Remus knows exactly how much validation Sirius starved for growing up. He ruins Sirius with praise. "Good boy," "Look how beautifully you behave for me," and "Such a perfect star" are whispered into Sirius’s skin until Sirius is breathless and weeping from sheer affection.
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“You know,” Ron muses, through a mouthful of sausage. “You could take up puzzles.”
“Hmm?” Harry responds, his own fork hovering halfway between his plate and his mouth. Malfoy is sitting down the far end of the Slytherin table, again, a noticeable gap between him and the rest of the students—even the other eighth year Slytherins who came back for N.E.W.T.s, like Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass.
“Or pottery,” Ron suggests.
“Sure.” Harry frowns. Even fucking Goyle is sitting apart from Malfoy, down the other end of the table with Millicent Bullstrode. Prick.
“There’s knitting too,” Ron says loudly. “Mum would happily give you tips. I’m just saying—you know, if you’re looking for a hobby.”
“Right,” Harry says, watching Malfoy push food around his plate, head down. He looks so washed out, and Harry feels a sudden surge of anger—at how much impact Voldemort is still having on them all, still dividing them. No-one fucking understands, Harry thinks. Just because Malfoy had the Mark on his arm, didn’t mean he hadn’t been just as fucked over as the rest of them, in the end. Has any one of them ever had Voldemort occupy their home for months on end?! No! And yet everywhere he goes, Malfoy leaves a trail of empty space around him: sitting in class alone, sitting at dinner alone, sitting in the library alone. Shunned, ignored, avoided.
“He doesn’t have time for a hobby,” Ginny tells Ron cheerfully, helping herself to the jam. “Hey, Harry—did you hear about Malfoy and Tracey Davis?”
“What?” Harry’s attention snaps back to his own house table.
“Ginny! I’m trying to course correct here," Ron groans, as Harry demands, “What happened?”
She throws a piece of toast crust at his head. "Nothing happened. I just wanted to remind you the rest of the world does still exist. Hello. Hi."
Harry looks back across the hall. Tracey Davis is sitting the closest to Malfoy, only two metres from him. "You're sure nothing happened?"
Hermione, reading her arithmancy textbook beside him, lets out a tired sigh.
“We’re losing focus here,” Ron says, lifting a hand for silence. “Come on. Harry needs a hobby. I can’t go through this again.”
“Gardening,” Neville offers.
“He could get a feckin’ girlfriend,” Seamus points out, exasperated. “You literally have them lining up, Harry! Half the bloody country wants some Chosen schlong.”
"Never use that phrase again," Harry begs, still watching the Slytherin table.
“No, no, he tried that,” Ginny tells Seamus, voice solemn. “It interrupted his Malfoy stalking time far too much.”
“Fuck off.” Harry throws a piece of toast at her this time, swinging his leg over the bench. “I’ll talk to you wankers later.”
“BE SAFE HARRY!” Ron bellows as he walks across the hall. “DON’T FORGET PROTECTION CHARMS.”
People look around as he walks past, tittering. Harry’s face is boiling by the time he gets to the last table. He sits down across from Malfoy, who looks up, staring at Harry like he's grown a second head.
“Hey.”
Puzzle 🧩 Day 9 of @peachydreamxx and @uncannycerulean's unofficial microfic may prompts. Read the whole anthology on ao3
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The golden heat was fading, the boardwalks were quieter, and the sky had begun to trade its bright blues for the crisp melancholy of September. The sea still whispered against the sand, but the laughter echoing from the skate park and the arcade had softened into something bittersweet.
And Regulus Black?
Regulus Black had evolved.
No longer the trembling boy from London with his sleeves tugged over bitten knuckles and that wide-eyed look like the world might eat him.
No.
He was still soft-eyed, still glittery and pink in the cheeks and prone to making dolphin noises when excited—but now he was cheeky. Now he was feral. Now he was the kind of chaotic nightmare gremlin that you had to actively ban from accepting dares because he had no sense of self-preservation and even less of a sense of shame.
This was a boy who once threw up some kind of rainbow glitter goo at 3 a.m. and proudly shouted, “I don’t know what I drank but it had power,” before passing out in Alphard’s herb garden.
This was a boy who would take a running leap off a roof for a fiver and an energy drink.
This was a boy who was now, unfortunately, someone’s boyfriend.
Specifically: Jules’.
And they were disgusting.
Like, horrific.
Reg clung to Jules constantly—hands in hair, arms around waist, legs in laps, kisses on cheeks, necks, mouths. He whispered filthy things in front of their friends just to watch Jules combust. He bit him lovingly at every opportunity. He said “baby” like it was punctuation.
And Jules? Jules enabled it. Fully. Smugly. Like he had tamed a wild fox and made it obsessed with him. He was always touching Reg’s hips, wrapping arms around his waist, lifting him up and spinning him around in the middle of stores. He kissed Reg so hard against alleyway walls it made Lola gag audibly.
They were the worst.
And now—after the best summer of his entire cursed existence—Regulus had to go back to Hogwarts.
Reg was devastated.
Not about the magic. Or the classes. Or the godforsaken uniforms. But because—
“My phone won’t work!” he whined for the sixth time that morning, pacing the living room with his hoodie half on and one sock missing. “I’m gonna be cut off like I’m in medieval prison—”
“You’ll survive,” Alphard said dryly, flicking through his FlooMail.
“I won’t! My screen time average is seventeen hours, that’s a lifestyle!”
“You have owls.”
“I want Pinterest, not pigeons!”
They were running late, obviously.
Reg was still trying to finish packing while his friends screamed in the kitchen about whose jacket was whose and who stole the last croissant.
But Alphard came through in the end. He charmed the portkey, fed Misty, levitated the trunk, herded the entire chaos squad into formation, and warned the Ministry exactly once before grabbing the portkey himself.
Flash.
Then they were in London.
King’s Cross was packed, loud and full of goodbye hugs and screeching toddlers. Alphard trailed behind the six of them, dragging Reg’s absurdly heavy trunk with one hand and balancing Misty’s carrier on top with the other.
Reg was currently piggyback on Zay, kicking his heels and shrieking.
“FASTER, HORSE BOY, I WANT TO FLY!”
Zay wheezed. “You’re—not light!”
“Love you too!”
Jules was behind them, jogging to catch up. “Zay! Give me my boyfriend!”
“Finders keepers!” Reg yelled.
“He tastes like cherry soda and lies! I’m taking him back!”
They weaved through families and students and confused Muggles, knocking over three signs and one unattended trolley before finally reaching the hidden barrier.
One by one, they slipped through.
Reg was the last to appear, hopping off Zay’s back with a grin, only to be immediately scooped up by Jules from behind.
“You’re mine again,” Jules whispered, biting his ear.
“God, finally,” Cass groaned. “Can you two just get married and spare the rest of us.”
“I’d let him put a ring on me,” Reg teased.
“I’d put it somewhere inappropriate,” Jules grinned.
Lola physically shoved them apart. “You are about to board a train. Stop making it weird.”
The red steam engine loomed ahead, beautiful and terrible, calling students home like a siren song. The platform bustled with families and trunks and cats and parents wiping tears off cheeks.
Alphard waved down a uniformed worker and made sure Reg’s trunk was loaded properly, Misty’s carrier tucked safe in the designated compartment. Then he turned, arms wide.
“Come say goodbye to your only father figure,” he cried dramatically.
Reg rolled his eyes. “You’re so extra—”
Alphard swooped him into a hug anyway, rocking him back and forth.
“I’m so proud of you, Birdie,” he sniffed. “My precious chaos gremlin.”
“Alphard—get off—”
“Don’t forget to write!”
“I won’t! You literally bought me monogrammed parchment—”
“Don’t fall in love with a Scottish farm boy and abandon Jules for someone with a Highland accent!”
“I’M GAY, I PROMISE.”
The others cackled as Alphard planted a kiss on Reg’s temple and let him go, sniffling.
Reg turned to the others, smile twitching.
Lola hugged him. “Write me gossip.”
Cass booped his nose. “Don’t die.”
Zay gave him a fist bump and said, “Rule Hogwarts with an iron fist.”
Remy handed him a lollipop and whispered, “For emergencies.”
Then it was just Jules.
They stood there for a second. Silent. Shining.
Reg bit his lip. “I’m gonna miss you.”
“You’d better.”
Jules tugged him close, arms around his waist, lips brushing his ear.
“You’ll write me the filthiest letters?”
“I’ll seal them with tongue.”
They kissed again—longer this time. Slower. One last time for the summer. Reg’s fingers tangled in Jules’ hoodie. Jules sighed into his mouth.
“I’ll visit during Hogsmeade.”
“I’ll wear something illegal.”
They kissed again. Again.
“Okay break it up,” Alphard called.
Reg pulled back, flushed, grinning, then ran for the train.
“Bye!” he called over his shoulder.
Jules watched him go, all soft eyes and crooked smile.
At the train door, Reg turned one last time.
“Love you!”
Jules’ heart exploded.
“Love you too, Birdie.”
The train whistle shrieked.
Reg climbed aboard.
The others were already calling for Jules—laughing, yelling, teasing.
He barely heard them until Zay shouted, “LOVERBOY, GET YOUR ASS MOVING—”
Jules snapped out of it and sprinted to catch up, the sound of Reg’s laugh still echoing in his chest like music.
Summer was over.
But the year had only just begun.
The train rocked gently beneath Regulus’s boots as he stepped aboard, the whistle’s last shriek echoing behind him. Steam hissed and wrapped around his ankles like it knew something no one else did.
He was alone.
For the first time in months—actually alone.
No Lola yelling down the boardwalk. No Cass setting off cherry bombs in garden planters. No Remy threatening people with skateboards. No Zay beatboxing at 9 a.m. No Jules kissing his neck in the middle of Tesco just to watch him shriek and throw snacks.
Just Regulus.
Back in black.
Well—today in deep burgundy mesh with black straps hanging off low-rise plaid trousers, heavy boots, a cropped hoodie he’d slashed the sleeves off himself, fingerless gloves, four necklaces, and enough silver in his ears, nose, and eyebrow to redirect lightning. His curls had grown longer and wilder, the dark red dye now an intentional mess of blood-bloom and black.
Reg’s cat, Misty, was off being stored in the pet compartment with her usual level of soul-crushing disdain. His trunk had been loaded. His phone was locked in its enchanted pouch and rendered as useless as a toad with Wi-Fi.
And now he had to find his friends.
Not the new ones. Not Jules and the arcade lot.
No—them.
The old ones.
Barty. Evan. Dorcas. Pandora.
And shit, he hadn't written once.
“Fuck,” Reg muttered, wincing as he leaned on the wall and dragged a hand down his face. “They’re gonna murder me. I'm gonna be found in pieces in a Slytherin toilet.”
He sighed. “Deserved.”
Then he started walking.
He didn’t walk normally, of course. That would be too simple.
Instead, he snuck.
Tip-toe. Hunched shoulders. Spy hands.
He hummed dramatic ninja music under his breath like an idiot, bouncing slightly with each step and drumming along the walls as he moved. At one point, he did a somersault roll that nearly launched him into a trolley full of cauldron cakes.
"Smooth," he muttered, winded.
And that’s when it happened.
He turned a corner—still crouched, still humming—straight into someone’s stomach.
“Oof—”
“What the—?”
Reg blinked up—
And came face-to-face with Marlene McKinnon and Mary Macdonald.
They were both mid-laugh, hair windblown, half-holding milkshakes from God-knows-where, and now staring at him like he’d grown antlers.
Reg froze.
Marlene’s eyes narrowed.
Mary blinked once, twice—
Then, at the exact same time:
“OH MY FUCKING GOD.”
“IS THAT REGULUS BLACK—?!”
“WHAT THE FUCK—”
Before Reg could even react, they were screaming, milkshakes dropped, grabbing him by both arms like he was being arrested by the Department of Hot Boy Crimes.
“I—what are you doing—”
“YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE MISSING—”
“YOU LOOK LIKE A MCR GROUPIE—”
“YOUR HAIR—YOUR FACE—YOUR EVERYTHING—”
They yanked him through the corridor so fast his boots skidded against the floor. Reg was half-laughing, half-panicking, trying to pull away.
“I have friends I’m looking for—”
“We’re your friends now, shut up.”
“Wait—no—”
Mary slammed open a compartment door.
Marlene shoved Reg in.
Reg stumbled forward.
And found himself standing in a packed Gryffindor compartment.
All staring at him like someone had dropped a live dragon into their lunch.
“Hi,” Reg tried, waving weakly. “Uh. Surprise?”
Silence.
Complete. Utter. Bone-deep silence.
Then—
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH—”
“WHAT THE FUCK—”
“IS THAT—THAT’S FUCKING—”
“REGULUS BLACK?!?!?”
Everyone exploded.
James leapt onto the seat like it was a battlefield. Remus covered his mouth like he’d just seen God. Peter dropped a biscuit. Lily dropped her book. Frank yelled, “IS HE A GHOST?!” and Gideon screamed, “DO GHOSTS HAVE PIERCED EYEBROWS?!”
Sirius.
Sirius was frozen.
His little brother.
His missing little brother.
The one who vanished at the start of summer with no trace, no note, no clue. Sirius had scoured letters, begged the Ministry, lost sleep—
And here Regulus fucking was.
Hair dyed, shirt cropped, looking like an unholy mix between a punk idol and a Victorian fairy prince with too much eyeliner and way too much thigh showing.
Sirius bolted up.
Reg flinched.
“Sirius—”
“WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO YOU?!”
“Hi,” Reg mumbled. “Yeah. Sorry about the whole... vanishing thing. I got kidnapped.”
“YOU WHAT?!”
“By Alphard.”
“HE’S DEAD—”
“Nope. Faked it. Whole thing. Super dramatic. Very him.”
Everyone was losing their minds.
Sirius looked like he was having a breakdown. James was yelling. Alice was blinking like she was hallucinating. Gideon kept saying, “But he’s hot now?!”
“YOU LOOK LIKE YOU EAT BATTERY ACID FOR BREAKFAST,” Sirius cried.
“I do, actually. It’s cherry-flavoured.”
“WHY ARE YOU HOT—”
“I hate this reaction,” Reg muttered. “Where’s Dorcas?”
“WHY DID YOU DISAPPEAR?!”
“I got kidnapped! I told you!”
“WHY ARE YOU WEARING NETTING—”
“Sirius, breathe,” Remus muttered. “He’s going to pass out.”
“Also I have a boyfriend,” Reg said helpfully.
Dead silence.
“WHAT?!”
“I’m not joking. His name’s Jules. He’s hot. He spins me when I’m sad.”
Peter fainted.
Lily clutched Frank’s arm. “He used to be so quiet—”
Marlene pointed at him. “We need to study him.”
“I have friends now,” Reg shrugged. “Five of them. They’re not... this.” He gestured vaguely. “They like me.”
The room deflated a bit at that.
Sirius sat down, hands in his hair.
“…Reg,” he said, quieter now. “We thought you were gone. No one heard from you. Not even Evan. You just—vanished. We thought…”
He didn’t finish.
Reg smiled, soft. “I know. I’m okay. I promise.”
Marlene threw herself on a seat and pulled Mary with her. “We’re keeping him. This is now a Regulus compartment.”
“Why does he look like he’s dating a lead singer,” Fabian muttered.
“Because I am,” Reg grinned.
And for once—
They didn’t have anything clever to say.
Regulus Black was upside down.
Like, fully upside down. Feet kicked up and over the backrest of the Hogwarts Express seat, curls dangling off the edge, half of his fishnet hoodie pooled around his stomach, cat charm necklace swinging like a pendulum from his throat.
The Gryffindor compartment—once peaceful, once normal, once known for slightly loud but manageable chaos—was now a swirling vortex of screaming, gasping, yelling, and questioning everything they ever knew about Regulus Black.
“I swear to God if one more person says I look like a cursed band frontman—” Regulus pouted.
“YOU DO!” Sirius yelled, still clinging to the ceiling with both hands.
“AND HOT,” James added, wide-eyed. “WHY ARE YOU HOT—”
“WHY IS HE TALKING LIKE THIS—” Lily shouted.
“HE’S GIGGLING—” Peter cried.
“I DON’T LIKE THAT HE SMIRKS NOW,” Remus muttered, burying his face in his sleeve.
“WHAT IS HAPPENING—” came the united cry of literally everyone else.
Regulus grinned upside down at all of them, swinging his legs.
“I was kidnapped,” he announced cheerfully.
“WHAT?!” Sirius shrieked.
“Okay so technically not real kidnapped,” Reg continued, “but I didn’t know that at the time so—trauma™.”
He cleared his throat, arms flopping lazily off the seat.
“So. Get this. My parents didn’t send Kreacher to get me. Because apparently they forgot I existed now that my replacement heir act is over. So I’m walking home, right? From King’s Cross. Like a peasant.”
Sirius made a wounded noise.
“I’m dragging my trunk, Misty’s carrier, my broom, a whole fucking owl cage—”
“You don’t have an owl—”
“Still dragged it for ✨trauma aesthetic✨,” Reg shot back.
“Anyway. I’m walking through central London, like full-on city gremlin mode, and then—a car starts following me.”
Dead silence.
“I ignore it at first. Think maybe I’m just going insane from heatstroke and grief, y’know. Then it gets closer. Then—bam. All my luggage? Yeeted into the back seat with magic. I panic. I scream. Then this maniac grabs me and shoves me in the car.”
Everyone screamed.
“YOU WERE KIDNAPPED—” Alice wailed.
“SO I’M IN THE CAR—” Regulus yelled over them, “—and the guy just starts driving. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t introduce himself. Just starts rambling about house renovations and how I can paint my bedroom any colour I want.”
Fabian dropped his biscuit.
“No name. No context. Nothing. I think he’s either a pervert or a wizard serial killer. Or both. So I start kicking the driver’s seat. Like a child on a Ryanair flight. I’m screaming, WHO ARE YOU. And this idiot goes, ‘I didn’t raise you to be this twitchy.’ Like he knows me. I’m like—’how dare you.’”
Sirius’s eye twitched. “...Wait.”
“I realise it’s Uncle Alphard.”
“HE’S DEAD—” Sirius exploded.
“Faked it,” Reg cackled. “Whole funeral? Fake. Ran off. Now lives in a beachfront mansion.”
Everyone screamed again.
“I LIVE AT THE BEACH,” Reg beamed. “It’s got a porch hammock and cursed furniture and a koi pond.”
Remus groaned into his sleeve. “He’s like if a Sims expansion pack gained sentience.”
“Anyway,” Reg said dramatically, “we live in this stupid gorgeous town. It’s full of weird people. I have friends now. Like actual ones.”
He waved a hand. “Zay, Lola, Remy, Cass, Jules—he’s my boyfriend. Hot. Obsessed with me. Big arms. Smells like sin. Picks me up constantly. Called me ‘baby girl’ in public.”
“JAIL,” Gideon muttered.
“Jules also spins me when I’m sad. He dips me. He dips me like a romance novel cover. I’ve sat in his lap like ten times in the last week. We grind in public. We French kiss under lampposts. He whispers the filthiest things in my ear and then gets jealous when people flirt with me—”
“YOU’RE SEVENTEEN—” Sirius shouted.
“Chronologically,” Reg said smugly. “Emotionally I’m forty-two and on parole.”
James was crying.
“Okay but—what did you even do all summer?!” Lily demanded.
“So much,” Reg said proudly. “Like—listen—listen. Day one? Alphard gets attacked by squirrels. I mock him with a rap battle. He’s shrieking and I’m freestyling bars.”
He flipped off the seat, landed on the floor with one leg stretched and did a ridiculously complex combo of footwork and spin, ending in a shoulder pop and arm wave like a hip-hop demon.
Then rapped, effortlessly:
"Step right over and watch me put it down— S to the I to the M to the P— If you're wrestlin' a bear then you ain't got a chance— Old Uncle Alphard just rages and rants!"
Everyone screamed.
Peter was on the floor.
Lily clutched the door frame like the world was tilting.
“I’m haunted,” Marlene whispered.
“I jumped off cliffs into the ocean,” Reg said, pacing now, listing on his fingers. “Got stuck in a claw machine—still have the plush. I was gonna die for that bat. No regrets. I vomited glitter. No idea why. Alphard said it’s fine.”
“That is not fine—” Frank said, horrified.
“I took muggle summer school classes. Science, art, coding, psychology. I aced every one.”
Remus looked scandalised. “You went to school for fun—?”
“I learned drums. Alphard taught me. I’m amazing. I snuck into a cinema. Ate an entire birthday cake in twenty minutes. Took a shopping trolley down a hill—crashed into a wedding. Got paid £10 to streak across the beach with sparklers in both hands. Won.”
“I’m gonna be sick,” James whispered.
“I do dares for money. Anything. You name it. I’ve arm-wrestled a goat. I’ve kissed a cop. I’ve done so much illegal shit.”
“YOU USED TO CORRECT MY LATIN,” Sirius wailed.
“I have street cred now,” Reg giggled, flipping his hair. “My boyfriend has a knife collection and calls me his beautiful sin. I call him Sir.”
Remy choked on a jelly slug.
Reg looked around, wide-eyed and innocent. “Questions?”
No one answered.
They were too busy having simultaneous breakdowns.
Then Regulus crawled back onto the seat, flipped upside down again, and smirked at Sirius like a demon.
“Miss me?”
Sirius Black was crumbling. Publicly. Spectacularly.
He sat in the corner of the compartment like a kicked dog, jaw slack, hands limp in his lap, watching his little brother—his actual little brother—hang upside down from the train seat and snort-laugh like a possessed gremlin, arms flailing as he mimed falling out of a claw machine.
“…and then I was like, 'Let me die in here, I belong to the plushies now!' and Alphard’s outside screaming—screaming—at the shop manager while I’m curled around a bat plush the size of Remus,” Reg giggled, eyes glittering, curls swaying with every laugh.
Sirius didn’t hear a word of it.
All he could hear was everything he’d never seen.
Everything he’d missed.
His throat burned.
This—this glowing chaos sprite of a boy, dramatic and ridiculous and manic and confident and fucking alive—was Regulus?
His Regulus?
He didn’t know this person.
"Alphard says I'm his favourite now," Reg added, flipping onto his stomach and smirking at Sirius, swinging his legs behind him. "Not that you were ever competition."
Sirius twitched.
"And he's mad at you, by the way," Reg went on breezily, leaning his chin on his palms. "Like properly mad. Apparently he left everything to you under the impression you'd take me with you when you bolted—" he grinned, "Oops."
Sirius visibly paled.
James turned to look at him, eyebrows lifted.
"Wait—you knew Alphard left you shit?"
"I—" Sirius rasped, voice dry. "I didn't think—"
"Exactly," Regulus cut in. "You didn't think. You never thought about me."
The train kept rolling.
The compartment was still.
Dead quiet.
Reg sat upright now, back straight, tone softer but far more pointed.
“You left,” he said plainly. “And you never checked if I came with you.”
Sirius flinched like he'd been hit.
“You assumed I’d be fine. Or didn’t care if I wasn’t. Maybe you thought you’d come back for me eventually. Maybe you just forgot. I don’t know. But I do know that you didn’t think I mattered enough to be part of the plan.”
His voice cracked only a little at the end. He cleared his throat and smiled, bitter and bright. “It’s okay though. Alphard got me out instead. I’m his now. We’re getting matching piercings next month.”
Everyone else in the compartment was holding their breath.
Sirius looked like he’d just been punched in the gut.
“I didn’t—” he started, voice hoarse. “I thought—I thought you were one of them.”
Reg gave him a look that could flay flesh. “Yeah, because that’s easier than asking, right?”
Sirius opened his mouth. Closed it again.
No excuses. No arguments.
Just a look of dawning, awful, aching realisation.
He’d never known his little brother. Not really. Not the way Alphard clearly did. Not the way these new people—Zay, Jules, Remy, Lola, Cass—did.
He hadn’t even tried.
And now here Reg was. With glitter in his blood and metal in his face and a boyfriend who probably had a tongue piercing, talking about drum solos and dares and arcade prizes and happiness, and Sirius was just now realising—
He’d missed it all.
Missed him.
Again.
And maybe this time there was no getting him back.
The compartment door slammed open like it had been kicked.
Everyone jumped. Even Sirius jolted in his seat.
And then—
“WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?”
“BLACK, YOU BETTER ANSWER FOR YOUR CRIMES!”
“I SWEAR TO MERLIN I WILL HEX YOUR BONES—”
“I’M GOING TO PRY HIM FROM YOUR CORPSE IF YOU’VE HIDDEN HIM—”
A blur of bodies launched themselves inside. Four of them. Loud, feral, barely human with how wild their eyes were. Barty Crouch Jr., Pandora Lovegood, Dorcas Meadows, and Evan Rosier—Regulus’ absolute unholy coven—all stormed in like a hit squad on a mission, eyes blazing and wands out.
Their eyes locked on Sirius first.
And Sirius, still reeling from Reg’s earlier words, looked up at them like a deer in the wandlight.
“Where. Is. Regulus,” Barty growled, stalking forward.
“We know you did something,” Evan snarled. “You disappeared, and he disappeared, and we haven’t heard from him all summer—”
“—and if you don’t start talking in the next three seconds—”
“—we’re going to start removing your limbs alphabetically—”
“Hi guys!” Regulus called brightly, waving from where he was still half-upside-down on the seat.
Four heads snapped toward him.
Four jaws dropped.
Four wands clattered to the floor in unison.
“…Regulus?” Dorcas breathed.
Pandora blinked twice. “Is that—?”
Barty made a strangled sound. “What the fuck—”
Regulus grinned and sat upright with a flourish, tossing his curls and kicking his legs over the bench like he was presenting a game show prize.
“In the flesh,” he said smugly, “and redesigned.”
That was all it took.
“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!”
The four of them exploded.
They surged forward like a tidal wave of shrieking banshees, tackling him onto the seat in a knot of limbs and screams and sheer disbelief.
“WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO YOU—”
“YOU HAVE PIERCINGS?”
“IS YOUR HAIR RED?!”
“YOU LOOK LIKE YOU JOINED A BAND AND COMMITTED AT LEAST TWO WAR CRIMES—”
“YOU LOOK HOT—”
“OH MY GOD, WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS—”
“I love it. I’m obsessed. I want to die.”
“Do you smell like muggle cologne—?”
“I’m licking you.”
“Please don’t,” Reg laughed, squeaking as Dorcas practically climbed him.
He was swarmed, entirely buried under his chaos cult, each of them grabbing his cheeks and poking at his jacket and twisting at his curls and shrieking as they tried to count how many piercings he had without being slapped.
“Who gave you this makeover?” Pandora cried, poking at the earrings.
“Was it a fairy? A demon? Jesus Christ himself?”
Reg giggled. “I got kidnapped by my uncle and now I have a boyfriend.”
That only made it worse.
“WHAT—”
“YOU HAVE A WHAT—”
“WHO?!”
Sirius, from his seat in the corner, looked like he was going to pass out.
Barty turned slowly, murder in his eyes. “If you let someone break him, I will break you—”
“No no no no no,” Reg cut in, waving his arms. “He’s great, I promise. He’s hot, he’s tall, he buys me things, he lets me ride him—”
“ON HIS BACK,” he added quickly, as the others shrieked louder.
Pandora was crying.
Evan was clapping like he’d just seen a Broadway show.
Dorcas had fallen into Reg’s lap and was making very specific plans about what she would do if this mysterious boyfriend ever hurt him.
Barty looked like he needed to pace or combust.
Reg grinned, sitting smugly in the middle of the chaos like a crowned gremlin, arms draped over the others as he giggled and let them go feral.
Fred and George Weasley apologizing? Shocking, I know. But even the best pranksters have to face the consequences sometimes—especially when Molly Weasley and Professor McGonagall are involved!
Here are two formal (and completely sincere, of course) apologies from the twins for their thoughtful gift to Ginny. Let me know what you think—would you accept their apologies, or would they still be in trouble?
Also, if you have any other prank-related apology ideas, drop them in the comments! I’d love to write more of these.
