nottsilent.

A/N: Thank you to @forever-moony for beta reading (and britpicking) this work!!! Reader is written to be a fifth-year pureblood witch, other personal details are pretty much up for interpretation.

The hour was late as you scaled the stone steps up to the top of the astronomy tower. It had been a rough day- one that had forced you to keep your head down, your thoughts all too loud in your head as you pushed through the day. The thoughts of; ‘What would mother and father think,’ 'I’m better than this, I know I can be better than this,’. They spurred the tears that clouded your vision.

The thoughts and tears had become so overwhelming that when you arrived at the top of the tower, the only sign you weren’t alone was the faint smell of smoke- cigarette smoke, wafting lightly through the air towards you. Your eyes widened for a moment before you brought an arm up to your eyes quickly wiping the wetness from your face as more still threatened to spill.

Leaning on the railing, you kept your eyes forward, tilting your head towards the sky to gaze at the stars. Such pretty little things; so determined, so lovely. They know where they belong.

Surely if you ignored the unexpected presence of the boy beside you, he wouldn’t question you. Surely if you ignored him, he wouldn’t tell you to leave or ask why you had come to stargaze at such an hour.

It seemed to work. When you’d calmed down you turned your head to observe him. To be honest, he was ethereal. His posture was perfect, his robes were pristine, and his dark and slightly curly hair framed his face. He exuded a nearly effortless aura of power, wealth and prestige. He held a lit cigarette loosely between the middle and index finger of his right hand- although he didn’t seem too keen on taking drags from it. He hadn’t turned his head to look as you did (and you sheepishly realised you had been staring). His unoccupied hand dipped into his pocket and pulled out a fresh cigarette, offering it to you.

“No thank you.” You decline his offer politely. He nods, his expression still stoic as he tucks it back into his pocket. You wanted to know more about him. You’d seen him around, although you couldn’t quite remember his name. Perhaps the breakdown you’d only just shaken off was still clouding your brain. As if he could read your contemplative expression, he answered your question for you.

“Regulus Arcturus Black.”

His deep voice is smooth and lingers in your mind for a moment before you turn your gaze back to the starry sky. You hum, nodding- although you’re sure he isn’t even looking at you.

Your mind filled in a few of the blanks. Regulus Black. The Slytherin Seeker and top student with a closed-off demeanour. He had an older brother in Gryffindor, although you’d never seen them together. Rumour within high wizarding society spread that Sirius had left home.

You look back at him and meet his gaze. The boy’s light grey eyes are cold and observant, but beyond that, lies something more. His expression looks jaded- still stoic, yes, but weary. In a way sleep would never fix. There wasn’t any light in his eyes, no joy behind them, and your gaze softened upon the sight. You tell him your name in return, he seems to ponder for a moment before recognising it. Merlin, of course, he did. If he didn’t recognise your name from the years of classes the two of you shared, he was bound to recognise your last name from one of the dull conversations held within pureblood society.

You avert your eyes. The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a moment longer before all the thoughts you pushed aside earlier start coming back-

For a moment at least.

He inhales slowly, before his voice breaks through the silence, halting your intruding thoughts in the process. “That constellation is Cassiopeia.” Regulus’ tone is soft, gently making its way through the silence rather than cutting through harshly. “Its brightest star is named Schedar.”

“Regulus is a star, isn’t it?” You ask, your head still tilted up as you search the skies for more constellations. You tell yourself you’re only humouring him, even if you know that he realised you were spiralling- and he's now trying to distract you from your thoughts, gently tugging you out of your head.

“It is.” He answers, his voice tethering you to your physical form.

He tells you about different constellations and stars for a couple more hours. Among the list of stars, he speaks about so softly and passionately, he tells you there’s a constellation called Canis Major. You don’t press further when he brushes past it without telling you the name of the brightest star from that constellation. You don’t push him to open up to you when you see the light that was growing in his eyes as he rambled about astronomy growing dim once mentioning it.

You yawn softly and he looks to you, eyes slightly softened compared to earlier as he urges you to sleep, and you follow his suggestion, bidding him a goodnight before pushing yourself back from the astronomy tower’s railing and walking to your dormitory.

When you finally nestle under the blankets of your bed and drift off to sleep, you dream of the stars.

As you awake the next morning your thoughts return to you in a rush, leaving you to wonder if last night was a dream. Although when you fully regain consciousness you realise it was, in fact, real. You had sneaked out after hours and found solace in the words of Regulus Black. You’d always thought of him as stoic, silent, even cold when you’d see him around the castle. He always observed his surroundings meticulously, almost as if he was on edge at all times…

And his voice. Before last night, you only ever heard him talk when answering a question in class. His tone always made him sound untouchable- so detached and monotone. When you listened to him last night, he was anything but that. His voice last night was soft and comforting, like a warm cup of chamomile before bed. The thought made you blush for a moment, before you came to your senses. It was one night, he only talked about his interests. Yet, the way he so effortlessly pulled you out of the thoughts you’ve always drowned in, made you yearn to know him more.

Perhaps your wish would be granted soon. It’s all you could hope for anyway.

It was another three weeks before you’d find yourself alone with the boy again.

Another rough day had you taking a midnight walk within the corridors of the school far past curfew. It wasn’t too bad though, if you ignored the chill that ran down your spine. Winters were always cold in the castle.

Running your hand along the cracks of Hogwarts Castle, your fingers brushed past a hung curtain- you did a double take, sweeping it aside to reveal that what had so perfectly blended in with the wall was an enchanted curtain- concealing a small door.

Curious, you push open the door. Seeing the flickering light of a candle, you quickly apologise as you turn to leave, before a small voice calls out after you-

“You don’t have to go.”

The voice is soft, almost hesitant- your head sharply turns to see the light grey eyes of the boy you’d thought about just a little too often since your last outing to the astronomy tower. They were fixed on something in front of him.

“Regulus?”

The candle doesn’t shed enough light on him to allow you to see the finer details of his face, casting long shadows instead, although the small dancing flame seems to light his eyes- it made them seem more alive than the first time they met.

“How’d you find this room?” Regulus asks, his gaze fixed on what you realise is a tapestry in front of him. Casting you a quick glance, he pulls his wand from his pocket- placing it over the cloth as he mutters an incantation under his breath. It seems to turn bare.

“I didn’t mean to- I was only trying to go on a walk.” You explain as his eyes finally meet yours. They’re soft, a little glassy but his gaze is hard, almost as if he’s willing you to look away first. He studies you for a moment more before you divert your vision to the walls, closing the door behind you softly. Regulus breathes out sharply in an amused way, almost as if he knows he’s won that small fight he picked. It’s almost a laugh- but not quite.

“It’s a tapestry room. These ones-” He winces for a moment, before nodding slowly to himself, making a decision silently. “If your blood touches them, they’ll show your ancestry.” Before you can say anything, he presses his wand to his palm before putting it back in his pocket, and wiping his hand on the cloth in front of him.

Ink seems to sprout from where he wiped his hand, and the words 'Toujours Pur’ form before disappearing, finding a place at the top of the tapestry. A family tree seems to form, Regulus appearing first- slowly being connected to other portraits that start forming, lines connecting all of them together.

“Toujours Pur?” You ask, finding yourself slightly intrigued. Although you refrain from walking up and studying his family tree, it’d seem a bit strange you think, and what he wants you to know he can tell you.

“It means always pure.” Regulus answers, his eyes darting from portrait to portrait before he finds who he seems to be looking for, sighing so quietly you barely hear it. “It’s the Black family motto.”

You nod gently before walking to an adjacent wall- the same kind of tapestry draped over it, blank. You sigh for a moment, looking at you hand, and Regulus looks to you, seeming to sense your conflict.

“You don’t need much, really. Only a drop.” He walks over to you, taking your hand with his. He’s so close behind you that you can hear his voice from just above. Your hand lays palm-up in his, although Regulus’ hand is noticeably larger. His hold is gentle, treating your hand as if it was extremely delicate, like spun sugar. The proximity (and lack of a lit cigarette) allows you to catch the faint scent of a cologne he’d likely applied quite a bit earlier. There’s a hint of lavender, but it makes way for a wave of cinnamon and oak moss that fits him perfectly.

He looks to you, silently asking if this is truly what you want, and you nod hesitantly, breathing in his scent as silently as possible. He holds your hand still, and quietly pulls out his wand, muttering an incantation that leaves a shallow cut on your hand.

When you pull away to touch your hand to the tapestry in front of you, you shiver slightly- maybe it’s from the cold? That’d be nice to believe, although a part of you knows it’s from his touch.

The words 'Mors Vincit Omnia’ spell themselves out in front of you before disappearing to the top of the tapestry, and soon your ancestry is, too, revealed.

You turn back to Regulus only to see him watching the same portrait on his family tree that seemed to be searching for earlier. He looks at it as if it’ll leave at a moment’s notice, gone with the wind. He looks bitter? No, that’s not it- his gaze is soft, lingering, but there’s more- anger, frustration, sorrow…

His hand is still dripping blood. It seems to drip down his fingers and onto the floor occasionally.

You take breath, walk over to his still frame, and take his hand in yours as he did for you earlier. He flinches slightly, his perfect posture returning when he looks down to meet your eyes. Using a quick healing spell, you close his wound, which you notice is significantly deeper than yours, before offering him your handkerchief from your pocket to wipe his blood.

His eyes are somewhere distant, and he doesn’t seem to register this, so you wipe his blood yourself, as gentle as possible. He’s far gone, but remembering what he did for you weeks ago, you try to push through the silence, looking at the ground as you let go of his hand.

“I remembered what you said about Cassiopeia.” You offered, looking up at his face. He seems to be blankly staring ahead at the tapestry in front of him, and if you strained your ear you’d have heard him trying frantically to calm his breathing whilst remaining silent.

But you seem to pique his interest with what you said, as he finally tears his gaze from the tapestry in front of him to look at you.

There’s a small tug at the corners of his mouth, almost imperceptible, although it’d be embarrassing to admit how much you really pay attention to his features.

“Let me heal your hand.” He offers, pulling out his wand and grabbing you wrist- his hold isn’t as tender as the first time, but it doesn’t hurt either. You watch as a small flick of his wand has your hand completely healed, and you smile at him to show your appreciation.

“Thank you.” You offer in return, almost sheepishly.

“Don’t worry about it, dove.” Regulus’ voice is still soft, almost meek, if not for the hardened demeanour and aura of intimidating perfection he radiated at all times.

Your head jerks up immediately to search his eyes. You’re uncertain of the words that just came out of him, your heart beating an unreasonable pace. “What was that?” You ask, your voice timid.

“Dove? There were some on your tapestry. Your family is known to have one on it’s crest.” He explains nonchalantly, his gaze once again elsewhere.

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding in. So he wasn’t calling you love. You let out a small laugh and his eyes lock with yours once more. You’re suddenly aware of the fact he hasn’t released your hand from his grip, and that from up close the patterns of his grey irises almost resemble the sky itself. You’re sure there’s no way you aren’t blushing now, suddenly painfully aware of the proximity of your two forms.

As you pull away gently, Regulus steps towards the door.

“I’ll see you around, dove.” He bids his farewell before walking out into the corridor, calmly shutting the door behind him.

Regulus wasn’t wrong. You started taking notice of the boy whenever he was around, passing him in the hallways, catching a glimpse of him in his jersey after a quidditch match you didn’t bother to attend, or in the classes the two of you shared.

You noticed that every day after leaving the great hall once he finished dinner, he’d lean against the railing of an open-air corridor in the castle with a lit cigarette lodged between his fingers. He didn’t smoke, he never even brought it to his lips. He would just let it burn and inhale the scent through his nostrils, seemingly lost in thought. When the cigarette burnt out, he’d flick his wand and mutter a quick spell, making the remnants of it disappear. Then with his always-perfect posture and long strides, he would make his way down to the dungeons, no doubt to the Slytherin common room.

On the days he seemed to be nearing his wit’s end, he’d stay in the library until getting kicked out when it closed. He always seemed to be studying books that went into great detail on extremely advanced magic. Regulus seemed to chase knowledge with a fervour, an insatiable hunger for more, more, more.

And he always seemed to find his way to the tapestry room you’d found him in that one night. Sometimes you took detours by it before retiring for the night, just before curfew.

On good days, when you brushed past him on your way back to your common room he was humming a soft melody. Those days were few and far between. More often his eyes were glassy and distant or hard and stormy as he made his way down the corridor like a man on a mission.

The next time you interacted with Regulus Black beyond those rare small nods of acknowledgement he spared you was at a party. Slytherin was celebrating a win against Gryffindor, and an uncomfortably large number of people gathered for a Friday night full of music, drinks, and socialising.

It was all too loud for you. The music made your ears ring, the people around you made you uncomfortable, and you were pretty sure the punch wasn’t suitable for first-years. That was something you didn’t realise until you’d drank one too many cups of the sickeningly sweet colourful liquid yourself. It made you dizzy, and not in any pleasant way. Your head started pounding, and the music didn’t help, not one bit.

When you stepped out for a moment to collect yourself, you found you weren’t alone.

“Flying off so soon, dove?” A voice you’d been (embarrassingly) craving to hear for a while now cut through the air. You looked up to see a Regulus, a small smirk on his face. You’d never seen him like that- used to his stoic expression and careful wording. He was teasing you. Despite your head telling you it was nothing, you found yourself falling further- although you’d already started long ago.

You shook your head softly, any sharp movements causing a piercing pain to shoot through your head.

“Headache. I suppose the punch isn’t child-friendly, is it?” You ask trying to crack a light-hearted smile, to show you were joking. Your voice is small, trying to push through the pounding in your head.

He laughs softly for a moment. The sound is beautiful, as if you needed more reason to fall for the boy. It reminded you of the gentle twinkling of the stars in the night sky, and if it manifested itself into anything physical you were sure it’d be soft and comforting.

You don’t realise his wand is pointed to you until he waves it- your head clears, and the absence of the throbbing pain makes you nearly collapse in relief.

“They’re unruly for sure, but they’re always like that after winning a rivalry match.” He sighs softly, eyes on the wine glass you realised he was nursing- it was his own, if the bottle of (very expensive) red wine nearby was any indication. “I almost feel bad for catching the snitch, this wouldn’t have happened if I let it go.”

It’s those words that remind you he’s quite literally the best seeker in Hogwarts and that you certainly have no chance with him, although you’d already told yourself that again and again.

He turns to look at your face before chuckling to himself quietly.

“And yes, there’s always something in the punch when Slytherins are around.” He turns his gaze to his wine glass again, taking a sip.

“Would you like some? It’s Grenache.” He tips the glass to you in offering.

He seems lighter, almost playful tonight, and you don’t want to let that slip through your grasp, so you accept, taking the glass from his hands before taking a small sip.

It might be schoolgirl-ish, but you feel butterflies swarming in your stomach when you realise you’re sharing a glass with him. And he doesn’t mind. It was lovely- the texture velvety-smooth, the taste fruity with the tiniest hint of floral. It was certainly his own, the expensive taste matching the palate you’d expect from someone like him.

“It’s quite nice.” You hand the glass back to him as he hums in agreement.

“Wine’s the only thing I drink- other than water, of course. I suppose growing up in an environment like ours might encourage a fondness for such things. I don’t know how Rosier can stomach beer.” Regulus voices after a beat of silence.

It’s your turn to laugh now, and a small giggle escapes you.

“I don’t drink much at all. I didn’t know the punch was spiked until that splitting headache.” You confess lightly.

“Next time maybe just ask me to share.” He suggests. As though what he’s suggesting is the simplest thing in the world, his cold demeanour melted as if it was leftover snow washed away by rain. The offer makes you do a double take, glancing at the bottle sat aside once more- it was nearly empty. You’d expect anyone to be passed out after that much, but he seems perfectly functional. Perhaps a bit softer than normal, but functional.

As much as you enjoy his happier state, and willingness to talk to you in such a manner, one in which you thought would only exist in the dreams, you find yourself trying to tone him down, just so he won’t regret it and avoid you after tonight.

“You’ve drank quite a bit, haven’t you? Maybe you should head off for the night.” You reluctantly suggest, already dreading the loss of his presence.

“Trying to get rid of me dove?” He teases, and it makes your heart beat faster in your chest.

“Not at all, blackbird.” The nickname rolls off your tongue before you can catch it, and as he looks down at you, his smirk morphs into a small smile.

“Wait here a moment.” He instructs, before muttering a password and walking back into the Slytherin common room.

He’s back in only a few minutes, another bottle of wine in his hands. He grabs the near-empty bottle, disposing of it before beckoning you to follow him. He leads you up out of the dungeons and through the vast corridors of the castle. Finally arriving at the tapestry room you found him in the last time the two of you had a real conversation.

He opens the door and ushers you in before softly closing it, careful to keep quiet. The candles light with a flick of his wand.

“You’ve been wondering why I’m here every evening haven’t you?”

Your head snaps up to search his eyes for any sort of anger- but there was no darkness in his eyes, only his questioning gaze.

“I’ve noticed you passing by me on the way here every day. You’ve never been around here at night before you found this place. Nobody has.” His words make you freeze up, maybe you weren’t as subtle as you’d thought. Mentally kicking yourself, you wrack you brain for an answer.

“Maybe I found out this route is faste-”

“You’re a bad liar, dove.” He cuts you off, chuckling slightly as he pours wine into his glass. “Admit you’re curious.” His gaze is playful, but holds a dark edge. You know he means it.

“I do wonder what you do here, I suppose. I figured perhaps you just needed a place to yourself.”

He sips his wine, looking at you through his glass as you speak. When you finish, he hands you his glass before he approaches the tapestry on the wall in front of him.

“You can have some of that if you’d like. It’s a Romanée-Conti.” He offers before he pulls his wand from his pocket.

You take a few sips at it, looking away as he uses a spell on himself to draw blood. The taste of cherry and spice lingers on your tongue.

When you hear the wiping of his hand on the cloth, you turn back around to watch his family tree sprout from the once-blank tapestry.

Coming back to your side, he takes a deep breath before speaking.

“Sirius ran away last summer with his group of friends.” He starts, sighing deeply. “Mother got so angry she burned him off the family tree in the tapestry room back home. I’m not allowed to speak with him at school, my mother forbade it. I see how he looks at me, sometimes with pity, and sometimes with a sort of superiority he perceives himself to have. This room is the only place he’s still my brother.” His expression is resigned, and was that a tear on his cheek?

It all spills out of him at once, and for a moment you wonder if there was veritaserum in the wine he drank. You take his hand in yours, and squeeze gently.

“I saw him the night he left. He’d packed a briefcase and was sitting with his legs dangling out of the window. I begged him to not to leave- and he shook his head. Told me he loved me, but he couldn’t stay. I asked him if that meant he loved his friends more than me, and he just kept silent and looked me in the eyes a few moments before jumping out of his bedroom window. I get it, chosen family and all that- but why does he look at me like that? Why does he act like he’s above me because he left? He left me behind, why does that make him better than me? He knows what growing up with our parents was like- he’s the only one that knows-”

His words lodge in his throat, and he exhales deeply as he takes the wine glass from your hand and tips it back, letting the rest of the liquid slide down his throat before refilling it. His silver rings- which you’ve only noticed now, one on his thumb and one on his middle finger, glint with the shine of candlelight.

“Sorry.” He grumbles out, voice muffled by the glass once again at his lips. “Just needed to get that out, I suppose.”

You nod in understanding, carefully picking your words so you don’t scare him away or make him angry.

“What’s stopping you while you’re here? From talking to him, I mean-” You ask. Maybe it’s unfair to pry, but you only wanted to help.

“Well, he’s always so happy with his friends.” A resigned sigh falls from his lips. He takes another drink of wine before offering you the glass, pouring more to replace what he’d already drank. “He left Grimmauld Place behind. He left his old life behind because it was hurting him. That life had me in it. Besides, if mother or father hears that I’ve spoken with him, their disciplinary actions are, well… unrestrained.”

“What was he like? As a brother, I mean.” Your voice cuts through after a moment of silence.

Regulus combs his fingers through his hair, moving some strands out of place as he contemplates.

“He was everything.” His voice is nearly a whisper.

“What?” You lean in further.

“He’d shield me from them- our parents. And he’d take blame for mistakes I made- and defend me to them. Things got a lot worse after he left.” It all spills out from his lips, his voice quiet and strained.

“What did they do to the two of you?” You ask hesitantly- he seems like an open book tonight, and he also seems to trust you enough.

“It depends, really. On their mood. After Sirius left-” He pauses to take a deep breath in. “They started using the Cruciatus curse more often.”

You’re speechless, trying to find something to say, a few words of comfort- instead, you act on instinct. You softly wrap your arms around his torso, your head pressing up against his chest.

You feel him flinch slightly before he relaxes, surprisingly strong arms wrapping around your shoulders as long fingers run through your hair.

It eventually becomes him sitting down, legs stretched out on the ground at your sides as he holds your back against his chest.

That’s how the two of you fall asleep for the night, but not before one last sentence from Regulus comes, spoken into your hair.

“Canis Major’s alpha star is named Sirius. It’s the brightest in the night sky- and it was always my favourite.”

Unfortunately, morning comes sooner than you’d like, and with it, sobriety. At least, that’s what you think happened to Regulus when you wake up and he’s gone- unlike the painful headache pounding deep inside your skull.

So you sigh, and stretch as you stand whilst thinking about what to do for the day. Perhaps study at the library? Although that seems to be a place Regulus frequents, and you weren’t exactly sure if he’d want to see you after all he spilled last night.

Wait, what did your dorm mates think when you didn’t come back? Are they going to think you were-

Shit.

If word got back to your parents they’d have a fucking conniption.

Unsurprisingly, the panic doesn’t do well paired with the throbbing pain in your head, and as you stumble, you nearly kick over a small spherical vial on the floor by where you fell asleep.

The liquid in it is a soft green, and shimmers in the dim candlelight. There’s red wax poured over the cork to seal it, and a shield is stamped over the top, one you recognise as the Black family crest.

There’s a note next to it, written in elegant, swooping cursive-

“For the headache. -R. A. B.”

Without much hesitance, you wrestle the cork free and let the liquid slide down your throat. It tastes a little like mint and honey, and you sigh in relief when your headache fades, making a note to thank Regulus for the elixir, before stopping in your tracks.

Why would he do that? He doesn’t exactly seem like the caring type, at least from what you’ve seen and heard in your circle- and last night? Wasn’t he flirting? Maybe it’s a sign he sees you like you see him? No, surely you’re only reading too much into it. Yes, it was a kind gesture, but proper etiquette is drilled into the minds of pureblood children starting from when they take their first breath. As for the flirting, he was drunk- a man is still a man, after all.

It’s silly to think of him like that either way- both of you were bound to end up in an arranged marriage anyway, as is tradition in pureblood society.

You stomped out the ember of hope that maybe the two of you would be arranged together before writing a polite 'Thank you’ on the note he left by the vial and stepping out into the corridor.

The first thing you notice is that it’s well past early morning, when you usually need to rise for classes- thank Merlin it’s a Saturday, or your parents would have your head. The second thing you notice is that when you continue on your route back to your common room, usually busy hallways and corridors are all but empty. When you glance at a clock mounted on the wall you realise that’s because it’s lunch time.

This is just wonderful.

You’ve spent the night out of your dorm room after a party, likely leaving your dorm mates with more than a few all-too-invasive questions. You’ve skipped breakfast because you were sleeping like a fucking rock. And worst of all, you’re nearly certain that wearing the same clothes you had on last night complemented by your hair in a dishevelled state from your sleep gives off the impression that you’ve been thoroughly shagged.

You hurry into your dorm as quickly as possible, trying to make yourself look presentable before entering the great hall. You didn’t notice it when you woke up, preoccupied with the pounding headache that reverberated through your skull, but you are now all too aware that hunger is eating away at your stomach. Yet, you end up eating food you’ve stashed away in the trunk at the end of your bed for lunch instead, hoping to delay the inevitable interrogation for just a little longer.

That night, just after curfew, you decide visit the astronomy tower again.

There’s a boy already there that almost looks like Regulus at first glance, with a lit cigarette between his fingers- but he’s taking long drags and letting the smoke rest deep in his lungs before blowing it out of his mouth, something you’ve never seen him do. Come to think of it, you’ve no idea why Regulus has a habit of lighting a cigarette but no interest in bringing it to his lips.

The boy has raven hair a bit longer than Regulus’ in a half-up bun secured by his wand, he’s wearing red and gold robes, and when he turns to look at you, it’s with eyes are just a couple of shades too dark. His gaze is lazy, nothing like the attentive stare of the boy you’ve fallen head-over-heels for.

There’s a certain charm to him, of course. But it’s nothing like the kind you yearn for, yet try to run from at the same time. He offers you a cigarette, holding the open pack with an outstretched arm. When you refuse, he smirks and places the box back in his pocket.

You introduce yourself with as much grace as you can muster as you lean on the same railing he stands at- though shuffle away as inconspicuously as possible when he leans toward you. His voice is a little dry and somewhat scratchy when he introduces himself in turn, likely from the half-gone cigarette he’s clutching like a lifeline between his middle and index finger.

“Sirius.”

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck.

You probably know more about this guy’s trauma than he’d prefer, thanks to your late-night drunk evening with his little brother only 24 hours ago. That’s awkward. Either way, you try to keep your expression neutral and speak once more.

“Isn’t that a star?” You ask- even though you already know the answer.

“Yeah, but fuck if I know which one. Astronomy has always been more my brother’s thing.” He answers, waving his hand dismissively- although you don’t miss the way the word 'brother’ catches in his throat ever so slightly.

“Have you talked to him much recently?” You ask, feigning disinterest as you look up at the starry sky. You know already. You just want to hear it from him. Maybe if he says the answer aloud, he’ll consider changing it.

Silence falls over the two of you, and when you glance over he’s inhaling smoke from his cigarette in a long, drawn-out drag as he looks down on the Hogwarts Grounds. His fingers are slightly trembling, and you’re not sure if it’s only from the cold. But when he looks up at you, his eyes are glazed over, and he inhales shakily before speaking again, his voice even more strained than it was before.

“He’d never forgive me.” His voice cracks a tiny bit at the end, and he just smiles ruefully as he shakes his head softly. Not the answer you were expecting, but you’re a little more intrigued now.

“What do you mean?” You ask, unable to hide the curiosity clinging to your words.

“I left him alone. I let him think he wasn’t enough.” He takes in another shaky breath before speaking again. “He trusted me when I swore he’d always be my baby brother, but I wasn’t there to keep him safe, and now he isn’t a baby anymore. I took-” His voice falters, and he swallows before looking away again. “They took that last bit of innocence away from him after I left.”

He tosses the stub of his burnt-out cigarette off the tower before promptly retrieving another, pulling his wand out of his hair to light the end. His hair, held up by it, falls around his face- blocking your view of the tears that started trickling down his cheeks.

“Maybe it isn’t just a matter of forgiveness.” You say quietly, contemplating the two sides of the same story you’ve heard from both brothers.

“What?” Sirius seems caught off-guard, pausing mid-drag to cut in.

“Love is always more complicated than just forgiveness. He might not be ready to forgive you. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t understand. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want his brother back.” You look from him to the stars above the two of you, before you push yourself off the railing and turn to leave.

As you walk away, you stop to call out one last thing. “Sirius is the brightest star in Canis Major, by the way. It’s still his favourite one.”

You hear Sirius utter a soft, and utterly baffled “What?” as you start walking away again.

It doesn’t take too long before you find yourself in a room with Regulus again. Perhaps that’s because you went to the tapestry room you know he goes to every night, after you left his brother in the astronomy tower with a hundred thoughts running through his mind.

Regulus’ head snaps to you as you walk in.

“You smell like cigarettes.” He says, face drawn blank and his tone deadpan.

“I found a new vice?” You offer hesitantly, hoping he wouldn’t press further. Luck was not on your side.

“Is that so?” He responds sarcastically, as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket. “Then prove it.” He challenges, but he doesn’t offer you the cigarette in between his fingers.

Instead, he approaches you with long strides, lighting it with a quick spell from his wand. When he reaches you, Regulus uses his left hand to gently tilt your head upwards. When you watch him actually bring a cigarette to his lips for the first time (despite seeing him with one between his fingers quite often) you’re in a bit of a shock. Then you realise what he’s doing. And your shock grows tenfold. But you don’t pull away, not wanting to lose the feel of his cool touch under your chin, and something about him just brings you in-

When he leans down to you, his mouth mere centimetres away, he exhales the smoke, and it travels from his mouth to yours as you breathe through your parted lips.

The smoke burns down your throat, and your lungs feel it too. You immediately turn away away and start coughing harshly, as you struggle to breathe in between two coughing fits that have you nearly doubling over.

When you finally collect yourself, you turn back to him. He stands with his always-perfect posture as he looks at you with a hint of humour in his eyes, an eyebrow raised and a soft, yet smug grin.

“Looks like that was your first time.” He comments, his voice tinged with a bit of amusement.

You feel your face heat up as you process that not only has he seen right through you, but that he was so close, your lips almost pressed together.

You breathe deeply, in and out, to calm your thoughts before they get out of control.

“That was the first time I’ve seen you smoke.” You hum, trying to change the subject.

His head tilts slightly as his brows furrow the tiniest bit.

“You’ve seen me with a cigarette plenty of times-” He responds.

“How many times have you taken a drag?” You cut him off before he can finish his argument.

His silence confirms that you’re right. He looks at the ground, fiddling with the cigarette between his fingers before speaking in a soft tone, his voice wavering slightly.

“I like the scent. Sirius was a smoker, and after he left-” He draws in a deep breath, steadying his voice slightly. “The smell reminded me of him, of our late nights spent talking back at home, when he’d go through cigarettes one after another. I don’t like to really smoke, I just light them.” His confessions are cut short suddenly by a sound coming from just outside the door.

Both of your heads turn to the door, and you pull your wand from your robes before walking toward it, pulling it open carefully.

A shaggy black dog meets your gaze, looking up at you as if asking to be let in. Baffled, you turn to Regulus, seeing his wand drawn by his side. He tucks it away when he sees the animal, a flicker of confusion passing through his face as he motions for you to let it in.

You step aside so the dog can walk in, and shut the door before walking up to Regulus, who’s now crouching, petting the dog gently whilst scratching behind its ears.

“Regulus?” You ask, and his eyes shoot back to you as he hums for you to continue. You hesitate before you speak again. “Thank you for trusting me with everything.” You look away sheepishly.

You don’t notice he’s risen and walked toward you until you see his body block your view of the ground in front of you. Before you can look up, a light kiss is pressed to your forehead and a soft voice makes its way to your ears.

“Always, dove.”

You figure there’s no mistaking his emotions for anything else at this point, and when you look up, you’re so close you can feel his breath against your face.

You look into his eyes looking for any bit of discomfort and they seem to be searching yours for the same thing. So before you can second-guess yourself, your arms wrap around his neck and you close your eyes, pressing your lips to his. It doesn’t take long for you to feel him kiss you back. It’s soft, sweet, with just the right amount of yearning.

He holds your body close, pulling his lips off yours for just a second as he speaks. “Be mine?” He asks, his voice full of admiration and tenderness.

“I have been for weeks.” You respond, resting your head against his shoulder. You feel a soft chuckle escape him as his hands move to comb through your hair.

“And I, yours.” He looks at you, and you’re so close that you can study the patterns in his irises that look like constellations. That’s all it takes for you to kiss him again.

When the two of you finally pull away, there’s a softness in the light grey of his eyes that has you melting.

The dog is still in the room when you turn back, and it’s looking away, at the tapestry that you can assume Regulus made to display the Black family tree before you arrived.

At least this time it seems Regulus remembered to heal his hand himself.

You usher the dog out before embracing Regulus again, feeling him place kisses into your hair as he holds you tight, like you’ll disappear at any moment.