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imnotoverlyobsessive · 7 months

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Don’t Blame My English Blood For This American Heartache

Chapter Four: Thorn In My Side

AO3 info prologue one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve

All my work is 18+.

From the moment I met you, your arrogance and conceit, your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, made me realize that you were the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.— Pride & Prejudice (2005)

Mid August, 1984

Malfoy Manor

Wiltshire, England

“Nuh uh,” Sera told Taffy, who was tightening the laces of Sera’s corset. “Nope, this sucks. I don’t even want to see him, why do I have to be stuffed into this thing—“

“Mistress Ursa says to Taffy that Miss Sera has to wear an informal dress for Lord Black,” the elf told her, tying off her corset strings and handing her her dress.

“I don’t want to see him,” she repeated.

“Lord Black is a good man,” Taffy assured Sera, helping her step into the pale pink empire waist dress. “Taffy knows his house-elf, and Lord Black is taking very good care of him.”

“Oh yes,” Sera said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “He’s good to his slave. Give the man a medal.” She’d been beyond horrified to learn that house-elves were slaves. “Are you sure you don’t want me to pay you, Taffy?”

“Taffy is honored to serve the Malfoy family,” the little elf assured her for the umpteenth time. “The Miss has already given Taffy fabric to make her own clothes. Taffy is grateful.”

Sera sighed. “You deserve freedom, though.”

“If Taffy were free, Taffy would stay here and look after the Miss.”

She smiled down at the elf. “If you gotta. But I insist you tell me if you need or want something, alright?”

“As the Miss asks.” After a moment, she added, “Not all Masters are good to their elves. Lord Black is making sure his old elf is getting days to rest and see healers. Lord Black is kind to his elf.”

“Hm,” Sera hummed, adjusting the bodice of the dress to where her breasts didn’t bulge out of the square neckline quite so much. “At least there’s that, I guess.”

She fidgeted with the pearl on a chain around her neck, shifting anxiously from foot to foot in her Victorian-looking low heels.

“I don’t want to see him, Taffy,” she confessed.

“Taffy knows, Miss Sera,” the elf told her gently, “but he will be kind to the Miss.” Taffy looked around, checking for observers, before adding, “And if he’s not, you call for Taffy. Taffy will get rid of him.”

Sera smiled down at the little elf gratefully. “Thanks.”

Taffy nodded, stepping back from her.

She took a deep, shuddering breath and exited her bedroom, making her way down the hall, into her TV room (she’d managed to convince Aunt Ursa to let her get a TV, which Sera had spelled to work without electricity or cable), and down the spiral staircase. From there, it was just across the main hall and down the steps to the drawing room, a house-elf—Toffee was the elf’s name; all the elves at the Manor were named after candy—pouring Regulus a drink.

Upon seeing Sera come in, Toffee the elf bowed deeply. Sera winced. “Don’t do that, please, Toffee.”

“Yes, Miss Sera,” the elf agreed immediately. “Would the Miss like something to drink?”

Sera pursed her lips, glancing at Regulus, who was looking at her with a great deal of interest he didn’t even bother to attempt at concealing, and quickly decided, “Some wine, if you would.”

“Bit early for that, isn’t it?” Regulus chided gently. “I don’t want you to get drunk.”

“I’m not going to get drunk on a few sips of wine,” she snapped in annoyance. “Why are you here? I told you not to come.”

He shrugged. “I told you I was going to.”

She glared at him. Then, when he took a sip of what appeared to be the wine he’d just scolded her for requesting, she accused, “You’re drinking wine and criticizing me for doing the same?”

“You’re younger than I am, yes?” he drawled, leaning back against the couch he was sitting on as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “I have a better alcohol tolerance than you do, I would guess.”

She glared harder, striding across the room to the couch across from him. “You’re not that much older than I am. Unless you’re thirty.”

“I’m twenty-four.” He hummed, swirling his wine as he watched Toffee pour Sera’s own wine into a glass and hand it to her. On the wall above him was a fancy painting of one of Sera’s ancestors—or so she’d been told—and Regulus looked very much as if he could’ve walked straight out of it. “You’re hoping to go to Hogwarts for a seventh year, aren’t you? That would make you seventeen.”

“I’m eighteen,” she snapped, sipping the wine and nodding gratefully at Toffee, who looked like he was going to bow again before thinking better of it and scurrying off to a hidden door that led to a butler’s pantry— or elf’s pantry, rather.

“Eighteen?” he asked, surprised. “Interesting. They must’ve given you special permission to apply despite your age.”

Sera bristled in irrigation at his assumptions, no matter how accurate they were. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

He huffed a breath of amusement. “I want to court you, obviously.”

She stared at him unblinkingly in bewilderment. “You want to what?”

“Court you,” he drawled, his tone far too casual for her liking.

“As in, like… romantically?”

“If we suit, yes,” he drawled.

Sera grimaced. “You assumed I was seventeen.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I did.”

“You would pursue a seventeen-year old?”

He swirled his wine in his glass idly. “If I fancied her, I don’t see any reason not to.”

Sera looked at him like he’d gone insane. “Because seventeen is too young for you, maybe? Did you ever think of that?”

Regulus frowned. “Seventeen is of age,” he said slowly. “As long as she’s an adult, I don’t see why a woman would be too young for me.”

“Since when is seventeen an adult?”

He shrugged. “I’ve no idea, honestly. Is it different in America?”

“Yes,” she informed him. “It’s eighteen.”

“Which is your age,” he pointed out. “So what, pray tell, is the issue with me courting you?”

There were a lot of issues with that, if she was understanding him correctly. “Isn’t courting done with the intention, to, like…” She gulped. “Y’know.”

He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“You know,” she enunciated, not wanting to say the words aloud, lest it make the idea real.

“A courtship is generally in preparation for a betrothal, if that’s what you mean.”

“How can you decide you want to marry someone right after meeting them?!” she demanded, her voice shrill.

“I haven’t decided,” he told her, his tone as nonchalant as his posture. “That’s why I want to court you.”

“I’m not gonna agree to that,” she said sharply. “Not to you courting me or whatever, and definitely not to marrying you.”

“Technically, your consent is not required,” Regulus pointed out. “Pureblood marriages are generally arranged.”

“I think you’re confused about which century we’re in,” she snapped.

“I don’t know how marriage contracts work in America, but here, in pureblood society, they’re binding and only require the signatures of each Head of Household. In this case, that would be your aunt and myself. In the case of, say, the Rosiers, it would be Titus.”

“The Rosiers are my cousins.” She took a swig of her wine, distressed at the notion of marrying her cousin.

He shrugged. “Irrelevant. My parents were cousins.”

She grimaced. “No wonder you’re… like this.”

He arched a brow at her. “Like what?”

“A dickhead.”

He huffed another laugh. “You are the first pureblood lady of my acquaintance that disdains me.”

“I may be a pureblood,” Sera said lowly, “but I’ve never been a lady.”

He hummed. “A lady by birth if not upbringing. Regardless, as the heir to a pureblood family, you are subject to the same expectations as the rest of us.”

“Which are?”

“Namely? Marriage—to a man of your station or above it—and reproduction.” He paused, looking her up and down. “Regardless of who it is, you will be expected to marry. I am, to be perfectly frank, an excellent candidate. Marrying me would be beneficial for your family as well as for you personally.”

Sera lifted her chin defiantly. “And why is that?”

“I am a well-off pureblood,” he began pragmatically, “and I’m the Head of my House, which is a particularly high ranking one. I hold six seats in the Wizengamot and therefore have a considerable amount of political influence.” A breath. “Regarding me as an individual, I am above average in both intellect and appearance, I’ll not ever strike you or otherwise cause you harm, nor will I mistreat you or disrespect you. I am not inexperienced, so you will certainly enjoy our time in bed together, and I will be faithful to you. You would have jewels, gowns, and more money than you could ever spend. You would have a devoted husband who would pleasure you to no end and give you anything you desired.” Another breath. “Finally, our children will inherit our magical talent, and they will not be unintelligent. They will never be mistreated or neglected and will have the best of everything.”

Sera stared at him, almost impressed by his overconfidence. “You think I’ll want to marry you because you’re rich, hot, not stupid, and won’t be absolutely garbage to me or the kids I most definitely will not be having with you?” She scoffed. “Maybe that argument would work on other pureblood girls, I don’t know. But I wasn’t raised around this sort of thing. I don’t find any of that impressive.”

He frowned slightly, the expression almost imperceptible. “Not even the bit about my extensive sexual experience?”

She made a face, somewhat disgusted. “Why would I be impressed that you’re a slut?”

His frown deepened momentarily before his face smoothed out again. “No matter. I can make you fancy me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I highly doubt that, fancy boy.”

Regulus hummed thoughtfully, then withdrew his wand and, with a wave of it, he conjured a large bouquet of roses. He stood, holding it out to her.

She stared at the bouquet for a good long while, and when he showed no signs of withdrawing his hand, she finally accepted them. “I’m not agreeing to anything,” she told him firmly. “I just don’t want to waste the flowers.”

He smirked down at her. “Adorably confident, aren’t you?”

“Not in much,” she admitted, “but in this? Hell yeah.” With that, she called, “Taffy!” The elf appeared with a crack! and Sera said, “Out with him.”

“Yes, Miss Sera.” Before Regulus could so much as blink, Taffy took him by the sleeve and relocated them away.

With a self-satisfied smile, Sera downed the rest of her wine.

Oh, Regulus. You ridiculous man.

Tag list:

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witchywomanrunningupthathill · 2 years

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Grim, Old Place

Pairing: Regulus x reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: LOTS of angst! Grab your tissues, y’all.

A/N: I hope I did your request justice!!! (crying emojis) In my typical fashion, I did my own little twist on the happy ending. Also, if you reaaaallllyyy want the feels, watch this TikTok before you read :))))))

Request: Hiiii i saw you were taking requests so could you do a Regulus black x reader where the reader is a gryffiindor and they have a whole forbidden romance thing. like basically jegulus but with the reader and alot of angst and a happy ending ofc !! tysm also you totally don't have to do this if you don't want to.

Number 12 Grimmauld Place was indeed a grim, old place. It was dark and dusty, less so now, thanks to the cleanup the Order had been doing for the past week. Still, the centuries of the Black family’s magic flowed within those walls.

You’d always felt safe here despite the dark history of the family it housed. It was hidden in plain sight, you had made plenty of happy memories here, and it was the place Regulus had called home.

You were helping Remus with the second-floor drawing room. He’d migrated back downstairs after Kingsley had called for him. Tired of sorting through dusty pillows, family heirlooms, and photographs, you huffed, staring out the window to the street below. It was impossible not to think of him. It was his family home, for Merlin’s sake. But you couldn’t tell anyone that. Marlene was gone. Dorcas was on a mission for the Ministry.

You chuckled to yourself as your eyes scanning the back wall of his bedroom, a framed Slytherin crest and faded Black family crest decorated the space above the fireplace. He was broken, burdened with damnable purpose. Regulus knew Sirius would never speak to him again after he’d taken the Dark Mark. He’d also known that Sirius would probably have murdered him if he’d known about your relationship. A Potter and a Black together. Unimaginable.

He was ashamed of what Sirius may have thought about him, but he refused to believe that maybe his brother didn’t hate him. Regulus was his baby brother, after all. But Sirius understood that he had to protect himself—free himself from his family’s pureblood mania—because Regulus had already chosen his lot. Regulus would have to pull himself out of this trainwreck.

As you walked further into the room, your hand danced across the top of his dresser, over a small box and several trinkets, between the folds of his bed canopy. You’ll never forget the time you asked Kreacher to tell you one of his happy memories. He usually would just apparate away from you, into the shadows of the old Victorian townhouse, but this time he had stayed. Maybe he missed Regulus just as much as you did.

It was one of the few happy memories he had; you suppose. “The filthy blood traitor boy…he was soon to return to Hogwarts for the winter holiday. It had been his first year as a student. Master Regulus was only nine years-old at the time, but he was very…Master Regulus was very expressive. My Mistress had told Master Regulus that it was time to retrieve that family disgrace from King’s Cross, and Master Regulus shouter for his traitorous brother” Kreacher scoffed at the memory “The smile on Master Regulus’ face. His eyes. Mistress ordered me to prepare Master Regulus, but he would not cooperate. I chased Master Regulus around Mistress’ household for fifteen minutes before I finally could grab hold of him. He was not often truly…happy after that year...”

It was true, Sirius was the star in Regulus’ sky, no matter how much he refused to speak to him when you tried to coax him into doing so. No matter how much he’d fight to keep his gaze from traveling over to Sirius during class or during quidditch matches or in Great Hall. Sirius had found his people – his tribe. Regulus was alone. Of course, he had Evan, Barty, and Caius, but he always felt separated from those boys. He had no one to meet him on his level. He’d gotten close with Evan, but no one seemed to get him like his brother did. But then you came along and turned his world upside down on a boring Thursday when Professor Havenhurst partnered the two of you in Defense Against the Dark Arts. That was the beginning of sixth year. You wish you’d savored the memories more than you did.

Being mad as hell, but also smirking to yourself when he caught the snitch, winning the match for Slytherin against their biggest rival. Your entire house would for sure have had your head if they’d heard you cheering “Come on, Reggie!” under your breath.

Or that time Marlene caught you two making out in the back corner of the Restricted Section of the Library. She didn’t look surprised. Instead, she was grinning, telling Regulus to “get it!” You missed how she could make light of almost anything.

You’d never forget how you used to glare across the quidditch pitch at Rebecca Macmillan seated in the commentators’ box, saying something about the way Regulus’ hair flowed in the wind, or his “exquisite bone structure,” the way he handled his broomstick. Basically, anything that was completely inappropriate for a match. At least she was honest, though – wasn’t afraid to say what everyone else was thinking.

It warmed your heart the way Regulus would frown so much when he was focusing that he’d end up giving himself a headache. You two would end up back in his dorm, laying in silence with only the Giant Squid to entertain you when it would glide past one of the windows ever so often.

To celebrate three months together, he’d taken you to a Holyhead Harpies match. Every time he looked over at you, with that toothy grin lighting up your face, he could’ve sworn he’d be content dying right then and there. That night, Regulus had said “I love you” for the first time.

You recalled sneaking into Grimmauld Place through the back garden and spending the night with him looking at the constellations.

You remember almost getting caught holding hands by your brother and the rest of his pranking posse in a corridor, but Regulus had quickly swooped the two of you behind a set of columns. They were none the wiser.

You remembered when he asked you if you’d go on holiday with him to France for a couple of weeks at the end of sixth year. You made love for the first time during a picnic the two of you had set up in the middle of a sunflower field. It was warm and sweaty and a little uncomfortable. But the way his silky skin felt against you as you held onto his back made you feel safe. The way he gazed down your body made you feel sexy. The way he’d check in with you, asking “does this feel good?” and “do you like that?” and “you want it harder?” made you feel like you might spontaneously combust right in the middle of that sunflower field. And the way he held your face as he kissed you after it was over made you feel full. Made you feel loved.

Midway through seventh year, Dorcas had walked in on you two in your dorm. Regulus was resting his head on your bare chest, drawing shapes on your tummy with his finger as you both lay in the afterglow. She’d smirked, before quickly leaving you two in privacy. You and Regulus both had a row over who forgot to lock the door. When you returned to your room after dinner that night, Dorcas, Marlene, and Lily inundated you with questions about the “mystery-man-no-more” you’d been seeing.

It got easier to hide your relationship from the boys when you graduated, though. Bought yourself a decent flat in Southwark and made it your new home. Except, James had a habit of making surprise visits for two months straight when he’d deduced that you were with someone. One time, you had to stuff Regulus inside your wardrobe, almost slamming his hand in the door as James barged into the entryway, just like he used to enter your childhood bedroom. The man never did understand privacy. “You really should ward this place, monkey,” he’d say.

James’ suspicions were confirmed one night at the cottage in Godric’s Hollow. James watched you holding baby Harry and cooing at him, when the child suddenly grabbed and pulled on your hair, revealing two hickeys you’d failed to cover on your neck. As you tried to release your hair from Harry’s surprisingly painful grip, he’d spotted the ring on your right index finger – an enormous, white gold and onyx signet ring with a “B” scripted in the center. He was…confused, to say the least. When he asked Remus if he knew anything, Remus simply shrugged. He could smell the younger Black on you, thanks to his lycanthropy. A tobacco, peppery, minty-vanilla scent that he’d caught onto over two years ago.

The memory faded, but you twisted the ring around your finger as you stared at a photo of Regulus and his quidditch teammates. It was supposed to be serious, but they all quickly broke into laughter after Evan had said something. If only those damn photos and portraits could talk…well, except for Walburga’s of course. You’d give anything to hear his laugh just one more time.

Nasty memories lived here in the Black’s ancestral home. You knew Regulus and Sirius had suffered their fair share of emotional trauma. But they had had each other, even though it was not for as long as either of them had wanted. Now, with only Sirius here, it still felt good to stand in this house, in this bedroom. It definitely felt empty in most places, but you could put a lot of compassion into this place with the work you were all doing with the Order for the greater good.

You find an old quidditch t-shirt tossed carelessly onto a chair by the fireplace. You must have left it there some time ago during one of your midnight visits during school holidays. Regulus had charmed the shirt to carry his scent so that you always have a part of him back in your dorm. You had slept in that shirt almost every night during your final year at Hogwarts. You pick it up before sitting in the chair and bringing the shirt to your nose. The charm had probably worn off by now, you think. You bury your face in it, deeply inhaling. Tobacco, vanilla, mint, and peppercorn. Warm tears fill your eyes before spilling down your face. You cry soundlessly into the shirt, only sniffling twice.

James stares at you through the doorway, shoulder resting against the doorframe with his hands in his front pockets. I worried smile slowly makes its way across his lips. He walks over to you and wraps arm around your shoulder.

“Were you happy?” he asks.

You nod, letting the t-shirt drop into your lap as more tears fall.

“Then stop crying, monkey.”

You’d always hated that nickname. You never forgive McGonagall for making you transfigure a bonsai tree into a squirrel monkey, or yourself for mispronouncing the spell. It was a free-for-all; the way James saw it.

“If you think I’m angry with you, I’m not,” he says.

You just grab onto him, sobbing into his midsection as he holds you. You’ll never forgive Regulus for leaving you the way he did. “You stupid idiot!” you’d scream out into the silence of your flat when the pain became too much. You’d never even gotten to see his body. Maybe his body wasn’t even his anymore. He was probably a godsdamned Inferius stuck in that horrid cave.

James let go of you. You slide Regulus’ signet ring from your finger, inspecting it. You hadn’t taken it off since the day he’d given it to you. Although, maybe you should have paid attention to the piece of jewelry.

As you slide your finger along the inside of the ring, a series of words engraved in black appears.

Look to the stars – 1960

You furrowed your eyebrows, staring back at the clue while your mind raced. Go get up and go to the window, looking outside, it’s overcast. Typical London. Maybe he didn’t mean those stars, you muse. You and Regulus had cast the night sky on his bedroom ceiling, hidden from Walburga with a glamour charm.

“Revelio,” you cast.

The stars appear in all their glory, twinkling and sparking just as they always had. You had chosen to put the Chinese constellations, inspired group project in Astronomy. You had no idea what you were supposed to be looking for.

“What are you doing?”

“James, just shut it for a moment, would you?”

He raises his hands in defense.

“1960…1960…what the bloody hell does that have to do with anything?”

Oh, you thought.

“James, you were born in ’60 right?”

“Yes, why?”

James, Sirius, Peter and Remus had all been in the same year, were all born in 1960, you piece together.

“1960…1960 is the year of the rat…” you say, looking back up at the constellations and searching for the animal. “The rat…the rat…” you repeat. James just looks at you like you’ve gone mad.

Then you remember the story. Bloody divination finally comes in handy, you thought. You recall the passage from your textbook about the story of the Heavenly Gate Race.

“James, do you remember the Heavenly Gate Race story Trelawney told us during that class before Halloween?”

“You know I don’t give a damn about divination!”

“Merlin, do I have to do everything in this family?” you complain, sighing.

“Okay, well if you had actually paid attention, it’s the story of how the twelve animals of the Chinese zodiac reached the Heavenly Gate and became its guards…The Rat is most significant.”

Long ago, before the Chinese zodiac existed, The Jade Emperor wished to choose twelve animals to serve as his guards. He sent an immortal being into the world of man to spread the message that the earlier one passed through the Heavenly Gate, the higher rank one would have.

The next day, the animals of the world set off towards the Heavenly Gate. Rat got up earliest. On his way to the gate, he came upon a river. He stopped there, unable to cross due to the strong current. After waiting a time, Rat noticed Ox preparing to cross the river and jumped into Ox’s ear. Ox did not mind and simply continued on the journey. After crossing the river, Ox raced toward the palace of the Jade Emperor. But, before Ox could reach the end the race, Rat jumped out of his ear and dashed to the feet of the Emperor, winning first place, while Ox was second.

“We have a rat of our own, Jamesy. We’re fighting his Emperor.” you taunt.

Peter had dashed to the feet of his Dark Lord. Our secret keeper is in Voldemort’s ranks, you think, bile rising in your throat.

“No…No” James says incredulously, bringing his hand to cover his mouth as he shakes his head.

“James…” you say, heart rate rising. The faces of everyone in the Order flash in your mind. “It’s Wormtail. He…he was telling me all along…and I didn’t look at this stupid fucking ring!”

“Fuck!” James whispers.

Despite the bombshell, you smile to yourself, tears once again dotting your eyes. Your finger strokes across the "B" in the middle of the ring.

Here was Regulus protecting you, even in the afterlife. Saving you and his older brother and everyone else you called family. Here he was being brave, like Siri, in the middle of this grim, old place.

Tag List: @wysleria @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny

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adharastarlight · 9 months

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The Marauders on a road trip:

Sirius driving at 90

James: slow down, mate

Sirius speeds up

Reg: slow down.

Sirius ignores him

Remus: Slow. Down.

Sirius immediately slows down to 50

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betweendyingstars · 3 months

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James, Regulus, and a field of flowers

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vomits0cutely · 2 months

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“Even when we fade eventually to nothing, You will always be my favorite form of loving” but its Regulus to James

#favourite form of loving <3 #I mean ofc he would be #it’s James “lover Potter??#james potter #regulus black #jegulus #james x regulus #regulus x james #marauders #marauders era #the marauders #song lyrics #sunseeker #starchaser

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lilyofthevalleyys · 8 months

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Barty: How do you say ‘your brain is fucking stupid and I can’t understand the shit it comes up with’ but more formal?

Regulus: ‘Your mind works in such unusual ways that it is beyond one’s comprehension’. Why?

Barty: Nothing

-Later-

*Evan and Barty in a sort-of fight*

Barty: Your mine works in such inusual ways that it is before one’s com-pra-han-si-on!

Evan: (Heard nothing past ‘your mine’) *Blushing and laughing slightly*

Dorcas and Pandora: *Dying with laughter*

Regulus: *Gives up* Somebody stab me with a knife. And throw my body in the ocean.

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allgreekbitch · 5 months

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@jegulus-microfic january 1, decent, wc: 129

When James finally presents to Regulus the réveillon extravaganza he’s been working on all day, Regulus is feeling like messing with him a bit, only because he had been stressed about this all week.

So, his answer to James’, “What do you think?” is,

“It’s decent.”

James turns to look at him slowly and with wide eyes, like he came out of a horror movie. “Decent?! Just decent?!”

Regulus re-examines the table, nods to himself, holds back a laugh and repeats, “Decent, yeah.”

James’ eyebrows meet his hairline. “You’re dead, Black.”

And that’s how he finds himself chased by James throughout their entire flat and threatened by a large pillow that would totally ruin his hair, only a couple of hours before the guests were supposed to start arriving.

#jegulus microfic #jegulus #jegulus fic #i mean ofc they’d host the nye réveillon #jegulus scenarios #jegulus au #HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!#james potter #regulus black #james x regulus #starchaser #sunseeker

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ecstarry · 19 days

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a playlist with actual party songs that my latino king would make me absolute salivate while seeimg him dance

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valoflunar · 8 months

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when marlene shouts what in the platonic friendship at regulus and James bc James just said that he was just rly good friends with regulus and denied all accusations of dating thrown to him by Marlene but marlene has just walked into them making out

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dead-poets-are-dead · 26 days

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PLZ

Can someone write a fic where Reg is luna's godfather and has to take her to this bookshop where there's this childrens thing and then hes just brooding after luna goes off to the thing and he's browsing and then hes crouches down and there's this 1996 romeo+juliet moment and we find out that james is the owner of the bookshop and draco's there too and harry and draco become besties w/ luna as well? Please? I need the fluff.

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imnotoverlyobsessive · 7 months

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Moodboard by @softhecreator

Don’t Blame My English Blood For This American Heartache

Chapter Five: Don’t Stop Me Now

AO3 info prologue one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve

All my work is 18+.

I feel I’m watered down whenever he’s around. I put on the crown of clowns and melt slowly to the ground.- MARINA, Hermit the Frog

Mid August, 1984

Diagon Alley

London, England

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Sera admitted, looking at the wand a very old man named Ollivander was offering her in his wand store.

“Nonsense, Miss Malfoy,” the old man assured her. “The wand chooses the witch.”

“I’ve never used a wand before,” she explained. “I learned magic without one.”

“You can’t go to Hogwarts without a wand,” Yarrow told her, fanning herself with a painted fan that looked like it had been made for Queen Victoria herself.

“Indeed, Miss Rosier,” Mr. Ollivander confirmed.

Hesitantly, Sera took the wand in hand.

“Now then,” Mr. Ollivander said pleasantly, “just give it a wave, if you please. Or, if you’d like, perform a simple spell.”

Sera waved the wand, imagining a small ball of harmless light emerging from the tip.

A ball of light did emerge from the tip. But it was not small, nor was it harmless.

It caused a moderately-sized explosion.

With a wave of his own wand, Mr. Ollivander cleaned up his store and offered Sera a second wand to try.

She did the same thing with the same results six times. It seemed that every wand Mr. Ollivander had made disliked Sera a great deal. It took awhile, but eventually, one of the wands she tried didn’t produce an explosion, but rather a large ball of light that closely resembled the sun. She had instinctively waved her free hand and put the light out, of course, but the three of them were momentarily blinded anyway.

“Well,” Yarrow said, mildly amused, “I suspect that’s as good as it’s going to get.”

“Perhaps we should try—“

“Thank you, Mr. Ollivander,” Sera cut him off with a polite smile. “I’ll take this one, if you don’t mind.”

“Yes, of course.” He seemed reluctant, but he did as she’d asked.

Sera figured she wouldn’t be using the wand, anyway.

What she was excited for was the cat she was allowed to bring to school with her, were she to be accepted. She’d found a tiny black kitten by the side of the road. She figured that since he was an orphan she found in Europe, she’d name him Beowulf, Beo for short.

“What on earth do you mean you don’t need a trunk?” Aunt Ursa asked, astonished.

“Well,” Sera said slowly, idly petting Beo, was perched on her shoulder at the moment, “we don’t have the money to buy one, and my suitcase will do just fine.”

“But everyone has a trunk.”

Sera shrugged, jostling Beo, who let out a small meow of protest. “Everyone enrolled as a first year, too. I’m enrolling as a seventh year.”

Aunt Ursa pursed her lips. “Very well, dear. As you please.”

Sera smiled. Her aunt had been very kind and accommodating. “I’m very grateful to you for all you’ve done for me, Aunt Ursa. Truly.”

Her aunt smiled back at her. “Of course, dear girl. Now come, we must get you to Hogwarts for the placement examinations.”

The tests were beyond exhausting.

It certainly didn’t help that Sera hadn’t bothered to attend in the Hogwarts uniform everyone else was wearing. That was probably why people were staring so much, actually: she wore a black and red plaid skirt with suspenders that went over the black Lick It Up sleeveless shirt she’d bought at a KISS concert when she was fifteen and the beat-up combat boots she’d had since she stopped growing at thirteen.

She didn’t always dress like a punk, but she had a few friends who were in college back at UCSC who were really into that kinda thing. Okay, so Doug was more the sort to wear jeans and plain t-shirts, but his girlfriend liked to drop acid at the Boardwalk, and his best friends consisted of a dude majoring in astrophysics and another dude who’d founded UCSC’s gay and lesbian organization, which Ta attended the meetings of despite not even being enrolled yet. In any case, some of her friends back home dressed the way she did, and she kept forgetting that nobody in the Wizarding World did.

Mid August, 1984

Hogwarts

Scotland

“I really think I should try it without a wand, ma’am,” Sera attempted to tell the transfiguration professor, whose name was McGonagall. Transfiguration was her first test with a practical section, and Sera knew it was essential she display her abilities there because Aunt Ursa’s explanations of English-style magic may not have been entirely adequate to get her a passing grade on their own, comprehensive though they were.

The older woman—who Sera thought she might like, actually; she was terribly excited to get to know other witches, especially teachers—pursed her lips. “We will try with a wand first, and then without a wand.”

Sera nodded, and was then presented with some sort of ball.

“Turn this into a balloon, if you please,” Ms. McGonagall said politely. “With your wand.”

Sera nodded, and, picturing the ball turning into a balloon, she flicked her wand at it.

The ball transformed into a balloon, which promptly exploded.

Ms. McGonagall blinked at the scorch marks on the stone floor, then looked up at Sera. “Let’s try without your wand, then.”

Sera put her wand down on the table carefully, as if it might bite her, which she half-thought was a possibility.

“Should I make a new ball?” she asked.

Ms. McGonagall raised her eyebrows. “Can you do it without making it explode?”

Sera grimaced, but nodded. “Yes.”

“Very well, then.” With that, the teacher stood back, presumably to avoid potential injury if another explosion were to occur.

Sera flicked her hand, and a ball identical to the one before popped into being.

Ms. McGonagall stared at her. “Wandless and nonverbal,” she observed quietly, taking notes on a pad of some sort. “The balloon, if you would.”

Sera nodded and flicked her hand again, and the ball became a balloon.

Ms. McGonagall pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Are you capable of human transfiguration?”

Sera nodded, sitting down at a desk chair. “I used to do this at the beach with a friend of mine,” she admitted a bit bashfully. The teacher raised her eyebrows expectantly, and then Sera gestured to her legs. Her pale skin became opalescent scales, and her legs merged into a tail.

“You can transform yourself into a mermaid,” the teacher observed dryly.

“Yes,” Sera confirmed, tapping her tail idly to turn it back into legs. “I can’t breathe underwater or anything, though.”

Ms. McGonagall’s lips twitched, and Sera thought she might’ve been trying not to smile. “Miss Malfoy, what happened when you used your wand, does that always happen?”

Sera shrugged. “I never used one before I came to Europe. I learned without one.”

“You learned magic without a wand?”

Sera nodded. “The people who taught me don’t use them, either. I didn’t know witches used wands until recently.”

Ms. McGonagall nodded once, scribbling down something on her notepad.

She had to do several other transfigurations before the practical was over, and the teacher was a very stoic woman, but Sera hoped she was at least a little bit impressed.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Sera addressed her, a bit nervous. Ms. McGonagall looked down at her, as expressionless as always. “Do you think… that is to say, do I have a chance? At— at getting in, I mean.”

The older woman looked at Sera consideringly. “I think, Miss Malfoy,” she said slowly, “that if you show the skill in your other examinations as you did in this one, I will be very pleased to have you in my class.”

Mid August, 1984

Malfoy Manor

Wiltshire, England

Upon her return to Malfoy Manor, she was most displeased to discover none other than Regulus Black waiting there for her.

“Eugh,” she said by way of greeting, curling her lip at him. “Go away. I am so not in the mood.” It was true; she was exhausted. Hours of testing made one very tired, and she was very interested in going to bed, despite the fact that it was barely past six and she hadn’t even had dinner.

Regulus smiled in a way that made him look deceptively good-natured. “I know you had your placement examinations today, and I thought you’d fancy could use a bit of a breather afterwards.”

“Yes, I would could,” she agreed immediately. “Which is why you should leave. I’m not in one of your fancy hundred-year-old dresses, anyway.”

He looked down at her outfit, his eyes widening as if he hadn’t noticed it before. “What on earth are you wearing?”

“Clothes,” she informed him flatly.

“Is… is that how Muggles dress?”

She put a hand on her hip. “People who can’t use magic, you mean? Yes, they sometimes dress like me.”

He licked his lips, his eyes fixed on her bare legs. “You… you wear this kind of thing oftena lot?”

“Sometimes.” She wanted to smack him until he actually left. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

His gaze flicked back up to her face. “I’d like it to be.”

Sera fixed him with a glare. “What I wear is never going to be any of your business.”

With that, she moved around him to the main hallway and made a right in the direction of the spiral staircase that led to the third floor she occupied.

“Where are you going?” Regulus asked, sounding like he was hurrying after her.

“My room. Not that that’s any of your business, either.” She turned into the tiny room with the staircase, hoping very much he would take the hint and leave her be.

“I thought we could have a cup of tea,” he told her.

“I’m American,” she snapped impatiently. “I don’t drink tea to wind down. I watch things, listen to music, and take naps.”

“Oh.” She rolled her eyes at his ridiculousness and didn’t respond, but he followed after her anyway.

“I might decide to turn the stairs into a slide,” she warned as she began to go up them.

“No, you won’t,” he deduced easily. “I remember those exams, and they’re an absolute nightmare. You won’t want to do magic like that for another few hours at least.”

She pursed her lips, annoyed. Especially about the fact that he was right.

“Why won’t you go away and leave me alone?” she demanded in exasperation as they reached the top of the stairs on the third floor.

“Because if I leave you alone, you’ll never fancy me, and that won’t do.”

“That won’t do,” she mimicked, dropping her voice down low in and faking a British accent in what she considered to be a spot-on impression of the dickhead. “I’ll never ‘fancy’ you either way, fancy boy.”

She strolled into her TV room, plopping down on the couch and grabbing the remote off the coffee table. “I’m confident you will, but— what’s that?” He pointed at the TV.

“It’s a TV,” she said flatly, clicking the power button. She had MASH queued up in the VCR already, so Hawkeye’s dreamy face immediately appeared onscreen.

Regulus flinched. “What on earth—“

“It plays videos,” she explained impatiently. “Recordings. Like a play you can watch. See?” She pressed play, and Hawkeye resumed badgering Frank Burns, the way he’d been doing when she’d turned it off last.

Regulus stepped closer to the TV as if it would bite him.

“Ugh,” she groaned when he stepped in front of the screen. “If you’re not gonna leave, at least get out of the way. Sit down or something.”

He did so wordlessly, watching the screen with wide, fascinated eyes. “This really happened?”

Sera grimaced. “Well… yes and no.” He looked at her in askance, and she paused it with a sigh. “The people, they’re actors. The characters aren’t real. But the place they’re in, Korea, is obviously real.” He nodded his understanding, and she continued, “And Americans really did send troops over there.”

“They’re not fighting anyone,” Regulus pointed out.

“That’s because they’re a MASH unit,” she said. At his blank face, she added, “Mobile Army Surgical Hospital. They’re doctors—healers, whatever—and they treat people who were wounded in the war.”

“Why would anyone choose to do that?” he asked, bewildered.

She snorted. “Oh, they didn’t choose it, most of them. They got drafted.” He looked confused again, so she elaborated, “You know, conscription? Picking random citizens to go fight?”

“That’s barbaric!” Regulus declared, horrified.

“No shit,” she said dryly. “Now shut up; Hawk takes his shirt off in this one and I don’t want you distracting me from his hotness.”

“You— you find this man attractive?” he demanded, looking astonished.

Sera rolled her eyes. “Duh, look at him.”

“He’s got dark hair and light eyes,” Regulus observed. “He’s tall and rather thin— I am your type, then.” He settled back against the couch cushions, satisfied. “Lovely.”

“You are so not my type,” she said, like a liar.

After that, Regulus spent a great deal of time at Malfoy Manor bothering Sera.

She could admit to herself, however begrudgingly, that he was occasionally interesting to be around. He was intelligent and well-spoken, and he seemed to genuinely want to hear her thoughts on things.

Not that she’d ever tell him that, of course.

“We should go out to dinner,” he decided one afternoon.

Sera scowled at him from her place on the couch as she pet Beo, who was asleep in her lap. “Absolutely not.”

He frowned. “It’s a grand idea.”

“It most certainly is not a grand idea,” she said, mimicking his stupid fancy boy accent.

“Very well, then,” he acquiesced, plopping down next to her on the couch, far too close for her liking. “We can stay here.”

She scowled again. “Or, fun alternative,” she said slowly, “you could leave.”

“No,” he hummed thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think I will. Your family likes me.”

“They like you because you’re rich.”

Regulus shrugged. “The end result remains the same.”

“Whatever,” she scoffed.

It wasn’t until several hours later, when she fell asleep on his shoulder, that he carried her to bed; Beo trotting after them.

Very softly, he said something to her, and whatever it was made her smile and nuzzle into her pillow, but she drifted off before his words could register.

September, 1984

Hogwarts

Scotland

Before Sera knew it, she got her acceptance letter and was off to Hogwarts.

Everything happened so fast that it felt like a whirlwind; she was sorted into Ravenclaw with Yarrow, and they were to share a dorm room. Yarrow didn’t even mind that Sera had a kitten and wanted to put up a mezuzah on their door frame.

She was honestly very excited for almost all of her classes: Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, History of Magic, and—tragically—Potions. She was also taking two elective courses in Ancient Studies and Magical Theory, both of which sounded fascinating.

“Really, Miss Malfoy,” her Head of House, Mr. Flitwick, was saying, “Llumos Solem solem is not a terribly complex spell for a witch of your level. I trust that you will be able to perfect it with ease, based on your examination scores.”

“I can, yeah,” Sera agreed immediately. “The issue isn’t the spell or how difficult it is, sir, it’s the fact that me using a wand doesn’t go well.”

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” the teacher assured her.

Sera winced, glancing back at Yarrow, who was looking on with raised eyebrows and pursed lips.

“Remember, Miss Malfoy,” her teacher said, watching the way she held her wand closely, “lumos solem.”

Sera nodded, furrowing her brow in concentration and trying her damnedest to not put too much power behind the spell. Very softly, her voice almost a murmur, she said, “Lumos solem.”

A ball of light emerged from her wand, and it rather closely resembled the sun. It was hot, as if she were in an inferno, and the force of it knocked her onto her ass before she could put it out, but Mr. Flitwick quickly waved his own wand to disperse the bright, burning light.

“I think, Miss Malfoy,” Mr. Flitwick said after a tense moment of silence, “perhaps it would be best if you didn’t use a wand.”

She didn’t notice when several weeks had passed.

She did notice when an unfamiliar owl dropped a letter in her lap at breakfast one morning.

She looked at the front; the envelope was sealed in green wax, a weird, morbid-looking crest on the front. If she looked very closely, she could see that it had three ravens on it, a hand holding a dagger, what appeared to be a skull, and some French written on a weird scroll at the bottom. Bizarre.

She frowned, opened it curiously, and began to read.

Miss Malfoy,

I hope you’re settling in well. Your aunt tells me that you were Sorted into Ravenclaw. I must admit I’m disappointed you weren’t put in my own House, though I don’t doubt that you deserve a spot in the House of wit.

I would very much like to see you, perhaps during a Hogsmeade weekend. I assure you I am privy to all the best places to go and things to do in the village, so your time will be well-spent, even if you do not particularly enjoy my company just yet. Please let me know when would be best.

Yours,

R. A. Black

“Who’s that from?” Yarrow wanted to know, looking up from her vegetarian omelet.

“Lord Black,” Sera said mockingly. “He ‘would very much like to see me’, as he put it.” She made air quotes and rolled her eyes.

Yarrow’s eyes widened. “He really fancies you, doesn’t he?”

Sera scowled. “I hope not. He’s a jackass.”

Yarrow bit back a smile. “Is he now?”

“Don’t look at me like that!” Sera groaned miserably. “Just ‘cause he’s hot doesn’t mean I—“

“Oh, so he’s hot now, is he?” her friend tittered. “I thought he was a jackarse.”

“He is,” Sera insisted. “He’s just a very sexy jackass.”

Yarrow grinned. “You must write him back.”

Sera recoiled so much she damn near fell off the bench. “I’ll do no such thing!”

“Oh, honestly.” Her friend rolled her eyes. “He’s the most eligible bachelor in the country. I find him repulsive physically and even I’d marry him!”

“Dunno how you can find him repulsive,” Sera grumbled into her oatmeal. “Either way, he’s trying to ‘court’ me or whatever, and I’m not having it. No thank you to that.”

Yarrow dropped her fork, and it clattered onto her plate. “He wants to what?”

“Court me,” Sera said dully, taking a bite of her food. “Or so he says.”

“And you said no?”

“Doesn’t seem to have deterred him.” She shrugged. “Maybe my lack of response will do the trick.”

Her lack of response did not, in fact, deter Regulus. He sent her letters fairly regularly, and she always said she wouldn’t read them, but she ended up caving every time.

The letters usually contained things like him bemoaning the fact that she wouldn’t respond to him, stories about his life and schooling, things he wanted to know about her, and—more than a few times—how ‘utterly enchanting’ he found her. His words.

She would be nineteen at the end of October, on the 29th, which was a Monday. However, the following Wednesday was Halloween, and they were permitted to visit a nearby village called Hogsmeade starting after classes let out.

The morning of her birthday, yet another letter arrived from Regulus, except this one was… heavier than normal. She opened it and pulled the paper out, beginning to read.

Miss Malfoy,

I hope your birthday is as lovely as you are. Please accept this small token of my admiration. Your aunt has accepted an invitation to my family’s annual Christmas ball on your behalf, and I ask that you wear this gift for it.

I hope to see you soon.

Yours,

R. A. Black

Yarrow, who had snatched the envelope, pulled a necklace out. Sera’s mouth fell open when she saw it.

The necklace was a woven platinum snake with tiny emeralds amongst the diamonds covering the entire thing, and, astonishingly, a large emerald hanging from the mouth of the snake, as well as three more on either side of it, all the size of her thumb.

Sera could do nothing but stare.

Yarrow, however, laughed outright as she pulled out the pair of matching earrings. “Oh, this is just—“ She cut herself off, collapsing into giggles.

Sera took the necklace from her friend to inspect it, turning it over in her hands.

The emeralds had to be fake, right? They just had to be.

Apparently, she’d said that out loud, because Yarrow fought down more giggles and said, “Oh, no. Those aren’t fake. Emeralds and diamonds. Check the back of the center gemstone.”

Sera blinked in confusion but did as she’d been told.

To her absolute horror, the Black family crest was engraved into the setting.

“Their crest is there, then?” When Sera could only nod, speechless, Yarrow snorted in a rare moment of minor inelegance. “I thought as much. It’s called the Ophiuchus. He gave you a family heirloom, darling. Bloke must be hard as a rock for you.”

“What am I gonna do?” Sera breathed, dejected and at a loss.

Yarrow shrugged. “Marry him, of course.”

“I can’t do that!”

“You could do a hell of a lot worse.”

Sera wasn’t sure that that was true. Hopefully, she’d never have to find out.

Regulus is so fun to write lol

Big thanks, as always, to the lovely @lilmaymayy for betaing this for me 💗 and of course Sof’s fucking phenomenal moodboard, as per usual

Tag list:

To be added, please ask 💗

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witchywomanrunningupthathill · 2 years

Text

Nights Like These (Room 11)

Pairing: Regulus x reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: smut, angst, swearing, drinking

Description: You and Regulus meet up at the Leaky Cauldron following another night of curses and killing where you engage in the same routine that is tearing you apart.

Author’s Note: Helloooooo! I would highly recommend you listen to I’m So Afraid by Fleetwood Mac either before or while you read this (at the end of this a/n and linked here)! This is one of the many songs I feel captures Regulus’ short life experience, relationships, loneliness, and his whole broody, melancholic demeanor. The song also inspired this little fic. Enjoy! – Iz

The shriek of a young girl pierces the ominous silence that overtakes the dark and dank alley. A jagged, crimson bolt of light strikes her in the side, causing the girl, on her knees, to arch backwards in agony. The bolt of light spiders out all over her body, overtaking her heaving sobs. She begins convulsing, falling back onto the cold, hard and filthy cobblestones. Choking sounds emanate from her throat as foam flows from the side of her mouth. Green light flashes over her body and she stills. There is no light in her eyes, only the reflection of her wand, disarmed from her and long forgotten. Her name was Rosyann Spire, a muggle-born witch, and she had just finished her fifth year at Hogwarts six days ago.

Regulus sits on the edge of a sizeable four-poster bed inside Room 11 of the Leaky Cauldron, your usual room. His eyes are closed, he’s breathing deeply, and his knuckles are turning white as he clutches the glass of firewhiskey in his hand. He opens his eyes, bloodshot from drinking and weeping, and he knocks back the remaining whiskey in his glass. Regulus falls back onto the bed, closes his eyes again and breathes deeply, trying to suppress…what was it? Anger? Helplessness? His seemingly unrelenting need to please everyone?

The wizard is shaken from his moment of self-pity as you apparate into the room.

“You’re late,” Regulus scolds.

“Sorry—” you start, reaching in front of you to unbutton the top of your cloak and tossing it on the chair sitting in front of a panel of three windows. “Apparated into the wrong damn room again! I had to go all the way down to the bar and ask the goblin which room you were in,” you explain.

“Not my fault you’re shit at apparating. Don’t know who in the Ministry you bribed for that license,” Regulus says.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Someone’s in a mood…” you playfully quip.

“Nope, just stating facts, darling,” Regulus replies. You walk over to the bed and plop down next to the young Death Eater, eyes scanning the room. The wood is unstained but ornately carved, and it looks like it belongs in a castle hidden somewhere on the moors rather than inside the Leaky Cauldron’s humble walls.

“And the goblin has a name. It’s Gwynok,” Regulus adds. Your eyes land on the empty glass tumbler the wizard holds atop his sternum.

You both had only just graduated from Hogwarts a fortnight ago and haven’t seen each other since that day. A witch and wizard thrust into the real world, one that was increasingly dark and terrifying. But, of course, you weren’t the only ones. Your classmates, most of them choosing to side with either the Order of the Phoenix or the Death Eaters, while others didn’t pick a side and retreated into the shadows, kept their heads down.

You look down at the man you once called the love of your life. Regulus lay on his back, his belly rising and falling in rhythm with his breaths. He matches your gaze as he drums his fingers on the glass a few times before the glass levitates out of his hands and onto the nightstand nearby.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask.

“Not yet.”

“Ugh, why not?”

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to, love,” he quips.

Regulus reaches out and grazes up and down your arm. The two of you sit in near-silence like this for a long moment with only the faint chatter and laughs from the street permeating the stillness.

Without warning, he pulls you down to him. The kiss starts out gentle but turns frantic as he grabs onto your face and sliding his tongue along yours. As reserved as Regulus Black is in front of, well, everyone, he makes up for it with unbridled, almost clumsy passion once he’s in private.

He rolls on top of you and reaches for the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head before tugging at your bra. He brings his lips back to yours the slowly moves down your neck and across your breasts. Regulus attempts to quickly unbutton his black button-up. The firewhiskey sure isn’t helping. As he undoes the final button and shrugs off the dress shirt, you’re grabbing at his belt buckle and sliding his trousers down shortly after.

The rest of his clothes are thrown somewhere on the shabby wooden floor along with yours. Regulus climbs back on top, lining himself up. You both let out sighs as he enters. Regulus buries his face in your neck and tightly shuts his eyes as he begins to move. His movements are sharp, rough, and deep. Your moans sound out in a pointed staccato, a mixture of pain and pleasure. Regulus quickens his pace as you grip his behind. The whole act is rushed and desperate. You both let out a series of moans loud enough for the witch staying in the room across the hall to hear. Your sounds soon dissipate into short sighs and heavy breaths. Regulus allows a relieved “fuck” to escape his mouth, punctuating your brief moment of intimacy. He stays cuddled up against you, and you drag one of your hands through his long, raven curls, closing your eyes in the process.

Neither of you can help the images and sounds that flash through your minds – the Prophet headline announcing the capture and torture of fifteen muggle-born witches and wizards; the shouting of Unforgiveables, the shrieks the cries, the begging and pleading, and his ivory, deformed face. Evil Incarnate. You Know Who.

Regulus eventually gets up and walks to the bathroom, leaving the door open. Moments later, you hear the sink faucet running.

“We’re probably going to have to stop this soon,” he says.

“I don’t see why…”

Regulus cuts off the faucet. “Are you kidding?” He walks back into the room, finding his underpants and pulling them back on before rejoining you on the bed. “With the way this war is going, we’ll be lucky if we’re alive in two months!”

“You really have that little faith in us, huh? Now’s not the time to go all soft, Reg.”

“I’m not going soft. You calling me a coward now?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Regulus glares at you before looking down at his lap, frowning. You sit up and grab him by the shoulders.

“Look at me.” He fights the urge to obey you only for a moment before meeting your concerned gaze. “You are one of the bravest people I know, Reg.” He shakes his head, dropping his head down again. You lift his chin with your fingers. “I mean that. You, Regulus Arcturus Black, are no coward.” You pull him into an embrace. “I’m scared, too. Terrified actually. The Order is going crazy right now and… obviously it’s warranted given what’s already happened… I mean, Merlin, Marlene’s whole fucking family is gone.” It’s your turn to drop his gaze briefly. “But we have each other. We have to have each other,” you say.

“If we don’t do this, who else will? It’s us making this sacrifice…” Regulus counters. You shrug, only offering him a pained smile that he can’t even see. You squeeze him harder, trying to remember every dip and curve of his upper body. Regulus winces, jerking away from the hug and grabbing at his left forearm. The edges of his Dark Mark begin burning as the obsidian ink swirls. The serpent slithers through the skull at the top of the cursed tattoo as it it’s alive. He’s calling.

“I have to go,” Regulus announces as he rises from the bed and hunts for the rest of his clothes strewn on the floor. He’s trying to hide his anxiety but you see the way his hands shake as he pulls his clothes from the floor.

“Four weeks, Regulus.” He looks up at you as he smooths out his dress shirt, scrunching his nose at the wrinkles. He never liked looking unpresentable.

“I’ve already informed Kreacher of my plans. We’ll be ready.” Regulus waves his hand at his cloak, which floats from the closet on the far wall across the room and swiftly slides up his arms. He pockets his wand from the nightstand and takes one final look around. His jade eyes land on you. “About time we say goodbye to this rickety old place anyway, eh?” he asks. The wizard doesn’t leave you any time to reply. He disappears into a stream of onyx smoke that sweeps out of the room’s open window and into the dark London skyline.

You watch until the sound of a drunk wizard harassing someone on the street breaks you from your daze. We’ll be saying goodbye to all of this soon enough, you muse, clutching the bedcovers closer to your chest.

#regulus black x reader #regulus x reader #regulus black x oc #regulus black x ofc #regulus x oc #regulus x ofc #harry potter fanfiction #hp #harry potter #regulus black #regulus #regulus black angst #regulus black fanfiction #reader insert #angst #iz writes #Spotify

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adharastarlight · 9 months

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James: oh, go to hell.

Regulus: fine! but I'll be running it in a week.

James: ...yeah, I don't doubt it

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princesspuffle8 · 1 month

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What can’t the Black money buy

“So now that you’re an official Black… what do you want your uncle to buy,” Regulus asked a 3 month old Polaris who was cooing up at him from where he was perched in his baby rocker which Regulus had personally enchanted himself to play soft melodies for the sweet little bean.

“I know, I know it’s a sucky deal being apart of this family… but at least you have magic and money. Well you probably may have always been gifted with magic but money is a different story,” Regulus argued more to himself than to Polaris who just discovered he could blow spit bubbles and was fascinated by this fact.

Cringing at the gross but oddly sweet sight, a light bulb went off in the younger black brothers mind just as the baby's spit bubble popped. A devious, almost cheshire like, grin appeared on his face as he took a quick glance behind to see that you were pre-occupied and probably not paying attention to the two of them, as currently you were eating a snack and pumping breast milk to store for later usage.

“So… would you like uncle Reggie to buy you a condo in Paris… or a mansion in the countryside. There’s perks to both…”

“What was that,” you exclaimed, unbeknownst to Regulus you had been listening to his conversation with your baby. Mildly amused but super happy that Regulus was spending one on one time with his nephew. He had turned over a new leaf since leaving the death eaters and although he was still a bit aloof, the one person he adored more than anyone was his baby nephew… a little too much sometimes… like right now…

“I’m asking him what kind of mansion he wants in France,” Regulus replied rolling his eyes, before he went back to ignoring you.

“Now Polaris, Paris has its perks but there’s a lot of muggles so not a lot of chances to use your magic secretly but the art and the bakeries are nice…”

“Regulus!”

“And the country side is nice too. I like the lavender fields believe it or not. And you can practice your magic without anyone seeing. Would you like a manor by the sea? Or more inland?”

“Regulus! He’s not even one yet,” you exasperated unhooking your breast from the pump, attempting to get up from your seated position so that you could rescue your sweet ignorant child from his uncles weird ploy to buy him land in France.

“He’s a Black. Being a French lord is in his blood. Isn’t that right Polaris,” Regulus scoffed picking up baby Poly as he did so, who only cooed happily at being lifted out of his rocking chair.

“See, you tell that witch that you want your loving uncle to buy you a mansion in France…”

“Merlin’s sagging tits you are not buying MY son a mansion when he’s not even a year old!”

Just as Regulus was about to retort, baby Poly was snatched from his grasp by none other than his older brother, Sirius, who immediately showered the little man with kisses and cheek to cheek rubs before turning his attention to his wife and baby brother.

“Who’s not buying what now,” Sirius asked with a raised eyebrow. Truth to be told he caught onto some of the conversation but not all of it since he just got back from Auror training.

“Tell your brother that he is not buying our child a house somewhere in bloody France,” you plead with him hoping for some reason from your husband.

“She’s right Reg, a house is a bit much…”

“See!”

“At least wait until after I get him a motorcycle. I was thinking about getting one for him for his first birthday,” Sirius finished as both Black brothers shared satisfying smirks at the thought of spoiling their newest family member.

“Merlins sagging tits what is wrong with you both…”

“We’re Blacks,” the brothers replied in unison like it was the obvious answer to your question which was starting to give you a headache.

“I don’t care if you are the chancellor of magic himself. No means no! No houses. No manors! I know you’ll try to loophole your way out of this regulus but no property at all! And you,” you redirected your not so amused rant to Sirius who stood there innocently holding your son against his chest, “no motorcycles! He’s not even one yet. Buy him something reasonable like felt blocks or a pacifier.”

“… so a golden paci…”

“You know what, im done. Im done. This is insane,” you stated as your turned away from them both and headed back to your pumping station. There was no reasoning with them when it came to spoiling your child with things he didn’t need or couldn’t even use yet. And while you secretly thought it was sweet, both your husband and his brother tended to go WAY overboard and turn things into a competition. Which was something you didn’t wanna have to deal with again.

“alors quelle maison veux-tu acheter,” Sirius asked Regulus who gave him a full blown Cheshire grin.

“je n'aurais jamais pensé que tu demanderais. Nous allons devoir t'apprendre le français,” Regulus replied, directing the last sentence to Polaris who cooed at both of them cluelessly. As far as the little babe was concerned this was the best day ever as almost all his favorite people were in one place. What they were happily talking about he didn’t know, but he was just glad to be there and that’s all that mattered.

#harry potter #headcanon #fanfic #writing #sirius black #regulus black #uncle regulus #sirius black x you #sirius black x ofc #sirius black x y/n #polaris black #baby #france #french #blurb #one shot

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multishipperofgaydeadwizards · 2 months

Note

I need you to tell me more about emmeline x evan 🥹

please please please

i was thinking about them.

imagine where emmeline and regulus are bestfriends and they are at a concert where barty and evan are, thats like how they meet

oh my, I'll gladly tell you abt them!! they're like my number 1 obsession!!

Hsjsoebei yessss omg them meeting at a concert!!!

barty and emmelije immediately click and become super good friends. evan and regulus not too much

the concert is of bartyem's favorite band. regulus and evan are just there so that they don't have to be alone

emmeline and barty exchange numbers and start hanging out in private two (obviously, they drag evan + reg along)

their hang outs are just: bartyem being besties and evan/reg glaring at each other thinking that that what their crush is into (evan is judging reg; reg is judging evan)

(they misunderstand that reguline and rosekiller are dating 💀💀. after all, they always go to the meet up's together and barty/emmeline would definitely tell them (evan/reg) if they were seeing someone)

emmeline and barty are completely oblivious. they actually think reg and evan are the bestest of friends (they will be once they get over their misunderstanding)

so, erhm, eventually they finally get over it. bith are outraged by the sole idea of dating their best friend. ("how could you ever think I was dating EMMELINE???" "you two are always together, and she speaks of you so fondly") ("BARTY??? you thought I was dating BARTY???" "well, yeah")

they work together to finally get together with the other. they plan hangouts. once they're there, they - by pure coincidence ofc - separate. evan and emmeline end up alone together and bartylus end up alone together

the time of pathetic flirting has started (it's not effective bc bartyem are oblivious idiots)

somehow, emmeline is the first to notice reg's crush on barty. she brings it up, reg confesses to it. she ends up talking to evan about helping her to get bartylus together

she has the same plan as evan/reg had

eveline get together first bc by hangout number three emmeline realises that she likes evan. girl has no shame and just straight-up asks him. evan is like: "I didn't know one could do that???"

she gets bartylus together by asking reg how long they've been dating only for barty to answer with four months (since they started hanging out)

turns out barty thought they were dating the entire time... man never clarified that they're dating... sigh

~ The end :) ~

lmao. I hope this satisfies your eveline wish :) thank you for the ask <3

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sayafics · 10 months

Text

Her Muse - Chapter III

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

Ophelia had not returned the next day, or the several days that followed. Every night she would find herself sneaking out of her dorm in search for the black door with the golden serpent handle, and each day she would return to her room sulking at her failure.

She wanted the halls and corridors of Hogwarts, returning to the same hallway she had found the Room of Requirements in, but it seemed her desperation to see the boy in the mirror was not enough to have the Room of Requirements open up to her.

The days had flown by, and the first task of the TriWizard competition hung over her. Death loomed over her, and it made her terrified.

Ophelia had thought that the Room of Requirements had brought her to Regulus because she needed help, but as her desperation grew, she found the room still denied her access. She had hoped the boy could help, but it seemed he was a momentary distraction she had been graced with.

There was only a week left now, until the TriWizard competition would begin.

It was a windy afternoon, the air was chill and the ground damp as Ophelia sat beneath a tree in the courtyard. The leaves had fallen off in clumps and laid beneath her in crumpled colours of brown and orange. She leaned back against the tree, forcing herself to focus on the words of the textbook in front of her and yet she found herself stuck on the same sentence for what must have been hours.

With the school day over, she didn’t have it within her to return to her room or walk around the school. She had just about given up reading, ready to put her book down and look out into the horizon instead, hoping to catch a glimpse of the sun setting before she was ushered inside by a frantic Filch.

Instead, it was Cedric who stole her attention away from the books her eyes roved over passively – he coughed sharply, and a glance up revealed his ashen face as he fiddled with his scarf. His eyes seemed to be looking through her, flickering between her brown eyes as though he was trying to seek some form of distraction himself.

“Cedric? Everything okay?”

He huffed, jaw clenching as he shook his head roughly. H walked closer, sitting at her side and leaning his head back against the tree.

“Harry spoke to me today,” she was surprised by that, she was sure that the boy would avoid Cedric after the horrible mockery he had been turned into thanks to a few Slytherins.

“Was he upset about the badges?”

Cedric let out a barked laugh, as though he was surprised by his own words, “no, he told me what the first task is.”

Ophelia’s brows raised in surprise, eyes wide as she turned to face him properly, “what?”

“I was as surprised as you, but that’s not why I’m here. The first task,” he rubbed a hand over his face in frustration, his voice lowering as he leaned closer towards her, “it’s dragons, Lia.”

A frown painted itself across her face as she felt her heart sink, dragons?

“You can’t be serious?”

Cedric leaned back, his face painted in its own version of fear, of worry and terror. He was just as scared as she was, how were they supposed to beat dragons?

“Dumbledore couldn’t have agreed to that. We could get hurt, we could die.”

There was a bitter smile on Cedric’s face, “that’s part of the contract though, isn’t it?”

Tears burned her eyes as she turned back to lean against the coarse bark, “are we going to die?”

Cedric answered her whisper with one of his own, his hand reaching out to hold her’s – “we’ll beat this. I believe in us.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, any thought of reading her book or watching the sunset had been violently washed from her mind as she thought of how she could survive the dragon.

Ophelia wasn’t sure there was a way, at least not with brute strength or powerful magic, but she wasn’t that strong or that advanced.

Ophelia didn’t return to her dormitory that night, had avoided Cedric’s pleading eyes and escaped Filch’s watchful eyes. She wandered the halls of Hogwarts once more, but this time there was no sense of desperation or overwhelming curiosity that had her searching out for the Room of Requirements.

There was a haunting sense of impending doom that loomed over her, a harrowing sensation that had her walk through the halls blindly as she tried to escape the feeling she was going to die.

Ophelia didn’t want to die.

That was when she heard it, the tell-tale sound of bricks shifting to reveal something more. She was afraid to turn, worried that the door that had been given was not the one she wanted, that the handsome stranger who lurked inside was once again out of reach.

She looked over her shoulder slowly, and there she saw it. The black door looked like a portal of shadows in the wisps of fire from the torches that lit the hallway, the golden handle gleamed under the light as she reached towards it.

She glanced at her hand as it came to rest under the serpent’s mouth, a thin scar replaced the deep scratch that had been inflicted upon her during her first visit.

The first time she had bled to access the door, it had been an accident. Now, she forced her eyes closed as she pressed her hand against the fanged teeth firmly, she inhaled sharply as she felt warm droplets tickle her skin before it dripped off like ruby pearls to collect in the mouth of the serpent.

The serpent moved, winding around to form a circular knob that she twisted with ease before throwing the door open.

The room looked jut as it had when she had first entered, it was a dark cobblestone room, the air felt humid and there was the barest of light streaming through unseen crevices.

She walked in hesitantly, eyes never straying from the reflective surface as she searched its every corner for a sign of him.

The door shut behind her, a quiet and ominous thud she prayed no one else had heard, her wand was out as she muttered a quiet ‘lumos maxima’.

“Regulus?”

Her voice was quiet as she rounded the chair to sit atop it, eyes wide and patient as she tried to look for him through her own reflection.

Ophelia heard him before she saw him, “you’re back?”

His voice sounded surprised, but she couldn’t blame him. She had been gone for days after a silent promise to return. She had said ‘perhaps’ but they both knew it was a promise to return, they both knew their curiosities ran too deep to leave questions unanswered.

But when she hadn’t come back, Regulus had felt like a fool for having hope that he had been found, that he could be saved. He was a desperate boy with limited options, and at the time it had seemed the girl who had stumbled upon him by accident was his very best one.

“I’m back.”

Silence echoed between them as Regulus made his way to the mirror, standing before it so Ophelia had to crane her head to look up at him. She frowned slightly, thinking she should apologise for not returning before realising she did not have much to apologise for. It wasn’t her fault the Room of Requirements didn’t let her in until now.

Surely, he had to understand that.

He simply nodded, staring at her with an imperceptive glint in his eyes.

“No nightgown today?” He quirked a brown, lips twitching to form a mischievous smile. Ophelia felt her cheeks heat at that, she cleared her throat slightly, “you wish, Black.”

He raked his eyes over her form, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her yellow and black scarf and gloves, “perhaps.”

There it was again, the stupid word. She scoffed but didn’t say much more. If she was being honest, it was because she didn’t know what to say.

“What brings you back now? You’ve left me alone for days.”

“How do you know it was days?”

His eyes dimmed a bit at those words, but he shrugged in a show of indifference, “it usually gets a little bit brighter in here.”

Her eyes flickered around the room she sat in, aware of how bright the room now sat because she had casted a spell but recalling how dim it had been when she first stepped foot into the room.

It must be horrible, to be trapped in such darkness with only your own voice as company. Ophelia was surprised Regulus hadn’t been driven to madness over the years he had spent trapped in here, marvelled at the fact he was still able to socialise and tease her despite the fact he had been left to stew in his own misery for over a decade.

Her pity must have shone in her eyes, because Regulus repeated his question again, “what brings you back here?”

She smiles tightly, “a distraction? An escape? I don’t know, I don’t think I want to find out.”

Regulus nods, irritated that she wouldn’t elaborate more, “something happen then?”

Ophelia watched as he began to pace around in front of the mirror, as though he was unsure of what to do with himself but knew he couldn’t avoid her with the lack of space he had.

“Dragons.”

Regulus paused; her voice was rasped dramatically but he could hear the way she forced her voice not to quake at the revelation- “dragons?”

She let out a shaky breath, “the first task. It’s dragons.”

Regulus laughed, a surprised laugh that melted into horrified chuckles as he repeated, “dragons? Merlin, you really are screwed, aren’t you?”

Ophelia rolled her eyes as she pushed herself from the seat, “you know what? Maybe it was a mistake coming back here.”

His laughs broke off, face still stretched into an expression of amusement as he raised his hands placatingly, “come on, don’t go. You have to admit it’s absurd, don’t you think? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Dumbledore’s trying to have his own students killed off.”

The truth was Regulus did know better, and still he had managed to find himself surprised.

“It’s a game, a challenge.”

“Challenged don’t usually end up with someone dying.”

“I’m not going to die.”

“Yeah, right.”

She looked at him, fury in her eyes but there was also a speckle of doubt, “I’m not going to die.”

A pitying smile tugged at Regulus’ lips, his shoulders raised in bafflement as he realised he actually felt sorry for the girl – she was terrified. Anyone with eyes could see it, she was terrified of dying and she had no clue what to do.

Maybe it’s because Regulus understood the sentiment so deeply that he made such an offer, maybe it was because he had also feared death so fiercely that he had trapped himself in a state of isolation, that he was able to understand her apprehension. Maybe it was because he understood her desperation, or maybe it was because he wanted to help her in a way no one had helped him.

“Let me show you.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion, her lower lip jutting out as she titled her head in question. At the sight of her uncertainty, he continued, “let me help you win. Let me help you survive.”

She stood straighter at his words, they rang loudly in the quiet room, determination behind echoing in them, but they were also tainted by something more.

“But in return, you have to do something for me.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, “do what?”

“I’ll let you know when the time is right.”

“How do you know I’m not lying then, if I agree?”

“When you agree, I have a way to ensure you fulfil the terms of our agreement.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“You shouldn’t. But if you want help to survive those dragons you’re so scared of-“

“I’m not scared of them,” she huffed with indignation, crossing her arms as she took a step back.

“If you want help to survive the dragons you have to face,” he amended, “the I think you should agree.”

Ophelia thought about it, ran through everything good and bad that could come out from such a decision. She didn’t know much about Regulus Black, only that he was Sirius’ brother, and she had not spoken to the man long enough to learn more than his name too.

Regulus could ask anything of her, could ask her to perform the darkest evils in his name. But he could also ask her of the simplest favours. The truth was, regardless of what he asked, there was a possibility she would be alive to carry it out.

At least a greater possibility of being alive than she had right now.

If she were to compete in the first task of the competition as she was now, she was she would lose her life and be turned to ashes. Such a fate, feeling her skin melt off her bones, the sensation of fire in her lungs, of not being able to breath as she was turned to dust – it was a fear so horrifying; it made her eyes well with tears and her throat burn.

Ophelia didn’t want to die, not when she had barely lived.

She wanted to wake up hot and stuffy on a summer’s morning, to run her hands through fields of bluebells and primroses, throw snowballs with her friends and sit under the reddened leaves on a warm autumn afternoon.

Maybe that was why she had agreed so readily, maybe that’s why she was ready to do whatever it takes.

“Okay.”

A subtle smirk graced Regulus’ face as his watchful eyes never left her own, as though he was assessing her, looking into her so deeply that he could see all her secret desires and heartfelt dreams.

“How are we going to do this?”

Regulus had the grace to smile now, a smile so broad and bright that Ophelia felt her breath catch in her throat. When she had first seen the boy, she had likened him to a stoic roman statue, his face angled and precise - handsome. Now he looked as though he was a glowing portrait, a picture of someone’s happiest moments streaked across a canvas – he looked beautiful.

“We are going to make an Unbreakable Vow.”

Ophelia felt the blood drain from her face, Regulus watching her expression of curiosity melt into one of dread on her ashen face – she had heard rumours of such magic, powerful and binding. An Unbreakable Vow, if broken, cursed the one who disobeyed to an unspeakable death.

But she needed to do this, because if she didn’t, she would die anyway.

Ophelia didn’t want to die.

#regulus black x reader #regulus black fic #regulus black smut #regulus black #regulus black x you #regulus black x female reader #regulus black x ofc #regulus black x oc #harry potter #hp marauders #hp fanfic #hp fandom #hermione granger #ron weasley #draco malfoy #cedric diggory

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