#what if i started writing microfics what then

[veritas-scribblings]

finally - @black-brothers-microfic - words: 825 [notes: undertones of rosestarkiller; past bartylus; implied future character death that is canon-compliant; apparently I really like writing "off to the cave" Regulus...]

Regulus does not say goodbye to Barty or Evan.

He cannot bring himself to find the words or the gestures because if he tries, he will never leave. He will cling to them, accept Barty’s offer to run (run to where, to inevitable death?). And then where would they be?

“We stay together and die together” had seemed more romantic when they were still school boys huddled together in their tight little ball of comfort and the prospect of death had been entirely hypothetical. When they’d all been so sure that they would die for each other rather than watch each other die, because they still didn’t quite grasp the reality of war.

Regulus knows now that he cannot save Barty and Evan. He does not have the power to prevent the inevitable headlong rush of death barrelling towards them. What he can do, however, is increase their chances of survival exponentially.

And so this is what he will do.

The night that Regulus leaves, Barty does not sleep. At 3am, he’s wrapped himself around Regulus, long fingers playing with Regulus’s messy curls, reading by wand light.

See, Barty never sleeps. The last time Barty slept (truly slept, not half-slept or micro-slept) was probably back in early 1977 when Regulus and Barty had come down with temporary insanity and had attempted to engage in an honest-to-Merlin romantic relationship. Of course, everything had exploded between them (because that’s what happens when two volatile and combustive substances are combined) and at the time Barty had, for some unfathomable reason, decided that the only way to truly stick it to Regulus was to actually start partaking in that thing called sleep.

Regulus too does not sleep. Not now, at least. He’s been fighting it for the better part of three hours, watching the clock on the wall rapidly tick time away, listening to Barty’s quiet humming on one side of him and Evan’s even breathing on the other.

Evan is dead to the world. And thank Salazar for that, because while Barty (for all his intelligence) often needs emotions to punch him in the face to truly pick up on them, Evan is much more socially switched on. He would take one look at Regulus and his lack of sleep and the heavy weight on his heart, and he would know.

Regulus burrows deeper under the covers into Barty’s arms, savouring the feel of Barty’s fingers tangling in his hair. Listening to the slow thud-thud-thud of Barty’s heart beat. Watching the rise and fall of Evan’s chest.

He thinks, yes, they are alive.

He thinks, as alive as we can all be.

Regulus is at peace with what is to come. It is the end of the road for him. He feels it more than he knows it. He will not emerge from the cave alive. He will try with every last ounce of strength he has to come home to Barty and Evan—he will fight until his very last breath—but if he cannot, he is okay with that. Perhaps, in fact, it is better that way.

After every atrocity he has committed and borne witness to and failed to stop, he fears what the war has made him. What it is continuing to make him and who he will be at the other end.

Would he recognise himself at all?

When Barty’s fingers stop their gentle scratches at Regulus’s scalp, Regulus peers up at him. Barty is mid-thought, deep in his book, the little tell-tale crease between his brows indicating that the cogs of his brain are turning and he is conjuring what he calls “brilliant schemes”. Schemes he will likely later take to Bellatrix, because that’s Barty’s job: to think up brilliant schemes and do the fancy, complicated magic.

Barty hums quietly and wrinkles his nose, flipping back through his book. And Regulus’s resolve cracks a little because he can’t help but despair.

Why did they waste all those months months bickering angrily in their fifth year? Why did they do that to each other and to Evan, who had been caught in the middle of it all?

Why did they spend almost all of their seventh year bickering and fighting and avoiding each other?

Why did they not try harder to keep Barty away all of this?

And why are they not doing more to hold Evan together? Because Regulus knows that Evan is already on the verge of breaking and losing him might be what pushes Evan over the edge.

Regulus reaches out and lays a hand on Evan’s chest, feeling that rise and fall, the deep and steady breaths that tell Regulus that, even though Evan may not feel it anymore, he is still very much alive.

Regulus is at peace with his own impending end; selfishly so. Though, he realises, he may not be quite as at peace with leaving Barty and Evan behind to deal with the aftermath.

[solisitude]

microfic: touch

| drarry | sfw | 741 words |

Touch was special to Harry.

At first it was terrible, coming from a household where every touch was violent and love was rare. 

Hogwarts changed that.

Ron would throw his arm over his shoulder after a quidditch match and Hermione would fall asleep on his shoulder while they studied late. It was odd, but soon it became as easy as breathing.

Soon touch became the way Harry would communicate. He'd lightly shove Seamus with his shoulder and press his knee to Luna's when he'd sit on the floor with her to listen to her daily rants. He'd kiss Hermione's forehead before she left a room and tug on Ron's clothes to get his attention. He'd make sure that he was always touching someone at some point. 

Harry Potter was not a boy who was shown a lot of love through touch, but he expressed it oh so generously. 

When Draco and Harry became hesitant friends in 8th year, Harry was nervous. 

The war had not ruined his affinity for physical touch as a means of comfort, in fact, it may have exacerbated it. 

But Harry did not know if Draco liked to be touched and with a friendship so rocky, he wasn't willing to risk it. 

But like all things with Draco, everything just sort of clicked. 

When they sat together for lunch in the great hall (a fact that made Harry giddy with joy for some reason?) he found Draco sitting close enough that their arms pressed together. 

When they sat next to each other in class, Draco's leg would be close enough to brush against his every now and then. 

When they sat on the couches in the 8th year common room, all of their friends sitting together, squashed up on the couches, Draco and him would sprawl all over each other, limbs entangled and unbearably comfortable. 

All in all, Harry loved it. 

It was when they started dating that it all came to a crux. 

It was their first year out of Hogwarts, and with Draco beginning his time consuming journey of training to become a potions master, a relationship was the last thing that you would assume could work out. 

But they made it work, they always do. 

Harry didn't care that Draco had odd hours because he had to sometimes check on potions at weird times in the night, he didn't care that sometimes Draco would spend entire afternoons reading on potions textbook or the other, he didn't care that sometimes Draco had to cancel plans last minute because his mentor was an utter ass and had Draco running at his beck and call. 

It should have bothered him, especially as early as it was into their relationship as it was, but it didn't. 

He didn't care because when Draco got back from his odd hours he would always kiss the crown of Harry's head, and get back into bed, going back to spooning him like he never left.

He didn't care because when Draco spent entire afternoons reading, he always did it on the couch next to Harry, his legs curled up next to him and his body leaning into his, and afterwards he would kiss Harry and thank him for being so patient with him. He didn't care because everytime before he got back from his mentor he would kiss Harry on the cheek, and hug him, tightly, promising that as soon as his internship was done he would never cancel plans again because he knew how important stability was for Harry. 

Harry was never that good with expressing how he felt, but he loved Draco Malfoy, and he expressed that very clearly. He expressed it in the way he linked their pinkys together. He expressed it the way he hugged Draco from behind when he made coffee in the morning. He expressed it in the way he swung their hands when they walked anywhere. 

And Draco loved him, oh how Draco loved him. 

Draco loved him in the way he let Harry bury his face in his neck when he was cold. Draco loved him in the way he put his arm around Harry's chair when they went to pub nights with their friends. Draco love him in the way he pulled him close when they were dancing. Draco loved him.

Touch was everything to Harry, it was how he loved and how he wanted to be loved.

And oh, how he was loved.

[caiizawa]

@jegulus-microfic - June 18 - date

Today is James Day. He is going to ask him. Like properly. The first few times were kind of light flirting, but more so as a joke. A joke to flirt with Sirius brother just to annoy his best friend.

But with every interaction James had with Regulus, the more he looked forward to them. And then he stopped asking. He wanted a date. A real date with him. He just hopes that now Regulus doesn't think it's a joke. Because it isn't anymore. But he is going to do it today. And the first chance he gets, he takes.

He is walking the halls back from Quidditch practice. Regulus is walking with Pandora. He looks up for a moment, and his eyes meet James. "Regulus, Hi." James smiles at him suddenly nervous. "You.. ehh, maybe.. would you? I know that i... but, you know? So would you?"

Regulus looks like he doesn't understand what James is asking of him. Which fair, James doesn't know if anything he just said made any sense. "What? Potter speak in full sentences, please. I dont know what you want from me."

James takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He counts to three, opens them, and says: "Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me?" James stops breathing as he watches Regulus face twist. "Like... as a date?" He doesn't know what to make of this reaction. James can't figure out his tone or the look on his face.

He knew he would ruin what little friendship he had with Regulus just by asking, but he did it anyway. There's just damage control left to do then. So James swallows the lump in his throat and waves his hand. "Whaaat? Noo, that would be ridiculous. I dont know why I asked, just forget it." He starts to get quieter, the more he defends himself.

James looks to the ground. Not wanting to see any more of Regulus reaktion. "Have a great rest of your day. Bye!" With that, he turns and practically runs away. It was a stupid idea. Today is not James Day.

[sugarsnappeases]

microfic - lilyritaminerva (i can explain!!) | 1.5k words | college students (lily & rita) competing for professor minerva’s attention, so age gap and kinda suggestive content | part 2

“Professor, would you be able to help me with something?” Rita glanced behind her as she spoke, feeling a thrill run through her at the sight of Lily’s scowl, just three steps behind her but they were three steps too many. Rita had won this round.

She flashed Lily a smile, her sharp, mean one, before looking back at Professor McGonagall who was leaning against her desk, eyes shifting between Lily and Rita, a glimmer of something in them that was gone before Rita could even begin to decipher it.

“That rather depends on what that something is, Miss Skeeter” Professor McGonagall replied, those eyes settling on her, solid and exhilarating and making Rita’s heart race in the way that having her full attention always did.

The professor was terrifying, and brilliant, and Rita wanted to sit at her feet like a dog, she would wear a leash if the professor wanted, she would do anything if the professor wanted, as long as it meant that her attention was on Rita, and not on Lily.

Lily didn’t deserve it anywhere near as much as Rita did. She wished she could say that Lily was an awful student, or that she had never had a single interesting thought, or that she didn’t deserve to be at the university, let alone anywhere near Professor McGonagall, but she had spent enough time eavesdropping on conversations that Lily had and hacking into the university mainframe to read her essays to know that wouldn’t be true.

Lily was unfortunately intelligent, and her essays were horribly well-thought out, and she had more than earned her place there, but Rita was better, she knew she was better, and she deserved the weight of Professor McGonagall eyes on her, she deserved her approval and her attention and she deserved to be allowed to sit on the professor’s lap and slide her hands under that blazer.

Rita forcefully pulled her thoughts back to the matter at hand and opened her mouth to explain what she wanted help with, but Professor McGonagall spoke again before she could,

“Oh - Miss Evans, if you could wait just a moment, there’s a matter I’d like to discuss with you”

Rita turned again, Lily had a hand on the door to the classroom and it was her turn to flash a smile, spiteful and victorious and making Rita want to slap her.

The door shut and they were the only three people left in the room, Lily taking a few steps closer to the front desk, smugness in every line of her body as she answered, “Of course, Professor”

It was making Rita feel violent. She fantasised sometimes, about attacking Lily, just tackling her right there in the classroom, under the watchful eyes of Professor McGonagall.

Maybe she would smile approvingly at Rita as she pulled at Lily’s hair, as she slapped the smug smile off Lily’s face, as she straddled Lily on the floor, ripping at one of those smart blouses that Lily liked to wear, ruining how neat and put-together she always looked, as she bruised Lily’s pale, delicate skin, as she beat Lily once and for all.

Maybe Professor McGonagall would give Rita a prize for her victory, maybe the prize would involve being pushed up against the desk, the professor’s firm hands on her hips, or maybe one around her neck, pressing her back into the hard wood of the desk, the shiny metal nameplate digging into her spine, and the other hand sliding up her thigh, under the short, short skirts she always wore to these classes, pushing her knickers to one side and -

“Miss Skeeter?” Professor McGonagall was asking and Rita felt like she might die. She blinked out of the haze of her thoughts and glared over at Lily, who was chuckling under her breath.

Lily just raised an eyebrow and Rita rolled her eyes, turning back to face the professor properly. Professor McGonagall was still leaning against the front of her desk, fingers drumming against it, brows slightly furrowed, impatient.

“Sorry, Professor,” Rita was sure that she was blushing, “I just got lost in my thoughts a little”

She didn’t miss the way that Professor McGonagall smirked, just a little, the smallest little twitch of her cheek, and it only made her blush more, she was sure that the professor could tell exactly what direction her thoughts had been heading.

“Well, get on with it then,” she demanded, “What’s this thing you need help with?”

And suddenly, Rita felt a little daring, a little bold, a little shameless. Like a switch flipping, all thoughts of the question she had about her essay retreating as she was overtaken by something that was probably more than a little dangerous.

She took a step closer to the desk, pushing her shoulders back a bit and tilting her head to one side, “I’ve got this problem, you see, it’s rather personal,”

Professor McGonagall straightened slightly, then narrowed her eyes, and Rita didn’t know whether it was because of her tone of voice or the way she was batting her eyelashes or the way that she had taken yet another step closer but she felt something curl with satisfaction in her stomach at the sight of the movement.

It was a cliché probably but Rita was leaning into it as she stepped forward again, only a few paces away from the desk now, continuing in a low voice, “And with all the time I spend doing work for your classes…”

The professor raised an eyebrow then, which was probably fair enough, because although a lot of her time did go towards the actual work, the vast majority of it was spent coming up with ways to get Professor McGonagall’s attention, or obsessively tracking whatever Lily was doing to make sure she was still winning. Speaking of, Rita glanced briefly over to where Lily had walked further back into the room, hands clenched tight around the strap of her satchel, watching the scene in front of her like she was studying it.

“… I haven’t been able to find anyone to help me with it,” Rita finished, focussing back on the professor in front of her, who’s eyes flicked quickly up and down Rita’s body before meeting hers again, heavy and exhilarating.

Rita felt like she was diving headfirst into a volcano and she really quite desperately wanted to burn so she took the last few steps forward, coming to a stop directly in front of Professor McGonagall, close enough that if the professor spread her legs just a little, Rita could settle quite nicely in between them.

She clasped her hands behind her back to stop herself from reaching out and spoke again, slow and suggestive, “And I thought, being as it’s your work that’s stopping me from finding anyone, that maybe you could help me?”

Professor McGonagall smirked again, just a little, and then, as if she was reading her mind, lifted her hands from the desk and placed them on Rita’s hips instead, spreading her legs and pulling Rita into the space between them, nestled there like it was where she belonged. Rita was sure she was bright red, she hadn’t been sure this would work at all but victory was singing through her veins as she heard the way that Lily had gasped at the professor’s actions.

“I’ve just been so tense lately,” Rita went on, pressing her thighs together as the hands at her hips squeezed slightly, “And I really think you might be able to help me relax… Minerva”

The professor smirked, moving her hands to rest on Rita’s arse, pulling her even closer, leaning in so that Rita could feel her breath on her ear,

“Oh Rita,” Professor McGonagall breathed, making Rita both shiver and feel like she was on fire, unclasping her hands and bringing them up to rest on the professor’s chest, “I think I know just the thing,”

“Yeah?” Rita asked, biting at her lip to stop the word from turning into a moan.

“Oh yes,” the professor continued, pulling back a little to look her in the eye, that solid, exhilarating gaze, something glimmering in it that Rita couldn’t quite decipher. Then, Professor McGonagall was moving her hands, back up to Rita’s hips and pushing her round to one side, “Why don’t you ask Miss Evans to help you?”

Rita’s mouth fell open, looking at Lily who was standing just a few paces away and looking right back, face red and a hand over her mouth, eyes wide and slightly hazy just like Rita expected her own were. She glanced back at Professor McGonagall, feeling both a little betrayed and a lot turned on, as the professor dropped her hands from Rita’s hips and placed them back on the desk behind her again.

She just chuckled at whatever was probably written all over Rita’s face, “I think she might be having a similar problem, I’m sure you could… solve it together.”

Then, Professor McGonagall smiled, her own victorious smile, sharp and amused, “You two are my best students after all.”

[ecstarry]

the amount of stuff from my relationship that i projected to my fics is actually insane

[my-castles-crumbling]

fire - Jegulus Microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 1367 (whoops)

There were few things Regulus Black valued more than sleep. Perhaps reading. Or music. Or a nice dark roast coffee. But either way, sleep was of the utmost importance. He was even more prickly than normal without at least eight hours of it, and miserable as well, so he always prioritized getting his rest.

Which is why he was ready to kill everyone in his path when the fire alarm was pulled at 2:47 am on a Tuesday night in his university dorm, and he was forced to evacuate into the parking lot.

Not only was the whole thing infuriating, but to make matters worse, it was also freezing outside. The September air was chilling him to his bones, and he could feel his body screaming for shut-eye. It was his definition of hell.

As he stood shivering, a tall, dark-haired, tan-skinned, hazel-eyed boy walked up to him and offered him his coat with the most obnoxiously beautiful grin he’d ever seen.

Too cold to play stupid games, he just hissed, “Fuck off,” and turned away.

As soon as they were all allowed back inside, Regulus curled under his blanket and fell asleep, keen to put the whole miserable experience behind him.

-

No such luck.

It took one week before the alarm went off again. This time at 1:19am on a Thursday, he found himself trudging down the stairs and into the cold, cursing himself for once again being too sleepy to remember a coat.

So furious that he was about to scream, he didn’t see the same boy walk up to him right away, until he felt a tap on his shoulder. 

“I brought you an extra,” the boy grinned, making Regulus’s frozen knees melt as he offered him the jacket.

“Do you make a habit of giving your clothing to strangers?” he bit out, giving in and grabbing the offending garment, immediately throwing it over his shoulders. He figured if he was going to be harassed, he might as well be warm while it happened.

“Only the pretty ones,” the boy said with a wink, walking off and leaving Regulus both pissed off and flustered.

-

The third time happened only three days after the second, and Regulus bit back a scream when the alarm roused him from his slumber. At this point, it felt like a pattern, and he was at least smart enough to grab the oversized, frayed, horrifyingly maroon, disgustingly warm jacket he’d thrown over his desk chair three days ago.

He was only outside for a few minutes before the boy walked up to him again, looking completely comfortable in the frigid night.

“So, do I get to know your name?” he asked, sending Regulus the same stunning smile.

Frowning, at both his current whereabouts and the way his stomach flip-flopped, Regulus scoffed. “I don’t know yours.”

“James,” he answered easily, kicking at a random rock on the pavement. “Now, I’ve given you two things. It makes sense that you should give me one, yeah? Only fair.” And he batted his long eyelashes, making Regulus nearly choke on his spit.

He pretended to ponder for a moment, getting ahold of himself, before rolling his eyes. “No,” he said shortly. And he walked off.

-

“What about your major, then?”

Ten days. It took ten days before the alarm was pulled again, and the school had started sending out cryptic notices threatening consequences for the party responsible. But still, Regulus was here, in the parking lot in the middle of the night, sending a death glare at James.

“Why does it matter?” he asked with a huff.

“Because people tend to care about their majors,” the taller boy shrugged. “And I want to know what you care about. Mine’s education, by the way.”

Education. It fit, strangely. James’s sunshiny disposition warmed the surrounding air even during the cold night, and his smile seemed like the type of thing that would put kids at-ease.

Regulus sighed, giving in. “English. With a minor in creative writing,” he mumbled, looking down.

“Hmm. That suits you,” James replied vaguely, smiling. What the hell was that supposed to mean? “And your name?”

He thought about it for a moment, but at this point, it almost felt like he would be giving in to some sort of weird, unspoken battle if he shared his name. And he had to admit, talking with James passed the time during these stupid evacuations. “No,” he answered, sending the boy a smirk, heart skipping a beat at his own nerve, and turning to find someone else to speak with.

-

It became a game. Every time the alarm was pulled, James found him. He asked him questions, and Regulus answered every one, shocked at the way James listened. It was actually nice to talk to someone who seemed genuinely interested. He hadn’t made a lot of friends on campus, yet, and James felt…safe. But every time James asked his name, he refused, grinning as much as James did, before sauntering away.

-

One cold night in November, though, he couldn’t sleep. Stress about classes had his mind going wild, and anxious energy flooded his body. So, he decided to take a walk through the dorm, to clear his head. He drifted through the floors and halls, no destination in mind, when he happened across one of the more-quiet areas of the building. This area happened to have a fire alarm in a dark corner of the hall, almost hidden in shadows. It was as he turned a corner to this spot that Regulus saw a hooded figure slowly approach the alarm, arm outstretched, intentions clear. 

Eyes wide, Regulus watched as the figure pulled the latch and began to run, turning and smacking right into Regulus.

“Ouch!” He cried out, nearly falling over.

“Fuck!” The person yelled, losing their balance as well.

And then the hood fell. And Regulus would have recognized those hazel eyes and that beautiful hair anywhere.

“James!?!”

The other boy looked terrified, mouth open, his body frozen in place. He uttered a few syllables as if he was trying to form words, but no sound came out. Scoffing, Regulus grabbed his hand and led him down some nearby stairs and out the emergency exit, alarm still blaring overhead.

When they got into the quiet, freezing air, he turned to the taller boy. “It was you?” he hissed, resisting the urge to slap him across the shoulder. The amount of sleep he’d lost in the past two months was abhorrent. “Why?”

James grimaced. “Well…the first two times, it wasn’t! But, y’know, the first time you didn’t have a coat…”

“I remember,” Regulus frowned, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah. And…I couldn’t stop thinking about you. So the second time, I just…grabbed my old one. And when you took it and you looked so…” James gestured to Regulus, eyes wide, cheeks pink. Regulus blinked, trying to understand. Was James saying he looked good in his jacket? “…I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so I just…”

Regulus gaped. “You’ve been pulling the fire alarm to see me?”

“It was only supposed to be a one-time thing! Just to get your name!” James defended himself, looking almost scared. “I didn’t know how to find you, and I just….you have to understand, you’re fucking stunning, you know?”

Blushing furiously, Regulus sputtered, “That’s…well, that’s not…”

“But then you wouldn’t tell me your name! So I had to keep pulling it, you know?” James explained, a desperate look on his face. Like it obviously made sense why he’d been breaking the law for two months. “...Just until I found out.”

He blinked several times before biting his lip. Nobody had ever gone to such lengths to get to know him before. It was stupid, and risky, and idiotic, and so damn romantic.

“My name is Regulus,” he sighed, wondering if he’d regret this. “I live in room 743. And if you ever pull that damn alarm again, and wake me up, I will never speak to you again. Understood?”

James grinned sheepishly. “Yeah. Your name is as beautiful as you are, by the way.”

Regulus could only sigh. What had he gotten himself into?

I also posted this here if you want to go give it some love!

[coyotelip]

starchaser microfic: journal || @into-the-jeggyverse || wc: 135

"Remus, can you hand me that journal I put on the counter? And a pen, please."

"What are you doing?" James asks in surprise, looking at his husband at the table who had so abruptly interrupted his story.

Regulus spreads a blank journal on the table and starts writing. "Of course I'm writing down everything you just said. So that when our children say something like 'my father didn't strut', I can pull it out of my pocket and say 'then how do you explain this?' Two hundred pages of quotes with the date and exact time," he glanced at his watch to fix the minute.

James's eyes widened in horror, "Oh my God, I've married the devil..."

"That's not what you told me last night."

Remus giggles into his coffee in the background.

[ultravioletbrit]

“flawed” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 498 words

 

“Go away.” Regulus tells James when he sits down across from him in the library.

“Not yet, I have an argument for you.” James says simply.

Regulus doesn’t even look up, so James continues.

“I think that you should like me.” He informs Regulus.

Regulus huffs a laugh, “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”

“Well, Regulus, I’m glad you asked.” James takes out a piece of parchment, clears his throat and begins reading.

“Reasons Regulus Black should fancy James Potter.” Regulus furrows his eyebrows but says nothing, so James begins to read his list.

“One, I’m brave. Obviously, seeing as I’m risking being hexed the longer I sit here.”

Regulus gives him an expression that confirms the potential hexing.

“Two, we’re complete opposites, which sounds like a bad thing, but it’s not. You’re elegant and understated and sophisticated, while I’m loud and rambunctious and a nuisance. So, we balance each other out. That whole opposites attract thing and whatnot.”

Regulus raises one eyebrow with an unimpressed look.

“Three, I’m fiercely loyal to my friends and the people I love. And while you may think my friends are also nuisances, I do think you understand that loyalty because you’re the same way with you friends. And I think that’s an important thing we have in common.”

Regulus now has an unreadable expression.     

“Four… I’m kind of cute.” James says with big eyes and the cutest voice he can manage. “I mean… you think I’m at least a little cute, right?” James looks at Regulus with a shy, hopeful smile. Regulus gives him a blank stare in return.

James takes a deep breath to steady himself, he wants to finish strong.

“Lastly,” James gets completely serious and sincere, “I really, really like you. And I know I can be ridiculous and obnoxious and over the top about it. But sometimes when I’m nervous it’s easier for me to overcompensate rather than be vulnerable with my feelings. And I get really nervous to be vulnerable around you because… I really like you. But everything I’ve said to you has always been the truth. And if you give me a chance, I think you might really like me too… maybe.” James finished in a whisper, admittedly not the strong finish he’d hoped for.

Regulus says nothing, just packs up his books and stands to leave. James deflates instantly.

Regulus stops beside James on his way out, “Nice speech, but your original argument was flawed.” James drops his head and sighs in defeat, but Regulus continues, “I already like you. Come back to me when you have a list of reasons I should let you take me on a date.”

James’ head snaps up to look at Regulus, but he’s already walking out of the library. James sits dumbfounded for several minutes before he processes what just happened. Once he does, he smiles the biggest smile he probably ever has and grabs a piece of parchment and starts writing… 

“Reasons Regulus Black should go on a date with James Potter.”

[oh-phoenixx]

"Ball" - Black Brothers/Jegulus microfic - 937 words

-

It didn’t take a genius to figure out why Remus had all his scars, why he and his friends were busy every full moon. After realising that Remus was a werewolf, Regulus understood quickly what his friends had done to help him. He decided to do some research into becoming an animagus, and at first, it was just to understand how his brother, James, and Peter had done it. He had no desire to become an animagus himself, really. But he grew curious, eager. It was a long process, yes, but he could do it. 

So, on a full moon, he put a mandrake leaf in his mouth, which he would have to keep there until the next month. He collected everything else he would need with the help of Pandora, the only person he had told his plan. 

Regulus stopped Sirius outside the Great Hall after the following full moon. “Sirius, can I talk to you?” Regulus asked, his voice coming out smaller than he had intended.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Sirius replied with a nod, waving his hand for James, Peter, and Remus to go inside. “What’s up?”

“Don’t laugh,” Regulus started nervously, “but I’m…I’m trying to become an animagus. And I know you and your friends already are, and I wanted your help.”

Sirius’s eyes widened. “I don’t know what you mean, we, uh, we aren’t…”

“Sirius,” Regulus sighed. “I know you are, I’m not an idiot. And I know that Remus is a-” Regulus looked around, remembering that they were in public. “Well, I know what he is.”

Sirius gaped at him further, looking worried. He seemed, for a moment, as though he might argue, but instead took a deep breath and gave in. “Fine. I’ll write down the steps.”

“I’ve already done it all. I just,” Regulus’s voice became an embarrassed murmur, “I wanted you to be there when I, um, transformed.”

Sirius’s concerned frown turned into a grin, and he tried to ruffle his brother’s hair. Regulus sidestepped and glared at him, though Sirius wasn’t deterred. 

Regulus regretted asking him for help, though, when he transformed the next day and it turned out his animagus was a tiny black kitten. When he managed to become human again, Sirius was clutching his stomach and laughing like a maniac.

“It’s not that funny!” Regulus grumbled.

Sirius didn’t seem to agree.

-

Quite soon after becoming an animagus, Regulus found that it was much more comfortable for him to be a cat than a human being. Maybe it was because he was always trying to make himself smaller anyway; maybe because, as a cat, he could just hiss at anyone who came too close, which was not ‘socially acceptable’ for a person.

Regulus sat outside the Gryffindor common room one day, and followed after a student as they stepped inside the portrait. He had intended to talk to his brother, but once inside he found Sirius, James, and Marlene all sitting by the fire. He walked over and curled up by Sirius’s legs, not wanting to disturb his brother's evening.

“Aw, look at him!” James nearly shouted, leaning down to stroke Regulus.

“Don’t, James,” Marlene warned, “I tried to pet him the other day and he scratched me. He’s evil.”

“He’s not evil, Marls,” James frowned, scratching behind the cat’s ears. “He’s a little ball of fluff.”

James picked the cat up and set him on his lap, stroking him absent-mindedly as he continued his conversation with Marlene. Sirius, however, glared at the small black cat. If anyone else had tried that, Regulus would have hissed or bitten them. Regulus was sure, as Sirius looked between him and James suspiciously, that he knew.

It became a habit for Regulus, going into the Gryffindor common room and sitting with James. Everyone else was confused as to why the little black cat hated everyone but him, and James took pride in this. 

“What do you think I should call him?” James asked his friends, the cat nuzzling his face. 

“Leo,” Sirius scoffed. 

James didn’t hear the sarcasm in his tone, and held the cat a few inches from his face. “Leo!”

-

“Regulus,” Sirius called.

Regulus tried to walk away, pretending not to have heard him, but Sirius caught his arm before he could. He dragged him to an empty corner of the hallway, trying to catch Regulus’s eye. 

“You’re in love with him,” Sirius stated. Regulus’s mouth opened and closed, searching for a defense. He couldn’t find any. “It’s okay, you know,” Sirius said, softer now. “But I wish you would have told me.”

“Thought you’d laugh,” Regulus mumbled. “It’s stupid.”

“Nah, it’s not. I mean, I probably would have laughed, yeah, but it’s not stupid.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, and he would never admit that knowing Sirius wasn’t annoyed felt like a weight being lifted off his shoulders. Steeling himself, Regulus clenched his jaw and fixed Sirius with a glare.

“If you tell him, Sirius, I swear I will pull your fucking teeth out,” Regulus threatened. 

“Yeah, whatever you say, loverboy,” Sirius grinned, walking away. 

-

It was months before Regulus built up the courage to confess. He was looking everywhere but James’s eyes as he wondered how to phrase this. 

“I know what you’re going to say,” James smiled down at him.

“You do?” Regulus asked, taking a deep, shaky breath.

“You’re Leo,” James declared, seeming proud of his discovery.

Regulus tried to form words, though was momentarily stunned. “That’s not- I was going to tell you I was in love with you, but how did you know about-”

“You’re in love with me?!”

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo and @steddiemicrofic.

Mordor It Was

Steddie Microfic January Prompt: New || Countdown to Midnight Prompt: Hurt/Comfort | Word Count: 517 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Post-Bat Attack | POV: Eddie | Tags: S4 Fix-It, Eddie Munson Lives, Steve Harrington Will Make Sure Of It, And Then Not Go Away. Pre-Steddie

The darkness takes hold faster than Eddie imagined. He didn't think one bite, followed by another, and another, could fuck up his whole world this much. But it has, and now he's faced with the reality that he's gonna die here. On the ground, having run in the wrong direction.

Having failed.

And that's something he's gonna have to live with. Just, not for very long. He can feel his pulse hammering, beating in his chest. His neck. As the blood pulses out of him, spilling onto the filthy ground below.

He wanted to do better, wanted to not run away this time, but he still managed to fuck it up. 

Goddamnit.

He's made peace with it, even if Henderson isn't as accepting of what's coming. Maybe it's the blood loss making Eddie feel serene when he should be fighting, panicking.

It doesn't matter.

Steve Harrington is here, fighting for him. 

Eddie kind of wishes he wouldn't. He's floaty, no longer feeling pain, and anything Steve can possibly do will disturb that, surely.

"Eddie, for fuck's sake," Steve's saying, and Eddie tries to open his eyes.

"Eddie!"

His eyes snap open. Steve is hovering, "Good. That's good. I'm going to pick you up. Don't fucking die."

He's definitely gonna die, but he nods. He'll try his best.

Steve tugs on him, and the pain that sears through him is above and beyond anything he's ever felt. He lets out a hoarse scream.

"I know, I'm sorry," Steve says, throwing him over his shoulder like he weighs nothing at all, repeating his previous order: "Don't fucking die."

But Eddie thinks he'll do just that.

When he wakes up, he's in a sterile hospital room. Machines are beeping, whirring, and he thinks this has to be the calm before the storm.

But Steve Harrington's sitting in the chair next to him, looking comfortable, his feet propped up on Eddie's bed, reading a book.

Harrington reads? 

Eddie squints, tries to look closer, to see what he's reading, and realizes it's not a new book. No, it's his own copy of The Return of the King. He recognizes his own paperback's well-worn, dog-eared cover.

"My book," Eddie croaks, and Steve startles so bad, the book goes flying, skittering across the tile floor.

"I'm sorry. Wayne left it. I was bored," he starts, then immediately changes direction, "You're okay, it's okay," already pressing the call button, hammering it with his thumb, as if he's convinced Eddie's gonna drop dead in the next five seconds without help. 

The way the room fills, maybe he will. Steve has backed up against the wall, the book clutched to his chest. 

There's poking, and prodding.

Wayne rushes in, and Steve still stands there.

Finally, the crowd thins. Apparently, he's gonna live.

Steve sits back down.

"So, what's new?" Steve teases, and Eddie laughs. His throat is hoarse, dry. Steve pours water from the pink, plastic pitcher, directing the straw to his mouth. 

Eddie takes the longest, best drink of his life, then says, "Not much. You?"

Steve holds up the book and grins, "Learning about Mordor."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for these challenges, pop on over to @steddiemicrofic and @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun!

[heartsickspider]

arthur morgan - found father

a/n: first writing post! i know this has probably been done to death, but girl dad arthur means the world to me <3 this started as a headcanon post, but its got a whole narrative so idk what it is - drabble, blurb, microfic? regardless, here's what i think would happen if arthur found a young, orphan girl and took her under his wing.

part 2

arthur was the one who found the poor girl during one of his trips to valentine. it was raining, and she was shaking like a leaf under the stairs of the general store. the tattered stuffed bear she was clinging onto for dear life looked like it had seen better days.

arthur tried to mind his own business at first, he really did. but he didn't make it more than five steps before turning right back around.

he crouched down near the girl, trying to be as non-intimidating as a big, gruff outlaw like himself could possibly be. "you lost, little one?" arthur asked her softly, looking around to see if there was anyone nearby looking for her. "you got a ma or a pa 'round?"

she looked up at him with big, teary eyes, her bottom lip trembling slightly. arthur took that as a no and let out a big sigh. he couldn't just leave the girl here. she'd die of starvation, or worse.

"you hungry?" he took a small package of crackers from his satchel and handed it to the girl. she tore opening the packaging, practically inhaling the stale crackers. "woah, easy there. don't wanna choke."

it took some time to coax her out from under the stairs, but once he was able, arthur led her into the general store to buy necessities: a few new dresses, a coat, some sturdy boots, a comb.

as he was browsing, arthur noticed a small rag doll. "you like this?" he asked as he held it out for her to examine. she nodded softly and took it from him, cradling it in her free arm. the small smile on her face immediately sold arthur on the purchase.

when they were checking out, the little girl was intensely focused on some butterscotch candies sitting in a bowl by the register. arthur couldn't help but chuckle to himself and bought some for her without a second thought.

he handed her a candy as they left the store and made their way to arthur's mare. he gently lifted her up before getting on himself, wrapping a protective arm around her.

as they rode back to horseshoe overlook, arthur realized that he didn't know the girl's name. she didn't respond when he asked. "fine, guess i'll call you 'girl,' then."

[missmoonfrost]

The regular - a jegulus microfic

@into-the-jeggyverse - April 11: Better - Words: 770

In many ways, running away from home had been even harder than Regulus had ever imagined. That made him all the more proud to have finally found a stable job. It was nothing fancy, it only paid for his rented room and basic necessities, but standing behind the coffeeshop counter pouring coffees and grilling sandwiches every day at least made him feel like he contributed with something in this world.

He had been forced to cut ties with his old life entirely, and making new friends was one of the many things he still struggled with. He got along all right with his co-workers, but that was that. His brother had invited him to various gatherings he hadn’t attended out of fear of feeling like a charity case. That was probably why he got so excited over this one regular.

He was fit. Handsome even, with his seemingly always-smiling hazel eyes and artfully messy hair. But Regulus wasn’t that shallow that a pretty boy was all it took to make him lose his bearings the way this one did.

He had learned Regulus' name. He had put his nametag in his pocket before his normal arrival time once, just to try it. And Regulus naturally remembered his name (James) as well as his order (a tall caramel latte with oat milk).

It had started innocently enough. They would share a few words about the weather, or how work was, or that fire in the other side of town yesterday. Over time, he learned that James worked at a nearby architect’s office, that he had two cats and visited his parents almost every weekend. Regulus didn’t like to say he was obsessed, but he sometimes replayed their short conversations in his head until he fell asleep at night, and he noticed immediately when James came in one hour earlier than usual.

“You’re early,” he pointed out and immediately heard how creepy that sounded.

“Yeah. Thought it would be quieter at this hour. So that I could get a chance to talk to you more.”

“Oh. What do you want to talk to me about?” Regulus asked as he prepared James' latte unprompted. James was right. This was a much slower hour, especially today.

“I…” James hesitated and lowered his voice even though they were almost alone, “There is this cute guy I want to ask out, but I don’t know how to.”

Regulus forced himself to smile. “And you want me to help you?”

“Yeah? You’re smart. And I bet people try to woo you all the time.”

“Hardly,” Regulus snorted.

“Then they don’t know what they miss out on.”

Despite James just having revealed he was interested in someone else, Regulus found himself smiling again. James was always like this, strewing kindness and flatter around as careless as if it had been sand.

“So, are you going to write this person a message or what?”

“Something like that. What should I say?”

Regulus leaned his forearms on the counter and slid a bit closer to James. “Start with something classical.”

“Roses are red…?”

“Nope. That’s just cheesy.”

“All right,” James laughed, “your eyes shine like pearls?”

Regulus tilted his head. “Better. But you could be more personal.”

“Meeting you is the highlight of my day?”

“Yeah, that’s actually….” Regulus looked into James' eyes and lost his train of thought. He would have given anything to be the one James thought of in that way. But he wasn’t. He quickly looked away and grabbed a cleaning rag to have something to do. “That’s good. You should send that.”

“I don’t have his number.”

Regulus frowned. “What? Then why –“

“I have a photo of him. Let me show you.”

How would that help? Regulus suspiciously watched James take out his phone, hold it up and take a photo of Regulus, then put it down on the counter facing Regulus with the photo of him staring back uncomprehendingly.

James meant something else, right? He would soon start explaining and apologising for the misunderstanding. Whatever Regulus did, he should not get his hopes up.

James smiled a frustrated smile and rubbed a hand over his face before leaning closer. “Regulus, would you go out with me?”

Regulus was unable to contain himself any longer and felt his face split in a smile. “Yes. I’d love to!”

They smiled happily at each other before Regulus added: “My shift ends at eight.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

James blushed. “You’re not the only one keeping tabs on my habits. I kept being so disappointed when you weren’t here, so I had to chart your schedule.”

[bradleysass]

amortentia - @black-brothers-microfic - wc: 804 - past bartylus

Regulus Black stirred the cauldron in his dormitory with the kind of furious precision only heartbreak could summon.

"You're going to burn a hole through the floor if you keep doing that," Barty drawled from his perch on Regulus’ bed, flipping idly through a worn Quidditch magazine. "And Slughorn will have your pretty little head for brewing outside of class again."

Regulus didn’t look up. "I’m not going to burn anything."

"You're also not going to make him love you," Barty added, casual but cruel in that way he knew Regulus would let him get away with.

The stirring slowed. Regulus set the spoon down and leaned over the steaming cauldron. The telltale shimmer of Amortentia had started—pearly, seductive, a promise in vapor. He breathed in, already knowing what he’d smell.

Leather polish. Apple pie. A stupid, sweaty Quidditch pitch on a Sunday morning.

James Potter.

Regulus exhaled shakily and wiped his hand on a cloth. “I know.”

Barty sat up. “Then what the hell are you doing?”

Regulus looked at him finally, and there was something hollow in his expression, something exhausted. “I just want to know. What it would feel like… if he looked at me that way. Even for a second.”

"That way?" Barty echoed. “You mean the way he looks at her.”

Regulus flinched.

"Reg," Barty sighed. He crossed the room and leaned against the table beside the cauldron. “You know James Potter is an idiot, right? He couldn’t find emotional nuance with a bloody Remembrall.”

Regulus gave a brittle laugh. “He’s kind, Barty.”

“No, he’s charismatic,” Barty corrected. “There’s a difference. You’re confusing charm for care. Happens to the best of us.”

Regulus didn’t reply. He turned back to the potion, gently lowering the heat. “He’s never been cruel to me.”

Barty tilted his head. “So that means he deserves to be drugged?”

“No!” Regulus snapped, eyes wide. “I’m not going to give it to him. I’m not that— I just… I just want to have it. Like a thought experiment.”

“Your thought experiments are getting more dramatic,” Barty murmured. “Remember when you just wanted to write him a poem?”

“That was fourth year,” Regulus muttered.

“And I said no then, too.”

“You said it was ‘gay and desperate.’”

“Which it was,” Barty replied, not unkindly. “And this is worse.”

Regulus sat down heavily on the chair beside the cauldron, resting his elbows on his knees. His voice was quiet when he said, “It hurts, B.”

Barty froze.

It wasn’t the nickname—Regulus had always called him that—it was the crack in his voice. Regulus Black didn’t do cracks. He didn’t break. He didn’t beg. That was what Barty did.

Barty looked down at him and then gently sat on the floor, so their knees brushed.

"I know it does," he said, voice uncharacteristically soft.

Regulus stared at the swirling potion. “I keep thinking if I was just a little louder. Or brighter. Or Gryffindor-ish. He’d see me.”

Barty watched him for a long moment. “He saw you once.”

Regulus didn’t respond.

"You remember?" Barty said, teasing. “You wore that ridiculous emerald jumper and charmed his quill to follow you around for a week.”

Regulus cracked a smile. “That wasn’t for him.”

“No?”

“It was for you,” Regulus said, eyes flicking sideways. “But you already knew that.”

Barty was quiet.

They sat in the silence together for a while. The potion puffed and shimmered between them, toxic and beautiful.

Finally, Barty said, “You know, I used to think you were too cold to love anyone. Turns out, you’re just quiet about it.”

Regulus looked at him. “And what do you think now?”

“I think,” Barty said slowly, “you’re allowed to want love. Even from a reckless golden boy who’ll never deserve it. But you’re not allowed to lose yourself chasing it.”

Regulus blinked.

Then, softly: “Do you think it’ll always be like this?”

Barty leaned his head against the table leg. “I think you’ll either outgrow him, or he’ll finally notice. And if neither happens, you’ll still survive.”

Regulus scoffed. “That’s not exactly comforting.”

Barty shrugged. “I’m not your comfort. I’m your reality.”

Regulus smiled again, tired but genuine.

“Will you help me bottle it?” he asked, gesturing to the Amortentia.

Barty raised an eyebrow. “Are you planning to name it Unrequited Idiocy?”

“Private Disaster,” Regulus countered.

Barty chuckled, and something in the room shifted. Just a little. Just enough.

“Alright,” he said, standing. “But I’m keeping a vial. Just to remind you how dramatic you are.”

Regulus nodded. “Fair.”

And as they moved around the cauldron—exes, friends, something stranger in-between—Barty thought that maybe James Potter could keep being blind for a little longer. Regulus didn’t need a love potion. He already had someone who saw him.

Even if it wasn’t the way he wanted.

[bri-cheeses]

Jersey vs. Hoodies - Part 1

| Rosekiller microfic | Word count: 799 | I wrote this a while ago and am finally deciding to post it so be thankful lol |

-

“Is that Potter’s jersey?”

Regulus looks up, startled, as Evan drops his books onto the table between them. The sunlight filtering in through the library window swirls dust motes around, lighting Regulus’s curls as he replies.

“Excuse me?”

“I said,” Evan reiterates, sliding easily into the booth, “is that Potter’s jersey?”

Regulus’s stills.

“No.”

Evan looks at him pointedly. “You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a Gryffindor jersey, Reg.”

“What an astute observation. Now if you don’t mind, I’m trying to get work done, so I would appreciate it if you could leave me alone.”

With that, Regulus dips his quill into his ink pot and starts writing again. Evan just stares at him as the scratching of the quill on paper fills the air.

But based on the way Regulus glances up sharply a few moments later, he acutely feels Evan’s gaze on him. And he is not pleased.

“What is it?” His voice is tight and impatient.

“Is that Potter’s jersey?” Evan asks again, somewhat stupidly.

“Is that Barty’s hoodie?” Regulus snaps nastily.

Evan’s face flushes with the humiliation and anger that comes from that simple, incredibly cruel remark. It wouldn’t be as bad if Regulus hadn’t known exactly what he was doing by saying something like that—after all, Evan had filled him in on everything just last week.

Evan stands up with a clenched jaw, beginning to stuff his books into his bag with more force than strictly necessary.

A series of vivid images flashes through his mind as he does so: Barty stumbling into the dorm late one night, slightly drunk after attending a notorious Hufflepuff-style party. Evan looking up and laughing at the state Barty was in. Barty coming closer and telling Evan that he had the prettiest laugh he had ever heard, and Evan swallowing thickly.

Barty’s lips on his, mouths tangling together in a single glorious, catastrophic mistake.

One thing had led to another, and Evan had landed himself in what he privately thought was the worst yet best choice of his life. Being friends with benefits with Barty was terrible, but it was also more than Evan could’ve ever asked for from Barty. So he had taken it.

And now here he was, having stolen Barty’s hoodie, which had been haphazardly thrown onto the floor by his bed—probably by Evan himself, if he’s being honest—and wearing it around just so he can pretend to actually have something of Barty’s.

But the point is, Evan hadn’t told Regulus about all of that just for him to be able to hurt Evan whenever he feels like it.

And so Evan starts to walk away, teeth clenched in anger and face still flushed red. He’s breathing entirely too hard, too—he can feel it, but he had had a terrible day before even coming in here, and he just doesn’t have the effort to calm himself down.

Then, from behind him, he hears Regulus call out, “Evan, wait—”

Evan whirls around to find Regulus looking at him with concern in his eyes. The pity he finds there does nothing to smooth out Evan’s boiling temper.

“That was a shitty thing to say and you know it, and I can leave if I want. And I do,” Evan adds with an air of finality, about to turn back around when Regulus’s voice fills the space between them.

“No, no, you’re right.”

Evan stops.

“I shouldn’t have gone there,” Regulus continues, starting to anxiously twist a strand of hair around his fingers. “It’s just that I get defensive and… well, I say stupid things. But yeah, it—it is James’s jersey.”

Evan just looks at him silently. He’s still mad at Regulus, but… Regulus has wanted this for a long time. And Regulus is one of Evan’s best friends, even if he does say some out of line things sometimes.

“I’m happy for you,” Evan tells him.

Regulus smiles softly, a faint blush making its way to his cheeks.

Evan smiles a little in response and shifts the strap of his bag from where it’s digging into his shoulder. Regulus eyes the action, an unimpressed look appearing on his face.

“You can come sit back down now, you know. If you’re not still mad at me.”

His familiar, slightly sarcastic tone is comforting, and Evan’s anger eases a bit more as he walks towards where Regulus is sitting.

“For the record,” Regulus murmurs as Evan sits down again, “I hope Barty gets his act together soon.”

Evan feels his stomach flip at the mention of Barty, but he can’t deny that it makes him happy that Reg is rooting for them as well.

“Off the record… me too, ” Evan admits.

Then he slowly gets out his books again, and he and Regulus begin to study in companionable silence.

-

(Part 2 is here)

[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

Part 22: Free

A March 2025 Hinny Microfic for @ginnystrophyhusband using Prompt 5

927 words (some of which were written for the original @hinnymicrofic November 2023 prompt 'Run', thought I never actually finished it)

All the March prompts that I write will be set in the same universe as, and form a prequel to, this fic.

Fair warning - it's going to be fluffy!

This little series has ended up with a lot more actual story than I expected, so if you'd like a bit more context to what's actually going on here, you might want to...

Read them all from the beginning on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It starts innocently enough, with a throwaway comment he makes while they’re snuggled up together on the sofa on Friday evening. The remains of their Indian takeaway lies abandoned on the coffee table in front of them, and Ginny’s already in her pyjamas, checked flannel things that are at least two sizes too big (“What? I like to be comfortable!”). His arm is slung around her shoulders, and her feet, encased in those ridiculous fluffy slippers she loves so much, are curled up underneath her. 

Ginny snorts with laughter. “Don’t be ridiculous, Harry!” 

Her response surprises him, though he isn’t sure whether it’s her laughter or her incredulity that’s the most perplexing. “Of course I could!”

Ginny wriggles out from underneath his arm and swings herself around to face him, leaning against the opposite arm of the sofa with her feet in his lap. “Harry. I’m a professional athlete. There is absolutely no way you could beat me in a race.”

Her tone is similar to the one that he uses when he’s explaining things to Teddy, which only entrenches his position further. “I didn’t mean on a broom. I meant on foot. You know, a running race,” he tells her, trying not to sound like he’s annoyed. Which he isn’t. Well, not really, anyway.

She shakes her head. “I know what you meant. You’re still being ridiculous.”

Okay, now he actually is a bit annoyed. “I don’t know why you think it’s so stupid. Aurors have to be fit too.”

Ginny smirks at him. “Look, I’m not doubting you’re fit.” She leans a little closer, one hand sliding under his t-shirt and across his stomach. “I mean, I of all people know exactly how fit you are.”

He shivers at her touch, but forces himself to reach down and removes her hand anyway. “Nice try, Weasley, but you can’t distract me that easily. I absolutely could beat you.”

She cocks an eyebrow. “Alright then. Prove it.”

And that, of course, sets a fire under Harry’s competitive side. It’s yet another thing that the two of them have in common, because Ginny isn’t about to back down either. This, then, is how they come to be standing on the beach the following morning at what Harry thinks is a perfectly reasonable hour, and what Ginny rather more colourfully describes as the arsecrack of dawn, dressed in workout gear and ready to race.

Harry’s not annoyed anymore because firstly, of course he’s going to win and secondly, he’s about to prove himself right. It’s almost a shame, because Ginny’s bum looks spectacular in the shorts she’s wearing and coming home first means he’ll miss out on the view, but needs must; sometimes it’s a trial being so selfless.

They squabble good-naturedly about the distance for a few minutes. He favours a sprint, she wants something longer, and he eventually, magnanimously, concedes, because it doesn’t really matter. He’s confident either way. Twice up and down the beach is about two kilometres, first one back to their gate’s the winner. He’s got it in the bag. 

They both start cagily, keeping pace with one another, neither prepared to show their hand too early, which gives Harry the opportunity to appreciate the moment. It isn’t an understatement to say that he adores running, and he especially adores running here, so it isn’t long before he starts to really enjoy himself. 

It’s a beautiful morning, with a light breeze coming off the Atlantic to temper the summer warmth. The tide is out, and the sand is hard-packed, that air has a fresh bite of salt that feels soothing to his lungs, and the clear blue sky seems to go on forever. 

When he runs here, Harry feels so free. It’s the closest he’s come to the feeling of flying with both feet still on the ground. As he eases into his running, he feels all the stress, all the worry, just melt away. He enters a calm, meditative space that is otherwise closed to him. 

It’s just about as zen as Harry ever gets, and there’s a part of him that thinks maybe it doesn’t matter who wins. That same part knows that whatever happens, he’s already won, just being here with Ginny. 

The rest of him, however, suddenly realises that she’s pulled away from him, apparently noticing and taking advantage of his distraction to kick on and open up a lead of about twenty metres. He’s so annoyed with himself that he doesn’t even dwell on the fact that he was right about how fabulous she looks from behind, and instead picks up the pace, determined to catch her. 

It is… way harder than he thought it would be. He has to dig so deep to reel her in, kicking so hard in a final sprint that even he thinks he might be taking this a bit too seriously. But he’s so close now, just a few more metres and then…

“Fuck!” spits Ginny, as Harry lunges for the gate, touching it just inches ahead of her. “My stupid short arms! I would have had you!”

“Yeah, you would,” he admits, bending at the waist as he catches his breath. “That was close!”

“I should have gone out harder. You only won because you and your bloody long legs outsprinted me!”

He grins up at her. “Guilty as charged, m’lady.” 

As he’s hoped, her irritated demeanour cracks and she leans back against the gate. “I’ll get you next time, Potter,” she warns him.

He has no doubt that she’s absolutely right.

[loonyloopylupin96]

Prompt: House Elf (Jan 26th) | @moonwater-microfic | Words: 596

"Have you asked him about K yet?"

Remus kept his attention on the book in front of him. Two more inches and he'd finish his essay. Provide six reasons for the 1763 Goblin Rebellion in-

"Mo-oony," Sirius sang.

With a sigh, Remus raised his eyes. "Can't this wait?"

"No," he answered, moving Remus' parchment aside and sprawling across the coffee table. "The goblins died years ago, their history isn't going to change."

Lips tightening, Remus sat back in his chair. They stared at each other for a moment before he answered, "No, I haven't asked him who he's been writing to."

"Why not?"

"Because if this is going to work out, I can't be creeping over his every correspondence-"

At that moment, a messy set of black hair appeared over the back of the seat. "Who's creeping over who?"

"Sirius won't tell me who Reg's been writing to, and thinks I should ask."

Sirius sighed dramatically. "I'm just saying that if it was my boyfriend-"

"That would be weird-" Remus offered.

"You'd be carrying on the family tradition-" added James.

"I'd be sick-" spoke Pete, taking a seat.

Sirius fixed each of them with a glare in turn.

"No. I'd want to know."

Remus looked between them, before sighing. "Fine. If you think it's necessary…"

And with that, he headed out of the portrait hole.

"But… you already know, don't you?" James asked in a hushed undertone.

Sirius nodded. "Yeah, but believe me… I can't explain it well enough. This has got to come from Regulus."

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

Peter, James and Sirius were in the Great Hall when Remus rejoined them later.

They dropped their conversation as he sat down, waiting in a pointed silence.

James broke it first.

"Well? What's the verdict?"

Remus shook his head, reaching for some lamb.

"Did he tell you?" Sirius asked, not trying to keep the curiosity from his face.

Remus ignored him, at first, but he fixed his stare on him as he bit harshly into a stick of carrot.

"He told me."

"And?"

"What did he tell you?" Peter asked, "Who is it?"

Remus sat, breathing with forced regularity. "Do you want to tell them, or shall I?"

"Oh no, the floor's all yours mate," Sirius responded, bearing an amused grin.

"Well… he cancelled our date-" Remus' eyes flickered briefly to Sirius as they often did when he spoke of his relationship, "-to write a return letter to… his house elf."

Stunned silence met his words. Well, excluding Sirius' raucous laughter.

"He- what?" James asked, perplexed.

Remus' cheeks had pinked slightly.

"He was writing to his house elf. He'd promised he would and… well, he did."

"Wait. So he skipped seeing you to write to a- Wow. Well, no offence mate-" he directed this at Sirius, "-but your brother is fucking nuts."

No one made the obvious joke, and Remus was silently grateful.

"So why are your cheeks so red?" Peter asked, confounded. It only served to make Remus blush harder.

"Because," Sirius answered for him, "He thinks it's sweet. Reg probably said some cute shit about how he gets off on looking after lesser beings and our Moony here forgot he's a human worthy of being loved by a normal person for 29 days a month - give or take - and probably fucking melted."

"Close enough." The four of them turned to see Regulus walking between the two tables, towards Remus.

"Ugh," Sirius grumbled, "I'm going. Don't start 'til I've gone."

Regulus merely flipped him off, leaning down towards his boyfriend with a coy smile on his face.