It occurred to her, not for the first or even the dozenth time, that this plan barely deserved the title. It was reckless, what she was doing, reckless, ill-thought-out, mad, stupid. The thing that really held her still, if just for a moment, was that she didn’t care. She was going to do it anyway. Worse, she was dragging a child into it as well, and damning herself with foreknowledge. Was she so transformed from the woman she’d been only— what, four years ago? Three? She’d thrown up when she’d first realized how young Regulus had been when he’d been forced to become a Death Eater. She’d been worse than distraught, she’d been revolted. Hadn’t she? And now, she was doing exactly what had so offended her sensibilities.