You didn’t get much time with him anymore.

Not truly. Not like this. Not when it felt like the world was always watching him, measuring him, weighing him against a family name that left no room for error. Most days he was too busy being the perfect heir—eyes sharp, robes immaculate, his words practiced down to the syllable. Always surrounded by the right people, saying the right things, doing everything he was meant to do. Everything expected of a Black.

And you never really complained. Not out loud, anyway.

Because you knew he didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t just pressure—it was blood. Duty sewn into bone.

But still… it made moments like this feel almost sacred.

You’d wandered into the forest with him late in the afternoon, no real destination in mind. Just quiet. Just distance. The air had been warm, the trees thick enough to block the wind, and somehow—between laughter and a wrong turn—you’d stumbled across a pond. Small, still, half-covered in lily pads and shadowed by tall grass.

Now you’re in the water, the two of you floating lazily beneath the wide, open sky. His shirt is tossed somewhere on the bank, your clothes nearby, forgotten for now. His hair is damp and curling at the edges, eyes half-lidded with the kind of peace you only ever see when no one else is around.

There’s no crown on his head out here. No legacy, no lineage. Just Regulus. Just yours.

He splashes you once, quietly amused, and you respond with a laugh so real it echoes into the trees. You can see it in his smile—the way his guard slips, the way he lets himself be soft. There are no owls waiting with family letters. No Slytherin eyes watching from across the common room. No expectations to ruin this.

Just the two of you, half-naked in a forgotten clearing, the world held at bay by trees and water and the unspoken promise that—for now, at least—he belongs to no one else but you.