#On the Threshold: Regulus

[halfblxxdprinc3]

The flush on the other's countenance did not go unnoticed by Severus. A rarity that the Halfblood got to see - even as he continued to see his old housemate more often now that he was being integrated into the Pureblood way of life. Snape knew that, at the end of the day, he would never be seen as 'one of them' and didn't expect to. It was one of the main reasons he had made him so useful towards 'the cause' in making himself invaluable in both his knowledge of the dark arts and potion-making. If it weren't for Lucius and his other friends so high up in that society, Severus would have distanced himself from that part entirely.

"Indeed," Severus nodded at the journal, stuffing it away in the lapel pocket of his robes. While it was 'nothing of particular interest' to others, it was rather instrumental to his work, "Recently toured Spain and a bit of the highlands. Much less downcast than here," he explained, knowing that they were in the same position on a few things. Submerged in high society and all the duties and expectations that came with it, as well as the side that went hand-in-hand of such a caste system they were being thrown into.

"Rather doubtful if it's garnering that reaction from you."

@regulusblacx

Regulus had shared a House with Severus in their school years, but it seemed that lately he was seeing the other man more often than ever. It wasn’t just in their Death Eater duties either. Much to Regulus’ bemusement, it appeared that the halfblood was being assimilated more and more into Pureblood culture. He supposed that was the only way to cling to survival in the War. Yet as much as Severus may try, Regulus knew what the elites said behind his back, amongst themselves. He’d never be one of them, as far as Regulus was aware of.

Regulus flushed as he was probably displaying more outward emotion than was suitable. He wasn’t one for outbursts or a hot temper; other members of his family were better known for that. “You’re a potioneer, if I recall. Research?” He asked lightly, raising a brow, trying to move the topic away from his mood. Regulus clenched his jaw and sank slightly lower into his seat. “Nothing of importance,” he drawled.

[coyotelip]

``|| ☆ starchaser & black brothers microfic: dramatic & amount || @into-the-jeggyverse @black-brothers-microfic || wc: 487

“James,” Regulus greets him when he crosses the threshold of their home.

There is no “I'm home” or “James, are you here?”, no. Regulus' tone does not promise anything good — it is tense and demanding.

Turning his whole body to his lover, James tries to imitate the happiest smile possible. “Yes, love?”

Regulus appears around the corner of the room, looking for him. When he finds him, his arms immediately cross over his chest, his gaze nailing James to the spot. “That's a serious question.”

“Of course you can ask,” James' soul is already on its way to his heels.

“Me or Sirius…” he pauses, and by now James' soul has already descended to the level of his knees, ”Who's more dramatic?”

James' breath seems to get stuck somewhere in halfway through. If this question was about anyone, he would have answered that no, Regulus is not dramatic at all. No, he is the best of all, and no one else can compare to him.

However… if he answered Sirius now, it would make Regulus happy. Sure enough, that tense look would disappear from his face, and his eyebrows would relax. A satisfied smile will return to his lover's face, and maybe even Regulus will come closer and lean in to give him a gentle kiss as a real greeting.

And then Regulus will call or text or even go and tell Sirius in person. Like, “Look, even James thinks I'm better, ha! And we can trust James' judgment.” And this will turn into a little nightmare for James for the next few hours, because Sirius won't let it go.

No, the weather forecast warns of record rainfall in the form of “you've been like a brother to me, I never expected such a betrayal!”, we recommend that all Jamestown residents stock up on Dominos coupons, because only the promise of a bachelor party and ten Diablo pizzas can avert a natural disaster.

James can't help but cringe at the thought of such a scenario. But then again…

He imagines how he would feel if he were to say Regulus' name. He won't hear an answer right away. In fact, he won't hear a word from Regulus for the next week. He won't see him for days, he can only feel the warmth of his body next to him at night, but trying to hug him casually in his sleep will risk losing his arm. And no coupons to Dominos or any other establishment, no movie tickets or anything else would save him from the crisis.

The fact was simple: the amount of drama in the Black family's blood does not differ that much. But each of them finds a different way to process this drama.

A wise man once said that of two evils, choose the lesser one.

So James huffs as if the question is stupid in itself, rolls his eyes and says, “Of course Sirius…”

[my-castles-crumbling]

Early - jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 327

Not even paying attention to the time, James knocked on the door of the tiny, unassuming apartment, excited to finally be done with work. It had been a long day, and he was even more eager than usual to finally be at his boyfriend’s doorstep.

However, his joy was dampened slightly when, only moments after knocking, a loud crash! sounded from inside.

“Reg?” he called nervously, frowning. “Are you alright?”

“One minute!” Regulus’s shaky voice replied from through the wood.

If James had been a less secure man, he might have thought Regulus was cheating. But after dating the other man for over a year, he knew Regulus’s deep, dark secret: Regulus was just as crazy about James as James was about him. So instead, he started to worry that somehow he’d injured himself.

“I’m coming in!” James called, grabbing his keyring and searching for the key he’d promised to only use for emergencies.

“No, I-” Regulus began to protest, but it was too late. James burst through the threshold and into the small sitting room, scanning around for signs of danger.

There was no danger.

Instead, there was Regulus. Regulus, frozen, clearly hiding the evidence of what he had been doing.

“Are you…doing a face mask? While wearing my clothes?” James asked, gaping openly.

He was. His face was still half-covered in green goop, the remnants of ingredients spread out on the small table, a broken bowl that had obviously caused the crash shattered on the floor. And Regulus was standing there in a pair of James’s old joggers and one of his old ratty t-shirts, looking more beautiful than James had ever seen him.

“You…you’re early!” Regulus stuttered accusingly, turning red with embarrassment, as if that was all the explanation he needed.

James just chuckled. “I am. Don’t suppose you have any more of that stuff left, do you? It’s been a shit day.”

Regulus softened, a small smile forming on his face. “I might.”

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic april 1 - spring - 1340 words (of domestic bliss with little harry)

Sundays are slow in the Potter household.

One would think James doesn’t like the pace of it, always having to do something usually, always active, moving around or talking, tugging at his loved ones or caressing their skin, but he does. It hasn’t always been this way but with getting older and especially since they’ve become parents James had noticed how his body and mind welcomed the one break in the week to just shut off and recharge.

They’ve fought their way through a cloudy March and with the arrival of April, spring is finally here. 

James loves spring. People always assume it’s summer—and credit to them, because he does—but there’s just something about the rebirth of everything that comes after the long gloomy fall and icey winter period. The birds chirp with their return and in search for a mate, insects buzz lively and everything brightens with colour. 

Like clockwork, Harry appears in the threshold of the master bedroom at around 7 am, deer plushie in a tight grip by the antlers, his dark mob of hair messy as anything. He drowsily rubs the sleep from his eyes, face squished and James sometimes thinks he might die from how adorable their four year old is.

He grabs his glasses, pushes back the sheets and plants a gentle kiss on Regulus’ cheek where he’s still knocked out like the dead and smushed into his pillow.

Harry pads wordlessly into the living room, James hot on his trail. Though while Harry goes in search of a children’s book for James to read to him, James makes a detour to the kitchen. He fills them two bottles with the tea they let out on the counter overnight, preparing one for Regulus as well for when he wakes up. He cuts up some fruit and vegetables and grabs the packets of rice cakes and crackers from the pantry, loading it all on a tray before he sets on to the living room.

Harry is already curled under the big fleece blanket they keep there, grinning when James rounds the corner with their pre-breakfast.

“Morning, dada,” he greets, sweetly.

James’ chest swells. “Morning, pumpkin,” he returns, pressing a kiss into Harry’s hair, setting down the tray. Before he takes his place next to his son he walks over to open the big terrasse glass doors. 

“How’d you sleep?” James asks, plopping down next to Harry who immediately snuggles closer, plushie still in hand.

“Good,” Harry sighs contently and James can’t help himself when he brushes some of his hair back from his forehead and kisses him again. “Can you read to me?”

It’s a hidden object book but James knows what he means. He grins, “’Course, Hazza.”

They do just that for a bit, James describing what’s going on on the pages, creating a story for recurring characters. Skipping back and forth with Harry randomly pointing out another happening of the drawing while he’s munching away on his rice cakes and cucumbers and the occasional grape. 

It’s still mildly cool, especially when a faint breeze picks up, moving the grass outside and swishing inside but Harry’s still wearing long pyjamas and James knows he’ll tell him if he’s too cold. He simply burrows further under the blanket and into his father’s side. James runs hot anyways.

When Harry decides they’re done with books James puts on a nature documentary for them.

They’re teaching about the strength of some rainforest ant species when Regulus shuffles into the room, arms wrapped around himself and eyes nearly closed.

“Morning, Papa,” Harry whispers excitedly, already wiggling out of James’ embrace even though he knows Regulus will join them there in just a moment.

A smile tugs at Regulus’ lips as he blinks his eyes open, dark lashes fluttering agonisingly beautifully and giving way to soft grey. James swears they get a little more blue every time right around his birthday, like Regulus is just another subject to the changes of spring.

“Mornin’,” Regulus sighs happily when he squeezes Harry against his chest, peppering the side of his head with kisses until he pulls away, tugging Regulus along to James.

His eyes are already closed again when Regulus nuzzles into the crook of James’ neck, pressing a kiss there before he gets comfortable.

“Morning, love,” James murmurs, voice thick with adoration, audible even to himself, and he strokes Regulus’ exposed arm softly.

The spell of Sunday is thick in the air, heavy in their bones. 

Harry, usually the most lively child, always animatedly talking about something or the other, giggling, making jokes or doing mischief, is quiet now too. It’s routine, the way he grabs for Regulus’ arm and squeezes between his two dads, waiting for James to absently card his fingers through their hair and send them back to their slumbers.

It doesn’t take longer than five minutes before Harry’s breaths are deepening and it’s marvellous. Magical in the way that Regulus’ presence seems to calm him so much it pulls him back into another nap.

James smiles so wide, looking down at them like that for so long that his cheeks start straining.

He watches a bit more of the documentary, snaps a few obligatory pictures of them on his phone and sends them into their family group chat. Monty sends back a pixelated picture of a zoomed in shot of Effie in the garden, Sirius replies with a shaky snapshot of him running with the dogs and Remus answers with an aesthetically pleasing picture of what seems to be the breakfast he’s preparing for the two of them.

James’ belly growls hungrily at the reminder and when his gaze falls on the lone grape sitting in the bowl on the tray he decides it’s time for breakfast. 

It’s nothing short of artful the way he extracts himself from besides Harry and Regulus without rousing them before he heads for the kitchen.

He grabs flour and sugar, eggs and milk for pancakes, as well as the bacon, bagles and cream cheese. It’s meditative to put together all the ingredients, set the table and assemble syrup and blueberries and chocolate chips. Halfway through James remembers the leftover quinoa in the fridge and between placing patches of batter in a sizzling pan he whips them up a quick salad as well. 

The smell in the kitchen is divine and James has already made acquaintances with the joyful bluetit in the tree by the window by the time Regulus comes into the kitchen with Harry on his hip. He’s babbling now, talking Regulus’ ear off by the looks of it and Regulus hums and nods and gasps at all the right places, looking ridiculously endearing with his curls mussed and an imprint of the couch cushion lining his cheek.

“Morning, champ,” James teases, smacking a loud kiss over the line in Regulus’ cheek.

Regulus growls quietly, grinning despite himself, “You’re lucky I love your cooking so much.”

“Yeah, you’re lucky,” Harry parrots, grinning widely.

James tuts with faux affront, “What kind of sentiments are you teaching our poor child, Regulus. I’ve been standing in this kitchen for hours now. How about a ‘Thank you, daddy’?”

“Thank you, daddy,” they both reply in unison though Regulus’ has a decidedly different tone to it that makes James point the spatula at him in warning.

Regulus just smirks before he leans heavily into James’ side and rips a piece of pancake off of the ones already on a plate, blowing on it before dividing it in half and feeding it to Harry and himself.

James tasks them with setting out glasses of water and orange juice, mugs for tea. On Sundays coffee is banned in the Potter house. Regulus thinks he can wind himself out of his caffeine addiction that way.

When everyone is done and everything is in place they all sit down together, legs tangled under the table, smiling warmly at each other over their plates of delicious food, the spring breeze ruffling their hair and clothes pleasantly as it drifts through the open window.

[prettybabybaby]

rating: 18+. mdni.

pairing: regulus black x reader

content: noncon

regulus was nice about it, as he always was. after all he still cares about you in a weird way. teetering the line of mere lust and a sense of longing. that whisper of yearning was always enough to make his internal irritation dull and replace itself with begrudging acceptance.

you never let regulus touch you. you pushed his wandering hands away from your flesh that he craved to hold, turning your face away when his kisses became hungry. none of that took very long and the time only grew shorter the longer regulus went without.

still, regulus kept his gentle demeanor. he found more frustration settled in his stomach when he pushed too far and your eyes welled with water. though he was never sure which way. his pants tightened as much as his head began to beat with irritation.

you were vulnerable every time you tried to get regulus to understand time and time again, attempting to assert “boundaries”. boundaries that made no sense and had no business being applied to your boyfriend. hiding away from others was fine, it was preferred, even. but everything else about it was stupid in his eyes. valuing worthless opinions, seeking validation, and the like was stupid. regulus isn’t like your other boyfriends.

so, he truly doesn’t get it. he didn’t get it before and he especially doesn’t get it now. it already began. he already mouthed at your neck as he pulled you close, relishing in the weight on his lap, leaning on his chest as he held you tighter and tighter. his hands already shoved down your underwear, pushing past your the lips of your puffy pussy to find the swelling clit and clenching hole between them. he already pushed past the threshold, pumping his nimble fingers in and out of your gummy walls, mind spinning as he realized your walls were as soft as the rest of you. regulus already claimed his spot above you, nestling himself between your legs as he peered down at every inch of skin on display, wet with his spit.

yet, even as tears slip down your cheeks in thick uncontrollable streams and your breathing comes out labored, your hands still attempt to hide your body beneath your palms. it is pissing regulus off because despite the situation that even he can admit is vile, he is gentle.

his hands grip lovingly at your flesh. his teeth nibble softly at your body. his nose inhales every scent. his cock pulses and ruts into you with fervor as he chases his own release and attempts to bring you to yours. regulus can only hope you’ll change your mind once the waves of bliss that ripple through your body and your womb is stuffed full of his spent.

[woods2]

Jegulus microfic - 369 words

James storms into Sirius’ room and starts pacing back and forth.

“I messed up really bad, Pads,” James said, tugging at his hair.

Sirius sat up slowly. “If you need help burying a body, I know-”

“No! No, it’s about Regulus.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck did you do?” He asked with a dangerous edge to his voice.

“I don’t know when our anniversary is!” James tossed his hands into the air and collapsed next to Sirius on his bed.

Sirius blinked. “That’s it?”

“This is a big deal!” James cried out. “We’ve been dating for almost a month but I can’t remember when we got together.”

“But you love celebrating anniversaries. I never thought you would forget, out of all people,” Sirius said, now with humor in his voice.

“I didn’t forget, I just-” James signed and buried his face in his hands. “When we made it official, I was so excited and distracted that I never actually took note of what day it was.”

Sirius snorted. “Of course even your excuse is terribly sappy.”

“What do I do,” James groaned.

Sirius reached out and patted his friend’s head sympathetically.

“I remember you’d been dating for about a week when you told me about it. That was roughly two weeks ago. You still have under a week to figure it out, yeah?”

“You’re right,” James said. “I just have to get Regulus to tell me without realizing he’s telling me. I’ll just bring it up in conversation, or-”

“Don’t bother,” A voice said from the door.

James screamed and jumped so fast he toppled off the bed. Regulus was standing at the threshold of Sirius’ room, leaning against the doorframe with a small smirk on his face.

“We’ll officially have been together for one month on the third,” Regulus said, walking up to James. “But you’re not doing anything. I already made dinner reservations and have a surprise planned.”

James propped himself up on his elbows. “I love- umph”

Sirius glared at the two of them, picking up another pillow to throw at Regulus. “If you’re going to be disgusting, do it somewhere else.”

“Oh, we will,” Regulus said sharply before dragging James out of the room.

[luizd3ad]

Game Time | Poly!Bartylus x GN!Reader

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ࣪˖⤷ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ࣪ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ˖ ⤷

Pairing: Barty Crouch Jr x GN Reader x Regulus Black

WC: 700

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

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

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

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

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mon amours? I’m home?”

Regulus called out looking around the flat curiously. 

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

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

“Angel, I love you but you're wrong!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Barty then gasped as if the thought was inconceivable. 

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

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

Barty then giggles looking proud of himself. 

“Leave him there he deserves it.”

Barty says with a wide smile.

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

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

You send him a big smile and say.

“Hi my love, how's Sirius?”

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

Regulus say still standing in the doorway of the room.

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

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

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

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

“Obviously.”

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

“Wait so you have a character of me?”

“Of course we do.”

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

“Is this supposed to be our house?”

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

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

“Which is stupid.” 

Regulus just smiles at Barty and kisses his head. 

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

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

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

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

He was just content and happy to be there.

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

[sternsalcove]

My Most Esteemed Readers,

Prepare yourselves, for the illustrious Summer Flower Dance approaches with great haste! It is the opportune moment to select your radiant companions—be they cherished friends, dear family, or whispers of romance. A most delightful missive from the venerable Dumbledore’s office indicates that this year's affair shall surpass all predecessors in grandeur, offering an abundance of summer amusements, all graciously arranged by our esteemed institution. Summer camps, delightful excursions, and philanthropic pursuits promising scholarships await your eager participation!

Ah, dear readers, while the dance enchants, one must not overlook the delightful intrigues weaving themselves within these time-honored castle walls. The illustrious Gilderoy Lockhart of Ravenclaw, that most splendid of suitors, has captured the gaze of many, his charms having blossomed not once but twice! Or perhaps it is merely his inflated sense of self that takes center stage? The entirety of Hogwarts seems ensnared in his spell, particularly one besotted Gryffindor who trails him like a lovesick shadow, intoxicated by the siren song of his cologne.

Whispers abound that delightful roses have graced the thresholds of our most captivating scholars... even the ever-melancholic Snape received a bloom! What implications doth this bode for the notorious band of marauders?

Affection, Stern~

( @prongspotter-s , @miss-lily-evans-potter , @blacksheepoftheblackfamily , @w-o-r-m-t-a-i-l , @bellatrix-carina-black , @fartybartyjunior , @cissa-swans , @marlz-mckinnon , @moony-lupin-rjl , @hestia-farida-jones , @acelovesremuslupin , @marylicious , @sunshine-and-rosiers , @little-star-regulus )

[myboybreakscoffins]

Who's The Real Winner?

valentine, february 14, @black-brothers-microfic — regulus & sirius black microfic — sibling rivalry, unrequited love (for now), mentions of jily, regulus’ pov — word count: 573

“How’s this year’s count going, Reggie?”

Regulus barely had time to step through the threshold behind the fruit bowl painting before his brother’s voice reached him. His social avoidance tactics were utterly useless when it came to Sirius—his brother always seemed to know exactly where to find him. If he didn’t trust his own spell detection skills so completely, he might have suspected Sirius of putting a tracking spell on him.

Rolling his eyes, Regulus kept walking toward the dungeons, making it clear he had no interest in indulging his brother’s nonsense. “Are we really doing this every Valentine’s Day?” he asked as soon as Sirius caught up, determined to get the conversation over with.

Regulus hated this day—especially when it meant being subjected to the sickeningly sweet public displays of affection from a certain new couple that he absolutely did not want to see. Ever. 

“Until it’s officially proven that I’m the more attractive brother,” Sirius replied, casually running a hand through his long black hair. “Or until one of us gets an actual valentine,” he added in a quieter voice. Then, with a smug grin, he continued, “Anyway, I got seven—three love letters, a rather vocal and terrifying confession right outside the greenhouse, and chocolate.” His voice practically dripped with satisfaction.

Oh, poor Sirius… 

Regulus smirked and, with deliberate ease, said, “Nine, dear brother—who is, regrettably, less attractive than me.”

Sirius’s reaction was, by far, the best poem Regulus had received that day. He allowed himself a moment to relish the obvious shock and embarrassment on his brother’s face, feeling immensely pleased with himself. Definitely, one of the great joys of having a sibling was being able to humiliate them at their own game.

The conceited Narcissus, drowned by his own reflection. Poetic.

“Well,” Sirius shot back, clearly unwilling to accept defeat, “at least I got chocolate from someone I actually like. And that’s worth three or four, so technically, I’m still ahead.”

Regulus froze mid-step.

Son of a fucking bitch.

Of course, his brother wouldn’t go down without a fight—and of course, he wouldn’t hesitate to go for the low blow if it gave him the slightest advantage. For someone who supposedly despised his family, that was very Black of him, really.

Sirius was well aware of his unrequited crush on James ‘Lily Evans’ Perfect Boyfriend’ Potter and it was an unspoken rule that neither of them would ever bring it up under any circumstances. 

And yet, here they were.

But fine, if Sirius wanted to play dirty, so be it.

Regulus arched a brow and said smoothly, “Are you sure the chocolate Lupin gave you wasn’t just out of courtesy?” He injected all the venom he could into the last word.

“IT WASN’T JUST COURTESY—” Sirius started, then abruptly cut himself off, realizing exactly what he’d just admitted.

Regulus nearly laughed, he didn't even have to make an effort.

With a slow, satisfied smile, he said, “If you say so… Though, for the record, Lupin also gave me chocolate this year—same as last.”

“REMUS DID WHAT?!” Sirius practically shrieked.

His idiot brother had just handed him victory on a silver platter. 

Regulus resumed his path toward the dungeons, smirking to himself.

“AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘SAME AS LAST YEAR’, REGULUS?”

“Exactly what I said, Sirius.” And, just to twist the knife a little deeper, he added over his shoulder, “It’s my win.” 

Sirius was left behind, completely bewildered.

[dragonfruitramune]

Dulcet, Ch. 1 | Regulus A. Black

Summary: Enchanting music flows through the stale air of 12 Grimmauld Place every now and then. Eventually, you build up enough courage to investigate. Word Count ~ 5.8K

A/N: We're in for a ride on this one, I introduce to you all: Dulcet! Many thanks to @forever-moony for this beta read, you're the best! Reader is written as a pureblood witch (student) in the Order of the Phoenix.

Chapter 1: Prelude

12 Grimmauld Place is a strange house. That’s just the bottom line of what you’ve learned whilst staying in it for the summer before your 6th year at Hogwarts.

You needed to stay there, though. You tried to join the Order of the Phoenix after Cedric Diggory was murdered during the third task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He has been a close friend since your second year of Hogwarts. Although you weren’t yet of age, your high status in pureblood society made for a useful connection; you became a sort of unofficial member and were even permitted to join in on a few meetings.

Of course, your family has no clue what you’re up to- they’d much prefer you take the other side, despite their carefully crafted public image of neutrality. Because of this, you convinced them that you’re off travelling around Europe for the summer.

Some evenings, you can hear the playing of a violin that comes from the room below your bedroom, tucked away in the corner of the house. The tone is smooth and rich, the melodies so impressive you wonder how many hours you’d need to practice to obtain a similar skill level.

It was nice at first, calming in a way. That is, until it happened in the middle of a meeting for the Order. And that’s when you realised it wasn’t anybody that was supposed to be in the house that was playing that violin.

That’s also when you realised that you were either the only one hearing it, or everyone else was doing a damn good job of ignoring the classical music floating through the atmosphere as they spoke.

The violin’s sounds felt more eerie after that realisation, and you were more paranoid when you heard them- even though the pieces were still just classical music. You also paid closer attention to the notes and realised that every time the violinist made a mistake, they’d stop immediately. There would be a slight pause before the piece would restart entirely from the beginning.

If they were in the midst of the third movement of Winter, from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, for example, and missed a note- the violinist would restart from the first movement of Spring.

It seemed everything needed to be done perfectly, and if it wasn’t, it would be redone.

It took nearly the entirety of the summer break for you to build up enough courage to open the door of the room in the first-floor corner of the house. You gave in to curiosity the evening before you were to leave for Platform 9 ¾- a mere 12 hours from when you were meant to go, you heard dulcet tones carry through the stale air of the place- and decided you couldn’t leave without knowing what it was- or who it was- that was behind them.

With your wand in hand and an old invisibility cloak that came in handy over the summer (All your sneaking around and pretending to be abroad required that nobody saw you in England. Go figure.) draped over your shoulders, you ventured down to the room the music was coming out of.

You hesitate for a brief moment on the knob before trying to twist it- it doesn’t budge. A quick ‘Alohomora’ doesn’t change the fact, and you find yourself wondering what to do to unlock the door. The music is enchanting, almost drawing you in, and you recognise the tune.

As you fiddle with the door a bit longer, you find yourself humming along to the rich notes of classical music, and when the piece ends, you hear a soft click from the other side.

You push the door open, stumble through the threshold with your wand drawn, and are greeted by a dust-covered room and boarded windows. What stands out, however, is a perfectly polished and pristine grand piano standing proudly in the centre. Cautiously, you walk deeper into the room, ensuring the hood of your cloak stays over your head as you move.

When you touch the piano, you feel a tug at your body, and the force pulling at you is so strong you feel as if you might vomit. Your eyes screw shut, and you use your empty hand to cover your mouth.

When you feel as if you can open your mouth without regurgitating your dinner, you take in a breath. The air is no longer heavy, and dust doesn’t tickle your nose or throat as you inhale.

When you open your eyes in surprise, the room is spotless. Black silk curtains frame the view of a vast starry night beyond the windows you just saw boarded by planks of wood, and moonlight spills into the room. A violin with chestnut brown varnish lays on the piano bench in front of you and to the left, and the door is cracked open just a sliver.

You hold your breath when you hear a creak, seeing the door pushed open slowly by a boy you don’t recognise.

His hair is dark and wavy, perfectly framing his face, and he has a sharp jawline that’s just slightly clenched as he looks down at the instrument on the bench.

He’s tall, with a lean frame and long arms. When he reaches for his instrument, you’re still under your cloak, hoping he won’t reach too far and realise he isn’t alone. You watch his movements as pale, slender fingers wrap around the neck of the violin that’s less than half a metre from your body.

But before much else happens, a cold voice rings out from the hallway.

“Regulus.”

It’s the voice of a woman, commanding and cold, that pierces the air and makes the boy immediately turn around before promptly making his way out of the room in long strides.

When he exits, he leaves the door wide open. You seize the opportunity to leave the room as well, and when you slip out, the house is a lot different than it should be.

The peeling and dirty wallpaper you remember is now nothing less than pristine, and the air is cold and sharp as you inhale. You watch from a few paces back as the boy, who you’ve learned now is named Regulus, interacts with the unfamiliar woman.

His head is bowed ever so slightly, almost as if it was a sign of respect, and she’s speaking of his academics- and what she expects when he goes back to Hogwarts the next day- she must be his mother.

Well, at least you know it’s still the day before the train leaves. So where- or more accurately, when- are you? And also, who the fuck are these people???

A hundred thoughts are still running through your head as the woman leaves, and the boy is left alone in the hallway. It’s silent for a few moments before he turns, staring through you-

No, directly at you. Your fingers cling to the rough material of the invisibility cloak as you try to pull it around you, despite being fully covered.

And with a single flick of his wand, you go flying into the wall. Hard. You lose hold of your wand in the process, and as you groan, he strides toward you, pulling the cloak off your body.

His wand is pointed against your throat when you finally find something to say.

“This is quite awkward…” Alright, it was something to say. Not the right thing.

“Name?” The boy demands, staring you down with an intensity that makes you want to shy away- if only you weren’t against a wall with a wand at your neck.

You give him your full name, and his brows furrow for a moment before his face returns to a sort of unreadable detachment. He mutters something under his breath, you strain your ear to hear it- you can barely make out what sounds like your father’s name.

“A reputable family name. And yet, I was not aware of a second child who bore it.” He speaks, his wand still poking at your throat. His tone is detached, although laced with what might be a tiny bit of curiosity.

“Who?” You ask, your brain still trying to process the timeline of events for the evening.

The moment your father’s name slips from his lips, it all clicks into place. Shit. It shows on your face when you finally realise it, and the boy in front of you sees that, too.

“What is it?” He asks.

“That’s my father’s name…” He looks at you suspiciously before you lift a chain from underneath your shirt, and hanging off it, your family’s platinum signet ring reflects the flickering candlelight of the hallway.

His eyes widen for a second before his brows furrow, and a split second later, his expression is back to neutral as he withdraws his wand, gripping it at his side.

“Why are you here?” He questions, his light grey eyes piercing straight through you. His gaze is a little familiar, although you can’t exactly pinpoint why.

“I- I don’t know-” You manage, still a bit shaken. “What year is it?”

“1978.” He responds, arching a brow. “And you’re from?”

“1995. I was going into my sixth year at Hogwarts.” You respond after a bit, still reeling from your shock.

He sighs almost imperceptibly before offering a hand to pull you off the floor.

“Regulus Black.”

Black? Surely you’re mistaken- Sirius is the only heir to the family in your present. Unless…

“Where is Sirius?” You ask, almost urgently.

His eyes narrow at your mention of the name, and he seems to close off completely. It takes a long moment for him to respond.

“You may find him tomorrow if you must. I’ll get you on the train. You should consult a professor as well, about this whole… time travel situation.”

You can only nod, your eyes now darting around. It’s almost unbelievable just how presentable every last detail of this house is- especially compared to the one you remember, from before you let your curiosity get the better of you.

As the boy begins to turn away, you feel yourself freeze up. You had another night before you could work out anything about the utterly baffling situation you’ve found yourself in.

He seems to take pity on you, and much to your relief, gestures for you to follow him. You oblige, plucking your cloak from the floor before tailing him as he navigates around the house (and up too many staircases) with a careful precision, nearly bumping into him as he stops at a door you remember- the bedroom Sirius never let anybody touch.

When the door is opened with the same precision of every other action you’ve seen the boy take, you peer inside. There’s a large bed with dark green satin sheets against the wall, underneath a curtained window. The wall above his bed bears a crest, and the words “Toujours Pur”, which you’d learned over the summer was the Black family motto, are painted just beneath it.

He gestures you into the room before shutting the door behind the two of you.

“I shall ensure you board the train tomorrow. Until then, you are not to do so much as step out of this room without my permission, am I understood?” Regulus orders, and you struggle to find something to say before simply nodding.

The room smelled like a sort of timeless elegance- a cologne that held hints of lavender and citrus, accompanied by iris and the subtle sweetness of vanilla, but it was the oak moss that lingered in your lungs when you exhaled.

He pulls a leather-bound journal from the drawer of his bedside desk as well as a quill and ink pot before sitting down, leaving you to ponder the events that led you here.

It takes a while for you to build enough courage to ask a simple question, interrupting the silence blanketing the room.

“What year are you going into?” You ask hesitantly.

He responds without looking up, the quill in his hand still softly scratching against the parchment pages within the journal laid out on his desk. “Sixth.”

He’s in your year. That’s quite interesting, although you’re not sure if he’ll even cast you a glance after making it to the castle tomorrow.

“And who… who are you?” You’re slightly scared to ask, but the question leaves your lips before you can really stop them. He’d told you his name earlier, of course- but it only left you with more questions.

His hand stills before he sets his quill down and turns to look at you, light grey eyes piercing through you with a gaze hard as stone. It’s not particularly aggressive, but surely intimidating.

“Regulus Arcturus Black. Son to Orion and Walburga, heir to the House of Black.”

Those are Sirius’s parents, you know that. But did Sirius ever mention he had a brother? Your head races at a mile a minute as you shift on your feet.

The boy turns back to the desk and picks up his quill once more, and as the slow, methodical scratching of parchment fills the atmosphere once more, your voice comes out as something barely above a whisper.

“Why do you believe me?” The question comes out a bit shaky, more uncertain than you’d like, but he doesn’t seem to acknowledge your hesitance.

“Would you prefer I didn’t?” He counters smoothly, still writing. Silence overtakes you both for a moment before he speaks again. “You can take a seat. You aren’t going to be cursed unless I’ve got a proper reason.”

You tentatively take a few steps toward the perfectly-made bed and sit down, the silky sheets wrinkling beneath your weight.

“The heir to the House of Black… Sirius didn’t tell me he had an older brother.” You say softly, watching Regulus. You don’t miss how his grip tightens when you mention Sirius’ name before softly loosening as he responds in a cold, carefully detached tone.

“He doesn’t.” It’s clipped, sharp in a way that leaves you fully aware he won’t elaborate.

Tension hangs heavy in the air as you stop yourself from asking anything more. It takes a while before he rises from the chair he’s been sitting in, softly sealing the leather-bound pages he’s been writing in before setting everything back in the desk drawer neatly.

He looks you up and down before sighing, making his way toward a dresser in the corner of the room in long strides. “You’ll need something to wear. If you arrive at King’s Cross Station looking like that-” He shuts his eyes, seemingly swept up in thought. “You can get things sorted out once you arrive at Hogwarts. For tomorrow, you can wear these.”

He looks through a couple of drawers before a few things are put on the foot of the bed- a neatly folded black turtleneck and a pair of slacks the same shade.

“Your invisibility cloak is decent, but you aren’t very stealthy. It’ll raise more questions if you’re found to be hiding than if you act like a transfer. If anyone asks, your family has elected to home-teach you up until this year.” He instructs as straightforwardly as possible.

He looks down and sighs when he sees nothing more than socks on your feet before he pulls his wand from a pocket in his robes, flicking it at a pair of his socks in a still-open drawer. They transfigure into a simple pair of black shoes. He sets them on the floor at the foot of the bed.

“These should fit you better than mine would. I would, however, appreciate my clothes back, should you find the time.”

You nod, forcing yourself to swallow as you attempt to remain composed- Merlin knows if you don’t, you’ll be a mess of panic and confusion on the floor.

“Thank you.” You manage, your voice slightly wavering as he turns toward you.

He nods, his expression unreadable. “Get some rest, I’ll wake you tomorrow.” He pauses before speaking again. “And stay by me on the train. I’ll ensure you don’t find yourself in any foolish predicament.”

With that, he turns to leave, shutting the door softly before you hear the subtle click of a lock snapping into place.

It takes a while before you can quell the unease that consumes you. Even then, it’s barely enough to pull back the sheets that lay perfectly on the bed you sit on.

Eventually, though, you do find yourself lying down, staring at the ceiling as you slowly drift into a restless slumber.

Sunlight filters in through the window as you’re roused from sleep by the sounds of motion beside you.

You’re momentarily confused by the foreign surroundings you’ve awoken in before recalling the eventful night that led you here. Godric, you wished that was a dream.

When you finally rise, you’re greeted by the sight of Regulus already in his Slytherin robes, holding a leather briefcase you assume contains his belongings (within an extension charm).

“Get dressed. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

He exits the room, standing outside the closed door to allow you enough privacy to change. The black turtleneck is impossibly soft and a bit large on you. You tuck the chain that holds your silver signet ring underneath it before moving on. The slacks fit well enough, even if you had to cuff the bottoms a little, and the transfigured shoes fit perfectly.

When you leave the room with Regulus, you notice the subtle scent of cologne still following you, held deep in the fabric of the sweater hanging off your body. The lavender is a comforting smell, and you find yourself taking deep breaths in through your nose as the two of you walk toward King’s Cross Station.

Just before you cross the threshold into the platform, Regulus, with his perfect posture and perfectly measured strides, stops- and you nearly collide with him. He turns to face you with a level gaze.

“Stay close. Do not engage in conversation unless absolutely necessary.”

He turns back around once you give him a small nod, and you follow him onto Platform 9 3⁄4. The Hogwarts Express is stationed, and the platform is filled with people- friends reuniting, families parting, and the occasional sound of an animal amidst the chaos. There’s something about it that feels so right and yet so distant at the same time.

Regulus leads you onto the train, his movements deliberate and controlled. As you trail him down the corridor, your eye catches briefly on a boy, laid out in a compartment with a couple other familiar-looking faces.

Your breath catches in your throat as you realise that the boy sprawled across the train’s seat isn’t Harry Potter, the orphan from your time that survived the killing curse.

No, Harry’s eyes were green- this is Harry Potter’s dead father. No longer dead, you supposed, now that you’re in this timeline.

Beside him sat none other than a teen with a cigarette between his fingers and long black hair swept up in a bun held by his wand. He was almost unrecognisable as Sirius Black- his demeanour much different to what you’d grown accustomed to over the summer. This boy, this younger version of him, was lively- carefree in a way the man you knew, the man hardened by years in Azkaban, could only attempt to even remember. Your stomach churns at the sight.

To go from a lively teen so full of joy to a broken man must feel a little bit like death.

You turn away and try to swallow the lump in your throat before either Black can catch you staring through the glass of the compartment door.

You don’t walk much further down the train before Regulus opens the door to an empty compartment, silently ushering you in before following, sliding the door closed. He stows away his briefcase before turning to you again.

“Sit. I’ll return shortly.” He instructs, and though you aren’t quite fond of being treated like an incompetent child, you oblige, sliding into the seat beside the window. He seems to hesitate for a brief second before speaking again. “Don’t leave.” His tone is firm, cold but not yet icy. “And don’t speak to anyone.”

You nod as he turns, exiting the compartment and shutting the door once more.

You rest your head in your arms after he leaves, inhaling the lasting scent of lavender, citrus and oak moss that rest in the soft fabric of the borrowed sweater on your body.

You can’t cry- if you start, you won’t be able to stop. So you focus on your breathing, taking deep breaths in and out as you give yourself meaningless tasks-

Like trying to list each note of the cologne you smell lingering on your borrowed sweater- just to distract yourself from the chaos of the last 12 hours.

Lavender. Citrus. Jasmine. Tonka. Vanilla. Iris. Amber. Oak moss.

Those are the thoughts that weakly echo in your mind before the exhaustion of everything overtakes you.

When you wake, Regulus is seated across from you, looking out the window with a carefully blank expression.

He immediately notices when you stir, as you stretch sluggishly, trying to shake the remnants of your slumber.

“We’ve got a couple more hours.” Regulus acknowledges your consciousness with the same sharp purpose of everything else you’ve seen him do.

But why was he helping you? Did he have a purpose?

You hum in response, nodding slowly. It’s silent a few moments longer before you decide to speak.

“Why are you helping me?” You voice your thoughts hesitantly, unsure if you’ll be simply shut down. He seems to ponder for a moment before he finally decides to answer.

“Your family has always been reliable. On occasion, I find myself indebted to them in some way or another.”

Regulus’ answer hangs in the air a few moments, the words so cryptic it’s as if a buried meaning hides beneath each syllable. When you open your mouth to press further, he silences you with a single pointed look. So, instead, you lean back against the soft cushions of your seat and absentmindedly fiddle with the sleeves of your sweater.

“Sirius looks… different.” The words spill from your lips before you can stop them, so quiet you hope Regulus might not have heard you. Luck isn’t on your side. You see it in the way his fingers tense where they rest in his lap before he intentionally relaxes his hands.

“Elaborate.” He demands. His voice is cool, though with an edge in his tone so sharp that you can’t tell if it’s vulnerability or anger. Maybe it’s both.

So you start explaining.

“Well, he was always a bit… off, back in my day. I suppose it’s a bit strange to see him like this. He looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world.”

Something a little bitter crosses Regulus’ expression for a brief second before his mask of indifference snaps perfectly back into place.

“He doesn’t. Not for what’s important.” His words are clipped and final, his eyes staring you down as if challenging you to inquire with a question that you know he’ll immediately refuse to answer.

You take the hint and avert your gaze, staring at the landscape whizzing past as the train moves along the tracks.

There’s something about the familiarity of it all mixed with the foreignness that feels unreal- like looking through a memory.

It feels like an eternity before you hear the clatter of breaks and hiss of steam that indicates you’ve arrived at Hogsmeade Station.

When you step off the train, Regulus smooths out his robes and collects his briefcase with practised precision before leaning in toward you.

“Keep close. Don’t attract attention.” He instructs, and you nod. A few gazes linger on the two of you, but his presence seems to be deterrent enough, as people move out of his path and you trail him, doing your best to keep up with his pace.

You climb into an empty carriage alongside him, and it doesn’t take very long for a couple of other boys around your age to pile in as well, both across from you.

They wear the same silver and green robes that Regulus does, and the one with dark blue eyes and curly blond hair looks at you with a contemplative expression before turning his gaze to the boy beside him.

“Rosier.” Regulus addresses, and the blond boy hums in acknowledgement.

“Junior.” The other boy, with straw hair and dark eyes, looks to Regulus as well, something simmering beneath his expression.

“You know not to address me as such, Black.” The words are spit with venom, poorly concealed anger slipping through the cracks.

To diffuse the tension, the blond boy, Rosier, turns to you.

“Who is this, Regulus?” He asks, his voice composed and careful.

“A transfer student,” Regulus responds for you, short and precise. Rosier hums for a moment, looking you up and down before turning back to Regulus.

“And why is she wearing your sweater?” He inquires, a teasing edge to his remark.

“She’s not.” He brushes the comment off, his expression still drawn blank.

So not only is it noticeable that the clothes you’re wearing aren’t yours, but Regulus is fully gas-lighting whoever's bold enough to ask about it. Wonderful.

You’re just grateful the boy’s attention is on Regulus rather than you- you aren’t sure if you’d make it out of this conversation otherwise.

Rosier looks at you before offering his hand.

“Evan Rosier.” You take his hand and shake it firmly, telling him your first name before your surname catches in your throat with a subtle nudge from Regulus- your family name would draw attention.

Evan then nudges the boy beside him, who begrudgingly introduces himself as well.

“Barty.” He says, his tone disinterested as he looks away.

Silence hung in the air for the rest of the ride to the castle.

When the carriages arrive at Hogwarts, Regulus shoots you a look before he gets off, clearly conveying a message- stay close, follow me.

So you do. You trail him as he walks with long, purposeful strides into the Great Hall.

When you enter, it looks the same as it always has- besides the students that fill the hall with conversation and laughter, and as you make your way to the Slytherin table, you can feel the weight of their curiosity, eyes on you as you keep your head down.

When he sits at the far side of the table by the wall, you take a seat next to him, tightly folding your hands together in your lap.

After the sorting ceremony that you’re frankly too stressed to pay any sort of attention to, the feast begins.

You place a modest amount of food on your plate, though your appetite is far from apparent- despite the fact you haven’t eaten since your time-travel mishap.

As you absentmindedly push the food on your plate around with a fork, your eyes dart around the hall. Your gaze catches on the Gryffindor table set against the opposite wall.

More specifically, your gaze catches on Sirius and his friends. Something tightens in your stomach- it’s almost painful to watch him laughing so carefree, knowing the man he turns into in your timeline. The man beside him is Harry’s father. If only you knew his name- something Potter, and Merlin, he looks just like Harry.

You feel a hand grab your wrist and squeeze almost painfully to get your attention, and when you turn to the side, you see Regulus, still indifferent. He doesn’t even cast you a glance as he speaks.

“You should not stare; it’s quite unbecoming.” The words are uttered quietly, although the certainty in them feels practised. It sounds like something your parents would drill into you whilst teaching you the intricacies of proper etiquette.

You nod, turning your focus to the plate in front of you whilst muttering a sheepish apology.

As the feast comes to an end and desserts appear on the table, you stop brewing in your uncertainty long enough to come to your senses.

“I need to speak with Dumbledore,” You mutter, to yourself more than anybody around. You hear the voice of Regulus beside you once more as he shifts slightly in his seat to keep you from rising.

“Wait for the students in the hall to be dismissed. I’ll accompany you if you’d like.” His tone is firm, although somewhat grounding as you try to calm the thoughts racing through your head.

You can only nod, your fingers tightening in their grip of the dark turtleneck you’re wearing- you feel out of place without robes,and yet you can’t help but appreciate the soft scent of lavender calming you when you inhale deeply through your nostrils.

Minutes go by, each one feeling uncomfortably long, until at last, Headmaster Dumbledore rises from his seat at the professors’ table to give his start-of-term announcements.

As his gaze sweeps the hall, you can’t help but feel as if his eyes are lingering on you- but perhaps you’re only imagining it.

You can’t really focus on what he’s saying, not while the pit in your stomach is growing deeper with each second that ticks by.

When the hall is finally dismissed and crowds of students rush to the large double doors to get to their common rooms, you rise from your seat alongside Regulus.

You trail him closely as he leads you through the mob of students eager to leave, his presence authoritative enough for people to part in order for the two of you to pass through in the opposite direction.

The two of you wait by the professors’ table for a while as the Great Hall empties itself, and finally, Dumbledore pulls away from his conversation with Professor McGonagall to acknowledge your presence.

“Ah, Mister Black.” He greets, the corners of his eyes creasing as he smiles warmly. “And I don’t seem to recall meeting you, Miss..?”

You supply him your last name, and his eyebrows raise before he dismisses Regulus with a subtle gesture of his head.

“Come, dear. Let us speak in my office.” The way he looks at you makes you shift your weight as you fiddle slightly- it feels as if he’s looking straight through you.

You swallow your nerves and follow him out of the Great Hall, keeping up pace as he leads you through corridors and up a hidden winding staircase to his office.

Dumbledore’s office is just as you remember it- strange artefacts and objects strewn about, with countless portraits mounted on the walls. His tone is gentle when he addresses you, lowering himself into the chair at his desk.

“Now,” He starts, sending you a contemplative look. “What brings you to Hogwarts?”

You inhale deeply, closing your eyes for a moment before responding in a jumbled mess of words, barely coherent.

“Well, I’m not really from here- I mean, I am, but not from now? I guess I don’t even know- one moment I was in the present, and now- well, this might be your present, but it’s the past for me.”

As you ramble, you lift the chain off your neck, revealing the carefully hidden signet ring and place it on the desk in front of him. He examines it for a moment, one of his eyebrows raising almost imperceptibly as he nods.

“A time traveller, are you? Quite fascinating. Do you remember how you found yourself here, then?” He inquires, his eyes still soft in a way that beckons trust.

'I do’ you think.'I remember clear as day.’

But today the skies are grey, and rain falls just outside the castle walls, unrelenting.

It’s hard to put words to everything you’ve experienced in the last day. No, not hard, it’s impossible. It’s hard not to send yourself spiralling headfirst into a full-blown panic attack in the headmaster’s office even thinking about it.

You bring the excess fabric of the too-long black sleeves on your arms to your face, inhaling the scent that lingers in the threads for a long moment before closing your eyes and breathing out, counting to five in your head.

Then, slowly, with a trembling voice and timid sound, you tell him all you can. You tell him about the Tri-Wizard tournament that ended in the death of your best friend, about the time you spent in 12 Grimmauld Place over the summer-

And you tell him about the violin. About the strange locked room in Grimmauld Place, the pristine grand piano that pulled you in and spit you back out seventeen years in the past, it all comes spilling out before you can even organise it.

When you finish recounting your experience and lift your gaze from where your hands fiddle in your lap, the headmaster’s expression is curious, head tilted in thought.

“Those who’ve arrived without a time-turner often have a part to play before they may return. I do not doubt you will find the opportunity to return home in due time. Sometimes though, dear, one must understand the past before they may set their sights on the future.”

Those were far from the words you’d wanted to hear, and your fingers clench into fists as you try to will your eyes to stop watering. You can only nod in response, a shaky question spilling from your lips.

“So what now?” You feel utterly lost, small in a way you haven’t experienced since you were a small child, when you’d let go of your mother’s hand in a crowd.

With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore summons the Sorting Hat to the desk between the two of you, sliding his wand back into his robes before standing-andMerlin,where’s your wand? You haven’t seen it since last night.

When the hat is placed atop your head, it stirs to life.

“This one doesn’t quite belong, does she? Well, I see that you’ll find purpose in… SLYTHERIN!” The hat is lifted from your head as soon as it announces the house you’re to be in, although its words, cryptic in a way that leaves you with more questions than answers, linger in the air.

The headmaster only smiles as he sets the hat on his desk before picking up your heirloom ring and placing it in your palm, wrapping your fingers around it in a fist.

“I trust you will find your path in due time, dear. Before then, I only hope that you will feel welcome here.”

You can only nod in response, your mind still reeling.

As Dumbledore escorts you through the now empty open-air corridors of Hogwarts Castle on the way to the Slytherin common room in a shared silence, moonlight shines upon you.

You’ve more questions than certainties now. Eventually, maybe you’ll work your way through them one at a time.

But for now? Now, you must rest. You’ve plenty ahead, after all.

[coyotelip]

starchaser microfic: smoke || old married couple jeggy again || @into-the-jeggyverse || wc: 690

When James comes home, he smells like smoke. And alcohol. And a mixture of other smells that any man brings with him from a bar in the middle of the night.

It doesn't drive Regulus mad. He knew what he was signing up for when he agreed to let James go alone to Frank's party, and now his husband is crossing the threshold of their home with tentative steps, trying not to get tangled up with his own feet.

“I'm home, Reggie,” James says, barely able to make out what he shouldn't have said. Because Regulus is already standing in front of the door with his arms folded across his chest. “Are you angry?” James asks, his eyes round and sparkling.

“No,” Regulus replies shortly, his jawline tense.

He doesn't waste time talking, but simply picks up his husband by the elbow, helps him take off his coat, and leads him to the bathroom. On the way, he tries to breathe as little as possible through his mouth.

“Honestly, you're all grown up and make enough money to choose a better bar,” Regulus grumbles under his breath as he sits James down on the edge of the bathtub.

“Oh, you don't understand, Reg. It's not just a bar, it's a memory,” he tilts his head back and says the last word louder than the others. “It may be the cheapest beer in town, but it tastes like honey when you share it with your good friends, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Regulus replies in the manner that parents use to small children who talk nonsense. He is now more concerned with pulling off the man's shoes and old jeans from his college days.

As the years go by, James' attempts to dress like he used to during his college football team days start to look more and more ridiculous. “Maybe next time you should wear something… more familiar to you, okay?” Regulus says carefully, pulling James' football jersey off his shoulders.

“But you said yourself that I look hot in this, didn't you? Everyone dreamed of a football player boyfriend back in the day, but you hit the jackpot,” James' head falls back on his shoulder, unclear whether it's from its weight and the effects of alcohol or from an attempt at drunken flirting. His lips stretch into a wide smile, and his eyes look up at the man from beneath his heavy eyelids.

“That was twenty years ago, James.” Regulus sighs heavily and grabs at his shirt, leaving James in nothing but his underwear.

“So… you don't think I'm sexy anymore?” the smile disappears and James' lips pout in a childish manner.

Taking a step back, Regulus looks down at his man's body in front of him, puts a finger to his lips as if thinking. “Hmm…”

No doubt, he would say without hesitation that he considers the forty-year-old James to be no worse than the twenty-year-old. In some ways even better - his hair is now covered with gray just like Regulus'. Part of his face is covered with a beard that James rubs so often against his husband's delicate skin, but Regulus still loves it.

His muscles are still as visible as ever, because James doesn't allow himself to turn into a typical man on the couch with a can of beer in his hands. Even though he doesn't say it out loud, the appearance of his body is still very important to James, which is why Regulus doesn't let him forget that he loves him with or without this body. But with this body, of course, it is more pleasant.

“Maybe if you sit down in the tub and let me rub you all over, I can give you an honest opinion, okay?” Regulus says, taking James' face in his hands and lifting it up to his.

Looking into those sparkling and pleading eyes, he can't help but leave a kiss on the tip of his man's nose, but instantly regrets it - the smell of the rotten bar still permeates his skin and James should get in the water now if he wants to get another kiss in this life.

[sunnysaystuff]

Thoughts on Regulily?

they're awful & i like them because they're awful

when regulus is drowning, it's lily who cuts through the water and reaches in to clutch his hand and meet his eyes and give him an order— "tell me what you've done" — so those green, green eyes might grant him his sweet absolution and lift his face up to taste cold, pristine air.

when regulus is standing outside a burning house with a cold hand on his shoulder, a twist in his stomach, and a sibilant hiss in his ear — "well done, young regulus" — it's lily who he runs to, lily whose lap he lies in and sobs out plea after plea to once he's done heaving half of what's inside of him out. it's lily who whispers, cruel but so tender with her hands combing through his hair and her soft lips placing a brand on his temple, "there is no one who would forgive you this. no one but me," and doesn't she know just how to make herself indispensable?

what started as cruel indifference toward a pallid boy with dark eyes and darker markings on his left arm, a pallid boy who came to a filthy mudblood and dared to ask for forgiveness, blossomed into something like pity when lily saw his waxen skin and the dark circles under his eyes. his skin only sallowed more when she told him that he was unforgivable, that what he had done could not be atoned for. “you disgust me,” she told him harshly, and reveled in the way he crumpled. 

that was the first time.

again he came to her. lily spurned him, lashed her hands out and let her wand raise and her eyes darken as he flinched with every blow — but he came back. regulus kept coming back, and with each return lily felt her own bloodlust recede. 

now she sits and lets him soak her skirt with his tears as she draws soothing circles on his palm and promises to forgive him. it's violent and it's reprehensible and it's putrid, what he does; it tastes like something bitter and toxic and it's crimson blood burning an iron hole through her tongue. but lily likes the power too much, the feeling of knowing regulus could dissolve into nothing right then if she wanted him to. oh, lily and regulus are all dusty attic floors and faint moonbeams coming through the windows; they're midnight rendezvous and they're rosy-fingered dawn. they're not love.

at the end of the day, lily comes home to laughter and sunlight and marble kitchen tops and a red-gold living room, and regulus goes home to a one-bedroom flat with the lights off and a lumpy matress he never sleeps on, put to bed by the sounds of his own twitching sobs. 

still they are the same, because lily awakens to a cold, empty bed and a husband who has already left for another mission, and regulus is shaken awake until his eyes snap open awake to see a skull mask hiding a cruel mouth that hisses orders into his ears. 

and when they step through the threshold into the dusty attic to see grey eyes and high cheekbones or long red hair and a slender neck, it doesn't feel like coming home. it feels like faded glades and sitting by the cocyctus inside a glass dome that protects them from everything but the shrieks of those outside. it's better to be lying flat on the inside spotting line-storm clouds through the canopy than leaping with their wands outstretched on the other side, faces drawn into snarling masks as they duck and weave and cast and never falter. 

it's not love. when lily flips open their edition of the daily prophet to see black heir dead she doesn't feel anything at all. she tells james to floo sirius, who's undoubtedly in a state. he rushes off, and she sits there, hand still clutching the paper, sips her morning tea, and puts the paper down. she does not move for quite a while.

[my-castles-crumbling]

weapon - jegulus - September 20th - @stag-microfic - word count: 274

James could pinpoint the exact moment he truly fell in love with Regulus. The moment he knew he was head-over-heels, irrevocably, no-turning-back, gone for him.

After running away with Sirius, Regulus had been completely closed off. Though he lived with the Potters, he hardly looked at anyone there, let alone talked to James. But James found himself drawn to the standoffish younger boy. He wanted to get to know him. To talk to him. To care about him and care for him.

So when he heard a yell from Regulus's room one day, he went running. He had the undeniable urge to protect Regulus. To make him feel safe. To put his arms around him and guard him from harm.

When he entered through the threshold to find Regulus standing on his bed, shoe posed in his hand like a weapon, eyes wide, he got nervous for a second. Because in his mind, Regulus wasn't afraid of anything.

But then Regulus, wide-eyed and stuttering, demanded, "Kill the damn thing, Potter!"

And James realized. There was a small spider on the ground by the door.

"What...this?" he asked, gesturing to the bug.

"Yes! Kill it, now!" Regulus repeated, looking more terrified by the second.

And something deep inside James shifted. Because to see Regulus, who was usually so aloof and put together and unemotional so scared over a little spider was so endearing that he almost melted right then and there. He was forever changed. He was in love.

"Alright, Reg," he grinned softly, scooping the bug in his hands and throwing it out the window. "There you go."

His life was never the same.

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic june 9th — lip gloss — 1017 words — cw: slightly nsfw brought to you by james' dirty mind, tw: amab term used for reg's genitalia aka mtf regulus, red heart shaped sunglasses and james potter's thoughts about kneehigh boots

The lights in their flat are dim, music is playing and the air smells faintly of tequila and lime already.

James has been staring at Regulus reapplying her ‘lip combo’ for the past five minutes without blinking. One could reason it’s because Regulus is literally using his sunglasses as a mirror but James argues he wouldn’t have let himself miss out on this for any money in the world either way. He would have found a way to get a front row seat.

The red, heart shaped glasses on his nose do nothing to help him see but that’s why he’s got his contacts in. There’s a cool hand at James’ stubbled jaw, angling him this way and that because Regulus needs proper lighting, Jamie. Stop moving into the shadow! 

First she’d fished around in her small ass purse—how does anyone even fit anything in these little things ever?—and procured a thin, dark red looking pencil of sorts. Regulus has gotten all up in his face, wiggling closer where she was sitting on his leg, rubbing her ass all over James’ lap and by God, James has never felt so lucky and tortured simultaneously. 

Anyway, Regulus had started following the shape of her cupid’s bow, outlining her lips. Her hand had rested right between James’ pecs at first to steady herself, right in the middle of his chest. James hoped she couldn’t feel the wild beating of his heart, the irregular heaving of his torso. She was talking to Pandora while doing so, about some mutual friend James has no clue about but he wasn’t registering any of the words either way. Much too fascinated by the small moles next to Regulus’ left eyes, by her dark lashes, her icy blue eyes. Ruthlessly captivating, breathtaking and immobilising like the bone deep chilling northern sea. 

James isn’t sure he remembers how to swim.

Next is a red lipstick. Regulus’ parts her mouth and James has to suppress a groan. He’s only mildly conscious of the way his palms make their way up over Regulus’ hips, coming to rest in the dip of her waist, thumbs windshield wiping over the silk of her green dress. It’s some sort of nightshirt, actually, with black lace detailing and clearly thrifted. Well loved but in good condition and James has been breaking his brain over what she might be wearing underneath for the better part of the last hour. Ever since Regulus had stepped over the threshold of their flat in her kneehigh boots and that flimsy excuse of a dress that James wants to see crumpled on the floor of his bedroom rather than anywhere else. Preferably while Regulus is splayed out naked on top of his sheets, tits out, cock out. The boots can stay on.

“Fuck,” present James mutters quietly, blinking himself out of his obscene fantasies. Regulus’ leg adjusts and brushes against where James is starting to fill out in his pants. 

James squirms.

“Stop that,” Regulus tsks, tightening her hold on his chin.

The yes, ma’am on the tip of James’ tongue nearly tumbles out but he manages to swallow it back in time.

James tries to glance around the general area around them out of the corners of his eyes, “Is your brother around?”

“Why?” she asks immediately. Her lips are completely filled out with a deep berry sort of red now. Then Regulus is digging around in her purse again.

“Just ’cause,” James replies offhandedly, shrugging.

Regulus hums, low and deep, sceptical and it’s so unfairly sexy. James licks his lips and sighs a long breath out. Level head, Potter, he tells himself. Level head.

The final step seems to be lip gloss. It’s not clear and translucent but rather has a bit of a milky quality to it.

James chokes on nothing. 

Regulus takes it up to her lips and spreads the fluid on her full red lips. It creates a foggy sheen and James is powerless against the mental images of cum slick lips. Both of their cum mixed, James licking it from Regulus’ stomach and then climbing back up. Hovering and tugging at her lower lip until she opens obediently like a good girl and lets James spit it right onto her mouth. 

Regulus leans closer and makes some little p-p-p noises where she smacks her lips together to even out the gloss, presumably. James doesn’t know. Don’t ask James anything right now because the gloss is kind of pulling strings and James is this close to doing something violently indecent to his best friend’s little sister.

Regulus puts the gloss away and then taps against James’ cheek, announcing happily, “Thank you.”

“Any time,” James mumbles.

He expects her to stand up now, join Pandora where she’s conversing with other people on the sofa, but instead Regulus wraps her arms around the back of James’ neck, keeping the close distance. “Y’know,” she starts, shifting in James’ lap, “I haven’t seen Sirius in a while. In fact, I think he might have gone off with Loopy.”

“Lupin,” James corrects automatically, trying to make sense of what Regulus is saying. She’s so warm and soft pressed against him, it’s distracting.

Regulus makes a whatever noise and tilts her head, “I’m guessing they went to his flat instead. Rumour has it, it’s close by.”

James nods in affirmation because that’s true. Remus does live close by.

Regulus’ fingers wind themselves into the curls at James’ nape, “Smart lads. Going somewhere a little more private.”

James nods again, numbly. He feels stupid in the head. 

“By the way,” Regulus keeps going, “Have I seen your room in this flat yet?”

And James might be stupid but he’s not an idiot.

A slow grin spreads over his face and then James has to lean forward to muffle an equally happy as aroused groan into the crook of Regulus’ pale neck. 

“Is that a yes?”

James leaves a kiss on her cheek when he pulls back, squeezes her hips and then lifts them both off the chair, ushering Regulus through the crowd and into his room.

When they come back out, Regulus’ legs are wobbly and there’s red lipstick stains all over James’ mouth and neck and the heady taste of cum in his mouth.

[fiasco95]

Streamer!starchaser - Jegulus & Wolfstar playing Phasmophobia

Regulus: Okay. I’m just going to the truck to grab more stuff, if it hunts— stay quiet.

Regulus, stepping over the threshold: Though I doubt you guys are capable of—

[The door immediately locks]

Regulus: Oh.

Remus, in the truck using the radio: Hey is everything okay—

*James and Sirius screaming their heads off while running around the house*

Regulus and Remus watching in from the window.

Regulus: I told them to be quiet.

Remus: Well. What else did you expect from them?

[jimblejamblewritings]

starlight moonlight sunlight — blurb five

Blurb Title: Nymphs are Great at Karaoke

Pairing: ex!Remus x reader, Remus x Sirius, eventual poly!Wolfstar x reader

Warnings: none

A/N: the fancast gifs don't relate to the story at all, I just use them to break the story from the info. Imagine who you want.

blurb series navigation here | previous blurb here

Remus thought your brilliant idea for a costume would be dressing up as a fairy princess so you could be a nymph for one night with no judgment. You were dressed as a nymph… technically. What he, rather stupidly, didn’t realize was that he would be roped into a couple’s costume. He didn’t even do one for Sirius — something his boyfriend didn’t care about until all of five seconds ago when Sirius heard him say he had to leave early but would see them all at the party. But there Remus was, at your dorm door with flowers, standing in the threshold for all of two seconds before you pulled him inside and shoved a bunch of fur in his face. 

“The big bad wolf? You actually want me to go as my biggest secret and fear in life?” 

You nodded as you put on your red cloak. “I thought it’d be nice for us to face our fears together instead of alone.” 

You took  a deep breath. Your friends already knew about your plans to reveal your nymph side without anyone but them knowing the truth behind your supposed costume. Remus wasn’t sure if he was prepared to see what you actually looked like… although he figured what you looked like in human form was also true to yourself as well.

What Remus wasn’t expecting was for you to be so cute. He said such as you smiled sheepishly at him. Your ears were more pointed, kind of like an elf, and your eyes were a bit bigger. Your nose was flatter and almost fawn-like. And Remus was sure he saw sparkles randomly shimmering on your skin and petals springing up on your hair before disappearing suddenly. 

The two of you finished getting dressed quickly and met all the others in the Gryffindor common room. Everyone’s costumes were so cute or terrifying. 

“Wait,” you said when you reached the bottom step. “My costume isn’t finished yet.” 

“Huh?” 

The others had to stop themselves from laughing too hard when both Peter and Regulus turned into their animagus forms. Peter scampered up your outstretched arm and dropped into the front pocket on your little Red Riding Hood cloak. Regulus, carefully and almost hesitantly, stepped into your arms. He relaxed completely when he realized that you weren’t going to drop him and that you did in fact know how to hold a cat properly. He hissed when his brother summoned a camera and took a picture. Sirius was never letting him live it down. Regulus didn’t turn into a cat for anyone. But you were quiet and he had to agree with Peter that you did have a calming presence about you. The nymph thing they figured. 

You were enjoying your time as you held cat-Reggie and swayed to the music with your boyfriend. Remus laughed every time he looked down and saw Regulus two sways away from falling asleep. Peter had already disappeared completely into your pocket. You and Remus looked over at the speakers when your favorite Halloween song came on. Groaning as best as a cat could, Regulus put his paws on your chest for balance and dug through your pocket until he grabbed Peter by the scruff and jumped down to go join the others. 

“How many more dances do they have memorized?” Dorcas asked in horror. 

“This has got to stop,” James said, the others agreeing with him. 

Sirius just swooned at Remus dipping you dramatically before you two busted out into a disco. “Leave them alone. Look how much fun Moons is having.” 

Mary just shook her head as she took another drink. “You’re more embarrassing than them.” 

Sirius ignored them and continued to watch Remus until your performance was over. Laughing, you and Remus crashed on the couch behind you as the group came over. The music had stopped. Most of the lights had been dimmed. And a fire was started in the fireplace. Everyone was getting cozy as some Gryffindors set up a stage and a large projector for movies and karaoke. The karaoke was up first according to the party organizers and then the night would end with movies until everyone slowly retreated into random dorms for the night (early morning). 

You knew Remus and his friends were in a band but you never heard them before. He didn’t want you to hear them for the first time over video or patronus but live. That and the fact that the marauders kept saying they weren’t ready. You made Remus promise that by university the band would at least try to make it big instead of only playing in the Room of Requirement and parties. And even though this wasn’t exactly a band performance, you were still excited to hear them sing. Moving off of Remus, you took his and Sirius’ drinks to hold while they were performing. 

As they flipped through songs, the marauders — and the rest of the group not onstage — were surprised to hear that you and Remus didn’t have embarrassing karaoke sessions to go along with your dance routines. He shrugged as he finally picked a song and handed out the mics. It just wasn’t your thing. The marauders got into position and waited for the intro of the song to start. 

Was it risky and downright stupid to flirt with each other on stage? Probably but once Remus started, Sirius wasn’t going to pass on the opportunity. Besides, you didn’t seem to catch on. You were actually laughing at what you perceived to be their joke flirting and encouraging them to do more. Should they have done it knowing that you clearly had a different understanding of what they were actually doing? No and they knew it. But Remus and Sirius weren’t going to think too deeply about that. 

“That was great,” you said between laughs as you handed them both their drinks back. “I have to see that happen again.” 

“Absolutely not, dovey,” Remus played it up. 

“Please.” 

“I’ll think about it.” 

Feeling on cloud nine at your reaction, Sirius actually sat next to you. You laid your head on Remus’ shoulder with your feet in Sirius’ lap. Your boyfriend played with your hair, fingers occasionally brushing your cheek, while Sirius rested his hands on your ankles. This position was more beneficial to Sirius than he initially realized. Remus was able to throw his arm onto the couch and around without drawing suspicion. 

“You should go up,” Sirius encouraged you, both to your shock and Remus’ shock. 

Remus’ talk with the boys made Sirius think. He should play nice with you if there was any hope of a nice and smooth breakup. And all of their friends liked you. He didn’t want to divide them or be a problem so he would be nice. 

You did end up going to the stage when they announced the last round of karaoke coming up. Sitting on the stool, you picked a slower tempo rock song. When the music started, you held the mic close to your face and began to sing. The marauders sat straight up in their seats, all looking at each other. That was just the voice they were discussing.

While Remus and Peter’s voices were smooth as honey, Sirius had nice grit, and James could scream like no one’s business, they had wanted something different. Something soft yet haunting but could bring emotion and grit when necessary. They held auditions but all the voices they liked were already in their own groups or not interested in joining a band.

“It would be the siren,” James whispered under his breath. 

“We have to ask her,” Sirius said. 

He didn’t care how he felt about you. They needed your voice. Plenty of bands didn’t get along or whatever. He’d learn to not just play nice but be your friend… or at least a very good coworker. But the marauders needed her voice. They all nodded at Sirius’ words. The moment you step off stage, they will go ask you to join the band

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