"The Deep End"
Regulus Black works as a lifeguard at a busy local waterpark in this chaotic, soft, and painfully hot muggle AU. When Sirius drags all eleven of their mutual friends to crash the place under the guise of a “harmless day out,” they’re met with the unexpected: Regulus in full lifeguard uniform, looking gorgeous, scolding children, and saving lives like it’s just another Tuesday.
From chaos in the rapids to thirst in the wave pool, things take a turn when disaster strikes—and Regulus dives into the deep end to rescue a drowning child. Shaken, soaked, and too exhausted to argue, Regulus finds himself surrounded by the most feral, loyal, ride-or-die group of idiots imaginable, including one big brother who refuses to leave his side.
A story about sun-warmed pavement, adrenaline crashes, juice pouches, protective siblings, gentle heroism, and eleven soaking wet teenagers who love their lifeguard a little too much.
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It all started with a ping.
Sirius Black: “Let’s go out. Everyone. Tomorrow. Don’t be late. Bring a towel.”
That was it. No further context. Just a cryptic, mildly threatening message in the Gryffindor group chat at 1:26 a.m., and no follow-up explanation.
James: “Towel??” Remus: “I swear to god if this is some prank involving literal mud again—” Marlene: “Sirius what the actual hell do you mean bring a towel” Peter: “Is this a euphemism. Should I be scared.” Lily: “I just bought a new outfit and I’m not bringing a towel anywhere near it.” Fabian: “If this is a park trip and we’re drinking again count me in. If this is another haunted place I’m out.” Gideon: “Depends. Are we going to die this time or just almost die.” Sirius: “Just show up. I promise it’ll be fun. I have a plan. 😏”
So, the next morning, running on questionable trust and caffeine alone, eleven teenagers piled into two cars—James’s beat-up minivan that groaned every time he changed gears, and Fabian’s mum’s SUV that still smelled like new leather and slightly less weed.
It was sunny as hell. Not a cloud in the sky. Sweat stuck to fabric by the time they were fifteen minutes into the drive. The music was too loud, windows rolled down, arms outstretched, sunglasses askew, and someone—probably Frank—already halfway through a box of doughnuts he’d bought for “car morale.”
“Where are we going again?” Lily shouted over the wind.
“Mystery trip!” Sirius yelled back from the passenger seat, grinning like a lunatic.
They didn’t realise where they were until the signs started popping up. Giant blue billboards with cartoon dolphins and speed slides. AQUAZONE SPLASH COMPLEX – JUST 2 MILES AHEAD.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Remus said, leaning forward to squint through the windshield.
“No,” Alice whispered, already visibly regretting her eyeliner.
“He brought us to a waterpark,” Mary said flatly.
“In November,” Gideon added.
“It’s heated!” Sirius said brightly, bouncing in his seat. “Indoor. Massive. Full slides. Wave pool. Lazy river. Rapids. Regulus works here.”
That last part earned him six overlapping voices of chaos and protest.
“What.” “Wait, what the fuck does that mean?” “You brought us to your brother’s job?” “Is this just a long con to bully him at work?” “How is he employed anywhere with customer service?” “And also who the hell lets Regulus Black near children?”
“Relax, babes,” Sirius smirked. “I have a plan.”
The ticket desk was all white tile and plastic smiles. Sirius leaned against the counter like he owned the place. The bored teen behind the register barely looked up.
“Hi. Sirius Black. My brother works here. Regulus Black. I’d like to use the family employee discount.”
The guy squinted. “Uh. Hold on.”
He typed something in. Then blinked. “Oh shit. Yeah, Reg’s got the premium pass. Friends and family included. Seventy percent off for the day.”
Everyone froze.
Peter physically choked.
Lily whispered, “What the fuck,” like she was seeing god.
“Wait, Regulus has that kind of discount?” Frank said, jaw unhinging.
“Doesn’t he work in like... the gift shop?” James asked.
“No idea,” Sirius said cheerfully. “I honestly thought he just scrubbed the floors or made nachos or something. Who cares? We’re in.”
The locker rooms were a blur of shouts and slamming doors and someone yelling “WHY IS THIS SWIMSUIT SEE-THROUGH” before they finally regrouped, half-soaked from shower mist and half-lost.
Alice emerged in a full vintage red one-piece like she was about to perform in a 60s lifeguard calendar.
Marlene had denim cutoffs over her bikini bottoms and sunglasses she refused to take off indoors.
Sirius wore tiny black swim trunks that left nothing to the imagination and an obnoxious pineapple-print towel.
Remus was already questioning his life choices in navy blue board shorts.
James had a neon rash guard and an energy drink. He did not stop vibrating.
Gideon and Fabian were in matching swim trunks they swore was accidental.
Peter had arm floaties.
Frank had goggles.
Mary and Lily were both in stylish two-pieces and judging everyone silently.
They did everything.
The slides. The tunnels. The whirlpools. The bubble chairs. The lazy river where James floated off and they lost him for forty minutes. They screamed themselves hoarse on the drop slide and nearly got kicked out of the wave pool for trying to surf the waves on a pizza floatie.
But one thing kept itching at them.
“Has anyone seen Reg yet?” Lily asked, brushing hair off her face.
“Nope,” said Mary. “Weird, right? Thought he’d be in food court or something.”
“Maybe he called in sick,” Remus offered.
“No, the guy at the gate said he’s here,” Sirius grinned. “Actively working.”
They asked an employee. A tall guy in soaked shorts with a lanyard and a fake tan.
“Hey,” James called. “You know where Regulus Black is?”
The guy’s face lit up.
“Oh, Reg? Cute little piece of ass, that one. He’s on lifeguard duty today. Rapids shift, I think.”
Silence.
“...Excuse me?” said Remus.
“Little—what?” said Lily.
“Did you just call Regulus a—” Sirius started, but he was already laughing.
The guy gestured lazily. “Rapids are that way. Tell him Joel says hi.”
The rapids were no joke.
One giant circular pool that spun you around in a loop, with jets underneath and a fake island in the middle. It was loud as hell. Slapping water, squealing kids, echoing whistles.
And there he was.
Regulus Black.
On duty.
Sitting cross-legged at the edge of the island with a whistle in his mouth, wet hair tied back in a little ponytail, red lifeguard tank top slightly damp and clinging to him. He had a waterproof clipboard and a wristwatch timer. He was scowling, concentrating, lips pursed.
They watched him scold a pack of middle school boys trying to climb the island rock.
“Hey! No climbing! You’ll get pulled under if you fall. Get back to the rails.”
He didn’t even raise his voice, but they scrambled like kicked puppies.
They saw him help a kid who got stuck, guiding them by the arm and pulling them to the edge.
He blew his whistle again when a teen girl tried to push past her turn. “Back in line. Wait for the green light.”
A pair of teenage girls giggled as they floated by him, trying to flirt. Regulus didn’t even blink.
“Move along. Arms inside the ring, please.”
“He’s... good at this,” said Remus slowly.
“He’s kinda hot,” Peter blurted.
James shoved him.
“He is hot,” said Mary. “When did that happen?”
“I don’t like this,” Sirius muttered. “I came here to embarrass him. Not have an identity crisis.”
They waited. Until the rapids cleared. The next group hadn’t been let in yet.
“Hey!” James called across the pool.
Regulus turned slowly, mid-sip from a water bottle.
He blinked. His expression passed from neutral to confused to full-on alarm in three seconds flat.
He stood.
He pointed at them.
“What the fuck are you all doing here?”
Sirius beamed. “Hey, baby brother!”
Regulus looked like he might jump into the water just to escape.
“REGGGGYYYYYY!”
“OH MY GOD—HEY, HOT STUFF!!”
“REGULUS BLACK, LIFEGUARD SUPREME, LOOK AT YOUUU!”
“WORK IT, BABE!”
“BLOW THAT WHISTLE FOR ME, DADDY!”
It was a chorus of chaos. Eleven teenagers—sunburned, half-drenched, and absolutely unhinged—pressed up against the edge of the rapids entry gate, waving their arms, catcalling like it was their full-time job. Remus was leaning dramatically against the railing. Marlene was fanning herself with her flip-flop. Fabian was howling like a wolf. Sirius had both hands cupped around his mouth, screaming.
Regulus stared at them like they were a hallucination sent by dehydration and trauma.
Then—ignoring all of them—he turned back around, pointed his whistle in the air, and called out, “Next group, wait for the green light. Three at a time. Inner tubes only. No horseplay.”
It was like they hadn’t spoken at all.
“HE’S IGNORING US,” Lily yelled. “RUDE!”
“HE’S AT WORK,” Remus said, mock offended. “WHAT, ARE WE NOT MORE IMPORTANT THAN SAFETY?”
The next group of guests filtered into the rapids with minimal drama, mostly young kids and a few nervous-looking parents. Regulus dropped back into his lifeguard perch, legs crossed, eyes sharp. He counted heads, checked his clipboard, made a note of the time, and barely moved except to lean in when a toddler got stuck on the jets, reaching down with practiced hands to lift them onto a float.
A small child in frog goggles waved at him as they passed. Regulus gave a tiny, involuntary smile.
James clutched his chest. “I see the vision. I see it so clearly. This man is the moment.”
“James,” Peter whispered. “James, I think I’m pregnant.”
Sirius leaned over and snapped, “Stop falling for my brother! That’s illegal.”
“You brought us here!” Mary shouted.
Regulus didn’t turn around once.
It took a solid fifteen minutes for the rapids cycle to finish. The group emptied out, and the current slowed, the pumps quieting to a soft hiss. Regulus finally stood, blew his whistle twice, and signaled to the ride operator across the pool that the cycle was clear.
Then—slowly—he turned to face them.
Pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head.
Wiped sweat off his face with the bottom of his red uniform tank.
Abs. Defined. Glowing. Flexing slightly as he moved.
Half the group screamed.
Regulus looked bored. And furious.
“The fuck are you all doing here?” he said flatly.
Sirius threw his arms wide. “Family bonding!”
“Fuck off.”
“You work here,” James beamed. “This is so fucking cute. Look at your little outfit!”
“Don’t call it an outfit.” Regulus scowled. “It’s uniform regulation. And you’re not supposed to be on this side of the barrier—get back.”
He pointed his whistle at them threateningly.
They all grinned like demons.
“Reg,” Lily cooed, “you didn’t tell us you were a professional hero now.”
“Look at you, saving lives and breaking hearts,” Alice added.
“Joel thinks so,” Fabian said casually.
Regulus blinked.
“What?”
“Joel,” Marlene purred. “You know. Tall. Tan. ‘Cute little piece of ass’ Joel.”
Regulus made a sound like a dying kettle.
“Oh my god.”
“He said it with his whole chest,” Gideon confirmed. “So much admiration.”
“You’re, like, famous,” Mary smirked. “You’re his favourite employee.”
“I hate it here.”
“Joel told us to tell you hi,” Remus added with a wicked grin.
“I will drown myself in this chlorinated hellhole,” Regulus muttered.
“Honestly, we all kinda want to watch you two flirt now,” Peter added. “For science.”
“There is no flirting,” Regulus snapped. “He’s just annoying.”
“So... just your type,” James said sweetly.
Regulus blew his whistle at them.
“Back off the fucking railing or I will kick you out,” he said, stone cold. “I’m not kidding. Guests have been removed for less.”
“Oooh, he’s serious,” Marlene said, eyes wide.
Sirius crossed his arms. “Are you going to report your own brother?”
Regulus didn’t blink. “Try me.”
They took a half-step back.
“I will get the manager. And I will call security. And you will all be on a banned list. For life.”
Lily put her hands up. “Alright, alright! Jesus, power trip much?”
Regulus exhaled, dragging his hand down his face.
He pulled his tank top back into place and muttered something under his breath that might’ve been, “I should’ve taken my break ten minutes ago.”
Then, reluctantly, he turned back to them and sighed.
“You have ten minutes before the next group. Say whatever the hell you came here to say. Then piss off.”
They absolutely were not going to do that.
But Reg didn’t know that yet.
“You are so fucking hot right now,” Marlene declared, chin resting on her folded arms over the railing.
“Like lifeguard Regulus is doing things to me,” Lily agreed, squinting dramatically against the pool lights. “My therapist will hear about this.”
“You’re all deranged,” Regulus muttered.
“Do the whistle again,” Peter begged, eyes wide.
“Absolutely not.”
“C’mon,” James drawled, leaning far enough over the barrier that one good push could send him toppling. “Just once. I’ll bark.”
“Don’t bark,” Regulus said without looking.
James barked anyway.
“Stop encouraging him,” Remus groaned, smacking James in the chest.
“You're kind of scary like this,” Fabian observed. “In a sexy way.”
“He’s got that stern public authority vibe,” Gideon added. “Very ‘I’ll drag you out of the pool by your ankle if you break the rules’ energy.”
“I will drag you out of the pool by your ankle,” Regulus deadpanned.
“Oh my god,” Mary whispered. “Promise?”
Sirius made a gagging sound. “I didn’t bring you all here to get feral over my brother.”
“You literally did,” Alice pointed out.
Sirius paused. “...Fair.”
Regulus sighed again. A long-suffering, heavy exhale that probably lowered the pool temperature by three degrees.
“Okay but, like,” James said, eyes narrowing, “how the fuck did you get this job?”
“Yeah,” Lily said. “You hate people.”
“You glare at children,” Peter chimed in.
“Did you seduce the manager?” Mary asked hopefully.
“I passed the interview,” Regulus snapped, offended. “And the physical assessment. And the online course. And the two weeks of shadow training. And the exam. And the CPR recertification. And the deep dive test.”
The entire group went silent.
“What the fuck?” Marlene blinked. “That’s, like... effort.”
“You had to train?”
“You did a test?”
“Is this a real job?”
“You’re certified in CPR?” Alice gasped. “Do me. Right now.”
“No,” Regulus said flatly.
“Dude, I can barely pass a maths quiz,” Peter muttered.
Remus looked genuinely stunned. “Wait, this is actually impressive.”
“I thought you just handed out floaties,” Gideon said faintly.
“Okay, no, I definitely couldn’t do this job,” Fabian muttered. “I’d forget a kid and they’d end up in the vents or something.”
“You do not get to judge me,” Regulus muttered, scribbling something onto his clipboard. “Half of you still can’t be trusted near hot stoves.”
“That’s fair,” Sirius admitted.
James squinted at him. “Why are you even working here though? Like, seriously? You chose this?”
Regulus shrugged. “I like the place. It’s clean. Not boring. Plus the benefits are decent.”
“Benefits?” Lily asked, suspicious.
“Free gym. Free food. I get discounts. First dibs on events. Flexible schedule during school.”
“And you get to wear the hot uniform,” Remus added.
“And—” Regulus lifted a finger, “—I get a massive hourly wage.”
That got their attention.
Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Define ‘massive.’”
Regulus raised an eyebrow. “Twenty-one an hour.”
Dead silence.
“TWENTY-ONE?” screamed James.
“AN HOUR?” Lily yelled.
“Are you a manager?” Marlene gasped.
“WHAT THE FUCK,” Peter shrieked.
Remus’s jaw dropped. “I worked an entire shift last week for, like, twelve quid and a pizza voucher.”
“Why the fuck am I even in school,” Fabian mumbled, horrified.
Gideon was pacing. “No one told me capitalism had options.”
“I knew Regulus had money,” Alice whispered. “He walks like his wallet is thick with undeserved wealth.”
“It’s not undeserved,” Regulus said stiffly. “I work.”
James reached over the rail and tried to grab his shirt. “Teach me your ways, sensei.”
Regulus slapped his hand away with the clipboard.
“Get off the damn railing, Potter.”
Suddenly, the PA system dinged overhead. A robotic voice: “Rapids intake resuming. Group Twelve, please prepare for entry.”
Regulus clicked his pen. “And that is your cue to fuck off.”
“Nooo,” Lily groaned.
“Coward!” Fabian cried.
“Traitor!” Marlene shouted.
“I hate all of you,” Regulus muttered, stepping back into position and grabbing his whistle.
They stayed anyway, crowded along the railing like overenthusiastic groupies, hissing and whispering and pointing every time he moved.
He didn't look at them again.
But the tips of his ears were bright pink.
They did not leave.
Even after Regulus blew his whistle at them five separate times. Even after he pointedly ignored their every cry of “HEY SEXY” and “DO CPR ON ME”. Even after he told a very confused mum with a toddler that no, those screaming teenagers were not part of a school trip—just emotionally stunted.
They still. Did not. Leave.
Instead, the Gryffindor Eleven remained perched along the viewing platform like a lineup of scandalous gargoyles. Coaxing. Teasing. Catcalling. Gossiping.
“OH MY GOD, HE BENT DOWN—LOOK AT THAT ASS,” screeched Fabian, grabbing Gideon’s forearm like they were watching a royal wedding.
“His arms, his hands, his fucking voice,” Lily moaned, pulling her hair off her neck. “He keeps saying ‘please keep your arms inside the tube,’ and it’s ruining my life.”
“He said ‘no running’ and I heard wedding bells,” Mary added, fanning herself with a plastic wristband.
“Do you think he’d, like… roleplay the uniform for fun?” Marlene asked seriously.
Remus snorted into his drink. “He is the roleplay.”
James just barked again.
Meanwhile, Sirius had taken up a new hobby: accosting strangers.
“Hey! Hey, yeah, you—see that guy? That lifeguard?” he said, pointing dramatically to the island where Regulus stood like a water-themed demigod. “That’s my baby brother. He’s younger than me by two minutes and he still looks like that. Genes, man.”
The stranger, a dad of three in flip-flops, blinked. “Cool?”
Sirius grinned. “Who’s hotter though—me or him?”
“...Him,” the dad said, walking off.
A child passed. Sirius tried again. “Hey kid. Me or him?”
The seven-year-old didn’t hesitate. “You look like a wet sock.”
Sirius gasped, hand over heart. “You little bitch—”
“You’re losing this war, Pads,” Remus said, biting his straw.
Things hit critical levels when a pair of teenage girls sidled up to the railing.
They were new. Not part of the group. No clue who Regulus was.
Just two sun-soaked, lip-glossed strangers watching the same boy in red uniform flick water off his clipboard and glare like it was an Olympic sport.
“Oh my god,” one whispered. “That lifeguard is so hot.”
“I know,” the other agreed. “Do you think he’s single?”
The Gryffindor Eleven froze.
Mary and Lily turned in unison.
“Actually,” Mary said sweetly, “he’s a massive asshole.”
“Right,” Lily chimed in, “like, rude, antisocial, and hates everyone. Definitely not your type.”
The girls blinked. “Okay… we were just saying he was cute?”
Mary’s smile sharpened. “Yeah. So stop looking.”
The second girl raised an eyebrow. “Who the hell are you, his mum?”
“I could be your mum if I fought your mum,” Lily snapped.
“Oh bitch—”
It was on.
Screeching. Hair flipping. Vicious glittered insults. One girl threw water from her bottle like a holy weapon. Mary threatened to drown someone in the shallow end. Lily reached for her earrings.
And then—whistle. Long. Loud. Final.
Regulus was there.
Like a judgmental lifeguard angel descended from chlorine heaven.
He marched up, muscles tensed, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched.
“Enough,” he barked.
All four girls fell silent.
“Back off the barrier. You’re obstructing the entrance. And you—” he pointed at Lily, then at Mary, then at the two strangers “—are violating the no-harassment policy. You want to flirt, do it legally. Or leave.”
He grabbed each of their wrists—firm, controlled—and dragged them apart, gently but undeniably strong. One hand per arm. Bodily maneuvering them a full foot apart.
Four girls. One man. Direct physical contact.
Every single one of them blushed so hard it looked medically concerning.
Mary wobbled. Lily sighed dreamily. One of the strangers actually whispered, “I’d commit war crimes for him.” The other just nodded, dazed.
And just like that, new allegiances were formed.
The girls who had been at each other's throats seconds ago were now arm-in-arm, forming a united front of dazed thirst. Lily handed one a lip gloss. Mary complimented the other’s sandals. The four of them giggled and whispered and took turns blowing kisses to Regulus as he stomped away, clipboard clutched in one hand like a weapon of war.
The rest of the group? Unhinged.
“He manhandled them,” James said, stunned. “He lifted them. With his arms.”
“I blacked out for a second,” Peter admitted.
“That’s it,” Alice said, grabbing her phone. “I’m writing fanfiction.”
“I want him to yell at me next,” Marlene whispered.
Sirius had given up on dignity entirely. “THAT'S MY BROTHER!” he shouted to a nearby mum with a baby. “My actual brother! Didn’t even pay for those cheekbones!”
The mum did not care. Her baby, however, gave Sirius a dirty look.
Back in the center of the rapids, Regulus continued to do his job.
Stern. Sharp. Controlled.
Blowing his whistle. Monitoring the tubes. Writing time logs. Checking the current strength with a test paddle.
But when toddlers waddled up to him in arm floaties with questions?
He was a different person.
“Hi there, superstar,” he said softly to one girl with a unicorn ring. “Are you ready for the rapids?”
The girl beamed. “I’m a mermaid!”
“You look like one,” he said, crouching to tie her float tighter. “Can you show me your mermaid arms? That’s it. Strong. Perfect.”
Another little boy asked if Regulus was a “pirate guard.” Regulus nodded solemnly. “Only on Tuesdays.”
One baby on a dad’s hip reached for him and babbled. Regulus touched the baby’s hand and said, “You want to ride the waves too, captain?” and the baby shrieked with joy.
He was soft. Warm. Gentle. Full of silly nicknames and kind words and tiny jokes. His voice lower, smoother, smiling a little now.
The group watched from the rail, slowly melting into hormonal soup.
“Okay,” Remus said. “That’s it. I’m in love.”
“He’s perfect,” Alice whispered.
“He’s gonna make me feral,” said Marlene.
Lily was crying. “He helped a baby. A baby. And the baby laughed.”
“He looked happy,” said Mary. “Like, soft happy. That’s what’s hot.”
James nodded solemnly. “We’re never leaving.”
“Never,” echoed all eleven.
And they didn’t.
Not until the end of Regulus Black’s shift.
Which, unfortunately for him, was hours away.
He was infuriatingly, violently hot.
And worse: he wasn’t even trying.
It had been over an hour since the Gryffindor Eleven first stumbled into Regulus Black’s chlorinated kingdom. Since then, they had done precisely nothing except orbit the Rapids zone like worshippers before a shrine.
Because Regulus, soaked in fluorescent pool light and duty, was putting on a masterclass in hot competence.
He scolded a group of teens for splashing too hard near a toddler. "You're in a shared space—cool it, or you're out," he barked, one hand on his hip, the other gripping his whistle with menacing flair.
He helped a frazzled granddad load three floaties onto squirming triplets, gently repeating instructions three times for clarity. “If she leans too far left, tilt her arm float—no, the other—yeah, that one. Perfect, sir.”
He directed lost adults with the firm patience of a GPS come to life. He explained how the Rapids schedule worked to a group of French tourists. He pointed out exits, bathrooms, vending machines. With zero attitude.
And the kids?
Forget it.
They came to him like he was Moses parting chlorinated seas.
One little boy—maybe six, maybe small for his age—got caught in the current too long. The tube flipped. He wasn’t hurt, just panicking, crying, flapping little arms against the rushing water.
Regulus didn’t hesitate.
He jumped.
Right off his post, sleek dive into the water like something out of a movie. Not dramatic—just efficient, clean. Cut through the current like it was nothing.
“Hey, champ,” Regulus said, voice low, calm, treading next to the boy. “Wanna take a break? Or you good to keep going?”
The boy hiccuped. “D-don’t know.”
“Too loud?”
The boy nodded.
Regulus pulled him close. “Alright. Let’s hang out over here a bit, yeah?”
He floated the kid over to the island and hoisted him up with ease, sat beside him, legs in the water, talking softly. Eventually the boy leaned his head against Reg’s shoulder. They sat like that for a minute. Maybe three.
Then Regulus pointed something out across the pool—probably some distraction technique—and the boy snorted a tiny laugh.
The entire Gryffindor group sobbed in sync.
“I can’t take this,” Marlene whispered. “He’s so good with kids.”
“He’s not even faking it,” Alice said, voice raw with disbelief.
“Motherfucker meant it when he said ‘champ,’” Peter whimpered. “That’s not a word you can fake.”
It didn’t stop.
One little girl in heart-shaped sunglasses demanded he watch her spin in a circle in the shallows. She shrieked with delight when he clapped and said, “You’re like a water tornado, princess. Ten out of ten.”
Another kid solemnly handed him a stuffed hippo—Princess Wiggles—before getting into the rapids. Reg held it gently in one arm like a relay baton, even patted its head once and said, “Don’t worry. I got her.”
A little boy wandered over sobbing and shaking, dripping wet with no floatie in sight. Regulus knelt immediately.
“Hey, hey—what’s your name?”
No answer. Just hiccupping.
“You with your mum? Or dad?”
Nothing but snot.
Regulus wrapped his arm around the kid’s back, pulled him in, pressed his walkie to his mouth. “Lost child, male, about five. Brown hair, red swim trunks with sharks. Found near Rapids Island. I'm holding him with me now.”
The kid clung to his waist like a koala, little fists balled in Reg’s shirt. Regulus crouched there, murmuring calming nonsense, hand rubbing the boy’s back.
By the time the mum came sprinting across the tiles, sobbing, Reg handed the kid back like it was sacred.
“You found him,” she gasped.
“Always do,” he said softly.
Then a girl—maybe eight, a glitter sticker still stuck to her forehead—slipped on the wet tile and skinned her knee. She burst into tears.
Reg was there in seconds.
“Hey, that looks mean. Want me to patch it up?”
She nodded tearfully.
He sat her gently on a lifeguard chair. Fished out a tiny first aid pouch. Wiped her knee, blew softly on it, applied a plaster with cartoon dolphins.
“See? Battle scar,” he said.
She blinked up at him.
Then he picked her up. Bridal-style. Full carry. Walked her over to the shaded bench with a towel.
The girl giggled and clutched his shirt, clearly convinced this was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to her.
When he set her down, she beamed and whispered something to her friend—clearly mouthing “He likes me.”
Lily had to sit down.
Then came the baby.
A toddler, really—fussy, red-cheeked, and squirming like a worm as their poor mother tried to wrestle a floatie onto their older sibling.
Regulus appeared like a guardian angel.
“Want me to hold him a sec?” he asked gently.
“Oh god, yes—thank you—he’s heavy—”
Reg picked the baby up with practiced ease, bounced him on one hip like he’d done it a hundred times, murmuring little words. The baby quieted instantly. Grabbed at Reg’s whistle.
“Nope,” Reg said, smile lazy. “That’s mine.”
The baby shrieked with laughter and shoved his wet fingers in Reg’s mouth.
He just snorted and moved them gently away, cradling the kid like it was no big deal.
Across the barrier, Sirius was crumpling into Remus’s arms like a man defeated.
“I’ve lost,” he whispered. “He’s prettier than me.”
“You never stood a chance,” Remus replied solemnly.
Then—just when they thought they’d emotionally recovered—Regulus tipped his head back, fished out his hair tie, and ruffled his fingers through his damp curls.
He held his sunglasses between his teeth by the temples, jaw flexing slightly as he redid his ponytail, lips parting, eyes squinting toward the lights.
Every single teenager watching died.
Right there on the tiles.
He tugged the tie snug, slid the glasses back up, wiped his neck with the back of his hand, and then—clipboard in hand—returned to his post like none of it had happened.
“Oh my god,” Peter whispered hoarsely.
“He’s not real,” Marlene said.
“I feel like I’ve been touched by an angel,” Lily murmured.
“I’m going to propose,” Mary said, eyes shining.
“I’ve seen God,” Fabian whispered.
“And He wears a red tank top,” Gideon agreed.
James had tears running down his face. “Regulus Black is the hottest man in the United Kingdom.”
“Correction,” Sirius said darkly. “The world. And I say that as his genetic match.”
Regulus did not glance at them once.
But his ears?
Just the tiniest bit pink.
It was bound to happen.
The kind of boys who haunted every public pool, skate park, fast food joint, and school hallway. The kind of boys who spoke in grunts and slurs and thought laughing loudly was the same as being funny.
There were five of them.
Taller than Regulus—everyone was taller than Regulus—but these ones were built like they knew it. Broad shoulders. Snapbacks. Swim trunks slung low like it was a flex. Loud voices that filled the Rapids zone before they'd even gotten near the water.
They shoved past the crowd barrier like they owned it, two of them already knocking into floaties, one of them sending a younger kid stumbling with a splash. Regulus blew his whistle once. Sharp. Immediate.
“Back behind the line. Wait your turn,” he barked, standing up straight, arms folded.
One of them snorted. “Chill out, bro. We’re just havin’ fun.”
Another smirked. “Didn’t know lifeguards came in pocket size.”
“Do you even lift, bro?”
“Bet you can't even touch the bottom of the pool without a ladder.”
All of them laughed. Fake. Loud. Grating.
Regulus didn’t blink. “You’re disrupting the rotation. Get back. Now.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be mad,” said the one with the red swim trunks, leaning in with mock-pouty lips. “What, no smile for me? You’re hotter when you smile.”
“Aw, look, he's blushing,” another cackled.
“He’s like a little angry cat—someone pet him before he explodes.”
They were loud, disruptive, cocky. Splashing. Grabbing at floats that weren’t theirs. Throwing water into the eyes of other guests. One pushed the limit and tried to run onto the island ledge. Regulus shoved back immediately, hard and fast and not gentle.
“I said: back. off.”
But through all the chaos, there was one.
One boy who didn’t join in.
Tall. Tan. Quiet.
He hovered at the back of the group, not laughing. Face tight. Eyes flicking between Regulus and the other boys, clearly mortified.
“Guys, stop—seriously,” he muttered, low. “You're gonna get us kicked out—come on—”
They ignored him.
Regulus had seen enough.
He grabbed his walkie, pressed the button, voice calm and professional: “Unit Seven at Rapids Island requesting parental contact and security. Five male teens, safety violation, harassment, and disruption of scheduled intake.”
That sobered them.
“What the fuck?”
“Dude, chill—are you serious?”
“You can’t just call our parents—”
But Regulus didn’t engage. He stepped forward, yanked the floaties from under one’s arm, threw it back in the bin. Physically blocked the ride entrance with his body, arms out.
“You’re not welcome here. You’ve been reported. You’re done.”
“Bro, c’mon, it was a joke—”
“You’re a liability.”
A security guard was already approaching in the distance. A frazzled parent with a clipboard. The troublemakers went pale, stumbling back, stammering half-hearted excuses. The only one left not being dragged away was the quiet one, who hadn’t said a word and had actively tried to stop them.
Regulus turned to him. Lifted his sunglasses to rest on his forehead. Nodded once.
“Thanks.”
The boy froze.
Eyes wide.
His ears went bright red.
Up close, Regulus was devastating.
Sharp cheekbones. Smooth skin. Long lashes. Wet curls pulled into a messy ponytail that was still drying from earlier. Slim shoulders. Tan lines. Tank top clinging to his ribs. Whistle on a cord. His voice was low and steady. His lips were full.
The boy swallowed. “Uh—I—yeah—n-no problem,” he stammered.
Regulus squinted up at him. He was so much shorter, which somehow made the other boy even more nervous.
“I didn’t know they were gonna act like that,” the boy rushed. “I—I told them to stop—like, I—I’m sorry—”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Regulus said.
“Oh. Uh. Cool.”
“Relax,” Regulus said, a small smirk playing at his mouth. “You’re not getting banned.”
The boy nodded too fast. “Cool. Yeah. That’s—that’s good.”
There was a beat. The boy scratched his neck.
“I—I’m Levi,” he offered suddenly. “Sorry. I’m Levi.”
Regulus tilted his head. “Regulus.”
“Oh,” Levi breathed. “That’s—wow. That’s—uh. Cool. That’s a cool name.”
Regulus smiled a little.
“You’re... uh, like, my age?” Levi asked, voice cracking just slightly. “Like sixteen?”
“Yeah.”
“Seriously?”
Regulus arched an eyebrow.
“I mean—you just—you act older. You seem, like... really professional. And confident. And—like, wow.”
“I get that a lot.”
Levi smiled, then caught himself smiling, then looked away fast. “I think we go to the same college? Like—I’ve seen you in the canteen.”
“Probably. I’m there Monday to Wednesday.”
Levi beamed like it was Christmas.
“Oh. Oh cool. I’m there Tuesdays and Thursdays. Maybe I’ll see you next week. If you’re—if you’re not, like—busy being a lifeguard god or whatever.”
Regulus looked at him. Then down at his clipboard.
He scribbled something fast. Tore a corner of the paper. Folded it once. Then walked over, handed it to Levi without fanfare.
Levi blinked at it. “What’s this?”
“Open it.”
He did.
Inside, scrawled in clean, sharp handwriting: Regulus — 0774*-**** Text me.
Levi went scarlet.
Like full-body red. Jaw dropped. Eyes wide. Heart exploding.
He looked up to see Regulus smirking at him, head tilted slightly, sunglasses pushed lazily up onto his wet curls again.
“See you around,” Regulus said casually, already turning back toward the pool.
Levi made a high-pitched noise. Then muttered, “Holy fuck,” Then turned and sprinted off, nearly tripping over his own feet, clutching the note like a sacred scroll.
“Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck, he gave me his number—oh my god, I knew being nice paid off—he’s so hot—holy fuck—”
Regulus didn’t even turn around.
Just sighed.
And smiled.
The moment Levi sprinted off, flushed and glowing and clutching the piece of paper like it was a Willy Wonka golden ticket, the dam broke.
From the other side of the barrier, the Gryffindor Eleven exploded like someone had set off a firework under their flip-flops.
“OH MY GODDDDDD—” “HE GAVE HIM HIS NUMBER!” “THAT BOY IS IN LOVE—” “DID YOU SEE HIS FACE?” “HE'S GONNA WRITE POETRY—” “REGULUS BLACK, YOU FLIRTY LITTLE BITCH!!”
It was a cacophony.
Marlene was stomping her feet on the tiles. Lily physically fell to the ground. Fabian dropped his drink. Sirius screamed into his towel like he was at a boy band concert. James was doubled over with laughter, slapping Remus’s chest with every breathless howl.
Regulus? He flushed. Instantly.
Ears pink. Cheeks dusted in rose. Lips pressed together in a tight, betrayed little line. But still—still—he refused to acknowledge them.
He simply looked down at his clipboard and clicked his pen with the mechanical precision of a man trying to remember his training in breathing techniques.
He turned. Checked his watch. Sighed.
That’s when another lifeguard approached—tall, freckled, probably a uni student, with a lazy stride and a half-eaten protein bar in his hand.
“Black? Time’s up. I’m taking over. You’re on Wave now.”
Regulus nodded once, relief flickering across his face. He clipped his whistle back to the neck cord, passed off the clipboard, adjusted the strap of his tank.
The Gryffindors blinked.
“Wait, wait—what?” Sirius said, trailing him as Regulus stepped off the island.
“Where are you going now?” Alice asked.
Regulus didn’t look at them. “Rotation. Standard policy.”
“Rotation to where?” Mary demanded, jogging to keep pace.
“Wave pool.”
“The giant one?” James asked. “The one with the tsunami button?”
“Yes.”
“You get to push the tsunami button?” Peter gasped, reverent.
“Sometimes,” Regulus said.
“You’re just leaving us?” Lily accused. “Abandoning us?”
Regulus turned, one brow raised. “You know you don’t have to follow me, right? There’s, like, twenty other rides.”
He waved vaguely toward the slides and food court. “Go do something else. I’m not your tour guide.”
“Absolutely not,” Remus said firmly.
“You think we’re gonna miss the wave pool version of you?” Gideon huffed.
“You’re hotter than all the attractions combined,” Fabian added, twirling a towel dramatically.
Sirius shrugged. “We’re with you till the end now. You’re stuck with us.”
Regulus exhaled through his nose. “You’re all insane.”
“Regulus, baby, we’re in too deep,” Marlene cooed.
“Get it?” Peter added, grinning. “Too deep? Wave pool?”
Everyone groaned. Even Regulus rolled his eyes.
But he kept walking.
And they kept following.
One perfect little line of chaos behind him, through the lifeguard access tunnel, past the splash zones, heading straight for the loudest, most popular attraction in the park.
The wave pool.
Regulus in front, wet curls bouncing slightly, tank still clinging to his shoulder blades.
The Eleven trailing him like ducks. Horny, feral, emotionally unstable ducks.
They were completely, unapologetically feral for the hottest boy in the building.
And Regulus?
He didn’t look back once.
But the corners of his mouth were twitching.
Just a little.
The wave pool was the crown jewel of Aquazone.
It stretched wide and glittered under the overhead dome, light reflecting like broken glass across the rippling surface. Warning signs lined the far wall in every language imaginable. A massive grated panel loomed at the back—the source. That’s where the waves burst out in timed cycles, powerful enough to knock the wind out of you if you weren’t careful.
Which is why they posted the best lifeguards here.
And right now?
That was Regulus Black.
He stood above the water on the elevated platform, taller than everyone but still somehow the shortest in sight. A red rescue can—those bright, buoyant, torpedo-shaped floatation devices—was slung across his chest like a sash, resting in the crook of his arm like it belonged there.
He wasn’t sitting. He wasn’t lounging.
He was scanning.
Constant motion. Eyes darting back and forth. Clockwork discipline.
Every couple seconds he blew his whistle—not to punish, just to adjust.
"Off the grate!" "No shirts in the deep zone!" "Keep floaties in the shallow end!" "Hey—no dunking! One warning, next time you're out!" "Back to the rail, sweetheart. Too far for those water wings."
He pointed. He gestured. He moved with purpose, sharp and effective. His body was tense, not in a panicked way—just ready. Every second was on. He was fully locked in.
Meanwhile, the Gryffindors were losing their fucking minds in the shallows.
They had scattered across the pool, half-drenched and clinging to pool noodles or plastic tubes, splashing each other, making comments they swore were subtle.
“LOOK AT HIM,” Marlene hissed to Lily, floating beside her. “He’s holding that red thing like a weapon.”
“He looks like he’s about to command a naval fleet,” Lily breathed.
“He’s so tense,” Remus murmured, bobbing in a ring. “Like he’s waiting for disaster.”
“Disaster’s already here,” Alice muttered, gesturing to them all.
Fabian was drifting in circles. “I want him to rescue me.”
“Same,” Gideon said, sipping pool water like it was champagne. “If I started drowning, that man would swan dive in slow motion.”
Sirius was floating on his back, sunglasses on, arms spread wide like a martyr. “I’m so proud. Look at my little brother, being all hyper-competent. Doesn’t it just make you wanna scream?”
“I am screaming,” James said, spitting water. “Inside.”
Regulus, up on his post, had clocked all eleven of them instantly.
He just… didn’t react.
He watched them splash around like overexcited golden retrievers and did exactly nothing about it. They weren’t breaking the rules—yet—and that was all he cared about.
Because the wave pool? It wasn’t like the Rapids.
It wasn’t a joke.
The tides rolled out in timed, violent pulses, and it only took one poorly timed dive or one struggling kid too far in to ruin someone’s day—or worse.
He wasn’t about to let that happen.
A pair of ten-year-olds started to wrestle near the center. Whistle. “Cut it out. No horseplay.”
A man in his twenties tried to wade into the deep zone in a soaked t-shirt. Whistle. “Hey—shirts off past the marker. Safety policy.”
A dad holding a baby got too close to the wall jets. Whistle. “Sir! Back five feet. It’s not safe there.”
One kid, maybe seven, paddled a little too far out. Regulus was already on the move.
He jogged down the platform steps, rescue can in hand, sharp and focused.
“Hey, bud,” he said gently. “That’s the drop-off point—you’re better off in the shallow. Wanna grab the bar over there for a second?”
The kid nodded nervously. Regulus walked him back, steady, never touching but always nearby, returning only when the kid was firmly back in safe territory.
All the while, the Gryffindors kept swimming, watching him like he was David in a Botticelli fresco.
They were wet, exhausted, and in awe.
Because this wasn’t flirty Regulus. Or sassy Regulus. Or even scowly little brother Regulus.
This was in-control Regulus.
He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t miss a thing. He was a lifeguard in his element.
Every move was calculated. Every callout was earned.
He was still pretty as hell—hair slicked back with water, sunglasses perched on his head again, tank top clinging to his ribs, board shorts riding low on his hips from the weight of the rescue gear—but now he was commanding.
It was driving them insane.
At one point, the wave cycle began.
A mechanical hum filled the air. The warning bell sounded.
Kids screamed with excitement. People rushed to get their floats. The whole pool shifted like a tide about to turn.
Regulus raised both hands above his head, fingers splayed, and shouted—
“Everyone behind the white line! Waves in thirty seconds!”
And like that? Everyone listened.
Even adults. Even tourists. Even rowdy teens.
He had presence.
Control.
Power.
And somehow, he made it sexy.
When the waves crashed forward—first soft, then stronger, then thundering—the Gryffindors let themselves be thrown around like rag dolls, all while screaming and gasping and flailing with absolutely no dignity.
Lily lost her top for a moment. Fabian kicked James in the face. Peter swallowed half the pool. Sirius tried to surf the current and face-planted.
And through it all, Regulus watched. Monitored. Adjusted his position to follow the tide. One hand on the whistle, the other resting on his hip beside the rescue can. His body tilted slightly forward, watching the water like it might whisper secrets.
Unbothered.
Unmoving.
Untouchable.
“Okay,” Marlene gasped, clinging to the edge of the pool. “I’m gonna fake a fainting spell. Do you think he’ll carry me out bridal style?”
“If you do it, I’ll fake a head wound,” Mary said.
“We can be matching trauma victims,” Lily added brightly.
“I’m just gonna drown for real,” Peter mumbled.
Remus nodded solemnly. “At least you’d die beautiful. Under his watch.”
Regulus, still on his post, didn’t look down once.
But from where they floated?
They could see the tiniest smile tug at the corner of his mouth.
At first, nothing seemed wrong.
The waves were still rolling—giant, frothy crests crashing over a sea of laughter and floating bodies. Kids shrieked with delight, parents clung to the edge, lifeguards watched from their perches. It looked like any other cycle, chaos contained in chlorinated rhythm.
But Regulus Black—poised on the upper platform, red rescue can in his arms, eyes slicing through the water like radar—noticed.
Just a flicker.
A gap in movement. A flailing arm. A tube bobbing with no rider. The wrong kind of splash.
His whistle screeched across the dome.
It cut through the noise like a blade.
“CLEAR THE DEEP ZONE!” Regulus shouted, voice amplified by sheer urgency.
Heads turned. Confused.
“What’s going on—?” “Is that part of the show?” “Why’d the waves stop—?”
Because yes, in that moment, he was already moving.
Whistle still swinging around his neck, he slammed the emergency override with his palm—waves disengaged. Water dropped instantly, churning into an unnatural stillness.
And then—he dived.
Off the platform. Over the barrier. Into the deep end with a splash that cracked like thunder.
The Eleven froze mid-laugh, mid-joke, half-submerged and blinking.
“What the fuck?” Sirius breathed.
“Is that—?” Remus started.
“Something’s wrong,” Lily said sharply.
Beneath the surface, Regulus kicked hard, sleek and sure.
A child. No older than seven. Tiny. Panicking. Struggling underwater in a whirl of bubbles and limbs. Caught by the current just seconds before the wave override kicked in. His float had slipped away—no flotation, no control, lungs burning.
Reg’s arms wrapped around the boy in one smooth motion.
“Got you,” he muttered, voice more desperate than he meant it to be. “I got you. You're okay. You're okay.”
The kid was still thrashing.
He held tight, angled them up, broke the surface with a gasp.
The crowd saw the child first.
Then saw the panic.
Gasps. Shouts. Someone screamed.
“He’s got a kid!” “Oh my god, he dove in!” “Is the boy okay?” “He’s not moving—”
Regulus kicked hard, dragging the boy toward the edge with one arm, holding his head above water with the other.
“Out of the way!” he barked.
A lifeguard was already sprinting over. Together, they hauled the boy out. Regulus climbed out behind him, soaking wet, eyes wide, shaking.
The kid wasn’t breathing.
“Fuck.”
He dropped to his knees beside him. Shoved his hair back. Checked the pulse. Chest wasn’t rising.
“No, no—don’t you fucking dare—come on.”
His hands shook as he aligned them on the kid’s chest. Two fingers for a child. Sharp, practiced, desperate.
“One, two, three—breathe—one, two—come on, sweetheart—”
The Eleven were silent now.
No jokes. No flirting. Just still, horrified silence as Regulus, trembling and drenched, performed CPR on a child in front of an entire crowd.
He muttered the whole time.
“Come on, come on—breathe, just breathe—you’re alright—”
The kid choked.
Water spilled from his mouth.
And then—a cough. A real, spluttering, panicked sob of a cough.
Regulus let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. Scooped the boy into his arms. Cradled him, rocking slightly. The boy sobbed into his chest, clutching at Reg’s soaked tank top.
“You’re okay,” Reg whispered, forehead pressed to the boy’s wet hair. “You’re okay. I've got you.”
The boy nodded, crying harder.
A scream from the crowd—“That’s my son!”
Two parents pushed through, frantic, wide-eyed. Regulus gently passed the child over, murmuring something soft and reassuring as the kid sobbed into his mum’s shoulder, still hiccuping and coughing but alive.
Everyone stood stunned.
Staff rushed in. One manager. Two security guards. A girl from first aid with a neon orange bag.
They swarmed Regulus and the family, taking over. Asking questions. Writing things down.
Regulus sat back, legs folded under him, hands trembling.
His face was white.
He dropped his head back against the edge of the pool. Closed his eyes.
Rubbed both hands down his face, slow and shaky. He was breathing hard. His tank was clinging to his ribs. His curls were plastered to his face. Every inch of him dripping, every muscle tense and exhausted.
Still breathing. Still alive. Still processing.
The Eleven stood on the edge of the pool, unmoving.
Watching him.
Staring at the boy who had just saved a life and then collapsed like a drained battery.
And none of them knew what to say.
The pool was still buzzing with the aftershock.
The waves remained off. Parents clutched their kids tighter. Staff moved in controlled bursts, speaking into radios, guiding people away from the deep end, whispering in clipped voices.
But the epicenter—Regulus Black, still dripping and ghost-pale—was crouched near the edge, chest heaving in slow, shuddery inhales, soaked to the bone and blinking like he’d just been snapped out of a dream.
His hands were splayed on the wet tiles. Knees bent. Shoulders curled in. Head low.
The first aid staff tried to approach.
“Black, are you alright?”
Regulus nodded, slow but firm. “I’m fine. Focus on the kid.”
“Protocol says we check both parties—”
“I said I’m fine,” he insisted, voice cracked from panic, jaw tight. “Just—give me a minute.”
His coworker Joel (yes, that Joel—the one who called Reg a “cute little piece of ass”) showed up beside him a second later, crouching down and resting a hand lightly on his shoulder.
“C’mon, man. Come breathe somewhere that doesn’t smell like chlorine and trauma,” Joel murmured. “Let’s go get you a slushie or some shit.”
Regulus didn’t fight it.
Didn’t say much at all.
He let himself be led—half-dragged, honestly—by Joel and another lifeguard off the platform, towel shoved around his shoulders, sandals squelching as they guided him through the safety gate and across the path toward the open-air food court.
He was seated at a picnic table by the time his supervisor showed up—a tall, sharp-featured woman with a clipboard, a neon windbreaker, and the aura of someone who had seen things.
She knelt by the bench with a bottle of water and a kind look.
“You did everything by the book,” she said softly. “Perfect response time. You should be proud.”
Regulus didn’t answer at first.
He just sipped from the bottle slowly. Stared at the floor. One hand pressed flat against the table, fingers trembling faintly. He was still soaked. His tank top clung to his back like seaweed. His breathing was slowing, but not steady yet. Not calm.
“I messed up,” he said eventually.
His supervisor frowned. “How?”
“I should’ve noticed sooner.”
“You noticed before anyone else. You cut the waves. You got to him. You saved him, Regulus. Don’t argue facts.”
He didn’t look up, but he nodded.
That’s when the storm hit.
The Gryffindor Eleven came running.
Sirius was in front, soaked to the knees, towel forgotten, eyes wild.
James right behind him, shirtless and panting.
Remus, Peter, Lily, Alice, Mary, Marlene, Frank, Fabian, Gideon—all of them drenched and sun-flushed and breathless, voices overlapping as they skidded to a stop around the picnic bench.
“REG—” “Are you okay—” “Fucking hell, we thought—” “You saved that kid, you—” “Oh my god, you dived like some kind of—” “Jesus fucking Christ, Reg—”
Sirius dropped to a crouch in front of him, hands on Regulus’s knees, panic written all over his face. “Hey. Look at me. Reg, look at me.”
Regulus blinked up at him, dazed.
He looked even smaller than usual like that—barefoot, pale, hunched over with damp hair sticking to his cheeks, rescue whistle still tangled around his neck.
“I’m fine,” he rasped.
“Bullshit,” Sirius snapped. “You stopped a drowning. You were doing fucking chest compressions—you nearly collapsed—”
“I said I’m fine.”
His voice was sharper now. Reflexive. Defensive. But his hands were still shaking. And Sirius saw right through it.
“Okay,” Sirius said quietly, adjusting. Softer now. “Okay. Just—breathe. Alright? You’re alright. You did it.”
Regulus closed his eyes.
Breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. Again. Again.
James stepped up behind Sirius and ruffled Reg’s wet hair with a trembling laugh.
“You’re a fucking hero, mate.”
Remus offered a juice pouch from god-knows-where. “Sugar. For shock.”
Peter awkwardly laid a towel over Reg’s lap. “You’re freezing.”
Lily crouched beside him and squeezed his hand. “You saved a life. No one else saw it but you. You were amazing.”
Regulus opened his eyes again. The praise made him squirm. He didn’t know what to do with it. His throat tightened and for a moment he looked like he might cry. Or scream. Or throw up.
“I just did my job,” he mumbled.
“No, Reg,” Marlene said gently. “You did more.”
They all stood there. Quiet now. Surrounding him. Warm. Solid. Present.
His little kingdom of chaos.
Fabian passed him a packet of crisps. Gideon opened a Fanta. Frank offered a half-eaten sandwich. Alice rubbed his back.
And Sirius?
Sirius didn’t move from his spot in front of him.
He stayed crouched. Eyes locked on Reg’s. Voice low and certain.
“You scared the fuck out of me,” he whispered.
Regulus looked down.
“I know.”
“But you’re okay,” Sirius said.
Regulus nodded, finally. A breath escaped his lungs.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m okay.”
And for the first time since the water swallowed them whole, Sirius smiled.
Because Regulus meant it.
They didn’t leave him.
Not for a second.
Regulus sat at the picnic bench, towel draped over his shoulders, fingers curled loosely around a juice pouch, breathing slow but still a little shaky. His curls were beginning to dry in messy waves around his face. His lips were pale. His tank top clung to his collarbones and ribs, cold against his skin.
And around him, the world had quieted.
The food court buzzed with background noise—frying chips, chattering guests, the hum of slushie machines—but the bench he sat at felt like a bubble. Soft. Tucked in. Anchored by the presence of them.
Sirius hadn’t moved from his side since they got there.
He sat on the bench beside Reg, arm stretched behind him on the backrest, hovering like he couldn’t decide whether to touch his little brother or build a fortress around him with his body.
Regulus, exhausted, finally gave in. He leaned. Just a little.
Head pressed to Sirius’s shoulder.
The shift was silent, instinctive. And Sirius… stilled. Like he couldn’t breathe.
Then he adjusted slowly, wrapping the arm fully around Reg’s back. Holding him there.
He said nothing.
Just held him.
James had sat on the table itself, legs dangling, watching people go by but not leaving earshot. Remus was now kneeling by Reg’s side, keeping watch with his chin on his arm like a guard dog in soft boy form. Mary and Lily sat on the other side of the table, watching him quietly, handing him snacks when he looked like he might need them. Peter and Fabian were pulling chairs up, sitting backwards, bouncing knees. Alice and Marlene flanked the bench like emotional security. Gideon leaned over Sirius's other shoulder, stealing fries and mumbling comforting commentary.
No one pressured him. No one forced him to talk.
They were just there. Waiting.
“Black?”
His supervisor again—clipboard in hand, voice level but kind. She knelt by the bench, not crouching over him but beside him.
Regulus blinked and sat up a bit. Still leaning on Sirius. Not ready to let go yet.
“You alright now?” she asked gently.
“I think so.”
“You were pretty out of it. I wanted to check back in. If you're feeling like you need to go home, we can get someone to cover. You’ll still get full pay. You're cleared for it.”
Regulus hesitated.
“I don’t… know yet.”
“That’s fine.” She nodded, jotting something down. “I’m putting you on extended break. You can take the rest of the hour. Go sit somewhere quiet. Or not. Up to you. If you’re still rattled, we’ll sign you out early. Deal?”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
“Joel said he’s gonna sit with you for a bit.”
As if on cue, Joel reappeared—back in uniform but clearly on break himself, holding two bottled waters and a bag of crisps. He dropped them on the table and flopped down beside Reg like he’d been invited. He hadn’t. He didn’t need to be.
He threw an arm casually over Reg’s shoulders and tugged him in, clinking the water bottles together.
“Hey, champ,” he muttered. “Still breathing?”
Regulus gave him a look but didn’t move.
“Barely.”
Joel gave him a gentle squeeze. “You scared the fuck out of me, man.”
“I scared me.”
“You saved that kid’s life.”
Regulus said nothing.
Joel didn’t push. He just stayed close, head resting lightly against Reg’s, like the older brother Regulus had maybe wanted Sirius to be growing up.
Sirius, meanwhile, was still there—tense, protectively bristling, but grounding. He hadn’t moved his arm. He hadn’t stopped watching Reg’s every microexpression.
Joel glanced at him.
“Yo. You alright if I steal your brother for emotional support cuddles?”
Sirius didn’t even flinch. “You touch him wrong and I will drag you under a wave generator and end you.”
Joel nodded sagely. “Noted.”
Regulus snorted—quiet, weak—but it was a laugh.
Sirius relaxed a bit at the sound. And ruffled his damp curls gently.
“I’m not leaving,” he said, low and sure, meant only for Reg’s ears.
Regulus closed his eyes and leaned heavier into him.
“I know.”
They stayed like that.
As long as Reg needed.
And maybe longer.
Regulus didn’t say a word when his break ended. He just sat there, hunched forward, fidgeting with the hem of his now-dry tank top, blinking slow and heavy like he’d been underwater for hours instead of minutes.
His supervisor came back, crouched beside him again.
“You sure you want to keep going?”
Regulus hesitated. Then shook his head. Just once. Small. “No. I’m done today.”
“Alright.” She sighed, stood up, and ruffled his curls softly. “You saved someone’s life. You’ve earned the rest of the week off if you want it. Go home. Rest. We’ll clock you out early—full pay. I’ll sign it in.”
Regulus nodded, barely whispering, “Thanks.”
Joel gave him one last squeeze and a gentle smack to the back of the head. “Drink some Gatorade, cry into a pillow, and text me if you want me to kick any douchebags in the shins, yeah?”
Regulus didn’t roll his eyes. Not even a little. He just gave a tired, grateful glance.
By the time the rest of the Eleven found out he was officially done for the day, they were already throwing their shit together.
“Not leaving you alone,” Sirius said immediately. “Obviously,” Lily added. “You’re coming with us,” Frank said firmly. “Somebody’s mum is gonna make soup,” Mary declared. “And hot chocolate,” said Peter. “I’ll bring my heated blanket,” Alice added solemnly. “I’ll text my dad to clear the couch,” said Gideon. “We’re kidnapping you for your own good,” said James. “And for ours,” Remus shrugged. “We can’t relax until you do.”
No one argued. Especially not Reg.
The staff even let them all into the employee changing rooms—probably out of shock, maybe out of awe, or possibly just to get the feral horde of beautiful crying teenagers out of the building.
They were in and out fast.
Regulus took the longest, showering off chlorine and adrenaline in silence, before emerging in one of his comfy outfits—loose grey joggers, soft oversized crewneck with a tiny embroidery of a cat curled on a book, towel still around his shoulders. His curls were half-dried and fluffy. His sneakers were untied. His face looked young.
When he walked into the front reception, all eleven of them turned like sunflowers. And he went straight to Sirius.
Didn’t speak. Just walked straight into him, leaned his head into Sirius’s shoulder, and stood there.
Sirius blinked. Then immediately wrapped both arms around him and nodded like yes, this is happening now.
“Okay,” Sirius said softly. “Let’s go home.”
They split between two cars.
James drove the minivan—Reg, Sirius, Remus, Peter, and Lily crammed in with pillows and bags. Frank drove the other—Alice, Mary, Marlene, Gideon, Fabian.
They kept the windows cracked and the music low. No one was in the mood for screaming pop lyrics or fast food debates. It was quiet. Gentle. Soft.
Sirius sat with Regulus curled into his side, arm slung around his shoulders, fingers occasionally brushing through his curls. Reg didn’t say much. He didn’t have to. Every few minutes he blinked slowly, then leaned more heavily into his brother’s chest.
By the time they pulled into Sirius and James’s parents’ house, Regulus was already half-asleep.
Inside, the living room became a nest.
Blankets. Pillows. Cups of tea and hot chocolate. Someone brought snacks. Someone else grabbed tissues. Frank turned the lamp on to its dimmest setting. Alice lit a lavender candle and said it was “for trauma healing.” No one argued.
Sirius sat down first, sprawled on the couch. Regulus followed without a word. He climbed onto the sofa like it was instinct, curled up across Sirius’s chest, face tucked under his brother’s jaw, legs draped along the cushions, arm resting across Sirius’s ribs.
Sirius adjusted the blanket over him.
Regulus let out a soft breath. And then another. And then—quietly, finally—he slept.
None of them left.
They all stayed.
Every single one.
Lily sat cross-legged on the floor next to the sofa, one hand on Reg’s ankle under the blanket. James and Remus flanked the sides of the couch, quiet and alert. Peter sat beside the fireplace, fiddling with his phone but never leaving the room. Fabian curled up against the armchair, head resting on Gideon’s thigh. Mary was brushing Marlene’s hair on the carpet. Frank brought in extra blankets. Alice made tea for the fifth time.
No one filled the silence.
They didn’t need to.
About an hour later, the sound of keys in the door. Footsteps.
“Boys? We saw the cars—”
Mrs. Potter appeared in the doorway first, then Mr. Potter just behind her. They took in the scene slowly—twelve teenagers packed into the living room like a den of foxes, quiet and still, all curled protectively around a sleeping boy with wet hair and faint bruises under his eyes.
Regulus shifted faintly in his sleep. Sighed. Then stilled.
Mrs. Potter walked over quietly, laid a gentle hand on his blanket-covered shoulder, then looked at Sirius.
“Is he alright?” she whispered.
Sirius nodded, lips pressed to Reg’s curls. “He’s okay now.”
And he was.
Safe. Surrounded. Home.
[End of "The Deep End."]