#bellatrix/james | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

slytherinsimp12 · 1 month ago

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₊˚⊹♡ 𝓞𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝓫𝔂 𝓝𝓪𝓶𝓮₊˚⊹♡

Pairing: Harry Potter x Lestrange!reader

Summary: Y/N spent her entire life at beauxbatons. Her whole world turned upside down when her mother she never met escaped Azkaban, forcing her to transfer to Hogwarts in her 5th year for her safety. Harry knows he should stay away. She’s a Lestrange, the daughter of the woman who destroyed part of his world. But the more he sees of Y/N, the harder it becomes to believe that blood decides who we are.

Author’s note: Hey cuties! I wrote this fic in a moment of creativity when I decided I wanted to put my A- levels in english to use. This is kinda different from my usual writing style- it’s more bookish vibes ig. I’m also currently working on the entire story- including Y/n’s point of view- from when she finds out about the transfer to living in Malfoy manor till falling for Harry. Let me know if you guys would be interested in reading that. Happy reading xx.

Update- Wrote a sequel

He noticed her the moment she walked in.

She wore the red and gold like it didn’t quite belong to her yet. Her head was high, her gaze unreadable, but not cold. Observant. Detached. Controlled, almost. She sat at the far end of the table, away from the usual clusters of fifth years. Her plate was untouched.

“Who is that?” Harry asked, squinting slightly. Hermione’s head snapped up like she’d been waiting for the question.

“That,” she said, voice low but intense, “is Y/N Lestrange.”

Harry frowned. “Lestrange?”

“As in Bellatrix Lestrange,” Hermione hissed, like the name might hex the table. “She transferred from Beauxbatons. A week ago. After her mother escaped. Apparently Dumbledore had to step in personally to get her in. No other school would take her.”

Harry blinked. “She’s in Gryffindor?”

“Yes!” Hermione waved her fork like it was part of the argument. “No one knows how the hat made that decision, but people are saying stuff about her… you tell him Ron.”

Ron leaned in with a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “Total nutter, mate. Looks normal, but I heard she hexed a portrait on her first night because it looked at her funny.”

“Ron,” Hermione snapped. “That’s a rumor.”

“Still. Her mum tortured Neville’s parents. She’s bound to be a bit cracked.”

Harry didn’t answer. He was still watching her.

She didn’t look like someone dangerous. Or unhinged. She didn’t carry herself like someone craving attention, or trying to prove anything. She just… was. Quiet. She didn’t laugh when the first years made a mess. She didn’t even look uncomfortable sitting alone.

She looked up suddenly- maybe sensing eyes on her and her gaze met his. Harry froze. It wasn’t cold. Or hostile. It wasn’t even particularly curious. It was just… calm. Like she’d already figured something out about him, and wasn’t surprised.

He dropped his gaze first.

He felt Hermione watching him and shook his head. “She doesn’t seem like—”

“She’s her daughter, Harry,” Hermione whispered. “That doesn’t just go away.”

Harry frowned, but said nothing.

Because something told him this girl was nothing like the story they were trying to write for her.And whether he liked it or not, he wanted to know why.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Harry rounded the corner toward the Fat Lady’s portrait and nearly bumped into someone already standing there.

Y/N Lestrange.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder at him, arms folded. “Why won’t she bloody let me in…” She mumbled under her breath.

Harry blinked. “Um… you have to tell her the password.”

“Password?” A puzzled look spread across her face.

“It’s snargaluff root.” Harry said.

The Fat Lady sniffed. “Well finally. I was beginning to think she was just decorating the corridor.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry… first the staircases try to throw me down three times, and now I need to impress a talking portrait to get to bed. What’s next, a hallway that quizzes me on wand theory or eats my shoes if I get it wrong?”

Harry smiled,surprised; he didn’t expect her to be funny.

The portrait swung open with a dramatic sigh. They stepped into the common room together. It was late. The low crackle of the fire filled the room.

Y/N stretched out her hand,

“I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N Lestrange….” Harry continued, shaking her hand.

“Sorry- I’m Harry.”

“Harry Potter.” She finished.

Harry had seen Bellatrix Lestrange’s face before—smeared across wanted posters, screaming from the memory in Dumbledore’s Pensieve, twisted with madness and cruelty. And yet, no matter how much he stared at Y/N, he couldn’t find even a trace of that face in hers. Her features were softer, steadier. Her eyes weren’t wild; they were soft and kind. There was no madness in her smile. No chaos in the way she was. If anything, she carried herself like someone trying not to be noticed.

Harry glanced at her, curious. “So… you settling in alright?”

Y/N gave a small shrug. “As well as someone with a homicidal mother and a French accent can in a room full of people who think I sleep with a dagger under my pillow.”

Harry blinked, caught between concern and trying not to laugh. “Do you?”

She smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He grinned despite himself. “Only a little.”

“Goodnight, Potter,” she said, already halfway to the stairs.

“Night,” he said, still watching her go.

He sat down on the nearest couch and stared into the fire, frowning.

He didn’t know what was happening.

But he was pretty sure it had just started.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The classroom smelled faintly of parchment, ink, and something burning—probably the result of Neville’s most recent attempt at a Shield Charm. Harry slid into his usual seat in the back corner of Charms, only to realize Ron and Hermione were already mid-whispered conversation across the row.

“He’s doing it again,” Ron muttered, eyes flicking toward the door.

“Of course he is,” Hermione said, sighing. “Three months ago, he barely noticed she existed, and now—”

Harry looked up just as Y/N walked in.

She didn’t make a show of anything. She never did. She just nodded to Professor Flitwick, scanned the room, and made her way toward the empty seat next to him without hesitation.

“Potter,” she said, dropping her bag onto the desk with a small smirk.

He grinned. “Lestrange.”

She arched a brow. “Still not scared of me? You’re losing your touch.”

“Terrified, actually. I’ve just gotten better at hiding it.”

She gave a quiet, sarcastic laugh as she pulled out her wand. Harry caught himself staring again—not at anything in particular, just her. The way her hair fell forward when she leaned over her notes, how her quill moved fast and messy but confident, how she always seemed like she was both in the room and somewhere far away.

Three months ago, she was a stranger with a reputation.

Now, she was… something else.

Class ended too quickly.

As they packed up, Y/N turned to him and said, “Try not to miss me until next period, yeah?”

“You assume I will,” he shot back.

“You always do,” she said with a wink, then disappeared into the hallway crowd.

Harry was still grinning when Ron and Hermione flanked him on both sides.

Hermione didn’t waste time. “You’ve gotten close to her.”

Harry blinked. “Yeah? So?”

Ron frowned. “Mate, we’re not saying you can’t talk to her. Just—don’t forget who her family is.”

“Right,” Hermione added quickly. “We know she’s in Gryffindor, and we’re not saying she’s her mother—but Bellatrix Lestrange isn’t just a name, Harry. She tortured people. She killed people.”

Harry exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I know who her mum is. Believe me. But Y/N’s not like her. She’s—”

“What?” Ron asked, folding his arms. “Different? Misunderstood? The ‘funny, cool’ kind of Lestrange?”

Harry didn’t answer right away. The thing was, he didn’t have a clear reason. Just… a feeling. A pull. When he was around her, the world quieted down. She didn’t treat him like the Chosen One. She didn’t flinch at his past or parade hers. She was just real.

“I don’t know what she is,” he said honestly. “But she’s not her mother. And I’m not going to treat her like she is.”

Hermione sighed, clearly unconvinced, but she didn’t press further.

As they walked to their next class, Harry couldn’t stop thinking about that last look Y/N gave him.

The way she smiled—not sweet, not soft, but like she saw him and didn’t care who he was supposed to be.

And maybe that’s what scared him most.

Because every time he looked at her, he felt himself slipping.

And he wasn’t sure he wanted to stop.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The library was quiet. A few students sat hunched over textbooks, and Madam Pince watched them all like they might steal the shelves. Harry hadn’t planned on staying long. He came in looking for notes on their DADA essay, but he hadn’t made much progress—mostly because Y/N was sitting across from him.

She was reading, her quill tucked behind her ear, hair falling slightly over one eye as she leaned over her book. She made a face—half confused, half annoyed—and Harry caught himself smiling.Then she looked up.

He dropped his gaze to his own book too quickly. Definitely too obvious.

“You’ve been on the same sentence for twenty minutes,” she said.

Harry looked up slowly. “Just… taking it in.”

She smirked. “That parchment must be very moving.”

He let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. The writer really captured the emotional arc of ‘Wand Movements: A Historical Analysis.’”

Y/N tilted her head. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Harry leaned back in his chair. “And you’re surprisingly good at reading people.”

She looked at him for a second. Not teasing. Not sarcastic. Just… quiet.

“I’ve had practice,” she said softly.

He wasn’t sure what made him ask, but the words came out before he could stop them. “Do you miss it? Beauxbatons?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. She looked down at her hands, turning her quill between her fingers.

“Sometimes. It was cold, the rules were insane, and the food was too pretty to eat… but no one looked at me like I was a walking headline.”

Harry nodded slowly. “We’re good at that here.”

“Yeah.” She gave a dry laugh.

Harry’s gaze didn’t leave her face. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

She looked up again, and this time, she didn’t look away. Her voice was quiet, but steady.

“You don’t believe I’m like her, do you?”

Harry didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t sure he could. Because everything in his life- every reason, every scar, every instinct, should’ve told him to run.

But instead, he said, “No. I don’t.”

Something shifted then. Barely a breath. But it was there. It was there in the way her eyes softened with relief. The way her lips parted slightly, like she might say something else, but didn’t.

Harry’s heart was beating faster than it should have been.

She looked away first this time. “Good. Because I’m tired of pretending I’m not afraid I might be.”

“Then I’ll remind you,” he said.

Y/N looked back up at him, startled.

“Whenever you forget who you are,” Harry said, voice low, “I’ll remind you.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Hogsmeade in winter was something out of a postcard—snow lining the rooftops, warm butterbeer fogging up frosted windows, students crunching along the path in thick scarves. For once, Harry wasn’t thinking about the cold, or even the war.

He was thinking about her.

Y/N walked beside him, her gloved hands buried in her coat pockets, cheeks flushed from the wind. She was quiet—but not in the withdrawn way she got around others. It was the kind of quiet that felt easy, like she didn’t need to fill the silence. Like just walking next to him was enough.It was.

They were just passing Honeydukes when the voice came from behind.

“Well, well,” drawled Draco Malfoy. “Didn’t think I’d find a Lestrange slumming it with Potter.”

Y/N stopped, jaw tightening

Draco stepped forward, his smirk already venomous. “Your mum would be so proud. First Gryffindor, now roaming with a half-blood. You’re practically a Weasley in disguise.”

Y/N’s face didn’t move, but her hands curled slightly at her sides.

Draco kept going. “What do you think she’d say if she saw you now? Holding hands with the ‘Chosen one’, cozying up to the very people she wanted dead? Guess blood doesn’t mean much when you’re desperate to belong.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry said sharply.

Draco snorted. “What, going to defend your little project? You think she’s some tragic misunderstood soul? She’s just like the rest of her family. She’ll break the second you trust her.”

Harry didn’t think. He just drew his wand.

A second later, Draco was knocked flat on the icy path, skidding backward like someone had yanked the floor out from under him.

He groaned, sitting up and glaring. “You’re going to regret that—”

“Keep talking and I’ll make sure your tongue sticks to the next stone wall,” Harry snapped.

Draco scrambled to his feet and stalked off, muttering curses and clutching his side.

Harry turned back to Y/N. A single tear trickled down her cheeks

“Hey,” Harry said softly, stepping closer. “He’s wrong. All of it.”

They ended up at the Three Broomsticks, a quiet corner table, where no one could see them. Two mugs of butterbeer sat untouched between them, steam curling in the golden light.

Y/N leaned forward slightly. “You didn’t have to hex him.”

“Felt good though,” he said, and she gave a small laugh. There was a pause. And then,

“Thank you…” Y/N whispered.

They sat in silence for a long moment, the steam from their butterbeer curling between them. Her eyes were still a little glassy, cheeks still flushed from anger, from cold, from everything. Harry couldn’t stop looking at her.

Before he could change his mind, Harry leaned across the table, slow but certain, one hand reaching out to brush her hair gently behind her ear. Her breath caught. Her eyes didn’t leave his.And then, he kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. Not completely. It was hungry, like the tension between them had finally snapped and neither of them cared what happened next. Her hand came up to his collar, gripping the edge of his scarf, pulling him closer like she’d been holding that impulse in for weeks. Months. She kissed him like she was daring him to regret it.

And he kissed her like he already knew he never would.

When they broke apart, barely a breath between them, her forehead rested against his, her voice low and unsteady.

“You really are reckless, Potter.”

Harry’s lips brushed a smile against hers. “Takes one to know one.”

She laughed quietly, nervous and thrilled all at once, and Harry realized his heart hadn’t slowed down since the second their lips met.

Then, almost a whisper, he said, “You know… they can say whatever they want. About who you are, who she was. But you’re not her. Not even close.”

He tilted his head, brushing her knuckles with his fingers.

“But I’m still a Lestrange…” Y/N trailed off.

“Only by Name.” Harry smiled, pulling her into a tight embrace.

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evermoreness · 4 months ago

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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!

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