"YOU KNOW, WE USED TO BE FRIENDS," REGULUS ADMITS TO JO, lowly and sounding somewhat ashamed, one afternoon in the library. Jo stops her scribbling and looks up at Regulus with a raised eyebrow. "Crouch and I, when we were younger."

Jo lets out a scoff and gives a brief shake of her head before she returns to her essay. "Did he get worse over time?" she questions, hand moving quickly against the parchment. "Or did you just lose your tolerance for him?"

Regulus lets out a dry, bitter chuckle. "Suppose a bit of both."

She's seen less of him, Crouch. It's been scattered appearances: glimpses in the Great Hall, slight passings in the corridors, dodged eye contact in Defense. He hadn't bothered to fix the crook in his nose, and it now sits just a bit to the right, stuck in the position Regulus smacked it into. Jo spent a lot of time trying to figure out who's ego was bruised more, hers or Crouch's, and hasn't been able to come up with an answer, not for sure.

He seems to have, at least temporarily, given up his plot to terrorize Jo. Or at least, he doesn't bother trying whenever Regulus is around. And now, Regulus is always around. Jo thinks there must be some part of him that blames himself for what Crouch did to her, at least that's the feeling she gets when he walks with her to each of her classes, to her practices, to her dorm. Regulus doesn't say a lot to her in the daylight as he accompanies her, just glares at anyone who stares for too long, and makes sure that his hand doesn't brush against Jo's.

The whole thing has left Jo with this sort of fragmented self-image, like the foundations of her identity were cracked, severely and irreparably. Jo has always seen herself as something fearsome, ferocious, and fearless. And perhaps seventeen years of ego-stroking have led Jo to believe that she was somewhat indestructible, definitely not someone who would be reduced to tears at the hands of a boy, not someone who would admit fear in between hiccupping sobs.

Her excited utterance to Regulus feels like a betrayal of her true self, or, at the very least, the self that she had spent all of her years curating and perfecting. The mirror is shattered now, and Jo has unstable footing.

She keeps going back to that moment, Crouch's fingers around her wrist, spit dripping from the slope of his nose, the blood seeping from the back of her head. Jo repeats it back to herself over and over, chastising herself for not saying the right thing, for not fighting back harder, for being predictable. Jo does this all night, lying wide-eyed in bed until suddenly, she is back to the sea and the waves and cave, and she is awake again.

Once again, Barty Crouch Jr., has made Jo feel weak. Like a fundamentally weak and pathetic person who cannot protect themselves. Ultimately, she comes to realize, it's her with the irreparably bruised ego.

A part of her resents Regulus, for stepping in, for protecting her. Jo knows this is unfair. She knows it, but she still can't help but feel it. She doesn't let herself indulge in that feeling, for the most part, in that budding annoyance and anger and irritation. But every so often, when Regulus is walking her from class to class, protective glare warding off sneers from slick green robes, she lets herself savor it. Allows bitter thoughts about how chauvinistic it is for him to treat her as this delicate thing that needs protecting and guarding.

But, Jo has to let those thoughts go almost as quickly as they come. Because there hasn't been a single word spoken against her since. Because it's actually working, and he is actually keeping her safe, like he promised he would. And because, even though a part of her can't stand the protective way he glowers over her, another part of her really, really likes it.

Regulus hasn't really been the same since. He dots on Jo. He always had, but now it's different. Now he traces his fingers along the back of her neck and looks at her with these soft wide eyes and he holds her hand tighter as they walk, like he's afraid of her getting away from him. He tells her how important she is to him, over and over like it's some sort of prayer and he kisses her forehead and he'll ask her if anyone's tried to hurt her again. It is as sweet as it is unnerving. Jo doesn't know what to do with it.

Jo pauses, quill frozen against the parchment, and she looks up at Regulus and, for a moment, studies him. She studies him, with this lingering brew of repressed resentment and eager admiration and watches as that same lone curl falls in front of his face. He's working on an Ancient Runes essay, eyes fixed and narrowed in focus as his teeth gently gnaw at his bottom lip. Jo thinks two things. The first is that he's beautiful, which is always the first thing she thinks of when he looks at him. Regulus is so beautiful that even the sight of him is enough to dull her nerves. The second thought she has is that it was so much easier to navigate everything with him before she opened her mouth and let her emotions run wild.

"You're staring," Regulus notes, gently, not looking up from the notes laid out before him.

"Sorry," Jo says, not feeling very apologetic. He snickers, like he can hear the insincerity in her voice. 'What was he like?" Jo questions.

Regulus leans back, like this question has put some sort of weight on his shoulders. His hands linger on the edge of the table before him, and Jo watches every slight movement with rapt attention. She bites down on her lip. He gnaws on the inside of his cheek. "Suppose he was the same. Charismatic. Sadistic," Regulus says in a low, monotonous voice. He clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, and sighs. "He's just grown into it now, it seems."

"Is he, y'know," Jo starts, and then taps the inside of her left forearm with her index finger, hoping no one will notice. She raises her eyebrows up at Regulus.

"No," he answers swiftly. "He will be, though, he wants to be."

Jo crosses her arms in front of her chest, essay abandoned. "Huh," she lets out, eyes fixed hard on the table in front of her but not really seeing. Her head tilts to the side, and she looks back up at Regulus. "Might just be a bit jealous of you, then. Trying to ruin things for you since you got what he wants."

Regulus doesn't seem to give this much thought. He taps his fingers along the edge of the table. "Maybe," he says, voice cool. He changes the topic quickly. "How are you feeling?"

"About Crouch?" Jo asks, earning a nod from him. She gives a small shrug, arms crossed over her chest. "Dunno. Suppose I'm not really bothered by it."

That part is true. Jo has forced it to be. She supposes that there is a mix of things brewing and bubbling, but she refuses to dissect them, refuses to even feel them. The only thing she'll allow herself in the matter is anger and annoyance and anything other than that makes her feel childish and weak. Fear and sadness and the tears and the trembling have been suppressed, compartmentalized, and filed away into her subconscious. To her, they have simply come, and they have gone, and the late-night prick in her eyes or tightness in her throat or shaking of her hands are simply anomalies, inexplicable and, Jo convinces herself, a result of her poor sleep schedule.

It is clear, though, that Regulus sees right through this. And as he stares down at her with those wide, soft green eyes, Jo can almost see the way he picks through her thoughts, how he studies the bags under her eyes and the incessant shaking of her leg and the tenseness in her shoulders. At that moment, it is shocking to her, how well he knows her. How a year of observation has allowed Regulus to learn everything there is to learn about Jo. He looks at her and he just knows.

"You don't have to lie to me, Josephine," Regulus tells her, telling her the exact words she needs to hear. He places a hand on her thigh, gently slowing its bouncing. "It's okay to be upset about these things, you know."

Jo would like to be annoyed at the delicacy of his words and the care with which he speaks them. She would like to be annoyed at him for how gently he is treating her. But with his thumbs drawing circles towards her knee and the way his eyes are shining down at her, Jo can't. It's obvious how much he cares for her. That's all Jo can feel, really.

She gives him a smile. A genuine one, the kind only he can elicit from her. "You're sweet, Reg," she tells him.

Regulus gives her a warm look. It's silent for a moment before they return to scribbling. They don't talk about Crouch again.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It's getting worse inside the castle.

One of Jo's second years, a muggle-born, tells her as the rush from Charms to Transfiguration, that her parents didn't want her returning this year. "And they don't even know what's really going on," she told Jo in this urgent and hushed voice, like it was some sort of secret. And Jo didn't really know what to say to that.

News trickles through groups of students. Three muggles were tortured last night. A muggle-born was murdered. There was a werewolf attack in Dundee. Jo overhears it and holds Dorcas's hand as she pretends, she doesn't. Alice delivers news Frank tells her from the Order. Jo doesn't hear anything from her brother. Sirius and Peter tell her small, inconsequential details over the floo. Remus hasn't even written her.

The corridors are cold. People walk in tight groups and Jo's group of young students has never been larger. Jo has to tell off a third year Slytherin boy for calling one of her first years a mudblood and maybe she went in a bit too ferociously but still she doesn't regret the Bat-Bogey hex that left him running.

McGonagall has started to look the other way when it comes to things like that. Jo hasn't had a detention in a while, and that's how she knows things are bad.

It's a bit miserable, going from class to class, being encompassed by this inescapable feeling of dread. And Jo knows it's not as bad for her, she reminds herself of that as she holds onto her wand, walking her first years from class to class, Regulus somewhere behind them. She doesn't have the worst of it.

People don't laugh as much anymore. The air is constantly thick, filled with hushed whispers and worried glances. Jo stumbled on a fourth-year girl crying alone during class. She skipped out on the rest of Herbology and stayed with her until it was time to walk her younger students to class again.

The tension has carried into the Quidditch pitch, Slytherin and Hufflepuff and people are itching for a Slytherin loss.

Jo's half convinced that Regulus was holding back before, in his match against Gryffindor. And if she wasn't so convinced of his respect for her, she would be absolutely sure that he threw the game to spare her pride. Because as she sits in the stands and watches him fly, weaving in and out between players, constantly moving and searching and slipping away from the Hufflepuff Seeker, Jo thinks that there is no real way O'Larcan got the better of him.

Slytherin is dominating in a way that almost makes Jo embarrassed for the Hufflepuff team. She can almost feel Hestia's winces every time Crouch gets a score on them. The crowd is distraught over it-the cheers of Slytherins is drowned out by the boos and jeers of the rest of the school. Jo could really go either way on this; she would love to see Crouch or Reed lose just as much as she would love to see Regulus or Hestia win. Though she would be a bit buzzed to see a few choice Slytherins knocked down a peg.

Dorcas is just as indifferent as Jo, seated beside her with her bouncy curls tucked under a red knit hat, rubbing her gloved hands together for any additional warmth she can get. November has brought a deep chill to the grounds, and Jo has bundled up twice as much to fight it off, wearing a sweater stolen from Remus and a scarf stolen from Regulus. Dorcas narrows her eyes as she tries to dissect the scene in front of her. "Why doesn't Reed just knock Black off his broom?"

Jo leans into Dorcas, raising her voice over the booming cheers of the crowd. "He's trying to. Reg's a very good flyer. It's hard to nail him down."

"So what, was Reed able to get you so many times because you're a bad flyer?" Dorcas questions with a bit of smirk.

"No," Jo counters with a cadence to her voice that makes her feel very much like her brother. "My position's stationary. I'm a much easier target. I'm confined to the posts while Seekers have the whole pitch."

"Excuses, excuses," Dorcas mumbles, and then blows out a puff of air. The cold has her shaking in her seat, her entire frame trembling and Jo's worried a strong gust of wind might blow her away. "If Reg's such a good flyer, why hasn't he got the bloody Snitch and ended this thing?"

Jo rolls her eyes. "Let's see you hop on a broom and catch one of those bloody things, yeah?"

"Well, that's hardly fair," Dorcas retorts. "I couldn't fly under the Imperius Curse and your boyfriend's been doing it his whole life. Course he's better than me."

There's a bit of a flutter in Jo's chest as heat rushes to her cheeks. She looks around to make sure no one heard that no one was paying attention. "Excuses, excuses," she echoes, earning a light shove from Dorcas.

There is a resounding cheer whenever Ivan Reed whacks a Bulger into Crouch, and he is knocked right off his broom. Even Jo lets out a whoop. Her hatred for Crouch greatly outweighs any resentment for anyone else, even Reed. Hufflepuff scores, and there is a frenzy in the stands. "How has he been?" Dorcas questions once the crowd has settled.

"Well," Jo starts, "the only boy I have him to compare to is Reed, and he's definitely better than him." Jo pauses and twists the mood ring on her finger. "I really like him, though. A bit protective for his own good. But I like him a lot. I think he likes me a lot, too," Jo says earnestly, though she thinks she's simplifying it a bit.

Dorcas works an arm around Jo's waist and pulls her closer to her side. "Jo, that boy is enamored," she chuckles. "He steps out of line, though, I'll knock him back into place. Yeah?"

Jo laughs at the idea of it. "I'm sure the idea of that alone will keep him on his best behavior."

Dorcas rests her head on Jo's shoulder and lets out a yawn that makes Jo chuckles. Slytherin's still up, and she watches as Regulus makes a sharp turn, going so quickly she can see nothing but a blur of green. And as he outstretches his and curls his fingers around the Snitch Jo can't even see, the Hufflepuff Seeker none the wiser, Jo feels a rush of admiration in her chest. Even as there are deafening boos and groans around her, she smiles, eyes almost watering at the wave of pride. Regulus grins, brightly and ecstatic, and Jo feels something she doesn't think she's ever felt before.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Josephine!"

The way Regulus shouts her name down the corridor that night, unabashed and grinning, makes her stomach flip. Jo thinks that he is so beautiful standing there, where he always stands, teeth bright and eyes squinted in joy, that she might just throw up at the sight of him.

He gathers her in his arms, pinning her arms down to her side and sweeping her up off her feet. Jo can't help the shriek of surprised laughter that escapes her as he spins, her feet hanging limp as he twirls. He's placing kisses on the top of her head and Jo's squeezing her eyes shut so she doesn't get dizzy.

She feels a bit lightheaded when he drops her back on her feet, chest rising with heavy breaths. Jo grins up at him, overcome with a sudden feeling of giddiness. "Aren't you supposed to be celebrating?" she questions.

Regulus cups her face in his hands. He places a kiss on her forehead, one on each of her cheeks, and the last one on her lips. "I am celebrating. I'm celebrating with you," he grins, and swoops down to place another kiss on the tip of her nose. "You're the only person I want to be with right now."

Jo's face feels very hot all of the sudden. She never knows what to do when he says things like that to her, things that are sweet, she feels dizzy. Regulus is better at words than she is, Jo's realized. "Well, that certainly put you in a good mood," she observes, and he has not let go of her face. Regulus likes touching her. He always is.

"I like winning too, you know," he points out.

Jo purses her lips together and gives him an exaggerated frown. "Must be hard constantly losing to me then."

There is particular fondness that shines in his eyes when he looks down at her and it's that look from him that makes Jo feel like she has melted, held together only by his gentle hold on her. "Such a brat," Regulus teases lightly, and drops his hands from her face to wrap his fingers around hers. "C'mon, I want to celebrate with some Kate Bush."

Jo scrunches her nose. "Kate Bush?" she echoes back to him, astounded.

"I like her," Regulus shrugs.

"James just sent me the new Clash record," Jo tells him, unable to get rid of her expression of shock. "You sure you don't want to listen to the new Clash record?"

"I don't like The Clash," Regulus reminds her. "You like The Clash."

She stares back up at him blankly now, horrified and somewhat betrayed. "You love The Clash," Jo insists.

Regulus is smirking. He tugs lightly on her hand, and she falls into step with him as he leads her down the corridor. "No. I like Kate Bush."

Jo blinks. "How could you do this to me?"

With a shake of his head and a chuckle, Regulus tugs Jo along, smiling grow with each little murmur of disbelief from Jo.

Kate Bush isn't that bad, Jo decides as the two of them take up space in the Room of Requirement, listening to The Kick Inside. She's just weird. And certainly not to Jo's taste. She's no Joe Strummer, of course.

What makes it better, though, is the way Regulus seems to enjoy it: eyes shut, humming, swaying his head along with it. He's very pretty, sitting across from her, pale skin bright in the dim lighting and curls sitting nicely on the top of his head. He's so pretty that Jo wonders what a boy that looks like that would ever want to be doing with her.

Without thinking very much about it, Jo leans towards him and kisses him. It's quick and gentle but even still the softness of his lips gives her goosebumps. His eyes shoot open as she's leaning back. "What was that for?"

Jo shrugs. "I just like you a lot."

This makes him break out into a grin, a ravenous and infectious grin. Without much warning, Regulus grabs at her, arms tight around her and she squeals as he pulls her back into his chest, holding her firmly against him. "I like you a lot, too," he tells her, lips pressed against the top of her head.

It feels very simple then. Regulus holding her. Jo being held. It's easy. The war feels very distant. The brewing hostility in the castle doesn't touch them there, and Jo feels joy without any guilt. Her fingers curl around his arm and she nestles her head into him. It doesn't always feel this simple. "What do you think it'll be like, once we're done with school?" Jo asks him, feeling the way the atmosphere switches almost at once.

His chest heaves with a sigh, Jo can feel it. "I dunno," he muses. "I'll just follow you, wherever you go."

For a moment, Jo is silent. She thinks about what that would really look like. Regulus in The Order-a Death Eater defector. And the thought it is