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Regulus Black sat alone in the courtyard in his Quidditch kit, knees bent, broom laid across the flagstones beside him like something that had been dropped rather than set down.
His hair was still windswept from practice. His gloves were still on. His green-and-silver training robes were creased at the elbows, one shoulder smeared faintly with grass, and his boots were planted unevenly against the stone as if he’d stopped walking halfway through the thought of going anywhere else.
He hadn’t gone to get changed.
He hadn’t gone back inside.
He had simply found a quiet corner of the courtyard, tucked himself against the cold stone wall, and stared down at nothing.
Across from him, not nearly as alone as he thought he was, Mary Macdonald sat with her Arithmancy homework open on her lap.
She had been there first.
This was important.
Mary had not followed him.
Mary had not seen Regulus Black looking miserable after Quidditch practice and decided to place herself directly in his path like a trap with nice hair and a school bag full of ink-stained parchment.
She had already been sitting there.
Obviously.
Completely innocent.
A coincidence.
A blessing, possibly.
Mary looked down at the page on her lap, then back up at him.
Regulus hadn’t noticed her.
That was fine.
That gave her time to stare.
Only a little.
Respectfully.
Mostly.
He looked awful, which was terrible because he also looked unfairly pretty, which was deeply inconvenient. His mouth was set in a small unhappy line. His cheeks were flushed from flying. His hands were curled loosely around nothing, thumbs rubbing against the seams of his gloves.
Mary had been into him for ages.
Ages.
An embarrassing amount of ages.
She’d tried everything, in the subtle, dignified, completely normal way of a girl who had once walked past him six times in the library before realising she had forgotten to actually speak. She’d tried smiling. She’d tried asking Sirius extremely casual questions about his brother and then pretending she didn’t care about the answer. She’d tried being around when Regulus was around. She’d tried making herself appear approachable, clever, funny, not too eager, interested but not desperate, normal but memorable.
Unfortunately, Regulus had been dating someone else.
Which was inconsiderate of him, really.
Mary shifted slightly across the bench.
Regulus didn’t look up.
She shifted again.
Still nothing.
She moved a little closer, Arithmancy parchment sliding over her knees.
Regulus remained hunched forward, looking down at the stone.
Mary inhaled.
This was fine.
This was her moment.
Not a big moment. Not dramatic. Not weird. Just a casual greeting from his brother’s friend, who happened to be nearby, who happened to have homework, who happened to care very much about the emotional state of Regulus Black’s face.
She scooted closer one more time, until she was sitting beside him.
“Hi.”
Regulus jolted so hard his shoulder hit the wall.
Mary froze.
Regulus turned his head, eyes wide for half a second, then recognised her.
“Oh,” he said, hand pressed briefly against his chest. “Mary.”
“Sorry,” Mary said quickly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t.”
“You absolutely jumped.”
“I was thinking.”
“You thought so hard your entire body left the earth.”
Regulus blinked at her.
Then, despite himself, the corner of his mouth twitched.
Mary’s stomach did something deeply stupid.
He looked away again, but he didn’t move. He didn’t tell her to go. He didn’t seem annoyed. If anything, once the surprise faded, he settled again like her presence was acceptable.
She was one of Sirius’s friends.
Apparently, that made her safe.
Mary accepted this position with grace, dignity, and a screaming inner monologue.
“You all right?” she asked, softer this time.
Regulus looked down at his gloves.
“I’m fine.”
Mary looked at him.
Regulus looked at the flagstones.
A leaf skittered across the courtyard between them.
Mary’s Arithmancy parchment shifted in the breeze.
“You look,” she said carefully, “very fine.”
He huffed.
It wasn’t quite a laugh.
It was close enough that Mary nearly wrote a thank-you letter to the leaf.
“I’m not,” he said after a moment.
Mary’s fingers tightened around the edge of her parchment.
“What happened?”
Regulus was quiet for long enough that she thought he might not answer.
Then he said, “My girlfriend broke up with me.”
Mary’s entire soul shot upward like a firework.
She grinned.
She clapped both hands silently over her own mouth.
Then she punched the air once, twice, violently, triumphantly, with her Arithmancy notes bouncing on her lap.
Regulus turned his head.
Mary snapped perfectly still.
Her hands dropped.
Her face became a picture of solemn compassion so fast it was almost a medical event.
Regulus frowned slightly.
Mary blinked at him with huge sympathetic eyes.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Regulus said.
He hadn’t seen.
Mary’s heart galloped.
She nodded gravely, as though she had not just celebrated the collapse of someone’s relationship three inches away from him.
“That’s awful,” she said.
“It’s not awful,” Regulus said, too quickly. “It’s— it’s fine. It’s probably for the best.”
Mary watched his face.
His mouth did that little tight thing again.
“It doesn’t look fine,” she said.
Regulus sighed.
For a moment, he looked younger than he usually did. Not small, exactly, because Regulus Black never looked small even when he was sitting curled in on himself in muddy Quidditch kit, but quieter. Less sharp around the edges.
“It’s all on me,” he said.
Mary’s expression softened.
Regulus stared at the courtyard like it had personally disappointed him. “With her I tried to be somebody cool.”
“You’re already cool,” Mary said instantly.
Regulus turned to her.
Mary’s face heated.
He stared for half a second, caught off guard.
“Um,” he said, chuckling awkwardly. “Thanks.”
Mary nodded as if this had been casual and not a confession dragged behind a cart.
Regulus looked away again, but his shoulders had loosened a fraction.
Mary noticed.
Mary noticed everything.
“That’s love, I guess,” Regulus said, still watching the ground. “You try hard to impress but end up acting like a tool.”
“You’re not a tool,” Mary said.
He gave her a look.
Mary considered.
“All right,” she said, “you’re not always a tool.”
That earned another almost-laugh.
Mary treasured it privately and immediately.
Regulus rubbed at his forehead with the back of one gloved hand. “I find the whole thing so frustrating.”
“It sounds frustrating,” Mary said.
“It is.”
“Then vent.”
He glanced at her.
Mary lifted her Arithmancy homework slightly. “I’m already failing this, so my evening can’t get much worse.”
“You’re not failing.”
“You haven’t seen the numbers.”
“Numbers don’t attack people.”
“These ones do.”
Regulus looked at the parchment despite himself.
Mary angled it slightly away before he could get too interested.
Not yet.
First, heartbreak.
Then, scheme.
Regulus exhaled. “I don’t know. I just thought if I was… different, maybe it would work. Better. I kept trying to say the right thing and do the right thing and be more interesting and less—”
He stopped.
Mary leaned in before she could stop herself. “Less what?”
His ears had gone faintly pink.
“Me,” he said.
Mary’s chest squeezed.
Then she remembered this was her chance and tried not to look too delighted about being emotionally useful.
“That’s stupid,” she said.
Regulus looked at her sharply.
Mary winced. “Not you. The idea. The idea is stupid. You’re already— you know.”
“No.”
“You are.”
“No,” he repeated, but quieter.
Mary looked at him for a second, then very deliberately softened her voice.
“You shouldn’t have to become somebody else just to make someone like you.”
Regulus swallowed.
Mary immediately panicked at the sincerity of herself and looked down at her homework.
The ink was still there.
The numbers were still dreadful.
Her crush was still sitting beside her, newly single.
The world was, briefly, spectacular.
Regulus leaned back against the wall, his head tilting up. “So, I’m swearing off of dating.”
Mary’s smile died.
“Shit...”
Regulus turned his head.
Mary coughed.
“I mean,” she said quickly, “shit, that’s… bold.”
“Is it?”
“Very. Dramatic, even.”
“I’m not being dramatic.”
“You’re sitting alone in a courtyard in your Quidditch kit making declarations.”
Regulus glanced down at himself.
Then at the broom beside him.
Then at Mary.
“That’s not dramatic.”
“It’s at least theatrical.”
“I’m not dating anymore,” he said.
Mary stared at him.
This was not the plan.
This was the opposite of the plan.
The plan, if she’d had one before this exact second, had been something like: comfort him, be charming, be funny, become irresistible, marry later, possibly after NEWTs.
Not: Regulus Black renounces love beneath a courtyard wall while Mary’s Arithmancy homework lies between them like a useless witness.
He looked back down at his hands. “I just get…”
Mary, without meaning to, said at the exact same time, “Stupid with love.”
They both stopped.
Regulus blinked.
Mary blinked back.
He tilted his head. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You said it too.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You did.”
Mary looked at the parchment on her lap. “Must’ve been the numbers.”
“The numbers said stupid with love?”
“They’re very aggressive.”
Regulus watched her for another second, then gave a small, startled laugh.
Mary nearly ascended.
He shook his head, still smiling faintly despite himself. “I just don’t get it.”
Mary’s smile turned helpless. “I’ll never get it.”
Regulus frowned. “I just don’t get it.”
“I’ll never get it,” Mary said again, softer this time, because apparently her mouth had decided subtlety was dead.
Regulus stared at her.
Mary stared back.
Somehow, together, quiet and baffled and too close on the bench, they both said, “Somehow?”
The word hung there.
Mary’s heart battered itself against her ribs.
Regulus looked away first. “All I get is stupid with love.”
Mary folded one hand over the edge of her Arithmancy parchment so she wouldn’t do something insane like touch his sleeve.
Regulus said, “I just don’t get it.”
Mary looked down at the work in her lap.
“I’ll never get it,” she said.
Regulus paused.
He turned back to her. “You’ll never get what?”
Mary’s brain emptied.
Completely.
She looked at him.
She looked down.
She looked at the page.
She looked back up.
“What? Umm...” She grabbed the parchment and held it up like evidence. “This problem. I do not get any of this.”
Regulus’s gaze dropped to the page.
Mary watched his face.
His expression changed almost immediately, the heartbreak loosening into focus.
He leaned closer.
Mary tried not to look too thrilled.
“That’s not as bad as it looks,” he said.
“It looks like a curse.”
“It’s Arithmancy.”
“Exactly.”
He took the parchment carefully, gloved fingers brushing the edge where hers had been. “It’s a factorial, you multiply it.”
Mary stared at him.
He pointed at the mark on the page. “See? This here. It means you multiply the number by every whole number below it until you get to one.”
Mary was absolutely not listening to the maths.
She was listening to his voice.
She was watching the way his brow furrowed when he explained something, the way his hair fell forward slightly, the way he forgot to be upset when he had something useful to do.
“Ooh,” she said, far too warmly. “Thanks.”
Regulus glanced up.
Mary smiled at him.
“You’re so smart,” she added, and then immediately wished the stones would split open and swallow her whole.
Regulus went pink again.
Only a little.
Enough.
“It’s just multiplication,” he said.
“It’s smart multiplication.”
“That isn’t a thing.”
“It is when you do it.”
Regulus gave her another look, but this one was less suspicious.
More confused.
More shy.
Mary placed that look carefully into the private locked box in her mind labelled Evidence He Might One Day Like Me If I Don’t Ruin This.
He explained the next part of the problem, slower this time. Mary nodded at all the right moments, though she understood less than she should have and cared more about the fact that he had shifted closer without seeming to realise it.
His shoulder nearly touched hers.
Mary kept her face composed.
Inside, she was sprinting laps around the courtyard.
“So this becomes that,” Regulus said, tapping the parchment, “then you simplify here. You don’t need to overthink it.”
“I overthink everything.”
“I noticed.”
Mary gasped. “Rude.”
“You just turned a multiplication problem into a personal crisis.”
“It attacked me first.”
“It didn’t.”
“It looked at me funny.”
Regulus laughed properly that time.
Brief.
Quiet.
Beautiful.
Mary sat very still, like sudden movements might scare it away.
Then Regulus checked the courtyard clock and straightened.
“I have to go.”
Mary’s stomach dropped. “Oh.”
“I need to get changed before my next lesson.”
“Right. Yeah. Course.”
He gathered his broom and stood, then hesitated.
Mary looked up at him from the bench, homework still open across her lap, heart doing something frankly humiliating.
“Thanks,” Regulus said.
Mary blinked.
“For what?”
He shifted the broom under his arm. “Sitting with me.”
Her mouth went dry.
“Oh,” she said. “Yeah. Anytime.”
Regulus nodded once, awkward but genuine, then handed her parchment back.
“And the problem’s fine now.”
“Because of you.”
“It’s multiplication.”
“Smart multiplication,” Mary said.
He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling when he turned away.
Mary watched him cross the courtyard, Quidditch robes moving around his legs, broom tucked under his arm, still a little muddy, still a little sad, but lighter than he’d been when he sat down.
He disappeared through the archway.
Mary remained utterly still.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Then she slowly looked down at the Arithmancy homework on her lap.
Her eyes widened.
Her grin came back all at once.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
She had a plan.
It was a terrible plan.
It was a brilliant plan.
It was the only plan.
Mary Macdonald, who had been trying to be charming and approachable and clever for months, had finally discovered the sacred truth.
Regulus Black liked explaining things.
Regulus Black liked being useful.
Regulus Black got soft when someone needed him.
Mary held the parchment to her chest like it had given her prophecy.
“Stupid with love,” she said, almost breathless. “But now I get it.”
She looked towards the archway where he’d gone.
“Look who finally found a way.”
Then she looked back down at the problem.
It was still mostly nonsense.
Perfect.
“Acting dumb times x equals love.”
Mary leaned back against the bench, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt.
“October third,” she said, savouring it.
The courtyard was empty now except for her, her homework, and the beginning of a scheme.
last year i hosted a hwei skin collab on twitter and these were the two i did, heartseeker and shan hai scrolls! i had so much fun developing them, and i really want to write something still for heartseeker…
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
