Hearts on Pile

Dorcas feels her body caressed by warm rays. Her eyelids blink violently, dazzled with the light. She watches the sun dancing on her skin, entranced with the sight until she remembers she has to get up.

Suddenly the sun appears rather annoying.

She groans, stretching, and drags herself out of the bed. Still bemused, she dresses up and enters Evan’s room.

The git is still sleeping.

Of course he is. She actually can’t remember a single time when he managed to wake up himself.

She approaches him and leans in, snapping her fingers right in front of his face. She smirks smugly as he flinches.

“Just five more minutes,” he murmurs with a voice muffled by his pillow.

She yanks him, impatiently. When no reply comes, she heaves a sigh and hits him on the arm.

“Ow!” Evan hisses. “You didn’t have to hit me!”

“You left me no choice.” She raises her eyebrows.

“If you won’t let me sleep, couldn’t you be at least nicer?” he complains.

Dorcas rolls her eyes. “Evan, darling, the treasure of my heart and love of my life, can you bless me with your mercy and get off your fucking bed?”

He nods, pleased with her. “That was good. But if you could remove the ‘fucking’ part it would be even better.”

Now that she knows he’s awoken, she ignores him and heads to the kitchen to make them breakfast.

They’ve been in Camelot for two days now, helping McGonagall with rebellion. At first, she categorically refused to take them with her - she gave them a well-known lecture about how they’re too young for this and how war is dangerous. But, eventually she was not able to resist anymore. Because they were right - McGonagall, however powerful of a witch she was - couldn’t split up. She needs help and they’re her most talented students, ready to offer one.

Plus, they’re friends with Regulus Black - which means he trusts them more than the majority of people. And he’s on the list of the priorities now - a wizard and the heir of the Noble House of Black. In the very core of Voldemort’s snakes.

Who else would make a better spy if not him?

She frowns at the thought. She’s aware Regulus is a perfect option right now, but she still doesn’t fully approve of the idea. She knows Reg - she knows he’ll probably agree. And she also knows that he hates being someone’s pawn. She shares his feelings as well, but she’s here because of her free will. She’d decided to work for McGonagall a long before anyone was talking about the war.

But now things have started to get complicated - well, ‘complicated’ is not exactly the right word. Things have started to get brutal and Dorcas knows it can only get worse before it gets better. She doesn’t like putting pressure on anyone - especially people she cares about. She doesn’t like using people. Scheming behind their back. And she intends to introduce Reg as soon as she can, in accordance with or against the orders.

She hears Evan yawn as he drops himself on a chair. She takes a seat at the table opposite him, handing him a sandwich and a cup of tea.

“How much time do we have?” he asks between the bites.

“About forty minutes,” she answers, peeking at the clock behind his back.

Evan nearly chokes on his food. “Forty minutes? I could’ve been still sleeping!”

Dorcas sends him a mean smirk.

“You know, I miss Reg. He’d always let me sleep,” he continues sulking.

They met Regulus during their apprenticeship with Shacklebolt at Northumbria. They’d been sent to him by McGonagall to continue their education after graduating Hogwarts. She couldn’t teach them herself, busy preparing rebellion and they really needed training if they were supposed to pretend to be hunters.

It wasn’t really hard to sort Regulus out - at least not for them. They knew what to look for - the mysterious behaviour, unwilling to socialise, that distant look in his eyes when someone brought the subject of hunt. As if he decided to turn off, for his own safety. His acting was almost perfect - no one else would find a gap in his walls, no one except Dorcas and Evan, because they were wizards themselves. And they’d been taught in Hogwarts how to unmask people like them.

Potential recruits.

“We have to tell him eventually,” she sighs.

“We will. It’s been only two days, there’s no need to rush,” Evan says with a steady tone.

“Yes, two days,” she snaps, “and there’s already been a riot.”

Evan presses his lips together and takes a deep breath. “Dorcas-”

“People are dead, Evan,” she cuts him off.

He sends her a firm glare with a tone of bitterness. “And that’s not going to change. We didn’t know, Dorcas. We didn’t know Dumbledore was going to make a move and we couldn’t stop this. Besides, there are positives, too-”

“Never mind,” she interrupts him again. “I don’t want to talk now.”

She’s not in her best mood today. Every sound is overwhelming, causing her head throb with pain and chest clench in exasperation.

And the sun. Stupid sun. Sometimes she hates it - it makes her want to peel her own skin off herself, in the days like those, when even the mere existence of people wears her nauseous. Hence why she found a common language with Regulus Black. They both liked to plan murders of annoying people.

Evan arches an eyebrow, sending her a pointed look.

How dare you.

“Stop copying McGonagall, you’re bad at it,” she glares at him, disgusted.

That’s a lie. He does it pretty well, actually. Bastard.

“I’m perfect at it.” He smiles smugly, voice coloured with that knowing tone of his.

Eventually they finish the tea and head in McGonagall’s office direction. She lets them in the moment Dorcas’ knuckles brush the door, as if she had some kind of sensor for wizards. It wouldn’t really surprise Dorcas if it was true.

“Hello, Minnie,” Evan welcomes her.

Dorcas rolls her eyes.

“Sit down, Evan,” McGonagall scolds him and sends him this withering glare of hers, but a slight grin spreads across her face, dispelling the semblance of exasperation.

“What are we doing today?” Dorcas asks, as usual hitting the heart of the matter.

“Pretty much the same,” McGonagall sighs. “I have some routine examinations left. I’ll be working on that, while you’ll make a few inspections.”

“What about the execution? Shouldn’t we interrogate the witnesses? And-”

“Yes, I’m aware of that, thank you, Dorcas,” McGonagall silences her. “I’m going to talk to the witnesses, of course. But first, you go and interrogate Poppy Pomfrey. But focus rather on Remus Lupin, her apprentice,” she continues with a pointed look.

“Lupin? What does he have to do with any of that?” Evan asks, startled.

“If I’m not wrong, he might have. He’s friends with Regulus. But we have to make sure before we engage him.”

Silence falls in the room.

Another one in Camelot. How are they all still alive?

“Alright, we’ll find out. What’s next?” Dorcas asks impatiently.

“Regulus Black.”

Dorcas exchanges looks with Evan.

Regulus Black.

✦ Regulus Black is having a bad day. But it’s a relatively good ‘bad day’. It’s one of those when he still wishes he was never born, but doesn’t actually consider committing a suicide.

He doesn’t think of the mark on his forearm. He doesn’t think of Sirius. He doesn’t think of the dagger. He doesn’t dare to remember the sound of the blade tearing the air apart, aimed straight at Regulus’ head.

He erases them. A wipe, and the glass is all clean and limpid. He can see through it plainly, without the insistent voice in his head interrupting.

The only thing he actually thinks about is his mission.

Thank god for Remus Lupin and his philosophy. Oh, Regulus would be a wreck without him. He would’ve been dead if not for Remus. Remus always gave him a purpose, when life seemed pointless. He offered him a hand when Regulus was lying on the ground, defeated. He enlightened his way when it was too dark for Regulus to find a candle himself. He comforted Regulus when he cried. He could see through him. He beheld Regulus while others saw a Black.

And now, he saved Regulus, ripping him out of the misery of himself, settling him in place, keeping his mind steady and focused. And Regulus needs to hold this concentration in a firm grip, and never let go. Because once he releases the rope, he’ll shatter down on the ground.

“Are you okay?” Remus asks him with a concerned look.

Regulus manages to grin slightly. “Better than usual,” he answers sincerely.

“In your case that means you’re ignoring your problems,” Remus points out, earning a death stare from Regulus.

I've changed my mind. Fuck Remus Lupin.

It could have actually been a good day.

“I’m ignoring problems I can’t solve right now. The only sensible purpose is finding the Order’s headquarters now,” Regulus says flatly, his expression unwavering.

“If you say so,” Remus replies with reserve, frowning. He could at least try to be more subtle with his displeasure. “Then what’s your plan?”

Regulus’ face winces in undefined grimace. “Voldemort said McGonagall knows more. I need to talk to her. Normally I was supposed to visit her tomorrow, but now I’ll have to start earlier.”

Remus opens his mouth to answer, but something interrupts him. Regulus is probably never going to find out what he wanted to say. What a pity.

He hears the sound of a jerk when the door opens violently and watches as someone emerges from behind them.

He nearly drops the cup with tea.

Dorcas Meadowes.

And Evan Rosier. Accompanied by two soldiers.

What the hell are they doing here?

He must be looking absolutely bewildered right now, because Remus sends him this startled and asking gaze with his eyebrows furrowed. Dorcas and Evan exchange meaningful glances. They seem to be confused, but not as much as Regulus - more like they had in fact expected it.

Evan coughs, clearing his throat. “Well, that is a bit awkward.”

Dorcas swats his arm. “Shut up,” she hisses. She heads her glare in Regulus’ direction and grins slightly. “Hi, Reg.”

“What’s going on? Is it an inspection?” Remus asks with suspicion written all over his face.

“Yes. But he wasn’t supposed to be here,” Evan says with an accusing tone, pointing at Regulus.

“It’s nice to see you too, Evan,” Regulus answers dryly. Evan sends him an apologising smile and shrugs.

“Alright. It’s not really surprising to see you here, considering you two are friends,” Dorcas says, her gaze flitting between Regulus and Remus.

Remus arches an eyebrow, but remains silent.

“Well, let's get started,” Dorcas commands, crossing her arms over her chest. “Fabian, check the room on the left. Gideon, the one on the right.” She approaches the cupboard with brews and opens it, Evan following her. She sighs harshly and sends Remus a gloomy look. “We’re going to spend all day here.”

Remus smirks and shrugs.

“Where’s madam Pomfrey?” she continues, taking the bottles and drilling every single one with her glare, Evan doing the same thing next to her.

“She’s not in the castle. She’s gathering herbs,” Remus answers. He watches as Evan smells one of the bottles and scowls. “Be careful, please,” he hisses at him.

Evan arches an eyebrow, peeking suspiciously at the brew. “Why do you keep belladonna? Are you planning to poison someone?” “Perhaps.” Remus shrugs, and then winces violently when Evan takes another bottle, intending to smell it.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he warns.

Evan looks up and frowns. “Why not?” He peeks at the label stuck to the bottle and his face brightens in realisation. “Ah. Ethel.”

Remus seems as if he’s attempting persistently not to burst out laughing. He sends Regulus a meaningful glare. “Reg, really, what are they doing here?” he whispers. “I assume those are your friends from Northumbria?”

“Yes,” Regulus confirms.

“And you know they’re…?” Remus asks hesitantly.

“Yes, I know.”

“And do they know? About you?”

“They do,” Regulus answers gloomily.

“Then what is going on?” Remus shakes his head with a mix of amusement and confusion both.

“I’m going to kill them,” Regulus announces, stepping forward Dorcas. He grabs her arm and shoots his withering stare over her. “Alright, that’s enough. What’s all this?”

“We’re checking your friend,” she says significantly.

He arches an eyebrow. “And what? Did you find what you were looking for?”

She shrugs. “Actually, yes, we did.”

“Don’t tell me you’re McGonagall’s people,” he hisses.

“We’re not McGonagall’s people,” Evan answers with a wide grin.

Regulus stabs him with his glare.

“What?” Evan asks innocently. “You said-”

“We are McGonagall’s people,” Dorcas confirms, cutting him off.

Regulus is too stunned to speak.

This is a fucking joke. This is a pure comedy.

This is a tragedy.

He can feel all the strings stiffening, stretching his body. The waves of bitterness flooding his stomach, bouncing off its walls. Snakes crawling through his insides, twisting them out.

“It’s not the way you think,” Dorcas says slowly.

“Not the way I think? So you’re not helping McGonagall to throw people on a stack?”

“As if you weren’t doing it,” she snaps. She calms down almost immediately and reigns herself in. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.”

He knows she didn’t. But it doesn’t mean it wasn’t true.

You are all the same.

Poor boy.

You’re a traitor.

Oh, hello there. Voices. Oh, how he loves them. He worships especially the one belonging to his brother.

You left me.

And there he is. Sirius Black, haunting his mind forever. No matter how many times Regulus closes that box, Sirius always manages to find the way back to the surface. Crawling out, piercing the core with his claws.

How dared you call me a traitor, while you were the real one?

And he’s right. He’s always right. Regulus is the worst sort of a traitor - with every hour passing by, he betrays not only the House of Black - he betrays himself. He betrays his own kind. He constantly flies from one flower to another, and he’ll be lost forever.

He feels someone approach him and gently brush his shoulder.

Remus.

His body relaxes a bit when the insistent vortex of thoughts calms down and quietens, falling down and fading softly.

“I promise you it’s not like that,” Dorcas continues firmly. There’s something in her right now, a sincere look on her face, spark of fervour in her eyes which awakes inside of him the urge to believe her. “McGonagall will explain everything to you. Just come with us.”

“Come with you?” he huffs. “So what, she can cage me? You think I’ve never seen that trick?”

She exchanges anxious glances with Evan. He takes a deep breath and glares Regulus in the eyes. “Alright, I know it all looks bad. We didn’t mean to meet you here, we wanted to explain everything to you under more convenient circumstances. Listen, we are not going to tell anyone. And McGonagall already knows about you-”

“What?” Regulus snaps at him.

Evan raises his hands and smiles apologetically. “Sorry about that, but we had to-”

“And what are you here for? To threaten us?” Remus enters the conversation, raising his eyebrows.

“No, actually to recruit you,” Evan admits, bringing the silence over the room.

Regulus and Remus stare at each other. Dorcas and Evan stare at them.

Silence is lingering while Regulus is calculating the risk, but snaps abruptly when the guards - Fabian and Gideon - enter the room.

“We’re done,” Fabian announces. “All clean.”

They all flinch at the sound of his voice. Dorcas sends him a sharp glare.

“What’s going on?” Gideon asks, unaware of the tension hanging in the air.

“I think we’re interrupting something,” Fabian whispers.

“Should we get out?” Gideon shares his tone.

“Yes, I think we should.” Fabian nods with a fake concern.

“Get out,” Dorcas snarls at them, displeased. “Wait for us outside. And don’t you dare eavesdrop!” she warns them with a dangerous look on her face.

“Sure, boss!” Gideon chuckles, closing the door behind them.

“Now, where did we end up?” Dorcas asks, flitting her gaze over the gathered.

“Do they know?” Regulus asks.

Dorcas frowns.

“Are they involved?” Regulus repeats, impatiently. “Do they work for her too?”

“Yes. But they don’t know about you. I mean, they could’ve figured it out themselves, but we never told them.”

“Alright,” Regulus hums. He looks at them, his expression unwavering, coloured with gloom. “We’re going to do this my way. Remus?” he asks, still fully focused on Evan and Dorcas.

“Yes?” Remus answers lazily. “Do you have your wand with you?”

A smirk brushes Remus’ lips. “In my pocket.”

Regulus nods, satisfied, with his glare still piercing Evan and Dorcas through. “I have mine too,” he informs them. “We’re going to come with you, and if you try anything, we’ll make you regret that.”

Dorcas presses her lips together. “It would be better if Remus stayed here-”

“I’m not staying,” Remus says firmly, “unless Reg wants me to. Do you want me to stay, Reg?”

“No, you’re coming with me,” Regulus answers. He doesn’t wait for Dorcas’ reply and steps forward the door with Remus following him.

Dorcas and Evan exchange another pair of uneasy looks, but join them without a word.

Regulus almost smiles to himself.

It’s time to sort the shit out.

✦

They march to McGonagall's office, Regulus in charge, treading the corridor with a sweeping step as if he owned Camelot, occasionally shooting his suspicious glare back at Evan and Dorcas to make sure they aren’t up to anything.

It was silly, really. They wouldn’t dare to even peek at their wands in the castle full of death eaters, let alone assaulting Regulus openly in public. However, Regulus isn’t thinking straight right now - he hasn’t since he laid his eyes on Dorcas and Evan barely ten minutes ago. God, if this is how he’s acting after seeing them, he wonders how it would look if he met Sirius.

How it will look, he corrects himself, when I meet him.

Because he will. He will see him again.

He’s going to join the Order and find his brother.

This is what he’s dreamt of for years. Then why isn’t he happy? Why is he terrified?

Why.

There’s always a ‘why’.

Why did you leave?

And why didn’t you fight?

Why did you fight?

Why didn’t you care?

And did you?

Why did you always listen to them?

Why did I love them?

Why were they like that?

Why am I like that?

Why am I sick?

Have you seen it? Have you seen how pathetic I am? Is that why you tried to kill me after seeing me for the first time after four years?

Questions, questions, so many questions. So many ‘whys’.

And not a single one answer.

When they eventually reach the destination, Dorcas taps at his shoulder to stop him, unintentionally making him flinch. He sends her a frigid glance. Dorcas glares back at him, significantly.

“You can’t just barge in there,” she hisses.

He arches an eyebrow at her. “I thought she wanted to see me so badly,” he sneers.

“Yes, she does,” Dorcas heaves a sigh, “but she’s having a guest right now.”

“A guest. How politely,” he huffs. “Is this guest of hers rather someone important or not?”

“She’s been interrupting soldiers.”

Regulus takes a deep breath, preparing himself to reply, but he gets silenced by Remus. “He’s leaving.”

They watch as the door abruptly opens and the man emerges from McGonagall’s office. He blinks, startled at the sight of their four standing straight by the chamber’s entrance.

“Uh… Hello?” he mumbles, confused, after throwing a cursory glance at them and briefly turns away to leave.

They freeze in silence for a while, neither of them bold enough to make a move - when a muffled calling resounds from behind a cold stoned wall. “Come in, please.”

Regulus steps forward and enters the room, swallowing harshly.

He shoots his cautious gaze through the chamber, examining, analysing, questing. He eyes the bookcase on the left, briefly registering titles engraved on spines, and even though he doesn’t want to admit it, he’s quite entranced with the sight. After all, he can’t help he’s a bookworm, can he?

He continues his searching, piercing the paintings on the wall with his glare, peeking at a stake of papers on the desk, and a bouquet of flowers in a vase standing on the windowsill. He’s looking for a change, for some shift - even the tiniest one of the possibles, but everything appears untainted.

Nothing, not a single scratch.

Everything is the same.

Everything is identical, the world is frozen in place, unwavering in its cold indifference, and the dust particles are still hanging in the air, dancing and whirling in the morning light.

Everything is the same. The life goes on, even though barely yesterday the town was steeped with sounds of anguish, screams of pain and terror, the rumble of walls falling apart to entrap the crowd in merciless embraces of death.

Everything is the same, and yet it couldn’t ever be more peculiar, because the war has started, Sirius is alive, and Regulus has the mark now. Regulus received the mark, regardless he had promised his brother he would’ve rather die than accept the injustice pervading into Camelot.

They are the same, and Regulus is the same as them.

Why would anything ever change? It’s been only two days, and nothing has changed.

But it still can. And Regulus has plenty of important choices to make, so he sits down and looks McGonagall straight in the eyes, in a search for - what? A miracle? A solution? He doesn’t even know why he’s here anymore.

“Mr Black,” McGonagall arches an eyebrow. “What a surprise to see you here today. I hadn’t been expecting you,” she says, aiming her glare at Dorcas now.

The girl shrugs with an apologetic expression. “He was with Lupin.”

“Ah, Mr Lupin,” McGonagall repeats lazily and glances at Remus as if she just remembered about his presence. “This will go faster than I had planned.”

Regulus feels his muscles stiffen and a loop of angst tighten around his guts. He takes a sharp breath. “Who are you?” he eventually blurts out, exasperated.

“There’s no need to rush,” the woman answers slowly, words swirling around her tongue as if she was tasting them, saturating herself. “I suggest you reign yourself in, Mr Black. The recklessness does not suit you. It’s more of your brother’s thing.”

His heart nearly drops to the floor. Regulus is partly startled that no one can see nor hear, how frantically it’s shrinking and bulging in his chest now. He’s sure he’s going to end up torn apart with his insides splattered across McGonagall’s walls.

“What do you know about my brother?” he demands sharply. He fleetingly glimpses Evan and Dorcas exchanging another pair of uneasy glances over him.

“As I’ve already said, Mr Black. There is no need to rush,” McGonagall replies with an unwavering expression. “I’m going to tell you about something, Mr Black. And you’re going to listen patiently until I’m done. And then you can ask all your possible questions. Is that clear?” She completes her statement by raising an eyebrow.

Regulus feels a brief urge to fight, for a moment. However, no matter how insistently he craves to strangle someone’s neck right now, he knows he can’t let it cloud his judgement right now. So, he nods, tilting his head down like a chastised student. Which is a weird feeling, even though, strictly speaking, McGonagall is indeed his teacher now.

The woman hums in content. “The first thing you should know is that I am not a murderer, Mr Black. I am not a hunter. I am a wizard.”

Regulus peers at Dorcas and Evan, uneasy and extremely confused.

He abhors this sensation, it makes him look weak. It makes him look naked.

He’s naked and he does not fancy it here at all. Because his body isn’t beautifully sculpted, his muscles aren’t perfectly curved, his hair isn't made of pure gold. He’s not a flawless statuette. His naked body is ugly and contorted. He’s mangled and covered in blood stains all over his skin. He’s wrapped in abomination.

Naked minds usually are like this. Sore. Aching. Veins pulsing, thin layers ready to blow up and flood the spectator crimson.

Naked minds are everything but unwavering, without their walls. They’re uncontrollable. Small and tight, but at the same time filled with an infinite space. Inundated with dazing lights, but saturated with darkness. Empty, but cluttered with boxes and trunks. With shards of broken mirrors lying on the floor and sunflowers planted in the garden. And sometimes it happens that one of them withers.

Minds are peaceful and busy. They’re harmony and chaos. Day and night. And each of them has its own inner monster - buried in the ground or demolishing the garden.

Regulus’ one is on the loose. Fighting. Yanking. Trying to deceive him with voices. Planting horrid, but so vivid images instead of sunflowers.

And if Regulus lets the walls fall over, his mares will crawl out in a quest of new victims, to venom them and absorb. His nudity would be a sin. And his touch a poison.

Evan shrugs. “You really think we would… I mean, we’re wizards ourselves, we couldn’t hunt our own kind.”

Dorcas sends him an exasperated look and casts her gaze at Regulus. “We’re not implying that-”

“Not now, Dorcas,” McGonagall silences her. “As I was saying. I’m preparing a rebellion in Camelot. Dorcas and Evan are one of my most talented students,” she says. “However, they’re new here. We need a better source, someone inside the core. We were hoping you would help us, Mr Black.”

He can nearly sense a physical pain under the weight of her glare.

Someone inside the core.

It’s always about it, isn’t it?

Always a little rat.

Is he ever going to be something else?

He frowns. Something there does not click.

He peeks at Remus to find him matching his expression.

“Are you from the Order?” Lupin asks, expressing Regulus’ thoughts.

McGonagall’s lips curl up in a mysterious smile. “No, we’re not the Order. This war has three sides.”

A third side.

This is something like an opportunity. Like a new path arising right in the front of his feet, and all it takes is one step.

One step to change your life. One step to repent.

One step, and then a thousand of the next ones. And he’s not particularly fond of where they’re going to lead him.

He looks up, meeting McGonagall’s observant glance. “I’ve received quite the same offer from all of the sides. Or at least I will soon.”

“Yes, I’m cognizant of that fact,” she nods. “But let’s be entirely sincere. You’ve never been particularly eager to serve our king.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to.

“You haven’t met Albus Dumbledore yet. However, you have seen his methods,” she sends him a significant gaze. “He’s pretty much like Voldemort. He doesn’t care about people, he doesn’t care how much it takes until he achieves his destination. The only difference between him and Death Eaters is that he doesn’t want wizards dead. But not because he respects us. He finds us as endearing as Voldemort, he just hides it better. He will not have us killed, but he will use us. He’s already doing it. He will let us live, but he’ll keep us caged because we’re too dangerous.”

She takes a deep breath and sighs. “I knew Albus when I was a young girl. I used to be his friend, until he found out and decided to manipulate me. And unlike him, I want to build a home for all of us. A home, and not a prison,” she emphasises the last phrase, with sparkling eyes.

Silence fills the chamber up, nearly pushing at the walls.

Regulus inhales sharply.

The monster is raging.

“What if I agree?”, he asks after a while.

“You’ll be my spy among the Order’s members and Death Eaters at the same time. And I’ll be teaching you sorcery.”

“And if I refuse?”

“That will be your choice. I’m not here to force you to do it, I’m here to convince you. I will pretend this talk has never happened and I will help you to improve your hunter’s skills, according to your parent’s decision.”

He swallows harshly. “I want a full perspective. I need to meet Dumbledore first. And then I’ll need time to think.”

“That’s understandable,” she nods. “I will give you time.” She sends him a knowing smile - not even a smile, more just like a twitch in the corner of her mouth, but that’s enough for him to know.

That’s enough for him to know that he’s not going to refuse.

However, he can’t get rid of his genes. He wouldn’t be Regulus Arcturus Black if he wasn’t going to impede things.

He glances at Remus and he sees it in his eyes too.

They’re in this together.

“However,” McGonagall breaks the silent moment of their agreement, “since you’re here, Mr Black, there are other things we need to discuss,” she arches an eyebrow at him. “Dorcas, Evan, Mr Lupin,” she flits her gaze over them, “you’re dismissed.”

Remus’ mouth curves upwards in a reassuring smile, before he stands up and joins Evan and Dorcas leaving the chamber.

Regulus hears the door swing shut and goosebumps spread across his skin, evoked by a breeze of cold air slipping into the room through a momentary gap.

“Now, Mr Black,” McGonagall leans forward in her chair, folding her hands, “tell me, what do you know about the Order’s headquarters?”

✦

Dorcas has always loved Camelot. So full of life, so vivid that it gets under your skin and settles somewhere deep inside you. She’s already gone in the town’s claws embracing her heart. But she does not worry about crushing it - unlike Reg, the mob never bothered her too much. She was rather fascinated by people - the masses of crowds flying by, pouring between streets like between glasses of wine, flinging in some peculiar kind of dance.

A riot of colours, shades of existence - gaudy and garish, pulsing sparks and flashing lights residing the stalls and tenements as if they owned them.

Where the entities dwell, there life evolves. Cities are the cores of subsistence, possessed by spirits of inhabitants. She likes to feel the heart of existence thumping in a steady rhythm, connecting with her own blood bouncing off her arteries’ walls in regular waves. It rouses something inside her, rummages and draws from the depths what has been lost.

It’s a different thing every time she’s in Camelot. So she keeps coming back, grasping for it.

She peers at the colourful stalls and registers a flash of gold and silver. She grins, bewitched, and paves her way to a jewellery stand.

There’s never enough rings, she thinks. She should buy one for Regulus as well, to make the whole fuss with McGonagall up to him.

She drills a glance through merchandise when something appeals to her. And then she feels it.

Thump, thump, thump.

Inhale, exhale.

Sapphire dragon’s eyes staring at her, engraved in a piece of silver.

She grins widely, like a predator that has hunted a perfect victim.

This is it. This is divine.

She reaches out with her hand to touch the ring, when she feels someone’s grab her wrist. Thick, wrinkled fingers gripping her hand tightly, almost piercing the skin through. She releases a muffled hiss out of pain and astonishment and looks up to see the stall’s proprietor’s face.

“What are you doing, young lady?” the old woman asks, her mouth stretched in a grin that appears polite and almost kind. But if you take a look behind the curtains, it’s not friendly at all.

It’s sinister.

“I’m buying the ring,” Dorcas replies, keeping her voice steady and perhaps a bit rebellious, peeking at her hand, stuck in the gammer’s grip.

The woman clicks her tongue, thoughtfully. “Ah, the sapphire. I see.”

Dorcas squirms under her touch, impatiently. “Well, how much is it? I’d like to pay.”

“Do you know what it means?” the woman asks.

“What?” says Dorcas, off balance.

“The sapphire, obviously,” she hums, still smiling but avoiding Dorcas’ gaze.

“Uh… Truth, wisdom. Beauty. Power.”

The old woman chuckles, and then for the first time, she looks Dorcas straight in the eyes. The grin has vanished off her face and her glance is a hollow, sucking Dorcas’ soul in. She feels unease writhing in the bottom of her stomach and she doesn’t like that sensation.

“Power. Power is a sin,” she says with revulsion in her voice. “The more you get, the more you want, until you become a wreck of yourself along with all those you love, dragging them down under the surface. It's a temptation. Wraith trying to possess you until you lose all your sanity. The devil himself. It's decadence and desolation. Have you succumbed to power yet, my child?”

Dorcas looks at the ring and gets nearly absorbed by the dragon’s eyes. She feels a shudder running down her spine and anxiety spreads across her body.

Something’s wrong.

The eyes are wrong. Too bright. Too vivid. Too persistent.

She takes a deep breath. This is just a ring. She’s trying to scare you.

It takes Dorcas a moment to remember she’s been asked a question. “No. No, I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

The old woman grins again - it’s sweet and soothing this time. And maybe a bit… Pitiful? “But you will see,” she says gloomily and lets go of Dorcas’ wrist. “The ring is 30 shillings,” she informs casually, as if nothing happened.

Dorcas partially wants to stare at her in bewilderment, but she doesn’t waste her time. She hands money to the woman and grasps the ring, tossing it into a pocket.

She doesn’t stop, breaking through the crowd almost running. When she eventually takes a break, she's already far away. She tries to calm her frantic breath down and reign herself in, but she can’t wear this disquiet feeling out.

It’s clinging to her, devouring…

Inhale, exhale.

Thump, thump, thump.

Listen to the heart.

One, two, three.

She gets mad at herself. Why is she so affected? It was just an old granny. Probably insane or maybe making fun of her.

It’s nothing. Nothing.

One, two, three.

Everything’s alright.

She closes her eyes, wrapping herself in a mob, listening to muffled voices and vague conversation mixed up together chaotically.

She feels something. The lightest touch, a skim, a brush of a feather.

Something’s wrong.

She opens her eyes and sees the back of a hooded silhouette marching forward. She checks her pocket, when the realisation hits her guts.

Damn it.

The ring’s gone.

She runs towards the thief and grabs his arm, twisting it behind his back, but the little beast is slimy. He leans out in her grip and hits Dorcas in the face with his free hand, wrenching himself out of her handle.

“Shit,” she hisses, wiping blood from under her nose.

But what startles her the most, is that the thief is still here. He’s standing right in front of her, his hood has already fallen off his face…

Or rather her face.

A pretty, blond girl is standing right in front of Dorcas, her hood has already fallen off her face, exposing a mischievous grin spreading across her face, her fingers are playing with Dorcas’ ring, swivelling and tossing up.

She’s not just pretty, Dorcas corrects herself. She’s beautiful.

Jesus, is that really the first thing that comes to your mind?

The girl smirks and raises her eyebrows. “Hello, I guess you’re looking for something?” she asks waywardly, peeking at the ring, sapphire eyes of a dragon shining in the sunlight.

Dorcas finds herself completely and utterly speechless. And extremely exasperated. She’s gone through harassment by an old granny just to get this fucking ring, and now someone’s stealing it?

“Give it back,” she snaps, trying to make herself look dangerous.

The girl only chuckles. “Or what? You’re going to beat my ass up in the middle of a street?”

Well, she has a point.

“I’m going to start yelling that I’ve been robbed and make sure that you spend the rest of your life in jail,” hisses Dorcas, flustered, with her blood boiling in veins.

“I see you’re really upset,” the girl muses, her face expressing somewhat akin to pity. “Is it a family heirloom? Looks posh enough.”

Dorcas clenches her jaw. “Listen, just give it back and we’ll forget about it. Or I can-”

“Yeah, yeah,” the girl cuts her off, rolling her eyes. “You’re going to make sure I’ll spend the rest of my miserable life in jail. But how about, I’ll be the one yelling?”

“No one’s going to believe you,” Dorcas huffs.

“No one’s going to believe you,” she sends Dorcas a significant glare.

That glare. The glare.

And oh, how many times will it repeat?

Dorcas likes to observe people, yes - but excluding the interaction part. She can’t really count all of the moments in the past when she experienced racism. People are so full of passion and a wide imagination - they can make up stories in seconds in endeavour to destroy someone’s life. They mostly succeed - a robbery, terrorism? Sure, just add it to the list.

That’s nothing new.

“No offence,” the girl says. “I’m not a racist, these are just facts. And girl’s gotta eat.” She waves the ring, tilting her head to the side. “I’m Marlene, by the way.”

Marlene.

That’s a beautiful name. It suits her.

Dorcas is sure she’s going to remember it for a long time.

She doesn’t say anything, but inferring from Marlene’s persistent gaze, she expects a reply. “Dorcas,” she chokes out, unsure whether to lash out at her or kill herself right where she stands.

“Well, Dorcas,” Marlene accents her name in a way that makes Dorcas’ heart flutter. “I’ll keep the ring. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” she declares as if she wasn’t going to sell it five minutes later. “See you later,” she winks, gifting Dorcas with a last glance and then disappears, mingling herself into the crowd.

Dorcas releases her breath, realising she’s been holding it for almost all this time.

See you later.

This is stupid. How would Dorcas see her again?

This is extremely stupid. Why would Dorcas even want to see her?

But she can’t efface that grin off her mind. It’s stuck. She’s stuck with a stranger she doesn’t even know.

This afternoon really couldn’t have been worse.

This afternoon really couldn’t have been better.