Title: Eyes On Me

I remember now. In my own little sad delusion, reader keeps the ring and wears it all the time on the precious finger meant for a special someone. If asked about it she’d say her fiancé made it for her/or alternatively if she feels too guilty for even claiming Viktor as her fiancé she says a close friend of hers made it.

I feel as if though she’d never marry and keep to herself, letting herself reflect and her guilt and dark thoughts shift as she grieves him. The sad memories become one that she smiles at again. She visits his grave and talks to him on a daily basis, updating him on her daily life. But she would never seek the affection of someone else as he holds her heart in his hands, and he doesn’t even know it yet.

She’d work a normal life, just like she’d used to. Hex tech completely lost and forgotten as Jayce destroyed it, no longer letting the lingering thoughts of expanding its use cloud his mind. He’ll eventually confine in reader and ask him about their past in which they bond over that. As the years go by they become friends that share a mutual friend.

Jayce eventually asks about the ring, thinking she’d moved on only come to find out that it was made by yours truly. Reader shares the memory of what happened with a sad smile.

“After all those years I thought he’d forgotten about me. Turns out he didn’t. Lover boy just kept his feeling for me bottled up, and didn’t even tell me. Not until I caught him drunk with Sky…” she sighs, nimble fingers playing with the ring that adorned her finger.

The ring. A symbol of what they meant to each other. First loves. Childhood friends. Family.

“Makes you wish you could reverse time and take it all back. But you can’t, and now I have to live with that darned memory.”

“To be fair, I don’t think he ever forgave himself for that. If he was still here, and the both of you had married, I’d bring that memory up all the time and tease him about it. He’s probably rolling in his grave right now.” Jayce chuckled and pat her shoulder.

She smiled and slipped the ring off. She handed it to him to observe. The inside of it had their names carved into it, albeit messily. The familiar handwriting of the once scientist they knew and cared for.

“Had we married I’d have taken his name. No one in Zaun has a last name. I didn’t think there was a need for them, and I still don’t. But if I’m being honest right now, having the name he’d come up with would be a big deal for me.”

“You know I never asked him what his name was. I’d written it down as a reminder but it slipped my mind. If you don’t mind me asking, why do people from the undercity not have last names?” The man had scratched the back of his nape.

“I don’t know. It could be because we aren’t people of status, but it didn’t matter to us. But having one… it’s intimate. Knowing you share a last name with someone means a lot. Whether you’re married, or adopted into a family, it means that you’re loved, and you’re intertwined in that love.” She smiled at him.

“Moss agate?!? Why’d he choose that as the stone?”

She chuckled and leaned over to caress the ring. “Moss agate… is fueled with a lot of meaning. Abundance, prosperity, and new beginnings.”

“When we were younger, Viktor was the odd one out. Even in Zaun being different was the easiest way to be singled out. His cane caused him to be looked down upon. It’s not his fault, I don’t know how us children survived down there.”

“I didn’t even realize that I was his only friend, it only occurred to me a few days later after I saw him down by our spot bright and early. Only thing with him was his cane, the boat, and a few other tools and scraps of gears.”

“I didn’t ask him, nor tell him that I knew he was alone, but I think he knew I found out that same moment we locked eyes. He grew a bit flustered but that was all.” She snorted as she imagined his full face growing embarrassed.

“He was mainly quiet unless I asked him about what he was going to make next. He’d usually just listen to me yap about what was going on. It was mainly about what I saw at Vander’s bar, The Last Drop.” She plucked the ring out of Jayces grasp and slipped it back on.

It was slightly tight but she wasn’t going to go ahead and modify it. She loved the simple ring as it was, in all it imperfections because it came from the one person she’d always love.

“It looks like he always had an abundance of love for me no matter how far apart we were. In his journal, he kept a newspaper clipping of me. He wrote sweet nothings on that page dedicated to me. ‘So proud of you,’ ‘knew you could make it,’ things like that.” She kept the more heartfelt words to herself.

“Who knew he was such a sap.” Jayce jibbed, a small smile gracing his lips.

“When we were younger, he always thought highly of me. He knew that I’d become who I am now in Piltover. Even when I didn’t believe in myself, he’d always think of me as bright.”

“When we met Singed… everything changed. We were always friends and nothing would ever change that, but Singed thought of me as a distraction to Vik. “

“You should’ve seen his pouty face. I could tell he took offense, and though it did sting to hear that about myself I swallows my feelings down. Viktor was about to stand up for me but this was his chance to.. well… get out of there.”

“Wait so that’s who he was talking about?” Jayce screeched.

“Talking about who? Singed?”

“Yeah, he was trying to tinker with the hex core, but said he’d consult with someone he knew. Ultimately, he said he never went through with the deal.”

“Mhm. After a failed experiment, Viktor didn’t trust him after that. He came to me a bit upset, but bottled his feelings up just so that he wouldn’t sour the mood for me.”

“It’s one of the last few conversations we had with each other before he left to the topside. After that you know how it goes.”

“I can’t dwell on the past. What’s happened, happened. But it doesn’t stop anything from hurting.” She looked up at Jayce with tears in her eyes and wiped them as they cascaded down her cheeks.

“Is it selfish of me to want to go back in time and keep him from reaching his dream of becoming something bigger in Piltover? Keep him from meeting singed? Keep him from leaving?”

“Maybe a little.” He jested. It bought a soft snort out of her.

“Maybe then we’d make it together, without having to be separated, to stay together. Move in together, get proposed to, plan for the big day, spend the rest of our lives together, possible start a family. Maybe he’d still be here, with us…” she choked down a sob.

“There no guarantee for that outcome. We started Hextech for that reason and…” he trailed off.

“Do you think in another lifetime.. he’s alive and well? Happy?”

“I do, but I know that he’s beating himself up right now seeing you cry because of him.”

“He never was a fan of me crying over him. Even when we were younger he’d always try his best to cheer me up and make up with me. He’d even let me do his hair as I pleased.” She sniffled.

“Anything for his girl.” Jayce rubbed circles on her shoulder as she curled into his warm embrace, needing the consoling.

“Anything for me.”

My Atlantis, We Fall | Finale

Part 1. Part 2.

Summary: A childhood friendship between Viktor and you grow into unspoken love, but your paths diverge when Viktor left you behind. Still heartbroken, you unexpectedly reunite during Progress Day after years, only to cause more heartbreak.

Pairing: Viktor Arcane X Female Reader, she/her pronouns

Warnings: ANGST, death, made up last name for Viktor, no mentions of Y/N.

Words: 6.3k

A/N: I really hope you like how this ended as much as I did! And thank you so much for 1k followers! I went from 600 to 1.1k in a span of 3 days 😭 Y'all are crazy for the viktorussyyy

The rain fell in relentlessly. Each droplet is a cold mnemonic of the rage and fear in your heart after what you just saw. The same droplets pressed Viktor's hair against his forehead and ran down his hollow cheeks like tears he was unable to shed. It was enough to sober him up.

You strode down the cobblestone street, footsteps splashing into shallow puddles of water. Viktor's irregular steps resonated behind you, his walking stick struggled to grip the slippery surface. He looked utterly lost. Vulnerable. A man stripped of his intellect. It reflected the agitation within him, but he didn't care if he'd stumble to the ground again and let the pavement scratch his skin just to catch you. Not right now. “Would you please stop walking away and talk to me?!” The loudness of his voice broke through the roaring storm, piercing its way through the wind to envelop you.

You froze mid-step, shoulders tensing as if his words had hit you physically. His words worsened the anger inside you. You kept on moving, the rain blurring your vision.

“Please!” he called again, and this time, the pain in his voice drew you back, completely halting you in your tracks. You turned sharply, water splashing from your drenched clothing, it mirrored the landslide of emotions breaking free from inside of you. Your chest heaved with each breath; tears mixed with the rain as you locked onto Viktor's gaze. His eyes were filled with desperation, glowing like orange lanterns in the middle of this storm. “Me?!” You sneered, a sense of bitterness lingering in the atmosphere. “You’re seriously the one talking about walking away? About communication?! Do you even hear yourself, Viktor?!” You stepped closer to his face, voice rising. You could see each detail of his face now; their beauty remains evident even amid all the gloom, but you didn't let them distract you. “Did you forget what you did? Or have you just convinced yourself they didn't matter?” Viktor flinched, as if each word was an arrow pointed straight to his heart. He opened his mouth, only to close it again, shame smothering him in the silence.

“I remember,” he said after the pause, his tone careful. “I remember everything. I remember them every single day.” You laughed, “Oh, do you? Then you must recall leaving without so much as a word. Treating me like I was a puzzle to solve only to discard me as soon as I didn’t align with your bigger plan!” Your voice cracked, the hurt threatening to overflow like the rain around you. “Like I was disposable...” His breath hitched, shaking his head in disagreement with what you had said. His grip on his cane tightening until his knuckles turned white. “You were never disposable—”

"Then why did you make me feel like so?" You cut him off.

Viktor paused, taking a small time to take in the look in your face caused by his actions. “I just... I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing. That if I let you go, I could—” He halted, words choking him. “I thought it would protect you. That you would be safer. Happier without me.” “Protect me?” you mocked, almost closing the distance. “You hurt me, Viktor! You didn’t protect me! You shattered me!”

You thought his response was completely ridiculous. But did you genuinely believe that thought? It was clear that your anger is distorting your perspective again. Still, you have every right to feel that way. His face crumpled as your words struck home, his free hand reaching for you but stopping, trembling. “I know,” he said hoarsely. “I know what I did to you. There’s no excuse, no justification that could ever make it right. But please… please let me try to explain.”

"Just go easy on him, alright? He’s not great at these things." Jayce's words echoed in your thoughts, bringing back the image of Viktor coughing and bleeding. You never wanted to imagine it again. It felt as though it was your own care and affection for Viktor reaching out to you, urging you to truly listen to him. That beneath the anger, your love for him that had never fully disappeared was talking to you.

“Go ahead, then. Explain. Tell me why it was okay to tear my heart apart and just let me live with it.” You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, feeling a chill that were more from the sight of him rather than from the cold air.

He took a cautious step forward, but this time you didn't pull back. You’re closer to him than ever before that you can smell his musky scent, so close that you can nearly tune into his thoughts and feel the rhythm of his heartbeat. His eyes filled with vulnerability, and deep inside you can feel them pinching your heart.

“I was a fool,” he began, briefly looking down before focusing on your gaze once more. “I- I told myself I was being selfless, letting you go for your sake. But the truth is, I was terrified of what you made me feel. As we grew older, it also grew more seriously inside me. That scared me. I was scared that those emotions would derail me from dreams. Dreams that I would sacrifice my life for. And I was a coward for that."

His words were like a glimpse of hope in your confusion. You could sense how heavy they were and almost feel his struggle. But then, Viktor paused, remembering another mistake he had made.

“What you saw up there… with Sky... I am so sorry. I was drunk. No, I am drunk.” Viktor chuckled and scratched his head, feeling embarrassed as he recalled his recent actions. “I thought I saw you. I thought it was you kissing me.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “But it wasn’t you. It was her. It was a mistake, a horrible mistake, and it hurts me to know that I let myself forget you for even a moment. I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted anyone else, not after what we shared. I was trying to make myself feel something, anything, other than the pain of losing you. But all I did was make everything worse.”

This hit you deeply, making your chest feel tight, but it wasn’t enough. You still had barriers up, barriers that Viktor's words had not yet broken through.

As his words lingered in the air, your emotions swirled. You're still hurt, but you were validated. You couldn't put it into words, but the next words that came out of Viktor's mouth were both surprising and somehow anticipated.

He hesitated, eyes filled with everything he had kept inside. “I have struggled... in vain,” he began, “I’ve fought against this... against you. But I can bear it no longer..."

Countless thoughts raced through your mind as you tried to predict Viktor's next words while allowing him to keep speaking.

"The past years have been nothing but torment. I thought I was doing the right thing. I only intended to protect you.” His voice faltered as he took a step closer, as if you two weren't already close enough. His gaze softened, searching yours. “But I was wrong.”

Viktor cupped your face gently, his hands fitting the curves of your skin as if they were meant to be there, as if the Gods made them to touch you in this way. Every delicate contour of your facial structure seemed to align perfectly with each line of his palms, like another way of promising you his love if not through words.

His hands remained steady against your skin to which you subconsciously leaned onto, eyes fluttering closed as you exhaled softly. "Viktor, please..."

His touch soothed the storm inside you. So intimate, so real.

You waited for him to speak again, breath caught in your chest.

Viktor swallowed hard as the words finally came out, tears gathering around his eyes. “Please, end my agony... I... I love you.”

Those three words struck you like a speeding bullet train, each one ringing in your chest. They were impossible to ignore. His touch, his words—they were enough to lift the burden you carried for years.

But even with that weight gone, there was still something else lingering deep inside you.

Doubt.

The kind of doubt that was seeded long ago, as though it was permanent. The kind that couldn’t be erased with just three words, no matter how heartfelt they are.

You smiled, but it wasn’t the smile Viktor hoped for. It wasn’t the soft, tender response he had imagined after pouring his heart out to you.

No, it was something else. It was a smile that spoke more of deflection. The kind of smile that said, 'nice try'. The kind that concealed the sensitivity still flowing within you, and beneath that, a hint of doubt.

"If you really love me then you shouldn't have left me."

୭ ˚.⁺⊹ .ᐟ

The weeks that followed were unfriendly to Viktor, as if the universe had conspired to reflect the torture he felt inside.

He buried himself in his research, and the lab became more of a prison than a shelter. The spark of his amber eyes has now been replaced by a hollow stare of sleepless nights.

The edges of his frame were frail. His already lean figure was exposed, with skin appearing even more pale. Dark circles etched themselves under his eyes and bruises of his own making from the nights he spent pouring every inch of his body into the study instead of rest.

His lips, once soft and quick to curl upward into a smile, are now chapped and pushed into a line. Clothes hung loosely over him, and the fabric of his coat looked heavier than the man wearing it. As he coughed, a deep, ragged sound would scrape off of his lungs, with random nose bleeds occurring here and there—Jayce noticing even more crimson specks smearing his handkerchief.

Still, Viktor dismissed everyone.

He denied recognizing the physical impact his work had on him and dismissed the worries with a feigned nonchalance. Now, his focus was singular: perfecting his research and proving that his sacrifice was not in vain.

But his hands trembled day by day, and the tension of lifting his tools became almost impossible. The recognizable sound of his cane hitting the floor now stands as a touching reminder of his deteriorating health.

୭ ˚.⁺⊹ .ᐟ

For several weeks, the rain kept pouring. It seemed like the weather understood your and Viktor's feelings.

You were savoring a warm cup of tea when gentle knocks vibrated at your door.

You hesitated before answering. Upon opening it, Sky stood there, drenched and shivering. Her eyes red as though she had been crying.

You gripped the doorframe, eyes rolling and your jaw clenching. “What do you want?” you asked coldly, the sight of her bringing back memories that you're still trying to forget.

Sky fidgeted, fingers twisting together nervously. “Look, I know I’m the last person you want to see right now,” she began, her voice barely audible over the rain. “But I need to talk to you. Please. It’s about Viktor.”

Just hearing his name triggered an unwelcome pain that cut through the walls of your living room. You moved to close the door, unwilling to entertain whatever she had to say, but her hand shot out, gripping it with strength that caught you off guard.

"Excuse me?" You scoffed.

She cried out, “Please, just hear me out. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”

Ugh.

With hesitation, you moved aside and nodded you head toward the living room for her to enter, your arms crossed as you observed her walk into your house. Her wet clothes left a trail of water on the floor, but she seemed oblivious, her focus entirely on you. She looked smaller than you remembered, her confidence was replaced by an almost childlike vulnerability.

“I’m really sorry,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “For everything. For the kiss… for the way I acted. I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”

For the second time today, you rolled your eyes, lips curled into a bitter smile. “Is that why you’re here? To apologize? I've been trying to erase that from my memory, so if you're just here to remind me about it then please, feel free to leave.”

Sky shook her head no, hands clenching into fists at her sides. “No. I- I’m not here to make excuses. I know what I did was wrong, and I know how much it hurt you. But you need to know the truth.” She took a shaky breath, her eyes meeting yours with a sincerity that was almost uncomfortable. “I’ve liked Viktor for as long as I can remember. For years, I thought… I thought maybe he could feel the same way about me because we're always together. But that night… that kiss… I know he wasn’t thinking of me.” Her voice broke and she looked away, cheeks flushing with shame. “He was thinking of you."

Yeah, I know.

Her words lingered, combining affirmation and hurt. “Is that why you’re here?” you asked, your tone sharp. “To tell me that Viktor loves me? I- How do you even know me?”

Sky’s eyes filled with tears, her composure finally breaking.

“No,” she whispered. “I’m here because Viktor is dying.”

Viktor is dying.

The words played over and over in your mind. They are louder each time, drowning out everything else. The idea of losing him permanently this time made your stomach twist painfully. Tears threatened to spill, but you fought hard to blink them away.

Viktor’s “I love you," from a few weeks ago came back to your senses. They were never quite enough to erase all the anger, pain, and doubt he had left behind. Those three words were supposed to heal, but they didn’t; they couldn’t. They weren’t strong enough to undo the hurt.

But now, this another set of three words hit you harder than you thought possible. They weren’t warm or hopeful. They didn’t carry promises of love or second chances.

Yet somehow, they did what his “I love you” couldn’t.

Those three words, so opposite in meaning, tore through every bitter thought and resentment you held.

All they left behind was the truth that none of the hurt mattered anymore.

None.

You couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not like this.

Sky's words stole the air from your lungs. “W- what?” you managed to choke out.

Sky took a step closer, seemingly wanting to offer you some comfort. “He’s in the hospital. Jayce took him there after he collapsed. He… he’s not doing well.”

You wanted to say something, anything, but your thoughts were in a tangle of mess. Words failed you as you reached for your coat, the overwhelming need to get to Viktor as soon as possible overriding everything else.

You were halfway to the door, hand trembling on the handle, when Sky’s voice broke through your chaotic blur. “Wait… before I forget,” she said, the tone almost nervous.

You turned to face her, your impatience barely masked. Sky fumbled through her bag, pulling out a small blue leather-bound notebook. Its edges scuffed, and its cover worn with age. Her hands were shaking as she extended it toward you.

“This is his,” Sky spoke gently, her voice shaking in a way that reflected the quiver of her hands. “When Viktor left it on his table, I… I opened it. It was a few years ago. I wasn’t trying to invade his privacy. I was just looking for research notes, trying to understand what he was working on. But I found this instead.”

You paused, gazing at the notebook as if it were delicate. "What’s this?" you inquired, voice softer than you meant it to be. Your brows knitted together in confusion, questioning why she felt it was so important to hand this to you right now when every second counted.

We don't have time for this.

Sky looked down, as if she couldn’t bear to meet your eyes. Her fingers lingered on the edge of the notebook before letting it go, pressing it into your hands. “It’s… it’s about you,” she admitted. “You asked me how I know about you, right? This is why. Just… just read it when you can. You’ll understand.”

For a moment, the room was silent except for the muffled rain against your windows. You looked down at the notebook in your hands, its weight suddenly heavier than it had any right to be. Brushing the worn edges, your mind buzzed with questions you didn’t have the time or courage to ask.

What could possibly be in here that Sky believed you needed to see?

But there wasn’t any time to dwell on it now. The fear in your chest wouldn’t let you linger in here any longer.

Viktor's dying, and every second wasted felt like a step closer to losing him.

You clutched the notebook tightly before leaving it on your coffee table, a strange feeling of hope in your gut.

Whatever it contained, it could wait.

Right now, there was only one thing that mattered. You had to get to him.

The journey to the hospital seemed to stretch endlessly, with each second feeling longer than the one before. What should have been a simple fifteen-minute ride felt like it took forever. It was as if the outside world had faded away, leaving only the chaos in your head.

Your eyes were fixed on nothing, your focus lost while the unrelenting motion of the Piltover transport only made your anxiety worse. A heavy dread weighed on you, as if something terrible was already unfolding and you were already too late.

At last, the vehicle stopped.

As soon as it did, you bolted out the door, the cold air hitting you. Frantically, you paced toward the hospital entrance, feet struggling to keep up with the other. Your chest felt drawn in and every breath was a challenge.

You could feel your heart racing painfully in your throat, in your ears, and in your head. Each pound threatening to choke you. Your legs were worn out from running, yet you couldn’t stop. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you swallowed them down, forcing them back. Not now. Not yet.

Viktor needed you, and you had to be strong, even if every part of you wanted to crumble. The hospital doors loomed ahead, the sterile smell of it filling your nose. With each step, the uncertainty bore down on you more severely, causing your legs to shake as you neared the reception.

Please, don’t be too late. Please, don’t be too late. Please, don’t be too late.

The thought circled in your mind like a chant, you could've sworn you were going insane.

You found the room—his room.

Your heartbeat so loudly in your chest you could barely hear your own footsteps, but the sight in front of you stole the breath from your lungs. The door to his room swung open with a force you didn’t even realize you had, the sharp sound of it startling the nurses who clustered around Viktor’s bed.

Their heads snapped toward you in a synchronized motion, as though your entrance was both expected and unwelcome.

They didn’t even try to move out of your way. You didn’t know if they were trying to shield you from the sight of him or if it was a sudden reflex to prevent you from seeing what you already feared.

Your feet felt frozen to the ground as you stood there. You couldn’t even take in the full picture of Viktor. His form pale and still under the lights of the hospital room.

The doctor was speaking in a hurried tone, but none of their words seemed to make it past the pounding in your ears. Your mind refused to process anything but the cold, harsh truth that was unfolding before you.

One of the doctors glanced at his watch, his voice steady yet emotionless.

“Viktor Vikhnovich, time of death 4:12 PM.”

The words struck you like a hard punch. It felt as though time stood still. You choked on your breath as you looked at the man who meant everything to you—someone who had been just out of reach.

Dead.

The word echoed in your head, but it felt wrong. No, it has to be a joke.

You wanted to scream, to demand they are mistaken, to rush forward and shake him awake. But your legs refused to move. Your vision blurred, body numb with the shock that hit you like a bullet to the chest.

The doctors moved around you, but you could barely comprehend their actions. You didn’t know if they were trying to offer condolences or explanations. None of it mattered.

All you could see was Viktor lying motionless, as though life had been drained from him just when he needed it the most. It took everything in you not to collapse right there in the doorway.

You walked closer to his laying body; he felt close yet so far. He isn't here anymore.

“No, no, no, no, no,” the words spilled from your lips, your voice trembling and raw as you stumbled forward. You pushed through the heavy air in the room, ignoring the doctors who tried to steady you or pull you back.

You couldn’t hear them. You couldn’t see anything except him.

You reached Viktor’s side, your knees giving out as you collapsed by his bed. “No,” you whispered again, this time softer, as though speaking directly to his now peaceful soul. Your hands hovered over his cheeks, shaking, afraid to touch him and confirm what your heart refused to believe.

His skin was colorless, chest still, and the nasal cannula lay idle. The silence of his lifelessness was more deafening than your cries.

Tears streamed down your face, blurring your vision as you clutched his hand in yours. It was cold, far too cold. Far from the warmth of the pair of hands that heated your cheeks in the middle of the storm just a few weeks ago.

“Viktor, please,” you sobbed, voice breaking with each syllable. “N-no, don’t do this. Don’t leave me. I'm s-sorry.”

The sense of finality rang in your ears.

His face appeared serene, which only boosted your pain.

You couldn’t reconcile this quiet, unresponsive Viktor with the man you knew. The one who argued passionately about science, who lit up at the spark of an idea, the man you've always had an unspoken love with.

You pressed a chaste kiss on his forehead, your tears soaking the lifeless skin of his face.

“This is- this is all my fault…” you choked out. “Viktor, you can’t—” Your voice cracked, unable to finish the sentence, because finishing it meant acknowledging the truth, and you weren’t ready for that.

Your fingers brushed over his cheek and his moles, memorizing every line and angle for the last time.

The world felt wrong. It was too quiet, too still without him in it.

Sure, he hadn’t been a part of your life since the day he walked away, but this was different.

This was final.

The faint hope you’d always held, the possibility of crossing paths again, of hearing his voice, of sharing even one swift moment, was now extinguished.

He was gone, permanently this time.

There would be no second chances, no reconciliation, no more time to bridge the gap that had grown between you.

The doctors and nurses exchanged looks, their expressions a mix of pity and discomfort. Someone murmured something about giving you time, and the sound of footsteps walking away barely registered in your mind.

"Viktor... I love you, too..."

The door clicked shut, leaving you alone with him.

Alone in your grief, your despair.

Alone with the reality that Viktor was gone.

୭ ˚.⁺⊹ .ᐟ

Six months had passed since Viktor's passing and grief still lingered in every corner of your heart.

It had a way of reshaping your life without your permission. The past few months weren’t about healing, but more about surviving. You woke up every day feeling like a piece of you had been carved out, like there was a void that you carried everywhere you go.

Life continued on even as you grieve, but moving ahead just felt wrong.

It felt wrong to move on from Viktor because of the realization that there weren't many people left to mourn him. It was just you, Jayce, and Sky. However, in time, the three of you will also be gone. And despite all the blood, sweat, and tears Viktor put in, his dreams of leaving a lasting legacy in this world is now impossible to come to fruition.

You didn’t cry every day. Sometimes, it was worse: just complete numbness. The kind where nothing felt real or important anymore.

You ignored his name when it came up in conversations, avoided the places that held his memory, but the pain never failed to find you in the smallest things—a faint scent from the past or the quiet moments before sleep when there was nothing to worry you about having to forgive him.

And yet, you didn’t let it break you. Instead, you kept going. Because you know Viktor would've wanted you to.

Now, as you clean and reorganize your home, you found yourself surrounded by half-packed boxes. The sounds of tape peeling and cardboard shifting kept you distracted from your thoughts, until your hand grazed something tucked into the corner of an old shelf.

A small box, with the letter V written across its lid in faded blue ink.

Your brows knit together. The curiosity that drew you toward the box wasn’t out of curiosity but rather out of realization. You knew exactly what it was. It was Viktor’s. Or rather, a box of things that belonged to him. Things of him from Zaun that you kept. The appearance of it awoken a strong feeling, not only sorrow but also guilt.

"Forgot I still have these." You chuckled, fingers running across the surface of it.

The notebook Sky had given you moments before Viktor's passing had been left untouched. Unread. Seeing it again felt like reopening your own wounds, wounds that were filled with the regret of not having forgiven him when you still had the time to.

You hesitated before lifting the lid, the smell of old paper and dust wafting into your face. Your heart skipped a beat as your gaze fell upon Viktor's notebook, sitting neatly atop a pile of random trinkets and scrap toys you made when you were a kid. But it wasn’t the notebook that stole your breath.

Nestled beneath it was a small, rusted toy boat, blemished by years of being kept away. Your fingers shook lightly as you picked it up, the memories it held flooding your mind like the stream where you used to play with this toy boat.

The boat.

The boat that had drifted too far downstream, leading you to Singed's lab. The boat that had set him on a path to greatness, to dreams so grand that they left no room for the simplicity of your childhood friendship. The boat that had left you behind. The boat that changed everything.

A smile tugged at your lips as you cradled the delicate toy in your hands. Viktor had no idea you kept it all these years. Not when he was consumed by ambition, not when you did the same but with the anger for him for leaving, and certainly not in the moments when you questioned if he even remembered you.

It was lightweight, but it carried the heaviness of nostalgia at the same time.

As you held it, images of your childhood played in your mind like a bittersweet reel. The laughter by the stream, the scent of Zaun's polluted air you never imagined you'd somehow miss, and the way Viktor’s eyes lit up with excitement as you launched the boat for the first time.

"I'll get it!"

"Come onnn, you’ll never catch it," Viktor called out, his voice teasing with worry after you dove into the shallow water to catch the boat. He stood on the bank, leaning lightly on his cane, his frame silhouetted against the golden afternoon light.

Your laughter bubbled up, louder than the gurgle of the stream. "Oh, watch me!"

Viktor shook his head, his lips twitching into a crooked smile. “You’ll be swept away before you even touch it,” he warned.

He stepped closer to the edge as if he could will you back to safety. He would’ve waded in himself if his leg allowed it. You knew that. He always hated being on the sidelines, watching while others took the risks he couldn’t.

“Vik, I’m fineee!” you called out, glancing over your shoulder at him. The current tugged harder the farther you went, but your determination burned brighter. “You’re just mad I’m faster than you.”

His laugh was soft, carried away by the breeze. “Faster, perhaps. Smarter? Doubtful.”

A wistful laugh escaped you as the memory replayed in your mind. Those were the moments before you stumbled upon the cave. If only curiosity hadn’t taken over—then maybe, just maybe—everything would’ve turned out differently.

Perhaps you and Viktor could have grown up side by side and make it Piltover together.

Finally you took the notebook. It sat heavy in your hands. You sighed, brushing the thin layer of dust from the surface. Your fingers hesitating for a moment before you finally flipped it open.

Settling onto the floor with your legs crossed, you prepared yourself for what lay inside.

At first, it was exactly as you expected. Pages filled with equations and wobbly sketches of his prototypes. You couldn’t help but smile as you traced the lines with your eyes, they captured the excellence he was born with.

It was so distinctly Viktor—obsessive, conscientious.

For a brief moment, it felt like he was right there with you, explaining each one of his ideas with his usual avidness, accent curling around the words.

God, you missed him.

As you reached the middle of the notebook, your fingers faltered. There was something different here.

Nestled between the pages was a photo. One you recognized immediately.

Your breath caught as you carefully lifted it, hands trembling slightly.

It was you. An image of a younger version of you at a turning point in your life when your hard work had finally started paying off. The image had been torn from an old newspaper article that featured your story. A story you never even thought Viktor knew or even cared about.

Your eyes shifted to the random affirmations beside the photo in Viktor’s messy handwriting.

"Still the most beautiful."

"I always knew you could make it, too."

"You grew out your hair. It suits you."

"My solnyshka, I hope you carry my love everywhere you go."

And more.

Each line felt like a whisper from him. He wrote them as if he was going to send them to you, as if you were replying to everything he jotted down. They felt like a kiss to your soul that you could almost hear him next to you, sending a shiver down your spine.

You traced the faded ink with your fingers, overwhelmed by the tenderness in every note he left behind.

Viktor had been paying attention all along, even when you believed he had turned his back on you.

Tears blurred your vision as you stared at the photo, the words, and the ghost of his presence woven into the pages. He was right. You indeed looked beautiful, as if you were looking at yourself through his eyes,

This wasn’t just a record of his work, it was also a reflection of the parts of his heart he never fully managed to show you.

And now, here it was, laid bare in your trembling hands.

Your fingers twitched, flipping the pages despite the fear in your heart. A part of you wanted to stop, to close the notebook and shove it back into the box, to avoid whatever might hurt more than you already did. But your curiosity overcame your reluctance, and you flipped to the next page after the other.

What you found stole the breath from your lungs.

In the center of the notebook was a section had been carefully carved out. The edges are neat, every cut made with precision. As if it was a secret pocket.

Within the hollowed space was a ring—a moss agate ring.

The soft green swirls within the stone caught the light, shimmering with a beauty that is so captivating.

It wasn’t extravagant like a diamond, but it was perfect. It felt just like him. Like the Viktor you knew.

The Viktor who found beauty in the simplicity, the meaningful, the genuine.

Your breath hitched as you picked it up, cradling it in your palm.

Moss agate. A stone symbolizing new beginnings and emotional healing. He had chosen it for a reason, you realized, and the realization tightened the ache in your chest even more than before.

It wasn’t just a ring. It was a promise, a reflection of your shared history and of humble beginnings, of scraped knees and childhood laughter, of dreams whispered by candlelight.

As you turned it over in your hand, a folded piece of paper stuck out the notebook, fluttering to the ground like a fragile leaf. You picked it up, noticing the faint smudge of red on the corner.

Blood. His blood. The realization sent a chill through you. Viktor penned this with his own hands, hands that had become frail as his body slowly stagnated.

Unfolding the letter, your breath caught at the sight of his familiar handwriting, every word etched with care despite the shakiness of the strokes.

His voice seemed to reach out to you from the page, the words pulling you into his world one last time.

My little sun,

Should this letter ever find its way to you, I cannot say how or when. Perhaps it never will. But if you’re holding this, it means I am no longer beside you.

I write this not knowing if you’ll ever read it, yet I must. Even if I will never again see your face alight with that smile of yours. There is nothing left to save me, and I’ve tried. I've tried to make peace with it. What weighs heavier than the end itself is leaving you. Knowing I’ve caused you so much pain.

I’ve thought endlessly of us, of the life we shared before it all crumbled.

Do you recall the day we met? You were the only one who didn’t flinch when you saw me. My leg, my limp. They meant nothing to you. You were so small then, full of boundless energy and kindness. You stopped without hesitation to help me gather the rusted scraps I’d dropped. And with that light of yours, you simply asked if I needed help.

Even then, I sensed there was something deeper. Something I wouldn’t understand until much later. From that moment, I knew you were unlike anyone I’d ever known. Only you... could make me feel that way.

I remember those stolen moments by the stream, the times you wept and I tried to comfort you, poorly if I may say. Yet in truth, it was your warmth and your embrace that gave me solace. Your laughter lingers still, echoing in the quiet spaces when I find myself longing for your presence.

And that day in the undercity, when you found that broken toy. You insisted we could fix it, though I swore it was beyond repair. I tried to explain the impossibility with the misaligned gears, but you looked at me with that defiance of yours and said, “We’ll make them fit.” And that we did.

Because that is who you are. Persistent. Always striving to mend what others deem beyond hope, even me. You tried to fix the rift between us when it should have been my responsibility to bear. And in return, I only worsened everything.

Do you remember the night I promised to marry you? We were just children, dreaming of a future that seemed impossibly distant. I don’t know what made me say it. Perhaps it's the way you looked at me, like I could be more than I was. You laughed and called me 'silly', but I meant every word.

Even then, I meant it. I told myself I would build something worthy of you. A life worthy of you.

But instead, I left. I pursued ambitions that devoured me whole and left you behind. And in doing so, I broke us. I see that now, clearer than ever. Though I don’t deserve it, I hope you understand how deeply sorry I am. For leaving, for hurting you, for failing to be the man you deserved.

When I promised to marry you, you told me I’d have to make you a pretty ring. I took that to heart.

I’ve held onto this ring for what feels like lifetimes. It is not grand, not polished like those found in the shops. It is simple. It is us. And it has always reminded me of you.

I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me. Perhaps I have no right to ask. But you must know this... Loving you was never a regret. It was my only certainty.

You are, and will forever be, my sun. The light I chased even when it burned. You made the impossible seem possible, even for someone like me.

And though I am gone, I hope you will continue to shine. Shine brighter than I ever could.

For both of us.

Yours always, Viktor

Tags: @blackravena @aysluxe @aise-30 @sillyguy49 @22carolina08 @rainyyumbrella @adrestlyd @he4rt4vik @brynneslitteworld @artist2181 @tofueater78 @victormydarling @marshallowy @burning-harmony

Second Son (VI) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: Y/N goes looking for Regulus. Umbridge's spectacular rise and fall are overshadowed by the group's mission to the Department of Mysteries.

Part V / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: Not canon compliant. Regulus isn't in most of the chapter, but the events that occur are crucial to the story line.

You didn’t head to the dining hall for dinner that night. After sitting on your windowsill in a state of disarray until darkness blanketed over the castle grounds, you realized that Regulus didn’t intend on returning anytime soon. 

If ever. But you brushed that thought aside as soon as it surfaced; you didn’t want to mull over the possibility until you were absolutely certain, and you weren’t going to be unless Regulus told you to your face. 

Curfew would sweep into the night any moment now, so you made a decision. 

Startling up from your stupor, you quickly grab Regulus’ portrait frame and your wand, pacing out of your dorm and the common room. Many sent you furtive glances, intrigued by your determination, while others full-body turned as if tempted to warn you against toeing the line for curfew. 

However, it seemed that their words were caught in their throats after catching a glimpse of the blood-stained bandage around your hand. It was clear that you were aware of the consequences of breaking the rules, and you just hoped that you wouldn’t run into Umbridge on your walk. 

You wondered what would happen if she caught you. Surely, she wouldn’t use the quill on you again, but you couldn’t rule out the wandering thought that she might just test out a potion by pouring it down your throat. 

You truly couldn’t wait for her to run back to her post at the Ministry. 

Walking along the cold castle corridors, you cast a silent lumos and bring up the bulb of light to scan the collection of portraits around you. Many of the portraits hissed at the brightness, whispering furiously to usher you away. You didn’t pay any mind to their protests, eyes darting around frantically to try and find Regulus. 

You knew that portraits could wander into other portraits located in the same building, so that narrowed down his whereabouts. Unfortunately, Hogwarts happened to be a proprietor of hundreds of valuable portraits–so Regulus could be anywhere.

Growing restless as hot frustration pervades your chest, your shoulders sag as you stop in defeat. Standing in the middle of the corridor, your wand resting by your side, you turn your head up to the ceiling. It felt like a million thoughts were whirring in the back of your brain, yet every single one evaded your mental grasp. 

It was overwhelming. There were too many conflicting thoughts and emotions coursing through you. Unconsciously patting the vacant frame in your pocket, you begin to slowly walk forward into the darkness, no real destination or plan in mind. 

It was likely past curfew now, and you imagined that you’d already be halfway down to the shrieking shack if you had Harry’s invisibility cloak on you. You didn’t want to stay in your dorm, every inch of your side of the room was infused with the memory of Regulus. 

You wanted to be somewhere where you could forget. Somewhere that took your mind off of Voldemort’s antics. Somewhere where you could stop stewing over the absurdity of your feelings and attachment to Regulus–a portrait. 

Merlin, you weren’t even sure how much of him was human. What did he retain? Was he real? Yes. Maybe. You didn’t know. But it was giving you a headache. 

Maybe him leaving was good. You needed to sort out your feelings and confusion. 

Suddenly, you hear two pairs of footsteps echo around the walls. Loud clicking and uneven stomps. You had grown accustomed to hearing those two walks. Umbridge and Filch. Scrambling further down the hall, you quickly disperse your lumos as you reach a turn in the corridor. 

As you throw yourself against the stone wall, you peer from around the corner to see a faint light along with two figures. They stop just yards away from your position in the darkness, and you hear Umbridge begin to order Filch around, “These as well. They must go at once!” 

Of course, he was doing her bidding. You were pretty sure he had a school boy crush on her. 

Furrowing your brows, you watch attentively as Filch begins to lift the portraits off the walls, shaking them to the side to empty them. Shock paralyzes your body as he continues to move down the frames, savoring the loud protests echoing from the other paintings. 

Umbridge looks downright pleased by Filch’s compliance, simply making a noise of approval before spinning on her heel and strutting back from the direction they both came from. 

This was madness. First, performing Ministry evaluation on teachers, now dictating what kind of decor was appropriate? But it didn’t make sense, why would the Ministry want all of the castle paintings removed? Making Hogwarts a barren institution did very little for them. 

Quickly straightening up from your huddled position, you begin to walk down the dark corridor, eyes partially accustomed to the dimness now. There was no way you could cut past Filch now, so going back to the dorms was completely out of the question. Perhaps, you could just spend the night in the Room of Requirement. 

As you quietly navigate through the castle, a sudden epiphany strikes you. Stopping in your tracks, your mouth parts in dumbfoundedness as you realize that the Ministry does not care about the castle paintings. Umbridge taking them down was out of her own fear, and as a show of power–something she would have never done without explicit permission. 

Dumbledore would never allow the paintings to come down. Which means the Ministry did something to usurp Dumbledore. 

Merlin. Was he being punished for the D.A.? If so, Umbridge was now the reigning head of Hogwarts. 

And Harry didn’t know. 

Bringing a hand up to cover your mouth, you pick up your pace towards the Room of Requirement as you process the revelation. As you quickly approach the wall in your distraught state, you let your mind slip to the first thought screaming at you in your head. 

I need to find Regulus. 

The large wooden doors appear with a muted crackling, the door handles protruding out just large enough for you to distinguish in the darkness. Quickly swinging open the door, you don’t process the sight in front of you until the door is shutting behind you with a click. 

You are rooted to the spot for what seems like hours, taking in the familiar sight in front of you. This seemed to be a cruel joke, but the magic doesn’t lie, your magic seemed to sing in harmony with the room just as it did over the summer. 

The disappearing room at Grimmauld Place was right in front of you. No. Just the disappearing room. It didn’t seem to be truly tied to Grimmauld Place if it appeared at Hogwarts. 

Inklings of warm magic flowed throughout the dusty room, entangling with your cooler magic. Earlier, you thought of a place where you could find Regulus. Did that mean that he somehow was in the disappearing room? 

Closing your eyes, you concentrate on reaching out to the magic in the room. You had spent enough time with Regulus’ portrait to grow familiar with the feeling of his magic. If he were in the room, you would be able to tell. 

The cool stretch of your magical core blanketed the room, but gradually receded as you realized you couldn’t feel Regulus’ warmth. Oddly enough though, you felt something akin to Regulus’ magic, almost like a faint wisp of magic tied to the room. 

What could it all mean?

Your escapade brought more than you could have bargained for. The information was overloading your brain, and you slowly willed your legs to move around the cluttered room. 

Yes, this was truly the disappearing room, not a fib version conjured up by the Room of Requirement’s magic. 

There was time to kill, meaning you could finish exploring the expanse of the room’s items. Over the summer, you were too engrossed with bonding with Regulus to try and sift through the items, and you weren’t sure you’d get a window of opportunity quite like this again. 

Running your eyes along the room, the familiar dresser you attempted to investigate the first time you accessed the room caught your attention. Slowly reaching over to pull out the bottommost drawer, you hesitate for a beat as if anticipating for Regulus to magically appear and ask you what you were doing like he did the first time. 

When nothing happens, you suppress a heavy sigh of disappointment. Pulling at the brass knob in defeat, your eyebrows stitch together as the drawer’s contents reveal themselves. 

The first to catch your eyes is an expanse of gloomy colors, painted delicately to capture the details of an ashen cliffside, strokes of navy and sapphire paint overlapping to create waves. In the right corner of the canvas, signed in the peaks of a wave, a simple R.A.B beams up at you. 

Regulus Arcturus Black. 

The painting was so finely detailed that you could have mistaken it for a photograph. 

Under the oceanside painting, you realize that dozens of canvases occupied the drawer, evidently all belonging to Regulus. 

It felt like you were intruding on his privacy, so slowly, you pushed the drawer shut and tried to erase the sight of his vivid paintings from your mind. Taking another once-over of the room, you huddle against one of its corners, resting your head on your knees. As your eyes grew heavier, and you slipped into the void of unconsciousness, one last silent thought burned at the surface of your brain.

Regulus stored those paintings in here while he was still alive. He’s been here at one point in time. 

You’re nudged awake by an aching in your lower back, body stiff from the position you fell asleep in. Unfortunately, there was no telling how much time had passed since you went to sleep, so it was better to leave sooner than later. 

Stretching your sore muscles and stiff joints, you quickly smooth down the wrinkles in your shirt, tightening your tie. Luckily, you didn’t go exploring in your sleep wear the night before. Reaching for the crystal door knob, you pause and take in the sight of the room one last time. 

Until next time. Your bittersweet farewell left a sour note in your chest as you were forced to return to reality. 

Quickly exiting the room, you swing your head furiously side to side in order to scan for people. Releasing a breath of relief, you realize the corridor was desolate. Facing one of the grand glass windows, you realize that it was around sunrise. Good, there was time for you to sneak back to your room before your dorm mates woke up. 

As you padded through the passageways, you realize that Filch managed to strip away every single portrait from the castle walls overnight. He was surely dedicated, but now you were incredibly anxious about Regulus’ whereabouts. 

In the spur of your tornado of thoughts, you suddenly are struck with a realization that has you loudly gasping and suddenly sprinting to your dorm room. 

Today was the first day of your O.W.L exams. Oh you were nominally, extraordinarily fucked. 

As you sit in Umbridge’s class, quill in hand, you briefly amuse yourself with your thoughts as you stare down at the paper in front of you. You had almost skipped breakfast in favor of last minute cramming, but your dorm mates practically hauled you to the dining hall, reprimanding you good-heartedly about your absence during dinner the night before. 

Question 7. What is the incantation for the tongue-tying curse?  

Sweet Merlin. Sifting through your mind, you curse yourself as you realize that there were a lot of holes in your memory. Your stress and anxiety over Regulus seemed to impede on your mental capacity. Think. Mutterwutter? No, that’s not it. Mibblewimbble!

Silently cheering at your victory, you go to write the answer, but a distant rumble pulls you from your concentration. Lifting your head up in confusion, you note that everyone was now distracted because of the noise. 

Tilting your head to the side, you briefly make eye contact with Umbridge as she hurriedly goes to investigate the source of the disruption. 

One moment there is a gaping silence as everyone waits with bated breath, the next, the twins are flying in on their brooms, scattering your test papers in the air. You’re unable to contain your laugh of wonder as they proceed to chuck sticks of fireworks over your heads, bursts of colorful sparks clouding the ceiling arches. 

Oh, Mrs.Weasley is going to be so pissed.

Soon, you’re joining Harry and Ron’s side as you watch a firework dragon chase Umbridge towards the doors of the classroom. As the dragon explodes around her stout figure, the sharp sound of shattering glass cuts through the noise of firework explosions. Umbridge freezes in shock as the frames of her educational decrees come crashing down from the walls. 

Splints of wood surround the furious woman and you’re snorting a laugh as you take in her ashen state. 

Oh, how the cookie crumbles. 

Grabbing Harry’s hand, you don’t look back as everyone in the class rushes outside to follow the Weasley twins, cheering at your professor’s karma. Amidst the thunderous noise of clapping and laughter, you’re snapped from your excitement as Harry makes a choked noise next to you, beginning to sway on his feet. 

“Harry?” Your voice comes out as a mere whisper. 

He seems unaware of your panic, slowly falling to the ground, eyes wide in fear and shock. You scramble to kneel in front of him, grabbing at his shoulders as he breathes heavily and seems to look through you. 

Another vision from Voldemort. Of course, the bastard had to spoil every happy memory Harry had. 

The few minutes seem to blur together, one moment Hermione and Ron were crouching next to you, the next, you were rushing up deserted stairs with the trio as Harry frantically explained his vision. Your stomach churns at the thought of Sirius being in danger, having been captured by Voldemort of all people. You weren’t exactly close with the man, but he was Harry’s family and Regulus’ brother, so you did care to a great degree for his safety. 

“What if Voldemort meant for you to see this? What if he’s only hurting Sirius to try and get to you?” Hermione’s words come out breathless, but firm, trying to ground Harry to reason. 

“What if he is? I’m just supposed to let him die? Hermione, he’s all the family I’ve got left.” You find yourself agreeing with Harry’s words, but you also know you could very well be marching to your death because of this vision. 

The conversation leads to the formulation of a shifty plan, something you were already used to dealing with, having been friends with the three for so long now. As you all break into Umbridge’s office to access the floo network, your heart nearly stutters to a stop as Umbridge’s sharp voice interrupts your mission and punctuates just how screwed you all were. 

Damn, you forgot to check to see if the room was warded. 

You gave little care to her prattling as she pushed Harry into a chair, members of the Inquisitorial Squad holding you and your friends by your collars like wet dogs. Though, your attention snaps to Umbridge once she slaps Harry, berating him for his dishonesty. Merlin, even Draco shifted away in shock. 

God, where was Rita Skeeter when you actually needed her?

Your mental cries for help only increased in severity once Professor Snape came barreling through the doors, sneering down on Umbridge as she requested the use of Veritaserum on Harry. 

Merlin, she’s lost the plot. 

It seemed that the trio’s influence rubbed off on not only you, but a couple of your other (usually reasonable) friends as well. It was merely half an hour after Umbridge tossed you out of her office when the four of you, Luna, Neville, and Ginny were convening on the bridge, conceiving another, probably awful, plan. 

If Voldemort and his death eaters didn’t get you first, the Ministry surely would toss you to the dementors for trespassing in the Department of Mysteries. Reaching in your pocket to toy with Regulus’ frame, you nervously try to run through a back up plan in case everything spiraled into disaster (which it most likely would). 

Harry’s scouts in action, once again. Though, you’d do it all over again for him, he didn’t deserve to shoulder the burden alone. 

But if you died, you’d never get to say goodbye to Regulus, and no one would know about his portrait. 

He’d be alone again. 

That left you all but one choice. You couldn’t die, even if that meant having to kick Voldemort where the sun doesn’t shine in order to escape. 

“Luna, I love you, but if I fall off and die, I’m going to be quite miffed.” Your words come out playful, but you were being completely serious as you try to suppress a wave of nausea once she suggests flying on thestrals in order to get to the Ministry.  

Couldn’t you all have a normal day for once in your life? 

Forget a career. You’d just write an autobiography about your adventures after you graduate. You could be the next Gilderoy Lockhart–except without all the lying and felonies.  

Surprisingly, you didn’t slip off or faint on the journey to the Ministry, even when you got lightheaded as your thestral suddenly dove down once you were nearing your destination. 

That’s a win in your books. 

You find yourself fiddling with your wand as you all clambered into one of the Ministry elevators, adrenaline suddenly weaning away as unease enveloped your body. Tilting your head to look up at the elevator ceiling, you have little time to panic as you feel a hand land on your shoulder. 

Turning your head to the side, you raise an eyebrow at Luna’s soft smile, “Don’t worry, he is always watching over you.”

Mouth falling open at the girl’s ominous words, you can only squeak out a small response, “Him? As in God?”

She shakes her head in amusement, leaning over to quietly whisper in your ear, “The one who is always with you, in your pocket. The nargles told me. They say he’s a strange one, special magic. I can see it too, all around your ring.” 

Shifting your shoulder to study her in shock, your hand instinctively slaps against your jacket pocket, the frame pressing against your palm. 

As the elevator dings, Luna loops her arm in yours, “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.”

Releasing a breath of exhaustion, you simply pat her hand and whisper a small, “Thanks.” You’d question her uncanny abilities at another hour, for now you just hoped you’d all survive to see the next sunset. 

As your group warily files into the hallway, you take a moment to appreciate the interior design, intrigued by the design choice to have floor-to-ceiling black tiles.  

Understandment dawned on you though, once your group entered through the hallway door, entering a vast room of high shelves, spanning hundreds of feet high, so far that it seemed to disappear into the darkness. As you peer over Neville’s shoulder, you realize that the shelves seemed to go on for hundreds of rows. 

It seemed that the Department of Mysteries was going for a grand theme of monotony. Fascinating stuff. 

Casting a small lumos, you trek next to Luna as your group walks further down the aisle, Harry soon breaking away to rush and see if Sirius was anywhere around (being tortured and whatnot). Luckily, Sirius was nowhere to be found. Unluckily, you had an eerie suspicion you were now all trapped like rats in a metal cage. 

Harry reaches to pick up a small orb of fog, a familiar voice beginning to croak a prophecy as he holds the sphere tightly. That voice. You knew that voice, and apparently so did Hermione as you see her cringe from the corner of your eye. 

Bloody hell, Professor Trelawney was responsible for Harry’s prophecy? You had no idea the woman was an actual seer, after all, Luna gave her a run for her money. 

“Harry.” Hermione’s voice is quiet but taut with panic, a sound concerning enough to have your group following her gaze towards the darkness. Slowly, a masked figure breaks through the wall of black.

A death eater. 

“Fuck. It’s a trap.” Your words come out breathless and you spin on your heel to check your surroundings. Not being able to identify any other threat, you turn back towards the approaching death eater just in time for them to pull out their wand and disperse their mask. 

Fuck, even worse. Not just any death eater, it was Lucius Malfoy of all people. Of course, Voldemort just had to send in the most insufferable, bigoted–wait. Was that?--

“Bellatrix Lestrange.” Neville’s words come out with more bite than you’ve ever heard from the boy, and for a moment you want to break from the tense moment to give him a proud smile. 

Not the time. 

As Lucius continues to try and coax Harry, your nerves prickle as you realize that you were gradually being surrounded. Shifting closer to Ginny and Luna, you draw your wand as you steel your nerves. 

“Now!” Harry’s command has all of you firing off your best stupefy as you begin to sprint through the endless rows, inevitably splitting up as death eaters begin to apparate around you. Realizing that you somehow managed to end up alone, you prepare yourself just as a black swirl appears in front of you. 

Ducking as a spell flies over your head, you whip your wand towards the cloaked figure, hissing a confringo that fires off more fiercely than you intended. Seemingly startled at your reflexes, the figure narrowly misses being reduced to meat scraps by apparating away, allowing you to blindly sprint forward. 

Merlin’s balls, you just casted a pretty impressive curse. 

Letting out a noise of surprise, you nearly crash into your friends as you all reunite in a circle. As a black wisp quickly flies towards you, Ginny steps forwards and casts a firm reducto, reducing the black wisp into a bright light. That didn’t kill anyone, did it? No matter. 

“Ginny, you are truly amazing.” Your words come out unevenly as you try to catch your breath, catching the small smile the redhead sends your way. Your amusement is cut short, though, as the impact of her spell has orbs falling from the shelves and raining down towards your group in heavy clusters. 

Trespassing? Check. Breaking and entering? Check. Destruction of private property? Check. Potential manslaughter? Check. Today was just a fun little getaway to see how much you could extend your criminal record.

Soon, you’re all blindly running towards a door that has you falling towards the ground at an alarming speed. Just before you’re reduced to a human pancake, you all are jolted to a stop just inches away from the ground. 

As you’re softly dropped onto the floor, you let out an ungraceful grunt as you clamber onto your legs, trying to make sense of the day’s events. You probably aged ten years from stress, so surely Harry would die young from heart problems at this rate. 

Looking around the room, you realize it was completely empty save for the giant stone structure erected in the middle. The translucent swirling that filled the door-shaped gap of the structure made you realize just exactly what it was. 

“The veil.” Your whisper comes out as a mixture of awe and excitement. 

“Indeed.”  

You barely have time to register the scratchy voice behind you before you’re being manhandled by an iron grip, holding you in place. Your friends have no time to notice your predicament before they’re being swarmed by streaks of black. 

Damn. A part of you had hoped that the death eater lieutenants had succumbed to the downpour of crystal balls earlier. 

In record time, the intruding death eaters have you all successfully apprehended, victorious sneers painting their faces. 

Sure. How impressive of them to successfully take down a group of students. 

Their victory doesn’t last very long as before they could do any real damage, light fills the room as Aurors apparate in, allowing you to sag in relief. The man holding you draws in a breath of panic before he’s tossing you to the side and firing off a killing curse at Moody. 

Awfully nice of him to spare your life, yet vaguely offensive that he didn’t perceive you to be a threat. 

Not wanting to interfere with the Aurors' concentration, you hurriedly shuffle away from the fighting and towards your friends. Sweeping your eyes over the chaos, you manage to see Sirius guiding Harry away from blasts and hexes, guarding him from flying rubble. No doubt, the man was still cracking jokes at such a time. 

The next time you look over at the pair, you almost tumble down in shock as you see a curse hit Sirius square in the chest. His body goes rigid before immediately falling limp, slowly sagging backwards. 

Your heart seemed to disappear in that moment, dread pouring over you like a bucket of freezing cold water. 

Harry’s scream is unlike anything you’ve ever heard from him, but it's enough to kickstart your brain. 

Acting on instinct, you pull out your wand and cast a swift trahens actio, snagging his body towards you midfall, pulling him from falling back into the jaws of the veil. There was still a chance.

The next few moments are a blur and you’re barely focused enough to stay upright. You’re vaguely aware of Harry sprinting after a cackling Bellatrix, and you lean back against the wall, finding purchase on its stability. Sirius’ motionless body lies a couple of feet ahead of you, and you want to sigh in relief as you see Remus sprinting towards him, dropping to his knees and immediately checking for a pulse. 

Murmuring incoherently to yourself, you blindly fish around in your pocket for Regulus’ portrait, needing to ground yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming. 

As you blurrily peer down at the small item, you’re sure you must be dreaming as you lock eyes with the boy you’ve desperately been looking for, his own eyes swimming with concern and uncertainty. 

“Reggie?” 

And the world seems to stutter to a stop.

tag list: @krazyk99 @venomsvl @valsarchives @bunny24sstuff @novella12nite @elia-the-bibliophile @txoru @surelysherly @xlifexdeathx @trikigirl271 @urgurlfave @the-marauders-world @sleepydang @blueberry-thrawn @lestat-whore @chanaaaannel

SCRUMPTIOUS I TELL YOU!! I always come back to this one cause gods 😫

Arcane requests you say 👀 hmm...how about a Viktor x Reader with reader as an empress/queen visiting Piltover to learn about Hextech and falls for a certain scientist?

sowwy this is a month late but i rewrote it like three times!!

“You love this, hmm?” Viktor rasps, his teeth grazing over your jaw, “Royalty being taken apart by some lowlife from the Undercity?”

His teeth bite down right below your jaw, hard enough that you know it will bruise. Your brow creases in frustration. 

“I find that talk deeply unattractive, Viktor,” you tell him, your posh accent never wavering, “You’re a son of Zaun, and you’re going to save my people after your own.”

Thats how it began, truly, as something much more noble and innocent. You had shown up to the council room draped in silver a newly crowned young queen from a far off land, shimmering as your quiet voice asked for representatives of Zaun. As it turns out, your father had let innovation move too quickly, and factory smoke now choked yourself and your people. Your downfall is your own, unlike the downfall Piltover had thrust upon Zaun. No one had spoken up at first, and some councillors had even averted their gaze. But all it took was one look, and Jayce had quickly volunteered his partner, whether he wanted to be brought forth or not. 

An hour later, he found himself in the lab, you folded up sitting on top of one of the tables with your legs under you and your dress bunched up on your knees as you picked his brain about how Hextech could be used in air purification, and the topic of Zaun and your kingdom’s survival would be intertwined as you’d throw any supplies or funds needed their way without a thought. You promised them the world, a flirty smile thrown Viktor’s way as you did so. 

Another hour later, he finds himself here. Snug between your thighs with the material of your dress now wrinkled against his waist, his hands in your hair and a ridiculous amount of silver jewelry discarded in a pile beside you on the table as his cane rests precariously on the back of his chair. 

“Ah yes, you wish to see things as you want to, not as they are,” he teases, “Of course, your Majesty.”

This only further infuriates you, as you dig your heel into his ass to pull him even closer to you, grinding down onto him as your lips reclaim his own. You bite, two can play at that game, and drag your hands across the back of his vest. 

“I see you as you are,” you say, exasperation and annoyance not hidden in your tone, but anything you were about to say gets cut off, a moan interrupting your thoughts. Viktor seizes the opportunity to thrust his tongue into your mouth, silencing anything besides the pretty moans that he licks from you. 

He cannot pinpoint what started this: your lingering looks as your honeyed words dripped silver onto him, or the hunger that sparked in his fingers with the way you spoke of Zaun in reverence and hope. Maybe it was him, actually, with the way you had practically pounced on him the moment there was quiet in your otherwise very spirited conversation. 

But he can’t think about that right now, not when you’re licking his pulse point and your deft fingers are working at the buttons of his shirt.

Until Jayce opens the door, and you pick yourself up off of his lap and back into your own chair. If his partner was surprised by this turn of events, he doesn’t show it.

Viktor doesn’t miss the mischief in your eyes when your eyes meet his again. 

Days pass in the lab, but the fire between the two of you never subsides. It’s everything, the way he runs his fingers through his hair, the way he gets so engrossed in a logistical issue, the way he and Jayce work so fluidly with one another. Everything about the Zaunite drives you wild. 

It makes you almost preen with pride, the way the two of them look at you every time you up their budget or tell them to try it. You know Piltover’s council has a budget for them, but with no limits? They are working harder and working faster than they have in years, as they’ve told you. It’s easily intoxicating, the enthusiasm and pure joy between the two of them, the way they share it with you, the way it wafts through the room. Mel Medarda floats in and out, and she too is drawn in by the excitement. Your reserved penthouse is neglected, as you spend most of your time here, your royal guards and servants given time off with a budget to explore the city as you become more and more enraptured into their work. 

“And different alloys, they affect how the hexgems output energy, yes?” you ask, and the men respond in turn, “I’ll figure out how cheap I can make a workable alloy so that Zaunites and my people alike can all afford it.”

You say it so easily, because it is easy for you. You’re glad your brother stepped aside. Raised as the Infanta, you expected your only aptitude to be valued in a marriage bed. Your crown prince brother a gambler and cruel hearted, but not stupid, realized quickly the crown was not for him. His crown for a lifetime salary was an easy choice. You had always excelled in lessons, had always been the messenger and wine pourer during your father’s meetings with his council. You had been raised a sharp politician despite the fact that it was never meant for you. To think, had he been selfish in another way, you would have never seen this. 

Now you’re excited, a real opportunity to change things within your grasp. Your partnership with Hextech is clearly advantageous for your kingdom, however thats not the part of it that excites you the most. 

Viktor’s hand falls upon your thigh, his calloused palm against the lace of your dress. The movement is absentminded, as if he’d done it a million times, as if the movement is natural. Oh! Your cheeks heat up in a way that feels immature, only worsened by the way that he only smirks and goes back to the conversation with Jayce, as if his action is commonplace. All thoughts are silenced besides this feeling. 

The more you get to know the men of progress, the more you struggle to understand why they are so underutilized. Piltover and Zaun could be at peace in literal hours with their ideas. But you know politics, and you know no one spoke for them before Jayce. He doesn’t belong on the council, you think, not because he isn’t worth the merit but because he is wasted there when he can do this here. Viktor is a mad genius, wild but subdued, fanatic but contained, chaos wrapped in a soft tone. 

The days run long, and you bring Viktor back to your penthouse with the promise of sleep.

Sleep does not come, at least not before you do. 

“I’m only a twelve hour ride away in an airship,” you tell him, his lips dragging across your bare back. He kisses along every inch of skin he can reach, the moonlight the only source to illuminate his path. 

“And when do I go on this royal journey?” he teases, his hand firm as he drags it up your hip to settle at your waist. 

“Whenever it suits you,” you whisper, now closer as you claim a kiss from him.

“When it suits me,” he repeats, his tone hard to decipher. 

“Viktor,” you start, sitting up. Viktor shifts instantly with you, hanging off of your shoulder now as his arms circle your waist and pull you in.

“I am not making you,” you mumble, confidence fading away with each passing second that Viktor doesn’t speak. His head falls to rest against yours, lets out a deep sigh you feel more than hear. 

“I want to come visit you, often if possible,” he admits, his lips close to your ear. Warmth blooms in your chest as you turn in his grasp, your noses bumping together as you meet his gaze.

“You do?”

“Come into my lap,” he tells you, and you crawl over his frame to straddle his thin thighs. The sheets pool around your hips, exposing you to the moonlight. It feels a lot like the first night, all unsure and needing hands, all limbs feeling numb and weird and wanting. 

Viktor’s lips find yours, warm and pressing and harsh and clumsy. He kisses into your mouth with fervor and ferocity. His teeth graze and bump your lips, bruising and biting and sure to leave scarring and you return it in kind. It is less a dance of mouths, more an awkward sparring, but it fills you with heat just the same. His hands move down your body, pulling and grasping and squeezing at your hips, your thighs, your ass. 

“Be careful,” you whisper, pressing your chest to his, “I may just try and keep you.”

Viktor chuckles, and lays back against the mattress. You follow him enthusiastically.

Hi it’s me again 😅 can’t get enough, so I thought of Ayato and prompt 12 with fem reader!! Them being childhood sweethearts. Again congrats on 4000 followers, you deserve it :)

# tags: scenario; friendship; fluffy shit; flashbacks; childhood sweethearts; human!reader; sfw

includes: female reader ft. ayato kirishima {tokyo ghoul}

author’s note: hello once again! i hope it's the ayato from tokyo ghoul (not from genshin impact or diabolik lovers), based on your previous request :) thank you for this prompt!

12. “But we are not married.” “Then marry me.”

You and Ayato have known each other for over eighteen years. Now you are twenty-four and twenty-five, have enough knowledge about life and also many situations behind you.

Your friendship is a sequence of pleasant memories, it’s dozens of trips together outside of Tokyo, weeks without contact and months of living in silence, your long-hour quarrels, your live together for three years in small flat, your ‘on college’ chapter, his being a ghoul and all the bad things he’s done, your own first love and his broken heart after several relationships with women... It’s all your moments with a glass of wine or something stronger, it’s just watching horror movies together until dawn, running away from important meetings, also your first serious work and all the other things that have kept the two of you apart for almost twenty years, but also made your relatio stronger than ever before.

You understood each other without words, you understood each other through gestures, facial expressions and the way of breathing. You knew each other perfectly, you knew about all your failures and about every, even the smallest, situation that made you smile or happy. There was no taboo between you, no shyness.

And although Ayato in your eyes has become a really handsome and calm guy, still looking at him to this day you are able to remember his much younger – seven-year-old – version, who stole your favorite bucket from the sandbox and argued with you that he just found it and had to take care of it... At first your friendship was turbulent and full of contradictions; the boy took your toys, scared you and ran away from you, while you called him ‘nasty black cat’ and ‘big dummy’. His father and your mother looked at you with light amusement on their faces, wondering when you will finally come to an understanding.

To this day, you remember how – after almost a year of friendship and playing together in the sandbox – Ayato approached you with a paper bag filled with cookies in your favorite flavor. It was a kind gesture that put the most beautiful smile on your baby face at that time. The boy thought it was really cute. It’s cute to see you happy and looking at him as someone you really like.

“...You should give me a kiss as a ‘Thank you’. I made them with my sister.” He said then an you only giggled under your breath. The present Ayato looked at you with furrowed brows and you just shook your head. You were at the coffee shop.

“But we are not married.” You said seventeen years ago and he just stamped his foot.

“Then marry me.” His declaration was sincere and loud at the time, causing your mummy to giggle and his dad to laugh out loud; he almost dropped the newspaper from his hands.

The memory only made you smile more and more, the tip of your nose turning slightly red.

“What’s going on, Y/N?” The dark-haired man put down the mug with the steaming drink, and you sighed amused.

“I just remembered something...” You began mysteriously, causing another surprised look to be sent in your direction. “It’s a really nice memory.” You looked down at the surface of dark coffee and could have sworn that for a brief moment your reflection looked like a six-year-old version of yourself.

Chapter 2: Regent

previous chapter  masterlist next chapter

The sound of skin to skin contact echoed throughout the meeting room. Pale skin becomes red as blood flows to the surface of it. A mild stinging pain could be felt, the feeling of embarrassment flooded his senses, but he kept a cool front. His poker face never faltered no matter how humiliated he was.

A sense of lingering anger and authority dropped from the hand that slapped the boy. His face filled with worry as his voice spoke out,

"A squad leader can't put his squad members' lives at risk." His voice was serious.

He was dead serious, and it showed not just through his expressions, but through his violent actions. He'd never once laid a hand on them no matter the circumstance, but he felt the need to express it this time to show that he was the one in charge for once and wouldn't be put down.

"It's dangerous to show our back to the enemy. I took the possibility of Orochi pursuing and attacking us from the rear into consideration." He defended himself.

He stared at Haise the whole time and asked him, "does that warrant a slap in the face?"

"You think you're so smart. Why else do you think I called for Haise? You would've died had it not been for me telling him as soon as we left to pursue Torso." Reina yelled at the foolish boy.

His ego got too big that he almost killed himself and the rest of his team all because of his selfish desires. Haise stood still as everything unveiled itself.

"Ghoul investigators must run even if their arms and legs are torn off!!" He raised his voice, veins popped out the side of his neck. His face contorted into one of worry.

"We'll have our chance as long as we're alive. What can we do if we're dead?!"

Sighing, Reina got in between both boys and put a hand on each of their shoulders. She pushed Urie away a bit and turned to face him.

"Urie I'm relieving you from duty as Squad Leader of the Quinx Squad." She stated.

Again Urie started arguing, he made sure his voice was heard when he said, "I find this unacceptable," but both of them didn't budge, instead Haise put his foot down and in an authoritative voice jibed, "it's an order."

Gritting his teeth Urie breathed heavily leaving a heavy suspenseful silence in his wake until he sneered at both of them, "but you're both ghouls..."

His eyes widened meanwhile the rest of the squad squeaked in surprise at his bold claim. How could he disrespect their mentors?! Shirazu wasted no time in beating some sense into the boy.

"You're a piece of shit!!" He yelled as he kicked the purple haired boy.

He continued to lecture the boy about how responsible and considerate their mentors were. How they both risked their lives for theirs. He tussled him around like a rag doll, Urie having no reaction to the treatment he was getting at the moment. Instead he looked behind him where Mutsuki was standing.

There the shy boy stood watching Shirazu manhandle Urie. Noticing that he was looking back he decided to speak up.

"Urie.. I.. I'd like you to apologize to Instructors Sasaki and Nakou."

"Shirazu let him go." Reina raised her hand in a stop motion.

Following her order he did so slowly. Looking back at his mentors he noticed that Haise was about to speak up.

"No matter what he says, my decision is final. Besides, I'm appointing Rank 3: Investigator Shirazu as Squad Leader." He pointed at the blonde.

Shirazu screeched and tried to protest. He had no idea what Sasaki was thinking, but this wasn't right. Him? Squad leader?! Those two things should never be in the same sentence. Haise reassured him that he'd teach him what it means to be a leader.

Turning to face the boy that was walking away he playfully hit him a small smile gracing his lips that didn't quite reach his ears.

"Urie. You keep disobeying me and I'll eat you! I'm a ghoul, remember?" He chuckled softly.

Having nothing else to say, the denoted boy just walked out the room. Noting Haise's weird behavior she walked behind him and patted his shoulder making him look down at her figure. She smiled weakly at him and left to follow after Urie.

She looked around everywhere and found him sitting on the couch by himself in the living room. Deciding to sneak up on him she quietly approached him and hugged him tightly against her chest. Startled at first he tried to pull her arms off of him until he heard the familiar sound of her voice reach his ears.

"Got ya." She tilted his head so he could look up at her.

Huffing he let her have her way with him. She let go and climbed over the couch to sit on the glass coffee table. Her small figure leaning back, strands of lilac hair letting loose from her messy bun.

"I'm going to make it quick since we have to wake up early tomorrow." She put it simply as she crossed her legs.

He looked her dead in the eye and motioned for her to get on with what she initially came here for.

"You need to learn to respect others, you know. If you keep up this rude attitude it won't make others like you. Now since I started living with you I've learned a few things." She started.

"You don't like sweets, so I don't know why you have that with you. Two you don't care for relationships, whether it's romantic or platonic it doesn't matter. You push those who care for you away all because of your personal goals." She sat upright and stood up walking behind the couch.

"Let me tell you from personal experience... you'd rather have friends or people you can call acquaintances than enemies. Why? Because you don't know when the last time you'll need them by your side is. If you have no one to be there for you, you'll feel lost." She leaned over it and whispered in his ear,

"I know you don't care about these mundane matters, but it'll come and bite you back in the ass. Especially if you mess with the wrong people." She breathed out and turned around to leave.

"And who would those people be?" His voice echoed throughout the vacant room.

The girl stood glued in her place.

"Since I started living with you I've learned a few things." He mocked.

She turned around and smirked.

"Yeah? Like what?" She taunted.

"You've been acting up since you moved in. Not a single time have you actually acted yourself. This little vulgar act you're putting up isn't fooling anyone. Who are you? Is the real question, Reina Nakou." His voice dripped of venom.

She smiled at his words and walked up to pat his cheek.

"I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, darling."

wc: 1.1k previous chapter  masterlist next chapter

a/n: short chapter cause of writers block but also because I wanted to stop meshing chapters together for a bit. Next chapter will be a bit longer but shorter than the previous ones.

ps. school is gonna kick me in the ass soon so… spontaneous updates will ensue

Tag list:

donate an esim for a coloured sketch!

hey guys!! im one of the artists for this round

click here for the full thread of the tutorials and how to request for a coloured sketch. help us spread the word! 🇵🇸🍉

Please do read! Cherry’s work is always amazing. The plot and story telling is just so magical it ends up sucking you into the story itself. Also please read their other work too! :)

The Avarice Files (Preview) | Regulus Black

Synopsis: Former Auror extraordinaire, Y/N, is the newly appointed assistant to Head Unspeakable Gawdry of the Time Division. Though, the prestige comes with a burdening task assigned by your straight-laced boss: the retrieval of three ancient files lost through time. Boundless uncertainty ensues as you’re tasked to complete your mission with no one other than acclaimed hero of the Great Wizarding War and someone who everyone thought long dead: Regulus Black.

First Chapter Coming Soon ... Comment to join the TAGLIST

Daily Prophet: Defected Death Eater Dies!

— September 8, 1979

Second son of Walburga and Orion Black and Heir to the Noble House of Black, Regulus Black, has unexpectedly died. Just two weeks since the fall of You-Know-Who, reports from Albus Dumbledore himself confirm the young Black’s prior involvement with aiding the Light side against Death Eater forces. The Hogwarts headmaster conveyed that the young Black’s help was integral to the armistice and defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named . . .

Idk why I haven’t seen this with Jayce but 😭😭 I need want a fic of him inspired by El Chico Del Apartamento 512 by Selena Quintanilla.

One: The song absolutely suits him, my god like he literally is el chico del apartamento 512… 😭

Two: I was thinking of having Caitlyn be his sister (cause let’s face it they’re so siblings coded, not even friends, siblings (coming from someone who actually has siblings, Viktor and Jayce are NAWT sibling coded at all… but that’s another discussion)

Three: The thought just came up because I was cleaning out my wattpad reads out and that one Sero fic (I read when I was younger) popped up I just chucked it in the bin (tween/teen me would be rioting if they saw what I did 😭) I then saw “The Man in Apartment 381” by lemonlover1110… and I was like if Toji has one, best believe I want to see a Jayce one ❤️‍🩹

Just me sharing my thoughts 😼 (I might actually make this but I can’t promise shit. Sorry y’all 🧍😞💔)

Also if anyone has seen anything like this please do link, my ass is thirsty for next door neighbor typa crushes 💔

Second Son (Epilogue) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: The new era. The end of one chapter, and the beginning of another.

Part XIX / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: Thank you all so much.

You peer out of the fenestrated walls, eyes glazing over the faint swinging of wooden signs and veranda covers. The ambience around you swirls like a sheer veil as you lean back into your seat, sighing out blissfully as your cooling charm beats with fervor, shielding you from the blistering heat of the summer day. 

Dragging your eyes away from the bright view, you run your finger along the thick cardstock in front of you. The blocky letters begin to fade into the background of snowy mountain caps and faded waterfalls as you continue to trace your eyes over it. 

‘Greetings from OREGON’ 

You flip the postcard over and swipe a finger across the swirly letters. 

‘Hope you’re well, kid. - A. Fiske’ 

A sudden thudding noise echoes across from you, and you slowly shift to sit straight as your eyes drag themselves away from the letters. You tilt your head with a coy smile as your companion leans back to get comfortable, evidently miffed by the unrelenting heat waves. 

“Good to see you, B.” You smile saccharinely, fingers dancing along the chilled cup in front of you. 

Blaise rolls his eyes and places his own drink down on the table—iced americano, simple, bitter, and everything that Blaise wasn’t. You would never understand his fascination with the drink. He huffs before smiling sarcastically at you, “Yes, how long has it been? Two days?” 

“Don’t whine, it’s unbecoming.” You mutter playfully, twirling your straw around the rim of your cup. 

“Merlin, you’re even starting to sound like her. Really, no wonder mother finds you so endearing.” He tuts as he throws his elbow back to rest on the back of his chair. 

You chuckle and shake your head, “Okay, let’s digress then.” You lean forward and cross your legs, “How is Draco doing? Theo is irritatingly uninformed on the topic.” 

“He’s alright, thanks to you and Potter anyway. His father might not be facing a long sentence, but many of the elected Wizengamot heads are shifty even with your statements. Lucius Malfoy has been a slippery eel for a few years too long.” He hums, face unflinching as he sips on his potent drink, “How the mighty have fallen so.”

Nodding, your voice drops lower as you survey the rest of the cafe, “Azkaban will still do a number on him even with a lighter sentence. Narcissa is worried.” 

“As she should be,” he replies curtly, “and speaking of Azkaban, how is Lord Black nowadays? He’s become quite the hermit. Is he faring well?” 

You sigh and rub your chin, “Yeah, he’s just been busy with remodeling. He’s still quite miffed that Reggie and I decided to move out.” 

“At least he has Potter with him.” Blaise supplies, eyes darkening in rumination at the mention of Regulus. He levels you with inquisitive eyes, “Before I forget, what should I send over?”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you hum, “How do you mean?” 

“Your house warming gift, daft one.” He rolls his eyes lightly. 

“Just bring your lovely self.” You huff out. 

Blaise crosses an ankle over his knee, “A vase then.” 

“If it clashes with the aesthetic then I’m tossing it into the basement.” You warn jokingly, smiling widely at your friend. 

He shakes his head with a muffled chuckle, “No worries. Anyways, you still need to unpack, right? Need any help?” 

“Oh? Work not keeping you busy enough?” You rest back against your chair, head bleeding with thoughts about how taxing work has been in the past few months with the Ministry trying to dial the reconstruction process to an inconceivable pace. 

Blaise groans at the reminder, taking a long sip of his drink, “Merlin, they should rename the whole Department! Department of International Magical Cooperation? What a joke, all they do is sit in an oval and squabble.” 

You throw your head back to laugh, a feathery light bubble of relief expanding in your chest. It was mind-boggling to think that not even a year ago you were all fighting for your lives, and now the same backdrop of fear that followed everyone around for so many years had disintegrated. People strided through halls and streets with lifted shoulders and bright eyes, war-hardened, but jovial as their burdens gave way. 

Blaise had worked his way up the Department of International Magical Cooperation, often leaving meetings with a sharp migraine and dwindling hope in the frequency of common sense. Theodore was faring well, now a highly revered Unspeakable for the Time Branch, all made possible with his swift denouncement of his father. Draco was the more withdrawn one out of the three, but you held out hope for him, having corresponded with him over his budding fascination for Alchemy. 

You found that your new friends were on your mind often, and you were endlessly grateful to them as they took Regulus’ reintegration into society with stride, often giving you advice on how to politely tell inquisitive reporters to bugger off. Meetings with them were slowly becoming a rarity as all of you became engrossed in work, but your friendships remained resolute as you all quickly became each other’s closest confidants. 

Luna wrote to you often, and you sent her trinkets and snacks by the dozen, finding yourself constantly worried that others would mistreat the girl with the absence of your friend group. Luckily, the girl found a friend in Ginny, and you were looking forward to reuniting with her during her Summer Break. 

Harry and Ron were inducted into the Auror ranks by Shacklebolt only a few weeks after the war. You had your reservations about their decision to jump into such a high-risk job, the stench of carnage and battle throbbing like an open wound, but they insisted that they would never be able to focus enough to finish school. 

On the opposite side of that sentiment, there was Hermione. She had quickly delved back into Hogwarts’ curriculum amidst its reconstruction, and was now looking to you with hopeful words about beginning her own sabbatical. 

You had published your research under both yours and Regulus’ name, omitting information about Regulus’ discovery of sentient portraits as a precaution for the future. 

You both respected Anders’ wish to leave his name off the cover and the research, but he failed to warn you against leaving his name anywhere else, so simply on the first page of your book, you dedicated the findings to him and Asger with a simple ‘For A. & A. Fiske.’ 

The research was groundbreaking, to say the least. You wouldn’t be able to forget the swaths of letters and documents from the Ministry, and one very heated missive to you from Blaise about how he was even more swamped with work, many foreign countries reaching out to inquire about the findings. 

It all paid off though, the royalties you and Regulus got would sustain you both for the rest of your humble lives, and the boost on your portfolio made getting a job in the Department of Mysteries a cakewalk. 

Once the sun rolled across the cloudless sky, the singing blues morphing to hues of pinks and purples, you bid your friend goodbye, wishing him luck with work and promising to gather with the rest of your friends the following week. 

You were certain that apparition was the most useful skill you had in your toolbelt, and you couldn’t fathom how you managed to survive the majority of your life without such a feat. As your shoes pad against the pavement, the bristling of leaves skidding around you, you let out a content sigh as you approach your destination. 

It was the closest thing you had to home for so long, and it still felt like safety and comfort despite the sudden heaviness of your own house keys in your pocket. As you pop the door open, head peeking around the heavy wood, your face lights up as a figure comes into view. 

“You’re home!” You exclaim excitedly, stepping inside with a wide grin. 

Harry approaches you and gives you a fleeting hug, hand raising to adjust his glasses as he pulls back, “Yeah, Tonks let me off early. How was your meeting with Blaise?”

“Good,” you draw out suspiciously, eyes narrowing as you both pace through the dim walkway, “how’d you know about that?”

“Regulus.” He answers simply, eyebrows raising in tease as you huff. 

You both cross into the threshold of the kitchen, stopping in your tracks as you see countless manuals splayed across the wide berth of the table. Regulus and Sirius are both hunched over in their seats, flipping furiously through the catalogues. 

“Some light reading, Sirius?” Your voice rings out playfully, body already moving towards your squinting boyfriend. Both men shoot up from their positions and blink owlishly at you and Harry, the sea of papers long forgotten. 

“Furniture shopping, pup!” Sirius replies with a tired grin as he stretches his arms over his head. 

Regulus rises from his chair and meets you halfway, arms wrapping securely around your body as he burrows his face into the crook of your neck. A few more moments pass by before he cranes back and blinks slowly at you, “Birdie.” 

You run a hand through his curls and smile lightly, “Love.” 

Regulus keeps you secure to him as he moves to drop back down into his seat, leaning his head against your stomach as you remain standing. Your eyes drop down to look at the varying bleak images on the shining white pages. 

Raising your eyebrows, your eyes drift around an image of a steep bookshelf with two glass doors, “Is this for us or Sirius?” 

Sirius leans back in his seat and rubs the bridge of his nose, “Your place. Reggie helped me pick out a few pieces earlier.” 

Your eyes wander around the aged cabinets and drabby wallpaper, trying to envision the space in a remodeled visual, one that would be Sirius-esque rather than screaming of cobwebs and medieval torture. You smile minutely before reaching a hand out across the table, bringing your other hand to card through Regulus’ hair as you mutter quietly to the tired man across from you, “I’m happy for you, Sirius.” 

The man reciprocates your smile and clasps his hand in yours, “Thank you, pup. I’m happy for you too,” he huffs and glances at Regulus, who remained immobile against your stomach, “the both of you.” 

The tender moment continues for a few more beats before Harry slowly leans on the seat next to Sirius’, eyes scrutinizing a forgotten pile of booklets off to the older man’s left, “Sirius, where are we going to put a lion table?” 

You snort out a muffled laugh as the man swivels over to his godson with beaming eyes, knowing that Harry would be whining to you later about Sirius’ ineptitude at interior decorating. 

“You should start cleaning up, Remus will be here soon for dinner.” You murmur with a pointed look at the trio. 

As the final outlines of the sun slinks away in the horizon, you and Regulus bid farewell to the occupants of Grimmauld Place, intent on spending the rest of the night in your home. It was fortunate that Regulus had managed to set up the floo network to your home only a matter of days before, and the journey back left little room for complaints as the green flames dragged away from your vision. 

You step out into the darkness of your study room, ears perking imperceptibly when the network flares again as Regulus joins you. The twilight sky filters into your home, dimly illuminating the barren room. 

“We’re home.” You mutter with a content smile. 

Regulus slowly pads towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he sways you both. Your eyes are drawn to the French casement windows behind the desk, getting lost in the sight of the dancing flower field. 

“Shall we head to the cliff, birdie?” Regulus muses, eyes following your gaze as he drifts into rumination. 

You nod and reluctantly step forward, pivoting on your heel and dropping a hand onto Regulus’ arm, “I’ll meet you at the front? I need to drop off a few things in the bedroom.” 

“Of course, baby.” He leans over to capture your lips in a soft kiss, hands dropping to your hips as he lightly grips onto you. 

Humming against his lips, you slowly pull back and rub a thumb across his cheek, “I’ll be quick, promise.” 

He pecks your lips again and gives you one last squeeze before he slowly backs away, shooting you a warm smile as he makes his way to the entryway. You retreat from the study room soon after, making a sharp right turn as you pace towards your shared bedroom. 

Regulus had been the one to bring up the idea of getting a beach house, assuring you that he was unsettled by still water and not turbulent waves. It was a quaint building, one that sprouted into the center of a lustrous flower garden, and you both knew it was the one when you toured it. Just a short walk away from the blooming fields, a precipitous cliffside broke away and loomed over a thick landing of sand, giving a small brief from the swaying waves 

As you enter the lusterless room, you shed away your bag and walk towards your bedside table, propping the Oregon postcard against your lamp. Atop the same white bedside table sat Regulus’ old golden frame, now whole and without trace of ever having been shattered. Under the frame, the folded piece of paper that Regulus had given you the night after you bought the property peeked out. 

You grasp both items in your hands, and smile lightly as an idea formulates in your head. 

“Kreacher!” You call lightly. 

The house-elf pops into the bedroom with a curious frown, teetering towards you as you extend the items out. You fish out your wand as Kreacher grabs the frame, muttering a faint engorgio at the rectangular object. The frame wobbles in the elf’s grasp before slowly stretching to nearly thrice its original size. 

“Could you possibly frame this note for me? Maybe above the headboard?” You request with a small smile. 

“Kreacher will do that.” The house elf nods and begins to fiddle with the frame. 

Your eyes run across the note one more time before you hand the slip to the elf, making your way out to Regulus with a fleeting farewell. The boy has a jacket slung over his arm as he waits for you by the door, carding his hair back as a flicker of joy flashes through his eyes when you appear in his line of sight. 

“All ready?” He murmurs once you reach him. 

“More than ready.” You reply with a hum, leaning to peck his cheek. 

The trek towards the cliffside passes by in the blink of an eye, and you’re left with butterflies in your stomach as Regulus picks several tulips for you along the way. By the time you’re close enough to the ocean to hear the crashing of waves, you are left to huddle close to Regulus for warmth. 

The sky begins to darken above you, but you give no protest when Regulus drags you to sit down on the ground. He peers up at the sky above him, eyes tracing across the faint twinkles of the approaching stars. 

You bring a hand to trace his chest as you do the same, cradling the flowers to your side as you begin to sift through the reel of memories in your head. 

“I love you, birdie.” Regulus whispers into the air, his arm moving to rest on your waist. 

You smile widely and press your face into the crook of his neck, “I love you.” 

And as you both laid under the stitches of glowing stars, sharing tiny whispers and shielding each other from the brutal winds, back in your home, Kreacher makes the last adjustments to the new wall decor. 

Kreacher mutely assesses the space as he backs out, the elf’s head full of future possibilities.

It was peaceful. After so many years, he felt at peace.

The door closes with a faint click just as the stars peek through the bedroom window, reflecting off the glowing frame. The swirls of inks encapsulated in the shining beams dance amongst the canvas of the wall. 

‘29 October, 1979

I wonder what being in love feels like. 

26 April, 1999

Love is like flying freely from the inhibitions of your burdens, where your person is your wings, your eyes, and your heart; you soar freely with the knowledge that they will carry you above the storms of doubt. I no longer wonder because now I know.’ 

Fin.

tag list: @krazyk99 @venomsvl @valsarchives @bunny24sstuff @novella12nite @elia-the-bibliophile @txorua @xlifexdeathx @trikigirl271 @the-marauders-world @sleepydang @blueberry-thrawn @lestat-whore @chanaaaannel @clockworkherondale @peachyaeger @thegayhoenextdoor @l--absinthe @ok-boke @summer-noir @mikeikax @musically-ambiguous @dittos-blog-dylanobrien @friendly-neighborhood-boricua @randomfaeriechild @misacc08 @that-bitch-bri @littleshadow17 @chocochannie @bl4stonesc @shari-berri @mrs-billyrussooo @pandemicboredom @gojosbucket @brain-has-left @googie-jeon @lovely-maryj @lokifriggason1 @aloramalfoy @godmitski @justanotherkpopstanlol @hpboysslut2707 @coffeehurricanes

Second Son (XIX) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: The Battle of Hogwarts ensues.

Part XVIII / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: Only the epilogue remains, my dear readers. Thank you. Final wc: 8.6k

Time seemed to be warping and blurring together frenziedly; day and night pushed out of conscious thought, the passage of days folding together in one reel of memories in your head. The starless sky peered at you like an endless void, indicating that it had somehow already dipped into the corners of the darkest hours again. 

Your heart gives a sharp twinge as you find your eyes locked to the tall figure standing at the head of the hall, face ashened, mournful cloak adorning his imposing figure like a blanket trimmed directly from the night sky. Harry lingered ways off from you as everyone stood with tense backs and squared shoulders. 

You blink away the detachment tugging at your awareness as your ears seem to become full of cotton, keenly aware of the way your wand poked at your ribs from your robe pocket. Your former Potions Professor flickers his gaze around the swarms of students around you, and your chest almost collapses in on itself when you lock eyes with the stone-faced man. Snape’s eyes widen ever so slightly, but he masks it with a sneer as he raises his eyes to look over your dismayed face. 

Your mind immediately spins into overdrive as you grapple with your thoughts. That couldn’t have been your imagination. He saw you, so why didn’t he say anything?

A frown dances on your lips as you revisit your old sentiments about the man. You had always had your reservations about Harry’s inimical attitude towards Snape (though he had them for good reason), and you were beginning to think that you were correct in your assumptions that the man’s interests weren’t exactly black and white. 

Harry drifts through the rows of students and makes himself known, immediately pouring out all of his pent up fury towards the man. Snape’s face does a funny thing as it shifts ever so slightly from suspicion to troubled. 

The doors from behind you are tossed open, causing everyone to step back towards the walls as all heads dart to survey the intrusion. At the helm of the group, Kingsley Shacklebolt strides in with more assurance and conviction than you’ve seen in any of Dumbledore’s followers since his death. 

Stepping out from the belt of students, you unconsciously begin to reach out towards Regulus. The boy’s eyes move through the crowd furiously until they lock onto your drifting figure, his shoulders immediately slacking as he extends his hand out to you. 

A smile crawls up your face as you hurry out of the crowd and towards him, unbothered by the burning of eyes on your back as you do so. Once you grasp the boy’s hand, he brings your hand up to his mouth to give it a faint kiss, shooting you a small wink as he tugs you closer to him. 

The Order members hold their unwavering stances, faces etched with determination as they gaze at a frowning Snape. The man’s eyes are still fixed on Harry, seemingly unperturbed by the arrival of the Order and the overt breach of security. 

Harry grits his teeth as he practically snarls at the man, “Tell them how you looked him in the eye, a man who trusted you, and killed him!” Your friend’s chest heaves with every word, as if the recollection of the events was causing him physical pain. 

You edge closer to Regulus as your eyes flicker between the two individuals. It was a stand-off that had been brewing for years, finally sizzling and tipping past the boiling point as your mind takes you back to your very first year at Hogwarts, painted with Snape’s glares and Harry’s innocent confusion. No longer was your friend inflicted by such adolescent hurt, now only rage and fatigue shrouding from his body. 

It happens in a flash, you nearly miss it as you blink—Snape draws back and points his wand at Harry, eliciting choked gasps as the crowd of students split  further apart in shock. Regulus steps in front of you instinctually, and if the situation were not escalating to such a degree, you would have found it funny that he jumped in front of you despite having no weapon or wand. 

As Professor McGonagall pushes Harry aside, firmly drawing her own wand up, you push Regulus behind you as you reluctantly bring your wand up to point at the man you had made so many mental excuses for. Snape falters at the sight of the woman’s stance, but regains his composure and levels his wand to her. 

Silence falls upon the hall, tension as thick as molasses as everyone draws in their breaths in anticipation. For a moment, you think nothing is going to happen, that perhaps Snape would magically curl into regret and surrender, but then a bolt of flames soars through the air. 

McGonagall is unforgiving in her onslaught of attacks, and Snape merely backpedals from his spot as he deflects the spells. The man’s face falls impossibly further into hurt, and you’re struck with a whirlwind of confusion. 

Why do you look like you’re the one who’s suffering, professor?

The one-sided battle recommences and you’re left rooted in your spot as Snape suddenly flees out of the window in a flurry of black swirls. As the glass shatters, a cloud of excitement seems to sprout into the air as shouts and whispers fill the perimeter. 

Regulus places his hands on your shoulders as you pocket your wand, your eyes still glued to the broken glass at the end of the hall. The cheering and clapping die almost as quickly as they erupted when Harry collapses, a sudden sharp stabbing in your head accompanying your friend’s stumble. You hiss as you reach for your temple, noting how the hall was now blanketed by a miasma of fear. 

Suddenly, a piercing scream slices through the air like cold steel, followed by another and another. Regulus huddles you to him as he peers at you with concerned eyes, his hands moving to trail your arms as the buds of chaos begin to prickle around the room. 

A sharp hiss rings from all around you, and you would have feared for your sanity if not for the petrified expressions on many of the other students’ faces. 

“Give me Harry Potter…Do this and none shall be harmed.”  The words seem to bounce around the room as you guide your eyes to settle onto Harry’s stiff figure. 

“Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave Hogwarts untouched.” 

You divert your gaze to look at Regulus, and find that the boy is already glancing at you with conflicted eyes. 

“Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded. You have one hour.” 

The tint of doom seems to lift almost immediately, and you exhale shakily as the foreign pressure around the atmosphere dissipates. 

“What’s that look for, Reg?” You whisper, unwilling to raise your voice as confusion stirs the air into silence. 

Regulus huffs through his nose and wraps his hand around your wrist, stepping to stand beside you as he looks towards Harry, “Just wondering if it’s too late to leave and go back to Norway.” 

You shake your head and go to retort, but you’re cut off by a resounding voice emitting somewhere among the swath of students, “Someone grab him!” 

Your eyebrows furrowed together at the outlandish suggestion and your eyes trail about to try and distinguish who it came from. Seeing many of the gazes aimed towards a cluster of Slytherins, you tilt your head as you see an unfamiliar boy pointing towards Harry. 

Ginny makes her way in front of Harry, spurring the rest of your friends to crowd around the speechless boy. As your eyes begin to wander, wanting to take note of those who were readily jumping to serve your friend on a silver platter, you make eye contact with an unimpressed Blaise. 

The boy’s eyes flicker to look at Regulus before they jump back to you, an eyebrow slanting up in a manner that reminds you all too much of the Contessa. Blaise slowly slinks towards the back of the crowd just as Filch hobbles into the hall, shouting incoherently about students being out of bed. 

“You have some explaining to do.” Blaise’s velvety voice sounds from behind you, causing you to jump out of your skin.

Turning around on your heels, you slam your palm against your chest to jumpstart your heart again. Did he apparate? How the hell did he just appear behind you?

Rolling your eyes, you give the boy a brief hug, “Nice to see you too, B. Sorry that I went AWOL, I wasn’t exactly in contact with anyone.” 

“Except my mother.” He points out with a sniff, arms crossing. 

Coughing lightly into your fist, you sheepishly smile in apology, “Nothing big, just aiding some vigilantes.” 

“You are a vigilante yourself, no? And you couldn’t have sent a little slip of paper telling me ‘hey, I’m alive!’, could you now?” He mutters with narrowed eyes. 

Shifting from foot to foot, you lightly frown, “Uh, sorry?” 

He waves you off before setting his eyes on Regulus, who looks infinitely amused by your friend’s antics. Blaise pauses for a split second before a shit-eating grin plasters itself on his face, “Oh, how prestante! You disappeared and found yourself a pure blood boyfriend, I see.” 

You blanch at his words and he snickers, “Merlin, don’t look so surprised. His facial structure just screams pure blood.” 

“Okay, that’s enough of you, B.” You hiss, “You absolute menace.” 

The boy doesn’t have time to respond as students begin to file out of the hall, someone bumping against your shoulder as McGonagall announces that students would be evacuated, underage students taking priority, while those of age were welcome to stay. 

Your eyes widen at the announcement, the reality of your situation crash landing on you all at once. “B, go. And look out for Draco, will you?.” You point your chin forward, eyes flying around the room before you settle them on Regulus, “Reg, go with Blaise.” 

Regulus swivels to look at you with wide, disbelieving eyes, “I hope you’re joking.” 

“And I hope you’re joking. I’m not letting you run into danger without a wand!” You shoot back emphatically with a sharp tone. 

“Dio mio,” Blaise clicks his tongue, gracefully shoving his wand towards Regulus, “Here. If you break it or lose it, my dear Y/N will no longer have a boyfriend.” 

You and Regulus pause. One beat of silence passes, then another. 

“Blaise, what the bloody hell? Absolutely not! Your mother is going to have my head if she finds out that I left you defenseless.” You sputter, hands flying up and nearly batting into a passing student. 

The boy shifts to the side to avoid a stumbling first-year as he keeps his eyes steady on yours, “Good thing she’ll never know then. Besides, I won’t be needing it. I plan to apparate to Zabini Manor with Theo and Draco once we get out of here.” He rolls his eyes impatiently once you and Regulus remain motionless, “Now take it before I change my mind.”

“Are you absolutely sure?” You mutter quietly, eyes trailing towards the dark wand, feeling torn despite your friend’s insistence. 

“Well, he’s going to follow you anyway, and I’d rather be temporarily without a wand than permanently without a friend because you jumped in front of a curse trying to protect him.” He muses dryly, eyes quickly shifting to appraise Regulus as the boy reaches for the wand. 

He was going about this way too casually, a wizard’s wand was practically their life! But there was no arguing with the obstinate git, especially when he had that determined look in his eyes. 

You nod and swallow harshly as your throat wells up with thick emotion, “Thank you, B. Stay safe, okay? And make sure Draco doesn’t do anything stupid.” 

“No worries, our dragon is all out of stupid after what happened last year.” The italian winks at you before elegantly spinning around, his robes billowing behind him as he strides towards the exit, weaving his way towards a familiar mop of platinum blond. 

Regulus twirls Blaise’s wand around in his hand as he gets used to the feeling. He looks over at you with a warm smile, eyes twinkling brightly as a fire lights in them, “Always a good judge of character, birdie. Indeed, you are proficient at picking friends.” 

“Clearly not proficient enough, Crowface. I managed to grow attached to a stubborn bastard like you.” You hum playfully, taking a hold of his wrist to drag him towards your circle of friends. 

Though, one meaningful glance from your savior friend was enough for you to understand: split up and haul ass. 

Hermione and Ron take off in search of the basilisk corpse in the Chamber of Secrets, while Luna gives you a small smile before darting off towards Harry with a frustrated frown. Professor McGonagall almost breaks her neck doing a double take at Regulus, clearly recognizing him, but says nothing of her revelation as she ushers you with her. 

Regulus trails after you both, flocked by Professor Flitwick and Molly Weasley, both giving the boy discreet side eyes. 

“L/N, we are going to need to give Potter as much time as possible. I’m sure you have an idea of how you can utilize your skills.” The woman gives you a small knowing smile, and you nod back quickly despite not knowing exactly what she was insinuating. 

It is not until she spins back around and braces her hands up that your brain begins to work again. 

“Piertotem locomotor!”

Your eyebrows furrow at the foreign spell, but your attention is immediately redirected when a deep thudding echoes from somewhere in front of your willowy professor. Peering around her, your eyes widen as numerous concrete knights begin to march out in streams from the entrance hall. 

Ah. We’re Harry’s first line of defense. 

Winking at a fascinated Regulus, you couldn’t resist the urge to demonstrate your own magical prowess, wanting to match up to the boy’s level of intellect. Drawing your wand out, you scurry down the series of stairs and drop to your knees, beginning to draw out the most complex shielding runes you knew, tangling the swirls of characters into compounds of symbols that begin to shimmer against the dull ground. 

The strings of characters glow brightly before darting off into the sky in a flurry of streaks, reinforcing the growing bubble being patched together by the Order members. You continue to relentlessly draw your symbols, the ache in your wrist being overshadowed by the warmth of pride that lit up in your chest at the sight of your runes chaining themselves to the colossal dome. 

Ways off from you, you see Regulus marveling at the sky, eyes dancing around the strings of your runes. Your brain screeches to a halt as you zone in to look at the boy, mouth floating into a faint smile at the way his lips imperceptibly part. 

It was paradoxical, how at the height of slaughter and war, you fell into a hum of peace at that very moment. Your drifting thoughts only surge forwards when a procession of wispy blue streams hail towards the near-translucent dome, raining down towards you in mottles of cerulean orbs. 

Just as you begin to rise from your position, knees wobbling unsteadily along the way, the feathery streaks crash into the shield and explode into veins of white combustion. The loud crashing of explosions deafen you, and you stumble in blinded shock towards Regulus. 

The boy is already making his way towards you, face grim as he strides across the plaza with purpose. You barely refrain from crashing into him as he reaches to hold onto your biceps. 

Blisters of blinding white wash over your figures as you grip onto his elbows. Chancing a glance at the sky, you laugh shakily, “Think you still know how to handle a wand?” 

Regulus smiles and cups your cheek, “Of course, I have to protect you somehow.” 

“Your sense of humor dazzles me, love,” you search his face, opening your mouth to continue your retort, only to be disrupted by a painfully loud explosion, followed by the sound of insistent sizzling. 

Above you, your beloved crown of protection withers away like disintegrating paper. 

Chaos erupts almost instantaneously with giants lumbering through the concrete knights on the bridge, as arrays of colorful light fracture the structures around you. You catch a glimpse of Professor Flitwick scurrying around the crumbling soldiers, hands gesturing frantically for the students to take cover inside. 

The rune weavings that you spelled float listlessly until they gravitate towards the castle, speedily wrapping around a couple of the towers and absorbing into its walls. Regulus grabs your hand and you both sprint for cover behind a pile of rubble, ducking as gusts of apparition soar above you. 

Screaming begins to bloom into the air, followed by hurried shouts of curses and spells. You spring up onto your heels, wand at the ready as your eyes dart around frantically, heart virtually beating in your neck. 

“Crucio!” 

Your neck snaps to the side at the guttural yell, barely muffling a yelp as a red bulb of light zips towards you. Dodging the spell, you feel a symphony of rage tug at your nerves at the sight of a familiar death eater—the man who had grabbed you during the attack at the Department of Mysteries, Augustus Rookwood. 

Practically swinging your wand, you hurl your spell, “Reducto!” 

The man goes flying across the courtyard, smashing through a cracked archway before landing roughly like a ragdoll. You feel someone press against your back, barely taking note that Regulus and you were fighting back-to-back before another death eater sets their sights on you. 

You don’t know how much time passes as you and Regulus weave through onslaughts of killing curses, blasting aside enemies and assisting other students in their duels. Your world of blurry fighting trickles into clarity once you catch sight of an enormous giant swinging down at a familiar trio, all of them sprinting further down the ruinous remains of one of the castle walkways. 

“Paxillos Inferni!” Your shout echoes all around you, and your vision tunnels in on the cast of neon orange that darts from the tip of your wand. A wave of satisfaction drenches you as you see the giant drop its weapon in surprise, body jolting in agony before dozens of small razor-like spikes sprout from its body, suddenly expanding in size with a sickening crunch. The giant drops to its knees, a lifeless husk, remaining upright, supported by the flurry of colossal spikes that impaled it from every direction.

A few death eaters in your vicinity stop in their tracks, eyes widening as they take in the sight of the shredded giant and your bright eyes. Regulus swings his arm forward, sending a death eater packing before taking notice of your victory. 

“Where’d you learn how to do that?” He mutters reverentially, eyes drifting from the carnage around you before settling on the palisade-giant fusion. 

You shrug before taking advantage of the wave of shock around you, incapacitating a few lingering death eaters, “In one of the books at Grimmauld Place.” 

“I see. Nice work, dear.” He hums, tying up a sprinting death eater before the crazed woman could attack a distracted Hufflepuff. 

A sudden chill ensnares the nerves in your spine and fingertips, and you have to suppress the violent shudder tugging at your muscles. Risking a glance away from the enemies in front of you, your mouth falls ajar at the sight of a curtain of black drifting towards you. 

“Dementors.” You murmured, unnerved by the sheer amount of the creatures making their way over. The golden trio tumble forward and become struck by the same sight. The dementors drop down towards the bridge, swinging and weaving around fallen bodies and chunks of concrete. 

A gust of blue threads tangle into a large sphere before expanding across the bridge, the exceptionally powerful patronus charm managing to ward away a majority of the dementor army. Your eyebrows fly towards the sky as you catch sight of Aberforth, the man’s wand extended out towards the retreating veils of grey. 

You had no idea the man was even capable of producing a patronus with how downtrodden he seemed just hours before. This would be the last time you’d judge a wizard by their supposed disposition. 

Catching sight of a few stray dementors, you instinctually raise your wand, expertly locating a few specific memories of yours to manifest the spell, “Expecto Patronum.”

The familiar sparrow bursts from your wand and darts towards the dementor, the creature immediately retreating into the sea of darkness as the small bird perseveres in its chase. 

“What?” Regulus’ breathless mutter has you directing your attention to him, eyebrows raising at the astonished look drawn on his face. 

Feeling bashfulness crawl up your chest, you clear your throat and jump back into battle, only sparing him a small biting remark, “Laugh about it later.” 

The boy follows your lead and sends a hex towards a cluster of death eaters, “Laugh about what?” His voice is tinged in disbelief, yet still marred by his previous amazement. 

“What do you mean, about what?–” you blast an unsuspecting death eater in the side, “--Obviously about my patronus.” 

“Why would I laugh?” He practically yells over the commotion of explosions raining from all around you. 

You want to groan, feeling that perhaps he was trying to torture you, “Because! It’s a bird. A little birdie.” The boy glances at you with a minute frown of perplexion before his eyes slowly shift in realization, head snapping back to take down a few more enemies. 

Once the mayhem around you quells in just the slightest, he turns back to you, “Merlin, what am I going to do with you?” He mutters with a faint grin. Before you have time to question him, he shifts around and lifts his wand up, “Expecto Patronum.” 

The light blue swirls jet out from the borrowed wand and you raise an unimpressed eyebrow as it surges towards a confused death eater, the man watching as the spell flies towards him. You really couldn’t blame him—you too, would be rendered speechless at the arbitrary display. 

Just when the spell goes to topple into the man, it morphs into a familiar shape that has you gasping. Regulus’ small patronus sharply shoots up into the sky before it can crash into the death eater, the small bird rounding in circles before dissipating into the night. 

You and Regulus don’t miss a beat despite the demonstration, both taking aim at the flabbergasted death eater and sending off your best hexes. Once the man goes tumbling away, Regulus turns towards you, “A finch.” 

“A finch…” you echo quietly. 

Finches and Sparrows. Complementary birds.

“You-” you can barely comprehend the look on Regulus’ face as he breaks out into a wide smile. Your mouth parts, taken aback by how blatant his fondness was. 

“My little birdie.” He whispers affectionately, leaning to rest his forehead against yours. 

Your heart stutters on the spot, and you have to close your eyes to try and grasp onto reality. Regulus’ hands dance around your waist as colorful blobs spiral across your eyelids, the stench and discord of war suddenly shoved out of the forefront of your mind. 

Opening your eyes, you take a brief moment to peer into the boy’s eyes, mouth pursing once you see the fire dancing in them. 

“Blast me into a wall if you hate this.” You whisper. Regulus merely grins, immediately understanding your thoughts, and looking anything but bewildered. 

Giving no time for lingering doubts to fester, you surge forward and crash your lips onto his. He reciprocates immediately, gently nudging you behind a mountain of rubble as his lips dance with yours. Your hands run around his sides, seeking something to ground yourself to as he leans in further, completely pressing himself to you. 

His hands press themselves into your back, pushing you impossibly closer to him as if he were afraid you’d fall through the ground and disappear. You both continue to clash together for a dizzying amount of time, only stopping once the burning for oxygen practically imprints itself into your lungs. 

Pulling back with a huff, your eyes widen in disbelief. Reality comes crashing into you like a bludger as your eyes jump around every little freckle on his face. Regulus’ chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, eyes refusing to stray from yours. 

“We-” you utter, voice practically a squeak. 

Regulus’ eyes flicker with mirth before he drops his head to sprinkle fleeting kisses on your jaw and neck. Your hands freeze against his chest, not knowing how to handle the hot flash of disbelief and giddiness that sinks into your frame. 

Your brain was glitching, perhaps even smoking out of your ears. 

Eventually, you gently push the boy off of you, eyes already flying around in search of approaching enemies. Flashing the boy a warm smile, you slowly begin to emerge from behind the mass of concrete, “Let’s continue this later, yeah?” Your voice comes out smaller than you’d hope, but you’re just happy it wasn’t shaky. 

“No protests from me, birdie.” Regulus whispers lightly, hand ghosting your back as he submerges himself back into battle. 

You aren’t sure how much time has passed, but you are vaguely aware of how the sky seems to shed away into a forlorn grey as opposed to its former void of pitch black. When you spin on your heel, you make eye contact with a panicked Harry which has all of your mental alarms ringing. 

“Reg!” You call over your shoulder, not glancing back again as you briskly march over to your friend, cognizant of the faint sound of footsteps behind you. 

As you near the boy, you reach over to grasp his forearm, “Harry?” 

Harry gulps, “Where’s Draco?”

“With Blaise, they evacuated.” Your voice is cautious, watching as Harry’s eyes flicker from you to the battle behind you. 

“Oh…Goyle’s dead.” 

“He’s what–what the hell? Harry?” 

He shakes his head, eyes darting to look at Regulus before he averts his gaze to peer off into the distance, “No time. Come on.” 

You share a look of resigned confusion with Regulus before you’re both bounding off after the speeding boy, mind whirring on overdrive as you all duck into the steep shadows and clamber down a vacant stairway. Harry crouches down as you near a building, and you can only silently squawk once you realize it was the Shrieking Shack. 

What the hell was the boy up to this time?

Harry leans against one of the walls and peers into a crack in the mosaic glass, eyes wide as he mutely scrutinizes the scene in front of him. You and Regulus huddle together to do the same, but not before you quietly cast a concealment charm to hide your presence. 

You’re able to make out Snape’s figure, the man’s face was undoubtedly sullen as he tracks the movements of his companion with a perpetual frown. You feel Regulus tense by your side as you both recognize the other occupant in the room. 

Clenching your jaw, you shoot Harry a sharp look that he ignores, the boy becoming entranced by the conversation Snape was having with bloody fucking Voldemort. Craning your head closer to the cloudy glass, you can faintly make out what the tense exchange was about. 

The Elder Wand?

Regulus drops his hand down to interlace with yours, eyes shifting back and forth over the lattice of the window as he tries to fathom the topic. A few moments of eerie silence stretch out before you’re flinching back as something tersely slams against the window in front of you. 

Your first instinct is to reach for your wand and prepare yourself for confrontation, but upon closer inspection of the glass, you realize that it was muddled by a dark heap. Tilting your head, you hover a finger over the middle of the black shadow, eyes widening once you see the figure move ever so slightly. 

Harry’s hands are clenched tightly by his side as he peers on with unblinking eyes. 

“Nagini kill.” 

The cold voice has you swallowing a gasp, ears prickling with cold needles of dread at the realization of what was happening. A reverberant hissing slices through the air and soon you’re watching helplessly as the figure in front of you slams and struggles against the pane of glass.

Tears stab at your eyes painfully as you remain rooted to your spot, shoulders completely slack as shame wrings your veins unrelentingly. Separated by a mere two inches of glass. You wanted more than anything to be endowed with a wave of courage—to spring into action and save your Professor, but you knew you couldn’t. 

Two inches of glass, and Snape didn’t even know such little distance separated him from help. Or maybe he did—yet, you didn’t know if that was worse. If he knew you were all there, and gave no inkling of knowledge to the vindictive Dark Lord. Was he protecting you all? 

The banging ceases, eventually. 

Your jaw trembles violently as splatters of blood decorate the panes in front of you, dripping bright red, the streaks mocking you. Regulus’ face is completely blank and devoid of any color, but you could see the deep-seated agony flashing in his eyes. 

Were they friends? You couldn’t help but want to ask, knowing that Regulus would have been Snape’s junior whilst at Hogwarts.

You hear Snape grapple with his pain, gasping forcibly into the silent air. For a few moments, you wait it out, not wanting to storm into the building just in case Voldemort was basking in his most recent attack. 

Harry shoots you a quick nod, and that’s all it takes for you to fly onto your feet, body pushing through the worn door with such force that it slams into the adjacent wall. Your eyes find your Professor immediately, heart flying away into the dusty shadows somewhere as you collapse by his side. Regulus kneels down by Snape’s feet, eyes searching the older man’s disorientated gaze. 

“Professor!” Your voice comes out as a thick tremble, hands shaking with adrenaline as you fish out your wand. You begin to try and cast the strongest healing charms you know, but deep in the back of your hazy brain, you knew it would be fruitless. Harry crouches down opposite of you, posture more reserved—guarded, as he swallows harshly.

Snape glances at you briefly, eyes already dimming, before he turns to look at Harry when the boy tries to put pressure on the man’s wound. You refuse to look behind the blood-soaked collar, knowing that his neck was likely a mangled, stringy mess of flesh and muscle. 

“Take them…Take them…” Snape utters with a pained groan, small glimmers of tears rolling down his cheeks. Harry, seeming to understand the man’s urgency, whips out a small glass vial from his pocket and collects the tiny droplets. 

Snape reaches out with a weak hand towards your frantic friend, fingers ghosting over his face as he smiles weakly, “You have your mother’s eyes.” 

Harry barely bats an eye at the man’s words, only peering at him with a mournful gaze. Regulus speaks up for the first time, eyes hard as he addresses your friend without taking his eyes off of Snape, “Harry, go.” 

The boy looks over to you in question, and you give him a brief nod. 

Harry hesitates before leaning back and nodding slowly, hand gradually retracting from the bloody mess of the man’s neck. Your friend bites the inside of his cheek before capping the glass vial, “Goodbye, sir.” 

Without looking back, Harry flees the room and leaves you alone with the dying man. Your hands wander about in the air helplessly, as you grit your teeth, “Professor, you can’t die.” 

Snape’s head lolls over to your side, and he gazes at you dully, chest rising and falling more erratically now. You shake your head and furrow your eyebrows, “Do you think you can just drop down and die like this! You still need to apologize to Harry. If you die, I’ll never forgive you. I don’t know what the hell you’ve been up to this whole time–this whole war–but Dumbledore trusted you. And Dumbledore was no bloody fool. So, live.” Your voice, once hard and full of fiery conviction, drops to a low whisper, “Live so I know that I haven’t defended you for no reason.” 

The man squints at you and his fingers weakly twitch, lightly tapping your hand once. Slowly, his eyes flicker to meet Regulus’ tense figure. 

“Regulus.” The man murmurs, syllables becoming slurred as his eyes droop lower. 

Regulus nods and shifts to sidle by you, hands reaching over to pat the man’s arm, “It’s me, Severus. It’ll be okay now, just rest.” Regulus’ soft words of comfort bring a small smirk to Snape’s face, and as you go to say more, your Professor’s breathing stutters to a stop. 

“Fuck.” You mumble out with a scrunched face, eyes burning as you press the image of Snape’s still body into your memory. Regulus’ shoulders sag, and he slowly reaches over to button up the collar of Snape’s robes with glassy eyes. 

“He might have actually been a spy for the Dark Lord this whole time, birdie.” Regulus whispers, hands drawing back slowly once he finishes his task. 

You sniffle and turn away from your dead professor, “I don’t know. I don’t want to believe that. I don’t even have a sound reason for my judgment—I can just sense it.” 

Regulus nods and reaches to cradle your face in his hands, “Your senses have yet to steer you wrong, little bird. I trust your judgment, always.” 

It was inscrutable. How could you truly mourn, pity, or empathize with a man who most thought to be Hogwarts’ most depraved? It was dichotomic how you wished to understand Snape’s motivations, but simultaneously wanted to spell away any memory you had of the man. 

A part of you hoped that he was everything you thought him to be—slightly misunderstood, heavily misguided, and desperately in need of atonement. Another part of you also prayed that it was the antithesis of your feelings—that he was truly an unredeemable, malevolent mastermind that fooled Dumbledore. At least that way, when the public inevitably denounced the man, he would deserve it. 

You refuse to shed tears over Snape’s death, but you wallow in the sea of hurt and conflict that threatens to drown you as you and Regulus make your way back to the castle. It takes a few moments before you snap back into reality, immediately tensing up as you scout the area for any signs of life. 

Regulus was faring better than you at the moment, eyes set forward, one hand grasping Blaise’s wand, the other, tightly clutching yours. 

“It will end soon.” He mutters, voice level and firm with certainty. 

You don’t respond, but you feel a pebble of determination fling itself into the empty cavity of your chest. As you both slip into a dark corridor of the castle, wands raised, you hear distant explosions and yelling around the corner. 

It was time to gear up for battle again. Throwing yourself into a slight duck, you swing out from the darkness with a hex at the tip of your tongue, a vicious spell rippling through the air and crashing devastatingly into a death eater moments after. 

Mayhem befalls the ruined hallway in a matter of seconds, and you catch a glimpse of two ginger mops. Slowly knocking down death eaters, you work further towards the two Weasleys. When you get within a few yards of the familiar individuals, you feel a small smile paint itself on your lips as you realize it happened to be Fred and Percy, fighting side-by-side. 

Seems as though Percy made up with the rest of them. 

Just as you send two death eaters down the stairs and into the path of a few stray hexes, you see Fred get knocked to the floor in your peripheral. The death eater standing over your friend waves his hand up menacingly, no doubt ready to obliterate him. 

Jumping into action, you aim your wand at the man’s back, “Mors Ruinam!”

A large void swallows the unsuspecting man before unceremoniously spitting him out from the ceiling just as Regulus shoots off a particularly nasty hex. 

You hoped that the Ministry wouldn’t be checking your wands after the battle. 

Fred is still splayed out against the wall when you approach him, face drained of color as he comes to terms with his near-death experience. You extend a hand to help him up, grunting when the boy nearly drags you down in his attempt to rise up. 

“What the hell was that?” He exclaims, eyes suddenly wide and bright. 

Leave it to the Weasley twins to bounce back at light speed. 

“Just a fun little dark spell.” You flash him a small relieved smile. 

He grins and claps your shoulder, “Wicked!” 

Percy makes his way over to the three of you with a nod, dark circles jumping out from his face as he slowly gestures for you all to make your way further up the castle. 

“Have either of you seen Sirius?” You ask, eyes trailing to focus on the wisps of fire that peeked through the cracks of the ceiling. 

“Reckon he’s with Remus and Tonks.” Fred supplies, glancing back to give Regulus a confused look. You nod and cough into your fist, eyes avoiding Fred’s as you deign him with an answer of your own, “Uh, this is my…boyfriend…Regulus.” 

Fred’s face splits into a grin and he nearly faceplants on the stairs as he shoots Regulus a knowing look, “Double wicked.” You roll your eyes, knowing that the next family and friends meeting would be awkward as you’d have to explain how and why you were dating Sirius’ dead brother. 

Regulus raises his eyebrows in amusement before tangling your fingers together. The journey up to one of the collapsing towers was uneventful from then on, but you were deeply relieved to see that Sirius was still up and running. 

“Pup!” He grins broadly, turning back around for a split second to blast an apparating death eater out of the window. The man makes his way over to you, giving you a brief hug before ruffling his brother’s hair, “Where’s Harry?” 

Just running amuck with your dead professor’s tears, no biggie. 

“Off and about. He was fine, last we saw him.” You answer with a hum, eyes catching Remus’ tired ones from across the tower ledge. 

“Where is Tonks at?” You wonder aloud.

Sirius hums and twirls to look at his fatigued friend, “Shacklebolt. They’re off somewhere inside the castle.” 

Percy steps forward and huffs quietly, “We should make our way down. There’s no telling how much longer this place will stand.” 

Before anyone could make a move to clamber down the stairs, a familiar steely voice hissed through your mind, “You have fought valiantly…but in vain. I do not wish this. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a terrible waste. I therefore command my forces to retreat. In their absence, dispose of your dead with dignity. Harry Potter, I now directly speak to you. On this night, you have allowed your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. There is no greater dishonor. Join me in the forbidden forest and confront your fate…”

A few beats of silence pass and you could hear a few faint pops of apparition echo throughout the perimeter. 

“That isn't going to bode well with Harry.” You murmur, and Sirius grimly nods at your words, quickly retreating down the stairs. 

The walk down to the bustling dining hall is pervaded by a sense of dread and anxiety, all of you still on guard as if expecting a death eater to leap around the corner at any moment.  Just as you reach the heavy doors, Harry comes striding towards your little group from the other side of the corridor. 

Your head perks up at the sight of your friend, but confusion washes over you when you see the hard look in his eyes. His eyebrows are harshly furrowed as he stares down Sirius and Remus, both men looking at each other in confusion before starting to walk over to your friend. 

“Hey uh, Fred, Percy, I think your family is inside.” You cough out, not looking back as you debate on whether or not you should approach your furious friend. Luckily, both Weasley brothers feel the tension in the air and heed your silent request, Fred throwing an arm over his disgruntled brother’s shoulders as they saunter away. 

“What do you think happened, love?” You mutter, peering over to study Regulus’ expression. 

He turns to you and hums, “Snape gave Harry his memories earlier, I’m guessing he saw something he didn’t like.” 

You raise an eyebrow at the boy and bump your hip against his, “You know something.” 

“I know a lot of things, birdie.” He muses, pressing a hand to your lower back as you both watch on. 

Harry runs a hand around his lips before he peers up at his godfather and pseudo-uncle, muttering something that has both men flinching back as if he tossed a flame at them. You cross your arms as Harry sighs, seeming to retreat in his tirade, stepping around both men and marching in your direction. 

You shift to give him a questioning look, but he shakes his head and grabs both you and Regulus by the arm, pushing in between you both as he continues on his war path, “Later.” 

You don’t think you will ever receive an answer from your friend. Your heart feels like it is being ripped from your body as you stand atop of the ruined stairs along with the remaining survivors, watching as a completely still Harry is being paraded over to you by a river of death eaters. 

Neville grips the worn sorting hat tightly in his hands, mouth wobbling as he takes in the sight of the approaching forces. Your mouth stretches into a painful line as your eyes zone in on a particularly enthusiastic death eater dancing around beside Voldemort’s strutting figure. 

“Neville.” 

The boy turns to you as you begin to make your way down to him. 

“I hope you won’t mind if I send her to Merlin,” you whisper as you perch beside him atop a hill of rubble. 

Neville narrows his eyes at the woman before nodding, “Get to her first. I won’t be able to hold myself back otherwise.” 

“Deal. I’ll help you with the Lestrange brothers then.” 

Your brief exchange comes to a halt as Voldemort and his forces stop just a few yards shy of you both. 

Voldemort shoots a feral grin at the crowd before spreading his arms out widely in triumph, “Harry Potter is dead!” 

Ginny shoots out from somewhere behind you with a distressed wail, “NO! No!” 

Her father barely manages to tug her back as Voldemort hisses, pointing a spindly finger at her, “Silence! Stupid girl.” 

You want to snarl at the man, hand slowly wrapping around your wand. Regulus moves out from somewhere in the crowd behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder as he stares down the laughing death eaters. 

Voldemort’s gloating continues for a few more moments before his eyes flit towards you and Regulus. It seems that world tips on its axis in that moment as the serpentine man stills on the spot before his face shifts to one of rage, the man’s change in demeanor spurring Bellatrix to follow his gaze. 

“Traitor!” She all but screeches, immediately lifting her wand to aim at Regulus. You react just as quickly, whipping your wand up to blast the woman into the next life, but you’re both distracted by the sound of a few gasps. Reeling over to look at the source of shock, your mouth curls up as you see Harry roll on the ground, standing and firing a spell towards Voldemort’s snake. 

Bellatrix whips her head to look at Voldemort before becoming further enraged as death eaters begin to flee by the dozen, clearly petrified by your friend’s ability to dodge death. 

“Reggie, cover me!” You yell, taking advantage of Bellatrix’s distracted state. The boy complies immediately, watching your surroundings as he begins to fire spells into the disarrayed crowd of death eaters. 

“Flipendo!” 

Your spell sweeps the demented woman off of her feet, her hair flying wildly as she bounces off of a broken slab of concrete. Explosions ring from all around you as Voldemort begins to take chase behind a fleeing Harry. 

Bellatrix recovers quickly, clambering around on the ground as she tries to find her wand. You almost want to drag out this one-sided duel to a torturous degree, but petty games had no place amidst war. 

Pointing your wand at a stone, you swing your arm through the air, “Depulso!” The rugged rock soars through the air before crashing into Bellatrix’s hunched figure, reducing her frantic movements into trembling pulses as she crumbles back down onto the ground. 

You pace towards her slack body, heart skipping as your mind races. Fuck, you didn’t kill her did you?

The woman’s eyes bulge in their sockets as she helplessly stares at your looming figure. 

“Filthy…traitor.” She mutters with a strained voice, mouth twisting into a repulsive sneer. 

You huff and shoot a glance towards Regulus, relaxing when you see him occupied with a duel, “Still have the energy to talk, do you?” 

The woman doesn’t answer, and only continues to gaze at you venomously. Her wand had clattered to the ground just a few feet away, and you faintly smile before kicking the curved stick into a nearby fire. 

“You brought this upon yourself. And really, it’s a shame for you that I’m not Neville,” you grin broadly at the woman, “he is far more merciful.” 

Before the woman can respond, you pace back a few steps before aiming at her, “Anima Redimat.”

The woman gasps shrilly, watching with frightful eyes as the purple spell sinks into her body, “You-” 

“You recognize it then? The Soul Ripping spell. I’ve heard you’re quite a fan of soul magic.” You hum as she gapes at you, “You’re not the only one who’s been around Grimmauld Place’s library.” 

The woman is unable to reply as the effect of the curse kicks off, a faint purple tinge enveloping her body. Bellatrix begins to twitch on the ground, limbs sliding around in a distressful dance before she completely stills, eyes wide and unseeing as her form freezes in a contorted manner. 

You spin on your heel and slide into the mayhem around the courtyard, firing off an endless flurry of hexes as a tidal wave of adrenaline pushes the world into clarity. Regulus joins you by your side soon after, eyes never once moving to greet his cousin’s lifeless form. 

As you turn to send off another spell, you still on the spot as you come face-to-face with Narcissa Malfoy. 

“Lady Malfoy.” You greet evenly, moving to blast away a death eater behind her. 

The woman hardly flinches at your ministrations and continues to stare at you before she finally whispers, “Draco?” 

“With Contessa Zabini and his friends, I sent Blaise off to take care of him earlier.” You reply, sending a binding spell flying from your wand as you see Rabastan Lestrange sprint across the rubble around you. 

The woman nods and peers at you with relieved eyes, “I see. Perhaps we should have tea one of these days.” Without waiting for a response, she strides away and grabs her husband, apparating out of the battlefield in the blink of an eye. 

Why did everyone insist on having tea with you? Your stress levels will be off the charts by the end of the day.

“Making your way up high society, birdie?” Regulus chuckles from beside you, a glint of satisfaction flashing across his eyes as he overpowers his opponent. 

“A penchant of mine.” You reply, tone glazed with amusement. 

Regulus shakes his head as he flings his fallen challenger away from him, “Trust me, the grandeur of it fades quickly.” 

The battle ensues for a few more beats before crescendoing as two figures suddenly drop down and roll into the middle of the square, driving everyone’s attention towards the disruption. 

It seems that time halts in place as Voldemort and Harry gather their bearings, wands raised up as beams of green clash into red, an overwhelming aura of power mounting up into the air. You faintly feel the magic, Voldemort’s smothering signature grappling with Harry’s light and airy one. 

The junction of power twirls into a vibrating ball of light as you see both men shake to push forward. Voldemort suddenly collapses onto his knees as the magic fades, a tense silence dispelling the air from your lungs as you step forward with bated breath. Harry quickly peers back in shock, and his contrast from Voldemort’s stricken demeanor tells you all you need to know: the tide of the battle has changed. 

Both men swing their wands forward again, but the power clash is less evident this time as the Dark Lord futilely struggles against Harry’s potent magic. The push-and-pull between the two disintegrates once Voldemort becomes enveloped by his own spell, the green wrapping around his figure like a deflating bubble. 

The man crumbles to his knees, body gradually going rigid on the spot as his skin begins to flake off into a wisps of ash. The swirl of flying particles reduces the man to nothingness, and you feel like you can breathe again. 

Voldemort was no more.

Harry steadies himself to his feet before smiling shakily, turning on the spot to greet the confounded faces around him. Sirius and Remus come flying from somewhere in the crowd, examining Harry’s condition as the boy stares off in content. 

This war was over.

So many years of suffering and struggle finally blooming into a new era, and your friend was at the center of it all. 

Regulus inhales shakily before turning to face you, seizing your stiff body into his arms when you glance back at him with disbelieving eyes. 

For the second time that day, he joins your lips together, and you can only claw at his enthusiastic figure helplessly as he crowds you against him. Cheering echoes from all around you as more people begin to pool into the courtyard, cries of victory lifting to the skies and blowing away the gloomy clouds. 

You cup Regulus’ face as you both slowly disconnect, lips swollen and eyes wide. 

“I love you, birdie.” He whispers with conviction, hands dropping to grip your waist. 

Your laugh bubbles into the air with a watery edge, and you try to ignore the tender fulfillment that permeates across your chest, “I love you too, Reg.” 

Today you would shed relieved tears and hold the untimely losses close to your heart, but with the battle won, tomorrow would be the beginning of a new chapter for Magical Britain. You would have to begin reconstruction, reelections, and rehabilitations—mere band-aids for the decades of emptiness that would scar every survivor of the Wizarding Wars, but it would suffice.

The incalculable change was a never-ending battle—even with Voldemort gone, but at least now you have Regulus by your side. Perhaps if change became too much, you could pay Reine a visit. 

A vacation or permanent getaway could be in order now, but that seemed like a worry for tomorrow.

tag list: @krazyk99 @venomsvl @valsarchives @bunny24sstuff @novella12nite @elia-the-bibliophile @txorua @xlifexdeathx @trikigirl271 @the-marauders-world @sleepydang @blueberry-thrawn @lestat-whore @chanaaaannel @clockworkherondale @peachyaeger @thegayhoenextdoor @l--absinthe @ok-boke @summer-noir @mikeikax @musically-ambiguous @dittos-blog-dylanobrien @friendly-neighborhood-boricua @randomfaeriechild @misacc08 @that-bitch-bri @littleshadow17 @chocochannie @bl4stonesc @shari-berri @mrs-billyrussooo @pandemicboredom @gojosbucket @brain-has-left @googie-jeon @lovely-maryj @lokifriggason1 @aloramalfoy @godmitski @justanotherkpopstanlol @hpboysslut2707 @coffeehurricanes