𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨-𝙧.𝙖.𝙗

𝟮𝟭-𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝗽

ONE THING JO LEARNS VERY QUICKLY IS THAT SHE CANNOT STAY AWAY FROM REGULUS BLACK.

It's an exhausting fact-she is drained, she is dried out, paper thin and bones brittle and head filled with lead. It would be so much easier, she thinks, to care about anyone else. To care about someone with a simple family and a simple mother, someone her brother would approve of, someone she could walk with in the light of day. But she doesn't. She cares about Regulus, Dark Mark or not; she cares about him in ways she doesn't fully understand.

Because Jo finds that she's more awake in the middle of the night with Regulus than she is in the light of the sun. Whereas her days are spent trying to keep up with her boastful, shiny companions and their echoing laughter and grandiose gestures, her nights are calm and peaceful; Regulus providing soft smiles and gentle chuckles and a softness that Jo sinks into.

Because Jo has never felt like she fully belonged to herself. She is bits of James, arrogant and righteous; she is bits of Sirius, bold and vengeful; some of her is Remus, crooked smirks and full of snark. In herself she can see Dorcas, occasional wisdom, and whispered judgments. Alice in her bouts of playfulness. Hestia in her loyalty and gruffness. Emmeline in her wits and sharp tongue. Jo has been a mirror, reflecting off the best and worst of those around her, molding and bending to match. But when she is with Regulus, she is fully and completely her own.

Because as she cries into her brother's shoulder and clings tightly to Remus and holds Dorcas's hand under tables, they provide her with no comfort and provide her no relief. She knows that will only come from the cold hands of Regulus.

So she reels over the mark on his skin. She cries and she feels like she's mourning. She curses his name and curses his family, and she lets everything Regulus told her wash over her. She sleeps on it. And she makes a decision. Jo finds her way back to him.

Jo stares at his arm as he sits across from her in an empty classroom, the sun long set and working its way back up for morning. She stares at the black fabric that covers it and she closes her eyes, and she can see it. Regulus is watching her carefully, watching for any tells, watching for her to bite her lip or for her eye to twitch but Jo's learned from him. She keeps her expression like ice, like he used to be. "What happens if you leave?"

"I think-" Regulus starts, and then slumps, sighing as he gives up on posture. He looks Jo dead in the eye. "I think I don't want to tell you what would happen."

Perhaps this is more of an answer than he intended it to be, because Jo feels a chill go down her spine, feels her blood go cold. She knows what would happen, without him having to say it. And what's worse than that, to Jo, is the calm on Regulus's face, the acceptance of it. Like he's known for years this would be his fate. She wants to hug him, keep him warm and keep him safe. She swallows the lump in her throat. "What kind of things does she do to you?"

Regulus gives her a dry smile, not meeting his eyes. "I don't want that on your conscience," he whispers.

Jo feels so pathetically helpless, sitting there across from him, nothing she can do to get the mark off his arm and nothing she can do to wash him clean of his scars. "You could stay with me. If you left," she offers him, fervently, the only thing she can offer him. "My family could protect you."

His hands twist together, eyes fixed on them. "I don't think I'd be welcome."

Jo rolls her eyes. "James'll get over it. My parents would love you. They'd take care of you like one of their own."

She watches as something shifts in his eyes, as he squirms in his seat and lets distaste worm its way into his expression. "I don't need anyone to take care of me."