Wow, He’s Really Good. Fantastic Reflexes.💥💥💥

PROMPT LIST

I'm having writers block and I need you guys to help me. PLEASE.

-

A1: "I didn’t mean to fall for you… but here we are."

A2: "Stop looking at me like that; I might actually kiss you."

A3: "You're shivering. C’mere, let me warm you up."

A4: "I swear I hate you—no, I'm not blushing!"

A5: "You remembered my favorite flower?"

A6: "If we get caught, I’m blaming you."

A7: "Dance with me… just once."

A8: "Your hand fits perfectly in mine."

A9: "I’ve never seen you look so happy."

A10: "Do you think we’ll always be like this?"

-

B1: "You can't leave me now—not when I just realized how much you mean to me."

B2: "Is it too soon to say I love you?"

B3: "I bet you can't catch me!"

B4: "Wait, are you jealous?"

B5: "You’ve always been my safe place."

B6: "Please, don’t let go of my hand."

B7: "Do you trust me?"

B8: "You're an idiot—but you're my idiot."

B9: "I’m scared… but I know you'll keep me safe."

B10: "I didn’t know you could dance like that."

-

C1: "You look beautiful when you laugh."

C2: "Are we really doing this?"

C3: "You stayed up all night waiting for me?"

C4: "I dare you to kiss me."

C5: "I’ve never felt like this before."

C6: "Don't make promises you can’t keep."

C7: "You’re covered in mud—what happened?"

C8: "You always know how to make me smile."

C9: "I didn't think you’d remember."

C10: "You wore that just to drive me crazy, didn’t you?"

-

D1: "I think I fell in love with you somewhere between the arguments and the laughter."

D2: "You're my best friend… and maybe something more."

D3: "Can I kiss you?"

D4: "You look ridiculous. And adorable."

D5: "I made this for you."

D6: "Promise me you’ll come back."

D7: "You're ticklish? Oh, you’re in trouble now."

D8: "You’re the one thing I can’t lose."

D9: "This feels like home."

D10: "I've seen you at your worst, and I'm still here."

-

E1: "I saved you a seat."

E2: "You're staring."

E3: "That was my last piece of chocolate, and I gave it to you. That’s love."

E4: "Don’t leave me hanging—what were you going to say?"

E5: "You’re seriously going out dressed like that?"

E6: "I can't stop thinking about you."

E7: "You call that a snowball? Watch this!"

E8: "I’ll be right here when you wake up."

E9: "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

E10: "We’re not just friends, and you know it."

-

F1: "I’ve never seen you without your glasses before."

F2: "I didn’t think you'd notice."

F3: "You showed up… you actually showed up."

F4: "We’re a mess, but we’re our mess."

F5: "You’re freezing. Here, take my jacket."

F6: "Why do I always end up cleaning your messes?"

F7: "I thought you'd forgotten me."

F8: "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

F9: "We should do this more often."

F10: "I didn’t kiss you because I had to. I kissed you because I wanted to."

-

G1: "Hold my hand. They’ll never suspect a thing."

G2: "You were talking in your sleep… about me."

G3: "I thought you hated me."

G4: "Why are you looking at me like that?"

G5: "I don’t care about the risk. I care about you."

G6: "You're really bad at this, you know."

G7: "I wish you could see yourself through my eyes."

G8: "Let's run away together."

G9: "You remembered."

G10: "You're not just my partner-in-crime. You're my everything."

-

H1: "You’ve got something on your face—here, let me."

H2: "I can’t stop smiling when I’m with you."

H3: "You said you'd catch me. So catch me."

H4: "Are you cold? Or are you just using an excuse to cuddle me?"

H5: "I made you a playlist."

H6: "We always end up like this, don’t we?"

H7: "You make even the worst days better."

H8: "I didn’t mean to say that… but I meant it."

H9: "I’ll fight anyone who makes you cry."

H10: "You’ve always been the one."

-

I1: "I dare you to kiss me… again."

I2: "Is that my sweater you're wearing?"

I3: "I’ve never been this happy before."

I4: "Come on, slowpoke!"

I5: "You did this… for me?"

I6: "I can't believe you made me a mixtape."

I7: "You know I hate goodbyes."

I8: "You're the first person I want to tell everything to."

I9: "Stay. Please."

I10: "You’ve ruined me for anyone else."

-

J1: "You have no idea how much you mean to me."

J2: "You're the best thing that’s ever happened to me."

J3: "I don't need the stars when I have you."

J4: "Are you seriously tickling me right now?"

J5: "You're the only person who makes me feel like this."

J6: "You remembered my favorite movie."

J7: "I never believed in love at first sight… until I met you."

J8: "I could get used to this."

J9: "I didn’t want to need you… but I do."

J10: "We’re writing our own story now."

A Hogsmeade date

Y/N struggled with insecurity, but Regulus, hopelessly smitten, finally took her on a date.

requested by @misskity1912-blog

Regulus Black x Chubby Fem! reader

words: 944

warning: mentions of insecurity

note: part two to Hidden in plain sight

find more here: masterlist, Regulus masterlist

Regulus sat at the Slytherin table, utterly dazed, his chin resting in his palm as he stared dreamily across the Great Hall at Y/N. His porridge had long since gone cold, but he hadn’t noticed—he was too lost in his thoughts, replaying the moment she had said yes to him over and over again in his mind.

“I still don’t understand how she agreed,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Barty groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Merlin, Regulus, this is worse than before! You’ve been staring at her for ten minutes straight. Eat your bloody food.”

Evan smirked as he took a sip of his pumpkin juice. “No, let him have his moment. It’s adorable, really.”

Regulus scowled, but it lacked any real irritation. “I just don’t get it. She’s brilliant, kind, beautiful—why would she choose me?”

Pandora sighed, ever the voice of reason. “Maybe because she sees something wonderful in you, just like you see in her?”

Regulus opened his mouth to argue but found that he had no response. He turned his gaze back to Y/N, who sat alone at the Ravenclaw table, her head bowed as she picked at her food. She never seemed to talk to anyone, always lost in her world. His heart clenched at the sight. She looked so lonely, and yet, there was something about her solitude that made her seem untouchable, as if she had built walls that no one had ever tried to climb.

“I don’t deserve her,” he murmured, barely audible.

Barty groaned louder, slamming his fork onto the table. “For Salazar’s sake, if you start getting all tragic and brooding about this, I will personally hex you. She likes you, Regulus. Enjoy it.”

Regulus sighed, though a small, reluctant smile played on his lips. Maybe, just maybe, Barty was right. For once, he allowed himself to believe that Y/N truly wanted to be with him.

Evan chuckled, leaning forward. “You should see yourself right now. It’s like watching a lovesick puppy.”

“I am not lovesick,” Regulus retorted, but his voice lacked conviction.

“You so are,” Pandora teased, nudging his arm. “And it’s sweet. Honestly, I think Y/N would be surprised if she knew how much you admired her.”

Regulus tensed at the thought. “You don’t think she thinks it’s a joke, do you?”

Evan sighed. “Mate, if she thought it was a joke, she wouldn’t have said yes. Stop doubting everything and enjoy the moment. This isn’t a strategy meeting; it’s a date.”

Regulus frowned, chewing over Evan’s words. It was true—Y/N had said yes. That had to mean something. Still, the fear of somehow messing everything up gnawed at him. But as he glanced at her again, watching the way she absentmindedly flipped through the pages of a book with a soft, distant look in her eyes, he felt a strange sense of peace settle over him.

Perhaps, for once, things were exactly as they were meant to be.

-

Hogsmeade Day had arrived, and Y/N stood in front of her mirror, adjusting the fabric of her oversized sweatshirt. It was comfortable, long enough to cover her hips, draping over her arms in a way that made her feel hidden. Paired with a flowing, ankle-length skirt, it was the perfect outfit—not too tight, not too revealing. Just safe.

She smoothed her hands over the fabric, exhaling shakily. No matter what she wore, she still saw the same girl in the mirror. The same girl with round cheeks, thick arms, a body that felt too large for the world she lived in. A girl who had spent years believing that no one could ever look at her the way she looked at them.

And yet… Regulus had asked her out.

It still didn’t make sense. She had replayed the moment in her mind countless times, trying to find some hidden joke in his voice, some sign that it wasn’t real. But there was none. He had looked at her with a certainty that she couldn’t comprehend.

She swallowed hard and turned away from the mirror. If this was all some cruel game, she wasn’t sure she could handle it. But if it was real… if there was even the smallest chance that Regulus Black wanted to spend time with her, she would let herself have this day. Just this one.

-

Taking a deep breath, Y/N stepped out of the castle, her fingers gripping the edges of her sleeves. The cold air nipped at her cheeks as she made her way toward the entrance gates, her heart hammering in her chest. What if he changed his mind? What if he took one look at her and regretted asking her?

Her thoughts were silenced the moment she spotted him.

Regulus stood just outside, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, his sharp, elegant features softened by the small, cheeky smile on his lips. His grey eyes lit up the second they landed on her, and for a moment, Y/N forgot how to breathe.

“There you are,” he said, his voice warm. “For a second, I thought you stood me up.”

Y/N swallowed, hugging herself slightly. “I… I wouldn’t do that.”

Regulus tilted his head, studying her for a moment before stepping closer. “You look beautiful.”

A rush of warmth flooded her face, and she instinctively glanced away, refusing to believe he meant it. “You don’t have to say that.”

His brows knitted together in confusion before something in his expression shifted—gentle, yet firm. “I say what I mean.”

At the Three Broomsticks, the air hummed with chatter and the occasional clink of glasses. The scent of warm butterbeer and cinnamon lingered, wrapping them in a cocoon of comfort against the autumn chill outside. Y/N curled her fingers around the warm tankard, letting the heat seep into her skin. She took a small sip, savoring the sweetness and spice as she glanced at Regulus, whose own fingers brushed against hers more than once as they rested on the table.

Neither pulled away.

“I still don’t understand how you find Quidditch interesting,” Y/N teased, tilting her head as she took another sip. “It’s just people chasing a ball.”

Regulus gasped, placing a hand over his heart as though she had personally insulted his family name. “Chasing a ball? Y/N, Quidditch is an art.”

She arched a skeptical brow, barely holding back a laugh. “An art of nearly falling to your death?”

He smirked, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Exactly.”

She huffed a laugh, shaking her head before reaching for the book beside her. Its spine was new, the scent of parchment and ink still fresh. She flipped through the pages with reverence, her fingers gliding over the words as if they held something sacred. “This, though,” she murmured, “this is art. The way the author describes magic, it’s beautiful.”

Regulus leaned in slightly, his interest piqued. “Read me your favorite passage.”

She hesitated, her lips pressing together before she exhaled softly. With a knowing smile, she turned to a well-worn page and began reading aloud, her voice weaving through the air with quiet passion.

Regulus watched her, utterly transfixed. He wasn’t certain if it was the words she spoke or the way she spoke them—her voice dipping with emotion, her fingers lightly tracing the lines, her expression soft with admiration. Either way, he found himself hanging onto every syllable like she was telling the most fascinating story in the world.

When she finally closed the book, she glanced up at him. “You’re staring.”

A slow, lazy smile curled on his lips. “You make it hard not to.”

A light blush crept up her neck, and she quickly busied herself with taking another sip of butterbeer. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Black.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he mused, twirling his tankard in his hands. “I think it’s working just fine.”

They lingered for a while longer, talking about books, Quidditch, and anything in between. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows along the wooden beams, but eventually, the golden sky outside signaled that the afternoon had begun to fade. Reluctantly, they stepped out into the crisp breeze rolling through the village.

Without hesitation, Regulus shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. The fabric was warm, carrying the faint scent of cologne and something distinctly him. Y/N blinked at him, startled by the effortless gesture.

“Can I see you again after this?” he asked, hands slipping into his pockets.

She tilted her head, studying him. “You… want to?”

He chuckled, shaking his head fondly. “More than anything.”

Harry's post-Hogwarts

Harry's life after the battle of Hogwarts.

Regulus Black x Fem Potter! reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: mentions of war, death, nightmares, PTSD

note: A Regulus and Harry moment hihi

The house felt quieter without Danny.

It wasn’t something they ever said out loud, but they all felt it.

Y/N noticed it in the way Regulus lingered by the breakfast table, drinking his tea a little slower, his sharp eyes drifting toward Danny’s usual seat. She noticed it in the way he took a few extra minutes in the morning to check the post as if expecting an owl from her—even though they’d just received one the day before.

Harry noticed it in the way the house felt less chaotic. No more exasperated sighs when he tried to rope Danny into one of his antics. No more cutting remarks that were both brilliant and scathing. No more of her curling up in the chair across from Baba, nose buried in a book far too advanced for her age.

Regulus would never admit it, of course. But Y/N caught the way he looked up expectantly every time the fireplace flared, just for a second, before masking it with that cool indifference he’d perfected years ago.

“She’s only been gone a week, Baba,” Harry said one evening, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway. “You act like she moved across the world.”

Regulus, sitting in his usual chair, turned a page in his book without looking up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Harry smirked. “Right. And you totally didn’t check for an owl three times today.”

Regulus flicked a glance toward Y/N, who was smirking into her tea. “I was checking for Ministry correspondence.”

“Sure you were.”

Regulus exhaled through his nose, closing his book with a soft thud. “Is there a reason you’re standing there, or did you just come to irritate me?”

Harry shrugged. “Mostly the latter.”

Y/N chuckled, setting down her cup. “You two are hopeless.”

Regulus sighed, rubbing his temple. “If this is what I have to deal with when Danny is gone, I’ll just send a Howler telling her to come home.”

Harry snorted. “She’d ignore it. Or worse, she’d send one back telling you to stop being dramatic.”

Regulus didn’t argue, which meant he knew Harry was right.

It was strange—this new phase of life. Hogwarts had always been a part of their routine, but now, with only one child at home, the house felt just a little too still.

Y/N reached over, placing a hand on Regulus’s. “She’s fine. And she’ll write again soon.”

Regulus hummed, squeezing her hand lightly before pulling away. “I’m aware.”

Harry smirked. “You miss her.”

Regulus shot him a look. “Shut up, Hazzy.”

Harry’s grin widened. “You miss her so much.”

Regulus glared. Y/N just laughed, shaking her head.

The house was quieter. But they’d adjust. They always did.

-

It was strange—falling back into a routine that hadn’t existed in over a decade.

With Danny at Hogwarts, the house felt smaller in a way. Not physically, of course, but something about it brought them back to the days when it was just the three of them—Regulus, Y/N, and Harry.

So, they decided to lean into it.

One evening, Harry came home from work at Chuddley Cannons, stretching his arms over his head. "It's weird without her here," he admitted, dropping into his usual seat at the dining table.

Y/N chuckled, setting down the plates. "You mean it's quieter?"

"Exactly," Harry grinned. "No broody six-year-old correcting my spelling or outdueling me in chess."

Regulus raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of his tea. "She hasn't been six in quite some time, Harry."

"Yeah, but she still acts like she is sometimes. Always reading, always judging me—"

"Wonder where she got that from," Y/N muttered, smirking at her husband.

Regulus scoffed. "I do not judge."

Harry and Y/N both gave him a look.

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Fine. Perhaps occasionally."

That night, it was just the three of them for dinner—like it had been all those years ago. It didn’t take long for them to slip into old habits.

Regulus and Y/N sat beside each other, discussing their respective days—her work at Hogwarts, his at the Ministry. Harry, ever the troublemaker, stirred his soup absentmindedly before blurting, “Remember when I used to sit on the table instead of a chair?”

Y/N groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You were a menace.”

Harry smirked. “Still am.”

They spent the rest of the evening reminiscing—about the time Harry had insisted on flying inside the house and knocked over an entire bookshelf; about the time Regulus had tried to teach him etiquette, only for him to use a soup spoon to launch peas across the dining room; about the nights when Y/N would return home from Hogwarts, exhausted but still determined to tuck Harry in.

After dinner, Regulus and Y/N sat by the fireplace, Harry sprawled across the floor like he was still a teenager instead of a grown man.

"You know," Y/N mused, watching the flames flicker, "this is nice."

Regulus glanced at her. "What is?"

"Just... us. Like this. It reminds me of when Harry was little."

Harry, lying on his back with his arms crossed behind his head, smirked. "So you do miss me being a little kid."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "I miss you being manageable."

Regulus chuckled. "He was never manageable."

Harry grinned. "True."

They sat there for a long time, basking in the warmth of nostalgia. The house may have felt quieter, but it didn’t feel empty. cv

Because no matter how much things changed, they were still them. And that was enough.

It was strange—falling back into a routine that hadn’t existed in over a decade.

With Danny at Hogwarts, the house felt quieter. Not empty, just… different.

Harry, now a professional Quidditch player, had been staying over for the week while he had a short break between matches. It almost felt like old times—just the three of them, like it had been before Danny was born.

Y/N leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as Regulus sat at the dining table reading the Daily Prophet, his usual cup of tea in hand. Across from him, Harry was stretching out his sore muscles, rolling his shoulder as he groaned.

"Merlin, I feel ancient."

"You’re twenty," Regulus said flatly, not looking up from his paper.

"Exactly. Ancient."

Y/N smirked, setting plates down on the table. "Try being in your forties and teaching a bunch of teenagers Ancient Runes every day. Then we’ll talk."

Harry grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. "You love it."

"Most days." She sat beside Regulus, nudging his arm. "And you? Still terrorizing the poor souls at the Ministry?"

Regulus didn’t dignify that with a response, merely taking another sip of his tea.

Dinner felt like stepping into the past, their usual banter slipping back into place effortlessly.

"Remember when I used to run around the house with my toy broomstick, knocking things over?" Harry mused as he dug into his meal.

Regulus exhaled sharply, setting down his fork. "You were a menace. Nearly took my eye out when you were six."

Y/N laughed. "Oh, and that one time you crashed into the Christmas tree—"

"That was one time!" Harry defended himself.

Regulus smirked, crossing his arms. "And then you joined professional Quidditch. Clearly, you learned your lesson."

Harry grinned. "What can I say? I'm consistent."

After dinner, they moved to the living room, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. Harry sprawled across the couch like he owned the place, tossing a Quaffle into the air absentmindedly. Y/N curled up in her usual spot, while Regulus sat beside her, a book in his lap that he had no real intention of reading.

"You know," Y/N said after a moment, watching the fire, "this feels nice."

Regulus turned to her. "What does?"

"Just us. Like this. It reminds me of when Harry was little."

Harry smirked. "So you do miss me being small."

"I miss you being manageable," Y/N corrected with a roll of her eyes.

Regulus chuckled. "You were never manageable."

Harry tossed the Quaffle in the air again, catching it easily. "True."

The night stretched on, filled with warm conversation and laughter. It wasn’t often that Harry had time to stay home like this, and even though things had changed over the years, some things never would.

They were still them. And that was enough.

However, the nightmares started again.

Flashes of green light. Screams that were cut short. Rubble and fire. The feeling of losing people, of not being enough.

Harry woke up with a sharp gasp, his breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts. His chest ached like he’d run a marathon, and the darkness of his childhood bedroom felt suffocating. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, willing the images away.

He wasn’t at Hogwarts. He wasn’t in the war. He was home. Safe.

But his body didn’t believe it.

A knock at the door made him flinch. He didn’t answer, but the door creaked open anyway, the hallway light casting a long shadow as Regulus stepped inside.

"Another one?" Regulus's voice was quiet, steady.

Harry exhaled shakily and nodded. He didn’t need to explain. Regulus had always known.

Without a word, Regulus crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. It reminded Harry of when he was little—when he would have nightmares about his parents, about loud thunder, about monsters under the bed. Regulus would always be there, brushing his hair back, sitting with him in the dark until he calmed down.

Harry hated that he still needed this. After everything, he still felt like that scared little boy in the dark.

“I should be over this by now,” Harry muttered, his voice thick.

Regulus let out a quiet breath, the ghost of a sigh. “You don’t just ‘get over’ something like war, Harry.”

There was a moment of silence before Regulus reached out, hesitating for only a second before resting a hand on Harry’s head, running his fingers through the messy black strands. The touch was grounding, familiar.

"You used to do this when I was a kid," Harry said quietly.

"You used to calm down when I did," Regulus replied simply.

Harry let his eyes drift shut, focusing on the steady motion, the way it slowed his breathing. The memories of battle still lurked in the corners of his mind, but they felt a little further away now. Less sharp.

They sat in silence for a while.

Eventually, Regulus spoke again, his voice softer. "You are not weak for feeling this way, Harry."

Harry swallowed his throat tight. "I just... I feel like I shouldn't—like I should be moving on."

"You are moving on," Regulus said. "But healing isn’t the same as forgetting."

Harry took a shaky breath. He wanted to believe that.

Regulus stayed with him until his breathing evened out again until the tension in his shoulders finally eased.

Just like when he was a child, Regulus didn't leave until Harry was asleep.

previous chapter <- -> next chapter

as a catholic, i find this so funny

*In a church*

Sirius: Why are you looking at me like that?

Regulus: I just don't wanna miss it when you burst into flames.

Meeting Walburga

Regulus brings Harry to meet his grandmother

[Regulus Black x Fem Potter! reader]

word count: 785

warnings: hurt/comfort, Walburga being a meanie to Harry

-

Regulus wasn’t entirely sure why he agreed to this.

It was a terrible idea. He knew that. Y/N knew that. Even Kreacher, who had loyally followed him into this new life, had given him a wary look when he mentioned visiting 12 Grimmauld Place.

Yet, here they were.

Harry held Regulus’ hand tightly as they stood outside the Black family’s ancestral home. The looming townhouse was as dark and unwelcoming as ever, its iron-wrought serpent door knocker glinting in the dim London light. Regulus exhaled sharply, tightening his grip on his son’s small hand.

“Stay close to me,” he murmured.

Harry nodded, his green eyes wide as he stared up at the tall building. “Are you sure she won’t like… hex me?” he whispered, only half-joking.

Regulus almost smirked. She would if she could.

Instead, he knocked.

The door swung open almost immediately, revealing Kreacher. His large, bat-like ears twitched as he looked down at Harry. For a long moment, he was silent, his expression unreadable. Then, to Harry’s surprise, the elf bowed low.

“Master Regulus,” he croaked. “Young Master Potter.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. Master Potter? No one had ever called him that before.

Regulus gave a curt nod, stepping inside and ushering Harry in after him. The house smelled the same—dust, old magic, and a hint of something burning in the fireplace. The walls were lined with dark portraits, and Harry nearly jumped as one of them moved.

But before he could get a proper look, a voice rang through the house—sharp, commanding, and dripping with disdain.

“Regulus.”

Harry turned toward the voice and saw her.

Walburga Black stood at the foot of the grand staircase, dressed in deep emerald green. Her sharp features were set in stone, her dark eyes taking in her son before shifting to Harry.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

Regulus straightened his shoulders, his grip on Harry’s hand firm. “Mother.”

Walburga’s lips thinned as her gaze swept over Harry like he was an insect. “So,” she said slowly, coldly. “This is what you’ve been reduced to. Raising a half-blood.”

Harry stiffened, instinctively stepping closer to Regulus.

Regulus’ expression didn’t change. “He is my son.”

Walburga scoffed. “He is James Potter’s son.” Her voice was venomous. “A disgrace to the family name.”

Harry felt his face grow hot, but before he could say anything, Regulus spoke—his voice steady, but edged with steel.

“He is my son,” he repeated, quieter this time. “And I will not tolerate you speaking of him that way.”

Walburga’s eyes darkened. “You dare bring him into this house?”

“I brought him here so you could meet your grandson,” Regulus said, his tone even. “Not to hear your outdated prejudices.”

Harry bit his lip, gripping Regulus’ sleeve. He didn’t understand everything, but he knew she didn’t like him. He could feel it.

For a long, tense moment, Walburga simply stared at them.

Then, to Harry’s utter shock, she let out a low chuckle.

“You’ve changed,” she murmured, her gaze locked onto Regulus. “Not that it matters. The blood in your veins remains the same. That thing” —her eyes flicked to Harry— “does not.”

Harry flinched.

Regulus’ jaw tightened. “Come, Harry,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “We’re leaving.”

Harry didn’t hesitate, stepping quickly in line beside him as Regulus turned on his heel.

As they reached the door, Walburga’s voice rang out again.

“When the time comes,” she said, “you’ll regret your choices, Regulus.”

Regulus didn’t stop walking.

Kreacher, who had remained silent through the exchange, gave a deep bow as they passed.

As soon as they stepped outside, Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Regulus glanced down at him. “Are you alright?”

Harry hesitated, then nodded. “…She doesn’t like me.”

Regulus sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “That doesn’t matter,” he muttered. Then, more softly, “I do.”

Harry blinked up at him.

“…Mama does, too,” he said after a moment.

Regulus smirked. “Of course she does. She’s your mother.”

Harry smiled a little, shuffling closer to Regulus as they started walking again.

“…Do you think Kreacher likes me?”

Regulus chuckled, glancing back at the house. “I think he’s figuring it out.”

Harry hummed. “I liked him.”

Regulus raised a brow. “You did?”

“He bowed,” Harry said simply. “I think that means he kinda likes me.”

Regulus shook his head in amusement. “You are far too optimistic.”

But as they made their way home, he found himself silently grateful.

Harry would never know the cold walls of that house. He would never be raised in darkness, surrounded by cruel whispers of blood purity and superiority.

He had a family.

A real one.

-

previous chapter <- -> next chapter

✮⋆˙𝐏𝐚𝐮𝐥'𝐬 𝐉𝐨𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤

╰┈➤ 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, Paul Atreides and you were overjoyed to learn you were pregnant with a boy, the child he had long hoped for, but beneath his joy lay a quiet tension as his prescience hinted at an uncertain future. Over time, Paul’s resolve to remain detached crumbled, and he grew deeply attached to the unborn child, imagining the life he would have with his son. However, the fragile happiness was shattered when you suffered a devastating miscarriage, leaving Paul helpless in the face of his greatest fear—a tragedy he had foreseen but could not prevent.

⊹₊⟡⋆ 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟽𝟿𝟸୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

⊹₊⟡⋆ 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎: 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

⊹₊⟡⋆𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚐𝚎୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

⊹₊⟡⋆𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚝𝚘 𝙿𝚊𝚞𝚕'𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 .ᐟ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Then, it happened. You were pregnant with Paul Atreides’ baby—a boy, just like he had hoped for. The realization hit you as you sat on the toilet cover, staring at the pregnancy test in your trembling hand. After months of trying, you had finally missed your period. Anxiety surged through you as you scrambled to confirm the result, grabbing five different pregnancy tests from the cabinet. One by one, each test displayed the same answer: positive. A wave of emotions washed over you—joy, disbelief, and a deep, gnawing nervousness.

“You’re pregnant,” came Paul’s calm voice as he entered the bathroom. His tone was steady, his presence commanding yet strangely tender. Of course, he already knew. With his prescience, he had likely sensed the new life growing within you before you even suspected it. But something about his demeanor gave you pause, a subtle tension behind his warm smile, as if he were grappling with knowledge you didn’t yet possess.

Paul said nothing more as he knelt before you, his piercing blue eyes searching yours. He reached out, his hands steady and sure, as though anchoring himself in the moment. “I can’t believe it… a boy, just like I wanted,” he murmured, his voice soft yet filled with awe. A genuine smile broke across his face, his usual intensity momentarily softened by the overwhelming joy of impending fatherhood.

He rose gracefully, his movements fluid and purposeful, and extended a hand to you. You hesitated, still caught in the whirlwind of your thoughts, but his touch was firm and reassuring as he gently guided you to your feet. “Come,” he said, his voice a quiet command laced with tenderness. Hand in hand, he led you out of the bathroom, into a future that felt both exhilarating and terrifying—a future that had already begun to take shape in ways neither of you could fully understand.

The two of you were overjoyed when you found out about the baby. For weeks, it was as though a light had been reignited in your lives. Paul’s usually guarded demeanor softened around you, and even though he had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t allow his heart to fully attach to the child—knowing the risks of the future—he couldn’t help but fail. As the days turned into weeks, his resolve crumbled. He began to speak to your growing belly, his voice tender and filled with cautious hope, imagining the life of the son you both longed for. Despite his efforts to guard himself, Paul’s love for the unborn child became undeniable.

But the fragile joy was shattered all too soon. Paul was in the middle of a strategic meeting with his advisors when the sound of your blood-curdling scream pierced the air. The sound stopped him mid-sentence, freezing the entire room. His heart dropped like a stone as he turned toward the door, his prescience offering him fragments of what was to come—too scattered to act upon, yet clear enough to fill him with dread.

Without a word, Paul pushed past his advisors and strode down the hallway, his movements purposeful but laced with growing panic. As he approached your shared bedroom, the scene before him confirmed his worst fears. Doctors and nurses were rushing in and out, their faces taut with urgency. The air was thick with tension, the muffled sounds of hurried instructions and medical equipment creating a chaotic backdrop to the dread pooling in Paul’s chest.

He shoved his way through the crowd, his pulse pounding in his ears. The moment he stepped into the room, time seemed to slow. You were on the floor, your body curled in agony. Blood was pooling around you, staining the once-pristine rug a deep, sickening red. The sight stole the breath from his lungs.

Paul’s prescience had already told him what had happened—perhaps he had known even before it began. Still, the reality of it struck him with brutal force. You had lost the baby. His son. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Move,” Paul barked at the nearest doctor, his voice sharp and commanding despite the despair threatening to consume him. He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as he reached out but stopped short, afraid to touch you and cause further harm. “I’m here,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “I’m here.”

Your tear-streaked face turned toward him, your eyes wide with pain and terror. “Paul…” you choked out, your voice barely audible.

“I know,” he said softly, his prescient vision flooding him with all the outcomes he could neither change nor escape. His hand found yours, gripping it tightly as the chaos continued to swirl around you both. Despite his immense power, in this moment, Paul Atreides felt utterly powerless.

Navigationˎˊ˗

{𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝} → open ! || requests are usually open unless they get too much, then I will turn them off so that I could finish other requests ! ||

About the blogˎˊ˗

what I do -> write fanfics and on some occasions, headcanons about timothée's characters

what I write about -> Harry Potter, Marauders, Characters played by Timothée, RPF, etc.

P.S. I don't have an upload schedule, but I try to post and make fanfics as much as possible. My stories are best when I am motivated. It keeps the fun and excitement in making these stories when I'm more motivated. :>

masterlist, prompt list

rules and disclaimersˎˊ˗

yes ! → fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, character x reader, mentions of smvt, bl00d/g0re, slow burn, RPF

no ! → smvt, kinks, p3do, non-con

I do not write smut under any circumstances. If you'd like to make a request, you can choose from the prompt list or submit your own idea.

I've received a few disrespectful comments in the past and have chosen to ignore them. I will continue to do so with any future hate comments. Just a reminder, I am a minor, so these kinds of messages are especially inappropriate.

If you don’t like my writing, feel free to scroll past my blog—there’s no need to send hate comments.

DO NOT REPOST OR COPY MY WRITING AND CLAIM IT AS YOUR OWN.

I’m pretty indecisive, so if you notice my blog changing from time to time, it’s just me figuring out which colors I like best hehe!

If you come across my work being copied or reposted, please let me know!

Oooh ooooh! Timmy imagines!! Can you write a super fluffy one about Timmy and y/n spending the night together for the first time!

hello!!! ofc you can, i'm trying to make a name for myself as the fluff connoisseur so this is right up my alley! i hope you like it

“ahhh can i please get you something to drink? a soda? coffee? water?”

timothée’s standing in the middle of his kitchen, looking incredibly lost for somebody who had moved into the apartment two years ago.

it’s endearing, damn it, everything he does is endearing, and you wish he would just cut it out. just stop being so cute all the damn time.

“i promise i’m fine,” you say for what must have been the twelfth time that evening.

you’re cosy amongst the blankets on his couch and look a hell of a lot more at home than he does. yet he’s making you nervous with all his pacing.

he just can’t sit still.

“are you absolutely sure? it’s no pr—”

“timmy i swear to god, if you say it’s no problem one more time i’ll give you a problem.”

“i’m sorry!” he laughs, yanks the hood of his hoodie up, spins on the spot so you can’t see his face. you die on the couch at the sight, and kind of just want to climb all over him — is that weird? that’s really weird.

it’s the first time you’re staying at his place and every little thing he does is so him and so domestic it makes butterflies erupt.

you escape the flurry of blankets he threw on top of you and shuffle over to him. one hand gingerly places itself on his shoulder, the other on his lower back, turning him to face you.

he’s pulling his lip between his teeth, green eyes meeting yours then looking at his feet.

“you’ve made us dinner—” you start.

“well i ordered us dinner, that’s no effort—”

“you’ve tidied your place—”

“it was fucking awful before you came—”

“you’ve given me all the blankets, you’ve even bought that candle i told you i liked months ago.”

he laughs nervously, somehow playing footsie standing up. “i just want you to feel at home — and the least i could do is get you a fucking drink.”

is he seriously still worried he’s not enough?

“i’m fine,” you laugh, “how many times do i need to say it? would a different language help? what is it in french?”

he giggles, hands moving to hide his face.

pulling him closer by the waist, you continue, “the only thing i’m missing…”

he turns ashen.

“...is you.”

“what do you mean?” his face, total confusion, makes you smile.

“you’ve been running around all night making everything perfect when all i really need is you. you literally have not stopped moving since i came over.”

he scrunches his face, raising his eyebrows apologetically as a preempt to an unnecessary apology.

“don’t,” you cut him off before he can even try. “there’s nothing to apologise for. now please come cuddle me?”

he grins, all bashful and gorgeous. you pull him towards his couch and flop down onto it. he falls onto you, sandwiching you between his body and the back of it, then gathers the blankets around you both.

“finally,” you sigh contently, immediately snuggling into his chest.

he laughs. it’s a quiet rumble against your ear that thrums through your body, all the way to your toes.

timothée’s hands, always so expressive, slip slowly under your sweater and rest against your skin.

“this okay?” he murmurs, thumbs stroking patterns over your waist.

you nod, hooking a leg over his to tether him to you, never too close, never enough. his heartbeat picks up at this and you grin, your own quickening as he runs his hands to your back, tucking you impossibly closer.

“i can’t believe we could have been doing this hours ago,” he hums.

“instead you were rearranging the table for the millionth time. and we ate the takeout over here instead.” you giggle, running a hand through his hair.

he almost purrs at your touch, hugging you tighter, melting into you.

“that reminds me, we still have dessert in the fridge if you want—”

“nuh uh, no moving,” you cut him off. “been denied cuddles for far too long.”

he laughs, rolling over and taking you with him. “gah, can’t reach fridge! must get ice cream!”

“movie instead?” you compromise, wrapping your legs around him not unlike a koala. he nuzzles your neck, making you laugh, and tucks his nose there.

you reach for the remote and flick to the dark knight. you can feel his smile against your skin and run your hands over his back as he leaves kisses along your neck.

“god, how are you real?” he says, green eyes blindingly sincere as they meet yours. you squirm under his gaze, burying your head back in his chest as the movie starts.

several hours and a trilogy later, your arm is numb and timothée’s dead weight is trapping you against the couch.

your attempt to stretch ends up elbowing him in the face and he groans awake, one hand holding his nose.

“oh god, baby i’m so sorry,” you rush out, your hand caressing his cheek as he blinks sleepily.

“if this is how you wake me up each morning i don’t want it,” he mumbles, playfully nuzzling his nose back against your neck.

you snicker, resting your hand in his hair, undeniable warmth spreading through you at his half asleep musings. you can picture it too, lazy mornings together, coaxing him awake with promises of bagels and kisses, even just kisses, two bodies nestled together under soft sheets, messy hair, warm skin.

you check the time on your phone, shocked to find it’s 02:47am.

“tim,” you murmur, hand tousling his hair. there’s no reply and his breathing is rhythmic and slow.

“timmy,” you try again, other hand sweeping under his hoodie, up his back. “baby, wake up.”

he shakes his head and damn it if it’s not the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

“come on, we can’t sleep on your couch,” you whisper, fingers zigzagging over his skin.

“yeah we can, is comfy,” he yawns, raspy voice making you want to dive into him.

“baby, there’s more room in bed,” you point out. “more room for cuddles?”

he groans, stretching out to his fullest and almost tumbling off the couch. you stand up, amused as he curls back into the couch only to find nobody to cuddle.

“yn?” he asks, rubbing his eyes to find you standing in front of him. “that was cruel.”

he pouts and you roll your eyes, holding your hand out to drag him up. “come on, sleepyhead.”

he grumbles as he leads you to his bedroom, flicking off the lights as he goes. when he turns to face you, nerves erupt in your stomach. it makes no sense, really, you were fine on the couch, sharing his space, limbs intertwined, breathing his scent.

but now his scent is overwhelming. it swirls in the air as he pulls the bed sheets back. it’s woven into the very sheets themselves. it’s everywhere, and so much more intimate, and suddenly your breathing shallows and you stand awkwardly against his doorframe.

“baby?” timothée turns when you don’t follow, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

“sorry, sorry, it’s stupid,” you say, covering your cheeks with your hands.

he shakes his head, reaching out for you. you stand between his legs.

“it’s not,” he says.

“i just… suddenly feel nervous?” you bite your lip. somehow his sleepy eyes soften further at your admission and you move to sit beside him.

“it’s just a bed, it’s just sleep,” he says, headbutting your shoulder.

“i know but there’s all this pressure to be intimate—”

“my only job is to make you happy and comfortable,” timothée says so earnestly, so safely, you can’t believe how worked up you were.

the tension leaves your body and you’re left as tired as he looks. you run a finger over the smudges beneath his eyes, leaning closer to kiss him.

“thank you,” you whisper against his lips.

he kisses you again, soft and warm, and when you pull away the nerves have transformed back into butterflies.

“okay, we need sleep,” you say, watching his eyes flutter.

he hums, pulling you backwards to lie down beside him. “this okay?”

you nod, cuddling closer. his heartbeat picks up again when you trace your fingers over his chest. there’s a few minutes of shifting around and getting comfy, and it’s as timothée turns onto his side for the fifth time that he declares:

“fuck, now i can’t sleep.”

“you’re kidding. i had to practically drag you off the couch.”

“yeah but now i’m overtired.”

“are you a toddler?” you tease.

timothée huffs, rolling over to face the wall. you smirk a few moments later when his hands find their way back to your skin like a magnet.

“do you ever think about space?”

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” you groan, hiding your face in one of his pillows.

“no but hear me out, it’s so vast, and we’re so tiny, but that doesn’t mean we’re insignificant. and aliens, why do we never see them? maybe they’re really shy, or disgusted by us, or have huge superiority complexes.”

“please please shut up,” you nose at his neck, kissing just behind his ear sweetly.

“okay, but last thing. what if we’re the aliens?”

“timothée…” you whine, turning over as he spoons you.

“and that’s why we feel so alone? imagine if space had cliques, and earth is like the outcasts. because no other planet seems to have self destructive qualities.”

you make a noise, too tired for words now, as he rambles on about jupiter’s moons and civilization and whatever else goes on in that million miles an hour mind.

somewhere around the ten minute mark you tune out, blissfully close to sleep. he notices your muscles relax against him, and can’t help himself when he teases, just one more time:

“baby, are you sure i can’t get you something to drink?”

“i’m going to murder you.”

he grins as he holds you closer, one hand gently carding through your hair to send you to sleep.

The adventures of Danny and Hazzy

Harry and Danny growing up in the Potter-Black household.

[Regulus Black x fem Potter! reader}

word count: 4.1k

warnings: a lot of fluff, Y/N and Regulus kissing at the end

6 MONTH OLD DANNY AND FOUR-YEAR-OLD HARRY 

The Black-Potter household was filled with soft giggles and the occasional delighted squeal. Six-month-old Danica or Danny as Harry fondly called her, sat propped up with pillows on a blanket spread across the living room floor. Her dark curls were already forming wild ringlets, and her bright gray eyes tracked her big brother's every movement.

"Look, Danny! It's a flying hippogriff!" Harry declared, holding a stuffed hippogriff in the air and zooming it around with exaggerated whooshing noises. He had charmed it to hover slightly, the wings flapping as it circled Danny's head.

Danny blinked, then let out a squeal of laughter, her tiny hands reaching up to grasp at the toy. When the hippogriff dipped low enough, she latched on with surprising strength, pulling it down and gnawing on the soft beak with a satisfied coo.

"You're a natural beast-tamer," Harry said, lying down next to her. He tapped her nose gently. "But you can't eat a hippogriff, Danny. That's rude."

Danny babbled in response, releasing the toy to pat Harry's cheek with a slobbery hand. Harry made a dramatic choking sound. "Ah! Baby drool! My one weakness!"

He flopped backward with a groan, limbs sprawled dramatically. Danny stared at him for a moment, then let out a delighted shriek, her tiny body bouncing with excitement.

From the doorway, Y/N and Regulus watched the scene unfold. Y/N's arms were crossed, a smile softening her face. "I give it three seconds before she crawls after him," she whispered.

"Two," Regulus corrected.

As if on cue, Danny tipped forward, arms wobbling as she pushed herself toward her brother. Her movements were clumsy but determined, her little fists digging into the blanket.

"She's doing it!" Y/N breathed.

"Go, Danny!" Regulus encouraged softly.

Harry peeked through one eye when he heard the rustling. His mouth dropped open. "You're crawling!" he gasped, sitting up. "Go, Danny, go!"

Danny let out a gurgling laugh as she reached Harry's knee and promptly face-planted into his leg. Unbothered, she turned her head to grin up at him, her cheeks flushed with effort.

"You're the best little sister ever," Harry said, scooping her into his arms. He stood and turned toward their parents. "Mama! Baba! Did you see? She crawled!"

"We saw, sweetheart," Y/N said, wiping away a tear with the back of her hand.

Regulus stepped forward and ruffled Harry's hair. "Good job, big brother. Looks like she's trying to keep up with you already."

Danny babbled happily from Harry's arms, then stuck her thumb in her mouth and leaned against his chest, suddenly exhausted from her grand adventure.

"She's gonna be unstoppable," Harry said proudly.

Y/N wrapped an arm around Regulus's waist and smiled. "She already is."

TWO-YEAR-OLD DANNY AND FIVE-YEAR-OLD HARRY

The Black-Potter household was rarely quiet these days, not with a curious, toddling two-year-old exploring every corner and a protective big brother trailing after her like a miniature sentry.

"Hazzy!" Danny's delighted voice rang through the sitting room as she toddled across the rug on unsteady legs. Her chubby arms were outstretched toward her brother, who knelt with his arms wide open.

"That's me!" Harry said with a grin, scooping her up and twirling her around. "Hazzy is here to save the day!"

Danny squealed with laughter, her dark curls bouncing with each spin. "Hazzy! Hazzy!"

From the armchair, Y/N smiled over her cup of tea. "Still not calling you Harry, huh?"

"Nope," Harry said, plopping down on the couch with Danny nestled against him. "I've tried to teach her, but she just keeps saying 'Hazzy.'"

"It's cute," Y/N said softly, watching as Danny poked at the buttons on Harry's sweater.

The sound of the front door opening interrupted their moment. Danny's eyes lit up, and she scrambled out of Harry's lap, nearly tripping over her own feet.

"Baba!" she cried, sprinting toward the hallway.

"Danny!" Regulus's voice answered with equal enthusiasm.

By the time he entered the room, he had Danny perched on his hip, her tiny hands clinging to his collar. His usually composed expression was softened into a rare, tender smile.

"And how's my little morning star today?" he asked, brushing her curls away from her face.

"Hazzy play!" she announced proudly.

"Ah, yes. The famous Hazzy." Regulus's gray eyes flicked to Harry with a smirk. "How are you handling your new identity, son?"

Harry shrugged. "I've accepted my fate."

Danny giggled and buried her face in Regulus's neck.

"She's been chasing him around all day," Y/N said with a laugh.

"Hazzy run fast," Danny agreed, peeking out with wide grey eyes. "Danny run too!"

"Oh, do you now?" Regulus asked, raising an eyebrow. "Well, maybe Baba will have to race you later."

"Race!" Danny pumped her fists in the air.

Regulus sat beside Y/N, his arm resting along the back of the couch. Danny squirmed until she was back on the floor, wobbling over to Harry.

"Hazzy, run!" she commanded.

Harry gave his parents an exaggerated sigh. "Duty calls," he said before launching into a playful chase.

Y/N leaned her head on Regulus's shoulder, watching them with a soft smile.

"She's getting so big," she murmured.

"Too big," Regulus agreed. "And that name's going to stick, isn't it?"

"Absolutely," Y/N said, laughing as Harry darted around the coffee table with Danny hot on his heels. "Hazzy's here to stay."

And as Danny's delighted laughter echoed through the house, it was hard to imagine life any other way.

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting golden patterns across the bedroom floor. Y/N stirred, her eyes fluttering open just as the door creaked. She turned her head and smiled softly at the sight of Harry and Danny standing in the doorway, hand-in-hand.

Harry's chesnut hair stuck up in every direction, defying gravity as usual, while Danny's black curls were tangled into an impressive bird's nest. The two siblings were still in their pajamas: Harry's covered in faded Quidditch brooms, Danny's patterned with tiny moon and stars.

"Hazzy," Danny whispered, tugging on her brother's hand. "Mama wake?"

"Yeah, Danny," Harry reassured her, squeezing her fingers. "See? Mama's awake."

Y/N sat up, tucking the blanket around her legs. "Good morning, my loves," she greeted softly.

Danny beamed, revealing the gap where her front tooth had recently fallen out. "Mama!" She let go of Harry's hand and barreled across the room, climbing clumsily onto the bed. "I had dream 'bout dragon!"

"Did you?" Y/N caught her daughter and pulled her into her lap. "Was it scary?"

Danny shook her head fiercely. "No! Big dragon, nice dragon! Hazzy say it like Uncle Charlie's dragon."

"Ah," Y/N chuckled, glancing toward Harry as he shuffled into the room. "Your brother knows a lot about dragons."

Harry gave a sheepish smile and climbed onto the bed beside them. "I just told her about Norberta," he said, leaning into his mother's side. "Danny likes dragons now."

"I see," Y/N mused, brushing Danny's wild curls with her fingers. "Maybe one day we'll visit Uncle Charlie in Romania and see real dragons."

Danny gasped. "We go? See dragon?"

"One day," Y/N promised.

The sound of footsteps interrupted them. Regulus appeared in the doorway, hair tousled and wand in hand, eyes sharp until he took in the sight before him. "Merlin," he exhaled, lowering his wand. "I thought I heard an intruder."

"Hazzy and Danny," Danny said proudly, throwing her arms wide. "Not 'truder!"

Regulus grinned and crossed the room, sliding his wand into his pajama pocket. "No, you and your brother are definitely not intruders." He sat on the edge of the bed and ruffled Harry's hair, not that it made any difference. "Why are you two up so early?"

"Danny had a dragon dream," Harry answered, tilting his head toward his sister. "Wanted Mama and Baba to know."

Regulus nodded solemnly. "Dreams about dragons are very important. Good thing you told us, Danny."

Danny's eyes sparkled. "I 'member the dragon name!"

"Oh?" Y/N asked. "What's its name, sweetheart?"

Danny scrunched her nose in thought, then declared, "Spork!"

There was a beat of silence before Harry snorted with laughter. "Spork? That's not a dragon name!"

"Is too!" Danny huffed.

"Spork the Dragon," Regulus said with mock seriousness. "A fearsome creature is known across the land for its...sporkiness."

Harry collapsed into giggles, and Danny clapped her hands in delight. Y/N just shook her head fondly. "You're encouraging her."

"Absolutely," Regulus said, reaching out to pull Y/N closer. "She gets her creativity from you."

Danny snuggled into Y/N's lap, thumb slipping into her mouth as the excitement wore off. Harry stretched and leaned against Regulus's shoulder.

"Family nap?" Y/N suggested.

"Family nap," Regulus agreed, flicking his wand to dim the sunlight.

Soon, tangled curls and messy hair were nestled together in a cozy, sleepy pile of warmth and love.

The snow had fallen thick and heavy overnight, blanketing the Black-Potter garden in a pristine, shimmering layer of white. From the warmth of the living room, three-year-old Danica Potter-Black pressed her nose against the frosted window, her wide gray eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Hazzy! Hazzy!" she squealed, spinning around and racing toward her brother. Her curls bounced wildly with each step. "Look! Snow! Lots and lots!"

Harry, now seven years old and quite proud of his 'big brother' status, looked up from the enchanted chessboard where his pieces were grumbling about his last move. He followed her pointing finger to the window and grinned. "You wanna go build a snowman?"

"Yes! Yes! Snowman!" Danny clapped her hands, hopping in place.

"Okay, okay! Let's get our coats."

The two of them bundled up under Y/N's watchful eye. Harry wriggled into his green scarf while Danny impatiently thrust her tiny arms into her puffy coat. Her mittens dangled from strings through the sleeves, and Harry helped her tug them on properly.

"Be careful out there, you two," Y/N called from the door. "And don't eat the snow unless you're sure it's clean!"

"Mama!" Danny giggled. "I'm not gonna eat snow!"

"We'll be careful!" Harry promised.

The garden was a winter wonderland. Their boots crunched on the fresh snow, and their breath clouded in the crisp air. Harry immediately started rolling a ball for the base of their snowman. Danny tried to mimic him, but her ball mostly crumbled.

"Hazzy," she pouted, "mine's not workin'."

"Here, like this." Harry knelt beside her, guiding her hands to press the snow gently and roll it across the ground. "See?"

"Ooooh! I do it!" Danny's face lit up as her snowball grew.

Together, they built a lopsided but proud snowman. Danny insisted he needed a 'silly face,' so Harry found sticks for the arms while she stuck stones into the snow in a haphazard grin. Harry placed his own scarf around its neck and stepped back. "What do you think?"

Danny squinted critically at their creation. "Hazzy, he's cold."

"Well...yeah," Harry said, puzzled. "He's a snowman."

"Needs a hat," she declared. "For warm!"

"Okay, let's get one."

The door opened before they reached the house. Regulus stood there, holding a knitted hat with a bemused expression. "I heard we have a cold snowman in need of a hat?"

"Baba!" Danny ran to him, wrapping her arms around his leg. "We made a snowman! Hazzy helped!"

"I saw," Regulus said, placing the hat on her head for a moment before transferring it to the snowman's icy head. "Looks like a very happy snowman."

Danny beamed and turned back to the snowman. "Now he's warm," she said with satisfaction.

Harry ruffled her hair. "Good job, Snow Queen."

Danny giggled, reaching for a handful of snow. Without warning, she flung it at Harry. It splattered against his coat.

"Oh, you're in for it now!" Harry scooped up snow in both hands.

Screaming with laughter, Danny tried to dodge but ended up flat on her back in the snow, her curls dusted white. "Hazzy! Noooo!"

Regulus shook his head with a smile, leaning against the doorframe as his children tumbled about in the snow. Y/N appeared beside him, slipping her hand into his.

"They're growing up so fast," she murmured.

"They are," Regulus agreed, squeezing her fingers. "But right now, they're exactly where they should be."

A snowball suddenly splattered against Regulus's chest. He looked down in shock to find Danny standing there, cheeks pink with cold and triumph.

"Baba!" she shrieked with glee.

Y/N burst into laughter as Regulus grabbed a handful of snow and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you started it now, little star."

The snowy battle that followed became a memory they'd cherish for years to come.

FOUR-YEAR-OLD DANY AND EIGHT-YEAR-OLD HARRY

The Black-Potter household was quiet, the warm glow of the hearth casting faint shadows along the walls. Outside, the moon hung low in the sky, bathing the snowy ground in silver light. Inside, however, two little figures shuffled across the carpeted hallway, their steps careful and hushed.

"Shh, Danny," whispered eight-year-old Harry, glancing back at his sister. "You're being loud."

"I'm not!" Danny pouted, her black curls bouncing as she clutched her stuffed dragon tightly. "Hazzy, my feet are just squeaky."

Harry stifled a laugh. "Okay, just...less squeaky feet, alright?"

Danny nodded solemnly and adjusted her grip on her dragon. Together, they tiptoed toward the kitchen.

The kitchen door creaked as Harry slowly pushed it open. He froze, holding his breath. Danny copied him, her wide eyes fixed on his face. After a long moment of silence, they exchanged triumphant grins and slipped inside.

"Alright," Harry whispered, "the cookies should be in the blue tin."

Danny squinted at the counter. "That's really high," she said, voice heavy with skepticism.

"That's why we have teamwork," Harry declared, dragging a chair across the floor with a low screech. They both winced, then stared at the doorway. No footsteps. No Baba with his scary frown. No Mama with her disappointed head shake.

Harry climbed onto the chair, balancing with practiced ease. "Okay," he murmured, stretching toward the cookie tin. His fingers brushed the lid. "Almost...got it..."

Danny watched, her dragon tucked under her arm, her curls falling in her face. "Hazzy, careful!"

"I'm fine," Harry assured her. With a final stretch, he snagged the tin and pulled it toward him.

The tin wobbled. Harry's heart stopped. The container tilted and tumbled off the edge.

"No!" Danny gasped.

Harry lunged and caught it mid-air. "Ha! Got it!"

Danny clapped her hands silently. "You're the bestest," she whispered.

Harry hopped down and opened the tin. The rich scent of chocolate-chip cookies drifted into the air. "Okay, Danny, take one."

Danny's eyes lit up as she reached in and grabbed the biggest cookie she could find. Harry took one for himself, then replaced the lid and carefully slid the tin under the table.

They turned toward the door just as the kitchen light snapped on.

"And what do we have here?"

The siblings froze mid-chew.

Regulus Black stood in the doorway, arms crossed, dark hair mussed from sleep. His grey eyes were sharp, but his lips twitched at the corners.

Danny let out a muffled squeak and ducked behind Harry. "Uh-oh," she whispered.

"Uh-oh is right," Regulus said, stepping forward. "Midnight cookie thieves, I see."

"We're not thieves," Harry said quickly. "We're...we're taste testers."

"Yeah," Danny piped up, peeking around Harry. "Mama said cookies gotta be tasted."

Regulus arched a brow. "Did she?"

Harry gulped. "Well, not these cookies. But...cookies in general."

"Mmm." Regulus knelt down so he was eye-level with them. "Do taste testers usually sneak around in the dark?"

"Only when it's a secret mission," Danny whispered.

Regulus pressed his lips together, trying not to smile. "Well, in that case," he said softly, "I guess you'll need a lookout next time."

Harry's mouth fell open. "Wait...you're not mad?"

"Oh, I'm mad," Regulus said, though his voice lacked any bite. "But I'll let it slide this time. Now, off to bed, you two."

"Yes, Baba," they chorused.

As he herded them back to their rooms, Regulus glanced up and met Y/N's amused gaze from the top of the stairs.

"Told you they'd go for the cookies," she whispered.

"You set us up!" Harry exclaimed.

Danny gasped. "Mama!"

Y/N laughed softly. "What can I say? I know my little cookie monsters." She leaned down to kiss the tops of their heads. "Now, go to sleep. We'll discuss your sneaky skills in the morning."

As Harry and Danny shuffled into their rooms, Regulus smiled to himself. Nights like these made every sleep-deprived morning worth it.

FIVE-YEAR-OLD DANNY AND NINE-YEAR-OLD HARRY

The Black-Potter household was rarely quiet, especially with an energetic four-year-old like Danny and a lively eight-year-old like Harry running about. Laughter, footsteps racing down hallways, and the occasional magical mishap filled the air with a warmth that made Grimmauld Place feel more like home than it ever had before. But today, the usual harmony was broken by the sharp crack of a slammed door.

"You're mean, Hazzy!" Danny's tiny voice, thick with tears, echoed down the hall.

Harry stood frozen just outside his bedroom door, his chest tight with guilt. Moments ago, they'd been playing with his toy broomstick. Danny had begged for a turn, but Harry had refused, insisting she was too little and would just break it. When she'd tried to grab it anyway, he'd snapped at her.

"You're just a baby," he'd said. "You don't know how to fly right."

The words had hit harder than any hex. Danny's face had crumpled, her big gray eyes filling with tears. Then she'd run to her room and slammed the door, leaving Harry with the broomstick in his hands and regret in his heart.

From downstairs, Y/N heard the door slam and exchanged a knowing look with Regulus, who was levitating a stack of books onto a high shelf.

"Sounds like trouble," she said.

"Sounds like our children," Regulus replied, lowering the last book into place. "Shall I play the terrifying father figure?"

Y/N arched an eyebrow. "Terrifying? You?"

"I was once a Death Eater."

"Mm-hmm," she said, amused. "Why don't you try the compassionate father figure instead?"

"I'll give it my best shot," Regulus said, following her up the stairs.

They found Harry slumped against the wall outside Danny's door, twirling the toy broom in his hands. His shoulders sagged under the weight of his remorse.

"Rough day, kiddo?" Y/N asked gently as she crouched beside him.

Harry's bottom lip jutted out slightly, though he tried to hide it. "I made Danny cry."

Regulus sat down on Harry's other side. "Yeah, we heard," he said softly. "Want to tell us what happened?"

"She wanted to fly my broom," Harry mumbled. "I said no because she's little. And then she tried to take it anyway, and I... I said she was a baby."

Y/N winced. "Ah," she said. "Calling your sister a baby? That'll sting."

"She is a baby," Harry muttered, but even he didn't sound convinced.

"She doesn't see it that way," Regulus said. "She looks up to you, Harry. She wants to do what you do. Be like you. So when you said she was a baby, she probably felt like...you thought she wasn't good enough."

Harry's eyes widened. "I didn't mean that."

"I know," Regulus reassured him. "But sometimes, what we say doesn't match what we feel."

Y/N brushed Harry's hair back fondly. "Being a big brother is hard sometimes. You have to find a way to teach her without making her feel small."

"So...what do I do now?" Harry asked.

"Start with an apology," Y/N said.

Harry took a deep breath, then knocked on Danny's door. "Danny? Can I come in?"

There was a long silence. Then a muffled "Go 'way."

"Please?" Harry tried again. "I'm really sorry. I was mean, and I didn't mean to be."

The door creaked open an inch. One gray eye peeked through the gap.

"You called me a baby," Danny said, voice wobbly.

"I know," Harry said, his heart aching at the sight of her tear-streaked face. "I'm sorry. You're not a baby. You're my sister, and you're really brave and smart. I was just scared you'd fall and get hurt."

Danny opened the door a bit more. "You scared for me?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "'Cause I love you."

Danny's lips trembled. Then, with a tiny sniff, she launched herself at Harry, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I love you too, Hazzy," she mumbled into his shirt.

From their spot down the hall, Y/N and Regulus exchanged smiles.

"Think they'll remember this the next time they fight?" Y/N asked softly.

"Not a chance," Regulus replied with a chuckle. "But we'll be here to remind them."

And as Harry pulled Danny into his room to give her a broomstick-flying lesson, the warmth of family settled back into the house once more.

SIX-YEAR-OLD DANNY AND TEN-YEAR-OLD HARRY

The smell of buttery toast and sizzling bacon filled the cozy kitchen of the Black-Potter household. ten-year-old Harry sat at the table, munching on a piece of toast, while six-year-old Danica, her wild dark curls sticking in every direction, gleefully smashed her scrambled eggs with her spoon.

"Danny, you're supposed to eat that," Harry said, raising an eyebrow.

Danica grinned, her green eyes twinkling with mischief. "I am! But first, I have to make it flat. Flat eggs taste better."

Harry sighed dramatically but couldn't help smiling. His little sister always had a very particular way of doing things. "Whatever you say, munchkin."

As Danica resumed her egg-flattening mission, footsteps echoed from the hallway. Harry glanced up just in time to see his father, Regulus, stroll into the kitchen. His hair was slightly damp from a shower, and he wore his usual elegant but relaxed expression. Without a word, Regulus walked straight to where Y/N stood at the stove, flipping pancakes.

"Good morning, my love," Regulus murmured, slipping his arms around her waist from behind. He dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.

"Morning," Y/N replied with a smile, leaning into his embrace.

Regulus, however, wasn't content with just one kiss. He trailed a series of gentle kisses along her jawline, then down to the curve of her neck. Y/N giggled softly as he nuzzled the sensitive spot near her ear.

"Regulus Black," she scolded half-heartedly, "the kids are right there."

"Let them learn what true love looks like," Regulus replied with a smirk before pressing a kiss to her temple.

Across the table, Harry froze mid-chew. Danica stopped smashing her eggs. The siblings locked eyes, and without a word, both scrunched their noses and made loud, exaggerated gagging noises.

"Blech! Gross!"

"Ewwwww! Baba's kissing Mama!" Danica squealed, dropping her spoon and covering her eyes with sticky fingers. "Hazzy, make it stop!"

Harry clutched his chest dramatically. "I think I'm gonna be sick," he groaned, slumping over the table.

Regulus lifted his head and arched a single eyebrow at his children. "You two are impossible," he drawled, though amusement danced in his gray eyes.

Y/N laughed, turning to face him. "Told you," she teased.

"Kissing's gross!" Danica declared from behind her tiny hands.

"Yeah, Baba," Harry agreed, sitting back up with an exaggerated shudder. "Keep the mushy stuff private, will you?"

"Private?" Regulus echoed, feigning offense. "This is my home, my kitchen, and my wife. I can kiss her whenever I want."

"Not in front of us!" Danica insisted, peeking through her fingers.

Y/N leaned her head against Regulus's chest and laughed. "Maybe we should tone it down," she said.

"Hmm," Regulus hummed as if considering it. Then, with a devilish grin, he planted a loud, exaggerated kiss on Y/N's cheek.

"EWWWW!" Harry and Danica chorused.

Danica dramatically slid off her chair and collapsed onto the floor. "I've been poisoned!" she moaned, splaying her limbs across the tiles.

Harry followed suit, flopping onto the ground beside her. "We're doomed! Doomed by parental affection!"

Y/N pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter while Regulus smirked down at his children. "Ah, well," he said. "If you're both doomed, that means more pancakes for me and your mother."

Danica's eyes popped open. "Wait! I'm not doomed! I'm hungry!"

Harry sat up immediately. "Me too!"

"Mysterious recovery," Regulus mused as he helped them both back into their chairs.

Y/N plated the pancakes and set them on the table. As everyone dug in, Regulus reached for Y/N's hand under the table and squeezed it.

Harry saw the gesture but let it slide this time. Mostly because there were pancakes. And pancakes always came first.

previous chapter <--> next chapter