slowly looked at the shelves of mugs, shirts, and other similar items. She picked up a large red mug with London scrawled on it in black and studied it. “Now that's a tea cup.” She held onto it and walked a slow semi circle around the store and picked up a small package of gum and a paperback book called Circus of the Damned. After paying for the items, Chara walked to her gate.

It seemed only a short time later she was staring out the window of the large seven-sixty-seven British Airways plane, watching the lights of England fade below her as the land gave way to the blue-blackness of the Atlantic Ocean. Worn from the day's events, she closed her eyes and drifted off into slumber.

****
“Is she all right?” The man stared out the window, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Yes. She is.” A voice came from behind him. “You don't think...”

“I do think. I know.” The man pulled away from the window and pulled on a dark coat. “I just hope she stays safe.”

“She will.”

“This is how Fate deals with such things. One can never escape from the past.” He straightened the collar of his coat and picked up several long daggers from the desk in front of him and tucked them into inside pockets. “Even pasts that are not entirely their own.” He ran a hand through his hair. “If I need anything, I'll call.”

“Not a problem Oz.”

The man chuckled at his nickname. “I'll have to tell Sundown that name is starting to grow on me.”

“Well, he's been calling you that for what, nine years?”

“Something like that.” The man picked up his car keys from the desk and left the room. “I'm already starting to lose track.”

******
Notes: I know what you must be thinking, Ludo Bagman, Death Eater? Well, considering that some Death Eaters, such as Malfoy wormed out of their guilt, why not add one more to the batch? Besides, Bagman was no where to be found in OotP, and since as the date this chapter was written, HBP is/was 20 days away... Once again, JKR created the Harry Potter stuff. I'm just playing with her world for a while.

More Nocturne...

darth_firefly — Wed, 19 Apr 2006 15:25:23 GMT

Title: Nocturne of the Stars
Rating: PG-13 (For the moment)
Pairings: None at the moment
Author's Notes: This story is a crossover with Sherrlyn Kenyon's Dark-Hunter series. AU starting at OotP.
Summary: There are dangers we do not see - evils we do not know about. While the world may seem to be chaos, there is order. Regulus Black made his choice in life - and in death makes another - that will not only affect him - but those that he cares about. Even those he will never meet.

Dumbledore had instructed Chara not to worry about her duffel bag. As they made their way through the bustle of the Ministry of Magic, she noted that the old wizard's face was grim. “I'm still a little confused, sir. I thought the hearing wasn't until later today.”

“Call it an old man's intuition.” He led her over to a very bored looking security wizard. “Ah, here we are.”

The man yawned. “Wand please, miss.”

Chara slid her wand out of the front pocket of her messenger bag and handed it to him.

“Hmm.. “ He dropped it onto a strange device that looked similar to a scale. It had no sooner become to vibrate than a slip of paper shot out of it that the man read from. “Thirteen inches, bloodwood and phoenix feather-core, been in use nearly five years.” The wizard yawned again. “That correct?”

“Yes, sir.” Chara said.

The man smiled for the first time and handed her wand back to her. “You get this back.” He stuck the parchment on a brass spike. “I'll keep this.” The wizard glanced at the visitors badge, and blinked. “Black?”

Dumbledore prodded Chara forward. “It's a very common last name in America, sir.” She called over her shoulder.

“Thank you, Eric. Good to see you as always.” Dumbledore added. When they reached the elevators, he folded his arms. “You don't have to be worried about anything.”

“Hold that lift!” A voice called and Chara stuck her hand on the door as an elderly woman, slightly out of breath, stumbled in with them. “Thank you.”

“Ah, Arabella, glad to see you.”

“I wasn't going to miss this, Albus.” The woman turned to Chara and held out her hand. “Arabella Figg.”

Chara shook the woman's hand. “It is very nice to meet you, Mrs. Figg, my name is Chara Black.”

The woman nodded. “You were that girl who I saw racing like a bat out of hell down Magnolia Crescent, weren't you?”

“Yes, Arabella, she is.” Dumbledore answered for Chara. “No problems getting here?”

“Other than the race for the lift, not at all.”

Chara stepped back from the two adults and stuck her wand back into her bag. She still was trying to think why on earth the ministry was freaking out over the matter of an underage wizard defending himself and his cousin. She had to wonder if she had also pulled her wand, would she be in the same boat as Harry Potter? Then given the story Dumbledore had told her, there would have been almost nothing done, other than a stern warning not to do it again.

The doors of the lift clanked open and Dumbledore led the two down a dark corridor that was lit with torches, rather than any other form of light. After going down a short flight of stairs, they came to a door where a tall man in glasses was waiting.

“Dumbledore. I was wondering when you were going to get here.” The man smiled.

“I must go in at once.” Dumbledore said in reply. “Arabella, I will call you first.”

“Right.” The old woman smiled nervously as the old wizard went through the heavy wood door. “How are you, Arthur?”

“I am fine Arabella, a little winded from the run down my department but otherwise fine.” He turned to Chara. “And this is someone I've never seen before... Arthur Weasley.” He held out his hand.

“Chara Black, Mr. Weasley. It is very nice to meet you.” She shook the offered hand.

Arthur blinked once or twice. “Black? Any relation to Sirius Black?”

Chara raised an eyebrow. “The man who made history by escaping from Azkaban? He would be my uncle.”

The door opened and a young man in horn-rimmed glasses appeared. “Mrs. Figg?”

“Oh, it's my turn... It was nice meeting you dear.” Mrs. Figg disappeared behind the large door with Percy Weasley.

“That is an interesting dialect, where are you from?” Mr. Weasly barely missed a beat.

“I'm from Houston, but I live in New Orleans.”

“Ah, America. Never been there. Did you take a portkey here?”

“To England sir?”

“Yes, did you take a portkey? I know you can't be old enough to apparate.”

“Actually sir, I came on an airplane.”

Arthur's eyes grew round. “Really? An airplane? All the way from across the ocean?”

Chara grinned. This man was very easy to talk to. “Yes Mr. Weasley, I have to take another one to Atlanta tonight.”

“Amazing.” He smiled. “I don't suppose you know how an airplane works, do you?”

“Not enough to describe it in detail...” Mrs. Figg came out of the room. “I've got to go. It was nice talking to you.”

“Likewise, Miss Black.” Arthur smiled as he watched the girl push open the door.

Harry was starting to wish a hole would appear in the floor and just swallow him up. Mrs. Figg's testimony hadn't been that solid.

“Not a very convincing witness.” Fudge sneered as Mrs. Figg disappeared out of the door.

“Perhaps.” Dumbledore smiled faintly. “But I do have one more witness to call.”

Harry glanced sideways at his headmaster. The only other person who knew what had happened was Dudley. Things had just gone from bad to worse.

Fudge glanced down at the sheet in front of him. “Go ahead, call your next witness.”

“Chara Azriel Black.”

Harry's head was not the only one that jerked up. His head spun so fast towards the door, he felt a crick in his neck. At the name, he had expected to see a lanky boy with black hair and a face that might be similar to the way Sirius looked. Instead, he was staring at a young girl with caramel colored hair, perhaps his height, and just as thin.

Chara was taking in the scope of the room. It was full of wizards and witches, the entire British Wizengamot. She set her bag in the chair that Mrs. Figg had previously occupied. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought she was hear to defend Harry Potter on a murder charge.

Fudge recovered slightly. It was not the name that made so many of them start as the girl sat down. It was her face. The girl could not have known it, but in the way she sat, her back straight and her head high, confident, reminded many of them of another woman who sat in this very room in the exact same manner. Bellatrix LeStrange. “Ah yes, start your name and place of residency.”

“Chara Azriel Black of New Orleans, Louisiana. I am an incoming fifth year student at Windborne Conservatory.” She glanced to Fudge's left and saw a pudgy woman smirk.

“And why were you in Little Whinging on the night of August second?”

“My guardians came to England for a lecture tour of muggle universities. They were having guests for dinner. When they started to discuss the medical field, I was excused to go on a walk.” Chara let out a deep breath. This was a little easier now that she was actually doing it.

“At what point did you first see the defendant?”

Chara glanced at Harry, who was still staring at her in shock. “I saw him in a playground at the end of Magnolia Crescent. The park was empty except for us.”

“Did he see you there?” A woman on Fudge's left side interjected.

“No ma'am. I was there in the park for maybe, ten minutes, and then I heard voices of a gang of boys coming up the street.”

“This would be Dudley Dursley and his friends?”

“Yes, sir.” She thought for a moment. “I checked my watch, and realized I better get back before it was to late. I got down from the jungle gym I was on, and Mr. Potter here had also started towards the gate. He was probably not more than twenty feet away.”

“So you both left the park...” The woman on the left spoke again. “Did anyone in the gang of boys notice you?”

“No. They were talking to each other, if they noticed me they didn't say anything.”

“Go on.” The woman prompted, smiling faintly.

“Well, the gang of boys broke up and Mr. Potter here called out to his cousin, and I saw the two of them turn into an alley. I heard them provoking each other.”

“They were fighting?” Fudge's expression changed at this. “What about?”

“I couldn't hear all of it, but apparently Mr. Dursley beats up kids in his neighborhood... and Mr. Potter doesn't really like it. It was probably typical boy stuff.”

“Could you see them at this point?”

“No, I wasn't at the alley yet. I had to stop and tie my shoe...”

Harry saw the girl flinch. He knew what was coming. Whatever the dementors had done to her, it had terrified her as much as it had him.

“Yes?” Fudge leaned forward. “What happened then?”

“It got cold.” Chara shut her eyes and shuttered. “And then... things got fuzzy, and it was like I was seeing the past.” She clutched the arms of her chair. This part wasn't easy. “Screams. Things I didn't want to remember...” She swallowed and opened her eyes. “I looked up and I saw a dementor, not any further from me then than Mr. Potter is now.”

“Describe it, please.” A very high pitched voice next to Fudge said.

“I'd say it was about nine feet. Bony hands, and it smelled like rotting shellfish. It stopped, and looked down at me... and then went into the alley.”

“What did you do then?” The woman on Fudge's left spoke again.

“My head cleared a little, and I didn't know at the time that Mr. Potter was a wizard.”

Harry drew in a sharp breath. He couldn't believe there was someone besides him who knew how vividly this had happened.

“You had your wand on you, correct?” The woman on the left said.

“Yes ma'am. I was a little more concerned about the boy's becoming a dementors mid evening snack than I was the decree for underage wizardry.”

Fudge went scarlet. “You were going to risk that?”

“Like I said, sir, I was a little more concerned for human life. I went for my wand.. I had it in my bag, but I had just gotten my hand wrapped around it when Mr. Potter conjured the Patronus Charm.”

“What did you see then?” The woman on the left was starting to sound excited.

“I saw a silver stag... it charged the dementor at my end of the alley. In it's light I could see a second one on the other side of the alley, they had essentially boxed the boys in. After the Patronus took on the second one, I ran back to the house I was staying at, I didn't want to know if there was a third one.”

The wizards and witches were now whispering to one another. Harry was taking this to be a good sign. Ameilia Bones leaned forward, looking down at Chara. “I would like to know, Miss Black, if you are also able of producing a corporeal Patronus?”

Chara's eyebrows lifted. “Yes, ma'am, I can.”

“You learned this at school?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Do they teach that to all students at Windborne?” Fudge asked.

“Well...” Chara thought for a moment, wondering to explain how she had learned the charm, but Dumbledore answered for her.

“While what is taught at Hogwarts can be a concern of the ministry, it is not this ministry's concern what is taught at Miss Black's school.”

Fudge seemed to compose himself slightly. “When you arrived at your temporary residence, did you tell anyone what had happened?”

“I waited for my guardian's dinner guests to leave before telling them what happened. I had a chocolate chip cookie, and tried my best to explain to them what had happened.” Chara smiled faintly.

“Any further questions?” Fudge looked around at the rest of those people on the court. No one said anything. “Weasley? Did you get all of that?”

Harry glanced at Percy, who suddenly jumped. “Yes sir!” Harry had the feeling that Percy hadn't written much. Odds were, he had been staring at the girl had hard as everyone who wasn't questioning her.

Fudge waved his hand. “The witness is free to go.”

Chara stood, shouldered her bag and looked over the sea of faces. This was like something out of a bad dream. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it.

“You alright?” Mr. Weasley looked at the young girl in alarm.

“I'm fine Mr. Weasley, I am just a little drained.” She came away from the door. “I just have to go down these stairs and down the corridor to the elevator, yes?”

“Right.” Mr. Weasley came towards her. “I had a bit of a chat with Arabella.” He smiled. “I'd like to thank you, for helping Harry...”

“Oh, it's no problem, Mr. Weasley.” Chara was relaxing. “I just believe in doing what's right.” She started up the stairs. “It was very nice meeting you. I would have liked to have done so under better circumstances, however.”

Mr. Weasley turned as the door opened and Dumbledore strode out quickly. He leaned towards him. “Miss Black will be joining you for dinner.” He disappeared up the stairway as Harry burst through the door.

“Cleared!” Harry was smiling for the first time in a long time, it seemed. “Of all charges!”

Mr. Weasley beamed. “That's wonderful! Now...” He trailed off as the wizengamot went past him. “Merlin's beard...” He pulled Harry back against the wall so they could all pass. “You were tried in front of the entire court?”

“Yes...” Harry watched as Percy passed, not even acknowledging the pair. They started up the stairs. His mind was on the girl. He couldn't wait to tell Sirius what had happened. This was snapped short when he saw a sight that wasn't very welcome. Fudge was talking to Lucius Malfoy, and the third person in the party was Chara Black.

“Ah, I see here he is... out of trouble again, are you Mr. Potter?” Lucius gave him a cold smile. “It's almost snake like, the way you get out of trouble.”

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked bluntly.

Chara glanced from Harry to Mr. Malfoy. The man gave her the creeps, even more than Fudge did. She cleared her throat. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Malfoy, Minister.” She walked up the hallway towards the lift.

Lucius beamed at her. “Lovely girl. At the hearing, you say?”

“She supposedly saw the attack.”

Chara did not hear the rest of the exchange that followed, but Mr. Weasley and Harry joined her in the lift. She pulled out a copy of The Daily Prophet and was glancing at an article when the doors clicked shut.

“Er... thanks Miss Black.” Harry said, leaning against the back wall of the lift.

“It was nothing, Mr. Potter. And you can call me Chara.”

“Sure, but only if you call me Harry.”

When she smiled, Harry saw that it did not reach her eyes. Her eyes were sad. “Not a problem, Harry. Did you win?”

Harry grinned. “I wouldn't call it winning... but I was cleared.”

“That's good.”

Mr. Weasley smiled faintly. “Can you find your way to the Leaky Cauldron yourself, Miss Black?”

“Yes, sir.” Chara ran her finger along the crossword. More than anything, she just wanted to go home. Why she couldn't take an earlier flight, she had no idea. Perhaps she would go to Heathrow early, and see if she could get to Atlanta earlier on standby.

****

“He got off! He got off! He got off!” Ginny, George and Fred chanted repeatedly as Harry made his way into the kitchen of Number 12. There was so much commotion, he vaguely heard Mr. Weasley mention something about a guest for dinner. He assumed this would be Kingsley.

“So Dumbledore swung it for you?” Ron said as he, Harry and Hermione sat down at the table for lunch.

“I suppose you could say that...” Harry watched as Sirius left the room and leaned forward. “Say, you two remember a few days ago, in the drawing room? The person Sirius didn't know?”

“Yeah, I saw that name too...” Hermione thought. “Chara something...”

“What about him?” Ron asked.

“He's not a he, he's a she.” Harry said. “She was at my trial.”

“WHAT?” The two said at once, barely heard over the twin's and Ginny's chanting.

“Yeah. That's what I thought...” He went on to describe the trial to his two friends, his mind not really on what had happened afterwards. He wasn't expelled, he was going back to school, and for the most part, everything was good.

Mrs. Weasley set a plate of roast chicken in front of Harry. “Now eat up, you barely touched breakfast...”

“HE GOT OFF! HE GOT OFF!!”

“Will you lot shut up!” Mrs. Weasley barked.

**

Chara kicked a can aside as she walked down Grimuald Place. The whole street reminded her of places of New Orleans that you'd visit to dump a body, if you weren't smart enough to chuck it into the Mississippi River or dump it in the swamps. Professor Dumbledore had told her where to go, and she adjusted the strap on her duffel bag. She passed number eleven and looked around. No one was looking from the windows of the other houses as she peered around a large tree and drew a sharp breath.

There, plain as day, was Number Twelve. She went up the stone steps, slightly pensive. The whole house looked as if it had been pulled from the mind of Stephen King. Not seeing a doorbell, she put her hand on the door knocker, but pulled away when she heard the sound of locks being pulled back. Someone had been watching from the windows, somewhere.

Mrs. Weasley smiled. “You must be Chara, come in dear... come in... quickly.”

Chara did as she was told and Mrs. Weasley quickly locked the door again. She put her larger bag down as the witch addressed her in a soft voice. “I'm Mrs. Weasley, it's good to meet you.” She put her finger to her lips. “This way... mind the umbrella stand.”

Nodding, Chara kept a firm grip on her messenger bag as she was led down some stone steps. “I'm not late, am I?”

“Not at all dear...” She stopped. “Wait here...” Mrs. Weasley went into the kitchen, and a voice carried up to her.

“Molly what is it that you wanted me down here for?” Sirius was annoyed. He was a touch upset that Harry HAD gotten off and there would be no seeing him after he left for school, at least not until Christmas. He took a swig of butterbeer. “I'd rather not stay down here longer than I have to...”

“Oh, it will only take a few minutes, Sirius.” Molly smiled. “I think it's a little important.”

“And what is so important?” Sirius snapped.

“Chara, come here please.” Mrs. Weasley beamed as Chara came to the foot of the stairs.

The bottle of butterbeer Sirius had been holding dropped a fraction of an inch as his brother's daughter came to the foot of the stairs. “Merlin's beard... I didn't....” He stood. “You're a girl!”

Chara blinked at her uncle. “You thought I was a boy?”

“A name like Chara....” Sirius came around the table. This was rather awkward in his mind, how was he supposed to talk to her? Until last week, he hadn't even known about her. And hadn't really thought it was important.

Chara grinned nervously. “I guess since until about a week ago I though you were a deranged killer, that makes us even.”

Sirius chuckled. “I'll agree to that.” His face changed and he turned to Molly. “Where did she come from?”

“Apparently she was at Harry's hearing today.” Mrs. Weasley went over to the stove. “Why don't you ask her about that?”

Chara came over to the table and gingerly set her bag down on the bench. “Do you need any help, Mrs. Weasley?”

“No... it's all right...” She smiled. “You're from New Orleans, yes?”

“Not exactly, but it's where I live...”

“How can you live in New Orleans but not be from there?” Sirius interjected.

“Simple. I wasn't born in New Orleans, I was born in Houston.”

“Ah yes, that's one of the Ministry cities is in the United States.” Sirius stated and went back to his seat on the far bench. “You can sit down if you want to, Chara.”

“I'm fine.” Chara rubbed her nose.

Sirius took a sip of butterbeer. “So how's your mother, Chara? Uh... what's her name again... that girl...”

“Arianna Parkinson?”

“Yes, how is she?” Sirius watched the girl's face fall. “What's the matter?”

Chara looked from her uncle to Mrs. Weasley, who had turned around and was staring at her. “My mother died when I was two. I live with adoptive parents. Uncle Ethan and Aunt Becca.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Sirius took a long swallow of butterbeer. “Don't recall anyone named that in our family...”

“They're muggles, Uncle Sirius.”

Butterbeer was spewed across the table by Sirius at this. “My pureblood worshiping parents let you be raised by muggles?” He hacked a few times. “I can't believe that...”

Chara looked away. “It's easy when no one wants you...” She smiled faintly. “Or get locked up for a crime you didn't commit.”

“I'm sure they are very nice people.” Mrs. Weasley turned back around to the stove.

“They are. Are you okay?”

Sirius finished coughing. “Fine...” He pulled out his wand and cleaned up the spilled butterbeer with a vanishing spell. “So where are your aunt and uncle then?”

“Back in New Orleans. They've been back for a while.”

“They just left you here?” Mrs. Weasley said sharply.

Chara went and picked up a stack of plates from the counter. “It doesn't matter.”

“So where have you been since they left?”

“Hogsmeade.” She set the stack of plates on the table and began setting them around.

“You don't need to do that, dear...” Mrs. Weasley came towards her. “Just leave those...”

“No, it's all right. I'd like to help.” She paused. “How many do I need to set for?”

Sirius chuckled. “You're rather adamant about that, aren't you Chara?”

“Grandmama Angela would come all the way from Mobile and twist my nose if I didn't at least do something...”

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. “You're just as stubborn as your uncle is!” Smiling she turned back to the stove. “Twelve places, dear.”

“Sure.” Chara went back to setting the plates around as Sirius stood and brought the silverware to the table. “That's an interesting pattern.”

“Family crest, I for one, don't like it.”

Chara picked up a knife and studied it. “It is rather ostentatious.”

They had just finished setting the table when there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Ginny reached the bottom of the stairs as quickly as she could, without waking up any of the portraits. “Mum? Fred and George were wondering when...” She trailed off when she saw the strange girl standing on the far side of the table. “Hello.”

“Hi.”

Sirius looked from one girl to the other. “Ginny, why don't you take Chara upstairs until dinner?”

“Sure.”

“Dinner will be in thirty minutes.” Mrs. Weasley stated. “Mind you and your brothers don't start chanting again. We don't need anything woken up again.”

“Yes, mum.”

Chara picked up her bag from where she dropped it and came over to the stairs. “You don't need any more help?”

“No, not at all.”

“Come on.” Ginny turned up the stairs and Chara followed. “You're the girl that was a witness at Harry's hearing, right?”

“Uh huh.” They made their way quietly through the hallway and up the next flight of stairs. Chara adjusted her bag and sniffed the air. “Someone been using doxycide?”

“We had to fumigate the drawing room. There was a whole colony of them in the curtains.”

“Ugh.”

“Agreed.” Ginny came to a stop at a door and knocked.

“Come in!” A voice called.

“Mum says dinner will be ready in half an hour.” Ginny said, opening the door.

“Say Gin, who's your friend?” Ron said, seeing the girl behind his sister.

Harry looked around George. “I... don't believe it...”

“Everyone, this is Chara, Chara this is everyone.” Ginny grinned. “Apparently, someone sent her over for dinner.”

Hermione stood. “I'm Hermione Granger, you're Sirius's niece, right?”

“Uh huh.” Chara smiled nervously. “So is everyone else here besides Harry called Everybody?”

Fred laughed. “Formal, aren't you? I'm Forge, and this is my brother Gred.”

George grinned. “No, I'm Forge, you're Gred!”

Hermione smiled. “You're from America, right? You must go to the Salem Institute.”

“No, I go to Windborne.”

“Oh.” She thought for a moment. “Windborne... that's not a very old school, is it?”

“No, not by the terms of Wizarding Schools, it was established in eighteen forty.”

“I'm Ron by the way. Go ahead, sit down if you want.”

“No, thank you. I'm fine.”

Ginny sat down next to Fred. “I think mum got irritated with our chanting.”

“Well, you did wake up every portrait in the house.” Hermione said. “And it didn't help that you wouldn't stop doing it.”

“Hey, we were celebrating!” George said. “Can you blame us if we want to be happy with what Harry did?”

“Yeah, Hermione.” Fred put in. “It's not like we set off fireworks or anything.”

“Although, now that sounds like a good idea...”

“Don't you dare!” Hermione stood up. “What if the neighbors hear? What if you set the house on fire?”

“If they can't see the house, they can't hear what goes on inside it. Now if you opened a window to let off fireworks, then you might have reason to be worried.”

Everyone turned and started at Chara.

“What?” Chara backed away a pace.

George stood, and pulled her back over to sit between him and his twin. “I like this girl!”

Hermione shook her head. “It still wouldn't be a good idea.”

“No, it's a great idea.”

The twins and Ginny burst out laughing. Chara grinned nervously.

Harry looked at Ron and shrugged. “Do you think Dumbledore will be coming to dinner tonight?”

“I don't know. He might be to busy, with the start of school and things like that. I heard dad telling mum that he's still not found a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.” Ginny said.

Hermione sat down. “We still haven't gotten book lists either, I'm going to be behind in my reading if we don't get them soon.”

“Don't worry Hermione, even if we don't get the book lists until the day before school starts, odds are, you'll have time to read all the new books before the first class.”

“I like being prepared, Ron. Something you and Harry should try more often.”

“What for? It's not like we can't borrow your notes.” Ron stated.

“What if I didn't let you borrow them this year?”

“Then we'd fail.” Harry said.

“Not that you'd let us do that.”

“I just might!”

“Are they always like this, Forge?” Chara asked Fred.

“I think so.” Fred grinned. “Glad you remembered my name.”

“Well, I knew it was that or Gred.”

George laughed. “Either one would be right.”

“Come on, let's go down to dinner.” Ginny stood.

“Sounds good.” Ron added. They made their way quietly downstairs, and arrived in the kitchen just as Bill and Mr. Weasley arrived home from work. There was some scuffling of chairs and clanking of platters before the group was finally settled. Chara found herself sitting at the end of the table next to Ginny and across from Mr. Weasley.

“So why are you flying to Atlanta if you live in New Orleans?” Mr. Weasley asked as he lathered some butter onto a piece of bread.

“I need to change planes in Atlanta. There's no direct flight from here to New Orleans. The plane wouldn't hold enough fuel.” Chara cut a meatball in half. “I don't mind. My layover in Atlanta should be long enough to get some form of breakfast...” She smiled. “Not that I think I'll need it, this is probably the best meal I've had since I came here back in the first part of July.”

Mrs. Weasley, who was sitting next to her husband, beamed. “I'm glad you like it. I don't make meatballs very often.”

Ginny looked up from her plate. “Are your aunt and uncle going to meet you at the airport tonight?”

Chara shook her head. “No, they're not.”

“They can't have left already...” Mr. Weasley said.

Sirius turned his head toward the conversation. “Who's left?”

“Chara's guardians, they can't have already gone back to New Orleans and left her here...”

“They did.” Chara said in a small voice. “They've been gone since the first part of August.”

“You mean they left you here?” Ginny said, stunned. “I can't believe that...”

“I... I don't want to talk about it. It doesn't matter.”

“Doesn't matter?” Mr. Weasley's voice took on a sharp tone. “You don't care that they left you here?”

“There wasn't much time to arrange things. I'm used to them not noticing things. Odds are, they haven't even noticed I'm not home.”

“Sounds like a familiar story...” Sirius cast his gaze towards Harry. “But they probably do miss you.”

“They might...” Chara poked a meatball. “It's not important...”

Sirius looked doubtful, and exchanged looks with Mr. Weasley. “Well, I'm willing to bet that your aunt and uncle trust you enough to come home, and go jetting off to someplace like Brazil.”

“I never thought of that...” Chara grinned. “I'll keep that idea for later.”

More Fun with Fics!

darth_firefly — Wed, 19 Apr 2006 14:15:29 GMT

Title: Nocturne of the Stars
Rating: PG-13 (For the moment)
Pairings: None at the moment
Author's Notes: This story is a crossover with Sherrlyn Kenyon's Dark-Hunter series. AU starting at OotP.
Summary: There are dangers we do not see - evils we do not know about. While the world may seem to be chaos, there is order. Regulus Black made his choice in life - and in death makes another - that will not only affect him - but those that he cares about. Even those he will never meet.

Chara turned over, stretched and yawned. Sleep had been swift to settle upon her, despite last night's events. She sat up and looked around the room. It looked much more cheerful in the daylight. After getting dressed and shouldering her messenger bag she went downstairs. The pub was empty, save for Madam Rosemerta who was behind the counter, polishing a glass.

“Good morning.” Chara covered another yawn.

“Morning Miss Black.” Madam Rosemerta smiled. “Professor Dumbledore sent word this morning, he'd like you to go up to the school during the day.”

Chara blinked. “What?”

“He feels it's safer for you there.”

She nodded and came over to the bar. “Am I supposed to be there before or after breakfast?”

The older witch's face broke into a wide smile. “Hungry, then?”

“A little..”

“What would you like?”

“I don't suppose you have biscuits and gravy.”

The woman made a face. “Why on Earth would you put gravy on biscuits?”

Chara blinked, and then covered her eyes, shaking her head. “Oh that's right... you call cookies biscuits over here....”

“What are biscuits where you come from, then?” Madam Rosemerta was a touch interested.

“They're...” She thought for a moment. “They're baked buttermilk dough, sort of like a bread roll, but they're softer, a little more airy...”

“I'm afraid I wouldn't know how to make those, you wouldn't happen to have a recipe, would you?”

“No...” Chara bit the corner of her lip. “Do you have flapjacks?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Er... pancakes?”

Madam Rosemerta nodded. “That I can do. Anything else?”

“Bacon please.”

Madam Rosemerta nodded and in a few minutes Chara had dropped a few coins on the bar and was smearing some requested jam over her breakfast. “So you're from America, yes?”

“Uh huh.” Chara started to eat.

“So you go to Salem Institute, then?”

Here, she shook her head. “Windborne. I'm a FGA, I'm not...I do not fill all of the Salem's requirements.”

“FGA?”

"First Generation American. One of the Institutes admission requirements is that you have to be able to trace someone in your family being a citizen of the United States at the end of the War for Independence.”

“That's a rather silly rule.”

Chara stuffed a very unladylike like piece of bacon into her mouth and chewed. When she had swallowed. “I wouldn't dream of going to Salem, Madam Rosemerta. While Windborne may not have it's reputation, it does not have as many discriminating rules.”

Madam Rosemerta nodded and moved into the back as Chara finished her breakfast. Downing the rest of her breakfast tea she set off from the Three Broomsticks up the high street and jogged the short distance to the school's gates. Winged boars stood on either side of the gate, and she shook her head. Every school had it's own ways, it's own mannerisms. And a lot of them probably had a lot of ugly sculptures.

Hogwarts stood next to a very large lake. It was bright in the summer sunlight, the grounds a strong green, and the woods framed the other border. As she rounded the curve of the drive, she saw a small cottage settled next to the woods, and as she shaded her eyes, she saw a vegetable garden in bad need of weeding, and looking a bit further, could see a corner of a greenhouse. The school itself was at least twice the size of Windborne. A mid evil looking castle, turrets, flags, the whole nine yards. Catching her breath she looked towards the door, she saw a man in black standing there, arms folded, watching her.

Severus Snape had watched the thin girl approached, and had been slightly shocked. He had not known until last night, when Dumbledore had told him, that Regulus had a child and that Arianna Parkinson was dead. The girl bore almost no resemblance to her mother, who, in Snape's opinion, had been only mildly pretty. To her father, however – the same amber colored hair, the same steady gait. However, the closer the girl became, the closer another person came to mind. Bellatrix. The hair color was different, but other than that, the resemblance was striking. A tiny smirk appeared on his lips. Dumbledore had also told him that every single one of this girl's pureblood relations had refused to take her in – the Dark Lord would be livid if he knew that...if he knew that his Death Eaters had left a pureblood child, the last Black left to be raised by muggles. Even if Regulus had wanted out...

Chara was now at the foot of the stairs, looking up at the man. His hair looked somewhat oily, his nose sharp and hooked. “Good morning.”

“Miss Black.” Snape said evenly. “Professor Dumbledore wanted to speak with you as soon as you arrived here.”

“All right, thank you....Professor...” She came up the stairs and stood level with the man.

“Snape.” The man answered. “This way.” He motioned with his hand, and Chara followed.

“Thank you, Professor Snape.”

Snape nodded curtly. It was odd, trying to make conversation with this girl. Had she been born in England, there was a fair bet she'd be in Slytherin House. All the Blacks were Slytherins, all of them, except Sirius. He had been in Gryffindor. Among the purebloods of England, that was almost as bad as being sorted into Hufflepuff. There had been some who had ended up in Gryffindor, there had been a Nott, many years ago, and various other families had their own skeletons in the closet. “You attend Windborne Conservatory, is that correct?”

Chara nodded, glancing at a few of the paintings on the walls. She hated the fact that wizarding paintings moved. Or rather, that all of them moved. “Yes, sir.”

“And what is your best subject?”

Chara shrugged as they went up another flight of stairs. “Transfiguration, I suppose Professor. Either that or Potions.”

“How interesting.”

She grinned slightly. “My head of house constantly wants to know how I can do so well in Potions and then do abysmal in Herbology.”

Snape shook his head. “They are two entirely different fields. I take it your head of house teaches neither.”

“No sir, Professor Darrow teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts.” They turned up another corridor. “What do you teach, sir?”

“Potions.” Snape said curtly.

“I thought so. You look like someone who would be a Potions Master.”

Snape rounded on her. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

Chara blinked at the man, who seemed suddenly angry. “Well, if this was a Muggle school, I'd have thought you taught high level math classes. You have that...” She looked for the right words. “'I don't tolerate any foolishness' aura about you.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on Snape's face. “You are very astute, Miss Black.” He turned back up the corridor. “Foolishness is the fastest way to finding yourself in a world of pain.”

They came to stop in front of a large sculpture of a bird, flanked by two stone gargoyles. Snape nodded curtly to the area next to the statue. “In here.”

Chara stepped up next to the bird, and just as she turned to face Snape to ask him where the door was, he spoke.

“Chocolate frogs.” There was a groan and creak of stone, and Chara found herself on what was probably the fifth stair on a slowly rising staircase. It was getting lighter as she rose, and soon the corridor was no longer visible. When the stairs stopped turning, she found herself in another corridor, and she went towards the door at the end of it. When she knocked, the sound seemed to echo around her. There came no reply from the other side, only a small clicking sound, as if the door was being unlocked. Turning the knob, she pushed the door open, and slowly looked inside.

“Hello?” The room was rather large, shelves cluttered with all sorts of silvery objects, things she couldn't identify. “Professor Dumbledore?” She came further into the room, and had the feeling she was being watched. She glanced upwards, and saw that the walls had paintings of past headmasters and headmistresses. At least, that's who she assumed they were. All of them starting at her. Here and there, one would flit out of their own painting, and into a neighbors, still watching her. It was extremely creepy.

Near the desk was a large perch, and resting on that was a bird the size of a swan, a fiery red color. It was a phoenix.

“Miss Black?”

The voice caused her to jump.

Dumbledore gave her a smile. “I did not mean to startle you. I take it you have never seen a phoenix before, Miss Black.” He was standing next to a large bookcase, watching her.

Chara shook her head. “No sir. Professor Snape said you wanted to see me...I didn't mean to intrude, or anything...”

“It's quite all right.” Dumbledore walked over to his desk. “I would like to inform you that your adoptive parents have arrived safely at home.”

“That's good...” Chara glanced up at the walls. More portraits, most of them still stared at her. None so hard as a man sitting in front of a silver and green banner. “Um...”

“Is everything all right?”

Chara gave him a nervous smile. “I always feel a little odd when wizarding portraits watch me. It's a little creepy.”

Dumbledore laughed. “It is quite all right. Please, sit down.” He gestured to the highback chair near her.

She did so. “I'm not in any sort of trouble, am I?”

“No, no, not at all. I was told by Professor McGonagall what you saw. I also know what has happened.”

“I know it seems a little hard to believe.”

“It does at that.” Dumbledore rose. “Which is why you will have to give testimony to what you saw. At this time, the Minister of Magic and the majority of his staff will not believe what I and Harry Potter would tell them.”

Chara watched him. “I don't know why I would make such a difference, Professor. They don't know me. They'd also probably state that I was just telling them what you want them to hear.”

“Ah, but here you are mistaken. I have spoken with your headmaster, as well as your head of house. They know your character, and they can validate that you are not a liar.” He walked back towards the bookcase, selected a book, and came back.

Chara looked down at the patches on her bag. “Good thing you're not asking my classmates.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “I do not think that your classmates are aware of all the burdens they have forced upon you that you already had.”

Chara slowly looked up. “I can handle it.”

“I know you can, Miss Black.” He templed his fingers and stared over them at her. “I believe I need to inform you of a few things to which I believe you're entitled.”

“If it's about You-Know-Who being back, Professor McGonagall already told me.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Indeed he is back. But there are people who refuse to believe he is back. Therefore, every witch and wizard in Great Britain is in very real danger.”

“Sir, if you'll forgive me, but it's sort of the story you don't want to be true.”

“I know, Miss Black. But for now, let us focus on a touch of something lighter.” Here, his smile was light. “I am going to assume that you know that your uncle escaped from Azkaban.”

“Is there anyone in the wizarding world who doesn't know, Professor?”

“Of course. Then I assume you also know why he was sent there.”

“Yes. He was sent there for the murder of one wizard and twelve muggles.”

“A crime, Miss Black, he did not commit”

Chara felt her jaw drop. “What?”

“Your uncle Sirius Black, is an innocent man.”

“Then why are they still hunting him?” Shock was starting to give way to anger.

“Because, just as some refuse to believe Voldemort has returned, so to with your uncle being innocent.”

Chara blinked. “My uncle went to prison for a crime he didn't commit?”

“That is correct. He went because he knew that no one would believe in his innocence. Those that could tell the truth were either dead, or would not speak.”

“That's horrible.” Chara took a deep breath. “Why are you telling me this?”

Dumbledore looked over his fingers at the girl. “Because you are entitled to the truth. Just as Harry Potter is entitled to the truth at his...trial.”

“Trial? I thought defending yourself sort of revoked the statute of the decree of underage wizardry. I thought it was usually just a small slap on the wrist, barely that considering the muggle he was with was his cousin.” Chara shifted her feet nervously. “It's Harry Potter that people don't want to believe.”

Dumbledore nodded.

“And you. They don't want to believe you either.” Chara ran a hand through her hair. “This makes absolutely no sense. Is it the pure unlikelihood of two dementors going for a stroll in Little Winging that makes this so hard?” She snorted. “And I suppose the people who see the thestrals race at Ascot just keep their mouths shut.”

“Indeed.” The old wizard smile brightened. “I do not believe you are in any danger from the ministry. I believe they are under the impression that you are across the Atlantic and won't be visiting England at any time in the future.”

Chara nodded. “Then why...”

“I'd like to keep you on the school grounds as a mere...precaution. Given the current state of things.”

“I understand. Sort of like evacuating for a hurricane when they're a seventy percent it's going to crash into the city you live in, right?”

“Exactly, Miss Black.” Dumbledore stood. “I think you understand perfectly.”

Chara stood as well. “I'm not exactly sure what I can do while I'm here.”

“It is only for a short while. A week, perhaps a few days more – I'm certain you have some homework you could finish, so that you can enjoy the remainder of your holiday.”

Chara grinned nervously. “I guess so...or I could start studying for O.W.L.s... if I pass Herbology, it will be a miracle.”

“Come, come...” He escorted her to the door. “The library is down the corridor, to the left down another flight of stairs. That would probably be the best place for you to work.”

“Tha..thank you sir.” Chara pulled open the heavy door, shouldering her bag. “Down the hall to the left?”

“Correct.”

Chara nodded and left the room.

****

Harry sneezed as the dust settled in the drawing room. He, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, the twins and Mrs. Weasley had been working on the drapes for hours. At least two hundred doxies were unconscious and stuffed into buckets at their feet. The whole room reeked of dust and doxiside. He pulled off his handkerchief as the doorbell rang downstairs, and the screaming of Mrs. Black portrait began.

Mrs. Weasley set down her spray bottle. “Stay here you lot.” She bustled out of the room and shut the door behind her, though it did not click shut. She was no sooner gone than they all ran to the windows and looked down.

“It's Mudungus.” Said Hermione. “What on earth is he doing with all those cauldrons?”

“Probably looking for a safe place to stash them.” Harry said. “Wasn't he supposed gotten a lot of cauldrons to me that night he was supposed to be trailing me.”

“Blimey!” Said George. “Mum's not going to like this one bit.” He and Fred went to the door, listening. “Sounds like he's talking to Kinglsey and Sirius.”

“You think it's worth Extendable Ears? I can run up and grab a few.” Fred said.

“I think we can risk it...” But he was cut off by a scream of rage.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? THIS ISN'T A PLACE FOR HIDING STOLEN GOODS!!!!” Mrs. Weasley's voice was full of rage. Fred and George backed away from the door a few paces, for a half a second later, Mrs. Black's voice joined Mrs. Weasley's, and the two vied to be heard.

“DIRT! MUDBLOODS, TRAITORS, CREATURES OF WORTHLESSNESS!!”

“COMPLETELY IRRESPONSABLE, AS IF THERE'S NOT ENOUGH GOING ON....”

“I love to hear mum shout at someone else.” Fred grinned. “That idiot is letting her get into her stride.” He made to shut the door to cut off both voices, but not before a very old, very decrepit looking house elf slumped into the room. The elf took no notice of anyone in the room, it merely skulked across the room, muttering under it's breath. “Smells like a drain and a criminal to boot, but she's no better, nasty blood traitor with her brats, smelling up my mistresses house... Oh how she's moan and wail to Kreacher. My poor mistress, both of them forgotten by everyone...”

“Hello, Kreatcher” Fred said, shutting the door with a loud click.

The house elf bowed slightly. “Kreacher did not see Young Master...nasty little blood traitor he is.” This second part was under his breath.

“What was that?” George asked.

“And there's his twin, unnatural little beasts.” The house elf looked around at the others. “And there's the mudblood, standing there bold as anything, oh what my poor mistress would say if she knew, if she knew...”

“Hello, Kreatcher.” Hermione said brightly.

“The mudblood is talking to Kreacher as if she were Kreachers friend.” His eyes lit upon Harry. “And here is someone Kreacher does not know. Some new boy, why he is here, Kreatcher does not know...”

“This is Harry, Kreatcher.” Hermione said, a slightly touch of nervousness in her voice. “Harry Potter.”

“The mudblood is a bold one, oh what my mistress would say...”

“Don't call her a mudblood!” Ginny snapped.

“Harry? Harry Potter?” The elf's voice was hoarse. “Ah yes, Kreacher can see the scar. They say this is the boy who stopped the Dark Lord. Kreacher wonders how he did it.”

“Don't we all?” Ron snorted.

“What are you doing here anyway?” George demanded.

“Kreacher is cleaning.”

“A likely story.” A voice said from the doorway. Sirius glared at the houseself with loathing. At his appearance, Kreacher had flung himself into a bow so low, it crushed his nose against the floor. “Stand up straight and tell me what you are doing!”

Kreacher straightened up. “Kreacher is cleaning, Kreacher lives to serve the House of Black.”

“It's so dirty, it's getting blacker by the day.”

“Master always liked his little joke.” The house elf gave a mirthless grin. “How he broke his mother's heart when he left, oh how it hurt her...”

“My mother didn't have a heart, Kreacher.” Sirius snapped. “Hatred kept her alive.”

Kreacher bowed again. “As master wishes. Master is not worthy to clean his mother's boots, a disappointment to his family, and a murderer to boot.”

“Keep talking like that and I will be a killer. Now, tell me, once and for all what you were doing.”

“Kreacher only wanted to save the tapestry, master. Five centuries old, Kreacher did not want to see it thrown out...”

“I thought so.” Sirius glared at the large tapestry on the far wall. “She no doubt put another permanent sticking charm on it.. However, if I can get rid of it, I will. Now go away, Kreacher.”

Being a direct order, Kreacher slunk away obediently, still muttering as Sirius crossed to the tapestry. As the house elf slunk out, Mrs. Weasley came in, a tray of sandwiches held aloft by her wand. “Lunch.” She announced. Rather than join the others, Harry went to stand next to Sirius.

“I've not looked at this thing in ages.” Sirius's eyes ran along the many rows, the names stitched in with care. Along the top of the tapestry Harry saw the words: The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black “Toujours Pur” From what Harry could tell, the line went well back into the Middle Ages. As he scanned the bottom, he blinked in surprise.

“You're not on here!”

“I used to be.” Sirius pointed to a round burn mark. “My mother blasted me off the day I ran away from home. Kreacher is rather fond of telling the story under his breath.” He scanned the tree. “Andromeda's not on here anymore either.” He pointed to another round burn mark. “That would explain why Tonks isn't on here, either. That's probably why Kreacher won't take orders from her.” Harry glanced at the two names on either side of where Andromeda's should be. Bellatrix Black and Narcissa Black. A thinn band of gold linked the later to another name. Lucius Malfoy and from there names, another name Draco Malfoy.

“You're related to the Malfoys?” Harry said, horrified.

“All purebloods are interrelated. If your only going to let your children marry other purebloods, the choice becomes somewhat limited. I'm a cousin by marriage to Molly, and I think Arthur is my second cousin once removed...”

“Where'd you go when you ran away from home?”

“Your dad's place. I was about sixteen. I stayed there during holidays until I was of age. My Uncle Alphard, he left me a decent bit of gold...” He scanned the tree again. “That would explain why he's gone too..”

“Why'd you leave?”

“Why? Because I hated the whole lot of them. My parents and their pure blood mania, they thought being a Black practically made you royal, and my foolish brother believed them.” He jabbed a finger at the bottom of the tapestry, where the name Regulus Black gave the date of birth, followed by the date of death – some fifteen years ago. “My parents adored him, and he gave into their pureblood mania. The fool became a Death Eater.”

Harry stared at him. “Were you parents Death Eaters too?”

“No, but they thought Voldemort had the right idea. They were so proud when Reuglus joined.” Sirius shook his head. “Then he did something almost as stupid.”

“What?”

“This is what I've learned since I escaped, but apparently, he tried to quit when he found out what he was expected to do. And since you can't really hand in a resignation to Voldemort...” Sirius shook his head. “The stupid git.”

“Did Voldemort kill him?”

“No, it was more likely done on his orders. I doubt Regulus was ever important enough to be killed by him personally.” Sirius turned. “It's depressing, and I don't want to talk about it.”

“Come over you two or there'll be nothing left!” Ron called from across the room.

“Harry?” Sirius looked back at his godson, who was staring at the bottom of the tapestry. “What is it?”

Harry turned. “Who's this then?”

“Who's who?” Sirius came over and looked at the name he was pointing to. While no gold band attached Regulus to anyone on the side, but a single gold band went down from his name, under the date of his death, saw another name: Chara Azriel Black.

“That. Who is that?” Harry blinked. The date of birth was the same year as his. “There's no Black in my year... and I'm guessing if this person's a squib, they'd not be on here.”

Sirius shook his head. “I....I don't know.” He took Harry by the shoulder. “Come on, it's not important. Whoever this Chara person is, they don't matter.”

**

Several days later, late at night, in his den under the boiler, Kreacher patiently repaired two shattered glass frames with spellotape. Sirius had thrown them into the dustbins along with the china from the dinning room. Kreacher, however, had managed to scavenge these two back to his sanctuary. The first one's glass was far more damaged than the second, and he muttered to himself as he worked. “Traitors and mudbloods, the whole lot, oh my poor mistress, if she knew what was going on this house, how it would pain her, how she'd tell Kreacher what agony she would be in...”

The house elf picked up a cloth and rubbed the silver frame until it shone. “And this poor mistress, one of a handful of loyal ones, locked away in Azkaban.” He set Bellatrix LeStrange's picture down. Beneath the fractured glass, he could barely make out the witch pictured blinking at him. “How she'd side with my poor mistress in this. Mistress's elder son comes back to his father's house and now orders Kreacher around, oh my poor mistress.”

The second frame had one large crack along the corner, and its occupant had huddled up in another corner, oblivious to him. “Little mistress, Kreacher has never met her, abandoned by her family, poor little mistress, how my mistress wanted to take you in, but she could not, said she could not keep up with someone so young. Hoped someone else would volunteer.” He stuck a piece of spellotape over the crack. As his fingers ran along the glass, the occupant looked up at him, blinking.

A small infant with bright eyes and a thick bunch of hair tied with a bow. “Poor little mistress had to live with muggles, disgusting, foul, smelly. Oh, how my mistress ranted and raved when she found out...”

The baby girl in the picture sneezed.

*

Harry huddled under the covers, unable to sleep. Tomorrow he had to go to the ministry and defend his actions. It wasn't going to be anything major, Mr. Weasley had assured him of that. It was just meeting with Amelia Bones and she would decide if he would be expelled or not. Being expelled being the worst possible case. Should that occur, maybe Dumbledore would let him come live with Sirius. Going back to the Dursley's was worse than being expelled.

Having to live knowing he could never join the wizarding world again, forever outside of it, that was a nightmare.

The night the dementors attacked him and Dudley came back to him. Why had they been there? Had Voldemort sent them? What was he doing? These questions gradually faded and he fell into troubled dreams, searching for something.

*

Chara was shaken awake by Madam Rosemerta. “It's time to get up, dear. Dumbledore needs you downstairs and ready to leave for London in ten minutes.”

Chara sat up, rubbing her face. “What time is it?”

“It's just after five in the morning.”

“I'm up, I'm up...” She stretched as the older witch left her room. “I'm up at five, I have to catch a red eye flight to Atlanta tonight, this is going to be one long day...”

Nocturne of the Stars

darth_firefly — Wed, 19 Apr 2006 13:50:25 GMT

Title: Nocturne of the Stars
Rating: PG-13 (For the moment)
Pairings: None at the moment
Author's Notes: This story is a crossover with Sherrlyn Kenyon's Dark-Hunter series. AU starting at OotP.
Summary: There are dangers we do not see - evils we do not know about. While the world may seem to be chaos, there is order. Regulus Black made his choice in life - and in death makes another - that will not only affect him - but those that he cares about. Even those he will never meet.

The early August evening was the first breath of coolness there had been all day. Growing up in New Orleans had accustomed Chara to it being hot, but there it was also humid and the breeze from the Mississippi River, even though she lived a good seven miles from it, did a decent job of cooling the city at times. This summer in England had been horrible. She'd not seen it rain once, and the grass was brown and dry. It had been two years since Adrian had died, and things had not been good.

The Carlyle family had suddenly forgotten how to function as one. Ethan almost did nothing but work, sometimes has much as a hundred and forty hours a week. Rebecca had thrown herself into committees and clubs, spending her time doing charity work. Chara has all but become invisible. Her feelings in this regard mattered little. She had more or less spent her entire life, unless Adrian was ill, being invisible. Ethan had accepted the lecture tour of Great Britain for the summer, and it had been pure chance that he and Rebecca managed to remember that she would be coming with them. Because of Windborne's schedule, Chara had taken a separate flight from her adoptive parents.

Chara covered a yawn and made her way down to an almost deserted play park at the end of a street. They were staying in a house nearby, that the University of Surrey kept for visiting professors, and tonight, one of the professors and his wife had come for dinner. Once they had started to discuss current medical trends and international affairs, Chara had asked to be excused, and had gone for a walk. Before leaving, the professor's wife, Mrs. Harper, had told her, very sternly, to watch out for 'that horrible Dursley boy' who, according to her, was one of the most brutish children ever to be raised in Little Whinging. She had also been told to avoid his cousin, the 'strange' Potter boy.

Chara dropped the messenger bag which she nearly always carried on the other side of the fence and set a hand on the locked gate and pulled herself over it. She studied that the one swing was occupied by a scrawny, dark haired boy, probably close to her age. Apparently, there was no regular maintenance of the place, or else the swings had been broken so many times they had stopped replacing them. Chara walked towards the metal jungle gym and climbed up to the top, where a small platform was. She supposed it was meant to be like a tree fort, but if it ever had been so, there was no trace of it but the few planks left. Setting her bag next to her, she could see the cars racing along a highway heading for larger cities. She glanced back over at the boy, who was staring at his sneakers and the dirt beneath them. Chara had the fleeting notion to ask him what was so interesting, but after a second look at his face, she could see he was upset.

And would probably rather not be disturbed, from the way his mouth kept twitching. There was something familiar about his face, but Chara shrugged this off and went back to looking at the motorway.

In three weeks, school would start again. Chara both loved and hated school. It was her schoolmates that made Windborne unbearable. For some strange reason, they had decided that since Chara had three relatives locked up in Azkaban, and one deranged murdering uncle who should be, Chara was just as vile and as cruel as her second cousin, Bellatrix LeStrange. Because of this, most of the students avoided her like the plague. Others, however....

Chara shuddered at the memory of a rainy Saturday in this past year. One of the worst days of her life.

****

The rain pounded down as if it was angry at the ground of South Dakota. Chara made her way carefully around the larger mud puddles, coming back from her visit to the small town of Shiloh, which wasn't much more than an all purpose store, two pubs, and a post office for students and teachers of Windborne. Umbrellas were completely useless, with the wind blowing in strong gusts, cold and chilling, foretelling that the rain would, very shortly, turn to snow.

Chara was halfway up the path when someone shoved her from the front. Looking up, she saw the face of Patty Flynn, and saw a few other people, some fifth years she didn't know, standing behind her.

“Why don't you watch where you're going, Black?” Patty spat, and one of the fifth years came up and shoved her again.

“Yeah, Black.” Said a boys voice, coming up next to Patty. He ripped Chara's messenger bag from her and tossed it into a large puddle of mud.

Chara said nothing, and stepped to the side to retrieve her bag. She realized her mistake a moment to late, and two pairs of hands shoved her face down into the brackish and very sticky mud. She had one second to recover from her shock before the first clump of mud hit her in the back of the head. Chara grabbed her now filthy bag and started to stand, and more mud was thrown at her. It was hard to stand up already, and the hurling mud hindered her more.

“Freak!” Said one of the fifth years and a clump of muck hit Chara square in the face.

“Evil!” Screamed a second and Chara covered her eyes as mud flew at her. She was unable to block the very large and very foul smelling clod that hit her directly in the mouth.

“Stop that this instant!” A deep voice carried across the rain and the shower of mud stopped. Chara was able to stand as she saw Professor Darrow, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher striding towards them. He looked from Chara, now covered in cold mud to the four standing on the path, their hands stained with mud. He looked livid. “I supposed you're going to tell me Miss Black tripped, Miss Flynn.”

Patty blanched. “She did... we were trying to help her... and...” She broke off as he glared at the three boys.

“Four against one hardly seems fair, Miss Flynn.” He reached over and pulled the mud and rain drenched Chara onto the path. He looked at the three boys and Patty. “Who's idea was this?”

They did not answer, merely looked from one to the other. One of them, the tallest rubbed the back of his neck, and then brushed wet hair from his eyes. “Black's a dangerous girl, Professor.”

“That's right.” said the second boy. “Very dangerous.”

“Is she now?” Professor Darrow looked down at Chara, who was a foot shorter than him. “Odd. She seemed to be rather helpless against your assault...” He lifted a finger. “Or, she's sparing you the agony of what she could do to you, because she considers you a worthless target, Mr. Landry.”

The boy, Landry, forgot he was speaking to a professor and went red. “I'm not worthless, Black said that, did she?” He lunged towards her and was stopped by Darrow's hand.

“All four of you owe Miss Black an apology.” Professor Darrow glared at the four of them.

After they had apologized, albeit halfheartedly, they had received detention. But there was more damage done later, the incident had cost Chara two weeks in the hospital wing with the flu.

****

The sound of groaning chains snapped Chara from her sour memory. Turning she saw the skinny boy stand from the one remaining swing and head towards the fence. There were more voices, and turning, she saw a gang of boys of various sizes, around a very husky boy who was strutting as if he was a king. Checking her watch, Chara saw it was nearly nine. She had better head back to the house before Uncle Ethan sent out search hounds. She swung down to the ground with some ease and started off behind the skinny boy, who was about twenty feet in front of her.

Harry Potter, the skinny boy, had not noticed the thin girl who had been sitting on top of the jungle gym. Nor did he noticed that she was tailing him as he called out “Hey, Big D!”

Dudley Dursely swung around. “Oh, it's you.”

“So it's Big D now?” Harry said. Big was right, big headed, big boned, big in everything, save brains and heart. Chara had stopped to tie her shoe when the two boys had turned into a narrow alleyway, but she could hear them taunting one another. It sounded as if the thin boy was having nightmares regularly. Sounded as if he had a cousin who could use a good hexing. Chara was about to stand when the street lamps went out.

Then, it suddenly grew very, very cold, as if December had descended upon Surrey in July, and there was an odd smell in the air, a smell that reminded her of rotting shellfish. Something was starting to happen in her mind too, the sound of gunshots and screams. She turned slowly and that's when she saw it. Tall, cloaked, and gliding towards her. Something she had only seen in her copy of Creatures of the Night, a required reading for her third year Defense Against the Dark Arts class. A Dementor. She backed against the side of the wall that formed one side of the alley, willing herself to calm down.

The dementor paused, and looked down at her, and screaming grew louder and louder in her head, screams of people dying, her own screams as her mother's body pinned her to the ground. Then the dementor glided past her and started up the alley. The screaming slowly subsided, but remained, echoing through her thoughts. Panic shot through her, those two boys had no idea what was coming towards them. They were muggles, and about to be in a world of danger. She turned her head to follow the dementor, her hand reaching into the front pocket of her bag, where she kept her wand. She'd manage to explain it somehow... she had her hand clasped around the thin wood and was about ready to pull it out when a brilliant beam of white light filled the alley. Something drove the dementor past her, and she saw it for a moment before it raced up the alleyway again.

Chara was able to stand and look up as the thin boy lowered his wand, and then looked down at his cousin, who was shaking on the ground. Instinct was stronger than goodwill at the moment, especially after she saw the boy's patronus take on a second dementor. She didn't want to take her chances at there wasn't a third. She ran.

She arrived at the house panting and out of breath. Closing the door of the house, she dropped her bag and shut her eyes, trying to catch her breath.

“Char?” Aunt Becca came around the corner and gasped. “What happened?” She took her by the shoulders. “Was it that boy Mrs. Harper warned you about?”

The Harpers and Uncle Ethan stood up when Aunt Becca brought her into the sitting room. “Becca, what's wrong with Char?”

Becca sat her down and shook her head. “I tell you, that boy you were telling us about Leslie... Dursley, you said?”

Leslie Harper shook her head. “It's not going to be long and that boy will be brought before the law.”

Ethan brushed damp hair out of Chara's face and looked into her face. “Did he hurt you, Chara?”

Chara shook her head. “Gave me a good scare.” It wasn't a total lie. She hadn't said what had scared her. Just that she had been scared.

Dr. Harper poured some tea into a cup and put a spot of brandy in it. “Drink this, it will help calm you down.”

Chara took the cup and took a long sip, and managed a tiny smile. “I'm okay...”

The Harpers stood. “It was a wonderful evening, Ethan.” Dr. Harper looked down at Chara. “I'm going to apologize for that wretched boy and his gang, because tragically, the parents of all of them suffer from the delusion that their sons are angels.”

Leslie Harper snorted. “Angels my foot, demons is more like it!” She shook Ethan's and then Rebecca's hands. “It was a lovely evening.”

Chara set her cup down and stood, and shook the Harper's hands. “It was very nice meeting you.”

“What a sweet girl you have.” Leslie patted Chara's cheek as they went out to the door. When Chara sat back down, she reached and pulled a chocolate chip cookie from the small tray and took a rather large bite. Calm washed over her, and she was able to think clearly again.

When the Harpers were gone, Ethan and Becca came back to the room. “What happened, what did that boy say to you, Char?” Ethan sat down next to her.

Chara took a sip of tea and cleared her throat. “It was a dementor..”

“A what?” Ethan looked at his wife. “Char, what's a dementor?”

“They guard wizarding prisons... they're – they're like a negative force, and they drive the good memories from your mind... and sometimes, they remove a person's soul...”

“Char!” Rebecca hugged the girl tightly. “You're going to be fine, they aren't here now....”

“Are these things common in Surrey?” Ethan asked.

“No, I have no idea what they were doing...” She was cut off as their was a knock on the door.

“Who could that be?” Ethan stood. “Perhaps Samuel forgot something...” He went to the door and opened it. A tall woman in dark robes stood there, her hair pulled back tightly. “May I help you?”

Minerva McGonagall looked Ethan Carlyle over. “Good evening. Doctor Ethan Carlyle?”

“Yes, and you are?” Ethan took note of the woman's appearance and made an accurate assumption.

“I am Minerva McGonagall. I am a professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry here in England. I need to speak with Chara Black.”

Ethan stepped aside to let the woman in, and he saw she was nearly his height. “Chara, someone wants to speak to you.”

Chara stood up as the woman entered the room. She had never seen her before, but the dress of this woman gave her away. “Am I in some sort of trouble, madam?”

“Not at all.” Professor McGonagall gave the girl an appraising look. “Someone else, however, is in a great deal of it.”

“The boy who conjured that patronus charm?” Chara asked.

“Won't you please sit down, Professor McGonagall?” Rebecca said, trying to follow along with the discussion, silently wishing she had taken more of an interest in what Chara was learning at school.

“Yes.” Minerva let out a deep sigh. “You know of the law for restriction of underage wizardry, correct?”

“Of course, but if he was defending himself, then...” Chara stopped as the woman held up her hand.

“Normally, yes. But things are rather tense in the British Ministry of Magic at the moment, and in all of Great Britain, and I'm afraid a simple warning isn't going to be sufficient for some people.” Minerva adjusted her glasses and looked at the Carlyles, who were sitting on the small sofa across from her. “Your niece is one of three witnesses to what happened in the alleyway, and one of them is a muggle, and therefore anything young mister Dursley would have to say, if he would talk, would be considered worthless.”

Chara blinked. “Someone else saw those two dementors besides me and that boy?”

“We believe so.” Minerva sighed. “I'm terribly sorry to have to involve your niece in this, Mr and Mrs Carlyle, but I must ask when you plan on returning to America.”

“In a few days.” Ethan looked at Chara. “What happened in that alleyway, Char?”

“Two dementors, one from each end moved towards the two boys, trapping them between them. I was to scared to think what they were doing there, the dementors I mean.” Chara set down her empty teacup. Something popped into her mind. “Professor, may I ask you something?”

“Of course, Miss Black.” Minerva managed to give the girl a small smile.

“I was told, by a Mrs. Leslie Harper to watch out for both the Dursely boy and his cousin, who's last name is Potter, the skinny boy – I assume that's the Potter boy, that's not...” She leaned forward. “That's not Harry Potter, is it?”

Minerva pursed her lips. “Yes Miss Black, it's Harry Potter.”

Rebecca looked from Chara to McGonagall. “Who's Harry Potter?”

“Long story, Aunt Becca.” Chara sat back, her face white. “I thought defending yourself as an underage wizard was usually a verbal reprimand.”

“It's extremely complicated, Miss Black.” McGonagall gave the Carlyles a sideways glance. “I assume you know enough about the wizarding world, to know who He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is?”

“Char's mentioned it a little.” Ethan blanched. “Where are my manners, may we offer to you some tea, Professor?”

Minerva gave Ethan a look, but nodded slightly. “Please.” She turned back to Chara. “Something happened earlier this summer, something rather terrible.”

“Is it tied to that Diggory boy dying? I read about some student at Hogwarts dying in the Wizarding Picayune. They didn't have a lot of details.”

“I'm afraid that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned.” McGonagall shifted uncomfortably. “I can not go into full details with you here. But the Ministry is threatening to expel Harry Potter from school, and a squib is not going to be much help in his case.”

“So you need me to tell what happened in that alleyway?” Chara asked, her voice even. It was a lot to take in at once.

“Yes.” McGonagall shifted in her seat. “Our trouble is that if Professor Dumbledore is aware of you seeing the attack, it won't be long before a ministry official comes to find you as well.”

“Are you talking about...” Chara drew in a sharp breath. “Oblivators?”

“It's highly possible.” McGonagall stood. “We don't have much time...” She checked a pocket watch. “I suspect we may have an hour, at best.”

Ethan stood. “Chara, go pack... quickly.”

Chara didn't wait, she ran up the stairs, and immediately began throwing things back into her bag. Downstairs, Professor McGonagall pulled out her wand, waved it over the dirty dishes, which instantly became clean and soared back into their cabinets. Chara heard her uncle come upstairs and start packing things in the other room, and before Rebecca and Professor McGonagall had finished covering the furniture.

Minerva looked up when the two of them came back, breathless. “Do you need to do much more than turn in the keys to this house?”

“I can mail those.” Ethan said, trying to catch his breath. “I have no more lectures here.”

“Then get to London, quick as you can.” Minerva looked at Chara, “You'll have to come with me.”

“She will be all right, won't she?” Becca gave Chara a warm hug. “She's not in any danger?”

“The sooner she's out of this house, the better.” Minerva managed a tired smile. “She'll be fine, and back in New Orleans before she needs to be back at school. I will send a letter by muggle post soon.”

Ethan gave Chara a hug as well. “Behave yourself...” And with that, Professor McGonagall pulled Chara out of the house and down to the curb. “I trust you have some wizarding money with you?”

“Of course... I had been planning on visiting Diagon Alley when we were in London.” Chara reached into her bag as Professor McGonagall held out her wand and there was a loud bang. Chara jerked back as a large, triple decker bus screeched to a halt. A young wizard with more acne than a guy in an Oxxy commercial came to the door.

“Good Evening, and welcome to the Knight Bus. I'm Stan Shunpike, and...” He was shoved aside as McGonagall pushed Chara onto the bus. “Take her to Hogsmeade. No questions.”

“Right.” Stan Shunpike tipped his hat and turned to Chara as she sat down in a chair and looked up at him. “Hogsmeade, Ern.”

“Aye!” Ern shut the door and Chara glanced at her aunt and uncle's rental car pulling out of the drive as the Knight Bus jerked forward with another loud bang, and she nearly fell to the floor.

“Oaf! ” She got back up and grabbed the handle over her seat. “Does it always do that?”

“'Course. Wotcher is with that kind of talking?” Stan said, as Chara dug a few coins out of her bag and handed it to him.

“What do you mean?” Chara said, as the Knight Bus swerved through a busy city street, mailboxes and trash bins leaping out of the way. “Is he blind?” She nodded towards Ernie, the driver.

“Na... he can see fine.” Stan looked the girl over. “Wotcher is with that way of talking?”

“Almost everyone speaks this way where I come form....” Chara glanced around the bus, and as it rounded a sharp turn, the chairs of all sorts that had been strewn throughout the bus turned into beds. Other than herself, Stan and Ern, the bus was empty. “How far is Hogsmeade from where we where?”

“Not to far...” Stan started to pick his teeth. “Haven't you been there, miss?”

“No...” Chara swung with the motion of the bus, watching trees leap out of the way.

“Wotcher did you say your name was?” Stan grinned, and Chara blanched at the sight of a rather large gap between the man's front teeth.

“I didn't.” Chara leaned forward, her face deadpan. “I'm not anyone according to many, but to some, I mean the world.”

“That's deep miss.” Stan said as the bus screeched to a halt. “Hogsmeade, miss.”

“Thank you.” Chara dug into her bag and pulled out two galleons. She tossed one at Stan and another at Ernie as she shouldered her bag and started out of the bus. “I was never on this bus.” She jumped onto the road and Stan stared at her as the Knight Bus vanished with a loud bang.

Chara looked around the rather dark street, and saw a tall wizard standing just inside a doorway. “Who's there?”

Albus Dumbledore came out of the shadows, along with Madam Rosemerta. “Ah, here she is.” Albus walked over to her, and held out his hand. “Miss Black?”

“Yes?” Chara looked from the old wizard to the witch behind him. “Are you Professor Dumbledore?”

Dumbledore smiled. “That I am.” He indicated Madam Rosemerta. “This is Madam Rosemerta. You'll be staying at her pub, The Three Broomsticks until we need to make a trip to London.”

Chara swallowed. “Are my aunt and uncle in any danger?”

“No.” Albus gave her a smile. “They are in flight back to New Orleans as we speak.” He ushered her into the pub. “Some hot chocolate, I think.” The door shut behind them. “Miss Black has had a very trying night.”

“Certainly. Anything for you, Professor?” Madam Rosemerta slipped behind the counter of the vacant pub as Chara had a seat, looking around. “Nightcap?”

“No thank you, I must be getting back to the school. I to, have had a very long night.” Dumbledore slipped out of the tavern as Madam Rosemerta set a mug of steaming hot chocolate in front of Chara.

“What's your first name, Miss Black?” Madam Rosemerta had a very warm smile.

“Chara... though if you ask my grandmama Carlyle, my name is Charolette.” She took a sip of hot chocolate. “She and most of my family call me Char.”

Madam Rosemerta pursed her lips. “Are you related to Sirius Black?”

Chara nodded. “He would be my uncle.”

“He's still on the loose, never been caught.” Madam Rosemerta leaned against the counter, washing out a mug with a cloth.

Later that night, Chara sank into a very soft bed on the upper floor of The Three Broomsticks, and hugged a pillow against her. It had been a while since she had such a purpose. It had once been her purpose to keep Adrian alive. Now, while it was temporary, she had the purpose of being one of three people who knew the truth of what happened in that alleyway.

****

In London Ginny Weasley lay in her bed, awake. She could hear the voices of her parents as they passed her door, and Hermione turned over, half asleep, muttering something about ancient runes. Earlier, Ginny's father had burst into the kitchen saying that Harry Potter had nearly been expelled from Hogwarts. Two dementors had attacked both him and his cousin.

The horror Ginny had feared since her first year at Hogwarts had started. Ginny had been worried since last June, when Dumbledore told the entire student body that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned. Ginny closed her eyes and swallowed. Tom Riddle had returned. In how many nightmares had she seen it happen? Riddle, coming out of any book with a dark cover, Riddle just appearing from thin air. Riddle coming for her. Coming for her family, coming for Harry.

Arthur Weasley had stated that the scene at the ministry had been one of panic and raised voices. The Minster of Magic, Cornelius Fudge had been screaming that Harry Potter had to be expelled at once, that Harry had crossed one line to many. If you asked Ginny, Harry had hardly crossed any lines, compared to some people. Like Mr. Malfoy. That man probably bought his way out of his first “T” on a paper at Hogwarts.

Ginny let out a tiny giggle. The idea of Mr. Malfoy being referred to as a “troll” was just to amusing. There was a creak in the floorboards in the hallway, a heavier footstep than that of her father. It was Sirius, walking slowly through the hallway of this house he hated. She didn't blame him. She'd rather be at the Burrow, where it was at least clean, and while cramped, was extremely comfortable. But she felt rather bad that she was at least here, with her family – and Hermione, and Harry was stuck with those horrible muggles.

Ginny yawned and pulled the covers over her head. There was nothing that she, Ron, or Hermione could do to help Harry right now. They couldn't tell him where they were, what they were doing, or when he could come join them. And it all was because of one dark wizard who didn't even have the decency to stay dead.

Tom Riddle.

Ginny shivered under her blankets. The nightmares of her first year at school were sometimes to fresh. It hadn't been her fault, she had been acting against her will... but sometimes it was hard to listen to the voice of reason, when so many other thoughts pressed the voice away. In the quiet of the house, Ginny could faintly hear the music blaring from Number Thirteen, and then the house fell silent, save for small scurrying noises behind the walls. That was another thing Ginny didn't like about Number Twelve, Grimauld Place. It was not knowing what you were sharing the house with that made sleeping rather scary. “Hermione, you awake?”

“Huh?” Hermione rubbed her eyes. “No.”

“Did you remember to lock the door?” Ginny sat up.

“I think so...” Hermione turned back over and was asleep when Ginny reached the door and turned the lock quickly.

When she got back into bed, Ginny saw a glimmer of starlight from the window. You could barely see the stars from here either. Just one star seemed to shine, and then faded as the night clouded over.

Nocturne of the Stars - Chapter 1

darth_firefly — Tue, 18 Apr 2006 13:49:24 GMT

Title - Nocturne of the Stars
Rating - R
Crossover - Sherrilyn Kenyon's Dark-Hunter Series

It was a hot summer afternoon as Arianna Parkinson fanned her face and looked around Jackson Square. Many locals and tourists had gone into the bars for happy hour. In the steaming square no one seemed interested in anything except finding some cool spot to sit down. She adjusted herself in front of her low folding table, and idly shuffled her tarot cards. If Divination had been good for anything, it had taught her how to tell people exactly what they would like to hear. What Muggles would like to hear, anyway.

The sun had turned Arianna's usually pale skin a deep golden brown that was probably going to last well into the winter. Sitting next to her, slowly eating a piece of stale beignet was Arianna's two and a half year old daughter, Chara. Arianna gave her daughter a sad smile and stroked the back of her head. “Does that taste good, sweetie?”

Chara nodded slowly. “Thank you, mum.” She started licking the sugar off her fingers. Arianna went back to shuffling her tarot cards and looking around. It was the same everyday. She kept hoping and praying that Regulus Black was going to show up here, and things would be all right again. But that was a foolish hope. Regulus, Chara's father, had been dead for over two years. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been gone for almost a year, and not one member of Arianna's family cared to speak with her.

So she had slept with Regulus and gotten pregnant. So what? What was the big deal about that? It wasn't like there had been time to get married, for some reason, Regulus had told her to flee, and that he would come to her as soon as he could. Then he was killed. Arianna had a notion of who did the deed. It was either that lying bastard Lucius, or Regulus's cousin, Bellatrix. From what she read in The Wizarding Picayune, Malfoy had talked his way out of Azkaban, and Bellatrix was rotting there. So was Regulus's brother, Sirius. Honestly, of all people go and imprison! Sirius walked out of his parents house. She had nearly laughed when she had heard the news. Sirius? Sirius was a Death Eater? Right. And I'm Miss America.

But whatever feelings she had for Regulus had started to fade several months ago. Perhaps her only wish of seeing him was because his little girl looked so much like him that she wanted to see him – even if it was just one last time. One last time was all she wanted. Was that so wrong? No, it couldn't be so wrong. Arianna set the cards down and studied the mark on her right palm. The geometric design looked almost like a burn on her hand. But she knew very well what it was. She had accepted it.

She sighed and picked up her tarot cards again. Arianna knew what was before her and what would happen to her before this week was over. It was her choice. She had already made it. She just hoped that someday, Chara would understand.

Chara looked around at the people in the square with her and her mama. The only ones really close to them was a dark man behind a food cart. She yawned in the bright summer sunlight, wondering when she and her mama could go back to their nice cool home. True, Chara was unaware that she and her mother were very poor, and they lived in little more than a hovel, but she knew that it was cool there. “Mama, can I go get a drink of water?”

Arianna looked up and glanced at the drinking fountain a short distance away. “Hurry back and stay were I can see you.”

Chara jumped up and, despite the heat, skipped over to the drinking fountain recessed near the entrance of a stone building. She tried to haul herself up to the water, and was about ready to climb the fountain when a pair of arms picked her up and held her so that she could get the cool water. As she was set back down, Chara looked up at the tall dark haired man who smiled at her.

“Thank you, mister.” Chara smiled back.

“You're welcome.” The man patted her head. “Better go back to your mama.”

“Yes, mister.” Chara saw the man bend down to get his own drink of water and she started across towards her mother, who smiled at her. She had just reached her when a cracking sound filled the square, and Chara saw her mother's face change. Then more cracks, and then screams. Chara tried to catch her mother as she slumped over, and something cool, wet, and coppery tasting splashed into her face. Unable to hold her mother, she was forced to sit down on the steaming pavement, pinned under her mother's prone form.

Screams, cracks, and then, sirens filled the air in a cacophony of noise. Chara rubbed her nose, and saw that her hands were soaked with something red. She began to wail, scared, terrified, wishing that she was dreaming. When the cracking stopped, Chara didn't know, she kept looking around, hoping for reassurance somewhere, and when she looked over at two men standing, talking excitedly, and just when she thought that the men were going to help her, one of them raised a device and a flash temporarily blinded her.

“Mama.” Chara started to shake Arianna's body, hoping she would wake up. “Mama, wake up.” She did not see the man who hauled her mama away from her and then picked her up. She struggled to break free from the man in the dark blue shirt. “No, MAMMA!!!”

It would be the last time Chara ever saw her mother in any form, as a member of the New Orleans Emergency Medical Team took her from Jackson Square and off to the hospital.

**

Elizar Peltier had just set the phone down in his office when a sharp pain laced through him.

“What the?” He held his left hand up to examine it and watched in utter horror as the geometric design burned brightly for a moment, and then the burning ceased, but a gnawing pain was still in his chest. It was as if someone had run him through. –Even if he and Arianna had already...Unless...

A door slammed somewhere down the hall and a terrified voice screamed. “Someone's shooting up the Square!”

“Oh god...” Zar quickly dialed the phone.

“Sanctuary.” His sister's voice greeted him.

“Aimee? Is Arianna there?” He swallowed hard.

“No, she was just here this morning – she went to the Square like she normally does.”

“Chara is there, right?”

“I've not seen her since...” Aimee tapped her fingers on the wall next to the phone. “I think Arianna took her along today... I don't know why...”

Zar knew the phone fell from his grasp. He could vaguely hear his sister's voice calling to him.

“Zar? Zar what is it? Zar?”

**

Headlines and gruesome pictures were splashed on the front page of papers as far away as Australia. There was an outcry of public feeling in the United States. Twenty-seven people had been murdered in cold blood in New Orleans. The killer, one Erik Stevenson, had surrendered to the police as soon as he had run out of ammunition. The trial was swift, and he was found guilty of twenty-seven counts of murder. But many more people became disgusted when the jury failed to bring in a sentence of death. The judge had no choice but to give the man life in prison.

Chara was not to learn until later that the picture the man had took of her, covered in her mother's blood had appeared on the cover of Time, nearly twenty newspapers, and the same man was later awarded a Pulitzer Prize for the photograph. No one ever really gave a thought to 'The Wailing Child' who had become an orphan in that photograph. They went on with their lives, and Chara, went into her own form of nightmare.

****

When he was five years old, Adrian Carlyle had been diagnosed with an extremely rare and very deadly form of cancer. His parents, Ethan and Rebecca Carlyle's had watched their only child suffer from the disease that was slowly killing him, until pure chance landed a miracle in their laps.

The details were always sketchy at best, for later, whenever Chara had asked, she had been told that the Carlyles saw her sitting on a hospital bed, orphaned and alone, and their hearts just broke at the sight of her. Chara had the vague memory of being picked up by a man who asked her a few questions, and then patted her head, and then said “You won't be forgotten” whatever THAT was supposed to mean. Very often the man who had spoken to her and the man who had held her up to the drinking fountain ran together in her memory, as if they were the same person, and perhaps, they had been.

She also had the vague memory of a house with other children, where she didn't stay very long, and then Ethan Carlyle buckling her into his large automobile. She remembered waking up in a soft bed, and then there was the long stream of memories that were faint and forgotten as the years progressed.

The truth of Chara's adoption was kept hidden from most people. Regulus's parents, while appalled that their only grandchild was living with Muggles there was no way that they were going to send her to live with any of her relatives, given how most of them had gone around slandering their son's name and accusing him of things he had never done. Indeed, while they were extremely disappointed in their elder son, they strongly believed that neither of their children would turn traitor.

Both of the Blacks knew their days were numbered, and they did not have the patience for such a small child. Besides, who would take care of her when they died? Certainly not Kreacher. That would be a nightmare for both of them. In the end, they came up with a small contract, listing several important terms that were not to be undermined, and the adoption would not be contested.

The Carlyles did not object to any of the statements, and with that, Chara was more or less officially abandoned by her family.

****

Even after the countless times she had given blood, nothing could hurt worse than the deep ache of having one's bone marrow removed. Chara lay on the couch in the hospital waiting room with her guardians, Aunt Rebecca and Uncle Ethan. Aunt Becca was gently stroking her forehead, and Chara winced slightly. It wasn't just bone marrow this time, it had been blood and plasma as well. Down the hall, Nineteen year old Adrian Carlyle was undergoing major surgery. She had always called Ethan and Rebecca Carlyle by the names Aunt and Uncle. This was never something they insisted she stopped doing, and they had actually encouraged it. Chara had decided that when she was seven, they wanted to be addressed as such, because it made her seem less like their child. In reality, she was little more than a walking transfusion for Adrian.

Chara, now thirteen, closed her eyes and wished they could just go home. She hated the smell of the hospital, even after being here so many times. She just wanted to curl up in her own bed, and think about things like heading back to Windborne Conservatory, to be with other people like her, people in the magical world. School would start in a few weeks, hopefully, she would be better, and so would Adrian. Adrian could go off to college, like he'd always wanted to, and things would be good.

“How are you feeling, Char?” Rebecca smiled. “Still tired?”

“Uh huh.” Chara slowly sat up, wishing she could eat something better than the toast and oatmeal the doctors had given her. There hadn't even been enough butter and jam to spread on the limp toast to make it taste better. What Chara really wanted was something hearty, like a sandwich loaded with beef, horseradish, and green peppers. Whole wheat bread – something wonderful like that...

The food at school was always wonderful, and she could actually eat decently, or at least, more than she was usually allowed to eat at home. Even though Ethan's income as a pediatric cardiologist kept the family in plenty of food, Rebecca seemed to have an obsession with keeping Chara as healthy as possible. Things that contained sugar were almost forbidden, because 'what if Adrian suddenly needs a transfusion?' There was a big long list of things that she wasn't allowed to eat or do, and Chara was very glad that Adrian had managed to only lapse when she was home from school. Being stuck in the hospital for her Christmas vacation wasn't anything she couldn't handle.

The door of the room slowly came open, and the doctor came in, his head down. Chara suddenly felt very cold. The man looked over the three of them and gave a sad smile to Chara. Dr. Rochester took a deep breath. “Dr. and Mrs. Carlyle.”

Ethan took Rebecca's hand. “How's Adrian?”

David Rochester removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose before looking at the small family. “We were able to remove the tumor from his heart, but he went into cardiac arrest, and we were unable to resuscitate him. I am sorry.”

Rebecca shook her head. “No... that's not... not Adrian...” She began to sob. Ethan hugged his wife tightly.

“I am so sorry...” David slowly walked from the room, leaving the family to their grief.

Ethan closed his eyes and held Rebecca tightly, tears slowly sliding down his cheeks. Chara looked at the floor, a roaring in her ears. What was she to do now? Without Adrian, there was little purpose for her to the Carlyles. Would they get rid of her? She was to weak to cry herself, but all she knew was that now she was afraid. Afraid of what lay in front of her, and wondering if there was anyone in the world who felt as lonely as she did at this moment.

****

Sirius Black leaned against the wall of his cell, staring at the opposite wall. He knew this small room from top to bottom, knew how many bricks were on each wall, the number of stones on the floor, the distance it took to walk it, were the sun would fall at each hour. For twelve years he had sat here, wondering, wishing that somehow, he could get word to someone... for someone to believe he was innocent.

The dementors weren't as much of a looming figure as they normally were. A slightly cheery voice came from the corridors.

“Everything seems to be in top form here, excellent.” Cornelius Fudge walked down the stone hallway and peered into Sirius's cell. “Ah, how are you today Mr. Black?”

Sirius stared at the man and blinked. “As good as can be expected.” Sirius rose and went to the door. He saw the middle aged wizard, plump and well fed. He supposed seeing the Minister of Magic was better than seeing that asshole Crouch. He looked the man over, and caught sight of the newspaper tucked into a pocket of the minister's robes. “Are you finished with that newspaper?”

“Pardon me?” Fudge blinked. For someone who was heavily guarded by dementors, he sounded rather sane.

“I was wondering if you were finished with your newspaper, Minister... I've missed doing the crossword very much....”

Cornelius blinked once or twice and drew the paper out of his pocket. “Yes I have...”

He handed the paper to Sirius through the bars of the window in the door. Sirius took it and blinked once or twice.

“Thank you minster.” Sirius walked back to his thin cot and heard a cat-calling voice from down the hall.

“Sirius-wearyus, kissing the minster's buttus!!” Bellatrix Lestrange cackled at her own joke and her laugh was cut off by a muffled scream. A dementor had apparently silenced her.

Cornelius shook his head as he and the dementor who was escorting him through Azkaban left the high security area.

Sirius unfolded the newspaper and ran his fingers over the words The Daily Prophet. When was the last time he held a newspaper? It had been years. The date told him that it was near the middle of July, and he scanned the headline Ministry of Magic Employee Scoops Grand Prize. He had to smile at the picture below it, a wizarding family, seven children and their parents. Six boys and one girl. He could only imagine what that little girl's life was like, having six older brothers, who were no doubt super-protective. He scanned the picture again, and then noticed something. There was a rat on the youngest boy's shoulder. There was nothing odd about that... wait...

Sirius raised the paper closer to his face and were it possible, would have gone white. He would know that rat anywhere. It was him. There was no mistake about it, it was Peter. So that's where he playings the rat that he really was, pretending to be nothing more than a pet... Sirius hastily scanned the article, and then a horrifying thought occurred to him. If Peter was playing the pet, then the young boy no doubt took him to school. To Hogwarts – where Harry, his best friend's son was. Sirius slowly raised his head from the newspaper.

“He's at Hogwarts.” He whispered to himself. Sirius knew he had to get out of Azkaban – at any cost. If Peter was at Hogwarts, and if Voldemort really wasn't dead.... then Harry was in danger, and no one knew it... because Sirius was the only one who knew... Sirius ripped the front page of the paper off and shoved it into his pocket. He had a feeling that eventually, he may need it.

****

Family flooded in and out of the Carlyle's home. Chara sat on the porch swing, listening to the older people talk, watching people comfort one another. She still wasn't feeling healthy herself, and as she sat there in her black dress, her hair pulled back as if she was a very little girl with a black bow, she stared into her glass of ice tea.

“It's such a warm summer...” Angela Carlyle, Ethan's mother, fanned herself. “Is it this warm in Mobile?”

“Heavens, yes...” Susan Anne Danvers, Rebecca's great aunt waved a fan in front of her face. “Such a sultry summer we're having, don't you think so, Char?”

Chara looked up. “What?”

“I said, it's a very sultry summer, isn't it, Char?” Susan smiled at the girl, her old face seeming somewhat kind.

“Yes, Aunt Susan, it's very sultry.” She took a small sip of ice tea. “How are your rosebushes this year?”

“Fine and lovely, thank you for asking.” She beckoned the girl over. “Come over here and sit with your grandmother and me, Char, instead of sitting there like a little squirrel.”

Chara rose and sat down primly on one of the porch chairs, after setting her glass on the wicker table. “Thank you.” She tried to smile, but couldn't. Grandmother Carlyle and Aunt Susan were the only one of her 'relatives' she actually enjoyed being with – everyone in the family, save for her aunt and uncle called her Susie. But grandma and Great Aunt Susan were the only ones that she didn't hate to be addressed as such.

“Now, Angela, you really should consider the garden club, when you get to be our age, there aren't to many social activities you in which you can indulge.” Susan sipped her ice tea.

“I don't have any desire to garden, you know that, Susan, I'm terrible at that sort of thing. I am quite content with my Bridge group.” If the three of them had not been sitting around in black, you would never know they had come from a funeral. Chara picked up her ice tea glass and took a long sip.

“Would you like me to go bring you something?” Chara cleared her throat. “Are either of you hungry?”

Susan beamed at her. “Aren't you darling? I could use a little something, how about you Angela?”

Angela patted the girl's arm. “Isn't she a precious one? And so pretty, too...” She fingered the end of Chara's hair. “Just a light something, no fried chicken for me.... my constitution can't stand it anymore....saddly.”

“All right grandma, Aunt Susan.” Chara turned and went into the house, past the small crowds of people in rooms, and slipped into the kitchen. She had just finished getting plates ready when her Uncle Damian, the older brother of Aunt Becca, came into the kitchen.

“What do you think you're doing?” He said, jerking both plates from her hands and setting them down on the counter.

“I was getting grandma Carlyle and Great Susan something to eat.” Chara answered.

Damian reached out and slapped her across the face. “You know you're the one who should be dead, don't you?”

Chara held her cheek and stared up at her uncle. She couldn't respond, she was to stunned.

“Those doctors should have cut your heart out and given it to Adrian, you rotten little brat.” He grabbed her hair and jerked her head upward. “Don't you turn away when I'm talking to you!”

“I...” Chara started to speak. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a pitcher on a shelf start to shake slightly.

“I don't want you speaking, you little rat. I don't know why you're even here, you're not worth keeping...” The pitcher fell to the floor with a loud crash, causing Damian to jerk and pull Chara's hair.

“That's enough!” Ethan Carlyle came into the kitchen and Damian let go of Chara. Ethan smoothed the girl's hair down and gave his brother in law a hard look. He took the two plates and handed them back to Chara. “You go on back out front, Chara...” He patted her on the back and nudged her towards the door. She walked quickly from the room, her face still stinging from where Uncle Damian had struck her. As she strode through the hallway, she noticed that people had stopped talking, and were staring at her. She refused to turn her eyes towards anyone. She hadn't meant for that pitcher to fall, but it was better than something happening to her uncle. It was as if she could hear them whispering about her, how she should not be there, how Adrian Carlyle should be the one carrying plates, and the funeral should be for her, Chara Azriel Black.

Then Chara reminded herself almost none of these people would come to her funeral. As for what she had made happen in the kitchen... Hopefully, since it was a minor thing and could have easily been caused by natural causes, the Ministry of Magic wouldn't send her a warning for the falling pitcher.

****

The ice cold water of the Atlantic was still with him when Sirius staggered ashore, somewhere in England. Still in dog form, he shook himself off and padded up the shingle beach, uncertain of where he was. It was a warm summer night, so at least he had that to warm him a little. It would not be long before the dementors noticed he was missing.

It was unlikely that anyone saw him slip out of his cell, the dementors were blind, so they had not seen him, and most inmates of Azkaban rarely came to the doors of their cells. The occupants of the little town on the coast did not see the large black dog lopping hurriedly through their town, and as he left the sleepy place, Sirius could have sworn he heard a scream of rage from the dementors of Azkaban as a strong wind swept through the night. A wind that smelled of rain and promised a storm.

****

Chara lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The funeral had been a week ago, and all the visitors were gone. The only thing that told that anything had happened was the fact that Adrian was no longer there, and the large container of ham salad in the fridge. In her memory, she remembered her cousins telling her that she was worthless, and several other family members telling her that she hadn't done all that she could.

What had they expected her to do? Was she supposed to go into that operating room and make Adrian's heart start beating? It wasn't her fault that the cancer finally attacked his heart. She'd done what she could, short of giving Adrian her healthy heart. Maybe that's what they had wanted. They wanted her to die and just have the doctors take all of her transferable organs and give them to Adrian. Now Adrian was gone.

She hated her family. So many of them hated her, they resented her since that summer day when Aunt Becca and Uncle Ethan had brought her home, and started calling her 'their little darling.' That hadn't lasted long, because soon she became a shadow in the house. Chara sat up and rubbed her face. School was an escape, even if she only had a few friends.... and they never bothered to keep in contact during the summer.

There was a light tapping on her window, and Chara saw an owl against the sill. She opened the window and the owl fluttered in, holding out it's leg, to which a newspaper was tied. “Been so busy...” She came and untied the newspaper, and gave the bird two knuts before it flew out the window again. The Wizarding Picayune was about the only contact she had with the wizarding world while at home, and usually, the paper arrived when she was asleep. There had been nothing interesting for days, some talk of the Quidditch World Cup next summer, but that had been the most interesting thing.

When she unrolled the paper, a sallow faced man with matted hair and sunken eyes blinked up at her, looking as if he had just spent time someplace nasty. This was confirmed by the headline that were under the newspaper's name. BLACK ESCAPES AZKABAN. Chara's eyes widened, and after scanning the article, she was breathing very fast. Sirius Black – she knew that name. In the letter that had been in the vault at Gringots...he had been mentioned. There had been another letter, one from her paternal wizarding grandparents.

Her uncle – the only direct blood relative she had left in the world, was on the loose – and the whole wizarding world was on the look out. Chara had the feeling that what few friends she had were suddenly going to be very distant from her. She fell back against her bed, still looking at the photograph. It was hard to judge what he had looked like when he was younger, twelve years in Azkaban would make anyone look like that.

She squinted and drew the paper closer to her. If he was cleaned up, he might look a little like Gary Oldman in Bram Stoker's Dracula. The very thought of that suddenly caused a smile to spread across Chara's face, and she chuckled. The notion of some California witch or wizard mistaking Oldman for her uncle caused her to put the paper down and laugh. Why Sirius had escaped, she didn't really care, nor did she bother to wonder how.

****

Remus Lupin stuffed The Daily Prophet into his bag and placed the bag onto the luggage rack. He was tired, and he was worried. Sirius had escaped from Azkaban. Why? He could only assume one thing – that the traitor was out to finish what He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had tried to start.

And Remus owed it to his late friends James and Lily Potter to watch over their son Harry. He pulled his cloak up over his shoulder and leaned against the glass. For now, he would rest. He was deeply asleep when three children, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger came into the same compartment and sat down.

******

First chapter – I know, it's somewhat full. Again, all characters are copyrighted to their respective owners.

Nocturne of the Stars

darth_firefly — Tue, 11 Apr 2006 16:35:27 GMT

This is the first time I've posted fanfic on Live Journal - and since this is a Regulus Black community - this fic fits in quite nicely.

Title - Nocturne of the Stars
Rating - R (Or will be eventually, it's currently PG -13)
Crossover - Sherrilyn Kenyon's Dark-Hunter Series

Pain. Clear, total, absolute pain. That's all Regulus Black could feel. Unimaginable, horrible, unbearable. It paused for a moment, but the pain would not stop...it surged through every single sinew and fiber of his body. His throat burned in agony from the screaming. His eyes flickered and came into focus on the man standing over him. He was tall, pale haired, grey-eyed and smirking. Lucius Malfoy.

Of course it would be him. Who else would the Dark Lord send out after him than Lucius. The man with no qualms, no morals, no heart. Regulus knew something like this would happen. The Dark Lord did not take 'no' for an answer. Failure was not in his vocabulary. Nor was a host of other words - such as compassion and understanding.

"Well, Black, are you going to come along nicely or are you going to continue to act foolish?" Lucius kicked Regulus in the ribs. "Or do you need more persuasion?" He raised his wand.

Regulus was able to get on his hands and knees. He half expected his skin to be smoking. "Go to hell." Not like that was an insult, but it gave Regulus a small feeling of satisfaction to see a twitch in Malfoy's cheek.

"I take that to mean you still are a fool." Malfoy lowered his wand back at Regulus. "Crucio!"

Regulus fell to the ground again, writhing in agony, screaming. A tiny voice in his mind began to speak, however. This is what HE wanted you to do muggles. THIS is what he wanted from you... this is what you would have done. Aren't you a little bit glad you backed out, or at least, tried to? Regulus had the vague idea that the voice in his head taunting him belonged to his older brother, Sirius. His brother whom he had not seen in three years.

Sirius who walked out on the family, leaving him to be the good son. But it had been that way since Sirius started hanging out with Potter and Lupin, and that bastard Pettigrew. What would Sirius say to him if he, Regulus told him that his dear chubby little friend was running around with the Death Eaters? He'd probably call me a liar... It had been left to Regulus to be the perfect child.

Now, here he was, flat on his back, being tortured. Tortured by his cousin Narcissa's husband. The pain eased again.

"Regulus, it doesn't have to be like this. Just come along back with me and I'm sure the Dark Lord will have... a little bit of tolerance for your error. It's not as bad as you think. Muggles are just for sport.... target practice for all the mudbloods and their little friends. It's nothing, really..." Lucius watched as Regulus rolled onto his front and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees again. "Being reasonable, then?"

"No." Regulus was going to get onto his feet if it killed him. He was not going to die, wallowing on the ground. I'm going to die standing. I'm not going to die on the ground like some little rat.

"No?" Lucius watched Regulus stagger to his feet. "You're a fool, Black. You should know that there is no way you can win in this situation. There's no escape except to come with me quietly. The only other way out of this is death."

Regulus's mind raced. He thought back to the letter he had received two months ago, all the way from New Orleans. He smiled. The letter he had written and left with his parents before leaving the house two days ago. This was for the person whom the letter had been about. For a smiling baby girl, for someone he would never meet, never hold, and never talk to - for someone half a world away from here.

"What are you smiling at, Black?" Malfoy spat.

"You will never be rid of me." Regulus leered at the older man. "Never."

Lucicus pointed his wand straight at Regulus's heart, and roared "AVADA KEDAVRA!!"

Death rushed towards Regulus and threw him to the ground in a flash of blinding green light. Finally, the pain had ceased. There would be no more pain for the youngest Black brother.

Lucius came over to the corpse and kicked it once. Regulus's head rolled to the side, his eyes were half shut, his fingers curled slightly as he lay there on the ground, as if he was embracing death with great joy. But rather disturbing was the look on Regulus's face. Not the normal look of shock, but a smile. A calm, gentle, peaceful smile - he had died, apparently, happy about something.

"Curse you." Malfoy spat on Regulus's face and pocketed his wand. He had other things to attend to tonight.

***

"Can you hear me?" The woman's voice spoke as if from a great distance.

"Yes. I can hear you." His throat no longer burned, and Regulus slowly opened his eyes. He was crouched on a dark marble floor. There was almost no light.

"I've been waiting for you. Can you stand?" The woman spoke again. She was closer than he had realized.

"I think so." He drew up slowly, expecting a sharp pain somewhere in his back or legs, but none came. "What... what is happening?"

The woman came out of the shadows and she studied him slowly. "I'm here to offer you an exchange."

"What sort of exchange?"

"That thing offends me..." The woman pointed to Regulus's left arm, where the Dark Mark was still bright black against his skin.

Regulus gasped as the mark burned bright red for a moment, and then vanished completely. "Who are you?"

The woman chuckled softly. "I'm Artimis." She came closer. Now he could make out her features better. She was taller than he was, by several inches. Her hair was dark red, her eyes a blue so dark, they appeared to be black. "And I know what you want..." She touched his cheek. "So young... so handsome..."

"What do you want with me?"

"Oh, nothing much..." She sighed. "If you could have twenty four hours to exact revenge on anyone, anyone who ever wronged you... would you like that?"

"That would solve nothing." Regulus lifted his chin. "I find that revenge hardly solves anything and changes nothing."

"My - not even kill the man who killed you?"

"That would only create a widow and a fatherless child."

"What about vengance, my dear boy. What if I offered you an act of that...no consquences to you at all. What would you want to do?"

"Are there more horcruxes? Does... does the Dark Lord have more horcruxes?"

Artimis smiled then. "Indeed he does. Is that what you choose? To destroy one of them?"

Regulus nodded. "Yes."

"Then we have a deal?" Her smile widened.

"Yes."

All Characters Copyrighted to their respective owners.

Icons! Website! OMFG!

mizzmoonyluver — Thu, 26 Jan 2006 03:53:50 GMT

Yes well, I now have a Regulus fansite, its under construction (content-wise) but if your curious or very bored check it out!

http://www.horcruxhunter.tk

Anyhow, just like the subject of this entry promised:

Yes! Theres SEVEN!
1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

In regards the angel one, The name Regulus also means among other things 'Fallen Angel' and I've always thought that was much more poetic then 'Heart of a Lion' but thats just me.
The cookie one is just my insanity at its best.

And whats this Orlando Bloom as Regulus?! You see I think Reggie will have a big appearance in book seven and I think Orlando would be perfect as movie-Regulus, preferably shirtless (cause you know destroying Horcruxs is intense work) *saucy grin*

Do you want the pwetty Reggy Icons? Yes? then please comment and credit!

satonthefence — Fri, 30 Dec 2005 21:51:42 GMT

we're just starting out too&I'm going through my communities looking for places I can promote to and thought maybe you'd help another fledgling community out.

Would be nice to have some other Regulus fans in the common room/great hall too!

_belong
_belong: Find out where you belong at a fun, tight-knit sorting community!

We have classes, Quidditch, competition, clubs, shopping, and more!

Regulus Thoughts...

darth_firefly — Wed, 28 Dec 2005 15:26:59 GMT

Hello fellow fans of the great Regulus Black!

I do not know if anyone has ever brought up the subject in any forum, or what not - but I discovered something recently when I went looking for some star names for a fanfic. I didn't use any, but I discovered something I felt was rather intresting.

While the star Regulus is known as "The Little King" it is also a star in the constilation Leo.

Regulus is the star desginated as the heart of the lion.

I don't know if it was intentional on JKR's part or not - but it's rather intriguing. It made me wonder if Regulus, like Harry - was at odds under the sorting hat for where he could have gone. And Regulus, trying to be what his parents wanted, chose to be a Slytherin.

Chapter Two

mizzmoonyluver — Mon, 26 Dec 2005 19:54:08 GMT

Title: Pureblood
Author: Mizzmoonyluver
Chapter: Two
Rating: PG
Summary: Newly made Deatheater Regulus Black struggles with his conscience as he discovers that life as a servant of the dark lord is not as glamorous as he first perceived, As a new love enters his life other problems arise, for she harbors a very dark secret...That could, and already has, destroyed him.
Notes: Reviewing is all I ask of you. Please note that this is NOT a Mary Sue.

Please read the fanfiction Here!

A lifetime of service....

New Fic

Slumming- Severus Snape/Regulus Black

Fic: Time Enough

Fic: Expectant (Snape/Regulus)

Fic: Five Fragments of an Obsidian Heart

I’d read Pierre Choderlos de Laclos’ novel Les Liaisons Dangereuses that summer and taken it to heart. Particularly the way Vicomte De Valmont seduces Cecile, a virginal young girl just out of a convent, and gives her an education in the erotic so as to ruin her for her future husband.

“No one else will ever make you feel like this,” I whispered and I called it love.

He accused me of using a love potion, of putting some sort of spell on him.

“I’m not clever with magic like you are,” I told him. “I couldn’t make a love potion or cast a spell like that if I wanted to.” I didn’t mention Legilimency.

It was spring and we spent nights rolling around on the green grass of the Quidditch pitch. We skipped meals to take advantage of empty corridors and common rooms. There were dark circles around his eyes from lack of sleep, mine too. We used potions to keep awake for our classes.

I finally collapsed and wound up in the hospital wing.

“It’s not your fault, Sirius,” I told him. “You didn’t do anything to me. I’m bad and evil all on my own.” “You have to keep away from my friends, Reggie,” he said.

“I will, I promise I will.”

Fic: The Black Prince (Severus Snape/Regulus Black)

Colorbar

The fic goes on...

More Nocturne...

More Fun with Fics!

Nocturne of the Stars

Nocturne of the Stars - Chapter 1

Nocturne of the Stars

Icons! Website! OMFG!

Regulus Thoughts...

Chapter Two

“It’s not your fault, Sirius,” I told him. “You didn’t do anything to me. I’m bad and evil all on my own.”

“You have to keep away from my friends, Reggie,” he said.