me and the actor who's older than my father against the world

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me and the actor who's older than my father against the world

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SLYTHERIN // fic recommendations
note: remember to read the tags! + i do not own any of these works
REGULUS BLACK
le lendemain matin
the salt and the sea
forever
the better of two bad options
a pen
the door
the black heir
distraction
THEODORE NOTT
love is sour grapes
by netws & nott
something stronger
like snow on the beach
the only heaven i'll be sent to (is when i'm alone with you)
TOM RIDDLE
desiderium
love again
from the glue
salted caramel, metal, strawberries, vanilla, and ink
midmorning
effects of amortentia
DRACO MALFOY
our little secret
honeydukes
firsts
how could i ever forget?
makeup
draco malfoy with shy!male!reader headcanons
cherry juice
MATTHEO RIDDLE
the cat
puppy eyes
the game
rainy nights m.r
LORENZO BERKSHIRE
like nobody else
guardian angels
poly james potter x reader x regulus black
synopsis: when your boyfriends james and regulus rush to the infirmary after you knock yourself out, theyâre relieved to see you awake⌠until they realize you donât remember them and instead start flirting with them, completely unaware youâre already dating them.
tags: minor injury, concussion, mentions of being drugged due to a medicine, light angst, playful banter, angel imagery, temporary amnesia. (3k words)
The minute Remus had barged in and told James, who was lounging beneath a tree with Regulus, that you were knocked out in the infirmary, both of them were on their feet before he had even finished the sentence.
James moved first, which was not surprising considering the way his entire body had gone rigid with alarm the moment your name left Remusâ mouth.Â
One second he had been sprawled comfortably in the grass with his glasses sliding down his nose and the next he was halfway across the courtyard already, hair disheveled from running his hands through it as he demanded, âWhat do you mean knocked out? What the hell happened?â
evil twin !
regulus black x twinpotter!reader âš 10.2k
(part ii)
cw ⢠eventual poly!bartylus!!, slytherin!reader, fluff, friends to lovers
summary: the potter twins, a marvelous duo split by the sorting hat. just like your brother you presence was addictive, drawing in the attentions of a particularly brooding black brother.
a/n: THIS IS THE FIRST OF HOPEFULLY MANY PARTS HEHEHE I HOPE YOU ENJOY MWAH!!! not proofread x
Dumbledore was convinced that both Euphemia and Fleamont Potter had carried out a divide and conquer tactic apon your arrival in the castle.
Individually, you and James were a force to be reckoned withâboth incredibly charismatic, intelligent and hard-headed, with a knack for mischief. So together, Dumbledoreâs head only spun at the thought of the havoc the pair of you would cause.
Luckily, on the fateful day of your arrival, you were placed in Slytherin and your beloved twin brother was placed in Gryffindorâseparated for the first time ever. The moment still vivid in your mind, the second the sorting hat was on you, the way you flinched when it hummed, ponderingâvoice ringing loud in your ears as it announcedâSlytherin.
James had frozen at the Gryffindor table, half out of his seat, hand still twitching against the bench where heâd been saving your spotâwatching as your lip trembled, walking glossy-eyed to the Slytherin table.
That first night, the castle felt too big, dungeon walls suffocating, too many corridors between you and your brother.
Of course it was hard, for the both of you.
James had always been protective over youâinfuriatingly so. Always reinforcing the fact that he needs to take care of his little sister. Like those three minutes made any difference at all.
It had been a slow shiftâpainful, even. You and James had always been a unit, bound by childhood games, matching jumpers, and the unspoken certainty that wherever one of you went, the other wasnât far behind. But Hogwarts had changed that. The Sorting Hat had done more than divide you; it had distilled you. Pulled apart the blended pieces of your personalities and exposed them for what they truly were.
It gave you both room to grow.
Individually. Distinctively.
Earning names for yourselves outside of âthe Potter twinsâ.
Youâd both carved your names into the stone walls of Hogwarts in your own distinct waysâloud and clear, unmistakable.
James Potter was sunlight. A walking, talking explosion of brightness. He lit up corridors with that crooked grin and wind-mussed hair, bounding through the castle like he owned every inch of it. Gryffindor Quidditch captain, chaotic and loud and brilliant in all the ways that made people want to follow him into a duel or disaster.
He was the kind of boy who laughed with his whole chest, who spoke like everything he said mattered, arms slung around friends like they were lifelines. Always in motion. Always burning. A golden retriever in human form, all reckless energy and genuine joy.
And then there was you.
Cool where James was burning. Still water to his wildfire. But no less dangerous.
No less alluring.
They called you the evil twinânever to your face, and never with confidence. Not seriously. Not really. But the name clung to you like smoke. It suited you in the way all the best lies do: close enough to truth to be dangerous.
There was a calm to you, deliberate and composed, but it was the kind of calm that made people lean in too close, not noticing that they were slipping under the surface until it was far too late. You moved with the kind of grace that made people watch without realising they were watching, your smile soft, voice smoother still, and eyes always gleaming with something slightly wild.
They whispered about you long after you left a room.
Head Girl before your quill ever touched the application parchment. A perfect recordâat least on paper.
Your charm was quieter than Jamesâ, more calculated, more disarming. Beautiful, brilliant, and just a little terrifying. You made people nervous, even when you were smiling. Especially when you were smiling.
There was a glint in your eyes that made hearts skip and stomachs drop, that whispered of games and secrets and consequences. A wicked sort of glimmer, like you knew every thought in their head and were already deciding what to do with it. Like the sea right before a storm.
Yin and yang, Dumbledore had once said, half in jest. Opposing forces in perfect balance.
You enter the Great Hall like a secret unfurlingâquiet and unannounced, not so much walking as gliding between tables, untouched by the noise that fills the air.
Steps silent across the stone floor, a slip of motion through the chaos of breakfastâchatter and cutlery and laughter clanging off the walls. You pass the Gryffindor table without so much as a murmur trailing behind you, and still, not one person notices.
Not until your hand touches Jamesâ shoulder.
He jerks so violently he nearly knocks his goblet over, a string of startled swears tumbling from his mouth as his fork clatters against the plate. Pumpkin mash splatters. Someone at the table yelped. Sirius choked on his toast, and Remus actually gasped as if someoneâs just hexed him.
Every head turned.
And James was clutching his chest like youâd stabbed him.
âBloodyâ! Merlinâs sake, you canât justâ!â
You tilt your head at him, ever so slightly, a small smirk twitching at the corners of your lipsâeyes glinting with amusement. âJamie,â you say in a sing-song lilt, sweet and syrupy, âYou wouldnât happen to still have the History of Magic textbook you borrowed from me, would you?â
A hush falls over the tableâjust long enough to make you notice.
âEr. About that,â he says, eyes darting like heâs working out whether to lie or apologise. âI might still have it. Might. Canât say what condition itâs in, though.â
Your smile fades instantly, its replacing expressing shockly serious.
âJames,â you say flatly, eyes narrowing. âDid you ruin my book?â
He winces. âDefine ruinââ
âJames.â
âIt wasnât on purpose!â he insists quickly, shoulders raising like youâre about to hex him in the middle of the Great Hall. âThere was thisâuhâSirius spilled ink on the table and then Remus knocked it over and there was just a lot going on.â
You stayed silent, blinking at him, unimpressed.
âIâll get you a new copy,â he says, guilt creeping into his voice. âLater today. Youâll have to stop by the common room, though.â
You sigh like it physically pains you. âFine. Iâll try to come by around seven.â
He grins, pleased with himself. âSorry, Poppet*.*â
You roll your eyes, but the edge of your mouth twitches. Straightening, with a roll of your shoulders as you draw your hand away from him, letting it fall to your side. And when you glace up again, the stares hadnât stopped.
Like theyâd forgotten to look away, the silence hung in the air for barely a second, scanning the table momentarilyâbefore offering a small smileâslow, sweet, almost smug.
The kind of smile that ruins people.
âMâkay, see you later, Jamie,â you murmur, then turn and slip back into motion.
Eyes follow you as you goâevery turn of your heel, every soft shift of fabric, every second you exist within their line of sight. James barely registers it at firstâtoo busy spearing his toast again, already halfway back into conversation. But then he pauses.
His eyes flick to Sirius. Then to Remus. Then to Marlene.
All three of them are still staring across the hall. Still tracking your path back to your table.
âOh for Merlinâs sake,â James groans loudly, glaring. âStop gawking at my sister.â
Marlene blinks, caught. âSheâs terrifying,â she mutters, almost to herself.
âIn a reallyâŚgood way,â Remus adds, dazed.
Sirius only grins.
James lets out a strangled sound and buries his face in his hands.
The portrait swings open without hesitation, at exactly seven oâclock sharp, youâd been there enough times that even the Fat Lady doesnât bother asking questions anymore.
James is already waiting on one of the overstuffed armchairs by the fire, textbook in hand. You barely slowed as you approached. He tossed it up with a practiced flick of the wrist, and you caught it one-handed.
âNew copy,â he says proudly. âDidnât even steal it. Arenât you proud?â
You hum in approval, flipping it open to scan the pages. âNo ink stains. No food crumbs. No smell of dungbombs.â You close it with a satisfied snap. âMiracles do happen.â
Before he can retort, youâve already turned toward the couch, where Lily is perched cross-legged with a steaming mug of something floral and her usual tower of parchment. She smiles when she sees you, shifting over to make space without being asked.
Tucking the textbook under your arm as you lower yourself beside her.
James raises a suspicious brow, but you and Lily are already whispering to each other, heads tilted close and expressions conspiratorial. Itâs nothing terribly sinisterâsomething to do with Hogsmeade, and getting Slughorn to move a test back a weekâbut itâs enough to draw curious glances from the far side of the room.
You feel them. The eyes.
But you donât look. Donât need to.
Sirius was pretending not to stare. Which is laughable, really, because his entire body was angled toward you, elbow propped on the back of the couch, fingers tangled in his hair in that careless way he probably thinks is charming.
And Remus was worse. Heâs trying to read, bless him, book in his lap and everythingâbut his eyes havenât moved from you since you sat down. He shifts like heâs uncomfortable, chewing the inside of his cheek. You think you catch the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his neck.
You say nothing. Keep your voice low as you murmur something into Lilyâs ear that makes her snort softly behind her hand.
After ten minutes of easy conversation, you rise without ceremony, slipping the textbook fully under your arm and smoothing your skirt.
âWell,â you say lightly, brushing a hand over your robes. âThis was fun.â
Lily smirks. âWeâll finalise tomorrow?â
âPerfectâ You glance to James. âThanks for the book, Jamie.â
âNo problem, Pop.â
You turn, finally acknowledging the two boys across the room with a glint of something wicked in your eye.
âGoodnight, boys,â you said sweetlyâvoice soft as silk, almost melodic. The slightest edge of a smile curves your lips as you roll your eyes, and then youâre already walking toward the exit, the hem of your robes trailing behind you like smoke.
You donât look back.
But if you had, you wouldâve seen Sirius run a hand through his hair and lean back with a low whistle.
âMerlin,â he mutters. âIâd swear sheâs half siren if it werenât for you, Prongsâ
James, whoâs still watching the portrait door swing shut, scoffs. âOh, come off it.â
âWhat?â Sirius grins, unashamed. âItâs not my fault your sister isââ he gestures vaguely toward the door, ââwhatever that is.â
Remus doesnât say a word. His book is still open in his lapâheâs not reading it.
âIâm just saying,â Sirius continues, âif she werenât your sisterâŚâ
âBut she is my sister.â James rebutted, slouching back in his seatâswiftly ending the conversation.
The corridor curved with quiet shadows, lit only by the flicker of distant torches. Your footsteps echoed faintly against the flagstone, a soft rhythm in the stillness of the dungeons. It was late, youâd spent more time in the Gryffindor common room than youâd realisedâmost of the castle already asleep, save for the odd prefect or wandering ghost.
You turned a corner near the potions classroom and nearly walked straight into Regulus Black.
He stopped short, posture already impeccable, as if even in surprise he couldn't be caught off guard. There was a brief flicker of something in his eyesârecognition, hesitationâand then he stepped slightly aside, giving you room without a word.
âBurning the midnight oil, Black?â you asked, voice soft with the sort of casual familiarity that made his name sound like something you owned.
He glanced at you, dark eyes catching in the torchlight. âPrefect rounds. Took longer than expected.â
You fell into step beside him as naturally as breathing, and he adjusted his pace to match yours without needing to be asked.
âWhat was it this time?â you mused. âMore Gryffindors smuggling sweets from the kitchens?â
âFourth-years,â he said with a small exhaleâamusement undercutting his otherwise smooth tone. âSaid they were practicing for a future in espionage.â
âAmbitious,â you said, a smile tugging at your mouth. âAlmost enough to make me proud.â
Regulus didnât respond, but you felt the brief flick of his eyes on your profile, like he was trying not to look too long. Like he was trying not to seem too interested.
You didnât comment, but you noticed.
By the time you reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, barely mumbling the password before the metal hinges whined, door opening slowly. Inside, the green-glass lamps glowed low, casting dreamy reflections against the water-like ceiling. The fire in the hearth crackled lazily, golden against the dark velvet furniture.
Dorcas sat half-curled on the rug, absently flipping through a magazine; Evan was draped across a couch like he owned it, cards floating above his face; Pandora leaned near him, humming as she threaded a strand of starlight-colored ribbon through her hair. It was a tableau of sleepy elegance.
Without hesitation, you crossed the room and lowered yourself to the center rug near the fire. Your hand stretched toward the flames without thought. A spark rose up, obedient and curious, dancing into your open palm.
Twirling it between your fingers like silk, the heat never burning you, the flame curling comfortably around your touch. Pandoraâs fingers stilled in her braid, watching.
Wandless magic.
Dorcas tilted her head, eyes bright. âYou really have to teach me how to do that one day.â
You didnât look away from the fire. âOf course,â you said lightly. âBut thereâs a bit of a learning curve.â
âLike what kind of curve?â Evan asked, not looking up. âBurn-your-dormitory-down levels?â
âMore like third-degree-if-youâre-clumsy,â you replied with a grin.
âI could do it,â a voice said behind you, full of loud confidence.
Barty stepped forward from where heâd been balanced on the arm of the sofa, his hair tousled, shirt rumpled, and a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth like heâd been waiting for the perfect moment to make an entrance.
You turned your head slightly, one brow raised. âCould you now?â
âFirst try,â he goaded, brows arched in light challenge. âSwear on my father's boring haircut.â
Regulus snorted, not even looking up from his book. âYouâll burn yourself stupid.â
âIâll be fine,â Barty said, already striding forward. âHow hard can it be?â
He reached toward the fire, trying to mimic the smooth gesture youâd used, fingers tense with focus and impatience.
A small spark leapt upâand immediately sputtered, flaring far too quickly. The flame caught his skin with a sharp sizzle before he could react, and he yelped, flinging his hand back with a curse.
âBloody hell!â
The room erupted with laughter.
Pandoraâs hand clamped over her mouth as if to shove the laugh back in, both Evan and Dorcas threw their heads back in sync, barking out a laughâsound mixing with yours, loud and delighted, as Barty glared at the fire like it had personally betrayed him.
âUnder control, was it?â you teased.
He cradled his palm like it was a war wound. âMinor setback. I didnât even flinch.â
âYou flinched so hard you almost somersaulted.â
âSemantics,â Barty grumbled.
âLet me see,â you said, standing and stepping closer.
He hesitated only a beat before holding out his hand, palm-up. A faint red welt bloomed across his skin, angry and hot. Your fingers brushed against his as you took it, and you felt the brief hitch in his breath. You didnât comment.
A whisper of magic curled from your palm, cool and quiet, threading over the burn like mist. The redness faded almost instantly, leaving only smooth skin and the faintest echo of heat.
Barty stared down at your work like it was a trick he couldnât quite understand.
From the couch, Evan leaned forward, smirking. âYou just wanted an excuse to hold her hand.â
âShove off,â Barty muttered, pulling his hand back quickly, though not too quickly.
You shook your head, half-exasperated half-amused, and turned toward the hall. âIâm going to wash up.â
As you stepped away from the firelight, you caught movement in the corner of your eye. Regulus was still in his usual spotâhalf reclined in the reading chair by the window, a book open but forgotten on his lap.
His gaze was fixed on you, unreadable and unblinking.
You held it for just a moment, a soft smirk just barely twitching at the corners of your lips, before disappearing down the hall.
Unsurpisingly, both you and Regulus had more in common than youâd care to admit.
Both the less outlandish sibling, the âquieterâ onesânot necessarily in sound, but in presence. While James and Sirius blazed like bonfires, reckless and radiant, you and Regulus were something else entirely.
Subtle, magnetic.
You didnât need to shout to be heard. Youâd both entered a room and the air seemed to still slightly, as if waiting to see what youâd do.
Both of you understood what it meant to watch. To study a room before deciding what piece you wanted to play in it. You werenât loud, nor silent just quietly unnerving. Regal, even.
There was a stillness about Regulus, an almost surgical precision to his movements and his clipped tone, like everything he did was measured twice before execution. He was painfully composed, almost uptight, his dry wit tucked behind an unimpressed brow and unimpeachable posture.
And where you differedâyou were made of wild starlight and strange tides, chaos in your blood even if it rarely cracked your veneer, eventhough you rarely indulged. And where Regulus pulled inward, you leaned out. You loved a little disorder, havocâa challenge; your eyes shining when something didnât go to plan, smirking like you were always in on a secret.
There was a certain wickedness in your stillnessâone that made Regulus look twice. Then three times. Then constantly.
Each thing he learned about you surprised him more than the last.
So he decided, quietly and with a calm sort of resolve, that heâd had enough of watching you from afar. He wanted a closer look.
The first time was in the library.
You were tucked into the corner of a row, arms full of books, hair falling across your face as you read the spine of a heavy tome. You didnât notice him at firstâor maybe thatâs just what he told himself, though he shouldâve known better. Regulus moved with the silence of a shadow, but when he was only inches away and just about to speak, your voice floated out, lightly entertained:
âPlanning to sneak up on me, Black?â
He blinked, lips parting in the barest hint of surprise. âI wasnâtââ
Without sparing him a glance you handed him the book at the top, and he took it instinctivelyâletting his fingers linger on yours just that bit longer than necessary. And you held in a quirk of your brows, the squint of your eyesâmaking a mental note.
Because Regulus was nothing if not purposeful.
He didnât say anything else at first, only helped, taking the weight from you and beginning to shelve them wordlessly. There was a momentâjust before he reached for the last oneâwhere his fingers paused. The cover was worn, clearly read many times.
Icarus.
A Muggle myth. One of his favourites, though no one knew that.
His hand hovered just a little too long, thumb brushing over the faded title.
âWhat did you think of the ending?â you asked suddenly, your tone soft but cutting through the quiet like a quill to parchment.
He almost stammered, nearly asking how did you know? But caught himself, clearing his throat before replying. âTragic. I liked it.â
You tilted your head, teeth sinking into your bottom lipâscanning his faceâsomething glinting behind your eyes that he couldnât quiet put his finger on.
The way the corners of your lips threatening to curve into a smile, had him struggling to swallow, voice honeyed in his earsââOf course you did.â
And you were gone, just like that, leaving him standingâears hot, brain playing your voice, your smile on loop.
Regulus prided himself in his ability to read a person, and yet with youâevery interaction left him more confused, more intrigued, more captivated. There was some sort of riddle about you, something flickering in the depths of your eyes that made him want to unravel itâyou.
The next time he saw you, youâd agreed to meet after his Quidditch practice to finish a joint assignment for Potions. Waiting just outside the changing rooms, arms crossed loosely over your chest, leaning against the cool stone wall with your bag slung over one shoulder.
The first person out wasnât Regulus, but Bartyâlips splitting into a wide smirk like heâd been expecting to see you there.
âWell, well,â he drawled, striding over with no shame, his hair a windswept mess and his jersey clinging to his frame. Immediately he closed in on you, arm slinging lazily over your shoulders, a light scent of cigarettes and oak filling your nose.
âTo what do I owe the pleasure, pretty?â
Groaning, your nose crinkling at the contact, you didnât push him off thoughââYouâre sweaty, Junior,â
He only leaned in closer, grin laced with mischief, letting his breath fan over your jaw. âYou love it.â
âI love showers, actually. You should try one.â
Tongue darting out to wet his lips, his eyes flickered across you face, the corners of your lips fighting to stay downâeyes glimmering with that twinge of defiance that had him only smirk even widerââOnly if you come with.â
Your brow cocked up slightly, narrowing your eyes as your plucked his arm off of you, placing gently back by his sideâpalms still wrapped around his wrist. He watched your movement eagerly, the smirk that was already etched onto his lips, adopting a positively wolfish quality when you leaned up into himâlips almost brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered.
âYou wouldnât last five minutes, Junior,â
Pulling away just as quickly as you came in, leaning back against the wall leisurely, rolling your eyes at the way Barty scanned your figureâadamâs apple bobbing in his throat.
Then the door opened again, still not Regulus.
âEvan,â you called sweetly, âcome collect your lost dog before he starts shedding on me.â
âCâmon, Crouchâ Evan replied with a snort, catching him by the collar and dragging him off. âLeave her alone before you melt her into the floor.â
Barty turned just before they were out of sight, voice loud despite the distanceâplayful, âMiss you already, Treasure!â
For a few more minutes you waited, the corridor quiet now except for the flickering of enchanted sconces and the distant echo of voices. When Regulus finally emerged, his tie half-undone and hair damp around the edges, cheeks still reddened from the bite of the airâadjusting his uniform.
âDid you wait long?â
Heâd already began the walk out, following after him, you hummed a small noâslipping through the hallways in the East Wing to find an empty classroom. It wasnât hard task at all, settling in with the low scrap of the stool against the stone floor and opening your textbooks.
As he flicked through the pages of the book, your gaze dropped instinctively to his handsâhis knuckles bruised and bloodied, red blooming like petals across pale skin.
Without hesitation, you scooted forward in your seat and took his hand in yours.
âWe couldâve stopped by Pomfrey,â you said, brows knitting slightly as you examined the scrapes.
He didnât pull away. Just kept his gaze fixed on your hand, the way you held his delicately, and your fingers, the way they moved so gently across his skin.
âItâs nothing,â he muttered. âIâll heal.â
A frown had etched itself onto your lips as you continued to inspect his hand, if you werenât so engrossed in your assessment, you would have noticed the faint flush of his ears, or how his eyes flickered back and forth between your face and your hand.
Your motions were slow and attentive, pressing your palm along the bumps of his knucklesâthe heat of your skin ghosting over hisâthe simmer of magic was so soft he almost didnât notice it.
There was a flicker of discomfort in his eyes as the wounds healed, but he didnât flinch away.
And as your palm crossed over the edge of his hand, the final gash closed before his eyes, the skin was almost perfectly anew, as if nothing had happenedâthe only indication being a fading pink hue.
You continued to trace over the now-faint marks, fingertips ghosting along the healed bone, the tenderness of your touch leaving him slightly breathless.
âBetter,â you whispered, half to yourself.
Regulus just stared at his hand when you let go, still feeling the echo of your touch, the whisps of your warmth. âThank you,â he said finally, voice quieter than usual, lips still partedâstretching and rolling his fingers, watching the bones move comfortably under the skin, free of the light burning sensation.
When he looked up, you were already watching himâhead tilted, expression coolâneutral.
Sighing out a breath his lips were moving before he could stop them, âIâhow?â
A quiet hum escaped your lips, hands crossing over your lap as you leaned into the wood of your chair, âWell, James and I were really clumsyâmore James than me, obviously,â
Recollecting, your lips curled into a smile, shrugging slightly as you continued, âOur mum got tired of us walking around bruised and battered when she was busy, so she taught me how to heal without a wand,â
The ghost of a smile almost twitched at the corners of his lips. Almost.
A short silence veiled the room as you fell into a working rhythm, mindlessly highlighting and note taking before the clattering of Regulusâ quill against the table broke your concentration. Eyes immediately shifting up to himâhis lips pursed into a tightline but the words were already out. Blurted abruptly, cracking the silence just as his quill did.
âTeach me,â
Your brows raised into a suprised arch, confusion flickering across your face for brief moment, lips parting to respond. When he shrunk into himself slightly, shocked by his own outburst, muttering a small, ââŚplease?â under his breath.
The response fell heavy on your tongue, lips stretching into an amused smirk and huffed chuckle bubbled low in your chest.
The wood of the chair scrapped and screeched loud against the stone as you stood, wordlessly making your way around the table. His eyes tracked your movements, just barely becoming frantic in their flickering when you sat beside himâknees brushing, so close.
Regulus breath caught when your gazes met, heat prickling at the base of his neck, hands curling into half-fists on the table, and you kept your eyes on him. Even as you leaned over closing his books, making space on the deskâwarmth of your body vaguely gracing him.
He couldnât bring himself to look away, tear his gaze from yoursâas much as it made his stomach flip from its quiet intensityâthe confidence that swam in your eyes. It sucked him in, making his adamâs apple bob in his throat.
All-consuming.
At the sound of a single galleon, lazily spinning on the table, you broke your stareâletting your sights fall onto the coin as it clattered to a halt. âHave you done wandless magic before?â
He sucked in a deep breath, allowing his lungs to fill completelyâusing that time to regulate his heart that threatened to beat out of his chestâbefore pushing all the air back out, forcibly rubbing his palms into the fabric of his robes.
âOnceâaccidentally,â
With a nod, you hummed at his words, waiting for him to continue, eyes back on himâboring into the side of his head. âIâuh, got the lights to turn on when i couldnât find my wand,â
His eyes shift between you and the coin as you picked it up, rolling it between your fingers as your spoke, âOkay, lets start with something simple, shall we?â The way you watched him made his mouth painfully dry, he couldnât even trust his voice to answer, silently nodding at you words.
âTry move the coin.â
When he whipped his head towards to, lips parted in slight disbelief, protests creeping up his throatâRegulus clamped his mouth shut at the smile on your face, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners swimming with mischief as you leaned in. Placing the coin back onto the table with a soft clink, instinctively he held his breath, short-circuiting at the sudden proximityâso close he could smell you, a light vanilla scent with a twinge of maple and freshly burnt fire-wood.
You made him so nervous, he found himself a bit pathetic.
And the honeyed cadance of your voice did nothing but make his heart race faster than it already was, âJust breathe, Regulus. Focus on the coin and where you want it to moveârelax,â
Easier said than done.
Gods, even the way you said his nameâhe almost lost the rest of your sentence, letting it echo in his mind over and over again.
When you reclined, leaning back into your chair, he felt the urge to mourn the loss of warmthârolling his shoulders back, focusing his gaze. Or at least, he tried to.
The coin sat quietly on the table, unmoved, unbothered by the sheer force of his will alone. His jaw tensed, brows pinched together, fingers twitching slightly as if the movement alone might spark the magic into life.
Nothing.
With a breath that was equal parts frustration and surrender, Regulus leaned back and exhaled sharply.
âCan youââ he muttered, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, âcan you not watch me?â
You blinked, caught off guard. Then a quiet chuckle slipped from your lips as you raised your hands in surrender, the teasing edge of your smile tugging at the corners. âAlright, alright,â you murmured, âSorry.â Voice light and easy, but your eyes still sparkled with that same mischief that made his stomach clench. âDidnât realise I was that distracting.â
âYou are,â he muttered under his breath, almost too quiet for you to hear.
Still, you didnât comment on it. Instead, leaning in againâslowly, gentlyâand placed your hand on his shoulder, the heat of you palm instantly radiating through his robes, hairs raising down his spine. His eyes flicked to the contact, then to your face again. You were closer than before.
âYouâre thinking too hard,â you murmured, your thumb brushing once over the fabric of his robes. âAnd youâre not breathing.â
âI am breathing,â he argued weakly.
âBarely.â
You didnât move your hand as you spoke again, your voice quieter now, velvet-soft and steady. âClose your eyes. Envision it. Just you and the coin. No pressure.â Regulus hesitated for a beat, then followed your instruction, lids fluttering shut.
A few moments pass before your voice reaches his ears again, âCan you see it?â and he nodded slowly, jaw tightening in focus.
âAlright,â you continued, tone low almost hypnotic now, âimagine it moving. Just a bit. Like thereâs an invisible string tugging it toward you.â
He sucked in another deep breath, picturing it. The cool glint of the galleon. The subtle shine under the tinted light of the classroom. The gentle tug, like a current.
And thenâscrape.
The softest sound of metal shifting against wood reached both your ears. His eyes shot open. It had movedâjust barely a few centimeters, but undeniably there. His breath caught, disbelief flashing across his face.
When he turned to you, a bright beam had already split across your face, the sort of proud, delighted smile that hit him harder than the adrenaline from the magicâyour hand finally slipped from his shoulder, leaving a coldness in its wakeâfingers grazing the fabric of his robes. âYou did it!â you said, eyes bright. âSee? Easy.â
He let out a stunned breath, caught between awe and the bloom of success, heartbeat still rapid beneath his ribs. The warmth of accomplishment mingling with the quiet thrum of your presence, you. He was still processing when you reset the coin with a smooth sweep of your hand.
âAgain,â you urged, nudging it into place. âTry further this time.â
He nodded, more focused nowâconfident. When he closed his eyes again, he could still hear the echo of your voice in his head. Could still imagine your hand on his shoulder, steadingâwarm.
And this time, it slid fartherâtoo far.
The coin zipped forward, clattered off the edge, and hit the floor with a metallic clink that echoed around the empty classroom. You let out a short burst of laughter, delighted, as his head dropped, a sheepish huff escaping him. But the tension had melted from his shoulders, replaced with slow blossoming of something lighter. Pride.
He bent down to retrieve it, fingers brushing the cool metal before placing it back on the table. You were already settling beside him again, the warmth of your presence sparking something just under his skin. âThis is the next step,â you said, tapping the surface of the table.
Regulus was still watching you.
Then you extended your hand, with a single finger, you hovered just above the coinâtwirling it in a slow, controlled motionâand like it had a will of its own, the coin lifted.
Spinning, following the gentle twirl of your finger. A slow spiral, then faster, gathering speed until it hovered in the air, dancing in place.
He was entranced, gaze stuck on the coin even as it settled down, coming to a graceful haltâlanding perfectly in the center of the table. Heâd known magic, of course he didâbut it felt different, raw and effortless. The same way the flame had danced between your fingers in the common room the other nightâmindlessly intuitive, captivating. The coin spun like it wanted to please you. Everything did, it seemed.
He was still staring at the coin, hesitatingâdoubt creeping in through the back of his mind, like an unwanted invasive parasiteâit barely flickered across his face. An almost imperceivable break in his expression, but you saw it.
Taking the coin again, you reached for his handâlaying your palm flat under his, eyes flickering to his face for permission before continuing. When he didnât pull away, you placed the coin in the center of his hand, the warmth of your skin on his made the sharp bite of the metal feel that bit colder against his hand.
It lifted and spun confidently against his skin, puppeteered by the twist of your finger.
âFeel that?â Voice just above a whisper.
And he could feel it, a steady thrumming faintly circling in his palm, the buzzing with your magic. Swallowing before he spoke, a small âYeah,â passing into the air between you.
âNow,â you spoke quietly, catching his other hand and bringing it to hover above the coin. âPicture that same feeling at your fingertips. Like itâs moving from your hand into the airâlet it flow through you.â
He concentrated. You stayed close. Hand still gently cradling his from below, a silent encouragement, he started mimicking the slow twirling motion in the space above the coin.
For a few long momentânothing.
Then, it happened. The coin jerked, slightly. Then again, shakily dragging to a stand. A tremble, stuttering before a spin. Jerky at first, but then it righted itselfâsmoothly gaining speed, falling into step with the command of his finger.
And your laughter, it rung through the roomâsoft, radiantâspilling from your chest with that same pride from before. He was too stunned to say anything. Blinking down at the coin with wide eyes, then looking to you, breathless, like he wasnât quite sure it had actually happened. A smileâan actual, full smileâslowly curved onto his lips.
Rare and quiet, it lingered like a secret only the two of you shared.
The low buzz still resonating in his palm, the echo of your magic mingled with his own. The feeling of your handsâwarm, steady, coaxing power out of him with nothing more than your voice and a bit of stubborn charm.
And even as the coin fell suddenly into his hand, all he could do was look at you.
Relish in the way your eyes shone with a glimmer of excitement, how your hands curved around his, jogging them slightly in enthusiastic joy of his accomplishment.
The coin was stagnant in his palm, Regulus flipped your hands, surrendering the cold metal into yoursâand yet his hands lingering in your hold. He knew he probably should have moved his hands, the second he resigned the coin back into your possession; that was his cue. But he felt stuck, frozen under your sights.
Bewitched.
Even as your lips moved before him, the words almost fell deaf on his earsâtaking a few seconds to let them echo in his mind, how did it feel? He responded with a sighing breath, as if relinquishing all remaining tension in his body, ââŚGood,â nodding his head as his continued, âreally good actually,â
His small confession has your lips stretching even further along your face, and acknowledging hum rumbling in your throat as your touch slowly slipped away from his. Quietly tucking the coin into your bag before you started to pack up.
Just when you closed your notebook Regulusâ voice glided across the air, just above a faint murmurâif the room had any other sounds than the quiet rustling of papers, you wouldnât have heard it.
âYouâre a really good teacher,â
A small huff of laugh passed through your nose, tucking your notebook under your arm as you stood and offered a small, warm smile. âItâs easy,â you said lightly, âwhen you have a good student.â
Regulus shook his head faintly, a huff of something like disbelief leaving his lipsâbut the curve of pride hadnât quite left his mouth.
The two of you walked in comfortable silence through the halls, your steps in sync. His hands tucked in his pockets, your bag slung over your shoulder. The dungeons were dim, washed in the dull blue of lantern light, shadows stretching along the stone. He kept glancing sideways at you, like there was something still lingering on his tongue he hadnât quite worked up the courage to say.
Just as you reached the bottom of the girlsâ dorm staircase, your hand curling loosely around the bannister, Regulus spoke.
âWaitââ His voice was low, tentative. Pausing, you turned slightly. âHm?â
He stood a few steps back, one hand curled around the strap of his satchel, the other still shoved in his pocket. âWould youâŚâ he paused, gaze dipping before finding yours again, more certain now. âWill you show me more?â
There was a beat of silence.
You tilted your head, watching him closely, fingers curled loosely around the railing. Blinking once, twice, reading the sincerity in his face, the open wantânot desperation, harmless interest. He could see the cogs turning in your head just for a moment, before you murmured with a shrug, âYeah.â
Descending the stairs again, you fell into step beside him as he led the way up the other staircase. The boysâ dorm was quiet when you reached it, the door creaking softly open under his hand. The warm scent of parchment, cologne, and something distinctly him met you in the space.
You paused at the threshold.
It wasnât unfamiliarâyouâd lounged across Bartyâs bed enough times, lazily flipping through books while he tore the room apart looking for a missing assignment. Youâd perched at Evanâs desk, rifled through his scribbled notes, borrowed a quill Bartyâs nightstand. But never while Regulus was there. Youâd never stepped into his space, not when he was in it.
He didnât seem to notice your stillness. He moved through the room with ease, like you werenât watchingâdropping his books in a stack by the desk, slipping his robe off one shoulder, then tugging his jumper over his head. His shirt was rumpled beneath, sleeves already rolled up, collar slightly askew. You caught yourself staring.
He looked over his shoulder.
âYou coming in?â he asked, voice a little lower now, pitched in that way it sometimes got when it was just you.
Without a word, you stepped in, toeing the door shut behind you and dropping your bag just beside the frame. You mimicked his motions easily, slipping off your jumper and draping it over the back of a nearby chair, fingers brushing absently along the edge of his desk as you walked further in.
It was a clean room. Structured, but not stiff. His bed was neat, the desk organised, quills and books perfectly aligned. But there were touchesâhuman ones. A framed photo of the Quidditch pitch mid-game, a green ribbon pinned to the wallâa burnished Slytherin scarf neatly folded at the end of his bed, and a single piece of parchment stuck to the wall above his workspace.
With a soft exhale, you flopped onto his bed, letting your arms stretch out as you gazed up at the canopy. The hangings were dark, almost velvet black, and they made the whole space feel smaller, quieter. Private.
Regulus glanced over, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. He returned to his desk, potion book in hand, eyebrows arched in mild disbelief.
âYou make yourself comfortable wherever you go, donât you?â he said dryly, a smirk threatening at the corners of his lips.
You didnât replyâjust smirked smugly, twisting your head into the sheets below, stretching your limbs out, still gazing up at the dark, heavy curtains draped above the bed. The movement made your shirt shift, riding up slightlyâjust a touch above your waistband, exposing a sliver of skin, soft and warm under the low lamplightâthe stretch of your abdomen and the small indent of your navel.
He was staring.
He didnât realise how long until you sat up, balancing your weight on one arm, eyes still wandering lazily over the ceiling.
âYouâd think your parents taught you itâs rude to stare,â you said lightly. âBut you and your brother are just the same.â
Regulus cleared his throat, heat blooming high on his cheekbones, but he said nothing.
Your attention drifted to the stack of books on his deskâand the singular piece of parchment, handwritten in a precise script, pinned above it.
âWhatâs that?â you asked, nodding toward it.
He followed your gaze. âA line from a poem.â
You hummed, intrigued. âWhatâs it say?â
He crossed the room, settling a book on his night stand before he sat on the bed beside you.
You didnât meet his gaze right awayâstill reclined, your hair spilling over the edge of the bed like ink, one hand absentmindedly twirling the galleon between your fingers.
Stretching out onto his stomach, bringing his chin on his forearm to look at you properly. He watched you for a moment. The way the gold shimmered in your grip, the way your mouth twitched with unspoken thought. You could feel his eyes on you, but you didnât mention it.
When he finally spoke, his voice was softâgentle and low as he recited the line, something breathy and melodic in French. His accent was quiet but careful.
The coin fell still in your lap as you turned your head toward him.
âIt sounds pretty,â you murmured. Your eyes traced his face, steady and curious. âWhat does it mean?â His gaze didnât leave yours, sucking in a breath through his nose, the mattress beside you dipped as he promped himself up onto his elbows, words slow and hypnotising in your ears.
âLet night come on bells end the day, the days go by me still I stayâ
You blinked at him, for a long moment, just letting the words rest heavy in the air between you, and his adamâs apple bobbed in his throat when you spoke, voice barely above a whisper, more breath than wordsâas if anything louder would crack the air as it stilled around you.
âIt sounds extra pretty in your voice.â
Regulus swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. You were too close. Not close enough. The lamp behind you casted golden shadows across your face and your lips were slightly parted, just barely.
Before he could stop himself, the words were already tumbling out.
âI think youâre pretty.â
You didnât say anything, just kept your eyes on himâblinks slowly as you took in each feature.
And then he was leaning in. Slowly, but not hesitantlyâfingertips skimming along your jaw, guiding your face toward his with reverence more than boldness. He tilted your face toward him like heâd done it a thousand times before.
The ghost of a smile tugged at your lips, and as he got closer, you hummed, tone somewhere between amusement and a quiet gentleness, âSuch high praise,â Gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips one last time before his mouth was on yours.
Regulusâ lips brushed yours with a delicate sort of caution, like he was afraid to startle the moment. His hand stayed warm at your jaw, thumb ghosting along the edge of your cheekbone, grounding himself in the quiet thrill of the contact.
When you kissed him back, slowly, deliberately, and it was like you lit a fuse under his skin. He moved closer, shoulders angling toward you, the hand on your jaw trailing downâfingers curling gently around your neck, not possessive, but fervored.
There was nothing rushed about it. Only the press of mouths and the occasional, breathless hitch of air as your noses brushed and he tilted his head, deepening the kiss slightlyâstill cautious, still a little hesitant.
But then then he heard itâjust barely there, a small breath of contentment through your nose as your fingers slid up the front of his shirt, curling into the fabric.
That did it.
His lips moved with more intent now, more certainty, like heâd been holding back and couldnât anymore. He tasted like peppermint and something you couldnât quite place, and every time he pulled away even a fraction, he came right backâdrawn to you like the pull of gravity.
Somewhere in the flurry of warmth and movement, the air around you shifted.
The curtains.
The ones above his bed rustled faintly, and then, slowly, they began to closeânot all the way, but just enough to wrap the two of you in the hush of privacy. The dark velvet swept inward in a lazy draw, like someone had tugged gently at invisible strings. The air around you seemed to slow, thick with suspended magic and the soft scent of something like cedar and parchment.
Pulling back from the kiss, just barely, your lips brushing his as a breath of laughter escaped you. The kind of soft, genuine giggle that bloomed right in your chest and spilled out in surprise. Your forehead dropped back lightly against the pillow as you whispered, voice honeyed with delight, âDid you justâ?â
He didnât say anything at first. But there was the faintest flush at the tips of his ears, even as the corners of his lips twitched in a sheepish smile. You cupped his jaw gently, brushing your thumb along the edge of his cheek as you teased with a squint of your eye, voice low and fond, âAlready showing off.â
He just huffed a laugh, dipping his head slightlyâforehead pressing to yours, breaths mingling in the narrow space between you. His hand found your waist again, sliding over your hip to pull you closer, until your bodies were all but tangled together in the middle of his bed.
Then he paused.
Looked at you.
Really looked at youâeyes searching your face, the softness of your features in the low dorm light, the flush on your cheeks, the swollen curve of your lips, still flushed lightly from his kiss. His thumb brushed your waist absently, reverently, like he was trying to memorise the moment through touch alone.
You blinked up at him, slightly breathless, lips curving into that small smileâthat quiet, knowing oneâthat had his pulse quickening.
âHow long have you been waiting to do that?â Voice just above a whisper.
A beat.
His answer was just as quiet.
ââŚToo long.â
You didnât say anything, you didnât have to.
Because then his lips were on yours again, more insistent this timeâhungry but still careful, still delicate. Like he was trying to learn the shape of your mouth with his own. His hand slid to the small of your back, curling to bring you even closer, your chest brushing his with every inhale.
Dinner came and went. Neither of you moved.
Body sprawled across the bed, head in Regulusâ lap, legs stretched out and one arm flopped over your middle lazily. His hand drifted idly through your hair, almost absentminded in its rhythm, as he spokeâquiet and thoughtful, voice lilting into stories you never expected him to share.
He told you about how he hated summer, because his skin burned too easilyâhow the Black family manor always smelled like dust and old magic. How he and Barty used to sneak wine from the cellar and sit on the roof, trying to name constellations. How his favourite book growing up wasnât even magicalâit was a Muggle text he smuggled in and read by candlelight.
You blinked up at him with a soft smile, utterly content, not interruptingâjust listening.
For a man youâd once believed was of few words, he sure had a lot to say.
Not that you werenât complaining.
There was something soft about him nowâlooser. Less controlled. Like the tightly wound strings he kept knotted around himself had started to loosen just enough to let you in, like heâd been waiting for the the chance to bare himself. And Merlin, he was affectionate. Not in the loud, boisterous way others mightâve been. But with soft hands and stolen glances. A touch at your hip, the gentle brush of knuckles down your arm. Aching for contact in any form, so careful about how he was gave and received it, like it could be torn away at any given moementâstill so foreign, even in his own mind.
Your thumb traced slow circles into his knee as you murmured, âCan you read the line again? From the poem?â
Regulus looked down at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He nodded, brushing a piece of hair from your forehead before turning toward the parchment pinned above his desk. He recited it again in that soft voiceâlow and smooth, almost like a lullaby.
You closed your eyes, humming in contentment.
When he finished, you whispered, âLemme show you something.â
And before he could ask, your hand curled into a fist. You held it up between you both. His brows furrowed slightly, watching with interest.
Then, you slowly unfurled your fingersâand from the centre of your palm, a small bluebell flower sprouted, delicate and glowing faintly with the magic that coaxed it into being.
âThis,â you whispered, eyes flickering with warmth and voice like a secret, âis what I think of when I hear your voice.â
For a long moment, Regulus didnât speak.
Just stared.
The shock in his eyes wasnât loud. It was quiet and still, like everything else about him. But it was there. Etched into the way he looked at youânot just at the flower, but at your face. Your expression, the tenderness written across it with no ulterior motive, no mischief behind your eyes. No teasing lilt in your tone.
Just you.
And he didnât know what to do with it.
His fingers reached out gently, brushing the fragile petals like they might dissolve under his touch. And when he looked back at you, his voice was barely above a whisper.
âYou really are something,â he said, with a kind of awe that made your stomach twist in a way you werenât prepared for.
Covering the sudden flutter of your chest with a scoff and biteless roll of your eyes. You didnât give him the chance to say anything more, before you sat up abruptly, hair whipping slightly at your speedâmovements fluid and unbothered as the mattress dipped under the concentrated weight of your knees.
Regulus frozen against the headboard, wide-eyed when your leg swung over his middleâsettling on his lap in a straddle that was far too flippant. His hands hovered awkwardly at first, unsure where to settleâeventually, they found your hips, fingers curling there hesitantly.
The small smirk on lips only widenedâat his obvious flush, relishing in the way the blush crept up his neck and spread across his cheeks.
âRelax,â you teased, brushing your fingers through his dark curls, tucking and retucking the strands behind his ear like you were sculpting something. And then, you nestled the bluebell flower in the space youâd createdâright behind his ear.
âThere,â you said with a proud grin, leaning back slightly to admire your work. Your hands slid down his neck, wrists resting lazily on his shoulders as you laced your fingers behind him, just barely hovering over his surely goosebump ridden skin. Tilting you head, you let your gaze rake over him like you were evaluating an art piece.
âI think blue might be your colour, Reg.â
Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, and you subtly shifted in his lapâcloser, pressing into him with purpose. Regulus huffed a small scoff, finally finding a bit of his footing again, though his voice was still slightly strained. âMust you always be this brazen?â
You shrugged innocently. âItâs fun having people on edge.â
He hummed lowly, eyes flickering with something darker nowâhis grip tightening slightly on your hips. âReally?â
You leaned forward with a smirk, lips brushing his as you replied in a hushed, mocking whisper, âReaaaally.â
That was all the prompting he needed.
His mouth met yours with vigor, kissing you like he couldnât help it. Like heâd been waiting to. Desperate, yet controlled. His hands squeezing at the flesh of your waist as he pulled you closer, chest pressing flush to his, heat blooming between you, smiling into the kiss.
Pulled back slightly, lips still grazing his, and whispered against his mouth, âYou must like brazen then.â
And that made him grin.
Actually grin. Wide and rare and perfect.
His hands gripped your waist more firmly as he kissed you again, feverish now, all slow control forgotten in favour of something more frantic and yearning. The kind of kiss that stole the air from your lungs and made time slip sideways.
So engrossed in each other, you didnât hear the door creak open.
Didnât notice the soft shuffle of footsteps.
But the moment the familiar sound of Bartyâs voice filled the room, everything stopped.
âI brought teacakes,â he called out lazily from the other side of the dorm, âbecause you missed supper. I figured you were sulking or somethingââ
You and Regulus froze mid-kiss.
Legs still straddled across his lap. His hands halfway up your back. The flower still behind his ear.
Regulusâ eyes flew open. Your hand slapped over your mouth to muffle a curse.
âI left extra lemon ones, sinceâwait.â
Bartyâs voice was closer now. SuspiciousâââŚWhy are your curtains closed?â
Regulus was already looking at you, panicked. You swatted his arm sharply when he didnât say anything, eyes wide and insistent. âWas Potter here?â Barty asked, a little louder this time.
âSheâuhââ Regulus stammered. âShe was here. Earlier.â
Stammered.
You physically winced.
He never stammered. And now Barty definitely knew something was off. There was the unmistakable sound of someone standing up. Then footsteps. Getting closer.
Bartyâs voice was cool and skeptical. âSoâŚshe was here earlierâŚâ
He paused just outside the curtain.
ââŚand just left her bag behind?â
Your eyes widened in horror. Your bag. You could envision where youâd left itâsitting in plain view.
A pained expression split across your face as Regulus turned to you with a look that screamed, what do we do??
But there was no time.
Because the curtain was already being drawn back.
Regulus didn't move. Neither did you.
Time seemed to stall between one breath and the next, and there was Bartyâstanding there with a half-eaten lemon teacake in one hand, his brows slowly climbing higher and higher as he took in the sight before him.
You, still straddling Regulus.
Regulus, pink-faced and looking about two seconds from imploding.
And the flower, still tucked delicately behind his ear.
A beat of silence.
He gaspedâactually, audibly gasped, clutching his chest as if you'd physically wounded him. âTreasure,â he breathed, eyes wide and betrayed, âI cannot believe you traded me in for Black.â
You groaned. âJunior.â
âNoâdonât you Junior me,â he said, stepping back like your words had scorched him, pressing a hand against the curtains pillar for support.
You slid off Regulusâ lap in a single, painful motion, trying to maintain any shred of dignity, which was difficult with your hair mussed and your shirt slightly rumpled from where Regulus had been clutching at the back of it.
Regulus didnât even try to salvage anything. He just stared at the ceiling like he was mentally calculating how fast he could die and be buriedâred down to the collar of his shirt.
âI thought we had something, Treasure,â Barty continued with a theatrical sniff, flopping onto his bed. âA shared love of mild chaos, midnight escapades, and morally ambiguous hexes.â
You just rolled your eyes. âOh, please.â
He stared at the ceiling, hand still on his chest. âIâm heartbroken.â
âYouâre eating a teacake.â
âIâm grieving, let me be.â
And then, his voice softened a little, still dramatic but now with an edge of sincerity. âI mean⌠obviously everyoneâs had a crush on you, but I didnât think heâd be the one to do something about it.â
You blinked, head whipping to Regulus, eyes narrowing. âYouâre not denying it.â
He just shrugged lightly, like he didnât see the point.
Bartyâs laughter was smug as hell. âSee?â he said, sitting up.
Regulus groaned softly beside you. âIs this going to end soon?â
Barty glanced between you both, a wicked little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. âSo tell me,â he said, casually now, propping himself up on one elbow, âis this a new study method? Because I mustâve missed this chapter in Advanced Charms.â
âJunââ
âNo, noâreally, Iâm curious,â he said, waving his teacake for emphasis. âDo you rate each otherâs technique? Is snogging now a core requirement for N.E.W.T. preparation?â
You bit the inside of your cheek, trying very hard not to laugh. It didnât help that Regulus looked like he was actively contemplating vanishing spells, dropping his head into his hands.
Then he softened again, leaning his chin into his palm as he watched the two of you. âFor what itâs worth, Reg⌠you look good like this. Like an actual person instead of a walking anxiety spell.â
âI hate you,â he muttered, hands slipping from his face to reveal a withering look.
Barty beamed. âThatâs more like it.â
With a smug little wave, Barty finally stood, sauntering backwards toward the door with his usual flair.
âDonât do anything I wouldnât doâwhich, to be fair, is a very short list. Night, lovebirds.â
Okay hear me out poly!bartylus x reader
Animagus reader who can turn into a niffler and is constantly giving barty her findings because reg would make her return them! They also exclusively wear silver because she likes gold shiny things lol
A Bored Barty
Bartylus x Reader
Summary: Barty is bored, alone in his dorm room- until his darling treasure brings him a treasure of her own.
WC: 1.1k
CW: Nothing really. Kisses used as weapons of war. Dont write for Regulus much so forgive me ( Art cred: kprk_pkrs on Twitter)
Barty was bored.
A dangerous thing, really.

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the vampire who watches.
| vampire!regulus black x fem!reader (18+ only)
day 1 of kinktober 2025
summary: (1.2k) youâre caught touching yourself by the infamous vampire, regulus black. instead of stopping you, he decides to make you finishâwith fangs in your throat and his name on your lips.
a/n: my first kinktober fic! so happy with this one! i adore regulus so it felt right to start off with him <3 please comment if youâd like to be added/removed in the taglist!
! content warnings: voyuerism, degradation, masturbation (f!reader), fingering, grinding, biting, blood play, hickeys, themes of control/possession, sadism, regulus is french in this (all consensual).
the velvet curtains softly swayed with your movements, the faint smell of smoke and iron diffusing in the air. it reminded you of bloodâof how you were never completely alone, with the bedroom door slightly creaked open, the shadows that always moved across the walls whenever you looked.
your legs were spread wide, slick fingers lazily circling your clitâyour hips arched into your own touch, dampening the silk sheets beneath you. it felt reckless, desperateâeven sinful, pleasuring yourself in a vampireâs home. but how could you resist when the creature haunting your thoughts was so terribly handsome? with his chiselled jaw, his fangs, those black curls.
he was cold, cruel, unreachableâand that only pulled you in further. you told yourself it was love, even if it was really obsession. you wanted to belong to him and his every flicker of disdainâall of it making you only ache worse.
Holy hands, will they make me a sinner ?
You seem to have a little secret. Regulus figures you out immediately.
regulus black x fem!reader
warnings: smut
Casually click on a link without reading the warning p!link
JUMPSCARE
Why this always happen.