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rxsilabeth--er · 2 months

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OKAY LETS GOOO

could i get a regulus black and male reader, modern au or just a muggle au? (up to you tbh) where the reader is ghostface and regulus finds out. i would like to ask of it being suggestive or to where you limit your nsfw requests, but if you're not up for it you could change it up to however you feel fit! (..i may send more regulus requests because i'm severely deprived-)

:: Oh please be with me tonight, Mr.Ghostface!!

Now calling......author: "Hello? Yes, this was a bit hard to write, I will admit cause I'm not sure about Ghostface....But I love my Reggie and he deserves love..."

Now calling......synopsis: "...Through the night, Regulus finds himself running through the forest followed keenly by a certain someone he knows...and when he's caught...may god help him..."

Now calling......warnings: "Stalking, blood, murder, running through forest, Male!Reader, sexual content (not smut), ghostface, Reg has a mask kink? Don't know, degradation...Anyways, tell me if there is something I didn't add...Modern!AU. Trans!Regulus.. This is so shitty.."

Paying for it, she quickly pulled a newspaper, reading the top news, "...Wow, second murder in the city..No wonder they're sending us home early..." Dorcas said reading the newest case, sighing as she walked beside Regulus who nodded with her. Barty, Evan & Pandora's houses were on the opposite side, thank god Dorcas's house came in the same direction as his..It was getting dark..

As he and Dorcas parted ways and he reached home, he removed his shoes and began taking off his tie as he sat on his bed, sighing. Changing into his home clothes, he looked at his phone, a message from Barty:

"Hey Reggie, do you mind coming home to tutor me for a while? Dad approved of you, ma is out of town?? :>"

Regulus contemplated a while since it was nearly dark outside and the city wasn't really the safest after dark and Barty lived on the near outskirts of the city, which is more often than not goes through a bit of a forestry area...But he couldn't really refuse if Barty needed help. Sighing he figured he'll bring some shit to protect himself, he isn't an idiot..

Sighing, he texted Sirius,

"i'm going out, don't make dinner." and texted Barty as well,

"Alright. I'm staying over though cause it's fucking dangerous outside."

Before he simply walked out of his house, putting on some sport shoes, a taser in his pocket, softly fiddling with his keys softly. Walking, it started out normal, the sunset was actually rather pretty with it's splashes of pink, orange and blue, it made him feel happy, but he hurried his steps through the sidewalk. Greeting the florist lady, from whom he regularly took flowers for his friend group, with a sweet smile and a nod...

Walking with his hands in his pockets, he held the taser tightly as it began to get darker with the orange and pink turning into a dark blue and black..the further he walked, the more deserted it got, until Regulus was walking with his keys in one hand and the taser in there, alert at even the most minor sound.

The looming sound of the night is never something that doesn't scare a person. It's not the darkness that scars the person, it's what insides that scares you, but Regulus won't be one to say he's brave enough, cause he's truly not... Walking softly on the highway, pulling up the hood of his hoodie, as he walked. The bridge wasn't too far away, just crossing that and a bit more walking before reaching Barty's house.

a strange aura filled the highway, something looming over, his gut telling him to turn over and run, yet his brain tried to stay rational and stay calm, he had his taser and it would be easier to reach Barty's home than turn over...God, why was Barty's house to far away? It's not his fault though...

Walking as he walked down the road to the bridge, it was totally pitch black in the sky, the weird feeling not going away and only getting stronger, his breath becoming heavier for no absolute reason, the bridge and the area reeking of danger and desperation...

Softly walking, his steps fast yet he was making sure his steps didn't make much noise, no idea why, his gut told him to do so..walking closer to the road under the bridge, he heard pants, and the sounds of deep breaths and metal rubbing against stone along with the smell of wet metal...Getting closer and closer, he had no idea why his body refused to obey him now, he was gonna get killed! He leaned over softly and his stomach twisted into knots..

shit...

Blood everywhere with a body laying there, a black figure over it with a ghost face mask holding a hammer dripping with blood..Shitshitshit..Talking a few steps back, Regulus tried to make sure he wasn't breathing as if his single breath could get him killed tonight...

Just as he turned, his hand slipped as his taser fell with a cling on the floor

..fuck.

Regulus didn't even realize how he legs carried him down the road down to the edge of the forest, running as fast as his body and legs would allow him, but the sight of the figure following him was enough to tear him up from the inside as he ran through the forest, not knowing where he was headed...sounds of the dried leaves crunching underneath his feet as he ran with a towering figure's shadow covering him as he ran with the person behind him..

How long had he been running for? It did not matter as his legs started to cramp up, but he couldn't possibly stop now..No...He continued to use his hurting, tired legs to run until finally his heart twisted...Dead end.

Looking for anything as he reached the wall of another high-way bridge, he had no where to run as his vision was covered with shadow of black and red as the figure stepped closer and closer, a laugh spilling from the person's mouth... Regulus had no where of going...

The figure walked closer, inches apart, they banged the hammer beside Regulus's head, a hand snaking to wrap around his throat, pressing down softly, making Regulus's breath hitch as he lost his breath,

"Oh, sweetheart, sorry you had to see that.." a voice said, deep and clear, said clicking his tongue, making Regulus look down. the hand wrapped tightly around his throat, pressing down more making Regulus look up as both his hands wrapped around the person's wrist, blood has started to stain down his throat and cheeks from the blood of the person's earlier victim...

shit..

There was something messed up about himself.. Regulus felt, his cheeks warming up as the man wrapped his hand around Regulus's throat...

"Now why don't you try to forget what happened back there? Hm...?" the man asked, leaning close making Regulus's breath hitch, was it excitement, nervousness, fear, arousal, or something in between?! He could not tell!

Why was this happening?!

The man applied more pressure on Regulus's throat, his knees becoming weak and were about to buckle beneath him and give out, arousal had begun pooling in his stomach or was it his clit...? He couldn't tell, why was this turning him on!? This shouldn't turn him on! The man dropped the hammer, the pressure on the throat not allowing him to breath softly loosened as the man's voice came out in a mocking laugh,

"Regulus?...Regulus Black?! From school?" the man said with a mocking laugh making Regulus whip up, as he tried to struggle out, which only resulted in him being pushed against the wall more with the man's body pressing against his, their knee in between his thighs, brushing softly...fuck

The man angrily wrestled him to the ground, trapping his arms in their own muscular arm, before the man tied them behind his back with their belt, now completely forcing him down as the man clicked his tongue,

"You're fucking lucky I know you so well...You won't be recognizable and they wouldn't even find half your body...You're truly lucky, sweetheart." the man said again wrapping his hand around his throat, turning him on his back,

"Now, struggle again and you won't move a muscle again." the man said threatening, tightening his grip around his throat...Regulus could not understand who this man was, he understood they went to school together, but who was it..?

Regulus's mind wasn't working, all he knew was this guy was pinning him on the ground, his arms were tied behind his back, this guy was probably gonna kill him, this man had a hand wrapped around his throat, this guy had his knee in between his thighs pressing against his clit and Regulus was getting wet...

This was messed up...fuck...Not only that, Regulus could tell this guy knew what he was feeling on his thigh which was pressing against his cunt.

Embarrassment pooled in his stomach, clouding his mind as he squeezed his eyes shut... As if reading Regulus's mind the man laughed softly, the hand wrapped around his throat loosened as it snaked up to his jaw and his cheek, cupping his face roughly.

"Open your eyes." the man ordered, refusing to obey this or open his eyes due to the major embarrassment Regulus felt, the man squeezed his cheeks more roughly,

"I said open your eyes or your pretty skin will be stained with blood not that idiots but your own now." The man whispered calmly but the words were alarming, making Regulus open his eyes softly to stare at the Ghost face mask above him, the man sighed softly,

"Aren't you fucked up? Is this how you feel when someone holds your life above your head, you whore yourself out, Regulus?" The man said chuckling, his other hand rubbing up and down his side,

"Aren't you from a esteemed family, from a rich and respectable family? And you're here being a cheap whore to someone who might just take your life in a matter of seconds?" the man asked with a mocking laugh, his hand going back from his cheek to his throat,

"I can feel your cunt on my thigh, you're getting wet, aren't you?..Tch" the man simply clicked his tongue, "Keep this in your mind, Black. If my name gets out about being a murderer, your body won't ever be found if it's the last thing I do." he whispered before taking off his mask to reveal..You.

YOU?! You, the great, respectable, sweetheart, chaotic person he liked from high-school but never had the courage to talk to?! You, you kill people?...That's so fucked up...yet why was it turning him on more when you glared down at him...

He felt himself throbbing now..this was not good...

"oh, getting excited, are we? Tch...stupid slut." you said clicking your tongue as you leaned down, cupping his cheek while the other hand rubbed his side softly, as your hand cupped his cheek roughly, softly painting his cheek with red..

Oh how good it looked against his pale skin, you just wanted to bruise him and see how pretty he'd look... You sighed, pulling him up to peck his lips softly,

"..Fuck, pretty boy...guess you're gonna be a bit late to where you headed this late..Huh?"

© This writing work belongs to me, rxsilabeth--er, Aurelia, Rosilabeth, Cerine. Reblogging is appreciated, but plagiarizing or copying my works is forbidden, thank you for reading this and if you like this check out my blog!

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stars-by-the-pocketfuls · 20 days

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💫 5/05/24 💫 @rosekillermicrofic 💫 prompt: vivid 💫 word count: 245

With war looming, the ministry was becoming more and more frequent with their arrests. Another witch filled the front page, details of her illegal dark family heirlooms cataloged to support her three months in Azkaban.

“She won’t be the same when she gets released,” Dorcas shivered. “They say it sucks out all of your happiness,”

“Oh, so we’d be fine then, there’d be nothing for them to take,” Many people found Regulus’ humour too morbid, but everyone laughed. Apart from Pandora who gave an almost imperceptible glance at Barty, the flicker of something haunting in her expression.

Barty wasn’t laughing anymore. He wasn’t even sure if he could. Would his laugh evaporate? Or just never leave his lungs? It was ironic, how the Dementors hadn’t left since he had been thrown in here. Perhaps he had a lot more happiness in him than he believed. Or at least a lot more memories of Evan than he thought was humanly possible. His desperate fingers were etched into the back of Barty’s neck. His bright eyes temporarily leeching the gray. His vivid cackle splitting the pallid air. Ghosts of his smirk, the dimples in the base of his spine, that one curl that never stayed in his blonde twists. The soft sigh when Barty had threaded daisies into his belt loops, the phantom of his lips upon his pulse point. Pointers of the only times Barty had truly felt alive. The dementors wouldn’t leave until Evan did.

#rosekiller #rosekiller microfics #marauders microfic #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #stars scrawls

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dovrt · 2 months

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HEAR ME OUT

James Potter son of Apollo smth smth prophecy looming over him that no one really tells him about. Its either about him or his bloodline

Dumbledore and McGonagall, camp directors, who know about the prophecy and about the other gods but never really tell anyone.

Peter Pettigrew, satyr protector to James and Marlene who brought them to camp.

Marlene Mckinnon, daughter of Hermes

Mary Mcdonald, daughter of Aphrodite

Lily Evans, daughter of Hecate

Remus Lupin, son of Athena, had been targeted by Lycaon the werewolf king, the og werewolf if you will.

One day, Sirius just shows up at camp, changing everything James thought he knew about himself and the gods.

He's passed out at the entry of the camp when Remus finds him and brings him to Dumbledore and McGonagall. Remus can't help but groan in disgust as he startles awake "you drool when you sleep" he tells him.

Turns out, Sirius has amnesia and the only thing he can remember is his name. Just his first name.

He can remember other stuff as well, like the names of the gods and monsters, except he knows them all in Roman and even though he's a bit rough around the edges and flinches a lot and acts tough, James decides to stick with him.

They go on a quest, yada yada yada, Sirius feels like he should remember someone important but he just can't put his finger on it.

Soon the four- James, Sirius, Remus and Peter become fast friends, and Sirius seems to have no issue with forgetting his "past life" since he has a feeling this one is much better.

Everything is going fine, Sirius like Remus, Remus likes Sirius, though neither of them will ever admit it, James is loud and proud about his crush on Lily.

Until one day when they run into someone else on a quest. They heard from Peter about a group of demigods, only to discover they aren't some helpless eleven year olds but rather fully trained vicious, broody, sarcastic annoying demigods. James doesn't remember seeing them at camp, but they all have weapons and they keep talking about their home. There's three of them, Regulus Black, son of Hades, Dorcas Meadows, daughter of Nike and Barty Crouch Jr, son of Nemesis.

Sirius falls off a cliff lol so James, Remus, Peter, Regulus and Lily go on a quest to get him back. EXCEPT THEY DON'T KNOW SIRIUS AND REGULUS ARE RELATED. James never says the name of his friend who fell off the cliff, he just calls him "Padfoot" or the occasional "Pads" and Regulus doesn't really talk at all about his family or even where he's from.

Smth smth cute about Dorcas being SUPER competitive with Marlene in everything at camp, smth smth, Barty meeting Evan Rosier at camp haha

anyway, Black Brother reunion!! does not go well, smth smth both camps realise about each other!!

Have to band together to defeat an enemy.

Since James and the others cant go to their camp, Regulus, Dorcas and Barty decide to stay to vanquish the threat of the Dark Lord only to discover that some of their own camp members are on the bad side (Luke Castellan's side)

smth smth, battle!! Regulus and Barty join the bad side while Dorcas stays.

Regulus discovers the weaknesses of the Dark Lord and dies while trying to destroy it.

Sirius and James who had been dating Regulus in secret, are both devastated. smth smth!!

final battle!! By this time, James and Lily have been dating, they're like young tho, and James has conflicting feelings about the battle cause he keeps imagining Regulus to be one of the enemy but he's yk dead.

Blahblah blah, Peter betrays them, James and Lily die, but they have a son who will go on to permanently destroy the threat forever and ever, the end everyone you love is dead!

#marauders #regulus black #marauders era #james potter #hogwarts #sirius black #dead gay wizards #the marauders #jegulus #starchaser #percy jackson #jegulus au #jegulus fic #pjo

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thebibutterflyao3 · 2 months

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Day Twenty-Three - Prompt: Cropped @rosekiller-microfic

March Daily Series - 972 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

Barty allowed himself a full thirty-six hours of recovery before returning to The Ink Spot. He was sore, but mobile. That was enough.

When he stepped in the door, Emmeline loudly snorted and promptly covered her mouth to stifle her laughter. She knew what he was doing, as did anyone else that cared to pay attention. Every time someone else worked on him, Evan became a little more unhinged. He was possessive as fuck over his clients and Barty was counting on that playing in his favour.

“What now?” Evan grumbled. His stall was the first one past the waiting room, so he had a front row seat to Barty’s nonsense.

“Morning, Em,” Barty said cheerfully. He flashed a bright smile at her and she winked conspiratorially. It was unlikely that she knew the details of any of this, she simply enjoyed the game at Evan’s expense. “Anyone available?”

“Fuck.”

Emmeline hummed an amused little tune as she scanned her list. “If you’re willing to wait about an hour? I can squeeze you in.”

“For fuck’s sake, Emmeline. Just tell him ‘no’ for once,” Evan hissed.

She ignored him and gestured at the chairs. “Settle in.”

Barty moved carefully through the maze of outstretched legs and eased into a chair near the front window. He would be on his best behaviour today. That was sure to drive Evan mad. If he couldn’t hear him, he’d be more likely to check on him, which meant that he would spend the entire hour thinking about him. It was a sound plan.

Unless he decides to strangle me. Very possible alternative.

This would probably have been counterproductive with anyone else, but with Evan, stubborn determination tended to pay off. Not always, but often enough.

He focused on the second half of his plan. This part required more finesse, which was not his forte. Barty typed his message, deleted the first half, typed it again, then deleted it entirely. He leaned forward and rubbed his forehead.

How can I make things right with Pandora without addressing Regulus first? And how do I do that?

This was the part of his plan that he was least confident in. Evan probably wouldn’t really take him back unless he made amends, but Barty had burned those bridges with a fucking flamethrower.

There has to be a way. I have to find a way before Evan moves on.

Barty wracked his brain for ideas. Nothing seemed to go far enough to make up for cheating on Reg. At least not when he was trying to avoid the appearance of pursuing him. That would be a dangerous proposition. He wasn’t a moron. Evan would murder him if Pandora and Dorcas didn’t get the job done first.

While scrolling Instagram for inspiration, he landed on Sirius’s profile. Among the lot of them, Sirius was the only one who hadn’t blocked him yet. Although, that was likely because he’d never interacted with Sirius online before. If he tried it, chances were good he’d be blocked by him too.

Idly, he flipped through Sirius’s photos. There were several of a tall bloke, a redhead, and a brawny man with glasses, but few of the people Barty recognised. Pandora was in one and Regulus was in two. Then, he landed on one with the brawny man and Regulus together.

Hold on, I know him. He’s friends with Peter.

Barty searched Sirius’s profile for the short, heavyset bloke with close-cropped hair that he’d run into at the club in Scotland. He hadn’t connected Peter to Sirius at the time, but it couldn’t be a coincidence that this Latino fellow was friends with both and for one not to know the other. Peter was friendly enough and asked if he had any weed to sell, so he’d sold it to him. The shorter bloke had chattered like a magpie the entire time, but the brawny man just loomed behind him like a security guard.

“There you are,” he muttered to himself. “Peter. Peter, hmm. How are you connected, mate?”

After a few minutes of deliberation, Barty opened Peter’s profile. He was some sort of business lackey. No wonder he needed the weed. His profile wasn’t extensive, but his DMs were open. Barty decided to give it a go. The worst that could happen is that Peter told him to piss off.

Met you at the club in Edinburgh a few weeks back and realised we know the same people. I fucked things up with a friend or two and want to apologise. Mind offering some advice? I’d make it worth your while.

-Barty (grass distributor extraordinaire)

Within minutes, he had a response:

Vaguely remember you, but your weed was top quality. Who are we talking about?

Barty hurriedly responded:

Regulus and Pandora. We used to be close, but I fucked it up and I’m trying to make amends.

There was a longer pause this time, but eventually Peter replied:

Are you the one who showed up in Wales?

Fuck. If Peter knew about his dust-up with Pandora in Wales, it was unlikely that he’d help now. Barty considered lying, but figured the truth was easier to defend.

Yeah, I was off it. Part of what I want to apologise for, actually.

Peter responded with a curt dismissal that Barty absolutely deserved:

Sounds like a you problem.

Well, fuck.”

Barty knew it was a long shot, but he had to try. The reality was harder to swallow, but easier to accept. He’d promised not to approach Pandora or Regulus directly, and he didn’t even know how to contact Dorcas, so that left Evan. Somehow, he had to win Evan back without fixing things. That should blow up in his face in approximately three days.

Next Part>>>

#barty crouch jr x evan rosier #evan x barty #barty x evan #evan rosier #barty crouch junior #barty jr #barty crouch jr #slytherin skittles #marauders era #rosekiller microfic #rosekiller

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made-this-cause-why-not · 1 month

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Dorlene snippet I've been sitting on:

“Dorcas,” Marlene swallowed, “what are you?”

The girl grinned and something vicious and deadly and so very sexy flashing across her face as red lighting reflected on pearly whites. The girl leaned in close, much closer than needed, looming over Marlene despite the mere three inch difference the two had, and Marlene's head began to spin. Her hand reached out, resting on the back of Marlene’s neck and she could smell her perfume, something vaguely floral, not too sweet with a faint kick of spice.

“I’m a siren, Marls,” she said, her face so close that Marlene felt her breath on her lips. “I sing, seducing sailors and pirates to their painful death.” Dull nails lightly scraped the nape of her neck and Marlene was sufficiently entranced. Three inches of air was the only thing standing between them and Marlene doing something stupid, like making a scene at Regulus Black’s Halloween Bash. “What are you?”

Marlene blinked, her mind scrambling to figure out an appropriate response to what the girl just said. Marlene was many things; single, gay, very horny and confused as to why she wasn’t already making out with the girl that was so very close to her who she has been in love with since she was thirteen. The light on Dorcas’ face shifted from red to orange and Marlene remembered they were at a party, a halloween one to be exact. “I am a pirate,” she finally said, not sure of exactly how long it had taken her to say something but aware that it was probably too long if Dorcas’ smirk was anything to go by.

“Like Keira Knightely,” the girl asked. Marlene nodded dumbly, staring at the black painted lips with rapt attention. “Hot. I’ve always had a thing for blonde pirates.” And with that she leaves, getting lost in a sea of bodies and leaving Marlene to figure out what the fuck just happened.

The music changes to something vaguely halloween-y and Lily and Mary walk over. “What was that,” Lily asks immediately, handing a drink to the flushed girl.

“I think she’s trying to kill me,” Marlene mumbles before taking a sip of a drink that’s sickeningly sweet, its sugar coating her teeth. She downs it with ease.

“Well to me it looked like she was five seconds away from fucking you in the bathroom but what ever you say,” Mary says, taking a sip of her own drink before her eyes light up. “You want to know what the French call an orgasm? ‘La petite mort’ a little death. So maybe we’re both right Marls.”

#mauraders fandom #mauraders era #marlene mckinnon #dorcas meadowes #lily evans #mary macdonald #dorlene #halloween #this was supposed to be part of a greater fic #but I doubt I will write it #ficlet #drabble

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ohmygodshesinsane · 1 year

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THE PRINCESS AND THE PARLEY

for @jilymicrofics / april prompt 15: stage / words: 2194 / rating: mature

“Are you mental?” Lily adjusted her straw hat, casting a panicked look out onto the stage, where James Potter stood giving the performance of his life. Remus rubbed his face, grimacing.

“I’m really sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry. But I couldn’t ask Mary, and Marlene’s already been out -” He wrung his hands. “I’d send Sirius, I really would, but his evil queen costume takes the best part of thirty minutes to get him sewn into and they’ve already started.”

Lily took a deep breath. She only had two lines to remember – that wasn’t the issue. It was that she’d gone from being a wordless fishwife to the titular character – and naturally, the titular character was a sidelined damsel-in-distress that could have been replaced with an aristocratic lamp. Why Lockhart kept choosing these sorts of plays, she didn’t know. Why had they allowed a megalomaniac of an eighteen-year-old to direct anyway? He wasn’t even making the calls – he was just in the audience basking in it, the useless knob.

“Lockhart will skin me alive,” Remus said, clasping his hands together. “He’ll wear me as a cloak and use my blood to shampoo his hair. Please, Lily. I’ll owe you. And,” in his begging, he grasped at something. “You’ll humiliate James. He’s expecting Lisbete to prance out. You know he can hardly talk to you. You’ll get the last laugh.”

James. That much was true. In rehearsals, they quarrelled over everything, which was a miracle in and of itself as they were never in the same scene. Fortunately, however, as of late he could scarcely look her in the eyes, which made winning the arguments a lot easier. Lily huffed and folded her arms. “That’s a bit evil, Remus.” He shrugged.

“It’s show business.”

She blew air through her lips. “Fine,” she said. “But don’t lose it if I become a diva.” She hesitated. “And I want kebabs after the show.”

“Whatever you want,” Remus promised. “Anything.”

Lily skulked further backstage, past where Lisbete sat holding an icepack to her ankle, and reluctantly greeted Dorcas Meadowes.

“I’m the princess now,” she announced glumly. Dorcas blinked.

“Oh.” She looked to the costume rack. “We haven’t much time.”

Five minutes later, Lily had transformed from a humble villager to the King’s kidnapped daughter, clad in a ridiculously over-the-top pink gown and a matching cone with a long veil. Dorcas hurriedly braided her hair as she repeated her lines under her breath, and then Lily was shoved into the wings as the stage went dark. Benjy and Caradoc threw a red tablecloth over the metal structure that was to be her ‘bed’ and patted it.

“Hop on,” Benjy said, and Lily obliged, sitting on it.

“This is like one of those things they wheel bodies around in the morgue,” she informed him, laying down. It was terribly uncomfortable.

“Well, you would be a body if he didn’t come save you,” Caradoc said. “So it’s a fair thing.”

They wheeled her past Remus, who gave her a thumbs up and mouthed ‘thank you’, and then out onto the stage. It was terrifyingly empty, the audience glaring with narrowed eyes, trying to make sense of the shapes in the dark. An unfamiliar set loomed around her, with painted castle walls. In her only scene it had been a market square, and there’d been so many people on stage and her so far at the back that she’d been sure nobody was watching her. Now she’d be a main feature. She swallowed hard, and when Benjy and Caradoc hurried off, she was alone. She shut her eyes. Please, please don’t let me fuck up.

She sensed the lights going up, and James’ voice filled the world. With its disconnection from his actual face, it was almost pleasant-sounding.

“In the depths of the castle lay the Princess Acanthus, locked in an endless slumber, trapped by the Evil Queen Rostra. With every moment,” a clock tick, tick, ticked, “her life ebbed away. If Sir Arthur could not wake her, she would be lost forever.” Lily fought to keep her face still, trying to ignore the gazes of near fifty people on her. The lights warmed, and the clash of swords echoed in her ears.

“En garde! Get back!” James shouted from offstage. “Begone, foul creature!” The swords died and romantic music started as he entered the scene. He gave a strangled cry. An unscripted cry. Lily fought to keep her lips still. It would work with the character, perhaps, but it was all James.

“Princess?” he gasped, with more question than usual. He padded across the stage. After a moment, she felt the warmth of someone nearby, and the light behind her eyelids changed. “Could - could it be? This is where the Evil Queen has kept you all along? So close, and yet…” he sighed. “So difficult to find. Had I only known.” A rummaging sound. “And this antidote! Why, this antidote! The wizard has promised that this should wake her, and I must believe him. If he has lied…all hope is lost. We will never defeated the Evil Queen. All of Etrariana will be lost to her wicked powers!” His footsteps circled, so that he stood behind her. Lily squeezed her hands where they held each other, praying she kept still. Her body tensed in anticipation of his touch.

It was all she could do not to jolt when he lay his hands upon hers, heart pounding in her throat. His fingers brushed her cheek. Sleeping. You’re sleeping. Stay still. His thumb touched her lips, and her stomach clenched. His hands were softer than she had expected, and gentler. Something cold replaced his thumb.

“Please, let this potion work. Please, or I will be bereft! So very bereft!” he declared. Lockhart had written the play. He was the sort who named himself a great fan of Shakespeare after reading the Sparknotes of all his works. The mouth of the vial tilted against her lips. Crap. Now she had to wake. She hadn’t thought about how to act that.

Lily flung her eyes open and sat slightly. James snaked an arm around her. She almost looked to the audience, but his fingers curled around her waist as a reminder. His brown eyes were wide, faintly accentuated by the mascara on his lashes. She had never been so close to him. His breath stroked her cheek. A gold ring outlined his irises, and his lips were slightly parted, revealing a little of his white teeth. It took her a moment to remember what she was to do. She made a small sleepy sound – James held her a little more firmly – and opened her mouth in shock.

“Prin – princess.” James’ voice shook. She didn’t recall that from the matinee, but then, she had never paid much attention. Lily bit her lip, trying not to smirk. “You – you are awake.” He held her face with his free hand, and guided her gently into leaning back a little more. It sent her a little off-balance. If he pulled his arm, away, she would fall. She had to trust him. The heat of the lights flushed her cheeks. “I feared you would never wake.”

“Sir Arthur!” she said. “You have saved me! I thought I would die here, because of the Evil Queen’s evil intentions. I have been asleep so very long.”

“Of course I saved you,” he said, drawing nearer. Her tongue felt fat in her mouth. “I vowed to be your protector.” It’s worse for him than for you. She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek. There was colour in his face, too – she must have been harder to prop up than she thought.

“My saviour,” she breathed. “I am so very thankful.” She had to initiate. Her stomach rolled. It was stupid – she had done this plenty of times, with plenty of different people, on dares or dates or when she was drunk or dancing. What did this matter? Lily tilted her head and bridged the gap between them, pressing her lips softly against James’. He inhaled sharply, but it was only the briefest meeting, and he was the first to draw back. His lipstick had smudged a little. That hadn’t been so bad. The first was done.

“Princess,” he said. “Oh, Princess. How I have dreamed of this day.” And then he kissed her. A strike of lightning ran through her. His kiss was hungry, passionate – as it was directed to be – and his tongue swiped her lips. Fine. She could do better than that. She pressed harder against him, tasting the inside of his mouth, and lifted her other hand to hold onto the back of his jerkin. He could take all her weight, if he liked. He kissed her harder, stealing her breaths until she was gasping against him, desperately breathing through her nose, which crashed against his. Fine. If the audience wanted a show – if he wanted to make this a show – that’s what it would be.

Her teeth skimmed his lower lip, tugging gently, and then she moaned softly. His arm jerked in surprise. She dropped back. No! But he saved her at the last moment, cradling her in his arms, and then lowered her to the table. Now James was directly above her. By rights, the kiss ended there, but she kept on, trailing her fingers up his back until they reached his hair, where she then twisted them into his locks. James leaned over more, pressing some of his torso against hers, and trapped her tongue between his teeth, slowly drawing back and releasing her. Lily could up the stakes. If they were going to send her out to do this with little warning, as a favour, this is what they would get. And besides, he couldn’t win. No fucking way. She arched her body against his, whining a little. He gripped her face with both hands and kissed her harder again, pressing down until the metal of the ‘bed’ was firm against her back. Her head spun, the lack of air getting to her. Her whole body was warm under the glaring stage lights. The music had passed where it was supposed to be, and they were dragging on too long. She had to put an end to it.

She pulled back as best she could – her head hit the ‘bed’, and he only leaned down further, lipstick now smeared.

“James,” she whispered, very quietly. He flinched and opened his eyes. She stroked his cheek and pulled back, before sitting up of her own power. She could improvise.

“Sir Arthur,” she said, loud enough for the audience to hear, smiling pleasantly. “My saviour. My love.” Even if the line didn’t change the fact that the Princess didn’t pass the Bechdel test, at least she had three lines instead of two.

“We must run, my princess,” he said. Here, he was meant to step back and help her to her feet, but instead he stayed dangerously close. Lily’s palms sweated. Something in her core was on fire. As he let go of her, one finger swiped at the corner of her mouth. He subtly showed it to her as he finally did the blocking he was supposed to. It was marked with red. Her own lipstick had been ruined. He cleared his throat. “We must go now! The Evil Queen will realise I am here at any moment!” He circled to the front of her bed, took her hand, and helped her up. His palms were as gross as hers; she could feel his pulse jumping through his wrist.

There was only thing left; the music changed and swelled, and he started to run slowly, pulling her offstage. Lily joined him in the overdramatic fleeing, pretending to look terrified, and followed him into the wings.

As soon as they were in the darkness, James grabbed her waist; she rasped in surprise and he pulled her flush against him, hands stronger than she had known. Her heart raced. His face was only inches from hers, near as close as it had been on the stage. There was a wildness in his eyes, and his hair was still ruffled where she had messed it. Lily scoffed, mostly to herself. Was this his attempt at surprising her? She could do worse.

She smashed her lips against his, throwing her arms around his neck, and he stumbled backwards. But he returned her kiss with his own, fierce and insistent, and bit her lips. She stepped forward, pushing him against the theatre wall. How did he like being beneath her? But he gripped her waist harder and it became difficult to think clearly; her body ran on pure animalistic frenzy, only caring about his tongue against hers, his lips against her, the taste of his mouth.

“Are you mental?!” Lily broke from him at once, staggering backwards, and Remus gaped at them, holding his clipboard only by the string-attached pen. Lily smoothed her hair back, attempting decorum.

“You were the one who put me out there,” she said calmly. “I wanted to give it a hundred percent.”

Remus blinked. “Jesus Christ.”

#jilymicrofics #jily #james potter #lily evans #hp #fanfic

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the-racer · 8 months

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modern dorlene hcs!!

Marlene:

loud. always. she said it kept her brain at bay. she liked to yell and shout and draw attention to herself.

blonde hair that gets fucking everywhere. everywhere at all times. catches on things, too, like dorcas' rings.

really bright brown eyes.

fastest runner in her elementary school and high school. VERY fast.

tall. 6'2

smart but she doesn't apply herself as a way of rebellion against her family.

neglectful, abusive family that she runs away from when she's fifteen.

her phone background is actually a picture of her and remus, not her and dorcas

closest with remus out of anyone. lived with him when she ran away. they were extremely codependent and didn't have an boundaries. james and dorcas accepted that they were a package deal

90s grungey style. a lot of flannel, ripped clothing, leather, patches.

violent. it was an unfortunate habit from her family. she would get very angry very fast and it transferred to violence, though she tried to never hit her friends and she NEVER hit dorcas.

had a running bet with remus over who would get their braces off first when they were thirteen. (she lost but says she won)

lots of tattoos. one of those people who didn't really have meaning for said tattoos. she just likes the look.

tons of piercings- about eight or nine in each ear, eyebrow, tongue, septum, nose.

musical lover. hope lupin introduced her to all her favorite musicals.

has dorcas saved in her phone as 'side-ho #1'. dorcas knows and loves it.

swears a lot. the marauders, valkyries + dorcas made a swear jar to stop her swearing so much.

jewish convert, conservative jew.

got with dorcas when she was eighteen. once they did get together, they were very close and very in love.

touchy with remus and dorcas. not with anyone else.

designer fr tho. she makes her own clothes and makes her friends' clothes, too.

smokes + she has a lighter with a dumb design on it from remus.

steals remus' clothes 24/7.

looms over people menacingly.

very severe adhd. has a habit of being distracting as shit, forgetting to eat, a hatred for certain sounds and feelings, and hates overhead lighting.

candles. all the candles.

knows how to shoot a gun and often does go to a shooting range.

part spanish and french, speaks both languages.

dyslexic.

will eat anything someone puts in front of her. from nachos to fajitas to escargot- she'll eat it all.

really strong. can lift about 450

trust issues.

hockey player.

multiple concussions.

partially deaf due to repeated head trauma from said concussions and abuse from her parents.

Dorcas

she's tiny, literally 5'0 on the dot and so she makes evan and marlene get her things on tall shelves.

gets really anxious sometimes and bites her nails because of it. pandora does complicated nail art on her nails so she feels bad biting them.

flexible as shit.

very feminine, which makes people assume she's straight.

makes her own jewelry and creates a small business of it at her high school. she makes a small fortune off her earrings.

big on romance movies, cries at them. loves horror movies, too, doesn't flinch.

resting bitch face, 100%

lives in a trailer with her dad. mom ran away when she was, like, two months old.

can play bass.

eyes so dark they're almost black.

has a tattoo on her wrist for her dad. it says 'i love you' but in his handwriting.

marlene left her hockey jersey at dorcas' place one day and now dorcas wears it to sleep.

loves to take pictures, has a lot of really embarrassing, weird photos of her friends, family, and marlene.

really good at baking, can back anything. god awful at cooking.

plant mom

fairy lights everywhere in her room.

at one point sold weed to help with the money at her place. now she does it for some extra money.

HUGE activist. got into a lot of trouble at school for it but then barty would be louder and more violent about her getting in trouble and cause a riot.

cold, all the time, no matter what.

big reader, bonded with regulus, lily, and remus over it.

atheist number one but will go to shul with marlene if she asks, specifically the high holidays.

farmer's markets, vintage festivals, and art stores are where she spends all of her money.

loves to paint but there's not enough room in her trailer so she paints outside while her dad reads beside her.

pineapple pizza is one of her favorite foods.

barty, evan, and dorcas hang out together and dye their hair with each other. regulus and pandora do not participate and hang out together elsewhere.

is super, super close with her dad and she tells him everything.

steals barty's clothing because she likes his style and men's clothing is more comfortable.

draws on her converse and marlene's leather jacket.

worships minerva mcgonagall. the art teacher.

scared of flying.

gave herself a lot of her own piercings.

Dorlene:

they have 'design dates' where marlene sits and makes clothes, and dorcas works on her jewelry/works on new art.

nauseatingly affectionate sometimes.

that one picture with the girl straddling the other one and doing her makeup. that's them.

flat is always super loud- marlene playing music and them dancing, working on their university assignments and their work.

marlene spends a lot of nights at dorcas' trailer and becomes best friends with her dad because of it.

marlene does bring donuts or coffee for them all the time.

shit talk people but in sign language.

dorcas comforts marlene during nightmares and marlene comforts dorcas during anxiety attacks.

never explained they were dating to their friends, one day just kissed goodbye and everyone just went with it.

marlene picks her up and carries her places (the doctor, cause dorcas is scared of the doctor and refuses to go)

dorcas bakes marlene cookies and muffins when she's sick.

dorcas cheers marlene on at all her hockey games, even though she finds hockey dumb.

dorcas takes marlene to vintage stores and markets and marlene always ends up carrying whatever dorcas buys.

marlene takes dorcas to shul with her on the high holidays and makes snide commentary about the people at her shul. dorcas tries learning hebrew to at least be able to follow along. doesn't work super well but marlene appreciates it anyway.

take turns deciding what movie go watch together. marlene likes action/adventure and dorcas loves a dorky romance movie.

marlene takes dorcas to italy to visit marlene's older brother. make solid plans to move there one day/honeymoon there.

road trip together with them and their friends.

can definitely do the dirty dancing lift.

had picnics on the balcony at their flat all the time. marlene used her candles to make it more atmospheric and dorcas' plants also helped.

kinda broke until marlene's fashion and designs hit it big.

femme x butch, fr tho.

dorcas used petnames all the time. marlene always got flustered and dropped what she was holding.

marlene learned how to style dorcas' hair, how to do braids and stuff like that so she could do dorcas' hair.

very in love, cutest couple ever, and kind of losers with each other.

#hp marauders #hp fandom #marauders era #marauders #the marauders #marlene mckinnon #dorcas meadowes #dorlene #marlene mckinnon headcanons #dorcas x marlene #marlene x dorcas #lesbian marlene #lesbian dorcas #they're so amazing #starmeadow

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art-monsters · 1 month

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honestly, I am always amazed by your style of writing. the way you manage to capture thoughts/feelings, it’s fascinating and it’s raw. it’s more like reading poetry than anything else

anyways, I wanted to give my own definition of art a try :) (loved pandoras btw. in general, they all suited the characters so well!!)

I have to apologise for the length though haha:

Art is a stance, a question, and a motive.

It so not what you see that is translated into a blank canvas, but rather your unique perception of surrounding, of the world as a whole, a message which is visualized through art and carried forth to an audience who will, in turn, interpret that and twist it into something comparable with their own ideals.

Art appeases not only the creator but also the beholder, however; it’s purpose is not to please but to acknowledge, rather, to enrage and inspire a thought process deeper than a simplistic, surface-level ‘pretty’.

Art is a medium carved out for those who fail to articulate their thoughts, for those who deem words insufficient and lack-luster, at times when nothing truly manages to mediate the conflicts raging in your mind. Art is being, art is creating, art is conveying. It’s an escape, the drive to evade thoughts which fight their way to the surface yearning to be spoken though not tangible sound escapes. Art is carved out for the horrific, the surreal.

What frightens us: demons, the dark, death, uncertainties looming unaddressed, are all something we refrain from verbalizing. But we can draw. We can pretend, we can romanticize, we can conceptualize. Create a vision that only the artist will ever truly understand.

Art is a manifestation of being. A declaration of defeat, an appraisal of societal constructs, an acknowledgment of instinct and primal needs. Of humanity; or the lack thereof.

Art is the truest form of self. A mirror of mind but also deception. Desperation and mortality.

Ultimately, you cannot create without chipping away parts of yourself in the process. To indulge in art and walk away unscathed would be the true ideal.

To be consumed by art is inescapable.

hello! thank you very much for the kind words!

art as temporality

art absorbs us, it absorbs the human experience in its entirety and reflects it back to us. our fears, our hopes, our dreams, our innermost thoughts. it is the product of the artists' experiences and the viewer's experiences and societal expectations. and the canvas stands before us all voracious and daunting.

art is something that takes, art is something that endures, art is something that evolves and morphs and gives voice to the unspeakable. it is something to be both feared and fascinated by. it is the essence of all of humanities events from the point of creation onward, a collection of histories as we move through them.

i am putting you with the monstrous group with Marlene, Dorcas, and Pandora because art is a reflection, it reveals all parts of the viewer and the world around us, whether we want to see it or not. it is there. it is the true-self, it is scathing. it is something that you cannot walk away from unmarred. it is simultaneously what is left when you kill the angel in the house and the expectations of the angel in the house reflected back at you.

#🏺

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enbysiriusblack · 10 months

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for @lesbianmckinnonn (happy bday to the platonic loml <3333) writing you some dorlene because,, them <3

Marlene ran down the stairs, heading to Hogsmeade for the day. She was running late to meet up with Mary and Lily, having been in detention that morning. Her trainers untied, Marlene ran as she put on her denim jacket. Until abruptly halting at the sight of Dorcas Meadowes, standing in the castle's front door.

They turned at the sight of her.

"What do you want?" Marlene huffed, trying to walk past them and out of the castle.

Dorcas stopped her, "You've been avoiding me."

Marlene felt her stomach drop, her eyes begging to flee. She folded her arms and tried to leave once more.

Dorcas stopped her, "Stop running away, Mckinnon! Just tell me why you've been avoiding me!"

"Why do you care?" Marlene groaned, "We hate each other, you can't stand the sight of me so why can't you just be happy about my absence?"

Dorcas stuttered, a small frown gracing their face.

"I don't know."

Marlene turned, walking through the doorway and outside.

"But I do know you love antagonising me. So why stop now?"

"Maybe I just got bored of it", she huffed, refusing to turn around.

Dorcas stepped outside, "Maybe. But I don't think that's it."

She risked a glance to them, "What do you think is it then?"

Dorcas took another step, "Why do people ignore someone?"

"Hatred." Marlene bared her teeth as she spoke.

Dorcas took yet another step, inches away from Marlene and noticed the growing blush on the girl's cheeks.

They smirked, "I've seen your hatred. I know your hatred more than anyone, and it's burning, bright and looming. You express your hatred, not avoid it."

Marlene's eyes flicked to their lips, "You know nothing about me."

They raised their eyebrows, "Oh yeah?"

#don't think ive ever wrote dorlene get together #anyway #HAPPY BIRTHDAY ZANDRA ILYSM <333 THE ICON EVER. HOPE YOUR DAY IS GREAT <333 #marauders era #marauders #marlene mckinnon #dorlene #dorcas meadowes #beloved mutuals <3 #eve being iconic as usual <33

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saintchaser · 1 year

Text

Marlene,

You will not have seen this letter, as it has been drafted and written after you have passed away. I would have wanted you to see it, and get to read my feelings, as so I yearn for one more moment of you.

Many things have changed ever since you have passed. For one, I am utterly lonely, and The Order misses your presence. You and James had used to be the brightness in a room as dark as the night. James is not with us anymore, and neither is Lily; they have gone in hiding, along with the Longbottoms.

I have also realized that death is nothing but imminent.

Whether one wants it or not, she does not care. She looms over you and grabs a hold of you when you expect it least, when you want it least. However, that does not mean that we must not live our life to the fullest. That does not mean I will not fight for what I believe is right, and that is avenging you. Even if I do bring death upon me.

Death is imminent, after all; it can be our choice and the own making of our destiny that brings her, though.

Death is bittersweet too, Marlene. Leaving a metal taste in your mouth and your heart aching, lonely and desperate for closure, but the sweetness of what you and them once had imprinted in your body, in your lips, on your veins, in your whole being. You'd never know, though. You never will, because you've been the first one to go.

You told me. Things, in that letter that you have hid under the loose floorboard under our bed.

You told me that I should laugh, that I should fall in love again (you have asked me to, do you remember that? Of course you don't; you're not with me anymore, and I am slowly distanced from you more and more, with every cold night.). And yet, surprisingly for you, though I had expected it, I can't. It has been you, it always has, and there will be no other.

And so, I may bring death upon myself. It is not my intention, of course; but, in order for the sun to rise, it must dawn, and it must be dark first.

Yours, even in death,

Dorcas ♡

#i've written something along the lines of this in the july event i think? only this time it is much longer and i feel like it sounds better #this had sounded better in my head but anyways it's here now come get it white it's fresh /j #marlene mckinnon #dorcas meadowes #dorlene #dorlene angst #my writing #dorlene february event #dfe #dorlene letters

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you-need-not-apply · 8 months

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NEW FIC ALERT

The Black family's traditions loom over Regulus when he is faced with an arranged marriage he can't escape. He turns to an unexpected ally, James Potter, after a drunken encounter at a Gryffindor party. Desperation leads Regulus to make a unique proposition - marry him and after his parents' demise, they'll part ways, free to pursue their own desires. No rules, no restrictions, it's cool. James, surprisingly, agrees.

It was a windy October evening when the letter arrived, in all its horrific glory. The great hall was packed for a Tuesday night, the dimly glowing candles being outshone by the far brighter lanterns and the stars above. It fell down with the evening mail, landing beside his dinner plate that he hadn’t touched afterwards, the perfectly neat writing scrawled along the front and sealed with a dark wax, stamped with the twisting words Toujours Pur made Regulus feel sick at the sight. Even Barty had stopped talking about the party at Gryffindor tower tonight at the site of it, and he hadn’t stopped talking about it since they got invited.

You can tell I'm shit at summaries, I just shoved words together

Tags:

Regulus Black/James PotterRegulus Black & Sirius BlackBarty Crouch Jr. & Remus LupinSirius Black/Remus LupinMary Macdonald/Lily Evans PotterMarlene McKinnon/Dorcas MeadowesBarty Crouch Jr./Evan RosierRegulus Black & Remus LupinJames Potter & Lily Evans Potter

Characters:

Regulus BlackJames PotterRemus LupinPeter PettigrewSirius BlackLily Evans PotterMary Macdonald (Harry Potter)Dorcas MeadowesBarty Crouch Jr.Evan RosierLily EvansMarlene McKinnonWalburga BlackOrion BlackEuphemia PotterFleamont Potter

Additional Tags:

why isn't Lily Evans a tag?No beta readertechnicallyno beta reader we die like regulus black did before we started writing fanfictionArranged MarriageAlternate Universe - Arranged MarriageAlternate Universe - No VoldemortHurt/ComfortJegulusi started writing this over 3 months agothe devil works hard and i will never compete with herit was also meant to be a oneshot but here we aremulti chapter woooooReferences to David BowieGryffindorSlytherinno voldemort but walburga still sucksno voldemort but orion still sucksno voldemort but the blacks still suck (most of them)Fake/Pretend RelationshipFake MarriageAngstFluffRegulus Black and Sirius Black Angstregulus and sirius actually communicateCommunicationBut alsoMiscommunicationAlcoholDrinkingDrunk Regulus BlackFrench Regulus BlackRegulus Black Speaks French

#Jegulus #James potter #regulus black #sun chaser #ao3 #ao3 fic #fanfic writing #fanfic #fanfics #fanfiction #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #Harry Potter #fake dating #james potter x regulus black #james x regulus #wolfstar

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saveregblackordie0726 · 8 days

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Sombre et Pur'

Chapter 10

Sixth Year – 1976 – October 31

The weeks leading up to Halloween felt like a blur of forced normalcy. Patrols with Regulus became a chilling game of avoidance. He maintained a rigid distance, the very air between us crackling with unspoken hostility. We walked in silence, his icy demeanor a stark reminder of the unsettling encounter in the Astronomy Tower. Surprisingly, I preferred the silent tension to his cruel provocations. It offered a semblance of control, an illusion of peace in the midst of the storm raging within.

Lily, with her usual enthusiastic flair, had been consumed with costume planning for weeks. Her choice – an angel, of course – was so perfectly fitting that it bordered on cliché. Her halo sparkled with what I suspected were real diamonds, and her flowing white robes were made of silk so fine it seemed to shimmer with celestial light. She had spent hours perfecting her makeup, aiming for an ethereal glow that would put the moon itself to shame.

Amidst Lily's angelic preparations, I played my own supporting role. I helped James and Sirius spread the word about the Halloween bash, delicately balancing secrecy with generating enough buzz to ensure a decent turnout. There was a reckless thrill in defying the rules, in claiming a space where we could, even for one night, cast off the shadows of the war looming outside the castle walls.

The night before the party, under the cloak of darkness, Remus, James, and I slipped into the kitchens. Remus, bless his ever-pragmatic soul, had struck a deal. Madam Rosmerta with promises of increased patronage for several weeks and a few extra galleons. The result was a generous supply of whiskey and Fire whiskey that, with a flick of James's wand and a muttered doubling charm, promised enough alcohol to fuel any party.

With pockets overflowing with enchanted candy and baskets filled with stolen treats, we crept out of Hogwarts kitchens feeling like a band of merry bandits. The weight of stolen pastries in my pocket mingled with a giddy sense of rebellion, and for the first time in weeks, I felt a genuine sliver of joy pierce through the persistent gloom.

Halloween night arrived with an electric energy that crackled through the ancient castle. Old Nick had generously offered to share their celebration room, with promises of secrecy in exchange for copious trays of rotting meat. The room had been transformed into a den of spooky delights. Glowing jack-o'-lanterns flickered in corners, their grinning faces reflecting the boisterous energy of the gathered students. Cauldrons bubbled with mysterious, sweet-smelling liquids, and cobweb-draped tables overflowed with treats. The scent of pumpkin spice and spiced cider hung heavy in the air, an intoxicating blend that promised both mischief and merriment in equal measure.

Lily's dormitory was a whirlwind of feathers, glitter, and frantic last-minute adjustments. Dorcas, dressed as a mesmerizing siren with shimmering scales and a crown of seashells, deftly applied shimmering eyeshadow to Marlene, who had transformed into a convincingly rebellious Joan Jett. Alice, her pale features accentuated by dark lips and a enchanted whiskers, checked out her cat-suit in the floor length mirror. Then it was my turn. Lily and Dorcas, armed with an arsenal of hair products and charms, skillfully teased and coaxed my auburn hair into soft, cascading waves. They carefully painted my face, highlighting my cheekbones with a shimmery bronze and subtly darkening my eyes with smoky browns and greens. My costume, the result of weeks of clandestine collaboration with my artistic roommate Beatrice, was an enigmatic creation. It hinted at something nocturnal, yet ethereal.

My dress, a short concoction of shimmering emerald silk overlaid with delicate layers of brown and bronze chiffon, swirled around my legs with every movement. But the centerpiece, the part that made Beatrice beam with pride, were the wings. They were attached like a backpack of sorts and extended nearly three feet on either side. Each feather, painstakingly crafted from dyed parchment and wire, was a work of art. They shimmered with vibrant yellows and earthy greens, enchanted by Lily to open and close every few seconds, leaving a simmering of glittery dust behind.

A mask, in the same rich hues as my dress, obscured the upper half of my face. It sparkled with strategically placed flecks of glitter, catching the flickering candlelight as I moved. Beatrice had insisted on a final touch, liberally dusting my hair, shoulders, and exposed skin with a shimmering gold powder that gave me the appearance of having stepped straight out of a moonlit forest clearing.

As I surveyed myself in the mirror, a strange mixture of nerves and excitement danced in my stomach. The costume felt like an armor of sorts, a way to hide behind a carefully crafted facade. Unlike Lily's overt celestial beauty, or Marlene's edgy rebellion, my disguise was more subtle, a whispered secret rather than an open declaration.

A collective gasp from the girls snapped me out of my thoughts. "Oh, Clem!" Alice exclaimed; her eyes wide with delight. "You look absolutely magical!"

Marlene whistled appreciatively, and even Dorcas, with her penchant for gothic darkness, grudgingly offered a nod of approval. Their affirmations swirled around me, a warm bath against the lingering chill of the last few weeks.

A flicker of apprehension gnawed at my edges as I waved the girls on ahead. They disappeared down the corridor, a whirlwind of feathers, leather, and glitter, leaving me alone in the deserted dorm.

"I'll be down in a minute!" I called after them, my voice echoing slightly in the sudden silence. Turning back to the full-length mirror, I hesitated, a familiar wave of insecurity washing over me. Did the dress make my legs look too long? Was there too much glitter on my collarbone? Was the concept too obscure, too strange?

Banishing the doubts with a determined shake of my head, I took a deep breath and turned away from my reflection. The costume, the party, the carefully constructed facade – it was all a temporary distraction, a shield against the encroaching darkness. There was no point dwelling on appearances when the weight of a silent war hung heavy between me and Regulus.

Descending the spiral staircase to the Gryffindor common room, I was startled to find Peter waiting, his customary nervousness amplified beneath a tall, pointed wizard's hat. He straightened hurriedly at my entrance, his eyes widening in surprise as they took in my appearance.

Peter had changed over the years. His frame, once soft and slightly pudgy, had hardened. Though still on the stocky side, there was a new solidity to him, a hint of strength in his shoulders and the line of his jaw. He was less of a timid boy and more a young man, still navigating the awkwardness of adolescence but with a flicker of determination in his eyes.

"C-Clem," he stammered, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "You ... Wow."

A warm smile spread across my face, genuine and unforced. "Peter," I teased gently, tucking an escaped tendril of hair behind my ear, "Why are you still here?"

He grinned sheepishly, ducking his head in a gesture that reminded me of the shy second-year I'd befriended all those years ago. "W-Waiting for you," he admitted. "Lily."

Understanding dawned. The worry etched on Lily's face before disappearing down the corridor flickered in my mind. Of course, she wouldn't want me wandering alone, not with the ever-present threat of darkness bubbling just beneath the surface of our revelry. She likely instructed Peter to be my escort, her own version of a watchful guardian angel. I felt a rush of fondness for both of them; their unwavering loyalty was a beacon in the storm.

“Shall we then, Peter?" I asked with a playful curtsey, offering him my arm.

His answering smile was wide and genuine as he led me out of the portrait hole. The walk to the dungeons, our usual route to a vacant classroom for shared study sessions, felt different tonight. The flickering torchlight painted the corridors in an air of mystery, and a festive buzz vibrated through the very stones of the castle. Peter and I, normally comfortable in our shared silences, seemed to find our tongues loosened by the unique atmosphere.

"I saw you practicing with Beatrice in the courtyard," Peter remarked, his voice low. "Your wings, they're ...incredible."

"She's an artistic genius," I agreed. The wings were Beatrice's masterpiece, the culmination of our whispered conversations about elusive creatures and forgotten lore.

Sensing an opportunity, I turned the conversation towards him. "So, a classic wizard, Peter? Are you planning on casting any real spells tonight?" I teased.

He blushed again, a charming contrast to his serious wizarding attire. "Maybe a charm or two," he admitted, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "I've been practicing."

Our conversation continued, a lighthearted blend of observations on the passing costumes, playful bets on how much pumpkin juice James would consume, and Peter's reluctant admission that he'd been working up the courage to dance with a Ravenclaw girl for weeks. The ease of our banter was both comforting and bittersweet. We were growing up, changing, and the unspoken fear was that the threads of our friendship might fray as our paths diverged.

To avoid the congested main corridors, Peter steered us towards a hidden passage known only to a select few. He navigated the maze of dim corridors and crumbling staircases with a surprising confidence, a stark contrast to the timid boy who used to follow in the confident stride of his friends.

"Nearly there," he announced as we rounded a corner into a forgotten stretch of corridor lined with dusty portraits.

A soft glow emanated from behind a iron-barred doorway. With a grin, Peter pushed aside the heavy gate, revealing a pathway pulsating with muffled music and the excited murmur of a crowd.

The makeshift party space seemed a world away from the rest of the castle. The dungeons, usually cold and imposing, had been transformed into a den of spooky delights. Glowing skulls hung from the ceiling while enchanted bats swooped playfully through the air, narrowly missing the heads of giggling students. The room throbbed with a chaotic energy – masked figures danced with wild abandon, groups huddled by a makeshift bar, exchanging gossip and scandalous rumors, and in one corner, a particularly dedicated group was attempting to levitate a protesting cat.

The roar of the party hit us like a wave as we stepped through the hidden entrance. Laughter, shouts, and the pounding rhythm of an unfamiliar tune assaulted our senses, a delicious change from the quiet order of our everyday lives. I glanced at Peter, who was surveying the scene with wide eyes and a hint of anxious excitement, and couldn't help but grin. His determinedly calm facade was endearing, a testament to his bravery in venturing into the center of such boisterous chaos.

Peter followed my gaze as we weaved through the throng of students, their laughter washing over us like a warm tide. He nudged my arm, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Look, isn't that Prongs?" he exclaimed, pointing towards a tall figure clad in surprisingly realistic chainmail.

My eyes followed his gesture and landed on James, resplendent in a knight costume that seemed far closer to authentic armor than a hastily assembled outfit. He was leaning casually against a stone pillar, his gaze scanning the crowd. Upon spotting us, his face split into a wide grin, and he lifted his tankard in a silent salute.

We navigated towards him, pushing through groups of giggling vampires, superheroes who had clearly raided their parents' wardrobes, and what appeared to be a colony of particularly enthusiastic house-elves. As we drew closer, a familiar face appeared next to James, her fiery red hair and shimmering halo unmistakable.

"Clem! Peter! Over here!" Lily called out, a radiant smile illuminating her face. She straightened from where she had been leaning against James, her cheeks slightly flushed. "Have a drink," she urged, extending two intricately carved silver goblets brimming with a suspiciously pink liquid.

I took a tentative sip, my eyes widening as a fiery warmth burned its way down my throat. "Merlin's Beard!" I choked, fighting back a cough, "I thought Remus was in charge of the punch?"

James, never one to miss an opportunity for a dramatic reveal, puffed out his chest. "I nicked the job from dear Moony," he announced grandly. "He was far too focused on choosing the perfect party playlist." A smug grin spread across his face as Lily swatted at his arm with playful exasperation.

"Honestly, sometimes I wonder how you lot ever pass your exams," she muttered, though her lips twitched in amusement.

The warmth of the alcohol and the contagious energy of the crowd washed away some of the lingering unease that clung to me like a shadow. Here, in this hidden dungeon filled with music and laughter, the darkness gnawing at the edges of my world seemed distant, muffled by the thumping bass and punctuated by the clinking of glasses.

Peter, emboldened by the punch and the infectious spirit of the festivities, shed his usual reserve with surprising speed. He challenged a group of Hufflepuffs to a particularly raucous game of wizarding charades, his impromptu performance of a banshee earning him raucous applause. Later, I spotted him locked in an intense conversation with the same Ravenclaw girl he had admired from afar, a wide, shy smile on his face. It was heartwarming to see him blossom, to witness the quiet courage that had been growing within him all these years.

Lily, ever the life of the party, had taken charge of the dance floor. She whirled and twirled with reckless abandon, her laughter echoing through the room. Her angel wings shimmered with every movement, casting dazzling reflections on the stone walls and drawing admiring glances from every corner of the room.

James hovered nearby, his knightly persona morphing into that of a devoted attendant. He replenished her drink, adjusted her halo when it inevitably slipped, and generally basked in the glow of her radiant smile. I felt a pang of wistfulness, a reminder of the unspoken question lingering between them, the tantalizing possibility of something more than friendship. They were so perfectly in sync, so obviously meant for each other, that it seemed almost cruel the universe was making them wait.

The crowd pulsed and swayed around us, a blur of shimmering costumes and joyful faces. Yet, amidst the revelry, a lingering awareness of Regulus nagged at the edges of my consciousness. There was a dissonance in my enjoyment, a guilt in letting myself drown in laughter while he lurked in the shadows, his icy gaze a persistent weight upon me.

It was as if the universe read my thoughts. In a brief lull between songs, as snippets of hushed conversations drifted around me, I caught it – the name that sent shivers down my spine. A hushed whisper, carried on the wind of gossip that wound through any gathering:

"...Black... heard he crashed the party..."

Instinct took over. My eyes darted across the crowd, a desperate search for a familiar figure shrouded in darkness, for a glimpse of stormy grey eyes that could extinguish the fleeting joy within me like a snuffed-out flame. My gaze swept over disguised faces, half-hidden by elaborate masks, desperately seeking any sign of him.

But he was nowhere to be seen. Relief washed over me in a cool wave, followed quickly by a pang of guilt at finding comfort in his absence. The music surged back to life, the crowd roaring its approval, yet the whispers lingered. Regulus, even unseen, was a specter haunting the edges of my joy, a stark reminder of the war that would inevitably seep back into these ancient halls, poisoning even the most lighthearted of celebrations.

Over the thumping beat and the roar of the crowd, a familiar voice penetrated the haze of merry chaos. My eyes darted across the room, a flicker of recognition replacing the disoriented confusion.

"Kit!" The call came again, followed by a waving hand and a familiar flash of dark hair. Relief mixed with a flicker of apprehension washed over me as I spotted Sirius weaving through the crowd. Beside him, Remus navigated the party with a quieter ease, his eyes sweeping the room with a watchful attentiveness that never truly faded. They were joined by Katie, resplendent in a figure-hugging blood-red mini dress with elaborate, lacy bat wings, ripped stockings, and a smoldering gaze fueled by smoky makeup and a healthy dose of party punch.

With a final weave around a group of particularly enthusiastic werewolves, they reached my side at the edge of the dance floor. Sirius wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug, the scent of Fire whiskey strong on his breath. He released me, holding me at arm's length to assess my costume, a drunken grin plastered on his face.

"Don't get too sloshed, Pads," I teased, grabbing the empty goblet from his hand and accepting the replacement he offered. As I took a sip, the potent punch burned a fiery path down my throat, bringing tears to my eyes.

"Ugh, don't remind me," he chuckled, the memory of last year's disastrous Halloween party apparently still fresh in his mind. "Kit, you look bloody brilliant!"

I flushed at the genuine compliment, the warmth spreading through me despite the cool air of the dungeon. My wings fluttered slightly in unconscious response, and a touch of the shy, insecure girl I used to be peeked through.

His attention flitted to Peter, who stood slightly behind me, a tentative smile on his face. "Pettigrew, fancy a proper drink?" Sirius asked, winking at Peter, who nodded eagerly. The two of them disappeared towards the makeshift bar with surprising speed.

I returned my attention to my friends. Remus, less talkative than his boisterous counterpart, offered a warm smile and a squeeze of my shoulder.

"You look beautiful, Clem," he said, his voice low and sincere.

A comfortable silence fell for a moment as we took in the scene before us. Nearby, a group of spectral figures in tattered clothing glided around a table laden with rotting meat, placed there for their ghostly enjoyment. The acrid smell of smoke filled my nostrils, the source quickly revealed as Katie, Remus, and Sirius passed around a suspiciously rolled cigarette.

"Clem!" Katie shrieked, drawing me back from my momentary observation of the resident ghosts. She abandoned her post at the spectral snack table and swept me into an enthusiastic hug, nearly knocking the precarious mask off my head. The pungent scent of patchouli clung to her, an intoxicating mixture with the faint hints of smoke and spilled punch.

Releasing me, she gestured towards a tall boy standing beside her. He had a shock of curly brown hair and a friendly smile that put him oddly at ease in the midst of the drunken revelry.

"This is Ed—" she began, then paused, a frown momentarily creasing her brow.

"—Eddie, right?" I finished for her, a jolt of recognition hitting me. I'd seen him around the common room, usually buried in a Charms textbook or quietly playing a game of chess with another student in a forgotten corner.

"Right!" Katie chirped, clearly relieved that I remembered. "Seventh Year, Hufflepuff," she added proudly. Eddie offered a polite smile and a slightly awkward wave. He seemed sweet, his nervousness endearing in the face of Katie's exuberant confidence.

I took a drag from the spliff Katie passed me. The smoke filled my lungs, leaving a slightly acrid taste on my tongue. I exhaled slowly, a cloud of hazy smoke dancing before my eyes. The alcohol and the smoke combined to create a pleasantly disorienting effect. The music pounded in my chest, the laughter and conversation swirled around me, and the worries that lingered in my sober mind began to fade.

As the night wore on, I let myself fall deeper into the haze of smoke and laughter. Tucked into the shadowy corner of the dungeon, Katie, Remus, Sirius, Eddie, and I formed a cozy island amidst the raging sea of partygoers. Peter hovered somewhere nearby, his cheeks flushed as he engaged in an animated conversation with the Ravenclaw girl who, by the looks of it, was thoroughly charmed by my usually reserved friend.

Katie regaled us with dramatic tales of Quidditch victories and near-death experiences with rogue Bludgers. Her voice rose above the din of the party, laced with laughter and an enthusiasm that was both captivating and infectious. Sirius, never one to miss an opportunity for theatrics, occasionally burst into exaggerated renditions of whatever song was playing, much to Remus's amusement and Eddie's bewildered fascination.

My eyes flickered towards Sirius and Remus. Their shoulders occasionally brushed as they passed the joint, a flicker of a smile or a whispered comment traded between them. There was a new softness in Remus's eyes when he looked at Sirius, a tenderness I hadn't seen before. A wave of happiness washed over me; after so many years of witnessing their complicated dance of friendship and unspoken longing, the open affection was a heartwarming sight.

Then, like a burst of vibrant energy cutting through the dimness, ABBA's iconic melodies filled the room. Lily and Dorcas appeared at my side, their laughter echoing as they grabbed my hands and pulled me away from the smoky corner and into the heart of the dance floor.

The three of us twirled and swayed with reckless abandon, our voices joining the chorus of singing partygoers. Dizzying lights spun around me, casting the world into a kaleidoscope of colors and hazy edges. Lily's angel wings shimmered, catching the flashing lights with every spin. Dorcas let out a wild whoop of delight as she kicked her fishnet-clad legs high in the air. And I, swept away by the music and the infectious joy of my friends, danced as if no one was watching, my moth wings rustling gently with each step.

In the aftermath of the ABBA craze, James materialized, a mischievous glint in his eyes and a shot glass clutched in each hand.

"Shots for the Evans girls?" he declared; his voice thick with the effects of the potent punch.

Never one to back down from a challenge, I grinned and tossed back the fiery liquid. It burned a familiar path down my throat, momentarily grounding me in the swirling chaos. The alcohol warmed my veins, fueling a heady recklessness that danced just beneath the surface of my control.

More smoke, more shots, more laughter echoed around me. The hours seemed to dissolve, the party transforming into a pulsating blur of colors, music, and carefree moments. My inhibitions, usually so carefully guarded, retreated like a frightened animal.

At some point, the room began to spin. I stumbled slightly, clinging to a stone pillar for support, and glanced around. The realization hit me like a cold splash of water. It was nearing the end of the night, and couples were beginning to drift away in pairs.

Lily and James leaned against each other, their laughter quieter, tinged with a sweetness that spoke of plans yet to be made. Sirius had an arm slung casually over Remus's shoulder, their heads bent close in a whispered conversation seemingly oblivious to the thinning crowd around them. Even Katie and Eddie had disappeared, most likely to find a quiet corner of their own.

A pang of loneliness struck me, an unexpected chill amidst the warmth of the alcohol and the lingering smoke. My meticulously constructed armor, the carefree facade built on laughter and drinks, began to crack under the weight of a bittersweet realization.

The truth settled over me, as stark and unavoidable as the cold stone beneath my palm: I was alone.

Oh, my friends were still there, a comforting presence a mere glance away. But in their stolen glances, their shared smiles, their quiet intimacy, there was a reminder of what I lacked.

The music, moments ago a beacon of joy, now grated on my nerves. The laughter echoing around the dungeon no longer felt like my own. I was adrift, caught between the retreating tide of merry chaos and the sobering dawn that lurked just beyond the castle walls.

A shaky breath escaped me, and I pushed myself away from the pillar. The world swayed and dipped, the edges of my vision blurring uncomfortably. With a determination born more of desperation than true bravery, I navigated my way out of the dungeon.

With each wobbly step away from the heart of the party, the weight of isolation pressed down upon me. The laughter and music faded into a muffled backdrop against the pounding in my head. The darkness of the dungeons, previously a source of secretive thrill, now seemed to press in from all sides, mirroring the encroaching shadows within.

My feet, clad in fishnet stockings and ridiculous platform shoes, seemed to have a mind of their own. The corridors twisted and turned, each corner revealing another stretch of dimly lit stone and echoing silence. With no clear destination and a growing sense of disorientation, I simply kept moving, propelled forward by a stubborn refusal to succumb to the overwhelming weariness that threatened to drag me down.

Then, like a specter materialized from the dimness, Regulus Black stepped out from a shadowy alcove. His sudden appearance sent a jolt of unpleasant surprise through my alcohol-addled system. Of course, even in the depths of the dungeons, on a night fueled by reckless abandon, I couldn't escape him. His presence was a chilling reminder that the darkness I sought to avoid was woven into the very fabric of our world.

He wore no costume, no playful mask to hide behind. Just his usual dark clothes and an expression of cool disdain that seemed permanently etched onto his pale features. The flickering torchlight played across his face, casting stark shadows that accentuated the sharp lines of his cheekbones and the icy glint in his eyes.

"Great," I slurred, the word heavy on my tongue. "Bloody fantastic." A bitter laugh escaped me, echoing strangely in the empty corridor.

He didn't respond immediately, just observed me with a dark amusement that sent a shiver down my spine. The silence stretched, punctuated only by my uneven breathing and the faint echo of his own footsteps. Finally, he spoke, his voice a low drawl that cut through the haze in my head with unsettling clarity.

"Fitting, you'd be a moth," he remarked, a sneer twisting his lips.

Indignation sparked within me, a flicker of defiance pushing back against the creeping despair. I crossed my arms defensively, the motion causing the world to lurch uncomfortably.

"Figures you'd be the one to get it right," I retorted, my words tripping over each other in my drunken state. Frustration gnawed at me as I fumbled with the intricate fastenings of my mask. "People have been calling me a butterfly all night," I grumbled, finally ripping the mask away from my face.

He let out a short, humorless laugh. "You're too dark for a mere butterfly, Evans," His words were laced with a cruel amusement, a calculated jab aimed at the shadows he saw lurking within me.

"Says you," I mumbled, more to myself than to him. "Now, if you'll excuse me," I made a move to step past him, determined to continue my aimless wandering, but he was quicker.

Before I could react, he shifted, blocking my path. His presence loomed over me, the scent of old parchment and something darker clinging to him like a second skin. An involuntary shiver ran down my spine.

"Wrong way," he declared with a smirk, "unless you're looking to sneak into the Slytherin dorms?" The suggestion hung heavy in the air between us.

My face flushed hot with a mixture of anger and a reluctant, traitorous heat. His suggestive tone, the way his eyes raked over me with a predatory gleam, ignited a familiar battle within me. Revulsion warred with a flicker of shameful excitement, a recognition of the dangerous magnetism he exuded.

"Don't flatter yourself, Black," I spat, struggling to maintain an air of defiance. "I'd rather face a dragon than spend another minute in your company."

A wave of nausea washed over me. The alcohol sloshed uncomfortably in my stomach, and the room spun with renewed vigor. I needed to get away from him, from the darkness he embodied, from the temptation to dance with the shadows that both horrified and fascinated me.

"Get out of my way," I demanded, my voice laced with a desperation that bordered on pleading. To my surprise, he stepped aside, a flicker of something I couldn't decipher passing through his eyes. My escape from Regulus was short-lived. The corridor seemed to warp and stretch before me, the floor tilting at alarming angles. Just as I thought I was free, I stumbled, my knees nearly buckling beneath me. A gasp escaped my lips as the world lurched sickeningly.

Before I could fully comprehend what was happening, a hand shot out, gripping my elbow with surprising strength. The sudden support halted my impending collision with the cold stone floor. I whirled around, my glare fueled by a mixture of indignation and the unsettling dizziness that threatened to send me sprawling.

There he was, of course. His pale face was etched with a frown, his eyes narrowed in a mixture of annoyance and what might have been reluctant concern.

"You're sloshed," he stated flatly. There was an accusatory note in his voice, as though my inebriated state was a personal affront to him.

"What a clever boy you are," I snapped, my words slurring slightly. "Mummy must be so proud."

He tightened his grip on my elbow, a flicker of anger replacing the disdain in his eyes. "Stop being so bloody difficult, Evans," he hissed, his voice barely above a whisper.

A defiant hiccup bubbled up from my throat, a ridiculous counterpoint to the seriousness of the situation. The room spun alarmingly, my vision blurring at the edges. "Why don't you," another hiccup interrupted me, "go back to whatever creepy activities you were up to?" I managed, the words dripping with forced sarcasm.

To my immense annoyance, he didn't let go. His grip remained firm on my arm, a constant reminder of his presence and my own vulnerability. The room tilted dangerously once more, and a wave of nausea washed over me.

"If you'd like to stumble around like a fool until you pass out, or something," he paused, the unspoken threat hanging in the air, "far worse than me happens upon you, then be my guest." His words were harsh, laced with a bitter truth I couldn't fully process in my disoriented state.

"N-not many people are creepier than you," I managed to bite out, but the retort lacked its usual conviction. Fear, an unwelcome guest at this drunken party in my mind, began to gnaw at the edges of my bravado.

He let out a sigh, a sound filled with a strange mixture of exasperation and resignation.

"I'm taking you back to your common room." The statement wasn't a question, but a declaration delivered with the same cold certainty he'd used to taunt me earlier.

My stomach lurched violently, a stark reminder of the potent punch coursing through my veins. The battle was lost. I couldn't fight him, couldn't argue, could barely stand on my own. Defeat, bitter and acrid, settled in my throat as I reluctantly nodded, the gesture causing the room to spin wildly.

His grip on my arm tightened as he began to lead me forward. The world blurred into a kaleidoscope of torchlight and shadows. With a jolt of disorientation, I realized he was walking in the opposite direction of the Gryffindor common room.

"Wrong way!" I protested, my voice a hoarse whisper.

He didn't slow his pace, his strides long and purposeful.

"Taking a shortcut," he replied curtly. His tone brooked no argument, leaving me to stumble in his wake, fighting back the waves of nausea and the unwelcome realization that I was entirely at his mercy.

The corridor twisted and turned, each step a perilous journey. Panic bubbled beneath my drunken haze. Where was he taking me? What were his intentions? The darkness, once held at bay by the boisterous energy of the party, now pressed in from all sides. I tried to focus on his back, on the rhythm of his footsteps, but my vision swam, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis.

The shortcut, it turned out, was a winding labyrinth of narrow passages and forgotten stairwells. It was as if Regulus was leading me deeper into the bowels of the castle, away from the lingering warmth of the party and into the very heart of the ancient stone.

His grip on my elbow tightened as we navigated the uneven ground. I stumbled repeatedly, my vision blurring and my legs threatening to give out beneath me. It was only his unwavering hold that kept me from collapsing into an unceremonious heap.

After a particularly vicious stumble, his hand shifted from my elbow to my waist. The unexpected contact sent a jolt through my alcohol-addled system. It wasn't overtly intimate, more a pragmatic adjustment to better support my faltering steps, but the warmth of his hand seeping through my dress sent a strange shiver down my spine. A shiver that had nothing to do with the chill of the dungeon.

The silence between us was deafening, broken only by our uneven footsteps and my labored breathing. I longed to break it, to hurl accusations, to demand explanations, but my tongue felt heavy and uncooperative. Instead, the quiet gnawed at me, amplifying my disorientation and the growing fear that clawed at my insides.

Finally, unable to bear the oppressive silence any longer, I managed to croak out a question.

"Why are you being so..." my voice faltered as a wave of nausea washed over me. I swallowed, forcing back the bile rising in my throat. "Unlike yourself," I finished weakly.

A harsh laugh escaped him. "It's not as if you know me, Evans," he muttered, the words barely audible over the echo of our footsteps.

His dismissive response was a slap in the face, a brutal reminder of the chasm that divided us. True, we were bound together by the invisible threads of this war, but our understanding of each other was as shallow as a puddle after a summer rain.

He continued; his voice laced with a bitter cynicism that mirrored my own growing despair. "Besides, I just don't fancy being blamed..." he paused, searching for the right words, "if something were to happen to you in this state."

A chill shot through me at his words, his implication hanging heavy in the air like a poisonous fog. The thought sent a fresh wave of shame washing over me. To have stumbled so spectacularly, to need his assistance, was humiliation enough. But for there to be witnesses to my disgrace.

Our pace slowed as we neared the familiar territory of the castle kitchens. The tantalizing scent of roasting meat and freshly baked bread drifted through the air, a tantalizing reminder of the warmth and comfort that awaited at the end of this treacherous journey. With each step, the realization that I would soon face my housemates settled over me like a suffocating cloak.

The weight of his hand on my waist was a constant presence, a grounding force amidst the chaos swirling in my head. Yet, beneath the necessity of his touch, I couldn't help but feel a flicker of unease. This strange, forced intimacy was both a source of stability and a constant reminder of my own vulnerability.

As we reached the top of a short flight of stairs leading away from the kitchens, I finally found the courage to look up at him. Our eyes met, and something shifted between us, an unspoken acknowledgment of the absurdity of the situation.

"Thank you," I murmured, the words barely audible above the pounding in my head. My voice was thick with a mixture of gratitude, mortification, and the lingering effects of the potent party punch.

We paused at the bottom of the stairs, the warmth of the brightly lit kitchens a stark contrast to the cool darkness of the corridor. The entrance to the Hufflepuff common room, concealed behind a stack of enormous barrels, was a mere few steps away.

For an extended moment, he said nothing. Instead, he met my gaze, his own eyes surprisingly unreadable. There was none of the usual cold disdain, nor the cruel mockery I had come to expect. Instead, his expression was... almost guarded, a strange blend of detachment and something I couldn't quite define.

"For not being a prick," I clarified softly, a flicker of defiance reigniting within me.

He let out a short, humorless laugh, the sound echoing strangely in the dimly lit corridor.

"Don't mention it, Evans," he finally replied, his voice devoid of any warmth but laced with a touch of sardonic resignation. A renewed wave of dizziness washed over me, threatening to send me tumbling. I blinked rapidly, struggling to maintain focus. The alcohol swirled in my veins, making the world tilt and warp at an alarming rate.

"Sorry," I managed to mumble, feeling the weight of embarrassment crashing down upon me, "I can't... think straight..."

He seemed to understand. A flicker of something akin to concern flitted across his face, a fleeting emotion that contradicted his carefully manufactured reputation as heartless.

His gaze drifted down to his polished black shoes, as if seeking an escape from the uncomfortable moment of vulnerability that had briefly settled between us. When he looked back up, the familiar mask of indifference was back in place.

"Get some rest," he said curtly, any hint of softness gone from his voice.

The disorientation washed over me in relentless waves. The corridor, once so familiar, seemed to blur and distort. I clung to the barrel beside me, fighting to maintain a semblance of composure as the room spun. In the flickering light, Regulus Black seemed to transform before my eyes. The harsh angles of his face softened, the sneer replaced by a flicker of amusement, the shadows retreating as if the darkness within him was momentarily held at bay.

For a dangerous, disorienting moment, he was simply a boy. A boy with tousled dark hair and surprisingly kind eyes. I could almost convince myself that this was an ordinary scene, a boy seeing a girl safely home, an echo of countless, innocent teenage interactions.

Then, the absurdity of the situation hit me with full force. This was Regulus Black, the boy who haunted the Astronomy Tower, who reveled in cruelty and whispered promises of violence. This fleeting moment of unexpected connection was an illusion, a mirage shimmering in the depths of my alcohol-fueled haze. The spell was broken as another wave of nausea crashed over me, leaving me weak and disoriented. I turned away, desperate to find the sanctuary of my common room, to escape both his disconcerting presence and the relentless assault on my senses.

Fumbling for balance, I glanced back at him, my vision blurring. "You... you're quite pretty, you know that?" I slurred, the words tumbling out before I could comprehend their full impact.

His head snapped up, his eyes widening in startled amusement. I was instantly mortified, a flush of heat flooding my cheeks as the room spun dizzily around me. But through the haze, I also saw it – the flash of surprise, the way his lips twitched in a hint of an unguarded smile. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a cool composure that I couldn't help but admire even in my drunken stupor.

"Go to bed, Evans," he commanded, though there was a strange gentleness in his tone, as if humoring a foolish child.

A wave of exhaustion washed over me, rendering further argument impossible. With a final unsteady wave and a slurred

“Night.”

I turned towards the barrels that masked the entrance to my common room. As I fumbled with the rhythm required to open the hidden passage, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had stumbled not only through the dungeons but also through my own preconceptions.

My vision swam, the barrels blurring and shifting before me. The rhythm, usually as familiar as my own heartbeat, seemed impossible to grasp. Panic began to bubble up, threatening to consume the last vestiges of my composure. Just as I was about to sink to my knees in defeat, a pair of hands appeared before me, their movements sure and steady. Regulus, it seemed, wasn't quite done with his unexpected role as my unlikely savior.

He tapped the barrels with his wand, a precise cadence I was too far gone to decipher. The massive wooden forms swung open, revealing the cozy warmth of the Hufflepuff common room.

"Go," he said, his voice low and strangely devoid of mockery.

With a last grateful glance in his direction, I stumbled over the threshold. As the entrance swung shut behind me, obscuring his figure from view, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief wash over me. I had made it. I was safe, at least for now.

The walk to my dormitory was a blur. My feet moved through familiar motions, propelled by instinct more than any conscious effort. The scent of honey and warm wood, the welcoming yellow glow that seemed to radiate from the very walls, enveloped me like a comforting embrace.

Finally, reaching the sanctuary of my bed, I collapsed into a heap of disheveled party attire and drunken exhaustion.

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