Chapter 26: Brethren

Chapter 26: Brethren

Sudden silence fell, Zelda Luminare holding all attention. Yet hers was solely on Raj, confusion and bafflement stark across etched lines of her face.

"But... Raj, how..." Words would not form, seeking litany of how this supposition came to be. "I don't understand. You could never have gotten into the department on your own, much less hide something so, so... reverent. I have a complete inventory, as well, of every single artifact in the hall, and nothing ever comes in or out without my knowledge. In fact," she added, straightening of spine, gathering of propriety and indignation. "Nothing has come into the office that I have not thoroughly researched, tested and catalogued."

Raj's smile held little humor. "Nothing, Auntie? All matters in your area are recorded thoroughly? Your quills, personal items...?"

"Of course not, Raj," she answered a mite dismissively. "Personal items are not artifacts, though no one brings any in but for myself. Even my assistants have their desks outside the inner cloisters. As for myself, I hardly think a change of robes or tin of sweets constitutes a need for research, since they are of my own making. Point of fact, my dear, nothing not of my own creation has entered into the department corridors in over eight months, and even then only the lovely purple Tradescantia Zabrina you gave me for my desk when you first joined the Ministry. You remember; the one in the lovely goblet-styled pot –"

Chuckles trapped in his throat, weighed down by implication severity. Auntie Zelda was clever as they come; to have snookered her so well... But empty was the amusing triumph. Greater was the worry, their situation crumbling with each revelation.

"Yes," he said instead, softly confirming insinuation by her abrupt silence. "My greatest concern now is retrieving the Chalice without suspicion, and placing it out of harm's way. Unfortunately," he added with a sigh, a weary glance around the room, "Chamberlain will be monitoring every item moved in the Ministry, now. And the safest place actually known is no longer viable; a new location must be found whose power overthrows anything the Dark Lord can even envision. He cannot be allowed to secure the Grail. He cannot!" Horror filled his eyes and voice, making very apparent to all the treachery should this unthinkable act come to pass.

"What about St. Cyr's lot?" Regulus questioned across the room. Voice of reason, of calm. "You said the Guardians were seeking to locate and protect the Grail. Why not ask their assistance?"

Raj sighed wearily. "It would seem the course of action to take, yes," he confirmed. "But regardless of your new knowledge, it is still not safe to share my lineage with any one of them. Another rogue could be found, and this is no mere ten pence culinary piece with which to play. No; all must be kept secret, which is why they suspect me as a possible threat, if the attack last evening lays any claim."

"You were too close to something, then, yeah?" Blue spoke with renewed interest, piquing Hermione's as well, for she looked expectantly at him. Raj hedged, considering.

"I knew about St. Cyr – both her and her brother-in-law Philippe. I knew McCaine was involved, and that he had uncovered something important. I needed to know what; perhaps it was relevant to my own knowledge. But I lost track of him shortly after he traveled from Ireland to the Continent. I had those loyal to the Line watching him as well, but they, too, failed to keep him in sight. Frustrating though it may be," he added with a slight grin, "it is reassuring to know they have someone on the right side capable of thwarting those intent upon trailing him as a wounded deer."

"This Philippe St. Cyr..." Sirius now had the floor. Thoughtful was his expression, viewing Raj with mixture of suspect and interest. "Professor McGonagall introduced him as her brother-in-law..." Statement trailed off in question.

"Minerva McGonagall is sister to Madam Madeline St. Cyr," Raj explained, vaguely surprised his new associates had not yet sussed that out. "Albus Dumbledore's Order has discreetly kept contact with the Guardians through that very link. He is a prime runner between the two, as well as –"

"Hold on," Hermione interrupted, sudden awareness lighting her face. She looked from Raj to Regulus to Sirius, then back again to Raj. "Philippe St. Cyr... does he have a French accent? Not very old, perhaps my age?"

It was Sirius who answered. "Yes..." Gaze turned expectant, narrowed, attentive. Raj couldn't blame him. He himself was quite curious at Hermione Granger's tone, and just where it might lead.

She turned abruptly to the elder Black, sharing some intimate secret in one glance. Tinge of jealousy coursed his veins, denial of hope for her attentions becoming well too clear. But he had no need of that concern at present; nothing was more important than the Sangreal.

"At the concert, when you and I first, well, met," she reminded Black, head cocking to one side. "Your, er..." pausing indecisively, collected thoughts formed finally to understandable words. "Waiting room for me provided a conversation I overheard from the men's toilet. Obviously I didn't see who was conversing, but one voice sounded young and French, and the other – a northern accent – called him Philippe."

Attentive now, Raj stepped from the window, finding himself several steps closer to the young witch, leaning in with titterings of excitement. Information that could save them. "What did they say? It had to be important or you'd not have recalled it," he reasoned.

She beamed with pride. "I think so; it was awfully cryptic at first, but now with everything you've said..." Gracing him another smile, one grander, eyes twinkling with sorting out some complex problem stumping her peers. He waited anxiously.

"I didn't hear all of it, mind you, but the one gentleman told Philippe that he wanted you watched – something about the attack in Waterford. That he wanted you questioned so there'd be no breach." Here she paused, confusion lining her features. "But I thought you'd been with me that evening – we'd gone walking in the garden. In fact, that's the night we met."

Certain pleasure washed MacGregor at the wince and hard jaw set Sirius Black gave at the revelation. Jealous himself, perhaps? But fleeting was the joy; deep down Raj knew Hermione's favors were not for himself, but haunted by another. It seemed now he might know whom that other was. Turning focus, he corrected her assumptions.

"Indeed I was, milady, but I fear they were not speaking of me, but of my father, Angus MacGregor. He had been keeping watch upon a certain few, and was witness, sadly, to the destruction in Waterford. Thankfully, he was able to secure the girl who had escaped, and spirited her away for safety. They must have seen him," he added softly, more to himself in consideration.

Murmurs flitted about, but Raj ignored them. Peering intently, he silently urged Hermione to continue. There had to be more.

"They also spoke of a girl knowing, and that though she didn't know everything, the Englishman had taken care of it with some precautions." Murmuring ceased. "Said she had too much to lose." She looked questioningly at him, seeking clarification. At this point, only speculation could he grant.

"Little more than a guess, but I would have to say they knew about Chamberlain. I'd suspected, but some tip must have shown itself to them. Thinking back..." Missing puzzle pieces began to fill in the collage of unreadable edges. "If they worried over Chamberlain, and he indeed had been desperately seeking the Grail's location... Chelsea. Chelsea Chamberlain." Eyes surveyed the room, assuring all took note. Heads nodded in sudden understanding as he went on to explain Chelsea's wandering off in his flat, her blush upon reentering the room with himself and her father, the aura that said she'd been where she aught not, doing what she aught not. Galahad's journal, not quite where or as he'd last placed it.

"Oh, yes!" Hermione suddenly exclaimed. "Yes!" She stood from her fireside placement, pacing in excessive energy. "That's it! Chelsea was regaling me with tales about how nosy her father was in everything she heard at Ministry parties, how she had to tell him every last detail, even what she accidentally overheard while hiding about some reception in Belfast, looking to catch sight of you." Blush crept rapidly up his neck and cheeks, causing Raj to turn away from the cocked eyebrow Sirius was now granting him, a knowing smirk upon his little brother's face across the room. Chelsea Chamberlain's fancy of him had not faded to the wayside as he had wished these past months.

Regaining face, he turned back to Hermione's mumbling, drawing her back to matters at hand. "But surely that is not all you heard? That simply confirms how Chamberlain was doing it. Sadly, I would need to know what their plans were in order to formulate some action, myself. I can get the Grail out, but how to proceed from there without notifying either group... At this point, 'tis hopeless, I'm afraid."

Dejectedly, he sat down heavily, the room silent about him.

"It's past time for a bite and some tea," Auntie Zelda commented to no one in particular. Grandfather Jacob agreed, willing to assist. Leaving the younger group to themselves, half-hearted but well-meaning suggestions rose up randomly from the brothers and Blue, but Hermione kept her piece, pensive face delved in thought. Quarter hour later, they found themselves at the table, enjoying homemade sconces and tea, mutedly encouraging each other though not so optimistic at such point.

"You know, Jacob, dear," Auntie Zelda was saying thoughtfully. "Those Cotton Weed plants we studied over yesterday, they really should be allowed to gather a mite more growing. Plucking them too early will forgo the medicinal qualities as an anesthetic. What was that old yarn? Ninth month nettle, sour stomach settle. Tenth month claim, feel no pain. I really think we ought –"

"That's it!" Hot liquids scalded this time as Hermione's yet again ambitious shriek startled the group. Though under breath, Raj caught Sirius' biting swear, the older man dabbing at red patches now blooming on his hand.

"What's it?" Blue asked for them all, cautious in his query.

Again, she'd turned to Raj to speak, and pride rose within, this beautiful witch having blatantly been thinking of him and his worries, and not those of the Brothers Black. Raj smiled, mystified.

"That night – the conversation I overheard. There was something else, but I just couldn't recall it. But you," she clarified, glancing at Auntie Zelda, "reminded me just then with your adage." She turned back to Raj, occasionally a sweeping look at the others to state that she was not mental, that excitement rose for purpose and meaning.

"Raj, the Englishman told Philippe St. Cyr that he'd learned that the power to overcome would show itself the first day of the seventh month. Then they heard something and quickly ceased talk, but the last thing they said... oooh... it was sort of like Latin. Spanish I think. He said, 'Que sera, sera.'" Met with silence, abruptly deflated her face became, and she sat back in her chair, all sparkle gone from her eyes. "I know; no help a'tall."

Raj studied her a moment, contemplating. "On the contrary," he replied slowly, gaining all attention. "I believe you may have heard more than you realize." Now his turn came to encompass the group, to explain optimism.

"For centuries, it has been passed down that the Grail, if returned to its true home at the right time, would bestow upon the caretaker powerful knowledge, insight to slay thy enemies and enrich thy kin and self. Often referred to as 'the power to overcome,' as it was to overcome the vulnerabilities of life." Soft clinks of cup to saucers, as hands surreal in motion fell to the table. Expressions asked if ears had heard correctly, and Raj could not contain his growing amazement.

"But the time and place were lost. To all known records. It seemed only Merlin himself knew. Unfortunately, to knowledge he had never deigned to share such with anyone, including any ancestor of mine. But now..." Giving Hermione a look of wonderment, he smiled, the first real smile of too long.

Sirius to his left drew thought somber once more. "But if that's the case, MacGregor, we're too late. It's already September. We'd have to wait another ten months to find such a place." Reality washed in icy flows upon all, tentative joy replaced by depression. All but Raj.

Turning to Black with a mischievous grin, he quirked a brow, relishing both the news and the chance to prove to the charismatic prat that he – Raj – knew something Black didn't. Intelligence was not limited to the ladies, after all.

"That would be the case, Black, were we dealing with the Gregorian calendar." Pausing, a moment of silence for realization to dawn. Little time did it take.

"Tishiri...." Breathed not by Hermione, as Raj had expected, but by his grandfather. The younger MacGregor nodded. "The seventh month of the Hebrew calendar. Raj, that means..."

"Yes," he replied, voice now lower with the weight of knowledge. "We've little time." To the group, he addressed looks of confusion with explanations brief. "The first day of Tishiri begins at sundown... on the eleventh of September... In nine days."

"Then we need to hurry," Blue put in for the first time. "Surely the power to overcome includes knowing how to keep the Grail from Voldemort, and how to defeat him once and for all, yeah?" Murmurs of agreement.

"Yes, it would, I should hope," Raj answered. "But unfortunately, we still don't know where. Unless there is something else you now recall, milady?" he asked, eyes returning to the witch on Sirius' other side, right after Blue. Meekly she shook her head, this negative response bringing their cycle of euphoria and depression back down to the latter.

"What if..." Carefully spoken with breeding and manner, Regulus Black brooked the table, keen consideration written upon his handsome face. Unreadable though it was, Raj sensed the younger sibling to be quite cunning in his thoughts and efforts. The man was an enigma.

Vague words from all about encouraged him to continue, yet it was to Raj his ashen eyes bore. "What if what Miss Granger heard wasn't Latin – or Spanish – at all. What if she heard correctly, but misunderstood. What if she just told us the answer?" His voice was soft, articulate, resolute.

Raj cocked his head, but was interrupted in question by the man's elder.

"What are you pondering, Reg?" Sirius asked his brother, peering cautiously at the man he knew to be the Slytherin he'd been Sorted. "The last I'd seen that look, you'd just routed a loophole round Mum's pantry protections."

Regulus only smiled, slight deviance to his demeanor, but Raj could only remain intrigued. If Hermione's information was correct, and was complete...

"What Miss Granger heard," he cast a look unread toward her, then returned to the populace, "was not Spanish, nor even Latin, I believe. It was the Queen's English – it was a name... and a place." Hesitating only long enough to ensure all attention was his, Regulus continued. "My chats with AI Lynley have not been merely one-sided; I know much of what goes on at the Ministry, including those schemes preferred in the dark.

"McGonagall's sister is involved in a titchy little trip, mind you, that was kept from public knowledge. Even yours, MacGregor. She and her merry band were off to Egypt only days past, to follow up with an emissary sent ahead. A fellow by the name of Sir Jonathon McCaine – another of your brilliant Templar outfit," he added with a hint of disdain.

"Regulus, what –" Hermione began, but quelled was her outburst by Regulus' tight glare.

"Miss Granger," he slightly drawled, beginning to show his family background of arrogance. Raj soothed his ruffled feathers at the insult to her – now was not the time. Instead, he listened intently to Black's words.

"You did not hear Que sera, sera.... What you heard was McCaine... Sarras, Sarras... the location of the private party St. Cyr was rushing to get to, without alerting your dear Chamberlain... or you," he smirked toward Raj, brow raised.

Agitating he may be, Raj considered Regulus Black's words carefully and knew the man was right. Implications suddenly seeped through, and forgotten was the smirk of aristocratic arrogance, for the man was worthy to allow himself such leverage. He was brilliant – and the centuries-long secret had been learnt. Only one thing remained...

"Then I suppose I need to nick the Grail back, and make a path for Sarras." Raj's declaration met with an outcry, and for the first time in his life, he realized the stewardship of the Sangreal did not fall solely into hands of limited strength and power... for the first time in centuries, its guardian was not alone. Raj MacGregor had help.

-o-0-o-

Minutes passed into hours; tea passed into supper. Collaborative planning and strategy replaced suspicion and defensiveness. Years it had been, really, since Regulus Black had found himself working in group effort for purely a common cause. Though general reason was worthy and noble, Regulus was, still, both a Black and a Slytherin. Never did he fail to scan an opportunity for self benefit. Experience had changed him, true; altered misshapen views and erased misconceptions. Left without family or connections, he had built himself up into a man with a past of his own choosing, own decisions. Very different it had been, really, waking each day with open choice for future endeavors. No courtesy required based on blood, based on begots and names and wealth. Yet, tradition engrained was not simply wiped free with a change of venue, of signature.

Regulus battled internally throughout animated discussions of travel routes and preliminaries, covertly studying the witch that had bewitched him so well. A Muggle-born, after all. Mental shake cleared exasperation at such revelations, allowing focus on dealing with the matter. She was a Muggle-born, one of dirty blood, the very kind Blacks did not see as worth life at all. How dare they educate and participate with the purebloods, with true magic folk? Yet no denial could be made that Hermione Granger was clever, talented, generous... lovely. An old pang momentarily crossed his mind and heart, but he brushed it away with annoyance. It was the now he had to contend with, the now where he was, and the now was a matter of desiring family, ones to protect and nourish and continue the family line. Love... an ambiguous concept, fleeting at best, rare and insufficient on its own. Practicality – and ignoring status – suggested Miss Granger as not only a potential, but an agreeable partner for him, a mother for children yet conceived.

"Perhaps now would be an opportune time," young MacGregor was saying as Madam Luminare began clearing the meal, "to adjourn for a bit. We've established a feasible plan; tomorrow we can work out the incongruities." Chattered agreement rose all about, each individual regaining their feet for some other pursuit.

"Zelda," Miss Granger insisted a moment later, her hands already flitting about platters and serving dishes. "I'll take care of the clean-up; please, enjoy your visit with Mr. MacGregor." In gesture she indicated the elder Scotsman. Half-hearted protests failed in changing the girl's wishes, and Madam Luminare agreed with cheeky grin and alit eyes.

"Oh, Mr. Black," Ms. Luminare called to his brother, drying freshly washed hands upon a yellow-checked tea towel, "I'll have a look at that," she nodded, indicating the wound from their antics of the night before, "if you'd like. We'll clear it up in a jiffy." Sirius followed the woman out, and Regulus caught the call of front door adjustments. Both MacGregors ventured into the sitting room, talk continuing of history and best-ventured plans. Blue disappeared down the hallway, the direction of the loo.

He was alone with Miss Granger. Just as he had intended.

Too many years had passed for Regulus to give much thought to picking up after himself, house-elves being impossible conveniences when living as a Muggle underground. Thus so, his mind was not on the dishes he was gathering by hand, setting either upon the worktable or within the sink for cleaning. Rather, thoughts and sight followed his companion, herself seemingly caught up in contemplations.

"You've an ace memory," he said, breaking the silence. She started, glancing up from study of stacked plate and cutlery. Expressive eyes grew wider in confused question.

"Your recollection of the conversation. The one from the concert last month," he clarified, depositing leftover shepherd's pie upon the worktop. One stride from her, he kept his advantage and merely leaned casually sideways upon a forearm, elegance in lean form. Black tendrils framed his eyes, offering boarders about the sight before him. He chose not to think on her blood status, instead reveling in practicality, for Miss Granger was a powerful witch in her own right, and would bear such talent in her offspring.

"Ah," she answered, somewhat distracted. "Thank you." Off for another run at the clearing, his presence yet again pushed wayside. All right; so Regulus Black did not appreciate being ignored. He'd had plenty of that growing up.

"You're quite the clever witch, Miss Granger. A most admirable trait, to be sure." He studied for a reaction.

Nothing.

"Rather... pretty one, as well." Pause... nothing. Continuing her duties, little more than polite acknowledgement fell from her lips. He'd much prefer that furrow between her brows to release its hold, her notice to dwell upon him and not some abstract thoughts surely controlling her now. Third return to the sink, hands laden, he changed tactics.

"Sirius had forewarned me, before we'd properly met," he began, and at the sound of his brother's name, her attention sprang forth to the present, to him, his words now golden. His own brow furrowed slightly. "Yes, he did. And as loath as I may be to admit him right in anything, his oft-deranged opinion was spot on with you."

"Sirius said I was pretty?" Eager puppy face too many times hurt to believe looked at him, interest glaring in her voice. Regulus scoffed, irritated.

"Look at you. A witch of your caliber – Muggle-born though you may be – reduced to pining like a lower-class schoolgirl, panting after one morsel of kind attribute from my dearly esteemed older brother." A sound of disgust left his lips as he pushed off from the worktop, busying himself with continuing the clear-up as Miss Granger stood still, mouth agape.

"I'd have expected greater things from the likes of you, Miss Granger. A higher level of expectation, in the least. Quietly suffering while awaiting his notice is rather beneath you." The table itself clear, he wet a cloth and proceeded to wipe it down, taking peripheral note of her lack of composure. Her breeding showing through, he figured. No matter; she could learn. It was the fact it took Sirius' name to draw her mind to the now that bothered him most. "Of course, I wouldn't hold my breath, were I you, waiting for his commentary. He had nothing to say, actually, when I pointed out your everlasting crush on him."

"You told him?" Her voice was shrill in panic. Honestly; she really was acting the part of a simpering female, and as was always the case, after his brother. Charismatic bewitcher, Sirius. Though success had smiled upon Regulus finally – all those years in the band – when again reunited with his sibling, second place always found Regulus wanting. Ire rose in remembrance, yet held in check.

"Well, it was hardly a secret; you were so bloody obvious about it." Nearly flippant now, he found he could not sympathize with her. She really was above Sirius' status. Perhaps not by blood, but as he had told his brother, Sirius did not deserve her. Now she needed to understand that fact.

"But – but – you had no... no right," she said, indignation attempting to cover the blush of embarrassment coloring her fair cheeks, eyes watering with unshed tears. "And it's none of your business, even if I do fancy him, which I'm not saying I do." She was starting to ramble, speaking faster as though to put words between the accusation and herself, as time and space were clearly not options.

Tossing the cloth in-sink, Regulus stopped just before her, his face impassive, voice calm and steady, nearly bored.

"Miss Granger, I've no time and little use for games." Head cocked matter-of-factly, slight smirk, he broached the subject clearly. "It insults me that a witch of your intelligence and potential has let herself be played about over what my brother does or says. Too many other matters are of greater importance, and your tiffs with Sirius are of little consequence to the rest of us. However, your attentions should be to matters at hand.

"I've no use for love; I find it a tiresome, fatalistically flawed emotion by which many a soul has lost their future. Mutual advantages and unions of influence and power make more sense. But if you're so blatantly on for my brother – don't try to deny it," he interrupted himself when she moved to do just that. "Wouldn't have been quite so pissed off when you caught him with your slaggy friend, there –"

Wetness started down her cheek as she turned to flee, but Regulus was quick, grabbing her wrist tightly and drawing her back, his commanding voice forcing her to face him.

"You're hurting me," she bit out, half indignant though primarily for show. His grip only tightened.

"I don't wish to hurt you, but you're being too thick to listen; stop running off like some frightened little rabbit. You're a bloody Gryffindor for God's sake! If you want the man, bloody well stand up for him and tell him. Admit it; take what you want. If you don't, then you don't want him badly enough. You're just deluding yourself."

This time anger won through her tears. "He's an arse! He treats women like his personal gift from the gods, like they are all there to do his bidding. He treats me like a little girl who's done a proper job of showing her elders she's learnt her lessons well. But even those he sees as grown women, they mean nothing to him. He acts as though he should do little more than smile and crook his finger, and the world is his. Well, it bloody well isn't, and he's acting a prat when he does it. A self-indulgent child who can't grow up and take matters seriously and act like – like a man, and... and... he's not acting like he's supposed to do. He just teases cruelly and is a horrid flirt and..." She trailed off, failing for further descriptors. Regulus, however, was annoyed.

"Sirius is Sirius – he's never put on any airs. I rarely ever acknowledge him and more than half the time I don't even like him. But he's never been other than himself. That's who he is. If that's not what you want, or you're not able to handle that, then look elsewhere." Intense was his stare, never leaving her eyes as his own bore into hers. Noticeably tightening, the muscles in his jaw worked in fiercely controlled motion. "What you want – what you may well need – could be right in front of your tear-stained eyes."

Moment's breath of strained silence, then he flung her wrist from his grip, turned, and stalked out of the room. He'd had enough talk of his brother. It was time to find the man responsible.

Fog drifted the expanse of the front garden, yet Sirius' distinct shape could be made sitting sideways upon the railing in the small gazebo just meters from the door. He was alone.

Good.

Regulus stepped up into the structure, accepting Sirius' failure to acknowledge his entrance. So it had been since boyhood. No matter; vision may be peering into the growing dusk, but Regulus knew Sirius' attention was wholly his. Nice change, that.

"Interesting fact, Miss Granger's torn trousers." Miniscule startle nearly missed (were he not watching intently) belied the fact that this was not what Sirius had expected to be said. Regulus smiled to himself. He continued, casually pacing about the small area, distractedly portraying interest in its beams and stylings.

"Comparable to your own, bandaging and all, though I dare say velvet ribbon holds a lesser degree of medicinal purpose than perhaps... erotic purpose?" He paused in step, facing his brother's form. Presented as a question, the words should have brought response.

He was not disappointed.

"Sometimes Hermione needs things spelled out for her," Sirius replied, voice tight, face still turned away toward the garden gate and empty fields beyond.

"Hmm." Steps resumed, though slower now, methodical. "She is not a child, Sirius. She is a grown woman, of her own mind and merit. Blood status notwithstanding, there is nothing wrong with the girl but her absurd fascination with you." Another inner smile broke at the sudden tension Sirius' body took on at the jab. "Whatever game you're playing with her, cease. She deserves better than your devil-may-care usage."

This time Sirius turned. Even in fading light, Regulus could make out his features of arrogant amusement.

"Fancy her, do you?" he asked, low chuckle to his words. "The great Regulus Black, smitten with a Muggle-born of comparable talent and intelligence. Tsk, tsk. What would Mother say?"

"That her only son was taking advantage of the only choices left him aside from senseless suicide. With a bit of training up, Miss Granger could take the place of a proper wife befitting the Black line."

"Don't you even suggest any of that proper training up, Reg!" Sirius cried, jumping down in defensive gesture. Speech no longer entertained, honest anger revealed itself en masse. "Hermione's no placid little female brought up to act the part of dutiful pureblood wife. She's a powerful witch unto her own, and no Dark Ages, weak-willed prat like yourself is going to cage her up like one."

Regulus faced Sirius fully, stance unyielding. Soft, calm, reminiscent of Slytherin nature... "If you cannot acknowledge those facts for yourself, mark my words that I will. My standards are high, Sirius, and Miss Granger is a first in a very long while. I desire a family; I shall have a family. And if you are so ignorant, your own actions will hand that family directly to me."

Sirius moved to retort, then paused, a change from indignant to suspicious coloring his face. "No... no, you're not going to trip me up with your misdirection, Reg. You're warning me first; that's not like you. It isn't your style. You take what want, however you need to do so. Avoid confrontation, avoid competition. True Slytherin bastard: underhanded and opportunist, using others' misfortunes or mistakes to your advantage. If you truly want her for yourself, why are warning me of my own errors?"

Regulus merely peered with haughtiness gracing. "Simply to prove I am the better man. Even with prior knowledge, you'll fuck it up. You always were the impetuous type, could not settle to one woman. And when she realizes that, I'll have my future."

"No, I don't think so," Sirius answered lightly, curiously. "That's not your reasoning, and I'll not rise to your bait. I'll grant you do want her, ignoring your precious blood status, but coming to tell me of that, to counsel of my potential failings... That is a move of honor and fairness, and not of your nature." He hesitated again, peering through the nearly opaque evening.

"You're not the same boy I knew," Sirius finally stated, odd catch of surprise piercing his voice.

"I never was the boy you knew," came the hoarse whisper. Regulus turned and left, disappearing into mists of the night.