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cherryslyce · 1 year

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Second Son (XIV) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: Y/N joins Contessa Zabini for tea. Luna and Y/N make way to Reine, Norway. Y/N remembers something important about Regulus.

Part XIII / Part XV / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: The Zabini's and Baroque architecture just makes sense to me. Also uhhh have fun <3.

The cranberry tinted cup that sat in front of you made your tea flush like diluted blood, the glass flared at the rims to resemble a blossom, imposing on the matching saucer that you couldn’t draw your eyes away from.

Luna sat perfectly quaint to your left, eyes running across the opulent clusters of furniture that accessorized the already extravagant room. Intricate carvings lined cream pillars that pinched the rounded windows in front of you, each imposing structure veiled by heavy blush curtains. The wooden table in front of you was polished spotlessly, matching the ornate chair that sat sturdy underneath your rigid body. On the opposite wall, you’re suddenly aware of the colossal gold-trimmed mirror that was no doubt reflecting your squared shoulders.

Blaise was living in a baroque daydream. Damn him.

Your tongue was doing a funny thing, tipping between sensitivity and leathery roughness. That would be of your own doing, having immediately drawn your lips to the scalding tea in an effort to diffuse the tension in your shoulders. Despite the abrupt burn, you had held in the sputtering that twisted in your throat in order to maintain some semblance of decorum.

The silence was becoming unnerving and you could tell that Blaise agreed, the usually composed slytherin was twitching to twist his rings for the nth time. Unexpectedly, when you all had arrived at the Zabini Manor, you were met with a rather unimpressed Theodore Nott. Blaise had quietly whispered that the boy was well-liked by his mother and was often a guest at their manor.

It felt like you and Luna had become prey trapped in a den full of beguiling predators. The Contessa sat across from you with Blaise to her right, the woman not even batting an eye when Theodore chose to round the table and sit next to you instead.

Easy access to attack you or was he also intimidated by the elegant woman?

“So you were at a wedding, dear?” The Contessa’s voice was smothered in a richness that complemented her unflinching gaze.

Clearing your throat lightly, you lean forward to meet her keen eyes, “Yes.” Your tone was mellow–formal, and the lack of embellishing in your answer seemed to both amuse and vex her.

Not giving up so easily, the woman stirs her tea without breaking eye contact, “I see, and you were both making a quick trip to Diagon Alley afterwards?” The question would have seemed innocent if it were coming from anybody else (perhaps with the exception of Voldemort), but you could practically see the gears in her head turning.

“A little disruption ruined our appetite for celebration.”

The woman raises a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at you, “Oh? What’s a wedding without a little family drama?”

You felt like someone had taken a bludger and scrambled your brains with it, high society was truly not for the weak to stomach. You weren’t even sure if the Contessa was teasing you or trying to prod for information.

It was likely the latter, and the thought made your stomach twist a little. Your exchange of letters had always been polite, borderlining strained pleasantries that involved Hogwarts classes, your research, and plans to meet up (that you were hoping to never attend).

“Family drama would have been preferable, I’m afraid,” Your tone lifted ever so slightly, but the small smile pulling at your lips hid how irritated you were becoming with the tango of words.

You shoot Blaise a small glance and see him watching you both with an unreadable expression, though his intense eyes unnerved you a bit. Like mother, like son.

The Contessa’s lips purse thinly and you get the impression that she is also becoming increasingly irate with your resolution, but then her face settles into a sharp grin.

Humming lowly, she tilts her head to assess you before speaking, “You impress me, my dear. It would seem that Blaise is getting better at picking his companions,” You see her shoot a small approving glance at Theodore, who merely sips his tea nonchalantly, “Theodore, Y/N – I hope you both will continue to look out for Blaise. We Zabini’s pride ourselves in our unflinching loyalty and we always return what is given to us threefold.”

Chancing a peek at the boy next to you, you see Theodore meet your eyes evenly. Your move.

Nodding at the dignified woman, you smile genuinely for the first time that evening, “It would be my honor, Contessa Zabini. However, my devotion to Blaise would have continued without question, he is quite-” you raise your eyebrow at the boy, “-fascinating, after all.”

By fascinating, I mean half as scary as you and ten times more approachable. His wicked sense of humor is also a plus.

Blaise narrows his eyes goodheartedly and drops a sugar cube into his cooled tea, “Thanks.” The dry response has Theodore hiding a small smirk in his tea cup, while the Contessa merely shoots an unimpressed look at her son’s sickly concoction.

“Indeed, you are quite personable, Y/N. I can’t help but wonder though, what is your stance on the current political climate? It would be ever so insightful for me.” The woman smoothly questions, the calculative glint in her eyes flashing under the chandelier lights.

Translation: Are you going to induct my son into Voldemort’s goonies or Dumbledore’s sycophants?

Stirring your tea absentmindedly, you decide to answer honestly, “I have my own motivations that don’t exactly align with the polarized ideologies of our sphere. Of course, I have a preference for who I wish to see come out on top, but either way, my own interests outweigh my desire to participate in politics.”

Your answer seems to catch everybody off guard (except for Luna who smiles like she’s known all along), and you see consideration paint the Contessa’s face, “Interesting. Blaise has indicated that you are quite close with Harry Potter, yet you declare neutrality?”

“Neutrality for as long as my interests continue to hold my attention, but I hold no ounce of admiration for the Dark Lord or his underlings.” You hesitate to continue, feeling shifty with how easily your words were spilling out.

Blaise seems to grasp onto your words and leans forwards to prod you, “But?”

“But, I do not think that certain knowledge and teachings should be tabooed.”

Theodore speaks up for the first time to confirm what you were insinuating, “The Dark Arts.”

You nod and lift up your tea cup, sipping carefully despite how tasteless it was due to your burns.

“And these interests of yours, do they involve the Dark Arts?” The Contessa swipes a manicured nail around the handle of her cup, eyes no longer shrewd.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you lean back before answering lightly, “They might. I cannot say for certainty that they do. However, it does involve unusual magic.”

“I see. It makes sense now why you asked to see those Norwegian tomes.” The woman’s eyes are alight, a glow that made it seem as though an investment of hers bloomed to fruition beautifully.

You shuddered imperceptibly. Was it an honor or an omen that she seemed so intrigued by you?

Theodore perks up and he turns to you with wide eyes, “Norwegian tomes?”

The boy’s eagerness for knowledge was palpable, and you couldn’t help but be amused by his antics. It was so familiar because you saw it often in Regulus.

Regulus. You winced. You wouldn’t think about it anymore.

“Yes,” Turning to face the Contessa, you weigh your options, “If I may, I was wondering if I could borrow an owl for a letter. I want to inform my other friends of my plans going forward.”

Blaise raises his eyebrows and frowns, “Plans? Are you not meeting up with them soon?”

“Actually, I-” Luna turns to you with determined eyes at your slip up, “-we are heading North.”

“North?” Blaise looks exceedingly unimpressed and you knew you wouldn’t be going anywhere until you satiated his curiosity.

“Yes, up North.”

“Where up North, pray tell?” He drawls with crossed arms.

“Norway. We’re going to Norway.” Your tone was flat, eyes conveying your exasperation.

Blaise sputters indignantly and barely restrains himself from throwing his hands up, “Norway? We have school in two weeks! How long are you planning to be there for?”

“Indefinitely. It’s for my personal research.”

“Well, I’m coming with you.” Blaise’s declaration has you darting your eyes to the Contessa with bated breath, watching the woman cross her arms.

“Absolutely not. You have school, caro.” Blaise frowns deeply at his mother’s refusal and sits back in his seat, shoulders sagging in defeat, unwilling to argue with her. Theodore looks at you like you’ve grown a second head, likely considering if he would be able to leave school early too with the excuse of sabbatical.

The Contessa turns to you, ignoring her son’s fit, “Of course, I’ll have one of my house elfs fetch you some parchment and ink. I’m sure Blaise wouldn’t mind if you borrowed his owl,” The woman suddenly rises from her seat and shoots you all a pleasant smile before smoothing out her dress, “This evening has been quite insightful. I look forward to our next meeting, Y/N. Safe journeys, don’t be a stranger.”

Without waiting for a response, the woman spins on her heel and struts towards the double doors, calling for an elf as she crosses the threshold, “Viren, bring some parchment and ink for my guests.” The door clicks shut behind her as her last words reach your ears, and you slump in your seat as exhaustion soars through your veins.

Before a disgruntled Blaise or an eager Theodore – the bloody ravenclaw in snake skin, can get a word out, a light pop draws your attention towards a rather properly dressed house elf, parchment and writing supplies in tow.

Luna is quick to gather the supplies and quietly thank the elf, smoothing out the parchment in front of you.

“I still want to go with you.” Blaise’s voice is soft, and you’re unable to detect any irritation.

Peering up from your writing, you smile lightly at the two boys, “Sorry. You two need to hold down the fort. I didn’t say anything earlier, but the Ministry has been infiltrated by Voldemort and his followers, that’s why we left the wedding in such a hurry. Scrimgeour is dead as well,” You heave a sigh and flick the quill casually, “I suspect Hogwarts is going to be overtaken next, and Harry and I wouldn’t be caught dead there this year, we’d be like little crup puppies in a ball pit.”

Both slytherins look stumped by your straightforwardness, and Blaise huffs out a little ‘well shit’ that has you nodding.

Theodore stares deeply into the translucent pool of tea in his cup, voice barely above a whisper, “The war is going to end soon.”

“Yes, and Harry’s going to make sure Voldemort is damned all the way into the afterlife.” If either of the boys were unconvinced by your conviction, they didn’t let it show, opting to share a look of understanding with each other before turning to you and nodding lightly.

Blaise rounds the table and drops his hands onto your shoulders, “You better not die. And I guess I can take care of our ward for the time being.”

“Ward?” Theodore sounds (rightfully) perplexed by his best friend’s words.

“Little Draconis,” you supply, much to Theodore’s bewilderment, “And Blaise, stop making it sound like we’ve adopted him!”

You wave your friend off and finish up your letter, leaning back in satisfaction as you hear Blaise clamber away to fetch his owl.

Prongslet (and co),

Luna and I are going to redeem our meal tickets (not as bizarre of a gift as one may think). We may not be back before darkness falls. Tell the old menace I said hello, and that I will make good on my promise to him. Stay safe and stay together.

- Someone’s beloved Birdie

Norway was incomparably arctic to Britain, the frigid winds bit at the tips of your fingers with fervid rushes, and you were positive that your legs were now flesh icicles. Despite how ardently your body protested against the climate, you couldn’t help the serene smile that mapped the muscles of your face. The chill was not the only difference the region had over Britain, and its tranquility was almost foreign to you.

Now more than ever, Wizarding Britain seemed to have a miasma of doom looming over the country and the change of pace was almost tangible.

“Here we are,” Luna’s airy voice was a welcomed sound amidst your inner exultation. You couldn’t help but draw similarities between the mysticality of Luna’s magic and disposition, and the blankets of fog that permeated over the lake in the far distance.

Both were curious in their own aspects, but you couldn’t help but want to melt deeper in the feeling they both surrounded you with.

You pulled your overcoat tighter around your body, thanking Merlin and those above that Blaise practically tore his closet right to left to find suitable clothing for you and Luna before you both departed from Zabini Manor.

Stepping closer to Luna, you hum as you observe the view in the distance, “It’s beautiful.”

Reine was truly idyllic. The fishing village was cupped by snowy peaks that towered over the clots of buildings which mottled the shores of the lake – a place truly untouched by the withering fog of petulant human conflict.

The apparition was quite tiring and you could feel fatigue coiling around your muscles, urging you to quickly seek refuge.

“Couldn’t have picked a better place really: picturesque, remote, and lauded for proficiency in multiple languages.” Your words are light and playful, spurning a grin to bloom on Luna’s face.

Dumbledore practically handed you a bubble-wrapped opportunity served on a golden platter.

The both of you begin to trek towards the village, not wanting to risk apparition in case you were seen by any locals. To your knowledge, this Anders Fiske was the only magical folk in Reine, holing himself away from densely populated regions for reasons only Merlin knows.

As you approach the banks of the waters and the largest building amongst the cluster, you inhale shakily as you see a sinewy man exit the building. The man seems to pause and do a double take, fully turning when he realized that you weren’t a figment of his imagination.

“Hello,” His voice is gruff and gratingly neutral, only weakening your resolve.

Talking to people was hard. But you survived a – conversation? interrogation? with Contessa Zabini, this should be a piece of cake.

“Hello, we’re looking for someone named Anders Fiske,” your tone is even and you try your best to look as friendly as possible. Luna simply stares off into a red house in the distance, seeming to look straight through the man in front of you.

Immediately, you can see the man tense before he forcibly relaxes his stance, pinching his eyebrows together as he surveys you, “There is no one here by that name.”

You would have believed him. If you were a dolt, of course.

“Are you certain? It’s rather important, and he’s the only one that can help us.” The man doesn’t falter and you frown when you feel something inch towards you.

Helga almighty.

He had a magical signature. The man in front of you was clearly a wizard, whether he knew it or not.

Before you can ruminate on your discovery, the man speaks up, “Yes. So you both should leave.”

A subtle bone in his body, there was not.

Feeling your eye twitch, you decide to do some searching on your own terms. Releasing your magic, you slowly blanket the surrounding buildings in search for another magical signature. It was clear enough that the man in front of you was not who you were looking for – unless Dumbledore wanted you to have some grilled monkfish with the most conspicuous wizard ever to roam the earth since Godric Gryffindor himself.

As you continue to scavenge the village with your magic, the man in front of you shifts from side to side, clearly becoming wary of your sudden silence and blank stare.

Before you can continue, a thunderous slam has you flinching out of your concentration. Peering around the looming man, your eyes meet a guarded gaze. Tilting your head, you sidestep and assess the newcomer, smiling slowly as you realize that he was another wizard.

The new man was much older and you could see the way he leaned on his right leg as if his left one was aching from the slightest pressure. He was hunched in the pathway of the red house Luna was observing, mouth set into a deep frown.

“Bingo,” Without waiting for the younger man to say anything (or possibly toss you into the lake), you stroll over toward the older man who was slowly retreating back into his house.

Luna follows after you and nods happily to herself, starting to skip by your side.

Stopping a few yards away from the man, you roll your shoulders to ease your soreness before jumping into the golden question, “Are you Anders Fiske?”

The man appears to be ready to vehemently deny your question, but Luna speaks up before he can even utter a mumble, “Dumbledore sent us!”

“Dumbledore?” The man’s harsh wrinkles smooth over ever so slightly, and your former headmaster’s name seems to roll off his tongue instinctually.

“Yes. In his will, he told me that I needed to seek you out for a…meal? I’m in need of your help,” The man seems nonplussed by your declaration, and you purse your lips before sweetening up your words, “Please.”

You see the man’s eyes flicker behind you and back rapidly, seeming to mull over everything.

Without a word, the man dips into the shadow of his house with one last glower.

Excuse me, what?

“Come,” You’re startled out of your stupor by a familiar deep voice, and you can only trail forward, mouth hung open, as the younger man leads you and Luna inside.

As the younger man closes the door shut behind you, an array of lamps flicker to life around the room, illuminating the perimeter much to your amazement. The room was cozy and frazzled in a similar fashion to the Weasley’s home, and your eyes couldn’t help but trail across a wall of tomes the size of your head.

“You shouldn’t be here,” The older man – Anders, grumbles from the middle of the room, sat at the dining table with a demeanor you found synonymous with Moody during meetings at Grimmauld Place.

Smiling coyly, you watch Luna as she wanders almost weightlessly towards the small corner kitchen, “You shouldn’t have revealed yourself, Anders.”

The man lets out a low grunt and you almost have to physically restrain your eyebrows from floating off your face. This man was literally Moody in a different, older font.

“You would have figured it out anyway. Could feel that magic of yours suffocating the whole place from in here.” His tone was rough, but you wanted to believe that there was an impressed shine in his eyes.

The younger man who was (surprisingly) still behind you, decides to interrupt your conversation, “Father, who are these people?”

Anders places his elbows on the table and gives you and Luna a once-over, “Magical folk.”

“A threat?” Anders’ son carries an edge to his tone that has you nearly rolling your eyes.

You were about to blast him through the window, but you couldn’t let this opportunity slip away because of unbridled temptations.

“That remains to be seen.”

Anders’ reply seems to placate his son for the time being, and he heads off towards Luna as the girl hunches over to study a chipped teapot on the counter. You shift and make your way to stand in across from Anders, not exactly sure what approach to take.

The yellow lighting bounced off the man’s face and gave him a sickly complexion, emphasizing his stress lines and suspicious eyes as you drew closer.

“So, Dumbledore is dead?” He sounded almost regretful. Either that or you knocked your head on the way in.

“Unfortunately. War is not forgiving, especially to martyrs.” Your tone was not nearly as sad as it probably should have been, but it seemed to be of no trouble for the older wizard.

Anders sighs and leans back in his seat, one hand coming to clutch his shoulder unconsciously, “The old fool knew what he was getting into,” He raises his eyes to look at you appraisingly, “Can’t imagine why he’d send you my way, anyway.”

“I’m researching. Something that is unfortunately, extremely niche. Dumbledore said you might be able to enlighten me on the subject.” Your determined tone seems to draw in some interest from him, and you have to mask the victorious feeling that washes over you.

That’s right, scholar to scholar. Hook, line, and sinker.

The man waits for you to continue, so you slowly pull out the chair in front of you and sink down across from him, “It’s about magical essences. It seems that you are quite sensitive to magical signatures, seeing as you could sense me releasing my magic earlier,” Anders gives a brisk nod, and you clench your hands as you continue, “A few summers ago, I encountered something strange–special. I found a portrait that was imbued with magical essence, and this portrait, he was extremely sentient.”

You feel a knot lodge in your throat at the reminder of Regulus, the wound of his destruction feeling painfully raw again. Seeing your sudden hesitance, Anders raises a scruffy white eyebrow, “And where is this portrait now?”

Your gaze drops to the table, your eyes blazing right into the worn wood, so marred and aged, unlike the one at Zabini Manor.

“Gone, then? I don’t know how I’m supposed to be of help in that case.” You raise your eyes and meet his cold gaze, clenching your jaw at his stoic expression, “You both can stay the night in the basement, for the sake of doing an old friend a favor. I expect you to be gone by daylight, tomorrow.”

Without pause, Anders pushes himself off the chair and limps further into the house, leaving you to awkwardly stew in your rejection while his son and Luna linger behind you.

Anders’ son breaks the tense silence first, “Sorry about him, he’s…”

“Stubborn?” Luna offers.

“Honest.” You reply at the same time.

Whirling around in your seat, you will away the veil of exhaustion and hurt that clouded your mind and look up at Anders’ son, really seeing him for the first time. You see the resemblance between the both of them, from their narrowed eyes to their thin noses, and the unmistakable metallic chill engulfed in both of their magic.

Slowly rising from your seat, you send a fleeting smile to the boy, “Don’t believe we know your name.”

“Asger,” His tone is much less taut than before, from pity or understanding, you didn’t know.

“Nice to meet you, and thanks.”

The boy–Asger, waves off your thanks and simply juts his shoulder forward, silently telling you to follow him. Feeling all of your survival instincts switch off, you tread behind him with glassy eyes, barely aware of your surroundings even when Luna tucks her arm around your body, guiding you around the unfamiliar environment.

It appeared that Anders utilized his magical prowess and performed a disappearing act by the time you reached the basement, the older man being nowhere in sight despite the fact that there was only one door in the back of the house–which led to the basement.

You and Luna got settled in, not bothered by the loose threads of your blankets or the dusty boxes that rested against the walls. You were both given a (surprisingly) comfortable mattress to share, and you almost wanted to cry when Luna started to draw patterns on your palm as you both stared up at the spackled ceiling.

“Our journey has not ended yet,” Luna’s voice is small, but still fueled with conviction.

“Thanks, Luna. I don’t even know where I’d be without you.”

A comfortable silence descends upon you two, and you shift to get comfortable in your spot, realizing that Blaise’s overcoat was making it difficult to turn over. Slowly sitting up, you shrug off the thick material, and fix your jacket, realizing it was slightly askew from your movements. As you smooth down the material, you freeze as your hand moves over a thick bulk in your inner pocket.

Portrait…?

No. Of course not.

Ignoring the cold sinking of your stomach, you fish out the object and search blindly for your wand.

“Lumos.”

Your breath hitches.

Regulus’ journal. The one you found stuffed between his mattresses. Swallowing harshly, you slowly run a hand over the wrinkled cover.

How could you have forgotten?

As you try to maneuver your wand to allow both of your hands to be free, a gentle tug has you swiveling your head to the side. Luna merely smiles at you before looking back at the journal, nimbly holding your wand over the book so you could flip through it.

“I can look away if you want,” Luna’s gentle voice slices through the air with a warmth that you viscerally feel in your chest, and you smile at the girl in gratitude. As she turns her gaze to the darkness, seemingly becoming entranced by nothingness, you slowly furl the first pages open.

Property of Regulus Arcturus Black

You turn the page, fingers twitching as you resist the temptation to trace the swirls of his name.

3 November, 1976

Today is Sirius’ birthday. The first year he will celebrate away from home, as a disappointment to the family name. Mother and Father were particularly cold today. I just have to try harder. Sirius has stopped replying to my letters, and he avoids me in the halls.

I think I hate him.

Your heart pounds furiously in your chest as you reread the entry, struck by the unfamiliar loathing coated in his tone. Sirius was sixteen when he left, so seventeen in 1976. Regulus was only fifteen when he wrote this, and already so tied down by his family and abandonment issues.

The next few pages contain similar entries, all filled with abhorrence for Sirius and bitterness towards his parents.

Then the year changes.

8 September, 1978

The Dark Lord is going to change the world, make it a better, purer place. Mother and Father were pleased when I announced that I would be taking the mark soon, already having made strides among his growing forces.

Sirius would hate it. I know he would. But he would expect it. He should, anyway.

He already hates me, what damage could this do to our already broken relationship?

He should hate me.

I hate myself. I hate him.

I hate him so much.

17 December, 1978

Visiting my portrait was eventful. I can feel him growing stronger with every meeting. I think I’ll have to repaint it soon, looking at it and seeing a reflection of who I used to be never gets easier.

The next repaint, I’m going to finally do it. Hopefully, all my research will have paid off. Uncle Alphard’s book on magical essences was more helpful than I could have ever imagined.

The room is complete, and I can feel my magic all over it. If I can imbue it into my portrait as well, it will be perfect.

Maybe then he can forgive me. If I explain. If I try.

The Dark Lord is expecting me soon.

3 January, 1979

The repainting was a success. My hand will be sore for the next few days, but it was all worth it. I finally figured out how to key the room. The only person who will be able to access it now is Sirius. That is if he ever returns home.

My portrait is so like me, it’s truly uncanny. Perhaps I can publish my findings after I graduate.

My mark aches often.

I miss Sirius.

5 March, 1979

The Dark Lord tried to kill Kreacher.

After everything I’ve done for him. After everything I’ve sacrificed.

Sirius was right.

Kreacher keeps talking about a potion and a locket. I need to understand. I have to.

It is imperative that I impart everything I know to my portrait, so Sirius will know that I tried. That I finally understand.

Is this my punishment? Must I suffer so for forgiveness? If he does not forgive me, will it all have been for nothing?

I need to find out what the Dark Lord is hiding. It will be my repentance.

19 May, 1979

Horcruxes.

Such vile creations, a defiling of one’s soul. The Dark Lord has a horcrux. I need to destroy it.

My portrait grows restless with me. To think it was even possible. He only has the faintest ideas of my current ambitions, but I feel everyday that he is growing to be someone I never could be. Someone that Sirius would be able to forgive.

I’ll destroy the horcrux and accept the conditions tied to it.

There is no other way.

8 June, 1979

Everyday I grow closer to executing my plan.

I have given my portrait everything he needs to know.

I wonder, is all soul magic as abominable as horcruxes? I begin to see parallels with magical essences and soul magic. Yet, they feel completely different.

Or perhaps I have finally lost all sense. I have always been a hypocrite.

I wait with bated breath.

I will destroy it even if it kills me, and it will be glorious.

28 July, 1979

I fear that if I wait any longer I will go back on my conviction.

Mother and Father are growing increasingly vexed with me. I think they want to marry me off by winter.

It will be before then.

I have stopped confiding in my portrait about my deeper feelings. I fear that my weakness will be obvious even to him.

I have read more about magical essences to distract myself. Even the Dark Lord is not omniscient. Magical essences have ties to one’s soul, the bounds of such revelation I do not know. Yet, I have learned of something even the Dark Lord is ignorant to, and because of that, he has debased himself with horcruxes.

A small victory, and an inkling of how it will feel when he’s gone.

When he falls.

14 August, 1979

I will do it in autumn.

I hope it will all be worth it.

26 October, 1979

My portrait can cast magic.

I wonder if Sirius will be proud.

29 October, 1979

I wonder what being in love feels like.

2 November, 1979

I never really had aspirations outside of what was expected of me.

Have I always been so pitiful? Was I the only one who couldn’t see it?

15 November, 1979

I hear that the Potters are expecting their first child.

I wonder how Sirius will treat their baby.

I think I’m going crazy.

17 November, 1979

Tomorrow.

You flip through the journal hastily, and you feel your eyes sting in the darkness at the crushing realization.

Blank pages. Empty and unfeeling, and so telling of his fate.

You weren’t going to leave tomorrow.

Anders would have to drag you kicking and screaming. You wouldn’t give up on Regulus, not after everything he sacrificed.

You will do whatever it takes.

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desideriumwriter · 11 months

Text

Sleep Tight

Summary: Fred’s too bothered to not do anything when he finds you sleeping on the cold floor

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader (no pronouns used!)

WC: 1.2k

CWs: None!

A/N: I think I’m going through my Harry Potter phase AGAIN. So take this little fic I randomly thought of, there’s definitely gonna be more otw lol. Enjoy! <3

_______

Fred would often lose track of time when he practiced his Quidditch skills, especially when it was winter or summer break and he didn’t have much to do.

Today he joined in playing a few rounds with Ron, Harry, and George after dinner. You and Hermione came out and watched for a little bit, Hermione deciding to go back inside when she got bored, you went inside a little bit after her, when the cold air became too harsh on your skin.

Eventually, Harry, Ron, and George were too tired to play anymore and went inside, Fred stayed outside, continuing to practice his moves.

You were sitting on the couch, watching some old black and white film on the television. You would occasionally look out the window to see Fred on his broomstick, focused on how hard and far he could hit the ball, or how quickly he could dodge something. ———— It was midnight, you were trying to fight away the sleepiness pulling down your eyelids. You gave in when your head began to nod down.

You went upstairs and opened the door that led you into the twins room, George was already dead asleep on his bed, his body in a star position, laying on his stomach with his face smushed into his pillow, and his mouth wide open. Letting out snores here and there.

You grabbed the pillow and blanket you brought with you out of your bag, you set the pillow down and draped your blanket over yourself. You shivered when your arm touched the chilly wooden floor. You should’ve brought a better blanket and chose something warmer to sleep in rather than a t-shirt and shorts.

Yet, somehow you were able to fall asleep with George’s snoring and the cold that was causing goosebumps to appear on your skin. ———— Fred decided he was done for the night when he realized it was nearly 2AM.

He went inside as quietly as possible. He cringed when the door squeaked open and when the wood creaked under his feet going up the stairs.

He entered his shared bedroom and sighed when he saw you sleeping in the middle of the floor with that thin blanket. He knew how uncomfortable sleeping on the floor was from the amount of times where he was supposed to share a bed with George, but ended up being forced to sleep on the floor.

He crept past you, grabbing a pair of pajama pants and a loose shirt, sneaking into the bathroom to change. After he came out, setting down his clothes in the laundry basket, he looked at you on the floor again, feeling bad if he let you sleep there.

Guilt would eat him alive if he didn’t get you somewhere more comfortable. He crouched down next to you, sleeping on your side.

“y/n…y/n…” Fred whispered, shaking your shoulder gently. You groaned, still asleep.

“y/n!” He said a little bit louder, shaking you a bit harder. Once again, you groaned, annoyed, moving your shoulder away. At this point he was getting frustrated, he flipped you over and clapped his hands together loudly in front of your face. George’s snoring was interrupted, he grimaced in his sleep, changed his position, and began snoring again.

Finally your eyes began to flutter open and you raised yourself up a tiny bit, resting your elbows on the floor.

“What?” You asked wearily, wiping the small but still embarrassing amount of drool on your face.

“Get in the bed.” He nodded to his bed, you thought you heard him wrong.

“Huh?” You looked at him, brows furrowed in confusion.

“You can sleep in my bed tonight. You don’t have to sleep on the floor.” He assured you.

“What? No, I'm not gonna steal your bed from you, I’ll be okay.”

“And I’m not gonna let you sleep on the floor with that tiny bloody blanket sweetheart. You go sleep in my bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.” He fully sat down next to you, waiting for you to get up and switch spots.

“No! I was able to fall asleep here with no problem, I can do it again. I’m fine.” “Your body won’t be in the morning.” You knew he was right, there’s been other times where you’ve slept over at a friend's house and slept on the hard floor or carpet, and woke up with your torso, or some part of your body aching. Yet, you would ignore it.

“Fine.” You sighed. Fred grinned as you got up, knowing he won this argument as you began to walk tiredly to his bed and climbing in.

Fred took your spot on the floor, laying his head on your pillow and pulling the blanket you had over himself. He let out a small chuckle at how he was too tall for it, due to his feet sticking out at the end of the blanket.

That was soon interrupted by it being pulled off him. He sat up to see you facing towards him, your blanket in your hand.

“Nope, come on.” You dropped the blanket and patted the empty space next to you on the bed.

“What?” He sat up.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor either.” You raised your head at him.

“You’ll be crowded with me sharing the bed!”

“I don’t care about how much space I’ll get, you deserve to be comfortable. Just get in the damn bed.” You turned back on your other side, facing the wall. Fred let out an annoyed groan.

“If you insist, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He slammed himself into the bed, causing you to bounce with the mattress.

“Arsehole.” You elbowed him in the side, Fred chuckled and you tried not to giggle.

“Shhh, you can beat me up in the morning, go to bed.” He whispered.

“Goodnight, arsehole.” You muttered, trying to force back more giggles.

“Sleep tight, y/n.”

Within a few minutes you were knocked out. You flipped over, facing Fred, you dragged yourself closer, wrapped your arms around him and moved your head close to his chest.

Okay, maybe you weren’t fully asleep, but Fred thought you were. You pulled yourself closer to him knowingly. You had a tiny smile on your face, you tried to fight it, forcing it away so Fred couldn’t see.

That’s when you actually fell asleep, listening to his heartbeat, feeling the rise and fall of his chest.

Fred lifted his head up slowly to try and get a better look at you, he moved a few pieces of hair off your relaxed face. He wrapped his arm around your back gently, letting his head fall back onto the pillow.

He fell asleep with a smile on his face and the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen laying on his chest while holding him.

_____________

Tell me what you thought about this! Criticism is greatly accepted!

#fred weasley #fredweasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasely x y/n #fred weasley x gn!reader #fred weasley fic #fan fic #harry potter #harry potter and the half blood prince #fred weasley half blood prince #james phelps #jamesphelps #james phelps fic

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