THEY HAVE THEIR FIRST ARGUMENT.

December comes reluctantly. There is no snow, just ice-cold rain that comes down in buckets, sloshing against the grounds and echoing against the walls of the castle. Jo can't stand it. She is shivering, wrapped up in a thick sweater and a green scarf that used to belong to Regulus, but it is essentially just Jo's now. Regulus laughs at the sight of it, and pulls her back up against his chest, arms tight around her. "It's not that bad you know," he tells her, lips ghosting along the skin of her neck.

Jo gets goosebumps and tries to disguise it with a violent shiver and a shake of her head. "You're absolutely mad," she replies through chattering teeth. She notes, then, his light sweater and completely unaffected manner. "How are you not frozen right now?" Jo demands of him.

He is dragging his fingers along the length of her forearm, chin resting on her shoulder. "It's always cold, at home," Regulus says, quieter now. "Even in the summer. Suppose I just got used to it."

It shifts at once. For a moment, Jo is silent. He doesn't tell her a lot about his home, about his family. She takes this morsel of information and tosses it around in her head, mixing it in what she already knows about the Noble House of Black and whatever secrets take place behind closed doors there. Cold, violent, cruel. Jo imagines Regulus there, younger, and smaller and alone, stuck in the cold with healing wounds while she filled her belly with Christmas pudding and opened presents and felt the warm embrace of her mother. The thought of it alone was enough to almost reduce Jo to tears, right then and there. And she just can't stomach the idea of him spending another holiday there, returning with fresh scars for her to heal.

Playing with her fingers and eyes cast downward, Jo says to him, "I'd like you to come back to mine, for Christmas."

He stops, fingers frozen against the fabric of Jo's sweater. For a second there, Jo's convinced almost swears that he stopped breathing. Regulus is completely and utterly still, and then he says to her, "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why?" Jo questions at once, pushing off of his chest and swiveling around to face him. She's not surprised to see that he is stone cold in his expression once more. Her eyes are squinted, and her nose is scrunched up. "Why should you have to go back there and suffer when you have a better option?"

Regulus takes his time responding. He stares down at his hands, resting in his lap, tips of his fingers brushing against each other. Jo watches his head churn. "It's complicated," he replies, not looking back up at her.

Jo doesn't let her expression falter at the tone of his voice. She stares him down, unwavering. "Then explain it to me, Regulus."

"Josephine-" he sighs, letting his shoulders slump.

"Do you think I'm not smart enough to understand?" she demands. And Jo thinks that perhaps she is being a bit unfair and, even worse, unsympathetic. But Jo has let her harbored resentments linger for just a bit too long, and with the breaking of the dam comes the flood of Jo's frustrations.

"No," he is quick to counter, "of course not."

"Then why won't you tell me?" she presses.

Regulus finally looks up at her, expression exasperated, like he is tired of having to explain this to her. "It's not safe."

She blinks and feels a certain rush of indignance. Jo's not sure if she's being dumb or if he's being difficult and she feels a certain irritation creeping up her throat, leaving a sour taste on her tongue. "If it's not safe for me, then it's not safe for you" Jo asserts, head tilted to the side. "Why should you put yourself in danger?"

Regulus opens his mouth, and then closes it. He casts his gaze upward, to the side, over Jo's head as he says, "I have my reasons."

"Explain them to me."

A frown twists around on his lips. Jo can see the way he chews and gnaws away at his tongue like he is holding something back and Jo really wishes that he would just not. "You're not being very fair, Josephine. I'm only trying to protect you."

This gets an eye roll from her. "I know you think that I'm weak, Reg, but I don't need your protection."

Now he looks back at her, meeting her stare, harsh and shocked and Jo thinks that his eyes have never looked darker. "I don't think you're weak."

"You follow me down the corridor like you're my own personal guard because apparently you think I'm incapable of walking from class to class," Jo rattles off, voice wavering and she's spitting out her words, quickly, like she has no control over the way they spill out of her. "And you can't even tell me your reason for going back to that absolute nutter you have for a mother because what? Because the truth is too complicated for my delicate brain to handle?"

"That is not what I think," Regulus snaps, harsher and firmer in the way he speaks. "Don't be combative. I just want to look out for you, after everything that happened."

Jo crosses her arm over her chest and wishes she was better with words when she says, "I don't need you to look out for me."

"That's what we do, Josephine," he says, blinking rapidly and expression blank. "We look out for each other."

"Then why won't you let me look out for you?" Jo questions back, leaning in closer now. She's reaching for his hands, and she tightens her grip around his fingers that remain limp in her grasp. " Why is it always me that needs protecting? I'm not some porcelain doll, you know. I can do a lot for myself and for you."

Regulus raises one finger to trace it along her calloused knuckles. "You already do enough for me," he insists, only to be met with another eye roll. "I mean it, Josephine. Even just seeing you makes things better for me. I've lived in that house for eighteen years now and I've always made it out well enough. I can hold on just a little bit longer. You don't need to put you or your family in danger for my sake. I won't allow it."

Jo sighs, and momentarily, relents. But that is not the end of it.

Tension grows between the two of them in the following weeks. For a while, they don't talk about it. But there are unspoken words festering and rotting between each half-hearted affection. Jo rolls her eyes at him more. Regulus bristles his shoulders and locks his jaw. She makes snide comments, and he elects to ignore her. They work on their potions in silence and bicker over which record to play and then, at the end of it all, Jo lies in her bed at night and feels sick over it.

Really, Jo thinks to herself, she just wants Regulus safe. It shouldn't be this difficult.

She'll rattle off reasons in her head, reasons he's being so secretive. Jo's always wondered what it was like in the Black home, even before Regulus. Sirius was conservative with the details, but she imagines it as grey. She imagines a mother that is the opposite of hers, sharp and brittle with snarling teeth and pointed nails. Walburga Black, to Jo, is a monstrous woman with monstrous features, viscous to her sons and viscous to the world. Jo thinks of Orion Black, stoic and silent and sleek like oil with a voice that booms, when he wants it to. She imagines He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as if he is a figment, a ghost. Nothing but a floating black cloak through grey hallways, whispering in Regulus's ear and speaking with snakes and dripping with blood.

Jo shudders and cannot imagine one sufficient reason Regulus would chose to return. She's not sure if it makes her remarkably angry or unfathomably sad. Either way, the feeling is heavy.

And she tries to choke it down, but the dismay works its way onto her expression, onto the slump of her shoulders and the drag of her feet. One of the first years tugs on her sleeves and asks her if Remus Lupin dumped her. She says yes without thinking, and hears the rumor relayed back to her six hours later. Her grades are fine, not what she was hoping for, but she can hardly bring herself to care, anyways. Jo floats through Quidditch practice like she's not really even there, to the point where Ewan Moss has to pull her aside and ask if she's alright. She nods, feeling dumb, and sort of just lets him take the lead from there.

Whenever she's away from Regulus, all she can think about is how worried she is for him. How she's terrified that something will happen to him, that this will be the time that he just doesn't make it out alright, like he keeps insisting he will, and she won't be able to do anything to help because he won't let her. When Jo is away from him, all she wants to do is kiss the tips of his fingers, the slope of his nose, and beg him to come back with her, to do the smart and the safe thing and she wants to hold him and not let him go. She wants to tell him that, fine, alright, even if he does go back, he has to take precautions and he has to be distant and careful and he has to apparate back to her before they even have a chance to hurt him.

But it's irritation that wins her over whenever she is around Regulus. Frustration runs through her veins like it's been injected, her muscles tighten and tense and sometimes she is so consumed by it she feels like she can't even move. Jo has to bite down on the tip of her tongue and ball her hands into fists to keep herself calm because she finds that Regulus makes her angry. She is furious with him for putting himself in this danger and not even bothering to tell her why and the longer she bites down on it the worse it gets.

It comes to a head on the eve of their departure. They don't even bother with the Room of Requirement-Jo finds that the sound of music makes her frustration seep into her bones and every suggestion Regulus has for a record just makes her irate. She needs the silence.

And she gets a lot of it now, as she walks with him along her side. And later, when her head is clear and her body is freed from the stress that consumes it, she will find it sweet how he still walks with her every night, just to be there. But for now, she stares down harshly on the ground and lists off all the reasons she thinks Regulus is wrong.

Jo focuses on the sound of their footsteps and tries to ignore Regulus's movements beside her. She tries to pretend not to notice the way he seems to contemplate whether or not he should reach out and grab her hand. He swings it closer to her, then stops, and brings it back to his side. He does this a few times and there is a small part of Jo that wants to just reach out and grab and make him feel just incrementally better but she is stuck.

Regulus sighs. They've been walking for a while now, but Jo doesn't feel the time as it passes. "I'm not doing this for no reason, you know," Regulus says to her suddenly, like the silence has eroded away at him. His voice comes as a shock to her, and she winces at the sound of it, like she wasn't ready for it.

"Well, how would I know?" Jo replies, keep her voice low and even. "You don't tell me anything."

Regulus struggles, Jo can see it from the corner of her eye. "That's hardly true," he eventually settles on.

"True enough," Jo grumbles.

"Do you always have to have the last word?" Regulus retorts, snapping his head in her direction.

Slowly, Jo tilts her head up at him, eyes narrowed. "Yes, would you like to keep going?" she challenges.

And regrets it almost instantly at the expression that works its way over his face. The dim lighting of the castle casts shadows over his features, but it does not hide the perplexed hurt that stains them. Jo feels her jaw loosen and suddenly, she wants to hold his hand.

"You know," Regulus states coolly, stopping in place, "there are worse things than me wanting to protect you."

Jo raises an eyebrow at him. "You ever think that maybe it's not me that needs protecting?"

"I'm not the one getting attacked in the corridors."

She does not feel bad anymore.

Regulus seems to realize his mistake as soon as he makes it, eyes going wide at her blank stare. He reaches for her. "Wait, Josephine."

Jo dodges his hand as she crosses her arms over her chest. She takes a step back from him and turns on her heel. "I have to pack."

"Please, wait," he pleads, a step behind her, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

Jo does not spare him a glance as she stomps away from him, back towards the Gryffindor tower. "I'll see you on the train."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"I just don't get it!" Jo rants, frantically and sloppily tossing her last bits of clothes away into her baggage, balling up the fabric and not caring if it's wrinkled. "Why won't he let me do this for him?"

Dorcas sits on top of her already packed luggage, watching as Jo huffs and puffs and tossing dirty socks around. "He's a man, Jo. Even the best of them are thick. Too proud to take help when they need it."

Jo struggles with some of her dress robes, trying to straighten them out for only a moment before she is crumpling it up and shoving it in alongside her muggle clothes. "This is all Crouch's fault, you know," she fumes, almost breathless.

"Happy to blame him for anything," Dorcas agrees casually. "Though I am a bit perturbed he won't even tell you why he insists on staying there."

The slightest encouragement from Dorcas has Jo throwing her hands up in the air wildly, packing suddenly forgotten. "Apparently it's so dangerous and complex my brain will just explode if he even thinks of mentioning it to me."

Dorcas snorts. "What, does he think you're made of glass?"

Jo sighs and drops whatever bit of limp fabric she's holding. "We've never had an argument before. I mean, there was that one time," Jo starts, and then trails off a bit, staring off into the corner of the room as if she's in her own little world, "though I don't suppose that counts as an argument, more like a, well, I don't know, actually. It was last year two, we weren't even together then. I dunno. It's strange."

And Jo is so consumed by this strangeness she doesn't seem to notice the way Alice Fortescue saunters into the room and plops down at the end of Jo's bed until she says, "You two talking about Regulus?"

Jo is, all at once, beet red. "Regulus?" she repeats back, confusion sounding almost a bit too artificial. "Regulus who?"

"Regulus Black?" Dorcas questions with a a nervous, hiccupping laugh. "Why would we, why would we be, erm, talking about him? No reason to, obviously," she stumbles, and Jo gives her a harsh glare.

Alice just rolls her eyes, unwrapping a sweet between her fingers. "Come off it, you two. I've known for ages," she informs them, and then gives Jo a raised eyebrow. "You seriously expect me to believe you're going out with Remus Lupin, of all people? Please."

Jo suddenly feels very stupid and wonders how many other people have made the very same realization. "Everyone else seems to believe it," she mumbles, heat still in her cheeks.

"Not everyone else lives with you," Alice reminds her. "Besides, you two are constantly staring at each other. It's so intense. I wouldn't be surprised if you eloped."

Dorcas points a finger. "That's what I said!"

Alice chuckles, and then turns her attention back to Jo, who has completely given up on packing. "He giving you trouble?"

"Just a bit worried about him," she tells her in a small voice, with a bit of a shrug, "and he's being a bit of a git about it."

"Men are gits about everything, Jo," Dorcas asserts once more.

"Let's talk about it on the train," Alice offers, and pushes off the bed. "If you put off packing for another second, you're going to be spending Christmas here alone," she teases, and then reaches for Jo's pile of clothes. "C'mon, I'll help."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jo remembers very clearly the day Sirius Black came to her home. She was twelve and she had fallen asleep on the sofa, her feet perched on her father's lap. Jo can recall the patch of flour on the front of his sweater, the way he smelled like sweet Christmas cookies and wine. It was the noise that woke her, loud and crashing, followed by a small cry. She would realize later that it came from Sirius, and Jo thinks about that a lot. It was like the cry of an injured doe, so unlike anything she had ever associated with the leather-clad, unshakeable Sirius Black.

But it was him, standing there limp and crooked like he was nothing but a bag of shattered bones. She had never seen anything like Sirius in that moment. He fell to his knees almost immediately, like the weight of standing on his feet was too much too handle. His skin was so pale, frighteningly so, like all of his blood had been stolen from him. Jo remembers the way the smell of his blood flooded their home and lingered, how for days after she would find small patches of blood splattered about, dried and rusty.

She was ushered out of there quickly, forced behind the closed door of her bedroom by her father while her mother tended to Sirius, but Jo stayed up all night, listening to the woeful cries of Sirius and her mother's gentle cooing.

For weeks she would think of Sirius kneeling there in her home, dark bruises lingering on his skin, lacerations, and scars like he was an object designed to be hurt, not a child deserving of love. Jo had an ache in her heart when she saw him, and wanted nothing more than to fix him, nothing more to fix his wounds and get rid of his scars and give him soothing potions and make him forget that there were people who hurt him.

Jo thinks about that now as she sits across from Regulus. The train compartment seems larger than it usually does, Regulus further from her than she would like. Though, she figures she's the one to blame for that.

It feels like a crime, sitting there and letting him go back to that same home. But she feels helpless and stupid and angry, and she doesn't have a clue how she can make it right.

Her arms are tight over her chest, like she is trying to hold herself together. She doesn't look at Regulus when she says, "Apparate over again, if you think they're going to hurt you."

"Josephine-"

"It wasn't a question," she cuts him off.

Regulus shifts in his spot across from her, fingers knit together as he stares out the window. They're almost back to London. Jo's stomach is in knots. "You're making this very difficult, you know," he murmurs.

"Yes, that is my intended goal," Jo affirms, leaning forward now, feeling the desperation as it creeps up her fingers, curls her toes, seeps into her tone. Her voice is wavering, and she thinks of Sirius, and she has to swallow her tears. "To make it so difficult that you would eventually pull your head out of your arse and come back home with me."

"I just don't think you understand-"

"I understand that every time you go home, you come back in worse shape," she insists. "And for whatever reason you don't tell me what happens and that's fine, I suppose, but I'm not stupid, Reg."

He swallows, eyes on the floor between them now. "No, you're not."

"You have another option," she reminds him once more. "And I don't want to see you hurt anymore."

Jo stares at him. Regulus clenches and unclenches his jaw, and he flicks his gaze across the carpeted floor and claw out his thoughts, to lay them out bare in front of her. Anxious tension has a hold on her. She is frozen, watching with bated breath and a shaking leg. "I'm going to have this thing on my arm for the