Archive of Our Own

Melancholia had always echoed in your footsteps, hanging over you in a cloud of dampness and grey that lingered no matter the weather. Your drawn and quiet face, reserved in its rarest smiles and yet absence of tears, unnerved many. Perhaps it was the heaviness that glossed over your eyes, or maybe it was the silence in which you moved — either way, people did not like the presence you brought, the energy you lived in. You felt it in the way they stared as you passed, in the way they avoided conversation with you, in the way no one ever sat next to you in class.

Raindrops fascinated you, always had, ever since you were a small child sat by the window during rainfall, watching the droplets cascade down the glass in an unpredictable and mesmerising manner. Little pieces of nature that you could see through, but only in distortion. Raindrops represented sadness, but also new beginnings, when every inch of land is rinsed clean to start fresh. Farmers favoured some amount of rainfall, but most people complained when the heavens opened, complaining of their recently washed hair or perfectly applied makeup.

You never complained — not about rain, not about anything. Your parents continually remarked that you were an easy child, never crying, never running off, never waking up in the night. They were blinded by parental love to how others perceived you, a fragment of blue in a sea of yellow.

Studies were what you focused on, in your lack of friendships and hobbies, grateful that Hogwarts was in Scotland as it meant you would frequently be graced with the view of precipitation as you worked. You poured over your books, learning and practicing magic as if it were a religion. After performing so well in your OWLs that you did not drop a single mark, your professors asked if you wished to take your NEWTs a year early, as your knowledge and ability already extended far beyond that.

You accepted, moving into the classes of the year above with the ease in which a storm shifts to its next town, but there was no thunder. Only cautious curiosity as you slipped into your first class of the school year, a sixth year masquerading as a seventh. You sat down at an empty desk, noticing but not acknowledging the unspoken questions. The seat beside you was vacant, and you expected it to stay that way — the seventh years would not be any different than your old classmates. They would view you in the same distorted way, as if gazing through a raindrop.

Then Regulus Black walked in.

He was a man of darkness and grace, of pristine manners yet abrasive seclusion. The way he held himself spoke of confidence and privilege, but there had always been an awkwardness to him. He was a contradiction of a man, and unlike anyone else you had seen around Hogwarts — not even his own brother, Sirius Black.

Still, you had never paid much mind to him, not until now, when he scanned the room of free seats, but decided to sit next to you. For the first time, you felt unnerved, understanding in the flash of a second how people felt when they saw you. Regulus Black had unnerved you, deciding you were the most adequate seating partner in a room full of people he had known for years. In a room full of his fellow Slytherins.

He did not greet you, did not even look your way once he was settled, and that was somehow more unnerving than a polite "hello".

"Good morning, class," Professor McGonagall called to attention, "Your last year at Hogwarts is upon you, and I trust you are all well-prepared to study tirelessly for your NEWTs."

Groans littered the room, but not from your shared desk. No sound came from you or Black.

"As you can see, we have a new addition," she continued, "Miss L/N will be taking her NEWTs a year early, and I think you should all aspire to have as rigorous a study schedule as her."

"Freak," a girl said through a badly forged cough. She was in your house, and knew your nature. Giggles and chuckles emerged across the room, implying your character was more well-known than you had originally thought. Or maybe they just thought you were a nerd.

Regardless, you were unreactive. Their words did not hurt you, their distaste was of no relevance.

***

The girl who had mocked you in class, Aimee Arachwood, had largely left you to yourself before you joined her year. Perhaps she had whispered as you walked past, perhaps she had muttered callous and overused insults about you when your presence was in lack, but she had never gone out of her way to target you. Now, though, your poised fellow Ravenclaw — pure-blood, from a family littered with Slytherins — had dubbed you an enemy of sorts, if that. You were probably more adjacent to the mud smudged on the soles of her designer shoes.

It was obvious that she was becoming increasingly irritated at the fact she could not get to you. After realising words would not cut through the thick barrier of your skin, she had attempted more physical forms of abuse. Only, you would have not been allowed to skip a year had your duelling skills not been excellent: she quickly realised that she could not beat you magically. And, in a last resort effort, after weeks of your indifference, she staged an elaborate plan of humiliation.

Because there was one person that Arachwood feared, one person she would not dare touch, along with every other member of the school. Regulus Black was regarded as a dangerous individual, one that should be approached with caution.

Meaning he was the perfect person to finally get under your skin.

So, when he faced you with a glare sharp as knives in his eyes, and scowled eyebrows, you instantly had a feeling that Arachwood was involved. Because Regulus Black was not an aggressor— he never went out of his way to bother anyone, in fact he, by all accounts, preferred to keep entirely to himself. He then presented you with a notebook, a seemingly personal one not for lessons, that had been burned and blackened in such a manner that it was rendered entirely illegible.

You glanced at it, then him, and tilted your head.

He then held up a necklace, one that had gone missing from your jewellery box a mere two days prior, and the pieces clicked together in your head.

"How fucking dare you?"

Adjusting the bag strap on your shoulder, you shrugged, "I would not, nor did I."

He stared at you, questioning your audacity to deny the crime when he had evidence clutched in his fist. "This is your necklace."

You nodded, "It is."

"It has your initials engraved into it."

"It does."

"And it was right next to my burnt notebook."

"Damning, for sure."

Your blunt responses appeared to take him by surprise, but he continued, "You think it's a coincidence?"

"A coincidence? No," you shook your head, "I'm sure the placement of my necklace— specifically the one bearing my initials— at the scene of the crime was more than intentional."

Black paused for a few moments, considering what you were saying, before replying, "You are suggesting that someone framed you?"

"I never wear that necklace," you said simply, "I'm afraid I cannot prove that fact, but it is the truth. Nor do I have any means of entering the Slytherin dungeons."

"And who would have access to both Ravenclaw and Slytherin?"

You shrugged, "Probably a Ravenclaw from a pure-blood noble house."

Then, Regulus Black unnerved you again: he thought about the situation in the flash of a few seconds (something he apparently had not yet done), and frowned at the necklace clutched in his fist. "Aimee Arachwood."

Your mouth settled into a grim line.

"She has targeted you recently."

It really unnerved you that he had noticed that.

"But she has yet to affect you. She thought that I would."

"Well, yes," you spoke, clipped and oddly unsure. It killed you to admit it, but Arachwood was on the right track: Black did affect you.

And just like that, the man's cold fury swept away with him as he stormed off, throwing your necklace back to you in the process. You watched as the metal skidded across the flagstone floors, reaching a stop near your feet, the only proof you had that Black had spared you his anger. With a sigh, you picked it up, wondering what about you pissed Arachwood off to such an alarming extent.

***

You had anticipated that Arachwood's eyes would be pinned on to your silhouette the second that you entered the Great Hall for dinner, yet you were unsure as to whether Black had confronted her regarding his damaged property. After a quick scan of the Slytherin table, you noted his absence, before sitting down as far away from Arachwood as you could at the end of the Ravenclaw table. The bubbling pots of curry quickly became the new focus of your attentions, and you began scooping rice on to your plate, almost missing the approaching shadow that placed herself directly opposite you.

"Good day?" she asked, her head tilted to the side.

Gracing her with an incredulous look, you replied, "Decidedly average."

She pursed her lips ever so slightly, before continuing, "Really? Haven't had any trouble? Any unsavoury interactions?"

"Not until now."

Arachwood soured at that response. "Well, I'm sure that will change."

And then her eyes flitted to somewhere behind you, her sourness instantly evaporating as she fought to hide a smile. You wondered what could have cheered her up, until Regulus Black stood at the head of the table —
his arms crossed and his eyes cold.

You said nothing, moving to add some curry on top of the rice on your plate.

"Is there a problem, Black?" Arachwood smiled sweetly, glancing at you.

"I think you know very well there is," he answered bluntly, also sparing you a glance.

She seemed to hesitate at those words, trying to piece together the unexpected fallout.

"I don't much appreciate my belongings being destroyed," he said, an unnervingly calm essence lacing his tone as he reached into his satchel, pulling out the evidence, "Care to explain this?"

"It— it wasn't me!" she quickly rebutted, turning her panicked yet menacing eyes to you, "It was L/N!"

You quirked an eyebrow at her, trying to understand her thought process.

"And what reason would she have to do this?"

"I don't know," she tried to regather her composure, "What reason would I have?"

"To frame me," you finally spoke, "So that I face Black's wrath and finally feel some semblance of the hurt that you so desperately want me to feel."

Arachwood looked to Black, as if she was trying to wordlessly say, "Can you believe this girl?" but she realised fast that his cold gaze was still trained on to her. She eventually said, "You can't seriously think it was me based off a theory. It could just as easily have been L/N."

"The fact you cannot see the flaws in your own plan is deeply concerning," Black said, resting his hands on the table as he leaned down, "But let me just say this." He then whispered something in Arachwood's ear so quietly that you could not decipher it, but you noticed the way her face paled and her body froze. The second he pulled away, she excused herself to return to her friends further down the table.

You glanced at Black, who was watching her leave with an intriguing but faint mix of amusement and anger, until he switched to look at you. That was when you felt unnerved again, being the object of his scrutinous gaze and near unreadable thoughts.

Then he left, leaving behind remnants of his greyed aura.

***

Never before had you pondered about someone once they were outside your peripheral, but ever since Black had looked at you in such an analytical way, he had plagued your thoughts. He scared you. Terrified you, even. Because he looked at you like he saw you, not through a raindrop, not through a distorted lens, but in crystal clear image. You weren't sure what to do with it, if anything at all.

Arachwood, on the other hand, retreated almost entirely whenever Black was around: she still graced you with dirty looks whenever you walked by, but her eyes would then always fearfully glance away to him across the room. As usual, you paid her no mind, taking your seat in class without any qualms— except for the fact your seat was next to the terrifying Slytherin. Not that you exchanged any words with him, though his presence alone affected you in such a way that you found yourself habitually bouncing your leg.

"Stop that," he muttered, after a good few lessons of your ministrations.

"Hm?"

"Stop bouncing your leg," he clarified, "It's irritating."

You glanced at him, but he wasn't looking at you. "Sorry," you sighed, forcibly stilling.

He continued taking notes as McGonagall spoke, but you found yourself unable to focus, which was alarmingly out of character for you. This did not go unnoticed by Black.

"This is important," he said almost coldly, "I would recommend writing it down."

Tentatively, you went to pick up your quill, but every word spoken by McGonagall was blurring into an unintelligible sequence of sounds, and instead you found yourself staring at where you had left off before Black spoke to you. You heard him sigh next to you, but he did not speak again for the rest of the lesson, nor did you learn anything more.

That evening, at dinner, you sat idly chewing on your steak, your mind still out of sorts and decidedly uncooperative.

You sensed him before you saw him.

Something about the way he moved carried across the energy flow of the room, tickling the hairs on your arms and making you pause in something adjacent to anticipation. You expected his presence to disappear again, as he was likely walking past towards the Slytherin table, but it only got stronger until he entered your peripheral. He stood before you, on the other side of the table.

"Hello?" you spoke, for the first time in your life, with uncertainty.

He did not respond, instead reaching inside his satchel and pulling out a scroll, holding it out to you with an unreadable expression in his eyes.

You glanced at the parchment, "What is it?"

"A copy of my notes," he drawled, "Since you were incapable of taking them today."

"Oh, uh, thank you," you took them cautiously.

He turned to leave, but a question itched on your tongue.

"Wait," you said, and he paused, looking back at you. You asked, "Why?"

"Because you weren't taking any."

"Yes," you said, "But that did not obligate you to do this. It is uncharacteristically kind of you."

At that, you noted, he appeared speechless, though not in the way one feels when they have been caught in action, in the way where one genuinely has not an inkling of what to say. "You were a tolerable deskmate," he eventually said, "Until late. I am doing this for you in the hopes you will return to being so."

You mulled over his words for a few moments, before saying, "I'm not sure I have ever been described as tolerable."

"Everyone else in this school is an idiot."

And that felt like an actual compliment: was he acknowledging your intelligence and accomplishments? Did he see you on the same level as him despite his arrogance? "I see," you murmured, "I apologise for my recent intolerable behaviour. I can assure you that it is frustrating me far more than you."

His following assessment of you did not help the peculiar way he made you feel. You had always had a distaste for the fact people saw you through a raindrop, but now you were being looked at clearly, you felt small in the bask of the gaze. Unfortunately, you had been wrong to secretly wish for being seen as you were— it was an uncomfortable feeling.

***

It was far too idealistic to hope that Black's interaction with Arachwood would cause her to back off from you entirely, as was soon proved by her sudden appearance by the table in the library that you were dutifully studying at. As much as her words could not affect you, she was being incredibly annoying.

"What the fuck did you say to him?" she seethed, "How did you prove it was me?"

"I believe 'obvious' is the word you're looking for," you drawled, not looking up from your scroll.

There was something comical in the way she bristled. "You're so fucking entitled."

"Indulge me as to why."

"You act so calm and collected, like you don't care what people think of you," she said, crossing her arms, "You should care. If no one likes you, maybe you should reflect on why."

At that, you sat back in your chair, finally looking at her, "What is it you dislike about me?"

"You're weird," she said, exasperated, "No one skips a year here. You don't talk to anyone, you never smile, in fact, you never show any emotion. There's a gloomy aura always surrounding you."

"Forgive me, but I do not believe those are justifiable reasons to dislike someone."

You could have sworn her eye twitched.

"I have not been rude, I have not inconvenienced you, and I have not committed a crime," you continued, "You dislike me simply because I do not fit your expectation of what a person should be."

As you tied up the end of your sentence, a shiver ran up your spine: not because of Arachwood, Rowena, no, but because a certain Slytherin had arrived in the vicinity. Silently, like a thief in the night, he slipped into the chair opposing you, not even acknowledging the girl stood by your table.

"Good afternoon, L/N," he spoke smoothly, almost clipped.

"Afternoon, Black," you replied, fighting down the quiver in your voice.

Arachwood rushed to speak, "Black, about the other day, I'm so sorry, I—"

"Do you hear something?" he cut through her words sharply, speaking to you.

"Nothing worthwhile."

He hummed, and it was a matter of moments before Arachwood scuttled or stormed off: it seemed to be a strange amalgamation of the two.

"I did not think you would be so petty," you could not help but say.

"The high road is for fools."

At that, something close to a chuckle escaped your throat— an unrehearsed, scratchy sound that your voice box was unaccustomed to. Black quirked a singular eyebrow at that.

"Sorry," you felt yourself saying, another unfamiliar uttering leaving your mouth. You never apologised for your manner or way of behaving, even when you probably should have. Then again, this behaviour was not your common kind, and Black seemed to be acutely aware of that fact.

"What are you apologising for?" he asked, as calm and poised as ever.

You paused. "I don't... I don't know." It was a horrific sensation, you realised, not having an answer to a provided question. Something that had not occurred to you since you were a lot smaller. Regulus Black apparently knew how to push buttons you did not even know you possessed, he was inadvertently rewriting your body's code.

"Then don't," he said curtly.

Torturously, you almost apologised a second time, but stopped yourself, staring pointedly at the parchment paper before you, fingers fidgeting underneath the oak wood table.

"Have you begun studying for the charms exam next week?" he started to say, clearly placing no significance on your reactions, "Flitwick implied the focus would be on concealment charms, but I don't think we should overlook the possibility of..."

And as he droned on, you lifted your eyes cautiously to take in his appearance. His focus was on his notebooks as he flicked through them, and you felt the fear growing in you that Regulus Black might actually be your first friend. Why were you scared? Did you not want someone who understood you? Did you not want to be respected by the calculated, terrifying, attractive Slytherin?

You gulped, the most peculiar sensation adjacent to that of nausea and excitement swirling in a tornado settling in your stomach.

"L/N? L/N?"

You snapped out of your thoughts, feeling like a spider faced with a cup. Black's grey eyes were glued on to you, needles piercing through your skull. "Yes?" you spoke.

He sat back in his chair, tongue pressing into the inside of his cheek: his relaxed posture contrasting your stiff and pin-straight stature. "I cannot understand you," he said eventually, a statement you found yourself starkly disagreeing with. "You have bypassed a year to take your NEWTs early, and while you initially were focused and academically driven in a way that far exceeded everyone else I have met, you are now distracted and have been for some time."

You nodded, unsure of what else to do.

"Are you unwell?" he asked, "Is Arachwood still bothering you? I can deal with her."

His offer of protection stunned you. In his own clipped and rigid way, he was showing genuine concern for you, and it only worsened the feeling in your stomach.

"She has never bothered me, as much as she has tried," you eventually spoke.

"Then you are unwell?"

"I..." you contemplated honesty, something you had always gone for without hesitation, "You unnerve me."

He frowned, "How come? You did not react in such a way until recently."

Pursing your lips, you said, "You are the first person to look at me like you see me."

Black did not reply— not right away— which spiked your nerves more. You could almost hear the cogs turning in his mind, processing every detail from your abnormally timid movements to the vague words you had just told him. He was so much like you in the way he assessed the world, in the way he expressed himself.

"Why would I not see you?" he finally questioned.

"Everyone else dismisses me as weird and depressed," you explained, "They push me into an outcast category. You do not dismiss or bully me. You say you do not understand me, but you unnerve me because I feel as though you are the first who could."

He tilted his head, emotions concealed. "I see."

You wished he would show his hand after laying all your own cards on the table, but maybe he did not even know which cards he had.

"Why does it scare you to be understood? Is it not what we crave?"

"I do crave it," you clarified, followed by an uncharacteristic ramble, "But I am unused to the feeling. And you are of a noble house and the purest of blood and while that is not something I typically care about, you have such a presence of authority, and I cannot help but think... why me? Why am I the person you seek to study with?"

"I have told you. You are intelligent and usually tolerable."

You sighed deeply, "And yet you seem like the type who would still rather proceed alone."

He pondered your words, "I suppose that is true," he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, "You intrigue me. Though I probably would not have realised that had Arachwood not pushed me in your direction."

"She has indeed been a catalyst in all this," you agreed.

"There is only one thing for it."

You were confused, "One thing for what?"

"To calm your nerves around me," he supplied, "We must spend time together until you are comfortable."

"And you... wish to put in this effort?"

He nodded ever so slightly, "Shockingly, yes. As you have pointed out, it is rare to meet someone like us. It seems remiss to pass on such an opportunity."

You swallowed his explanation hesitantly.

"I cannot express how direly I have needed stimulating conversation, and I suspect you can provide it."

"I..." you weighed the possibilities, "I suppose I can try."

Your confidence was nowhere to be found.

***

Part of you had feared that Black's plan was to then overwhelm you with his presence, not leaving you alone to the point you felt suffocated. The other part of you was not surprised that part was wrong. He would not seek you out in the morning, or between lessons, but he had moved to sit next to you in every class you shared. He would also join you in the library in the evenings, and occasionally join you down by the lake for some quiet reading.

At first, you were falling behind in all your classes, but you soon became accustomed to his presence, progressing to only appreciating someone like-minded. He was a calming presence, even when you were overstimulated by your surroundings and felt the itch to run away.

"Where are you off to?" Arachwood scoffed, appearing before you in the corridor as you were headed up the stairs to the Ravenclaw Tower.

"Is this a rhetorical question?" you asked, since it was glaringly obvious.

Behind her stood a Ravenclaw boy in your year, glancing awkwardly between the two of you.

"Don't be a smart-arse," she said, "Have you tried being normal?"

"Have you tried being a decent person?"

As she went to retort, the boy behind her nudged her and muttered something that sounded a lot like, "Be careful, Aimee, you know she's Black's girl."

"No, she isn't," she snapped back, turning to you, "You're not dating Black, are you?"

You did not know what to say. Not because you did not know what the relationship between you and him was, but because the question was so out of left field that you were taken aback.

"I'm sure he just pities her," she said with a laugh at your lack of response, "Anyone would. Friendless freak."

"Are you quite finished?" you cut through her ego sharply.

"For now," she shrugged, shoving into you as she walked past, the boy following her with the briefest of looks in your direction.

You were left to ponder the fact that people potentially perceived you and Black as a couple.

***

By the time the Christmas holidays rolled around, you had returned to your usual self no matter if you were around Regulus or not— he had insisted that you were now on a first-name basis. For the first time, you had someone to sit with on the train journey, and someone to say goodbye to at the end.

"I just do not think McGonagall would devise the exam on animagi," you spoke calmly, sat on the floor of the train compartment with open books surrounding you. Regulus was sat on one of the seats with his legs up, a much more laid-back position than the picture-perfect pure-blood tended to assume. To be fair, the two of you had already been studying for the many hours of the journey, and the compartments were far from comfortable.

"Why ever not?" he enquired.

"I have looked over every exam she has given over the last two years. She has devised the exam on animagi for the last two years, I think it is highly unlikely that she will attempt a third."

"Perhaps that assumption is what makes it likely."

"And you may be right," you ceded, "But we should not dedicate ourselves to it. The best move has, and always will be, thoroughly revising every topic that we have learned."

"Of course, I was not implying otherwise. Still, it is nice to have some idea of what to expect."

You hummed, "Therefore, since our journey is nearly finished, I think we should progress to Gamp's Law."

"I see your point."

"Thank you," you said resolutely, moving on to all fours to reach a book further away, "Where shall we begin?"

"The date it was instated, no?"

You chuckled, glancing up at him to see the smallest of smiles creep on to his face, "And what of the events leading up to its introduction?"

He smirked, "We can work back to that. Chronological does not mean most logical."

"I think in the case of lawmaking it does, but there is no need to act as if you do not already know the date Gamp's Law was introduced."

"Touché," he murmured, "Fine, let us ponder the reason it was created, and then move on to the five Principal Exceptions?"

You nodded, "And then all the amendments made since." It was silly, but such engaging conversation and study made you happier than you had ever felt, and your hands shook around out of excitement. The sadness that had always followed you was falling behind, unable to match your newfound pace.

Regulus never paid your peculiar movements any mind.

***

When it came time to say your goodbyes, you were entirely unsure of how to act. With your parents, you generally hugged them and told them you loved them— as uncharacteristic as it may appear— but you had never once hugged Regulus.

So, when he stood before you at the train station, your mother hovering nearby, you were at a loss for words.

He seemed just as uncertain.

"Well, goodbye, then," you said eventually, breaking the silence, "And merry Christmas."

"Yes, farewell," he replied, "Merry Christmas."

You smiled at him, something that your facial muscles now eased into with grace, before turning to your mother.

"Was that Regulus Black?" she whispered excitedly as the two of you walked away, "Are you dating?"

"Mother," you sighed, knowing the torrent of questions that was incoming.

***

When you were little, and your parents had given you the opportunity to give your bedroom a makeover, you had chosen a dusty navy blue for your walls. Not bright pink, not blinding turquoise, not a prettily patterned wallpaper, but something dark and plain. Your parents had dubbed it eccentricity, but you knew it was deeper than that, darker than that. It was loneliness, and the painful comfort it had always provided you, that drew you to a gloomy colour palette.

Now, though, as you sat in your childhood bedroom, the familiar walls surrounding you, the reminder of loneliness no longer felt like a warm embrace, but rather ice seeping into your veins and organs. It was not that you could no longer be alone, no, but that the room no longer reflected what you sought solace in.

That feeling was odd.

So, quill to paper, you began writing a letter: the first you would send to someone other than your parents. The first that you would ever write in your home, and not Hogwarts.

Dear Regulus.

The words on the parchment formed an invitation to meet in Diagon Alley to study together, but for once, studying was not your only purpose. Neither you nor Regulus had discussed whether you would be in correspondence during the holidays, but you could not find a reason not to be.

His reply arrived a swift two days later, featuring agreement to meet at your suggested date and time, and little else.

Still, you felt a tinge of excitement.

***

You spotted Regulus before he spotted you, stood outside Gringotts with his hands in the pockets of his long black coat. Smiling, you approached him, the cold nipping at your nose but not your heart.

"Hello," you greeted, and he nodded.

"Where shall we study?" he asked immediately, something that hurt you slightly, and why you did not know. You adored studying.

"Perhaps a café?" you replied, looking down the street, "Or we could pay a visit to Flourish and Blotts first."

"That could be beneficial," he agreed, following your lead to the quaint but popular book shop.

As you walked down the pavement, you scanned the happy faces around you: families and couples all laughing and basking in the gentle flurry of snow falling. It was nice, you thought, to be with people who understood you.

"How has your holiday been thus far?" you queried, wishing to engage with the person you were closest to.

"As expected," he answered shortly.

You knew that his home life was not ideal— not from his words, but from general rumours— so you did not pry further.

"How has yours been?"

"As expected, and yet entirely different."

"Do explain," he said, opening the door to Flourish and Blotts, and allowing you to enter first. He had a habit of doing that.

You shrugged, "Well, everything at home is the same. I think I am the one who is different."

Before he could ask why, resounding sounds of laughter hit your ears, making the two of you turn your attention to the source. There, in the middle of an aisle, stood James Potter and Sirius Black shoving each other and poking fun, while Lily Evans— now Potter, as you had heard— stood gazing at the book selection, evidently annoyed at her boisterous company.

Regulus froze beside you, and you looked up at him to see his jaw was clenched. Everyone knew that Sirius and Regulus did not get along, not in the way brothers usually did.

Without thinking, you hooked your arm around Regulus' and gave his bicep a gentle squeeze, making him move his attention to you. "We can leave, if you would prefer," you said calmly.

But by then, it was too late, as the sudden silence of the men not too far away signified that they had noticed your presence. Regulus sighed, accepting the unavoidable interaction.

"Brother," Sirius said formally as he approached, Potter not too far behind him.

"Brother," Regulus repeated with a sharp nod of his head.

The elder Black's eyes settled on you, no recognition in them, but a delicate curiosity danced in his irises. His focus flitted to your hand on Regulus' bicep, an action you had nearly forgotten about. "And who's this?" he asked, skeptically.

"Y/N L/N," you replied, although you could tell he had directed the question at his brother.

He seemed to contemplate your name for a few moments, before saying, "You're not from a noble house."

"So?" you quirked an eyebrow, attempting to understand his reaction. Had he not left the House of Black because he despised their traditional, offensive ways? And, now that you thought about it, you had really ought to interrogate Regulus on his beliefs.

Sirius shrugged, "Doesn't matter to me, but I'm not sure I can say the same about my brother. The perfect heir."

To your surprise, Regulus stepped forward, his jaw set and eyes cold. Your hand slipped from his arm as a result, and you glanced between the brothers as they both tensed and stood straight. Regulus was taller, but Sirius had more brawn. Potter quickly stepped between the two of them, "Alright, lads, let's not have a scuffle in public, eh?"

That was when Evans approached, a bag of newly bought books in her clutch. "What's going on here?" she seemed more intrigued by you rather than the stand off.

"Nothing, we were just leaving," Regulus drawled, but his lack of movement was contradictory.

"Well, there's no need for that," the redhead smiled, mostly at you, and her kindness was unexpected, "We were just headed to Lumos Café, why don't you join?"

Both her husband and Sirius snapped their heads in her direction, clearly displeased at her offer. "Why in Godric's name would we want that?" Sirius snapped.

"Padfoot, my sister won't even talk to me," she said calmly, "Cutting off your parents is entirely deserved, but have the two of you ever had a chance to talk? Properly, that is."

"We don't need to talk. He hates muggle-borns."

At that comment, you looked up at Regulus, trying to gage his reaction to being accused of such a thing. He noticed the way you were analysing him, as he always did, and perhaps part of him realised that you would not stay in his life if he did not rebuke the statement. "No. I do not," he said stiffly, and while you were not fully sure on whether to believe him, you decided that would be a matter to discuss later. Right now was about potentially mending his relationship with his brother.

"Really?" Sirius tilted his head, "So, you don't have a problem that pure-blood Prongs here married Lily, a muggle-born?"

The man beside you sighed, "No, I do not."

"Well, then, I think the two of you have much to speak about. Come along!" she led the way out of Flourish and Blotts and to the café not far away. Regulus stayed glued to your side, a thick tension resting in the air, so you once again hooked your arm around his and squeezed as a gesture of support. He placed a hand over yours for the briefest of seconds.

Everyone soon began taking a seat at a little booth table, the smell of coffee beans filling the air and warming your insides. You had never exactly... hung out... with a group of people before, and were nervous as to how they would react once they realised you were weird. Not because you cared if they disliked you, but because you did not want to be the reason Regulus could not fix things with his brother.

"Lily-flower, what would you like?" Potter beamed at his wife as she sat down, and she chuckled fondly.

"I'll have a latte, thank you, my love," she answered easily.

The interaction was heart-warming, but as you instinctively turned to where Regulus was still stood, you felt the oddest sense of embarrassment. His head was turned away, appearing to be reading the chalkboard menu above the counter from a distance; he then looked at you, apparently unaware of the exchange that had just occurred, and asked, "What do you want?" His tone was far more emotionless and curt than Potter's had been, but you had never cared about details like that. The fact he had even thought to ask you meant the world to you for some reason.

"Hot chocolate, please," you replied, and he nodded, leaving for the counter.

With all three men queueing to order drinks, Evans turned to you with a glint in her eye, "What's your name?"

"Y/N L/N," you said simply, your monotonality ever present.

She seemed a bit taken aback by your response.

"Why does that surprise you?"

She also seemed taken aback at your bluntness, but explained anyway, "I would have thought that you were one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight."

"How come?"

"Because you are dating Regulus."

You opened your mouth to rebut, but Potter returned and sat himself down next to the redhead. "The drinks are on their way," he grinned, before saying to you, "Regulus is just ordering yours now."

Said man then arrived, sitting next to you on your side of the booth. When Sirius came, he pulled up a chair to the exposed end of the table.

Silence engulfed the group, and you knew that you could not be the one to break it.

"How's Mother and Father?" Sirius eventually asked, and you could have sworn everyone at the table let out a deep breath.

"Father has fallen ill," Regulus said, "The doctors suspect he will pass soon."

"Oh," his brother was clearly shocked, "I had no idea."

A long pause ensued, before Regulus said, "I did think about telling you."

"But you didn't."

"I was under the impression you never wanted to hear from me again."

You watched cautiously as Sirius sighed and sat back in his chair, "It's not that—"

"Latte?" the waitress interrupted, the gleaming smile on her face suggesting she had not read the room.

"That's me," Evans awkwardly piped up.

"Two Americanos, with milk?"

Potter and Sirius both claimed them.

"And a double espresso and a hot chocolate?"

As you and Regulus accepted your drinks, the table muttered their thanks.

"Enjoy!" she said cheerily, finally leaving.

Quiet resumed for painstaking moments, the evidence of family fallouts and tragic childhoods spilled across an empty script. Despite it not exactly being Regulus' decision, you were honoured to be there for him in such a vulnerable moment.

"It wasn't you I wanted distance from," Sirius spoke again, his voice low, "Not really."

"That's not how you made it seem," Regulus replied, clipped.

"I was young," he sighed, "I still am. But I am sorry for placing some blame on you. I felt insignificant in our parents' eyes next to you, the perfect heir."

You glanced over to the married couple opposite you, to see them solemnly taking in the words exchanged. Evans flicked her gaze to you briefly, and offered you a small smile.

"I never wanted to be the perfect heir," Regulus spoke monotonously, like he usually did, but you could feel the truth radiating off of him, "I am studious because I enjoy it. Composed and poised because it is what feels natural to me. Not because I am trying to impress Mother and Father."

"And of muggle-borns?" Sirius asked, mindful of Evans' presence.

Said woman piped up, "He clearly doesn't care about blood status. His girlfriend isn't part of that Sacred Twenty-Eight bullshit."

"She could still be pure-blood," Potter reminded, likely referring to his own blood status.

"That's not the point, James, you know how the noble houses are."

Honesty had always been your policy, what you built your social interactions on alongside logic and principle. However, in that moment, you found the truth catching at the back of your throat: maybe you were waiting for Regulus to say something, or maybe... you wanted what they said to be the truth.

When it became clear he was not going to speak, you finally said, "He may be arrogant, but it is due to the fact he believes he is more intelligent than everyone else, not because of blood status." You were dodging honesty: you did not even know if he cared about blood status. You had assumed he did not, simply because you were not noble, but maybe that had been callous of you.

He turned to face you, grey eyes displaying the slightest hints of shock at what you said.

That was when Potter started laughing, quickly followed by Evans, and then Sirius. Your instincts told you they were laughing at you, poking fun, but then Sirius said, "Even your own girlfriend thinks you're arrogant," through joyful tears, and you realised.

They thought you were funny. They thought you were making a joke.

You could not help but smile, which Regulus assessed with a chilling calmness.

"Tell me, how did you two meet?" Evans asked once the laughter died down.

"Probably at Hogwarts, babe," Potter said, making her lightly slap his arm.

All eyes were on you, as it seemed as though Regulus had opted to be temporarily mute.

"Well, yes, we met at Hogwarts," you said factually, "Although, we only met this year. I have bypassed sixth year, joining the seventh years."

"Ah, I see," Sirius smirked, settling into the presence of his previously estranged brother, "So, he finally met someone smart enough for him? Hm, Reggie?"

The nickname made Regulus' hand twitch slightly, but he did not address it, finally speaking with the delivery of a curt, "Yes."

You were not sure that you had ever beamed before, your blueness sliding into yellow as he publicly acknowledged your intelligence. And maybe that is all you had ever wanted: acknowledgement and acceptance for who you were. Maybe that was why melancholia had followed you, despite your parents' love, because while they never turned you away, they had never understood you. Regulus understood you, he saw you with twenty-twenty vision, even in the darkest of nights, even when it was pouring with rain.

Some smiles were contagious, and everyone noticed that he was fighting against the tugging of the corner of his mouth.

"You two should come to our dinner party this weekend."

***

"Regulus, may I ask you something?" you said as the two of you walked alone later, studying long forgotten.

"Hm?" you had pulled him from his thoughts.

"Why did you not correct them?"

"In terms of what?"

"My being your girlfriend."

He pondered your question for some moments, before answering, "I apologise. I believe that part of me needed to have one thing going for me in the face of my elder brother who was brave enough to leave it all."

While you understood, you felt the strangest sense of sadness at his response, but you did not voice it. "Do you actually hate muggle-borns?" you changed the subject.

"No," his voice was tired, "But I cannot deny that I have prejudices ingrained into me."

"Why do you not run away?" perhaps it was too personal of a question. Your conversations never went beyond studies.

"I have nowhere to go."

"That is untrue."

***

"I cannot understand why or how you have convinced me to attend this event," Regulus clipped, having apparated outside your house a matter of minutes ago.

You tilted your head, taking in his frustration, "I think it would be good for you to spend time with your brother."

"My family is none of your business."

His words stung slightly, but you did not show it, instead stepping out your front door with light footsteps, "Then how come I succeeded in convincing you?"

"A mystery to the both of us, I assure you."

You pursed your lips, carefully taking hold of Regulus' arm. You had not yet earned your apparition license, exclusively due to your age, thus you had to depend on his ability.

"I cannot fathom why you wish to attend."

"They did not make fun of me," you said without thinking, "They may not understand me like you do, but still they were kind. I cannot overlook that."

Instead of replying, he apparated the two of you without warning, to arrive outside a quaint cottage cosily named Godric's Hollow. You were displeased at his abrupt action, but did not acknowledge it, instead tugging him towards the door when you realised he was not going to move.

"If it becomes too much, we can leave," you said simply.

"My parents have no idea that I am here," he sighed, more to himself than to you, and moved forward to knock on the door.

It was flung open by a joyous James Potter, who was notably already under the influence with a firewhiskey in his hand. "You made it!" he smiled, "Come in, come in!"

You nodded politely, stepping over the threshold into the warm, glowing home. It felt as though you had dove head first into the sea of yellow that you had always steered clear of, but it did not feel as scary with Regulus by your side.

"They're here!" Potter called into the house, leading the two of you into the living room, where a whole group of chatting and laughing people were assembled.

You soon learned the unfamiliar faces to be Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Marlene McKinnon and Mary MacDonald. They all seemed somewhat wary of your presence— or rather Regulus', as was more likely.

"What would you like to drink?" Evans, although she had insisted you call her Lily, asked. Her warmth and positivity softened the wariness of the atmosphere.

Pausing, you contemplated the unknown menu.

"We have wine, firewhiskey, beer, or soft drinks, if you would prefer?"

"I'll take a firewhiskey, neat, thank you," Regulus spoke, snapping you into action.

"Wine, please," you decided.

"Red or white?"

"White."

She disappeared to obtain your drinks, and you took in the sight of everyone, who had resumed their conversations with enviable ease. Glancing up at Regulus, you noted that his eyes were pinned on to his brother, and as much as you wished to keep him by your side, you knew that you had to nudge him. "Talk to him."

"Must I?" he drawled.

"Well, you do not have to, but I think it is recommended."

His tongue pressed into his cheek, but he obliged nonetheless and approached his brother. Meanwhile, you were unsure of where to go. Thankfully, Lily returned, and after delivering Regulus' firewhiskey, came to you with your glass of wine.

"Don't be shy," she assured, "Everyone here's friendly."

"Even the friendliest of people seem to have a distaste for me," you said without a second thought.

"I don't," she shrugged, "And Regulus doesn't either."

"Regulus is not friendly," you reminded.

She laughed at that, "Don't overthink it. Come, I'll introduce you to Marlene and Mary."

The evening progressed, with everyone migrating to the dining room for the lovingly prepared meal. As it turned out, alcohol was an excellent means of socialising, and as you drank more and more glasses, you found yourself turning into a new person entirely. You laughed easily, enjoyed conversation that was not intellectual, and basked in the presence of normal, sociable people. It was an electric feeling, you noted, but it did not stop you from subconsciously checking that Regulus was still near. The alcohol also looked like it was helping him, breaking the ice with his brother as they talked on and on.

When you stood up at the end of dinner, everyone intending to transition back to the living room, you faced the consequences of the quantity of glasses you had drunk— especially considering that you had never had more than one glass at family functions prior. You were unsteady on your feet, but found your swaying quite amusing, as did Mary, of whom you had been conversing eagerly with for the last half hour.

"Careful, there," she giggled, helping support you on the journey to the lounge.

"I really like alcohol, I think," you slurred.

"You won't think that tomorrow," she said with a glint in her eyes, "But I'm sure Regulus will take care of you."

She was likely referring to the fact that the Black family were notorious for their alcohol tolerance, so were unlikely to be feeling that bad the next day. Regulus, for one, was still composed and in his right mind despite consuming multiple firewhiskeys, albeit that he was more relaxed if his loosened tie was anything to go by.

"How did you manage that, by the way?" Mary asked as she sat you down on one of the sofas.

"Manage what?"

"To break through his icy exterior," she elaborated, "I mean, Merlin knows everyone thought it was impossible."

"I was icy too," you spoke simply, "Though I may not seem it now."

"A match made in heaven, then?"

You giggled, holding on to the knowledge that Regulus was not actually your boyfriend.

***

Evening slid into night, but the party was still going strong. Mary had insisted you take a break from drinking for a while, but she had finally let you have another glass of wine before leaving you to thank Lily for a wonderful night thus far. You drunkenly pondered your next move, when you caught sight of Regulus, stood talking with Remus Lupin. Your feet moved before your mind could process.

Regulus had noticed your state a long time ago, but you had appeared to be in good hands with Mary, so he had left it. Still, his eyebrows furrowed when you stumbled up to him with a big smile stretching your cheeks. He was not used to you being so expressive.

"Someone's had a lot to drink, eh?" Lupin teased, and your glossy eyes briefly focused on him before turning back to Regulus.

"Regulus, can I tell you a secret?" you slurred, feeling giddy and care-free.

"And what would that be?" the Slytherin asked sceptically.

You stood on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, but he was still forced to lean down slightly to accommodate your height.

"You're my favourite," you tried to whisper, but you did not quite succeed in lowering your volume.

Regulus froze, but his stature was unnoticeable to you through your blurred vision. You leaned into his side happily, wrapping an arm around him.

"She is not normally like this," you heard him saying to Lupin, who only laughed in response, before leaving the two of you. "Y/N, your behaviour is most illogical right now."

"How so?"

"You are being oddly... affectionate."

"I think it is logical," you giggled.

"Why?"

"Because you are my favourite."

He froze again at your repeated statement.

Suddenly, your expression switched to almost melancholic, as you asked, "Am I your favourite?"

"I..." Regulus did not know how to deal with your new range of emotion, but finally he spoke a clipped, "You are the only person who does not exhaust me."

"Is that a yes?" your face was full of hope.

He avoided eye contact as he said, "...Yes."

You beamed so brightly that you almost blinded him, wrapping your other arm around him haphazardly, and almost tripping as you did so. His arms instinctively steadied you, but he did not move them once you were stable.

"I think..." he spoke slowly, "That it is time for you to go home."

Quickly, you learned that it was not a negotiation, and you soon were saying your goodbyes to everyone and laughing as Regulus guided you out the door.

"I had so much fun," you gushed as the cool night air hit your face, "Did you?"

"I had a tolerable time," he replied, rushing to support you as you nearly fell forward, "You are being most troublesome."

"But still I am your favourite."

He could not argue.

***

Mortified did not even begin to encapsulate the extent of your feelings the next day, waking up in your childhood room with a pounding head and overwhelming urge to throw up. As you hurriedly dragged yourself to the toilet, all that flashed through your mind was your confession of favouritism towards Regulus, and how alarmingly expressive you were being.

At least he returned your favouritism.

Once the toilet was flushed, and you had downed a hangover potion, you deliberated sending a letter of apology to Regulus, but you did not have a genuine excuse for your actions. You meant everything you said and did, and while you were embarrassed, you did not regret it.

Instead, you made no effort to correspond, and left everything up to the fateful moment of stepping foot on the Hogwarts Express after New Year's.

And, you really did try to enter the compartment that he was sat in with your usual logic and calmness, but the shaking of your hands was damn near impossible to suppress. Regulus looked up from his book, his grey eyes assessing your composure before he closed the book and put it the side.

"How have you been?" he asked cordially.

You sat down nervously, "I have been adequate."

He raised an eyebrow, "You do not seem it."

You wished that he could not read you so well in that moment, "I have been feeling embarrassed about my behaviour at the dinner party," you admitted.

"It was uncharacteristic."

You winced at his words.

"But as you dutifully pointed out, you are still my favourite."

His bluntness shocked you, and butterflies erupted in your stomach at his words. You were smiling before you could stop yourself.

"Now, we must resume our flow of study," he efficiently changed the subject, "Our NEWTs are itching ever closer."

"Right," you nodded, pulling yourself together after his reassurance, "I have been particularly focused on potions recently, as I fear Slughorn may..."

***

Regulus and you efficiently fell back into your pre-Christmas rhythm, studying together, engaging in intense intellectual debates, and overall feeling a little less lonely in your shared understanding. You had assumed that day to be a day like any other, consisting of your usual schedule in the library after dining separately in the Great Hall. It was as you overheard members of the Ravenclaw quidditch team sat near to you discuss that evening's match between Slytherin and Gryffindor that you realised the schedule was not going to go to plan. You would have to consult him on the matter once you finished your meal.

The flow of students was busy and rushed as everyone was hurrying down to the quidditch pitch to secure an ideal viewing spot, leaving you in a difficult position in regards to speaking to Regulus. You pushed through the current of students, annoyed at the amount of physical touch required, and finally caught sight of his black hair amidst the other members of the Slytherin quidditch team. Other students laughed and chattered around you as you forced your way to where he was, grabbing his wrist so as to ascertain his attention.

He jerked away at the action, head swivelling around to catch sight of you with your eyebrows furrowed. When he realised it was you, his harsh gaze softened, and he asked, "Is something amiss?"

"Quite," you said shortly, before getting shoved into a rowdy third year Gryffindor who was amped up for the game. You scowled at the action, until you felt an arm wrap around you protectively, pulling you into warmth.

"Imbecile," you heard Regulus mutter, his hand gripping your shoulder tightly, "Are you injured?"

You shook your heard, ignoring the racing of your heart, "Regulus, you did not inform of me of today's quidditch game. I was under the impression our usual study schedule would be in place."

You felt his breath hitch, "I presumed you were aware."

"Why?"

"You know that I am on my house's quidditch team, and every student knows when there is a quidditch match."

"I do not."

When you glanced up at him, you noted he was quirking an eyebrow, "Evidently. My apologies, I will make sure to tell you in the future. Feel free to study without me."

"But if I study without you we will fall out of synchronisation in topics." You felt the frustration bubbling in you at the disruption of your plans, but unlike usual, you could not bring yourself to be annoyed with the perpetrator. A deep sigh rippled within you, "I suppose I will attend the game."

"Do not feel obliged."

"I have nothing else to do."

***

Truth was, you had never before attended a quidditch game, and as you settled into a place in the Ravenclaw section of the stands, you became acutely aware of why you had not. The noise booming from the thick crowds of people was overstimulating, and you found yourself fidgeting with your fingers. That was, until, the Slytherin team came out on to the pitch, and you caught sight of Regulus. His very presence, no matter how distant, had a calming effect on you— it was an interesting contrast from the tornado you had felt in your stomach a couple months prior. You had become accustomed to him in such a natural way.

The game soon commenced, the buzz of the crowd only amplifying as the teams took to their brooms and launched into the air. Of course, you had a basic understanding of quidditch and its rules, but truly you had never witnessed it in action: there was no academic benefit to attending the matches. Maybe it was Regulus' presence in the air, or maybe it was the three visible balls flowing in a messy pattern, but you were mesmerised by the sight.

Your keen eyes could not help but search for the snitch, but you were not attuned to it, you possessed no trained instinct for catching sight of the fleeting ball of gold. However, you immediately noticed when Regulus had. The way his broom took a sharp turn upwards, his pace increasing as the Gryffindor seeker attempted to keep up with his movements.

In the flash of second, the snitch had been caught, held up proudly in the air by the abrasive Slytherin seeker, causing a smile to creep on to your face before your mind could even acknowledge your happiness. However, all the Ravenclaws surrounding you were booing, roars of disappointment filling your senses. Only the portion of the sea cloaked in green were cheering, but you did not care that you were an outcast amongst your peers. You never had. Ironically, though, Arachwood would probably also be pleased with the match result.

As people began to leave the stands, you were forced to move with them to avoid being pushed and shoved, descending the stairs with the loudness coming back in full force to bother you now that Regulus was out of your sight. Should you wait for him once you reached the bottom? Was that too much?

You shook your head. Overthinking was not who you were, and the tingling nervous excitement inside of you was irrelevant. You took pause near the Slytherin changing rooms, noticing two other students also waiting, likely significant others of team members. Ignoring the out of place feeling, you kept your gaze pinned on to the door of the boys' changing room. Regulus, ever efficient, was the first one to leave, presumably wishing to shower back in the dorms rather than the likely filthy ones dedicated to quidditch players.

He caught sight of you immediately, and walked over to you: his usual grace mixing with adrenaline from the match.

"Congratulations," you said, and he nodded.

"An expected win," he shrugged, "Since Potter is no longer here."

"Are you acknowledging his talent?" you quipped.

"I cannot deny facts."

You hummed, the two of you naturally beginning to walk back to the castle.

"I have a love-hate relationship with wins."

"How come?"

"I abhor losing, but if we win, the common room is obnoxiously loud until the early hours of the morning."

"I see."

He sighed, "It will be a restless night."

"My dorm will be quiet," your mouth moved before your brain could stop it, and you held your breath as Regulus glanced at you.

"Are you making an offer?"

"Well," you rushed to say, "I do not mean sleep there, but we could study until late, if you are to be kept awake anyway."

He appeared to mull over your words for a few moments, until he asked, "You would ruin your sleep schedule for me?"

"I paused my study schedule for you," you reminded.

"Of which I did not make you."

"Nor are you making me offer this."

"Touché," he murmured, "Very well. I will first head to the dungeons, shower, and collect my study books."

You nodded, "I have no doubt you will be able to get past the Ravenclaw statue."

"And if I cannot?"

"Then you do not deserve to enter," a small smile tugged at your lips.

***

Approximately an hour later, you were sat in the middle of your floor, books spread around you and cheek resting on your knee. You had not yet begun to study, but you had outlined the step-by-step process ready for when Regulus began. A knock echoed through your door, and you jumped up at the sound, almost shocked at how rushed you were to open it.

Behind it stood Regulus Black, hair damp and tousled, and a much more casual get-up of a black knitted jumper, a stark contrast from his usual crisply ironed dress shirt. His satchel was slung over his shoulder, his knuckles gripping the strap.

"I was nervous that I misremembered the room number," he said.

You shook your head, "You, nervous? You have an astute memory." You stepped aside to let him in.

"I correct myself," he stepped in, "I was nervous that I misheard you amongst the noise of students."

He looked around your dorm room, cold stone walls providing a home to windows that stretched from the floor to the ceiling, providing a dazzling view of the rare starry night.

"The view here is much better," he commented, scanning your meticulously organised and tidy room, "If you are lucky, your window has a glimpse of the lake down in the dungeons."

You hummed, "When I was still in the shared dormitories last year, I had a view of the rest of the castle."

"I certainly do not miss sharing a room. I was at my breaking point by the end of fifth year."

Resuming your position at the centre of your notebook layout, you gestured for Regulus to take a seat. After taking off his shoes by the door, he descended to the floor not far from you.

"Do you usually work on the floor? It cannot be good for your back."

You shrugged, "I find it most comfortable."

Efficiently, as always, the two of you settled into studying, the conversation flowing easily as you discussed facts, dates, methods, and anything relevant. Soon, you began writing separate practice essays in silence, the only sounds being the crackling of your fire and the scratching of quills against parchment. Every now and then, a yawn would escape you, but you did not slow. Sleep would come later.

Regulus yawned here and there as well, but he also did not falter in his work, not even looking up when you shifted to lie on your front, propped up on your elbows.

No words were spoken for a good while, not until he cut through the silence with a tired, "Darling, can you pass that ink pot?"

Your unbroken slew of words on a scroll halted, fingertips clutching the quill so tight it was close to snapping. Cautiously, you looked up at him, to see his eyebrows furrowed as he focused on his work, evidently unaware of what he had just said. When he finally noticed that you were not passing the ink pot to him, he glanced up and met your frozen gaze.

"Is everything alright?" he asked.

"Regulus," you spoke stiffly, "What did you just call me?"

"What do you mean? I—" he cut himself off as the internal reply caught up to him. In that moment, he could easily have been put in place of the Ravenclaw statue. "My apologies," he hurried out, "I do not know... why I said that."

You blinked. Once. Twice. Your stomach was an electric, twisting mess. "I..." you spoke slowly, "I did not mind it, but if it was unintentional, I will overlook it."

The confession made you feel vulnerable, so you distracted yourself by picking up the ink pot and moving it over to him. He observed your every move, tongue poking into his inner cheek. "Thank you," he said curtly, "...Darling."

You froze again, refusing to look up, "You never make the same mistake twice," you murmured.

"No, I don't," he replied.

Letting the silence linger for painful, long ticks of the clock sat on your bedside table, you contemplated what he was saying. Keeping your eyes glued on to the floor, you pushed yourself up on to your knees, acutely aware of how shaky your hands were. You dropped your quill, taking a deep breath.

You moved closer to Regulus, finally gracing him with your gaze to realise he had been staring at you that entire time. What you wanted to do, you did not know, you lacked social experience in every aspect, and there was certainly no manual on this situation. Words, for once, failed you, so with a lack of an idea of what else to do, you shifted even closer, dropping your head on to his shoulder ever so tentatively.

He stiffened beneath you, but then relaxed, bringing up a cautious arm to rest it around your shoulder. "Perhaps we have done enough studying for tonight," he said, voice low and uncharacteristically gentle.

"Perhaps," you murmured, feeling every degree of his warmth beside you.