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summary: keeping two secrets at once didn't seem like a hard task. barty kept you and regulus under wraps, and the other secret? it was unravelling in him in an all-consuming way he cant avoid; and thought the penny still hadn't dropped for you. regulus saw right through him.
a/n:this is turning out more slowburn than i expected itching to write the next parts heheheh
What Barty lacked in tact and aptitude he made up for in loyalty and devotion.
Because he truly was a devoted friend, to both you and Regulusâloyal to a fault infact, even when he pretended not to be. And while he did banter that it comes at the low, low price of frequent trips to Honeydukes and occasional ego-fluffing, the truth was: he didnât need to be bought. Not by you. Not by Regulus.
Which is why, despite discovering the two of you tangled up in Regulusâ bed with no room for misinterpretation, he didnât say a word to anyone. He didnât need to be told to know that the recent developments between you and Regulus were to be kept exclusively between the three of you.
The next morning was telling enough, when you silently settled into your usual place at the dining tableâbeside Pandora and Regulus stayed at the far end, comfortable opposite him, buttering his toast composed as ever. But he didnât miss the way Regulusâ eyes linger on you for a moment when he tucked himself into the bench, or how they helplessly flickered to you whenever you laughed at something Evan said.
Catching on to the minute touches you granted Regulus when you left the table early, fingertips hidden under your robes as you glided past him, just barely skimming across his arm, or how you would perk up slightly whenever Regulusâ voice rung lowly through the Ancient Runes classroomâpaying extra attention to his careful tone.
Barty didnât say it, but he noticed everything.
Because Barty was good with secretsâHeâd carry them like crown jewels.
He even had a small one of his own brewing.
It was a lazy sort of eveningâthe kind where the light filtered through the windows in hazy streaks and time didnât seem to press down so hard. You were in the boysâ dorm, perched in your usual spot: stretched halfway across Bartyâs bed, legs tangled over the edge, head propped up on a pillow youâd stolen ages ago and never returned.
He sat cross-legged beside you, flipping through some half-finished notes, though he hadnât turned a page in at least ten minutes. Instead, heâd tilted toward you slightly, cheek resting on his fist, watching the way your fingers absentmindedly threaded through his tufts.
It wasnât new, really. Casual touches had always been your language with Barty. You ruffled his hair when he was being smug, smacked his arm when he teased you, leaned against him when you were tired. It was natural, familiar.
But the way he was looking at you nowâquietly, fondly, like you were made of something softer than the world deservedâyou didnât notice.
You rarely did.
âRegulus is going to combust when he walks in,â Barty murmured, lips quirking faintly.
You didnât even glance up. âWhy?â
He shrugged. âBecause youâre you.â
Before you could answer, with a dramatic roll of your eyes, the door creaked open behind you.
Speak of the devil.
Regulus stepped in, shirt slightly damp with sweat and sleeves rolled up, hair a bit disheveled like heâd run a hand through it a few times on the way back. His bag slung low over one shoulder before he let it drop to the floor with a thud.
âWell, well,â Barty said with that unmistakable glint in his eye, âlook whoâs returned from war.â
Regulus didnât rise to the bait, just shot him a look as he moved to the other side of the room, unbuttoning his cuffs with precise fingers.
Bartyâs gaze slid over him with playful deliberation. âDidnât know you glistened, Black. I feel like I should be offended no one warned me.â
Regulus ignored him, unsurprised.
But his eyes drifted, just for a second, over to where you were sprawled across the bedâcompletely unbothered, still playing with Bartyâs hair like you didnât even realise you were doing it.
Regulus noticed. Of course he did.
The ease of your touch, the way your hand curled lazily in the soft brown curls near Bartyâs temple, the way Barty leaned into it slightlyâeyes half-lidded, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And the worst part?
The look Barty gave you, when he thought no one else was watching. Unapologetic. Unfairly fond.
It was obvious to everyone. Everyone but you.
Regulus didnât say anything, but when Barty looked back up at him, he was met with one raised brow.
Barty smirked.
Then sighed, long and dramatic, as he shifted upright on the bed. âHonestly, Reg,â he muttered, stretching his arms above his head, âyou really ought to learn how to share. I was here first, you know. Sheâs been my friend sinceââ
âSince you failed to con me into writing your essays?â you interjected, still not lifting your head.
He waved a hand. âDetails.â
You groaned as Barty moved, your hand falling away from his hair with a grumble. âYou were warm.â Barty gave you a faux-apologetic look.
âI know. Iâm perfect. Itâs a curse.â
âWhatâs the problem then, J?â you muttered lazily, stretching like a cat.
He only nodded his head toward Regulus.
And just like that, your whole face lit up.
Pushing yourself up in a heartbeat, a slow, sly grin crawling across your lips. âWell, well, wellâŚâ you said in a sing-song, teasing tone, hopping off the bed and padding toward Regulus, who immediately straightened up, gaze sharpening.
Unknowingly, parrotting Barty.
Your eyes flicked over himâhis rumpled hair, the damp collar of his shirt, the flushed look lingering on his cheekbones. You let out a low, appreciative whistle.
âDidnât anyone ever teach you to knock me out before you walk around looking like that?â you murmured, all candied mischief. Leaning in close, one hand brushing lightly up his arm as you rose onto your toes, lips ghosing against the his jaw on the way up, whispering into his ear.
It had immediate effect.
Regulus flushed. Like someone had set a match to the base of his throat and let it crawl up slowly toward his earsâfrozen, standing there with his shirt clinging to his chest and his lips parted like heâd forgotten how to breathe. His entire expression was somewhere between awe and absolute crisis.
âNext time you want to sweat like this, I have a feeling Iâll be able to help with that.â
You pulled back, utterly delighted with yourself, smile too sweet to be innocentâbefore he could respondâa smug undertone to your deceiving light expression, eyes glinting like youâd just cast a spell that only he could feel. Which, to be fairâyou had.
Humming quietly to yourself as you turned on your heelâgrabbing your bag from beside Bartyâs bed, and skipped out of the room like youâd done nothing more than offer a weather update.
Whispered straight into his bloodstream and just walked away smiling.
The door clicked shut behind you.
Regulus stayed planted where he was.
Across the room, Barty flopped backward onto his bed again with an exhausted groan, flinging an arm over his eyes. âMerlinâs balls, I need a drink.â
It was fine at first.
But morning after morning, day after day, *week after weekâ*it was getting harder and harder for Regulus to keep a bottle on himself. He was trying so hard to be discrete.
But he wasnât very good at pretending.
He found himself looking for you in every corridorâeyes flicking up automatically whenever laughter echoed ahead. He lingered by doorways longer than necessary, shoulders tensing the moment your voice drifted out of a classroom.
He stuck close, sometimes without realising it. A shadow trailing behind, just out of sight but never far. At meals. In common spaces. During shared patrols. It was almost embarrassing.
Almost.
Because you didnât seem to notice.
Or if you did, you didnât let on.
You were maddeningly unaffectedâfloating through your days with your usual rhythm: charming and unbothered, joking with Evan, flicking ink stains off your notes, sharing your scarf with Dorcas in the chilly corridors, and once, falling asleep in the common room with your legs draped across Bartyâs lap like it was nothing. Like Regulus wasnât trying very hard not to combust in public.
Like you didnât spend most evenings together in the confines of his four pillar-curtained bed, sharing lingering touches, whispers, glancesâthings that didn't belong to the outside world.
There were lines, invisible but firm, that neither of you crossed outside the sanctuary of shadows. A glance too long could mean a rumor. A touch too light could start a wildfire.
And it was starting to grate on him.
Hated the way he had to steel himself every time your hand brushed his in passing, hated pretending your teasing didnât undo him thread by thread. You were so casual about itâbold, insufferably charming, the very picture of unbothered. Like you hadnât spent the previous night tangled up in his sheets with your fingers pressed into the nape of his neck and his lips mapping out constellations against your throat.
Like you werenât his.
And yet, in the corridors, in the classroom, in the halls where words echoed and eyes lingeredâhe had to keep his distance. He couldnât give himself away.
Not yet.
He told himself it was fine. That this secrecy was necessary, that he didnât mind. But then you'd do somethingâlike pause beside him at the common room just to trail your fingers across his shoulder with faux-innocent mischiefâor catch his gaze across the courtyard and bite back a smile, and it would wreck him.
He wanted to be next to you. Always. Not just at night. Not just behind closed curtains or locked doors.
Youâd caught him in the library, quiet and golden-lit under the sparse candles, the smell of old parchment lingering in the air. He was tucked well away into one of the dark empty corner that no one else ever went near with a stack of dense tomes, hoping to distract himself with some heavy reading. Movements like still water, imperceivableâhe hadnât seen you enter, hadnât heard your footsteps, but thenâ
You were just there.
Sliding into the narrow alcove beside him with that familiar glint in your eyes, a whisper of jasmine trailing after you. His breath caught before you even said a word.
Your hands found his collar firstâfingers curling into the soft fabric, pulling him in as you leaned forward. He barely managed a startled noise before your mouth found his, plush and eager and so deeply familiar it punched the air from his lungs. Kissing him with a delicate vigour, like you had every right toâlike you were claiming him all over again, and Merlin help him, he let you.
He gripped the edge of the table like it could anchor him, heart hammering wildly as your lips brushed down to the corner of his mouth, then along the curve of his jaw, peppering kiss after kiss like a spell cast only for him.
Breathing your name like a prayer.
âSomeone couldââ he whispered hoarsely, even as his hand found your waist. âSomeone could see.â
Your only response was another kiss. Then another. His restraint frayed with each one, chasing your lips with his for moreâ
It was whiplashing the way youâd tempt and then pulled back, smile honey-sweet and cruel with mischief.
âBye, Reggie,â you whispered, and then you were goneâvanishing around the corner with a bounce in your step, leaving Regulus flushed and dazed, chest heaving.
He blinked. Ran a hand through his hair with a sharp exhale.
âFucking hell,â he muttered under his breath, eyes flicking toward the exit like you might reappear.
You didnâtâNot until the evening in his dorm.
Moonlight was casting small pale ribbons of shadow across the dungeon floors, the room was quiet, just the two of you, enjoying your momentary slither of privacy with each other. Pressed against Regulus, your hands warm against the bare skin of his chest, your mouth finding his again and again like you were starving for him. Like he was the only air you needed.
He kissed you like you were a secret he never wanted to shareâfingers tangled in your hair, other hand at the small of your back, pulling you closer. He couldnât get enough.
Didnât want to.
And for once, there was no hiding. No room for restraint. You were curled up on his bed, tangled in his sheets, soft gasps and laughter muffled into each otherâs mouths.
His lips brushed your throat, then your cheek, then your temple.
âYouâre going to be the death of me,â he whispered into your skin.
âThen Iâll die with you.â smiling against him.
It was perfect. Warm. Safe.
Until the door creaked open, you both froze.
Barty.
He didnât say anything, didnât stumble or act surprisedâjust stood there in the threshold for a moment, eyes unreadable, lips twitching into something that tried to be amusement, respectfully averting his gaze as the door shut behind him with a soft click.
âMerlin,â he drawled, voice light, âI swear if I walk in on you two one more time, Iâm going to start charging admission.â
You laughed, easy and unbothered, slipping off the bed as if nothing had happened. Regulus sat up slower, watching you grab your wand and stretch with that infuriatingly charming grin.
âI should head down, two rolls of parchment on the effects of Stinksap wonât write itself,â words accompanied with a heavy sigh.
You leaned over, pressed a lingering kiss to Regulusâ jawâtoo long for propriety, too short for satisfactionâbefore slipping past Barty with a pat to his shoulder.
âSee you at breakfast, Junior,â you called over your shoulder.
The dull click of the door was the last sound in the room for a while, Regulusâ fingertips ghosted over where you lips had been, resting at his jaw, eyes fixed on it for a moment too long. Then looked back at Barty as he flopped onto his bed without a word, arm flung onto his forehead like usual. But the rhythm of his thoughts was different now. Louder.
And what Regulus saw itâsaw right through him.
It wasnât irritation. Or jealousy.
Something quiet and aching and hiddenâfloating behind his eyes as he stared up at his ceiling aimlesslyâalmost unblinking, and unaware of Regulus subtle watchful eye. Then abruptly sitting up, legs swinging over the edge of his bed carrying the motion of his swivel as his feet hit the floor with a soft padâbut not once did he lift his eyes.
Even look at Regulus.
Lips pursed into a tightline, head hanging for a moment before he rose to a standâcollecting and organising some items, uncharacteristically quiet. Taking his towel and drapping it over his shoulders stalking over to the door.
âYou alright, B?â
The words rung clearly through the short stillness that had veiled the room, and it had Barty stop in his tracks, hand hovering over the doorknob.
He could hear the low rustle of fabric, could feel Regulusâ eyes boring into his back, unable to mask the way his shoulders rose and fell with the sigh he let out through his nose. âYeah, gonna go take a shower,â
With that, he slipped out of the room.
Leaving Regulus perched up on his elbows, gaze once again, lingering on the door. Running a hand roughly through his hair, he sunk back against the sheetsârolling onto his side and burying his face into the pillow youâd laid on.
Trying to push down the almost dejected expression Barty had on his face, trying to quiet his mind with the lingering scent of you.
Groaning inwardly as he failed, replying the moment Barty frozen at the doorâeyes scanning over both of you, shoulders sinking faintly. He knew too well what Barty sounded like when he lied, and the words he spoke at the door were most definetely not true.
Barty had no reason to showerâhe already had during his free after Lunch, but he just needed an excuse, a second to compose himself. Even as he tried to walk casually, quietlyâdown the stairs and through the common room, your laughter floated around the room. Hung in the air in a way that had his throat tightening.
It seemed the odds were not in his favour today.
Because as he padded wordlessly behind the sofa, ignoring the way he struggled to swallow, fighting the urge to let his eyes fall on your turned back. You clearly had a sixth sense, perking up slightly at the sounds of his footsteps, voice light and teasing.
âWhere you off to, Junior?â
You still hadnât turned, but he could already picture the sly smile on your face from your toneâand he still didnât stop his walk, mustering up as cheery a voice he could manage.
âDrain diving, Tres. Someone needs to keep Regâs hair at bay,â he said, without missing a beat.
It was good. Solid. The kind of line heâd use any day of the weekâand as sarcastic as it was, it lacked itâs usual dramatics. He was gone before you could say anything, before you could point out the lack of energy in his voice, or how he didnât turn to you.
The water hit too cold at first.
He let it.
Let it numb the way his stomach was twisting in knots, the way the image of your mouth on Regulusâ jaw wouldnât stop replaying on a loop behind his eyes. He tilted his head back, let the droplets soak through his hair, tried to will it all away.
Because he saw itâevery time Regulus reached for you like he couldnât help himself, Barty saw the same yearning reflected in himself.
An ever present slight burning ache settled under his ribs, aggressive and invasive, and impossible to ignore whenever you were in the room. It wasnât that he was envious exactlyâmore like he was mourningâgrieving.
Barty wasnât stupid.
He knew it wasnât your fault.
You were the same. Completely, achingly the same.
Still laughed at all his worst jokes. Still tugged at his scarf when it was crooked. Still looped your arm through his like gravity didnât apply to your affection. Still smiled at him with that easy, unguarded brightness that made people fall in love with you in the first place.
And it killed him.
Because you hadnât changed.
He had.
And now every time your hand brushed his in passing, every time you leaned into his side on the common room sofa or knocked your forehead against his in mock exasperation, he felt like he was drowning in a tide no one else could see.
Heâd always known you were tactileâwarm, generous with your affection. With your attention. Sometimes your fingers would still find his hair. Still ruffle it with a grin. Still tug affectionately at his sleeve. And he hated that it made his breath catch. Youâd always loved easily, freely, and it had never meant more than that.
He found himself reeling in silence from touches that were meant to comfort him. From the way you reached for him like he was still safe to you, like nothing had shifted.
Until it did.
Until he started wanting it to.
Because he loved you. But not just the way he was supposed to. Not just the way a best friend does.
And you didnât know, couldnâtâheâd made sure of that.
It was late the next afternoon when you found him on the edge of the Quidditch pitch, where the grass flattened beneath old boot tracks and the air carried the smell of damp leather and wind.
You plopped down beside him with a soft sigh, pulling your legs to your chest and letting the golden haze of the sunset warm your face. Shoulders bumping his lightly, and you didnât move away. Just tilted your head toward him, lashes fluttering as you smiled, eyes squinting at the last light.
âSo,â you said, lazy and light, âif you had to choose between fighting ten Blast-Ended Skrewts or one McGonagall-sized Bowtruckleâwhat would it be?â
Barty scoffed. âAre you serious? The Skrewts. At least Iâd die with dignity.â
You burst out laughing. Loud and bright and so carefree it made his chest twist. Turning your face toward him, sun-warmed and glowing, and he couldnât breathe for a second. Not with how close you were. Not with how your eyes crinkled when you smiled at him like that.
Just like you always had.
He had to look away. Had to force his eyes back to the sky before they gave too much away.
You leaned your head on his shoulder, completely at ease. âYouâre still my favourite person to be stupid with, you know that?â
Gods, it burned.
Because that meant everything to him. And not enough.
âYeah,â he said quietly. âI know.â
And you didnât hear the break in his voice. Of course you didnât. Because you hadnât changed. Because this was normal. Comfortable. The two of you, tucked into each otherâs space like you belonged there.
Like he wasnât burning alive from it.
You reached for his hand without thinking, absently fiddling with his fingers the way you always did. He frozeâjust for a momentâand you didnât even notice.
But he did.
He noticed everything.
The way your thumb brushed over his knuckles. The softness in your touch. The way his heartbeat thundered at your smallest movements. And how much it hurt, knowing it was just another day to you. Just another friend to touch and lean on and love in your way.
You didnât know what it was doing to him.
Didnât know how he went to sleep every night wondering when it had changed for him, wondering why he couldnât seem to undo it.
You were with Regulus now. And you looked so good together. There was a softness to him around you, a steadiness you brought out that Barty had never seen in him before. And he was happy for that. Honestly, he was.
But somewhere inside, he was still quietly grieving.
Grieving the could-have-been.
Because before Regulus, before the stolen glances and secret kisses, before the whisper of your name like prayer from someone elseâs mouthâheâd let himself think that the swirling in the pits of his stomach was nothing.
And now, looking at youâone of his best friends, his light, his treasure, the person he was closest toâand knowing that nothing had to be different between you, but everything was different in himâŚit made him feel like he was quietly rotting from the inside out.
He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. Let you keep holding it.
And didnât say a word.
The first Quidditch match of the season had finally rolled around, Hufflepuff V Slytherin.
Slytherin had, of course, won.
The match had been a brutal thing, all wind-lashed faces and thunderous roars from the stands. Hufflepuff had held their own for the first half, but once Regulus caught the Snitch, there was no denying itâthe green and silver crowd had erupted.
And you, in the middle of it, had clapped with gloved hands and a too-wide grin. Not just for the House victory. Not even for Bartyâs wildly impressive Bludger send-off or Evanâs smug little mid-air feint.
But because Regulus had looked up into the crowd moments after the win, and you knew he'd been looking for you.
He had asked you the night before, voice low, lips brushing your ear in the quiet of the libraryâ
âYouâll come tomorrow, wonât you?â âI need my good luck charm,â
Your smile had been immediate.
âWouldnât miss it for the world,â you replied in a hushed tone.
So you came. Because he asked. And because you believed in him.
Now, you stood just outside the changing rooms, shoulder-to-shoulder with Dorcas and Pandoraâhands buried in your coat pockets. Holding a chocolate frog for Barty, your usual offering of victoryâit had become what of a ritual. A quiet constant. A way to be there without being seen.
The door creaked open and voices spilled into the hallway, bright and loud, energy buzzing off them in waves. Evan walked out first, hair still damp, dragging his broom behind him and already mid-laugh at something Barty had said.
And Bartyâflushed, sweat-damp, beamingâwas in the middle of some animated retelling of a mid-air collision, wild gestures slicing through the air like a Bludger. Regulus followed just behind them, quieter, polished, composed in that effortless way only he could manageâeven after an hour in the air.
You felt the pull in your chest.
Regulusâ eyes found you immediately. That quiet, private smile cracked through his usual composure, like the sun peeking through mist. It had your fingers twitch at your sides. Thought, just for a second, about running to himâthrowing your arms around his neck, kissing him full and proud, like you wanted to.
But you didnât.
Couldnât.
Not yet. Not when everything between you still lived in the shadows.
Before the longing could settle, Barty was already on you. Half-charged and grinning, still vibrating from the rush of play, arms thrown around you without warning.
âOiâBarty!â you laughed, half-gasping, âYouâre soaked!â
He only laughed louder, pulling you into a tight, jostling hug that had you wriggling with a grimace. âVictory sweat, darlingâitâs sacred.â
You rolled your eyes, but your laughter was genuine, echoing down the corridor. Subtly flicking your gaze toward Regulus in the midst of it, catching the slight stiffening in his shouldersâwatching the smile heâd worn moments ago dulled at the edges. He wasnât angryâRegulus didnât do angerâbut you knew that look.
A barely visible twitch of disappointment. A small ache he couldnât say out loud.
Still, he said nothing. Walked quietly beside Evan as Barty slung an arm over your shoulder with little fanfare, prattling on.
âI swear this is the real reason I play.â Barty crowed, accepting the chocolate frog with the reverence of a trophy.
âNot the glory? The House Cup?â you teased, resting your head against his damp robes despite yourself.
âNope. This,â he said, holding the chocolate frog aloft like it was a prize. âMy muse. My reward. My one true love.â
An exasperated snort built in your chest, and you let your gaze wanderâback to Regulus. He was a step behind, his hands shoved in his pockets, the shape of his lips pressed thin. He looked at you again and your heart tugged.
The win didnât feel like a win to him.
Not when he had to keep his distance. His eyes lingered a moment too long on where Bartyâs arm wrapped around your shoulders, the casual intimacy of itâthe way your body leaned toward him like it had done a thousand times. There was nothing scandalous about it. You and Barty had always been touchy, always unguarded.
Regulus didnât see nothing.
He saw what he wanted to be doing. And what he couldnât.
You slowed your pace, letting Dorcas and Pandora pull ahead with Evan and Barty leading the charge in boisterous celebration. When you felt Regulus fall into step beside you, you let your hand drift closeâbarely brushing his knuckles.
He relaxed.
Didnât need to look at him to feel it, the subtle melting of tension.
âYou were incredible,â you said softly, glancing sideways, smile tugging at your lips. âSo controlled. So cold-blooded. Honestly, itâs terrifying how attractive I find that.â
His lips twitched, eyes dancing with restrained amusement. âI missed two passes.â
âYou caught the Snitch.â
âHufflepuffâs Seeker is twelve.â
âHufflepuffâs Seeker cried.â you added with a snort.
He tried not to smile. Failed.
You slipped your arm casually around his shoulder, light and teasingâand Regulus very nearly stopped walking. He wasnât used to thisâgetting to have even a fraction of you in public. It still made his stomach twist in the best way.
You scanned the hall. No one looking. Heart fluttering.
âA winâs a win,â you whispered, leaning in close, lips ghosting against the shell of his ear before pressing a soft forbidden kissâtoo quick, too daringâto the corner of his mouth.
And just like that, you were gone again, dashing up the corridor with a light giggle, calling out to Dorcas and Pandora to wait up.
He stood stunned for a moment, flushed redder than the post-match sprint had made him, hand half-raised toward where youâd beenâthen with a grinning groan, he shoved it through his still slightly damp hair, picking up into a jog to catch up.
Because damn it, if he couldnât hold your hand in front of everyone yet, the least he could do was walk beside you.
Even if his lips still burned where yours had kissed him, moments like that made it worth it.
And heâd chase you anywhere if you let him.
The Slytherin common room pulsed with victory. Music thrummed low through the stone walls, enchanted vinyl humming in the corner while the fire crackled with an almost celebratory ferocity.
The air buzzed with laughter and lazy conversation, bodies tangled across couches and sprawled across plush carpets.
Someone had dragged the green velvet cushions off the window seat; a pile of them now acted as makeshift thrones in the middle of the room.
Evan and Mulciber had charmed the fire to flicker house colours. Barty was lounged across the sofa, hair still wet, cheeks flushed, talking animatedly with Dorcas about some ridiculous midair save heâd supposedly made.
Pandora was upside down on an armchair, feet kicked over the back, humming absently to herself and passing a bottle of firewhiskey to the next person without lifting her head.
You were nestled near the hearth, legs tucked to one side on the thick rug, eyes glowing in the light. Comfortable. Warm.
A half-full glass was handed to youâoffered with a wink by Avery, already slurring as he tried to convince you to toast to their clean sweep victory. But you just smiled and held up a hand, shaking your head. âIâm alright.â
That was all you said. Casual. Offhand. But Regulus, seated just across from you on the low couch beside Barty, didnât look away.
His eyes flicked toward you, narrowing just slightly.
And you could feel it, of course you couldâthat quiet little thread tugging between you two again, subtle as a breath. He knew your tells. The slight purse of your lips. The measured tone. You were fineâbut he was still watching. Barty noticed the flicker of scrutiny in Regulusâ gaze and raised a brow, curious.
âShe doesnât drink firewhiskey,â he offered with a lazy grin, nudging Regulus with his shoulder. âToo much of a Potter. Neither of them can handle wizarding liquor.â
âOh, sod off,â you rolled your eyes, stretching out with a dramatic sigh. âItâs not that I canât handle itâjust that if I do, the night takes a turn.â
A few people snorted, but it was the way your eyes lingeredâjust a beat too longâon Regulus that made his throat go tight. A subtle, sly smirk danced on your lips. No one else saw it. No one else ever really did.
But he felt it, and it forced him to look away, ears tinged pinkâthe heat of your gazeâan unspoken thing sparking between you like flint and steel, hand curling around his glass tighter.
Dorcas let out a dramatic boo. âThatâs exactly why you should drink.â
âCome on!â Evan bellowed. âWhatâs a party without a little chaos?â
The chants started immediately. First Dorcas, then Evan, then Wilkes and Pandora, all falling into a rhythm of exaggerated pleading.
âDrink! Drink! Drinkââ
âOh, fuckâs sakeââ you groaned, laughing as Dorcas elbowed you, almost toppling you into the fireplace. âYou lot are so dramatic.â
Rising to a stand, slow and measured, the room quietened slightly for a moment. And Regulus frozen, he knew that look. That wicked glint in your eye that always spelled trouble. That smirk that made his pulse stutter.
You walked toward him like you had no plan and every plan all at once. And that was the thing with youâyou were unpredictable.
Devastatingly so.
Stopping just in front of him, gaze locked on his, and his breath caught.
Barty shifted beside him, watching with vague amusement, but Regulus was still, glass in hand, eyes tracking your every step like a storm was about to break.
Wordlessly, you reached down, plucking the glass of Firewhiskey out of his hands, fingers ghosting over his, and he remained still blinkingâbrows raised in mild surprise.
And with a swift turn on your heel, your facing the room like a performer stepping into the spotlight, and chugged.
The room erupted.
A chorus of shouts and laughter exploded around you as you tipped your head back, throat bobbing as you drained the glass with barely a wince. The firewhiskey burnedâharsh, bitter, like swallowing heatâbut you didnât stop. When the last drop was gone, you lowered the glass, wiped the corner of your mouth with your thumb, and bowed with a theatrical flourish.
Pandora let out a shriek of delight, accompanied with a war cry-esque noise erupting from Evan. But it all faded into the back, because your eyes were not on them at all.
They were on Regulus.
And the look you gave him made something in him unravel. Slow and deliberate as you leaned downâjust enough to press the now-empty glass back into his palm. Touch warm and lingering against his, forcing saliva to unconsciously pool in his mouthâswallowing hard, Adamâs apple bobbing visibly, heat rising to the tips of his ears again.
Because you looked at him like he was something worth devouring.
And Regulus, for all his control, felt undone.
There was a tingle beneath your skin now, the firewhiskey spreading quick and heady in your bloodstream, setting your nerves alight. So, naturally, you went where you felt safestâchaos be damned. There wasnât enough space on the couch between Regulus and Barty.
But you didnât let that stop you.
With a smug grin, you yanked a cushion halfway out from under Barty, ignoring his protest, and dropped yourself to the floor between them, legs crossed, back pressed to the couch, arms draped lazily over both their knees like you owned the space.
Barty let out a mock offended noise but didnât move.
Regulus, however, had gone entirely still.
Your head tilted back until it rested gently against the edge of the cushion behind youâjust under Regulusâ knee. You looked up at him with a lazy grin, mischief written across your features, and the firelight caught in your eyes like gold.
He looked down at you, lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling with a little more effort than usual.
âComfortable?â he asked, voice low.
âMmm,â tongue darting out to wet your lips as they stretched into an even wider smirk. âGetting there.â
And the tension between you buzzed, humming through the floor like a livewire, tucked beneath laughter and music and the haze of firewhiskey.
The alcohol licked like lightning down your spine, curling hot and fast through your chest until your cheeks were flushed and your limbs were loose with warmth. You werenât drunkânot really. Just dizzy. Buzzing. Drunk on the music, the magic in the air, the heat of laughter blooming all around you.
Youâd had just enough to drink for your thoughts to feel dreamy and untethered, a honeyed buzz settling into your chest and behind your eyes. Like gravity had decided to let go of you for the night. Your inhibitions drifted somewhere behind you, too far to reach back for.
You burned brightâlaughter sharp and sweet in the air, cheeks warm, movements fluid. James-like, someone mumbled. Dorcas maybe. You didnât catch it, but Regulus did. The way you were sparkling now, a little unhinged, that same Potter edgeâchaotic and captivating.
The games had started at some pointâcard games from both worlds, charmed cups floating in midair, enchantments that made losing feel like something more than embarrassment. You and Barty had teamed up for the next round of some ridiculous Muggle game that Evan swore he remembered the rules to, though no one was really convinced he was playing it right.
You were curled up beside the couch again, cross-legged, giddy and unfocused, blinking down at the set of cards in your hand like they might start speaking if you stared hard enough.
And Bartyâunapologetic as everâhad been peeking at your cards, barking out a laugh when you hissed at him.
âOi!â you yelped, jerking your cards to your chest. âCheater.â
Barty threw his head back with a laugh, completely unbothered. âWeâre on the same team, you lunatic.â
You blinked. âOh. Right.â
On the other side of you, Regulus was watchingâshoulders relaxed, expression unreadable but for the faint twitch of his lips.
And when you leaned back against the couch again, huffing dramatically about your âgenius being under appreciated,â the floor justâŚfelt wrong. Cold. Hard. Unfair, really.
So, without warning, you wormed your way up into the impossibly narrow space between Regulus and Barty on the couch, folding your legs up to your chest, half-sinking into both of them as you settled like a cat who had decided the whole world belonged to you.
Barty snorted, shifting his hip to give you just a bit more space.
Regulus, ever composed, didnât move.
But his gaze lingered on youâsoft and slow, too fond for anyone who mightâve been watching not to notice. You were humming some nonsense to yourself, tapping the edge of the card deck against your shin, and it was like the whole world had dulled for a moment, the only sharp point left being you.
The game stretched on. Someone cheated. Someone else hexed the cards. You were lost.
And by the time the game ended, your spark had dulled to a flickering glow.
Barty elbowed you when you sighed dramatically, cards falling from your grip. âYouâre a sore loser.â
âStupid game anyway*,*â you mumbled into your knees, the top of your head now resting against your arms, voice muffled and sleepy. You didnât even react when Regulusâ hand brushed gently down the slope of your spineâonce, then again. Reassuring. Instinctual.
Head lifting slightly at the contact, lips parting to murmur something incoherent, but then you slumped again, boneless.
There was a pauseâsilent and unsureâbefore he glanced at Barty, something unreadable in his eyes.
âI canâtââ he started. He couldnât say it. Couldnât finish the thought.
Couldnât risk being the one to carry you up. Not in front of everyone. Not when theyâd notice. Barty rolled his eyes, already pushing up from the couch. âYeah, yeah. I know.â He bent down and picked you up like it was nothing, an effortless thing, your head instinctively tucking against his collarbone. You barely stirred.
No one batted an eye.
It wasnât strange, not with you and Barty. Not anymore.
Regulus stayed behind, surrounded by friends, laughter bouncing somewhere far off as the warmth of your body left his side. He sat with the echo of your absence in the space where youâd been, hands limp in his lap, teeth clenched, a bitter ache pulsing low in his ribs.
When he finally made his way upstairsâafter the room had nearly emptied, after heâd made sure no one would followâhe opened the door to his dorm quietly.
You were there.
Curled in the centre of his bed, arm tucked under your cheek, chest rising and falling in slow rhythm. Barty was lounging on his own bed, one arm draped lazily over his stomach, the other supporting his head.
Regulus crossed the room without a word, sinking onto the mattress beside you, hand reaching out instinctively to brush a strand of hair from your face.
And Barty was watching, the way Regulusâ touched you with the most fragile of handsâlooking at you like you were made of moonlight. Like youâd hung the stars in the skyâa fond, unguarded tenderness in his gaze. He pushed down the lump in his throat with a hard swallow, detering the dull ache in his chest with a teasing tone;
âYou could at least try not to look so in love with her in front of everyone,â Barty said lazily, voice cutting through the silence with a dry chuckle.
Regulus didnât respond at first.
Just kept staring.
His hand hovered for a moment longer over your temple, finally pulling back like it hurt to let go. Then, finallyâquietly, tiredlyâhe turned to look at Barty.
âDonât you think thatâs a bit hypocritical?â
part (iii)
feel free to reply to be on the taglist for the next parts mwah x
can i request setting 33 with dialogue 1 please? for poly rosekiller or bartylusđ
oooh sure! thanks for playing!
poly!bartylus x gn!reader who wasn't supposed to mix alcohol [473 words]
CW: ³³➠a mensâ bathroom, š➠âitâs too early for this.â, no gender markers used for reader, reader has hair that can be moved from the nape of their neck, implied vomiting, hanging over the edge of the toilet
Regulus was biting his tongue so hard that his teeth tasted metallic, willing himself not to say the words dancing on the tip of his tongue.Â
His brain was a steady mantra of donât say it, donât say it, donât say it, donât say it.
Barty didnât have such qualms nor the self-restraint.
âItâs too early for this.â He announced to the empty menâs bathroom, eliciting a whimper from your frame that was curled up on the floor of a stall with your head hanging over the edge of the toilet.Â
Regulus figured he ought to be grateful that it was so early in the evening, seeing as the bathroomâs were hardly dirtied by the drunk and depraved who would come to haunt these stalls as the night wore on. Your knees likely safe from the grime having only recently been disinfected.Â
Regulus bit back a sigh as he pulled some toilet paper from the dispenser. âAre you almost done, amour?â
You let out a whimper that really didnât amount to much but Regulus correctly translated to a resounding no.Â
âTreasure, I thought we decided we werenât going to mix our alcohol tonight.â Barty drawled; the we was an attempt to soften the blow of his reprimand seeing as the rule was really only ever enacted for you. Â
Something that sounded an awful lot like âsorryâ left your sad, sorry lips as the door to the bathroom opened up.Â
âWhoa,â an equally drunk looking bar patron murmured as he swayed in surprise, eyes glued to the point past Barty and Regulus to where you were hunched over the toilet.Â
âYeah, yeah. Nothinâ to see here,â Barty huffed dismissively, though he kept his gaze locked on the bloke as the block kept his gaze locked on you, âgo on, move along you fuckinâ wanker.âÂ
The bloke did, indeed, move along once Barty straightened and took a few menacing steps towards him, Regulus taking the opportunity to move into the stall now that he was no longer vying for space with Barty.Â
He crouched behind you and moved some of your â now sticky â hair away from the nape of your neck; you shivered at the cool air that accosted you.Â
âLet me know when you think you can make it home without throwing up in a cab and weâll leave, alright?â He murmured into the space behind your ear.Â
You were truly pitiful, whimpering in response though you dutifully nodded at his instruction before lurching towards the toilet bowl again.
âItâs too early for thisâŚâ Barty muttered again, though his gaze fell soft and sympathetic as he stationed himself against the hinges of the stall again like your very own personal bouncer keeping everyone out of your very own personal hell.
Honestly? Regulus couldnât help but agree; it was going to be a long night.
Š ellecdc; do not copy, translate, or repost my work anywhere under any circumstances.
I've been listening to a lot of 70s/80s music lately, and I can't stop thinking about being serenades as like cheeky flirting between couples
sirius serenading remus with "I Was Made For Loving You" by Kiss, on the dance floor, at a party, the crowd goes wild, peter faints
cannot believe i haven't seen anyone doing this but JAMES serenading LILY with "Take A Chance On Me" by ABBA, like i've seen so many people characterize him as an ABBA lover and that song is so them, even funnier if he sings this to her after they're already dating
I love this a lot for Jilypad, Sirius and Lily dancing in the kitchen as he sings "More Than A Woman" by the Bee Gees while James is cooking while watching them and having heart palpitations
this works so well with Sirius and James cause they are the most likely to serenade their partner just like casually
I also think Barty would cause he thinks it's funny, but I haven't found a song that strikes me as very him yet
and i can see a few others, specifically remus or lily, kinda sweetly singing to their partner, in a much softer moment. like the song is playing and their singing along but also at their partner
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regulus black/barty crouch jr x twinpotter!reader âš 10.7k
cw ⢠swearing, hurt/comfort, gay awakening lol, suggestive, secret relationship, pining!barty, mild angst, poor james is a scapegoat
summary: if you hadn't noticed it before, you've certainly noticed it now. barty been off, completely not barty and you can't seem to put your finger on the cause, and regulus doesn't have the heart to tell you.
a/n:poor barty is acc going through it. not proofread x
âDonât you think thatâs a bit hypocritical?â
There was a long beat of nothingness.
Then another. And another.
A tormented silence veiled the room the second Regulusâ final word left his lips, riding on the air between them and settling heavy in a cruel, unforgiving manner.
The word hypocritical sounding in his head over and over.
If Barty looked like he was going through the five stages of grief, it seems he barely made it half way, flitting between denial and anger before subsequently settling on the latter. His face said it all, as it morphed with each word, forced out on a pinched breath.
âThe fuck are you on about?â
His eyes didnât match the sharp tone of his voice at all, instead they swam with panic and an almost lost aching that made Regulus lips purse together. Barty was already sitting up, scrambling to a stand with a clenched fist and tight jaw, as he pushed a hand through his hairâalready on his way out. Back towards Regulus as he spoke, words gritted and hushed.
âDonât act like you know everything, when you really fucking donât.â
With that, the door was closed behind him and Barty was gone.
Regulus was really starting to resent that door, far too often being left on the other side, staring at itâstressed, windedâconflicted. He wasnât even sure what he wanted to happen after he said it, but by then it was already outâalready splitting the air between him and Barty before he could stop it. What was worse?
Regulus just sat thereâstill, emotionlessâwhile his friend all but fell apart infront of him, any and all words falling dead on his lips.
When he sunk back into the bed, glancing at you beside him, asleep, blissfully unaware of the rift heâs just partedâhis stomach churned. The soft pillows beneath his head, the warmth of your presence beside his did nothing to quell the unsettled stirring that had started inside him.
Maybe you wouldnât notice, maybe Barty would cool off and it would all be fineâmaybe he could take it back.
Each maybe more unlikely than the last, all with outcomes that the mere thought of gave Regulus a migraine.
Barty stood outside the door for a few moments, chest heaving, brows pinched high on his forheadâdidnât even know where he was going, it was already well into the early morning and he honestly just wanted to sleep.
Couldnât go back up there because not only were Regulus there but it was you and Regulus. He much rather the Gods smit him than be suck in that room, watching Regulus watching him watching you.
A low swirling burn settled at the base of his chest.
Come to think of it, maybe storming out wasnât the best choice, it probably made him look suspicious, like he had something to hide.
And he did, he knew he did.
The thing about secrets is, theyâre only pleasant when theyâre easy to hide, when youâre in control of them. So right now, lying face down on the lumpy sofa in the common roomâBarty has never felt more out of control in his life.
This really was tortureâsurely the Gods were finally punishing him for all the near heart attacks heâd given his father, because even now, with his face smooshed into the pillow, he could still smell youâwhere youâd been just hours ago. At this rate heâd be insane not before long.
Groaning as he flipped, watching the warm flames of the candlelights flickerâhe tried to push down the reoccuring pang that split through his chest.
ââ .âŚ
Sundays were nice.
Lazy morning lie-ins, no Head Girl duties.
The day was looking very promising. Heat from Regulusâ body warm around your middle, one of his arms slung comfortably across your waist. Holding you close even as you twisted and turnedâdrifting in and outâaccepting the warm, tempting embrace of sleep with open arms.
Regulus had felt you shift slightly, heard the little hums that built in your throat as you teetered on the edge of waking upâheâs been awake for quiet some timeâearly bird habits. Just watching.
The slow rise and fall of your chest, the faint flinches of your brows as you dreamed deeply, how you curl into yourself and by extension into him periodically. He didnât want to wake you, didnât dare moveâtrying to savour the small fraction of tranquility youâd be granted before you have to deal with the inevitable storm that brewed the whole night.
Because Barty didnât come back, still hasnât stepped foot in the roomâRegulus waited, hoping to maybe smooth things over, take it back even. But he didnât return and Regulus didnât leave the confines of his room.
Even as the morning drawled to a close and the early afternoon began, instead he focused his energy on admiring you, and your sleeping form. And when you stirred, twisting and turning towards him, lips pushed into a small poutâhe really couldnât help himself.
Planting a careful kiss to the exposed skin of your neck, and you didnât move, still fighting off the pressing light of the sun in the room, holding onto the whisps of sleep.
He leaned forward again, lips ghosting over the curve of your jaw, and that got you to stir. Not fully awake, not yet, but enough that you sighed, contentedly, one arm reaching up to match the curl lazily around his middle. Eyes were still closed when you mumbled, voice scratchy and slow with sleep, fingers twitching where they rested against his ribs.
âMorningâŚâ
His lips were still ghosting over your throat when he chuckled, low and husky, âItâs not morning anymore.â
Still, your eyes stayed closed. A little smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you turned your head slightly to chase the feel of his lips.
So he gave in.
Kisses fell like rain across your skinâfirst light and tentative, then firmer, slower, more intent. He brushed one beneath your jaw, then over the hollow of your throat, and when you shifted again with a sleepy sigh, he took the opportunity to drag his mouth lower, teeth grazing gently before sucking at the delicate skin there. And it made you shiver.
âReg,â voice whispered, soft as a secret, a breathless note of fond exasperation in your tone.
âYouâre awake now,â he murmured into your neck, voice muffled by your skin.
You didnât argue. Didnât push him away. Instead, your fingers found their way into his hair, lazily combing through the dark strands as his mouth continued its slow, indulgent path along your collarbone.
It was languid, affectionate, the kind of intimacy that didnât rush. His hands slid over your waist, pulling you closer until you were nearly on top of him, legs tangled fully now, heartbeats pressed close together.
The kisses deepened slightly, becoming more indulgent, more possessive. The kind that left marks. Your skin warmed beneath his mouth, laughter bubbling in your chest when he found a ticklish spot and refused to stop, dragging another helpless giggle out of you.
âStop, stopâReg, I swearââ you squirmed, breathless from laughter, your cheeks flushed pink and body warm with affection.
He finally let up, grinning with pride, brushing your hair back from your face with a fondness that felt so achingly gentle it almost hurt.
You were glowing. That post-sleep, post-laughter kind of glow that made his chest ache.
He looked at you like he couldnât believe you were real. Like he might blink and find himself alone again.
You met his gaze, cheeks still warm, lips kiss-bitten and curved.
âYouâre looking at me like Iâm your religion,â you said with a teasing arch of your brow, and he just leaned up to kiss the corner of your mouth, then your jaw.
âI might be,â he whispered.
You groaned, dramatic, as you pushed lightly at his chest. âIâm going to have to cover all of this up, you know.â You tilted your neck, already feeling the soreness blooming beneath your skin.
You made to roll out of bed, sheets sliding off your legsâbut his hand curled around your wrist.
âOh, no you donât,â he said, voice low and gravelly. He tugged you back toward him, guiding you to straddle his lap. You blinked down at him, amused and a little breathless, hair falling like a curtain around your face.
âRegulus,â you said, half-laughing, âYouâre being ridiculous.â
âI donât want the morning to end,â he confessed, softly, eyes dark and steady as they held yours.
You leaned down, kissed him slow, whispered against his lips, âThought it wasnât morning anymore.â
He smiled into the kiss, hands resting on your hipsâand for a few minutes, the world narrowed to just the two of you. Quiet and golden and slow.
Until your stomach rumbled. Loudly.
The kiss is broken with a startled laugh, hiding your face in his shoulder. Regulus chuckled too, low and pleased.
âAlright,â he said with a sigh, fingers brushing your waist, âWeâll feed you.â
You rolled out of bed, finally, pulling on yesterdayâs clothes as you glanced around. The room was empty, apart from the two of you. You stretched, arms over your head as you grinned over your shoulder.
âLook at that. Even outlasted Junior,â you joked lightheartedly, tugging your jumper back on.
Regulus didnât say anything at firstâjust hummed.
Pushing away the urge to spill his guts, to tell you how the word hypocritical had torn something raw between them during your slumber. You were halfway down the stairs before you turned and whispered, âIâll meet you in the Great Hallâgive it five, yeah?â
He nodded. Forcing his lips to curve into a small smile.
âFive.â
The second you disappeared down the steps, the quiet hit him like a stone wall.
Sitting there, at the edge of the bed, chest hollow, the lingering warmth of you already fading from the sheets. The sound of your laughter still echoed faintly in his ears, but it was drowned out by the noise in his head.
His face subconsciously scrunched, exhaling shakilyârunning a hand roughly over his face as he turned his sights forwardâthe bed across the room was still empty.
ââ .âŚ
Lunch was already well underway when Barty finally showed. He was lateânoticeably lateâjust after the pumpkin juice had been poured and the several servings of lunch had been eaten. Quietlyâwordlessly. Like a shadow slipping between the cracks of the castle stone.
Barty moved as if he were walking through waterâslow, heavy, like every step cost him something. His hair was rumpled, flattened oddly on one side like heâd slept curled up somewhere unforgiving. His tie was askew, barely knotted, and his shirt was half untucked at the waist.
You caught sight of him first.
Of course you did. You were always aware of Bartyâhe had a way of commanding attention when he entered a room, usually by flinging himself into it like a spark looking for something to set alight. But now, he lacked something.
His eyes didnât scan the table like usual. He didnât offer that lopsided smirk he wore like a badge of honour or drop some cutting, clever remark that made Evan laugh and Regulus roll his eyes with a small smile. He just sat downâdropped into the bench at the far end as though gravity had forcibly yanked him there.
Your gaze unknowingly followed his every moveâmindlessly observing out of habit.
But he didnât meet your eyes.
Not even when you said softly, âHey, Junior,â your voice as casual and light as alwaysâand he all but deflated at the sound, sinking into his seat as he forked around at his plate, remaining uncharacteristically silentâmaybe he didnât notice. Or maybe he did, but didnât care.
You glanced at Regulus, but he was staring at his plate as if it was the most interesting thing in the room, silentâposture was too straight. Too carefully composedâeverything unnaturally taut. The silence that veiled the far end of the table apon Bartyâs arrive was unnerving, the cloud that loomed over him, seeping and bleeding out into all of youâbringing the light chatter to a slow halt.
In an almost pitiful attempt to ease the glooming aura that had swathed the table, you spoke againâkeeping your words pressureless, ambiguosâsimple, âSleep alright, J?â
He finally movedâbut not to look at you. Instead, he turned his body subtly away, like the space between you wasnât enough, making it wider instinctivelyâlike he wanted to escape your presence. Reaching for his fork, twisting it between his fingers, he still didnât speak.
Not a word.
Picking at his food like he didnât recognise itâlike it might turn to dust in his mouth.
Evan broke the brittle tension that accumlated in Barty blatant disregard, nudging his shoulder with his elbow in a half-hearted attempt to lift the mood. âOi, saw you passed out on the common room sofa last night. Youâre lucky Mulciber didnât hex you in your sleep for stealing his nap spot.â
He smiled when he said it, teasing, waiting for the usual witty jab in return.
But Barty didnât laugh. He didnât scoff. He didnât even twitch.
He just set his fork downâstill cleanâand stood.
Your brows furrowed as you watched him, lunch having grown cold and forgottenâyour stomach twisting.
âJuniââ
He was already gone.
Just like that. Walked away, tray untouched, head bowed low, his shoulders curled in like he was trying to fold himself out of sight. He didnât glance back. Not onceânot at Regulus. Not at you. Not even at Evan, who looked after him with a baffled, half-offended expression.
It took a few moments for the silence to leave after Bartyâs departure, but when it did, it was only partial. Regulus still was silent, body ridgid, looking down at his plate as if he could read the truth in the gravy lines. And you could see it. The tightens in his jaw, something swimming behind his eyes, something that rarely did.
Something you couldnât quite place.
You sat just as still has him, appetite goneâthe table feelinf significantly more empty than it had done before. Bartyâs absences, his behavious heavy on your mindâhis silence louder than most.
Maybe it was a hangover, or heâd not slept wellâyou tried to tell yourselfâmaybe heâd gotten a letter from home and bile and rage was building in his stomach like always. Maybe he just needed some time to himself.
Deep down you knew something was wrong, and you had a feeling Regulus knew what it was.
You did looked for him that evening. Though it felt as though heâd vanished into thin air.
First the Observatoryâhis usual haunt after dinner when the halls grew quiet and the scent of parchment overpowered the smell of food still lingering from the kitchens. But the corner by the ledge was vacant, the nights air twisting and whistling around the hollow roomâleaves whirling against the cold stone.
Then the common room. Empty. Or rather, full of people who werenât him. The sofa was unoccupied, and Evan was lounging upside down on one of the armchairs, chatting aimlessly to Mulciber and Dorcas.
âHave you seen Barty?â you asked.
Evan shrugged. âNah. Maybe heâs off brooding somewhere. You know how he gets.â
But that wasnât how he got. Not like this. Not without a word.
Turning the corner to the boysâ dorms, letting yourself in.
His bed was untouched. Not in the usual disheveled way Barty left itâsheets tangled, pillows dented, covers barely hanging on. No, this was wrong. This was still. Cold. Hollow. His side of the room was lifeless.
The books stacked by his bedside table hadnât moved. The record player youâd both stolen from the Muggle Studies classroom one night two springs ago sat quiet, lifeless. Shoes still tucked beneath the bed, as if he hadnât bothered to wear them. As if heâd disappeared barefoot.
You stood frozen in the doorway for a short while, scanning the room. Regulus was sitting cross-legged on his bed, wand in one hand, idly levitating a quill and not meeting your eyes.
âYou donât know where he is?â you asked, quietlyâpadding over to stand by Regulusâ bed, leaning against the pillar as you watched him. There were a few beats of silence, âNo,â
Just that.
You waited.
Waited for the restâfor the truth tucked between the syllables, for the explanation that would unravel this knot in your chest. But he didnât look up, didnât offer anything else.
âYou donât think thereâs something wrong?â your voice was more pinched than normal, unrest settling into the end of your questionâand he could feel your eyes on him, the weight of your gaze heavy on his form. But he knew if he tore his sights away from the quill, heâd break. Guilt already bubbling in his stomach from the second you entered the room
Instead Regulus just gave a slight shrug, words muttered and unconvincing. âMaybe he needs space.â
âFrom what?â
You were only met with further silenceânot a word. Not a glance. Just the soft scratch of the floating quill tracing invisible lines above his bed, a tight purse of his lips.
The air was too still, as you stood by him, just barely an arms length awayâand when you turned on your heelâbones aching under the suffocation of the room and the sting of Regulusâ avoidance.
You left. And the quill dropped onto his lap as the door closed behind you, rubbing his hand over his face as his turnedâlooking at the empty space beside him that would usually be occupied by you with a frown. Regulus couldnât bring himself to glance over to Bartyâs bed, as the sounds of your footsteps became further and further away.
The next day was no better.
You saw the back of Bartyâs head once in the corridor before lunch, but the moment he registered your voiceâyour stepsâhe turned down a side hall and disappeared before you could call after him.
At dinner, he never showed. Everyone far to entertained by Evan, who was too busy charming a salt shaker to sing Celestina Warbeck to notice, but you did.
You noticedâyou waited.
The day after that, and the one after. The world kept spinning like nothing had shifted, but your stomach ached with the weight of uncertainty. You tried brushing it off at firstâtold yourself he was being dramatic, maybe annoyed with something trivial. That heâd get over it.
But the days stretched longer. And lonelier.
And RegulusâŚRegulus never said a word.
He kissed you when you met in hidden corners. Touched you like he meant it, with fingers that found comfort in each inch of youâbut he never brought Barty up. Never acknowledged the empty space he left behind, struggled to meet you eye each morning when your gaze would linger on the empty space left for him.
But you felt itâeverywhere.
In the way your laughter always died quicker now. In the way you avoided the right side of the dormitory when you were there resting with Regulusâapproaching the door and waiting thereâin hope of hearing anything other than Regulusâ manicured silence on the other sideâapproaching less often all together.
You felt it in the ache behind your ribs when you sat too long in silence wandering the place youâd walk together, emptier nowâmissing the loud, crass, ridiculous everything that was there with Barty.
Because now he wasnât.
And you didnât know why.
And it was driving you mad.
Because it had been days.
And you couldnât pretend not to care anymore.
Not when Regulus still refused to meet your gaze when you said his name. Not when Bartyâs side of the room looked like a memory, not a life. Not when your chest burned every time someone said, âHeâs probably just being Barty,â like that explained the way his absence scraped against your heart like a harsh burn.
You couldnât be in that room anymore. Not with Regulus and all his silences. Not with the evidence of Bartyâs absence staring at you with every step.
So you stopped going, spending more time in your own roomâpreoccupying yourself with Head-Girl duties, subsequently leaving Regulusâ room even colder. Your absence adding to the weight of Bartyâsâthick, heavy and aching on his shoulders.
You did eventually catch sight of him after an entire week.
Just a flickerâa blur of pale hands and windswept curls vanishing around the corner near the Arithmancy wing. He was alone. For once. No sanctuary of a crowded corridor to shield him.
Instantly you were speeding up, robes filling with air as you all but chased after him, calling his name once, twice. âBarty!â
He falteredâjust for a heartbeat, his steps slowing in a way that made your chest bloom with hope, only for seconds later to be filled with a burning dread.
Because he darted.
Actually ran.
Rounding the next corner so fast he nearly slipped, hand catching on the wall to steady himself as his robes flared out behind him like smoke. By the time you turned after him, the corridor was empty. Only the echo of your own breath met you in the stillness. It was clear now, it wasn't just absence anymore.
It was evasion.
Deliberate. Cold. Unwarrented
Lungs burning violently beneath your ribs, more from the sting behind your eyes than the pace of your pursuit. You stood there for a long moment, chest rising and falling unevenly. Cold stone walls pressed in around you, and something sharp curled inside your ribs.
He was hiding.
From you.
And Regulus wasnât saying a thing, acting as though addressing anything would sear the surface of his lips. He just looked at you and somehow that was worse than his silence, the apologetic look everytime he caught you looking for himâand he still wouldn't break, wouldn't say anything.
Which left only one other person who mightâve done something.
Lunch was a blur of noise and clatter when you stepped into the Great Hall. But the moment your eyes landed on your brotherâhalfway through a sandwich at the Gryffindor table, seated comfortably between Sirius and Remusâit was as if everything else dimmed.
You crossed the room slowly. Quietlyâwith purpose.
The hum of chatter softened in your wake as students caught the shift in the air. Even the portraits seemed to pause mid-gossip, eyes flicking toward the slow storm building in your stride.
As always, James didnât notice until you were nearly on top of him.
Turning just as your shadow fell across the table, his expression freezing mid-bite. The sandwich hovered in front of his mouth, a bite missing, and his eyes widened when they met yoursâdark, unreadable.
You said nothing at firstâjust stood there.
The weight of your silence pressed down on the entire Gryffindor table like a hex. James blinked, mouth still full. âErâsomething wrong?â
Your eyes narrowed, a muscle ticking in your jawâa few more long moments of silence spread between you, words leaving with a sharp bitter bite that made him wince internally. âWhat did you do?â
The entire table went still.
Even Remus leaned back slightly, brows raisedâas though he was bracing himself.
James slowly finished chewing, swallowed, then furrowed his browâconfusion splitting across his face in a loud smear. âTo who?â
âBarty.â
The name landed like a dropped knife, harsh
James straightened. âWhat would I want with Batshit Barty?â
He was speaking far to causally for your liking, too flippantâas though you werenât talking about one of your closest friends, someone you held close to you, like you werenât talking to him about your Sirius or Remus.
You didnât dignify him with answerâjust kept staring. Cold. Quiet. Fury simmering beneath your skin, and your silence clearly spoke loud enough for you, because James was rushing out more words in order to quell your impending rage.
âI havenât done anything,â he added, holding his hands up as if warding off a spell. âWhy are you assumingâ?â
âDonât lie to me.â Your voice was low, unnaturally calm but razor-edged. âHeâs been gone for days. He wonât look at me. Heâs avoiding Regulus too. And youââ your voice caught, jaw tightening, slight desperation seeping into your tone as your looked at James.
It had his lips pursing into a tightline, sighing at the upset he could always easily recogniseâeasier than other, knowing it would settle into your brows. The telltale signs of your stress showing in the vein that appear by your temple when you spoke.
ââYou never liked him. Youâve always hated that he was close to me. So tell me what you said.â
James couldnât look more genuinely confused if he tried, glancing between his friends and back to you wide-eyed. âI didnât say anything. I havenât even seen him. And yeah, I donât particularly like the git, but youâre seriously jumpingââ
âYou donât have to like him. But I know you. You think heâs weird. You think heâs a bad influence.â
âBecause he is, Pop! Youâre smarter thanââ
Your palm crashed onto the table, hard enough to rattle the silverware, and he cut off mid-sentenceâmid insult. The other coming onto his shoulder in a deceivingly light and friendly manner that cause his stomach to sink.
And awful silence blooming in the wake of the sharp thud.
You leaned in, voice shaking with restrained fury. âIf I find out you had anything to do with this, James, I will hex you so thoroughly McGonagall will have to reassemble you from a mist.â
You straightened, scrowl twitching into a slight frown. Turned.
And walked out of the hall without another word.
From two tables down, Regulus watched the entire scene unfoldâeyes distant, shoulders stiff, guilt flickering like a shadow across his otherwise calm face. His fork remained suspended in mid-air, untouched, as you disappeared from view.
And back in the corridor, just outside the doors, you paused and pressed your hand against your foreheadâsqueezing your eyes shut, attempting to purge the stress from your system, calm your pulse.
But it didnât.
And it wouldnât notâuntil you found him. Found out whatâs wrong, where he was hiding, what youâd done.
You were on a rampage.
There wasnât a corridor you hadnât stormed down, no secret niche or alcove left unchecked. Even Peeves stayed well out of your wayâwhistling obnoxiously from a distance as he watched you barrel past with a glower fit to set the suits of armor clattering in fear. Spenting the better part of the weekend pacing through every corridor of Hogwarts, searching high and low for Barty, and each fruitless encounter had worn your nerves even thinner.
Because Barty was somehow nowhere.
It wasnât fair.
It wasnât right.
And the sharp, twisting frustration inside of you had nowhere to go, compounding into a taut knot at the base of your throat.
You tried, really tried not to take it out on Regulus.
It wasn't his fault.
Heâd done nothing wrong, to your knowledge.
But tensionâagitationâclung to you like smoke. Coiling in your chest and bleeding in to everything, even when you tried to bite it backâevery brush of conversation feeling too short, too raw, as if a single wrong word might set the whole damn world tilting sideways.
Once again you found yourself wandering aimlessly down the third-floor corridor, shoulders rigid with barely restrained tension, brows furrowed so tightly it felt like they might permanently etch themselves into your skin. You barely even register Regulus' soft footsteps approaching from behindâhe was always quiet like thatâuntil you felt his presence like a cool shadow against the hot buzz of your thoughts.
Turning your head just as he parted his lips to call your name, catching him in the corner of your eye. He stopped short, his frown mirroring the one set stubbornly into your mouth. You did offered him a brittle, tight-lipped smileâa poor excuse for reassuranceâit looked more like a twitsed grimace.
And if anything, it made his chest ache more.
Without a word, Regulus stepped into your space, fingers curling gently around your wrist and tugging you toward the darker recesses of the corridor, into the small corner by the old statue of the One-Eyed Witch.
There was no resistance, just barely dragging your feet in the direction he pulled you. A small part of you thankful for the anchor he always offered without needing to be asked.
Pressing you gently into the shadowed alcove, until your back met the cool stone wall. He shifted his body just enough to shield you from view, although this part of the castle was rarely trafficked on weekends.
His hands rose, cradling your face with a reverence that made your chest tighten all over again, thumbs brushing carefully over the creased furrow between your brows, trying to smooth away the silent worry written across your skin.
Dipping his forehead to rest against yours, and for a long quiet moment, he just held you, breathed you inâyour frustration, your stress, your tangled turmoil. His thumbs continued their soothing pattern across your skin. Tilting your chin up, compelling your gaze to meet his, and his frown mirrored your own; a mirror of silent worry and guilt. Then, slowly, he dipped forward, pressing the softest kiss to your downturned lips.
You didnât react at first.
The first few pecks were like kisses to a stone statue, your body slumped, your heart still swimming in anxious disarray.
But Regulus didnât stop.
Didnât falter.
He kissed you againâsofter, longerâthen pulled back only enough to kiss you again, not giving you room to slip away. His hands stayed at your jawline, steady and patient, and he began peppering kisses across your cheeks, your forehead, the corners of your mouth.
Another kiss. And another. Light, coaxingâcareful not to demand anything from you, just to offer, patiently, again and again.
Something in you cracked.
Your body betrayed you.
Lips twitched at the cornersâa small, stubborn curve, despite yourself when he abandoned your mouth to scatter kisses across your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, the tip of your forehead. Feather-light, stubborn little pecks that demanded you feel them.
Encouraged, he pressed one firmer kiss to your mouth, and this time you lifted your hands, rising from your sides almost timidly to touch him.
When he finally pulled back slightly, searching your face, he only waited a heartbeat before dipping back inâcatching your mouth with a little more insistence, refusing to let you disappear into your own mind. Fingers reached up to clutch at the soft fabric of his jumperâhe smiled into you and pressed a firmer, surer one against your mouth.
âIâm sorry, amour,â he whispered against your lips, voice low, aching.
Your heart gave a painful, traitorous little leap at the pet name. Inhaling shakily through your nose, burying your face against his chest for a moment, drinking in his familar scent, basking in his touch. Mindlessly fiddling with the hem of his jumper.
"No, I'm sorry," you murmured, voice cracking a little. "Iâm not upset with you, Reg...I'm just worried."
You couldnât meet his eyes.
And the guilt in his chest sharpened, too heavy to ignore. He could stomach Bartyâs silence, could even stomach his own cowardice, could wait out the tension until it cracked and splintered and healed, but youâwith your small, fragile voiceâyou were his breaking point.
He didnât know how to tell you it was partly his fault. That if heâd kept his mouth shut weeks ago, none of this would have unraveled.
So he just leaned in, kissed you againâlonger this time, letting it sink deepâuntil he felt the tightness begin to seep out of your shoulders, melting you into him. Thumb tracing idle, affectionate circles over your cheekbones, and when he pulled back, he gaze flickered briefly down to your now parted, lightly flushed lips.
He didnât stay distant for long.
Ducking back down, connecting your lips again, this time more hungrily, a low, almost frustrated sound rumbling in his throat. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you into the cool stone.
Letting his lips trail over the curve of your jaw, over the vulnerable line of your throatâslow and indulgentâbetween kisses he mumbled, almost inaudibly,
"Can we talk after dinner?"
Your mind was fogging under his touch, head tipping back slightly against the wall to grant him better access.
"Mmh?" you managed breathlessly, hands sliding up to tangle in his hair.
"In my room," he clarified, lips brushing your pulse point. "After dinner. Please, amour."
"What is it?" you whispered.
He only hummed, not willing to say more here, kissing down the slope of your neck.
"After dinner," he murmured again, "Iâll explain everything, my love."
And you could only nod, dazed, sighing a soft "okay" into the heated slither of air between you.
Hands rising to clutch the front of his jumper as his lips found their way back to yours. One hand sliding into the back of your hair, cradling the base of your skull, as if you might disappear if he didn't hold you close enough.
It was feverish, unsteady, all the bottled-up emotions from the past few weeks bleeding into itâfrustration, longing, guilt, tenderness. Regulus made a soft, almost groaning sound against your mouth, low and aching, pressing you into him like he couldnât bear even an inch of distance between you.
Indulging so much that neither of you noticed the faint creak of stone shifting nearby.
Hidden behind the narrow crack in the floorâthe secret entrance to Honeydukes cellarâRemus had frozen halfway up the ladder, wide-eyed and horrified.
Heâd only peered out because he thought the coast was clearâbut instead, he found himself staring straight at you and Regulus, very much entangled, very much devouring each other against the wall.
Remusâ entire brain short-circuited. His mouth falling open wordlessly, heart thudding violently in his chest, a surge of secondhand panic washing over him.
âOh, fuck,â he whispered under his breath, scrambling backward so fast he nearly slipped off the ladder entirely.
âWhat?!â hissed James, who was climbing up behind him, bag and pockets full of stolen treats. Remus dropped back down onto solid ground, his face burning crimson, shoving James hard in the chest to get him to retreat.
âPeeves,â Remus blurted, voice cracking horribly. âPeeves is lurkingâwe canât use this exit. Go, go!â
He practically herded James and Sirius back down the ladder, his hands flailing in frantic gestures, as if trying to physically wipe the mental image from his brain.
James scowled. âWeâll have to take the library passage, thenâwait, why is your face redder than a howlerâ"
âDON'T ASK,â Remus snapped, voice embarrassingly high-pitched, speedwalking so fast Sirius almost tripped trying to keep up.
Behind the stone wall, blissfully unaware of the near-catastrophe, you and Regulus finally broke apart, both breathing hard, foreheads still touching. You opened your eyes slowly, and the look you found waiting for you in Regulus' eyes nearly knocked the breath from your lungs all over againâtoo fond, too devoted it made your chest ache.
His thumb brushed once more over your now kiss-swollen bottom lip, almost reverently.
There was a sudden, heavy tenderness hanging heavy between youâdelicate and infinite and frighteningly real.
âI missed your smile, amour,â he murmured, voice low and teasing, but the vulnerability in it was unmistakable.
You felt your mouth twitchâthe smallest of smiles threatening your lips, despite everything.
Regulus caught it instantly, his eyes brightening with something fierce and boyish and unguarded, something he usually hid so well.
He smiledâthat same smile that softened all his sharp edgesâand ducked his head, pressing one last kiss to your forehead.
âWhat?â he said, voice lighter, teasing. âYou are my love. Itâs just a fact.â
You groaned, half mortified, half wanting to curl yourself into him and never move againâslipping out of the alcove with a muttered sound of embrassment, dragging him by the hand into the empty corridor before he could say anything else to make your cheeks any hotter.
He followed you without protest, his fingers laced securely with yours.
Regulus chuckled low in his throat, clearly pleased with himself, and gently unwound your fingers from his jumper, lacing them with his own instead. Thumb stroked back and forth over the back of your hand.
After a moment, he squeezed your hand gently and said, softer this time, âAfter dinner. My room. Promise me you'll come.â
ââ .âŚ
It had been weeks, and they were grueling and awful and torturous if Barty were to describe them.
And he simply couldn't do this anymore.
The pressure of itâthe churning, festering wrongness under his skinâwas unbearable now. Like he was carrying it all inside his ribs and it was rotting him alive.
Heâd hardly even been in a room with Regulus since that night. Or you.
And he could see itâthe way his own twisted form of self-preservation was affecting you, how even in his absence heâd managed to damage you still. And he knew Regulus didnât say anythingâhe saw the altercation you had between your brother, and how your presence dwindled in his room. How you would b-line to your dorm, and when heâd sneak into get his clothes that the room rarely every smelt like you anymore.
The guilt was eating him from the inside out, because it wasnât just you, it was Regulus as wellâwalking around with a sharper scowl, shoulders hung heavy like the weight of everything and more rested on them. Not just his usual brooding self, almost dejected.
Barty couldn't sit still. Couldn't hide away anymore, ignore his feelingsâpretend he wasnât thrumming with an ugly combination of stress and something even worseâsomething desperate and raw and afraid.
He needed to find Regulus.
He needed to talk to him.
To fix it. To deny it. To clear it up or scream about it or somethingâanything but this awful limbo where the walls felt too close and his own skin didnât fit right.
It didnât matter that it was Sunday evening, that the castle was heavy with the scent of dinner being prepared, Barty knew Regulusâ habits like they were tattooed on the inside of his skull. Always disappearing for an hour or two before the evening rushâlocked away in the luxurious marble bath, soaking in stupidly expensive bath oils, hidden behind thick clouds of steam and silence.
A ritual.
A sacred hour Barty had historically never dared to interrupt.
Right now, he didnât care.
He just needed to see him. Needed to fix this suffocating knot inside his ribs before it swallowed him whole, before he ruined more than he already had. Feet moving faster, almost without his permission, carrying him through the dimming hallsârunning solely on adrenaline nowâan ugly, volatile thingâpraying it wouldn't abandon him at the wrong time.
The Prefects' corridor was empty, getting into the hall much easier than heâd imagined it to be.
Barty didnât pause.
He wrenched open the heavy door to the bathroom and slipped inside like a shadow.
The air was thick insideâwarm and wet and heavy with the smell of eucalyptus and something honeyed and rich. The world narrowed down to the soft sound of lapping water, the gleam of marble under golden torchlight, and the pulse hammering wildly in Bartyâs ears.
And there he was.
Regulus.
Sitting at the far end of the enormous sunken bath, his slender back turned, arms lazily draped over the marble edge. Head tilted back, curls slicked down against his skull, pale throat bared to the ceiling.
He lookedâ
Gods, did was he a sightâalmost ethereal, like something out of a dream Barty had never realise he had. His voice broke out of him before he could stop it, desperate and crackingâdisrupting the perfecting calculated stillness that Regulus lounged in.
"Reg, listen IâI need to talk to you for a secâ"
At the sound of his voice, Regulus stirred. Moving so slowly, like waking from some deep underwater dreamâa quiet exhale escaping his mouth, softer than heâd ever thought it could be, especially aimed at him, and almost grateful.
He turned towards Barty, lifting himself slightly against the marble, water sliding down the planes of his torso in glistening rivulets.
And Barty's pulse almost came to an abrupt stop.
Because what he saw made his blood run hot and cold all at once. Regulusâ chest was bareâslick, gleaming, flushedâand littered with deep violet hickeysâglistening under the soft golden light, hickeys blooming down the line of his throat, across his collarbones, scattered over the delicate cage of his ribs.
Your marks.
Your mouth, mapped all over him like he belonged to you.
Barty's gaze snagged helplessly on the dark purple bites smeared along Regulusâ skin, breath caught in his throat like it had been punched out of him.
He'd seen Regulus shirtless a hundred times. In locker rooms. In summer. It was nothing new.
Eyes glued to the way Regulusâ slender arms flexed as he shifted, the blue veins in his forearms prominent and glistening under the wet light. On the way his water-slick hair clung to the delicate slope of his cheekbone. On the lazy curl of steam rising off his flushed skin.
He was stupidly, obscenely beautifulâand it made something inside Barty twist so hard it hurt.
And then, just to add to itâas if the knife needed to twist even deeperâRegulusâ mouth shaped his name. "Junior," Regulus breathed, soft and fond and almost worriedâhis dark eyes scanning over Bartyâs frozen figure, open and vulnerable and achingly glad to see him.
He could feel it, unbareably soâprevalent and impossible to ignore. The heat crawling up from the base of his throat, spilling across his cheeks, climbing up the tips of his ears until it felt like his whole skull was on fire.
Struggling, he wrenched his gaze awayâdisgusted with himself, with this, with everythingâheart hammering like a snare drum.
"âShitâsorry, thisâ" Barty stammered, voice cracking in half, "âthis is a bad time, I'll justâI'll come backâ"
He spun on his heel, desperate to get out, desperate to run before he did something unspeakably stupid. Behind him, he heard Regulus shift in the water with a sharp splashâheard the panic in his voice:
"Waitâ! Junior, waitâ"
But Barty was already goneâstumbling back through the doorway, half-blind with the sheer force of wrongness splitting him in halfâbarely making it three steps out of the prefect bathroom before he slammed into you at full force.
The collision was so sudden, so jarring, that both of you went down hardâthe weight of it knocking the breath out of your lungs as you hit the cold stone floor with a painful thud, a startled groan slipping out of your lips apon impact with the dense stone. Papers were flying, scattering like feathers in the heavy, humid corridor air.
Barty landed half-sprawled infront of you, frozen stiff on the floor, like he couldnât even think about moving. His chest heaved as he gasped in a broken, desperate breathâwide, panicked eyes locking onto you, like you were the only thing he could see.
It was you.
Of course it was you.
The person who had put their mouth all over Regulusâ body, the person who he branded themselves into every one of his thoughts, the person who he longed and ached for.
The person whose touch was still probably lingering on Regulusâ skin, sinking into his bones.
The person that Barty wanted nothing more than to be a victim of your touch.
"Treasure," he breathed outâhelplessly, instinctivelyâvoice cracked and raw.
And your eyes widened, glassy almost immediatelyâshimmering with emotion you didnât even have time to name as your gaze swept over him, lingering on the flushed panic stamped across his face.
You barely registered the throbbing ache in your hip or the smarting scrape on your elbowâthe only thing you could focus on was himâthe way his brows were drawn up like it physically hurt him to see you in pain, the way he looked so panicked and almost small for the first time.
The heavy door behind him hadnât even fully clicked shut yet when it swung open again.
And thereâpadding out into the corridor, steam still clinging to his skinâRegulus.
A towel hung precariously low around his narrow hips, damp from where it clung to the drops sliding down his chest and thighs. The cold castle air hit him hard, raising goosebumps along his marked, glistening skinâthe fresh hickeys stark and scandalous against his usually-pristine appearance.
His mouth was still open mid-protest, the words "No! Barty, waitâ" faltering into shocked silence as he stumbled into view...and saw you both. A messy heap on the stone floor, your papers strewn everywhere.
He froze.
Like someone had Petrificus Totalus-ed him in place.
For a wild, frantic second, he didnât moveâdidnât even breatheâlooking for all the world like a soaked, deeply miserable, and highly stressed cat caught in a trap.
An uncontrollable flush blossomed up Regulusâ neck to the tips of his earsâa vivid wash of pink climbing higher and higher, curls dripping onto his forehead, his arms flinching as if debating whether to clutch the towel tighter or bolt for the nearest shadow.
It was so bad, so insanely bad, that a broken, half-hysterical laugh threatened to rise in your throatâbut it caught halfway up when the door beside you creaked open again.
And out stepped Remus.
Still mid-conversation with youâor, he had beenâbefore the disaster of the corridor scene snatched the words right out of his mouth. He took one look at you and Barty tangled on the floor, another at the papers littering the hallway, and thenâ
Then he saw Regulus.
Or more specifically, Regulus' towel-wrapped, heavily marked figure standing shame-facedly in the middle of the hallway like a half-drowned mythological disaster. Nearly naked Regulus. Remusâ eyes went comically wide.
His jaw opened slightlyâthen closedâthen opened again.
The way he stared at Regulus was enough to make you want to evaporate on the spot. It was almost impressive how many emotions raced across Remusâ face all at once; shock, horror, confusion, secondhand embarrassment.
He looked back at you with a look that screamed: what the fuck, oh my god, how?, all at once, his ears flushing a brilliant shade of pink under his shaggy hair.
And Regulusâblessed, doomed Regulusâonly then seemed to realise what he was showing the entire damn corridor.
He made a noiseâsomething between a choked squeak and a groanâand scuttled backward, towel slipping dangerously low, practically tripping over his own feet as he yanked the bathroom door closed behind him with a deafening thud.
The silence that followed was mindnumbing.
Barty shifted stiffly beside you, hands fumbling to brace himself against the floor, scrambling up awkwardly, movements jerky, clearly desperate to get awayâto vanish into thin air if he could. But before he could bolt, you latched onto his armâfirmly, fingers curling tight around his sleeve.
"Junior," you saidâclear yet rough and certainâmaking him still where he stood, as if he couldnât do anything but listen to the command of your voice. Flinching slightly at the sound of it, his name on your lipsâsomething raw and aching flickering across his faceâand he didnât pull away. Couldnât even if he wanted to, because it was you.
Meanwhile, Remusâpoor, long-suffering Remus, had very clearly decided that he wanted absolutely no part of this scene anymore.
Without a word, cheeks still burning, he inched carefully backwardâedging into the room he'd just come from, shooting you one last deeply pained, bewildered glance before disappearing with a whispered, awkward "Yeah, I'm justâI'll go."
The door clicked shut softly behind him.
And then it was just you and Barty.
Standing in the wreckage of the hallwayâpapers still scattered everywhere like shrapnel, your heart hammering painfully hard in your chest. Fingers were still gripping his sleeve and he could feel you, the warmth of your palm radiating through his robesâboth of you remained still, as if locked in that moment.
And when he finally lifted his gaze from the floorâfinally looked at your for the first time in weeksâhe looked at you like you were something half-sacred, half-terrifyingâsomething he didn't know if he was allowed to touch or beg for or run from.
The moments drags, time slowing around you in the corridor as you wrack you brain desperately for words, anything, but your mind has gone blankâemptied under the pressure of Bartyâs eyes on you. Something swimming in them that has your throat drying as the seconds go by. Hyperaware of him being close to you, him being infront of you after weeks of search.
Youâre startled out of your thoughts when his arm shifted under your hold, stepping closer to him in desperationâconvinced heâd run away the second he had the chance.
âJunior,â
That was all you said.
It sounded breathless and pinched and honestly patheticâbut you couldnât find it in yourself to care. Eyes locked on where you held him, as if he wasnât realâlike he was going to dematerialise spontaneously and youâd be left standing alone again.
A frown was etched onto your lips as you contemplated releasing him, heâd already made it so clear that for whatever reason he couldnât stand the idea of being near you. And yet you were holding him hostage in silence, heart hammering beneath your chestâlump heavy in your throat preventing any speech from leaving you.
He still had a pained expression on his faceâlips parting when you gaze rose to meet hisâeyes softening when your voice reached his ears, meek and so unlike you, lacking your usual spark, your casual confidence.
âIâIâm sorry.â your voice trembled, brows pinched on your foreheadâand he saw the way you struggled to swallow before you continued, âFor whatever I didâJunior, Iâm sorry,â Each word reaked with desperation and a quiet hopelessness that made Bartyâs heart plummet in his chest.
His muscles were taut under his skin, rigid with restraintâwanting to run away from the inevitable and pull you into him all at the same time. Words lingering in the air between you, fragile and lost. He could practically feel them sink into his bones, heavier than any hex heâd ever been hit with.
For a long, suffocating moment, he said nothing. Just looked at you.
Looked at you like you were a burning star about to collapse under your own gravityâsomething so devastatingly bright that getting close might kill him, looked at you with a helpless frown and pinched brows.
His jaw clenched once, twice, before he finally movedâslow, like it hurt him.
âDonâtââ he choked out, voice cracking mid-word. His hands balled into fists at his sides, nails digging crescent moons into his palms. âDonât apologise.â
Your lips pursed together, blinking up at him with an expression he never wanted to see on your face again, and most certainly hated the fact that he was the reason for.
âIââ He stopped himself, raking a shaking hand through his hair, sending damp strands curling wildly. His whole body seemed to vibrate with a barely-restrained, chaotic energy, like a wire pulled too tight. âYou didnât do anything, treasure.â
And it only made you frown deepen, fingers twitching around his wristâstill holding him like he was some fragile thing that would vanish, that would crumble under any sort of pressure. Barty was too weak for his own goodâsurging forward and pulling you into him, arms wrapping tightly around you in an embrace.
He shouldnât be doing thisâholding you close this when your boyfriend was just a door down. He shouldnât be indulging himself in you when even just this small touch means something different to him. Means more.
âYou didnât do anything,â he repeated, voice low and raw and agonisingly sincere.
âIâm the oneâfuck, treasure, Iâm the one whoââ
His words caught in his throat when he felt you squeeze him, palm on his backâyour warmth so soothing yet tormenting all at once and Barty just leaned into it. Leaned into you like a man who had nothing leftâno fight, no resolveâjust signing himself away. Pressing his face into the your shoulder, âIâm sorry,â he murmured back, words muffled against your skin. âIâm so fucking sorry, treasure. Iââ
You didnât let him finish, leaning away slightlyâstaring up at him with a look in your eyes he couldnât understand, it lacked contempt, it didnât have anything other than warmth and acceptance he couldnât fathom. Affection, that he surely didnât deserve.
âJunior. Jâstop. You donât need to explain right now,â you said, voice almost lost in the thick, suffocating air between you. âLetâsâŚletâs just go sit somewhere, yeah?â
But you barely had a chance to move before you heard the soft creak of a door behind you.
Regulus.
He stepped out of the bathroom, fully clothed now, his shirt rumpled and clinging slightly to his skin in places where his hair was still damp, curling against the nape of his neck and forehead in soft, messy tendrils. Water dripped lazily from the ends, soaking into the collar of his shirt, but he didnât seem to notice.
His eyes found you first, standing frozen there in the corridor with Barty half-folded against you. Then his sights slid over to Barty, and the way Barty clung to you like if he let go, heâd come apart completely.
The way you cradled Bartyâs wrist with your fingersâso gentle, so careful, as if you were holding something precious you didnât know how to save. The look in Bartyâs eyesâraw, unguardedâmade Regulusâs chest ache in a way he didnât want to name.
He justâŚwatched for a moment.
Air stretching, heavy and taut and almost suffocating, until finally Regulus moved.
Walking up to you both in three long, silent strides and, without a word, reaching outâtaking both of your wrists, Bartyâs and yours, into his hands. Grip wasnât rough, but it was firm. Inevitable.
He turned on his heel and tugged you both along. Neither of you resisted. Neither of you even thought to resist.
Following him blindly, feet scraping against the stones, the flickering torches blurring past in your peripheral vision. Barty stumbled once but caught himself, and you never once let go of him. The corridors twisted and turned, and after a short while, the only sound was quiet breaths mixing with the distant noise of dinner echoing from the Great Hall.
After a few minutes, you found your voice, smaller than youâd have liked, âReg, where are we goingâŚ?â
He didnât turn around, his fingers just tightened slightly where they held both your wrists, turning another corner. âDonât you think we need to talk?â he said, his voice low, too neutralâalmost strained.
You didnât answerâletting the question hung unanswered between you.
Eventually, he pulled you both into the Slytherin common roomâempty nowâpulling you up the stairs into their room, the heavy velvet curtains drawn across the windows, casting the room in muted twilight. Only the faint golden glow of the sconces on the walls lit the room, flickering like dying stars.
Regulus let go of you both, stepping back a pace as if to give you spaceâmaybe even to steel himself. The three of you stood there in the centre of the room, awkward and uncertain, like strangers stranded in the aftermath of a stormâthe door clicking softly behind you and resonating around the silence in the room.
Bartyâs shoulders were tense, hunched inward like he was bracing for a blow. His gaze was fixed stubbornly on the floor, refusing to meet either of yours. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, useless.
Regulus watched him quietly, no anger in his eyesâno disappointment, even. Just something quieter, heavier. Patient.
And youâ
You hovered uncertainly, your hand still loosely wrapped around Bartyâs wrist, your thumb brushing absently against the bone like you hadnât even realised you were doing itâyou never noticed, but Barty did.
His eyes flicking down, locking on the sight of your handâso unaware, so comforting and yet it still made his chest tighten. Only then did you notice, feeling the way he tensed under your touch, following his gaze with dread pinching in you when you it landed on your hand.
Pursing your lips together, you pulled awayâforcibly squeezing your own handâfingers curling into your palm ike you could hide the upset bleeding into your skin.
âIâm sorry,â you whispered, voice raw and breaking. âDidnât mean to make you uncomfortable.â
Barty flinched at your words, frustration flickering across his face before he scrubbed a hand roughly through his hair, curls falling even messier over his forehead.
âItâs not thatââ he blurted, wincing. âWellâit isâbut itâs notââ He stammered over the words, grimacing as he fought them, fought with his mind and tongue. âItâs not you. You donâtâyou donât make me uncomfortable. I justââ
He stopped, pressing his lips together hard like he could physically hold the rest of it in.
The silence stretched, pressed into him like it knew he would crumble, like it was waiting from him to shatter. And your gaze on him did nothing to quell his pulse sounding in his ears, it was openâconfused, waiting. Unfairly patient.
Regulusâ stare was sharperâcutting into him with a quiet sort of knowing that made Bartyâs stomach twist painfully.
And Barty couldnât stand itâhe couldnât breathe under it.
âIâI thought I could do this. But I canât. Iâm sorry, I justââ
The panic was building, an unforgiving, rising tide in his throat, tight and hot and unbearable. He turned sharply, desperate to escape the weight of their stares, the suffocating walls, the unbearable truth burning under his skin. But before he could get more than a step away, Regulus movedâswift and sure, catching his wrist in a firm grip. âStop.â Regulus said quietly, with an iron edge that brooked no argument. âIf you donât tell her, I will. Itâs not fair anymore, Junior.â
And Barty's whole body jolted at the contact, stiffening like heâd been shocked. His stomach flippedâviolent and sick and dizzyingâbut not just with anger. Not just with shame.
There was something else, something strange and warm tangled in it, something he didnât want to name, something worse. The feeling of Regulusâ fingers curling around his wristâsoft and careful and familiarâit sent a pulse of heat ricocheting through him so abruptly that for a split second he was convinced his lungs had collapsed.
And it made him angryâat himself, at everything.
Because how dare his body still react like that, still betray him, even now when everything was clearly already falling apart?
He ripped his arm free like it burned him, staggering back with a harsh, broken sound caught in his throat, spinning around so quickly he nearly stumbled, chest heaving, his face crumpling with a sick, helpless kind of revulsionâat himself most of all.
âYou think this is fair on me?!â he snapped, voice ragged and raw. He couldnât even see Regulusâs face anymoreâcouldnât bear toâonly saw the wreckage burning behind his own eyes.
âYou think I want this?!"
The words tore out of him, vicious and choking. "I wishâ" And he breath caught, clawing its way out and trapping itself in his throat, as he continue words swallowed in the distress of his tone.
"I wish more than anything that I didnât feel like this!"
His hands were shaking now, curled tight into fists, nails digging hard into his palms until he swore he felt blood bloom beneath them, knuckles white and tremouring under the tightness.
âWhat do you want me to sayâhuh, Reg?!â he demanded, a frantic, wounded sound punching out of him. âYou want me to shout it from the rooftops?! Fine!â
He should have stopped himself, should have thought about it, taken a second to just stop. But Barty was always too volatile, always too crass for his own goodânever able to find the middle ground, especially when it comes to emotions, so used to pushing them away. Hiding them under layers and layers of blaĹe and cocky remakes. And now it was all spilling out of him like bile, thick like oil, staining and tainting the air as left him.
âYou want me to say âIâm in love with your girlfriend!?ââ
He wasnât finishedâthe final truth tumbling out, raw and bleeding, voice cracking under the pressure,
"Iâm in love with my best friend!"
And with thatâit wasnât just the room that stoppedâBarty was use the whole world had, spinning on its axis, tilted upside down. He froze, his own heartbeat roaring in his ears, realisation crashing down on him like a tidal wave too heavy to survive.
The weight of what heâd saidâwhat he couldnât ever take backâslammed into him so hard he staggered, a half-step backward, dazed and wide-eyed.
You just stood there, staring at him, lips parted slightly, eyes glistening under the dim candle lightâand Regulus didn't say anything. Didnât even move either.
He just watched Barty quietly, his face frighteningly still, but his grey eyes were no longer guarded. They swam with something achingly gentle. Something like understanding, sympatheticâand he wanted to be sick, wanted to scream.
Because even now, even after everythingâpart of him still ached, wanting to reach for you, part of him wished Regulusâ hand was still warm and familiar against him. Still wanted to feel the impossible, burning comfort of being held by you.