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."

Jo thinks of his scars, the ones that litter his arms and the ones that creep up his neck. She thinks of his tears and the stories from his brother and of the Dark Mark that stains him. "I think maybe you do, Reg," Jo whispers, and Regulus eyes shoot up to meet hers. She blinks. "Can you apparate?"

He gives her a curt nod. "Yes."

"Come to mine," she instructs, "if you ever need to."

The looks he gives her is exhausted, exasperated, though his cheeks are tinged pink with embarrassment. "I can take care of myself, Josephine," he says, sounding harsher than he ever had with her before.

"Can you? I'm serious, Regulus. Can you?" she snaps back, leaning forward and curling her hands into fists. "Don't act like you're too proud to take my help when I'm sticking my neck out for you."

Regulus frowns, eyebrows drawn together and gaze cast to the ground. Jo studies him, eyes his slumped unusually slumped shoulders and his locked jaw and narrowed eyes. He purses his lips, and Jo can see the way he runs through his thoughts. She remembers before, when she couldn't get a read on him, when he was as unreadable as a lost language. Now she watches as each emotion runs through his eyes, and wonders if she got better at reading him, or if he stopped trying to hide it. "You're angry with me," he states after a while.

"Well, I'm not exactly chuffed but I'm here, aren't I?" Jo snaps before she catches his eye, catches the cool green and it melts her. She sighs, and thinks about reaching to take his hand, caressing his shoulder, thinks about any contact at all. But she folds her hands on her lap, knotting her fingers together. "I told you before, you're my friend. One of my best friends. And I'm not the type to let bad things happen to my friends. I don't care what it takes."

"There's that lionheart," Regulus chuckles to himself. "I'll apparate to yours, if I have to. But I plan to stick around for a little bit longer."

"Why?" Jo presses, digging her nails into the palm of her hand.

Regulus sighs. "I'll tell you when I know more."

"Don't be cryptic with me, Reg." she instructs, tone clipped. Jo's annoyed with herself, with the way irritation bleeds into her tone. But she's feeling short, agitated. Dark Mark on his arm and yet, here she is, sitting with him, risking everything for him and he can't even give her a straight answer.

"I just need some information. I just," Regulus starts, and stops, sighing as he runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. "You'll need to trust me on this, Josephine."

His eyes burn into hers, and it makes her feel like she's been shocked. The way he looks at her, with an intensity so vibrant and an expression so transfixing, it makes Jo feel like she'd do anything he asked of her. And with that look, her irritation drains. He can do that to her. Jo can't stay mad at him and she can't stay away from him and she wonders when he got such an iron grip on her. "I trust you," she whispers to him.

This doesn't seem to satisfy him, because he leans forward, leans as close to Jo as he can in his seat, and says, "I'd do anything to prove myself to you. I'd make a thousand Unbreakable Vows, if you asked."

Dizziness overtakes her, and her skin burns. "Well, that's not necessary," Jo mumbles, feeling like she's speaking through a mouthful of cotton.

"I'd do anything you ask," he continues, voice low.

Jo feels as if there's been a shift, noting the change in his tone, the way his eyes are lowered. "All I ask is that you never lie to me. You don't have to be so dramatic about it," she teases lightly, feeling as if she has unstable footing.

Regulus shrugs and leans back in his seat. "Family trait."

"You'll be alright, though?" Jo questions, not sure where to go, so she circles back.

"Of course I will," Regulus insists. "You don't have to worry about me."

"I am worried about you," Jo counters, unable to meet his gaze. She taps her fingers against her knee. "I think you're in above your head, Reg."

Regulus has nothing to say to this. He stands, wry smile on his lips, and offers a hand to Jo. "You look tired, let me walk you back."

And Jo feels vaguely dissatisfied, like she's accomplished nothing. But as she stands and places her hand in his, something different overtakes her. Whatever else needs to be said can wait.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jo stares at her Herbology notes and sees nothing but blurred lines and an impending headache. Final exams are approaching and she's feeling drastically underprepared. But the longer she studies and the more she revises, the less she can concentrate. And whenever she does manage to focus, it's not on the dangers of Flutterby bush, it's on Regulus.

And Jo's just starting to think that there's something seriously wrong with her, or, even worse, that she's become uselessly pathetic. And she tries to tell herself that it's just because she's worried about him, that she wants to find ways to help him. But she's been worried about her other friends before, and she's never thought about the way their eyes look when the light catches them.

The library is fuller than usual, students who don't normally bother with their textbooks are scrambling to absorb as much information as they can. Jo's among them, but unlike the rest of peers, Jo doesn't think she'll be getting much accomplished. She tries to swap out her Herbology notes for Potions, but all that does is remind her more of Regulus, and her face flushes.

With a sigh, Jo slumps, arms crossed over her chest. She never really was able to study on her own-she's always had at least Remus with her. And she's thinking about packing it up and giving up on the day and potentially her entire career as a Healer when a head of blonde hair and a twisted grin is making it's way towards her. Jo lets a snarl work its way onto her lips as Crouch takes a seat beside her, dropping a History of Magic Book in front of him. "Hello, Jo. Looking lovely as always."

"What are you doing?" Jo growls through gritted teeth, feeling irate just at the sight of him, at his manner of casualty and the charming grin he presents her.

Crouch gives her a shrug, slouched in his seat across from her. "Just thought I'd sit and talk with you," he answers, and then reaches across the table to snatch Jo's notes from her. "Maybe I could help you out. Potions? Thought you had a handle on that."

Jo rips her notes out of his hand, tearing apart the parchment, just a little, and shoves it into her bag, along with the rest of her books. "Walk off the Astronomy Tower," she hisses, pushing out of her seat and storming away from her little table tucked into the corner.

Her footsteps are closely followed with Crouch's, though, as he leaps to follow her. "Leaving so soon?" he calls, taking long strides to catch up with her. "Here, I'll walk you back to the lion's den."

And as she whips her head around and barks out, "Don't," she tries to find reason in his sudden interest in her. Or, at least, his sudden interest in terrorizing her. She can't imagine what Regulus must've said about her. And, come to think of it, she can't imagine why he would've said anything about her in the first place.

As Jo exits the library and storms out into the corridor, Crouch is hot on her heel, pout on his face. "You let Regulus escort you all over the castle, why can't I?"

At once, Jo freezes. She whips around and takes a step towards him, eyes wild and feeling so enraged it is like she's caught fire. "Look, I don't know what you're playing at here," she growls, and as she takes a step towards him, he stands firm in his place, keeping up a bemused smile, "but I'm telling you right here, right now, to piss off. Whatever it is, drop it."

"Who says I'm playing at anything, Potter?" he questions. "I'm just enjoying your exquisite company."

Jo scoffs. "You're not nearly as charming as you think you are."

And as Jo steps away from him, she feels a tight grip around her forearm, long fingers overlapping as they squeeze down on Jo's skin. She looks up at him, and all sense of charm is lost. It has been replaced with a cold rage that even Jo finds chilling. And as she feels his fingers leave bruises, Crouch leans down towards her and says, "Don't walk away from me."

Jo yanks her arm out of his hand and reaches for her wand in her back pocket. "Don't ever touch me," she says, seething.

Crouch bristles, brushing off the front of his robes. "I do what I please."

"Stay away from me," Jo orders, taking long steps away from him. "That's a warning."

"See you on the Quidditch pitch, Potter!" Crouch calls to her, making it sound like some sort of threat.

Jo doesn't see him on the pitch. When the time comes, and there is a blur of red and green robes flying before her, Jo gets this sort of tunnel vision, forces herself to. She cannot let herself think about the fact that it is the last game of her brother's final year, that Regulus is flying somewhere above her.

A grunt escapes her as she blocks the Quaffle with the brunt of her elbow, and she fixates her attention on it once more as it returns to her brother's possession, back over to Prewett's, and back to her brother's. Jo does nothing but watch the Quaffle and think about how humiliating it would be to let one pass her. So she just doesn't.

She's unsure of the score, unaware of how the Gryffindor chasers are scoring and deaf to Remus's announcements over the pitch. Sweat pours down her neck as the sun beats down on her. It's almost unbearable, almost has Jo wishing for the cold darkness of winter.

A round of cheers rumble in Jo's ears, and she tenses as the trio of Slytherin Chasers rush back her way. She's sure that Crouch is among them, smug at the bruises he left on her and eager to get one up on her, but Jo focuses on the Quaffle as it changes hands, as it bounces and flies.

And though she's doing her best not to let herself indulge in petty thoughts, Jo likes to imagine that when she catches the Quaffle and cradles it to her chest, Crouch feels a bit of humiliation in the fact that he can't get a score off her. That, Jo would really like.

There's cheers again. The rhythmic cry of 'go, go, Gryffindor!' pierces through Jo's concentration, and fuels her a bit more. She feels almost invincible. She doesn't think she's ever played this well, and she doesn't think she ever will again. Block after block, Jo feels more and more envigored, stronger, and stronger.

The extra hours James forced them into seem to be paying off, Jo thinks, as Marlene carefully launches a Bludger into Crouch's side and knocks the Quaffle right out of his hands and into James's. Another Gryffindor score. Another round of applause. Another block from Jo. This cycle continues for a while.

It's going exactly as they've practiced, a strong presence on defense to allow the offense to take the lead. And though Regulus flies with a speed and grace that Jo's never really seen matched, there isn't a player on the Slytherin team that could match the Potter duo.

And by the time Regulus wraps his fingers around the Snitch and ends the match, nearly four hours later, Gryffindor is up one-eighty to one-seventy.

Red shirts storm the grassy field, and Jo is swept up in the celebration, swept up in the victory, swept up on someone's shoulders. There is laughter and chanting and cheers and Jo feels as if all of her worries have been alleviated, lifted from her shoulders, and replaced with the rush of victory. And as she looks to the sky, adrenaline rushing through her bloodstream, it is replaced by an ice-cold chill. Dark clouds eclipse the sky, rumbling as the form into that all familiar shape, into a thunderous Dark Mark.