Roselie

YOU KNOW ME LIKE NO OTHER greetings! i’m Roselie / asian / german / nineteen / she/her / infp / massive yapper / pandora kind of whimsy / ravenclaw & slytherin / hardcore barty enthusiast!

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requests: open !

JUST A TOTALLY NORMAL DAY!

PAIRING dad!Regulus Black x mum!reader

SYNOPSIS Chaos is inevitable in the Black household, but even by your standards, the morning of your daughter‘s departure for Hogwarts is obliviate worthy.

CONTENT WARNING empty threats, tired reader, the kids being sirius coded, scary walburger used as a punishment

WORD COUNT 2.4k words

library.

The morning started peacefully. For approximately two and a half minutes.

You had barely stepped into the kitchen when an earsplitting crash echoed through the house, followed by the telltale shriek of your youngest child. Not in distress- no, the boy sounded delighted.

Regulus, who had been calmly reading the Daily Prophet with his usual air of unbothered aristocracy, sighed and set the paper down. “I’ll handle it,” he muttered, standing up and rolling his shoulders as though preparing for battle.

You weren’t convinced.

“Do you even know which child it is?” you asked, already heading toward the noise.

Regulus glanced at the ceiling. Another crash. “I have a strong suspicion, my dove.”

You both emerged into the hallway to find the chandelier swaying dangerously above the entranceway.

Standing directly underneath it, looking entirely too pleased with herself, was Carina, probably the manifestation of all your previous sins. She beamed up at you both, utterly shameless. “That was an accident.”

“It was not,” piped up Atlas, peeking out from behind her, his tiny hands clutching the hem of her dress like a loyal henchman. “We did it on purpose.”

Carina whacked him on the arm. “Shut up, Attie.” He just giggled.

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t even want to know how.”

“I’ll tell you!” Atlas offered eagerly. “'Rina wanted to see if the chandelier would hold her weight, and then-”

Regulus put out his hand in a stopping motion and turned to you. “I take it back. I want neither knowledge nor responsibility for this.”

“Too late, Black,” you said, striding forward. “Carina Pandora Black, what in Merlin’s name made you think that was a good idea?”

The girl shrugged. “I had a theory.”

“You always have a theory,” you muttered, before glancing back at the one child who had yet to make an appearance. “Where’s Lyra?”

Your eldest, Lyra, the one child you could trust to have some common sense, chose that exact moment to sweep into the hallway. She was dressed in her pristine Hogwarts robes, not a wrinkle in sight, her sleek dark hair brushed to perfection with no stray hair in sight. Eleven years old and already looking like she was prepared to take over the world.

And, true to form, she took one look at the scene before her and sighed.

“Mama. Papa.” She folded her hands behind her back. “I believe Carina and Atlas are attempting to sabotage my departure.”

Carina gasped, scandalized, eyes wide with mock offense. “I would never!”

“She would,” Atlas said to you, blissfully unaware of his older sister's betrayed look.

“I would not!”

“She would,” Regulus muttered.

Lyra huffed and straightened her robes. “We are leaving in an hour. I trust that they will be dealt with accordingly?”

That was the thing about Lyra- she had an unbelievable talent for sounding like a miniature adult, even more so than you. No doubt something she’d picked up from her father, who was now watching her with a faint look of pride and smugness.

“Oh, I’ll deal with them,” you said darkly, leveling a stare at your two youngest.

Carina, unrepentant, smirked. “You say that every time, and yet, here we are.”

Before you could lunge at your middle child, Regulus stepped smoothly between you. “Alright,” he said, voice calm but with that particular edge of warning that only he could manage. “I suggest you two get out of your mother’s line of sight before she forgets she’s a civilized woman.”

Carina, for once in her life, obeyed. With a dramatic bow, she grabbed Atlas by the collar and fled.

Lyra exhaled sharply. “They are truly exhausting.”

Regulus patted her on the head. “You’ll miss them soon enough.”

Lyra looked at her father and then shifted to you. “I find that highly unlikely.”

You met her gaze, unimpressed. “Oh, you think you’re better than the rest of us, do you?”

“Yes.”

Regulus, traitor that he was, actually chuckled. And that was only the beginning of the morning.

After the chandelier incident, you were forced to impose emergency lockdown rules

1. No touching things that hang from the ceiling.

2. No experiments before breakfast.

3. No ruining Lyra’s last day home before Hogwarts.

None of these rules lasted longer than ten minutes. Because while you and Regulus attempted to have a normal breakfast- if anything in this house could be called normal- Carina and Atlas managed to vanish.

"I swear, I am going to turn into your wretched mother if they don't stop testing my patience,” you muttered, scanning the room. “Where are they?”

Lyra, who was methodically buttering her toast like a proper aristocrat, didn’t even look up. “Do you want the truth, or do you want plausible deniability, mum?”

Regulus, sipping his tea, hummed. “Plausible deniability sounds nice.”

You shot him a glare. “No. I want the truth.”

Lyra finally lifted her gaze and deadpanned, “Carina mumbled something about a ‘final grand experiment.’ or whatever, I stopped paying attention after a minute”

Regulus lowered his teacup. “Final?”

You shot to your feet.

You found them minutes later in the sitting room. Or, rather, you found what was left of the sitting room.

Because somehow, your spawns of peeves himself had constructed a homemade rocket. Using what, you did not know- but there was smoke.

And some sort of slime. And fire.

And Kreacher, the poor house-elf, was fuming in the corner, muttering about how Mistress Walburga would have given them a good spanking.

“What,” you began, voice eerily calm, “is happening?”

Carina turned, utterly unbothered by your silent rage. “We were testing a propulsion spell.”

“For what reason?”

“For science.”

You blinked. “For science?”

“Yes.”

Regulus surveyed the room with the blank expression of a man who had long since accepted his fate. He casually stepped over the goo-covered coffee table and inspected the charred rug.

Then, voice perfectly measured, he asked, “And where, pray tell, did you get the spell? You don't even own a wand yet, Sweet Girl”

Carina beamed. “I made it up! And it's a secret, dad.”

Regulus turned to you. “She made it up.”

“I heard.”

“I think I need to lie down.”

Before you could threaten your offspring with the worst punishment imaginable (no Honeydukes for a month), Lyra walked in, took one look, and sighed.

“Mother. Father. I believe it is time we left for the station.”

You checked the clock. Oh, bloody hell.

Getting three children into your modified muggle car, dragging an eleven-year-old’s perfectly packed Hogwarts trunk, and ensuring the house didn’t literally burn down before you left was nothing short of a miracle.

By the time you made it to the car, Carina and Atlas were already plotting merlin knows what.

“I should bring a Kneazle home for Christmas,” Carina was saying.

Little Atlas gasped. “Can we make it fly?”

Lyra, long-suffering, pinched the bridge of her nose. “You can’t enchant a living creature like that.”

Her younger sister smirked. “Bet I can.”

You cut in before this could escalate into a full-blown argument. “'Rina, Atlas, if either of you so much as breathes near a spell book before we reach the station, I will put you in front of your grandmother for at least two hours.”

They immediately shut up.

Regulus glanced at you, impressed. “Effective.”

“I’m not above threats, Reggie. Do keep up."

Not just with Muggle travelers, but with other wizarding families. The familiar sound of owls screeching, trunks dragging, and last-minute goodbyes filled the air.

You gripped Lyra’s hand, trying to savor your last moments before she disappeared behind that scarlet train.

But your other children were determined to ruin the moment.

As soon as you reached the platform, the little 5-year-old spotted a toad. Probably belonging to some poor, unsuspecting first-year. And before you could react, he snatched it up and yelled, “'RINA, I HAVE A VICTIM!”

Carina, like a goblin who had just struck gold, went behind her father to retrieve his wand. “PERFECT. LET’S TEST-”

Regulus snatched her by the collar mid-attempt and you grabbed Atlas by the back of his dress shirt. Both children went limp in your grasp, expertly feigning innocence.

Lyra, for her part, looked like she was seriously considering leaving immediately.

“I’m never coming back,” she informed you, face scrunched up with embarrassment.

“Oh, yes, you are,” Regulus said, setting Carina down. “You’ll miss us, mon étoile. ”

Lyra raised an eyebrow.

Atlas, still dangling in your grip, smiled. “She will.”

Lyra sighed. You knelt to face her and cupped her cheeks, heart aching. “Are you ready?”

For the first time that morning, something shifted in her expression. The sharpness faded, just a little. She nodded.

You cupped her face. “You are going to be so so brilliant, Lyra.”

Regulus rested a hand on her shoulder. “Remember, no matter what house you’re sorted into, we are proud of you.”

Lyra swallowed, nodding once more.

Carin, now playing with the little ornaments on Lyra's trunk, sing-songed. “If you’re not in Slytherin, I will disown you.”

“You are nine and have no legal power,” Lyra deadpanned.

Atlas waved, still suspended in the air by your arm. “BYE, LYRA! STEAL A BROOM IF YOU CAN!”

Regulus groaned and took him out of your grasp. “Stop encouraging crime.”

You let go of Lyra, who immediately got smothered by Carina in a hug. Orion followed eagerly.

Lyra groaned but did not push them away. Then, with one last smile at you and Regulus, she turned and boarded the train.

The moment she disappeared inside, Atlas wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.

“She’s gone,” he said solemnly.

Carina sniffled, playing along. “I cannot believe it either, dear Atlas, our baby sister gone away.”

“She was older than you.”

“Hush, dad. Let me have this."

You stared at them. “She is literally coming back for Christmas.”

Regulus sighed, slipping an arm around your waist. “I want to say the house will be calmer now.”

“Don’t lie to yourself.”

Your dear children, already plotting their next scheme, proved your point immediately.

EXTRA !

The first morning without Lyra was supposed to be peaceful.

You had envisioned a calm breakfast, perhaps even some rare alone time with Regulus, who was always so much less stressed when there were fewer children actively plotting crimes in his immediate vicinity.

But no. Because instead, you were standing in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at your own reflection in horror.

Your hair was green. Not a nice, subtle shade. No. It was toxic, neon, radioactive and absolute hideous shade of green.

You touched a strand, as if touching it would somehow undo the damage.

It did not.

From behind you, Regulus let out the slowest, deepest exhale of his life. “…So,” he said.

You turned, eyes blazing. “Where. Are. They.”

As if summoned by pure malice, Carina and Atlas appeared in the doorway, giggling and looking entirely too pleased with themselves.

Atlas gasped dramatically. “Oh no, Mama! What happened to your hair?”

Carina clasped her hands together, utterly devastated. “A tragedy. A terrible accident.”

Regulus slowly turned to them. “Explain.”

Carina beamed. “We may have… enhanced your shampoo.”

Atlas nodded enthusiastically and smiled toothily. “Just a little.”

You pointed at your radioactive hair. “A LITTLE?”

Your daughter shrugged. “It could have been worse.”

“Oh?” Regulus raised an eyebrow. “And what, exactly, was the original plan?”

Atlas perked up, ready to share. “We wanted to make it glow in the dark, but 'Rina said-”

Carina slapped a hand over his mouth. “Shhh, Attie. Don’t tell them everything.”

Regulus, for the second time in twenty-four hours, pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have made mistakes.”

“I AM GOING TO MAKE YOU BOTH SCRUB CAULDRONS UNTIL CHRISTMAS.”

Carina- who had never feared anything in her life- placed a hand on her chest. “Mother, you wound me.”

Atlas beamed. “You look like a true Slytherin now!”

Regulus, despite himself, smirked. “…He has a point.”

“I SWEAR TO MERLIN, REGULUS BLACK, DO NOT ENCOURAGE THEM.”

Regulus held up his hands, utterly betraying you. “I’m just saying, it’s a very House-proud shade.”

Carina nodded sagely. “Father, clearly, understands the art of mischief.”

You threw up your hands. “Oh, so you think this is funny?”

In perfect unison, both of your children grinned.

“Absolutely!”

Regulus sat at the breakfast table, casually sipping his tea, while his children (the ones you were currently disowning) scrubbed cauldrons in the kitchen under your watchful eye.

“You know,” Regulus mused, watching Carina struggle to clean a particularly stubborn stain, “this was actually quite a tame prank.”

You turned, still furious, hair still violently green. “Would you like to be next?”

Regulus, a wise man, wisely sipped his tea and said nothing.

Your daughter, absolutely NOT learning her lesson, muttered, “It was totally worth it.”

Atlas, beside her, whispered. “Next time, we should make it rainbow.”

Regulus choked on his tea.

"Let's have kids, you said. They will be the greatest joy on earth, you said." you mumbled as you made your way to the (now fixed) sitting room. "I should've let you rot in that wretched cave."

"Love you too, mon amour!"

A LITTLE MISHAP!

PAIRING Barty Crouch Junior x Gryffindor!fem!reader

SYNOPSIS absolutely bored of your arses, you and your friends accidentally summon something worse than a demon

CONTENT WARNINGS crack!, pandora being the token raven in the lion house, debuting my favourite nickname for dear bartemius

SYNOPSIS 2.3k words

library.

You should have known that any game Pandora Rosier suggested would end in absolute horror.

It started as a totally, regular, normal night. A storm raged outside, rattling the windows of the Gryffindor girls’ dormitory, but inside, everything was warm, golden, and just the right amount of chaotic.

James (not part of the plan but insisted to help a damsel in distress (lily)) had sneaked in butterbeer from the kitchens, Marlene was dramatically retelling her latest Quidditch victory (complete with accurate air reenactments) with her girlfriend in her arms, and Mary was sprawled across your bed, half-listening and half-reading the latest Witch Weekly. Dorcas, ever the voice of reason, had been the one to suggest a game, if only to distract Pandora from her latest experiment involving moonstone dust and a stolen Niffler trinket.

And then, of course, Pandora pulled it out.

The book was old- thick, heavy, and bound in a leather that looked suspiciously alive. You have seen it a few times since she acquired it from her equally as eccentric uncle. The pages crinkled like dried leaves as she flipped through them, muttering excitedly under her breath.

“It’s a divination tome,” she explained, eyes gleaming with eerie delight. “But not the fluffy, crystal-ball nonsense Augburn teaches. Real divination. Spells for contacting the other side.”

You exchanged a wary glance with Lily. She looked utterly unimpressed. Marlene, however, looked downright ecstatic. Mary scoffed, rolling onto her stomach. “You mean ghosts? We live in a castle full of them. I can go ask the Grey Lady for relationship advice if I want to be spooked.”

“This is different.” Pandora’s light voice aired out. “This is summoning.”

Which, in hindsight, should have been your first sign to shut the book and go back to braiding Mary’s hair.

Instead, curiosity (or perhaps stupidity) won out, and ten minutes later, the six of you were sitting in a circle on the floor, the candles dimmed, and Pandora reciting something in what sounded like very questionable Latin. You held hands, mostly for the aesthetic and vibes, but also because, if something did go terribly wrong, it was nice to have a buddy to cling to.

The air shifted. At first, it was subtle. The dormitory grew colder, the flames on the candles flickering as though disturbed by an invisible breeze. Then, the shadows stretched unnaturally along the walls, curling like ink in water. Your stomach twisted, a prickling sensation running down your spine.

“…'Dora,” Dorcas said slowly. “What exactly was this spell supposed to do?”

Before she could answer, the entire room lurched.

It felt like the world had hiccupped, reality itself skipping a beat similarly to apparating. The shadows pulsed, the air crackled- and then, with an ungodly pop, a figure appeared in the center of your summoning circle.

A very real, very alive figure.

A bloody boy.

A boy who, by the looks of things, had been mid-sentence before he was unceremoniously yanked through time and space.

His expression went from slightly annoyed to bewildered to absolutely furious in the span of three seconds. His sharp blue eyes darted around the room, taking in the six of you, the book, the circle of candles, before finally landing on you.

“Excuse me,” he said, voice dangerously low. “Where the bloody hell am I?”

There was a beat of stunned silence. Then, as if he was graced upon realization, the borderline maniacal bloke pointed an accusatory finger at Pandora.

“What did you do?!”

Pandora looked from the boy to you, her expression somewhere between awe and mild panic. “…I think I accidentally summoned him?”

The boy, who was wearing (hideous) Slytherin robes, by the way, and not just any Slytherin robes, but the kind only someone with an absurd amount of family wealth and blood purity obsession could get away with- made an outraged noise.

“Summoned?” he repeated incredulously. “Summoned? What the hell, Rosier! I was in the middle of a conversation- ” He stopped short, his eyes narrowing. “Where is Regulus?”

You blinked. “Regulus? As in Regulus Black?”

“No, Regulus Frownalot” He answered sarcastically, expression flickered, something calculating shifting behind his eyes. “Yes, Regulus Black. Wait. Who are you?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but before you could, Lily- bless her prefect instincts- stood up, dusting off her skirt. “Alright,” she said, ever the problem solver. “Let’s remain calm. Clearly, this was some sort of magical mishap, and we just need to figure out how to send you back.”

The boy turned to her, incredulous. “Send me back? Oh, brilliant idea. Let me just pop over to the nearest return portal- oh, wait! I can’t, because you lot just ripped me out of existence!”

“Technically,” Pandora said brightly, “I think we just shifted your existence a little!”

“You think?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Okay, everyone shut up for a second. Let’s take a step back. You- Slytherin boy- who are you, and why were you talking to Regulus?”

He gave you a scathing look. “I am Barty Crouch Junior. And I was talking to Regulus because that is what friends do. Why am I even telling you this? You should've introduced yourself before asking me! I asked first, red moron!”

You stared at him, ignoring his absolute pathetic juvenile behavior. “Barty Crouch Junior? As in Crouch Crouch?”

“Wow,” Marlene whispered. “We summoned a Crouch. That’s a new level of unfortunate.”

Barty looked moments away from hexing someone. “Oh, I’m sorry, am I inconveniencing you by being unwillingly transported into your- your filthy lion's den of all places?” His lips curled in distaste. “Merlin, it smells like Quidditch and coitus in here.”

“Alright, first of all, we are all perfect little saints practicing celibacy,” you shot back, but you could hear a mumbled 'like hell we are' from somewhere next to you. “Second, we didn’t mean to summon you.”

“Oh, that’s comforting. I feel very much safe now”

“Look, we’ll figure out how to send you back, alright?” You folded your arms. “Until then, you’re just going to have to sit tight and deal with it.”

Barty scoffed. “Fantastic. Trapped in a room with a bunch of Gryffindors. What a dream come true.”

“You know, for someone who just got accidentally kidnapped, you’re being remarkably annoying about it.”

Barty glared. You glared back back with your best scowl. But something in the air crackled. And for the first time, a flicker of something else crossed his face- mild curiosity, maybe, or amusement.

“Fine,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Let’s see if you Gryffindors can actually fix this mess.”

Barty had spent the last hour in a state of perpetual annoyance, arms crossed, watching as you and your friends frantically flipped through Pandora’s cursed book. He had interjected a few times, mostly to mock the inefficiency of Gryffindors under pressure, but for the most part, he just sat there, an unwilling hostage to whatever this absolute mess of an evening had become.

And then there was Pandora.

Barty had tolerated a lot of things tonight: being yanked out of existence, being surrounded by Gryffindors, even Marlene’s relentless teasing. But Pandora Rosier who had been nothing but comforting to him? She was testing him.

Because while the rest of you were frantically trying to find a spell to reverse whatever Pandora had done, the witch herself had been flipping through the book at a leisurely pace, humming to herself, occasionally muttering things like, Oh, that’s an interesting rune placement, I should write Xeno or Wow, that would have been so much worse, Evan would like it.

And now? Now she was giggling. Barty had had enough.

“Are you enjoying this?” he snapped, watching as she grinned at some obscure text.

Pandora looked up, unbothered. “Immensely.”

“Wonderful,” Barty deadpanned. “Glad to know my involuntary abduction is providing you with a bit of light entertainment, Panda.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Barts,” Pandora said, waving a hand. “It’s not like you’re suffering.”

“You summoned me, Pandora!”

“And you’re the one acting like I performed dark magic,” she shot back, turning a page. “Honestly, I’ve seen worse displacement spells. You could have been summoned into a lake. Or the astral plane.”

Barty narrowed his eyes. “I hate you.”

Pandora beamed. “Regulus would be so sad to hear that.”

“Regulus is going to murder you when I tell him about this.”

“You think that,” Pandora mused, “but I reckon he’d be far too amused to be properly angry. He’s got that weird little laugh when he’s trying to hide how funny he finds something. You know the one.”

Barty scowled because, unfortunately, he did know the one.

Marlene, ever entertained by the spectacle, leaned over to you and whispered, “I kind of love that she’s not scared of him.”

You grinned. “Oh, she thrives on chaos.”

Barty, meanwhile, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we focus? I’d rather not be here when the sun comes up, thank you very much.”

“We are focusing,” Lily snapped, looking dangerously close to hexing him herself. Tou grinned, taking great pleasure in the teens anger. "Yes, Barts, we are working so hard right now. Do be patience, will you."

“I highly doubt that,” Barty muttered. “At the rate you’re going, I’ll be a permanent resident.”

Dorcas groaned, flopping back onto her bed. “We’re trying, alright? But magic like this isn’t exactly easy to undo!”

Mary, who had woken up ten minutes ago, no one really noticed that she fell asleep like a baby in her girl's lap, groggily mumbled, “What if we just… did the spell backwards?”

Pandora looked delighted by the suggestion. “That’s actually not the worst idea-!”

“No,” Barty interrupted. “Absolutely not. I am not about to let any of you risk splitting me in half because you thought it would be fun to rewind me into existence.”

“You say that like it’s not a completely valid risk,” Pandora mused.

Barty clenched his jaw. “I swear to Merlin-”

And then, after another twenty minutes of arguing, another round of searching, and another layer of pure exhaustion settling over the group-

You suddenly stopped flipping through the book. Everything went quiet. You furrowed your brows, then looked up at Barty. “…Why are we even doing this?”

Barty exhaled sharply. “Finally. Thank you. That’s what I’ve been saying-”

“No, no,” you interrupted, shutting the book with a thump. “I mean… why are we looking for a spell when you could just… y'know, walk out the door?”

The room fell into dead silence. Even the storm outside seemed to pause.

Barty blinked. “…What?”

“You go to school here,” you said slowly, as if explaining something to a particularly dense child. “Your dormitory is literally downstairs. Instead of looking for some complicated reversal spell, you could just… leave.”

A full beat of silence.

Then, a particularly annoying groan of frustration could be heard. “You-” Barty gestured wildly, “-You fuckers had me sitting here for hours-”

“To be fair,” Pandora interjected with a raised hand, “you didn’t think of it either. Aren't you supposed to be smart, Mister 12 O.W.L.s? ”

Barty let out a strangled noise of pure exasperation. “Dont go smarty pants with me, Panda. Are you telling me that I could have left at any time? That you idiots had me sitting here, wasting my life, when all I had to do was walk out the door?”

“Well,” Pandora said cheerfully, “yes.”

Lily, meanwhile, had buried her face in her hands. “I cannot believe we’re this stupid.”

Mary nodded, looking absolutely done with all of this, just muttered, “I need a drink.”

Barty stood up so fast his chair nearly toppled over. “You know what? I’m done. I am leaving. I never want to see any of you again.”

Dorcas, still half-sprawled on her bed, yawned. “Go on, then.”

Barty stormed toward the door. You watched him go, something oddly anticlimactic about the way he just- left.

No grand magical solution. No complicated ritual.

Just… walking.

He reached the door, yanked it open but paused, tilting his head. He turned back, eyes landing on you for just a second longer than necessary.

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Barty scoffed. “Nothing.” He looked at Pandora, scowling. “You’re the worst.”

Pandora smiled like he’d just paid her a compliment. “Tight sleep, Barts! Remember to use the acorn essence for the whackspurts.”

He rolled his eyes but nodded. And with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared down the stairs.

The second he was gone, Marlene burst out laughing. “That was so much better than if we’d actually figured out the spell.”

Lily groaned. “I still can’t believe we didn’t think of that earlier.”

Mary, flopping back into the pillows, simply muttered, “I hate magic. Should've just ignored the damn letters.”

Pandora, ever the menace, just picked up her book again and sighed happily. “That was so fun. We should summon people more often.”

You looked at her, horrified. “'Dora, no.”

But as the others laughed, as the storm outside finally settled, you couldn’t help but glance at the door, thinking of the strange way Barty had looked at you before he left.

Temporary housemate to acquaintances indeed.

LOST IN TRANSLATION

PAIRING James Potter x American!fem!reader

SYNOPSIS enamored with the new cute Ilvermony girl, James makes it his mission to impress you, with the help of his frenemy Bartemius

CONTENT WARNING Barty being a menace as always, fluff!

WORD COUNT 1.9k

library.

James Potter considered himself an intelligent person.

Not in the way that Remus was intelligent- bookish and wise, filled with useless facts no one really cared about but somehow always came in handy. Not in the way that Sirius was clever- sharp tongued and utterly conceited (he is), and always two steps ahead in an argument. No, James Potter was intelligent in the way that got him out of trouble most of the time and into even better trouble the rest of it.

But for all his intelligence, he had been utterly defeated by your voice.

The moment you had arrived at Hogwarts, transferring from Ilvermorny in the middle of term, James had been doomed.

You weren’t just some new student, no, you were interesting. You spoke English, sure, but not his English. Your words rolled differently, your vowels stretched in unexpected places, and sometimes, you had phrases that made absolutely no sense to him. And James Potter? He was obsessed. You could have read aloud a list of potion ingredients, and James would have hung onto every word like it was a bloody symphony. Your voice had a rhythm to it, a cadence unlike anything he had ever heard. The things you said, however, didn’t make any sense, half the time.

“James, quit being a Jackass,” you had said once, crossing your arms.

And James, who had never been rendered speechless in his life, had turned to Sirius, eyes wide. “Did you hear that?”

“She insulted you, mate,” Sirius had replied.

“No, but- a Jackass! She called me a jackass! You can be the arse to my jack, darling”

“…Are you broken?”

But once more, he proved himself to be the one real cause of your hundreds of headaches the following week.

“Say that again,” he had blurted out in Charms Class. You had blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

“There!” He pointed at you like you had just discovered a new spell. “The way you said that- it’s brilliant.”

You had raised an eyebrow, muttering something about loony brits, but James hadn’t cared. From that moment on, his new favorite pastime was getting you to talk.

“Do you have syrup at Ilvermorny?”

“How do you pronounce cauldron again?”

“Say Hogwarts one more time.”

His fascination quickly became everyone else’s problem.

“Mate, you have to stop,” Sirius had said one evening, absolutely and wholeheartedly amused as James continued grinning at you across the table.

“She’s speaking English,” Remus had deadpanned, feeling nothing but pity for his newly found friend.

“Not like that she’s not!”

James couldn’t stop. And as time passed, he realized something terrible: No matter how much he loved your voice, you didn’t seem remotely impressed by his. He needed to match your energy.

Thus began the worst idea of James Fleamont Potter’s life.

James had done some questionable things in his time. He had once convinced Sirius to dye McGonagall’s office pink (detention for a month). He had tried to hex Snape’s robes off in the middle of the Great Hall (detention for two months). And he had absolutely not meant to set his broom on fire during a Quidditch match (no detention, but a very angry McGonagall).

But this? This might just be his worst decision yet. Because he, in a moment of utter desperation, had gone to Barty Crouch Junior out of all people for help.

Barty leaned against the wall of the courtyard, arms crossed, his smirk as infuriating as ever. Beside him, Regulus stood with the air of someone who hated being there, and Xenophilius was staring at the sky as if it cared about his existence (it didn't).

“I need your help,” James let out, ignoring the way his entire being recoiled at the words.

Barty’s smirk widened. “Say that again.” He clenched his fists. “Don’t be an arse, Crouch.”

“Oh, but it’s so fun being an arse.” Barty tilted his head, examining him. “The great James Potter, Gryffindor’s golden boy, asking me for help? I should frame this moment.”

Regulus sighed. “Barty, just let him speak before he starts hexing people.”

James exhaled sharply. “I need a spell.”

At that, Barty arched an eyebrow. “Do I look like your personal encyclopedia?”

He regretted everything at this precise moment. Hell, he'd even scrub the arse of a hypogriff squeaky clean than continue this conversation. “Are you going to help or not?” James snapped.

Barty hummed, clearly enjoying himself. “That depends. What kind of spell?” James hesitated. He could feel how bad of an idea this was, but at this point, he was committed. “A spell that changes my accent,” he muttered, already dreading the response of the Ravenclaw.

There was absolute silence. Regulus closed his eyes like he was in pain. Xenophilius made an intrigued hum. Barty? Barty lit up like Christmas had come early.

“Oh,” Barty whispered. “Oh, this is golden. Absolutely amazing. Let me guess- this is about the Ilvermorny girl, isn’t it? I think I'm in heaven. Reggie! Pinch me, please. Actually no, I don't want to wake up from this bloody amazing dream.”

James scowled. “You talk too much and say too little. Honestly, Barneby, do you eat out of your bottom with the amount of shit coming out of your mouth? Are you going to help or not?”

“Oh, I’ll help you, Potter,” Barty purred, ignoring the jabs. “But we have to make sure the spell is just right for your… needs.”

Regulus sighed deeply. “Barty—”

“Relax,” Barty said smoothly, twirling his wand. “It’s perfectly safe.”

That was a lie.

James should have known not to trust Barty.

But did he test the spell first? No. Did he wait to cast it under controlled conditions? Absolutely not. Instead, he waited until breakfast the next morning, walked right up to you, and cast it right before speaking.

He grinned, full of confidence. “Hey-"

But his words contorted into something that made him nearly piss his trousers.

“Howdy, darlin’!”

James’s eyes went huge. He clamped a hand over his mouth. His very English mouth that had just produced the most cartoony Southern American accent you had ever heard.

"Come again?" Your eyes widened. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to laugh or be horrified.

James felt cold fear settle into his bones. Equally flustered, he looked horrified by his own words, slapping a hand over his mouth as though he could somehow force his own accent to revert back to something remotely natural. You felt a wave of secondhand embarrassment rush over you, but before you could even form a coherent thought, James tried to speak again “Oh, Merlin bu-” he started, but he didn't come far.

“Vell, zis is most unfortunate,” James said, now sounding like a caricature of a German professor.

A laugh almost escaped you, but it caught in your throat, the absurdity of it all washing over you. It was as though you had stepped into some strange, half comical dream. You’d never heard James speak like this before. It was so over-the-top, so un-James-like, that you didn’t know if it was intentional or not. You didn’t know what was worse: his attempt to sound like a cowboy, or his turn as a German with a ridiculously overemphasized accent. It was becoming increasingly clear that James was losing control of whatever spell he’d cast

James panicked. “I can fix this,” he swore, but before he could say anything out, the third demon came out.

“Ah, mon amour, ‘ow terrible zis is!”

French. He sounded like a pissed Sirius. Oh great Sorcerer's come to my aid. I'll even sell my dad's company if you could take me out of this misery.

You took a slow step back. “James, what the freaking shit is going on.”

James’s entire soul left his body. “Wait, I- ”

“Oi, it appears aye 'ave made grave mistake." James screamed internally. His words warped from Italian to Scottish to something that sounded like a dying goat attempting Latin.

And that was when James grabbed your wrist and ran.

James dragged you across the castle, babbling absolute nonsense. He was now talking pure gibberish.

Literal nonsense. His words twisted into something that wasn’t a language. Maybe Gobbledegook but he was too afraid to ask a Gobblin if he was correct.

You were quarters horrified, three quarters morbidly fascinated. By the time you reached Barty’s group, James was vibrating with distress.

Barty took one look at him, and burst into howling laughter. “Oh,” he gasped between laughs. “Oh, this is so much better than I thought it’d be.”

James gibbered at him in what sounded like Ancient Greek. Regulus sighed. “Fix him, Barty.”

Barty wiped a fake tear from his eye. “Alright, alright” He lifted his wand with an easy swoop and raised an eyebrow at James, as if to ask him to take it a go.

“did it work?,” he asked. Or at least, he tried to ask normally. What came out instead was a thick Italian accent.

“Bartolomeo, mi amico, you absolute bastardo!”

You choked back a laugh. Barty cracked up immediately. James clutched his head. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake- ”

“Ah, putain d'enfer. ” James wanted to punch himself.

Barty had fully lost it. He was practically doubled over, cackling like a maniac, much to Madam Pince's annoyance, wiping tears from his eyes as James stood there, murder in his heart and an entire bloody International Confederation of Wizards in his voice.

“Oh, this is- this is art,” Barty wheezed. “Potter, I have never been so proud of myself.”

“You vill die for zis,” James spat.

Barty wiped a tear from his eye. “You sound like a Evan's cousin.”

“Silence, you English swine!” James exclaimed in a painfully posh way. Barty lost it again.

Regulus, who had been watching this disaster unfold with a look of exhausted resignation, rubbed his temples. “Barty,” he muttered. “For Merlin’s sake, can you finally fix him properly before he actually has an aneurysm?”

Barty grinned. “Oh, but I love this version of James. It’s so… cultured.”

James swore violently. Unfortunately, what actually came out was, “By jove, old sport, you are a right cad!”

Silence.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore. A laugh burst out of you, and James whipped toward you, utterly betrayed. You gasped for breath, clutching your stomach. “I-I’m sorry, James-”

“No, you’re not!” he cried. “Zis is a bloody disgrace!” Barty snickered. “Come on, Potter, don’t you like being well-traveled?”

James’s eye twitched. “Barty.” His voice was deadly. “If you don’t fix zis right now, I vill personally ensure zat ze entire Gryffindor Quidditch team uses you for Beater practice.”

Regulus sighed again. “Barty, enough.”

Barty hummed, twirling his wand lazily. James, already distrusting of the younger's words, didn't dare to open his mouth. “Alright, alright. I suppose I’d hate for Flitwick to find you like this.”

As if on command, he heard the very name calling out for him.

“Mr. Potter?”

James went rigid. Professor Flitwick stood behind him, arms crossed. James felt pure, unfiltered terror flood through his veins.

“Would you care to explain,” Flitwick said, in a terribly polite voice that promised pain, “why you were just threatening another student in- if I’m not mistaken- no less than five different languages?”

James panicked.

“Professor, it eez english, sir. juz accen'. Eez not what you think-”

Flitwick’s eyebrow merely twitched.

And James bolted. Again. This time, he dragged you with him. You yelped as he yanked you around a corner, panting. His eyes were wild. He pointed at you. “This is your fault.” At least his normal voice came back.

You folded your arms. “Excuse me?”

James opened his mouth

And spoke in Parseltongue.

“…I need to kill Barty fucking Crouch Junior."

Somewhere down the corridor, Sirius was walking aimlessly toward the exit when he heard a familiar voice hissing.

"On Salazar's trousers, when were you going to tell me that you're the heir of Slytherin! Oi, Jamie! I'm writing Monty!"

OF STRAY CATS AND MISTAKEN IDENTITY

PAIRING Ravenclaw! Barty Crouch Junior x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS Barty is 101% convinced that the stray cat was his girlfriend. But after being hit with horror, he was left wondering- who the hell was he kissing?

CONTENT WARNING fluff, james & sirius mentioned, barty losing his mind, I love ravenclaw barty sm, mention of hospital wing, established relationship

WORD COUNT 2.8 k words

library.

Barty had never considered himself delusional.

A bit eccentric? Sure. Dramatic? Occasionally. Unhealthily obsessed with his girlfriend? Absolutely. But delusional? No.

At least, that’s what he told himself- right up until he locked eyes with a stray cat in the middle of the courtyard and thought, with absolute certainty, That’s her.

It had your eyes.

Same sharp gaze. Same depth of intelligence. Same quiet challenge, like it was judging him for existing.

The fact that it was also a literal feral animal didn’t quite register.

Barty blinked.

The cat blinked back.

Something cold slithered down his spine. No fucking way.

“…Love?” he muttered hesitantly.

From across the courtyard, James, who had been lazily tossing a Quaffle back and forth with Sirius, immediately paused mid throw.

James turned, brows furrowing as he watched Barty talk to a stray cat with the softest, most devastated expression on his face.

“What the fuck?” James muttered.

Sirius followed his gaze and snorted. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Meanwhile, Barty took a cautious step forward, heart pounding. “I- how did this happen?” he whispered.

The cat, being a cat, did not respond. Instead, it arched its back and hissed.

Barty flinched. His breath caught in his throat.

“No, no, it’s me,” he pleaded, taking another slow step forward. “Don’t be scared, love, I’ll-”

The cat bolted.

“WAIT!” Barty lunged, nearly tripping over his own feet as he sprinted after it.

Sirius howled with laughter as James gawked, watching as one of the most (maybe only) unhinged Ravenclaws in school history tore across the courtyard chasing a cat like it owed him money.

“WHAT IS HE DOING?” James demanded.

“I don’t know,” Sirius gasped, clutching his stomach, “but I am loving it.”

Barty, meanwhile, had completely lost the plot.

Because obviously, obviously, something had gone terribly wrong.

His girlfriend, the love of his life, had somehow been transformed into a cat and was now running away from him.

Was it a curse? Were you a secret animagus without telling him? (He very much hoped not). A transfiguration accident? Had some idiot Gryffindor (probably Potter) hexed you for fun?

He would kill them.

“LOVE, PLEASE!” Barty called desperately.

The cat did not care. The cat was tired of his bullshit.

It darted around a group of fifth-year Ravenclaws, who shrieked in alarm as Barty barreled through them, sending books and parchment flying.

“CROUCH, WHAT THE HELL—?!”

“NO TIME,” Barty yelled over his shoulder. “THIS IS A RESCUE MISSION! LIFE OR DEATH!"

The Ravenclaws watched him go, stunned, before one of them turned to their friend. “Do you think he finally lost it?”

“I think he lost it a long time ago.”

Barty chased the cat all the way past the Greenhouses, through the courtyard, and around the castle walls before jumping on a pillar and out of sight.

He was heartbroken.

Barty Crouch Junior was losing his goddamn mind.

“I saw him again,” a fourth-year Hufflepuff whispered behind him a few days later as he stalked past the courtyard, eyes scanning the treetops.

“No way.”

“Yes way! He was behind Greenhouse Three, just squatting in the bushes—”

“What, again?”

Barty ignored them, running a hand through his already messy hair. He had barely eaten. He had barely slept. Every time he so much as blinked, all he could see was you- or rather, the cat- flitting through the castle grounds, always just out of reach.

Evan had noticed.

“What the fuck are you doing, Crouch?” he had demanded over breakfast, watching in horror as Barty practically inhaled three pieces of toast in under a minute. “You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge.”

Regulus, sitting beside him, had barely spared Barty a glance before going back to his book. “He has been dragged through a hedge.”

Barty had scowled. “I’m fine.”

“You rearranged your entire schedule to be free at dusk.”

“I did not-”

“Yes, you did,” Regulus had interrupted, still not looking up. “I saw you bribing McLaggen to go to your Herbology classes.”

Evan had narrowed his eyes. “What the hell are you doing?”

Barty had hesitated. Then, after a long moment, he had sighed and muttered, “It’s her.”

Evan had blinked. “Who?”

“Her. You know.”

A long, agonizing even, silence followed.

“… Mate.” Evan’s voice had been so cautious, so deeply concerned. “Are you telling me you think your girlfriend turned into a cat? That she was stuck in a cat form for three days straight? I thought you Ravenclaws were supposed to be bright but I guess the hat made some mistakes after all”

Barty had stiffened. “It has her eyes.” he sighed dreamily. "And Oi! Dare I remind you that I am exceptionally intelligent! I wouldn't run after some animal if I wasn't 100% sure if it was my dazzling girl. She's been stuck in the hospital wing for days now and I've been banned from entering it if I wasn't injured. Pomfrey's too bloody intimidating to say no to." He muttered the last part grumpily.

That had sent Evan into a full body wheeze in the middle of the great Hall, while Regulus had just pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘I need new friends’.

But now, about 4 hours later, standing outside the castle with a bundle of blankets and a plate of stolen roast chicken, Barty knew he was right.

Because there- slinking through the grass with a very familiar look of absolute disdain- was you.

Or rather, the cat.

“Come on, love,” he murmured, crouching down. “Just a little closer…”

The cat eyed him warily. He lifted the plate of food.

A pause.

Then, finally, finally, its little nose twitched.

Barty grinned. “Got you.”

With one swift motion, he scooped it up, ignoring the furious hissing as he bundled it in his cloak, clutching it to his chest like a priceless treasure “You’re safe now,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to its little furry head. “I’ve got you.” and sprinted for Ravenclaw Tower.

“Nothing to see here!” he called as a group of first-years stared at him in horror. “Just taking my girlfriend for a walk-”

The cat sank its claws into his sleeve, but he barely felt it. Because finally, after three days of agony, he had you back.

And now? Now he was never letting go.

You knew Barty Crouch Jr. was bloody unhinged, but this was a new level.

At first, it had been a joke, something Evan and Regulus found amusing enough to tease him about in the common room. But the moment you heard the rumors by some second-year hufflepuff in the infirmary that a Ravenclaw student had been seen talking sweetly to a mangy black cat behind Greenhouse Three, you knew exactly who was responsible.

Because if anyone at Hogwarts was insane enough to mistake a random stray for his own girlfriend, it was Barty.

And of course, when Regulus, and Evan confronted him about it, he had scoffed, sneered, and shrugged it off like the very idea was beneath him.

But now, after class ( which he was very much absent from), you were all standing in the doorway of his dormitory in in the Ravenclaw Tower, You had expected something when you entered Barty’s dormitory that evening.

Maybe some scattered parchment filled with messy scrawl, half finished homework dumped onto the floor, or the usual stack of contraband items he kept hidden from Filch. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he was cackling over some new prank he had cooked up, or plotting something ridiculous, like replacing all of Flitwick's quills with sugar quills to see how long it would take him to notice.

But watching in stunned silence as Barty- your Barty- lay sprawled across his bed, stroking the very same stray cat like it was the love of his life.

“Oh, darling,” he murmured, pressing an affectionate kiss to the top of its head. “I knew you’d come back to me.”

You exchanged a slow, horrified glance with Regulus and Evan.

The cat, curled up in Barty’s arms, flicked its tail in disinterest. It looked particularly smug for an animal that had spent the last few days hissing at him and bolting at the first sign of movement.

Regulus was the first to break. “What,” he said, voice completely flat, “the fuck am I looking at?”

Barty yelped.

Like, full body, thrown-into-the-Black-Lake and-mauled-by-the giant-squid yelped.

He shot upright so violently that the cat in his arms went flying, landing on the floor with an indignant screech before bolting under the bed.

Barty, still half dazed, whipped around to face the three of you.

Then he saw you and his entire body locked up.

He stared, completely frozen, eyes darting between you- very much human, very much not a cat- and the actual cat now hiding under his bed.

For a moment, his brain clearly struggled to process the reality of the situation.

Then, slowly, horrified, he turned back toward the bed and whispered, voice trembling,

“Then… who the fuck is that?”

Evan wheezed. Regulus made a noise that sounded like a mix between a groan and a prayer for patience.

You just stood there, arms crossed, watching your boyfriend’s entire grasp on reality unravel before your eyes.

Barty, still looking like he had just witnessed a bloody murder, pointed at the bed. “I- I thought- ” He gestured wildly at you. “It had your eyes! It looked like you!”

Evan wiped at his eyes, barely breathing through his laughter. “Oh, mate-”

Regulus rubbed his temples. “This is painful to watch.”

Barty suddenly lunged toward you, gripping your face with both hands. His blue eyes were comically wide, scanning your features with frantic intensity, as if trying to confirm that you were, in fact, real.

“You- you’re human,” he whispered.

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s usually how it works, yeah.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “But I-” He turned back to the cat, still cowering under his bed. “But you- ” He let go of your face and ran both hands through his hair, looking genuinely distressed. “Oh, fuck.”

Barty looked absolutely bewildered. His gaze again darted from the three of you standing in his doorway to the empty space in his arms, then back again, like his brain had momentarily shut down.

Regulus, arms crossed, gave him a withering look. “Explain.”

Evan snorted. “*Yeah, Barty. Explain why you’re making out with a bloody cat.”

“I- I wasn’t- What?” Barty spluttered, still looking thoroughly rattled and perhaps on the verge of a nervous breakdown. His cheeks were pink, his hair a mess from where he’d been lounging against the pillows. “This isn’t- You don’t-”

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “Oh, please. You kissed it.”

“I did not!”

“You definitely did,” Evan drawled, smirking. “Called it darling and everything.”

“I was-” Barty stopped, face twisting in horror as realization finally dawned. He turned toward the bed, eyes wide. “Oh my god.”

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose like he was in actual, physical pain. “You genuinely thought that was her?”

You crossed your arms. “And this is why you’ve been skipping meals and sneaking off every evening?”

Barty groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Alright, fine. I may have… mistaken a cat for my girlfriend. Briefly.”

Regulus turned to you, looking deeply unimpressed. “This is your fault.”

You scoffed. “How is this my fault? I spent the last week listening to children groaning and Pomfrey praying for a quiet night.”

“You’re the one dating him,” he said, gesturing vaguely at Barty, who was now staring at the underside of his bed like it had personally betrayed him.

Evan grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Did you know your boyfriend had fur kink?”

Barty turned a deep scarlet. “Evan!”

You snorted, but made the mistake of picturing it. Barty, draped across his four-poster bed, murmuring sweet nothings to a cat that clearly wanted him dead and immediately had to clap a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter.

Regulus sighed, looking more disappointed than anything. “Merlin, Barty. Why?”

Barty groaned again. “Okay, listen, I swear it looked like her from a distance—”

“Oh?” Evan interrupted, grinning wickedly. “Tell me, Barty, exactly which part of your human girlfriend reminded you of that flea-ridden animal except for the eyes”

Regulus nodded, giving him a deadpan look. “It has yellow eyes."

Barty shot him a glare. “Well-" But then he hesitated. “They… they glowed in the dark?”

“Unbelievable,” Regulus muttered.

“You know what?” Barty huffed, crossing his arms. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“Oh, but you do,” you said, grinning. “Because I’d really, really love to know how long you’ve been calling a feral animal by your girlfriend.”

Barty looked deeply uncomfortable.

Evan cackled. “Mate, we should check if you’re cursed. I’ve never seen a wizard be so devoted to a cat before.”

Regulus frowned. “Wait. How did you even catch it?”

A moment of silence fell yet again and Barty coughed. “… A trap.”

You gaped at him. “You set a trap for it?!”

“A very nice trap,” he defended. “With food! And a blanket! I made it comfortable.”

Evan finally lost it. Evan actually had to lean against the doorframe for support, wheezing, gasping for breath. “I can’t- Barty, you insane bastard- ”

Regulus sighed heavily. “Unbelievable.”

You, on the other hand, were struggling between mild horror and the overwhelming urge to laugh.

Because Barty- your very devoted, very dramatic boyfriend- had spent days thinking a feral cat was you.

You cleared your throat. “Just to be absolutely clear- you’ve been talking to this cat like it was me? I wrote a letter to you when I was gone”

Barty looked like he wanted to die.

“I may have… mistaken it for you,” he muttered. "And I thought that you just wrote it with your tiny little paws! Kick my balls for thinking that my girlfriend is brilliant even as a little animal."

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Merlin help me.”

Evan, tears in his eyes, managed to choke out, “Did you kiss it?”

Barty recoiled, offended. “Of course not!”

You raised an eyebrow.

He faltered.

“Okay, maybe once,” he admitted, looking disgusted with himself. “On the head! Not on the- ugh.” He shuddered violently. “Oh, Merlin, I’m going to be sick.”

Evan was on the verge of collapsing. You, finally unable to hold back your laughter, let out a loud, delighted cackle.

Barty’s head snapped toward you, looking utterly betrayed. “You’re enjoying this?”

You grinned. “Oh, immensely.”

“You don’t understand,” he groaned, looking back at the cat with actual horror. “I cuddled with it.”

Regulus sighed, looking genuinely exhausted. “This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”

Barty buried his face in his hands. “I need a memory charm.”

Evan wiped away another tear. “This is what happens when you skip meals and stalk animals in the middle of the night, mate.”

You smirked, stepping forward until you were right in front of Barty again. “You know,” you mused, voice teasing, “I’ve never seen you look this flustered.”

Barty groaned into his hands. “I can’t believe this.”

“I can,” Evan said cheerfully. “You’re absolutely deranged.”

Regulus gave him the second long, deeply unimpressed stare of the night. “Right.” He turned to you. “This is the man you chose.”

“I’m reconsidering,” you said, still giggling.

Barty’s head shot up. “Oi! shut up-”

Before he could finish, the cat, who had apparently had enough of this conversation, darted out from under the bed and made a break for it. It leapt onto the windowsill, tail flicking, and then, in one swift motion, it launched itself into the night.

“No!” Barty lunged for it, but the cat was already gone.

Regulus, Evan, and you watched in stunned silence as Barty remained frozen at the window, staring out like a heartbroken widow in a tragic romance novel.

"Is it dead?" you whispered in horror.

Evan was laughing again. “Mate. That was the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Barty turned around, pointing an accusing finger. “You did this.”

Regulus scoffed. “Oh, yes, we personally convinced you to fall in love with a stray animal.”

“I did not- ” Barty stopped, exhaled sharply, then pointed at you. “You! We’re leaving.”

You blinked. “Leaving where?”

“Anywhere that isn’t here,” he snapped, marching toward you. “I refuse to be subjected to this abuse any longer.”

You barely had time to react before he grabbed your hand and dragged you out the door into the hallway, muttering about how no one appreciated his suffering.

You grinned and clenched his hand lovingly. “Don’t worry, love. At least now you’ve got a backup girlfriend.”

He looked pained. “Don’t say that."

Still in the room, Evan nudged Regulus. “Do you think it’s still got fleas?”

Barty let out a distant strangled sound. “Oh my god.”

Regulus, ignoring him, simply said, “I hope so.”

Barty ran back into his dorm, dragging you with him and ignoring your yelp of protest and immediately lunged for the cat, now frantically inspecting its fur.

Evan and Regulus walked out laughing.

And you? You just stood there, watching your deranged boyfriend have a full breakdown.

PUNCHES AND PRANKS

PAIRING James Potter x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS James disguises himself, gets punched and earns another addition to his embarrassment streak

CONTENT WARNING Hufflepuff slander I’m so sorry, Otto being another victim to the marauders’ bullying, injury, fluff!

WORD COUNT 3.0k words

library.

“You lot do realize this is a terrible idea, right?”

Remus, ever the reluctant voice of reason, crossed his arms as he stared at his three best friends. James, Sirius, and Peter were huddled around a small cauldron bubbling ominously in the corner of the boys’ dormitory. The potion inside smelled faintly of apricots and something vaguely musty, a sure sign that it was not brewed by a professional.

“Moony,” Sirius said with a dramatic sigh, slinging an arm over Remus’s shoulders. “You say that about every idea we have.”

“Because every idea you have is stupid.”

James, undeterred, grinned. “Innovative, Moons. Not stupid. There’s a difference.”

Peter nodded eagerly. “Yeah! This is groundbreaking! No one’s ever snuck into the Hufflepuff common room before!”

“Because no one wants to,” Remus deadpanned.

James scoffed. “That’s where you’re wrong, mate. The mystery! The secrecy! Have you ever met someone who’s been inside? Exactly. And besides, I heard they have enchanted sofas that give you hot chocolate when you sit on them.”

Sirius gasped in mock horror, nodding enthusiastically. “And you don’t think that’s worth breaking a few school rules for?”

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You lot are acting as if it's a restricted section. You could, you know, ask a Hufflepuff if they could describe it for you or even invite you in, instead of breaking into it with the idiotic idea of yours.”

“How dare you tell us to talk to the skunks,” James corrected. “And we are disguising, not breaking in. Completely different.”

“You stole Polyjuice ingredients from Slughorn’s office.”

“Borrowed,” Peter mumbled.

Remus exhaled slowly. “I don’t know why I even bother.”

James patted him on the back. “Because you love us.”

Remus muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “debatable.”

The transformation process was disgusting.

James had barely choked down his portion before his body started twisting and stretching in ways that were definitely not natural. His bones grew longer, his hair lightened, and within moments, he was no longer James Potter, but Otto Bagman, a slightly taller, broader, and very irrelevant Hufflepuff.

Sirius, now transformed into some poor bloke named Edgar Bones, examined himself in the mirror with an approving nod. “Not bad.”

Peter wobbled on unsteady feet. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Do not vomit on the carpet, Wormy,” James warned. “Old Minnie already thinks we’re heathens.”

Remus, who had wisely chosen to remain uninvolved, sighed from his bed. “I’ll start drafting the letter to your parents now, shall I?”

“Save the ink,” Sirius said cheerfully, clapping him on the back. “We’ll be back in two hours tops.”

That was, of course, a lie.

James was striding through the entrance hall, still trying to adjust to his temporary new form, when he saw you.

You, standing there in your usual spot in the corridor next to the Grear Hall, flipping through a book with a determined expression. You, looking ridiculously attractive in a way that made his heart do something very stupid and sentimental.

And he had an idea, an absolute brilliant idea. Would it get him into trouble? Most likely. Would it be worth it? Absolutely. Grinning to himself, he sauntered up to you, his Hufflepuff robes swishing around his way too long legs.

“Oi, darling, where are you off to in such a rush? Care to give me some company?”

Your entire body tensed. Firstly, because tou were just standing, in no rush at all, and secondly, because there was no way Otto Bagman had just tried to flirt with you. He did not talk like that. Otto spent most of his time complaining that the Hufflepuff common room was “too damp” and that badgers were “a deeply unfortunate mascot.” Otto Bagman’s idea of flirting was saying, You know, my brother plays for the Wimbourne Wasps, as if that was supposed to impress anyone. Well, moaning Myrtle would probably be giggling at the rubbish leaving his mouth, but on a second thought, she loved every walking being with a prick between their legs. You glanced over your shoulder, half expecting Sirius Black to be lurking in the shadows, laughing at some elaborate prank, but the corridor was empty.

You turned, blinking in mild confusion at the out of character Hufflepuff. “Pardon?”

James smirked. “Just thought I’d say you’re looking particularly stunning today.” He leaned against the wall opposite of you, tilting his head in what he assumed was an effortlessly cool manner, though he just looked absolutely ridiculous. “Fancy a walk, love?”

Otto-no, fake Otto, because you were 101% sure this wasn't real, and if it was, you were sure he was dating and snogging some Ravenclaw girl from your DADA class, and being seen hitting on you would cause another unnecessary scandal amongst the gossip-y students. The suspicious blonde pushed himself off the wall and took a step toward you. “No need to be so cold, sweetheart. Just thought I’d tell you you’re looking particularly stunning today.”

You were flabbergasted.

He had never addressed you as anything other than oi, can I borrow a quill? or hey, did you do the Potions homework? And now he called you love, darling, and sweetheart in the same conversation.

Otto Bagman, whom you barely knew, was trying to flirt with you.

“Not interested,” you deadpanned, stepping to the side.

But he effortlessly stepped with you, blocking your path. “C’mon, love, no need to make this so difficult.”

You narrowed your eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I’m taken.”

There was a flicker of something in his expression, surprise? Confusion? You didn’t know and quite frankly, didn’t care.

When he opened his mouth again, probably to say something equally idiotic, your eye twitched.

You stared at hard. He was expecting one of two reactions- either flustered stammering (ideal) or playful banter (acceptable). What he was not expecting was for you to square your shoulders, glare murderously, and yell at the top of your lungs:

“FOR GODRIC’S SAKE! I HAVE A BOYFRIEND, YOU ABSOLUTE SLUGGY PRAT!”

And then, without hesitation, you punched him in the face.

James had been hit with Bludgers before. He had been shoved off brooms, crashed into goalposts, and even tackled by Sirius during an overenthusiastic victory celebration.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, had prepared him for getting punched in the face by you.

Pain exploded across his nose. His head snapped backward, and for a split second, his vision blurred. He stumbled, his arms flailing wildly as he tried to regain his balance.

“Oh, bloody hell,” James groaned, voice nasally from the swelling.

But then he felt something shift inside of him.

Oh, no.

His body wobbled. His skin rippled. His bones twisted, stretching and reshaping in an absolute disgusting manner.

And then, suddenly, he was James Potter again. Bloodied, dazed, and standing in front of at least twenty horrified onlookers.

There was a beat of silence and you merely blinked twice.

He mirrored your blinking. “Oh,” James said dumbly.

Your mouth fell open in horror. “JAMES?!”

James managed a weak, bloody grin. “Er… surprise?” But his expression turned into a frown seconds later "Blimey, Bunny! What was that for!"

You stared at him, then at your own fist, then back at him. “Did I- did I just break my own boyfriend’s nose?” You shuddered

“Seems like it,” James croaked.

“And what—WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!” you screeched. " YOU WERE OTTO BAGMAN TWO SECONDS AGO, JAMES!”

More students are gathering now, whispering, pointing. Someone gasps. Someone else mutters, “Is that blood?”

James presses his sleeve to his nose, glaring at it. “Yep. Definitely blood. Excellent.”

“Oh my God, you are such an idiot-”

A new voice cut through the chaos.

"Mr. Potter.”

The entire crowd froze. James knew that voice. That voice haunted his dreams. Slowly-painfully- he turned his head.

Professor McGonagall stood there, lips pursed, eyes cold in a way that suggested she was already contemplating his punishment. Her arms were crossed, lips pursed in that terrifyingly disappointed way that made even the bravest students wither. She surveyed the scene: the scattered crowd, James’s bloodied face, him in a Hufflepuff uniform that is clearly too big for him, and the fact that he had just transformed out of Polyjuice Potion in the middle of the Great Hall.

James turned an alarming shade of pale. “Oh. Oh, no.”

McGonagall looked at him again, the crowd, the blood dripping from James’s nose, and his unusual uniform. Her expression darkened.

“Mr. Potter,” she said, voice dangerously calm. “Would you care to explain why you were impersonating another student?”

James swallowed hard. “Not particularly.”

Her eyes narrowed.

James caved immediately. “We, uh, might have, sort of, kind of borrowed some Polyjuice Potion?”

McGonagall inhaled sharply. “Borrowed?”

James winced. “Okay, stole is the word you’re looking for, probably.”

McGonagall closed her eyes briefly, as if asking Merlin for patience and strength. “I assume,” she said, voice tight, “this was another brilliant scheme of you and your babbling, bumbling band of baboons?”

“…Possibly. But you see, Min- Professor! It was all part of Sirius' pl-”

McGonagall let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Detention, Mr. Potter. Every evening for the next two weeks.”

James groaned. “Oh, come on, it was just a—”

“Do not finish that sentence,” she warned.

He wisely shut up.

You, still reeling from the shock of everything, could do nothing but stare. Professor McGonagall finally turned her gaze to you. “Are you hurt?”

You glanced at James, then the group of second years behind him and then back at her, still out of it. “Only my dignity.”

James gasped. “I did nothing wrong!.”

"Three weeks now, Mr. Potter" McGonagall turned to you next. “And you, Miss L/N, while I do not condone violence, I must say your right hook is… rather impressive.”

You flushed. “Thank you, Professor.”

McGonagall fixed James with one last glare. “I trust this will be the last time I find you using illegal potions for idiotic purposes?”

James hesitated.

McGonagall’s nostrils flared.

James straightened. “Yes, Professor. Absolutely. Never again.”

“Good,” McGonagall said crisply. “Then I will see you at eight o’clock sharp for your first detention.”

She turned to leave, then paused, glancing back at James’s crooked nose.

“And do get that looked at, Potter,” she added dryly. “Merlin knows you’ll need a functional nose if you insist on spending half your time flirting.”

James grinned. “Don’t worry, Professor, my natural charm is unstoppable.”

McGonagall looked up at the ceiling, as if debating whether she was paid enough for this. She sighed deeply, rubbing her temples. “You are both dismissed. Get out of my sight before I decide to extend his detention to a month.”

You quickly grabbed James’s arm, dragging him away from the whispering crowd.

“You punched me,” James mumbled for the fiftieth time as you made your way to the Gryffindor common room, forgetting the fact that his nose is still very much broken.

“Yes,” you said through gritted teeth. “Because you were flirting with me as another person, you absolute idiot.”

James winced as he pressed a handkerchief against his bleeding nose. “In my defense-”

“No.”

“Fair.”

Your eye twitched. “Care to explain, without coming up with excuses, what the hell you were doing?”

James flinched and let out a long-suffering sigh. “Right, so… Sirius had this brilliant idea, as you heard—”

“Oh, of course Sirius was involved.”

“-that we should try sneaking into the Hufflepuff common room using Polyjuice Potion, because, you know, we’ve never done it before-”

“Let me guess. You picked Otto Bagman because nobody would care if he mysteriously disappeared for an hour?”

James hesitated. “…I mean. I wasn’t going to say it like that.”

You groaned. “James, you absolute menace.”

James gave you a pitiful look. “In my defense, it was going really well until you punched me in the face.” For which he only got a glare from you

And after a moment, he peeked up at you with wide, hopeful eyes. “You were absolutely wicked, by the way. It was so hot”

You exhaled sharply. “Shut up before I give you a broken jaw to match your nose.”

James grinned, and despite yourself, you gave him a small smile back.

Then, just as he was about to say another surely ridiculous thing, you smirked.

“You know,” you mused, “Sirius is never going to let you live this down.”

James’s grin vanished.

“Oh, no.”

“You what?” Sirius Black howls with laughter, clutching his sides. “You got decked by your own girlfriend?”

A few hours later, the three boys, you, and your still injured boyfriend were huddled around the fireplace in the common room, everyone taking great joy in James' misfortune and big blow to his already tarnished reputation.

James scowls. “It was a misunderstanding.”

Remus, struggling not to laugh, clears his throat. “A misunderstanding where you hit on her while disguised as another boy?”

James grumbles. “It sounded romantic in my head.”

Peter snorts. “Yeah, mate. Real romantic. Oi, love, let’s take a walk while I pretend to be someone else.”

Sirius wheezes. “Oh, Prongs, I will never let you live this down.”

James scowls at all of them, then turns to you, expression pleading. “Bunny, please fix my nose.”

You cross your arms. “Hmm. I could.”

He brightens.

“But,” you continue, “I could also let you suffer for a while.”

His face falls. “Bunny, I'm a dying man!”

“You hit on me as Otto Bagman out of all people, James.”

Sirius erupts into fresh laughter, his hair falling over his eyes as he clutched his stomach.

James groans "You broke it!"

“Serves you right.” You exhaled sharply.

James gave you a pitiful look. “You’re not even a little sorry?”

You crossed your arms. “Are you sorry for pretending to be Otto and flirting with me?”

James hesitated. “Okay, yeah. Maybe a little sorry.”

You rolled your eyes and stood up from the carpet. “Come on, let’s get you to the Hospital Wing before you pass out from blood loss, idiot.”

James grinned, following after you. “So, just to clarify- does this mean I’m still your boyfriend, or do I have to woo you all over again?”

You threw him a glare over your shoulder as he held a hand out for you at the exit. “That depends on how long it takes me to stop being angry.”

James pouted. “At least let me buy you a butterbeer to make up for it?”

You sighed. “Fine. But if you ever pull something like this again-”

“Got it, got it, you will hex me. No more Polyjuice-related flirting,” James said quickly. Then, winking, “Unless it’s you Polyjuiced as me, in which case—”

You shoved him and he laughed. You supposed you’d forgive him. Eventually. Maybe.

So,” Remus began, a bored expression in his eyes, “did you two ever actually make it into the Hufflepuff common room, or was that part of the plan just another failure?”

Sirius snickered. “We got very close, actually.”

“Until we heard someone getting scolded at by the Great hAll from some second year,” Peter added with a grin, eyeing the door where Hames stood just seconds ago.

Remus chuckled, shaking his head. “So, no Hufflepuff sofas and hot chocolate for you then?”

“Sadly, no,” Sirius said dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. “All we got was a front row seat to James’ humiliation.”

The wolf smirked. “Well, that’s something, at least.” He leaned back, crossing his arms. “I guess I’m just curious if the Hufflepuffs even noticed you trying to breaking in.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Oh, they noticed alright. You should’ve seen their faces when we bolted.”

“Bet they were thrilled to see a Hufflepuff they didn’t even know sneaking around,” Remus teased, shaking his head.

“Next time,” Sirius grinned, “we’ll do it properly. With fewer broken noses.”

a little sneak peak of a regulus fic that I know I'm not going to post anytime soon

AND IF I SAID I COULD LOVE YOU, WOULD IT LAND?

PAIRING Barty Crouch Junior x Quidditch player!reader

SYNOPSIS After a brutal match, barty visits you with his concerns.

CONTENT WARNING hurt/comfort, gn!, the reader gets injured, established yet new relationship, small comment on barty's canon end, self doubt

WORD COUNT 2.7k

library.

The crowd was wild, a swirling mass of enthusiastic red and green as Gryffindor faced off against Slytherin in what was sure to be the most brutal Quidditch match of the season. The tension between your teammates was at its peak, determination of securing the final win against the toughest crowd at hogswarts and bagging the house cup uniting you all.

“Alright, you lot, focus up!” James' voice broke through your thoughts as he flew beside you, adjusting his glasses. “This is our game. We take out Mulciber, we block Avery, and Y/N-” he grinned at you, “you catch that snitch before baby Black even knows what’s happening.”

You smirked. “Way ahead of you, Captain.”

Madam Hooch blew the whistle, and the Quaffle was released. The match erupted into exciting chaos.

You darted through the air, dodging players and bludgers alike as James and Gideon passed the Quaffle between them, and took your post at the peak of the Gryffindor stand . The crowd roared highly when Sirius scored the first goal, his cocky smirk infuriating the Slytherin stands and the players.

“Oi, Potter! You fly like my grandmother!” Barty taunted, sending a Bludger straight at James’ broom.

James rolled his eyes but dodged at the last second. “That supposed to scare me, Crouch? I’ve seen you fall off your broom in practice.”

Barty had fallen once, when he’d been too distracted watching you leave the pitch. Not that anyone knew that.

He dove back up, hitting incoming balls away from the goalpost, earning a 'thanks ,mate" from Avery. He played with so much precision, his movements sharp, every strike of his bat a calculated attempt to control the crowd. He was absolutely ruthless, sending a Bludger straight at Marlene, forcing her to drop the Quaffle.

You rolled your eyes and shouted at him from the top, “Playing dirty already, Crouch?”

His lips curled into a smirk, but his voice was loud enough for only you to hear as he sped past you. “Wouldn’t want to make it too easy for you, Malishka.”

Heat flushed through you, but you shoved it down, refocusing. But it was so hard to do anything when the black and green haired boy was shooting through the field like a supernova.

“Keep your head in the game,” James called as he whizzed past you, already dodging another oncoming Bludger. “That snitch isn’t going to catch itself, love!”

You rolled your eyes but grinned, scanning the field. The golden snitch was nowhere in sight, so you finally moved down, dipping lower to avoid the chaos unfolding around you.

Regulus was hovering near the goalposts, pretending to search, but you knew his game, he was waiting for you to find the snitch first so he could swoop in and steal it.

Not happening on your watch.

You tilted your broom to the right, diving toward the middle of the pitch, feigning a chase. It worked, Regulus immediately followed, eyes wide with his usual indifference but mixed with pure determination.

“Gryffindor Seeker’s seen something!” the commentator, some fifth year from Ravenclaw, announced over the roaring crowd.

You smirked. Hook, line, and pull in.

Just before you hit the ground, you pulled up hard, executing a sharp arc that sent you soaring back into the sky. Regulus, not as quick, struggled to correct his course.

“Alright L/N-” he started, but you were already gone, laughing as you sped off.

From across the field, Barty had been watching. He should have been focusing on his job, but he couldn’t help it. The way you moved, it was effortless, like you were born for this. And Merlin, did it turn him on.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to snap back to reality. If he kept staring at you like this, someone would notice.

The game raged on. Gryffindor and Slytherin were locked in a brutal back and forth, neither side willing to give an inch. Every goal was met with deafening cheers or groans of frustration. Bludgers shot across the sky like cannonballs, and chasers weaved through the chaos, pushing their bodies to the limit.

“There! The snitch!” someone yelled.

The snitch hovered near the bottom of the Hufflepuff viewing site, fluttering just above the ground. But you weren’t the only one who saw it.

Regulus was already diving.

Shit.

You shot forward, wind whipping against your face as you plunged into a sharp descent. The snitch darted as quick as light away from the players, weaving dangerously in the sky. You and Regulus were neck and neck, neither willing to back down.

“I hate to break it to you Y/N,” Regulus called over the wind, his voice smooth and laced with amusement, “but I don’t plan on losing to my idiot brother's team today.”

You smirked, eyes continuously locked on the snitch. “Neither do I, Black.”

The crowd was on its feet. You both pushed your brooms to their limits, the little golden ball taunting you just inches out of reach. Regulus edged closer, his arm outstretched.

And then, from your peripheral view, you saw a brown force flying towards you.

You barely had time to react before the bludger came hurtling toward you. You twisted sharply to the left, narrowly avoiding a direct hit, but it clipped the side of your broom, throwing off your balance.

Regulus used the moment to surge ahead.

No, no, no.

Gritting your teeth, you leaned forward, pushing every ounce of speed from your broom. The snitch was right there. If you could just pray to whoever was listening, them maybe you could just-

Another bludger shot toward you. This one was different, because you saw who hit it.

And this time, it was heading straight for your ribs and your body was tumbling back.

Gasps erupted from the crowd. Somewhere above, Regulus pulled back, the flying object momentarily forgotten.

And Barty was already diving. He dove, faster than he’d ever flown before, ignoring the gasps and screams from the stands. But he was too late.

You crashed onto the pitch before he could reach you. He landed hard next to you, barely aware of the way his pants scraped against the ground.

He reached out with trembling hands, hovering over you as panic clawed at his throat. You’re breathing, that was something. But your eyes were squeezed shut, your face twisted in pain.

The impact was brutal. Pain exploded through your side, knocking the air from your lungs. Your grip on your broom had slipped, then you were free falling, and now you were lying on the sandy ground with every inch of your body exploding into tiny flames.

He didn’t think. Didn’t care about the match, about the looks of his teammates, about anything except you.

“Fuck, Y/N,” his voice broke, and his voice sounded foreign to his own ears. Shaky. Raw. Extremely desperate.

You groaned, eyelids fluttering open. “Bloody… fucking hell.”

He let out a breath that nearly made him dizzy. He was the reason you were groaning in pain, unable to move while the whole school watched you.

His trembling hands touched your face, so soft, in fear that even his fingertips would put you in even more misery. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible over the noise around them. Barty clenched his jaw, guilt settling like poison in his stomach. He did this. He hurt you. His love. His little tiger. "Fuck, i'm so fucking sorry"

Your fingers twitched, brushing against his wrist. “Wasn’t your fault.” But it was. And the way your forehead creased in pain made it unbearable.

“Y/N!” James and Sirius came sprinting over, skidding to a stop beside you. “What the hell, Crouch?” James snapped, hurling Barty up on hus feet and fisting his jersey jumper. “Trying to kill our Seeker, are you?”

Barty’s fingers curled into fists. He deserved that. Deserved worse. Monster, monster, monster.

But then your tired voice cut through the tension. “It was an accident, Potter. Relax.”

James let go didn't argue just as Madam Pomfrey appeared by your side, waving her wand over you, levitating you towards the hospital wing. “Cracked ribs and a concussion, this is why I hate Quidditch,” she huffed.

You felt yourself being lifted, but before she carried you off, your fingers brushed Barty’s.

The smallest touch, barely there. But it shattered him.

The Hospital Wing was quiet, save for the faint clinking of Pomfrey's potions in her office and the distant hoot of an owl outside. You were still sore but awake, shifting under the sheets when a shadow slipped through the door.

Barty stood there, his eyes wide, his usual composed demeanor shattered by something more frantic, more raw. He couldn't shake the feeling of doom since the game ended. His hands were clenched tightly into fists as his gaze immediately found yours, his expression softening when he saw you.

“Mali” His voice was soft, almost hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure how to approach you, how to properly apologize for what had happened earlier.

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a strange mixture of relief and nervousness. “What are you doing here, B? It's the middle of the night, shouldn't you be at the Slytherin party?”

He winced at the gentle tone in your voice, but his eyes softened again, and he stepped forward cautiously, his gaze not leaving you. “What I'm doing here? Merlin, baby, you were hit with a bludger, my bludger, and landed yourself in the damn hospital wing because of me”

You leaned back slightly, smiling fondly by the sincerity in his voice. “I’m fine, Barty, really. Just a few bruises, nothing a little rest won’t fix.”

Barty’s eyes flickered to the spot where the Bludger had hit you, your side still tender and wrapped in bandages and his brow furrowed.

“No,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “You’re not fine.” His hand twitched at his side as if he was fighting the urge to reach out and touch you. “I… I should've known that sending that wretched ball at Prewett, I would've sent it in your direction as well. I wasn’t thinking straight. I… I never meant for you to get hurt.”

You sat up slightly, studying him closely. His usual carelessness was gone, replaced by a look of genuine worry that almost felt foreign on him. Instead of your Barty, who was no stranger to violence, always looking for trouble in the most forbidden sections, now stood a hurt, lost boy who looks like he was about to combust in his guilt.

“I know it was an accident,” you said quietly, watching him carefully. “You don’t need to apologize for that. Clearly, I was in the way of your brilliant aim. ” You jested.

But Barty shook his head, his frustration building. “No, you don’t understand,” he muttered, pacing a step away from your bed. “It wasn’t just an accident. I… I hurt you. I caused it. And that’s… that’s the last thing I ever wanted to do. You don’t know how much I…” He stopped abruptly, glancing back at you, but his words trailed off.

Your eyebrows knitted together slightly, sensing his inner turmoil. “How much you what, B?”

He opened his mouth to speak but faltered, his gaze dropping to the floor. He looked like he was struggling, his face contorting into something painful, trying to find the words but failing to do so. Finally, after a long pause, he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I was scared,” he admitted. “When I saw you fall, when I saw you hurt just, just laying there… I’ve never been so afraid in my life. I didn’t know what to do. And I know it’s stupid, but all I could think about was how it was my fault.”

You watched him, the weight of his words sinking in. This was different from anything you’d expected from him. You have never seen him show vulnerability. Yet here he was, confessing to something deeper than just guilt over the match.

“Barty, you didn’t mean it,” you said, your voice firm yet soft. “It was no one's fault. And I’m fine now, see? Madam Pomfrey’s already fixed me up.” You winced slightly as you adjusted your position and gave him your best smile, his eyes only narrowed in concern.

But you could see the weight of his feelings wasn’t lifting. He wasn’t just upset over the incident on the field, there gad to be something more.

“I know,” he said, his voice barely audible. “But it doesn’t make me feel any less… like I failed you.”

The words hit you harder than you had expected, and you found yourself searching his eyes, trying to understand. “Failed me?”

Barty looked at you, his gaze filled with an intensity that took you off guard. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I’m supposed to protect you, Y/N. And I didn’t. I-”

He stopped again, shaking his head, his frustration evident. But this time, his voice cracked, just enough for you to hear the pain in it. “I fancy the hell out of you. You already know this, of course, but this.. I feel like you deserve someone who will protect you from danger. Fuck, I am the danger who put you in this position. I'm reckless, a failure, someone who harms every little bloody good thing in life. And.... and I don’t know how to stop being it.”

The words landed with a sudden weight in the silence between you. Barty was standing there, looking like he might break under the weight of his own emotions, and it took everything in you not to reach out to him. You wanted to, of course, but your body's protest had strayed you away from it.

“Barty, I love you for you” you said softly, the words coming out almost as a whisper. The admission felt natural, as if it was something that had been a part of you since you could think. And in the quiet of the room, it felt right. "And every piece of you, the recklessness, the trouble and whatever flaw you could conjure, are what made me fall for you. And I would fight every bloody dementor who would even attempt to suck them out of you."

Barty’s head snapped up, his eyes wide as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. “Really?”

“I care about you,” you said, your voice stronger now. “And that’s why it hurt to see you look so… guilty. It hurts seeing you best yourself up for something that you can't control.”

His lips parted, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something, but the words seemed to elude him. Instead, he took a hesitant step forward, as if unsure whether to get closer or to stay where he was.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, his voice soft and raw, but the crumbling walls seem to build themselves up again.

You smiled faintly, a teasing glint in your eyes. “For once, I think you should just let me enjoy the fact that I made the great barty crouch junior speechless”

Barty chuckled softly, though now it was edged with relief. He finally took the last step forward, sitting down beside you on the edge of the bed, and embraced you in his arms, hand cradling the back of your head. His touches were so delicate, as if he was afraid to hurt you even further. His presence was warm and comforting despite the turmoil that had brought him here.

“I’m sorry again, Malishka,” he said again, this time with more sincerity, more honesty in his voice. “And I promise, I’ll never hurt you again.”

You turned to him, offering him a small but genuine smile. “I know. And you don't have to say it.”

And for the first time, you realized that no matter how complicated your relationship with Barty was, it was something that both of you were willing to fight for. Something that was, at its core, genuine.

You both grew quiet in each other's embrace. And as the night stretched on, you both found a sense of peace.

A LITTLE BIT OF SCANDAL WITH A PINCH OF DEFAMATION

PAIRING Sirius Black x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS someone has made it their personal mission to ridicule the eldest black sibling in the school newspaper’s anonymous Spotlight column and the entire school is entertained- except Sirius

WORD COUNT 1.6k

CONTENT WARNING none

library.

Sirius Black was not used to being the butt of the joke.

Sure, he and James pranked their fellow students on a near daily basis, but that was different. That was lighthearted fun. This? This was targeted character assassination.

He sat at the Gryffindor table, scowling at the latest edition of The Hogwarts Weekly, which had just been delivered alongside breakfast. The familiar bolded headline made his stomach twist with dread.

“Weekly Spotlight: Sirius Black’s Hair Routine- Does He Secretly Use Veela Shampoo?”

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand through his obscenely perfect hair as James curiously peered over his shoulder.

“Oi, that’s a glowing review compared to last week,” James said, snatching a piece of toast. “At least they’re acknowledging the effort you put into looking devastatingly handsome.”

Sirius shot him a glare. “‘Effort’? You think I try to look like this? Mate, I was born like this."

James smirked. “Well, according to the article, you wake up two hours early just to what was it again?, ‘whisper sweet nothings to your reflection’?”

Sirius slammed the newspaper onto the table and huffed. “I do not whisper to my reflection.”

“Mate, I’ve seen you wink at yourself in the window.”

“That’s different,” Sirius muttered or rather pouted.

Across the hall, students were already whispering, chuckling at the latest installment of the rather brilliant writer's ongoing takedown of Sirius Black.

“This has gone too far,” Sirius grumbled. “I need to find out who’s behind this.”

James perked up. “Are you saying…” His eyes gleamed with mischief. “We have a mystery to solve?”

Sirius nodded, expression grave. “We’re going to catch this Quilly and when we do, I swear they’ll regret ever picking up a feather.”

James grinned. “Sirius, my dear friend, we are now game on.”

Sirius and James took their new roles as amateur detectives very seriously.

They started by interrogating their classmates.

“Did you write this?” Sirius demanded, waving the newspaper in the face of a startled Ravenclaw.

The boy blinked. “I- I don’t even read the Herald.”

James jotted something down in a small notebook. “Suspicious.”

Sirius nodded in agreement. “Very suspicious indeed.”

The Ravenclaw scurried away.

Next, they turned to analyzing past articles for clues. They sat in a corner of the common room, parchment and numerous past articles spread out before them. James tapped his quill against his chin. “Alright, let’s think, who would have enough access to the dumb things you do on a daily basis?”

Sirius frowned. “That’s the problem. I’m incredibly popular. People are always watching me.”

James snorted. “That’s one way to phrase it.”

“Alright,” Sirius huffed. “Who works on the Weekly?”

“Dunno,” James admitted. “It’s all pretty hush hush. They don’t like revealing their sources.”

“Cowards.”

James scanned the common room, eyes landing on Remus, who was curled up in an armchair, nose deep in a book.

“Oi, Moony,” James called. “You’re a Prefect. You know things. Who writes for The Hogwarts Weekly?”

Remus didn’t even look up. “Confidential.”

Sirius groaned. “Oh, come on.”

Remus finally closed his book and sighed. “Look, if the Quiller keeps their writers anonymous, they have a reason for it. Besides, maybe if you stopped embarrassing yourself on a daily basis, they wouldn’t have so much material.”

James laughs at that. Sirius glared. “You’re useless.”

Remus smirked. “And yet, I sleep soundly at night.”

The following week, after a failed (lazy really) gathering of information, he slammed the latest issue of the newspaper onto the Gryffindor table, sending toast crumbs flying.

“This- this is an attack on my dignity!” he declared, glaring at the offending article.

James, who was in the middle of buttering his toast, looked up eyes wide. “What is it this time?”

Sirius scowled. “See for yourself”

James took the paper from him, eyes scanning the latest Spotlight column.

“Sirius Black: Smooth Talker or Walking Disaster?”

Once again, Hogwarts’ resident Casanova has graced the halls with his effortless charm- or so he thinks. Witnesses report that Black’s attempt to woo a Hufflepuff sixth year ended in catastrophe when he tripped over his own shoelaces and knocked over an entire suit of armor.

Eyewitness testimony claims Black tried to play it off, stating, ‘The armor was clearly in love with me. It fell at my feet.’

Sources remain skeptical. "

James barely suppressed a laugh. “I mean… it does sound like something you’d say.”

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “That’s not the point! Who is this menace? Who keeps writing these slanderous lies?”

Remus, who had been reading over James’ shoulder, snorted. “They’re not lies if they actually happened.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, you did say the armor was in love with you.”

Sirius huffed. “That’s not- that’s beside the point!” He gestured wildly. “This mystery writer has been humiliating me for weeks! It's blasphemy!”

His first suspect was the rather scary friend of his.

“Marls,” Sirius said, sliding into the seat across from her. “Where were you last Tuesday at precisely 7:42 PM?”

Marlene raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because,” James said dramatically, “that was the moment the Weekly was printed. And we think you’re the mysterious Quiller.”

Marlene blinked. Then she burst out laughing.

“Oh, I wish I was them,” she wheezed, swiping away stray tears. “Whoever that is? Brilliant. But sorry to disappoint, Black. It’s not me.”

Sirius squinted. “Hmm. You do like writing…”

“I like writing about things that matter,” Marlene said dryly. “And you? Do not matter.”

Sirius gasped bewildered. James patted his shoulder. “Tough break, mate.”

The second suspect was Lily, much to James' dismay. They were walking towards the library, discussing a way to question the red head without being hexed first. A few third years were discussing the newest paper rather enthusiastically by the grand fountain in the hall, much to Sirius' annoyance.

“She’s clever, she hates you, and wants to get back at you by attacking me,” Sirius reasoned. “Sounds like our girl.”

James frowned. “Yeah, but she’d just tell me to my face that I’m an idiot.”

“…Good point.”

The next and last suspect was Mary.

“She’s always laughing like a Hippogriff whenever a new column drops,” Sirius muttered. “Maybe too much.”

They set up an ambush outside the Herbology classroom, waiting for Mary to slip up.

After an eternity (20 minutes) of lurking in the corridor, she finally came into view.

Sirius and James leaped out from behind a suit of armor.

“Confess, Macdonald!” Sirius yelled.

Mary screamed, punched James in the stomach, and stormed off.

“…Not her,” James wheezed.

After several more failed interrogations, the case was going cold.

“We need bait,” Sirius decided. James raised an eyebrow. “Bait?”

Sirius grinned. “We stage an event! Something so ridiculous that the mystery writer has to cover it. Then, we watch to see who’s taking notes.”

James rubbed his hands together. “On Sleakeazy's Hair Potion, Pads, you're brilliant .”

Thus, the Great Staircase Incident was born.

It involved Sirius pretending to fall dramatically down three flights of stairs (which bloody hurt), James pretending to rescue him, though his acting skills were not very convincing and Peter shouting rather pathetically, “Oh no! Sirius Black has tragically lost all coordination!”

The entire school gathered to watch.

James and Sirius carefully scanned the crowd. Who was watching too closely? Who looked too interested? Sirius’s eyes locked on a familiar face.

You.

You stood near the back, arms crossed, an amused smirk playing on your lips. You weren’t laughing as loudly as the others, and there was something… calculating about your expression.

Sirius nudged James. “ Mate, I have a hunch.”

James followed his gaze. “You think it’s them?”

Sirius squinted. “I don’t know… but they're suspicious.”

James smirked. “Only one way to find out.”

You were finishing the next article in an empty classroom when the door slammed shut behind you.

You jumped, quill flying from your hand and the remaining ink splattered across the wooden floor.

Sirius Black stood in the doorway, arms crossed, smirking like a mad alchemist who has just discovered a breakthrough that would put him on a chocolate frog.

“Got ya.”

Your heart pounded. “Pardon?”

He strolled toward you, eyes flicking to the parchment on your desk. The column draft written halfway done. You lunged for it- albeit a little too slow.

Sirius snatched the parchment, scanning the words. His grin widened.

“Well, well, well,” he mused. “Looks like the mystery’s solved.”

You swallowed hard. “…I have no idea what you are talking about, Black. Have the countless detentions with Filch mushed up your brain?”

Sirius tapped the parchment. “The ruse is up, Quilly, We both know that you were the one defaming me for, what, six months? Rather impressive, little feather.”

You crossed your arms. “So, what now? You're going to expose me? Hex me?”

"Oh yes, I will definitely prank you for that", he tilted his head. “Though for the second part... it depends.”

“…On?”

A slow smirk spread across his face. “On whether you let me help write the next one.” Your jaw dropped. “What?”

Sirius winked. “If I can’t beat you… I might as well join you.” And just like that, the biggest mystery at Hogwarts took an unexpected turn.

Row two: Sirius Orion Black!

back to the Aisles!

✩ = hurt/comfort °｡ = fluff 🎧 = req ✮ = angst

A LITTLE BIT OF SCANDAL WITH A PINCH OF DEFAMATION (sirius x journalist!gn!reader) °｡

SWIFT HOPPER

PAIRING James Potter x animagus rabbit! reader

SYNOPSIS James Potter can catch a Snitch- but not a rabbit much to a group of little gremlins' dismay .

CONTENT WARNING I know that James wasn't a seeker in canon but it just fits, fluff!!!

WORD COUNT 0.8k

library.

If James Potter had a Galleon for every time you slipped through his fingers, he’d be wealthier than the entire Black family ever.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t being paid for this endeavour, nor was he being particularly successful at it.

“Come on, darling, stop making this harder than it has to be!”

His voice rang through the Grand Staircase, bouncing off the walls in a way that made you want to laugh, except you currently didn’t have the vocal cords to do so. You had, however, very effective legs. And you put them to good use, launching yourself up the next set of stairs before James could lunge for you.

“You’ve got to be bloody joking,” James muttered under his breath, hands on his knees, breath coming out in sharp bursts. His glasses had slid halfway down his nose, and his tie was crooked from where he’d nearly strangled himself with it in an earlier attempt to grab you.

You, in your very cute rabbit form, twitched your little nose at him from the top of the staircase, entirely unaffected by the physical exertion that had James sweating.

You were mocking him. You had to be mocking him.

The castle made an unhelpful groaning sound beneath you, and the staircase immediately shuddered, beginning to move.

Ah. Well. That complicated things.

You saw James curse under his breath as the shifting staircases separated you. He stood across the the lower stairs, one foot braced against the railing, hazel eyes locked onto you with the intensity of a Seeker tracking the snitch.

“Don’t you dare,” he warned, as if he could somehow read your mind.

You wiggled your little nose. Oh, I dare.

“Alright, bun, fun’s over,” James announced, straightening and swiping a hand through his already-messy hair. “Be a good little bunny and come here before I—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the staircase shuddered once again.

His eyes widened as he watched, horrified, while the stairs started swinging away from the landing you were standing on.

“Oh, Godric's-”

You had been mid hop when the ground beneath you quite literally disappeared.

Which meant you were falling.

A startled squeak left your throat, your stomach flipping as the staircases spun around you. Your brain scrambled for a plan, but your current form didn't have the capacity to make any logical decisions.

James, however, didn’t think a second before he reacted. Years of Quidditch training had his body moving before his mind could fully catch up. He lunged forward, arms outstretched, diving for you before you could plummet into the gaping free space between staircases.

For one terrifying second, he thought he’d missed.

Then-

Warm fur and a tiny, panicked heartbeat in his palm.

James landed hard, knees slamming into the stone floor (luckily only one floor lower) as he clutched you to his chest, his breath ragged. He felt you wiggle in his grasp, probably about to scurry away again, and he tightened his hold.

“Oh no, don't even think about hopping off again,” he rasped, voice hoarse from the burst of adrenaline. “You almost died, and I, merlin’s soggy balls, I cannot believe I’m saying this- I refuse to let you humiliate me any further, bun.”

He barely had time to process what had just happened before a small cluster of very concerned (entertained) first years came into view at the top of the stairs, staring down at him with wide, fascinated eyes.

One of them hesitantly raised a hand. “Um… you are James Potter, yeah?”

James, still half sprawled on the ground, one arm wrapped securely around a very disgruntled rabbit, groaned. “Yeah?”

The first year blinked. “Aren’t you supposed to be really fast?”

James closed his eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out. Count to ten.

A second one, with quite ugly glasses if he might add, nodded solemnly. “You are the best Seeker at Hogwarts....”

Another one agreed (how many bloody children are there?!) “That rabbit was so much faster than you.”

James exhaled sharply. “Holy balls, I hate this day.”

You, nestled in his arms, flicked your ears, entirely pleased with yourself.

He looked down at you, scowling. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

You wiggled your nose. Obviously.

James muttered something about bloody rabbits before shifting you so he could get back on his feet.

“You are so lucky you’re cute,” he grumbled and kissed your little furry head fondly, holding you a little closer as he turned to leave, ignoring the quiet snickers of the overgrown babes behind him.

This had not been his proudest moment.

And if Sirius ever found out about it?

James was never going to hear the end of it.

REGULUS BLACK AND THE ART OF LOVING A MADMAN ( WOMAN??)

PAIRING Regulus Black x Crouch!Fem! Reader

SYNOPSIS When you pick a fight with Mulciber (again), get hit with a particularly nasty hex (again), and land yourself in the hospital wing (again), Regulus has to work his usual charm on a professor to clean up your mess. Just another day in his fucking life.

CONTENT WARNING not proofread! ,crouch family slander, reader gets hurt, regulus getting pulled into things, fluff!!

WORD COUNT 1.8k

library.

Regulus Black regretted a lot of decisions in his life.

Most of them involved his family, some of them involved his choice of friends, and at least one of them involved that time Barty had convinced him to try a new spell that had made him vomit slugs for an hour. But on the top among his many regrets, the one that occupied his mind on a near-daily basis and might be the reason why his hair is greying at the ripe age of 16, was the fact that he had somehow, against all logic and reason, fallen in love with you out of all people.

And, unfortunately, the most insane person he had ever met.

“Stop them!” a first year yelled across the courtyard.

Regulus sighed deeply, already rubbing his temples. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake-”

He turned just in time to see you- his oh so lovely, brilliant and slightly deranged girlfriend- launching herself at Mulciber like a particularly homicidal pixie.

“Oh, brilliant,” Regulus muttered.

The duel had looked absolutely pathetic, if he was being honest. Spells were flying. Mulciber’s wand was raised, his face exasperated with anger and annoyance, while you looked totally unbothered, happy even, to be challenged. “You really want to do this, Crouch?”

“You looked at me funny,” you mused, as if that was a reasonable explanation. You showed no sign of actually doing any harm that day,he thinks, much to his surprise.

Merlin's buttocks, I'm getting too used to this mental buffoonery.

As if you could hear his thoughts (well, his steps weren't exactly quiet on the cobble stones), you added, "Care to repeat what you said about me and Barty as well, Mulci?"

Regulus let out a long-suffering sigh. Of course it about Barty. Barty Jr. could get away with murder in front of you, and you would still defend his honor as if he were some kind of noble martyr instead of an absolute menace.

For once, though, he wasn’t involved. He was sitting off to the side, watching the fight unfold with mild interest, completely unaware that his little sister was about to get herself hexed into oblivion on his behalf.

“I didn’t say anything that wasn't the truth, Black,” Mulciber was saying lazily to him. “And you know,” he drawled, twirling his wand between his fingers, “I always wondered how someone as uptight as Barty Sr. managed to spawn not one, but two utter disappointments.”

Regulus felt his girlfriend tense. Beside you, Barty went very still.

Mulciber smirked. “I mean, your brother’s already well on his way to becoming a Ministry disgrace. But you-” He let out a low whistle. “I don’t know if you’re worse because you’re reckless or because you don’t even realize it.”

Regulus sighed. Oh, for Merlin’s sake.

Barty scoffed, looking deeply unbothered. “Well, you would be an expert on family disappointments, Mulciber. How is your Squib cousin, by the way?”

Mulciber’s smirk faltered. His wand snapped up. That was it.

"Sectumsempra!"

You barely dodged it, eyes narrowing. “Alright, you little freak, where the hell did you learn-”

Regulus was already moving, pushing through the gathering crowd of Slytherins who had circled around, waiting for blood. “Protego!” Regulus flicked his wand just in time to deflect the bombarda that was just blasted- your spell, because of course you weren't backing down. No, you were going straight for the kill. “Reggie!” you whined. “I had him!”

“No, you didn’t,” Regulus said flatly.

“Mulciber, you have the nerve to continue this child's play,” Barty Jr. called from the sidelines. He didn’t sound particularly concerned. Mulciber smirked. “the little rat has nothing against me.”

He caught his girlfriend’s eye- “Don’t kill him." you just winked. And then, with a graceful, almost lazy movement, you flicked you wand. “Expelliarmus.”

Mulciber barely dodged. He fired back, sneering- “Stupefy!” You stepped casually aside, as if dodging wasn’t even an effort. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, love.”

Mulciber growled and raised his wand. “Depulso!” You twirled your wand midair defending yourself, as if the interaction was boring you immensely. The force of the impact barely even ruffled your hair.

Barty let out a mocking yawn. “Come on, Mulciber. You hex like a first year.” Mulciber’s face twisted with anger. “At least I have some dignity,” he spat. “Unlike your sister, who has none. It’s pathetic, really. A Crouch playing attack dog for a Black?”

Regulus’s jaw clenched. He looked at his girlfriend, and you were smiling, Not in a nice way. Oh, he was so done for.

You tilted your head, mockingly thoughtful. “You know what’s really pathetic, Mulciber?”Mulciber scowled. “What?”

You only flicked your wand. “Silencio.”

His mouth disappeared, where once his lips were, was now a blank canvas of skin. Mulciber’s eyes widened. He tried to speak- but only muffled words came out.

Barty burst out laughing. “Oh, that’s just cruel, tiger” Mulciber’s face twisted with rage. He furiously swiped his wand to counter the curse- but you didn’t let him. With one smooth, effortless motion, you fired another spell.

“Locomotor Mortis.”*

Mulciber stumbled. His legs went jelly-like, his knees buckling beneath him. Regulus exhaled. “Chéri, are you playing with your food?”

“Obviously.”

Mulciber seethed silently. He furiously gestured with his wand and you deflected the curse midair with zero effort. At this point, he was shaking with fury. His pride- his absolute refusal to lose to a damn Crouch-took over. His eyes flashed and he pointed his wand. A muffled “Confringo!” could be heard as red streaks came blasting towards you.

Regulus’s stomach dropped. The spell hit you square in the shoulder, sending you flying backwards with a sickening crack. “Bloody hell-” Regulus lunged forward, catching you just before you hit the ground.

Your robes were singed, your arm at an unnatural angle that would make a troll wince, and, of course, you were still trying to get back up. “ I swear to my ancestors souls, let me at him, Regulus, before-”

Regulus tightened his grip, pushing you down gently. “You are not dueling with a broken arm.”

You huffed. “I could still win.”

“You could also die,” Regulus snapped. He turned to Mulciber, eyes cold. “Are you quite finished?”

Mulciber raised his hands frantically, gesturing to you and back to barty as if to say 'Hey, she started it!'

Regulus didn’t argue. You had, in fact, started it. But that didn’t make this situation any less infuriating.

“Barty,” he called. “A little help?”

Said boy finally got up from his seat, leisurely strolling over like this wasn’t a life-or-death situation. He peered down at his sister with a critical eye, then shrugged. “You’ll live.”

You groaned. “That’s your concern?”

“You look fine to me,” he said cheerfully. “Besides, I think you got one good hit in." Regulus was going to lose his mind. “You are both insane,” he muttered.

“Thanks,” they said at the same time.

Regulus was already tired. He hadn’t even had breakfast yet. This was supposed to be a normal day. But no, his girlfriend had to pick a fight before 8 AM.

Merlin’s beard, this family was going to be the death of him.

Regulus was not built for this kind of stress. He ran a calloused hand through his pale face, cursing the gods for giving him a reckless bomb of a girlfriend when he once, pathetically, called upon them in his third year.

Meanwhile, Barty- who had been doubled over, laughing at Mulciber from the bed opposite the room, finally spoke, grinning.

“That was brilliant,” he told his sister. “Merlin, I love you. This is why you’re my favorite sibling.”

“You don’t have any other siblings,” Regulus pointed out dryly.

“Exactly!” Barty beamed.

On Godrick's balls, was he tired.

He sat next to your bed, watching as Madam Pomfrey fussed over your arm. The hex had done more than break the bone- it had burned through your sleeve (from your brand new robes, if you might add), leaving angry red scorch marks trailing down your shoulder.

You were delighted by this, and he was flabbergasted.

“I bet it’ll scar,” you said excitedly. “That’s wicked, am I right?”

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. It’s not wicked. It’s downright idiotic.”

Madam Pomfrey sighed, already immune to your nonsense. “You’ll be fine by morning, dear. But you’re staying here for now.”

That was fine. That was great, actually. What wasn’t great was the fact that Slughorn was already marching into the room, looking both concerned and exasperated.

Regulus immediately straightened, preparing himself for an hour (more like 10 minutes with the way that mustache of a man rambles) of scolding.

“Miss Crouch,” Slughorn sighed. “Another duel?”

“She started it,” Regulus said quickly, ever the dutiful boyfriend.

His girlfriend shot him a betrayed look. “Regulus!”

Slughorn shook his head. “Detention, I’m afraid.”

Regulus tilted his head, sliding into his usual charming demeanor. “Professor, surely you can’t punish someone who’s already suffered so much.”

Slughorn frowned. “She hexed Mulciber.”

Regulus offered a smile, smooth as silk, looking past the man to the occupied bed with said subject. “And he hexed her back. Quite viciously, I might add. The poor girl nearly lost consciousness in my arms. It was tragic, really.”

His girlfriend scoffed. “I was fine.”

Regulus nudged you sharply under the blanket. “You were barely breathing,” he said dramatically.

Slughorn looked hesitant. Regulus pushed harder.

“I carried her here myself,” he continued, voice just the right amount of pained. “Do you really think she deserves detention after such an ordeal?”

Slughorn sighed, rubbing his temples. “…Very well. But no more dueling.”

Regulus smiled, victorious. “Of course, Professor.” Slughorn gave them one last weary look before leaving.

The second he was gone, you gaped at him “You are actually insane,” you said scandalized and eyes wide.

Regulus smirked. “You’re welcome. Perhaps we can star our mornings not risking our lives and you know, go to the great hall like normal witches, hm?"

You only beamed up to him, leaning back against the pillows. “You love me.”

Regulus exhaled, already exhausted again.

“…Tragically, yes. I do”

Row One: Regulus Arcturus Black !

back to the Aisles!

✩ = hurt/comfort °｡ = fluff 🎧 = req ✮ = angst

REGULUS BLACK AND THE ART OF LOVING A MADMAN (WOMAN??) (regulus x crouch!reader) °｡

JUST A TOTALLY NORMAL DAY! (dad!regulus) °｡