baby, we both know

by agrtfxk

Summary:

Remus is about to survive his final year at Hogwarts, and he's planning to do it as calmly as possible-which isn’t exactly easy when his best friends are James, Sirius, and Peter. Still, he tries. After mentally preparing himself for ten months of James whining about Regulus Black and how perfect he is, Remus unexpectedly finds out he’s been paired with Regulus for Prefect patrols.

Which is surprising.
And, honestly, turning out to be pretty cool, pretty quickly.

Notes:

Alright, alright, ALRIGHT
This is my first ever fic from Remus’s pov that I’m posting here, which makes me a little anxious. It’s set in a modern Hogwarts, with everyone crushing on everyone (obviously), and Remus is still a werewolf. Though, there’s no tragic backstory about his family -because honestly, I just can’t.

Also, there’s no past wolfstar, jegulus, or even bartylus and rosekiller-everything is happening now-now. For the drama, obviously. There’s no Regulus/Sirius angst either, and there won’t be, because I want my babies to have some peace after my last moonwater fic (and, well, every of my moonwaters fic, to be honest).

James has a massive crush on Regulus (some things never change) to spice it up a little.
And yes, Regulus is in seventh year too, even though he’s technically a year younger.
And there was no prank in the past!

That’s it for the heads-up, I guess!:)
We’ll see how it goes (let’s pray I don’t fuck it up).

Chapter 1: Remus was already lying to himself, and it wasn’t even the second week of term

Remus was almost— almost —sure he had it all figured out by now. Seventh year at Hogwarts felt less like a new beginning and more like the final lap in a very long, slightly ridiculous marathon. A formality, really. One last year full of essays, exams, and pretending to take things seriously while his friends slowly drove him insane.

All he had to do was survive a handful of things:

1. The NEWTs.
2. The Muggle exams he’d agreed—for some reason—to take too.
3. Sharing a dorm with James, Sirius, and Peter for ten more months without committing murder.
4. The full moons.
5. And, crucially, not losing his mind.

Easy. Doable. Predictable.
Enjoyable, even, if he squinted.

His crush on Sirius was, thankfully, long dead and buried—along with every humiliating moment that came with it. No more awkward stammering, no more screaming internally when Sirius so much as stretched, no more urging himself to kiss him, you coward every time Sirius leaned in too close. They could hang out again like normal people. Like friends. No tension. No longing. Just vibes.

James was still hopelessly, tragically, frankly pathetically in love with Regulus Black. Still deep in what Remus referred to as the Staring-at-Regulus-Like-He’s-About-to-Confess-to-the-Moon phase. Nothing new there. A convenient way to mock James and Sirius in one go, which Remus deeply appreciated.

Peter was off doing God-knows-what. Probably something involving Gilderoy Lockhart and an alarming number of haircare products. Lily had entered her “I’m fine, this is fine” era, which meant she was completely overwhelmed about applying to the Healer program but was pretending otherwise. Marlene was still obsessed with proving she was a better Beater than Sirius (Remus had no opinion on this whatsoever, mostly because he didn’t care how many broomsticks chased how many enchanted balls in the air—it was all aggressively pointless to him), and Mary was still breaking hearts like it was a competitive sport. Which, honestly, it might’ve been.

Everything was almost exactly the same. Familiar. Comfortable.

Until it wasn’t.

Until Remus stepped into the prefect’s meeting on the first week back and nearly had a cardiac event at the sound of McGonagall’s voice.

“Remus Lupin with Regulus Black.”

Silence.

Remus turned his head—slowly, like in a horror film—until he met Regulus Black’s gaze across the room.
Regulus, who was already looking at him.
Regulus, with those eyes too cold to be polite, those cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, and black curls that looked like they'd stepped out of a Sleekeazy ad.

They were going to be patrolling together.
Twice a week.

Remus was going to die.

Not literally, of course. Hopefully. Probably.
But something in him—something small and peace-loving—definitely shriveled up and perished in that moment.

He wasn’t ready for Regulus Black. He wasn’t ready for all that. And he sure as hell wasn’t ready to pretend like patrolling with someone who looked like a Victorian ghost prince with an attitude problem wasn’t going to ruin the entire fragile ecosystem of his final year.

He hadn’t accounted for this.

And now?
Now, he was screwed.

Regulus didn’t say a word. Just turned his head back like it was the most normal thing in the world—like his very presence wasn’t currently sending Remus into a mental tailspin, forcing him to start picking out coffins in his head. Mahogany, probably. Lined with velvet. Something tasteful.

Beside him, Lily snorted. “Potter’s gonna lose it.”

Remus groaned inwardly. She wasn’t wrong. James was absolutely, without question, going to lose it. Loudly. Dramatically. Possibly in the middle of the Great Hall.

And, fine. Fine. Remus could admit—very quietly, and only in the privacy of his own head—that he understood. Why James was such a disaster over Regulus. Why he always turned into a stammering, bright-red mess whenever Regulus was in a five-meter radius. Honestly, who wouldn’t? Remus would be an idiot to pretend otherwise.

Regulus was—if we’re being brutally honest— stupidly attractive.

Yes, he looked like Sirius. Of course he did. They were brothers. They had the same angular cheekbones and sharp jawlines and that same too-intense-for-comfort shade of grey in their eyes. But Regulus… was different. He was like Sirius had been drawn by someone with a darker sense of humor. A sleeker, colder version. Less chaos, more calculation.

His features were more refined, somehow—delicate in a way that Sirius never quite was. His eyes were bigger, but always half-lidded, like he was perpetually unimpressed with the world around him. He looked like he was holding back a sigh at all times, and Remus would bet a kidney that he actually was. His hair, unlike Sirius’s constant borderline-mess, was always in place. Styled. Slick, but not greasy. Like he’d walked straight out of a Sleekeazy’s promotional campaign. Even on Saturdays. At breakfast. At eight a.m.

Who looks good at breakfast?

Reportedly, he had dimples—at least, that’s what Mary swore—but Remus had never seen them for himself. As far as he was concerned, Regulus Black had never smiled in his life. He probably didn’t even know how. It would’ve cracked his face in half or revealed fangs or something equally dramatic.

He was shorter than Sirius. Leaner too. And significantly— significantly —meaner. Whereas Sirius was reckless and loud and sometimes thoughtless, Regulus was all precision. Everything he said had weight. He didn’t need to shout—his silence alone could kill a room. And maybe that was worse.

Regulus didn’t cause scenes. He ended them.

So yes. James was doomed.
And now, apparently, so was Remus.

Because now he was going to have to patrol the halls with Regulus Black. Twice a week. Alone. At night. In corridors that were suspiciously dark and echoey and absolutely not meant for this kind of torture.

It was going to be fine.
It was going to be fine.
It was going to be fine.

Remus was already lying to himself, and it wasn’t even the second week of term.

McGonagall’s voice continued listing off the other prefect pairs—Lily with Pandora Rosier from Ravenclaw, Terry Boot with Susan Diggory from Hufflepuff (Jesus Christ), and a string of other names that Remus stopped registering almost immediately. He was too busy picturing his friends’ reactions: James’s high-pitched yelp, Sirius’s uncontrollable cackle, and Peter’s quiet but sincere horror.

They were never going to let him live this down.
Each for their own very on-brand reason.

James would spiral instantly. That much was inevitable. There would be flailing. Rambling. Possibly tears. He’d probably spend an entire afternoon ranting about betrayal, favoritism, and how the universe clearly had it out for him.

Sirius would laugh so hard he’d fall off the bed, possibly hit his head, and then laugh even harder because “this is just too perfect, Moony.”

And Peter? Peter would just quietly start planning Remus’s funeral. Probably in great detail. Probably with a spreadsheet.

Remus was still mid-imagined eulogy when McGonagall’s voice cut through the whirlwind of his thoughts.

“That’s all. Evans will distribute the schedule once she’s finished compiling it. You’re dismissed.”

Remus nearly collapsed with relief. If nothing else, Lily was making the schedule. Which meant at least one competent person was involved. She knew about the full moons. He wouldn’t have to fake a cold or a mental breakdown or sudden-onset vanishing sickness every month just to skip patrol.

Small mercies.

On the walk back to Gryffindor Tower, Lily looped her arm through his, already talking through the skeleton of the schedule like it was a tactical operation. Remus hummed and nodded in the right places, but his brain was only half-present. The other half was bracing for the inevitable chaos awaiting him upstairs.

And sure enough, the second he stepped into the dorm, it was the usual mess:

Peter’s side of the room looked like a clothes bomb had gone off. James’s was buried under Quidditch gear, playbooks, and what looked suspiciously like a half-built broomstick. Sirius’s corner was Sirius personified—leather jackets, cigarettes, and too much cologne—and his own side was an organized warzone of books, parchment, ink stains, and at least five empty tea mugs in various states of decay.

“Jesus, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” James grinned, sprawled across his bed like he hadn’t a care in the world. “What happened—did Minnie make you Head Boy?”

Remus tossed a pillow at him with zero enthusiasm and flopped face-down onto his own bed. Maybe if he buried himself in his sheets and didn’t move, they’d forget he existed. Maybe he could just not tell them. That was an option, right?

Right?

Wrong.

“Come on, Moony,” Sirius called out, tossing a crumpled piece of parchment in his direction like a cat playing with a mouse. “Spill.”

Remus ignored it. He turned a page in 1984, eyes skimming the words without absorbing a single one. He could feel them both watching him like hawks.

“Moony!” James and Sirius chorused, perfectly in sync, because of course they did.

Remus exhaled like a man preparing to walk the plank. Tortured, weary, resigned to fate—because really, what else could he be right now? He lowered his book, leveled the flattest expression he could manage at the three of them, and delivered the death sentence.

“Regulus is my partner this year.”

Silence. The kind that only lasts a second but feels like a century.
Then—

James gasped like someone had punched him in the chest.
Sirius burst out laughing so hard he nearly fell backwards off his bed.
Peter audibly whispered, “Oh no,” like someone had just announced the apocalypse.

Remus closed his eyes. He was going to need more tea.

“WHAT?!” James yelped, launching himself off his bed like a missile and landing squarely on top of Remus.

Remus let out a grunt as the air was crushed out of his lungs. And possibly his spleen. And definitely his will to live.

“What?!” James repeated, louder this time, like Remus hadn’t heard him the first time from four inches away.

“Yes,” Remus said flatly, trying— failing —to shove James off. Unfortunately, James was built like a small, overenthusiastic fridge, and no amount of passive resistance was going to move him.

“You’re shitting me,” Sirius wheezed from across the room, one hand over his stomach, already mid-laugh.

“He tried to curse you already?” Peter asked, completely serious, as he peeked over the edge of his bed like he was awaiting confirmation of a murder attempt.

“He didn’t,” Remus grunted, still pinned beneath James’s Quidditch-thick limbs. “He barely looked at me.”

“He should barely look at me,” James said immediately, voice sharp with righteous indignation.

Remus turned his head and gave him a look. The kind of look that could kill crops and curdle milk. “That’s pathetic, Prongs.”

James didn’t even flinch. “I know. But it’s true.”

Remus finally managed to shove an elbow into his side hard enough to make him roll off with a groan. He sat up, rubbing his ribs, and gave all three of them the most exhausted expression he could muster.

“It’s not that big a deal.”

“Yes it is,” all three chorused in terrifying harmony.

Sirius was now fully horizontal, laughing into his pillow like he was trying to smother the sound. “You and Regulus, alone in a hallway? For an hour? After curfew? For an entire year? I’m going to frame this moment.”

“Do you think he requested you?” Peter asked, deadly earnest, as if this were a tactical briefing.

Remus blinked at him. “What?”

“You know,” Peter said, nodding seriously, “like, as a strategic move. Get close to the enemy. Infiltrate. That sort of thing.”

“I’m not a bloody fortress, Pete.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sirius muttered, still grinning.

James stood up like a man on a mission. “This is a nightmare. An actual nightmare. I need to talk to McGonagall. This has to be reversible.”

“It’s not terminal, Potter,” Remus snapped.

“It might be!” James shot back, clutching his chest. “Do you know how many hours I’ve spent cultivating the idea of being alone in a room with Regulus Black without bursting into flames? And now you get to—what? Casually stroll through the castle with him while I sit here like a common pleb?!”

“You weren’t even in the meeting,” Remus pointed out.

“Technicalities,” James dismissed with a dramatic wave. “This is sabotage.”

“I hope he hexes you,” Sirius added helpfully. “Just once. For the comedy.”

“I hope he hexes James,” Remus muttered, flopping back onto his bed.

“That’s fair,” Peter said, nodding.

James stood at the foot of Remus’s bed like a man who had just been handed a death sentence. “You know what this means, right?”

“No,” Remus said immediately. “And I don’t want to.”

James ignored him. “This is a test. It’s a loyalty test. From Regulus. He’s trying to see if you're trustworthy.”

Remus sat up again. “Trustworthy? For what, exactly? Coordinated hallway pacing?”

“For me!” James practically shouted, hands flying up in exasperation. “He’s testing to see if you’re on my side, or his. It’s psychological warfare, Moony!”

“Oh my god,” Remus muttered into his palms. “Please stop talking.”

“No, he’s right,” Peter chimed in, worry creasing his forehead. “You’re now a neutral party. Or worse— a bridge. What if Regulus uses you to send messages to James?”

“I’m not an owl, Peter!”

Sirius barked a laugh and rolled over, now hanging upside down off the edge of his bed, hair grazing the floor like a gothic chandelier. “I don’t know, Moons. You do have the whole broody, tragic messenger boy vibe. Real ‘I deliver letters at twilight’ energy.”

Remus looked up at the ceiling like he was begging some higher power for strength. “You’re all idiots.”

“No, we’re concerned idiots,” James corrected, pacing now. “This changes everything. What if you start bonding? What if he tells you secrets? What if he smiles at you?”

“He won’t,” Remus deadpanned.

“He might!” James insisted, looking personally wounded. “You’re smart, and quiet, and not me—he’ll think you’re mysterious.”

“I’m allergic to mysterious.”

“He doesn’t know that yet!”

Remus grabbed a pillow and launched it directly at James’s face, knocking him backward mid-rant. “I’m not going to fall in love with your weird little not-boyfriend just because we have to walk the same five corridors twice a week.”

“You say that now,” Sirius said darkly. “But wait until he says something cryptic in Latin and leans against a wall dramatically. That’s how they get you.”

“I hate all of you,” Remus said, burying himself in his duvet.

James threw the pillow back at him, missed, and sighed like a man carrying the weight of the world. “Just... be careful, okay?”

Remus peeked out from the blanket. “What do you think he’s going to do, James? Poison me in the Astronomy Tower?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” James muttered. “He’s tiny and angry and full of spite. He’s basically you with better hair.”

Remus considered that. “That’s... disturbingly accurate.”

“And if he flirts with you,” James added with a pointed finger, “you shut it down.”

Remus stared at him. “If he flirts with me, I’ll assume he’s under the Imperius Curse and call the Aurors.”

Sirius was actually wiping tears from his eyes now. “Merlin, I can’t wait for your first patrol. This is the best thing to happen since James got stuck in that broom closet with Snivellus for forty minutes.”

Peter nodded solemnly. “Snape still hasn’t recovered.”

“And neither has James,” Remus muttered.

“He breathed so loud, Moony!” James shouted. “Right in my ear!”

Remus groaned and rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket over his head.

“No, really,” James said, sitting back down on Remus’s bed, entirely uninvited and very serious. “Promise me, Moony. Promise me you won’t make a move on him.”

Sirius let out a cackle so loud it was borderline offensive.

“James, for the love of God,” Remus snapped, half tempted to throw him off the bed again.

“Promise me!” James shouted, like Remus had just confessed to plotting seduction by candlelight.

“Don’t, Moony!” Sirius yelled too, breathless with laughter.

Remus turned to him slowly, eyes wide with horror. “What?! You want me to hit on your brother?”

“God, no,” Sirius wheezed, clutching his stomach. “I just want to keep watching Prongs completely lose his shit.”

“It’s not funny!” James yelped, wild-eyed. “It’s an entire year! A whole year of shared corridors and accidental eye contact and— emotional intimacy!”

Remus gave him a blank stare. “It’s patrolling, James. We’re literally walking in circles and telling first-years to stop snogging behind statues.”

“Which is where feelings happen!”

Before Remus could respond with the appropriate level of disgust, Peter—sweet, well-meaning, instigating Peter—chimed in helpfully from his bed. “It’s been two years and you still haven’t even talked to him, James.”

Remus snorted. Sirius howled.

James looked like he’d been personally stabbed.

“That’s not true,” he muttered, crossing his arms.

“Oh yeah?” Remus said, raising an eyebrow. “When’s the last time you said an actual full sentence to Regulus that didn’t involve panicking and slash or tripping over your own shoes?”

James opened his mouth. Closed it. Pointed at Remus. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s extremely fair,” Sirius said, wiping tears from his eyes. “You made a noise that one time in the library and then ran into a bookshelf.”

“It was a reflex!”

“It was a disgrace,” Peter added.

Remus sighed and dragged a hand over his face. “Can we all just agree that no one’s going to be hitting on anyone, least of all me, and I would rather be hexed repeatedly than be in the middle of your unresolved Black family drama?”

“You say that now,” Sirius sing-songed.

“If you don’t shut up, I’m switching beds with James.”

James looked personally betrayed. “You’d make me sleep next to Sirius?”

“I shed,” Sirius said proudly.

James gasped. “You do. Like a bloody dog!”

“I am a dog,” Sirius said with a grin. “Try to keep up.”

Remus flopped back onto his pillow, already regretting every choice that led him to this moment.

He hadn’t even done one patrol yet, and somehow, it already felt like he was in hell.

 

The next morning, James decided it was time for a change of tactics in his ongoing campaign to make Remus’s life as painful as possible.

He didn’t say anything at first—just sat next to Remus at the Gryffindor table, bouncing one knee under the bench with enough force to shake the entire length of it. He was radiating the kind of nervous energy that usually preceded either a terrible idea or a Quidditch-related injury. Or both.

Remus ignored it. He was halfway through a plate of scrambled eggs and determined to enjoy at least five uninterrupted minutes before school responsibilities and James Potter’s personal nonsense kicked in.

No such luck.

James leaned in, lips almost brushing Remus’s ear, and hissed, “Tell him I’m amazing.”

Remus froze, fork midair. He slowly turned his head and gave James a long, dead-eyed stare. “Come again?”

“Just... just casually slip it into conversation,” James whispered, eyes wide and far too serious for someone who was essentially proposing emotional espionage before 9 a.m. “Like, ‘Oh, have you noticed how great James Potter is lately?’ Real subtle.”

Remus blinked at him, then blinked again. “You’ve officially lost your mind.”

“No, no—listen.” James sat up straighter, adjusting his glasses as they slid down his nose. “This is how it works. You say something nice about me, and then he starts to think, Hey, maybe James isn’t just a Quidditch-obsessed lunatic who knocked over an entire bookshelf the one time we made eye contact in sixth year. Boom. Emotional breakthrough.”

Across the table, Sirius choked on his coffee so violently that it sprayed out of his nose—directly onto Peter’s stack of pancakes.

“Pads!” Peter squawked, pushing his plate away with a betrayed groan.

“I’m—” Sirius wheezed, wiping at his face, “I’m sorry. I really am. I just—” He caught sight of James’s face and cracked up all over again. “No, I’m not. This is fucking hilarious.”

“Stop encouraging him,” Remus muttered, returning to his eggs with the air of a man clinging to sanity by a thread.

“I’m not encouraging anyone,” Sirius said, snorting. “I’m just documenting the downfall of James Potter, one delusional plan at a time.”

“I’m not delusional,” James said hotly. “I’m being proactive.”

“You’re being insane,” Remus corrected.

James turned back to him, eyes wide. “You’re seriously not going to say anything to him?”

“No,” Remus said flatly. “In fact, with any luck, I’ll get through all our patrols without saying a single goddamn word.”

James gasped like Remus had just threatened to hex his mum. “You’re wasting the opportunity!”

“It’s not an opportunity,” Remus snapped. “It’s punishment. Do you have any idea how awkward it is going to be walking around with someone who looks like Sirius if Sirius had a stick surgically implanted up his arse and knew all my childhood traumas?”

“Hey!” Sirius said, mildly offended.

Remus didn’t even look at him. “You know it’s true.”

“...Yeah, fair.”

James leaned forward again. “Just one compliment, Moony. One nice comment. Something vague! Like, ‘He seems intelligent’ or ‘He has... hands.’ I don’t know. Improvise.”

“Hands?” Remus repeated, deadpan.

“Don’t say hands, obviously. Say something cooler.”

“James,” Remus said, “if you want Regulus to fall in love with you, maybe try talking to him yourself.”

“That’s absurd.”

“No, what’s absurd is you recruiting me like I’m your personal PR manager.”

“I’d be a great boyfriend!” James insisted. “Tell him that.”

“No.”

“Tell him I’m good with animals—”

“You’re allergic to cats.”

“I meant emotionally.”

“I’m going to hex you,” Remus said.

Peter, still mourning his pancakes, sighed. “I just wanted one meal without hearing about this again.”

“You say that every day,” Sirius pointed out.

“And it’s still true,” Peter muttered.

Sirius leaned across the table toward James. “I swear to Merlin, if Regulus even looks at Moony for more than five seconds, you’re going to combust on the spot.”

“I will not!”

“You will,” Remus said, sipping his tea. “And when you do, I want it to be in the middle of Charms so we all have front-row seats.”

James slumped dramatically onto the table. “This is a nightmare. I’m the one who’s been in love with him for two years. I should be the one on patrol with him, not—” he waved a hand at Remus, “—Mr. Cold and Unavailable.”

Remus stabbed a piece of toast with unnecessary force. “Good. Then we’ll get along perfectly.”

James sighed—long, dramatic, theatric—and, predictably, his eyes drifted across the Great Hall to the Slytherin table.

Remus didn’t even need to look to know what—or who —he was staring at.

Regulus Black, of course.

Looking, as always, like he’d just walked out of an expensive funeral catalogue.

At that exact moment, Regulus was delicately picking apart a croissant with the precision of a surgeon, entirely ignoring whatever Evan Rosier was hissing into his ear. His expression remained perfectly blank—bored, faintly irritated, like even breakfast was beneath him.

James’s eyes softened like he was watching the sunrise.

“He’s perfect,” he whispered, with the kind of longing usually reserved for Shakespearean tragedies.

“He’s murderous, ” Peter announced, not even looking up from buttering his toast.

“He had a teddy bear named Mr. Cuddler when he was a kid,” Sirius added casually, grinning into his pumpkin juice.

James turned to him, scandalized. “You never told me that!”

Sirius’s grin only widened. “You never asked.”

“Mr. Cuddler?” Remus snorted into his tea.

“Oh, it was the whole deal,” Sirius said solemnly, now clearly enjoying himself far too much. “He carried that thing everywhere. Slept with it, talked to it, probably plotted blood supremacy with it. Total attachment. I stole it once just to piss him off, and he chased me around the house with a knife.”

James choked on his juice. “What?!”

“Our mum wanted to send us to therapy after that,” Sirius added, like he was telling a bedtime story. “He set her robes on fire.”

Remus blinked. “How old was he?”

“Six,” Sirius said, still smiling fondly.

There was a beat of silence.

“That explains so much,” Peter muttered.

“I don’t think he’s smiled since,” Remus added.

“He has dimples,” James offered weakly, eyes drifting back to Regulus, who was now calmly drinking tea like he hadn’t apparently once lit a woman on fire before reaching primary school.

“He also has homicidal rage management issues,” Remus replied. “But sure, focus on the dimples.”

“Dimples and a knife,” Peter said with a nod. “Double threat.”

“I’m doomed,” James whispered.

“You are,” Sirius said, clapping a hand on his back. “But in fairness, at least you’re self-aware about it.”

James groaned and slumped forward onto the table, muffling his face in his arms. “Why is he so attractive when he’s so terrifying?”

“Because you’re broken,” Remus said, chewing a piece of toast. “And also clearly have a death wish.”

James didn’t respond. He just let out another long, tortured sigh into the sleeve of his robe.

Regulus, across the room, continued eating his croissant with zero awareness—or care—that his brother’s best friend was losing his mind over his breakfast aesthetic.

Remus took another sip of tea and muttered, “This is going to end in blood.”

Sirius grinned. “Or marriage.”

“Definitely blood,” Peter said quickly.

James made another muffled noise from the table that could’ve been either agreement or emotional collapse. Possibly both.

 

Remus was deeply, profoundly grateful that he didn’t share many classes with the Slytherins this year—not because he had anything against them, but because he had everything against James making an absolute idiot of himself in front of Regulus on a near-daily basis.

As it stood, they only shared two subjects: Potions—which was Remus’s personal version of hell but, unfortunately, required for nearly every magical degree program at King’s College—and History of Magic, where he was, blissfully, the only Gryffindor in the room.

So far, today had been Regulus-free. Which was a blessing. A fragile, fleeting blessing.

Well—except for one unfortunate hallway encounter, where they passed Regulus, Evan Rosier, and Barty Crouch Jr. loitering near the staircases looking like they were about to either hex someone or start a fashion editorial.

Sirius, in a move that could only be described as chaotic older-brother energy, had reached out and ruffled Regulus’s hair as they walked by.

Regulus immediately swatted him away with the silent fury of a cat that had just been pet against its will.

James nearly swooned. Audibly.

Suspiciously, Evan Rosier did too.

Remus, witnessing all of this, simply kept walking and vowed not to engage. Whatever that was—whatever weird energy was radiating off that group—wasn’t his business. He had books to read. Tea to drink. A slow-burn mental breakdown to manage. He didn’t have the time or interest to untangle whatever the hell was going on between Sirius, Regulus, and the increasing number of people who were apparently attracted to casual violence.

“He looked at me,” James said solemnly the second they turned the corner.

“Because you whimpered,” Peter replied, deadpan.

“I did not whimper!” James gasped, scandalized.

“You did,” Remus said, just as flat, pushing open the door to the Charms classroom without so much as a glance back.

“I’m living my best life,” Sirius announced as he strolled in, immediately flopping into a chair like he owned the place.

Remus dropped into the seat beside him with all the energy of a man who had accepted defeat far too early in the day, buried his face in his textbook, and muttered something unholy under his breath.

Probably Latin. Possibly a curse. Definitely deserved.

For the rest of the day, Remus was subjected to the psychological horror show that was James Potter constructing what could only be described as a full strategic breakdown of the Regulus Patrol Situation™. He didn’t say anything outright, no—James Potter didn’t need words. He muttered. He paced. He scrawled things in the margins of his notes like “Threat? Opportunity?” and kept throwing looks at Remus like he was a double agent.

In Transfiguration, Remus had enough.

No words. No warning. Just a flick of his wand and whoosh —James’s notes were up in flames.

McGonagall didn’t even flinch. She just sighed and docked ten points from Gryffindor without looking up from her desk.

Sirius, ever the enabler, let out a sharp, unholy cackle that echoed off the walls.

James yelped, of course. Because that was his new thing now—yelping like a kicked dog every time someone so much as mentioned Regulus’s name.

Remus sat back in his chair, completely unbothered, and resumed copying the homework he hadn’t finished that morning. Worth it. Every single point.

By the time dinner rolled around, Remus dared to think maybe the day had exhausted its ability to humiliate him.

Of course, that’s when Lily strolled over, looking far too pleased with herself for someone delivering a death sentence.

“Evening, Remus,” she said sweetly. “Just a heads-up—you’re on patrol tonight.”

Remus blinked. “What?”

“Regulus,” she clarified, as if that explained anything. “Tuesdays and Thursdays from now on.”

Remus stared at her like she’d slapped him with a textbook. “That’s today.”

“I know,” she said. “I tried to get you Wednesdays, but that would’ve landed you on a post-full moon shift. This way, you’ll only have to patrol once when you’re recovering. It’s the best I could manage.”

She reached out and patted his arm, gentle like she was delivering bad news to someone terminal.

Remus groaned—out loud, this time. A deep, soul-withering groan that came from somewhere near his spine.

James yelped. Again.

“Alright,” Remus said eventually, through gritted teeth. “Thanks, Lils.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie,” Lily said, because she was far too cheerful for someone playing god with his weeknights. She turned her attention to James, who was staring with glassy-eyed intensity toward the Slytherin table.

“And you,” she added, “are drooling, Potter. Wipe your face.”

“Can’t talk,” James replied, eyes locked on Regulus like the boy was hanging stars in the sky and not just… eating soup.

He didn’t even blink. Just whispered, “In the zone.”

Remus followed his gaze.

There, seated halfway down the Slytherin table, Regulus Black was eating soup like he was royalty in exile. Back straight, hair immaculate, stirring the bowl with surgical precision, expression blank. Evan Rosier was leaning in, clearly muttering something conspiratorial, but Regulus didn’t even twitch. He just nodded once, slow and deliberate, and sipped his spoonful like it was wine, not lukewarm pumpkin bisque.

“You’ve got problems,” Remus muttered.

“He’s so elegant,” James whispered, awestruck. “So refined.”

“He’s literally just eating.”

Sirius, seated across from them, didn’t even look up. “You should’ve seen him at age four. He stabbed me with a fork because I touched his bread roll.”

“That’s fair,” Peter said around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

“Moony,” James said suddenly, deadly serious. “Promise me you won’t fall in love with him.”

Remus genuinely considered stabbing his own leg with a fork to get out of the patrol, and dropped his forehead to the table with a dull thunk. “I hate all of you.”

“Well, I’m going over there,” Lily announced, brushing an imaginary speck of dust off her skirt like she was about to walk a runway instead of the floor of the Great Hall.

“Don’t let them call you a Mudblood,” Sirius said, voice oddly serious for once.

“Shut up, Black,” Lily shot back, rolling her eyes before turning on her heel and striding off like she owned the damn castle. Truth be told—she kind of did. There was something about her that demanded respect, even from the snakes. Maybe especially from them.

The four of them watched as she cut across the hall like a red-haired comet. She paused by a group of nameless Slytherins first, pulled out her prefect list, and said something very official-sounding. They nodded. One of them even looked vaguely intimidated. Then she continued on until she stopped right in front of Regulus Black.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just raised his head slowly, like he’d known she was coming the whole time. He nodded once, said something short—could’ve been “Thanks,” could’ve been “I still believe in pureblood supremacy.” Hard to tell, honestly. His face never moved.

Evan Rosier, on the other hand, shrieked.

An actual shriek. Sharp and startled and far too high-pitched for someone who constantly bragged about knowing Dark curses.

Then Regulus casually elbowed him in the ribs without breaking eye contact with Lily.

“I don’t like it,” James announced immediately, straightening in his seat like a birddog spotting a threat.

Remus didn’t even look up. “You don’t like anything.”

“No, I especially don’t like that,” James insisted, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the Slytherin table, where Regulus had already gone back to his soup like none of it had happened.

Remus stabbed a piece of potato and dragged it through his gravy with excessive force. “I’ve got to patrol with him in less than two hours. I don’t want to hear it.”

“You think he’s gonna talk to you?” Peter asked, ever the tactful one.

“I think I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t hex me into a suit of armor and leave me there until sunrise.”

Sirius raised his goblet. “To brotherly bonding.”

Remus lifted his potato on a fork like a toast. “To surviving the hour.”

“Regulus isn’t that bad,” Peter offered weakly.

“You weren’t there for the Mr. Cuddler Incident,” Sirius replied darkly.

James just groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “Why is he so pretty and evil?”

Remus didn’t answer. He was too busy mentally preparing for a patrol that might kill him—or worse, make him understand why James bloody Potter was in love with Regulus Black.

Chapter 2: the rumors were true

When Remus finally escaped the absolute circus that was his dorm — James pacing in circles like a man possessed, reciting potential “conversation openers” with Regulus (all of which included some form of “so, you like... potion ingredients?”), and Sirius laughing so hard he nearly asphyxiated on cigarette smoke — he honestly felt like he’d just crawled out of a warzone.

He didn’t know what he expected when he turned the corner onto the fifth-floor corridor, but it definitely wasn’t this.

Regulus Black, already there, seated like some gothic painting on the narrow windowsill. One leg dangling carelessly, the other pulled up against his chest, a sleek black flask in hand. His posture said casual disinterest; his expression said “I know seventeen ways to kill you and none of them would stain my shirt.”

And Remus, because the universe had a specific and personal grudge against him, caught the scent immediately.

Chamomile. Lavender. Honey. Lemon.

Of course it was that exact mix. The same one that sat in a labeled jar next to Remus’s bed. The one he made after every full moon. The one that smelled like sleep and silence and survival. Of all the teas in the wizarding world, Regulus Black had chosen that one to drink on a Tuesday night like it was nothing.

It made his skin itch.

Still, he managed to keep his face blank as Regulus glanced up, met his eyes, and — without a single word — slid off the ledge and started walking.

Remus blinked. Then sighed. Then followed. Right into the trail of his citrusy cologne, which was, frankly, offensive. Like—who smelled that good during rounds?

Deciding that silence was a perfectly acceptable plan for the night, Remus tucked his hands into his pockets and matched Regulus’s pace. If Regulus wasn’t talking, he wasn’t either. No way he was going to be the first to break.

Not tonight. Not to him.

Even if he smelled like a candle Remus would 100% buy.

They walked in silence for the first corridor.
Then the second.
Then the third.

Regulus didn’t look at him once.

And fine. That was fine. Silence was good. Silence meant no awkward conversation. No small talk. No forced common ground. He could work with silence. He liked silence.

But there was something about the way Regulus held himself — spine straight, eyes scanning, arms loose but purposeful — that made it feel less like a shared silence and more like Remus was an intern on someone else’s shift. Like he was tagging along.

Which — fine, again — maybe he was. Remus had no idea what McGonagall was thinking, pairing them together. Maybe she’d gone temporarily blind with stress. Maybe it was karma. Maybe it was a joke and she was laughing in her office right now, imagining the carnage.

They rounded a corner into the Charms corridor. Regulus turned slightly to glance over his shoulder, just long enough to check if Remus was still there, then kept moving like it hadn’t even mattered.

Remus bit back a sigh and shoved his hands into his pockets. He was not going to start this year letting a Black get under his skin. He was not going to be the first to talk. He was definitely not going to mention the tea.

And if he happened to spend the entire patrol gritting his teeth every time Regulus exhaled like he’d just smelt something offensive — well, that was his business.

When they reached the sixth floor, Regulus finally side-eyed him — just a flick of the eyes, sharp and assessing — before taking another maddeningly calm sip of his tea. Remus was, at this point, deeply regretting not bringing his own. Watching someone else drink your preferred comfort beverage was a special kind of psychological warfare.

Regulus tilted his head slightly, like Remus was a sculpture at a gallery he hadn’t quite decided was worth his time. Vaguely curious. Mostly unimpressed.

“So,” he said, voice smooth and almost bored. “Are we planning to spend the rest of the hour in silence?”

Remus didn’t stop walking. Just gave him a quick glance down — because, naturally, Regulus was nothing if not short. Short, vicious, and built like a deadly little Renaissance prince who probably knew how to slit a throat with the edge of a quill.

“Depends,” Remus replied. “You gonna keep sipping your tea and pretending I don’t exist?”

Regulus blinked, clearly unbothered. “Didn’t know drinking tea was offensive.”

“It manages to be,” Remus said flatly, “when you’re the one drinking it.”

That earned a huff. Barely audible, probably not even intentional, but definitely the ghost of a laugh.

“Noted,” Regulus murmured, and took another sip anyway — purely out of spite, Remus was sure.

They kept walking.

Remus wasn’t sure what was worse: the silence, or the fact that Regulus had just decided to speak now, when Remus was already internally unraveling over the damn tea and the vaguely royal aura he carried like it was hereditary.

God help him if the menace smiled. He didn’t think he could handle it.

“Smash or trash,” Regulus said out of nowhere, his voice so sudden and clear in the quiet corridor that it made Remus flinch.

Remus side-eyed him. “The hell?”

Regulus didn’t even look at him, just sipped his damn tea like it was wine and this was a gallery opening. “The charm that makes cigarettes odorless.”

Remus blinked, processing that, then scoffed. “Trash.”

Regulus tilted his head slightly. “Why?”

“There’s no point in smoking if you can’t smell it.”

“I thought nicotine was the point.”

“It’s half the point.”

“You think there’s such a thing as half of a point?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Where cigarettes are involved? Yes. That’s literally the half.”

Regulus made a sound — almost like a laugh, but not quite. More of an exhale with teeth.

They kept walking, boots clicking in rhythm against the old stone floor. A distant suit of armor groaned as it shifted. Somewhere above them, Peeves howled something about someone’s knickers.

Regulus raised his flask again. The scent of lavender-honey-lemon and camomile hit Remus square in the nose, aggressive in its politeness.

He tried not to sigh. “Smash or trash,” he muttered. “Covering songs that were already perfect.”

“Smash,” Regulus replied immediately, like he’d been waiting for the question.

Remus frowned. “Example?”

“Hozier,” Regulus said. “Covers almost anything and makes it better.”

“Even the original?”

“Especially the original.”

Remus paused, then nodded slowly. “Okay. Fair.”

“You?”

Remus considered. “Smash. If it’s done right. I just hate when they butcher the vocals. Or overproduce it. Or make it acoustic for no reason.”

Regulus raised a brow, faintly amused. “Wow. A passionate opinion. I’m shocked.”

Remus ignored that. “Smash or trash: milk in first when you make tea.”

Regulus made a face like someone had just told him centaurs wore Crocs. “Trash. What are you, a criminal?”

“Just checking,” Remus murmured, lips twitching.

They rounded another corner, and the castle was mercifully quiet. For once, no hexed suits of armor fighting in the stairwells, no snogging third-years to awkwardly cough at, no lingering scent of dungbombs from the Filch chase earlier that week.

“Smash or trash,” Regulus said again, quieter now. “Prefect pairings picked at random.”

Remus huffed a laugh. “Trash. I don’t think anyone actually picked it at random. I think McGonagall did it out of spite.”

Regulus smiled — sharp and quick like a knife flick. “Can’t blame her, really.”

“I can. I’m the victim here.”

Regulus raised his flask again, looking far too pleased with himself for someone sipping flower tea. “If I’m your punishment, you must’ve committed a serious crime.”

Remus blinked at him, then shook his head. “You’re exhausting.”

Regulus only smirked. “Smash or trash: people who say ‘I’m a good judge of character’ and then trust absolutely no one.”

Remus snorted. “Smash. I am that person.”

Regulus hummed like that explained a lot. And maybe it did.

They kept walking.

Somewhere between the fifth and sixth corridor pass, Remus realized: he wasn’t annoyed. Not really. Not even close.

And that, somehow, was more unsettling than anything Regulus had actually said.

When they climbed yet another staircase—because Hogwarts was made of nothing but stairs, which was slowly destroying Remus’s hip one step at a time—a white cat with striking blue eyes blinked at them from its perch on the banister.

Honestly, Remus had been seeing this same damn cat since fourth year, and he was absolutely, thoroughly, cosmically done with it.

“I’ll slap you,” Regulus said to the cat, dead serious, like that was a perfectly normal thing to say.

The cat meowed—offended (as much as a cat could be more offended than its usual resting state)—then leapt off the banister and padded down the stairs with theatrical disdain.

“That’s weird,” Remus said, glancing between Regulus and the cat’s retreating tail.

“That cat is weird,” Regulus replied, not even pausing.

Remus sighed and followed. Of course he did.

“So,” Regulus said eventually, his voice casual like they hadn’t been walking in silence for the last ten minutes. “Weirdest thing that’s happened to you on patrol?”

Remus raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed by the question. “You first.”

Regulus hummed, taking another sip of his ever-present tea. “Last year, I was paired with Terry Boot. He made it his personal mission to find every snogging couple in the castle. Full-on crusade. Like the horny police.”

“That tracks,” Remus muttered.

“We once caught Snape with McNair.”

Remus actually gasped. Full-on Peter-at-a-good-gossip gasp. “With McNair?” he asked, eyes wide. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Regulus replied, unflinching. “Also unfortunately, Snape has a belly button piercing. Shaped like a knife.”

“You’re lying.”

“I wish I was, Lupin,” Regulus said, and took another sip like he hadn’t just casually set Remus’s soul on fire.

There was a long beat of stunned silence before Regulus tilted his head. “Your turn.”

Remus blinked himself back to the moment. “Right. Um. Fifth year, I was doing rounds with Lily. We heard giggling coming from the prefects’ bathroom, so we thought, ‘great, more hormonal chaos.’ But when we walked in, it was two terrified first-years trying to conjure a ghost.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Did they succeed?”

“Depends how you define success,” Remus said flatly. “Because what they thought was a ghost turned out to be Moaning Myrtle, who then proceeded to throw used tampons at them. Screaming.”

Regulus actually laughed. And not one of those smug little exhales he usually passed off as amusement. No—this was an honest-to-Merlin laugh. It was short and sharp and slightly wicked, and Remus hated that it sounded good. Even worse? He had dimples. The rumors were true.

“Really?” Regulus asked, still grinning like he might die of secondhand embarrassment all over again.

Remus nodded grimly. “They cried. I almost cried. Myrtle cackled like it was the best night of her afterlife. I still avoid that bathroom.”

Regulus chuckled again, shaking his head. “This school is a circus.”

“Oh, completely,” Remus agreed. “And we’re the unpaid janitors.”

Regulus glanced sideways at him, amused. “Maybe this won’t be so unbearable.”

Remus gave him a sidelong look, trying not to admit he’d been thinking the same thing. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Regulus just smiled into his tea. Dimples again. Annoying.

“Smash or trash,” Regulus said again, shooting Remus a glance from under his lashes. “Hyperfixating on things.”

“Depends if it’s Quidditch.”

“It’s not.”

“Then smash,” Remus replied without hesitation.

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “You do that?”

Remus nodded. “All the time. Books, usually. I’ll read the same one five times in a week and then never touch it again. Or I’ll fall down a research rabbit hole and forget to eat.”

Regulus nodded slowly, like he respected that. “Same. Mine’s usually TV shows, though. I get obsessed. I’ve developed an emotionally co-dependent relationship with my Netflix subscription.”

“That’s unsettling,” Remus deadpanned.

“It wouldn’t be if you’d watch Stranger Things,” Regulus shot back, completely serious.

“I did. Still stand by my opinion.”

Regulus stopped walking just to look at him, horrified. “You didn’t like Stranger Things?”

“I didn’t say that,” Remus replied, already walking again. “I said I stand by my opinion.”

“Which is?”

“That I’ll die mad about Season Two.”

Regulus caught up beside him, expression unimpressed. “You’re deranged.”

“You’re wearing an ironed uniform at 10PM,” Remus said. “Let’s not throw stones.”

That earned a smirk. “Touché, Lupin.”

They lapsed into silence again, but this time it felt less awkward and more like a pause between rounds.

“Favorite character?” Remus asked.

“Guess,” Regulus whispered dramatically, and Remus almost snorted. Almost.

“Eddie Munson?” he guessed, raising an eyebrow.

“Absolutely,” Regulus nodded solemnly. “But I like Hopper too. Yours?”

“Eddie, definitely,” Remus replied. “And Mike… at first. Until I realized he’s exactly the same at fifteen as he was at twelve.”

Regulus hummed. “I always thought he’s a bit like Potter.”

Remus turned his head, intrigued. “How so?”

“Never growing up,” Regulus said, deadpan. “Gets more annoying with each passing year.”

Remus bit back a laugh, hard. And made a mental note—underlined and bolded—to tell James exactly what Regulus Black had just said.

Word for word.

Maybe twice.

“Honestly, it makes me wonder how you’re friends with him,” Regulus added after a beat. “Or with my brother, for that matter.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

Regulus shrugged one shoulder, lazy and sharp all at once. “Dunno. You’re all… broody and vaguely mysterious. They’re loud and obnoxious.”

“Maybe I’m loud and obnoxious when no one’s watching.”

“Are you?” Regulus squinted up at him, skeptical.

“No.”

Regulus smirked, victorious. “Knew it.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t quite stop the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he muttered.

“Oh, it’s a compliment,” Regulus said lightly, sipping from his flask again. “We have enough idiots around. It’s refreshing.”

Remus stared at him for a second. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me during patrol.”

Regulus tilted his head, considering. “That’s depressing.”

“It is,” Remus agreed. “But here we are.”

They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady just as Remus registered the soft click of Regulus’s flask closing—the final sip of his fancy tea he’d been sipping all evening now gone. It figured that even his beverages had better taste than half the castle.

“Well,” Remus said, turning to him with a tilt of his head, “I’m genuinely surprised you made it a full hour without cursing me into oblivion.”

Regulus looked up at him, utterly unimpressed. “We’ve got ten more months, Lupin. Be patient.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and strolled down the corridor like he hadn’t just spent sixty minutes engaging in suspiciously tolerable conversation. No fanfare. No goodnight. Just gone.

Remus watched him go, blinking. Huh. That was… not what he expected. No hexes, no insults, not even an eye-roll. Instead: “smash or trash,” a disturbing story about Snape’s alleged belly piercing, and the discovery that Regulus Black had, in fact, dimples when he laughed.

Weird. The whole thing had been weird. But, somehow, not in a bad way.

He muttered the password to the Fat Lady, who raised an eyebrow as he stepped inside.

“You’re smiling,” she said, suspicious. “What were you doing?”

“Patrol,” he said. “Apparently that’s funny now.”

And it kind of was.

He pushed through into the common room, climbed the stairs, and barely got the door to the dorm shut behind him before James launched himself across the room like a missile.

“SPILL. TELL. SPEAK. EVERYTHING,” James shouted, landing dramatically on his feet like this was a court case and Remus was the only witness. “You were alone. For an hour. With him. I need every detail. Did he speak? Did he blink at you weirdly? Did he hex you? Did he say my name? DID HE SMIRK—”

Remus yanked off his sweater and tossed it onto his bed. “He said you’re not growing up. And that you’re getting more annoying every year.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

And then Sirius absolutely lost it—laughing so hard he sprayed Diet Coke out of his nose and directly onto his Potions essay.

“Oh, come on!” Peter groaned, scooting back from the splash zone. “That was two feet from my Transfiguration notes.”

“Worth it,” Sirius wheezed, still clutching his stomach. “Bloody worth it.”

James just stood there, stricken, like Remus had told him Regulus had personally assassinated his hopes and dreams. “He said that?”

“Direct quote,” Remus said, completely unbothered. “Didn’t even flinch.”

James flopped face-first onto his bed with the tragic flair of a Shakespearian heroine. “I’m losing him before I even had him.”

“You never had him,” Remus said, dry. “You’ve literally never even had a proper conversation.”

“Details,” James grumbled into his pillow. “I’m playing the long game.”

“Well, so far, the long game is mostly you drooling into your cereal and asking me to compliment you within his hearing range,” Remus said.

Sirius snorted. “You did whimper when he walked past this morning.”

“That was a choked breath of longing,” James replied, muffled. “There’s a difference.”

“No, there’s not,” Peter said.

“Okay, whatever,” James said, turning his face just enough to glare at Remus. “Did he say anything else about me? Like, after that?”

Remus considered it. He could lie. Or, better yet, he could not lie.

“No,” he said, and then smirked. “But he did say you remind him of Mike from Stranger Things.”

James groaned. “Oh God. That kid was unbearable after season one.”

“Exactly,” Sirius grinned, wiping his face. “Spot-on comparison.”

James rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “Alright. Fine. Time to regroup. New strategy. Operation: Don’t Be A Mike.”

“I give it three days before you start whimpering again,” Remus muttered, grabbing his pajamas.

James sat up. “It was a longing breath, Lupin!”

Remus didn’t answer. He was already halfway to the bathroom, smiling again—and not just because of James’ drama.

Ten more months of this. Ten more months of Regulus Black, sarcastic tea-drinking prince of the underworld.

He wasn’t sure why that made him look forward to patrols.

But it did.

 

When Remus got back from the bathroom, dressed in a pair of old pajama pants and the hoodie Sirius always stole (and would never admit to stealing), James was already pacing like he was prepping to cross-examine a criminal witness. His glasses were shoved up onto his forehead, his thinking face in full effect—furrowed brow, squinted eyes, the works.

Sirius was watching him from his bed like it was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all week. Peter had even put down his phone—pausing what was definitely a very unfortunate conversation with Gilderoy Lockhart—to spectate.

Remus, meanwhile, was just trying to make his tea. Sage and lavender, because he was tired, mildly stressed, and his bones hurt like he was eighty-five. He stirred in a generous spoon of honey while James paced behind him like a specter of gossip-fueled rage.

“Okay,” James said finally, stopping mid-stride like he’d cracked a case wide open. “How the hell did you end up talking about Stranger Things of all things?”

Remus didn’t even look at him. “He said he was obsessed with it.”

“He is,” Sirius confirmed, dead serious for once. “Bought himself a Hellfire Club tee over the summer. Wears it to bed back home just to piss off Mum. I’ve never been prouder.”

Peter snorted. James didn’t laugh. He narrowed his eyes like Remus had committed a personal betrayal.

“And he just… told you that?”

Remus shrugged, walking past them all with his enormous mug in one hand and a book in the other. “We were playing smash or trash and it came up.”

“You were playing smash or trash?!” James practically shrieked, like Remus had just casually mentioned they kissed.

“He started it,” Remus said, already crawling into bed and pulling his blanket up like this was all too exhausting. “Randomly. After ten minutes of silence.”

Sirius hummed like that made total sense. “Yeah. That tracks. He does this weird thing where he tests people to see how long they can go without talking. Then, if you pass, he pretends to be a person.”

“Apparently I passed,” Remus muttered, sipping his tea.

“Explains why Prongs never will,” Peter chimed in, grinning from his desk.

“Oi!” James yelped, spinning toward him, betrayed. “I could not talk! I’m not talking to him!”

“Yeah,” Sirius snorted, “because you’re scared shitless. Not because you’re cool, mate.”

“I’m so cool!” James shrieked, immediately disproving his own point.

Remus snorted into his tea.

“No, seriously, I could totally pass his silent test,” James insisted, climbing onto his bed like he was taking the stand in his own defense. “I can be mysterious and unbothered! I am mysterious and unbothered!”

“You cried during The Muppet Christmas Carol,” Peter said flatly.

“There’s nothing unmysterious about empathy!” James argued, flailing one arm like he was defending his honor in a duel.

“You’re tragic, Prongs,” Sirius cackled, launching a pillow across the room. It hit James square in the face, muffling his offended little whine. He didn’t even bother to move it.

But Sirius wasn’t done. He turned toward Remus, eyes glittering with curiosity. “He say anything else though?”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Remus said, sitting up a bit straighter, the grin already spreading across his face. “You’re gonna love this one—he told me that he and Boot once caught Snape and McNair snogging during patrol.”

“WHAT?” Sirius howled, immediately springing to his knees like he’d been electrocuted.

“WHAT?!” Peter shrieked from his desk, nearly dropping his phone as he spun around to face them.

“No way,” James breathed, now sitting up too, face frozen somewhere between horror and fascinated disgust.

Remus just raised his mug with calm satisfaction. “Reportedly, Snape also has a belly piercing. In the shape of a knife.”

The room went absolutely feral.

“You’re lying!” Peter gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been physically wounded.

“No, no—Regulus said it with this haunted, far-off look in his eyes,” Remus said. “I believe him.”

“Why does Snape even have a belly button?” James demanded, looking vaguely betrayed by biology. “Like, visibly?”

“Was he shirtless?” Sirius asked, appalled and yet intrigued. “What level of snog was this?!”

“I didn’t ask,” Remus said, still smug. “Didn’t want to know. Don’t need it living in my head rent-free.”

“Too late,” Peter muttered, rubbing his temple like he was trying to exorcise the mental image.

“This is worse than when Filch was whistling that Celestina Warbeck song in the bath,” Sirius declared, flopping back dramatically onto his bed. “Snape. With McNair. With a— knife belly piercing?”

“Honestly?” James said, after a beat. “That’s kind of metal.”

Everyone stared at him.

James held up his hands. “I didn’t say I liked it. I just said—objectively—that it’s metal.”

“You’re part of the problem,” Sirius muttered, dragging his blanket over his head.

Remus shook his head and leaned back against the wall, sipping his tea again like he wasn’t the one who detonated that entire conversation.

Regulus Black, he thought, with far too much amusement, was apparently full of surprises.

Suddenly — and really, suddenly — James launched himself with the urgency of someone who’d just remembered he left a baby on a train. He grabbed the Marauder’s Map from under his pillow (because of course that’s where he kept it) and flipped it open on the nearest flat surface.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he muttered, wand tip pressed to the parchment like it was sacred. His face glowed with purpose. Obsession. Possibly mild delusion.

“I need to see what he’s doing,” he declared, not to anyone in particular, but with the kind of intensity that screamed I am deeply not okay.

“Here we fucking go,” Sirius said from his bed, not even looking up from the Quidditch magazine he’d been half-heartedly pretending to read. “Our nightly ritual of stalking my little brother like he’s a limited-edition chocolate frog card.”

“You’re so lucky Pads never told him about this,” Peter added, spinning once in his desk chair before rolling to a stop and kicking off again. “Seriously. You’d be dead. It’d be slow. And he’d use a spell no one’s ever heard of.”

“I would’ve told him,” Sirius said, flipping a page, “but I didn’t want to be responsible for your actual funeral, Prongs. He’d break your wand in half, hex you blind, then send your remains to Mum in a jar.”

“At least he’d know I existed,” James muttered, peering down at the map like it held the meaning of life. “Which is more than I can say now.”

Remus didn’t even blink. He just stirred honey into his oversized mug and opened Eragon, flipped to the dog-eared page, and settled in like he had every intention of ignoring this unfolding tragedy until at least chapter five.

“Got him!” James announced, far too loudly for someone who was basically self-incriminating.

“...He’s under the shower.”

The dorm fell silent.

Peter let out a long, low whistle. “Oh boy.”

“Close the map, Prongs,” Sirius said, deadpan.

“Hide the boner, Prongs,” Peter added, not deadpan at all.

James flushed from the neck up but didn’t move. “It’s just— look, I’m making sure he’s safe! What if someone tries to— I don’t know— hex him mid-shampoo?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sirius said, folding his magazine in half. “Security detail for a naked boy you’re in love with. You’re a saint, Prongs.”

“None of you understand,” James said dramatically. “He’s not like us. He’s got layers. Like a very stabby onion.”

Remus, finally breaking, looked over the top of his book with a raised eyebrow. “Stabby onion?”

“He wears black cardigans and listens to Arctic Monkeys in a way that makes me want to cry,” James replied solemnly.

Peter wheezed. Sirius howled.

Remus sighed and flipped a page. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

“Hot idiots,” Sirius added.

“Idiots nonetheless,” Remus said, but his lips twitched. Just barely.

Meanwhile, James kept staring at the map like it would offer him a prophecy. Regulus Black, freshly showered, possibly sipping tea and being unknowable in the dungeons, remained entirely, tragically, unaware of the Gryffindor currently spiraling over him in plaid pajama bottoms.

And really, Remus thought, that might be for the best.

Chapter 3: somehow that felt more dangerous than any full moon

Remus nearly overslept for breakfast—mostly because, somewhere around two in the bloody morning, Sirius had started yelling at James for watching his “baby brother like a full-on creep,” and they’d ended up wrestling on James’s bed over the Marauder’s Map. It had ended with Sirius getting elbowed in the ribs, James somehow losing a sock, and Peter hurling a pillow at both of them while Remus tried (and failed) to get back to sleep.

So yeah. He was already on the verge of homicide by the time he stumbled out of the common room.

There was absolutely no surprise, then, that when that cursed white cat popped out of nowhere and stared him down in the middle of the corridor like some kind of tiny spectral stalker, Remus just lost it. He hissed a “fuck off” under his breath and nudged the thing aside with the edge of his boot, not hard, but firm enough to send a message. The cat flipped dramatically onto its side like it had just been mortally wounded and blinked up at him like Remus had committed a personal betrayal.

It then sprinted off down toward the dungeons like it was going to file a formal complaint.

Peter, walking a few steps behind, laughed so hard he nearly dropped his book bag. “You just kicked your ghost-cat boyfriend.”

“He’s not my—” Remus snapped, then stopped himself. “Whatever. I’m not in the mood.”

And he really wasn’t. It wasn’t even remotely close to the full moon, which meant he had no convenient excuse. No shifting hormones, no wolfish irritability. Just pure, unfiltered, Remus-slept-like-shit grumpiness. And the fact that he had only himself to blame somehow made everything ten times worse.

He dragged himself toward the Great Hall like it owed him money, ignoring the cheerful way the suits of armor chimed “good morning” and side-stepping a group of second-years who looked like they were about to offer him a flower or ask him to settle a bet. His head was pounding, his shoulders ached, and there was not enough coffee in the world to make James’s 2 a.m. tragic Regulus monologue forgivable.

Honestly, Remus thought, if one more person looks at me wrong, I’m hexing them. Or myself.
Whichever’s easier.

He didn’t even get a chance to eat—the food vanished the second he flopped down at the table, perfectly timed with the bell signaling first class of the day: Herbology.

Of course.

He huffed, already pissed at the entire world, and dragged himself toward the front doors with Peter, muttering curses under his breath about not even having time to smoke before being forced to wrestle for his life with some overly aggressive plant.

And naturally, it only got worse.

While cutting across the courtyard, he and Peter fell into step with James and Sirius, right in time to walk smack into Regulus, Evan, and Barty.

Dear fucking lord.

Of course Sirius stopped to talk. Of course he did. Remus could practically hear James having an internal cardiac episode beside him as Sirius beamed.

“Hi, Reggie,” Sirius said, positively radiant.

Regulus squinted at him like he was deciding between hexing him or walking away. If looks could kill, Sirius would’ve been face down on the cobblestones for daring to use the nickname.

Remus sighed and crossed his arms, unimpressed and under-caffeinated.

“Hi,” Regulus replied, flat.

Then, to James’s visible betrayal, he added, “Lupin.”

Remus gave him a nod and nothing more, unwilling to waste a single syllable when his entire body was screaming for nicotine and a breakfast that no longer existed.

Barty elbowed Evan not-so-subtly, and Evan sort of exhaled a vague “hi” in Remus’s general direction.

Remus blinked. Once. Twice. And nodded again, still silent, still unimpressed.

The day was getting progressively weirder with every passing minute, and he wasn’t nearly high-strung enough to deal with it properly.

Meanwhile, Sirius and Regulus had already dived into some conversation—maybe a mutual rant about their charming pureblood parents, maybe some new band Sirius had discovered and was dying to shove down Regulus’s throat. Either way, it meant they were occupied.

Remus gave up on pretending he cared and lit a cigarette right there on the edge of the path. No one stopped him. No one dared.

“So, uh…” Evan started, glancing at him like he was about to pet a wild animal. He looked mildly terrified, which only seemed to delight Barty.

“You’re Archie’s new patrol partner, huh?”

Remus blinked again. “Reportedly,” he said.

That was all he gave him. Evan opened his mouth to say something else, but whatever it was died on his tongue, and Remus kept smoking, eyes fixed somewhere far off, counting the seconds until he could go back to bed, pretend this day never happened, and start over with a functioning meal and no cat.

“Alright,” Barty clapped his hands, grinning like he’d just won the lottery or discovered a secret stash of Butterbeer. “What a lovely little chat we had.”

“Die,” Evan hissed at him, eyes flashing.

Remus just took another slow drag from his cigarette, utterly unimpressed.

“And Potter,” Barty said, turning his smirk toward James. “What’s new with you?”

James squinted, suspicious. “Since when do you talk to me?”

“I’m in a really good mood,” Barty shrugged, the single green streak in his otherwise brown hair catching the early sunlight like a halo—if halos were sarcastic and slightly dangerous.

Peter tilted his head. “And deciding to ruin that mood by talking to James?”

Barty’s grin only widened.

Remus, vaguely and without meaning to, reminded himself that Barty and Peter had some weird truce going on ever since Peter started dating Gilderoy. Barty was his roommate in Ravenclaw Tower, and according to Peter, he wasn’t nearly as bad as the rumors suggested.

“Obviously,” Barty said, nodding solemnly. “But apparently I’m the only one here without a massive cr—”

He cut himself off abruptly when Evan elbowed him—hard.

“Crouch!” Evan hissed, eyes darting around.

“Alright, I’m done,” Regulus said, looking at the two of them like they were cockroaches squabbling on his floor rather than his closest friends. “Call Dad later. He said he wants to talk to you,” he said, fixing Sirius with a glare before turning away. “And brush your hair, for the love of God,” he added, wincing.

Not that he fooled anyone. Even with all their posturing, the Black brothers shared some weird, unspoken bond—something that would make them take a bullet for each other. Or, you know, an Avada Kedavra.

“Let’s fucking go,” James growled, stomping toward the greenhouse, offended that Regulus hadn’t even spared him a glance.

Remus took one last drag of his cigarette, crushed it beneath his heel, and followed behind.

 

They were hunched over the greenhouse table, wrestling with some gnarly plant that looked like it was designed by a sadistic herbologist. The leaves were thick and thorny, snapping like crocodile jaws whenever they got too close. James and Sirius were already cursing, their hands smeared with mud and bits of smashed leaves, but still laughing like idiots who loved every second of the fight.

Peter, as usual, was the calm eye in the storm. He pulled a chocolate frog out of nowhere and slid it across the table to Remus without saying a word. Remus caught it, the small act feeling like a lifeline. He bit the head off in one smooth motion, grateful for the sugar rush already hitting his tired brain. The little sweetness was the only thing getting him through this plant hell.

That was why Peter was usually Remus’s favorite: always carrying snacks, always waiting up for him when they walked somewhere, and somehow weirdly perceptive for a guy who once got so stoned he forgot how to tie his own shoes.

Peter kept cutting through the dead leaves, his voice low and casual. “So… do you think Prongs will ever get over Regulus?”

Remus snorted, chewing slowly. “Nope. Prongs is doomed. He’ll probably die of embarrassment first, especially when Regulus finally puts him out of his misery—publicly.”

Peter’s brow lifted. “Regulus would do that? Just turn him down in front of everyone?”

Remus nodded, eyes flicking to the disaster zone that was James and Sirius fighting the plant with way too much enthusiasm and zero coordination. Mud smeared over their faces, and Sirius had already wiped dirt in his hair, looking way too pleased about it.

“Absolutely. Regulus’s version of ‘no’ is so cold it could freeze the entire school. And Prongs? Well, he’s too damn stubborn to back down before it gets messy.”

Peter grinned, shaking his head. “I don’t know how you stand watching that mess every day.”

Remus shrugged, wiping a smear of dirt from his cheek. “Somebody’s gotta. Plus, it’s kind of entertaining. Like watching two badly trained hippos try to dance.”

The bell rang somewhere far away, signaling the end of Herbology torture. Remus stretched and tossed the last muddy leaf into the compost bin, feeling the ache in his hips settle in for the rest of the day.

As they gathered their things, Peter tossed him another chocolate frog with a knowing look.

“Here,” he said, “for when you need to survive the next round of whatever hell this is.”

Remus took it, smiling just a little, and pocketed it like it was a medal.

Because sometimes, the little things were all that kept him sane.

 

For the rest of the day, Remus slowly shifted out of the grumpy, half-dead version of himself he’d woken up as, and honestly, he was relieved. He’d planned a full study session in the library after classes, and there was no way he was going to half-ass it just because his mood was shit. Besides, he’d had lunch, so at least something was going right. Easy like that.

By evening, he met up with Lily, Marlene, and Mary at their usual table by the window—far enough away from Madame Pince’s desk so she wasn’t breathing down his neck about bringing tea. For the first hour, they actually studied. Well, Remus and Lily did, anyway. Mary and Marlene, on the other hand, were ‘chatting’—read: gossiping their way through every possible person in the school, because of course that’s what they were doing.

After finally nailing—well, at least as well as Remus dared hope, thanks to Lily’s help—that blasted Potions essay, Lily nudged him gently. “So, how was it with Regulus yesterday?” she asked, her tone casual but curious.

“Fine,” Remus said with a shrug. “We talked a bit, he didn’t hex me, and he even laughed. No one died, so I’d call that a win.”

Lily nodded approvingly. “Good. I’d hate to have to bury his body,” she said, only half-joking, knowing exactly how far Remus could push things.

Remus snorted and slumped deeper into his chair, eyes drifting to the corner where the white cat lounged like it owned the place. He didn’t even throw a book at it this time, which he definitely counted as a win.

The cat blinked at him slowly, like it knew exactly what Remus was thinking and was thoroughly unimpressed. But this time, Remus didn’t care. He was too busy feeling—dare he admit it—a little lighter than he had that morning.

“And how’s Potter taking it?” Lily asked, eyes glinting with curiosity.

“Oh, you know,” Remus said flatly, “completely losing his mind over it. Stalking Regulus on the Marauder’s Map like he’s some kind of object, not a human being with a shred of a sense of humor.”

Lily raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Regulus Black has a decent sense of humor?”

Remus nodded, smirking just a little. “In that ‘I know who had a pee-drawer when he was a kid’ kind of way.”

Lily blinked. “...Yeah, then that’s a weird sense of humor.”

“I said ‘decent,’ not ‘exceptional,’ Lils,” he teased. “Now, how about we actually focus on Ancient Runes instead of your running commentary?”

Lily sighed, but grabbed her book anyway, knowing better than to argue.

Before curfew, they finally headed back to the Gryffindor tower. Remus was already bracing himself for another chaotic night in the dorm: James obsessively stalking Regulus on the map, Sirius bitching nonstop about it, and Peter glued to his phone, texting Gilderoy with exaggerated gasps every five minutes. Honestly, some nights he’d give his spleen—who even needed that organ anyway?—just to have a single, quiet room to disappear into.

But, of course, Hogwarts never let him off that easy.

He spent a solid twenty minutes in the shower, cranking the water up to an unreasonably hot level and standing under the spray like it might somehow melt his problems off his skin. It didn’t. But once he was warm, half-steamed, and wrapped in pajama pants and that one hoodie Sirius kept stealing and pretending he wasn’t —he felt marginally better.

His head was still pounding from too much homework and not enough nicotine, so once he collapsed into bed and buried himself under his blankets, he reached for his phone, fully intending to scroll until sleep took him.

And then he blinked. Once. Twice. Fifteen times, because surely his sleep-deprived brain was hallucinating.

Because right there on his lockscreen—where the background photo was, of course, Sirius in dog form under the shower wearing a birthday party hat (don’t ask)—was a notification that read:

“Regulus Black followed you on Instagram.”

Remus just stared at it for a moment, brain buffering. Then, on pure autopilot, he tapped it.

Regulus’s account was private—of course it was—and their only mutual follower was Sirius. Because of course.

Still half-in disbelief, Remus followed him back without a second thought. Then he locked his phone and stared at the ceiling, equal parts entertained and mildly horrified. He decided, wisely, not to tell anyone. Especially not James.

Because the second Regulus accepted the request, James would know. He checked Regulus’s Instagram at least five times a day, obsessively waiting for a response to the follow request he’d sent two years ago.

Remus pulled the blanket higher over his head and sighed, muttering into the darkness, “Fucking hell.”

And honestly? He didn’t even know if he meant the situation, or himself. Probably both.

He reached for a book—still Eragon, now on chapter seven—and read for a solid thirty minutes, doing his best to ignore James gasping at the map every five seconds and muttering things like, “Regulus and Rosier are sitting on one bed! One, Pads!”
To which Sirius replied, “They’re roommates, you creep,” with the exhausted tone of someone who had fought this battle one too many times.

Then Remus’s phone buzzed.
Regulus Black accepted your follow request.

He stared at the notification like it might bite him, then—against his better judgment—tapped on the profile. Just curious. That was all. Just… curious.

The feed was full of candid photos, concert clips, moody snaps of books, and meticulously aesthetic tea setups. There were only a handful of pictures of Regulus himself, but in all of them he managed to look broody, curated, and unreasonably—no, unfortunately —attractive. Even when he was lying in bed with the hood of a sweatshirt pulled halfway over his face, eyes closed, AirPods in.
The caption read: “woke up like this except I didn’t.”

Remus snorted under his breath before he could bite it back.

There was a photo from his last birthday too—turning sixteen, because of course Walburga Black had pulled strings to send him to school a year early just to line him up with Sirius’s year. The cake was neon green, and Dorcas Meadowes was holding it out in front of him. The frosting read “happy birthdae, Archangel” with a little heart.
Unfortunately, Remus found it adorable.
Even more unfortunately, he started wondering what the hell “Archangel” was about. Something to do with his middle name? Arcturus, Archie, Archangel—yeah, probably. It tracked. Somehow that made it worse.

He kept scrolling. Way longer than he meant to.

Regulus had a private account for a reason, and Remus was now painfully aware of that.

This wasn’t the sharp-tongued, cold-eyed, well-dressed mystery he occasionally nodded to in the corridor. This wasn’t even the vaguely tolerable patrol partner he’d walked next to last night.

This was something else entirely.

There were videos from a Troye Sivan concert, arms waving in the crowd, Regulus screaming lyrics off-key into the camera.
There were chaotic photo dumps of Barty absolutely off his face, laughing at nothing while someone (Dorcas) drew on his cheeks with eyeliner.
Evan trying to make a daisy chain crown while Pandora shouted “You’re doing amazing, sweetie!” from somewhere off-screen.
And then—one that actually made Remus stop breathing for a second—an old photo of Sirius and Regulus as kids, sharing a single cupcake, grinning with frosting on their faces.

The caption read: “I can’t believe I actually love him.”
Which. Jesus Christ. That would send Remus into a coma if he thought about it for too long.

Regulus was a completely different person here—so different that Remus couldn’t help but wonder what the hell he was like on his “only friends” Instagram account.

The one with exactly four followers.
The one Sirius didn’t even have access to.
The one with the handle @rablackitch and a bio that read: “Potter, stop requesting.”

Suddenly, Remus developed an entirely new, completely irrational need:
To be on that account too.

Purely for science.
Strictly academic interest.
Obviously.

Then, his phone buzzed again—and he almost yelped.

Almost.

Because he was not James, for one.
And for two, Remus Lupin did not yelp. Ever.
(Well. Except for that one time during a drinking game when he had to kiss Sirius while secretly harboring a six-month-long crush on him. But that was beside the point. That wasn’t yelping. That was panicked gasping with dignity.)

Anyway.

He glanced down at the screen and stared.

DM from: Regulus Black

Right there. Sitting bold and unapologetic in his notifications like it wasn’t about to send Remus into a spiraling crisis.

He didn’t open it right away, because apparently he enjoyed psychological torture and drawn-out suffering. Instead, he just stared at it, thumb hovering, brain buffering like a cursed internet tab.

Then, finally, with the same energy one might use to open a cursed scroll in a horror movie, he tapped the message.

Regulus:
 are you always this quiet or was it just to punish me during patrol

Remus blinked. Once. Twice.

Then he snorted. Loudly.

So loudly, in fact, that James glanced up from the map with a frown. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Remus muttered, already typing back.

He paused halfway through writing “maybe I just like to keep you guessing.”
Deleted it.
Typed “maybe I thought silence would keep you from hexing me.”
Deleted that too.

Eventually, he settled on:

“wouldn’t you like to know.”

And hit send before he could talk himself out of it.

Then threw the phone on his bed like it might explode.

Because what the fuck.
What. The actual. Fuck.

Shockingly, Regulus replied right away.

So much for Peter’s sacred rule of “wait at least seven minutes to look cool.”
Apparently, Regulus Black did not give a single shit about the illusion of chill.

Regulus:
 well i do, obviously, since i asked
 keep up, lupin

Remus snorted again, louder this time. Jesus Christ.
He bit his lip, shook his head, and tapped back.

Remus:
 then i’m always this quiet

Not five seconds later:

Regulus:
 and what if you’d actually not lie to me right now

Remus blinked at the screen like it personally offended him.

Bold. Way too bold.
Who gave him the right?
Who let Regulus Black stomp in with lowercase texts and emotional damage like that?

He stared at the message, internally spiraling, then typed:

Remus:
 then i’d say you were surprisingly observant for someone who trips over his own ego twice a day

He hesitated. Then added:

and no, i’m not always quiet. i just didn’t know what version of you i was getting

Then threw the phone down again because that was far too honest and now he was spiraling publicly. In private. But still.

The message was marked as “seen” less than five seconds later.
Remus swore under his breath and pulled the blanket over his face like that could undo digital humiliation.

His phone buzzed again, and Remus was this close to launching it across the room just to avoid whatever the hell was waiting for him.
But obviously, he picked it up.

Regulus:
 the version that has to play smash or trash to not die of boredom, apparently

Before Remus could even reply, James shrieked from the other side of the room,
"THEY’RE KISSING?!"
His eyes were glued to the Marauder’s Map like it held the secrets of the universe.

Remus barely looked up. Honestly, he didn’t even bother asking who he meant—because it sure as hell wasn’t Regulus. Regulus was actively texting him. That much was obvious.

His thumbs moved on their own, apparently committed now.

Remus:
 alright, another round then
 smash or trash: accepting james on your insta

Regulus:
 trash. trash. trash.
 my turn
 smash or trash: following back evan on your insta

Remus blinked.
When the hell did Evan Rosier follow him on Instagram?

He jumped back to his profile, thumb flying to the followers list—and yeah. There he was.
Evan Bloody Rosier. Sitting there quietly like he hadn’t been lurking in Remus’s digital space for god knows how long.

He didn’t even tap the profile. Didn’t need to.
He just texted back. For the game. Purely for the game.

Remus:
 trash

Regulus:
 just like that?

Remus:
 yep

Regulus:
 harsh.

Remus:
 i’ve never even talked to him

Regulus:
 lucky bastard

Regulus:
 alright then
 my turn again

Remus:
 nope. my turn now

Regulus:
 hush, lupin.
 smash or trash: tracking down snape tomorrow because he apparently made plans with mcnair again

Remus grinned down at his screen like a lunatic, already typing.

Remus:
 SMASH.

Regulus:
 figured you’d say that
 snape deserves to be mildly terrorized at least once a week. it’s practically school policy

Remus:
 glad we’re aligned on the essentials

Regulus:
 oh we’re aligned now? how cute
 smash or trash: sitting next to me next patrol instead of three feet away like i’ve got the plague

Remus paused.
Okay. That was... a tone.
Not a bad tone. Just… a tone.

He adjusted the hoodie draped around his head and bit down a grin he refused to acknowledge.

Remus:
 smash
 but only if you don’t try to murder me with eye contact the entire time

Regulus:
 i only do that with people i like

(Three dots appeared. Paused. Disappeared again.)

Remus blinked at the screen.
And blinked again.
His heart was doing something stupid. Disobedient. Rude.

Remus:
 ...smash or trash: you actually texting me again after tonight

Regulus:
 smash
 unless you say something painfully Gryffindor in the next thirty seconds.

Remus:
 i had tea with lily earlier and helped a cat cross the hallway.

Regulus:
 jesus christ
 never text me again.

Remus:
 too late. you’re cursed now.

Regulus:
 i hate it here
 smash or trash: this cursed conversation continuing tomorrow at like... idk. 9pm.

Remus grinned at his screen like an idiot and tucked himself deeper under the covers, phone resting warm in his palm.

Remus:
 smash
 bring sarcasm and the snape updates

Regulus:
 i’m bringing tea
 literal and metaphorical
 you might get a cup of each if i’m in a good mood

Remus:
 so i’m not getting any

Regulus:
 correct
 joking
 unless…
 nah, i’m not joking

Remus actually snorted. Out loud. Too loud, apparently.

“Alright, who are you texting?” Sirius squinted at him from across the room. “Is that Russo again?”

Remus groaned, the memory of his very-last-year-ex making his eye twitch. “God, no. I have dignity.”

“Debatable,” James chimed in from the floor, where he was aggressively sprawled out with the map like it owed him rent.

“Says the guy who’s been stalking his crush—who he’s never spoken to —for the second hour in a row,” Remus shot back, flat.

“Oi!” James yelped. “I’m getting there!”

“You’re deluded,” Peter announced, not even looking up from his own phone.

“Christ,” Sirius muttered. “You people need help.”

Remus smiled to himself, thumb hovering over the keyboard again. He didn’t send anything yet. Just watched the typing bubble pop up and disappear, pop up and disappear.

Regulus Black was texting him.

Willingly.

And somehow that felt more dangerous than any full moon.

Remus:
 my turn again

Regulus:
 c’mon

Remus:
 i’m twisting the game, tho

Regulus:
 obviously

Remus:
 hot or not: guy’s been obsessed with you for two years but never made a move

Regulus:
 i’m twisting the game too
 answer: turn off

Remus snorted again, biting the inside of his cheek to keep it in. God, he really wanted to rub that answer in James’s face. He could. He just… chose peace. For now.

Regulus:
 my turn again

Remus:
 you’ve had like five turns already

Regulus:
 hush
 turn on or turn off: guy can’t talk to you because he forgets how to use his brain around you

Remus:
 turn off

The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Came back. Disappeared again.

James shrieked, “ROSIER LEFT HIS BED, THANK FUCKING GOD!” in the background, voice hitting a new octave like he was starring in a tragic opera. Remus barely registered it. Barely registered anything except the screen in his hands and the fact that Regulus—Regulus Fucking Black—was doing the three-dots dance.

Finally, the message came through.

Regulus:
 valid

Remus stared at the screen for a beat too long, then let his phone drop onto his chest.

Right. Sure. Cool. Normal.

Nothing like casually texting Regulus Black at 11:42 p.m. about imaginary suitors and fatal crushes while pretending your best friend isn’t in the middle of an emotional hostage situation with a magic map.

Completely. Fucking. Normal.

Remus didn’t text back—mostly because texting Regulus was way more entertaining than it had any right to be, but partly because Regulus had just hit the shower.

And Remus knew that because James announced it loudly and dramatically from across the room, probably popping a boner again over the fact, which was both concerning and wildly objectifying, and honestly, just no.

Remus sighed, rolled his eyes, and opened Eragon again, diving back into dragons and a severe lack of romance. He read for another hour, the quiet crackle of pages and the hum of the castle filling the room, until eventually, exhaustion caught up with him.

He dozed off, the book levitating lazily in front of his face—because of course his magic was still on—phone resting on his chest, the glow from the screen dimming in the dark.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, between the dragons and the fading notifications, Regulus’s name lingered like a stubborn shadow.

Because it was never just about dragons.

Chapter 4: some days the universe just decided to mess with him harder than usual

Next day, Remus was jolted awake by James practically launching himself onto his bed—and onto him—right at the spawn of sunrise.

“Oi, Prongs—”

“WHY IS HE FOLLOWING YOU AND WHY ARE YOU FOLLOWING HIM?!” James basically roared, his face so close it was a miracle Remus didn’t lose an eye.

Remus blinked blearily, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Prongs, it’s not like that. Chill.”

James wasn’t chilling. His eyes were wild, like he just discovered a secret conspiracy and was personally offended by it. “Explain. Now.”

Remus sighed, already regretting staying up past midnight. “We’re just... talking.”

“Talking? Since when do you talk to Regulus Black?” James’s voice cracked halfway through, like he was (poorly) biting back a meltdown over it.

“Since last night. It’s not a big deal.” Remus yawned, pulling the covers over his head. “Now can you please let me sleep?”

James groaned but finally flopped down next to him, still buzzing with that manic energy. “ Not a big deal?! I’ve been trying to get to his account since fifth year!”

Remus grunted noncommittally. “If you say so.”

“MOONY!” James literally jumped on the bed, straddling him. “I love him! And you’re—what—stealing him?!”

“Ugh, get off me,” Remus shoved him, but James was way too damn heavy to even budge. “I’m not stealing anyone. We’re literally patrolling corridors together.”

“AND FOLLOWING EACH OTHER ON INSTA!” James practically roared.

“Prongs,” Sirius groaned from his own bed, voice rough with sleep. “Can you, please, shut the fuck up?”

Peter laughed weakly from his spot. “Seconded.”

“Yeah, and get off me, you freak,” Remus added, squirming beneath James’s weight.

 

They walked into the Great Hall for breakfast way earlier than usual—no one had really managed to fall back asleep after James’s half-night meltdown about “my crush choosing my own friend over me!” even though no one had actually chosen anyone, and James was just full-on dramatic as usual.

Regulus and Evan were already sitting at the Slytherin table, like they’d been there forever. Regulus was quietly picking apart a croissant, his face perfectly unreadable as Evan whispered something into his ear with that usual whiny edge.

As Remus passed by, he barely had time to offer a casual nod to Regulus before Evan—totally ignoring the usual unspoken rules—let out a sharp, high-pitched “hi!” straight to Remus’s face. Remus blinked, caught off guard, and gave a slow, awkward nod back.

Regulus just smirked like he’d won some private, twisted game.

“Hi, Lupin,” Regulus said smoothly, voice calm and unfazed.

That made James next to Remus let out a pathetic little whimper, the kind that would’ve been embarrassing if it weren’t so painfully genuine.

“Jesus Christ,” Sirius muttered, rolling his eyes as he grabbed James’s arm and dragged him toward the Gryffindor table. Peter followed without a word, but Remus stayed frozen for a second, mind spinning before heading to his usual spot.

He was piecing things together.

Plotting it all out.

And then, like a goddamn lightning bolt, it hit him.

When Regulus had texted about “the guy who can’t talk to you because he forgets how to use his brain” he’d meant… Evan Rosier. Around him.

Evan had a crush on Remus.

That explained everything.

Why Evan had been following him on Instagram for who the hell knew how long.
Why he was lounging in Regulus’s bed while Regulus was texting Remus.
Why Evan always acted weird and jittery around him—like the time he nearly set his cauldron on fire just because Remus asked to borrow a stupid silver knife.

It made too much sense, and suddenly the whole picture was clearer— and a hell of a lot messier.

Remus let out a low groan, his face heating up with a mix of exasperation and something close to amusement. He probably should’ve seen it coming, really. Evan’s nervous glances, the weird little stutters when he talked to him, the awkward fumbling.

And yet, knowing all this? It didn’t make it any easier to deal with.

Remus rubbed his temples, wishing for a moment that he could just disappear into his bed and pretend none of it was happening. But no. That wasn’t how this worked.

Beside him, Peter was grinning like he knew everything all along and was just waiting for Remus to finally catch up. Which, knowing Peter, was probably exactly what he was doing—the smug bastard.

“So,” Remus said, pouring himself a cup of tea without even glancing in Evan’s general direction, “Evan had a crush on me?”

“Yep,” Peter said, still grinning like he’d just won some secret game.

“And you didn’t tell me?” Remus squinted at him, disbelief thick in his voice.

Peter shrugged, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Why would I? It was way funnier this way. In fact, Crouch and I have a bet going on whether you catch on first, or if Evan asks you out before you do.”

Remus blinked, horror creeping into his expression. “Crouch knows?”

“Damn right,” Peter nodded solemnly, reaching for the ketchup like it was a sacred relic. “He told me once, totally stoned out of his mind on Xeno’s weed.”

Remus stared at him for a long moment, wondering how exactly his life had become a low-budget reality show featuring his friends betting on his love life.

“Of course,” he muttered.

“But you’re, like… interested? Or something?” Peter squinted, genuinely curious.

Remus blinked again. 

Was he?
Honestly, had he even looked at Evan as more than just one of those annoying little Slytherins with aesthetically pleasing cheekbones?
No. Hard pass.

“No,” Remus said, maybe a little too harshly.

“Ouch,” Peter winced, clearly offended on Evan’s behalf.

Remus just shrugged and reached for his scrambled eggs. He’d had enough drama for one morning—and it was barely past seven. He had a whole fucking day ahead of him, and zero time to dwell on the fact that Evan Rosier apparently had a thing for him.

Classes to attend. Study sessions to survive. Patrol to check in with Regulus. And the first part of Eragon to finish without dozing off.

That was enough to keep his head spinning without adding teenage crushes to the mess.

Apparently, the universe—or maybe just Regulus Black himself—had other plans for Remus’s day. Because the moment he finished his croissant, he barely spared a glance at Evan, who was still slumped over the Slytherin table, face buried like he’d just lost all hope in the world. Instead, Regulus threw his backpack over one shoulder and strode straight toward the Gryffindor table—more specifically, straight toward Remus.

“C’mon,” Regulus said, hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking impossibly put together for a Thursday morning like he just rolled out of a fashion magazine.

“C’mon what?” Remus asked, fork still halfway to his mouth, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“We’re having History, aren’t we?” Regulus raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow like Remus was the slowest kid in class who just forgot what day it was.

James groaned so loud it was practically theatrical, loud enough to make even Regulus give him a side-eye of utter unimpressed disdain.

“Hi,” James chirped cheerfully, flashing his trademark grin like a golden retriever desperate for approval.

Regulus ignored him and went back to Remus with that familiar smirk. “Let’s go before Potter cream his pants,” he muttered under his breath, which promptly made Sirius cackle into his cereal and Peter snort so hard he almost choked.

Remus sighed, setting down his fork with a clatter and pushing himself up from the table. He grabbed his backpack, mentally preparing himself for whatever new disaster James was about to unleash later.

“Cig first,” Remus said as he walked alongside Regulus. “I’m gonna need nicotine if I want to survive this day.” He cast a quick glance back at Evan, who still looked like he was trying to disappear into the table, and instantly regretted it.

Because honestly? Some days the universe just decided to mess with him harder than usual, and today was shaping up to be one of those days.

As they stepped outside into the crisp morning air, Remus lit his cigarette with a practiced flick of the lighter and took a long, slow drag. The smoke coiled around his face like a temporary shield from the circus waiting back inside the castle. Regulus fell into step beside him, hands still shoved in his pockets, the quiet between them strangely comfortable—borderline domestic if either of them believed in that kind of crap.

“So,” Regulus said, exhaling with perfect nonchalance, “any thoughts about Rosier?”

Remus shot him a flat, unimpressed look. “Does everyone know besides me?”

Regulus shrugged like it wasn’t worth the energy. “Everyone who pays attention.”

“That explains why I didn’t,” Remus muttered, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. Then, against his better judgment, he asked, “How long?”

“Since fourth year. With breaks,” Regulus replied casually, dragging on his own cigarette, a smirk ghosting across his lips like it was all some inside joke.

Remus blinked. Fourth year? That was three full years of Evan Rosier pining for him—quietly, weirdly, while pretending to be allergic to eye contact. Since they were fourteen?

“Jesus Christ.”

“Mhm,” Regulus hummed, unfazed. “It’s more exhausting when you know than when you don’t.”

“I can imagine.”

Regulus tilted his head just slightly, eyes narrowing like he was reading something in Remus’s face. “No, I think you don’t.”

And there was something in his voice—something sharp, maybe bitter, definitely not casual—that made Remus pause for half a second too long. He didn’t ask. He wasn’t stupid.

He took another drag, smoke burning at the back of his throat.

“Still,” he muttered, “three years is… a lot.”

Regulus let out a short, humorless laugh. “You’d be surprised what people hold onto when they think they don’t stand a chance.”

Remus didn't reply. Not because he didn’t have anything to say, but because he wasn’t entirely sure what part of the conversation they were still having anymore.

He decided to steer the conversation somewhere else before his brain exploded from the weight of… whatever the hell that was.

“So. Snape?”

“Oh, yeah,” Regulus grinned—wide and smug, all annoyingly white, straight teeth that felt personally offensive this early in the morning. “I overheard them talking about meeting up on the fifth floor. That hidden balcony shit.”

“You overheard them?” Remus asked, one brow raised, skeptical. Because Severus Snape might’ve been a lot of things—annoying, smug, never-washing-his-hair, chronically racist, allergic to joy, deeply closeted, and vaguely unattractive—but he wasn’t stupid. Not stupid enough to let anyone just overhear his plans, at least.

Regulus only shrugged, eyes big and faux-innocent—too pretty for someone who was actively plotting his housemate’s public humiliation. Honestly, it was rude.

Remus sighed, crushed the butt of his cigarette under his boot, and gave him a flat look. “If we actually catch them, I’m documenting it. Putting it on Discord. Maybe Twitter too if it’s juicy.”

“Deal,” Regulus said, crushing his own cigarette with a casual twist of his heel. “If I can be on the Discord.”

“James is there.”

“Then never mind,” Regulus sing-songed, turning smoothly on his heel like that settled it.

They headed off toward History of Magic, side by side. Remus exhaled slowly and told himself it was just from the cigarette. Not because of Regulus Black and his aggravating face, casual chaos, or the way he made Remus’s mornings suddenly feel like something more than just caffeine and academic dread.

Nope. Just nicotine withdrawal. Definitely.

As a silent act of truce—or maybe just shared indifference toward literally everyone else—they slid into the same desk. It was the one shoved into the farthest corner of the classroom, half-forgotten and always avoided because of a phantom draught no one could explain. There were no open windows, no cracks in the walls, and yet it somehow felt like sitting inside a refrigerator. Fitting, really. Cold desk. Cold boys. 

Professor Binns was already mid-lecture, droning on with the enthusiasm of a corpse reading from a shopping list. The class wasn’t listening. They never did. The ghosts of bored students past probably haunted this room more than Binns himself.

Remus, who had developed the highly specific talent of taking immaculate notes while disassociating, clicked his pen and tried not to inhale too deeply. Regulus Black—dressed to the nines in a uniform that looked ironed by Satan himself—smelled like expensive citrus and overpriced hair products. Apple shampoo. Some stupid shit like that. Remus could feel his brain cells dying under the pressure of it. Was this boy trying to smell like a summer cocktail? On purpose?

And then, with a flick of his hand that screamed ‘I think I’m better than everyone and also I might be,’ Regulus slid a folded piece of paper across the desk.

Like they were passing state secrets.

Remus unfolded it with the cautious boredom of someone expecting an insult but not entirely opposed to reading one. What he got instead was a sketch—annoyingly detailed, done in quick but confident lines. A shirtless torso, lean and sharp-boned, with a knife-shaped belly button piercing. Underneath, in Regulus’s small, precise handwriting, was written:

“Snape. in case you didn’t catch on to that one either.”

Remus barked a laugh. Actual, real laughter. It punched out of him before he could stop it—low and rough and, unfortunately, very noticeable. A few heads turned. He ignored them.

Regulus grinned without looking at him—just a curl of his mouth, dimples flickering, eyes staying fixed on the page like he didn’t just drop a hand grenade onto Remus’s morning.

“You’re insane,” Remus muttered, trying to fight the grin tugging at his face.

Regulus, still not looking, whispered back, “Accurate.”

He snatched the paper back and flipped it over, already doodling something new, the tip of his pen moving in fluid, practiced lines like this was what he actually came to class for. Not learning. Not socializing. Just lowkey psychological warfare disguised as cartoon art.

Remus glanced at him from the corner of his eye. His profile was all clean lines and smugness. Cheekbones sharp enough to wound. The bastard probably never even got a zit in his life. Meanwhile, Remus was still trying to remember if he’d brushed his hair this morning. (He hadn’t.)

He shifted in his seat and muttered, “If this is going to become a daily thing, I’m charging you for the emotional damage.”

Regulus didn’t look up. “You couldn’t afford me.”

Remus bit down on another laugh.

Unfortunately, he was beginning to think Regulus Black was dangerous.

Not in the obvious Slytherin-prince kind of way.

Worse.

In the ‘maybe he’s actually kind of funny and I’m sort of into it’ kind of way.

Which was deeply concerning.

And completely unfair.

“Let’s play a game,” Regulus said, already pulling a fresh piece of parchment from his folder like this was planned.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “What kind of game?”

“Hangman,” Regulus said, dead serious. Not a trace of irony on his annoyingly perfect face.

Remus blinked. “Are you seven?”

“Chronologically? No. Spiritually? Possibly.” Regulus was already sketching out the little gallows and empty letter spaces like he’d been waiting for this moment. “Come on, Lupin. Don’t pretend like you’re above it.”

“I am above it,” Remus muttered, but he still leaned in, already trying to guess the word. Because of course he did. Because Regulus said it like a challenge, and Remus was nothing if not tragically weak for that.

Regulus tapped his pen twice against the page like a judge about to deliver a sentence.

“Okay. Seven letters,” he said, drawing the underscores out in quick, neat lines.

Remus narrowed his eyes at the page. “Is this going to be some obscure pretentious word only you know?”

“I’m not Sirius,” Regulus shot back. “Guess a letter.”

Remus sighed, dramatically. “Fine. E.”

Regulus raised a brow, smug already. “Wrong.” He drew a little circle for the head.

Remus scowled. “A.”

“Wrong again,” Regulus said, a little too pleased, and added the vertical line of the body.

“Oh, come on,” Remus muttered. “I’m convinced you picked something stupid just to make me lose.”

“You wound me.” Regulus placed a dramatic hand over his chest. “You think I’d rig a game just to watch you suffer?”

“Yes,” Remus said flatly. “That is exactly what I think.”

Regulus just grinned, the picture of smug little brother energy, except it was worse because he wasn’t Remus’s brother, and he was hot, and Remus hated himself for noticing both those things.

“Fine. O.”

“Wrong.” One arm went on the stick figure.

“You’ve got to be fucking with me.”

“Not yet,” Regulus replied smoothly, and Remus made a choked sound that absolutely wasn’t a laugh, no matter what his traitorous lungs thought.

“N?”

Regulus tilted his head… and then, finally, relented. “One N.”

_ _ _ _ N _ _

Remus stared at the page. “That’s not helpful at all.”

“That’s not my fault. Your guesses are basic.”

“Bite me.”

“Not in class,” Regulus said, not missing a beat, and Remus actually dropped his pen.

He scrambled to pick it up, cheeks burning, trying not to show it. Regulus was grinning like the devil in a school uniform.

“D,” Remus muttered, trying to focus.

“Nope. Sorry.” Regulus added the other arm.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Incorrect,” Regulus said. “He’s not part of the word either.”

Remus snorted. “U?”

Regulus nodded, finally. “Two of them.”

_ U _ _ N U _

Remus blinked down at the page. His mouth twisted.

“Oh my god,” he said.

Regulus gave a lazy smile. “Getting there?”

“You picked ‘Lupinus.’ My last name in Latin. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Regulus raised both eyebrows, mock-innocent. “Excuse me for adding a little class to this classroom.”

“You’re so—”

“Careful, Lupin,” Regulus said, leaning in just slightly, voice low and teasing, “you’re one bad guess away from hanging.”

Remus glanced at the stick figure, now one leg away from death.

“You’re deeply unwell,” he muttered, biting back a laugh.

“And you’re still playing,” Regulus replied, sliding him a fresh page. “Next round?”

Remus didn’t say yes. But he didn’t say no, either.

He just picked up his pen.

“Five letters,” Remus said, pen already in hand. “My turn.”

Regulus leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “Give me the underscores.”

Remus smirked and drew them slowly, deliberately, like he was presenting evidence in court.

Regulus cracked his knuckles. “E.”

Remus clicked his tongue. “Nope.”

He drew the little circle — the head.

Regulus gave him a look. “Don’t be petty.”

“Too late. Guess again.”

“T.”

Remus sighed. “Still no.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “You’re shit at this.”

“No,” Remus said, adding the body to the hangman stick figure. “You’re just bad at reading me.”

Regulus snorted. “You say that like you’re hard to read. You’re basically a book left open in the middle of the hallway with highlighter annotations.”

Remus glanced over at him. “You’re projecting.”

“P.”

Remus blinked, then looked back at the paper. “...Shit. Yeah. One P.”

_ _ _ P _

Regulus raised one elegant eyebrow. “That’s what I thought.”

Remus didn’t answer. He tapped his pen once. Twice.

Regulus tilted his head. “R?”

“Nope.” Remus added an arm. “Getting nervous?”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“You’re cocky. I’m balancing the universe.”

Regulus smirked, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. “S.”

“Nope,” Remus said, adding the second arm. “Wanna guess again, or should I just hang you now?”

“Try me. I’ll come back as a ghost and haunt you with grammar corrections.”

“That’s Lily’s job.”

“Fair.”

Regulus leaned in slightly, squinting at the paper, then at Remus, like he was trying to read something under his skin.

“...L?”

Remus hummed. “One L.”

_ _ _ P L

“Hmm.” Regulus tapped the desk with one finger. “U?”

“Also yes.”

_ U _ P L

Remus watched Regulus’s brows knit, just a fraction. His mouth twisted as he silently mouthed different letters, a hint of tongue peeking out as he thought. It was entirely too distracting.

Remus looked back at the paper, ignoring the way his ears felt hot.

“Couple guesses left,” he said, casually. “Tick-tock.”

Regulus smirked again. “No rush. I’m enjoying myself.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Guess or die, Black.”

Regulus raised his gaze and met Remus’s full-on. His voice dropped, quieter, but with weight behind it. “J.”

Remus’s pen paused midair.

He glanced up, narrowed his eyes.

Then slowly, deliberately, filled in the final letter.

J U _ P L

Regulus sat back with the most annoying smirk on his stupid, perfect face.

“Jumpl,” he said.

Remus groaned, dropped his forehead on the desk, and started laughing.

“It’s jumpl,” Regulus insisted, grinning wider now. “You can’t prove it isn’t. Some obscure Slavic wizard sport, probably.”

“It was ‘Jumpl’ for exactly four seconds before I changed it to ‘Jumplington.’ Fancy magical suburb.”

“You’re full of shit,” Remus said, not even trying to stop smiling now.

“Maybe,” Regulus said, voice too low, too smug, “but you’re still playing.”

Remus sat up, shook his head slightly, and handed him a new piece of paper.

“Your turn, again. But if it’s anything pretentious this time, I’m setting your notebook on fire.”

Regulus took the paper, already drawing. “Noted. Wouldn’t be the first time you got destructive when you couldn’t win.”

Remus laughed under his breath and leaned his elbow on the desk, watching Regulus like a problem he wasn’t sure he wanted to solve.

This was definitely going to spiral.
And he was definitely going to let it.

Regulus tapped his pen once against the desk, then sketched out the usual scaffold and added six blank spaces.

Remus peered at it. “Six letters. Alright, Black. Let’s see how cryptic you’re feeling today.”

Regulus didn’t answer. He just handed over the pen like he was passing a weapon, then folded his arms and waited, eyes half-lidded, like a smug cat watching a mouse try to chew through its own trap.

Remus smirked. “Let’s start easy. A.”

Regulus tilted his head. “Nope.”

Remus sighed and drew the little head. “Already off to a great start.”

“Maybe it’s not about winning,” Regulus offered, faux-sage.

Remus squinted at him. “You’re not even pretending you’re not flirting, are you?”

Regulus just shrugged. “Your guess.”

“E.”

“Correct,” Regulus said, like it physically pained him to admit it.

_ _ _ _ E _

Remus drummed his fingers. “R?”

“Nope.”

One stick-body, courtesy of his failure.

Remus scowled. “You’ve definitely rigged this.”

Regulus blinked, all wide-eyed innocence. “Would I do that?”

“Yes.”

Regulus smirked. “Guess again.”

Remus tapped the side of his face. “L?”

“Yes.”

_ _ _ _ L E

Now we’re getting somewhere.

“U?”

“Wrong.”

Remus grunted and drew the first leg. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Absolutely.”

“S?”

“Nope.”

Other leg. The little stick figure was already on life support.

“Jesus,” Remus muttered. “You’ve picked the most obscure word in existence, haven’t you?”

Regulus shrugged, leaning just a bit closer across the desk. “Not obscure at all. In fact, I think about it all the time.”

Remus paused. “Is it murder?”

Regulus laughed — actually laughed, head tipping back slightly, one of those low, breathy sounds Remus heard only one time in his life and it was two days ago. 

“No,” he said. “But that’s the energy.”

Remus shook his head. “T?”

“Yep.”

_ _ T T L E

The grin that spread on Regulus’s face was downright criminal. “You’re so close. One more wrong guess and stickman dies a tragic, unnecessary death. You’ll be responsible.”

Remus leaned forward, squinting at the paper like it held the secrets of the universe.

“...M?”

“Nope.”

He drew the final touch — the hangman’s sad little stick arms, limp and defeated.

Regulus gave a low, fake gasp. “Tragic. Gone too soon.”

Remus scowled at him. “Alright, what was the word?”

Regulus wrote it out slowly, with flair:

BOTTLE.

Remus stared.

“You’re kidding.”

Regulus twirled the pen between his fingers. “Nope.”

“That’s what you think about all the time?”

Regulus met his eyes. “Sometimes it’s literal. Sometimes not.”

There was a long pause. Remus’s smirk faded into something quieter, more careful.

“You’re... subtle.”

“I like my metaphors like I like my threats,” Regulus said, smiling faintly. “Pretty. Sharp. Untraceable.”

Remus blinked once, then huffed a breath. “Okay, that’s the most Slytherin thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Thank you.”

“Not a compliment.”

“Still taking it.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the classroom around them slowly dulling into background noise again—just the scraping of quills, the occasional cough, Binns droning about goblin uprisings like the ghosts in question still gave a shit.

Remus leaned back in his chair.

“I want a rematch,” he said.

Regulus handed him the paper. “Die with honor this time.”

Remus took it, eyes glinting. “You’ll wish you picked murder.”

And he started drawing.
This time, seven letters.
This time, he played dirty.

Regulus watched him sketch the gallows, arching an eyebrow like he was already unimpressed. “Seven letters. That’s ambitious.”

“I believe in you,” Remus said solemnly, “to fail.”

Regulus smirked, rolled his shoulders, cracked his knuckles—too performative to be serious, too graceful not to notice. “Let’s begin. A.”

Remus clicked his tongue and drew a circle for the hangman’s head. “Nope.”

Regulus’s eyes narrowed. “You’re bluffing.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“I’m not. I’m just smarter.”

Regulus exhaled slowly, plotting. “E.”

Remus paused. Then, grinned.

_ _ _ _ _ E _

Regulus sat back a little. “Huh.”

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Don’t get obvious.”

“Fair.”

Regulus tapped the desk, once, twice, rhythmically. “M?”

“Nope.”

Remus added the stick-body. “You’re making it too easy.”

“Or I’m lulling you into false security,” Regulus muttered, eyes still on the page like it personally offended him. “L.”

“Wrong again,” Remus said, cheerfully vicious. He added a leg. The stickman now looked like it regretted signing up for this.

Regulus tilted his head, mouth slightly parted in thought. “I.”

Remus clicked his tongue. “Nope.”

Another leg.

“Three down, three to go,” he taunted. “You sure you’re not just dyslexic?”

Regulus shot him a dry look. “T.”

Remus hesitated. Then, slowly, wrote it in.

_ _ T _ _ E _

Regulus sat up a little straighter. There was a glint in his eyes now. Dangerous.

“Getting warm?” Remus asked, leaning on his elbow, too smug for someone who spelled out the death of a stick figure thirty seconds ago.

Regulus didn’t answer, just tapped his lips with his pen, thinking. “S.”

“Nope.”

Arms.

Remus held up the paper. “One more, and he’s dead.”

Regulus tilted his head again, like he was studying Remus more than the paper. Then he said, “C.”

“No,” Remus replied, already drawing the noose like a villain in a fairytale.

The game was over. The stickman dangled in finality.

Regulus exhaled. “You’re insufferable.”

“Correct, but not the word.”

He flipped the paper around and, with a flourish, filled in the answer:

BETRAYED

Regulus stared at it.

Then stared at Remus.

A silence stretched between them like a string pulled too tight. No snapping, yet. Just… that dangerous moment before it.

“Wow,” Regulus said at last. “Heavy-handed much?”

Remus shrugged. “Depends. Did you think it was about you?”

Regulus didn’t answer. He just leaned back, smiling faintly like he wasn’t rattled — which meant, of course, that he was.

“You always this dramatic?”

“Only when provoked.”

Regulus licked his lower lip, thoughtful. “I liked it better when we were doing jokes.”

“You’re the one who brought up Rosier,” Remus replied, voice low.

“Touché.”

They sat there for a second longer, neither moving, both of them trying to pretend they weren’t deeply aware of how close their knees were under the desk.

“Rematch?” Regulus asked, already reaching for the paper again.

Remus smirked. “Only if you promise not to cry this time.”

“Oh, I never cry,” Regulus said, sketching out a new set of blanks.

Five letters.

Remus raised a brow. “Alright. My guess: D.”

Regulus looked up, that same maddening smirk spreading. “You’re starting with D?”

Remus shrugged. “Why not?”

Regulus rolled his eyes, leaned in, and said very softly:
“You’ll see.”

Then he wrote the letter in —
right at the very end.

_ _ _ _ D

Game. On.

Remus raised an eyebrow at the lone D sitting smugly at the end of the word.

“Alright,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes. “A.”

Regulus stared at the page for a long second, and then — deliberately — wrote in not one, but two A s.

A _ _ A D

Remus leaned in slowly, eyes darting between the letters and Regulus’s annoyingly satisfied expression. “You’re playing dirty.”

“I don’t play,” Regulus replied coolly, “unless I’m winning.”

Remus huffed a small laugh, dragging his fingers through his hair. “Let’s try… N.”

“Nope,” Regulus said far too quickly — like he was thrilled to deny it. A small, tidy circle appeared at the top of the gallows.

“One wrong already?” Regulus tsked under his breath. “Didn’t even warm up.”

“God, you’re unbearable,” Remus muttered, lips twitching.

“You love it,” Regulus said with such casual venom that Remus actually choked on air for half a second.

“Excuse me?”

“Guess a letter, Lupin.”

Remus blinked hard, regaining composure. “Fine. E.”

“Wrong again.” Stick body added.

“Wow. Real confident there.”

“I know you,” Regulus said, writing the stickman’s legs with flair. “You’re not gonna guess this.”

Remus narrowed his eyes. A _ _ A D
Five letters. Ended in D. Two A’s. What the hell—

“R,” he tried.

“Nope.”

“Fucking hell,” Remus muttered, taking a bite of the inside of his cheek. Arms now. Their little paper man looked stressed.

“I hope he haunts you,” Remus said.

Regulus didn’t even blink. “He’d be in good company.”

Remus scowled. “Fine. S.”

Regulus paused.

Wrote it in.

A S _ A D

Remus furrowed his brows. “Aslad? Ascad?”

“Neither,” Regulus said. “You’ve got one guess before stickman dies.”

Remus stared at the word like he could summon the answer through sheer willpower. His foot tapped under the desk. Regulus, of course, sat perfectly still, like he knew Remus would get it. Or hoped he wouldn’t.

“Aspad?” Remus guessed, unsure and clearly fishing.

Regulus smiled.

Wide. Wicked. Triumphant.

“Nope,” he said, and gently drew the noose.

Stickman was dead again.

Remus stared in annoyance. “What the hell was it?”

Regulus turned the page, slowly scrawling out the letters in dramatic, all-caps handwriting.

ASCAD

Then he struck a line through it.

Corrected it.

ASCAD → ASBAD

“No such word,” Remus said flatly.

“It is now,” Regulus replied, smirking. “It means: ‘a boy who thinks too much and guesses too little.’”

“Oh, fuck off,” Remus said, pushing the paper toward him.

Regulus didn’t stop smiling. “Urban dictionary would accept it.”

“You’re deranged.”

“You’re intrigued.”

Remus went still.

“What I am,” he said flatly, “is in desperate need of a lobotomy.”

But his lips twitched anyway. Damn facial expressions. Always betraying him.

Regulus didn’t miss it. Of course he didn’t. He grinned again — all teeth and trouble — and leaned back in his chair like he hadn’t just spent the last thirty minutes playing the most passive-aggressive, borderline flirtatious game of Hangman known to wizardkind.

He was dangerous.
And dimpled.
And weirdly, infuriatingly cocky for someone who barely reached Remus’s shoulder on a good day.

He lounged like he owned the place. Like he knew exactly how far he could push before Remus snapped or kissed him or threw his pen across the room. (All options were on the table.)

“Alright, Lupin,” Regulus said eventually, tapping his quill against the desk with the kind of rhythm that made Remus want to rip the thing in half. “New round. Winner gets a favor.”

Remus gave him a slow, suspicious look. “A favor.”

“Anything,” Regulus said, casual as sin. “Within reason. Or, you know, slightly outside of it.”

“Why do I feel like I’d end up buried in the Forbidden Forest?”

Regulus smirked. “You’d look good in a shallow grave.”

Remus stared. Regulus didn’t blink.

“Jesus Christ,” Remus muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Fine. But if I win, you’re telling your brother we’ve been texting.”

Regulus paled for the first time that morning.

“…Suddenly I don’t want to play anymore.”

“Too late,” Remus said, already scribbling down a seven-letter word. “Hope you like public humiliation, Black.”

“Oh, I thrive on it,” Regulus shot back, sharp and unbothered — but he still looked vaguely haunted by the idea of Sirius finding out.

And that?
That made Remus smile.

Regulus squinted at the blank dashes Remus had drawn.

“Seven letters. No hints?”

“No mercy,” Remus replied, leaning his chin on his hand like he wasn’t gleefully plotting his revenge. “Guess, coward.”

Regulus clicked his tongue and twirled his quill like it was a wand and not a glorified stick of ink. “Fine. E.”

Remus gave a slow, deliberate nod. “One E.” He filled it in — _ _ _ _ _ E _

“H,” Regulus said confidently.

“Nope,” Remus replied, already sketching the gallows.

“Bold of you,” Regulus muttered, tapping his lip. “A.”

“Two of them.”
_ A _ _ A E _

Regulus sat up straighter. “Hmm. Alright. S?”

Remus grinned. “Wrong again. Say hello to your legs.”

He drew two crooked little stick legs dangling off the base of the noose. Regulus leaned over to look.

“Those better not be meant to represent me.”

“Trust me,” Remus said, “if I wanted to insult your body, I’d draw you in skinny jeans and emotional repression.”

Regulus scoffed, but his mouth twitched again. “R?”

“Yes.”
_ A R _ A E _

Now Regulus was tapping his quill harder. “U?”

Remus shook his head and drew a limp little arm. “That’s three.”

“You’re cruel.”

“You were warned.”

“Okay, okay…” Regulus muttered, squinting at the word like it had personally offended him. Then, cautiously: “K?”

Remus didn’t say anything — just smiled as he added the second arm.

Regulus groaned. “Oh, come on, how is there not a K in there?”

“Because not every word is ‘knife’ or ‘kink,’ Black.”

“Don’t shame me for being consistent.”

Remus snorted. “Just guess the word before I finish drawing your doomed little body.”

Regulus leaned in, staring hard at the partially filled-in word.
_ A R _ A E _

And then—his eyes narrowed. His entire posture shifted, that slow, feral grin tugging at his mouth again.

“You’re playing dirty,” he said.

“I’m playing fair.”

“No, you’re playing emotionally manipulative,” Regulus snapped, but it was half a laugh. “It’s ‘BARGAINS,’ isn’t it?”

Remus paused dramatically, quill hovering above the paper.

“…Unfortunately,” he said, “you’re correct.”

Regulus beamed like he’d just won a duel. “Which means you owe me a favor.”

Remus groaned. “Shit.”

Regulus leaned in again, far too close, smelling like citrus and something darker underneath. “Don’t worry. I’ll collect it when it’ll be most inconvenient.”

Remus rolled his eyes, cheeks faintly flushed. “Of course you will.”

Notes:

i love when they're silly and goofy and a little flirty...

Chapter 5: caffeine, unaddressed trauma, and a to-do list longer than his lifespan

The second Remus sat down at the Gryffindor table for lunch, James launched himself at him with a face that would’ve been terrifying — if he wasn’t, you know, James.

“What?” Remus asked flatly, not even flinching.

“Why the hell were you sitting with Regulus in History?” James hissed, deadly serious.

Remus blinked. Sirius snorted roast potato out of his nose from laughing. “You were stalking us on the Map?”

“The entire Muggle Studies class,” Sirius confirmed, grinning way too wide. “He was hunched over it like a war general.”

Remus turned his head slowly, first to Sirius, then back to James. “James,” he said.

James didn’t answer. Just kept glaring like Remus had personally pissed in his cereal.

“I’m revoking your Map privileges,” Remus said, voice flat.

Sirius barked out another laugh and Peter looked absolutely delighted.

“You can’t,” James said, scandalized. “You literally can’t do that.”

“I can,” Remus replied, reaching across the table with his hand out, “and I will. Hand it over.”

“No.”

“Give me the Map, or I’ll tell Regulus that you pop a boner every time someone mentions him showering.”

James gasped like he’d been physically slapped. “You wouldn’t.”

“Mate,” Peter choked through laughter, “you could’ve just denied the boner now and walked away with some dignity.”

“I have plenty of dignity—”

“The Map, Potter,” Remus said again, palm still out. “You know I have no brakes. None. I will crash this whole thing just to spite you.”

James clutched his chest like he’d been wounded. “Et tu, Moony?”

“Don’t Latin me,” Remus replied. “Give me the damn Map.”

Sirius was now wheezing into his pumpkin juice and Peter had to put his head down on the table, he was laughing so hard.

James hesitated, then sighed dramatically and reached into his bag, pulling out the Map like it was his firstborn being taken away.

“You’re a tyrant.”

“I’m peaceful until provoked,” Remus said, tucking the Map into his backpack like a victor leaving the battlefield.

“Bet Regulus likes that about you,” Sirius muttered under his breath.

Remus didn’t respond. But his ears went a little pink.

“So,” Peter hummed, trying hard to look casual as he stirred his soup like it was the most normal thing in the world, “why the hell did you two sit together?”

Remus raised a single unimpressed brow. “Because he told me to. And I quote, ‘Sit, Lupin.’”

James practically gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been personally betrayed. “So he’s got you on a leash now?”

Remus fixed him with a look sharp enough to slice bread. “Absolutely. If by leash you mean a very annoying, insufferable tether I can’t seem to escape from.”

Sirius smirked, leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying the drama unfolding like a show he had front-row seats for. “Watch out, though. Regulus Black can smile at you while plotting your assassination. It’s kind of a family talent.”

James looked scandalized all over again, like someone just told him his favorite dessert was discontinued. “Alright, but seriously—why aren’t you telling him to back the hell off your baby brother?”

Sirius shrugged, voice dripping with disinterest. “I don’t care what Reggie does — as long as you’re not the one doing him.”

Remus snorted into his tea, the bitter irony hitting too close to home. “Jesus Christ.”

Peter burst out laughing, nearly snorting his soup. James shot him a death glare that could freeze fire.

“I swear, I’m surrounded by filth,” James muttered, shaking his head like he was mourning the collapse of civilization.

“Get used to it,” Sirius said with a grin, popping a grape into his mouth. “This is the good part.”

Remus rolled his eyes and sipped his tea, but his mind was already racing. Regulus pulling the strings, James obsessing over nothing, Sirius playing referee with zero chill—and somewhere in the middle of it all, Evan Rosier, who apparently had a crush on him for three years without so much as a whisper.

And here he was, stuck in the middle of all their mess, trying to pretend it wasn’t the most interesting thing that had happened to him in months.

“Honestly,” Remus muttered under his breath, “I don’t know how I got stuck with this circus.”

“Because you’re the ringmaster, mate,” Sirius said with a smirk.

Remus shot him a tired look but couldn’t stop the small smile creeping up anyway. Maybe the chaos wasn’t so bad. Not yet, at least.

“So what now?” Peter asked, glancing between James and Remus like he was watching a slow-motion trainwreck about to derail. “Are we seriously just gonna pretend Regulus didn’t pick Moony over Prongs after, what, two fucking days?”

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, voice low and tired. “No one chose anyone over anyone.”

“Dude,” Peter said flatly, like he’d just explained basic math to a toddler.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Remus announced, setting down his mug with more force than necessary. “Can we please circle back to that rare moment in our lives when talking to someone didn’t mean you wanted to fuck them?”

James’s voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. “So… you do want to fuck him?”

Remus groaned, the sound like pure exhaustion. “That’s literally the opposite of what I just said.”

Sirius nodded sagely, never one to miss a chance to stir the pot. “Besides, if Rosier’s got a crush on Moony, he’s untouchable for Regulus. Sure, Reggie’s a little unhinged, but betraying his best mate? Nah, he’d rather die.”

James snapped back, voice sharp as a rusty blade. “Doesn’t seem like a problem to Moony.”

Remus gave him a flat look that could kill. “You want me to down a vial of Veritaserum and repeat that I have zero— zero —love, emotional, sexual, or otherwise interest in Regulus Black?”

James faltered, suddenly unsure. Peter snickered. Sirius just grinned like the chaos god he was.

“Look,” Remus continued, voice dripping with sarcasm, “if you want to keep obsessing over this love triangle that’s not even a triangle, be my guest. But I’m out. I’ve got class, patrols, and enough headaches without this soap opera.”

Peter shrugged, clearly entertained. “Fine by me. More popcorn for the rest of us.”

James huffed but slumped back in his chair, defeated for now.

And Remus? He just poured himself another cup of tea and silently thanked whatever twisted fate had put Regulus Black in his life—because no matter how much it complicated things, it was never, ever boring.

 

For the rest of the day, Remus locked himself in the Room of Requirement with nothing but his notes, a stack of textbooks, and the bitter resolve of a man on the brink. He had muggle exams to study for—actual muggle exams. It was mostly literature (easy) and history (easier), but still, it was a whole decade of information he had to somehow cram into ten months. He was basically trying to compress an entire academic lifetime into a school year, and it was going about as well as one would expect: poorly, with a mild dose of existential dread.

Was he being dramatic for running away from James’s never-ending monologues and Sirius’s snickering commentary? Yes. Absolutely. And did he care?

Not even a little.

Because frankly, he had better things to do than listen to James whine about betrayal and heartbreak like a Shakespearean heroine. And more importantly, his brain was busy trying to unravel the mess that was Regulus Black.

A mess that, objectively, didn’t even exist.

The “situation” with Regulus had only been going on for, what, two days? And Remus was already turning it into an entire psychological thriller in his head. Typical. And if Sirius was right—and, infuriatingly, he usually was when it came to anything involving his cryptic younger brother—then Regulus wasn’t even flirting. Not really.

He was just… being himself. Which, unfortunately, meant being:

• Vaguely threatening at all times,
• Unnecessarily funny in a way that made your spine itch,
• And possessing a natural talent for that brand of accidental flirting that made you want to commit actual crimes just to see him smile again.

But he wasn’t flirting.

Which was good. Great, even. Because Remus wasn’t flirting either. Not even a little. Mostly because he hated flirting. Flirting was for people who had energy, and patience, and self-worth. He had caffeine, unaddressed trauma, and a to-do list longer than his lifespan.

Besides, he’d made a promise to himself after The Catastrophe That Was Theo Russo™ —a short but painfully stupid relationship that ended in a mutual decision to never speak again—that he would never, ever get involved with another Hogwarts student. Period.

No more emotional entanglements. No more tragic crushes. No more sneaky hand-holding in the library or making out behind tapestries or whatever the hell normal teenage couples did.

No. Remus Lupin was officially closed for business.

Unless, maybe, he met some muggle guy. Preferably one who had no idea about magic or werewolves or that Remus’s closest friends included a part-time stag, a chaos gremlin with too much eyeliner, and a boy whose main character trait was “feral.”

Now that would be nice.

But for now, he had studying to do and a hundred ways to pretend Regulus Black wasn’t living rent-free in his head.

He launched himself into ancient history—Greek gods, dramatic myths, and weird marble buildings that somehow felt more important than the entire bloody castle he lived in. For hours, he drowned himself in Olympus and Sparta, forcing his brain to cling to facts that had nothing to do with Slytherins or sibling drama or Evan bloody Rosier. Especially not Regulus Black.

Not the fact that he had rounds with him tonight. Not the fact that tomorrow meant an entire day of Potions—with the Slytherins.

Nope. Greek tragedies were starting to feel less tragic than his own life.

But of course, peace was a temporary illusion.

At exactly 8:50 PM, his phone buzzed on the desk, loud in the silence.

Regulus:
meet me at 5th floor, lupin

Of course. Because why wouldn’t Regulus text like he was a soldier commanding his unit and not a sixteen-year-old in a school jumper?

Remus sighed, shoved his phone into his pocket, and began cleaning up the battlefield that was his study session: crumpled papers everywhere, a now-empty jug that once held Earl Grey spiked with way too much strawberry syrup, two broken quills, and one bent copy of Mythology for Muggles that looked like it had seen war. Probably because it had.

He left the Room of Requirement and started down the corridor, mentally preparing himself for an hour of trailing after Severus Snape in the hopes of catching him snogging Walden fucking McNair—something that, in theory, shouldn’t be exciting, but in practice kind of was. Disturbingly so.

By the time Remus reached the fifth floor, Regulus was already there. Of course he was. Leaning against the window like a morally ambiguous painting, one hand clutching that signature black flask of his—probably filled with something like wild thyme and pretentiousness—and the other hand holding nothing but sheer attitude. Still dressed in his uniform, like they weren’t hours after classes. Hair looking like it had been styled by Satan’s own shampoo commercial. Evil. Polished. Effective.

“C’mon,” Regulus said, hopping down from the sill with the kind of grace cats and serial killers had. “They should be there in, like, fifteen.”

They strolled down the corridor, feet quiet against stone, and Remus instantly regretted not bringing his own tea. Worse, he regretted Regulus’s joking about giving Remus some last night—because now, cruelly, he wanted it. It smelled like hibiscus and wild berries and something annoyingly warm, and now that he knew that, he could smell it every time Regulus exhaled. Ridiculous.

“You look like you just lost a war,” Regulus said, side-eyeing him.

“I did,” Remus muttered, grimacing. “With muggle history. And James Potter.”

“Come again?”

Remus sighed and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers. “I’m taking muggle exams after NEWTs. I want to apply for English Lit at King’s College. Also looking into Magical Creatures study programs.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow at that. Not mocking, just... surprised. Mildly impressed. Maybe even intrigued. It made Remus suspicious.

“And Potter?” Regulus prompted.

“He accused me of betrayal.”

“Because we, what, got assigned to patrol together?”

“Yes.”

Regulus hummed, pleased in a way that made Remus want to punch something, preferably his perfect nose. “He’s such an idiot, isn’t he?”

Remus didn’t answer that. James was an idiot, but he wasn’t going to sit here and bitch about him behind his back. Not even with Regulus. Especially not with Regulus.

Regulus sipped his tea, then, as if he’d been waiting for the silence to stretch, went, “And… any chance Evan’s the reason for your tragic little state, too?”

Remus shot him a sharp look. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Enjoying this.”

“I can’t. It’s required. Part of the job description.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Everyone’s weird, Lupin,” Regulus said with the kind of philosophical smugness only someone with a trust fund and two murder plots could pull off. “Now, come on. Tell me more about this Muggle college nonsense.”

Remus squinted at him, genuinely confused. “You actually want to hear about that?”

“Why not?” Regulus shrugged. “I’m not exactly close-minded.”

“You’re literally pureblood royalty.”

“And you’re literally a half-blood raised on Muggle poetry,” Regulus replied. “So what’s your point?”

Remus opened his mouth, closed it again, then sighed. “Fine. But if you start laughing at any point, I will hex your tea.”

Regulus smirked, all dimples and menace. “Deal.”

And just like that, they walked on—quiet except for the sound of Remus explaining entrance exams and Regulus pretending not to be interested, both of them conveniently ignoring that somewhere around corridor seven, Snape might be swapping spit with McNair.

 

They rounded the corner into corridor seven right as Regulus leaned in to ask something about Muggle student loans—probably as a joke, but he sounded genuinely intrigued, which was unsettling enough.

And that’s when they heard it.

Not the kind of sound you want to hear echoing off the stone walls at 9:16pm on a Thursday.

A wet sound. Muffled. Rhythmic.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Remus muttered.

Regulus grinned like a cat that smelled blood.

They crept closer. No talking. No dramatic wand-flourishing. Just quiet footsteps and mutual dread.

Behind the half-cracked door of a forgotten classroom, they could hear it clearly now. Heavy breathing. Sloppy kisses. Fabric rustling. A muffled groan.

Regulus held up three fingers like this was a military op. Remus rolled his eyes, but nodded.

Three.

Two.

One.

Regulus kicked the door open so hard it slammed against the stone wall with a crack that would’ve made Binns stop lecturing (if he had ears or shame).

“Caught you, you absolute disasters!” Regulus announced, like it was Christmas and this was his gift to himself.

Remus followed behind, fully prepared for… well, something gross.

But even he wasn’t ready for what they found.

Snape. Shirt unbuttoned. Tie askew.

McNair. On his knees. Actually on his knees.

There was a full second of frozen silence—Regulus raising both brows like he’d just won the Quidditch Cup, Snape trying to simultaneously cover his chest and his ego, and McNair straight-up looking like he was about to commit murder.

“Shit,” Remus said.

Snape scrambled to his feet, red-faced and buttoning like a Victorian governess caught in a scandal. “ You have no right—”

“Oh, we do,” Regulus interrupted, voice gleefully calm. “We’re on patrol. You know—prefect duty. Rules. Boundaries. Mouths on other people’s—well. You get the point.”

“Fucking leave,” McNair growled, stepping forward like he thought he was threatening.

Regulus didn’t flinch. “Sorry, mate. Can’t. You’re breaking school rules and also committing some sort of aesthetic war crime. I’m actually required to report this.”

“You wouldn’t,” Snape hissed, voice caught somewhere between desperate and venomous.

Remus, who up to this point had said very little, pulled out a folded piece of parchment from his pocket. And his phone, snapping a picture faster than Snape could ever blink.

“Already wrote it down,” he said, voice flat. “Gonna file it with McGonagall. Also, there’s a photo on its way to Sirius.”

Snape paled. McNair swore.

Regulus grinned wider than Remus had ever seen. “You should’ve picked a less conspicuous make-out spot,” he said, turning on his heel like a smug little general. “And maybe someone who doesn’t sound like a vacuum cleaner when they kiss.”

They didn’t wait for a reply. They walked out—leisurely, victorious, and a little bit scarred.

Remus exhaled when they were two corridors away. “I feel like I need to bleach my brain.”

“Or your eyeballs,” Regulus nodded solemnly.

They paused outside a broom cupboard. Regulus sipped his tea, still calm as ever.

“I mean,” he added after a beat, “at least we know Snape has a type.”

Remus groaned.

“I’m sending the sketch to Evan,” Regulus added casually. “Might boost morale.”

“You’re the devil.”

Regulus smiled, teeth white and wolfish. “Takes one to know one.”

Remus pulled out his phone, tapped on the picture of Snape and McNair, and let out a sound that was equal parts laugh, groan, and gag. “I can do so much with this picture,” he said, eyes gleaming like a man who’d just found the Ark of the Covenant.

Regulus leaned over, catching a glimpse. He laughed like the devil incarnate—Lucifer, probably, if Lucifer had good hair and resting judgement face. “Oh my God, Lupin. This is gold.”

“I know,” Remus grinned, unrepentant. “This is actual genius.”

“It is,” Regulus agreed, giving him a look that toed the line between impressed and mildly terrified.

They reached the stairs, ready to escape the fifth floor and the lingering sound memory of Snape’s desperate panting.

“Alright,” Regulus said, squinting up at Remus as they descended. “Why do you hate Snape so much? I mean, aside from the obvious—him being a genuinely hateable human being?”

Remus hummed like someone who’d answered this question too many times. “Well, there’s the small fact that he believes in pureblood supremacy.”

Regulus shrugged. “A lot of people do.”

“All of them are idiots.”

“Touche,” Regulus nodded. “Example, though?”

“He’s been calling Lily a Mudblood since fifth year. All because she turned him down. Never mind the fact that he’s half-blood and cosplaying as someone who isn’t.”

“That’s it? You hate him over Lily Evans?”

Remus shot him a flat look. “That’s not the only reason.”

“So what else?”

“Why would I tell you?”

“Because I want to know?”

Remus raised a single eyebrow, slow and unimpressed. “Keep dreaming.”

“Lupin,” Regulus gasped, full mock offense. “We just went to war together. Caught two Slytherins in a live-action snog-fest. And you refuse to share your secrets?”

“It’s not gossip. It’s an ongoing situation involving someone with a fetish for exposing people’s trauma, so yeah, I’m refusing,” Remus said, voice flat as stone.

Because Severus Snape was a greasy, miserable little bastard with the emotional range of a teaspoon and a six-year obsession with outing Remus as a werewolf. He hadn’t succeeded—not yet—but he kept trying. Whispering behind corners. Writing “furry” on chalkboards. Hinting. Pushing. Spinning.

Remus would rather set himself on fire than let anyone know what he was. Only James, Sirius, Peter, and Lily knew. And they only knew because they were nosy little gits who “found out out of love,” which was very noble and very annoying and very Gryffindor.

Regulus squinted at him, reading more than Remus wanted him to. But after a moment, he just sighed dramatically, like he was the one suffering.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Keep your secrets, Lupin.”

Then he handed him the flask. “Take a sip, you absolute ray of sunshine.”

Remus raised an eyebrow, but took it anyway. One sip.

It was... good. Annoyingly good. Fruity without being sweet. Warm without being cloying. Smelled like hibiscus and tasted like something a god would drink while plotting the fall of Rome.

“I hate you,” he muttered, handing it back.

Regulus just laughed and turned the next corner.

They spent the rest of patrol talking about Remus’s application to King’s College—Regulus gasping every five seconds like he’d discovered the concept of academia for the first time—and diving deep into ancient Egypt, which apparently made Regulus practically giddy. He kept throwing out facts about pharaohs and mummification like he’d written the scrolls himself.

They also caught two more snogging couples.

The first was a pair of fourth-year Hufflepuffs hiding behind a tapestry like they’d invented subtlety. Regulus had stared at them for a solid three seconds before deadpanning, “Google protection, heathens,” and waving them off like a disappointed aunt.

The second was less harmless—Theodore Nott and a Slytherin boy Remus vaguely remembered as Stevens, shoved into a broom closet like a scene from a bad romance novel. Regulus had raised a single, unimpressed eyebrow at them before pulling out his wand like a clipboard and dishing out punishment like he was born for it.

“Ten points for snogging in public,” Regulus started, voice bored. “Five ‘cause I don’t like your haircut, Nott. Another five for making weird noises while making out—seriously, what the fuck was that. And ten for using the most cliche snogging location on school grounds. Get original.”

The closet door shut behind them with a quiet thud, and Remus just stood there, arms crossed, blinking. “Weirdly personal,” he muttered.

“Not even,” Regulus said, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve. “I just have standards.”

Remus snorted. “Terrifying ones.”

“Damn right.”

And they kept walking. The corridors echoing with their footsteps, their conversation drifting between college admissions and ancient curses. Somewhere between the snogging and the sarcasm, Remus realized patrol wasn’t half as miserable as it used to be.

And that was probably Regulus’s fault.

Unfortunately.

Once again, they split up under the portrait of the Fat Lady, and once again, Remus stepped into the Gryffindor common room feeling just a little giddy—and he fully blamed it on the fact that he and Regulus caught Snape and McNair, obviously. Not on Regulus in general. Definitely not that.

When he made it up to his dorm, James, surprisingly, didn’t launch at him like a heat-seeking missile. In fact, he didn’t even acknowledge him, which was the most dramatic not-so-subtle protest Remus had ever seen. James’s official boycotting phase had clearly begun. The you stole Regulus Black from under my nose and I’m grieving phase. Even if—Remus would like to scream this into his face—James never even had Regulus to begin with.

“Hi, Moons,” Sirius greeted him anyway, grinning from where he was half-lying across his bed. “How was it?”

“Oh, you’re gonna love it,” Remus said, already grinning as he flopped down next to him like they were in some romcom montage. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “You too, come on,” he called toward Peter and James.

Peter groaned and rolled himself off his bed like a tragic noodle, shuffling over.

James didn’t move. Didn’t glance up from his position, sprawled dramatically across his mattress with his MacBook balanced on his chest, angrily mashing keys like the game personally wronged him. Or like he was hacking into the Ministry. Or writing a Wattpad breakup fic about Remus and Regulus. Honestly, all three were possible.

“What is it?” Sirius asked, leaning in so close that Remus could practically taste the stale smoke on his breath.

Without a word, Remus opened his photo gallery, scrolled to the absolute masterpiece he took during patrol, and held up the screen for Sirius and Peter to see.

It was a picture—blurry, hastily taken, but unmistakably clear in vibe—of Snape and McNair practically mid-deal.  

Sirius let out a bark of laughter that made James flinch in his bed. Peter snorted so hard he had to cover his mouth.

“Oh my God,” Sirius said between wheezes. “Please tell me you’re sending that to Minnie.”

“First thing tomorrow,” Remus said, smug. “Or I’ll frame it. Depends on my mood.”

Sirius leaned over again, studying the image like it was modern art. “And Reggie got this with you?”

Remus shrugged. “He was the one who pointed them out.”

Sirius gave him a look—somewhere between impressed and deeply suspicious. “Huh.”

Peter was still giggling. “This is better than the time we caught Carrow trying to charm the vending machine into giving free chocolate.”

Still, James said nothing.

Remus didn’t point it out. Didn’t look over. He let him sulk.

Because yeah, maybe James was going through a personal crisis over Regulus Black following Remus on Instagram instead of him. But Remus just had one of the most chaotic, weirdly fun patrol nights of his life—and he wasn’t going to let James’s ridiculous one-sided rivalry ruin that.

Even if he probably would have to pay for it tomorrow.

Probably.

“God, I love this!” Peter beamed as he launched himself onto the bed—half on Sirius, half on Remus—and snatched the phone out of Remus’s hand like it was a precious artifact. “This is—this is gold.”

“I know,” Remus grinned, not even caring that Peter’s elbow was currently rearranging his ribcage. “We caught Nott with Stevens too, by the way. The school is a fucking queer circus lately.”

“And I love it here,” Sirius announced smugly, craning his neck to look at the photo again like it was a Monet. “Come on, Prongs,” he added, tossing a look over his shoulder. “You have to see this!”

“I don’t care what it is,” James muttered from across the room, voice flat in that uniquely pathetic way only a man in the throes of unrequited Insta-love could manage.

“Dude,” Peter said, glancing over. “It’s snogging Snivellus and you don’t wanna see?”

James’s jaw twitched. Just barely. The micro-expression of a man very much not winning.
“I don’t,” he said stiffly after a beat. Like he’d rehearsed it.

“Sure,” Sirius snorted, settling back against the headboard. “But Nott too?” he turned to Remus after a pause.

“Yeah,” Remus nodded, nonchalant. “Near the astronomy tower, middle of the night. Basically begging to get caught.”

“What did Reggie do when he saw them?” Sirius asked, way too casual. Like calculatedly casual. Like the kind of casual that means absolutely nothing is casual about this question.

“Took thirty points from them,” Remus replied, shoving Peter off slightly. “Five of them just because he said he ‘didn’t like Nott’s haircut.’ Or something equally unhinged. I don’t know. It was iconic.”

“Huh,” Sirius said.

Just that. Huh.

Which, in Sirius-speak, translated to:
a) I know something,
b) it’s about Regulus,
c) it’s incredibly juicy,
and d) Remus absolutely wasn’t going to rest until he figured out what the hell it was.

Challenge accepted.

Peter was now zooming in on every inch of Snape’s unfortunate face like he was studying a dissected frog under a microscope, and Remus just tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling like it held answers. Plotting. Scheming.

Because if Sirius fucking Black was hiding something—and he was, that “huh” had weight—then getting the truth out of him was going to be harder than convincing James Potter to stop acting like an emotionally constipated fourteen years old girl.

Sirius was loyal like a dog (pun fully intended). And stubborn like one too. He could take secrets to the grave. The actual grave.

So.
Remus needed to get the truth out of Regulus himself.

Which, realistically, had a 2% chance of success and a 98% chance of Remus ending up in the hospital wing with his eyebrows hexed off and his blood turned to glitter. But still—he’d faced worse. He had a plan. Kind of. No details yet, but a vibe. That was something.

He was still plotting in the shower. Shampoo forgotten, steam clouding the mirror, mental crime board forming in his head with red string and push pins and a headline that read WHAT THE FUCK IS REGULUS BLACK HIDING?

And when he finally collapsed into bed, he didn’t even pick up Eragon. Which was, frankly, a sign of the apocalypse.

No dragons. No plot. Just endless, spiraling thoughts of smirking Slytherins and withheld information and Sirius’s suspicious “huh.”

Oh, he was hyperfixating. Fully, completely, and beyond saving.

Meanwhile, James was still so pissed that Remus could feel the tension radiating from his bed like some kind of angsty heat lamp. It was wild, honestly. Impressive, even.
The level of petty betrayal James was stewing in could’ve fueled a Shakespearean tragedy. Or at the very least a really messy TikTok callout video.

Remus exhaled loudly, staring up at the canopy above his bed.

Yeah.
He was in it now.

Without thinking twice, Remus grabbed his phone and texted Regulus.
Just because.
Part of the plan, obviously.
Not at all because he could still taste the ghost of Regulus’s tea on his tongue or hear his stupid, smug voice in his head. Nope. Definitely not that.

Remus:
sirius lost his mind over the photo & peter already put it on discord

Regulus replied after exactly 98 seconds.
Not that Remus was counting.

Regulus:
send it to me i need to show this to EVERYONE
in fact i may post it on my insta
public one. with ‘i wanna be yours’ as the sound

Remus snorted, borderline choking on his own breath, and sent the photo without hesitation. Because he had no self-preservation instincts left apparently.

Regulus:
it’s so gold
we’re unstoppable lupin
you know that snape is sulking by the fireplace right now looking all tortured and won’t even look at me??
this is the best day of my life
or like. this month. BUT STILL

Remus could see it. Snape, curled into a depression spiral in his armchair like the melodramatic bat he was, refusing to meet anyone’s eye and muttering poetry under his breath. Probably something about betrayal and the cruel hand of fate. Maybe in Latin.

He grinned down at his phone and typed, thumbs quick and thoughtless.

Remus:
do it
post it with the sound
i’ll like it from all my alts

Regulus:
ur enabling me
i like it
this friendship is toxic in the best way

Remus:
is it friendship tho

He paused.
Thumb hovering.
Staring.
Regretting.
Too late.

Three dots. Then gone. Then three dots again.
Remus held his breath without meaning to.

Finally:

Regulus:
oh?

And just like that, Remus was wide awake.
Plot abandoned. Brain short-circuited. Heart doing something very stupid and reckless in his chest.
He looked at his phone like it had just threatened him.

Which, in a way, it had.

Remus:
i thought we’re actually just forced to spend time together
prefect shit

He hit send, then immediately shut his eyes like he was bracing for a hex.
Which, emotionally speaking, he sort of was.
That was either going to blow over or blow up, and he wasn’t quite sure which would be worse.

But Regulus replied.

So maybe— maybe —Remus hadn’t just dug his own grave and buried himself in it.

Regulus:
woah. and here i thought sharing tea meant more to you

Remus stared at the screen for a moment, completely still, like it might catch fire if he blinked. Then:

Remus:
i mean. it was good tea

Regulus:
metaphorical or literal

There was a pause. The kind that shouldn’t have felt loaded, but did anyway.

Remus:
… both

Another long beat. Remus didn’t breathe until the reply came through.

Regulus:
alright
you’re safe
for now

Remus exhaled slowly, letting his head drop back against his pillow with a quiet thud.
The kind of relief that settled into his bones wasn’t normal.
Which was fine.
Totally fine.
(Nothing was normal about any of this.)

He should’ve left it there. Should’ve muted the thread, rolled over, and gone to sleep like a rational person. But instead, he tapped again.

Remus:
so tea means something now?

Three dots. Pause. Three dots again.

Regulus:
depends who’s pouring it

And now Remus definitely wasn’t sleeping tonight.

Another message popped up before Remus even had a chance to think about replying in a way that didn’t scream: ARE YOU FLIRTING OR ARE YOU JUST ALWAYS LIKE THIS BECAUSE I GENUINELY CANNOT TELL.

Regulus:
anyway. did potter lose his shit again?

Remus let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
Whatever that moment was, it passed.
Which meant he wasn't currently breaking the sacred, unwritten bro code (or whatever dramatic name James had branded it with) by possibly flirting with Regulus Black at 11:37 p.m. on a Thursday.

Remus:
wouldn’t know
he’s ignoring me since i got back
didn’t even look at the pic

Regulus:
you’re joking

Remus:
nope. been pissed at me since breakfast

Regulus:
well. evan’s pissed at me too

Remus raised an eyebrow, lying in bed with his phone over his face. He was hearing more about Evan Rosier in the past 24 hours than he had in his entire life combined.

Remus:
and why’s that

Regulus:
apparently i’m not allowed to talk to you without his personal supervision
but also, he’s “emotionally stable”
(he’s not. like. at all.)

Remus stared at the screen, blinking at least ten times like he could manually reset his brain with enough effort.

So… to recap:
Evan, who apparently had a crush on Remus, was mad at Regulus for talking to Remus.
Which was the exact same thing happening in their own dorm, except replace Evan with James, and Remus wanted to bash his head into a wall.

Remus:
alright but when exactly did “talking” become the same thing as “i’m in love with this person”

Regulus:
I DON’T KNOW, LUPIN. I’M EXHAUSTED.
AND HE THREATENED ME.
THREATENED.
ME.

Remus bit back a snort. Evan Rosier threatening Regulus Black was the funniest sentence he’d read all week.

Remus:
what did he say? “stop talking with the guy i haven’t asked out and have never spoken to directly”?

Regulus:
no he said “i’ll pour bleach in your shampoo” but your version’s funnier

Remus:
your version’s terrifying

Regulus:
i’m sleeping with my curtains closed tonight. and maybe a dagger under my pillow.

Remus laughed out loud, which earned him a grunt from James across the room — still pointedly ignoring him.
Whatever. James could sulk. He had Regulus in his phone, and a mental image of Rosier playing unstable little menace in the background like a Slytherin telenovela.

It was enough entertainment to last him the week.

Regulus:
although.
how the hell did potter develop a crush on me after four years of calling me a spider.
like.
what the actual hell 🙂

Remus snorted—loud this time, not even pretending to be subtle. Because yeah, he remembered that era vividly.

First year: Regulus Black had been absurdly tall for a ten-year-old (a fact that shocked everyone and didn’t last—Remus was 90% sure he hadn’t grown a single centimeter since third year).
And James?
James was peak chaos, with the charm of a golden retriever and the moral compass of a delinquent toddler. He latched onto “Spider” like it was divine comedy—probably because Regulus was all limbs and angles, pale and dramatic and so skinny he looked like he could fold himself into a damn locker.

It worked until Regulus hexed him so hard James spent a week walking like he had a horse’s leg grafted on. He was ten. And terrifying.
Still, the nickname stuck till fourth year, because James was a stubborn ass with no concept of boundaries.

Remus typed back, still smirking like an idiot.

Remus:
dunno
he’s just a boy with hormones and a brain made of static
probably the lame “my best mate’s little brother” trope

Regulus:
it’s worse than the “my best mate’s older brother” trope

Remus’s eyebrows shot up.

Remus:
who do you mean.

Regulus:
not telling

Remus stared at the screen, jaw tight, brain already spiraling through a mental list of suspects.
Oh, so that’s how Regulus wanted to play this.
Fine.
Game on.

Chapter 6: surrounded by emotionally unstable boys

The next day, Remus was sleep-deprived and blamed Regulus. Rightfully.

They’d ended up texting until 2 a.m. or something equally stupid, long after James had slammed his MacBook shut with unnecessary aggression and muttered “traitor” under his breath as a ‘good night.’

They talked about everything. Snape and McNair, Evan’s emotional breakdown, James and his humiliating soft spot for Regulus, and—of course—a possibly cursed list of people who might secretly have a crush on Sirius. Remus bet on Dorcas. Regulus called him a prize idiot. Remus hadn’t stopped grinning since.

But that level of giddy was nothing compared to the absolute circus that was the next day.

Four hours in the dungeon-hell known as Potions. Slughorn was monologuing about someone vaguely famous, like always—no one listened, no one cared. The air reeked of burnt wormwood and collective resentment.

James alternated between glaring daggers at Remus and doing full-on heart-eyes at Regulus, like some lovesick 1950s cartoon character. Remus, meanwhile, was desperately trying to keep his cauldron from exploding. Or melting. Or both.

Evan kept glancing at him every five seconds with this twisted mix of awe and—God help him—something worse. Something emotional. Something... tender. It was unsettling as hell.

Snape, sitting across the room, looked like he was trying to hex Remus with sheer willpower. Which was fine—Remus had lived through worse. Barely.

Sirius kept catching Snape’s death-stares and cackling like it was open-mic night. Peter was the only one behaving like a real human being, casually sharing snacks with Remus and keeping his mouth shut. Probably because he had no stakes in this drama and was smart enough to stay the hell out of it.

Remus was tired. His eyes burned, his potion smelled like overcooked rat, and his phone buzzed once under the desk.

He didn’t even need to check who it was.

Regulus:
you look like you’ve survived a war and you’re losing it slowly

Remus ran a hand over his face and smirked.

Remus:
that’s because i am

And he really, really was.

“Honestly,” Peter muttered, popping another gummy bear into his mouth, “ever since Lily left us for smarter kids, I’m failing this fucking class. There’s no point pretending otherwise. I might as well just… wing it.”

“You’re winging your whole life, Pete,” Sirius grinned, lazily stirring his cauldron like he hadn’t just eyeballed every ingredient and still somehow got the colour exactly right. He was annoyingly smart like that—effortless, chaotic brilliance—and it drove Remus insane.

Peter shrugged and offered him a gummy bear. Sirius took it without hesitation and started chopping more leaves like this was a cooking show and not academic war.

Remus, meanwhile, just kept staring at his cauldron.

It was supposed to look like seawater by now. Instead, it looked like something scooped straight from the pipes of Moaning Myrtle’s toilet. Thick, murky, and vaguely sentient.

“You know what,” he said, tossing his silver knife onto the table with dramatic flair and crossing his arms, “fuck it. I don’t need potions. For fuck’s sake.”

Evan snorted like Remus had just told the world’s greatest joke. Remus, running on fumes and spite, slowly turned his head and hit him with the coldest, dead-eyed stare he could manage.

Evan shut up instantly.

But now Barty was cackling like a fucking hyena three seats down, slapping the table and wheezing, and honestly? That might’ve been the final straw.

Remus blinked slowly. He was surrounded by idiots. Magical, sleep-deprived, potion-breathing idiots.

Great.
Fucking great.

“Well,” Regulus hummed, smug as ever. “I’m doing great.”

“Shut up,” Remus said, barely missing a beat. James was now full-on glaring at him like he personally ruined his life.

Regulus grinned like the absolute gremlin he was and gave his perfect potion a casual stir, just to rub it in.

Then, absolutely out of nowhere—

“Potter,” he said, voice smooth and sweet as poison.

James’s head snapped toward him in exactly 0.00001 seconds.

“Your robe’s on fire.”

James blinked. Then looked down.

And, yes. His robe was, in fact, very much on fire. A soft orange flame had caught the hem and was lazily crawling upward, like it had all the time in the world to devour him alive.

“FUCK—” James shouted, leaping off the stool and immediately starting to stomp on his own leg like that would help.

The entire classroom turned. Slughorn gasped. Evan choked on his own spit. Sirius screamed laughing. Peter ducked behind Remus like James was about to explode.

Remus just sighed and flicked his wand. “Aguamenti.”

A jet of water shot out, dousing the fire and most of James’s lower half.

“Jesus Christ,” James wheezed, dripping and half-crouched, like he’d just barely survived a near-death experience. “You could’ve said something sooner!”

“I did,” Regulus said innocently, not looking up from his bubbling cauldron. “You just took your sweet time reacting.”

“Did you set me on fire?!” James yelled, voice climbing into dangerous territory.

Regulus didn’t answer. But the smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth said everything.

Slughorn clapped his hands like that would somehow get things under control. “Alright, alright! That’s enough, Mr. Potter. Please refrain from combusting during class time—this is not Gryffindor’s Got Talent!”

Sirius cackled so hard he wheezed. Peter was still hiding behind Remus, peeking out like a war refugee. Evan looked like he was secondhand embarrassed for everyone involved.

And Remus? Remus sat back down, wet sleeves and all, and glared at his potion, which was now giving off a smell that could only be described as “rotting lake during heatwave.”

He turned slightly toward Regulus. “You know,” he muttered under his breath, “I could report you for attempted murder.”

“You won’t,” Regulus replied without even blinking.

“And why’s that?”

“Because you think I’m funny.”

Remus stared at him. Regulus didn’t look up. Just stirred his potion like this wasn’t an act of war.

And, fuck, he was funny. That was the worst part.

“Oh my god,” Barty wheezed with laughter. “That’s tragic. And yet so hilarious.”

“Thank you. I contain multitudes,” Regulus said dryly, now calmly pouring his perfect potion into a crystal-clear vial like he hadn’t just committed academic arson.

“I’m transferring schools,” James announced, dripping wet and full of righteous rage.

“Please do,” Regulus replied without even glancing up. “And get a better haircut while you’re at it.”

Sirius snorted so hard he nearly knocked over his own cauldron, clutching his side. “Holy shit, Reggie—”

“Don’t call me that,” Regulus muttered automatically.

But it was too late. Sirius was wheezing. Peter was losing it. Evan had his face in his arms, clearly trying not to let the sound of his laughter betray him. And Barty was still shrieking like it was the best comedy routine he’d seen in years.

Remus just stared at the ceiling, questioning every life choice that had led him here. Surrounded by emotionally unstable boys, half of whom had crushes on each other and none of whom knew how to handle it like humans.

This school was a dumpster fire.

And somehow, he was starting to enjoy it.

“Quick question, though,” Dorcas chimed in from her seat at the front of the class, voice sugary enough to rot teeth. “When are we actually planning to, you know, ask out the people we like instead of acting like monkeys in a zoo?”

“Never,” James muttered, arms crossed like he was personally boycotting romance until the end of time.

“Interesting,” Dorcas replied, too sweet, eyes cutting sideways. “Crouch, thoughts?”

Barty barely blinked. “Bold of you to assume I’m one of the people you’re talking about.”

Regulus snorted.

Just a tiny sound.

But that snort was the final puzzle piece, clicking perfectly into place in Remus’s mind like the last smug piece of a cursed jigsaw.

Barty.

Had a crush.

On Sirius.

Remus literally gasped. Out loud. In front of everyone. Which, for him, was basically a public declaration of emotional collapse.

Every head turned. James shot him a look. Sirius raised an eyebrow. Peter blinked like Remus had short-circuited.

Regulus? Regulus corked his finished potion with a smirk so self-satisfied Remus wanted to launch something at his head. And then he turned, calm and collected, and strolled over to Slughorn’s desk to hand in his vial like the little shit-stirring snake he was.

Remus sat there, stunned, mouth slightly open, still holding his stirring rod like it was a weapon in some bizarre social battlefield.

Because of course.

Of course Barty “I’d-rather-die-than-be-normal” Crouch had a crush on Sirius Bloody Black.

And Regulus knew.

And now Remus knew.

And things were about to get a whole lot worse before they got remotely better.

“Moons?” Peter asked, cautious, like he was approaching a wounded animal. “You good, mate?”

“Yes,” Remus replied, flat as a pancake.

“Uh-huh,” Peter said, clearly not buying it, and handed him a gummy bear. “Here. Eat it, sweetie.”

And Remus did. Because what the hell else was he supposed to do now? Start screaming? Hex Barty? Himself? Tell Sirius? Throw himself into the cauldron?

No. He chewed the gummy bear like it had personally wronged him and stared into the middle distance, praying for divine intervention or a small, localized apocalypse. Either would do.

For the rest of the class, Remus ate both the gummy bears and a Chocolate Frog. Sirius fixed his potion with a casual, “You’re lucky you’re cute, Moony,”—a line that would’ve absolutely ended Remus a year ago, back when he had a debilitating crush on Sirius. Now it only made him roll his eyes.

James opened his mouth exactly twelve times, ready to say something, and every single time ended up saying absolutely nothing.

Regulus, meanwhile, sat at his desk, legs crossed, chin resting on his palm, doodling in his notebook like he had all the time in the world. Remus caught a glance. It was animated—of course it was—and suspiciously looked like James on a broomstick getting struck by lightning. James’s glasses flew off.
His hair caught fire.
There were tiny, smudgy explosions. 

The whole thing was a masterpiece of petty vengeance.

As soon as Slughorn dismissed them, Remus made a beeline for Regulus—ignoring the dual lasers of disapproval from both James and Evan—and grabbed him by the arm, dragging him into the courtyard.

“It’s Crouch, isn’t it?” Remus asked, already reaching into his coat for his cigarettes.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Regulus replied smoothly, swiping one from the pack like he paid rent there.

Remus shot him a deadpan look, but Regulus just flicked the lighter, lit Remus’s cigarette first (annoyingly polite), then his own, and took a drag like this was all perfectly normal Tuesday behavior.

“Regulus.”

“You’re projecting, Lupin.”

“Regulus.”

Regulus smirked, exhaled a perfect stream of smoke. “Did you see Potter’s face when he realized he was literally on fire?”

Remus snorted before he could stop himself. Then quickly composed. “No. No. Don’t change the subject.”

“You’re relentless.”

“I’m hyperfixated.”

“Smash.”

“Regulus.”

“Fine,” Regulus sighed dramatically. “You’re right. Happy now?”

Remus took a long drag of his cigarette, watching Regulus out of the corner of his eye. “Crouch.”

Regulus didn’t answer. Just tilted his head back and exhaled the smoke toward the sky like he was in a black-and-white French indie film and not standing in the courtyard of a magic castle with at least three people plotting his murder.

“I knew it,” Remus muttered. “I knew it. The snort gave you away, by the way. It was cocky.”

“I’m always cocky,” Regulus said flatly.

“Yeah, but it was extra cocky. Like ‘my best friend is getting thirsted after my brother and I know it and you don’t’ kind of cocky.”

“That’s incredibly specific, Lupin.”

“Because I pay attention.”

Regulus glanced sideways at him, one eyebrow raised. “Clearly.”

They stood there in silence for a beat, students passing by them in little groups, some throwing odd glances (because of course the Gryffindor prefect and Slytherin one standing too close and smoking together was something to gawk at).

“I’m telling him,” Remus said suddenly.

“No, you’re not,” Regulus said, quick as a whip.

“I am. Sirius deserves to know. If it’s mutual—”

“It’s not.”

“Still.”

Regulus turned fully to him now, cigarette held between his fingers, a little squint in his eyes like he was trying to read a particularly stupid paragraph in a textbook. “Do you seriously think Sirius Black will react normally to that kind of confession? From Barty fucking Crouch?”

Remus hesitated.

Exactly.

Regulus smirked again, satisfied like a cat that caught something in its claws. “Besides, it’s not your secret to tell.”

“Fine,” Remus muttered. “But I’m going to die with this information stuck in my brain. It’s taking up space that could’ve been used for literally anything else. Math. Chemistry. Anything.”

“Your suffering brings me peace.”

“God, you’re such a Slytherin.”

Regulus just grinned and dropped the butt of his cigarette, grinding it into the stone with his shoe. “You’re lucky I like you, Lupin.”

Remus blinked.

And blinked again.

“What?”

Regulus turned on his heel and started walking back inside like he hadn’t just casually dropped a verbal grenade and left Remus with his brain full of static.

“…What the fuck does that mean,” Remus mumbled to himself.

But he followed anyway. Because, well, of course he did.

“Come on,” Regulus called over his shoulder. “I’m not done with Potter.”

Remus fell into step with him, against his better judgment. “And what the hell does that mean?”

“That he was only mildly annoying when he was sulking in peace,” Regulus said, rolling his eyes. “Now, though? He walks around like he’s got some sort of claim over me. It’s unacceptable. People will start thinking it’s mutual.”

“Is it?” Remus asked, perfectly polite—just to fuck with him.
(...Pun not intended. Yet.)

Regulus shot him a flat, unimpressed look. “I’m as interested in him as you are in Evan.”

“Maybe I am interested in Evan,” Remus said innocently.

Regulus actually stopped. “Are you?” he asked, eyes wide like he just witnessed a murder.

“No,” Remus said. “But you should’ve seen your face.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Regulus muttered, shoving him in the shoulder and marching off toward the Great Hall.

Remus followed him with the mildly concerning realization that he had just been casually shoved by Regulus Black. Like they were friends. Like they did that now. Like he was one of the people Regulus shoved.

Regulus stopped at the threshold of the Great Hall and scanned it like a bird of prey. His eyes darted across the tables—locked on James, Sirius, and Peter at Gryffindor, then flicked to Evan and Barty at Slytherin.

“Mine or yours?” he asked, tilting his chin up to look at Remus.

“You want to...?” Remus started, blinking.

“Mine, then,” Regulus said flatly, and headed toward the Slytherin table like he owned the place. Which, in a way, he did.

Remus hesitated a full two seconds before following—more out of instinct than logic.

Because of course he followed. And of course, the eyes of nearly every student in the Great Hall followed him too.

Remus flopped down in the seat beside Regulus, directly across from Evan, who practically whimpered and went deathly pale like he’d just seen a ghost. Barty, on the other hand, looked like he was having the time of his life, watching the whole circus unfold from the front row.

Remus decided it was time to stir the pot. Just a little—teeny, tiny bit. And really, talking to Evan was all it took.

“Hi,” he said, reaching for the mashed potatoes like it was the most casual thing in the world.

Evan blinked at him like he’d been hexed. “…hi.”

“What’s up?” Remus asked, all polite and patient, catching the corner of his eye how Regulus’s lips twitched in barely suppressed amusement.

Evan looked baffled, his gaze flicking from Remus to Regulus, then over to Barty, and back to Remus again.

“What is happening?” he asked, like no one and everyone at once.

“Well,” Remus said smoothly, “if Regulus isn’t allowed to talk to me because you want to talk to me, then—go.” He shrugged. “Talk.”

Barty cackled loudly, loud enough to make a few heads swivel toward him in the hall.

Evan swallowed hard but finally shifted in his seat, like he was trying to gather his scattered thoughts—or maybe just his nerve. “I didn’t say that,” he muttered, voice low, almost desperate.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t? Then what was that whole ‘not allowed to talk to you without my supervision’ thing Regulus was whining about?”

Evan glanced nervously at Regulus, who just shrugged with a shit-eating grin.

“Look, I’m not trying to start some stupid war here,” Evan said quickly, “I just—look, it’s complicated.”

Remus smirked, the grin sharp enough to cut glass. “Of course it is. When isn’t it?”

There was a heavy pause, thick with tension. Barty’s eyes gleamed like a predator stalking its prey, poised to pounce on the slightest slip-up. The kind of look that made everyone else want to shrink into their chairs.

“I—” Evan started, voice shaky and uncertain, like he was trying to gather his scattered thoughts.

“Come on,” Remus said, chewing a mouthful of mashed potatoes with exaggerated calm, then reached for the salt like he was about to sprinkle magic on this whole mess. Six years into Hogwarts and he was still hoping the food would suddenly get better. Spoiler: it never did. “I’m listening. Spill.”

Evan swallowed hard, weighing his words like they were ticking time bombs. “It’s not what it looks like,” he said finally, slow and careful, like rehearsing a speech in his head for the last thirty seconds.

Remus raised an eyebrow, voice sharp with sarcasm: “Oh? And what does it look like, then?”

Regulus couldn’t hold it back any longer and snorted beside him, though he tried to play it cool. Barty, meanwhile, was practically vibrating with glee, resting his chin on his palms like he was front row at a tennis match — except the players were two teenage boys navigating some complicated emotional battlefield.

Evan scrambled over his words. “Like I am—I’m not—I mean, it’s not that I—” His protests crumbled under the weight of the moment.

Remus just kept eating, slow and deliberate, savoring the awkwardness like a delicious snack.

Because honestly? This whole situation was pure gold. A little brutal, yeah, but if Evan was crushing this hard on Remus that he was straight-up threatening Regulus, well, karma had it coming.

“It’s just weird!” Evan finally burst out, voice cracking in frustration.

Remus leaned back, arms crossed, eyes cold but amused. “What’s weird?”

“That you two started talking out of nowhere,” Evan snapped, cheeks flushed, eyes darting between Remus, Regulus, and the grinning Barty.

Remus hummed thoughtfully, as if pondering some profound truth. “Well, hate to break it to you, but I’d probably talk to you too if you ever actually spoke to me.”

That was the final straw. Regulus looked smug, clearly enjoying the chaos. Evan’s glare could have burned holes in the table. And Barty? He was grinning like he’d won the lottery.

The whole hall seemed to hold its breath.

Remus smirked and took another bite of his potatoes.

“So,” Remus said after chewing with exaggerated slowness, like he was savoring every syllable. “Next time you like someone, maybe just say it. Instead of acting like you’re dodging a Bludger.”

Barty completely lost it—cackling at a Sirius-level volume, clutching his sides and throwing his head back like he’d just heard the funniest joke of the century.

“Someone Obliviate me. Please,” Evan whispered, burying his face in his hands and closing his eyes like he was trying to vanish.

“No fucking way,” Regulus snorted, barely able to keep a straight face. “I wish I’d recorded that.”

“Same,” Remus nodded, smirking. “That’s straight-up Discord-worthy.”

“Am I finally getting in on this?” Regulus asked, dead serious, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“James is still there,” Remus replied, slicing through his roasted carrot like it was the truth that ruined the plan.

Regulus wrinkled his nose in obvious disgust. “Fine. We’ll have to clear him out later. Something dramatic, though,” he said, already scheming, plotting with that ruthless creativity only Regulus Black could pull off.

Meanwhile, Evan sat slumped at the table, forehead pressed to the wood as if trying to disappear entirely, and Barty was still chuckling like he’d won the lottery.

James, predictably, was shooting death glares from across the Great Hall, locking eyes with Remus every chance he got.

Because of course he was.

After lunch—where Remus had the most fun since that time Peter accidentally got a piece of broccoli stuck in his ear (don’t ask) and Sirius glued it there with a spell—he made a straight line for the dorm. He was ready to collapse on his bed and do absolutely nothing except finally finish Eragon.

He needed alone time. Desperately.
Not because he was overwhelmed, per se, but because he needed to sit in bed and rewatch the week on a loop in his head like a madman. Apparently.

Because, in the span of four days, he’d somehow become friends with Regulus Black.
From zero to a hundred. Just like that.
And what was worse—it was easy. Too easy. Which meant, naturally, it was also immediately suspicious.

Because Regulus was funny. Not in the “I crack jokes for the attention” kind of way (hi, Sirius, hi, James), but in that dry, ruthless, “I was born like this, I don’t need to try” kind of way.
And he was smart. Again, effortlessly. No posturing. No pomp. Just quietly smarter than most people in the room.
And, as the Hogwarts legends claimed, he didn’t take shit. Not from teachers. Not from his friends. Not even from his best friend.

Which, Remus had to admit, was kind of impressive.
Cruel? A little. Dragging Evan like that in front of half the Great Hall probably wasn’t winning Regulus the Empathy Cup.
But effective? Absolutely. And honestly—Remus got it. That frustration of someone thinking they had a say over your life just because they wanted something from you.

(Hi again, James.)

And look, he wasn’t about to say that lunch was his most noble moment. It wasn’t.
But god, it was satisfying.

Although—if someone ever did that to him?
Yeah. He’d probably hex them on sight.

But still.

He flopped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, Eragon open on his chest but totally forgotten, because all he could think about was Regulus.
And how weird it was that this —the banter, the plotting, the pettiness, the cigarettes, the eye contact—was starting to feel… normal.

Which was insane. Obviously.

Right?

He should be reading. He wanted to be reading. That was the plan. A simple, introvert-friendly plan: go to dorm, lie on bed, finish the damn book.

Instead, Remus was lying there like a corpse in a teenage boy’s uniform, staring at the ceiling and turning into a cliché.

Regulus Black.

Honestly, what the fuck.

Because here’s the thing: Remus didn’t like him. He didn’t. That wasn’t what this was. He wasn’t some lovesick idiot just because Regulus had nice cheekbones and a tongue sharper than a cursed blade. He wasn’t James, for god’s sake. He wasn’t into dramatics and brooding and emotionally unavailable dark-haired boys with a talent for chaos and no fear of god or consequences. He wasn’t.

It’s just…

He was thinking about the way Regulus smirked before saying something wildly cutting. How he always managed to make Remus laugh, even when he was in a foul mood.
The way he smoked like someone taught him how to do it in black-and-white cinema.
The way his fingers moved when he was doodling—that absent, unconscious focus.
The way his voice sounded when he muttered something under his breath, low and annoyed and absolutely lethal.

It wasn’t a thing, though. It was just… curiosity. Amusement. Intrigue. Regulus was objectively interesting, that’s all.

And a problem. A very aesthetically pleasing, emotionally unavailable, morally ambiguous problem.

Remus groaned and dragged a pillow over his face.

Nope. No. Absolutely not.

He didn’t like him. There was nothing to like. He was mean. Petty. Arrogant.
He threatened James with a smile. Called people names. Publicly humiliated Evan like it was a hobby (fine, it was Remus, but because of Regulus, so it was Regulus’s fault, alright?). Smoked like he was doing a perfume ad. Was terrifyingly good at Potions.

Remus hated people like that.

Except, apparently, he didn’t.

God, maybe James was right. Maybe he was a traitor.

But it wasn’t a thing. He wasn’t into him. He was just... obsessed. Platonically. Like a normal person. With boundaries. And morals. Probably.

He flopped onto his side and opened Eragon again.

Then closed it immediately.

Maybe he needed a nap. Or an exorcism.

It was probably some kind of trauma response. That had to be it.

He wasn’t into Regulus Black. He was just… confused. Tired. Vulnerable, even. His sleep schedule was wrecked, his brain was a swamp of hormones and unfinished essays, and now Regulus had decided to infiltrate his life like a very sarcastic virus. That was all. Nothing sinister.

Remus flipped onto his stomach, face smushed against his pillow. The book was lying open beside him, completely ignored. He’d read the same line about dragons seven times, and all he could think about was how Regulus had said “smash” the way someone dropped a brick on a glass table.

God. Why was that still echoing in his head?

Maybe he was just impressed. Yeah. That made sense. Regulus was… competent. Collected. Controlled. All things Remus liked to think he was, until Regulus came along with his ankle-crossing confidence and verbal daggers and made Remus feel like a third-year trying to flirt with a seventh-year prefect.

And that snort. When Remus had stirred the pot with Evan. That little twitch of lips like Regulus had seen straight through him and approved. Like they were in on something. A private joke, just the two of them, while the rest of the hall watched Evan combust in real time.

It was addictive. That was the problem. Not Regulus. The attention. The thrill of having someone sharp enough to match him, to make him laugh without trying, to make him second-guess every fucking sentence he said because he cared what Regulus thought of him.

No. Wait. That wasn’t—
That didn’t mean—

He groaned again, dragged his pillow off the bed and hurled it at the floor.

This was ridiculous. He wasn’t going to like someone just because they were a little hot and a lot mean. He had standards. Or at least he used to. Before Regulus fucking Black waltzed into his life with his sketchbook full of cursed broomstick doodles and his fucking honey-knife voice and his obsession with ruining James Potter’s entire existence.

Nope. Not a crush. Not even close.

...Although, if it were a crush— and he was absolutely not saying it was —but if it were, wouldn’t it be kind of hilarious? Him and Regulus Black? That was practically illegal. Sirius would combust. James would stage an intervention. Peter would give him a gummy bear and pretend it was fine but quietly panic for the rest of the week. And Evan? Evan might actually cry.

And that thought made Remus laugh. Out loud. Alone. In the dorm.

Then immediately slap a hand over his mouth like someone might’ve heard.

No one had. The room was still, just sunlight filtering through the tall windows and a soft breeze ruffling the pages of James’s forgotten Quidditch Weekly.

He sighed, let his head fall back on the mattress.

He was fine.

He was so fine.

So why the hell was he thinking about Regulus’s hands again?

He spent a solid three hours spiraling, before finally announcing—out loud, to no one—that he was over it. Even if there was nothing to be in, in the first place.
For fuck’s sake.

Regulus had said—explicitly, even, and Remus had the fucking screenshots to prove it—that they were friends. That was it. Just friends. Friends who maybe flirted through hangman games like they were auditioning for a Wes Anderson film, but still. Friends.

Remus had stared at that conversation for a full five minutes before tossing his phone aside and launching himself starfish-style onto the bed, where he remained, limbs flopped out dramatically.

That’s where James and Sirius found him, three hours later, kicking the dormitory door open like they were in a badly written sitcom.

Remus didn’t even open his eyes. He could smell them. Mud, sweat, wind, and teenage testosterone—his werewolf nose didn’t lie. Sirius had once referred to it as his “Lupin-sense,” which was irritating at first but had slowly become kind of… weirdly endearing. In the way most of Sirius’s obnoxious habits eventually wore you down.

“Howdy, Moony,” Sirius said, immediately flopping down onto Remus’s bed and landing half on his legs like a Labrador who didn’t understand boundaries.

Remus cracked an eye open. “What the hell happened during lunch?” Sirius grinned.

Remus sat up slightly, arms behind him. “I may—or may not—have publicly humiliated Evan Rosier for having a crush on me.”

Sirius’s jaw dropped. Then the grin returned, ten times brighter. “You’re shitting me.”

“Nope.”

“But why?” Sirius laughed, already delighted.

“Because,” Remus said, deadpan, “he told Regulus not to talk to me. Like he had a say in it. Which, by the way, what the actual fuck? I’ve never even had a proper conversation with Rosier before this week. And suddenly he’s acting like I’m his personal property.”

Sirius was now grinning so wide it looked like it hurt. “So… Rosier is acting exactly like Prongs is?”

“I don’t act like that!” James said quickly, sitting bolt upright on his bed like a man falsely accused.

And then, to Remus’s absolute horror—the kind that gripped you by the throat and whispered good fucking luck in your ear—

“I just think it’s shitty,” James muttered, “that suddenly my best friend is hanging out with the guy I’ve liked since approximately forever and laughing at me behind my back with him.”

Remus’s entire soul left his body.

His face went blank, the kind of blank that meant his brain had blue-screened and was currently rebooting in safe mode.

Oh. Shit.
Shit.
Holy shit.

“We don’t laugh at you behind your back,” Remus said, very carefully. Very gently. Like approaching a wounded animal—or a live bomb.

Because he didn’t. Not really. It was mostly just Regulus. …okay, maybe Remus snorted a few times, but that didn’t count as full-blown betrayal.

“You literally compared me to Mike fucking Wheeler!” James shouted, pointing an accusatory finger like Remus had murdered his dog (that would be Sirius).

Sirius—bless his soul—stayed uncharacteristically quiet for once. He slid off Remus’s legs, sat cross-legged on the floor, and looked completely torn between laughing himself into oblivion and actually picking a side.

“I didn’t!” Remus protested. “He did!”

“And you laughed at it! And told me about it!”

“Because you asked about every single detail of that patrol!” Remus fired back. “Like a psycho!”

“Because I had no idea my own friend would stab me in the back like this!”

Remus inhaled.
Exhaled.
Inhaled again.
Exhaled through gritted teeth.

Do not murder your friends, Remus. You don’t have that many of them. You cannot afford to lose one to homicide.

“I didn’t stab you in the back,” Remus said, voice flat. “And I wasn’t laughing at you. I haven’t even done anything. We’re patrolling corridors and talking. That’s it. There’s nothing going on.”

“I don’t believe you,” James snapped.

Remus blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You got all… all… cozy.”

Remus stared. “Cozy?”

“Yes! And you took the fucking map so I can’t even check where you are during patrols!”

There was a full beat of stunned silence.

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” Remus asked, disbelief mounting. “You’re mad that you can’t stalk me during patrols?”

“I’m just saying—” James huffed, folding his arms like a toddler denied candy.

“We’re friends, James,” Remus said. “Friends. Not your emotional support wolf. Not your spy. And Regulus? He’s not your property. You don’t get to throw a fit every time someone else looks at him.”

James grumbled under his breath, not making eye contact.

And then, with the emotional grace of a brick wall, he muttered: “I just don’t like being laughed at.”

Remus let out a long, exhausted sigh.

“Well then,” he said, cold, “maybe take a moment and think about the fact that you called Regulus a spider for four years straight before you suddenly decided you liked him.”

James looked up, eyes wide. “I was a kid! I was joking!”

“Well,” Remus said, “he clearly wasn’t laughing. And he still remembers. So maybe you should try talking to him. Like a grown-up. Before he publicly humiliates you too—which, by the way, he is planning.”

Sirius let out a low whistle. “Moony’s right, Prongs.”

For once, James had nothing to say. He stared at the floor like it had personally betrayed him. Sirius looked between the two of them, clearly re-evaluating every life decision that had led him to this moment.

“Look,” Remus said, now standing, pacing slightly because he needed to move before his fists did, “I get it. I do. You like him. You’ve liked him. You’ve got the emotional depth of a teaspoon but somehow still caught feelings for the literal emotionally unavailable Prince of Darkness—fine. Not my business.”

James winced but didn’t argue. That was progress.

“But don’t turn your mess into my problem,” Remus continued. “I didn’t ask for Regulus to talk to me. He just started talking. And I didn’t tell him to start being funny, or clever, or weirdly good at hangman.”

Sirius coughed suspiciously, and Remus shot him a glare.

“Don’t.”

“I said nothing,” Sirius whispered, hands up in surrender, eyes sparkling like the gossip gremlin he truly was.

“I’m not getting between you and Regulus,” Remus said, folding his arms. “There’s nothing happening. No schemes. No secret rendezvous. No stolen glances under torchlight. So calm the hell down.”

James looked like he was trying to digest all of that without crying or punching something. “You’re really not into him?” he asked, quieter now. Smaller.

Remus hesitated just a second too long.

Sirius’s eyes widened in the background like a kid who just saw two people accidentally kiss in a hallway.

“I’m not,” Remus said quickly. “I’m just… confused. About why it’s suddenly my responsibility to manage your crush.”

James sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I just… I hate that it’s you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, I mean—I trust you. But Regulus trusts no one. Not even Pads. And then suddenly he’s trusting you?” James looked up. “I’ve been trying to get him to talk to me properly for months. Then you walk in and he’s all jokes and hangman flirting and showing up at lunch like he belongs there.”

James sighed. Long and painful.

Remus watched him. “Talk to him, James. Not at him. Not around him. To him. Like a person.”

“And what if he doesn’t want to hear it?”

“Then that’s your answer, isn’t it?” Remus said, soft but firm. “But you won’t know unless you stop projecting your crap onto everyone else.”

James was quiet for a long moment. Then, in the smallest voice Remus had ever heard from him: “Do you think he hates me?”

Remus didn’t flinch. “I think he’s waiting to see if you’ll keep acting like a twelve-year-old or grow the fuck up.”

James gave a dry, humorless laugh. “Fair.”

And then—

“Still kind of a dick move, comparing me to Mike Wheeler.”

“Oh my god,” Remus groaned.

“Honestly,” Sirius added, “if anything, he’s more of a Steve Harrington.”

James perked up. “Wait, really?”

“Don’t push it.”

Sirius stood, stretching. “Alright, gentlemen. I’m off to go bother the first-years for entertainment. Or maybe steal the map since apparently it’s the Hogwarts equivalent of a tracking bracelet now.”

Remus chucked a pillow at him.

Sirius caught it, winked, and left like the problem child he was.

James stayed seated on the edge of his bed, thoughtful.

“I’m gonna talk to him,” he said after a beat. “Soon. Just need to… not sound like a complete idiot.”

Remus nodded. “Try not to start with the spider thing.”

James groaned again and flopped back onto his mattress like the drama queen he secretly was.

Chapter 7: like he’d invented fire and teenage tension

Remus, somewhat tragically, didn’t leave his dorm for the entire weekend.

It wasn’t because he was brooding. Or spiraling. Or avoiding a certain Slytherin with a sharp tongue and prettier hair than any sixteen-year-old boy had any right to have. It was just… rest. Yes. Self-care. Totally normal, healthy behavior. Turning off his phone so he wouldn’t be tempted to text Regulus—or worse, text back when Regulus messaged him on Friday night—was simply part of the healing process.

(Not because he had a crush. He didn’t. For fuck’s sake.)

He was just feeling… bad. For James.

Sure, James was dramatic. Loud. Possessive over someone who wasn’t even technically his. But he was also clearly taking the whole thing harder than he let on. Hard enough to spend the weekend preparing for The Talk with Regulus. Remus knew for a fact that James had made an Excel spreadsheet to organize his arguments. It had color-coding. There were tabs. It was serious.

Meanwhile, Remus was holed up in bed with nothing but textbooks and guilt. Studying. And studying. And studying some more, because apparently the only way to shut his brain up was to fry it completely. He rotated between Muggle algebra and Arithmancy, Muggle history and History of Magic, until time stopped having meaning and his left eye twitched if anyone said the word “civilization.”

He was running on fumes by Sunday night. And that, probably, was why his thoughts veered straight off the highway of sanity and crashed directly into the wall marked: Barty fucking Crouch has a crush on Sirius Black.

His Sirius.

Well, not his-his. Not in any actual way. But Sirius was one of his best mates, and a living, breathing whirlwind who once begged Remus to pierce his nose at two in the morning, dead serious, because he wanted to “feel something.” (Remus did it. It got infected. He still has it.)

And it wasn’t weird, really. Objectively (subjectively too) speaking, everyone in Hogwarts had a crush on Sirius at some point. You couldn’t not. Sirius was… Sirius. He was tall-ish, built like someone who knew exactly how attractive he was, and had a face so alarmingly symmetrical it felt like a violation of natural law. It wasn’t fair. There were Greek statues less aesthetically pleasing.

The only person who came close was James, and that was mostly because James had the golden retriever thing going on. Sirius was a wolf (huh) in eyeliner. James was a Labrador with a crush.

But Barty. That was the twist Remus couldn’t stop chewing on like a piece of gristle in the back of his mind. Barty was handsome too — in that dangerous, vaguely illegal kind of way. The kind of guy you went on a date with knowing full well he might rob you blind, but still found yourself handing over your wallet just to spend another hour in his orbit.

Tall, sharp, all edges and teeth. Not tall like Remus —because no one was, thank you very much—but lean, like a runner or a knife. His eyes didn’t even match. One gray, one blue. Which should’ve been off-putting, but instead just made people stare harder.

And he had a crush on Sirius.

Jesus. Christ.

Remus was itching to get out of bed, march right over to Sirius’s and spill the whole damn thing. He wanted to grab him by the shoulders and say, “Hey, guess what, the kid who looks like he eats sins for breakfast might be in love with you — and honestly? That might be your perfect, perfectly fucked-up match.”

But he didn’t.

Because it wasn’t his place. Because Regulus had told him in a moment that was maybe private, or maybe not, but either way wasn’t his to share.

Still, it was killing him. Like a weight under his ribs. Like a secret made of concrete.

He imagined the two of them together and, terrifyingly, it worked. Like, it made sense in a way that nothing ever should. They’d probably argue like it was foreplay. Fight like war generals. Love like hurricanes.

Remus covered his face with both hands and let out the most exhausted groan of his life.

Maybe he was the one who needed to be obliviated.

Or at least hexed into a coma for a few hours.

Eventually, around midnight—freshly showered, exhausted, and buried under his duvet like the emotionally repressed corpse he was pretending to be—Remus finally turned his phone back on.

Not because he missed Regulus or anything. Obviously. But because it was rude to ghost someone, even for a couple of days. He was a decent person. A good friend. A studious, responsible friend who had gotten completely buried in revision and not, say, his own spiraling thoughts about said friend’s perfect jawline.

So he texted him.

Remus:
hi
sorry i didn’t text back, i was studying

And then he waited. And waited. Which, fine. It had only been five minutes. But when you were used to Regulus replying in two, five felt like an eternity. Enough time to doubt everything you’ve ever said, done, or felt.

Finally:

Regulus:
that’s fine
i had time to read eragon, tho
i like it

Remus blinked.

Regulus read it?

Regulus, who always acted like he had better things to do than read anything he wasn’t already liking—who once claimed he didn’t have the attention span for dragons —had actually read Eragon?

Remus had only ever mentioned it once. Offhand. During patrol. Said he was rereading it for the tenth time because it felt like comfort. Regulus had nodded and said something like “sounds dramatic,” and Remus assumed that was that.

Now his chest felt warm and tight in a way he didn’t like. At all. He shoved the covers down like that might help.

Remus:
you do?

Regulus:
hell yeah
a dragon, an old man who dies (i cried) and a guy who’s obsessed with a girl he’s never seen outside his dreams and visions??
peak literature

Remus let out a surprised laugh under his breath. Cried, he said. Regulus Black, who probably didn’t even cry when he was born.

Remus:
christ, don’t make it a romance

Regulus:
it kinda is

Remus:
it really isn’t
not in the way you expect, i guess

There was a pause. The typing dots blinked in and out again like Regulus was reconsidering his entire life.

Regulus:
…
i need to read the rest of it
like, what, three other books?

Remus:
yep

Regulus:
alr. i’m buying them
like, rn

And Remus—in a move that shocked even himself—did something he normally only did for Lily Evans during exam season or life-threatening crises:

Remus:
you can borrow mine if you want
just don’t ruin them

The typing dots appeared. Disappeared. Reappeared. Vanished again. The usual dance of Regulus Black trying to figure out how not to sound like a person with emotions.

Finally:

Regulus:
i’m not an animal, lupin
and we
what u call that
friends? so you can lend me your books and i won’t spit on them

Remus:
that’s reassuring

Regulus:
hush

Remus grinned into his pillow like a complete idiot.

Regulus:
i’m taking the books btw
but anyway
did you stay in your dorm to avoid evan or was it not that tactical

Remus:
it wasn’t
i literally just studied

Regulus:
muggle nonsense or usual nonsense

Remus:
both
burning my brain from both ends

Regulus:
damn
you’re making me look like a slacker
and i have a better GPA than you

Remus:
you literally don’t

Regulus:
shut up
i’m better in potions so i’m better in general, obviously

Remus:
you’re obviously deluded

Regulus:
at least i never brewed a potion that looked (and smelled) like swamp mud

Remus:
one time
that was ONE time and it was fifth year and you know snape distracted me on purpose

Regulus:
still happened

Remus:
you’re harsh

Regulus:
thank you, i try

There was a pause. Remus could almost feel him smirking through the screen.

Regulus:
now, though, i’m going to sleep
bring me the second part of eragon tmrw
i’ll pay in good tea and a threat 🥰

Remus:
yeah, alright
night, regulus

Three dots.
Disappear.
Reappear.
Disappear again.

Remus stared at the screen, waiting like he was about to be told the secrets of the universe. He didn’t know what Regulus was always writing and rewriting, but he’d pay a ridiculous amount of money to see the drafts that didn’t get sent. There had to be a graveyard of unsent chaos and half-buried feelings somewhere on the other end of this conversation.

And then, finally:

Regulus:
night, lupin

Simple. Unassuming. But it still made Remus’s brain go weird and soft around the edges.

He locked his phone, shoved it under his pillow like it was radioactive, and muttered to the quiet dorm, “You’re just friends. He’s just reading your favorite book and texting you every night and making fun of your potions grades. Friends.”

Then he rolled over and very purposefully did not think about how much he was looking forward to tomorrow.

 

The next day, Remus hadn’t seen Regulus until their shared History of Magic class — much to his deep, soul-crushing disappointment.
(Not that he’d ever admit that out loud. Or even to himself, really. And definitely not the part where he kind of missed the idea of sneaking off for a cigarette just so Regulus could light it for him again, all smooth and effortless like he’d invented fire and teenage tension.)

James, meanwhile, was spiraling. Nothing new here.

“I wanted to talk to him now,” he groaned over breakfast, stabbing at his eggs like they personally wronged him. “So there’d be a chance he’d still be half-asleep and maybe, like… forgiving or something.”

Sirius snorted, patting his arm like he was already mourning him. “He’s never forgiving. But sure, keep dreaming.”

“He’s probably doing his hair,” Peter said through a mouthful of toast, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Chill, Prongsie.”

“I’m so chilled,” James said, voice completely flat. He was vibrating with barely contained panic — a walking contradiction in Gryffindor socks and heartbreak.

Remus sipped his tea, hiding behind his cup, trying not to laugh. It was too early for this much drama, and he hadn’t even handed over Eldest yet.

When Remus stepped into the History of Magic classroom, Regulus was already there — perched cat-like on a chair near the back, one leg pulled up to his chest and the other dangling lazily. He looked—like always, which was annoying as hell in its consistency —immaculate.
Perfect hair. Perfectly ironed uniform. Perfectly tied tie. Perfectly perfect fucking face.

And then, just to twist the knife, he gave Remus one of those dimpled smiles and patted the seat beside him like they were some domestic academic duo.

“Gimme,” he said as a greeting.

Remus handed over the book and dropped into the chair next to him.

“Is it annotated?” Regulus asked, completely serious.

“Obviously,” Remus replied. “It’s required.”

Regulus nodded like that was the only answer he’d accept and immediately opened the book.

“Good. Commentary makes everything better,” he muttered—and promptly started reading, completely ignoring whatever historical nonsense Binns was droning about at the front of the class.

Remus, ever the diligent overachiever, actually tried to take notes for a solid ten minutes—until Regulus gasped, full drama, and grabbed Remus’s arm like he was a Victorian widow fainting on the moor.

Remus’s brain short-circuited. Completely. In half a second. Because Regulus Black’s hand was on his arm and he wasn’t doing anything about it. Just letting it sit there like it wasn’t sparking an existential crisis.

“Not Murtagh,” Regulus said in genuine horror.

“Keep reading, mate.”

“Is he dead?”

“Just read.”

“He’s not, is he?”

“Regulus.”

“I swear to Salazar, if you gave me a book where the best character dies—”

“Read.”

“Ugh, I hate you,” Regulus grumbled.

And just like that, he went back to reading like he hadn’t sent Remus into a full-on nervous breakdown via forearm contact.

Remus stared straight ahead, pretending to listen to Binns, but his brain was still twenty seconds behind, playing a loop titled Regulus Black Touched My Arm and I Lived to Tell the Tale.

Regulus stayed hyper-focused on the book for the next twenty minutes, completely tuned out from the dull monotony of Professor Binns’ rambling lecture on Goblin rebellions. Occasionally, he’d make these tiny noises—little hums and huffs and once, an offended scoff—and every single one of them was a bullet through Remus’s fragile focus. 

The worst part was how normal it all felt. Regulus curled up beside him like it was his usual seat. Like this wasn’t the same person who had spent six years not looking at him. Like this wasn’t the boy with a sharp tongue and a sharper jawline who had been lighting his cigarettes, borrowing his annotated books, and now grabbing his arm mid-lesson like that was allowed.

Remus kept his head down, pretending to write notes, but what he was actually doing was scribbling total nonsense while trying not to think about:

1. The way Regulus smelled (expensive, like cedarwood and something faintly smoky today. Offensive. So offensive and so pretty).
2. The way Regulus’s knee kept nudging against his under the table.
3. The fact that Regulus read a 500-page fantasy book over the weekend just because Remus had offhandedly mentioned he liked it.

None of this meant anything. It couldn’t. Regulus was just… intense. That’s how he was. He got obsessed with things. Shows. Books. Arguments. Vengeance. Cigarette lighters.
Not Remus. Definitely not Remus.

And anyway, they were friends now. That was already weird enough for everyone else to be freaking out about—James hadn’t stopped glaring at Regulus across hallways since the Thursday incident, and Peter had taken to narrating “the downfall of society via emotionally unavailable boys” whenever they were in the same room.

The lesson crawled by. Regulus barely looked up once. Remus tried very hard not to look at him—and failed exactly seventeen times.

By the end of the class, Regulus snapped the book shut and sighed like he’d just run a marathon. “I hate this,” he said, meaning the plot twist, not the class. Probably. “Why did I let you convince me to read this?”

“Because you have taste,” Remus replied, finally letting himself smirk.

Regulus narrowed his eyes at him like that was somehow Remus’s fault too. Then he stuffed the book into his bag with more aggression than necessary and stood up.

“Nine pm?” he asked casually, slinging his bag over one shoulder.

Remus blinked. “... what?”

“Book two,” Regulus said, already halfway to the door. “Don’t think you’re backing out now, Lupin. You’re emotionally responsible for whatever happens to Murtagh.”

Then he was gone, slipping out of the classroom like he hadn’t just dropped a casual threat and a weirdly intimate time request in the same breath.

Remus sat there for a few seconds too long, blinking at the spot where Regulus had just been, before muttering under his breath:

“What the fuck is happening to my life?”

Binns droned on behind him. Someone snored in the back. Outside the castle, the world remained unchanged.
But inside Remus Lupin’s very tired, very confused brain, there was now a tiny little banner waving around, quietly and obnoxiously.
You like him, you absolute idiot.

 

He needed at least eight business days to process any of this, and all he had was absolutely no time at all. Because James was currently on a manic mission to find Regulus and apologize to him—pacing so dramatically around the castle that Remus finally, reluctantly, handed over the map he had personally revoked.

James launched for it like a man starved, spread it open right there on the floor, and scanned the parchment with the intensity of a mad scientist mid-breakthrough.

“He’s in his dorm!” James gasped, scandalized. “It’s eight p.m.! He should be eating dinner or in the library or doing something socially visible, what the fuck!”

Remus just flipped a page in his Herbology textbook. Calmly. Deliberately. Because he already knew exactly where Regulus was and, more importantly, what he was doing.

Every few minutes, his phone buzzed with chaos: Eldest-related rants, unhinged dragon theories (none correct), and deeply dramatic responses when Remus told him he was wrong—including but not limited to ten gun emojis and three messages that just said “die.”

Also, there was a lot of awe about Arya. Which, for a solid minute, made Remus stop and really consider the possibility that Regulus Black might be straight.

God, the horror.

“Just talk to him tomorrow,” Peter offered from his bed, not even looking up. “Maybe he’ll actually show up to breakfast this time.”

“Don’t even joke like that,” James hissed, clenching the map like it had personally betrayed him. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Same, Remus thought grimly. Only for very different reasons.

Because in precisely one hour he was supposed to meet Regulus by the greenhouses to lend him the next Eragon book. And talk about the second one. And maybe smoke a cigarette. And maybe—just maybe—sit too close and be emotionally constipated about the whole fucking thing. If he was lucky.

If not, well. He’d just be standing there next to Regulus Black, looking like a lovesick idiot, while pretending that all of this was totally normal and not rewiring his entire brain chemistry.

You know. Classic friendship things.

Thankfully, he’d thought this through. Like, really thought it through. He even cast a spell on the Marauder’s Map to imitate his own dots, so James wouldn’t clock the fact that he’d be anywhere near Regulus. Because he was trying to keep James sane. And, honestly, himself alive.

So, right before nine, he grabbed Brisingr, muttered a vague “going to read in peace for once,” and slipped out. No one even questioned it—it had been his line, and his life, since first year.

When Remus stepped out of the castle, the evening wrapped around him like a secret. Warm, still, with that late-summer breath in the air—where a hoodie was enough and everything smelled like grass, ash, and possibility. 

Regulus was already there, of course. Leaning back on a bench like he was born for dramatics. One leg crossed over the other, a paperback balanced on his thigh, cigarette tucked behind his ear like he was in some black-and-white indie film. Loose black jeans, a soft grey hoodie that was definitely stolen from someone else—or expensive enough to look like it was—and the moonlight hitting just right.

Unfair. So fucking unfair. No one should look that good while being that casually infuriating.

“Finally,” Regulus snapped, without looking up. He reached out and snatched Brisingr from Remus’s hand like he’d been dying of thirst and Remus had just shown up with water.

“It’s literally 8:57,” Remus replied, flat.

Regulus flipped the book over, muttering to himself. “So. Murtagh really is a traitor?” he said, tone already wounded.

“Read the book.”

“You’re insufferable,” Regulus muttered, but his fingers tightened on the cover like he’d tear through it in one sitting if he could.

Remus just raised a brow.

Regulus sighed like he carried the world’s burdens, then set the book on the bench beside him. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offered one up wordlessly. Remus took it, flicked his wand. The tip of Regulus’s cigarette glowed orange. His mouth wrapped around it, sharp jaw hollowing slightly with the inhale.

Remus lit his own, exhaled slow. Smoke tangled between them in the warm night air.

They didn’t talk for a bit. Just sat there, listening to the faint hum of the castle behind them, like it was exhaling too.

Then:

“I can’t believe Eragon didn’t figure it out earlier,” Regulus muttered. “Like—come on. Guy’s literally hearing voices and doesn’t go ‘huh, that’s suspicious’? Get a grip.”

Remus huffed a laugh. “You’d do so much better as the Dragon Rider, huh?”

“Obviously. I wouldn’t fall in love with someone who barely tolerates me either.”

That one landed a little too close to the chest.

Remus flicked ash from the end of his cigarette. “Bit harsh on the poor boy.”

Regulus shrugged, nonchalant and lethal. “Not really. He needed someone to say it.”

“You really think you’d survive a dragon?”

“I’d thrive,” Regulus said, smug. “Me and the dragon would be emotionally co-dependent within a week.”

“That… actually checks out.”

Regulus let a little smirk curve at the edge of his mouth. It was barely there, but it hit Remus like a punch to the gut anyway. He looked away, focused on the dark trees, the stars bleeding into the horizon. Anything but him.

They kept talking. Not about themselves, obviously. About dragon names and sword-making and whether or not Brom was hot. (Regulus said yes. Remus nearly choked on smoke.)

And eventually, somewhere between insults and lore, Remus forgot he had been planning to keep a distance. That he wasn’t supposed to feel this —this warmth, this pull, this thing that made him crave every second in Regulus’s company and dread how temporary it might be.

Regulus didn’t look like he was thinking about any of that. But then again, Regulus never looked like anything. He just was. Cool and unreadable and maddeningly magnetic.

And Remus? He was already too far gone to pretend he wasn’t enjoying this way too much.

“So,” Regulus said eventually, when their cigarettes were long gone and the moon had crept higher above them, turning the grass silver. “Evan kind of wants to talk to you.”

Remus blinked, caught mid-leg-cross, and froze like someone had hexed his spine. “What?”

Regulus nodded like it wasn’t a big deal, though clearly, it was. “He apologized to me. For trying to tear us apart. Or whatever the hell that was supposed to be. He said he owes you an apology too.”

Remus made a noncommittal noise, halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “More like I owe him. For going full verbal homicide on him in the middle of lunch.”

“I know that. You know that. He knows that,” Regulus said, waving a hand. “But Evan’s a people-pleaser. The idea that someone might not like him keeps him up at night.”

“I never said I don’t like him,” Remus muttered. “Just that he’s… obsessed.”

Regulus tilted his head, one dark brow arching. “So you do like him?”

Remus gave a lazy shrug, eyes flicking to the moon overhead. “Like you like a stray kitten. Y’know. Sad and clingy and vaguely annoying, but you still feed it scraps.”

That, apparently, broke something in Regulus because he started laughing—actual, full-bodied, head-thrown-back laughing. It echoed across the lawn, reckless and unguarded in a way Regulus rarely ever was.

“Sorry,” he said after a few seconds, catching his breath, wiping at the corner of his eye. “That was—yeah. Wow. So. You’ll talk to him, if he actually grows a spine and finds you?”

“I guess,” Remus said, rolling his shoulders. “I’m not exactly a monster.”

Regulus turned to him, amused. “Dunno, Lupin. You’ve got the vibe.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “The vibe of a monster? Wow, that’s sweet. Thanks.”

“Nah,” Regulus said, dragging the word out like it tasted good. “More like… y’know.”

“I don’t know,” Remus said, tone flat. “That’s the point.”

Regulus hesitated. Just for a beat—but long enough to be noticeable. His tongue darted out to wet his lips—a quick flick of pink across soft skin—and Remus’s brain just... paused. Like, fully short-circuited. Why the fuck was that hot? Did Regulus know it was hot? Was he doing it on purpose? Just to fuck with him? Or to fuck with anyone who was stupid enough to look too long?

Then came the smile—small, maddening, just a twitch of lips—but the dimples came out anyway. Of course they did.

“Nothing,” Regulus said finally, and Remus could hear the unspoken coward under it.

Remus shrugged, deciding it was better to let the whole monster comment drop before Regulus started digging too deep and connected the dots. The dots that would lead him straight to the truth—that he was, in fact, sitting right next to one. One with four days until the full moon. One that was already buzzing under his skin. One that didn’t want Regulus Black looking too close.

“Anyway,” Regulus said, mercifully changing the subject. “Important question: what colour would your dragon be if you could pick?”

“Brown,” Remus said, without missing a beat. “Simple. Solid. Unassuming.”

Regulus made a face. “So boring.”

Remus smirked. “Yours would be black, obviously.”

“Wrong,” Regulus said, smug. “Dark green. Regal and brooding. Would absolutely fuck up a battlefield.”

Remus huffed a laugh. “Of course. You’re such a Slytherin.”

“You make it sound like an insult.”

“It kind of is.”

“Aww,” Regulus cooed mockingly, giving him a shove with his shoulder. “Thanks, darling.”

Remus tried not to smile. Really, he did.

But god—this boy.

And this bench.

And this stupid quiet moment under the stars where everything felt too easy and too charged and too much.

He really was in trouble.

“So,” Remus said eventually, just to say something. Just to keep the silence from pressing too hard on his ribs. Just to maintain that well-crafted illusion he’d perfected over the years—that he was above this. Above feelings. Above being vulnerable on a bench under the stars with someone like him.

“Would you talk to James?”

Regulus didn’t even flinch. Just shrugged one shoulder like the question bored him. “Potter doesn’t talk to me. All he does is whimper and stare at me like a kicked puppy.”

Remus bit the inside of his cheek, hard. He was not going to laugh. James was his friend. His best friend. And he would not laugh at him. Even if Regulus’s delivery was spot-on and cruelly funny in that exact way that made everything worse.

“But,” Remus said, doing his best to sound disinterested, “if he actually, y’know… tried to talk?”

Regulus tipped his head back and looked up at the sky like the stars had more to say than Remus did. “He can try,” he said eventually. “It’s not like anything he has to say is worth anyone’s time anyway. Especially mine.”

“Especially yours,” Remus echoed, keeping his voice light.

“It’s precious,” Regulus said dryly, like that wasn’t obvious.

Remus looked sideways at him. “And you’re wasting it by sitting on a bench in front of the greenhouse?”

“Who said I’m wasting it?” Regulus asked, eyes cutting back to him. He arched a perfect brow, expression unreadable and entirely too sharp. 

Remus wanted to scream. Full-on, primal, hands-in-his-hair screaming. Because what the hell was happening here? Why did Regulus have the uncanny ability to make everything sound like it was dipped in something that wasn’t quite flirting but was absolutely not not flirting?

He forced himself to blink slowly. Steady. Cool.

“No one,” he said. Smooth. Untouched. Ice-cold on the surface.

“Exactly,” Regulus said, and his gaze drifted back to the sky, like the conversation hadn’t just left a crater in Remus’s chest.

There was a beat of silence. Not awkward. Not really. Just heavy with the kind of tension Remus had spent most of sixth year pretending didn’t exist.

The moon was higher now. The night darker. The wind gentler.

And Regulus was still next to him, too close and too far at the same time.

And Remus—he was still pretending this didn’t mean anything.

Still pretending that it was just a book exchange.

Just a bench.

Just a moment.

Still pretending he wasn’t so painfully gone.

“You’d like me to talk to him?” Regulus asked suddenly, eyes cutting back to Remus like he was daring him to lie.

No, Remus screamed internally. No, I don’t want you to talk to him. Because the moment you do, you’ll realize how great he actually is. You’ll realize that he’s funny and kind and loud in a way that makes rooms warmer. You’ll realize that he doesn’t hold things back the way I do. That he gives everything, shamelessly, without hiding behind ten layers of sarcasm and smirks.

You’ll talk to James and choose him over me.

“Yeah,” Remus said anyway, cool and detached. His voice came out flat. Steady. His face didn’t move a muscle. At this point, keeping up that expressionless front was muscle memory. Survival instinct.

Regulus chewed on the inside of his cheek—an analog version of the little three-dot typing dance he always did over text. Thoughtful. Measured. Hesitating just long enough to kill Remus without even trying.

Then he nodded. Just once.

“All right.”

Remus blinked. “What?”

“I said all right,” Regulus repeated, slower this time, like Remus was hard of hearing. He rolled his eyes for good measure. “If you’re about to talk to Evan, then suffering should be mutual in friendship.”

And Remus screamed in his head again. A long, drawn-out scream that echoed through every hollow part of him.

Regulus, unaware of the absolute riot going on inside Remus’s chest, just went back to casually pulling at the strings of his hoodie. 

Like he didn’t just throw Remus under a bus he asked to be hit by.

Remus pulled a cigarette from the battered pack in his pocket, but before he could even raise it to his mouth, Regulus had already taken one for himself—like it was pre-ordained. Like he’d been waiting for Remus to do that exact thing, just so he could steal it without asking.

Which, fine. That tracked.

He didn’t even say thanks. Just held it between his fingers like it belonged there, like the entire universe was his personal cigarette dispenser.

But then—without a word—he leaned in and lit Remus’s first. Let his lighter hover, steady and deliberate, the small flame flickering warm against the wind. Their fingers almost brushed. Almost. Close enough that Remus felt it anyway, in the way he absolutely wasn’t thinking about.

So, yeah. He was forgiven. Temporarily.

They sat there a little longer, not rushing it. The sky was dark now, but not heavy, just clear and humming with whatever strange electric stillness existed after long summer days. They smoked like they were killing time, and talked like they weren’t saying anything important.

Potions came up, because Regulus was on a self-declared quest to win every class ever created. Then History, because Remus couldn’t not correct Regulus’s casually wrong assumption about the Goblin Wars timeline. Then the general Hogwarts nonsense—who was shagging who, who was threatening to drop out, who got caught hexing Filch’s cat again. The usual.

And through it all, Regulus kept shifting his grip on the book Remus had given him, like he couldn’t stop holding it close. Like it mattered. Like he wasn’t just reading it—he was protecting it.

It was ridiculous.

It was also, somehow, incredibly hot.

Eventually, they headed back toward the castle. Regulus walked beside him, still cradling Brisingr against his chest like it was some sacred artifact. Like Remus hadn’t warned him three separate times not to dog-ear the pages.

(He was going to. Remus could feel it in his bones.)

“Prepare for a flood of texts while I read,” Regulus said, grinning like a menace. “I’m pulling an all-nighter, FYI.”

Remus glanced over. “Of course you are,” he muttered. “Try not to pass out mid-battle scene.”

“Please. I’ve survived far worse than fictional warfare,” Regulus sniffed, flipping open the book one-handed like he was already halfway back in the world of dragons and trauma.

Remus shook his head, mostly to himself, and peeled off toward the Gryffindor stairwell.

“Night, Regulus,” he called over his shoulder.

“Night, Lupin,” Regulus replied without looking up, already consumed. Already somewhere else.

Remus kept walking. Didn’t pause. Didn’t look back.

And he absolutely didn’t grin like a lunatic when his phone buzzed in his pocket not thirty seconds later with a text that read:

Regulus:
i made a playlist for reading this, btw. it’s mostly linkin park and alice in chains
i’m committed.

God help him, but Remus typed back instantly.

Chapter 8: buried under three duvets and five layers of self-denial

The next few days were a blur of semi-organized chaos.

There were patrols with Regulus, during which they dissected Eragon lore with such encyclopedic depth that even Remus was a little impressed with himself. And with Regulus, which—unfortunately—only made the whole situation worse.

Meanwhile, James made three solid attempts to talk to Regulus. He also chickened out every single time. Once, he literally walked into a suit of armor to avoid confrontation. Remus said nothing. Just watched it happen with the detached expression of a man far too exhausted by everyone’s romantic incompetence, including his own.

Sirius, on the other hand, had taken to mysteriously vanishing with the Marauder’s Map for hours at a time. No explanation, no notes, no commentary. Remus was 80% sure he was either snogging someone or masterminding a solo prank that would end with Peeves on fire. The other 20% was hoping Sirius had simply walked into the lake to scream.

Peter was essentially living in the Ravenclaw dorm with Gilderoy Lockhart, and Remus had made a conscious decision not to dwell on that. At all. For the sake of his remaining sanity.

But not that it mattered.

Because he couldn’t focus on anything lately.

Because his brain, his traitorous fucking brain, had decided that the only thing worth thinking about—constantly, obsessively, like a stuck record—was Regulus.

RegulusRegulusRegulus, on loop, like some annoying whisper track under every task he tried to complete. 

 Studying? Regulus.
Eating? Regulus.
Reading? Regulus.
Taking a shower? Regulus.
Brushing his damn teeth? Regulus.

It was unbearable.

Worse than unbearable, it was infuriating. Because Remus Lupin was not supposed to have a crush on Regulus Fucking Black.

(Christ, he hated even thinking the word crush. It made everything sound stupid and soft and doomed from the start.)

He wasn’t supposed to get this caught up. Wasn’t supposed to memorize the way Regulus bit the inside of his cheek when he was overthinking, or the smug little smirk he wore whenever he turned out to be right about some obscure plot twist. Wasn’t supposed to find joy in the texts Regulus sent at 3 a.m., or in the way he annotated books like he was having an argument with the author.

But he had. He did.

And he wasn’t even trying to stop.

They weren’t even hanging out that much, not really—just a smoke here and there, patrols that were supposed to be silent but never were. And now, somehow, they were sharing Spotify playlists and To Be Read lists and texting each other like they had nothing better to do with their lives.

Remus had every opportunity to back off. He knew the signs. Knew the slope. Knew exactly how bad this could get. And yet—he didn’t.

He just kept slipping deeper into the spiral, quietly and willingly, like a man walking into quicksand with his hands in his pockets.

And Friday’s full moon only made everything worse.

He was restless—twitchy and impatient and too full of the wrong kind of energy. When he’d had a crush on Sirius last year, it had been the same thing: a kind of unhinged werewolf hyperactivity that made the full moon unbearable. He was reportedly glowing with chaotic feral joy back then.

This time?

According to Sirius ( who was still laughing about it), Remus had spent half the night zooming around the Forbidden Forest at impossible speed and the other half chasing squirrels. In the trees.

Werewolves were not made for tree-climbing.

He broke a rib. Got a new scar on his neck. Bit through a branch. Nearly knocked over a centaur. Sirius said it was the funniest full moon of his life. Remus wanted to die.

So by Saturday, all he wanted was to crawl into his bed, burrito himself in blankets, and watch something brain-rotting until he forgot how to form sentences. Preferably with Sirius beside him, offering commentary that was equally annoying and hilarious.

Anything that wasn’t Regulus Black.

Which, of course, meant that the first thing he saw when he checked his phone was a text from Regulus:

Regulus:
arya really just said “nothing is more dangerous than a man with nothing to lose” and i think i just passed away

Remus stared at it.

Then replied.

Remus:
you are arya

Regulus:
you say it like it’s an insult

Remus:
it is

Regulus:
thanks 💚

Remus groaned into his pillow.

He was in so much fucking trouble.

And no idea if he should be offended by the fact that Regulus didn’t make a single comment about him vanishing for nineteen hours.

But he decided not to dwell on it.

Because if he did, he’d start spiraling. And if he spiraled, he’d land on the realization that Regulus probably didn’t care enough about him to notice things like that. Or, worse—far worse—he did notice and just… chose not to say anything.

Or even worse than that —Remus hated that there was even a “worse than that”—he’d be grateful that Regulus didn’t notice. Because if Regulus had noticed, if he’d started putting the pieces together, he’d figure it out in seconds.

That Remus was gone every full moon. That he came back looking like shit, like he’d been dragged across gravel and spit back out. That he never talked about it.

That Remus Lupin was a werewolf.

And that was not going to happen. Not ever. Not even if Regulus asked him directly. Not even if he cared. Which— he didn’t. Clearly.

It wasn’t like Remus wanted that kind of attention, alright? He wasn’t asking for affection. He wasn’t asking to be seen. But still. If Regulus had noticed…

That would’ve meant he was paying attention. That he was close.

And they weren’t. Obviously.

All they did was share Spotify playlists, trade annotated books, and swap sips of overpriced imported teas. They smoked together. Talked about dragons and warlocks and literary tropes like their lives depended on it. But that was it.

No feelings. No confessions. No real closeness.

Just smoke and sarcasm and curated vibes.

Which was fine. Totally fine.

Totally. Absolutely. Fucking fine.

That was exactly why Remus spent the whole evening holed up in Sirius’s bed, buried under three duvets and a blanket Sirius had probably stolen from the Hufflepuff common room.

They had Sirius’s MacBook balanced between them and Game of Thrones playing too loud through the shitty laptop speakers. The air reeked of popcorn and stolen chocolate, and Peter’s snack stash had been raided to a criminal degree.

They argued about the plot and screamed about the Lannisters (“Incest and war crimes. It’s like Black family but uglier,” Remus had said, deadpan), and for the first time in too long, Remus felt something close to peace.

Until Sirius opened his too pretty mouth.

“Prongs is about to talk to Reggie,” he said, casual as if he were commenting on the weather. “He’s ambushing him right now.”

Remus froze. For two full seconds.

Then forced himself to move again, cracking a chocolate frog clean in half with way too much force.

He had no right to freeze. No right to care. No right to feel like his lungs had suddenly turned to stone.

“How do you know that?” he asked, voice calm, tone flat. The picture of nonchalance, except for the death grip on the chocolate frog.

“Prongs announced it like he was about to have an audience with the Pope,” Sirius snorted. “Practically knighted himself first. Reg just finished Quidditch practice, so he figured it’s the best time to catch him alone.”

Remus didn’t respond.

He just chewed on his frog’s leg and stared blankly at the screen, where Jaime Lannister was getting insulted by literally everyone, and for once, Remus envied the guy.

Because at least Jaime knew he was fucked.

Remus wasn’t even sure what stage of denial he was in anymore.

“You think Regulus is actually gonna talk to him, though?” Remus asked after a beat, like it wasn’t the only thing he was thinking about.

Sirius shrugged. “I mean, maybe. If he’s in a good mood and feels like fucking with him a little.”

Remus almost winced at that. The wording. The implications. How many meanings that phrase had when it came to Regulus Black.

“There’s a real possibility he’ll hex him, though,” Sirius added casually, almost like an afterthought. “He’s so sick of Prongs right now.”

“He is?” Remus raised an eyebrow, feigning interest and not mild panic.

“He always was, obviously,” Sirius scoffed, tearing into a new box of cookies with zero grace. “But this year, he’s, like... done. Said it’s not even funny anymore. Just pisses him off now.”

Remus blinked, taking that in.

Well. He wouldn’t be a good friend to James if he felt even an ounce of happiness right now. So he wasn’t. Obviously.

And his heart absolutely did not do that stupid flip-flop.

“Honestly,” Sirius went on around a mouthful of cookie, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say Reg’s just allergic to the idea of dating someone.”

Remus stilled.

He had no real knowledge of Regulus’s love life. Zero. Nada. It had never come up, not even in their longest smoke breaks or late patrol chats. And he wanted to know. He wanted to know so badly.

As a friend, of course. Strictly from a platonic standpoint. Like, for general context or whatever.

“Regulus looks like he’d rather become a monk than date anyone,” he said, tone perfectly flat and indifferent.

Sirius laughed and passed him a cookie. “Yeah, hell no. He just hates doing it in public.”

“Dating in public?” Remus asked, like it didn’t matter.

“Or acting like he actually gives a shit about people,” Sirius replied, crunching into another cookie. “Even when he does. Our charming parents fucked him up completely.”

“Clearly,” Remus muttered, reaching for his tea—not because he was thirsty, but because the alternative was screaming WHO WAS HE DATING?! at Sirius’s face.

So yeah. Tea. Safer.

Sirius, meanwhile, looked way too comfortable in his little pile of crumbs and drama.

“Last time Reg liked someone—like, properly liked someone—he ghosted them the second they started telling people. Said it gave him hives.”

Remus almost choked on his tea. “He actually said that?”

“Word for word. And I quote: ‘Just because I enjoy your company doesn’t mean I want to be your fucking boyfriend. Or, God forbid, touch you in front of witnesses.’”

Remus blinked. “Wow.”

“Romance king,” Sirius deadpanned. “National treasure.”

And Remus nodded. Not because he agreed. But because he suddenly needed to process the very real possibility that Regulus Black had once liked someone. That he’d dated someone. And that someone had ruined it by simply being too visible.

Which, in retrospect, tracked perfectly.

Still, Remus hated how deeply that settled in his chest. Heavy. Inevitable. A warning label: Don’t get too close. Don’t want too much.

Not that he needed reminding.

Not that he wasn’t already in way too deep.

“Well,” Remus said, stretching out the word like a conclusion, “at least we know he’s capable of feeling emotions.”

Sirius barked a laugh. “He is. Mostly hatred and disgust, but yeah— technically, he’s got a heart in there somewhere.”

Remus tipped his head back and laughed, too, more genuinely than he meant to. “He knows it, too. He told me once he’d rather never speak again than admit he’s enjoying himself.”

Sirius cackled, eyes lighting up. “He actually said that?”

“When we were playing chess during History this week. He won, obviously. Rubbed it in like a total sadist. I said he was enjoying it too much, and he hit me with that line.”

“Oh my God,” Sirius wheezed, leaning into the pillows like the image of Regulus being that dramatic physically hurt him. “He’s a menace. A beautiful, cold-hearted, pain-in-the-ass menace.”

“Amazing, but a menace,” Remus agreed, too quickly.

Sirius caught that—of course he did—but didn’t say anything. Just gave him a sideways look that said, I see you, and we’re not unpacking that tonight.

Remus ignored it.

Because, yeah. Regulus was a menace. But also? Remus couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d said it. How he’d smirked just a little while saying it. How his fingers had brushed the edge of the chessboard, casual and effortless and vaguely smug. How Remus had pretended not to notice that his pulse kicked up just from being looked at.

That wasn’t part of the script.

Remus didn’t get unironically giddy over someone beating him at chess. He didn’t read into smirks or glances or lines said too flat to be anything but genuine. He didn’t do this.

But here he was. Doing it. Thinking about that stupid game and that stupid line and how Regulus’s stupid fingers had tapped against his knight just to be annoying.

And he’d let him.

Because he was an idiot. A soft, weak, completely messed up idiot.

Still, Remus just grabbed another cookie and popped it into his mouth like none of that was happening in his brain. Like he wasn’t slowly unraveling from the inside out while pretending to care more about sugar than his entire emotional deterioration.

There was a pause. Then—

“Can I tell you something?” Sirius squinted at him, tone too casual to actually be casual.

Remus blinked. “Sure,” he mumbled around a mouthful of crumbs.

“I may…” Sirius began, slow and measured, which was instantly suspicious. He even paused the show. So this was either serious or Sirius-serious, which were two different brands of hell.

Remus turned toward him, alert now. That tone never led to anything normal.

“Like someone,” Sirius finished, completely flat.

Remus gasped. Audibly. With a half-eaten cookie still in his mouth. He almost choked on the spot.

Because Sirius Black didn’t say shit like that. Not unless he was catastrophically, hopelessly, self-destructively into someone. And the last time that happened, it was fifth year, and it involved Marlene McKinnon and Sirius dramatically whispering that she was “a goddess with a beat, and I’d let her use my head as a bludger if she asked.”

So yeah. This was code red.

“Who?” Remus demanded, eyes wide, already spiraling into mental spreadsheets of possibilities.

Sirius looked at him. Like, really looked at him. Then held up his pinky, dead serious.

“You can’t tell anyone,” he said. “Anyone, Moony. Swear it.”

Remus narrowed his eyes but linked their pinkies anyway. “Promise.”

There was a beat.

“It’s Crouch,” Sirius said, monotone. Like he was dropping the name of a ghost.

Remus stared. Just… stared. Because what the actual hell.

“You’re shitting me,” Remus said, deadpan, brain fully buffering.

Sirius shook his head, just a slight tilt, like he couldn’t believe it either. “Since, like… summer.”

“SINCE SUMMER?!” Remus exploded. “How—what— WHAT?!”

Sirius winced like he’d just been hexed. “He spent the summer at Grimmauld Place, alright?” he started, voice suddenly busy avoiding eye contact. “His dad pissed him off and, you know. He ran away to be an annoying little shit. Slept in Reg’s room, stole my shampoo—the prick —and kept sneaking around the house to talk to Kreacher or whatever when Reg was asleep.”

Remus blinked. Slowly. Once. Twice. His brain was still trying to reboot.

“And…” Sirius exhaled, dragged a hand through his hair. “We kinda started talking one night. In the kitchen. He said something mean, I said something meaner… you know how it is. It spiraled. We started hooking up.”

“For the love of all that is holy,” Remus muttered into his fist.

Sirius smirked, way too pleased with himself for someone who just detonated a bomb in Remus’s mental peace. “Well, yeah. Reg doesn’t know, though. We were sneaking around—still do, actually.”

“How the hell did I not notice? Or—no, no, how did no one notice? Does Prongs know?” Remus asked, wide-eyed and nearly offended by his own obliviousness.

Sirius shook his head. “Nah. I mean… I could tell him, but he’d probably demand something like a double date since Barty’s Reg’s best mate. That’s, like, a guaranteed nuclear disaster. You know how Prongs gets.”

Remus’s mind flatlined. Just full-on system crash. And not just because Sirius had said Barty in that soft, warm voice he usually reserved for small injured animals, or for Remus when he was fresh out of a full moon. Sometimes for Peter, when he was spiraling about not being enough. That voice was dangerous.

But also because Remus, just days ago, found out Barty had a long-standing, tragic crush on Sirius and spiraled internally for hours about how weirdly perfect they were for each other—only to find out now that they were together the whole time.

“Holy shit,” Remus muttered, eyes wide, cookie forgotten in his lap.

He didn’t say anything for a while.
Just stared at the laptop screen, but he wasn’t watching the episode anymore. He wasn’t even seeing it. Tyrion could’ve spontaneously combusted, and he wouldn’t have blinked. All he could hear was Sirius’s voice, on loop, in that stupid soft tone:

“It’s Crouch.”

Jesus Christ.

He blinked slowly, like maybe if he did it long enough he’d reboot like a frozen page on Peter’s shitty tablet. No such luck.

“You alright?” Sirius asked around another mouthful of cookie.

No. He wasn’t alright. He was derailing.

He was currently sitting on Sirius’s bed, buried under three duvets and five layers of self-denial, while his best friend casually dropped that he was sneaking around with Regulus Black’s best friend— who he’d secretly been hooking up with since July, apparently—and Remus hadn’t noticed a damn thing.

His observational skills? In the bin.

His ability to clock the painfully obvious? Also in the bin.

And now he was spiraling, because Barty fucking Crouch was in love with Sirius, Sirius was possibly in love back, and Regulus—Regulus who drank Remus’s favorite tea now and annotated his copy of Eldest with tiny scribbles in the margins—was none the wiser.

Remus ran a hand down his face, dragging skin like he could scrape the thought away.

Sirius didn’t help.

“You’re being weirdly quiet,” he said, eyeing him.

“Just… buffering,” Remus said weakly.

“You do that when I tell you wild shit,” Sirius said, not even insulted. “Still mad about the time I said I’d marry a centaur if they were hot enough.”

“That wasn’t buffering,” Remus said, finally looking at him. “That was spiritual failure. And also, they would never marry you. Have you met you?”

Sirius grinned. “You’re fine.”

“I am not fine,” Remus shot back. “You just told me that you’ve been playing secret-lovers-and-bad-decisions with someone who literally once said he wanted to set Filch on fire ‘for the vibe.’”

Sirius shrugged. “That is a vibe.”

Remus groaned and flopped backwards, eyes to the ceiling. “This explains so much. So much.”

Like why Sirius had been more tolerable than usual lately. Why Barty had stopped scowling at everyone except Regulus. Why both of them had shown up to breakfast last week with matching hickeys and zero shame. (Okay, that last one was hindsight. But still.)

“You’re not going to say anything, right?” Sirius asked, poking at his shoulder.

“Like what?” Remus muttered. “Congratulations on your chaotic, morally questionable romance?”

“I was hoping for good for you, Pads, but sure,” Sirius huffed.

Remus sighed and sat back up, crossing his arms like that might hold him together.

“I just… I don’t get how you can act normal about this,” he said, quieter now. “Like it doesn’t make everything… complicated.”

“Because I don’t want it to be complicated,” Sirius replied simply. “It’s just… I like him. He likes me. That’s it.”

“That’s not it,” Remus snapped before he could stop himself. “Not when Regulus is involved. Not when you know he—”

He caught himself. Too late. Way too late.

Sirius stilled, eyes narrowing. “He what?”

“Nothing,” Remus said quickly, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Forget it.”

But Sirius wasn’t stupid. Unfortunately.

“Moony.” That was his dangerous voice. The one that came out during interrogations and particularly savage rounds of Wizard’s Truth or Dare. “What were you about to say?”

Remus chewed slowly, buying time, calculating every possible exit.

There was none.

So he swallowed, wiped his hands on the blanket, and lied like a coward.

“Just meant you’re all a disaster. You, Regulus, Crouch. If you ever formed a throuple, Hogwarts would collapse under the emotional damage.”

Sirius made a face. “That’s disgusting.”

“Good,” Remus muttered, curling back under the duvet and pulling it over his head. “Now shut up and watch the show. I’m tired of knowing things.”

Sirius shoved his shoulder. “Oh, come on. You have to admit that’s juicy.”

Remus peeked out from under the duvet, eyes narrowed. “Juicy? Juicy?! It’s so random it makes Pete and Lockhart make sense!”

Sirius barked a laugh. “I’m still in shock Pete hasn’t caught on yet, honestly.”

“Meaning?” Remus asked, instantly suspicious.

“Like—first night back at Hogwarts?” Sirius began, with that guilty little smirk of his. “I snuck out from here to go to Barty’s dorm, obviously. Pete was already there, in Lockhart’s bed, all settled in. We ended up spending the entire night in the same room—curtains closed, silencing charm and everything, so I thought I nailed it.”

Remus already had a hand over his mouth, preparing for the punchline.

“Turns out, I left my tee on the floor,” Sirius deadpanned.

Remus snorted. That tracked. Of course it did.

“Apparently, Peter noticed it, thought it was Barty’s, folded it, and left it on his bedside table like a fucking house-elf,” Sirius finished, voice flat with disbelief.

Remus howled with laughter, doubling over and gasping for breath.

“Oh my god—Pete the accidental wingman,” he wheezed. “Unknowingly preserving the illusion of heterosexuality while you were desecrating the dorm four feet away.”

“Honestly,” Sirius muttered, “the fact that he folded it is the most terrifying part. Like. Who does that? I’d be less freaked out if he burned it.”

Remus wiped tears from his eyes. “You’re gonna have to thank him one day.”

“Yeah, I’ll put it in my will. Thanks for the laundry service while I was raw-dogging your boyfriend’s roommate.”

Remus choked on air. “You’re actually disgusting.”

“And yet,” Sirius said smugly, “you keep hanging out with me.”

“Only because your drama’s better than telly.”

“Better than Game of Thrones?” Sirius wiggled his brows.

Remus pretended to consider it, then groaned. “Okay, fine. You win. Barely.”

“Damn right I do.”

“Why didn’t you just tell Regulus, though?” Remus asked after a beat, squinting at Sirius like the answers might be hiding in the mess of his hair.

Sirius shrugged, annoyingly casual. “I’m not in the mood to hear that I’m ‘desecrating his best friend.’ Which I am, by the way.”

“Gross.”

“Sometimes.”

“Oh my god, Sirius.” Remus groaned, burying his face in his hands. “But—wait. I thought Crouch’d be a top.”

Sirius just smirked, that smug little shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “He’s definitely not.”

“I’m going to gag.”

“He almost did. Two days ago. In Minnie’s empty classroom.”

Remus half-howled, half-groaned into his palms. “You’re actually unbelievable.”

“Thank you, Moony.” Sirius beamed like he’d just been handed an award. “For real though, don’t tell anyone, alright?”

“Yeah, sure,” Remus replied, exhaling hard and trying to compose himself just enough to stop imagining that. “I mean… if you’re happy.”

“I am,” Sirius said, and for once, there was no teasing in his voice. Just calm, honest conviction. “Like, genuinely.”

“Good.” Remus nodded slowly, meaning it. “And, hey—if he ever fucks you over, I’m attacking him during the full moon. No questions asked.”

Sirius cackled, warm and loud, before throwing an arm around Remus’s shoulders and yanking him closer. He pressed a quick, annoying kiss to the top of Remus’s head, because he was affectionate like that. Obnoxiously so.

“That’s my wolfboy.”

“Stop calling me that,” Remus muttered, even though he didn’t pull away. He just sighed, leaned into the warmth, and clicked play on the next episode like none of that had just happened. Like he wasn’t still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Barty Crouch Jr. was not only alive and real but also somehow getting railed by Sirius Black.

And worse—Sirius looked soft about it.

Remus didn’t know what was going on anymore. But at least the snacks were good.

Notes:

my babies

Chapter 9: in the mood to torture himself with romantic misunderstandings and emotional repression

Notes:

i overslept to work today 'cause i was writing until 4 am last night so here we are with another chapter (no regrets)

James found them like that about half an hour later—which Remus had spent questioning every last one of his brain cells because, really, how could he have been so blind? (He blamed Regulus. Obviously. And the fact that Regulus was taking up all the damn space in his head. Like some kind of smug little parasite.)

James looked like he was either about to cry or throw himself out the window. Or maybe both, in that order.

Remus and Sirius immediately sat up straighter, like they were about to be called to the Headmaster’s office.

“How was it?” Sirius asked, cautious now. Which was rare, and therefore terrifying.

“Well,” James said tightly, yanking his hoodie over his head and kicking off his shoes like they had personally offended him, “I’m an absolute fucking idiot.”

Remus licked his lips. “What did he say?”

James groaned, then collapsed. Full-body, starfish flop—right onto the floor. Between Peter’s stray sock and Sirius’s half-crumpled astronomy essay that definitely still smelled like smoke.

“That if I wouldn’t be so obnoxious and annoying, he might actually be interested,” James muttered into the rug, his voice muffled and tragic. “So I fucked it up. Completely. By being myself. Like—like what the fuck?”

Sirius winced. Remus winced harder.

There was a beat of silence. Then—

“Well,” Remus offered gently, “at least he said might. That’s… tentatively hopeful.”

“He said it like he was trying to spare my feelings before tossing me into the sun,” James groaned.

“Oh, so like Reggie normally talks,” Sirius muttered. “That’s basically affection, for him.”

James rolled onto his back dramatically. “I told him I liked him. Like liked him. Properly. And he just stood there, looking at me like I’d just confessed to eating kittens.”

“Well,” Remus said carefully, “you do tend to come on a bit strong.”

James threw an arm over his face. “I hate myself.”

“Welcome to the club,” Remus said dryly, picking up a cookie.

Sirius sighed and flopped back down next to him. “He’ll get over it. Reg likes a bit of drama—let him marinate.”

“I don’t want him to marinate,” James snapped. “I want him to like me.”

“Which he might, under different circumstances,” Sirius pointed out. “Maybe after a lobotomy.”

James flipped him off without looking.

Remus bit into the cookie, looked between the two of them, and tried not to scream. Emotionally, they were all in hell. But at least they were in hell together.

“He said that we have absolutely nothing in common,” James muttered after a beat, his voice flat in a way that made Remus’s stomach twist. “That I projected some version of him in my head and got obsessed over nothing.”

Sirius winced. “Well… that’s kinda true,” he said carefully, like he didn’t want to pour gasoline on an open wound—but couldn’t exactly lie either.

James let out a slow, shaky sigh. The kind you let out when you’re right on the edge of bursting into tears but refuse to let it happen yet.

“That’s not even the worst part,” he said, and his voice cracked just slightly at the end.

“What is?” Remus asked softly, already bracing himself.

“Apparently,” James began, staring at the ceiling like it might offer divine guidance, “I’m just a bully who thinks he can do whatever he wants, just because I laugh too loud and too many people like me.”

Neither Sirius nor Remus said anything. Because… fuck.

James continued, voice low and hollow. “Then he said he doesn’t like me. Because I’m everything he hates in people. Loud. Obnoxious. Everywhere.”

And there it was—the break. The smallest crack in James Potter’s always-loud, always-smiling exterior. His voice wobbled at the edges, and Remus felt something sink deep in his chest.

He was being ripped apart by two equally awful feelings: a small, shameful wave of relief that Regulus didn’t like James—and a sharp, gutting ache at how thoroughly Regulus had just torn him down.

Sirius looked pale. For once, he didn’t say a word.

Remus cleared his throat, unsure what the hell he could even say to that. “He didn’t have to be so cruel about it.”

James gave a humorless laugh. “He wasn’t even angry. That’s the worst bit. He said it all so calm, like he was giving feedback on a fucking essay.”

Sirius finally spoke, quiet and grim. “That’s how Reg talks when he means it.”

James just nodded, biting the inside of his cheek, like he was holding everything else back with sheer force of will.

“Well,” James said, voice thin and hollow. “At least… I know now. That I’m apparently too much.”

“You’re not,” Sirius said immediately—firmly, almost harshly. “You’re just not for Reg, Prongs.”

James let out a bitter laugh and dragged his hands over his face like he was trying to scrape the feelings off. “I hate it,” he choked. “I fucking hate it. I can’t even—I can’t even be mad at him. I wish I could. I’d rather him scream at me, hex me, set me on fucking fire. But no. He looked me dead in the eyes and said he doesn’t care how I feel.”

“He said that?” Remus asked, stunned. It slipped out too fast, disbelieving and sharp at the edges. It didn’t sound real—it sounded cold, even for Regulus.

James didn’t reply. He just exhaled—this shaking, empty thing that might’ve once been a sigh—and folded in on himself again, arms wrapped tightly around his knees.

Sirius slipped out of bed without a word and went to sit beside him on the floor. He reached up and started gently stroking James’s hair, like they were kids again and the world could still be fixed with soft touches and shared silence. He looked over his shoulder at Remus, and that look said it all.

We’re fucked.

Because they were. None of them— not even Sirius —knew how to handle James Potter when he wasn’t okay. James was the one who held it all together. Who made jokes when everything was falling apart. Who bought everyone their favorite sweets after a shitty week and remembered to hug you even when you didn’t ask for it. He wasn’t supposed to be the one unraveling.

Remus swallowed around the thick knot in his throat, and the realization hit him like a goddamn freight train.

Whatever just happened between James and Regulus…
That would happen to him too.
If he ever opened his stupid mouth and said anything.
If he ever dared to tell Regulus that he liked him.

Which he did. Of course he did.

He liked the boy who just crushed his best friend like it was nothing—who probably wasn’t crying or spiraling or lying on a dorm room floor questioning everything. No. Regulus Black was probably laughing right now, sitting with Barty and Evan and Dorcas, retelling the whole conversation like it was just another Tuesday. Another win. Another moment where he proved he was colder than everyone else.

And Remus hated him for it.
Hated himself more.

Because despite everything, despite the damage and the silence and the absolute wreckage he’d just left behind…
Remus still wanted him.

Still thought about his hands lighting his cigarette. Still remembered the way he said ‘don’t say I never do anything for you’ with a smirk that stayed in his head for three nights straight. Still liked the sound of his voice when he read poetry aloud like he didn’t care, but secretly did.

And that was the worst part.
The sickest part.
Because Regulus didn’t care.

Not about James.
And definitely not about Remus.

“Okay,” James sniffed, voice thin and cracked at the edges. “I had no idea being humiliated felt this fucking bad.”

Sirius let out a weak laugh from where he still sat beside him on the floor. “You weren’t humiliated, Jamie. If Reg wanted to humiliate you, trust me, you’d know. He was just being honest.”

“Heartless,” Remus said, tone flat, too tight in his throat.

“Yeah, but honest,” Sirius replied easily.

Of course he’d defend his brother. Even now. Even when James looked like someone had kicked his ribs in.

“I mean, Prongs,” Sirius added after a pause. “We… we’ve been telling you. This whole time.”

“Yeah, I know,” James said, hoarse from swallowed sobs. “I just thought—I don’t know. That he’d warm up eventually. Or anything. Just… fucking something.”

“James—”

“I’m gonna go shower,” James cut in abruptly, standing with too much force. “Maybe I’ll be lucky and drown myself while I’m at it.”

He disappeared into the bathroom without waiting for a response. The door clicked shut, the lock slid into place, and the silence that followed felt radioactive.

Sirius looked over at Remus, and for once there was no joke behind his eyes. Just panic. Helpless and real.

“Moony,” he said quietly. “I have no fucking idea what to do.”

“Same,” Remus replied.

Only he meant more.
He meant I have no idea what to do with the fact that I still like him.
He meant I can’t stop thinking about the boy who just broke our best friend like it was nothing.
He meant I don’t know how to stop this before it happens to me too.

But he didn’t say any of that.
Just sat there. In the thick silence. Listening to the distant sound of running water and the echo of a breaking heart.

Sirius crawled back into bed with a sigh—the kind he only let out when he slipped into that older-brother mode he tried to pretend he didn’t have. The one he used whenever he had to clean up Regulus’s messes.

Like that time Reg hexed a Ravenclaw kid so badly the boy didn’t speak for a week, just because he’d said Regulus’s hair looked like a wig. Or that night coming back from Grimmauld Place when Sirius didn’t say anything—didn’t have to. His eyes said enough: their parents had started another fight over nothing, and he and Regulus only made it worse. He never said what curse hit him, but Regulus was limping for days.

“You know,” Sirius said eventually, voice quiet in the dark. “I know Prongs was acting like an arse—calling Reg all those names, pushing and needling him—I know that. But Regulus clearing him out like that? It’s… I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” Remus murmured. “I had no idea that fucking spider comment stung him so much.”

Sirius nodded, once and sharp. “It did. Reg never showed it, but… he was a kid, Moony.”

That last part came out bitter, like something Sirius still hadn’t forgiven himself for. And maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he never would.

And Remus couldn’t help but think of how many times he’d seen Regulus laugh now—really laugh, in that dry, wheezing way he had when he wasn’t trying to be intimidating—and how much effort it probably took to get there after years of swallowing every insult, every wound, every name James threw at him like a goddamn joke.

Regulus hadn’t just snapped tonight.
He’d been cutting the wire for years.

Remus leaned his head back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling like it might give him answers.

He was a kid Sirius had said.

Right. And now Regulus wasn’t. Now he was something sharp and complicated and unbearably calm while casually shattering James Potter like it cost him nothing. And maybe it hadn’t. Maybe it had felt good.

And that was what bothered Remus the most—that little nagging part of his brain asking if Regulus had enjoyed it.

Sirius broke the silence again, voice low. “He didn’t mean to crush him like that.”

Remus snorted. “Didn’t he? Because it kind of looked like he did. I mean—he didn’t hex him, or shove him, or even raise his voice. Just stared him in the face and said no thanks in, like, twenty syllables. He dismantled James with fucking precision.”

Sirius rubbed at his eyes. “Yeah. That’s the problem. Reg doesn’t yell. He doesn’t snap. He dissects.”

“Like a potion.” Remus exhaled, dryly. “Of course.”

Sirius gave him a look, and Remus realized he probably sounded a bit too bitter for someone who was “just concerned about James.” But he didn’t care. Not right now.

“I just don’t get how you can look someone in the eyes,” Remus said, his voice low and tight, “someone who’s maybe been a bit of an idiot, yeah, but is still trying —and say you don’t care. That it doesn’t matter. Like they’re disposable.”

“He doesn’t think people are disposable,” Sirius said, defensive now. “He just... thinks people are dangerous. Even if they’re being nice. Especially if they’re being nice.”

Remus looked at him, brows drawn. “That’s... depressing.”

“Welcome to the Black household,” Sirius muttered.

The bathroom door creaked open. They both fell silent as James shuffled out, hoodie on, hair wet and dripping, eyes puffy. He looked like the kind of boy who used to believe in every good thing, and just learned the hard way that not everyone thinks like him.

He didn’t say anything. Just climbed into bed, pulled the blanket over his head, and curled in on himself.

Sirius moved instinctively, flicking his wand to dim the lights.

Remus stared at the lump under the blanket for a few seconds before whispering, “Do we… do we do something?”

Sirius just shook his head. “We let him feel it. That’s all we can do.”

Remus swallowed hard.

Because all he could think about now was that if he ever got stupid enough to say something to Regulus—to really say something—this would be him.

Curled in on himself. Destroyed quietly. Left with nothing but the echo of Regulus’s cold, clear voice saying I don’t care what you feel.

And Remus... Remus wasn’t sure he’d survive that.

 

None of them left the dorm on Sunday.

Peter, once Sirius filled him in, stole snacks from the kitchens, and the four of them sat in painful, suffocating silence for hours. Not talking. Not even breathing too loudly. Just existing in the aftermath of something none of them were equipped to handle.

James was a mess.

And as much as Remus hated to admit it—really hated to—he kind of had it coming, didn’t he? But that didn’t make it any easier to watch. Because James Potter, seventeen, who had never once doubted that the world would eventually fold in his favour, just had his heart broken for the first time. And he had absolutely no idea what to do with that.

Neither did Remus. Or Sirius. Or Peter, for that matter.

Sure, they’d all dated before. Messed around, caught feelings, dumped or got dumped. Sirius had more notches than it was socially acceptable to count and cared about exactly none of them. Peter had his one girlfriend in fourth year who ended it over summer break via text. Remus... well, Remus had Theo.

Theo, who was hot in that very specific, very irritating way, and had a thing for fucking in every hidden corner of the castle and offering his unsolicited takes on anything that breathed. Remus dumped him mid-hookup behind Greenhouse Four when he realized he’d rather do literally anything else than listen to another monologue about how McGonagall was “too uptight for her own good.”

So no—none of them knew how to deal with this. Not the slow, aching kind of heartbreak that wasn’t about being rejected once, but about being told that you, fundamentally, are the exact kind of person someone could never want.

James didn’t cry again, not out loud at least. He just lay in his bed, still and quiet, arms folded across his chest like if he held himself tightly enough, he wouldn’t fall apart. Every now and then, he’d sit up, look like he was about to say something, then just lie back down again.

And the worst part?

Regulus had texted Remus that morning. Like nothing ever happened. Like he hadn’t just emotionally gutted one of Remus’s best friends.

can i borrow that book you mentioned? the red one with a weird font

No hey, no sorry, no how’s James?

Usually, Remus would’ve been thrilled. Regulus reaching out. Showing interest. It was the kind of tiny gesture Remus used to overanalyze to death in the shower. But now?

Now, it just felt... hollow. Disappointing, if he was being honest. Not because Regulus owed him anything. But because Remus had started to believe that Regulus Black wasn’t the person people claimed he was—cold, detached, cruel in that quiet, cutting way.

Because Regulus had never been like that with him. Not once. Not in class, not in the library, not in their stupid late-night conversations about books and music and family and how fucked everything was.

And that’s what made it worse.

Because maybe—just maybe—Remus had been doing the same thing James had. Projecting. Idealizing. Building an entirely different version of Regulus in his head and falling for that.

And this morning?

This morning was the reality check.

And it fucking sucked.

When James suddenly closed the curtains around his bed and said “Pete” like he was about to start sobbing, all three of them winced.

Peter actually got up from his bed, crossed himself like a man heading to war, and crawled into James’s. Seconds later, he cast a silencing charm and just like that, Sirius and Remus couldn’t hear a damn thing.

Remus swallowed hard.

James hadn’t asked for him—because James knew. Knew that Remus was... not neutral. That he was somehow close to Regulus. That he’d spent the past few days spiraling about Remus “stealing Regulus” and how, supposedly, the two of them were laughing at him behind his back.

He hadn’t asked for Sirius either—because Sirius was biased. He’d defend Regulus for as long as he was breathing, and everyone knew it.

Sirius stood up from his bed, grabbing a hoodie. “I’m going over to… y’know,” he said vaguely, clearly meaning Crouch.

He shoved his hair into a loose bun, messy and irritated, and paused by the door.

“I’m about to ask him about Reg until he either starts crying or spilling,” he whispered.

Remus gave a weak chuckle and watched him disappear through the door.

He lasted exactly four minutes before getting up and leaving, too. He couldn’t be in that dorm for another second without combusting. Emotionally or literally, hard to say.

He grabbed his cigarettes. Grabbed a book— Pride and Prejudice today, because clearly he was in the mood to torture himself with romantic misunderstandings and emotional repression—and left.

He jogged down the path, hoodie pulled over his head, and minutes later he was perched on the edge of the wooden pier. Lit cigarette in one hand, unopened book in the other.

He wasn’t going to read a word of it. He knew that already.

He was just... existing. By the lake. Like he had any idea what the fuck to do next.

Tossing the butt into the lake, Remus heard footsteps behind him—and smelled the citrusy cologne Regulus wore like it was a goddamn personality trait.

“Hi,” Regulus said, flopping down beside him. “You about to do some Darcying out here?” he asked, nodding at the book in Remus’s lap.

“No,” Remus replied. Maybe a little too harshly.

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “What?”

And Remus just… gave up on pretending. On expecting more. On holding out for some version of Regulus that maybe didn’t exist.

“You really had to break him like that?” he asked, turning to look at him. “Like he’s not a human being with actual, functional emotions?”

Regulus lifted a brow again. Unbothered. “So it’s fine when he’s destroying other people, but when he finally gets some karma, the universe is wrong?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Then maybe say whatever profound shit you’re thinking,” Regulus snapped.

Remus turned fully toward him now, biting back the way his heart was pounding. “Alright,” he said flatly. “I thought you were more than what people say you are.”

Regulus blinked. “...What?”

“That maybe you don’t enjoy ruining other people,” Remus said, voice low, tight. “But you clearly do.”

He shrugged like it didn’t hurt him to say it. Like it wasn’t cracking something open in his chest.

“I thought, maybe, you care about anyone but yourself.”

Regulus stared at him. Long enough that Remus had to clench his jaw to stop himself from grabbing him by the shoulders and demanding something—anything—out of him. And when he finally did speak, it wasn’t what Remus expected. Not in tone. Not in words. Not with that look in his eyes.

“I did enjoy it,” Regulus said. Calm. Controlled. Cruel. “And I’m not about to be sorry for it.”

Remus didn’t breathe.

“Potter’s just another arrogant prick who thinks he can say and do whatever the fuck he wants because he’s good-looking and people think it’s all one big joke. He’s not joking. He’s a bully who’s convinced himself he’s charming instead of dangerous.”

Regulus’s voice stayed even, but something sharp glinted underneath.

“I can be cruel. Fine. But I never pretended I wasn’t. I’ve never done a single thing without a reason, even if you don’t know that or don’t care to.”

Remus tried to speak, but Regulus kept going. And now he was looking at him like this was a confession and a warning at once.

“And I’m not going to let someone like James fucking Potter treat me like I’m a freak for years— years, Lupin—and then suddenly decide he likes me and I’m supposed to what, fall for it? Be grateful? Fuck off.”

His voice cracked there. Just a hair.

“Don’t you dare tell me I hurt him more in one conversation than he’s been hurting me since I was ten fucking years old.”

Remus scoffed, jaw tight, chest buzzing like a live wire.

“You don’t get to stand there and act like you’re some noble victim in all of this,” he said, voice clipped. “Yeah, James was a dick. I told him that, we all did. But you didn’t just defend yourself, Regulus. You obliterated him.”

Regulus’s lips twitched, not quite a smirk but too bitter to be a smile. “Good.”

“Good?” Remus echoed, disbelieving. “You wanted to break him?”

“I wanted him to stop seeing me like some accessory in his fucking redemption arc,” Regulus snapped, leaning forward now, eyes cold and sharp like frostbite. “He wasn’t in love with me, Lupin. He was in love with the idea of proving to himself—and to you lot—that he could like someone like me. That he was mature enough to look past the name, the family, the past. It was never about me.”

“That’s not—” Remus started, but Regulus cut him off.

“It is,” he spat. “It’s always like that with people like him. People who think their charm is a virtue and their apologies erase the damage. Potter thought I’d be impressed. That I’d be grateful he’d lowered himself to feel something.”

“You think that’s what this was? Him lowering himself?” Remus’s voice cracked with disbelief. “He liked you. Really liked you.”

Regulus shook his head. “He liked chasing something difficult. I didn’t give him what he wanted and now he’s licking his wounds like he didn’t ask for it.”

“And you? What, you’re just completely innocent in all this?” Remus shot back. “You’re not stupid, Regulus. You knew what he felt. You let him keep falling.”

“I didn’t owe him anything,” Regulus said flatly. “He put me on a pedestal, not the other way around.”

Silence fell for a beat. The kind that made your teeth hurt.

Remus stared at him. Not blinking. Not breathing. “You really don’t feel anything about it, do you?”

Regulus didn’t respond immediately. His jaw clenched, lips twitching like he was biting down on words he’d regret. His eyes narrowed just slightly, not quite a flinch—but enough.

“You did the same,” he said finally, voice low.

Remus blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”

“With Evan,” Regulus said, calm and cool like he wasn’t tossing a grenade between them. “You turned him down. Publicly. Didn’t even flinch.”

“That is not the same,” Remus snapped, eyes narrowing. “You were the one who started all this—this whole ‘clearing him’ thing, whatever the fuck that means, because he was spiraling over us talking.”

Regulus didn’t flinch. “Yeah. And maybe I overreacted. But I didn’t tell you to humiliate Evan. That was all you.”

Remus stood his ground. “And I never claimed to be a fucking saint.”

Regulus shrugged one shoulder, indifferent. “So what, it’s acceptable when you hurt my friends, but when I do it to yours, I’m suddenly the villain?”

“It’s not the same fucking weight, Regulus!” Remus said, louder now, more breathless with every word. “You shattered him.”

“And how the fuck would you know that?” Regulus snapped now, finally losing some of that cold detachment. “How do you know Evan didn’t spend a week rotting in bed, hating himself? Hating you?”

Remus froze. The silence stretched.

“…Did he?” he asked quietly, already dreading the answer.

“That’s not the point,” Regulus said, but it landed differently. Something brittle crept into his tone, something that sounded almost like disappointment. “The point is that we both did what we had to. We stood up for ourselves. Maybe we overreacted. Maybe not. But don’t stand there and act like you’re any cleaner in this mess than I am.”

“I never said—”

“Look,” Regulus cut in, sharp. “I’m not here to cry over Potter’s feelings. He never gave a shit about mine, and I’m not going to feel guilty for not breaking myself open to make him comfortable. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about anyone, alright?”

Remus blinked at him. “And who do you care about, then?”

“You,” Regulus snapped, like it cost him something to say it out loud. “I care about you, for example. Since I’m sitting here by the goddamn lake, explaining myself like some character witness in a trial I didn’t ask for. Because maybe, just maybe, I wanted you to understand where I was coming from.”

Remus’s chest tightened. His fingers twitched at his sides. He didn’t know if it was the guilt, the heat in Regulus’s voice, or the fact that he looked one second away from walking off and never looking back.

But then Regulus stood up.

And Remus—on instinct, not logic—reached out and grabbed his arm before he could walk away.

“Wait.”

Regulus looked down at him. He didn’t shake him off. Not yet.

Remus swallowed. “I don’t… I don’t think you’re a villain,” he said quietly. “And I do hear you. Okay? I hear you.”

He paused. Then, with a sigh: “So sit the fuck down and don’t be dramatic.”

Regulus’s lip twitched. Just a flicker. But it was there.

He sat.

Remus let go of his arm and let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The silence that followed wasn’t tense—it was heavy, but it was shared. Like something had been dug up, aired out, and neither of them quite knew what to do with it now.

But Regulus was still there.

And that was something.

Notes:

reg IS darcy

Chapter 10: he just needed two more days and maybe a detailed flowchart explaining how not to be a dick

Notes:

another one

Eventually, the tension between them softened. Not vanished—just dulled at the edges. Shifted into something less combustible, more tired than angry. Regulus was hugging his knees now, arms wrapped tight around them, his gaze fixed on the horizon like it had all the answers he refused to ask for.

Remus sat beside him, cigarette long gone, but the nicotine still buzzing through his bloodstream. And in his head, over and over again, he kept repeating one stupid, ridiculous line like a fucking prayer:

Regulus said he cared about him.

Not in any sweet, affectionate tone. Not with some sweeping romantic gesture. It had been blunt, sharp even—too much emotion, too little warmth to be anything soft. But it was there. Said out loud. To him.

And that shouldn’t have meant so much. Not after everything.

But it did.

Remus also couldn’t stop thinking about how Regulus had never once brought up Evan. Not once. That happened a week ago, and Regulus had never mentioned it until now, when Remus came at him first—guns blazing—for hurting James.

Which was fair, wasn’t it?

But also…

Regulus had stayed. Even when he was ready to walk. Even when Remus had thrown every ounce of judgment in his face and called him the exact thing he hated being seen as. He could’ve left. He was going to.

But he didn’t.

Remus let the silence breathe for a moment longer before sighing and reaching for his cigarettes again. His hands moved on instinct, familiar and slow.

“Alright,” he muttered, voice hoarse from too much smoke and not enough sleep. “Can we mutually agree that we both fucked up and just… move on?”

Because unpacking it would hurt. More than he had the capacity for right now. Talking it to death would only make it bleed again.

Regulus glanced sideways at him, face unreadable. Then, after a beat: “...Light my cig and we’re even.”

He snatched one from Remus’s pack without asking, holding it between his lips with the casual entitlement only Regulus Black could pull off.

Remus huffed a dry laugh and lit it for him. Then lit his own. And without another word, he lay back flat on the pier, legs dangling above the water, cigarette trailing smoke into the sky.

He was so, so fucking tired.

Tired of fighting. Tired of being the moral compass. Tired of keeping himself stitched together so no one else would fall apart first.

And despite everything—despite the mess, the hurt, the stupid unsaid things that clung to the air between them like fog—he was also so, so into Regulus Black it was almost laughable. Almost pathetic.

Because somehow, this—cigarettes, silence, bruised egos and tangled feelings—was the closest thing to peace they’d managed in days.

And maybe that said more than either of them was ready to admit.

“So,” Regulus said, glancing at him over his shoulder with one of those slow, deliberate looks. “Pride and Prejudice? Really, Lupin?” 

“Shut up, I was in the mood,” Remus muttered, rolling his eyes.

“For emotionally constipated men?”

“For that, I’m always in the mood,” Remus replied, taking another drag from his cigarette.

Regulus let out a quiet laugh and lay back beside him, their shoulders almost touching. “Honestly? Same,” he said, like it didn’t mean anything. Like it wasn’t one of the most telling things he’d ever admitted.

“But I’m still recovering from Eragon,” he added. “The whole Murtagh–Nasuada disaster? That shit nearly ended me.”

Remus let out a low chuckle. “Yeah. That one was… kind of heart-breaking.”

“I sobbed, Lupin,” Regulus said, deadpan. “Evan thought I was watching ‘Call Me by Your Name’ edits again.”

“You’re tragic.”

“Oh, I know,” Regulus replied, smug as ever. “But I’m also pretty, so it balances out.”

“Just because you’re pretty doesn’t mean you can—”

“You think I’m pretty?” Regulus cut in, twisting his head toward him, tone casual but eyes sharp.

Remus froze for a half-second. Swallowed. “Objectively,” he said, voice perfectly even. Too even.

“Objectively,” Regulus echoed, staring.

“Mhm.”

It was the kind of silence that followed something neither of them wanted to unpack, so they didn’t. They just let it hang there, suspended between smoke and lake mist and things unsaid. Neither of them moved. Neither of them looked away.

Because objectively meant something and they both knew it.

“Alright,” Regulus said finally, his stupid, kissable mouth curling into a smile that was absolutely destined to ruin Remus Lupin—right here, on the shitty wooden pier by the lake where the giant squid lived. “I’ll leave it at that.”

“Noble of you.”

“Now you’re insulting me, Lupin.”

“Someone’s gotta have the spine to do it,” Remus shrugged.

Regulus hummed, amused. “I agree.”

“Do you?”

Regulus took a slow drag, then nodded. “Yeah. Until now, only Barty and Sirius insulted me without looking like they were clinging to life. It’s… refreshing.”

“Are you calling me refreshing?”

“Don’t push it, Lupin. I can still shove you into the lake.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Remus said, but the way his voice wavered at the end made it sound more like a question than a challenge.

Regulus raised a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Try me.”

“You’d ruin your shoes.”

“I’d buy new ones.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re still here,” Regulus said mildly, flicking ash off his cigarette like he hadn’t just pulled a knife and twisted it.

Remus looked at him. Really looked. The slouch of his spine against the pier, one knee bent, face washed in the pink-gray wash of the lake’s late afternoon light. He looked calm, at ease even—which made it all the more irritating.

“You pretend you don’t give a shit about anything,” Remus muttered. “But you do.”

Regulus didn’t flinch. He just held Remus’s gaze and said, “You pretend you care about everything. But you don’t.”

Remus felt his stomach twist. “That’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” Regulus asked, quiet now, almost curious. “You choose who gets your sympathy like it’s a fucking raffle, Lupin. I just don’t bother lying about it.”

That stung. Mostly because it wasn’t entirely wrong.

Remus looked away first. He stared down at the lake, letting his cigarette burn too close to his fingers. “You know,” he said, “you’ve got a real gift for ruining perfectly decent afternoons.”

Regulus hummed, soft and noncommittal. “You came here to sulk.”

“I came here to think.”

“Same thing.”

Remus sighed and dropped his head back to the wooden slats, exhaling smoke straight into the sky. “You’re exhausting.”

“And you,” Regulus said, his tone far too calm, “are dangerously close to becoming one of the only people I can stand.”

Remus didn’t respond right away. His heart beat too loudly for that.

Instead, he muttered, “Tragic, really.”

And Regulus, deadpan as ever, replied, “Deeply.”

They sat in silence for a while. Not companionable, not entirely hostile either. Just… charged. A quiet that buzzed like static in the chest.

Eventually, Remus said, “Are we going to keep pretending we’re not somehow friends now?”

Regulus tilted his head just enough to look at him. “We are friends. Keep up.”

“Right.”

And then neither of them said a word for a very, very long time.

When Regulus picked up the book from the pier, he had to cast a Lumos to see the letters properly. Still, he started reading out loud, voice smooth and annoyingly focused, even mumbling through Remus’s messy annotations like they were as essential as the actual plot.

Remus tried not to think about how much he enjoyed it. Or how nice Regulus’s voice was. Or how his hands looked resting against the worn pages, long fingers brushing the margins like they belonged there. He definitely didn’t think about the way Regulus read his notes—like they meant something. Like he wanted to understand what Remus had thought and felt when he wrote them.

Then Regulus paused, turning a page, eyes narrowing. “Whose handwriting is this?” he asked, tilting the book toward Remus.

Remus leaned over to look. Of course—his mum’s. The book was originally hers. He’d nicked it from the living room shelf one summer and never given it back. Most of his books were stolen that way. She used to write the letter g the same way he did. She loved books even more than he did. Made reading feel like an act of rebellion and reverence all at once.

“My mum’s,” Remus said simply.

Regulus hummed. “She wrote, ‘She’s his summer days during winter and she doesn’t even know that.’”

Yeah, Remus thought, with something tight in his chest. That’s exactly what Regulus was. His summer days—and he didn’t even fucking know it.

“I like it,” Regulus added. “You can tell she’s an English teacher.”

Remus snorted, despite himself. “You say that like it’s something worth admiring.”

“It is,” Regulus said, deadpan. “Imagine teaching a bunch of ungrateful kids because you believe, on some absurd level, that stories might actually matter to them.”

“Now you’re getting poetic.”

“I’m reading Pride and Prejudice, Lupin. It’s in the air,” Regulus replied.

Then, just like that, he went back to reading—like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just cracked something open in Remus’s chest and left it there, bleeding on the pier.

They didn’t peel themselves off the pier until curfew was already nipping at their heels. The path back to the castle was silent, but not in a bad way—just that quiet stretch that follows after too much honesty.

Regulus was still talking about Pride and Prejudice, muttering about Mr. Darcy being “emotionally hot, despite being emotionally unavailable as fuck.”

Remus scoffed, shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets.

“You’re such a twat,” he said, tired and warm in that dangerous kind of way.

“You’re not disagreeing, though,” Regulus shot back.

And Remus wasn’t. He couldn’t. Because all he could think about was how Regulus was emotionally hot and emotionally unavailable and how he was the one walking beside Remus now. Not James.

Back in the dorms, the weight of it didn’t hit until Remus was standing under the shower, head bowed, watching water stream down the tile like it could take his thoughts with it. It didn’t.

Because the thing was—he wasn’t scared.
Not the way he thought he would be. Not the way James had been, reaching too fast for someone he didn’t understand and shattering when he slipped through his fingers.

No, Remus wasn’t scared that Regulus would break him.

He wasn’t even sure when that switch had happened—when the idea of caring about Regulus stopped being risky and started being something he could breathe into. Something... safe. Or not safe, exactly—Regulus was far from safe—but solid. Honest in ways that mattered. Even when he was cruel, he never lied about it.

Remus leaned his forehead against the cool tile. Let the steam crawl up his spine.
Regulus hadn’t said— I care about you— to hear anything back. He didn’t wait for reassurance or demand softness in return. He’d just said it like it was a fact, and not something to negotiate over.

And that, somehow, made it worse.

Because now, the weight of it sat heavy in Remus’s chest. Not fear, but something close. Something louder. He was too deep in it already. Deeper than he had any right to be. Because James was asleep five feet away—curled tight against the wall like it could hold him up, breathing slow and fragile after crying himself into the mattress over Regulus Black.

And Regulus Black was out there reading Remus’s annotated books. Saying things like you’re the one I care about. Sitting by the lake like he belonged there. Like he wanted to.

Remus dragged a hand down his face.
What the fuck was he doing.

Because whatever this was—whatever he and Regulus were building, or circling around, or fucking daring —it wasn’t a game anymore.
Not if it left James Potter wrecked.
Not if it made Remus feel like the villain.

And not if Regulus, sharp-edged and unreadable, was actually telling the truth when he said, I care about you.

Because that changed everything.

And Remus wasn’t sure he was ready for it.

By the time he climbed into bed, the dorm was still thick with that unspoken thing.
The kind that crawls under your skin and makes everything quiet feel hostile.
James was turned to the wall, his back tense in a way that said he wasn’t really asleep. Or maybe he was. Either way, Remus didn’t have it in him to check.

He laid down. Kept his eyes on the ceiling. Counted the cracks in the paint like they could drown out the echo of Regulus’s voice in his head.

I care about you.

That was the thing. That stupid, casual sentence.

Like it didn’t cost him anything to say it. Like he hadn’t said it mid-argument, eyes tight, jaw set, furious but still staying.
He could’ve walked away—Regulus always could walk away—but he didn’t.

He stayed.

And that mattered.
More than Remus wanted it to.

He squeezed his eyes shut and turned onto his side. Thought about Evan, still ghosting him in the halls like Remus had kicked his dog instead of just told him the truth. Thought about how Regulus hadn’t brought it up until he was cornered, and how he still hadn’t tried to twist the knife.

Because he could’ve. Regulus had that in him—that bone-deep, old-blood kind of spite. But he hadn’t used it. Not on Remus.

Remus wanted to feel better about that than he did.
He wanted to feel righteous. Wanted to believe that he was better than all of this.
But he didn’t.
Not when he’d turned around and asked Regulus if he felt anything after wrecking James.

And not when he kept thinking, He picked me. Over him.

He rolled onto his stomach and shoved his face into the pillow, groaning into it like the sound might smother him back to sleep.

It didn’t.

Because it wasn’t just about who Regulus picked. It was about the fact that Remus wanted to be picked. That somewhere along the way, between book annotations and bitter arguments and cigarettes, he’d started wanting it —like it would mean something. Like being the person Regulus chose meant he mattered.

He hated that.

He hated that his chest still felt warm when he remembered the way Regulus had said it—all casual and offhand and true.

He hated that James had to look like that—quiet and wrecked and pretending he wasn’t still cracked down the middle—just so Remus could feel chosen.

But more than anything, he hated that he didn’t want to give it up.

He didn’t want to do the right thing. He didn’t want to play it safe or back off or untangle whatever the fuck this thing with Regulus had become. He wanted more of it. More nights on the pier. More literary debates and sideways glances and stupid arguments that ended in quiet understanding. He wanted more of Regulus not pretending.

And fuck, that made him worse than he thought.

Because he was already in this. Too deep to pretend he wasn’t.
And Regulus—for all his armor and sharp-edged pride—was already giving him pieces no one else got to see.

And that meant something.

It meant everything.

So Remus did the only thing he could do with that.

He lay still. Stared at the ceiling. And let it consume him quietly, like the slow kind of fire you can’t put out.

 

The tension in the dorm the next morning was so thick you could’ve cut it with one of Barty Crouch’s flick knives—and Remus was pretty sure there was one wedged under Sirius’s mattress somewhere. Just in case.

James was moving on autopilot: robotic, silent, eyes vacant in a way that made Remus want to simultaneously shake him and pretend he hadn’t noticed. Sirius was overcompensating in the loudest way possible, talking Peter’s ear off about last night’s Quidditch stats and making jokes that didn’t quite land. Peter, to his credit, nodded along with the stamina of someone who’d survived Sirius Black’s coping mechanisms before.

Remus, for his part, was trying not to exist.

His ribs still ached from the full moon. His head was scrambled. His skin didn’t quite feel like it fit, and neither did his clothes, and neither did the way his thoughts kept drifting back to him.
Regulus, with his smug little expressions and annoyingly perfect posture. Regulus, who read Pride and Prejudice with his voice all soft and low like he had no idea it was ruining Remus.
Regulus, who’d said I care about you like it was a throwaway comment.

Remus dragged himself to breakfast anyway. He was not about to let a boy— that boy—derail his entire day. Especially not when he had an evening study session planned with Lily, and a pile of homework, and a university application list sitting in his bag like a ticking clock.

Besides, his dad would throttle him if he found out Remus Lupin was losing sleep over a boy instead of keeping his GPA immaculate. (“You want King’s College or you want heartbreak?” his dad would say. And honestly? Fair.)

So when they entered the Great Hall and Remus’s eyes immediately locked on Regulus at the Slytherin table, he kept it together.

Mostly.

Regulus looked up. Smirked.

That smirk.

The one that always sat just this side of condescending, but somehow managed to feel like a secret meant only for Remus.

Remus gave him a single, sharp nod. Controlled. Civil. Absolutely not a pathetic little flicker of attention-starved joy.

And then he sat down, buried his face in a bowl of porridge, and tried not to think about the way Regulus’s stupid, pretty lips curved. Or how his eyes lingered like he was still cataloguing Remus’s expressions from last night. Or how Remus wanted to crawl out of his own skin and maybe crawl into Regulus’s instead.

Evan was at the Slytherin table too, but Remus didn’t even glance at him. He wasn’t ready for that particular disaster. Honestly, he had no clue how to apologize. 

He’d ask Lily for help. Eventually. She had a soft spot for Evan and an even softer spot for Remus’s inability to process emotions like a normal human being.

Right now, he just needed two more days and maybe a detailed flowchart explaining how not to be a dick.

He shoved a piece of toast in his mouth and told himself he was fine.

Then he caught Barty’s expression from across the room.

He was looking at Sirius—of course—and it was intense. That borderline obsessive, adoring look like Sirius hung the damn constellations himself. Like he wanted to rip Sirius’s clothes off and fold them back perfectly again.

Remus stared. Envious.

Not of Barty. But of the certainty.

Of the brazenness.

Of the way Barty looked at Sirius like he didn’t give a single fuck who saw it.

Remus would kill for someone to look at him like that. Or no—to be honest, he’d kill to look at someone like that and not choke on it. To feel that kind of want and not bury it under ten layers of sarcasm and guilt and intellectual rationalizing.

He wanted that.

Wanted it from Regulus, specifically, which was the real problem.

He wanted to want him in the open.

He wanted to not care who noticed.

And he wanted to stop pretending that Regulus smirking at him across a crowded room didn’t feel like a goddamn full-body blow.

“So,” Sirius said far too cheerfully, bouncing like he hadn’t spent the whole weekend walking on eggshells. “There’s a game this Saturday! Isn’t that just brilliant? Slytherin vs Ravenclaw. Really thrilling stuff.”

James shot him a glare. Not his usual mock-annoyed kind, but sharp and venomous. The kind that could actually slice skin if you looked at it too long. “Amazing. Fucking fantastic. Regulus on the pitch, obviously winning the match, because of course he will. So then we get to play against them next month. Fucking peachy.”

Peter winced. “Or—just an idea—what if we didn’t talk about Regulus? Like, at all?”

“Seconded,” Sirius muttered, all the excitement gone from his voice like someone pulled the plug on him.

“Or maybe,” Remus said dryly, pouring himself a cup of tea with all the calm he could fake through the storm brewing in the room, “we don’t talk about Quidditch either.”

James snapped his head around so fast it was a miracle his neck didn’t crack. Another glare. This one full of betrayal. Like Remus had personally kicked his broomstick in half.

“Nevermind,” Remus muttered into his tea.

The silence was painful. And heavy. And petty.

Sirius broke it with a low laugh and leaned over toward Remus, voice dropped just enough to be conspiratorial. “I genuinely don’t know if I want my baby brother to kick my boyfriend’s arse or the other way around on Saturday.”

Remus nearly choked on his tea.

“You’re incorrigible,” he managed, coughing.

Sirius grinned like the devil himself. “Barty’s really hot in his Quidditch kit.”

“Why the fuck would you say that to me first thing in the morning?”

“Because it’s true.” Sirius just cackled and reached across the table to steal a hashbrown from Peter’s plate without even blinking.

James, meanwhile, stabbed at his eggs like they’d insulted him personally.

Remus sipped his tea and tried not to make eye contact with anyone. His mind was already too loud, anyway. Between James’s festering heartbreak, Sirius’s deeply unfiltered Barty worship, Peter’s desperate attempts to keep the peace, and Regulus’s goddamn smirk that still haunted his brain like a curse—it was all too much.

And it was only Monday.

In History of Magic, while Binns droned on about the Goblin Rebellions like it was the most riveting thing in the world, Remus and Regulus were playing chess on the corner of the desk like they weren’t sitting in a structured academic setting. Like they didn’t have a single fuck to give.

Regulus was winning. Obviously.

“It’s like child’s play,” he said casually, knocking Remus’s rook off the board with two fingers, not even looking up.

“I hate this fucking game,” Remus muttered, cheek smushed against his palm, staring at the board like it personally betrayed him.

Regulus chuckled low in his throat. “I know. That’s why we keep playing, Lupin.”

“I hate you too.”

“Do you, though?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Remus said, dragging his queen forward in a move he hoped would at least stall the inevitable.

Regulus didn’t even blink before flicking the queen off the board with the same smug grace he’d knocked over the rook. His grin was small, sharp, and smug in a way that made Remus want to strangle him or kiss him, depending on the angle.

“Check,” Regulus added, just for good measure.

Remus groaned into his hand.

Binns kept droning on in the background, completely unaware that a blood feud was being silently waged in the last row.

“I’m done,” Remus said flatly, way too close to flipping the board over. “Just take it. Out of my sight.”

Regulus laughed—not a giggle, not even a chuckle, a real fucking laugh—and waved his wand lazily. The board vanished in a flicker of smoke and quiet magic.

“What are we doing now, then?” he asked, like this wasn’t a classroom and they weren’t technically supposed to be learning about goblin-led coups.

“We could, I don’t know… actually take notes?” Remus offered, already regretting it.

“Boring,” Regulus said immediately. “Let’s play a game.”

Remus groaned. Of course. Regulus Black was always up for a game. Always.

“Which one?” he asked anyway, resigned.

“This or That,” Regulus said, like it was a matter of life and death. He leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Me first.”

“Obviously.”

“Hush.” Regulus narrowed his eyes at him, mock stern. “Alright. Never read your favorite book again, or never listen to your favorite song?”

Remus frowned, actually thinking about it. “The song,” he said eventually, wincing. “That hurts.”

“What is it, even?”

“Lady Stardust. Yours?”

“Stop the World I Wanna Get Off With You,” Regulus said with a perfectly straight face.

Remus almost choked on nothing. Almost. Somehow, he kept it together.

“...Right,” he managed. “Okay. My turn. Would you rather go to an open mic night or spend the night buried in a coffin six feet underground?”

“Coffin,” Regulus replied without hesitation. “At least it’s quiet.”

Remus huffed a laugh. “Never use magic again or never read again?”

Regulus squinted, genuinely torn. “Fuck. Okay… never use magic.”

“Bold.”

“Practical,” Regulus shot back. “I’d still have books. I’d survive.”

“Alright. Never brush your hair again, or never shave again?”

Regulus paused, scowled. “Okay, that’s just mean. That’s too hard.”

Remus shrugged. “Answer the question, Black.”

“I guess… shave?” Regulus said finally, with the tone of a man making peace with war.

“Tragic. I support it, though.”

“Hit me again.”

“Alright. Would you rather sit through an hour of Trelawney’s predictions about your death or listen to Slughorn talk about himself for an hour?”

Regulus didn’t even blink. “Death. At least it’s exciting.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Regulus murmured, smirking.

Remus rolled his eyes, but he was smiling now, for real. Even if he pretended not to be.

“Okay,” Remus said, drumming his fingers against the desk. “Would you rather get caught sneaking into the kitchens by Filch or accidentally send a howler to your own grandmother?”

Regulus snorted. “Kitchen. At least I get a snack before detention.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Flattering,” Regulus said, tilting his head. “Alright. Would you rather sit through a full day of Divination without rolling your eyes, or compliment Snape sincerely in front of the entire Slytherin table?”

Remus narrowed his eyes. “You’re a menace.”

“Answer the question, Lupin.”

He groaned. “I guess… Divination. Less humiliating. Barely.”

Regulus laughed, soft and too fucking pretty for ten in the morning. “Coward.”

“You’d compliment him?”

“In that scenario?” Regulus shrugged. “I’d bite my own tongue off first.”

Remus grinned despite himself. “Alright, Black. Your turn.”

“Would you rather have a photographic memory or the ability to turn invisible?”

“Invisible,” Remus said immediately.

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t need more memories. I’d rather disappear at will.”

That made Regulus pause. His smile slipped, just a bit.

Remus noticed, and added quickly, “Also useful for stealing chocolate.”

The corner of Regulus’s mouth twitched. “You’re such a nerd.”

“Says the boy who annotates in different colored ink.”

“I like order.”

“You like control.”

Regulus didn’t deny it. “Your turn.”

Remus leaned in, just a fraction. “Would you rather have people think you’re heartless, or have people know how much you actually care?”

Regulus didn’t answer right away this time. His fingers tapped against the wood of the desk, slow and measured.

“Think I’m heartless,” he said finally. “Easier to manage.”

Remus nodded, something settling heavy in his chest. “Yeah,” he said. “Figured.”

Regulus looked at him then. Really looked.

“Would you rather be understood,” he asked quietly, “or loved?”

That one landed like a brick to the ribs.

Remus didn’t speak for a moment. Then he swallowed, eyes flicking back to the front of the classroom where the professor was still droning on about outdated goblin treaties.

“Understood,” he answered. “Because you can’t be loved properly without it. Not really.”

Regulus nodded. Said nothing more.

They didn’t speak for a few minutes. Just sat there in the quiet space between questions, letting the game fall away like it hadn’t just peeled both of them open.

Eventually, Remus broke the silence.

“Alright,” he muttered. “Would you rather go back and undo one mistake… or know one truth about your future?”

Regulus didn’t hesitate.

“Mistake,” he said. “Every time.”

“Huh.”

“Don’t dwell on that, Lupin,” Regulus said, already spinning another question. “Your turn. Would you rather actually talk about your feelings or spill your biggest secret?”

Remus scoffed, immediately offended. “Get dragged to the bottom of the Black Lake and live there as a ghost with Moaning Myrtle.”

Regulus laughed again—that same laugh that had wormed its way into Remus’s head, the one he kept hearing before falling asleep. Too genuine for someone who wore detachment like armor.

“Thought so,” Regulus said, still grinning. “How many people know about it, though?”

“What? The feelings or the secret?”

“Feelings.”

“No one,” Remus replied, too fast, too flat.

“Secret, then?”

Remus exhaled. “Too many.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “Give me a number.”

“Eight,” Remus muttered, rolling his eyes.

Regulus blinked. “That’s… barely a secret, then.”

“You’d be surprised,” Remus muttered. “It’s not about who knows. It’s about who actually gets it.”

Regulus didn’t push that one. He just nodded slightly, like he understood anyway. And of course he did.

“Alright, your turn,” Remus said, shifting the tone. “Would you rather get caught snogging by McGonagall or by Filch?”

Regulus looked genuinely affronted. “That’s cruel.”

“Answer the question, Black.”

He sighed. “...Filch.”

“Kinky.”

“I will slap you, Lupin.”

“Kinkier.”

Regulus didn’t even flinch. He just smirked, slow and smug. “You’ve got problems.”

Remus shrugged. “You already knew that.”

“Fine. My turn. Would you rather make the first move… or be hit on by someone you absolutely don’t like?”

“Be hit on,” Remus replied, deadpan. “Easier to reject someone than get rejected.”

Regulus raised a brow. “That’s cowardly.”

“No one said I’m brave.”

“You’re a Gryffindor.”

“Details.”

Regulus gave him a long, unreadable look. Like he was trying to decode something just under Remus’s skin. Then, he leaned back in his chair like it didn’t matter.

“Okay,” he said. “Would you rather forget your worst memory… or relive your best day?”

Remus stilled for a second. That one was trickier than it sounded.

“Relive my best day,” he said, eventually. “The worst things teach you more. But sometimes… I just want to feel something good again.”

Regulus didn’t laugh that time. He just nodded once, slowly.

“Hypothetical question,” Regulus said, a little too casually to be casual at all. “What would have to happen for you to stop overthinking everything?”

“I’d need a lobotomy,” Remus replied flatly.

Regulus didn’t miss a beat. “I could do a lobotomy.”

“You wish.”

“Absolutely.” Regulus grinned, and it was the kind of grin that made Remus want to both laugh and hit something.

Remus rolled his eyes. “Alright, my turn. Hypothetical question. What would have to happen for you to stop acting like you’re above everything all the time?”

That wiped the smirk clean off Regulus’s face. He paused, actually thinking, and Remus watched the way he chewed the inside of his cheek—something he always did when he was trying not to be vulnerable.

“I don’t act like that when I know the other person can see through it,” Regulus said finally, his voice low.

Remus blinked. “Ever happened?”

Regulus held his gaze. “It’s happening now.”

There it was—no sarcasm, no mockery. Just the truth, handed over like it didn’t weigh anything at all. But it did. It hit like a curse right to the chest.

Remus’s heart knocked hard against his ribs, still sore from the moon, and for a second he couldn’t speak. The words wouldn’t come, so he just said the only thing he could manage.

“…Alright.” Quiet. Too quiet.

Regulus nodded, like that was enough. Like it said everything it needed to.

They didn’t speak for the rest of Binns’ lecture.

But neither of them looked away.

Chapter 11: fewer words meant fewer ways for the whole thing to explode in his face

Remus was feeling like a traitor.

There. He’d said it—at least in his own head, because god forbid he admit it out loud to anyone.

He was taking Regulus’s side. Not openly, not in a way anyone could point at and say, there, that’s betrayal, but it was still there, under his skin like a splinter he couldn’t pull out. It made him itch, made him restless, but it didn’t stop him. Couldn’t. And all because of that stupid, inconvenient thing called empathy.

And empathy, apparently, was a knife.

Because over the last few days, Remus had been thinking—really thinking—about how it would feel if the tables were turned. If the person who had spent years making your life miserable suddenly decided they liked you. What if, say, Snape—Jesus, gross, and absolutely never happening, but still—waltzed up one day and confessed that he’d always fancied Remus? After years of trying to prove to the entire school that Remus was a werewolf?

God, he wouldn’t even blink before hexing him into the next century. Something nasty. Something that might leave scars.

So when he thought about what Regulus had done to James… it didn’t exactly read as cruel. Not really. It was brutal honesty wrapped in years of loathing. A wound finally tearing open because it was too strained to hold together anymore.

Sure, maybe it wasn’t an exact mirror situation, but it was close enough for Remus to understand. And once you understood something like that, you couldn’t quite un-stand it. Which made him feel like a complete dickhead every time he remembered laughing at James’s casual little “spider” jabs thrown Regulus’s way back in first and second year.

James seemed to get it too—eventually—though it took several days of sulking and working his way through enough tubs of ice cream to make Madam Pomfrey side-eye him.

After a few days, James had alchemized his heartbreak into another obsession. This one was at least vaguely healthy: Quidditch. With the upcoming Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw match—what Sirius had dubbed “my baby brother vs. my baby,” which made Remus want to both laugh and groan—James had decided Regulus was destined to win, which meant Gryffindor would face them next month.

Remus didn’t get it. Didn’t even want to get it. But the whole castle had lost its collective mind over the match, and Regulus, of course, was right in the thick of it.

The seeker. The captain. And, as it turned out, an absolute demon when it came to competition.

The worst part? Because they were “friends” now (read: Remus had been firmly friendzoned, no matter how many times he pretended otherwise), Regulus had decided Remus was a safe outlet for his pre-game madness. Which meant endless, mind-numbing Quidditch talk.

By Wednesday, during a cigarette break behind the greenhouses, Remus had reached his limit.

“Regulus,” he interrupted, exhaling a stream of smoke into the cold air, “I have absolutely no idea what the fuck you’re talking about right now.”

Regulus just smirked, taking a drag like that was an acceptable answer.

“That’s why it’s so fun,” he said, like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

“You think chasing a ball on broomsticks with thirteen other people is ‘fun’?” Remus asked, his tone flat, deeply unimpressed.

Regulus’s eye twitched—the tiniest flicker, but Remus caught it. He always did. It happened whenever Remus said anything even vaguely resembling Quidditch slander, which, to be fair, was often.

“It’s six people who chase the Quaffle— Quaffle, not ball,” Regulus corrected, slow and deliberate, like Remus was a particularly slow first year. “That’s why they’re called Chasers, Lupin.”

Remus tilted his head, inhaled lazily, and hummed in that infuriating I’m only doing this to wind you up way. There was something deeply satisfying about poking at Regulus’s competitive streak, like pressing on a bruise just to watch him twitch.

“How are they Chasers if they’re just… tossing the ball to each other?” Remus asked, all fake innocence. “Shouldn’t they be called Tossers or something?”

Regulus didn’t even blink. “You’re a fucking tosser.”

Remus grinned around his cigarette, exhaling a slow curl of smoke toward Regulus just to make the moment worse. “Touchy, touchy. Look at you—getting all worked up over your little broom game.”

“It’s not a ‘little broom game,’ it’s a—” Regulus cut himself off, narrowing his eyes like he’d realized too late that engaging with Remus on this was a trap.

But Remus was already leaning back against the greenhouse wall, looking unbearably smug. “You were saying?”

Regulus took another drag of his cigarette instead, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “bloody Gryffindors” but might also have been “bloody gorgeous,” though Remus wasn’t about to give himself the satisfaction of believing it.

 

On the day of the match, Remus was seated on the bleachers with a book balanced in his lap, prepared to watch the disaster unfold in real time—just like he had every year since first year. He’d been dragged there, as usual, by Sirius and Peter. James was there too, obviously, but he’d sooner chew glass than directly invite Remus to watch Regulus play. James was still prickly about the whole situation, and it had been days since Remus had stopped overthinking it.

Now, Regulus was a dark-green blur, slicing through the air above the pitch like a hawk hunting prey. And as much as Remus hated to admit it— really, truly hated —Sirius had been right. The Quidditch kit was… doing things. Understandable things. Dangerous things. Things that made Remus’s brain short-circuit in ways he was not prepared to unpack.

And then, without warning, his thoughts drifted to what exactly was under that Slytherin uniform.
Big mistake.
He shifted in his seat, crossing his legs with the faint, desperate hope that no one noticed the rather obvious evidence of his less-than-noble thoughts about Slytherin’s Seeker.

Sirius, naturally, was beside him, grinning like the cat who’d just swallowed an entire aviary, every time Barty scored for Ravenclaw.

“You know,” Sirius said in a low, conspiratorial whisper, leaning toward him. “I think I might like him so much I’d kiss him even if he lost.”

Remus groaned, his tone bordering on a plea. “Sirius…” He really wished he wasn’t the only one cursed with the knowledge of his best friend’s secret relationship.

“No, really,” Sirius went on, grin widening. “I’d kiss his ass better and all—”

“Please, for the love of God, stop talking to me.”

“I will never, my friend,” Sirius said, winking in a way that made Remus genuinely consider shoving him off the stands.

Remus sighed deeply, trying to bury himself back into his book, though the roars from the crowd made that nearly impossible. Down on the pitch, Slytherin’s Beater aimed a Bludger right at Barty. Barty dodged like it was nothing, hair falling perfectly back into place, and Sirius practically swooned beside him, clutching at his chest like he’d just witnessed a divine act.

“Idiots,” Remus muttered under his breath, eyes dropping to the page again. “Everywhere.”

Only… his gaze wasn’t really on the book anymore. Not with Regulus diving like that, uniform stretching over his back, wind tangling his hair in a way that should be illegal.

If Sirius noticed the way Remus’s eyes kept flicking up from the page, he didn’t say anything. Which was almost worse.

“Fucking hell,” James said, voice low but laced with venom, as Slytherin scored another goal. “This is fucking hell. If he catches the snitch, I swear I’m walking straight into the Black Lake and not coming back up.”

Sirius snorted beside him, barely glancing away from the pitch. “Prongs,” he said, tone half-amused, half-warning.

James grimaced, jaw tight. “Yeah, I know. He’s a bloody genius. I hate that I don’t hate him.”

Same, Remus thought. Fucking same.

It was then—because the universe apparently enjoyed kicking him while he was down—that Regulus caught his gaze from the pitch. One heartbeat, two, and it was over for Remus.

He looked… unreal. Like the cold autumn air had sharpened him into something devastating. Hair wild from the wind, cheeks flushed with the kind of pink that could make angels sin. His back was perfectly straight, posture confident but lazy, one hand loose around the broom as if the entire concept of gravity didn’t apply to him.

Remus knew, knew, that if he were the one up there, he’d be clinging on like his life depended on it. But Regulus? Regulus was all ease and elegance, the picture of control—except for that glint in his eyes, like he was playing just for the thrill of it.

And then— the audacity —he smirked at Remus. Not at the crowd. Not at Sirius. At him. Just him.

Before Remus could even decide what that meant, Regulus twisted into some completely unnecessary, over-the-top maneuver, the kind of show-off move that made the crowd gasp and cheer. Then, without missing a beat, he shot forward, disappearing into the chaos of the game.

Remus kept his expression flat, unreadable. He’d learned a long time ago not to give anything away. But his heart? Yeah. His heart was slamming against his ribs like it was trying to escape and find Regulus itself.

And maybe—just maybe—Remus would have let it.

Remus had managed a solid ten minutes of pretending to care more about his book than the match—until Sirius nearly ripped his arm out of its socket, gasping like he’d just seen the second coming.

Remus glanced up, annoyed, just in time to see Regulus plummet. It wasn’t a fall—it was a predator’s dive, all speed and precision, his broom cutting through the air like a blade. The Ravenclaw Seeker was right there, reaching—

—but Regulus snatched the snitch from under his nose with obscene ease.

“Fuck,” James groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“That’s my boy!” Sirius roared, loud enough to punch straight through the roar of the crowd. His voice carried, because of course it did, and Regulus—still hovering midair, hair a windswept mess—grinned up at him like he’d been playing for that reaction the whole time.

Peter, smirking like a cat in cream, piped up, “Told Gilderoy Slytherin would win.”

Remus rolled his eyes, standing and tucking his book under his arm. “I don’t want to know what you two bet on it.”

“A blo—”

“I said I don’t want to know, Pete.” Remus cut in sharply, shooting him a look.

Peter just grinned wider, which only confirmed that whatever it was, it wasn’t fit for polite company. Not that they’d ever been polite company.

They strolled back to the castle in a slow-moving river of green-and-silver-clad students, the crowd buzzing with post-match adrenaline. Sirius was grinning like he’d personally caught the snitch, shoulders loose, humming under his breath in some smug, tuneless way that made Remus want to roll his eyes. James, on the other hand, was walking like the ground had personally offended him—fast, sharp strides that nearly bowled over a pair of terrified first-years. He didn’t even slow down to mutter an apology. Peter was already peeling off toward the steps, probably to find Gilderoy and cash in on whatever questionable bet they’d made.

And Remus… well. Against his better judgment, he suddenly thought that maybe— just maybe —Quidditch wasn’t entirely terrible. Not when Regulus looked like that. Not when catching the snitch looked that easy.

The moment they crossed the castle threshold, Sirius vanished with a casual, “Got something to do.” Which, translated from Sirius Black, meant Barty Crouch is lurking somewhere and I’m about to ruin my own evening on purpose. Remus rolled his eyes, but he was half-jealous—he’d have killed for an excuse to escape into a quiet corner and either read in peace or shamelessly replay Regulus’s smirk in his mind until his brain gave out.

No such luck.

Instead, he ended up trapped in the dorm with James. Only James. For hours. And Remus hated every second of it. Every. Bloody. Second.

James was sprawled on his bed like a man possessed, surrounded by a chaotic sea of parchment that looked suspiciously like Quidditch strategy diagrams, muttering plays under his breath. Every so often, he’d glance over at Remus with the kind of pointed, silent look that screamed you stole Regulus —a look he’d perfected over the past few weeks.

Remus did what he did best: pretended none of it existed. Kept reading. Kept his expression carefully neutral. Miraculously, Regulus didn’t text him—and, even more miraculously, Remus was grateful. Because if his phone lit up with Regulus’s name while James was the only other person in the room… yeah. That would probably end in homicide.

Eventually, though—because Remus was terrible at letting tension sit and rot when it comes to his first best friend—he broke the silence. Not because he wanted to. Because it was necessary. To clear the air. To make sure James didn’t actually hate him. To figure out whether he was still in James’s inner circle or already on the unofficial blacklist.

“Hey, Prongs?” he said, lowering his book just enough to be taken seriously.

There was a pause, just long enough to make him wonder if James would ignore him completely.

“Yeah?” James replied at last, glancing up. His glasses slid halfway down his nose in the process.

“You hate me?” Remus asked flatly. Short. Minimal syllables. Fewer words meant fewer ways for the whole thing to explode in his face.

“What? No.” The answer was too fast. Too practiced.

Remus simply stared at him, silent, until James shifted under the weight of it.

“I mean…” James started again, slower this time. “I hate that you and Regulus are suddenly so… close. And that maybe—” He hesitated, eyes flicking upward toward the canopy of his bed, anything to avoid meeting Remus’s gaze. “That maybe he wouldn’t have said what he did to me if you two weren’t… whatever you are. Maybe he’d…” Another pause, sharper this time. “Maybe he’d like me if he never liked you.”

Remus swallowed hard. Because… fuck.

“I think,” he began, cautious like he was tiptoeing through a minefield, “that he really isn’t—or wasn’t—interested in you. I mean… I don’t think I have anything to do with it. It’s not…” He trailed off, searching for a gentler ending. “It’s not about me.”

James finally looked at him, and the frustration in his expression was more tired than angry now. “I dunno, Moony. But… I mean… if—” He broke off, swore quietly under his breath, then started again. “I just… I don’t want to come between you two.”

“There is no ‘us two,’” Remus said quickly, too quickly, like speed would make it truer.

James gave a one-shoulder shrug, not quite convinced. “Maybe not yet. But if there ever is… don’t let him break your heart too.”

Remus swallowed again, harder this time. The warning lodged somewhere deep in his chest.

He nodded once. Just once. Any more, and it might have looked like agreement. Or worse—hope.

He went back to his book like nothing had happened, because pretending was easier than talking. Pretending meant he could stay safe behind paper and ink, burying himself in someone else’s words instead of risking his own. Honestly, his coping mechanisms were starting to look less like coping and more like self-sabotage. Still, he sometimes wondered—briefly, dangerously—what it would be like if he just let it all out. Every thought. Every suspicion. Every want.

But that wasn’t going to happen. So, he kept reading, and James kept strategizing, and the silence between them eventually shifted from sharp and brittle to… tolerable. Not comfortable—just the slightly less hostile kind of awkward that didn’t leave splinters.

Neither Sirius nor Peter returned to the dorm that night, which wasn’t surprising. Sirius was probably glued to Barty somewhere in an empty classroom, and Peter had clearly decided his evening was better spent with Gilderoy than in the Gryffindor tower. Remus told himself he wasn’t jealous. He told himself he wasn’t jealous that his friends were out there being very obviously and unapologetically in love while he couldn’t grow a spine when it came to Regulus Black.

Not that it would be easy, of course—but it could happen. If Regulus were literally anyone else, maybe. If Sirius hadn’t, in a casual, offhand way days ago, planted the seed in his mind that Regulus doesn’t date in public. That little throwaway comment had rooted itself somewhere deep, and it had been growing, twisting around every possibility Remus considered.

Because it was true—Regulus never had. And the only time he had even looked close to it, it had ended abruptly. “We started getting official,” Regulus had said to Sirius, like that was the whole explanation. Like that was the problem. And Remus… well. He had no idea who the poor bastard even was.

Not that it consumed him. No. Totally not. Absolutely fucking not.
(It did. It so completely did.)

When James finally drifted off—still clutching one of his precious Quidditch spreadsheets like it was his firstborn—Remus pulled out his phone. He stared at the screen for longer than necessary, crafting the perfect casual text. Something friendly, polite. Something that wouldn’t scream I can’t stop thinking about the way you made Quidditch look good today.

Remus: congrats
are you off your face already at the party?

There. Perfectly neutral. Playful but not too playful. Casual enough that if anyone else read it, it could pass for friendly small talk.

He watched the little status change from delivered to seen. Four minutes. Four painfully slow minutes with no reply. No bubble of three dots. No “haha” reaction. Just nothing.

Then—without warning—his phone lit up with an incoming call.

From Regulus.

Remus swore under his breath, heart lurching somewhere uncomfortably close to his throat. No way in hell was he answering this in the dorm, not with James ten feet away, even if he was snoring like he’d been hexed unconscious.

He slid out of bed in one smooth, quiet motion, phone clutched in his hand, and padded toward the spiral staircase. The stones were cold beneath his bare feet, and the air out there had a hush to it, like the whole castle was holding its breath.

By the time he reached the halfway landing, he hit “accept.”

“Yeah?” His voice came out lower than intended, somewhere between cautious and already caught.

“I thought you’d died from all the Quidditch nonsense,” Regulus said, his voice slurring just enough to betray that he was, in fact, well and truly off his face. In the background, faint and muffled, came the thump of music and bursts of laughter—proof enough that he’d stepped out of the party to call.

The thought flickered through Remus’s head, uninvited and dangerous: Maybe he was waiting for me to text.
He shoved it down fast.

“Almost,” Remus replied, aiming for casual even though his insides were doing a full-scale riot. “It was really boring stuff.”

“Oi,” Regulus shot back, instantly offended. “You can’t say things like that to a bloke who just absolutely crushed his friend’s team.”

Remus leaned against the cold stone bannister, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “I can. My hatred is consistent. You should respect the dedication.”

“You’re so stubborn.”

“I’ve been told.”

“No, I mean really,” Regulus insisted—and it was almost a whine. Almost. If Regulus Black ever actually whined, which was debatable. “And you didn’t even wish me good luck, Lupin.” He said it like it was a grave betrayal, like Remus had robbed him of something important.

“I had no idea it mattered,” Remus said lightly, though his chest felt uncomfortably tight.

“Of course it does,” Regulus said, his voice dropping a notch, quieter now. Softer. “I want… my friends to wish me well.”

Friends. Right. The word stung, though Remus told himself it shouldn’t.

He swallowed. “Right,” he murmured. “Well… I do wish you well.”

“Now you sound fake.”

“Regulus—”

“Lupin—” Regulus mimicked instantly, just enough to make it a challenge.

And Remus laughed. He didn’t mean to. It just happened—low and warm, spilling out before he could stop it. Of course Regulus would manage to pull that out of him in the middle of the bloody night, while tipsy, smug, and still in his Quidditch kit somewhere across the castle.

The music in the background swelled for a moment before fading again, like Regulus had stepped even farther from the party just to stay on the line. The idea lodged itself in Remus’s mind, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake it.

“Anyway,” Regulus said after a moment, his voice shifting into something lazier, almost drawling. On the other end of the line, Remus heard the faint metallic flick of a lighter. Then silence, save for the faint crackle of flame and the soft inhale of breath pulling through a cigarette.

A beat passed.

“Any thoughts about the game?” Regulus asked, exhaling slowly.

“Still have no idea why people like it,” Remus replied, deadpan.

“Harsh,” Regulus said, sounding faintly amused.

“Honest.”

Regulus hummed low in his throat, the kind of sound that felt heavier than it should. “Right. Hypothetical question,” he said suddenly, quick and deliberate like he wanted to get it out before he changed his mind. “What would have to happen for you to be honest the whole time?”

Remus’s stomach pulled tight, his voice catching slightly before he forced it steady. “Who said I’m not?”

“Are you?” Regulus pressed, his tone too soft to be teasing.

“Always,” Remus lied without hesitation, because it was so much easier than admitting the truth—that half the things he thought never made it out of his mouth.

Another beat passed. Remus couldn’t tell if Regulus was taking another drag or just… sitting there, drunk and thoughtful, letting the silence breathe.

“Of course,” Regulus said eventually, and it was impossible to tell if he believed it. “Any honest thing you want to tell me?”

A million, Remus thought. That he’d been watching him on the pitch like he’d been spellbound. That his stupid smirk was still lodged somewhere under his ribs. That his voice over the line right now felt like a tether.
Instead, he went for the safest option. “You were good today.”

“…Rich, coming from someone who has no clue what Quidditch is about,” Regulus said, but his voice had softened almost imperceptibly.

“That’s why it’s honest,” Remus replied, leaning harder into the bannister so Regulus wouldn’t hear the way his breath hitched.

There was the faintest pause, then Regulus laughed—low, warm, and far too genuine for someone who claimed to be above it all. “Fair.”

“Why’d you call me, though?” Remus asked before he could stop himself, the words slipping out like they’d been waiting just under his tongue all night.

On the other end, Regulus was quiet for half a beat, long enough for Remus to think he might dodge the question entirely. Then his voice came back, a little rough around the edges but still carrying that deliberate, unshaken cadence he always had—even when drunk.

“Maybe I’m really drunk on Dorcas’s weird punch,” Regulus said, tone almost lazy, though Remus could hear the faint curl of a smirk in it. “Or maybe…” He let the pause stretch out, like he was deciding whether to say it at all. “Maybe it’s just… strange to go a whole day without your voice.”

The words landed like a pebble in a still pond—small, but sending ripples everywhere inside Remus.

“That’s…” He cleared his throat, forcing his voice to stay level. “That’s not weird.”

Regulus hummed faintly, a sound that was neither agreement nor disagreement, just an acknowledgment that he’d heard him.

From somewhere far off, the muffled pulse of the party bled into the quiet between them—laughter, the faint thrum of music, the echo of someone shouting Pandora’s name. But here, in this thin thread of space between their voices, it felt like they were a thousand miles away from all of it.

And Remus—who had been so careful for weeks to keep things light, casual, deniable—realized his grip on that line was slipping.

“I’m glad you called,” Remus said finally, his voice steadier than his heart, which was hammering so loudly he was sure Regulus could hear it through the line.

“Good. I’d hate anything else,” Regulus replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

In the background, someone—Evan, probably—called his name, their voice sharp and impatient over the muffled music.

“Gotta go,” Regulus said, the words quick but not rushed, like he wanted to end the call before something—or someone—pulled him away completely.

“Have fun,” Remus offered, because it was easier than saying don’t go.

“Thanks. And, hey?” Regulus’s voice shifted—still smooth, but with something tighter threaded through it, like the thought had been sitting on his tongue for a while.

“Yeah?” Remus asked, not even sure if he wanted to hear whatever was coming next.

“If you’re keeping me for later because of Potter… don’t. I might not be there,” Regulus said, soft but deliberate, the kind of sentence that left no room for pretending it meant anything else.

And before Remus could breathe, before he could ask what the hell that meant or tell him to wait, the line went dead—leaving him standing there in the dim light of the stairwell, phone still warm in his hand, his chest tight with words he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding back.

Chapter 12: want someone this much when you’d barely touched them

Remus lay flat on his back in bed, the dormitory quiet except for James’s occasional snore and the soft crackle of the dying fire in the common room below. The curtains of his four-poster were drawn, shutting him into a little box of darkness, but it didn’t help. If anything, it made the words ring louder in his head.

I might not be there.

It was ridiculous, really, how one sentence could lodge itself in his ribcage like a splinter. He should have brushed it off—chalked it up to drunken dramatics, to Regulus being tipsy and bored, to the stupid sort of philosophical thing people say when they’re leaning against a cold stone wall with a cigarette in hand. But instead, it sat there, heavy and sharp, poking at every part of him that was already bruised from thinking too much.

Did Regulus mean… later tonight? Later this week? Later in general? Was it a threat? A warning? A hint? Was it him saying, Stop overthinking or I’ll stop calling? Or worse—was it him saying, Don’t waste your time?

Remus pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, like he could press the thoughts away. But every time he closed them, all he saw was Regulus on the pitch that afternoon—wind-tangled hair, flushed cheeks, the smirk that had felt like it was meant for him alone. And then, the voice in his ear tonight, smoky and slurred but still careful with its words, like he’d been saving that line up for the perfect moment to drop it.

And of course, the perfect moment was right before hanging up, leaving Remus with no chance to respond.

He rolled onto his side, then onto his stomach, then back again, sheets twisting around his legs like they were conspiring against him. He considered texting—something light, something sarcastic, something that would pull Regulus back into conversation—but the thought of James rolling over and spotting his name on the screen was enough to freeze his fingers.

So he lay there, staring at the faint glow of the moon through the gap in the curtains, playing the call over in his mind like a record needle stuck in the same groove. He could practically hear the flick of Regulus’s lighter, the low hum of his voice, the way he’d said don’t like it mattered.

At some point, Remus pressed his phone under his pillow, just in case Regulus called again. He told himself it was stupid, that he should sleep, that he was too old to be lying awake like some lovesick idiot. But his eyes stayed open, his heart stayed restless, and the thought stayed sharp:

If he might not be there later, then what the hell was Remus waiting for?

 

He woke up with the plan already forming in his mind, like his restless sleep had been working on it behind the scenes, weaving it together while he barely dreamed. The realization hit him like a runaway train, and he found himself muttering idiot over and over, shaking his head as if it might help the thought settle more gently.

How had he not noticed? Or maybe, more painfully, how had he noticed and just... chosen not to?

He hadn’t really paid attention to the little things. Like how Regulus always texted back— always —no matter what, and usually within two minutes, tops. Not once had Remus thought about it, even though Sirius had been complaining for years that Regulus was the last person to reply to a message, or that if you sent him an SOS text, you might be lucky to get a response in a few hours.

He hadn’t noticed that Regulus was always the one who came over in the corridors, casually asking if he wanted to sneak out for a cigarette, even when he had classes on the complete opposite side of the castle.

He hadn’t paid attention to how Regulus was the one who always started the conversations that actually mattered, the ones that made Remus’s chest feel tight and his thoughts jumble. And how, when Remus started to shut down—closing himself off like a stubborn clam—Regulus didn’t push. He just switched the subject with a quiet, easy grace, like he knew how to hold space without squeezing it too tight.

He hadn’t noticed how Regulus told him things—little things, silly things, things that made Remus smile when he was supposed to be mad or annoyed. How he kept him updated, turning every dull moment into some ridiculous joke or anecdote just to slide it across the screen with a “thought you’d like this.”

Remus Lupin was a fucking idiot.

Fuck.

The word echoed through his mind, bitter but somehow freeing. Because now he saw it—all the signs, the little breadcrumbs he’d ignored. And while the weight of it was heavy, it also sparked something else: hope. Hope that maybe it wasn’t too late to catch up. To say the things he hadn’t said. To finally pay attention to the boy who’d been trying so hard to be noticed all along.

He found him on the way to breakfast—Regulus, strolling toward the dungeons with Evan at his side, looking like sin incarnate despite the faint air of hangover about him.

Somehow, impossibly, he still looked immaculate. His hair was perfect as always, every curl in place, the shadows under his eyes darker than usual—an injustice, really, because it only made him hotter. And even though he was wearing nothing more than a dark green sweater and loose jeans, he looked as if he were about to step onto a red carpet. Or straight into Remus’s bloodstream to destroy what was left of his sanity.

He didn’t even look remotely embarrassed about his drunk call the night before. And Remus was starting to think that maybe Regulus Black had never been embarrassed a day in his life. Maybe being a Black made you immune to it.

“Hey,” Remus said, managing to sound calm despite the full-scale storm in his head. And maybe his chest.

“Hi,” Regulus replied, suppressing a yawn. “Cig?” he asked.

Remus nodded, catching the slight twitch at the corner of Evan’s mouth. He supposed he should probably apologize to Evan for the whole turning him down thing, but honestly? He couldn’t bring himself to care about Evan Rosier’s feelings when Regulus Black was standing right there.

They peeled off toward a quiet corner of the courtyard, Regulus snatching a cigarette from Remus’s pack like it was his by birthright. He lit them both, like always—because of course he did.

“You look like shit, Lupin,” Regulus said, tilting his head in quiet appraisal.

“And you look way too good for someone who was probably partying until three a.m.,” Remus shot back.

“Two,” Regulus corrected, rolling his eyes. “Until Snape started spouting his usual conspiracy theories and I had to hex him.”

Remus snorted despite the knot in his chest. “You hexed him?”

“He said my curls are fake,” Regulus deadpanned. “That I keep them just to look more like Sirius. The git.”

“Well… are they?” Remus asked, tone just dry enough to be teasing, just sharp enough to make Regulus narrow his eyes.

Regulus gave him a long, unimpressed look. “Don’t push me,” he warned—but the warning lost most of its bite when the corner of his mouth betrayed him, twitching like it wanted to give away the smile he refused to show.

“Right,” Remus said, letting himself grin a fraction. He told himself to quit while he was ahead, but his brain—traitor that it was—decided now was the moment. The thing he’d been circling for days, maybe weeks, pushed up against his teeth, desperate to be said. And maybe if he said it fast, before his nerves caught up, it wouldn’t feel like standing at the edge of a cliff.

“So,” he began, casual—too casual—like this was just idle conversation and not a potential social suicide attempt. “I was… thinking.”

Regulus’s head tilted in that infuriatingly elegant way he had, the cigarette dangling between his fingers like he was posing for a magazine cover without meaning to. “Thinking,” he echoed. “About?”

“If you… maybe wanted to hang out sometime.” Remus forced a shrug, the picture of nonchalance, ignoring the fact that every nerve ending in his body was tuned to Regulus’s reaction. “Y’know. Without the whole patrol thing.”

He half expected Regulus to scoff, to ask why, to remind him of some snide thing he’d said weeks ago. Instead, Regulus smiled. Not the polite one. Not the smug one. One of those rare, quiet, dimpled smiles that slipped through the cracks when his guard was down. The kind of smile that made it feel like the ground under Remus’s feet had gone suspiciously soft.

“Sure,” Regulus said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “I’ve got something to do first, but… tonight?”

“Yeah,” Remus said quickly—too quickly—but tried to soften it with a nod. “Yeah. Great.”

Regulus took his final drag, exhaled smoke like a secret, and ground the cigarette out beneath his boot. “See you later, then.”

And then he was gone—heading toward the castle, posture straight, sweater sleeves pushed up just enough to show the sharp line of his wrist. Remus stood there, cigarette still burning unnoticed between his fingers, heart slamming against his ribs like it was trying to break out.

He didn’t even try to stop himself from watching until Regulus disappeared from view. By the time he did, the only thing in his head was his name, looping over and over again, each repeat softer and more dangerous than the last.

Regulus. Regulus. Regulus.

It was ridiculous, he thought, to want someone this much when you’d barely touched them. Ridiculous—and absolutely, painfully unavoidable.

 

By the time Remus managed to unstick his feet from the courtyard stones, the cigarette smoke still clinging to him like bad intentions, the Great Hall had already settled into its late-morning hush. Most of Gryffindor was either still sleeping or pretending to study somewhere else, which meant the table should’ve been empty. Should’ve.

Sirius was there, of course—slouched like a warning sign, stirring his black coffee with enough aggression to make the spoon clink against the cup in a way that said, I’m pissed, and you’re going to ask why, whether you want to or not.

And Remus did ask. Because it was easier than letting his brain wander toward tonight.

“What happened?” he said, sliding into the bench beside him, already reaching for scrambled eggs that looked like they’d been sitting there long enough to regret existing.

“Barty,” Sirius muttered, stabbing the coffee like it had personally wronged him. “Kicked me out of bed this morning—said he ‘had something to do.’”

Remus blinked. “Regulus said the same thing. Probably planning an ambush on Snape.”

Sirius’s head tilted, suspicion flickering in his eyes. “Ambush on Snape? Why now?”

“Apparently,” Remus said, spearing a piece of toast, “he told Regulus yesterday that his curls are fake.”

Sirius snorted into his coffee. “Genius move—insult the most vain person in the castle.”

Remus kept his expression neutral, but inside he was cataloguing it. Yeah, maybe Regulus was vain—but God, he wore it like armour, and armour always meant something worth protecting underneath.

Sirius went quiet for a beat before leaning back. “How’s Prongs holding up?”

The question was casual, but Remus still felt his stomach tighten. “Obsessing over Quidditch strategy,” he muttered.

“Oh no,” Sirius groaned.

“Mm. But also—” Remus’s fork hesitated mid-air. “He talked about Regulus.”

That got Sirius’s full attention. “He did? With you?”

Remus nodded slowly. “Said something about how Regulus doesn’t like him because he liked me first. Which—no idea what that’s even supposed to mean.”

Sirius let out a low whistle. “So… he thinks Reggie likes you?”

“He’s deluded. And jealous beyond reason.”

But Sirius didn’t move on. He just studied Remus for a moment too long, like he could peel the truth off him if he looked hard enough. “Sure,” he said finally. “But if he’s right—”

“He’s not,” Remus cut in, faster than he meant to.

“If he is,” Sirius said, leaning back again, voice maddeningly even, “it doesn’t make you a villain.”

Remus swallowed. The eggs on his plate suddenly looked like a terrible idea. “Whatever,” he muttered. “Let’s eat. I’ve got three essays and no patience for decoding whatever the hell is going on in Prongs’s head.”

From there, Remus’s brain took over on autopilot—like it always did when he was trying very, very hard not to spiral into a full-blown panic over a boy.

He had breakfast. He drank his tea. He wrote out three painfully long essays. He even reviewed his notes for the Herbology quiz tomorrow, underlining all the key terms like a model student.
And yet—threaded through all of it—was the steady, treacherous hum of Regulus Black.

More specifically: how the hell was he supposed to… what?
Hit on him?

God, the thought alone made his entire body cringe.

He was awful at that sort of thing. The absolute worst. Not that he’d ever really tried, but he just knew. If flirting was a sport, he wouldn’t just be bad—he’d be the kind of bad people told stories about. Legendary in the worst way.

Still.
He couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like if they weren’t just… friends. If he could be touchy without overthinking every brush of fingers, without dissecting every half-smirk to see if there was meaning behind it. If he could just lean into it.

To hold Regulus’s stupidly nice hands.
To kiss his stupidly pretty lips.
To make him laugh—really laugh—as often as possible.

And to make all of that real without turning it into some tragic cliché that would haunt him forever.

At least he didn’t have to orchestrate some awkward invitation to the Room of Requirement—which was, let’s be honest, probably already occupied by a couple doing… well, not studying. He tried to picture what tonight would be instead. Would they watch something? Talk about—god forbid—the game from yesterday? End up playing another stupid game like always?

He was halfway to imagining how not to make a complete fool of himself when his phone buzzed around three in the afternoon, rescuing him from his own brain.

Regulus:
you wanna watch last episode of snl??
pedro pascal’s in it so we have to
it’s our duty

Remus snorted, thumbs already moving before his thoughts could catch up.

Remus:
sure

He set his phone down and stared at it for a moment, pulse ticking just a little too fast. The fact that Regulus could make him feel fourteen again with a single text was—
Well.
Dangerous.

Four hours—and at least five miniature breakdowns—later, Remus met Regulus on the second-floor landing, right in front of the abandoned Arithmancy classroom.

Regulus was already there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, dressed in the same dark jeans and that perfectly fitted sweater that really had no right to look so good in the flickering torchlight. Suspicion was etched into every line of his face.

“Don’t tell me you’re that much of a nerd that you dragged me here to study,” he said by way of greeting.

Remus rolled his eyes, tugging his wand out of his pocket. “I’m not,” he replied simply, stepping past him and tapping the tip of his wand against the tarnished brass knob.

The door clicked open with a quiet, satisfying snick.

This—he would humbly argue—was his and Peter’s single greatest achievement to date. Back in fourth year, the two of them had transformed this dusty old classroom into a secret movie room, perfect for binge-watching their favourite sitcoms without James cackling at every second joke or Sirius loudly declaring that anything he didn’t get was “bloody stupid.”

It was perfect.
A massive, overstuffed couch sprawled across the centre of the room, its cushions sinking in like they’d been made for naps. A battered Muggle projector sat on a low table, casting its warm glow over the space. Fairy lights criss-crossed the walls in soft loops, and there were more blankets and pillows than either of them could possibly use. And—best of all—it was completely unplottable on the Marauder’s Map. Even if James decided to tail Regulus again, he wouldn’t see a damn thing.

“If this is some Marauder prank,” Regulus warned, eyeing him sidelong, “I’m hexing you. Painfully.”

“Come on,” Remus said, biting back a smirk as he swung the door open wider for him.

Regulus hesitated for a fraction of a second—then stepped inside.

And just like that, Remus felt the first flicker of victory.

Regulus stepped inside, his eyes sweeping over the room with the kind of suspicion that made Remus’s heart trip over itself. For a moment, he said nothing—just took in the fairy lights, the projector, the fortress of pillows. Then his gaze flicked back to Remus.

“Where the hell are we?”

“Secret hidden room,” Remus said dryly, “obviously.”

Regulus blinked at him. “And how exactly did you find it?”

“I didn’t,” Remus said, already heading for the couch. “I made it.”

Another blink, slower this time. “You… made it?”

“With Pete,” Remus shrugged, dropping onto the cushions and stretching his legs out. “Three years ago. We needed somewhere to watch The Office in peace—without James laughing over all the wrong lines or Sirius insisting every joke was stupid.”

Regulus let out a quiet huff, the corner of his mouth twitching in a way that made it impossible to tell if he was mocking him or impressed. “That’s… such a you thing to do,” he muttered after a pause, like he couldn’t quite help it.

He crossed the room and sank onto the opposite end of the couch. Without ceremony, he pulled his knees up to his chest, reached for one of the blankets, and wrapped it around himself like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I like it here,” he said finally, leaning back into the cushions. “It’s cozy.”

Remus rolled his eyes for show, because grinning like an idiot would be far too obvious. His chest felt warmer than it should, and not because of the projector’s glow.

He queued up the SNL episode, slumped lower into the couch, and made a conscious effort not to think about the way Regulus smelled tonight—woodsy and warm, like autumn rain hitting hot pavement. Infuriating.

Especially because the thought of leaning in closer to breathe more of it in was quickly becoming the most distracting thing in the room.

The opening credits rolled, and Remus settled back, the familiar hum of the room settling around them like a soft blanket.

“So,” Regulus said after a beat, glancing sideways, “this is your secret weapon for avoiding the Marauders’ endless noise, huh?”

Remus smirked. “It’s safer in here. Less chance of James yelling about how he ‘invented’ every joke before it even aired.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “Sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” Remus said, nudging him with an elbow. “You wouldn’t understand. You’re way too cool for sitcoms.”

“Please,” Regulus scoffed, but there was a sparkle in his eyes. “I watch Doctor Who religiously. Bet you don’t even know what a Dalek is.”

“I do,” Remus said, mock offense on full display. “I just don’t waste my time watching that nonsense every week.”

Regulus grinned, a slow, dimpled thing that made Remus’s heart skip. “Is that your polite way of saying you’re jealous?”

“Absolutely,” Remus deadpanned.

They shared a look that lingered just a second too long before Regulus looked away, focusing back on the screen.

The laugh track filled the room, and Regulus shook his head. “You really do have a weird sense of humor.”

“Someone has to balance out the universe,” Remus replied, eyes twinkling.

A pause stretched comfortably between them, broken only by the show’s jokes and their occasional chuckles.

Then, almost too quietly to catch, Regulus said, “Thanks for inviting me.”

Remus blinked, caught off guard. “You’re welcome.”

“No, I mean it,” Regulus said, voice softer now. “Feels... nice to just be here. Without all the noise.”

Remus smiled, the kind that reached his eyes. “Yeah. Me too.”

They both looked back to the screen, but Remus couldn’t help stealing a glance at Regulus, who was already watching him with that small, knowing smile.

The night suddenly felt warmer than any blanket could make it.

“So,” Regulus said, smirking, “you’re Game of Thrones Pedro Pascal or Narcos Pedro Pascal?”

“Game of Thrones, obviously,” Remus huffed, twisting to look at him better. “Maybe—maybe The Last of Us Pedro Pascal.”

“Oh, that’s tragic,” Regulus groaned dramatically. “I mean, it’s great, but it’s tragic.” He launched into a passionate rant about why “killing Joel was a crime against humanity.”

They ended up talking through the entire episode, and honestly, Remus wasn’t even sorry he missed the sketch. Somewhere in the middle, Regulus leaned against the armrest and stretched his legs out along the couch. Their legs tangled under the blankets—since Remus was sitting in the exact same way—and it was stupidly nice. Somehow exactly like it always was.

Even if his heart kept skipping a beat every time Regulus’s foot nudged his whenever he got emotional about something.

“You wanna know something?” Regulus asked suddenly, smirking with mischief.

“Hit me,” Remus said, curious.

“But you can’t tell anyone,” Regulus warned, eyes twinkling.

“Obviously,” Remus muttered, wincing a little under the weight of the secret he already carried.

“No, I mean it.” Regulus leaned in, extending his pinky. “Pinky promise.”

Remus snorted, because honestly, Regulus and Sirius were identical in so many ways.

“Promise,” Remus said, linking their pinkies.

“Alright.” Regulus leaned back, a sly grin playing on his lips. “Panda and Lily? They’re, like, this close to ripping each other’s clothes off during patrols.”

Remus choked on absolutely nothing. “What?” he gasped, eyes wide.

Regulus just grinned wider. “Yep. They’ve been all cozy and shit, and Panda’s absolutely head over heels for your Lily.”

Remus stared at him, stunned. “You’re serious?”

“Yep.”

“And you’re… sure?”

“Absolutely.” Regulus nodded firmly. “I kinda saw them on Friday.”

Remus blinked. “You did? How?”

“That’s a secret I’ll never tell,” Regulus teased. “But yeah, it’s pretty clear they like each other.”

Remus stayed silent for a moment, blinking as the pieces around him slowly fell into place. Apparently, he’d been so caught up in Regulus lately that he’d barely registered what was happening around the castle. First Sirius and Barty, now Lily and Pandora… what next? Would James fall for someone like Evan Rosier spontaneously?

“Jesus,” Remus muttered under his breath.

Regulus just grinned, stretching out his leg. “I love the look on your face when the glass is shattering in your head.”

“Fuck off,” Remus huffed, but there was no heat in his voice. “I just can’t believe I have no idea what’s actually going on in this damn castle anymore.”

Regulus stretched his arms behind his head, clearly enjoying the chaos he’d just unleashed. “Well, don’t look at me like that. Maybe if you paid attention to anything besides your own brooding, you’d know half this stuff too.”

Remus scoffed, flicking a cushion at him. “Excuse me for having a life outside of spying on every couple in the castle.”

“Spying?” Regulus raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Sounds like you’ve got a hobby.”

Remus rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. “Someone’s got to keep tabs on the drama.”

“True,” Regulus said, nodding thoughtfully. “Otherwise, who would I tease you mercilessly?”

Remus shook his head, but he was glad for the easy rhythm between them. “Yeah, well, try not to make me cry tonight, okay? I’m fragile.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Regulus said with a mock serious face. “I think I’m just getting started.”

Remus laughed, feeling the last bit of tension ease out of his shoulders. “You’re terrible.”

“Flattering, isn’t it?”

They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, the kind that only happens when words aren’t needed. Remus glanced over and caught Regulus watching him with a half-smile that made his heart skip again.

“So,” Remus said, nudging him lightly, “should we try to watch the episode this time or just talk through the whole thing again?”

Regulus grinned. “Why not both? I’m a multitasker.”

Remus shook his head, but inside he was already glad to be exactly here, tangled up in blankets and banter, with Regulus just a few inches away.

For the rest of the evening, they stayed holed up in the hidden room, technically watching a few more episodes but, in reality, far too busy talking to even register who was on the screen. To be fair, Remus didn’t even bother trying to tear his gaze away from Regulus—especially not when he got caught up in telling a story.

Regulus talked with his whole body—hands slicing through the air for emphasis, shoulders shifting forward when he got to the good part, eyes flickering with that rare spark, lips curling into a smile that made Remus’s chest ache in ways he refused to examine. Every now and then, he’d throw his head back with a laugh, and Remus would have to resist the absolutely reckless urge to close the gap and kiss him.

But he didn’t. Because he had self-control. Or restraint. Or some other equally stupid virtue like that.

Instead, he let Regulus’s hand rest comfortably on his knee—where it had landed halfway through one particularly ridiculous story (Pandora, off her face, doing a tarot reading for Dorcas and declaring she was destined to marry Marlene McKinnon of all people). The hand stayed there for the rest of the night, like Regulus had forgotten to move it. Or maybe he hadn’t forgotten at all.

Remus laughed so hard during that story that his ribs ached and he had to wipe at his eyes three separate times, which only made Regulus smirk like he’d just won something.

“You know,” Remus hummed once he could breathe again, “for someone who permanently looks bored, you’re… kind of fun.”

“Kind of?” Regulus scoffed, mock-offended. “You just belly-laughed at my joke.”

“Maybe I’m just in a good mood.”

“Sure,” Regulus drawled, rolling his eyes. “Like you’re not chronically allergic to being in a good mood.”

“Now that’s just mean.”

“I know. I’m a walking red flag,” Regulus said, smirking like it was a badge of honor.

And Remus thought that, if Regulus really was the brightest red flag in existence, he’d be happy to keep ignoring the warning signs. Color-blind by choice.

“You’re tragic, that’s what you are,” Remus replied instead.

Regulus tipped his head against the armrest with a small laugh. “That’s nice, though,” he said after a beat. “Even if we didn’t actually watch a single episode.”

“It’s a good thing, then, that we can pretend to watch tomorrow too.”

“I’m bringing snacks,” Regulus decided. “And tea.”

“Metaphorical or literal?”

“Both, Lupin,” Regulus said, grinning.

When they finally peeled themselves away from the couch, it was well past curfew. But Remus felt lighter than he had in weeks—maybe months. He walked Regulus down to the dungeons, then turned around to face the seven bloody flights of stairs up to Gryffindor Tower. Not once did he think about how much his hip was killing him; he was too busy replaying Regulus’s parting words on an endless loop— I’d say goodnight, but we both know we’re going to text until, like, two a.m.

And, of course, they did.

Notes:

yes, that was a hint if you caught it

Chapter 13: it tasted suspiciously like ambrosia, if Remus had ever known what ambrosia tasted like

Over the next few days, Remus came to a conclusion he would never admit out loud—not to anyone, not even to himself when the dorm was dark and quiet: he was getting giddy over Regulus Black.

Giddy.

Him. Remus Lupin. Giddy.

If he were the sort to feel embarrassed about such things, it would have been mortifying. But he didn’t—not even slightly—and somehow that made the whole thing even better.

On Tuesday, they had patrol together, which meant one uninterrupted hour of Regulus’s dry commentary and suspiciously perfect hair. The highlight was catching Nott snogging yet another boy in a broom cupboard—something Regulus handled by deducting twenty points with the sort of casual elegance only he could pull off, managing three different eye-rolls in the process.

Remus didn’t care about the points. He barely cared about Nott. Mostly because Regulus had brought tea— for him too —and it tasted suspiciously like ambrosia, if Remus had ever known what ambrosia tasted like.

When they weren’t patrolling, they were tucked away in the hidden room with too many snacks, even more ridiculous stories, and their legs tangled under the blankets like it was the most natural thing in the world. They talked about everything—Marauders’ pranks (Remus pretending he didn’t notice the way Regulus’s mouth twitched at the funny ones), Regulus’s friends (half of whom Remus now pictured vividly thanks to his elaborate descriptions), and whatever else floated to the surface between them. If anyone had looked closely enough, they would have seen it in their eyes—something softer, warmer, fonder than either of them probably intended.

None of Remus’s friends suspected that he was head-over-heels for the so-called Slytherin prince. And if they did… well, Remus didn’t care. He was done tiptoeing around other people’s opinions, done pretending someone else’s happiness—even James Potter’s—was more important than his own.

Because, God, Regulus made him happy. Stupidly, constantly, and probably without even meaning to, which was the best part of all.

When they weren’t hanging out, they were texting. And when they weren’t texting, Regulus would call him—out of nowhere, at ungodly hours—to tell him about some band he’d just discovered or to demand his thoughts on the plot twist in whatever book he’d devoured that day.

And Remus… picked up. Every time. No hesitation. He’d pull the curtains around his bed, cast a Silencing Charm, and talk until his eyes finally gave up on him. Sometimes the conversation was ridiculous. Sometimes it was deep enough to leave him thinking for hours. And sometimes—his favorite times—it was nothing but lazy half-sentences and quiet breathing, the kind of silence that wasn’t empty at all.

“You know,” Remus hummed into the phone, voice low and lazy, “you sound way less posh when you’re sleepy.”

“That’s insulting,” Regulus chuckled on the other end—quiet, close, like he was speaking from under his blankets. “But I’ll take it. Even if you sound even more Welsh when you’re sleepy.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” Remus murmured, rolling onto his side and tucking one hand under his pillow. “Even if it probably isn’t.”

“I’ll let you believe whatever you want,” Regulus teased, voice full of mock magnanimity.

“That’s generous of you.”

“I know. I’m a really great person,” Regulus said, smugness radiating through the line.

And maybe that was why Remus replied without thinking, “Yeah, you are.”

A beat of silence followed. Just long enough for panic to start tightening in Remus’s chest.
Shit. Was that too much? Too soon? Too honest? Had he just ruined whatever this was by letting the truth slip out in the middle of a late-night conversation?

But then Regulus just exhaled, slow and almost careful. “Thanks.”
No sarcasm. No deflection. Just that one word.

And before Remus could figure out what it meant, Regulus added, “So… are we finally watching Stranger Things tomorrow?”

Remus grinned into his pillow. “You really want to sit through Mike Wheeler after insisting—multiple times—that he’s just James?”

“Well…” Regulus’s voice was softer now, the kind of softness that didn’t come from tiredness alone. “I kind of stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop. So yeah, I wanna.”

“Meaning?” Remus frowned, his brain instantly flipping into Concern Mode.

There was another pause, longer this time. For a moment, he thought Regulus might not answer. But then—
“I thought he’d go right back to bullying me after I told him what I did,” Regulus admitted. “His ego didn’t exactly take it well.”

“It didn’t,” Remus said quietly, swallowing. “But James also isn’t the person he was before.”

“Yeah,” Regulus replied with a soft sniff, one that sounded more like hesitation than tears. “People change. Or they pretend really well that they did.”

“James changed,” Remus pressed, his tone certain. “I’ve had front row seats to that transformation since first year. I can tell.”

Regulus laughed lightly, reluctantly, like he didn’t want to agree but couldn’t quite disagree either. “Yeah. That tracks.”

A moment later, he sighed. “Anyway, I should get going. I have Quidditch practice in the morning.”

“Sure,” Remus said, even though what he wanted to say was don’t hang up yet. “Night, Reg.”

“Night,” Regulus replied. The line stayed open for a few seconds longer, like neither of them wanted to be the one to actually end it. Then it went dead.

Remus lay there in the dark for several minutes, phone still in his hand, thinking about the fact that untouchable Regulus Black was lying just a few floors below him in his own bed… and wondering why the hell he was still waiting for James Potter to revert to the boy who used to sneer at Regulus in the corridor.

The thought made his blood simmer—not just at the idea that Regulus still expected it, but at the fact that other people apparently expected it too.

And maybe tomorrow he’d deal with that. But tonight… tonight, he was just going to replay the sound of Regulus’s voice saying thanks.

 

He was so busy with RegulusRegulusRegulus running an endless loop in his brain that he completely forgot about the other thing he’d been meaning to do.
Weeks passed. He told himself he was too busy. Too distracted. Too tired. All lies. The truth was he hadn’t grown the spine for it—until now.

Or maybe it wasn’t bravery at all. Maybe it was just sheer impulse, because the second he spotted Evan Rosier walking alone down the corridor, Remus found himself striding after him before his mind could talk him out of it.

Less overthinking. More… actual apologizing.

“Hey,” Remus said, falling into step beside him.

Evan startled like a cat caught stealing milk, shoulders jerking, eyes flicking sideways. “Do you have a minute?” Remus added.

Evan slowed to a stop, eyeing him with thin suspicion. “Depends. Are we about to have another round of me feeling like an idiot?”

Remus shook his head. “No. I just… wanted to apologize.”

That got Evan’s attention. His brows pulled together, guarded.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said. Or at least not in the way I said it,” Remus went on. “Or maybe I shouldn’t have said it at all.”

Evan blinked. Once. Twice. Clearly not expecting this plot twist. “Are you… apologizing to me?”

“Yeah,” Remus said with a small shrug.

Evan’s jaw actually dropped a little. “Really?”

“I mean… yeah?” Remus repeated, now unsure why this was suddenly turning into a Q&A session.

“… Huh.” Evan blinked again, like his brain was buffering. “So I guess… Archie didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Remus asked, already sensing incoming nonsense.

Regulus had given him a vague, yelled in the middle of argument, explanation about Evan hating him for “turning him down,” but now Remus was starting to think there was a lot more going on here.

“Nothing!” Evan said far too cheerfully, far too quickly. “Absolutely nothing. And you don’t need to apologize. Really. In fact, you shouldn’t.” His words were speeding up so fast that Remus actually had to lean in a little to catch them. “We’re good! All good! And in fact—you know what? I’m sorry! Yeah, I’m sorry. For… uh—trying to, you know, maybe slightly tear apart you and Archie, and being kind of obsessed—never mind!” He cut himself off so abruptly that it felt suspicious. “The point is—we’re fine, you’re fine, everyone’s fine.”

Remus just stood there, staring at him. This was… not at all how he’d expected this conversation to go.

“Right,” he said cautiously. “You’re… you’re alright?”

“Peachy!” Evan squeaked. And then, in the tone of someone fleeing a crime scene, “And I need to find Archie now, so I gotta go, but—thanks for not hexing me!”

And with that, he spun on his heel and disappeared down the corridor so fast that Remus half expected smoke to trail behind him.

Remus stayed frozen for a good few seconds, trying to process what had just happened (and failing. Completely.), when the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps echoed from behind him.

“Why do you look like you’ve just seen Peeves naked?”

He didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. The voice was smooth, smug, and so unmistakably Regulus Black that it made his shoulders tense and his stomach do something much stupider.

“I didn’t,” Remus said flatly, starting to walk again. “But thanks for putting that image in my head.”

Regulus easily fell into step beside him, his hands tucked into his pockets like he had all the time in the world. “So… what did happen? You’ve got that ‘my worldview just got punched in the face’ look.”

Remus hesitated, which was all the invitation Regulus needed to lean in slightly, his expression all sharp curiosity and mischief.

“You were talking to Evan, didn’t you?” Regulus said. “Alone. And you initiated. Which means either you’ve finally decided to hex him… or you were apologizing.”

Remus shot him a sidelong glare. “What makes you think I was apologizing?”

“That’s cute,” Regulus said lightly. “You think you’re unpredictable.”

Remus rolled his eyes, ignoring the faint warmth creeping up his neck. “Fine. I was apologizing.”

Regulus’s mouth curled, slow and feline. “And how did that go?”

Remus considered lying. But given the way Regulus could sniff out half-truths like a bloodhound, he didn’t bother. “Weird,” he admitted. “Really weird. He acted like I’d just offered him a kidney and then ran away like I was about to stab him.”

Regulus made a thoughtful hum, like he already knew exactly why Evan had acted that way—and had zero intention of sharing. “Interesting.”

“That’s it? ‘Interesting’?” Remus frowned. “Do you know something I don’t?”

“Always,” Regulus said smoothly, and didn’t elaborate.

They walked in silence for a moment, Remus side-eyeing him, Regulus looking like the cat who’d swallowed the canary and gotten away with it.

Finally, Regulus glanced at him with a sly little grin. “So, do you want me to tell you what that was all about?”

Remus narrowed his eyes. “…Yes?”

Regulus smirked wider. “Too bad.”

And before Remus could come up with a comeback sharp enough to wipe that smug look off his face, Regulus was already turning the corner, leaving him with nothing but unanswered questions and the faint scent of his ridiculously expensive soap.

By the time Remus made it to the hidden room that night, Regulus was already there, sprawled across the couch like he’d been personally hired to model “aristocratic indifference.” There was a teapot on the low table, two mugs, and—because apparently he was trying to kill Remus—Regulus was wearing one of those oversized jumpers that looked like it had been stolen from someone’s laundry.

“You’re late,” Regulus said without looking up from the book in his lap.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “It’s two minutes past when I usually get here. That doesn’t qualify as late.”

“It does when I’ve been sitting here, suffering, with only my own company for entertainment,” Regulus replied, flipping a page.

Remus dropped into the couch, watching him. “You could’ve brought someone else. Evan, maybe. He seemed eager to see you earlier.”

Regulus didn’t even glance up, but Remus saw the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Ah. So you’ve decided to circle back to that.”

“You made it sound like there’s something I should know,” Remus said, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “So?”

Regulus finally looked at him, his grey eyes all sharp amusement. “So… you’re nosy.”

“Reg.”

“Lupin.”

Remus exhaled through his nose. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what?” Regulus asked, all false innocence.

“Dangling some big secret in front of me just so I’ll obsess over it.”

Regulus’s lips curved in that maddening, slow way. “It’s working, isn’t it?”

Remus fought the urge to throw a cushion at him. “Why not just tell me?”

“Because,” Regulus said simply, setting his book aside and reaching for the teapot, “some things are more fun when you find them out yourself.”

He poured tea like he hadn’t just casually thrown a conversational grenade into the room, handing Remus a mug without looking at him.

Remus took it, still watching him closely. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Regulus said, settling back against the cushions with a satisfied sigh, “here you are.”

Remus was about to argue—really, he was—but then Regulus stretched his legs out until they were nudging against his, all under the blanket draped over the couch. And just like that, the argument evaporated.

“But,” Regulus added after a beat, sipping his tea like it wasn’t about to be weaponized, “it’s cute you apologized to him.”

Remus groaned and tipped his head back against the couch. “I attempted to. He didn’t exactly let me.”

Regulus’s lips curved into something dangerously close to delight—like he’d just tuned in to the season finale of his favorite show. “Ah.”

“And,” Remus added, sitting up straighter now, the shift in his tone unmistakable, “I think I should apologize to you too.”

That stopped Regulus cold. His brows rose, eyes narrowing in quick suspicion. It was rare to catch him off guard; rarer still to see him actually pause, as if recalibrating. Remus might have smirked—if his pulse wasn’t thundering in his ears.

“Me? Why?” Regulus asked, like the concept was mildly insulting.

“For… you know.” Remus exhaled, steadying himself. “Laughing when James was—insulting you. Or not stopping him when he was.” His voice was level, but inside he was bracing for Regulus to hex him on the spot.

“Oh.” Regulus blinked once, slowly. His grip on the mug tightened just enough that his rings clicked faintly against the ceramic. “I… thanks,” he said at last, and his voice had dropped a fraction softer.

Remus nodded, swallowing the uneasy knot in his chest. He’d expected Regulus to wave it off or turn it into a joke. Instead, the Slytherin just accepted it—didn’t pretend it was beneath him, didn’t act like it hadn’t mattered. And that, somehow, made Remus feel even worse about the whole damn thing.

Regulus studied him for a long, deliberate moment. “Sirius ever tell you why I hate that stupid nickname so much?” His eyes sharpened again, like the moment of softness had passed.

Remus shook his head. “No. He just kept beating James’s ass for it, but never elaborated.” He took a sip of tea to stop himself from spilling more half-baked apologies.

“That tracks,” Regulus hummed. “Well… Potter wasn’t the first one to call me that.” His voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent in it—something older, heavier.

“There was a kid who lived down the street,” Regulus went on, as if he’d already decided Remus was hearing this whether he wanted to or not. “He thought he was hilarious for calling my family witches—which was ironic, since we’re wizards and he’s just a Muggle. Didn’t matter. Eventually, when I was eight, maybe, I hit a growth spurt and went all arms and legs. He started calling me a spider.”

Remus froze mid-sip, the tea going ignored on his lap.

“I didn’t care at first. He was just a petty little bully with an even pettier imagination. Never told my parents, obviously. But I told Sirius. He beat the kid’s ass once, but that only made it worse. From ‘spider’ it turned into ‘freak.’ All those words kids don’t come up with themselves—so clearly he’d heard them somewhere else first.”

Regulus’s expression didn’t shift, but his tone sharpened. “After about a year, I’d had enough. Decided that if he wanted to call me that so badly, I could make it worth his while. Even if I wasn’t supposed to, because let’s be honest—my magic gave me the upper hand.”

Remus raised a brow, wary now. “What’d you do?”

“I levitated every spider in West London into his bedroom. Every night. Weeks of it. He’d scream himself hoarse, terrified. The second his parents came in, I’d vanish them. They didn’t believe him—thought he was just having nightmares. Sirius found out eventually and… helped me.”

“Of course he did,” Remus muttered.

Regulus’s mouth twitched into the faintest smirk. “The kid was too scared to be alone in the house. So Sirius baited his parents out for the evening. I hid under my father’s invisibility cloak—well, the knock-off version—and slipped in. He was playing with his Labrador, and I…” Regulus’s smirk deepened, “turned it into a tarantula. Whispered a few… choice words, invisible and overdramatic, while he screamed.”

“Jesus.”

“Mm. He stopped calling me a spider after that. Stopped leaving the house, actually. His parents eventually sent him to therapy. He’s twenty now, and still terrified of spiders.”

Remus winced, because it was not what he’d expected—though, somehow, it was exactly what he should have expected.

“That’s why I’ll never apologize to Potter for what I said,” Regulus finished, matter-of-fact. “Not after he made my life another hell right after I’d crawled out of the first one.”

“Why didn’t you ever… you know. Do something like that to him?” Remus asked carefully.

“Because he’s Sirius’s friend,” Regulus said simply. “I didn’t want to make Sirius choose between us.”

“He’d choose you,” Remus said without hesitation.

“I know,” Regulus replied. “Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt him to have to choose.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that stretched—not awkward, but weighted. Remus studied him, wanting to say something else, something that might cut through the way Regulus spoke about himself like he was always bracing for a blow. But Regulus had already reached for his tea again, sipping with the air of someone who’d just closed a door.

“So I should be grateful you never hexed me for laughing, I guess,” Remus muttered after a beat, swirling the tea in his mug.

Regulus’s mouth curved into a slow, feline smirk. “You’re welcome.”

Remus huffed something close to a laugh, though it came out softer. “Thanks. But… I am sorry. For what it’s worth.”

Regulus tilted his head, watching him like he was weighing the sincerity, then simply nodded. “Thanks. At least you never actually called me that.”

“I value my life,” Remus said without missing a beat.

At that, Regulus laughed—a quiet, low sound that made the corner of Remus’s mouth betray him by twitching upward. “You should. People would miss you if I had to murder you.”

Remus narrowed his eyes, lips twitching. “Would you, though?”

“While provoked? Maybe,” Regulus hummed, sounding far too pleased with himself. “But Sirius would kill me afterward, so it’s hardly worth the paperwork. Besides, I think you could actually beat my ass in a duel, so I’m not about to humiliate myself like that.”

Remus snorted. “You think?”

“I know,” Regulus said, smirking like a man in possession of state secrets. It sent that tight, unfamiliar knot curling in Remus’s chest again, the one that whispered he should be careful.

And then, uncomfortably, his brain flickered to a thought he’d been avoiding: Does he know? Has he figured it out yet? He had no idea if Regulus had connected the dots about him being a werewolf—but with the way Regulus’s eyes seemed to cut clean through people, he wouldn’t put it past him.

Before Remus could steer the conversation somewhere— anywhere —else, Regulus spoke again, neatly cutting him off.

“Anyway,” he said lightly, as if none of the last five minutes had happened, “are we watching?” He reached for the remote like he owned the place.

Remus only nodded, and a second later another episode of Stranger Things flickered across the projector screen.

He didn’t hear a single line of it. Not the witty dialogue, not the ominous music cues—nothing. He sat there, outwardly calm, but inwardly sifting through every word Regulus had just said, every flicker of expression, every damn smirk.

And the worst part? None of it helped him figure Regulus out. If anything, it only made the puzzle bigger.

 

Later that night, Remus lay in bed with the curtains drawn tight and the dorm settling into its familiar nighttime hum—quills put away, footsteps muffled, the occasional Peter’s snore from across the room.

He was exhausted in that bone-deep way, the kind that usually had him asleep in minutes. But his brain wasn’t cooperating.

Because—of course—it was running him on loop.

Regulus. Regulus with his tea and his perfectly timed smirks. Regulus telling stories like they were precious little knives. Regulus casually dropping a piece of his past into Remus’s lap like it was no big deal—then flipping the conversation to Stranger Things before Remus could even breathe properly.

It wasn’t the story about the kid and the spiders that kept him awake (though that was uncomfortably on brand for Regulus). It was the way his voice had dipped just slightly when he’d said, Thanks. Like he meant it. Like it landed somewhere.

It was the fact that Regulus had thought about the possibility of Remus hexing him and hadn’t dismissed it out of hand. That he’d smirked about it. That he’d said I know when Remus teased about winning a duel—as if he already understood the weight of that statement, the thing Remus never said out loud.

And it was the way Regulus looked at him sometimes, like he’d figured something out and was just waiting for Remus to notice he’d been caught.

He rolled onto his back, staring up at the canopy like it might have the answers.
Has he guessed? Does he care?
The first question made his chest feel tight. The second was worse—because he didn’t know which answer scared him more.

Eventually, after god knows how long, he gave up on sleep entirely. He reached for his phone, thumb hovering over Regulus’s name. He didn’t even have a reason to call—except maybe to hear him sound half-asleep again, softer, less guarded.

But he didn’t press it. He just lay there, glaring at the glowing screen until it dimmed, and told himself that tomorrow he’d have it figured out.

He wouldn’t. But it was nice to pretend.

Notes:

my poor baby 💔

Chapter 14: losing his mind over a boy whose smile was both lethal and addictive

The days kept slipping by, and Remus was edging closer and closer to actually doing something about Regulus. Something that mattered.

Maybe he’d ask him to Hogsmeade—predictable, cliché, the kind of move you’d expect in a rubbish teen romance. Or maybe he’d say screw it, look him in the eye, and tell him he knew Regulus didn’t date in public but still wanted to do exactly that with him.

Or—worse—maybe he’d offer to stay a secret for as long as Regulus wanted, because deep down, Remus already knew the truth: he’d do anything Regulus asked him to.

And that was dangerous.
Because he would.

Like that one night— entire night —he’d spent hunting down a copy of Eurotrip on his old MacBook. All because Regulus had once made an offhand comment that he loved the Scotty Doesn’t Know song but had never seen the film. Said it was impossible to find.

Challenge accepted.

Three hours of sketchy download links and buffering later, Remus had it queued up and ready. They’d watched it together—well, watched in the loosest sense. The movie was awful. Truly, painfully bad. But the soundtrack was decent, and Regulus’s running commentary was better than anything on screen.

He kept scoffing at the American characters with that dry little curl to his lip, muttering, “They think Europe is a country and then dare to have more opinions?” like he’d been personally wronged.

Remus only caught half of it. The other half of his attention was occupied with the fact that Regulus’s feet were tucked under his thigh, warm and casual like it was nothing.

He was dying.

And, because self-preservation was a foreign concept, he blamed it on the upcoming full moon. Easier to chalk it up to heightened senses and short temper than admit he was actually losing his mind over a boy whose smile was both lethal and addictive.

“Alright,” Regulus said when the movie finally ended. “The song is actually the only good thing in this entire movie.”

“And Michelle Trachtenberg,” Remus added without thinking.

Regulus’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide. “You know her?”

“...No?” Remus tried, though he already knew the battle was lost.

“Oh my God, you do!” Regulus cackled, practically bouncing on the couch. “From what?”

“I don’t know her,” Remus insisted, but it came out weak.

“From Gossip Girl, don’t you?” Regulus grinned like he just won the lottery.

“Shut up,” Remus groaned, tipping his head back, wishing the couch would swallow him whole.

“You watched Gossip Girl?” Regulus gasped, mock-offended. “This is the best day of my life.”

“Reg...”

“No, really! I have to tell everyone. Does Sirius know?” His grin was so damn earnest it almost made Remus laugh.

Remus shot him a look. “Tell anyone and I’m shaving your head.”

“You wouldn’t.” Regulus smirked. “You like me with my hair.”

“Now I don’t even know if I like you at all,” Remus muttered, smirking despite himself.

“Liar.” Regulus’s grin grew wider. “So which season’s your favorite?”

Remus just slumped deeper into the cushions, mentally begging for the ground to open up.

“Oh, come on,” Regulus said, nudging his leg with his own. “I’m not judging.”

“You do!”

“Yeah, as fuck.” Regulus’s grin was smug, unapologetic. “Why did you even watch it?”

Remus huffed, crossing his arms, the barest edge of irritation slipping in. “Girls made me. After Mary broke up with Davies and went through her usual ‘men are trash’ phase. For a week. That’s all it took.”

“You watched it in a week?” Regulus’s eyebrows shot up.

“It was summer. We were bored. There was nothing else to do.”

Regulus threw his head back and sighed, the sound so deeply content it was almost ridiculous. “This is absolutely gold.”

Remus chuckled, shaking his head. Somehow, even the worst TV shows and the stupidest inside jokes with Regulus felt like they mattered.

Regulus smirked, eyes glinting with mischief. “Alright, so you’re a secret Gossip Girl fan. What else you hiding from me, Lupin?”

Remus rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. “I’m an open book. Mostly just badly written TV shows and terrible taste in music.”

“Terrible taste? You’re the one who downloaded Eurotrip at 2 a.m. because I mentioned the soundtrack.”

“Hey, that soundtrack was good. And you yelled at the screen like a lunatic every five minutes.”

Regulus shrugged, leaning back. “I have strong opinions about Europe.”

“Strong enough to spend the entire movie defending your continent from imaginary insults.”

“Damn right. And you loved every minute of it.”

Remus laughed, the sound easy and light. “Maybe I did.”

For a moment, they just sat there, the weight of words and everything unsaid hanging between them like smoke.

Then Regulus’s smirk softened, and his voice dropped a notch. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever had someone care enough to actually do that for me. Download a stupid movie at ungodly hours just ‘cause I mentioned a song.”

Remus caught the honesty in that, a flicker of something vulnerable behind the bravado. “Well, I guess you’re stuck with me now.”

“Yeah,” Regulus said, eyes locking on his. “Looks like I am.”

And for the first time, it didn’t scare Remus at all.

“So what’re you doing for me next?” Regulus grinned after a beat. “’Cause I’m out of good books, so maybe you’ll write one for me.”

Remus shot him a look. “What makes you think I’m capable of writing a book?”

“Please,” Regulus snorted. “I’ve read your essays. You make the Goblin Rebellion sound like a fight of wills in a love story.”

“It’s about the right to use a wand,” Remus replied, a little amused.

“So, gay love.”

Remus choked on absolutely nothing.

Regulus wore that smug expression for the rest of the evening, clearly enjoying the reaction far too much.

Remus glared at him but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. He might pretend to hate it, but the way Regulus pushed his buttons was—annoyingly—kind of irresistible.

“Keep it up, and I’ll make you write it,” Remus warned, voice low but steady.

“Is that a challenge?” Regulus’s eyes sparkled.

“More like a threat.”

Regulus leaned back, clearly satisfied, but Remus felt the weight of something else beneath the teasing—the unspoken tension hanging in the air like a fragile secret neither of them dared to admit out loud.

And that, Remus thought, was what made this whole ridiculous thing so damn complicated. 

Once again, he walked Regulus to the dungeons when they finally peeled away from the hidden room—Regulus babbling about concert tickets he was dying to get, their arms brushing so often that Remus barely caught a word.

Then Regulus froze, right at the top of the stairs leading to his common room.

Remus blinked, following his gaze to the white cat perched on the banister. He groaned quietly to himself—he thought he’d finally gotten rid of those unsettling blue eyes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Regulus muttered flatly, staring at the cat.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Are you talking to the cat?”

Regulus shot him a look. “That cat is completely messed up.”

The cat blinked slowly, then jumped off the banister and padded down the stairs.

“That’s weird,” Remus said. “I thought he wasn’t around anymore.”

Regulus tilted his chin slightly, looking up at Remus like he didn’t want to hear the answer. “Huh?”

“I mean,” Remus shrugged, “I swear that thing’s been following me for years. It even showed up in my dorm once. Alone. Gave me the creeps.”

Regulus’s eyes widened just a fraction—just for a second.

Then—

“You’re kind of delusional. It’s just a cat,” he said, smirking.

“Yeah, I know,” Remus shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to hex it.”

Regulus grinned. “Maybe you should.”

“You’re weird, Reg.”

“Thank you. I try.” Regulus mocked, then added, “Thanks for walking me. I’ll text you later,” before heading down the stairs.

“Sure,” Remus replied, still a little breathless, before turning to climb the seven damn floors back to his own dorm.

The second he stepped into his dorm, Remus could feel something was off. And, miraculously, that something wasn’t between him and James. No—this time it was between Sirius and James, which almost never happened. Well… except for the times Sirius was yelling at James for trying to get under Regulus’s skin years ago, or, later, when James was doing increasingly stupid things to get Regulus’s attention.

But now, it didn’t seem to be either of those.

Sirius was sitting on his bed, smoking a cigarette and glaring at James like he wanted him dead. James, in return, was on his own bed, pretending to read Quidditch Weekly. Peter sat at his desk, AirPods in, which meant he’d heard more than enough already and was now deep in his “pretend none of this exists” mode.

“Hi,” Remus said cautiously, crossing the room to grab his pajamas.

“Hi,” Sirius snapped.

Remus raised an eyebrow.

“Hi,” Sirius corrected himself with a throat clear.

Remus looked at James next, waiting for even a half-assed hum of acknowledgment. He got one. Barely.

“Right,” Remus drawled, heading for the bathroom. “Completely fucking normal,” he muttered under his breath.

“Wait up,” Sirius said suddenly, launching himself off the bed and storming after him.

“I’m about to shower,” Remus said flatly as Sirius flicked his wand to cast a silencing charm over the room.

“Prongs is driving me crazy,” Sirius announced, dropping onto the toilet like this was urgent. “Completely.”

Remus sighed, leaning against the sink. He hated this—hated being the one expected to say the right thing at the right time. “By?”

“He’s digging. Sniffing. Being insufferable,” Sirius replied, taking a drag before offering Remus the cigarette.

Remus took it, exhaled at the ceiling, and mentally crossed himself. “About?”

“Why I keep disappearing,” Sirius said. “He’s got at least ten theories that I’m secretly snogging someone.”

“You are secretly snogging someone.”

“Details!” Sirius huffed, snatching the cigarette back. “I don’t want him to know that!”

“And why not?” Remus asked, helpless. “You didn’t say anything about you and Crouch before because of Regulus and James. There’s no Regulus and James now—not that there ever was, to be honest—so what’s the point?”

“That I don’t want him to judge it,” Sirius said after a beat, his voice unusually soft. “And he will, even if he swears he won’t.”

Remus stared at him. “… I’m sorry, what?”

“He’ll get all… all.” Sirius waved his hand. “He’ll freak out!”

“Why would he freak out?” Remus asked, genuinely baffled now.

“Because I spent half my life trying to piss Barty off, and suddenly I’m dating him? And now Prongs will probably think that if I managed that, he can manage it with Reg too.”

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t do this anymore,” he muttered. “I just want some peace, for fuck’s sake.”

“Moony!” Sirius hissed. “It’s serious!”

“No, it’s Sirius-serious, which is not serious at all,” Remus shot back. “And can we please, for the love of god, stop tiptoeing around James like he’s five years old?”

Sirius blinked at him. “What? What do you mean?”

“That it’s fucked up we’re all hiding things just because we’re scared of how James might react,” Remus said, voice flat but pulse hammering. “He’s a grown-up. Well… theoretically. Don’t you think it’s about time to stop caring about his feelings more than our own?”

Sirius’s eyes widened with every word, and by the time Remus finished, his jaw was practically on the floor.

“You’re talking about Reg, aren’t you?” he gasped.

“… Maybe. Doesn’t matter. Shut up,” Remus said quickly, looking anywhere but at him.

“Oh my god, you are!” Sirius gasped again, practically leaping at him. “You like him!”

“Shut up, Sirius.”

“You do!” Sirius yelled like this was a national emergency. “Does he know? Does he like you back?!”

Remus dragged his hands down his face. “I genuinely have no idea. I mean… no, fine. He likes me. At least he acts like he does, sometimes.”

Sirius’s jaw dropped again. Remus reached out and shut it for him.

“That’s… oh my god,” Sirius breathed. “That makes so much sense now.”

“What does?” Remus asked, skeptical.

“Why you two are always together lately!”

“Yeah, well, sorry for spending time with my favorite person,” Remus muttered.

Sirius squeaked. “Moony!”

Remus groaned, dragging his hands over his face. “I can’t believe I just told you that.”

“I can’t believe you waited this long to tell me!” Sirius shot back, tossing the cigarette butt into the toilet like he owned the place. “It’s been, what, a month?” His voice pitched higher. “And Reg— Reg —likes you?” He sounded so disbelieving it was borderline offensive. Remus shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

“No—wait, I mean, I get it! You’re great! Brilliant! But… Reg?” Sirius kept going, pacing with wild hand gestures. “After his last boyfriend, he basically boycotted the entire concept of boyfriending!”

“That’s not even a word.”

“It is a word,” Sirius insisted without missing a beat. “How do you even know he likes you?”

“He…” Remus hesitated, heat creeping up his neck. “He said something about not saving him for later because of James. Said he might not be there later. When he drunk-called me.”

Sirius’s eyebrows shot so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline.

“So we started… hanging out,” Remus finished, voice low.

Sirius leaned forward like a hawk about to swoop. “Did you guys kiss? Wait—did you sleep with my baby brother?”

“I didn’t, Jesus,” Remus snapped, rolling his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t stay there. “We haven’t even kissed. Nothing’s happened besides—” he waved a hand vaguely, “—sharing trauma, really.”

“Then you’re basically married!”

“Sirius.”

“Wait, I need a minute to decide if I’m giving you my blessing.” Sirius held up a hand, then began pacing the cramped bathroom like he was deliberating the fate of the wizarding world. “You do know he’s still sixteen, right?”

“Maybe I’m good with kids.”

“Moony!” Sirius gasped like Remus had just confessed to mass murder.

Then he burst out laughing.

Then—
“No, no, I have to keep it together,” he said to himself, shaking his head, though his grin was still splitting his face. “But, like… you really like him, right? Not like Prongs ‘liked’ him.”

Remus swallowed, his voice quieter now. “Yeah. I really like him. Like… can’t-sleep-because-of-him like him.”

Sirius squeaked. Again. “Oh my god!”

“Stop acting like Mary.”

“I can’t,” Sirius gasped, absolutely thriving on the chaos.

“Sirius,” Remus groaned, tipping his head back against the tiles. “It’s already fucked up without you having a meltdown. There’s James. There’s fucking Evan Rosier. And there’s Regulus—who doesn’t date in public but flirts like he’s on someone’s payroll.”

“He flirts with you?!”

Remus crossed his eyes at him, refusing to dignify that with an answer. He had some dignity. Not much—but enough to keep his mouth shut about just how Regulus could be sometimes.

And fuck, sometimes was enough to drive him insane.

“Oh my god,” Sirius groaned, flopping back on the toilet like he’d just been told Filch was doing stand-up comedy in the Great Hall. “I mean… fuck.”

“Mhm.”

“I mean—” Sirius sat forward, gesturing vaguely like he was pulling thoughts out of thin air, “that’s great! If he likes you too.” He squinted at Remus. “And he didn’t… you know… kiss you yet or something?” The wince on his face said that talking about his younger brother’s love life was equal parts thrilling and nausea-inducing.

“He didn’t,” Remus said, rolling his eyes. “He’s just… getting all touchy.”

Sirius actually scoffed. “Reggie? Touchy? He hates touching people. He barely touches me.”

Remus just shrugged. “Well, he touches me. And I’m not about to unpack why until it finally leads somewhere. So… you know. Don’t say anything to him.”

“But—”

“Or I’ll tell him you and Crouch have been dating in secret for months.”

“Moony!” Sirius looked scandalized, clutching at imaginary pearls. “You wouldn’t.”

Remus gave him a flat, slow blink. “I have absolutely no brakes. You know that.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, muttering, “Yeah, I know that.” Then he frowned. “But… damn. Prongs’ll go insane if he finds out.”

“And here we are again,” Remus groaned, throwing his head back. “Why are we always circling back to what Prongs will feel?”

“Because he’s our friend!” Sirius shot back, like that was some sacred law carved in stone.

“Sirius,” Remus snapped, sharp enough to make Sirius’s mouth click shut. “He had an unhealthy obsession with a version of Regulus that doesn’t even exist, and we both know it. He has no idea who Regulus really is—or how much he hurt him with that whole ‘spider thing.’”

Sirius blinked. “He… told you? The story about that Muggle kid?”

“Yeah. About a week ago,” Remus said. “He also told me he’s never going to apologize to James for what he said to him. And other… shit.”

Sirius’s jaw tightened, all humor draining for once. “Yeah, I know. He had… kind of a meltdown after he turned James down.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “He told you that?”

“No. Barty told me Reg was freaking out—like really freaking out—that James would… you know… go back to bullying him once he realized he didn’t have a chance.”

“Yeah,” Remus said quietly. “He told me that too. And yet here we are—still wringing our hands over how James might react.”

Sirius winced. “Alright, that does sound fucked up when you say it like that.”

“Like what?” Remus snorted. “Truth?”

Sirius didn’t answer—just lit another cigarette like that was the only acceptable response to being called out so directly.

They passed the cigarette back and forth in companionable silence, the bathroom still hazy with smoke. Remus’s heart was still doing that stupid, erratic pounding—half from the fact he’d basically outed himself to Sirius, half from the relief that Sirius hadn’t tried to bite his head off for falling for his little brother.

After a moment, Sirius broke the quiet. “And Reg… he didn’t, I dunno, ask you out?”

Remus huffed out a laugh, slow and dry, passing the cigarette back. “There aren’t exactly a lot of places to be asked out, genius. And since he’s got that whole ‘no public dating’ policy thing going on, I’m guessing he never will.”

Sirius winced, dragging deep. “He told you about the guy?”

“Nah,” Remus said, and there was just enough irritation in his tone to make Sirius smirk. “Which is driving me insane, by the way. Who the hell was the guy?”

“I can’t tell you,” Sirius shot back instantly.

“Thought so,” Remus muttered, folding his arms like a barricade.

Sirius shifted, crossing one leg over the other with deliberate slowness. “Alright, let me organize this in my head—”

“Oh god.”

“—you like him. He likes you. But also Rosier likes you. And Prongs likes Reg.”

“Yes.”

Sirius grinned. “That’s a comedy.”

“No, it’s a tragedy,” Remus corrected flatly. “Remember what you said the other day? That if Rosier likes me, then Regulus won’t make a move? Loyalty, or some other equally unnecessary moral complication in this specific hellscape?”

Sirius snorted so hard he nearly dropped the cigarette, coughing halfway through a laugh. “Maybe he’s… I dunno… waiting for you to choose. And Rosier’s waiting too.”

“Choose? Choose?” Remus scoffed, incredulous. “There’s no choosing! I was never— will never—be emotionally invested in Evan bloody Rosier. I want Regulus. Period.”

Sirius slapped a hand over his mouth in mock shock. “You want Regulus?!”

Remus stared him down. “That’s what we’ve been talking about since you came in here, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but—Merlin—it’s so weird to hear out loud!”

“Imagine how I feel,” Remus muttered.

The conversation died again, a lull filled only by the hum of the castle’s pipes and the faint burn in Remus’s chest. His phone buzzed in his pocket—undoubtedly Regulus—but his fingers stayed still. His brain needed a clear patch of air before diving headfirst into whatever that text would do to him.

“Well,” he sighed eventually, leaning against the tiled wall, “circling back—just tell Prongs you’re with Crouch.”

Sirius winced like someone had hexed his kneecap. “I don’t wanna. I wanna… I dunno. Have him just for me for a while.”

Remus’s sharpness softened, just a fraction. He understood that—more than he wanted to admit. Because yeah… he wanted Regulus all to himself too. No prying eyes, no commentary, no interference. Just them.

“Anyway,” Sirius said, shaking it off as he stubbed out the cigarette in the toilet and stood, “now we both know about our secrets… or someone’s secrets. And we’re not telling anyone else. Right?”

Remus nodded. “Right. But you’re… you’re good with… you know?”

Sirius’s mouth curved—not a cocky smirk, not a showy grin, just the real thing. The kind of smile that lit up his eyes for a split second, the kind that hit warmer than the smoke in the air.

“Yeah,” Sirius said. “I’m good with it. I think it’s great.”

And before Remus could let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, Sirius stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. No dramatics, no pat on the back to disguise it as a joke. Just a real, solid hug.

Remus hugged him back, grateful—deep in his bones—that at least one person was firmly on his side.

Notes:

platonic wolfstar is doing something to me

Chapter 15: no fight, no argument, no dignity

Remus woke up Thursday morning and, for a glorious seven seconds, everything was fine. Then reality smacked him in the face—Sirius knew.

Jesus.

Jesus.

He half-expected Sirius to start acting strange. Or worse—decide overnight that actually, no, he wasn’t okay with Remus and Regulus. He’d imagined a dozen scenarios where Sirius turned cold, cutting, maybe even betrayed him to James in a fit of misplaced loyalty. But none of that happened. Sirius was still very much pissed at James (no surprise there), but at Remus? Not even a flicker. If anything, Sirius was nicer. He’d even fixed Remus’s tie before breakfast instead of screwing it up just to annoy him—which was basically an act of sainthood.

They were mid-discussion about Filch’s latest ridiculous attempt to blame them for the vandalism of Mrs. Norris—an injustice, really, since they hadn’t pulled a single prank this year—when Regulus materialized out of nowhere. One second, the seat was empty, the next, Regulus was wedging himself between them like he owned the bench. His eyes locked on Sirius, sharp and intent, like he’d been tracking him for days.

“No,” Sirius said immediately, before Regulus even opened his mouth.

“But I bought it,” Regulus whined—actually whined —and grabbed his brother’s arm. “Take me and I’ll… I dunno, do something nice for you too!”

Sirius snorted. “Like what?”

“Like not tell Dad you’re the one who stole 500 galleons from him last year to buy a motorcycle,” Regulus replied, deadpan.

Remus choked on his toast, biting back a laugh. “What the hell do you even want from him?” he asked, carefully ignoring James’s death glare from across the table.

“I bought tickets for Three Days Grace and I need Sirius to take me there,” Regulus said, deadly serious.

“… You can’t just go by yourself?” Remus asked, incredulous.

“I’m sixteen, genius,” Regulus rolled his eyes. “I can’t leave the castle without permission—”

“Then sneak out,” Peter suggested from further down the table. “Use the Honeydukes passage.”

“Wow, didn’t think of that, Pettigrew,” Regulus deadpanned. “I can’t because Snape’s been breathing down my neck all week and he’ll tattle to Slughorn if I disappear for the whole weekend.”

“Why’s he on you?” Sirius asked immediately. “Want me to hex him?”

“No, I already did,” Regulus said, smug as anything. “I want you to take me to fucking Manchester.”

“Reg—”

“Please,” Regulus groaned, full theatrical tilt.

Sirius closed his eyes, pained. “I don’t even like Three Days Grace.”

“Sirius!”

“Regulus!” Sirius shot back in the exact same tone.

“It’s my birthday in, like, a few weeks,” Regulus blurted, and Remus had to hide his grin in his eggs. God, the Black brothers were hilarious without even trying. “Consider it an early gift.”

Sirius chewed the inside of his cheek, clearly waging an internal war. “Fine. I’ll take you.”

Regulus lit up. “Really?!”

“Yes, really,” Sirius rolled his eyes, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

“Anyone else going?”

“I’ve got four tickets, so I’m thinking Crouch,” Regulus hummed. “He likes them. And…” he turned to Remus with that casual precision that made Remus’s pulse stumble. “You wanna come?”

Remus, who despised Three Days Grace with every fibre of his soul, nodded before his brain could intervene. “Yeah. Sure. Thanks.”

“Great!” Regulus grinned like he’d just won a small war. Then he hugged Sirius—quick, fierce—and vanished again before Remus could even process it.

Sirius was already smirking at him.

“Don’t,” Remus warned, though his ears were going pink and his heart had lodged somewhere high in his throat.

“Call me a wingman,” Sirius murmured under his breath, just quiet enough that no one else at the table could pick it up.

“I’ll call you ‘the guy who’s trying way too hard to act like he’s not secretly dating his brother’s best mate,’” Remus shot back without missing a beat.

Sirius’s smirk evaporated instantly. “... Shit.”

Remus just shrugged, taking a sip of his tea. “You’ve been hiding it since July. You’ll survive. Probably. As long as you don’t start snogging during I Hate Everything About You or some equally pathetic moment.”

Sirius groaned into his hands. “God, I hate this band so much.”

“Same.”

There was a pause, the kind that carried the weight of shared bad decisions and mutual suffering.

“… We’re tragic,” Sirius declared, completely deadpan.

“Absolutely,” Remus agreed, and clinked his mug against Sirius’s like they were toasting to the sheer inevitability of their poor life choices.

Neither of them said it out loud, but they both knew—they’d be going to that concert anyway, hating every second of it, and pretending they weren’t secretly looking forward to all the wrong parts.

Sirius disappeared to deal with the formalities with both McGonagall and Slughorn, and Remus slipped out of the Great Hall a few seconds later—deciding he’d rather starve for the rest of the day than keep pretending he didn’t want to grab James by the shoulders and shake some bloody sense into him.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in a haze of forced distraction, doing his best not to think about the fact that Regulus had booked two hotel rooms in Manchester… and that Sirius had oh-so-helpfully insisted Remus share one with Regulus, so he could shack up with Barty in the other.

God. That wasn’t a trip—it was a full-blown, three-ring circus, and Remus was apparently one of the star attractions.

He lived in that particular chaos right up until 9 p.m., when his patrol shift rolled around.

Regulus was already there waiting for him, practically bouncing on his heels, holding two flasks of tea. Without preamble, he shoved one into Remus’s hands with, “Chamomile and honey—’cause you look like you’re about two seconds from hexing someone,” said in a tone so smug that Remus ended up grinning instead of scoffing.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a sip. “So—the concert?”

Regulus lit up immediately, like someone had flipped a switch, and launched straight into a full breakdown of why Adam Gontier coming back to the band was objectively the best thing that had happened in music since the electric guitar, and why two lead guitarists was absolutely not “too much,” and how Matt Walst wasn’t “stealing” Brad Walst from the other band, thank you very much—

Honestly, Remus stopped tracking the details halfway through, because somewhere in the middle of the rant Regulus had grabbed his arm, and hadn’t let go.

“Anyway,” Regulus finished with the kind of satisfaction usually reserved for winning arguments, “Barty’s in. He’s been listening to the new album on loop ever since I told him.”

“You guys are tragic,” Remus said flatly.

“Hush, Lupin,” Regulus shot him a look.

Before Remus could come up with a retort, they heard the unmistakable sound of frantic making out coming from behind the closed door of an empty classroom.

“If that’s Nott again,” Remus muttered, reaching for the handle, “I’m personally hexing his balls off.”

Regulus chuckled beside him—tight, this time—and Remus chalked it up to him still being mentally tangled in his own story.

Inside, sure enough, it wasn’t Nott alone—it was Nott with yet another guy. Remus had stopped counting after the fifth patrol this term; at this point, it was starting to feel like Nott wanted to be caught.

“Detention,” Remus said, deadpan. “Two weeks. With Filch. And for fuck’s sake, find a better place next time.” He shut the door before either of them could argue.

Regulus glanced up at him, eyes glinting. “You’re drunk on the power.”

“You’re deluded.”

“No, no,” Regulus said, humming like he’d just discovered a secret. “That’s hot.”

“Reg,” Remus warned, his voice low. Which, naturally, only made Regulus grin—grin softer, even, like he couldn’t quite help himself. And that… well, that did all sorts of unfair things to Remus’s already traitorous heart.

“Come on,” Regulus said, bumping their shoulders together as they started walking again. “Maybe we’ll catch someone else and you can give them detention too.”

“I should give you one.”

“You should,” Regulus said with infuriating calm, “but you can’t.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but for the rest of the patrol, one thought kept circling in his head, stubborn and stupid and impossible to shake—

Regulus Black had just called him hot.

Like he hadn’t already had enough for one day, James ambushed him the second he stepped back into the dorm, practically launching himself off his bed and straight at Remus like an overeager Golden Retriever. Before Remus could even open his mouth, James opened his own.

“I just wanna say that I’m not jealous anymore, and I’m over Reg, and I don’t want us to fight over a boy—even if that boy’s him,” James blurted, all in one breath.

Remus blinked. “…O…kay?”

“I mean,” James barreled on, “I’ve been thinking a lot, and yeah, I really fucked up the whole thing with him. And, fine, you were right. And Pads was right. And Pete, too. And—I was awful to him for years, so I shouldn’t be surprised he hates me. And I shouldn’t be surprised you two are friends—’cause you’re great! You really are. And I was acting like an absolute bitch. And—and—you’re allowed to punch me.”

“I’m not going to punch you, Prongs.”

James let out a breath of visible relief. “Good, ‘cause I still haven’t perfected the healing spell. But—seriously—I’m over him. Like, almost over him. Maybe… ten percent into him, and only because his hair’s better than mine, and my dad owns Sleekeazy’s.”

Remus snorted. “Oh my God, Prongs.”

“Really!” James insisted. “And I really, really don’t want us to fight! Or—you and Pads teaming up against me—”

“We’re not,” Remus cut in quickly. “I just…” He hesitated, feeling that awful twist in his gut that meant he was about to get honest. “I just think it’s fucked up that—don’t get me wrong—that Sirius and I have to hide things just so we don’t hurt you, alright? Because we don’t wanna hurt you, but we also don’t wanna rub anything in your face, and… you know.”

James nodded, earnest and uncharacteristically quiet. “Yeah. I know. I was a total bitch. I admit it.”

“Well, not total,” Remus said, smirking.

James grinned. “So… we good?”

Remus nodded. “Yeah. We’re good.”

And then—almost never happening territory—he hugged James. Because damn him if he didn’t miss his James, the old James, and not the brittle, defensive one from the last few weeks. James hugged him back, sniffling only a little.

“You must really like him if you’re going to Three Days Grace when you hate them,” James muttered into his shoulder.

“He has no idea I don’t like them,” Remus snorted.

James pulled back with a laugh—the real one, the one Remus hadn’t heard in weeks.

“I don’t know if there’s anything between you—like, for real—but I won’t go crazy if there is, alright? I promise.”

“We’re just friends,” Remus said.

And for once, he wasn’t even lying. Unfortunately.

James yawned, already halfway back to his bed, stretching like he’d just solved world peace. “Good. Now I can sleep knowing you’re not plotting to steal my future husband.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Go to bed, Prongs.”

“I am,” James mumbled, collapsing into the mattress with all the grace of a dying hippogriff. “Don’t snog him too loud when you think I’m asleep.”

Remus threw a pillow at his head.

James caught it without even looking, muttered something smug, and went still. Which, knowing James, meant he was either asleep or pretending to be just to eavesdrop.

Remus didn’t care to check.

Instead, he collapsed into his own bed and stared up at the canopy, heart still buzzing with a strange mix of relief and dread. Relief because James was—shockingly—not about to combust over the idea of him and Regulus in the same room together. Dread because… well, the concert was tomorrow, and that meant two whole nights in Manchester. Two whole nights in a hotel. Two whole nights in the same room as Regulus Black.

Jesus.

Remus buried his face into his pillow. No good could come out of this.

…And still, deep down, he couldn’t wait.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he fished it out within seconds—because apparently self-control wasn’t his strong suit—wondering how the hell Regulus was texting him now when he had literally just spent a full hour talking his ear off on patrol.

Regulus:
you aware that we have to camp tomorrow right

Remus groaned inwardly. That definitely wasn’t on his 2025 bingo card.

Remus:
no way

Regulus:
LUPIN

Remus:
i’m not camping

Regulus:
but i wanna be close to the scene

Remus:
you’re not gonna see shit anyway since you’re 5’7

Regulus:
5’10 you absolute excuse of a man

Remus snorted into his pillow.

Regulus:
fr tho, we have to camp
barty’s in and sirius will be too if you’ll agree so come on
please

And Remus—who’d probably march into Grindelwald’s lair himself if Regulus asked nicely enough—just… agreed. No fight, no argument, no dignity. He was weak like that. Pathetically weak. Sue him.

He tossed the phone onto the mattress, rolled onto his back, and stared at the ceiling. Camping. With Regulus Black. And Sirius and Barty who were about to pretend that they aren’t actively snogging in secret.

Jesus Christ.

He was going to die, and he wasn’t even mad about it.

 

The next day started, predictably, with Sirius whining directly into Remus’s ear about the whole camping ordeal. Loudly. Dramatically. With hand gestures. After the first twenty minutes, Remus snapped and cast a silencing spell on him just to preserve his own sanity.

Frankly, he had bigger things to focus on—namely, trying to figure out how the hell Regulus had gotten the tickets the day before the concert, orchestrated the entire plan so that Sirius would agree to take him (thus avoiding the parental approval minefield), booked a hotel while underage in both the magical and Muggle world, and generally bent the universe to his will without breaking a sweat. It was… peak Regulus.

If he asks me to do his eyeliner, I’m murdering him, Sirius scrawled dramatically on a scrap of parchment during Potions, shoving it across the desk.

Remus snorted into his cauldron, the sound muffled by the rising steam.

Regulus, two tables over, shot him a suspicious look. Remus just winked at him—yeah, yeah, he was getting there and he wasn’t even sorry—and if Regulus’s cheeks looked a little pink in the haze of potion fumes, well. Remus wasn’t going to believe it unless the boy swore it under Veritaserum.

Meanwhile, Slughorn was on his tenth rambling reminder this term about “not stealing my personal ingredients, I’m begging you!” which was about nine reminders too many.

Remus stirred his cauldron lazily, already plotting the fastest route out of the classroom before Sirius’s silencing charm wore off. He could practically feel the impending onslaught of camping complaints building up in the other boy’s chest, like a Howler just waiting to detonate.

And somewhere between the heat of the cauldron, the haze of fumes, and Regulus’s occasional sideways glance, Remus realized he was so far gone it wasn’t even funny.

“So,” Peter whispered, flicking a chocolate frog across the table like they were in the middle of some black-market trade, “you’re, like, going to Manchester too?”

“Mhm.” Remus bit the head clean off. “Still have to tell my mum, though.”

Sirius, seated beside him, immediately started windmilling his hands like he was trying to flag down the Knight Bus in a storm. He looked half outraged, half betrayed, and entirely too dramatic for nine in the morning. Remus—unmoved—stuffed the rest of the frog into his mouth before Sirius could open his own. Barty, watching from across the table, let out a laugh so sharp it could probably cut glass. Sirius’s glare bounced around like a Bludger: first at Remus, then Barty, then Regulus, and finally down to the frog in his hand before he bit into it with such petty vengeance that Remus almost applauded.

“You think she’ll freak out again?” Peter asked, completely immune to the atmospheric levels of Sirius Black happening right next to him.

“It’s almost two weeks until the next round,” Remus said with a shrug, chewing, “so… doubt it. Dad might try to guilt me into bringing him back a T-shirt, though. Since Three Days Grace is basically dad rock.”

That was when Regulus’s head snapped toward him like a hawk spotting movement. “Take that back.”

“Not wrong,” Remus said around a mouthful of chocolate, peeling the foil off another frog. “You’ve got power chords, angsty lyrics, middle-aged men in leather jackets—textbook.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes, but didn’t answer—probably because Sirius was now side-eyeing him like he could sniff out the fact that Regulus had personally bullied Remus into agreeing to camp for this concert.

Peter, bless his unshakeable soul, leaned in like they were plotting a heist and asked, “So, what time do you lot get there to act like groupies?”

That earned him two immediate answers and one long-suffering, soundless groan from Sirius, complete with head thrown back like a Shakespearean tragedy.

“After classes,” Regulus said crisply, as if the matter were already decided.

“After I drink a beer,” Barty countered, leaning back in his chair with the smug self-assurance of someone who had already planned out which pub he was hitting first.

Sirius just pressed both palms over his face and let out a muffled noise of despair, probably regretting every life choice that had led him to having to coordinate anything with both his little brother and Barty Crouch Jr. in the same room.

And then—predictably—they were off. Regulus insisting on getting there early enough to secure barricade spots, Barty arguing that barricades were for the desperate and that true fans knew the best view was halfway back with a drink in hand, and Sirius occasionally interjecting with, “You’re all insane, I’m just here for the eyeliner”, because it was just Remus’s luck that the charm decided to wore off.

Meanwhile, Remus sat in the middle of the chaos, peeling the foil off yet another chocolate frog, chewing slowly, and wondering—not for the first time—how his life had devolved into a never-ending Black-family group chat with live, surround-sound bickering. It was like being stuck in a sitcom, except the laugh track was Barty’s cackle and the plot never moved forward.

His potion was, as usual, a complete disaster—thick, sludgy, and smelling like mud mixed with… something he didn’t want to identify. He didn’t even bother trying to fix it, just shoved the cauldron a safe distance away so he didn’t have to breathe it in.

And no, he was absolutely not jealous—not even a little bit—that Regulus’s own potion was textbook-perfect while he sat there like some tragic cautionary tale.
Bastard.
Talented, beautiful, unfairly gorgeous. But bastard all the same.

So, instead of wallowing in self-pity over his brewing failures, Remus spent the rest of Potions flipping through an article about Three Days Grace, still not entirely sure how he’d been bullied into agreeing to this Manchester nonsense. He was so wrapped up in it that Slughorn’s cheerful demand for their finished vials barely registered until it was too late.

Remus eyed his cauldron with deep, resigned loathing. He conjured an empty vial and leaned over to fill it with his so-called potion—only to find it already full.

He froze. Blinked. Looked around the room like the answer might be floating in the steam.

Regulus, of course, was already watching him. The picture of smug, infuriating calm, mouthing you’re welcome like he hadn’t just casually committed academic fraud for him.

Still trying to process what the hell just happened, Remus walked his mysteriously perfect vial to Slughorn’s desk. On his way back, he slowed beside Regulus’s table and leaned in, voice pitched low.

“Thanks,” he murmured—half from his mouth, half from the treacherous part of his brain currently screaming why are you so perfect?

Regulus only smirked wider, like he’d just won something. And maybe he had.

On the way back to the tower, Remus finally caved and called his mum—mostly because Sirius had been pestering him for the last twenty minutes about “letting Hope know her favorite son was going on tour.” He didn’t even get the chance to say hello before Sirius swooped in like a magpie, plucking the phone from his hand with a dramatic gasp and launching straight into conversation.

“Hi, Hope! Remus is calling to tell you we’re going to Manchester for the weekend,” Sirius announced like he was giving a press statement. He bounded up the staircase two at a time, phone pressed to his ear like it was glued there. “No, not just us. With Reggie and Barty. … Yes, that Barty Crouch. …yeah, fine, I don’t like his dad either.” He winced, then added in a conspiratorial stage-whisper, “Actually, I think I might hate his dad more than mine.”

Remus groaned, lunged, and wrestled the phone back, making Sirius yelp like a kicked puppy. “Hi, Mum,” he said, ignoring Sirius mouthing traitor beside him.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Hope said warmly. Then, with a tone so smug it could curdle milk, “Nice to know you’re going somewhere that isn’t the library for once.”

Remus sighed. “I found out yesterday. We’re going to a Three Days Grace concert.”

“And not with your usual lot?”

“Mm. Just the Black brothers and the son of the biggest prick in the Ministry.”

“Remus.”

“I didn’t mean Dad.”

“Remus!”

Sirius snorted so hard he almost tripped on the next step.

“Joking,” Remus said, far too pleased with himself. “Anyway, I’ve gotta pack. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Buy your dad a T-shirt,” Hope ordered, slipping into the effortless efficiency of someone who’d been mothering him for seventeen years. “Have fun. Don’t do anything stupid. And don’t let Sirius do anything stupid.”

“I’m a saint!” Sirius declared loudly enough for the phone speaker to crackle.

“Sure, honey,” Hope said dryly, and Remus could hear the eye-roll. “Love you, kids. Take care.”

They said their goodbyes, though Sirius insisted on making disgusting kissing noises until Remus hung up on him mid- mwah. Shoving the phone into his pocket, Remus tried not to smile.

“You’re sure she doesn’t want to adopt me?” Sirius asked, only half joking.

“She does,” Remus replied without missing a beat. “Your dad said no.”

Sirius barked a laugh, throwing an arm around Remus’s shoulders as they pushed through the portrait hole. “Then I’ll just keep showing up until she gives in. Hope Lupin deserves me.”

“She deserves peace,” Remus muttered, but he didn’t shake him off.

Two hours later—three of Sirius’s full-scale wardrobe crises (“What the fuck do I even wear to that disaster, Moons?!”) and five of Remus’s increasingly futile attempts to make sense of what the hell had happened during Potions and why Regulus had helped him without being asked—they were all crammed into McGonagall’s office, ready to take the Floo.

“I repeat,” McGonagall said, voice sharp enough to slice parchment, “just because you’re adults on paper does not mean I believe you actually are.” Her eyes narrowed at Sirius and Remus like she was already imagining the headlines. “I do not want to read in the Daily Prophet about any magical violations whatsoever.”

Remus sighed. “It only happened once.”

“It was a flying motorcycle, Lupin,” McGonagall snapped, and Barty had to turn away to hide his laugh.

“Oh, that was—” Sirius began, all innocence, until Remus jabbed an elbow into his ribs. Hard.

McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose like she was praying for divine intervention. “Just get out of my sight. And don’t lose the younger Black. I am not emotionally prepared for Walburga’s personal rage.”

“Sure thing,” Sirius grinned, the exact opposite of reassuring.

One by one, they stepped into the Floo, green flames swallowing them up. Minutes later, they spilled out into the Ministry of Magic’s designated travel area, brushing soot off their clothes and trying not to look like they’d already caused trouble. They crossed to the Apparition zone—Remus pairing off with Barty, Sirius with Regulus.

They vanished with sharp cracks and reappeared in Manchester, wind whipping around them. Sirius immediately got an irritable yelp in his ear: “Stop holding me so bloody tight, Sirius!”

“Sorry,” Sirius said, not sorry at all.

“Die,” Regulus replied flatly, brushing off his coat like physical contact was a contagious disease.

Remus, watching the whole thing, bit back a smile. This trip was going to be hell. And, against his better judgment, he was already looking forward to it.

Notes:

i have tickets for tdg in november....

Chapter 16: he was feeling dangerously close to not being a coward anymore

Of course— of fucking course —three supposedly functional adult men lost the war against Regulus Black and ended up parked outside the O2 Apollo a full three hours before the gates were even set to open.

And, insult to injury, they weren’t even the first ones there. Not even close. A good fifty people were already gathered in a loose, shivering knot around the entrance, doing their best to pretend they weren’t slowly freezing their arses off in the kind of October wind that went through you, not around you.

Remus didn’t even hesitate. A discreet wand out. Warming charm on himself instantly.

And on Regulus too.

Purely because Regulus couldn’t legally use magic here, obviously. Obviously. Not because Remus was worried about him getting cold. Not because there was something oddly satisfying about making sure Regulus didn’t have to suffer with the rest of the lunatics around them. Definitely not because the quiet little “Thanks” that Regulus gave him, paired with that quick half-smile, made his chest feel weirdly, ridiculously warm in a way that had nothing to do with the charm.

“Alright, I’m going to buy some booze since apparently we couldn’t even stop for one,” Barty muttered, already halfway turning toward the street like a man on a mission. He sounded deeply betrayed by the whole concept of sobriety.

“I’m going too,” Sirius announced, tone just as casual as a bank robbery. “I’m out of cigs.”

Remus rolled his eyes at the subtlety. “Buy me a pack too,” he said, digging a few coins from his pocket.

Sirius snagged them, nodded, and vanished down the street with Barty, no doubt already arguing about what brand of beer was the most “proper” pre-concert choice.

That left Remus standing in the line-up alone with Regulus Black and his borderline religious devotion to Three Days Grace.

The street was alive with the restless hum of people waiting for something worth freezing for—low murmurs, the occasional sharp laugh, the clink of beer cans, someone two groups down strumming a battered acoustic guitar like they were auditioning for busker of the year. The air smelled faintly of fried food from a cart nearby and the colder, sharper scent of damp pavement.

Regulus had his hood up, hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket, head tilted slightly like he was assessing the crowd for threats… or possibly ranking everyone by fashion sense. His eyes flicked across faces, details, probably cataloguing it all in that uncomfortably sharp mind of his.

Remus pulled another cigarette from the near-empty pack in his pocket, lit it, and leaned against the building beside him. He told himself it was to blend in with the other smokers, not because standing still with nothing to do felt weirdly too intimate in Regulus’s presence.

“So,” Remus said, taking a drag, “this your idea of a good time?”

Regulus didn’t even glance at him. “It’s my idea of the only time. Besides, if we don’t get barricade, I’m blaming you.”

Remus exhaled smoke toward the street. “If I’m freezing out here for three hours, I’m not fighting old men for a metal rail. I’ll let them trample me.”

“You’d never survive the pit,” Regulus said, deadpan, and Remus couldn’t tell if it was an insult or a challenge.

Probably both.

Regulus snatched the cigarette straight from between Remus’s fingers before he even registered what was happening, taking a drag like it had always belonged to him. Predictably, five minutes later they’d migrated to the dirty pavement, sitting across from each other with their hoods up—two shadowed faces in a line of restless strangers, Regulus wearing the exact brand of pureblood-in-the-muggle-world discomfort that could curdle milk.

“Serious question,” Regulus said, eyeing him like he was about to put him on trial. “Would you ever get a driver’s license? Like… actually?”

“I’ve got one,” Remus shrugged. “Did it last summer.”

Regulus’s jaw went slack for a beat. “Really?”

“Well, my mum’s a muggle,” Remus said. “It’s kind of a given. Went on a road trip with girls—didn’t stall the car once. I consider that a victory.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “So you can’t fly a broom, but you can drive a car?” The tone was pure disdain, as if he’d just discovered Remus could also juggle dead rats for fun.

Remus smirked. “So you can fly a broom, but you can’t drive a car?”

“Rude.”

“Factual.”

“Still rude.”

Remus only grinned, blowing smoke toward the grey Manchester sky, and Regulus—though he’d never admit it—looked like he was fighting a smile too.

“So,” Remus said, narrowing his eyes at him, “what the hell happened in Potions?”

“Maybe I just wanted to save Slug from grading your disaster of a brew,” Regulus replied, perfectly nonchalant and infuriatingly pretty for someone who was lying straight through his teeth.

“Sure,” Remus drawled, unconvinced. “But, you know… thanks.”

“No problem,” Regulus said, hugging his knees like the picture of innocence. “Thanks for agreeing to the whole camping thing.”

“No problem,” Remus echoed.

“And the warming charm,” Regulus added with a little hum.

“Anytime,” Remus replied—and that earned him the dimpled smile. The one he’d fight people for if asked. Hell, even if he wasn’t asked.

A few minutes later, Sirius and Barty came staggering back, already a little tipsy, and handed them cans of Diet Coke that sloshed suspiciously heavy and smelled faintly of the cheapest liquor Manchester had to offer. Remus didn’t even bother questioning it.

“Let’s play something,” Regulus said suddenly, dead serious, though the pink on his cheeks from the first sip gave him away. “Like… ‘Hear Me Out.’”

Barty nodded instantly. “Alright. Pete Davidson.”

“Gross,” Sirius gagged. “Keanu Reeves.”

“That’s not ‘hear me out,’” Remus scoffed. “That’s a fact. Okay—young Jude Law. Gattaca era.”

“…Alright, valid,” Regulus conceded. “Firenze.”

“The centaur?” Barty wheezed.

“Pads once declared he’d marry him if he could-could,” Remus said, smirking.

“Still stand by this,” Sirius said without hesitation.

Barty was now doubled over in laughter, Regulus was sipping his spiked Coke like this was all completely reasonable, and Remus just sat there thinking that maybe—just maybe—this ridiculous, freezing, absolutely nonsensical trip was worth it.

Barty wiped tears from his eyes, still wheezing. “Alright, my turn again. Hear me out… Slughorn—”

“NO,” Sirius barked so loudly that a couple of people in the queue turned to glare at him. “Game over. You’re banned.”

“I didn’t even finish!” Barty protested, grinning like a menace. “I was gonna say… Slughorn, but, like, thirty years younger and with decent hair.”

“That’s still a crime,” Remus said flatly. “Next.”

Regulus tilted his head, eyes flicking upward like he was making a list in his mind. “Lucius Malfoy—”

“Oh, absolutely not—” Sirius started.

“—pre-Narcissa, long hair, leather trousers, seventies glam rock phase,” Regulus finished, ignoring him entirely.

Barty whistled low. “Alright, I can see it.”

Sirius looked like he was physically going to be sick. “My brother is sick in the head.”

Remus chuckled into his drink. “Okay, okay. Hear me out—Professor Sinistra.”

All three of them went silent for a beat. Then—

“Valid,” Regulus said, nodding once.

“Hot,” Barty confirmed.

Sirius made a vague, approving noise before leaning forward. “Alright. Hear me out—Tonks.”

“She’s, like, fourteen, Sirius,” Remus deadpanned.

“Future Tonks, Moons. God, you’re boring,” Sirius muttered.

Barty smirked, clearly ready to cause chaos. “Fine. Hear me out—Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“That’s my cousin,” Sirius snapped.

“Not now, obviously,” Barty said, rolling his eyes. “Back in the day. Before she went full murder Barbie.”

Regulus sipped his drink. “She was fit. Insane, but fit.”

Sirius threw his head back in despair, muttering something about needing a beer strong enough to erase the conversation from his brain.

“Alright, I know this one,” Regulus said suddenly, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Pettigrew—”

“ARCH!” Barty shouted, practically shoving his drink aside.

“—when he has absolutely no idea what’s going on and rocks that ‘not a single thought behind his eyes’ look,” Regulus finished, smirking like he just delivered a killer punchline.

Sirius muttered under his breath, “...Alright, he’s kinda cute.”

“When he’s not actively snogging Lockhart,” Barty added with a knowing grin.

“Oh, I know,” Barty said after a beat, clearly ready to stir the pot. “Evan. Like, always.”

Remus rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. Sirius, on the other hand, barked out a laugh, loud and genuine. “Oh, that’s precious.”

“Insane,” Remus winced, shaking his head.

“It’s just a little crush!” Sirius defended, flashing that grin that made everyone forget whatever they were arguing about. “Like, harmless.”

“Harmless?” Remus echoed, clearly unimpressed. “He never said a single word to me, bitched when I called him out, and then had the nerve to apologize to me when I was the one apologizing. Honestly, he makes Pandora look emotionally stable.”

Regulus snorted into his can, eyes sparkling. “I mean… yeah, true.”

The four of them fell into a brief, conspiratorial silence, punctuated only by the distant hum of the growing crowd around the Apollo.

After what felt like hours of indulging in Regulus’s ridiculous games, the crowd finally shifted, and the gates opened. Miraculously, they managed to snag barricade spots—mostly thanks to Remus’s long legs, which got him there before anyone else even had the chance to think about running. He secured their place with an effortless ease, earning a pleased, almost mischievous grin from Regulus.

“People are gonna hate you two,” Sirius muttered from beside them, eyeing Remus and Barty like they were a couple of giants invading a land of hobbits.

Remus just shrugged. “Not my fault the world’s full of small men.”

“Hey!” Regulus jabbed at his arm, mock-offended.

“Don’t get cheeky or you’re standing behind me,” Remus warned with a smirk.

Regulus’s eyes narrowed, his tone dripping with amusement. “You absolute disaster.”

Remus returned the smirk like a challenge.

When Sirius and Barty disappeared to buy beer—of course, what else was expected?—Regulus leaned against the barricade, watching Remus with an intensity that made the air between them thick.

“So,” Regulus started, voice quieter now, “what’s your favorite song, then? For real this time.”

Remus sighed, already feeling the weight of this inevitable question. “Don’t have one.”

Regulus blinked, like he was waiting for the punchline. “Really? Not even one?”

“I don’t listen to them,” Remus said flatly, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“...You don’t?” Regulus’s voice was disbelief personified.

“I don’t like them,” Remus added, shrugging like he just said he preferred rain to sunshine.

Regulus stared at him, utterly dumbfounded, eyes darting like he was trying to figure out if he’d misheard.

“And you still came?” he finally asked.

“You asked me to,” Remus replied, casual but firm, like that explained everything. And maybe it did, at least for him.

For what felt like forever, Regulus just stared at him—equal parts exasperated and amused—before that slow, crooked smile spread across his face. “You’re impossible.”

Remus caught the smile and mirrored it, feeling something shift in the air between them. “Thanks. I try.”

Regulus laughed, bumping their shoulders together like they were old friends, and suddenly Remus’s brain—or maybe his heart, though he definitely wasn’t ready to admit it—was screaming, KISS HIM, YOU ABSOLUTE COWARD.

But, of course, he didn’t.

Instead, he just kept looking at Regulus with this softness that felt way out of place among a crowd of aging men in wrinkled band tees and greasy hair. It was like the noise and chaos around them faded, and all that mattered was the way Regulus’s eyes caught the stage lights, the dimples that appeared when he smiled, and the way he sang along the pre-concert songs like he actually meant it.

When Sirius and Barty finally returned, loaded with beers and grinning like idiots, the concert kicked off after what felt like an eternity of waiting. Remus didn’t care about the setlist, or the crowd, or even the fact that his ears were ringing from the volume. Because Regulus was right there—right in front of him—laughing, jumping, recording snippets of the show on his phone, completely lost in the moment and somehow looking unbearably good doing it.

Regulus was too distracted to notice when Sirius and Barty slipped into some half-secret make-out session during I Hate Everything About You, acting like the absolute clichés they were.

Remus didn’t miss a beat. He casually angled his phone to snap a quick picture—future blackmail material, thank you very much—and hid his grin behind the screen.

And honestly? Despite all the chaos, the awkward silences, and the weird little moments of tension, Remus realized he didn’t hate this night. Not one bit. Maybe because for once, it wasn’t just about the music or the stupid camping or even the mess of people he somehow ended up caring about.

Maybe it was because Regulus was here. Right here. And somehow, that was enough.

Even though he checked his phone about ten times, trying to figure out how much longer he had to stand there, he had to admit—he was actually having fun. Maybe it was because of Regulus, or maybe it was because, at some point, he found himself standing beside Sirius, trading jabs while watching Regulus and Barty lose their minds over the band.

“They’re acting like it’s Slipknot or something,” Sirius rolled his eyes, nursing his beer like he’d been personally insulted.

Remus muttered, eyes scanning the crowd, “I’m feeling like a kid around these people.”

Sirius snorted. “At least you’re tall. Reggie looks like a bloody kid.”

“He’s concerningly short,” Remus agreed, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“He’s only about an inch shorter than me,” Sirius shot back.

“As I said,” Remus replied, smug as hell.

Sirius shoved him but couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Remus just grinned, because yeah—maybe he was impossible. But somehow, standing there with beer in hand, band thrumming through the air, and Regulus acting like the tiniest, most fiercely obsessed fan in the world, it felt exactly right.

When a song from the new album kicked in—judging by the groans and half-hearted boo from somewhere in the crowd—Regulus turned to Remus with all the gravity of a man about to deliver life-changing news. Unfortunately, given his current state, the effect was… lacking.

“I need to pee,” he announced.

“I’m literally not your older brother,” Remus deadpanned, earning an undignified snort-laugh from Sirius.

“Ugh, come on,” Regulus groaned, already tugging at Remus’s sleeve with a stubbornness that suggested resistance was pointless. He didn’t even wait for an answer, just yanked him toward the side of the crowd.

So, of course, Remus followed—because apparently he had no self-respect anymore—shouldering his way between sweaty, beer-breathed strangers, all of whom smelled like they’d marinated in cigarettes and bad decisions. Somewhere along the way, he was pretty sure someone’s elbow connected with his ribs, someone else’s hair whipped across his face, and his shoes picked up something sticky that he refused to identify.

By the time they made it to the dingy little hallway leading to the toilets, Remus was genuinely questioning his life choices. He could’ve stayed at the barricade. He could’ve ignored him. Hell, he could’ve just Apparated straight into the stall and avoided the human obstacle course entirely.

But no. Here he was, following Regulus Black to the loo in the middle of a concert he didn’t even care about, and the worst part? He knew damn well he’d do it again.

“Wait here,” Regulus ordered— like Remus had a choice in the matter —and vanished into the men’s room, leaving him stranded among a small gaggle of girls clearly waiting for their boyfriends to emerge from the bathrooms.

Remus rolled his eyes, shifted his weight against the grimy wall, and silently cursed the universe for not allowing indoor smoking. He settled for sulking instead, arms crossed, trying to pretend the bass shaking the floor wasn’t making his headache worse.

And he was sulking— oh, he was —right up until his brain betrayed him by replaying the image of Regulus tonight: hoodie half-zipped over some band tee, hair slightly messy from jumping around, eyeliner smudged just enough to look deliberate. Annoying. Distracting. Stupidly attractive.

So when a girl suddenly stepped into his line of sight, he had to blink himself back into reality.

“You don’t look like someone who’s here of his own free will,” she said, smiling like she’d just caught him committing a crime.

“I’m not,” Remus replied flatly, already regretting making eye contact.

Her grin widened. “Dragged by your girlfriend?”

He huffed out something between a laugh and a scoff. “Something like that. Except he’s not my girlfriend. And he’s currently peeing.”

That made her blink—and then smirk. “Ohhh. That kind of night, huh?”

Remus didn’t answer. He just shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and glanced toward the bathroom door, silently willing Regulus to reappear before this turned into an interrogation.

The girl was still talking—something about how she’d been following the band since she was fifteen and how “the early stuff was way better”—when the bathroom door swung open.

Regulus stepped out, shaking his damp hands, and spotted them instantly. His eyes narrowed, not at the girl, but at how close she was standing to Remus.

“Oh, you made a friend,” he said, voice as flat and sharp as a blade left in the freezer.

Remus glanced over, immediately clocking the subtle lift of Regulus’s brow and the way his mouth twitched like he was resisting a smirk. Or maybe resisting something else. “She was just making conversation,” he said.

Regulus tilted his head, all polite poison. “Mm. How nice.” He looked at the girl and curved his lips in the kind of smile that could curdle milk. “Thanks for keeping him company. He gets lost easily.”

Remus choked on a laugh. “Do I?”

“Yes,” Regulus said, already sliding a hand around his elbow, not quite pulling him but very much making it clear that they were leaving. “Come on. You can flirt with strangers after the concert.”

The girl blinked, half-amused, half-offended, but Regulus didn’t even give her the satisfaction of a backward glance.

As they stepped back into the press of the crowd, Remus couldn’t resist. “Jealous?” he asked, tone lazy.

Regulus didn’t look at him, but his grip tightened just enough to answer for him. “Not at all,” he said coolly. “Just don’t like sharing.”

And if Remus’s chest went annoyingly warm at that, well—he was never going to admit it.

They hung back near the tail end of the crowd this time, partly because Remus had zero interest in fighting his way back to the barricades, and partly because Regulus—though clearly annoyed—had decided to accept their new position.
Well. Accept it in his own, very specific, very passive-aggressive way.

“I can’t see a damn thing,” he groaned, rocking onto his tiptoes in a move that was both absurdly cute and deeply undignified.

“Grow up, then,” Remus deadpanned.

“You grow up.”

“I’m tall.”

“I meant mentally,” Regulus shot back without missing a beat.

Remus arched an eyebrow at him. “You sure you’re okay, Reg?”

“Great,” Regulus sniffed. “Like, absolutely thriving.”

“Mhm.” Remus hummed the kind of noncommittal sound that said he wasn’t buying it for a second.

Regulus let out another sigh—one Remus couldn’t immediately place. Which was weird, because he’d been quietly cataloguing the different types of Regulus Black sighs for weeks now. There was the last cigarette in the pack sigh. The class bell just rang sigh. The Remus said something blasphemous about Quidditch sigh. And, of course, the rare but deadly you’re trying my patience but I can’t kill you in public sigh.
This one? New. And Remus didn’t like that he couldn’t read it.

“What?” he asked, nudging Regulus’s shoulder.

“Why is everyone here so fucking tall?” Regulus scowled like the crowd had personally wronged him.

Remus bit the inside of his cheek to stop a smirk. Survival instinct.

Then, in a move so cliché it could’ve been ripped from a terrible rom-com, he heard himself say, “You wanna sit on my shoulders so you can see?”

Regulus’s eyes lit up instantly—so much so that Remus didn’t even cringe at his own offer.

“Yes,” he said, with zero hesitation.

Seconds later, he was perched on Remus’s shoulders as he held his phone up to film. Because of course he was filming.

“You’re suspiciously strong for someone who’s never played a sport in his life,” Regulus commented after a moment.

“You’re just really small. Easy to hold.”

Regulus laughed, and—completely without warning—smoothed a hand through Remus’s hair like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Which was… annoyingly nice. Too nice. The kind of nice that made Remus wonder if maybe, just maybe, the concert could go on for a few more songs.

Regulus stayed up there far longer than was probably necessary, filming the band, taking blurry photos, and—judging by the occasional little gasp—leaning dangerously forward whenever a song he liked kicked in.

Remus, meanwhile, stood there pretending it was no big deal to have Regulus Black on his shoulders in the middle of a crowd. Which was a lie. It was absolutely a big deal. His knees were fine, his back was fine, but his brain? His brain was doing Olympic-level gymnastics.

“Alright,” Regulus finally declared after the third song, “I’m descending. Gracefully.”

“Please don’t fall and make me explain to your brother why I dropped you on your head.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Regulus said, already shifting his weight in a way that felt like a dare.

He slid down, warm hands on Remus’s shoulders for balance, landing a little too close, the smell of whatever overpriced beer Sirius had bought still clinging to his hoodie.

“This spot’s terrible,” Regulus announced like he hadn’t just had the best view in the house. “You can’t see their faces.”

“You can’t see their faces anyway, Reg. You’re just guessing they look good.”

“They do look good.”

“That’s called projection,” Remus said.

Regulus shot him a sideways glare that promised revenge. Then, because apparently the gods hated him, the band launched into another song from the new album—the one Regulus had been waiting for if the way his whole body lit up was anything to go by.

Without thinking, Remus leaned down so he could hear him better. “Good one?”

Regulus’s smile was small but blinding. “Best one.”

And that was how Remus found himself watching Regulus more than the stage again—watching how he knew every word, how he shoved at the people in front of them just to jump in time to the drums, how his eyes caught the flashes of stage lights and made them look like they belonged there.

By the time the song ended, Sirius and Barty had elbowed their way back over, both suspiciously smug and clearly tipsy.

“What’d we miss?” Sirius asked.

“Regulus got a better view than all of us,” Remus said, because he wasn’t about to explain how.

Sirius’s eyes narrowed like he could smell the subtext. “Uh-huh.”

Regulus just smirked and took a long, obnoxiously slow sip of his drink, like he’d just won something no one else even knew they were playing for.

Their walk back to the hotel was a mess of overlapping conversations, mostly Regulus and Barty bickering like it was a competitive sport over which song “hit harder live,” as if the entire evening depended on crowning a winner. Remus trailed a few steps behind, still processing the concert, the ridiculous games earlier, and—most confusing of all—the slightly jealous version of Regulus that had slipped out in the bathroom hallway.

Which was absurd, really, because Remus was a) painfully, embarrassingly gay, and b) already so into Regulus Black it was almost laughable. If someone did hit on him, they could do it right in front of Remus and he wouldn’t blink. Well, maybe he’d blink. Once.

Sirius was draped half-over him like an overgrown cat, muttering in that half-conscious way that meant he was seconds from falling asleep standing up. The mumbling was mostly about how good Barty looked in his new jacket, how hot he was, and how lucky Sirius was to have pulled him. Which made Remus snort, because if the universe had any sense of justice, it was clearly Barty who had pulled Sirius. 

“You good there?” Regulus called over his shoulder, slowing his pace just enough to catch Remus’s eye.

“I’ve had enough Blacks for one night,” Remus deadpanned.

Sirius snorted without lifting his head. “He’s lying, Reggie. He loves us.”

“I really don’t,” Remus replied flatly, which only made Sirius squeeze his arm tighter.

Barty twisted around just long enough to give Remus a look that said you better, and Remus rolled his eyes so hard he saw stars.

“Let’s go for a beer,” Regulus said suddenly, like it was the most obvious suggestion in the world.

“You’re sixteen,” Sirius deadpanned back, finally lifting his head enough to glare.

“And you’ve been corrupting me since I was born, so what’s the difference?” Regulus shot back, without missing a step.

Sirius blinked, processed that, and then smirked. “... Okay, valid. Let’s go.”

Just like that, his sleepiness was gone—because of course it was.

Remus sighed, because apparently he was about to be dragged to a pub with two already-questionable adults and Regulus Black, who could talk him into almost anything without even trying. And he hated— hated —how much he was looking forward to it.

Moments later, he and Regulus ended up crammed on the same side of the booth, shoulders brushing in that way that was either entirely accidental or entirely calculated—Remus wasn’t about to figure out which. Sirius and Barty had disappeared to the bar, allegedly to get beers, though with those two, there was no telling what unholy combination of liquor and bad decisions they’d bring back.

Regulus was idly humming the last song from the concert, almost under his breath, just enough for the tune to weave itself into Remus’s head. He was also twisting the rings on his fingers, one after another, silver catching the dim light, and Remus’s brain decided to short-circuit about it for reasons he didn’t particularly want to unpack in a public setting.

“You even liked the gig?” Regulus asked suddenly, turning toward him like the question was casual.

“Yeah, I did,” Remus said—and for once, he didn’t even have to lie.

“Favorite part?”

He bit back You on my shoulders, grinning like you owned the world, and instead said, “Riot, I guess.”

“So the most overrated song in their entire discography. Predictable,” Regulus huffed, smirking like it was some kind of moral victory.

Remus rolled his eyes. “Fine, then. What was yours?”

Regulus didn’t answer right away. He just looked at him—really looked—like he was weighing whether to actually say it. Then the corner of his mouth tugged up into something soft. “Probably the fact that you came at all, even though you don’t like them.”

Remus felt it land somewhere stupid in his chest, heat curling in his ears. He smiled back despite himself, the air between them going just a little too charged, his brain already screaming on a loop, KISS HIM, KISS HIM, KISS HIM.

But he didn’t.
Because they were in public.
Because Sirius and Barty were weaving their way back toward the table, carrying drinks that looked neon and dangerous.
And because—let’s face it—Remus Lupin was a coward of the highest order.

Still, when Regulus’s knee pressed lightly against his under the table, he didn’t move away. And maybe—just maybe—that counted for something.

Sirius slid into the booth opposite them with all the grace of a man who had never respected personal space a day in his life, nearly knocking over the precariously full pint glasses. Barty followed, carrying something in a tall, frosted glass that looked like it belonged at a beach bar in Ibiza rather than a dingy pub two streets from their hotel.

“Alright, gentlemen,” Sirius announced, already smirking like he’d committed some minor crime. “We bring you… beer.” He shoved two pints toward Remus and Regulus before pointing dramatically to Barty’s drink. “And whatever the hell that is.”

“It’s a Blue Lagoon,” Barty said, sipping through the tiny straw like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You look like a twelve-year-old on holiday,” Regulus deadpanned, accepting his pint but keeping his eyes on Barty’s umbrella-garnished monstrosity.

“At least I’m drinking something that tastes good,” Barty shot back.

“Beer tastes good,” Sirius protested.

“No,” Barty said flatly. “Beer tastes like regret.”

Remus hid a smirk behind his pint. Regulus, however, gave an unimpressed sniff and took a long sip like he was determined to prove beer was superior just out of spite.

It didn’t take long for the conversation to dissolve into the familiar chaos—Barty declaring his top three gigs of all time, Sirius loudly disagreeing with every single one, and Regulus muttering barbed commentary under his breath that only Remus could hear.

Somewhere between Sirius reenacting a failed stage dive from five years ago and Barty claiming he could absolutely join a band and tour within six months (“I’ve got the hair for it”), Regulus shifted just slightly closer to Remus. His thigh pressed more firmly against Remus’s under the table, like a quiet anchor in the noise.

And Remus—still the coward, still pretending not to notice—just sipped his beer and let him.

Because, honestly, he wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, the post-concert adrenaline, or just the fact that it was Regulus, but he was feeling dangerously close to not being a coward anymore.

Chapter 17: he was peeling back layers Remus didn’t remember giving him permission to touch

When they finally stumbled their way back to the hotel, not one of them had the coordination—or the dignity—to pretend they cared about who was sharing with who. Honestly, Remus was lowkey shocked Regulus didn’t have a full dramatic breakdown over the fact that Sirius was practically eye-fucking Barty in the hallway. Instead, he just shoved Sirius into a room across from the one he and Remus were sharing and muttered something about “deserving whatever you get”, which it could be both to Sirius and to Barty at this point.

“I’m dying,” Regulus announced the moment the door clicked shut, already peeling his hoodie off like it had personally wronged him.

“You’re drunk,” Remus replied, kicking off his shoes.

“Who even let me drink?” Regulus huffed. “I’m a kid. A child. A baby, really.”

“You wanted to drink.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes like Remus had just accused him of murder. “Did I?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” He seemed to accept this, which was impressive given how loudly he’d been whining fifteen minutes ago about wanting to take a shower. Instead of following through on that, though, he just flopped onto the bed and started scrolling through his camera roll like a man with zero priorities and even less shame.

At least one of them was pretending to be a functioning adult, so Remus grabbed his stuff and took the shower. He emerged a while later in his comfiest hoodie and matching brown sweats, hair damp, skin warm, and with absolutely no intention of going to bed before smoking at least two cigarettes on the balcony. He also needed— desperately —to figure out how the hell to make Regulus realize he liked him way more than “just a mate.”

From the bed, Regulus let out a little scoff, eyes still glued to his phone. “God.”

“What?” Remus asked, heading for his cigarettes.

“You look all… soft.”

Remus blinked. “…I’m sorry?”

“You should be,” Regulus muttered, and without another word, grabbed his own things and disappeared into the bathroom like some cryptic little storm cloud.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Remus just stood there for a second, hoodie sleeves hanging past his hands, and muttered under his breath, “God. I like the absolute gremlin.”

And then, because apparently tonight was about making reckless decisions, he slid open the balcony door and lit his first cigarette, trying not to think about how badly he wanted the bathroom door to open so Regulus could come out and ruin his life a little more.

The night air was cold enough to bite, but it wasn’t nearly enough to clear Remus’s head. He leaned against the railing, cigarette glowing between his fingers, watching the streetlights flicker over the empty parking lot below. The bass from the concert still buzzed faintly in his bones, like his body hadn’t realized the night was over yet.

The bathroom door finally opened behind him, accompanied by the sound of a hairdryer being unceremoniously unplugged and dumped somewhere.

Regulus stepped out barefoot, wearing loose sweatpants and a black t-shirt that clung in a way Remus did not, under any circumstances, need to be noticing right now. His hair was still a little damp, curling slightly at the ends, and he was holding his phone in one hand like it was an extension of his arm.

“You’re still up,” Regulus said, not really a question.

“Observant,” Remus replied, blowing out smoke toward the night.

Regulus wandered toward the balcony, stopping just short of stepping outside. “That’s disgusting.”

Remus smirked. “You sound like McGonagall.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Regulus said, then, after a pause, pushed the door open and stepped out anyway, shivering immediately. “God, it’s freezing.”

“You could’ve stayed inside.”

“You could’ve come to bed.”

Remus glanced at him sideways, the ember of his cigarette catching in the reflection of Regulus’s eyes. “Not tired.”

Regulus gave him a long, unreadable look—one of those sharp, assessing ones that made it feel like he was peeling back layers Remus didn’t remember giving him permission to touch. Then, casually, like he hadn’t just been staring holes into him, he said, “You’re thinking too loud.”

Remus huffed a laugh. “That a problem?”

“Only if it’s about someone else.”

Remus froze for a fraction of a second—long enough for Regulus to catch it and smirk, leaning his elbows on the railing beside him.

“I’m not,” Remus said finally.

“Good,” Regulus replied, and the way he said it was so matter-of-fact that it sent a rush of heat straight through Remus’s veins, cold night be damned.

They stood there for a while, not speaking, just sharing the thin strip of balcony while the city hummed faintly in the distance.

At some point, Regulus stole the cigarette from Remus’s fingers, took one slow, deliberate drag like it was just to prove he could, then handed it back. “I shouldn’t smoke when I’m drunk,” he stated flatly.

“You shouldn’t at all,” Remus replied.

“You do,” Regulus countered.

“Yeah, but I’m not worried that I’ll never shoot up again,” Remus mocked, lips curling into something halfway between a smirk and a challenge.

Regulus rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching, and leaned his chin into his palm, gaze sweeping lazily over the street below them. “I would be too powerful if I were tall,” he said eventually, like it was a known fact of the universe.

“Agree,” Remus muttered, taking the last drag and stubbing the butt out against the railing.

They stayed there in silence for a while—the wind biting at their skin, the faint hum of traffic below, the moon creeping far too close to full for Remus’s comfort.

“Hey,” Regulus said suddenly, glancing at him from under his lashes in that way that always felt more intimate than it should. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah,” Remus replied without hesitation.

“You think that…” Regulus started slowly, tongue darting over his bottom lip, “that people who are just… unlovable exist?”

Remus blinked, caught off guard. “No,” he said finally, voice low. “I don’t. Do you?”

“Sometimes,” Regulus shrugged, too casual for the weight of the question. “Like… like there’s people who are just too much, y’know? They don’t fit anywhere, not really, and…” He exhaled sharply, groaning. “And I’m really drunk and I should shut up right now.”

Remus didn’t speak, because what the hell was he supposed to say? That if Regulus was talking about himself, then he was a complete idiot for even thinking that? That he was—without question—one of the most lovable, admirable, infuriatingly magnetic people Remus had ever known? That he wasn’t too much, he was just… enough?

“Never mind,” Regulus muttered, straightening. “Let’s go to bed, I need—”

Remus cut him off by finally kissing him—hard enough that his own heartbeat seemed to trip over itself—praying that every unsaid thing was in that kiss.

And maybe it was, because Regulus kissed him back like he’d been waiting far longer than one drunken evening to do this.

Regulus tasted like toothpaste and faint beer, and Remus like smoke, and it hit harder than it had any right to—but he didn’t care. Not when Regulus’s cold hand slid under his hoodie, palm pressed warm and firm against his back, dragging him closer. Not when Remus’s own hands came up to cup his jaw, tilting him just right, deepening the kiss until Regulus hummed against his mouth—low and pleased—and that single sound set every nerve in Remus’s body on fire.

When they finally pulled apart, they were breathing like they’d just run for their lives, foreheads pressed together, the world around them forgotten.

Regulus’s eyes searched his, a little glassy, a little dangerous. “Took you long enough,” he murmured.

Remus’s mouth twitched. “Shut up.”

Regulus smirked. “Make me.”

So he did.

 

They stumbled back inside like they were trying not to look like they’d just made out on a hotel balcony—which, of course, made them look exactly like they’d just made out on a hotel balcony.

Regulus tossed himself onto the bed first, sprawling like he owned the place, tee riding up just enough to make Remus want to forget how to breathe again. He patted the empty space beside him like it was an afterthought.

Remus locked the balcony door, more to give himself a second to collect his brain than anything else, and crossed the room. He dropped onto the bed, half expecting Regulus to make some snide comment.

Instead, Regulus rolled onto his side, propping his head on his hand, and just… looked at him. Not like a challenge. Not like a joke. Just… looked.

Remus tried not to squirm under the weight of it. “What?”

“You’ve got that stupid face on,” Regulus said, though his tone was softer than his words.

“My face is always like this,” Remus replied.

“Exactly,” Regulus shot back, but his lips curved slightly, like he couldn’t help it.

They fell into a quiet that wasn’t awkward, exactly—more charged than anything else. The kind of quiet that buzzed in the air, making every inch between them feel smaller than it was.

Regulus’s hand moved first—just a brush of fingertips against Remus’s wrist, like testing the water. Remus didn’t pull away.

“Still thinking about that kiss?” Regulus asked, voice low, with that dangerous little smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Still thinking about doing it again,” Remus admitted before he could stop himself.

Regulus’s smirk deepened, but there was something almost shy in his eyes. “Good.”

That kiss was slower. Less desperate, more deliberate—like they had all the time in the world now, like they were figuring out just how far this could go. Regulus’s rings were cool against Remus’s skin when he curled his fingers into the back of his neck, pulling him closer, while Remus slid a hand into his hair, tugging just enough to make him gasp.

When they broke apart again, Regulus rested his forehead against Remus’s, breathing steady but eyes sharp. “You’re not gonna pretend this didn’t happen tomorrow, are you?”

Remus gave him a look. “If I was, I wouldn’t have started in the first place.”

“Fair,” Regulus murmured, leaning in to kiss him once more—quick this time, like a seal on the deal—before collapsing back onto the pillow.

Remus rolled onto his side to face him, his head spinning so badly it felt like the world had decided to speed up just for this moment. Regulus, on the other hand, looked irritatingly composed—eyes locked on him like he was studying something under glass.

“So,” Regulus hummed, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, “was that a pity kiss?”

“It was an ‘I should’ve done that earlier’ kiss,” Remus replied without missing a beat.

“You should have,” Regulus agreed, smug but not unkind. “Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Remus admitted, and for once he was grateful for the warm haze of alcohol making it easier to be honest. “It’s just… fucked up, a little. With everything happening around us.”

“You mean like Potter and Evan?” Regulus asked, eyebrow arched.

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Regulus said slowly, deliberately, “I’m not about to be sorry about liking you.”

“Good,” Remus said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m not sorry about liking you either.”

Regulus grinned, sharp and bright. “I’ll take that. Even if you’re tragically bad at showing it.”

“I am not tragic,” Remus scoffed.

“You are,” Regulus said, the smugness returning in full force.

“You want me to take that kiss back?” Remus asked, his voice flat, though the threat was empty and they both knew it.

“No,” Regulus said, leaning just a fraction closer, his tone dropping into something low and dangerous. “I want you to kiss me until I forget how to spell my own name. Maybe longer.”

And maybe Remus should’ve made some witty retort, maybe he should’ve played it cool, but—well—he didn’t.

Instead, he reached out, curling his fingers into the fabric of Regulus’s shirt and pulling him in until their mouths met again. This time, there was no hesitation. No testing the waters. Just heat and intent, Regulus kissing him back with the kind of focus that made the rest of the world irrelevant.

When Regulus shifted closer, their legs tangled together under the blankets without either of them deciding it, his cold toes brushing against Remus’s ankle like some calculated act of revenge. Remus didn’t care. He only pulled him in tighter, until there wasn’t any room left between them—physically or otherwise.

By the time they finally broke apart, both a little breathless, Regulus looked thoroughly pleased with himself. “Better,” he murmured, like they were grading a paper.

“Shut up,” Remus muttered, though his voice was softer than the words.

“Make me,” Regulus replied.

So Remus kissed him again. And again. And again. Until the idea of sleeping seemed entirely laughable.

By the time they actually paused long enough to breathe, Regulus was sprawled halfway on top of him, hair a mess, lips swollen, and looking more like trouble than anyone had the right to while lying in a shitty hotel bed.

Remus, for his part, was flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling because it was safer than looking directly at Regulus and fully acknowledging what he’d just done—and what he clearly wanted to keep doing.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Regulus mumbled against his collarbone, voice lazy in that way that made it obvious he was more comfortable than he’d admit.

“I’m not thinking,” Remus lied.

“Liar.”

“You want me to stop?”

Regulus lifted his head just enough to glare at him, expression sharp despite the fact that his hair was sticking up in about twelve directions. “You stop, I kill you.”

“That’s… oddly romantic.”

“Don’t care,” Regulus said, dropping his head back down and curling in closer like a cat claiming territory. “You started it. Now you’re stuck with me.”

Remus laughed under his breath, unable to help himself. “You make it sound like a punishment.”

“It is—for you. I’m delightful.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m worth it,” Regulus shot back without missing a beat.

And there it was again—that shift, that subtle tightening in Remus’s chest that made him think maybe he’d been an idiot not to do this sooner. Maybe the timing was wrong, maybe the world was still a mess, but with Regulus pressed against him like this, it didn’t seem to matter.

Regulus’s breathing evened out eventually, his weight getting heavier as he drifted, and Remus didn’t move. Didn’t want to. He just lay there, staring at the cracked ceiling paint, one hand resting against the small of Regulus’s back like if he let go, the whole thing might have been a hallucination.

It wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t.

And he was so, so screwed.

His mind kept spinning—because of course he was thinking too hard, loud enough in his own head that he was half-convinced Regulus would wake up just to tell him to shut up and get the hell out of the bed. But Regulus didn’t. He just slept on, curled into him like it was the most natural thing in the world, while Remus lay there buzzing from head to toe.

Somewhere in the chaos of his thoughts—wedged between the part calling him an idiot on repeat and the part reminding him how badly he’d just complicated his own life—something small and stubborn lodged itself in his chest. Hope. The tiniest spark of it, so small it could’ve been mistaken for heartburn if it didn’t feel so warm. And it refused to leave.

He told himself not to read into it, not to start imagining things, not to build a future out of one night and a few kisses. But the problem was… he couldn’t stop smiling. Overthinking, yes—he was practically a professional at that—but smiling? That was new. And it was the kind of smile he couldn’t fight even if he tried, the kind that made him feel weirdly lightheaded and reckless, the kind that had no business being on the face of someone who usually spent his nights overanalyzing until he passed out.

By the time sleep finally dragged him under, the taste of Regulus was still ghosting his lips, and it made him feel stupidly giddy—like he was fourteen again, but worse, because he actually knew how dangerous this could be.

And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t care.

 

When Remus woke the next morning, Regulus was already up, posture relaxed but intent like a dictator reviewing state secrets—except it was just his camera roll. He was leaned back against the headboard, knees drawn up, scrolling with the precision of someone hunting for evidence. One hand was occupied with his phone; the other rested casually on Remus’s arm like it had a permanent claim there.

“Hi,” Regulus said when he caught Remus stirring beside him, his tone light but his eyes still a little heavy from sleep.

“Hi,” Remus murmured back, his voice scratchy as he stretched against the sheets, blinking at the streaks of sunlight slicing through the curtains. The warmth felt too bright, too sharp—like the universe had decided to spotlight his half-awake face and scream in surround sound: YOU KISSED. YOU FUCKING KISSED.

“You good?” he asked, trying for casual but failing miserably, because his brain was still running last night’s scenes on a loop like the world’s most emotionally reckless slideshow.

Regulus glanced up from his phone, a slow, small smile tugging at his mouth—the kind that looked private, like he was letting Remus in on a secret no one else got to hear. “Yeah,” he said, tone almost lazy. “I’m good.”

And maybe it was the light, or the smug glint in his eyes, or the way his thumb absentmindedly brushed against Remus’s skin, but good sounded like a loaded word. Like it didn’t just mean fine. Like it meant I remember last night too, and I’m not sorry.

Remus swallowed, still pretending he wasn’t in danger of grinning like an idiot. “Good,” he echoed, quieter.

Regulus looked back at his phone, but the corners of his mouth didn’t drop. Not even a little.

They’d been watching all the videos from last night on Regulus’s phone—Remus rolling his eyes, Regulus gasping every five seconds like he hadn’t been at the damn concert in the first place and recorded every frame himself—until Remus decided he was going to lose his mind without nicotine. And maybe a greasy breakfast, because even his werewolf metabolism couldn’t pretend he wasn’t a little hungover.

“I wanna smoke too,” Regulus announced, like it was some noble declaration, and the two of them peeled themselves out of the warmth of the bed.

The balcony air hit them like a slap—cold, damp, rain still coming down in fine sheets. Remus winced and cast a quick warming charm, followed by one to keep the rain from soaking them.

“I love magic,” Regulus sighed, lighting up a cigarette for Remus with that stupid little flourish like he was some tragic poet.

“I’d kill for coffee,” Remus groaned, leaning his elbows on the railing and taking his first drag. “You think Sirius and Crouch are up yet?”

Regulus wrinkled his nose. “Dunno. Kinda hope Barty finally made a move, though, instead of just thirsting over Sirius like a creep.”

Remus made a vague, noncommittal sound and mentally cursed the fact that Regulus had no idea Sirius and Barty were already together. That little revelation was going to be a whole Greek tragedy when it came out—full meltdown, probably involving phrases like ‘unhinged heathens’ and ‘betraying my trust by not telling me.’

“Maybe,” he said instead of spilling the truth. “But you’re… fine with that?”

“You mean my best friend and my brother?” Regulus asked, deadpan. “Yeah, Lupin, I am.”

Remus snorted, taking another drag. He was one hundred percent sure Regulus was lying through his perfect teeth. The eventual blow-up was practically guaranteed.

“Right,” Remus said, keeping it neutral. Then, after a beat: “But you wanna… tell them?” His voice came out more nervous than he’d like, which was humiliating.

Regulus frowned, giving him a sideways look. “Dunno. I mean… we both know. I’m not into people turning it into a circus.” His voice slowed on the last word, like it had edges.

Remus nodded, keeping his face neutral and perfectly unreadable—at least on the outside. Inside? Inside, he was screaming. Because apparently, he’d just walked himself into the same miserable dance Regulus had done with his ex secret boyfriend, and he hated it more than he was ready to admit.

“And Evan,” Regulus added casually, “will probably try to kill me.”

“Reg,” Remus groaned.

“I mean it,” Regulus said, huffing out smoke. “Even if I won fairly.”

“…Come again?” Remus raised an eyebrow, the cigarette pausing halfway to his mouth.

Regulus smirked like he was enjoying the setup. “I denied liking you for so long that Evan eventually stopped believing it. And he still likes you. And we maybe, sort of, definitely waited for you to choose.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope.”

Remus just stared at him for a beat, then another, the rain-damp air feeling suddenly too thin.

“You waited for me to choose?” he repeated, slow and flat, like maybe Regulus would hear how stupid it sounded if he broke it into small enough syllables.

Regulus shrugged, taking another drag like this was all just normal Saturday-morning balcony chat. “Pretty much.”

“And you didn’t think to—oh, I don’t know— tell me?” Remus asked, incredulous.

“What would be the fun in that?” Regulus shot back, smirking like this was some kind of game.

Remus blinked at him, then looked away, muttering something under his breath in Welsh that was probably illegal to print. “Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.”

Regulus leaned against the railing, smug as sin. “You’re overreacting.”

“Overreacting? You and your mate basically entered me in a Hunger Games without consent—”

“It’s not that deep, Lupin.”

Remus turned to glare at him, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. “Not that deep? Regulus, you’ve met Rosier. He probably has a spreadsheet for murder methods by now.”

Regulus actually laughed at that—small, sharp, delighted—and for a moment, Remus hated how much he liked the sound.

“You’ll survive,” Regulus said, flicking ash over the railing like some noir movie lead. “Besides, you chose me, didn’t you?”

That stopped Remus dead. “I—”

Regulus’s smirk widened just a fraction, like he’d caught him in a trap.

Remus exhaled smoke, dragging a hand down his face. “God help me, you are insufferable.”

“And yet,” Regulus said, tipping his head with mock-innocence, “here you are.”

Remus shot him another look, the kind that could cut glass. “Yeah, but I was never choosing,” he said.

Regulus’s brows pulled together, suspicion flickering. “Huh?”

“I mean,” Remus went on, leaning back against the railing like he wasn’t slowly imploding, “that Rosier was never an option.” His voice stayed steady—miraculously steady—despite feeling like some lovesick teenage idiot about to blurt out his crush in the middle of the cafeteria. “Like, I never liked him.”

Regulus’s mouth twitched into a slow, dangerous smirk. “Oh? Continue.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but he did. Because apparently he was going for mature honesty this morning, which was just begging for trouble. “I like you, alright? For a while now. And I had no idea Evan Rosier existed as anything other than some background Slytherin lurking around in the same three corners of the castle for years. So, yeah, I wasn’t choosing. I just want you.”

Regulus tilted his head, eyes locked on him like he was dissecting every word, every micro-expression. And just when Remus thought he might get a smug little “knew it” or some cutting remark to file under Things Regulus Says That Keep Me Up at Night—

Regulus kissed him.

No warning, no pause—just closed the gap and shut him up before Remus had the chance to ramble himself into a grave. Which, honestly, was a blessing. Saved him from further humiliation, and from potentially drafting a full sonnet about Regulus’s cheekbones, which had been threatening to happen since last night.

The kiss was brief, but there was a sharp finality to it, like Regulus was stamping his claim and daring the world to argue. When he pulled back, there was the faintest trace of a grin still curling his lips, as if to say, well, that settles that.

And Remus—god help him—couldn’t even pretend to be mad about it.

“You’re weirdly good at it for someone who barely speaks sometimes,” Regulus hummed, eyes still fixed on whatever he was scrolling.

Remus shot him a look. “Shut up before I Obliviate you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

And Regulus, miraculously, didn’t. Just leaned a little into his side and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, I like when my boys threaten me. Which Remus decided, for his own sanity, not to unpack this morning.

One hour later—after Regulus took his sweet time getting ready and Remus checked that Sirius and Barty were still dead to the world—they decided to head out for breakfast.

Regulus had dressed like he was expecting to bump into his mortal enemy on the street: long leather coat, insultingly perfect loose-fit jeans, a dark green sweater that looked far too soft for someone so sharp-edged, and boots polished within an inch of their life. He was babbling about ten more concerts he wanted to see (“because the bands are immaculate”), and Remus just let him talk. And hold his hand. Yeah—he let him do that too.

He even let Regulus drop his head on his shoulder while they were standing in line at the café down the street, waiting to order.

“Hey,” Regulus mumbled into his shoulder.

“What?”

“What if you, like… can see what I’m thinking?” His tone was completely serious.

“…What?”

“You see the top of my skull. What if you see what I’m thinking?”

“That literally doesn’t make any sense, Reg,” Remus said, half-baffled, half-amused.

Regulus sniffed, utterly unfazed. “Maybe. But what if you’ve got some Occlumency skills for tall people, and now you’re reading my mind?”

“I’m shite at Occlumency.”

That made Regulus lift his head, eyes narrowing like he’d just been told the sky was fake. “Really?”

“Yeah. Tried once with Lily and failed—spectacularly.”

“Hmpf.”

“What?”

“I’m good at it,” Regulus said, matter-of-factly, dripping with that infuriating Black family certainty.

“Don’t get into my head or I’m hexing you,” Remus said, flat.

“Buy me a tea and I won’t,” Regulus replied, smug as sin.

Remus ended up buying him the tea. Of course he did. And a croissant, because apparently Regulus “couldn’t possibly” survive on just caffeine after last night’s drinking.

They’d just settled into a corner table—Regulus perched elegantly like this was some Parisian sidewalk café instead of a slightly sticky booth—when Sirius and Barty stumbled in.

Stumbled was the right word. Sirius’s hair looked like it had been in a duel with a hairdryer and lost. Barty had that freshly-kissed flush that no amount of coffee could hide, and they were walking just a little too close for two blokes who were “just mates.”

Regulus froze mid-sip.

Remus saw it happen—the exact moment his brain clicked.

Sirius spotted them and grinned like the world’s most irritating older brother. “Morning, sweethearts,” he drawled, sliding into the seat opposite. Barty followed, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else than under Regulus Black’s laser beam stare.

“Morning,” Remus said, way too casual.

Regulus didn’t say anything. Which was infinitely worse.

He just leaned back, tea cup in hand, gaze flicking from Sirius to Barty and back again. It wasn’t the angry look yet—it was the processing look. The one that meant he was drawing up mental blueprints for later destruction.

“So,” Sirius said, oblivious as ever, “sleep well?”

Remus coughed into his coffee. Regulus’s smile was slow, dangerous, and made Barty visibly flinch.

“Perfectly,” Regulus said. “I see you did too.”

Sirius grinned wider. “Best night in a while.”

Barty kicked him under the table so hard Remus felt the thunk through the floor.

Regulus took another sip of tea. “Mm. I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it. In great, excruciating detail.”

That was the exact moment Remus decided they were all going to die before the bill even came.

Sirius was either too cocky or too stupid to notice the danger signs—probably both. 

“Oh, you know me, Reg. I don’t kiss and tell.”

Regulus’s eyebrow arched like a guillotine blade. “Since when?”

Barty choked on his coffee. Remus pretended to butter his croissant like his life didn’t depend on staying invisible right now.

“Since now,” Sirius said, leaning back, smirking. “Besides, maybe I don’t need to tell you. Maybe you already know.”

Regulus tilted his head, the faintest curl of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, I know something,” he said. “I’m just wondering how much rope you’ll give yourself before you hang.”

Barty visibly shrank in his seat. “Arch—”

“No, no,” Regulus cut him off, all polite venom. “I’d love to hear your version, Crouch. Tell me, did you finally manage to touch him without combusting, or are we still in ‘meaningful glances across the battlefield’ territory?”

Remus nearly inhaled a piece of croissant. Sirius looked like he’d just been handed free front-row tickets to the apocalypse.

Barty groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “You are impossible.”

“And you’re transparent,” Regulus replied, sipping his tea like a man enjoying a perfectly brewed cup while the room burned down around him.

Remus decided this was his cue to at least attempt diplomacy. “Alright, can we all agree that we’re not doing murder over breakfast?”

“No promises,” Regulus murmured, not even looking at him.

Barty shot Remus a help me look. Sirius just grinned wider.

“Well, that’s going great,” Remus muttered, taking a slow sip of his tea.

“It is,” Sirius said, all smug grin and zero shame. “And how’s it going for you, Moony?” he asked, stealing a hash brown right off Barty’s plate like the absolute menace he was.

“Peachy,” Remus replied, face unreadable, sliding straight into secrecy mode like it was second nature.

“And for you?” Sirius turned his attention to Regulus.

“Great. I’m already planning which of your records I’m going to take when I finally kill you,” Regulus replied, deadpan.

Barty shot a look at Sirius, then Regulus. Hopeless. Powerless. Utterly smitten with the older Black while being actively threatened by the younger.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sirius said with a casual shrug.

“Could you be any more obvious?” Regulus narrowed his eyes, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.

“I mean… yeah,” Sirius said, shifting to sit closer to Barty in a way that was, frankly, borderline obscene in its blatantness.

Remus just gave up. He went back to his croissant with a soft sigh— his first mistake.

Because Regulus’s head snapped toward him so fast his curls bounced. “You knew?” he asked, voice flat.

“I don’t know anything,” Remus replied, voice even flatter.

“Lupin.”

“Black.”

“What. Do. You. Know.”

Remus didn’t flinch. That was important. Flinching was blood in the water with Regulus Black.

 “I know Sirius is unbearable in public,” he said evenly.

“That’s not an answer,” Regulus shot back.

“It’s my answer.”

Regulus stared at him for three solid seconds, eyes narrowed like he was rifling through every single conversation they’d ever had, searching for a crack. “You’re lying.”

“And you’re paranoid,” Remus said, calm as stone.

“Mm.” Regulus leaned back against the booth, crossing his arms. “Paranoia’s just pattern recognition people don’t like.”

Sirius, the world’s least helpful older brother, grinned into his coffee. “Careful, Moony. He’s got that look—like when he’s about to hex someone for breathing wrong.”

“Shut up,” Regulus and Remus said at the same time, both shooting him the same warning glare.

Barty was trying very hard to look interested in his plate of eggs, which was the only reason he wasn’t actively choking on awkwardness.

Regulus turned back to Remus, lowering his voice so only he could hear. “If you ever keep something from me, Lupin—”

“You’ll what?” Remus asked, too steady, because letting Regulus know he was getting to him would be a rookie mistake.

Regulus’s mouth curved in the faintest, most infuriating smirk. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

Then, like nothing had happened, he plucked a piece of Remus’s croissant without breaking eye contact, bit into it, and chewed slow—because of course he would.

“I’m feeling tension here,” Sirius announced, far too loudly for the size of the table.

“Between your own ears, probably,” Regulus shot back without missing a beat. Remus rolled his eyes for good measure—someone had to keep the peace, or at least the illusion of it.

If Sirius hadn’t figured out a year ago that Remus had once had a crush on him, he sure as hell wasn’t going to figure out whatever-this-was between Remus and Regulus. So if Regulus wanted to keep it quiet, fine. Remus was already a master of secrets—hidden werewolf, complicated feelings, the works.

“Can you two shut up?” Remus said flatly. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“Seconded,” Barty muttered, shoving another forkful of food into his mouth.

“You—shut up,” Regulus pointed at him, deadly serious. “I’m not done with you.”

“Kinky,” Barty smirked without even looking up.

“Crouch,” Regulus growled, the kind of growl that made people reconsider life choices.

“You’re disgusting,” Sirius told Barty.

Barty raised an eyebrow, calm as a saint. “That’s new.”

“Oh, bite me,” Sirius huffed.

“Not here,” Barty shot back instantly.

“I’m going to kill you both,” Regulus muttered, glaring like he was already picturing the crime scene.

And then—because he was nothing if not theatrical—he went right for the jugular.
“How long have you two been shagging,” he asked, voice deceptively even, “and why the fuck didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Since June,” Sirius said casually, like they were talking about the weather.

Regulus’s eyes went wide. “You’re screwing my best friend for three months and you didn’t tell me?”

Sirius nodded, completely unfazed. “Your reaction right now? Exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

“This is betrayal,” Regulus declared, slamming his palm against the table for emphasis. “Pure. Fucking. Betrayal.”

Barty coughed into his coffee to hide a laugh, but the corners of his mouth gave him away.

“You’re lucky I like you,” Regulus added, narrowing his eyes at him. “Because if I didn’t, I’d hex you into next week and frame Lupin for it.”

“Hey,” Remus muttered, but no one was listening anymore.

Chapter 18: he knew exactly what he was doing

Two of them spilled out of the café into the thin air and damp sunlight, leaving Sirius and Barty still inside. Regulus was muttering curses under his breath like he was cataloguing new ones for later use.

“You’ve been doing this the whole time,” Remus said after about half a block.

“What?” Regulus snapped.

“Rehearsing ways to murder them.”

Regulus didn’t even deny it. “You think I’m wasting my breath? I’m narrowing it down to the most poetic option. Theatrical death. The kind where they write songs about me.”

“You want songs?” Remus raised an eyebrow. “About you killing your brother and your best friend?”

“Yes,” Regulus said without hesitation. “Preferably something in a minor key.”

Remus snorted. “You’re insane.”

“Insanely betrayed,” Regulus corrected, jabbing a finger into Remus’s arm for emphasis. “Three months. Three entire months, Lupin, of them sneaking around like—like—”

“Like you and me right now?”

Regulus’s mouth snapped shut so fast it was a miracle his teeth didn’t chip. He glanced at him sidelong, expression darkening. “That’s different.”

“It’s exactly the same,” Remus said, deadpan.

“It’s different,” Regulus repeated, slower, like he could will it into truth. “Because I’m not Sirius. And you’re not Crouch. And—”

“And?” Remus prompted, half-smirking now.

“And I would’ve told myself if I was me,” Regulus muttered.

“That doesn’t even—” Remus broke off, because Regulus had just slipped his hand into his without looking, his grip warm despite the chill in the air.

“You’re still going to have to tell them eventually,” Remus said.

Regulus scoffed. “Eventually is a meaningless word. It could mean tomorrow, it could mean never. I’m leaning toward never.”

“Of course you are.”

Regulus gave him a sidelong look, all sharp edges and quiet satisfaction. “But until then, Lupin… we’re going to be so much better at hiding it than they are.”

Remus just sighed, “Obviously,” but he squeezed Regulus’s hand back anyway. “So what do you wanna do?” he asked. “We’ve still got, like, a few hours before we can be sure Pads won’t puke on himself before he’ll start drinking again.”

Regulus sniffed. “He can puke on himself for all I care. Because I don’t care.”

“Sure you don’t,” Remus mocked. “That’s why you’re currently trying to break my fingers.”

“Shut up. You’re promoted to my emotional support teddy bear.”

“Like… Mr. Cuddler?” Remus asked, all innocence and bad intentions.

Regulus actually stopped walking. “What,” he said, flat.

“You know, the teddy bear you had when you were a kid?”

Regulus’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know about that?”

“Sirius told us. Last month,” Remus replied, smug as hell, finally cashing in on a piece of intel he’d been saving for a perfect, devastating moment exactly like this.

Regulus stared at him for a long beat, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “That bastard,” he muttered. “And you—” his eyes flicked to Remus— “you’ve been sitting on this information like a vulture, just waiting to swoop in?”

“Absolutely,” Remus said, unrepentant.

Regulus shook his head in disbelief, but there was the faintest upward twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I hate you.”

“Do you, though?” Remus smirked.

Regulus tilted his chin up, aiming for dignity—even though his ears were definitely pinker than Remus’s ever got.

“A little bit,” he said eventually. “But I just won over the person the entire damn school is thirsting after, so I guess I’ll have to survive you.”

Remus snorted. “The whole school? Now you’re delusional.”

Regulus shot him an unimpressed look. “Please. I don’t know a single person who doesn’t think you’re hot.”

“Reg—”

“No, really,” Regulus went on, annoyingly sincere. “You know Barty had a crush on you once?”

Remus actually choked—on air, on life, on everything. “What?”

“Mhm. Last year, when you two had Herbology together. He kept saying you looked hot fighting for your life with cursed plants.”

“That’s… oddly specific,” Remus said, still trying to wrap his head around it.

“I know. He had a vendetta against Russo ever since you two started dating,” Regulus added, lips curling in smug satisfaction.

Remus shot him a look. “We’re not going there.”

“And why not?”

“Because,” Remus said, like that was enough explanation for anything. “Now shut up. We’re going to do something painfully romcom-coded.”

Regulus blinked. “What—”

Remus was already tugging him toward the vintage bookshop across the street.

“But I want to talk about—”

“Shut. Up,” Remus cut in again, dragging him inside before Regulus could weaponize another piece of absurd gossip.

The bell over the door gave a cheerful little chime as they stepped inside, and the smell hit them instantly—old paper, polished wood, and the faintest whiff of dust. It was the kind of shop where the shelves towered over you like quiet sentinels, the aisles narrow enough that two people brushing past would count as an incident.

Regulus immediately stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat like he wasn’t impressed—though Remus caught the quick flick of his eyes taking in the place.

“This is painfully romcom-coded,” Regulus muttered, gaze skimming over a stack of novels with dramatic floral covers.

“That’s the point,” Remus replied, already wandering toward the section marked Classics.

Regulus didn’t follow at first. Instead, he lingered by a table of hardcover reprints, picking one up and turning it over in his hands like he was evaluating whether it deserved to exist.

“You’re judging books by their covers,” Remus called over his shoulder.

“I am,” Regulus said, unapologetic. “It’s the only fair way.”

Remus huffed a laugh and shook his head, tracing a finger along the worn spines of battered paperbacks.

By the time Regulus finally drifted over, he’d acquired a slim poetry book with an offensively pretentious title.

“Buying it just so you can be seen reading it?” Remus asked.

“No,” Regulus said. “Buying it so I can underline all the lines that apply to you and leave it somewhere you’ll find it.”

Remus froze, halfway through pulling a book from the shelf, his pulse doing something very stupid in his throat. “You’re a menace.”

“I’m romantic,” Regulus corrected, smirking. “And tragic. But mostly romantic.”

Remus rolled his eyes, sliding the book back into place. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

Regulus leaned in just close enough that Remus could feel the brush of his sleeve. “I know,” he said, so quietly it barely counted as sound.

And then he drifted away again, leaving Remus standing there like an idiot in an aisle full of Brontës.

They stayed in the bookshop long enough for Regulus to start picking up random romances and reading the most painfully cringey love confessions in an absolutely deadpan tone, making Remus both laugh and groan. Once, he even had to bury his face in his sleeve because the wheeze escaped before he could stop it.

“Serious question,” Regulus said suddenly, after perfectly delivering a line about someone’s ‘soul burning brighter than the midsummer sun,’ and closing the book with a soft, deliberate thud. “Smash or trash: writing poetry?”

“Smash—if you’re not thirteen and on Tumblr,” Remus deadpanned, taking the book from him and shoving it back onto the shelf.

“You ever written any poems?” Regulus asked, tone dripping with fake innocence.

“No,” Remus said flatly, rolling his eyes. “I just read them and say I could write something better with my eyes closed. You?”

“Once,” Regulus nodded solemnly, like he was about to reveal a war story. “When I was twelve and found out Cissa was going to marry Malfoy. I felt bad for her—obviously—so I wrote her a poem and gave it to her at the engagement party. So she could at least have something nice from the whole disaster.”

Remus snorted. “Really?”

“Yep. She keeps it in her journal and everything,” Regulus replied, smug as sin.

Remus arched a brow. “Journal, huh?”

“Yes. Journal,” Regulus repeated with an exaggerated posh accent, as if he were correcting a peasant. “Because unlike you, she has taste.”

Remus gave him a flat look but was already fighting a smile. “Bet it rhymed ‘heart’ with ‘apart.’”

Regulus gasped, scandalized. “I’ll have you know I used a metaphor involving a dying star.”

“Oh, god,” Remus groaned. “Of course you did.”

“You’re just jealous I peaked at twelve,” Regulus said, smirking.

Remus snorted, but there was a warmth under his ribs that had nothing to do with the heating charms.

“You’re tragic,” Remus snorted.

“But you like me, right?” Regulus mocked, stepping closer, looking up at him through his lashes like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“I like you,” Remus replied—too easy, too smooth for someone who had spent weeks overthinking every accidental brush of hands. But he meant it. Every syllable.

Regulus grinned, sharp and pleased. “I like you too,” he said, and for half a second, it could’ve been disgustingly sweet. Then, because he was perfectly capable of ruining any cute moment in a five-mile radius—

“Now kiss me. I’m not about to tiptoe for a boy,” he said, completely deadpan.

Remus huffed out a laugh, shaking his head, but still leaned down because—tragic or not—he’d never been good at telling Regulus Black no.

He kissed him—slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world and was planning on wasting every second of it here, in the dusty quiet of a bookshop that smelled like old paper and rain-soaked coats.

Regulus kissed him back with that same infuriating mix of control and challenge, fingers curling lightly in the front of Remus’s jumper like he was daring him to try harder. Which, of course, worked.

The faint creak of the floorboards reminded them there were other people in the shop. Regulus pulled back first, just barely, eyes glittering with that smug I-win look.

“You’re staring,” he murmured, like he hadn’t just been halfway to climbing him.

“You’re impossible,” Remus countered, though it came out softer than intended.

“Yet here you are,” Regulus said, turning away like nothing happened and drifting toward another bookshelf—only to pluck a book from the romance section and hold it up with mock sincerity. “Shall I read this one aloud? Or are you too distracted?”

“You’re not reading anything in that voice again,” Remus warned, following him anyway.

Regulus smirked without looking back. “We’ll see.”

And just like that, they slid back into their ridiculous rhythm—teasing, circling, pretending it wasn’t a little dangerous to be this close in public while the air between them still hummed with the kiss.

“So what can you even do in Manchester?” Remus asked, stepping out of the bookshop with a grimace like the city had personally offended him. The drizzle hadn’t let up, and the air smelled like wet concrete and burnt sugar from the café across the street.

Regulus didn’t even look at him. “We could go to that ridiculous bridge and kiss.”

Remus blinked. “Sold.”

And that was it—plan made.

They walked like they had all the time in the world, Regulus talking at length about the Sirius and Barty Situation™ as if it were a true crime case. He was clearly still processing it—half outraged, half smug that his own relationship secrecy game was automatically superior.

They stopped for takeaway teas, bummed a cigarette off some kid outside a record shop just for dun, and shared it. If you ignored the way their fingers brushed too much when passing it back, or how Regulus’s mouth still tasted faintly like peppermint when Remus kissed him at a red light, it could almost pass for their usual not-quite-friendship.

“I mean,” Regulus said, scowling as he exhaled smoke, “I wouldn’t even have to be dramatic if they’d just told me.”

Remus shot him a sidelong look. Honestly? Regulus was lucky he was unfairly good-looking. This much whining from anyone else and Remus would’ve been tempted to walk into oncoming traffic.

“You don’t have to be dramatic now either,” he said, voice maddeningly calm.

“Oh, shut up. You knew all along.”

“I’ve only known for, like, two weeks,” Remus replied. “And only because Sirius thought the perfect way to torture me was to talk about Crouch like he’d invented the Jägerbomb.”

Regulus’s mouth twitched, like he was physically restraining a laugh. “It is kind of the perfect way to torture you.”

“Reg.”

“You get all… twitchy.”

“Twitchy,” Remus repeated, staring at him flatly.

“Whenever someone brings up relationships,” Regulus said, smug enough that Remus could practically hear the italics.

Remus decided to wipe that expression clean off his face. “Bold words from someone who dumped a boyfriend purely because it was getting official.”

Regulus’s head snapped around so fast his curls bounced. “How’d you know that?”

“I just do.”

“You know who it was?” Regulus narrowed his eyes, suddenly suspicious.

“No.” Remus rolled his eyes.

Regulus kept squinting at him like he was decoding an encrypted file. “Are you lying again? I genuinely can’t tell.”

“I’m not,” Remus sighed.

They walked in silence for a few seconds before Regulus muttered, “You’re infuriating.”

“And yet,” Remus said mildly, “you’re still here.”

Regulus sniffed, clearly deciding this was not the hill he was dying on. “I’m only still here because I plan to kiss you on that bridge and I refuse to waste the walk.”

The bridge loomed ahead, slick with rain, the ironwork glistening under the dull orange streetlights. The wind was sharp, biting through their coats and making Remus pull his collar up.

Regulus stopped halfway across, looking out over the swollen river rushing below, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his breath fogging in the cold air.

“You know,” he said, voice low, “I hate this.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “The bridge?”

“No. The whole ‘let’s act like we’re in some tragic indie movie’ thing.” Regulus turned to look at him, eyes half-lidded, like he was daring Remus to call his bluff.

Remus smirked. “Yeah, because it’s so unlike us to be a mess.”

Regulus rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “It’s just…” He ran a hand through his curls, frustration flickering across his face. “I don’t want this to be a thing where everyone’s watching and judging. I’m tired of playing the part of the ‘damaged pretty boy’ who’s too stubborn to admit he’s soft for someone.”

Remus stepped closer, dropping his voice. “Well, congratulations, you’re not doing a very good job at hiding it.”

Regulus’s smirk cracked, genuine for once. “Because I like you,” he admitted, blunt as a slap. “More than I probably should.”

Remus’s heart sped up. “I like you too. More than I should, definitely.”

They stood close enough for the rain to mix on their skin, breath mingling in the cold.

Regulus reached out and grabbed Remus’s hand, fingers tightening around his like a lifeline. “So, kiss me.”

Remus’s laugh was rough, a little desperate. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Their lips met—hungry, fierce, the world falling away until all that existed was the sharp taste of cigarette smoke and the warmth spreading through Remus’s chest despite the cold.

When they finally pulled apart, Regulus rested his forehead against Remus’s shoulder. “See? Not so tragic.”

“More like painfully ridiculous,” Remus muttered, but his grin was too soft to argue.

Regulus just chuckled, squeezing his hand again. “Perfect.”

“Besides,” Regulus added, looking up at him, “I don’t want to be the reason Potter commits suicide.”

Remus shot him a look. “He won’t.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Regulus said, leaning against the railing. “He can only do that to look dramatic. He’s been extra brooding since I turned him down.”

Remus slid closer and offered him a cigarette from his pack. “He’s saying he’s over you,” he said, popping the cigarette between his lips and letting Regulus light it for him.

Regulus raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“Fine,” Remus grimaced. “He said he’s almost over you. And gave me this whole speech about ‘being fine’ with you and me.”

“He did?”

“Mhm. Kind of dramatic. We hugged.”

“Who hugged who?” Regulus squinted.

“I hugged him,” Remus rolled his eyes. “He started acting like himself again, so… yeah.”

Regulus hummed. “That’s… nice.”

“Yeah, well. Apparently, we’re not about to fight over a boy, even if you’re the boy,” Remus shrugged, flicking ash down to the river below.

“He said that, or you said that?”

“He.”

“Would you?”

“Would I what? Say that?”

“Fight, you idiot.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “What are you, a damsel in distress?”

Regulus scoffed, but his eyes were warm. “Look, I don’t want any part of a circus. I’m just tired of everyone treating this like some game or competition.”

Remus nodded slowly. “Yeah. Me too. I just want it to be simple, you know? No hiding, no weird tension.”

Regulus leaned his head on Remus’s shoulder, quieter now. “We’re lucky we don’t have to do this the hard way.”

Remus glanced down at him, fingers curling around Regulus’s hand. “Yeah, we are.”

For a moment, the noise of the city fell away, and it was just the two of them—two messed-up kids trying to figure out how to stop overthinking everything and just be.

Regulus broke the silence with a low chuckle. “So. What now?”

Remus smiled, the kind that reached his eyes. “Now? We keep pretending like we’re just friends who kiss in public and hold hands when no one’s looking.”

Regulus grinned, biting back a laugh. “The most mature plan I’ve ever heard.”

Remus bumped his shoulder. “Hey, if it works, it works.”

They stayed like that a while longer—teasing, talking, and stealing small moments of peace—before the city pulled them back into its chaos. But for now, it was enough.

“Don’t tell anyone I let you kiss me on the bridge,” Regulus said suddenly, as if the thought had just struck him and he couldn’t possibly allow the crime to go unpunished. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

“You literally told me to kiss you,” Remus reminded him, deadpan.

Regulus’s mouth curved in that infuriating little smirk. “Sure, but who do you think they’ll believe? The boy with the perfect face and an immaculate record of public denial… or you?”

“You’re insufferable,” Remus muttered, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

“I know. But rumor has it I’m also devastatingly pretty,” Regulus said, tossing his hair like a Victorian debutante.

“Rumor also says you can’t go a single day without hexing someone.”

“That is slander,” Regulus gasped, clutching his chest as though Remus had struck him. “I haven’t hexed anyone since Snape. Which, for the record, is a whole week. Practically sainthood.”

“And why, exactly, did you hex him?” Remus arched an eyebrow.

“Because,” Regulus said, taking a long drag and then lazily exhaling toward the grey Manchester sky, “he might have started to… vaguely imply… that he’s plotting revenge on us for catching him with McNair and, you know, documenting the moment forever.”

Remus smirked. “So you did hex him for me.”

“No, you narcissist. I hexed him before he even had the chance to start rambling about one of his unhinged little theories.”

Remus’s eyes narrowed. “What theories?”

Regulus glanced at him briefly, then turned back to the river as if the water was fascinating. “Nothing important.”

Which, translated from Regulus Black’s dialect, meant: absolutely important, probably dangerous, and directly connected to the fact that Snape has been trying to convince half the castle you’re secretly a werewolf.

Which… okay, he wasn’t wrong.

And now Remus was ninety percent sure Regulus knew.

And was just… sitting on it.

Which—fuck it.

“Never mind,” Regulus said casually, flicking his cigarette butt into the water like it hadn’t just set off an entire mental minefield in Remus’s head. “Come on. We’re supposed to get drunk again tonight, and I plan to make it memorable.” He hooked his fingers around Remus’s sleeve and tugged him forward without looking back.

Remus followed, his body moving on autopilot while his brain was busy running the same loop: he knows , he knows , why hasn’t he said anything , he’s waiting for something , shitshitshit , what is he waiting for , fuck.

Regulus glanced back once, catching him mid-thought, and smirked like he could read every word on his face.

“Try to keep up, Lupin,” he said, striding ahead like the pavement belonged to him.

Chapter 19: unexpected romantic revelations sandwiched between shots and street food

Remus, coward since the womb, didn’t say a single word. In fact, he made the immediate executive decision to act like the last three minutes on the bridge had never happened. Erased. Deleted from the timeline. He wasn’t about to let his maybe-boyfriend— were they boyfriends? were they official? or just… whatever this was? god, he needed a press conference and a signed declaration —blow his cover within the first twenty hours of… whatever this was. Or at all, preferably.

So when they slid into the booth across from Sirius and Barty—who, somehow, looked even more smug than usual—Remus pretended he was perfectly fine. Which, obviously, he was. Absolutely fine. Completely not spiraling.

“So, what were you two doing?” Sirius grinned like a man who knew far too much and enjoyed it. Remus deeply regretted the life choices that had led to him ever admitting he liked Regulus. He regretted it on a cellular level.

But he was also an unregistered werewolf, a Marauder, and had a poker face etched into his DNA. So if Regulus wanted secrecy? Fine. He’d play the game.

“Bookshop,” he replied simply. “You lot?” He glanced at them with manufactured disinterest.

“Movie theater. Whiskey in a Coke paper cup,” Sirius said proudly, like that was the pinnacle of sophistication.

Regulus immediately scowled. “Ugh.”

“What, Reggie?” Sirius tilted his head, wearing his most irritatingly smug big-brother expression.

“First, don’t call me that,” Regulus said flatly. “Second, don’t act like we’re perfectly fine. Third, don’t call me that.”

“You already said that,” Barty pointed out, sipping his drink.

“Die,” Regulus hissed, crossing his legs with the grace of someone ready to deliver a verbal execution. Then, with all the cold precision only Regulus Black could muster while still being a massive hypocrite, he turned to Sirius.

“I just wish you’d told me,” he said, his voice sharp but not raised, “instead of sneaking around when I already knew Barty liked you.”

Remus winced internally at the staggering level of irony in that statement.

“I mean… why didn’t you?” Regulus continued, eyes locked only on Sirius. Just Sirius.

Which was bad. That was Regulus’s fight or hug dramatically tone, and Remus was not emotionally prepared for either option.

“I’m going to smoke,” Remus announced abruptly, standing before anyone could rope him in.

“Yeah, me too,” Barty said, scrambling up like a man desperate to escape.

“Sit, coward,” Sirius ordered, yanking Barty back down by the sleeve.

Remus took the opportunity to flee before he had to deal with Regulus’s betrayed stare, Sirius’s guilty one, and Barty’s face, which looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. Even Filch’s office. Even Azkaban, probably.

The cold night air hit him like a blessing as he stepped outside, digging for his lighter. Behind him, through the glass, Regulus was already leaning forward, eyes narrowed, hands moving with that slow, deliberate grace that meant Sirius was about to either get verbally eviscerated or guilt-tripped into oblivion. Possibly both.

Remus lit his cigarette, exhaled smoke into the street, and told himself— lied to himself, really —that he was just going to stand out here until they’d moved on to a different subject.

He called his mum for a quick check-in and immediately regretted it. Fifteen minutes of it, two cigarettes gone, and he’d been hit with every variation of: “You’re good for the full moon, honey? You sure you don’t want to come back home?” and “I’m glad you had fun” and “I haven’t seen anything in the news about a fire in Manchester, so I’m guessing Sirius is behaving.”

By the end, Remus was standing outside the pub with his phone tucked between his ear and shoulder, staring at the smoke curling from his cigarette like it might carry him away.

That was when Sirius slipped out, moving with the stealth of someone who was definitely up to no good, and promptly stole the cigarette right from between Remus’s lips.

“Gotta go, Mum,” Remus muttered, glaring at him.

“Hi, Hope!” Sirius yelled toward the phone like he wasn’t mid-escape from Regulus’s wrath.

Remus hung up before his mum could ask about Sirius, lit another cigarette, and exhaled sharply. “He try to stab you with a straw?” he asked dryly.

Sirius’s grin faltered. “No. Worse. He guilt-tripped me.” He winced like the words tasted sour. “He’s good at it, you know? Little shit.”

“Of course he is,” Remus muttered, not even pretending to be surprised. “And Crouch?”

“Oh, you should’ve stayed for that one.” Sirius’s grin snapped back into place, sharp and delighted. “Reg is in there absolutely grilling him, calling him a traitor for hooking up with me in—” Sirius pitched his voice higher, sliding into a mocking imitation—“ our household, for fuck’s sake, Crouch, do you know you’ve literally insulted my entire bloody bloodline?” He added an exaggerated flick of the wrist for effect.

Remus let out a dry laugh and shook his head. “Jesus.” He took another drag. “But… you’re good?”

Sirius nodded, leaning against the wall. “Yeah, we’re good. I mean, he did threaten to tell our parents if I piss him off again, but we both know that’s not happening. Probably. Hopefully.”

“Comforting,” Remus deadpanned.

Sirius shrugged. “Could be worse. He could’ve hexed me.”

“Don’t tempt him,” Remus said, watching the door like Regulus might burst through at any second, black coat swirling, cigarette in hand, ready to eviscerate one or both of them.

Sirius smirked, like the thought didn’t scare him in the slightest. “Honestly, kind of hoping he does. Would break up the monotony.”

“You’re both exhausting,” Remus muttered, flicking ash toward the gutter.

From inside, faint but unmistakable, came the sharp sound of Regulus’s voice—fast, cutting, and relentless. Barty’s was a quieter, defensive murmur.

Sirius blew out a slow stream of smoke, grinning. “Ten more minutes and Barty will be begging for mercy.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not surprised,” Remus muttered, dragging on his cigarette.

“Aaaaand…” Sirius sing-songed, stepping closer with that infuriating grin. “You and Reg?” He wiggled his eyebrows like a cartoon villain.

Remus gave him the kind of deadpan look that could kill a lesser man. “Nothing’s changed,” he lied clean through his teeth. Sirius’s grin vanished in under a second.

“Oh.” Blink.

“Mhm.”

“You want me to… talk to him?” Sirius asked carefully, like he was offering a peace treaty.

Remus snorted. “Do I want you to play wingman about uyour younger brother?” He let the sarcasm drip. “Nah. I’m good. Peachy.”

Sirius sniffed in mock injury. “I could do that!”

“I’d die from embarrassment and humiliation.”

“Or you’d live happily ever after,” Sirius countered, eyes gleaming.

“We’re not in Shrek.”

“Dunno, you kinda Fiona’d every full moon,” Sirius grinned.

“Oh, fuck off,” Remus laughed despite himself, shoving him in the shoulder. “You think we can go back in? I’m freezing my balls off here.”

“Yeah, fine,” Sirius said, crushing his cigarette under his boot. Remus did the same, and they pushed back inside, letting the warm, loud air of the pub wrap around them.

Regulus was mid-hiss at Barty—sharp, precise, and in a tone only snakes or masochists could understand—but cut himself off the moment Remus and Sirius slid back into the booth. His eyes were unreadable, his drink half-drained.

“I’m fine. Everything’s fine,” Regulus announced, voice flat but carrying enough venom to poison a small village. He took the longest, most aggressive sip known to mankind.

“Amazing,” Remus said dryly, because really, what else was there to say?

Under the table, though, his hand slid onto Regulus’s knee—just a quick, quiet squeeze. Subtle. Reassuring. Or at least, he hoped it came off that way. Regulus didn’t flinch, didn’t even look at him, but his knee nudged back against Remus’s like a coded message.

It wasn’t much, but for now, Remus would take it. And he’d pretend the slight upward twitch of Regulus’s mouth was for the drink. Not for him.

The pub was loud enough to make eavesdropping impossible, which, in Remus’s opinion, was the only reason this little disaster of a group outing was still functional. The air was thick with the smell of beer and fried chips, and someone at the bar was laughing loud enough to make the pint glasses vibrate.

Regulus was still perched in the booth like he was royalty who’d been forced to slum it for the evening, legs crossed, his pint in one hand and his other arm draped along the backrest. Barty had the good sense to look like he’d rather be anywhere else—his pint was untouched, and he was eyeing the door like it might open to reveal divine intervention.

Sirius, of course, thrived in chaos. He was leaning back, grinning at some story he hadn’t even started yet, looking like the human embodiment of trouble.

“You missed the best part,” Barty muttered to Remus without looking at him.

“Oh?” Remus took a sip of his drink, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Sirius jumped in, too eager to share. “Reg just accused Barty of—”

“I did not accuse,” Regulus cut in, slow and sharp. “I stated facts.”

“Right,” Sirius grinned wider. “He stated facts about Barty’s supposed—”

“Do you want to be buried under the floorboards of this pub?” Regulus asked sweetly, tilting his head like a cat sizing up a bird.

Sirius, to his credit, only laughed harder. “See? Pure entertainment.”

Remus was about to tell him to shut it when Regulus’s hand—hidden beneath the table—curled slightly on his thigh, nails pressing just enough through the fabric to make a point. Whether the point was shut Sirius up or don’t you dare laugh was unclear.

“So, Lupin,” Barty said suddenly, desperate to redirect. “You ever seen Reg play darts?”

“No,” Remus said slowly, suspicious. “Why?”

“Because,” Barty leaned forward, eyes darting to Regulus like he was poking a tiger with a stick, “he’s actually—”

“Unmatched,” Regulus finished smoothly, cutting him off. “Let’s play.”

Before Remus could protest, Regulus was sliding out of the booth with the kind of grace that suggested he was about to commit a minor war crime.

Sirius grinned. “Oh, you’re in for it, Moons. Watching him play darts is like… watching a Bond villain kill someone politely.”

Remus sighed, finishing the rest of his pint in one go. If Regulus was playing darts, that meant two things: he was in a mood, and someone—probably him—was about to get hustled.

The dartboard was tucked away in the back corner of the pub, near a sticky little round table and a wall plastered with faded gig posters from bands no one had heard of in twenty years. A single bulb hung overhead, giving the space that “cheap thriller interrogation room” lighting that suited Regulus far too well.

He plucked a set of darts from the rack with an air of disdain, as if their mere existence was beneath him. “Standard bar darts,” he muttered, testing the weight between his fingers. “Cheap. Badly balanced. Probably crooked.”

“You going to complain or play?” Sirius leaned against the wall, already smirking.

“I can do both,” Regulus replied, without looking at him.

Remus hung back, hands in his pockets, watching as Regulus stepped up to the line like a man about to execute an art form, not throw tiny spears at a cork circle. Barty shuffled awkwardly beside Sirius, muttering something under his breath about knowing where this was going.

Regulus threw the first dart. Bullseye. Clean. Effortless.

“Beginner’s luck,” Sirius said immediately.

The second dart hit another bullseye.

“Alright, that’s suspicious,” Barty said, staring.

The third? Dead center again.

Regulus finally turned, smug as a cat in a birdcage factory. “Shall I get you a pint now, or after you’ve embarrassed yourselves?”

Sirius’s grin faltered just enough for Remus to catch it. “We’re playing teams. Me and Moony versus you and Crouch.”

Regulus arched an eyebrow at Remus like I dare you.

Remus, being an idiot, said, “Fine.”

 

Two rounds later, Remus realised exactly what was happening: Regulus was hustling them without even trying. Every dart he threw was perfect, every smirk aimed like a weapon. He’d toss a casual comment at Remus—soft enough no one else could hear, but sharp enough to make his ears burn—then step up and nail another bullseye.

“You’re distracted,” Regulus murmured in passing, brushing past him to grab his next set.

“By what?” Remus asked, already regretting it.

“You know,” Regulus said, lips twitching. “Things.”

“Jesus Christ,” Remus muttered, and his next dart clanged pathetically against the metal rim.

Sirius howled with laughter. “Oh, Moony. He’s eating you alive.”

Barty, meanwhile, had stopped pretending to try and was just standing there, sipping his pint. “I’m on the winning team,” he said, shrugging. “I don’t care how we get there.”

By the time Regulus landed his fifth consecutive perfect shot, Sirius threw his darts onto the table in defeat.

“You’re a menace,” he told his brother.

Regulus only smiled, stepping close enough to Remus that Sirius couldn’t hear. “You want me to kiss it better?” he asked, low.

Remus swallowed. “You’re insufferable.”

“You like it,” Regulus replied, and walked away to collect his free pint from a thoroughly humiliated Sirius.

They slid back into the booth, and Sirius— because he was Sirius —produced a battered deck of cards from somewhere under the table like it was the most natural thing in the world, despite the fact that the pub was full of muggles and that was, in every legal sense, absolutely a crime.

“We’re not playing strip poker,” Remus and Barty said in perfect unison.

Sirius’s grin widened. Regulus promptly choked on his beer.

“You played strip poker with my brother?” he demanded, staring at Remus like he’d just confessed to a murder.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Remus said flatly, refusing to meet his eyes.

“You know, Reg—” Sirius started, clearly gearing up for the most obnoxious sentence possible.

Remus kicked him, hard, under the table. “Shut up.”

Sirius winced but only slightly. “Fine, Dad. Let’s play Doubt It.”

“Oh, I’m great at this,” Regulus said, sitting up straighter like the smug little prince he was.

“I’m awful at this,” Remus lied smoothly, tone mild as if it were gospel truth.

Sirius flicked him a knowing look, the kind that meant I see what you’re doing, and I endorse this chaos. Because the reality was, Remus was a stone-cold killer in Doubt It. His poker face could survive nuclear war.

Two rounds in, Barty was out of cards and halfway under the table with laughter. Sirius was glaring at Remus like he’d just witnessed a war crime. Regulus was clutching his cards in both hands, hair falling into his face, staring at the pile like it had personally insulted him.

“Two sevens,” Remus said calmly, laying his cards down without blinking.

“Bullshit,” Regulus said immediately.

Remus flipped them over. Two perfect sevens.

“Oh, you absolute—” Regulus bit off the rest, downed a shot, and picked up half the pile.

Sirius laughed so hard he spilled his drink. “Oh, this is beautiful. He’s wrecking you, Reg.”

“Shut up,” Regulus snapped, throwing down three eights.

Remus, still with that maddeningly neutral expression, said, “Doubt it.”

Three eights. Again.

Regulus’s jaw dropped. “How the—”

Remus only shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

It went on like that. Remus winning every call, sliding cards into the pile like he had divine intervention on his side. Regulus getting more and more unhinged with each round. By the time Remus “innocently” laid down “four jacks,” Regulus didn’t even hesitate.

“Liar.”

Four jacks.

Regulus slammed his palms on the table. “You are cheating.”

“Am I?” Remus asked, completely unreadable, sipping his beer like he hadn’t just mentally broken his boyfriend in front of everyone.

“Yes,” Regulus said, leaning across the table, pointing at him like an accusation could physically kill. “And when I figure out how, you’re dead.”

Remus smiled, slow and infuriating. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

Barty was wheezing so hard he nearly fell over. Sirius just sat back, smirking. “Well, this is romantic.”

Regulus was still glaring at the pile like he could set it on fire through sheer willpower. His beer sat untouched, his shot glass empty, and his pride in tatters.

“Alright,” he said finally, leaning back in the booth, all faux calm. “Fine. You win.”

Remus arched a brow. “That easy?”

“Mm-hm,” Regulus hummed, tucking his cards into the deck Sirius was shuffling. “Because I’m saving my energy for the long game.”

Remus gave him a mildly amused look, the kind that meant you’re bluffing and I know it. “Should I be worried?”

“Yes,” Regulus replied immediately, sharp and unblinking.

Barty perked up, leaning across the table. “Ooh, is this going to be one of your ‘plots’? I love those.”

“It’s not a plot,” Regulus said, without breaking eye contact with Remus. “It’s an act of balance in the universe. He humiliated me. Publicly.”

Remus snorted into his beer. “Publicly? This is hardly—”

“—And,” Regulus cut him off, voice going lower, “I don’t take humiliation well.”

Sirius, who had been shuffling lazily, perked up like a wolf catching the scent of blood. “What kind of payback are we talking? Because if it’s petty, I’m in. No questions asked.”

Regulus turned to him, smirking faintly. “You’re in.”

“I didn’t even hear the plan yet,” Sirius said.

“You don’t need to. You’ll like it.”

Barty leaned back, grinning. “This is going to be so good.”

Remus looked between them, unimpressed. “You all realise I’m sitting right here, yes?”

“Yes,” Regulus said again, too easily. “That’s the point.”

Sirius tossed the cards aside. “Okay, Reg, talk to me. What’s step one?”

“Step one,” Regulus said, finally taking a drink, “is to make him think he’s won.” He shot Remus a sugary smile that did nothing to hide the sharpness in his eyes. “Step two… is classified.”

“Classified,” Remus repeated dryly. “Right. And this isn’t a plot.”

“It’s justice,” Regulus corrected, crossing his arms. “There’s a difference.”

“Sure,” Remus said, tone so flat it was practically horizontal.

But later—when Regulus leaned back into the booth with that satisfied little curl of his mouth, when Sirius was already pulling out a notebook like he was drafting blueprints for a prison break, and when Barty muttered something about ‘acquiring props’—Remus got the sinking feeling that maybe, just maybe, he should be worried.

 

It started subtle.
Regulus began stacking the empty shot glasses in front of Remus instead of his own, one by one, until it looked like Remus was preparing for a Guinness World Record attempt. The waitress glanced over twice, and by the third look, it was clear she was mentally drafting a “cut him off” speech. Sirius nearly dislocated something trying not to laugh.

Then, Regulus swapped out Remus’s pint for Barty’s nuclear rum and coke when he wasn’t looking.
Remus took a sip, paused mid-swallow, and gave him the slowest, most suspicious side-eye.

“You’re up to something,” he said flatly.

Regulus widened his eyes in the most fake innocence anyone had ever seen. “I’m sitting here. Drinking. Being delightful. You’re paranoid.”

“Mm,” Remus said, still drinking.

By the next round, Sirius had taken it upon himself to perform increasingly obnoxious card tricks under the table, drawing the attention of the two guys sitting behind them. That turned into three tables watching. Then half the pub.
And, naturally, they all started rooting for Regulus to “wipe that smug look off Lupin’s face.”

Regulus loved it. Thrived in it. Every card drop was theatrical; every lie was delivered with the gravitas of a Shakespeare monologue.

Problem was, Remus still didn’t lose.

By round three, Regulus was hunched over the table like he was about to vault across it and throttle him.

“You’re cheating,” he hissed.

“I’m just better,” Remus said, voice maddeningly calm.

Barty, sipping his drink, muttered, “He’s going to kill you later.”

“No,” Regulus said without looking away from Remus, “I’m going to destroy him later.”

The crowd roared again when Remus called “Doubt it” and—of course—flipped over the exact card Regulus had claimed to play.

Regulus slammed his hands on the table hard enough to rattle the glasses. “This game’s rigged.”

“It’s literally not,” Remus said, collecting the pile with a serene smile that was so punchable in that moment.

“You’re dead, Lupin.”

The crowd loved it—wolf-whistles, clapping, someone shouting “TAKE HIS WALLET!” Sirius was nearly crying into his drink, and Barty just looked like he was filing the moment away for maximum future chaos.

Regulus sat back, arms crossed, glaring holes into Remus like sheer force of will could end him on the spot.

Remus only dealt the next hand.

When Remus, mid-call with Peter, picked up a hand from Sirius’s discarded pile and still managed to call out Regulus’s bluff without even blinking, Regulus let out a noise.

Not just a groan—no, this was a sound that was both profoundly un-human and so indecently suggestive that Remus’s face cracked into a grin before he could stop it.

“I’m done,” Regulus declared, tossing the rest of his cards onto the table like they were contaminated. The pub-goers roared with approval. “How the hell do you do that?” he hissed, leaning forward as if he could pry the secret out of Remus’s skull.

“How do I have brain cells I actually use? No idea,” Remus replied smoothly, earning a bark of laughter from Peter on the other end of the line.

“What the hell is going on over there?” Peter asked through the tinny speaker.

“Regulus’s downfall,” Remus said, holding Regulus’s gaze like it was a formal execution.

“I hope someone recorded that.”

“Pads did,” Remus confirmed.

“It’s on the Discord already!” Sirius shouted from two seats down, waving his phone.

Regulus downed two more shots for no reason other than sheer, theatrical ‘humiliation’—which, in Remus’s opinion, was wildly oversold. The man wasn’t humiliated; he just didn’t know how to lose like a normal person.

Half an hour later, when Sirius was too drunk to shuffle without dropping half the deck and Barty had somehow lifted some guy’s watch, the group finally staggered out of the pub.

Sirius was attempting to light a cigarette with the wrong end of the lighter. Barty was doubled over, laughing so hard it looked like an ab workout. Regulus was still radiating ‘deeply offended’ like it was an aura.

“I’m hungry,” Regulus announced to the world at large.

“I think I need to, like, puke,” Sirius announced in response. Then, as if it were a genius solution, “Or maybe drink some more.”

Remus and Barty exchanged a look that said this is our life now.

“I’m hungry too,” Barty decided.

“I’m not holding your boyfriend’s hair,” Remus said, jerking his chin toward Sirius. “That’s your job now.”

Regulus made a small, noncommittal hum—which, in Regulus-speak, probably translated to good, Lupin.

Barty sighed like a martyr and began dragging Sirius down the street toward the hotel, ignoring Sirius’s slurred protests of I wanna keep drinking, you dictator. Remus and Regulus peeled off in the opposite direction in search of food that wasn’t glowing.

Regulus walked beside him, weaving only slightly, still radiating both vodka fumes and residual game-loss fury. Remus, thanks to a mix of unshakable liar-skills and werewolf metabolism, was just mildly buzzed.

Then, to his absolute horror, Regulus broke the silence.

“I wanna be tall,” he said.

“Keep dreaming,” Remus replied without looking at him.

“Piggyback me,” Regulus said, stopping dead in the middle of the pavement.

“No,” Remus said instantly.

Exactly twenty seconds later, Remus was walking with Regulus on his back, because of course he was. He had no spine. No pride. No chance of ever saying no to this boy and meaning it.

Regulus rested his chin on Remus’s shoulder, smug as hell. “This is better than winning a card game.”

“Shut up,” Remus muttered, but his hands didn’t so much as twitch toward putting him down.

“No, really,” Regulus went on, full slurry, his breath warm against Remus’s neck and his hair tickling his jaw. “It’s nice. I like that you’re tall. Did you drink Skele-Gro when you were a kid?” he asked, dead serious. Or, as serious as someone could be when swaying slightly on someone else’s back.

“No. Genetics,” Remus sighed.

“God bless them,” Regulus hummed in approval. Then—“Wait, do you like your dad?”

Remus blinked. “What?”

“I mean, do you?” Regulus pressed, like this was a casual follow-up. “He’s a Ministry prick, so it’s a given you wouldn’t like him. Like Barty hates his.”

“I don’t hate mine,” Remus said. “Why would I?”

“Dunno.” Regulus sniffed, sounding oddly small for someone who had just spent an entire night glaring at him like a duel opponent. “I hate mine.”

Remus’s throat tightened. “Yeah. I know.”

“Your dad’s cool?” Regulus asked, like he wasn’t currently in the most unguarded position possible, mid-piggyback, clinging to Remus like a barnacle.

“I guess,” Remus said slowly.

“That’s cool. You think we can share him?”

“Reg—”

Regulus twisted his head just enough to meet his eye.

“Joking,” he rolled his eyes. “A little.”

Remus huffed. “Are you getting nostalgic on me right now?”

“No. I’m just drunk,” Regulus said solemnly. “I talk weird shit when I am.”

“Figured that much.”

“Hush.”

They walked in silence for a few blocks, the kind of silence where the air’s heavy but not uncomfortable. Remus was still trying to process whatever the hell just happened when Regulus decided to lob another conversational grenade at him.

“You know you can tell me things too, right?”

Remus swallowed. “I know.”

Regulus didn’t answer right away. His arms tightened slightly around Remus’s shoulders, grounding, steady. “Good,” he said eventually.

For a moment, Remus thought that—no matter how dramatic Regulus could be, no matter how often he weaponized a sulk—he was unexpectedly soft when it mattered. Soft in a way that made Remus want to hold on, even when he knew he should keep some distance.

Then—

“I still can’t believe they didn’t tell me they’re together,” Regulus huffed, breaking the spell so hard Remus almost tripped on the curb.

“Reg, I’m begging you,” Remus sighed, exasperated. “Don’t be a hypocrite.”

“I’m not!” Regulus huffed, raising his arms in protest and nearly pitching himself off Remus’s back. He tightened his grip like it was Remus’s fault he almost face-planted. “It’s not the same,” he added stubbornly.

“It is,” Remus sighed again, the long-suffering kind.

“Nope.” Regulus shook his head, hair brushing Remus’s cheek. “I mean—kinda, yeah, since I liked you before we started talking too, but—”

Remus stopped dead in the middle of the pavement. “What,” he said flatly.

“I—nothing?” Regulus replied, suddenly fascinated by the overcast sky like it had just started projecting a Shakespeare play.

“You liked me before?” Remus asked, voice climbing into incredulous territory.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You just did!”

“Keep walking, Lupin.”

“I stopped walking,” Remus said, still rooted to the spot. “I need to process that.”

Regulus finally glanced down at him, jaw tight like he’d just realised he’d stepped directly into a minefield of his own making. “I mean… shit,” he said, eloquent as ever.

“How long?” Remus pressed, still not moving.

“A while,” Regulus said, slow. And careful. Which was alarming, because Regulus Black did not do careful unless something was about to explode.

“Regulus,” Remus said, all warning.

Regulus stared at him for a beat, then sighed like a man admitting to treason. “Since last year,” he said finally. “When you broke up with Russo, give or take.”

Remus just stared at him, mind juggling the fact that he’d just found out Regulus had been quietly pining for almost a year while simultaneously being the most infuriating human alive.

“Give or take?” Remus asked eventually.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t date-stamp it,” Regulus snapped. “Sorry I didn’t log my emotional suffering for you in a neat little ledger.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re still carrying me,” Regulus shot back, smirking like he hadn’t just set Remus’s brain on fire.

“I have no idea what to do with that information,” Remus declared, still standing like he’d been hit by a slow-moving bus.

“Nothing. For the best,” Regulus said, voice perfectly flat, like he hadn’t just lobbed a year-old confession into Remus’s lap and walked away. “Just walk. My tummy hurts from lack of food.”

And Remus did. Because apparently, that was the only available option when someone confessed to liking you for a year while literally riding piggyback.

As they moved down the street, Remus tried to process the fact that—apparently—he’d had a miniature Slytherin fan club over the years and had been completely oblivious. Evan had apparently joined the roster in fourth year. Regulus in sixth. Barty, at some point in sixth, too.

Meanwhile, all Remus had been doing during those years was ignoring anyone in the castle who wasn’t his friend, keeping his head down, studying, and occasionally dating Theo Russo—completely unaware of how many people despised Theo for that exact reason.

They stopped in front of a dingy late-night pizza-slice booth, the kind that reeked of cheese and regret. Regulus slid down off Remus’s back with the dramatic drop of someone dismounting a horse at the end of a long journey.

They placed their order without a word, and then shuffled over to the curb to eat, blending in with the drunk club-goers who were doing the exact same thing—except those people probably weren’t working through unexpected romantic revelations sandwiched between shots and street food.

Remus bit into his slice, hot grease burning the roof of his mouth, and decided that if he thought about Regulus’s “since last year” comment too hard, he might actually combust. Regulus, of course, was eating like nothing of significance had passed his lips tonight, already halfway through his slice like he hadn’t just detonated a conversational landmine and wandered off.

“You’re overthinking,” Regulus said at some point, tearing off another bite of pizza like he wasn’t casually dismantling Remus’s sanity.

“That’s what I was born for,” Remus shot back.

Regulus gave him a look—mild interest, like Remus was some moderately watchable reality TV contestant he didn’t expect to root for but kept tuning in anyway. “No. You were born to be oblivious and emotionally unavailable while being hot.”

“Stop saying things like that,” Remus muttered, his ears heating in the least dignified way imaginable.

“No,” Regulus replied instantly, as if the concept of not saying things was physically repulsive to him. “I carried that crush in complete secrecy and someone needed to find out eventually.”

“Secrecy?” Remus asked, unimpressed.

“I couldn’t exactly tell Evan,” Regulus said, as flat as the pavement they were sitting on, “since he ‘called dibs’ on you when he was fourteen. So yeah. Secret.”

Remus exhaled sharply. “I can’t think about that without setting my brain on fire.”

Regulus glanced at him—quick, unsteady—and looked a little embarrassed. Which, frankly, was insane. Regulus Black did not do embarrassed.

“I mean,” Remus added quickly, before the moment could stretch, “I’m just in shock. I kinda thought you hated me.”

“I didn’t,” Regulus sniffed, as if that was beneath him. “You’re the most tolerable person out of the whole Gryffindor idiot parade. And Evans. But I’m not interested in boobs.”

“…Good to know,” Remus blinked.

“What I want to say,” Regulus continued, now inspecting the crust of his slice like it contained vital intelligence, “is that I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. And to say what I said at all. I’m blaming the alcohol.”

Remus snorted. “Of course.” And then—because he might not have liked Regulus for that long, but he definitely liked him too much—he said, “I’m glad you did, though. And I like you too. And you’re definitely the best one from the little fan club.” He nudged Regulus’s knee.

Regulus’s mouth twitched downward into what might have been a smile. “It’s really not little. You’d be surprised who’s thirsting over you when you’re just sitting in the library, pretending you’re above everyone.”

“Please, stop,” Remus huffed. “How do you even know that?”

“I have my ways,” Regulus replied, smugness restored to full capacity. “Now c’mon. Finish your slice and carry me back to the hotel. I’m getting sleepy.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “You’re not—” He cut himself off. Because twenty minutes later, he was in fact walking down the street with Regulus draped over his back like a smug, tipsy cat. His spine, both literal and metaphorical, had clearly never existed.

Chapter 20: just a teeny, tiny bit of fantasizing about Regulus Black

Remus was lying in the hotel bed, Regulus sprawled out beside him—one arm tucked under the pillow, a leg thrown over Remus’s as if he had a right to do it (and, of course, he absolutely did), hair a complete mess against the pillow—while Remus, slowly and inevitably, was losing his shit.

Because Regulus liked him. Regulus liked him —for months. If Remus was time-stamping it correctly, it had been since the beginning of this year. Eight bloody months before they even started talking. Eight months. Eight months during which Evan had a crush on Remus, James was crushing on Regulus, and, hell, probably Barty was pining for Remus too. Meanwhile, Remus had just broken up with Theo Russo, was drowning in a six-month-long crush on Sirius, and had simultaneously declared that he’d never date anyone from Hogwarts again.

He had problems connecting the dots, honestly. Profound, soul-crushing problems. He wondered how he could have been so oblivious. And he was deeply, deeply grateful he had never made a move on Sirius—because if he had, and now he was dating Regulus, he might literally combust from mixed feelings.

If they were dating at all, this was it.

Remus decided, finally, to stop overthinking. Sunrise was creeping in through the curtains, soft and accusing, and the world outside the hotel room didn’t matter. Sirius was with Barty. He had Regulus— somehow. James and Evan… well. They were blissfully unaware, and Remus fully intended to keep it that way.

Regulus mumbled something incoherent into the pillow, a phrase that sounded suspiciously like, “I’m a cat. Vicious and sneaky.” Followed by, “No, I don’t want another beer, Siri. Leave me the fuck alone.” And then the unmistakable, “Yeah, Mom, I’m gay. So what?”

Remus just laughed—soft, quiet, entirely helpless—delighted to discover that Regulus was a sleep-talker.

And then he spent the next thirty minutes listening to Regulus’s subconscious monologues, a mix of nonsense, drunken complaints, and tiny, unconscious confessions. Each one made Remus’s chest ache in the best way possible: this was his, somehow. He was the one Regulus trusted, even in sleep.

By the time the sunlight spilled fully across the bedspread, Remus had memorized half a dozen new things about Regulus—like how his subconscious refused to respect anyone’s privacy, how it recapped the previous night’s beers with aggressive accuracy, and how, at the core, even in the tipsiest, messiest, sleepiest form, he was utterly, uncompromisingly Regulus Black. And now, very much, his Regulus Black.

 

When he woke up the next day, Regulus was already awake, sprawled on his side, scrolling through his phone and giggling to himself like he’d just discovered Tumblr in 2014. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, he smelled faintly of the fancy shampoo he always used, and—yep—he was wearing one of Remus’s sweaters. The audacity.
Beautiful and unhinged thief.

“Why are you laughing.” Remus mumbled, face buried in the pillow, still half-asleep.

“Kittens on TikTok,” Regulus replied, snorting between giggles.

“You’re tragic,” Remus muttered, voice muffled.

“You drool when you sleep,” Regulus shot back without missing a beat.

“I don’t,” Remus said, very sure of himself, though he didn’t bother checking. “But you talk when you sleep,” he added, finally rolling onto his side to look at him.

Regulus’s smirk faded, theatrical and quick. “Shit,” he muttered.

“Mhm,” Remus hummed knowingly.

“What did I say?” Regulus winced, flopping back onto the pillow like it was a matter of life and death.

“That you’re a cat,” Remus said, rubbing his eyes with his palms. “And that you don’t want more beer. And… something about my hands I don’t even wanna unpack right now.”

Regulus blinked. Then he blushed. Then he kicked Remus. Because of course he did.

Remus yelped and grabbed the foot flailing at him. “Really? That’s how you respond to humiliation?”

Regulus leaned back on the pillow, arms crossed, clearly delighted with himself. “Yep,” he said smugly.

“You’re impossible,” Remus groaned, though there was a smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

“Maybe,” Regulus admitted, his tone casual but his eyes sparkling. “But also… adorable when you’re flustered. Not that I care.”

Remus shot him a glare, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He knew he’d been caught in the orbit of Regulus Black, and there was no escaping it—not today, not ever.

“How long have you been up, even?” Regulus squinted at him after a beat. “You look like you slept for, what, two hours tops.”

“’Cause I did,” Remus groaned, burying his face in the pillow. “So we’re going back to sleep. Shut up and don’t move.”

He tugged Regulus closer, because he was half-conscious and Regulus smelled really, really good.

“Wow,” Regulus hummed, settling against his side, “you’re like an overgrown teddy bear.”

“Shut up, Reg.”

“Make me.”

“I can hex you right now,” Remus replied, flat. “Sleep.”

Regulus huffed under his breath but went quiet. For about exactly half a minute.

“You’re warm,” he muttered, snuggling just a little closer.

Remus exhaled internally. Do not kill your kind-of-boyfriend. That’s illegal. And you have no one to help bury him.

“You smell nice,” he said instead of shoving Regulus off the bed. “Now, shut up.”

“You’re a charmer,” Regulus teased, tone mischievous.

“Reg,” Remus said, cracking one eye open to glare at him.

Regulus just grinned like he had discovered a personal victory. “You’re saying my name in that tone while holding me like I’m something precious. Make up your mind, Lupin.”

“Do you want me to shut you up?”

“Depends. You planning to kiss me or hex me?”

“Both. Random order,” Remus replied, perfectly flat, though his heart betrayed him with an erratic rhythm.

Regulus let out a low laugh, the kind that vibrates in your chest and makes it impossible to focus. “You’re terrifying. And adorable. And kind of a menace. All at once.”

“I’m a package deal,” Remus said, smug despite himself.

“You’re literally holding me hostage with charm and warmth,” Regulus replied, nudging him with his elbow, careful but insistent. “It’s criminal, really. I should report you.”

“Try it,” Remus muttered, burying his face in Regulus’s hair. “See where that gets you.”

Regulus squirmed a little, just enough to press closer, but not enough to actually escape. “You’re… really not fair, you know that?” he mumbled, voice still half-sleepy, half-grumpy.

“Not fair how?” Remus asked, shifting so Regulus’s head rested against his chest. He could feel the quickened thump of his heart and was trying very hard to pretend it wasn’t completely betraying him.

“You’re… too warm. Too soft. Too… god, just too much,” Regulus said, rolling his head to glance at him. “I can’t—ugh—I can’t even move without feeling like I’m being kidnapped by charm.”

“You asked for this,” Remus said with mock sternness, poking him lightly in the ribs.

“I did not!” Regulus squeaked, then groaned as he realized poking back was impossible. “Fine, maybe I did. But—ugh! You’re too easy to hold! Stop it, Lupin!”

Remus smirked, burying his face into the mess of Regulus’s hair again. “Stop what?”

“You. Everything. Stop being cute. Stop smelling nice. Stop… breathing near me like that,” Regulus said, kicking one leg half-heartedly against Remus’s. “I’m going to die from embarrassment if you keep this up.”

“Then die next to me,” Remus muttered, tone flat but not unkind.

Regulus froze, a small, almost imperceptible pause, before letting out a laugh that was half-squeak, half-growl. “You’re impossible,” he whispered, finally letting his arms tighten around Remus like he was afraid he might fall out of the bed otherwise.

“I know,” Remus said, closing his eyes again.

There was a pause, broken only by Regulus’s occasional soft hums and the faint scrape of fingers against fabric. Then Regulus’s voice, low and conspiratorial:

“You know… you could just, like, stay like this forever. Not talking. Not moving. Just… this.”

Remus didn’t answer at first, because of course his brain was simultaneously planning their morning and calculating just how ridiculous Regulus was being. “Forever’s a long time,” he said carefully.

“Then… a while,” Regulus amended, shifting a little closer, resting his cheek against Remus’s shoulder. “A long while.”

Remus finally smiled, the kind that sneaks up despite himself. “Fine. A long while,” he said.

Regulus made a content little noise, settling fully against him like he owned the space, which, honestly, he kind of did. And Remus… well, Remus decided that maybe being entirely under Regulus’s chaotic, unhinged, infuriating charm wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Because he was warm. And soft. And entirely, delightfully his.

About an hour later, Regulus had somehow convinced himself that lying in bed forever was a poor life choice.

“Get up, you overgrown teddy bear,” he muttered, nudging Remus’s ribs with a force that was impressive for someone half-asleep.

“Five more minutes,” Remus groaned, burying his face into the pillow, perfectly aware that Regulus’s arm was now draped over his waist like a death grip.

“No. We need food. And caffeine. And maybe dignity, if that’s possible,” Regulus argued, flicking a strand of Remus’s hair out of his face. “Come on. I don’t even care if you drag me back in fifteen minutes—just move.”

Remus flopped over onto his back, glaring up at him. “You’re insufferable. And sticky. Did you even shower last night?”

“I smell nice, which is more than enough,” Regulus shot back, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Now get up. Or I will drag you out by the hair.”

“Try it,” Remus muttered, finally sitting up.

Regulus beamed like a small villain who’d just won. “Thought so,” he said, immediately looping an arm around Remus’s shoulder and practically dragging him toward the door. “Breakfast awaits. Pizza from last night does not count, and I refuse to eat anything radioactive again.”

Remus stumbled along beside him, one hand still clutching the sweater Regulus had stolen from him. “You know,” he said slowly, “if anyone sees us like this, they’re going to assume we’ve been fighting, kidnapping, or… I don’t know… practicing illegal spells on each other.”

“Let them assume,” Regulus said, shrugging. “The truth is way better. And also, don’t think I’m letting you go back to bed.”

Remus groaned, swatting at him, but the grin on Regulus’s face made it clear: he wasn’t going anywhere.

They left the hotel room in a tangle of limbs, clothes slightly disheveled, hair a mess, and a subtle, almost embarrassing glow of shared warmth hanging between them. And somehow, in the middle of all that chaos, neither of them cared who was watching.

Because for once, everything ridiculous about their lives felt perfectly, undeniably theirs.

They ordered two different teas at the café down the street to share—because of course they did—right beside Remus’s scrambled eggs and Regulus’s waffles. To Remus’s sheer horror, he discovered that Regulus apparently didn’t have an off switch. He just… talked. And talked. And talked.

And somehow, Remus didn’t even mind that much. Which was absurd, because he hated it when anyone jabbered at him while he was sleep-deprived. Once, back in fifth year, he’d hexed Sirius’s hair green for the exact same reason, and Sirius had walked around like that for half a day before figuring out how to undo it.

But Regulus wasn’t Sirius. Somehow, he survived. Mostly because Regulus had draped himself over Remus’s arm while they were waiting to place the order, and then kissed him—stupidly, messily, and undeniably nicely—right after Remus paid for both of them.

“—and Sirius is fishing, which is stupid, because he had no idea that I liked you, so why is he even implying anything?” Regulus was mid-rant, stabbing at a strawberry like it had personally offended him.

“I told him I like you,” Remus said around a mouthful of eggs. “This week. Or something.”

Regulus’s fork clattered against the plate. “What?!” he squeaked, eyes wide.

Remus shrugged, calm as if he were discussing the weather. “I felt friendzoned and hit on at the same time. I was confused.”

“So you told my older brother that you like me?”

“Hate to break it to you, but that’s what friends do,” Remus replied flatly. “And since you want to hide, tell him he’s deluded and that you don’t like me that way. He’ll back off.”

Regulus blinked. Hard. Remus counted twelve precise, deliberate blinks before Regulus spoke again.

“Wait—you’re not fine with hiding?” he asked, voice sharp.

Remus shrugged again. “I mean… I understand why you wanna,” he said. “So, whatever. Just don’t dump me like you dumped your ex when you started getting serious with him.”

Regulus gasped, offended. “Stop bringing him up!”

“Then tell me who it was.”

“Over my dead body,” Regulus said, flat.

Remus rolled his eyes so hard he was surprised they didn’t get stuck. He had no idea how Regulus had managed to hide the guy so well—not when James was practically stalking him on the map the entire time. Which meant—

“You were hooking up in the Room of Requirement, weren’t you?” Remus asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Bite me.”

“And he’s a Slytherin, isn’t he?” Remus pressed.

“Bite. Me.”

“Not in public,” Remus tsked. “He’s, like, one of your mates, isn’t he?”

“Lupin,” Regulus glared, all teeth and venom.

Remus just smiled sweetly, the kind of smile that made people fear for their dignity. “I’m going to figure it out, just so you know.”

“No, you don’t,” Regulus snorted, though even he looked like he was trying to convince himself.

Remus reached for a napkin and waved over the waitress, asking for a pen. She handed it with a bright smile, probably thinking he was about to scribble a love note.

What he did instead was meticulously write a list of all the Slytherins who could possibly be dating Regulus. He leaned over, tapping the pen against his lips, frowning in concentration, while Regulus watched him like he was trying not to hyperventilate.

“Let me guess,” Remus said, pointing at the first name. “You’re ruling him out because he has bad taste in scarves?”

Regulus snorted, highly offended. “Questionable aesthetics,” he corrected. “And yes, that counts.”

Remus grinned. “This is the most obsessive, ridiculous thing you’ve ever done.”

“And yet,” Regulus replied, tapping the pen again, “you’re fascinated.”

Remus shrugged, secretly thrilled that he got to spend the morning watching Regulus Black turn his love life into an elaborate, strategic investigation. Somehow, it made him like the guy even more.

He leaned over the napkin, scanning the list like a detective on a high-stakes case. “Alright,” he said, tapping the first name with a finger, “why not him?”

Regulus snatched the pen back like it had just insulted his entire lineage. “He has a suspicious fondness for potato chips,” he said flatly.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “That’s your big criteria? Chips?”

“Not just chips,” Regulus muttered. “He dips them in orange juice. I cannot respect that.”

“Fair,” Remus said, scribbling something down. “Next.”

He tapped another name. “And him?”

Regulus groaned dramatically, burying his face in his hands. “Ugh. Don’t even start. His hair smells like… like old library dust. I cannot.”

“You’re incredibly picky,” Remus pointed out, smiling like a cat who found the cream.

“And you’re going to interrogate me about all of them, so yes,” Regulus replied, flopping back into his chair. “It’s self-defense.”

Remus leaned closer, lowering his voice into that teasing, dangerous tone Regulus clearly hated but secretly adored. “Or… you’re enjoying it?”

Regulus stiffened. “I am not.”

“Mhmm.” Remus grinned, tapping another name. “And him? Oh, I know this one. You’ve been avoiding eye contact ever since he walked past the library last week.”

Regulus froze, then narrowed his eyes. “I was… busy. Doing… research. Yes, research.”

Remus leaned back, smirking. “Sure, research. And let me guess… you’re going to insist that research is why you have been sneaking into the library at night, too?”

Regulus glared so hard it could’ve burned a hole through the napkin. “I—I like to read.”

“Right,” Remus said, scribbling furiously on the napkin. “And the next one—wait, hold up. That’s… that’s just his face.”

Regulus’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“You’re judging him on his face?”

“Of course I am,” Regulus snapped. “That’s the first thing you notice. Appearance matters!”

Remus’s grin widened. “So you are shallow. Good to know.”

Regulus threw the napkin at him. “I am not shallow. I am… selectively interested. There is a difference.”

“And how many have you ruled out for being ‘selectively uninteresting’?” Remus asked, picking the napkin up again.

Regulus muttered something under his breath, which sounded suspiciously like, “Too many.”

Remus raised his eyebrows, eyes glittering. “So… out of all these possibilities, how many are left?”

Regulus froze. “None. Absolutely none. Move on, Lupin. You’re exhausting me.”

Remus smirked and leaned closer again. “None, huh?”

Regulus met his gaze, defiance and something else—something dangerous and warm—flickering behind his eyes. “None that matter.”

Remus’s grin softened just a fraction. “Well… that makes my job easier.”

Regulus blinked. “What job?”

“You know,” Remus said, voice low, leaning even closer, “making sure the guy who matters the most— me —gets priority.”

Regulus’s face turned a spectacular shade of red, and for once, he had no clever comeback. He just sat there, stunned, while Remus wrote the final note on the napkin: Regulus Black–Taken.

And somehow, amidst the chaos, the teasing, and the ridiculous lists of Slytherins, it felt… right.

“You’re the worst,” Regulus stated, crossing his arms like he was delivering a formal verdict. “And way too eager about it for a guy who refuses to talk about his ex.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “You want to talk about my ex?”

“Yes,” Regulus said instantly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Fine.” Remus nodded, already scribbling avery vs nott vs blaise—FINAL FIGHT on the napkin. “I dumped him mid-deal behind the greenhouse. After two months.”

“What,” Regulus said, completely flat.

“He was randy,” Remus went on, like he was reading off a grocery list, “and thought being opinionated was a personality trait.”

Regulus squinted. “Which isn’t… when the opinions are wrong?”

“Exactly,” Remus agreed. “Also, he was exhausting and boring at the same time. A real talent, honestly.”

Regulus snorted so hard he nearly choked on his tea. “God, no wonder he was crying for a week straight.”

Remus’s head snapped toward him. “How’d you know that?”

“I just do.” Regulus smirked, all smug satisfaction. “I know a lot of things. And now I also know you’re heartless.”

“I wasn’t,” Remus said mildly. “There was no heart to begin with.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “Then why were you with him?”

Remus didn’t answer. He just raised an eyebrow and let a smirk curl at the corner of his mouth.

Regulus’s face went absolutely crimson. “God— not in front of my tea,” he gasped, scandalized. “I thought you had some class.”

“Wrong,” Remus replied, deadpan. “Have you met my best friends?”

“Unfortunately.” Regulus sniffed like he was trying to recover his dignity. “Now stop interrogating me and finish your damn breakfast. We’re going to make out later until you forget about fucking Russo.”

Remus arched an eyebrow. “That a promise?”

“It’s a threat, Lupin.”

They went back to eating—if you could call it that, since Regulus was mostly stabbing at the waffles like they’d personally offended him, and Remus kept watching him over the rim of his mug with that infuriating, slow-burn amusement.

And, well. They did.

 

When Sirius and Barty finally emerged from their hotel room—looking far too pleased with themselves for people who claimed they “just watched TV”—the four of them teleported back to Hogsmeade.

Remus went with Regulus, obviously. He was underage, and also looking obnoxiously smug about the make-out session in the shitty hotel room, like it was some kind of Olympic sport and he’d just secured gold.

The second they landed smoothly behind The Three Broomsticks, Regulus tilted his head up at him.

“Okay,” he said, mildly offended, “you’re good at it.”

“Thanks,” Remus replied, pocketing his wand with all the casual smugness of someone who knew he was. “Now let’s go pretend we didn’t just turn Manchester into three days of saying questionable things and kissing.”

Regulus nodded solemnly, like they were making an official pact. “Fine. But we’re still watching Stranger Things later?”

“We are,” Remus confirmed, and leaned down to kiss him quickly—taking full advantage of the fact Sirius and Barty were already halfway to Zonko’s and not paying attention.

They made their way back to the castle together, parting ways at the entrance hall. Remus climbed the stairs to the Gryffindor dorm, wondering if James was going to be weird about the fact he and Regulus had been gone the entire weekend.

And James was weird. Just… for a completely different reason.

Remus stepped inside and found him sitting cross-legged on his bed, staring at the wall with his I’m about to invent something terrible face.

“Hi, Prongs,” Remus said, shrugging off his jacket.

“Can’t talk. In the zone,” James replied, not even looking at him.

Remus glanced over at Peter, who was lying in his own bed, textbook open, pretending to be deep into a Transfiguration essay.

“No idea, mate,” Peter muttered, not even looking up. “Absolutely no fucking idea.”

Remus decided not to unpack that. Whatever was happening in James Potter’s brain right now was dangerous and contagious, and he wanted no part of it.

For the best, really. He also didn’t want to think too hard about the possibility James still liked his Regulus—not when Remus had just spent the weekend doing things James absolutely didn’t need to know about.

Instead, he flopped into the chair at his desk and started the mountain of homework he’d successfully ignored all week. And maybe— maybe —let his mind wander just a fraction toward the way Regulus made those quiet, involuntary noises when they kissed.

Just a teeny, tiny bit of fantasizing about Regulus Black. Nothing worth writing home about. Definitely not something to confess under Veritaserum.

Chapter 21: a treat, a dessert, a whole goddamn meal

Remus had to admit—grudgingly, privately, and only to himself—that Regulus Black was suspiciously good at secret dating. Like, too good. Concerningly good. He’d slid right into the role like he’d been born for it, all calm precision and minimal slip-ups.

He’d even given Sirius the whole, “I don’t like Lupin, stop being an unpaid matchmaker and have some dignity” speech, which resulted in Sirius treating Remus like some kind of wounded woodland creature for two days. Out of pity.

Remus took it without blinking—mostly because both times Sirius caught him, he’d been coming back from the hidden room where he and Regulus had been locked up for hours, trading dry commentary about literally everything and making out until Remus forgot what day it was.

Outwardly, they acted like before—only now with bonus features:

• Let’s make out in an empty classroom.
• I’m about to hold your hand when no one’s looking.
• Let’s flirt in History of Magic while playing hangman and see if anyone notices.

Which… honestly? Fucking great.

They still did their patrols on Tuesdays and Thursdays, still caught Theodore Nott snogging someone in every possible corner of the castle. At this point, it was as boring as it was predictable, and Remus didn’t even bother with creative punishments anymore—just muttered, “Minus twenty points,” and walked on.

Meanwhile, he was still trying to guess who Regulus had been dating before. He was running out of suspects. One evening, in desperation, he said, “Snape.”

The look Regulus gave him could have stripped paint off a wall.

“Please,” he said, flat. “I’d rather date Potter than him.”

Remus rolled his eyes and turned back to the projector.

With the full moon coming up on Sunday, he made a rare and painful decision: he was not going to let his werewolf-y side get all keyed up and drag Regulus into bed. It was the sensible choice. The safe choice. Also, the deeply annoying choice, considering Regulus still went pink when their make-outs got a little too heated. And Remus was now almost entirely convinced—like, ninety-nine percent sure—that Regulus was… well. Still a virgin.

Fine. Obviously. It made sense. It also made it way harder to believe sometimes.

So on Friday night, when they were holed up in the hidden movie room and Remus was restless and twitchy—both from the approaching moon and from the fact that Regulus looked unfairly good—he tried to keep his mind on anything else.

“You know,” he said casually, “Evan stopped watching me like a kicked puppy.”

Regulus grimaced. “I know. He’s hiding something. I can tell.”

“Any guesses?”

“New crush, probably,” Regulus hummed, idly playing with the cuff of Remus’s sleeve. “Once he realised you weren’t into him, he decided his new life goal was to ‘move on.’”

“He was so weird about it, though,” Remus said. “Kept going on about how he should ‘apologise’ to me.”

“Well, he should,” Regulus muttered.

Remus narrowed his eyes at him. “What do you know?”

“Everything,” Regulus replied, deadpan. “And I’m not telling you shit.”

“Reg.”

“Remus,” Regulus mimicked in the exact same tone.

That was new—he’d started using Remus’s actual name instead of “Lupin.” A subtle but clear declaration. Probably. Hopefully. And Remus was so far gone for him at this point it wasn’t even remotely funny anymore.

“You’re exhausting,” Remus sighed, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling.

“I know,” Regulus said smugly, nudging his hip. The right hip, the one already aching with the slow crawl of full moon pain.

Remus winced before he could stop himself. Regulus caught it instantly, frowning. “You good?”

“Yeah. Tired.”

“You’re literally bouncing around like a puppy.”

“That’s why I’m tired.”

“You’re weird,” Regulus muttered, then promptly threw his legs across Remus’s lap.

Of course he did. Of course he would torture him without realising. Or worse—knowing exactly what he was doing and doing it on purpose. Which, coming from Regulus Black, was… highly possible.

The movie ended without either of them really watching the last twenty minutes. Regulus had gone full stretch mode, all long limbs and lazy sprawl, his feet still draped over Remus’s lap like he’d claimed the territory. His head was tipped back against the armrest, eyes half-lidded, fingers idly twisting the hem of his own sweater.

Remus was not looking. Not really. Except he was.

His skin felt like it was buzzing—moon-close, too-warm, too-aware of every single point of contact between them. Regulus was watching him now, faint smirk tugging at his mouth like he knew exactly what was going on under Remus’s skin.

“What?” Remus asked, more defensive than he meant to.

“You’re restless,” Regulus said, like it was an observation about the weather. “More than usual.”

“I’m fine.”

“Mm.” Regulus didn’t believe him. Didn’t care. “You get like this sometimes.”

Remus’s stomach dropped, just slightly.
He was sure— sure —Regulus had clocked it by now. The way he disappeared once a month. The way he avoided touch certain days and craved it too much on others, if he was paying attention. The way he sometimes came back with his shoulders hunched like he’d been carrying the weight of the castle.

Regulus wasn’t stupid. And he’d never once said the word. Never called him out. Never even hinted. Just… filed it away somewhere and carried on.

Remus narrowed his eyes. “You keeping a log or something?”

“Maybe,” Regulus said smoothly, swinging his legs off Remus’s lap like he was granting him some rare favour. “Good data is valuable.”

“Data.” Remus huffed. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Mm.” That smirk again. Infuriating. Knowing.

Regulus slid off the couch, stepping close enough that Remus could smell the faint trace of whatever tea he’d been drinking earlier. He braced one hand on the back of the couch, leaning in—not quite touching, but close enough that Remus could feel the heat of him.

“You going to keep fidgeting all night,” Regulus murmured, “or are you going to walk me back before you wear a hole in the floor?”

It was bait. It was obvious bait. And Remus still wanted to take it.

Instead, he made himself stand—slow, careful, keeping his breathing steady. “Let’s go before I change my mind and leave you here.”

Regulus’s smile was small, sharp, and deeply unfair. “You wouldn’t.”

Remus didn’t answer, because the truth was, he wouldn’t. Not for a second.

The corridors were mostly empty at this hour, echoing faintly with the sound of their steps. The torches along the walls threw flickers of light over Regulus’s face, which was frankly unfair—because now he looked like a piece of expensive art that someone had left casually in the hallway.

And then there was the other thing.

Regulus kept brushing against him.
Not obviously. Not enough to make someone turn and look. Just… a shoulder here, fingers grazing his sweater there, a bump of the hip when they turned a corner. Enough to send little sparks racing under Remus’s skin, tightening something low in his gut.

Once, halfway down the second-floor corridor, Regulus’s knuckles ghosted over the back of Remus’s hand. It was so light, so intentional, that Remus almost stopped walking.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” Remus muttered.

Regulus tilted his head, all innocent confusion. “Doing what?”

“You know what.”

“No, I don’t think I do.”

The lie was so clean, so perfectly delivered, that Remus almost laughed. Almost.

Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets before he did something reckless like grab Regulus by the collar and push him into the nearest shadowed wall.

They descended the staircase to the dungeons, the air growing cooler, damper, and annoyingly better-suited to Regulus’s whole aesthetic. His hair looked darker here. His eyes sharper. And the smug curve of his mouth—Jesus Christ, the smug.

By the time they reached the wall concealing the Slytherin entrance, Remus’s jaw was tight from keeping his mouth shut.

“Well,” Regulus said, adjusting his sweater with infuriating calm. “Thanks for the escort, Lupin.”

Remus stared at him. “…You’re not even going to—?”

“Going to what?” Regulus asked, leaning back against the stone like he had all the time in the world.

“Never mind,” Remus muttered, already turning away.

“Goodnight,” Regulus called after him, voice all silk and teeth. “Try not to tear anyone’s throat out before Sunday.”

Remus froze mid-step. Slowly turned his head.

Regulus’s smirk was small, sharp, and entirely too knowing.

“Goodnight, Reg,” Remus said finally, keeping his voice flat.

But as he walked back up through the dungeons, he was absolutely certain of two things:

1. Regulus Black knew exactly what he was.
2. Regulus Black was going to make him pay for keeping it a secret—one maddening touch at a time.

When Remus finally dragged himself up to the Gryffindor tower, his hip was killing him, his willpower was basically non-existent, and he was this close to snapping at the first person he saw.

Unfortunately, the first person in sight was Lily. Which meant he didn’t snap. He valued his life.

“Jesus, finally,” Lily huffed, throwing her arms wide from her sprawl on the couch in the common room. “Where the hell were you?”

“With Regulus,” Remus said flatly, already rolling his eyes at both the fact and at Regulus himself.

“Come here,” Lily ordered, patting the cushion beside her.

Remus flopped down like his limbs had given up on structural integrity, full moon buzzing in his blood, Regulus still clinging to his thoughts like static.

“You good for Sunday?” she asked, in that tone she reserved exclusively for her girls and Remus.

“Yeah,” he exhaled. “Sirius is already planning to chase centaurs, and Pete’s figuring out how to dodge Lockhart for the night.”

“Well, at least you don’t have to dodge anyone,” she said.

Remus just shut his eyes and tipped his head back. God, he was exhausted. Ex-hau-sted.

Still, he stayed on the couch a bit longer, breathing in Lily’s floral shampoo, letting the fire seep warmth into his bones. Lily rambled about Pandora—another thing Regulus had been right about, because clearly there was something between those two. Of course Regulus knew. Regulus always knew. The smug bastard.

But then—Regulus texted him around midnight, so he was forgiven. Or not at all.

Regulus:
can we watch the quidditch game tmrw

Remus stared at the screen, betrayed. There was no way he was sitting through a Quidditch match—stuck on a couch, watching people chase a flying golf ball—on the day before transforming into a literal monster. Not unless there was a very compelling… incentive. And Regulus was not currently offering one.

His thumbs moved on instinct.

Remus:
no fucking way
respectfully, i’d rather die

He hit send, tossed his phone onto the nightstand, and rolled over. If Regulus was serious about this Quidditch thing, he could bloody well drag someone else into it. Remus Lupin was not about to suffer brain death from boredom and bone death from the moon in the same weekend.

The reply came faster than Remus expected. Which was suspicious.

Regulus:
wow. coward behaviour

Remus blinked at the screen.

Remus:
i’m not a coward. i’m smart.

Regulus:
smart people don’t get outplayed by a broom sport.

Remus:
…what the fuck does that even mean

Regulus:
it means you’re scared to spend 3 hours with me.
own it.

Remus groaned into his pillow. Of course. Of course.

Remus:
i’m scared of dying of boredom
also i’m busy

Regulus:
you’re not busy
you’re going to sit in your dorm, stare at your ceiling, and think about me anyway

Remus narrowed his eyes at the phone, because the worst part was—Regulus was absolutely right.

Remus:
don’t flatter yourself
also: fuck off

Regulus:
fine
i’ll just take barty to the hidden room
or someone else, maybe

Remus felt an actual physical pang in his chest, which was both pathetic and infuriating.

Remus:
you’re a manipulative little shit.

Regulus: and yet. see you in the room at 2.

The chat ended there—because Regulus always got the last word—and Remus threw his phone at the pillow like it had personally betrayed him.

He lay there for another ten minutes, stewing in a very specific mix of resentment, reluctant amusement, and the deep, gnawing knowledge that yes, he would go to that room and watch the stupid match. And yes, he would sit through three hours of Regulus pushing his buttons and his idiotic commentary. And yes, it would be entirely, pathetically worth it because Regulus would smirk at him once.

Remus Lupin was, without question, doomed.

 

He showed up in the hidden room like he was walking to his own execution. Regulus, of course, was already there—lounging on the couch like a king in exile, projector on, the pre–Quidditch chatter blaring. He looked more smug than Remus had ever seen him, which was saying something.

“You came,” Regulus smirked without looking away from the screen.

No, actually, I didn’t, Remus thought, rolling his eyes so hard it was a miracle they stayed in his skull. Out loud, he just dropped onto the couch, limbs everywhere, and shoved his feet onto the coffee table like he was staking a claim.

“Unfortunately,” he said eventually.

“Oh, come on,” Regulus clicked his tongue, amused. “Everyone’s watching this game today. It’s Cork versus—”

“Don’t bother.” Remus cut him off with a flat stare. “I won’t know who they are anyway.”

Regulus laughed under his breath, the sound irritatingly fond, and chucked a Mars bar at his chest.

“Here. Eat your frustration.”

“I’m not frustrated.”

“Sure, sweetheart,” Regulus said, and the way he managed to make sweetheart sound both like an insult and a private joke made Remus want to hex him. Or kiss him. Or both, in some very random order.

“Now shut up,” Regulus added as the teams flew onto the pitch on-screen, his eyes snapping to the game like he’d been waiting for this all week. Which he probably was. “My show’s on.”

Remus sighed and tore open the Mars bar, chewing like it was an act of protest. He let himself watch Regulus instead of the screen—the way his shoulders relaxed, the rare spark in his eyes, the tiny shifts in expression as the game started. It was annoyingly endearing. Which meant Remus had to look away before he did something reckless, like admit that he actually didn’t mind being dragged here.

On the projector, the crowd roared. Regulus leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“God, they’re already screwing it up,” he muttered.

“You sound like an old man watching the weather channel,” Remus said around a mouthful of chocolate.

“And yet you’re here,” Regulus shot back without looking at him. “So who’s really pathetic?”

Remus had no comeback for that. Not one he could say out loud, anyway.

By the ten-minute mark, Regulus was fully invested—leaning forward, hands clasped, jaw tight. He’d go dead silent for whole stretches, then suddenly hiss under his breath like he was personally coaching the team from two hundred miles away.

“They’re blind,” he muttered after someone missed a pass. “I could make that play in my sleep.”

Remus popped another bite of Mars bar and chewed slow. “Mhm. Sure. You, the guy who thinks running for more than twenty seconds is a personal attack, could be a professional Quidditch player.”

Regulus cut him a glare sharp enough to slice bread. “You’re distracting me.”

“That’s the point.” Remus sprawled further into the couch, deliberately nudging Regulus’s thigh with his own. “I’m making this nightmare at least a little entertaining for myself.”

“You’re making me want to hex you.”

Remus smirked. “And yet you won’t. You’d miss me.”

Regulus turned back to the screen, ears faintly pink, which was basically an admission of guilt.

By twenty minutes in, Cork was losing badly and Regulus was muttering what sounded like hexes at the screen. Remus had stopped pretending to care about the game and was now focused entirely on seeing how many different ways he could get Regulus to break concentration—shoulder nudges, poking his side, stealing the blanket, shifting so he was practically pressed against him.

Finally, Regulus snapped.

“Fuck’s sake, Lupin, if you keep moving like that—” He bit the rest of the sentence off, eyes fixed stubbornly on the game.

Remus leaned in just enough to smirk into his peripheral vision. “Like what?”

Regulus didn’t answer. Which meant he was thinking about it. Which meant Remus had won.

The crowd on the projector erupted. Apparently someone had scored. Remus couldn’t have cared less. Regulus did that quick little grin—the one that wasn’t meant for anyone but himself—before settling back into the couch.

“Alright,” Regulus said, smug again. “Maybe you’re not the worst company for this.”

Remus tilted his head back, pretending to consider it. “High praise. Want me to knit you a ‘world’s nicest hostage’ jumper?”

Regulus elbowed him in the ribs. “Shut up and pass me another Mars bar.”

Remus did. He gave up even pretending he knew what was happening on the screen somewhere around the fifty-minute mark. Instead, he just sprawled on the couch, head tipped against the armrest, knees bent, eyes locked on Regulus—who was, quite frankly, acting worse than James on a good Quidditch day. And that was saying something.

When the opposing seeker managed to let the snitch hover right in front of his face before losing it again, Regulus swore so violently it could have put McGonagall in a coma.

“It’s just a game, Reg,” Remus said, purely to be irritating.

Regulus, without looking away, flipped him off.

“I mean,” Remus went on, “you wouldn’t have caught it either.”

That got his attention. Slowly— too slowly—Regulus turned his head. “What,” he said, flat as stone.

Remus hummed innocently. “Isn’t Davies supposed to be a better seeker than you anyway?”

“Lupin,” Regulus said again. Still flat. But now with a warning baked in.

“What?”

“You want me to dump you in the hidden movie room and lock the door?”

“If it means you’ll stop acting like a rabid badger, then sure.”

Regulus scoffed like he was dealing with an idiot. “You’d get bored and come crawling back before I even reached the Great Hall.”

Remus grinned. “You’re assuming I’d want to come back.”

Regulus leaned just slightly into his space, all mock-sweetness. “You’re assuming I’d let you leave.”

And that was the thing—Remus knew exactly what game Regulus was playing. He also knew Regulus knew he’d already won it. So, naturally, he shut up and passed him the last Mars bar, because it was either that or lose a finger.

“Thank you,” Regulus said, taking the Mars bar and unwrapping it with way too much elegance for someone who had been screaming at a screen thirty seconds ago. He took a bite like this was a royal banquet, then added, “Also—for your information—I am an immaculate seeker, you uncultured, broom-illiterate heathen. The Wimbourne Wasps tried to recruit me last year, and I was barely sixteen.”

Remus squinted at him. “And who are the Wasps?” he asked, even though he absolutely knew. James and Sirius had been ranting about them since their second year.

Regulus turned his head slowly, glaring at him like Remus had just asked who Dumbledore was. “Lupin. At least try not to act like an idiot.”

“I feel like one, so I may as well commit to the role,” Remus shrugged, smirking.

Regulus’s attention flicked back to the projector just in time for his team—whichever that was—to lose more points. The green ones, probably. He liked the color.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Regulus groaned dramatically and flopped sideways so that his head landed squarely on Remus’s stomach. “They’re fucking it up so badly it’s almost a crime.”

Remus rolled his eyes but let his fingers drift lazily into Regulus’s hair anyway. And, by the grace of every deity he could name, he managed not to pop a boner while doing it. Barely.

“You really got an offer?” Remus asked after a beat, voice casual.

Regulus nodded without moving from his very comfortable spot. “Yeah. Don’t know if I should take it, though. I was going to apply for the Potioneer program.”

“Yeah, I know,” Remus hummed. “But you can brew potions whenever you want, right? Quidditch’s more… age-limited. Or injury-limited. Or ‘I’ve been smashed in the head by a Bludger so many times I can’t remember my own name’-limited.”

Regulus snorted. “That too. Still—haven’t decided.”

“Well,” Remus said, tugging lightly at a strand of Regulus’s hair just to watch him scowl. “You’ve got my full support, whatever you decide.”

Regulus tilted his chin up just enough to meet his eyes. “Do I?”

“Obviously. You’d be great at whatever you choose.”

“And you’d actually watch my games?” Regulus asked, squinting like this was the real test of loyalty.

“I would,” Remus nodded, unflinching.

Regulus sniffed, turned back toward the game, and said, “You have mood swings worse than my mum’s.”

“Thanks to you,” Remus shot back.

“Same with her,” Regulus replied, smug enough to make Remus want to shove him off the couch.

And yet, his head stayed exactly where it was.

During the break—because apparently there were breaks in professional Quidditch, which was brand-new information to Remus—Regulus decided to completely ruin him. Without warning, he shifted from his lazy sprawl to crawling over and straddling Remus right there on the couch, smug as sin, before kissing him stupid.

“Thanks for watching with me,” Regulus murmured against his lips, smugness bleeding through every syllable.

“You manipulated me into it,” Remus shot back, but still hooked an arm around his waist and dragged him closer, because his self-control was hanging by a thread.

“And I’d do it again,” Regulus replied, punctuating it with another kiss—soft, irritatingly soft, completely at odds with the restless, sharp-edged mood fizzing in Remus’s veins the night before the full moon.

So Remus took it further, obviously. Subtlety wasn’t his thing right now. He flipped them, caging Regulus beneath him like he was something to be devoured—a treat, a dessert, a whole goddamn meal.

Regulus didn’t protest. He didn’t even crack a joke, which for him was practically a declaration of surrender. Instead, his hands slid up under Remus’s jumper, fingers tracing the ridges of old scars along his back. His touch was slow, deliberate, reverent in a way that was somehow worse than teasing, because it made Remus’s chest ache while also making him want to grind down until one of them broke first. And the quiet little noises Regulus let slip—the ones that had been haunting Remus in the shower, and in bed before sleep—were wrecking him, one after the other.

It wasn’t just ruining him, either. Regulus was ruining other people for him. Not that he’d ever want other people again, but still.

“Hey,” Regulus said suddenly, breaking the kiss but staying close enough that Remus could feel his breath. “Just… be careful tomorrow, yeah? Whatever you’re doing.”

Remus froze for half a heartbeat.
Goddammit.

“Yeah,” Remus said finally, voice low. “Sure.”

“Good,” Regulus murmured, and pulled him into another kiss. And another. And another—enough that they barely noticed when the game started up again.

Eventually, they—well, Regulus —got back to watching the game. Remus just stayed there, still tasting him, still fighting the urge to drag him back in. His hands kept twitching, like they hadn’t gotten the memo that kissing was over. Regulus, meanwhile, looked weirdly calm for someone who had just been straddling and snogging a werewolf the day before a full moon.

His team managed to win—barely. The seeker caught the snitch in the last possible second, making the score 280–270. The grin that split Regulus’s face was pure sunshine—sharp, smug sunshine—and it made his dimples look deep enough to drown in.

“Thank fucking god,” he sighed, collapsing back against the couch like the game had personally tried to murder him. “I’d die if Evan’s team won.”

“That’s tragic,” Remus said, smirking.

“I know,” Regulus replied, still glowing with victory-smugness. Then, like it was nothing, “I gotta go. Practice. I’m about to absolutely crush your house next weekend, so you know.”

“I do. You’re a freak.”

“Thanks, dear,” Regulus clicked his tongue, like they were a married couple in their forties. “I’ll be on the pitch the rest of the day, but we can meet later?”

Remus weighed his options. He’d kill to have Regulus to himself before tomorrow, but he also knew exactly how quickly that would spiral into something Regulus might not be ready for. And the day before a full moon was not a good day to test the limits of his control.

“I have to study,” he said eventually, chewing on the words.

Regulus didn’t even blink. “‘Kay. Text me when you’re free.” He leaned in, kissed him once—lazy, casual, like they had all the time in the world—and then he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Remus in the projector’s dull glow, breathing like he’d just run laps. He spent a solid twenty minutes not letting his body react, and another thirty trying to decide if there was any point at all in pretending to Regulus that his full-moon disappearances were for anything other than the truth.

Probably not.
Definitely not.

Chapter 22: wasn’t Regulus Black the best thing that had ever happened to him?

Notes:

i work like a dog writing his ff i swear

Regulus was either a saint or just freakishly good at playing it cool, because he wasn’t the pain in the ass he could’ve been for the rest of Saturday and all of Sunday. Which, frankly, was a blessing. He’d taken Remus’s “I have to study” excuse without so much as a raised eyebrow—but still cornered him in the hidden classroom after lunch to kiss him stupidly fondly and tell him, again, to be careful.

Which, according to Sirius, Remus absolutely was not.
Instead of keeping his head down, he spent Sunday night racing thestrals around the edge of the Forbidden Forest like a lunatic. And of course, because Remus-Lupin-werewolf had the self-preservation instincts of a brick wall, it ended with Sirius having to physically tackle and pin him to the ground when he tried to take off toward the mountains beyond the forest.

The claws got him good—four deep slashes across his side. Madame Pomfrey patched him up without a single question. She’d stopped asking about full moons years ago, and Remus figured that was for the best. He didn’t have the energy to lie to her anymore.

Still, Monday morning found him stubbornly dragging himself to class like he wasn’t fresh off a transformation. He was half-dead, his entire body screaming at him to curl up somewhere dark and quiet, but no—he was dying to see Regulus. Not even to kiss him, just to hug him, let him run those stupidly soft hands through his hair, and be disgustingly, embarrassingly soft for a bit.

But Regulus was nowhere. Not at breakfast, not leaning against a wall waiting to smirk at him between classes, not even within glaring range. Which was suspicious enough.

What made it worse was that Barty was also missing, and Sirius noticed immediately.

“Where is that little shit?” Sirius muttered, scanning the Ravenclaw table like Barty might materialize out of thin air. His tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp.

Remus frowned but kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t about to ask “Where the hell is MY boyfriend?” in the middle of the Great Hall. He just stabbed at his eggs with more force than necessary and glanced at the rest of their table.

Peter was half-asleep, his chin propped on his palm. He’d spent most of the night trying to fend off that psychotic white cat that had been haunting him last night. Remus hadn’t seen the thing since the start of term and had honestly forgotten it existed—but apparently it was back.

James, on the other hand, was buzzing like he’d swallowed a gallon of coffee. Practically bouncing in his seat, which was suspicious in itself considering he’d been tearing through the forest alongside Remus and Sirius last night in his stag form. That kind of night usually left him dragging his feet the next morning.

And Lily—Lily was doing what Lily always did after a full moon. Shooting him quiet, worried glances from across the table like she could will him into resting if she stared hard enough.

Remus took a moment, despite feeling like death, to appreciate the lineup of people he had: three friends who had literally broken magical law to become Animagi just to help him, and one friend who knew every brutal detail of his condition and still managed to be more supportive than a Head Girl ever should be.

By the time the last bell rang, Remus had moved through his classes like a ghost, physically present but mentally halfway between sleep and the edge of the forest. His stomach was a tight knot of anticipation, worry, and leftover adrenaline from yesterday, and he had a feeling Regulus was going to show up at the exact moment his control snapped.

He wasn’t wrong.

Walking out of Charms, he spotted him—leaning casually against a stone column in a nearly empty corridor, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a small stack of books. That smirk, that infuriatingly perfect posture, made Remus feel like his chest was under siege.

And Barty.
Of course, Barty was right there too, sitting cross-legged on the floor like he owned the place, flipping through a textbook with the kind of calm that made Remus want to shove him off the wall. Sirius’s suspicion had been justified.

“Finally,” Remus muttered under his breath, tugging at his sleeves to calm himself, though it was mostly futile.

Regulus looked up, smirk sharpening. “You survived the weekend, huh?”

“Barely,” Remus said, eyes darting between him and Barty. “I’d like to ask what you two are doing, but I have a feeling the answer’s going to be infuriating.”

Regulus tilted his head innocently. “And yet here you are. Walking. Breathing. Even managing to look human. Impressive.”

Remus groaned. “Stop with the commentary, or I swear—”

Sirius cut in, older-brother energy laced with that unmistakable boyfriend undertone, and Remus actually flinched, even if it wasn’t aimed at him.

“Where the hell have you two been—and not why at breakfast, you little twats?” Sirius barked, eyes narrowing on Regulus and Barty.

Barty met his gaze, barely. “We had something to do,” he said, standing up.

“What something?” Sirius demanded, leaning closer.

Barty didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t.

“Regulus,” Sirius said flatly, and Remus stiffened. That tone alone was alarming: a) he never used Regulus’s full name, b) he never sounded like that to him.

Regulus sniffed, unnervingly calm. “Slytherin stuff,” he said.

“Slytherin stuff,” Remus echoed, flat and dangerous.

“Start talking, or I’ll skin you alive,” Sirius threatened, jabbing a finger at him.

Regulus winced ever so slightly. “I won’t. We all act like we don’t know a shit, and apparently, we’re about to keep it that way, so calm down,” he said, voice deliberately measured.

Remus’s stomach dropped into the pit of his chest. Jesus. Jesus Christ.

Before Sirius could erupt—and Remus could feel the storm building—Evan Rosier appeared from nowhere.

He froze, blue eyes locking on Remus and Sirius.

“Shit,” he said, fast, and Remus froze in place, stomach twisting. That piercing blue eyes, the way his pale blonde hair fell just enough to obscure one eye…

It clicked. The gears slammed into place. Every missing piece snapped together.

The white cat.
The tailing.
The small, impossible coincidences.

Evan Rosier was the white cat.

“We’re going. Now,” Remus hissed, grabbing Sirius’s arm and dragging him down the near-empty corridor without a glance back at his boyfriend or his friends who apparently knew everything.

“But—” Sirius protested, trailing behind.

“Evan is the cat,” Remus spat, his voice low but frantic. “The fucking white cat from last night. The one that’s been following me for years. Pete was joking about it being my boyfriend? White fur, blue eyes, everywhere.”

Sirius gasped, a sharp sound. “No…”

“Oh my god, I can’t—what the fuck,” Remus muttered, pacing like he could burn the walls down with his panic.

“Moony, calm down—” Sirius tried, but Remus snapped.

“How the fuck am I supposed to calm down?” he barked. “He knows. And Regulus knows! And Crouch knows too, for sure! Who the fuck else knows?!”

“That’s a lot of ‘knows,’” Sirius muttered.

“Sirius,” Remus growled, circling again like a cornered animal.

Sirius grabbed his arms, forcing him to stop. “Look—look, fuck, stop walking. If they know—which, honestly, we don’t know, and you might be paranoid—they didn’t tell anyone.”

“And how can you be sure?” Remus shot back.

“Because Reg is my brother, genius,” Sirius said, tone sharp before he softened slightly. “And he wouldn’t do that, alright?”

“Yeah, well, he wouldn’t—but Rosier?”

“Rosier had a crush on you for three years! And before you even start with Barty—just don’t. He wouldn’t either,” Sirius said firmly, eyes locking on him.

Remus exhaled, tight and shaky, heart hammering. Somehow, this whole revelation made him feel smaller, exposed, and more tangled than ever, and he wasn’t sure he’d survive the next five minutes without screaming.

“How the fuck could we have missed that they know?” Remus asked, half himself, half Sirius, voice tight and frantic.

“I have no fucking idea,” Sirius muttered, jaw tight. “But we’re not sure—”

“Sirius,” Remus snapped, cutting him off, “I’ve been sure Regulus knows for, like, weeks. He never said it out loud, but he knows. And if Rosier is the cat—which he is, he fucking has to be—then three of them for sure pieced together that the Marauders’ nicknames aren’t accidental! He knows you’re the dog, that James’s a stag, and that Pete’s a rat! That’s why he was chasing him last night!”

“Moony—” Sirius started, but Remus wasn’t done.

“Oh my god, I’m going to get sent to Azkaban, and even my dad won’t stop this!” he gasped, hyperventilating now, which wasn’t helping his post-full-moon ribs screaming in protest.

“You won’t! No one will! Besides me, because I’m about to murder Barty—but that’s irrelevant,” Sirius said, waving a hand like it could dismiss the problem. “Just calm down, okay?”

“We need to tell Prongs and Pete,” Remus said, voice cracking. “They need to know.”

“We’ll tell them,” Sirius said slowly, coaxing him, patience threading his voice. “Just—just stop freaking out, alright? We’ll talk to them too. Just… calm down.”

Remus nodded slowly, taking shaky breaths. “I—fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck. Fuck.”

“I know,” Sirius said gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Now, how about… you go to bed instead of dragging yourself through classes today?”

Remus shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Are you fucking serious? If I disappear for the whole damn day after the full moon, Snape won’t shut up about me being a werewolf either!”

“He wasn’t at breakfast today, so maybe—”

“No.” Remus cut him off. “Let’s go to Herbology. We’ll cast Muffliato, fill in Prongs and Pete, and maybe… maybe I’ll call my dad and—shit.” He stopped himself abruptly, spinning on his heel and heading for the exit of the castle.

He had no idea what his dad could actually do, but honestly, he needed someone adult. He was losing his mind and flirting dangerously with the thought of transferring to Durmstrang just to escape the chaos. His dad, as head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, could pull strings—maybe even Obliviate Evan Rosier. Just erase everything the boy knew about him, for the best.

And honestly… that thought, twisted as it was, gave him a flicker of relief. Maybe there was a way out of this mess before the world collapsed around him.

In the greenhouse, Sirius did the impossible: he explained everything to James and Peter because Remus wasn’t even able to cut the leaves off the plants correctly without threatening to start yelling about the whole damn situation.

James looked like a fish flopping out of water, completely lost, and Peter’s eyes were so wide open that Remus genuinely worried they might pop out.

“Evan is the cat?” James whispered, voice trembling with disbelief. “What—he is?”

Sirius nodded slowly, his expression grim. “I mean… it tracks, Prongs. Explains why he was always around Moony, right? It started sometime in fourth year, maybe fifth year tops, which was around when he started crushing on Moony, so… yeah. I guess.”

“Kill me. Fucking kill me,” Remus groaned, dropping his hands to the workbench, fingers trembling.

“God, my mum will kill me if I get expelled,” Peter muttered, though the panic in his voice made it sound like a battle cry. “Which isn’t a problem right now!” he added quickly, seeing Sirius’s glare. “Just… an observation. Well, a fact. Well—shit.”

“Yeah. Shit,” Remus said flatly, slicing off half the plant by accident because his hands were shaking too badly to be precise.

The bell rang shortly after, and Remus dragged himself to History, the very class he had with Regulus. Fantastic. How exactly was he supposed to look Regulus in the eyes right now? He’d survived full moons, angry professors, and years of self-loathing, but this… this might actually break him.

He tried not to look, of course, when he sat down beside Regulus, but Regulus was impossible to ignore. Today was no different.

“Are you okay?” Regulus asked softly, his hand brushing against Remus’s knee under the desk.

Remus swallowed hard, trying to push the lump in his throat down. “Amazing,” he spat, voice sharp, brittle.

“Remus, just—”

“He was fucking following me as a cat?” Remus snapped, voice low, venom lacing each word more than Regulus had ever heard before.

Regulus’s eyes went wide. “You—he—what?”

“Was he?” Remus pressed, leaning just slightly closer so that his words cut through the space between them.

“I—how do you know that?” Regulus asked, his voice tight.

“Answer me, Regulus,” Remus said flatly, eyes locking on his, unblinking.

Regulus bit his bottom lip, silence stretching like a wire ready to snap. Finally, he exhaled, a whisper more confession than statement: “He… he was.”

“And you never thought about telling me?” Remus snapped, disbelief slicing through his words like knives.

“I did! But—but how was I supposed to?” Regulus stammered, voice tight, clearly flustered.

“I don’t know, maybe ‘Hey, Remus, so Evan is an animagus, he’s been following you for years, he knows about your secret, and also I know, and also Barty knows’?” Remus said flatly, voice dripping with incredulity.

“Remus—”

“Just—just don’t,” he cut him off sharply. His head was a mess, a tangled storm of panic and frustration, and he was sure if he spoke another word, he’d either start screaming or crying. Neither option was acceptable in a classroom full of students, so he stared straight ahead at Binns, not hearing a single word of the droning lecture.

Regulus went still beside him. Over the course of the class, Remus caught him out of the corner of his eye, opening his mouth a few times, hesitating, but nothing ever came out. His usually unflappable composure seemed strained, almost human.

And then, just when Remus thought he might collapse under the weight of it all, things got more complicated—if that was even possible. Slughorn entered the classroom without knocking, which alone was an eyebrow-raiser, and his face was uncharacteristically serious. His eyes locked on Regulus immediately.

“I’m sorry, Professor Binns,” Slughorn said, voice clipped. “I need to see Regulus in my office. Immediately.”

Regulus gathered his things with that same composed, untouchable air he always had, and Remus didn’t let himself look at him. Binns just nodded absently, muttering something about “take the Rupert, then,” and resumed his lecture as if nothing extraordinary had just happened.

Seconds later, both Regulus and Slughorn were gone. The hum of the classroom rose, whispers spreading like wildfire. Things like that—Slughorn personally summoning a student, and with that kind of urgency—barely ever happened. And if they did, it was usually one of the Marauders, dragged off to the head of their house for some mess they’d caused.

Remus swallowed hard, staring at the door like Regulus could reappear any second, like he could just walk back in and make everything feel normal again.

He didn’t.

The quiet settled over him like a weight, pressing down on his chest, making it hard to breathe. His fingers itched, wanting to text, call, do anything to reach him, but he froze. Because whatever had pulled Regulus away was serious, and for once, Remus had no idea how to fix it. He just sat there, every heartbeat hammering in his ears, waiting for something that might never come.

Sirius, James, and Peter were already waiting for him under the classroom when Remus slipped out, voice low and tense. “Slughorn just took Reg to his office,” he said before any of them could speak.

“Flitwick took Barty too,” Sirius muttered, eyes narrowing. “From Muggle Studies. Come on,” he added, jerking his head toward the stairs, urgency in every motion.

Minutes later, they were crouched behind the greenhouse, four of them pressed against the cold stone wall, staring at the Marauder’s Map like it might suddenly hand them all the answers on a silver platter.

Regulus, Barty, and Evan were in Dumbledore’s office, caught in the dots of Slughorn and Flitwick. Slughorn’s dots prowled around the round office, restless, while the other three barely moved, like statues caught in a trap.

“Shit,” Sirius muttered, swallowing hard. “If they’re about to call parents—” He cut himself off, and Remus didn’t even want to imagine Walburga Black’s wrath descending on Regulus. Not after what he’d seen on his lower back. 

“They won’t,” James said, trying to sound confident. “Slughorn likes Regulus, right?”

“Yeah, but if he did something… fuck,” Sirius muttered under his breath, eyes scanning the map like he could read intentions from moving dots.

Peter leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper. “You think it has something to do with Snape?”

“Why would it?” Remus snapped, teeth gritting.

“‘Cause… cause Snape’s been going on and on about how you’re a werewolf. Maybe they… I dunno… tried to see if you really are?” Peter suggested cautiously, like he was stepping on thin ice.

Remus didn’t have the energy to explain. No, that wasn’t true. Two of the three suspects were boyfriends of two Marauders. It wasn’t possible. The explanation didn’t even make sense in the chaos of this morning.

“It’s not that,” Sirius said firmly, voice low but resolute. “I’m sure. And I’m going there,” he added, shoulders squaring, jaw tightening. “I’m legally responsible for him while he’s here. So… I’m going.”

Before any of them could blink or protest, Sirius was already moving, a storm of determination as he marched back toward the castle. James and Peter exchanged glances, hesitation frozen on their faces, while Remus’s stomach twisted with a mix of dread and helplessness. Whatever was happening in that office, it was serious—and he had no idea how to stop it.

He stayed crouched behind the greenhouse for a moment longer, wishing he could follow—but knowing, deep down, that Sirius wouldn’t let him. Not until he knew exactly what they were walking into.

Seconds stretched into minutes, and minutes into nearly half an hour, before Sirius, Regulus, Barty, and Evan finally stepped out of Dumbledore’s office. Remus, James, and Peter were glued to the Marauder’s Map, tracking their dots as they moved.

“They’re coming this way,” James muttered, voice low, before folding the map and shoving it into his pocket.

When Remus saw Regulus, relief crashed over him like a wave. He didn’t look like someone whose parents were on their way to the castle, so maybe things weren’t as bad as he feared. Still, Regulus approached him like he expected a hex to hit him at any moment, which made Remus feel like the biggest idiot alive.

Sirius, on the other hand, looked like he was about to combust. Remus was almost surprised smoke wasn’t streaming from his nostrils. Evan looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, and Barty… well, Barty looked smug. Of course he did.

“What the hell happened?” James asked, voice sharp.

Regulus didn’t answer, which wasn’t unusual. What was unusual, though, was that Evan did.

“Nothing,” he said, voice tight.

“Nothing?” Remus snapped, and Evan flinched, shrinking back a little.

“Okay, maybe… don’t kill him before we find out, alright?” Peter interjected, voice pleading.

Remus bit back the urge to pull out his wand and hex Evan on the spot. Instead, he turned to Regulus, who swallowed, looking tighter than a wound-up spring, and said in the flattest voice possible, “We were keeping Snape away from you all last night. And… we may have damaged him a little. He’s in the hospital wing.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Remus asked, voice cracking.

“What?” James and Peter echoed in unison.

Sirius, utterly unamused, lit a cigarette and began pacing like a parent who desperately wanted to throttle his child but knew he legally couldn’t.

“Come again?” Remus pressed, incredulous.

Regulus bit his bottom lip, slow and deliberate. “We… um, we’ve known for a while. Evan found out in fourth year. We also know that you guys are Animagi.” He waved at James and Peter. “And… remember what I said about Snape trying to get his revenge?” Remus just nodded, too stunned to speak. “I was stalking him to see if he was planning some shit around the full moon. He was. Trying to get out of the castle to catch you. And… he couldn’t come closer without you losing it, so Evan was keeping you guys distracted. And Barty and I… well, we kept him away,” he admitted, wincing at the last part.

“What did you do to him?” Peter asked, pale, voice barely steady.

Barty’s grin was lazy, infuriatingly so. “Nothing serious. We baited him, though.”

“Baited how?” James asked, frowning.

“Lynx is my Animagus form,” Barty explained with a shrug. “The idiot was so obsessed with catching Lupin that he didn’t even notice I’m not a werewolf. Just kept chasing me all over the Black Lake. Eventually, we cornered him.”

“How were you there unnoticed?” Remus asked Regulus, flat, though his mind was struggling to process all of it.

“I can change into a black cat,” Regulus sighed, tiredly.

“You—Is everyone here a fucking Animagus?” Remus snapped, incredulous, voice sharp enough to cut glass.

“Yes,” six voices answered simultaneously.

Remus exhaled slowly, letting his head fall back for a second. “What happened next?” he asked, voice tense, bracing for the answer.

Barty grinned again, dangerously. “We taught him a lesson. Well… I did, mostly. He’ll be fine.”

Sirius snorted, dry, sharp as a whip. “You’re a fucking idiot, Crouch.”

Barty just winked at him, the psychotic maniac he was, as if daring anyone to argue. The tension hung heavy in the air, a mixture of relief, disbelief, and the kind of adrenaline that makes your ribs ache. Remus felt like the world had tilted sideways and might never set straight again—and maybe that was just fine for now.

“How the hell did you not get expelled?” James demanded, eyes flashing at Evan.

Evan didn’t look at any of them. He tilted his head to the sky, like the clouds might answer for him, and said nothing.

“God, you coward,” Barty muttered, rolling his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. “Arch pulled out his prefect card and said we were rescuing Snape from doing something stupid. Neither Flitwick nor Slughorn wanted to believe him, but Dumbledore—well, the old prick did.”

“He knows I’m a werewolf,” Remus cut in, voice sharp. “And he knows Snape’s obsessed.”

Barty blinked, clearly thrown off for a second. “...Alright,” he muttered. “And, well, we told him Snape attacked us first. I modified his memory later so he actually thinks that now.”

“You changed his memory?” Peter asked, jaw slack, utterly baffled.

“I implied a fake one,” Barty said with a roll of his eyes like it was obvious he was a magical genius. “I’m a Ravenclaw, not a moron without a plan, Pettigrew. Anyway, nothing happened, nobody got caught, and Snape will think twice before tailing you again. So… all good.” He shrugged, annoyingly casual, like world-saving was a Tuesday chore.

Remus stared at the three of them, still trying to process the reality: they willingly risked his life, let him go full werewolf in their presence, and all of it… to protect him. He swallowed. Hard.

“Alright,” he said slowly, voice rough. “Thanks.”

Regulus finally relaxed a little, shoulders easing, and Barty just nodded, as if none of it had ever happened. Evan didn’t move.

“And you,” Remus said, turning to him, voice low and pointed. “I’m not done with you.”

Evan winced. “Shit.”

“And,” Sirius added, glaring at Regulus, Barty, and Evan in turn, “try that shit again and I swear I’m strangling one of you on the spot.”

Barty hummed, smirked like a lunatic. “I kinda hoped for the next full-moon escapade.”

“Crouch,” Sirius warned, voice tight.

“Wait up,” Peter raised a hand, voice careful. “Moony was in the hospital wing this morning and he hadn’t seen Snape there.”

Regulus nodded. “Yeah, we knew he would be. Snape was unconscious until nine-ish, lying by the Black Lake.”

“Naked,” Barty added with a shit-eating grin.

James snorted, caught off guard, letting an uncontrollable laugh escape. The sound was ridiculous and a little too loud, but it broke the tension. “I’m sorry,” he wheezed between breaths. “But… I’d do the exact same thing.”

Evan cracked a grin, faint, but enough to tug at Remus’s lips, just barely.

“Alright then,” Peter said, clapping his hands. “Can we mutually agree that last night never happened? And none of us tattle about any of us being Animagi? I have NEWTs to take, and my mum will murder me three times over if I get expelled.”

“Pete,” Sirius groaned, exasperated, rubbing his forehead.

“Have you met my mom?” Peter asked, flat, deadpan.

“Have you met ours?” Regulus and Sirius asked simultaneously, voices flat as stone.

“She would be a match with my dad,” Barty hummed.

And that was it. That little exchange was all it took. Seven of them erupted into laughter—maybe a little too hysterical, considering all the chaos and dark secrets that had just spilled—but for the first time, Remus felt like maybe having three more people like them— even counting Evan Rosier —wasn’t so bad.

“Alright,” he said, trying to regain some composure. “Thanks again. Really.”

Regulus smiled at him then, tentative, like he was testing the waters. And for a brief, ridiculous, perfect moment, Remus smiled back. Because… shit. Wasn’t Regulus Black the best thing that had ever happened to him?

Chapter 23: he’d fight the whole damn world to keep it

Remus and Regulus lingered behind the greenhouse for a while longer, the sound of the castle fading behind them as the rest of the group headed back, probably hoping to grab something to eat before next class. 

Remus still couldn’t quite wrap his head around everything that had happened. None of it made sense, not really. Animagi, secret missions, near-death situations… and yet here he was, alive, relatively unharmed, and surrounded by people who actually cared about him. He wasn’t used to that. Not from anyone who wasn’t already his friend.

“You still mad at me?” Regulus asked after a beat, voice cautious.

“I’m mad that you didn’t just tell me,” Remus admitted with a sigh, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “And that you risked your life like that.”

“I wasn’t,” Regulus huffed, trying to sound casual. “Everything went according to plan.”

“Regulus—”

“I’m fine, and you’re fine, and everyone’s fine, right?” Regulus cut him off, stepping closer, eyes wary. “Don’t be mad at me because I didn’t want you to accidentally murder Snape.” He muttered the last part almost sheepishly.

“I’m not,” Remus said softly, and before he could overthink it, he pulled Regulus into a hug. His arms wrapped around the boy like he might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight. “Thanks for that.”

“Of course,” Regulus muttered into his shoulder, voice low and earnest. “And… don’t kill Evan. I like him,” he added, just loud enough to make Remus stiffen.

“Don’t mention him, or I’m going full-psycho,” Remus warned, though he wasn’t letting go, still holding him tightly.

“Alright,” Regulus mumbled, settling against him.

They stayed like that for a long moment. Remus rested his chin atop Regulus’s head, feeling the warmth and the steady rhythm of his breathing. He was dangerously close to falling for him—too close, maybe—and blamed Regulus entirely. For everything. For the charm, the bravery, the way he could make Remus feel safe and seen all at once.

Finally, Regulus pulled back slightly, breaking the silence. “Let’s go back to the castle, alright?” His voice was softer now, almost teasing, but laced with concern. “And, please… take a nap after. You look awful.”

Remus rolled his eyes, though the faintest smirk tugged at his lips. “You didn’t exactly sleep either last night.”

“We can nap together,” Regulus said, smirking now, tiptoeing just enough to brush a kiss against Remus’s cheek. “Now, c’mon.”

Remus allowed himself a small, reluctant smile, letting Regulus lead him back toward the castle. Even after all the chaos, all the risk, and all the secrets, he felt… light. Lighter than he had in months. 

Would he admit it out loud? Not yet. But the thought lingered, stubborn and dangerous: maybe Regulus Black was the best thing that had ever happened to him. And maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want that to change.

For the rest of the day, Remus didn’t even bother pretending to pay attention in class. He was zoning out so hard that even McGonagall had eventually stopped glaring at him, like she’d decided it wasn’t worth the effort. His head was still looping the same thought over and over: Regulus knew. Knew for years, apparently. Knew, and never said a word. And instead of telling him, he’d just… quietly kept him safe.

It wasn’t the kind of thing you did for a week-old boyfriend. Hell, it wasn’t even the kind of thing you did for a best friend, unless you were insane, reckless, or—god forbid—both.

So, yeah, Remus was trying to be mad about it. God, he was. He’d built a whole mental list of reasons why he should be furious. Evan had been literally stalking him for years and Regulus had just… let that happen? Without a warning? Without even a hint? Remus should have been livid.

Except he couldn’t be. Not really.

Still, he was absolutely going to grill him later. Painfully. Methodically. For as long as it took. Just… after he’d had a proper nap in a room without any risk of someone barging in to accuse him of mauling a Slytherin by the Black Lake.

Around him, life in the Marauders’ row was continuing as if nothing catastrophic had happened the night before. Sirius was relentlessly texting Barty and when he eventually stopped responding, Sirius took it as a personal challenge, scribbling down every possible threat he could think of and firing them back in conjured little pieces of parchment. 

Barty’s response had been a perfectly folded paper swan. Then a little fox. Then a heart—perfectly creased, smug as hell.

Remus pretended not to notice how Sirius’s lips twitched when that one landed on his desk. It was disgusting.

He was jealous, obviously.

James, meanwhile, was hunched over his desk, texting someone with all the focus of a man planning a heist. His face was an unreadable mix of mild obsession and… something else Remus couldn’t place. Could’ve been good. Could’ve been disastrous. Either way, Remus wasn’t about to unpack that today. Maybe when his skull wasn’t pounding like a drum.

Peter, as usual, was Peter —unbothered, relaxed, and leaning back like the whole near-expulsion, near-hospital-wing situation had been just another Tuesday. Which, for Peter, maybe it was. Remus envied that ability to simply move on. He envied it almost as much as he envied Sirius getting paper hearts sent to him in class.

And then, in the middle of his last lecture, Regulus texted him.

Regulus:
i’m in the room already
i conjured a huge bed for all your limbs and attitude
also, miss you already
also, have tea for you

Remus stared at it for a second, and despite himself—despite the exhaustion, the headache, the lingering frustration—his mouth twitched into something dangerously close to a smile.

Because, shit. Of course Regulus would make him a bed, miss him, and make tea, all while knowing full well that Remus was still planning to interrogate him until he cracked.

That was the problem with Regulus Black—he made it very difficult to stay mad at him.

Half an hour later, they were sprawled in the massive bed Regulus had conjured in the hidden room, the faint flicker of a projector casting some random Stranger Things episode against the wall. It wasn’t like either of them were paying attention—it was just background noise to fill the space. The air still carried the soft, grounding smell of sage tea with lavender, curling lazily from the mug on the nightstand.

Regulus was tucked near the edge of the bed, knees drawn up to his chest, eyes somehow both sharp and soft as they flicked over Remus. His uniform had been abandoned in favor of a pair of black, washed-out jeans that looked like they’d been stolen straight from the early 2000s, but Remus knew— knew —that they were probably worth more than a month’s rent for most people. Over them, he wore a Slytherin jumper, sleeves pushed up, and mismatched socks that screamed I didn’t even try. He looked unfairly soft. Unfairly him. Sleepy in the way only someone still buzzing from too little rest could be.

“So,” Regulus said finally, voice flat but eyes glinting. “You’re going full werewolf on me next month?”

“Depends,” Remus hummed, stretching out like he owned the bed. “Are you planning to keep doing that thing where you know, but act like you don’t know, but I know you know, and you know I know you know?”

“Don’t Monica me,” Regulus narrowed his eyes, but his lips twitched despite himself. “I didn’t exactly plan for yesterday to happen, alright? I was fine letting you take your time and… I don’t know, figure things out on your own. It’s all Snape’s fault. Really,” he said with grave seriousness.

“It’s always Snape’s fault,” Remus groaned, dragging his palms over his eyes. “But you could’ve told me he was about to stalk us.”

“Then I’d have to explain how I found out,” Regulus huffed. “And I wasn’t about to randomly announce that I’m an Animagus.”

Remus gave him a flat look. “I found out anyway.”

Then, like a delayed afterthought—

“Wait. God, did you stalk me too?” Remus asked, sitting up.

“No,” Regulus said quickly. Too quickly. “I swear I didn’t. Really.”

“Regulus,” Remus warned.

“I mean…” Regulus shifted. “I casually stalked you. Like other people. Nonchalant. Just—a cat who sits in random places and listens to gossip. You know. Standard procedure.”

“God, you’re a creep.”

“I’m efficient,” Regulus corrected with a sniff. “And I tried to stay away from you lot, for the record.”

“And why’s that?” Remus raised an eyebrow.

“Your pranks weren’t funny when I knew they were coming,” Regulus said, resting his chin on his knees. “And… it’d be weird to stalk you when I liked you, alright? I didn’t want to accidentally find out where you’re jerking off.”

“Oh my god.”

“Evan knows, though,” Regulus added, smug as sin.

Remus tipped his head back onto the pillow and silently repeated his mantra about not killing his unfairly attractive, slightly deranged boyfriend.

“Don’t mention him. I’m begging you.”

Regulus hummed. “You’re not about to hex him, are you?” he asked, half teasing.

“I want to. But I also don’t want to be a hypocrite,” Remus replied.

Regulus squinted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That not only you have maniac friends who stalk their crushes.”

“Lupin.”

“What?”

“Are you talking about Potter?” Regulus demanded, suddenly alert.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Lupin! Is that excuse of a man stalking me?”

“Not anymore. And calm down—he stalks everyone.” Remus smiled sweetly.

“Don’t use my words against me!”

“Stop yelling, please,” Remus groaned. “I literally can’t take it today.”

Regulus let out a long, theatrical sigh. “Fine. But I’m scheduling a fight for tomorrow. 8:45 p.m., before patrol.”

“Alright,” Remus said easily, shifting over to make more room. “Now c’mere.”

Regulus scoffed, like accepting an invitation to lie down next to him was somehow beneath him, but still crawled over anyway, curling into the space Remus had left. Neither of them reached for the projector remote. The episode kept playing, muted soundtrack spilling across the room, while the weight of Regulus pressed warm against Remus’s side.

And just like that, the argument was unofficially postponed. For now.

 

Remus woke up to the quiet, persistent sound of tapping—light but sharp, like someone was determinedly murdering their phone screen with their thumbs. He blinked his eyes open to find Regulus still curled exactly where he’d been when Remus had fallen asleep: on his side, head tucked into the crook of Remus’s arm, knees bent and pressed against his thigh like he’d been glued there all day. His hair was mussed from the pillow, his Slytherin jumper rumpled, and his expression focused in a way that was almost threatening.

“You’re texting like you’re about to start a riot,” Remus mumbled, voice still rough from sleep.

“Am not,” Regulus replied without looking up. “I’m ending one.”

“Meaning?” Remus stretched, limbs heavy and slow.

“Evan’s freaking out that you’ll—” Regulus raised his voice a touch in mock drama—“and I quote, ‘verbally and magically end him.’” His face was deadpan when he finally glanced up. “Do you have any idea how much fear you inspire?”

“Reg—”

“How do you do that, and why can’t I?” Regulus asked, entirely serious.

“Because you turn into a cat when I turn into a literal monster. Shut up.”

“You’re not a monster,” Regulus huffed, wrinkling his nose. “You’re just… furry.”

“Furry,” Remus repeated, flat.

“Yes. Furry,” Regulus nodded, as if confirming the results of a long-term study. “And ridiculously susceptible to physical touch.”

Remus glared at him. “Get off me. Now.”

“Nah. You’re tolerable right now,” Regulus grinned, tossing his phone aside without a care. He propped himself up on one elbow, watching Remus like he was the most entertaining thing in the world. “And for the record, I wasn’t teasing you on purpose. You’re just stupidly easy to wind up.”

“Leave me alone,” Remus groaned, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face in the pillow. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation before I’ve even been properly conscious for five minutes.”

“We are, because I’m delightful. And because I’m no longer afraid you’ll do something to me,” Regulus said, smug.

“I can do plenty of things to you,” Remus shot back before he could think better of it. He blamed the half-asleep brain and the fact that it was Regulus.

Regulus paused, blinking at him. “…Okay. Smooth.”

“Thanks.” Remus rolled onto his side again, deadpan. “Now, do we have to have the whole ‘do you chase sticks as a werewolf’ conversation?”

Regulus’s grin sharpened. “I did my research, actually.”

“Of course you did,” Remus sighed. “And?”

“And you’re a textbook example of one,” Regulus said, kneeling up like he was about to make an announcement. “Honestly, I’m shocked no one clocked it sooner.”

“You and your little friends did,” Remus muttered. “And how the hell did you?”

“Evan’s been following you since the day he figured out how to change into a cat without almost dying,” Regulus said, his fingers idly fidgeting with the hem of Remus’s sweater. “Then, once, he ended up in the hospital wing the day before a full moon, and Pomfrey just… let it slip. Something about how she still can’t believe you’re not breaking every bone in your body during transformations.”

Remus nodded slowly. “I stopped when the guys started joining me. We’d sneak out of the shack and run around the forest instead.”

Regulus made a noise of mock outrage. “I knew Sirius had funnier friends.” He tilted his head. “And nothing ever happened?”

“Thank God, no,” Remus said. “Well—there were a few crashes into centaurs and thestrals. Oh, and James once chased a rabbit into the Black Lake. The giant squid almost got him, but he had antlers, so, you know—couldn’t pull him under.”

Regulus actually laughed. “God. Thestrals?”

“We don’t see them, alright?” Remus groaned. “They’re tricky.”

“Tricky,” Regulus repeated, lips twitching.

“And kind of mean,” Remus added, grimacing.

Regulus laughed again. “Oh my God.”

“Alright, enough,” Remus said. “Now change into a cat. I wanna see it.”

“You’re bossy for someone who chases squirrels once a month,” Regulus hummed.

Before Remus could blink, Regulus shifted—fur rippling into place until there was a sleek black cat sitting at the foot of the bed, gray eyes unnervingly human, with a little white patch just behind one ear. His tail flicked lazily as he tilted his head at Remus, slow-blinking like he owned the place. And Merlin help him—he looked more like a kitten than a predator. Adorable in the kind of way Remus would never admit out loud.

“Would it be weird if I pet you?” Remus asked cautiously.

Regulus-the-cat gave him a you can try look, so Remus reached out and scratched under his chin. No claws. No biting. Just the soft press of fur under his fingers. Victory.

At least until Regulus suddenly shifted back, collapsing against the bed with a startled laugh. “God—it tickles.”

Regulus was still grinning when he sprawled half across Remus, hair sticking up at ridiculous angles from the transformation. His cheeks were faintly flushed, either from the shift or from laughing too hard, and the smug look on his face made Remus want to shove him straight back onto the floor.

“You’re the worst,” Remus muttered, wiping cat fur off his sleeve.

“You loved it,” Regulus shot back, absolutely unapologetic. “Admit it.”

“I did not,” Remus said flatly, which was a lie so obvious that Regulus didn’t even bother calling him out on it. He just smirked like he’d won something.

Instead, Regulus flopped onto his stomach and kicked his socked feet in the air, looking far too comfortable for someone who had just revealed he’d been using his Animagus form for light, morally questionable reconnaissance. “You know,” he said, voice maddeningly casual, “I could follow you around in that form all month and you’d never notice. You wouldn’t even know I was there.”

Remus gave him a look that should have withered a lesser man. “Regulus. If I find out you’ve been creeping in cat form, I will hex you. And I won’t feel bad.”

Regulus made an exaggerated face of wounded innocence. “What kind of boyfriend threatens their partner for being cute?”

“The kind whose boyfriend has a history of casually weaponizing being cute.”

“That’s slander,” Regulus said, but his smile was sharp enough to cut glass.

Remus rolled his eyes and tried to push him away, but Regulus was dead weight—warm, heavy, and determined to stay plastered against him. “Why are you like this?” Remus grumbled.

“Because you let me,” Regulus said simply, like that was the most obvious answer in the world. And annoyingly, it kind of was.

They lay there in silence for a minute, the hum of the projector still faint in the background, sage-and-lavender tea scent still hanging in the air. Regulus’s breathing slowed until it was almost in sync with his own, but Remus could feel the faint tension in him—the kind that meant his brain was still running laps.

“You’re still thinking about Evan,” Remus said eventually.

Regulus’s mouth twitched. “I’m thinking about how much I’d like to make sure he never comes within fifty feet of you again.”

“Possessive much?”

“Yes,” Regulus said without hesitation.

Remus huffed, partly exasperated, partly… something else. “You can’t keep trying to fight everyone who looks at me wrong.”

“I can if I win,” Regulus countered, and somehow managed to make it sound like flawless logic.

Remus stared at him, debating whether to argue or just kiss him to shut him up.

Regulus raised an eyebrow like he knew.

And that was the worst part—he probably did.

So they kissed—Regulus crawling over him with all the single-mindedness of someone who had decided this was going to happen and nothing in the known universe was going to stop it. The air punched out of Remus’s lungs, and not because of Regulus’s weight.

The kiss was slow, soft, and infuriatingly sweet, the kind of thing that made Remus melt in spite of himself. Or maybe not “in spite”—maybe he was just letting himself melt, piece by piece, until he wasn’t sure where his body ended and Regulus’s began.

His hands found their way under Regulus’s jumper almost without thinking, palms mapping warm skin, fingers grazing the raised lines of old scars on his lower back before sliding higher. Regulus made the smallest, quietest sound in response—a low hum that barely escaped his throat—but it was enough to set Remus’s entire bloodstream on fire. Or maybe it was just his chest, tight and hot in a way that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature.

When they finally pulled apart, breathing just a little uneven, Remus’s voice was rough when he said, “I’m glad you didn’t get expelled. I’d—” he hesitated, then shrugged like it was nothing, “—stupidly miss you.”

Regulus grinned, smug but softer than usual. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“That’s a very Gryffindor thing to say,” Remus hummed, brushing a stray strand of black hair out of his eyes and tucking it neatly behind his ear.

“Don’t insult me,” Regulus said, utterly deadpan. “It’s enough that I’m letting a Gryffindor kiss me in the hidden movie room.”

“Bold words for someone who liked said Gryffindor for months before even speaking to him properly.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “Do you always need to have the upper hand?”

“That’s my life goal,” Remus grinned, stealing another quick kiss just to prove the point. “Well—this, and having you climb over me like I’m some kind of tree.”

“You are,” Regulus huffed, but didn’t move an inch. “Freakishly tall. It’s like lying on a bloody wardrobe.”

“Comfortable though,” Remus countered, smirking.

Regulus didn’t dignify that with a reply—just settled against him, head on his stomach, legs tangled with his, refusing to budge even as the projector droned on in the background. And he stayed there, stubborn as ever, until dinner time, like the idea of moving was not just unreasonable but outright offensive.

“How do you take full moons, though?” Regulus asked, propping his chin on Remus’s sternum so he could look up at him. His voice wasn’t teasing this time—just curious in that razor-sharp way of his that made it impossible to dodge the question. “I mean… I know it’s painful, but… how is it?”

Remus shrugged like it was nothing, even though it was everything. “Depends on my mood, really.” The casual tone was a lie, same as it had been every time he’d answered that question since he was five years old. But he wasn’t going to tell Regulus that. Not now. Not ever. He didn’t want pity. Especially not from him.

“Like… if you’re sad or something, it’s worse?” Regulus pressed.

“When I’m mad,” Remus corrected. “Or stressed.”

Regulus smirked, lazy and sharp all at once. “So I guess you’ll have really awful full moons while dating me.”

“Nah,” Remus smirked back, his hand still idly tracing patterns over Regulus’s spine. “You’re alright.”

“Flatterer,” Regulus drawled, mocking without malice.

“And after?” he asked, more softly now.

“I’m basically dead,” Remus admitted. “Like, sleep-for-fourteen-hours kind of dead.”

“Figured,” Regulus hummed, eyes scanning his face like he was cataloguing every flicker of expression. “And… you ever tried the Wolfsbane Potion?”

“I take it when I’m at home,” Remus said with a nod. “Kinda hate it, though.”

That made Regulus frown. “Why?”

Remus hesitated, chewing over his words. “Well… it’s easier when I’m with the guys and we’re just… running around, having fun. I don’t know what’s happening and I don’t remember much, but I know I had a good time, right? While I’m on the potion, though, I remember everything. Every second. And… I don’t like it.”

Regulus hummed again, but this time it was thoughtful. “Good to know before I try to make that damn potion again.”

Remus’s eyes snapped open, his head lifting from the pillow. “You… tried?”

Regulus shrugged, as if brewing highly advanced and illegal potions was just a casual Tuesday for him. “I did. Fucked it up—don’t ask me how, my ego is still bruised—and planned to start again.”

“You don’t have to,” Remus said, his voice going uncharacteristically tight. Soft in that rare, unguarded way he almost never let himself be.

“I know now,” Regulus replied with a small, almost smug hum. “But when I start my potioneer program, I could still make something. Not Wolfsbane—something better. Something that’d make it painless.”

Remus blinked at him like he couldn’t quite believe the words had left his mouth. “Oh my god. You’re so soft for me.”

“Shut up,” Regulus sniffed, rolling his eyes like the very idea was offensive. “And don’t tell anyone.”

“Obviously,” Remus grinned, though there was something warm and dangerous simmering under it.

He didn’t say anything else. Just pulled Regulus closer, holding him a little tighter, a little longer. Because somehow, against every odd and every plan he’d ever made for himself, he’d ended up with Regulus Black stretched over him, casually confessing that he’d been willing to break laws and risk expulsion just to make his full moons easier. And Remus wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten this lucky—or why it terrified him so much to realise he’d fight the whole damn world to keep it.

Chapter 24: why did he always have to push, always have to smirk, always have to get the last word like it was a compulsion?

Over the next few days, things shifted back to “normal”—well, a new kind of normal. One where Remus now knew that three more people were aware of his biggest secret and, instead of ruining his life with it, they’d kept it to themselves and even gone out of their way to help him without him having a clue.

Regulus slipped right back into being his usual, impossible self—sharp-tongued, dramatic, infuriating—and yet somehow making Remus’s life better while making it hell at the same time. Once Remus had fully recovered from the full-moon nonsense, Regulus dropped the whole babying-him thing (in his own strange, roundabout way) and replaced it with a barrage of questions about “being a wolfboy.”

Remus hated the term— absolutely hated it—and was ninety-nine percent sure Sirius had told Regulus to use it purely to annoy him. But he answered every question anyway, even the absurd ones, like when Regulus asked if downing four espressos before transforming would make him an over-caffeinated werewolf. Remus suspected half the reason he was indulging him was because Regulus actually seemed genuinely interested—and the other half was because Remus couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that Regulus didn’t see him as a monster.

“It’s like having a period, but just for one day,” Regulus had shrugged at one point, and that had been the end of the conversation. Just like that. No horror. No pity. Just… that.

Regulus, meanwhile, was spending every free moment on the Quidditch pitch, practicing for the Saturday match against Gryffindor. And since Sirius and James were also on the Gryffindor team and equally obsessed with training, Remus found himself stuck with Peter most of the time.

Not that he minded. He’d always said Peter was the only normal one in their circle anyway.

“You know what?” Peter leaned across the table during one of their library study sessions, lowering his voice like he was about to share state secrets. The table was littered with Chocolate Frogs, and there was inexplicably a puddle of spilled ink on the floor that neither of them had bothered to clean up. “I think Prongs is hiding someone.”

Remus lifted his head slowly. “Why?” He did a quick mental check to make sure he and Regulus weren’t about to be suspected of doing the exact same thing.

Peter tore open another Chocolate Frog, cracked it in half, and handed one piece to Remus. “He’s acting exactly like he did when he had a crush on Regulus. But… upgraded. From stalking on the map to disappearing with the map entirely. From staring across the Great Hall to spending half his life texting someone and smirking at his phone like an idiot.”

Remus blinked. “Really?”

“God, you haven’t noticed?” Peter groaned, slumping in his chair. “Why do you never notice anything, Moony? Do you even know Sirius is shagging someone in secret?”

“I do,” Remus said dryly. “I just choose to ignore that.”

Peter paused mid-chew, narrowing his eyes at him suspiciously. “You know who it is?”

“Don’t make me lie, Pete,” Remus replied flatly.

Peter huffed, throwing himself back in his chair like Remus had just ruined his week. “I swear I don’t know anything anymore.”

“You’re literally the one who notices everything,” Remus pointed out, deadpan. “You don’t get to complain.”

“I do,” Peter said smugly, like that was the end of it. Then he added, far too casually, “I also noticed you’ve started ditching us for Regulus. Just so you know.”

Remus’s heart skipped—not one beat, but several—and all he could picture was the absolute chaos that would unfold if Regulus ever found out Peter had said that.

“We’re friends,” Remus said, face perfectly blank, voice perfectly even.

“Yeah, I know,” Peter said, wrinkling his nose. “Still gives me the creeps sometimes.”

Remus snorted, relieved Peter wasn’t digging any deeper. “Really?”

“I mean… yeah. Regulus and the lot of them turned out to be cool—except Rosier, obviously. But he’s still mildly intimidating.” Peter paused, then clarified, “Regulus is, I mean. Not Rosier. Rosier’s just the creep who was stalking you.”

“Thanks for the memo,” Remus said flatly, popping the rest of his chocolate into his mouth.

Peter grinned like he’d just done him a favour. “Anytime.”

Then, to Remus’s absolute sheer horror—

“You think we’re gonna win on Saturday?” Peter asked, like Remus had ever once in his life had a qualified opinion about Quidditch.

Remus looked up from his book, deadpan. “I genuinely don’t care.”

“Yeah, but what do you think?” Peter pressed, leaning forward like this was a life-or-death question.

“Nothing,” Remus said flatly, shrugging. “They’re still idiots on brooms with their names on their jerseys so they don’t forget who they are midair.”

“Harsh.”

“I know.”

“That’s why you’re single, Moony,” Peter hummed.

“I agree,” Remus said without hesitation.

Peter blinked. “You agree?”

“Of course. I’m emotionally unavailable, wildly unromantic, and my resting face says ‘I will mark your essay with a red quill and fail you.’ I’m a joy.”

Peter snorted so loud Madam Pince’s head snapped up from across the library.

“And,” Remus added, turning another page, “I don’t know the rules of Quidditch. I think the Snitch should be banned on principle. So there’s that too.”

“You’re such a catch,” Peter said dryly.

“Obviously,” Remus replied. “I’m shocked I’m not being chased daily down the corridors.”

Peter grinned. “Oh, I’m sure you’ve got people chasing you. Probably just the scary ones.”

“Great. My dream fan club,” Remus muttered, scribbling a note in the margin. “Now, can we talk about something else before you drag me into the pit of Quidditch hell with you?”

Peter leaned back with a smug little smirk. “Fine. But when Gryffindor wins, I’m making you admit you cared all along.”

“Sure,” Remus said without looking up, “and when pigs fly, I’ll captain the team.”

Peter grinned wider. “You’d look terrible in the robes.”

“I’d set them on fire before putting them on,” Remus shot back, and went right back to reading.

His phone buzzed in his pocket right in the middle of Peter’s rant about why Lockhart was the worst professor alive and why he’d make a terrible boyfriend. Remus let him talk for another thirty seconds before finally glancing at the screen, his expression perfectly still.

“You realize you actually have to enjoy spending time with the person you date, right?” Remus cut in flatly, not bothering to look up from his phone.

Peter narrowed his eyes, mid-unwrap of another chocolate frog. “Rude.”

“It’s a public service announcement,” Remus replied, scrolling open the message.

Of course it was Regulus.

Regulus:
hi i’m stuck on the pitch bc my team are fucking idiots so i won’t make it on time tnght

Remus groaned inwardly. A) he really wanted to see Regulus without the excuse of patrolling, B) Regulus practically lived on the damn pitch, and C) Remus missed him. And he was not about to use that card and guilt-trip him. Not yet.

He typed back, casual as ever, masking the fact that he was more annoyed than he’d ever admit.

Remus:
you’re tragic and i’m revoking your cigs privileges

The reply was instant.

Regulus:
NO
i’m out of mine
do you want your boyfriend to lose his mind over lack of nicotine??
is that the type of guy you are?

Remus’s lips twitched, but his face stayed completely blank as he typed.

Remus:
yes

Regulus:
i hate you

Remus:
see you on the cigs-free patrol, kitten

There was a pause before the response came, and Remus could practically see the offended face behind it.

Regulus:
call me that again and i’m killing you

Remus slid the phone back into his pocket, expression unreadable. To anyone else, he looked like he’d just gotten bad news or nothing at all. To Remus, it felt like victory.

“Who was that?” Peter asked, chewing loudly, suspicious as ever.

“No one,” Remus deadpanned, turning back to his book.

Peter narrowed his eyes. “You always look way too smug when it’s ‘no one.’”

“Then stop looking at my face,” Remus said flatly.

Peter groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“Thank you,” Remus muttered, and let the corner of his mouth tug up just enough to know Regulus would’ve caught it if he were there.

 

Regulus ambushed him on the fifth-floor corridor the second Remus showed up for patrol. He was still in his Quidditch kit—sweaty hair, grass-stains, smugness radiating off him like smoke—and glaring at Remus like he was the one who’d canceled their plans tonight.

“You’re annoying,” Regulus declared flatly.

Then, without waiting for a rebuttal, he fisted the collar of Remus’s hoodie and yanked him down for a kiss. It had become his signature move, mostly because he was too short to reach otherwise. Not that Remus minded. Regulus fit against him perfectly—sharp edges, cutting tongue, small enough to tuck under his arm like he’d been made for it. And, well… he was his.

“You smell like wind and disappointment,” Remus muttered when they broke apart and started walking.

“That’s because I am disappointed,” Regulus snapped back, already winding himself up.

And then he launched into a full recap of practice, complete with detailed accounts of Avery’s incompetence (“Avery is a fucking idiot”), Blaise’s utter lack of coordination (“Who the fuck let Blaise touch a broom?”), and, of course, his favorite refrain: “I swear to god, Nott is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Remus just listened with half a smirk, enjoying the performance more than the actual content.

Inevitably, about forty minutes into patrol, they walked straight into the very scenario Regulus had cursed into existence: Nott, snogging a poor Hufflepuff fifth-year in an empty classroom near the Astronomy Tower.

The hatred that flashed across Regulus’s face was incandescent. It wasn’t just dislike—it was the kind of venom that deserved a funeral dirge.

“Twenty points,” Remus said lazily, not even blinking. “And let the poor kid go, Nott.” He shut the door before Regulus could strangle someone.

“God, he’s so fucking—ugh,” Regulus growled, spinning on his heel like a storm cloud.

“Gross, I know,” Remus hummed, pocketing his hands.

“Petty,” Regulus spat. “Petty little man who couldn’t hit a single bludger if his life depended on it and a lame kis—” He cut himself off mid-syllable.

But it was too late.

Remus’s ears perked up instantly. He was always listening, always catching every slip, every stray word Regulus didn’t mean to let out. And this? This was gold.

“You were with Nott?” Remus asked, half-scandalized, half-delighted.

Regulus turned a glare on him sharp enough to kill. “Don’t even say that out loud.”

“Oh my god, you were!” Remus gasped, full theatre-kid dramatics, hand clutching at his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “Regulus Black dating Nott, that’s—”

“Don’t.” Regulus’s voice cracked like a whip. “Just—don’t.”

And with that, he spun on his heel and stalked toward the Astronomy Tower, long strides declaring the conversation officially dead.

Remus followed, obviously, because where else would he go? H e pulled the cigarette pack from his hoodie pocket and offered it before Regulus could demand one. Lit it with a lazy flick of his wand and handed it over, watching him like he could solve the mystery of Regulus’s past choices just by staring hard enough.

“Reg?” he asked carefully, as smoke curled between them.

Regulus didn’t look at him. He just took a long drag, exhaled, eyes fixed somewhere far out on the horizon. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Remus nodded, quiet for once. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry, I… well.”

“You’re the worst,” Regulus muttered, smoke biting in his voice.

“I’m just in shock,” Remus said, still flat, though his lips twitched like he was enjoying this way too much.

Regulus huffed louder—dramatic, sharp, Black —but when Remus slung an arm around his shoulders, he didn’t pull away. He leaned in, pressed against Remus’s side, cigarette burning low between his fingers, and let himself stay there.

Remus held him tighter than he probably should’ve, still baffled by the fact that Regulus Black—terrifying, infuriating, impossible—was his.

Regulus looked up at him, dead serious, hair still wrecked from practice and cheeks flushed in a way that was doing something unholy to Remus’s chest.

“I’d obliviate you if you were anyone else,” he said flatly.

Remus’s lips twitched. “I mean, you can try.”

Regulus shot him another lethal glare—one that probably worked on everyone else—and took a drag before shoving the cigarette into Remus’s hand like he was passing on a burden. “Let’s go back to patrol,” he muttered. But he didn’t move. Not an inch.

“Fuck the patrol,” Remus said, rolling his eyes. “You don’t actually have to go back there.”

“Ugh, stop being nice. Go back to being a prick.”

“No.”

“You’re useless, Lupin,” Regulus sniffed, but his voice cracked halfway between annoyance and something softer he clearly didn’t want identified.

Remus smirked, smoke curling out of his mouth as he took a drag. “But still a better secret boyfriend than Nott?”

“Don’t push me.” Regulus’s eyes narrowed, dangerous and daring.

“Noted,” Remus murmured, but he hooked his arm around Regulus’s waist anyway, tugging him just that little bit closer. Because the truth was obvious in the way Regulus didn’t fight it. He could glare and hiss all he wanted, but he still leaned into Remus like the world didn’t exist past the press of their shoulders.

And yet—Remus couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t stop his brain from turning over the fact that Theodore bloody Nott had once been in this place, had once been allowed to touch what Remus now had pressed tight against him. It was absurd. It was insulting. It was a crime against common sense.

What the fuck had possessed Regulus?
What the fuck had actually happened?
And how the fuck had Regulus finally wised up enough to dump him?

Questions burned sharper than the cigarette between Remus’s fingers, but he swallowed them down for now. Regulus would give him answers eventually. He always did, even if it was with claws out.

For the moment, though, Remus just let the silence sit heavy between them, the kind that felt like a dare neither of them would admit to.

“So,” Regulus said eventually, ungluing himself from Remus’s side and fishing the cigarette pack straight out of his pocket like it belonged to him. “What were you doing today?”

“Oh, I was about to hang out with someone,” Remus replied, flat, lighting up his own cigarette, “but he ditched me to act like a menace with a broom. So I studied.”

“I’m not a menace with a broom,” Regulus huffed, smoke curling out with his words. “I’m a highly coordinated captain of a team made up of morons. And—for the record—I’m going to win this.”

“Of course.”

“What, you don’t believe me?” Regulus shot him a look, sharp as a blade.

“I didn’t say that,” Remus replied.

“Then what are you saying?” Regulus pressed, narrowing his eyes. “Because I need my stupid boyfriend to believe in me, alright?”

“I do.” Remus exhaled slowly. 

“You think your house is going to win,” Regulus accused, stabbing a finger into Remus’s chest, which would have been terrifying if he wasn’t just a furious little dictator.

“I don’t think anything,” Remus said honestly. He was too tired for this. He’d had enough of Regulus’s rants about how he was going to annihilate Gryffindor, James’s equally deranged rants about how he was going to annihilate Slytherin, and Sirius’s rants about how good he looked on the pitch today. Remus had absolutely no opinion about Quidditch. Not one.

But he did have opinions about Regulus, and every single one of them ended with he’s the greatest person alive, so—

“I’m sure you’ll be amazing, though,” Remus added, nudging his arm.

“I will be. And I’ll win.”

“Of course, kitten,” Remus said with all the seriousness he could muster, which wasn’t much.

“God, you don’t believe in me!” Regulus gasped, scandalized. “What kind of boyfriend are you?”

“I believe in you,” Remus tried again, slow and calm, like handling a feral cat.

“But?”

“How do you even know there’s a but?”

“There’s always a but with you!” Regulus snapped. “So?”

Remus didn’t answer right away— his first mistake.

“Do you really think Potter’s going to beat me?” Regulus asked, voice flat, sharp as broken glass.

“What? No, Jesus,” Remus said. “But he’s obsessed too and—”

“And you think he’s going to win!”

“Reg, it’s just a game—”

That was the second mistake.

“Just a game?” Regulus repeated, cold, like he’d just been slapped.

“Yeah.” Remus stood his ground, even though every nerve in his body was screaming abort mission.

“You do realize scouts from the Wasps are watching my every move, right?” Regulus’s voice went tight, halfway between fury and disbelief. “They could pull the offer if I lose.”

“You said you don’t even know if you want to play for them,” Remus pointed out.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want the option, you absolute idiot!” Regulus snapped, like the words themselves were knives.

“God, Reg, you’re exhausting,” Remus muttered before his brain could stop his mouth.

And that was the third mistake. The final one.

Regulus froze. Just for a second, but long enough for Remus to feel every ounce of regret slam into his ribs.

“Wow.” Regulus’s voice came out flat, sharp, dangerous. “Great to know what you really think of me.”

He brushed past Remus without another glance, every movement so controlled it was almost scarier than if he’d shouted. He didn’t shove him, didn’t slam a door, didn’t cause a scene. He just left.

“Can you just—”

“Leave me alone,” Regulus cut in, already halfway down the spiral staircase of the Astronomy Tower, disappearing into shadow.

Remus stood there, cigarette burning low between his fingers, smoke curling in the empty space where Regulus had been.

He’d fucked it. Well and truly.

 

Remus was back in the dorm an hour later, lying flat on his bed, staring at the hangings above him like they might collapse and finish the job Regulus had started on his ego. He still smelled like smoke, his hoodie still faintly reeked of Regulus’s cologne, and his brain kept replaying the look on Regulus’s face when he’d said you’re exhausting.

Because he was, wasn’t he? Exhausting and obsessive and sharp enough to cut the skin off anyone too slow to duck. But Remus liked him like that. Loved him like that, if he was being stupidly honest with himself.

And he’d still managed to fuck it up.

“Mate, you look like shit,” Sirius said helpfully from the foot of his bed. Remus hadn’t even heard him come in. Typical.

“Thanks,” Remus muttered. He didn’t move.

Peter’s voice chimed in from somewhere near his trunk. “What’s wrong with you? You didn’t even yell at me when I ate the last bit of Honeydukes.”

“Maybe I didn’t care.”

“Liar.”

Remus finally dragged a hand over his face. “Can you both not?”

Sirius sprawled across the bottom of the bed like he owned it. “You’ve got the ‘I’ve made a catastrophic mistake and can’t admit it’ look. Spill.”

“I don’t have a look.”

“You do. Same one you had when you thought you failed McGonagall’s Transfiguration exam in fourth year.”

Peter snorted. “He cried in the library that time.”

“I didn’t cry.”

“Mate, you cried,” Sirius said, smug. “So. What is it? Study trouble? Boy trouble?” His eyes flicked sharp, almost curious. “Trouble-trouble?”

Remus’s stomach twisted. He kept his face neutral, flat as always. “Nothing. Just tired.”

“Bullshit,” Sirius said immediately.

Peter added, “You’ve been chewing your lip for ten minutes straight. You only do that when you feel guilty.”

Remus sat up, too fast, the blood rushing in his ears. “Jesus, you two should be Aurors with how much you spy on me.”

“Don’t dodge it.” Sirius’s voice lost some of the joking edge, turned heavier. “What happened?”

Remus looked between them. Peter, curious but not pushing too hard. Sirius, digging like he always did, sharp as a knife.

He opened his mouth—then shut it again. He couldn’t tell them. Not about Regulus. Not about calling him exhausting. Not about the way Regulus had walked away like he’d been gutted but refused to bleed in front of him.

“Nothing happened,” Remus said finally, voice flat as stone. “Go to sleep.”

Sirius studied him for a long second, like he could peel the truth out of his skull by force. Then, with a scoff, he flopped backward onto the mattress. “Fine. Be a miserable prick. Just don’t keep me up with your sulking.”

Peter shrugged, already halfway in his pajamas. “Your funeral, Moony.”

Remus lay back down, staring at the hangings again, jaw tight.

His chest ached like he’d swallowed broken glass, and the echo of Regulus’s leave me alone wouldn’t stop ringing in his head.

He deserved it. Every word of it.

To say that he woke up the next day feeling like a dickhead would be generous, considering he didn’t sleep a single fucking minute. He heard James sneaking back into the dorm at three in the morning, tossing the invisibility cloak onto the dresser and heading straight for the shower, where he stayed for a solid twenty minutes like he was trying to wash the night off his skin. But Remus never drifted. He just lay there, staring at the ceiling, thoughts chewing through his brain like rats.

Regulus was mad at him. No—worse. Regulus was hurt, and Remus had managed that in under three minutes flat. A new record. How the hell had they gone from not-talking about Nott to this?

And why couldn’t he just bite his tongue, nod along, and say yeah, Reg, of course you’re going to win, like any halfway-decent boyfriend would? Why did he always have to push, always have to smirk, always have to get the last word like it was a compulsion? Right—because he was a shitty boyfriend. Years of being a prick to James, Sirius, and Peter and having them laugh it off had apparently rotted something in him, made him think it was a free pass to act like that all the fucking time. Except it wasn’t. Not with Regulus. 

Regulus hadn’t texted him back. Not once. Didn’t pick up any of the three calls, either, and Remus wasn’t proud of dialing in the first place. He knew exactly how it made him look: desperate, guilty, the worst combination. By the time he finally dragged himself out of bed, Remus was certain of two things: first, that he was going to regret what happened on the astronomy tower until the day he died; and second, that he was already halfway there.

And then came Potions. Four brutal hours of sitting in the same room as Regulus, who ignored him so coldly that it might as well have been a talent. Not a word, not a glance, not even the twitch of a brow. Regulus took his notes, stirred his cauldron, passed ingredients down the bench, all without acknowledging Remus’s existence. It was like Remus had ceased to matter entirely.

And god, it was killing him.

Every time Regulus turned his head away, Remus wanted to reach out, grab him by the wrist, shake him, say you’re being an overreacting little shit, stop icing me out. But he didn’t. Miraculously. He sat there, stewing, jaw clenched tight enough to crack a tooth, the words burning holes on the back of his tongue.

Because the truth was, Regulus wasn’t just ignoring him. He was punishing him. And worse than that—Remus knew he deserved it.

To make it all worse, both Remus’s and Regulus’s tables were in full throat-ripping mode over tomorrow’s game. Which was just— ugh. Regulus was sitting with Evan, who was a chaser on his team, and Barty, who was loudly, obnoxiously convinced Slytherin would crush Gryffindor. Remus was fairly sure that was because a) Barty’s pride was still smarting from Ravenclaw’s loss to Slytherin last month, and b) he got off on winding Sirius up.

And Sirius was wound up. Just as James was.

Meanwhile, Remus sat there trying not to look like he was quietly dying inside, and failing so spectacularly that Peter shoved three Chocolate Frogs into his hands without a word.

“I mean,” Barty was saying, stirring his cauldron like it was a cup of tea. “’S cute you think you can win,” he drawled at Sirius and James.

James, with his house-sized ego, rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Keep talking after you nearly fell off your broom when Boot’s bludger grazed you last time.”

“You—” Barty started.

“You—” Sirius bit back at the same time.

Evan didn’t even look up from slicing his ingredients, calm as anything, and—Remus dared to say it—a little smug.

“Alright,” Peter cut in, loud, just as Regulus threatened to steal Sirius’s beater’s bat and break his ribs with it tomorrow. “Can you lot dial the testosterone down? You’re giving me a headache.”

“No, let’s continue,” Regulus said instead, sharp and cold as a knife. “Apparently that’s the only thing I’m capable of talking about.”

The words sliced the air in half. Both tables fell silent.

“That was personal,” Evan said finally, brow furrowed.

“No shit,” Regulus shot back flatly. “Now shut up. I’m strategizing.”

“Over whose death?” Sirius asked, eyes glinting, always ready to push.

“Few people,” Regulus replied without missing a beat, still bent over his cauldron. “You’re on the list.”

“What—what?” Evan blinked, knife hovering mid-chop. “Who pissed you off?”

“You are, right now. So shut the fuck up or you’re sitting on the bench tomorrow and Carrow is playing instead of you,” Regulus snapped.

The table froze. James shot Regulus a look like he was two seconds from launching himself across the aisle, but something in Regulus’s face made him think better of it.

Remus, meanwhile, just bent back over his mess of a potion, jaw tight. Normally, Regulus would be nudging him with an elbow, muttering corrections under his breath, covering for him before Slughorn noticed. But not today. Today, Regulus would rather strangle him than hand him a single tip, and the silence dug under Remus’s skin more than Slughorn’s eventual glare.

He spent the rest of class chewing both his cheek and his thoughts, trying to come up with something—anything—better than a useless “I’m sorry” to get his stupidly vacant, stupidly gorgeous boyfriend back. But his brain gave him nothing, and when the dungeon doors opened, his feet betrayed him, falling into Regulus’s steps like muscle memory.

“You planning to never talk to me again?” he asked, voice low, careful.

“Is that your idea of admitting you’re a piece of shit?” Regulus shot back instantly. His words were sharp, his eyes sharper.

Ouch. Brutal.

“I’m sorry, alright?” Remus tried, though the words felt like ash the second they left his mouth.

“Wow. Good one,” Regulus replied, bone-dry, every syllable meant to cut. “How long you been working on that one? Since the Tower? Or did you come up with it just now, in your big, brilliant head?”

“Oh my—” Remus broke off before he said something worse. His temper was going to ruin him if he wasn’t careful. So he acted instead—grabbed Regulus’s arm and dragged him into the nearest empty classroom, the heavy door thudding shut behind them.

“Let me go,” Regulus snapped immediately, twisting against his grip, but Remus only tightened it, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep him there.

“No,” Remus said, voice low, steady, even though his pulse was hammering. “You’re going to listen to me this time.”

“Bold of you to assume I want to,” Regulus shot back, eyes cold, jaw tight. He yanked again, furious. “I said, let me go.”

“No,” Remus repeated, jaw tight, holding Regulus’s arm like it was the only thing tethering him. “You don’t get to shut me out like this.”

Regulus scoffed, venom curling through the sound. “Oh, I don’t? That’s rich, coming from you. You get to sit up on your fucking high horse, act like you’re above caring about a game that I—” his voice cracked, furious and sharp, “—that I’ve been killing myself over, and then you call me exhausting?”

Remus flinched like the word itself was a blade. “I didn’t mean it like that—”

“You did.” Regulus ripped his arm free and shoved him back a step. His glare burned hot enough to blister. “You meant every word, Lupin. Don’t you dare pretend otherwise.”

“Christ, Reg—” Remus dragged his hands through his hair, restless, guilty, desperate. “You’re right, alright? You’re right. I was a fucking prick. I should’ve kept my mouth shut, I should’ve said I believed in you—because I do. Of course I do.”

Regulus crossed his arms, jaw locked so tight it could’ve cracked. “You think saying it now makes up for it?”

“I don’t know,” Remus admitted, voice hoarse, raw in a way he hated. “I don’t know what makes up for it. You want me to beg? Fine. I’ll beg. Just—don’t look at me like I’m nothing, Reg. Don’t—don’t do that.”

That, at least, made Regulus falter. His lips parted like he was about to say something cruel, but nothing came out. He turned away instead, pacing, cigarette hand twitching at his side even though he didn’t have one.

Remus stepped closer, careful now, softer. “I fucked up,” he said, voice low. “But don’t tell me I don’t care. You’re—fuck, you’re everything I care about.”

Silence stretched, sharp and unbearable, until finally Regulus turned on him again, eyes wet but still burning. “You’re an idiot,” he said, voice breaking despite himself.

“I know,” Remus breathed, stepping closer.

“And you’re the worst.”

“Absolutely,” Another step.

Regulus’s glare wavered, his mouth trembling around the fury he was trying to hold onto. He shoved at Remus’s chest, but it was weak, more a press than a push. “You make me insane,” he muttered, angry and aching all at once.

“Good,” Remus murmured, catching his hand before it could fall away. “Because you make me worse.”

And then, because the air between them was electric and fraying, because Regulus was looking at him like he wanted to kill him and kiss him all at once, Remus leaned in.

Regulus let him.

The kiss was a clash—angry, desperate, teeth and breath and everything unspoken—until finally Regulus melted against him, hands in his jumper like he couldn’t hold on tight enough.

When they broke apart, both of them were panting. Regulus pressed his forehead to Remus’s shoulder, eyes shut. “If you ever say something like that again,” he whispered, “I’ll kill you.”

“Fair,” Remus said, lips twitching, even as his chest ached with relief. “Deal.”

Regulus sighed, long and shaky, before shoving his face into Remus’s chest. “You’re so annoying.”

“Yeah,” Remus admitted, wrapping his arms around him anyway. “But I’m yours.”

“Tragic,” Regulus huffed, but he didn’t move an inch. Then, muffled against Remus’s jumper, his voice came out quieter, stripped of bite, barely more than a whisper. “You really think I’m exhausting?”

“You’re not. I’m just an idiot,” Remus replied, steady.

“You are,” Regulus sighed, pulling back just enough to look up at him, eyes sharp but glassy in the low light. “But you’re one of the few people who actually know me. If you think I’m exhausting—”

“I don’t.” Remus cut him off, gentle in a way no one else ever pulled from him. “I don’t think that, baby, really. You’re brilliant and talented and you’re absolutely going to win tomorrow—and then you’re going to rub it in my face for the rest of the year.”

Regulus’s lips twitched despite himself. “You just called me baby,” he said, voice flat, but the faintest curl at his mouth gave him away. He looked like he’d just won something, though Remus knew he had, really—because making Regulus’s mouth twitch like that was the victory.

Remus rolled his eyes and slid his hands around Regulus’s waist, steady and unhurried, before lifting him onto the teacher’s desk like he weighed nothing. Regulus yelped, immediately scowling.

“Lupin!”

“Yes?”

“Don’t treat me like I’m a sack of potatoes,” Regulus huffed, perched now, glaring down at him but not moving away. “That’s—”

Remus kissed him before he could finish.

It wasn’t soft at first—more like shutting him up the only way Remus knew how—but Regulus kissed back almost instantly, fingers knotting into the front of Remus’s jumper, dragging him closer. The desk creaked under the shift of weight, but neither of them cared.

When they broke apart, Regulus’s glare was ruined, softened into something he couldn’t disguise. “You’re still an idiot,” he muttered, but his breath ghosted warm across Remus’s lips.

“I know,” Remus said, voice rough with honesty. He let his hand rest on Regulus’s thigh, thumb rubbing lazy circles through his trousers, grounding him. “But I’m your idiot.”

Regulus tried to roll his eyes, but his mouth betrayed him again—another twitch, threatening a smile. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“Mm,” Remus hummed, leaning in until their foreheads touched. “And yet, here you are. Sitting on a desk, kissing me back, instead of killing me like you swore you would.”

Regulus sniffed, pretending to be put out. “I’m weighing my options.”

“Sure you are.” Remus smirked, brushing another kiss against his jaw. “Spoiler, though—you’ll never get rid of me.”

Regulus exhaled, half a scoff, half a sigh, before hooking his ankles behind Remus to keep him close. “Don’t tempt me.”

“You love me,” Remus said, because he could get away with it here, in the dim quiet of an empty classroom, when Regulus was clinging to him like he didn’t want to let go.

Regulus glared, but the pink at his cheeks betrayed him. “...Shut up, Lupin.”

Remus grinned, victorious, and kissed him again.

Chapter 25: boy who’d just burned the sky to ash and stitched it back together with his bare hands

The next day, Remus found himself wedged between Peter and—of all people—Barty Crouch Jr. on the bleachers, waiting for the game to start. Ever since the last full moon, Barty had somehow wormed his way into their circle, and what truly floored Remus wasn’t that Sirius let him in—it was that neither James nor Peter had yet clocked that Barty was sneaking into Sirius’s bed at night. Then again, who was he to judge? He was so consumed with Regulus that he’d barely registered anything outside of him for weeks.

Below them, the captains stepped forward. James and Regulus shook hands with matching murderous glares before Madame Hooch blew her whistle. The game launched into chaos.

Remus leaned back, exhaling smoke, bored as always, though now at least there was something worth watching. Regulus. Regal and razor-sharp, tearing through the air with that predatory glint in his eyes, broom slicing the wind like it was born for him.

“He’ll catch the snitch in the first twenty minutes,” Barty said confidently, slouching with his butterbeer in hand.

“Please,” Peter snorted. “Even if he does, Slytherin’s still gonna lose.”

Remus didn’t bother joining in. He just lit another cigarette, trying to ignore the fact that his hands were freezing. His mind was already elsewhere—half on Regulus’s upcoming birthday, half on how disgustingly good he looked on a broom, wind whipping through his hair, every line of him taut with focus.

He tuned out Peter and Barty’s bickering, even tuned out the crowd’s roar when James scored the first goal with a flashy dodge past a bludger.

Then Regulus’s voice carried across the pitch, sharp enough to slice through the din: “Do I have to fucking show you how to use a bat, Nott?”

Barty nearly choked on his drink, wheezing with laughter, while Remus smirked despite himself.

He wasn’t jealous of Nott. Not exactly. Regulus clearly despised him now. Still, Remus couldn’t stop wondering. How the hell had that even happened? How had it ended? Did Regulus ever… love him?

He shoved the thought down hard, dragging deep on his cigarette just as Sirius spotted his opening. With that maniacal grin that usually spelled disaster, Sirius aimed a bludger directly at Regulus’s head.

Regulus swerved, effortlessly dodged, then flipped Sirius off mid-air before pulling some show-off maneuver that made the entire Slytherin section shriek with approval.

Remus’s chest tightened. It was infuriating. He’d sworn never to give a shit about Quidditch, and yet here he was—watching every second Regulus stayed in the sky like his life depended on it.

Gryffindor scored again, James whooping like a madman as he sped a victory lap around the hoops. Sirius nearly fell off his broom in the process of trying to shoulder-check Evan Rosier mid-air, and the crowd split into deafening roars and boos.

“150 to 40,” Peter announced smugly, like he was personally responsible. “You’re so fucked,” he called toward Barty, who just smirked like he knew something they didn’t.

“You lot are too busy watching the scoreboard,” Barty shot back, leaning forward. “Watch the seekers.”

Remus’s eyes were already there, though he’d never admit it out loud. Regulus was a dark blur cutting through the sky, his whole body angled sharp, scanning every inch of the pitch with single-minded hunger. He barely spared his own teammates a glance as he snapped orders mid-pass. When one of the Slytherin chasers fumbled, Regulus swooped low, shouting something that made the poor kid nearly fall off his broom in terror.

“Bloody tyrant,” Peter muttered.

“Bloody genius,” Barty corrected.

Meanwhile, Sirius had clearly decided today wasn’t about Quidditch at all but about winding his brother up until one of them snapped. He was tailing Regulus too close, sending bludgers skimming inches from his head, grinning like a demon each time Regulus swerved to avoid it.

Regulus finally twisted in his seat mid-flight, shouting something obscene across the wind, and Sirius howled with laughter in response.

The audience ate it up.

And still, the scoreboard climbed. James was in his element, dodging bludgers and Slytherins alike, racking up goal after goal with that cocky grin that made half the stadium swoon and the other half plot murder. Every time the quaffle hit the hoop, the Gryffindor section exploded into red-and-gold mania, stomping on the stands until the wood rattled under Remus’s boots.

Remus tried not to care. Tried not to flinch each time Regulus came a little too close to a bludger, tried not to think about how much was riding on this for him. But his chest was tight, cigarette burning low between his fingers, eyes tracking Regulus like he was the only player on the pitch.

And maybe he was.

Because when Regulus leaned low on his broom, eyes locked on something glinting near the Hufflepuff stands, Remus knew— knew —that everything was about to shift.

Regulus dove, broom cutting through the air like a knife, and the whole stadium lurched forward with him. Even the Gryffindors shut up for a heartbeat, every eye pinned on the streak of green and silver tearing toward the ground.

The snitch was there, no doubt about it—bright, flickering gold just above the stands.

“Fuck,” Peter hissed beside Remus.

Gryffindor’s seeker spotted it too, swearing loud enough for half the pitch to hear, but he was boxed in by Slytherin chasers and Sirius was busy smashing a bludger toward Evan’s skull. It was Regulus’s opening, and he knew it.

Remus’s cigarette burned down to his fingers, forgotten.

Regulus stretched out his hand, eyes sharp, hair whipping across his face—and the crowd screamed as Nott swerved across his path. They clipped broom handles hard enough to throw sparks, both of them wobbling, and the snitch zipped away in the chaos.

“Are you blind, you useless twat?” Regulus roared at him mid-air, voice carrying over the pitch.

“Teamwork,” Nott snapped back, but his face was pale and sweating.

“Teamwork my arse. Next time you cut me off I’ll hex your broom myself.”

The crowd half-laughed, half-gasped, but Gryffindor capitalized instantly. James tore through the distraction, flipping the quaffle into the left hoop with maddening ease.

“170 to 60!” the announcer bellowed, nearly hoarse. The Gryffindor stands went feral, stomping and screaming and shaking banners so hard they nearly collapsed the railing.

“Fucking hell,” Peter grinned, elbowing Remus. “They’re thrashing them.”

Barty just leaned forward, eyes still fixed on Regulus like he had a private bet with fate. “It’s not over.”

And it wasn’t. Because Regulus didn’t even flinch at the score. He pulled his broom back into formation, eyes already scanning the pitch again like nothing else mattered. He looked feral, driven—more predator than player.

And Remus, who had no stake in the match except the boy with the storm in his eyes, couldn’t look anywhere else.

When Nott managed to aim a bludger straight into his own teammate’s broom, Regulus lost it. He was across the pitch faster than Remus could blink, yanking the bat straight out of Nott’s hands. Without hesitation, he hurled it in the direction of the lake, ignoring Madame Hooch’s shriek and Sirius’s howling cackle from fifty feet away. Whatever Regulus said to Nott after that made the boy go several shades paler, hovering frozen mid-air like a scolded child.

“Okay, that was personal,” Peter muttered, caught between a laugh and a gasp.

“You have no fucking idea,” Barty grinned like Christmas came early.

“BLACK!” McGonagall’s voice cracked like thunder from the stands. “You are not in a Muggle football match!”

“AND YOU’RE NOT THE HEAD OF MY HOUSE!” Regulus bellowed back without missing a beat, before whipping his broom around and shooting back into formation.

The Slytherin stands erupted into unholy laughter, stamping their feet and howling like wolves. And somehow, that was exactly what they needed. Evan slammed into James with vicious precision, stole the quaffle, and fired it through the center hoop before Gryffindor’s Keeper even knew what was happening.

“ROSIER!” James roared.

“STOP TRIPPING OVER YOUR OWN EGO, POTTER!” Evan fired back, already diving for another intercept.

And just like that—the game was on.

Nott was still floating like a ghost without his bat, but Slytherin’s second beater picked up the slack with terrifying efficiency, sending bludgers screaming toward Gryffindor’s chasers. Evan scored twice more, and even the smallest Slytherin chaser—a wiry little kid who barely looked old enough to be flying—snatched a quaffle from Gryffindor’s chaser and scored clean over the Keeper’s head.

The pitch descended into chaos.

Marlene’s broomstick cracked under the force of a misfired bludger. Gryffindor’s seeker took one straight to the face, blood streaming from his nose as he swerved wildly. And before anyone could catch up, the scoreboard shifted again: 170 to 110.

Remus blinked down at the pitch, cigarette half-forgotten between his fingers.

Beside him, Barty was grinning like he’d just watched his firstborn arrive into the world.

“You know,” he muttered, leaning toward Remus. “I might actually kiss Sirius’s ass harder if he loses.”

“You two are exactly the same,” Remus deadpanned. “Disgusting.”

Barty cackled, unbothered.

“TIME!” James shouted when their seeker was clearly flying blind, face smeared with blood.

“IT’S NOT THE FUCKING WORLD CUP—JUST PLAY, YOU BITCH!” Regulus screamed back, fury vibrating through every word.

“He’s feral,” Peter whispered, eyes wide.

“He’s just getting started,” Barty said, teeth bared in delight.

And he was right.

For the next twenty minutes, Slytherin clawed their way back. Evan was on fire, tearing holes through Gryffindor’s defense, while Avery flew like his broom was set on rocket fuel. The score ticked up, closer, closer—until Slytherin not only caught up but pulled ahead.

220 to 180.

The Slytherin stands were shaking the castle walls, their roars deafening.

“He won’t catch it,” Peter muttered stubbornly, eyes flicking toward the snitch darting near the goal hoops.

But Regulus was already moving.

He spotted it first, darting low before pulling his broom into a stomach-lurching climb. The snitch glittered just ahead of him, but Sirius cut across his path with manic glee, bat raised high. Regulus twisted sideways mid-air, dodged him by inches, and used the momentum to slingshot himself higher. The crowd screamed—half in awe, half in horror—as he let go of his broom with one hand and lunged.

Gold flashed in his fist.

For a breathless second, no one moved, no one breathed.

Then Regulus held his arm high, snitch thrashing in his hand, expression smug enough to murder half the Gryffindor stands by itself.

The whistle blew.

Slytherin: 370 to 180. Game over.

The pitch erupted into chaos—green and silver storming the stands, banners shaking, chants echoing off the towers.

And Remus, somewhere in the middle of all that noise, couldn’t take his eyes off the boy who’d just burned the sky to ash and stitched it back together with his bare hands.

Evan was on Regulus’s back within seconds of the whistle, the crowd roaring so loud the pitch practically shook. James cursed under his breath, face thunderous, as he guided his broom to the ground. But Sirius? Sirius darted straight into the Slytherin huddle like he belonged there, nearly knocking Evan off as he pulled Regulus into a bear hug and ruffled his hair.

Typical Black brothers’ behavior—trying to kill each other one minute, then hugging like nothing ever happened the next.

Regulus found Remus’s eyes from across the pitch, smirking in that insufferable I told you so way that made Remus want to kiss him and strangle him in equal measure.

“What a load of crap,” Peter muttered darkly, arms crossed.

“Never underestimate Regulus Black,” Barty said, grinning like a wolf. “He’s a fucking fire.”

He is, Remus thought, dragging hard on his fresh cigarette. And I don’t care how much I’ll burn for it.

When the crowds finally drained back toward the castle, Remus, Peter, and Barty lingered near the pitch, half-freezing, waiting for the others to crawl out of the locker rooms. They didn’t have to wait long.

Regulus emerged beside Evan, looking more smug than he’d ever looked in his life, tossing the snitch casually from hand to hand just to rile James up. It was working—James was practically foaming at the mouth, muttering every curse he knew under his breath. Sirius trailed behind them, looking suspiciously cheerful for someone who’d just lost the game he’d been obsessing over for a month. He was whistling like it was springtime in Paris, and winked at Barty the second he thought no one was looking.

Regulus broke away first, striding toward Remus with that same victorious smirk. Remus had to remind himself—sternly—that he wasn’t allowed to kiss him in public. Not here. Not now. So he didn’t. But when Regulus passed close enough, Remus let his fingers brush against his, just long enough to whisper, “I’m proud of you.”

The smirk cracked. For half a heartbeat, Regulus’s cheeks went pink. And that was better than any public kiss could’ve been.

The group headed back toward the castle in a mismatched swarm—James and Evan screaming at each other about fouls and broom maneuvers like their lives depended on it, Peter side-eyeing them with open suspicion, Sirius whistling louder just to piss James off, and Remus, Regulus, Barty, and him already scheming about slipping to Hogsmeade later.

“I don’t want a party with that bunch of idiots,” Regulus declared. “If I see Nott again, I’m throwing him in the lake.”

“Oh, that was gold,” Sirius grinned, half jogging to catch up. “But what the hell did you tell him after you nicked his bat?”

Regulus tilted his chin up like the picture of dignity, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him with a smirk. “That it’s not the only bat he’s got, and he still has no clue how to use it.”

Barty howled. Sirius had to stop walking entirely, bending over, clutching his stomach because he was laughing so hard. James turned around mid-argument with Evan just to glare at them, which only made Sirius laugh harder.

Remus blinked at Regulus, somewhere between horrified and impressed. But fuck it, he was proud too. Maybe too proud. And now he definitely needed the full story about Regulus and Nott’s disaster of a fling, whether Regulus wanted to share or not.

They split ways at the dungeons, agreeing to meet up by the hidden passage to Hogsmeade in an hour. Remus walked off with Sirius, already counting down the minutes until he saw Regulus again. Pathetic? Absolutely. But also—kind of great.

When they stumbled back into the dorm, James was halfway through yanking his jersey off when Peter suddenly raised a hand like he was stopping traffic.

“Hold it right there.”

James froze mid-strip, one arm stuck halfway out of the sleeve. “I’m not in the fucking mood—”

“Are you shagging Evan bloody Rosier in secret?” Peter asked, dead serious, like he’d just cracked the case of the century.

The silence that followed was so sharp it rang in Remus’s ears.

James went statue-still, his eyes huge behind his crooked glasses. One arm still in the jersey, the other dangling limp like he’d forgotten how to function.

Sirius gasped. Actually gasped. Loud and shrill, like someone had hexed him in the balls.

“You’re BANGING ROSIER?!” Sirius shrieked, voice cracking halfway through.

“I’m… not?” James tried, and it sounded about as convincing as Peter Pettigrew trying to claim he was innocent of eating the last biscuit.

“PRONGS!” Sirius yelped and launched himself at James like a missile, shaking him by the shoulders. “You remember he’s psychotic, right?! Like, top-ten-most-likely-to-stalk-you-in-his-cat-form psychotic?”

“He’s not,” James huffed, wrenching himself free.

“Oh my god,” Remus said flatly from his bed. “Did you two bond over stalking your crushes, or…?” He trailed off, eyebrows raised like he was genuinely trying to solve a riddle.

James groaned, jersey still tangled halfway around his torso, and collapsed backwards on his bed. “We don’t—I didn’t—shit. Not like that. Not really.”

Peter squinted at him, looking ready to drag out a notepad and start an interrogation. “How the hell did that happen? And when?”

James threw an arm over his face. His voice was muffled but still dripping misery. “When you guys went off to that bloody concert in Manchester. There was a party in Hufflepuff. Evan was there. We were really drunk. Really pissed about… everything. And we just started talking. It was an accident, really!”

Remus stared at him like he’d sprouted horns. “What, you tripped and accidentally shoved your dick in him?”

“...That bit I did on purpose,” James admitted, dragging his arm off his face just in time to look like a man begging for execution.

“PRONGS!” Sirius howled, practically falling off James’s bed in hysterics. He was laughing so hard he wheezed, clutching his ribs like he’d never recover. “Oh my god, this is GOLD! This is better than Christmas!”

Peter still looked scandalized, shaking his head. “You mean to tell me… you—James Potter—are sneaking off to bang Evan fucking Rosier?”

“I’m not sneaking off!” James protested, cheeks flaming. “It’s not like it’s—like it’s a thing.”

Remus dragged a hand down his face. “I’m getting a headache just listening to this circus.”

Sirius rolled onto the floor and pounded a fist against the rug, still laughing so hard he could barely breathe. “James Potter. My best mate. Shagging Evan Rosier. I will never let you live this down.”

“Go choke on your broomstick,” James muttered miserably.

Remus sighed, already imagining the migraine tomorrow when this inevitably exploded in the Great Hall.

“I need to call Reg,” Sirius announced suddenly, eyes wide with unholy glee. “And Crouch. God, they need to know.”

“DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE,” James shouted, launching himself at Sirius like a madman. They crashed onto the floor in a tangle, Sirius already cackling as he wrestled him into a headlock.

Remus just tilted his head at the sight. Honestly, he’d reached a level of resignation beyond caring. Fuck it. Sirius would tell Barty within the hour, and Remus… well, Regulus was going to hear it from him. Might as well be efficient.

He casually pulled out his phone. Peter spotted it and grinned like Christmas came early.

Regulus picked up on the second ring, sounding put-upon. “I’m literally in the shower—”

“Prongs and Rosier are secretly shagging,” Remus said, voice calm, unbothered.

Across the room, James’s eyes snapped toward him, wide and horrified, from where Sirius had him pinned to the rug.

There was a shriek loud enough to make Remus pull the phone slightly away from his ear. The sound of running water stopped abruptly. “What?!”

“Yep. Since Manchester,” Remus said, reclining back against his pillows with the serenity of someone choosing violence.

“LUPIN!” Regulus shrieked again, voice climbing an octave. “Are you fucking joking?!”

“Do I sound like I’m joking?” Remus asked, deadpan. Sirius was howling like a hyena beside him, still sitting on James’s back, and James was thrashing like a trapped animal. “Anyway, see you in an hour.”

“Oh my god,” Regulus muttered, more to himself than to Remus. “Why is everyone in a secret relationship? This school is diseased.” He hung up.

James flopped back against the floorboards, defeated. “I’m dead. Evan is going to kill me. Slowly. Probably in his bloody Animagus form, just to be a petty arsehole about it.”

Sirius finally stood, brushing off his trousers and offering James a hand. “Well, maybe be better at secret dating next time.”

“We’re not dating!” James barked, snatching his hand away and clambering up on his own. His ears were bright red. “And you’re the last person who gets to lecture me on secrecy.”

“I’m the only person who’s managed to keep a relationship under wraps,” Sirius corrected smugly, tossing his hair. “And you’ll never guess who my boy is.” He winked, unrepentant. “Now, come on. You and Rosier are obviously coming with us for drinks later.”

James groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “Merlin save me.”

“Oh, he won’t,” Remus muttered under his breath, right as James’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

Everyone froze.

James fished it out like it was a cursed object, already wincing. “It’s Evan,” he said grimly. “I’m dead.”

“Answer it,” Sirius urged, grinning wolfishly. “Put it on speaker!”

Remus popped up on his elbows. “Remind him that I still haven’t killed him for stalking me, and I can do that any minute,” he called lazily. “Also, tell him to meet us at the Three Broomsticks. I want to see him sweat.”

Peter was practically vibrating with glee. “This is the best day of my life.”

Sirius grinned feral and wicked. “You know what this is? This is content.”

James stared at his buzzing phone like it might explode, then swiped and pressed it to his ear. “Evan, hey—”

“ Potter, ” Evan’s voice snapped through, low and furious. “Tell me I didn’t just hear from Arch feral ass that you blabbed.”

James froze. “I—what? No, I didn’t—”

“You did,” Evan cut in, tone sharp enough to draw blood. “You let it slip, didn’t you? To your friends of all people. Subtlety, James. Remember that word? Oh wait—you don’t know how to spell it.”

Across the room, Sirius snorted so loudly it rattled the window. “Rosier, I’ve never liked you more.”

“Shut up!” James hissed at him, covering the mic with his palm. “Evan, listen, it wasn’t me—”

“Then who?” Evan shot back. “Your bloody werewolf mate? Or was it Pettigrew? Merlin, don’t tell me it was Black, because if it was, I swear to Godric, I’ll—”

“It was Lupin,” Remus said flatly from his bed, not even looking up from his cigarette. “I told Regulus. You’re welcome.”

There was a stunned pause on the line, then a sharp inhale. “Oh my fucking—” Evan broke off, audibly pinching the bridge of his nose. “You idiots. Do you have any idea what kind of damage this could—”

“What damage?” Sirius cut in, gleeful. “The damage to your terrifying reputation when people find out you let James ‘hero complex’ Potter rail you?”

“BLACK,” James roared, face scarlet.

Evan’s laugh crackled down the line, harsh and disbelieving. “Rail me? Oh, that’s generous. Tell your mutt of a friend I’m the one who—”

“EVAN!” James yelped, nearly dropping the phone. His ears were glowing red now.

Peter was doubled over, wheezing. “Oh, this is priceless—”

Remus blew out a plume of smoke, utterly unimpressed. “Rosier, for fuck’s sake, spare us. We don’t need a play-by-play.”

“Oh, but I’d love to give you one, Lupin,” Evan sneered down the line. “At least one of you might learn how it’s done.”

Sirius let out a bark of laughter and clapped James on the back. “Merlin’s tits, Prongs, you picked a monster. I respect it.”

James groaned, pressing the phone to his forehead like it might erase him from existence. “Evan. Please. Just—stop talking.”

“No,” Evan snapped. “Because now I look like the idiot. Do you know how hard I worked to make sure nobody connected us? And then you go running your mouth—or let your stupid friends do it. God, James, you’re fucking hopeless.”

“Oi,” James tried, desperate. “I didn’t—Remus just—”

“Oh, don’t blame Lupin. At least he has the spine to say things to people’s faces,” Evan bit out. “You, on the other hand—”

“Alright,” Remus cut in, tone final, like a teacher breaking up a fight. “Enough. Both of you shut it. Meet us at the Three Broomsticks in an hour. You can scream at each other there. Or snog. Honestly, I don’t care.”

Evan went silent again. Then, after a beat: “You’re a nightmare, Lupin.”

“Thanks,” Remus said, not even blinking.

The call cut off.

James stared at the dead line, mortified. “…I hate all of you.”

Sirius slung an arm around his shoulders, grinning feral. “Nah, mate. This is the best thing you’ve ever given me.”

Peter nodded solemnly. “Better than your Christmas presents, honestly.”

James groaned into his hands.

“You know,” Remus hummed, flicking ash into the tray like he had all the time in the world. “He’s grown some teeth these last few weeks. I miss the days when he couldn’t look me in the eye without tripping over his own feet. And—really, Prongs? Evan bloody Rosier? You let him rail you?”

“It’s the other way around!” James snapped, tossing his phone onto his bed like it was cursed. “He’s just a twat with too much attitude.”

Peter grinned like Christmas had come early. “I’m going to the Three Broomsticks,” he announced, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Fuck Lockhart—he’s been pissing me off anyway.” He said it so casually it was almost alarming, like casually declaring you were done with your year-long boyfriend was the same as saying you were out of biscuits.

And a little over an hour later, the four of them pushed into the warmth of the pub. James dragged his feet the entire way, muttering under his breath, while Peter told him to “man the fuck up”—rich, considering it was coming from him.

Regulus, Barty, and Evan already had a table in the corner. Regulus was half in Evan’s face, hissing something that looked sharp enough to cut, Barty was grinning like he’d just won the lottery, and Evan had perfected his usual “I’m the victim here” scowl, head tilted like the world was against him.

The second Remus slid into the seat, Evan’s eyes snapped onto him. “You’re dead,” he hissed, venom in every syllable.

“Bold of you to say,” Remus replied flatly, already stealing Regulus’s butterbeer without blinking. “Especially after you went crawling to my best mate the minute I turned you down.”

Sirius absolutely howled, slapping the table so hard the mugs rattled. James buried his face in his hands, like maybe if he pressed hard enough he’d suffocate. “Can we not?” he muttered into his palms.

“Wait—wait—wait,” Peter cut in, clapping his hands like a game show buzzer. His grin was obscene. “Do you two roleplay it? Like, Rosier stalking you while you’re stalking him, and then you accidentally trip over each other and suddenly you’re fucking?”

That was it. Sirius wheezed so loudly people at the next table turned to stare, clutching at Remus’s shoulder like he couldn’t breathe. Regulus’s lips twitched, betraying the tiniest smirk before he hid it behind his glass. Even Barty doubled over, banging his fist on the table.

Meanwhile, Evan dropped his head forward with a thunk against the wood, groaning like the world had ended, and James… James looked seconds away from pulling out his invisibility cloak and vanishing off the face of the earth.

“I hate you all,” James muttered, muffled through his palms.

“Oh, Prongs,” Sirius crooned, draping himself dramatically across his shoulder. “We’re only just getting started.”

The drinks didn’t take long to arrive—two pitchers of butterbeer, a bottle of firewhisky Sirius had sweet-talked from the bar, and something fruity Barty insisted on ordering just to annoy his boyfriend.

“Cheers, to James Potter shagging the enemy,” Barty announced, raising his glass high.

“We’re not—” James started, but everyone clinked their mugs and drowned him out. Even Peter leaned across the table to smack his glass against Evan’s, grin devilish.

“You lot are insufferable,” James muttered into his drink.

“You’ve seen Rosier’s cheekbones, mate,” Barty said, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place. “No one’s blaming you. If I didn’t hav —”

“You don’t have him,” Regulus cut in, sharp as a knife.

Barty smirked at him like it was a game. “I do, actually.”

Regulus rolled his eyes and downed his butterbeer like it was medicine, while Sirius bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Evan finally lifted his head off the table, cheeks flushed pink—not from embarrassment, but anger. “Are you done?” he snapped, eyes flicking between them. “Because I don’t recall signing up to have my sex life dissected by a pack of hypocrites.”

“You signed up the second you put your dick near James Potter,” Remus said flatly, sparking his lighter for another cigarette.

Evan groaned like he was being tortured. “You’re a sadist.”

“And you’re pathetic,” Regulus shot back before Remus could. “Honestly, Evan, if you’re going to sneak around at least try not to get caught. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Evan barked out a laugh, hollow. “This coming from you? Please. You’re hardly subtle.”

The table froze. Sirius actually spat half his drink back into his glass. Peter choked on his butterbeer and slapped his chest. Regulus tilted his head, chin up, expression carefully blank—but his ears had gone pink.

“You wanna say that again, Rosier?” Sirius asked, voice gone soft in the dangerous way.

Barty leaned in, eyes gleaming, like a dog waiting for the fight. “Yeah, Rosier. Say it again.”

Evan’s lips curved, just a hint of satisfaction in them. “I said—Arch isn’t exactly as sneaky as he thinks he is.”

Remus exhaled smoke in a slow, steady stream, eyes narrowing across the table. “Careful, Rosier,” he murmured. “You’re poking at something that’ll bite back harder than you can handle.”

For once, Evan shut his mouth.

James thunked his head down onto the table with a groan. “Why does everything always have to turn into this?”

“Because you fucked Rosier,” Sirius cackled, slapping his back.

“Because you’re all insane,” James corrected, muffled against the wood.

“Cheers to that,” Peter grinned, raising his glass again.

The table went dead quiet for a solid thirty seconds. Then—

“Alright, I wanna say something,” Barty announced.

Sirius’s head whipped around so fast it was a wonder his neck didn’t snap. “Don’t.”

“Oh no,” Regulus groaned, dragging a hand over his face.

“What?” Peter leaned in, eyes glittering with suspicion.

“I’ve been with Sirius for five months,” Barty said, smug as sin. Then he turned toward Evan, grin sharp enough to cut glass. “Something you could never manage to do in secret, mate.”

James gasped, scandalized down to his very soul. “Pads?!” he hissed, betrayal dripping from every syllable.

Peter’s jaw dropped. “Pads?!”

Sirius, in the most Sirius way imaginable, didn’t even flinch. He just leaned back, smirked, and shrugged. “Well. Yeah.”

“What?!” James shrieked, half-standing from his chair. “He’s the guy?!”

“Yep,” Sirius said cheerfully, popping the ‘p.’

“Oh my god,” Peter breathed, clutching his glass like it was holy relic. “This is better than Prongs and Rosier. Ten times better.”

Remus just leaned back, utterly unfazed, and took a slow sip of his beer. Regulus mirrored him like it was a competition in composure, both of them sitting there with twin expressions of long-suffering patience as their friends lost their minds.

“You think they’ll ever clock us too?” Remus muttered under his breath, voice low enough to be lost under James’s shrieking.

“Doubt it,” Regulus hummed, eyes lazily tracking the chaos. “But I’m not letting them find out on their own. So keep your bloody mouth shut.”

“I am,” Remus drawled, rolling his eyes. “You’re the one Rosier’s making comments about.”

“He’s deluded,” Regulus said flatly, lips twitching. “And for some reason, he thinks I’m into Blaise.”

Remus froze mid-sip. “What,” he said, slowly, dangerously.

Regulus only shrugged, all cool detachment. “His mind’s a labyrinth of stupidity. Don’t bother trying to map it.”

Remus turned his head, staring him down, trying very hard to look unimpressed instead of irrationally, stupidly jealous. “Why the fuck does he think that?”

“Aw, you’re jealous,” Regulus murmured, smirk cutting through his calm.

“Do I look jealous?” Remus asked flatly—while crushing his glass hard enough the condensation dripped down his knuckles like blood.

Regulus’s smirk widened, wicked and soft at the same time. “No. But you’re gripping that beer like it’s the last lifeline you’ve got.”

“Oh, bite me,” Remus muttered.

“Later,” Regulus said sweetly, with a wink sharp enough to split him open. Then, without missing a beat, he leaned forward, elbows on the table, and called over the chaos in his most casual drawl: “They’re disgusting, aren’t they?”

And the worst part? They were.

“They’re disgusting, aren’t they?” Regulus repeated, this time loud enough for Sirius to hear.

“Oi!” Sirius barked, one arm still wrapped around Barty like they were showing off in a bloody pageant. “You’re just jealous.”

“Of what?” Regulus shot back, tone bored enough to kill. “Your ability to swap spit with someone who looks like a rat on cocaine?”

Barty cackled, delighted. “That’s my rat, thank you very much.”

Peter slammed his hand on the table, nearly knocking over his drink. “Hold on. Hold on. Let’s recap. James is letting Rosier rail him—”

“I’m not—he’s not—shut the fuck up!” James groaned, head falling into his hands.

“—and Sirius and Crouch are secretly together—” Peter kept going, eyes wide with the thrill of discovery. “—so that means…” His gaze darted around the table like a spotlight. “I’m the only normal one left.”

Sirius snorted so hard he nearly inhaled his beer. “Wormtail, you’ve been dating Lockhart for a year. Nothing about that is normal.”

Peter flushed scarlet but waved him off. “Still less cursed than you lot.”

Meanwhile Evan, who’d been quiet for once, finally lifted his head off the table. His eyes cut straight to Regulus, sharp and deliberate. “You know, everyone’s pairing off but you. What’s your excuse, Black? Afraid of commitment, or just too busy being insufferable?”

Regulus didn’t even blink. “Bold words from someone who spent years creeping around Lupin like a rejected poltergeist.”

The table howled. Sirius actually slid down in his seat, wheezing. James groaned, like his soul was peeling out of his body.

Evan’s jaw worked, ready to fire back—but then his gaze flicked, just for a second, toward Remus.

Remus didn’t even flinch. He just raised his glass in the laziest salute imaginable and said, flat as stone: “I’m still waiting for the day I kill you for that, Rosier. Don’t push me.”

The grin slipped off Evan’s face. He looked away first.

Barty, never one to let the tension breathe, clapped his hands. “This is the best night of my life. Next round’s on me.”

Sirius perked up immediately, half-shouting for firewhiskey before Madame Rosmerta gave him a death glare. James muttered something about moving to another country. Peter looked smug as a cat in cream.

And through it all, Remus caught the faintest brush of Regulus’s knee against his under the table. Subtle. Hidden. Safe.

No one clocked it.

 

The night spiraled the way it always did with them: Sirius louder by the drink, Barty keeping pace with a grin that promised trouble, Peter smugly needling James, and James swearing on Merlin’s grave that he was not dating Evan Rosier. Evan, for his part, perfected the art of sitting in silence like the victim of a crime.

By the time Sirius was standing on the bench reenacting Regulus yeeting Nott’s bat into the lake—complete with dramatic arm swings and spitting impressions of McGonagall—Remus had a headache forming behind his eyes.

It was then that Regulus leaned across the table, casual as you like, and murmured, “Get up.”

Remus blinked at him. “What?”

“Up,” Regulus said again, standing like he wasn’t asking for permission. He tugged his jacket tighter around his shoulders and slipped out of the booth. No explanation. No glance back. Just gone.

Remus sighed, finished what was left of his butterbeer in one swallow, and followed.

Outside, the night air was sharp enough to cut. Regulus was leaning against the side of the pub, cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling around his face. He didn’t look at Remus when he said, “They’ll eat each other alive in there. Saves me the trouble.”

“You could’ve let me sit in peace while they did,” Remus said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Regulus huffed a laugh, tilting his head back to watch the smoke drift. “And miss this? No chance.”

Remus leaned against the wall beside him. For a moment, they just stood there, the muffled chaos of the pub spilling faintly through the walls.

Finally, Regulus flicked ash onto the ground and glanced sideways at him. “You were jealous.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Of what?”

“Blaise.” Regulus’s smirk was faint, but dangerous. “The way Rosier spun that lie—you almost bought it.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” Remus said flatly.

“You were gripping your glass like you wanted to break it in half.”

“Maybe I just hate wasting good glassware.”

Regulus let the silence stretch, clearly enjoying himself. Then, softer, almost smug but not quite: “It’s pathetic, you know.”

“What is?”

“The way I like it when you’re jealous.”

Remus’s throat went tight. He turned his head just enough to meet Regulus’s eyes, sharp and glinting in the dim lamplight.

“…You’re insufferable,” Remus muttered.

“And you’re still here,” Regulus countered, smoke curling between them as he smirked again.

Inside, Sirius’s cackle echoed loud enough to rattle glass, followed by James’s outraged yell. Neither of them moved.

Remus kissed him quickly, safe in the darkness outside, and Regulus grinned into it like the smug bastard he was.

“So,” Regulus said when they pulled apart, offering Remus his cigarette with a raised brow, “how exactly did Potter babble his way into exposing himself?”

Remus took a drag, exhaling slow. “Pete clocked on it first. Weirdly perceptive, that one.”

“Is he?” Regulus frowned, genuine confusion slipping through.

“Yeah,” Remus nodded. “Besides, Prongs was acting strange for weeks. Weirder than when he was crushing on you—and that’s saying something.”

Regulus hummed, smug back in place. “And Pettigrew didn’t say anything about you acting weird?”

“I’m always weird,” Remus deadpanned.

“And brooding,” Regulus added, too quick.

“I’m not brooding.”

“You are,” Regulus insisted, grinning, tipsy and sharp-edged beautiful under the lamplight. “But that’s fine. I like my boys emotionally unavailable and with a perpetually bored resting face.”

Remus’s mouth twitched despite himself. “You’re the worst.”

“Thanks, babe.” Regulus’s grin widened, teeth flashing. “And thanks for telling me about Evan too. That was the cherry on top of this whole evening. Might be the best day of my life.”

“I’d have told you anyway,” Remus shrugged, casual but honest.

“Would you, though?” Regulus squinted at him, head tilted, like he could see through every word.

“Obviously,” Remus said, nudging his shoulder. “I’m tired of secrets. Well—besides ours. That one’s fun.”

Regulus smirked, pleased. “It is. Theirs are pathetic, but ours—ours is art.”

Remus shook his head but couldn’t fight the small, reluctant smile tugging at his mouth.

They slipped back inside before anyone could notice their absence and walked straight into chaos. Sirius was on the table with a butterbeer in one hand and a firewhisky in the other, screaming rules to a drinking game no one seemed to actually understand. Barty was egging him on like it was gospel. Peter was keeping score with the solemnity of a priest at a funeral. James looked two sips away from an aneurysm, and Evan sat like he’d been personally cursed by fate to witness this disaster.

“Drink when Sirius says ‘fuck’!” Barty yelled.

“Drink when Prongs rolls his eyes!” Sirius added.

“Drink when I regret being born,” Evan muttered.

“Drink when Rosier pretends he’s not loving every second of it,” Regulus fired back immediately, sliding back into his seat without missing a beat.

Remus leaned against the booth, watching the mess unravel. Regulus smirked across the table at him like nothing had happened outside. And, for now, no one noticed the brush of their knees under the table.

Chapter 26: self-satisfaction of someone who knew exactly how wanted he was

The second Sirius and Barty went official, the whole bloody school lost its collective mind. Not because it was shocking but because of the sheer chaos of it. They weren’t sweet or soft, no nauseating handholding in the corridors. No, Sirius and Barty were unbearable in their way: screaming at each other in the library about who cheated at wizard chess, threatening murder in front of McGonagall, and then vanishing for hours to quite literally rip each other’s clothes off.

James, on the other hand, was still swearing up and down that he wasn’t dating Evan bloody Rosier, which was laughable at this point. He was the only one on earth who thought otherwise. As deranged as the pairing looked from the outside, Remus had to admit it worked—two drama queens locked in a rivalry/romance that thrived on melodrama. They deserved each other.

Peter was fumbling his way out of Lockhart’s grip, though he was doing a piss-poor job of it. Sirius and Barty were practically staging interventions between snogging sessions, but so far, Lockhart still had Peter wrapped around his perfectly coiffed finger.

And Remus and Regulus… well, they were solid. More than solid. It was the best time of the month for Remus—full moon behind him, next one far enough away he didn’t feel like his nerves were strung too tight. He could just breathe. Just be.
And he spent nearly every damn moment with Regulus.

Patrols side by side, study sessions where Regulus pretended he wasn’t good at Arithmancy just to make Remus explain things, cigarette breaks that stretched too long, movie marathons in the hidden room where the couch turned into their personal kingdom. Regulus had this infuriating habit of draping himself all over him, like a cat determined to claim the warmest spot in the house.

“God, you’re clingy,” Remus muttered one night, but his arm was already pulling Regulus closer.

“I’m chronically cold. You’re like a human heater,” Regulus replied without shame, burrowing in further. Then, like it was a fact of the universe: “And you smell nice. Like a bakery or something.”

“You think I smell like a bakery?” Remus snorted.

“Duh,” Regulus said, rolling his eyes as if he was the one being mocked. He chewed at his lip for a good half a minute before finally tilting his head up. “It’s my birthday tomorrow.”

“I know.” Remus kissed the top of his head like it was nothing. “And I’m kidnapping you after classes.”

Regulus blinked, suspicious. “What?”

“Birthday date. Obviously.”

Regulus’s mouth curled slow into a grin. “You planned a birthday date?”

“What kind of secret boyfriend do you think I am?” Remus teased, dry as hell.

“The best one I’ve had,” Regulus shot back immediately, smug as sin.

“Good. I’m also the last one, just so you know.”

Regulus arched a brow, eyes glinting. “Bold statement.”

“You have a problem with it?”

“Nah.” His grin broke wide, wicked and sharp. “It’s hot.”

Before Remus could answer, Regulus climbed into his lap like he owned the space, like Remus was his throne and always had been. He kissed him with all the self-satisfaction of someone who knew exactly how wanted he was, and Remus let him, hands already tugging him closer because fuck it—he wasn’t about to argue with that.

Regulus shifted until he was properly straddling Remus, knees digging into the ratty cushions, arms looped lazily around his neck like he owned him. He probably thought he did.

“You’re heavy,” Remus muttered, though he made no effort to move him.

“You love it.” Regulus smirked, hair falling into his eyes. He smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and the mint he chewed after. That stupid, intoxicating mix.

Remus hummed, low in his throat. “Love’s a strong word.”

“So’s boyfriend,” Regulus shot back instantly. “And you used that one first.”

Remus tilted his head, unimpressed. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re obsessed with me.” Regulus’s grin turned sharp, wolfish, daring.

Remus’s lips twitched, but he didn’t give him the satisfaction of a smile. Instead, he slid a hand under the back of Regulus’s jumper, fingers grazing warm skin, dragging idle patterns that made Regulus’s breath stutter just enough for him to notice.

“Stop doing that,” Regulus muttered, trying not to squirm.

“Doing what?” Remus asked, voice flat as ever.

“That thing where you pretend you’re bored but you’re not.”

“Maybe I am bored.”

“Right. That’s why you’ve got a death grip on my waist.” Regulus arched a brow, cocky as anything.

Remus glanced down at his hands—firmly on Regulus’s hips, knuckles white from how tightly he was holding him in place. He didn’t move. “Shut up.”

Regulus laughed, low and delighted. “Touchy.” Then, without warning, he leaned down and kissed him again, slow and lingering this time, like he was trying to prove a point. Which he probably was. Everything with Regulus was a point to be proven.

When they finally broke apart, Regulus rested his forehead against Remus’s, smug as hell. “You’re completely gone for me.”

“You wish,” Remus muttered, though his voice was rougher than he’d like.

“I know.” Regulus grinned, victorious, and promptly stole the half-empty packet of crisps from the table without moving off his lap. “So. What’s this birthday thing you’re planning, then?”

“Not telling you.”

“I hate surprises.”

“Good,” Remus said, leaning back, hands still locked around him. “You’ll hate this one, then.”

Regulus smirked, chewing noisily on a crisp. “Perfect. I can complain about it for months.”

“Can’t wait.”

And despite himself, Remus felt it—that stupid, dangerous warmth in his chest. The kind that made him wonder, not for the first time, when exactly he’d gone from tolerating Regulus Black to building entire weeks around him.

“Sirius is planning something, though,” Regulus added, voice casual but with that glint in his eyes. “He always does.”

“Your own brother? What a whippersnapper,” Remus mocked, shaking his head.

“Shut up,” Regulus laughed, leaning into him. “He’s doing that only to guilt-trip me into planning him a surprise birthday party for his own birthday.”

“Weird, since he’s always planning that on his own,” Remus said, eyebrows raised.

“Reverse psychology, my love,” Regulus clicked his tongue, smirking. “Now, tell me where you’re taking me.”

“No.”

“But I need to know what to wear!” Regulus protested, pouting like a child who had just discovered the universe wasn’t going to cater to him.

“Why? You always look great,” Remus replied, deadpan.

“Lupin.”

“What happened to ‘my love’?”

“You—pissing me off,” Regulus shot back, eyes narrowing playfully.

“Ah, here’s the boy I bleed for,” Remus hummed, pulling him closer until their chests pressed flush together.

“You don’t bleed for me.”

“Metaphorically? I do every time Lily asks why I’m still single,” Remus said, flat as ever.

Regulus rolled his eyes but pressed a quick kiss to Remus’s collarbone. “You’re insufferable.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Remus replied, smirking despite himself.

“You love it,” Regulus countered immediately, nudging his nose against Remus’s jaw.

“I tolerate it,” Remus said, tightening his arms around him. “Barely.”

Regulus groaned dramatically, as if he’d been insulted at the highest level. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” Remus said, voice softening just enough to make Regulus’s grin falter.

“Touché,” Regulus whispered, tilting his head so their foreheads met. Then, with that familiar glint of mischief, he added, “So, birthday date, yeah? You’re doing that for all of your secret boyfriends, or am I that special?”

“Oh, you’re definitely special. Beats all of my other boyfriends,” Remus replied, smirking.

Regulus huffed, clearly unimpressed. “Lupin.”

“Yes?”

“It’s only funny when I’m joking about that. Take it back,” he said, making Remus laugh.

“You’re literally winding yourself up, you know that?” Remus asked.

“I do. It’s my favorite past-time activity,” Regulus sniffed. “Well… that and slipping bleach into Russo’s shampoo.”

Remus blinked. “I’m sorry, what? You—you what?”

Regulus looked at him, picture-perfect innocence. “I only did it twice.”

“And why?”

“Because he was talking about getting you back,” Regulus replied, dead serious. “And I couldn’t openly tell him to fuck off, so… I needed to be petty.”

“You’re jealous over my ex?” Remus asked, baffled.

“No. Of the idea of your ex,” Regulus corrected.

“…how’s that making any sense?”

“It doesn’t,” Regulus admitted, shrugging.

“Then?” Remus pressed.

Regulus winced, shifting on his lap. “Well… maybe I don’t like the fact that I’m not your first boyfriend.”

“I’m not your first boyfriend either, baby, and I’m not exactly planning to ruin Nott’s hair over it,” Remus said, still baffled.

“In some ways… you are,” Regulus said.

Remus’s brain froze. “What?”

“You heard me,” Regulus replied, and that was all he was giving him.

Which… fuck. Remus slowly realized, reading between the lines as he always did with Regulus, that… Regulus hadn’t slept with Nott and was upset that Remus had been with someone else first.

“…Reg,” he said slowly. “What happened between you and Nott? Because I’m out of theories at this point.”

Regulus chewed his cheek, looking unusually vulnerable. “You’ll laugh.”

“I won’t,” Remus said firmly. “I swear I won’t.”

Regulus sighed, tipping his head and letting it rest against Remus’s shoulder. “Well… fine. Fuck it,” he muttered, looking back at him. “We were secretly dating, and he was… more into that.”

“Meaning?”

“For starters, he wanted to go official and started telling people without my permission,” Regulus rolled his eyes.

“And you dumped him because of that?”

“No. I didn’t dump him then, because I was… um… feeling guilty that we weren’t… well,” he grimaced. “God, we weren’t sleeping together, alright? So I thought, fine. Whatever. He can tell people since that’s all he’s getting from dating me.”

Remus blinked at him, fast.

“But then he started pushing. And pushing. And all of the… and he started saying things like, ‘everyone does that,’ and—”

“God. Did he manipulate you into sleeping with him?” Remus asked, voice tight.

“No. He tried,” Regulus shrugged like it was nothing. “But I was freshly sixteen and not about to—well. So I dumped him. Ever since, he’s been snogging random people during patrols, so I have to catch him,” he added, deadpan.

Remus was still blinking. “Oh… he’s a piece of shit,” he said finally.

“I know,” Regulus replied casually.

“I’m about to murder him,” Remus muttered, teeth clenched.

“Alright,” Regulus nodded, unbothered.

“And… I’m not pushing you. Into anything. You know that, right?” Remus asked, voice softening, brushing a hand over Regulus’s hair.

“I know,” Regulus said, voice quieter now. “Thanks for that.”

“You don’t have to thank me for being decent,” Remus replied, thumb brushing along his jaw. “That’s my job.”

Regulus leaned in, pressing a kiss to Remus’s chest, muttering, “Decent. Hmph. I think you’re doing it wrong.”

Remus rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the grin. “Yeah, well, I do everything wrong perfectly.”

Regulus smirked, shoving his head under Remus’s chin. “Yeah, and I love it.”

Regulus squirmed just enough to nuzzle his nose against Remus’s neck, making him shiver. “You know,” he murmured, voice low and teasing, “you smell like… comfort and trouble. Mostly trouble.”

Remus snorted, draping an arm over him. “Mostly trouble? Really? I’m the calm, responsible one here.”

Regulus tilted his head, giving him a lazy, lopsided grin. “Sure. If by calm you mean aggressively sarcastic and prone to breaking my patience on a daily basis.”

“Exactly,” Remus said, brushing a thumb over his jaw. “I keep you on your toes.”

Regulus huffed. “More like I’m dying slowly in the most enjoyable way.” He stretched, deliberately pressing himself closer. “And you know it. Admit it, Lupin. You like that I make you squirm too.”

“I do not—okay, I do,” Remus admitted, voice low, eyes narrowing at him. “But don’t get cocky.”

“I’m never cocky. Only honest,” Regulus replied with mock solemnity, pressing a light kiss to the corner of Remus’s mouth. “And maybe a little charming. For survival.”

Remus rolled his eyes but leaned into him anyway, letting Regulus drape across him like he owned the space—which, in fairness, he did. The warmth, the weight, the cheeky smiles… it was addictive.

“And you,” Regulus whispered, brushing a hand along his chest, “you’re ridiculously easy to manipulate.”

“Yeah? You think so?” Remus’s tone was flat, but his chest tightened.

Regulus smirked. “Mm. Your heart races every time I lean like this. Admit it.”

Remus groaned, exasperated, though his fingers found Regulus’s hair, tugging lightly. “I’d deny it, but… you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Regulus murmured, tilting his head up to press another kiss, soft but insistent. “And you love it.”

“I… might,” Remus muttered, rolling his eyes again, though his lips twitched into a reluctant grin.

Regulus laughed quietly, low and warm, and pressed closer. “Mhm. That’s my answer. And now… you’re not allowed to move for the next twenty minutes.”

Remus groaned dramatically, feigning defeat. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“But also the best,” Regulus whispered, sliding an arm around his waist, tugging him impossibly closer. “Now stay. Be my human blanket. You’re mine.”

Remus blinked at him, heart thudding, and despite himself, melted into the warmth of Regulus’s claim. “Fine. But you’re paying for it later,” he said, smirking, even as he let himself be enveloped.

Regulus hummed in satisfaction, dropping his head onto Remus’s shoulder. “Worth it,” he muttered. “Always worth it.”

The couch creaked under their weight, the projector flickered against the wall, and for once, the rest of the world could wait.

 

After climbing the stairs to the Gryffindor tower, Remus groaned at the sight inside. Barty was sprawled across Sirius’s bed, Sirius draped over him like they were a single, absurdly dramatic entity. Evan was perched on James’s bed, whispering something that made James laugh so hard his shoulders shook. Peter’s bed was empty, leaving Remus alone with the circus.

He deeply regretted not sleeping over in the hidden room with Regulus.

“Here’s our ray of sunshine,” Sirius grinned, leaning back against Barty.

“Don’t,” Remus warned flatly, flopping onto his bed and reaching for his transfiguration homework like it was a lifeline.

“Where have you been?” James narrowed his eyes, suspicion dripping off him like water.

“What, none of you fuckers stalked me?” Remus asked, flat.

“When will you let this go?” Evan groaned, like he had asked that question a thousand times before.

“At your funeral, probably,” Remus replied, flipping a page in his textbook. “Right after, I’ll piss on your grave,” he added under his breath, making Sirius cackle.

“No, seriously,” Sirius persisted, sitting up straighter, dragging Barty reluctantly along with him. “I need your help.”

“I’m not piercing your nose again,” Remus said, not even looking up.

“It’s not that!”

“Your ear too,” he added flatly.

“Moony!” Sirius threw a pillow at him. “I want to throw a surprise birthday party for Reg!”

“It’s tomorrow,” Remus said, dry as dust.

“That’s why I’ll do it next week! That’ll be a surprise!” Sirius said solemnly, as if he were revealing a revolutionary plan.

Remus raised an eyebrow at him. “He’ll just kill you.”

“When exactly did you become the expert on Arch?” Evan asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Since our only friends started screwing each other in secret,” Remus replied, unimpressed, closing his textbook with a sharp snap. “Now, shut the fuck up, all of you.” He tugged the curtains around his bed like a shield.

He was done. He needed to check his reservation for tomorrow’s date with Regulus, try not to lose his mind over the fact that Regulus’s birthday gift still hadn’t arrived, and if it didn’t come in time, he’d be screwed—forced to write something idiotic like a love letter instead of giving the ring he knew Regulus wanted.

God, it was a circus.

Dating was exhausting.

And he wasn’t even getting laid.

He sighed, leaning back against the pillow, imagining Regulus’s smug, chaotic grin. Somehow, the thought made all of this manageable. Somehow, it made the circus feel… worth it.

But he still considered smothering Sirius with a pillow later. Maybe even Barty, for good measure.

His mind, unwillingly, circled back to everything Regulus had said tonight. The truth about Nott, the insecurity about Russo, the fact that he was still a virgin.

God. Remus pressed his palms into his eyes.

It was perfectly normal that he was, obviously. But knowing it, thinking about how much it must’ve cost Regulus to even admit it… it made everything unnecessarily complicated. And Remus hated complicated. Which was rich, really, since he was dating Regulus.

Still, he was absolutely, without a doubt, going to humiliate Nott at the first opportunity. No question about it.

When midnight finally struck, Remus cast a silencing charm over his bed and called Regulus to wish him a happy birthday.

“Hi,” Regulus answered after the first ring, not even a hint of sleep in his voice.

“Happy birthday, kitten,” Remus said, already picturing the exaggerated roll of Regulus’s eyes at the nickname.

“Thanks, babe,” Regulus replied warmly. “You stayed up just to call me at midnight?”

“Obviously,” Remus said, smirking through the phone.

“That’s cute,” Regulus said, voice softening. “You’re taking secret dating to a whole new level.”

“Just trying to keep up with you,” Remus shot back, feeling a little lighter with every word.

They spent a solid half hour talking, until Regulus’s voice started to dip into sleepy murmurs. Remus didn’t hang up. He just lay there, listening to Regulus’s steady, soft breathing, like some lovesick idiot, imagining him curled up somewhere in the dark with a tiny, satisfied grin.

 

The next day, Remus didn’t even have a chance to corner Regulus until Potions. The whole bloody Slytherin house had apparently decided Regulus was some kind of prince who’d just come of age—a coronation-level ordeal—and Regulus’s ego really didn’t need that kind of fuel. Then again, it also didn’t need Remus acting like Regulus hung the stars himself. So who was he to judge?

Sirius ambushed Regulus at breakfast, loud and dramatic, hugging him like he was about to be shipped off to war. Nothing new there. Regulus took it with his usual mix of disgust and indulgence, but Remus saw the way his lips twitched like he secretly enjoyed it.

At least the owl finally came with the ring Remus had bought him. That softened the edge of his morning. The velvet box was small, discreet, heavier than it looked. Perfect—if by perfect, Remus meant it was now burning a hole straight through his pocket. All through breakfast, he had to fight the feral urge to march up to the Slytherin table, shove it into Regulus’s hands, and kiss him stupidly in front of everyone. Preferably right in front of Theodore Nott.

But somehow, he restrained himself. Barely.

By the time Potions rolled around, the box still weighed on him like a curse. Slughorn, naturally, made a whole spectacle of Regulus’s birthday—because of course his favorite star pupil couldn’t go without public fawning. Regulus, naturally, played the part, pretending to hate every second while soaking it up like a cat basking in sunlight.

And the whole time, he kept flicking those sly little smirks at Remus over the rim of his cauldron. Like they were plotting some covert mission instead of just brewing Shrinking Solution. Like he knew exactly what was in Remus’s pocket and exactly what it meant.

Remus gritted his teeth, stirring clockwise, and tried not to imagine tossing Nott into his own cauldron just to wipe that smug face off him.

“He’s pissing me off,” Sirius muttered, low enough for only Remus to hear.

“Why?” Remus asked, tone flat, feigning indifference while carefully slicing his valerian root.

“’Cause,” Sirius huffed. “He said he’s off to visit Narcissa today. Like—excuse me? I’m his brother. He should be celebrating with me.”

“Yeah, but you’re also his cousin,” Peter snorted from across the table.

“Oh, bite me,” Sirius shot back, rolling his eyes. The corner of his mouth was already twitching toward a grin. “I don’t wanna think about how weird that actually is.”

Remus tuned out their squabble, though his stomach twisted with amusement. Trust Regulus to cover their date with the neat little alibi of visiting Narcissa. A lie so perfectly delivered nobody would question it. Classic snake behavior—clean, effective, untouchable. It made Remus want to laugh and roll his eyes in equal measure.

“Anyway,” Sirius cut back in, raising his voice enough to drown out Peter’s continued rant about the Blacks’ family tree being a bloody ouroboros. “I think we should pull a prank. It’s my birthday on Monday and I want a gift like that.”

“I’m in,” James said instantly, his eyes lighting up.

Peter looked tempted but wary, probably already calculating the detention odds.

Remus, ever the strategist, didn’t even glance up from his parchment. He just said, lazy and deliberate, “What about the Slytherin Quidditch team?”

“Hell yeah,” Sirius, James, and Peter chorused in eerie unison. The three of them immediately bent their heads together, voices buzzing with half-baked chaos—itching powder in broom handles, charm-glued robes, releasing frogs into the changing rooms. They’d spiral from there, as always.

Remus only half-listened. His gaze flicked across the room, catching Theodore Nott lounging in that arrogant sprawl of his, all smug angles and cheap swagger.

Yeah. Forget frogs and broomsticks. Remus was far more interested in figuring out how to dismantle Nott’s life piece by piece. Turn every day into hell until the boy cracked. For Regulus’s sake. For his own peace. And maybe, just maybe, for the sheer satisfaction of it.

He stirred his cauldron clockwise, the picture of calm, while plotting something far more personal than a prank.

Chapter 27: chaos dressed as charm

Notes:

oh

With the excuse of “studying” — the most bulletproof alibi he could ever craft — Remus leaned against the stone wall in front of the hidden passage to Honeydukes, waiting. His scarf hung carelessly over his shoulder, but inside his chest was a jitter he refused to admit was excitement. For once, he’d have Regulus to himself. No Black family politics, no Marauders, no housemates sniffing around. Just them.

Regulus appeared out of the shadows a minute later, suspicion radiating off him like cologne. His long black leather coat swished dramatically behind him, sharp as a blade.

“I’m scared,” he announced, voice flat, like he was delivering a eulogy. He stopped at Remus’s side and glared at the statue as though it had personally offended him.

“Good,” Remus replied without missing a beat. He tapped the statue with his wand, the passage yawning open, and gestured for Regulus to go first.

Regulus sniffed and obeyed, stepping into the tunnel with another cutting look tossed over his shoulder. “Where are we going?”

“For a date.”

“Lupin.” Regulus narrowed his eyes, pale in the dim glow of Remus’s wand. “You can’t be annoying on my birthday.”

“Says who?”

“Birthday boy,” Regulus shot back instantly, with the authority of a king declaring law.

“Of course,” Remus said smoothly, all polite obedience, which only made Regulus glare harder. He dodged every further question with the kind of infuriating nonchalance that made Regulus mutter under his breath half the walk.

They climbed the ladder, slipped out of Honeydukes’ basement into the cold air, and circled behind the shop. Remus pulled out his wand, ready.

“Remus,” Regulus whined—actually whined—tipping his head back like the sky itself might save him. “Tell me where we’re going or you’ll ruin my mood.”

“London,” Remus said simply, catching his arm before he could recoil.

Regulus yelped like he’d been hexed. “You want to apparate us to London? It’s too far! We’ll splinch!”

Remus just looked at him, unimpressed. “I can apparate to the States and not splinch. I’m a werewolf, Reg. I’ve got the stamina.” He tightened his grip on Regulus’s arm. “Now, be a good boy and stay still.”

Regulus’s jaw dropped. His mouth opened, closed, opened again, but no words came. He was too stunned to argue, which, frankly, was a small miracle.

For once, Remus had him silent.

And then the world yanked sideways.

They landed smoothly in a shadowy alley in Soho, the crack of apparition echoing against the brick walls. Regulus didn’t immediately yank his arm free. Instead, with a practiced dignity, he slipped his hand into Remus’s, chin tilted, and gave a soft, disdainful sniff.

“You’re good at this,” he admitted as they started down the alley. “Both at driving me absolutely insane and at teleportation.”

“Well,” Remus said dryly, “both are gifts. I try not to brag.”

“The first one’s definitely a talent,” Regulus muttered, but the grin tugging at his mouth betrayed him. His rings glinted as he flexed his fingers against Remus’s.

“So,” he continued, his eyes darting toward the glowing spill of neon at the mouth of the alley, “what are we doing here? Wait—don’t tell me you planned a cheesy Muggle date.”

“Partly,” Remus admitted.

“Oh, I love… it.” Regulus cut himself off, quick, but Remus caught it anyway. His heart jumped—a subtle, traitorous lurch—at the unfinished sentence. At what it could have been.

“You love what?” Remus pressed, smirking sideways at him.

“I love cheese, Lupin,” Regulus corrected smoothly, tone airy. “Obviously.”

“Right,” Remus said, but his grin only widened as he tugged him toward the main street.

Soho was alive and loud, all flashing lights and sticky pavement. Muggle voices tangled in the air—laughter, music pouring from a pub door, the bass thumping low in their ribs. Regulus’s eyes darted everywhere, sharp and calculating, like he was in enemy territory but refusing to admit he was impressed.

“God,” Regulus muttered, wrinkling his nose at a passing group of men shouting drunkenly, “this place smells like sweat and sugar and bad decisions.”

“Accurate,” Remus said, unbothered. “But wait until you see the good part.”

“You mean this isn’t the good part?” Regulus drawled, raising one perfect eyebrow.

“No. This is the warm-up,” Remus shot back, steering him through the flow of people.

They turned a corner and the noise softened slightly, replaced by the hum of a quieter street strung with fairy lights and scattered with tiny restaurants, windows fogged with warmth. The kind of place most wizards would never bother to look for.

Regulus slowed, eyes narrowing but not in disapproval. “You did your homework,” he said.

“I always do,” Remus replied. He pulled him toward a little place on the corner, its window glowing golden, handwritten chalkboard sign announcing fresh pasta and cheap wine.

“Merlin’s balls,” Regulus said, half a laugh slipping through his voice. “You’re actually taking me on a cliché Muggle date. Dinner and wine? What’s next, a bloody walk under the stars?”

“Depends on how much you complain.” 

Inside was warm, crowded but cozy, filled with the clink of glasses and the smell of garlic. Regulus’s expression softened despite himself. He shed his coat with a practiced flourish and slid into the booth opposite Remus, already looking like he owned the place.

“You’re ridiculous,” Regulus told him, leaning his chin in his hand. “You know that?”

Remus just grinned, leaning back in his seat. “And yet here you are.”

They ordered ridiculously huge plates of pasta and a bottle of wine, which disappeared way too quickly. By the end of it, Regulus’s laugh had gone unguarded, sharp edges smoothed by alcohol, his beauty sharpened by the dim golden light of the restaurant. They didn’t talk about Hogwarts, or magic, or bloodlines, or any of the endless things waiting for them back in reality. Maybe that was the best part—just for a night, they could play at being something else.

“That’s kind of rude,” Regulus hummed when they finally stepped outside, leather coat thrown back over his shoulders. His cheeks were warm from wine, his eyes catching every passing neon light. “Now you’re making me want to act like a Muggle more often.”

“You’d be good at it,” Remus said, only to wind him up.

Regulus rolled his eyes but still let himself be tugged against Remus’s side, their shoulders brushing as they walked down the crowded pavement. “Well. Thanks for that. The date, I mean. Not the insult.”

“Oh, you think we’re done?” Remus raised a brow, lips twitching. “Now that’s cute.”

“We’re not?” Regulus squinted at him, suspicious. “What are you, an overachiever?”

“I’ve got you, don’t I? I have to be.”

Before Regulus could retort, Remus steered him into another narrow alley. With a twist, the world pulled apart and folded back together, and they landed neatly in the shadow of a building with a glowing marquee.

Regulus turned, jaw dropping. “No. You didn’t.”

“You said you’ve never been, right?” Remus asked, all innocent, like he hadn’t just plotted a small heist for the sake of a birthday date.

“I—fuck.” Regulus blinked at the neon lights spelling CINEMA, then back at Remus. “Damn it.”

Remus smirked. “That’s a yes, then.”

And because he wasn’t just half-Muggle but also a Marauder—above all else—the date wasn’t some cliché stroll under the stars. It was chaos dressed as charm.

He bought them popcorn and Cokes (because apparently that’s what one does), then casually flicked his wand, slipping past the distracted doorman with a neat Confundus. Regulus followed, eyes sharp and gleaming with mischief, coat brushing against Remus’s arm as they padded down the hallway.

“This feels illegal,” Regulus muttered, voice low but carrying that unmistakable note of approval.

“Thanks,” Remus said simply.

Another flick of his wand, and the cinema hall opened up, dark and echoing. Completely empty. On the massive screen, the opening credits of Corpse Bride scrolled in pale letters across the dark.

Regulus yelped. “Lupin!”

“Yes?” Remus asked, deadpan.

“Did you just—” Regulus gestured furiously at the empty hall, at the glowing screen.

“Take a seat, kitten,” Remus interrupted smoothly, motioning toward the middle row.

Regulus didn’t even bother glaring at the nickname this time. He just huffed, sweeping down the row until he dropped into a seat with theatrical precision, his smirk illuminated by the flickering screen.

Remus slid in beside him, balancing the popcorn on his lap. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Shut up,” Regulus murmured—but he was grinning like he couldn’t stop if he tried.

Regulus sat with his arms crossed, looking like he was being held hostage by a film screen. Five minutes in, he reached over, plucked popcorn from Remus’s lap, and muttered, “This is ridiculous.”

“You love it,” Remus said, not looking away from the screen.

“I do not.”

“You do. You’re quoting half the lines under your breath already.”

“I’m mocking it.”

“Of course.”

Regulus sniffed, but the corner of his mouth was twitching every time the skeletal characters burst into song. And when Remus’s Coke slipped in his hand and nearly spilled onto his trousers, Regulus actually laughed—a quick, sharp bark of amusement he tried to bury in his sleeve.

By the halfway mark, he’d stolen the popcorn entirely, his long fingers digging through the tub like it was a personal vendetta. When Remus tried to reclaim it, Regulus elbowed him in the ribs with alarming precision.

“You’re a menace,” Remus muttered.

“Say please,” Regulus shot back.

Instead, Remus leaned over, close enough to steal a handful of popcorn right from between Regulus’s fingers. Their knuckles brushed. Regulus stilled.

Neither of them looked at the screen anymore.

The violins swelled, dramatic and aching. Shadows from the flickering light carved out the sharp line of Regulus’s cheekbones, the stubborn set of his jaw. His smirk was gone, replaced by something steadier, quieter.

Remus swallowed, pulse in his throat. “You’re staring,” he murmured.

“So are you,” Regulus countered, voice low.

And maybe it was the wine or the empty theatre but he leaned in before he could talk himself out of it.

Regulus met him halfway.

The kiss was quick, graceless, more like colliding than anything else—teeth, breath, popcorn salt on lips. Regulus grinned into it anyway, fingers catching on Remus’s collar, dragging him closer.

“You taste like Coke,” he muttered against Remus’s mouth.

“You taste like trouble,” Remus shot back, before kissing him again, harder this time, until Regulus made a noise low in his throat that went straight to Remus’s spine.

On screen, the characters were pledging eternal love in rhyme. In the dark, Regulus bit his lip bloody trying not to laugh into the kiss.

“This is so dramatic,” he whispered, breathless.

“You love it,” Remus repeated.

And this time, Regulus didn’t bother denying it.

They got back to watching —which really meant Regulus watching the movie and Remus watching Regulus. The popcorn tub sat empty on the seat beside them, forgotten, while Remus’s hand rested on Regulus’s thigh, covered neatly by Regulus’s own like it belonged there.

“You think I’m Tim Burton–coded?” Regulus asked suddenly, dead serious, during yet another skeletal song.

“You mean beautiful and dramatic? Yes.”

Regulus chuckled, though his cheeks betrayed him with the faintest pink. “You’re truly the worst.”

“Wow, you just can’t stop yourself from complimenting me, huh?”

“Shut up,” Regulus grinned, leaning in to kiss him again.

And again.

And again, until Remus lost every sense of the plot unfolding on screen. The so-called birthday boy had sworn it was his favorite film, but judging by the way he kept dragging Remus back into his mouth, he couldn’t care less.

By the time they slipped back onto London’s streets, the credits long rolled behind them, the moon hung high and silver, their breath curling white in the frigid air. Regulus’s coat flared with every step, his hand still tangled in Remus’s like he’d forgotten it was there.

“Hey,” Regulus said at last, tilting his head toward him. “You really can apparate to the States like it’s nothing?”

Remus nodded. “Did it with Sirius once. First New York, then Seattle.”

“That’s so unfair,” Regulus groaned, half whine, half laugh. “Meanwhile, I don’t even have a license. I’m still at the Ministry’s mercy like a bloody child.”

“You’ll get one.” Remus squeezed his hand, steady, certain. “You’re better than half the idiots they hand them to anyway.”

Regulus’s eyes flickered, softened for a heartbeat, before he smirked again. “So. You wanna teleport us somewhere now?”

Remus arched a brow. “Somewhere?”

“Yes,” Regulus said, his whole face brightening, betraying the careful mask he always wore. “Like… let’s go to France.”

Remus huffed a laugh. “Paris?”

“Yes. Spoil me,” Regulus replied solemnly, like he wasn’t already spoiled just by being here.

“Bossy little prince,” Remus muttered, pulling out his wand.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” Regulus shot back.

And Remus, with his heart hammering, laughed under his breath and tightened his grip on Regulus’s arm—already planning to do exactly that, as long as Regulus let him.

They landed with a soft crack in a dim side street off the Seine. Paris breathed around them—cobblestones still damp from rain, lamps glowing pale gold, the faint echo of accordion music from somewhere far off.

Regulus didn’t even pretend to be unimpressed. His jaw slackened, eyes darting between the river glinting silver in the dark and the skyline cutting sharp against the stars.

“Oh, fuck me,” he muttered. “You actually did it.”

“You’re welcome,” Remus said dryly, though he couldn’t help the twitch of pride in his chest.

Regulus smacked his arm, then immediately reached for his hand again, like he couldn’t stand to let go. “This is ridiculous.”

“You asked for it.”

“Yes, but I didn’t expect you to actually… deliver.” Regulus narrowed his eyes at him, but there was no heat in it, only wonder trying to disguise itself as irritation. “How are you this smug and still not dead?”

“Luck,” Remus answered simply. “And height.”

Regulus snorted, but his gaze was already tugged back toward the river, toward the way the water caught the moonlight. He bit the inside of his cheek like he didn’t want Remus to see how much it was affecting him.

They walked along the Seine, their shoulders brushing, the night air sharp in their lungs. For once, Regulus wasn’t filling the silence with barbed little comments—he was too busy drinking it all in, and Remus was too busy drinking him in.

At Pont Neuf, Regulus finally stopped, leaning against the stone railing, the city spread wide behind him. “You’re aware this is a power move, right?” he asked. “Dragging me to Paris on my birthday? You’re setting the bar far too high.”

Remus leaned next to him, close enough their coats brushed. “I’ll survive the pressure.”

“Will you?” Regulus tilted his head, dark hair falling into his eyes. “Because now, if you ever take me somewhere ordinary, I’ll call you a disappointment.”

“Already do.”

Regulus’s laugh cracked free, startled and real. He shoved at Remus’s shoulder, but his other hand found Remus’s wrist, holding on like always.

For a moment, with the lights of Paris reflected in his eyes and his sharp mouth softened by the night, Regulus looked untouchable. Eternal. And Remus—who’d never cared for grand gestures, who preferred the quiet—thought he’d burn the whole city down just to keep this exact look on his face.

“Happy birthday, kitten,” Remus murmured, and before Regulus could retort, he kissed him—properly this time, no half-stolen cinema snog, but slow and deliberate and very much theirs, the city a backdrop that could never compete.

When Regulus finally pulled back, his smirk was shaky. “God, Lupin. You’re making me like you.”

“Good,” Remus said, calm as anything, though his heart was pounding hard enough to bruise. “That’s the idea.”

Remus reached into his coat pocket, fingers brushing the little velvet box that had been burning a hole there all night. He pulled it out before he could talk himself out of it.

“Now,” he said, holding it out. “Before you get ideas—this isn’t an engagement ring, or a promise ring, or any other sentimental bollocks. It’s just a ring. But you’re the one who picked Paris out of everywhere I could’ve taken you, so really it’s your fault for making it look romantic.”

Regulus froze, suspicion written all over him, then his jaw dropped. “You got me something?!”

“Obviously.” Remus shoved the box at him, pretending his stomach wasn’t twisting itself inside out. “Got to keep you happy before you figure out how catastrophically emotionally damaged I actually am.”

Regulus snapped the box open. Inside, nestled in black velvet, was a simple silver band, blackened on the inside—sleek, sharp, utterly him. It screamed Slytherin. Black. Regulus.

Regulus’s lips parted, his pout dramatic as ever. “It’s pretty,” he said, voice softer now, and glanced up at Remus through his lashes like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“It’s also lose-proof. Enchanted so you can’t misplace it,” Remus explained with a shrug, as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Unless you want to, that is.”

“I don’t want to lose it,” Regulus muttered, swatting at his chest, but a second later he slid the ring onto his finger like it belonged there. It joined the small army of silver bands he always wore, blending in perfectly. No one would even notice it—except the two of them.

He turned his hand, admiring it for half a beat too long, then shut the box with a snap and tucked it back into Remus’s coat pocket, like he was giving the gesture back in his own way. Then he leaned in, arms looping easily around Remus’s neck, pulling him closer with no theatrics, no sharp remarks this time.

“Thanks,” he murmured against Remus’s mouth before kissing him again—slower, deeper, deliberate. The kind of kiss that said he’d noticed every detail, every thought put into it, even if he’d never admit it out loud.

And Remus, for all his restraint, let himself melt into it, Paris or no Paris, because this—Regulus with his sharp tongue and sharp rings and softest, most dangerous heart—was the only thing he wanted to get right.

They broke apart eventually, only because Regulus smirked against his mouth like he’d already won something. Typical.

“You really set the bar high for yourself, Lupin,” he said, flexing his hand so the silver glinted under the streetlamps. “What’s next year? A castle? The bloody moon?”

Remus snorted, tugging him back into step along the cobblestone street. “Don’t flatter yourself. That’s just a ring, not the crown jewels.”

“Mm,” Regulus hummed, eyes still fixed on the band like he wasn’t obsessed. “Could’ve fooled me. You hexed it so I can’t lose it, you dragged me to Paris, you broke into a cinema… You’re basically begging me to tell everyone I’ve domesticated you.”

“Please do. I’d love to see how that ends for you.”

Regulus laughed, soft and sharp at once, brushing their shoulders together as they walked. The night air bit cold, the Seine glittered on their right, and couples strolled past without sparing them a second glance. For once, the world didn’t care who they were.

Remus shoved his hands into his coat pockets, deliberately casual. “So. Worth nearly splinching you across half of Europe?”

Regulus tilted his head, considering him, then the ring again. “I’ll allow it.” He said it like he was doing Remus some great favor, but the faint pink in his cheeks gave him away.

“Good,” Remus muttered, but he couldn’t stop the grin tugging at his mouth.

They wandered aimlessly for a while, Regulus occasionally pointing out things like he’d known Paris all his life, even though he clearly hadn’t. At some point, he tugged Remus toward a bridge, leaned against the rail with the city sprawling out behind him, and held his hand up so the silver band caught the moonlight.

“You know, no one’s ever gotten me anything I actually liked before,” he said, almost too low for Remus to hear.

Remus leaned on the rail beside him, close but not crowding. “That’s because you’re a nightmare to shop for.”

“Exactly.” Regulus’s mouth twitched. “Yet somehow you didn’t fuck it up.”

“That’s my specialty,” Remus said dryly. “Occasional success, buried under layers of trauma.”

Regulus rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he reached for Remus’s hand again, threading their fingers together without ceremony, like it was the most natural thing in the world. The ring was cool against Remus’s skin, solid, real.

And for once, he didn’t bother pretending it wasn’t everything.

“Hey,” Regulus said, glancing up at him through his lashes. “You’re a suspiciously good boyfriend.”

“I’ve read a lot of romantic novels. Stole all the moves from there,” Remus replied, deadpan, though his lips betrayed him with the smallest twitch.

“Well, I’m glad you did.” Regulus hummed low, fingers fussing with the lapels of Remus’s coat. “And that you actually give a shit about my birthday.”

Remus leaned in, caging him against the railing, his breath brushing Regulus’s temple. “Of course I do.”

Regulus’s hands stilled, his thumb hooked into Remus’s collar. For a few seconds, he just stared at him, as if weighing the risk of being honest. Then, quieter: “I mean… I wasn’t thinking you’d be like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like… good at it. At this.” Regulus’s lips pressed together, sharpness softened just a little. “Good enough it makes me want to rub it in everyone’s face that I’m the one you’re doing things for.”

Remus’s chest went tight, but he forced a shrug, casual as if it didn’t hit him square in the ribs. “Well… you can. If you want. That part’s up to you.”

“I know.” Regulus nodded, but his gaze didn’t leave him. “I just… want you to myself a little longer. Before the circus starts. If you’re fine with that.”

Remus swallowed down the knee-jerk urge to say no, to tell him he wanted everyone to see right now, that he wanted to tear the world apart until it understood. Instead, he kissed him, slow and deliberate, like he could hold the frustration down with his mouth. When he pulled back, he managed: “Sure.”

Absolutely not fine, but willing to set himself on fire for him anyway.

“Now,” Remus asked, brushing his nose against his, “you wanna head back?”

“I wanna see the Eiffel Tower.” Regulus’s lips curved into something halfway between a smirk and a pout. “It’s required.”

So they did. Because Remus Lupin had absolutely no free will when it came to Regulus Black, and he knew it.

They slipped through the winding streets until the tower rose up against the Paris sky, glittering, ridiculous, alive. Regulus’s face lit with something raw and unguarded in the glow, the ring flashing with every shift of his hand. He tilted his head back to take it all in, whispering, “Damn. That’s obscene.”

Remus huffed a laugh. “Bit like you then.”

“Shut up,” Regulus said automatically, but he was still staring, still holding on to Remus’s hand like he’d never let go.

And Remus, for one stolen moment under all that iron and light, thought that maybe he wouldn’t mind if the whole world knew.

Chapter 28: all that was left was the boy Remus wanted more than anyone else

Notes:

hope you survived the first day of school!!!

He barely had any sleep before Sirius woke him in the most Sirius way possible—by launching himself onto Remus’s bed at dawn, fresh from Quidditch practice and radiating sweat and self-satisfaction.

“Where the hell were you?” Sirius demanded, plopping down on him with the weight of a small fridge.

“Here. Sleeping,” Remus groaned, trying and failing to shove him off.

“Oof!” Sirius gasped, dramatically clutching his chest like he’d been wounded, but he stayed firmly planted where he was—unfortunately right on Remus’s hips. “You’re lying, my friend. You were gone. I’ll find out where.”

“Can you find out before you crush my balls?” Remus muttered, dragging an arm over his eyes.

“Nope,” Sirius shot back, smirking. “You’re hiding something, and you’ve got the whole ‘I just got laid’ aura, and I’m not letting it slide.”

Remus popped up on his elbows, looked him dead in the eyes, and said flatly, “I’m not getting laid. You’re the closest to getting me off than anyone since Russo, so move the fuck off.”

Sirius barked a laugh, loud and sharp, before finally sliding off the bed to kneel beside him like some overexcited dog. “God, you’re touchy.”

“I’m sleep-deprived.”

“More like sex-deprived.”

“Get out before I hex you,” Remus warned, flopping back against the pillows like a man ready to surrender to death.

Of course, Sirius wasn’t done. He never was. “So… you and Reg…?”

Remus groaned so loudly it rattled the bedframe. “Sirius. Stop trying to match us up. He told you himself he doesn’t like me, remember?”

Sirius huffed, unimpressed. “He’s dumb.”

“Well, you’ve got that in common,” Remus muttered into his arm.

“Rude. And factual. But!” Sirius bounced to his feet, stripping off his sweaty Quidditch kit without a shred of dignity. “No worries. I’ve got the perfect plan for my birthday party today.”

Remus cracked one eye open, already regretting it. “Which is?”

“Making sure you’re not my only mate who dies a sad little man with no one.” Sirius grinned, smug and infuriating.

“Touching.”

“Now get up,” Sirius ordered, rifling through Remus’s trunk like it was his own. “Pete’s already on his way to Hogsmeade to smuggle the booze, and I need you to help before your virginity grows back.”

“There’s no such thing—fine,” Remus groaned, dragging himself upright with the kind of resignation that came from being friends with Sirius Black.

When Remus and Sirius finally dragged themselves downstairs, the so-called party preparations were already in full swing—and by full swing, it looked like the common room had been set on fire by drunk decorators.

James was halfway strangled in a mess of fairy lights, muttering curses as Lily tried to keep her voice calm while correcting him, which mostly meant she was hissing through clenched teeth about him being a useless manchild.

Mary and Marlene were plastering the walls with posters of Sirius’s favorite rock bands, enchanted to shimmer like they were mid-concert. Both girls were proudly sporting bright white t-shirts with Sirius’s face stretched across the chest and the words Pussy Bandit printed underneath in the most dramatic gothic font Remus had ever seen. He doubled over laughing the second he clocked it.

“I’ve got one for you too!” Mary announced sweetly, tossing a rolled-up shirt at him.

Remus unrolled it, sighed like a man who had already lost the battle, and tugged it on anyway—wearing it (not) proudly, the word bandit practically glowing across his chest as he flicked his wand to help Lily corral the disaster.

“You good, Remus?” Lily asked, finally noticing how pale he looked as he magicked a couch out of the way with a lazy wave. She squinted at him.

“Tired,” Remus admitted around a jaw-cracking yawn. “Pads ambushed me in bed.”

Lily snorted, smothering a grin. “Thought he’d stop now that he’s with Crouch.”

Remus gave her the flattest, most unimpressed look he could muster. “Have you met Pads?”

“… Fair point,” she conceded after a beat, shaking her head.

“Besides, ambushing is like… his love language,” Remus muttered, wand still dragging chairs toward the wall while Sirius strutted around behind him, “supervising” with all the authority of a self-appointed god.

Lily blinked, lips twitching like she was trying not to laugh. “Well… at least the party’s going to be great!” she added, far too cheerfully.

Which immediately made Remus suspicious. Because nothing about that tone ever meant good news.

“Okay,” James said, raising his voice above the chatter so it carried across the room. “I’m begging you lot—do not let Evan think he owns me.”

“He does,” everyone chorused without missing a beat.

“And we’re so happy for you, mate,” Remus added with a smug little click of his tongue.

James shot him a betrayed look. “You’re the worst.”

“Wrong,” Mary cut in, swooping over to loop an arm around Remus’s shoulders like they were co-captains of the chaos. “He’s the only fine one here.”

“You mean fit,” Marlene corrected with a wink, leaning in close just to twist the knife.

“You mean gay,” Sirius deadpanned, already pouring himself a drink like he was above it all.

“At least I’m not the one railing Barty Crouch Jr.,” Remus shot back without missing a beat.

Sirius gasped like he’d been slapped. “Take that back!”

“Nope.”

“Moony!” Sirius whined, clutching his chest for extra dramatics.

Remus just grinned, sharp and unbothered. “And, hey—did he ever tell you who he had a crush on last year?” he asked innocently, loud enough for the whole room.

“On me,” Sirius glared, already bracing for it.

“Well… yeah,” Remus said, leaning back just to enjoy the fallout. “Right after he had one on me.”

The silence lasted half a second before Sirius shrieked.

“WHAT?!” James yelled at the exact same time, looking like someone had just set his broom on fire.

“Obviously,” Mary said calmly, patting Remus’s head like he was a prized cat. “Our very own Gryffindor Casanova.”

“I’m going to die,” Sirius announced with full drama, whipping his phone out of his back pocket like a gun. He immediately started hammering out texts to Barty with the intensity of a man on the edge. “He’s dead. He’s so dead. I’m breaking up with him. No—he’s explaining this first. Oh my god, I’m going to Azkaban.”

Remus leaned lazily against the arm of the couch, smirk wide and mean, not sorry at all. After surviving Sirius ambushing him at sunrise and sitting on his balls? He earned this.

“Mate,” James said, pointing at Sirius’s frenzied texting with a look of genuine concern, “you cannot break up with someone over text in the middle of party prep.”

“Watch me,” Sirius hissed, thumbs still flying.

“He’s literally insane,” Marlene muttered, but she sounded delighted.

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t,” Mary said, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “You’d draft a seven-paragraph breakup essay and then make Lily proofread it.”

“Hey!” Marlene protested, but didn’t deny it.

James was still spiraling. “Wait, so—hang on, two of you had Barty crushing on you and no one thought to mention this? Ever? At all?”

“Not relevant,” Remus said flatly, sipping his drink like it was water.

“Not relevant?!” James’s voice cracked. “That’s massively relevant, mate! What the hell else are you hiding?”

“Lots,” Remus replied, deadpan, and Mary laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink.

“You’re a menace,” she told him fondly.

“Don’t encourage him!” James whined.

“Encouraging him is my job,” Mary said sweetly, squeezing Remus’s arm.

“Your job,” Sirius scoffed without looking up from his phone. “He’s supposed to be my mate. I deserve hazard pay for putting up with him.”

“Please,” Marlene cut in, leaning back on the arm of the sofa. “You love him more than anyone. You’d die without him.”

“Exactly why I deserve hazard pay,” Sirius shot back, but his glare didn’t stick because Remus was already smirking at him.

James groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “I hate all of you. I’m living in a nightmare. Rosier thinks he owns me, my best mates are pathological liars, and I still have fairy lights to untangle before this party starts. Kill me.”

“Tragic,” Remus said without sympathy.

“Actually tragic,” Mary agreed, then raised her glass. “To the Gryffindor Casanova, and to Potter dying tangled in tinsel!”

Everyone but James cheered.

James flipped them off.

Sirius hissed at his phone like he’d been personally betrayed when Barty finally texted back.

“What?” Mary chirped, too eager by half.

“I’m breaking up with him,” Sirius said, flat as stone.

“Bullshit. You act like the sun comes out of his ass,” Marlene smirked.

Sirius glared at her. “Sometimes—”

“DON’T!” everyone yelled in unison.

“What did he even say?” James asked, eyes wide.

“That it’s a ‘canon event to have a crush on Lupin,’ which—what the hell?” Sirius frowned. “On my almost-birthday?”

Remus just shrugged, lighting a cigarette like it was nothing. “Chill, Pads. He’s not my type.”

“And who is your type?” Mary perked up immediately.

“Prongs,” Remus replied casually, smoke curling around his words.

“WHAT?!” James practically leapt off the couch. “What?!”

“Joking,” Remus said, tilting his head like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Unless…”

James’s jaw hit the floor while the rest of them exploded into laughter.

“God, you flirt so weird,” Sirius squinted at him, voice low and murderous.

“That’s why I’m single,” Remus shrugged, cigarette dangling from his lips. “Now, shut the fuck up and help actually decorate the place.”

Two hours later, after a whirlwind of wand-flicking, stealthy raids on the kitchen, and Peter smuggling way too much beer while charming a poster to sing “Rockstar” by Hannah Montana—for reasons only Peter understood—the common room finally looked like a shrine to Sirius Black. It literally screamed him.

Barty appeared somewhere between the third open bottle of whiskey and Peter trying to charm yet another poster, and immediately he and Sirius launched into a heated argument about boundaries and secrets —right before they disappeared upstairs, already tugging clothes off with no subtlety at all.

“Subtle,” James hummed, watching them vanish.

Remus just rolled his eyes, flopping onto the couch and grabbing his phone to text Regulus.

Remus:
i may have accidentally made pads and crouch fight

Regulus:
good
ab what

Remus:
that crouch had a crush on me

Regulus
you’re way too smug for someone who just took his boyfriend for a sappy date.

Remus:
that’s why i’m smug

Regulus:
ugh, shut up
also, where are you?
also, why aren’t we in the hidden room??

Remus:
in the common room
sirius made us all help him while he did absolutely no work

Regulus:
ofc
he’s a black, not a peasant.
see you at the party then??

Remus:
see you, kitten

Regulus:
DONT CALL ME THAT
… see you 🖤

Remus grinned at the screen, hiding his smirk as chaos continued all around him. Lily was shouting at James for knocking over a tower of bottles, Mary was laughing like she’d won a medal, and Marlene was correcting Peter’s poster charms with dramatic flair. And somewhere in the back of his mind, Remus knew Regulus would be there soon—and that no amount of party chaos could compete with just seeing him.

 

Remus, in the obliviousness he liked to live in, didn’t notice what Sirius was up to until yet another guy approached him to “talk”—flirting so badly even Remus, with his zero flirting skills, was impressed. The party was already in full swing: music blasting, students weaving around with drinks in hand, and chaos thriving like it owned the castle. Regulus, however, stood like a dark sentinel in the corner, glaring at every guy who dared glance in his direction, while Remus blinked lazily at all of them, nursing his sixth drink.

It was only when some Hufflepuff fifth-year—awkward, eager, and grinning like a fool—leaned in to ask if he wanted to go to Hogsmeade that Remus finally snapped. “You make me want to turn straight, not go with you,” he said flatly, raising an eyebrow.

Annoyed at how damn good Regulus looked, and equally pissed at Sirius for being Sirius and trying to play wingman, Remus made a beeline for Regulus, who was pouring himself another glass of whiskey like he hadn’t already downed four. Low alcohol tolerance or not, the man seemed to thrive on chaos.

“I see you’re having fun,” Regulus said, finally looking up at him.

“Jealous?”

“Fuck off.”

“‘Cause you’re the one who—”

“Finish that sentence and I’m finishing you,” Regulus snapped, voice sharp, eyes narrowing. “I’m fine. Perfectly fine.”

“Well… you look fine,” Remus said, brushing a hand lightly against Regulus’s hip, the heat of proximity teasing his nerves.

“Well, you’re not getting any of it tonight, so shut it,” Regulus barked.

Like I’m ever getting anything, Remus thought, but he bit it back. Instead, he stirred the storm anyway, because letting things slide was never his strong suit.

“Are you literally mad at me for turning guys down?” he asked, voice low but edged with frustration.

“I’m not mad. I’m fine,” Regulus snapped, very much not fine.

“Fine doesn’t look like that,” Remus said, voice a little sharper now, stepping closer so they were almost shoulder-to-shoulder. “You’re glaring like I just insulted your entire family.”

“I am glaring because I don’t need half the party sniffing around you while you sit there like—like some oblivious idiot,” Regulus shot back, gripping his glass so tightly it rattled.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Oblivious, huh? You mean while I’m six drinks deep and trying not to throttle anyone who dares look at you? I’m so oblivious.”

“Exactly. You’re drinking and flirting and acting like this is some… some game,” Regulus hissed, stepping closer, chest practically brushing against his. “I’m not a game, Remus.”

“And you’re not exactly letting me win either,” Remus shot back, teeth clenching a little. “You’re mad, Regulus. Admit it.”

“I’m not mad!” Regulus snapped again, but the slight tremor in his jaw betrayed him. “I just—can you stop acting like you’re immune to all of this? I hate seeing other idiots touch you, yeah? Is that so hard to understand?”

Remus blinked, the heat of whiskey and frustration mixing with something sharper. “So it’s jealousy. Finally. Took you long enough to admit it.”

Regulus’s eyes flared. “It’s not jealousy, it’s… it’s—” He faltered, lips pressing into a tight line. “I don’t care. I’m fine. You’re enjoying yourself, I’m… I’m fine.”

“Right. Fine,” Remus echoed, voice low, teasing, dangerous. “Except you’re staring at me like you’re plotting my death and not even pretending it’s subtle.”

Regulus glared, hand curling around his glass until the ice inside rattled violently. “And you’re acting like it’s a challenge. Like you don’t even care.”

“I care,” Remus shot back, patience running dangerously thin. “And I did what I could to turn them down without admitting I’m already taken. So what else do you want from me?”

“I don’t know!”

“Well, great argument,” Remus snapped, voice tight. “Makes all of this a lot easier, doesn’t it?”

“It is easy,” Regulus shot back, teeth gritted. “It is, and you just—you enjoy that fucking attention. Admit it.”

Remus exhaled sharply, repeating in his head like a mantra: Do not strangle your boyfriend in public. The mantra faltered under the weight of how infuriating—and irresistible—Regulus looked right now.

“Enjoy it? Reg, I don’t care about it,” he said, voice steady despite the burn of frustration.

“Yeah, you don’t care about anything. We settled that already,” Regulus countered, eyes flashing. “You’re too nonchalant to act like you actually care—”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Remus interrupted, disbelief clear in his tone.

Regulus stared at him for a few long, charged seconds. His cheeks were flushed, hair tousled from the earlier scuffle, and—dammit—Remus hated that he noticed just how good he looked. Every flare of irritation, every sharp inhale, made him dangerously magnetic.

“Never mind,” Regulus muttered, spinning on his heel. “Go talk to someone who’s not exhausting.”

Remus’s stomach knotted. He moved faster than he intended, grabbing Regulus’s arm to hold him in place. “We talked about this, Reg. I apologized. You can’t drag this out every time you want to have the upper hand,” he said, voice low, tight, teetering on the edge of snapping something he’d instantly regret.

“Yeah, but you’re clearly still thinking that, so—” Regulus said, freeing his arm, and before Remus could blink, he was walking toward Evan, cool and infuriatingly untouchable.

Fuck.

Remus clenched his fists, jaw tightening. His head was buzzing with whiskey, annoyance, and something hotter—something that made him want to yank Regulus back into a dark corner and throttle him just to feel him.

He didn’t move. Not yet. Instead, he let his gaze follow every step Regulus took, every little tilt of his shoulder, every smirk he gave Evan.

This is insane. Why am I letting him get under my skin like this? Remus thought, exhaling through his nose.

And yet… the ache in his chest, the pull in his gut, told him that he wasn’t just annoyed. He was burned alive by jealousy, by want, by the unspoken claim Regulus had over him.

It was exhausting.

And god, he loved it.

In the act of what he could only describe as pride—and pure idiocy—he didn’t follow him. Not because he didn’t want to—god, he was dying to—but because Regulus was the one acting like a complete ass.

None of this would be happening if they weren’t in the bloody secret relationship Regulus insisted on and Remus had started getting tired of. No one would be trying to flirt with him, Regulus wouldn’t be jealous over nothing, and Remus could actually enjoy a perfectly good party with him instead of arguing like two idiots who couldn’t share a thought without snapping.

He poured himself another glass of whiskey, downed it in one go, and made his way straight to Mary. He could have been petty—let someone flirt with him just to wind Regulus up—but… well. He wasn’t like that. Even if he kind of wanted to be.

Around them, the party was careening closer and closer to absolute disaster with every passing song. Drinks were spilled, fairy lights were dangerously loose, and someone—probably Peter—was trying to teach a poster to sing a rock ballad. Remus didn’t even bother to care that McGonagall could storm in any second and give them all detention. He let himself be dragged by Mary, her slurred words and wild gesturing pulling him away from the chaos, like a lifeline to a slightly more tolerable corner of madness.

And then Sirius had another “brilliant” idea.

“Let’s play a drinking game!” he shouted over the music and laughter. “Like kissing-drinking-game, but only I get to kiss my boyfriend!”

“No one wants to kiss your boyfriend, Black!” Marlene yelled back, raising her cup in a mock salute from her spot by Dorcas.

Barty just tsked at her, completely unfazed, glued to Sirius’s side like he was getting paid to endure it.

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath, “This is going to end in blood, alcohol, or both.”

Mary, however, found his grim expression hilarious. “Don’t act like you’re not tempted, honey,” she teased, nudging him lightly with her elbow. “Look at him! He’s practically begging for chaos.”

“Chaos isn’t exactly my thing,” he replied, voice dry, though he could feel the faint heat creeping up his neck just thinking about Regulus sulking somewhere in the corner, arms crossed, glaring at everyone—and everything.

“Not your thing?” Mary raised an eyebrow. “You're a dozen drinks in and already plotting how to make Black miserable.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “That’s called survival strategy.”

And Sirius, naturally, chose that exact moment to start arranging the next round of the game, shouting out challenges and pointing at everyone, his grin maddeningly wide.

Perfect. Remus thought. Just another night of utter chaos, and I’m still supposed to be the responsible one.

Except, he couldn’t stop glancing at Regulus, who looked simultaneously infuriating and ridiculously good, and Remus realized with a sinking feeling that this party wasn’t going to end peacefully for anyone—not even him.

Eventually, Sirius managed to herd everyone exactly where he wanted, and soon enough, the circle was deep into the profound game of truth or shot.

“Me first!” Evan shouted, grinning like he was about to expose someone’s deepest shame. “Pettigrew, your first crush.”

Peter downed his shot without a second thought, making everyone laugh like it was the funniest thing in the world.

“Prongs,” he said, smirking at James. “When are you going to admit that Rosier has wrapped you around his finger?”

“He doesn’t,” James huffed, trying to look indignant but failing spectacularly.

“Now you have to drink up for lying,” Lily mocked, giggling as James rolled his eyes and downed the next shot anyway.

“Fine,” he muttered. Then, his gaze snapped toward Remus. “Moony. On who from here you had a crush?”

“You,” Remus replied, deadpan, catching the twitch in Regulus’s eye from the corner of his vision.

“Bullshit!” Sirius shouted, jumping to his feet. “Tell us the truth, you coward!” He hurled a cap at Remus’s head, missing by a good foot, much to everyone else’s amusement.

“Fine,” Remus sighed, rolling his eyes. “Sirius,” he said flatly.

The gasps that echoed through the room were almost theatrical.

“What?!” Sirius shrieked, clutching his chest like someone had stabbed him with words.

“What?!” Peter and James yelled in unison.

“I’m sorry, come again?” Barty asked, his voice calm amidst the chaos.

“Last year,” Remus continued, completely unbothered, “six months. Sirius walking around without a t-shirt like it was an Olympic sport.”

“SIX MONTHS?!” Sirius screeched, pacing in circles, hands flailing like this was some national emergency.

“I know,” Remus nodded, sipping his drink lazily. “It was unbearable.”

Marlene snorted, nearly spilling her drink. “Unbearable? Remus, you enjoyed it.”

“I did not!” Remus protested, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips. “I was suffering. Emotionally. Mentally. Spiritually.”

Sirius stopped pacing long enough to glare at him. “You’re lying!”

“Oh, I suffered,” Remus repeated, taking another sip, eyes flicking briefly to Regulus, who looked like he wanted to disappear through the floor. “And don’t look at me like that,” he added, voice soft but pointed. “I know you’re lot counting every glance he stole at me tonight.”

The group erupted in laughter again, Sirius throwing his hands in the air in exasperation, Peter and James cheering, and Marlene and Mary whispering excitedly to each other like this was the best entertainment they’d had all year.

And Remus? He just leaned back, watching the chaos unfold, thinking: Perfect. Just another party ruined by Sirius Black… and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sirius clapped his hands like a man announcing his own coronation. “Alright, you lot! Let’s see who’s brave enough for the next round.”

“Pettigrew, truth!” Barty shouted, wobbling slightly on his chair. Peter groaned dramatically but slumped to answer.

“Ever kissed someone from this room?” he asked, eyes glinting with far too much enthusiasm.

Peter froze for a second before downing his shot with flair. “Uh… Prongs?” he admitted, earning a chorus of snickers and groans.

“Of course it’s Prongs,” Sirius muttered under his breath, giving a subtle smirk that only Remus noticed.

James rolled his eyes, drinking anyway, muttering something about “friends being terrible.” Remus almost choked on his drink, trying not to laugh, and Regulus’s glare nearly burned a hole through the couch.

“Okay, Moony,” Sirius crowed, pointing at Remus like a man about to declare war. “Truth or shot!”

“I… shot,” Remus said, voice calm, trying to act like he had no clue what was coming.

“Pfft, coward,” Sirius laughed, topping off his own drink. “Fine. That counts as my turn to interrogate you. Who’s your secret crush, huh?”

Remus blinked lazily at him. “I don’t have one,” he said. Flat. Casual.

Sirius tilted his head, grin widening. “Lies. I see the way you look at someone across the room. That’s admiring intensity, Moony. Very suspicious.”

Remus raised an eyebrow, glancing toward Regulus, who was still standing stiffly at the edge of the room. “You mean… everyone?” he said, smirking slightly.

Sirius’s laugh was sharp. “Don’t play games with me, Moony. I’ll know.”

Meanwhile, Marlene was already waving her cup around, drunk and gleeful. “Alright! My turn! Potter, who was your first crush?”

“Lily,” James replied like that was the most obvious thing in the world. And, well, it kind of was.

“Not in a million years, sweetheart,” Lily grinned, leaning in to pat his head.

“Thanks for the memo,” James muttered flatly, though the twitch of a grin betrayed him a second later.

Then, much to everyone’s shock, he added, “Regulus, who’s the person you’re crushing on?”

Regulus held his gaze, downed the shot without sparing a word, and set the glass down like it weighed nothing.

Remus shot him a look, mouthing coward, and the glare Regulus shot back made it abundantly clear that Remus was about to regret that insult.

“Lupin,” Regulus finally said, cutting through the laughter that had erupted around the circle.“If you had a crush on Sirius, why didn’t you ever make a move?”

“That’s a good question,” Sirius added, eyes wide.

“Figured it’d be better if we stayed friends,” Remus replied, shrugging casually. “Which… paid off.”

“Paid off how?” Regulus raised an eyebrow, voice sharp.

Remus tsked, clearly amused by the interrogation. “One question at a time, Black,” he said before turning to Peter. “When are you finally going to dump Lockhart?”

Peter groaned, dramatic as ever. “Please, let me live.”

“No,” the rest of them replied in unison, grinning like predators.

The game rolled on. Marlene admitted she had a crush on Sirius back in fourth grade. James revealed he lost his v-card to some muggle girl at fifteen— “and has no regrets!” —which earned a chorus of groans and teasing. Evan confessed his first kiss was with Barty, sending Sirius into a near-violent frenzy. Regulus, on the other hand, dodged every question anyone dared to ask him, downing shot after shot until his voice had that soft, slurry edge that made it impossible to take him seriously.

“Alright, alright,” Marlene clapped her hands, barely able to keep her balance. “Next round! We’re playing Hot or Not. Drink if it’s hot, obviously.”

“Me first!” James shouted. “Wait—are we playing about people or things?”

“Both!” everyone yelled, almost drowning each other out.

“Then… Pandora Rosier,” James said, smug beyond measure.

“That’s my twin sister,” Evan said, glaring. The rest of them downed their shots anyway.

“I know,” Peter said, smirking. “Roger Davies.”

“Dude,” Remus said flatly, then downed a shot himself, clearly just to be difficult.

“I know!” Lily squealed, pointing. “Regulus.”

Regulus gasped. “Evans!”

Remus just downed his shot with the rest, eyes locked on Regulus, voice calm, posture unreadable.

Lily gasped at the sight. “Remus!”

“What?” he blinked, perfectly deadpan.

“You drank!”

“He looks like Sirius,” Remus replied, casual as ever.

At this point, Remus was half expecting smoke to start billowing from Regulus’s nose, but the boy only stood there, jaw tight, eyes flaring, utterly lethal and terrifying all at once.

The tension between them became almost visible—like two magnets refusing to touch, while the rest of the group descended further into chaos, shouting names, slamming shots, and laughing too loud. Sirius, meanwhile, was cackling like a man who’d found absolute control over the evening, completely oblivious to the storm brewing between Remus and Regulus.

Remus, still deadpan, silently counted the ways he was going to regret this game—but also how delicious it was to watch Regulus squirm ever so slightly, even if he’d never admit it.

“Alright, I know,” James said, leaning in. “Moony.”

Much to Remus’s sheer horror, everyone— including Regulus—took a shot. Regulus looked like he’d swallowed a lemon instead of cheap vodka, cheeks flushing red and eyes narrowing.

“I mean,” Dorcas tilted her head, squinting. “There’s something about you.”

“Yeah, the height,” Peter grinned, clearly amused.

“No, no, the broken nose,” Mary stated, totally serious.

“No, the way he can absolutely murder you with one look,” James yelled, flailing his hands for emphasis.

“I think it’s the ‘dad’ thing,” Sirius hummed, smirking.

“You really do have daddy issues,” Remus replied, deadpan, even if he was blushing as hell.

“Oh, he’s shy,” Mary cooed, throwing her arm around his shoulders. “Don’t worry, honey, I won’t let those heathens lay their dirty hands on you.”

“Thanks,” Remus sniffed theatrically, dragging a hand over his face as if it required serious effort to endure their collective chaos.

When the game descended into more chaos than actual gameplay, Remus finally noticed Regulus slipping out from the common room. He muttered a vague excuse about needing the loo and followed, weaving down the corridor until he found him by the cracked-open window, cigarette in hand, swaying slightly.

“You’re such a prick,” Regulus muttered without even looking at him.

“You picked a fight over nothing,” Remus reminded him, lighting his own cigarette.

“It wasn’t nothing,” Regulus snapped.

“Then what is it?” Remus asked, exhaling smoke.

“That—fuck,” Regulus cut himself off, dragging on his cigarette. “That you’re so fucking nonchalant that I have no idea if you’re just playing when we’re alone… or when we’re in public.”

Remus blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You let all those guys flirt with you—”

“I don’t! I told one that he makes me want to turn straight!” Remus cut in, voice sharper than he meant.

Regulus just glared, jaw tight, eyes glittering with something raw.

Then, quieter, almost breaking through the fog of anger and whiskey:

“I know it was my idea to stay in secret, but I had no idea it would be killing me this much,” he said, voice slurry, raw, and jagged in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.

Remus paused, taking a slow drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke curl between them. The party noise faded into background static. “Reg, I’m not trying to make this harder than it is,” he said softly. “I don’t… I don’t want you to feel like this.”

“You don’t get it,” Regulus hissed, turning slightly, fingers tapping against the windowsill. “I see the way you let them look at you, let them think—let me think you might actually care about… them. And it fucking kills me.”

Remus stepped closer, careful not to overstep, feeling the tension ripple between them like an electric charge. “You’re the only one I care about,” he said flatly, almost too calm, letting the words hang in the night air.

Regulus finally glanced at him, a flicker of something dangerous and desperate passing across his face. “Do you even know what it does to me, Remus?”

Remus exhaled, dropping the cigarette to the floor and crushing it underfoot. “Maybe I do,” he said, voice low, steady. “And I swear I’m not—I don’t care about anyone else, alright? I want you. Just you, no matter how many people want me.”

Regulus exhaled slowly, like he was trying to stop himself from either crying or yelling at Remus. Honestly, it could’ve been both at the same time.

“I kinda hate that you’re hot,” he said eventually, voice tight. “It’s the werewolf vibe. Insufferable.”

Remus snorted, sliding his arm around Regulus’s shoulder and pulling him close. “I’m really just tall,” he said, smirking.

Regulus glared at him through his lashes. “I still can’t believe that you had a crush on Sirius.”

“It was a long time ago,” Remus replied, shrugging lightly.

“Doesn’t help my self-esteem,” Regulus muttered, his voice low, and something in it made Remus actually pause, take it all in.

“Look,” Remus said, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “I can’t change the past, alright? Or what people think or do. But I like you. And I’m with you. And you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, Regulus. Everything I want—and more.”

Regulus blinked, caught off guard, his cheeks flushing as he tried to hold the gaze. “Really?”

“Of course,” Remus said, nodding firmly, tightening his hold around him. “You think I’d waste my time on anyone else? No one makes me feel like this. No one makes me feel like… you.”

Regulus’s lips parted slightly, a mixture of disbelief and something warmer flickering across his face. “I—” he started, then faltered, unable to find words.

Remus leaned closer, resting his forehead against his. “Shh. You don’t have to say anything. Just… feel it. I’m here. Always.”

For a moment, the chaos of the party, the shouting, the clinking glasses, and the drunken mess of their friends melted away, leaving just the two of them in that tiny crack of quiet.

Regulus let out a shaky breath and muttered, almost too quietly for himself, “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” Remus teased softly, pressing another light kiss to the side of his temple.

Regulus didn’t respond verbally, but the way he leaned into him, small and tentative, was more honest than any words could be.

Regulus shifted slightly, trying to pull back, but Remus’s grip was firm. “You’re taking this way too easy,” he muttered, half-joking, half-serious.

“Easy?” Regulus spat, voice low and tight. “You have no idea how hard this is. Watching you—” He gestured vaguely toward the party below, where Sirius was loudly orchestrating chaos. “—all of them throwing themselves at you like you’re some prize. And I can’t… say anything. Or do anything. And you—you’re just… smiling through it all.”

Remus snorted. “I’m not smiling because I like the attention, Reg. I’m smiling because I’m watching you fume and trying not to laugh.”

“Ha. Very funny,” Regulus muttered, his jaw tightening. He flicked at his sleeve, clearly trying to regain composure. “You make it impossible not to want to strangle you.”

“Impossible, huh?” Remus leaned in closer, so close he could feel Regulus’s shallow breaths. “Maybe that’s the point.”

Regulus froze for a second, then let out a low growl, fumbling for words. “You… you’re unbelievable. You just—” He stopped, frustrated, and shoved a hand through his messy hair. “You don’t even realize how much you’re messing with me.”

“I realize,” Remus murmured, brushing his thumb along Regulus’s jaw. “I just… like watching you squirm. Admit it, you like it too.”

Regulus’s lips twitched in what might have been a smirk—or a grimace. “Maybe,” he admitted reluctantly, his voice thick.

Remus leaned back just enough to look at him, teasing. “Just maybe? I’m aiming for full confession, Reg.”

Regulus glared, but his eyes betrayed him, dark and soft at the same time. “Keep dreaming, Lupin. You’ll never get a full confession tonight.”

“I have enough to keep me entertained for the rest of the party anyway.” Remus said, pressing his forehead to Regulus’s again. 

Regulus exhaled sharply, then let himself be pulled closer again, muttering, “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” Remus whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Now stop pretending you don’t.”

Regulus didn’t argue, just tightened his grip around Remus’s waist, leaning into him. For the first time all night, the tension didn’t feel like anger or frustration. It was theirs. Quiet, unspoken, but full of everything they couldn’t say in front of the others.

Somewhere below, someone screamed over a poorly executed dare, but up here, above the noise, it didn’t matter. They had the fight, the teasing, the tension—they had each other, even if no one else could ever know.

“Fine. Let’s go back,” Regulus sniffed, clearly still trying to act like he hadn’t just nearly confessed his feelings. “And you’re sticking with me, or I’ll literally put a leash on you.”

“That’s… kinky,” Remus drawled, a sly grin tugging at his lips.

“Don’t push me, Lupin,” Regulus shot back, voice low and dangerous, but there was a faint tremor in it that betrayed how much he cared.

Without another word, he strode toward the common room, posture stiff but purposeful, like he was trying to pretend nothing had happened. Remus followed closely, letting his hand brush Regulus’s every few steps, just to remind him he wasn’t going anywhere.

“You know,” Remus said quietly, leaning just enough to murmur into Regulus’s ear, “if you really put a leash on me, I might… test it.”

Regulus froze mid-step, jaw tightening, and Remus caught the subtle flush creeping across his neck. “Don’t even joke about that,” he muttered, though his grip on the railing tightened, betraying his nerves.

“Oh, I’m not joking,” Remus said, smirking, keeping pace with him. “But fine, if that’s what it takes, I’ll behave… for now.”

Regulus snorted, a sound somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, and for a second, his guard slipped entirely—his shoulders relaxed, the hard edge gone, and all that was left was the boy Remus wanted more than anyone else.

“Yeah,” Remus replied, brushing a strand of hair from Regulus’s forehead as they entered the common room. “But you love it.”

Regulus just shook his head, muttering something incoherent, and slid onto the couch with a groan, pulling Remus down beside him. “You’re such a pain,” he said, voice softening. “I hate that I can’t hate you properly.”

“You don’t hate me,” Remus said with a smirk, leaning into him. “And don’t even pretend you do.”

Chapter 29: double L

When the party eventually wound down, it was well past three a.m., and the number of people sprawled across couches and armchairs was surprising, even for Remus.

“God, I’m sure I’ll be stuck in my cat form if I change now,” Regulus groaned, surveying the disaster of the common room.

“You can take my bed,” Peter yawned, already half-slumped on a chair. “I’m going over to Lockhart—”

“Have some dignity!” Sirius yelled, draped dramatically across Barty like he owned him.

Peter shot him a drunk glare, rolled his eyes, and without a second thought shifted into a rat, disappearing into the hole behind the portrait.

“What if I catch an STD from sleeping in Pettigrew’s bed?” Regulus asked, dead serious.

“You wouldn’t be the first, then,” James grinned.

“God, this is feeling so wrong,” Evan muttered, dragging himself up the stairs as six of them began filing toward the Gryffindor dorm.

“Don’t act like you don’t let Prongs shag you here,” Remus rolled his eyes, pushing open the door.

Minutes later, everyone had changed into pajamas—Regulus having stolen his from Sirius, because of course he did—and settled into beds: Evan with James, Barty with Sirius, and Remus and Regulus separate.

It only took a moment for James and Sirius to cast the so-subtle silencing charms on their own beds. Regulus, hearing the faint click and shuffle, slipped off Peter’s bed quietly and headed straight for Remus’s.

“Cast a spell,” he whispered, burrowing under the covers like he’d claimed the spot by right.

Remus flicked his wand lazily and added a firm anti-opening charm to the curtains. Just in case Sirius decided to ambush him in bed again the next morning.

“This is the life,” Regulus hummed, nuzzling into him. “Your bed smells nice,” he added after a beat.

“Pheromones,” Remus replied flatly.

“Remus—”

“Joking,” he muttered, pulling Regulus closer so that he could feel the warmth and steady weight of him.

There was a quiet pause, the kind of silence that felt loaded but comfortable. Then Regulus, voice soft and a little hesitant, broke it.

“Do you really tell someone they make you want to turn straight?”

“Mhm,” Remus replied, deadpan. “That Gomez kid from Hufflepuff. He’s… so awkward.”

Regulus snorted, though there was a soft blush on his cheeks. “Right. Awkward. Sure. And I’m supposed to just believe that?”

“You can believe whatever you want,” Remus said, eyes flicking down to catch Regulus staring at him. “Doesn’t matter. None of it’s real, except us.”

Regulus let out a low hum of acknowledgment, nestling closer. “I swear… sometimes you’re impossible,” he muttered, voice muffled against Remus’s chest.

“Yeah, well, that’s why you like me,” Remus murmured, hand sliding lazily over Regulus’s back. “Now try not to smother me while you’re asleep.”

“I’m not sleepy. I’m thinking,” Regulus said solemnly—or as solemnly as someone with his current level of drunken wobble could manage.

“About?” Remus tilted his head, catching his gaze.

“Stupid things.”

“Like?”

“You.” Regulus shot back instantly, sharp and sure, making Remus roll his eyes. “Kidding. Well… fine, I’m not.”

“What did I do, then?” Remus asked, already bracing himself for something either ridiculous or soul-crashing. With Regulus, it could go either way in a heartbeat.

“That’s the point. I don’t know if you did anything,” Regulus muttered, staring up at the ceiling like it might give him answers. “Like, I can’t tell if you’ve changed over the years or if you were always like this and I just didn’t know you. Or maybe you changed now, when we started dating?”

“I changed?” Remus frowned. “How?”

“Dunno.” Regulus sniffed, clearly irritated with himself for not having a precise answer. “I was always watching you—well, Sirius, not you per se. The whole group of you, for years. How loud and annoying you lot were, with all the pranks and jokes and god-knows-what. And… it always seemed kind of cool.”

“Are you saying I’m not cool now?” Remus raised an eyebrow.

“Were you in the same room as me when everyone agreed you’re hot?” Regulus deadpanned. “You’re cool, you narcissistic bastard. I just didn’t think you’d also be the type who takes his boyfriend on stupid little amazing dates, or gives him jewelry, or—god help me—drives him insane because he has to win every single fight.” He huffed, scowling at the memory.

“I don’t need to win every fight,” Remus said, tone far too casual.

“Remus.”

“…Only the ones where I’m right.”

“You’re always right in your head,” Regulus groaned, shoving him lightly in the chest. “But… fine. I can admit it. I was a total bitch tonight. I was jealous.”

“Yeah, you were.” Remus leaned down and kissed his temple, soft and maddeningly forgiving. “Doesn’t matter now, though. But… why were you? I mean—you’re the greatest person I’ve ever met. Equal parts hot and unhinged, which somehow makes you even hotter.”

Regulus blushed, though he narrowed his eyes in warning anyway. “You don’t get to use compliments as an argument tactic, Lupin.”

“Worked though, didn’t it?”

“Shut up.” Regulus buried his face into Remus’s chest, voice muffled but still sharp enough to cut. “It’s just… weird. Having you. Like, properly. Feels like I’m constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like you’ll wake up and realize you could have someone else—someone less complicated, less Black, less… me.”

Remus’s arm tightened around him immediately, no hesitation. “Regulus. If the shoe drops, I’ll tie the fucking laces tighter.”

That earned him the smallest, most unwilling laugh from Regulus, and Remus caught it, storing it away like treasure.

“It is kind of weird, isn’t it?” Regulus asked after a beat, voice softer now, stripped of its usual sharp edges. “I mean… that we work. Even if you drive me absolutely insane.”

“Yeah, well, you saw what you were signing up for,” Remus smirked. “And I’m not trying to drive you insane. I’m just… like that.”

“Pathological liar?” Regulus shot back, flat as stone.

“Okay, first of all? I’ve never lied to you. I was just—skipping certain truths.”

“That’s literally lying.”

“Regulus,” Remus shot him a look, the kind that said he was two seconds away from pinching the bridge of his nose. “You were the one who knew all along about me being a werewolf and didn’t tell me. You think that’s not lying?”

“…Okay, now you’re doing the thing where you’re augmenting. Can you not?”

“What, stop being right?”

“Remus!”

“Second of all,” Remus went on as if uninterrupted, “I don’t think it’s weird that we work. We’re… balanced. You’re unhinged, and I still l—like you.” He stumbled on the word, biting back the rest, but it slipped out heavy anyway.

Regulus blinked at him slowly, like he’d just caught Remus trying to sneak contraband into the conversation. His lips curved into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes, but it was sharp enough to draw blood.

“…‘L-like’ you too,” he mimicked, drawling the syllables with deliberate cruelty. “Double L.”

Remus groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are. Sharing a bed with me. Practically declaring your undying devotion if I read between the stammers.”

“Devotion?” Remus scoffed, but his ears were already pink. “You’re lucky I don’t roll you off this mattress.”

Regulus hummed smugly, shifting closer instead. “You’d never. You like me too much.”

There was a dangerous silence—dangerous because Regulus was right, and because Remus knew it. Finally, Remus muttered, “You make me regret things I haven’t even done yet.”

“That’s like with double L, Lupin,” Regulus said, tone light but eyes betraying just how much weight he’d packed into what the word really meant. 

“Go to sleep, you absolute heathen,” Remus said flatly, forcing the words out before his mouth betrayed him with something reckless—like the actual feelings that were clawing at his throat. The last thing he was about to do was confess his undying devotion while they were literally surrounded by their definitely-having-sex friends in the same dorm room.

“…Fine,” Regulus muttered, dramatic as ever, “but only because I want to. Not because you told me.” He huffed, sounding for all the world like a spoiled prince being forced into exile, then wriggled down into the sheets with a stubborn set to his jaw.

And then, casually—like it was something they did every night, like it wasn’t an act of absolute murder on Remus’s sanity—Regulus leaned in and pressed the quickest, softest kiss against his mouth. No hesitation, no warning, just the taste of smoke and vodka and him .

“Night, babe,” Regulus murmured against his lips, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Remus didn’t move. Couldn’t move. His brain fizzed with static, his heart jackhammering like it wanted to break ribs on the way out. He lay there rigid, staring at the curve of the canopy above while Regulus immediately rolled over and tucked himself into his side like nothing had happened.

Night, babe.

The words looped in his skull like some kind of ancient curse, equal parts lethal and addictive. Regulus was asleep within minutes—breathing slow and even, hair tickling Remus’s chin—while Remus lay wide awake, pulse burning hot in his veins, trying to decide if this was the best night of his life or the one most likely to kill him.

Because now he knew two things for sure:

1. He was absolutely, unequivocally doomed.
2. He’d never be able to fall asleep again without Regulus fucking Black saying “night, babe” first.

 

The next morning started exactly as Remus had feared: with Sirius pounding at his curtains like a man possessed, trying—and utterly failing, thanks to the layered charms—to yank them open. Judging by the sheer determination in his grunts, Sirius’s plan had been to launch himself onto Remus’s bed.

“What the hell,” Regulus mumbled into the pillow, voice muffled but undeniably there, and Remus’s heart nearly stopped. He prayed— begged —that the silencing charm was still intact.

“Moony!” Sirius bellowed, still rattling the curtains like a demented raccoon. “What the fuck are you doing in there?”

Regulus started giggling. Actually giggling. Like a maniac who had no regard for their lives. Remus slapped a hand over his mouth, glaring daggers at him.

“Change. Into the cat. Now,” Remus hissed, voice low, lethal. “And hide, you menace.”

Regulus nodded against his palm, still smirking like it was the funniest thing in the world, before shifting into his sleek black animagus form. The little bastard immediately burrowed under the covers, tail flicking against Remus’s hip like he was enjoying this far too much.

Taking a steadying breath, Remus flicked his wand to drop both the charms and yanked the curtains open. He fixed Sirius with his flattest, most unimpressed expression. 

“What?”

Sirius was standing there, hair a bird’s nest, eyes gleaming with suspicion and glee in equal measure. “What were you doing in there?” He wiggled his eyebrows so violently Remus almost hexed them off.

“Jerking off,” Remus deadpanned.

Sharp claws immediately pricked into his thigh under the covers. He didn’t so much as flinch. Miracle of the century.

Sirius clicked his tongue, shaking his head like a disappointed father. “Moony, Moony, Moony. I told you last night—just shag someone already. It’s healthier.”

Remus gave him a look so cold it could’ve frozen hell over. “Do you want me to hex you? Because it’s the day before your birthday and I’ll still do it.”

Sirius grinned, utterly unfazed. “Nope. But the whole lot’s already downstairs cleaning the common room, and you’re needed. Unlike Reg, who vanished— obviously —so he doesn’t have to. Little shit.” He was already halfway to the door, still muttering about lazy younger brothers as he disappeared down the stairs.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Remus let himself flop back into the pillows, dragging a hand down his face in pure resignation. Beneath the sheets, Regulus shifted back, laughing into Remus’s side like he hadn’t just nearly outed both of them in broad daylight.

“You’re insufferable,” Remus muttered into the ceiling.

“I’m brilliant,” Regulus corrected, smug as a cat who’d gotten the cream. “And admit it—you liked the thrill.”

Remus groaned. Loudly. Because, of course, the worst part was that Regulus wasn’t entirely wrong.

“How are you planning to sneak out of here now?” Remus asked, one eyebrow arched in that infuriatingly patient way.

Regulus tilted his head toward the window like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Roof.”

“We’re on the seventh floor, Reg.”

“Cats have nine lives.”

“You’re not a cat.”

“Don’t be dramatic.” Regulus huffed, already rolling out of bed and padding toward the window. He shoved it open with the ease of someone who clearly had done this before. “I’ll sneak back to the common room after I take a shower.”

Remus stared at him. “Are you seriously going to—”

“You gonna kiss me goodbye or keep whining?” Regulus shot back, sharp and smug.

Remus groaned, long-suffering, but pushed himself out of bed anyway. He caught him by the window, kissed him once—quick, hard, unwilling to give Regulus the satisfaction of making it soft.

Then Regulus shimmered, shifted, and the sleek black cat was suddenly perched on the sill.

“If you die, I’ll kill you again,” Remus muttered flatly. “That’ll leave you seven lives.”

Regulus meowed, flicked his tail like an insult, and leapt for the roof as if it were nothing more than a casual Tuesday errand.

Remus watched him go, every muscle braced between disbelief and reluctant amusement. He shut the window, dragged a hand through his hair, and muttered to himself as he turned to his dresser.

Yeah. Regulus Black definitely knew how to date in secret.

When Remus finally dragged himself into the common room, it was mostly clean—thanks entirely to Lily, whose compulsive need for order apparently overrode even her hangover. The posters were stripped from the walls, fairy lights tucked back into their boxes, and a neat line of rubbish bags sat by the fireplace like obedient little soldiers, waiting for the house-elves.

“Finally!” James groaned, dropping an empty bottle into a bag. “Thought you’d died up there, Moons.”

“Unfortunately, no,” Remus muttered, grabbing one of the last butterbeers and collapsing onto the armrest. He popped it open with the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that made Sirius’s chaos look like child’s play.

“God, how can you drink right now?” Peter croaked from his sprawl on the floor, pale and wrecked, looking like he’d gone twelve rounds with Lockhart again the night before.

“Fast metabolism,” Remus shrugged, taking a long swig. Truth was, he wasn’t hungover in the slightest—just tired to his bones after the whole l-like confession and Regulus casually attempting to swan-dive off a seventh-floor window.

Around him, the room was a graveyard of poor choices. Evan lay boneless across an armchair like someone had wrung the life out of him. James was stuffing empty bottles into a bag with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man. Sirius, of course, was draped dramatically across Barty’s lap like he hadn’t been the ringleader of every disaster the night before.

“Hey,” Lily frowned, suddenly noticing. “Where’s Baby Black?”

Remus almost spat his butterbeer, barely swallowing it down before it sprayed everywhere. He wondered if Regulus had any idea Lily, Marlene, and Mary had unanimously christened him Baby Black. Somehow, he doubted it.

“In his dorm,” Sirius yawned, stretching like a satisfied cat. “Said he’d be here soon.”

“Anyone know why he was so wound up last night?” Evan mumbled, still half-dead. “More than usual, I mean.”

“Probably stressing over his potions application,” Barty shrugged. “Acts like he hasn’t already got Slughorn licking his boots. Overachiever little shit.”

“Oooor,” Mary sing-songed from where she was perched on the armrest, eyes gleaming. “He’s got a crush. Like… unresolved sexual tension levels of crush.”

The silence that followed was immediate. Every head turned. Right at Remus.

He blinked slowly, deliberately blank. “What?” His tone was flat, lazy, like he’d just been accused of murder and couldn’t be bothered to deny it properly.

“You sure he doesn’t like you?” Sirius grinned, nudging him in the ribs with his foot.

“Oh, yeah,” Remus deadpanned, not even looking at him. “That’s why he was dying to flirt with me yesterday. Right alongside that parade of guys you shoved in my direction. Cheers for that, by the way. Really convinced me I’m aromantic.”

Marlene barked out a laugh, throwing her head back. “Please. You? Aromantic? You’re the type to brood about romance until it rots you from the inside, not be anti anything.”

“Yeah,” Remus muttered, face unreadable as he tipped his bottle back again. “I brood every night before I cry myself to sleep.”

Regulus chose the exact moment to appear, hair still damp from the shower, oversized jumper sliding off one sharp shoulder like he’d staged it. Every head in the room snapped toward him.

“What?” he asked flatly, already sounding bored before he dropped onto Evan’s lap like a cat making a point.

“Oh my god, get off me, I’m about to puke,” Evan groaned, shoving at him weakly. “Do you have any idea how heavy you are, Arch?”

“I’m delightful, you little whore,” Regulus replied sweetly, stealing the half-empty pack of crisps from the table. He crunched one loudly, gaze sliding lazily around the room. “So… why are you all staring at me like I’ve committed a crime?”

“We were just discussing your… Macdonald, what was it?” Barty drawled.

“Unresolved sexual tension,” Mary supplied with solemn authority.

“Ah.” Regulus blinked once, like the most uninterested cat on earth. “And?”

“You tell us,” Marlene grinned, leaning forward like a vulture about to pick a bone clean.

“Alright,” Regulus said, nodding as if he’d come to a grave conclusion. Everyone leaned in, Remus’s pulse stuttering hard enough to make him dizzy. “I’ve been watching so many couples drooling all over each other lately that I’m almost sure I’m asexual. Thoughts?”

The silence cracked like glass. Remus’s eyes went wide for a fraction of a second before he forced them neutral again. The collective gasp from the group covered it—covered it for everyone but Regulus, who smirked over his crisp like the smug little bastard he was.

“That’s—that’s cool!” Mary squeaked, her voice a full octave higher than normal. “Like… totally normal! Right?”

Sirius nodded sagely, expression infuriatingly serious. “I always thought the Black bloodline should end with you anyway.”

Regulus popped another crisp in his mouth, chewed slowly, then tilted his head like he was thinking very deeply. “Or,” he said casually, “maybe I do have a crush. Who’s to say?”

The room froze.

Mary let out a strangled gasp. Marlene clapped her hands like it was Christmas morning. Evan groaned into his hands.

“On who?” Sirius demanded immediately, leaning forward like a kid begging for gossip.

Regulus smirked at him. “Why would I tell you?”

“Because you just announced it in front of all of us,” Barty pointed out, voice sharp with disbelief. “You don’t get to drop that and then pretend you’re mysterious.”

“Correction,” Regulus said smoothly, “I’m always mysterious.”

James snorted. “You’re a menace, mate, not mysterious.”

Regulus ignored him, licking salt off his fingers like he had all the time in the world. “Besides,” he added lazily, “if I told you who it was, you’d all start acting unbearable about it. Like you are now. Case in point.”

Mary leaned so far forward she nearly fell off the armrest. “Oh my god, it’s someone here, isn’t it?”

Regulus raised a brow, expression giving nothing away. “Maybe.”

Remus nearly choked on his butterbeer.

“Oh, holy shit,” Marlene whispered gleefully, clutching Lily’s arm. “It is someone here. Tell me it’s not Sirius, ‘cause with your family—”

“Excuse you!” Sirius barked. “I’m way too good for him.”

“Thankfully,” Regulus said dryly. “I’d rather hex myself into next year.”

“Then who?” Mary squealed, eyes darting around the circle like she was solving a crime scene.

Regulus let the silence stretch, smirk curling at the edges of his mouth as his gaze slid lazily over the group—pausing just long enough on Remus to make his stomach drop through the floor. Then, like nothing, he looked away.

“Hmm,” he hummed, crunching another crisp. “I’ll let you know once I’m sure. Wouldn’t want to ruin the fun too early.”

The groans of protest were deafening. Remus drained the rest of his butterbeer in one swallow and prayed to whatever god was listening that he wouldn’t give himself away.

“It’s me, just admit it,” James said solemnly, hand over his heart like he was making a vow.

Regulus shot him the driest look imaginable. “I’m sorry, did you forget the part where I turned you down and you cried about it? Or should I refresh your memory?”

Barty lost it immediately, wheezing into the back of the sofa. Lily snorted into her tea so hard she nearly spilled it.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, trying to compose herself.

“Oh, don’t be,” Remus mocked, face deadpan but eyes glinting. “Prongs cried after you too.”

“Moony!” James gasped, looking personally betrayed.

“Just doing you a favor,” Remus shrugged, popping the cap off another butterbeer like it was nothing.

“Who is it, then?” Mary demanded, squinting at Regulus like she could drag the answer out of his skull. “I mean—girl, boy? Have you ever even dated, Regulus?”

“No,” Regulus replied flatly, expression blank as a wall.

“Okay, at least don’t lie, you coward,” Barty grinned, still half-choking on his laughter.

Peter suddenly gasped, sitting up like he’d cracked a code. “Wait—you have dated someone? Who was it?”

“I’ll tell you right after I die, Pettigrew,” Regulus said smoothly, plucking another crisp from the packet. “Also, can you all stop interrogating me? I’m fragile. You’re making me uncomfortable.”

“No way,” Sirius said, grin wide and wolfish. “There aren’t that many options here, baby brother. We’re about to crack you open.”

“I should’ve been an only child,” Regulus muttered darkly, glancing at Evan for solidarity.

Sirius ignored that completely. “Just admit it’s Moony and we’ll be done with this!” he beamed, and Remus felt his heart slam against his ribs so hard it hurt.

Regulus turned his head slowly, pinning Sirius with the iciest look. “You could literally use Legilimency if you cared that much. You’d see it’s bullshit.”

Sirius scowled instantly. “I’m not going in your head again. It’s fucked up in there.”

“You’ve been in his head?” Remus asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Obviously,” Sirius rolled his eyes, like that explained everything.

“If it’s not Remus, then who is it?” Marlene leaned forward, grin shark-wide.

“Keep guessing,” Regulus drawled, popping another crisp like he was immune to the chaos.

“Wait,” Mary said suddenly, narrowing her eyes like a detective. “Everyone in this room is already taken.”

“Exactly,” Regulus said, calm as anything. “That’s why it’s only a crush, Macdonald. Try to keep up. Or…” he drawled, tapping his chin, “maybe I’m just waiting for Pettigrew to dump Lockhart.”

James choked on his water, sputtering like he was drowning. Peter shrieked from the floor like someone had set him on fire.

“WHAT?!”

“I mean,” Remus hummed, tone maddeningly casual, “we were playing Hear Me Out once, and Regulus did say ‘Pettigrew.’”

“HE DID!” Sirius shrieked, pointing like a man possessed. “Oh my god, Reg!”

“I know, I know,” Regulus said with a saintly little shrug, smirk tugging at his mouth. “What can I say? I have taste.”

“Taste?” Barty cackled. “You just called Pettigrew taste.”

“Don’t insult me,” Regulus said smoothly, flicking a crisp at him. “I only go for the finest messes. Besides, Lockhart’s hair isn’t even that nice. Shiny, sure. But give it three years, he’s going bald.”

Peter made an inhuman noise somewhere between a squeak and a scream, face red to the roots. “You—you can’t just—”

“Sure I can.” Regulus shrugged, looking like the cat who swallowed the entire canary cage.

Marlene leaned in, grinning wickedly. “So if not Peter, then who? You have to give us a hint.”

“Fine,” Regulus said, lips twitching. “I’ll give you several.” He held up a hand like he was about to give a lecture. “One: they’re insufferable. Two: they’re smarter than they act, which is not saying much. Three: they argue with me constantly and still think they’re winning.”

Half the room turned toward Sirius instantly.

“What the fuck,” Sirius spluttered, almost spilling his butterbeer. “No way. No. Don’t even joke—”

“Relax, Siri. I’d rather snog a grindylow.” Regulus rolled his eyes. “Anyway, hint four: they’re annoyingly self-sacrificing. Like, pathological. Honestly, if I wanted a martyr complex, I’d go to church.”

This time, every head whipped toward Remus.

Regulus just raised a crisp to his mouth, smirking like Satan himself.

Remus didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. He just took a slow sip of his butterbeer and deadpanned, “Sounds like Frank Longbottom to me.”

“FRANK?” James choked. “No way, Frank’s head over heels for Alice. You’d never—”

“I said sounds like Frank, not that it is Frank.” Remus leaned back in his seat, cool as ice, though his pulse was pounding in his ears.

“Uh-huh.” Regulus’s smirk deepened, eyes flicking at him for half a second too long. Just enough for Remus to know the bastard was doing this on purpose.

“Okay, okay, I’ve cracked it,” Mary cut in dramatically, pointing. “It’s me. It has to be. Regulus is secretly in love with me and my excellent hair.”

“Oh, you wish,” Regulus said lazily. “Your hair smells like cherries. It gives me a headache.”

Mary gasped like he’d stabbed her, hand flying to her chest. “You monster.”

Barty howled into the couch cushions. Sirius was still spluttering. James was muttering theories under his breath like it was a chessboard.

And Remus? Remus sat there, face unreadable, while every nerve in his body screamed.

Because Regulus had just single-handedly convinced the entire room that someone was his crush—while locking eyes with Remus every other sentence.

The absolute bastard.

“Okay, okay, enough riddles,” Sirius said, slamming his butterbeer down so hard it sloshed. “Just admit it, Reg. Who is it?”

Regulus tilted his head, sharp as a knife. “Why do you care so much, dear brother?”

“Because—because you’re sneaky! And because if I find out it’s someone in this room, I swear—”

“Oh, you’d hate it if it was someone here, wouldn’t you?” Regulus smirked, eyes flicking sideways at Remus before anyone else could catch it. “That would make it so much more fun.”

James leaned forward like a bloodhound. “It is someone here, isn’t it?!”

The room collectively gasped like they were in some third-rate drama.

“Who says I even like anyone at all?” Regulus countered, biting into another crisp. “Maybe I just enjoy watching you all suffer. Honestly, this is better than the Prophet.”

Barty cackled, clapping like it was theatre. “Oh, he’s evil.”

“Come on,” Marlene groaned, half-laughing. “Just say it before I hex it out of you.”

“You could try,” Regulus said sweetly, lounging back on Evan like a spoiled cat. “But I’m not sure you’d like the answer.”

And then Sirius—predictably, catastrophically Sirius—leaned across the table, eyes narrowed. “It’s Moony, isn’t it?”

Remus froze. Every cell in his body screamed don’t react . He stayed perfectly still, expression carved out of stone.

Regulus looked Sirius dead in the eye, bored out of his skull, and said, “Please. I have standards.”

The room exploded.

“OH, SHIT!” James howled, half-falling off the sofa.

“Cold-blooded,” Marlene wheezed.

Mary clutched her stomach, shrieking with laughter.

Even Evan woke up enough to groan, “RIP, Lupin.”

Remus forced out a dry, “Thanks for that, Black,” like it rolled right off him, though his stomach twisted.

But then—just then—Regulus turned his head, smirk curling at the corner of his mouth, eyes locking with Remus’s in a split-second too long. A flash of something that wasn’t boredom.

Challenge.
Teasing.
Something hotter, sharper.

And Remus knew.

He knew the bastard had just set the room on fire deliberately, only to leave him stewing in the smoke.

“Honestly, I can’t take it anymore,” Evan groaned, rubbing his face. “Can we mutually agree it’s Blaise, finally?”

James gasped, hand to his chest. “Thank the snake and not me?”

“James,” Evan said with the patented boyfriend look that made James shut up for once.

“Not that I care, obviously,” James added anyway, quick and defensive.

“Yeah, and you’re not on Rosier’s leash too,” Remus muttered around the lip of his butterbeer before taking a long sip.

James shot him a glare. “Low blow, Moons.”

“You know what?” Mary cut in, clapping her hands. “I’ve got a great idea. We all drink Veritaserum and then confess our crushes. Boom. Problem solved.”

“You first,” Regulus drawled from his sprawl on Evan’s armrest, voice lazy but razor-sharp. “You’re barking a lot for someone so small.”

Mary froze mid-smile, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

Regulus shrugged, all innocence. “I mean, you’re the one who secretly got back with your ex, so…”

The room erupted.

“MARY?!” Remus was the first to shout, sitting up straighter than he had all morning.

“WHICH ONE?” Lily demanded at the same time.

“HOW THE HELL DO YOU KNOW THAT?” Mary yelled at Regulus, face flaming.

Regulus picked a crisp out of the pack with two fingers, slow as hell, like he hadn’t just dropped a nuclear bomb. “I know everything that gives me an upper hand,” he said simply, brushing a few crumbs off his jumper. Then he stood, smoothed his jeans, and added flatly, “Now, excuse me. You’re all boring.”

Before anyone could recover, he turned on his heel and headed for the portrait hole.

“YOU CAN’T JUST DROP A BOMB LIKE THAT AND LEAVE!” Lily shrieked after him.

“THEN YOU SHOULDN’T INVITE ME OVER!” Regulus yelled back, not even turning around. A second later, the portrait door slammed shut behind him.

The silence he left behind was deafening.

Mary buried her face in her hands, groaning, “I hate him. I hate him so much.”

“Kind of impressive, though,” Barty said, wheezing with laughter. “He detonates a room better than Dark magic.”

Remus, who hadn’t moved, just rubbed the bridge of his nose and muttered under his breath, “Fucking menace.” 

But he couldn’t help it—he was already biting back a smile.

 

Chapter 30: the kind of serious that made him think about forever

It took Remus a solid two hours to slip out unnoticed after the whole Regulus Experience™. Honestly, he had no idea what impressed him more: Regulus casually faking that he had a crush on Peter bloody Pettigrew or detonating the room by steering the spotlight onto Mary—who was still cursing Regulus, his future children, and his grandchildren, refusing to admit which ex she’d crawled back to.

Remus really hoped it wasn’t Davies. He was not emotionally equipped for another late-night heartbreak over Gossip Girl.

When he pushed open the door to the hidden movie room, Regulus was already there, sprawled across the massive bed neither of them had ever bothered to vanish.

“You’re awful. Do you know that?” Remus said, shutting the door behind him as he crossed the room.

Regulus grinned, lazily tossing his phone onto the sheets. “Did they lose it?”

“Absolutely.” Remus snorted, climbing straight into his lap like it was his goddamn seat. “It was cinematic.”

“Good,” Regulus said before yanking him down by the collar of his sweater and kissing him—long, unhurried, like they hadn’t been fighting sleep deprivation and chaos just hours earlier.

When they finally pulled apart, Remus flopped down beside him, catching his breath. “So,” he said, half-lazy, half-demanding, “who’s the guy?”

Regulus smirked like a cat with blood on its teeth.

“Oh, come on,” Remus groaned. “I deserve some privileges from dating you.”

“Dating me is a privilege,” Regulus shot back immediately, smug as hell. Then he sighed dramatically, conceding. “But fine. It’s Fletcher.”

Remus’s eyes flew wide. “Fletcher? He basically cheated on her.”

“I know.” Regulus nodded solemnly, like that was exactly the point. “He’s a piece of shit for a Hufflepuff.”

“He is,” Remus agreed, lips twitching despite himself.

“Still can’t believe you went with Peter as a decoy,” Remus added, stealing one of the cookie left on the nightstand. “You nearly gave me a fucking aneurysm.”

Regulus smirked against the pillow, stretching like a cat. “That’s because you’ve got the survival instincts of a Gryffindor. Which is to say—none.”

“Oh, I’ve got survival instincts,” Remus said dryly. “They’re just currently being tested by dating you.”

“Dating me,” Regulus repeated with mock horror. “You sound like a House Elf announcing a life sentence.”

Remus rolled his eyes and shoved him lightly in the shoulder. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy that entire performance. You live for it.”

“I excel at it,” Regulus corrected, smug. “And now everyone thinks I’ve got the tragic crush of the century, which means no one suspects a thing.”

“Except Sirius,” Remus muttered.

Regulus arched an eyebrow. “Sirius couldn’t spot a secret if it bit him on the arse. He’s too busy humping Barty like it’s an Olympic sport.”

Remus laughed—an actual, unguarded laugh—and Regulus’s smirk widened, predatory.

“You’re insufferable,” Remus said, shaking his head.

“You’re in my bed,” Regulus shot back, sharp and sweet all at once.

“Technically it’s the castle’s bed.”

“Technically you’re not leaving,” Regulus countered, leaning in to kiss him again, quick and biting this time, like punctuation.

When he pulled back, he said, almost lazily, “Tell me again how you don’t like secret dating.”

“Shut up,” Remus muttered, heat crawling up his neck.

“Mm. That’s what I thought.” Regulus smirked, dragging his fingers down Remus’s arm before flopping back on the pillow like he hadn’t just detonated him for the second time that day.

They ended up talking instead of actually watching Twin Peaks —even though Regulus had been swearing for days that he was finally going to watch it. They covered everything and nothing: Peter’s near-heart attack at Regulus’s fake crush, Sirius’s relentless digging, the inevitable Evan meltdown about James—who still insisted they “weren’t dating,” despite being glued together more often than oxygen and hydrogen.

When the clock struck dinner, Regulus was practically melted into Remus’s side—like he’d physically malfunction if at least one limb wasn’t touching him. He sighed, long-suffering.

“Alright. How dumb would it be if we just…slept here?”

“You want to spend the night?” Remus blinked.

“Why not? It’s warm, you’re warm, and I like sleeping with you.” Regulus shrugged, casual in that soft way that made Remus want to bury his face in a pillow until the universe stopped.

“I like sleeping with you too,” Remus admitted, tracing idle circles against the curve of Regulus’s hip. “But you realize that means sneaking out after curfew, from our separate dorms, just to end up back here?”

“Please.” Regulus snorted. “You can phase through the bloody walls when you want to, and I can turn into a cat. We’ll be fine. Besides—Evan wouldn’t shut up about how Potter’s too chickenshit to stay over in our dorm, so he’ll probably crash there tonight. One less idiot for you to dodge.”

Remus huffed. “It’s almost impressive how much you know about everyone else’s lives.”

“Thanks, babe.” Regulus smirked, pleased with himself. “But Evan actually told me that. I wasn’t cating on him.”

“Cating?” Remus raised an eyebrow.

“That’s what we call it—stalking people in Animagus form.” Regulus grinned. “We’ve got a system.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

“Says the guy whose grand nickname is Moony.”

“Better than Wolfboy.”

“Sure thing, Wolfboy.”

“Reg.”

Regulus looked at him innocently, but the smirk betrayed him—sharp, wicked, deliberate.

“I mean, come on.” He batted his eyelashes, weaponized like always, knowing exactly what it did to Remus’s sanity and self-control. “You don’t want to sleep with me?”

“I do,” Remus replied without hesitation, and he meant every possible meaning of that word.

“Good.” Regulus smirked, already climbing over him, kissing him stupid until they were both breathless and rumpled. They rolled off the bed, half-laughing, half-clinging, before dragging themselves out for dinner like nothing had happened.

 

Hours later, when the dorm was finally quiet—Peter snoring off another spat with Lockhart, and Sirius tangled with Barty in his bed under a silencing charm—Remus slipped out. Map in hand, sweater thrown over his pajamas, he was more sleepy than anything, but eager enough to see Regulus again that it was worth the risk.

When he pushed into the hidden room, the projector was already humming. How I Met Your Mother queued up on the screen. Regulus was curled on the bed like a feral cat tamed by too much softness—hair damp, drowning in a band tee he’d 100% stolen from Sirius, dark green pajama pants, and a pair of mismatched socks. On the nightstand sat two steaming mugs, chamomile and lavender—Regulus’s  version of care-taking. His scowl, however, was still firmly in place.

“What?” Remus frowned, settling beside him.

“Nothing.” Regulus sniffed, which translated from Regulus-speak into absolutely something.

Remus nearly rolled his eyes, but stopped himself. He’d promised— at least in the privacy of his own head —to be a better boyfriend, not to brush him off or act like he was above whatever storm Regulus was brewing. He knew himself well enough: even when he was right, he’d always end up apologizing, unable to stomach the thought of losing him over something petty. Because this wasn’t casual anymore. This was serious. The kind of serious that made him think about forever when he wasn’t looking.

“Come on,” he coaxed, catching Regulus’s hand. “Who pissed you off?”

“I just… dunno. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not if it’s sitting in your head.” Remus’s voice was gentle, and he mentally gave himself a pat on the back for not being a sarcastic arse for once.

Regulus’s lips twitched, like he was fighting the instinct to snark. “I was… thinking.”

“Dangerous,” Remus teased, just enough to make him roll his eyes but not pull away. “About what?”

“What happens after we graduate.” Regulus’s voice was too even, which for him meant the opposite. “Like—I don’t know. I know it’s barely November, and we’ve been together a month or whatever, but… I dunno. It’s there.”

Remus sat back, slow. “We’ve got time to figure it out. And even when you go pro with the Wasps, flying around the world in obnoxious green and gold, I’m still perfectly capable of tracking you down just to keep you close. Affectionately. Not, you know, in a creepy ‘lurking in the shadows’ way.”

Regulus smirked, but his eyes softened. “Careful, babe. You’ll make me think you’re serious about me.”

“Good,” Remus said, heart pounding so hard it nearly shook his chest. He forced a casual tone. “Because I am. Not like—I’m not planning a bloody proposal yet. But maybe I’m thinking about keeping a shelf in my London flat for your posh jumpers and those ridiculous Y2K jeans you hoard.”

Regulus broke into a grin that was so rare and unguarded it made Remus’s stomach clench. “That’s actually better than a proposal. As long as the shelf isn’t too high. I wouldn’t survive the humiliation of needing accio just to get dressed.”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll even need clothes at all.”

Regulus laughed, bright and sharp, smacking his arm. “God, you’re the worst.”

“Thanks, kitten.” Remus leaned down, kissing his forehead. The kind of kiss that said more than either of them could actually admit out loud.

They didn’t end up watching How I Met Your Mother. Not really. The projector flickered on, the laugh track filled the room, but neither of them were paying much attention.

Regulus kept shifting until he’d wormed his way into Remus’s chest, long legs tangled like he’d claimed permanent ownership. The two mugs of tea went cold on the nightstand, untouched, lavender and chamomile gone bitter.

“Do you ever… think we’re kind of pathetic?” Regulus asked after a while, voice muffled against Remus’s sweater.

“Constantly.” Remus’s hand was already drawing lazy circles against his back, almost on autopilot. “But you first.”

Regulus snorted softly. “Shut up.”

Silence fell again, but the good kind—the kind where the world outside the room felt suspended, like the castle wasn’t buzzing with rumors and exams and everything waiting to implode. Just the two of them, wrapped up in a blanket that smelled vaguely of mothballs and dust.

“Reg?” Remus asked, low.

“Mm?”

“You’re crushing my ribs.”

“I’m comfortable.”

Remus huffed out a laugh, but didn’t move him. Didn’t want to. The weight was grounding in a way he couldn’t admit out loud.

Eventually Regulus tilted his head back just enough to meet his eyes. “You’re staring.”

“You’re paranoid.”

“You’re in love.”

Remus blinked, throat suddenly tight. “You’re drunk on chamomile fumes.”

Regulus smirked, but his eyelids were already dropping. “Coward,” he murmured, voice slipping toward sleep.

And then, like it was nothing—like it wasn’t everything—he kissed Remus once, soft and fleeting, before curling into him completely. Within minutes, his breathing evened out, steady and unguarded in a way Remus had never seen.

Remus lay there, wide awake, watching the projection paint light across the walls. He should’ve been exhausted, but instead he just felt—terrified. Terrified and stupidly, irreversibly happy.

He reached over, tugged the blanket higher around Regulus’s shoulders, and pressed his lips into the mess of black hair under his chin.

“Goodnight, kitten,” he whispered into the dark, not caring that he’d never hear the end of it if Regulus were awake.

The laugh track rolled on. The tea stayed cold. And for the first time, Remus thought: maybe this is what home feels like.

 

Morning crept in too bright, too loud. The projector had burned out sometime in the night, leaving the room in shadow, only thin streaks of winter sunlight sneaking through the curtains.

Remus woke first. He always did. Years of habit, years of nightmares, years of being careful. Only now he woke with a weight pressed half across his chest—warm, heavy, and snoring very, very faintly.

Regulus.

His hair was a disaster, sticking up in half a dozen directions. His jumper had twisted around him, one pale shoulder bare. His hand was fisted tight in Remus’s sweater, like even unconscious he refused to let go.

And for a long minute, Remus just let himself look. Let himself memorize.

Then the doorknob rattled.

He froze.

“Oi, what’s this room again?” A muffled voice outside. James. James fucking Potter.

Remus’s heart nearly stopped.

“Wasn’t it the old Arithmancy class?” Sirius’s voice. Closer. “Evans wanted—”

The knob twisted again.

Regulus stirred, groaning. “Why are you breathing like a hunted deer?” he muttered, eyes still closed.

“Because we’re about to die,” Remus hissed, already flicking his wand to re-seal the door.

The handle gave one last rattle, then silence. Then James’s voice again, fainter as he moved away: “Guess it’s locked. C’mon, Pads.”

Only when their footsteps faded did Remus collapse back against the pillows, pulse still hammering.

Regulus cracked one eye open, smirking. “Smooth.”

“You were two seconds from Sirius finding you in my arms.”

“Then he’d finally get over the whole mystery-crush thing.” Regulus yawned, stretching like a spoiled cat before curling back against him. “Not my problem.”

Remus groaned. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Better me than Greyback.” Regulus’s tone was casual, too casual, but his fingers tightened briefly in Remus’s sweater.

That shut Remus up fast.

Regulus smirked again, victorious, and shut his eyes. “Go back to sleep, wolfboy. You’re safe here.”

Remus stared at him, at the sharp little smirk and the vulnerable way he clung tighter, and realized:
Yeah. He was absolutely fucked.

The ground had been disappearing from under his feet the whole fucking day, and Remus was two breaths away from an actual heart attack. A real, medical, drop-dead-at-eighteen heart attack. Which was pathetic. And entirely the fault of dating Regulus Black.

That was how his life was going to end. Monday, November 3rd, 2025. Sirius’s birthday. Time: whatever the fuck it was now. Cause of death: his own terrible decisions.

He’d been grilled since the moment he stepped into the Great Hall, patience stretched so thin he had to keep reminding himself he wasn’t supposed to hex his own friends.

Friends, who were unbearable little shits, and who’d clearly discovered he’d snuck out of the dorm last night. None of them had a fucking clue where he’d gone—obviously. The hidden room was unplottable on the map, and the only person who knew about it was Peter.

Even if James and Sirius had tried to get there just an hour ago.

They hadn’t connected the dots. Thank every merciful god for that.

“I meeeean,” Sirius sang over his cereal, dragging the word out like nails on a chalkboard, “you did actually talk to one of those guys at the party, right? Just shag him already. Admit it.”

Remus just looked at him. Flat stare, bored eyes, face blank. The art of giving absolutely nothing.

Peter snorted into his tea.

“God, Moony!” James gasped, dramatic as ever. “We’re your friends! You can—no, you have to—tell us.”

“Yeah,” Sirius grinned, leaning in like he’d cracked the case. “Who’s the pal?”

Remus chewed his toast slow, deliberate. Your baby brother danced on the tip of his tongue, sharp as a blade, daring to slip free.

Remus gave them nothing. Because survival instinct, apparently, was the only thing keeping him alive.

And then, of course, the universe decided to spit in his eye.

“Morning,” Regulus said, sliding into the seat across from him like he hadn’t just spent last night with Remus in one bed. His hair was still damp from a shower, collarbone visible where his shirt sat too loose, like he’d dressed in the dark. He reached for the jam like he owned the place.

Every single head at the table snapped to him.

“Oh, look who it is,” Sirius grinned like a predator catching scent. “Baby Black, right on time.”

“Don’t call me that,” Regulus said flatly, buttering his toast with surgical precision.

James’s eyes darted between him and Remus, and that was when Remus nearly stopped breathing. He knew that look. James gears grinding, neurons trying to make connections that should not be made.

“So…” James started, slow. “Where were you last night, Regulus?”

Regulus blinked, calm as a pond. “Library,” he said without a flinch. “Studying. Unlike the rest of you degenerates.”

Peter choked on his tea. Sirius barked a laugh.

“Studying? At three in the morning?” Sirius snorted. “Right. Sure. And I’m a responsible older brother.”

“You’re not,” Regulus shot back. “And yes, I was. Some of us care about our futures.”

“Please,” Evan muttered from his seat next to James, looking half-dead. “He’s telling the truth. I saw him on the way back to the dorm this morning. Carrying a book the size of my torso. Looked like he wanted to murder it.”

Remus blinked once. Twice. Fucking Rosier, unknowingly saving his life.

James groaned, flopping against the table. “Fine. But Moony still isn’t off the hook. He’s glowing like he got laid.”

“I always look like this,” Remus deadpanned.

“You look like shit every morning,” Sirius said cheerfully.

“Thanks,” Remus replied, voice as flat as possible, while under the table Regulus casually kicked his ankle. Just enough to say: you’re welcome.

“Anyway,” Regulus said, rolling his eyes like he was so above it all—which he absolutely was, the smug bastard. His gaze drifted lazily around the table. “Do you always act like this during breakfast?”

“Yes,” Peter replied, flat.

“Why, planning to join us?” Sirius grinned, teeth sharp, and Regulus just shrugged like the idea bored him.

“Apparently. Seems to be the cornerstone of my social life now, which is beyond pathetic.”

“Agree,” Remus muttered, dumping another spoonful of sugar into his tea like he was fueling up to survive the day.

Regulus hummed, unconcerned, then glanced at his brother. “Where’s Barty?”

“In the shower,” Sirius replied, smug to the point of violence.

Peter gagged loudly into his toast. Evan slumped against James’s shoulder with all the drama of a widow at a funeral. James, instead of denying it, patted Evan’s head like this was normal.

Totally-not-boyfriends behavior.

“Gross,” Regulus wrinkled his nose.

Remus exhaled through his nose, slow and quiet, and made his peace with the fact that he was dating the single most infuriating person in the entire castle.

And it wasn’t even Sirius Black.

“Hold on,” Sirius said suddenly, narrowing his eyes at Regulus like a dog catching a scent. “You’ve been hanging around here way more than usual. What’s the deal, baby brother?”

“The deal,” Regulus replied smoothly, stealing Evan’s juice without asking, “is that Gryffindors are marginally less pathetic than Slytherins before nine a.m. Which is saying something.”

“That’s not an answer.” Sirius leaned closer, grinning like he was about to unmask a criminal. “You’ve got a thing going on. I can smell it.”

“Maybe that’s just your conditioner,” Regulus deadpanned.

Sirius’s grin faltered. “I don’t use conditioner.”

“Explains a lot,” Regulus muttered, already bored again.

James barked a laugh. “Nah, Pads is right. You’ve been… I dunno, different. All smirky and mysterious. It’s the crush thing, right?”

Everyone’s heads turned.

Regulus didn’t even blink. “Of course. Crush. On Lockhart. The hair, the arrogance, the pathological need for attention—it’s like looking in a mirror.”

Peter choked. “You’re joking.”

“Am I?” Regulus asked, voice flat, face unreadable.

The table erupted into chaos—James howling, Evan swearing he’d hex himself if Regulus ever dated Lockhart, Sirius practically foaming at the mouth. In the middle of it, Regulus calmly peeled an orange like none of this concerned him.

Remus pressed his knuckles to his mouth to hide the laugh threatening to spill out—and also to stop himself from blurting the truth. He was going to die of stress before Christmas, no doubt about it.

And the worst part? Regulus knew exactly what he was doing. His smirk flickered for half a second in Remus’s direction, invisible to anyone else.

The bastard was enjoying every second.

Chapter 31: reckless, dangerous, inevitable

Remus’s buttons were being pushed all day long, and by dinner he was about two seconds away from telling the truth just for some bloody peace. But then he imagined Regulus’s face—sharp, murderous, betrayed—and yeah, maybe not worth it. Regulus would probably kill him. Or try. Which, honestly, was close enough.

Still, the thought lingered like a headache. What if it wasn’t about privacy? What if Regulus didn’t want anyone to know because… he was ashamed? Because saying it out loud would make it real, and Regulus Black didn’t do “real” unless it was dripping in sarcasm and eyeliner.

Maybe Regulus—despite all the smirks and razorblade one-liners—was just scared.

And the thing was, that didn’t make Remus feel insecure. Not exactly. It wasn’t the ugly little “I’m not good enough” voice, not this time. It was worse. It was the bone-deep exhaustion of carrying a secret he hadn’t asked for, of biting his tongue every hour of every day just to protect someone else’s pride. Tired in a way that made his shoulders heavy and his patience threadbare.

And tired Remus was dangerous. Tired Remus was sharp-tongued, reckless, the version of himself that would happily set the whole room on fire with one dry comment just to get silence. Nobody liked that Remus. Not even him.

It happened later that night, when Remus slipped into the hidden room with a book under his arm and a headache behind his eyes. He didn’t even bother with a greeting, just collapsed onto the mattress beside Regulus, who was scrolling his phone like he hadn’t a single worry in the world.

“You look like shit,” Regulus said casually, without glancing up.

“Thanks,” Remus muttered. “It’s been a great day, actually. Highly recommend it.”

Regulus hummed like he couldn’t care less. “Your friends give you another interrogation?”

“Yes, Regulus. Because apparently, my sex life is the only fucking thing Gryffindor has to gossip about.”

That got Regulus’s attention. His eyes slid up, sharp and guarded. “And you didn’t say anything?”

Remus barked a laugh. “No, obviously I didn’t say anything. I just sat there while they tore me apart like vultures and I defended your honor without them even knowing I was doing it.”

Regulus’s jaw twitched. “Dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” Remus sat up, pulse spiking. “You think it’s dramatic to want my boyfriend to exist outside of a locked room?”

The word hung in the air— boyfriend —and he instantly wished he could snatch it back, but it was too late. Regulus flinched like it was a knife, then covered it with a scoff. “Don’t say that.”

“Why the fuck not?” Remus shot back. His voice was low, furious in the way that came only when he was bone-tired. “What are you so afraid of? That Sirius will laugh? That Barty will tease you? They already do that. They always do that. So why am I the one paying the price for your nerves?”

Regulus’s face hardened, but his hands gave him away, fists clenched in the blanket. “You don’t get it.”

“Then make me get it,” Remus snapped. “Because right now, it feels like you’re ashamed of me. And I’m really fucking tired of feeling like a dirty secret.”

Silence. The kind that burned.

Finally, Regulus said, voice sharp but cracking at the edges, “I’m not ashamed of you. I’m ashamed of me. And I don’t want anyone looking at me and thinking—fuck, thinking I’m just some stupid, lovesick Black who got dragged into the marauders’ orbit like everyone else. I don’t want them to think I’m—” He cut himself off, teeth gritted. “Less.”

Remus laughed—harsh, bitter, wrong. “Less? Regulus, you think anyone looks at you and thinks ‘less’? You walk into a room and it’s like gravity shifts. People orbit you. Meanwhile, I’m the background character with scars and sweaters who smokes too much and keeps his head down.”

Regulus’s nostrils flared. “Don’t do that. Don’t play the martyr with me. You’re Remus fucking Lupin. Everyone wants you, and you know it. You just pretend like you don’t care because it’s easier than admitting you do.”

That landed like a punch. “Oh, fuck you. You think I like it? That I enjoy random people hitting on me when the only person I want is too much of a coward to even hold my hand in public?”

Regulus stood now, pacing, sharp movements betraying the storm under his skin. “You don’t get it, Lupin. You’ve always had people who cared about you, no matter what. James. Sirius. Even Peter, pathetic as he is. You had a family. Me? I had nothing. And the second I give anyone a piece of me, it gets used against me. You think I don’t know how fast it’d spread the second they knew? How fast I’d become the joke?”

Remus stood too, heat in his chest, his voice rising. “You think I’d let that happen? You think I’d let them turn you into some fucking punchline? After everything— after everything —you still don’t trust me enough to believe I’d protect you?”

Regulus whipped around, eyes blazing. “Don’t you dare make this about trust. This isn’t about you. This is about me. About the fact that I don’t want to be another accessory to your perfect little marauder fairytale. I’m not your next conquest, Remus.”

That word hit like a slap. Conquest. Remus froze, then spat, “You’ve got to be kidding me. You honestly think I’m with you because you’re some trophy? You think I’ve risked my sanity sneaking around with you just for the thrill? God, Regulus, you’re unbelievable.”

“Maybe I am,” Regulus shot back, voice sharp enough to cut. “But at least I know who the hell I am. Can you say the same? Or are you still just Sirius’s shadow who got lucky enough to fuck his brother?”

The silence after that was brutal.

Remus felt like the air had been ripped out of the room. He opened his mouth, closed it, then laughed—harsh, hollow. “Wow. That’s… wow. First of fucking all, we didn’t fuck. Which—whatever, I don’t even want to unpack why that is. And second of all? You don’t get to play the tragic victim here. You’re not fucking alone, and you never were.”

Regulus’s jaw tightened hard enough Remus swore he heard his teeth grind, but he was too far gone to stop.

“Yeah, your parents are shitty—congratulations, you’re not the only one. But you’ve always had Sirius, haven’t you? You had someone. And you act like that means nothing just so you can keep wallowing. You love being miserable, Reg. You love pushing people away just enough so you can control the distance. And maybe Sirius puts up with that because he’s your brother and he’ll always come back. But me?” Remus’s voice cracked into something ugly and sharp. “I’m not Sirius. I’m not going to stick around just so you can chew me up for fun.”

Regulus’s eyes flashed, wet but livid. “Then go.”

“I don’t want to go!” Remus fired back, his voice tearing through the room. “But I don’t want to be one of your goddamn secrets you dangle in front of everyone like a game, either! I’m not your fucking punchline, Regulus. I’m not your dirty joke.”

Remus’s chest heaved. His throat burned like he’d swallowed glass. He wanted to reach for Regulus, to shake him, to kiss him, to break something, anything. Instead he stood there, jaw locked, eyes burning, every part of him split between leaving and staying.

The silence between them was the loudest thing in the room.

Regulus’s hands were trembling, his chest heaving. He opened his mouth, shut it, swallowed like the words might kill him before he could spit them out. When he finally spoke, his voice was so quiet Remus had to lean in just to catch it.

“I hate that you know me so well,” Regulus muttered, the words ripped out like splinters. His eyes flicked up, sharp and exhausted. “And I—fuck, I don’t want to fight with you. You’re the only person I don’t want to fight with.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, harsh and jerky, as though he wanted to tear it out. “And—shit—I’m not treating you like a secret or a joke, alright? That’s not what this is. I’m just—” his voice cracked into something jagged, “—I’m just fucking scared. Because yeah, people will talk. They’ll never shut the fuck up. Sirius will gloat and go on and on about how I ‘better not fuck it up’ like I’m some pet project. Evan will lose his mind, whine about loyalty and friendship and all his usual melodramatic horseshit. Potter will have a meltdown of operatic proportions, because of course he will. And then the whole goddamn castle will breathe down our necks, because you’re you—Remus Lupin, golden boy in a goddamn jumper—and everyone already fucking loves you.”

His voice sharpened, fast and panicked, the words spilling out too quick for him to leash. “And me? I’m just some Black who never dated anyone, never let anyone in, never gave anyone a fucking chance—and now suddenly I’m supposed to survive being half of this? With you? Like it won’t eat me alive? Like I won’t screw it up before we’ve even figured out what the hell we are?” He laughed once, bitter and ugly. “God, I hate it. I hate knowing I want this and also knowing I’m going to fuck it sideways.”

Remus stared, every nerve on fire. For a moment he wanted to snap back, to point out all the ways Regulus was catastrophizing, all the ways he was wrong. But the look on Regulus’s face—the wrecked honesty, the cracked armor, the sharp edges bent inward—stopped him cold.

“You think I don’t know fear?” Remus said finally, his voice low, lethal in its calm. “You think I don’t wake up every day terrified that one slip—one scar, one slip of the tongue, one bad moon—is going to expose me, ruin me, make people look at me like a monster? You think I don’t know exactly what it’s like to live with a secret chewing holes through your ribs?”

Regulus flinched, but Remus didn’t stop.

“So no, Reg. I’m not perfect. I’m not fucking invincible. And maybe everyone does like me, sure, but they don’t know me. Not like you do. You’re the only one who’s ever actually looked at me and seen the whole mess. So don’t stand there and tell me you’re less, or that you’re some kind of liability to my reputation. Because I don’t give a shit about any of that.”

He stepped closer, chest tight, voice fraying. “I give a shit about you. Not the masks, not the sarcasm, not the Black family dramatics. Just you. And if you can’t handle being with me because you’re scared of what people will say? Fine. Be scared. But don’t you dare pretend it’s about me, or about Sirius, or about James, or fucking Evan Rosier. It’s about you, Regulus. It’s always been about you.”

Regulus’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. His eyes shone, furious and wet, like the words had cut straight through to marrow.

For a long, brutal moment, neither of them moved. Just two boys in a locked room, breathing too hard, bleeding words that couldn’t be taken back.

And then, finally—Regulus whispered, hoarse and wrecked:

“You’re the only person I don’t want to lose. That’s why it scares me.”

The words hung there, brittle as glass, and for a second Remus thought if he so much as breathed too hard, they’d shatter.

Something in him cracked. Not the exhaustion, not the anger—something older, sharper, the part of him that had been biting back words for weeks, months, maybe years.

“Then stop trying to scare me off,” he whispered.

Regulus’s eyes flicked up—storm-grey, wide, furious and terrified all at once. His jaw clenched, his hands curled tight at his sides, but the fight was gone from his face. He looked undone.

And that was all it took.

Remus moved first, fast, reckless. One hand in Regulus’s collar, yanking him forward; the other braced against the wall as their mouths collided. It wasn’t neat, wasn’t gentle—it was teeth and heat and the messy, angry kind of kiss that left bruises. Regulus gasped into it, half a curse, half a surrender, then fisted both hands in Remus’s jumper and dragged him closer like he wanted to disappear inside his skin.

It was ugly. It was desperate. And it was the truest thing they’d ever said to each other.

Regulus made a low, furious sound against his mouth, biting hard enough that Remus hissed, then pressed closer anyway, lips parting, breathing ragged. He tasted like tea and cigarettes, sharp and bitter and absolutely addictive. Remus shoved him back against the wall, and Regulus let him, meeting him head-on with equal force, like this was another argument and kissing was just the language they’d switched to.

When they finally broke apart, it wasn’t because either of them wanted to. It was because they had to breathe, gasping, foreheads pressed together, still gripping each other like they might fly apart if they let go.

Regulus’s voice was wrecked when he spoke, barely audible between gulps of air. “You’re going to ruin me.”

Remus laughed, harsh and breathless, brushing his thumb against Regulus’s jaw even as his chest heaved. “Already ruined, baby. Might as well enjoy it.”

Regulus’s mouth twitched like he wanted to smirk, wanted to bite, wanted to kiss again—all at once. And when Remus leaned back in, he didn’t stop him.

This time it wasn’t angry. It was still desperate, still sharp—but softer at the edges. Like surrender. Like finally giving up the fight.

The second kiss broke open into something rougher, messier. No space, no patience. Just hands everywhere—tugging, pulling, clawing for more.

Regulus shoved back against the wall, teeth dragging over Remus’s lower lip hard enough to sting, and Remus groaned into his mouth, answering with a bruising bite of his own. His hands slid down, gripping Regulus’s hips, pinning him, grinding into him like every ounce of restraint had just gone up in smoke.

“Fuck,” Regulus gasped against his mouth, head thudding back against the wall, “you’re—fuck—you’re insane.”

“Shut up,” Remus growled, kissing him harder, swallowing the words. His pulse was a roar in his ears, heat flooding every nerve. Weeks of silence, of biting his tongue, of sneaking around—all of it breaking loose in one dizzy, furious rush.

Regulus hooked a leg around his waist, dragging him closer still, and Remus nearly lost it. He pressed in, rutting against him, a shudder ripping through his chest as Regulus’s nails dug into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

“This—” Regulus hissed against his mouth, breathless and biting, “—this is a terrible idea.”

“Best one I’ve had all week,” Remus shot back, biting down on the sharp edge of his jaw, tasting skin, sweat, the salt of it.

Regulus let out a broken laugh, cut short when Remus’s teeth grazed his throat. His head tipped back without meaning to, exposing pale skin and the sharp line of his collarbone. Remus followed it down hungrily, lips and teeth and tongue marking a trail. Regulus hissed, tried to shove him off, but his fingers tangled in Remus’s hair and held him there instead.

Clothes shifted, hands dragged over fabric, too rough, too fast. Every movement was a dare. Every gasp sounded like surrender.

Regulus tugged him up by the collar, kissed him again hard enough to knock their teeth together, and murmured against his mouth, “You’re going to get me killed.”

Remus’s reply was a low growl, lips ghosting over Regulus’s ear as he pressed closer, reckless and relentless:

“Then die with me.”

Remus didn’t think, didn’t hesitate—he just pressed in, devouring the sound, the taste, the shape of him. His hands roamed with rough urgency, sliding under the hem of Regulus’s shirt, dragging fingertips over sharp ribs and pale skin that trembled under his touch.

Regulus hissed, arching into him despite himself. His grip in Remus’s hair tightened until it hurt, but Remus only growled and kissed him harder, pressing him flush against the wall like he could anchor him there.

Clothes shifted in frantic tugs—buttons undone carelessly, sweaters shoved up, fabric twisting between fists. Every movement was clumsy, desperate, like they were both afraid if they slowed down, the moment would collapse.

“Fuck—” Regulus choked out, head tipping forward against Remus’s shoulder as his breath came in ragged bursts. “You don’t—don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

“Pretty sure I do,” Remus rasped, dragging his teeth along the shell of his ear, feeling the shudder that wracked Regulus’s body. He pressed closer, grinding into him, swallowing the sharp gasp it ripped free.

The room felt too small, the air too hot. They moved together in a fevered rhythm, every brush of skin against skin sparking more heat, more hunger.

Regulus clung to him like he hated it, nails biting, body betraying him with every desperate pull. His words were broken, muffled against Remus’s mouth: “This is—fucking—stupid.”

“Yeah,” Remus breathed, voice wrecked. “So shut up and let me be stupid with you.”

Regulus’s laugh was sharp, involuntary, immediately swallowed by another kiss—messy, furious, and soaked in want. Neither of them cared about quiet anymore. The world outside didn’t exist.

It was reckless, dangerous, inevitable.

He pulled back just enough to yank Regulus’s shirt over his head, exposing pale skin marked by faint freckles across his shoulders, the sharp jut of his collarbones, and the subtle ripple of muscle beneath. Regulus’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his nipples hardening in the cool air of the room, and Remus couldn’t resist—he leaned in, mouth closing over one peaked bud, sucking hard enough to draw a strangled moan from Regulus’s throat.

“Remus—fuck—” Regulus’s voice broke, his fingers digging into Remus’s scalp, pulling him closer even as his body arched off the wall.

The taste of him was salty, addictive, and Remus swirled his tongue, grazing with teeth just to feel the tremor that shot through Regulus. His free hand mapped lower, tracing the V of Regulus’s hips, dipping beneath the waistband of his trousers to palm the hard length straining there. Regulus bucked into the touch, a curse spilling from his lips as he fumbled with Remus’s belt, clumsy in his haste.

“Off,” he demanded, voice rough and commanding, though it cracked with need. Remus obliged, stepping back only long enough to shove his own trousers and boxers down, kicking them aside.

Regulus’s eyes darkened as he took in the sight, his own hand working his fly open with trembling fingers. He shoved his trousers down his thighs, revealing slim, toned legs and his erection—flushed red, curving slightly upward, the head glistening with precome. Remus’s mouth went dry at the view, and he dropped to his knees without a word, hands gripping Regulus’s hips to steady him.

“What are you—” Regulus started, but the words dissolved into a gasp as Remus took him into his mouth, hot and wet, swirling his tongue around the tip before sliding down further. The taste was musky, heady, and Remus hollowed his cheeks, sucking with deliberate pressure as he bobbed his head. Regulus’s hands flew to his hair, tugging sharply, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. “Oh god—Remus, you—fuck, that’s—”

Remus hummed around him, the vibration drawing another broken sound from Regulus, who sagged against the wall, knees weakening. He looked down, eyes half-lidded and wild, watching Remus’s lips stretch around him, the obscene slide in and out. 

Too soon, Regulus pulled him off with a shuddering breath, yanking Remus up by the arms. “Not like this,” he panted, crashing their mouths together in a kiss that tasted of himself.

His hand wrapped around Remus’s cock, stroking firmly from base to tip, thumb smearing the precome over the sensitive head. Remus groaned into the kiss, thrusting into the grip, the friction electric and not nearly enough.

They stumbled toward the mattress, a tangle of limbs and urgency, collapsing onto it in a heap. Regulus flipped them with surprising strength, straddling Remus’s hips, his weight a delicious pressure. He ground down, their cocks sliding together, slick with spit and precome, the friction sending sparks up Remus’s spine.

“You want this?” Regulus whispered, voice taunting but edged with vulnerability, his hand reaching between them to align them properly.

“Yes—fuck, yes,” Remus rasped, hands roaming over Regulus’s back, nails scraping lightly down his spine to elicit a shiver. Regulus snapped his fingers to conjure a small vile and slicked his fingers with lube before reaching back. He prepped himself quickly, efficiently, his face twisting in a mix of discomfort and pleasure as he worked one finger, then two inside.

Remus watched, mesmerized, his cock twitching at the sight. “Let me,” he murmured, sitting up to take over, coating his fingers and sliding them in alongside Regulus’s. The heat, the tightness—it was overwhelming. Regulus moaned, rocking back onto their combined fingers, his head falling forward, curls damp with sweat.

When they were both panting, desperate, Regulus pulled away and positioned himself over Remus, sinking down slowly. The stretch was exquisite—tight, hot, enveloping—and Remus gripped his thighs hard enough to bruise, fighting the urge to thrust up. “Reg—oh fuck, you’re—”

Regulus bottomed out with a gasp, pausing to adjust, his inner walls clenching rhythmically around Remus. Then he started moving, slow at first, rising and falling in a deliberate rhythm that built to something frantic. Remus met him thrust for thrust, hips snapping up, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room alongside their mingled moans.

Sweat slicked their bodies, making every slide easier, hotter. Regulus’s cock bounced with each movement, untouched and leaking, and Remus wrapped a hand around it, stroking in time with their pace. “Come on,” he urged, voice gravelly. “Let go for me.”

Regulus’s rhythm faltered, his eyes squeezing shut as he chased the edge. “Remus—I’m—” His release hit him hard, spilling over Remus’s hand and chest in hot spurts, his body convulsing, clenching down impossibly tighter.

That was enough to tip Remus over. He thrust up one last time, burying deep as he came, filling Regulus with a groan that bordered on a shout. Waves of pleasure crashed through him, leaving him trembling, spent.

They collapsed together, Regulus slumping onto Remus’s chest, both of them breathing like they’d run a marathon. Remus wrapped his arms around him, pressing lazy kisses to his temple, the afterglow settling in like a warm haze.

“Ruined,” Regulus mumbled against his skin, but there was a smile in his voice now, soft and sated.

“Worth it,” Remus whispered back, holding him close.

Regulus rolled onto his back, one arm flung over his eyes like he could hide from the world. His chest was still heaving, the sheets pulled loosely over his hips—pointless, really, like there was anything left to hide. His skin gleamed in the dim light, a sheen of sweat catching along collarbones and ribs, and Remus couldn’t tear his eyes away even if he wanted to.

That was definitely not how he’d pictured their first time going. Not planned, not controlled—just sharp edges, teeth, heat, and reckless hunger. But, fuck it. It had been real. Brutal. Honest. Them.

A broken laugh cracked out of Regulus, muffled under his arm, before he peeked up at Remus with a lopsided smirk.

“I was wondering how long it would take for you to lose it,” he drawled, voice still hoarse but smug as hell.

Remus rolled his eyes, though his hand wandered anyway, fingers tracing the sharp edge of Regulus’s hipbone. “Well, you’re perfectly capable of dragging the worst out of me.”

That earned him another laugh, softer this time. Regulus shifted closer, letting his head fall into the crook of Remus’s arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

For a second, Remus just stared at the ceiling, trying to catch up to the fact that this had happened—that they had happened. Then, quieter, his brow furrowed, he asked, “Seriously, though. You good?”

He expected the usual—sarcasm, dismissal, some barbed joke to push him away. But instead Regulus just hummed, the sound low and thoughtful in his chest.

“I need, like… two business days to recover from this,” he muttered finally, tilting his chin up so their eyes met. His voice was still wrecked, but his smirk was back. “But, honestly? Losing my v-card like that was not exactly on my bingo card for 2025.”

Remus barked a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, same. Not really how I saw the night going.” He reached up, brushing damp curls off Regulus’s forehead, softer than he meant to be. “But I’m not sorry.”

Regulus’s expression flickered—smirk slipping, eyes sharp but tired, something unguarded bleeding through. “Don’t get sentimental on me, Lupin.”

“Too late,” Remus shot back, though his thumb kept stroking the edge of Regulus’s temple anyway.

Regulus sighed, half-exasperated, half-something else. But he didn’t pull away. Didn’t hide. Just lay there, sheets tangled at his waist, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, letting himself be seen.

And for once, Remus didn’t feel like a secret.

They stayed in the hidden room like they always did, propped up on the bed with How I Met Your Mother flickering in the dark from the projector. Smoke curled lazily in the air, both of them chain-smoking like it was a competitive sport.

The only difference tonight was that Regulus, with a grimace, had flicked his wand at the sheets first. The fresh linens snapped into place with a neat fold, and he muttered, “It’s so unhygienic.”

Remus mentally patted himself on the back for not making a sarcastic comment about bodily fluids and Slytherin’s tendencies. He’d probably regret it later, but fine—small mercies.

“You know,” Regulus hummed after a drag, flicking ash into the tray balanced on his stomach, “I hate fighting with you. But that one was worth it.”

Remus barked out a laugh, nearly choking on his cigarette. “You think so?”

“You’re still annoying. Don’t get ideas,” Regulus said flatly, eyes fixed on the screen where Barney was whining about ducks on his tie. His smirk gave him away, though. “But, you know. We can keep fighting if it’s gonna end up like this.” His tone was faux-innocent, like he wasn’t a walking temptation who’d been winding Remus up for weeks.

Remus exhaled smoke, leaning back, drawling, “Well, if that’s what you’re into…”

He didn’t get to finish before Regulus smacked his arm, sharp and unbothered.

“See? Annoying,” Regulus muttered with theatrical disdain, then sighed like the world was on his shoulders. “Anyway. We’re sleeping here?”

“We can.” Remus shrugged, exhaling through his nose. “But the guys are already breathing down my neck. Prongs is probably constructing a fucking murder board about where I disappear to all the time. Unless,” he added with a sidelong glance, “you want to sneak into my dorm as a cat.”

Regulus snorted, stubbing out his cigarette with a flick. “I do. But I need a minute,” A pause, then, with a sharp yawn he tried—and failed—to disguise, “I’ve got a feeling I’d walk funny.”

Remus choked again, this time on nothing, heat shooting through his face before he could stop it.

“Jesus Christ, Regulus—”

Regulus smirked, victorious, stretching out under the fresh sheets like a cat who’d won something important. “What? Just saying. Practical concerns.”

“Practical my arse,” Remus muttered, dragging on his cigarette to keep from grinning like an idiot.

Regulus didn’t answer, just hummed, curling into his side, eyes half-lidded as Barney Stinson’s voice filled the background.

Notes:

oh look at that

Chapter 32: simultaneously exasperating and entirely his

Remus slipped back into the dorm right before curfew, silently praying Sirius wouldn’t launch into his usual “you just got laid, admit it already!” routine. Because, well… this time, Remus actually had. And he was already pissed enough that he couldn’t just stay wrapped up in Regulus in their hidden room all night. The last thing he needed was Sirius’s smug grin and commentary on his sex life.

But when he pushed open the door, the air wasn’t charged with accusation. No wolf-whistles, no teasing grins. Instead, the room felt like a funeral parlor for joy itself.

Remus paused, one brow climbing. Weird. That’s my job. I’m the brooding one.

Peter was starfished in the middle of the floor, staring at the ceiling like it might gift him divine answers. Sirius and Barty were sprawled on Sirius’s bed, unusually far apart—not touching, which was unsettling, considering those two usually couldn’t keep their hands off each other for more than five minutes. And James… James was sitting cross-legged on his own bed, glaring at Peter like he was trying to set him on fire with sheer force of will.

“What the hell did I just walk into?” Remus asked, setting his book down.

“Nothing,” Peter muttered from the floor, voice thick.

Remus’s eyes flicked to Sirius immediately. Sirius mouthed, He broke up with Lockhart.

“Oh.” Remus blinked, grabbed his pajama pants and a hoodie from his drawer, and deadpanned, “Congrats, Pete.”

Barty snorted, barely holding back outright laughter. Sirius jabbed an elbow into his ribs before it could escape.

Peter groaned, throwing an arm over his face. “I don’t want congrats. I want him back.”

“…You were literally whining for a month straight about how unbearable he was,” Remus pointed out flatly, already halfway to the bathroom.

Peter peeked out from under his arm with wild, wounded eyes. “He was unbearable in a charming way!”

“Oh, Merlin,” James muttered, finally breaking his silence. “This is pathetic. Utterly pathetic.”

“You don’t get it!” Peter sat up suddenly, flailing like a drowning man. “He has this hair, okay? Like—like golden silk. And the way he talks about himself? The confidence? The sheer audacity?”

“You mean narcissism,” Remus corrected, unimpressed.

“Exactly!” Peter wailed, pointing a dramatic finger. “It’s hot.”

Barty outright cackled this time, sprawling back against Sirius’s headboard. “Christ, Pettigrew, no wonder he dumped you. You sound like a fan club with a fetish.”

“I broke up with him!” Peter snapped. “Also —fuck you.” 

“Already taken,” Barty shot back smugly, jerking a thumb at Sirius.

Sirius grinned, shameless even in the gloom. “You should’ve seen Lockhart’s face, Moony. Prongs told him Peter wasn’t in love, he was just having a midlife crisis early. I thought the blond tosser was going to hex him into a mirror.”

James lifted his chin proudly. “And I stand by it. Lockhart’s a prat.”

“He’s beautiful,” Peter countered, his voice cracking with grief.

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Peter. You’ve been single for, what, four hours?”

“Three and a half,” Peter corrected miserably, flopping back onto the floor.

Sirius lit a cigarette and blew out smoke with a smirk. “This is better than the wireless. I give it two days before Wormtail’s writing sonnets.”

“Fuck you all,” Peter groaned, rolling onto his stomach like he was trying to sink into the carpet.

Remus just sighed, hoodie slung over his arm, and headed for the shower. “You’re all insufferable.”

“Love you too, Moony,” Sirius called after him, grinning around his cigarette.

When Remus came back from the shower, hair damp, hoodie tugged on, the dorm was somehow louder than when he’d left.

Peter had migrated from the floor to James’s bed, dramatically face-down in his pillow like a corpse at a wake. James sat beside him, lecturing with the severity of a general while Sirius and Barty heckled from across the room.

Remus sighed, already regretting stepping back in. “You people can’t self-destruct for fifteen minutes without me?”

“Moony!” Sirius sat up like salvation had arrived. “Perfect timing. Tell Wormy he’s an idiot.”

Peter lifted his head just enough to glare at Remus, hair sticking up in every direction. “Don’t listen to him. Lockhart was my soulmate.”

“You were together for a year or so,” Remus said flatly, dragging his towel across his hair.

“And three months! It’s like a lifetime when you’re eighteen!” Peter corrected, indignant.

“Still pathetic,” James muttered.

“See?” Peter pointed accusingly at James. “No empathy. This is why Rosier won’t marry you.”

That got Sirius howling, clutching his stomach, nearly falling off the bed. Barty leaned in, smirking. “Pettigrew, that was savage. Keep it up, I might start rooting for you.”

James sputtered. “I—he—I—what does that have to do with Lockhart?!”

“Everything!” Peter wailed. “Because you don’t understand love, James!”

Remus groaned, climbing into his own bed. “Please kill me.”

But of course, no one let him off that easy. Sirius launched a balled-up sock across the room, hitting Remus s square in the chest. “Nope. You’re involved now. Democracy rules. Wormtail says Lockhart was the love of his life. Prongs says he’s a vain arsehole. You’re the tiebreaker.”

Remus stared at him. “I’m not playing this game.”

“Yes you are,” Sirius sing-songed.

Peter sat up, eyes wide, pleading. “Moony. Don’t betray me. You saw his hair—”

“I’m begging you to shut the fuck up about his hair,” Remus cut in.

“Traitor!” Peter flopped backward, groaning into James’s pillow.

James snorted, smug as hell. “See? Even Moons agrees.”

“Not exactly,” Remus muttered, already pulling his blankets up. “I just don’t care. About any of this.”

Barty smirked, eyes glinting. “Which means you agree with me.”

Remus cracked an eye open. “What did you say?”

“That he dumped Peter because he’s tragic in bed.”

“WHAT?!” Peter shrieked, bolting upright.

Sirius absolutely lost it, wheezing with laughter, cigarette nearly falling from his fingers. James buried his face in his hands, torn between horror and hilarity.

Remus rolled over, pulling the blankets tighter. “Wake me when you’re all dead.”

But even with his back to them, he couldn’t help the small, reluctant grin tugging at his mouth as Peter launched into a furious defense of Lockhart’s sexual prowess, Sirius egged him on, James tried to mediate, and Barty cheerfully lit the entire dorm on fire just to watch it burn.

“Alright, no—the fuck.” Peter shot upright on James’s bed, finger jabbing at the air. “First of all, and I’m repeating myself here, I broke up with him. Because he was a pain in the arse. Not because he was bad in bed.”

“Well, if he was a pain in the arse—” Barty drawled, smirking.

Peter snapped his head around, glaring. “Please. You’re barking way too loud for someone who lets Pads rail you six nights a week.”

Sirius let out another unholy laugh, collapsing sideways against Barty like this was the best entertainment he’d had all year. Which, given his grin, it probably was.

“Secondly,” Peter plowed on, voice climbing higher now that he’d committed to the bit, “even Regulus admitted Lockhart’s fine, so obviously I’m right!”

“Regulus once said the idea of getting hit by the Knight Bus was hot,” Remus said flatly, eyes glued to his Arithmancy homework he picked up, quill scratching without pause.

James wheezed so violently he nearly fell off the bed. “He did?”

“He was being dramatic. Got a ninety-eight out of a hundred in DADA that day,” Remus muttered with a shrug.

“Ah, the little shit,” Sirius sighed, shaking his head with mock fondness. “He threatened to disown me if I threw him a birthday party. Honestly think he meant it this time.”

“He should,” Barty deadpanned. “His birthday was last week.”

“You lot don’t know how to have fun,” Sirius huffed, lighting another cigarette like he was above it all.

“Can we go back to the fact that I want Lockhart back?” Peter whined, flopping dramatically onto James’s pillows again.

“Pete,” James said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You don’t want Lockhart back. You want someone to shag. Admit it.”

“That’s slander!” Peter gasped.

“That’s fucking true,” Remus muttered, not looking up.

Peter sat up again, scandalized, pointing like he’d been betrayed. “Oh, shut up, Mr. ‘I’ve been single for a year and don’t care about my love life.’”

“Correct,” Remus replied evenly, still scribbling. “Everyone’s mid. And Lockhart? He’s the last fucking person anyone would touch besides you, Peter. Wake the fuck up.”

The room went dead quiet for half a second.

Then Sirius exploded into laughter so loud it rattled the windowpanes, Barty snorting right along with him. James cackled too, collapsing backwards onto his bed, and even Peter cracked a reluctant grin through his indignation.

“You’re all bastards,” Peter huffed.

“Maybe,” Remus said, finally setting his quill down, “but at least we’re not pathetic.”

Sirius grinned at him like Christmas had come early. “Moony, you bitch. I’m proud of you.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but a corner of his mouth betrayed him with the tiniest curl of a smirk.

Peter crossed his arms, glaring around the room like he was surrounded by traitors. “None of you get it. Lockhart had… presence.”

“Presence?” Barty echoed, smirking. “You mean his mirror had presence. All you got was a reflection.”

Sirius barked a laugh, nearly choking on his smoke. “Pads, stop encouraging him,” James groaned, still half-cackling, half-exasperated.

But Sirius was already leaning forward, eyes alight. “Nah, this is good. This is great. Wormtail wants Lockhart back? Fine. Let’s test the theory.”

“Oh no,” Remus muttered under his breath, already sensing disaster.

“Here’s the deal.” Sirius clapped his hands together, cigarette still dangling from his lips. “Petey, you’ve got one week to pull someone fitter than Lockhart. One. Week. Or you admit defeat and never say his bloody name again.”

Peter’s eyes went wide. “What?!”

“One week,” Barty chimed in, grinning wickedly. “And we get to choose the crowd you have to pull from. No cheating with desperate Hufflepuffs.”

“Oi!” James barked, affronted on their behalf.

“Shut up, Potter,” Barty shot back smoothly.

Peter sat bolt upright, spluttering. “You’re all insane! I can’t just—”

“You can,” Sirius cut him off with a grin sharp enough to cut glass. “And you will. Or you can keep crying into Prongs’s sheets about Lockhart’s hair.”

Peter flailed like a drowning man. “This is cruel and unusual punishment!”

“This,” Remus said, not even looking up from his notes, “is karma.”

Sirius pointed dramatically. “Moony agrees! That’s three votes. Democracy wins.”

Peter turned to James, desperate. “You can’t let them do this to me.”

James shrugged, smug. “Honestly, mate, it might be the only way to get you out of this pathetic spiral.”

Peter groaned, collapsing face-first into the pillows again. “I hate all of you.”

“Love you too,” Sirius said cheerfully. “Now get your game face on, Wormtail. Tomorrow at breakfast, the hunt begins.”

Barty smirked, already plotting. “I’ll draft a list.”

Remus closed his book with a snap. “You’re all actual children.”

“Correction,” Sirius said, grinning as he lay back with his cigarette, “we’re entertainment.”

Remus shook his head, reaching for his phone. “God save me from my friends.”

But judging by the gleam in Sirius’s eye and the evil little smirk on Barty’s mouth, Remus knew Peter’s humiliation tour was only just beginning.

 

Remus was half-dead by breakfast. He’d waited until one in the morning for everyone in the dorm to finally crash, just so Regulus could sneak in through the window in his Animagus form. They hadn’t even talked—just collapsed into bed, Regulus curling shamelessly into his side like he owned it, muttering nonsense in his sleep. Something about “I thought I was ace, for real” and then a weird rant involving hands that Remus absolutely did not have the emotional energy to unpack right now.

They’d had to wake up early so Regulus could slip out unnoticed, and Remus hadn’t managed to fall asleep again after that. Which left him here, slouched at the Gryffindor table, fighting off exhaustion and privately mourning the fact that sleeping with Regulus (actually sleeping) was now the best part of his week. And not having it sucked. Way more than it should.

Breakfast itself was, as usual, a disaster. The Marauders’ part of the table was already chaos, but now that Regulus, Barty, and Evan had started making regular appearances, it had evolved into something closer to a war crime. Remus—who, against his better judgment, loved Regulus, liked Barty, and tolerated Evan only because James was whipped enough to drag him into their orbit—was seconds away from snapping and hexing the entire bench just for silence.

He’d been braced for it, too. The second Regulus found out about Peter dumping Lockhart, Remus was sure he’d weaponize it—make some sly crack about alleged crush, the way he had the other day. Remus wouldn’t have been surprised; hell, he’d practically bet on it.

But Regulus didn’t. Not one word.

Which told Remus more than any clever jab ever could. Their fight last night hadn’t just been another round of bickering—it had been something real, raw. Maybe the most honest they’d ever been with each other. And Regulus, for once, seemed to know better than to poke at open wounds.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair, lazily spearing toast, and said with all the scorn in the world, “I mean, Pettigrew, you can honestly do better.”

Peter looked personally attacked, butter knife halfway to his mouth. “Excuse me?”

Regulus arched a brow, chewing like he had all the time in the world. “Lockhart? Really? You’re crying over a man who’d marry his own reflection if it were legal. That’s tragic.”

Barty snorted into his pumpkin juice. “He’s not wrong.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Peter hissed, flushing red. “I liked him.”

“You liked his hair,” James corrected, already sliding into lecture mode.

“Same thing!” Peter yelped.

“Not even remotely,” Remus muttered into his tea.

Sirius was grinning like Christmas. “Oh, this is beautiful. My little brother calling Wormtail pathetic to his face? Peak entertainment. Ten outta ten.”

Regulus smirked faintly but didn’t pile on, which almost shocked Remus more than the initial restraint. He just leaned an elbow on the table, eyes flicking lazily toward Remus as if to say see, I can behave when I want to.

Remus exhaled through his nose, fighting back a laugh, and stabbed his sausage with unnecessary force.

Peter, however, was still mid-breakdown. “Fine. You all think you’re better than me? You think I can’t do better? Watch me. By next week, I’ll have someone twice as hot as Lockhart drooling over me.”

Barty leaned back, smirking. “You’re on, sweetheart. Prove it.”

“Bet you five galleons he crashes and burns by Wednesday,” Sirius said immediately, holding out his hand.

“Done,” Barty grinned, shaking on it.

“WHAT?!” Peter screeched, scandalized. “You’re betting against me?!”

“Obviously,” Sirius said cheerfully. “It’s the safest bet I’ve made all year.”

Remus groaned into his tea. God save me from these idiots.

Across the table, Regulus caught Remus’s eye. Just for a second. And when he smirked—small, private, just for him—it almost made up for the fact that he hadn’t slept. Almost.

“Well, at least,” Peter huffed, glaring across the table, “I’m not the only single one here.” He sniffed dramatically, like the world had personally betrayed him.

“You have to feel really shitty if thinking about me not dating anyone makes you feel better,” Remus deadpanned, reaching for a piece of toast.

“Well… yeah,” Peter scowled, clearly wounded by the cold truth.

“No worries. Archie’s single too,” Evan said smugly, his eyes darting toward Regulus like he’d just dropped a hand grenade.

Regulus raised a perfectly arched brow. “You really want to go there, Rosie?”

“Oh, my God, don’t,” James groaned, hand buried in his face. “One more jab about Evan having a crush on Moony before, and I swear I’ll riot.”

“You couldn’t riot even if you wanted to, Potter,” Regulus replied flatly, tone like he was naming the weather. “And for the record, it wasn’t that.”

“Oh, I know, I know,” Sirius waved a hand like he was lecturing a particularly slow class. “It was about Prongs having a crush on Reggie and then Reggie turning him down, and then Prongs crying himself to sleep for a week.”

“Ten points to Gryffindor,” Regulus nodded, completely deadpan.

“You’re such a brat,” Remus muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Thank you, Lupin,” Regulus replied with mock politeness, bowing his head just enough to be infuriating. But his foot nudged Remus’s under the table, quick and casual—a secret sign, enough to undo half of Remus’s irritation.

He stuck to his tea and his toast and decided to ignore every one of them. Barty had already pulled out a list of names that were apparently “acceptable” for Peter to hit on, James was arguing with Evan about the upcoming Quidditch game—which Remus couldn’t have cared less about—and Regulus had quietly pulled out his Transfiguration homework, methodically scribbling at the table as if he didn’t exist in the chaos around them.

It was fine. Everything was perfectly fine. Perfectly normal. Perfectly secret. And Remus was just… too close to saying I’m in love with you to Regulus. Which he didn’t. Not yet, anyway.

But goddammit, he was close.

Especially when Regulus caught up to him in an empty corridor between classes. No one was around, just the faint echoes of distant footsteps. Regulus leaned in, and before Remus could think better of it, he kissed him—stupid, reckless, infuriatingly perfect. “We’re meeting up before patrol tonight?” Regulus asked, hand lingering on Remus’s hip just long enough to make his chest tighten.

“Fine,” Remus nodded, trying to sound casual. “But I need to study.”

“Muggle stuff or usual stuff?” Regulus asked, eyebrows raised in mock interest.

“Muggle,” Remus said, rolling his eyes, though his stomach twisted at the subtle heat radiating from Regulus’s touch.

“Oh, that’s cool,” Regulus smirked, like the world could stop and he’d still be the most infuriatingly composed person alive.

And then he kissed him again, just briefly, soft but electric, before stepping back.

“Bye, babe,” he said casually, as though his hand lingering on Remus’s hip, the way his lips had burned against his own, and the shiver of heat still crawling through his veins were nothing more than incidental.

Remus swallowed hard, his stomach flipping, and blinked after him as he walked away. He straightened his bag, forced himself to breathe, and muttered under his breath, “I am not in love with him.”

The corridor felt emptier than it actually was. Every echo of footsteps sounded like it could be Regulus’s coming back to him. And when he finally turned the corner to his next class, his chest was still tight, his hands still tingling where Regulus had touched him, and his brain was screaming don’t you dare say anything yet, idiot.

 

When he stepped into the hidden room that evening, Regulus was already there. Sprawled across the bed, still in his uniform, he had How I Met Your Mother playing on the wall from the projector. The faint glow of the scenes reflected off his sharp features, making him look impossibly effortless.

“You’re late,” Regulus said, voice teasing but edged with something sharper, like he actually meant it.

“We didn’t agree on any particular hour, kitten,” Remus shot back, tossing his bag onto the bed and sliding in beside him.

Regulus’s eyes narrowed. “Stop calling me that.”

“Yeah, no,” Remus said smoothly, reaching for his English notes on classic literature, pretending he hadn’t just made Regulus’s lips twitch.

“You’re seriously going to study now?” Regulus blinked at him, incredulous.

“I told you I have to.”

“...Jesus,” Regulus groaned, slumping deeper into the sheets like the weight of the world—or maybe just Remus—was pressing down on him. “Give me a kiss at least,” he huffed, voice half-demanding, half-whining.

Remus rolled his eyes, but leaned down anyway. Because he wasn’t an idiot. Not when it came to Regulus Black. Not when that smirk could disarm him faster than a stunning spell.

Their lips met, soft at first, tentative, like they were testing boundaries even though neither of them really needed to. Then Regulus deepened it, hand sliding under Remus’s uniform shirt, pressing just enough to make his breath hitch.

“Focus,” Remus muttered against his mouth, even as his fingers itched to tangle in Regulus’s hair.

“Focus?” Regulus scoffed, pulling back just enough to look at him with those sharp, calculating eyes. “We’re sitting on a bed, alone, and you want to talk about focus?”

Remus groaned, dropping his forehead to Regulus’s shoulder. “You’re impossible.”

Regulus’s smirk softened into something almost affectionate, though no one else could see it. “You like it,” he said quietly.

“I don’t—” Remus started, but he didn’t finish. And neither did he move away when Regulus’s hand drifted back to his hip.

Regulus grinned, stretching across the bed. “Fine. Have your stupid study. Be a nerd. I’m taking a nap.”

Remus rolled his eyes but kissed him again anyway, brief but deliberate. “Gonna sleep-talk again?” he smirked.

Regulus’s grin faltered. “I did last night?”

“Mmhm.”

“Shit. What?” he scowled, burying his face in Remus’s arm like it could somehow hide him from his own embarrassment.

“Something about being ace,” Remus hummed, trying—and failing—not to grin. “Which was kind of funny, since we, you know… had sex a few hours before.”

Regulus groaned dramatically. “God, I’ll die.” He squirmed against Remus’s arm, pressing his face into him. “What else did I say?” he mumbled, voice muffled.

“Well, the usual,” Remus teased, fingers threading through Regulus’s hair. “Something about hands.”

“Kill me, Remus,” he muttered, half-laughing, half-protesting.

“Yeah, no,” Remus said, laughing as he stroked the back of his head. “But I kinda need a clarification, though.”

“I’m not asexual,” Regulus mumbled, voice low. “Just… thought I was.”

“Thought you were?” Remus echoed, curious despite himself.

“…When I was dating Nott,” Regulus admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, baby, that’s priceless,” Remus grinned, leaning down to pepper his temple with tiny kisses.

Regulus smacked his chest lightly. “Stop! It’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” Remus teased, hands still in his hair, grinning like a fool. “You’re adorable, Reg. Admit it.”

“No,” Regulus said firmly—but the twitch of his lips betrayed him.

“Hmm,” Remus hummed, pressing a light kiss to his jaw. “So just to be clear… you thought you were ace, but turns out, not so much?”

Regulus huffed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah. Turns out I like… certain things,” he admitted, voice muffled against Remus’s arm again.

Remus chuckled, feeling the warmth of him, the weight of his body, the way Regulus could be simultaneously exasperating and entirely his. “Certain things, huh? Care to elaborate, or do I have to wait until sleep-talking again?”

Regulus groaned, finally lifting his head, cheeks pink. “I swear, you’re a menace.”

“And you love it,” Remus said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face.

Regulus didn’t answer, just leaned back, letting himself melt into the comfort of being alone with Remus.

“Shut up and study,” he sniffed, voice muffled against Remus’s shoulder. “And wake me up before patrol. And don’t listen to what I’m saying when I sleep.”

“That’s actually my favorite pastime activity,” Remus said with a smirk, brushing his fingers through Regulus’s dark hair.

“Remus,” Regulus whined, pulling the blanket up under his chin, hiding his face like it would protect him from the truth of his own smile. “Don’t be annoying.”

Remus rolled his eyes but didn’t respond. Instead, he let his hand linger in Regulus’s hair, fingers absentmindedly stroking through the strands, as he opened his notes on Macbeth —and God knew what else he was supposed to be studying.

It took exactly three pages before Regulus started mumbling in his sleep.

“Not… ace… cats? …stupid…” the words tumbled out in a soft, garbled rush.

Remus froze, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He leaned a little closer, careful not to wake him, just to catch the way Regulus’s lips moved, the subtle quiver of his fingers under the blanket.

“Stupid, huh?” Remus murmured quietly, brushing a thumb along Regulus’s temple. “You talk in your sleep like a mess. And somehow… it’s still cute.”

“Mmm… Remus…” Regulus muttered, voice rough and sleepy, curling a little into Remus’s hand.

Remus’s chest tightened. He knew he should probably keep reading, maybe jot down notes, anything to keep his mind occupied. But instead, he just stayed there, listening, tracing fingers through Regulus’s hair, memorizing every soft, messy little sound.

Sleepy mumbles turned into half-formed sentences, complaints about imagined injustices, fragments of dreams, and Remus couldn’t stop himself from laughing softly, pressing a quick kiss to Regulus’s temple.

Three minutes later, Regulus was fully in dreamland, muttering like the world owed him an explanation.

“Why… hands… stupid…”

Remus blinked, trying not to laugh out loud. Hands? Stupid? Only Regulus could make nonsense words sound simultaneously infuriating and adorable.

He leaned closer, brushing a thumb along Regulus’s temple. “You really can’t keep your thoughts to yourself, can you?”

“Shut… kiss… now…” Regulus mumbled, voice thick with sleep, curling a little into Remus’s touch.

Remus stifled a laugh, pressing a quick kiss to Regulus’s forehead. “Fine. Happy now, brat?”

“Mmm… always…” Regulus muttered, nestling closer, and Remus’s chest squeezed with the ridiculous intensity of it all.

Minutes passed. Remus tried to focus on his notes, scribbling down what he could about Macbeth, but every time Regulus mumbled another word, another fragment of half-formed thought, his attention slid right back to him.

“…not ace… really… stupid…”

“Definitely not ace,” Remus murmured, smirking. “Not unless you’re planning to sleep-talk your way into admitting it every night.”

Regulus groaned, a soft, muffled sound that made Remus’s stomach flip. “... annoying, isn’t he? And tease…”

“I’m not teasing,” Remus said, tracing lazy circles on his hair. “I’m… observing. It’s for academic purposes.”

“Mm… dumb… kiss… again…”

Remus rolled his eyes but leaned in anyway, placing a light kiss on Regulus’s lips, careful not to wake him. He felt Regulus shiver against him, small and unconscious, and it made his chest tighten like someone had taken a crowbar to it.

“…mine…” Regulus whispered, barely audible.

Remus froze. Did he just say that? Probably. Maybe. He brushed a strand of hair off Regulus’s face, pressing a kiss to the temple. “Yeah, you’re mine,” he said softly, a whisper meant for only them, even if Regulus wasn’t fully awake to hear it.

Regulus stirred, shifting a little closer, murmuring something incoherent about cating and stupid witches, and Remus laughed quietly. He returned to his notes, but now, every word on the page felt secondary to the warmth pressed against him, the faint weight of Regulus’s hand brushing his side.

Chapter 33: nowhere to wriggle

Notes:

i'm so extra productive lately bc i live alone again and, unfortunately, had nothing better to do than write for few more weeks. i have few more (7, but who'd count???) chapters outlined so i'm gonna post them really soon, i think

i just started writing new fic bc my brain won't shut up lately but i really wanna finish this one before starting with another, so fingers crossed that i actually will

The days leading up to another full moon passed as smoothly as they could for Remus Lupin, which is to say, not smoothly at all—annoying friends, infuriating secret boyfriend, and general chaos everywhere.

The prank on the Slytherin Quidditch team had been absolutely priceless. And, being a good boyfriend, Remus had made sure to warn Regulus that showering in the locker room after practice could result in furuncles erupting all over his body. Regulus had thanked him with a smirk, muttering something about “extra curricular learning opportunities.” James, of course, didn’t think to warn Evan. That ended in a three-day-long argument about James being a manchild. Predictable.

Peter had somehow managed to hit on one of the Ravenclaws a year below them, and they even went on a date. Reportedly, there was a second date planned, although no one actually believed it—especially not when Peter still whined every time he saw Lockhart in the corridors.

Sirius and Barty had reached a new level of unbearable. Barty demanded his “rights” to spend the full moon with them in his lynx form. Remus, of course, told him he’d rather die than witness the transformation under Barty’s judgmental gaze. Barty had protested, insisting, “It’s for academic purposes, Lupin! I’m a Ravenclaw!” to which Sirius snapped, “Moony isn’t something you study in a lab, you complete arsehole!” and promptly banned him from sex for the next… however-long. 

As for Remus himself? For the first time since the breakup with Theo Russo, he hadn’t lost his mind during transformation. Not because he was magically calm or disciplined—no. It was because he had Regulus. Who, it turned out, definitely was not ace. And the moment Remus ‘broke the seal,’ he behaved exactly like every other guy who had discovered sex. All the time. Whenever they could. And not that Remus complained, obviously. He wasn’t an idiot.

The full moon passed in relative calmness. No broken bones, no shrieking banshees of self-pity, just the quiet satisfaction of surviving. That was a success.

And as if to underline it, Regulus didn’t even complain the next day about being left out. He simply locked the two of them in the hidden room and watched Remus sleep, like some creepy, perfect little guardian.

Remus had caught himself staring at Regulus for longer than necessary, smirking quietly to himself. He might have been half-asleep, half-drained, and entirely worn out from the chaos of the past week—but the way Regulus watched him, patient, smug, teasing even in silence, made everything else feel manageable.

 

Remus was so sure he was hiding perfectly fine with Regulus now. Weeks of sneaking around had given him just enough false confidence. He still wasn’t the biggest fan of it—ideally, he’d kiss Regulus all over his face in front of everyone and let Sirius choke on his own dramatic gasp—but fine. He wasn’t about to get into another fight with Regulus about it.

And Christ, did they fight. Constantly. About stupid little things that weren’t even real fights but still managed to sound like them. Which, without fail, always ended with sex. Remus still wasn’t over the time Regulus had groaned, “Just fuck me missionary so we can keep arguing,” and he had. And it had been… well. Weird. But also hot. So he didn’t complain.

And not complaining, as always, came with consequences.

Because Remus had gotten sloppy. Not caught-red-handed sloppy—he wasn’t that careless—but careless enough that if someone really paid attention, they’d see the cracks. And one of his friends did.

Not Sirius—who was too busy loudly speculating about Remus’s sex life every other day.
Not James—who swore up and down he’d stalk him on the Marauder’s Map to figure out where Remus was disappearing to. (He tried, once. Remus, who literally helped create the map, had outsmarted him in under ten minutes.)

It was Peter.

Peter, who didn’t notice because he was fishing for gossip or trying to stir drama. He noticed because he was—unfortunately, inconveniently—a good friend. He watched. He paid attention.

Remus never clocked it.
He didn’t see how Peter’s brows furrowed when Remus failed the Herbology quiz—a first, and only because he’d spent the whole weekend tangled up with Regulus instead of studying.
He didn’t notice the raised eyebrow when he stopped dumping four sugars in his tea. (Regulus wouldn’t shut the fuck up about “how unhealthy that is, Jesus, Lupin,” and eventually Remus gave in.)
He didn’t catch Peter’s jaw literally dropping when Slughorn handed Remus back a Potions essay marked with a shining “O.” (Remus, who could barely brew Pepperup without nearly blowing up his cauldron. Regulus had written the damn thing for him.)

And then it happened. End of November. Great Hall dim, the enchanted ceiling heavy with thick, storming snow. The kind of morning where everyone wanted to stay wrapped in bed instead of facing the world.

Remus got busted. In the worst possible fucking way.

“God, I can’t believe I missed the game yesterday,” Peter whined around a mouthful of cereal. “Who even won?”

He tossed the question casually into the chaos of the Gryffindor table. Anyone could’ve answered—literally anyone, surrounded as they were by Quidditch fanatics. James was already inhaling to start a lecture about plays. Sirius was halfway to launching into a dramatic retelling. Evan perked up on his seat.

But Remus—still tired, still vaguely irritated that he’d been forced to sit through the goddamn match with Regulus last night in their hidden room instead of doing literally anything else —answered without thinking.

“Wasps,” he muttered around his eggs. “Three-twenty to one-ninety.”

The table went quiet for just a beat too long. Long enough.

Remus didn’t even notice—kept chewing, reaching for his tea like nothing was wrong. But Peter froze, spoon suspended midair, eyes narrowing just slightly.

Because Peter knew. Remus Lupin didn’t follow Quidditch scores. He didn’t give a shit about the Wasps, or the Cannons, or whoever else was throwing Quaffles around. He never had.

And yet here he was. Giving the exact score. Casual. Like he’d watched every second of it.

Peter swallowed, slow. Didn’t say a word. Not yet.

But he filed it away.

Because something didn’t add up.

Barty, however, raised his eyebrows—sharp, calculating. And Remus didn’t miss the flicker of panic in Regulus’s eyes across the table. James choked on his own breath, wheezing like he’d been hexed, and Sirius gasped loud enough to draw stares from the Ravenclaw table.

“Lupin,” Evan drawled, slow and deliberate, like he was poking at something he knew would bruise. “Did you… like… hit your head during the last full moon?”

Remus’s heart was in his fucking throat. But outwardly, he just rolled his eyes and took another deliberate bite of his eggs, tone flat. “Please. I’m surrounded by Quidditch fanatics. I know shit I don’t even want to know.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes, suspicious but intrigued. “Like what?”

Remus chewed. Exaggeratedly slow. Drew it out until the whole table leaned in, waiting. Then he dropped it like a guillotine.

“Like the fact that you cried once when Prongs said Marlene was a better Beater than you.”

The explosion was immediate. Sirius practically launched himself across the bench, shouting denials at the top of his lungs. James choked again, spraying orange juice all over the table, doubling over with wheezing laughter. Barty cackled like a fucking hyena, slamming his fist on the wood. Evan smirked into his pumpkin juice, smug as ever.

Regulus, though—Regulus was very pointedly not looking at him. Just stabbing his toast like it had personally offended him.

And Peter.

Peter hadn’t laughed. Hadn’t joined the chaos. His spoon was forgotten in his bowl, his cereal soggy, and his eyes—sharp, unblinking—never left Remus. Watching. Thinking.

Remus forced himself not to glance back, kept his expression perfectly, infuriatingly bored while Sirius tried to strangle James with his own scarf.

But under the table, his knee bounced once, betraying him.

And Peter noticed.

 

It didn’t take long.
Remus had known— the second Peter’s eyes had locked on him at breakfast, unblinking—that he wasn’t off the hook. Peter never held onto something unless he was planning to use it. Not in the cruel way Sirius or Barty did for entertainment, but in that quiet, unnerving way that meant he’d already pieced together more than he should.

So when Remus ducked out of the library that night, books under his arm, he wasn’t even surprised to find Peter leaning against the stone wall outside.

“Hey, Moons.”

Remus froze. Masked it with a shrug. “What, waiting to ambush me? Very subtle.”

Peter didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile. He just tilted his head, studying Remus like he was a puzzle he’d nearly finished. “You want to tell me how the hell you knew the Wasps’ score last night?”

Remus’s stomach dropped, but his face didn’t move. He leaned against the opposite wall, deliberately casual, like this was just another stupid Marauders’ game. “Lucky guess.”

“Bullshit.” Peter’s voice was sharp now, cutting through the corridor’s quiet. “You don’t watch Quidditch. You don’t care about Quidditch. You mock us for caring. And suddenly you know exact scores?”

Remus snorted. “Like I said this morning—I absorb useless information because I live with idiots. Not that deep.”

Peter stepped closer. Not threatening, exactly—but there was something in his eyes that made Remus’s skin itch. “Except it is. You weren’t in the common room last night. You weren’t anywhere near us. Prongs had the map out—”

Remus’s blood went cold.

Peter didn’t stop. “—and you weren’t on it.”

Remus finally looked at him, sharp, wary. “You spying on me now?”

Peter’s mouth twitched—not quite guilt, not quite pride. “Just… noticed. You’ve been disappearing more lately. Coming back tired. Distracted. Different.” He folded his arms, gaze narrowing. “And then you slip. You knew the score.”

For a second, the corridor was silent except for the sound of their breathing.

Remus shoved his hands in his pockets, teeth gritted. “If you’re trying to say something, Pete, say it.”

Peter hesitated—then leaned in, voice low. “Who is it?”

The words hit harder than any curse.

Remus’s pulse spiked, throat dry. He forced a laugh, too brittle to be convincing. “God, you’re insane. You think I’m sneaking off for a boyfriend?”

Peter’s eyes didn’t waver. Didn’t even blink. “I think you’re sneaking off for Regulus Black.”

And Remus—Remus fucking Lupin, who always had something to say—had nothing. Not a word.

“I mean,” Peter continued when silence stretched too long, “I’ve suspected it for, like, a month. Because it’s weird you didn’t even try flirting with anyone at Sirius’s birthday party. Not once. And how you get all wound up sometimes, disappear for hours, and then suddenly you’re fine again. Yeah, no. It adds up.”

“You’re projecting,” Remus shot back, voice flat, sharp.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Moony, come on. I know you were in the movie room last night.”

“What?” The word slipped out before Remus had the chance to think, too sharp, too fast.

Peter’s mouth curved into a knowing little smirk. “Only you and me know about that room, right? We know it’s unplottable. And I also know you charmed the map to fake your tracks.” He leaned in, voice low. “But you didn’t charm it to fake Regulus’s. And he wasn’t on the map last night. At all.”

“He was probably in the Room of Requirement,” Remus shrugged, forcing casualness he didn’t feel. “Snogging some Slytherin.”

“Yeah, no. I was in there with Harper,” Peter shot back immediately. His eyes narrowed. “So don’t fucking lie to me, Moony.”

Remus groaned, tipping his head back against the stone wall, fingers tugging his hair in frustration. No excuses left. Nowhere to wriggle. He was fucking busted.

“Fine. It’s Reg.” The words came out like a growl. “But don’t you fucking dare tell anyone, or I swear I’ll end you.” His eyes snapped back to Peter’s, deadly serious.

But Peter was already grinning, practically vibrating with glee. “Really?! Fuck, I knew it. I fucking knew it!”

“Shut up, Jesus!” Remus hissed, glancing up and down the empty corridor like someone would pop out of the stone.

“How long?”

“Two months,” Remus muttered. Then, after a pause: “Two and a half. Maybe.”

“What?!”

“Peter!” Remus snapped, voice low and sharp. “Shut the fuck up.”

Peter clamped a hand over his own mouth, muffling a laugh. “Sorry. Sorry.” He pulled his hand away just enough to whisper, “But—fuck. Fuck. You’re like… together together?”

Remus hesitated, then nodded. “…Yeah.”

Peter’s eyes went wide. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper-shout. “So you’re railing Pads’s baby brother!”

Remus glared daggers. “Don’t ever phrase it like that again.”

“Dude, you’re so dead,” Peter cackled, leaning back against the wall.

“No, I’m not,” Remus argued, jaw tight. “I told Sirius before I got with Reg that I liked him. He was fine with it. Tried to match us for weeks, actually. While we were already together.”

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed, brain whirring, trying to connect dots. “Then why the hell are you hiding?”

“…Reg wants it that way.” Remus’s tone was final, flat. No room for questions. He wasn’t about to unpack Regulus Black’s hang-ups with anyone, not even Peter.

Peter studied him for a beat, then smirked. “So basically, I don’t say shit, or Regulus kills me. And if he doesn’t, you will.”

“Exactly.” Remus’s eyes narrowed. “So keep your fucking mouth shut.”

Peter grinned like he’d just been handed the crown jewels of gossip. “Moony. You can trust me.”

Remus groaned. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

Peter’s grin only grew wider, almost manic now, like someone had just handed him the biggest Christmas present of his life. “Holy shit. Holy shit, Moony. Out of all people—you’re shagging Regulus Black.”

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lower your voice.”

“I can’t—do you know how insane this is?” Peter’s hands were flying everywhere now. “You! And him! The kid who used to hex first-years for breathing too loud! The one Pads literally wants to throw out the Astronomy Tower every holiday ‘cause he’s stealing his biscuits? That’s your boyfriend?”

Remus’s expression was stone. “Yes, Peter. Congratulations. You’ve cracked the code.”

Peter burst out laughing, doubled over, clutching his side. “Oh my god, this is better than when James got drunk on butterbeer and tried to serenade Lily with Celestina Warbeck. This is so much better.”

Remus shoved him, hard. “Shut up.”

Peter staggered back against the wall, wheezing. “Wait—wait—does he call you ‘Moony’? Or do you call him ‘Reggie’? No, don’t tell me, I’ll actually die—”

“Peter.” Remus’s voice was sharp enough to cut.

But Peter was too far gone, choking on his own laughter. “You—oh god—you’ve been sneaking off for romantic clandestine meetings with the human equivalent of a pissed-off library cat—”

Remus smacked the back of his head. “For fuck’s sake!”

Peter yelped, rubbing his scalp, but he was still grinning like he’d won the lottery. “I can’t believe it. You, of all people! Mister ‘responsible prefect, study first, shag later’—and you’ve been bending Regulus Black over—”

“Peter!”

He slapped a hand over his own mouth, eyes wide, giggles still bubbling through. His shoulders shook as he muffled the sound.

Remus glared at him so fiercely it could’ve curdled milk. “If you ever— ever —say anything like that again, I’ll hex your dick off.”

Peter dropped his hand, still grinning, eyes wide with delight. “Moony. Mate. You’re actually in love with him, aren’t you?”

That shut Remus up. His stomach flipped. His jaw clenched.

Peter’s grin softened for the first time that night. “Oh, fuck. You are.”

And Remus, once again, had no smart comeback.

“I mean, that’s—shit.” Peter finally managed, eyes huge. “That’s, like, huge. Does he… like… know?”

Remus groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I am not talking to you about this.”

“Oh my god, I’ll die. I’ll actually die.” Peter was pacing now, bouncing on his heels like he’d had ten cups of coffee. “When did it start?”

“Pete, I’m begging you—”

“You owe me this!” Peter shot back, spinning on his heel, finger pointed accusingly. “For all the Chocolate Frogs I gave you over the years!”

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

“No. I’m Peter.”

“Peter!” Remus smacked the back of his head.

“OW—oh my god, just tell me!” Peter groaned dramatically, clutching his skull like he’d been mortally wounded. “I swear I won’t tell anyone. Anyone. I’ve never blabbed a secret in my life!”

Remus huffed, glaring. The worst part? Peter wasn’t wrong. For all his whining and dramatics, Peter actually was the one who kept his mouth shut. He was sneaky, yes. Gossipy, sometimes. But loyal. Loyal enough that Remus knew this wasn’t going anywhere else unless Peter wanted it to.

“Fine,” Remus bit out, crossing his arms over his stack of books. “I’ll say it once and never again, so you’d better listen.”

Peter immediately went still, vibrating with anticipation.

“We got together when we went to that Three Days Grace concert in Manchester. With Pads and Crouch.” Remus’s tone was clipped, like a confession under Veritaserum. “We’ve been together since then. No one knows. We meet up in the hidden room. Sometimes he sneaks into our dorm at night in his Animagus form and leaves in the morning—”

Peter gasped so loudly it echoed down the corridor.

“Shut up,” Remus hissed, shoving him hard. “And no, he doesn’t call me Moony. I don’t call him Reggie. And I’m not telling you another single thing.”

Peter’s face was pure scandalized glee, hands pressed to his mouth like he was physically holding in a scream. “You—you’re sneaking Regulus Black into our dormitory in the middle of the night—”

“Peter.”

“—while Sirius is asleep—”

“Peter.”

“—literally meters away from his bed—”

Remus shoved him again, teeth gritted. “If you don’t shut up, I will hex your tongue to the roof of your mouth.”

Peter was grinning so wide his face might split. “This is the best day of my life.”

Peter was still grinning like he’d uncovered state secrets. “I can’t believe this. No—actually I can. You’ve been weird for ages. Broody. Distracted. More than usual, I mean.”

“I’m always broody,” Remus deadpanned.

“Yeah, but this is extra broody. This is, like, Shakespearean broody.” Peter gestured wildly. “Sneaking around, secret trysts, star-crossed lovers—”

“Stop right there.” Remus’s glare could’ve killed him.

But Peter just rocked back on his heels, smirk spreading. “You realize if Sirius finds out, he’s gonna fucking combust, right? Like— pop. Instant aneurysm. Front row tickets to the biggest Black family drama since your boyfriend told Walburga to fuck herself at Christmas.”

Remus sighed, long-suffering. “You’re insufferable.”

Peter ignored him completely. “Do you love him?”

“Peter—”

“Because that’d be wild. Like, imagine: Remus Lupin, the human encyclopedia, falling for Regulus Black, human icicle.”

“Peter.”

“Do you guys, like—cuddle?”

Remus’s eyes narrowed into murder-slits. “I will actually kill you.”

“Oh my god, you do!” Peter slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter, but his eyes were shining. “That’s fucking adorable. He’s such a little bitch, though. How does that even—like—work?”

Remus shoved him so hard this time he almost toppled. “Because I’m not an idiot who’s about to let Sirius’s loudmouth little brother scare me off. Now drop it.”

But Peter only straightened, grin spreading wider. “No chance. This is the best dirt I’ve ever had on you. I’m gonna cherish it.”

“Pete.” Remus’s voice dropped, sharp enough to slice. “If you breathe a word of this to anyone— anyone —Reg will murder you, and if he doesn’t, I will. And it won’t be quick.”

Peter held up his hands in mock innocence. “Relax, Moony. Your secret’s safe. Swear on all my Chocolate Frogs.” He paused, smirk twitching back. “But holy shit, you’re so whipped.”

Remus groaned, dragging his hands over his face. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Peter sing-songed, backing down the corridor with the smuggest grin on earth. “But I love you. And I really love this.”

Remus flipped him off without looking up from his books.

“You gonna tell him that I know, though?” Peter asked as they started climbing the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, narrowing his eyes like he was interrogating Remus.

“Do I look like I need more secrets?” Remus deadpanned. “Of course I’ll fucking tell him.”

Peter’s grin faltered. “God. He’s gonna hex me, isn’t he?”

“No. He’s gonna hex me,” Remus muttered, already bracing for the inevitable. “And I’ll probably deserve it.”

Peter perked up again instantly, smirk snapping back into place. “Are you… seeing him tonight?” He wiggled his eyebrows so dramatically it was a miracle they didn’t fall off.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You’re the one who stuck your dick into the Black bloodline!”

“PETER!”

Peter almost fell down a step from laughing, clutching the banister for support. “Merlin, Moony, you’re so done. Like—Sirius finds out and you’re not just dead, you’re obliterated. Vaporized. They’ll be scraping what’s left of you off the Astronomy Tower.”

“Please, by all means, describe my violent death in more detail,” Remus muttered, voice flat as stone.

“Oh, I will,” Peter shot back, eyes gleaming. “Because it’s gonna happen. And when it does, I’ll say ‘I told you so’ at your funeral.”

Remus shoved him into the wall as they reached the Fat Lady’s portrait. “You are insufferable.”

Peter just grinned wider, brushing himself off. “And you’re in love with Regulus Black. Which makes you insane. So who’s really suffering here?”

Remus growled, but he didn’t answer.

Peter’s grin turned wicked. “That’s what I thought.”

Notes:

i said before that there was a hint and here we are

also: pete's a vault, as we know

Chapter 34: subtlety of a brick to the face

Notes:

another short one because why the hell not (i think it's free from typos but idek anymore)

The hidden room smelled faintly of parchment and firewood when Remus slipped inside that night. Regulus was already there, sprawled across the bed with a book propped on his chest. He didn’t even look up when he said, “You’re late.”

“Yeah, sorry. Got cornered.” Remus set his bag down, already tugging at his tie.

“By who?” Regulus asked lazily, still pretending to read.

Remus froze for a beat too long. “...Peter.”

That got Regulus’s attention. His eyes flicked up, sharp, suspicious. “What about him?”

Remus sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. “He, uh… knows.”

The book snapped shut. “What.”

“He knows,” Remus repeated, voice low, bracing himself.

Regulus sat up so fast the book slid to the floor. “You told him?”

“No! Of course I didn’t!” Remus snapped, defensive. “He figured it out, alright? He’s—annoying, but he’s not stupid.”

Regulus’s jaw tightened. “You let him figure it out.”

“Reg, come on, it’s not like I wanted him to. He’s just… perceptive sometimes.”

Regulus glared at him like he was weighing whether to hex him now or later. “So Peter Pettigrew knows about us. That’s what you’re saying.”

“Yes,” Remus admitted through gritted teeth.

“Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.” Regulus ran a hand through his hair, furious in that quiet, coiled way he had. “You might as well announce it over breakfast tomorrow. Or better—let’s owl my mother. Save her the trouble of hexing it out of me herself.”

“Regulus—”

“No, really,” Regulus cut him off, voice icy. “Did you want to ruin my life this week or next? Because you’re certainly on track for it.”

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re being dramatic.”

Regulus’s head snapped toward him, eyes blazing. “I’m being realistic.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Remus muttered, “He’s not gonna tell anyone.”

“Oh, of course not,” Regulus sneered. “Because Peter Pettigrew has famously never run his mouth in his entire life.”

“He won’t,” Remus insisted, firmer this time. “He swore. And honestly, Reg—he was just… happy. For me. For us.”

Regulus stared at him, skeptical, brittle. “Happy. Right.”

“Reg.” Remus leaned forward, softer now. “It’s fine. I promise.”

Regulus didn’t answer right away. He just looked away, jaw still tight, blanket bunched in his fists. Finally, he muttered, “If this blows up, Lupin, it’s on you.”

Remus sighed, relief flooding his chest, even if Regulus still looked furious. “Yeah. I know.”

“Good,” Regulus said, lying back down and dragging the blanket over himself like that was the end of the conversation. “Now shut up. You’ve ruined my night.”

Remus smirked faintly, lying down beside him. “Still letting me stay, though.”

“Ugh.” Regulus pressed both palms to his eyes, voice muffled and furious. “Peter fucking Pettigrew. Really? Really?”

Remus leaned back against the headboard, utterly unimpressed. “He’s the one who clocked Prongs and Rosier too, you know.”

“Oh, he’s so fucking… fucking… inconspicuous.” Regulus dropped his hands, eyes flashing. “Who would ever suspect him of having brain cells?!”

Remus shot him a look. Warning one.

“Regulus.”

Regulus froze under it, scowled, then slumped. “Yeah, fine. That was a low blow.” He rubbed at his face again, shoulders tense. “But I—fuck—I didn’t plan for anyone to bust us. I wanted to tell them myself. Watch them lose their shit in real time. It was supposed to be… fun.”

“Yeah, baby, I know.” Remus reached for him, tugging gently at his wrist. Regulus resisted for all of two seconds before letting himself be pulled, kneeling between Remus’s knees like he was sulking.

“Well.” He sighed, sharp and theatrical, like the air had betrayed him. “It’s not… the worst timing, I guess.”

“You think?” Remus asked, mouth twitching.

“I mean—snow makes it harder to bury bodies, but you know.” Regulus shrugged, still prickly. “Christmas and all. I could visit you without making up a hundred excuses if we just… tell them now.”

Remus grinned. “Yeah, you can visit me. C’mere.” His hands slid to Regulus’s hips, tugging until Regulus gave in and settled over his lap, straddling him with a scowl that didn’t match how quickly he moved.

“You wanna tell them now-now?” Remus asked, eyes gleaming.

“Not like tomorrow,” Regulus muttered, leaning closer, “but… soon.”

“Soon’s good enough.”

Regulus tilted his head, dark hair falling into his eyes. “You’re such an idiot, Remus Lupin,” he whispered dramatically, as though he were cursing him.

And then he kissed him like he wanted to ruin him.

Remus let him, smiling into it, because that’s how it always went—Regulus spitting venom and Remus just steady enough to take it, to tug him closer until the fight burned itself out.

“He really won’t tell anyone?” Regulus asked when they finally pulled apart, lips still brushing Remus’s jaw. His voice was calm, almost too calm—the kind of calm that promised violence. “Because if he’s about to, I’ll have to beat him to it.” He said it solemnly, like he was offering a public service.

“He won’t,” Remus promised, hand sliding lazily down Regulus’s back. “Swear it.”

Regulus huffed, shifting until he could tuck his head under Remus’s chin, the picture of casual possession. “Alright,” he muttered finally, muffled against his shirt. “Hope you warned him I’ll murder him if he spills.”

“I did,” Remus said dryly. “Told him I’d kill him too.”

A beat of silence. Then Regulus gave a low, satisfied hum. “We’re such a healthy couple of young boys.”

“Poster children for well-adjusted relationships everywhere,” Remus deadpanned, carding his fingers lazily through Regulus’s hair.

They lay like that for a moment, quiet but comfortable, the kind of silence that didn’t need filling. Then Remus said, almost absently, “He asked me if we cuddle.”

Regulus shifted, just enough to glance up at him with a scowl. “Which we don’t, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Remus agreed. He had Regulus draped all over him, his arms wrapped tight around his waist, head pressed into his chest. “Because this is not cuddling.”

“Not at all,” Regulus sniffed. “I’m not a wuss.”

“No. Definitely not.” Remus’s mouth twitched, fighting a grin. “You’re just… straddling me. Clinging. Burying your face in my neck.”

“That’s not cuddling. That’s…” Regulus hesitated, scowling deeper as he searched for a word that wouldn’t betray him. “Strategic body placement.”

“Strategic,” Remus repeated, flat as a stone.

“Yes,” Regulus said firmly, like daring him to laugh. “Perfectly rational. Not emotional. Nothing to do with affection.”

Remus gave in, finally letting himself chuckle, low in his throat. He pressed a kiss to the top of Regulus’s hair and murmured, “Whatever you say, kitten.”

“Don’t,” Regulus warned instantly, muffled against his chest. “Don’t start with that.”

But he didn’t move.

“And, hey,” Regulus added suddenly, still not lifting his head. Which was the tell. The universal, ‘I’m embarrassed by asking but I also need to know’ posture he always did when he thought vulnerability was a personal weakness. His voice was quieter, edged with false casualness. “About Christmas?”

Remus frowned faintly, thumb brushing the sharp line of his jaw. “What about it?”

Regulus shifted, uncomfortable, still refusing to meet his eyes. “...You really want me to come? Or are you just—” he paused, lips tightening. “Inviting me because you’re polite?”

Remus blinked. “Polite?”

“You know.” Regulus gave a tiny shrug against his chest, trying to sound disinterested and failing miserably. “Like when people say, ‘Oh, come over sometime,’ but don’t actually mean it. I don’t want to…” He trailed off, scowling. “...show up where I’m not wanted.”

Remus’s chest tightened. He tilted Regulus’s chin up with two fingers until their eyes met. “I really want you to come.” His voice was steady, no hesitation.

Regulus searched his face like he didn’t quite believe it, eyes sharp even in the dim light. “...I can hear your mind trying to come up with innuendo, you know.”

Remus’s mouth twitched. “That’s your mind, Reg.”

Regulus groaned and buried his face back against his throat, voice muffled. “Shut up and hold me.”

So Remus did. Arms firm around his back, pulling him close enough that Regulus finally let himself exhale. The silence stretched between them again, the good kind, heavy with everything neither of them would say out loud. 

 

The next day, Peter tried so hard not to look at them that he ended up watching them the entire fucking day. Breakfast, lunch, even the smoke break between classes. He didn’t blink once, eyes glued to Remus and Regulus like he was running a personal investigation.

His verdict? Delivered with the subtlety of a brick to the face.

“You act like bloody mates!” he hissed at Remus as they headed down the snowy path to Herbology, James and Sirius walking a safe distance ahead. “Not even a touch. Nothing.”

“It’s called secret dating, Pete,” Remus reminded him flatly.

Peter narrowed his eyes, suspicion all over his face. “You sure you two even like each other? This isn’t just, like… friends with benefits?”

Remus actually snorted. “Trust me, it’s not.”

Peter kept staring, dissatisfied. “Then what did he say when you told him I know?”

“That he hoped I warned you he’d kill you if you spilled.” Remus didn’t even blink, delivered it like a weather report.

Peter groaned dramatically, kicking at the snow piled under his boots. “He’s so—so— so Black.”

“He is,” Remus agreed with a nod, deadpan as ever.

Peter let out another groan, throwing his hands in the air. “I can’t believe I’m the only one in on this. It’s killing me.”

“Good,” Remus said. “Suffer quietly.”

“You know he doesn’t even look at me differently today?” Peter demanded, incredulous, as if that fact alone broke the laws of nature. “If I were him, I’d be dying.”

“If you were him, you’d be scared of your own magic abilities.”

“Hey!” Peter shoved him hard enough to make him stumble on the icy path, which only made Remus laugh. The sound, unfortunately, caught the attention of Sirius and James up ahead.

“What’s so funny, Moons?” James called back, narrowing his eyes in mock suspicion.

“Nothing,” Remus said smoothly, smirking. “Keep going, Prongs.”

“Oh my god,” Peter gasped, grabbing Remus’s arm like he’d just solved a murder case. “He’s gonna have an aneurysm. Forget Pads— Prongs will kill you for ‘betrayal’ and all that dramatic shit.”

“Please.” Remus snorted. “He’s with Rosier. Two creepy stalkers together at last. He’ll survive me and Reg.”

Peter froze mid-step, eyes going wide. “Wait. Wait wait wait. Does Regulus know that Prongs stalked him on the map for, like, two years?”

Remus’s smirk faltered. “...No.”

Peter stopped dead, jaw practically in the snow. “You didn’t tell him?!”

“I don’t want to die, alright?” Remus hissed, lowering his voice even as his eyes flicked toward James and Sirius up ahead. “And I will. He’d kill me, un-kill me just so I could watch him murder Prongs, and then kill me again for fun.”

Peter blinked at him, scandalized. “Mate, you’re dating the most vicious person in this entire castle and you’re lying to him?”

“I’m not lying. It’s called selective truth,” Remus huffed, shoving his hands deep in his coat pockets. “And besides, he was hiding shit from me too.”

“Like?” Peter prompted instantly, because of course he did.

“Like the fact that a) he knew I was a werewolf for years, and b) that Rosier was cating me—”

“Cating?” Peter repeated, horrified. “What the fuck is ‘cating’?”

“When you stalk people in your Animagus form. Cat plus stalking. Cating.” Remus rolled his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Anyway—my point? He’s kept things from me too. So no, I don’t feel like ruining the fragile tolerance Reg has for Prongs by telling him about the shower surveillance era.”

Peter stared at him for a long, painful beat, his face twisted like he was watching someone light their own funeral pyre. “Dude. You’re fucked.”

Remus sniffed, unimpressed, and pushed open the greenhouse door. “Thanks for your input.”

But still, for the rest of the day, Remus chewed on what Peter had said—because of course he did. Once something lodged itself in his mind, it dug in like a parasite. He couldn’t just shake it off, couldn’t shove it into a corner and leave it there. Instead of perfecting his hex for Nott in the library like he’d planned, he spent three solid hours turning it over and over, thinking about whether he should tell Regulus what James used to do.

He knew he should.

And he knew he didn’t want to.

But then again… he didn’t want to think about how Regulus would react if he ever found out by accident.

By the time he made it to the hidden room that night, Remus had worked himself into a headache. Regulus was already there, sprawled across the bed with a book open on his chest, his tie undone and his hair mussed in a way that screamed I’m hot and I don’t even have to try.

“You look like shit,” Regulus said without looking up.

“Thanks,” Remus muttered, dropping his bag harder than necessary.

Regulus finally glanced at him, sharp eyes flicking over his face. “What crawled under your skin this time?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” Regulus shut his book and sat up, leaning forward with that slow, predatory sort of grace that always made Remus want to roll his eyes and kiss him at the same time. “You’ve had that constipated expression all day. Spit it out.”

Remus froze, caught. His throat felt dry. “It’s not… it’s nothing important.”

Regulus arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Lupin, if you’re about to dump me, at least have the decency to do it when I’m drunk.”

Remus barked a laugh, sharp and humorless. “I’m not dumping you.”

“Good. So what is it, then?”

He hesitated. The words pressed against his teeth, ugly and heavy. He could not picture Regulus’s reaction to this. He could already hear the fallout, taste the venom in the back of his throat.

“James,” he blurted finally.

Regulus’s eyes narrowed instantly. “What about Potter?”

“Fuck.” Remus scrubbed his hands over his face. “He… used to… watch you. On the map.”

Silence. Thick, choking.

Regulus blinked once, slow, his face going blank in that terrifying Black way. “Excuse me?”

“Not in a—well, okay, yeah, in a creepy way. He used to check where you were. Sometimes. A lot of times. And I didn’t—”

“How long?” Regulus’s voice was ice.

Remus swallowed. “Since fifth year.”

Regulus just stared at him, jaw tight, hands clenched in his lap like he was actively stopping himself from drawing his wand.

Remus winced. “I wasn’t gonna tell you, but Peter—”

“Peter?” Regulus snapped. “Peter Pettigrew knows about this and I didn’t?”

Remus groaned. “Don’t start—”

Regulus shot to his feet. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Which one?”

“All of them!”

Regulus was pacing now, every step precise, like he was measuring the room with the sole purpose of burning it down later.

“He watched me.” His voice was flat, razor-sharp. “On your fucking idiots’ map. For years.”

Remus rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Reg, it’s not—”

“Don’t you dare downplay this, Lupin.” Regulus’s head snapped toward him, eyes dark and cutting. “He tracked me like some fucking—some specimen. Do you know how—” His jaw locked, words choking off, too sharp to force through.

Remus stood, cautious. “I do know, alright? That’s why I didn’t tell you. Because I knew you’d react like this.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—do you mean correctly?” Regulus hissed. “Because the appropriate response to finding out Potter was practically jerking off to my sleeping schedule is to set him on fire.”

“Jesus Christ,” Remus muttered.

Regulus’s hands flexed like he wanted a wand in them. “He was watching me in the showers, wasn’t he?”

Remus winced. “…sometimes.”

Regulus let out a brittle laugh, dangerous in its calm. “Brilliant. Fantastic. Absolutely wonderful. I hope he enjoyed the show, because he’s about to lose his fucking eyes.”

“Reg.” Remus caught him by the wrist, tugging until Regulus half-turned. “You cannot hex James Potter blind in the middle of the Great Hall.”

“Why not?” Regulus snapped. “He had no problem creeping on me for years, why should I care about his eyesight?”

“Because it’s James,” Remus said, exasperated. “He’ll milk it for sympathy for the next decade. You’ll never hear the end of it.”

Regulus scowled, torn between fury and disgust. “So your argument is that I shouldn’t maim him because he’ll be annoying about it?”

“Yes,” Remus said, deadly serious.

Regulus blinked, then huffed out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Unbelievable. I hate all of you.” He yanked his hand back and dropped onto the bed, arms crossed, every line of his body tight with fury.

Remus sat down beside him, close but not touching. “For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “I didn’t like it either. I told him to stop.”

Regulus turned his head just enough to glare. “And he listened?”

“... No.”

Regulus groaned, pressing his palms over his eyes. “I am going to kill him. You can’t stop me.”

Remus leaned back on his elbows, watching him. “Not saying I would. Just saying you should wait until after Christmas.”

That earned him a startled snort, muffled behind Regulus’s hands. “You’re insane.”

“I revoked his map privileges, alright?” Remus said defensively. “Like, when we started talking. Back in September.”

Regulus peeked at him through his fingers, brow arched. “You revoked it?”

“Reg, I basically made the damn map,” Remus replied, flat as stone. “It was my idea—”

“That’s actually fucking creepy,” Regulus cut in, eyes narrowing.

“No, it’s not,” Remus snapped back, already on edge. “We used it to sneak out, to prank Filch, to—”

“Until Potter decided to use it like a discount version of Pornhub!” Regulus hissed, every syllable dripping venom.

Remus groaned into his palms. “I really don’t want to talk about it like that.”

But Regulus had gone still. Too still. His head tilted just a fraction, that eerie, calculating look sliding across his face like shadows curling in. It was the look that always preceded violence.

“Wait,” he said, voice slow, deadly. “Wait just a damn minute.”

Remus’s stomach dropped. “Reg—”

“Did Sirius know?” Regulus asked, tone flat as a blade.

Remus swallowed hard, silent. That was all the confirmation Regulus needed.

His entire body went rigid. Then his lips peeled back in something too sharp to be a smile. “Oh, that absolute disgrace of the Black family. I’m going to kill him.”

“Reg—”

“No. No, don’t try to talk me down. Don’t even fucking try.” Regulus stood so fast the bed jolted. His hands flexed like he was already wrapping them around Sirius’s throat. “He knew. He knew, and he didn’t tell me? He sat there, letting Potter spy on me like—like I’m some entertainment for his pathetic little Gryffindor circus?”

“He told James to stop,” Remus said quickly, standing too, heart pounding. “All the time. He—”

“Not enough!” Regulus barked. His chest was heaving, his face flushed with a fury Remus rarely saw let loose. “Not enough if it went on for years. I swear to Salazar, I will hex him so hard he won’t—”

“Reg, please—”

“HE’S DEAD,” Regulus snarled, and in the blink of an eye, his form twisted, bones snapping and reforming, fur spilling out like ink. One second, furious boy; the next, a sleek black cat, bristling, tail lashing like a whip.

Before Remus could react, Regulus-cat was already sprinting out the door, claws scrabbling against stone. He was fast. Too fast.

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, counted to three, and muttered, “Fucking brilliant.” He shoved his bag over his shoulder and stalked after him, boots echoing down the corridor.

There was no stopping this. There was no reasoning with Regulus once his fury clicked into place. He wasn’t just pissed—he was Black pissed, which meant blood feud levels of destruction.

And Remus had the distinct, sinking feeling that by the time he caught up, there’d be a body on the floor. Maybe two.

Chapter 35: they only got louder

He could already hear Regulus shouting from the staircase up to the Gryffindor boys’ dorms. He couldn’t make out the words—just the sharp, furious cadence that promised blood—but he definitely caught Sirius yelling back. And then Peter’s voice, high and panicked, shrieking something that sounded alarmingly like “PUT DOWN THAT BROOM, REGULUS!”

“Oh, thank god you’re here,” the Fat Lady gasped the second she saw Remus. “They need a prefect. Or an exorcist. Probably both.”

“Mistletoe,” Remus said flatly.

“Don’t you mistletoe me, mister—”

“I said the password. Let me in before McGonagall comes storming down the hall.” Remus adjusted his bag strap with the air of a man walking to his own execution.

The Fat Lady huffed, rolled her eyes, and the portrait swung open.

Inside, the common room was silent, every single Gryffindor staring up at the staircase like it was a war front. And honestly? Fair enough. Because from above came the sound of something smashing—glass, sharp and final—and Remus really, really hoped it wasn’t his favorite mug. Sirius had given him that one. From Teen Wolf, of all things.

“Hey, Remus—” Lily started from somewhere near the fire, but he just blew past, already heading for the steps.

“Can’t talk, Lils,” he muttered, jaw tight, taking the stairs two at a time.

And then, clear as day, Sirius bellowed from upstairs:

“YOU THINK YOU’LL BEAT ME?!”

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. Fantastic. Absolutely fucking fantastic.

He didn’t even need to push the door open—they were already hanging wide, chaos spilling out of them like smoke. And the sight inside made Remus want to laugh, scream, and maybe just walk back down the stairs and pretend he hadn’t seen a thing.

Regulus was in full war mode, wand raised, hexes crackling out of it like fireworks. James was the unlucky target, trying desperately to shield himself, his “Protego! Protego!” sounding more like frantic apologies than real spells.

Sirius was plastered to the wall—literally glued there—bat clutched in his hand like he thought he was about to step onto a bloody Quidditch pitch. Next to him, Peter hovered nervously, but his eyes weren’t on Sirius; they were glued to Regulus, wide and wary, like a man watching a lion stalk its prey.

On the other side of the room, Evan looked two seconds away from phasing into the wall to escape, while Barty was leaning against James’s dresser, grinning like Christmas had come early. Which, knowing Barty, it basically had.

The room itself was a disaster zone. James’s broom lay in splintered pieces across the floor. Books were everywhere, spines cracked, pages fluttering like panicked birds. At least three mugs were shattered across the carpet. None of them were Remus’s, thank fucking God. James’s sheets were yanked into a heap in the middle of the floor, like Regulus had ripped them straight off his bed. Judging from the state of James’s hair, Regulus had probably yanked him off the bed too. Then again, James’s hair always looked like he’d been electrocuted, so that was mostly guesswork.

Remus sighed, shut the door behind him, and casually flicked his wand at the frame. A silencing charm. Because no one else in the bloody tower needed to know what this fight was about.

“—AND DON’T YOU FUCKING TRY TO SAY YOU DIDN’T MEAN IT, YOU PATHETIC, USELESS, LAST-TWO-BRAIN-CELLS-BASHING-TOGETHER-EXCUSE-FOR-A-GRYPHON—” Regulus was roaring, each insult punctuated with another hex that barely missed James’s head. Sparks flew, one singeing the curtains.

“I DIDN’T!” James was yelling back, voice cracking, wand hand jerking like he was swatting bees. His shields lasted barely two seconds against Regulus’s barrage before shattering into fizzled light.

“YOU HAVE ANY FUCKING IDEA HOW MESSED UP YOU ARE?” Regulus bellowed, eyes blazing, another curse flying.

“I TOLD YOU—” James started.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE OPEN YOUR MOUTH, POTTER. YOU’RE DEAD.”

Remus just leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Honestly? He had never in his life rooted harder for Regulus Black.

“MOONY!” Sirius wheezed from the wall, straining against invisible bonds. His chest rose shallowly, like something was crushing his lungs. Probably one of Regulus’s hexes.

“DON’T YOU MOVE, LUPIN,” Regulus barked at him, not even glancing over. He flicked his wand again and sent another spell screaming at James, who barely managed to duck.

And Remus, despite himself, couldn’t help the faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“YOU’RE LUCKY I CAN’T USE DARK MAGIC, YOU PATHETIC PIECE OF SHIT!” Regulus bellowed, wand snapping down in a vicious flick. The spell cracked through James’s shield and hit him square in the chest. James’s eyes bulged, his mouth opened in a soundless cry, and suddenly his entire body was smoking —thin tendrils curling off him like he was about to fucking evaporate.

Regulus stalked forward, eyes murderous. “I SWEAR TO MERLIN, IF I EVER HEAR AGAIN THAT YOU TOUCHED THAT GODDAMN MAP, I WILL RIP YOUR FUCKING ARMS OUT OF THEIR SOCKETS AND CLAW YOUR EYES FROM YOUR SKULL.”

Across the room, Barty folded in half, cackling into his sleeve like he’d just won the lottery. Peter gave Remus a wide-eyed look full of pity, like sorry your boyfriend’s insane, mate. Evan, pale as parchment, made a break for the door—only for Remus to shove him right back inside with a lazy flick of his hand.

“Oh, no,” Remus said, tilting his head, tone dry as bone. “You’re staying right here. You’re gonna watch this, and later you’ll thank me for never ratting you out for stalking me.”

“Fuck,” Evan muttered, dragging his hand down his face.

“AND YOU!” Regulus spun on Sirius like a predator catching new prey, voice sharp enough to cut glass. “ALL YOUR BULLSHIT ABOUT LOYALTY, ABOUT BROTHERHOOD, ABOUT—” He switched mid-sentence, snarling in rapid French, the kind that sounded like it could peel skin off bone. Then, without missing a beat, he slid into Latin like it was nothing.

Sirius’s jaw clenched, and he snapped right back at him in French, voice rising until they were practically spitting fire at each other. Finally, Sirius tore himself loose from the binding spell pinning him to the wall, wand blazing to life.

And then the duel truly started.

The dorm became a war zone. Spells ricocheted, crashing against walls, searing through bookshelves, sparking across the floor. James rolled out of the way, coughing smoke, clutching his ribs, still muted by Regulus’s curse. Peter dove behind Sirius’s trunk, squeaking every time sparks flew too close.

Sirius and Regulus were locked in dead even—brother against brother, both too talented, both too furious. Sirius’s curse ripped through the air, slicing strands of Regulus’s perfect dark hair clean off. They drifted down like black snowflakes. Regulus didn’t even blink, just whipped his wand back and slashed Sirius across the cheek. Blood beaded instantly, bright against his pale skin.

And they only got louder.

Regulus roared something guttural, Sirius howled right back, both voices climbing in volume until the walls shook. Their spells were getting darker—too dark—ugly little shadows curling off the wand tips that made Remus’s gut twist.

He’d had enough.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, Remus stepped forward, wand raised. Protego Maxima. The shield slammed up between them, translucent and solid as glass, stopping both their curses mid-air. The spells sizzled and sparked, crackling like lightning against the barrier.

Both Blacks spun toward him instantly.

“LUPIN!” Regulus thundered, whipping around, wand leveled right at his chest. His eyes were molten with rage.

Sirius mirrored him, bleeding and feral, wand also pointed straight at him.

Remus didn’t even flinch. His face was flat, unimpressed, like a teacher catching children brawling in the hallway. And then, before either of them could blink, he muttered, “Impedimenta.”

Twin bursts of magic shot out, slamming into both brothers. Sirius froze mid-step, arm half-raised. Regulus locked in place, wand still trained on Remus, eyes burning but body stuck like stone.

The dorm fell into sudden, eerie silence—except for Barty, who wheezed like he was about to piss himself from laughter.

Remus exhaled through his nose, pocketed his wand with deliberate calm, and muttered, “Children.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Peter panted, clutching his ribs like he’d just barely dodged death—which, knowing Regulus, he probably had before Remus got into the room.

“Lupin!” Barty wheezed, bent over with laughter. “That was the best part—!”

“Shut up,” Remus snapped without even looking at him, eyes still on the chaos.

“I think I’m dying,” James croaked from the floor, coughing like his lungs were on fire.

“Good,” Remus replied flatly. His voice carried the weight of a guillotine. He tilted his head toward James. “You thought he’d never find out?”

James flinched, guilt and smoke clinging to him. “I didn’t think my best mate would tell him!” he groaned.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t have—” Remus said, one shoulder lifting in a casual shrug, “—if you weren’t popping a fucking boner every time Regulus went for a shower.”

That was enough to snap both spells. Regulus broke free at the exact same time Sirius did, and the two of them rounded on Remus like wolves, both breathing hard, both seething.

“I’ll kill you,” Regulus spat, voice venom-soaked, wand twitching like a trigger finger.

“Go on,” Remus said evenly, raising an eyebrow, daring him.

For a second, it looked like Regulus might actually hex him. His wand twitched, his jaw locked. But he didn’t—whether because he remembered Remus was a werewolf who could snap his spine in half, or because some part of him remembered they were actually together. Instead, Regulus spun back to Sirius, eyes blazing.

“You’re pathetic,” he hissed.

Sirius, still clutching the fresh cut on his cheek and sucking in ragged breaths, glared right back. “I was on your side the whole fucking time, Reg!” he barked.

“NOT ENOUGH!” Regulus shot back, voice cracking with rage.

“YOU LITTLE—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Remus muttered, finally snapping. He yanked his wand back up and flicked his wrist. “Expelliarmus!”

Both Black brothers’ wands ripped from their hands, flying clean into Remus’s grip. The room froze, all eyes snapping to him.

“You’re not about to murder each other over James fucking Potter,” Remus said flatly, voice low and dangerous.

“Try me!” Regulus snarled, teeth bared. “And give me back my fucking wand.”

Remus just flicked his wrist. Both wands burst into ash midair, evaporating like smoke. Sirius let out a sharp, indignant shriek like someone had gutted him, while Regulus immediately roared, “YOU FUCKING WEREWOLF!”

Coming from him, in his current state, it was almost a term of endearment.

Remus ignored them both. He turned instead to James, who was still gagging like he’d inhaled a chimney, and lazily flicked away Regulus’s last curse. James collapsed against the wall in relief, gulping down air.

“Next time,” Remus said, his voice cutting through the smoke and chaos like a blade, “I’ll let him finish you.”

The room went still. Regulus froze mid-snarling comeback, Sirius’s mouth hung half-open like he was about to launch into another tirade. Even Barty stopped laughing.

Remus pushed himself off the wall, slow and deliberate, like a predator stretching its claws. His eyes swept the room, sharp as hexes.

“Alright. Here’s what’s going to happen.” His tone dropped, calm but edged like broken glass. “James—you’re shutting the fuck up about the map. If you so much as think about it again, I’ll personally staple your tongue to the floorboards.”

James opened his mouth—then shut it when Remus’s gaze pinned him. He nodded, pale.

“Sirius.” Remus’s tone shifted, flat as stone. “You don’t get to play both sides and then scream betrayal when it blows up. Either stay out of it or deal with Regulus head-on. But if I hear you so much as breathe around this subject again, you’ll be hexing dungbombs out of your own ears for a month. Understood?”

Sirius’s jaw tightened, pride prickling. He started to argue, then caught the look in Remus’s eyes—something feral, something not entirely human—and shut his mouth. He gave a sharp nod.

“And you.” Remus turned to Regulus, voice lowering another octave. Not gentle, but not unkind either. “You don’t get to torch a dorm room every time someone pisses you off. You want to duel your brother, you do it outside, not in the middle of Gryffindor Tower with half the bloody House watching. If you pull this shit again, I’ll lock you in the room myself and ward it so tight not even your cat form will get out. Clear?”

Regulus bristled, eyes flashing like he wanted to kill him for daring. But Remus didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. The tension stretched, electric—until finally, with a sharp exhale, Regulus looked away.

“Clear,” he muttered through his teeth.

Remus nodded once, decisive. “Good. Crouch, stop laughing before I hex your jaw off. Rosier, if you try to crawl out of this room again, I’ll tie you to a chair until it’s over. Peter—thanks for not dying. Everyone else?” His eyes swept the wreckage of the dorm, the shattered glass, the scorch marks across the ceiling. “Congratulations. You’re all on cleaning duty. Tonight. Now.”

There was a stunned beat of silence before Barty muttered, “Holy fuck,” under his breath, still grinning but quieter.

Remus pocketed his wand and sat down heavily on James’s destroyed bedframe, rubbing the bridge of his nose. His voice softened, but it was still sharp enough to cut.

“Pull your shit together. All of you. I’m not babysitting grown arseholes.”

The silence after Remus’s order was thick enough to choke on. Chairs scraped. Wands flicked. Books righted themselves shakily back onto shelves. Nobody dared look at him for longer than a second.

Regulus, of course, had to open his mouth.

“Christ,” he muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear. “You sound like McGonagall with fangs.”

Barty nearly folded in half again trying not to howl. James choked on a laugh he immediately disguised as a cough. Even Sirius cracked the edge of a grin.

Remus didn’t so much as twitch. He just looked at Regulus, slow and deliberate, like a wolf deciding whether or not to bite.

“Careful,” he said, voice low. “I don’t need detentions to hand out punishments.”

That shut everyone up again. Regulus arched one perfect eyebrow, clearly itching to snap back—but then, with a smirk curling at the edge of his mouth, he bent to pick up a scorched pillowcase instead.

“Still hot when you’re terrifying,” he murmured, mostly for Remus, though Peter’s scandalized snort proved he heard.

When the room finally looked halfway presentable again—scorch marks fading, books stacked in uneven towers, shattered mugs vanished into dust—Sirius, still bleeding and with his hair stuck to the gash on his cheek, lifted his eyes toward Remus.

“…Can I have my wand back?” he muttered, almost sheepish.

Remus tilted his head theatrically, twirling Sirius’s wand between his fingers like a knife. “Sure. Apologize to your brother first.”

“MOONY!” Sirius yelped, indignant.

Regulus outright cackled, clutching his side.

“Oh, you think this is funny?” Remus’s eyebrow arched, sharp as a blade. “You’re apologizing too.”

“I’m not fucking—” Regulus started, jaw snapping open for another tirade.

“Fine,” Remus cut him off, voice like steel. He stood, his height and weight suddenly filling the room in a way that made even Barty shut up. “You two are staying here until you make up. You’re giving me a fucking headache, and it’s not even close to the full moon yet. I’m this close to owling your goddamn mother.”

That landed. Even Regulus flinched. Sirius’s jaw dropped like he’d just been Crucio’d.

“The rest of you—” Remus’s gaze swept across James, Peter, Barty, and Evan, sharp enough to cut. “Out. And someone take James to the hospital wing. He’s been breathing smoke for twenty minutes like a broken chimney.”

With a lazy flick of his wand, Remus sealed the windows and layered a Protego Maxima across the walls. Even without wands, the Blacks were more than capable of hexing each other into oblivion.

“Come on,” Evan muttered, grabbing James by the elbow.

The four of them shuffled out—James hacking up smoke with every step, Evan dragging him and Peter glancing nervously between Remus and the brothers left behind.

Barty lingered in the doorway, smirk stretching across his sharp face. “Well,” he hummed. “You’re weirdly hot when you’re in charge, Lupin.”

Remus’s glare cut like knives. “One more word and I hex you into next week.”

Barty’s grin only widened. “Promises, promises.”

Peter yanked him out by the sleeve before Remus made good on the threat.

The door slammed shut. Silence settled heavy over the wrecked dorm, just the two Black brothers left glaring holes through each other and Remus standing between them, wand loose but ready.

The silence didn’t last long.

“Moony,” Sirius finally snapped, tone sharp but still bleeding with his usual dramatics. “You can’t seriously expect me to apologize to him.” He jabbed a finger at Regulus like he’d just been handed a dead rat.

Regulus scoffed, arms crossed tight, his lip curling. “Apologize? To you? For existing, maybe. Otherwise, you can rot.”

“See? He’s impossible!” Sirius barked, throwing his hands up. “This is why I have gray hair! This—this—” He gestured wildly at Regulus like he was some sort of cursed object. “This thing—”

“Thing?” Regulus’s voice went razor-sharp, and Remus swore he saw the temperature in the room drop. “You sanctimonious, hypocritical, self-absorbed—”

“Enough,” Remus snapped, the single word cutting through them like a whip. His prefect voice was bad enough. This was worse. Low, dangerous, edged with wolf.

Both Blacks froze.

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re both bloody nightmares. One of you nearly set James on fire, the other nearly collapsed the ward with that overgrown broom—”

“He deserved it,” Regulus muttered.

“Shut up,” Sirius shot back.

“Both of you shut up,” Remus barked, and the dorm fell into silence again. He dropped his hand and leveled them with a glare that could’ve rivaled McGonagall’s. “I don’t care if you hate each other right now. I don’t care if you want to duel until one of you is a scorch mark on the wall. Not in my dorm. Not in my house. You got that?”

They stared. Both furious, both stubborn, both breathing hard.

Then Regulus, because of course he couldn’t resist, muttered, “You do sound like McGonagall. It’s creepy.”

Sirius snorted before he could stop himself.

Remus’s head snapped toward him.

“I didn’t laugh!” Sirius yelped.

“Yes, you did,” Regulus hissed, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

And just like that, the edge softened a fraction. Not much, but enough.

Remus sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’re both insufferable. Just… I don’t know. Shake hands. Spit on each other. I don’t care. But this—” he gestured at the wreckage “—is done.”

Sirius rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out. “You’re worse than our mother.”

“He thinks we’ll cave,” Regulus muttered under his breath, darkly amused.

But Sirius chewed his lip, visibly fighting himself for a good thirty seconds before he finally cracked. “Fine,” he ground out. “I’m sorry. But for the record, I was telling Prongs to stop stalking you.”

Regulus gave a sharp, skeptical huff. “You should’ve told me.”

“I know.” Sirius scrubbed a hand down his jaw, looking ten years older for it. “But you’d have killed him for real, and—you know.”

Regulus crossed his arms tighter, chin tilted in pure Black hauteur. “I would have. Now, if Lupin didn’t have a goddamn hero complex.”

Remus rolled his eyes but didn’t bother answering. This was so them —try to murder each other first, then slip right back into their rhythm like nothing happened. He’d stopped keeping track of the cycle sometime around first year.

Sirius let out a sharp snort and shot him a sideways glance. “He’s the worst. Always makes me apologize to Pete, too.”

“He is the worst,” Regulus sniffed, like they’d found common ground at last. Then he flicked his gaze to Remus, deadpan. “I hate you.”

Remus dipped his head in mock acknowledgment.

“And I’m… sorry for trying to set your hair on fire,” Regulus muttered toward Sirius, each word dragged like it was costing him blood.

Sirius’s grin split wide. “It was a good hex, though.”

“Thanks. Bella taught me.”

“Obviously.” Sirius actually laughed, that bark of his echoing off the walls.

And just like that, it was over. No handshake, no hug, no grand gesture—just two Black brothers standing amid the ruins, trading insults like compliments and somehow calling it truce.

Remus dragged his hands down his face. They’d be at each other’s throats again by next week.

He tossed their wands back without a word.

“Thanks, Moony,” Sirius beamed, immediately flicking his wand to grow back the strands of Regulus’s hair he’d hexed off.

“Twat,” Regulus muttered, flicking his own wand in return to seal the cut on Sirius’s cheek.

“Children. Fucking children,” Remus muttered under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You love us,” Sirius winked, utterly unrepentant. “We’re entertaining.”

“You’re insane,” Remus shot back flatly.

“We’re Blacks,” Sirius and Regulus said in eerie unison.

Remus half-groaned, half-laughed, because of course they did.

The door creaked open just as Remus was about to collapse into James’s chair and pretend none of this had happened.

Peter poked his head in, wide-eyed, clearly expecting carnage still in progress. “...You’re healing each other?” he squeaked.

Regulus turned his head slowly, eyes narrowing. “Do you want me to reverse it?”

Peter flinched back into the hallway like he’d been hexed. “No! Nope. Carry on. Very wholesome. Love the family bonding.”

Sirius barked out a laugh. “See, Wormy gets it. We’re practically a Hallmark card.”

“Hallmark card written in blood,” Remus muttered.

Peter peeked back in, gaze flicking between the three of them like he was trying to piece together a riddle. “You know… this was way less terrifying when I thought you two just hated each other for a bit. At least then it was predictable.”

“Don’t get comfortable,” Regulus warned, but his voice lacked the bite.

“Yeah, mate,” Sirius added, smirking. “Give it ten minutes, we’ll be hexing each other again. Family tradition.”

Peter groaned, raking a hand through his hair. “I’m going to need so much firewhisky to deal with this.”

Remus smirked. “Join the queue.”

Chapter 36: sucker punch

Notes:

short chapters are so refreshing dont you think

Remus didn’t hear from Regulus for the whole evening after he stormed out of Gryffindor Tower muttering something about “before Potter gets back and I fucking kill him.” And Remus—well, he was pretty sure he was fucked. Probably for waiting this long to tell him the truth.

Honestly?

He knew he was fucked. Especially since Regulus hadn’t texted him back even once, and one of the messages had been a cute picture of a cat. (No, Remus was not about to explain himself for that.)

So he made peace with the fact that he’d be sleeping alone tonight.

Fine. Not peace. He was pissed off. At everything. Especially at James, who had single-handedly started this mess and was now lying cold-dead on his bed after chugging down five separate potions from Madame Pomfrey. According to Evan, James now had the lungs of a ninety-year-old chain smoker. Also according to Evan, James’s stamina was nonexistent, and Remus really, really didn’t want to think about that.

Sirius was off with Barty in the Room of Requirement, which meant another thing Remus wasn’t going to think about.

Peter had passed out mid-sentence about how “all Blacks are so fucked up, I swear to Bible.” He wasn’t even religious.

It was well past midnight when the claws tapped against the window.

Remus almost fell off his bed. His wand was in his hand before his brain even caught up, but then he saw the shape on the sill: sleek, black fur, grey eyes, tail flicking like he owned the place.

“Unbelievable,” Remus muttered, getting up to open it.

Regulus slipped inside in his Animagus form, graceful and smug as always, then stretched like he hadn’t just ghosted him for hours. His claws clicked across the floorboards before he shifted back into himself, already peeling off his jumper like nothing was wrong.

“You’re a fucking menace,” Remus snapped in a low hiss, careful not to wake Peter.

Regulus arched an eyebrow, completely unbothered. “Good evening to you too.”

“Evening?” Remus’s voice spiked. “You disappear all bloody day after trying to murder three people in my dorm, ignore every text I send you, and then just—” he gestured wildly, “—cat your way through my window at midnight?”

Regulus crawled onto his bed without missing a beat, stealing Remus’s pillow. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Remus repeated, incredulous.

“Yes. Obviously.” Regulus tucked himself under the blanket, not even looking at him. “Now shut up and get in. You’re loud.”

Remus stared. He was going to die of an aneurysm. Right here. At eighteen.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, shoving his bag to the floor and crawling in anyway, because of course he did.

Regulus hummed like he’d won something, pressing himself right against Remus’s side. “I know.”

Remus huffed but still cast the silencing charm, followed by the anti-opening spell on the curtains. When he turned back, Regulus was already sprawled beside him like he owned the bed: arm around Remus’s waist like always, head tucked into the crook of his shoulder, face irritatingly peaceful. His shirt had slipped off one shoulder, pale skin catching the sliver of moonlight—enough to spark heat low in Remus’s stomach.

He was infuriating in how perfect he was.

“So,” Remus tried, voice careful. “You mad at me?”

Regulus cracked one eye open, lazy. “Not really.”

That knocked Remus off balance. “Wait. What?”

“I mean… yeah, I wish you told me sooner, obviously.” Regulus rolled his eyes like it was the most boring thing in the world. “But I didn’t tell you about Evan cating you either, so… I’d lose that fight anyway.”

“You’re usually always losing our fights,” Remus muttered.

“Shut up, Lupin.” Regulus glared at him in the dark—sharp, dangerous, and unfairly pretty.

And then he was kissing him. Really kissing him: his hand sliding under Remus’s shirt, nails grazing skin, his tongue parting Remus’s lips like it belonged there. He threw a leg over Remus’s hips, pinning him. It was sudden, unapologetic, and not at all the kind of make-up Remus had expected—but he wasn’t enough of an idiot to question it.

He let himself sink into it, dizzy and annoyed all at once, thinking— this boy is going to kill me, and I’ll let him.

Regulus bit his bottom lip when he pulled back, just enough to smirk. “You’re slow tonight, Lupin. What, losing your edge?”

Remus’s hands tightened automatically at his waist. “You come in here with claws at my bloody window and start mauling me—sorry if I don’t immediately catch up.”

“You’re whining,” Regulus accused, voice smug. “Very unflattering.”

“You’re unbearable,” Remus shot back, but he still arched into the hand sliding lower under his shirt. His breath stuttered when Regulus’s nails dragged down his ribs.

“That’s why you like me,” Regulus whispered against his jaw, before sinking his teeth into it—hard enough to bruise.

“Fuck, Reg—”

“Language,” Regulus muttered, mock-reproachful, as if he wasn’t grinding down on Remus’s hips with deliberate slowness.

Remus caught his wrist and flipped them before Regulus could blink, pinning him flat against the mattress. His voice came out rough, too close to a growl. “You’re trying to piss me off.”

Regulus smirked up at him, hair messy across the pillow, lips swollen. “And it’s working.”

“Every goddamn time,” Remus muttered, kissing him again, harder this time, teeth clashing, breath stolen. Their fights always bled into this—spite, heat, stubbornness dissolving into something messy and addictive.

Regulus tugged his hair, forcing his head back. “Missionary,” he said, low and sharp, like a challenge. 

Remus’s laugh was ragged against his throat. “You’re deranged.”

“You like it.”

And fuck—he did. He always did.

“You’re still pissed,” Regulus murmured, voice low and rough, like he was daring Remus to snap. His lips were swollen from their earlier kiss, red and glistening, and his eyes held a glint of defiance that made Remus want to both strangle and devour him.

“Course I am,” Remus growled, leaning down until their noses brushed, his breath hot against Regulus’s mouth. “You ghost me all day, claw your way into my bed, and think you can just—” He cut himself off, teeth grazing Regulus’s jaw, hard enough to make him hiss. “—start shit like nothing happened.”

Regulus’s laugh was sharp, breathless, and infuriatingly smug. “You’re so easy to rile up, Lupin.” He arched his hips deliberately, grinding against Remus’s hardening cock, the friction sparking heat that shot straight through him. “It’s almost pathetic.”

“Pathetic?” Remus’s voice dropped, dangerous, his grip tightening on Regulus’s wrists until he felt the bones shift beneath his fingers. “You’re the one begging for it.” He pressed himself down, pinning Regulus’s hips to the mattress, relishing the way his breath caught, the way his smirk faltered for just a second.

“Begging?” Regulus’s eyes flashed, and he yanked one wrist free with a twist, his nails raking down Remus’s back under his shirt, leaving stinging trails. “You wish.” But his voice cracked at the edges, and when Remus rocked against him, slow and deliberate, Regulus’s head tipped back, exposing the long, pale line of his throat.

Remus didn’t hesitate. His mouth found that pulse point, sucking hard enough to bruise, teeth scraping just shy of breaking skin. Regulus gasped—a raw, broken sound that went straight to Remus’s groin—and his free hand tangled in Remus’s hair, tugging sharp enough to sting.

 “Fuck—Remus—”

“Language,” Remus mocked as he bit down again, lower, at the junction of neck and shoulder.

Regulus’s body arched into him, hips bucking, and Remus could feel the hard length of him through the thin fabric of his trousers, straining, desperate. It was a power trip, watching Regulus Black— sharp-tongued, untouchable Regulus —unravel beneath him.

“Shut up,” Regulus hissed, but it was half-hearted, his voice fracturing as Remus’s hand slid under his shirt, shoving it up to expose the lean planes of his stomach. 

Remus’s fingers traced the sharp ridges of his ribs, the faint scars that crisscrossed his skin—remnants of childhood fights and Black family expectations. Each one made Remus want to mark him further, claim him in a way no one else ever could.

“You’re so fucking mouthy,” Remus muttered, his lips brushing Regulus’s collarbone as he shoved the shirt higher, bunching it under his armpits. He dragged his tongue across a nipple, circling it slowly before biting just hard enough to make Regulus jerk, a low moan spilling out before he could bite it back.

“Fuck you,” Regulus gasped, but his hands betrayed him, clawing at Remus’s shoulders, pulling him closer. His nails dug in, sharp enough to draw blood, and Remus hissed, the pain only fueling the heat pooling low in his gut.

“Oh, you will,” Remus growled, yanking Regulus’s trousers down in one rough motion, taking his boxers with them. 

Regulus’s cock sprang free, flushed and leaking, and Remus didn’t waste time—he wrapped a hand around it, stroking slow and firm, thumb circling the head to smear the precome. Regulus’s hips bucked, a choked sound tearing from his throat, and his head thrashed against the pillow, curls sticking to his sweat-damp forehead.

“Remus—fuck—slow down,” Regulus panted, but his body was saying the opposite, thrusting into Remus’s grip, chasing the friction. His hands scrabbled at the sheets, bunching them in his fists, and his eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide with want.

“Not a chance,” Remus said, voice rough as he leaned down to kiss him again, messy and brutal, teeth clashing, tongues fighting for control. Regulus bit his lower lip hard enough to sting, and Remus groaned into his mouth, stroking him faster, relishing the way Regulus’s moans vibrated against his lips.

Regulus’s hands moved, desperate now, fumbling with Remus’s pajama pants, his fingers clumsy with urgency. “Off,” he demanded, voice wrecked, and Remus didn’t argue.

He pulled back just enough to shove his own pants and boxers down, kicking them off the bed. His cock was achingly hard, dripping, and when Regulus’s hand closed around it, stroking with the same rough precision Remus had used, he nearly lost it right there.

“Fuck, Reg—” Remus’s voice broke, his forehead dropping to Regulus’s shoulder as he thrust into his grip. The heat of Regulus’s hand, the way his fingers tightened just right, was enough to make his vision blur.

“Thought you wanted to argue,” Regulus taunted, but his voice was shaky, his breath hitching as Remus’s thumb pressed against the slit of his cock, drawing another shudder from him. 

Remus laughed, ragged and low, and flipped Regulus onto his back with ease, pinning his hips to the mattress. 

“You’re such a little shit,” he muttered, but there was no heat in it—just raw, desperate want as he reached for the vial of lubricant Regulus had left in the drawer from their last time.

He coated his fingers, slick and cold, and slid one hand between Regulus’s thighs, circling his entrance with deliberate slowness. Regulus’s breath hitched, his legs falling open wider, and he glared up at Remus like he was daring him to make it quick.

“Don’t fucking tease,” he snapped, but the words dissolved into a moan as Remus pressed one finger inside, slow and steady, feeling the tight heat clench around him.

“Not teasing,” Remus murmured, voice low as he added a second finger, curling them just right to hit that spot that made Regulus’s back arch off the bed, a sharp curse spilling from his lips. “Just making sure you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” Regulus growled, his nails digging into Remus’s shoulders, urging him on. “Just—fuck, do it.”

Remus didn’t need to be told twice. He slicked himself with the lube, his hand shaking slightly with anticipation, and positioned himself between Regulus’s legs. He pushed in slowly, watching Regulus’s face for any sign of discomfort, but all he saw was that sharp, beautiful defiance giving way to something softer, needier. Regulus’s mouth fell open, a silent gasp, as Remus sank deeper, the tight heat enveloping him until he was fully seated.

“Fuck,” Remus breathed, his hands gripping Regulus’s hips hard enough to leave marks. He paused, giving him a moment to adjust, but Regulus was already moving, rocking his hips up, demanding more.

“Move,” Regulus ordered, voice rough but laced with a plea, and Remus obliged, pulling out almost entirely before thrusting back in, setting a steady, punishing rhythm. The bed creaked beneath them, the silencing charm barely holding against the sounds they were making—Regulus’s moans, Remus’s low groans, the slick slap of skin on skin.

Regulus’s hands roamed, one clutching the back of Remus’s neck, the other raking down his chest, nails leaving red trails that stung in the best way. He met every thrust, his legs wrapping around Remus’s waist, pulling him deeper, and Remus could feel him trembling, could feel the way his body tightened with every movement.

“You’re—fuck—impossible,” Remus panted, his lips brushing Regulus’s ear as he angled his hips, hitting that spot again and again until Regulus was gasping, his moans turning into broken, desperate sounds.

“And you—love it,” Regulus managed, his voice fracturing as Remus’s hand found his cock again, stroking in time with his thrusts. His head tipped back, throat exposed, and Remus couldn’t resist—he leaned down, biting the sensitive skin just below his ear, sucking another bruise into existence.

Regulus’s nails dug harder, his body arching, and Remus could feel him getting close, the way his muscles tensed, the way his breaths came in sharp, erratic bursts. “Remus—I’m—”

“Come on, baby,” Remus growled, his own release building, a tight coil in his gut. He stroked Regulus faster, his thrusts growing erratic, desperate, as the heat between them became unbearable.

Regulus came first, a sharp cry tearing from his throat as he spilled over Remus’s hand, hot and messy, his body convulsing with the force of it. The sight, the sound, the feel of him clenching around Remus was too much—Remus followed seconds later, his orgasm crashing through him like a tidal wave, burying himself deep as he came, a low groan ripped from his chest.

They collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and sweat, Regulus’s head tucked against Remus’s shoulder as they both fought to catch their breath. The air was thick with the scent of sex and cigarette smoke, the sheets a crumpled mess beneath them. Remus’s hand rested on Regulus’s hip, thumb brushing lazily over the sharp bone, grounding himself in the warmth of him.

“Fuck,” Regulus mumbled, voice hoarse, still catching his breath. “You’re gonna kill me one day.”

Remus laughed, low and rough, pressing a kiss to the damp curls at Regulus’s temple. “Worth it.”

Regulus snorted, shifting to drape himself more fully across Remus’s chest, his weight a comforting anchor. “You’re still an idiot,” he muttered, but there was no bite in it—just a soft, sated warmth that made Remus’s chest ache.

“And you’re still unbearable,” Remus replied, his fingers tracing idle patterns across Regulus’s back, mapping the freckles and scars like a constellation.

They lay there in silence for a while, the only sounds their slowing breaths and the faint hum of the castle beyond the silencing charm. Regulus’s hand rested over Remus’s heart, fingers twitching slightly as if memorizing the rhythm.

“You’re not… actually mad, right?” Remus asked after a moment, voice quieter now, the edge of vulnerability creeping in.

Regulus lifted his head, eyes half-lidded but sharp, searching Remus’s face. “No,” he said finally, his tone softer than before. “I mean, yeah, I’m pissed about Potter. And Sirius. And you for not telling me sooner. But…” He shrugged, a small, almost shy movement. “I’d rather fight with you than anyone else.”

Remus’s lips twitched, and he pulled Regulus closer, kissing him slow and deep, savoring the taste of him—tea, cigarettes, and something uniquely Regulus. “Good,” he murmured against his mouth. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Regulus huffed, but his lips curved into a reluctant smile. “You’d better not, Lupin.”

He was the first to shift, dragging himself off Remus’s chest and sprawling on his back like he owned the bed. His hair was damp with sweat, curls sticking to his forehead, his mouth still swollen, his chest heaving. He looked wrecked—and smug about it.

Remus turned his head, watching him in the dim light bleeding through the curtains. “You look like hell,” he said flatly.

Regulus smirked without opening his eyes. “And you’re obsessed with me anyway. Tragic.”

“Tragic is me still putting up with you after the shit you pulled today.” Remus propped himself on one elbow, glaring down at him. “You could’ve hexed Prongs into next year and gotten yourself killed—”

“He deserved it,” Regulus interrupted, sharp and unapologetic. He finally cracked an eye open, his gaze like a blade in the dark. “They all deserved it. I’m not sorry.”

“I don’t need you sorry,” Remus snapped, running a hand through his hair hard enough to tug at the roots. “I need you not—self-destructive.” His voice cracked on the last word, the anger leaking into something rawer, more dangerous.

That finally made Regulus turn his head toward him, eyes narrowing. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Lupin. I’m not one of your projects.”

Remus flinched, but held his stare. “You’re not a project. You’re—” He cut himself off, jaw locking. 

Regulus sat up slowly, still flushed, still catching his breath, but his voice cut sharp as glass. “Say it. Go on. You’ve got that prefect tone locked and loaded—”

“—can you shut the fuck up for one second?” Remus groaned, dragging a hand down his face. He sounded exhausted, like Regulus was physically grinding the patience out of him.

“I can’t. It’s an illness,” Regulus replied smoothly, leaning back on his hands like he owned the entire bed. He looked infuriatingly good, even wrecked—sweat-stuck curls, marks already blooming purple along his throat, lips still red from kissing. Every inch of him screamed smug bastard, and Remus’s chest was one misstep away from caving in.

Regulus tilted his head, eyes half-lidded and taunting, cheeks still warm from the heat of it all. “Go on,” he pushed, because of course he pushed. “I’m what?”

Remus’s throat worked around the words. He should lie. He should deflect, throw up a wall of sarcasm, anything—
But fuck it. The whole day had been a catastrophe, and if he was going down, he might as well detonate properly.

“Perfect,” he rasped, jaw tightening like the word cut him on its way out. “Like… ‘I may be in love with you’ perfect.”

Silence. Regulus’s eyes flew wide, just for a second. Long enough for Remus to feel the ground open under him. Brilliant. He’d fucked it. He’d actually said it, out loud, and tomorrow he’d wake up single—if Regulus didn’t hex him into oblivion first. Because you don’t tell Regulus Black how you feel. You don’t bare your throat to a boy raised on knives. Not if you want to survive it.

But then—Regulus grinned. Properly grinned. Dimples, teeth, the whole devastating thing, his eyes crinkling in a way Remus had never really seen. And just like that, Remus was finished. Done for. Wrecked beyond saving.

“I may be in love with you too,” Regulus said, steady and unflinching, lips still curved upward like he was savoring it. “Like… I’m totally in love with you.”

Remus blinked, his brain short-circuiting. “Thank fuck,” he managed, ever the poet, before he yanked him down into another kiss.

It wasn’t frantic this time. It was long, slow, the kind of kiss that filled every space their fights and barbs left behind. Soft and deliberate, like they had all the time in the world. Regulus smiled into it—smiled—and Remus couldn’t help grinning back, teeth bumping lips until Regulus kissed him again, harder, like punctuation.

And if the whole castle burned down tomorrow, Remus thought he could probably live with that.

They didn’t fall asleep after that, and Remus was pretty sure he might never sleep again. The sheets were a mess around them, pajama pants tugged back on half-assedly, Hoziers’ voice spilling from Remus’s phone buried somewhere in the blankets, looping like a secret they weren’t supposed to have. Regulus wouldn’t shut up—which, if it had been anyone else, would’ve driven Remus fucking insane. But with him, it felt like oxygen. Remus was lying on his back, one arm tucked lazily behind his head, smoke curling from the last cigarette of his pack, laughing like the world outside the bed didn’t exist.

Because maybe it didn’t, not when Regulus was like this.

“I mean, I knew,” Regulus sniffed dramatically, eyes glinting in the dim light. “Of course I knew. I know everything.”

“Sure, kitten,” Remus murmured, tapping his hip before stealing the cigarette for another drag. “You’re so smart.”

Regulus snorted, rolling his eyes but grinning anyway. “I clocked it ages ago. You’re not subtle, Lupin. Not with that pathetic ‘I l-like you’ stutter you pulled after Sirius’s birthday party.”

Remus raised an eyebrow, smoke slipping past his lips. “You think that was it?”

“Uh, yes?” Regulus said, like it was obvious.

“Yeah, no.” Remus passed the cigarette back, flat as stone. “That time you’d just turned Prongs down, and I kept giving myself the world’s dumbest pep talks about how I couldn’t say anything because you’d ruin me the same way you ruined him. That was… the start, I guess.”

Regulus froze, hand suspended halfway to grab the cigarette, eyes flicking to Remus’s face. “…Really?” His brows furrowed, just slightly, like he wasn’t used to missing things.

“I mean… yeah. The beginning.” Remus shrugged like it wasn’t an admission that cost him.

Regulus blinked, then furrowed deeper, thoughtful. “Huh. I thought it was the party.” He took a drag, eyes narrowing at nothing in particular, before muttering, almost sheepish, “It was… the Three Days Grace concert for me.”

Remus glanced at him sideways. “Really.”

“Yeah,” Regulus said, quieter now, cigarette balanced between two fingers. “When you offered to let me sit on your shoulders and I thought—‘fuck, this is so fucking cool, I think I love him.’” He snorted, almost embarrassed. “And you were pretending to be bored.”

“I wasn’t bored,” Remus muttered, voice low. “I was trying to push myself to kiss you.”

Regulus’s laugh broke sharp and soft at once, echoing against the canopy. “We’re tragic.”

“A little, yeah,” Remus admitted, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling.

“That’s fine.” Regulus reached over, plucking the cigarette from his own lips just to stub it in the ashtray on the bedside table, like closing a chapter. Then he turned back, eyes steady, his voice calm but final in that Regulus Black way: “I’d still choose you over anyone else.”

And it hit Remus like a sucker punch—because Regulus wasn’t teasing, wasn’t biting. Just the truth, bare and brutal and perfect.

They stayed up until the sun threatened to bleed through the curtains, but it never did, because Regulus didn’t stick around that long. Too much risk, Lupin. He slipped out the way he always did—through the fucking window, like a bad idea with legs. Or claws.

“Don’t get any ideas about saying ‘I love you’ every time we’re splitting,” he said, already half-grinning like he knew exactly what Remus was thinking. And then, softer, smugger: “But still love you.”

He smirked, sharp and infuriating, before shifting into his animagus form. One second a boy, the next a sleek black cat with claws tapping against the sill. Then he was gone—tail flick, leap, silence.

Remus didn’t even get the chance to reply. Not that he would’ve—because saying it to an empty room? Pathetic. Saying it to a boy who’d just bailed out the window? Worse. So he stayed quiet, because dignity was the only thing he had left.

His mouth stayed shut, but his mind? His mind was a loop of static: AAAAAAAAA and I love him so fucking much it’s making me pathetic.

And it didn’t fade. Not after an hour. Not after a day. He carried it around like a curse. He stayed in that state for days. Then weeks. Then months. Until the end, really. Like a secret carved into his bones, like something inevitable.

Because once Regulus Black said still love you, there was no getting out alive.