You let out a whimper that really didn’t amount to much but Regulus correctly translated to a resounding no. 

“Treasure, I thought we decided we weren’t going to mix our alcohol tonight.” Barty drawled; the we was an attempt to soften the blow of his reprimand seeing as the rule was really only ever enacted for you.  

Something that sounded an awful lot like ‘sorry’ left your sad, sorry lips as the door to the bathroom opened up. 

“Whoa,” an equally drunk looking bar patron murmured as he swayed in surprise, eyes glued to the point past Barty and Regulus to where you were hunched over the toilet. 

“Yeah, yeah. Nothin’ to see here,” Barty huffed dismissively, though he kept his gaze locked on the bloke as the block kept his gaze locked on you, “go on, move along you fuckin’ wanker.” 

The bloke did, indeed, move along once Barty straightened and took a few menacing steps towards him, Regulus taking the opportunity to move into the stall now that he was no longer vying for space with Barty. 

He crouched behind you and moved some of your – now sticky – hair away from the nape of your neck; you shivered at the cool air that accosted you. 

“Let me know when you think you can make it home without throwing up in a cab and we’ll leave, alright?” He murmured into the space behind your ear. 

You were truly pitiful, whimpering in response though you dutifully nodded at his instruction before lurching towards the toilet bowl again.

“It’s too early for this…” Barty muttered again, though his gaze fell soft and sympathetic as he stationed himself against the hinges of the stall again like your very own personal bouncer keeping everyone out of your very own personal hell.

Honestly? Regulus couldn’t help but agree; it was going to be a long night.

“Y/N,” Barty groaned, flopping dramatically across the length of the common room couch like a man starved for attention. One arm dangled off the edge, the other sprawled across his forehead like he was a character in a Victorian novel mid-faint.

“Yes, Junior?” you answered dryly, not even looking up from your book where you sat on the rug beneath him. Your back was against the couch, your shoulder brushing his leg.

“I’m bored. You two are so boring.”

“You’re always bored,” Regulus muttered from the armchair across from you, legs curled beneath him, hair tied back loosely in a silk ribbon you suspect was once yours. He didn’t look up from his parchment either. “Have you considered developing a personality?”

Barty gasped, wounded. “I have a personality. You’re just both determined to crush it under your big heavy books and lack of fun.”

“Maybe we’re just immune to tantrums,” you said, turning a page without missing a beat. “We’ve built up resistance over the years.”

“Oh, shut up,” Barty huffed, nudging your shoulder with his foot. “Come do something with me. Something reckless. Something that doesn’t involve rereading Hogwarts: A History for the seventeenth time.”

“It’s not that many—” you started.

“Seventeenth,” Regulus confirmed, deadpan.

You glared. “Traitor.”

“I merely observe.”

“You’re both insufferable,” Barty grumbled, stretching like a cat and dropping his head back to the couch dramatically. “Honestly. What are we doing with our lives?”

“Surviving adolescence?” Regulus offered mildly.

“Wasting our youth,” Barty declared. “And our good looks. We should be out hexing something. Or someone. Preferably someone annoying.”

“So, yourself?” Regulus asked, looking up briefly. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Barty threw a cushion at him. Regulus caught it one-handed without blinking.

“Merlin,” you groan. “We argue like an old married couple.”

“Are you saying you’re in love with us, sweetheart?” Barty said teasingly.

Silence.

It was meant to be a joke. Just one of Barty’s usual, offhand pokes meant to stir the pot and maybe get a rise out of one or both of you. But the silence that followed was heavier than it should’ve been.

Your fingers paused on the page.

Regulus’s smirk disappeared.

Barty sat up slowly. His voice, when he spoke again, was a little quieter. “Wait. I—was that…”

Regulus looked away first. Back to his parchment, though you could tell he wasn’t reading anymore. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered.

“I’m not,” Barty said. “Or—well, not right now.”

Your voice came soft, a thread of something vulnerable pulling tight. “You’re not wrong, though.”

More silence. Thick and humming with unspoken things.

Barty swallowed. “Okay. So. That’s a thing.”

Regulus didn’t respond, but his jaw had gone tight.

You looked up at Barty, meeting his eyes. “Is it not a thing for you, too?”

His mouth opened, then closed again. His brows furrowed, like he was caught off guard by his own words before he even spoke. “I just… wasn’t expecting to actually talk about it,” he said. “It’s weird, right? When you joke about something for so long and then suddenly it’s not a joke anymore.”

You huffed out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Weird.”

Barty rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, the easy grin he usually wore nowhere to be found. “I mean, I care about you. Both of you. That’s not new. It’s just… different now when you say it out loud.”

Regulus’s voice came soft, careful. “Different doesn’t mean bad.”

Barty looked over at him, a softness hidden in his expression that you knew all too well. “No, it doesn’t.”

You sat with that. All three of you did. The weight of knowing something had changed, or maybe always been there, but now it had names and edges and consequences.

And yet—you still sat in the same positions. You still touched—Barty’s leg against your shoulder, Regulus’s ribbon still loosely tied with the faint scent of your perfume on it. You were still you. Nothing had changed, but somehow everything had shifted. And that was almost more frightening than if everything had shattered.

Regulus stood abruptly, folding his parchment in half. “I’m going to bed.”

“Reg—” Barty started, half-rising.

Regulus shook his head, not unkindly. Just a little too fast, a little too forceful. “I just—need to think. That’s all.”

And then he was gone, disappearing up the stairs without looking back.

You leaned your head against Barty’s knee, and he instinctively rested his hand in your hair.

“We’re going to have to talk about it eventually,” you murmured.

“Yeah,” Barty said quietly. “But not tonight.”

You both sat there a while longer. Not talking. Just existing in that strange, stretched moment—after the change but before the fallout. Still tangled. Still three points of a constellation that didn’t quite know its shape anymore.

But you would. Eventually.

thank you for reading!

It felt like a bad western stand off; Regulus and Barty on one side of the table communicating through pointed glares, pinches to thighs and elbows to ribs, quirked brows and quietly hissed threats as you worried the base of your quill between two tense fingers, eyes growing more and more glassy as time went on. 

Barty couldn’t take it anymore, his restraint snapped.

“What happened?” He blurted, earning him an – even more aggressive – elbow to the ribs and a disappointed sigh from Regulus on his side. That was okay, Regulus could be mad if wanted to be; Barty’s main concern was you. 

The question startled you out of your spiral, dropping the quill with a quiet gasp as black in bled in two splotches on your parchment. That was your tipping point, apparently, seeing two more splotches appear on your blank parchment; tears finally falling over the edge of your waterline.

“Amour.” Regulus cooed pitifully as Barty stood and rounded the table, straddling the bench on your side so that he was facing you.  

“What’s the matter, treasure?” Barty asked in the softest tone he could muster; images of him stringing students and professors alike to the rafters by their robes if any of them so much as slightly contributed to this day of yours flashing violently behind his eyes. 

“I’ve just- I.. I’ve just had a bad day.” You admit; voice taught near painfully as you bit back a sob. 

“Who did it?” Barty asked darkly, leaning back to look at you as though your face might tell you who did this. That earned him a warning ‘Barty…’ from Regulus. 

You were shaking your head, though, as you wiped tears from your face; both boys dedicating the entirety of their attention to you as you worked yourself up to talk to them.

“It’s just…I just had a hard day, I think.” You admitted with a sigh as though simply admitting it had a weight lifting from your shoulders. “I just woke up very anxious and…”

“And it didn’t get any better as the day went on.” Regulus deduced, finishing your sentence when words seemed to fail you. 

You nodded miserably as a defeated sob escaped your lips. 

“I’m so sorry, tres,” Barty murmured as he pulled you in flush to his chest, “we should’ve said something earlier.” He tacked on, narrowing his eyes at Regulus across the table. Regulus had the grace to look at least partially chastised, even though he still managed to roll his eyes at Barty. 

“I’m sorry, amour.” Regulus agreed, reaching across the table to take one of your hands in his. “What can we do to help, hm?” 

You took a moment to think on that; licking your lips as you tried to take a deep breath despite the way in shuttered as it left you. 

“Do you think maybe we can just relax for the night?” You asked, bordering on shy. “Maybe sit outside for a bit?”

“Consider it done.” Barty agreed quickly, Regulus already making to stand and collecting his things from the desk. “You go to the dungeons to change into comfies and collect blankets with Reg, and I’ll get some snacks from the kitchen.” 

“We’ll meet at the astronomy tower.” Regulus agreed; the two boys completely taking over the planning and execution so that all you had to do was hold one of their hands through the castle and enjoy your relaxing night. 

Barty was glad he asked; Regulus was glad Barty asked, too.

“Awe, Reggie.” You coo placatingly before the two of them can start a row. “You sound awful.”

“I feel awful.” He pouts.

“You look awful too.”

“Okay, out.” You direct Barty as you gesture definitively towards the door. 

Barty rolls his eyes but he complies, picking up the various dirty tissues and empty cups of tea and water as he does, giving away how much he actually does care for his down-and-out boyfriend. 

“He’s such an arse to me.” Regulus whines earning him a roll of your own eyes.

“You love it.” You state simply, no sympathy for your boyfriend who gives to Barty just as good as he gets. Besides, the fact that his feet are currently dutifully covered in a healthy dose of vapour rub – mismatched socks and all – and that he is propped up by perfectly fluffed pillows and adorned in a variety of blankets hardly appears to be the work of anything less than a perfectly dutiful boyfriend. 

“Feel bad for me.” Regulus begs.

“No.”

“Amour.” He chides.

“Regulus.”

“Please?”

His eyes have taken on a glassy quality on account of his fever; cheeks pinked and bottom lip jutting out as he makes one last-ditch effort at gaining your sympathy. You don’t give it to him, but you do press a kiss to his fever warmed forehead which appears to be close enough. 

“Oi!” Barty complains from the door, pausing with a new cup of tea in one hand and a cool, damp flannel in the other. “I leave for two minutes and we’re getting kisses?”

“You can get kisses too, Bee.” You sigh tiredly at the same time Regulus murmurs “no kisses for you.” 

This leads to a squabble breaking out between the two boys; Regulus not receiving his cup of tea and Barty not receiving any kisses as you step out of the room to leave the two of them to their nonsense. You’re just glad Regulus is feeling well enough to fight with his boyfriend.

The sound of cackling trailing out of the room behind you tells you that Barty’s glad for it, too.