for the hope of it all

I've become so numb, I can't feel you there, Become so tired, so much more aware. I'm becoming this, all I want to do, Is be more like me and be less like you.

Waves could be heard crashing onto the shore like wild roaring beasts, with anger so deep and yet a yearning for something new. One glance out of the dusty window and the sight of the waves would immediately come into view. It was through walks that Hestia had found that location. Whenever solitude had been required to think more clearly the witch had found her feet carrying her away from her cottage and down to the beaches just near by, until mile after mile had past only to apparate back home. It was during those walks that she noticed the abandoned shacks and cottages. Had the waves been too high? Hestia doubted that she’d ever find an answer to that.

The hut seemed almost perfect, had become even more so after the auror had placed the spells on it. Layers upon layers now sheltered the rundown cottage from the outside world. From a mirage that caused the building to appear abandoned, even more so, no matter who was inside to shielding charms and veils that allowed none but those permitted to pass through. Anyone out there would have simply been forced to move past.

Hestia was waiting on Regulus, had arrived early enough just to make sure. It was a meeting she had requested after talking over the details with Edgar. Now, seeing the younger Black heir moving down a path like that was not something she could have seen in the cards, but the world had proven to be odder and more surprising than anything.

She twirled the wand in her hand, ready and waiting for the steps that eventually she’d be able to hear. Whatever was within her power, the witch was going to do. If this was the clue, the one thing to stopping it all, it was worth the risk. Hestia was willing to give as much as it would take.

He was growing more comfortable with the deception that was laying under his skin, the lies he was telling to his family and to his friends about his involvement in the Death Eaters. He would maintain the facade for as long as possible, hoping to deal as much damage as he could before he was cut off or killed. Still, there was much to be concerned about while he was still actively working for the Death Eaters whilst also providing information to the Order and that was what his assigned protection was here to assist with...or so he thought.

It troubled him deeply that Regulus still felt like this after all these years. He'd tried to untie the vines, slowly, with love and delicate fingers, when he'd had the chance to, but it seemed they had all tangled up again. Or perhaps he hadn't done as much as he thought back then. "I can try." James listened quietly as he reeled off what made a good son and death eater, as if it were scripture. To some, he supposed, it was as good as. "Sure, but I meant more in a philosophical sense," he said, and couldn't help the smirk that crept onto his face. It lightened to something more soft as he continued. "You're lucky to have the conscience you do. Even if it might not feel like it. The world would be a much better place if others did, too."

To be honest, James didn't know much about the inner workings of the Order of the Phoenix, and he suddenly felt very stupid for it. All he did all day was fly around on a silly broomstick and shoot balls through a hoop. There were people who devoted their days to this cause, this fight that he claimed to be all-invested in, but here he was, unable to answer a single one of Regulus' questions. It was shameful, really. He listened intently. Everything he was saying made perfect sense, and yet, James felt a growing sense of discomfort in the pit of his stomach. "You're probably right," he agreed. "But then, what really separates us from them? I wonder about this sometimes. If I was put in a situation where I was protecting someone I love," He thought of Lily first, "Would I be able to look somebody in the eye and curse them? Kill them? Obviously, it's difficult to say unless you're in the moment, but I don't think I'd be able to live with myself." His voice was even. "I'd die for someone I love. A thousand times over. But I'm not sure, in good conscience, that I could kill for them. Maybe that's selfish. Maybe it means we'll lose, and we're doomed, but I'd rather die on my feet than live on my knees. I don't want this war to turn me into something I'm not. I want to win, but I want to win on my terms, without compromising who I am."

Although it was on a far smaller scale, James could relate to far more of what Regulus was feeling than either of them probably realised. "No, I think I get it. As much as I can get it, I mean." No – had it been that obvious? He didn't want Regulus to think he couldn't talk about it further if he needed to, so James shook his head. "Confess to me. It's fine. I'll pardon all of 'em."

"Don't be like what? I'm not being like anything," he said defensively. "I'm being perfectly nice. I just said I'm happy for you." Of-fucking-course it was Caradoc. He rolled his eyes. Clearly, Regulus had a type. "Cool." There was definitely something wrong with him. He was acting like a moody, jealous teenager, and he wasn't even sure why, because he certainly wasn't moody, or jealous, or a teenager. A buzz filled his head, and he forced a smile. He wished Regulus had obliviated him, and then himself, so that they could both forget about this horrible reaction.

Regulus honestly wasn't sure who he was without the tangled web of feelings that had swallowed him whole for years. Perhaps it was the influence of dark magic impacting his soul, perhaps it was the general levels of distrust amongst the Death Eater ranks - he was always looking over his shoulder, fearing a betrayal. "Honestly, we've got bigger issues than my brain," he shrugged, before rolling his eyes at James' smirk. "It's intoxicating. It is...the power that you can wield over others. I can see why my friends have slipped down the path they have. I just can't...it's not right to hurt people, under the guise of blood purity, when really all they seek is power."

Regulus was still an absolute outsider to the Order of the Phoenix, and he was not interested in getting involved further than he already was. He'd been plainly honest with all those he'd spoken to - he didn't see what hope the Order had, but it was all they had given he knew there was corruption at the ministry. "It's the motivation behind it all," Regulus said quietly. "The Dark Lord's motivation is chaos, power and domination. The Order want to restore justice - or, that's my limited understanding anyways. There are curses that are reversible, curses that will merely disable someone enough for them to be arrested. You're more likely to land one when attacking, rather than fending off their curses and trying to stun. I'm not suggesting the Order should turn around and start killing people...but honestly, if we're going to arrest people and then give them the dementor's kiss, what's the difference? It's just a longer process but it's effectively the same result," and this was why Regulus was no major strategist, why nobody would ever look to him to lead. If the Order was always on the defensive, they would find themselves surprised and overwhelmed before much time passed at all. "I'm not asking you to sacrifice who you are, James. I respect what you're saying. But if it gets to a point where I'm fighting alongside the Order on a battlefield, I won't be using defensive spells and that's that. I will fight for my life."

With eyes fixed firmly on the mug of beer, Reg frowned deeply. "Even as recently as two weeks ago, my cousin made me practice unforgivables on her to demonstrate my ability or lack thereof. Crucioing my own cousin, then watching her disappointment because I didn't love it...my family's fucked up, James," he said with a small smile. Even as he was saying the words, he knew that it was only because Bellatrix cared - but wasn't that fucked up in itself? "How long have you got?" he asked with a small laugh.

She trusted Fenrir, and knew he would be honest with her. "Bellatrix is interested in the clock. I've got it to work, our magic is bound around it and will have no effect on us. Do I give it to her?"

Caradoc squeezed his eyes shut. If Regulus’ cover was blown because of him . . . He could already feel the waves of guilt hitting him. That was more painful than any injury inflicted on him could be. “Only if you must. Only if my life is in danger. If it’s anything else, you need to stay with your cover. I can handle being hurt by them, or being interrogated. What I cannot handle is you suffering in an effort to save me.”

There was one person that Severus felt he could count on, a friendship he would be eternally grateful for. They had shared a few first together, but most importantly, he did not have many friends when he lost the one that shattered him on the inside. He could appear cold and detached on the outside, but that was him protecting himself.

"Regulus." A low gravelly voice echoes in the hallway, greeting him at the foyer. "The study is ready." He turns to find his way back to a room that was his safe haven. "Did you want something to drink?"

He moved through the cabin, coming around the corner to where another law enforcement appeared. A disarming charm used, following his fellow death eater's way, a silence charm placed to hide the noise and with no warning, the unforgiveable death curse uttered, watching his assailant collapse to the ground. Two down, meant there were four more inside.

Not missing the way Regulus' hand went to his forearm, James almost squirmed, but masked this visceral reaction of disgust by summoning two mugs of Wizard's brew from the bar downstairs. He levitated one of them to set itself down in front of Regulus, before taking a long, deep sip of his own. "How do we get you to stop being so harsh on yourself?" Rich, coming from James, but his concern was reserved only for others. No time for self-examination. "As your officially appointed protector, I think that's my first order of business, because, Merlin, you're eating yourself alive. You're just doing your best, Regulus. There's no handbook for these types of things. What's a good son anyway, in a family like yours? What's a good death eater?" He sat up straighter in his seat, intrigued. "What d'you mean? What else do you think we can we do?" As one of the youngest members, James didn't have much say in the way the Order was run, or anything at all, really. It was mostly just following instructions. At this point, he was starting to wonder himself how to make a real difference, because it didn't seem like they were getting anywhere. James nodded. "And not just him. Everything he stands for, too."

A deep crease settled between his eyebrows. "C'mon, you know that's not true," he frowned, lips in a tight line. The first time I crucioed someone. The syllables reverberated in his head, again and again until the words didn't sound real any more. The first time –. Suddenly, James was overcome by the overwhelming desire to run away so he wouldn't find out what else Regulus had done. He hoped he wouldn't tell him. He couldn't stomach it. He felt stupid for being so stunned. What did he think death eaters did? Go out and frolic in fields of daisies? "I don't even know what that would've felt like. Can’t even begin to imagine it. I’m sorry.” He wanted to stop talking about this, but would go on for as long as Regulus needed. "Well, for the record, you do have family that would be proud of you. Andy, Ted, Sirius. Hey, probably Uncle Alphard, too, although I can't speak for him."

There it was. James took a swig of the drink in front of him. He ought to have expected it, really. The Black family curse. It always did happen after they met someone. "Oh, yeah? That sounds really ... great." Why was his heart beating so fast? Why did he sound so disingenuous? Was he being crazy? James willed himself to look up at Regulus, mentally going through every muggleborn man in the Order. "Honestly, that's really great. I'm so happy for you. It's ... a big thing to realise."

The sharp sting of his nails against his skin helped to ground Regulus somewhat, aching to tear the Dark Mark off though he knew it wasn't possible. He abandoned his forearm to grasp the mug of beer, before he smiled though there was no humour behind it. "Pretty hard to undo twenty years worth of thoughts. They're all tangled up in my brain, dark vines weaving around each other. It's just...me," he said with a small frown. "You can't protect me from myself, James," he said gently. "A good son is someone who does his duties well, who marries well and continues the family name. Who explores the Dark Arts and furthers pure-blooded ideology. A good Death Eater is similar - he knows his duties, he focuses on the ideology, he pledges his undying devotion to the Dark Lord and he explores the dark arts and wields them without second thought. It's quite simple, really, if I didn't hate every bit of it." Regulus wasn't lying. He understood all of it - he knew what was expected of him, and up until now he had done it without outward complaint. It was simple in theory, until he started to see the harm he was doing and the reality of what would be to come if the Dark Lord won.

As James asked what more the Order could do, he shrugged his shoulders slightly, shaking his head. "I'm no strategist, or leader. But facing the Order from the other side...half of you don't even appear to be accomplished duelists. Do you have field healers, strategists who can think on their feet if something goes against plan? And how many of your Order members won't touch even a simple curse? You need to get comfortable using curses, even the darker ones...I'm not saying unforgivables because I know you won't cross that line. But if you have 10 Order members who want to stun and disarm and 10 Death Eaters who are willing to kill and maim to get what they want, my money is on the Death Eaters every time. Using only defensive magic is going to gain no ground."

Sighing deeply, Regulus took another long sip of his beer. "Maybe it's not entirely true, but when you're suffocating under relenting pressure, that's how it feels like. I don't know how to live without feeling like I have to perform for people like a fucking court jester," he said. "You can't possibly imagine what it's like having lessons to teach you to be better at curses that torture and control people, and I hope you never do. You're too good for that, Potter. I can see that you don't wanna talk about all my sins, so I'll...we'll leave it there," he said, wondering if this would forever change the way James looked at him.

Leaning back into his chair, Regulus' gaze followed James' movements as he took a long drink. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he tried to make sense of the change in tone. "James, c'mon man. Don't be like that," he said, not daring to put what he thought James' tone meant into words. "I can practically feel you itching to ask the question, though I'm not sure you actually want the answer. It's Caradoc."

"I cannot wait to got outside and share them with you." He was like a furnace and would keep her warm, not having to dress to warm to go outside. "It sounds like heaven." Anywhere with him felt like that, a cloud nine she never wanted to come down on. There was no denying how short she was, especially beside him. "You like me fun size anyway," she teased back soflty.

"There was something I wanted to talk to you about." There were not many she talked about her magic with, except one who had shown interest recently, and with her clock finished, she hesitated a little to reach out, but there was this deep seeded need to please Bellatrix.

"Tell me," he said, his grin disappearing as he tried to guess from her tone what she might want to discuss.

"Very well." Arguing was going nowhere. She was growing tired and bored and frustrated. She wanted to move on. "As I promised, I will make no further demands after you show me your curses."

They were one curse down and she was looking forward to seeing his Cruciatus. By far her favourite of the Unforgiveables, Bellatrix wielded it with devastating adoration. Her skill with it was calamitous. It fed her sadism and brought her a high like nothing else. Nothing could compare - not sex, not drink, not even death itself. So when Regulus's spell danced from her dress without so much as even a feeble tickle, she sighed with dramatic disappointment and raised her wand to show him how it should be done. Fortunately for him, she hadn't expected his second attempt. It stunned her, crushing her back against the chair with something akin to an electric shock. Her shriek pierced the silence like a knife cutting silk, then she laughed wildly, gasping for air and sliding halfway down her chair as the spell receded.

There was pain. It did hurt. But not as it should. Regulus's spell lacked substance and finesse. Since her own wand had fallen to the ground, she reached down to retrieve it, her normally steadfast fingers trembling in the aftermath and her hair now askew at a tremendously jaunty angle.

"You didn't mean it, cousin. You need to want it. You need to love it." Wand now in hand, she directed it mercilessly between Regulus's eyes, wanting to see what emotions would reveal themselves in that flicker of an instant. Her breath was still ragged, her position still lopsided against the chair. Insane, some called her. But that was a lie told by fools and enemies. There was no madness within Bellatrix Lestrange. There was only pure, unadulterated awareness. She knew exactly what she was doing and she knew that she adored it. With a slashing motion, she cast the curse at a portrait, the flashing red causing the illusion of blood as the picture's occupants screamed in horror. Their disarray clashed horribly with Bella's laughter, her mirth ringing true and bold with shamelessness. Even in her mildly weakened state, that curse would have been crippling. She would spare Regulus from a direct hit.

Slowly, she pushed back up into her seat and steadied herself. She wouldn't bother giving him an assessment. He knew it had been poor, but she supposed he'd tried his best. "Now the Imperius. You weakened me-" She paused, shrugged dismissively and wryly simpered, "well, sort of. But it should help you nonetheless. Let's see if I can resist."

He was just thankful that they hadn't started pressuring him to take a wife and to continue the line.

Regulus knew his cruciatus would disappoint his cousin immeasurably. He had seen her wielding it on missions, and though he hated the curse, he had to admit that watching Bellatrix cast it was almost like an art form. Watching Bella lift her wand after his first poor attempt had panicked him, fearing that the curse was heading his way, and it was that panic along with his earlier fury that led to a slightly stronger second attempt though it was still poor.

His chest was heaving with the effort of casting even such a weak curse, sweat beading at his brow. "But I..." he trailed off, stopping himself. He had been about to say that he didn't love it, which was potentially the worst thing he could say in the presence of his cousin beyond confessing to his muggle-born lover. The rest of his thought was cut off as he stared down the end of his cousin's wand, pupils dilating in fear. He knew that he'd been poor, but he hadn't anticipated Bella torturing him for it. As red flashed, Regulus flinched away, shrinking into himself to try and protect himself from the inevitable pain. He could hear Bella laughing, and the sound sickened him. After a moment, he realised her curse had been directed elsewhere - and when he looked back at his cousin, there was something new in his gaze. The faintest hint of disgust, hidden behind the layers of fear.

"I don't need you to tell me it was poor, Bella. I know it," Regulus sneered, pushing away from the table as he stood. Thinking back on Rabastan's teaching Regulus dug into his confused emotions as he stared at his dishevelled cousin, and with his voice dripping with disgust he held his wand steady and cast "imperio." Tilting his head slightly, he went for the same command he had given Rabastan. It would upset Bella as much as it had upset Rabastan. "Your wand. Give me your wand."

"I can manage the mark." It was one he had flashed into the air plenty of times, satisfaction hitting him each time. His hands rubbed together, pulling out his mask. "Are you ready for this?"

In the first reception room was a sole guard, taken by surprise by Fenrir's sudden appearance. With a vicious curve of his wand, Fenrir disarmed the other man and snapped his wand. A lazy silencing charm prevented the other man from calling for help, before he smiled cruelly behind his mask. "Diffindo," he cast as he slashed with his wand, watching a cut appear nearly down the front of the man's torso. The man's mouth was open in a pained scream, though no sound came out as the floor was painted with blood.

Emma was surprised to see Cassandra Borgin at the Selwyn's new years eve party, but as they had not spoken in a while she decided to go over and catch up. She was a good healer, one of the few Emma trusted. As a famous athlete she did not want to go in to see a healer and have things end up in the gossip magazines. "Cassie. You look well. How have you been?"