#microfic!!

For the record, Merlin is not eavesdropping. He just happens to be standing around the corner from where Arthur and Agravaine are arguing. It’s not his fault that Agravaine decided to accost Arthur in the middle of the corridor, after all.

“Sire,” Agravaine is saying imploringly, “you cannot be seen taking counsel from a servant. People will talk.”

It’s all Merlin can do to keep his magic from lashing out and making Agravaine fall flat on his smarmy face. Arthur and Merlin have been Arthur-and-Merlin to the people of the citadel for years; any talk that there ever was about them has long since died out. The fact the Agravaine knows this and is still using his silver tongue to try and drive the two of them apart makes something furious burn in Merlin’s chest– not just because it will make it even harder to make Arthur see sense about his uncle’s treachery, but because losing the intimate, human part of Arthur he’s been trusted with for all these years is unthinkable.

Merlin has given everything to stay by Arthur’s side. He won’t let anyone, much less Agravaine, strip that from him.

Before he can concoct some reason to interrupt, Arthur is responding.

“It surprised me as well, Uncle, but Merlin does give wise counsel,” he says. “He has yet to steer me wrong.”

The praise warms Merlin from the inside out. Agravaine, however, is adamant.

“Nonetheless, it’s hardly proper. What would the people say if they realized how dependent you are upon a farm boy from Cenred’s kingdom? What would Camelot’s enemies and allies think? It pains me to be so blunt, but it makes you look weak, My Lord.”

“Then who might I seek counsel from?” Arthur says, clearly impatient and annoyed.

Agravaine’s tone is horribly logical. “From your advisors, Sire, from your Queen, whenever you find her, and until then— and after, of course— myself.”

“I understand,” Arthur says, clearly considering, and a pit in Merlin’s stomach opens.

“YOU ARE THE DANCING QUEEN! YOUNG AND SWEET, ONLY SEVENTEEEEN!”

Regulus stood in his living room doorway watching his husband, brother and brother-in-law dancing around the room, screaming along to Abba at the top of their lungs and pointing their wands in the air, shooting confetti and streamers everywhere, much to Regulus’ chagrin.

Regulus shook his head and stepped into the room, moving over to the record player and turning the volume down.

“Oi!” Sirius shouted at him.

“Don't you oi me, Sirius Black, this is my bloody house.” Regulus replied with no real venom, hands going to his hips. “And if you think I'm going to be the one cleaning up this mess, you've got another thing coming.”

Sirius stuck his tongue out at him, and Remus elbowed him.

“Come on, love!” James cooed at him. “We're just celebrating!”

“Celebrating what?” Regulus quirked an eyebrow.

“Me, apparently.” Came a groan from the sofa.

Regulus looked over to see his son, with his head buried in the sofa cushions and one of them pulled over his head.

“Ah,” Regulus grinned, then turned back to James. “And why are you tormenting our son with Abba? A full week before his birthday I might add.”

All three men gasped and their jaws dropped.

“Tormenting?” James questioned, his hand flung across his chest.

“This, Reggie,” Sirius spun around and picked up the records case before turning back to Regulus. “Is classic music!”

“A right of passage!” Remus joined in, grinning.

Regulus scoffed and moved over to pull the cushion from his son's head.

“Come on, Harry. Let's get you out of here before you're tormented,” Regulus stressed the word. “Any further.”

Harry jumped up and fled the room. “Thanks Pops!” He shouted.

As Regulus followed him out, he was accompanied by loud booing.

The booing didn't last long, though, as the volume was turned back up on the record player and there was a lot of “ah ha”-ing happening, as the next song played.

Regulus huffed and rolled his eyes. There was just no accounting for what some people classed as classic music.

@into-the-jeggyverse

prompt: plane

They caught the first flight that they possibly could, yet it seems the world is against them; Lily Evans has gone into labour.

Now, why pray tell is Regulus Black rushing across the country so his boyfriend can be there whilst his ex-girlfriend gives birth to his baby? Well, this is what one would call beautifully complicated irony.

It started in their second year of university. Both James and Regulus’s friend groups had gone to school together, yet the only time they ever merged was for Dorcas and Marlene, so they didn’t have much to do with each other until uni, when everyone got mixed around for their different courses and classes.

During that time, James and Lily had been dating; however, when James got to know Regulus, and Lily met Pandora. The rest was history.

No one could deny James and Lily’s deep love for one another, but it turned out to be a bond more of best friends who understood each other better than anyone, and despite their breakup, that never changed. They still hung out almost all the time, a fact which took some time for Regulus and Pandora to get used to, but things were never awkward.

Until Lily found out she was pregnant.

James and Lily both agreed they’d raise the child not only as co-parents but as friends.

Regulus could tell how excited James was to be a dad, but Regulus himself was having a hard time coming around. From the beginning, James made clear that it was his choice how little or much Regulus was involved in the baby’s life, but he knew realistically that being with James would mean being around this child and being someone for them to look up to.

The thought of being a parent-like figure terrified Regulus as he didn’t exactly have the best role models. What if she screwed this kid up? Not only would James hate him, but he’s also just continued a seemingly endless cycle.

Fast forward to today, where James and Regulus are on their second delayed flight for the day, praying that they’d make it in time, with Regulus’s thoughts still swirling. On the bright side, he could blame his nausea on the turbulence.

They got to the hospital with mere minutes to spare, where Lily gave birth to a boy.

Harry Evans-Potter

Regulus entered the room a few hours later after everything had calmed down. Pandora had already been there, of course, fussing over Lily, gone off to get food. James was in a chair next to her, holding a little bundle of blankets with a look of pure adoration in his eyes.

“Hey love,” James greeted softly.

Regulus gave him a smile and looked down at the little face in his arms. He was a mini James with Lily’s eyes; he was adorable.

“Would you like to hold him?” James asked, lifting Harry towards Regulus.

“I uh,” Regulus stammered but looked into his boyfriend’s eyes. James wanted him to bond with his son, “Alright.”

James carefully placed little Harry into Regulus’ arms; Regulus made sure to support his head and sat down next to James.

“You’re a natural,” Lily said softly as she’d clearly been watching the interaction.

“Yeah, I read a bit, you know, just in case,” Regulus replied slightly embarrassed.

“You read?” James asked.

“Of course.”

James and Lily shared a look, then Lily sat up higher, evidently preparing a previously discussed question.

“I— well, we, but it was my idea,” Lily shot James a look. “Well, on a birth certificate, you’re able to add more than two legal guardians. We were wondering if you’d want to be on Harry’s birth certificate?”

Regulus was stunned. They wanted him to have legal authority over their child? Given everything he’s been through?

James, of course, knew exactly what was going through his mind. “You won’t be like them,” he said softly.

Regulus looked down at the tiny human in his arms, fast asleep, and he knew that he’d burn the world if anyone ever hurt him.

James practically skipped through the portrait hole, narrowly avoiding a collision with two second years on their way down to dinner. The common room was comfortably lit with dozens of candles and the fireplace fully blazing. James gave a possibly too enthusiastic wave at the few of his fellow sixth years that lounged across the plush red velvet couches, as they noticed him burst into the common room.

“Prongs, mate, dim your sparkle a bit. There’s a Slytherin present, she’ll probably faint,” Sirius called out from where he was fully sprawled across the loveseat nearest the fireplace, Remus sat under his legs, one of his own propped up on a footrest with a pillow cushioning his ankle.

“Ha-ha,” Dorcas rolled her eyes from where she sat slumped with Marlene, letting her girlfriend play with her ring-clad fingers.

Marlene grinned up at James as he moved past to collapse down next to Peter, “I take it operation Swoon Baby Black was somewhat successful today?” She asked, ignoring the way Dorcas flicked her nose at the use of the nickname that Regulus was known to hate.

Sirius gave a light-hearted groan from his seat, which James pointedly ignored.

“He only threatened to curse me once while I walked him to the library to grab some books!” James decided to not mention that it was less walking Regulus there and more of a tag along and hope he’s distracted enough to not tell me to leave kind of thing. Semantics.

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“You’re telling me,” Arthur says, staring at the frog cupped in Leon’s hands, “that that… is Merlin.”

Leon’s expression doesn’t falter. “Yes, Sire.”

The frog— Merlin— ribbits in agreement, somehow managing to sound unimpressed. Who knew that frogs could be so expressive?

“And how, exactly, did my manservant get turned into a frog?”

The knights squirm under Arthur’s gaze— except for Gwaine, because Gwaine is an idiot and, like Merlin, hasn’t yet figured out that Arthur’s title demands some respect. Unlike Merin, Gwaine’s obstinance is far less endearing.

“There was a sorceress,” Gwaine says, unbothered.

Arthur fights the urge to bash him over the head. It’s bad enough that he let Merlin get turned into an amphibian; it’s even worse that he doesn’t care. Gwaine, he decides, is on evening watch for a month, no, a year.

“Unfortunately,” Gwaine continues, while Arthur glares daggers at him, “Merlin is a bit greener than usual. But, the sorceress did tell us how to fix him.”

Arthur glances at the other knights for confirmation.

“She did,” Leon agrees, while Elyan, Lancelot, and Percival all nod beside him.

Arthur almost demands to know why they haven’t done it already, then— but the knights love Merlin; if they could have fixed him already, they would have. There must be something about the cure that made them hesitate— magic? A quest? Whatever it is, Arthur will grant it.

It used to scare him, how he’d do anything for Merlin. Now, it’s a simple fact of life. Arthur would burn the world to the ground if it kept Merlin safe.

“What is it?” he asks, dreading the worst.

“He needs a prince to kiss him,” Leon says.

The dragon, gold as the one on the Pendragon crest and the size of one of the castle’s mousers, glares at Merlin.

Merlin cannot stop laughing.

Somehow, the dragon manages to glare even harder. Which only cracks Merlin up more.

“I’m sorry,” the dragon— Arthur— says, sarcastic, “I wasn’t aware that this was funny, Merlin.”

Merlin presses his lips together, trying to control his laughter. “Well. It’s maybe a little funny.”

“I will put you in the stocks,” Arthur threatens. He’s sort of adorable like this, even as a bit of smoke starts to rise from his snout.

“Of course, Sire. And you’ll be doing that with… what opposable thumbs?”

It’s a mark of how well Merlin knows Arthur that he can read the expression on Arthur’s now reptilian face: So Done.

“Perhaps we should keep you like this,” Merlin muses, looking Arthur over. He decides that Arthur isn’t just sort of adorable as a dragon— he’s properly adorable. “Gwen could make you some tiny dragon clothes—“

Arthur bristles, wings flaring. “Absolutely not. In case it escaped your mind, I am the king of Camelot—“

“We could get you a tiny crown,” Merlin offers. He snorts at the image.

Arthur just glares.

“Alright, fine,” Merlin says, rolling his eyes with something that’s meant to be exasperated but comes across more fondly than anything. “We’ll find a way to change you back.”

Arthur accepts the arm that Merlin offers for him to scramble up, and settles on Merlin’s shoulder. It takes Merlin a moment to get used to the sensation— claws dig into his tunic, not enough to hurt but enough to keep Arthur’s now little body secure, and he’s significantly heavier than he looks. He’s also quite warm, like he’s been lying in the sun all day.

“You know,” Merlin says conversationally as they start back towards the citadel, “this isn’t nearly as bad as the donkey ears.”

Arthur’s breath puffs, short and warm against Merlin’s neck. “Merlin?”

“Yes?”