the black dog

Past – 15th December 1877
Margaret’s POV

The door to Malcolm’s Metal shop slammed open as Margaret made her way inside, heading straight towards the back of the shop where she knew she could find the person she was looking for. Said person—Harold Moore—looked up from where he was bent over a bench with his wand in hand and a piece of metal in front of him.

It appeared as if the man was already part way through imbuing the piece of metal with magical properties, the piece glowing and rippling with the charms carefully woven into it.

Margaret had loved this man for as long as she could remember. His father had worked in their family’s stables when they were younger and even at her age of seven and Harold’s nine (and a half), she had fallen head over heels in love with him. His father had dragged him along to work with the horses and Margaret spent most of her time lingering nearby in the meadows with her younger sister watching the boy work alongside his father.

She had been shy at first, unsure how to approach the boy but one day she happened to be walking back from the meadows with flowers she had carefully picked in her arms when he came running after her. In his hand was the royal blue hair ribbon that must have blown out of her hair with the rough winds. The ribbons her mother would surely have expressed her disappointment if she had lost it in the meadow. It was the only one that matched the ridiculously puffy dress she wore out to play at her young age. From that moment on, she and Harold became close friends, his father even permitting him to join her in the meadow while he did the harder tasks around the stables.

To her surprise, her own father didn’t cause a fuss about her friendship with Harold, despite how many of the other Sacred Twenty-Eight families abhorred and looked down on half-bloods and those seen as ‘lesser’ than them. Margaret had been dragged to countless events with the families that were seen as ‘true’ Purebloods. Her parents had tried to get her and her younger sister acquainted with the young girls at these social gatherings but she didn’t like the snobby children of the other upper nobility in their circle. They always looked down at the smudges of mud on her shoes and the not-so-perfect state of her curly hair. Unruly was the word she heard one of the horrible girls whisper to each other.

She and Harold had drifted apart during their schooling years. Harold had gone off to Hogwarts while her family had sent her to Beauxbatons as her own parents had been schooled there. But, they had fully reconnected a few months after she had finished her final year at Beauxbatons. Their friendship had only blossomed further when she was twenty years old and had found her sister cold to the touch far out in the meadow, her horse lying beside her with his head in the girl’s lap. Once Margaret had informed her family she had sent a letter to Harold and waited for him in the stables, curled up in a ball as she sobbed. She had spent the entire night with him wrapped around her, comforting her with his warmth and his words.

Harold’s sunshine had gotten her through those dark times. Knowing that, the light in his eyes never faded even when the world around them grew dim.

Even now as she burst through the door and he looked up at her in disbelief, that same childish gleam remained in his eyes.

“You need to court me,” she told him, clutching the counter with both of her hands as she looked him directly in the eye.

Harold chuckled and looked back down at his work. “What a lovely way to greet me. No ‘good morning Harold’?”

“I’m not joking,” she snapped, folding her arms across her chest. As much as she secretly loved Harold’s jokes, now was definitely not the time for them. Especially now that her future was at stake.

Harold’s head snapped up in a sharp movement, his mouth slightly open in shock. “What is going on? Where is this coming from?”

Margaret groaned. “What’s going on is my parents trying to convince me to accept a proposal from some rich, pompous man that I have never so much as spoken a word to.”

Harold blinked. “So…?”

“So,” she drawled, waving a hand as if the answer was obvious. “I need out of this and you are my solution.”

She expected him to agree, to not hesitate as he did now. They had been dancing around each other for the last year. Or at least that was what she thought. She thought she had been obvious with the clues she had dropped, even if they were soaked in her sarcastic comments. She thought that he was giving her the same signs. But it seemed now—from the look on his face at least—that he might not have been. Or perhaps it was because he was still processing or in denial that Margaret could possibly have put him in this situation. But denial was good. She could work with that.

“Maggie,” Harold sighed as he put his wand down. “You’re parents aren’t fools. They will see through this idea of yours.”

Oh, so it was the parents’ situation that was the reason for his hesitance. But she knew her parents would want her to marry for love and not just for the blood that ran through someone’s veins. Or at least that was what she hoped. But she needed to at least try. Hell would freeze over before she found herself permanently tied down to Phineas Nigellus Black.

“Please, Harold,” she said, clutching her hands together in a desperate beg. Margaret didn’t beg. Ever. The only time she had was wordless, a silent prayer for her collapsed sister to open her eyes. For her sister’s heart to start beating again.

But Harold just shook his head. “Margaret, no. I don’t want to cause trouble with your father and I don’t want you to do the same. Just try to talk to them, okay? I’m sure they will understand.”

Margaret shook her head back at him. “I’m ageing out. Father thinks if I don’t marry now no one will want me.”

“That is not true.”

“Oh that’s right, the old shrivelled men will still want me. How delightful.” She rolled her eyes. “And now you have made it clear you don’t want me so it’s either a life with this arrogant man, a life as a spinster or married to a man with a pudgy belly and no hair on his head. I’m sure sex with an old man is something to die for. Literally.”

Her words seemed to go through one of Harold’s ears and out the other. Surely he wasn’t going to stand by and watch her marry someone else. Was he? He did care about her, didn’t he? More than friends? He answered her question with the next few words that left his mouth. “We are friends, Maggie. I’m a half-blood and work as a metal charmer. You are the daughter of a Pureblood. You are a pureblood who comes from a powerful and wealthy family.”

Margaret balled her fists together, her teeth clenched together as she bit back the rage that threatened to escape her. “I thought you would want to help me.”

“I did,” Harold said, looking at her with sympathy that she did not appreciate. “I do. Just not like this. I’m sorry, darling.”

“Don’t darling me, darling,” she told him, pointing a finger in his face. A rush of satisfaction ran through her as she looked at the shocked expression on Harold’s face. “You don’t think we could be convincing?” she asked him, folding her arms across her chest. “Is that it? You don’t think my parents are progressive enough to let me choose my own partner regardless of blood?”

Harold sighed. “I don’t want you to make your situation worse. We are friends Margaret. Your parents know that. We can’t convince them that finding out about your possible marriage wasn’t the reason for us to emerge as having a courtship.”

Margaret stared at Harold for several seconds, her eyes narrowed as she scanned his face for any indication of his feelings. He was usually an open book but it was hard to read whether he truly wanted and believed the words that left his mouth. Maybe it was a result of the rage still bubbling inside her, making her unable to think and process things as well as she usually did.

So, without a second thought, she reached over the table with both hands, looping them around the shoulder straps of his apron and pulling him forward until he was close enough that she could press her lips to his. It was a quick kiss, nothing passionate like she read in the books she had managed to sneak home from her time at Beauxbatons. It lasted for a couple of seconds before she released him, leaning back and sending him stumbling back a few steps.

She folded her arms across her chest once again, tilting her head sideways as she levelled him with a glare. “How’s that for convincing?”

“Maggie,” Harold hissed, glancing around. “Anyone could’ve seen that.”

“Good. Then we’ve had a successful start on our courting.”

“Go home, Maggie,” Harold said with another sigh, returning back to his work. “Your parents are likely worried about you. How you manage to sneak around without your chaperone escapes me.”

She didn’t offer him another word, only a hard glare before she turned on her heel and stormed out of the shop, apparating as she stepped out onto the pebbled road.

He wanted to do this the hard way. Fine. She wasn’t going to take his half-ass excuses as a reason to give up on her plan. An arrogant Pureblood man, what-ifs and her delusional metal charmer friend weren’t going to stop her from pursuing what she wanted.

She was going to get him to court her anyway. He just chose the difficult way.

The man tasted like cigar smoke and whiskey. That was the only thing she could focus on as she let this man pin her against the wall outside of a brothel she had never been inside. His hands rested on the small of her waist, cinched in from her corset. It wasn’t hard to transfigure some clothing into what she believed women at the brothels wore. It was mainly adding a slit down the front of her dress to reveal cleavage and forgoing some of the layers of skirts underneath her dress to make it more form-fitting.

The kiss was sloppy, with too much tongue and saliva for her liking. The man was drunk and it definitely showed. Not that she hadn’t had much experience with kissing. This wasn’t her first kiss. Technically, her first had been with a girl at Beauxbatons who had gone to kiss her cheek in greeting as Margaret turned her head. Their lips had brushed which wasn’t technically a kiss. Otherwise, her first kiss would have been the one she had planted on Harold two days ago in the shop he worked in. And that was hardly romantic or thrilling. Even now, this was her first time kissing with (too much) tongue and she didn’t like it. It felt wrong but she didn’t care. If she timed it right Harold should be walking past on his usual route home from the shop any second now and then she could erase this kiss from her mind. Seriously. She was considering obliviating herself.

Despite the situation and where her mouth was currently occupied she couldn’t help but smirk as she felt a looming presence nearby. Bingo. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed bile as she forced herself to get more into this kiss with the stranger.

Her eyes fluttered open when the man pulled away with a grunt, one of his hands leaving her waist to rub the back of his head which seemed to just have been prodded by Harold’s wand. The same wand that was now pointed against the side of the drunk man’s neck as Harold locked eyes with her. Margaret didn’t back down, giving Harold her own glare.

The man returned his hand to her waist, prompting Harold to press his wand further into the skin on the man’s neck. “I suggest you remove your hands from the young lady,” Harold warned him, his voice low enough to send a shiver down Margaret’s spine.

The man, too drunk to notice that he was in fact in danger, waved a hand in the air. “Wait your turn. Put that wand of yours away. You can have your go after me.”

Was it bad that butterflies formed in Margaret’s stomach from the sight of the unbridled rage that crossed Harold’s face? Probably.

“I think you’d rather deal with me than her father, Francis Burke.”

Panic. Pure panic was all she could see and sense in the man she had been kissing as he dropped his hands from her as if she had burnt him. He brushed his hands against his filthy coat as if he could wash his hands of the situation. Without another word to the man, Harold knocked him out with a spell, sending the man crumbling towards the ground and making no effort to catch him. Her friend then crouched down beside the man and muttered obliviate, taking the memory from the man’s head just as Margaret had been planning to do with hers.

Harold stood back up and turned towards her, walking closer until only a short distance stood between them. Rage consumed his face but Margaret focused on his eyes—still full of light even with the other facial features twisted in anger. “You should not be here,” he told her. “This is what you turn to now? I thought you knew better than that.”

Margaret scoffed. “What did you expect me to do? Wait around and give all my firsts to a husband I don’t want? May as well practise for when I inevitably marry Phineas Nigellus Black.” She folded her arms across her chest. “It could’ve been yours, Harold. I could’ve been yours.”

Harold studied her.

“What is it?” she sighed. “Did I smear my lipstick?”

As she reached up to brush her thumb to her lips Harold grabbed her arm, stopping her from checking whether her lipstick was still intact. Then there was the unsettling feeling she got when she was apparated by magic other than her own. Harold didn’t stop moving once they landed in the garden area outside of her house, continuing to pull her along in the direction of the door.

“You took me home?” Margaret said, the sound coming out panicked and frantic. “Hang on. Wait. My parents don’t know I left. Let me apparate into my bedroom. Harold. Harry. Please.”

She was also aware of the state of her dress which was enough to get her sent off to leave the rest of her days as a spinster with a different aunt. Hey, maybe this would be a good idea. At least then she wouldn’t have to worry about being tied to an arrogant man or a man old enough to be her great-great grandfather.

“You aren’t telling them about the man are you?” She tried again when Harold did not answer. She was wondering whether she was wrong to ever consider him a friend. Now he was about to hand her over to her father like a backstabbing traitorous little bit—

“Maggie, for the love of Merlin please be quiet,” Harold told her and she immediately picked up on the fact that his voice had a small shake to it. Huh?

She frowned, confused at what was going on. “But what are you—”

“Shh.”

“—Doing?”

“Go upstairs before your father catches you,” Harold said, nodding towards the house.

But Margaret didn’t move. She wouldn’t until she knew exactly what her friend was planning. “What are you doing?” she asked him.

Harold sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. He paused before he did it again, but this time it seemed to be with the intent of trying to tame his hair. “I believe the first step in courting is to inform the parents of my intentions.”

Margaret’s mouth dropped open. “You’re doing it?”

When Harold gave her a look that screamed you got your own way you little minx—in fact, she heard those words in his voice inside her head—she repeated “You’re doing it” once again, the words now a statement rather than a question.

Throwing her arms around his neck, she pressed her lips against his cheek. “Thank you,” she told him. “Thank you.”

She caught his small smile that he tried to hide as she pulled back, unravelling her arms from around him. And just because she could—and she got the sudden burst of courage to do so—she leaned forward to press her lips to his.

She stepped back after several seconds, realising her eyes weren’t the only ones that closed during the kiss. “Thank you, darling,” she called out as she began walking backwards towards the door.

She had taken several steps when Harold’s eyes finally opened. She didn’t miss the gleam in his eye, and to her, it seemed a little bit brighter than ever before.

Past – 3rd January 1964

Harold was dead. The doctors at St Mungo’s had come out into the room where she had been pacing, waiting for them to come and update her.

They looked at her blankly, delivering the words with no emotion on their faces. “There was nothing we could do. I’m so sorry but your husband is gone.”

Maggie had broken down, collapsing onto the floor as the doctors rushed to catch her. It took them half an hour to calm her down before

His eyes were still open, they hadn’t even closed them. He was staring up at the ceiling blankly which only made Margaret cry even more. She ran her fingers across his eyelids, helping them close and leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his forehead. His skin was already cold to the touch but she couldn’t help but replay the emptiness in his eyes.

That familiar gleam was gone.

He was gone.

Margaret was alone.

Present – 16th July 1983

“Patient name?” she faintly heard one of the voices call out as several healers moved around her bed, casting various spells.

She was struggling to breathe, each breath she pulled made her lungs feel more and more like sandpaper. Her body was shutting down, as she was expecting. She was lucky to live as many years as she did, surviving twenty years without Harold even though she was sure she was going to drop dead in the days after his soul left the earth.

“Margaret Moore,” someone replied just as Margaret lost consciousness for a brief few seconds.

As she regained consciousness she was aware of a familiar voice joining the others around her. “Move aside. Let me in. We can’t let her die.” The voice continued, addressing her directly, “Margaret, can you hear me? Stay with me, okay? I’ll fix this, I promise.” The girl let out a sob before continuing to order the other healers around her.

Ah, Lily. The precious girl she hadn’t quite been able to help heal her heart yet. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be here as she died. She didn’t need this weight on her soul. She wanted to tell the girl that there was nothing she could do, that it was her time to go and nothing could stop it from happening. She knew it was coming, she could feel Harold now more than ever in the past few decades.

But instead of trying to tell Lily that, she started attempting to say one word in hopes that Lily would understand. In hopes that she could spend her last few moments on this earth helping the last of Regulus’ friends.

“M-” she tried to get the word out but it was exhausting trying to breathe let alone speak. “M-Mary.”

Her eyes fell shut as she felt her chest heave, a disturbing noise leaving her throat as she struggled to inhale the oxygen that she desperately needed.

“No no no. Margaret stay with me. Stay with me, please. For Regulus. Stay with me. Listen to my voice.”

Listen, she tried to tell herself.

Listen.

Stay.

Lis—

She felt it the second her soul left her body, her chest exhaling one last time before nothing.

She opened her eyes again in the afterlife to a blue sky, not a cloud inside. She was lying on her back on something soft yet it tickled her neck.

She turned her head to the side at the sound of a rustle, finding Harold staring at her as he lay on his side, his head propped in his hand. Her eyes filled with tears at the sight of his face. It wasn’t wrinkled as she had remembered. He was young again, in his twenties. Looking down at her wrinkle-free hands, and no longer feeling the persistent pain in her joints she realised she must look young again too. But what she focused on was his eyes, not lifeless and blank like the last time she saw them.

“Hello, darling,” Harold said with a lop-sided smile.

“Harold,” she breathed out in response, lunging towards him until they collided, Harold falling onto his back with a huff. Margaret pressed kisses across every inch of his face, lying on top of him as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Took you long enough,” he chuckled. “You sure know how to keep a man waiting.”

“Sorry,” she replied with a smirk. “Had to check on my second husband first.”

Harold rolled his eyes. “What second husband? You were lucky enough to get a first husband.”

“You were the lucky one, darling,” she amended, raising her eyebrow at him.

“The luckiest,” he concluded, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose.

She laughed before she kissed him on the lips, back in the meadow where their story had started when they met in 1863.

Present – 1st August 1984
Mary’s POV

“Hey, Em,” she said as she walked into the studio. “How is production looking?”

Emmeline looked up from her desk with a smile. “It’s good. I’m putting together the poster for the movie with those photos I took,” she said before gesturing to the coffee table several metres away. “There’s some post for you on the table.”

“Is it fan mail?” She asked as she walked over to the table, putting her keys down as she picked up the pile of letters.

“I’m not sure,” Emmeline replied. “I didn’t look through them.”

Mary started flicking through the pile of letters, sure enough, most of them were fan mail from all over the world. Letters from people in Spain, New Zealand, Brazil, the US, all over the place. Hidden between them was a letter from Marlene and one from Peter as well as one from her landlord. But as she flicked to the last one she paused. She placed the others down on the table as she recognised the handwriting that printed her name and the studio across the front.

She flipped it over, certain that it must be her brain playing tricks on her and it was a fan with similar fan writing. Yet, sure enough, printed across the return address was Lily Evans.

“Is everything okay?” Emmeline asked from her desk, concern in her voice. “It isn’t a stalker, is it?”

“No. No. It’s from Lily.”

“Lily?” Emmeline echoed. “It’s been a year, hasn’t it?”

“More than a year,” Mary echoed, her eyes tracing over her own name in Lily’s handwriting.

“Are you going to open it?” Emmeline asked and Mary looked over at her friend seeing the smile on the girl’s face.

“I think I have to,” Mary replied. “Don’t I?”

“It’s up to you,” Emmeline shrugged.

Mary didn’t hesitate another second, tearing open the letter and letting her eyes devour the words that Lily had written to her.

Maybe just maybe, their paths were on their way back to each other.

Present – 25th December 1984
Remus’ POV

“Mooony!” Remus heard Sirius call out from the direction of the bedroom they shared at Potter Manor. All of them were together for Christmas and had spent the past few days sleeping at James’ parents’ house like they were still children.

James and Regulus were in James’ old bedroom which—to Sirius’ delight—was still painted in his Gryffindor colours. There was some satisfaction for Sirius to see his little brother staying in James’ childhood bedroom. Even though Regulus had been offered his own room he had insisted on staying with James—to no one’s surprise. Lily was staying in the room next to him and Sirius, with Pandora down the hallway. On another level of the house was Peter in the room with his girlfriend, Sybil, who Remus was quite fond of. The girl was quite intelligent and seemed like the perfect match for his friend. Marlene and Dorcas were on the same floor as them with Evan and Barty in the room next to them. Regulus had insisted that Barty was not to be on the same floor as him and Remus wondered what the poor man had been exposed to when he shared a dorm with them at Hogwarts.

It was nice to spend the Christmas time back together, even though Mary couldn’t make it because she was still wrapping up filming and couldn’t get home in time. There was always something so comforting about Effie and Flea’s cooking and their house—warm and welcoming. It almost felt like they were all back at Hogwarts together.

He turned to Effie with an apologetic look as Sirius continued calling out from somewhere upstairs. Effie smiled and waved a hand at him, “Go go. Knowing that boy he won’t stop until he gets what he wants.”

Remus untied the back of the apron, pulling the loop over his head before placing it on the kitchen counter where he had spent the last hour helping Effie prepare dinner. He walked up the stairs, following the sounds of “Moony” onto the floor where his and Sirius’ room was. As he walked down the hallway he heard Regulus call out from behind his and James’ closed door, “Shut the fuck up, Sirius!”

Remus quickened his pace as he walked down the hallway, stopping outside their room and turning the handle before stepping inside and closing the door behind him. Sirius was sitting on the end of the bed, a mischievous gleam in his eye as Remus walked towards him. Or he tried to. His feet were planted on the floor, unable to pick them up. He sighed as he looked at his boyfriend’s smug face before looking up at the ceiling expectantly. Sure enough, he found himself standing under a piece of mistletoe. A charmed piece of mistletoe that didn’t let him move until he was kissed.

It seemed that Sirius’ pranking days were far from over. He was still pulling this prank but seemed to have the common sense to have moved it to their room after what had happened last night. Sirius had left the piece of mistletoe outside of the kitchen and forgotten about it. So, when Remus and Regulus had walked underneath it they had found themselves stuck, unable to move until they kissed each other.

Sirius, who Regulus had frantically shouted for when they were stuck, was appalled when he found his little brother and his boyfriend stuck under his mistletoe prank. James, who had heard the commotion came running in and laughed before realising that there was no back door to this. Regulus and Remus had to share a quick peck before they could move again.

As a precaution, James and Regulus had spent today glued to each other’s side, prepared to kiss each other if they were caught up in Sirius’ prank.

But it seemed that Remus was the sole target of Sirius’ pranking. He sighed again, looking back at his boyfriend who climbed off the edge of the bed, walking across the room until he was in front of Remus and also stuck under the mistletoe. Sirius wrapped his arms around Remus’ neck. “Hi,” Sirius said, a smile on his mouth.

“Is this the reason you called for me?” Remus asked, raising an eyebrow. “You know if you wanted a kiss you could’ve come down into the kitchen and asked for one?”

“In front of Effie?” Sirius gasped. “Who do you think I am?” Remus shivered as Sirius ran one of his hands down his body from his shoulder to his lower stomach.

“Oh you,” Remus groaned. “I’m supposed to be helping.”

Sirius leant forward, his lips ghosting over Remus’ mouth. He looked up at Remus with his doe-shaped eyes and Remus crumbled.

“Fuck it,” he mumbled, pressing his mouth against Sirius’ as his hands travelled down to the man’s thighs. Picking him up, Sirius’ legs looped around his waist as they were freed from the charm hanging above them. Walking over to the bed, Remus lowered Sirius into the mattress, his boyfriend’s legs still wrapped tightly around his waist.

Sirius tipped his head back as Remus’ lips moved to his neck, kissing, licking and nipping his way across the pale skin there. Remus was delighted at the sound that escaped Sirius’ throat, his teeth grazing the pulse point at his neck.

Sirius’ hands dipped under the hemline of Remus’ shirt, brushing against the skin there and making him groan at pause to exhale against the man’s neck. Sirius paused the movement of his hands when he came across the place on Remus’ body that he adored. Where he had the Canis Major constellation tattooed between the scars on his side.

Remus and Sirius spent the hour before dinner wrapped up in each other. Teasing and pulling moans and pleas from the other before collapsing in each other’s arms, exactly where they belonged.

And Remus couldn’t imagine a better place to be.

Present – 16th July 1985
Regulus’ POV

Regulus sat on the grass in front of the grave with Margaret Moore engraved into the stone. The stone next to it was dedicated to her husband, placing them side by side in their eternal rest. It had given Regulus peace in the days following Margaret’s death two years ago that she was reunited with the love of her life.

Sirius—more specifically Padfoot—sat beside Regulus with his head in his lap, letting his right hand brush the soft fur on the dog’s head. His left hand fiddled with one of the rings on his finger, moving it in circles and up and down in a repetitive action.

James was somewhere nearby, off visiting his Potter ancestors who were buried across the cemetery while he gave Regulus time with Margaret. He felt a stray tear fall from his eye and a soft sob escaped him. He looked down as Padfoot whined at him, the dog looking up at him with sad eyes as he moved his head further up Regulus’ thigh.

“I miss her, Sirius,” he admitted, his voice breaking on his brother’s name as another tear fell from his eye. “It’s hard knowing she isn’t going to be here for the next major events in my life.”

He tilted his head back and blinked rapidly, trying to force the tears back into his eyes. Padfoot whined again, prodding his nose into Regulus’ stomach before sitting up beside him with his head out of his lap. Padfoot looked at him with a tilted head, using a paw to get his attention when Regulus found his eyes drifting to the ground.

Regulus sighed before wrapping his arms around his brother’s animagus form, feeling Padfoot’s head rest on his shoulder. “You better not be drooling on my shirt,” he told him. “I’m not a dog person, you know. Why couldn’t you be a cat? Dogs are dirty.”

Padfoot pulled back and licked up Regulus’ cheek before darting away.

“See. Disgusting,” Regulus said with a laugh, wiping at the trail of saliva on his cheek.

Sirius turned in a circle before taking a few steps away and Regulus got the feeling that he was supposed to follow his brother. Sirius barked and took more steps. Yes, he was definitely supposed to follow him.

“What is the matter, Sirius?”

Sirius barked again.

“I don’t speak dog,” Regulus said, rolling his eyes. When Sirius backed for a second time, Regulus climbed to his feet, saying his goodbyes to Margaret before walking towards his brother. “Fine, I’m coming.”

Sirius’ nose was to the ground as he led Regulus further into the cemetery, away from Margaret’s grave and the way James had gone to visit his ancestors. When Sirius came to an abrupt stop Regulus did the same, confused at what Sirius sensed that he didn’t.

Sirius circled back behind Regulus, prodding his nose against his thigh to get him to continue walking forward. “What is it?” he hissed at his brother, reaching into his pocket for his wand.

His eyes scanned the area but all he saw were graves and more graves. From what he could see there was no one around. So, what did Sirius want him to see? Cautiously, he took a step forward. Then another one. And another one. His eyes scanned around until he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

His head whipped around and he paused as he took in what he saw. Releasing his hold on his wand he removed his hand from his pocket. Padfoot circled Regulus’ legs before prodding him again and Regulus didn’t need words to know that this is what Sirius had led him to.

He took a step towards where the small child was sitting cross-legged on top of the grass in front of one of the newer-looking graves. As he got closer, he figured out that she was talking quietly—complaining, if anything—to the person she was visiting.

“So, I told Julia that it was my piece of cake and she could go get her own. Then, she started to cry and—”

Regulus blocked out the rest of her words as he noticed what she was doing with her hands. An old bouquet of flowers sat on top of the grave—if you could call it that. The flowers were obviously handpicked and shrivelled with how long they had likely sat there. But with a brush of the girl's hand, they bloomed once again. The girl couldn’t be more than five years old and she was running her hand across the flowers as if she had been doing it her whole life.

He scanned the area for any adults around, trying to figure out how she got there. She didn’t seem lost and she didn’t seem dirty. She wore a white blouse and a soft grey skirt, her hair held small flowers that Regulus was sure the girl had placed there recently.

He walked up behind her slowly and cleared his throat, trying not to startle the girl with his sudden presence. Regulus turned his head to find that Padfoot had sat down a few paces back, sitting down with his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

“Hello,” he said softly, crouching down near her to not hover above her small form. “Are you okay?”

The girl looked at him with wide eyes, scanning his face as if she was trying to figure out whether she should run away. Once she had decided Regulus had passed her test, she shrugged pointing at the stone in front of her. “I’m just visiting my mum.”

Regulus turned his attention to the stone reading the print across there. The girl’s mother’s name was Jocelyn Jones and she had passed away ten months ago at the age of twenty-three. He felt a stab of pain for the young girl and how she lost her mother at such a young age, with her mother being so young herself as well.

“Where’s your dad?” he asked gently, sitting down on the ground and crossing his legs.

The girl’s eyes darted down to the ground and she picked up a stuffed bear toy that Regulus hadn’t noticed, hugging it to her chest. “Never met him.”

He could sense that the girl was upset by this and decided to redirect the conversation to something else before he figured out how she had got here and who her guardian was.

“Who is that you have there?” he asked, gesturing at the bear.

The girl smiled and turned towards Regulus, holding the bear out in her hands. “It’s my bear,” she told him. “His name is Harry.”

Regulus couldn’t help but be aware of the mix of shock and pain that ran through his body at the reminder of why he was in this cemetery in the first place. Forcing himself to focus on the little girl, he smiled at her. “Harry? What a lovely name.”

“Thank you,” she told him, once again hugging the toy bear to her chest.

Regulus looked around again, trying to see if there were any adults around who might be the girl’s guardian. Surely you would expect people to have common sense and not leave a young girl alone in the middle of a cemetery. When he found no one, he decided to ask her, “Who are you here with?”

“Mrs Wilson,” the girl responded. “She lets the orphans come visit their families here sometimes but it’s just me here today. I used to come with Oliver but he got adopted.

Regulus frowned, turning his head right and left but not seeing any women nearby supervising the one child they were responsible for. He looked back at Padfoot, who moved his head side to side as if to affirm that she wasn’t anywhere nearby.

“Where is Mrs Wilson?” he asked the girl, hoping that the woman hadn’t just left her here.

“Mrs Wilson waits by the entrance,” she explained to him before looking up at him curiously. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting a friend,” he replied, smiling softly at the young girl.

Behind him, Sirius left out a soft bark and Regulus wasn’t surprised if he was trying to alert James to where they had relocated.

The girl’s eyes widened in excitement, turning her head around towards where Padfoot was sitting. “Is that a dog? Is he yours?”

Sirius ran towards them, pausing to bump his head against Regulus’ leg before running up to the girl, letting her run her little hands through his fur.

“His name is Padfoot,” Regulus told the girl.

“He’s beautiful. Hello Padfoot,” she cooed, laughing as Padfoot licked her hand. “My name is Maggie.”

Regulus’ heart skipped a beat. Did he just hear that correctly?

“Maggie?” he echoed.

She looked up at him and nodded. “Magnolia. But I like Maggie more.”

“I’m Regulus,” he offered.

Maggie wrinkled her nose. “That’s a funny name.”

He chuckled, climbing to his feet. “Do you want to show me where Mrs Wilson is?”

She nodded, jumping to her feet with a giggle as Padfoot ran off somewhere behind them. To his surprise, Maggie held out her hand, waiting for Regulus to slip his into it.

“Regulus?” he heard James’ voice call out somewhere behind him, likely being led towards them by Sirius.

“Who’s that?” Maggie whispered, tightening her hold on his hand.

“He’s my fiance,” he whispered back. “Don’t worry, he’s not scary at all.”

“Reggie. I thought you left me behind—” James paused, blinking at the little girl. Taking a few more steps towards them before he crouched down. “What do we have here?” He said softly. “Hello. I’m James.”

Maggie stayed silent, holding onto Regulus with a deathly tight grip.

“This is Maggie,” Regulus said, smiling down at the top of the girl’s head before looking back up at his fiance.

“Maggie?” James echoed, looking up at him with his mouth slightly open. Regulus nodded, his face contorting as he found his eyes threatening to tear up again.

Maggie finally broke her silence, holding up the bear in her hands. “And this is Harry.”

“Maggie and Harry,” James said, almost in disbelief and Regulus could see the man blinking away his tears. Fuck, why were they all such emotional people?

“We were just going to find Mrs Wilson from Maggie’s orphanage,” Regulus told him.

“You were, were you?” James replied, his eyes looking down at the girl. “I guess I’ll have to come along too.”

Maggie’s one free hand was clutching the bear so James reached out to take the bear’s paw. The girl giggled, smiling in James' direction before turning up to do the same to Regulus. Regulus’ heart swelled and he smiled back at the girl, letting her direct them towards the entrance of the cemetery.

He couldn’t help but think that this was Margaret’s doing. That Margaret had sent him this little girl with the same name as a way to assure him that he was okay. So he sent a silent thank you to Margaret for yet another thing she had done for him.

He looked at James who mouthed the words I love you at him. Mouthing them back he watched as Sirius bounded off ahead of them, realising that he was about to take another step forward in his life, one that Margaret was here for.

He realised that the world didn’t end when Sirius left or when he ended things with James or when Margaret died. Step by step his life had been pieced back together and he was living. He was loving. And he was loved.

Despite everything he had been through to get to where he was now, the sun was still shining and the world was still turning.

And he was okay.