It was late. The kind of late that made everything feel softer and heavier, like the house itself had finally exhaled.

Grimmauld Place was unnaturally quiet for the first time that night. The shouts, the clinking glasses, the off-key singing from upstairs — all of it had dulled into a muffled background hum. The others were still celebrating Sirius’ brief freedom, drunk on firewhisky and rebellion, sprawled in rooms they didn’t belong in. No doubt someone would vomit in a cursed cabinet by morning.

Regulus hadn’t joined them, obviously.

He rarely did. Not when Sirius’ friends were over — loud and reckless, Gryffindors and half-bloods and the exact kind of people Walburga Black would hex in their sleep if she saw them breathing her air.

But they were gone tonight. Off to the Malfoys. And Sirius had, of course, thrown the opportunity into a house party.

What surprised him more was you.

The Gryffindor girl Sirius never shut up about. And you were on a year with him, Regulus, not Sirius.

You were…something else. And you had no idea how much Regulus noticed.

Because even if he pretended not to care, he remembered every time you’d made fleeting eye contact across the Great Hall. Every time your hands had brushed while grabbing ingredients in Potions. Every time your mouth curved into a smirk when he corrected Slughorn under his breath and you were the only one who heard.

But he also remembered what Sirius had said about you — too much, too wild, too Gryffindor. Not his type. Not meant for someone like him.

And yet, here you were.

Alone.

Not with James. Not with Sirius. Not laughing with all those people. Just… here.

Regulus leaned silently against the doorframe, watching.

You were curled on the old couch in the drawing room. One of the few spaces left untouched by your group’s chaos. Your face was turned away slightly, but he could see the tension in your shoulders, the way one of your hands pressed lightly over your stomach.

He wasn’t stupid.

He recognized that kind of discomfort. His mother used to give his cousins potions when they visited and got like that. He remembered one of them saying the cramps felt like “being hexed from the inside.”

Regulus hesitated. Then took a quiet step forward.

“You’re not drinking?” His voice came out low. Calm. He almost surprised himself.

You startled, glancing back at him over your shoulder.

He could see it in your face — the surprise that he had spoken. Regulus. The cold, distant younger brother who always vanished when Sirius was around. But you didn’t snap or roll your eyes.

“…Didn’t feel like it,” you said after a beat. Your voice was quieter than usual.

He nodded once. His eyes flicked to the blanket you’d pulled halfway over yourself. He noticed how your hand subtly pressed harder into your side. Pain, still.

You looked up again.

“…What?” you asked.

“Do you want something for it?” It came out before he could second-guess it. “We’ve got potion. In the apothecary drawer, second floor. I know where it is.”