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Sombre et Pur'

Chapter 10

Sixth Year – 1976 – October 31

The weeks leading up to Halloween felt like a blur of forced normalcy. Patrols with Regulus became a chilling game of avoidance. He maintained a rigid distance, the very air between us crackling with unspoken hostility. We walked in silence, his icy demeanor a stark reminder of the unsettling encounter in the Astronomy Tower. Surprisingly, I preferred the silent tension to his cruel provocations. It offered a semblance of control, an illusion of peace in the midst of the storm raging within.

Lily, with her usual enthusiastic flair, had been consumed with costume planning for weeks. Her choice – an angel, of course – was so perfectly fitting that it bordered on cliché. Her halo sparkled with what I suspected were real diamonds, and her flowing white robes were made of silk so fine it seemed to shimmer with celestial light. She had spent hours perfecting her makeup, aiming for an ethereal glow that would put the moon itself to shame.

Amidst Lily's angelic preparations, I played my own supporting role. I helped James and Sirius spread the word about the Halloween bash, delicately balancing secrecy with generating enough buzz to ensure a decent turnout. There was a reckless thrill in defying the rules, in claiming a space where we could, even for one night, cast off the shadows of the war looming outside the castle walls.

The night before the party, under the cloak of darkness, Remus, James, and I slipped into the kitchens. Remus, bless his ever-pragmatic soul, had struck a deal. Madam Rosmerta with promises of increased patronage for several weeks and a few extra galleons. The result was a generous supply of whiskey and Fire whiskey that, with a flick of James's wand and a muttered doubling charm, promised enough alcohol to fuel any party.

With pockets overflowing with enchanted candy and baskets filled with stolen treats, we crept out of Hogwarts kitchens feeling like a band of merry bandits. The weight of stolen pastries in my pocket mingled with a giddy sense of rebellion, and for the first time in weeks, I felt a genuine sliver of joy pierce through the persistent gloom.

Halloween night arrived with an electric energy that crackled through the ancient castle. Old Nick had generously offered to share their celebration room, with promises of secrecy in exchange for copious trays of rotting meat. The room had been transformed into a den of spooky delights. Glowing jack-o'-lanterns flickered in corners, their grinning faces reflecting the boisterous energy of the gathered students. Cauldrons bubbled with mysterious, sweet-smelling liquids, and cobweb-draped tables overflowed with treats. The scent of pumpkin spice and spiced cider hung heavy in the air, an intoxicating blend that promised both mischief and merriment in equal measure.

Lily's dormitory was a whirlwind of feathers, glitter, and frantic last-minute adjustments. Dorcas, dressed as a mesmerizing siren with shimmering scales and a crown of seashells, deftly applied shimmering eyeshadow to Marlene, who had transformed into a convincingly rebellious Joan Jett. Alice, her pale features accentuated by dark lips and a enchanted whiskers, checked out her cat-suit in the floor length mirror. Then it was my turn. Lily and Dorcas, armed with an arsenal of hair products and charms, skillfully teased and coaxed my auburn hair into soft, cascading waves. They carefully painted my face, highlighting my cheekbones with a shimmery bronze and subtly darkening my eyes with smoky browns and greens. My costume, the result of weeks of clandestine collaboration with my artistic roommate Beatrice, was an enigmatic creation. It hinted at something nocturnal, yet ethereal.

My dress, a short concoction of shimmering emerald silk overlaid with delicate layers of brown and bronze chiffon, swirled around my legs with every movement. But the centerpiece, the part that made Beatrice beam with pride, were the wings. They were attached like a backpack of sorts and extended nearly three feet on either side. Each feather, painstakingly crafted from dyed parchment and wire, was a work of art. They shimmered with vibrant yellows and earthy greens, enchanted by Lily to open and close every few seconds, leaving a simmering of glittery dust behind.

A mask, in the same rich hues as my dress, obscured the upper half of my face. It sparkled with strategically placed flecks of glitter, catching the flickering candlelight as I moved. Beatrice had insisted on a final touch, liberally dusting my hair, shoulders, and exposed skin with a shimmering gold powder that gave me the appearance of having stepped straight out of a moonlit forest clearing.

As I surveyed myself in the mirror, a strange mixture of nerves and excitement danced in my stomach. The costume felt like an armor of sorts, a way to hide behind a carefully crafted facade. Unlike Lily's overt celestial beauty, or Marlene's edgy rebellion, my disguise was more subtle, a whispered secret rather than an open declaration.

A collective gasp from the girls snapped me out of my thoughts. "Oh, Clem!" Alice exclaimed; her eyes wide with delight. "You look absolutely magical!"

Marlene whistled appreciatively, and even Dorcas, with her penchant for gothic darkness, grudgingly offered a nod of approval. Their affirmations swirled around me, a warm bath against the lingering chill of the last few weeks.

A flicker of apprehension gnawed at my edges as I waved the girls on ahead. They disappeared down the corridor, a whirlwind of feathers, leather, and glitter, leaving me alone in the deserted dorm.

"I'll be down in a minute!" I called after them, my voice echoing slightly in the sudden silence. Turning back to the full-length mirror, I hesitated, a familiar wave of insecurity washing over me. Did the dress make my legs look too long? Was there too much glitter on my collarbone? Was the concept too obscure, too strange?

Banishing the doubts with a determined shake of my head, I took a deep breath and turned away from my reflection. The costume, the party, the carefully constructed facade – it was all a temporary distraction, a shield against the encroaching darkness. There was no point dwelling on appearances when the weight of a silent war hung heavy between me and Regulus.

Descending the spiral staircase to the Gryffindor common room, I was startled to find Peter waiting, his customary nervousness amplified beneath a tall, pointed wizard's hat. He straightened hurriedly at my entrance, his eyes widening in surprise as they took in my appearance.

Peter had changed over the years. His frame, once soft and slightly pudgy, had hardened. Though still on the stocky side, there was a new solidity to him, a hint of strength in his shoulders and the line of his jaw. He was less of a timid boy and more a young man, still navigating the awkwardness of adolescence but with a flicker of determination in his eyes.

"C-Clem," he stammered, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "You ... Wow."

A warm smile spread across my face, genuine and unforced. "Peter," I teased gently, tucking an escaped tendril of hair behind my ear, "Why are you still here?"

He grinned sheepishly, ducking his head in a gesture that reminded me of the shy second-year I'd befriended all those years ago. "W-Waiting for you," he admitted. "Lily."

Understanding dawned. The worry etched on Lily's face before disappearing down the corridor flickered in my mind. Of course, she wouldn't want me wandering alone, not with the ever-present threat of darkness bubbling just beneath the surface of our revelry. She likely instructed Peter to be my escort, her own version of a watchful guardian angel. I felt a rush of fondness for both of them; their unwavering loyalty was a beacon in the storm.

“Shall we then, Peter?" I asked with a playful curtsey, offering him my arm.

His answering smile was wide and genuine as he led me out of the portrait hole. The walk to the dungeons, our usual route to a vacant classroom for shared study sessions, felt different tonight. The flickering torchlight painted the corridors in an air of mystery, and a festive buzz vibrated through the very stones of the castle. Peter and I, normally comfortable in our shared silences, seemed to find our tongues loosened by the unique atmosphere.

"I saw you practicing with Beatrice in the courtyard," Peter remarked, his voice low. "Your wings, they're ...incredible."

"She's an artistic genius," I agreed. The wings were Beatrice's masterpiece, the culmination of our whispered conversations about elusive creatures and forgotten lore.

Sensing an opportunity, I turned the conversation towards him. "So, a classic wizard, Peter? Are you planning on casting any real spells tonight?" I teased.

He blushed again, a charming contrast to his serious wizarding attire. "Maybe a charm or two," he admitted, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "I've been practicing."

Our conversation continued, a lighthearted blend of observations on the passing costumes, playful bets on how much pumpkin juice James would consume, and Peter's reluctant admission that he'd been working up the courage to dance with a Ravenclaw girl for weeks. The ease of our banter was both comforting and bittersweet. We were growing up, changing, and the unspoken fear was that the threads of our friendship might fray as our paths diverged.

To avoid the congested main corridors, Peter steered us towards a hidden passage known only to a select few. He navigated the maze of dim corridors and crumbling staircases with a surprising confidence, a stark contrast to the timid boy who used to follow in the confident stride of his friends.

"Nearly there," he announced as we rounded a corner into a forgotten stretch of corridor lined with dusty portraits.

A soft glow emanated from behind a iron-barred doorway. With a grin, Peter pushed aside the heavy gate, revealing a pathway pulsating with muffled music and the excited murmur of a crowd.

The makeshift party space seemed a world away from the rest of the castle. The dungeons, usually cold and imposing, had been transformed into a den of spooky delights. Glowing skulls hung from the ceiling while enchanted bats swooped playfully through the air, narrowly missing the heads of giggling students. The room throbbed with a chaotic energy – masked figures danced with wild abandon, groups huddled by a makeshift bar, exchanging gossip and scandalous rumors, and in one corner, a particularly dedicated group was attempting to levitate a protesting cat.

The roar of the party hit us like a wave as we stepped through the hidden entrance. Laughter, shouts, and the pounding rhythm of an unfamiliar tune assaulted our senses, a delicious change from the quiet order of our everyday lives. I glanced at Peter, who was surveying the scene with wide eyes and a hint of anxious excitement, and couldn't help but grin. His determinedly calm facade was endearing, a testament to his bravery in venturing into the center of such boisterous chaos.

Peter followed my gaze as we weaved through the throng of students, their laughter washing over us like a warm tide. He nudged my arm, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Look, isn't that Prongs?" he exclaimed, pointing towards a tall figure clad in surprisingly realistic chainmail.

My eyes followed his gesture and landed on James, resplendent in a knight costume that seemed far closer to authentic armor than a hastily assembled outfit. He was leaning casually against a stone pillar, his gaze scanning the crowd. Upon spotting us, his face split into a wide grin, and he lifted his tankard in a silent salute.

We navigated towards him, pushing through groups of giggling vampires, superheroes who had clearly raided their parents' wardrobes, and what appeared to be a colony of particularly enthusiastic house-elves. As we drew closer, a familiar face appeared next to James, her fiery red hair and shimmering halo unmistakable.

"Clem! Peter! Over here!" Lily called out, a radiant smile illuminating her face. She straightened from where she had been leaning against James, her cheeks slightly flushed. "Have a drink," she urged, extending two intricately carved silver goblets brimming with a suspiciously pink liquid.

I took a tentative sip, my eyes widening as a fiery warmth burned its way down my throat. "Merlin's Beard!" I choked, fighting back a cough, "I thought Remus was in charge of the punch?"

James, never one to miss an opportunity for a dramatic reveal, puffed out his chest. "I nicked the job from dear Moony," he announced grandly. "He was far too focused on choosing the perfect party playlist." A smug grin spread across his face as Lily swatted at his arm with playful exasperation.

"Honestly, sometimes I wonder how you lot ever pass your exams," she muttered, though her lips twitched in amusement.

The warmth of the alcohol and the contagious energy of the crowd washed away some of the lingering unease that clung to me like a shadow. Here, in this hidden dungeon filled with music and laughter, the darkness gnawing at the edges of my world seemed distant, muffled by the thumping bass and punctuated by the clinking of glasses.

Peter, emboldened by the punch and the infectious spirit of the festivities, shed his usual reserve with surprising speed. He challenged a group of Hufflepuffs to a particularly raucous game of wizarding charades, his impromptu performance of a banshee earning him raucous applause. Later, I spotted him locked in an intense conversation with the same Ravenclaw girl he had admired from afar, a wide, shy smile on his face. It was heartwarming to see him blossom, to witness the quiet courage that had been growing within him all these years.

Lily, ever the life of the party, had taken charge of the dance floor. She whirled and twirled with reckless abandon, her laughter echoing through the room. Her angel wings shimmered with every movement, casting dazzling reflections on the stone walls and drawing admiring glances from every corner of the room.

James hovered nearby, his knightly persona morphing into that of a devoted attendant. He replenished her drink, adjusted her halo when it inevitably slipped, and generally basked in the glow of her radiant smile. I felt a pang of wistfulness, a reminder of the unspoken question lingering between them, the tantalizing possibility of something more than friendship. They were so perfectly in sync, so obviously meant for each other, that it seemed almost cruel the universe was making them wait.

The crowd pulsed and swayed around us, a blur of shimmering costumes and joyful faces. Yet, amidst the revelry, a lingering awareness of Regulus nagged at the edges of my consciousness. There was a dissonance in my enjoyment, a guilt in letting myself drown in laughter while he lurked in the shadows, his icy gaze a persistent weight upon me.

It was as if the universe read my thoughts. In a brief lull between songs, as snippets of hushed conversations drifted around me, I caught it – the name that sent shivers down my spine. A hushed whisper, carried on the wind of gossip that wound through any gathering:

"...Black... heard he crashed the party..."

Instinct took over. My eyes darted across the crowd, a desperate search for a familiar figure shrouded in darkness, for a glimpse of stormy grey eyes that could extinguish the fleeting joy within me like a snuffed-out flame. My gaze swept over disguised faces, half-hidden by elaborate masks, desperately seeking any sign of him.

But he was nowhere to be seen. Relief washed over me in a cool wave, followed quickly by a pang of guilt at finding comfort in his absence. The music surged back to life, the crowd roaring its approval, yet the whispers lingered. Regulus, even unseen, was a specter haunting the edges of my joy, a stark reminder of the war that would inevitably seep back into these ancient halls, poisoning even the most lighthearted of celebrations.

Over the thumping beat and the roar of the crowd, a familiar voice penetrated the haze of merry chaos. My eyes darted across the room, a flicker of recognition replacing the disoriented confusion.

"Kit!" The call came again, followed by a waving hand and a familiar flash of dark hair. Relief mixed with a flicker of apprehension washed over me as I spotted Sirius weaving through the crowd. Beside him, Remus navigated the party with a quieter ease, his eyes sweeping the room with a watchful attentiveness that never truly faded. They were joined by Katie, resplendent in a figure-hugging blood-red mini dress with elaborate, lacy bat wings, ripped stockings, and a smoldering gaze fueled by smoky makeup and a healthy dose of party punch.

With a final weave around a group of particularly enthusiastic werewolves, they reached my side at the edge of the dance floor. Sirius wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug, the scent of Fire whiskey strong on his breath. He released me, holding me at arm's length to assess my costume, a drunken grin plastered on his face.

"Don't get too sloshed, Pads," I teased, grabbing the empty goblet from his hand and accepting the replacement he offered. As I took a sip, the potent punch burned a fiery path down my throat, bringing tears to my eyes.

"Ugh, don't remind me," he chuckled, the memory of last year's disastrous Halloween party apparently still fresh in his mind. "Kit, you look bloody brilliant!"

I flushed at the genuine compliment, the warmth spreading through me despite the cool air of the dungeon. My wings fluttered slightly in unconscious response, and a touch of the shy, insecure girl I used to be peeked through.

His attention flitted to Peter, who stood slightly behind me, a tentative smile on his face. "Pettigrew, fancy a proper drink?" Sirius asked, winking at Peter, who nodded eagerly. The two of them disappeared towards the makeshift bar with surprising speed.

I returned my attention to my friends. Remus, less talkative than his boisterous counterpart, offered a warm smile and a squeeze of my shoulder.

"You look beautiful, Clem," he said, his voice low and sincere.

A comfortable silence fell for a moment as we took in the scene before us. Nearby, a group of spectral figures in tattered clothing glided around a table laden with rotting meat, placed there for their ghostly enjoyment. The acrid smell of smoke filled my nostrils, the source quickly revealed as Katie, Remus, and Sirius passed around a suspiciously rolled cigarette.

"Clem!" Katie shrieked, drawing me back from my momentary observation of the resident ghosts. She abandoned her post at the spectral snack table and swept me into an enthusiastic hug, nearly knocking the precarious mask off my head. The pungent scent of patchouli clung to her, an intoxicating mixture with the faint hints of smoke and spilled punch.

Releasing me, she gestured towards a tall boy standing beside her. He had a shock of curly brown hair and a friendly smile that put him oddly at ease in the midst of the drunken revelry.

"This is Ed—" she began, then paused, a frown momentarily creasing her brow.

"—Eddie, right?" I finished for her, a jolt of recognition hitting me. I'd seen him around the common room, usually buried in a Charms textbook or quietly playing a game of chess with another student in a forgotten corner.

"Right!" Katie chirped, clearly relieved that I remembered. "Seventh Year, Hufflepuff," she added proudly. Eddie offered a polite smile and a slightly awkward wave. He seemed sweet, his nervousness endearing in the face of Katie's exuberant confidence.

I took a drag from the spliff Katie passed me. The smoke filled my lungs, leaving a slightly acrid taste on my tongue. I exhaled slowly, a cloud of hazy smoke dancing before my eyes. The alcohol and the smoke combined to create a pleasantly disorienting effect. The music pounded in my chest, the laughter and conversation swirled around me, and the worries that lingered in my sober mind began to fade.

As the night wore on, I let myself fall deeper into the haze of smoke and laughter. Tucked into the shadowy corner of the dungeon, Katie, Remus, Sirius, Eddie, and I formed a cozy island amidst the raging sea of partygoers. Peter hovered somewhere nearby, his cheeks flushed as he engaged in an animated conversation with the Ravenclaw girl who, by the looks of it, was thoroughly charmed by my usually reserved friend.

Katie regaled us with dramatic tales of Quidditch victories and near-death experiences with rogue Bludgers. Her voice rose above the din of the party, laced with laughter and an enthusiasm that was both captivating and infectious. Sirius, never one to miss an opportunity for theatrics, occasionally burst into exaggerated renditions of whatever song was playing, much to Remus's amusement and Eddie's bewildered fascination.

My eyes flickered towards Sirius and Remus. Their shoulders occasionally brushed as they passed the joint, a flicker of a smile or a whispered comment traded between them. There was a new softness in Remus's eyes when he looked at Sirius, a tenderness I hadn't seen before. A wave of happiness washed over me; after so many years of witnessing their complicated dance of friendship and unspoken longing, the open affection was a heartwarming sight.

Then, like a burst of vibrant energy cutting through the dimness, ABBA's iconic melodies filled the room. Lily and Dorcas appeared at my side, their laughter echoing as they grabbed my hands and pulled me away from the smoky corner and into the heart of the dance floor.

The three of us twirled and swayed with reckless abandon, our voices joining the chorus of singing partygoers. Dizzying lights spun around me, casting the world into a kaleidoscope of colors and hazy edges. Lily's angel wings shimmered, catching the flashing lights with every spin. Dorcas let out a wild whoop of delight as she kicked her fishnet-clad legs high in the air. And I, swept away by the music and the infectious joy of my friends, danced as if no one was watching, my moth wings rustling gently with each step.

In the aftermath of the ABBA craze, James materialized, a mischievous glint in his eyes and a shot glass clutched in each hand.

"Shots for the Evans girls?" he declared; his voice thick with the effects of the potent punch.

Never one to back down from a challenge, I grinned and tossed back the fiery liquid. It burned a familiar path down my throat, momentarily grounding me in the swirling chaos. The alcohol warmed my veins, fueling a heady recklessness that danced just beneath the surface of my control.

More smoke, more shots, more laughter echoed around me. The hours seemed to dissolve, the party transforming into a pulsating blur of colors, music, and carefree moments. My inhibitions, usually so carefully guarded, retreated like a frightened animal.

At some point, the room began to spin. I stumbled slightly, clinging to a stone pillar for support, and glanced around. The realization hit me like a cold splash of water. It was nearing the end of the night, and couples were beginning to drift away in pairs.

Lily and James leaned against each other, their laughter quieter, tinged with a sweetness that spoke of plans yet to be made. Sirius had an arm slung casually over Remus's shoulder, their heads bent close in a whispered conversation seemingly oblivious to the thinning crowd around them. Even Katie and Eddie had disappeared, most likely to find a quiet corner of their own.

A pang of loneliness struck me, an unexpected chill amidst the warmth of the alcohol and the lingering smoke. My meticulously constructed armor, the carefree facade built on laughter and drinks, began to crack under the weight of a bittersweet realization.

The truth settled over me, as stark and unavoidable as the cold stone beneath my palm: I was alone.

Oh, my friends were still there, a comforting presence a mere glance away. But in their stolen glances, their shared smiles, their quiet intimacy, there was a reminder of what I lacked.

The music, moments ago a beacon of joy, now grated on my nerves. The laughter echoing around the dungeon no longer felt like my own. I was adrift, caught between the retreating tide of merry chaos and the sobering dawn that lurked just beyond the castle walls.

A shaky breath escaped me, and I pushed myself away from the pillar. The world swayed and dipped, the edges of my vision blurring uncomfortably. With a determination born more of desperation than true bravery, I navigated my way out of the dungeon.

With each wobbly step away from the heart of the party, the weight of isolation pressed down upon me. The laughter and music faded into a muffled backdrop against the pounding in my head. The darkness of the dungeons, previously a source of secretive thrill, now seemed to press in from all sides, mirroring the encroaching shadows within.

My feet, clad in fishnet stockings and ridiculous platform shoes, seemed to have a mind of their own. The corridors twisted and turned, each corner revealing another stretch of dimly lit stone and echoing silence. With no clear destination and a growing sense of disorientation, I simply kept moving, propelled forward by a stubborn refusal to succumb to the overwhelming weariness that threatened to drag me down.

Then, like a specter materialized from the dimness, Regulus Black stepped out from a shadowy alcove. His sudden appearance sent a jolt of unpleasant surprise through my alcohol-addled system. Of course, even in the depths of the dungeons, on a night fueled by reckless abandon, I couldn't escape him. His presence was a chilling reminder that the darkness I sought to avoid was woven into the very fabric of our world.

He wore no costume, no playful mask to hide behind. Just his usual dark clothes and an expression of cool disdain that seemed permanently etched onto his pale features. The flickering torchlight played across his face, casting stark shadows that accentuated the sharp lines of his cheekbones and the icy glint in his eyes.

"Great," I slurred, the word heavy on my tongue. "Bloody fantastic." A bitter laugh escaped me, echoing strangely in the empty corridor.

He didn't respond immediately, just observed me with a dark amusement that sent a shiver down my spine. The silence stretched, punctuated only by my uneven breathing and the faint echo of his own footsteps. Finally, he spoke, his voice a low drawl that cut through the haze in my head with unsettling clarity.

"Fitting, you'd be a moth," he remarked, a sneer twisting his lips.

Indignation sparked within me, a flicker of defiance pushing back against the creeping despair. I crossed my arms defensively, the motion causing the world to lurch uncomfortably.

"Figures you'd be the one to get it right," I retorted, my words tripping over each other in my drunken state. Frustration gnawed at me as I fumbled with the intricate fastenings of my mask. "People have been calling me a butterfly all night," I grumbled, finally ripping the mask away from my face.

He let out a short, humorless laugh. "You're too dark for a mere butterfly, Evans," His words were laced with a cruel amusement, a calculated jab aimed at the shadows he saw lurking within me.

"Says you," I mumbled, more to myself than to him. "Now, if you'll excuse me," I made a move to step past him, determined to continue my aimless wandering, but he was quicker.

Before I could react, he shifted, blocking my path. His presence loomed over me, the scent of old parchment and something darker clinging to him like a second skin. An involuntary shiver ran down my spine.

"Wrong way," he declared with a smirk, "unless you're looking to sneak into the Slytherin dorms?" The suggestion hung heavy in the air between us.

My face flushed hot with a mixture of anger and a reluctant, traitorous heat. His suggestive tone, the way his eyes raked over me with a predatory gleam, ignited a familiar battle within me. Revulsion warred with a flicker of shameful excitement, a recognition of the dangerous magnetism he exuded.

"Don't flatter yourself, Black," I spat, struggling to maintain an air of defiance. "I'd rather face a dragon than spend another minute in your company."

A wave of nausea washed over me. The alcohol sloshed uncomfortably in my stomach, and the room spun with renewed vigor. I needed to get away from him, from the darkness he embodied, from the temptation to dance with the shadows that both horrified and fascinated me.

"Get out of my way," I demanded, my voice laced with a desperation that bordered on pleading. To my surprise, he stepped aside, a flicker of something I couldn't decipher passing through his eyes. My escape from Regulus was short-lived. The corridor seemed to warp and stretch before me, the floor tilting at alarming angles. Just as I thought I was free, I stumbled, my knees nearly buckling beneath me. A gasp escaped my lips as the world lurched sickeningly.

Before I could fully comprehend what was happening, a hand shot out, gripping my elbow with surprising strength. The sudden support halted my impending collision with the cold stone floor. I whirled around, my glare fueled by a mixture of indignation and the unsettling dizziness that threatened to send me sprawling.

There he was, of course. His pale face was etched with a frown, his eyes narrowed in a mixture of annoyance and what might have been reluctant concern.

"You're sloshed," he stated flatly. There was an accusatory note in his voice, as though my inebriated state was a personal affront to him.

"What a clever boy you are," I snapped, my words slurring slightly. "Mummy must be so proud."

He tightened his grip on my elbow, a flicker of anger replacing the disdain in his eyes. "Stop being so bloody difficult, Evans," he hissed, his voice barely above a whisper.

A defiant hiccup bubbled up from my throat, a ridiculous counterpoint to the seriousness of the situation. The room spun alarmingly, my vision blurring at the edges. "Why don't you," another hiccup interrupted me, "go back to whatever creepy activities you were up to?" I managed, the words dripping with forced sarcasm.

To my immense annoyance, he didn't let go. His grip remained firm on my arm, a constant reminder of his presence and my own vulnerability. The room tilted dangerously once more, and a wave of nausea washed over me.

"If you'd like to stumble around like a fool until you pass out, or something," he paused, the unspoken threat hanging in the air, "far worse than me happens upon you, then be my guest." His words were harsh, laced with a bitter truth I couldn't fully process in my disoriented state.

"N-not many people are creepier than you," I managed to bite out, but the retort lacked its usual conviction. Fear, an unwelcome guest at this drunken party in my mind, began to gnaw at the edges of my bravado.

He let out a sigh, a sound filled with a strange mixture of exasperation and resignation.

"I'm taking you back to your common room." The statement wasn't a question, but a declaration delivered with the same cold certainty he'd used to taunt me earlier.

My stomach lurched violently, a stark reminder of the potent punch coursing through my veins. The battle was lost. I couldn't fight him, couldn't argue, could barely stand on my own. Defeat, bitter and acrid, settled in my throat as I reluctantly nodded, the gesture causing the room to spin wildly.

His grip on my arm tightened as he began to lead me forward. The world blurred into a kaleidoscope of torchlight and shadows. With a jolt of disorientation, I realized he was walking in the opposite direction of the Gryffindor common room.

"Wrong way!" I protested, my voice a hoarse whisper.

He didn't slow his pace, his strides long and purposeful.

"Taking a shortcut," he replied curtly. His tone brooked no argument, leaving me to stumble in his wake, fighting back the waves of nausea and the unwelcome realization that I was entirely at his mercy.

The corridor twisted and turned, each step a perilous journey. Panic bubbled beneath my drunken haze. Where was he taking me? What were his intentions? The darkness, once held at bay by the boisterous energy of the party, now pressed in from all sides. I tried to focus on his back, on the rhythm of his footsteps, but my vision swam, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis.

The shortcut, it turned out, was a winding labyrinth of narrow passages and forgotten stairwells. It was as if Regulus was leading me deeper into the bowels of the castle, away from the lingering warmth of the party and into the very heart of the ancient stone.

His grip on my elbow tightened as we navigated the uneven ground. I stumbled repeatedly, my vision blurring and my legs threatening to give out beneath me. It was only his unwavering hold that kept me from collapsing into an unceremonious heap.

After a particularly vicious stumble, his hand shifted from my elbow to my waist. The unexpected contact sent a jolt through my alcohol-addled system. It wasn't overtly intimate, more a pragmatic adjustment to better support my faltering steps, but the warmth of his hand seeping through my dress sent a strange shiver down my spine. A shiver that had nothing to do with the chill of the dungeon.

The silence between us was deafening, broken only by our uneven footsteps and my labored breathing. I longed to break it, to hurl accusations, to demand explanations, but my tongue felt heavy and uncooperative. Instead, the quiet gnawed at me, amplifying my disorientation and the growing fear that clawed at my insides.

Finally, unable to bear the oppressive silence any longer, I managed to croak out a question.

"Why are you being so..." my voice faltered as a wave of nausea washed over me. I swallowed, forcing back the bile rising in my throat. "Unlike yourself," I finished weakly.

A harsh laugh escaped him. "It's not as if you know me, Evans," he muttered, the words barely audible over the echo of our footsteps.

His dismissive response was a slap in the face, a brutal reminder of the chasm that divided us. True, we were bound together by the invisible threads of this war, but our understanding of each other was as shallow as a puddle after a summer rain.

He continued; his voice laced with a bitter cynicism that mirrored my own growing despair. "Besides, I just don't fancy being blamed..." he paused, searching for the right words, "if something were to happen to you in this state."

A chill shot through me at his words, his implication hanging heavy in the air like a poisonous fog. The thought sent a fresh wave of shame washing over me. To have stumbled so spectacularly, to need his assistance, was humiliation enough. But for there to be witnesses to my disgrace.

Our pace slowed as we neared the familiar territory of the castle kitchens. The tantalizing scent of roasting meat and freshly baked bread drifted through the air, a tantalizing reminder of the warmth and comfort that awaited at the end of this treacherous journey. With each step, the realization that I would soon face my housemates settled over me like a suffocating cloak.

The weight of his hand on my waist was a constant presence, a grounding force amidst the chaos swirling in my head. Yet, beneath the necessity of his touch, I couldn't help but feel a flicker of unease. This strange, forced intimacy was both a source of stability and a constant reminder of my own vulnerability.

As we reached the top of a short flight of stairs leading away from the kitchens, I finally found the courage to look up at him. Our eyes met, and something shifted between us, an unspoken acknowledgment of the absurdity of the situation.

"Thank you," I murmured, the words barely audible above the pounding in my head. My voice was thick with a mixture of gratitude, mortification, and the lingering effects of the potent party punch.

We paused at the bottom of the stairs, the warmth of the brightly lit kitchens a stark contrast to the cool darkness of the corridor. The entrance to the Hufflepuff common room, concealed behind a stack of enormous barrels, was a mere few steps away.

For an extended moment, he said nothing. Instead, he met my gaze, his own eyes surprisingly unreadable. There was none of the usual cold disdain, nor the cruel mockery I had come to expect. Instead, his expression was... almost guarded, a strange blend of detachment and something I couldn't quite define.

"For not being a prick," I clarified softly, a flicker of defiance reigniting within me.

He let out a short, humorless laugh, the sound echoing strangely in the dimly lit corridor.

"Don't mention it, Evans," he finally replied, his voice devoid of any warmth but laced with a touch of sardonic resignation. A renewed wave of dizziness washed over me, threatening to send me tumbling. I blinked rapidly, struggling to maintain focus. The alcohol swirled in my veins, making the world tilt and warp at an alarming rate.

"Sorry," I managed to mumble, feeling the weight of embarrassment crashing down upon me, "I can't... think straight..."

He seemed to understand. A flicker of something akin to concern flitted across his face, a fleeting emotion that contradicted his carefully manufactured reputation as heartless.

His gaze drifted down to his polished black shoes, as if seeking an escape from the uncomfortable moment of vulnerability that had briefly settled between us. When he looked back up, the familiar mask of indifference was back in place.

"Get some rest," he said curtly, any hint of softness gone from his voice.

The disorientation washed over me in relentless waves. The corridor, once so familiar, seemed to blur and distort. I clung to the barrel beside me, fighting to maintain a semblance of composure as the room spun. In the flickering light, Regulus Black seemed to transform before my eyes. The harsh angles of his face softened, the sneer replaced by a flicker of amusement, the shadows retreating as if the darkness within him was momentarily held at bay.

For a dangerous, disorienting moment, he was simply a boy. A boy with tousled dark hair and surprisingly kind eyes. I could almost convince myself that this was an ordinary scene, a boy seeing a girl safely home, an echo of countless, innocent teenage interactions.

Then, the absurdity of the situation hit me with full force. This was Regulus Black, the boy who haunted the Astronomy Tower, who reveled in cruelty and whispered promises of violence. This fleeting moment of unexpected connection was an illusion, a mirage shimmering in the depths of my alcohol-fueled haze. The spell was broken as another wave of nausea crashed over me, leaving me weak and disoriented. I turned away, desperate to find the sanctuary of my common room, to escape both his disconcerting presence and the relentless assault on my senses.

Fumbling for balance, I glanced back at him, my vision blurring. "You... you're quite pretty, you know that?" I slurred, the words tumbling out before I could comprehend their full impact.

His head snapped up, his eyes widening in startled amusement. I was instantly mortified, a flush of heat flooding my cheeks as the room spun dizzily around me. But through the haze, I also saw it – the flash of surprise, the way his lips twitched in a hint of an unguarded smile. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a cool composure that I couldn't help but admire even in my drunken stupor.

"Go to bed, Evans," he commanded, though there was a strange gentleness in his tone, as if humoring a foolish child.

A wave of exhaustion washed over me, rendering further argument impossible. With a final unsteady wave and a slurred

“Night.”

I turned towards the barrels that masked the entrance to my common room. As I fumbled with the rhythm required to open the hidden passage, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had stumbled not only through the dungeons but also through my own preconceptions.

My vision swam, the barrels blurring and shifting before me. The rhythm, usually as familiar as my own heartbeat, seemed impossible to grasp. Panic began to bubble up, threatening to consume the last vestiges of my composure. Just as I was about to sink to my knees in defeat, a pair of hands appeared before me, their movements sure and steady. Regulus, it seemed, wasn't quite done with his unexpected role as my unlikely savior.

He tapped the barrels with his wand, a precise cadence I was too far gone to decipher. The massive wooden forms swung open, revealing the cozy warmth of the Hufflepuff common room.

"Go," he said, his voice low and strangely devoid of mockery.

With a last grateful glance in his direction, I stumbled over the threshold. As the entrance swung shut behind me, obscuring his figure from view, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief wash over me. I had made it. I was safe, at least for now.

The walk to my dormitory was a blur. My feet moved through familiar motions, propelled by instinct more than any conscious effort. The scent of honey and warm wood, the welcoming yellow glow that seemed to radiate from the very walls, enveloped me like a comforting embrace.

Finally, reaching the sanctuary of my bed, I collapsed into a heap of disheveled party attire and drunken exhaustion.

#regulus black #regulus deserved better #sirius and regulus #regulus black x oc #regulus being a little shit #regulus x hufflepuff reader #regulus x you #regulus x reader #regulus is a little shit #regulus x oc reader #the marauders era #the maruaders #original character

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saveregblackordie0726 · 1 month

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Sombre et Pur'

Chapter 9

Sixth Year – 1976 – October cont.

The next two days passed in a blur of forced cheer and carefully executed smiles. Each act of kindness, each laugh shared with my friends – they all felt like I was desperately trying to patch the cracks in a crumbling facade. With every glance in a mirror, every whispered encouragement, I braced myself for the moment my monstrous reflection would stare back at me, confirming Regulus's twisted truth.

Thursday found me curled up on one of the worn, plush sofas in the Gryffindor common room. The familiar warmth and flickering fireplace did little to chase away the chill that had settled in my bones. Peter, bless his ever-faithful soul, had sensed my lingering unease and insisted on a study session. Despite feeling adrift in a sea of Potions notes and Transfiguration diagrams, there was something undeniably soothing about his quiet company, his soft voice offering explanations I only half-heard.

The common room bustled with the comfortable chaos I'd come to associate with Gryffindor life. Fifth-years argued good-naturedly over a game of Exploding Snap, the sharp snap of cards echoing through the room. A pair of first-years huddled near the window, their hushed whispers and furtive glances likely fueled by some mischief in the making. It was a scene of warmth and camaraderie – a sharp contrast to the tempest raging within me.

Then, like a thunderclap shattering the fragile silence of my thoughts, James burst through the portrait hole, his usual boundless energy amplified by a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes.

"Alright, listen up!" he announced, his voice booming through the common room and silencing any other conversations. "Halloween's coming up, and I was thinking we could throw a proper bash!" Lily followed behind him, looking flushed as she plopped down beside him.

Marlene, who had been engrossed in Charms homework, tossed her quill onto the table with a groan. "Oh, here we go," she muttered, but her tone was more amused than exasperated.

Lily, ever the voice of reason, let out an exasperated sigh. "James, honestly, you're Head Boy now. You can't just throw wild ragers every holiday!" Her words were scolding, but the smile playing on her lips undermined any real severity.

James, unfazed, scrunched his nose in a deliberately adorable pout. "Can't I?" he teased, and playfully tapped her knee which was now tucked against his lap.

My lips twitched into a half-hearted smile at their familiar banter. The affection between them was palpable, an unspoken understanding that had been simmering just beneath the surface for years. With a pang of wistfulness, it struck me that it likely wouldn't be long before they finally gave in to the inevitable and made things official.

The corner of my eye snagged on Sirius, who had been observing the exchange with a flicker of something unreadable in his dark eyes. He offered a grin that didn't quite meet his eyes and raised his eyebrows in a silent question. Peter, oblivious to the undercurrents, launched into an enthusiastic discussion about potential Halloween activities – bobbing for apples, pumpkin carving, the lot.

"We should definitely have themed costumes!" Lily chirped, her usual pragmatism dissolving under the exciting prospect of a party.

"Maybe this year Moony and Padfoot won't end up taking turns retching in the loo," Peter added with a chuckle. He, James, and Lily burst into good-natured laughter, but a tense silence fell over Sirius, Remus, and me. We had all shared knowing glances, a silent acknowledgment of the previous year's disastrous Halloween celebration.

The tension between Sirius and Remus had reached an all-time high that night. Their usual playful teasing had morphed into something sharper, a simmering resentment veiled by forced camaraderie and copious amounts of Fire whisky. They'd disappeared for hours, reappearing flushed and disheveled, carefully avoiding each other's gazes for the rest of the night. We never spoke of it, but the unspoken question lingered, a shadow hanging over their friendship.

"Well, then," Sirius broke the uncomfortable silence, a forced cheerfulness masking the tightness in his jaw. Are we considering inviting other Houses again?" He caught my eye and offered a soft smile. "Besides Clem, of course."

Marlene, ever-dramatic, let out a groan and dramatically draped herself across my lap. "Obviously, otherwise we'll be stuck with you lot," she declared with a mischievous grin. "Where's the fun in that?"

The conversation shifted, descending into a lighthearted debate over decorations, food, and the potential for one of us slipping Rosemerta galleons in return for the Fire whiskey. My laughter felt forced, my participation hollow. Yet, as I watched my friends, the knot in my chest loosened fractionally. These moments – the easy banter, the shared laughter, the unwavering support – they were a lifeline. They were a reminder that even as darkness gnawed at the edges of my soul, there was still good in the world. Good worth fighting for. Maybe, just maybe, that was enough to keep the shadows at bay – for now.

As evening descended, a familiar sense of dread settled upon me. Patrols with Regulus were a looming inevitability, and with every passing moment, the urge to hide beneath my covers grew stronger. It was a cowardly impulse, one at odds with the Hufflepuff bravery I prided myself on, but the darkness Regulus exuded chipped away at my resolve.

The Gryffindor common room held me hostage under the guise of camaraderie. Lily insisted on another go at the glamour spell, determined to perfect the sleekness of my waves. Marlene quizzed me relentlessly on Herbology, claiming a surprise exam was imminent. Even Peter, with his quiet empathy, seemed to sense my reluctance and lingered over a chess game that usually would have lasted no more than twenty minutes.

But time was a relentless hunter, and eventually, I could no longer justify the delay. As twilight painted the castle in shades of deep purple, I reluctantly stood, forcing a smile to mask the rising tide of apprehension.

"Patrols," I announced, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears.

A hush fell over the gathered Gryffindors. Their eyes, filled with concern and unspoken questions, burned into me. I'd always been the one to ease their worries, to offer a reassuring smile. Now, I was the one desperately in need of reassurance I knew they couldn't give.

Sirius, perhaps sensing my turmoil more keenly than the others, pushed himself up from the plush armchair he'd been occupying. "I'll walk you," he offered, his voice gentle, a stark contrast to his usual boisterousness.

Gratitude washed over me in a warm wave. Without a word, I nodded and followed him towards the portrait hole. As we stepped out into the dimly lit corridor, a comfortable silence enveloped us. We fell into step side by side, his presence a balm against the oppressive weight of what awaited me.

For a precious few moments, I allowed myself to simply exist in this pocket of normalcy – two friends silently navigating the castle halls. The familiar smell of old stone and lingering potions fumes brought a sense of grounding amidst the inner storm. But beneath the surface, unspoken worries churned. Sirius, despite his outward nonchalance, carried the burden of his family's darkness on his shoulders. Regulus was like a ticking time bomb, his allegiance a constant source of uncertainty. And I... I was caught between them, an unwilling pawn in a war I barely understood.

As if sensing my spiraling thoughts, Sirius broke the silence.

"How is he?" His voice was low, a whisper in the quiet hallway.

I paused, contemplating the loaded question. Sirius's relationship with his brother was a twisted knot of love and betrayal, loyalty and rebellion. Despite the chasm that had grown between them, a flicker of concern still burned in Sirius's dark eyes whenever Regulus was mentioned.

My fingers traced along the worn tapestry lining the corridor wall, finding comfort in the repetitive motion. Should I confide in him? Share the unsettling truths Regulus had laid bare, the darkness that now threatened to seep into my own soul? A part of me yearned to unburden myself to someone who understood the unique pain of fractured family ties. But something held me back, a lingering fear that exposing these vulnerable pieces of myself would leave me even more shattered.

Instead, I settled on a half-truth, a careful deflection. "It's hard to say, Sirius. It's not as if we're having deep, meaningful conversations." I forced a wry smile, hoping to hide the tremble in my voice. "We barely speak, truthfully."

Sirius nodded, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features before he masked it with a sigh. His jaw clenched, a telltale sign of unspoken anger and frustration.

"He still won't speak to me," Sirius muttered, his voice laced with bitterness. "Lost count of the owls I've sent... useless." He shook his head, a gesture both dismissive and defeated.

"They've got their teeth in him, Kit" he continued, his voice low and filled with a resigned dread I understood all too well.

My footsteps slowed as a wave of sympathy washed over me. Seeing Sirius so vulnerable, stripped of his usual bravado, was a stark reminder of the unseen consequences of this war that was bleeding into every corner of our lives. It was a battle waged not merely on some distant battlefield, but in corridors and classrooms, in whispers and silences that wove themselves into the fabric of our existence.

I longed to offer a comforting platitude, a reassurance that everything would be alright, but the words felt hollow. There was no easy comfort, no quick fix for the darkness that threatened to engulf us all. Instead, I remained silent, allowing him this moment of unfiltered honesty.

"Why do I even give a damn?" Sirius murmured, the question directed more at himself than at me.

I paused, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. He met my gaze, a flicker of vulnerability in those usually bright, rebellious eyes. It was the same stormy gaze I'd begun to see mirrored in Regulus.

"He's your brother," I said softly, empathy threading its way through my voice. "I know I could never turn my back on either of my sisters."

We'd reached the statue that marked the beginning of our patrol route. A familiar sense of dread coiled in my stomach, tightening with each passing moment. Sirius seemed to mirror my unease, a subtle tension radiating from him. Then, his focus shifted, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the shadows across the veranda.

His expression darkened. When he turned back to me, his features were schooled into a mask of cold indifference.

"Give it time, Sirius," I urged, my voice quiet but insistent.

A flicker of warmth crossed his face, a fleeting reminder of the loyal, caring boy beneath the layers of bitterness. He offered a single nod, a silent acknowledgment of my meager attempt at reassurance.

"Send Zephyr to me when you make it back to your common room," he instructed. "And Clem... be careful." The worry in his voice was palpable, a stark contrast to the carefree persona he presented to the world.

Wordlessly, I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. And then he was gone, leaving me alone.

As I turned to survey the room once more, my heart skipped a beat. Regulus stood leaning against the crumbling stone statue, a sneer marring his pale face. His eyes, icy and unreadable, fixed upon me with a scrutiny that made my skin crawl. The darkness within him seemed to bleed into the room itself, casting the space in a sinister, oppressive light.

Patrols with Regulus were always unbearable, but tonight the oppressive silence was magnified by the fading light. With each step, shadows lengthened, clinging to the walls like whispers of the darkness that threatened to consume us both. I forced myself not to look at him, focusing on the worn cobblestones and the faint echo of our footsteps. Yet, his presence was a palpable weight beside me, the scent of old parchment and something darker, something that stirred unease deep within me, mingling with the crisp autumn air.

We reached the Charms corridor, the flickering torchlight barely illuminating the peeling paint and rows of locked doors. It was here, amidst this forgotten space, that Regulus finally shattered the stifling quietude.

"You two seem close." His voice cut through the silence, cold and laced with an undercurrent of accusation.

My lips curled into a humorless smile. "You mean Sirius? Your brother?" I scoffed, pushing open the door to a deserted Magical Theory classroom. With a flick of my wand, I surveyed the desks and dusty blackboard. Satisfied it was empty, I closed the door and continued our patrol, determined not to let him goad me.

"He is no brother of mine," Regulus retorted, his sneer audible in the darkness.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Oh, come off it, Black."

Something flickered in his eyes, a flash of surprise quickly concealed. "Pardon?"

I turned sharply, mirroring his own accusatory stance from our exchange in the Astronomy Tower. "It's only us here, Black," I echoed his words from that night, the weight of them settling between us like a physical barrier. "You can drop the act."

The impact of my words was visible. He stiffened, jaw clenching beneath his sharp cheekbones. The silence stretched, broken only by the soft whisper of the wind outside.

Finally, he spoke, his voice laced with a forced nonchalance that rang hollow. "There is no act, Evans. He is a blood traitor, a disgrace to our family."

"And I'm a Muggleborn," I fired back, my patience wearing thin. "But here you are, speaking with me."

A venomous sneer twisted his lips. "Allow me to remedy that," he hissed, disgust dripping from each syllable.

I shook my head, disgust mingling with a growing sense of defiance. He started to move, but I held my ground, forcing myself to meet his gaze. Our eyes locked, a silent battle of wills playing out in the half-light of the corridor.

For a tense moment, I wasn't sure what he would do. Would he cast a hex, a curse motivated by the same blind hatred that fueled his family's beliefs? The thought sent a shiver down my spine, not out of fear for myself, but out of a bone-deep weariness at the relentless cycle of prejudice and violence that poisoned our world.

Then, unexpectedly, he stepped back. The sneer remained, but a flicker of something I couldn't decipher flickered in his eyes. Frustration? Confusion? A hint of the vulnerability I'd glimpsed beneath his carefully constructed facade? Whatever it was, the moment passed. He resumed walking at my side, an unwelcome shadow in the dimly lit corridor.

The silence hung heavy between us as we continued our patrol, a constant reminder of the unspoken chasm that divided us. Yet, as we reached the familiar spiral staircase leading to the Astronomy Tower, something shifted. It was as if the imposing stone walls and open sky created a strange sense of intimacy, an unspoken truth that labels, houses, and the rules of the outside world faded, at least temporarily, into the background.

I lingered, the coolness of the iron railing a welcome contrast to the simmering tension between us. Against my better judgment, I found myself speaking.

"He worries for you," I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air, a fragile olive branch offered across a battlefield of conflicting ideologies.

He let out a humorless chuckle, leaning against the railing. His almost shoulder-length dark hair, usually perfectly styled, was ruffled by the wind, adding a touch of boyishness to his otherwise chilling demeanor.

"Does he?" His voice was laced with a bitterness that echoed my own inner turmoil. An uncomfortable silence descended. I watched as a cloud drifted across the moon, momentarily dimming the starlight that painted his features in an ethereal glow.

"Maybe you should..." I started, uncertainty making my voice waver.

The rest of the sentence died in my throat as he abruptly turned, interrupting my hesitant attempt at reconciliation. There was a new intensity in his gaze, a predatory glint that made my stomach clench. He took a step closer, his movements deliberate, closing the distance between us until the cool metal of the railing pressed against my back.

"He should be worried," Regulus hissed, his voice so low it was almost a growl. "In fact," he paused, leaning in even closer, his breath ghosting across my cheek, "you both should be--”

The question tumbled out of me before I could fully comprehend its implications. "Why do you do that?" My voice was quiet, laced with a hint of confusion and a defiance that surprised even me. I held his gaze, refusing to flinch as he continued to loom above me.

"Do what, Evans?" he spat, his eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"This," I gestured between the two of us, encompassing the invisible web of tension that thrummed in the air. "Trying to scare me into running away? Testing how much I'll take?"

He remained silent, his face unreadable. It was as if my words had struck a nerve, a raw spot beneath his carefully crafted facade. His usual arrogance faltered ever so slightly, replaced by a flicker of something akin to vulnerability before it was ruthlessly suppressed.

I pressed on, a surge of reckless bravery propelling me forward. "Or maybe," I lowered my voice, tilting my head in mock curiosity, "you're the one who's afraid."

His jaw clenched, the muscle jumping visibly beneath his pale skin. His eyes, glacial and unyielding moments ago, now seemed to darken with a storm I couldn't fully decipher. There was anger there, yes, but something more - a ripple of unease beneath the surface of his controlled demeanor.

"Maybe I want to hurt you," he hissed, his voice a dangerous whisper against the night air. "Maybe I want you to realize just how insignificant you are in the grand scheme of things."

His words were meant to wound, to reaffirm the power he held over me. But instead, they fueled a strange sort of defiant amusement. A twisted smile touched my lips.

"I can see past all of that, Regulus," I countered, a hint of challenge in my voice. "I can see the fear, the desperation... and I think you hate that I know."

He moved then, a sudden, predatory shift that closed the remaining distance between us. His gaze, now locked on mine with a burning intensity, was a physical force, pinning me against the railing. The moonlight cast stark shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the cold determination in his eyes.

For a suspended moment, time seemed to warp. The chill wind, the distant rustling of leaves, the echo of my own ragged breaths – they all blurred into a muted backdrop against the onslaught of his presence. There was an undeniable danger in his closeness, in the way his eyes seemed to bore into my very soul. Yet beneath the fear, a perverse thrill coursed through me. This was a dance on the precipice, a tantalizing brush with the darkness he embodied. And in that moment, a shameful part of me craved it.

"Run on home, little dove," he murmured, his voice so low it was almost a caress. Yet, the words carried an unmistakable threat, a chilling promise of violence lurking just beneath the surface. "Before I break your wings."

His hand shot out, fingers snaking around my upper arm. The fabric of my robe crumpled beneath his grip, the pressure a stark reminder of his strength, of the potential for pain he held within him. A gasp escaped me, a choked sound that was more of surprise than fear. But then, as suddenly as it had come, the intensity faded. His fingers loosened, withdrawing like a serpent retreating back into the shadows. He stepped back, the dangerous intimacy of the moment evaporating as quickly as it had materialized. There was a new distance in his eyes, a chilling coldness that sent a shiver down my spine. I was a pawn again, an opponent in the endless game he played, not a person worthy of his true, unmasked anger.

"Go back to your common room, Evans," he commanded, his voice devoid of any emotion. "Before I change my mind."

The dismissal was a slap in the face, a brutal reminder of the power imbalance between us. Yet, I didn't cower, didn't flee like a frightened bird as he intended. I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze with a stubborn determination that mirrored his own.

"As you wish," I retorted, managing a shaky smile. Without another word, I turned and walked away, my steps echoing against the stone floor. My back prickled beneath his unwavering scrutiny, the unspoken threat lingering in the air like a poisonous mist.

The descent from the Astronomy Tower was a blur. My heart pounded in my chest, a frantic drumbeat against the onslaught of conflicting emotions. Anger, fear, and a disconcerting flicker of exhilaration battled for dominance. Each step took me further from him, from the darkness he exuded, and back towards the comforting familiarity of the Hufflepuff common room.

Yet, as I descended the winding staircase, a nagging certainty settled into my bones. This wasn't over, not by a long shot. Regulus Black was a storm cloud gathering on the horizon, and I had the terrible sense that I was both drawn to and terrified of the tempest he promised.

The common room burst into view, a haven of warmth and laughter. My friends, blissfully unaware of the darkness I had faced in the tower, greeted me with smiles and casual questions about my patrol. I forced myself to respond, to slip back into the role of the cheerful, dependable Hufflepuff I was supposed to be. But it was a flimsy facade, barely concealing the shadows that clung to me like a second skin.

Later, alone in the quiet sanctuary of my dormitory, the true weight of the evening settled upon me. My hand trembled as I untied the Hufflepuff knot on my robes, the bright yellow suddenly seeming garish against the backdrop of the confrontation that haunted my mind.

Sleep was an elusive luxury. Each time I drifted towards unconsciousness; Regulus's face swam into view. His chilling words, the predatory glint in his eyes, his chillingly calm threat – they replayed in my mind like a twisted enchantment. I tossed and turned, the sheets tangling around me like a suffocating net.

In the darkest hours of the night, the truth I had tried to deny echoed relentlessly. I was afraid of Regulus Black, of the capacity for cruelty I saw reflected in his eyes. But more than that, I was afraid of myself – of the darkness that lurked within, a darkness that answered his call with a terrifying and unwelcome recognition. We were shadows dancing in the moonlight, reflections of the war that threatened to consume us all. Sleep refused to offer any respite. My tumultuous thoughts, a chorus of whispers mirroring the ceaseless wind rattling the dorm window, banished any hope of escape. The shadows on the ceiling danced to a macabre rhythm, conjuring images of Regulus's icy gaze and the chilling touch of his fingers against my skin. A shiver traced its path down my spine, a stark reminder of the darkness that had tainted my patrol.

Defeated, I pushed back the covers, the warmth of the bed offering no solace against the creeping unease. The pale moonlight filtering through the window cast long, eerie shadows across the room, lending an unsettling atmosphere to the once-familiar space.

It was then that a flicker of recollection chased away the relentless onslaught of Regulus's chilling words. Sirius's parting request, his plea that I send an owl once I was safely back in the common room, suddenly resonated with new meaning.

He had glimpsed the danger I had so foolishly danced with.

With trembling hands, I reached for my wand, summoning Zephyr from her perch. She landed on my arm with a soft hoot, tilting her head inquisitively as if sensing my agitation. My fingers hastily scratched out a brief message, a silent confirmation of my safety and a word of thanks for Sirius's unspoken concern.

"Take this to Sirius, please," I whispered, stroking Zephyr's feathers with a gentleness born out of a desperate need for a connection to warmth, to loyalty, to the light that Regulus threatened to extinguish within me.

Zephyr took flight, a silent white specter disappearing into the darkness beyond the window. With her departure, a small sense of peace settled over me, a reminder that I wasn't completely alone in this battle against the shadows.

Exhaustion, both physical and emotional, finally won out. As I burrowed back beneath the covers, my mind still raced, though the images of Regulus were slowly replaced by those of Sirius. His eyes, so like his brother's, yet brimming with warmth where Regulus held only ice, swam into focus. It was a comforting contrast, a beacon of hope amidst the encroaching darkness.

I drifted into an uneasy sleep, images of storm clouds and silver linings clashing behind my closed eyelids.

#regulus deserved better #regulus black #sirius and regulus #regulus black x oc #regulus being a little shit #regulus black x hufflepuff reader #regulus black x you #regulus black x reader #original character #dead gay wizards #the marauders #the marauders era

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saveregblackordie0726 · 1 month

Text

Sombre et Pur'

Chapter 8

Sixth Year – 1976 – October

The encounter on the Astronomy Tower left me shaken to the core. Descending the spiral staircase, each step felt heavier than the last. The exhilaration from my Quidditch triumph, the joy of shared laughter with friends, seemed like distant memories, swallowed by the oppressive fear that now clung to me like a suffocating cloak.

The Hufflepuff common room, normally a haven of comforting chaos, offered no respite. Worried whispers about escalating attacks and missing students filled the air, a constant hum of unease that mirrored my own inner turmoil. Each forced smile, each attempt at lighthearted conversation, felt like a betrayal of the truth I now carried.

My sister was the first to notice, days later, her perceptive gaze settling on me with quiet concern. "Are you alright, Clem?" she asked gently, her hand reaching for mine across the battered table where we pored over Prefect duty schedules.

I forced a smile, a flimsy shield against the storm raging within me. "Of course," I lied, the words catching in my throat. "Just tired, Lily.”

Lily didn't look convinced, but she let it drop. The unspoken understanding between us, forged through years of shared laughter and whispered confidences, felt strained. There was a darkness growing within me, a secret I couldn't bring myself to voice, even to my dearest friend.

The shame burned deep. I had always prided myself on my bravery, my willingness to stand up for what was right. Yet, faced with Regulus's icy cruelty, I had faltered. Fear had knotted my tongue, twisting my defiance into a sickening sort of cowardice. The knowledge of my own weakness was a bitter pill to swallow. Worse yet was the sick curiosity that came along with it. I wanted to know his reasoning, the motive behind the actions. Was it plain cruelty r was there something more insidious behind it.

In the days that followed, I couldn't escape the feeling of his eyes upon me. During Potions, his gaze would linger on my hands as I struggled to brew a particularly noxious concoction, a silent mockery of my fumbling attempts. In the corridors, I'd catch him lurking in the shadows, his form disappearing as I turned, leaving only a chilling sense of being watched. It was as if he relished my discomfort, my fear becoming a twisted form of entertainment.

The world seemed to tilt further off its axis. My laughter became forced, my smiles strained. Sleep offered no escape, only nightmares filled with splintered broomsticks, forgotten victims, and the echo of Regulus's cruelly amused voice. The weight of my secret threatened to crush me.

Yet, the thought of confiding in anyone, even my closest allies, filled me with a sense of dread that rivaled my fear of Regulus himself to speak his name aloud, to confess the extent of his cruelty, would be to make it undeniably real. It would force my friends to see the darkness that festered within the Hogwarts walls, a darkness they desperately wanted to believe was confined to the world beyond the castle gates.

Worse still was the fear that they wouldn't understand. Would they dismiss my terror as unfounded, a product of my longstanding animosity towards Sirius's brother? Would they see my silence as complicity, my inaction as a betrayal of everything we stood for? The questions circled endlessly, fueling my shame and isolation.

During a particularly grueling Transfiguration lesson, a misplaced spell caused a stack of textbooks to transform into a flock of startled pigeons. The resulting chaos brought a fleeting smile to my face, a momentary respite from the relentless weight pressing down upon me.

But as the flapping subsided, a counter-spell cast as well as Professor McGonagall's sharp gaze sweeping across the room, meeting my own, disapproval written across it my smile faltered. Her hands were empty. Regulus, seated a few rows ahead, had been the one to cast the counter-spell, his effortless flick of the wand restoring order. His eyes met mine, a cold triumph shimmering within their depths. Then, a slow, deliberate smirk curved across his face. It wasn't the gloating expression of a schoolyard bully, but something far more sinister – a silent acknowledgement of the power he held, and the knowledge that I was trapped within his web.

In that moment, I knew. My silence wasn't a shield; it was a chain, binding me tighter to the darkness within him that I desperately wished to escape. The truth, as terrifying as it was, gnawed at me. Confrontation was inevitable, a battle I could no longer avoid. Yet, the path forward was shrouded in uncertainty. With whom could I share this burden? Would my friends even believe the depths of Regulus's transformation? And when the battle lines were drawn, where would my loyalties truly lie?

The answers remained elusive, swirling through my thoughts like the mist that clung to the Hogwarts grounds. One thing, however, became startlingly clear: I could no longer be a passive bystander.

The two weeks leading up to my first Quidditch match were a blur of escalating fear and frantic preparation. My days morphed into a grueling cycle of classes, grueling Quidditch practices, and restless nights plagued by nightmares.

Lessons transformed into agonizing trials of endurance. Equations blurred on the blackboard during Arithmancy, potion ingredients swirled in my cauldron with a mocking life of their own, and my attempts at transforming inanimate objects into animals in Transfiguration were met with more exasperated sighs from McGonagall than usual. Professors, their faces lined with a shared strain that mirrored the pervasive tension in the castle, seemed to pile on increasingly difficult assignments.

Sleep, when it did come, offered no respite. Dreams twisted into fragmented images of Bludgers whizzing towards my head, jeering crowds turning into faceless ghouls, and Regulus's mocking laughter echoing in vast, empty spaces. Even the comfort of my dormitory, the cheerful chatter of my dormmates, felt strained as unspoken anxieties hung in the air.

Yet, through the haze of exhaustion and fear, Quidditch practice became my salvation. The thrill of soaring through the crisp autumn air, the wind whipping past my face, offered a temporary escape from the oppressive weight of everything. The camaraderie of my teammates, Katie's unwavering belief in me, and the simple physical exertion helped to quiet, if not entirely banish, the storm swirling within me.

My nightly patrols with Regulus became an exercise in silent endurance. The fiery defiance that had flared up that night in the Astronomy Tower dimmed under the constant strain of his quiet menace. Our exchanges were limited to the bare necessities, our steps a grim echo in the torch-lit corridors. He no longer issued direct threats, but the possibility hung in the heavy silence between us, unspoken but ever-present.

The night before the match, even the comfort of the Hufflepuff common room felt suffocating. The cheerful chatter of my friends, the crackling warmth of the fire, grated against the nerves stretched taut within me. With mumbled excuses about needing additional studying, I slipped away to the solitude of the Owlery. The soft hooting of the owls and the faint scent of feathers were strangely soothing. Staring out at the starlit sky, the castle a hulking silhouette against the vibrant expanse, I let myself fully feel the weight of what was to come.

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Morning dawned clear and bright, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within me. My House was favored to win; our Chasers were renowned for their agility and pinpoint accuracy. The pressure was almost unbearable. My stomach churned in protest as I forced down a light breakfast, Lily's worried glances (from across the Gryffindor table) adding to the knot of anxiety twisting in my gut.

As we made our way to the pitch, I felt the usual rush of both excitement and dread. The roar of the crowd washed over us as we emerged from the passageway beneath the stands. The Quidditch pitch, usually a place of exhilaration, felt foreign and intimidating. The sheer number of eyes focused on our team was almost overwhelming.

The wooden structure of the stands creaked and groaned as spectators continued to pour in, their cheers and whispers a constant, buzzing hum. I tried to pick out friendly faces, searching for the familiar flash of Hufflepuff yellow amidst the sea of green and silver that dominated the Slytherin side.

Katie, ever the reassuring presence, slung an arm around my shoulder. "You'll do great, Evans," she said, confidence radiating from her. "You've got natural talent."

Katie had become a beacon of support during the past few weeks, our constant proximity due to practices, had turned into nights spent up late in the common room or sometimes sleepy mornings inside the seventh-year dormitory. She offered an undiluted view of the world that was refreshing as well as hard to come by in times like the present.

I managed a weak smile, grateful for the vote of confidence but unable to fully believe it. My gaze involuntarily drifted towards the Slytherin team gathered on the opposite side of the field. My heart skipped a beat as I spotted him, his black Quidditch robes making him even paler than usual, a sinister mirror image of my own uniform. He was already mounted on his broom, I could see it’s green twigged tail even from this distance, he was using a Sky Scythe. It made my own Ember Dash seem subsidiary in comparison.

Our eyes met across the expanse of the pitch, and a flicker of something cold and calculating passed through his gaze before he looked away with chilling indifference.

With a deep breath, I followed my teammates onto the pitch. The cool wind whipped at my face as we lifted into the air, the ground falling away beneath us. The crowd erupted in a cacophony of noise, a wave of sound that threatened to overwhelm me. My stomach lurched as I gripped my bat tightly, searching frantically for the first sign of movement.

The roar of the crowd, the thrill of the chase, and the searing pain each time my bat connected with a Bludger chased away the worst of my fears. For precious, fleeting moments, I was lost in the game, the fear and darkness receding to the edge of my awareness. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of yellow against the backdrop of green robes.

The Snitch!

Katie, our Seeker, was diving for it, but Mulciber, that hulking brute, was launching a Bludger directly at her. With a desperate surge of speed, I angled myself between the oncoming threat and Katie.

The impact sent a jolt of pain through my arm, but my aim was true. My Bludger collided squarely with Mulciber's, sending him careening off-course with a grunt. Katie swerved, narrowly avoiding a collision, her eyes widening with a mix of surprise and gratitude. I saw the golden flitting wings clasped in her hands. We had won.

I whooped with triumph, a rush of satisfaction coursing through me.

But the triumph faded fast. Mulciber, unable to correct his trajectory, had crashed into his teammate Urquhart and was tumbling from his broom. A gasp rippled through the crowd. Time seemed to slow as he plummeted towards the unforgiving ground.

The impact was sickening, followed by a scream that pierced the air. My stomach lurched, and I felt the bile rise in my throat. Hufflepuffs and Slytherins alike landed their brooms, a chaotic throng gathering around the crumpled form of Mulciber. Katie hovered awkwardly nearby; her face etched with panic. She wasted no time, applying pressure to staunch the blood seeping through his dark quidditch robes. All the while he hurled disgusting slurs in her direction.

“Filthy blood-traitor, get your fucking hands off me!” He threw her way, his voice trailing off into a pained groan, she paid him no mind as her wide hazel eyes desperately searched the growing crowd for signs of the medi-witch. I forced myself to follow, a wave of nausea washing over me. Mulciber lay in a twisted heap, his leg jutting out at an impossible angle, a glistening pool of blood rapidly seeping into his torn robes. Groans of pain escaped his lips, his face contorted in a mask of agony. The quidditch referee pushed her way through the crowd, her usual sternness replaced by a grim tightness around her mouth.

Amidst the chaos, my eyes were drawn upwards. Regulus Black was standing over his fallen teammate, arms crossed, his face impassive. Yet, when I caught his gaze, our eyes locking across the space between us, I swore I saw something flicker within their icy depths. It wasn't the anticipated anger or concern for a teammate's misfortune, nor the familiar cruelty. It was something far stranger, a chilling glint of… interest.

A shiver ran down my spine. For a heart-stopping moment, I felt like a creature pinned beneath a scientist's gaze – not an adversary to be defeated, but a specimen to be dissected. The sensation was as unsettling as it was unexpectedly thrilling, twisting the fear within me into something far less tangible.

The quijudge was kneeling beside Mulciber, her wand casting a diagnostic glow over his mangled leg. She barked orders, and within minutes, a stretcher materialized. Mulciber was carefully lifted onto it, his screams echoing across the suddenly silent pitch. As Madam Pomfrey bustled forward to usher him towards the castle, the crowd hesitantly began to disperse. The match, it seemed, was well and truly over.

The walk back to the Hufflepuff common room was subdued. My teammates spoke in muted tones, their jubilation over our victory overshadowed by the sudden, shocking turn of events. My own thoughts whirled in a panicked frenzy. Had I been reckless? If I hadn't interfered, Mulciber might have simply knocked Katie off-course. Now, he lay in the infirmary with a horrific injury.

Yet, a traitorous flicker of something like satisfaction refused to be entirely extinguished. He was a bully, known for his brutal tactics on the pitch. And I had defended my teammate… hadn't I? The lines between right and wrong, usually so clear within the comforting structure of Hufflepuff values, were now unsettlingly blurred.

Back in the common room, the usual post-match celebrations felt garish and inappropriate. Even Katie's cautious smile seemed to hold a note of apology. With a mumbled excuse, I retreated to my dormitory, the weight of guilt pressing down on me alongside the lingering disquiet from my encounter with Regulus.

The dorm was mercifully empty. Tossing my Quidditch gear into a corner, I collapsed onto my four-poster bed, the cheerful yellow curtains a stark contrast to the turmoil churning within me. I closed my eyes, willing away the unwanted images of Mulciber's anguished face and Regulus's unsettling gaze.

Time seemed to slither by, each tick of the enchanted clock in the corner a hammer blow against my frayed nerves. The ache in my arm, usually a badge of honor after a hard-fought match, now felt like a constant accusation. Just as sleep finally threatened to offer a reprieve, a soft knock on the wide oval doorway pulled me back into tense wakefulness.

"Want some company?"

Katie's voice was barely above a whisper, a hint of hesitation underlying her offer. I hesitated, the prospect of company both a balm and a potential source of further guilt. Shame mixed with longing won out in the end.

"Yeah," I managed to croak, my voice hoarse. I sat up, pushing the tangled sheets further down the bed.

Katie entered, closing the door softly behind her. She sat down on the edge of my bed, her usual bright energy muted by a shared unease.

"You okay, Evans?" she asked, a crease furrowing her brow.

I shrugged, unable to meet her eyes. "Not really," I admitted finally. "Mulciber... it's my fault. I shouldn't have..."

"Don't," Katie interrupted, her voice surprisingly firm. "You saved me from a Bludger aimed right at my head. If anything, he got what was coming."

The words, meant to be reassuring, only made my stomach clench further. "But... why'd he call you?..." I trailed off, unable to bring myself to repeat the ugly slur Mulciber had spat out as he fell.

Katie sighed, the sound heavy in the quiet room. "Blood traitor," she murmured, the words tinged with a bitterness I'd never heard from her. "Probably overheard someone saying it. Some of the Slytherins like to throw that word around..."

"But you're... I mean, I thought..." This was dangerous territory, prying into something I knew Katie rarely spoke of. We'd shared a dorm for almost six years, but there were lines, unspoken but understood. To my surprise, she didn't take offense. Instead, a flicker of vulnerability crossed her features before she carefully schooled them back into neutrality.

"Thought I was a half-blood?" she finished my question. "Most people do." She hesitated, then met my eyes with newfound resolve. "But no. My dad... he was a squib."

The revelation hit me like a physical blow. Squibs – witches and wizards born into magical families but without powers of their own – were a source of shame and secrecy in much of the wizarding world. I felt a surge of anger, not towards Katie, but at the prejudice that forced her to hide such a fundamental part of herself.

"That's why..." I began, a realization dawning on me. "The murders this summer... the Dale family... he was working for the Ministry, wasn't he? Trying to help squibs?"

Katie nodded, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. "He was the point of contact for squibs who'd been attacked or threatened. He tried to keep track, investigate... bring it to the Ministry's attention. I guess... guess someone thought shutting him up would stop him."

A wave of nausea washed over me. I'd heard whispers about the McKinnon killings, of course, the way the whole family had been discovered in their home. But it had felt distant, a horrific headline in the Daily Prophet. Now, it was sitting across from me, embodied in the quiet grief of my best friend.

"I'm so sorry, Katie," I said, my voice thick. The words felt woefully inadequate, but they were all I had.

Silence fell between us, heavy and oppressive. We sat like that for a long while, the shared unspoken weight of fear and sadness a more tangible connection than cheers or laughter had ever been. Finally, Katie stood, wiping at her eyes with a determined gesture.

"Well," she said, attempting a weak imitation of her usual cheerfulness, "moping around won't fix Mulciber's leg, or bring my dad back."

I watched her for a moment, a surge of protective anger mingling with the helplessness I felt. It wasn't just Mulciber and the Quidditch pitch anymore; Katie was fighting battles far greater than I'd ever understood.

"Can I stay here?"

The question pulled me from my thoughts, I looked up at her, their face was a mask of uncertainty and vulnerability.

The question hung in the air, a plea for a safe haven amidst the storm. Her usual sunny demeanor was replaced by an uncertainty that tugged at my heartstrings.

"Of course," I blurted out, the words carrying a warmth that surprised even me. Katie stared at me, a flicker of surprise crossing her features before a genuine smile blossomed on her face. It was the first genuine smile I'd seen all day. "Thanks," she said softly, her voice choked with a mix of relief and gratitude. We settled into my bed, the crisp sheets feeling oddly comforting against my skin. Yet, even in this new space, sleep refused to come easily. Katie and I lay side by side, staring at the enchanted ceiling, its twinkling stars a poor imitation of the vast night sky beyond the castle walls.

"My dad, he’s from the Gaunt family," Katie said suddenly, shattering the fragile silence. Her voice was barely a whisper in the darkness.

"The Gaunts?" I echoed, the name stirring a sense of unease. I knew the name, of course. One of the oldest pureblood families, rumored to be riddled with dark magic and questionable practices.

"Yeah," Katie continued, her voice tinged with a strange mix of pride and bitterness. "Turns out, old Salazar Slytherin himself is, like, my great-great-great-something grandfather." A pause. "No wonder Mulciber and his lot hate me."

In the dim light, I could see the faint outline of her wry smile. Despite the heaviness that hung around her, a flicker of defiance sparked in her eyes. Even when faced with the worst kinds of prejudice, the cruelty that lies at the heart of pure blood mania.

Katie was determined to own her heritage, twist it into something that fueled her rather than breaking her.

"Makes you a Slytherin princess," I joked, trying to inject some lightness back into the moment. But the words rang hollow, a stark reminder of Regulus, his icy gaze, and the darkness that seemed to pool around him like a shadow. I pushed the image away, focusing instead on the girl beside me, my friend who faced unimaginable loss and vile prejudice with both quiet sorrow and unyielding strength.

"More like a Slytherin problem," Katie retorted, matching my attempt at humor. "And Slytherin problems," she added after a beat, "seem to be spilling into the Hufflepuff common room these days."

Her knowing gaze swept across my face. She was too intuitive, she caught on to things too quickly. I turned my face from her then with a soft smile, I couldn’t let her see too far in.

We fell silent again, but this time the silence felt different. It was a testament to our friendship, a bridge built over years of shared laughter and whispered secrets. Now it carried the weight of unspoken questions and the creeping sense that the battles we'd face extended far beyond the Quidditch pitch.

The week following the Quidditch match stretched before me like a desolate wasteland. The usual rhythm of classes, homework, and whispered conversations with my friends felt hollow, a flimsy facade masking the turmoil churning within me. I forced myself to focus, to maintain the illusion of normalcy for their sake. But beneath the surface, a darkness festered, fueled by the image of Mulciber's broken leg and Regulus Black's unsettling gaze.

Professor Flitwick's Charms lesson blurred into a haze of wand movements and muttered incantations. My concentration, usually razor-sharp, wavered. The Levitation Charm, once a source of effortless control, felt clumsy in my grasp. A quill stubbornly refused to levitate, dipping instead towards the inkwell with a splattering plop. Professor Flitwick's usual chirp of encouragement held a hint of concern as he righted the errant quill with a flick of his wand.

Peter, sensing my unease, lingered after dinner that night. We retreated to the familiar shores of the Black Lake, the crisp autumn air attempting to bite away at the unease clinging to me like a shroud.

"You alright, Kit?" Peter's voice was gentle, his brown eyes filled with a concern that mirrored my own turmoil.

"Yeah," I mumbled, forcing a smile. We settled under the shade of a willow tree, unpacking our Charms textbooks. As we practiced the Switching Spell, my movements felt jerky and uncoordinated. Peter, bless his patient heart, offered no criticism, but his silence spoke volumes.

Similar scenes played out throughout the week. Remus, ever the perceptive one, gravitated towards me in the library. We hunched over our Herbology texts, a strained silence punctuated only by the scratching of quills. He tried to engage in conversation, asking about upcoming Quidditch practice (which I'd blatantly lied about attending) and the latest gossip from Hufflepuff common room. But my responses were short, clipped, and devoid of my usual enthusiasm.

Lily, ever the optimist, saw a solution in a new hairstyle. "Come on, Clem," she chirped, dragging me towards the prefect's bathroom one afternoon. "We found a new spell that creates the most amazing waves! You have to try it."

For an hour, at least, the worries about broken bones and simmering darkness faded as we experimented with the new charm. Lily's normally fiery red hair shimmered with sleek, bouncy waves, while mine cascaded down my shoulders in a cool, bronze cascade. We giggled and gasped at the transformation, the sound a balm to the tension coiled within me. But even as I admired my reflection, a shadow lurked at the edges of my smile, a reminder of the darkness I couldn't seem to escape. Even Sirius, with his usual boisterous energy, seemed to sense my struggle. He ambushed me one morning, his usual mischievous glint replaced by a furrowed brow.

"C'mon, Kit," he barked, dragging me outside. Marlene and James materialized at his side, their faces etched with a concern that made me want to melt into the cobblestones.

"We're going flying," Sirius declared, shoving a broom into my hand. "Fresh air does wonders for a troubled mind."

The wind whipped through my hair as we soared above the castle grounds, the familiar thrill of flight momentarily pushing the darkness to the back of my mind. We chased each other through the clouds, performing daring dives and playful swoops. Laughter bubbled up from my chest, a genuine sound that surprised even me.

But even laughter has its limits. As the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the grounds, the darkness crept back in. The image of Mulciber, his face contorted in pain, flashed before my eyes, shattering the fragile illusion of carefree joy.

Landing clumsily back on the Quidditch pitch, I felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me. My friends exchanged worried glances, but before they could voice their concerns, the dismissal bell tolled, sending us all scattering towards our respective common rooms.

The forced merriment of the week culminated in the dread that settled in my stomach as Tuesday approached. Patrols with Regulus Black were a constant, an unwelcome punctuation mark in the week's schedule. Yet, for the first time since our initial encounter, I found myself drawn to that dark inevitability. A twisted part of me craved the confrontation, the unsettling electricity that crackled whenever we were in the same space.

I arrived at the designated classroom right on time, the setting sun casting the room in a dusky orange glow. Regulus was already there, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before his face settled back into its usual mask of cool indifference. He didn't comment on my punctuality, merely raised an eyebrow and gestured towards the door.

We began our patrol in silence. The familiar corridors felt foreign, as if the Hogwarts I knew – the castle of childhood comforts and camaraderie – was a fading memory being replaced by something darker, more sinister. The flickering torchlight played unsettling tricks on the shadows, stretching them into grotesque shapes that seemed to echo the monsters lurking within me.

My thoughts stubbornly drifted back to Mulciber, his cries echoing in the empty corridors. Guilt, a cold and unwelcome companion, settled on my shoulders, mingling with a disturbing flicker of something that felt like triumph. I desperately tried to stifle these conflicting emotions, to focus on the rhythm of our steps, the scuffed stone floor. But the darkness had taken root, and it refused to be ignored.

By the time we reached the twisting staircase leading to the Astronomy Tower, the words tumbled out of me, breaking the oppressive silence.

"How's Mulciber faring?" My voice sounded small, uncertain.

I braced myself for a sneer, a callous reply laced with cruelty. Instead, Regulus let out a surprised laugh, the sound echoing harshly off the stone walls.

"Come off it, Evans," he said, shaking his head. His hand tousled his dark curls, a gesture that seemed at odds with the mocking tone of his voice.

We had reached the tower entrance now. He pushed open the heavy door and gestured for me to precede him. The familiar space, usually a refuge, felt cold and desolate. He leaned against the iron railing overlooking the darkened courtyard, his pale face bathed in the dim moonlight. There was a chill in the air, carrying the scent of damp earth and a hint of brewing storm.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, confusion warring with a spark of anger. Where did he get off questioning my sincerity? Mulciber was a bully, a brute, but the image of his mangled leg brought with it a wave of sickening guilt I couldn't fully suppress.

Regulus laughed again, the sound devoid of any genuine mirth. His sharp gaze pierced through me, pinning me to the spot.

"You can drop the act, Evans. It's only us here." His voice held a strange mix of accusation and amusement, as if he were taunting me with a forbidden truth I didn't want to acknowledge.

"What act?" I retorted; my voice laced with defiance. But even as the words left my lips, a tremor of uncertainty ran through me. He angled closer, his movements predatory, closing the distance between us until my back was pressed against the cold iron railing. A flicker of something I couldn't name flickered in his eyes. Was it triumph?

"The whole defender-of-the-helpless thing," he continued, his voice low and insistent. "It's tedious."

"You're barmy, Black." I tried to retort, forcing a shaky laugh, but my voice betrayed the unease swirling within me. He was too close, too observant. It felt like standing at the edge of a precipice, the tantalizing thrill of the unknown mixed with a sickening dread of falling.

"I just want you to admit it," he pressed, tilting his head as if studying me. There was an odd intensity burning in his gaze, an unsettling mix of calculation and something else, something hot and hungry that made me shiver in the cool night air.

"Admit what?" I demanded, my voice rising. "What the hell are you talking about?"

His smile was cruel, a sharp twist of his lips. He leaned closer still, so close that I could feel his breath, a faint whisper against my cheek. The scent of old parchment and something darker, something that reminded me of forbidden corridors and shadowed corners clung to him.

"Admit that you liked it," he murmured, his voice a near-whisper now. "That you don't give a damn about how Mulciber is faring."

My eyes widened, and a wave of shock washed over me, followed quickly by a surge of outrage. Yet, a traitorous part of me shivered involuntarily, a flicker of something almost like recognition twisting deep within my gut. He was right. At least, he was partially right. The image of Mulciber falling, the satisfaction of having protected my teammate, had become entangled with something far more dangerous. A thrill of power, a flicker of darkness that both terrified and, shamefully, intrigued me.

And Regulus saw it. He saw through my pretenses, my attempts to maintain the image of the ever-loyal, righteous Hufflepuff. With chilling clarity, he saw the shadows that had begun to creep around the edges of my soul, and instead of recoiling, he leaned in closer. The silence that settled between us wasn't the comfortable quietude of friendship, but a charged space crackling with unspoken possibilities.

I hated him in that moment. Hated him for his perceptiveness, for peeling back the carefully constructed layers I'd built around myself. Hated him for exposing the darkness that lurked within, a darkness that mirrored and amplified his own. Yet, I also hated myself – for the traitorous fluttering in my chest, for the way his darkness echoed some hidden, twisted part of my own.

The battle between the person I thought I was and the person I was afraid I might become raged within me. For a moment, I couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. All I could do was stare into those cold, grey eyes, seeing my own secrets reflected back at me in their icy depths.

The air crackled with a tension so thick it felt like I could choke on it. My mind buzzed with a maelstrom of conflicting emotions – disgust, anger, a flicker of something shameful I couldn't decipher. Regulus's words hung in the air, an accusation that resonated in the hollowness blooming in my chest.

My voice, when it finally came, emerged as a shaky whisper, barely audible even in the quiet night. "I..." The word trailed off, lost in the vast ocean of confusion churning within me.

He remained motionless, that chilling smirk still playing on his lips. Each breath tasted like dust, each heartbeat a frantic drum against my ribs. The darkness that had been a vague, unsettling presence now felt suffocating, wrapping itself around me like a shroud.

The silence stretched, broken only by the distant hooting of an owl. I couldn't stay here any longer, not with him, not with the truth he'd ripped bare. Slowly, ever so slowly, I began to back away, my eyes locked on his face. The amusement in his gaze had morphed into something more – a challenge, a dare. It sent a tremor through me, a spark of something defiant flickering to life amongst the ashes of my shattered illusions.

I reached the doorway, the heavy oak frame offering a barrier not just to the outside world but also to the unsettling intimacy of the tower. One last look back confirmed his smirk remained firmly in place, a silent mockery of my disarray.

Turning on my heel, I didn't dare look back. My retreat became a hurried walk, then a full-fledged sprint, as I flooded out of the tower and into the cool night air. The wind whipped at my hair, a welcome reprieve from the stifling atmosphere I'd just escaped.

But the feeling of escape was an illusion. The darkness Regulus had exposed clung to me, a persistent shadow that refused to dissipate. His words echoed in my mind, a venomous snake biting at the edges of my sanity.

#regulus black #regulus deserved better #sirius and regulus #regulus being a little shit #regulus black x oc #regulus x oc #regulus x hufflepuff reader #regulus x you #regulus x reader #the marauders era #original character

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Sombre et Pur'

Chapter 7

Sixth Year – 1976 - September

Breakfast the next morning in the Great Hall was its usual symphony of clanging plates, excited chatter, and the occasional squawk of an overeager owl. It was a comforting sort of chaos, a familiar pattern amidst the shifting sands of uncertainty. Lily and I claimed our usual spot near the corner of the Gryffindor table, where the sunlight streamed through the high windows casting a warm glow over chipped wooden tabletops and stacks of well-worn books.

As we dug into plates of porridge and fresh fruit, conversation flowed between us. She recounted her Head meeting with James in careful whispers, her concern over a group of rambunctious third-years showing an alarming aptitude for jinxes far beyond their skill level. I decided not to comment on the way her smile widened when she mentioned James and his aptitude for empathy with the youngsters. I filled her in on the details of my Quidditch tryout, my voice bubbling with a nervous energy about my chances of clinching a Beater spot on the Hufflepuff team. As always, our shared experiences, both the mundane and the quietly extraordinary, created an invisible bond between us.

Suddenly, a flurry of feathers and excited hoots descended upon the Hall. The daily mail had arrived. Zephyr, my sleek snowy owl with her distinctive light brown mask, swooped down effortlessly beside me. She dropped a thick parchment envelope into my lap before winging over to join the other owls vying for the leftover bits of toast.

My gaze landed on another familiar owl, a plump barn owl with the unfortunate habit of molting feathers at the most inconvenient moments. Barnabus, Lily's owl, dropped The Daily Prophet onto the table with a rather unceremonious thump. The envelope Zephyr dropped in my lap bore my parents' familiar handwriting: neat, precise lettering that spoke of careful thought and quiet affection. A familiar pang of longing echoed through me. Being at Hogwarts, surrounded by magic and friendship, was a life I loved. Yet, there was always the lingering ache of missing the ordinary world; the smell of freshly mowed grass, the comforting jumble of mismatched furniture in our living room, and the warmth of my mum's smile as I walked through the front door.

A flicker of excitement sparked within me. Letters from our parents were always a welcome break from the endless cycle of homework and Quidditch gossip.

"Let's see what Mum and Dad are getting up to," Lily said, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

I scooted closer and slid the letter closer to her. With a shared look of anticipation, we broke the wax seal. Before I could even begin to read, a sense of foreboding crept up my spine. My mother's normally neat script was shaky, the words filled with a rushed urgency that set my pulse racing.

My eyes skimmed the words, my stomach clenching with each line. Petunia, our older sister, a perpetual thorn in our side, was getting married. There were gushing descriptions of the engagement ring ("A rather ostentatious diamond, darling, but your sister seems pleased."), worries about the cost of catering ("Such a strain on finances in these troubling times!"), and a lengthy diatribe about Petunia's fiancé ("A bit thick around the middle, but a respectable accountant!").

Lily choked back a snort of laughter. "Thick around the middle? Oh, Clem, can you imagine Petunia stuck with a man who has pudgy fingers?"

My own giggle bubbled over, breaking the tension. We spent the next few minutes dissolving into laughter, conjuring up ridiculous images of Petunia and her round-faced suitor. It was a balm, a momentary respite from the weight of the world that always seemed to press down a little heavier lately.

Just as our giggles subsided, my eyes scanned the front page of The Daily Prophet. The familiar bold headline screamed in silent accusation. MUGGLE FAMILY ATTACKED – DARK MARK LINGERS OVER SCENE. My laughter died in my throat. The image of Petunia's pudgy-fingered fiancé dissolved, replaced by a visceral sense of fear.

With a trembling hand, I reached for the Prophet. The story was short, brutal. A family of five, just outside of London. No connection to the Wizarding world, simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. The victims were described as 'ordinary' – a label that made my stomach churn. There was nothing ordinary about the terror inflicted upon them, the lives senselessly cut short.

Lily's hand covered mine, her touch a lifeline amidst the icy fear that threatened to consume me. We shared a look that transcended words. It was a look that contained a shared history, the love of sisters, and the deepening dread about the darkness spreading its tendrils beyond the confines of Hogwarts and into the world we still clung to with a desperate hope.

The warmth of the Great Hall faded. The smell of porridge turned faintly sour, and the boisterous chatter of the students felt muted and distant. My mind raced, a desperate search for answers that stubbornly refused to present themselves. Why had these people been targeted? Was it random violence or was there something the Ministry was keeping hidden? Were my parents – ordinary, wonderful, muggle parents – safe?

I felt Lily shift beside me, her usually bright voice now edged with a quiet sort of fury. "Those monsters..." she whispered, "They're targeting anyone now. Squibs, muggles...anyone who doesn't fit their twisted vision."

The anger burning within her mirrored my own. It was tempting to give in to the helplessness of it all, to let the fear and rage swallow me whole.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of fragmented thoughts and a persistent, low-grade anxiety. My classes felt more like obstacles to overcome than sources of knowledge and growth. The words in my textbooks swam before my eyes, dissolving into meaningless ink blots. My mind relentlessly replayed the chilling details of the Daily Prophet article, the image of Petunia's smug fiancé dissolving into haunting visions of nameless, terrified victims.

To make matters worse, the usually capricious autumn weather decided to bestow a stifling heatwave upon Hogwarts. In Herbology, the humid air in Greenhouse Three felt suffocating. Professor Sprout, with her perpetual good humor only slightly dampened by the sweat trickling down her temples, led us through a lesson on pruning particularly vicious Venomous Tentaculas. Each time a tendril twitched towards an unsuspecting classmate, a collective gasp echoed through the glass-domed greenhouse. My heart pounded at an unwelcome tempo, the fear of being seized by the oversized carnivorous plant a distracting mirror of my own real-world anxieties.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was its usual chaotic affair. The classroom, cramped and dimly lit, seemed to radiate an energy that was part nervous apprehension, part misguided excitement. We shared this space with the Slytherins, their presence a constant reminder of the divide that was growing ever wider.

I don't even remember the name of the professor teaching this year. It seemed that the DADA position was truly cursed, the revolving door of instructors a grim reminder of the lurking threat beyond our castle walls. The lesson, I dimly recalled, focused on defensive spells, a review of the various shield charms we'd learned the previous year.

"Let's see how well you remember," our nameless professor had barked, her voice laced with a cynical sort of glee. "Today we duel!"

A thrill would have raced through me under normal circumstances. I relished the opportunity to put theory into practice, to pit my skills against an opponent. The dueling platform offered a chance to shed, at least temporarily, the frustrations of the ordinary and step into a realm where magic was my weapon and my reflexes my shield.

But today, the idea filled me with a sense of dull resignation. I watched as the professor scanned the assembled students. "Right then, who wants to be our first volunteers?" she called out.

I wasn't alone in my reluctance. Usually, a handful of eager students would be jostling for a chance to gain a sliver of battlefield glory. The Slytherins, usually so quick to boast, remained silent. The weight of the past few months pressed down upon us, the threat of violence no longer a far-off news story, but an insidious poison seeping into our everyday lives.

The professor, clearly undeterred by our collective silence, narrowed her eyes. "Miss Bones! Mr. Black! Up you get!"

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Emmaline Bones, one of the girls I shared my dorm with, was a known dueling prodigy. Tall and athletic, with cropped curly red hair and a gaze that could wither a lesser opponent, she was not someone to be underestimated. The fact that she was being paired with Regulus Black only served to ratchet up the tension in the room.

They took their positions on opposite sides of the platform. Regulus stood tall, his movements fluid and deceptively calm. There was none of the cocky display that typically preceded bouts between my Gryffindor friends. Instead, he seemed to withdraw into himself, his face a mask of cool determination.

The duel began. It was over almost as quickly as it started. Emmaline, to her credit, put up a good fight. She threw up a series of well-executed shield charms, each one glowing a vibrant blue as it deflected his initial barrage of spells. Yet, for every Protego she cast, Regulus countered with a simple disarming charm, his wand flicking with the lazy grace of a conductor leading an orchestra.

Emmaline's shields shattered one by one. She shifted strategies, launching a series of offensive jinxes. He dodged each spell as effortlessly as a cat avoiding raindrops, his expression barely registering the assault. A particularly nasty stinging hex whizzed past his shoulder, and for just a moment, the barest flicker of a smile twitched the corner of his mouth.

Was he… enjoying this?

The duel ended not with a bang, but with a whimper. Emmaline, her defenses utterly compromised, let out a frustrated sigh. "It's no use," she muttered, lowering her wand.

The professor looked almost disappointed by the lack of spectacle. "Again!" she commanded, but there was a hint of admiration in her voice when she glanced at Regulus.

This time, it was even faster. Regulus barely moved, casting spells with such effortless precision that I could hardly identify them. Emmaline was driven back inexorably, her movements growing more desperate with each failed attempt to counter. Finally, with a flourish of his wand, Regulus disarmed her, her wand spinning out of reach and clattering to the stone floor.

He offered her the barest of nods before stepping off the platform and disappearing into the sea of watching Slytherins. They greeted him with hushed whispers and subtle smirks of approval. While I knew, rationally, his skill should be a source of grudging admiration, all I felt was a gnawing sense of unease.

He wasn't some Slytherin caricature, all bravado and cruelty. His spellwork was refined, elegant, and ruthlessly effective. As I watched, a troubling realization blossomed within me. This wasn't about schoolyard rivalry or even opposing houses; there was something fundamentally different about him, a darkness that lay not just in his ideology, but seeped into the way he moved, the way he wielded his magic. It left me chilled, and more unsettled than any encounter with a Venomous Tentacula could ever manage.

Classes for the day finally ended with a dismal Charms lesson where my attempts at conjuring a teacup went horribly wrong, resulting in a pulsating, half-formed insect that had to be hastily vanished before it could escape. With a mixture of exhaustion and relief, I trudged towards the Quidditch pitch, my book bag bumping uncomfortably against my hip. The idea of chasing the fading sunlight on my broomstick held infinitely more appeal than another round of Divination homework.

Sirius was already there, leaning against the goalpost with a bored frown. "Took you long enough," he grumbled. "I figured you'd been waylaid by a rogue teapot or something."

I rolled my eyes. "Ha, ha. My charms are the stuff of legend, thanks for reminding me."

His frown dissolved into a familiar grin as he tossed a spare broomstick in my direction. "Come on, let's burn off some of this frustration before dinner."

Within moments, we were airborne. Sirius, with his reckless style, soared through the air like a comet, leaving a trail of laughter and the occasional expletive in his wake. His flying was all about instinct, adrenaline, and pushing the boundaries. I, on the other hand, had a more measured approach. I favored smooth turns and the exhilaration of finding the perfect balance between my broom and the shifting currents of wind.

The open skies offered a much-needed respite from the constant hum of worry that had settled like a permanent fog in the back of my mind. As we chased each other through the clouds, laughter replaced anxiety, and the castle walls with their lurking shadows seemed miles away. Every dip, climb, and exhilarating spiral allowed me to shed a bit more of the tension that burdened me.

Sirius, always the instigator, transformed our casual flight into an impromptu Quidditch match. He became the elusive Snitch, darting and weaving with impossible speed. I, in the role of overzealous Seeker, gave chase, cursing and grinning.

Sometimes, with a shared glance, the game would dissolve. We'd fall in step, flying side-by-side, enjoying the easy camaraderie that the sky seemed to amplify. We talked about lessons (mostly bemoaning our shared dislike for Binns), Quidditch strategies, and the upcoming weekend trip to Hogsmeade (where we'd undoubtedly sneak some Butterbeers from the Three Broomsticks), but the biggest thing on his mind was always Remus.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the grounds, we finally headed back towards earth. My muscles twinged in pleasant protest, and a deep sense of contentment settled over me. Despite everything, there was still this – the simple joy of flying, the fierce loyalty of a friend who always had my back, and the knowledge that in this moment, we were just two teenagers who defied gravity with laughter as our soundtrack.

Landing turned out to be a less graceful affair. Our broomsticks tangled awkwardly, nearly sending us tumbling headfirst into the soft grass. After a brief moment of flailing and swearing, we managed to regain our footing. It was an inelegant ending, but one that only made me grin wider.

"Maybe not our finest landing," Sirius said breathlessly, his eyes alight with mischief.

"You try flying after dodging a particularly enthusiastic Bludger," I retorted, returning his mischievous grin.

We were still laughing as we made our way towards the castle, our broomsticks resting nonchalantly on our shoulders. That was when I saw them.

Regulus and Barty Crouch Jr. were perched near the base of the bell tower, engaged in a quiet conversation. I felt a flare of annoyance, my hard-earned good mood threatened by their unwelcome presence. Sirius, oblivious to the figures a few meters ahead, began recounting an animated tale about a prank gone wrong that involved a particularly gullible first-year and a levitating dung bomb.

His voice faltered mid-sentence as he caught sight of our Slytherin audience. The playfulness in his eyes was replaced by a stormy sort of defiance. Just as I thought he might instigate yet another round of verbal sparring, he surprised me.

With an exaggerated yawn, Sirius draped an arm over my shoulders. "Come on, Evans, let's go find Marlene. I bet she's in the kitchens sweet-talking the house elves into giving her a sneak peek of dessert."

His touch was surprisingly light, yet undeniably possessive. I shot him a perplexed look, but played along. "Sounds like a plan," I said, mustering a teasing grin. "Maybe you can even charm them into slipping you a treacle tart or two."

A flicker of surprise, maybe even annoyance, crossed Regulus's face. Barty smirked, his reptilian gaze lingering a moment too long on my flushed cheeks.

As we walked past the pair of Slytherins, I could feel Regulus's eyes burning into my back. It wasn't the blatant sneer of his usual animosity, but something else – a scrutiny that left me unsettled. The touch of Sirius's arm, meant to be reassuring and a wordless assertion of alliance, suddenly felt stifling.

Once we were out of earshot, I extricated myself from his loose grip. "He's especially skeevy this year," I said cautiously, watching his reaction.

Sirius nodded, his expression overcast. "His wardrobe alone is concerning enough," he joked, a hint of forced lightness in his voice.

I pushed away from him, a laugh bubbling up despite my unease. "I'm serious, Pads! You should hear what people are saying about him. It's vile."

We reached the kitchens, the familiar tickle of the pear granting us entry. The vast room hummed with activity. House elves flitted about, their high-pitched voices creating a chorus against the clanging of pots and pans. The smell of roasting chicken and cinnamon filled the air, a tantalizing contrast to the lingering chill of the autumn evening. Long tables were laden with an abundance of food, and shimmering casks of pumpkin juice lined the walls.

Sirius leaned against one of the tables, his usual bravado replaced by a sort of tired resignation. "Like what, Evans? That he's some boogeyman? Beware of the big, bad Slytherin who lurks in the dark?" He laughed, but the sound was hollow, echoing the emptiness I felt in the pit of my stomach.

"More like he's joined them," I said, the lightness forced, the truth ringing harsh despite my sarcastic tone. "That he brags about it."

Sirius sighed, the sound laden with a weight of unspoken understanding. "It wouldn't surprise me," he admitted, the usual fire in his eyes banked to a smoldering ember. "But Mummy's so proud of her little murderer." The bitterness in his voice stung with a fresh sort of pain.

The image of Regulus, not as the sullen boy I'd clashed with since our first year, but as something crueler, flickered in my mind. I had glimpsed whispers of that change over the past few months. There was a new hollowness to his eyes, a sharpness to his smile that bordered on predatory. The Slytherin common room, once a place I'd only ventured into during the occasional ill-advised prank, now felt like it held an entirely different breed of darkness.

"Do you think it's true?" I asked, the question hanging heavy in the air between us.

"I don't know." Sirius's voice was barely a whisper, a stark contrast to his usual boisterous demeanor. "But I know the Blacks, Kit. I know the poison that runs in our blood. That house… it twists good things into something rotten." His fist clenched, then released, a silent testament to his inner turmoil.

For a long moment, we stood in silence, the usual joyous chaos of the kitchen fading into the background. The weight of the world, the war that raged beyond the walls of Hogwarts, suddenly felt all too real. My worry extended beyond petty rivalries and Quidditch standings; there was a darkness brewing that threatened to swallow everything we held dear.

A sharp rap on the kitchen door shattered the somber mood. Marlene appeared, a mischievous grin plastered on her face. "Took you two long enough! I've already secured a prime spot near the pudding table..."

Her voice washed over us, and Sirius visibly forced a smile back into place. Yet, the forced cheer felt jarring. We followed Marlene into the chaos of the Great Hall, the laughter of our classmates ringing off the ancient stone walls. But beneath the surface, I felt the shift. The world was changing, our innocence fading.

As I took my seat next to Lily, casting a worried glance towards Sirius, a thought struck me. The battle lines were no longer so clearly defined. They weren't merely house against house, good versus evil. There was a new layer of complexity, a darkness that could seep into you, twist you from within. It made me wonder if the real war would be fought not just against an external enemy, but against the shadows that lurked within each of us.

The dessert – a decadent chocolate tart dripping with raspberry sauce – held little appeal. My gaze kept drifting towards the Slytherin table, where Regulus sat, surrounded by his silent entourage. His laugh echoed through the Hall, but it held a harshness that hadn't been there before. He was a stranger, familiar yet terrifyingly unknown. At that moment, his head raised and his grey-green eyes landed on me as if he had felt my gaze on him.

I jerked my head down to my plate of tart, the taste of it in my mouth turning sour and dry.

Lily, ever attuned to my moods, nudged my shoulder. "What's wrong, Clem? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I forced a smile, unwilling to share the full weight of my fears. "Just tired," I lied. "All that flying…"

Lily didn't look convinced, but she let it drop. The thing is, I wasn't just tired; I was afraid. The world no longer felt safe, predictable. And as I watched Regulus, a twisted mirror image of the boy I used to know, I realized that maybe the greatest enemy wasn't the looming specter of Voldemort, but the darkness that could grow, unnoticed, in the hearts of those around us.

The rest of the evening was a blur of half-hearted attempts at normalcy. I laughed at James's exaggerated retelling of his latest Quidditch near-miss, tried to focus on Lily's whispered updates about her prefect duties, and even managed to bite into a particularly gruesome History of Magic essay. But beneath it all, a gnawing unease ate away at me. Regulus's gaze, the rumors swirling like poisonous smoke through the corridors, Sirius's quiet admission... it was all too much. I needed an escape, even a temporary one.

As the clock ticked past midnight, my resolve hardened. With whispered goodnights to my dormmates, I slipped from the four-poster bed, a disillusionment charm my only armor against prying eyes. The corridors were bathed in the cool glow of moonlight, casting long, twisted shadows that danced as I hurried towards the portrait hole. It took far less coaxing than usual to gain passage from the Fat Lady, my desperation fueling my boldness.

The trek down to the boathouse felt endless. The castle, usually a comforting jumble of secret passages and hidden nooks, seemed to stretch and shift in the darkness. Every rustle of leaves, every creak of the ancient floorboards, sent a shiver of apprehension down my spine. Yet, I pushed onward, driven by a fierce need to shed the weight of my thoughts, to reclaim a sliver of freedom in this world tilting towards chaos.

The boathouse loomed before me, a hulking shadow against the shimmering surface of the lake. As I approached, the sound of muffled laughter and the faint scent of smoke drifted out. With a deep breath, I stepped inside.

The space was barely illuminated, a single Lumos charm casting a flickering glow over the figures huddled within. Marlene and Dorcas were sprawled on a stack of old blankets, their faces lit by the soft ember of a shared cigarette. James and Peter sat cross-legged on the floor, their hushed voices rising and falling as they passed around a half-empty bottle – firewhiskey, swiped from Ogg's less-than-carefully-warded office. The sight of it, the forbidden indulgence, sent a reckless thrill through me.

Sirius was the first to spot me, a surprised grin spreading across his face. "Well, hello there, Evans," he slurred, the whiskey already taking its toll. "Decided to join the party?"

I slipped off my cloak, revealing myself amidst a chorus of cheers and playful jostling as they made space for me on the makeshift seating. "Figured you lot could use a bit of Hufflepuff common sense," I said, trying for nonchalance but failing to hide the nervous energy buzzing beneath my skin. Marlene handed me the bottle, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "To common sense, whatever that is," she quipped, raising it in mock salute.

The fiery liquid burned as it slid down my throat, leaving a warmth that battled the lingering chill of the night. As the bottle made its rounds, the atmosphere shifted. The usual banter and teasing faded, replaced by an undercurrent of unease that mirrored my own. Even James, ever the master of forced cheer, had lost some of his usual bluster.

"You hear about the Dale family?" Dorcas asked, her voice low and strained. "Attacked last week. Whole family just… gone."

A wave of nausea washed over me. Marlene had said something back at Hogwarts, but the details hadn't fully sunk in. Dale... another old Wizarding name, yet the family had been Muggle-sympathetic, full of squibs, vocal in their opposition to You-Know-Who.

"Wasn't in the Prophet," James muttered darkly. "Reckon they're suppressing it. Can't have a full-blown panic on their hands."

"But why target squibs?" Peter's voice was barely a whisper, his eyes wide with fear. "They're not a threat... they can't fight back..." The innocence of his question was a stark contrast to the brutal reality.

The silence that settled over us was suffocating. I took another swig of the firewhiskey, the burn a welcome distraction from the dread twisting in my gut. It wasn't just the Dales. There were whispers, fragments of horrifying news filtered back from nervous half-truths muttered by frightened classmates. Attacks on muggleborns, small wizarding villages decimated, disappearances that left behind only unanswered questions and the hollow ache of loss.

Sirius, ever restless, pushed himself to his feet, a flicker of anger sparking behind the alcoholic haze blurring his eyes. "We need to do something," he declared, his voice thick. "Can't just sit here and wait for them to come knocking on our doors."

"What would you have us do, Padfoot?" Marlene's retort was laced with bitter humor. "Pick up our wands and charge headlong into battle? We're seventh years, for Merlin's sake."

"Better than cowering like frightened sheep!" Sirius shot back, the frustration evident in the clench of his jaw.

The argument raged on, fueled by a mix of fear, fury, and the reckless courage that seemed to burn brighter with each swig of firewhiskey. I listened, my mind racing. They weren't wrong; the rising tide of darkness felt overwhelming. Yet, a flicker of defiance sparked within me. I couldn't change the world, not single-handedly. But I could refuse to be a passive victim, to surrender to the fear that threatened to engulf us all.

"There has to be something," I insisted, the words fueled by a determination that surprised even myself. "Something we can do."

My outburst was met with somber silence. Then, slowly, Peter spoke, his voice soft but unwavering. "We could learn. Not just the spells from class, but how to really defend ourselves, how to fight back."

Hope, fragile and tentative, sparked within the circle. This was something we could control, a way to channel our fear into action. We spent the rest of the night, bathed in the flickering lumos light, voicing potential spells, discussing defensive tactics, and envisioning clandestine practice sessions hidden within Hogwarts' maze-like corridors.

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As the first rays of dawn painted the sky in streaks of muted pinks and grays, we stumbled back towards the castle, our steps unsteady, our minds alight. I was exhausted, my head throbbing with a mixture of firewhiskey and righteous determination. Yet, as I crept back into the dorm, a sliver of hope bloomed. We might be young, inexperienced, and facing an unfathomably powerful enemy. But at least now, we'd started to fight back.

The next few days were a blur of exhaustion and a low-grade dread that settled in my bones like a winter chill. Tuesday morning dawned with a pounding headache that bore the distinct echo of smuggled firewhiskey and a world tilting towards chaos. I moved through my classes like a ghost, my laughter absent, my responses mumbled and slow.

Lessons transformed into an agonizing ordeal. Numbers swam before my eyes during Arithmancy, the scratching of quills on parchment felt like nails on a chalkboard, and even the usually comforting smell of old books in the library was stifling. My friends hovered, concerned, but I could barely muster the energy to conjure a smile, let alone dissect the latest round of political turmoil whispered in the hallways.

It was as if the world, always buzzing with a vibrant, if sometimes unpredictable energy, had been muted. Colors seemed duller, laughter less joyful. The weight of everything – the whispers of missing muggleborns, the escalating attacks, Regulus's haunting transformation – pressed down on me, threatening to snuff out the last flickers of normalcy.

The world felt like a tinderbox, and Hogwarts was no exception. The war raged outside the castle walls, casting long shadows that seeped into our everyday lives. Everyone was on edge, nerves frayed thin. The headlines screamed of escalating violence:

“MINISTRY RAIDS THREE HOUSES IN SEARCH FOR FORBIDDEN ARTEFACTS”

“THIRD VAMPIRE ATTACK IN TWO WEEKS”

“MINISTER OF MAGIC STEPS DOWN IN WAKE OF DISAPPEARANCES”

“WEREWOLF REGISTRY ‘DANGEROUSLY UNDER-MANAGED’ MINISTRY INSIDERS REVEAL”

And those were just this week's horrors. Within the Slytherin ranks, a new, sinister order was taking hold. Regulus Black, always carrying an air of untouchable arrogance, had transformed into something far darker. The heir to the most ancient and wealthy pureblood family had always held sway amongst his peers, attracting a group of followers whose cruelty intensified with each passing year. Now, in his sixth year, rumors swirled that he wasn't merely a Death Eater sympathizer, but in direct contact with Lord Voldemort himself.

Regulus reveled in this new power, a change even the most oblivious of teachers couldn't ignore. He carried himself with cold calculation, his chin held high, a chilling smirk a permanent fixture. The nervous, conflicted boy Sirius once called "Reggie" was gone.

His intelligence was undeniable. Never once had he received detention, and his academic brilliance rivaled even his brother's. Yet, misfortune clung to those who crossed his path. A fourth-year Hufflepuff, rumored to have spilled ink on Regulus's notes, was discovered days later locked in a dungeon cupboard, pale and speechless. He was sent home, and I can’t recall ever seeing him inside the common room or the dorms since then.

When a mix-up with the Quidditch pitch schedule forced the Slytherins to delay their practice, the Ravenclaw team's next session was completely derailed. Their brooms became a source of torment, inflicting painful splinters on anyone who dared touch them. Madam Pomfrey was overwhelmed, and their match with Gryffindor was canceled.

Then, the words "Mudbloods get out!" were found magically etched into the Muggle Studies chalkboard, forcing the class to relocate.

Regulus, of course, was never questioned. With no witnesses, his cruelty went unchecked. And yet, everyone knew. Anyone with a stake in the war could feel the change in the air, the darkness that clung to the castle walls like an oppressive fog.

News of the quidditch tryout results seemed to travel faster than a well-aimed Bludger. Thursday morning in the Great Hall was not one of muted colors and pounding headaches. It was a whirlwind of congratulations, backslapping from James, and a beaming smile from Lily that chased away the lingering shadows of the past few days. Even some of the Hufflepuffs I'd faced in tryouts offered hesitant nods of respect. For the first time in a while, I felt a genuine surge of excitement, a spark of the familiar joy that Hogwarts usually held in abundance.

Katie materialized beside me, a stack of parchment clutched in her hand. "Here's the practice schedule," she said, her voice brimming with barely contained enthusiasm. "I've already worked out a new set of drills to whip you lot into shape. And," she paused dramatically, "your first match is in two weeks… against Slytherin."

The news hit me like a dose of invigorating tonic. My first match, and against Slytherin of all teams. The thrill of competition, the roar of the crowd, the sweet taste of victory – it all shimmered before me, a much-needed beacon in the encroaching gloom. The world suddenly seemed a little brighter, the castle walls a little less oppressive.

The rest of the day passed in a flurry of activity. My lessons, normally tedious, felt infused with a new energy. Each successfully completed Charms assignment, each correctly identified potion ingredient, became a tiny triumph. During a particularly dreary Binns lecture on goblin rebellions, the image of myself soaring through the air, a club tucked securely under my arm, kept boredom at bay.

Even dinner, usually a time for strategizing with Lily over headduties or good-natured teasing with the Marauders, felt different. When news of yet another Muggleborn student attacked in Hogsmeade reached us, twisting through the crowd like a poisonous snake, the usual wave of anger and helplessness was tempered with a flicker of defiant resolve. I wouldn't crumble, wouldn't surrender to the fear that gnawed at the edge of my thoughts.

After dinner, I caught up with James in the deserted corridor outside the Gryffindor common room. The Marauders Map, borrowed for some sleuthing the previous week, was returned with a wink and a promise from James that the latest plot against Ogg’s would be "spectacularly disastrous". A smile tugged at my lips – there was a sliver of normalcy in their absurd antics.

As dusk began to settle over the castle, I slipped back into my dormitory, the cheers of my housemates and the warmth of my four-poster bed momentarily pushing back the encroaching night. With practiced movements, I shrugged off my school robes, replacing them with faded jeans and a cozy that dad had sent for Christmas. My wand was tucked into my back pocket, an almost unconscious habit in these uncertain times.

My nightly patrol felt less like a chore and more like a necessary act. The rhythmic echo of my footsteps on the stone floor was a defiant counterpoint to the hushed fear that lingered in the air. The paintings, those normally innocuous depictions of wizards and witches, seemed to watch me with a new intensity, their eyes reflecting the unease that gripped us all.

The statue in the Transfiguration Courtyard loomed larger than usual in the gathering darkness. On time, as always, Regulus materialized from the shadows, his form sharp and angular against the softer hues of twilight.

"You're late," he said, the accusation barely masking a flicker of surprise. Had he expected me to shrink away, still caught in the mire of dread?

"And you're predictable," I retorted, the spark of defiance from earlier still burning within me. "Shall we?"

Without waiting for his reply, I turned and began the familiar trek through the labyrinthine castle corridors. Tonight though, there was an undercurrent of determination to my steps. I would not be broken. Not by the darkness that seeped into Hogwarts, not by the news of escalating violence, and certainly not by the enigmatic, increasingly dangerous Slytherin at my side.

The patrol took us through torch-lit passageways, up winding staircases, and past suits of armor that seemed to stand a little straighter in the gloom. Each corner we turned, each hushed whisper of wind sent a shiver down my spine. Yet, beneath the familiar fear lay a new resolve.

Regulus was as silent as ever, his presence a shadow beside my own. His eyes, barely visible in the dim light, seemed to flit over every tapestry, every darkened doorway as if searching for something hidden just beyond my sight. It was in those moments, more than any of his casually cruel remarks or rumored exploits, that I glimpsed the true depth of his transformation. There was a hunger in those shadowed eyes, a relentless search for something that fueled his chilling metamorphosis.

The castle, a comforting maze of secret passages and hidden alcoves, had transformed into something far more sinister. Shadows danced with deceptive menace, fueled by the knowledge that cruelty seemed to lurk around every corner. The muffled giggles or hurried whispers that usually echoed through the halls were replaced by an oppressive stillness, a testament to the unspoken fear that had seeped into every crevice of Hogwarts.

As we rounded a corner near the Charms corridor, a muffled gasp followed by a frantic scramble alerted us to something out of the ordinary. Wand raised, nerves jangling, I approached a dimly lit abandoned classroom, the door slightly ajar. Regulus followed close behind, a silent shadow at my back.

The sight that greeted us was startlingly mundane: a flustered fifth-year Hufflepuff boy entangled with a blushing Ravenclaw girl. They froze, like deer caught in the headlights, as the glow of our wands illuminated their hiding spot. Terror flashed across their faces, eyes wide as they took in who was behind me, their mumbled apologies cut short by a chillingly amused chuckle from Regulus.

The Hufflepuff boy paled, his grip on the girl's hand tightening. I moved forward protectively, acutely aware of Regulus hovering behind me. This was my house, my duty to uphold. "Five points from each of you for being out of bed," I said, my voice sharp despite the wave of sympathy that washed over me. "Now get back to your common rooms."

They scrambled to comply, casting worried glances at Regulus. His smirk was cold, calculating. If I hadn't been there… the thought cut short as I watched the pair disappear down the corridor. Alone with my patrol partner, the oppressive tension returned with renewed intensity.

An image of Madam Pomfrey's perpetually crowded infirmary flashed through my mind. How many students had landed there after an unfortunate "accident", a whispered curse, or a confrontation turned violent? Each new injury fueled my simmering rage. Yet, confronting him directly felt like charging headlong into a battle I couldn't win.

We continued our patrol in silence. My questions, simmering just below the surface, threatened to boil over. As we reached the winding staircase leading to the Astronomy Tower, the words erupted from me before I could fully stifle them.

"What curse did you use?" My voice was barely above a whisper, yet it felt like a shout in the echoing silence.

His eyes, cold and gray as a stormy sea, snapped to mine. His steps faltered on the worn stone steps. "What are you talking about, Evans?" The question was laced with a hint of impatience as he continued his ascent.

I followed, the air between us crackling with unspoken accusation. Reaching the tower entrance, he pushed the heavy wooden door open with an indifferent shove. The rush of cool September air prickled against my skin, a sharp contrast to the simmering tension that pulsed beneath the surface.

"The brooms," I choked out, the question hanging heavy in the crisp night air.

He paused, his silhouette stark against the starlit sky. Then, with a slow turn, he faced me fully. A harsh glint had entered his gaze, a darkness that sent a cold shiver down my spine.

"Clever girl," he mused, a hint of mockery in his voice. "Poking her nose where she shouldn't."

My resolve hardened. The fear, ever-present, was edged with a stubborn anger. "Was it a splintering jinx, or did you actually curse them?" The words tumbled out, fueled by a desperate need to know.

His reply was a humorless chuckle. "You should stick to your blood-traitor friends and leave it alone, Evans." His voice was low, a warning threaded through the dismissal.

He moved closer, his proximity amplifying the sense of danger. I held my ground, though my instinct was to recoil. "Did you carve that slur into the chalkboard, or was it one of your disciples?" I pushed on, unable to contain the fury bubbling within me.

His laugh echoed harshly in the empty tower. "This isn't third year, Evans," he sneered, the casual cruelty replacing any pretense of civility. "You're out of your depth."

The words echoed in the chill night air, a stark reminder of the widening gulf between us. He was right, in a way. I was no Auror, no seasoned fighter. I was a sixth-year Hogwarts student, armed with schoolyard spells and a growing sense of righteous anger. Yet, a defiant voice within me refused to be silenced.

"That Hufflepuff in the dungeons," I started, my voice trembling slightly. "The ink spilled on your notes...what did you do to him?"

His laughter ceased abruptly, replaced by a glacial silence. The change was as startling as a sudden drop in temperature. He moved closer, his eyes narrowed, his presence looming over me.

"You're treading on dangerous ground, Evans," he hissed, his voice barely a whisper.

"Sometimes knowing isn’t best."

A flicker of doubt, a sliver of deeply buried fear, snaked through me. It was a chilling reminder – a whispered taunt from the past. Hadn't he said something strangely similar once, years ago, in a hushed moment of unlikely comfort in this same room? A fleeting image danced before my eyes: Regulus, pale but composed, offering an awkward moment of comfort and an unspoken warning to a tear-stricken fourth year. "Sometimes, Evans," his voice had been softer then, laced with genuine concern, “knowing is best."

The memory, a bittersweet echo from a time when things were simpler, sent a shiver through me. Now, there was only a husk, a chilling stranger lurking beneath the familiar, aristocratic features.

"What's happening to you?" The question burst from me, a mixture of desperation and a lingering, almost foolish trust that some part of the boy I used to know might still exist.

His response was a cruel twist of his lips. "You never knew me, Evans," he sneered, leaning in with deliberate menace. "You saw what you wanted to see – a spoiled Slytherin brat, the easy villain to your bleeding-heart story."

The words struck me with the force of a truck. There was a terrible truth within them, a reminder of the comfortable narratives we build, the stark lines we draw to make sense of an increasingly complex world.

My heart thumped so loud that I was sure even he could hear it. I couldn’t stop my chest from rising and falling at a rapid rhythm. He had noticed it as well, a cruel grin spreading across his face, and then in an instant the mask was back in place.

"I can tell you're frightened," he continued, his voice low and laced with amusement. "Run back to your common room, little dove."

I flinched involuntarily, his words unearthing a flicker of the terrified young girl who'd needed his kindness all those years ago. Darting away from him, my fingers fumbled for the heavy wooden door, a desperate need to escape driving my movements.

And just as my hand gripped the iron latch, his voice sliced through the tense air once more: "See you on the pitch."

The taunt hung in the air, a twisted echo of Katie's enthusiastic announcement. Facing him not just as fellow students with a history of animosity, but as opposing players on the Quidditch field, added a whole new layer of chilling absurdity to the situation.

Flinging the door open, I fled the tower. Each step down the winding staircase felt like a retreat, my pulse pounding a frantic rhythm against the deafening silence of my own unanswered questions.

#regulus black #regulus deserved better #sirius and regulus #regulus black x oc #regulus x oc #regulus black x you #regulus black x hufflepuff reader #regulus being regulus #regulus being a little shit #regulus black x reader #the marauders #marauders era #the marauders era #original character

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Sombre et Pur'

Chapter 6

Sixth Year – 1976

Tryouts were the next morning, and despite sleepless hours spent worrying about both flying and the prospect of patrolling Hogwarts with Regulus, I found a familiar surge of adrenaline as I stepped onto the pitch. Hufflepuffs were known for their loyalty and hard work – flashiness rarely won us matches, but sheer determination did.

The other contenders were decent, though none truly exceptional. I, however, was on fire. Years of practicing with Sirius and James made dodging Bludgers feel like second nature. I smacked a bludger with my club so hard I heard a satisfying crack as it sailed past our chaser.

The Hufflepuff captain, Katie Soileau, a solid seventh year with a perpetually overcast disposition, clapped enthusiastically. "Excellent hit, Clem! You've got real power behind that swing."

I grinned, relief washing over me. This part, at least, felt right. It was normal.

Yet, the specter of Regulus lingered in the back of my mind. We might be a million miles apart in our attitudes and allegiances, but one thing was clear – he wasn't one to shirk responsibility. If he said he'd meet me at the statue, he'd be there, a begrudgingly competent partner.

The thought offered little in the way of comfort. This year was going to be a battle on every front – in the classroom, on the Quidditch pitch, and it seemed, even in the deserted corridors of Hogwarts. And the most frustrating part of all? It felt like with every passing day, I was no longer sure which side of the fight I was supposed to be on.

The trek down the boathouse felt infinitely longer than usual. My legs burned in protest, and every inhale was a reminder of my overexertion. Yet, a familiar sense of anticipation pulsed through me. The boathouse, with its weathered wood and faint scent of lake water, was a common hideout for myself and the boys. It was a haven away from the bustling castle, where the only sound was the gentle lapping of waves and the occasional choked cough from Sirius or James while they snuck a spliff or two.

Sirius, James, and Peter were already there, stretched out on the sun beached dock. James was animatedly dissecting the latest Chudley Cannons match with a fervor bordering on religious zeal, his words a near incomprehensible blur of quidditch statistics and tactical analyses.

My arrival caused a brief pause in his commentary. “Well, well, well, look who decided to grace us with her presence,” he announced, a grin splitting his tan face. “Tell me, Kit, are you about to claim your rightful place as the newest Hufflepuff beater?”

I dropped down onto the dock with a tired groan, ignoring the way the wood splinters dug into my sore muscles. “Maybe,” I replied, unable to suppress a smirk. “Soileau seemed impressed, but I'm going to be feeling this for days ...”

I stretched with a groan and laid back, resting my head on Pete’s lap. My muscles protested the change of position until I had fully relaxed.

Sirius, who’d been absently blowing smoke rings as he stared blankly out at the lake with a detached air, stirred to life. His stormy grey eyes, so like his brother's, yet carrying a different sort of intensity, fixed on me. “Did Katie give you a hard time?” he asked.

Katie Soileau, the new Hufflepuff Captain and team seeker was a regular force of nature both on and off the pitch, had a reputation among Gryffindors as being less than welcoming. But beneath the bluster, I knew she respected skill.

“No, Katie knows talent when she sees it.” James interjected before I could answer, a smirk playing on his lips. “Even if she is insufferable.”

My hand shot out and slapped him playfully in the arm. “Don’t start, Prongs.” I rolled my eyes.

I recounted the near-misses, the satisfying thwack of the bat connecting squarely with the Bludger, and even the humiliating moment where I took a tumble trying to dodge a particularly enthusiastic rouge ball. By the time I finished, the tension of the day had melted away, replaced by a bone-deep weariness and the warm glow of friendship.

“So tell me, Kit,” Peter piped up, breaking the comfortable silence, his hands absentmindedly sweeping through my hair. ‘what’s it like hanging out with the esteemed heir to the house of Black?”

The question hit me like an unexpected snowball. I could see the effect it had on Sirius as well, the way his back went rigid and his head subtly turned towards our conversation. The playful mood around the dock evaporated in an instant. It was no secret that the Black brothers were barely on speaking terms. Theirs was a long and complicated history that I only understood in fragments – whispered rumors, the occasional outburst from Sirius about family gatherings, and the lingering shadows in his eyes whenever the topic arose.

Instead of diving into the complexities of my shifting dynamic with my sister or alluding to the simmering tension between Sirius and Regulus, I opted for a deflection.

"I have patrols with him tonight." I sighed, the thought of the endless walk spent beside him draining my mood. "Poor Evans," James said, mock sympathy dripping from his voice. "Doomed to spend the evening with the resident Slytherin overlord. Try not to be seduced by his charm."

Sirius, who'd been staring out at the lake, shot upright. There was a flicker of something in his eyes – anger, hurt, maybe a mix of both – before he carefully masked his expression.

"Whatever," he muttered, his tone laced with a forced indifference that didn't quite ring true. He pushed himself off the dock, the wood creaking in protest, and wandered up the bank towards the castle. "I forgot I, uh, need to practice some spells for Flitwick."

The awkward silence that descended after his abrupt departure was almost suffocating. My gaze flitted between James, who was fiddling with a loose thread on his robe looking pointedly anywhere but at me, and Peter, whose expression was a mix of concern and a sort of helpless resignation.

It was Peter who broke the tense quiet. "He'll be alright, you know," he said softly. "He just… sometimes…" He trailed off, unable to find the right words.

I nodded, not because I truly believed it, but because it seemed like the only thing I could do. We finished the rest of the evening in a subdued sort of camaraderie, the unspoken rift between Sirius and his brother hanging heavy in the air.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After bidding goodnight to my dormmates later that night, I settled under a mountain of blankets on my bed, determined to make sense of our Professor’s cryptic divination notes. Dreams of swirling tea leaves and wonky crystal balls filled my head, but true understanding always seemed tantalizingly out of reach. Divination was, by far, my least favorite subject. Its frustrating combination of vague predictions and wildly inaccurate prophecies made Potions feel like an exact science by comparison.

Time slipped away with alarming speed as I tried to decipher garbled scribbles about the significance of the number thirteen and the potential perils of misaligned planets. A glance at the enchanted clock beside my bed jolted me out of my trance. With a gasp, I realized I was perilously close to being late for my dreaded patrol with Regulus.

Panic fueled a flurry of movement. Divination notes were hastily shoved into my bag, the crumpled pages a testament to my fruitless deciphering attempts. I kicked off my school robes, yanking on a pair of faded jeans and a worn borrowed Gryffindor sweatshirt with more haste than grace. My wand was tucked into the back pocket of my jeans – not exactly regulation, but I was starting to doubt that McGonagall and her love of rules were going to be my salvation this year. A last glance in the mirror revealed copper curls that stubbornly refused to cooperate and a pair of mismatched socks. I let out an exasperated sigh and shoved them haphazardly into my trainers. Perfection would have to wait.

With a frantic last check for my patrol schedule, I bolted from the dorm room, my worn-out trainers squeaking against the stone floor. The corridors were deserted, echoing slightly with each panicked footfall. The statue in the Transfiguration Courtyard loomed ever closer, a harsh reminder of my rapidly dwindling time.

As I burst onto the landing, I spotted Regulus, his pristine form leaning casually against the statue. He didn't look up from the parchment in his hands, but I could practically feel the disapproval radiating from him.

"Sorry I'm a bit late," I gasped out, breathless from my sprint across the castle. "Divination…" I trailed off, offering a half-hearted shrug by way of explanation.

Regulus didn't respond to my breathless apology, just tucked the parchment back into his robes with practiced ease. Internally, I groaned. My hopes for a quick, minimally-awkward patrol were dashed in that single, silent gesture. It was going to be a long night.

"Shall we?" he asked, his voice cold and flat. His eyes travelled to my sweater, a mocking smirk spreading across his face. With a curt nod, he turned on his heel and began walking.

Scrambling to catch up, I found myself struggling to match his brisk pace. It was maddening. He moved with the effortless grace of someone who spent far too much time brooding in shadowy corners, while I felt like a clumsy hippogriff attempting its first flight. A flare of irritation bubbled beneath the surface. It wasn't just the patrol itself that was the problem; it was him. The way he carried himself, the barely-concealed disdain in his eyes, it all grated on my nerves.

After what felt like an eternity of silence punctuated only by the echo of our footsteps, Regulus finally spoke. "This route is incredibly inefficient," he declared, a hint of disdain creeping into his voice. "We'll double back twice before we reach the Astronomy Tower."

I bristled. I knew this castle like the back of my hand, every hidden passageway and shortcut etched into my memory from years of exploration with my friends. "It's fine," I retorted, trying to keep the bite out of my tone. "It's the route I always use."

His answering laugh was devoid of any amusement. "While these might be the routes you and your delinquent friends use to get around, the more efficient route is through the West Wing, cutting past the Charms Corridor." His tone dripped with condescension.

My annoyance flared into full-blown anger. "Look, if you know the castle so well, why don't you just lead?" I snapped, my control slipping.

For just a moment, surprise flashed across his face. Then, a smirk – a cold, cruel twist of his lips that made my blood boil – curved across his features. "As you wish, Evans," he said smoothly.

He took off down a shadowy corridor I'd barely noticed before, his long strides forcing me into an ungainly half-jog to keep up. Of course he'd choose a route I'd never traveled, just another way to remind me I was the bumbling Hufflepuff and he was the all-knowing Slytherin.

We walked for what felt like hours. The silence stretched between us, broken only by the soft rustle of our robes and the distant hoot of an owl. The atmosphere was so thick with animosity I began to wonder if some sort of malevolent poltergeist had decided to torment us.

To break the unbearable tension, I cleared my throat. "So," I began and immediately regretted it. "How's… how's Slytherin? Enjoying the new sixth-year dorms?"

The question was pathetically lame, even for me. Regulus didn't even bother to dignify it with a response, simply continuing his march through dimly lit passages I barely recognized.

The urge to ask the questions that burned inside me was nearly overwhelming. What was it like to have your brother turn his back on your family? How did you sleep at night knowing the darkness that festered in those ancient halls? But something stopped me, a strange cocktail of pride and a self-preservation instinct that warned me the answers would only lead to more conflict.

The remainder of the patrol was torture. With each corner we turned, each flight of stairs we climbed, I found myself further away from the familiar comforts and easy camaraderie of my own life. The air felt colder, the shadows a little deeper. Yet, even amidst the discomfort, a strange sort of understanding began to take root. Patrolling with Regulus was never going to be an exercise in pleasantries or cheerful banter. Our shared duty wasn't about forming a connection, it was about fulfilling our roles in this increasingly dangerous game we were all forced to play.

He was right about one thing, though – his route was far more efficient. We managed to cover the entire patrol area in record time, with minimal detours to avoid particularly grumpy ghosts. As we arrived back at the Transfiguration Courtyard, a sliver of grudging respect stirred within me.

Regulus turned to face me, his eyes glinting in the dim moonlight.

"Same time, next week, Evans?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

I stifled a sigh. "Don't be late." It was as close to a concession as I was going to get.

With a raise of one of his perfectly arched brows and a curt nod, he melted back into the shadows, leaving me alone with the lingering echo of his footsteps.

The walk back to the Hufflepuff common room felt like an uphill battle. My legs, already screaming in protest from the day's Quidditch tryouts, were now burdened by the added weight of exhaustion and the lingering tension of my patrol with Regulus. Each step was a conscious effort, every twist and turn of the castle's labyrinthine corridors a reminder of just how far from home I felt.

As I passed the flickering torches that lined the walls, my reflection wavered in the dancing light. Smudges of dirt stained my face, my hair had long escaped its haphazard ponytail, and the mismatched socks peeked out from beneath my trainers – a testament to my hasty departure for patrol. I looked every bit the disheveled Hogwarts student battling exhaustion and navigating a world that felt increasingly out of joint.

Finally, the familiar warmth of the Hufflepuff common room beckoned. The cheerful yellow walls and overstuffed armchairs were a far cry from the austere elegance of the Slytherin dungeons or the bold chaos of the Gryffindor tower. Here, kindness always took precedence over cleverness or bravado. Yet, tonight, even the cozy atmosphere couldn't fully dispel the lingering unease.

Instead of ascending the spiral staircase towards my dormitory, I made my way to the small tea set near the large fireplace that was charmed to always stay full and warm. A simmering kettle and a tray of half-eaten biscuits awaited, a testament to the ever-thoughtful house elves. With hands that trembled slightly, I poured myself a steaming cup of chamomile tea, the warmth radiating through the chipped ceramic and into my chilled fingers.

As I sipped the sweet, floral brew, my mind replayed the events of the evening. The satisfying whoosh of the bludger narrowly missing my head, Sirius's conflicted expression, Regulus's icy stare… It was all too much. With a defeated sigh, I surrendered. I didn't have the energy to change or decipher my Divination notes or even brush my teeth. Crawling onto my bed, I burrowed under the patchwork quilt that had been a welcome gift on my first day at Hogwarts. The scent of lavender and worn cotton was strangely comforting. With the last vestiges of my waning resolve, I managed to nudge my trainers off my feet, a final token offering to the gods of aching muscles.

Sleep washed over me in a relentless tide, pulling me into its inky depths. Dreams of swirling tea leaves, Bludgers the size of Quaffles, and a pair of mismatched grey-green eyes danced behind my eyelids. Even in the sanctuary of sleep, the world of Hogwarts, with all its contradictions and complexities, refused to release its hold on me.

#regulus black #regulus deserved better #sirius and regulus #regulus black x oc #regulus x oc #regulus x hufflepuff reader #regulus x reader #regulus x you #regulus black x you #original character #the maruaders

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Sombre et Pur'

Chapter 5

Sixth Year – 1976

A peculiar sort of tension gripped me as I boarded the Hogwarts Express at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. It wasn't the usual back-to-school jitters, a mix of excitement and the dread of looming homework. This was a different kind of unease – one born of the long summer and the unsettling knowledge that things couldn't stay the same.

Change, I'd discovered, was an insidious beast. It seeped into your life, leaving subtle shifts and unexpected scars. Sometimes for the better, sometimes… not. When I’d left Hogwarts a few months ago, I was a tangle of contradictions – fiery and freckled, stubborn yet uncertain, forever caught in the clash between the world I longed for and the one I begrudgingly inhabited. The summer, however, had been a catalyst.

The first difference was obvious the moment I caught my reflection in the train window. My hair, usually a riotous shade of orange, had mellowed. Sunlight and days spent outdoors had bleached streaks of honey-gold through it, a welcome change from the girlish vibrancy I used to sport. I'd grown an inch or two as well, a fact my mother celebrated with the purchase of several new robes that actually fit properly. Gone was the awkward, too-big look. Now, a leaner frame had emerged, honed by hours of flying practice with an old broomstick at the nearby park.

The biggest change, though, was one I couldn't fully see. It resided in a quiet acceptance within me. The anger and guilt over my friendship with the boys after what they had done to Severus remained, a wound still tender, but I also carried a flicker of newly found resolve. This year, things had to change. It wouldn't be some grand gesture of reconciliation, more an attempt at a peaceful coexistence. After all, I had Sirius to worry about now, and a lingering, unwelcome worry about his brother, too.

As if summoned by my thoughts of her former friend, Lily appeared. Her flaming red hair was as distinctive as ever, but she held herself differently. Gone was the sometimes brash, confident strut of years past. Now as Head Girl, her steps were more measured, her smile held a practiced softness meant to reassure the younger students.

We exchanged a tentative hello, the space between us echoing with the unspoken hurts of the past few months. Yet, I also caught a flicker of something hopeful in her eyes as she handed me a crisp, gold prefect badge. I had somehow managed to keep my position despite the turmoil of the previous year. A reward, I suspect, for not being involved with the events of last year. It seemed not all bridges were burnt. With a sickening certainty I knew I had Regulus to thank for that, his insistence I not get myself involved as we witnessed his brother and my friends torment Severus. With a resigned sigh, I made my way through the familiar chaos of the train, seeking out the prefect compartment. As I entered, a wave of greetings and familiar faces enveloped me, and I returned them as I took a seat next to the window, so I could tune out as much of this meeting as I could. Yet, the air of easy camaraderie quickly dissipated as a figure slid the compartment door open loudly, the chaotic sounds from the rest of the train seeping into the space.

Regulus Black.

If, a few months ago, catching sight of him had startled me with its unexpected politeness, this… this was something else entirely. He was all sharp angles and regal smoothness. An impeccably tailored black outfit of a button-down shirt and trousers replaced his wrinkled school robes. His dark hair, now longer, fell in sleek curls that nearly reached his collar. His grey eyes seemed to hold a colder light than I remembered, or perhaps it was my own perception that had shifted. This was a different animal altogether.

Another thought pounded itself into my gut, he was now the heir to the house of Black. That came with its own darkness and malice that I could now see covering him from infuriatingly perfect hair to his expensive dragonhide boots.

"I apologize for being late, Evans. I had prior business to attend to." His voice resonated through the compartment, deeper now with a raspy edge. He addressed Lily and sat directly across from me next to the window. It was an audacious move, calculated for maximum effect. My jaw tightened, and I had to tear my gaze away to accept the patrol assignment form my sister was handing out.

"It's all right, Black. I was just handing out patrol assignments." Lily's voice was the model of Head Girl composure. She passed him a slip of paper and continued with her duties, a practiced mask of neutrality hiding whatever emotions she might be battling. My eyes raced down the assignment sheet, hoping for a distraction from the simmering tension in the compartment. When I found my name, a small, pleased smile tugged at the corner of my lips. Charms corridor and the Astronomy Tower – excellent choices. Yet, as my gaze skimmed downwards to my assigned partner, a chill coursed through me. Written in my sister's elegant scrawl,

Regulus Black

A sharp breath escaped me, a mix of surprise and a flicker of trepidation. I forced my eyes upwards, desperate to meet his stare, yet finding my gaze snagged on the pulse beating steadily at his throat. Had it always been so visible?

Finally, steeling my resolve, I looked him dead in the eye. The teasing softness I’d witnessed on the train months ago had vanished. His grey-green eyes, mirroring the stormy sky outside the window, held a dark intensity that was equal parts frightening and fascinating. This new iteration of Regulus Black was a puzzle I had no idea how to solve, and a dangerous game I wasn’t sure I wanted to play.

We remained locked in a silent battle of wills. The other prefects continued their chatter around us, voices fading away like whispers as the train lurched forward, breaking the tense stillness. Regulus arched a perfect eyebrow, a hint of a challenge lurking beneath the polished facade. The rest of the train ride passed in a blur of awkward silences and pointedly ignored stares. When we finally pulled into Hogsmeade Station, the familiar crush of students was a relief compared to the suffocating atmosphere of the prefects' compartment. I disembarked as quickly as I could, desperately needing the cool autumn air.

Once on the platform, Lily joined me. We watched as students excitedly reunited, their laughter a stark contrast to the tense encounter I'd just endured. My sister didn't say anything at first. She simply fixed me with a searching look, her brow furrowed slightly.

"That was…" she began, then sighed. "That was a lot. Are you… alright?"

I managed a shaky nod. "I will be. Just surprised. He's…changed."

"He's not the only one," Lily said, her voice quiet. Then, with a small, hesitant smile, she added, "I think you have too, Clem."

“Did you have to pair me with him, Lily?” I whined as we continued side by side. She shrugged and gave me a sympathetic look.

“I couldn’t pair you with Remus for a second year, it wouldn’t have been fair.”

I couldn't dispute that. As I followed the other prefects towards the carriages, a strange sensation pulsed through me – a mix of uncertainty and an undeniable thrill. Hogwarts, with all its secrets and hidden complexities, had always been my true battleground. But this year, it was more personal. This year, my war was not just with Slytherins or a house system that seemed forever stacked against me. It was a battle against my own fear, my doubts, and the lingering question of who I was becoming in this shifting world of light and shadow.

The journey to Hogwarts in the horseless carriage was strangely subdued. Normally I would chatter with Marlene or listen amusedly to James and Peter boast about Quidditch prospects. This time, though, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken questions. The other prefects likely sensed something was up with Regulus and me, though their common sense thankfully kept them from asking overly prying questions.

When we arrived and filed into the Great Hall, the loud buzz of voices and the warmth radiating from the floating candles was momentarily overwhelming. My gaze sought the Slytherin table instinctively, searching for a familiar dark head. I found him easily, surrounded by the usual cohort, but he didn't glance our way. Instead, his eyes were trained on the head table, where Dumbledore stood to give his opening address.

As the old wizard spoke, his words about unity, fresh starts, and facing challenges echoed off the ancient stone walls. I couldn't help but think how ironic those sentiments seemed for me. Unity felt like a cruel joke, and whether this year was a fresh start or just another chapter in an age-old war remained to be seen.

The irony of Dumbledore's words was an icy weight pressing against my chest. Unity? At a time like this? Voldemort's quickly paced rise to power wasn't just whispered rumors and shadowed conversations, it had become a tangible fear, a darkness that slithered into every corner. Trust had grown fragile, every glance weighted with silent questions: Whose parents whisper in shadowed parlors? Whose friends disappear on moonless nights? I knew I wasn't alone in this newfound wariness, the glances exchanged between houses were strained, hesitant, as if long-held assumptions had disintegrated.

It had never felt so lonely at Hogwarts. I used to find comfort in the predictability, the rhythm of lessons and Quidditch matches, but now even those familiar spaces thrummed with an undercurrent of unease. Friends were scrutinized with an intensity that had only ever been reserved for our Slytherin foes. It was as if the specter of Voldemort forced us to redraw the lines, to re-evaluate every loyalty we'd taken for granted, creating a chilling echo of the house divisions within our own ranks. My eyes, almost against my will, drifted towards the Slytherin table again. They were a sea of emerald, green, yet the defiant pride they usually radiated seemed… muted. My gaze found its usual target, Regulus Black. He stared ahead, face an inscrutable mask, but a flicker of tension in his jaw betrayed something like unease. Was even he, so proud and poised with that pureblood arrogance, feeling the chilling weight of a world spun out of control?

After the plates were cleared, and goblets refilled with pumpkin juice, it was time for the Sorting Ceremony. The first years shuffled in, a mixture of wide-eyed nervousness and bravado evident on their young faces. I had a sudden urge to reach back six years, to when I'd sat there trembling, the Sorting Hat wobbling precariously on my head. So much had happened since that fateful day, so many moments where I'd grappled with the weight of its decision.

After settling the nervous gaggle of first-year Hufflepuffs into their new dorm, I retreated to my own room, exhaustion washing over me like a cold wave. Mary, Amelia, and Emmaline were already soundly asleep, the room filled with rhythmic snores and soft exhalations. It was usually a comforting sound, the symphony of shared space, but tonight the steady beat felt more like a taunt. Sleep wouldn't find me so easily this time.

My mind raced, spinning in dizzying circles. Regulus Black, of all people, somehow kept forcing himself to the forefront of my thoughts. The image of him in the prefect compartment, with his sharp angles and even sharper gaze, was branded in my memory. The Regulus Black of years past was a prat, no doubt about it. Slytherin arrogance had always dripped off him in waves, and his snarky comments had fueled more than one heated argument in the corridors. Yet, beneath that posturing, there had been a flicker of something softer, a hint of a smirk rather than a sneer. Now, those edges had hardened into something cold and brittle.

The summer with his family must have been pure hell. Of course, I knew his parents were monsters, but there was an abstract quality to that knowledge – whispered rumors, secondhand accounts that were easier to distance myself from. Seeing the physical manifestation of their cruelty, the echo of it etched into his very posture, was different. It was raw and undeniable.

A pang of something dangerously close to pity twisted within me. What was it like to face the world with that darkness at your back? What sort of armor did that require? The thought lingered, uncomfortable and unfamiliar. I should have felt a surge of triumph at his transformation, a grim vindication for his usual snide asides. But there was no victory in this coldness, no satisfaction in the way it echoed, in a warped way, my own hardening edges.

Questions swirled relentlessly through my head. The why, of course, was easy enough to grapple with. His parents, the looming shadow of Voldemort, the poison of pureblood doctrine… It was the how that left me feeling strangely unsettled. How does someone vanish kindness from their eyes so completely? How long does such a transformation take? And most worryingly, was there some echo of a similar process happening within me, fueled by different circumstances yet leading to the same chilling destination?

My hand reached absently beneath my pillow, fingers tracing the weathered surface of my father's old pocket watch. A steady ticking filled the silence, a comforting tether to the familiar. The Muggle world might have its limitations, but it was devoid of this soul-deep, generational darkness. My parents argued about chores and balked at the increasing cost of groceries, not about blood purity or whispered oaths in moonlit gardens.

Finally, with the exhaustion winning out, my eyelids grew heavy. The image of Regulus Black, his face a mask of cold indifference, flickered at the edges of my consciousness. In its place, the rhythmic ticking of the watch turned into the steady thudding of a Quidditch Bludger, and the tension in my shoulders began to ease. Tomorrow, there would be Charms homework, Quidditch tryouts lurking on the horizon, and the Slytherins to spar with in class and out. Those battles were familiar, expected. But something told me the war I was fighting with Regulus Black, the silent one simmering beneath the surface, would prove a far more complex sort of challenge.

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My first day of classes started with a double dose of Transfiguration – always a mixed bag. McGonagall was as sharp as ever, but the sixth-year material made my brain ache, the complexities of advanced transfigurations requiring a level of focus I wasn't sure I possessed after the chaos of the summer. Thankfully, I was seated next to Pandora, who'd become a surprisingly close friend last year. Her chaotic Ravenclaw energy balanced my Gryffindor stubbornness perfectly.

"Do you think she actually knows what's on the N.E.W.T. exams?" I whispered to Pandora midway through, as Professor McGonagall launched into a rather terrifying explanation of vanishing complex organisms.

Pandora, her silver-blonde chaotic hair pulled into a messy braid, snorted. "Clem, she writes half the exams. Of course she knows!"

"Still…" I grimaced, staring at the gargoyle-to-teapot transfiguration I was butchering with alarming consistency. The idea of that level of scrutiny felt akin to facing down a particularly vicious Hungarian Horntail.

Yet, even amidst the stress, I couldn't deny the rush of satisfaction that came with tackling more complex spells. It was like a complicated puzzle, a dance of wand movements and focus. It offered a welcome distraction from dwelling on the darkness that hovered at the edge of my thoughts.

By the time the final bell rang, my brain felt thoroughly fried. I stumbled out of the classroom with Pandora, both of us mentally preparing for the horror that was History of Magic. Professor Binns, a ghostly specter, had the uncanny ability to make even the most fascinating subjects feel like a torturous dirge.

"Just breathe," Pandora advised with mock seriousness as we made our way towards the dullest classroom in Hogwarts. "Focus on how soft the chairs are. Maybe Binns won't notice if you take a quick nap?"

The class was exactly as I remembered: Binns' monotone voice droning on about goblin rebellions, half the class slumped over their desks in various states of slumber. I fought valiantly against the overwhelming urge to give in to the siren call of sleep. Instead, I resorted to my time-honored tradition of doodling Quidditch plays on the corner of my parchment.

An eternity later (or, more likely, a regular forty-minute class period), Binns finally released us with a spectral sigh. As I left the room, blinking rapidly like an owl caught in a sudden downpour, I spotted a familiar mop of messy dark hair down the corridor. A jolt of excited anticipation shot through me – it was Sirius.

Next to him, James was gesticulating wildly, his laughter echoing down the hall. I broke into a grin, any lingering tiredness replaced by a rush of warmth. Some things, at least, remained wonderfully, reassuringly the same.

I jogged to catch up with them, relief and joy bubbling within me in equal measure. Sirius had a wide grin plastered across his face when I reached them.

"Kit! Back to torture us all with your reckless flying again, are you?" he said, the warmth in his voice chasing away the ghostly whispers of History of Magic.

"Only if you and Prongs are up for a challenge," I retorted, tossing my bag over my shoulder. "Free period, and the Quidditch Pitch is empty. I was thinking a little two-on-one might be good practice."

James was already nodding enthusiastically, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "You're on, Evans. Prepare to be thoroughly trounced."

We wasted no time grabbing a set of practice brooms from the equipment shed. The autumn air was cool and crisp as we made our way onto the pitch. I could already feel the tension of the school year fading away, replaced by a familiar surge of adrenaline.

Sirius and James positioned themselves close together, ready to pass the Quaffle between them in a dizzying dance that was meant to disorientate me. I took a deep breath, pushing back a flicker of uncertainty. Flying was where I truly felt free, where I could be bold and daring without the weight of house rivalries or the lingering darkness that clouded so much of my life.

With a sharp whistle, James released the Quaffle straight into the air. I shot away from my starting position, weaving between my opponents, my eyes glued to the glint of red leather amidst the swirling afternoon clouds. Sirius darted close, nearly clipping my broom, but I swerved away with a laugh. My robes billowed around me as I picked up speed, chasing the Quaffle like a hawk after a field mouse.

For the better part of the hour, we tore through the sky, our laughter echoing against the stone walls of Hogwarts. Each stolen goal, each near-miss, was a victory. I felt lighter, brighter, like some version of myself I hadn't had access to in a long time.

When we finally sank back down onto the grass, my face ached from smiling. James was sprawled out on the ground, his chest heaving from exertion. Sirius, to my surprise, looked contemplative rather than his usual cocky self.

"You've gotten better, Kit," he admitted begrudgingly. "Honestly didn't think I'd have to try that hard."

The compliment, so unexpected, warmed me more than any Quidditch victory could.

The three of us stayed silent for a moment, the only sound passed between us was the heavy pants as we struggled to catch and calm our breath. We lingered on the Quidditch pitch, a sense of unspoken tension settling over us. The easy laughter from moments ago had faded into an uneasy silence. I studied Sirius, noting the fine tremors in his hands, the way he picked at a loose thread on his robes, avoiding eye contact. It was an uncharacteristic display of vulnerability, a stark contrast to his usual bravado.

With a tentative sigh, I turned to him, leaning on my elbow as I looked up at him. "How are things with the Potters?" I asked hesitantly, my eyes full of concern and worry for him.

Something akin to relief flickered across his face. It was a small opening, a fragile invitation to share his burden. "They're… they're good," he began slowly. "James’s mum and dad, I mean. They're everything my parents were not."

He described his room – no longer a cramped, stuffy prison, but a space of his own, filled with Quidditch posters and messy piles of books. He spoke of Mrs. Potter's fussing and the endless supply of homemade treats that magically appeared every morning like she could somehow sense his perpetual state of hunger. There was warmth in his voice when he mentioned Mr. Potter, who'd spent hours teaching him the intricacies of obscure wizarding enchantments.

James listened intently, his usual smirk replaced by a softness that was surprisingly endearing. "It's good you're finally with people who give a damn, mate. You deserve it."

"Yeah, yeah," Sirius mumbled, a faint flush creeping up his neck, "My mum would probably have a fit if she saw how much they spoil me."

But as he spoke, a subtle change washed over him. The genuine gratitude faded, replaced by a familiar flicker of bitterness in his eyes. I knew that despite the kindness of the Potters, the echoes of his broken home still haunted him.

"I tried speaking to Reg, on the train." He swallows thickly, pain clear in his eyes as he meets mine. "He wouldn't even look at me." He chokes a bit at the end of his sentence and his expression turns bitter. "My little brother, the great Black heir." He spits.

The words hung heavy in the air. James shifted uncomfortably, sensing the sharp twist in the conversation. Regulus, the ghost at the feast of our newfound peace, was a shadow neither of us knew how to dispel.

A complicated cocktail of emotions swirled within me. There was sympathy – a deep-seated understanding of what it meant to have family twist into something toxic and painful. Yet, a nagging worry gnawed at me. Sirius, with his open rebellion and fierce defiance, was easy to empathize with. But Regulus, that quiet enigma… he was a much harder puzzle to decipher. My experience in the prefects' compartment, witnessing his chilling transformation, only solidified that unease.

"Maybe," I began hesitantly, hating the way my voice faltered slightly, "maybe give him some time, Pads. Things… they change."

My attempt at comfort fell spectacularly flat. Sirius let out a harsh laugh, the sound devoid of any real amusement. "You think he hasn't had enough time? Years of listening to our parents' whisper poison while I yelled and broke every rule I could. He chose his path, Clem. Don't ask me to feel sorry for him."

I flinched. His words were a harsh reminder of the fundamental division between us. Even with my own changing perceptions of Regulus, I couldn't fathom abandoning Lily during her darkest moments. That fierce loyalty, born of shared history and unwavering love, was a foreign concept to Sirius. Our experiences might twist and turn, but that core difference remained a chasm too wide to bridge.

"Of course not," I said quietly, pushing down the flare of defensiveness. "I just…" I trailed off, unsure how to articulate the worry I carried, not just for Regulus, but for how this growing darkness would continue to shape Sirius himself.

He stared down at the grass, a muscle in his jaw working. "It's twisted, you know? Having a brother on the wrong side of all this." He gestured vaguely toward the castle, his meaning clear. "He's not just Regulus now, Kit. He's something else now. Something I don't even recognize."

A cold shiver snaked down my spine. The Regulus of our previous encounters, the one who traded polite barbs in the corridor, felt like a distant memory. The image of him on the train, the icy hardness in his eyes, surfaced unbidden.

"He'll grow up, Sirius. It'll just be a different path," I offered, even though I wasn't fully convinced of my own words. There was a darkness brewing within the Black brothers, of that I was certain. But how it would ultimately consume or change them, that remained an agonizing mystery.

James, ever the optimist, wrapped an arm around Sirius's shoulders. "Come on, enough of this moping. You're safe now, with us. Let's forget about the Blacks and their whole messed-up family for a bit."

Sirius allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, a half-hearted grin spreading across his face. For the next hour, we returned to our usual Quidditch banter, throwing outlandish ideas for new plays and mercilessly teasing each other. The shadows receded, and for those precious stolen moments, it wasn't about the war looming outside the castle gates. It was just us, three friends bound by laughter and a shared love of flying.

Yet, as we finally parted ways, a lingering unease clung to me. The specter of the Black brothers and the darkness that enveloped them was a wound that wouldn’t easily heal – not for them, and increasingly it felt, not for me either.

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The night that followed was restless. Sleep evaded me as fragments of the day spun relentlessly in my head: Sirius's haunted look, Regulus's cold stare, the echoing laughter on the Quidditch pitch that hadn't quite chased away the chill settling in my bones. At Hogwarts, amidst the comforting chaos, there was no true escape.

My owl, Zephyr, a sleek barn owl with feathers as white as snow, had been a gift from Remus the previous year. He seemed to sense my anxiety, his golden eyes wide with concern as he hopped onto the edge of my bed. I stroked his feathers gently.

"It'll be a long year, won't it?" I whispered to him, the question more of a quiet acceptance than a search for an answer.

The first owls of the morning arrived before I managed a few fitful hours of sleep. Exhaustion made every lesson that day feel like an uphill battle. Charms proved tedious, Potions was a disaster (Slughorn's booming voice felt like an assault on my fragile nerves), and by the time dinner rolled around, I was ready to collapse.

The Great Hall buzzed with energy, the start-of-term excitement mixing with whispered conversations of Voldemort's return and speculations about what the year ahead might hold. Marlene waved me over to a spot she'd saved, a pile of chocolate frogs stacked strategically to defend their territory.

"You look like a zombie," she declared bluntly, shoving a frog in my direction. "Bad night, Evans?"

"Just couldn't sleep. Head too full, you know?" I forced a smile, but Marlene wasn't fooled. She was alarmingly perceptive when she decided to be.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, a familiar gleam of mischief replacing her concern. "Was it a certain black-haired, brooding type that kept you awake?" she asked, a sly grin spreading across her face. I rolled my eyes; my closest friends still teased me about my crush on Sirius that had plagued me in my 3rd and 4th year and Marlene was the worst.

"No," I denied. "It's the NEWTs, I swear. McGonagall's lecture still echoes in my nightmares."

"Oh, come off it, Evans," she laughed. "You've always been brilliant in class. This is different. Spill."

Before I could formulate a proper denial that might actually convince her, Lily appeared. Her eyes, filled with a mix of resignation and amusement, met mine. She understood, even if Marlene was still in the dark.

"McGonagall wants to see all of the prefects after dinner," she announced. Her Head Girl voice was firmly in place, yet I caught a glimpse of the same tiredness that plagued me reflected in her gaze.

I let out a groan. "What did we do now? Are the Slytherins already brewing some nefarious scheme this early in the year?"

"Something about patrols and scheduling," Lily mumbled, I sighed, pushing half-eaten potatoes around my plate. The thought of patrolling the halls with Regulus Black was almost as unwelcome as sitting through a double period of History of Magic with Binns. We shuffled into McGonagall's office after breakfast, the usual air of cheerful prefect camaraderie replaced by an undercurrent of unease. The events over the summer hung unspoken between us. Even the silliest of our first-year charges seemed to sense the shift.

As McGonagall began to outline our duties, I glanced around the room. The faces of my fellow prefects were a mix of determination and barely concealed anxiety. Lily sat ramrod straight, her expression focused, a clear attempt to mask her own exhaustion. A few seats away, Bertram Aubrey, the Ravenclaw prefect with hair that refused to be tamed, nervously adjusted his badge. And, across from me, Regulus Black sat perfectly still, the faint light from the window making his sharp cheekbones appear even sharper. He looked more like a marble statue than a living, breathing human.

A small, traitorous part of me wondered if his summer had been as riddled with nightmares and lingering fear as my own. If the change I saw in him mirrored a darkness that was spreading through Sirius as well. The thought was chillingly unsettling.

"Don't worry, Evans, I'm sure you two will be thick as thieves by the end of the year," a vaguely familiar voice piped up from behind me. It was Lucinda, a Slytherin prefect and the new captain of the quidditch team. I'd barely spoken two words to her in the past five years.

Heat rushed to my cheeks. For years, certain people who found my friendship with Sirius odd had taken to teasing me about a supposed crush on him. I'd done my best to ignore it, but with Lily sitting just a few seats ahead, the old annoyance flared to life.

Just as I was formulating a suitably scathing retort, Lily spoke. "Honestly, Lucinda, you'd think by sixth year people would find a new joke. " Her voice held an icy edge that I knew all too well. It was the tone reserved for those who had crossed an invisible line.

Lucinda flushed crimson, muttering a half-hearted apology, but the damage was done. My stomach churned with a mix of embarrassment and a lingering annoyance.

"It's fine, Lily. Honestly." I waved off her concern. "Those rumors faded years ago."

It wasn't entirely true. People still whispered and speculated at our closeness. Now, though, the very idea seemed absurd. Sirius was a walking storm cloud and the thought of navigating his darkness on top of my own was utterly unappealing.

McGonagall cleared her throat, mercifully breaking the awkward silence. "As I was saying, patrols are doubly important this year. There are dangers lurking both inside and outside of these walls. It is imperative you follow your schedules diligently." Her gaze seemed to linger on me and Regulus for a millisecond longer than was strictly necessary.

When she went over the patrol pairs, a knot of dread formed in my stomach. The list was the same one Lily had handed out on the train. Regulus Black, my official partner in ensuring Hogwarts didn't descend into complete chaos. I couldn't even muster a silent groan.

Across the room, I caught his eye for a fleeting moment. If he thought the pairing was as dreadful as I did, he didn't let it show. His expression remained maddeningly unreadable.

The meeting ended with a final set of dire warnings from McGonagall about the importance of vigilance and the perils of wandering alone at night. As we dispersed, a sense of heavy inevitability settled over me. This year, more than any other, felt like a battle, and my assigned partner was the last person I'd have chosen to fight it with.

Pandora and Remus waited for me outside McGonagall's office. My mood, which had already been on a precarious ledge, took a further nosedive at the sight of Regulus falling in line with Lily. At least she'd had a chance to prepare herself, unlike me.

"Lily can’t put in a good word and have you paired with someone else?" Remus asked, his voice low. He could always read me better than the others.

“It wouldn't be fair.” I shrugged.

“Rotten luck.” Pandora shot me a sympathetic look.

"You have no idea," I muttered, trying to tamp down the rising frustration.

Just then, we were interrupted by a commotion further down the hall – laughter, shouts, and the unmistakable sound of several large objects being dropped. As we got closer, we realized the source was James, Sirius, and a group of younger Gryffindors, engaged in what looked suspiciously like an after-breakfast broomstick race in the corridor.

Remus sighed, a familiar mix of fondness and exasperation flashing across his face. "Honestly, is it any wonder McGonagall thinks we need constant supervision?"

Before I could offer a sarcastic retort, a figure detached itself from the crowd and approached us. Regulus Black.

"A word, Evans." He didn't wait for a reply, his voice low and clipped.

I blinked, startled at both the interruption and his blunt request. Turning to my friends, I offered a weak smile. "Go ahead, I'll catch up."

Pandora and Remus exchanged worried glances, but retreated, leaving me alone with Hogwarts' most frustrating enigma. Regulus waited until we were a reasonable distance from the chaos before speaking again, his tone bordering on hostile.

"We have Tuesdays," he stated, glancing down at the patrol schedule in his hand, "and Thursdays as well."

I struggled not to twitch in irritation, did he think I was dim enough to not read the schedule?

He looked up, his grey eyes eerily blank. "We'll meet by the statue in the Transfiguration Courtyard. At seven. I despise tardiness, so don't be late."

He turned and walked away, leaving no room for argument.

My hands clenched into fists. "Did you need my input, or would you have liked me to just stand silently and nod?" I called after him, unable to contain my sarcasm.

Regulus froze mid-stride, his shoulders stiffening. Slowly, he turned back to face me. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes – anger, maybe even a hint of surprise – but it vanished as quickly as it came.

"It would have been much more efficient, Evans," he replied flatly. His voice held all the warmth of a frozen icicle. With that, he continued down the corridor, leaving me to grapple with a jumbled mess of annoyance and a grudging sort of respect. The boy knew how to get his point across, that was for certain.

I spent the rest of the morning attempting to focus on Quidditch tryouts with Pandora and Remus. They both peppered me with questions about patrols, clearly sensing something was amiss, but I deflected skillfully, hiding behind my excitement about potentially snagging one of the open Beater spots on the Hufflepuff team.

The rest of my day played out like a discordant symphony. The familiar routine of classes offered a semblance of normalcy, but it was a thin veneer masking the unease that thrummed just beneath the surface.

Herbology was as predictable as ever. Professor Sprout, with her perpetually dirt-stained robes and ever-present smile, exuded a cheerful pragmatism that was almost contagious. We spent the hour repotting particularly aggressive Shrivelfigs, their spiky leaves and tendency to spit acidic juice making the process more akin to wrestling an unruly toddler than tending plants. As I struggled to contain an explosion of purple goo, a flicker of amusement crossed my face. There was, at least, a certain satisfaction in the absurdity of it.

But then came Potions. The dungeon classroom, with its flickering lamps and shelves laden with ingredients that ranged from the mundane to the downright unsettling, always carried an air of suppressed tension. Sharing the space with Slytherins only amplified it. Slughorn, ever the jovial showman, seemed oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around him. Or perhaps, he simply didn't care.

With each precise instruction doled out in his booming voice, a wave of anxiety washed over me. Potions required meticulous attention to detail, the sort of focus I severely lacked at the moment. One misstep could result in a minor disaster, or, if you were particularly unlucky, something far more catastrophic. Today, even the simple task of slicing knotgrass roots felt fraught with peril.

My gaze drifted to the Slytherin side of the room, settling on a hunched figure. Regulus Black worked with an almost unsettling intensity. His movements were fluid, confident, and each ingredient was added with practiced ease. There was a darkness about him, but it wasn't the same volatile energy I sensed in Sirius. His was a quiet sort, a controlled burn that hinted at depths I couldn't fathom.

A knot of resentment tightened in my chest. Why did he have to be so… competent? Why couldn't he be a bumbling fool, thus making it easier to stick to my neatly divided worldview of good and bad?

I forced my attention back to my own cauldron, which was emitting a rather suspicious-smelling smoke. My attempt to create a Wiggenweld potion was clearly going south. As I frantically consulted my tattered Potions textbook, I could feel a pair of grey eyes studying my frantic movements.

With a resigned sigh, I flagged down Slughorn. "Professor, I think I might have added the Bezoar a bit too late..."

He peered into the cauldron, a slight frown creasing his jovial face. "Ah, well, Miss Evans, seems like this potion has taken a turn for the whimsical! Not to worry, a simple Vanishing Spell should help…unless, of course, you fancy a demonstration of accidental hair growth?"

A ripple of amused laughter spread throughout the Slytherin side of the room. My cheeks burned. Of course they'd find my misfortune entertaining.

I muttered the incantation under my breath, picturing my failed potion vanishing into thin air. A fresh wave of frustration gnawed at me. It had been years since I'd performed this poorly at Potions, and the fact that Regulus had likely witnessed the whole debacle only made it worse. At least in Charms, I could blame a misfired spell on a faulty wand. Potions, though, that required actual skill. A skill I seemed to be rapidly losing.

The thought of him, with his perfect composure and the mocking laughter of his house ringing in my ears, was almost as unbearable as the lingering stench of my failed Wiggenweld. Yet, the memory of his words the previous evening, the curt efficiency, lingered as well. Perhaps, in some twisted way, our patrols would offer a strange kind of respite. In the solitude of Hogwarts' corridors, where the only enemy was the lurking darkness, maybe our roles would be clearer. The thought offered the faintest flicker of hope, a candle flame stubbornly refusing to extinguish in the face of an impending storm.

#regulus black #regulus deserved better #sirius and regulus #regulus black x oc #regulus x oc #the maruaders #regulus black x hufflepuff reader #regulus black x reader #regulus black x you #marauders era

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Sombre et Pur'

Chapter 4

Fifth Year – 1975

My fifth year began with an abruptness that mirrored the way my friendship with Sirius had snapped back into its usual form. The crushing weight of my feelings hadn't magically lifted, but a sort of resigned acceptance had settled over me. I locked it away, a dull, throbbing ache beneath the surface I ruthlessly ignored.

The first few weeks were a blur of new textbooks, bubbling cauldrons, and a return to the sweet chaos that always accompanied the Marauders. Perhaps the distance had been good for us; there was a fresh ease to our interactions, the old camaraderie shining through the unspoken heartbreak. I threw myself into studying with a single-minded focus, pouring over ancient runes and memorizing jinx reversals. The escape into the structured world of magic was a welcome reprieve from the tangled mess of unrequited feelings that lurked just beneath the surface.

Without the constant thrum of love-struck yearning, I noticed things I had missed. Our common room, always brimming with a boisterous hum, felt strangely quiet, an undercurrent of tension buzzing just below the laughter. Remus’s smile seemed strained, his eyes holding shadows older than our fifteen years.

Then there was Regulus. The sharp-tongued boy I had sparred with for years had become a shadow of himself. Less taunts, less of the Black arrogance, replaced by an almost haunted silence. There were dark bruises peeking from beneath his robes, a hunted look in his eyes that seemed to reflect my own hidden pain. I caught him watching us more than once, a strange mixture of calculation and longing flickering across his face. Yet, we never spoke of that night in the Astronomy Tower. It hung between us, an unspoken and uncomfortable truth.

In a rare moment of vulnerability, Sirius confessed the reason for the shift in the atmosphere around us. "Mum and Dad," he muttered darkly, staring out the window at a particularly vicious Quidditch practice. "Pressure keeps mounting. On both of us..." He trailed off, then looked at me. In his eyes, usually alight with mischief, there was a flicker of something akin to fear.

I swallowed, my own tumultuous home life, thankfully far less sinister, flashing through my mind. "Are the... are the beatings getting worse?" The words felt heavy on my tongue.

He nodded, his gaze dropping to his worn trainers.

"Reg, mostly. Dad wants him on the 'right side', no matter the cost. Says I'm already a lost cause..."

His voice was barely above a whisper. Aching sympathy mixed with a helpless anger stirred within me. We sat there, staring at the rain-soaked Quidditch pitch, neither of us saying a word. But for once, the silence between us was of the comforting kind.

The rest of the year passed in a flurry of whispered plans, clandestine transformations under the cloak of darkness, and a growing awareness of the darker currents in the wizarding world that extended far beyond our teenage worries. For a few fleeting hours, when we were running wild through the Forbidden Forest, the weight on our shoulders would ease. I had learned, through painful trial and error, that ignoring the ache in my heart worked... most of the time.

There were still bad days, of course. Days when I'd pass Sirius and Remus engrossed in a hushed conversation, a laugh or smile shared between them that pierced me like a rusty arrow. But I'd blink, focus on Professor McGonagall's sharp gaze or the complex knotwork of a new spell, and push the feeling aside. It became a habit, a way to survive the year without shattering completely.

Strangely, even the triumphs that usually brought me a rush of satisfaction felt hollow. I aced my exams, my Transfiguration essay even earning a rare flicker of praise from McGonagall. Finally, I could consistently match Regulus Black in Potions, Slughorn's booming voice echoing with approval directed at me, not him. Yet the spark of victory I craved, the triumphant feeling of proving myself, was strangely absent.

It was as if all the joy had been leached from things, leaving behind only a dull ache and a strange, unsettling apathy. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Waiting for the boys to emerge from their O.W.L.s felt like watching a kettle slowly come to a boil. The usual thrill of anticipation was absent, replaced by a bone-deep weariness that mirrored the dull ache in my sun-warmed limbs. I'd settled into a patch of clover, my head propped against my bag, promising myself just a few minutes of respite. That was how I usually ended up snoozing right through Charms, much to Professor Flitwick's dismay.

My Arithmancy notes lay abandoned beside me. The intricate calculations might as well have been ancient hieroglyphics. Instead of focusing on my work, I found myself tracing the paths of ants through the vibrant green blades. They, at least, seemed to know exactly where they were going.

"Evans, here's your Charms notes. Since you played hooky yesterday."

The shadow that fell across me was accompanied not by the usual boisterous clatter of the Marauders, but by Regulus Black's sharp drawl. Typical. Flitwick had likely sent his pet lackey in hopes of catching me slacking.

I propped myself up on one elbow, shielding my eyes from the sun. "Felt a bit peaky yesterday, not that it's any of your concern, Black." My voice rasped slightly. Even the insults took effort today.

He thrust the notes towards me, and it was then that I noticed it. His hair, never as perfectly coiffed as his brother's, was utterly disheveled. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and his usually pale skin was tinged with an unhealthy pallor.

"You really are a prat, Black--" I started, but the words felt hollow. The dark gaunt circles under his eyes and the pallor of his face making me chew on my bottom lip in contemplation. A flicker of concern, unwanted and unwelcome, bloomed in my chest. "Are you ill?"

His reaction was immediate. It was like a mask slammed down, replacing the exhaustion with hard defiance. "Don't do that," he ground out, his fingers tightening on the parchment.

"Do what?" I was genuinely bewildered.

"That whole bleeding-heart act. Don't try it on me," he said, his voice low and full of a bitter anger that seemed out of proportion to the situation. "I don't need your help, Evans."

A thousand scathing responses bubbled to the surface, the same ones I had hurled his way for years. I wanted to lash out, to hide the uneasy mix of pity and protectiveness that stirred within me. There was still that part of me that craved revenge, however petty, for the countless insults, the way he made my cheeks burn. But I swallowed it all back down.

Instead, I simply looked at him. Really looked at him, beyond the bravado and the carefully cultivated Black persona. He radiated a silent, desperate kind of loneliness that cut far deeper than any schoolyard taunt. And beneath the layers of exhaustion and simmering anger, there resided a sliver of the boy I’d shared an unlikely moment of vulnerability within the Astronomy Tower.

My words, when they came, were barely above a whisper, a stark contrast to our usual verbal duels. “It’s there, when you do.”

The arrogance on his face faltered. His eyes narrowed; his mouth set in a thin, unreadable line. I held his gaze, an unspoken challenge hanging in the heavy silence. Let him deny it. The silence between us was charged. Regulus seemed shocked into a wide-eyed silence, a flicker of something like sadness lingering in his gaze. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but before he could a commotion erupted from the direction of the lake, cutting short whatever he was going to say.

A wave of unwanted déjà vu washed over me. It sounded disturbingly similar to the times Regulus and his crony friends harassed Peter. My heart hammered against my ribs as I whipped my head around, searching for the source of the noise. My eyes landed on a cluster of students on the lakeshore, and amidst them, a flash of fiery red hair set off alarm bells in my head.

Then, a voice rang out, sharp and furious. It was so familiar, yet tinged with a raw desperation that sent a chill down my spine. "Leave him ALONE!"

Lily.

Regulus turned towards me, a startled expression flickering across his face. "Is that your sister?"

My hand found my wand, tucked into the waistband of my robes, and I was already turning, Regulus on my heels. "Better not be your cronies harassing Peter again, Black," I hissed over my shoulder, a wave of protectiveness for my bookish best friend mixing with a growing sense of dread. "I swear to Merlin..."

"We have better things to do than to pick on your little lump of a friend, Evans," Regulus retorted, his tone holding an odd mix of exasperation and defensiveness. He was on my heels, quickly following the sound of the commotion with me ahead of him.

The shouting grew louder the closer we got. A surge of panic-fueled energy propelled me forward. We burst through a ring of spectators and my heart seized in my chest. The sight before me was like a horrible echo of countless other confrontations.

Severus Snape lay sprawled on the ground, gagging and choking as thick, frothy bubbles spilled from his mouth. Standing a short distance away, wand still outstretched, was James. A cruel smirk twisted his lips, and he tossed taunts at a red-faced Snape, his free hand brushing his glasses out of the way in that infuriatingly familiar gesture.

Beside him, Sirius and Peter stood with arms crossed, their expressions a mix of indifference and twisted amusement. The horror of the scene slammed into me with the force of a rogue Bludger. My boys, the ones I'd laughed with countless nights in their common room, looked monstrous in this light.

A cry of rage was building in my throat, but it died before it escaped my lips. Regulus’s hand closed around my upper arm, a tight grip that felt less like malice and more like an anchor against the urge to charge in blindly.

"Don't get involved with this, Evans," he said in a low voice. There was tension in his jawline, his eyes fixed on his brother with an unreadable expression. "All right, Evans?" James called out to Lily, and the tone of his voice was suddenly pleasant, deeper, more mature and it was cutting through the charged air. He barely spared Snape – gasping and clawing at the ground in a desperate attempt to breathe – a glance. Lily was in his way, her fiery temper a beautiful, terrifying force in the face of his casual cruelty.

"Leave him alone," Lily repeated, her voice taut with barely concealed fury. She was fixed on James with an expression of pure and open disgust. "What's he done to you?"

"Well," James drawled, the smirk never leaving his face, "it's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean..."

Howls of laughter erupted around them. Sirius and Peter cackled, mirroring the glee of their little audience. Regulus’ grip on my bicep loosened, replaced by a tense silence as he watched his brother with a mixture of resignation and something darker in his eyes. I remained rooted to the spot, a spectator in this nightmare that seemed to twist and replay on some awful loop.

"You think you're funny," Lily spat, her voice carrying over the jeering crowd. "But you're just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone."

James's cocky grin only widened. "I will if you go out with me, Evans. Go on... Go out with me, and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again."

Snape was slowly regaining his bearings, crawling towards his fallen wand. Soap suds dripped from his chin, his humiliation painfully obvious.

"I wouldn't go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid," Lily said, her voice cold as ice.

"Bad luck, Prongs," Sirius announced cheerily, turning his back on Snape. A shout – "OY!" – followed, but it was too late. A flash of light illuminated Snape and with a flick of his wand a gash appeared on James's cheek, spraying his shirt with blood. I hissed in sympathetic pain. Before I could process it, Sirius was already turning on me, a surprised look on his face at seeing me and his brother standing there. Then, James was whirling around, pure fury contorting his features as Snape struggled to pull himself upright, wand raised, dripping with soap and water.

Another flash of light erupted, and the scene changed with sickening speed. Snape was dangling upside down, his robes obscuring his face, revealing a shock of pale legs and embarrassingly old underpants.

A low curse escaped Regulus, his eyes wide as he watched the unfolding scene. I covered my mouth with my hand, mortified and aching for Snape, who was flailing in the air like a hooked fish.

The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter. James, Sirius, and Peter were practically howling, flushed with the thrill of their cruelty. A split second of guilt flickered across Lily's face, as if even she couldn't help but find the ridiculousness of Snape's predicament amusing. But then she straightened, and her voice sliced through the uproar.

"Let him down!"

"Certainly," James smirked, flicking his wand, and Snape dropped to the ground like a sack of wet laundry. He scrambled to his feet, wand raised feebly, but before he could retaliate, Sirius had struck. "Petrificus Totalus!" The spell rebounded off Snape, rendering him immobile once more.

"Sirius!" I chided instinctively, but my voice was lost in the renewed wave of laughter.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" Lily's cry was one of pure rage now, her own wand drawn. James and Sirius paused, their grins fading under the intensity of her gaze.

"Ah, Evans, don't make me hex you," James said, half-heartedly raising his wand.

"Take the curse off him, then!"

A sigh escaped James, and he muttered the counter-curse. "There you go," he said, as Snape jerked back to life. "You're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus –"

"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!"

My heart stopped. The air seemed to crackle with the insult. A collective gasp ran through the crowd. I felt Regulus stiffen beside me, his grip on my arm suddenly absent. I turned, and his eyes met mine – wide with horror, mouth slightly agape. Shame was mirrored in his features, echoing my own sick feeling.

Lily paled. "Fine," she choked out. "I won't bother in future. And I'd wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus."

"Apologize to Evans!" James was practically vibrating with fury, his wand trained on Snape.

"I don't want you to make him apologize," Lily retorted, rounding on James. "You're as bad as he is..."

The rest of her tirade barely registered. The world narrowed down to Regulus's haunted gaze burning holes into me, the tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks, and the crushing certainty that something fundamental had shattered, leaving jagged pieces in its wake. Lily turned to escape all of them, finally noticing me, beelined to where I stood and grabbed my hand, pulling me from Regulus's silent stare and the ugliness of that place. But the look he gave me, a haunting echo of pain, stayed with me long after the shouting faded behind us.

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The rest of the year unraveled like a tapestry chewed up by moths. The once vibrant threads of our friendship, the laughter in the common room, the midnight runs through the Forbidden Forest, were now faded and torn. A heaviness had settled over us, a shadow we couldn't shake. Sirius and Remus were barely on speaking terms. There was a hollow space where their easy banter used to be, an icy silence during their rushed meals. It seemed like every day another crack appeared in the bright facade Sirius tried so desperately to maintain. The weight of suspicion, of the whispers that followed his name, was slowly crushing him.

What made it worse was Remus's withdrawal. He stopped coming to classes, barely ate, and vanished as soon as the sun rose. According to Mary, my Hufflepuff friend, he spent most of his days in the greenhouses, tending to strange, spindly plants and muttering charms under his breath. He'd return to his dorm in the dead of night, face gaunt and eyes dull with some private torment. His absence hung heavy in the air. Gone were the stolen chocolate frogs shared under the covers, the whispered theories about what lurked in the darkest depths of the lake, the quiet support he always offered when one of us was feeling overwhelmed. His empty bed was a constant, aching reminder of the distance widening between us.

Lily became his shadow, her fiery spirit a flicker of light in his growing darkness. She'd sit with him in forgotten corners of the castle, her voice soft and murmurous. Sometimes I'd catch glimpses of them walking by the lake in the moonlight, the way Remus's normally hunched shoulders seemed to straighten a little in her presence.

It made the ache in my chest twist even sharper. I longed to offer him the same kind of solace, to help carry his burden. But the echo of his shadowed gaze when I mentioned Sirius, the silent plea for me not to push, held me back. They had secrets I wasn't privy to, a bond forged in shared pain that I could only observe from afar.

The rest of the year was an endless storm, the darkness swirling within us mirroring the darkening skies outside. Whispers of Voldemort’s growing power slithered through the corridors, and the word “Death Eaters” was spoken fearfully. The accusations that followed Sirius were like a constant, low thrum beneath the surface of every interaction, every stolen glance. Yet, he and I clung to each other, an unspoken alliance against the world that seemed determined to tear us apart. Our midnight escapes became more frequent, desperate bids to recapture the simple joy of just being a fox and a grim, hurtling through the darkness.

James was our anchor, his bravado unwavering in the face of the swirling rumors, his loyalty a shield for his best mate. We spent long nights in the common room, playing increasingly reckless rounds of Exploding Snap, the laughter a balm for our battered spirits.

The end of the year came as a relief. The looming shadow of exams was a welcome distraction from the deeper fear and the broken bonds that haunted us. Saying goodbye was a hollow ritual. We mouthed promises to stay in touch, knowing full well that the coming summer would likely stretch those promises thin. Remus vanished the moment the Hogwarts Express clattered into Hogsmeade station, leaving a lingering sense of guilt that settled over me like a fog. The journey home was a quiet one. Sirius sprawled across the seats, seemingly asleep, but I knew the dark circles under his eyes weren't just from lack of rest. James sat across from me, absently tossing a worn Quidditch practice Snitch into the air, his usual easy grin replaced by a contemplative frown. I escaped under the pretense of fetching a snack from the trolley, inwardly cursing my lack of foresight in not stashing a hoard of chocolate in my trunk. The corridor offered a brief respite – relative quiet punctuated by the steady rumble of the train and the occasional muffled argument drifting from inside compartments.

It was, as always, an excellent place to get lost in thought. I wondered how my parents were doing, if that awful rash on our neighbor's cat had cleared up, and whether or not there would be lemon drizzle cake for dessert when I got home. Just as these pressing concerns were threatening to completely consume me, a solid mass of dark green robes materialized directly in my path.

Regulus Black stood mere inches from me, a hint of amusement in his usually guarded gray eyes. A strange warmth flooded my cheeks and I immediately berated myself. Did he have to be so… unfairly handsome? The neatly combed hair, the way his robes fell perfectly on his shoulders – it gave him an aura of aristocratic elegance that shouldn't have been attractive to me, but good lord it was.

To get past him, we engaged in an awkward sideways shuffle, and despite my best efforts, my shoulder brushed against his. His scent, an intriguing mix of old parchment and some kind of spicy cologne, drifted towards me. Another wave of warmth spread across my face, which hopefully he couldn't detect.

"Have a good summer, Evans," he said as I managed to maneuver past him, the warmth in his voice catching me off guard. It was strange, this unexpected shift from the usual snide comments and thinly veiled dislike.

"Have a good time with your family," I replied without thinking. And, like a fool, immediately regretted it.

I knew, of course I knew, that the Blacks weren't a happy bunch. Rumors swirled about their fanatical adherence to pureblood ideals, their parents' cruelty, and a house filled with whispered curses and dark magic. The haunted look in Sirius’s eyes after a long break spoke volumes about the sort of environment they returned to.

Regulus's expression shuttered closed in an instant. My stomach twisted with guilt and a touch of frustration. My intentions might have been harmless, but the reminder of his home life was likely far more cutting than any insult.

"Regulus—" I began to apologize but he held up a hand to stop me.

"It's fine, Evans. Really." Yet, the way he said it was so incredibly not fine that it hung between us, a testament to my impulsive blunders. With a sharp nod of his head, he turned abruptly and strode further down the corridor, leaving me in his wake.

I stood there for a long, awkward moment, debating whether to chase after him or simply retreat to my compartment of chaos. Part of me wanted to try again, to somehow ease the sharpness of my words. But another, more rational part reminded me that Regulus Black was a Slytherin, and a Black – his pride wouldn't appreciate the sympathy barely concealed in my apology. Leaning against the cool window, I watched the Scottish countryside roll past. Instead of chasing him, I resolved to be more mindful, more observant the next time we crossed paths. He might not want my pity – indeed, it might make things worse, but maybe he just wanted someone to notice. To acknowledge him as an individual, not a mere extension of his brother or his family name. The rest of the train ride passed in a haze of half-eaten chocolate frogs and whispered jokes with Lily. The guilt over my exchange with Regulus lingered, but so too did a sliver of determination.

As the train finally screeched to a halt at King's Cross, the bustling crowds and shouts of reunited families blurred together. I spotted my parents instantly, my Mum waving excitedly, and my Dad balancing an enormous pile of luggage. With a relieved sigh, I headed towards them, the chaos a welcome balm after the tension of the train.

Yet, as I was enveloped in my Mum's warm hug, a flicker of movement in the corner of my eye drew my attention. For a moment, the Black brothers stood out amidst the sea of students – their profiles sharing that same aristocratic edge, yet their stances worlds apart. Sirius, laughing uproariously at something, his arm slung over the shoulder of an equally amused James Potter. Then there was Regulus, a step or two behind, his expression carefully blank. Something in his posture, in the way he held himself ever so slightly separate from the chaos, stirred familiar feelings of both guilt and quiet resolve within me.

My own parents and friends were evidence that not all families were poisoned by darkness or consumed by bitterness. It was idealistic, and probably more than a bit naive, to think that I could bridge the distance between me and Regulus Black. We stood on opposite sides of a chasm too wide, too deep.

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The first week of summer break was a glorious blur. Sleeping in past sunrise, stacks of library books that had nothing to do with schoolwork, and a kitchen table piled high with treats were a welcome change from Hogwarts' rigid schedules. But as the days wore on, a familiar restlessness settled in.

I missed my friends, especially the quieter, less dramatic ones. Marlene, bless her heart, could fill the silence of a cathedral with her chatter. Nearly every other day, a cheerful owl would drop off a letter filled with updates about her summer adventures, her relatives she was visiting, and the latest wizarding world gossip. It was like having a slightly less chaotic version of Lily with me. Even better, she didn't expect a lengthy reply, often content with just a short note of acknowledgment.

Pandora, despite being younger, always managed to outdo Marlene in the bizarre anecdote department. Her letters were filled with mishaps with morphing potions, tales of her chaotic relatives, and vivid sketches of her latest hair color experiments. I'd never met anyone quite like her, and her unique brand of energy was infectious through the written word.

James and Peter would occasionally send a joint letter, mainly filled with descriptions of their latest Quidditch moves and elaborate plans for the next year's round of pranks. While I appreciated their enthusiasm, sometimes the sheer amount of exclamation points made my head ache.

Remus was, surprisingly, more thoughtful in his correspondence. Gone was the silence that had formed between us. His letters were filled with insightful comments on the books we’d talked about sending over the holidays, and quiet observations about the natural world around him. It was like having a whisper of the Hogwarts library’s calm carried by owl post.

The lack of letters from Sirius, though, was a worry that gnawed at me. It wasn't unusual for him to go a few days without writing, but this was stretching into weeks. The memory of his haunted expression before the summer holidays lingered, a constant reminder of the darkness that swirled around his family. If Sirius, the boy who sent me even one sentence long posts throughout the week, seemed to be writing less frequently, how bad were things truly getting at Grimmauld Place?

Then, like a gut punch, came James's owl. An uncharacteristically short letter, his normally messy scrawl tight and filled with barely restrained fury. The words seemed to sear themselves into my brain: Sirius was cast out of Grimmauld Place. Disowned. Thrown out by his monstrous parents after one vicious argument. He had run to the Potters, bruised, bloodied, and carrying the weight of a broken home.

I sat at the kitchen table, staring at the crumpled piece of parchment for what felt like hours. A wave of nausea swept over me, mixed with a potent surge of anger. I knew the Blacks were cruel, but this … this was beyond what I had imagined. How could they do that to their own son?

Of course, I felt an immense relief that Sirius was safe, that the Potters had taken him in without hesitation. Mr. and Mrs. Potter had always been warm and welcoming, treating every one of James's friends like their own.

Yet, the relief was threaded through with fear. Fear for Sirius, for the scars – both seen and unseen – that he would inevitably carry. Fear for the lingering hurt, the way this betrayal would twist within him, fueling either a reckless fire or a cold, dark sort of bitterness. Fear for the backlash this would cause him.

Then, a horrible realization struck me like a Bludger to the chest. Sirius was gone, but Regulus remained.

It hit with a chilling clarity; Regulus, quiet and proud, was now the heir to the Black family. That meant he was alone in that house of whispers and darkness. Trapped.

The guilt of my fumbled words on the train, the reminder of his hollow expression, came flooding back in sickening waves. It was clear that Sirius was the one who fought back, who raged and rebelled – his pain and anger an open wound. But Regulus? He was the one with the carefully guarded mask, the one whose silence spoke of a different sort of hurt. It was all too easy to dismiss him as simply another Slytherin, a miniature version of his vile parents, but I'd seen the cracks in his facade, the flicker of hurt when I'd stumbled into his path.

My concern for Sirius warred with a newfound empathy for Regulus. They were brothers, yet their pain was likely as different as night and day. Sirius had at least found refuge, a family who loved him in a way his own blood had failed to. What did Regulus have? Did anyone see the boy beneath the pureblood posturing, the forced arrogance that was so at odds with his quiet sadness?

I had no answer. No comforting solution presented itself. The distance between us, our Houses, the way I embodied everything the Blacks hated – it made offering even the slimmest gesture of support seem impossible. This was bigger than our petty schoolyard rivalries. This was about a boy who might be drowning in a darkness that had nothing to do with the Sorting Hat.

The next few days were filled with an odd sort of tension. Our house, usually filled with laughter and a cheerful sort of chaos, felt suddenly muted. My parents, sensing my unease, offered the sort of well-meaning advice only Muggles could give. Distract myself, focus on the sunshine, don't dwell on the what-ifs. All noble ideas, but utterly pointless against the worry lodged stubbornly in my chest.

#regulus black #sirius and regulus #regulus deserved better #regulus black x oc #regulus x oc #original character #regulus black x reader #regulus black x hufflepuff reader #regulus black x you #the maruaders

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saveregblackordie0726 · 1 month

Text

Sombre et Pur'

Chapter 3

Fourth Year - 1974

A sliver of cold moonlight pierced the clouds, painting my cheek the color of a ghost. I hadn't seen its like in a month; not since the day I slipped the mandrake leaf into my mouth. The taste was always there now: green, earthy, the taste of becoming.

"You sure about this, Clem?" Peter practically whimpered, his voice barely rising above the sighing wind. His hand fluttered nervously, his eyes flitting between my face and the roiling sky, where the dance of lightning was beginning.

My stomach lurched, but not with fear. The constant weight of the leaf in my cheek made any food beyond broth and porridge a struggle, and my nerves were a tightrope I wasn't sure I could balance on any longer. "I'm sure, Wormtail. As sure as I can be about anything."

"But the risks–"

"I know the bloody risks," I snapped. The sharpness of my tone surprised even me, but I could practically feel Peter shrinking back, and the guilt was a sour tang mixing with the mandrake's bitterness. It wasn't his worry making me edgy, not really. It was the weight of the last month: the secrets, the taste that clung to the inside of my mouth, the knot of excitement and dread twisting in my gut.

James placed a steady hand on Peter's shoulder. "She's thought this through, Pete. You gotta trust her judgement." Warmth spread from the place where his fingers pressed against my best friend's jumper. James always had that effect, like a walking hearthfire. He'd been the first to say yes to my crazy plan, his eyes alight with that Potter recklessness we all loved and feared in equal measure.

Sirius had been harder to convince. The usual reckless gleam in his grey eyes was a muted flicker. "He’s got a point, love. It’s not all smiles and pumpkin juice from her on," he muttered, the words more for my benefit than Peter's, "It's just... this isn't some joke from Zonko's, Clem. Old magic, this is. Got teeth."

He nudged a chipped ceramic bottle towards me, and I felt the weight of it before I even touched the cool surface. Inside swirled the murky potion, brewed with the dew I'd collected at dawn, moonlight shimmering in its depths. This was it. Everything was coming down to this moment.

"I know." My voice shook as I lifted the bottle. My knuckles were white around the smooth ceramic, a stark contrast to the potion's dark swirl. "But that's the thing about magic, yeah? There's always a risk. You three run with a werewolf, remember?"

"One we understand," Peter shot back, his eyes wide and pleading. "This… this is messing with who you are, Clem. What if something goes wrong and you don't come back?"

I took a shaky breath. How do you explain the constant itch beneath your skin, the pull towards something you can barely define? I tried, setting the potion aside. "Pete, there's something in me, like a sleeping part I always feel at the edges of. This...this will wake it up. I have to try."

A rumble of thunder cut through the air, and the rain began, each drop a cool starburst against my burning skin. The wind roared through the willow branches, and it felt like a sign. It was time. I knew it right down to the marrow of my bones.

Sirius pressed closer, the scent of broom polish and a faint hint of chocolate frogs filling my nostrils. "The incantation," he reminded me, the thrill in his voice barely masked by a stern edge. "Don't forget a single word, not even when it gets wild out there."

I nodded, not trusting my own voice in that moment to not tremble.

My pulse thudded, a desperate counterpoint to the booming thunder. Time seemed both frozen and slipping away; every raindrop a tick of the clock bringing me closer to the unknown.

With one final look back at my friends, I pushed off from the ground, the familiar thrum of my broomstick humming in my hands. Even on a night like this, with the rain stinging my face and lightning painting the clouds in jagged streaks, there was a peace in flying. Up here, I was unbound, the wind and I a single wild force.

Each stroke of my limbs brought me closer to the heart of the storm. I aimed for the place where the thunder rumbled loudest, where the sky spat bolts of electric fire. It was both terrifying and exhilarating, and my heart hammered in my ears.

Finally, I found it: a wind-whipped clearing surrounded by skeletal trees. Lightning hammered the ground with a force I could feel in the marrow of my bones. Hair standing on end, I pushed the broom down, landing in a spray of mud.

The potion bottle, somehow still tucked into my waistband, pressed icy-cool against my skin. The rain was a veil now, blurring my vision. I fumbled for the stopper with trembling fingers, and, as I pulled it free, a flash of lightning revealed the liquid shimmering like blood inside.

Trepidation prickled down my spine, tightening my already cramped muscles. I was drenched to the bone, my teeth chattering and yet sweat dotted my skin with frantic heat. I lifted the bottle, the rain washing the crimson liquid into streaks as it slid down the ceramic.

Taking a steadying breath felt like holding the whole world inside my lungs. This was it. I placed my wand tip to my chest, feeling the steady rhythm of my own heartbeat. "Amato Animo Animato Animagus," I whispered, the words cracking on my swollen tongue.

It tasted of storm and metal and the sweet burn of the mandrake root echoing in its depths. It burned as it went down, sinking into me like molten fire. With a gasp, I hurled the empty vial as far as I could, feeling a jolt of panic at the thought of losing my wand too.

I jammed it under the lip of a large, moss-covered rock. Its rough surface was a rough anchor in the whirlwind of swirling sensations starting to take hold of me.

The pain hit first. Not the sharp ache of a broken bone or a cut. This was a deep, fiery blooming of agony, centered in my chest where my wand tip had rested. It spread outwards, prickling through my veins and setting every nerve ending alight. My muscles seized, a scream rising in my throat, but only a tortured whimper escaped past my lips.

Then came something stranger still: a second heartbeat, faint at first, then doubling in strength, thudding against mine. It was disorienting, my body no longer my own, a wild, untamed rhythm thrumming beneath the familiar beat of myself.

And the image… oh, the image! It burned into my mind, as vivid and inescapable as the lightning flashing just beyond my eyelashes. A fox, fiery red and sleek, stood in the clearing of my mind. Its eyes, glinting with an intelligence that bordered on cruel, bored into mine. The fox grinned, and in that fanged smile, I somehow knew freedom. My vision was an explosion of white-hot pain. I gasped, but the air barely reached my lungs; it felt like something was wrapped around my chest, squeezing the life from me. I fell to my knees, the mud cool beneath my rain-soaked skin, a stark contrast to the inferno inside of me.

Bone shifted and cracked beneath my skin. My senses went haywire: the rain was suddenly unbearably cold, and the smell of wet earth was so overwhelming it made me gag. It felt like my body was being torn apart and rearranged, an agonizing symphony of snapping tendons and muscle fibers screaming in protest.

Blackness speckled the edges of my vision, and I felt the terrifying pull of unconsciousness. Just as I thought I couldn't take another second, I heard a voice, deep and thrumming, cut through the roar of the storm and the whirlwind raging inside me.

"Focus." The voice was both inside and outside my head, familiar, yet strangely grounding. "Shape the change. Do not let it shape you."

I didn't know how, but some primal instinct responded. I clung to that voice and the image of the fiery fox with every piece of my fragmenting focus. The pain sharpened, twisting into something intentional, and I let out another choked cry that echoed in the storm.

The world was a blur, swirling rain and darkness. Yet, a new sensation surfaced: a strange sense of wrong angles. My legs felt too long, my hands like clumsy paws. The change was still tearing at me, but there was a direction to it now, a purpose.

Panic started to nibble at the edges of my consciousness. What if I failed? What if I got stuck, some grotesque, half-formed creature, forever trapped between human and animal? The image of the fox in my mind flickered, and a sort of desperate cunning replaced the fear.

I don't know how long it lasted. Time didn't exist in the maelstrom of pain and shifting senses. But then, like a sudden rush of water after a dam breaks, the agony subsided. It didn't disappear completely, but retreated into a dull background throb, replaced by a sense of intense…rightness. Every line of my body felt in place, as if this was the form I was meant to have all along.

With shaking limbs, I staggered to my feet, and the world lurched into a new kind of focus. Rain pelted my fur, sleek and red as fire itself. The world was a symphony of smells: the pungent richness of the mud, the metallic tang of a nearby lightning strike, a whiff of rabbit fear drifting on the wind.

My legs, now lean and powerful, moved in a rhythm I hadn't learned, but simply knew. I let out an experimental yip. It was thin and wavering but held the thrilling spark of the wild. The fox in my mind seemed to laugh in response, a soundless echo that resonated down to my very core. bark against my flank. The fox, it seemed, wasn't just in my mind; it was in every flick of my newly tufted tail, every prick of my alert ears, every bound of my powerful legs.

Then, my hackles rose. A new scent cut through the storm-washed air: musk and damp leaves, sharp and undeniably wild. I whirled around, muscles coiling as another shape emerged from the shadows.

A stag. Massive antlers rose from its head, proud against the night sky. But something about the way it moved, the familiar flick of its ears, sent a jolt of disbelieving recognition through me. No wild deer bore such intelligent eyes, no stag moved with that particular grace.

Beside it, another creature padded forward. It was the size of a large dog, its fur a ragged, matted black, and its eyes burned a feral yellow. Yet, the tilt of its head, the way it held its scarred muzzle... it was a twisted mirror image of a dog I knew, a dog etched into my heart like a brand.

Somewhere, deep down, the impossible clicked into place. James. Sirius. It could only be them.

Without thought, my fox barked, the sound sharp and piercing. The stag gave a surprised toss of its head, snorting. The black dog crouched low, a rumbling growl rising in its throat.

And then, like sunlight breaking through clouds, the recognition flickered in their eyes. The stag reared, a motion so familiar I felt it in my own bones, and let out a rumbling bellow that wasn't quite a deer's call. The dog lunged forward and then... it did the impossible.

It sat. It sat on its haunches and tilted its head in that distinctly Padfoot way.

I dared to approach, the fox's instincts warring with a strange sense of homecoming. We circled each other, ears twitching, every sense straining towards the almost remembered beneath the animal form.

He tackled me to the muddy ground, licking my muzzle with a tongue as rough as sandpaper, and a whine bubbled up in my own throat. It seemed we all had new sounds to learn, a language of barks, whines, and growls.

James, slower and somehow infinitely more majestic as the stag, kept his distance. But his eyes... those warm, familiar eyes shimmered with wonder, with thrill, just like mine.

We didn't need words. Some understanding passed between us, a silent pledge as old as the forest itself. The storm was fading, the rain trickling to a soft drizzle, and the first threads of dawn painted the eastern sky. But we weren't Clementine, James, and Sirius anymore. Tonight, we were something else.

The fox, the stag, and the grim – we ran until the sun peeked over the horizon.

We splashed through swollen streams, the cool water shockingly delicious against my fur. We chased squirrels up trees, not out of hunger, but because the thrill of the hunt was in our blood. The stag, with his powerful hooves and surprising bursts of speed, led the way. I, the sly and swift fox, darted through the undergrowth, my senses alight. And Sirius, with boundless energy that even his monstrous canine form couldn't contain, bounded beside us, the picture of sheer, unbridled chaos.

My human body ached for days afterward. The first transformation had been a brutal baptism, leaving my muscles screaming and an unfamiliar tremor in my hands. Even sleep was restless, haunted by phantom yelps and the lingering scent of wet fur. I would lie awake, staring at the cracked ceiling above my four-poster bed, and wonder if I'd ever walk on two legs the same way again.

In those hazy, half-dreaming hours, another, even more unsettling memory would surface. Remus. Or rather, the werewolf. The night the boys had brought me to the Shrieking Shack, the night the potion had failed, and I'd stared, frozen in terror, at the monstrous creature snarling at me from the shadows. My fox instincts had shrieked for me to run, to find a burrow to hide in. Yet I'd stood, forcing my legs not to tremble, because Remus was in there somewhere, and he was still one of them.

He hadn't attacked. He'd been wary, defensive, the predator in him sizing me up. It was progress, or so James had said, his voice strained yet hopeful. The werewolf now knew my scent, my non-threatening energy. It didn't erase the terror, but it had sparked a desperate determination in me. They needed me, and I wouldn't let my fear hold us back.

The boys, true to form, fussed and fretted and, of course, gave me a nickname.

"Kit," Sirius had announced one morning, handing me a plate of sausages with a mischievous grin. "Seems fitting, yeah? Small, clever, a bit too fond of chasing your own tail."

My cheeks had flushed then, as they always did around Sirius Black. It wasn't just the teasing. Everything about him made my pulse quicken – the messy sweep of his hair, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his laugh lit up the entire musty common room. Since the moment he had pushed his way into my path in our second year, I'd been a goner.

My new status as a fully-fledged Animagus had only cemented the hopeless crush. Our midnight runs were intoxicating. There was a thrill in knowing I wasn't just keeping up, but sometimes even outpacing the boys with my fox's swiftness and cunning. Yet, my favorite moments were those right after the transformations, when we'd linger as animals, some unspoken part of us reluctant to return to the confines of our human selves. It felt so right, so easy, just the four of us in the wild, unbound by petty worries or homework.

And Sirius… Sirius was always close, his grim form brushing mine. I started to imagine there was something beyond brotherly warmth in his eyes, a touch mirroring the yearning I couldn't hide from myself.

Then I'd remind myself that I was being a silly, lovesick girl, and he was Sirius Black, infamous heartbreaker and allergic to anything resembling emotional depth. If anything, he saw me as a younger sibling, another stray he'd taken under his wing.

Frustrated and achingly lovestruck, I tried everything. I'd linger by his side when we transformed back, offering a smile that I hoped seemed enticing instead of pathetic. I'd "accidentally" bump against his shoulder in the corridors. I'd even volunteered to help him and James with their most ridiculous pranks, ending up covered in troll bogies for my troubles.

Nothing sparked the reaction I craved. And then, one night, I noticed it. The sideways glances in Remus' direction, the way Sirius would casually position himself wherever he thought Remus might be in the common room, the lingering touches that went beyond mere friendship. He hid it well, so well that perhaps no one but me, with my heart hyper-focused on his every move, would have picked up on it.

The truth hit like a bludger to the stomach. He didn't return my feelings because they weren't directed at me in the first place. The boy I'd given my heart to was in love with someone else. It was a different kind of pain than the burning of the first transformation or the wolf's terrifying snarl. It was a slow, crushing pain, a hollowness that settled right beneath my ribs.

Days blurred into weeks. I slipped into a sort of desolate numbness, the usual vibrancy of Hogwarts fading into a dull backdrop. My fox instinct, once a source of joy, now felt like a cruel mockery. Even running with the boys had lost its luster. Each time Sirius's grim form brushed mine, a pang not of pleasure but of bitter heartache shot through me.

I was slipping away from them, retreating like a wounded animal to lick my wounds in solitude. The boisterous laughter of their common room was replaced by the hushed sighs of the library, my endless Charms revisions a shield against the chatter of classmates unknowingly reopening the ache in my chest. Meals became a test of endurance, my fork poking listlessly at food that had lost all flavor.

My sanctuary became the Astronomy Tower. Its drafty heights and stark beauty mirrored the emptiness inside me. I'd disappear for hours, my astronomy charts a half-hearted excuse, more often than not simply staring out at the vast sweep of stars with tears silently tracing paths down my cheeks.

It was there he found me one evening, the sharp scent of ink and expensive parchment preceding his entrance. Regulus Black was never a welcome sight: an echo of his brother, but with the Black arrogance amplified tenfold, and instead of Sirius' crackling warmth, there was only a sneer curling his lips.

"Potter's pet got lost? Or are you practicing your damsel-in-distress impression, Evans?" The insult was expected, a well-honed barb to provoke a reaction from me.

But this time, I merely gave a muted nod and began gathering my books. I'd mastered the art of going numb, of building walls so high even James' good-natured teasing couldn't pierce them.

"What, no quick-witted retorts?" He circled me, a predatory thing with eyes too keen for comfort. There was a strange curiosity in his voice.

I swallowed, trying to push the stone lodged in my throat down. No use showing weakness in front of a Black, especially this one. I attempted a nonchalant shrug and moved to leave. His hand shot out, landing on my upper arm with a surprising gentleness. His touch sent an unwanted ripple of awareness through me, a twisted reminder of the touch I truly craved. I froze, every muscle suddenly rigid.

His eyes searched my face, the usual scorn replaced by something I couldn't decipher. It was almost... concern? It was an emotion I had never associated with Regulus Black.

"Ah," he whispered, and it wasn't an exclamation of triumph but something softer, a whisper of understanding. "You figured it out, didn't you?"

He let out a low whistle. "You always were a clever girl."

The touch that had held me motionless a moment ago was now a burning brand. I yanked away, a hiss escaping through my teeth. "I don't know what you're talking about."

A harsh laugh filled the air, mocking, but the glint in his eyes wasn't cruel. "My brother."

He said the word with a tinge of bitterness that cracked open his usual facade of arrogance. We stood in silence: the wind whistling between the tower's stone arches, the ticking of the ancient astrolabe, the harsh intake of my own breath. Time lost all meaning as his words sank in, a final, devastating wave washing over me.

A sniff escaped and then a choked swallow of emotion. I turned my face away, ashamed yet not caring.

A small, hesitant sound from him. Then a rustle of fabric as he moved closer. An awkward hand landed on my shoulder – a touch so at odds with the Regulus Black I knew, yet mirroring the strange, hesitant gentleness of before.

"It's better this way," he said, his voice thick, words he likely never thought he'd speak. "Knowing is always best."

His kindness, however fleeting, was more disarming than his usual insults. I blinked away the last of the stinging tears and studied him, this unexpected facet of Regulus Black. It was as if, for a fleeting moment, a mask had slipped, revealing not just an inkling of empathy, but a weariness that mirrored my own.

A flicker of shame crossed his face, as fleeting as his vulnerability. "Forget it, alright? Just a moment of... weakness." His usual sneer was attempting to make a comeback, though it lacked its customary sting.

The old me, the me before my heart had been so thoroughly cracked, would have pounced on it. Would have thrown back some cutting remark about pureblood arrogance or the shock of seeing a Slytherin act almost human. But that girl was gone, buried under layers of unspoken longing and raw, aching disappointment.

The silence stretched again, heavy yet almost companionable. We shifted as one towards the stone railing, our gazes drawn to the starlit sky above. Here, amongst the celestial tapestry, my troubles seemed somehow smaller.

"Canopus," I murmured, tracing the faint outline of the constellation with my fingertip. It was one of the few I could reliably find, my father having drilled a love of astronomy into me from a young age.

Beside me, Regulus let out a surprised snort. "Well, well. Brains and beauty. Perhaps there's more to you than meets the eye, Evans."

A ghost of a smile twitched the corner of my mouth. Maybe there was still a spark of the old Clementine left in me. "Don't let it get to your head, Black," I shot back, the banter a welcome balm on the still-fresh wound inside me. "I make everyone around me look less intelligent by default."

He studied me for a moment, the moonlight highlighting the sharp angles of his face. Then, with a soft huff, he mirrored my stance against the railing. It felt oddly comfortable to have him there, a silent, prickly presence next to my own, our usual animosity fading into the backdrop of the night.

"Funny thing, stars," he breathed, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it. "Look so peaceful. Light takes years, lifetimes even, to reach us. Could be those stars burnt out ages ago, and we wouldn't have a clue."

There was a melancholy to his words that echoed the dull ache lodged in my own chest. We stood there, neither of us moving, our shoulders nearly brushing as we gazed upwards, both lost in the vast expanse of the night.

The spell was finally broken by the insistent hooting of a barn owl. I startled, turning away from the mesmerizing sight of the constellations. Regulus, too, seemed to shake himself, as if remembering who he was supposed to be. He cleared his throat, the usual disdain fighting its way back into his expression.

"Don't… mention this to anyone." His voice was strained, a sliver of vulnerability still shining through the carefully reconstructed wall. It struck me then, a pang of almost pity: even for all his posturing, Regulus Black was trapped in his own way, just as hopelessly bound by expectation and circumstance as I was by my unrequited love.

A laugh, ragged and tinged with bitterness, escaped my lips before I could hold it back. I gathered my books, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "As if anyone would believe me," I remarked, my voice laced with a weariness that matched his own. "Regulus Black showing a lick of human decency? Even Potter wouldn't buy that one."

A strange mix of emotions flitted across his face: a sliver of surprise, perhaps even a hint of respect. I didn't wait for him to respond. Turning, I left him there, the quiet boy alone against the stars, with his secrets just as heavy as mine.

We did not speak again.

#sirius and regulus #regulus deserved better #regulus black #regulus black x oc #regulus x oc #regulus x reader #regulus x hufflepuff reader #regulus x you #original character #the maruaders

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Sombre et Pur' (Chapter 2)

Third Year – 1973, 1974

Third year should have been easier. By now, I was settling into Hogwarts like it was a second home, the castle corridors feeling more familiar than those of our old house back in the muggle world. I'd grown out of the wispy bangs and the too-large ears that marked my first-year awkwardness. A confidence I never knew I possessed started bubbling to the surface.

But some things were harder, no matter how many times I'd climbed the Grand Staircase or snuck a forbidden snack from the kitchens at midnight. The chasm between me and Lily sometimes felt like an ocean, the brilliant flame of her relationship with Snape flickering like a distant beacon I could never reach. And Regulus Black... our rivalry had only intensified, the silent war in the classroom a relentless drumbeat that underscored every day.

Yet, beneath all that thrummed a different unease entirely.

It centered around Remus Lupin.

Remus, my confidant among the boys. He was brilliant but bookish, always with a forgotten quill behind his ear and a smudge of ink somewhere on his pale skin. His kindness felt boundless, extending not just to his friends but even to those on the outskirts, like dorky Peter. There was a sadness behind those warm, brown eyes though, a secret he held tight, like a wounded animal protecting its softest spot.

It was the full moons that gave it away. The disappearances, timed perfectly with the lunar cycle. The pale, drawn look upon his return, the way he'd flinch at sudden noises and shadows. The whispers from older students – fragments of words like 'creature' and 'danger'. It started as a suspicion, a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach, until one moonlit night, it snapped into focus as I watched the Whomping Willow flail and thrash with unseen force.

Werewolf.

The knowledge hit me like a Bludger to the chest. It explained everything.

Fear clawed at me, but not in the way I expected. It wasn't fear for myself, but fear for him. The isolation, the burden he must carry... my heart ached with it. Yet, there was anger too. Furious, burning anger at James, Sirius, and Peter. My boys, the ones I'd come to rely on. Why didn't they tell me? Did they not trust me enough to share this part of Remus?

The confrontation happened in a hidden alcove off the library. It was the spot Remus and I usually met to discuss whatever bookish obsession had consumed us that week. This time, there was no book in my hand.

"You lot are hiding something," I said, unable to keep the accusation from my voice. My cheeks were hot, a furious blush mirrored in the outraged splotches staining Remus' face.

"Clem, I..." he began, his voice thick with shame.

"Don't lie to me!" The words burst out harsher than I intended. "I know."

James and Sirius appeared at his sides then, a united front of guilt and defensiveness.

"Clem, it's complicated," Sirius started, his carefree tone absent.

"No," I cut him off. "It's really not. You've kept a massive secret from me, and Remus has been suffering all alone. Did you really think I wouldn't figure it out?"

They exchanged glances, a silent conversation I wasn't privy to. It was Peter, timid Peter, who finally spoke. "It's for his own protection, Clem. You don't understand –"

"Don't I?" I rounded on him. "Don't I understand what it's like to be different? To have people talk about your family behind their hands? I know what it feels like to be alone!"

The silence that settled was heavy. Even in my anger, a pang of guilt flickered through me. Had I pushed too far? My gaze fell to Remus, who looked a thousand years older than his fourteen years.

"We're working on it," James spoke, his voice low and full of a determination I'd never heard before. "We're going to help him."

"How?" My voice was barely a whisper now, all the heat momentarily gone.

It was Sirius, surprisingly, who answered. "We're...we're going to become Animagi." His face held a mixture of defiance and uncertainty. "So we can be with him during the...the full moons. So he's not a monster anymore, just one of us, one of the pack."

The sheer audacity of it left me speechless. The danger, the impossibility, the utter brilliance of them... my boys were going to defy fate itself for their friend.

He saw the determined look on my face before I could. “Don’t even think about it.” Sirius commanded, Peter beside him, the two looked as if they were paternal authority in my life and it set my teeth on edge.

"You want me to just sit back and do nothing?" I asked finally, my heart pounding a desperate rhythm in my chest. "While you risk everything for him?"

James took a step forward, his eyes earnest beneath his ever-messy hair. "Clem, you don't understand –"

"Yes, I do!" The words cut through the air. "I understand loyalty, and I understand love. Maybe more than any of you."

Sirius looked away, a rare flicker of vulnerability crossing his features. "This isn't some Hufflepuff helping-the-helpless act," he retorted, but it lacked his usual bite. "It's dangerous. More dangerous than you can imagine."

"Let me decide that," I countered, fire surging through my veins. "Remus is my friend too. Let me help."

Their faces held a mix of reluctance, worry, and a grudging respect.

"Clem..." Peter began, his voice small.

"I won't let him face this alone," I said, my voice unwavering. "We're in this together – always have been, always will be. Besides," I added, attempting a lighter tone, "Someone has to keep you four idiots from getting yourselves killed."

A small smile broke across James's face, the first glimmer of light in the tense atmosphere. "Merlin help us if you turn out to be even half as stubborn as Lily."

"Try twice as stubborn," Sirius snorted. "And with better aim during a Bludger attack."

My own smile finally bloomed. For a brief, glorious moment, there was just the warmth of camaraderie, the unwavering bond we had forged over stolen sweets and detentions.

But the reality crashed back down, as these things always did. Remus cleared his throat, his hand anxiously twisting his worn-out sleeve. "Clem, listen…it’s too much. You’re only third year – there’s so much you don’t understand about…what I am.”

“And I intend to,” I said, my resolve firm. “But if you think for one second you’re doing this without me, you’re all more Gryffindor-brained than I thought.”

“She’s got a point,” Sirius admitted, a grudging acceptance in his eyes. “Besides, the more brains, the better. Who knows what kind of insane spells we’ll need?”

Peter’s worried frown finally eased. “Maybe you could help us research? Figure out the safest way…” He trailed off, the prospect of my vast bookworm knowledge suddenly a distinct advantage.

But James shook his head, a determined glint in his eye. "No, she's not just helping. She's in."

"James!" Remus sounded panicked.

"She's proved herself, hasn't she?" James said. "Kept your secret, stood up to us, not scared off by all this…" He gestured vaguely, encompassing the gravity of their situation. "Knew there was more to her than met the eye, Moony. Sounds like Marauder material to me."

Tears stung my eyes – whether from gratitude or terror, I wasn't sure. Sirius let out a low whistle. "Damn, Evans. You know how to make an entrance."

“But not yet, youre still only a third year. If we somehow pull this off, you have to give it some time, Clementine.” Remus added, his face severe and drawn.

Despite the looming danger, the impossible task, I finally felt like I belonged. Not as Lily's sister, not just as a kind Hufflepuff. I was one of them – risk-taker, rule-breaker, a friend to the core.

"Deal," I said, extending my hand. The looks of stunned surprise were almost comical. But Peter's face lit up with a touch of awe, and James, after a moment of deliberation, grinned.

Sirius simply shook his head, a fond smile playing on his lips. "You really are something else, Clem Evans."

And in that moment, huddled amongst the dusty bookshelves, an impossible plan and an unwavering sense of purpose solidified.

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The end-of-term exams loomed, casting long shadows even over the sun-dappled shores of the Black Lake. I'd always loved this spot behind the castle, the soft tickle of grass against bare legs and the soothing lap of the water's edge. This time, it served as an outdoor study lair, a desperate attempt to cram weeks' worth of knowledge into my head.

Remus was stretched out beside me, a Herbology text open on his lap. My head resting on his thigh, his even breath lulling me into a deep relaxed state. But today, even the calming scent of dittany and lavender couldn't soothe his worried frown, and my eyes kept straying from my Potions notes to subtly watch him. The next full moon was in a few days, and its approach weighed heavily upon him.

"Can't concentrate?" I finally asked, nudging him gently with my foot.

He sighed. "Honestly? No. It's hard to focus on... mandrakes when..."

"I know," I murmured, a sympathetic ache settling in my chest. Even amongst the comforting chaos of the Marauders, Remus's secret burden was one he bore largely alone.

Suddenly, a wave of shouting drifted across the lake. It came from the direction of the Transfiguration courtyard, its sharp edges cutting through the usual birdsong. I tensed, my studies forgotten, but tried to shrug it off. Slytherin squabbles were common enough, unworthy of our intervention.

Remus, however, had sat up, his ears straining toward the noise. "That sounds like Wormtail, doesn't it?" he muttered.

Anxiety sparked to life in me. "Probably..." I started, trying to sound casual, but a sharp yell, undoubtedly Peter's, made any pretense of indifference impossible.

We scrambled to our feet, our forgotten textbooks abandoned on the grass. As we hurried towards the courtyard, snatches of cruel laughter drifted over the ivy-covered walls. Slytherins. It was always Slytherins.

Bursting into the courtyard, the scene confirmed our worse fears. Peter, surrounded by a jeering circle of green robes, was red-faced with humiliation. His bag dangled high above him, bouncing wildly at the end of a complex levitation charm, its contents spilling onto the cobblestones below.

With a groan of fury, I surged forward. Standing at the center of the Slytherins was a trio I recognized all too well. Evan Rosier, with his cruel smirk, and the hulking figure of Barty Crouch Jr. And, of course, my academic nemesis himself – Regulus Black. It was him holding Peter's bag aloft, his pale face alight with cold amusement.

"Let it go, Black," I snapped, pushing through the crowd. "This isn't funny."

The laughter died abruptly, the ring of Slytherins turning to regard me and Remus with a mixture of surprise and disdain.

"Well, well, what have we here?" sneered Rosier. "A Badger and a bookworm to the rescue."

"Just doing my Hufflepuff duty," I retorted, trying to mask the tremble in my voice with defiance. They may have been older, but fury stoked a reckless courage within me.

Regulus, however, barely spared me a glance, his focus on Remus. A flicker of recognition, perhaps even a touch of disapproval, passed over his features. "Shouldn't you be in the library, Lupin?" he drawled. "Or are you broadening your social circle?"

The jab hit its mark. Remus stiffened, his fists clenching by his sides.

"Just give him his bag back," Remus said through gritted teeth.

"And why should we?" Regulus countered, tilting his head with mock curiosity. "Tired of being the picked-on Gryffindor, are you?"

I could practically feel the tension coiling in the air, the threat of a fight brewing. The Slytherins outnumbered us, but neither Remus nor I were ones to back down. Yet, even in my anger, a sliver of uncertainty crept in. Confrontations were the Marauders' usual territory, not ours. I lacked Sirius's quick tongue or James's bold intimidation.

Regulus, as if sensing my hesitation, smirked and raised his wand higher. To my horror, Peter's bag swooped and spun in a sickening arc, sending his belongings scattering even further across the courtyard.

"Leave him alone!" I shouted, rage overriding any sense of self-preservation.

Regulus turned those sharp eyes on me, something dangerous glimmering beneath their surface. "Or what, Evans? Going to hex me with a particularly vicious Tickling Charm?"

His taunt hit me like a physical blow. I knew Regulus expected me to shrink back, the meek Hufflepuff facing a pack of Slytherins. But that flicker of doubt I'd felt was already fading, replaced by a white-hot surge of anger and a fierce protectiveness for Peter. I might not have James's swagger or Sirius's rebellious streak, but I wasn't defenseless, nor was I about to let my friends be humiliated.

"Actually," I said, my voice surprisingly steady, "I was thinking of something far more embarrassing."

He raised an eyebrow. "Enthralled, I'm sure."

Without another word, I focused my will, drawing upon the weeks of practice hidden away with Remus under the cloak of the full moon, lessons gleaned from forgotten library tomes and whispered instructions. I pictured the spell in my mind's eye, the complex wand movement, the intonation...

"Levioso!"

There was a gasp from the surrounding crowd as the spell shot from my wand. Before Regulus could react, his body snapped upside down, his robes falling just a smidge to reveal shockingly bright yellow underpants. His face flushed an even deeper red than Peter’s had been moments before.

The silence was broken by a wave of stunned laughter. Not cruel laughter like the Slytherins had doled out, but the amazed, slightly disbelieving laughter reserved for an unexpected feat. Some Slytherins even edged back warily, eyes flicking between me and the now-dangling form of their friend.

My own heart was pounding with a mix of triumph and a hint of fear. That spell was advanced, a fourth-year charm, and I’d never performed it on an actual person before.

Regulus struggled for a moment, but his wand had clattered to the cobblestones, leaving him utterly helpless. It was a profoundly satisfying sight.

Then, Remus was beside me, his voice low. "Finite."

The counter-curse snapped the magic holding Regulus, and he dropped with a graceless thump to the ground. He scrambled to his feet, a murderous look in his eyes. I was bracing myself for a retaliation spell, but instead, a flicker of something akin to respect crossed his face.

“Not bad, Evans,” he muttered, adjusting his robes with forced dignity. He gave a sharp nod to his cronies, and without another word, the trio stalked off, leaving the courtyard to us.

In their wake, a wave of relief washed over me, mingled with a heady sense of power. I’d stood up to them, I'd defended Peter, and I'd shocked the whole lot of them in the process.

Peter was rushing toward us, his eyes wide. "Clem, that was amazing! How did you...?"

A beaming smile burst across my face. "Studying," I stated simply, "And a thirst for some sweet, sweet vengeance."

Remus nudged me, his own grin growing. "Maybe Black won't underestimate you so much next time."

We gathered up Peter's scattered belongings, ignoring the scattered whispers and curious stares from the remaining students. As we made our way back to our abandoned study spot by the lake, I felt a shift – not just in the dynamic of the courtyard, but something within myself.

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Twilight painted the corridors in shades of indigo and amber as I hurried back to the Hufflepuff common room after a dinner that had dragged on far too long. My thoughts were still a whirl about the scene in the courtyard. I kept replaying my spell, the look on Regulus's face when he'd been hoisted helplessly into the air. A thrill of defiance warmed me, battling against the lingering knot of unease. I'd embarrassed him in front of his Slytherin cronies, there would be retaliation.

Lost in thought, I nearly collided with a figure lurking in the shadows near a torchlit alcove.

"Evans," came Regulus Black's voice, cold and sharp as a blade. My heart skipped a beat, any warmth from my earlier triumph vanishing instantly.

"Just where I wanted to run into you," I muttered sarcastically, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

He stepped out of the shadows, his usually pristine robes rumpled, the lingering flush of humiliation evident high on his cheekbones. "Clever spell," he admitted grudgingly. "Though you were lucky. A bit less showboating and you might have had a real fight on your hands."

My earlier defiance flickered back to life. "Oh, really? Care to demonstrate?" I retorted, forcing a boldness I wasn't quite sure I possessed.

"Perhaps another time," he said with a sneer. "Right now, I want a word."

I wasn't given a choice. Before I could protest, he'd seized my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong, and dragged me into the shadowy alcove.

The flickering torchlight revealed the dangerous glint in his eyes. "Don't think I'll forget that little stunt, Evans," he hissed. "You humiliated me. Mess with me again, and there won't be any misplaced chivalry holding me back. You might be Sirius' favorite plaything, but that offers you no protection."

Fury surged through me, hot and bright. "Oh, so you'll resort to hiding behind your brother now?" I spat back, wrenching my arm free. "Maybe I should hex your hair to match his and tell everyone who the real follower is."

His face tightened, and for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability passed through his steely gaze. It surprised me. Despite all his swagger and arrogance, he was just a boy, his bravado a shield rather than a weapon.

"My brother is an idiot," he snapped. "He thinks defiance makes him strong. It makes him weak. He's a blood traitor, a disgrace to our family." His voice rose, tinged with an aching desperation that seemed at odds with his earlier composure.

"And you? What do you think?" I challenged, unable to contain my curiosity. Were the rumors true? Did he harbor the same dark prejudices as his infamous Death Eater parents?

He fixed me with a chilling stare. "I think it's my duty to uphold our legacy. To preserve what generations of Blacks have built." There was no hesitation in his declaration, no hint of doubt. A wave of nausea hit me - his words carried the same cold certainty I'd seen in his mother's eyes at a Christmas party two years back, the same disdain she'd leveled at me when she discovered my Muggle-born heritage.

"And that legacy includes bullying those weaker than you?" I couldn't keep the disgust from my voice. The thought of my sweet, timid Peter being tormented by these pure-blood zealots filled me with rage.

"Those weaker than me deserve their place," he said dismissively. His face was a mask of cold indifference now. "If they were stronger, smarter, worthier, they wouldn't be in that position, would they?"

"You're as cruel as they say you are," I said, unable to hold back the harsh words.

"And you're more dangerous than my idiot brother gives you credit for." He stepped closer, and I was suddenly aware of just how alone we were in this shadowy recess. "But remember, Evans, kindness isn't power. You might get a few chuckles, a few cheers. In the end, your little Hufflepuff heart won't save you."

The silence crackled with tension. Desperate to wound him the way he'd wounded me, I grasped for a weapon, letting petty anger override any sense of caution.

"What, did Mommy Dearest teach you that?" I scoffed, my voice dripping with scorn. "Did you learn it at her knee, how to kick someone when they’re down?"

He flinched, the momentary vulnerability replaced by a burning fury. "Don't you dare…" he snarled through clenched teeth.

"Or what?" I challenged, refusing to back down. "Going to cry for her? Have her come and defend her obedient little boy?" The words tumbled out of me, harsher than I intended, but the hurt and disgust at his callous cruelty fueled my reckless tongue.

His eyes blazed, and his hands balled into fists. "You know nothing," he spat, each word like a drop of venom. "You have no idea what it's like... the pressure, the expectations..."

And that's when I saw it. Not through the cold, calculating eyes of the Slytherin bully, but in the trembling of his hands, the frantic way his gaze flickered around the empty alcove. It was a chink in the armor, the flicker of a boy overwhelmed by a burden he didn't fully understand.

"Don't I?" I retorted, my voice softer now. "Think about what you said about Peter. Do you really believe he deserves to be picked on because he’s less powerful? Less... pure?" I almost choked on the last word.

"Yes." The answer came swift and certain, but his eyes betrayed him. There was no conviction there, only an echo of words he'd heard all his life.

"Or do you say that because it's what you've been taught?" I pushed. "Because you don't actually know any different?"

His jaw worked, as though he was chewing over the question, and something like confusion flickered across his face. For the first time, I saw Regulus Black not as a monster-in-the-making, but as a boy trapped within the confines of a poisonous ideology. Did he truly believe his own rhetoric, or was he desperately clinging to it for lack of anything else?

"What does it matter to you?" he hissed finally.

"It matters," I said fiercely, "because you’re choosing to be cruel. You're turning your back on the good in you… and that's the worst kind of weakness."

His eyes widened in shock, as though no one had ever dared accuse him of such a thing. Then his expression hardened once more. "You would know all about weakness, wouldn't you Evans?" he sneered. "Always playing the good little Hufflepuff, simpering after your precious friends."

Even as the insult stung, a strange feeling welled up inside me: pity. His world, his family, had built walls of prejudice and entitlement around him. He'd never been given a chance to see beyond them.

"You don't know anything about me," I fired back, fighting against the trembling in my voice. "Or what my friendships mean."

"Don't I?" He stepped closer, his voice almost a whisper now. "You're in love with him, aren't you? My brother. Like a little lost puppy, following him with those heartsick eyes."

Heat flooded my cheeks, a mixture of fury and mortification. He was right, in a way. I did care for Sirius, more than I was willing to admit – even to myself.

Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I met Regulus' taunting gaze. "Even if I was, it would be none of your business. I feel sorry for you, Black." The words slipped out before I could stop them, and the moment they did, I regretted them. I was playing his game, sinking to his level, and it made me despise myself.

But that wasn't the only reaction on his face. There was a flicker of something else, something wounded. He quickly masked it, his usual sneer returning, but I'd seen it. My words had struck a nerve.

"Save your pity, Evans," he said dismissively. "I don't need it, and neither do you. Kindness won't protect you, not in the end." His voice was flat now, all emotion stripped away. He turned abruptly and stalked out of the alcove, leaving me alone in the dim, flickering light.

I stood there for some time, a storm of emotions swirling within me. Anger at his cruelty. Fear of what he might try next. But most of all, a profound sense of sadness. For him, for myself, for all of us trapped in this endless cycle of house rivalries and ancient prejudices.

#regulus black #regulus deserved better #sirius and regulus #regulus black x oc #regulus x you #regulus x reader #regulus x hufflepuff reader #mauraders #original character

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