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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 2 months

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I hope its not too rude to ask this, and if it is please ignore!!! but i would absolutely adore if u could write a fic abt arthur finding out abt Merlins magic and banishing him, morgana (which at this point is already an antagonist) finds him n after a while (figuring out merlin was banished) becomes absolutely furious with Arthur and protective of Merlin, but guess what!! Arthur regrets his decision and doesn’tknow how to fix this or even find merlin!!! – laconiceuphony

Hey! Would you be willing to write some Merlin/Gwaine? I don't really mind what about, but angsty Merlin and hurt/comfort are always good. Thank you <3 – anon

Hey, idk if you’re accepting asks still but if so I’d love it if you would write some h/c with Merlin! I love your writing <3 – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: unhealthy coping mechanisms

Pairings: gwaine/merlin, merthur, gwaine/merlin/arthur

Word Count: 5770

"Sorcery is illegal in Camelot." Merlin bows his head, awaiting the swing of Arthur's sword. The metal stings where it kisses his bare neck. A slight breeze as the sword is raised. He closes his eyes and waits for the end. He startles at the thunk of the sword impaling the ground mere whispers from his kneeling body. "I hereby banish you," comes Arthur's voice, only it is cold and foreign and the voice of a King, "do not return to Camelot. Ever." Arthur banishes Merlin from Camelot. Gwaine goes with him and they carve out a little piece of the world, just for themselves. Is it enough?

"Sorcery is illegal in Camelot."

Merlin bows his head, awaiting the swing of Arthur's sword. The metal stings where it kisses his bare neck. A slight breeze as the sword is raised. He closes his eyes and waits for the end.

He startles at the thunk of the sword impaling the ground mere whispers from his kneeling body.

"I hereby banish you," comes Arthur's voice, only it is cold and foreign and the voice of a King, "do not return to Camelot. Ever."

***

Gwaine has never been a man to pursue the 'grand things' in life. Born into nobility that scorned those they deemed less than worthy, competing with a sister that looked at him as though he were the scum of the earth just for daring to want something other than the life of simple easy luxury, and a former knight of Camelot with little to no regard for the formality of that station, no one could ever accuse him of chasing the riches of the high life.

His wants are, and have always been, quite simple. Good food, good drink. A warm place to sleep with a roof over his head. The freedom to enjoy all that which life has to offer. The comfort of another's touch and the warmth of another's laughter.

He comes to Camelot not for riches, not for glory, not for a King or a Prince, but for a friend. A friend met in the midst of a tavern brawl—which was when all the best friends are made—who made him believe that there were things were fighting for that weren't the small comforts. He walked at the man's side, not at his back, and believed that maybe, just maybe, things wouldn't be as he remembered them.

For a time, he was right.

Certainly the other knights were not the typical ones of Camelot's station, save for Sir Leon, who was the last of the Old Knights (his words, not Gwaine's), but that man was an entity all to himself. Elyan, the son of a blacksmith, whose knowledge of armor far outstripped anyone else's that he'd ever seen. Percival, a man who was an army by himself, larger than life. Lancelot, who had come to the knights the same way as he, drawn in by a friend's charm and inspired by his drive.

And Arthur Pendragon himself.

Gwaine isn't sure that if he'd met Arthur before knowing Merlin, he would be as willing to serve him. The man is, well, he's a Prince. A King. A noble born into such that believes he's entitled to it. Is he as bad as some of the others Gwaine has known? No, but that's an impossibly low bar that certain determined individuals have taken hoe and axe to get beneath. Arthur was…a man, yes, and he certainly had the capacity to be a good one. When away from the pressures of the castle, he was one of the knights, joking and laughing with them as though they were blood brothers, not just brothers in arms. And he made rulings that upset those pricks that decreed some should die to serve the rest, caring for the people and supporting them as he should. But he could be careless, inconsiderate, capable of those small acts of cruelty known only to those wielding incredible power without the acknowledgment of what that power could do if not managed correctly.

No, if Merlin had not been the one to introduce them, he would not have been a knight.

Merlin is unique. Not just because he's the Greatest Sorcerer to Walk the Earth, or the Last Dragonlord, or whatever other titles they want to give him. No, Merlin is unique because he's never met a man so achingly of the earth. Merlin is petty and clever and kind and resentful and endlessly loyal and hopelessly bitter. Merlin is just a man standing in the path of a river and the force of the waterfall at its mouth. Gwaine's had too much to drink and Merlin is there, ephemeral and tangible all at once, and he is the best man Gwaine will ever know.

And he is desperately, terribly, irrevocably in love with Arthur.

Those who are blind will say that Merlin's greatest secret is his magic, but he flaunts that at every chance he gets. Merlin's true secret is also not much of a secret, but he will never breathe word of it the way he'll declare himself a sorcerer if he thinks it will spare the life of someone innocent (even if Arthur will never believe him until it's too late). Merlin has tied himself to Arthur in a way that would surely destroy the both of them if the tether were to be cut. Everything he does, he does for Arthur, and it would take a man of impossible strength to come anywhere close to the devotion he shows a man who has no idea who he truly is.

How could Gwaine resist such conviction?

He knows his reputation, knows the fond eye rolls and resigned smiles that he coaxes from the faces of the knights, from Arthur, from Merlin himself. But just as much as he knows that, he knows there is no use in denying himself the truth. Could he pretend not to be in love with Merlin? Certainly, he could, but what would the use be?

He has loved Merlin since he met him in that tavern, loved him since he saw that first spell cast and his eyes turn gold, loved him since he looked at Arthur as though he were the world and felt his own chest twinge with the soft oh that has devastated bards and poets alike. In some ways his reputation protects him, able to flirt so openly and yet have none of the heartache that comes from an awkward rejection when he's taken seriously. There he can hide how much he pines for the man who only has eyes for another, there he can stay by Merlin's side, just standing, watching, there if he needs to be while Merlin hustles after Arthur. Sometimes he wants to shake him, tell him can't you see how precious this is, this love of a man who has decided to give his soul to you, but he won't, he can't, for just as he will never force his love onto Merlin, no sooner will he expose Merlin's heart to Arthur than fall on his own sword.

Then Arthur discovers Merlin has magic and all hell breaks loose.

Merlin is banished and Gwaine, ever the romantic, up and goes with him. He spares not another word for Arthur, his own rage boiling so closely under the surface of his skin that he would surely burn the King alive, and hangs up the red cloak in lieu of spilling blood, riding after Merlin. Merlin, the bastard, tries to convince him not to come, to stay, and he has to choke on his words before getting something out along the lines of it's not worth it if you're not there. And Merlin, who has never once been to the tavern, who does not know what to do with something that is only and solely for him, just sets his mouth into a thin line and allows Gwaine to travel with him.

They wander for a while. They visit taverns, visit Merlin's mother—Gwaine kisses her hand and thanks her for raising such an incredible son and she blushes, pats his cheek and tells him she's happy Merlin has him—and roam the farmlands in search of work. Gwaine's years of wandering alone have given him many friends in out of the way places, so they avoid the patrolling guards and knights and make their way to a small corner of the world where an old farm sits idly, waiting for someone new to come and tend it.

The cabin is small, drafty, lacks a proper fireplace, and the farm has been all but razed by bandits and wildlife alike. Merlin takes one look at the shoddy excuse for a bed and sighs, shouldering off his pack and going back outside to stable their horses.

Gwaine takes the floor for the first few nights and won't hear a word of protest.

Bit by bit, the farm comes back. They fight off bandits and put up fences against the deer, they trade for better seeds and wood to fix that cabin. Merlin uses his magic behind the closed door and they do not go hungry, they do not go cold. They have precious little coin taken from Camelot and they use it sparingly, stretching and stretching until they have enough from the land to take to the nearby village to trade and sell. The markets pass them by when they let them and they go only when it is safe, and little by little they carve out a place for themselves here at the edge of the world they once belonged to.

Merlin doesn't say much. He works and he listens to Gwaine's babbling and he holds his tankard of ale between too-old, too-young fingers, staring into the fire as the nights grow long. He smiles when Gwaine makes particularly bad jokes and he leans into his shoulder when he grows weary. He snaps at him to come up off the floor when the weather gets cold and they squeeze into the too-small bed, knees knocking and elbows bumping. Gwaine doesn't push and nurses his own bleeding heart in the comfort of his own chest.

Then one night, when they've managed to trade for a small barrel of wine, Merlin sets his cup down with a thud and kisses him.

He tastes like wine. He pulls and shoves Gwaine up onto his feet, only letting their lips part long enough to tug his tunic over his head and wrench Gwaine's from his chest. He shoves him down onto the horrible bed and there are hands in his hair, a tongue in his mouth, a knee between his and his chest is aching, splitting, bleeding Camelot red as Merlin gasps against his lips. One of them bites the other and deep purple bruises begin to spread like dying flowers.

When it's over, and they lie chest to chest, too hot and too cold, he looks up at the ceiling and lets his hand card gently through Merlin's hair. Merlin stiffens and rolls off of him, walking across the floor to drain the last of the wine. The firelight dances over pale skin and knotted scars and Gwaine has long ago numbed himself against the desire to kiss them, ask where they came from, wordlessly promise to protect him, but in the dying haze of pleasure, he wonders.

Perhaps in a different life.

Merlin is a selfish lover. He supposes it makes sense; the man gives every other aspect of himself over to anyone who so much as looks in need. When it comes to what he wants, then, he takes and takes and takes. Gwaine is all too happy to give him whatever he desires and tries not to look too smug when Merlin's voice cracks on a moan or his eyes roll back in his head. Merlin talks now, smiles more, and he takes it because Merlin looks happier and that's all he could ask for.

But then, oh, when he comes in to see Merlin hunched over, huddled around a scrap of cloth he knows was taken from one of Arthur's old tunics, well. He is only a man. And so he goes and sets his boots carefully by the door, picks up the blanket warmed by the fire, and drapes it over Merlin's shaking shoulders. He brackets the smaller man with his body, pressing kiss after kiss gently to his clothed shoulder, all the way to the crook of his neck where he lets his lips part just long enough to taste the skin before kissing him there too. He hears and feels the hitch of Merlin's breath and scoops him up, like a bride on their wedding night, and carries him over to the bed, lying him down as though it were the finest of fabrics. For the first time, he allows himself to be gentle, tender, even, as he coaxes Merlin's shaking hands to his own chest, soothes the hitching sobs with soft kisses to his aching throat. He slips his hands under the tunic to feel the soft curve of his hips, his ribs, to smooth along his pale stomach as he tastes salt on Merlin's lips.

"Arthur," Merlin cries, begs, moans, gasps, "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur, Arthur."

Gwaine doesn't kiss him to silence him. He pours his heart out in the gentle slide of their bodies and the touch of his mouth to the vulnerable parts of Merlin that the other man tries not to let him see, and when Merlin has finished, spend drying on his chest, he cleans him up without a word and lets him drift off to sleep. He sits by the fire alone that night, drinking from Merlin's cup, and sighs.

If he can only ever have this, then he will savor it.

***

In the end, finding Morgana feels almost anticlimactic.

He's walking in the forest, alone, while Gwaine rides to the village to fetch something for the persistent leak in the roof, when his magic tingles and he throws up his hand just in time to shield himself from the blast. Morgana launches another with a vicious screech and he deflects it just as easily.

"I'm not going to fight you, Morgana."

"You," she seethes, emerging from the shadows, "all this time, you—"

"I have magic. I was born with it. It is—was my destiny to help Arthur become the One True King of Camelot and unite the land of Albion. I was mistaken in betraying you. Every day I regret it." He sinks to his knees. "If you want revenge, you can take it."

Morgana stares at him. An unfinished spell crackles in her hand. She is the Last High Priestess of the Old Religion and they both know her magic is strong, but his is stronger. Should it become a proper fight, it would destroy them both.

After a long, long moment, her hand lowers and the spell fizzles into nothing. She walks forward, still eyeing him warily. He waits. Eventually, she sighs and offers her hand. He takes it and pulls himself to his feet.

"Why are you here?" Some of the venom leaves her voice. "Aren't you supposed to be helping Arthur?"

"He banished me."

Her eyes widen. "You. He banished you. He tore Camelot apart to save you more times than I can count and he just—what, let you go?"

"He discovered I have magic. Magic is illegal in Camelot."

"Arthur Pendragon is an arrogant, pompous arse, but he is a fool for you. He's been strangely fond of you since Uther made you his manservant," she spits, "and yet he tossed you aside."

He raises his eyebrows. "Are you angry at Arthur for me?"

"I loathe any person who would use and discard someone else so easily. You of all people should understand that."

He bows his head. "I am sorry, Morgana, really. If I…if I'd known—"

She sighs and bids him to walk with her. They weave through the trees, the forest glimmering in the late-afternoon sun around them. Birds call back and forth and rabbits scurry across their path. "I wish you had told me you had magic."

"I wish I had too."

"Why didn't you?"

Merlin sighs. "I listened to someone I shouldn't have."

"Arthur?"

"Kilgharrah. The dragon that Uther imprisoned under the castle. He said that you were sworn to be my enemy, and so I…" He scrubs a hand over his face. "I swear, not a day goes by that I don't wish I'd done it all differently."

Morgana goes quiet for a while as they walk, save for the crunching of her footsteps. "When Morgause took me from Camelot, she told me what you'd done. At first, all I could feel was anger. This…black and poisonous thing that ate me until it was all I had. I never thought to ask her why she never told me that I was the source of the magic."

"You didn't know."

"No." She swallows. "That day…when Arthur put the sword in my hand and told me to protect Uther…I didn't want to kill him."

They walk in silence for a little longer. Then Merlin slowly reaches out to grasp her hand. "Gwen told me about something her father said once."

"Oh?"

"Someone had come to the blacksmith's angry that one of the swords he'd made had been used to kill his child. Her father asked him who it was that truly deserved the brunt of the anger: the one who made the sword, the one who wielded the sword, or the sword itself."

She scoffs. "What's the use in being angry at a sword?"

Merlin squeezes her hand. "That's what I thought, and then Gwen…"

He lets out a shuddering breath and stops walking. Morgana turns, confused, until she sees the contorted expression on his face. She walks a few steps closer, warily calling his name. When he looks up again, his eyes are filled with tears.

"I forged the sword," he says hoarsely, "Morgause wielded it, and you…Morgana, I'm so sorry."

Morgana's eyes widen. Her hand twitches in his. Some vile and terrible fury rises behind her eyes but just as quickly, something else douses it and she looks so young, so old, so tired. With the selfishness of a cold child, she takes two quick steps and wraps her arms around him. He hugs her back and the forest parts just for a moment to allow the two to grieve the versions of themselves killed thoughtlessly.

"Come back with me," Merlin whispers into her shoulder, "come—just come for the night."

"Where?"

"It's not far. We have a farm. And a cabin."

"'We?'"

"Gwaine came with me."

A huff that warms his shoulder. "Of course he did."

Gwaine tries to draw his sword when he sees them, only for Merlin to rush between them, holding up his hands, saying she's not here to fight, she's not our enemy, it's alright. He looks at her, his eyes far more knowing than anyone has ever given him credit for, and shrugs, smiling and welcoming her inside. Merlin spends the rest of the evening in something of a daze, watching the two of them make small talk by the fire. No small part of him wishes that this could've happened in Camelot's halls, where Morgana looked as lovely and radiant and at peace as she did, where Gwaine's hands weren't so torn and scraped and his smile less tired, but they are both here and for the moment, his chest doesn't feel quite so empty.

It's a fleeting sensation.

Two sides of the same coin. The words that have ruled him since he first heard them spoken. The words that still rip his chest apart with every breath, the words that have his magic straining, aching, reaching back towards Camelot with every waking moment. It buzzes relentlessly in his fingers, strains his chest and lungs. It loves Arthur more than it loves him and he can't even blame it, for he left his heart there under the blade of Arthur's sword the day he was banished. Every day he wakes up, hoping to see the inside of Gaius's chambers, that this was all some horrible dream, and he can go with tears in his eyes up to Arthur's rooms and have Arthur tease him about being soft, weak, all with the quiet concern in his eyes that something might really be wrong.

But this is real. This cabin, this farm, this is the reality. He is no longer welcome in Camelot and he nurses that wound constantly. He closes his eyes and wishes away the worst of the pain so that he might breathe a little easier. He closes his fist over his heart and cries when Gwaine is asleep that it might come back to him, that he won't have to mourn its loss the same way he mourns Freya, Will, Balinor.

What is worse is that he knows he's being horrible to Gwaine.

Gwaine, who came with him without asking, without hesitating. Gwaine, who complained not once at how hard it was and how much work they have to do. Gwaine, who loves him, truly loves him, and loves him enough not to leave when Merlin is so clearly and helplessly still in love with Arthur.

He tries to ask him one night, when the tears won't stop coming and he's laid out on his back with Gwaine's mouth gently working over the vulnerable skin of his throat, his hands clasped tightly in rougher, callused ones, why he's here, why he lets this happen, why he's being so kind. It's not fair, he knows it's not fair, and he can't fathom why Gwaine is allowing it.

Because Gwaine is wonderful. He's kind and sweet and attentive and everything that Merlin isn't. He holds Merlin and the amount of love tucked into the embrace is enough to make his head spin. He kisses him like he's grateful Merlin's letting him get close enough to touch him. He loves him like he loves him, and Merlin can't understand why.

"Oh, Merlin," Gwaine breathes and the warmth makes him shudder, "it's alright. Shh, shh, it is. Don't you worry, not right now, just let me care for you."

"Why can't I just love you?" he sobs, hiding in Gwaine's shoulder. "It would be so much easier."

"Shh, shh, shh…that's enough, now." He's caught in a tender kiss that still manages to steal his breath away. Gwaine doesn't move away, murmuring against his mouth. "Just relax, lie back, shh, shh…"

Gwaine never leaves him wanting. If he were someone else, Merlin thinks he could hate him for that.

***

Arthur receives a scroll with the words the edge of the caves at the full moon, come alone, and knows that for the first time in a long, long time, he will truly be going alone.

He rides out under the noses of the patrols and gallops to the forest, making his way to the caves on foot when the terrain grows too steep. He keeps a hand on his sword as he goes, wary of the ambush he's almost certainly walking into.

When he reaches the top, there's a figure in black waiting for him. His hand falls away from his sword as Morgana turns to face him.

"You actually did come alone, I'm impressed."

"You requested it."

"There was a time where you'd never go alone anywhere."

"Yes, well, those days are behind me."

Her eyes flash with anger. "At your own doing."

"What do you want, Morgana?"

"Do you feel no remorse for what you've done?" She steps closer, the wind whipping about her skirts. "For any of it?"

"If you mean stopping you, then no, Morgana, I will not apologize for saving the innocent lives you sought to end." He takes a step too. "Do I regret what happened to you? Yes—I don't know what it was that sent you over the edge, but I wish—"

She laughs, high and loud and merciless, sounding like a murder of crows. "You wish? You wish what, that I hadn't?"

"Yes!' He steps closer still. "I wish that you'd told me you had magic, I wish that we'd been able to work something out together, I wish—"

"That you could've banished me," she snarls, spittle flying from her lips, "is that it? Instead of the wretched sorceress who swore vengeance, you wanted to send me off, pretty as anything, to save your own skin?"

"No!"

"What, then killed me yourself? While I was still Uther's beloved ward?"

"Morgana—"

"Or would you have burnt me at the stake?"

Arthur throws caution to the wind and strides up to her, grasping her shoulders and pulling her close. "I wish I could've stopped this! I wish I'd have known so I could help! I never wanted any of this, I don't want this now, I—don't you think I'd rather have you both with me?"

Morgana's teeth gleam in a cruel smile. "'Both?'"

His hands shudder. His knees quake. A lump appears in his throat and chokes him. "Do you know where he is?"

"What, don't tell me you care now—"

"I have always cared!"

"Liar!" She shoves him away. "You sent the most loyal man in the world off like a disobedient mutt the moment it was convenient—"

"They would've killed him!" He runs a hand through his hair, panting. "There were so many of them, Morgana, I couldn't—what else was I supposed to do? There was no way to stop the knights, not all of them—"

"You are the King," she sneers, "what good are you if you can't control your own knights?"

"I'm not a good King!"

Several birds take off from the forest below. The wind whips up into a frenzy to carry the words high into the sky and scatter them like broken shards of glass. Arthur pants as though blood would come to his lips any moment. Morgana, ever the steadfast, falters.

"I'm not a good King," Arthur says again, his voice thick and his head heavy, "I'm not. I carry on pointless cycles of violence because I lack the courage to break them. I put my trust in people who betray me and don't listen to the voices of my people. I—the only good I have ever done has come of the people who I surrounded myself with and I've managed to ruin that too."

He raises his chin, looking up to the heavens. He looks too young for his armor.

"I am King because my father was King. Nothing more."

Morgana swallows. She walks closer to him and puts her hand on his shoulder. He flinches, not for fear of her, but for shame of himself. For a moment, the two of them stand there, the broken children of Uther Pendragon, and that is all they are.

"Make it safe," she says finally, "then maybe we can come home."

"How," he croaks, "how do I make it safe?"

"Legalize magic. Root out the rot. Be the King Camelot deserves. That we deserve."

He looks at her, still in the half-dark, and carefully covers her hand with his. "Will you help me, as much as you can?"

She swallows. "When you prove to me that it's safe for me to do so."

***

The day word reaches them that magic is legal in Camelot, the candle in the back of Gwaine's mind begins to burn down to the base.

He knows it's a matter of time now. Arthur Pendragon is many things, but determined is perhaps one of his greatest qualities. If magic is legal in Camelot, then their days at this farm, in this cabin, are numbered and those numbers are not quite as high as he once thought.

He doesn't begrudge Merlin's hope. He never has, he never will. He responds enthusiastically to Merlin's renewed vigor, in and out of their bed—the bed, he should start thinking of it as the bed again—and tries to let his smiles slip only at night when no one else can see. Truly, he is happy; the lifting of the ban will ease the suffering of so many people and it's high time Arthur actually used the power he has to do something like this. Innocent people can practice their religion, no one group has to be exiled for an unjust reason, the druids can live in peace without persecution or fear any longer.

Merlin can go home.

He wonders if he'll return with him. He's grown quite fond of this little farm and cabin. Really, though, he knows it's because once he gets back, he'll have to watch the slow dance between the two of them and…and he's not as strong of a man as he pretends to be. But Merlin keeps looking at him with these hopeful little smiles and saying when we go back and when we're there and I hope they're happy to see us and he's weak, he always has been for Merlin, so he smiles and nods and says when we're home.

He comes back from the forest one day and sees a familiar horse standing in the grass outside their door—the door. Arthur Pendragon looks at him with that Camelot red cape flowing over his shoulders and he's every bard's dream of the knight in shining armor, come to claim his lost love. Gwaine walks up to him slowly, face of stone, and when Arthur confesses softly to him about how much he regrets it, how much he's done, and how scared he is now, he reaches out and clasps the man's hand.

"Take care of him," he says, and Arthur vows he will.

He doesn't watch their reunion. He winks flirtatiously until they shoo him off and he's glad of it, tending to the horses with a solemn finality that they pick up on, nudging his face with their noses until he pets them. He dons his own armor—the kind he wears to the tavern and to long feasts—and talks the whole ride back, laughing and joking and teasing the both of them.

Morgana joins them for the last leg of the journey and she looks at him with knowing eyes. He shrugs and she reaches over in the shadows where they won't see and squeezes his hand.

They are friends, then, and that is all they will ever be, and they will kill for each other without hesitation.

His brothers welcome him back. Leon looks at him for a moment too long and he turns away, not willing to have his heart split from his chest so soon after returning. There are things to celebrate, after all, and he is well adept at losing himself in fine spirits and food. The celebrations last long into the night, the next morning, and the next night as well. He doesn't look up to the high table, doesn't entertain the looks and winks he gets from the other guests, and doesn't touch the wine.

Leon catches him in a corner briefly and pulls him into a hug so tender he almost shatters right then and there.

"My door is open," he offers in words only meant for the two of them, "you've been away so long, little brother. I missed you."

The unspoken offer is there and Gwaine has never been more grateful for him. But he can't, not now, not while it is still so fresh, and so he dives back into the fray and laughs and jokes and makes merry.

When the party finally, finally comes to an end, he goes to sneak off to his own little room with a cup of wine when a long-fingered hand catches his shoulder. He knows who it is without having to turn around and knows in the same breath that he will go wherever the hand tugs. He leaves the wine on a table and goes, following Merlin up to the King's chambers. Arthur is already there, his crown laid on the side, pouring more wine. Merlin doesn't let him go as the doors close behind him, which is a surprise, but not as much as the one where Arthur holds out a goblet to him.

"I'm not a very good King," Arthur says, with his voice pitched low as Merlin's hands dance over his shoulders, "and I'm not a very good man."

"You're not that bad," he manages as Merlin's hands slip beneath his shirt.

"You're better than you give yourself credit for."

"I'm not," he gasps as fingers explore his chest, "I'm—I'm really not."

Arthur's hands are warm, callused in the way that his are, but gentle in a way that would make Uther Pendragon roll in his grave. Merlin's mouth finds his pulse.

"You are," he says, and he would never dare argue with Merlin, "you really are, Gwaine."

"You've lived as both a noble and a commoner," Arthur says, even as his hands card through his hair, "and seen the world from both sides. I need help from advisors I can trust. I imagine you have quite the breadth of experience."

The low slide of his words sends heat pooling into his stomach. "I've—I've lived a life, yes."

"Would you consider it? You could be a knight and an advisor." He doesn't have enough blood in his head for his. "I would be grateful for your guidance."

He chokes as Merlin's fingers dip lower and lower. "Is this how you recruit all your advisors?"

"No," Merlin chuckles, "just you."

"I—"

He doesn't have time to say another word before Arthur's mouth closes over his. The King tastes of wine and spice and one hand settles on his hip like a brand. His head is spinning and he feels Merlin coaxing the goblet from his hand.

"I've a lot to learn," Arthur says against his mouth, "so teach me."

"Teach you?"

He feels more than sees Arthur grin. "Unless you think you're not suited for it?"

He slides a hand into Arthur's golden hair and holds his head still, slanting their mouths together until the King is panting, shaking against him, and Merlin is laughing over their shoulders. Another mouth kisses his neck as arms wind around his waist and he smiles into the kiss.

"Shall we begin now, then?"

They've a home to rebuild, after all.

#bbc merlin #merlin bbc #merlin #gwaine #arthur pendragon #merthur #dragonbabbles #fic

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pyjamacryptid · 2 years

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More Merlin doodle oodles from my school notebook

George’s favourite moment of each month

Yeehaw and abracayodle

Arthur is an Ally (a meme redraw)

I mucked up his proportions. Was going to scribble it out. But the chaos demon within me said “no. No…. Destined for meme greatness”

Tater tot date (incorrect quote from a tumblr post)

and Hate Date, 6th Century CE on Tapestry

#Merlin #bbc merlin #Merlin bbc #doodles #my art #Merlin fanart #doodle oodles #fanart #merlin emrys #arthur pendragon #guinevere pendragon #bbc gwen #morgana #morgana pendragon #gwaine #sir gwaine #sir percival #knights of the round table #ren doodles

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this-is-a-name-dont-worry · 11 days

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Je me suis retrouvée à penser à la religion dans Kaamelott et c'est tellement étrange mais genre, d'une manière super intéressante

Donc, il y a les Dieux. Ils existent, ils ont un impact sur le monde, on le voit à travers la série et le film. Puis, il y a le dieu chrétien, le Dieu Unique. Pour le coup, on n'a pas vraiment beaucoup de preuves de son existence hormis l'endorssement des Dieux, ainsi que la BD l'armée du nécromant, où après 20h de prière et à essayer d'échapper au danger, Père Blaise balance un rayon de lumière divine qui désintègre les revenants (et sa croix)

Clairement, il y a l'air d'avoir en effet ce dieu chrétien aussi, c'est juste qu'il répond moins aux appels que les Dieux.

Jusqu'à présent ça va, mais c'est quand tu t'intéresses aux détails que ça devient bizarre:

1) Les chevaliers sont techniquement chrétiens, car ils font la quête du Graal, qui est une quête liée au Dieu Unique. "Techniquement", parce que la plupart semble soit n'en avoir rien à foutre, soit tenir les croyances païennes qu'ils ont apprit en grandissant

2) Arthur est l'élu des Dieux. Ce sont eux qui l'ont choisi pour unir la Bretagne, et seul lui peut voir leur envoyée la Dame du Lac

3) La Dame du Lac est censée aider avec la quête du Graal. C'est son job. La Dame du Lac, envoyée des Dieux, doit aider Arthur, élu des Dieux, à trouver le Graal, une quête du Dieu Unique.

4) Arthur est censé s'être converti au christianisme. Il suit la religion du Dieu Unique, et non pas la religion des Dieux qui l'ont choisi comme roi de Bretagne

5) L'impression est alors que les Dieux travaillent pour le Dieu Unique, expliquant qu'ils soient d'accord avec tout le monde quittant leur religion. Cependant, dans un épisode on apprend que Merlin a peur d'énerver les Dieux s'il se convertit, ce qui indique que malgré tout, les Dieux sont pas complètement chauds à l'idée de perdre des personnes qui les vénèrent

6) Kaamelott se passe durant une période de transition, où la vénération des Dieux laisse place à la vénération d'un Dieu. La quête du Graal, c'est un peu un moyen d'aider à répandre le christianisme. Les Dieux semblent donc travailler dans la direction de ce remplacement

On a donc des dieux qui aident un autre dieu à les supplanter, et entre les deux, ce sont les Dieux les plus actifs pour effectuer cette transition, bien qu'ils ne semblent pas complètement d'accord avec l'idée de perdre tout le monde

Ce qui bien sûr amène à des réflexions super cool sur comment tout ce bousin fonctionne. Le Dieu Unique est-il juste un des Dieux, mais qui est plus jeune et beaucoup plus puissant? Les Dieux l'aident-t-ils parce qu'ils le veulent, parce qu'ils ont peur?

Bref je parie qu'il y a un gros jeu d'échec politique chez les Dieux, et les personnages ne sont au final que leurs pions

#kaamelott #peut-être que DU il a rien demandé en vrai et c'est pour ça qu'il ignore tout le monde #il est super fort donc tous les autres veulent être celui qui le met au pouvoir et peut l'aider #pour récupérer ses fidèles de manière interposées or something

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ernestinee · 7 months

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Ce matin l'ado voulait une barre de traction depuis un moment du coup on est allés en acheter une sauf qu'en ouvrant la boîte on a vu qu'elle n'était pas prévue pour l'extérieur du coup on est retournés pour la rendre et celle qui va dehors n'était plus en stock on l'aura lundi et puis en revenant par un autre chemin pcq flemme de faire encore la même route on a découvert un supermarché italien et on s'est dit chouette on a acheté de la pancetta du parmesan incroyable des pâtes et des oeufs pour la carbonara de ce soir

et des arancinis et des petits trucs du service traiteur pour le midi, et c'était vraiment bien on s'est rappelé des souvenirs de notre city trip en Italie et j'ai encore eu envie d'etre là bas surtout dans les montagnes à manger de la pastèque ou des tomates mozzarella et puis on est rentrés et on a mangé en vitesse les trucs à réchauffer et puis j'ai installé des mangeoires dans les buissons et puis on est sortis fendre du bois, l'homme à la brouette qui amène dans le fond du jardin tout ce qui nous a été livré et moi fendre le bois parce qu'on a des stères et des stères et des stères de morceaux de troncs et de grosses branches et je fends avec un Merlin c'est une sorte de hache un peu évasée qui fait aussi massue ce truc pèse quasi 4 kg et j'apprends petit à petit à fendre des bûches convenablement il faut savoir où viser et contourner les noeuds et c'est assez magique pcq le bruit change quand on a tapé au bon endroit et apparemment c'est moi la plus énervée de nous deux parce que je tape vachement mieux mais c'est facile j'ai qu'à penser à mon ex bref ça défoule de fou et puis bon j'ai fait ça pendant 3h30 et le jardin ne ressemble pas du tout au jardin que je voudrais par exemple exactement là où je coupe le bois c'est là que je voudrais de l'herbe et des fruitiers et des transats et un petit cocktail voilà voilà y a encore du boulot pour arriver à ça

et après j'avais le dos en miettes et donc je suis rentrée j'ai essayé de regarder un truc sur netflix mais y a rien qui me disait du coup j'ai regardé Pinterest pendant un bon moment puis Netflix d'un œil puis Pinterest Instagram threads Instagram Pinterest et j'ai jonglé je commence à m'entraîner pour le 4 balles puis j'ai fait la carbonara et quand je pense qu'avant je faisais ça avec de la crème fraîche et de l'Emmental râpé ça me donne la nausée parce que qu'est ce que c'est bon le parmesan ohlala et là il y a une deuxième fournée de meringues en train de cuire parce qu'on ne prend que les jaunes dans la carbo alors tu fais quoi des blancs?

Bah des meringues, et je vais faire un peu de japonais italien anglais néerlandais sur Duolingo et finir mon bouquin parce que j'en ai acheté deux que j'ai hâte de lire il y en a un qui a un titre qui m'a fait frissonner écoute ça il s'appelle "Le fardeau tranquille des choses" c'est beau non? et demain dès potron minet je pars faire une rando de 10 ou 20 km on verra bien l'état de mon vieux corps.

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saemi-the-writer · 9 months

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Douce Dame Jolie

Mon Secret Santa Kaamlott pour la charmante @zialinart :D

Sur AO3

Bonne lecture !!

La Reine avait seulement souhaité assister au festival de l’Imbolc en toute tranquillité, sans personne pour la pointer du doigt ou se mettre à dos l’espèce d’hystérique qui criait toujours « au bûcher » où que savait-elle d’autre ! Cela restait une fête Gaélique, et avec cette nouvelle religion qui prédominait au pays désormais, cela risquait d’être mal-vu si la Reine y était vue, aussi était-elle allée voir l’enchanteur de Kaamelott en toute discrétion, lui demandant s’il n’avait pas un sort, une potion ou autre chose qui pourrait l’aider. C’était apparemment son jour de chance, car Merlin venait de mettre la main sur un médaillon magique : il changerait la perception des gens qui voient la personne qui le porterait. En gros, elle serait méconnaissable aux yeux du monde sans avoir à se transformer. Afin de vérifier son efficacité, Guenièvre l’avait mit aussitôt autour de son cou et était sortie faire un aller-retour rapide. Elle avait croisé les sires Perceval et Karadoc, qui venaient demander un énième service à Merlin. Ils ne l’avaient pas reconnu, mais s’étaient montrés étonnamment courtois, acceptant de la laisser passer devant eux. Convaincue, la Reine avait remercié le magicien et gardé le bijou pour le festival du 1er février.

Guenièvre avait espéré que les offrandes faites ce soir-là l’aideraient à avoir enfin un enfant, puis elle avait voulu profiter du moment. Elle n’avait pas pu danser ou apprécier de ces airs musicaux depuis des années, Guenièvre s’était donc laissée entraîner. Et c’est là qu’elle l’avait croisé.

Arthur. Son mari. Qui avait marché droit vers elle.

…Guenièvre aurait peut-être dû réaliser que l’avis de Messires Perceval et Karadoc n’était pas des plus fiables !

C’est ce qu’elle s’était dit en voyant Arthur s’approcher d’elle, mais à son grand étonnement, il l’avait invité à danser. A la manière qu’il avait eu de s’adresser à elle, Guenièvre compris vite qu’il ne l’avait pas reconnu. Comme Merlin lui avait dit, la magie du médaillon l’avait empêché de la reconnaître.

Et ce fut comme un rêve, à la fois merveilleux et confus.

Qu’Arthur avait été charmant, qu’elle avait été touchée par de tels égards, cette délicatesse et ce regard tendre ! Guenièvre pouvait enfin mieux comprendre pourquoi tant de jeunes femmes avaient été séduites ! Cependant, une chose demeurait inexplicable : son apparence n’était pas censée être si différente de l’originale. Guenièvre ne s’était pas transformée en beauté Latine, comme le Roi les aimait, alors pourquoi ?

Pourquoi ?...

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Ce n’était pas la première fois qu’Arthur tombait sous le charme du regard d’une jolie dame, et il avait été plus d’une fois déçu de l’aboutissement de ces relations. Et pourtant, il ne pouvait s’empêcher d’espérer. Une partie de lui-même le réprimandait, lui reprochant de ne pas retenir la leçon, mais il l’ignora. Cette femme était différente de celles qui lui avaient tapé dans l’œil jusqu’alors. Elle ne ressemblait à aucune de ses maîtresses, que ce soit le type « Latin » ou le type de silhouette qui l’attirait le plus souvent.

Et ce n’était pas que physique. Lorsque leurs regards s’étaient croisés ce soir-là, ce n’était pas son corps qui avait frissonné, mais son cœur et peut-être même - oserait-il le dire – son âme. C’était comme s’il avait retrouvé quelque chose qu’il avait perdu. Une conviction profonde que cette femme, il l’aimait, et qu’elle l’aimait en retour. Même s’ils ne s’étaient croisés de manière fortuite que quelques fois depuis le mois de février. Après tout, bien des histoires d’amour affirment qu’il suffit d’un regard, au bon moment, au bon endroit, pour que deux êtres sachent qu’ils s’étaient trouvés.

Un bruissement attira son attention, et la Dame apparut. Elle lui sourit timidement, comme toujours, et s’avança vers lui.

“Vous êtes là.“ dit-elle simplement. “Je suis heureuse de vous revoir.“

Une grande douceur se dégageait d’elle et la grâce irradiait dans chacun de ses mouvements. Dans ces moments-là, Arthur trouvait qu’elle avait quelque chose d’irréel, comme si elle allait s’évaporer s’il l’effleurait. Mais il avait bien constaté, au cours de leurs discussions et promenades, qu’elle était bien humaine. Une légère maladresse, ses questions parfois insolites, sa façon de jouer avec le médaillon qu’elle portait lorsqu’elle était nerveuse ou gênée… Cela ne faisait que la rendre plus charmante. Elle était douce et candide, mais elle possédait également un sens de l’observation surprenant et quelques idées audacieuses.

“Je suis heureux de vous revoir aussi.“ lui sourit-il en retour.

Arthur se décala pour lui permettre de s’assoir à ses côtés, ce qu’elle fit avec un empressement qui lui fit chaud au cœur.

Même si leur discussion du jour resta relativement triviale, Arthur souhaita que cet instant dure éternellement. Sa Douce essayait d’écrire un poème, ou une chanson, et bien qu’elle mette du cœur à l’ouvrage, sa prose laissait à désirer ! La chanson « Douce Dame Jolie » semblait avoir été écrite pour elle, il regrettait ne pas l’avoir écrite et composée lui-même pour la lui offrir. Enfin, aurait-il été plus apte à l’aider ! Les deux rirent ensemble de leurs diverses tentatives, car Arthur lui-même ne trouvait pas toujours le mot juste. En revanche, leurs voix s’accordaient très bien.

Peut-être était-ce une douce illusion, mais Arthur avait l’impression, une fois encore, qu’il avait trouvé son âme sœur.

“Vous reverrai-je bientôt ?“ demanda-t-il alors qu’il s’apprêtait à rentrer, espérant qu’elle le retiendrait.

“Je l’espère !“

Si cela avait été quelqu’un d’autre, le Roi aurait douté de la sincérité de ces trois mots. Mais pas avec elle. L’émotion dans sa voix et ses yeux ne mentaient pas.

“Et votre nom ?“

Le visage de la douce dame s’imprégna de tristesse, elle regarda au loin un instant avant de secouer la tête. Il fut surpris de voir une pointe d’espièglerie dans son expression avant qu’elle ne dise :

“Anam Cara.“

Après cette déclaration, elle s’approcha de lui et déposa un baiser au coin de ses lèvres avant de filer. Arthur n’aurait pas pu lui courir après, de toute façon, il était complètement envoûté. Arthur avait enfin un nom, un indice.

Anam Cara.

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Les yeux de Guenièvre se remplirent des larmes alors qu’elle observait le médaillon entre ses mains. Elle caressa du pouce le petit âne au centre de la roue en se demandant, une nouvelle fois, si elle ne devrait pas s’arrêter là. Elle se faisait du mal.

Arthur était tellement plus chaleureux et patient avec elle quand elle portait ce médaillon, elle souhaitait de tout cœur que les choses soient toujours ainsi. C’étaient comme de doux rêves, mais le réveil devenait de plus en plus rude. A chaque repas partagé, les soirs où son époux venait la rejoindre dans leur couche, sa froideur et son exaspération la frappaient plus violemment qu’auparavant. Guenièvre et l’inconnue était une seule et même personne ! Elle n’agissait pas différemment avec ce médaillon, elle restait fidèle à elle-même ! Il semblait qu’Arthur lui en voulait pour quelque chose, qu’il ne lui avait pas pardonné et qu’il lui faisait continuellement payer… Mais quoi ?! Qu’avait-elle fait pour mériter un tel traitement ? Pourquoi Arthur méprisait-il « Guenièvre » mais adorait « l’inconnue » ?

La Reine essuya ses larmes d’un revers de main avec un soupir. Il était de toute façon impossible de revenir en arrière. Elle pouvait encore changer le cours de choses avant que cela ne dérape, mais… Guenièvre voulait profiter encore un peu de ces quelques doux échanges avec son époux. Ses yeux se posèrent sur le poème qu’elle tentait d’écrire et son cœur se serra à nouveau. Guenièvre aurait tant donné pour que son époux soit à ses côtés, pour l’aider comme il l’avait fait quelques jours plus tôt ! Alors qu’un énième soupir lui échappait des lèvres, elle entendit un reniflement dans son dos.

“C’est magnifique, Majesté !“ sanglota Bohort.

Guenièvre poussa un petit cri en se retournant, faisant sursauter et crier le chevalier en même temps.

“Seigneur Bohort ! Vous m’avez fait peur !“

“Pardonnez-moi, ma Reine, mais vous ne répondiez pas à mon appel ! Aussi me suis-je permis d’entrer !“

“Et de lire par-dessus mon épaule ?“ Guenièvre grommela dans sa barbe en se couchant à moitié sur son pupitre, pour cacher son travail inachevé. “Vous êtes bien gentil, mais à quoi bon me flatter comme ça ! Je ne suis vraiment pas douée…“

“Permettez, votre Altesse ! Je ne fais que dire la vérité !“ Bohort semblait presque offusqué qu’elle pense autrement. “Les derniers vers ont certes besoin d’être un peu retravaillés pour rimer, mais les sentiments qu’ils dégagent n’en sont pas amoindri dans l’émotion qu’ils dégagent !“

Guenièvre cligna des yeux, surprise.

“Vous trouvez ?“ demanda-t-elle, hésitante.

“Oh oui !“ sourit le chevalier, les mains jointes sur son cœur. “Je peux sentir tout l’amour et la langueur dans les mots que vous avez écrit !“

La Reine se redressa doucement pour jeter un coup d’œil à son ébauche. Elle pouvait croire le Seigneur Bohort, mais d’un autre côté, ce dernier avait toujours été très… sensible. Guenièvre n’était pas sure que tous en dirait autant.

“Serait-ce votre cadeau pour le Roi Arthur ?“ le sourire de Bohort s’élargit. “ Il est vrai que son anniversaire est le mois prochain !“

Guenièvre sentit la gêne l’envahir, elle avait failli oublié l’anniversaire de son époux ! Elle avait été tellement déçue les fois où son anniversaire à elle avait été oublié par ce dernier, elle ne pouvait pas se permettre de faire pareil !

“A vrai dire, non.“ Avoua-t-elle, jouant nerveusement avec sa longue tresse. “Mais j’essayais… j’espérais pouvoir lui dire d’une jolie façon ce que je ressentais pour lui.“

Elle n’osa pas regarder Bohort dans les yeux, aussi fut-elle surprise quand ce dernier lui proposa de l’aider.

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“Votre Altesse ?“

Arthur détourna son attention de Perceval, ravi d’avoir un léger répit au cours de longues explications (oui Perceval, les frondes jettent des cailloux, mais non, elles ne peuvent pas remplacer les catapultes !!). C’était Calogrenant.

“J’ai entendu dire que vous étiez à la recherche de quelqu’un ?“ lui demanda le Calédonien. “C’est urgent ?“

“Urgent non, important, pour moi personnellement. Rien de grave.“ précisa le Roi. “Pourquoi cette question ?“

“Ah, parce que j’avais cru entendre que le nom était Anam Cara.“ Calogrenant haussa les épaules. “Et si c’était le cas…“

“Vous la connaissez ?“ Arthur bondit de son siège. Les deux chevaliers sursautèrent et le regardèrent d’un air perplexe.

Calogrenant sembla plus que gêné, laissant un long « heuu… » résonner dans la pièce avant de reprendre.

“Navré, Sire. Mais Anam Cara n’est pas un nom.“ révéla-t-il, ce qui glaça le sang d’Arthur. “C’est du Gaélique ancien, ça veut dire âme sœur.“

Les jambes du Roi allait se dérober, de désespoir et de trahison, quand la voix de Perceval transperça, tel un rayon de soleil, la brume qui commençait à envahir son esprit.

“C’est joli ! ça veut donc dire qu’elle vous aime comme un frère de toute son âme, Sire !“

Perceval ne savait évidemment pas ce que signifiait le terme « âme sœur », mais la vérité de ses paroles réchauffèrent le cœur du Roi.

Son âme sœur.

Il aurait dû rire, ou s’énerver… Alors pourquoi ce sentiment d’euphorie ? Arthur sentit presque des ailes lui pousser alors qu’il laissait derrière lui les deux chevaliers, ne remarquant pas leur regard interloqué en l’entendant fredonner « Je vivroie liement ».

Alors qu’il se dirigeait vers le jardin, il croisa sa femme. Sans réfléchir, Arthur lui saisit la main et la fit tournoyer joyeusement. L’expression d’agréable surprise sur le visage de Guenièvre l’amusa, il lui offrit un dernier sourire avant de partir.

“A ce soir, mon amie.“

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“Moi aussi, je vous aime.“

La Dame tressaillit, puis un frisson lui parcourut tout le corps. Elle porta une main à ses lèvres et recula d’un pas.

“Mais vous… pourquoi ?!“

Arthur perdit son sourire. Ce n’était pas du tout la réaction à laquelle il s’était attendu.

“Je ne peux pas le croire !“ s’écria-t-elle en secouant la tête. “Comment pouvez-vous m’aimer ?“

“Comment ?“ souffla-t-il, perdu. “Mais il n’y a pas de raison particulièrement logique ! Et pourquoi ne pourrais-je pas vous aimer ?“

“Parce que je suis mariée ! Tout comme vous l’êtes ! Mais si vous, vous pouvez vous permettre de collectionner les conquêtes, pour moi, une seule amourette avec un autre est vu comme une trahison aux yeux de tous!“ vitupéra-t-elle, le pointant du doigt rageusement. “Et votre femme ? Avez-vous jamais pensé à ce qu’elle pouvait ressentir ?! Et si elle, elle voulait aller voir ailleurs, vous accepteriez de la laisser faire?“

En entendant le mot « mariée », il avait cru sentir le sol se dérober sous ses pieds, cette éternelle blessure le relança. Pourtant, les paroles suivantes le figèrent d’une plus grande stupeur.

“La seule raison pour laquelle vous me courtisez avec tant de passion, c’est parce que je ne suis pas Guenièvre ! Vous êtes exactement comme mon mari !“ continua-t-elle, ses yeux se remplissant de larmes. “ Du moment que ce n’est pas votre femme, elles méritent votre admiration et elles y passent toutes ! Je suis sure que vous ne savez rien d’elle ! Vous vous en fichez d’elle, mais elle doit bien rester sagement à sa place ! Comme si j’étais… comme si elle était une chaise ! Vous passez votre temps à vous languir dans votre coin, à jouer les bourreaux de cœurs pour vous consolez, ou vous prouvez à vous-même quelque chose ou je ne sais quoi ! Mais nous ne sommes pas des meubles à la con ! Nous aussi, on a le droit d’être respectées, d’êtres aimées pour qui on est vraiment !“

Son visage, habituellement si blanc, était à présent rouge et inondé de larmes. Elle s’arrêta, tentant de reprendre son souffle. Arthur tendit la main vers elle, souhaitant sécher ses pleurs, la rassurer… mais elle se retourna et prit ses jambes à son cou.

“Attendez !“ s’écria-t-il.

Il ne voulait pas la perdre ! Aussi confus et blessé soit-il par ses paroles lancinantes. Arthur s’élança à sa suite, mais elle avait disparu. Elle n’avait pas pu aller bien loin, peut-être s’était-elle cachée parmi les bosquets… Un reniflement attira son attention et il se hâte dans sa direction. Il cru reconnaître la silhouette de la jeune femme, et écarta les branches sur sa route. Arthur s’apprêtait à l’appeler quand il réalisa qui se cachait là.

Guenièvre. Son épouse.

Elle releva les yeux vers lui et fronça les sourcils. D’un air digne qu’il ne lui connaissait pas, elle se redressa.

“Ce soir, vous dormirez chez l’une de vos maîtresses.“ déclara-t-elle sèchement, le faisant tressaillir.

Après l’avoir foudroyé du regard une dernière fois, Guenièvre passa à côté de lui et se dirigea vers le château. Sans comprendre pourquoi, ni ce qu’il attendait, Arthur la regarda partir.

Pas une seule fois elle se retourna.

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Dire que le Roi était de mauvaise humeur au cours de la matinée et du déjeuner aurait été un euphémisme. Avec ce qu’il s’était passé la veille, il avait très mal dormi, et lorsque la Dame du Lac lui était apparu en pleine nuit lors de sa promenade nocturne, c’était pour lui lancer des piques incompréhensibles.

“Vous êtes tellement préoccupé à rêver d’un lointain, vieux lac asséché que vous ne voyez pas celui qui est à deux pas de vous, magnifique et clair ! Pire, vous vous jetez sur les premières gourdes venues pour étancher votre soif !“

Arthur maugréa dans sa barbe avant de passer ses nerfs sur sa nourriture. Il leva les yeux vers sa femme, mais dès que leur regard se croisèrent, Guenièvre détourna la tête pour se resservir. Elle le battait encore froid, ce qui n’avait aucun sens non plus. Elle n’avait jamais fait de scènes au sujet de ses maîtresses auparavant !

“Aujourd’hui, j’ai fait de la tarte !“ annonça Séli, le tirant effroyablement de ses réflexions.

“Oh non ! Mais qu’est-ce qu’on vous a fait ?!“ rouspéta Léodagan.

“La barbe !“ répliqua-t-elle avec un regard noir pour son mari. “C’est Guenièvre qui m’en a demandé une ! Je ne pouvais pas refuser ça à ma fille !“

Arthur, Léodagan et Yvain tournèrent la tête en même temps vers la dénommée, plus abasourdis les uns que les autres. Guenièvre les ignora tandis que Séli présentait fièrement l’abomination qu’elle appelait « une tarte ».

“Elle a l’air très réussie, Mère !“ sourit la Reine, apparemment ravie. “Quels fruits avez-vous choisi, cette fois ?“

“Je voulais en faire une aux fraises, mais comme ce n’est pas la saison, j’ai fait un mélange de fruits !“

“Mais c’est un cauchemar !“ marmonna Léodagan, peu discret. “Ma fille, si vous vouliez une tarte de votre mère, c’est votre droit, mais vous n’étiez pas obligée de la partager avec nous !“

“Oh, mais je ne compte pas la partager !“ tous regardèrent Guenièvre interloqués, celle-ci saisit le plat et le tendit à Arthur. “C’est une petite attention pour mon mari !“

Il y eu comme un flottement dans la salle, Arthur fixa longuement la tarte en silence avant de relever les yeux sur son épouse.

“Vous m’en voulez à ce point ?“ finit-il par demander.

La question eut à peine franchi ses lèvres qu’il se prit la tarte en pleine figure.

“OUI !“

Guenièvre quitta la table et sortit en claquant la porte derrière elle. Lorsqu’Arthur réussit à retirer suffisamment de mélasse de ses yeux, le visage à la fois dépité et choqué de sa belle-mère ainsi que la tête de con (pour changer) que faisait Yvain lui apparurent. Il préféra ne rien dire et continua de se nettoyer le visage, il en oublia presque son beau-père, qui frappa dans ses mains avec un air ému.

“C’est ma fifille !“

D’un côté, Guenièvre savait qu’elle était déraisonnable, mais d’un autre, elle estimait qu’elle avait assez pris dans la figure. C’était bien son droit de lui en coller en retour, non ?

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

“Marre d’encaisser sa mauvaise humeur et ses railleries, pendant que d’autres profitent de ses mots doux !“ grogna-t-elle en enroulant les parchemins de ses ébauches de poèmes. “C’est ça être une épouse ? Tous les mauvais côté du mari, ses crises, sa mauvaise odeur et tout le bataclan c’est pour ma pomme, et pour les maîtresses, c’est le beurre, l’argent du beurre et le sourire du crémier ? Ha ! Si j’avais su, j’aurais dit à mon père qu’il pouvait se brosser pour le mariage ! S’il y tenait tant, il n’avait qu’à l’épouser lui-même ! Non mais ho ! Pourquoi c’est à moi de gérer ces conneries ?!“

Elle termina sa pile par le poème qu’elle avait réussi à écrire avec l’aide d’Arthur et Bohort. La Reine saisit la boîte dans laquelle elle avait laissé le médaillon et se rendit d’un pas rageur au laboratoire de Merlin. Avec humeur, elle lui rendit le bijou et laissa la pile de parchemin sur son plan de travail, le remerciant plus sèchement qu’elle n’aurait voulu le faire. Ne voulant pas s’attarder plus que nécessaire, Guenièvre tourna les talons promptement et sortit.

“Mais qu’est-ce que voulez que je fasse de tout ça ?!“ cria l’enchanteur en désignant les parchemins alors qu’elle s’apprêtait à fermer la porte derrière elle.

“Donnez-les à manger aux chèvres ou mettez-les au feu ! Qu’est-ce que ça peut faire ?!“ rétorqua-t-elle. “Ce sera toujours mieux que de voir mon mari se torcher avec !!“

Elle entendit un vague « hein ?? » avant le claquement de la porte. Guenièvre pouvait déjà sentir la honte monter en elle, elle se sentait coupable de se défouler sur le pauvre Merlin qui lui avait pourtant rendu service. Toutefois, ces sentiments s’évaporèrent à la vue du Roi. Ce dernier la regardait d’un air qu’elle ne pouvait décrire, et qu’elle ne souhaitait de toute façon pas décrypter dans l’immédiat. Qu’il soit surpris, contrarié ou autre, elle s’en moquait éperdument ! Avec un mouvement de tête qu’elle avait vu sa mère faire de nombreuses fois, Guenièvre passa à côté de lui avec un « humpf ! » bien placé.

“Vous n’avez vraiment rien à me dire ?“

“Je ne crois pas, non.“

Guenièvre sursauta quand la main d’Arthur l’agrippa, la retenant avec force.

“Je peux savoir quelle mouche vous a piqué ?“

Oh ! Le mufle !!

“La mouche j’en-ai-marre-d’être-prise-pour-une-conne-maintenant-fichez-moi-la-paix !“ rétorqua-t-elle en essayant de se défaire de son emprise. “Ah, et au fait !“ Guenièvre rassembla toute sa hargne pour imiter du mieux qu’elle le pouvait sa mère lorsque celle-ci remettait son père à sa place, puis elle déclara : “Inutile de revenir dans ma couche cette semaine. Faites-moi de l’air !“

“Pardon ?!“ l’air atterré d’Arthur l’aurait fait rire dans d’autre circonstances, mais là, elle se délectait de lui avoir couper le sifflet. “Mais vous ne pouvez pas faire ça ! Vous allez verrouiller la porte de la chambre aussi, pendant que vous y êtes ?!“

“Maintenant que vous le dites…“

“Hé, dites !“ les interrompis Merlin d’un ton impatient. “Si vous pouviez me laisser en dehors de vos disputes de couple ! Et puis mon laboratoire n’est pas un dépotoir, alors reprenez-moi tout ça, j’vous prie !“

Guenièvre écarquilla les yeux avec horreur alors que l’enchanteur lui repassait tous les parchemins. L’un de ses poignets étant toujours serré dans la main de son époux, une partie d’entre eux lui échappèrent et tombèrent par terre, se déroulant au passage. Réussissant enfin à se dégager, elle se dépêcha de les ramasser. Mais sa hâte la rendait fébrile, ses mains tremblaient, ce qui ne l’aida pas dans sa tâche. Elle était tellement concentrée et affolée qu’elle n’entendait plus rien, elle voulait juste récupérer ces fichus peaux d’ânes sans qu’Arthur ne découvre ce qu’elle y avait écrit.

Ce n’est quand se redressant que Guenièvre réalisa qu’il était trop tard.

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

Arthur avait attrapé au vol le premier parchemin qui avait volé vers lui, ne souhaitant pas se reprendre quoique ce soit de plus dans la figure aujourd’hui. Et en voyant sa femme s’activer pour tout ramasser, sa curiosité fut piquée. Guenièvre lui avait collé une tarte au déjeuner, au sens littéral du terme, il pouvait bien se permettre d’être curieux, non ?

Son sang ne fit qu’un tour en reconnaissant les mots inscrits.

Pourquoi ? Comment sa femme pouvait-elle… ?

Le poème avait deux strophes qu’il ne connaissait pas, mais c’était celui de sa Dame !

Arthur observa un instant Guenièvre, qui essayait tant bien que mal de rassembler les autres morceaux de vélin, puis se tourna vers Merlin. Il l’interpela et lui demanda ce qu’il se passait.

“A vous de me le dire !“ lui répondit-il en haussant les épaules. “Votre femme vient me rendre un médaillon que je lui avais prêté pour qu’elle puisse circuler incognito, et elle me refile tout son bazar au passage !“

“Quel médaillon ? Et puis pourquoi pour « circuler incognito » ?!“

“Un médaillon de métamorphose, elle voulait aller au festival de l’Imbolc sans être reconnue.“

C’était comme recevoir la réponse d’une énigme que l’on essayait de résoudre depuis des lustres. D’abord la stupéfaction, puis tout se met en place et la logique, l’évidence nous saute aux yeux et on se sent très con.

Arthur regarda Guenièvre et eut l’impression de la voir pour la première fois. Quand il plongea ses yeux dans les siens, il se demanda comment il n’avait pas pu la reconnaître. Ou plutôt : comment la douceur de son regard et sa beauté lui avaient-elles échappées pendant toutes ses années ?

“Vous êtes tellement préoccupé à rêver d’un lointain, vieux lac asséché que vous ne voyez pas celui qui est à deux pas de vous, magnifique et clair !

Les paroles de la Dame du Lac prenaient tout leur sens à présent, aussi vexantes soient-elles.

“C’était vous !“

Avant qu’il ne puisse dire ou faire autre chose, Guenièvre souleva les pas de sa robe et détala. Pendant quelques secondes, Arthur revit Aconia puis l’inconnue partir semblablement.

“AH NON ! PAS CETTE FOIS !!“ cria-t-il en s’élançant à sa poursuite.

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

“Bon, ben moi je retourne bosser.“ marmonna Merlin en faisant demi-tour, reconnaissant d’être resté célibataire.

Les histoires de couples, ce n’était vraiment pas son truc !

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

Pour quelqu’un qui n’avait aucun entraînement et qui se trimballait avec une tenue aussi lourde et encombrante, Guenièvre courrait fichtrement vite ! Et elle n’arrêtait pas de zigzaguer et tourner autour de tout ce qui se trouvait sur leur chemin : arbre, buisson, rocher… Arthur peinait à la suivre.

“Mais arrêtez-vous !“ lui cria-t-il. “Je n’vais pas vous manger !!“

“C’est ce que vous dites !“ s’exclama-t-elle en retour, jetant un bref coup d’œil en sa direction.

Presque à bout de souffle, Arthur décida de tenter le tout pour le tout. Il accéléra et se jeta sur elle, la saisissant à la taille. Guenièvre glapit en perdant l’équilibre et les deux tombèrent, emportés par l’élan qu’il avait pris, ils roulèrent quelques instants. Allongés sur le côté, Arthur tenant sa femme par la taille et refusant de la lâcher, ils reprirent tant bien que mal leur souffle.

“Pourquoi vous ne m’avez rien dit ?“ au point où ils en étaient, autant poser la question maintenant !

“Pourquoi ? A votre avis ?“ souffla Guenièvre, les yeux embués de larmes. “Vous ne cessez de me traiter comme une casse-pied ! Alors pour une fois que vous étiez courtois envers moi, je voulais profiter du moment ! Et vous avez commencé à sortir le grand jeu, espèce de bourreau des cœurs ! Evidemment que je ne voulais pas que tout s’arrête trop vite !“

La honte envahit Arthur, il ne pouvait même pas la contredire. Ce serait mentir.

“Et vous, pourquoi vous me détestez autant ? Qu’est-ce que je vous ai fait ?“

“Je ne vous déteste pas ! Jamais ! C’est juste que… c’est compliqué.“ soupira Arthur. “J’ai été stupide et aveugle, et j’ai passé ma colère sur vous parce que notre mariage a… disons « contribué » à perdre une femme que j’ai aimé, qui me hante encore à ce jour.“

“Et c’était plus simple de vous défouler sur moi que sur mon père, j’imagine.“ fit remarquer Guenièvre, un peu sèchement. “Ce sont mes parents qui ont exigé ce mariage, pas moi. J’ai juste eu de la chance de ne pas avoir d’amoureux quand c’est arrivé. Ni vous, ni mes propres parents ne m’ont laissé une chance. Que ce soit en tant qu’épouse ou que Reine, vous n’attendez rien de moi, je suis juste reléguée à rester dans un coin bien gentiment et faire la potiche.“

“C’est vrai. Vous avez raison.“ Arthur regarda une nouvelle fois son épouse dans les yeux, doucement, il porta une main à son visage et lui caressa le visage. “Je suis sincèrement désolé.“

“Je sais que je ne suis pas très brillante, mais… Est-ce que ça vous écorcherait d’être un peu plus gentil et patient avec moi ?“

“Euh, à ce sujet, pour ma défense, je me dois de préciser que j’ai affaires à des abrutis qui m’assomment avec leurs questions. Donc ce n’est pas qu’avec vous qu’il m’arrive d’être cinglant.“

“Pourquoi ne me laissez-vous pas vous aider alors ?“ demanda-t-elle. “Si cela ne peut vous soulagez ne serait-ce qu’un peu, je pourrais apprendre à gérer certaines affaires !“

Un court silence suivit cette affirmation. Arthur voulait bien donner une chance à Guenièvre, elle faisait preuve de bonne volonté et il avait découvert qu’avec de la patience et des encouragements, elle était bien plus ingénieuse qu’il ne l’avait cru. Elle serait bien capable de remplir son rôle de Reine. D’un autre côté, elle était inexpérimentée et vulnérable, certains ne feraient qu’une bouchée d’elle !

“Peut-être… peut-être que vous pourriez vous occuper de la prochaine séance de doléances avec les Seigneurs Lancelot et Bohort.“ proposa-t-il, ainsi elle serait bien accompagnée et protégée. “Si cela vous va-“

“Oui ! Je vous en prie !“

Guenièvre s’était redressée en joignant ses deux main, comme pour prier, et le regardait d’un air suppliant. Il pouvait difficilement lui refuser quoique ce soit ainsi.

“Très bien, accordé.“ Arthur se redressa à son tour, et fronça légèrement les sourcils. “Comment on en est venu à parler de ça, au fait ?“

Les deux se regardèrent en silence. Chacun remarqua dans quel état son conjoint se trouvait : couvert de terre, traces d’herbe ; les cheveux en pagaille et empli de brindilles. Guenièvre eut un rire bref avant de retirer une branche de la chevelure de son mari.

“Je vous aime, Arthur.“ affirma-t-elle. “Je ne pourrais jamais remplacer celle que vous avez perdu, et j’en suis désolée. Mais peut-être pourrions-nous… être au moins bons amis ?“

L’émotion serra le cœur d’Arthur, un peu plus, et les larmes lui seraient montés aux yeux.

“Je ne veux pas vous faire de fausse promesse.“ avoua-t-il. “Mais aussi bizarre que cela puisse paraître, votre médaillon à lever le voile devant mes yeux lorsque je vous regardais. Il me faudra peut-être encore un peu de temps, mais je crois… Non, je sais que je pourrais vous aimer en retour.“

Malgré ce qu’il venait d’affirmer, ces mots furent comme un pacte. Un pacte qu’il scellèrent d’un baiser.

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

“Je vous dis que le futur héritier est en route, cette fois-ci ! Vous avez bien vu dans quel état ils sont rentrés tous les deux ! Si ce n’est pas dû à des galipettes dans l’herbe, je veux bien être changée en chèvre !!“

“Chèvre ou pas, passez-moi la prochaine fournée ! Il faut que tout soit prêt pour demain matin !“

“Mais ça va ! Et pourquoi voulez-vous autant de tartes pour demain matin ? On va y passer la nuit !“

“Guenièvre participe à la séance de doléances, il faut qu’elle ait de quoi lancer sur les gros pécores qu’elle va recevoir !“

“………mais c’est moi qui vais vous en coller des tartes !! PIGNOUF !!!“

#kaamelott #secret santa kaamelott 2023 #arthur pendragon #guenièvre #pendranievre #arthur x guinevere

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adarkrainbow · 11 months

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An example of the book's fascinating studies: as I said before, the chapter about Sleeping Beauty notices how fin-de-siècle authors, when "perverting" the tale, focused on the fairies around the baby's cradle - and Jean de Palacio notices that the names chosen for these fairies are very revealing of this "perversion".

Indeed, some authors in their twist-take on Sleeping Beauty, decided to name the group of fairies around the cradle. Anatole France, in his take on the Sleeping Beauty story in 1909, listed eight fairies: Titania, Mab, Viviane, Mélusine, Urgèle, Anna de Bretagne, Mourgue. Catulle Mendès, in 1888, had evoked in his work a total of 12 fairies - Oriane, Urgande, Urgèle, Alcine, Viviane, Holda, Mélusine, Mélandre, Arie, Mab, Titania, Habonde. Jean Lorrain did this list twice - once in 1883 including Habonde, Viviane, Tiphaine, Oriane, Mélusine, Urgèle, Morgane ; and another in 1897, simply removing Urgèle. As for Joséphin Péladan, he also did a double list: one in 1893, Mélusine, Morgane, Viviane, Mourgue, Alcine ; and another in 1895 to which he removed Mourgue to add Urgèle, Nicneven and Abonde.

These names can be taken as just random famous fairy names - but Jean de Palacio highlights that... They are not just chosen randomly, and all denote a way to discredit the fairies or to highlight their ambiguous if not negative nature. Of the recurring names four are taken from the matter of Britain, Arthurian and medieval legends: Viviane, Melusine, Anna de Bretagne (a variation of Anne of Britanny, an actual queen of France) and Mourgue/Morgane. Famous characters, right... But who is present here, around this baby's cradle to deliver gifts? Morgan le Fay, half-main villain of the Arthuriana half-healer of Avalon. Viviane, the good lady of the lake, oh yes... but also a shameless seductress who used Merlin's lust and love to steal his secrets and get rid of him. And Melusine - a national treasure, one of France's beloved legends... And a snake-woman with a strong demonic aura and devilish reputation. Viviane, Melusine and Morgan are all manifestations of the "femme fatale", of the deadly though seductive woman.

There is also a British influence at work here, since we have Titania and Mab, the two famous Shakespearian fairy queens. But Titania's reputation had already been soiled in Shakespeare's play by her mad love for a donkey - sorry, an ass ; as for Mab, in the minds of fin-de-siècle century, she is still strongly associated with the "materialistic atheism" of Percy Bysshe Shelley's poem "Queen Mab". Not perfect example of "godmothers"...

But let's return to Mourgue/Morgue briefly. Yes, she is the Franco-British Arthurian character of Morgan le Fay... But she is also part of the Italian literary tradition thanks to the Orlando Furioso, where she is Morgana, the incest-born sister of the enchantress Alcina who... Oh look! She is there too! Alcina in French is "Alcine" and in the lists you find... Alcuine. Once again, a new discredit over the fairies, as you have two wicked enchantresses dedicated to the dark art - including a lustful old hag so vain she hides her true appearance under a glamour of youth and beauty.

Of the various fairies presented in this list, only Urgèle seems to be free of any same, flaw or negative side - but that's because she is the most "recent" of them all, and not an old literary heritage or cultural figure, but rather a fresh creation. Urgèle was created by Voltaire in 1764 for a short tale/fairytale of his, "Ce qui plait aux dames", "What pleases the ladies", and immediately taken back for an "opéra-comique" adaptation by Favart in 1764, "La Fée Urgèle, ou Ce qui plaît aux dames". And while Théodore de Banville made her a good fairy victim of a wicked enchanter in his comedy "Le Baiser", "The Kiss" ; it didn't refrain Michel Carré and Paul Collin to make her the wicked fairy of Sleeping Beauty in their theatrical-opera adaptation of the fairytale in 1904...

[As a personal note, if you are interest in the other fairy names, Habonde is a variation of Abonde - la fée Abonde was a figure of popular folklore and superstitious beliefs in medieval France, an embodiment of abundance and prosperity fought off by the Church and who was tied to the rite of leaving "meals for the fairies" on special nights such as Christmas or the Epiphany. Holda is of course the same as Frau Holda/Frau Holle of Germanic mythology ; Arie is a reference to "Tante Arie", a Christmas gift-giver of eastern France, and Nicneven is a variation of Nicnevin/Nicnevan of Scottish folklore. I have to admit I do not know about the origins of Mélandre or Tiphaine.]

#sleeping beauty #fin de siecle fairytales #jean de palacio #fairy godmothers #fairies #famous fairies #fairytales with a twist

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sloubs · 1 year

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non mais en vrai vous vous rendez compte que pleins de gens à kaamelott ont rencontré/vu mani et que depuis JAMAIS ils en ont reparlé à arthur ? caius l'a connu, merlin l'a connu, le père blaise, venec, perceval, karadoc, léodagan, séli, guenièvre, lancelot, galessin, le tavernier, même les paysans l'ont rencontré et lui ont adressé la parole. y en a pas UN SEUL qui a demandé à arthur qui c'était ou ce qu'il est devenu. non moi j'suis désolée mais quand j'y pense ça me fout en l'air

#à moins qu'arthur ait demandé à ce qu'on lui en parle plus jamais quand il est revenu de rome #mais j'y crois moyen #mais peut-être #et je sais que probablement l'idée de mani est pas venue à l'esprit d'astier avant le livre 6 mais quand même #mani #kaamelott

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myriadparacosm · 9 months

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Black Beats Black - 3. Butterfly Weed

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Read on AO3

“Tu es complétement cinglé,” Sirius blurts out as his mind reels through what he just heard from his brother’s mouth, who isn’t impressed by his disbelieved tone. “We need to get magically bonded?” He repeats with a mocking voice that only deepens Regulus’ scoff.

“Do you often think in French? I lost the habit once we got to Hogwarts,” he mentions without caring much about Sirius’ point. “It sounds weird.”

“Pardon ? Mon accent est parfait. Crétin .”

Regulus rolls his eyes and flatly glares at him. “Est-ce que tu vas m’écouter ou m’insulter dans une autre langue que je comprends parfaitement ?”

“No I’m not going to listen to you,” Sirius replies, storming across the room and coming back with the idea to grab him but the word ‘nuptial bond’ hits him again. “ Married ?!”

“There is a perfectly understandable reason for it. And I didn’t say married,” he snaps. “I’m not doing this by pleasure either but it will give us time.”

“Time?! Time for what? To prolong our fucked up family tradition of inbreeding?”

“Incest will never be my thing and neither will this be,” Regulus dryly says with a shrill sigh through his nose. “If you actually remembered the point of Pureblood bonds then you would understand what I’m going at.”

Sirius glares at him and considers swatting him before storming away closer to the fireplace. The room, which perfectly sheltered him over the last days without any worries about intrusion, has allowed Regulus in without Sirius having any say which would not bother him any other time than now. He is happy to see his brother but now he considers holding back Regulus’ visiting rights if it’s to parade in with the decision to get bonded. He rubs his eyes after looking away from the fire.

“Tu es fou.”

“Pour l’amour de Merlin,” Regulus snaps and leaves the bed to walk closer. “Sirius, will you please stop and listen to me? It’s only for the Hanahaki and trust me I wish I didn’t have to take a part of it.”

He snorts with a glance at him. “How so?”

“Think.”

Sirius scowls at him but he doesn’t spare any more attention as he goes to sit in the plush seat, lacking the mirror that was in front of it as it disappeared days ago. He has no complaints about it since he hasn’t been able to stomach his own reflection for a time now.

A sigh scratches its way out before he can think and furious coughs follow the rustling of the petals in his body. It’s painful, clearly noticeable by the way Regulus’ eyes are fixed into him, but he manages. It’s liberating to be able to wheeze without worrying about anyone catching up. In class, especially in Transfiguration where Sirius had the brilliant idea to sit next to Remus as it’s the only class where they aren’t allowed to swap seats for the whole year except if McGonagall deems so. She will never change his seat especially now that Sirius doesn’t chat and dolefully focuses on the lessons now.

He throws handfuls of petals in the fire and wipes his mouth with his thumb. Regulus is either throwing him a distraction to focus on rather than his own thoughts or wants to rile him up on the crazy idea of marriage with his own brother. They have both followed strict education on Pureblood’s culture, heritage and traditions by their parents but Sirius has never cared much for it. Most were long, hypocritical and meaningless, which has never worked well with him. Though he is a romantic and the promise of a true ever-lasting love has always appealed to him - but everything is twisted whenever it’s Pureblood’s affairs.

“The nuptial bond is supposed to enhance feelings, tying the knot over love to never let it die,” he recalls and glances at Regulus to judge his reaction, “but the way to do so is by sealing their fate together meaning that neither spouse can try to escape by any means.”

“Anything that happens to one will happen to the other.”

Sirius widens his eyes as he recalls the warning of ignoring such a bond or finding another love. There is no escape when you are linked to your own jail without bringing your own death.

“A curse would be reciprocated,” Sirius realises as his eyes widen on the composed face of his brother. “Merlin’s balls. You really are insane.”

Regulus shrugs and focuses back on playing with the make-up pencil he found on his seat. “Tradition familial.”

He snorts before properly laughing at the hint of amusement on his brother’s lips at the mention of a family tradition. The only one they are actively keeping up alive, though only recently because apparently the habit is still lurking and just needs the right person around, is speaking French here and there; it’s their family first language despite living in Britain for centuries.

Their parents loved to loudly complain, never anything positive at least, in french in any sort of public setting; if someone understood and talked back then they would swap the situation around by saying it’s a private conversation, though it has rarely happened. Sirius and Regulus only used to speak in French to reply whenever spoken to or between themselves like a secret code. Their parents would obviously understand but Sirius liked the idea of being secretive with Regulus, as much as they could in this pressuring house. It was only the case whenever Kreacher was around to keep an eye on the young heirs but the house-elf probably understood what they said. Regulus could have easily taught him a bit of French if he didn’t already know. These two always played favourites with each other which Sirius always resented.

“Alright so you want to bring back incest up to our days,” he snarks and turns to face him properly with crossed arms. “How is being bonded any help for me? You will only get the Hanahaki.”

“Not exactly,” he argues. “It will try to develop, yes but it won’t manage to.”

“Why not? These nuptial bonds are intense. There is no time difference or strength to be sure that both spouses are affected in the same way.”

“Because the Hanahaki relies on the host’s feelings to grow and develop,” Regulus points out with a nefarious raised eyebrow. “I do not have any feelings for Lupin which will make the Hanahaki helpless to grow in me but the bond will force it to focus on me even with that difficulty. Hopefully it will leave you alone for a while.”

He really thought this through, which surprises Sirius as many implications come to his mind that he can’t deal with at the moment.

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“I am,” Regulus counters with no shame as he leaves his seat. “I will still be affected but it will take time if it ever manages to work on me which gets us more time. As the bond intends to, any curse will develop at the same speed to be sure that both spouses are affected at the same time.”

“I hear you but you are still mad Reggie.”

“Sirius,” he harshly cuts and takes a deep breath. “You don’t have much time. I have been looking through a lot but your curse is definitely evolving too fast for only three weeks and I doubt that I have seen the worst of it when I found you in the toilet.”

There has been worse it’s true but Sirius won’t share about it. If he is honest, Regulus caught him in a very bad time where his thoughts couldn’t stop spiralling. The flowers are delighted whenever he gets too lost in his mind because it always gravitates around Remus. He coughs and turns back near the fire to discard the single flower escaping him with a spit of blood. They have been more frequent, ready to be gifted if you ignore the blood here and there.

The most difficult part is whenever he is in class because he will feel that Remus is just right here. Every single flower tries to reach out, all the time, as if they could figure out a way to embrace him and they might have if he listens to the feeling in his guts which scares him. Sirius doesn’t know if they are only trying to carve a way out or plan to drag Remus in there to snuggle him up forever and ever. He wouldn’t mind but the pain makes it difficult to appear normal and focus on hiding all of this.

He looks sick, dreadfully so, despite the potions he has started to prepare for himself to cover it up. One is perfect to hold back the flowers despite the uncomfortable feeling of his guts being locked up. As long as he can speak it’s alright for class but the sensation are awful and the flowers always try to riot through it. Being kicked out of the Quidditch team turns out to be a blessing because he wouldn’t be able to fly and play with this seal over his lungs - he can perfectly breathe in, though the flowers clog it up and he is starting to feel it. What he is doing is ultimately dangerous; Sirius feels like he is dying every time he leaves classes and runs to this room to cough everything out and he has already lost consciousness more times than he can count for it. Except that it’s better than people figuring out what is happening to him.

“I’m not doing it.”

“Why?”

Sirius sighs, throwing him a pissed look. “Because if you listened to yourself you would realize that it’s mad. You will get the Hanahaki too and if I die from it then you will die too .”

Regulus is getting frustrated by how his eyebrows plummet like thunder. “Which won’t happen. This is to get more time for us to find a solution but you’re already advanced and I’m worried— I fear that time is running out and that I might find the cure when it’s too late. Once I have it, we break the bond without a problem.”

“There is no cure for it-”

“That’s what you think.”

Sirius groans out and strides toward his bed to sit down. “I’m not marrying you.”

“You’re just being difficult,” he scowls and storms to face him. “I never said anything about marrying-”

“Because nuptial bond are not for-”

“La ferme !” Regulus shouts with a strident, exasperated, hiss. “Sirius, this is the only way I could find to get you more time. There is no other option and I’m certain you can understand why too. I wouldn’t do it if I could help it but I doubt you could find someone else willing to do this bond with you right now.”

Prongs would. It comes before his mind can stop it - James’ reaction if he knew and how he might come up with something as crazy as a nuptial bond even if it means getting himself sick to help Sirius.

“Still-”

“Potter? He probably would,” Regulus agrees as if his thoughts were shared. “But I doubt you want him to know about the Hanahaki and the cause of it.”

Sirius glares at him. “He would but I still wouldn’t ask.”

His brother coolly eyes him but the edge flickers to worries and almost softness. “You truly aren’t speaking to him anymore?”

“Why do we care?”

“Not even about your plan to run away?”

He can feel himself throwing all manners and any sort of sympathy he might have had before for his brother.

“Regulus.”

The warning is loud and clear. His brother doesn’t back down despite understanding him perfectly by the slight shift in his posture. Sirius is bitten by guilt right away. His own body is ready to adopt the tense stance that was hammered into them in their youth; proper and tall, everything that screams strength and a strong-will, nothing about softness or understanding.

“I’m only concerned,” he admits and many things go through his mind by how his eyes fly with a surprising sharpness. “I just… I’m here, Sirius… Je suis là pour toi.”

Sirius takes a deep but fragile breath with a shake of his head. “Reggie-”

“I have realised that we were never really brothers, were we?” He recalls without much emotion albeit the frown. “We have the same parents, live in the same house, same lessons, same rules and competitive ambitions. The only moment when we actually came together as somewhat brothers was because we had nothing else but each other. No friends and not any distraction without the risk of our parents sending us back to our rooms, away from their sight to not be bothered.”

“Oh this better not be in your vows at our wedding,” Sirius venomously spits, “just say we are cousins and we probably have the same twisted love of dear precious Walburga and Orion.”

Regulus scoffs. “What I mean is that now I’m choosing to be here and I want— I want to be your brother, Sirius,” he gasps out. “I want us to be real brothers before it’s too late.”

It’s difficult to meet his eyes which leave them both with a stifling silence. Regulus doesn’t waver, which Sirius can’t quite proceed how he manages to do so. He feels utterly broken and all of this leaves him feverish when he hasn’t even spoken.

In a way, it’s true. They are related but to be real brothers, siblings, loving ones, is something entirely different. Sirius would wander to Regulus only when he felt too alone or the current ordeal at home left him alienated and pushed him to hold on to something familiar. They never exactly played together. Regulus liked to read a lot and sometimes Sirius had nothing else to do than the same but preferred to look above his shoulder— now he realises it was to share something even if neither talked or commented on the book.

Sirius clears his throat and shifts on the bed to make a clear space for Regulus to sit down. “Did you realise it before or only now?”

“I wish I did before,” he quietly confesses and joins him without much space between their thighs. “Have you?”

He shrugs and tilts his head as his lips painfully purse. “If I’m honest, not quite. I just never— to me you never needed me and I thought we simply don’t get along. Just like the rest of our family.”

“You’re not wrong. We’re very different.”

Sirius nods, hands gripping and relaxing on the blanket as a thought keeps nudging him. “Pr—James was never your replacement.” Regulus rolls his eyes but he doesn’t take it as an interruption. “You will always be my brother Reggie. I never compared you two.”

“It’s fine,” he says despite not sounding like it.

“No,” he cuts, biting on his bottom lip before relaxing. “You are my brother. James is too but it’s different, it’s— like a soulmate.”

“Soulmate?” Regulus’ nose wrinkles with a glance. “What about..?”

“Not romantically, ew. It’s incest,” he quickly blabbers out to distract the flowers who tingles with the thought of Remus Soulmate . “When we met, I don’t know why but I didn’t need to think? I don’t know if I can make sense of it. But it’s not romantic which also confused me a bit because it’s always supposed to be romantic, isn’t it? We kissed once for a game at the dorm and I couldn’t have been more dead inside-”

“You kissed him?! When you just said how it would be incest ?” Regulus cuts with his voice almost shrilling in incredulity.

Sirius blinks at how traumatising and tragic it seems to be for his brother.

“What? You never kissed a friend for a game? No tongue of course, that would have been disgusting.”

Regulus stares at him with his nose wrinkled as the rest of his face slips into an upset resignation.

“Explain the rest to me. Nothing else disgusting like that.”

Sirius checks if he is making fun of him but his brother looks back at him with a soft intensity, as if eager to hear more. He shifts and rolls his shoulders when there is a twinge there.

“It’s not like we are separated pieces of a puzzle. We’re not the same person either but there is no need to think,” Sirius trails off. “I was scared at first because it was so strange compared to— the other Purebloods around our age we met or you. It was so easy to talk to him and I never had to worry about being just me around him. Sometimes I would get stuck in my head and he would bring me back which he probably noticed. I could blabber and James would understand without making me feel bad about it.”

Regulus takes his time to think his words over, scrutinising him but without any sign whether it’s good or bad. He will probably cut his hair during the break as he likes to keep them not too long; most of the time his ears are free of hair because he is quite ticklish there despite never admitting it. Sirius used to wake him up by tickling them with a feather and Regulus would roll and cry of laughter while begging him to stop.

His hair is perfectly divided but the curls soften the edge, breaking the thorns of their upbringing, and crowning Regulus like a delicate child. Sirius knows enough to not assume that it’s the truth; the familiar spot above his left hip aches just at the thought of how many times his brother pinched, scratched, punched and rudely poked at it during their childhood. Regulus has the same because they are both stubborn and vengeful to target each other at the exact same spot every time. What leaves him more surprised is finding new beauty marks on his brother just on his throat and the neck. Regulus has always got more of them than Sirius.

“I understand.”

Sirius blinks at him. “Really?”

Regulus nods but he doesn’t meet his eyes right away. “Then what about— well.” He stops himself. “It’s better to not think about him.

The flowers dance, scratch, twirl and leech at the mere mention. Tell everything. It should worry Sirius that they can speak now but he pities them - they are as starved of Remus as he is. He coughs and lets them fly out with no concern. Regulus shifts but takes several seconds to vanish.

“Anyhow, now it doesn’t matter how well James and I got along,” Sirius roughly articulates.

Regulus twirls his wand in his palms. “I don’t know why you are surprised when Potter has been shouting everywhere that Lily is his eternal soulmate. All the signs were here that he is cheating on you...”

The somewhat joke doesn’t land right away, which causes Regulus to grow embarrassed and glances away from him before Sirius uncouthly snorts and a wheezy laugh escapes him.

“Yeah, I should have picked one that doesn’t run after the first girl he sees,” he quips and nudges him to reassure him.

Regulus’ lips twitch but doesn’t smile, meeting his eyes for a second before looking at his wand.

“What I meant to say is that, I’m here for you, Sirius,” he declares. “Now and ever, I want to be brothers. We haven’t even finished school and you— you might die .” His tone shakes and Sirius hesitates to reach out, an easy task as they are sitting beside each other but far more difficult than he expected. “Which I won’t let happen but for that I need time. I never thought that you might die.”

His brother’s eyes are heavy with tears. One blink makes a drop cascade and he breathes in loud and pained. Sirius cautiously slips an arm over Regulus’ shoulders and slowly brings them together. There is no fight.

“I don’t want you to get the Hanahaki,” he whispers, letting his face softly fall against their similar but shortened hair. “It feels awful. I-I’m broken and I don’t want you to feel that way.”

“I need you alive.”

“Reg-”

“Please, let me try,” he pleads and fists his shirt with a shaky hand. “It could be late but— I want to try. I will save you and maybe we can be brothers.”

Sirius is deafened by the sobs, increasing in sound and feelings, before he realised he has joined the cry. Regulus is hiding against his shoulder but it isn’t enough to muffle any of it.

It comes so naturally to him that he doesn’t realise it until they are both tired, laying in each other’s arms as Sirius pets Regulus’ hair with puffy eyes and a raw throat. Their faces are shining with tears, starting to dry, but neither move and mention none of it.

Hurting Regulus is still out of the question but Sirius replays everything they have said up until he was found in the toilet. It would be a lie to say that he would have assumed Regulus would have not care one bit about his whereabouts; his brother is more tender and understanding than anyone might assume. Regulus would have cared that Sirius dies but to go as far as trying to save him? He would have never hoped so but now he feels thankful.

Sirius has not much to live for if he is honest and he has realised it now. The least he can do is be there for Regulus. He can be a brother, a real one, for his last days. Regulus made research, tons of it apparently. He also goes out of his way to reach out to Sirius as if they have never ignored each other. It makes him uncomfortable and void of pride that he finds himself earning for it with a childish awe. Like a treat that never crossed your mind and yet feels so important to hang on.

They are tucked together with no difficulties, no questions and no mistrust. He wishes he could hug him tighter, play with his hair and rest his head against his - but it would be weird. Sirius and Regulus barely touched each other if they weren’t annoying or fighting each other. The only times they have been somewhat touchy in a soft way were when either of them rode up and down the many curses their parents chose for their punishment— and often they couldn’t feel the touch until hours passed.

Sirius swallows and his fingertips brush over one of Regulus’ strands of hair. “Who would cast it?”

Regulus clears his throat twice; the second time out of embarrassment as he realises how much of him is laying on Sirius’ chest.

“What?”

“The bond.”

He sits up and quickly rubs his eyes before looking at Sirius. “Evan. The two people bonded can’t cast the spell themselves.”

A scoff escapes him and his brother squints at his grimace. “Rosier?”

“Yes. Or do you want to ask someone else? A professor? A ghost?”

Sirius lightly kicks him and rolls on his stomach with a tired groan. “He is a prick.”

“He is my friend and I trust him.”

“I don’t.”

“You have never met him,” he points out and scowls when Sirius is about to reply. “The Purebloods’ meetings when we were kids don’t count. We were all five years old at best.”

He rolls his eyes. “What tells me that he will not make it worse for me?”

“Evan wouldn’t hurt me. Nor you by extension. He already agreed-”

Sirius stands up with wide eyes. “You told him?!”

“I didn’t say what it is for,” he explains and brushes his hair with a hand to clear his eyes from the few stubborn curls. “He knows that you’re cursed but nothing else.”

Sirius doesn’t care much if someone knows as long as it doesn’t reach the ears of some Gryffindors. The Slytherins might make fun of him but he can deal with it; plus he doubts that Regulus would let it happen.

He rubs his forehead with his hands. “I will think about it.”

Regulus looks at him. “Really?”

A sigh escapes him but he offers a small nod. “I get your point with the bond but it’s still risky.”

“Evan can cancel it at any time.”

“You don’t know how it will react,” Sirius argues and looks at him with a conflict in his eyes. “Have you read of what happens to the Hanahaki with a nuptial bond? Maybe you will be as affected as I am and it won’t slow it down.”

“We need to try,” Regulus insists with a scowl.

“Let me think about it.”

His brother stares at him, exhales quietly as his hands curl up. “Let’s make a deal.”

“What?”

“If we do the bond, as in you at least try it with me without cheating or anything else,” Regulus articulates. “We leave Grimmauld Place together this break.”

Sirius gapes at him but can’t find any sign that his brother is anything but fervent and honest.

“Leave?”

“You heard me, let’s run away together. I have an idea of where we can go and Kreacher can prepare our affairs to hand it to us once we get out of the Hogwarts Express.”

“Kreacher?! What are you even talking about?” Sirius almost shouts as he tries to digest everything. “What brought this on?”

Regulus coolly looks at him. “I’m not as— weak or ignorant as you might think. For some reasons that I still can’t understand, you never seemed to really grow in our home with our parents… I did. And it’s not an excuse. I had no other thoughts or speeches in my head that weren’t about blood-purity, Muggle hatred and for dark arts to be as easy as breathing. To me, there wasn’t anything outside of our home which you have always seemed to know about and I struggled to understand it.”

Most families of Pureblood always said that Sirius is an unruly, feral, ill-mannered child. A little rebel which he has always taken as a compliment but truly he only felt sane and insane at the same time. For the most important gatherings and once their parents lose hope over Sirius behaving himself, they used the Imperius on him so many times that he might as well develop an allergy— what is more important is what people see.

“You clearly didn’t approve of my idea of running away and you have no problem listening and obeying our parents,” he argues, standing up from the bed as he really doesn’t feel like letting Regulus go when he cracked this buried, drowned, chest open. “Did you really think parents who cursed us regularly are simply normal?”

“I figured you need a little bit of pain to be happy about the rest-”

“A little bit?!”

Regulus harshly exhales through his nose and crosses his arms to face him. “I recognize now that our parents are not— nice . You didn’t need to get out of the house to realise it but I did. As a child I thought that you only fought with our parents all the time to have all their attention.”

“What about those wankers of Death Eaters?”

He glares at him. “I do not want to join them. I might not talk back to our parents but that’s because I know it won’t change anything, better stay out of their radar even if I have to listen to their words. I did think they would make the world better, as if our lives aren't all set up already. I realise how wrong all of this is now and especially how hypocritical our so-called Dark Lord is.”

Sirius squints but an uneasiness warily crawls over him. He doesn’t want to push his brother in the spot, especially when they have managed to be somewhat friendly. Plus, he actually has not any real proof that Regulus is following these ideas. At home he is quiet and stays mostly out of everyone’s way but he can play the perfect little Pure-blood whenever it’s necessary. He never openly spit or sneered at anyone who isn’t a Pureblood like Snivellus.

“Really?”

“You do realise that I could literally be the king of every Slytherins if I ever just spoke up? Some are actually waiting on me as if I’m just lazy.”

“You are smarter than that.”

Regulus’ lips twitch into an almost smirk. “I am,” he confirms before wetting his lips with a trace of brooding. “It’s only my second year here that I realised how all of this Pureblood logic and veneration don’t make sense. Mostly because I met Pandora, who is officially a nobody if you follow our rules, but also Dorcas. I hadn’t realised before that no one from Slytherin ever hung out with her because she is a half-blood. It probably took me too much time to realise any of it.”

It’s true that Sirius doesn’t recall Dorcas spending time with any other Slytherins outside from his brother and his little friends. When she got into their Quidditch team, it created a slight scandal up even when they almost won all games ever since she started in third year. She also flew right into Sirius to make him fall off his broom and broke his leg. Pandora being a nobody by ‘their’ rules doesn’t truly remind him of anything specific; she doesn’t even have a family name because she is apparently an orphan.

“That’s all very good,” he replies, feeling immediately silly. “I mean— I know you’re a better person than anyone in our family. I was… I was scared that I love and care about you but that you were as inhuman as they are.”

Regulus’ eyes have softened over his words but they quickly dive to the floor, head shifting for his parted bangs to drift in front of them. His hands awkwardly shuffle upward until they can catch on his sleeves. Sirius recognizes all the signs and only takes a few steps closer, enough to be able to reach for him even if he doesn’t know if it will be welcomed.

“I also..,” he clears his throat. “I only like men. Which I’m sure you know isn’t who Purebloods must shag with to have an heir, despite the many means to have a child even for a couple sharing the same bits.”

Sirius doesn’t quite know how to properly react. His face must be telling something though because Regulus barely meets his eyes and scowls, crossing his arms with the regular twitch of his fingers around his sleeves.

“Putain, tu es gay ?”

“I would rather use queer because I— I’m not going to tell you actually,” he sneers with his pale skin completely turning red.

“Are you kidding?! You need to tell me everything!” Sirius exclaims. “How did you know? Why did you never tell me? Did you think I would be an asshole? That I would have a problem?”

Regulus rolls his eyes with a mocking smirk begging to appear. “Please, have you looked at yourself? Only someone blind wouldn’t see that you’re definitely not heterosexual. And it’s not a good enough reason to talk about myself.”

He snorts, pleased. “I will take this as a compliment. Still, why didn’t you tell it to me before? You knew right away about my-” His words are cut short by rough coughs.

Two flowers crawl their way out, leaving his throat aching as he holds himself onto his knees to wheeze and to retrieve his breath. Regulus tries to soothe him with a hand going back and forth over his back.

“I just never felt like I needed to say it. My friends never asked and they knew.”

Sirius clears his throat, straightening up and whipping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Well, I want to know about it. This is huge, Reggie— I mean we can share!”

“Once you’re free from this stupid curse, yes,” he accepts.

“No, no, now ,” he playfully argues. “Don’t you want to make me happy?”

“You’re— fine. But I’m not sharing more.”

“When did you notice it? Do you like someone-”

“I’m answering what I want to,” Regulus warns, stepping back toward the door with an angry step.

“You have to give me something Reggie. You know, lift up my mind and all.”

“You’re insufferable!” He shouts with his face so red Sirius fears it will get stuck like that. “I noticed— someone when I started my first year here and that’s how I realised. That’s all.”

“Who was it?” Regulus’ shoulders almost touch his ears with how tensed up he is. “Don’t tell me it’s someone weird like Snivellus or Gilderoy— Merlin’s balls, is it a professor? Like Dumbledore?”

“Ew, what is wrong with you?!” He exclaims with an intense wrinkle of his nose. “You don’t get to judge me but I can assure that my tastes are completely sane contrary to what seems to be going on in your head.”

“Hey, I just want to help you! Who knows what kind of creep will go after you!”

“Don’t be this kind of brother who doesn’t let me date because he can’t get it through his head that I can make my own choices,” Regulus cautions. “Be the one who either helps me get with the person I— like, or help me make them disappear if they ever hurt me.”

Sirius looks at him before snorting at the ever-severe tone. “Sure, I can do that.”

He smiles. It’s small but it’s everything and Sirius finds himself hoping . “Good,” he says within a whisper that sounds ready to tip to something more raw. “That’s good… Same for you of course. Back to what’s important, please really think about the bond. I really do believe it’s our best hope to find a cure for you and at least we will try.”

“Wait, were you— the running away is a real deal?”

“Just trust me Sirius, alright?” Regulus says. “Will you?”

Sirius wets his lips. This day has been exhausting but worth it. His plans were to stay in bed, try to distract himself. Regulus is the highlight of it, for a long time now which he can’t get enough of, and he wonders how much he has missed over the years.

“I do,” he decides and his brother stares at him with unwavering eyes. “Just let me think about it.”

“Why do you need to think about trying or not to survive?”

He feels like cheating that they are somehow bonding, actually talking, only because he got the Hanahaki. Without it, they might have never given each other a chance and he fears this future. The biggest part of him wishes that he could make Regulus forget about this curse, just to sweeten the deal, to not feel like a burden and an unwanted company. The Marauders would probably help him if they knew. Even Remus might have helped. They are good people. Sirius doesn’t want to throw this pain on them - they deserve the peace.

“Just let me.”

He didn't sleep well that night despite the exhaustion. It feels like a bad omen because he wakes in the dead of the night choking, throwing up flowers that could fill up the Great Hall, from a small dream including Remus and perhaps the Quidditch’s locker room with their clothes on the floor. Of course the flowers perked up and swirled up even from his sleep.

It leaves him restless and in pain and for a second Sirius considers distracting himself by reading something but the idea only makes him cough a few more times. He spends the rest of the night mulling everything over, focusing as much as possible on Regulus.

The lack of sleep and the struggle of keeping his mind focused must be obvious, despite the make-up he put on and the potion to hold back the flowers from slipping out. James meets his eyes at some point but doesn’t sign or try to talk to him. He does look conflicted and pained but Sirius knows all about it. Even if James isn’t the one whose secret got out, it was still the Marauders’ and Sirius broke all of it. His little paradise trashed by himself. Remus has needed a lot of time to open up and they all know it but now he might have come back to his old ways and Sirius finds it more punishing than anything else.

“Mister Black, stay behind please.”

McGonagall coolly observes him as the whole class empties. Marlene shoots a look at Sirius, as well as Mary who seems sad and confused, but he keeps his eyes on their professor. No one dares to interrupt and he tries to ignore the light feeling of Remus needing to pass behind him as soon as the lesson has ended. They don’t talk. They don’t look at each other. Sirius feels like he doesn’t exist.

She closes the door with a gracious swish of her wand, eyes not leaving him, before turning to her desk and gestures at him to sit on the chair that she just transfigured for him. There is no other professor that he cares more for and Sirius opts to simply obey, too tired to even try to come up with a smart answer that might make her hold back a laugh.

“I have barely heard you over the last two weeks, which I find incredibly worrying considering what might be going through your mind,” she starts with an imperious eyebrow. “I would have expected one of your tricks again but it has come to my attention that you haven’t come back to the Gryffindor dormitory over these weeks.”

“This sounds like favouritism,” he softly fires back, watching the cup of biscuits near him on her desk. “I hope you’re paid enough Minnie if you look after everyone from Gryffindor like that.”

“I can assure you that I’m gratified enough. You also went from being a troublemaker to staying by yourself without coming back to your dormitory and friends. Where are you spending your nights, Mister Black?”

He bites back on a scowl. Marlene could have easily snitched, especially since he avoided her as much as he can since the last time they talked. She might talk to the Marauders about him or discover the truth and he doesn’t want that.

“Who lied to you? I can give them a word or two for lying to you, Minnie.”

She is thoroughly unimpressed. “The Fat Lady is convinced that you never entered the Gryffindor dorm over almost a month. Your group of misfits is also not up to its usual mischief and I admit I worry about you. Do you sleep at another dormitory?”

Sirius coughs in the crook of his elbow and he feels like he is suffocating. He is really yearning for the toilet in his magical room. “Is it important?” His voice croaks.

“The house-elves have also confirmed that you eat in the kitchen rather than in the Great Hall. You do know that there isn’t a difference in the food.”

“I just feel like being by myself.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he quips back before shrinking in his seat at his insufferable tone. “Sorry…”

Thankfully, she doesn’t appear mad but she takes her time to think over her words. “Sirius, would you like to talk about it? You and your friends still haven’t talked. Is it because of what happened with Mister Snape? We are nearing October and it has been going on since the middle of September.”

Snivellus hasn’t told the truth to her, thankfully but it doesn’t mean he can’t spill it any time. The only thing she knows is that they pulled a prank over him, which Sirius admitted was his idea to clear everyone else, and it ended very dangerously with the Whomping Willow almost squishing Snivellus. He got kicked out of the Quidditch team and some detention with James and Peter as Madam Pomfrey cleared Remus by declaring he was bed-ridden.

There aren’t high hopes that Snivellus might not be a complete wanker to realise how disastrous it would be for Remus if he speaks. He is probably waiting on the right moment or black-mailing them— Sirius needs to figure a way to avoid that. It’s the least he can do.

“I don’t know where I’m sleeping,” he says, opting to direct the attention elsewhere.

McGonagall squints at him and picks one biscuit, silently offering it to him. He refuses.

“What do you mean?”

“A door appeared in one of the corridors, out of nowhere. Of course, I opened it and found a bedroom with a small bathroom.”

Her eyes slightly widen before smiling. “I see. It’s the Room of Requirement. I shouldn’t be surprised at this point.”

Sirius frowns curiously. “What? Do you know about it? I ever heard of it.”

“During my years as a student I stumbled upon it once, yes,” she says. “It’s on the seventh floor, isn’t it? It’s also called the Come and Go Room.”

“Seventh floor, yes,” he replies, surprised. “Is it some kind of Hogwarts’ legend I never heard of?”

None of the Marauders have ever referred to something like it and Remus has gone through several books about the castle to work on their map.

“Not quite. This room only appears to people who really need it. The seventh floor isn’t used much, even outside of classes, which is perhaps why it built itself there. Only people looking for something specific might wander there.”

Sirius’ interest sparks up. “You mean that the magic took life there? It’s incredible! I have seen it shifting before I even think about what I might want or need.”

“Such as?”

“Er, well,” he trails off because she certainly won’t be happy to know that most things he needed came from his own bed from the Gryffindor’s dorm that the Room brought back. “Like a mirror. Or a quill when I lost mine. Anyway, that’s incredible— the amount of magic behind it, becoming sentient and understanding us…”

“It is fascinating,” she agrees with a small kind smile on her face.

He feels himself blushing, not realising that he has been babblering. Magic fascinates him, especially ones that become somewhat alive - evolving into a proper nature by itself without any wizard influence.

“How come no one knows about it?” Even Regulus didn’t.

“Even if you know about this room and went looking for it, its appearance will rarely be for anyone’s amusement. It still needs a specific reason to make itself known.”

“How did you find it?”

Her lips twitch. “I have been going mad over a particular spell and I was looking somewhere to practise quietly. The Room offered me all kinds of target practices and some water when I felt thirsty. I tried to find it later out of curiosity but it never showed again.”

“Uh. Do you reckon it’s born from all the magic going around? All of it concentrated to one point, especially considering how many people’s magic interact-”

McGonagall indulges his theories and fascination, even offering some of her thoughts about how a room such as this one has come to exist and the chance for another to come to life. Sirius finds himself happy and cheery after this. It’s refreshing and his curiosity doesn’t quite settle down after understanding how incredible this room is. Does it have a true form? How far can it change depending on the person?

This is the kind of thing Unspeakables must work with: the raw and wild side of magic - what isn’t tamed and comes from nature and more. It’s what Sirius wants to work with and learn from. Being an Unspeakables is incredibly difficult and dangerous but there is nothing looking quite as satisfying as this. Though now he won’t even reach the end of his studies with all the flowers drowning him from the inside. Remus has told him he could become one, that he has all the skills for when he shared his fear and ambition, but now he lacks time. A few coughs escape him but he ignores her intense eyes.

“Please Sirius, take care of yourself,” McGonagall says after allowing him to go to his next class with a written excuse, “and try to talk to your band of misfits. Trying is often the best first step. And do not think I haven’t noticed your coughing, go check on it with Madam Pomfrey, it’s already been a while and you haven’t stopped.”

“I planned to go, thank you Minnie.”

Sirius has no chance if he goes to Madam Pomfrey to keep the flowers hidden. She will know and perhaps be understanding enough to not tell anyone about it but still, she might try to treat him and too many people will be brought into his business. This reminds him that the full moon is almost here - this year has a bad timing where one full moon happens during the fall break. There is also one in a few days and Sirius is torn apart by the desire to go or not. Remus and Moony are connected, despite what he might say, and their moods tangle together. Neither will be happy to see him.

After a rough coughing and a bouquet of flower floating down the toilet of the Room of Requirement, he wanders to the kitchen to grab something to eat even if the more he munches, swallows and drinks the sicker he feels. The flowers do not like it even though they shouldn’t be in his stomach in the first place. They might have already spread everywhere if he listens to his feelings, sometimes even believing that he can feel the vines digging through his limbs.

Regulus isn’t wrong. It does feel like he is already running out of time and the only few things he has stomached to read promised nothing better comes after. He tries to picture how he would react if someone he knows had the Hanahaki— he would do anything for any of the Marauders and the girls. As well as for Regulus. Sirius would go mad at the picture of seeing him slowly die. The flowers are pretty enough to hide the horror on the inside but they carry their own pain.

Will anyone recognize his corpse once he dies or will he become one with nature? The flowers were at first simple wolfsbanes but now some moonflowers have joined the show. They are all terribly accurate and Sirius has always felt quite obvious about his feelings for Remus but this is even worse. All their petals are pretty and soft to touch, but it might be the poison talking, and vanishing or incendioing them has started to become painful.

Even if they came up from his own inside, they all hold on to some of his blood as if to confirm y es we are from you and you aren’t different from us .

Sirius Black is a sad pathetic almost-a-man who is too selfish to be any good to anyone. He loves these flowers. They destroy a path within him to get out and isn’t that a pretty fight to watch? Sirius would like to think he is the one braving this suffocating mould, crushing weight, to find the same freedom as when he put a foot in the Hogwarts Express the first time.

He accepts the nuptial bond. No matter how crazy it is or the number of times he can see his parents proudly declaring their family motto: Toujours Pur. Always pure of shit for sure. Still, it’s worth getting more time for Regulus and Sirius is convinced that his brother will do far better by getting outside their cursed home - even if it’s through blackmailing himself.

Because Regulus is a year below, they don’t share classes and it’s rare that they cross paths between one. Sirius doesn’t have the map with him which means he can only try to track down Regulus by himself but he figures out he might try his luck in the Great Hall for an early dinner. Thankfully his brother is already eating at the Slytherin’s table with Emmeline Vance.

Their eyes meet. Sirius swallows, gnawing on his left cheek before nodding at him. Regulus pauses, slightly surprised perhaps to no one but him and Vance who glances curiously at their exchange. He returns the sign and focuses back on his meal.

Sirius could actually try his luck at the Gryffindor’s table, anyone outside of his old circle will let him sit down. The girls don’t seem to know what happened but they are without a doubt on Remus’ side, which he is thankful for because he doesn’t need to lose more trust, beside perhaps Marlene who won’t leave Sirius alone. Though she might be more worried about losing her hair-care partner rather than what’s going on.

McGonagall has spotted him and Sirius forces a charming smile as he slips in an isolated seat, clear of anyone, and ignores the slightly surprised look at his return from a few Gryffindor. He doesn’t manage to stomach much but McGonagall is keeping an eye on him. His body can’t handle staying much longer at this spot and jumping at every new face walking through the door but he picked up food here and there before quickly walking out of the Great Hall. Thankfully, he doesn’t cross anyone’s path from the Marauders or the girls as he quickly goes back to the Room of Requirement.

He is surprised when he can see the door forming some time after, quite quickly after he came back actually. It always appears to him, like some kind of promise that he can get out at any moment, but if Sirius doesn’t wish to leave the room then it opens on the wall. Still, he hasn’t found any strange feeling or reason to mistrust the room over time.

Regulus and Evan Rosier come in, the latter with a bemused look as he takes in the room and the door. Sirius is curious to know whether any of his old friends would be allowed inside like Regulus seems to be. It’s only because he is here that Rosier could have come through.

“What is this place?”

“I don’t know,” Regulus answers, watching him observe the room. “It’s probably Godric trying to outdone Salazar because of the Chamber of the Secrets.”

“You found it?” Sirius asks curiously.

“Of course not. Have you tried to find it?”

“Obviously.”

Rosier eyes Sirius. His hair is still as ivory blond as ever and his shoulders are tall and set, almost calling for a fight, but he can easily see that it’s simply the natural stance of any Pureblood breed and trained for power.

“Are you really agreeing to Reg’s crazy idea?”

His brother glares at his friend. “It’s not.”

“It is,” Sirius agrees, “but I’m willing to try.”

Regulus observes him and hopefully can see everything behind his words. Rosier is really not someone he wants to reveal himself to. His father is clearly like their parents though whether he receives the same kind of treatment is a question but he must believe in this old Pureblood supremacy.

“What is your curse?” He asks, crossing his arms as his eyes curiously look at the comfy bedroom settled in there. “And what is this place?”

“It’s called the Room of Requirement.”

“The what?” Regulus frowns at him. “Did you name it?”

“No, though maybe Minnie did. She is the one who told me about it.”

“Really?” He is pleased by the surprise. “What did she say?”

Sirius eyes Rosier and finally leaves his bed to properly greet them. Another large seat appears next to the pair that have never left. He supposes that Rosier won’t be able to find the Room if he has bad intentions. Plus he really wants to believe in Regulus, as a proper brother, and sadly this means also his friends - a tiny bit, maybe. Even if Rosier had been one of these Pureblood children they met over these awful meetings during their childhood, always perfect and never too much flawless.

“They don’t know where it comes from, just that his room will appear and adapt to the person walking in to their desires but only when they greatly need it. It’s more a legend so that must be why it isn’t known.”

Rosier squints at him and examines the room another time. “Well, it’s impressive. What about my first question?”

“Evan,” Regulus warns with a seething glare as he walks to his usual seat.

Sirius really doesn’t feel like hosting Rosier but he forces himself to be friendly— only for his brother. A small table appears in front of him with a seat of teacups and a boiler which starts to gently fume.

“What? I’m only curious to what madness you are throwing yourself into,” he dryly comments and walks up to a seat with a perfect poise. “You don’t seem to realise what you’re asking for.”

“We already talked about it,” he hisses back and to Sirius’ surprise seems actually bothered by his friend’s questions. “Stop it.”

“I have the Hanahaki.”

Regulus gapes at Sirius before taking in Rosier’s shell-shocked look. He lost all his humour and teasing. All his decorum is swiped away, for once showing something akin to honesty. Sirius hopes it’s a good sign.

“The Hanahaki?” He parrots. “The flowers? You have that ?”

He scowls, unsure of what it means. Out of them two, Sirius is probably the one most in-touch with his feelings. Rosier grew up like any other Purebloods and his father has always seemed to only care about money - though perhaps his dead mother has influenced him in a good way. He doesn’t know the whole story about the Rosiers.

“Yes.”

Rosier frowns at him for a few seconds. “Is it Lu-”

“Don’t!” Regulus cuts but Sirius coughs up flowers anyway.

Our love! Sirius puts a hand over his chest with an angry hiss in his mind at how the flowers start to swoon as if they are the same. Regulus frowns worriedly at him.

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” He painfully articulates and Rosier is almost sorry by the look of it. “You don’t even know me but it’s obvious— do you see why I don’t want anyone to know? Anyone at Gryffindors will immediately put it together at the smallest doubt.”

Rosier nods and purses his lips. “How do you even hide it? If you were missing all the classes it would have been known by now.”

“I brewed a potion to hold them back,” he explains and sits down on the last seat available. “Air passes through, as much as it can since the flowers clog my lungs.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Regulus complains with a glare. “It’s incredibly dangerous. What are the ingr-”

“I just need to empty my lungs once I get some free time and that’s all. And you are crazier than me, you want this to happen to you.”

“Only because it will actually help you! It won’t affect me in the same way.”

“You don’t know that Reggie.”

“Actually,” Rosier speaks up to Sirius’ annoyance. “I think Reg’s theory might be right. The Hanahaki needs feelings to live on but it doesn’t cause them, which means that it will grow with nothing to feed on. Hence not growing.”

“Exactly.”

“Still,” Sirius interrupts with a glare at them two. “You don’t know this exactly. The nuptial bonds are smart and made for this kind of tangled cursed fate.”

“Well if I end up to your point then we can break it,” Regulus offers. “If I cough full flowers, Evan will break it.”

“But what if you really catch it? You don’t know whether the flowers can latch onto some of your feelings.”

“It needs to be unrequited,” Rosier reminds and must feel like they are merely theorising because he is quickly abashed with a quick glance at Sirius before looking down. “Well in this case you don’t have the same feelings for— him .”

“Merlin, no.”

Sirius tries to swallow his coughs but it doesn’t properly work. Thankfully neither comment even if Rosier seems uncomfortable. Perhaps he is pitying him or actually thought it was a joke of some kind.

“Well, I’m willing to try,” Sirius mumbles just to soothe his brother’s prickly self because his face is still all crunched up.

Rosier eyes him. “Alright… I never casted one before but I was taught how to do it.”

“As long as we never speak about it.”

Regulus scoffs at Sirius. “Do you really think I want to share about this to anyone?”

“You’re literally the one who thought of that! How could you even think of that idea!”

“Because I tried to come up with a way to counter the curse! There are some curses countered with another and-”

“Alright, alright. Let’s do this,” Rosier offers with a polished smile. “Better not lose time, you can’t afford that.”

Sirius scowls. He can afford the time to beat him up if it’s needed but it will probably not please Regulus. The only thing that matters now is his brother. Efforts will be needed but he doesn’t want to lose a second with him. It feels like he reached some kind of heaven to finally be in close proximity to Regulus, especially considering that they have started to clear up things between them. The best thing he can do is to lead Regulus out of their cursed home to help him be the good man he actually is. Also he can’t die without hearing more about Reggie’s little crush from his first year— or maybe still is now.

They need to hold hands for the bond to be made, which is more than awkward, and he can’t decide which pair is sweatier than the other. Regulus’ eyes stay on Rosier and his wand work.

Sirius wants to take everything in: how his hands are slightly smaller but Regulus is still growing, how his skin is slightly paler because the only time he truly goes outside it’s for Quidditch. They are soft but cold and Sirius squeezes them within his. Their fingers are tangled, hands crossed as an infinity symbol and the more Rosier pronounces the incantation - the stronger is the shimmering strand curling around the fourth fingers of their left hands. It seals into almost invisible golden rings.

Rosier and him stare at Regulus but there doesn’t seem to be any reaction. Sirius is sure that the spell worked but he doesn’t feel anything different. He is about to offer the tea that the room brought for them when a rough wheeze slips past his brother’s nostrils.

Within a beat, his hands fought out of Sirius’ and are at his throat as he chokes. Sirius immediately leads him to the bathroom and shouts at Rosier to cancel this stupid bond but Regulus still tries to argue and shoots a furious glare at him before going over the toilet to gags out some petals. Rosier hovers anxiously but Sirius doesn’t let go of Regulus, hoping to soothe some of the pain by rubbing his back.

Just when he believes a few petals is all there is— after all, the Hanahaki can’t have latched right away, right? A whole moonflower falls down the toilet. Just one.

Regulus’ breathing is still a bit erratic and he spits several times after clearing his throat. Rosier stares at him, worried, with a glass of water in his hand. Sirius takes it when gestures at it and offers it to his brother. Sirius realises now that he has quite literally caged Regulus against the toilet and he gingerly leans back to leave him some space as he keeps his hands kneading his back.

“I’m alright,” Regulus articulates after emptying the glass.

“You need to break this off right now ,” Sirius hisses at Rosier. “You said it yourself-”

“No.”

“Shut it Reggie,” he hisses. “You are already coughing! So much about not being affected-”

“The bond replicates ,” he spits. “This means that I will still have some effects because you have them. I’m merely coughing what is already inside you right now. It will probably be only petals from now on.”

“This wasn’t part of the plan!”

“Do you see me coughing anything else?! The Hanahaki just realised there is another body now. And I said when I cough flowers , as in more than one.”

Sirius’ jaws are grinding. “I don’t like this.”

“You promised to try, Sirius. You promised.”

Rosier is clearly uncomfortable about it and Sirius sighs because he doubts that he will break the bond if Regulus doesn’t say so.

“Stay here tonight, I want to keep an eye on you.”

Regulus doesn’t disagree, thankfully as Sirius is in no shape to really argue. His brother tells Rosier that he can come up with an excuse for Crouch Jr., who has probably realised that he has been distracted by the rest of their friends to not notice them two missing - Sirius isn’t going to ask what it means.

They talk between themselves, which he wants to pry on but he doesn’t. Once Rosier leaves, with a surprising ‘I really hope it helps, Sirius’, there is an awkward silence. The Room doesn’t bring another bed into existence or a different side of space like the first time they came in here.

Sirius’ bed is larger than a simple one so they can easily fit in it together. He offers Regulus to shower first as he still needs to drop by the kitchen to have some dinner.

“Bring me back something please,” Regulus asks.

“Something sweet or salty?”

He pauses before closing the door of the bathroom. “Sweet.”

“Alright.”

It’s their last words for the night. Regulus goes through one of Sirius’ essays that he needs to hand out in two days while he eats several biscuits. When his brother coughs, they both freeze but they don’t point it out. Sirius does too but his are rawer. His brother might only have a sore throat if you didn’t know what they did. They must be quite the pair.

They lay without a word as they try to sleep. There is enough space just like he thought and Sirius hopes he doesn’t move too much during the night or have another awful dream. He likes to have his space, knowing well that it makes him sound like an arrogant child, but he enjoys being nested in some comfortable space without worrying about falling; though he could also just sleep on the floor if he has enough comfortable items, frankly he isn’t that picky. He coughs too hard to stay on his back so he turns on his side to let it out. Regulus reaches out. They fall asleep hugging and tucked against each other.

It has never been in their habits. The only comfort they would offer or take from each other at Grimmauld Place is when either was at the end of their parents’ wrath or boredom. Neither were really conscious or feeling it but it’s probably why they even dared to do it. Their parents never mentioned it or noticed it; a blessing.

Sirius feels like he is a complete fraud. Regulus cares and reaches out only because he is going to die. If he wasn’t cursed, they wouldn’t be in this situation. He doesn’t say it because he is selfish. This small slice of happiness is bitter but it’s the only thing holding him back from running as far away as possible and dying out of sight, out of mind.

Regulus doesn’t have another coughing fit, though it sounds like he has a persistent tickle in his throat, and Sirius only sees him whenever they cross paths or when he comes by to spend time with Sirius before curfew. Which is almost every day but he keeps his comments to himself.

What does really change is that Rosier, or his brother, really did spill about the Hanahaki to the rest of their little group. He can feel too many eyes watching him. Pandora, Regulus’ Ravenclaw friend and who might be the only one who can be all touchy-feelings with him, actually seems to be hunting Sirius down. He swears she wasn’t here one moment and the next, she is right here.

“Merlin’s-” His curse is held back and the arms tighten around him.

It feels like there is some kind of written rule somewhere that no one is allowed to swear in front of Pandora - like it’s some kind of unforgivable curse.

“Here you go,” Pandora chirps with a smile, letting him out of her intense hug.

Sirius is unsure on what to do to deal with her. She seems happy and not pitying, which is the best he can ask for. Except that she still literally jumped on him.

“Erm, hello?”

“I will see you later, Sirius,” she says and leaves with a merry step. “Your hair looks nice today!”

He doesn’t know if it’s a good or bad sign. It leaves him a bit puzzled but he has to go through potion class with a tense and silent James. If only he could just leave school but Regulus will definitely hunt him down - they might not be on the same magical thread but Sirius wouldn’t be surprised that he would use any means to drag him back here.

“How are you?”

Sirius startles at the new voice and glances at Dorcas Meadowes settling at the same table as him. She walked in with the rest of the class and usually Sirius would have come in later than before, but after getting jumped by Pandora he figured he needed to sit down and mull over everything where she couldn't catch him.

“What?”

James, with Peter and Remus, came in with the rest of their classmates and along with everyone they are watching the odd potion partners. Though Remus barely pays attention to them before walking to his usual table. Sirius quickly turns his back to them, trying to ignore the confusion in James’ eyes and the flowers crawling up at a worrying speed. Go see him!! Look at him. Moony Moony Moony MOONY-

“So it’s true,” Meadowes cuts and looks at him with no shame. “You’re coughing.”

Sirius tries to clear his airways because he can’t find words. His glare falls flat with how his eyes watered at the deluge in his lungs.

“What do you want?” He hisses with a burning throat.

“Sorry, do you want to keep your usual partner? I figured you would prefer someone who wants to talk to you.”

The only times Meadowes and him talked were to scream at each other in the middle of Quidditch. She was a mean chaser as in she doesn’t need a beater’s bat to be dangerous because she would ram into people just to steal the quaffle. Sirius admired that up until he broke his leg when they both went flying into one of the watching towers.

“What are you bloody doing?!”

Sirius’ eyes slightly widen at Marlene storming over here. She is definitely pissed about Meadowes giving him attention but by the quick glance, he can recognize some worries about him.

“We are getting ready for class, McKinnon, isn’t that obvious?” Meadowes replies with a know-it-all tone and the smile that sends Marlene’s blood into overspeed.

“Get out,” she warns.

“No.”

Marlene glances at Sirius, outraged, before glaring at her in fury. “ I am partnering with Sirius.”

Mary is waiting for Marlene at their usual table but she looks as surprised at the scene as everyone else in the room. She definitely rushed over without thinking. Meadowes has the decency to check on him before facing her again, lips turned into an insufferable smirk which causes Marlene to blush.

“I reckon you’re both still forbidden from partnering together since the incident in second year.”

Her eyes widen and Sirius also can’t believe that she remembers that. Marlene and him only partnered once for potion, James had been out sick that day, and she jumped on the chance before any Marauders could. People thought they were in love that time because he and Marlene spent a lot of time together, teasing and bickering with each other. Their only partnership for potion ended up with the cauldron exploding, digging into the ceiling to get stuck there, with the room evacuated because of the aggressive fume. Slughorn banned them from working together ever again and put a note about it to all professors.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Marlene curtly asks with her eyes only more scrunched up in frustration.

“I’m attending class, which you’re bothering by the way.”

“Everyone please go to our tables to get ready, we have a lot of work ahead!” Slughorn greets as he walks in. He pauses at his table, taking in who Sirius’ partner is and Marlene. “Well Miss McKinnon please get to your seat please, we need to start.”

“What?”

“Chop, chop.”

Sirius nods at her to go, offering a small smile that he hopes clears all her questions, and she does with a last icy glare at Meadowes. He notices that James had been left with no choice but to sit with Meadowes’ old partner, a shy dark-haired Slytherin. Regulus has mentioned that she has no friends in her year and Sirius doesn’t remember her being caught chatting or having fun with anyone in their shared classes. Her potion partner doesn’t seem to care about the change, even looking rather gratefully at James who greets her politely.

Slughorn starts his class immediately. Sirius’ focus drifts to Meadowes jotting down words before noticing the blush on her cheeks or the quick glance that she stops halfway towards Marlene’s table. He checks on it, taking in Marlene glaring at them and furiously whispering with Mary and Lily who leans away from her table to listen - not that Slughorn would care what she does since she is his favourite.

Meadowes look pretty happy and cheerful but tries to hold most of it back. Sirius can’t be imagining it, right? When she sat here, she seemed friendly but not overall happy up until Marlene rushed to their table to argue with her. He knows for a fact that Marlene gets off from the fights, the arguments, the insults and the slight mockeries. No matter how much she screams and promises vengeance, she always ends up somewhat complimenting and pining for Meadowes and Sirius can totally understand her point.

If he follows his instinct, he might almost believe that Meadowes is in the same situation and antagonise Marlene at every chance just to drink up all her attention and preen under it.

“Merlin’s pants.”

“What?”

Sirius glances at Meadowes, trying to hold back a smile that feels foreign - it’s been so long . He definitely needs to share this to Marlene. At least something good will come out of this weird pairing.

“Nothing,” he replies, “just realised how weird that we are— sitting here. Together.”

She frowns at him before softening with a courteous nod at the ingredients they need to prepare. “Well, I figured you need company… I noticed that something was going on with you.”

“Can’t lie but say that’s weird.”

She snorts. “Let’s say the contrast jumped into my face— plus I know Reg’ cares about you, even before he never talked about you if it’s not to complain.”

“He talks about me?”

Her shrug doesn’t hint at anything specific as she puts the first ingredient in their cauldron. “Insulted you. Now though it’s different, we had to pull the truth out of him if I’m honest but,” she trails off, checking over the heat, before looking at him. “He is getting sick over worrying about you. Actually it is now, ha! Isn’t that right? Weird kind of bonding if you ask me.”

Meadowes knows . All of them probably do but Sirius thought he would have more time. She stares at him, waiting on some kind of answer, but he can’t really think this through. He figured no one would care but then Regulus barreled in and requested to be in this mess. Now his friends? What even for? They can stay at his brother’s side and ignore Sirius; this would make sense.

“He is the one who forced me.”

“And I wasn’t invited to the wedding, very rude.”

Sirius barks out a short laugh before focusing down on their potion, feeling out of place.

“It wasn’t very pretty. We didn’t even get a cake, can you believe that?”

“Major faux-pas, you should divorce this selfish boy.”

“Regulus hid the papers before I could.”

Meadowes chuckles with no shame and shakes slightly her head. They work together with no hitch and even chat about the latest gossip, her current crochet project and Quidditch.

“We should fly sometimes. Me and Em’ try to fly every time we can, even just for fun. Sometimes Reg’ joins us,” she offers. “I know you got kicked out of the team, which is a shame by the way, but with your— condition you might not be able to later.”

Sirius decides to sidestep her last comment. “Em’ as in Emmeline Vance?”

“Yes, the fastest and most skilled flyer I have ever seen.”

He frowns at her. “I never saw her play Quidditch.”

“That’s because of her parents. It’s uncouth or whatever crap that a girl likes to cause some violence. She does everything to please but they still didn’t allow her to play the try-outs.”

The Vance family is without a surprise Pureblood, although a minor one, but he has heard that they worked hard to climb up the ranks. There are mostly good things about them which Sirius considers as bad since Purebloods’ traditions and culture is pure crap.

“But she is at Hogwarts, surely they can’t stop her.”

“I tried to convince her to try her luck many times, believe me. She is planning to wait until she gets out of school to do whatever she wants— that’s something. Anyway, she wouldn’t mind if you join us.”

Sirius is honestly surprised by all the sharing. He would have never pictured any of this, especially not at their first polite talk. Regulus didn’t even talk about his friends that much - though it’s probably because he is more worried about Sirius’ health.

“I will think about it, thanks.”

She smiles at him and he returns it. It must be weird for everyone else who observes them and Sirius can picture many eyes on them just for the fact they are polite and not at each other’s throats. Remus probably doesn’t care. Too fed up with him.

He coughs and Meadowes frowns at him but he signs that he is fine. Considering that it’s a full-moon tonight, Sirius is barely suffering compared to Remus.

Nothing has changed except that Regulus coughs here and there, throat gritting, and that a group of Slytherins have elected to come to his room as if they have always been friends. At first it’s strange and almost everyone is uncomfortable. Yet they still follow Regulus and have opted to be intensely friendly to him.

Sirius has taken the habit to play with the light to see the faint gold ring mirroring Regulus’. He doesn’t feel anything from it, thankfully the nuptial bond doesn’t include feelings, but he somehow likes the sight of it - of having Regulus near him one way or another. His brother notices this small habit and takes it badly by the glare he throws at him; Sirius naturally responds to the same tone by staring daggers right back at him and they both get lost into a competitive stare-down.

“Have you thought of killing him?”

Regulus’ focus snaps on Barty. Sirius needs another second before understanding what he just said. This one is the craziest out of the Slytherin’s bunch and for Merlin’s and Morgana’s lives, he can not understand whether he really is mad or plays the part to trick people.

“Barty,” Evan mutters but keeps his eyes on his book.

“I’m just wondering.”

Sirius swallows the tingling but the flowers push their way through. Bastard. Kill him. HIM. Barty looks at him and the petals with a fascinated glint even after he vanishes them.

“That’s a terrible idea,” Regulus replies.

“Did you really say that?” Sirius blurts out.

Barty barely blinks at Sirius’ glare and shrugs. “I’m just curious if the curse would consider it unrequited.”

Dorcas kicks him off the couch, gift of the room, but he saves himself from the fall. None of them truly came upfront about Sirius’ situation but they don’t hide that they know it. It’s a strange mix.

“It would,” Regulus quietly answers, returning back to his book.

“Barty, can you imagine yourself if the love of your life was dead?” Pandora wonders, playing with her wand as she throws random ingredients into her cauldron.

The Room of Requirement has accepted them only when Regulus walked first but now most of them have managed to come in how they want. Sirius is unsure if he has made the decision of letting them in without realising it or if the Room thought it was what he needed. They are alright but still, they aren’t his friends.

“Oh.”

He glances at Barty who seems immensely troubled and furious at the ceiling. Pandora stares at him with a small smile and Evan turns his back to them all on his seat to continue his book. Emmeline is innocently observing, though something must be going on behind her Pureblood made mask. She has a softness compared to what Sirius used to wear, or Regulus, and Evan’s own facade is full of arrogance and a fake camaraderie to throw people off. He is curious on how her house life must be but they have barely spoken outside their shared interest in painting and drawing.

“Do not talk about it,” Regulus reminds, sitting against the headboard on the bed, facing Sirius who is spread half-way at the end of it.

He closes his eyes. Barty first told Sirius, without even a hello or anything, that it’s a ridiculous way to die. He told - almost sermoned Sirius - that love should have made him stronger if he was smarter. Evan had immediately kicked him in the back of his knees and Dorcas declared he is forbidden from getting desserts for a week. Emmeline kindly told Sirius that Barty struggles to see others’ logic and this might more than often come off as rude but there are genuine questions, sometimes. Sirius still called him a bloody wanker and hexed his nose to sprout curly hair as long as his chest. They made up over a game of chess where Barty asked him what is the craziest prank he ever thought of.

“Yes,” Emmeline says, probably to replace the silence. “It’s a good idea.”

Sirius is curious about what she is painting but doesn’t want to overstep. It’s a bit of a hidden pleasure because he feels a bit deranged that he still likes ancient paintings as they are used a lot by Purebloods. Lily introduced him to tattoos and this has been his focus - though his attempts at putting charms and magic into ink has been put off because of his current problem. It’s not related to any old traditions and this makes him feel better. Still, he is jealous of Emmeline, only a little bit.

“Sirius!”

“Uh, what?” He glances at Pandora in surprise.

“I have a wonderful idea,” she smiles, waving her hand to clear the fume of her potion. “We could help you make a list.”

“A list? What for?”

“At the orphanage, we used to write down things we would like to have, do and so on. The first thing I wrote was to have a twin, which they mocked me for, but I was right.”

Sirius frowns at her, checking on the others’ reactions. Evan looks particularly troubled. To his surprise, he is actually kinder than he would have thought.

“What else did you write?”

“We do need to test you to check if you are a Seer,” Dorcas advises with a pointed look and Emmeline chuckles. “You can’t have predicted having a twin just like that. A twin , not a sibling.”

“You have a twin?” Sirius asks, flabbergasted

“Yes Evan of course.”

“What?”

“It’s a secret,” he replies with a shifty glance at him. “My father… Well Pandora is more stubborn it seems.”

“You and Pandora?” He repeats, turning to Regulus who mocks him with a raise of his eyebrow. “They are twins?”

“Really Sirius, it’s obvious.”

“I knew it the moment we waited for the Sorting,” Barty preens.

“You. Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“I will,” Meadowes warns, who doesn’t appear to have any patience whenever Barty and Evan get in their regular rows.

“Wait, wait— Pandora is a Rosier too? How come no one talked about it? That’s a huge deal.”

Evan sighs and closes his book. “My father only wanted one heir or at least he only wanted boys. Our mother died not long after giving birth so he was free to put Panda elsewhere.”

“You can call me Panda too Sirius,” she comments with a smile at his incredulous look. “I don’t want the family name though. I just wanted to find my twin and I got lucky.”

“She is a monster,” Regulus mutters behind Sirius who discreetly glances at him.

“You never told me about this. Do you still have that list?” Evan asks, sitting up in his seat as he looks at her.

“I remember it.”

“We can do the rest of it together,” he offers. “Maybe.”

“Oh, I would like to have a child.”

“Well not with me,” Evan dryly replies.

Barty barks a laugh. Emmeline joins and Dorcas smiles but keeps her eyes on her crochet. Regulus has a soft smile on his face and Sirius finds himself copying it without forcing himself.

“This list… Do you mean a bucket list?” His brother suddenly speaks up, eyes flying away from his book to look at her.

“Yes. I find it inspiring,” Pandora confirms and meets Sirius’ eyes. “Maybe it will help you too. Distract you.”

They don’t look at him but he doesn’t need that to feel that they are all waiting on his answer. Though Barty has no manners and stares at him openly like he is a curious puzzle.

“Of things I want to do before I die?” His voice sounds awfully flat.

“If,” Regulus hisses. “If you die…”

“You won’t die,” Pandora confirms and this weirdly feels like set in stone.

“Beat up my father,” Barty declares. “That’s what I need to do before I die.”

Sirius is out of their stories but it has been quite easy to put their dynamics together. Barty hates his father to no end, though it’s the same for almost all of them except for Dorcas. She acts a bit like the mature figure for them, not only because she is a year older than them like Sirius, but she isn’t too serious either - she really cares about them and more than often manages to know where it goes before they reach that point. Overall, they are all more or less broody but Pandora sweetens the deal with an endless positivity that can match with Barty’s— merry craziness . Emmeline is the most calm but she must enjoy the show because she never tries to stop them despite Dorcas calling her to do so; more than often she offers an input that only worsen their ideas and bickerings but without throwing herself on the stop.

He likes them to his surprise. Which is a relief as they are Regulus’ friends and he can almost consider them worthy enough to be around his little brother.

“There is nothing I really think of,” he says after thinking of Pandora’s idea. Maybe spend time with Marlene or if he is hopeful enough, to apologise and make up with Remus.

Regulus stares at him as he coughs and throws the couple of flowers on a bin next to the bed.

“Maybe travel? Over the break you should travel, go see everything that you can think of.”

“The North Pole!”

“Whatever for? Is there even something up there?” Dorcas asks Pandora.

“We will discover that.”

Sirius snorts. “That’s something.”

“Also hugs,” she says. “Tons of hugs. You need them.”

“Alright, alright.”

Pandora gives him daily hugs, at least five, and Sirius has stopped being surprised by them and to return them. It makes him think of James but he accepts them nevertheless. A lot of people have started to give them weird looks about it - especially since Pandora just walks, grabs him for long seconds, before walking away.

“From Reggie too.”

His brother doesn’t twitch but quickly glances away when Sirius looks at him. He has slept over two other times after the first one and they always wake up hugging. Whoever wakes up first always pets the other’s hair but they never speak about it. Sirius doubts Regulus would even be comfortable to talk about it.

“Your favourite meal,” Dorcas offers. “I would like to eat my favourite dishes all the time if I was in your spot.”

“That’s a good idea,” Sirius realises.

“Easy. Pasta with mushroom cream,” Regulus replies. “It’s your favourite.”

“Oh. Erm…”

He blinks at his brother. It’s such a distant memory that Sirius wouldn’t have thought about it. Digging through his memories has never been his strength, not that he tried much since it only gives him nightmares.

“Kreacher only prepared it once but you ate at least three full plates because you loved it so much. Then you threw up because of the amount you ate without barely breathing.”

Barty’s laugh is purely to mock him and Dorcas snorts with a bemused look at Sirius.

“I was 6.”

“It was really good,” Regulus admits. “Though we never had it again because of that.”

“That should be easy to make,” Evan muses.

“Maybe we could ask the elves.”

Sirius can’t help but show his surprise at how fast they follow this idea. He does remember the dish and it makes me hungry just thinking about it - even begging Kreacher several times to prepare it again but it never happened. Except that it’s not quite his favourite meal nowadays, close to, but it’s probably only because he never ate it again.

“It’s hum, well one of my favourites,” he mumbles out. Regulus’ eyes widen at him and he can read the uncomfortable betrayal before it’s covered up. Sirius bites his lips together but he doesn’t want to lie to him, not when they have made progress. “I would love to-”

“What is it then?”

He is surprised that his brother is taking this personally. His eyes are back on his book but completely cold and closed-off, like back at Grimmauld Place. Sirius notices that all his friends are quiet.

“Er, khichdi, maybe. But-”

“What is it?”

“Something that James’ mum cooked for us when I stayed there. She has her own recipe I think.”

Regulus doesn’t like the answer but he stays quiet, bringing the book closer to his face. Sirius hesitates to reach out. If he is honest it’s the first thing that jumped to his mind when Dorcas told her idea, but he doubts it will taste the same ever again. Effie won’t cook for Sirius anymore nor requests him to help around the kitchen but be kind and sweet. He has barely spent a week or two there if he counts all the days he went there, spread over all the summers since his first year. The curses for running away were always worth his time there even when James insisted he could just stay.

“The pasta sounds great.”

His brother stays quiet. Barty gets a kick before he can speak up, probably something unhelpful and only pissing off Regulus or Sirius or both.

“Well we can cook both,” Emmeline says. “It will be fun. And you can’t eat the same things over and over or it won’t stay your favourite dish by the time you are cured.”

“Great,” Regulus mutters.

“You should make that list Sirius,” Pandora insists, filling up several vials with what she concocted, “by the way I have these for you.”

She finishes cleaning her spot and everyone suddenly starts to take all their affairs. Barty’s stuff seems to be Evan by how he drifts to his side and bothers him by looking through his bag. He realises that curfew is in a few minutes and his focus shifts to Regulus. By his sullen look, he isn’t open to stay for the night.

“What are they?”

“To help the rash of the flowers. It worked on Reggie so I tried to make something stronger for you, it should also lull them to sleep but not affect you,” she explains as she lines them up on his night table. “It’s better than what you used, they won’t clog you. Though the effect should only last for a few hours…”

“No, no it’s great,” he quickly says. “Thank you. I will drink them for classes.”

She smiles, very pleased, and hugs him with a strong pat on his back. “Good night Sirius.”

Evan and Barty have already left, probably bickering, and Emmeline only finished now to tidy her painting and tools.

“Reggie,” Sirius calls when he catches his brother almost slipping out. “Stay.”

“What?” He scowls even though Sirius’s tone is perfectly friendly.

“Reggie, ne commence pas. Écoute-moi juste une minute.”

Regulus rolls his eyes but stays, letting Pandora kiss his cheek before walking out with the other girls who wish them a good night. He squares his shoulders and throws a disdainful look at him.

“Well?”

“Don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are, you wanker,” Sirius says and brushes his hair with a hand before sighing. “Come on, you can’t be angry at me because I thought of another meal.”

“I don’t bloody care about that.”

“Then stay.”

Regulus scowls. “Why should I? Do you always need someone to put you to bed or something.”

“I want you to stay with me,” Sirius insists, “please. And you only shut your big mouth when you sleep.”

“Trust me I won’t open it again.”

“Reggie. S’il-te-plaît…”

His brother is surprised at his tone and shifts on his feet as his eyes shift to the floor but Sirius won’t let him go. They are talking, looking at each other, sharing and living - it should be enough but he is selfish.

“I’m not mad at you,” he says.

“Really?”

“Yes,” he articulates and whatever he wants to add is held back.

Sirius softly smiles. “First thing on my list is having sleepovers with you.”

Regulus blushes and slightly kicks his legs as he finally leaves the door to put his bag down. “It’s a stupid one.”

“You can’t judge my list.”

“Yes I can.”

“I want sixteen years worth of sleepovers.”

“That’s impossible.”

“It will be if you get your arse over here,” he replies with a cocky smile as he jumps back on his bed. “Come on. We can’t talk when all your friends keep babbling.”

“You babble as much as them.”

“But what I say is always relevant.”

Regulus finally relaxes, shaking his head at him, and even sheds off his cloak to join him, tucking his legs under himself as he accioes his book over.

“You ate today, have you?”

“Yes, yes,” he groans out. “Geez.”

“I need to check because you’re a stupid prick who needs someone to sleep.”

“You’re mean.”

“Thank you. And you smell so go take a shower.”

Sirius tuts and kicks his shin. Regulus only smiles which makes him grin too. He shifts on his stomach to face him properly.

“When you talked about Pandora being a nobody by our rules,” he starts, “did you mean about this crazy story that she is a Rosier?”

“Yes… Evan did a test to be sure they are related but they keep it to themselves in case their father— well, is a Pureblood.”

“So it’s your little group’s secret?”

Regulus frowns at him. “Yes and you better keep it to yourself.”

“Hey, come on. I like Pandora, I wouldn’t do that to her,” he promises. “I’m still surprised, that’s all.”

“You better.”

His attention stays on his book and Sirius watches him with a small smile before sitting with his legs crossed. He can still see the look on his brother’s face when he corrected him on his favourite meal. Perhaps he should have let him believe that.

It’s difficult. They keep trying though. Sirius would rather know all the truths about Regulus, even if it isn’t what he expected, and he hopes it’s the same for him too.

“Do you want to know my biggest secret?” Sirius whispers with a rising excitement.

Regulus turns a page without looking up. “Anyone knows you’re bent, it’s not so much of a secret. I’m pretty sure some girls are actually into that.”

“You’re so bloody rude Reggie.”

He snorts and glances at him, pausing there. “What? This isn’t it?”

“Nope. But this one you can’t tell your friends about.”

Regulus frowns, only as a manner of thinking and nothing else, before closing his book. He never uses a bookmark.

“I didn’t want them to know— but Barty saw me coughing and he has the bad habit of being here at the right moment,” he explains. “Plus Pandora stared at me and I’m sure she knew but didn’t say so.”

“This one might really be a Seer.”

Regulus nods with a small chuckle. “She must be, yes. So? What’s your secret?”

Sirius spreads his legs. “You promise me you won’t tell anyone? And I really mean it.”

“Yes,” he replies rather mockingly.

“And you need to not let your brain go off.”

“What?” Regulus frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’re brilliant and you might— you might put everything together but you really need to not do it,” Sirius explains and purses his lips.

His brother puts his book on his now night table with a serious look. “Is it about what happened with your friends?”

“You can’t ask questions.”

“Are you serious?”

“Always am-”

“Stop with that joke.”

“Can I just tell you my secret without you starting to pick a fight or always to figure everything out?” Sirius exclaims with a pissed look.

Regulus crosses his arms with his jaw jumping once. “Fine. But just so you know, I’m not always-”

Sirius shifts into Padfoot and this effectively shuts his brother’s mouth. His tail wags by itself before slowing down to a stop as Regulus’ face is completely devoid of any reaction.

He has wondered about telling him that he is an Animagus but he has decided that he is trust-worthy, especially after the last days. Contrary to what he thought, his brother needs a minute before finally reacting with his eyes wide and full of wonder.

“Sirius?”

Padfoot offers a quiet bark before crawling closer to lean against him. He is taller than him considering he is sitting on the bed they are both on. Regulus carefully places his hands on him, first petting his side and back before softly grabbing his face to look straight at him.

“Merlin, are you unregistered?” He asks and chuckles when he is pushed down for Padfoot to rub his face over his. “Urgh, of course you’re stinky.”

Sirius shifts back. “Hey, I’m perfectly clean and I know for a fact I smell great.”

Regulus shakes his head as he fights a small laugh. “Since when are you an animagus?”

“Third year,” he replies before noticing the slight frown on his face. “Don’t think too much about it.”

“Alright, fine,” he mumbles. “Was it difficult?”

“Some ingredients were tricky to get but nothing was impossible. Did you expect that?”

Regulus shakes his head and lays down with his eyes still on him. “No. I never even thought about this.”

“Well, it’s great! It’s worth the torture of keeping that mandrake leaf in your mouth for a month.”

Sirius wouldn’t be surprised if his brother guesses that all the Marauders are animagis, minus one but this isn’t something he must know, and Regulus seems to be deep in his thoughts. It’s risky to tell him but his brother could have gotten rid of him a long time ago by now.

“Would— would you help me to become one?”

He blinks at him. “An animagus?” Regulus answers with a nod, keeping his eyes away from him. They both know that he could do it by himself without a problem so— asking Sirius to help, be here, for him to do it must mean something. “Of course I will help you Reggie. You will love it.”

Regulus gnaws on his smile but his eyes are grinning. Sirius doesn’t hide any of his joy - just the thought that he stayed at his request, that they haven’t stopped talking and now this?

Padfoot comes out right away, throwing all his weight onto Regulus and they scuffle a bit. He is pet and hugged, tail wagging without a break, and he could fall asleep like that. His brother sounds so happy and none of his laughs are held back even though he keeps his face against his fur.

“Oh,” Regulus lets out at some point, fingers softly exploring one of his paws. “This explains this awful nickname they keep calling you— Padfoot .”

With a huff, he licks his under-jaw to irk him off before snuggling his face against his neck. Regulus chuckles and holds him. They never had any animals at home and the dead ones looked freaky. He isn’t surprised that his brother actually loves them, though he is probably a bit more comfortable since Padfoot is still Sirius.

He almost fell asleep and probably would have if his ears weren’t so sensible. Regulus is sobbing against his furry neck and just tightens his arms around him when he tries to move. With this angle, he can’t do much.

“Stay.”

Padfoot stays, snuggles and laps at what he can to comfort his brother the best he can. They wake up in the same position, without getting under the blanket but the Room is kind enough to keep them warm. It’s always a bit weird to wake up in this form, the distance between the wizard and dog is further and thinner. Regulus is still sleeping as he tries to picture his chances if he runs away like this.

Hiding as Padfoot was actually a part of the plan but the flowers have not bothered him all night and he doubts that Remus hasn’t come to his mind at all. He is the most recurrent guest there. Perhaps staying as Padfoot will disconnect him completely and get rid of the Hanahaki.

Sirius is a bit on a high over the next day. They haven’t talked about the crying but they also didn’t fight or run away from each other. Today is a Quidditch day and breakfast has barely finished so people rushed to the field for the upcoming Gryffindor & Slytherin game. Regulus and Dorcas are playing, just like James and Marlene, which should be enough for him to go watch the game but he opted to stay behind. He wouldn’t know where to sit; Moony and Wormtail would properly cheer on Prongs. He still hopes that Gryffindor wins.

“Padfoot!”

He freezes on his spot before turning to find Peter quickly walking toward him. Not quite nervous but he is clearly unsure of what he is doing. His cheeks have red and gold paint and his scarf is in one hand while the other has a letter. Sirius swallows and looks around them. He must be on his way to the Quidditch pitch.

“Wormtail?”

He comes to a stop in front of him. By the slight widening of his eyes, he must realise that Sirius isn’t someone he should talk to at this point.

“Hey… Hey Pads,” he clears his throat and offers a small smile. “You— how are you?”

“Pete’, you should go watch the game.”

His fringe has gotten longer ever since he saw him but it suits him. It almost fully covers his frown.

“We miss you,” Peter declares. “Where are you staying? Sometimes we can’t find you on the map.”

Sirius shifts his jaw before opting to not get his hopes up. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m in class.”

“Sirius…” He sighs and glances at the letter in hand. “Look, what happened is-”

“What do you want Peter?”

“We can’t talk to you if you don’t come back to the dorm-”

“I really don’t think M- Remus wants to talk to me.”

This seems to be the wrong thing to say but it’s the truth. Sirius hasn’t thought otherwise.

Peter clears his throat and stretches out the hand with the letter. “You received this but you aren’t in the Great Hall for breakfast anymore. I took it because the owl seemed desperate… and before anyone else saw it.”

He frowns at it but takes it. Without the Black’s family insignia it means at least it should be safe but he can’t think of who would write to him.

“Er, thanks I suppose.”

“Do you know who it is from?”

Sirius shakes his head. “No.”

Peter pities him with a look. “Listen-”

“Wormtail? We ne-”

MOONY!

The flowers stab him with no mercy, screaming in joy and agony as they climb up. Sirius almost falls but he only takes a step back at the sight of Remus who stopped at the corner when he saw them. He is beautiful, just like always, and a Gryffindor scarf is around his neck which shouldn’t be a mesmerising sight after six years but Sirius can’t help but stare and wish to be tangled right there too.

Remus’ face is set in stone once he takes the whole scene in and the flowers lose their euphoria to go straight into a violent panic and fear.

He is mad! MAD AT US!

“Moony,” Peter realises, eyes quickly flying from one to the other.

BEG! Apologize— anything, please!

Sirius’ gaze is no help and only sweetens the lethal blow when they meet Remus’ amber, thunderous and noble , eyes. He flees. As much as he can through the faintness and the fighting bodies trying to crawl out of his throat. It feels like he is walking rather naturally, if not a bit rushed, but they can easily assume that he is a simple coward running away rather than choking around a sea of poisonous flowers.

GO BACK! TO MOONY!

He can’t breathe nor can see. There is nothing to save his fall and his body keeps breaking around waves of thorns, stems holding on to his guts, with flowers suffocating him in hatred with no mercy. His head thrums but the pain barely reaches him. There is nothing to feel and the relief is mute, completely false and poisonous, but he lets himself be swallowed with no fight.

His body is groggy and left with no strength but he can’t piece enough memories together to know where he is. A nausea rockets through his numbness and his eyes shut close at his attempt to see.

A cold touch helps him breathe. It brushes over his face another time and his eyes blink through the biting haze; Emmeline hovers with a frown until she meets his eyes and offers a slight smile.

“You’re alright,” she promises and her hand cautiously pets his forehead with a small wet towel.

Sirius is not alright despite the relief upon seeing her and the soft contact on his raw skin. He feels like he is bleeding. His throat feels clean which is an odd thought but it’s been a long time since nothing clogged it.

He tries to speak but his mouth gives up before the first sound. The ceiling has an accurate starry sky with a slight dome at the centre of glass. It can only be the Room of Requirement but Sirius has no recollection that he managed to walk far once he escaped Remus. Emmeline helps him sit up with a cautious hand on his shower and puts down the wet tissue to offer a glass of water.

“What—” He articulates after drinking but he still needs to clear his throat. “What happened?”

There is no one else beside them. Emmeline is sitting on a seat beside his bed and her bag lays beside her feet.

“I found you… Gagging,” she explains with a worried frown. “You were lying on the floor and barely breathing with flowers stuck in your mouth. I tried my best at extracting the flowers with Carpe Retractum and brought you here before anyone could find us.”

Sirius closes his eyes and drags his knees against his chest to rest his head. A cough climbs up which he tries to fight but chokes around a wolfsbane which falls on the bed.

“Thanks,” he whispers.

“It’s nothing,” she replies and shifts in her chair but doesn’t move closer. “Does it hurt somewhere?”

His answer is a weak shrug as his whole body throbs in pain and it feels like the flowers completely took control of him. He nails dig into his palms as he tries to wrest away the clear memory of Remus walking on Peter and him. His breathing grows erratic but is cut short by Emmeline softly tugging on one of his arms to force him to look at her.

“Do you want to see one of my paintings?” She blurts out with a slightly panicked look.

Sirius blinks at her. He takes in what she said, how she found him, and his current predicament. She touches him like he might break.

“What?”

Her cheeks get an intense blush and she lets go of him with an embarrassed throaty noise. “I— sorry, I just thought I must distract you…”

His situation can only be caused by one person and she obviously knows it. This time Sirius swallows the cough and forces himself to smile.

“I would love to see a painting of yours.”

Strangely, Emmeline is slightly surprised and grins excitedly before taking her bag to open it. Sirius unclenches his fingers as she looks.

He almost died, didn’t he? A spot on his head toward the left aches and he cautiously touches it to be sure of the bump he pictures. He must have fallen against the floor or a wall, it’s only a vague feeling but he has the proof of it. Remus hasn’t even spoken to him and his eyes haven’t openly showed any emotions but the flowers were livid and crying for attention. Emmeline glances up from a notebook as he coughs. With his wand, he fills up his glass with water again and empties it.

“Who won the game?”

“It only started thirty minutes ago or so,” she says. “But I’m convinced Slytherin will win this time.”

Peter must have found him ten minutes before the game. The letter is on his night table, slightly crumpled from his own hand probably, but at least Emmeline noticed it and brought it too.

“I think you underestimate us,” he replies.

“No. You were a core to your team and without you Potter can’t do as many tricks as before. Both of you worked too well together and I doubt Gryffindor will manage this year because of the sudden change. Perhaps at the beginning of spring they might be up their game, considering whether you return or not.”

“I certainly won’t,” he mutters before frowning at her. “Why weren’t you there to watch the game then? You obviously are into it.”

Emmeline shrugs with a sad smile, glancing to her notebook’s page where she taps her wand on. “I grew tired of watching it, I suppose. It’s different when you know— the feelings when you’re up there.”

They have only flew twice together but Sirius has seen that Dorcas’ words are right: Emmeline is truly brilliant on a broom, especially if you consider that she probably taught herself during her free time - probably with Regulus and Dorcas’ help but it’s still not quite the same training as when you’re on a Quidditch team.

“You’re right,” he agrees. “You should try to join the team, really.”

“You’re too nice,” she insists. “And to be honest, I found you which is more important. Though I didn’t expect that.”

Sirius’ smile dims a bit but she doesn’t point it out. Instead she takes out a small picture from her notebook, revealed by a tap of her wand, and she stands up with a curious look around the room. Thankfully, an easel appeared beside her.

“Oh, thank you Room,” she says with an amused look around, placing her miniature painting on it. “It’s still weird to think we are in something as— conscious.”

“I wonder if it can get lonely,” Sirius comments and watches her charm her painting back to its right size. “You keep all of them in a notebook?”

“I do. I’m not— narcissist I believe but I enjoy looking at them from time to time and like this I don’t get frustrated.”

“It’s brilliant.”

Emmeline smiles and sits back on her seat to let him see her work with no distraction.

“It’s Regulus.”

Sirius is almost jealous. He loves classical paintings and arts, as posh as it makes him, but it brings too many memories of Grimmauld Place and the Purebloods’ nonsensical and ever-oppressing tradition and culture. She doesn’t seem to have any argument about it though and her painting shows her education clearly.

It’s a beautiful scene of a winter forest. Though contrary to what you might expect is the sight of the peaceful rain, drenching the white snow in various spots, and all the snow appears to have settled like a warm blanket a long time ago. It’s still full of colour with shades of greens and a contrast with a bluish sky peeking through the branches and the shadows of the infinite forest. There is a spot though, just hiding behind a group of trees of warm light as if a comfortable fire is running there, perhaps fresh, but it leads your eyes across the exploration of the forest.

“Wait, you said it’s Reggie?”

“I understand why it must be weird for me to say I painted it by looking at Regulus when it’s this,” she trails off.

“Well, it’s really pretty,” Sirius says and feels like he needs to be more convincing because it is an impressive painting. “We might just go through it, just at the other side of a window.” She smiles, pleased, and he returns it. “I just expected a portrait and not a winter forest.”

“Can I tell you my thoughts?”

“Of course.”

“I paint the feeling I have whenever I think of Regulus, how I picture him,” Emmeline explains with a tender look at her work. “He appears like a cold person, only at first of course, but beyond this he is also— unexpected. There is something, you know that you’re not alone despite the first look, yet you won’t know what to expect.”

“I see it,” Sirius blurts out, voice drifting in awe as all the details jump to him. “The snow is perfectly still. The trees side each other without completely obscuring a path but not quite offering one either. It’s— really I’m speechless, it’s lovely. Is this why there is a fire running somewhere there? It doesn’t look wild to me.”

“It isn’t. Reg’ needs time before trusting but once you get through his… Prickliness and upfront coldness then you will find how funny he is or how much he cares despite everything.”

Sirius swallows. He is a part of this everything - the abuse, the competition, the dark arts and the unclear path of their lives with no idea of what freedom even is.

“You’re right,” he answers shallowly.

“The rain is the depth. Snow happens when it’s cold enough but it’s affected by a lot of elements, if it’s too bothered it won’t solidify enough and become rain,” she says with a thoughtful voice. “Reggie… He isn’t the same around everyone. No matter if he isn't a happy person as in he isn’t as loud and optimistic as some of your friends for example. I don’t see it as a flaw, if anything it makes him rather realistic. Too many people forget how rain is important and that we need it from time to time.”

He hasn’t never shared about his enjoyment of art, especially this kind. There is nothing extravagant but it’s realistic, embellished beauty, but one that screams some kind of superiority - money - status. Sirius had hated all the portraits from his family and worse was the experiment to sit still for the painter to work but the sole action of painting always interested him. Even though it felt too posh, arrogant, boring and expected.

Tattoos are fantastic and Sirius can’t get enough but it’s not quite the same. He tries to not stare at some of the paintings at Hogwarts but some of them look fantastic and if he is caught staring, he comes up with an excuse be it any of the Marauders or the girls. He is scared of what it means that he likes something brought up from his ill-advised childhood.

“You’re— talented,” he articulates as tears weigh him down. “Your mind is fantastic. I completely see what you mean. That’s… him. That’s Reggie.”

She is silently surprised. Sirius can’t look away from the painting but he can clearly feel her eyes onto him. Thankfully she stays quiet as he tries to digest everything. There seems to be years of turmoil, confusion and yearning that has never hit him until now. He wants to be the best brother to Regulus, learn what he likes or doesn’t enjoy - who is that person who caught his attention back in first year? Sirius wants him to know everything about himself too.

It doesn’t feel like it will ever be enough. Padfoot was revealed and yet there are so many things Sirius wants to tell him beyond that but he is so afraid that they are running on a flaming spark that will run out any time soon. He finds himself in the middle of frozen water. The ice feels strong underneath him but it shifts at his every whims and they have broken some part of it to reach each other. What if it goes too far? If neither can swim in this endless darkness where they can’t predict if they will ever continue to love each other inside and out?

How come it’s so hard to connect with someone you love?

“Would you mind if I paint you?”

Sirius turns to her, throat gasping around fresh tears, and her eyes brim with small tears but she holds herself strong. One of her hands reaches out to grab one and tightens it with a soft smile.

“Me?” He croaks out, quickly rubbing his eyes with his free hand. “Like you did for Reggie?”

“I painted all my friends, yes. But I always ask first.”

He doesn’t cry more but he gasps around mouthful of words that can’t decide in which order they must get out. It might mean that they are friends and somehow it isn’t as weird as he would have thought.

“Sure. I wish I could— Tattoos are what I like to do. But I still love art like yours but it feels wrong. Vile.”

“How so?” Emmeline is only curious by the look of it but it sadly isn’t helpful enough for him to feel confident.

“It’s… That’s what Pureblood does. They drape everything about them and always embellish the lie. All their paintings are about that. Family’s portrait? It’s not a family but the painter will make it appear like it and there is no other proof,” he articulates. “There is a set of rules. Superiority, power, control— be it by magic, money or image. All these paintings are made for this and I feel sick that I wish I could paint beautiful things like this because it will mean I’m using Pureblood's crap.”

She glances at her painting before smiling at him, her hand kindly squeezes his. “Do you find tattoos not beautiful?”

“No they are-”

“Art is used in many ways. I understand what you mean I believe— I paint like this because I like it but it’s my personal tutors who taught me and it’s only because my parents are Pureblood that I had this chance,” she replies. “I find the truth more interesting, as hurtful as it can be. It’s about who is behind the art that defines whether it’s a good one or not. You can use it to spread lies, cultivate Pureblood’s supremacy or— have fun. If you ever paint, it won’t be because you are a Pureblood but because you understand that it can be more than what we were brought to believe in. I paint for myself, not for my parents, or to show that I’m better than everyone else. I started a small secret group last year where we meet up to draw, paint, play music or sculpt and many have no basics but it doesn’t change their passion.”

Sirius blinks at her. He swallows and inhales. “You have a secret group?”

Emmeline blushes, shifting in her chair, before nodding. “It’s not quite a secret. A first year asked me about painting and before I realised it we started to use an empty classroom and more people came by. Dorcas comes to crochet and happens to be a model from time to time. We meet up two times per week… If you ever want to join. No one will care who you are and even less judge you.”

“Er, I do draft often, without realising but I’m not sure.”

“You’re a good person Sirius,” she declares. “Despite everything, I’m sure I barely know the surface of it but you managed to not become as twisted as your parents. I’m sure that if you ever paint, in any shape, it will be wonderful.”

Sirius can only nod, full of embarrassment and a broken satisfaction of all her compliments, but he doesn’t have the capacities to continue this current topic.

“Tattoos were— more common before and often used for magic. I’ve been trying to make something out of it.”

She smiles. “Do you want to show me some of it and your ideas?”

It’s a safe subject, one that he knows all the hidden nooks and every book about it. She quietly listens to all of it. Too many thoughts escape him but he barely realises any of it as she asks questions and whether she can see the one he has on him or not. He doesn’t see the time flying and soon enough dinner comes around.

As she expected, Slytherin won the Quidditch’s game but Regulus doesn’t come by - probably exhausted. It’s alright by Sirius who finds himself too sleepy to even move to grab something to eat. Emmeline left for dinner though she asked him if he still wanted company before.

The full envelope is still waiting for him and he finally opens it after taking a shower. It’s the full-moon tonight which he tries to ignore and thankfully this letter does the perfect job.

Chère Petite Terreur,

Sirius physically can not immediately read the rest of it— not with Dear Little Terror , which has always been the nickname Uncle Alphard used for him because of how many family dinners Sirius disrupted. It makes him happy despite the confusion and he forces himself to read the rest of it.

A pocket watch slipped out from the envelope with the letter, not ticking, but it's his uncle's and he remembers it because of the symbol of the hydra graved in the back of it and inside the pocket watch is an intricate drawing of a serpent circling the whole world. It turns out to be a Portkey that will be working on the Sunday when the Hogwarts Express will drop off students who want to go home for a week before Halloween. Most stay back for only one week but apparently Regulus planned it either way. For any other break their parents will expect them home.

His brother actually has a plan and apparently went ahead with it because their uncle said that he planned everything for them - even legal papers. Sirius reads the letter several times as he struggles to fully picture all of it. Alphard seems excited to have them over and care for them, mentioning how terrifying it must feel to them. They are brave, he says, to run away.

Alphard isn’t quite exiled from the family but he has a different living style than anyone else and he has been left out of most family reunions over time before completely disappearing for almost seven years or so. He is living in France now, in a quiet Muggle place, and the Portkey will bring them to the Portkey station in Paris where he will be waiting for them. They have the option to refuse his invitation. Regulus contacted him first - which Sirius would have never thought of and even less thought that his brother remembers him - and Alphard wanted to also tell Sirius personally on this run-away plan.

Regulus must have contacted him before he even offered the deal to Sirius– which is just so him that he isn’t surprised. His focus shifts to the clock, counting in how many minutes Remus will be walking to the Shrieking Shack with Pomfrey, before shaking his head and reading the letter another time with a hopeful smile.

There are big risks at running away to their uncle and it almost seems far more dangerous than going to the Potters like Sirius had planned. Alphard is like a ghost to them and he believes him when he has written that no one knows where he lives and that once Sirius and Regulus take the Portkey, all the papers to cut their parents’ control and to not have access to their Trace to find them through the Ministry. Their uncle will literally become their legal parent and has apparently planned it with Regulus’ help.

His brother is really a sneaky little liar but it only makes Sirius more proud.

He wants to write a reply right away but his body can’t relax. Despite everything, he can’t stay away. One might think the moon is also pulling Sirius but he knows it’s not true. It’s— Moony . Though this time the flowers are up and ready to make him squirm and he shifts into Padfoot the second he is out of the castle after checking that no one follows him. He hasn’t eaten anything for dinner because of the storm in his guts but he ignores the hunger.

It could be a very bad idea, the worst if the last full-moon hadn’t happened, but Sirius is possessed, running and covering in bushes once he can spot the Shrieking Shack. He is on time to watch Remus and Madam Pomfrey walking in the old house.

He realises as he waits for the rest of the night to unfold that the flowers are subdued when he is as Padfoot. He coughs up several petals but nothing more and the flowers have stopped singing to him. It’s still a bad idea and he doesn’t know what to expect. Moony can easily hate him as much as Remus does except that here they won’t talk and Sirius won’t be able to outrun him.

Once they all became animagis, they have never been separated over all the full-moons that happened during school. Sirius wouldn’t want to break a habit, just in case that Moony needs all of them then— well, Padfoot will be up and ready to join them again. Prongs and Wormtail are perfect to distract and play with Moony so they should be fine. Padfoot finds himself whining at the idea that he might be not needed.

Madam Pomfrey leaves the shack and he can picture James and Peter making their way over here. He could be by their side and he feels like he is - Remus’ cries of pain and the sickening crack of bones and flesh are right beside his ears. Except that he is outside, isolated from the bubble created inside the Shrieking Shack to mute the horror, while Prongs and Wormtail patiently wait for Moony.

Padfoot startles at the sudden crash into a wall. His eyes easily find the figure of a large werewolf barreling through the night like a terror. It’s a very bad moon then— Moony happens to be in a bad temper from time to time but he has never been this aggressive-looking. Prongs and Wormtail immediately run after him.

He has never truly been scared of Moony, if anything he is fascinated and he wishes he had hands sometimes to soothe and touch. It’s probably strange. A werewolf could easily tear him in pieces with minor efforts.

Padfoot needs a second before deciding to follow the Marauders as discreetly as possible. He only means to check on them and if his mistake broke everything they have built with Moony. The previous moon had been peculiar as Prongs and Padfoot kept ignoring each other without the usual cheeriness of running through the woods. Perhaps this is why Moony went off in a very bad mood this time.

His nose easily catches on where they went but he can’t manage to get a good view of them. It seems that Moony wants to run to the end of the earth and Wormtail must be clinging like crazy to Prongs’ coat as they rush through the dark woods. Hopefully Moony tires off soon. Padfoot is finally getting close because the smell intensifies and there are claws marks over some of the trees - one completely destroyed. He jumps on the broken trunk to have a better view. It’s his mistake that he only focuses on only worrying about their possible whereabouts.

A large shadow catches him with no mercy, bringing him down into the dead leaves as Padfoot squeals in surprise at the attack and weight keeping him pinned. Moony breathes right into his face, snarling and crowding his space. Padfoot reacts immediately, tail tucked between his legs and ears bowed as he tries to show that he is no danger to him. It’s the usual act but this time it isn’t enough.

Moony growls at him, paw still digging into him, as he rapidly huffs and smells him. It’s feverish and he can’t read Moony’s eyes if he keeps his gaze down to not challenge him. He hears Prongs stopping right beside them, at a respectful distance despite the anxious stompings, and Wormtail’s panicked squeak. Moony doesn’t give them any attention and Padfoot can’t even try to.

He has no idea what he is looking for. His smell is well-known, probably how Moony knew where to go to catch him, and yet he seems to be looking for something else. A plea cradled into a whine and a tentative wag of his tail finally shakes him off.

Padfoot doesn’t budge when Moony’s tongue splashes him. It’s not rare but still not a habit that Moony ever licks him. They are both canines so they have an easier time understanding each other, compared to Prongs and Wormtail, but Moony shows his affection with small nudges and head-butts. Licks are rare but currently he seems to be trying to groom Padfoot which is very unlikely.

Still, he doesn’t move a muscle and lets Moony decide on where it goes. At least he appears to be in a better mood, even slightly wiggling his butt as if he has a tail, and Prongs appear to have relaxed when he glances at him and Wormtail. Once he is happy with his treatment, Moony pushes Padfoot up to get him to move. He towers over him and keeps him crowded, dragging him back against him with a paw when Padfoot supposes that standing means they should start to walk. Moony keeps him like that for a few beats before letting go.

Wormtail is happy to see him and Prongs greets him with a graceful nose-to-nose contact. Padfoot is ecstatic and he gets lost into that feeling as they start to gallop through the forest. Moony is still in a weird mood and doesn’t let him get any real distance. He snarls and snaps his teeth as a warning, hurrying at his side or grabbing him and dragging him to his side. There is no complaint until Padfoot makes the mistake of not noticing Moony rushing for an unlucky rabbit that he slashes with one big paw.

Usually they manage to stop him from killing any wildlife, and eat them , but they must have been all distracted by Padfoot’s sudden appearance. Prongs immediately tries to push Moony away from the fresh flesh and gets a snarl for it as Moony brings the bleeding rabbit to Padfoot who has been barking in an attempt to distract him.

He doesn’t eat it despite the insistence as Moony even tears it in smaller pieces before nipping frustratingly at Padfoot without truly hurting. His hungry stomach has probably made a noise at some point because this never happened before. Thankfully, Moony lets it go and doesn’t eat the flesh himself.

The dawn comes far too quickly in Padfoot’ opinion and despite the pain starting, Moony whines more at Padfoot not entering the Shrieking Shack as it gets louder the more Prongs pushes him inside. Wormtail only follows when Padfoot jerks his head ahead to follow them. He doesn’t stay.

Remus rarely remembers much of the night outside of the pain so Sirius hopes that this time there isn't much that he can recall either. He only wanted to check on them, on Moony , and he doubts anything good will come of it. Though he can’t help but be happy about the affection thrown at him tonight, especially from Moony himself.

We need to stay! Sooth and nurse him! LOVE HIM.

The flowers are mad. Very much angry at him. Sirius shifts shortly once he is at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. His throat immediately clogs up before he can even properly feel back on his two feet and he almost falls to his knees because of the pressure screaming to get out.

He feels like his throat is bleeding and the flowers have more red hue than the purple and white of the petals. His mind has left somewhere after the second hurl before he can finally recall where he is. It has been more violent than ever and Sirius fears that it’s caused by his Animagus form, perhaps the flowers aren’t able to feed on his love in this form and it caused this violent shock.

“Pads!”

Sirius stands up the best he can, head turning to catch on James and Peter coming from the forest. He is sure they will notice the flowers and the blood he keeps tasting on his lips any moment. They hesitate though. James’ mouth works around unsaid words before closing and Sirius takes his chance to vanish the flowers and rush to the castle.

He doubts that Peter talked about the letter to any of them which is probably a good thing. The only thing left to say was more apologies that Sirius doubts will be any help. At least he eased Moony’s night, even if it might be the last one. Will James even reach out about their old plan for Sirius to come live at the Potters’? It doesn’t seem like it. Even if it happened, he won’t leave Regulus behind. Alphard is still a Black which will be easier to settle with the papers compared to the Potters. Sirius wants to try this with Regulus.

His brother needs to get out before it’s too late and his plan actually sounds great.

“Been on a night stroll?”

He startles and twists around to catch Barty coming out from behind a tapestry. The door of the Room of Requirement already appeared and he was just about to reach for it.

“Merlin’s pants,” he blurts out. “What are you doing here?”

Barty shrugs and walks up to him. “Breakfast won’t be ready until a moment so I walked around.”

Sirius eyes him before opening the door and closing it behind him. It’s still his exact room so Barty doesn’t seem to be looking for anything specific - otherwise it might have appeared.

“And you decided to come here?”

“Mmh,” he answers unhelpfully and clearly looks at him up and down before grinning with all his teeth. “Where were you?”

“I like to watch the sunrise,” he bites out gruffly and looks for his uniform for the day to change after a quick shower.

Barty doesn’t appear to see through his lie but he is clearly searching for something. He can’t see what even though they have become somewhat friends over the few times they hung out. Contrary to Pandora who is a loose card but still quite within reason, Barty is more keen on going to extreme means and Sirius is weirdly curious about his presence here. He is already in his uniform so he must not plan to come back to his dorm and he even drops down his bag on a chair.

Sirius can’t see why he would be looking for him alone and it’s definitely for school. Barty doesn’t seem to be doing any of his homeworks if Evan doesn’t tell him to do them.

“Is it on your list?”

“The list for what I want to die before I die?” Barty nods at his question. “No, not really.”

“Do you have sex on it?”

His eyes widen but Barty shows nothing; not one of embarrassment or amusement, even more terrifying is how intense he seems to be. Sirius swallows and tries to think through this logically despite how tired this day has been for him.

“You’re– you’re not saying what I think you are?”

Barty smiles and finally the familiar glint in his eyes rear itself to catch his attention. “I’ve been just thinking. You won’t be able to do anything once you are sicker and you’re already in bad shape, aren’t you?”

Emmeline certainly wouldn’t have told them what happened to Sirius during the Quidditch match? She can’t have and he is convinced after observing and listening to them that Barty is the type to play all his cards to see people panic. He certainly knows how to keep secrets and to manipulate but with his friends he doesn’t seem to play as much.

“Thinking about me, were you?” Sirius snarks back with a biting smile on his face.

“Your fate gives me a lot of perspective,” he admits, voice dropping to something more serious. “And I wouldn’t want to die without having one last great sex if I’m honest. I figured it would be a waste for you too.”

“A waste?” He can’t help but laugh. “You’re– I can’t say mad because I see your point but still a bit.”

Barty grins and steps closer with a sweep of his tongue over his lips. “Your first choice isn’t possible, is it? And I doubt you will not cough flowers so whoever you might do it with needs to keep the secret.”

Sirius’ heart hammers. It has to be because of the exhaustion and the rush of the day; nothing about one of his brother’s friends proposing to him with no shame and with eyes clearly begging to see what’s under his clothes. He doesn’t push Barty away, even when they are nose to nose.

“You don’t have a weird thing for Reggie, do you?” Sirius whispers. “Because that would really weird me out.”

Barty snickers and his smile is dangerous but quite pretty. Sirius tries to not think of a scar across slightly darker and more bitten lips but his chest thrums with coughs. A hand softly brushes over his arm and brushes the bottom of his jaw before twirling a strand of his long messy hair. The petals are swallowed.

“No. He is pretty but I would rather play with your hair,” he says with a playful tone.

It’s a horrible idea. Clearly. Barty is nothing like Remus, he won’t manage to shut Sirius’ mouth with a witty retort because only Moony can make his knees wobble and his body desperate to dig a way through his warm skin to live beside his heart forever and ever– but Sirius will never get that.

“I will cough,” he warns. “Tons of flowers and blood maybe.”

“Doesn’t make it less beautiful and it will only get worse if there is no cure,” Barty replies and his free hand takes out a vial from his pocket. “But– I have this.”

Sirius frowns. “What is it?”

“Polyjuice potion. Of the one and only person killing you.”

The flowers hurl and scream in indignation. They will never be fooled and Sirius sees red, grabbing it.

“You’re kidding.”

“I wondered if it might help so I made it in s-”

“Is it the only one?” Sirius snarls with his fingers trembling with a raging strength around it. “Crouch. Tell me you didn’t make a bunch of potions over Remus or I will kill you.”

Barty stares at him and starts to look doubtful, almost sorry. “It’s the only one. But think about it, maybe it will work.”

The potion is thrown into the fireplace with no other question. Sirius keeps a hand over his mouth as he tries to calm himself down. Remus can not know about it. It’s insane that Barty even managed to brew this, a successful one probably, and Sirius feels guilty that it only happened because of him .

“We won't talk about this ever again.”

He is a desperate soul. There have been thorough make-outs with a few girls and even a boy but nothing more than touches and tongues. Sirius wants to live in a lie and the more he thinks about it, the higher on his list is an embrace no matter who it might be. He won’t cheat on this though, not when he destroyed everything that he had with Remus be it only friendship or not.

It doesn’t mean that he won’t picture Remus. Nor that he won’t cry along with all the flowers. Barty thankfully doesn’t mind any of it.

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