Y’all I’m Making A Book😰

i still look for you.

✩Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: Theodore cannot wait to start the next chapter of his life, moving in with you. Alternatively: Memory is a fickle thing.

Warnings: Brief allusion to alcoholism if you squint

Songs: Never find u - Sombr

I bet on losing dogs - Mitski

I wait for you - Alex G

The date reads the 2nd of May, 2002. Theodore looks down at the calendar and for some reason, a horrible feeling of dread pools in his stomach. He can’t exactly tell why.

He shakes it off, yawning lightly as he sits up in bed. He runs a hand through his messy hair, eyes adjusting to the dim morning light as he looks around his now bare room. His feet touch the bedroom floor, and he sits on the edge of his bed for a second, staring off before getting up.

There was no time for zoning out, he had things to be doing.

With a gentle sigh, he pushes himself off the bed, the warmth of the sheets still clinging to his skin. As he pads into the kitchen, his bare feet lightly brushing against the cool floor tiles, he catches sight of the empty firewhiskey bottle on the counter.

A furrow forms between his brows as he reaches for the bottle, his fingers brushing against the smooth glass surface. Memories of the previous night flicker in his mind, hazy and fragmented.

He must have indulged more than usual.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he meanders back to the bedroom, where cardboard boxes lie in disarray. He reaches into one of the unsealed boxes blindly and tugs on the first thing he finds, a grey knitted sweater and a pair of black slacks. He wanders out of the bathroom, brushing his teeth as he tosses the few stray things that lay here and there, things he had forgotten to pack the day before.

Theodore, albeit a little hungover, was thrilled. Today was the day he was due to move into his new apartment with you. You would be meeting him in the evening because you had work, however Theodore had a day off, so he would do the bulk of the moving process in the meantime. He’s just slipping his shoes on when the doorbell buzzes. He walks over to the intercom, buzzing the person in.

Theodore presses the button on the intercom, expecting to hear the voice of the moving truck driver but Instead, there's silence.

Frowning slightly, he presses the button again, but still, there's no response.

Yet another thing to solidify his choice to move out of this shitty apartment, as if the prospect of living with you wouldn’t be enough.

“Get- This- Stupid- Fucking- Thing- To- Work-” Theodore grunts, banging his fist into the intercom. Finally, the buzzing sound rings, and he can see the driver entering the flat through the small camera.

With a resigned sigh, Theodore hurriedly shrugs on his jacket. He jogs over to the door as a knock echoes through the apartment, cursing as he almost trips over a box. Kicking it to the side frustratedly, he opens the door.

"Sorry about the intercom," Theodore apologizes as he reaches the driver. "It's been acting up lately."

The driver nods understandingly, offering a sympathetic smile. "No worries. Let's get these boxes loaded up, shall we?"

They spent the next half an hour carrying the ridiculously heavy boxes down 4 flights of stairs because the elevator had stopped working. Theodore wipes the sweat from his brow as he sets down the last box with a thud, the weight of it nearly causing his arms to tremble. He takes a moment to catch his breath, chest heaving with exertion. He reaches into his pocket and hands the driver what Blaise had informed him to be a form of muggle currency, a flimsy piece of paper with “£50” written on it.

“Thank you for your help,” Theodore says, breathing slightly laboured. The driver was merely doing the job Theodore had paid him to do, but he couldn’t help feeling slightly sympathetic for the clearly older man who had broken out in a sweat by the time they had bought the first two boxes down. The driver frowns as he looks down at the note, then back up at Theodore.

Was it not enough? Had Theodore given him the equivalent of a single sickle?

His misinformed panic quickly subsides when the balding man grins, extending a hand out to Theodore.

“No worries mate. Bit of a drive, isn’t it? How are you getting there?” The man says, and Theodore pales for a second.

What exactly did muggles use again?

“Car,” Theodore blurts after a second, and the man nods, pocketing the £50 note into his shorts.

“Well, I reckon you’ll arrive before me. Should be close to 8 hours, had to tell the missus I wouldn't be home for the day. Had her questioning whether I was working or down at the pub!” He chortles.

Theodore chuckles nervously, feeling slightly out of his element with the man's casual banter. He nods along, trying to appear as though he understands every word, despite the thick accent throwing him off.

"Yeah, the drive should be fine," Theodore replies, forcing a smile. "Thanks again for your help. Really appreciate it."

With a final nod of farewell, Theodore watches as the man heads back to the truck and drives away, leaving him standing alone in front of his old apartment.

Casting one glance around the barren area, he apparates away, appearing in the corridor of his new house in no less than 4 seconds. He truly does pity muggles and their transport, for he couldn't even entertain the idea of having to spend 8 hours trapped in a car.

He walks around the empty house, a small smile tugging at his lips as he imagines the countless things you’d do here. The idea of building a life with you, so grossly domestic, brought a grin to his face.

You had been a saviour to Theodore, a burst of sunlight on a cloudy day.

He can still recall the day he had first met you with frighteningly precise clarity, though to Theodore it was only natural that he did, for he was sure he only started living when he had met you. He was only ever bound to fall deeper in love with you from the very first time he had seen you looking up at him with that slightly lopsided grin that sent shivers down his spine and warmth flooding his chest. It was as if the world had suddenly become brighter, more vibrant, simply because you were in it.

Whether it was studying together in the library, sneaking out for midnight strolls around the castle, or simply sitting in comfortable silence, Theodore found himself falling deeper and deeper under your spell.

He snaps out of his daydreams, looking around as he checks his watch.

15:07

This would be the perfect time to go out and explore the town a bit, perhaps find a supermarket.

The driver was due to get here around the same time you would finish work, and Theodore was sure you’d be exhausted. He decided to make you some dinner, knowing how late shifts at the ministry drained you.

Navigating the winding streets, Theodore takes in the sights and sounds of the town, marvelling at the quaint shops and charming architecture. It's a far cry from the bustling streets of Glasgow, but Theodore finds himself drawn to the peaceful atmosphere of the small town.

After 2 hours of finding himself sidetracked by a variety of different shops, he finally finds a supermarket. He heads in and emerges later with his wallet considerably lighter and a handful of bags filled with an unnecessary selection of snacks, and produce.

It was only a further 3 hours later, after Theodore had procrastinated reading a book as he lay sprawled across the remarkably comfy bed that came in the refurbished apartment that he realised for the abundance of cabinets and chairs that the place came with, there would not be a single pot or pan in sight. How Theodore planned to cook tomato soup without a pan, or a chopping board, or a knife at the very least, was beyond him.

With a begrudging sigh, he accepted the financial loss of having to venture back into town to get the necessary culinary equipment. At least now by the time you’d be back from work, the soup would just about be ready, so you could enjoy it nice and fresh.

With the attention span of a 5-year-old, it was only natural for what should have been a 30-minute store run to turn into a 2-hour shopping spree, but Theodore couldn't help it when he saw a second-hand book store and a florist stand that sold green - yes green - tulips (which so happened to be your favourite flower). Entering the apartment once again having sworn to himself that he is not to spend for the next month, Theodore sets down the bags and rolls up his sleeves, washing his hands as he prepares to cook.

Theodore sets to work, chopping vegetables and simmering soup on the stove. The savoury aroma fills the air, mingling with the scent of fresh herbs and spices. It's a labour of love, preparing a meal for you after a long day, but Theodore wouldn't have it any other way.

Thanks to his admirable procrastination skills, Theodore had managed to pass an impressive 7 hours doing nothing and was only midway through dicing some garlic when a resounding knock echoed through the empty house.

Moving the sizzling pot off the stove, he makes his way over to the door, wiping his garlic-smelling hands on his trousers as he opens the door. The same man stands before him, a truck parked outside as he greets Theodore.

“Cor, smells lovely. Must have gotten here well before me if you're already cooking” The man chuckles, and Theodore nods, fumbling for an excuse.

“Relatively smooth journey.” He nods, haphazardly slipping his shoes on as he follows the man to the empty truck. No longer living on the top floor of a dingy apartment building, the process of moving the boxes was far easier, and no longer than 10 minutes later the driver is (to Theodore's relief), waving goodbye with the large wad of bills clutched in his hands. Theodore sighs as he shuts the door, setting the final box down on top of the coffee table. Boxes lay strewn around the living room, which was connected to the kitchen in an open-plan configuration. Quickly finishing off the last of the cooking so he could leave the soup to simmer, he makes his way over to one of the boxes, ripping at the tape.

He reaches for a picture frame tucked away in one of the smaller boxes. With a tender smile, he carefully removes the frame, revealing a picture of you and him taken during one of your adventures at Hogwarts.

You had just spent the day out in Hogsmeade, and after successfully smuggling 5 bottles of fire whiskey back into the castle, you both sat on the sofa in the common room, a blanket thrown over the two of you. You had a red scarf wrapped around your neck. You loved that scarf, wearing it absolutely everywhere despite Theodore’s protests that you were repping the rivalling house.

You were curled up into Theodore's side, a grin on your face. Mid-laugh, your cheeks and the tip of your nose red as you were looking beyond the camera. It was a simple candid shot taken by Pansy and one that you had found incredibly adorable and immediately framed.

Gently dusting off the frame, Theodore carries it over to one of the shelves in the living room, setting it carefully down.

He hears the sound of the door opening behind him. Turning around, Theodore's heart skips a beat as he sees you standing in the doorway, a tired smile on your face as you kick off your shoes and step inside.

"Hey," you greet him, your voice soft with exhaustion but filled with warmth.

Theodore's face lights up at the sight of you, and he can't help but feel a rush of excitement. Dropping the box he's holding, he rushes over to you, enveloping you in a tight embrace.

"Welcome home," Theodore whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I've missed you."

You return his embrace eagerly, burying your face in his chest as you breathe in the familiar scent of his cologne. It's a comforting embrace, and you can’t help but cling to him a little tighter.

You pull away, a small grin tugging at your lips as you look around your new home.

The space may be filled with boxes and scattered belongings, but it already feels like home with Theodore by your side.

"Wow," you murmur, your eyes wandering around the room. "It looks amazing, Theo. You've been busy."

Theodore beams with pride at your words, his heart swelling with happiness.

"I wanted everything to be perfect for when you got home," he says, his voice filled with affection. "And I thought we could celebrate our new place with some homemade tomato soup."

You can't help but smile at his thoughtfulness, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over you. Theodore always knows how to make you feel special, even after a long day at work.

"I love it," you say, crossing the room to wrap your arms around him once more. "And I love you."

You momentarily break away from the hug, reaching over for the ladle, You sneakily take a sip of soup, ignoring Theodore’s gasp of indignation as you groan.

“And I fucking love tomato soup,” You groan, and Theodore can’t help but laugh.

“Go and change. I’ll plate it for us.” Theodore says, moving over one of the boxes labelled ‘Crockery’.

You hum, wandering off to the bathroom. Your voice resounds off the bare walls as you speak.

“Start without me, love. I need to shower and I want to go to bed as soon as possible”

Theodore frowns, ignoring the slight disappointment but agreeing nonetheless. He indulges in a hearty bowl of soup, one set for you on the counter as he leans against the kitchen island.

About 20 or so minutes later, Theodore is washing his bowl, and his attention is drawn to the sound of the bathroom door opening. You emerge, still clad in your work clothes, a tired but content expression on your face. Theodore's eyebrows furrow slightly at the sight, a hint of confusion flickering in his eyes.

You had said you were going to shower, so why haven’t you changed? Perhaps you were simply so tired you had forgotten to bring some other clothes, or you didn’t realise. Theodore shrugs it off, far too enamoured by you to ponder on it for long.

You pad into the kitchen as a gentle acoustic melody fills the area, and you look over to see the record player propped up on a still-sealed box, alongside a stack of records. You can't resist teasing him about unpacking the vinyl player first.

"Really, Theo? Out of all the boxes, you had to unpack the record player first?" you tease, a playful glint in your eyes.

Theodore rolls his eyes playfully, but there's a smile tugging at his lips as he pulls you into his arms. "Hey, music sets the mood," he defends himself, swaying you gently in a makeshift dance.

You can't help but laugh at his response, feeling the warmth of his embrace enveloping you.

You shake your head in mock exasperation, but there's a fondness in your gaze as you look up at him.

As the music plays softly in the background, Theodore and you begin to sway to the rhythm, your movements slow and synchronized. The dim light of the kitchen casts a warm glow over the scene, illuminating your faces as you gaze into each other's eyes.

Your hands find their place on Theodore's shoulders, while his hands rest gently on your waist, pulling you closer to him.

Theodore's gaze is soft as he looks down at you, a small smile playing on his lips. A small giggle resounds through the kitchen area as he pulls back, hands holding yours as he spins you around.

A small yelp escapes your lips as he dips you, his laughter mingling with yours as you dance with one another. You slow down slightly, resting your head against Theodore's chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as you move together. The song slowly fades into the next track, and you pull back slightly, resting your chin on Theodore’s chest as you look up at him.

“It’s perfect. It’s everything we spoke about back when we were at Hogwarts” You murmur, and he smiles softly.

“It is” He whispers against your lips, as he leans down to kiss you.

This. This is what home felt like.

It was simple, but it was belonging, and it was belonging with you.

Theodore yawns, and a small grin tugs at your lips as you look at him.

“Go to bed. I’m gonna quickly eat and sort some things out then I’ll join you.” You reassure, pulling away.

He goes to protest but yawns, and realises that he truly was quite tired. With a sheepish smile, he nods, kissing your forehead as he disappears off to the bedroom.

Around half an hour later Theodore's eyes flicker open at the sound of you entering the room.

You settle under the covers, nestled close to each other, sharing the warmth.

"So, how was your day, love?" Theodore asks, his voice gentle as he strokes your hair.

"It was good," you reply with a soft smile. "Busy, as usual, but nothing I couldn't handle."

Theodore nods, his expression filled with understanding. "I'm glad to hear that. You always handle everything with such grace."

You chuckle softly, feeling a pang of bittersweet emotion tugging at your heart. "Well, you know me, always trying to keep it together."

There's a moment of silence between you, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. Theodore feels a sense of longing, as though he is yearning for something he can't quite grasp.

"You know," he begins, his voice barely above a whisper, "We should go out to town tomorrow. I found a nice cafe you’d love.” Theodore mumbles, sleep overtaking him as he fights to keep his eyes open.

You remain silent, running a hand through Theodore's hair as his head rests on your chest.

“We’ll see.” You whisper, reaching over to switch off the bedside lamp.

Theodore frowns, slightly confused. He speaks through his half-asleep state.

“Do you have work tomorrow? It’s a Sunday, you never work on Sundays,” He mutters.

You pause, your heart skipping a beat at his words. A pang of sadness washes over you, but you push it aside.

“We’ll see tomorrow.” You say softly, pressing a kiss to Theodore’s forehead.

Theodore hums, curling into you closer as he wraps an arm around your waist.

“You make it sound like you’re going to disappear.” He mumbles into your neck. A small smile tugs at your lips as you wrap your arm around him and let your eyes flicker closed.

“I love you, Theodore.” You whisper, before you both succumb to sleep.

Dawn breaks, the gentle glow of the morning sunlight casting a serene glow on the bedroom. As Theodore wakes up in the morning he reaches out, sleepily fumbling around for you. His hand reaches out but finds only empty space, the other side of the bed cold. Groggy and disoriented, he blinks away the remnants of sleep, trying to shake off the fog that clouds his mind.

With a heavy sigh, he sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes as he takes in the quietness of the room. It's too quiet, he realizes as if the very absence of sound weighs down on him.

Pushing himself out of bed, Theodore pads across the room, his footsteps echoing softly against the floor. He wanders through the empty house, the silence feeling oppressive now.

“[Name]?” He mumbles out, looking around.

No response.

He frowns. Today was a Sunday. You never worked on Sundays. Surely, if you were working, you would have told him.

His phone pings and he’s momentarily distracted, looking down at his home screen.

Blaise: We’re always here for you. It might not get easier but we’re all here to help. Sending you love.

Theodore frowns, utterly confused. It was such a morbid message from Blaise out of the blue.

He doesn’t have much time to unpack the meaning, however.

Entering the kitchen, Theodore's gaze falls upon the untouched bowl of soup on the counter. Confusion furrows his brow as he approaches it, a sense of unease settling in the pit of his stomach.

"[Name]?" he calls out, his voice echoing in the empty room. There's no response, just the silence that seems to press in on him from all sides.

Becoming more awake now, Theodore's movements become more frantic as he searches the house, calling out your name with increasing urgency. But there's no sign of you, no trace of your presence anywhere.

Panic begins to rise within him, checking each room as your name falls from his lips in desperation.

Stumbling back into the living room, he walks to the corridor but pauses when a glimpse of a white card catches his eye, poking out from the box laying atop the coffee table. He feels inexplicably drawn to it, a nagging feeling telling him to pause his searches for you.

Frowning, he tugs it out of the box, and his eyes roam over the small, A5 sheet of card.

In Loving Memory of [Name] [Last Name]

14/04/1981 - 3/05/1998

oh.

right.

Theodore's heart lurches in his chest as he reads the words on the card, a cold shiver running down his spine.

He reads the dates again, his mind struggling to grasp everything.

Theodore sinks onto the nearest chair, his hands trembling as he clutches the card tightly. Tears blur his vision as he struggles to come to terms with the truth, the weight of his grief crashing down on him with a crushing force.

It all makes sense now. The inexplicable moments of confusion, the nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right. He had been living in a dream, clinging to a reality that no longer existed.

Grief may have been cruel, but love was crueller. Grief made him acknowledge that you were gone, that you had been gone, but love made him think you’d walk through the door any moment with a tired smile tugging at your lips. Love made him think he could cook for you and sit down with you at the end of the long day. Grief made him accept you would never be here again but love? Love made him look for you.

Tears blur his vision as he struggles to come to terms with the reality of your absence, a hollow ache settling in the pit of his stomach. How could he have been so blind, so foolish to believe that you were still here with him?

He feels suffocated by the emptiness of the house, the silence echoing like a constant reminder of what he has lost.

His movements uncoordinated and shaky, he stumbles as he walks over to the kitchen. He haphazardly throws open cabinets as he reaches for the bottle of whiskey, his fingers fumbling as he struggles to twist off the cap. Taking a massive swig straight from the bottle, he welcomes the burning sensation that courses down his throat, momentarily dulling the pain that constricts his airways.

Theodore stumbles back to the bedroom, the bottle of whiskey clutched tightly in his hand. As he navigates through the maze of boxes, he knocks one over, its contents spilling out onto the floor. He curses as he knocks it over, and in a cruel twist of fate, a red scarf is sent tumbling out of the box.

His breath catches in his throat as he picks up the scarf, his fingers brushing against the soft fabric. Somehow, it still carries the faint scent of your perfume, a haunting reminder of your presence that lingers in the air.

“Fuck!” Theodore shouts, smashing the bottle of whiskey against the kitchen counter as he holds onto the scarf.

Curses and shouts of anguish tear from his throat, echoing off the walls of the empty house like a sick symphony . He smashes the contents of the box with reckless abandon, the sound of breaking glass filling the air.

But as suddenly as his outburst began, it comes to an abrupt halt; Theodore's chest heaves with exertion. Panting heavily, he stares blankly at the wreckage around him, the full weight of his actions sinking in.

For a moment, there's only silence, broken only by the sound of his ragged breaths.

He wanted none of this. None of these stupid things, or this stupid house. Everywhere he looked, he was reminded of you. Perhaps it was because everything he did, was for you. Whether you were in this life or the next.

He kicks the scattered mess around him, walking off to the bedroom.

Tears well up in Theodore's eyes as he collapses onto the bed, clutching the scarf to his chest with a desperate grip. His body racks with sobs as he holds onto the memory of you tightly, and he can only pray that he’ll wake up and you’ll be there.

Grief may have been cruel, but love was crueller. And with the way Theodore loved loves you, he was only ever bound to such a miserable demise.

@mildlyuninformative @chgrch @gillyweeds @anti-hero03 @schaebickel @lillywildly @batmandabest @always-reading @multifandom-worlds

look at my cute bunbie❤️!!

Just out of curiosity…

Sticking to canon events from the books/movies:

Personal biases aside - think about plot purposes and characters’ relationships

(Please reblog so we can get more votes for accurate answers)

I cannot believe there's absolutely no way to watch free shows and movies anymore, there are too many paid streaming platforms and pirating websites have viruses and ads preventing you from watching it uninterrupted((.)) id rather follow the rules and purchase media moving forward because it is too inconvenient. Seriously, free and no ads or viruses with 1080p streaming is DEAD.

what was not now by stephan sanchez or ultraviolence by lana del ray <3

Music fans reblog this with an album you consider “your” album… one that is part of your personality, one that means a lot to you, or just one you really like… Mine is The Perfect Shade of Green by Skittish :>

Wife: Order of the Phoenix is on TV, do you want to watch it?

Me: No, because then Sirius doesn't die.

Wife: I don't think that's how it wor-

Me: HE LIVES HAPPILY EVER AFTER WITH REMUS LUPIN THE END!

my heart is freaking broken

A Sorry Substitute {R.B}

Synopsis: In a home full of photographs depicting memories of the past, it can be hard to move forward... Good thing you have remarkably little interest in doing so.

Notes: Absurdly non cannon compliant (mentions of the Yule Ball, completely ignoring Sirius and Regulus' strained relationship, etc.) Also, warnings for angst, mentions of underage drinking, and mentions of death.

In the photos littered throughout your home, Regulus Black was thoroughly documented, portions of his life (or rather, your conjoined life together) suspended in time for all to see.

There was a small framed photo in the parlor of him and his brother as children, with the older chasing the younger through the ever familiar back garden of their home. Regulus had at one point kept it at his bedside after his brother left for Hogwarts, which was how you'd come to have it in your possession years later. It was one of few images depicting Sirius as a child that hadn't been destroyed by a bitter Walburga.

Beside it, sat a slightly larger frame, within which was a similarly moving image of a far older Regulus as he snatched up the golden snitch in the the 1974 Gryffindor vs Slytherin quidditch match. You were quite proud of this particular photo, having taken it at the very moment that the young man's expression had begun to morph from one of utter concentration to victorious pride. It also helped that you'd managed to frame it in a manner that captured Sirius' reaction from his position as Keeper in the background. He'd cursed his brother up and down for catching the snitch after the match was over, but judging by the photo, his initial reaction was as proud as could be.

On the opposite wall, dual photos of your evening with your boyfriend at the Yule Ball during your fifth year were hung proudly, one having been taken by Lily, and the other by Sirius himself, whose presence pervaded many of the memories you'd decorated your home with.

In his photo, you and Regulus stood posed together, he in his dress robes and you in your gown, with several other couples visible in the background conversing amongst themselves. If you looked closely enough, you could see the subtle shaking of the camera and the slight glare that came over the younger Black heir's eyes as his brother laughed at the hesitant manner in which he'd placed his hand upon your hip. "Her Mum is going to see this, you utter fool." He'd reasoned afterward, which you recalled had only sent Sirius into a far greater fit of laughter than before.

Lily's photo, on the other hand, was far more candid, and a personal favorite of yours. In it, you were dancing casually with your love, arms resting gently upon his shoulders as he'd finally put those years of dance lessons that all pure blooded families seemed to make their children endure to good use. He looked happy, smiling down at you as a hand moved up to gently caress your cheek, a subtle gesture of affection that had sent your heart racing even after a full year of dating and another of pining before that.

Of course though, the parlor was not the only room decorated with photographs.

Your entryway, for example, was home to a group photo of you and your friends aboard the Hogwarts express together as you prepared to begin the 1977-1978 school year, after which Lily, James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter would all graduate. In this particular picture, you were all crammed into one little area aboard the train, basically on top of one another as you struggled to fit everyone into frame. In fact, toward the end of the image's looping movement, you could see where the train had lurched, pushing you off balance and making Regulus' eyes widen as he'd tightened his hold upon your arm. And beyond that, you could even see the shifting expressions playing about people's faces as they realized you were falling, genuine smiles briefly morphing into looks of comical panic before the loop started over once more. Unfortunately, what was not captured in the photo was the next few seconds of time, which featured you and your boyfriend of nearly 1.5 years toppling down together atop your friends, sending everyone into a fit of laughter so loud that the other inhabitants of the train car had all turned to see what the commotion was.

In addition to this, your kitchen in particular was absolutely littered with little photographs, many of them far too silly to have printed out and displayed properly in your home. Of course, this was exactly why you'd simply turned them into little gold framed magnets for your refrigerator instead, covering the appliance in happy memories for all too see if they only chose to look.

For example, one of your favorites included Regulus at the aftermath of a party in the Gryffindor common room after the house had beaten Ravenclaw during their quidditch match earlier that day. In it, he was clearly somewhat inebriated and incredibly exhausted, because rather than fixing the photographer, a seventh year James Potter, with his typical glare, he instead resolved to simply flip him off with an unsubtle roll of his eyes before he rolled onto his back atop the couch he'd been laying on when he'd noticed that the stag animagus had been aiming the camera in his direction. At the edge of the frame, you could just barely make out the sight of you and Sirius bursting into laughter over the interaction, leaning on one another to keep your (certainly not sober) selves from tumbling to the ground.

Another featured you all but bum rushing your boyfriend after he'd gotten hold of the snitch during a different quidditch game that same year, throwing your arms around his neck gleefully as he caught you with a visible but silent "oof!" before shaking his head in exasperation and wrapping his arms around your waist with a grin, happily accepting and eagerly returning the celebratory kiss you pressed to his lips shortly thereafter.

A much older photo next to that one exhibited a third year Regulus scribbling furiously at his arithmancy homework in the great hall after you'd all managed to convince him it was due that morning rather than the next one.

The following image, however, taken only a few minutes later by an uninvolved Peter, showed the young slytherin chasing you, James, Sirius, and Remus down the hallway after your growing bouts of random laughter had become suspicious enough for him to question what you were all up to.

Of course, while Regulus was indeed the most important person in your life, and certainly the one you were most keen upon displaying about your shared home, that wasn't to say every photo included him.

For example, one of your favorite pictures that adorned the fridge featured you sleeping on the floor just outside the room that Remus had locked himself away in during one of your many trips to a long forgotten Black family lakeside property whilst on Easter break. In it, your hand was resting gently atop the gryffindor's fingertips as they stuck out from underneath the door, which was the closest he would allow himself to get after you'd pleaded with him to come out all evening. It had been the night before a full moon, and he'd always preferred to be alone on such occasions, but since you'd rarely experienced that behavior of his, you'd been insistent that he continued to feel included. It was a sweet memory, and certainly one that you were glad to have the opportunity to display as you so pleased.

In addition to this, another image that didn't contain Regulus was the one of Peter, Sirius, James, and Remus passed out in the slytherin common area after a long night of studying during their sixth year. In classic gryffindor fashion, they'd all insisted that the slytherin furniture was far too uncomfortable to rest on, leading you, Regulus, and Lily to take plenty of photographs of them sleeping soundly the very moment the opportunity arose, shoulders shaking with laughter as you'd quietly mocked your friends.

Alongside all of these, various other memories clung to the magnetic surface of your refrigerator, including a few failed attempts at casting a patronus on yours and Regulus' part after James had tried to teach the spell to the two of you during your conjoined fifth year and his sixth.

Eventually though, you'd gotten it, and thus there was another photo up of your patronuses as they walked about together, a ginger and nebelung cat respectively (something James had tried to tease you both for until you'd reminded him of his and Lily Evans', quickly prompting him to leave well enough alone).

Still, even with all of those wonderful memories in mind, the one that remained your very favorite was one that didn't actually hang at all, but rather sat framed upon your bedside table for you to wake up to each morning.

It was an absolutely beautiful and intentionally shot photo, featuring the very same Black family lake house that you and your friends had occupied in some of the pictures located on your fridge. Having been taken just after James, Lily, Sirius, Remus, and Peter's graduation at a small gathering put together by you and your boyfriend to celebrate, the energy of the photograph itself was joyful beyond words, although that may have had more to do with the tear worthy moment captured within it than anything else.

In the background, the sun was beginning to set low on the horizon, casting a pink and orange glow across the waters behind where you and Regulus were stood.

That is, until without warning, the aforementioned man suddenly wasn't standing at all anymore, but kneeling before you instead, a black ring box in hand and a nervous expression playing about his handsome face.

He hadn't even gotten the chance to get the full question past his lips before you were tackling him even further to the ground with a hug and a hurried, repeated nod in agreement.

At the edges of the frame, Lily and James could be seen gaping at the scene while Peter simply pointed in utter disbelief and Remus tried (and failed) to hold back tears of joy.

And of course, pictured only in memory, was Sirius behind the camera, the only other party who had been privy to his younger brother's plans, and thus the man with the duty of taking the pictures for you.

He could not have done a better job if he'd tried (Not even with your second favorite image from that evening, which depicted a very inebriated you riding on the back of a very inebriated James Potter after he'd taken on his stag form. The two of you had become utterly determined to try it after Remus had cracked a sarcastic joke, and after a charm had been cast to magically make you lighter to lessen the weight upon the stag's back, you'd both set off victoriously with no particular destination in mind as your partners chased after the two of you with utterly horrified expressions plastered on their faces. It was a very good photo, indeed).

Yes, in the photographs littered throughout your home, Regulus Black was thoroughly documented, some of the very happiest moments of his life replaying time and time again for any and all to see.

That is, except, for him, and every other person besides yourself depicted in those dearly beloved photographs.

Your sweet Lily and persistent James, long gone, murdered in cold blood.

Your brave Sirius, unfairly returned in shambles before being taken away again far too soon.

Your loyal Remus, fallen alongside his love after years of being your only remaining solace in a world cruel enough to have taken everyone else away from you.

Your misguided Peter, who you could never forgive, but could not help but weep for when you saw the boy he'd once been in the photos on your walls.

And, of course, your darling Regulus, who you'd always hoped against hope that you'd see again until those very same hopes had been dashed to pieces as if against the rocks near which his final resting place could be found.

All around you, your love's life replayed over and over endlessly each and every day, acting as a sorry but needed substitute for his presence, longer gone now than you'd ever even had the chance to know it.

And in the end, there was no greater grief in your heart.

For no pain was worse than that caused by the scarcely explained and permanent absence of Regulus Arcturus Black from the life you'd planned together.

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You're my home

My home for all seasons