Chapter 2: The Lake at Midnight
The dream was of flashing lights and a crowded station, the smell of diesel and panic. A woman with red hair was screaming a name that wasn’t hers. Asteria woke with a gasp, the sterile memory dissolving into the dark, silk-draped silence of her bedroom at Blackwood. The moon was a bold, white coin pressing against the window.
Sirius was a solid, warm weight against her back, one arm thrown possessively over her waist, his breathing deep and even. Regulus slept on her other side, on his back, perfectly still as if in a tomb. The intimacy of it was still new, a constant astonishment. She slipped from between them, their unconscious grips loosening with reluctant sighs. The polished floorboards were cool under her bare feet.
She didn’t bother with a robe. The house, sleeping and vast, felt like a living creature around her. Her own magic hummed in sympathy with the estate’s ancient wards as she padded through the darkened halls, past the door to the east wing where her nascent workshop waited, down the main staircase, and out through the french doors to the back terrace.
The night air was a cold slap, smelling of pine and wet earth. The lake lay below, a sheet of obsidian under the moon, perfectly still. And he was already there.
Sirius stood hip-deep in the water, his back to her, the moon painting his shoulders in silver and shadow. He was utterly naked, his head thrown back as if drinking the light. He looked like something wild that had claimed the territory.
“Can’t sleep either?” His voice carried across the stillness, rough with sleep, but he didn’t turn.
“Bad dream,” she said, walking down the sloping lawn, the damp grass clinging to her ankles.
“The other world?”
“Yes.”
“Drown it out,” he said simply, and finally turned. Water sluiced down the hard planes of his chest. His eyes were dark pits in the moonlight, fixed on her. “Come here.”
It wasn’t an invitation. It was a summons. She walked to the water’s edge, the pebbles sharp. He watched her, not moving, letting her make the choice. She untied the thin silk straps of her nightdress and let it fall. The air bit at her skin, tightening her nipples into hard peaks. Then she stepped into the lake.
The cold was a breathtaking shock, climbing her legs, her stomach, her breasts. She gasped, the sound loud in the silent night. Sirius smiled, a flash of white.
“That’s it,” he murmured as she waded toward him, the water now at her ribs, stealing her breath. “Feel it. This is real. This water. My hands. Us.”
He closed the distance in one swift surge, his body a furnace against the chill of the lake. His hands were on her waist, lifting her, and she wrapped her legs around him instinctively. The cold, the heat, the slick press of skin on skin—it was overwhelming.
“Tell me you’re ours,” he growled into her neck, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin there. “Tell me this is the only world.”
“I’m yours,” she breathed, her head falling back. “This is the only world.”
He carried her like that, her body wrapped around his, to the edge where moss-covered rocks met the deep water. He pressed her back against the stone, the moss cool and damp through her hair. His mouth found hers, a claiming, hungry kiss that tasted of lake water and him. He entered her in one deep, sure stroke, filling the aching hollow the dream had left.
This was nothing like the sun-dappled play of the townhouse. This was raw. Primal. His rhythm was punishing, each thrust jarring her against the unyielding rock, the lake water sloshing around them with the force of it. He fucked her with a focused, silent ferocity, his breaths hot grunts against her ear, his fingers biting into the flesh of her hips. The pleasure was sharp, edged with the slight burn of strain, the animal reality of being taken under the open sky.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice guttural.
She forced her eyes open, meeting his storm-grey gaze. In the moonlight, he looked feral, beautiful, completely consumed. “You belong here,” he stated, each word punctuated by a deep, driving thrust. “In this house. In this lake. On my cock. Say it.”
“I belong here,” she cried out, the admission torn from her, true and terrifying.
He smiled then, a victorious, vicious thing, and his pace became relentless. She came with a shattered sound, her body clenching around him, the stars blurring above into streaks of white. He followed seconds after, his own release a harsh groan against her throat, his body locking, shuddering, before he slumped against her, breathing heavily.
They stayed like that for a long moment, joined, the water lapping gently now. Then he pulled out, and the cold rushed in to fill the space.
“Better?” he asked, his tone light again, as if they’d just shared a joke.
She nodded, her limbs liquid. “Better.”
He helped her to a shallower spot where they could sit, the water up to their chests. He leaned back against a rock, pulling her between his legs, her back to his chest. He idly traced the marks his fingers had left on her hips.
“Regulus is watching,” Sirius murmured, his lips against her ear.
Asteria’s gaze snapped to the shore. There, just beyond the tree line, stood a silent, dark silhouette. Regulus. She couldn’t see his expression, only the pale oval of his face and the burning points of his eyes reflecting the moonlight. He had been there. He had seen everything.
A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold went through her.
Sirius’s arms tightened around her. “He likes to watch,” he said, a note of dark pride in his voice. “He likes to see what’s his.” He raised his voice slightly, carrying across the water. “See something you want, brother?”
Regulus didn’t reply. He simply stepped forward, onto the pebbled beach. He was fully dressed in dark trousers and an unfastened white shirt, a stark contrast to their naked, water-slicked bodies. He moved with unnerving quiet, wading into the lake without breaking stride, the water soaking his clothing, clinging to his lean frame.
He stopped before them, looking down at Asteria. His gaze was analytical, intense, sweeping over the fresh bruises on her hips, the bite mark on her neck. “You’re cold,” he stated.
“She’s fine,” Sirius said, but his hold loosened.
Regulus reached down, his fingers, surprisingly warm, tilting her chin up. “You called out. It was loud.” His thumb brushed her lower lip. “Did you need to be so vocal?”
It wasn’t a real question. It was a test.
“Yes,” she said, holding his gaze.
A faint, approving smirk touched his lips. “Good.” Then he looked at Sirius. “You marked her.”
“Obviously.”
“I hadn’t finished.”
The air between the brothers crackled, a current of understood negotiation. Sirius shrugged, a graceful concession, and shifted her in the water, turning her to face Regulus. “By all means. Finish.”
Regulus’s hands were methodical. He pushed her wet hair back from her face, then guided her down until her knees settled on the silty lakebed. The water lapped at her chin. His trousers were open, and he was already hard. He didn’t force her. He simply presented himself, waiting, his expression one of cool expectation.
She understood. She took him into her mouth, the taste of clean skin and lake water. He was different. Still, controlled. He set a slow, exacting rhythm with a hand curled gently in her hair, his other hand resting on the back of her neck, a light, claiming weight. Sirius watched, his hands moving to her breasts under the water, pinching and rolling her nipples until she moaned around Regulus’s length, the vibration making him hiss.
“See how well she takes us?” Sirius murmured, his voice a dark caress. “Made for it.”
Regulus’s composure began to fracture. His breaths shortened. The hand in her hair tightened, guiding her deeper, faster. “Enough,” he finally gritted out, pulling her up by her arms. He turned her, bending her over the same rock Sirius had used, her chest pressed to the cold, wet stone. He positioned himself behind her.
Sirius moved in front of her, his cock nudging her lips. “Look at you,” he whispered, feeding himself into her mouth. “Our perfect little conduit.”
Then Regulus entered her from behind, a smooth, deep invasion that made her cry out around Sirius. The stretch was intense, a delicious, burning fullness. Regulus fucked her with that same precise, unwavering patience, each thrust measured and deep, while Sirius moved in her mouth. They found a rhythm, counterpoint and harmony, using her body as the point where they met. The world narrowed to the slap of skin on water, their ragged breaths, the overwhelming sensation of being utterly filled, claimed, and used.
She lost track of who was where, of what was pleasure and what was simply surrender. A third, shattering climax ripped through her, and Regulus’s control finally snapped. He drove into her one last time, his body stiffening, a low, shuddering groan escaping him as he spilled inside her. Sirius followed, his release hot on her tongue.
For a long minute, there was only the sound of the water and their breathing.
Regulus withdrew, carefully. Sirius stepped back. They were both looking at her, bent over the rock, trembling, spent. Regulus crouched in the water, his hands running over the backs of her thighs, her ass, as if inspecting his work. “Beautiful,” he said, and it sounded like a prayer.
Sirius lifted her, his strength effortless, and carried her to the shore. He laid her on the soft grass, then sprawled beside her, regal and panting. Regulus joined them, sitting upright, wringing water from his soaked shirt sleeves with fastidious care.
The moon bathed them in its cold light. Asteria’s body felt heavy, used, buzzing with a profound and weary satisfaction. The dream was gone, erased by the salt-skin and bruising reality of them.
“We should do that more often,” Sirius said, his voice lazy.
“It lacks refinement,” Regulus countered, but he was looking at the bite mark on her shoulder, his own possessive brand now beside his brother’s. “But it is… effective.”
Asteria pushed herself up on her elbows. She looked from one to the other, these two dark princes of a broken, victorious world. A thought, clear and cool, cut through the pleasurable haze. A conduit. That’s what Sirius had called her. A point of connection.
But a conduit could also channel. Could redirect. Could transform.
She lay back down, the damp grass a bed beneath her. The first threads of a spell idea—something about synergy, about blending distinct magical signatures into a focused whole—began to weave in the back of her mind. It was a project. Her project.
Sirius rolled onto his side, propping his head on his hand. “What’s that look for?”
“Just thinking,” she said softly.
Regulus’s gaze sharpened. “About?”
She smiled, closing her eyes against the moon. “About refinement.”
The soreness in her muscles the next morning was a pleasant, deep-rooted map of the night before. She traced a faint bruise on her hip with her fingertips as sunlight streamed into the formal dining room, a stark contrast to the moonlit violence of the lake. Regulus, already impeccably dressed, sipped black tea while scanning a business missive with a faint frown.
“We’ll need to surface for air eventually,” he stated, setting the parchment down. “Mother is insisting. A family gathering at the Manor this Friday. A performance, really, to show you’re properly settled.”
Sirius groaned into his coffee cup, his hair still damp from a shower. “Ugh. Her and Father doing their triumphant vulture act. Can’t we just send a portrait?”
“No. Then Saturday, our respective friends will expect something,” Regulus continued, his eyes shifting to Asteria. “Separately, at first. My circle is quieter. Literary, political. Sirius’s is… louder.”
“They’re more fun,” Sirius countered, winking at her. “Less talking about magical arbitration, more drinking and causing beautiful trouble.”
Asteria spread clotted cream on a scone, the domesticity of the act clashing with the topic. “So we’re on display.”
“We are establishing,” Regulus corrected gently. “Which brings me to a related point. Boundaries within our circle.”
The air in the sunlit room tightened. Sirius put his cup down, his playful grin fading into something more alert, more serious.
“Our marriage is unique. Our understanding of possession is flexible,” Regulus said, each word chosen with care. “The question is how flexible we wish it to be with others.”
Sirius leaned forward, his grey eyes intent on Asteria. “I had someone. Before. On and off. Remus Lupin.”
The name landed with a quiet weight. The werewolf friend. The one from the other life, the one who should have been a professor, a martyr. Here, he was something else.
“It’s been dormant since the betrothal was formalized,” Sirius continued, his gaze flicking to his brother, a silent check-in. “But he could be brought in. If you wanted. He’s… meticulous. Patient in a different way than Regulus.” He looked back at her. “Only if you’re included. It wouldn’t be me slipping away. It would be him, with us.”
Asteria felt a flush creep up her neck. She focused intently on crumbling the edge of her scone, her pulse a quick rhythm in her ears. She didn’t look up.
“That’s her answer,” Regulus interpreted, his voice soft. A statement, not a question.
“I didn’t have anyone,” Regulus said, shifting the subject slightly. “I only want you to be mine. But I am not blind to the family’s… interests. Bellatrix. And Rodolphus.”
Sirius let out a low whistle. “Bella’s a lot.”
“She is. She likes control. She’d be mean,” Regulus said directly, watching Asteria’s face. “A different flavor. Narcissa and Lucius are more opaque, status-conscious. They might observe. Andromeda and her Mud— her husband,” he corrected with a slight twist of his mouth, “won’t be in attendance. They’ve made their dissent quite public.”
He pushed his chair back and stood. The movement was fluid, purposeful. He came to her side, his fingers tilting her chin up, forcing her eyes away from the destroyed pastry. “So. The practicalities,” he murmured, his thumb stroking her jaw.
Sirius stood too, circling behind her chair. Regulus leaned down and captured her mouth in a deep, probing kiss. As he did, Sirius’s hands slid over her shoulders, pulling the thin straps of her morning dress down her arms. The silk whispered against her skin, pooling at her waist.
They touched her with a practiced, joint ownership—Regulus’s mouth on hers, his hand palming her breast, Sirius’s lips on the nape of her neck, his hands smoothing over her bared stomach. It was a tactile argument, a physical interrogation.
“Would you like that?” Regulus breathed against her lips, pulling back just enough to speak. His cool grey eyes were dark. “I’d sit and watch while Sirius and Remus fuck you in both holes. Would you?”
A whimper escaped her. Sirius’s hand drifted lower, his fingers slipping easily through her folds. “Merlin, she’s dripping,” he said, his voice thick with relish. “Just from the talk.”
“Another time,” Regulus pressed, his voice a hypnotic murmur. “If Bella and Rod come to visit. She’d tell you what a pretty little thing you are for them. She might use her nails. Or her wand. And you’d take it. For us. Would you like that, too?”
The images collided in her mind—the known intensity of Sirius, the unknown, scholarly patience of Remus, the terrifying, sharp-edged spectacle of Bellatrix. The fantasy was a dark, glittering web. Her body, buzzing under their hands, answered before her mind could formulate caution.
“Yes,” she gasped, arching into Sirius’s touch. “Yes, I’d love it.”
The admission hung in the sunlit air, stark and honest. Regulus kissed her again, hard and approving. Sirius chuckled, a low, vibrant sound against her skin.
“Then we’ll make arrangements,” Regulus said, as if noting a date in a diary. He straightened, pulling her to her feet, the dress falling completely away. “But first, today, you’re just ours. We’ve barely tested the sofa in the library.”
Sirius took her hand, leading her from the dining room and its half-eaten breakfast. “Refinement,” he said, echoing her word from the lake shore with a grin that promised its opposite. “Let’s define our terms.”