â.Ë âŸâ.Ë ââ You might be the one to take away the pain,
And let my mind go quiet. ââ â.Ë âŸâ.Ë
Prompt: Regulus doesnât know much about love, but heâd like to think she could be his exception. Simp!Regulus, Yearning!Regulus, She/her Pronouns, No Voldemort/modern AU [2200+ words total]
The world is a simple thing with rules in place.
Rules are a lot like potions. Temperamental little buggers for the impatient and the distracted, but Regulus has always been a calculative man. His world is built upon measurables and balance. Heâs always been a numbers person, never fond of abstractions. The kind of man who could never read introspective works of fictionâsomeone with a knack for always taking things a little too literally. He has hypotheses in spades, a winning mind that rewarded him a position as a prominent potioneer at the ripe age of twenty-three, a passion for all things arithmetic and fact-driven.
As it turns out, Muggles are driven by a similar sort of rules. Over time Regulus has drifted apart from his blood, gravitating towards a pseudo-Sirius rebellion in his own little ways. It started small, with Regulus getting a landline for his new apartment and visiting a few Muggle grocery stores. Then it snowballed into Regulus spending more time in Muggle hotspots than his own bedroom, finding that he quite liked coffee of the Muggle variety and the sort of abrasive music they played at the pubs in London. He never thought heâd find himself sharing more in common with Sirius than his old Hogwarts dormmates, but thereâs a reason theyâre on speaking terms again. Heâs come a long way, and heâs truly come to appreciate Muggle culture. Muggles have their own little rituals established for their day-to-day, and itâs a trait that Regulus can understandâsomething he can relate to.
Many tend to find their own little morning spot for both work and leisure, for alone time or group brunch. For the past three weeks, Regulus has gotten up approximately half past five, attended to his morning routine, and walked to a coffee shop just around the corner to sit and enjoy a latte until nine in the morning, thirty minutes before his shift at a potion shop in Diagon Alley. Regulus would like to say itâs just one of those thingsâa ritual that adds to his day, gives him something to look forward to whenever he wakes up from a restless slumberâbut thereâs a little more to it.
The girl who works the register.
Regulus has come to find that rules and attraction do not mix. They go together like oil in water, and over time heâs just found himself more and more frazzled, headspace a mess of miscalculations and false hypotheses. At any other shop, ordering is a cake walkâit falls from his mouth with ease, rehearsed and seamless. With her, his mouth feels dry and heâs breathless the way a wizard is in the aftermath of Apparating. Sheâs always wearing the same patient, saccharine smile, her gaze like a beam of fluorescent light. Rules are meaningless whenever sheâs around. They donât do him any good; itâs almost like they make everything worse.
And they truly, truly do. Case and pointâtoday.
Regulus always arrives at the coffee shop donning a button-up and slacks, the supposed Muggle prototype of âbusiness casual.â He repeats his usual order in his head about four times before he makes his way up to the register, sometimes even getting the opportunity for a sixth rehearsal if the line is especially egregious. Today, she is working the register, three or four enamel pins decorating her apron. She has little butterfly clips in her hair, pulling back the strands that tend to shutter her face like curtains. Beneath her apron is a bulky maroon sweater, the very same coloration of Gryffindor, and Regulus canât help but wonder how Sirius would react seeing his little brother pine after a girl embodying Gryffindor pride.
Regulus has mentioned you once or twice (read: there truly arenât enough hands to count every offhanded remark heâs made) to Sirius, and the advice his older brother offered wouldnât help even the most charismatic, besotted of wizards. Merlin, just ask her for her number, Reggie! The worst she can do is reject you, Sirius told him. Evan and Barty werenât any better, first questioning his taste in girl (âA Muggle? Really, Black?â Evan had said, Barty too incredulous to work up a reaction other than gaping shock) then offering up âsage adviceâ of Siriusâs caliber. All mentions of rejection, as though itâs impossible to imagine Regulus pairing with a Muggle. As though rejection is the only possible outcome. All three feel that way, though theyâd never admit the obvious outright. It almost makes him wonder if they ever put their mutual rivalry aside and gossip about him in their spare time. He wouldnât be surprised.
But it doesnât much matter what they think. All that matters is her and this aching longing in his gut, his heart, his very soul. Fears of rejection aside, he canât imagine going much longer without this volcano of want igniting.
Thoughts of Sirius and his prejudiced friends drift away, replaced by a kinetic energy drawing him closer and closer to where she stands. Thereâs only a couple customers in front of him, and he takes his time drinking you in, from the top of your head to where the counter blocks your waist and legs from view. His fingers twitch at his side, and he is thankful that he grew in a household of masks and shuttered emotions because he wouldnât know what to do if she noticed his longing. How very embarrassing that would beâto have his soul on display, all for her to pick it apart and leave him with nothing but what-ifs and insatiable hunger.
Yet, how could anyone let this fester? How do men pine without any sort of reprieve?
The rest of the line moves quickly, the remaining customers prattling off their orders with ease, and Regulus is next in line. He moves up to the counter, his dominant hand curling into a fist to mask the trembling. All the rehearsals, all the preparationâthe memories scatter, replaced by the sort of surprise that derails thoughts faster than sleep.
There she is, her bright eyes peering into him like they have front row tickets into his soul. Her practiced smile becomes a little more genuine, matching the sunshine of her eyes, and she leans forward. âHi, Regulus,â she breathes out, and Regulus pretends that delight in her voice is all his, something for his taking and no one elseâs. Pretends that the light dancing in her eyes isnât from the fluorescentsâthat she leaned forward to indulge herself in his scent and his gaze. âYour usual?â
Regulus smiles. He loosens his fist, digging into his coat pocket to retrieve his wallet. âYou remember?â he asks, and he doesnât even try to hide the hope trickling into his tone.
âYouâre not much for experimenting, are you?â she says in retort, a cheery laugh following. âYou always get a sixteen-ounce hot latte. Skim milk, Irish cream, two pumps of sugar-free vanilla syrup. Sound about right?â
Sheâs never once let him go without fumbling through his usual order. This is new. This is exciting. Regulusâs heart accelerates, his eyes widening. She pays attention to me? Â He wonders how far it goes, whether it surpasses his own focused attention. âYeah, thatâs correct,â he murmurs, his smile faltering into an awestruck frown.
She runs a hand through her hair, fingers catching on one of her clips. That smile of hers never lets up, even as she taps in the order and rings up his total. âYou sound surprised. I pay attention too, you know,â she says playfully.
Regulus doesnât even hesitate. âTo everyone?â he asks.
Her smile turns bashful, and she casts a brief glance at the line forming behind him. âOnly to the handsome, brooding ones,â she says, so quiet he has to strain his ears to even hear her.
 Regulusâs breath catches.
Every last interaction with her plays through his mind. The want, the yearning, the attraction altogether breaks the surface, and he is hit with a tidal wave of longing. His head is sent reeling, and before he can compose himself, he asks, âWhenâs your break?â
The words come out rushed and blunt. He probably looks drunk on her attention, and truthfully, he feels like he is.
Her eyes brighten even more, and her smile relaxes into something tender. âI can take a fifteen in about thirty more minutes.â
Regulus hands her ten pounds, unable to withhold his own smile, one that spells out every feeling stronger than any confession ever could. âKeep the change, and um, come sit with me on your break. Iâd like to talk to you about something.â
He sits, he panics, his mind wanders. Thirty minutes is too little contrary to his original thought itâd be agonizingly slow, and before he knows it, there she is. Sliding into a seat across from him. Her eyes amused and languidly looking down to his chockfull cup. Those same eyes darting back up and creasing. The weight of her stare, her smile, her presence is enough to make him feel lost for breath. He canât conjure up the self-control to dispel the anxiety; it was lost the moment she entered his orbit of awareness all those weeks ago.
Itâs her that breaks through their mutual silence. âSo, you wanted to talk to me about something?â she says, wearing that same blithe smile. Â
Regulus fidgets with his hands, his gaze flickering between her and his untouched latte. âYeah, um, I just⊠well, I wanted to⊠Are you taken by anyone?â
Wait. Dammit.
THAT ISNâT WHAT I MEANT TO ASK.
His fingernails dig into his palms with enough pressure to leave marks. He should have known his anxious gut would leave plenty room for error.
Her eyes blink, and her mouth falls open. Before Regulus can open his fat gob and retract his question, sheâs covering her mouth, a faint laugh emitting from behind her fingers. Even her laugh is beautiful, and Regulus aches something awful at the sound.
âIf I was, Iâd be a pretty awful girlfriend telling another man heâs handsome and brooding, wouldnât I?â she says, that same playful tone saturating her voice. âI thought I was rather obvious.â
Regulusâs composure breaks in half completely. He canât help the way his eyes widen, unknowingly moving closer to the table as he stares across at her. âWhat?â he asks breathlessly.
His world is made up of rules and numbers and systems. Made up of guidelines and woven paths heâs begrudged deviating from. Nothing ever changes, only minute little moves that wonât disrupt his equilibrium, and everything is written in the starsâall constellations his inner astronomer charts religiously. Â
He resigned himself to a longing that wouldnât ever reach fruition, a hunger-panged heart far removed from gluttony. So it is nothing he could have ever predictedâan unknown variableâthat she returns his affections.
This beautiful girl smiles at him lopsidedly and reaches forward, tentatively tucking a black curl behind his ear. He canât look away, frozen with baited breath. âI think youâre cute, Regulus,â she says. âYou always brighten my day when you swing by.â
Regulus was always the boy that never got a chance at Hogwarts. The boy everyone chased just for a good word in with his brother or his girl-crazy mates. The boy given aside glances in the corridors or whispered about but never approachedâand Merin forbid he ever tried to confess his affections. Yet here he is, a man nearing his mid-twenties, and heâs smitten like the olden days of Hogwarts. âChasing a skirtâ, as Evan and Barty would say.
A disgrace, as his mother and father would say. Not that Regulus gives their opinions much thought anymore.
He lets himself breathe, a smile creeping onto his mouth. Forgets his brother, his friends, his parents. Hones in on her.
And suddenly, everything else falls away. Her and only her falls into place.
The girl with pretty eyes and an even prettier smile. The girl who never fails to make his day a little less blue and gloomy. The girl always engaging him in trivial conversations and receiving snide talkings-to from her manager for âslacking offâ any time heâs here.
âI didnât think you paid me much mind,â he admits, thinking back to every one of their interactions. She was friendly but never overly obvious. Happy to see him but never an ecstatic, blushing foolânever the besotted dolt he was on the inside.
âYou didnât see my staring?â She laughs again, shaking her head. âMy, youâre oblivious.â
Regulusâs smile grows. âI was too busy sulking, I suppose,â he says. âI didnât think there was a chance in hell youâd return myâŠâ
She scoffs. âHave you seen yourself? You could have anyone you wanted, Iâd wager.â
Regulus has never so badly wanted to bear his soul to someone. Yet, all he can manage is, âIncluding you?â
The girl at the counter has never looked so nervous, her smile turning coy and small. âEspecially me.â
Maybe rules arenât everything. Maybe the abstract can be something quite beautiful. Â
GUYS Iâm blanking on what to write for Harry Potter, please send requests đ I promise I will write them this time
Also, should I branch out and write for other fandoms? Like, perhaps, Haikyuu?? I have a few Sakuatsu stories for the fandom on Ao3 but Iâm totally down to write some x readers and oneshots here if yâall are interested đ Lemme know!!!
Iâm working on a Regulus x Muggle reader rn that I should have ready to post soon, but plssss send requests guys, I wanna become active again
literally insane that itâs been approximately like 3-4 years since i posted anything, like what??? a lot has happened since thenâi graduated with two degrees and iâm working on another. lived thru so many different life experiences that it kind of feels like a decade passed đ
iâve really been missing writing, and i intend to get back into writing for this blog. iâm gonna clear out my inbox and have it open for any NEW requests, and iâm going to aim to post at least 1-2 times per week. my writing has matured a LOT and iâm still a part of the hp fandom fsâiâve had a recent obsession with regulus black thatâs incredibly evident in my ao3 bookmarks đ€Ł
i hope you guys will be here for my journey back into being an active part of the writing community here <3 as a side note, i have been somewhat active on my ao3 for writing so if anyone is into Haikyuu, check out katemichelle710 on there ;) i have two sakuatsu AUs on there
nut up or shut up ~ a mix of 2000s rock/alternative throwbacks and mellow songs i listened to during my emo phase
they tell me jesus walks; i tell them money talks ~ songs from tiktok
you were a red flag, and i was color-blind ~ a playlist i made as tribute for all the bitches whoâve done me dirty đ
give me substance ~ a BUNCH of djent, nu-metal, post-hardcore, and progressive rock
i didnât think you cared ~ indie/pop/alternative/etc songs i listen to when iâm sad about somthin
set fire to my pyre ~ songs i want played at my funeral
fuck you fuck you fuck you ~ songs that are hella angry and hella angsty
follow me (katemichelle710) on spotify if you want new music! my music taste is chaotic and iâm always updating/making playlists :) iâll follow back <3
can you do something w/ younger Sirius where he breaks up with reader for WhAtEvEr reason and she's okay with it and not looking sad at all and he's low-key mad that she's fine and the next day or something shes with some boy and they make eye contact so she waves and smiles like nothing happened and he's mad because he's hurtâą and shes already hanging out with other boys, you know? None of that made sense.
Sorry for taking so long on this request but I finally did it!!! đđ I hope you enjoyed đ
A Scorned Loverâs Intermission: Spilled Milk | SIRIUS BLACK, ME
ă â ăPROMPT ă â ă
Requested & She/Her Pronouns | Sirius Black and Y/N L/N were together, and then they werenât.
ă â ăAUTHORâS NOTEă â ă
hey guys ;) i... dont even know what this is. i wrote it in an hour and a half LMAO
   IT WAS WIDELY KNOWN JUST HOW MUCH of a heartbreaker Sirius Black was. Or widely rumored. Anyone who truly knew Sirius understood he wasnât emotionally unavailable or a bad partner; he was just immature, lacking the experience (and self-awareness) needed for healthy relationships. He thought relationships only required a dash of attention and a sprinkle of doting; as long as it was exclusive, as long as he paraded around his devotions, he didnât see the big issue of favoring his friendsâ company over a loverâs. But Sirius didnât quite understand commitment. He gave twenty-five percent when love was meant to be a wholehearted effort. Some could say it was his upbringing that caused such an insensitive, lazy interpretation of love. But maybe Sirius was just heedless.
   Sirius frequently dated girls who had prior feelings for him. It was easier that way; instead of cultivating a connection, they were already halfway there, and it didnât hurt half as bad when the girls inevitably lost interest, disliking his romantic negligence. When he started dating the sixth year Ravenclaw prefect Y/N L/N, everyone was beside themselves with surprise. Y/N was soft where Sirius was rough. Y/N was well-mannered where Sirius was boisterous and objectively rude. Y/N was dutiful where Sirius was a rulebreaker. Y/N was traditional where Sirius was unconventional. Y/N was the one to approach Sirius; she shyly asked if heâd accompany her to Hogsmeade, even going so far as to visit prank shops with him. Sirius had only broken up with his precursory girlfriend, so he had nothing keeping him from agreeing to a single date. It didnât actually feel like a date. They indeed visited prank shops, and Y/N never once pressured Sirius into taking her into Madam Puddifootâs Tea Shop. It ended up with a trip to The Three Broomsticks, and Y/N paid for their meal, as well as their Butterbeers. Sirius had a good time, though he occasionally drifted off in their conversations, wondering what his dormmates were up to and whether he could hunt them down, convincing them to crash his date.Â
   After three weeks of banter and flitting around Y/Nâs obvious affections, Sirius decided heâd put the poor girl out of her misery. He asked her out, unsurprised when the girl said yes. For two months after that, the Hogwartsâ population had them under watchful scrutiny, waiting for Siriusâs easy ennui to come to a head.
   It came as no surprise when Sirius broke up with the girl one cloudy, mundane day, citing her demure demeanor as the reason. It was a shitty reason to break up with someone, and no one took his claims seriously. They understood that Sirius had just gotten bored, and he was irritated when Y/N didnât outright call him out for his immaturity. The girls were always the ones breaking up with him, not the other way around. Heâd gotten tired waiting for Y/N to give up. Y/N acted unbothered the entire relationship, seemingly unfazed when Sirius chose his friends over her or made up excuses to avoid alone time. She was understanding. Too understanding. She wasnât Siriusâs type, and he couldnât fathom what possessed him to go out with her in the first place, knowing she was as opposite to him as ice was to fire. And she was just so fucking apathetic. What was the point in dating someone so flexible?
   Y/N just shrugged and jerked her head in a nod when Sirius suggested they break up. âI understand, Sirius,â she had said. Sirius squinted at her, wondering if she was smiling through the pain and internally a broken doll, but nothing about her was faux. He had known she was a living conundrum through their weeks of agonizing small talk and unaffectionate handholding, but this right here proved she was a fucking nutcase. Most girls would lose themselves in derailed thought trains and contrition after a break-up. Y/N just shrugged like she was told to expect rainfall, and they separated immediately thereafter, Y/N going to her friends at the Ravenclaw table and Sirius plopping down next to James.Â
   His friends had told him he was an arse who needed a lesson in handling girlsâ feelings, but they just silently stared at him in disappointment at the adjourning of his and Y/Nâs relationship. Maybe they thought heâd actually liked Y/N and been willing to change for her. Sure, he sometimes enjoyed Y/Nâs deadpan, soft way of speaking and she had interesting studying methodology and she was one of few girls who didnât give a damn about pranks, but that didnât mean he liked her. He tolerated her. There was a distinct difference.
   Sirius had gone about his day, disinterested in the aftermath of their short-lived romance. But Sirius couldnât deny he missed her company, and it bothered him immensely that Y/N didnât care. Everyone he had ever dated was hung up after separating, even if the girls themselves were the ones initiating the separation.Â
   It was such an unnecessary annoyance. Maybe even an unnecessary evil. Sirius wondered if she was purposefully feigning indifference to provoke him.Â
   A fortnight later, there was a Hogsmeade visit scheduled. Sirius decided he didnât need a date to enjoy his time. He rode the carriage there with his mates, and the four of them headed off to The Three Broomsticks, pushing and shoving at each other. When they arrived, James, Remus, and Peter went and found a table while Sirius went to the bar, flirting up a storm to Rosmerta. Rosmerta was gorgeous and had a cute laugh. She was also witty and could give as good as she got. Sirius admittedly had flirted with Rosmerta even while coming there for dates; there were a few instances during his time at The Three Broomsticks with Y/N he excused himself to the restroom, sneaking off to chat up Rosmerta. Y/N had been none-the-wiser, though it was possible she just didnât care. Sirius preferred to think she was ignorant.
   Merlin, it had been two weeks. Why was he still thinking about her?
   âYou must get tired of seeing the same old lugs âround here,â Sirius said, elbows digging into the bar and palms digging into his cheeks. âAll these ugly arse drunkards looking down your shirt. Arenât I a refreshing sight?â
   âYouâre not much better,â Rosmerta told him, head tilted back into a laugh. âThey shamelessly flirt with me, too, Black.â
   Sirius shrugged, innocent as a Monarch butterfly. âI donât look down your shirt, do I? I think Iâm a bit of an upgrade.â
   He didnât acknowledge that most of his shameless flirting took place during dates half the time. He also didnât acknowledge he was a horrible passing fancy and an even worse boyfriend.
   âGo sit with your friends, Black. Iâll bring you all a round of Butterbeers,â Rosmerta said, waving him off. The conversation had been shorter than usual.Â
   Sirius just shrugged and went to join his friends. He intended to, at least. But turning away from the bar meant facing the heart of the pub, and there was a familiar soft, breathy laugh. He shouldnât have heard it above the boisterous energy of the pubâs patrons, but he did. It was almost like fate. And when his eyes fell on Y/N L/N, he could feel his blood freeze and his limbs stiffen. There she was, sitting just feet away. She was dressed warmly, in a similar patterned ensemble she wore for their first date, and there was a huge smile on her face. She had never smiled that large when she was with him. His eyes trailed down to her hand, noticing she was cupping someone elseâs, this hand distinctively male. He then looked at the person sitting in front of her. It was a Hufflepuff sixth-year with a dark-haired coiff and piercing brown eyes.Â
   There was an unfamiliar feeling rumbling around in his gut. He was queasy and angry. He couldnât believe Y/N had already moved on, all in the span of a fortnight. She was smiling and laughing and squeezing hands with some pretty boy and looking entirely fucking unbothered---
   Oh fuck, Sirius thought, realizing where his thoughts were heading. He was sounding like a jealous, indignant prat. He didnât do jealousy. He sometimes critiqued the men his ex-girlfriends moved on with, but it was all in good fun and it only happened when he was bored and in dire need of entertainment. This right here, though, was an internal tirade that lacked disinterested jests. Truly, Sirius was angry, and part of him wanted to be on the other side. He wanted to be in the unfamiliar boyâs place. He wanted to go back two weeks and disregard his eagerness to break up. This wasnât like him at all.
   He knew he was staring, but he just didnât care. He couldnât help it. His tumultuous insides were foreign territory, and he didnât want to tread anywhere except further into the festering anger chewing up his skeleton like rabid dogs.
   Y/N was caught in another laugh, her eyes crinkling at the corners, when she must have sensed someone was boring holes into the side of her head. She shifted, and her eyes glanced in Siriusâs direction. Nothing in her posture or her smile gave away surprise at seeing him there. He had told her when they were in the getting-to-know-each-other phase that The Three Broomsticks was his favorite place in Hogsmeade. She was aware he frequented there during Saturday trips. So it didnât much faze him she was apathetic, again, while looking straight through him. But he did hate how her smile widened, her hand raising in a wave. Her date turned to look at him, too, and he showed more ferocious emotion than the damned girl Sirius had scorned did. It didnât make any fucking sense.Â
As quickly as Y/N had smiled and waved at him, she turned away, diving back into a conversation with her date. The boyâs face lit up where it was previously soured.Â
    It was only then that Sirius realized he was hurt. He had blown off bird after bird since their break-up, and heâd assumed it was out of disinterest in pursuing another half-assed relationship, but really it had been out of a disinterest in pursuing another half-assed relationship with anyone that wasnât Y/N. Maybe she was strange in her emotional pliability, but heâd liked her. It wasnât true that opposites attracted, yet she was an exception. Heâd enjoyed their time, and he hadnât truly wanted to kick her to the curb. It just happened. It happened because he was accustomed to dropping birds like Quaffles during a game of Quidditch. He didnât know any other way of doing things, and it cost him the only girl heâd more than tolerated. The only girl he had truly liked.Â
No wonder his mates had bullied and mercilessly dug at him when they realized he had orchestrated a break-up. They knew he had ruined a good thing.
   Sirius supposed his dormmates had been correct when they said his actions would catch up with him. As cliche as it was to admit his mistakes, he hadnât known what he had until he lost it. He didnât realize his feelings until it was too late. And there were consequences where he once believed he was invincible.Â
The Nocturnal Conversations Between Two Sheep-Chasing Insomniacs | Sirius Black, ME
ă â ăPROMPT ă â ă
Sirius has a restless mind and eyebags the color of burnt sangria. Y/N is an accursed night owl whose mortal enemy is time. Two sides of the same coin come together with the same objective: outlasting burnout.  Â
ă â ăAUTHORâS NOTEă â ă
lol this was fun to write but not fun to edit. pls ignore how fucking LONG the title is, iâm pullin a fall out boy over here. also this is the first thing ive written in almost a year for hp so pls dont judge me too harshly
            SIRIUS BLACK KNEW WHAT IT FELT LIKE TO BE TIRED. Man, oh man, was that putting it mildly.
           In Siriusâs experience, life was pretty fucking merciless. Throughout his seventeen years of existence, he lived like a prisoner, both in mind and spirit. And there wasnât much he could say or do to avoid a fate behind bars. He was one of few unfortunate sods to be born into a purebred, traditionalistic family. Every day felt like a walk through an orchard of rosary peas and nightshade with only polyester as armor. Sometimes light came in the shape of something two-faced, like a beautiful rose whose thorns could generate blood fountains: his friends, for instance. They brought him ecstasy he didnât know, but he was punished for his peer associations. This, of course, was an opinionated piece of pessimism. The world could also be a wonderful place brimming with possibilities. Though, Sirius didnât know much about positive change. Nor welcome possibilities. He was born into darkness and came to realize even good thingsâthe best thingsâwere temporary. If Sirius were a good actor, he could have faked his way through his youth, playing up the stoic, goal-oriented purist character his parents had anticipated through his conception. Unfortunately, Sirius was short-tempered, a little too impulsive, even more reckless, and a provocative spawn from Hell. He made it his lifeâs goal to infuriate his family. So far, he was doing a stand-up job.Â
           But being the black sheep of the family came with a price. Sirius paid in time and essence.
           The muggle term for it was insomniaâa not-so-friendly condition that could take hours and turn them into days, take energy and spit it back out as fatigue. A condition Sirius hated having, but hey, anything beat being a made-up version of himself. Even something as abysmal as feeling dog-tired always and forever.
           Sleep was not a difficult sacrifice to make. Knowing now he would perpetually feel so weary and sluggish, Sirius would still choose to be a sleep-deprived family reject and a blood-traitor over a Pureblood puppet. He wouldnât change a damn thing about the way things went. His first evening at Hogwarts, Sirius purloined his peersâ speech with a Sorting Ceremony for the ages The hat had crowed âGryffindor!â to the sound of stricken, unforgiving silence. Sirius walked to his new table with a skip in his step, unfazed by their shock; he was shocked too, but the entire train ride there, heâd thought long and deeply about who he was, and who he was didnât mesh with the image his parents had painted with constrained vigor. That didnât stop his mother from sending a wanton Howler that ruined an entire appetite six days later, and it certainly didnât stop his first winter break from being a living Hell much worse than anything heâd ever experienced up to that point, even their lousy attempt at an arranged marriage when he was nine. Sirius was no longer his parentsâ perfect Pureblood son set to continue the bloodline; from the day he was born, he was a deviant from Pureblood ideals, in all frankness. He built a reputation befitting of blood-traitors and Mudbloods, cementing his image as the Black Family disgrace.          Â
           Simply put, Sirius had a hard life. He would give more than the entire Gringottsâ monetary aggregation and maybe even a few limbs (aside from his wand arm, of course) if it meant a new beginning with a family like Jamesâs. And contrary to popular belief, he wasnât an optimist. He could play up a charismatic, careless playboy charade to friends and acquaintances alike, but the cost was paid in numerous sleepless nights, perpetual fatigue evident through stars-littered morning vision and tingling fingertips, Acceptables and Dreadfuls in subjects he held unmotivated interest for, and a disregard for social interaction outside of dormmate bonding.        Â
           Sirius was an insomniac. A withdrawn, morose insomniac beleaguered by a dark family legacy he couldnât overcome.
           Okay, things sounded worse than they were.
The nights werenât entirely awful. His best mates were fortunate to have such a magnanimous roommate; as they slept on, Sirius tiptoed from his bed, heading from their chilly, moonlit dorm to the Gryffindor common room where a fireplace was waiting to warm up his bones. Sirius could sit there for hours without having any unwanted companyâa perk of being up at obscene hours of the night. He was an unwilling participant in adverse maladaptive daydreaming, but occasionally the daydreams were pleasant, leading him through sunny, fantastical visions of him as an Auror slaying all the big, nasty Death Eaters to save Wizarding humanity. He was ruled a hero, his family of monsters sentenced to life in Azkaban and his friendsâhis real familyâsafe to live another day at his side. As the daydream winded down into fillers, Sirius was hitâlike a blow to the jugularâby wistfulness, washing down his pipes the way a scorching gulp of Firewhiskey would. It awoke the realist in him, and away went pleasant reveries, replaced by visions far more likely and a touch too deadly.Â
           Tonight had gone in a similar fashion. It was nearing three in the morning, and Sirius was curled up on the couch, his arms looped around his legs, knees pulled flush against his jumper-swathed chest. Heâd been distracted from the dark thoughts by the image of gallant Sirius, theatrically holding his wand above a defeated Death Eater like a knight would a sword over a slain corrupt king. Then, his sweaty body took on a sudden cold, and his twitching mouth flattened into a grimace. The happy atmosphere adopted a sinister air; the heroes became overwhelmed, and many of them died, mercilessly killed by unforgivables with Regulus, Siriusâs little menace of a brother, leading the pack. Sirius wasnât much of a crier, but the constant flip-flop of happy endings and death was unbearable, eyes burning as he snapped awake. He wished he was able to just forget it all, from his familyâs physical and emotional abuse to his disownment last summer to the Slytherinsâ maltreatment to his devil-may-care façade that was nothing more than a farce. Even in the wake of temporarily moving in with the Potters for holidays, Sirius was unable to silence his mind. Itâs like he couldnât. Physically immobilized, he was a prisoner chained to cerebral walls, left helplessly watching his train of thought derail and crash, again and again and again. Like a frozen picture on a broken television screen.
           He knew Madame Pomfrey probably had a variety of sleep potions at her disposal but going to her meant admitting he had a problem he couldnât fix, and Sirius wasnât a quitter. He knew how to figure out kinks in any situation; no problem was dismal enough it necessitated a secondary support. Sirius Black was clever. Sirius Black was a problem-solver. Sirius Black came up with solutions even the most veteran of Wizards couldnât process. Why would he, of all people, require assistance?
           Well, there was also the likeliness of it getting around Hogwarts that Sirius wasnât as strong as he made himself out to be. He was solid stone, not broken concrete. He couldnât risk his reputation. Outside of his best mates that felt more like blood than train-made friends, his reputation was all he had. Sirius felt like a fraudâand every day, he lost a sliver of hope, a drop of joy, a piece of normalcy, the roof of his prison caving in on itself. Until that wasnât the case anymore. Sirius liked to pretend change was not an inevitability. Change could be either good or dreadful; Siriusâs experience always dove towards the latter.
         Fate was an asshole who loved watching humans fumble and fail. Fate had been watching Sirius, waiting to ignite his rickety, unmade bed in flames.
           It started tonight. This night. Sirius didnât come down to the common-room every time he encountered sleep problems, but occasionally he got antsy and had to go somewhere vacant but comforting. He would sometimes pace around on the royal red carpet until his feet ached. More often than not, though, heâd go straight to the couch, curling into an arm and staring into the fire until the fizzing flames blurred into a swatch of oranges. He was a little naĂŻve to think the common-room would deter his racing mind from marathoning some more, but hey, a change of atmosphere helped at least infinitesimally. He was warm and able to glance around an illuminated room, locating objects that would trigger happy thoughts, like something Remus said about tapestries the day before or a decoration of a lion that reminded Sirius of an upcoming Quidditch game against Hufflepuff. The little thingsâthey were more than shifting around in a dorm bed, the room shrouded in darkness except for the slivers of moonlight coming from the open window, if Remusâthe only sixth-year with a preferenceâdecided to leave the blinds open. Sirius would get back before five to avoid his friendsâ concern. Remus, specifically. The bloke was an early riser.
           Sirius had yet to be interrupted. His routine had been the same for years, since he first realized his sleep habits werenât normal. Occasionally a duo of giggling lovers came through the portrait, but they paid Sirius no mind, hustling their way up to the boysâ dormitories unceremoniously. No one spoke to him, no one eyed him, no one even considered him. They dismissed Sirius as a perched nocturnal thinker who minded being minded. An accurate picture Sirius halfheartedly disliked.
           Surprisingly, no couples had been through the Fat Lady portrait tonight. Sirius had been sitting with his knees pressed against his chest on the sofa since the bell tolled midnight hours ago. It was nearing three in the morning. Sirius knew heâd need to return upstairs at some point, considering James had a tendency to wake up at five to make a bathroom run, but for now, he was safe to stare into the fire until the flames became a river of red.
           Siriusâs eyesight hadnât gone blurry with lethargy, nor was he dancing through a reverie, when there were footsteps that came from one of the dormitory staircases. He was sluggishly picking at a thread on the sofa. It kept getting longer and longer, too tightly woven for removal to be a breeze. Throughout his tribulations in tugging and gritting his teeth, his memory lane had become crumpled asphalt, shoes made for running unmade for ripples in a runnerâs marathon pursuit.
           His eyes lazily swept from the sofa to where heâd heard the stairs creaking. He searched for a perpetrator, wondering who could be wandering from bed at this time of night, hypocritically ignoring his own nocturnal wakefulness.
           A bird sneaking off to see her forbidden snake lover?
           Nothing prepared Sirius to see Y/N L/N.
           Now, Sirius had nothing wrong to say about Y/N L/N. They were a lovely, albeit kooky brainiac who enjoyed arguing professors into a steaming-ear rage. Sirius saw them almost constantly because they shared a House and had a similar career path mapped out. Therefore, Y/N was in several of Siriusâs classes. Y/N was just a year younger than Sirius, otherwise theyâd probably share all their classes together; regardless, Y/Nâs position as a prodigal genius warranted higher-level classes and astronomical expectations out the bosom. Y/N always seemed to fulfill them, even when they looked like they were ten seconds from keeling over, mouth ajar and drool collecting on the corners of their lips.
           They had an unconventional attractiveness about them, generated by years of quirky behaviorisms and tongue-in-cheek replies. Sirius supposed they were a commodity, with unmatched beauty that was only dampened by an acquired-taste personality.
           Sirius wondered what the hell they were doing in the common room.
           Y/N surveyed the room, their bagged eyes bugging at the sight of a perching Sirius. âOh!â they gasped. âSorry, I didnât know thereâd be somebody down here. Itâs a little late.â
           A little? Sirius snorted.
           Y/N apparently took this as an invitation. They hopped the last few stairs and came trudging over, lacking their usual peppy step. They were dressed in dog-decorated pajamasâMuggle attire. Sirius didnât know their heritage. The matching brown-colored slippers adorning their feet implied a tainted bloodline that would leave his mother gagging.
           Y/N plopped down on the opposite end of the sofa, a gap left between the sleepless Gryffindors. Their under-eyes looked even more pronounced up close, like liquid-filled blisters or growing tumors. Pajamas rumpled and expression vaguely apathetic, Sirius concluded they were in a similar boat. A sinking boat.
           Sirius wondered if they were ever buoyant in the first place. He knew his own boat left shore visibly cracked.
           âSo,â Y/N began, tired eyes wide and paradoxically alert, âthe rain got you down?â
             âRain?â Sirius echoed.
              They nodded. âYeah, rain! Itâs pouring outside. I get out of worksâworse than usual, anyway. I donât much like the smell, and the sound makes my skin crawl. I can never sleep on rainy nights.â They took a long pause, just staring at Sirius. Their eyes felt all-knowing. âAre you the same?â
               âThe weatherâs never bothered me,â he said tentatively. Sirius had never really thought about the weatherâs role in his insomnia.
          Y/N brushed over his hesitance. âAh, youâre a lucky one,â they said. âSleepingâs hard anyway, but storms, they make the process even trickier. I donât like âem at all.â
           Sirius thought it was strange how Y/N appeared, speaking to him as though theyâd been friends for years. The familiarity was disjointing. He wasnât sure he liked it. But he did agree storms could be distracting.
           Y/N made a sudden jump towards Sirius, one of their hands curling around his shirt sleeve like a vice. âHow long?â
           âHow long what?â
           âHow long have you⊠ya know⊠struggled to sleep?â Y/N actually looked like they wanted to know the answer. And Sirius was stumped for an answer. Measuring time was never one of his strong suits. As they stared into each otherâs eyes, Sirius felt trapped, unable to wrench away his imprisoned gaze or say a word. Y/N smiled after a while; evidently, they didnât easily feel embarrassment. Or regret. âWhile you think, Iâll answer, Black. I used to have nightmares when I was younger. Not enough to wake up screaming, but closing my eyes scared me. I thought there were monsters in the corner of my room, and theyâd rip out my throat if I went to sleep with them glaring at me.â
           Sirius found his voice, one of his hands gripping the armrest tightly. âDo you still have nightmares?â
           âNot much now, no. But you never know whatâs real and what isnât! Thereâs bad spirits here, so why couldnât there be bad spirits in my room back home?â Y/Nâs eyes traveled to the fireplace. The spark in their aura dimmed until it was barely luminous. âI know itâs silly---â
           âNo, itâs not silly,â Sirius interrupted. He didnât know much, but he did know he spent numerous nights at home terrified his family would barge in and hex him into oblivion. Terrified his family would start homeschooling him, and heâd lose everything that made him Sirius Black. Paranoia wasnât silly. âSilly is thinking a Chocolate Frog can bite your nose off.â
           The fist around Siriusâs sleeve released. Y/N snorted, ducking into their sleeve. Laughs wracked up and down their torso; subsequently, the couch shook. âThey canât? Next youâll say you canât have an allergic reaction to a Bertie Bottâs vomit-flavored bean!â
           Sirius rolled his eyes. âI canât deny that one. Iâm sure thereâs a bloke out there allergic to vomit.â
           Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Y/N scoot closer. Only slightly, but the distance between them was still centimeters shorter. He hoped they didnât notice the sudden tension in his shoulders. He just couldnât help it. He got jittery and jumpy when he was tired. He hated being touched when he was deprived of sleep. He hated his bubble perforating from someone who was barely an acquaintance. He hated most of everything at this time of night.
   âYeah, not the best example, huh?â Y/Nâs pretty mouth shifted into an even prettier smile. Pretty? What is wrong with me? Sirius forced his eyes upward, clashing with a Y/E/C gaze. âI was never good with wit.â
   The longer they stayed in close proximity, the more Siriusâs shoulders relaxed. There was nothing wicked in their eyes that denoted ulterior motives except to inch closer, share the same oxygen. âSure itâs not the sleep deprivation?â
   âCould be. Or could be Iâm just lacking in the âfunny,ââ Y/N said, huffing out a laugh.
   âCanât say I lack in anything except a normal sleep schedule,â said Sirius in response.
   There was nothing vague about the way Y/Nâs arm slithered around Siriusâs shoulder, a few of their fingers tiptoeing underneath his shirt collar. Their hand was warm, yet Sirius shivered, unused to such gentle caresses. Even the way Y/N stared at Sirius was gentle. Just, there was something underneath. Something flirtatious. Something Sirius was used to receiving, except this time there was an incinerating ache in his gut, a reaction he never reciprocated. âMaybe you can teach me?â
   Siriusâs heart was pounding out of his chest. ââFunnyâ canât really be taught,â he whispered. âEither youâre stomach-busting hilarious or chirping-crickets boring.â
   âAh,â Y/N said, their fingers trailing a path of nail scratches down his spine. âI suppose Iâll just have to settle with keeping you around. You can compensate for my funny or lack thereof, and I can⊠well, thereâs the million-pound question. What do you want from our arrangement, Sirius Black?â
   Sirius wasnât exactly sure. But he did know there wasnât a single person on the goddamned planet capable of making him feel the way Y/N had in a matter of seconds. He didnât know if he was delirious from insomnolence, rendered mentally heedless of his own decisions, or if he was genuinely attracted to Y/N. Maybe they were the missing piece in distracting Sirius enough he forgot he was even a purebred Gryffindor suffering silently in the common room. Sirius was impulsive, rash, reckless. Heâd do just about anything if it meant abandoning thoughts of his sad, sorry life. Abandoning his everyday pity party. And Y/N was like a paper bag appearing to someone in the middle of a panic attack. He didnât want his bubble invaded by a stranger, but the stranger was attractive, inviting, there. No one else was. And for once, the danger, danger! voice in Siriusâs head was silent. He could do what he wanted. The consequences were an afterthought.
   It was like a wire snapped in him. He wasnât touchy-feely, and he was adverse to touch-based love languages, but this wasnât love. This wasnât anything except a plea to escape fatigue and come out with dopamine thrumming through his belly, up his bloodstream and through his spinning head.
   Sirius lurched forward, the hand previously digging into the armrest reaching out, taking Y/Nâs chin between two fingers. His touch was gentle, gentler than he was known for. Gentler than he was accustomed to. He leaned close enough he could taste Y/Nâs breath: cherry-flavored, and hot enough it could heat coal. There was a hitch in wind, then an exhale so shaky Y/Nâs throat twitched.
   âHi,â Y/N whispered.
   There was something about their body heat that excited Sirius. A numbness trailed down his limbs, pooling in his gut like a coiled snake. Another something about the way their voice came out shaky, ruminating in the same anticipation that dismantled Siriusâs inhibition. It was attractive. Sirius wasnât much used to losing his wits around someone, no matter how attractive they were.
     âHi,â he replied to them, voice just as quiet. Husky from want, husky from eager anticipation.
     He leaned, his fingers drawing Y/N closer, stopping when they were centimeters from meeting. Y/Nâs lips were puckered out, no space left between them, and Siriusâs chapped mouth was dry of moisture. His tongue was just as reminiscent of sandpaper. Yet, Sirius didnât dwell on trivial insecurities, focusing on Y/Nâs fluttering eyelashes, the heat emanating off their cheeks, the shudder of breath brushing his face.
        The beginning was slow-paced, the journey was filler, but the destination arrived abruptly, like a clash of wands. Sirius jerked Y/N forward, and their mouths met instantly.
        All this talk of fireworks and life-altering revelations was incorrect. But Siriusâs stomach did suddenly become a gurgling, boiling mess, and his limbs were enrobed in trickles of fire. He was a fiery-hot cauldron. Nothing about the way his body heated was gradual. And Y/Nâs mouth tasted just like their breath. A touch of cherry, maybe from lip balm, and pumpkin juice, like theyâd chugged three glasses during dinner. Their mouth had been pretty beforehand, when he was just a wanderer eyeing a mirage from afar, but having it up close and personal, in a lip-locked juxtaposition that showed just how clumsy and inexperienced the two of them were, pretty became gorgeous.
    Shivers were everywhere, nearly orgasmic in their quality. Y/Nâs hands were in Siriusâs hair, and Siriusâs hands had moved from their chin, transferring to the side of their neck, one finger lightly brushing the quirky Gryffindorâs ear. Y/N had closed in on his Siriusâs personal space, now flush against him as they kissed and avoided anything more than superficial, long-lasting pecks.
   Minutes may have passed, but Sirius didnât care. Again, he was poor at measuring time, and their slow ascent to seamless, expert kisses was a welcome distraction. He was desperate to keep things going; he barely even cared if staying put would inevitably end in asphyxiation.
   The first to draw back, heaving from oxygen-deprived pleasure, was Y/N.
   âYouâre a quick learner,â they murmured breathlessly. The grin they gave Sirius was sharp yet simultaneously lazy. âWith how good you got, Iâll assume you stopped thinking about the negative nitty-gritties.â
   Sirius snorted, feeling like heâd just run six laps around the Quidditch pitch. His hand was still on Y/Nâs neck, tracing little circles on their warm, perspiring skin.
   How romantic of you, one snide voice commented.
   Another was paralyzed, whispering, This feels too familiar.Â
   Siriusâs hand froze. Their position had romantic inclinations, and his lips throbbed, likely swollen by Y/Nâs attentive kisses. Everything in him screamed to lean forward, continue where the two had left off, but the more aware part of him didnât think kisses shared between two strangers was a wise idea. It was unlikely he could just forget afterwards. Nothing was ever truly temporary.
   âAh, now youâre overthinking,â Y/N said observantly, leaning into Sirius. âDonât worry, Sirius. Itâs not serious. We can be what you want.â
   The flow of words just didnât make sense. They were saying what Sirius wanted, yet he couldnât deny the toe-curling sensation in his lower half, the sick wrench in his gut. Y/N made him queasy.
   Sirius wrapped his arms around him and shifted into the armrest, trying his hardest to increase the distance between him and Y/N. âWhat was the point of that?â
   âThe point of kissing?â Y/N tilted their head. Slowly, their mouth twisted into a smirk. âYou wanted a distraction.â
   âNot that kind of distraction,â Sirius whispered, feeling like his body had betrayed him. He was taken captive by hormones. His brain was now clear, and every part of his conscience was lit up in flames of dread.
   âIt worked, didnât it? Whatâs the method matter if you get the same result?â Y/Nâs hands lightly tapped Siriusâs thigh, sinking into his pajama-clad skin. Sirius jolted. âAh, calm down. I wonât kiss you again. But you should know⊠when Iâm gone, youâll have to figure out something new. Exhaustion isnât a good look on you.â
   The cryptic words rang around Siriusâs head. He felt even sicker, glancing at Y/N and immediately looking away.
   âI will,â he told them. âI donât need to swap spit to sleep.â
   At Siriusâs jeer, Y/N laughed, laughed, laughed. It was a sickening thing.
  Footsteps, again. Someone interrupting. This time, the distraction was welcome.
   âSirius?â The voice was raspy and soft, spoken from someone whoâd just woken up. It took seconds for Sirius to register that the presence was Remus. Always the early riser, always the one closest to catching him awake. This was the first time Sirius was physically caught, nothing innocent about his position.
   Sirius whipped his head away from Y/N, whoâd gotten close enough he could again taste their breath. There was a tall, sinewy figure standing at the end of the staircase leading to the boysâ dormitories. Undeniably Remus, even if the light shrouded his most distinguishable features in shadows.
   âMoony,â Sirius greeted. His heart raced and pounded and hurt.
   âHow long have you been down here? All night?â There was a disapproving note in the younger blokeâs voice, like he already knew the answer but wanted it straight from Siriusâs mouth.
    Sirius was bewildered. Remus focused all his attention on Siriusâs awakened state but not the person sitting beside him? He slowly turned his head to look at
    Y/N, hoping he could evade Remusâs concern by pinpointing Y/N as a guilty culprit---
   But there was no one sitting beside him.
   Sirius froze. âWhat the bloody hell?â he whispered, swiping his hand through the empty air. He felt nothing, hit nothing.
   It was like Y/N had been a figment of his imagination. But⊠but that couldnât be right. Heâd seen them around so many times, always inciting arguments and snorting pumpkin juice through their nose and sitting alone in the Great Hall. They wouldnât have been able to make it to the dormitories without garnering Remusâs attention. They werenât on the floor or hiding behind the other end of the couch. They were there⊠and then they werenât. But that was impossible. Did they own an Invisibility Cloak? No, no, that couldnât be right. They were exceptionally rare. Yet, the only other option wasâŠ
   Sirius wasnât crazy. He wasnât.
   âSirius?â Remus called, voice loud and full of concern. âYouâre not planning to stay here all night, are you? You need sleep.â
   Sleep, yeah. More like an Azkaban sentence because Iâm fucking mad, Sirius thought, shifting on the couch. He felt numb all over.
   âSirius,â Remus said again. There was an edge of finalty.
   Slowly, Sirius dragged himself off the couch. Every step was slow, sluggish, and sapping his energy tank. All at once, Sirius was hit with fatigue. He walked over to Remus and reached out, gripping his sleeve. The werewolf flinched but didnât tear away from Siriusâs hand. His face was visible now, and every part was scrunched, eyes crinkling at the corners. The frown on his mouth was his most prominent feature.
   âIâm so tired, Moony,â Sirius told Remus. âI think Iâm starting to see things.â
   âYou will if you keep depriving yourself of sleep,â Remus scolded quietly, and something about his tone said he knew Siriusâs trip to the common room wasnât just a one-time thing. He put his arm around Siriusâs shoulder and began leading him up the stairs. âIâm worried about you. We all are.â
   Sirius was worried, too. But he didnât tell Remus that, nor did he verbalize his gratitude for Remusâs concern and downstairs retrieval. He just nudged his head into Remusâs shoulder and fought a sigh. He put all his blood-pumping effort into his steps, listening to Remus describe all the ways chronic exhaustion would come back to bite him in the arse.
   At the door to their dorm, Sirius thought, Iâm not crazy.
   But the lack of a tangible Y/N L/N the next day and the day after that said different.
I have no respect for any any U.S citizens voting third party in the upcoming election. Please for the love of God, donât do that. Youâre giving another vote to Trump. Iâll be voting for Biden and undoubtedly Kentucky will go red as it always does, but I refuse to be one of those idiot Gen Zers whoâs passionate about politics yet doesnât vote. Nope, not me.
Request // Regulus finds something unexpectedâat a Slug Club dinner party, with a girl named Y/N L/N.
ă â ăAUTHORâS NOTE ă â ă
Sorry if this sucked.
    LOVE.
        Even the word itself felt like a promise. It could come like a metaphor, as gentle as misted rain, or it was a broken idea, radiating animosity that maimed worse than misplaced surgical lesions. Some folks went their entire lives without knowing it, feeling it, getting the chance to embrace and relish itâwhile others did indeed get a taste only for it to scorch like too-hot coffee. A funny little thing, love was. As scary as it was delightful.
    Regulus Black didnât know much about love. He only knew bleak sunâand a yearning that churned his stomach like butter. If he let his thoughts wander off too far, theyâd explore territory too disturbingly foreign heâd have no choice but to retreat. His parents taught him discipline and obedience, but âloveâ was a rare occurrence; truthfully, the only person who ever even had an inkling of understanding for it was his brother Sirius, and the bastard left Regulus to bleed under the ripe moon. He knew what hatred felt like, same with spite, same with betrayal, same with repulsion.
    Then he descended on the path weary travelers couldnât cross.
    It all started at the start of his fifth year, getting worse from there. He began noticing the Gryffindor who never stopped challenging professors and requested an extension on nearly every Charms essay. Who always wore an untidy uniform with the shirt untucked, cloak rumpled, and two different stockings. Who could be more quiet than a fairyâs whisper but the loudest personality in the room. Who once punched Giovanni Rivera, some snob in Hufflepuff, so hard in the nose he stayed slumped unconscious by a knight in the open dungeon corridor for an entire night.
    He noticed you.
    It was entirely accidental. Regulus was not someone to dive head-first, always treading the shallow end before walking into riptides that couldnât be foreseen. He was caution in a world of chaos. He didnât want to know the definition of âlove,â even though he thought that was what he felt for Sirius. Brotherly love. The love someone had for another that protected them, provided for them in times of need. Then Sirius was labelled the family disgrace, shunned by Orion and Walburga; the perfect little Slytherin son, Regulus shunned him too. Regulus lost that feeling and failed to find it again, even in his circle of friends that mocked tainted blood and wanted more than meager lives. They aspired for a Wizarding World cleansed of impure magic; Regulus wasnât sure what he wanted.
    He quickly became lonely. As the days turned to months then years, he preoccupied himself with his studiesâworking diligently to fabricate a living lie like he had any future outside of the Dark Lordâs bidding. He envied Sirius for breaking from the family so soon, forcing Regulus into a compromised position; their parents scrutinized him more carefully now and expected more than he would have had to provide if Sirius was the pride-and-joy firstborn they could have turned into a great ally, rather than an adversary.  Regulus hated it, hated that whatever he liked and the little joys he had in life were useless now that he had one reason to live. There was little to his life except growing up to be part of the Dark Lordâs army. Regardless of anything, he did know what he hoped for. The only thing that truly, truly belonged to him was his hope. It was different from his aspirations, as even those were polluted by conditioned hate.
    He watched you frequently. He watched you curse his own brother, Sirius, for calling you a suck-up. He admired your appearance, from your Y/H/L Y/H/C hair to your facial structure, the effortless way you stood and walked, the kindness in your expression when guiding none-the-wiser first years. You were the same year as him, fifth year, and an entire breed of your own. Regulus didnât know when he began falling for you. Well, the idea of you. You encompassed freedom, and fuck if Regulus didnât crave freedom. He wanted to see himself careless, able to act out and be himself inconsequentially. This was an impossibility he loved to consider, like a dreamer in a room of realists. His parents expected the most out of him and in his crystal ball, all that laid in wait was the Dark Mark etched in his skin. Death and destruction. His head dark and heavy. It wasnât happiness that killers strived forâit was pleasure. Power, too. Regulus knew he was different from the others. He had to hide it and fight every inch of himself that wanted what Sirius had. Freedom.
    Regulus wanted to unleash every idea, every desire, every unspoken dislike. A brave heart scratched from under his skin, itching to have a say.
    Sirius was the courageous one, not him.
    He stuck to watching from afar.
-
    You hated Potions class. You hated parties. You hated Slughorn. Most of all, you hated Slug Club parties. Dammit, you hated your life.
    âWhy did you drag me here, Lily?â you complained for the umpteenth time, fidgeting in your Gryffindor-red attire. You didnât even like this shade of red. It was one of those colors you got tired of after seeing at every waking hour. All the assholes that prided themselves in the House the Sorting Hat bellowed, uniquely chosen for them⊠bleh! Dawning red and gold, parading around in Gryffindor scarfs bought for a bargain. You couldnât be bothered. Lily had begged that the two of you go in a matching set, as one of your good friends. You never envisioned yourself agreeing. Fucking Lily, conniving you into wearing a dress like looked like it was sewn from a red Christmas stocking and attending a Slug Club party.
    Lily smiled innocently. âYou owed me a favor!â
    A favor. You wracked your brain for any situation youâd been a part of where Lily offered her help. As your honorary big sister and a sixth-year prefect, she was the one calling for damage control whenever you did something warranting of punishment⊠and you didnât want to fulfill your duties as a serious student. She chastised you at your worst but boosted you up too. Your best consisted of her praise and affection. You loved her, yes, but you didnât love what owing her favors implied. It always wound you up in some unlikable predicament, such as this godforsaken party.
    âI donât owe you shite,â you grumbled, pinning your eyes on a table of refreshments over by the door. You belatedly noticed a figure standing by it. The air went still and silent, your blood pulsating like a gushing river of red. Your eyes narrowed just the slightest bit. Regulus Black was sharplyâno, impeccably dressed, standing with his glossy dark hair in a neat do and his gray eyes watching the floor indifferently. When he got too close to looking at you, you quickly turned away. Lily was already raising a brow. âWhat? I donât.â
    âYeah, okay,â Lily said amusedly. As she reopened her mouth to remind you of your every last unreturned favor and escaped week of detention, she spotted something over your head and a look of horror struck; you gauged this by the way her eyes bulged at the sockets. âOh, Merlinâwhy the bloody Hell is he here? Iâll talk to you later, Y/N. Try to have some fun.â
    She retreated like a squirrel from a hound, her body launching at the occupied Slughorn over half a room away. As she was nearly there a bulk dressed in black dress robes followed, at a tame pace compared to Lilyâs. You knew it was James only by the unruly mess of black hair you saw from his enrobed backside profile.
    You rolled your eyes and snuck another glance at Regulus. He wasnât looking your way.
Try to have some fun, my arse.
-
You were here. Regulus didnât know how, but you were. He hadnât calculated what heâd do if you attended this party, not knowing you were a member. He assumed you werenât, a rash assumption by all accounts, and that costed him. He didnât want to be dogged by the thought of you all night, and now that your presence was mere feet from him, his mental duties seemed like lost causes. The burning urge to stare at you, consequences be damned, was incineratingâand control failed him left and right. Fucking hell.
Regulus filled a drink for himself. A punch of some kind. He drank it in one go, hoping the taste would eliminate you from his mind. If it were bad enough he could instead be hounded by his throbbing throat, gagging like no tomorrow. That would be better than this.
The punch didnât work its magic. He looked again at you and calculated the inevitable penalty of making an approach.
    Cursing his luck or lack thereof, he felt less inclined to drown himself in the punch bowl upon the appearance of a bloke he had in Potions, Terrence something. He was a Ravenclaw know-it-all, but he was Pureblood. He could go overlooked conversing with the fellow. Regulus was a master of mimicry and had his haughty Slytherin performance down pat.
    The bloke asked too many questions and was evasive on topics Regulus had no interest in discoursing, but he was a well-welcomed distraction. Or ill-welcomed. Regardless of the reception, Regulusâs ambivalence towards you transitioned to an annoyance towards Terrence. Annoyance, that he could work with. He felt it most days. It was familiar territory. A stroke of olive on a canvas of emerald where you were lavender.
    It worked. It worked until Terrence bid a hasty farewell, trailing after some quiet, expressionless brunette from Slytherin.
    Regulus subtly scowled. Out of the corner of his eye he looked at you, surreptitious in a way he remembered from parties he went to hosted by well-known Pureblood families. You were in mid-conversation with some Gryffindor he knew from a mutual class the three of you shared. It was a bloke whose mouth seemed too keen on keeping a conversation going and hand was swaying too closely to your waist. Regulusâs eyes hardened without his meaning to, and before he knew it, his feet were in complete control; he walked to the two of you with renewed purpose.
-
    You were ready to unleash your inner ugly. Random people kept coming up and trying to talk to you, each of them more mentally-taxing than the last. First there was Cornelius, an absolute walking disaster, then there was Dave, who went on tangents without checking to see if you were listening. Then Kala, then Paisley, then Travis. Finally, there was Justin. Justin was a compulsive flirt. You politely tried to get him to fuck off, but he just wasnât catching the hint or acknowledging your blatant apathy in what he had to say. He wouldnât understand discomfort on the part of his conversational partner if it slapped him in the face.
    It was like a blessing and a nightmare when Regulus Black, wearing a cold expression and marginally more perfect up close than he was from a distance, appeared.
    âCan I borrow you for a moment, L/N?â he asked, something off about his voice. Your eyes narrowed. If you had to garner a guess, youâd say he was straining to maintain a calm disposition, truly angry. The cold in his expression was cracking, giving way to heat. Had he noticed your wandering eye and wanted to clarify with you that he had no interest except to exterminate your muddy self from the Wizarding World? You were unsure; it was a common ideology among extremists, the hatred of non-Purebloods, but Regulus didnât give off that ambiance. He didnât feel like a future monster.
    âSure,â you said, sneaking a glance at Justin. Justinâs face wasnât aggravated at the interruption, just confused that Regulus Black had been the one to interrupt. Regulus kept to himself usually⊠and he hated anyone who wasnât pure of blood, supposedly. âSorry to cut this chat short, Justin. Iâm sure thereâs plenty of other birds to talk into a stupor around hereâŠâ
    Justinâs eyes lit up, disregarding the annoyance in your voice. âYouâre right! Thanks, Y/N.â
    You raised your eyebrows at him but bit back a less subtle remark, following Regulus when his hand prompted you at the shoulder.
    âSo, what was that back there?â you boldly asked, trying to avoid smirking. It was almost adorable, the way he swooped in and rescued you from a dolt. He couldnât have approached you just to chastise your invasive stare or threaten you with death. You were taking a chance in assuming he came to save you the burden of dealing with Justin Doleyâs bland chatter, but you didnât care. You really didnât. It was a sweet gesture if that were his true intention, but a niggling suspicion refused to believe it was. âThank you, by the way. I was ready to lock my knees just so I could escape.â
    Regulusâs face blanched, a tinge of hot pink flooding his cheeks. His brows made a cute little furrow that gave the impression of a natural unibrow. âWhy would you lock your knees?â
    âWhen you lock your knees, the blood stops circulating and can lead to fainting,â you said. Now you smirked. âTrying to avoid an answer? Iâm hurt.â
    He frowned at you. âIâm not trying to avoid anything. It was nothing. You looked uncomfortableâŠâ
    âI was more annoyed than anything,â you said, a correction you werenât obligated to make. Seeing Regulus squirm was a pleasure on its own. He would already squirm, caught willingly communicating with a Gryffindor, but you had a tendency to go over and beyond in putting others on the spot. It made you a childish shade of giddy both inside and out, not that he would be able to tell. âYou donât have to keep talking to me, you know.â
    âOh,â Regulus said but didnât move. He stayed rooted where he was, watching you with a piercing gaze. Now that you were close enough to reach a finger across the distance and graze those gaunt, knife-sharp cheekbones, you ogled him. You knew he was gorgeous from the brief times you interacted and the long, solitary moments you took to dissect him outside lessons, but being so close and with no time limit, you took a chance. Your chance was a rescue mission disguised as a private discussion.
    A smile tore at your lips. âYou clean up nice,â you said, your ogling session finished. You could stare at Regulus much longer than you deemed appropriate and actually did, but he was a moment and moments had the ability to pass you swiftly by. In this case, heâd leave without you getting to properly know him. Opportunistic as you were, you wouldnât let him leave without taking what you could.
    Why would you even want to know him? you asked yourself. Heâs probably a Muggleborn-hater. The heart wanted what the heart wanted, try as you might to logicize.
    Regulus frowned. âThanks,â he said. He hesitantly snaked his eyes up and down your figure, stopping on your neckline. A beautiful necklace with your favorite gemstone adorned it, a gift from a Muggle relative. He cleared his throat aggressively. âYou do too.â
    Heâs a shy bugger, isnât he?
    You inched closer, moving on a whim and putting your hand on his arm. Your fingers tightened around the material of his sleeve. He drew closer, like it was instinctive, and your eyelids fluttered as you basked in his perfumed, intimate proximity. Youâd regret advancing on a Slytherin, especially one as admired and esteemed yet dark and dangerous as Regulus, but he just had this air about him. Like going from an altitude that took your breath away to one that had enough air to burst you at the seams. Like a butterfly with clipped wings, a scorpion without its stinger. He was tempting, but beautifully broken.
    I know. I just know.
    âWhen you came over, I thought you were going to confront me on how I havenât kept my eyes off you all night,â you murmured. You met his gaze evenly, ignoring your pounding heart and fluctuating nerves.
    Regulus froze immediately. âWhat?â
    âOh, did you not notice? Silly me,â you said, flaPping a hand like it never mattered in the first place. Truth was, your thoughts were frozen and fixated on his ignoranceâignorance you had just given a reality check. There had been no point, absolutely no hidden objective, in admitting your inability to overlook Regulus. Yet you hadâand now he was staring at you like you had turned the color orange and horns magically sprouted from your head.
    Then, like a switch went off that had full control over Regulusâs emotions and the way he expressed them, he smirked. It wasnât a full smirk, just apparent enough you noticed it. All the tension contorting his face flattened, leaving him like he was relaxed, the opposite of how he looked mere seconds ago. Always the skeptic, you stared at him with narrowed eyes, scrutinizing him from head to toe. He didnât lose the smirk, his arms crossing over his sleek robes in a devil-may-care fashion.
    âPresumptuous of you to think I ever notice you in the first place,â he said, in that pompous voice you were used to hearing from Siriusâs favorite Slytherin, Severus Snape.
    You laughed at his audacity and, hearing the music change tone and tempo, reached out a hand. You forgot your wit and lost all possible responses to give his arrogant retort. âDance with me, Black,â you said softly, âbefore your brother comes to ruin my night, like the prick he is.â
    Regulus raised his eyebrows, but he didnât deny you. He interlaced his fingers into yours and his free arm, moving at whim and ease, came quickly to your side, enveloping your waist in a delicate embrace. A formal embrace that bespoke of the distance between you, the invisible rift. The dance he swept you in was unfamiliar, but it was simple enough that you could match his pace without tumbling over your own feet.
    You felt everyone staring, but nothing mattered more to you than the feeling of his hand on your waist and the deep, unreadable waters of his foggy gray eyes. He was an enigma that swept coast to coast, tainting the sand with his attendance but leaving wild imaginations to run rampant wondering why he was there, what he did, who he was. Everyone knew of him, but no one knew him. You couldnât deny you also didnât know him. Really, you knew nothing about him except that he was a Slytherin in your year, the younger brother to Gryffindorâs infamous playboy, and a supposed Pureblood extremist. You were curious, though, and wanted to know all the dismissive facts that made up his mind and crafted a mental narrative even you found ambiguous. He had consciousness, and there was no way in Merlinâs sodding Hell he was a host to someone elseâs thoughts, opinions, and interests the way so many other future killers seemed. Every now and then he showed you something unusualâa mannerism individual to him, words you recoiled back at hearing from his mouth. After he smirked at you and accepted your demand to dance, you lost yourself in the shock of his dismal composure cracking at the folds.
    You never really believed in love.
-
    Regulus never really believed in love.
-
    But if you wandered too far into the bittersweet fantasy of happy endingsâŠ
-
    Regulus could get lost.
-
    The song changed again; slow and calm it became. Pressing your cheek to Regulusâs chest, you let the soft fabric of his dress robes sway you into an admittedly false sense of security. The hawk eyes following your every move disappeared with every cyclic step Regulus took. You were hypersensitive to his heartbeat now. It pounded against your cheek like a drumstick, a vibrato of epic proportions. You felt delirious with delight, yet a piece of you was stuck to the path your half-conscious feet made through the slow dance. Itâs like you left a trail, and youâd have to pick up the pieces once Regulus became sick of your pathetic antics.
    âAre you asleep?â he asked amusedly, his chest vibrating against you. It rattled you enough to awaken some semblance of nerves.
    âNo,â you said, shaking yourself out of the daze. You pulled back from him, bridging enough space to look him in his eyes. He had beautiful eyes a silly girl like you could get lost in. Any girl really. They were pools of fog made of spring mornings and forest hues. You just wanted to kiss his eyelids. What a strange desire, but you felt it all the sameâŠ
    Regulus blinked and you were drawn back in the moment. He had said something.
    You hummed in question, your eyebrows raising.
    He shook his head, his face flattening until it was expressionless. âI have to go,â he said. You knew what lies looked like. He was a good liar, but you were a better observer. âI have a matter to discuss with Slughorn.â
    You laughed. âThatâs too bad,â you said, voice coming out like a purr. Your hand rose until it settled on his chest; your fingers curled around his robe, until fabric was fisted and cupped into a swirl. âWe could have had some fun.â
    âNo,â Regulus said firmly. Almost too firmly. His hand jerked up to meet yours and his larger fingers interlaced yours, tugging in an attempt to prompt your release. Your refused to let go. âY/N.â
    âI like it when you talk all authoritative,â you said teasingly.
    His face blanched and it was enough of a shock to make him lose all incentive to fight the good fight. You took this chance and drew him in, his feet stumbling in a clumsy attempt to regain balance. âY/N, Iââ
    âWhat are you so afraid of?â
-
    Regulus was afraid of a lot of things. He was afraid of what his parents would do if they figured out he didnât despise tainted blood the way he was raised to. He was afraid of his peers shunning and scorning him for being caught dead with a Half-blood. He was afraid of losing himself in the moment just to sate his deadened hope and watching you get killed in the crossfire of his foolish, self-indulgent mistakes. He was afraid of many things.
    He would never dare utter those fears aloud.
-
    You watched the conflict flit across his face, erasing itself seconds after.
    âWhat?â you innocently asked, noting that he had gone stiff. You were unaware to how deep his issues ran. You knew from Siriusâs running mouth that Pureblood households were devoid of tender moments and affectionate caresses. You wanted to imagine an alternative for them, but Sirius was a hellish hailstorm when honest; his feelings were subjective, but his experience was likely to ring alarmingly true. Regulus was quiet and allowed things to fester, so no one would ever know how he felt.
    He looked at you now, a lock where his mouth was. No key in sight. His eyes were piercing and unquestionably inscrutable.
-
    He had to leave before he lost control of his mouth. He couldnât afford to involve you in his mess. He was a hurricane and you were summer rains. He would destroy you.
-
    âI have somewhere to be,â Regulus said, no room left for an argument. His arms disappeared from around your waist and he tore his eyes away, like it was physically painful to do so.
    You grabbed his wrist before he could melt into the dancing crowd. âRegulus, wait,â you said. You hated the way you sounded. You didnât know him, but you felt strongly anyway, like he mattered more to you than was plausible for a girl and boy from two separate worlds. You couldnât explain why you cared; you just did. He hid himself under the pretense of a rich, spoiled Pureblood who stood above the rest. He was hypnotically beautiful and bathed in greens and silvers. He was brilliant in ways Gryffindor House could only aspire to be.
    Regulus didnât respond to your plea. He stared at you, waiting briefly to hear what you had to say.
    You didnât have anything to say. You had something to expressâand words werenât always the best at expression.
    You reached up to his face and palmed his cheeks, finding little skin and mostly bone. His cheekbones jerked underneath your grip. His eyes went slightly wide, like he disbelieved you had taken physical initiative with him. Your fingers didnât dig or tear at his skin, nor did you impulsively decide that you had him in your grip and now was the time to hurt him. You didnât want to hurt him. You wanted to show him that he didnât have to be risk-aversive; he could fall clumsily into risk with you and the two of you would make it work. As long as he felt this bizarre, unnatural connection same as you did.
    Youâd find out.
    You pressed yourself flush against him and drew your lips until you were a breath away. Then you kissed him.
       The room and its occupants disintegrated, leaving only Regulus and you. Regulus dissolved into putty. His arms went around you again, one of them circling your waist entirely and a hand gripping your hip tight like letting you go would mean you never came back. His lips were soft if slightly chapped, moving against yours like they belonged there; there was no hesitation, no anxious energy. Regulus had lost himself in the moment, same as you. He wasnât a Pureblood and you werenât some Half-blood Gryffindor who had spent half the night pinning after a Slytherin who would keel over dead before wanting you. Regulus was different, and you hadnât failed to sense it.
-
    Regulus abruptly remembered his place and pulled from you. Your eyes were still fluttered shut, and it took several seconds before you noticed he was no longer wrestling with your lips.
    You stared. Regulus wiped all emotion from his face, refusing to let you know he wanted a second kiss. You were not a good deceiver and every emotion you felt showed on your face, from confusion to lust to apprehension.
    âThat should not have happened,â Regulus murmured, glancing around. There were people staring; even some of your Gryffindor friends, like Lily Evans and Marlene Mckinnon, were aghast, eyeing the two of you like you had just committed a murder.
    âWhy?â you said confrontationally. âDid you regret it?â
    Regulus glanced at you but didnât say a word.
    You could feel your heart plummet to your gut. âYeah, okay,â you said, shaking your head. You knew he was being dishonest, but that didnât stop you from feeling hurt at his blatant favoring of his reputation over a chance at this⊠this relationship. You jerked out of his slackened grip.
     You fought tears as you walked away.
-
    Regulus watched you go.
    He knew what it felt like when towers crumbled and empires fell, as it happened frequently. His life fell apart more than it came together. He missed you the moment you left but he knew this was for the better. That kiss had meant more than Regulus would ever admit. He felt the connection and he knew there was a future that would happen if he allowed it, if he chose not to intervene. He was the inhibitor of a lot of good things, but he would rather see himself drown than another person swallow their breath underwater.
    So he stared at your retreating back, wishing things were different.
