#ins: barty

[viviandarkbloombartylusversion]

Evan watching forensic files while Regulus is watching diners drive-ins and dives (barty is watching family feud and saying all the right answers while getting upset when the people say stupid ones)

[aetherraeys]

evil twin ! (iii)

part (i) (ii)

regulus black/barty crouch jr x twinpotter!reader ⊹ 10.7k

cw ⟢ swearing, hurt/comfort, gay awakening lol, suggestive, secret relationship, pining!barty, mild angst, poor james is a scapegoat

summary: if you hadn't noticed it before, you've certainly noticed it now. barty been off, completely not barty and you can't seem to put your finger on the cause, and regulus doesn't have the heart to tell you.

a/n:poor barty is acc going through it. not proofread x

“Don’t you think that’s a bit hypocritical?”

There was a long beat of nothingness.

Then another. And another.

A tormented silence veiled the room the second Regulus’ final word left his lips, riding on the air between them and settling heavy in a cruel, unforgiving manner.

The word hypocritical sounding in his head over and over.

If Barty looked like he was going through the five stages of grief, it seems he barely made it half way, flitting between denial and anger before subsequently settling on the latter. His face said it all, as it morphed with each word, forced out on a pinched breath.

“The fuck are you on about?”

His eyes didn’t match the sharp tone of his voice at all, instead they swam with panic and an almost lost aching that made Regulus lips purse together. Barty was already sitting up, scrambling to a stand with a clenched fist and tight jaw, as he pushed a hand through his hair—already on his way out. Back towards Regulus as he spoke, words gritted and hushed.

“Don’t act like you know everything, when you really fucking don’t.”

With that, the door was closed behind him and Barty was gone.

Regulus was really starting to resent that door, far too often being left on the other side, staring at it—stressed, winded—conflicted. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to happen after he said it, but by then it was already out—already splitting the air between him and Barty before he could stop it. What was worse?

Regulus just sat there—still, emotionless—while his friend all but fell apart infront of him, any and all words falling dead on his lips.

When he sunk back into the bed, glancing at you beside him, asleep, blissfully unaware of the rift he’s just parted—his stomach churned. The soft pillows beneath his head, the warmth of your presence beside his did nothing to quell the unsettled stirring that had started inside him.

Maybe you wouldn’t notice, maybe Barty would cool off and it would all be fine—maybe he could take it back.

Each maybe more unlikely than the last, all with outcomes that the mere thought of gave Regulus a migraine.

Barty stood outside the door for a few moments, chest heaving, brows pinched high on his forhead—didn’t even know where he was going, it was already well into the early morning and he honestly just wanted to sleep.

Couldn’t go back up there because not only were Regulus there but it was you and Regulus. He much rather the Gods smit him than be suck in that room, watching Regulus watching him watching you.

A low swirling burn settled at the base of his chest.

Come to think of it, maybe storming out wasn’t the best choice, it probably made him look suspicious, like he had something to hide.

And he did, he knew he did.

The thing about secrets is, they’re only pleasant when they’re easy to hide, when you’re in control of them. So right now, lying face down on the lumpy sofa in the common room—Barty has never felt more out of control in his life.

This really was torture—surely the Gods were finally punishing him for all the near heart attacks he’d given his father, because even now, with his face smooshed into the pillow, he could still smell you—where you’d been just hours ago. At this rate he’d be insane not before long.

Groaning as he flipped, watching the warm flames of the candlelights flicker—he tried to push down the reoccuring pang that split through his chest.

── .✦

Sundays were nice.

Lazy morning lie-ins, no Head Girl duties.

The day was looking very promising. Heat from Regulus’ body warm around your middle, one of his arms slung comfortably across your waist. Holding you close even as you twisted and turned—drifting in and out—accepting the warm, tempting embrace of sleep with open arms.

Regulus had felt you shift slightly, heard the little hums that built in your throat as you teetered on the edge of waking up—he’s been awake for quiet some time—early bird habits. Just watching.

The slow rise and fall of your chest, the faint flinches of your brows as you dreamed deeply, how you curl into yourself and by extension into him periodically. He didn’t want to wake you, didn’t dare move—trying to savour the small fraction of tranquility you’d be granted before you have to deal with the inevitable storm that brewed the whole night.

Because Barty didn’t come back, still hasn’t stepped foot in the room—Regulus waited, hoping to maybe smooth things over, take it back even. But he didn’t return and Regulus didn’t leave the confines of his room.

Even as the morning drawled to a close and the early afternoon began, instead he focused his energy on admiring you, and your sleeping form. And when you stirred, twisting and turning towards him, lips pushed into a small pout—he really couldn’t help himself.

Planting a careful kiss to the exposed skin of your neck, and you didn’t move, still fighting off the pressing light of the sun in the room, holding onto the whisps of sleep.

He leaned forward again, lips ghosting over the curve of your jaw, and that got you to stir. Not fully awake, not yet, but enough that you sighed, contentedly, one arm reaching up to match the curl lazily around his middle. Eyes were still closed when you mumbled, voice scratchy and slow with sleep, fingers twitching where they rested against his ribs.

“Morning…”

His lips were still ghosting over your throat when he chuckled, low and husky, “It’s not morning anymore.”

Still, your eyes stayed closed. A little smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you turned your head slightly to chase the feel of his lips.

So he gave in.

Kisses fell like rain across your skin—first light and tentative, then firmer, slower, more intent. He brushed one beneath your jaw, then over the hollow of your throat, and when you shifted again with a sleepy sigh, he took the opportunity to drag his mouth lower, teeth grazing gently before sucking at the delicate skin there. And it made you shiver.

“Reg,” voice whispered, soft as a secret, a breathless note of fond exasperation in your tone.

“You’re awake now,” he murmured into your neck, voice muffled by your skin.

You didn’t argue. Didn’t push him away. Instead, your fingers found their way into his hair, lazily combing through the dark strands as his mouth continued its slow, indulgent path along your collarbone.

It was languid, affectionate, the kind of intimacy that didn’t rush. His hands slid over your waist, pulling you closer until you were nearly on top of him, legs tangled fully now, heartbeats pressed close together.

The kisses deepened slightly, becoming more indulgent, more possessive. The kind that left marks. Your skin warmed beneath his mouth, laughter bubbling in your chest when he found a ticklish spot and refused to stop, dragging another helpless giggle out of you.

“Stop, stop—Reg, I swear—” you squirmed, breathless from laughter, your cheeks flushed pink and body warm with affection.

He finally let up, grinning with pride, brushing your hair back from your face with a fondness that felt so achingly gentle it almost hurt.

You were glowing. That post-sleep, post-laughter kind of glow that made his chest ache.

He looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real. Like he might blink and find himself alone again.

You met his gaze, cheeks still warm, lips kiss-bitten and curved.

“You’re looking at me like I’m your religion,” you said with a teasing arch of your brow, and he just leaned up to kiss the corner of your mouth, then your jaw.

“I might be,” he whispered.

You groaned, dramatic, as you pushed lightly at his chest. “I’m going to have to cover all of this up, you know.” You tilted your neck, already feeling the soreness blooming beneath your skin.

You made to roll out of bed, sheets sliding off your legs—but his hand curled around your wrist.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he said, voice low and gravelly. He tugged you back toward him, guiding you to straddle his lap. You blinked down at him, amused and a little breathless, hair falling like a curtain around your face.

“Regulus,” you said, half-laughing, “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I don’t want the morning to end,” he confessed, softly, eyes dark and steady as they held yours.

You leaned down, kissed him slow, whispered against his lips, “Thought it wasn’t morning anymore.”

He smiled into the kiss, hands resting on your hips—and for a few minutes, the world narrowed to just the two of you. Quiet and golden and slow.

Until your stomach rumbled. Loudly.

The kiss is broken with a startled laugh, hiding your face in his shoulder. Regulus chuckled too, low and pleased.

“Alright,” he said with a sigh, fingers brushing your waist, “We’ll feed you.”

You rolled out of bed, finally, pulling on yesterday’s clothes as you glanced around. The room was empty, apart from the two of you. You stretched, arms over your head as you grinned over your shoulder.

“Look at that. Even outlasted Junior,” you joked lightheartedly, tugging your jumper back on.

Regulus didn’t say anything at first—just hummed.

Pushing away the urge to spill his guts, to tell you how the word hypocritical had torn something raw between them during your slumber. You were halfway down the stairs before you turned and whispered, “I’ll meet you in the Great Hall—give it five, yeah?”

He nodded. Forcing his lips to curve into a small smile.

“Five.”

The second you disappeared down the steps, the quiet hit him like a stone wall.

Sitting there, at the edge of the bed, chest hollow, the lingering warmth of you already fading from the sheets. The sound of your laughter still echoed faintly in his ears, but it was drowned out by the noise in his head.

His face subconsciously scrunched, exhaling shakily—running a hand roughly over his face as he turned his sights forward—the bed across the room was still empty.

── .✦

Lunch was already well underway when Barty finally showed. He was late—noticeably late—just after the pumpkin juice had been poured and the several servings of lunch had been eaten. Quietly—wordlessly. Like a shadow slipping between the cracks of the castle stone.

Barty moved as if he were walking through water—slow, heavy, like every step cost him something. His hair was rumpled, flattened oddly on one side like he’d slept curled up somewhere unforgiving. His tie was askew, barely knotted, and his shirt was half untucked at the waist.

You caught sight of him first.

Of course you did. You were always aware of Barty—he had a way of commanding attention when he entered a room, usually by flinging himself into it like a spark looking for something to set alight. But now, he lacked something.

His eyes didn’t scan the table like usual. He didn’t offer that lopsided smirk he wore like a badge of honour or drop some cutting, clever remark that made Evan laugh and Regulus roll his eyes with a small smile. He just sat down—dropped into the bench at the far end as though gravity had forcibly yanked him there.

Your gaze unknowingly followed his every move—mindlessly observing out of habit.

But he didn’t meet your eyes.

Not even when you said softly, “Hey, Junior,” your voice as casual and light as always—and he all but deflated at the sound, sinking into his seat as he forked around at his plate, remaining uncharacteristically silent—maybe he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did, but didn’t care.

You glanced at Regulus, but he was staring at his plate as if it was the most interesting thing in the room, silent—posture was too straight. Too carefully composed—everything unnaturally taut. The silence that veiled the far end of the table apon Barty’s arrive was unnerving, the cloud that loomed over him, seeping and bleeding out into all of you—bringing the light chatter to a slow halt.

In an almost pitiful attempt to ease the glooming aura that had swathed the table, you spoke again—keeping your words pressureless, ambiguos—simple, “Sleep alright, J?”

He finally moved—but not to look at you. Instead, he turned his body subtly away, like the space between you wasn’t enough, making it wider instinctively—like he wanted to escape your presence. Reaching for his fork, twisting it between his fingers, he still didn’t speak.

Not a word.

Picking at his food like he didn’t recognise it—like it might turn to dust in his mouth.

Evan broke the brittle tension that accumlated in Barty blatant disregard, nudging his shoulder with his elbow in a half-hearted attempt to lift the mood. “Oi, saw you passed out on the common room sofa last night. You’re lucky Mulciber didn’t hex you in your sleep for stealing his nap spot.”

He smiled when he said it, teasing, waiting for the usual witty jab in return.

But Barty didn’t laugh. He didn’t scoff. He didn’t even twitch.

He just set his fork down—still clean—and stood.

Your brows furrowed as you watched him, lunch having grown cold and forgotten—your stomach twisting.

“Juni—”

He was already gone.

Just like that. Walked away, tray untouched, head bowed low, his shoulders curled in like he was trying to fold himself out of sight. He didn’t glance back. Not once—not at Regulus. Not at you. Not even at Evan, who looked after him with a baffled, half-offended expression.

It took a few moments for the silence to leave after Barty’s departure, but when it did, it was only partial. Regulus still was silent, body ridgid, looking down at his plate as if he could read the truth in the gravy lines. And you could see it. The tightens in his jaw, something swimming behind his eyes, something that rarely did.

Something you couldn’t quite place.

You sat just as still has him, appetite gone—the table feelinf significantly more empty than it had done before. Barty’s absences, his behavious heavy on your mind—his silence louder than most.

Maybe it was a hangover, or he’d not slept well—you tried to tell yourself—maybe he’d gotten a letter from home and bile and rage was building in his stomach like always. Maybe he just needed some time to himself.

Deep down you knew something was wrong, and you had a feeling Regulus knew what it was.

You did looked for him that evening. Though it felt as though he’d vanished into thin air.

First the Observatory—his usual haunt after dinner when the halls grew quiet and the scent of parchment overpowered the smell of food still lingering from the kitchens. But the corner by the ledge was vacant, the nights air twisting and whistling around the hollow room—leaves whirling against the cold stone.

Then the common room. Empty. Or rather, full of people who weren’t him. The sofa was unoccupied, and Evan was lounging upside down on one of the armchairs, chatting aimlessly to Mulciber and Dorcas.

“Have you seen Barty?” you asked.

Evan shrugged. “Nah. Maybe he’s off brooding somewhere. You know how he gets.”

But that wasn’t how he got. Not like this. Not without a word.

Turning the corner to the boys’ dorms, letting yourself in.

His bed was untouched. Not in the usual disheveled way Barty left it—sheets tangled, pillows dented, covers barely hanging on. No, this was wrong. This was still. Cold. Hollow. His side of the room was lifeless.

The books stacked by his bedside table hadn’t moved. The record player you’d both stolen from the Muggle Studies classroom one night two springs ago sat quiet, lifeless. Shoes still tucked beneath the bed, as if he hadn’t bothered to wear them. As if he’d disappeared barefoot.

You stood frozen in the doorway for a short while, scanning the room. Regulus was sitting cross-legged on his bed, wand in one hand, idly levitating a quill and not meeting your eyes.

“You don’t know where he is?” you asked, quietly—padding over to stand by Regulus’ bed, leaning against the pillar as you watched him. There were a few beats of silence, “No,”

Just that.

You waited.

Waited for the rest—for the truth tucked between the syllables, for the explanation that would unravel this knot in your chest. But he didn’t look up, didn’t offer anything else.

“You don’t think there’s something wrong?” your voice was more pinched than normal, unrest settling into the end of your question—and he could feel your eyes on him, the weight of your gaze heavy on his form. But he knew if he tore his sights away from the quill, he’d break. Guilt already bubbling in his stomach from the second you entered the room

Instead Regulus just gave a slight shrug, words muttered and unconvincing. “Maybe he needs space.”

“From what?”

You were only met with further silence—not a word. Not a glance. Just the soft scratch of the floating quill tracing invisible lines above his bed, a tight purse of his lips.

The air was too still, as you stood by him, just barely an arms length away—and when you turned on your heel—bones aching under the suffocation of the room and the sting of Regulus’ avoidance.

You left. And the quill dropped onto his lap as the door closed behind you, rubbing his hand over his face as his turned—looking at the empty space beside him that would usually be occupied by you with a frown. Regulus couldn’t bring himself to glance over to Barty’s bed, as the sounds of your footsteps became further and further away.

The next day was no better.

You saw the back of Barty’s head once in the corridor before lunch, but the moment he registered your voice—your steps—he turned down a side hall and disappeared before you could call after him.

At dinner, he never showed. Everyone far to entertained by Evan, who was too busy charming a salt shaker to sing Celestina Warbeck to notice, but you did.

You noticed—you waited.

The day after that, and the one after. The world kept spinning like nothing had shifted, but your stomach ached with the weight of uncertainty. You tried brushing it off at first—told yourself he was being dramatic, maybe annoyed with something trivial. That he’d get over it.

But the days stretched longer. And lonelier.

And Regulus…Regulus never said a word.

He kissed you when you met in hidden corners. Touched you like he meant it, with fingers that found comfort in each inch of you—but he never brought Barty up. Never acknowledged the empty space he left behind, struggled to meet you eye each morning when your gaze would linger on the empty space left for him.

But you felt it—everywhere.

In the way your laughter always died quicker now. In the way you avoided the right side of the dormitory when you were there resting with Regulus—approaching the door and waiting there—in hope of hearing anything other than Regulus’ manicured silence on the other side—approaching less often all together.

You felt it in the ache behind your ribs when you sat too long in silence wandering the place you’d walk together, emptier now—missing the loud, crass, ridiculous everything that was there with Barty.

Because now he wasn’t.

And you didn’t know why.

And it was driving you mad.

Because it had been days.

And you couldn’t pretend not to care anymore.

Not when Regulus still refused to meet your gaze when you said his name. Not when Barty’s side of the room looked like a memory, not a life. Not when your chest burned every time someone said, “He’s probably just being Barty,” like that explained the way his absence scraped against your heart like a harsh burn.

You couldn’t be in that room anymore. Not with Regulus and all his silences. Not with the evidence of Barty’s absence staring at you with every step.

So you stopped going, spending more time in your own room—preoccupying yourself with Head-Girl duties, subsequently leaving Regulus’ room even colder. Your absence adding to the weight of Barty’s—thick, heavy and aching on his shoulders.

You did eventually catch sight of him after an entire week.

Just a flicker—a blur of pale hands and windswept curls vanishing around the corner near the Arithmancy wing. He was alone. For once. No sanctuary of a crowded corridor to shield him.

Instantly you were speeding up, robes filling with air as you all but chased after him, calling his name once, twice. “Barty!”

He faltered—just for a heartbeat, his steps slowing in a way that made your chest bloom with hope, only for seconds later to be filled with a burning dread.

Because he darted.

Actually ran.

Rounding the next corner so fast he nearly slipped, hand catching on the wall to steady himself as his robes flared out behind him like smoke. By the time you turned after him, the corridor was empty. Only the echo of your own breath met you in the stillness. It was clear now, it wasn't just absence anymore.

It was evasion.

Deliberate. Cold. Unwarrented

Lungs burning violently beneath your ribs, more from the sting behind your eyes than the pace of your pursuit. You stood there for a long moment, chest rising and falling unevenly. Cold stone walls pressed in around you, and something sharp curled inside your ribs.

He was hiding.

From you.

And Regulus wasn’t saying a thing, acting as though addressing anything would sear the surface of his lips. He just looked at you and somehow that was worse than his silence, the apologetic look everytime he caught you looking for him—and he still wouldn't break, wouldn't say anything.

Which left only one other person who might’ve done something.

Lunch was a blur of noise and clatter when you stepped into the Great Hall. But the moment your eyes landed on your brother—halfway through a sandwich at the Gryffindor table, seated comfortably between Sirius and Remus—it was as if everything else dimmed.

You crossed the room slowly. Quietly—with purpose.

The hum of chatter softened in your wake as students caught the shift in the air. Even the portraits seemed to pause mid-gossip, eyes flicking toward the slow storm building in your stride.

As always, James didn’t notice until you were nearly on top of him.

Turning just as your shadow fell across the table, his expression freezing mid-bite. The sandwich hovered in front of his mouth, a bite missing, and his eyes widened when they met yours—dark, unreadable.

You said nothing at first—just stood there.

The weight of your silence pressed down on the entire Gryffindor table like a hex. James blinked, mouth still full. “Er—something wrong?”

Your eyes narrowed, a muscle ticking in your jaw—a few more long moments of silence spread between you, words leaving with a sharp bitter bite that made him wince internally. “What did you do?”

The entire table went still.

Even Remus leaned back slightly, brows raised—as though he was bracing himself.

James slowly finished chewing, swallowed, then furrowed his brow—confusion splitting across his face in a loud smear. “To who?”

“Barty.”

The name landed like a dropped knife, harsh

James straightened. “What would I want with Batshit Barty?”

He was speaking far to causally for your liking, too flippant—as though you weren’t talking about one of your closest friends, someone you held close to you, like you weren’t talking to him about your Sirius or Remus.

You didn’t dignify him with answer—just kept staring. Cold. Quiet. Fury simmering beneath your skin, and your silence clearly spoke loud enough for you, because James was rushing out more words in order to quell your impending rage.

“I haven’t done anything,” he added, holding his hands up as if warding off a spell. “Why are you assuming—?”

“Don’t lie to me.” Your voice was low, unnaturally calm but razor-edged. “He’s been gone for days. He won’t look at me. He’s avoiding Regulus too. And you—” your voice caught, jaw tightening, slight desperation seeping into your tone as your looked at James.

It had his lips pursing into a tightline, sighing at the upset he could always easily recognise—easier than other, knowing it would settle into your brows. The telltale signs of your stress showing in the vein that appear by your temple when you spoke.

“—You never liked him. You’ve always hated that he was close to me. So tell me what you said.”

James couldn’t look more genuinely confused if he tried, glancing between his friends and back to you wide-eyed. “I didn’t say anything. I haven’t even seen him. And yeah, I don’t particularly like the git, but you’re seriously jumping—”

“You don’t have to like him. But I know you. You think he’s weird. You think he’s a bad influence.”

“Because he is, Pop! You’re smarter than—”

Your palm crashed onto the table, hard enough to rattle the silverware, and he cut off mid-sentence—mid insult. The other coming onto his shoulder in a deceivingly light and friendly manner that cause his stomach to sink.

And awful silence blooming in the wake of the sharp thud.

You leaned in, voice shaking with restrained fury. “If I find out you had anything to do with this, James, I will hex you so thoroughly McGonagall will have to reassemble you from a mist.”

You straightened, scrowl twitching into a slight frown. Turned.

And walked out of the hall without another word.

From two tables down, Regulus watched the entire scene unfold—eyes distant, shoulders stiff, guilt flickering like a shadow across his otherwise calm face. His fork remained suspended in mid-air, untouched, as you disappeared from view.

And back in the corridor, just outside the doors, you paused and pressed your hand against your forehead—squeezing your eyes shut, attempting to purge the stress from your system, calm your pulse.

But it didn’t.

And it wouldn’t not—until you found him. Found out what’s wrong, where he was hiding, what you’d done.

You were on a rampage.

There wasn’t a corridor you hadn’t stormed down, no secret niche or alcove left unchecked. Even Peeves stayed well out of your way—whistling obnoxiously from a distance as he watched you barrel past with a glower fit to set the suits of armor clattering in fear. Spenting the better part of the weekend pacing through every corridor of Hogwarts, searching high and low for Barty, and each fruitless encounter had worn your nerves even thinner.

Because Barty was somehow nowhere.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t right.

And the sharp, twisting frustration inside of you had nowhere to go, compounding into a taut knot at the base of your throat.

You tried, really tried not to take it out on Regulus.

It wasn't his fault.

He’d done nothing wrong, to your knowledge.

But tension—agitation—clung to you like smoke. Coiling in your chest and bleeding in to everything, even when you tried to bite it back—every brush of conversation feeling too short, too raw, as if a single wrong word might set the whole damn world tilting sideways.

Once again you found yourself wandering aimlessly down the third-floor corridor, shoulders rigid with barely restrained tension, brows furrowed so tightly it felt like they might permanently etch themselves into your skin. You barely even register Regulus' soft footsteps approaching from behind—he was always quiet like that—until you felt his presence like a cool shadow against the hot buzz of your thoughts.

Turning your head just as he parted his lips to call your name, catching him in the corner of your eye. He stopped short, his frown mirroring the one set stubbornly into your mouth. You did offered him a brittle, tight-lipped smile—a poor excuse for reassurance—it looked more like a twitsed grimace.

And if anything, it made his chest ache more.

Without a word, Regulus stepped into your space, fingers curling gently around your wrist and tugging you toward the darker recesses of the corridor, into the small corner by the old statue of the One-Eyed Witch.

There was no resistance, just barely dragging your feet in the direction he pulled you. A small part of you thankful for the anchor he always offered without needing to be asked.

Pressing you gently into the shadowed alcove, until your back met the cool stone wall. He shifted his body just enough to shield you from view, although this part of the castle was rarely trafficked on weekends.

His hands rose, cradling your face with a reverence that made your chest tighten all over again, thumbs brushing carefully over the creased furrow between your brows, trying to smooth away the silent worry written across your skin.

Dipping his forehead to rest against yours, and for a long quiet moment, he just held you, breathed you in—your frustration, your stress, your tangled turmoil. His thumbs continued their soothing pattern across your skin. Tilting your chin up, compelling your gaze to meet his, and his frown mirrored your own; a mirror of silent worry and guilt. Then, slowly, he dipped forward, pressing the softest kiss to your downturned lips.

You didn’t react at first.

The first few pecks were like kisses to a stone statue, your body slumped, your heart still swimming in anxious disarray.

But Regulus didn’t stop.

Didn’t falter.

He kissed you again—softer, longer—then pulled back only enough to kiss you again, not giving you room to slip away. His hands stayed at your jawline, steady and patient, and he began peppering kisses across your cheeks, your forehead, the corners of your mouth.

Another kiss. And another. Light, coaxing—careful not to demand anything from you, just to offer, patiently, again and again.

Something in you cracked.

Your body betrayed you.

Lips twitched at the corners—a small, stubborn curve, despite yourself when he abandoned your mouth to scatter kisses across your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, the tip of your forehead. Feather-light, stubborn little pecks that demanded you feel them.

Encouraged, he pressed one firmer kiss to your mouth, and this time you lifted your hands, rising from your sides almost timidly to touch him.

When he finally pulled back slightly, searching your face, he only waited a heartbeat before dipping back in—catching your mouth with a little more insistence, refusing to let you disappear into your own mind. Fingers reached up to clutch at the soft fabric of his jumper—he smiled into you and pressed a firmer, surer one against your mouth.

“I’m sorry, amour,” he whispered against your lips, voice low, aching.

Your heart gave a painful, traitorous little leap at the pet name. Inhaling shakily through your nose, burying your face against his chest for a moment, drinking in his familar scent, basking in his touch. Mindlessly fiddling with the hem of his jumper.

"No, I'm sorry," you murmured, voice cracking a little. "I’m not upset with you, Reg...I'm just worried."

You couldn’t meet his eyes.

And the guilt in his chest sharpened, too heavy to ignore. He could stomach Barty’s silence, could even stomach his own cowardice, could wait out the tension until it cracked and splintered and healed, but you—with your small, fragile voice—you were his breaking point.

He didn’t know how to tell you it was partly his fault. That if he’d kept his mouth shut weeks ago, none of this would have unraveled.

So he just leaned in, kissed you again—longer this time, letting it sink deep—until he felt the tightness begin to seep out of your shoulders, melting you into him. Thumb tracing idle, affectionate circles over your cheekbones, and when he pulled back, he gaze flickered briefly down to your now parted, lightly flushed lips.

He didn’t stay distant for long.

Ducking back down, connecting your lips again, this time more hungrily, a low, almost frustrated sound rumbling in his throat. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you into the cool stone.

Letting his lips trail over the curve of your jaw, over the vulnerable line of your throat—slow and indulgent—between kisses he mumbled, almost inaudibly,

"Can we talk after dinner?"

Your mind was fogging under his touch, head tipping back slightly against the wall to grant him better access.

"Mmh?" you managed breathlessly, hands sliding up to tangle in his hair.

"In my room," he clarified, lips brushing your pulse point. "After dinner. Please, amour."

"What is it?" you whispered.

He only hummed, not willing to say more here, kissing down the slope of your neck.

"After dinner," he murmured again, "I’ll explain everything, my love."

And you could only nod, dazed, sighing a soft "okay" into the heated slither of air between you.

Hands rising to clutch the front of his jumper as his lips found their way back to yours. One hand sliding into the back of your hair, cradling the base of your skull, as if you might disappear if he didn't hold you close enough.

It was feverish, unsteady, all the bottled-up emotions from the past few weeks bleeding into it—frustration, longing, guilt, tenderness. Regulus made a soft, almost groaning sound against your mouth, low and aching, pressing you into him like he couldn’t bear even an inch of distance between you.

Indulging so much that neither of you noticed the faint creak of stone shifting nearby.

Hidden behind the narrow crack in the floor—the secret entrance to Honeydukes cellar—Remus had frozen halfway up the ladder, wide-eyed and horrified.

He’d only peered out because he thought the coast was clear—but instead, he found himself staring straight at you and Regulus, very much entangled, very much devouring each other against the wall.

Remus’ entire brain short-circuited. His mouth falling open wordlessly, heart thudding violently in his chest, a surge of secondhand panic washing over him.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispered under his breath, scrambling backward so fast he nearly slipped off the ladder entirely.

“What?!” hissed James, who was climbing up behind him, bag and pockets full of stolen treats. Remus dropped back down onto solid ground, his face burning crimson, shoving James hard in the chest to get him to retreat.

“Peeves,” Remus blurted, voice cracking horribly. “Peeves is lurking—we can’t use this exit. Go, go!”

He practically herded James and Sirius back down the ladder, his hands flailing in frantic gestures, as if trying to physically wipe the mental image from his brain.

James scowled. “We’ll have to take the library passage, then—wait, why is your face redder than a howler—"

“DON'T ASK,” Remus snapped, voice embarrassingly high-pitched, speedwalking so fast Sirius almost tripped trying to keep up.

Behind the stone wall, blissfully unaware of the near-catastrophe, you and Regulus finally broke apart, both breathing hard, foreheads still touching. You opened your eyes slowly, and the look you found waiting for you in Regulus' eyes nearly knocked the breath from your lungs all over again—too fond, too devoted it made your chest ache.

His thumb brushed once more over your now kiss-swollen bottom lip, almost reverently.

There was a sudden, heavy tenderness hanging heavy between you—delicate and infinite and frighteningly real.

“I missed your smile, amour,” he murmured, voice low and teasing, but the vulnerability in it was unmistakable.

You felt your mouth twitch—the smallest of smiles threatening your lips, despite everything.

Regulus caught it instantly, his eyes brightening with something fierce and boyish and unguarded, something he usually hid so well.

He smiled—that same smile that softened all his sharp edges—and ducked his head, pressing one last kiss to your forehead.

“What?” he said, voice lighter, teasing. “You are my love. It’s just a fact.”

You groaned, half mortified, half wanting to curl yourself into him and never move again—slipping out of the alcove with a muttered sound of embrassment, dragging him by the hand into the empty corridor before he could say anything else to make your cheeks any hotter.

He followed you without protest, his fingers laced securely with yours.

Regulus chuckled low in his throat, clearly pleased with himself, and gently unwound your fingers from his jumper, lacing them with his own instead. Thumb stroked back and forth over the back of your hand.

After a moment, he squeezed your hand gently and said, softer this time, “After dinner. My room. Promise me you'll come.”

── .✦

It had been weeks, and they were grueling and awful and torturous if Barty were to describe them.

And he simply couldn't do this anymore.

The pressure of it—the churning, festering wrongness under his skin—was unbearable now. Like he was carrying it all inside his ribs and it was rotting him alive.

He’d hardly even been in a room with Regulus since that night. Or you.

And he could see it—the way his own twisted form of self-preservation was affecting you, how even in his absence he’d managed to damage you still. And he knew Regulus didn’t say anything—he saw the altercation you had between your brother, and how your presence dwindled in his room. How you would b-line to your dorm, and when he’d sneak into get his clothes that the room rarely every smelt like you anymore.

The guilt was eating him from the inside out, because it wasn’t just you, it was Regulus as well—walking around with a sharper scowl, shoulders hung heavy like the weight of everything and more rested on them. Not just his usual brooding self, almost dejected.

Barty couldn't sit still. Couldn't hide away anymore, ignore his feelings—pretend he wasn’t thrumming with an ugly combination of stress and something even worse—something desperate and raw and afraid.

He needed to find Regulus.

He needed to talk to him.

To fix it. To deny it. To clear it up or scream about it or something—anything but this awful limbo where the walls felt too close and his own skin didn’t fit right.

It didn’t matter that it was Sunday evening, that the castle was heavy with the scent of dinner being prepared, Barty knew Regulus’ habits like they were tattooed on the inside of his skull. Always disappearing for an hour or two before the evening rush—locked away in the luxurious marble bath, soaking in stupidly expensive bath oils, hidden behind thick clouds of steam and silence.

A ritual.

A sacred hour Barty had historically never dared to interrupt.

Right now, he didn’t care.

He just needed to see him. Needed to fix this suffocating knot inside his ribs before it swallowed him whole, before he ruined more than he already had. Feet moving faster, almost without his permission, carrying him through the dimming halls—running solely on adrenaline now—an ugly, volatile thing—praying it wouldn't abandon him at the wrong time.

The Prefects' corridor was empty, getting into the hall much easier than he’d imagined it to be.

Barty didn’t pause.

He wrenched open the heavy door to the bathroom and slipped inside like a shadow.

The air was thick inside—warm and wet and heavy with the smell of eucalyptus and something honeyed and rich. The world narrowed down to the soft sound of lapping water, the gleam of marble under golden torchlight, and the pulse hammering wildly in Barty’s ears.

And there he was.

Regulus.

Sitting at the far end of the enormous sunken bath, his slender back turned, arms lazily draped over the marble edge. Head tilted back, curls slicked down against his skull, pale throat bared to the ceiling.

He looked—

Gods, did was he a sight—almost ethereal, like something out of a dream Barty had never realise he had. His voice broke out of him before he could stop it, desperate and cracking—disrupting the perfecting calculated stillness that Regulus lounged in.

"Reg, listen I—I need to talk to you for a sec—"

At the sound of his voice, Regulus stirred. Moving so slowly, like waking from some deep underwater dream—a quiet exhale escaping his mouth, softer than he’d ever thought it could be, especially aimed at him, and almost grateful.

He turned towards Barty, lifting himself slightly against the marble, water sliding down the planes of his torso in glistening rivulets.

And Barty's pulse almost came to an abrupt stop.

Because what he saw made his blood run hot and cold all at once. Regulus’ chest was bare—slick, gleaming, flushed—and littered with deep violet hickeys—glistening under the soft golden light, hickeys blooming down the line of his throat, across his collarbones, scattered over the delicate cage of his ribs.

Your marks.

Your mouth, mapped all over him like he belonged to you.

Barty's gaze snagged helplessly on the dark purple bites smeared along Regulus’ skin, breath caught in his throat like it had been punched out of him.

He'd seen Regulus shirtless a hundred times. In locker rooms. In summer. It was nothing new.

But this—

This was different.

Regulus wasn’t just bare.

He was marked up.

Claimed.

Barty—he couldn’t fucking breathe, completely forgotten how.

Eyes glued to the way Regulus’ slender arms flexed as he shifted, the blue veins in his forearms prominent and glistening under the wet light. On the way his water-slick hair clung to the delicate slope of his cheekbone. On the lazy curl of steam rising off his flushed skin.

He was stupidly, obscenely beautiful—and it made something inside Barty twist so hard it hurt.

And then, just to add to it—as if the knife needed to twist even deeper—Regulus’ mouth shaped his name. "Junior," Regulus breathed, soft and fond and almost worried—his dark eyes scanning over Barty’s frozen figure, open and vulnerable and achingly glad to see him.

He could feel it, unbareably so—prevalent and impossible to ignore. The heat crawling up from the base of his throat, spilling across his cheeks, climbing up the tips of his ears until it felt like his whole skull was on fire.

Struggling, he wrenched his gaze away—disgusted with himself, with this, with everything—heart hammering like a snare drum.

"—Shit—sorry, this—" Barty stammered, voice cracking in half, "—this is a bad time, I'll just—I'll come back—"

He spun on his heel, desperate to get out, desperate to run before he did something unspeakably stupid. Behind him, he heard Regulus shift in the water with a sharp splash—heard the panic in his voice:

"Wait—! Junior, wait—"

But Barty was already gone—stumbling back through the doorway, half-blind with the sheer force of wrongness splitting him in half—barely making it three steps out of the prefect bathroom before he slammed into you at full force.

The collision was so sudden, so jarring, that both of you went down hard—the weight of it knocking the breath out of your lungs as you hit the cold stone floor with a painful thud, a startled groan slipping out of your lips apon impact with the dense stone. Papers were flying, scattering like feathers in the heavy, humid corridor air.

Barty landed half-sprawled infront of you, frozen stiff on the floor, like he couldn’t even think about moving. His chest heaved as he gasped in a broken, desperate breath—wide, panicked eyes locking onto you, like you were the only thing he could see.

It was you.

Of course it was you.

The person who had put their mouth all over Regulus’ body, the person who he branded themselves into every one of his thoughts, the person who he longed and ached for.

The person whose touch was still probably lingering on Regulus’ skin, sinking into his bones.

The person that Barty wanted nothing more than to be a victim of your touch.

"Treasure," he breathed out—helplessly, instinctively—voice cracked and raw.

And your eyes widened, glassy almost immediately—shimmering with emotion you didn’t even have time to name as your gaze swept over him, lingering on the flushed panic stamped across his face.

You barely registered the throbbing ache in your hip or the smarting scrape on your elbow—the only thing you could focus on was him—the way his brows were drawn up like it physically hurt him to see you in pain, the way he looked so panicked and almost small for the first time.

The heavy door behind him hadn’t even fully clicked shut yet when it swung open again.

And there—padding out into the corridor, steam still clinging to his skin—Regulus.

A towel hung precariously low around his narrow hips, damp from where it clung to the drops sliding down his chest and thighs. The cold castle air hit him hard, raising goosebumps along his marked, glistening skin—the fresh hickeys stark and scandalous against his usually-pristine appearance.

His mouth was still open mid-protest, the words "No! Barty, wait—" faltering into shocked silence as he stumbled into view...and saw you both. A messy heap on the stone floor, your papers strewn everywhere.

He froze.

Like someone had Petrificus Totalus-ed him in place.

For a wild, frantic second, he didn’t move—didn’t even breathe—looking for all the world like a soaked, deeply miserable, and highly stressed cat caught in a trap.

An uncontrollable flush blossomed up Regulus’ neck to the tips of his ears—a vivid wash of pink climbing higher and higher, curls dripping onto his forehead, his arms flinching as if debating whether to clutch the towel tighter or bolt for the nearest shadow.

It was so bad, so insanely bad, that a broken, half-hysterical laugh threatened to rise in your throat—but it caught halfway up when the door beside you creaked open again.

And out stepped Remus.

Still mid-conversation with you—or, he had been—before the disaster of the corridor scene snatched the words right out of his mouth. He took one look at you and Barty tangled on the floor, another at the papers littering the hallway, and then—

Then he saw Regulus.

Or more specifically, Regulus' towel-wrapped, heavily marked figure standing shame-facedly in the middle of the hallway like a half-drowned mythological disaster. Nearly naked Regulus. Remus’ eyes went comically wide.

His jaw opened slightly—then closed—then opened again.

The way he stared at Regulus was enough to make you want to evaporate on the spot. It was almost impressive how many emotions raced across Remus’ face all at once; shock, horror, confusion, secondhand embarrassment.

He looked back at you with a look that screamed: what the fuck, oh my god, how?, all at once, his ears flushing a brilliant shade of pink under his shaggy hair.

And Regulus—blessed, doomed Regulus—only then seemed to realise what he was showing the entire damn corridor.

He made a noise—something between a choked squeak and a groan—and scuttled backward, towel slipping dangerously low, practically tripping over his own feet as he yanked the bathroom door closed behind him with a deafening thud.

The silence that followed was mindnumbing.

Barty shifted stiffly beside you, hands fumbling to brace himself against the floor, scrambling up awkwardly, movements jerky, clearly desperate to get away—to vanish into thin air if he could. But before he could bolt, you latched onto his arm—firmly, fingers curling tight around his sleeve.

"Junior," you said—clear yet rough and certain—making him still where he stood, as if he couldn’t do anything but listen to the command of your voice. Flinching slightly at the sound of it, his name on your lips—something raw and aching flickering across his face—and he didn’t pull away. Couldn’t even if he wanted to, because it was you.

Meanwhile, Remus—poor, long-suffering Remus, had very clearly decided that he wanted absolutely no part of this scene anymore.

Without a word, cheeks still burning, he inched carefully backward—edging into the room he'd just come from, shooting you one last deeply pained, bewildered glance before disappearing with a whispered, awkward "Yeah, I'm just—I'll go."

The door clicked shut softly behind him.

And then it was just you and Barty.

Standing in the wreckage of the hallway—papers still scattered everywhere like shrapnel, your heart hammering painfully hard in your chest. Fingers were still gripping his sleeve and he could feel you, the warmth of your palm radiating through his robes—both of you remained still, as if locked in that moment.

And when he finally lifted his gaze from the floor—finally looked at your for the first time in weeks—he looked at you like you were something half-sacred, half-terrifying—something he didn't know if he was allowed to touch or beg for or run from.

The moments drags, time slowing around you in the corridor as you wrack you brain desperately for words, anything, but your mind has gone blank—emptied under the pressure of Barty’s eyes on you. Something swimming in them that has your throat drying as the seconds go by. Hyperaware of him being close to you, him being infront of you after weeks of search.

You’re startled out of your thoughts when his arm shifted under your hold, stepping closer to him in desperation—convinced he’d run away the second he had the chance.

“Junior,”

That was all you said.

It sounded breathless and pinched and honestly pathetic—but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Eyes locked on where you held him, as if he wasn’t real—like he was going to dematerialise spontaneously and you’d be left standing alone again.

A frown was etched onto your lips as you contemplated releasing him, he’d already made it so clear that for whatever reason he couldn’t stand the idea of being near you. And yet you were holding him hostage in silence, heart hammering beneath your chest—lump heavy in your throat preventing any speech from leaving you.

He still had a pained expression on his face—lips parting when you gaze rose to meet his—eyes softening when your voice reached his ears, meek and so unlike you, lacking your usual spark, your casual confidence.

“I—I’m sorry.” your voice trembled, brows pinched on your forehead—and he saw the way you struggled to swallow before you continued, “For whatever I did—Junior, I’m sorry,” Each word reaked with desperation and a quiet hopelessness that made Barty’s heart plummet in his chest.

His muscles were taut under his skin, rigid with restraint—wanting to run away from the inevitable and pull you into him all at the same time. Words lingering in the air between you, fragile and lost. He could practically feel them sink into his bones, heavier than any hex he’d ever been hit with.

For a long, suffocating moment, he said nothing. Just looked at you.

Looked at you like you were a burning star about to collapse under your own gravity—something so devastatingly bright that getting close might kill him, looked at you with a helpless frown and pinched brows.

His jaw clenched once, twice, before he finally moved—slow, like it hurt him.

“Don’t—” he choked out, voice cracking mid-word. His hands balled into fists at his sides, nails digging crescent moons into his palms. “Don’t apologise.”

Your lips pursed together, blinking up at him with an expression he never wanted to see on your face again, and most certainly hated the fact that he was the reason for.

“I—” He stopped himself, raking a shaking hand through his hair, sending damp strands curling wildly. His whole body seemed to vibrate with a barely-restrained, chaotic energy, like a wire pulled too tight. “You didn’t do anything, treasure.”

And it only made you frown deepen, fingers twitching around his wrist—still holding him like he was some fragile thing that would vanish, that would crumble under any sort of pressure. Barty was too weak for his own good—surging forward and pulling you into him, arms wrapping tightly around you in an embrace.

He shouldn’t be doing this—holding you close this when your boyfriend was just a door down. He shouldn’t be indulging himself in you when even just this small touch means something different to him. Means more.

“You didn’t do anything,” he repeated, voice low and raw and agonisingly sincere.

“I’m the one—fuck, treasure, I’m the one who—”

His words caught in his throat when he felt you squeeze him, palm on his back—your warmth so soothing yet tormenting all at once and Barty just leaned into it. Leaned into you like a man who had nothing left—no fight, no resolve—just signing himself away. Pressing his face into the your shoulder, “I’m sorry,” he murmured back, words muffled against your skin. “I’m so fucking sorry, treasure. I—”

You didn’t let him finish, leaning away slightly—staring up at him with a look in your eyes he couldn’t understand, it lacked contempt, it didn’t have anything other than warmth and acceptance he couldn’t fathom. Affection, that he surely didn’t deserve.

“Junior. J—stop. You don’t need to explain right now,” you said, voice almost lost in the thick, suffocating air between you. “Let’s…let’s just go sit somewhere, yeah?”

But you barely had a chance to move before you heard the soft creak of a door behind you.

Regulus.

He stepped out of the bathroom, fully clothed now, his shirt rumpled and clinging slightly to his skin in places where his hair was still damp, curling against the nape of his neck and forehead in soft, messy tendrils. Water dripped lazily from the ends, soaking into the collar of his shirt, but he didn’t seem to notice.

His eyes found you first, standing frozen there in the corridor with Barty half-folded against you. Then his sights slid over to Barty, and the way Barty clung to you like if he let go, he’d come apart completely.

The way you cradled Barty’s wrist with your fingers—so gentle, so careful, as if you were holding something precious you didn’t know how to save. The look in Barty’s eyes—raw, unguarded—made Regulus’s chest ache in a way he didn’t want to name.

He just…watched for a moment.

Air stretching, heavy and taut and almost suffocating, until finally Regulus moved.

Walking up to you both in three long, silent strides and, without a word, reaching out—taking both of your wrists, Barty’s and yours, into his hands. Grip wasn’t rough, but it was firm. Inevitable.

He turned on his heel and tugged you both along. Neither of you resisted. Neither of you even thought to resist.

Following him blindly, feet scraping against the stones, the flickering torches blurring past in your peripheral vision. Barty stumbled once but caught himself, and you never once let go of him. The corridors twisted and turned, and after a short while, the only sound was quiet breaths mixing with the distant noise of dinner echoing from the Great Hall.

After a few minutes, you found your voice, smaller than you’d have liked, “Reg, where are we going…?”

He didn’t turn around, his fingers just tightened slightly where they held both your wrists, turning another corner. “Don’t you think we need to talk?” he said, his voice low, too neutral—almost strained.

You didn’t answer—letting the question hung unanswered between you.

Eventually, he pulled you both into the Slytherin common room—empty now—pulling you up the stairs into their room, the heavy velvet curtains drawn across the windows, casting the room in muted twilight. Only the faint golden glow of the sconces on the walls lit the room, flickering like dying stars.

Regulus let go of you both, stepping back a pace as if to give you space—maybe even to steel himself. The three of you stood there in the centre of the room, awkward and uncertain, like strangers stranded in the aftermath of a storm—the door clicking softly behind you and resonating around the silence in the room.

Barty’s shoulders were tense, hunched inward like he was bracing for a blow. His gaze was fixed stubbornly on the floor, refusing to meet either of yours. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, useless.

Regulus watched him quietly, no anger in his eyes—no disappointment, even. Just something quieter, heavier. Patient.

And you—

You hovered uncertainly, your hand still loosely wrapped around Barty’s wrist, your thumb brushing absently against the bone like you hadn’t even realised you were doing it—you never noticed, but Barty did.

His eyes flicking down, locking on the sight of your hand—so unaware, so comforting and yet it still made his chest tighten. Only then did you notice, feeling the way he tensed under your touch, following his gaze with dread pinching in you when you it landed on your hand.

Pursing your lips together, you pulled away—forcibly squeezing your own hand—fingers curling into your palm ike you could hide the upset bleeding into your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice raw and breaking. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Barty flinched at your words, frustration flickering across his face before he scrubbed a hand roughly through his hair, curls falling even messier over his forehead.

“It’s not that—” he blurted, wincing. “Well—it is—but it’s not—” He stammered over the words, grimacing as he fought them, fought with his mind and tongue. “It’s not you. You don’t—you don’t make me uncomfortable. I just—”

He stopped, pressing his lips together hard like he could physically hold the rest of it in.

The silence stretched, pressed into him like it knew he would crumble, like it was waiting from him to shatter. And your gaze on him did nothing to quell his pulse sounding in his ears, it was open—confused, waiting. Unfairly patient.

Regulus’ stare was sharper—cutting into him with a quiet sort of knowing that made Barty’s stomach twist painfully.

And Barty couldn’t stand it—he couldn’t breathe under it.

“I—I thought I could do this. But I can’t. I’m sorry, I just—”

The panic was building, an unforgiving, rising tide in his throat, tight and hot and unbearable. He turned sharply, desperate to escape the weight of their stares, the suffocating walls, the unbearable truth burning under his skin. But before he could get more than a step away, Regulus moved—swift and sure, catching his wrist in a firm grip. “Stop.” Regulus said quietly, with an iron edge that brooked no argument. “If you don’t tell her, I will. It’s not fair anymore, Junior.”

And Barty's whole body jolted at the contact, stiffening like he’d been shocked. His stomach flipped—violent and sick and dizzying—but not just with anger. Not just with shame.

There was something else, something strange and warm tangled in it, something he didn’t want to name, something worse. The feeling of Regulus’ fingers curling around his wrist—soft and careful and familiar—it sent a pulse of heat ricocheting through him so abruptly that for a split second he was convinced his lungs had collapsed.

And it made him angry—at himself, at everything.

Because how dare his body still react like that, still betray him, even now when everything was clearly already falling apart?

He ripped his arm free like it burned him, staggering back with a harsh, broken sound caught in his throat, spinning around so quickly he nearly stumbled, chest heaving, his face crumpling with a sick, helpless kind of revulsion—at himself most of all.

“You think this is fair on me?!” he snapped, voice ragged and raw. He couldn’t even see Regulus’s face anymore—couldn’t bear to—only saw the wreckage burning behind his own eyes.

“You think I want this?!"

The words tore out of him, vicious and choking. "I wish—" And he breath caught, clawing its way out and trapping itself in his throat, as he continue words swallowed in the distress of his tone.

"I wish more than anything that I didn’t feel like this!"

His hands were shaking now, curled tight into fists, nails digging hard into his palms until he swore he felt blood bloom beneath them, knuckles white and tremouring under the tightness.

“What do you want me to say—huh, Reg?!” he demanded, a frantic, wounded sound punching out of him. “You want me to shout it from the rooftops?! Fine!”

He should have stopped himself, should have thought about it, taken a second to just stop. But Barty was always too volatile, always too crass for his own good—never able to find the middle ground, especially when it comes to emotions, so used to pushing them away. Hiding them under layers and layers of blaśe and cocky remakes. And now it was all spilling out of him like bile, thick like oil, staining and tainting the air as left him.

“You want me to say ‘I’m in love with your girlfriend!?’”

He wasn’t finished—the final truth tumbling out, raw and bleeding, voice cracking under the pressure,

"I’m in love with my best friend!"

And with that—it wasn’t just the room that stopped—Barty was use the whole world had, spinning on its axis, tilted upside down. He froze, his own heartbeat roaring in his ears, realisation crashing down on him like a tidal wave too heavy to survive.

The weight of what he’d said—what he couldn’t ever take back—slammed into him so hard he staggered, a half-step backward, dazed and wide-eyed.

You just stood there, staring at him, lips parted slightly, eyes glistening under the dim candle light—and Regulus didn't say anything. Didn’t even move either.

He just watched Barty quietly, his face frighteningly still, but his grey eyes were no longer guarded. They swam with something achingly gentle. Something like understanding, sympathetic—and he wanted to be sick, wanted to scream.

Because even now, even after everything—part of him still ached, wanting to reach for you, part of him wished Regulus’ hand was still warm and familiar against him. Still wanted to feel the impossible, burning comfort of being held by you.

And that?

That was the cruelest part of all.

already started part 4....were GETTING THERE YALL

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[unconventional-lawnchair]

In the Space Between {Chapter One}

Barty Crouch Jr. x Reader

Wc: 4264

Masterlist

Summary: Reader wakes up from a dream that she can't quite remember, only for the day to unfold into more confusion.

<--Prev/Next-->

The morning sun filtered softly through the high windows of the Gryffindor dormitory, casting a warm glow over the scarlet and gold-draped room. You blinked awake, feeling an odd, heavy warmth in your chest, like you’d left something important behind in a dream you couldn’t quite remember. The feeling lingered just out of reach, fading the longer you stayed awake.

Hermione’s voice called out from the other side of the room. “Come on, rise and shine! Breakfast’s starting soon, and I promised we’d all go together. You too, no skiving off!” She grinned, looking far too awake already.

You sat up, rubbing your eyes and letting a smile tug at your lips despite the weight of that strange, forgotten feeling. “Alright, alright, I’m up!” You mumbled, tossing back your blankets.

Hermione laughed, flicking through her books as she hummed to herself. “You and your lie-ins. Just try to look halfway prepared today, yeah? Double Potions isn’t exactly forgiving.”

Ron poked his head around the doorway, his hair a mess as he blinked at you all. “Did someone say Potions? Blimey, it’s too early to be thinking about Snape.”

Just then, Luna drifted in from the direction of Hermione’s bed, her dreamy smile widening when she saw you all together. “Good morning,” she greeted in her usual soft voice, moving over and flopping onto your bed without any hesitation. She curled up beside you, her blue pajamas a sharp contrast against the red bedspread, her expression blissful as if this was the most natural thing in the world. “There is a new lesson in herbology today. There’s supposed to be a new herb that clears out lingering dreams- should be done by the end of the week,” she added, her voice almost a whisper. “It’s lovely for anyone who’s just woken from a long journey.”

You felt a strange pang at her words, a hint of something forgotten. You glanced at her, only to see her looking right through you, as if she understood something no one else could.

Harry’s voice came from the hall. “You lot coming, or are we leaving you behind till lunch?” He sounded exasperated, though you could imagine the half-smile on his face as he teased.

“Like we’d let that happen.” Draco’s cool tone followed as he appeared behind Ron, a smirk on his face. “Already enough to be late for breakfast once a week thanks to this lot.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, nudging you with a grin. “Alright, get a move on! Merlin knows we’ve got to keep you lot on schedule.”

Luna let out a soft laugh, stretching as she finally slid off your bed, though she didn’t look in any hurry. “It’s much too early to be moving this fast, isn’t it?” She said dreamily, though she let Hermione guide her towards the door.

Ron gave a lazy salute. “Right, let’s get this over with. Though if anyone’s got a plan to dodge Snape today, I’m all ears.”

You grinned, sliding out of bed and joining the group as you headed down the staircase, feeling the warmth of their banter easing that odd feeling from earlier. It felt good to be here, surrounded by friends, an affection bubbling in your chest- like seeing the school after a summer vacation. And though you couldn’t shake the faint ache of something missing, their voices wrapped around you, bringing you fully back into the present.

~~~

Potions was, without a doubt, your Achilles’ heel. So when you stepped into the chilly dungeon classroom, early morning fog still clinging to your mind, and saw Amortentia scrawled across the board in Snape’s distinctive, sharp handwriting, your heart sank. Great. The one potion you were least equipped to tackle, first thing in the morning.

You slid into a seat between Harry and Hermione, noticing that the class was buzzing with a mix of excitement and unease. Even Ron looked a bit apprehensive, his brow furrowing as he glanced at the board.

“Brilliant. Love potion on a Monday morning,” Harry muttered, casting a wary glance at the other students who seemed to be eyeing the cauldron at the front with barely contained curiosity.

“Snape must be having a laugh,” Ron grumbled, eyeing the cauldron suspiciously, as though it might explode at any moment.

Hermione rolled her eyes and shot you a sympathetic look. “Amortentia is only tricky if you don’t follow the instructions precisely,” She mused, her tone reassuring. “Just…don’t rush it. It’s all about control.”

You gave her a faint smile, but your stomach was twisting. Potions required precision, focus- qualities that always seemed to elude you in this particular subject. Especially today. But it wasn’t just the potion itself that unsettled you; it was the idea of smelling what you were drawn to, what you loved. What if it revealed something you weren’t ready to confront?

Luna, who had seated herself across from you, gave you an encouraging smile. “I think it will be fascinating.” She said airily. “They say you’ll smell exactly what your heart desires, even things you didn’t know yourself.”

Draco, leaning back in his seat with a smirk, raised an eyebrow at her. “That’s the bit that worries me, actually.”

Snape swept into the room then, his robes billowing as he moved to the front, dark eyes surveying the class with his usual disdain. “Today, we’ll be brewing Amortentia.” He began, his tone cold. “The most powerful love potion in existence. When complete, the potion should smell unique to each of you, revealing what it is that draws you most. But be warned: missteps will not be tolerated.”

A ripple of nervous energy moved through the room, and you felt Hermione nudge you encouragingly. “You’ve got this.”

Taking a steadying breath, you leaned over your cauldron and began measuring out ingredients, keeping Snape’s warning firmly in mind. Then, a sudden odd calm overtook you. The smell of the iron cast cauldron and sterile humidity was, for once, a comfort.

As if on autopilot, you moved with a confidence that felt foreign, almost like muscle memory. You didn’t look at the instructions on the board or consult your textbook; instead, your hands worked instinctively, as if you’d done this a hundred times before. You reached for the vial of rose thorns and added them with a precise flick of your wrist.

Harry shot you a bewildered look. “Rose thorns? Isn’t that step five?”

You barely heard him, pouring a measured amount of moonstone dust with a steady hand. Your movements felt natural, even practiced. You added a few crushed lavender blossoms, a pinch of asphodel root- ingredients you hadn’t even seen listed on the board.

Hermione watched with wide eyes, glancing between your cauldron and her textbook. “That’s…that’s not in the instructions.” She whispered, sounding half-intrigued and half-concerned. “Where did you learn this?”

You blinked, as if coming out of a trance, but the recipe seemed to be etched into your mind. “I… don’t know. It just feels right.”

Draco, a few seats down, had been watching with narrowed eyes, his usual calm demeanor wavering. “Not that I’m questioning your creative interpretation.” He drawled, though his tone was edged with unease, “but are you sure about that?”

Your hands paused only for a moment before you stirred the mixture counterclockwise, then clockwise, creating a swirl of shimmering, mother-of-pearl liquid that looked strikingly different from everyone else’s.

“It just… makes sense,” You said softly, your voice trailing off as you realized how strange it sounded. You didn’t know why, but every step had felt so certain, like a memory lodged deep within you.

The room filled with the faint scent of your potion, unique and heady, drawing a few curious glances from the tables around you. Hermione bit her lip, clearly trying to hide her fascination. “It’s… actually perfect,” She murmured, looking both impressed and mystified.

Snape drifted past, eyeing your potion with an inscrutable look as he paused, his dark gaze flicking between the shimmering liquid and your expression. He gave no comment, but the faintest crease in his brow hinted at surprise.

As he moved on, you couldn’t help but feel a strange mixture of pride and bewilderment. How could you possibly know the recipe by heart?

“Someone's got a hidden talent.” Luna murmured with a smile, her voice soft but carrying a hint of admiration.

“You think so, Panda?” You blinked, the name slipping out of your mouth before you’d even realized it. Panda? Pandora. The word hung between you and Luna, as if plucked from somewhere deep in your mind, an old memory that didn't belong. Your heart clenched painfully, and for a moment, you could almost picture another face across from you, one that looked strangely like Luna's but… different.

Luna’s gaze softened, her dreamy smile unwavering. She seemed unfazed, as if she knew something you didn’t, or perhaps as if she was used to these strange slips from you. Her voice was as gentle as ever. “I do. What's it smell like?”

You inhaled, leaning closer to the shimmering surface of the potion, and the scents wafted up, filling the air around you with an overwhelming warmth. Familiar, somehow- a mix of crisp parchment, wild lavender, and something else, something faintly smoky and musky, like an autumn bonfire on a cold night. The scents tugged at your heart, achingly familiar, even though you couldn’t place why.

“It’s…” You started, trailing off, struggling to put the feeling into words. “It smells like… Ron’s mums biscuits. Like wet grass.” You started, furrowing your brow. “Rain water. Cedar and.. cancer sticks- Cologne?” You scoffed and rubbed your temple. You didn't know a single soul who smoked. “Maybe I didn't do it right. I don't know anyone who wears cologne like that.”

Luna tilted her head, her eyes twinkling with that familiar, knowing look. “Perhaps it’s not about who you know now, but who your heart remembers,” She murmured softly, her voice laced with a kind of wisdom that always seemed far beyond her years. “Amortentia doesn’t lie, you know. Sometimes it just shows us what we haven’t quite found yet.”

You frowned, trying to make sense of the scents that seemed so contradictory yet so vivid. Ron’s mum’s biscuits you could understand- home, warmth, safety. But the rain water and cedar, the smokes and old cologne… they felt like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit.

Hermione leaned over, her curiosity evident. “Rainwater and cedar? That’s… peculiar, isn’t it? And who even smokes anymore?”

You shrugged, feeling a strange frustration bubble up, though you couldn’t place why. “Yeah, maybe my mind’s just making things up. Such strong cologne. Ive never even smelled it in my life.”

Harry gave you a gentle nudge, trying to bring back some lightness. “Or maybe there’s some mysterious figure out there just waiting for you. A dashing, smoke-scented wizard, who knows?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing it off, but the strange ache lingered. The scents tugged at you, like a half-forgotten melody that you couldn’t shake. And though you forced a smile, that smoky cologne and cedar clung to your senses, leaving an imprint in your mind that felt more like a memory than a fantasy.

~~~

The Great Hall buzzed with the familiar chatter of students, the clinking of silverware, and the smell of roast chicken and pumpkin pasties. You sat wedged between Hermione and Ron, laughter bubbling up as they recounted the day’s ridiculousness in Herbology. Across from you, Harry leaned in, a small grin tugging at his lips as he listened, his gaze shifting between his friends, glowing with that easy warmth you’d come to rely on.

You joined in, laughing as Hermione teased Ron about his haphazard attempt to repot a Fanged Geranium. But as you glanced over at Harry, something felt… off. Your vision blurred, just for a second, as if the flickering candlelight was casting strange shadows across his face.

And then, as quickly as it began, the scene shifted. Harry was no longer the boy you knew- the easygoing smile vanished, replaced by a solemn expression. You blinked, and there it was: a lightning-shaped scar, faint yet unmistakable, cutting across his forehead. His eyes looked haunted, shadowed by something dark, something hollow.

The room around you faded, and suddenly, the cheerful laughter of your friends seemed distant, muffled, like hearing them from underwater. You could only see Harry’s face, that scar, as vivid and strange as if he’d been marked by something terrible.

“Oi, you alright?” Ron’s voice cut through the haze, grounding you. He was staring at you with a furrowed brow, his expression tinged with worry. “You’ve gone all pale.”

You blinked, shaking your head to clear the fog, and the scar was gone. Harry was back to himself, looking at you with a hint of concern now.

“I’m fine,” you managed, forcing a smile that felt oddly heavy. “Just… zoned out for a moment.”

Hermione leaned closer, her hand resting on your arm. “You sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Or about to become one.” Draco murmured from beside Harry.

You shrugged, trying to brush it off, but the image of Harry with that scar lingered in your mind, like an imprint. “Yeah, I… I guess I’m just tired.”

As the others returned to their conversation, you found yourself stealing glances at Harry, half-expecting the scar to reappear, to catch a glimpse of that haunted look in his eyes. But he was back to being Harry, your friend, the same boy who always had your back.

You tried to shake off the lingering discomfort, focusing instead on the familiar warmth of the Great Hall. The laughter, the clinking of goblets, the buzz of students- all the sounds you’d come to know by heart, grounding you in the present. But the nagging feeling wouldn’t let go, clawing at the back of your mind, as though something crucial was slipping further away with each passing second.

Your gaze drifted back to Luna, who sat with her usual serene smile, as if the world and all its mysteries were an open book to her. She was laughing at something Cho said, a light, airy sound that echoed in your ears. And just as you looked over, she tilted her head, catching your eye like she’d been waiting for you to notice her.

There was a strange intensity in her gaze, a knowing spark that made your heart stutter. Luna’s smile softened, almost as if she could sense the disquiet settling around you, the confusion clouding your thoughts. It was a simple gesture, that small smile, but it held a kind of understanding you couldn’t quite place.

You returned her smile, though yours was thin, forced, as if the very act of smiling felt wrong in that moment. There was a voice in your mind, faint but persistent, whispering that this wasn’t right- that there was something more you needed to remember, something hidden just beyond the edges of your thoughts.

“What’s up with you?” Hermione’s voice broke through the fog, snapping you back to the present. She was watching you with a mix of curiosity and concern, her hand hovering near yours.

“Nothing, just… thinking, I guess.” You forced a chuckle, shrugging it off, but even you could hear the tremor in your voice.

Hermione studied you, her brows furrowing. “You’re acting a bit strange, you know. More than usual.”

Before you could answer, Harry leaned in, trying to catch your eye. “You sure you’re alright? You don’t seem like yourself.”

“I’m fine.” You replied quickly, perhaps too quickly. The words felt hollow, the lie brittle on your tongue.

But even as they returned to their conversation, you could still feel Luna’s gaze from across the room, watching you, patient and knowing, as if she understood something about you that you didn’t. And that look of hers sent a shiver through you- a sense that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t alone in this feeling, that someone else sensed the fractured pieces of a memory slipping through your fingers.

“I think I'm going to go to sleep.” You muttered as you stood. Your friends saying their goodbyes but you felt further from their muffling voices then ever before.

What was happening?

~~~

You padded quietly back to your dorm, your steps slow, each one feeling heavier than the last. The dimly lit corridor was unusually silent, the only sound a faint, echoing drip from a nearby leaky drain. The hum of the Great Hall still buzzed faintly in your ears, but there was something unsettling about how disconnected it all felt- as if you’d been watching it from the outside.

Finally reaching your dorm, you pushed open the door, the familiar space greeting you like a sterile vacuum. The room was quiet, bathed in the cool silver light spilling through the window. You let out a sigh, pressing your back against the door as you shut your eyes, hoping to push away the lingering strangeness that had followed you all day.

But before you could sink further into your thoughts, a loud thud at the door jolted you upright. You jumped back just in time as Draco, Luna, and Hermione stumbled into the room, each with their own mixture of determination and curiosity painted across their faces.

“Hope you weren’t planning on sulking alone tonight.” Draco smirked, recovering his balance and straightening his robes as though he hadn’t just practically broken down your door.

Hermione shook her head, smiling softly as she crossed her arms. “We thought maybe you could use some company. You’ve been… well, distant. And I know you, you never just ‘need sleep,’” she added with a knowing glance.

Luna drifted in last, her serene expression as dreamy as ever. “I think it’s perfectly alright to feel a bit lost sometimes. But it’s even better to have friends to help find you again.” Her voice was soft, like a whisper of comfort.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Alright, alright,” you relented, moving to sit on your bed. “I suppose I can let you all hover over me for a bit. I didn’t realize I was acting that strange.” The lie came off more naturally then you were used to. You typically never did, seeing as Hermione and Luna could typically see through you like a window.

Draco made himself comfortable on the edge of your bed, quirking an eyebrow as he nudged you. “You’re always strange, but today you seemed even stranger. And that’s saying something. Not quite Luna, though.”

You smacked his arm and laughed. “Coming from you, that’s practically a compliment.”

Luna seated herself on the rug, looking around the room as if she might find hidden secrets in the shadows. Hermione settled next to you, casting a sympathetic glance in your direction.

“So,” Hermione began, drumming her hands against her legs, her tone gentle, “Are you going to tell us what’s really going on?”

You hesitated, glancing around at each of them. “I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. Today… everything just felt… off.”

“Off how?” Draco asked, his gaze sharpening, his usual air of detachment replaced by genuine curiosity.

“I’m not sure.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair, earning a chort from Draco and an almost fond sigh from Luna. “It’s like I can’t shake the feeling that… that I’ve forgotten something. Or someone. I keep seeing things that don’t make sense. I keep seeing…” You trailed off, shaking your head. “It’s silly.”

Luna tilted her head, watching you with that intense, knowing gaze of hers. “Sometimes, the heart wants us to remember things the mind has forgotten.” She said softly, her voice almost a murmur. “And memories… they have a way of slipping through when they’re needed most.”

You gave a small, wavering smile. “You always say the strangest things, Panda.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up, his mouth opening in surprise as he turned to you. “Panda?”

You froze, blinking as the name slipped from your mouth. “I-I mean, Luna. Sorry. I don’t know why I keep saying that.”

Draco narrowed his eyes, looking at you as if he’d just uncovered some hidden secret. “Panda?” He echoed, his tone half-amused, half-puzzled.

Luna only smiled, unbothered, as if the name felt perfectly natural. “I don’t mind. I just think you miss her.”

All eyes snapped to her momentarily. Luna was still smiling up at you three listlessly, your expressions varying levels of alarm.

Hermione was the first to finally ask, her voice hesitant. “... who, Luna?”

“Well, Panda, of course. Not quite sure who she is, but your Wackspurts are rather discombobulated. Confused, whispering names I'm not familiar with.”

There was a long pause before you leaned forward on your seat, holding onto this small sense of clarity like a lifeline. “What.. what are the names, Luna?”

“I don't know..” She mumbled. “But I think you do. Right?”

The room fell into a still silence as everyone absorbed Luna’s observation. It was clear, that you knew names of people you had never met. You could see it, her calm gaze drifting from one of you to the next. Her usual dreamy demeanor was laced with a startling clarity, like she saw beyond the obvious, into something hidden just beneath the surface.

“Discombobulated wackspurts…” Draco repeated slowly, his eyes narrowing as he shot you a look. “Leave it to Lovegood to make a mystery even more confusing.”

Hermione pursed her lips thoughtfully, her hand drifting to rest on your shoulder. “It’s not like you to say things that don’t make sense- not to yourself, anyway. Maybe… maybe this ‘Panda’ is someone you’re forgetting?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words didn’t come. Instead, a sense of longing tugged at your chest, like a half-remembered dream slipping through your fingers.

Luna tilted her head, watching you with soft eyes. “It’s alright if you can’t remember right now. Sometimes, memories hide until we’re ready to see them again. They’re like stars,” She murmured, gesturing up as if she could see constellations above. “Not always visible, but always there. Even when they flicker.”

Flickering stars?

You managed a smile, feeling oddly comforted by her words. “So, what do I do then? Just… wait until it comes back?”

Draco rolled his eyes, but his expression softened as he nudged you lightly. “Or, you know, you could take an approach much more suited to us. Hunt down whatever’s lurking in that head of yours until it coughs up some answers.”

Hermione smiled, giving you an encouraging look. “Maybe a bit of both? Luna might be right; perhaps you just need time. But if you’re really curious, there might be a way to bring it back a bit sooner.”

Luna’s eyes sparkled with a quiet excitement. “Yes! There’s a potion for that, actually. My mum used to talk about it, said I'd do good to remember it. A memory draught, something to coax out memories hidden by time or… even by magic. It's quite a handful to brew.”

Draco smirked, leaning back against the headboard. “Well, then, sounds like we have ourselves a little project. You game, mystery girl?”

You looked around at the three of them, feeling a warmth spread through you despite the lingering confusion. It was as if you weren’t alone in this- like whatever secrets hid in your heart, you had friends willing to help uncover them.

“Alright,” You said softly, nodding. “Let’s find out what- or who- I’m missing. Just.. let's not tell Harry or Ron yet, yeah?”

“Why not?” Draco furrowed his brow, a flash of defensiveness crossing his eyes at the mention of Harry. You should've known he'd question you, him and Draco were practically brothers. What could you tell him? The truth? The image of him in the Great Hall that was burned into the back of your mind? Such intense sorrow?

"Because I don’t want them to worry- not yet, anyway," You muttered, trying to keep your voice steady, though even you could feel the underlying tremor. "Ron'll just hover and ask a million questions, and right now, I just… I just need to understand what’s happening before they get involved. Harry.. oh, he may turn over the whole school; he's not exactly subtle. He means well, but..."

"You know how he is about us." Hermione finished with a small smile, putting her hand over yours. "He'd sooner see the school crumble than know we were aching."

Draco didn’t look entirely convinced, but he nodded, glancing over at Hermione, who offered a reassuring smile. “We’ll keep it to ourselves, at least for now. But we’ll be here for whatever you need.”

Luna reached out, resting a gentle hand on yours. “If memories are hidden, then perhaps we’re meant to find them together.” Her eyes sparkled with her usual dreaminess but held a warmth that was grounding. Together. Something about the way she said that made your heart ache. “Maybe it’s no accident that you have us to help.”

The weight of her words hung in the air, filling you with a strange comfort. This wasn’t a journey you were taking alone. Whatever lay hidden in the corners of your mind, whatever was flickering just beyond reach, you had friends who would walk that path with you.

"So, when do we start?" Draco asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes, as if the whole situation was a puzzle he was more than ready to unravel.

Hermione grinned, the academic excitement brightening her face. “We’ll have to brew the memory draught first, which means gathering a few… shall we say… less-than-common ingredients.”

Draco leaned in closer, smirking. “Sounds like a Slytherin's specialty. Snape won't ever know we were there."

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound breaking through the tension. “Alright, looks like we’ve got ourselves a plan.” You looked around at them all, feeling an unspoken promise hanging in the air. Whatever secrets your heart and mind held, you’d face them together, one hidden memory at a time.

Taglist: @bmyva1entine

[bradleysass]

fit - @rosekillermicrofic - wc: 721

Barty was used to people assuming things about him. It was the hair, the sharp grin, the way he leaned into every bit of chaos like it was his birthright. He looked the part of the wild one—the troublemaker, the unhinged half of the pair.

They couldn’t be more wrong.

Evan Rosier was the real nightmare. He was the kind of reckless that didn’t announce itself with loud proclamations and manic laughter. No, he was quiet about it. Subtle. He made bad decisions with a calm, detached air, as if there was no other possible choice to begin with. Evan was the one who would casually mention buying a rundown cabin in the middle of nowhere because he thought it would be ‘fun to fix up,’ and then disappear for days doing God knows what. Evan was the one who took hexes in duels just to see how bad they hurt. Evan was the one who once, in a fit of boredom, set a room on fire just to watch the way the flames moved.

Barty, for all his dramatics, was painfully normal in comparison. He had routines. He liked his things a certain way. He enjoyed predictability.

Which was exactly why he was currently on the verge of throwing a full-on tantrum.

“You said,” Barty seethed, standing in the doorway of their flat with his arms crossed so tightly his knuckles were turning white, “that you would be home by eight.”

Evan, who was in the process of toeing off his shoes, raised an eyebrow. “It’s barely past midnight.”

“Barely past—Evan! That’s four hours! Four hours of me waiting here like an idiot while you were off—” Barty waved a hand in frustration, “—doing whatever it is you do when you disappear without a word!”

Evan huffed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re being dramatic.”

“You don’t get to say that! You have the emotional range of a rock. I am the normal one here!” Barty stabbed a finger in Evan’s direction. “And I am allowed to be upset when my boyfriend—who promised he’d be home—decides, ‘actually, I don’t feel like it’ and ghosts me for hours!”

Evan sighed like this was the most exhausting conversation in the world and, worse, like he wasn’t at fault at all. He walked past Barty, heading toward the kitchen. “I lost track of time.”

Barty let out a strangled noise. “That is not an excuse! You have a watch, Evan!”

Evan opened the fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, and leaned against the counter as he took a sip. He was as composed as ever, which only made Barty’s irritation grow. “I forgot to check it.”

Barty could feel the full-body tantrum bubbling up. He took a deep breath, fists clenched at his sides. “This is unacceptable. I am putting you on a schedule.”

Evan blinked. “A schedule.”

“Yes! One that you will follow! With check-ins!” Barty marched to the drawer and pulled out a pen and paper. “You are getting an itinerary. When you leave, you will tell me where you are going, and you will check in every two hours.”

Evan just stared. “You are insane.”

Barty pointed the pen at him. “No, I am dating someone who doesn’t respect the concept of time, and I am taking action!”

Evan let out a small, amused breath, like he was barely holding back a laugh. “You do realize I’m not actually going to follow this, right?”

Barty gasped. “You absolutely will. I am putting my foot down. This is my final stand.”

Evan shook his head, pushing off the counter and walking over. He took Barty’s face in his hands, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

“I’m furious,” Barty grumbled, but he leaned into the touch despite himself.

“Sure you are.” Evan dropped his hands and started toward the bedroom. “C’mon, let’s go to bed. You can lecture me more in the morning.”

Barty huffed but followed, muttering under his breath about respect and time management. Evan, as always, paid him no mind. And Barty, for all his dramatics, knew he’d let it slide—because for all of Evan’s reckless, unpredictable ways, he was still here. Still with him.

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t make another schedule in the morning, though.

[four-toast]

When do Evan and Barty open the tattoo shop? Can you just share some general thoughts about it? I'm really curious.

Saw this and while I wasn't planning on answering any more asks until tonight after work, I thought it might be useful for @wild-hyacinths-bakery and it's just fun in general!

So to start, it's this sort of vibe: (also, apologies if some of these are ai. pinterest is overrun with the shit and i don't have a lot of time to be picky right now)

They opened it around Nessa's first birthday (so early 1982) and it caused a lot of controversy in Diagon Alley. Not a lot of people were too excited about a tattoo shop owned by two former Death Eaters opening in the heart of the street, but once people started seeing the type of work they did, everyone started being a bit more open minded.

In this AU, both Evan and Barty's dads were dead by the time Nessa was born, so they both came into a shit ton of money. They, of course, used their combined family fortunes to open the shop (as you do).

For the longest time, the two of them were the only employees, but after a few years, Evan convinced Barty that they should hire other piercers/artists. This not only decreased their work load and gave them more time for Nessa and each other, but also allowed them to take on more complex designs. Evan's the principal piercer and handles most of the day-to-day operations (money, consultations, scheduling, etc) while Barty's the principal tattoo artist and handles general maintenance and whatever Evan tells him needs to be done. At the beginning, they tried to split the work load 50/50 but they soon found out that Barty wasn't exactly cut out for some of the more serious business aspects.

In general, the place has a pretty chill vibe and the hours change depending on how busy everything is, but for the most part, they follow this schedule:

Sunday: 11 am-7 pm

Monday: CLOSED

Tuesday: 9 am-9 pm

Wednesday: 9 am-9 pm

Thursday: 9 am-9 pm

Friday: 9 am-Midnight

Saturday: 9 am-Midnight

They DO take walk-ins, but they're usually booked out for months and only take walk-ins if someone cancels or something didn't take as long as they'd thought.

Nessa isn't exactly thrilled when she has to spend all day at the shop with them, but definitely got better at dealing with it when she got older. She occasionally offers to work the front desk (when she's around 14 ish), but for the most part, she'll just hang out in the office. When she was a baby, they could just plop her down on a blanket either in the office, behind the counter, or at one of their work stations and she'd be fine, but when she was a toddler/young kid, that didn't exactly work anymore, so they tried to have one of them stay home with her (or one of them would open and work until mid afternoon and the other would work mid afternoon to close) or hand her off to Regulus, Dorcas, or Pandora for the day, but that wasn't always possible. Keeping her occupied is ROUGH, but they manage.

ALSO, I don't have a name for the place yet (oops), so I'm taking suggestions 😂

Thanks for the ask!!

--

One Shot Masterlist

AU Masterlist

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@rosekillermicrofic june 11 — memory — 860words — aka baby rosekiller in canon universe 🪄

The first memory Barty has of Evan is from second year.

Looking back Barty knows he’s noticed Evan before, in their first year. A blurry morsel of a sequenze, hazy moving pictures of white blonde curls—two heads more often than not—and smooth tan skin disappearing under violet shimmering robes and crisp dress shirts. He’d known from his father where to sort in the name Rosier, one of the Sacred 28, after all.

But the first distinct memory is from DADA class, second year.

It had been sometime late spring, early summer. June, maybe.

A sharp breeze filtered in through the open window of their tower classroom but the air had been warm, tousling Barty’s hair as he levitated his chair to the side of the room as they’d all been asked to by their Professor. Today’s topic: dueling practice.

Barty’s grin had been razor sharp.

Their Professor makes the Slytherins and the Gryffindors have a go at each other first, which is as much entertaining to watch as it is boring as Barty stands to the side and fiddles with his blue tie, waiting for his turn. In retrospect, he should have tried observing the classmates that were soon to be his opponents but for a 12 year old Barty it had been much more fun messing with the Professor’s talking raven.

Once it was his turn, Barty won the first few rounds easily. Even back then he’d already had a fair ensemble of mean jinxes and curses memorized. Bones were turned back to solid, students were picked off the ground, stiff like Honeyduke’s teeth breaking candy and deposited on the tables and classroom equipment was fixed from being shattered only moments prior.

Then Barty was faced with Evan Rosier.

And while Barty was pretty bloody good, Evan was offensive. The second the Professor gave the go Evan was firing something at him. Barty deflected the spell just in time but he was so stunned for a moment that he almost forgot to start attacking as well. Though Evan taking another step forward and waving his wand had done the trick. Barty jumped into action. He fired off two in a row and then another at Evan’s feet. Evan spelled a protection shield and then returned with three curses as well.

A laugh tumbled out of Barty when he recognized the spells. Impressive. Evan Rosier really doesn’t hold back, huh?

Barty twisted, dodging the spell. But Evan was quick and he managed to fire off another that grazed Barty’s shoulder. Something hot and stinging. His aim was incredible—still is, of course. Barty hissed in pain but he managed to hurl two more jinxes in Evan’s direction nonetheless. Evan deflected and then he caught Barty, hitting him square in the chest with something that threw him back several feet.

Barty landed on the floor with a dull thud and he groaned. He was about to scramble back up when Evan hit him with something that made Barty’s body spasm, the muscles in his limbs seize.

It was like electricity shooting through Barty’s veins and for a moment he couldn’t do anything but laugh, stars dancing in his vision.

Barty managed to prop himself up on his elbows, arms still shaking, just in time to see Evan move his wand again, and what rendered Barty immobile then wasn’t the result of another spell but rather the sharp grin on Evan’s face.

And Evan always smacks him when Barty says it but, well, if that wasn’t love at first sight what else is?

Whatever foul curse Evan was hurling his way though gets redirected away and to the side, hitting the stone wall with a green spark. Barty didn’t know why a slight wave of disappointment washed over him.

“That’s quite enough, Mister Rosier,” their Professor said.

Evan nodded once, giving a curt hum in response before pocketing his wand.

Barty stood up and shook his arms out, shuffling around on the spot to get rid of the tingling feeling in his body.

Their Professor called out two names and Evan walked to stand on the side. Barty followed.

“You’re good,” Barty stated, inspecting Rosier’s side profile. His nose is small and upturned, like a doll. And his lashes are dark and long.

“I am,” is all Evan replied.

“You gotta teach me that last spell you hit me with sometime,” Barty said, nudging their elbows together.

Evan turned and simply scowled at him.

Barty’s grin widened, “I feel like I’ve been bitten by a Swedish electric Grindylow.”

“A Finnish electric Grindylow, you mean,” a high voice chimed behind him. Barty turned and stared into the same face. The same button nose, the same brown eyes, only framed by longer, wavy hair. Pandora Rosier. She’s pretty. She looks just like her brother.

“But I like your comparison.” The girl tipped her head sideways, blinking at Barty, before breaking out into a big, close lipped smile, eyes crinkling. “He’ll show you,” she announced in her twin’s stead.

Evan had only grumbled but he hadn’t denied it. And a few days later (after some relentless bugging from Barty and more fauxly sweet nettling from Pandora) he’d taught Barty the spell.

[major-toast]

Rosekiller Band AU // nsfw

Currently thinking about a rosekiller band AU, but they've recently broken up and are rather petty about it.

Evan has shaved off his blonde locks, knowing fully well how much Barty had liked them, but he doesn't much care. Especially not when Barty is standing only a few feet away from him, belting into the microphone with his pale skin and wretched tattoos gleaming ominously in the harsh green light of the spotlight above.

He's shirtless - because, of course, he is -, and sporting a new set of hickeys Evan cannot remember placing there. And how can he? After all, it hasn't been him, who made out with their lead singer only minutes before their gig. Looking at them alone makes his stomach churn in anger.

He really is a massive cunt, that Crouch. There is no denying that.

For the duration of their entire set, they are shooting hateful glances at one another; the tension palpable on everyone's tongue and skin. 

Smirking at him deviously, Barty doesn't refrain from playing with the crowd, hyping them up and flirting with everyone that catches his bastard-blue eyes. Evan wants to look away, but he can't. And Barty knows it too.

He leans down, grabs Sirius fucking Black out of all people by the chin, and shoves his tongue deep down his throat. Evan almost breaks his drumstick then.

Moron.

In retaliation, he starts messing with the rhythm, going sometimes faster and sometimes slower. Usually, the two of them are in cadence, being able to rely on one another, but no more. Growing bolder and much more creative with his fill-ins, he draws attention to himself, something he is sure Barty would hate. 

His head whipping around, he glares at Evan, a muscle feathering in his jaw. Evan shrugs it off, a mocking smile on his lips as he crashes the cymbals even louder. Barty picks up on his game rather quickly. Gripping into the neck of his guitar, he starts up a riff, one that wasn't planned. Scoffing, Evan matches him.

They build up on one another, trying to one-up each other, until their is no rhythm left. Regardless, the crowd still eats it up. Cheering and hollering, they urge them on. The adrenaline rush Evan feels then, it almost makes him forget about the need to punch that cocky fuck squarely across the face - or pierce his idiot skull with one of his sticks.

Inside the dressing room is where the tension comes crashing down on them like the outer shell of a volcano exploding. A hate-fuck long overdue.

"What the hell were you playing at, huh?" Barty snarls, shoving Evan into the door as he's just closed it.

"Oh, don't come crying to me now", Evan returns with a sneer, his blood already boiling inside his veins. "If it weren't for you and your constant need to stick your cock in-between someone's legs, we wouldn't have started late, and none of this would have happened!"

"You know as well as I do, that's not what I fucking meant, Rosier! If you got a problem with me, don't be such a pussy and spit it right out!"

Then, Barty huffs, his eyes narrowing as his lips curl into a sardonic smile. "Of course, you don't have the balls to do it."

"SHUT UP!"

Pushing him back, Evan is now the one to pin him towards the lockers, his expression one of blistering fury. Still, the smile doesn't leave Barty's lips. Evan wants to kiss that stupid grin right off him.

So, that's what he does.

It's harsh, ungentle. Teeth crashing and tongues curling. Barty's hands find his hips, fisting the loose fabric hanging there. Knowing no better, Evan grips the back of his neck until his nails start drawing blood. He wants him to hurt.

"Knew you wanted me", Barty pants as they part briefly.

His hair is dishevelled and his eyes half-lidded. Flushed and heaving with desire, the blood running down his neck mixes beautifully with red splotches of his skin. Evan hates him.

Before he can snark something back, Barty has already pushed him onto one of the benches, his head hitting the wood with a dull thump. Without hesitation, he crawls on top of him, sneering down at him as his hands pin his bare throat to the seat.

Trapped, Evan can only stare back in defiance, too angry to say anything. But as Barty's hand ghost over his body, lower and lower, until they've slipped underneath his pants, an involuntary shiver escapes him.

Barty smiles cruelly. "I could smell you're dripping cunt all night. What, Rosie? So wet and just for me?"

"You probably mistook it for your own cock, Crouch!" Evan bites back, fighting a moan as the other one presses down his finger on his clit already sore from want. "You're such a fucking whore, you cannot last a minute without fucking someone. That's how desperate you are!"

"Oh, I am desperate", Barty agrees easily. "Always desperate. Especially, for you. I can never not be hard when you're around. Now spread your legs, angel. You've been empty for too long, and it shows."

"I-" But the snarky remark dies within his throat.

He really is a massive cunt. But as long as it's Evan, whose legs he's in between, he doesn't much care.

[like-rain-or-confetti]

I started to really love Harry Potter after learning about the Marauders era. I enjoyed it before, but I really fell in love with the "first" generation. And it's so bittersweet because it also breaks my heart. All my favorite characters have tragic endings. Ngl, fanfiction is such a cope and wonderland when it comes to it. It gives me the happy endings that doesn't exist in canon. It also introduced me to great, creative minds.

Is it strange to invest so much in fictional characters? I mean, it doesn't rule my life, but I feel genuine feelings when it comes to it.

When it comes to characters from the Marauders Era, we don't have much in canon because the story is very focused on Harry and his own story. Fanfic changed that. The writers were able to create so much material, so many stories. They developed this characters so much. Honestly, it's really amazing and thank God for that.

So thank you and everyone who writes and shares it, it's so much more impactful than you can imagine! ❤

Whilst I don't know the ins and outs, I definitely do have some soft spots for the maurader era.

Andromeda? The black sisters era years? The noble house of black!

Voldemort and his feelings about his mother? I need to knowwww!

Like Evan Rosier! Dude was mentioned in the movies but see when you look online. I've seen people make him a dynamic duo with Antonin Dolohov or childhood besties with Barty Crouch Jr.

Why haven't I heard of the death eaters being raging blood puritists and not once thinking "we're following a halfblood." And if they don't know CAN YOU IMAGINE THEM FINDING OUT?

I WANT CONTENT ON THE KNIGHTS OF WALPURGIS! (I think that's how it's spelled.) What are the Avery's like!? Is he the blonde in the flashbacks? I imagine he's the blonde!

THEODORE NOTT? THE NOTT FAMILY? THE ZABINI FAMILY!?

IT TOOK ME UNTIL LAST YEAR TO DIECOVER LUNA AND DRACO WERE BLOODY COUSINS AND I WAS ROBBED OF A SCENE OF DRACO DEFENDING LUNA??? LIKE ✨️HELLO✨️?

I love the world building that has really taken form in the fandom. I really like the idea that we can all make our own little worlds of it and some people can like some so much that they accept it into their own world building.

Hell, I've made my own characters on my personal tiktok! I was inspired by the plot of Ginny getting Tom Riddles Diary and made a whole story in my head about my OC becoming a high ranking death eater and manipulated by Tom Riddle/Voldemort.

I made a OC hogwarts ghost who died from the moving stairs cases! She fell off them -because how are they not lethal-. She fancied severus but he was all about Lily. And had fun little moments that by the time the main story happens, the malfoys are reminiscing because the little ghost girl their son mentions was a kid in their year. A tragic accident to a pleasant kid. 😭

I love coming up with characters that don't really impact the main frame and take over. The idea that the stories are written with the main characters but so many are overlooked and come and go and that makes wiggle room for new ones to exist.

E.g. on my AO3 Alecto Carrow had a full family and background and the main character is her estranged kid who wasn't really important to Harry's story but her own is so fucked uo that it'd just be one of the endless fucked up stories in war.

Actually speaking of those characters, It'd actually be an idea to make fics on them woukdnt it? Since I bothered to give them full plots 😂🙈

If you're strange then I'm right there wjth you and I think several others are with you. I don't knownwhat it is about villains and minor characters but they all have an apartment in my head and they know they don't need to pay rent. 🤷‍♀️

It's the fans who really keep it alive and in the world of fiction, it can truly only get bigger!

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

The Only Evans Girl [A Change of Circumstance]

Fandom: Harry Potter [Marauder’s Era]

Pairing: Sirius Black x Original Female Character, Sirius Black x Daisy Evans, James Potter x Lily Evans

Characters: Sirius Black, Original Female Character, Daisy Evans, Lily Evans, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall, Alice Fortescue, Frank Longbottom, Marlene McKinnon, Albus Dumbledore, Voldemort, Peter Pettigrew, Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix LeStrange, Walburga Black, Orion Black, Jasper Thicknesse, Barty Crouch Jr, Mulciber, Walden McNair, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley

Word Count: 5571

Rating: Teen

Notes: Only a couple of chapters left of this <3

LINK TO AO3 // LINK TO PINTEREST // LINK TO ALL PARTS

It was quiet as Daisy unlocked the door, the eerie silence lingering down the long hallway as she listened for signs of life. When she heard nothing she sighed and closed it gently behind her before she headed down to the kitchen. It was deserted which didn’t surprise her considering she’d been the one to ban everyone from headquarters for twenty-four hours. It was Halloween and she had been anticipating tensions to be running high and therefore pop ins from order members, Snape in particular, were not going to be welcome. She barely had patience for him at the best of times but definitely not today.

As her stomach gurgled she went to the fridge though as she scanned the shelves she found them mostly bare and with another sigh she decided to have some toast if only to line her stomach for the bottle of red wine she’d bought at the corner shop on the way home.

Her day had gone as it usually did, visiting Marlene’s grave and then Alice and Frank at the hospital. When she’d gone back to St Mungoes she had still stuck to her once-a-year visit, still finding it hard to bear, but since the pressures of war had started to mount she’d found herself dropping by the memory ward more often. Alice had always been a good sounding board and even now when she couldn’t offer solutions Daisy found it comforting to have someone listen to all of her problems. After all, it wasn't like she had anyone else. Order members wanted to speak about order business and she didn’t dare lay her burdens on Harry. Remus had been sequestered away for the past few weeks on a mission involving members of Greyback's pack so the normal comfort she had on this day had been cruelly snatched away from her.

The only person she had was Sirius and to be honest she had been looking forward to having him close today. It was their first anniversary together, their first chance to share in their grief.

Or it would’ve been if he dared to come out of his room.

Daisy wasn’t surprised. When she had first landed at Grimmauld place they’d been overjoyed to see each other, their longing finally satiated after months of only being able to speak by phone. Even with the stress of Harry’s trial they’d made the best of things and Daisy had been so happy just being with the pair of them she’d managed to push the worries she’d been having from her mind most of the time. Only when Harry had returned to school and the Weasley’s had moved back to the Burrow things had started to take a turn. Order pressures had started to mount and now that it was just the three of them living there it was easy to feel the absence of one person. And Sirius had started to become sullen and moody. Daisy tried to believe it wasn’t her, that he was frustrated with not being able to help, especially when he was subjected to being mocked by Snape at order meetings or having to hear how Dumbledore was forcing Harry to be under his tutelage, but as time went on she started to worry it was more than that.

Because when Remus was around he made himself present. He came out of his room and joined them, sometimes it was even like they were teenagers again. Sometimes they'd spend the evening in the drawing room, Remus reading by the fire and Daisy and Sirius chatting quietly as the gramophone echoed quietly through the air. But when Remus was out he barely surfaced. Since he had been away on this mission she’d seen him a handful of times and each time he’d looked as though he couldn’t wait to get out of her presence, every reply he gave her was quiet and curt.

In recent days she had taken to not saying anything at all whenever he appeared which was just as well considering once he’d noticed she was in the room he’d made some flippant excuse and left. It was agonising and she felt utterly alone.

As her toast popped up from the toaster she found tears slipping down her face and she was forced to brush them aside so that she could butter it. She ate it over the sink. It tasted bland and it didn’t pair well with the large glass of red wine she’d made herself but it stopped the alcohol from rushing to her head too quickly which she figured was wise seeing as it was the first thing she’d eaten all day.

Once done and the wine bottle and glass in each hand she headed upstairs to her room. Or rather Regulus’ room. Sirius had picked it out the night she had arrived. It was at the very top of the house and he had cited it being a prime location seeing as the Weasley clan were soon to descend and it would be out of the way of everyone. She had pretended not to realise that it just so happened to have the benefit of being just across the way from his own room because in the start that had been a good thing, she felt happy to know he was nearby, that he was safe. But now it was torture, to have him so close and yet so far away.

As she got to the top stair she hesitated, leaning to see if she could hear him knocking around in his room but it was deathly silent. She wondered if he was downstairs with Buckbeak, the only other place he could be found these days, but she hadn't heard him in there as she had passed either. For all she knew he was standing stock still to ensure he didn’t lure her in, like he was a gazelle and she was a lion ready to attack. Daisy sighed and headed into her room, pushing the door too.

The room wasn’t overly large but the ceilings were high which made it feel grand and luxurious as did the green canopied four poster and dark wooden furniture that made up the décor. Green seemed to be the chosen colour scheme though it wasn’t the emerald of Slytherin house as she might expect from a teens bedroom, rather a dark forest colour. It felt dower and depressing. And as Daisy sunk down onto the floor Daisy felt for its former inhabitant. Had it had this effect on him, a teenager stuck in this dark and gloomy room?

Was this how Sirius felt? It wasn’t as though the rest of the house was bright and cheery despite all the restorations they'd been doing. Did he feel boxed in? From one prison to another?

But if so why pull away? What good was that surely he would know that she could help him, that she would want to help him? Didn’t he trust her? Or had he realised that without Harry here he didn’t feel the way he thought he did.

The thoughts were suffocating, swirling around her brain without landing and yet still managing to make the wine and toast she had downed churn around inside her. So she decided to clear her head. With music. 

When she had moved in she had brought her CD player with her and since then had been trying to jinx it into paying without electricity. It had been difficult but soon enough she had managed to get it up and running and so she flipped up the lid and slotted in a new CD she’d picked up at the market the other day.

It was the muggle band Oasis. She liked them though admittedly her penchant for following music had dwindled since she’d got rid of the shop. But their lyrics were good and the beat was loud enough to get the questions out of her head which she couldn’t turn her nose up at. Instead she allowed the songs to take hold, resting back against the bed frame and closing her eyes as she tried to calm herself. Not that that happened.

She didn’t know why she had thought it would. Music had always been a release for her, of both happy and sad emotions, and given the upheaval she had been feeling for the past few days, or rather weeks, she wasn’t surprised when it all became too much and tears started to pour from her eyes. She let them come, not even bothering to wipe where they gathered under her chin. In fact she only opened her reddened eyes as the song started to skip, the words becoming warbled as they played through the air. When it didn’t stop she pushed herself up with a groan, wiping her face with her shirt before she attempted to fix the problem. But not even a wipe of the disc or blowing into the player itself could make the track stop skipping, the scratches mocking her every time she pressed the play button. 

‘Oh come on you stupid thing,’ she grunted, hitting play once more only to be taunted by a screech and click, the Gallagher brothers voices garbled as they tried to sing.

‘Just play it!’ she snapped, smacking the CD player hard though that only caused it to stutter more before it ceased playing any music at all. At that Daisy lost her temper, hastily pressing the eject button before she yanked the CD from where it was still spinning and launched it across the room. It hit the painted wall with a dull crack before bouncing onto the wooden floor, mocking her still as it spun on its edges before landing.

As she had flopped back onto the floor Daisy had been watching it intently so when she looked up she was surprised to find she wasn’t alone with Sirius standing in the door frame looking awkward.

‘What are you doing?” she snapped, feeling her cheeks tinge red once she realised he’d seen her entire outburst. Sirius looked just as awkward as she felt, loitering by the door as if he didn’t know whether to come in or flee as he answered, ‘I, er, I heard the noise, I thought there was something wrong.’

‘It’s the CD player,’ she explained pointing at the now abandoned hunk of plastic in the corner angrily, ‘it doesn’t like magic.’

‘Oh,’ Sirius said, looking at the machine as if he didn’t know what it was.

‘It plays music,’ Daisy said, ‘I just, I just wanted to listen to some songs but well it has other ideas.’

‘Well you can always use my record player if you want,’ Sirius said though as she looked surprised he cleared his throat and said, ‘I mean it's in my room so you couldn’t listen in here so I understand if you don't want to.’

‘I do,’ Daisy said, finding the answer coming quicker than she had expected.

‘Right then,’ Sirius said awkwardly before he disappeared from the door and across the hall.

Daisy stifled a sigh and climbed up from the floor before she padded across the hall and to his room. He was dumping some pillows onto the floor when she entered, gesturing for her to sit amongst them next to the table which held the record player. She took a seat on one of the red velvet cushions and leant back against the chest of drawers, watching him as he moved around. He was rifling under the bed, for what she didn’t know, so she soon lost interest, her gaze moving his room. When they’d been more communicative he’d stayed out of his room so she’d rarely been in here but her surprise at just how much it contrasted Regulus’ always got to her. Of course it still had the staples of black décor in ebony furnishings and drab grey wallpaper but the extras were all light. Rich scarlet bedding, tapestries in Gryffindor colours, posters of muggle rock bands and quidditch teams glued to the wall indefinitely. Rebellion, brightness, warmth. Teenage Sirius was built into every inch of this room. And as he turned to her on his knees she looked up at him. His eyes were dull today, dark grey with even darker circles underneath them. Eyes that didn’t match the décor of this room but rather his brother’s. 

She was so busy watching him she hadn't even noticed he was holding a small stack of records until he cleared his throat self-consciously, clocking her gaze boring into his face as he said, ‘I don’t have much of a collection anymore.’

Daisy looked at the five or so albums in his tattooed hands, ‘Mum chucked whatever she got her hands on but I have these if there’s one you want-’

‘Queen,’ Daisy said looking back at him with a smile. He’d been handing them over for her to peruse so they were stacked against one another but she could see the album she wanted sticking out. She couldn’t even see the entire cover but she knew what it was, she’d listened to it enough times. Mostly with Sirius, in their little London flat.

‘You sure?’ Sirius asked, leaning back onto his heels as he thumbed the record out the stack.

‘Yeah,’ Daisy said, ‘it's been a while since I’ve listened to that album.’

Of course she’d listened to it since she’d left their little flat. Owning a record shop kind of meant it was hard to avoid listening to the songs they’d used to enjoy together though admittedly she tended to skirt around certain eras of her favourite bands, keeping up with their new stuff just enough of a link to her past that didn’t overwhelm her with grief. As Sirius moved to set up the record player she felt her eyes wandering, to his pile of dirty washing on a chair in the corner, to the stack of plates on the desk next to it. To the whiskey bottle on his bedside table sitting there half empty. 

As the hammering of piano keys started to echo around the room Sirius sat back, closing his eyes as the screeching of guitars started to fill his mind, removing every last thought from it as he focused on the music. The song was cutting and sharp, venom laced into each word. It was good. It scratched an itch in his brain, the sadness that had been pooling in his chest all day switching to anger and only ebbing as he heard Daisy speak.

When he opened his eyes she was watching him, then again it felt as though she was always watching him these days, but this was more than normal, it was expectant and Sirius realised whatever she had spoken he’d missed and so he asked, ‘huh?’

‘I said you’ve been drinking,’ she said, jutting her head to the whiskey bottle on his bedside table. Sirius watched her, wondering how to gauge his answer. The booze in his system was urging him to say something sarcastic and cutting, like how observant she was, but the way she was looking at him didn’t feel the way he expected it to. It wasn’t judgemental or worried, it was understanding.

‘Yeah,’ he said non-committally.

‘Can I have some?’ she asked.

‘Sure,’ Sirius said, grabbing the bottle and handing it to her.

Daisy pulled the top off in haste before she placed the bottle to her lips and chugged. It was sour and it burned her throat as it rushed to her stomach but it was enough to silence the thoughts in her head for a moment. Because even though she was here, in Sirius’ room, listening to records like they were so accustomed to doing it still all felt odd. Foreign. The silence felt unnerving and strange. It made her feel as though she needed to fill each gap when years ago they would’ve happily sat in silence just near one another. So she needed something to stop that urge. Especially if he wasn’t going to do much talking.

When she was done she wiped the back of her mouth with her sleeve before recapping it and placing the bottle by her knee where her legs crossed. Sirius was watching her, a smile twitching at his lips.

‘What?’ she asked self-consciously.

‘I was going to ask if you wanted me to conjure you a glass but that’s my answer I guess,’ he ribbed.

‘What can I say it’s been a long day,’ Daisy replied teasingly only as she said it the spark that had been growing in his eyes seemed to dim, as if the thoughts that had been shut out by the music had flooded back in, reminding him why he had the bottle by his bed in the first place. Sirius shifted and said, ‘you went out right?’

‘Yeah,’ she said quietly.

‘Order business?’ he asked.

‘Oh, uh, no…personal,’ Daisy said, feeling her cheeks heat up even more so Sirius offered nothing more than a nod. Daisy grabbed the bottle and took another long swig hoping he’d try and divert the conversation away from this sticking point but he didn’t, he just watched her instead so by the time she’d brought the bottle away from her mouth she found the awkwardness too much to bear and the words fell out of her mouth before she could stop them, ‘it's Halloween.’

‘Yeah I know,’ Sirius said quietly.

‘I…I erm,’ Daisy shifted the weight of his gaze crippling, ‘I sort of have a process.’

‘A process?’ he questioned, his brows knitting together.

‘A ritual I guess,’ she said, her throat thick with spittle, ‘I visit them. All of them.’

Sirius said nothing but watched her, she was picking at the skin around her nails, something she did when she was nervous which he could tell by the fast way in which she spoke as if she needed to tell him everything as if he couldn’t understand, ‘Mar’s grave, Alice and Frank at the hospital, Godric’s Hollow…’

He was quiet, watching as she tucked golden locks behind her ear, ‘used to visit Pete too, his grave, but in the past couple of years I’ve knocked that on the head.’

‘Wonder why,’ Sirius said sarcastically. She offered him a weak smile and then busied herself with taking another swig. Sirius thought about it. About her diligently visiting all those they'd lost as though cold stone would make the grief feel any better. As if it wouldn’t consume her the way it did him most days. But he was curious. His grieving had always been done alone, he’d never had the chance to do something like that, in fact he wondered if he hadn't gone to prison would they have gone together, and as curiosity struck he found himself asking, ‘you do it every year?’

‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘me and Moony. It’s the first one he’s missed actually.’

‘Why?’ he asked, a tad more sardonic than he intended but Daisy didn’t seem to get embarrassed but rather indignant as she said, ‘it was my escape.’

‘Escape?’ Sirius asked.

‘Yeah,’ she said firmly, ‘I was a muggle. Fifty-one weeks of the year I lived as boring old Daisy Evans. Me and Harry lived in our boring little town with no contact to our world. For most of the year I had to tell lies, misremember my family and my friends so that Harry wouldn’t get suspicious. And I did. But I allowed myself a week. One week to be me, to remember, to feel.’

‘But you’re back in our world now. Why carry on?’ he probed. Daisy sighed.

‘I don’t know. When Harry went to school I thought I'd stop but I didn’t…it felt right. Actually the only time I thought I wouldn’t was this year,’ she admitted, picking at the foil around the top of the bottle with her nail.

‘But you still went today,’ Sirius challenged.

‘Yeah,’ she said, looking up at him, ‘I guess I needed to not feel alone today.’

Sirius got what she meant, what she’d been expecting. When she’d come to live at Grimmauld place he’d been hoping things would be different too, they’d been building their relationship back up for over a year, but now faced with being near her he was struggling. With Harry with them it wasn’t as hard. Around other people he could be himself, he felt more himself or rather what they expected from him. Harry expected that fun uncle, his dad’s best friend, the stories he’d heard. Even Remus was easy to fall into routine around because he just let him be. 

But Daisy, Daisy he couldn’t fool. Daisy he couldn’t have an off day around or feel out of sorts because she’d know, she’d always know. And what was worse she would want to help, to fix it when he wasn't sure he could ever be fixed. That was why he'd been avoiding her, pulling away and hoping she wouldn’t get too close. But he missed her. And he hated the thought of her feeling alone as much as he hated to be alone himself.

‘Todays not easy for me Dais,’ he said gently, hoping to make her see that he hadn't withdrawn to be spiteful.

‘And it is for me?’ Daisy scoffed.

‘I didn’t say that,’ he sighed.

‘This is our first one together,’ she said, ‘I thought we could-‘

‘What sit and cry and look at how our lives when to shit?’ he said, anger bubbling within him though not at her but at himself, ‘how I fucked everything up?’

‘You didn’t,’ she mumbled.

‘We both know that’s not true,’ he scoffed, ‘and I’ve had years of going over it. Every year, every day for twelve years. So forgive me if I don’t want to do it all over again.’

‘But it helps!’ she protested.

‘It helps you. It doesn’t help me,’ he countered, stormy grey eyes watching her face fall as she asked, ‘is that why you’re avoiding me? Holed up away in here.’

‘Dais,’ he sighed.

‘Is that why you don’t want to speak to me?’ she pressed.

‘Can we not,’ he snapped, his jaw tightening. He knew it wasn’t her fault, that she was bound to have her own way of coping and that it wasn’t unreasonable for her to want to grieve with him now that they had the chance. But talking about it only reminded him of what he’d ruined, how it had gone from bad to worse. How he’d let her down when she needed him. In fact that was something he’d been thinking about a lot recently. Whenever she met him with a happy smile or sounded excited to speak to him, he wondered how she didn’t hate him for leaving her like he did. Leaving when they needed each other.  

Actually it was better when she was angry at him, like she was now, a scowl on her face and her arms folded across her as she said, ‘fine.’

Sirius fell quiet, closing his eyes as he rested his head back against the bed. Daisy looked away, still scowling. She could feel her eyes stinging with tears; at being pushed away or snapped at she didn’t know. She felt as though she didn’t know anything when it came to him anymore though that couldn’t have been true because the beginning hadn't been like this. He hadn't been hesitant with her when they’d been calling on another every week. He hadn't been reserved from being himself when they were in front of Harry and even with a million people in the house they'd started to feel like a proper family unit. So why was he pushing her away? It wasn’t as though she didn’t know he was hurting, that he’d been hurting for the past decade, but so had she. And now they had a chance to heal that hurting, to have a somewhat happy ending, or at least she had hoped for that. Though now it just seemed like a pipe dream.

As the end of ‘I’m In Love With My Car’ started to play, the revving of engines bouncing off the grey papered wall Daisy listened as the needle continued to move to allow the next song to play. It was the only thing that could be heard besides their breathing which was probably why it felt like a knife to the gut as those familiar notes started to play. It was ‘You’re My Best Friend,’ hands down her favourite Queen song if only because of the memories it gave her, two kids singing at the top of their lungs at a gig or dancing away in their flat. It almost felt mocking, to have words of adoration of longstanding love shoved in her face when the pair of them had never felt further away from each other whilst in the same room.

In fact as the chorus started to play she rolled her eyes and huffed a laugh which grew as she found Sirius watching her curiously. Soon enough she was laughing away to herself and before he could stop himself he found himself joining in, her giggling infectious. When it died down he leant up, gesturing for her to give him the bottle which she did, watching as he down a deep glug, barely wincing at the burn as it ran down his throat.

Then he leant forward, watching her closely. Daisy dropped her gaze feeling awkward, seeing as she thought he was going to offer up something deep and meaningful but he didn’t, merely saying, ‘we could play a game.’

‘A game?’ Daisy asked, her head snapping up as she looked at him confused.

‘Yeah a game,’ Sirius replied.

‘Why?’ she said incredulously.

‘Why not?’ he shrugged, leaning back against the bed.

‘What game?’ Daisy asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. Sirius looked as though he was thinking but it took him all of two seconds before replied, ‘truth or dare.’

‘Truth or dare?’ she scoffed.

‘We have booze,’ he countered by offering up the half-drunk bottle.

‘And we can get drunk without going through the rigmarole of it all,’ she said, yanking it from his hands, ’besides it’s pointless.’

‘Is not,’ he retorted.

‘You always pick dare,’ she countered.

‘And you always pick truth,’ he replied as if he’d proven his point. When Daisy rolled her eyes he said, ‘oh come on what else are we going to do? Sit here and be maudlin?’

Daisy didn’t particularly feel up to answering silly questions or doing ridiculous dares in fact she was pretty sure that silly little dares were only able to be thought up in the brains of teenage boys and that they would both struggle to even come up with anything but she was still irritated by being snapped at and didn’t want to prove his point about wallowing. 

‘Fine,’ she grumbled, ‘but I’m going first because I can’t think of a dare yet.’

‘Okay, truth or dare?’ Sirius asked.

‘Truth,’ Daisy said, earning a smug smile as she confirmed the cliché. Sirius thought for a minute, tapping his finger on his chin exaggeratedly and making her roll her eyes.

‘Oh I’ve got one,’ he said amusedly, Daisy braced herself wondering what could put such a glint in his eye, ‘do you think Snivellys ever…y’know?’

‘What are you twelve?’ Daisy chuckled at the way he gestured the insinuation.

‘It’s a fair question,’ Sirius said proudly.

‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly.

‘But do you think? I mean I thought age might have improved him but the way he still stalks into order meetings I doubt he’d have much pull,’ Sirius reasoned, as if he’d been thinking about it more than anticipated. She supposed she didn’t blame him, Snape was rather cutting in every interaction they had, pointing out how Sirius couldn’t do much of anything to help out with the order whilst he was sitting pretty beside Dumbledore.

‘I don’t know but I suppose it must’ve happened at some point,’ she reasoned. Of course she’d never known him to have someone, in fact she wasn’t entirely sure he hadn't still held a candle for Lily well into her marriage, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t. After all, sometimes loneliness was just too much, she was sure Sirius could understand that, she did.

‘Poor girl,’ Sirius chuckled.

‘There’s a lid for every pot as my mum used to say,’ she chuckled but as she said it a thought popped into her head and she said, ‘okay your turn?’

‘Truth,’ Sirius replied, smiling at her surprise.

‘Okay, speaking of lids and pots…do you think Moony has realised Tonks is gaga over him?’ she asked. Sirius laughed loudly.

‘Oh not a chance!’ he laughed.

‘You should tell him,’ Daisy giggled.

‘And get my head bitten off?’ Sirius laughed, ‘no thanks

‘You should! They make a good couple,’ Daisy reasoned, ‘besides it’d be payback for all the grief he gave us two.’

As soon as the words came out of her mouth she wished she could take them back because Sirius seemed to freeze, it was miniscule but she sensed it all the same. And again that knife to the gut was back, a sadness that he seemed to be unable to face the happy memories along with the sad ones. Daisy watched as he busied himself with taking another drink before she looked away only looking back as she heard him say, ‘your turn. Truth or dare?’ 

‘Truth,’ she murmured.

‘Has there, I mean I can see how Snivellys never but you’re hardly,’ Sirius said, stumbling over his word in a manner unlike him before he looked at her properly and said, ‘has there been anyone, anyone else?’

‘No, not really,’ she said quietly, hastening to explain as he looked confused, ‘I mean I’m not going to say I’ve been a nun but there’s never been anyone like…that, like us.’

‘Why not?’ he asked, his voice so deeply curious she thought she might cry.

‘It’s not exactly easy when you’ve no babysitters about,’ she joked.

‘Right, yeah,’ he said flatly.

‘But I suppose that was only a small part of it,’ she added, ‘most of it was that I didn’t want it…if it wasn’t us. I mean call it delusion but I guess I figured love like that was one and done. Didn’t really see the point at trying to find cheap imitations.’

Sirius nodded but said nothing and now that there were now words in her throat she felt the urge to replace their weight with alcohol, taking another deep swig from the bottle. They were teetering on the edge of sharing, admittedly more on her that she would've liked and whether they'd become more comfortable or the alcohol was heightening her confidence she decided to change that one sidedness.

‘Can I ask you a question?’ she probed gently, her nail scratching at the foil again with nerves.

‘Yeah,’ Sirius replied quietly.

‘Did you hate me?’ she asked tentatively.

‘Hate you?’ Sirius frowned.

‘For not believing you,’ she explained.

‘No,’ Sirius said firmly and one look in his eyes made her believe him.

‘But I knew,’ she said thickly, ‘I knew there was no way you could have and I didn’t fight.’

‘You did what you had to to keep Harry,’ Sirius said.

‘Yeah you know that now but then?’ she said looking at him as if he was mad to be at peace with it, ‘you're telling me you weren’t angry that you were rotting in that prison? That it doesn’t bother you I was out with Harry. That I could have fought but chose to stay out-’

‘I wasn’t angry at you,’ Sirius said firmly, ‘I was angry at myself. I was angry for not thinking, for rushing into some stupid vengeance without thinking of you. I was angry at Pettigrew. But the moment I was caught I knew I only had myself to blame. And that’s why I can't spend my time hashing it all out. I can't spend days agonising over everything because at the end of the day I brought it on myself.’

‘That’s not true,’ Daisy said angrily.

‘I trusted him!’ Sirius reasoned.

‘We all did!’ she replied.

‘I made him secret keeper!’ he said, bouncing her argument back.

‘James and Lily did that,’ she said firmly, holding up a hand to silence him as she continued, ‘we all trusted him, Pads. And one rash decision shouldn’t have cost you everything.’

‘I should’ve thought about you and Harry,’ Sirius said sadly.

‘It’s easy to think that,’ she said, moving till she was sitting beside him. They were no longer facing one another but they didn’t really need to, the way she interlaced her fingers through his speaking loud and clear.

‘But we don’t know what we’re going to do in the moment. How grief will make us feel. I mean you stopped me running into that house wandless and distraught,’ she said, trying not to the think of the decimated home she’d arrived at all those Halloweens ago even though she was sure she could still smell that stench of burning wood and death, ‘you did think. You thought about me and Harry but you were angry, understandably so.’

‘If I had just told you-’

‘But that’s done. We can't change that and punishing yourself isn’t helping anyone,’ she said.

‘Punishing myself?’ he asked. She could feel him looking at her and as she looked up at him his brows were fused together in confusion.

‘Squirrelling yourself away in here-’

‘I’m not punishing myself,’ he said quietly.

‘Oh,’ Daisy said. Though as the words settled in embarrassment started to flood through her, her cheeks christening pink as she realised their hands were still intertwined, ‘oh.’

‘What?’ Sirius asked, muddled as he felt her unlace her hand from his and watched as she pushed herself up from where she had been sitting.

‘Nothing,’ Daisy lied, smoothing out her outfit as she stood though admittedly the height she was now at made the booze in her body rush to her head causing the room to spin.

‘Dais what is it?’ he asked worriedly. She could have ignored him, spared herself the embarrassment but she found her words coming out, sad and pathetic as she said, ‘then it’s me isn’t it?’

‘What do you mean?’ he asked, standing himself as he could see how flustered she was becoming. Her hair was all over the place from where she’d brushed it away, her cheeks red and her eyes glossy from the threat of oncoming tears.

‘This, you avoiding me,’ she said, gesturing at him vaguely, ‘I thought it was because you were upset about order stuff but it’s me innit. The reason you’re staying out the way.’

‘Dais,’ Sirius said sadly.

‘I thought after the last year we might,’ she sniffled, ‘but you don’t…you didn’t want to tell me right?’

‘Dais it’s not-’

‘I’ve got the wrong end of the stick right?’ she whispered, hiccupping a sob as he looked at her sadly, ‘oh god! And here's me thinking we could have another go. I mean I didn’t think it would be easy but I thought we could try-’

‘It’s not that I don’t want to,’ he said, placing a hand on her arm reassuringly, begging for those green eyes to look at him.

‘It’s not you it’s me right?’ she scoffed, shaking her head.

‘As a matter of fact, yeah,’ he said angrily, finally making glassy green eyes look his way. Sirius swallowed, willing himself to be brave enough to explain, ‘Dais it's not that I don’t want…that okay. I just…I don’t know if I know how to anymore. I thought I would, after last year with us getting reacquainted I just figured it’d be like falling back into place but it’s not. It feels clunky and weird.’

‘But not around Moony?’ she challenged.

‘He helps for some reason,’ Sirius admitted, ‘like there’s no pressure to get it right with him.’

‘And here is with me?’ she said.

‘Sometimes but not because you pressure me,’ he said honestly, his hand going to her jaw so that he could sweep his thumb along it, ‘Moony has his own problems. Harry is just learning who I am so he doesn’t expect anything. But you, you know me Dais, better than anyone else. The only problem is I don’t feel like I know me anymore. Everyday it’s like I have to try and remember who I am and when it’s just us I always feel like I’m mis stepping, like we’re in a conversation and I’m speaking a different language or something. And that’s not us. And it scares me.’

‘So let me help you,’ she pleaded. Sirius dropped his gaze.

‘What if I’m not…what if I’m not the person you remember,’ he asked.

‘I’m not asking you to be,’ she said, moving his chin to make him look at her, ‘you think I’m chasing that twenty-year-old but I’m not. I know you, the real you and yeah there might be differences now but that bit, in here that’s not changed.’

Her hand was over his heart now and he clasped at it, holding her to him as it started to thump against his ribs.

‘We’re both different Pads,’ she said, ‘but I’m not asking for you to fit into some old role. For us to play parts we used to because newsflash, I’m not some twenty-year-old either. We’re both different. We knew that when you came back but did you really think I wouldn’t want you?’

‘Dais,’ he said, unsure of what he was asking from her.

‘We’ve missed years Pads and I don’t want to put off any more,’ she said firmly.

‘I know but what if it doesn’t work out? What if we can't be what we want? What if-’

‘All we can do is try. I’d rather try and fail than not try at all,’ she whispered, pulling him down until his forehead rested against hers, ‘because I know what it’s like to love you Sirius Black and I refuse to deny myself that privilege.’

‘Yeah?’ he whispered.

But she didn’t answer him, instead her lips brushed against his tentatively as if seeking agreement which he returned with gusto, pulling her flush against him as they kissed. The restraint lasted all of two seconds before want and need took over, Sirius moving them to the bed. Daisy flopped down on it, never letting go of his shirt so that he was pulled with her, their movements clunky as he landed haphazardly on top of her.

Daisy giggled and pushed him off, moving herself up the bed as he returned in an instant, lying beside her and looking down on her with a beaming smile.

‘Hi,’ she said, her fingers trailing along stubbled skin.

‘Hi,’ he replied, turning his face to kiss her palm.

‘So…’ she said.

‘So,’ he replied.

‘We’re trying?’ she asked tentatively, her finger dipping into the creases of his eyes as he smiled.

‘We’re trying,’ he confirmed before leaning down to kiss her once more.

SIRIUS BLACK/SERIES TAGS

@mysteriouslydelicateface @caitlin1996 @imthebadguyyy @maeisafangirl

[marvol0]

OUTSIDER (2)|| Rabastan Lestrange WTM

Series Synopsis: When the truth comes out about the future inside the walls of Hogwarts, on the first night back in 1977, what will happen for those involved with the chaos that ensued?

Secrets outed, Lies revealed and true intentions determined.

Pairing: Rabastan Lestrange x Fem!Regulus Black

Notes: Introduction’s, second chapter.

𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐋𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐔𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐒, only few people knew what hid behind her stone cold façade. Those included were her family and closest friends, Evan Rosier, Barty Crouch Jr and her boyfriend Rabastan Lestrange.

Rabanstan and Regulus had been dating since their fourth year of Hogwarts, their family's had thought them to be only close friends, as they wanted to hide their relationship from others as they were soon to be wed off to other Pureblood families.

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟖 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐃𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑, the Hufflepuff's were telling each other about their holidays, the Ravenclaw's discussing book recommendations  and as always the loudest and proudest table of the Lions were shouting at each other from across the table, while the regal House of the Snakes were quietly informing each other of the ins and outs of the rising Dark Lord.

Soon the familiarity was disturbed by a small pop that seemed to echo around the hall, following the sound came a fluttering parchment landing softly in front of the Slytherin Princess. Not expressing her shock, she carefully examined the yellowed parchment with narrowed eyes not yet touching it, she could feel something different radiating from the ink etched inside.

Deeming it safe enough to touch Regulus reached out unfolding it, cold stormy eyes glared at the missive after they had scanned the cursive writing. She let out a scoff handing it carelessly to the outstretched hand of Evan Rosier.

The sound didn't seem to capture anyone's attention for long as everyone went back to doing their own thing once more, that was until the heavy doors of the Great Hall swung open with a force that one was only capable with the help magic.

Heads turned, some quick enough that they could have gotten whiplash others at a relaxed pace, the students eyes, ranging in colours and sizes, all landed on the unusual sight. A group ranging from disgraced families to the most politically powerful all stood together in the wide doorway.

Albus Dumbledore, some would say he was a born leader that would help you through all your troubles others world say he was a dictator who strived for power and manipulated people around him to get what he wanted, stood up from his throne like chare that was placed at the centre of the Professors table. 

"My wonderful guests what could possibly be the reasoning for this delightful visit?" The old man asked, power radiated from his voice, some watchful eyes could see trough his carefully crafted façade of a grandfather, they could see he was irritated of the interruption from his tight jaw and suspicious eyes.

"The members of my family and I received missives just after nightfall informing us to attend a meeting at Hogwarts." Lord Arcturus Black was the first to answer.

"As did I and some Aurors in my department." The head of the DMLE, Amelia Bones who had graduated Hogwarts a few years ago and done well for herself, added.

"A letter fell on the Slytherin table a second ago, Professor." Informed Lily Evans, an oddly bright witch for a mudblood.

Dumbledore turned his attention to the aforementioned table, gesturing for someone to read the note aloud.

Evan dramatically flipped the parchment to straighten it and cleared his throat. 

Witches and Wizards of the past,

The future is in need of your help, the second Wizarding War ended just one year ago and too much magical blood ran through our streets. 

We hope you can change the paths you had previously chosen to go down for the better, we from the future know most of you can change.

No violence, Magical or muggle, will be tolerated.

To the Future!

A.C.L  H.J.P  D.C.G  R.B.W  D.L.M  H.J.G  T.T.N.

When Rosier has finished reading the students of Hogwarts expressed their disbelief in many ways, a small firework display lit up the headmasters face gaining the halls attention.

"That sounds familiar to the one I received this evening." Arthur Weasley announced breaking the silence, little Bill and Charlie swarming his feet while his wife, Molly Weasley, held small Percy close to her chest.

The elderly Headmaster went to speak once more when a flash of light that momentarily blinded the occupance of the hall shone from in front of the Professors table, a dull thud echoed around the hall while everyone was trying clear their vision of white dots. Another was heard then another and another, two more following after.

All of the adults and older students had their wands drawn, the tips pointing toward the mound of flailing limbs suspiciously. Groans and pained moans littered throughout the hill of bodies, insults flying like spells on a battlefield.

"Get your arse out of my face Ronald!" Once voice muffled.

"I would if the ferret moved his bloody foot out of my belly." A male voice replied.

"Hullo Daph, didn't know you had freckles." 

"Stop staring into my soul Atlas." Another female voice countered.

A dark hared male lifted himself from the top of the pile hobbling slightly, he bent down next to the others picking something off of the floor and placing it on his face. Familiar rounded glasses greeted them once he turned around, vibrant green eyes hidden behind the glass.

The boys eyes widened at the sight in front of him, his jaw dropped slightly before he turned to the still arguing group. He pulled the second person off, a freckled ginger male that leaned on the first boy to stabilize himself.

He to followed the actions of the first boy revealing a brunette female with chocolate coloured eyes, after her came three boys a bleach blond, sandy blond and raven haired. The sandy haired male outstretched his hand for a blond female that was still situated on the floor, taking his had she hoisted herself up, flattening down her pleated skirt.

The brunette female lifted her hands as a means of surrender, the others following her lead, she stepped forward from the unusual group.

"Did you not receive our letter?" she asked, brows furrowing in confusion. After the question a few wands dropped from their targets. 

Dumbledore let out an 'ah' sound. "So you would be our friends from the future." 

"Yes Professor Dumbledore, we have compiled eight muggle like films using our memories to show you all your future." The brunette explained.

"Wonderful! How about you introduce yourselves, full names, ages and parents perhaps." Albus suggested.

"oh um- yeah of course." She stutters before continuing. " I'm Hermione jean Granger, I am seventeen years old, I was a Gryffindor and you wouldn't know my parents." 

The ginger went next.

"Ron Weasley, seventeen, I was a Gryffindor as well and my parents are Arthur and Molly Weasley." He concluded, Fabian and Gideon Prewitt started teasing there sister about having more children before the Ron boy spoke up once more.

"There are three more of us, not including me, at home." Laughter rung from the people who knew the blushing couple. 

Next up was the blond girl.

"Merry Meet, I am Heir Daphne Clarity Greengrass of the Noble house of Greengrass, I'm seventeen years old, Slytherin and my parents are Aden and Clarity Greengrass. I also have a younger sister at home called Astoria"

 Clarity Selwyn cooed at the sight of her beautiful, eldest daughter while Aden wrapped his arm around his girlfriends shoulder.

 Continuing the introductions was the sandy blond male.

"Merry Meet, I am Heir Theodore Taddius Nott, Seventeen, Slytherin and my parents are Taddius and Ashlyn Nott." 

Taddius nodded slightly at the boy, the corners of his lips twitching, while Ashlyn Flint gave the boy a warm smile.

"Merry Meet, I am Heir Draco Lucius Malfoy of the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy, I am Seventeen and was a Slytherin at Hogwarts, my parents are Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy."

Narcissa Black clasped a hand to her mouth to cover her shock, Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black shaking her shoulders in excitement. Lucius gained a pat on the shoulder from his father Abraxas Malfoy.

"Hello, I'm Harry James Potter, I was in Gryffindor, I am seventeen and my parents are James and Lily Potter."

A group of four boys were on the edge of their seats waiting, after finding out his sons mother was his long time crush James leaned over the table pecking Lily's cheek. The girl in question was stunned but gave her son a small welcoming wave.

The last boy was the tallest of the group, he had an intimidating aura but the boyish smile on his face made most girls and some boys swoon. 

"Merry Meet, I am Atlas Corvus Lestrange of the most Ancient and Noble House of Lestrange, I am a seventeen year old Slytherin and my Parents are..." He patted his knees in a drum roll causing laughter around the hall. "Rabastan Lestrange and Regulus Black."

You could hear a pin drop, Regulus' eyes widened slightly before Barty Crouch Jr jumped from his seat. "You owe me fifty Galleons Rosier!"

Walburga Black walked over to her daughter, at the sight of her mother Regulus lowered her head hoping she didn't punish her for choosing her own partner, she was pleasantly surprised by the pat on her shoulders

"Good choice Regulus." Walburga said before leaving back to sand next to her husband Orion Black. 

Regulus was shocked by the affection but she wasn't left in her thoughts long as she was pulled into a tight hug by her boyfriend.

"I love you Reg." Rabastan whispered affectionately in her ear, she countered it before letting go and giving her son a motherly smile that made him tear up behind his mask.

"Now why don't we get some sleep so we can watch these films when we are refreshed tomorrow." The Headmaster announced to the mass of the Great Hall.

[miidnighters]

"Oh. Yeah, sorry about that." He does not sound particularly sorry. "But if I had some other way to reach you, y'know," Barty shrugs, miming typing on a phone. "I'd leave you to your business and suggest we catch up later over pizza but."

Could cloaked spectres hang onto cell phones? Maybe the glamour would send the electrics haywire.

No, run-ins with The Witness were sporadic, and by chance. Which was partially why Barty liked them so much - there was nothing like a pleasant surprise on an otherwise ordinary day. There was also the fact that Barty understood he probably wasn't supposed to be able to see or interact with it - a few minutes spent thinking about how potentially lonely of an existence that might be meant that whenever the opportunity arose, he took it.

"I could actually go wait around the corner? And you can do your thing and then we can chat?" As much as Barty wanted to catch up, he didn't actually want it to not be able to do its job - or have no reason to be here anymore.

The Witness was here to see something. That was its job. It saw, and if need be, it reported what it saw. But generally, it was not needed for such matters.

It sees Barty, and it turns, the cloak it wears hiding its face almost entirely, but Barty can tell it is looking at him. There's a long few moments of silence, The Witness has always been a bit... Awkward, to say the least. It was not used to interacting with those outside its brothers, or with those he came to See.

But... Barty was different. Different than anyone The Witness knew besides itself and its brothers. Barty could see it, Barty could interact with it freely, unaffected by the glamour it's generally cloaked in. It was strange. It had always been strange in The Witness's opinion. But they'd grown to... Maybe not like Barty, but tolerate him.

"You are changing fate by being here, you understand." They say quietly, "I cannot do my job. I have no reason to be here."

[incorrect-shadows]

Barty: Are you going to drink that entire bottle of wine?

Alecto: You didn’t marry no quitter.

Barty: My Queen

[fieriframes]

[Whether you come for a macaroni-and-cheese, burger, or anything in between, it's awesome. MAN: I still think Barty must be a crook]

[olivers-cocoapuffs]

Regulus is mostly blocking out his friends if he’s being honest, after a while you get used to Barty’s nonsense and block him out. Today he’s gotten Evan riled up and they’re bouncing stupidity off of each other. Regulus wants to strangle them both.

He voices this out loud, and Barty just grins and says “Kinky.”

Evan chortles, looking delighted and Regulus briefly wonder’s if he’s high. But alas, that’s just Evan for you. Regulus has been stuck on Barty-and-Evan duty because Pandora has been missing since last night and Dorcas is in a class of her own. 

Regulus shepherds them towards their charms class, making it just a minute before class starts. He’s good at doing it, they’d probably all be late if he wasn’t. 

The three of them sit in their usual row, in the back of the class. Evan and Barty are sharing a desk, but they push it up against Regulus’. Usually Pandora sits on Regulus’ right but she’s not here.

Regulus puts his bag on her seat to save it for her anyway. 

Last night the five of them were relaxing in the boys’ dorm and Barty was explaining the ins and outs of his fling with Peter Pettigrew of all people, when a third year knocked on their door and said that Minerva needed Pandora, but they didn’t know what for. Pandora had gone without complaint, and they hadn’t seen her since.

Charms comes and goes without any sign of her, so they head to the Great Hall for lunch. As Regulus sits, he scans the Gryffindor table, searching for who knows. He’s hoping to catch a glimpse of his brother, or a particular Quidditch Captain who’s looking very mouthwatering lately, or perhaps Pandora.

He only finds one of those three, and he’s the second option. James is sitting next to Pettigrew, and their heads are bent close together as they talk. Regulus can’t make out their words but they both look distressed, and as if they hadn’t slept.

This is concerning for a multitude of reasons; for one, Sirius and James are always together. Always. For two, both boys look like they’d rather not be noticed, which is unusual and not on brand for either of them, especially for James Potter. And third, none of the Marauders ever look less than perfect, and currently they both look like shit.

Suspicious.

Regulus turns his attention to Barty, who’s trying to see how many grapes he can fit in his mouth while Evan rants and absentmindedly keeps track of the grapes on his fingers.

“I’m getting worried about Dora.” Regulus tells them.

“Regulus Black? Outwardly caring about one of his friends? Scandalous.” Evan says, clutching his heart. Barty tries not to laugh so he doesn’t accidentally choke, which ends up him spitting grapes all over the table. 

Regulus scrunches his nose in disgust and turns back to Evan. “You’re an ass, and aren’t you worried? At all?”

Evan shrugs. “Pandora is Pandora, she’ll turn up eventually.”

[random-imagines-blog]

Deal with my Pain {Barty Crouch x Female!Reader x Severus Snape One Shot}

Requested by: @passionkillerphil Wordcount: 3389 Summary: Just as things seem to be going well, a ghost from your past starts to haunt you, bringing up unpleasant memories. Notes: Emotional abuse trigger.

You had been more than a little confused as to why Moody was staring at you all of the time. You had met him a couple of times before. Had some run ins when you were being accused of being a death eater. Those accusations never came to fruition for them. There was no proof. No mark. You were part of the Order. Just like Severus was, your current partner. But unlike him, you had nothing to do with Voldemort. Your biggest flaw was that you always fell for the bad boys. Not the leather-wearing, motorcycle types like Sirius Black but the ones that really were bad. The criminals. Your friends used to think that you had a ‘I can change him’ complex, and maybe there was something to that after all. So perhaps - perhaps that was why the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was looking at you. You were on security detail during the Tournament, standing by the doors which lead into the Great Hall. Wand in hand, pointed downwards, safely towards the ground. Staring at Moody as he stared at you.

There was something familiar about it. You couldn’t quite pick up on what it was. His mannerisms seemed the same. Other than maybe the flask, but given what had been happening with the world, you couldn’t blame him for having a few sips of spirits every now and again. You were known to do it too. Make a late night trip into the dungeons and share in a bottle of wine with Severus. He never was the firewhiskey type, it wasn’t sophisticated enough for his tastes.

You found yourself thinking about the past. You weren’t sure exactly why it was. But there you were. Maybe it was the fact that your ex-boyfriend’s father was here as part of the tournament. Barty Crouch Sr. It was triggering a lot of memories of his son, of the rough relationship that had happened between the two of you. Four years of your life, spent with that man. He had been so sweet at first. Handsome as well. The dark hair, the dark eyes, the stubble that was always there, the thick accent. You had fallen for him so hard.

But he had never been one of the good guys. There were definitely signs there from the beginning. At first, you had thought that the resentment for his father was - well, just that. And you couldn’t blame him for that. The first time that you had been invited around to meet the parents, at their request not yours, there had been a shouting match over dinner. The table had been thrown down upon the ground. Things had gone flying through the air. Senior had grabbed junior by the collar of his coat and thrown him down onto the ground. You had your wand at his throat, threatening him if he ever touched your Barty again. Father or not, that was unacceptable.

Yes, you would attribute it to Crouch Sr who still avoided looking at you. You had bested him in his own home. A woman! He took that as a great insult. One that he was not going to give you the chance to repeat.

You looked away from the staring moody towards another man who was giving you equal interest. Your boyfriend, though he claimed to hate the word because it sounded so juvenile, his mouth going upwards ever so slightly as you caught his eye.  You did constantly make fun of him for it. He preferred the word partner, but you sprinkled Boyfriend in as much as you could. ‘This is my BOYFRIEND Severus’ you would say whenever you saw someone that you knew. Your friends knew you well, they knew what you were doing and they’d giggle and introduce themselves. Severus would be standing stiff but his pale, translucent skin gave away his blushing quickly.

He was a fair bit older than you, but that never seemed to matter. He didn’t have the grin and Scottish cuteness of Barty, but he did have the dark hair and the dark eyes that you were attracted to. And being a bad boy. A very bad boy. You met him through working in the order, and caught him looking at you a couple of times. You were bold enough not to let that slide. You found a reason to be alone together, offering to wash the dishes for Molly since she cooked and coerced Severus into drying them with a dish towel the muggle way because using magic tends to leave spots. And it isn’t quite as anti-bacterial. His deep voice combined with the accent made your heart race. You showed him. You took his hand and pressed it right up against his chest to show him what he did to you. The effect that he had on a woman that he didn’t even know about. That was the first time that you had ever seen a man blush like that - and of course, he blamed it on the heat of the oven which had been off for over an hour now.

You kept it low key for a while. You didn’t want there to be any discomfort in the Order. You told your friends outside of it, your group of girls and guys from Hogwarts. They weren’t that surprised that you had fallen for a spy, it seemed right up your alley. They were just surprised that he had fallen for you in return. Severus goddamn Snape. The grumpy Potions master at Hogwarts, the gothic warlock, the man who took his fashion advice from dementors. There were all fair judgements. But he was still so much more than all of that.

Things started to grow. You went from finding him attractive, sexy, fascinating to - to falling in love. Something you hadn’t anticipated. You thought that after you had your heart broken by Barty, you would never feel that way again. It had ended so badly, you felt as if your heart had been wrenched into pieces. It had started off, as such things did, with sarcastic little comments. Making you feel bad about your weight, your profession, asking when the last time you had gotten your hair done was. You thought it might just be his father speaking through him somehow, the way that he was raised, he didn’t actually think you were ugly, did he? You weren’t exactly the type to go gracing the cover of Witch Weekly but - he still got under your skin. You put in a lot more effort for Barty. You tried to be better for him. The pressure was causing you to crack.

“What is this, dog slop?” “They feed the prisoners better in Azkaban than this.” “Bloody hell, what is that you’re wearing? The curtains?” “You need to change your perfume, you reek.” It was bad. But then they turned into even worse digs. “Why are you so useless?” “All that magic and you’re still pitiful.” “Knew I should have shacked up with that wench from the pub last night, why did I bother coming home to you?”

All of that pressure made you feel like Atlas with the world on your shoulders. Your friends had noticed all of the digs, because he did them even when you were in public with them. They tried to help you lift that weight but the most that they could really do was tell you that you were better than all of this and you should leave him. They would help you. They would shield you away from any payback that he might try to get.

But do you know what pressure also creates?

Diamonds.

And how you shone that night when you realized what you were worth. When you told him that you deserved better, plain and simple. And that you were not going to put up with his shit any longer. You stood up for yourself. You wore your comfortable outfit, the one that he said made you look like a slob. You had your hair tied back and you had no make up on and you just had a dinner of burgers and fries rather than steak and potatoes. You improved by regressing to the person that you liked being.

“I never needed you, Barty. I wanted you. I wanted you bad. But it was never a need, do you understand me? I don’t need your shit pulling me down. I don’t need a child to take care of like you, or a father to criticize me the way that you do, I don’t even need a boyfriend, which is great because you haven’t been acting like one in ages.”

Barty had gotten up from the table, pushed it away from him with a force that you hadn’t known his skinny arms had. He had his wand in hand. He lifted it, pointing it straight at you, his mouth a second away from saying who knows what words. But you were quicker. You had been anticipating an attack.

“Protego,” You muttered, your hand clasped around your wand. The shiny shield spell surrounded you, keeping you protected from whatever he might try to throw at you. Whether it was the Killing Curse or - you just hoped with the small flame inside of you that had burned for what the two of you had, that he wouldn’t dare try that one. He seethed. He licked his lips in one fluid motion. It was getting to be a new and worsening habit of his. Maybe all of those insults that he threw around were drying him out.

“If you so much as shoot one spell at me, Barty, I’ll make sure that even your father can’t protect you from the consequences,” You said, keeping the spell  around you as you picked up the bags that you had hastily packed. You only needed a moment. A moment to get out of the room and dissaparate from the house that you had shared with him for years. “Don’t follow me.”

“Y/N!” He yelled, his anger overtaking any sadness that he might have had. And you hated to see it. You had hoped, you had - you had really damn hoped that he would straighten himself up when he realized that he was losing you. That he would see the error of his ways. Begging you wasn’t going to do anything, you were going to leave no matter his reaction but some remorse would have been nice. Even an apology would have been ideal. But instead, you could see that all that you were going to get if you stayed was more threats. So you left. You left, you stayed with friends for a while until things seemed to die down. You got your own place when you heard that Barty Crouch Jr was arrested on suspicion of being a Death Eater. He was put away. He couldn’t bother you. You were safe.

And time passed. As it does. And then came Severus Snape, setting your heart aflame once again.

You blew him a kiss. People around Hogwarts new, there weren’t many secrets that could be held here, especially when it came to gossip. You heard a few disgusted sounds coming from people who had caught you making the action but that just made you grin all the more.

-

You hadn’t been doing your job properly. You should have known. There was the Sirius Black fiasco the year before. There was Barty Crouch Sr being murdered in the woods. And now there was a dead student. And something else - something else was there. All year long, a feeling in the pit of your stomach. Something dangerous was close. Something familiar. It hadn’t died with Barty’s father.

But there was no time to mourn. Severus was moving, along with Dumbledore and Minerva. There was no way that you were sitting out of that action. You had your wand in hand and you ran to catch up, meeting up with the much older Minerva without much difficulty. “What is it?” You asked, watching Severus’s back. “Where are we going?”

“There’s no time to explain,” Minerva said, putting a hand on your arm.

“Well alright then,” You mumbled, but followed along. Heading to - The Defense Against the Dark Arts room. And up the stairs, up to the door which lead to Mad-Eye Moody’s chambers. Mad-Eye Moody. Things had not really improved there. Whenever you were in the same room together, one of his eyes would follow you. Watch you. Normally, you wouldn’t put up with such things but - he was meant to be a friend, wasn’t he? He was a fellow Auror at least. Maybe he just suspected you of being dangerous because of your relationship with Severus. You let it slide. He never tried to actually talk to you, or to get close to you, thankfully. Just - watched.

It was disconcerting. But you could deal with it.

“Expelliamus!” Dumbledore said, wand blasting down the door, hitting Moody square in the chest. It took you a second to see that he had been ready to attack - Harry Potter. Moody fell down upon a chair, which went flying backwards into the wall. Harry got up from where he had been hiding, evidently, and you went to him while everyone else focused on Moody.

“Are you alright, Harry?” You asked, checking the boy over.

“-m alright,” He muttered. You stayed with him while seeing a new side of Albus, the bearded old Professor going up to the Auror, pointing his wand directly at his chin. The old man called for your boyfriend who stepped forward with a small bottle of potion, pouring it into Alastor’s mouth. You were beyond confused. And it didn’t seem like you were the only one either.

“Do you know who I am?” Albus asked. Moody was struggling something fierce.

“Albus Dumbledore,” He snarled.

“Are you Alastar Moody? Are you?”

Your own mouth dropped. You never even thought. Never suspected. You were hanging onto his every word.

“No.”

“Is he in this room? IS HE IN THIS ROOM?”

His eyes. They seemed to hint towards the large trunk that you and Harry were standing behind. Before Dumbledore could say a word, Severus moved swiftly to come between you, Harry and the trunk. His arms wrapped around you. You noticed this as you always did, his warmth was impossible to ignore - but as was the look that the Alastar imposter was giving you at that moment. Such a cold, unforgiving eye. You could almost place it - but no, no, you couldn’t believe that it would be - not him, of all people, not him -

Severus shuffled you, and you in return held onto Harry, away from the trunk. With a quick snap of his wand, all of the locks started to open, revealing layer after layer popping up until the top opened. You assumed that the real Moody was in there. You were not looking away from the imposter.

They figured it was Alastar. They figured that it was Polyjuice potion that was in the flask that he was always drinking from. Not firewhisky, nor some other brand of spirit you thought it might have been. No wonder his face always screwed up afterwards. Nasty stuff. And his face was screwing up, even now. His eye was drooping. His skin looked like wax that a candle had been lit underneath. Strange sounds. It drew the rest of the group’s attention to it but your eyes had not left. Not now. Not with your suspicions.

Which came true. You were proven right. Never have you hated it so much. The features became more and more clear, and then the voice, and there he was sitting right there in front of you.

Snape knew about him. You had opened up about your rough past. And he had opened up about his. And together, you had found a way to work on healing. But that didn’t mean that you weren’t above trembling at the familiar features. He was so - handsome still. Despite looking like a wreck.

“Barty Crouch Jr,” Albus said, his voice with a twinge of surprise.

“Hey sweetheart,” Barty said, looking at you. An atrocious lick of his lips. He wasn’t paying attention to Severus, Minerva, Albus or Harry. Even if his focus had been Harry all along. He’d been watching you. He’d been so close to you and you didn’t even know it. It felt as if you were just waking from a dream of insects and could feel them all over you, crawling over your skin, nearly making you crumple, if it hadn’t been for Severus, Severus keeping you from falling over, Severus keeping his wand pointed at the wizard. “You’re looking good.”

“The fact that you look at me at all makes me sick,” You said, fighting back the urge to spit on him.

“Oh, fiery as ever,” He said, tauntingly. “I’ve always liked that about you. I’ve missed you, love.”

“You don’t call her that,” Severus said, sharply.

“No, you do that now, don’t you?” Barty said, his tone just as dangerous as Severus’s. “But we all know that I’m still the face in your heart, aren’t I, love? Am I still your last thought before you go to bed?”

What you had told him in confidence years ago. That he was such a part of your world, that you fell asleep to the comforting thought of him. To his scent on the pillow, even on nights when he was gone. Now used against you. Now being used against Severus. The room was filled with energy; disgusted, anticipatory, confusion.

“We’re not doing this,” You said, shaking your head. “I’m not letting you do this, Barty. You know you fucked up and I’m not giving you the littlest bit of help over it.”

“Perhaps you should leave the room, Miss y/l/n,” Minerva said. And you agreed. She gave you a friendly pat on the shoulder while you glared at Barty and backed up out of the room. Down the stairs. Into the corridor. Even the classroom felt too full of him. Full of Barty. And it was out there that you fell down onto the ground, all of the familiar feelings rushing in after seeing his sweaty little face. Not good enough. Him trying to get inside of your head with just a couple of words. Him lashing out as Severus.

Severus.

His shadow fell over you as he took the couple of steps away from the door. He had a look on his face that you couldn’t quite read. He was just as stone cold on the outside as his skill in Occlumency made him on the inside. “He’s a death eater. He has the mark,” Severus said. He didn’t lower himself down to you but he did lean against the wall beside you, his cloak nearly making a blanket for you. “Voldemort is back.”

“But you knew that, didn’t you?” You said, looking up at his arm where his own mark lay hidden. Had to lay hidden. “Did you know that he was here?”

“Of course not,” Severus said, his tone still like a knife. “I wouldn’t have let him anywhere near the school.”

“Okay, okay,” You said, taking a deep breath. You felt bad for even asking. Of course Severus wouldn’t let Barty come anywhere near you. “What’s going to happen now?”

“He’ll be taken to Azkaban. And will never come near you again.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Being perfect.”

Having grown up without any sort of compliment, Severus did not take them well. He had to look away from you, down the hall, see if anyone was looking at him, but everyone was still caught in the commotion of poor Cedric. There was no one to notice the redness that came across his face.

“I need to stay here. Make sure there’s no trouble when the aurors come to get him.”

“I’ll go wait in your office. I don’t want to see him again.”

“Okay. I love you.” ‘ Now it was your turn to flush. He so rarely initiated those words, but things were changing now. A ghost of your past was influencing him to be better. You stood back up, and kissed his soft cheek. “And I love you.”

[strwbi-laces]

Happy pandalily

@achilleslikespeas here are the sunny lesbians!!

“I should have listened to Evan,” Pandora thought as she fought her way through the crowd at Camden station. There was no chance she got a walk-in appointment right now. She’d planned this trip down to the last detail, all apart from calling a tattoo parlour to book a session. Ah well, no harm in exploring.

She walked past the market and kept going until the extravagant fronts turned into smaller shops. One caught her eye; Valerie’s. Something about the place pulled at her core.

The first thing she saw was a head of blindingly red hair. Suddenly the name made sense. Then the head looked up and Pandora stopped breathing. The woman was gorgeous. A smattering of multi coloured freckles covered her cheeks. They kinda looked like stars. Or confetti. Pandora’s brain felt like confetti.

“Hey, can I help you?” Yes, please.

“Ah, um, do you take walk-ins?” she stuttered.

She checked her book for a second before smiling at her. That smile could start and end wars. “Oh you’re lucky,” I know, “I’ve got time for a small one. Can you tell me what you want to do?”

So, so much, you don’t even know. “Just a small sun on my stomach. Here, I have a photo.”

While she checked the photo Pandora glanced at her tag. Lily.

“Yeah sure, come on back.”

“So why a sun?” Lily had a hand flat on her stomach which was making it very hard to think. Pandora felt her skin burning at the contact, hot enough to leave a mark. The thought put her in a headrush. Luckily the pain from the needle grounded her enough to answer.

“My twin has a moon and we wanted to match.” She missed one night out and suddenly Barty had 2 new piercings, Dorcas got alcohol poisoning and Evan had a tattoo.

“Oh that’s sweet, I wish I got on with my sister enough to get matching tattoos.” A wistful look crossed her face and Pandora thought that Lily’s sister must be awful to cause her such pain.

“Her loss, you seem amazing.”

“Sweet.”

Lily moved onto the detailing around the sun, focusing more intently. She was biting her tongue, poking the tip past her lips and making Pandora want to die. Her tongue, her lips, her hair. Everything about her was so very red and if Pandora kept thinking these thoughts her face was going to match.

“How’s the pain?” Lily’s voice dropped slightly lower and more sultry than it was before.

“Fine, ah,” she gasped as the needle went over bone.

“You sure? You’re very tense.” She stroked her hand down Pandora’s stomach, “We can take a break.”

“No.” The steady pricks of the needle were the only things keeping her mind tethered and if Lily took her hands off her she might genuinely start crying. “I’m alright.”

“Ok. Not long now.”

Even after Lily had finished, Pandora lay on the bench remembering how to breathe for a minute. It wasn’t until Lily returned to check on her, did she get up.

“So you have the aftercare balm and my number’s on the receipt if you have any questions.” Lily was walking her through the aftercare but Pandora could barely listen. She was too busy staring at the number in wonder while also hating the fact that it didn’t mean to Lily what it meant to her.

“Feel free to call if you ever want any other ink,” Lily paused before saying “or you know… some less permanent marks.”

Pandora snapped her head up so fast she nearly got whiplash. Did she mean…? From the shine in Lily’s eyes they were on the same page.

“Yes! I mean- yeah, I um,” Goddamn it. “Yeah, I’ll call you.”

She spun round before she could embarrass herself anymore. Lily barely managed to yell goodbye before she was out the door. It’s fine though, they could talk later.