#bartylus reader insert

He laid sprawled across his bed, one arm hanging off the side, tossing a small, silver knut into the air, catching it, then throwing it again. He had already read through all the interesting books in the dorm, bothered his least favorite housemate, and debated sneaking into Slughorn’s stash for a bit of fun. But even that felt like too much effort.

He sighed dramatically, letting his head loll to the side. The dorm was still, the air thick with the kind of midday lull that made his skin itch- drew you down to this unbearable tired. He needed something. A spark. A game. A bit of madness to wake his bones.

And then-

A soft, skittering sound at the doorway. Tiny claws against stone. A flicker of movement in the corner of his vision.

Barty turned his head sharply, and his entire mood shifted instantly the second he saw that familiar teal coat.

“Oh, there’s my girl,” He purred, pushing himself up on his elbows as you- small, sleek, and utterly adorable in your niffler form- scurried towards him with purpose. 

A purpose that gleamed between your paws.

Barty let out a delighted, wicked little laugh, eyes gleaming with manic glee as you proudly presented your newest prize- a golden ring, ornate and entirely not yours.

“Well, well, well,” He cooed, sitting up fully and reaching out to pluck it from your grasp. He examined it between his fingers, tilting his head as he recognized the engravings. “Now, this is entirely too big for you, innit?”

He grinned. You grinned (or, at least, you looked quite pleased with yourself). Preened? You preened.

Then- 

The door slammed open.

Barty didn’t even flinch. If anything, his day had just gotten much better.

Because there, standing in the doorway, looking half-feral and wholly pissed, was Regulus. 

Barty could kiss you for this. Truly, he could. And, in fact, he might.

Because what was better than both of his partners being in the same room? A pissed off Reg.

“You,” Regulus growled, storming forward, shoulders tense, hair slightly out of place like he had run here. “Tell me you did not let her steal from Avery of all people.”

Oh he just adored you.

Barty just tilted his head, considering. Then he smirked. “Define ‘let.’”

Regulus made an exasperated sound, reaching for the ring in Barty’s hand.

Barty, quick as a viper, yanked him down by the collar.

Regulus barely had time to blink before Barty’s mouth was on his, stealing away every single ounce of righteous anger in one swift, practiced move.

Regulus, like the absolute fool that he was, immediately squeezed his eyes shut. Barty always found it the cutest thing- Regulus unable to help himself. As natural as a moody cat flicking its tail, as a lion roars and as a cougar stalks- Regulus Black closed his eyes for kisses.

Barty smirked against his lips. Eying the cute way his nose scrunched up and he let out a sound close to a whine- protests he never truly meant. The adorable sight complete with him reaching for Barty’s pockets; already knowing what Barty was up to.

And somehow? His free hand still slipped the ring into his pocket without obstacle.

You, still perched on the bed, let out a soft hum of approval, tail flicking as you watched with an utterly smug sort of delight.

Barty deepened the kiss for just a moment- long enough to enjoy the soft, reluctant way Regulus gave in before he pulled back with a smirk.

“What was that you were saying, love?” He purred, tapping Regulus’s chin lightly with his fingers. “Something about our dear ol’ Avery?”

Regulus huffed, eyes fluttering open, already scowling as he reached for Barty’s pocket again. “Give. It. Back.”

Barty grinned. “Give what back?”

Regulus glared. “The ring, Barty.”

“The ring?” Barty echoed, feigning confusion. He patted his chest, then his sides, then even made a show of checking under the pillow. “Hm. Don’t seem to have it.”

“You-” Regulus cut himself off, jaw tightening. Then his sharp gaze flickered to you, still perched happily on the bed, tail flicking with amusement.

“And you,” he accused. “You know exactly what you did.”

You tilted your head, ears twitching, looking every bit the picture of innocent curiosity.

Barty’s grin only widened. “Oh, come on, Reg,” he drawled, fingers lazily tracing circles on Regulus’s waist where he still had him held close. “Look at that face- does that look like the face of a thief?”

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose, as if trying to summon the patience of Merlin himself.

“Turn back,” Barty said suddenly, looking at you now, voice smug and expectant.

You blinked up at him.

“Go on, love,” he coaxed, a lilt of challenge in his tone. “Let’s see those totally empty pockets of yours, shall we?”

For a moment, you debated staying in your niffler form- safe, small, and easy to scamper away if things got sticky. Barty looked ready to bite- Regulus too. But both were looking at you like they already knew.

With a soft huff, you shifted back into your human form- warm magic rippling over your body as you transformed.

Barty let out a bark of delighted laughter the second he saw you.

Because, oh, you were full of it.

Your pockets bulged comically, weighed down with far too many treasures- little trinkets and stolen baubles pressing against the fabric, revealing shapes of coins, buttons, and Merlin knew what else.

Regulus made an outright wounded noise. “Oh, for Salazar’s sake-”

Barty grabbed your wrist and yanked you down into his lap, laughing as he did so. “You absolute menace,” he grinned, wrapping his arms around you tight. “Not a dull moment with you, hm?”

You wriggled slightly, but Barty just adjusted, pulling Regulus down with you in one smooth, easy move- trapping you both in his arms. Regulus made a sound of protest, but it was weak at best, his cheek pressed against your temple, caught between exasperation and reluctant affection.

Barty smirked against your hair. “Now,” he murmured, voice slow, teasing, “should we even bother to check her pockets? Or should we just accept the fact that our little niffler is a bloody menace and move on?”

Regulus groaned into your shoulder. “You both drive me mad.”

Barty just laughed, pleased as anything, nuzzling shamelessly against the two of you as you let out a small, smug hum of victory.

Because in a few hours, Regulus would make you empty your pockets and identify whose riches were whose. He’d likely scold you but give up half way through when he sees those pretty eyes of yours gloss.

He’d make you return them and Barty would be alone in his room again. Waiting.

But right now? 

Your fingers are already numb, curled tightly around your scarf, and your thoughts are consumed by a single, glorious truth: Barty is in the dorm, and according to the sacred cuddle schedule, it is your turn—not Regulus’s.

You love both of your boyfriends, you really, really do, but cuddling with Regulus is an actual nightmare. 

He’s beautiful, devastatingly beautiful, but he’s also so bloody cold, and curling up with him feels less like affection and more like someone’s slipped a block of ice between your ribs. You have endured it before, out of love and obligation.

Barty, on the other hand, is blessedly, unfairly warm, like some ancient elemental spirit of heat and comfort wrapped in sleepy eyes and strong arms. 

And while most people assume that being in a relationship with two boys would come with all sorts of complicated emotional drama, the truth is, the only real conflict you ever face is the bitter, eternal war between you and Regulus over who gets to absorb Barty’s body heat first. 

Today, the universe has aligned. Barty is in bed, warm beyond reason, and by all that is holy in the cuddle constitution, that warmth belongs to you.

Which is why you’re here, running full speed through the corridor like your life depends on it, because if Regulus gets there before you, he will wrap himself around Barty like a smug, aristocratic scarf and never let go, and you won't have any leftover heat.

Your footsteps echo sharply as you sprint down the stairs, nearly slipping when you round the corner that leads to the Slytherin dormitory.

You slow just enough to give the stone wall the correct password, then push through the entrance, half-blind with purpose and windburn.

But the second your eyes land on the corridor leading to your shared room, your stomach drops.

There he is.

A sleek black cat sits calmly just outside the door, tail flicking with smug precision. His pale green eyes meet yours, gleaming with the unmistakable glint of mischief.

“Regulus, you little shit,” you hiss, voice thick with betrayal.

He meows, almost mockingly, then turns and bolts.

Your legs move before your brain catches up. “Oh no, you don’t!” you shout, slamming your bag against the wall as you give chase. 

Your boots skid on the polished stone floor as you race after him, your scarf flapping wildly behind you like a flag of war.

He darts around corners with practiced grace, sleek and unbothered, tail curling just so as if to taunt you. You, on the other hand, are panting and flustered, your frozen fingers clenched into fists as you throw yourself forward, heart pounding not from fear but from pure, unfiltered indignation.

He’s going to beat you to Barty. 

And you’ll be damned if you let that smug little bastard steal your heat slot.

“Regulus!” you yell, chasing him as he darts like a shadow toward your dorm door and the warm, toasty boy inside.

You lunge the moment his slick black tail flicks around the corner, and just as Regulus-still in cat form—is about to slink triumphantly into the dorm room, you skid in front of the door and slam it shut with both palms.

The thud echoes like victory.

You whip around, hair disheveled, chest heaving from the chase, as the cat freezes just inches from the door. 

He glares up at you with those imperious green eyes, his tail flicking like an insult, his tiny cat nose twitching in blatant offense—as if you’re the one committing treason.

But you’re already reaching into your robe pocket with the righteousness of a lawyer mid-trial, and you produce the parchment scroll with theatrical precision.

Barty’s gold-inked title gleams at the top like a royal decree: “Heat Access Schedule: Property of Bartemius C. Crouch Jr.” It sparkles obnoxiously.

You crouch to his level, unravel the scroll with theatrical flair, and jab your finger at the bold, clearly marked time slot.

“Regulus Arcturus Black,” you pant, triumph dripping from every syllable as you flash him your most evil grin, “it is my time. Seven to eight thirty. Right there. And I quote—‘Lap and chest privileges at full discretion of Y/N.’ That clause was reviewed, signed, and stamped with Barty’s wax seal. This is legally binding under the cuddle constitution and you damn well know it.”

He blinks slowly.

Then slowly, too slowly, he lifts his paw, unsheathes one delicate little claw, and rips the parchment in half. The sound of tearing paper is somehow louder than it should be.

You freeze, staring at the ruined remains of the schedule as they flutter pitifully to the floor like the ashes of your last shred of patience.

“Are you kidding me?!” you shriek. “You absolute menace! I need my cuddles, Regulus! Stop being a selfish little—”

You launch forward to grab him, but he’s already leapt backward like a slippery shadow, tail high and smug as he bolts for the dorm.

“Get back here!” you yell, nearly tripping as you scramble after him.

“YOU'RE A CAT, NOT A THIEF!—COME BACK AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN!”

He lets out a low, unimpressed meow that sounds suspiciously like a scoff. You swear he raises an eyebrow, somehow, despite having fur.

“Fine,” you mutter, standing up with exaggerated weariness.

“If rules don’t mean anything to you, then I guess I’ll just go all alone into the cold, where I’ll probably freeze to death. But no, it’s okay—don’t worry about me.”

You sniff loudly, tugging your scarf higher over your nose like a tragic orphan. “It’s not like I haven’t been feeling faint all day. I mean, I’m only showing early signs of hypothermia—tingling fingers, shivering spine, loss of will to live—minor things, really.”

You wobble slightly on your feet for effect. “I was just hoping for a little warmth. A little kindness or cuddle, maybe. But clearly…” You sigh as your voice breaks. “Clearly I was wrong.”

The silence stretches.

Then, with the softest rustle of fur and magic, Regulus shifts.

It begins with a shimmer around his paws, a ripple of something ancient and practiced. In the space of a heartbeat, where the cat stood, there is now a boy—pale-skinned and annoyingly elegant even barefoot in a dorm hallway.

His black curls fall into his eyes as he studies you, his expression exasperated but ever so slightly fond.

“Oh, amour,” he murmurs, voice like velvet steeped in sarcasm. “Are you truly that cold? I am so sorry.”

You blink at him, lips trembling—not from cold, but from the effort it takes not to laugh.

And in that single, suspended moment of sympathy, you twist, grab the door handle behind you, and barge inside.

“Barty!” you yell, throwing yourself onto the bed in a blur of scarf and limbs.

Behind you, there is a stunned silence.

“You sneaky lying maniac!” Regulus bellows from the hallway. “Tu es un démon! Une menteuse! Une petite actrice  dramatique—je vais te tuer!”

You hear the slam of the door, the rapid slap of bare feet against stone, and then he is chasing you again—but it’s too late. You’ve already landed on Barty, who is lying sideways across the bed with his arms open in sleepy confusion.

He jerks upright with a startled grunt, arms instinctively catching you even as his eyes snap open wide.

“What the—what the bloody hell is going on?” he exclaims, voice pitched somewhere between alarmed and scandalized. “Did you just launch yourself at me?”

You look up at him, breath catching in your throat. His hair is tousled from sleep, shirt rumpled, and his hands are already settling instinctively around your waist despite his confusion.

Your voice drops, soft and a little breathless. “Barty,” you say, eyes searching his face, “I missed you.”

His brows draw together, tension easing just slightly as his lips twitch into something warmer, something fond.

“I missed you too, trouble,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers through your hair.

You barely have a second to enjoy the warmth of his chest and the way his heartbeat slows beneath your cheek—before the dorm door slams open behind you.

Regulus bursts in, wild-eyed and betrayed, breathing like he’s just sprinted across the castle and looking absolutely offended by the sight of you already cuddled into Barty’s arms.

“Putain de voleuse de chaleur !” he snaps, voice sharp and scathing. “You stole him! You stole Barty’s warmth, you freezing little traitor—sorcière glacée !”

Barty immediately tenses beneath you, looking from Regulus to you with the wide-eyed panic of a man caught in the middle of a house fire.

“What,” he says slowly, carefully, “did you both do?”

There’s a pause.

You and Regulus both inhale like you’re about to deliver reasoned, mature explanations.

And then—

“You ripped the contract!” you shout, flinging your hand toward Regulus.

“I’m colder than you!” Regulus yells back at the same time.

“You used your cat form to cheat and get here faster—”

“You cuddled him twice yesterday, for longer than your allotted time slot—”

“I needed this, my fingers were numb, Regulus—”

“I have poor circulation!”

“You tore up the only system we had—”

“You lied about being sick!”

“You always turn into a cat and sneak under the blankets—”

Their voices collide, climbing louder and louder until it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. Barty sits frozen between you, arms half-raised like he’s afraid moving might trigger further destruction.

Eventually, Barty sighs—a long, slow breath that carries all the patience and quiet surrender of a man who has given up.

He simply lies back down on the bed, rolling gently onto his side as if inviting the chaos to come to him. He pulls the blanket up over his chest, closing his eyes briefly before lifting one arm just slightly—an unspoken offer.

You and Regulus exchange a glance, both of you frozen for a moment, then drawn in by that quiet invitation like moths to a flame.

Without hesitation, you slip forward and curl into the warmth of Barty’s chest, your hands sliding beneath the soft fabric of the blanket, seeking the steady, comforting heat that only he can provide.

Regulus follows, settling on the other side of Barty, his cold fingers lightly brushing against your arm. His breath is soft and steady as he presses closer, resting his cheek near the curve of Barty’s neck, as if he’s finally found a place where he belongs.

The three of you lie there, perfectly still, the silence full and heavy with the weight of shared warmth and unspoken affection.

After a moment, Regulus slowly blinks up at you, his eyes shining with quiet tenderness.

“Je t’aime,” he murmurs, voice low and gentle.

You smile softly, warmth blooming in your chest.

“Je t’aime, me or Barty?” you tease lightly, nuzzling closer.

Regulus’s lips curve into a mischievous grin. “Je t’aime, you and barty.”

Barty stirs at that, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite the congestion weighing on him. He coughs softly, then says, “I love you too, Black.”

You both laugh quietly, the sound mingling with the gentle rhythm of Barty’s breathing.

Though Barty feels utterly miserable beneath his fevered skin, the contentment of being held by both of you is clear in his softened expression. His arm tightens just a fraction around your waist as he lets himself drift toward sleep.

He doesn’t complain, not really. If anything, there’s a sort of smug peace to him now, even in the throes of whatever miserable cold he’s caught. His fever, for once, has a purpose. His body, too warm to be comfortable for himself, is perfect for the two of you.

And even if his throat aches and his head’s spinning and his entire being feels like it's made of soup, he can’t help but feel vaguely victorious. He is loved, wanted, fought over. He is, in the worst of health, still the prize.

And for one perfect, quiet moment, it works.

The dorm is warm and dim, your breath soft against his collarbone, Regulus’s curls tickling the back of his neck, all of you tucked under the covers in one tangle of limbs and shared heat.

Barty lets his eyes fall shut. His body relaxes.

He starts to drift.

And just as the room settles into a perfect, peaceful stillness—

It starts like every good mistake does—with a smile that tastes like trouble and hands that burn like sin. 

You’ve always felt it, though you never knew when it began, when the line between friendship and something darker was crossed.

Regulus had always been there, lingering on the periphery of your life, always just close enough that you could almost touch him, but never fully there. He never needed to speak, never needed to explain himself. 

You learned long ago that his silence was louder than anything he could say, that the way his eyes flickered when they met yours spoke volumes you couldn't translate. He had a way of holding you, not physically, but emotionally, like a tether that kept you grounded even when you didn't want to be. 

He never made promises, never whispered sweet nothings, but his gaze always lingered a moment longer, like he was waiting for you to notice, waiting for you to understand that his affection wasn't a fleeting thing. He never said it, but you saw it in the way his fingers brushed against yours just a bit too long, in the moments when his eyes softened, like he wanted to pull you into him but couldn't quite bring himself to. 

And you thought maybe it was enough, maybe you were enough for him to stay just as he was, quiet and distant, always close but never quite there.

Then there was Barty. The chaos in human form. He was fire, unrestrained and untamable. His laughter was a battle cry, sharp and wild, cutting through silence like it was made of paper. He wasn’t just there—he was everywhere, all at once, like he couldn’t stand the thought of being anything less than alive. He grabbed life with both hands, dragged you into the storm with him, never asking if you wanted to follow. You did. Of course. 

With Barty, there was no hesitation. He was the whispered dare at midnight, the stolen bottle of firewhisky, the reckless grin that made you feel invincible. His touch was hot and lingering, like the singe of a cigarette burn, and his words came out jagged, unfiltered, tearing through every expectation you thought you knew.

Barty had a way of making you feel seen, of making you feel alive. His attention was intoxicating, the way he’d throw his arm around you without hesitation, the way he’d joke, laugh, pull you closer. He was never careful, never measured. He spilled over the edges of everything, uncontained and unapologetic. With him, you didn’t have to think. You just had to be.

You didn’t even need words with him. It was all about what was unsaid, the unspoken promise that he would never let you go, even when you knew it wasn’t true. You could never tell if he was genuine, but you didn’t care. Not then. You were caught up in the excitement, in the adventure, in the feeling that for once, you were someone’s everything.

But then there was the space between them—not a wall, but a quiet understanding. They never seemed to need words when you were around, like the three of you existed in your own gentle orbit. The air shifted when you were together, not with tension, but with the weight of unspoken loyalty and love. They didn’t always share the same space in the way they did with you, but there was no sense of rivalry—just two souls who loved you deeply and, in their own way, loved each other too. It was as if they were waiting, not for a chance to outdo the other, but for a moment when everything would finally make sense

You convinced yourself you were imagining it, that your growing feelings for both of them were nothing more than your own projections. You told yourself that the way Barty made you laugh, the way Regulus looked at you with those unreadable eyes, was nothing more than friendship. That you were just special to them, that you were just a fleeting moment in their lives.

But deep down, you knew that there was something more, something neither of them had ever said, but you felt it in the way they lingered near you, in the way they both seemed to pull you closer when the world was too loud.

You thought they might feel the same way about you, but you were terrified to say it. You were terrified because you didn’t know how to ask for something that wasn’t promised. You weren’t sure if you wanted the risk of it breaking you in the end, of putting yourself out there and realizing that they didn’t feel it too.

You blink, and the memory shatters like glass against concrete. You’re in your room now, draped in soft candlelight, Marlene flitting around with a glass of champagne while Lily curls your hair with slow, delicate precision.

"So, you’re finally going to do it, huh?" Marlene smirks over her glass, eyes glimmering with something like pride. "Confessing your undying love to those two troublemakers."

Lily’s eyes catch yours in the mirror, gentle and knowing. "It’s about time," she says quietly. "They’ve been waiting for you, you know."

Marlene laughs, her voice bright and sharp. "I mean, look at me and Dorcas. I was practically pulling my hair out thinking she didn’t want me back. Turns out, the idiot was waiting for me to make the first move." She pauses, then leans back against the vanity. "Sometimes you just have to take the leap."

Lily hums in agreement. "James was the same. I think he asked me out a hundred times before I finally caved." Her smile softens, and her fingers glide through your hair with gentle precision. "You’re stronger than you think," she whispers. "And those boys are fools if they don’t see it."

There’s a lull in conversation, just the sound of the champagne bubbling and the soft crackle of the candlewick.

Marlene is perched on your bed, swirling her glass, eyes a little distant. "Dorcas says hi, by the way," she adds casually, but her voice is softer. "She said you need to stop hiding away and come out more often. I think she misses you."

You laugh, a little hollow. "I miss her too," you say honestly, and Marlene smiles like she’s won something.

"And James?" you ask Lily, because it feels right.

Lily’s eyes brighten instantly, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "He’s good. Insufferable as always," she teases, but there’s warmth in her voice, the kind of warmth that speaks of late-night whispers and stolen glances. "He’s been working on his quidditch”

"That’s brilliant," you say, meaning it.

There’s something grounding about Lily and James, like no matter what chaos erupts around you, they will always be just like this—stubborn and starry-eyed, orbiting each other with a kind of inevitability.

"And Sirius?" you ask, your voice a little quieter, more careful.

Lily’s gaze softens. "Off with Remus. I think he’s teaching him how to fly again," she murmurs, fondness dripping from every syllable. "They’re probably somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, making terrible decisions and pretending they’re not."

Your heart twinges with affection, the kind that feels a little too big for your chest. Sirius has always been a constant, a force of nature who blew through your life like a storm and settled just as fiercely. Your older brother in every way that mattered, his presence a weighty comfort you’ve never taken for granted.

You think of him sometimes—how he was the first to punch the boy who called you mudblood, the first to pick you up when you fell off your broom, the first to teach you how to throw a punch and laugh when you got it right. He’s always been yours, in that strange, familial way that’s stronger than blood.

Marlene glances up from her glass, eyebrows raised. "You look like you’re ready to face the firing squad," she snorts. "It’s just Barty and Reg. They’re gonna melt like chocolate the second you open your mouth."

You scoff. "That’s the most optimistic thing I’ve heard all day."

Lily smiles, her hands gentle as she pins back the last strand of your hair. "They adore you," she whispers. "Everyone sees it but you."

You catch her gaze in the mirror, throat tightening with something you can’t quite name. "I just want to tell them," you say quietly. "I just want them to know."

Marlene clinks her glass against yours. "Then do it," she says simply, and there’s a finality to her words that makes you sit up a little straighter. "No more waiting."

Outside, the stars are blinking awake, bright and untouchable. You close your eyes, take a breath, and prepare to tell them everything.

-

The party is already alive by the time you arrive, the air thick with warmth and the lazy haze of firewhiskey and enchanted lanterns. Before you can even step fully through the door, Sirius is upon you, arms thrown wide with a grin that could split the world open.

"Look who finally decided to show up! I was starting to think you’d ditched us for a quieter life!"

Remus follows close behind, hands stuffed in his pockets but his smile just as welcoming. "Sirius was about to send a search party," he adds dryly, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Sirius throws an arm around your shoulders and steers you further in, practically bouncing with every step. "I even wrote a eulogy," he grins. "It was beautiful. Very moving. I might have shed a tear."

"He cried because he spilled whiskey on his trousers," Remus supplies helpfully. "Spent half an hour blaming Kreacher for cursing his bottle."

"That bastard is out to get me, I swear," Sirius mutters, eyes alight with that familiar recklessness. "One minute I’m minding my own business, and the next—sabotage. If I disappear one day, you know who did it."

"I’m sure Kreacher is plotting your untimely demise as we speak," you say, laughing despite the tightness in your chest. It’s easier with them, the fear and nerves diluted by their relentless antics, like pouring ice into boiling water, steam rising and vanishing before it can scald.

Sirius gasps, pressing a hand to his heart. "And here I was, planning to be your loyal protector all night. I guess I’ll just have to drink myself to death instead."

Remus rolls his eyes, but his smile softens at the edges. "I’ll make sure he only gets halfway there," he assures you, voice so smooth and steady it feels like an anchor.

You laugh, the sound shaky but real. But as Sirius drags you deeper into the room, the noise and light expanding around you like a pulse, you can’t help the way your eyes flicker around the space, searching.

"They’re here, you know," Remus murmurs as if reading your mind. His voice is low, careful. "Saw them near the back, with Rosier."

Your heart clenches, stomach flipping with something sharp and unsteady. You nod, trying to smooth out the expression on your face. Sirius, thankfully oblivious, is already waving at someone across the room.

"They’re probably waiting for you," Remus continues, voice gentle. "You look great tonight. They’d be idiots not to notice."

You smile, but it feels too tight, too sharp. "Here’s hoping," you say, but your eyes are still searching, scanning the crowd, waiting for a glimpse of silver eyes and wild laughter. It’s always like this—looking for them in every crowded room, like you’ve trained your heart to skip a beat at the mere shadow of them.

Sirius is already dragging you towards the bar, tossing back shots with the kind of abandon that only he can pull off, and Remus is smiling, shaking his head like he’s seen this scene a thousand times. But you—your mind is somewhere else entirely, lingering on the edge of a confession you’ve been holding too close to your chest for far too long.

The party hums around you, bright and shimmering, gilded with magic and blurred edges. You’re caught in the current of your own thoughts, wondering if tonight is the night everything changes—or if it all shatters instead, like glass catching moonlight just before it breaks.

The moment you step away from Sirius and Remus, your feet feel like they’ve turned to lead. There’s a heaviness settling into your chest, and with each step toward the door, you feel the familiar weight of nerves building in your stomach.

You can’t think of anything else but how you’re about to pour your heart out. You’re finally going to tell Regulus, finally going to confess to Barty—let them know everything you’ve kept buried so long.

But just as you reach the door, a loud scream splits the air, shrill and raw, cutting through the hum of conversation and laughter.

You freeze.

It’s not the kind of scream that’s full of fun. It’s something else—something urgent, something that grips your heart in an instant.

And then you hear it. The unmistakable sound of footsteps pounding towards the door, quick and sharp, like a drumbeat in your chest.

Before you can make sense of anything, the door swings open, and there they are—Regulus and Barty.

And, to your complete and utter shock, they’re holding hands.

The room quiets for a split second, every conversation, every laugh, suspended in time. All eyes land on them—on the two of them standing there, locked in a quiet moment between them, the subtle connection between their fingers telling a story no one else had known.

Barty, ever the dramatic force of nature, clears his throat loudly. "Alright, everyone! Get your champagne and your tissues ready because I’m about to make your night."

He grins like the world is his for the taking, and with a flourish of their interlaced hands, he practically shouts, "We’re together! Officially! Romantically! Disgustingly!"

There’s a beat of silence before the room explodes into chaos—laughter, cheers, a few gasps of shock. James nearly drops his drink, eyes wide with disbelief, while Lily nudges him in the ribs, grinning from ear to ear. Marlene and Dorcas are already whispering furiously, glancing between you and the pair at the door with knowing eyes.

Sirius’s mouth drops open for a full five seconds before he bursts out laughing, clapping loudly. "Bloody hell, it’s about time!" he calls out, raising his glass in their direction. "Knew you two were shagging since fifth year!"

Remus smacks him on the arm, muttering something about tact, but even he’s smiling, the kind of smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

And you—you can barely breathe. The world tilts, spins, rights itself in a new and cruel arrangement where the two people you love are standing there, fingers intertwined, looking like every secret wish you’ve ever had come to life... just not with you.

They make their way around the room, greeting everyone, laughter and congratulations spilling out in waves. James and Lily are practically glowing, Marlene’s already calling for drinks, Dorcas is smirking with that sharp-edged grin of hers, and Sirius has never looked prouder, arm slung around Remus as if the world has finally made sense.

And finally, finally, they turn to you.

Regulus’s eyes soften just a fraction, something unreadable flickering in their depths. "Hey," he says quietly.

"Hey," you reply, voice barely above a whisper. You can feel every eye on you, waiting for your reaction, but your mask is already in place, perfect and unyielding.

Barty grins wide, all sharp teeth and brilliance. "Well? Aren’t you going to congratulate us, treasure?"

You swallow the shards of your heart, forcing a smile that you hope doesn’t tremble. "Congrats," you manage, the word brittle on your tongue. "I’m... I’m happy for you."

"Thank you" Regulus says softly, and it almost kills you how genuine he sounds.

You nod, eyes burning, and before anyone can say anything else, you turn on your heel and slip through the crowd. You don’t look back. You can’t—not when the world has just shifted beneath your feet and you’re barely holding the pieces of your heart together, sharp edges cutting into your palms as you clutch them tight and pretend you don’t feel a thing.

You don’t remember how you got outside, only that the air is sharper here, knifing its way into your lungs like it wants to carve you out from the inside. There are people around you, laughing, shouting, wrapped up in their own worlds, but they’re nothing more than ghosts in the corners of your vision.

You think of them—of Regulus and Barty, fingers entwined like it was always meant to be that way. You think of the way Regulus would touch your wrist when he spoke to you, the way his eyes would linger just a moment too long. You think of Barty’s wild grin, the way he would throw his arm around your shoulders and call you his favorite.

You think of all the nights spent tangled up in laughter and reckless joy, hearts open and bleeding in the dark, and you can’t stop the laugh that rips from your throat—wild and broken and nothing like joy.

You stumble toward the bar at the far end of the garden, pressing your hands to the wooden edge to steady yourself. The bartender doesn’t ask questions, just hands you a glass filled to the brim, and you throw it back like it’s salvation. It burns, sharp and unrelenting, and you welcome the pain because at least it’s real.

The world is softer after that, edges blurring further, voices melding together in a gentle hum. You don’t know how long you stand there, glass after glass, filling the hollow spaces with liquor and pretending it’s enough. It isn’t. It never is.

You don’t know how long it takes before Sirius and Remus find you, but it’s long enough for the world to tip sideways when they appear, Sirius’s hands steadying you before you can stumble back against the bar.

"There you are," Sirius says, voice soft and aching. His eyes search your face, and you see it there—the pity, the sadness. You laugh, a jagged sound that tastes like regret. "Come to join the party? It’s a real fucking riot."

Remus steps forward, brows drawn tight with concern. "Maybe it’s time to get you some water," he suggests gently, reaching out to touch your arm. You pull back, shaking your head.

"Water’s not gonna fix this," you slur, voice wobbling with the weight of it all. "You know what would fix this? If love wasn’t the biggest goddamn joke in the universe. If I didn’t just watch the two people I—" You stop, choke on the words like they might kill you. "If I didn’t just watch them… holding hands. Smiling. Like I never even mattered."

Sirius’s face crumples, just a little, and you almost hate him for it. Almost. He reaches for you again, hands warm and steady. "You do matter," he says fiercely. "You always matter."

You laugh again, sharp and hollow. "Not to them," you whisper, and it’s not a sob, but it’s close.

"I was so fucking stupid. I thought… I thought there was something there. I thought when he touched my hand, it meant something. I thought when Barty smiled at me like that, it was because he wanted—" The words are unraveling now, spilling out of you like a confession.

"I thought they loved me. Isn’t that just the funniest fucking thing?"

Remus’s hand is on your back, rubbing slow circles that don’t help, not really. "It’s not funny," he says softly. "It’s not funny at all."

Sirius’s jaw clenches, his eyes burning with something dark and fierce. "You’re not stupid," he says firmly. "They love you. I know they do."

You shake your head, swallowing back the sob clawing its way up your throat. "No," you say, voice cracking. "No, they love each other. And I—I’m just the idiot who thought I could fit somewhere between them."

The silence stretches out, thin and brittle, and then Sirius pulls you into his chest, arms wrapping around you tightly. You shatter there, right there in his arms, with Remus’s hand still gentle on your back, and the world blurring away in the wake of your sobs.

And even as the tears fall, even as your heart splits open wide and ragged, you think of the way they looked at each other—how happy they were. And it hurts worse because you can’t even hate them for it.

The sobs subside eventually, leaving you hollowed out and fragile in their wake. Sirius holds you until your breathing evens out, until the trembling fades from your hands. Remus lingers close by, silent and watchful, his gaze soft with sympathy that only makes the ache burrow deeper into your chest.

You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, the skin tender and raw. "I think I should go," you whisper, the words thick and unsteady. Sirius pulls back, his hands still steady on your shoulders.

"You sure?" he asks, voice gentle, and you nod, already stepping away. The world is too sharp around the edges, the music too loud, the lights too bright. You need space, air—anything but this suffocating blur of firewhiskey and regret.

"I’ll be fine," you say, though the words barely sound like yours. "I just… I just need to go."

Sirius looks like he wants to argue, but Remus rests a hand on his arm, shaking his head. "Let her breathe," he murmurs, and Sirius’s mouth snaps shut. His eyes are still heavy with concern, but he nods, finally stepping back.

You stumble back into the party, the warmth and noise pressing in on you from all sides. It’s almost dizzying, and you weave through the crowd, head down, eyes blurry. You find Lily by the entrance, her red hair catching the light like a beacon. She turns the moment she sees you, concern knitting her brows together.

"Hey," she says softly, reaching out to steady you. "Are you alright?"

You nod, not trusting your voice. "Just tired," you murmur, and she doesn’t look convinced, but she lets it go, pulling you into a tight hug.

"Want me to walk you back?" she asks, and you shake your head, forcing a smile.

"I’m fine, Lily," you say, patting her arm gently. "Just need to sleep this off."

She hesitates, but before she can argue, a familiar voice cuts through the haze. "Leaving so soon?"

You freeze, every muscle locking up as you turn to see them—Regulus and Barty, side by side, framed in the doorway like something out of a fever dream. Barty’s grin is wide and wicked, Regulus’s gaze sharp and piercing. They step forward in tandem, fluid and graceful, and you swallow hard, fingers curling into fists.

"We’ll walk you," Barty says easily, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He’s already moving forward, slipping past Lily with a grin that’s all teeth. Regulus follows, hands tucked into his coat pockets, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your heart stutter.

"You don’t have to," you manage to say, the words scraping against your throat. "I’m fine on my own."

Barty scoffs, throwing an arm around your shoulders like it’s the easiest thing in the world. "Nonsense," he laughs.

"Can’t have you wandering around alone at this hour. What kind of friends would we be if we let that happen?"

Friends.

The word scrapes against something raw, and you flinch before you can stop yourself. You wrench out of his grip, taking a step back. "I said I’m fine," you repeat, voice sharper this time.

Barty blinks, surprised, and Regulus’s eyes narrow, lips pressing into a thin line.

"You’re clearly not," Regulus says quietly, his voice steady and calm. It’s the same voice he always uses when you’re upset—soothing, patient, like he’s trying to coax the truth out of you.

But you’re done spilling truths tonight. You shake your head, fists clenched at your sides. "I don’t want you walking me," you snap, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. "I don’t want anything from you."

Barty’s grin falters, his gaze flickering to Regulus, but Regulus just watches you, eyes sharp and unyielding. "What’s going on?" he asks, voice edged with something you don’t want to name.

You shake your head, turning away before you can do something stupid like cry again. "Nothing," you whisper. "Nothing at all."

The night air bites at your cheeks as you step outside, the noise of the party muffled by the heavy oak doors that creak shut behind you. The silence is staggering, too loud in its emptiness, pressing in on your ears like a heartbeat gone wrong.

You barely make it to the courtyard before you hear footsteps behind you, hurried and unsteady.

"Wait!" Barty's voice cuts through the chill, sharp and breathless. You don't turn around. Your fists are clenched so tight your nails bite into your palms, but you don't care. The pain is a welcome distraction from the roaring in your ears.

"Please, amour" Regulus adds, softer, like he's afraid you might shatter if he speaks too loudly. You pause then, because it's him, and you can't quite bring yourself to keep walking. Not yet.

You spin around, the motion sharp and unkind. "What?" you snap, voice cracking at the edges. "What do you want? Haven't you done enough?"

They both falter, just for a moment. Barty glances at Regulus, eyes wide and searching, and Regulus's face is pale under the moonlight, shadows pooling beneath his eyes.

"We just wanted to make sure you got back alright," Regulus says quietly. His hands are still tucked into his coat pockets, but his shoulders are tense, braced for impact.

You laugh, the sound brittle and broken. "Oh, now you care? That's rich."

Barty steps forward, hands outstretched. "Of course we care," he says, and for once, his voice isn’t dripping with sarcasm or wrapped in bravado. It’s just him—bare and unguarded. "You’re our—"

"Don't," you cut in, voice rising with every word. "Don’t you dare. Save it. I don’t need your pity."

Regulus flinches, but his gaze doesn’t waver. "Soleil, please, let us just sit and talk" he says softly, like he’s stepping around shards of glass.

You stumble back a step, the world tipping dangerously. The alcohol is swimming in your veins, and it’s making everything too sharp, too bright. You swipe at your eyes, chest heaving. "You want to help?" you slur, voice cracking. "Then disappear. Both of you. Just…just go."

"We’re not leaving, tres" Barty says, his voice firm, unyielding. He takes another step forward, and you stagger back, nearly tripping over your own feet. The ground feels unsteady, like the earth itself is shifting beneath you.

"I can't—" You choke on the words, the tears coming fast and hot now. You stumble to the side of the street, knees hitting the pavement hard enough to sting. Your stomach lurches, and before you can stop it, you’re retching into the bushes, the world spinning wildly out of control.

Barty is there in an instant, holding your hair back, murmuring soft, frantic words you can’t understand. Regulus kneels beside you, his hand a steady weight on your back, rubbing soothing circles as you gasp for breath.

"I’m fine," you croak out, voice shredded and raw. You’re not—you’re so far from fine it’s laughable, but the words spill out anyway.

"No, you’re not," Regulus murmurs, voice achingly gentle. His eyes are wide, brimming with something like grief, and it only makes you cry harder. "Please, love, just talk to us"

You shove him off, the motion weak and clumsy. "You don’t get it!" you cry, voice cracking open like a wound. "You don’t get it, and you never will. I thought—" Your breath hitches, and you laugh, a jagged, broken sound. "I thought there was something between us!."

Regulus's eyes glimmer under the moonlight, and he doesn’t move back, even as you glare up at him. Barty's hand is still on your back, firm and grounding, and for once, he’s silent, just watching you with eyes that burn like fire.

"There is, gosh, there is" he whispers finally, voice splintered and soft. "I swear to you, just let us talk"

But you just shake your head, stumbling back to your feet. "No," you whisper, the word cracking on your tongue. "No. Ttop it, Regulus."

You stagger back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, eyes red-rimmed and aching. "I can’t do this," you say, voice hollow and breaking. "Not right now"

They exchange a glance, unspoken words passing between them, but you’re already stumbling away, the world blurring at the edges. Your legs give out before you make it five steps, and you sink to the ground, sobs wracking your body with a violence that steals your breath. It’s ugly and raw, the kind of crying that shatters something fragile in your chest.

Barty is beside you in an instant, arms coming around you, firm and grounding. Regulus is on your other side, his hand threading through your hair, murmuring soft, desperate words. But it only makes you sob harder, the noise broken and unrestrained.

"It wasn’t supposed to be like this," you gasp out, voice strangled. "I thought—I thought you—" You can’t finish. You don’t need to.

Barty’s grip tightens, his forehead pressed to the side of your head. "I’m so sorry," he whispers, voice cracking. Regulus's hand rubs gentle circles on your back, his eyes squeezed shut like it physically hurts him to watch you cry.

You don’t stop. You can’t. The sobs come faster, harder, until you’re gasping for breath between them, your body trembling from the force of it.

You cry until your throat is raw, until your eyes burn, until the stars above blur and fade. And still, they don’t let go.

Not for one second.

The sobs quiet, fading into broken breaths and the hollow ache that lingers like a bruise. Barty’s hands are steady on your back, Regulus’s fingertips brush the edge of your jaw, lingering for just a moment too long before they fall away. You pull back, slow and deliberate, slipping from their warmth like waking from a dream.

Neither of them stops you. Regulus’s hand drops first, and then Barty’s, both of them watching with shadows in their eyes—heavy and unspoken. You don’t look back. You can’t.

Your footsteps are soft against the pavement, the night stretching out in front of you, long and empty. Streetlights flicker above, casting fractured light over cracked concrete and the breath of distant city sounds. Your hands shake as you press them to your sides, curling into fists to keep them from trembling.

At the end of the street, he’s waiting. Sirius leans against the lamppost, arms crossed over his chest, a cigarette dangling forgotten between his fingers. His gaze softens the moment he sees you, and he straightens, tossing the cigarette to the curb and crushing it under his heel.

He doesn’t say anything, just opens his arms like he’s been waiting for you to fall apart.

You don’t hesitate. You collapse into him, his coat smelling like smoke and winter rain, familiar and grounding. His arms come around you, strong and unyielding, one hand cradling the back of your head like he used to do when you were small and scraped your knees.

He doesn’t speak, just lets you cry—silently, violently—into the worn leather of his coat. His hand rubs slow circles along your back, his chin resting atop your head. When the shaking subsides, you pull back just enough to look up at him, your eyes red-rimmed and aching.

Sirius brushes a stray tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb, his expression unbearably gentle. “You’re gonna be okay, you know,” he says, voice rough but steady. “Even when it doesn’t feel like it. Especially then.”

Your breath hitches, and he gives you that crooked smile, the one that’s always held more tenderness than it has any right to. “I’ve got you. Always.”

You nod, the motion shaky, and he pulls you back in, his embrace tightening just a little bit more. His voice drops to a murmur, low and almost to himself. “I promise you’ll be okay.”

You freeze in his arms, the words sinking into the marrow of your bones, hollow and aching. But his grip does not falter, if anything, it tightens, like he is holding you together by sheer force of will.

You press your face into his shoulder, eyes slipping shut, letting the words settle, jagged and unyielding.