Title: The Only Thing You Wanna Do A Hogwarts story in five screams and one song
༺✦༻༺✦༻༺✦༻༺✦༻༺✦༻༺✦༻༺✦༻༺✦༻༺✦༻༺✦༻༺✦༻༺✦
Sirius and the Gryffindors try to prank Regulus with a spell that makes him sing his deepest thoughts. But what starts as a joke explodes into a horrifying public unraveling — one that reveals abuse, marriage magic, and the ugly truth about Regulus’s life. When Antonin Dolohov arrives to claim his “husband,” everything falls apart.
WARNINGS
Warnings: Magical abuse, forced marriage, grooming, emotional manipulation, implied CSA (non-explicit), child endangerment, magical binding/control, trauma, public humiliation, sibling breakdown, systemic failure, Sirius suffers™, horror elements, Dolohov is the worst, everyone is crying.
༺✦༻༺✦༻༺✦༻༺✦༻༺✦༻༺✦༻༺✦༻༺✦༻༺✦༻༺✦༻༺✦༻༺✦
It began, like all the best disasters, with Sirius Black saying,
“Trust me, this’ll be funny.”
And that was exactly why it wasn't going to be.
The sixth floor corridor outside the library was unusually lively for a Saturday afternoon, thrumming with foot traffic and lazy sunlight. Students lounged against the stone walls, parchment unspooled at their feet, trading sugar quills and secrets. The great window panes spilled golden light across a checkerboard floor—easily the most populated hallway in the castle this time of day. Which, of course, was why it was chosen.
James Potter was chewing on the end of a Sugar-Quill, eyes narrowed as he peeked around the statue of Mad Malkin the Madcap Witch. Remus Lupin was reading—actually reading—but only to distract himself from how nervous he clearly was. Peter Pettigrew was holding the spell component like it was going to explode.
Lily Evans, for her part, had her arms crossed.
“This is a bad idea, Sirius.”
“It’s a prank,” Sirius argued, wand twirling. “It’s not like we’re throwing him out a window. He’s just going to sing a little tune about his secret feelings. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“You ask that like fate isn’t always listening,” muttered Fabian Prewett, adjusting the collar of his robes as he peeked over James’ shoulder.
“Besides,” added Gideon, “I kinda want to know what his little Slytherin head thinks about at night. Probably polishing his prefect badge and whispering his own name.”
The Gryffindors snorted.
And across the hallway, surrounded by his own tight circle of chaos, sat Regulus Black. His robes immaculate. Legs crossed. One ankle bouncing faintly to some silent rhythm.
Pandora Rosier was flicking through a glossy Witch Weekly. Evan Rosier lounged like a cat, legs stretched halfway into the corridor. Barty Crouch Jr. twirled his wand absently, watching students pass like prey. Dorcas Meadows leaned against the wall, arms folded, chewing a stick of cinnamon bark.
Regulus didn’t notice the spell hit him. Not at first.
It was a gentle thing—no bang or flash, just a soft flicker of air. He went still.
Still enough that Barty sat up.
“Reg?” he said.
Regulus blinked. His spine straightened. His eyes unfocused.
“...Regulus?”
Then he opened his mouth.
And sang.
“All you wanna do All you wanna do, baby—”
It was light. Teasing. Honeyed.
The hallway paused.
Someone laughed.
But the sound that came next wasn’t funny. It was good. Unfairly good. His voice was high, clear, melodic—shimmering with a sensual vibrato. Not what anyone expected. Not from him. Not from anyone. The air seemed to still. Heads turned.
“I think we can all agree I'm a ten amongst these threes And ever since I was a child, I'd make the boys go wild—”
James choked.
Pandora blinked twice.
“He’s singing?”
“Oh Merlin, he’s singing-singing,” Evan muttered, brows slowly rising.
Regulus stood, slowly, fluidly, like the music pulled his strings.
“Take my first music teacher, Henry Mannox— I was young it's true, but even then I knew The only thing you wanna do is...”
There was an actual gasp.
“Broad, dark, sexy Mannox...”
“What the fuck?!” Barty hissed, jolting to his feet.
“Taught me all about dynamics— He was twenty-three And I was thirteen going on thirty—”
Sirius’s jaw dropped.
“He’s joking,” said Marlene McKinnon. “He has to be joking—”
“Does he look like he’s joking?” Mary Macdonald muttered, half-horrified, half-impressed.
“We'd spend hours strumming the lute, Striking the chords and blowing the flute—”
Frank Longbottom made a sound like a dying goose.
“He plucked my strings all the way to G, Went from major to minor, C to D—”
“Oh my GOD,” said Lily, clutching her own face.
Regulus stepped forward, slow, hypnotic.
“Tell me what you need, what you want, you don't need to plead— 'Cause I feel the chemistry, like I get you and you get me—”
“What is this?” Alice Fortescue whispered, half-fascinated.
“A fucking confession,” muttered Dorcas, eyes wide.
“And maybe this is it— He just cares so much, it feels legit— We have a connection— I think this guy is different—”
“WHO IS THIS SONG EVEN ABOUT?” James shouted.
“I DON'T KNOW!” screamed Peter.
“'Cause all you wanna do, all you wanna do, baby— Is touch me, love me, can't get enough, see— Is please me, squeeze me, birds and the bees me—”
Regulus twirled mid-step. His eyes still unfocused. Half-lidded.
“Run your fingers through my hair— Tell me, I'm the fairest of the fair— Playtime's over— The only thing you wanna do is...”
The entire corridor erupted.
“TURN IT OFF!” Sirius shouted.
“YOU TURN IT OFF!” Lily shouted back.
“But then there was another guy—Francis Dereham—” Regulus continued, unfazed. “Serious, stern and slow— Gets what he wants, and he won't take no— Passion in all that he touches— The sexy secretary to the Minister of Magic—”
“HE’S JUST NAMING PEOPLE NOW!” Remus wailed.
“Is—wait—is that real?” Fabian asked.
“Does it MATTER?” Gideon yelled back. “LOOK AT HIM!”
Regulus was practically strutting.
“Helped him in his office, had a duty to fulfil— He even let me use his favourite quill— Spilled ink all over the parchment, my wrist was so tired— Still I came back the next day as he required—”
Barty’s face had gone bloodless.
“You say I'm what you need— All you want, you don't need to plead—”
Pandora slapped her hand over her mouth.
“'Cause I feel the chemistry— Like I get you and you get me— And I know this is it— He just cares so much, this one's legit— We have a real connection— I'm sure this time is different—”
“I swear to god if he says—” Marlene whispered—
“'Cause all you wanna do, all you wanna do, baby— Is touch me, love me, can't get enough see—”
Sirius screamed into his hands.
“Is please me, squeeze me, birds and the bees me— You can't wait a second more to get My corset on the floor— Playtime's over— The only thing you wanna do is...”
And then—
“Yeah, that didn't work out”
The air shifted.
The song turned darker.
Regulus’s movements slowed.
“So I decided to have a break from boys— And you'll never guess who I met— Tall, large, Antonin Dolohov—”
Evan Rosier made a strangled noise.
“Head of the pureblood Dolohovs— Globally revered— Although you wouldn't know it from the look of that beard—”
“Oh no,” muttered Dorcas. “Oh no no no.”
“Made me his courted betrothal— Hurled me and my family up in the world— Gave me duties in court and he swears it's true That without me, he doesn't know what he'd do—”
“This is getting dangerous,” Lily whispered. “He’s not in control.”
“This was your spell, Sirius!” Alice snapped.
“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW HE’D START EXPOSING WAR CRIMINALS THROUGH SONG?!”
“You say I'm what you need— All you want, we both agree— This is the place for me— I'm finally where I'm meant to be—”
“Make it stop,” Peter begged.
“I don’t know how!” James shouted.
“Then he starts saying all this stuff— He cares so much, he calls me love— He says we have this connection— I guess it's not so different—”
“Oh god,” Remus whispered. “Here it comes—”
“'Cause all you wanna do, all you wanna do, baby— Is touch me, love me, can't get enough, see— All you wanna do, all you wanna do, baby— Is seize me, squeeze me, birds and the bees me—”
The rhythm snapped.
The tone changed.
It was rage now—full voice, fire behind it, no teasing left. Regulus’s voice climbed, belted, accused.
“There's no time for when or how 'cause you Just got to have me now— Playtime's over— The only thing you wanna do is—”
He jerked to a stop.
Everyone froze.
Regulus blinked. Slowly. His eyes were wet.
“So we got married—woo...”
No one laughed.
“With Antonin, it isn't easy— His temper's short, and his mates are sleazy— Except for this one courtier— He's a really nice guy, just so sincere—”
“What the fuck,” Marlene whispered.
“The married life isn't what I planned— But Thomas is there to lend a helping hand— So sweet, makes sure that I'm okay— And we hang out loads when Antonin's away—”
“He’s making it up, right?” asked Fabian.
“I don’t think he can.” Evan's voice cracked.
“This guy finally— Is what I want, the friend I need— Just mates, no chemistry— I get him and he gets me— And there's nothing more to it— He just cares so much, he's devoted— He says we have a connection... I thought this time was different—”
“Don’t—don’t say it, Reggie—” Sirius choked.
“Why did I think he'd be different? But it's never, ever different—”
Then it broke.
“'Cause all you wanna do— All you wanna do, baby— Is touch me, when will enough be enough? See—”
His voice cracked.
“All you wanna do— All you wanna do, baby— Squeeze me, don't care if you don't please me— Bite my lip and pull my hair— As you tell me, I'm the fairest of the fair—”
His hands clenched.
“Playtime's over Playtime's over Playtime's over—”
Regulus snapped his head up.
“The only thing The only thing The only thing you wanna do is—”
And then the spell ended.
He dropped.
Collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.
Barty caught him before he hit the stone.
For five full seconds, no one moved.
Then—
“WHAT THE FUCK,” Sirius shouted.
Silence lasted for a heartbeat.
Then it ruptured.
A girl near the back screamed. Someone else sobbed. A dozen voices erupted over each other—shouts, questions, curses, horror. The entire sixth‑floor hallway dissolved into a hurricane of noise.
Pandora Rosier was the first to move with purpose. She cupped Regulus’s face with trembling hands, her voice sharp:
“Reggie? Reggie, look at me—”
He didn’t.
He sat there limp in Barty’s arms, body slack like every muscle had simply given up. His eyes were closed—not squeezed shut, just… closed. Too gently. Too passively. His lips parted just enough to tremble.
Evan Rosier looked like he wanted to hex the world apart.
Dorcas Meadows turned, voice raised at the nearest cluster of Gryffindors:
“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!”
Sirius didn’t respond. Couldn’t. He looked like someone had ripped his skeleton out, leaving him hollow. His wand dangled useless at his side. His face was chalk-pale, eyes wide, lips parted in a soundless shock.
James grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Pads—Pads, breathe, mate—”
“No,” Sirius whispered, shaking his head slowly, violently. “No. No. No.”
Lily clapped a hand over her mouth, tears already spilling. Remus stood frozen, one hand in his hair, eyes glassy.
Peter… was crying outright.
The younger students hovered at the fringes, all wide-eyed confusion and terror.
“What—what was that song even about?” a third-year asked, voice wobbling.
A sixth-year Ravenclaw swallowed hard.
“I… I think he was… describing… older men.”
“What? Like—crushes?”
“NO. Not— not crushes, you idiot.” She wiped a shaking hand over her face. “Like… they were… doing things. To him.”
A hush fell again, sharp and painful.
Students recoiled. Some gagged. One girl bolted for a rubbish bin and vomited. Someone else staggered back against the stone wall with a thud.
“He was thirteen,” croaked a Hufflepuff boy. “He said— he said he was thirteen—”
“And Dolohov? Dolohov?! The Dolohov?” a Gryffindor demanded, voice cracking.
“And Dereham? And—AND WHO THE FUCK IS MANNOX?!”
The panic spiraled, voices rising to shrieks.
Regulus didn’t move.
He sat exactly as he had fallen: slumped, eyes shut, jaw trembling faintly, refusing to open his eyes, refusing to breathe too deeply, refusing to acknowledge the world. As if stillness might make him invisible. As if silence might undo everything he’d been forced to lay bare.
Barty hovered over him, voice breaking.
“Reg… come on. Say something. Anything.”
Nothing.
Evan knelt beside them, fists clenched so tight his knuckles whitened.
“Open your eyes, little star. Please.”
Still nothing.
Pandora shook, tears sliding down her cheeks.
“Look at us. Reggie. Please.”
Regulus turned his face away. Barely. But it was enough to break all three of them.
Dorcas rounded on the Gryffindors.
“You absolute bastards— what did you THINK was going to happen?!”
Fabian shook his head, horrified.
“We didn’t— we didn’t know—”
“You didn’t THINK,” Gideon snapped at Sirius. “You— you never think when it comes to him!”
Sirius flinched as if struck.
Marlene McKinnon pressed a hand against her chest.
“I— I thought he was exaggerating— I thought it was just a… cheeky song— I didn’t know—”
Mary Macdonald was sobbing.
“Someone get a PROFESSOR— someone— ANYONE—”
Frank Longbottom wiped his face with his sleeve.
“How long has this been going on? How— how— Merlin— how—”
Alice Fortescue whispered,
“He sounded terrified. That last verse— he sounded terrified.”
Lily’s voice cracked open like glass:
“He said— he said playtime’s over. That’s— that’s not— that’s not a joke—”
Remus swallowed hard, stepping closer to Regulus’s friends.
“We didn’t know. If we had known, we never— we would never—”
Barty snapped,
“You shouldn’t have done it AT ALL!”
“We thought it’d make him admit he fancied a boy!” James yelled defensively. “We didn’t think— we didn’t think it was— THAT!”
Pandora shook her head violently.
“You pranked the wrong person. You don’t understand him. You’ve NEVER understood him.”
Evan stared at Sirius like he was poisonous.
“Especially you.”
Sirius took a step back, breath hitching.
“I didn’t— I didn’t know— I didn’t— I wouldn’t— I—”
His knees nearly buckled.
Fabian grabbed him before he hit the floor.
From the far side of the hall, someone whispered:
“He named Dolohov. That’s going to get people killed.”
Another voice:
“He said they— he said they— touched him.”
Another:
“He didn’t sound scared of it before. Just resigned. But at the end— he sounded like he was begging—”
Another:
“That wasn’t a song. That was a— a warning. Or a— a cry for help.”
Another burst into tears.
Someone else shouted,
“Why isn’t he talking? Why isn’t he moving—”
Dorcas snapped, voice shaking,
“Because he’s HUMILIATED, and TERRIFIED, and SPENT. He wasn’t just singing. He was REMEMBERING.”
Pandora whispered,
“He— he thinks we’re all looking at him like— like those men did.”
Evan cursed under his breath, head bowed.
Barty leaned close, forehead pressing gently to Regulus’s temple.
“Hey. It’s us. Just us. Nobody else matters. Look at me, Reg.”
Regulus didn’t look.
His voice was a faint, broken whisper. Barely audible.
“Don’t… don’t look at me.”
Pandora broke entirely.
Evan looked sick.
Barty’s breath stuttered.
Sirius collapsed to his knees.
“Reggie—”
Regulus’s shoulders tensed—just barely. Just enough to show he heard.
Just enough to show he couldn’t bear it.
Not from him.
Not right now.
Sirius covered his mouth with shaking hands, eyes wild and wet.
“I didn’t know,” he choked. “I swear on my life I didn’t know.”
Regulus flinched.
And that—more than everything else—made Sirius sob outright.
The hallway was still chaos. Students crying. Professors running up the stairs, shouting for space. Regulus’s friends curled around him like a shield.
And Regulus, in the centre of it all— small, silent, eyes closed— as if he could undo the world by refusing to see it.
Noise rolled across the hallway in waves—voices overlapping, questions flying, horror crackling through the air like a hex gone wrong.
Students from every House shouted over one another:
“Was that real?” “Regulus—was any of that TRUE?” “He’s SIXTEEN!” “Dolohov is—he’s nearly forty!” “What the HELL did we just hear?!”
Regulus sat in the center of it all, curled slightly in Barty’s arms, his shoulders trembling—not violently, but quietly. A small, controlled kind of shaking. The kind you do when you’re trying desperately not to fall apart.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t look up. Didn’t react to the dozens of wide, horrified eyes fixed on him.
Pandora wiped her face with the corner of her sleeve, voice cracking as she tried again:
“Reggie, sweetheart… you don’t have to talk, okay? Just—just breathe.”
But he didn’t.
Dorcas knelt in front of him, voice softening in a way no one ever expected from her:
“We got you. You hear me? You’re safe, alright? Nobody here is going to touch you. Nobody.”
His eyelids fluttered… but stayed closed.
More shouting from the crowd—
“Did Dolohov FORCE him?!” “Did his parents KNOW?” “What happened with that teacher—Mannox—?” “This is SICK— someone OWES us an explanation!”
Regulus flinched.
And that was when Barty snapped, voice sharp enough to cut stone:
“SHUT UP. ALL OF YOU. HE DOESN’T OWE YOU ANYTHING.”
His fury echoed off the corridor walls like thunder.
Students recoiled.
But the questions didn’t stop—just hushed, desperate whispers now, fear-laced and trembling.
Pandora brushed Regulus’s hair back, trying to soothe him.
“Reggie… please don’t shut down. Please, not like this…”
He didn’t respond.
And then—slowly, with the weight of a thousand years— Regulus exhaled.
A small, tired, broken sigh.
His hand moved.
Just barely.
Everyone fell silent.
Every sound in the hallway died.
Regulus slipped his hand into his inner robe pocket… and pulled something out.
A ring.
Small. Heavy. Dark metal. Etched with old runes and a family crest older than Hogwarts itself.
He didn’t look at anyone. He didn’t speak.
He just stared at it.
Turned it slowly between his fingers.
And as he did, tears slipped silently down his pale cheeks—quiet, controlled, unstoppable.
Pandora’s breath hitched.
“Oh… Regulus…”
Evan leaned closer, panic sharpening his features.
“What— what is that? Reggie— Reggie, what is that—?”
Regulus didn’t answer. He just lifted his hand… and slid the ring onto his left ring finger.
The collective gasp from the hallway was physical—like the air had been punched out of every chest at once.
Evan grabbed Regulus’s hand instantly, pulling it toward him to see. His face drained of every drop of colour.
“No. No, no, no— REG— this— THIS— THIS IS—”
He looked up at Barty and Pandora, horrified.
“It’s the Dolohov family heirloom. The wedding ring.”
Pandora’s knees buckled.
Dorcas swore aloud.
Barty’s face twisted with rage, grief, disbelief.
The hallway erupted.
“HE’S MARRIED?!” “WHAT—WHAT— HE’S SIXTEEN—” “THIS ISN’T— THAT’S ILLEGAL—” “DID HE MEAN IT— DID HE—” “Dolohov— married— MARRIED HIM—” “WHERE WERE HIS PARENTS—?”
Sirius Black broke.
He shoved James off and stormed forward, shaking with so much fury he was practically vibrating.
His voice came out raw, jagged:
“WHO PUT THAT ON YOUR HAND?!”
Regulus flinched, curling in on himself.
Barty immediately shielded him, snarling:
“DON’T yell at him!”
“I’m not yelling at him—” Sirius spat, wild-eyed. “I’m yelling at EVERYONE who LET this happen!”
His breath hitched. His voice cracked. His face twisted with a grief so violent it made even the bystanders step back.
“He’s SIXTEEN. SIXTEEN. He’s a CHILD.”
Pandora’s shoulders shook.
Sirius pointed at the ring like it was a murder weapon.
“Dolohov is— he’s DOUBLE— no— TRIPLE his age!” “Dolohov’s nearly forty— he— he’s old enough to be—” He gagged on the word. “—his FATHER—”
A choked sound escaped Regulus, but he still refused to open his eyes. His hand shook where Barty held it.
Sirius staggered backward, hands pulling at his own hair.
“Mannox—” he breathed, voice breaking into something strangled. “Mannox taught us when we were little. I— I knew him— I— he—”
James froze. Remus looked sick. Peter covered his mouth, eyes filled with tears.
“He started teaching us when Reg was FIVE,” Sirius whispered, horrified at his own words.
“I never— I never— I didn’t KNOW— I didn’t KNOW what he was— what he did—”
Regulus curled further into himself, a quiet sob shivering out of him.
Sirius collapsed onto a bench like his legs gave out.
“Dereham,” he whispered next, voice trembling. “Reg did an internship with him when he was fourteen— he was so excited— he— he wanted to impress Father— he—”
He covered his face with both hands, shaking.
James held his shoulder, just to keep him upright.
Lily pressed a hand over her mouth again, tears pouring freely.
“Merlin— oh Merlin—” “He was FOURTEEN—”
Frank slammed his fist into the wall hard enough to crack the stone, roaring,
“WHERE WERE HIS PARENTS?!”
Fabian answered, furious:
“Giving him to monsters.”
Gideon shouted,
“THEY TRADED HIM LIKE A BARGAINING CHIP— LIKE A TOKEN— LIKE—”
Pandora cut in, voice breaking entirely:
“Because that’s what pureblood alliances DO. And they did it to him. They did it to our Reggie.”
Regulus whimpered faintly.
Students screamed. Professors rushed down the stairs. Someone fainted. Two kids were openly sobbing into each other.
The hallway become pure chaos—rage, grief, disbelief, horror.
And in the middle of it all—
Regulus Black sat trembling, wedding ring glinting on his finger, silent tears slipping down his cheeks…
…and not a single person in that castle would ever be the same.
McGonagall arrived first. Her robes flared behind her like wings of wrath, and her eyes flicked immediately to the epicenter of chaos.
When she saw Regulus—slumped, trembling, surrounded by bloodshot friends and carnage—her breath caught.
“Merlin’s bones,” she whispered.
Dumbledore followed moments later, the crowd parting in stunned, confused silence. He didn’t ask questions. Not at first. He just looked.
At Regulus.
At the ring.
At the broken look on Sirius Black’s face.
And his heart sank.
“Clear the corridor,” McGonagall barked, voice sharp as shattered glass. “NOW. Everyone—out. You can gawk at something else, you ghouls.”
Professors scattered to herd students away—some crying, some whispering in horror, others still screaming. It took minutes to thin the crowd, but eventually it was just—
Regulus.
His four friends clinging to him like threads holding him together.
The entire Gryffindor core group—silent, shaken, weeping.
Sirius, on the floor, looking like he’d been dismembered.
And the professors.
McGonagall approached slowly.
“Regulus… sweetheart…”
He opened his eyes.
Just barely.
And said, hoarsely,
“I’ve tried.”
The silence that followed was… still. Deadly still.
Regulus exhaled like someone pressing their soul through their ribs.
“I can take it off,” he said quietly, holding up his hand, watching the ring with dull, lifeless eyes. “But the magic stays.”
He slipped the ring off.
Held it in his palm.
“See?” he said.
The skin of his ring finger was red and chafed. Even without the ring, a faint shimmer of gold magic curled around the joint like a ghost.
“The binding doesn’t care if I wear it,” he murmured. “It just knows it’s mine.”
He looked at no one. Just at the metal in his hand.
“No one else can remove it. Not permanently. It always comes back.”
“Why?” whispered Lily.
Regulus sighed.
“Because it’s a marriage bond.”
That word hit the room like a bomb.
“Magical. Legal. Ancient.” His voice was soft. Resigned. “Old family spellwork. Pureblood contracts. You can’t just… divorce. Not without an annulment. And you can’t get an annulment if it was… if it was…”
He trailed off.
Pandora swallowed thickly, whispering,
“If it was consummated.”
Regulus nodded.
The room pulsed with silent rage.
McGonagall’s mouth was trembling. Dumbledore looked as though someone had emptied his lungs.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Sirius demanded. “Why didn’t you say something—we could’ve—I would’ve—you’re SIXTEEN!”
Regulus finally looked at him.
And Sirius wished he hadn’t.
Because the look in his baby brother’s eyes wasn’t hate. Or anger. Or fear.
It was surrender.
Old. Exhausted. Hollow.
“There was nothing you could’ve done,” Regulus said.
“That’s a lie,” Sirius snapped.
“It’s not,” Regulus replied softly. “Because once we were married, Antonin became my guardian. My legal guardian. My parents signed it over in the contract.”
Sirius looked like he’d been stabbed.
“What—what do you mean? You live with him?”
Regulus nodded slowly.
“All my things are there. My bedroom. My wand storage. My books. My… everything.”
“But—but—your magic—” James choked.
Regulus looked at him. And then down at his hand.
“Marriage magic is physical,” he said. “And magical. It intertwines our cores. There’s a connection. Because of… what happened. Because of the ritual.”
His voice broke on the word.
“He can control you?” asked Frank, horrified.
“To a degree,” Regulus admitted. “He can override spells. Suppress my wand. He can track my magical surges. Bind me in place. Cut off certain kinds of casting if I’m disobedient.”
Remus whispered,
“That’s slavery.”
Regulus closed his eyes again.
“I’m used to it now,” he said. “It’s… manageable.”
“This is not manageable,” snapped Barty, voice barely keeping together.
“There has to be a way,” Gideon said, frantic. “There has to be—”
“There isn’t,” Regulus said tiredly. “I’m sixteen. I’m legally underage. My parents arranged it. Signed the papers. Everything was done by the book.”
He looked at Dumbledore.
“You know the law. You know it’s ironclad.”
Dumbledore’s face crumpled.
“Regulus… I didn’t know—”
“You weren’t supposed to,” Regulus said. “Nobody was.”
Evan was shaking now, near frantic.
“There has to be something—there has to—”
He reached out.
And tried to pull the ring from Regulus’s hand.
The moment his fingers touched it— the runes ignited.
Flames of gold magic burst up Regulus’s arm—spiraling, violent, angry.
“NO—EVAN—DON’T—!”
Regulus screamed.
The entire room jolted.
The markings carved their way up his fingers, then his hand, racing up his wrist and forearm, the sigils glowing through his skin. Magic burned through the flesh—deep, searing pain.
But Regulus didn’t scream again.
He choked. Twitched.
But he didn’t scream.
Because he was used to it.
The agony folded him in half. He gasped against his own knee, shaking, sweat breaking out on his skin, but it wasn’t the pain that broke him.
It was the fear.
“Shit—SHIT—” Barty was trying to hold him down.
“It’s not just a security enchantment,” Regulus croaked. “It’s—it’s a summons.”
“A what?” Lily gasped.
Regulus whimpered.
“It—it alerts him. It pings him. Like an alarm. He knows. He knows someone tried to take it off—”
Pandora’s hand flew to her mouth.
“He’s going to come here—”
“He can’t,” Regulus whispered, trembling violently now. “You can’t apparate into Hogwarts. I’ve got time.”
“Time for what?!” Sirius screamed.
Regulus finally opened his eyes again.
Looked at his brother.
“Time to prepare,” he whispered.
Then he collapsed back into Barty’s chest.
And the room exploded again.
Dumbledore’s expression didn’t shift often.
But when the magic spike from Regulus’s ring rippled through the castle wards, his face went still in a way that terrified even the professors.
He straightened, wand out, and muttered under his breath—words old and heavy, the language of Hogwarts itself. The stones hummed in answer.
A shimmering barrier flickered into existence around the group—thin, transparent, glowing faintly gold.
“We move now,” Dumbledore ordered, voice low, urgent. “Before he arrives.”
“ARRIVES?!” Sirius shrieked. “HE CAN’T ARRIVE HERE—YOU SAID— YOU SAID— APPARITION—”
“He is not Apparating,” Dumbledore said darkly, eyes closing as he listened with the castle’s senses. “He is using the Floo.”
The room went silent.
Then the screaming began again.
Regulus was barely conscious—head lolling, vision unfocused, breath shallow. Magical backlash rippled through him in waves, each surge making his knees give out.
Barty held him upright. Pandora supported his other side. Dorcas kept a hand on his back, muttering grounding charms. Evan hovered, frantic, ready to catch him if he dropped.
“Stay awake, little star,” Evan begged. “Please. Please don’t collapse now.”
Regulus blinked slowly, swaying.
“’M trying,” he whispered. “Hurts. Can’t—can’t feel my hands—”
“Dumbledore—HELP HIM,” Sirius shouted, practically clawing his way into the barrier, tears streaking down his face.
Dumbledore didn’t answer—because the Floo flared.
Bright. Violent. Hungry.
Green fire roared up the hearth in the Entrance Hall.
Every student nearby screamed and ran.
Regulus lifted his head drowsily, face going white.
“He’s here,” he breathed.
And then he stepped out.
Antonin Dolohov.
Tall. Broad. Fur-trimmed traveling cloak. Cold eyes. Cruel mouth twisted into a smirk.
Every person in the hall recoiled as if he were a blast of freezing wind.
He smoothed back his hair casually, brushing soot from his shoulders as if arriving fashionably late to a dinner party rather than barreling in through a magical emergency link.
“Well,” he drawled, surveying the chaos with amusement. “Someone’s been touching things they shouldn’t.”
Sirius lunged.
James and Frank barely held him back.
“YOU— YOU— GET AWAY FROM HIM—”
Dolohov arched a brow, amused.
“Sirius Black. What an uncouth greeting for your brother’s husband.”
Sirius shrieked.
McGonagall nearly hexed him on instinct.
Dumbledore stepped forward, wand raised. His voice was quiet. Deadly.
“You are not welcome here. You will leave this castle at once.”
Dolohov laughed.
Actually laughed.
“Headmaster, with all due respect… do you have any idea how marriage law works?”
He pulled a parchment from his pocket, waving it lazily.
“Guardianship transfer. Magical bond certification. Underage spouse clause. Signed by Walburga and Orion Black themselves. Fully legal. Fully binding.”
He glanced at Regulus, smirking wider.
“And fully mine.”
Pandora hissed like a feral creature. Barty moved in front of Regulus, shielding him. Evan looked like he’d snap Dolohov’s neck with his bare hands.
Dumbledore’s jaw tightened.
“You cannot remove a student from school grounds without my—”
“Headmaster,” Dolohov interrupted with mock politeness, “you are not his guardian. I am.”
He tapped his own chest with one gloved hand.
“I have unrestricted, legally protected access to my spouse. At any time. In any location.”
Sirius snarled.
“YOU DON’T OWN HIM—”
Dolohov smiled.
“I do, actually. Magically. Legally. Physically.”
Regulus flinched—barely perceptible, but enough to make Dolohov’s smirk twist in satisfaction.
Dumbledore raised his wand higher.
“You will not come near him.”
Dolohov tilted his head, mocking.
“You think you can stop our bond? The castle itself let me in. The magic knows what I am to him.”
And then he lifted a single hand.
Sirius froze.
So did James. And Lily. And McGonagall.
Every person with even a flicker of magical sensitivity felt it.
A pulling.
A twisting.
A command, issued through the core of Regulus’s magic.
Regulus gasped.
His legs locked.
His body went rigid.
Barty and Pandora tried to push him backward—to move him away—but Regulus wouldn’t budge.
Couldn’t budge.
He was frozen in place, eyes wide and glassy, chest tight, breath stuttering.
Dolohov clicked his tongue.
“Ah ah. You know he can’t move if I bind him. Don’t hurt yourselves trying.”
Barty snarled,
“LET HIM GO—”
Dolohov ignored him.
He lowered his hand.
“Regulus,” he crooned, voice dripping with cold affection. “Come here.”
Regulus trembled.
Took one shaky step.
Then another.
Then another.
The binding slackened just enough to allow movement—toward Dolohov. Only toward him.
Regulus stumbled once—caught himself—kept going.
Sirius screamed,
“REG—STOP—STOP—NO—NO—PLEASE—PLEASE—”
Regulus didn’t look back.
Couldn’t look back.
Dolohov opened his arms.
Regulus reached him.
Dolohov wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him close with a proprietary ease that made half the room gag.
Regulus exhaled shakily—a small, broken sound—his body collapsing into the hold automatically, instinctively.
Dolohov tilted his chin up with one gloved hand.
“Greet me properly,” he murmured.
Regulus leaned up.
And kissed him.
Soft. Obedient. Mechanical.
Dolohov purred approvingly, stroking his cheek.
Then he turned to the stunned, horrified crowd of Hogwarts students and professors…
…and smirked.
“Isn’t he perfect?”
Sirius made a sound that didn’t sound human.
Regulus didn’t so much stand in Dolohov’s arms as he collapsed into them. The burnout hit him full-force now—magic drained, nerves fried, core aching like something was physically scraping at it from the inside.
His breath came in thin, weak pants. His fingers clutched at Antonin’s cloak out of instinct, not desire. His knees buckled again and again, and every time Dolohov hauled him upright with mock-gentleness, like holding a fainting bride instead of a bound boy.
Sirius looked ready to explode. James and Frank had to restrain him—again.
McGonagall was shaking with fury. Lily was openly crying. Remus was pale and hollow. Barty was vibrating like a bomb.
And Dolohov?
He reveled in it.
He stroked Regulus’s hair back with cruel tenderness, his fingers brushing the sensitive spot where the runes still glowed faintly beneath the skin.
“Look at you,” he cooed, voice soft like a lullaby dipped in venom. “So tired, kotyonok. So drained. This school is poison to you. I told you, didn’t I? I told you Hogwarts was not good for my sweet boy.”
Dumbledore stepped forward, wand raised.
“You will not remove him from these grounds.”
Dolohov smirked. A slow, lazy, devastating smirk.
“Headmaster… you are losing your touch. You should know the law better than anyone here.” He kissed Regulus’s temple—Regulus flinched weakly. “I am his guardian. Legally. Magically. Contractually. That gives me the right to transfer him from this institution if I deem it harmful.”
Pandora screamed,
“YOU CAN’T TAKE HIM—HE’S BARELY STANDING—YOU—YOU CAN’T—”
Dolohov ignored her.
He curled a hand under Regulus’s chin, turning his face up.
Regulus tried to focus. Failed. His vision blurred in and out, dizziness forcing him to cling tighter to Dolohov’s cloak just to stay upright.
Antonin smiled.
“There, lyubimyy. Hold on to me. Good boy.”
Sirius roared.
James and Frank nearly lost their grip holding him back.
Dolohov shifted his grip and scooped Regulus up effortlessly—one arm under his knees, one supporting his back. Regulus let out a soft, disoriented noise, hands clutching at Antonin’s collar as the world tilted.
Antonin kissed his forehead. Then his cheek. Then the other. Soft, slow, possessive pecks—more mockery than affection.
“Akh, my darling,” he murmured in Russian, voice syrup-sweet, toxic beneath the sugar. “Ya zhe skazal tebe… I told you this place would fail you. They do not deserve you. They never did.” He brushed his nose against Regulus’s. “Tol’ko ya. Only me. I take care of you. Always.”
Regulus’s fingers spasmed weakly in response. He was trying to stay conscious.
Trying—and losing.
Dumbledore’s magic crackled, the barrier shimmering dangerously.
“You will NOT take him,” Dumbledore repeated, voice hard as cursed iron.
Dolohov looked at him like he was a mildly annoying clerk.
“You think you can stop me?” he asked gently. “Watch.”
He pressed two fingers against the runes glowing beneath Regulus’s skin.
Regulus’s body jerked like the strings had been yanked on a puppet.
His magic—what little was left—collapsed inward, binding, locking, freezing him solid against Dolohov’s chest.
Barty swore. Dorcas choked. Pandora covered her mouth with both hands.
“He can’t move now,” Dolohov purred. “He can’t even struggle.”
Sirius made a noise like his entire chest tore open.
Dolohov leaned close to Regulus’s ear.
“Now, kotyonok…” His voice softened into cold silk. “Say goodbye.”
Regulus blinked, dazed. Confused. Terrified.
Dolohov cupped his cheek with a gloved hand.
“Say goodbye to your… classmates,” he mocked gently, “because you will never see them again.”
Pandora sobbed. Evan tried to lunge forward—McGonagall held him back with shaking hands. Barty whispered Regulus’s name like a prayer breaking on an altar.
Regulus swallowed. His throat worked. No sound came out.
He didn’t refuse. He physically couldn’t.
Dolohov kissed him again. Slow, soft, false.
Then he shifted him higher in his arms, turning toward the great doors as if leading a parade.
“Let’s go home, sweet boy.”
He started walking.
No one could stop him.
Not Dumbledore. Not McGonagall. Not the castle itself.
Because the magic binding Regulus was older than Hogwarts. Older than the Founders. Older than any law the school recognized.
Antonin Dolohov walked toward the great oak doors, smug and untouchable, his husband limp and trembling in his arms.
And then—
Just before the doors opened—
Regulus moved. Barely.
His head rolled against Antonin’s shoulder.
His eyes fluttered open.
And he looked back.
One last time.
At Barty—who looked shattered. At Pandora—who reached for him helplessly. At Evan—who mouthed I’m sorry. At Dorcas—who looked like she’d kill a god for him. At Lily—crying silently. At Remus—hollow and horrified. At James—shaking violently. At McGonagall—face carved from grief. At Dumbledore—eyes burning. At Peter—sobbing uncontrollably. At the Great Hall filled with silent, stunned, terrified students.
And finally— he looked at Sirius.
His big brother.
The brother he still loved, even if everything else had been taken from him.
Regulus’s eyes filled with tears.
His lips parted— just slightly— as if he wanted to say something.
Wanted to plead. Apologize. Ask for help. Say goodbye.
But no sound came out.
A single tear slid down his cheek.
The doors opened.
And Dolohov carried him out into the cold.
