IT MIGHT SOUND CRINGE BUT GNG IM TIRED WITH A BUNCH OF IDEAS SPINNING IN MY HEAD
@xxcatzncupcaxezxx
Sirius leaves the black household but still sends regulus letters hoping he would reply, because even though he left he still deeply cares about his younger brother.
Regulus reads every single letter and keeps them in a box under his bed. Regulus caves in and finally writes back to Sirius, but then regulus gets the dark mark.
Before regulus’ fate with the lake and horcurxs (idk how to spell it) he wrote one more letter.
Telling Sirius that he still feels hate for him leaving but still loves him and hopes he will do okay.
𝕽𝖊𝖌𝖚𝖑𝖚𝖘 𝕭𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝖝 𝕽𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖜!𝖕𝖚𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗
Summary : You, cornered by family expectations and Hogwarts gossip, agree to stage a relationship with Regulus Black. The motive is practical—shield yourself from pressure, control the narrative, and keep things strictly on your terms.
Tags : Fake Dating , Suggestive Content , mention about sex , manipulative , miscommunication (later on) , angst , hurt/comfort
author' note : Hello guys, so this idea has been on my mind for quite some time and I am so happy to finally start writing this, I promise part 2 will come soon cause I already have it planned. Enjoy!!
The Black family’s drawing room was a place designed to intimidate. Heavy velvet curtains blocked out the summer light, casting the chamber in a muted gloom. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and smoke from the ever-burning hearth, though the fire was unnecessary in the warmth of the season. Portraits of stern ancestors lined the walls, their painted eyes following every movement with silent judgment.
Regulus sat rigidly in the high-backed chair, posture perfect, hands folded neatly in his lap. He had learned long ago that any sign of restlessness was met with sharp rebuke. His parents—Orion and Walburga—occupied the seats opposite him, their presence commanding, their voices weaving through the silence with the weight of centuries of expectation.
The conversation had begun with pleasantries, the kind of brittle exchanges that masked deeper currents. But inevitably, it drifted toward the subject that always lingered beneath the surface: the family fortune. The Black legacy. The inheritance that had once been Sirius’s birthright, now stripped from him the moment he turned his back on their name.
Regulus listened as his mother spoke of investments, of properties, of the preservation of wealth that had been carefully guarded for generations. Her tone was sharp, precise, every word carrying the authority of someone who believed herself the keeper of tradition. Orion’s voice followed, lower and steadier, but no less commanding. He spoke of responsibility, of duty, of the necessity of maintaining the Black name untarnished.
And Regulus—silent, composed—sat as the heir. The weight of it pressed against his chest, heavier than the ornate rings that gleamed on his parents’ fingers. He was the one expected to carry the fortune forward, to embody the ideals Sirius had rejected. Every glance from Walburga reminded him of that truth. Every pause in Orion’s speech seemed to demand his agreement, his compliance.
Walburga’s voice was the first to cut through the heavy silence, sharp as the edge of a blade. She spoke of lineage, of the Black name, of the fortune that had been preserved through centuries of careful alliances. Her words carried the weight of tradition, each syllable dripping with expectation.
Orion leaned forward, his tone lower, deliberate, as though every phrase was carved into stone. He reminded Regulus of his position—not just as heir to the wealth Sirius had abandoned, but as the one who must ensure the family’s survival in the eyes of the pure-blood elite.
The conversation wound its way, slowly but inevitably, toward the heart of the matter. Walburga’s gaze fixed on her son, unyielding. “The fortune is secure,” she said, “but the name must be upheld.”
Orion’s words followed, steady and cold. “A suitable partner. From a pure-blooded family. That is the expectation.”
The implication hung heavy in the air. Regulus was to court, to present the image of stability and tradition, to prove that the Black legacy was unbroken. The partner was not meant to be cherished, not meant to be loved—merely a formality, a symbol.
Walburga’s lips curled faintly, almost satisfied. “You may discard her once the inheritance is sealed. What matters is appearances. The family name must remain untarnished.”
The fire crackled in the hearth, the only sound in the pause that followed. Regulus sat perfectly still, the words sinking into him like iron chains. He was expected to find a mistress to court, a pure-blooded woman to stand at his side until the fortune was his. Afterward, she could be cast aside.
Your presence in Ravenclaw was always marked by a certain sharpness—an intellect that cut through the noise of Hogwarts like a blade. You weren’t just another pure-blood girl with wealth and a respectable family name; you were known for the way you wielded your mind, for the way professors leaned forward when you spoke, for the way even the most confident students hesitated before challenging you in class.
Among the pure-blood circles, your family’s reputation was untouchable. Old money, old traditions, the kind of lineage that made the Blacks and Rosiers nod in acknowledgment. But unlike them, you refused to bow to the suffocating beliefs that had poisoned generations. You had no patience for the rhetoric that half-bloods and Muggle-borns were lesser, no tolerance for the whispers of superiority that echoed in Slytherin corridors.
That was why you kept your distance from the so-called Slytherin Skittles—Evan Rosier with his smug grin, Barty Crouch Jr. with his sharp tongue, Regulus Black with his quiet intensity, Dorcas Meadows with her sharp wit, and Pandora Rosier with her enigmatic charm. They thrived in their own insular world, bound by ambition and bloodline, while you carved your own path, refusing to be defined by the same narrow ideals.
Still, your name carried weight. In the library, in the classroom, even in the Great Hall, you were recognized. You gave Remus Lupin a run for his money in debates, matched Lily Evans in brilliance, and on occasion, even Regulus himself found his carefully constructed composure tested when you outmaneuvered him in Arithmancy or Charms. You were a Ravenclaw through and through—sharp, strategic, and unafraid to challenge anyone who underestimated you.
It was this reputation, this undeniable presence, that made you both admired and untouchable. You were respected among the pure-blood elite, yet you stood apart from their suffocating beliefs. And in the quiet corners of Hogwarts, whispers followed you: the girl who could rival the brightest minds, the one who might one day dismantle the very traditions she was born into.
The library was hushed, sunlight filtering through tall windows and pooling across the long oak tables where you and your friends had gathered. Sylvia leaned close, her elbow nudging yours, her whisper sharp with disbelief: “He’s coming this way.”
You didn’t even glance up at first. Lizzy was flipping through a Charms textbook, Heather scribbling notes, Mary half-buried in a stack of parchment. You scoffed under your breath, brushing Sylvia off. The Slytherins knew better than to tangle with you—it was an unspoken rule, a mutual understanding. You were Ravenclaw, sharp-tongued, untouchable, and they were the Skittles, a cluster of pure-blood ambition and arrogance.
But then the footsteps stopped at your table. The infamous Regulus Black, heir of the Black fortune, slid into the empty seat across from you. His movements were deliberate, precise, as though he had rehearsed this intrusion. He sat facing you directly, posture immaculate, and when his gaze lifted, it locked onto yours without hesitation.
The chatter of your friends faltered. Lizzy’s quill stilled, Heather’s notes forgotten, Mary’s eyes widened. Sylvia’s whisper turned into a sharp intake of breath. Yet Regulus didn’t spare them a glance. His attention was fixed entirely on you, as though the rest of the library had ceased to exist.
The moment unfolded with a strange inevitability. Regulus’s voice, calm but commanding, cut through the library’s quiet: “May I borrow your friend for a few moments?” His gaze never wavered from you, pinning you in place even as your friends exchanged startled glances.
Sylvia’s nudge turned into a hurried nod, Lizzy and Heather murmured agreement, and Mary shifted awkwardly, all of them conforming far too quickly for your liking. You blinked, confused, caught between scoffing at the absurdity and wondering what game he was playing. The Slytherins didn’t cross into your territory—not like this.
But Regulus didn’t wait for your protest. He rose smoothly, every movement deliberate, and you found yourself following as he led you out of the library. His stride was measured, his silence heavy, until the two of you slipped into a secluded corridor where the shadows stretched long and no curious eyes could follow.
The air felt different here—quieter, charged. The walls muffled the distant hum of Hogwarts life, leaving only the sound of your footsteps and the faint rustle of his robes. He stopped, turning to face you fully, the intensity of his stare sharper now without the buffer of your friends.
You stood there, irritation simmering, arms crossed as you demanded, “Alright, Black. What do you want dragging me out here?”
Regulus’s composure didn’t falter, though his voice carried a quiet tension. “Everything,” he said simply. “My parents have made it clear—the Black fortune, the legacy, it all depends on appearances. They want me to find someone. A partner. Pure-blooded, respectable, untouchable. Someone who can stand beside me until the inheritance is secured.”
Your brows shot up, disbelief sharp in your tone. “You’re telling me this like I should care? Sounds like your problem, not mine.”
You scoffed, incredulous. “So you want me to fake-date you? Pretend to be your partner so you can inherit your fortune, while I get dragged into your family’s mess?”
Regulus’s jaw tightened, but his voice didn’t waver. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m asking. Not because I want to, but because I have no choice. And you’re the only one who could make it work.”
The silence stretched, heavy, pressing against the stone walls. His confession hung between you, audacious and desperate all at once.
You couldn’t help it—the laugh burst out before you could stop yourself, sharp and incredulous, echoing in the empty corridor. The look on his face only made it worse.
“Regulus Black,” you said, shaking your head, amusement curling at the edges of your voice, “you actually think I’d want to be seen with you?”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt. He just stood there, gaze steady, as if waiting for you to soften.
But you didn’t. You straightened, the laughter fading into something colder. “No. Whatever scheme you’re plotting, whatever neat little arrangement you think I’d agree to—it’s not happening. I don’t care about your fortune, your family name, or their ridiculous demands. I won’t play along.”
You turned on your heel, the sound of your footsteps echoing against the stone floor as you strode away. The rejection had been sharp, final, and you didn’t bother to look back.
But you felt it—the weight of his gaze, dark and unyielding, following you down the corridor. Regulus didn’t call after you, didn’t try to stop you. He simply stood where you had left him, silent, his eyes fixed on your retreating figure.
There was something in that stare, something that lingered even as you disappeared around the corner. It wasn’t just annoyance or wounded pride—it was calculation, quiet intensity, the kind of gaze that promised this wasn’t the end.
Dinner in the Great Hall was its usual blur of chatter and clinking cutlery, the long tables buzzing with energy. You sat beside Everett Vale—Evei, as most people called him—half-listening to his easy banter while your mind still lingered on the strange encounter earlier.
The scrape of a bench pulled your attention, and Sylvia slid into the seat beside you. Her expression was sharp, eyes gleaming with curiosity. She didn’t waste time with pleasantries. One word, low and insistent: “Spill.”
Your stomach tightened. This was the first time you’d seen her since Regulus Black had cornered you in the library, and the memory of his dark gaze still clung to you. Your brain raced, flipping through excuses, searching for something that would sound believable without giving away the truth.
Finally, you settled on one. You leaned back, forcing a casual tone. “It wasn’t anything dramatic. He wanted to ask about the Arithmancy assignment—something about the formula Professor Vector gave us. I told him to figure it out himself.”
Sylvia narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced, but she didn’t press—at least not yet. The excuse hung between you, flimsy but serviceable, a shield against the truth you weren’t ready to share.
The corridors of Hogwarts were quiet after dinner, the hum of voices fading as students drifted back to their common rooms. You walked alone, the path toward Ravenclaw Tower familiar, your mind still half on Sylvia’s probing questions and the flimsy excuse you’d given her.
Then, suddenly, a hand seized your arm. Before you could react, you were shoved through the door of the Potions classroom, the heavy wood slamming shut behind you. The lock clicked, sealing you inside.
Your protest rose sharp and immediate, but it died on your lips when you saw him. Regulus Black. His expression unreadable, his movements deliberate. He advanced without hesitation, wand raised, the tip pressing lightly under your chin. The cold touch forced your head up, your back hitting the edge of the table behind you.
The room was dim, shadows stretching across shelves lined with jars and vials. Regulus leaned forward, lowering the wand but not the intensity of his stare. His hands gripped the table on either side of you, caging you in, the closeness suffocating.
Your breath caught, irritation and confusion colliding with the undeniable weight of his presence. He didn’t speak yet—just stared, dark eyes fixed on yours, as though daring you to laugh again, daring you to dismiss him.
Regulus’s voice was low, steady, but there was a sharp edge to it as he leaned closer, wand no longer pressing but his presence still suffocating.
“You think this is about me needing you to go forward with my plans?,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “It’s not. It’s about what happens if you don’t play along. You know how these families work—your family included. They’ll push you toward alliances whether you want them or not. They’ll try to tie you to someone worse, someone who won’t give you a choice.”
His grip on the table tightened. “Being linked to me—even if it’s fake—keeps them off your back. It makes you untouchable. No one questions the Black heir’s partner. No one dares interfere. You get the freedom to breathe, to keep control, without committing to anything real.”
He paused, letting the words sink in, his tone quieter now. “I’m not asking you to believe in their traditions. I know you don’t. I’m asking you to use me as a shield. A buffer. Temporary. Nothing more.”
“You’re starting to see it, aren’t you?” Regulus murmured, voice smooth, almost smug. “I’m not saying you want this. But think about it—linked to me, you’re untouchable. No family breathing down your neck, no worse matches forced on you. I’m a buffer. Temporary. Clean. Easy.”
You narrowed your eyes, refusing to let him think he’d won. “That doesn’t mean I’m convinced.”
His smirk deepened, the arrogance sliding into something more teasing. “Oh, come on. I can’t be that bad. Better than half the dreary options your family would throw at you. At least I’m not boring.” He leaned closer, voice dropping. “And I promise, I’d keep you entertained—in more ways than one.”
You scoffed, heat rising despite yourself. “You’re insufferable.”
Regulus chuckled, his tone dipping into suggestive territory. “Maybe. But admit it—you’d rather spar with me than be shackled to some dull pure-blood who thinks a good time is reciting family trees. At least with me, you’d never be bored. And who knows…” His gaze flicked down, deliberately slow, “…you might even enjoy yourself.”
You rolled your eyes, but he pressed on, relentless. “Besides, think about it. You get freedom, I get my parents off my back. Win-win. And if anyone asks, well…” His smirk sharpened. “You can say you settled for the best of bad options. I’ll even let you insult me while you’re at it.”
Your lips parted, half-annoyed, half-amused. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously better than the rest,” he countered smoothly, leaning just close enough that his breath brushed your cheek. “And if you’re worried about appearances, don’t. I look good on your arm. You’d look even better on mine.”
The banter hung heavy, sharp and charged, his arrogance daring you to push back, your irritation tangled with the faintest flicker of intrigue.
The tension in the Potions room was thick, his smug grin still lingering as you finally exhaled, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
“Fine,” you said, voice sharp but steady. “I’ll agree.”
Regulus’s eyes lit with triumph, but before he could move, you pressed a hand against his chest, forcing space between you. “But don’t get ahead of yourself, Black. There are terms and conditions.”
His brow arched, amusement flickering. “Terms and conditions? You make it sound like a contract.”
You held his gaze, unyielding. “It is a contract. If we’re doing this, it’s on my rules. First—kissing only in public. That’s it. No private theatrics, no blurred lines. Second—you don’t get to parade me around like a trophy. We decide together when and where we’re seen. Third—this stays temporary. When your family’s satisfied, it’s over.”
Regulus leaned closer again, hands gripping the table, his smirk deepening. “Kissing only in public? That’s cruel. What if I want to practice?” His tone dipped, teasing, suggestive. “You wouldn’t want me to embarrass you with sloppy technique, would you?”
You rolled your eyes, but the heat in the air was undeniable. “Don’t push your luck.”
He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “Luck has nothing to do with it, and if you’re setting conditions…” His voice dipped, teasing. “…I’ll enjoy breaking them one by one.”
The heat in the air was undeniable, your irritation tangled with something sharper, something you refused to name.
You lay sprawled on your bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of it all pressing down on you. Regulus Black. Of all people. A pure-blood supremacist, whispered about in corridors as a future Death Eater. You groaned, burying your face in your pillow—oh my god, it couldn’t get any worse.
But then the thought hit you, sharp and electric. If you’re going to do this—if you’re going to fake-date him—you might as well have your fun. You’re not just going to play along. You’re going to dig. You’re going to peel back every layer of his carefully constructed mask.
Every secret he’s hiding. Every weakness he doesn’t want anyone to see. You’ll find them. You’ll use this arrangement not just to shield yourself from your family’s pressure, but to unravel Regulus Black himself.
And suddenly, the situation didn’t feel quite so suffocating. It felt like a game. Dangerous, yes—but thrilling.
The morning was ordinary enough—you were bent over your Transfiguration homework with Peter and Remus, the three of you muttering about wand movements and formula corrections. Peter was scribbling furiously, Remus calmly pointing out where he’d gone wrong, and you were mid-sentence when warmth brushed your shoulder.
An arm draped gently around you, steady but not forceful. Then—soft, deliberate—a kiss pressed to your cheek.
You froze, quill hovering above parchment, as Peter nearly dropped his notes. “Wait—did he just—?” His voice cracked in disbelief.
Remus’s brow arched, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp, flicking between you and the boy behind you.
Regulus Black stood there, calm and composed, his touch light, not controlling—just enough to make his presence known. His voice was gentle, teasing, but not mocking. “Morning,” he said, lips curving into a faint smile. “Thought I’d remind you I exist.”
The heat rose in your cheeks, not from embarrassment alone but from the sheer audacity of it. He wasn’t smug in that moment—he was careful, almost tender, though the timing was deliberate enough to leave Peter gaping and Remus quietly studying you both.
By the time the bell rang for the end of third period, Hogwarts was practically vibrating with whispers. It was everywhere—echoing in corridors, spilling across staircases, even drifting through the Great Hall.
Students swarmed around you and Regulus, eyes wide, voices hushed but eager. Some were bold enough to ask outright, “Is it true? Are you two really together?” Others just stared, giggling behind their hands, nudging their friends as if they’d spotted the scandal of the year.
Everywhere you went, heads turned. The rumor had already twisted itself into certainty: you and Regulus Black were dating. And Hogwarts wasn’t just gossiping—they were shipping you two. Hard.
Girls in the common room were already debating your “ship name.” Boys in the courtyard were joking about how Regulus had finally been tamed. Even professors seemed to raise their brows when you passed, though they said nothing.
Regulus, of course, handled it with maddening calm. He didn’t smirk or flaunt it—he simply stayed close, his presence quiet but undeniable. That gentleness only made the whispers louder, the story sweeter in everyone else’s eyes.
Regulus had barely sunk into the green leather armchair in the Slytherin common room when Evan and Barty swooped in, grins sharp and voices loud enough to draw attention.
“Oi, Black,” Evan started, smirking as he sprawled across the couch. “So it’s true then? You and [name] ? Damn, finally. Half the castle’s been waiting for this.”
Barty leaned forward, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You should’ve seen the way people were talking at lunch. Shipping you two like it’s the next great romance. Honestly, I’m impressed—you managed to break Hogwarts without even trying.”
Regulus tried for calm, his usual mask of indifference, but the firelight betrayed him—just the faintest flicker of warmth in his expression. He didn’t snap back, didn’t deny it. He only let their teasing wash over him, quiet, thoughtful.
Because the truth was, they weren’t wrong. He had been harboring feelings since fifth year. Watching her from a distance, keeping it buried beneath duty and expectation, never daring to let it surface. And now, with the rumor blazing through the castle, it felt like the world had caught up to what he’d been hiding all along.
Evan nudged him again, laughing. “You’re not even denying it. Merlin, Reg, you’re gone for her.”
