#bartylus x potter!reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aetherraeys · 2 months ago

Text

evil twin ! (iii)

part (i) (ii)

regulus black/barty crouch jr x twinpotter!reader ⊹ 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

“Don’t you think that’s a bit hypocritical?”

There was a long beat of nothingness.

Then another. And another.

A tormented silence veiled the room the second Regulus’ 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.

“The fuck are you on about?”

His eyes didn’t 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 hair—already on his way out. Back towards Regulus as he spoke, words gritted and hushed.

“Don’t act like you know everything, when you really fucking don’t.”

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 it—stressed, winded—conflicted. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to happen after he said it, but by then it was already out—already splitting the air between him and Barty before he could stop it. What was worse?

Regulus just sat there—still, emotionless—while 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 he’s just parted—his 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 wouldn’t notice, maybe Barty would cool off and it would all be fine—maybe 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 forhead—didn’t even know where he was going, it was already well into the early morning and he honestly just wanted to sleep.

Couldn’t 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 wasn’t 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, they’re only pleasant when they’re easy to hide, when you’re in control of them. So right now, lying face down on the lumpy sofa in the common room—Barty has never felt more out of control in his life.

This really was torture—surely the Gods were finally punishing him for all the near heart attacks he’d given his father, because even now, with his face smooshed into the pillow, he could still smell you—where you’d been just hours ago. At this rate he’d be insane not before long.

Groaning as he flipped, watching the warm flames of the candlelights flicker—he tried to push down the reoccuring pang that split through his chest.

── .✦

Sundays were nice.

Lazy morning lie-ins, no Head Girl duties.

The day was looking very promising. Heat from Regulus’ body warm around your middle, one of his arms slung comfortably across your waist. Holding you close even as you twisted and turned—drifting in and out—accepting 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 up—he’s been awake for quiet some time—early 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 didn’t want to wake you, didn’t dare move—trying to savour the small fraction of tranquility you’d be granted before you have to deal with the inevitable storm that brewed the whole night.

Because Barty didn’t come back, still hasn’t stepped foot in the room—Regulus waited, hoping to maybe smooth things over, take it back even. But he didn’t return and Regulus didn’t 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 pout—he really couldn’t help himself.

Planting a careful kiss to the exposed skin of your neck, and you didn’t 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.

“Morning…”

His lips were still ghosting over your throat when he chuckled, low and husky, “It’s not morning anymore.”

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 skin—first 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.

“Reg,” voice whispered, soft as a secret, a breathless note of fond exasperation in your tone.

“You’re awake now,” he murmured into your neck, voice muffled by your skin.

You didn’t argue. Didn’t 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 didn’t 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.

“Stop, stop—Reg, I swear—” 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 couldn’t 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.

“You’re looking at me like I’m your religion,” you said with a teasing arch of your brow, and he just leaned up to kiss the corner of your mouth, then your jaw.

“I might be,” he whispered.

You groaned, dramatic, as you pushed lightly at his chest. “I’m going to have to cover all of this up, you know.” You tilted your neck, already feeling the soreness blooming beneath your skin.

You made to roll out of bed, sheets sliding off your legs—but his hand curled around your wrist.

“Oh, no you don’t,” 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.

“Regulus,” you said, half-laughing, “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I don’t want the morning to end,” he confessed, softly, eyes dark and steady as they held yours.

You leaned down, kissed him slow, whispered against his lips, “Thought it wasn’t morning anymore.”

He smiled into the kiss, hands resting on your hips—and 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.

“Alright,” he said with a sigh, fingers brushing your waist, “We’ll feed you.”

You rolled out of bed, finally, pulling on yesterday’s 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.

“Look at that. Even outlasted Junior,” you joked lightheartedly, tugging your jumper back on.

Regulus didn’t say anything at first—just 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, “I’ll meet you in the Great Hall—give it five, yeah?”

He nodded. Forcing his lips to curve into a small smile.

“Five.”

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 shakily—running a hand roughly over his face as he turned his sights forward—the bed across the room was still empty.

── .✦

Lunch was already well underway when Barty finally showed. He was late—noticeably late—just after the pumpkin juice had been poured and the several servings of lunch had been eaten. Quietly—wordlessly. Like a shadow slipping between the cracks of the castle stone.

Barty moved as if he were walking through water—slow, heavy, like every step cost him something. His hair was rumpled, flattened oddly on one side like he’d 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 Barty—he 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 didn’t scan the table like usual. He didn’t 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 down—dropped into the bench at the far end as though gravity had forcibly yanked him there.

Your gaze unknowingly followed his every move—mindlessly observing out of habit.

But he didn’t meet your eyes.

Not even when you said softly, “Hey, Junior,” your voice as casual and light as always—and he all but deflated at the sound, sinking into his seat as he forked around at his plate, remaining uncharacteristically silent—maybe he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did, but didn’t care.

You glanced at Regulus, but he was staring at his plate as if it was the most interesting thing in the room, silent—posture was too straight. Too carefully composed—everything unnaturally taut. The silence that veiled the far end of the table apon Barty’s arrive was unnerving, the cloud that loomed over him, seeping and bleeding out into all of you—bringing the light chatter to a slow halt.

In an almost pitiful attempt to ease the glooming aura that had swathed the table, you spoke again—keeping your words pressureless, ambiguos—simple, “Sleep alright, J?”

He finally moved—but not to look at you. Instead, he turned his body subtly away, like the space between you wasn’t enough, making it wider instinctively—like he wanted to escape your presence. Reaching for his fork, twisting it between his fingers, he still didn’t speak.

Not a word.

Picking at his food like he didn’t recognise it—like 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. “Oi, saw you passed out on the common room sofa last night. You’re lucky Mulciber didn’t hex you in your sleep for stealing his nap spot.”

He smiled when he said it, teasing, waiting for the usual witty jab in return.

But Barty didn’t laugh. He didn’t scoff. He didn’t even twitch.

He just set his fork down—still clean—and stood.

Your brows furrowed as you watched him, lunch having grown cold and forgotten—your stomach twisting.

“Juni—”

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 didn’t glance back. Not once—not 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 Barty’s 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 couldn’t quite place.

You sat just as still has him, appetite gone—the table feelinf significantly more empty than it had done before. Barty’s absences, his behavious heavy on your mind—his silence louder than most.

Maybe it was a hangover, or he’d not slept well—you tried to tell yourself—maybe he’d 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 he’d vanished into thin air.

First the Observatory—his 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 room—leaves whirling against the cold stone.

Then the common room. Empty. Or rather, full of people who weren’t him. The sofa was unoccupied, and Evan was lounging upside down on one of the armchairs, chatting aimlessly to Mulciber and Dorcas.

“Have you seen Barty?” you asked.

Evan shrugged. “Nah. Maybe he’s off brooding somewhere. You know how he gets.”

But that wasn’t how he got. Not like this. Not without a word.

Turning the corner to the boys’ dorms, letting yourself in.

His bed was untouched. Not in the usual disheveled way Barty left it—sheets 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 hadn’t moved. The record player you’d both stolen from the Muggle Studies classroom one night two springs ago sat quiet, lifeless. Shoes still tucked beneath the bed, as if he hadn’t bothered to wear them. As if he’d 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.

“You don’t know where he is?” you asked, quietly—padding over to stand by Regulus’ bed, leaning against the pillar as you watched him. There were a few beats of silence, “No,”

Just that.

You waited.

Waited for the rest—for the truth tucked between the syllables, for the explanation that would unravel this knot in your chest. But he didn’t look up, didn’t offer anything else.

“You don’t think there’s something wrong?” your voice was more pinched than normal, unrest settling into the end of your question—and 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, he’d 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. “Maybe he needs space.”

“From what?”

You were only met with further silence—not 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 away—and when you turned on your heel—bones aching under the suffocation of the room and the sting of Regulus’ avoidance.

You left. And the quill dropped onto his lap as the door closed behind you, rubbing his hand over his face as his turned—looking at the empty space beside him that would usually be occupied by you with a frown. Regulus couldn’t bring himself to glance over to Barty’s bed, as the sounds of your footsteps became further and further away.

The next day was no better.

You saw the back of Barty’s head once in the corridor before lunch, but the moment he registered your voice—your steps—he 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 noticed—you 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 first—told yourself he was being dramatic, maybe annoyed with something trivial. That he’d get over it.

But the days stretched longer. And lonelier.

And Regulus…Regulus 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 you—but 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 it—everywhere.

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 Regulus—approaching the door and waiting there—in hope of hearing anything other than Regulus’ manicured silence on the other side—approaching less often all together.

You felt it in the ache behind your ribs when you sat too long in silence wandering the place you’d walk together, emptier now—missing the loud, crass, ridiculous everything that was there with Barty.

Because now he wasn’t.

And you didn’t know why.

And it was driving you mad.

Because it had been days.

And you couldn’t pretend not to care anymore.

Not when Regulus still refused to meet your gaze when you said his name. Not when Barty’s side of the room looked like a memory, not a life. Not when your chest burned every time someone said, “He’s probably just being Barty,” like that explained the way his absence scraped against your heart like a harsh burn.

You couldn’t be in that room anymore. Not with Regulus and all his silences. Not with the evidence of Barty’s absence staring at you with every step.

So you stopped going, spending more time in your own room—preoccupying yourself with Head-Girl duties, subsequently leaving Regulus’ room even colder. Your absence adding to the weight of Barty’s—thick, heavy and aching on his shoulders.

You did eventually catch sight of him after an entire week.

Just a flicker—a 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. “Barty!”

He faltered—just 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 wasn’t 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 him—and he still wouldn't break, wouldn't say anything.

Which left only one other person who might’ve 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 brother—halfway through a sandwich at the Gryffindor table, seated comfortably between Sirius and Remus—it was as if everything else dimmed.

You crossed the room slowly. Quietly—with 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 didn’t 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 yours—dark, unreadable.

You said nothing at first—just stood there.

The weight of your silence pressed down on the entire Gryffindor table like a hex. James blinked, mouth still full. “Er—something wrong?”

Your eyes narrowed, a muscle ticking in your jaw—a few more long moments of silence spread between you, words leaving with a sharp bitter bite that made him wince internally. “What did you do?”

The entire table went still.

Even Remus leaned back slightly, brows raised—as though he was bracing himself.

James slowly finished chewing, swallowed, then furrowed his brow—confusion splitting across his face in a loud smear. “To who?”

“Barty.”

The name landed like a dropped knife, harsh

James straightened. “What would I want with Batshit Barty?”

He was speaking far to causally for your liking, too flippant—as though you weren’t talking about one of your closest friends, someone you held close to you, like you weren’t talking to him about your Sirius or Remus.

You didn’t dignify him with answer—just 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.

“I haven’t done anything,” he added, holding his hands up as if warding off a spell. “Why are you assuming—?”

“Don’t lie to me.” Your voice was low, unnaturally calm but razor-edged. “He’s been gone for days. He won’t look at me. He’s avoiding Regulus too. And you—” 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 recognise—easier 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.

“—You never liked him. You’ve always hated that he was close to me. So tell me what you said.”

James couldn’t look more genuinely confused if he tried, glancing between his friends and back to you wide-eyed. “I didn’t say anything. I haven’t even seen him. And yeah, I don’t particularly like the git, but you’re seriously jumping—”

“You don’t have to like him. But I know you. You think he’s weird. You think he’s a bad influence.”

“Because he is, Pop! You’re smarter than—”

Your palm crashed onto the table, hard enough to rattle the silverware, and he cut off mid-sentence—mid 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. “If 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.”

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 unfold—eyes 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 forehead—squeezing your eyes shut, attempting to purge the stress from your system, calm your pulse.

But it didn’t.

And it wouldn’t not—until you found him. Found out what’s wrong, where he was hiding, what you’d done.

You were on a rampage.

There wasn’t a corridor you hadn’t stormed down, no secret niche or alcove left unchecked. Even Peeves stayed well out of your way—whistling 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 wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t 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.

He’d done nothing wrong, to your knowledge.

But tension—agitation—clung to you like smoke. Coiling in your chest and bleeding in to everything, even when you tried to bite it back—every 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 behind—he was always quiet like that—until 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 smile—a poor excuse for reassurance—it 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 in—your 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 didn’t 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 didn’t stop.

Didn’t falter.

He kissed you again—softer, longer—then 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, coaxing—careful 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 corners—a 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 in—catching 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 jumper—he smiled into you and pressed a firmer, surer one against your mouth.

“I’m sorry, amour,” 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. "I’m not upset with you, Reg...I'm just worried."

You couldn’t meet his eyes.

And the guilt in his chest sharpened, too heavy to ignore. He could stomach Barty’s silence, could even stomach his own cowardice, could wait out the tension until it cracked and splintered and healed, but you—with your small, fragile voice—you were his breaking point.

He didn’t know how to tell you it was partly his fault. That if he’d kept his mouth shut weeks ago, none of this would have unraveled.

So he just leaned in, kissed you again—longer this time, letting it sink deep—until 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 didn’t 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 throat—slow and indulgent—between 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, "I’ll 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 it—frustration, longing, guilt, tenderness. Regulus made a soft, almost groaning sound against your mouth, low and aching, pressing you into him like he couldn’t 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 floor—the secret entrance to Honeydukes cellar—Remus had frozen halfway up the ladder, wide-eyed and horrified.

He’d only peered out because he thought the coast was clear—but instead, he found himself staring straight at you and Regulus, very much entangled, very much devouring each other against the wall.

Remus’ entire brain short-circuited. His mouth falling open wordlessly, heart thudding violently in his chest, a surge of secondhand panic washing over him.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispered under his breath, scrambling backward so fast he nearly slipped off the ladder entirely.

“What?!” 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.

“Peeves,” Remus blurted, voice cracking horribly. “Peeves is lurking—we can’t use this exit. Go, go!”

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. “We’ll have to take the library passage, then—wait, why is your face redder than a howler—"

“DON'T ASK,” 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 again—too 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 you—delicate and infinite and frighteningly real.

“I missed your smile, amour,” he murmured, voice low and teasing, but the vulnerability in it was unmistakable.

You felt your mouth twitch—the 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 smiled—that same smile that softened all his sharp edges—and ducked his head, pressing one last kiss to your forehead.

“What?” he said, voice lighter, teasing. “You are my love. It’s just a fact.”

You groaned, half mortified, half wanting to curl yourself into him and never move again—slipping 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, “After dinner. My room. Promise me you'll come.”

── .✦

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 it—the churning, festering wrongness under his skin—was unbearable now. Like he was carrying it all inside his ribs and it was rotting him alive.

He’d hardly even been in a room with Regulus since that night. Or you.

And he could see it—the way his own twisted form of self-preservation was affecting you, how even in his absence he’d managed to damage you still. And he knew Regulus didn’t say anything—he 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 he’d 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 wasn’t just you, it was Regulus as well—walking 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 feelings—pretend he wasn’t thrumming with an ugly combination of stress and something even worse—something 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 something—anything but this awful limbo where the walls felt too close and his own skin didn’t fit right.

It didn’t matter that it was Sunday evening, that the castle was heavy with the scent of dinner being prepared, Barty knew Regulus’ habits like they were tattooed on the inside of his skull. Always disappearing for an hour or two before the evening rush—locked 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 didn’t 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 halls—running solely on adrenaline now—an ugly, volatile thing—praying it wouldn't abandon him at the wrong time.

The Prefects' corridor was empty, getting into the hall much easier than he’d imagined it to be.

Barty didn’t pause.

He wrenched open the heavy door to the bathroom and slipped inside like a shadow.

The air was thick inside—warm 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 Barty’s 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 looked—

Gods, did was he a sight—almost 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 cracking—disrupting the perfecting calculated stillness that Regulus lounged in.

"Reg, listen I—I need to talk to you for a sec—"

At the sound of his voice, Regulus stirred. Moving so slowly, like waking from some deep underwater dream—a quiet exhale escaping his mouth, softer than he’d 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. Regulus’ chest was bare—slick, gleaming, flushed—and littered with deep violet hickeys—glistening 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 Regulus’ 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.

But this—

This was different.

Regulus wasn’t just bare.

He was marked up.

Claimed.

Barty—he couldn’t fucking breathe, completely forgotten how.

Eyes glued to the way Regulus’ 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 beautiful—and it made something inside Barty twist so hard it hurt.

And then, just to add to it—as if the knife needed to twist even deeper—Regulus’ mouth shaped his name. "Junior," Regulus breathed, soft and fond and almost worried—his dark eyes scanning over Barty’s frozen figure, open and vulnerable and achingly glad to see him.

He could feel it, unbareably so—prevalent 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 away—disgusted with himself, with this, with everything—heart hammering like a snare drum.

"—Shit—sorry, this—" Barty stammered, voice cracking in half, "—this is a bad time, I'll just—I'll come back—"

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 splash—heard the panic in his voice:

"Wait—! Junior, wait—"

But Barty was already gone—stumbling back through the doorway, half-blind with the sheer force of wrongness splitting him in half—barely 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 hard—the 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 couldn’t even think about moving. His chest heaved as he gasped in a broken, desperate breath—wide, 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 Regulus’ 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 Regulus’ skin, sinking into his bones.

The person that Barty wanted nothing more than to be a victim of your touch.

"Treasure," he breathed out—helplessly, instinctively—voice cracked and raw.

And your eyes widened, glassy almost immediately—shimmering with emotion you didn’t 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 elbow—the only thing you could focus on was him—the 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 hadn’t even fully clicked shut yet when it swung open again.

And there—padding out into the corridor, steam still clinging to his skin—Regulus.

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 skin—the fresh hickeys stark and scandalous against his usually-pristine appearance.

His mouth was still open mid-protest, the words "No! Barty, wait—" 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 didn’t move—didn’t even breathe—looking for all the world like a soaked, deeply miserable, and highly stressed cat caught in a trap.

An uncontrollable flush blossomed up Regulus’ neck to the tips of his ears—a 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 throat—but it caught halfway up when the door beside you creaked open again.

And out stepped Remus.

Still mid-conversation with you—or, he had been—before 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 then—

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. Remus’ eyes went comically wide.

His jaw opened slightly—then closed—then 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 Remus’ 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 Regulus—blessed, doomed Regulus—only then seemed to realise what he was showing the entire damn corridor.

He made a noise—something between a choked squeak and a groan—and 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 away—to vanish into thin air if he could. But before he could bolt, you latched onto his arm—firmly, fingers curling tight around his sleeve.

"Junior," you said—clear yet rough and certain—making him still where he stood, as if he couldn’t do anything but listen to the command of your voice. Flinching slightly at the sound of it, his name on your lips—something raw and aching flickering across his face—and he didn’t pull away. Couldn’t even if he wanted to, because it was you.

Meanwhile, Remus—poor, 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 backward—edging 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 just—I'll go."

The door clicked shut softly behind him.

And then it was just you and Barty.

Standing in the wreckage of the hallway—papers 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 robes—both of you remained still, as if locked in that moment.

And when he finally lifted his gaze from the floor—finally looked at your for the first time in weeks—he looked at you like you were something half-sacred, half-terrifying—something 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 blank—emptied under the pressure of Barty’s 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.

You’re startled out of your thoughts when his arm shifted under your hold, stepping closer to him in desperation—convinced he’d run away the second he had the chance.

“Junior,”

That was all you said.

It sounded breathless and pinched and honestly pathetic—but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Eyes locked on where you held him, as if he wasn’t real—like he was going to dematerialise spontaneously and you’d be left standing alone again.

A frown was etched onto your lips as you contemplated releasing him, he’d already made it so clear that for whatever reason he couldn’t stand the idea of being near you. And yet you were holding him hostage in silence, heart hammering beneath your chest—lump heavy in your throat preventing any speech from leaving you.

He still had a pained expression on his face—lips parting when you gaze rose to meet his—eyes softening when your voice reached his ears, meek and so unlike you, lacking your usual spark, your casual confidence.

“I—I’m sorry.” your voice trembled, brows pinched on your forehead—and he saw the way you struggled to swallow before you continued, “For whatever I did—Junior, I’m sorry,” Each word reaked with desperation and a quiet hopelessness that made Barty’s heart plummet in his chest.

His muscles were taut under his skin, rigid with restraint—wanting 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 he’d 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 gravity—something 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 moved—slow, like it hurt him.

“Don’t—” he choked out, voice cracking mid-word. His hands balled into fists at his sides, nails digging crescent moons into his palms. “Don’t apologise.”

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.

“I—” 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. “You didn’t do anything, treasure.”

And it only made you frown deepen, fingers twitching around his wrist—still 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 good—surging forward and pulling you into him, arms wrapping tightly around you in an embrace.

He shouldn’t be doing this—holding you close this when your boyfriend was just a door down. He shouldn’t be indulging himself in you when even just this small touch means something different to him. Means more.

“You didn’t do anything,” he repeated, voice low and raw and agonisingly sincere.

“I’m the one—fuck, treasure, I’m the one who—”

His words caught in his throat when he felt you squeeze him, palm on his back—your warmth so soothing yet tormenting all at once and Barty just leaned into it. Leaned into you like a man who had nothing left—no fight, no resolve—just signing himself away. Pressing his face into the your shoulder, “I’m sorry,” he murmured back, words muffled against your skin. “I’m so fucking sorry, treasure. I—”

You didn’t let him finish, leaning away slightly—staring up at him with a look in your eyes he couldn’t understand, it lacked contempt, it didn’t have anything other than warmth and acceptance he couldn’t fathom. Affection, that he surely didn’t deserve.

“Junior. J—stop. You don’t need to explain right now,” you said, voice almost lost in the thick, suffocating air between you. “Let’s…let’s just go sit somewhere, yeah?”

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 didn’t 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, he’d come apart completely.

The way you cradled Barty’s wrist with your fingers—so gentle, so careful, as if you were holding something precious you didn’t know how to save. The look in Barty’s eyes—raw, unguarded—made Regulus’s chest ache in a way he didn’t want to name.

He just…watched 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 out—taking both of your wrists, Barty’s and yours, into his hands. Grip wasn’t 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 you’d have liked, “Reg, where are we going…?”

He didn’t turn around, his fingers just tightened slightly where they held both your wrists, turning another corner. “Don’t you think we need to talk?” he said, his voice low, too neutral—almost strained.

You didn’t answer—letting the question hung unanswered between you.

Eventually, he pulled you both into the Slytherin common room—empty now—pulling 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 space—maybe 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 storm—the door clicking softly behind you and resonating around the silence in the room.

Barty’s 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 eyes—no disappointment, even. Just something quieter, heavier. Patient.

And you—

You hovered uncertainly, your hand still loosely wrapped around Barty’s wrist, your thumb brushing absently against the bone like you hadn’t even realised you were doing it—you never noticed, but Barty did.

His eyes flicking down, locking on the sight of your hand—so 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 away—forcibly squeezing your own hand—fingers curling into your palm ike you could hide the upset bleeding into your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice raw and breaking. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

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.

“It’s not that—” he blurted, wincing. “Well—it is—but it’s not—” He stammered over the words, grimacing as he fought them, fought with his mind and tongue. “It’s not you. You don’t—you don’t make me uncomfortable. I just—”

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 open—confused, waiting. Unfairly patient.

Regulus’ stare was sharper—cutting into him with a quiet sort of knowing that made Barty’s stomach twist painfully.

And Barty couldn’t stand it—he couldn’t breathe under it.

“I—I thought I could do this. But I can’t. I’m sorry, I just—”

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 moved—swift and sure, catching his wrist in a firm grip. “Stop.” Regulus said quietly, with an iron edge that brooked no argument. “If you don’t tell her, I will. It’s not fair anymore, Junior.”

And Barty's whole body jolted at the contact, stiffening like he’d been shocked. His stomach flipped—violent and sick and dizzying—but not just with anger. Not just with shame.

There was something else, something strange and warm tangled in it, something he didn’t want to name, something worse. The feeling of Regulus’ fingers curling around his wrist—soft and careful and familiar—it 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 angry—at 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 revulsion—at himself most of all.

“You think this is fair on me?!” he snapped, voice ragged and raw. He couldn’t even see Regulus’s face anymore—couldn’t bear to—only saw the wreckage burning behind his own eyes.

“You think I want this?!"

The words tore out of him, vicious and choking. "I wish—" 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 didn’t 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.

“What do you want me to say—huh, Reg?!” he demanded, a frantic, wounded sound punching out of him. “You want me to shout it from the rooftops?! Fine!”

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 good—never 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 blaśe 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.

“You want me to say ‘I’m in love with your girlfriend!?’”

He wasn’t finished—the final truth tumbling out, raw and bleeding, voice cracking under the pressure,

"I’m in love with my best friend!"

And with that—it wasn’t just the room that stopped—Barty 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 he’d said—what he couldn’t ever take back—slammed 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 light—and Regulus didn't say anything. Didn’t 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, sympathetic—and he wanted to be sick, wanted to scream.

Because even now, even after everything—part of him still ached, wanting to reach for you, part of him wished Regulus’ hand was still warm and familiar against him. Still wanted to feel the impossible, burning comfort of being held by you.

And that?

That was the cruelest part of all.

already started part 4....were GETTING THERE YALL

taglist mwah: @dearmy-diary @soupsiess @just-here-for-ff @charlies-corner-of-hell @treefairy-28 @nikt-wazny-y @mel-vaz @prettty-thing @liszblog @theonyxstate @yinyangcchii @msmarklee1213 @0urlady0fs0rr0ws421 @certified-womanizer @delusional-4-fake-people @ilyremuslupin @1989worshipper @nen-nyy @rowanberryxx @m9990 @bxuzi @call-mee-nyxx @grxcisxhy-wp

580 notes · View notes

ethereacals · 6 months ago

Text

MANIAC

the one where you don't go back to the boys.

part two of the conan gray series

“i wish i were heather” out now!

synopsis: after getting cheated on by your previously expected soulmates, a change in perspective occurs and you find yourself falling for a different set of three.

warnings: foul language, slander on the marauders, sexual innuendos, mentions of smoking, a small taylor

"PEOPLE LIKE YOU ALWAYS WANT BACK WHAT THEY CAN'T HAVE."

Leaving Hogwarts early for Christmas this year was not something anyone could've forshadowed.

You, the girl who spent most of her time studying for her upcoming OWLS in November, had disappeared without a trace.

Of course most of your close friends knew where you were, and some not so close friends did aswell.

"She can't just run away from her problems." Said Sirius, his leg bouncing anxiously from the news Regulus had just sprung onto them.

"Sirius, It'll be fine, okay? When they get back to school, we can formally apologize and move on, right?" Remus attempted to reassure Sirius, but he in reality he felt quite crestfallen.

Lily sat quietly, already regretting her decision to do this with them.

In her head, she knew they had every intention to not cheat and solve things the right way— but she hadn’t helped.

It all started one night at a loud and ear-shattering Gryffindor victory party after a successful win for their Quidditch team.

She got drunk, and they were completely wasted.

And you weren’t there.

So their drunken minds believed it would be a missed opportunity if they didn’t take their chance with Gryffindors golden girl.

Lily knew she should’ve said no, she should’ve gone back to her dorm and hid from them for the rest of eternity.

But fate clearly had other plans.

And after secrets, longing stares, and lingering touches that the truth finally came to light.

and it was all at your expense.

“So— When will our Reggie be joining us, Meadowes?” Evan slurred, his voice carrying a heavily intoxicated tone.

“Soon enough, he’s got one more OWL to complete and then he’s on his way.” Dorcas mused as she gently pet the head of her tipsy sleepy Gryffindor girlfriends head as she babbled on about Quidditch.

Evan nodded drunkenly— before taking another swig.

Dorcas seemed so peaceful with Marlene— who had surprisingly accepted her invitation to spend Christmas with the Slytherins, though Marlene truly wasn’t prejudice against them like others were.

They seemed so… in love.

You had love once.

Remember?

They’re gone.

Remember?

They’re gone.

“I— I had love… once—“ You hiccuped sadly, beginning to sob for the umpteenth time this evening.

You were extremely drunk, who could really blame you?

“Aww… Treasure…” Barty (who surprisingly was very sober) cooed, encapsulating you in a bear hug as you cried into his chest.

“How many more times is she going to do that?” Asked Peter, who— by the way: lied to his friends and said he was going home for Christmas.

He was only visiting for the night, as he was currently visiting his girlfriend— Sybil Trelawney who lived in town.

“Who knows, Pete. Who knows..” Evan slung his arm around him.

“This should be the last time before she realizes that she doesn’t need them, that’s what the sprites are telling me.” Pandora smiled, petting your hair gently in comfort.

“Pettigrew, you should turn back to your rat-pack and tell them they’re trash.”

You spat, in broken sighs.

Obviously, Peter felt a bit of offense to the rat slander but alas— they weren’t aware of his rat-secret.

Quite a shame.

“Sure thing, L/N.”

'FEELS LIKE WE HAD MATCHING WOUNDS BUT MINES STILL BLACK AND BRUISED.'

on December 19th, Regulus had finally arrived at Barty's flat he'd rented for the holidays.

Marlene, Dorcas, and Peter had their departure just the day before, leaving just you, Pandora, Evan, Barty, and Regulus.

Pandora had just wished you all goodnights and dream blessings before nodding off to your shared room for your stay.

"So, anyone up for some firewhiskey?" Offered Evan, who held a giant bottle of the substance.

"Just a small bit, Rosie." Barty accepted his offer graciously.

"Need anything, amour?" Regulus mused in your ear, by far he was the most comforting one. As the other two just distracted you with their own twisted ways of thinking and chaos.

"I'm alright, Reggie. Thank you." You nodded politely, you had felt incredibly off this break.

Though they all weren't stupid, they knew why you were acting strange.

Every year since third year; You and the boys would leave Hogwarts and spend Christmas with the Potters.

Snowball fights, roaring fires, Effie's hot cocoa, the memories echoed through your brain like they were music blasting from your headphones.

Every time you closed your eyes to sleep, you would see endless slideshows of everything you had ever done with them.

The nights of passion, the hugs, the pre and post-quidditch game good luck and good job kisses, the play fights, the happiness.

Your life was black and white before you met them, they brought the color.

But they showed you colors they knew you couldn't see with anyone else.

Well, besides your 'best' friends.

Were you really just that? Just friends?

You were a year younger than the Marauders, same year as Regulus.

and Sirius would be so pissed off if he found out that you were sleeping with his brother-

...

Wait.

Who gives a fuck about Sirius?

Who cares what intelligent insult will come out of Remus' mouth?

And James, he liked Regulus once.

They'd hate you.

But,

Maybe you wanted them too.

So, you ended up taking a few shots of firewhiskey.

Okay,

More than a few.

"Um- actually, Reggie. I- I do need something." You slurred, holding onto your sober ex-boyfriends brother best friends nimble shoulders like he was your lifeline.

"Yes, amour?"

"I want a kiss."

Evan spat out his drink back into his cup, and Regulus' face heated up significantly.

"I'll give you a kiss..." Barty clambered over his boyfriends as his cold, veiny hands meet your waist.

His hands skim your body up and down, before pecking your lips softly, as if he was asking for acceptance.

"Can I kiss you?" Barty spoke so softly, he may have been chaotic and insane- but he was extremely cautious and respectable with things like this.

"I-I wanna taste you so bad.." Evan cooed at Barty's sweet words, as he held an extremely flustered Regulus in his arms, watching the scene in front of him unfold.

"Barty- please, kiss me." You mewled, barely finishing your sentence as he dived into your lips.

His lips surprisingly tasted like cherry chapstick, even though he had just been chugging firewhiskey.

After feeling like an eternity, Barty broke your kiss.

"I've wanted to do that since fourth year." He mumbled drunkenly, gazing up stupidly and lovingly at your blush-kissed face.

His kisses were heavenly, and so were Evan's, and Regulus'.

And needless to say, you didn't return back to Pandora that night.

'YOU'RE POINTING AT THE STARS IN THE SKY THAT ALREADY DIED.'

The return to Hogwarts was an awkward one at that.

But returning back to Hogwarts feeling happier than ever with your boyfriends? That was the best return you could make.

Hand in hand with Barty, you strutted into the Great Hall.

Evan and Regulus trailed behind, as you rambled on and on to Barty about something.

James stared your direction, and you unfortunately met his gaze.

He wasn't dense, he could see how your bright smile seemed to dim.

He smiled, softly.

James knew that they'd never get you back the way they had you.

He should've realized that you were the light of their lives.

Everyone should've woken up to see you.

They hurt you.

And this was their price.

They had to watch you thrive, with three other men.

Who would treat you like a goddess, something they never sought time for.

taglist; @hisparentsgallerryy @cultish-corner @asexualbuthorny @prettylittlewrites @champomiel @hellothere7 @anakinsluvrr @lady-balem @awkwardalie @nosteponduck @eeviee4 @dreamygirli3 @navs-bhat @angemyrtille @mrssslangdon @siillly @makanirock05 @hcqwxrtss123 @wolfyychan @nislame @lalalandincraz @rorywright @ih3artpjo @st4r-girl-official @pain-in-the-ashe

736 notes · View notes

evermoreness · 4 months ago

Text

secrets | regulus black - barty crouch jr.

pairing: regulus black x barty crouch jr. x reader

summary: you are working undercover for the order of the phoenix but things take a turn when your boyfriends, proud death eaters, discover how much danger you're in.

obs: this is a continuation, please read part one before this.

warnings: angsty, sad, torture, blood, mentions of death, swearing.

masterlist

Regulus looked at Barty.

Barty looked at Regulus.

Neither of them said a word, but they didn’t need to.

They had spent enough time together, fought side by side enough times to understand each other with just a glance. The flicker of determination in Regulus’ silver eyes, the way Barty’s fingers twitched against the restraints—this was it. Their only chance.

Regulus inhaled sharply, tilting his head toward Bellatrix. "Fine," he said, voice hoarse. "I’ll talk."

The room went silent.

Bellatrix turned to him, intrigued. "Oh?" She crouched back down, gripping his chin roughly. "And here I thought you’d rather die than betray her."

Regulus forced himself to look at you. Your wide, panicked eyes burned into his soul, but he didn’t waver. "There’s no point in all of us dying, is there?" His voice was empty, indifferent. "She’s already broken."

Your breath hitched.

Bellatrix’s lips curled. "Oh, cousin. I always knew you’d come to your senses." She turned to the Death Eaters restraining him. "Let him go."

They hesitated.

"You heard me," Bellatrix snapped, rising to her full height. "Let. Him. Go."

The moment they released him, Regulus staggered slightly, shaking out his sore wrists. Bellatrix smirked, waiting. "Well?" she purred. "Speak."

Regulus glanced at Barty one last time.

Now.

Barty moved.

In one fluid motion, he yanked himself free from the distracted Death Eaters, twisting his body violently. Before they could react, he lunged at Bellatrix, knocking her down with a brutal force.

The impact was harsh, the sound of her body slamming against the cold floor echoing through the room.

"Barty!" you gasped, but he wasn’t listening.

He was moving on pure, unfiltered rage.

Bellatrix tried to curse him, but Barty was faster. His fists crashed into her face with vicious strength—once, twice—until she was momentarily stunned.

And that was all he needed.

With a sharp, calculated move, he grabbed her wand.

The entire room froze.

Barty rose to his full height, standing over Bellatrix’s stunned form, her wand steady in his grip. Blood dripped from his mouth, but he was grinning, his wild eyes burning with something unhinged. "Now," he breathed, turning the wand toward the others, "let’s try this again."

The Death Eaters stiffened.

None of them moved.

Because they knew the truth.

They needed Barty alive.

"That’s right," Barty sneered, taking a slow step forward, the tip of Bellatrix’s wand crackling with barely restrained power. "You can’t fucking kill me, can you?" His smile widened, teeth flashing. "But I can kill you."

A flick of his wrist, and one of the Death Eaters was sent flying against the wall. Another twitch of his fingers, and another was slammed to the floor, gasping in pain.

"Expelliarmus!" Regulus snarled, and suddenly, a second wand went flying into his waiting hand.

Now they were both armed.

And the Death Eaters knew they had lost control.

Bellatrix groaned, struggling to sit up. "You little—"

Barty didn’t give her the chance to finish.

"Crucio."

Bellatrix screamed.

Barty didn’t stop.

"Barty!" Regulus shouted.

Barty’s breathing was ragged, his entire body trembling, but he finally—finally—let go. Bellatrix collapsed, gasping, twitching, her face contorted in agony.

Regulus didn’t waste another second.

He ran to you, cutting the restraints binding your wrists. "Are you okay?" he breathed, eyes scanning your face frantically.

You nodded weakly, but your body was still too heavy, too numb from everything that had happened.

Barty crouched beside you, his free hand gripping yours tightly. "We’re getting you out of here," he said, voice shaking with leftover fury.

Regulus stood, turning the wand toward the remaining Death Eaters. "Nobody moves."

"Let’s go," Barty muttered, slipping an arm under you, helping you stand.

Your legs almost gave out, but he held you firmly.

"Reg, get us out of here," Barty ordered.

Regulus nodded sharply, and then—

A loud crash from the hallway.

More Death Eaters were coming.

"Shit," Barty cursed.

Regulus took a step forward, jaw clenched. "Hold on to me."

Barty gripped your waist tighter, pressing you against his side.

Regulus flicked his wand.

And then, the world disappeared.

Darkness. Screams. The taste of blood in the air.

Regulus and Barty fought like madmen. There was no hesitation, no restraint—just pure, desperate survival. They had their wands back now, which evened the odds, but the Death Eaters kept coming.

Regulus shot a hex over his shoulder, sending one flying into the stone wall. Barty spun on his heel, stunning another before ducking a curse aimed straight at his head. He gritted his teeth. "How many more of these fuckers are there?"

"Too many," Regulus panted, adjusting his grip on your limp body. You had fainted somewhere between the torture and the escape, your body finally giving out from the pain and exhaustion. Regulus held you tightly, making sure not to jostle you as he fired another curse at the nearest masked figure.

Barty’s eyes flickered to you, jaw clenching. He had been keeping his fury in check ever since they found you, but it was burning inside him, white-hot. "We’re running out of time," he growled, stepping closer to Regulus. "They’ll have reinforcements soon."

"I know," Regulus said sharply. His mind was working, searching for an opening. He shifted you in his arms, adjusting your weight. "We need to Apparate. Now."

Barty scowled. "We can’t Apparate in here, you know that. Anti-Disapparition wards."

Regulus’s silver eyes were steely. "Then we fight our way out."

Barty exhaled through his nose. "Fine. But I’m carrying her now."

Regulus opened his mouth to argue, but Barty was already moving. He grabbed you carefully, pulling you against his chest. "I’ve got her. You cover us."

Regulus hesitated, then gave a sharp nod. "Stay close to me."

The next few minutes were chaos.

Regulus led the way, his wand moving in sharp, precise motions, deflecting curses and sending hexes that dropped Death Eaters left and right. Barty followed, keeping his grip tight on you, dodging spells as he moved.

The exit was in sight.

"Almost there!" Regulus called.

A bright green jet of light whizzed past Barty’s face, narrowly missing him. He snarled, twisting his body to shield you from any more stray spells. "Move faster!"

Regulus didn’t bother answering. He sent a powerful blast behind them, throwing back the last wave of Death Eaters just as they burst through the final set of doors.

The cold night air hit them like a slap.

"Now!" Regulus shouted.

Without hesitation, Barty clutched you tighter and grabbed Regulus’s arm. The moment his fingers curled around the fabric of his sleeve—

They Disapparated.

The world twisted and snapped back into place with a loud crack.

They stumbled into the familiar walls of the safe house, breathless and bloodied.

It was over.

For now.

Barty immediately sank to his knees, still clutching you. "Fuck," he breathed, lowering you carefully onto the floor. "She’s burning up."

Regulus knelt beside you, pushing the damp hair from your face. His hands were shaking. "She’s lost too much blood."

Barty swore under his breath. He pressed a hand against his ribs, grimacing when he felt the warm stickiness of his own blood seeping through his shirt. "You’re worse off," he muttered, giving Regulus a sharp look. "You’re barely standing."

"Doesn’t matter," Regulus snapped. He pulled out his wand, pointing it at your wounds. "We need to stop the bleeding."

Barty let out a shaky breath, rubbing a hand down his face. "They’ll come looking for us, you know."

Regulus didn’t look up. "I know."

Barty leaned back against the wall, staring at you. "She nearly died today." His voice was quieter now, rough with something that sounded dangerously close to fear. "We almost lost her."

Regulus’s hands trembled slightly as he continued healing you. "I know."

Silence.

Then, softly—

"We can’t let this happen again."

Regulus finally met Barty’s eyes.

And in that moment, they both understood.

It was just the beginning.

Regulus wasted no time, he pulled out his wand, flicking it toward the door.

"Protego Totalum. Muffliato. Salvio Hexia."

One after another, layers of protective spells sealed the house from outside threats. Only then did he allow himself to breathe, turning back to where Barty was kneeling beside you.

You still weren’t waking up.

Regulus felt something sharp twist in his chest. He had seen you bleeding, limp in their arms, but now, lying on the floor, too pale, too still— Fuck.

"She should have woken up by now," Barty muttered, voice strained. He was cradling your head, brushing hair from your face with hands that weren’t quite steady. "Why isn’t she waking up?"

Regulus dropped to his knees beside him, his own breathing uneven. "It could be from the pain, the exhaustion…" He swallowed, glancing at your closed eyes. "Or the curses. I don’t know what Bellatrix used on her."

Barty’s grip on you tightened. His knuckles were white. "That bitch."

Regulus didn’t respond. Instead, he pressed his fingers to your wrist, checking your pulse. It was there—weak but steady. He let out a quiet breath. "She’s alive."

Barty let out a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah, fucking barely."

"Help me get her onto the bed."

Together, they lifted you carefully, as if you might shatter at any moment. Regulus adjusted the pillows while Barty laid you down, brushing a stray tear off your cheek before he stepped back.

Regulus pulled out his wand. "I’ll handle her wounds. You need to sit down before you collapse."

Barty scowled. "I’m fine."

"You’re bleeding all over the floor," Regulus shot back, not even looking up as he muttered a healing spell over your arm. "So sit down and let me fix her."

Barty clenched his jaw but obeyed, sinking onto the edge of the bed, watching you closely.

Regulus worked in silence. Cleaning the wounds, sealing cuts, muttering healing charms under his breath. Every so often, he’d pause, waiting, hoping you’d stir. But you didn’t.

It was only when he was satisfied that you were stable that he let out a shaky breath, leaning back on his heels. His head was pounding. His body ached. But you were safe, and that was all that mattered.

"You’re next," he said, looking at Barty.

Barty raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were dying of exhaustion."

Regulus exhaled sharply. "So are you. Shirt off. Now."

Barty smirked faintly. "You could’ve just asked nicely." But he obeyed, wincing as he peeled off his bloodstained shirt.

Regulus barely reacted. He simply examined the wounds, muttering more spells, pressing his palm against a deep gash on Barty’s ribs.

Barty hissed. "Merlin, you have no bedside manner."

"Shut up and let me heal you."

Barty sighed, tilting his head back. His body relaxed slightly as the pain dulled under Regulus’s spells. "Thanks," he murmured, voice quieter now.

Regulus gave a small nod. "Don’t make me do it again anytime soon."

Barty snorted, eyes flicking toward you. "No promises."

A pause. Then—

"Your turn."

Regulus frowned. "I’m fine."

Barty scoffed. "You’re bleeding."

Regulus opened his mouth, but Barty was already moving, grabbing his wand. "Sit down, Black. Don’t make me hex you."

Regulus sighed but didn’t fight it. He allowed Barty to take his arm, watching as he concentrated on healing the deep cut across his forearm.

Barty wasn’t as gentle as Regulus, but he was quick, efficient. They worked in silence, both too drained to say much more.

By the time Barty finished, Regulus barely had the strength to sit up. His vision blurred slightly at the edges, exhaustion crashing over him all at once.

Barty ran a hand through his hair, then glanced toward you again. "She’s going to be okay, right?"

Regulus hesitated before nodding. "She has to be."

Neither of them spoke after that. They were both too tired, too sore, too wrecked to do anything except stay close, watching over you in silence.

By your side.

Hours had passed, the room was dimly lit, only the soft glow of candlelight flickering against the walls. The air was thick with exhaustion, tension, and something else—something unspoken but deeply understood between the three of them.

Regulus sat on one side of the bed, head resting against the headboard, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His wand was still in his lap, fingers loosely curled around it, as if he expected another attack at any moment.

Barty was on the other side, sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed with his arms folded across it, his head resting on his forearm. His breathing was slow, deep—he was asleep, but lightly.

And then, finally—

A small, pained noise escaped your lips as consciousness crept in.

Regulus was instantly awake, straightening in his seat. Barty jolted, eyes flying open, immediately looking up.

Your eyes fluttered open slowly, unfocused at first. Everything ached. Your body felt heavy, sore, like you’d been crushed under the weight of something enormous.

You groaned, blinking sluggishly, trying to make sense of where you were.

Regulus exhaled sharply. "You're awake." His voice was low, almost hesitant, as if he was afraid that saying it aloud would somehow make it untrue.

Barty was already moving, pushing himself up onto his knees, cupping your face gently. His fingers brushed over your cheek, as if needing to feel you, to make sure you were real. "How do you feel?" he asked, voice hoarse.

You blinked at them, trying to process. "I—" Your throat was dry. Your body screamed in protest when you tried to sit up, and both boys immediately reached for you.

Regulus pressed a hand to your shoulder, easing you back down. "Don’t move too much. You’re still healing."

Barty’s hands hovered over you, as if he wanted to touch you more but was afraid he’d make it worse. "You scared the shit out of us." His voice was quieter than usual, but the frustration was still there. "Next time, don’t get yourself caught."

You let out a weak, breathy laugh. "Yeah, I’ll try my best."

Regulus rolled his eyes, but there was relief hidden behind it. "You were unconscious for hours. We weren’t sure—" He swallowed hard, looking away. "We weren’t sure if you were going to wake up."

Your chest tightened at that. You could see it now, in their faces—the exhaustion, the worry, the pain they’d been through just waiting for you to open your eyes.

Your heart clenched.

This was your fault.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. "I’m sorry."

Barty frowned. "What?"

"I’m sorry," you whispered again, looking between them. "You’re hurt. You were almost killed. And it’s because of me."

Regulus’s expression darkened instantly. "Don’t."

You shook your head. "No, you don’t understand—"

"I understand perfectly," Regulus interrupted, voice sharp. "And I’m telling you to stop."

Barty scowled. "Are you actually trying to take responsibility for the fact that Bellatrix Lestrange is a psychopath? Because that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard."

"But I dragged you into this—"

"You didn’t drag us anywhere," Regulus snapped. "We chose to be here."

"You were supposed to be safe—"

"We were never safe," Barty said flatly. "Not in this fucking war. Not before you. Not after you. And if you think for one second that we’d let you do this alone, then you’re even more of an idiot than I thought."

Your breath hitched, guilt and something deeper, something warmer twisting inside you.

Regulus let out a slow breath, his anger fading slightly. He reached for your hand, squeezing it. "We’re with you. No matter what."

Barty huffed, but he nodded. "Yeah. You’re stuck with us."

You blinked rapidly, trying to hold back tears.

Regulus smirked slightly. "You’re not going to cry, are you?"

You laughed, even as a tear slipped down your cheek. "Shut up."

Barty rolled his eyes but reached up, brushing it away with his thumb. "Idiot," he murmured.

You squeezed both of their hands, the weight of everything settling over you—but for the first time in days, maybe even weeks, you felt safe.

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that wrapped around the three of you, intimate and unspoken, filled with everything none of you were saying.

Regulus was still holding your hand, his thumb absently brushing over your knuckles. Barty, on the other hand, was staring at you, his sharp blue eyes tracing over every inch of your face, like he was memorizing the fact that you were still here.

You swallowed, the lump in your throat refusing to disappear. "I don’t deserve you two," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Barty scoffed, his lips curling into something that was half a smirk, half a frown. "Damn right you don’t."

Regulus shot him a look, but you laughed softly, your ribs aching with the motion.

Barty’s expression softened immediately. "Careful," he muttered, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You’re still hurting."

"You’re both hurt too," you pointed out. "But you’re sitting here, taking care of me."

Regulus smirked slightly. "We’d do it again."

Barty nodded, his usual cocky demeanor subdued. "Without question."

Your breath hitched, warmth spreading through your chest despite the pain.

Regulus leaned in slightly, his stormy gray eyes locked onto yours. "You scared the shit out of us," he admitted, his voice softer now, more vulnerable than he usually allowed himself to be. "I thought we were going to lose you."

You squeezed his hand tighter. "I thought I was going to lose you too."

Barty made an irritated noise. "Alright, that’s enough emotional bullshit." But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he reached for your other hand, his grip warm and grounding. "You’re here. We’re here. That’s what matters."

You smiled, exhaustion pulling at your features, but it was genuine. "Yeah. That’s what matters."

Regulus exhaled, running a hand through his messy dark hair before leaning down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. His lips were soft, his touch lingering as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go too soon.

Your eyes fluttered shut at the warmth of it, your body relaxing for the first time in days.

Barty made a noise in the back of his throat. "Oh, for fuck’s sake," he muttered before leaning in and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

Your eyes snapped open, surprised, and Barty rolled his eyes. "What? You think I’d let Regulus be the only dramatic bastard in the room?"

Regulus smirked. "Jealous, Crouch?"

Barty scoffed. "Shut up, Black."

You chuckled weakly, squeezing both their hands. "I love you both, you know."

That caught them off guard.

Regulus blinked at you, his usual cool demeanor slipping for a second.

Barty’s mouth opened slightly before he quickly closed it, clearing his throat.

It wasn’t something the three of you ever really said out loud. It was always there, lingering in every glance, every reckless act of protection, every night spent together like this. But saying it aloud made it feel more real, more dangerous.

Regulus was the first to speak. His voice was steady, but his grip on your hand tightened. "We know."

Barty swallowed, his fingers brushing over your knuckles. "Yeah," he muttered, his voice quieter than usual. "We know."

They didn’t need to say it back. You could see it in the way Regulus looked at you, the way Barty refused to let go of your hand even though he’d rather die than admit he was being soft.

You smiled, closing your eyes again. "Good," you murmured. "Because it’s true."

Regulus let out a soft breath before leaning down again, pressing another lingering kiss to your forehead.

Barty sighed dramatically but didn’t protest when he shifted closer, resting his head on the edge of the bed near your shoulder. "Get some sleep," he mumbled. "You look like shit."

You huffed a laugh. "Love you too, Barty."

Regulus chuckled quietly, his fingers brushing against your hair. "We’ll be here when you wake up."

The hours passed in a blur of exhaustion and pain, but the three of you stayed together. The room was dimly lit, the only sound being the occasional rustling of fabric and the steady breathing of your boys beside you.

Regulus was the first to stir, pushing himself up with a wince. His gray eyes flickered toward you, still curled between them, and he frowned. You were still covered in dried blood, and not just yours.

"You need a bath," he murmured, his voice rough from sleep.

Barty groaned beside you. "We all do," he muttered, blinking his blue eyes open. He grimaced as he shifted, pressing a hand to his side. "Fuck, everything hurts."

You let out a weak chuckle, but even that sent a jolt of pain through your ribs. "No shit."

Regulus sighed, running a hand through his tangled dark hair. "Alright. Come on."

You barely had the energy to move, let alone bathe, but you knew they were right. You could still feel the grime on your skin, the dried blood stiff on your clothes. Still, the idea of standing under warm water, washing it all away, felt… impossible. You felt too heavy, too drained.

Regulus must have noticed your hesitation because he placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch gentle despite the fact that he was just as beaten as you. "We’ll help," he said softly.

Barty scoffed. "That’s going to be a disaster. We can barely move, let alone help her without fucking collapsing."

You exhaled slowly, your voice quiet but firm. "Then get in with me."

A moment of silence stretched between you, heavy with exhaustion, hesitation, and something unspoken.

Then, Regulus nodded. "Alright."

Barty groaned dramatically, pushing himself up. "Fucking hell. Fine. But if either of you faints and I have to carry your pathetic asses, I’m leaving you there."

Regulus rolled his eyes. "You’re the one most likely to faint."

"Fuck off, Black."

Despite the soreness, despite everything, you laughed softly.

Regulus helped you sit up slowly, his touch careful as if you were made of glass. Barty, still grumbling under his breath, moved to the other side, making sure you didn’t topple over. Every movement hurt, but with them there, supporting you, it was bearable.

The three of you stumbled into the bathroom together, leaning on each other for support. The room was warm, steam already curling in the air as Regulus turned on the water.

Barty eyed the tub. "This is going to be a disaster."

You smirked weakly. "Then stop complaining and get in."

Regulus helped you undress first, his fingers careful as he worked through the tattered fabric. His touch was familiar, steady, though his lips were pressed into a thin line as he took in the bruises littering your skin. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes darkened.

Barty, for once, kept his mouth shut.

When you stepped into the tub, the warm water hit your wounds, making you hiss through your teeth. Regulus was right there, steadying you as you sank into the warmth, your body immediately feeling lighter.

Then, with a resigned sigh, Barty and Regulus stripped down and climbed in as well.

There was no awkwardness, no hesitation, just the three of you, exhausted and broken, pressed against each other as the water slowly washed the blood away.

Regulus reached for the soap first, his movements slow as he lathered it between his hands. "Turn around," he murmured.

You did, and he started washing the dried blood from your back, his touch gentle but thorough. Barty was next to you, his fingers combing through your tangled hair, helping to rinse out the grime.

It was quiet, peaceful even, the only sound being the water trickling around you.

"You scared the shit out of me," Barty muttered after a while, his fingers still working through your hair.

Regulus hummed in agreement. "Never again," he said, his voice low but firm.

You let out a breath, leaning against them. "I’ll try."

Barty scoffed. "Try harder."

Regulus finished rinsing the soap from your skin before grabbing a cloth and pressing it to one of Barty’s wounds. Barty let out a sharp hiss. "Fucking hell, Reg."

"Stay still," Regulus said dryly.

You chuckled, despite the ache in your ribs.

The three of you took turns, slowly working through the dirt, the blood, the exhaustion. It wasn’t perfect. The water stung, the pain lingered, but it was… something.

By the time you finally climbed out, all of you were still hurting, still exhausted, but a little lighter.

Regulus wrapped a towel around you, his fingers lingering on your wrist. "Bed," he murmured.

Barty nodded, grabbing another towel and rubbing at his wet hair. "Yeah. And if you try to sneak out again, I swear to Merlin—"

You smirked tiredly. "You’ll what? Carry me back?"

Barty narrowed his eyes. "Yes. And then tie you to the fucking bed."

Regulus smirked. "Kinky."

Barty threw his towel at him.

You laughed, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it didn’t hurt as much.

Regulus was the one who insisted on taking care of you and Barty first, despite the fact that he was barely holding himself together. His hands were steady, but his face was pale, lips pressed into a thin line as he grabbed the potion vials from the small wooden cabinet near the bed.

"You should sit down," you murmured, watching him through half-lidded eyes as you sat wrapped in blankets on the bed. "You're barely standing, Reg."

"I'm fine," he said shortly, not even looking at you as he poured a thick, dark red potion into a glass. He turned to you and held it out. "Drink."

Barty, sitting beside you, raised an eyebrow. "If she's drinking that shit, you are too. You look like you're about to fucking collapse."

Regulus shot him a glare. "I'll take mine after."

Barty scoffed. "Right. Because that's not exactly what you said before the bath, and look where we are."

You sighed, reaching for the potion. "Let's just get this over with."

The moment the bitter liquid touched your tongue, you grimaced, barely managing to swallow it down. "Bloody hell, that tastes like death."

Barty smirked. "And you’d know what that tastes like, huh?"

You shot him a weak glare. "Sod off, Crouch."

Regulus ignored both of you, already reaching for a fresh bandage. "Let me see your ribs," he said quietly.

You hesitated for a moment but eventually let the blanket slide down enough to expose your side. His fingers were gentle as they traced over the bruised skin, his touch cold but soothing. His jaw clenched. "You’re going to need another dose in a few hours. The pain relief won’t last long."

Barty huffed, crossing his arms. "Yeah, well, neither will you if you don’t sit your arse down and let me take care of you after this."

Regulus ignored him again, focusing on rewrapping your ribs with careful precision. He worked in silence, and despite your exhaustion, despite everything, there was something so grounding about his touch—like he was holding you together, piece by piece.

Once he finished with you, he turned to Barty. "Your turn."

Barty groaned. "Fuck’s sake. Fine." He tugged his shirt over his head, wincing as he did so. His torso was littered with bruises and cuts, some deeper than others. "Try not to be a sadist, Black."

Regulus smirked faintly. "No promises."

He worked just as carefully on Barty as he did with you, dabbing antiseptic potions over his wounds, wrapping the worst of them in bandages. Barty, despite his usual dramatics, sat still for most of it, only letting out the occasional grunt of pain.

"You’ve done this before," Barty muttered as Regulus finished tying off a bandage around his shoulder.

Regulus didn’t look up. "I had to learn."

You shared a glance with Barty. It was no secret that Regulus had gone through hell in his own way. The Black family wasn’t exactly known for their kindness.

"Alright," Regulus said finally, leaning back and exhaling. "That should do it."

Barty rolled his shoulders, testing the bandages. "Not bad, Black. Maybe you should quit being a Death Eater and become a fucking healer."

Regulus shot him a dry look. "I’d rather die."

Barty smirked. "Well, you’re halfway there, aren’t you?"

You nudged Barty, suppressing a small smile. "Be nice."

Regulus, however, didn’t have the energy to argue anymore. His body was swaying slightly, his exhaustion finally catching up to him.

Barty narrowed his eyes. "Alright, that’s it."

Before Regulus could react, Barty grabbed him by the arm and practically forced him to sit down on the bed. Regulus let out a sharp breath, clearly too tired to fight.

Barty knelt in front of him, his expression uncharacteristically serious as he reached for the healing supplies. "Your turn, Black."

Regulus sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I can do it myself."

Barty scoffed. "Yeah, and you’ll probably fuck it up."

You shifted closer, watching as Barty carefully started cleaning the worst of Regulus's wounds. He wasn’t as gentle as Regulus had been, but there was something about the way he worked—quick, efficient, but not unkind.

"You always have to play the fucking martyr," Barty muttered as he pressed a damp cloth to a cut on Regulus’s temple. "It’s annoying."

Regulus smirked weakly. "Someone has to take care of you two."

Barty rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, next time, try not to fucking die in the process, alright?"

Regulus didn’t reply, just let Barty continue patching him up.

After a while, you shifted again, reaching for Regulus’s hand, squeezing it lightly. "You scared us, you know," you murmured.

Regulus’s fingers curled around yours, his grip weak but steady. "I know."

Barty, finishing the last of the bandages, sat back with a sigh. "Alright. We’re officially the most pathetic bunch of idiots in the entire wizarding world."

You let out a breathy laugh. "Probably."

Regulus gave a faint smirk. "But we’re alive."

Barty huffed. "For now."

Despite the pain, despite everything, the three of you sat there in the dim candlelight, tangled in each other’s presence, holding on to the only thing that mattered—you were still here. Together.

The exhaustion was finally catching up to all of you. The pain potions dulled some of the worst aches, but the weight of everything—the fear, the fight, the near loss—still clung to the air around you like a thick fog.

Regulus was the first to shift, his body instinctively leaning into yours as if his muscles could no longer keep him upright. Barty was slumped against the bedpost, arms crossed, watching both of you with a tired but amused expression.

"You two look like a fucking mess," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "Like, actually pathetic."

You let out a weak laugh. "Look who's talking, Crouch. You’re barely holding yourself up."

Barty smirked, but it was softer than usual. "Yeah, well. Someone has to make sure you both don’t die in your sleep."

Regulus hummed, his voice barely above a whisper. "If you’re volunteering to stay awake all night, be my guest."

Barty groaned. "Fuck that. I’d rather risk all of us dying."

You smiled, shifting slightly so you could lay back against the pillows. The bed was small, not meant for three people, but none of you cared. There was no way any of you were sleeping alone tonight.

Regulus exhaled slowly and slid down beside you, his head resting just near your shoulder. His breath was warm against your skin, slow and steady despite the pain he was undoubtedly feeling.

"You’re warm," he murmured, eyes already half-closed.

You smirked. "I think that’s just the fever talking."

Barty snorted. "Great. You’re both dying, and I have to deal with it."

You rolled your eyes. "Just shut up and get in here, Barty."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You’re inviting me into bed now? How scandalous."

Regulus let out a quiet chuckle. "I will hex you in my sleep, Crouch."

Barty grinned but didn’t argue. He moved down beside you on the other side, letting out a deep sigh as he finally let his body relax. For a long moment, none of you spoke. The only sound was the slow, steady breaths of three people who had barely survived the night.

Barty turned his head slightly, looking at you in the dim light. "You know, I was right about you."

You frowned sleepily. "Right about what?"

He smirked. "Trouble. You’re nothing but trouble."

You huffed a laugh. "And yet here you are."

Barty scoffed. "Yeah, well, someone has to keep an eye on you."

Regulus shifted beside you, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm. "We’re not letting you go through this alone," he murmured.

You swallowed hard, glancing between the two of them. They looked just as exhausted, just as battered, just as broken. And yet, they were here. They had stayed.

"Thank you," you whispered.

Barty groaned dramatically. "If you start getting emotional, I swear to Merlin—"

You elbowed him lightly, making him let out a small grunt of protest. "Shut up, Barty."

Regulus smiled faintly, already half-asleep. "Go to sleep, both of you."

You sighed, closing your eyes, feeling the warmth of them on either side of you. It was reckless. It was dangerous. But for now, you were safe.

And for tonight, that was enough.

The morning light streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the tangled mess of limbs and blankets. For the first time in what felt like forever, the three of you had slept deeply, exhaustion finally overtaking the pain.

You woke first, stirring slightly as you took in the slow rise and fall of Regulus’s breathing beside you, the way Barty’s arm was draped lazily over your waist. For a moment, it almost felt normal—like there wasn’t a war waiting just outside these walls.

But the dull ache in your body reminded you that normal had never been an option.

Carefully, you untangled yourself from them, wincing slightly as you moved. Your muscles protested every step, but you ignored it, determined to do something for them.

The kitchen was quiet as you moved around, pulling out whatever ingredients you could find. It wasn’t much—just some bread, eggs, and tea—but it would do. You worked slowly, methodically, letting the simple task distract you.

It didn’t take long before you heard the shuffling of footsteps behind you.

"You’re supposed to be resting," Regulus’s voice was thick with sleep as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. His hair was a mess, his shirt wrinkled from sleep, and yet, he still looked effortlessly composed.

You smirked. "Good morning to you too."

Barty groaned as he appeared behind Regulus, rubbing a hand over his face. "What the fuck are you doing up? You almost died last night."

You rolled your eyes, setting down a plate in front of them. "I’m making breakfast. Because you two are absolute disasters, and someone has to take care of you."

Regulus sighed but didn’t argue, instead sliding into a chair with a tired expression. Barty just grumbled as he sat down, rubbing at a bruise on his arm.

You placed a cup of tea in front of each of them before sitting down between them. "See? I’m fine. And now, you two are eating, no complaints."

Barty snorted, picking up a piece of bread. "Bossy."

Regulus smirked slightly, taking a slow sip of tea. "She’s always been like this."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile forming on your lips.

For a while, it was peaceful. Just the three of you, eating in comfortable silence, stealing small glances at each other. It was almost easy to pretend that everything was fine.

But that feeling was still there. That nagging, suffocating weight in the back of your minds.

They were coming for you.

Regulus was the first to break the silence. "We need to figure out what we’re going to do."

Barty groaned, resting his head against his hand. "I vote we just keep running."

You shook your head. "We can’t. They’ll find us eventually."

Regulus’s fingers drummed against the table, his expression unreadable. "Then we fight."

You exhaled slowly, glancing between the two of them. "Are we ready for that?"

Barty let out a dry chuckle. "Are we ready to die? No. But we don’t really have a choice, do we?"

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling in your chest.

Regulus reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. "Whatever happens, we stay together."

Barty’s usual smirk softened as he reached out, squeezing your other hand. "Yeah. Together."

You looked at them—really looked at them. At Regulus, with his quiet, determined strength. At Barty, with his reckless, unwavering loyalty.

You had brought them into this. And yet, they had stayed.

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Regulus’s knuckles before turning to Barty, brushing your lips against his cheek. "Then we make the most of whatever time we have left."

Barty smirked, but there was something sad in his eyes. "Well, if we’re gonna die soon, might as well spend our last days kissing and cuddling."

Regulus rolled his eyes. "You’re insufferable."

"You love me," Barty shot back, grinning.

Regulus sighed, but he didn’t let go of either of your hands. "Unfortunately, I do."

You laughed softly, resting your head against Barty’s shoulder. "Then let’s not waste time."

Because deep down, you all knew.

The end was coming.

For now, you just wanted to feel them.

You pulled Barty closer, tangling your fingers in his hair as you kissed him softly. He let out a quiet hum, his usual cocky demeanor melting away as he deepened the kiss, like he was trying to memorize the way your lips felt against his.

Regulus watched you both, his expression unreadable, but there was something burning in his eyes—something soft, something vulnerable. You reached for him, tugging him closer, and he obeyed without hesitation.

Barty pulled away slightly, pressing his forehead against yours. "You taste like tea."

You let out a small laugh, brushing your fingers against his jaw. "That’s because I actually drank my tea instead of just complaining about how hot it was."

Regulus snorted. "She’s right, you do that every time."

Barty rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he turned to Regulus, smirking slightly. "Your turn, Reggie."

Regulus huffed, but the way his gaze softened when he looked at you made your heart ache. He leaned in, brushing his lips against yours so gently it sent shivers down your spine. His kisses were different from Barty’s—slower, more delicate, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he wasn’t careful.

You sighed against him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours. "I don’t want to lose you."

Your throat tightened. "You won’t."

Barty scoffed. "Liar."

For a long time, none of you spoke.

Regulus was the first to break the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you ever wonder what it would’ve been like? If things were different?"

Barty let out a quiet chuckle, but there was no humor in it. "Yeah. All the time."

You closed your eyes. "If things were different… we wouldn’t be here. We wouldn’t have met like this. And I don’t regret it."

Regulus’s fingers brushed against your cheek, tilting your face up so he could kiss you again. It was slow, aching, like he was pouring everything he couldn’t say into it. When he pulled back, his voice was barely a whisper. "I don’t regret it either."

Barty let out a dramatic sigh. "Well, since we’re being all emotional—" you turned your head so you were facing him now, his lips brushing against yours before he kissed you deeply, desperately. "—I love you, and I’m never saying that again, so don’t expect it."

Regulus chuckled softly. "Noted."

You smiled against Barty’s lips, your fingers brushing against his cheek. "I love you too."

Regulus’s hand found yours again, squeezing gently. "Me too."

None of you said it out loud, but you all knew the truth.

This was it.

The last peaceful moment before everything fell apart

The air inside the house turned frigid in an instant. A slow, crawling dread settled over you as the protective wards shattered like glass, a silent but undeniable omen that he had arrived.

Regulus stiffened against you, his entire body going rigid before he was on his feet in a flash. "Run," he commanded, his voice sharp, urgent. "Now. Both of you—"

Before he could even finish, the front door creaked open.

The figure that stepped inside was more shadow than man, his presence making the very walls of the house feel suffocating. Lord Voldemort.

His red eyes gleamed with amusement as they flickered across the three of you. "Ah," he mused, stepping further inside as if he had all the time in the world. "How quaint. The lost Black, the foolish Crouch, and their… little pet."

Barty had already moved before Voldemort could take another step, his wand pressed right against the Dark Lord’s throat, his knuckles white from the force of his grip.

"You talk too much," Barty spat, his voice dripping with venom.

Regulus was beside him in an instant, his own wand raised, though you could see the tension in his jaw, the barely masked fear in his eyes.

Voldemort merely chuckled. "Do you truly believe you could kill me, Barty?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, unconcerned. "Tell me, what do you think your father would say if he saw you now?"

Barty's grip on his wand tightened, but he said nothing.

Voldemort exhaled a slow, deliberate breath. "I am not here to kill you." His gaze slid to Regulus. "Nor you, my dear boy. Though I must admit, I am disappointed. You had such potential."

Regulus didn't waver, his wand still pointed directly at Voldemort's heart. "I don't care what you think."

The Dark Lord's lips curled in amusement. "No. I imagine you don't."

Then his gaze landed on you, and something dark flickered across his features. "But her," he mused, voice soft, almost thoughtful. "She is the true traitor, is she not?"

You swallowed, but you refused to look away. "I did what was right."

Voldemort laughed at that, shaking his head. "What a foolish notion."

Barty took a step forward, pressing the wand harder against Voldemort’s throat. "You said you came to talk," he growled. "So talk."

The Dark Lord regarded him for a moment before slowly stepping back, allowing just enough distance to ease the immediate tension.

"As I said," Voldemort began, "I do not intend to kill you." His gaze flickered to you again. "Yet."

Regulus let out a breath through his nose, his grip still firm on his wand. "Then why are you here?"

Voldemort smiled. "I wanted to see the three of you with my own eyes before I leave for Godric’s Hollow. You see, tonight is a night that will be remembered for generations to come. The night I rid the world of the so-called savior. But before that… I wanted to witness the ones who turned against me. To understand why two of my most promising followers would throw away everything for the sake of…" His eyes darkened as they rested on you. "Her."

Barty bared his teeth in something close to a snarl. "She’s worth more than you ever were."

Voldemort's smile was razor-sharp. "Oh, Barty. So full of rage, so desperate to prove yourself. And for what? For love?" His gaze flickered between him and Regulus. "For a cause that will die with you?"

Silence stretched between them for a moment before Voldemort took a slow step back.

"Make no mistake," he murmured, his voice now as cold as the air in the room. "This is not mercy. This is a warning."

Regulus's jaw clenched. "We don’t need your mercy."

The tension in the air was suffocating, thick enough to drown in. Voldemort stood before you, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips, his red eyes gleaming with something close to amusement.

"Of all my followers," he murmured, tilting his head as he studied you, "I must admit, I did not expect you to be the traitor." His voice was almost soft, like a whisper in the dark, but laced with something venomous. "It’s almost… disappointing."

Barty let out a scoff, his grip on his wand tightening until his knuckles turned white. "Oh, I’m so sorry she didn’t live up to your expectations."

Voldemort ignored him, stepping forward slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. "But perhaps I was wrong to expect anything less. You were always… fascinating." He raised a hand as if he was about to touch your face, but before he could, Regulus stepped between you, his wand digging into Voldemort’s ribs.

"Don't," Regulus hissed, his voice deadly quiet.

Voldemort chuckled darkly. "Protective, aren’t we?" He shifted his gaze to Barty, who looked ready to murder him on the spot. "Both of you." His smirk widened. "How amusing."

Barty took a dangerous step forward, his entire body trembling with barely restrained fury. "Shut. The. Hell. Up."

Voldemort barely glanced at him, instead turning back to you, his expression unreadable. "Tell me," he murmured, his voice like silk, "why did you betray me?"

You met his gaze without hesitation, refusing to let him see any fear. "Because you’re a monster."

Voldemort let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "And yet," he mused, stepping closer, "you were once drawn to me, were you not?" His voice dipped lower, almost intimate. "You admired me. You wanted me."

Regulus and Barty both tensed, their hands gripping their wands so tightly it was a miracle they didn’t snap in half.

"Don’t flatter yourself," Barty spat, his voice shaking with rage.

Voldemort ignored him, his gaze locked onto yours. "Tell me," he whispered, his voice carrying an almost dangerous curiosity, "did you ever truly love them? Or was it all just… rebellion?"

The words should have made you sick. Should have filled you with nothing but disgust. But instead, an idea formed in your mind, so sudden and reckless that it almost made you dizzy. You inhaled sharply, forcing your body to relax, forcing your expression to soften. You had to make this believable.

"Maybe you’re right," you murmured, lowering your gaze just enough to seem hesitant. "Maybe I was… foolish."

Barty’s breath hitched. "What?"

Regulus turned to you sharply, his brows furrowed in disbelief.

But you didn’t look at them. You stepped closer to Voldemort instead, tilting your chin up, your expression carefully crafted into something vulnerable. "Maybe I was running from something I didn’t understand."

Voldemort's eyes gleamed with interest. "Oh?"

You swallowed, willing yourself to keep going. "I thought I was fighting for something better," you whispered. "But what if I was wrong?" You took another step, so close now that you could see the faintest flicker of amusement in his gaze. "What if… I belonged to you all along?"

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Regulus and Barty were frozen, their eyes wide with barely concealed horror.

Voldemort, however, merely smirked. "Now that is interesting."

You could feel Regulus and Barty’s stares burning into you, but you didn’t dare look at them. If you did, they would see through it. They would see the truth.

"Perhaps," Voldemort mused, reaching out as if to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "You are smarter than I gave you credit for."

Barty let out a sharp, shuddering breath, his hands trembling at his sides. He looked ready to kill him, to tear him apart limb by limb.

Regulus, on the other hand, had gone eerily silent, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked painful. But then—he met your gaze. And in that split second, you saw understanding flicker across his face.

He knew.

Knew you were lying.

Knew this was a game.

A game to buy time.

But that didn’t mean he liked it.

Voldemort’s lips curled into something sinister. "So," he mused, "you would rather stand beside me than against me?"

You forced yourself to smile—soft, hesitant, convincing. "I think I made a mistake," you whispered. "Maybe it’s not too late to fix it."

Voldemort hummed, considering your words. "Perhaps not." He studied you for a long moment before finally stepping back, looking over the three of you with a faint smirk. "I will give you time to think, then."

He turned, his dark robes billowing behind him as he walked toward the door. But before he left, he glanced back, his gaze lingering on you.

"Don’t disappoint me again."

And then—he was gone.

The second he disappeared, the tension in the room snapped like a breaking bone.

Barty turned to you first, his entire body shaking with rage. "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?"

You exhaled sharply, finally letting yourself breathe. "I bought us time."

Regulus let out a heavy breath, running a hand down his face. "I knew you were lying, but Merlin, that was—" He paused, inhaling deeply. "That was dangerous."

Barty, however, was not calm. "You—" He pointed a shaking finger at you. "You flirted with him!"

You frowned. "It wasn’t real—"

"It was disgusting!" Barty cut in, his face twisted in fury. "I was this close to setting the whole place on fire just to shut him up!"

Regulus, despite himself, let out a dry chuckle. "I almost stabbed him. And I wouldn’t have regretted it."

Barty threw his hands up. "Do you know how hard it was for me not to hex him into oblivion when he was looking at you like that? Like you belonged to him?" He let out a sharp breath, his voice shaking. "I wanted to kill him with my bare hands."

You sighed, reaching out to touch his arm. "Barty—"

"No." He grabbed your face in both hands, his expression desperate. "You don’t belong to him. You never did."

Regulus stepped closer, his gaze dark, unreadable. "We know that," he murmured. "But he doesn’t."

You exhaled, leaning into Barty’s touch. "It’s just a game," you whispered. "Just long enough for us to find a way to end this."

Barty swallowed hard, his fingers trembling against your skin. "Fine," he muttered. "But the second this plan is over, I am killing him."

Regulus nodded, his voice like steel. "We all are."

The room was still thick with the weight of what had just happened. Voldemort was gone—for now—but his presence still lingered like a curse, clawing at the back of their minds.

Regulus was the first to speak, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “We have to go after him.”

Barty snapped his head toward him, eyes wide. “Are you insane?”

Regulus ignored him, turning to you instead. “He’s going after the Potters.” His voice was urgent, filled with something close to desperation. “He’s going to kill their baby—Harry.”

Your heart pounded. You had known this moment was coming, but hearing it out loud made it real. “We have to stop him.”

Barty let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh, sure. Let’s go throw ourselves in front of the Dark Lord again after barely surviving the first time. Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant.”

Regulus’ jaw tightened. “We’re all dead anyway, Barty. We know he’s coming back for us.” His voice softened just slightly. “If we’re going to die, at least let it mean something.”

Barty dragged a hand down his face, pacing furiously. “We just got away. Just barely. And now you want to run toward him?” He turned to you, expression desperate. “Tell me you don’t actually agree with this madness.”

You swallowed hard. “I do.”

Barty stared at you like you had just ripped his heart out. “No. No.” He shook his head, his hands trembling. “This is a suicide mission. We’ll all die.”

Regulus looked at him, his grey eyes dark with something deep, something final. “Then let’s make sure we don’t die for nothing.”

Barty clenched his jaw, looking between the two of you, his breath unsteady. “You’re serious about this.”

You stepped closer to him, placing a hand on his arm. “Barty, he’s a baby. He hasn’t even had a chance to live yet.” Your voice cracked slightly. “We have to try.”

Barty let out a sharp exhale, running a hand through his hair. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his mind clearly screaming at him to refuse, to run, to grab both of you and force you to escape instead.

But then he saw the look in your eyes. The same look in Regulus’—a quiet, unwavering determination.

And just like that, he knew there was no changing your minds.

“Merlin,” Barty muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. Then, with a groan of defeat, he opened them again, filled with reluctant resolve. “Fine. Fine. But when we all die in a spectacularly stupid way, I will be saying ‘I told you so’ in the afterlife.”

Regulus let out a breath, nodding. “Then let’s go.”

The moment you apparated into Godric’s Hollow, the smell of fire and destruction hit them like a curse. The small house was barely standing, cracks running through its walls, smoke curling into the air. And then—

A voice. His voice.

“You can’t fight me forever, James Potter.”

Voldemort.

James.

Your stomach twisted. Without thinking, the three of you sprinted toward the house, your bodies screaming in protest from your previous injuries. But none of that mattered now.

The front door was blasted open.

Inside, James Potter stood at the base of the staircase, his wand pointed at Voldemort. His breathing was heavy, his eyes burning with fury and desperation.

“I won’t let you touch them,” James spat, tightening his grip on his wand.

Voldemort simply smiled, his red eyes glinting with something dark. “Brave words for a dead man.”

“James!” You yelled, running inside.

His head snapped toward you, eyes widening in shock. “What—what are you guys doing here?”

Barty let out a breathless, humorless laugh. “You’re welcome for showing up, by the way.”

Voldemort’s gaze flickered over to you, Barty, and Regulus, something amused dancing in his expression. “Ah,” he said, his voice smooth. “The traitors.”

Voldemort flicked his wand, and a jet of green light shot toward James.

James barely dodged, throwing a curse of his own. “Expelliarmus!”

The spell shot toward Voldemort, but he deflected it effortlessly.

Regulus was already moving. “Reducto!”

The curse hit the ground near Voldemort, sending debris flying, forcing him to step back.

Barty took the chance. “Confringo!”

Fire exploded around Voldemort, but he moved through it like a shadow, his movements smooth, calculated.

“You think this will stop me?” Voldemort hissed, flicking his wand. A blast of dark magic sent all of you flying backward.

You hit the wall hard, pain shooting through your ribs. But you couldn’t stop. You wouldn’t stop.

James was still standing. Still fighting.

“Lily!” James called up the stairs. “Take Harry and run!”

You saw a flash of red hair at the top of the stairs—Lily, clutching Harry in her arms.

Voldemort turned his gaze toward her.

James saw it. His eyes widened. “No—”

A flash of green light.

James fell.

The world stopped.

You felt a scream rip through your throat. “James—”

But there was no time.

Lily was running. Running with everything she had, her breath ragged.

Voldemort didn’t even hesitate. He started up the stairs.

Regulus shot another curse at him, but Voldemort deflected it with a lazy flick of his wand.

Barty tried to lunge at him, but Voldemort sent him crashing into the wall with a silent spell.

You forced yourself up, pain screaming in your bones. “STOP!”

Voldemort reached the top of the stairs.

Lily’s voice was desperate. “Please— not Harry. Not my son.”

Voldemort merely tilted his head. “Step aside, girl.”

Lily shook her head, standing in front of Harry’s crib, shielding him with her body. “No. Please. Take me instead. Just—just don’t hurt him.”

Voldemort sighed. “Foolish girl.”

And then—

Lily collapsed.

Your breath hitched. “No—”

Regulus was trying to get up, Barty was struggling to move, but none of you could reach him in time.

Voldemort turned to the crib.

The world blurred around you. You tried to push yourself forward, tried to grab your wand, tried to do something, but your body was too weak, too slow.

Voldemort raised his wand.

“Avada Kedavra.”

A flash of green.

A deafening silence.

The Dark Lord was gone.

The air was still heavy, thick with something unexplainable.

Barty let out a breathless laugh, his voice shaking. “What… what the hell just happened?”

Regulus was the first to move. He rushed over, peering into the crib. His breath hitched. “He’s alive.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. "He’s alive.”

Barty let out something close to a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “How?”

Regulus reached down, carefully lifting the baby into his arms. Harry was small, so small, his tiny face scrunched up as he continued to cry.

Then—you saw it.

A lightning-shaped cut on his forehead.

Your stomach twisted. “Voldemort’s spell…”

Regulus’ hands were trembling. “It didn’t kill him.”

Barty let out a hollow laugh. “But it killed him.”

You turned to him sharply. “What?”

Barty’s eyes were wide, his breath uneven. “Voldemort. He’s gone.”

The words hit the air like a storm.

Regulus stared at him. “That’s not possible.”

But Barty shook his head, stepping closer. “No, think. He cast the Killing Curse. And he’s not here. He didn’t just leave, he vanished.”

Your heart pounded. “Then that means—”

“Harry survived the Killing Curse,” Regulus whispered, his gaze flickering down to the baby in his arms. “And it destroyed him instead.”

Silence.

Then, Barty let out a slow, breathless laugh. "Merlin’s bloody beard. The Dark Lord was taken out by a baby."

You let out a breath, stepping closer to Regulus and looking down at Harry. His tiny fingers curled slightly, his face still scrunched up in distress.

Regulus cradled him gently, staring at him in awe. “He’s the reason Voldemort is gone.”

You swallowed hard. "He’s the reason we’re still alive."

Barty smirked, though there was something softer beneath it. “Well, kid,” he muttered, glancing at Harry, “you might’ve just saved the entire world.”

Regulus met your gaze, something unreadable in his expression. “What do we do now?”

You swallowed hard. “We keep him safe.”

Barty crossed his arms, still staring at the empty space where Voldemort had once stood. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Because something tells me this isn’t over.”

—— ☄️ ——

A note from the author:

Hello people!

This was one of my best works till now, and i really hope you guys like it!

Thank you for the comments and reblogs, you always make my day with them! 🤍

See you soon!

#regulus black #barty crouch junior #fanfic #harry potter #marauders era #x reader #x yn #james potter #regulus black x reader #regulus black x you #barty crouch jr #bartylus #barty crouch x reader #barty crouch x regulus black #voldemort #bellatrix black #bellatrix lestrange

292 notes · View notes

moonyeyedstar · 2 months ago

Text

Day 28: Barty Crouch Jr. x Evan Rosier x Regulus Black x f!Reader smut

*18+* Kinktober Day 28: Barty Crouch Jr. x Evan Rosier x Regulus Black x f!reader- Collarwearing/Degrading/Choking/Overstim/Facial

*guys the characters are always 18+ i mean ngl i view them as 21+ when its marauders era to be honest -even tho they were dead in their 20s :( - because I want them older than me but like even if they are in school its more so like hogwarts is a college I just wanted it out there just in case because like someone asked me and I realized it might not be obvious to everyone also do not try this at home, I don’t know if I need to say that, I just mean be safe please and thanks!*

“Oh piss off,” you laughed as you threw yourself onto Regulus’s bed. The four of you had just gotten back from a party in the common room, the firewhisky warming you between your thighs.

“I’m so fucking horny,” Barty groaned and began to slip off his shirt to freshen up.

“What else is new?” Regulus smirked to himself, unable to fight back his cheeky smile, earning a laugh out of you and Evan, but Barty gave Regulus a whip with his t-shirt

“You weren’t brave enough to talk back last night,” Barty raised his eyebrows, looking down at Regulus, leaving him choked up and flustered.

“Is that true, Reggie?” You giggled and leaned into his side, placing a lazy kiss on the soft skin of his cheek.

“Course it’s true,” Barty scoffed cockily while Regulus himself was too embarrassed to answer.

“Yeah, it is,” Evan shrugged, as he kicked off his trainers. “Accidentally walked in on them, was kinda hot.”

“Oh yes, do tell, Rosier,” you instigated.

“Stop it,” Regulus groaned, burying his beet-red face in the crook of your neck.

“How about I show you instead?” Barty smirked and began to undo his belt. You swallowed hard but just nodded, needing him now more than ever.

“Are you serious?” Evan raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Strip.” Everyone followed Barty’s command instantly. You quickly rid yourself of your clothing, your panties wet from your aching desire. “You lot are so eager,” he smirked to himself. “Here is what is going to happen, so listen closely. We are all going to finish on that pretty little face of hers and treat her like the whore we all know she is deep deep down in that pretty chest of hers. Do we understand?” Barty asked his mates, and they nodded eagerly. Your cheeks flushed, and you played with your hands in your lap. Your excitement rivaled your nervousness.

“She needs a safe word,” Regulus reminded, recalling the night before.

“Right, she can pick,” Barty smirked.

“Red?” Your cheeks grew the same color as the word.

“Perfect,” Evan smirked to himself, his cock already hard.

“Regulus, get her in the collar since you’re the most familiar with it,” Barty teased Regulus, loving the way he could degrade him just to have Regulus crawling back and begging for more.

Regulus didn’t answer, but he quickly searched for the collar and clasped it safely around your throat, a metal chain attached to the back of it. You had no idea what you were in for, but you couldn’t wait to find out.

“Hands and knees,” Barty commanded, and you quickly did as told. Your arousal was dripping down the inside of your thigh. Regulus ran his fingers up the inside of you thigh, stopping right before your cunt and collecting your wettness on his fingers before bringing them to Barty’s mouth. Barty quickly took Regulus’s fingers into his mouth, rolling his tongue around and between them, lapping up every last drop of your essence as he let out a guttural moan. “Fucking Hell you taste so good,” Barty spoke as he licked his lips after he came off of Regulus’s fingers with a pop.

“Thank you,” your cheeks were burning up, you needed to be touched.

“Can Reggie and I have a taste?” Evan asked, but before you could nod, Barty had already answered.

“Yes, but don’t be greedy,” Barty pumped himself slowly.

“Yes, Sir,” Regulus nodded, perfectly trained to Barty’s demands. You sank a little bit lower to bring more space between your thighs before they took turns. Regulus went first, running the tip of his tongue from the middle of your inner thigh up to your cunt, letting himself indulge a bit longer than he was supposed to as he lapped at your cunt for a few moments.

“Oh fuck,” you threw your head back in pleasure you were so longing to feel.

“Enough, Regulus!” Barty’s voice was sharp. Regulus whimpered and quickly pulled away, bringing his wrist to his face, but before he could wipe himself dry, Barty grasped his arm, pulling him into his chest before sending his free hand to tangle in Regulus’s soft, dark hair to bring him into a deep and heated kiss. You felt yourself dripping at the sight of them.

“My turn,” Evan smirked to himself before lapping up your other thigh. A shudder shot down your spine, your movement urging Barty to tug on the chain, choking you gently.

“Oh, Evan,” you moaned softly, your thighs trembling around his face.

“Oh, princess,” he chuckled and pulled back before pressing his fingers into your cunt and curling them rhythmically.

“Oh, yes!” You cried out, your back arching. Barty tugged on the chain again before nodding to Regulus.

“Fuck her mouth, baby,” Barty instructed and he tossed a vibrator to Evan. He placed it on your clit as he continued to fuck your cunt with his fingers.

“Fucking Hell,” you moaned as you took Regulus into your mouth, bobbing your head eagerly around him. Barty stood over the three of you, tugging on the metal chain as it pleased him most. You felt so damn good.

It only took a few minutes for Regulus to be shaking as he pulled out and finished all over your face. The feeling of his hot, sticky seed coating your face made your walls spasm and finish around Evan’s fingers.

“Oh, baby,” Barty teased Regulus, “you came so much,” he chuckled, demeaningly.

“S-Sorry,” he looked down at you, all flushed. You couldn’t even answer because before you knew it, Evan’s thick length was down your throat. You choked around his size, another orgasm rolling throughout your body from the overstimulation. You bobbed your head lazily as saliva dripped down your chin.

“Fuck, baby,” Evan groaned as he bucked his hips, practically fucking your mouth. Barty kept a tight rein on the chain. “Such a tight throat,” he moaned as he used your mouth, following his orders from Barty and finishing on your face a few minutes later. You were spent. Every muscle in your body was twitching, and you came for what could have been the thousandth time. Tears were rolling down your sticky cum coated cheeks, and you still had Barty to satisfy.

“Ready for me, princess?” Barty teased as he pressed his tip to your red, slick, swollen lips.

“Mmhm,” you muffled your response, unable to speak.

“Such a good little slut,” he smirked to himself as he nodded towards Regulus to pull the chain back while his hand intertwined in your hair, choking you the most you had been all night. You cried out around Barty as he held your head in place with his grip and fucked your throat brutally. Evan caressed your bum as your bottom half shook from another orgasm while Regulus held the chain in place.

“Fuck, Barty,” you cried out inaudiably around his cock. Tears streaming down your cheeks. You felt so guilty for enjoying it as much as you were.

“Such. A. Perfect. Little. Whore.” Barty spoke between each ruthless thrust before pulling out and painting your face just like the others. He pulled back, and Regulus released the chain. You collapsed on the floor, panting as Evan and Regulus cleaned you up, falling fast asleep, only to want more the next morning.

// sorry I know its not great I’ve been having trouble getting out of my funk

134 notes · View notes

orangegal90210 · 4 months ago

Text

My man. My man. My man. My man.

#barty crouch jr #bartylus #rosekiller #barty crouch jr x reader #david tennant #david tennaissance #harry potter #marauders #good omens #la without a map #dr who

115 notes · View notes

crescenthistory · 9 months ago

Text

welcome to carina's corner

requests are open (read request guidelines!)

.・。.・゜✭・.・ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆.・。.・゜✭・.・ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

☾ marauders masterlist ☾ miscellaneous masterlist

✭ request guidelines ✭ emoji anons

.・。.・゜✭・.・ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆.・。.・゜✭・.・ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

non-writing blog is @solsticesage

i do not consent to my work being reposted or used for ai

if you can, please consider donating to trans legal clinic, who are on the front lines helping trans people in the uk navigating the legal system in the aftermath of the supreme court ruling and jkr’s fuckery

389 notes · View notes

chaeonlyknows · 2 months ago

Text

i NEED a gut wrenching, soul crushing, intense heartbreaking fanfic of marauders era /with slytherin skittles band au where the reader is the lead singer and screams silver springs to ex!marauder who’s in the band who broke her heart and stuff. i NEED that!!

73 notes · View notes

luizd3ad · 1 year ago

Text

Game Time | Poly!Bartylus x GN!Reader

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ࣪˖⤷ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ࣪ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ˖ ⤷

Pairing: Barty Crouch Jr x GN Reader x Regulus Black

WC: 700

CW: swearing, mentions of Bartys dad 🤢, modern AU, mistreatment of Sims, anxiety

Author's Note: Honestly I just got this idea bc my sims hyper fixation is coming back. The little bit of French that’s in here I got from google please tell me if it’s wrong.

Summary: Regulus comes home to you and Barty playing the sims.

Someone tell me to stop making theses for ever fic please. I won't listen but someone should still tel me.

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

Regulus had spent the day with Sirius, just catching up.

They've been finding it harder to do so since leaving Hogwarts so they try to make it a priority to see each other as often as possible.

He did enjoy spending time with his brother but right now all he wanted to do was go home to his partners.

You and Barty were like a breath of fresh air to him after his social battery was drained. Just being in the presence of both of you was enough to make him feel better.

Regulus finally crossed the threshold to his shared flat. He took his shoes and jacket off at the entrance and put them in their designated places.

But then he noticed the flat was quiet which was rare considering Barty lived there.

“Mon amours? I’m home?”

Regulus called out looking around the flat curiously.

No one was in the living room. He didn't hear anyone in the kitchen.

He started walking down the hall that held their shared bedroom and the guest room/ office when he heard them.

“Angel, I love you but you're wrong!”

“Watch it Crouch! Or you'll end up in the basement next..”

Regulus was only slightly taken back when he heard his partner say that to their boyfriend.

Honestly it wouldn't be the first time he heard them say something like that.

Barty then gasped and started shirking something about ‘Never feeling so betrayed’ which was something Barty would say often.

Regulus took a deep breath mentally preparing himself and then opened the door to the office, he couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle at the sight in front of him.

There they were, the loves of his life hunched over the computer playing the muggle game that Remus had shown them.

‘The Sims’ he thinks it was called, but he couldn't quite remember.

“Barty.. Did you take the ladder out of the pool again?”

Barty then gasped as if the thought was inconceivable.

“What would make you think such a thing, angel?”

“I mean other than the fact that you've done it before? The sim’s name is Bartemius Crouch and he looks exactly like your father.”

Barty then giggles looking proud of himself.

“Leave him there he deserves it.”

Barty says with a wide smile.

Regulus chuckles a little louder this time and shakes his head finally catching the attention of his partners.

You and Barty both turn your heads to look at Regulus.

You send him a big smile and say.

“Hi my love, how's Sirius?”

“Sirius is fine. Now what are you two doing?”

Regulus say still standing in the doorway of the room.

“I'm trying to show our darling boyfriend that there's more to The Sims than killing the people that you wish you could kill in real life.”

“And I'm trying to show our angel that killing people in the game is the most fun you can have.”

“Wait, so you make the characters people you actually know?”

You and Barty look at each other and then look at Regulus with raised eyebrows.

“Obviously.”

Barty says looking at Regulus like it should be common sense.

“Wait so you have a character of me?”

“Of course we do.”

You say then turning back to the computer clicking on the mouse a few times and then waving Regulus over to show him a big house with sims of the three of you.

“Is this supposed to be our house?”

“Yes. Unfortunately we’re not all technically dating on here, since that's not an option.”

You explain while Barty crosses his arms while pouting and saying.

“Which is stupid.”

Regulus just smiles at Barty and kisses his head.

“It’s okay mon beau because we’re dating in real life.”

Regulus says while running his hand through his boyfriend's hair.

You and Barty spent the rest of the night showing Regulus your favorite parts of the game.

Regulus found himself having a good time whether it was just because he got to spend time with the two of you or because he actually found the game entertaining he didn't know nor did he care.

He was just content and happy to be there.

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

388 notes · View notes

prongsinrevolt · 3 months ago

Text

keep everything aside, when are we gonna talk about bpd! barty crouch jr?

140 notes · View notes

aetherraeys · 2 months ago

Text

evil twin ! (ii)

part 1

regulus black/barty crouch jr x twinpotter!reader ⊹ 7.0k

cw ⟢ eventual poly!bartylus, swearing, pining!barty, fluff, mild internal conflict, secret relationship

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 Regulus—loyal 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 didn’t need to be bought. Not by you. Not by Regulus.

Which is why, despite discovering the two of you tangled up in Regulus’ bed with no room for misinterpretation, he didn’t say a word to anyone. He didn’t 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 table—beside Pandora and Regulus stayed at the far end, comfortable opposite him, buttering his toast composed as ever. But he didn’t miss the way Regulus’ 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 Regulus’ voice rung lowly through the Ancient Runes classroom—paying extra attention to his careful tone.

Barty didn’t say it, but he noticed everything.

Because Barty was good with secrets—He’d carry them like crown jewels.

He even had a small one of his own brewing.

It was a lazy sort of evening—the kind where the light filtered through the windows in hazy streaks and time didn’t seem to press down so hard. You were in the boys’ dorm, perched in your usual spot: stretched halfway across Barty’s bed, legs tangled over the edge, head propped up on a pillow you’d stolen ages ago and never returned.

He sat cross-legged beside you, flipping through some half-finished notes, though he hadn’t turned a page in at least ten minutes. Instead, he’d tilted toward you slightly, cheek resting on his fist, watching the way your fingers absentmindedly threaded through his tufts.

It wasn’t 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 now—quietly, fondly, like you were made of something softer than the world deserved—you didn’t notice.

You rarely did.

“Regulus is going to combust when he walks in,” Barty murmured, lips quirking faintly.

You didn’t even glance up. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Because you’re you.”

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 he’d 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.

“Well, well,” Barty said with that unmistakable glint in his eye, “look who’s returned from war.”

Regulus didn’t 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.

Barty’s gaze slid over him with playful deliberation. “Didn’t know you glistened, Black. I feel like I should be offended no one warned me.”

Regulus ignored him, unsurprised.

But his eyes drifted, just for a second, over to where you were sprawled across the bed—completely unbothered, still playing with Barty’s hair like you didn’t 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 Barty’s temple, the way Barty leaned into it slightly—eyes 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 didn’t 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. “Honestly, Reg,” he muttered, stretching his arms above his head, “you really ought to learn how to share. I was here first, you know. She’s been my friend since—”

“Since you failed to con me into writing your essays?” you interjected, still not lifting your head.

He waved a hand. “Details.”

You groaned as Barty moved, your hand falling away from his hair with a grumble. “You were warm.” Barty gave you a faux-apologetic look.

“I know. I’m perfect. It’s a curse.”

“What’s the problem then, J?” 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. “Well, well, well…” 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 him—his rumpled hair, the damp collar of his shirt, the flushed look lingering on his cheekbones. You let out a low, appreciative whistle.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock me out before you walk around looking like that?” 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 ears—frozen, standing there with his shirt clinging to his chest and his lips parted like he’d forgotten how to breathe. His entire expression was somewhere between awe and absolute crisis.

“Next time you want to sweat like this, I have a feeling I’ll be able to help with that.”

You pulled back, utterly delighted with yourself, smile too sweet to be innocent—before he could respond—a smug undertone to your deceiving light expression, eyes glinting like you’d just cast a spell that only he could feel. Which, to be fair—you had.

Humming quietly to yourself as you turned on your heel—grabbing your bag from beside Barty’s bed, and skipped out of the room like you’d 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. “Merlin’s balls, I need a drink.”

It was fine at first.

But morning after morning, day after day, *week after week—*it was getting harder and harder for Regulus to keep a bottle on himself. He was trying so hard to be discrete.

But he wasn’t very good at pretending.

He found himself looking for you in every corridor—eyes 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 didn’t seem to notice.

Or if you did, you didn’t let on.

You were maddeningly unaffected—floating 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 Barty’s lap like it was nothing. Like Regulus wasn’t trying very hard not to combust in public.

Like you didn’t spend most evenings together in the confines of his four pillar-curtained bed, sharing lingering touches, whispers, glances—things 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 didn’t undo him thread by thread. You were so casual about it—bold, insufferably charming, the very picture of unbothered. Like you hadn’t 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 weren’t his.

And yet, in the corridors, in the classroom, in the halls where words echoed and eyes lingered—he had to keep his distance. He couldn’t give himself away.

Not yet.

He told himself it was fine. That this secrecy was necessary, that he didn’t mind. But then you'd do something—like pause beside him at the common room just to trail your fingers across his shoulder with faux-innocent mischief—or 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.

You’d 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, imperceivable—he hadn’t seen you enter, hadn’t heard your footsteps, but then—

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 first—fingers 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 to—like 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.

“Someone could—” he whispered hoarsely, even as his hand found your waist. “Someone could see.”

Your only response was another kiss. Then another. His restraint frayed with each one, chasing your lips with his for more—

It was whiplashing the way you’d tempt and then pulled back, smile honey-sweet and cruel with mischief.

“Bye, Reggie,” you whispered, and then you were gone—vanishing 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.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath, eyes flicking toward the exit like you might reappear.

You didn’t—Not 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 share—fingers tangled in your hair, other hand at the small of your back, pulling you closer. He couldn’t get enough.

Didn’t 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 other’s mouths.

His lips brushed your throat, then your cheek, then your temple.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispered into your skin.

“Then I’ll die with you.” smiling against him.

It was perfect. Warm. Safe.

Until the door creaked open, you both froze.

Barty.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t stumble or act surprised—just 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.

“Merlin,” he drawled, voice light, “I swear if I walk in on you two one more time, I’m going to start charging admission.”

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.

“I should head down, two rolls of parchment on the effects of Stinksap won’t write itself,” words accompanied with a heavy sigh.

You leaned over, pressed a lingering kiss to Regulus’ jaw—too long for propriety, too short for satisfaction—before slipping past Barty with a pat to his shoulder.

“See you at breakfast, Junior,” you called over your shoulder.

The dull click of the door was the last sound in the room for a while, Regulus’ 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 it—saw right through him.

It wasn’t irritation. Or jealousy.

Something quiet and aching and hidden—floating behind his eyes as he stared up at his ceiling aimlessly—almost 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 pad—but 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 stand—collecting and organising some items, uncharacteristically quiet. Taking his towel and drapping it over his shoulders stalking over to the door.

“You alright, B?”

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 Regulus’ eyes boring into his back, unable to mask the way his shoulders rose and fell with the sigh he let out through his nose. “Yeah, gonna go take a shower,”

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 sheets—rolling onto his side and burying his face into the pillow you’d 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 door—eyes 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 shower—he 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, quietly—down 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.

“Where you off to, Junior?”

You still hadn’t turned, but he could already picture the sly smile on your face from your tone—and he still didn’t stop his walk, mustering up as cheery a voice he could manage.

“Drain diving, Tres. Someone needs to keep Reg’s hair at bay,” he said, without missing a beat.

It was good. Solid. The kind of line he’d use any day of the week—and as sarcastic as it was, it lacked it’s 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 didn’t 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 Regulus’ jaw wouldn’t 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 it—every time Regulus reached for you like he couldn’t 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 wasn’t that he was envious exactly—more like he was mourning—grieving.

Barty wasn’t stupid.

He knew it wasn’t 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 didn’t 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 hadn’t 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.

He’d always known you were tactile—warm, 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. You’d 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 didn’t know, couldn’t—he’d 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 didn’t move away. Just tilted your head toward him, lashes fluttering as you smiled, eyes squinting at the last light.

“So,” you said, lazy and light, “if you had to choose between fighting ten Blast-Ended Skrewts or one McGonagall-sized Bowtruckle—what would it be?”

Barty scoffed. “Are you serious? The Skrewts. At least I’d die with dignity.”

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 couldn’t 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. “You’re still my favourite person to be stupid with, you know that?”

Gods, it burned.

Because that meant everything to him. And not enough.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”

And you didn’t hear the break in his voice. Of course you didn’t. Because you hadn’t changed. Because this was normal. Comfortable. The two of you, tucked into each other’s space like you belonged there.

Like he wasn’t burning alive from it.

You reached for his hand without thinking, absently fiddling with his fingers the way you always did. He froze—just for a moment—and you didn’t 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 didn’t know what it was doing to him.

Didn’t know how he went to sleep every night wondering when it had changed for him, wondering why he couldn’t 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 else’s mouth—he’d let himself think that the swirling in the pits of his stomach was nothing.

And now, looking at you—one of his best friends, his light, his treasure, the person he was closest to—and knowing that nothing had to be different between you, but everything was different in him…it 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 didn’t 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 it—the 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 Barty’s wildly impressive Bludger send-off or Evan’s 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 library—

“You’ll come tomorrow, won’t you?” “I need my good luck charm,”

Your smile had been immediate.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” 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 Pandora—hands buried in your coat pockets. Holding a chocolate frog for Barty, your usual offering of victory—it 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 Barty—flushed, sweat-damp, beaming—was 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 manage—even after an hour in the air.

You felt the pull in your chest.

Regulus’ 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 him—throwing your arms around his neck, kissing him full and proud, like you wanted to.

But you didn’t.

Couldn’t.

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.

“Oi—Barty!” you laughed, half-gasping, “You’re soaked!”

He only laughed louder, pulling you into a tight, jostling hug that had you wriggling with a grimace. “Victory sweat, darling—it’s sacred.”

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 shoulders—watching the smile he’d worn moments ago dulled at the edges. He wasn’t angry—Regulus didn’t do anger—but you knew that look.

A barely visible twitch of disappointment. A small ache he couldn’t say out loud.

Still, he said nothing. Walked quietly beside Evan as Barty slung an arm over your shoulder with little fanfare, prattling on.

“I swear this is the real reason I play.” Barty crowed, accepting the chocolate frog with the reverence of a trophy.

“Not the glory? The House Cup?” you teased, resting your head against his damp robes despite yourself.

“Nope. This,” he said, holding the chocolate frog aloft like it was a prize. “My muse. My reward. My one true love.”

An exasperated snort built in your chest, and you let your gaze wander—back 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 didn’t feel like a win to him.

Not when he had to keep his distance. His eyes lingered a moment too long on where Barty’s arm wrapped around your shoulders, the casual intimacy of it—the 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 didn’t see nothing.

He saw what he wanted to be doing. And what he couldn’t.

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 close—barely brushing his knuckles.

He relaxed.

Didn’t need to look at him to feel it, the subtle melting of tension.

“You were incredible,” you said softly, glancing sideways, smile tugging at your lips. “So controlled. So cold-blooded. Honestly, it’s terrifying how attractive I find that.”

His lips twitched, eyes dancing with restrained amusement. “I missed two passes.”

“You caught the Snitch.”

“Hufflepuff’s Seeker is twelve.”

“Hufflepuff’s Seeker cried.” you added with a snort.

He tried not to smile. Failed.

You slipped your arm casually around his shoulder, light and teasing—and Regulus very nearly stopped walking. He wasn’t used to this—getting 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.

“A win’s a win,” you whispered, leaning in close, lips ghosting against the shell of his ear before pressing a soft forbidden kiss—too quick, too daring—to 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 you’d been—then 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 couldn’t 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 he’d 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 he’d 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 you—offered 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. “I’m alright.”

That was all you said. Casual. Offhand. But Regulus, seated just across from you on the low couch beside Barty, didn’t look away.

His eyes flicked toward you, narrowing just slightly.

And you could feel it, of course you could—that 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 fine—but he was still watching. Barty noticed the flicker of scrutiny in Regulus’ gaze and raised a brow, curious.

“She doesn’t drink firewhiskey,” he offered with a lazy grin, nudging Regulus with his shoulder. “Too much of a Potter. Neither of them can handle wizarding liquor.”

“Oh, sod off,” you rolled your eyes, stretching out with a dramatic sigh. “It’s not that I can’t handle it—just that if I do, the night takes a turn.”

A few people snorted, but it was the way your eyes lingered—just a beat too long—on 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 pink—the heat of your gaze—an unspoken thing sparking between you like flint and steel, hand curling around his glass tighter.

Dorcas let out a dramatic boo. “That’s exactly why you should drink.”

“Come on!” Evan bellowed. “What’s a party without a little chaos?”

The chants started immediately. First Dorcas, then Evan, then Wilkes and Pandora, all falling into a rhythm of exaggerated pleading.

“Drink! Drink! Drink—”

“Oh, fuck’s sake—” you groaned, laughing as Dorcas elbowed you, almost toppling you into the fireplace. “You lot are so dramatic.”

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 you—you 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 blinking—brows 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 burned—harsh, bitter, like swallowing heat—but you didn’t 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 down—just enough to press the now-empty glass back into his palm. Touch warm and lingering against his, forcing saliva to unconsciously pool in his mouth—swallowing hard, Adam’s 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 safest—chaos be damned. There wasn’t enough space on the couch between Regulus and Barty.

But you didn’t 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 didn’t move.

Regulus, however, had gone entirely still.

Your head tilted back until it rested gently against the edge of the cushion behind you—just under Regulus’ 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.

“Comfortable?” he asked, voice low.

“Mmm,” tongue darting out to wet your lips as they stretched into an even wider smirk. “Getting there.”

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 weren’t drunk—not really. Just dizzy. Buzzing. Drunk on the music, the magic in the air, the heat of laughter blooming all around you.

You’d 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 bright—laughter sharp and sweet in the air, cheeks warm, movements fluid. James-like, someone mumbled. Dorcas maybe. You didn’t catch it, but Regulus did. The way you were sparkling now, a little unhinged, that same Potter edge—chaotic and captivating.

The games had started at some point—card 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 Barty—unapologetic as ever—had been peeking at your cards, barking out a laugh when you hissed at him.

“Oi!” you yelped, jerking your cards to your chest. “Cheater.”

Barty threw his head back with a laugh, completely unbothered. “We’re on the same team, you lunatic.”

You blinked. “Oh. Right.”

On the other side of you, Regulus was watching—shoulders relaxed, expression unreadable but for the faint twitch of his lips.

And when you leaned back against the couch again, huffing dramatically about your “genius being under appreciated,” the floor just…felt 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, didn’t move.

But his gaze lingered on you—soft and slow, too fond for anyone who might’ve 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. “You’re a sore loser.”

“Stupid game anyway*,*” you mumbled into your knees, the top of your head now resting against your arms, voice muffled and sleepy. You didn’t even react when Regulus’ hand brushed gently down the slope of your spine—once, then again. Reassuring. Instinctual.

Head lifting slightly at the contact, lips parting to murmur something incoherent, but then you slumped again, boneless.

“She’s out,” Barty chuckled, shifting slightly.

There was a pause—silent and unsure—before he glanced at Barty, something unreadable in his eyes.

“I can’t—” he started. He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t finish the thought.

Couldn’t risk being the one to carry you up. Not in front of everyone. Not when they’d notice. Barty rolled his eyes, already pushing up from the couch. “Yeah, yeah. I know.” 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 wasn’t 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 you’d been, hands limp in his lap, teeth clenched, a bitter ache pulsing low in his ribs.

When he finally made his way upstairs—after the room had nearly emptied, after he’d made sure no one would follow—he 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 Regulus’ touched you with the most fragile of hands—looking at you like you were made of moonlight. Like you’d hung the stars in the sky—a 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;

“You could at least try not to look so in love with her in front of everyone,” Barty said lazily, voice cutting through the silence with a dry chuckle.

Regulus didn’t 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, finally—quietly, tiredly—he turned to look at Barty.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit hypocritical?”

part (iii)

feel free to reply to be on the taglist for the next parts mwah x

717 notes · View notes