#prank gone wrong

“He just—he just collapsed!” your son gasps, wide-eyed.

“Bucky—” You drop to your knees, grabbing his face. “Oh my God, what—”

And then he snorts. His eyes snap open. “Gotcha, doll.”

Your son collapses into giggles beside him.

It takes you three whole seconds to process. “You pretended to collapse?”

Bucky grins like this is the funniest thing in the world. “C’mon, doll, it was just a prank.”

Your heart is still hammering. “A prank? You made me think you were—” You stop yourself, shaking your head. “No. Nope. I’m done with you two.”

You stand and walk out of the room.

Bucky sits up, frowning. “Uh-oh.”

Your son looks nervous now. “She’s mad, huh?”

“Oh, she’s mad,” Bucky says, running a hand through his hair. “But don’t worry—we’ll get her back.”

Stage One: Sincere Apology They approach you cautiously in the kitchen ten minutes later.

Bucky’s holding out a mug of coffee. Your son’s clutching a plate of cookies.

“We’re sorry,” Bucky says. “We didn’t mean to scare you.”

You take the coffee but don’t look at them. “Uh-huh.”

“We thought it’d be funny,” your son tries.

“Uh-huh.”

Bucky grimaces. “So… you forgive us?”

“Uh-huh.”

“…That’s not a real ‘uh-huh,’ is it?”

You walk away.

Stage Two: Bribery An hour later, you find your favorite blanket folded on the couch with a sticky note: For Mama – Open When You’re Ready to Forgive Us.

Underneath the blanket is a bar of your favorite chocolate and a new paperback from your TBR list.

You smile in spite of yourself… but you leave the items where they are.

From the hallway, you hear your son whisper, “She didn’t take it.” Bucky sighs. “We need bigger guns.”

Stage Three: Dramatics That evening, you walk into the living room and stop dead.

Bucky is lying face-down on the rug again, but this time he’s holding a handwritten sign that says Life is meaningless without your forgiveness.

Your son is draped across the armchair like a Victorian child wasting away from heartbreak, holding a bouquet of dandelions.

“Is this… supposed to work?” you ask flatly.

Bucky lifts his head just enough to look at you. “I’m perishing, doll.”

Your son groans loudly. “We’re wasting away!”

You snort before you can stop yourself. “You’re ridiculous.”

Bucky sits up, looking triumphant. “She laughed. We’re in.”

Your son jumps up, thrusting the dandelions at you. “Does this mean you forgive us?”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now. “Fine. But next time you want to prank me, make it something that doesn’t shave five years off my life.”

Bucky pulls you into a hug, muttering into your hair, “Noted, doll.”

Your son grins. “So… water balloon fight tomorrow?”

You glare at Bucky over your son’s head. “You’re not allowed to answer that.”

He had his hands in his pockets. His tie was a touch loose, his sleeves rolled to the forearms in a way that made him look more informal than any prefect had a right to look, and there was something too easy about him tonight—too light in the step, too bright in the eyes, too ready to let little comments fall into the dark between them like pebbles into still water just to see what ripples they made.

Regulus distrusted ease on principle.

Particularly Gryffindor ease.

Particularly Marauder ease.

And particularly, tonight, Remus Lupin’s.

Because there was a pattern to it.

Every time Regulus angled toward a corridor on the left, Remus would somehow manage to draw him elsewhere without making it obvious enough to call out. A passing remark. A sudden observation. A detour justified by prefect duty. An invented suspicion about a noise down another flight of stairs. Once, insultingly, a question about whether Filch had finally managed to get the stain out of the tapestry on the fourth floor.

Regulus had ignored that one.

But he had noticed.

He noticed everything.

That was rather the problem.

They turned another corner.

The corridor ahead stretched long and dim, windows to one side showing a black wash of sky and the faintest silver edge of moonlight over the grounds. Suits of armour stood guard between the windows, each more useless-looking than the last. One of them was missing a gauntlet. Another was holding its halberd upside down. A third appeared to be asleep standing up.

Regulus cast a glance toward a branching hall just ahead.

Remus saw it.

Of course he did.

“Honestly,” Remus said lightly, before Regulus could steer that way, “if I ever become Head Boy, you have permission to kill me.”

Regulus didn’t look at him. “What an honour.”

“I know. I’m generous.”

“I was under the impression Gryffindors preferred martyrdom to generosity.”

Remus huffed a laugh. “See, this is nice. This is lovely. We’re bonding.”

“We are not bonding.”

“We’re on patrol together in the dead of night, trading barbs under torchlight while the castle sleeps around us. It’s practically intimate.”

Regulus shot him a flat look. “Do you hear yourself when you speak, or is it more of an affliction everyone else suffers alone?”

Remus grinned.

There it was again—that maddening, easy, sideways grin that never seemed quite forced, even when it absolutely should have been. The sort of grin that suggested he was enjoying himself far more than Regulus found acceptable.

They kept walking.

Their footsteps echoed softly through the corridor, occasionally accompanied by the rustle of robes or the creak of old wood from somewhere inside the walls. From two floors below came the distant bang of something metallic, followed by a muffled curse that was too indistinct to place.

Regulus slowed.

Remus did not visibly stiffen, but something in him sharpened all at once.

“Probably Peeves,” he said.

Regulus turned his head slightly. “That didn’t sound like Peeves.”

“Peeves can be very versatile when he commits himself.”

Regulus stopped walking.

Remus took two more steps before realising and turning back. “What?”

Regulus said nothing for a moment. He simply looked at him.

Remus looked back with a patience that might have been innocent if Regulus had been significantly more gullible.

The silence stretched.

A torch crackled.

Far away, a door clicked shut.

Then Regulus said, coolly, “You’ve done this three times.”

“Done what?”

“Redirected me.”

Remus blinked. “Have I?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds paranoid.”

“That sounds observant.”

Remus’s mouth twitched.

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “What are Potter and Black doing?”

Remus widened his eyes with terrible false sincerity. “I’m wounded.”

“Answer the question.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“That’s a lie.”

“A serious allegation.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m actually an excellent liar when I put the effort in.”

“So this is what you look like when you are not putting the effort in?”

“That’s hurtful, Regulus.”

Regulus’s expression didn’t move. “I’m trying to make it so.”

Remus put a hand to his chest as if physically struck. “Cruel. Cold. Typical Slytherin conduct.”

Regulus looked at the corridor to the left again.

Remus moved without seeming to move, drifting just enough into the line of that turn to make the detour awkward.

It was subtle.

It would have been subtle, anyway, if Regulus were blind.

He stared at him for one long beat.

Remus stared back, still with that infuriatingly mild expression.

Then Regulus sighed through his nose, turned away, and resumed walking.

Remus followed alongside him with visible relief that he very quickly tried to disguise as casual interest in a nearby window.

Outside, the grounds were sheeted in dark silver, all black lake and hunched trees and moonlit grass. The Whomping Willow stood in the distance like a thing waiting for an excuse.

Regulus folded his arms for a few steps, then let them fall again. He was tired. That was likely not helping. It had been a long day, and the castle at night had a way of making irritation settle deeper rather than burn off. Everything felt more pronounced in the dark. Every sound. Every glance. Every stupid little grin on Remus Lupin’s face.

“I could leave,” he said abruptly.

Remus turned his head. “Could you?”

“I’m not seeing the point of staying.”

“The point is duty.”

Regulus made a soft, disbelieving noise.

Remus glanced at him. “What?”

“You saying the word duty with a straight face is genuinely one of the more ambitious performances I’ve seen this year.”

“I’m offended by how little faith you place in my integrity.”

“I don’t think about your integrity at all.”

“Beautiful. Devastating. You should write for the stage.”

Regulus kept walking.

Then, after another few steps: “I’m serious.”

“So am I. You’d do numbers in tragic comedy.”

“No, Lupin.”

Remus looked over.

Regulus had stopped again.

They stood in a wash of torchlight near the mouth of another corridor, one that led eventually toward a stairwell and, beyond that, a section of castle Regulus suddenly suspected he was very much meant to avoid. His face had gone cool and flat again in the way that usually meant his patience was thinning to a blade.

“I want to go back,” he said. “Or go on alone. Either one is preferable to this.”

Remus tilted his head slightly. “To this?”

“To whatever it is you think you’re doing.”

“Walking with you?”

“Obstructing me.”

“That sounds so dramatic.”

“It is two minutes to midnight. I am on patrol with a Gryffindor prefect who keeps steering me away from specific hallways and speaking to me like we’re in some dreadful drawing-room comedy. Dramatic is the least of it.”

Remus bit down on a smile.

That, more than anything else, made Regulus’s eyes narrow further.

“Was that funny?”

“A little.”

“You are remarkably irritating.”

“I’ve heard worse.”

“I’m sure Black’s standards for affection are subterranean.”

Something in Remus’s expression flickered, amused and knowing and entirely too interested in that particular phrasing.

Regulus regretted it instantly.

Not because it had been inaccurate.

Because Remus looked like he wanted to pick it up and turn it over in his hands.

He did.

“Oh,” Remus said softly. “Affection.”

Regulus stared ahead.

Remus’s grin crept back. “That’s sweet.”

“It was not intended to be.”

“No? You say the nicest things when you’re not trying.”

Regulus did not answer.

He started toward the left-hand corridor.

Remus moved fast enough this time that subtlety could no longer be honestly claimed. He stepped in front of him—not aggressively, not enough to make it a confrontation, but enough to halt the path.

Regulus stopped dead.

The two of them stood facing each other in the middle of the corridor, torchlight catching on badges and dark hair and the sharp line of Regulus’s cheekbone. He was not tall, not next to most of them, but he had a way of holding himself that made up for inches. Stillness like a drawn blade. A gaze that landed and stayed.

“What,” Regulus said, each word clipped clean, “are you doing?”

Remus, very clearly, realised he had run out of elegant options.

So naturally he did the least elegant thing possible.

He groaned.

Not a polite sigh. Not even an exaggerated huff.

A full, dramatic, entirely ridiculous groan, as if the burden of existence itself had been laid upon him by force and he had at last decided the only dignified response was public suffering.

Then he threw his head back a little and said, in a tone of theatrical misery so overdone it should have earned applause from the nearest portrait, “Ooo, look at me, I’m a Slytherin. I’d rather be anywhere than here. I thrive on moonlight and unresolved grudges. I’m all about long, sullen silences followed by mean comments followed by more silences. So what’s it going to be then, huh, darling? Long sullen silence or mean comment? Go on.”

There was a beat.

Then another.

The corridor seemed to hold its breath.

One of the suits of armour by the window gave the faintest metallic clink, as though shifting for a better view.

Regulus stared at him.

Absolutely stared.

Remus, having committed, leaned into it with the fearless stupidity of a boy already halfway over a cliff and choosing to make it art.

He put a hand on his hip.

He widened his eyes in mock hauteur.

He tilted his chin.

“I’m terribly mysterious,” he said in a languid, haughty drawl that sounded nothing like Regulus and yet somehow managed to be insufferable in exactly the right direction. “I enjoy glaring at people from shadows and being devastatingly repressed in hallways.”

Regulus’s face did not move.

His ears, however, had gone pink.

Remus saw it.

And because he had no instinct for self-preservation where this sort of thing was concerned, he kept going.

“I speak only in cutting observations,” he went on, voice thick with fake solemnity. “I have never had an uncomplicated emotion in my life. If someone smiles at me, I will perish. If someone says something kind, I will become smoke and drift into the floor.”

Regulus’s mouth twitched.

Only once. Only at one corner.

But Remus saw that too.

“Ah,” he said, pointing at him with sudden delight. “There. There it is. Evidence of life.”

Regulus looked away sharply, as if that might erase the fact that his expression had nearly broken.

It did not.

Remus was beaming now.

Regulus folded his arms. “You’ve got me in a box here.”

The line came dry as old paper, perfectly placed, and for one brilliant second Remus just blinked at him.

Then the meaning hit.

“Oh, that is excellent,” he crowed.

His whole face lit up.

He punched the air once in triumph and then, because apparently this level of dignity had already been abandoned, actually fist-bumped the empty space in front of him.

“Ha! Ah-ha! There he is!”

Regulus made a strangled sound that might have been a scoff if it had not been teetering dangerously close to a laugh.

Remus, beside himself, pointed again. “You did it on purpose.”

Regulus turned his face away harder. “I didn’t.”

“You absolutely did.”

“I did not.”

“That was wit.”

“It was an observation.”

“That was wit and timing and frankly a gorgeous little callback.”

Regulus inhaled slowly through his nose, visibly attempting to restore order to both himself and the night at large. “You are making this much worse.”

“For you, maybe.”

“For everyone.”

“I’m everyone’s favourite, actually.”

Regulus let out a noise of such open disbelief that it was almost fond.

Almost.

Remus caught that too, because he was catching everything now, greedy for it, for every tiny crack in Regulus’s controlled composure.

Especially because Regulus was trying so hard to reseal them.

He had turned partly away by now, shoulders angled, chin lowered just slightly as if the shadows might hide the flush still warming high across his cheekbones. His mouth kept threatening to bend. He was fighting it with visible effort.

And losing.

Remus rocked back on his heels, smugness settling into him like sunlight.

“Oh, no,” he said softly. “You’re amused.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You did a joke.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You did. Then you made a face.”

Regulus kept staring resolutely at the wall opposite. “I have one face.”

“That’s not even remotely true. You’ve got at least six. There’s the standard glare, the superior glare, the disgusted glare, the one you do when James breathes too near you—”

Regulus snorted.

He tried not to.

That was the best part.

He genuinely tried.

His shoulders tightened first. Then there was a minute, betraying hitch in his breath. Then, despite himself, a sharp little sound escaped him—brief, low, impossible to mistake.

A snort.

Remus went still for one beat as the glory of it washed over him.

Then he looked at Regulus with such unbearable satisfaction that anyone else might have combusted under it.

“Well,” he said, very smug. “There it is.”

Regulus shut his eyes.

It was the expression of a person who had made a grave error and knew it.

When he opened them again, he still did not look at Remus directly. He was facing mostly away now, one shoulder nearer, body angled toward the wall and window rather than toward Remus himself, as though that might preserve some remaining fragment of dignity. But his mouth had gone traitorous at the edges, and there was colour still in his face, and, worse, his body had started to move.

Tiny at first.

A shift. A contained tremor in the shoulders.

Then another.

He was laughing silently.

Trying not to. Failing magnificently.

His whole frame gave the smallest rocking motion, like he could physically hold the sound in if he compressed himself enough around it.

Remus watched this happen with the expression of a man standing at the edge of a rare celestial event.

“Oh, I am never letting this go,” he said.

Regulus put a hand over part of his face. “Don’t.”

“You snorted.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s not a denial.”

Regulus kept his hand where it was, fingers pressing against his brow as if the castle itself had become too much. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet here you are. Chuckling.”

“I’m not chuckling.”

“You are visibly shaking.”

“Shut up.”

Remus grinned so hard his face almost hurt. “Make me.”

Regulus finally turned his head just enough to throw him a look from the corner of his eye.

And that, somehow, was nearly worse.

Because there was still annoyance in it, obviously, and warning, and the last desperate attempt to recover the upper hand—but there was also helpless amusement, bright and unwilling and entirely real, and Remus felt the strange, sudden thrill of having won something he hadn’t known he was playing for.

He leaned slightly closer.

Not enough to crowd.

Just enough.

“There he is,” he said more quietly, the smugness curling warm at the edges now. “I knew you were in there somewhere.”

Regulus looked forward again at once.

The tips of his ears had gone red.

“You know nothing.”

“Mm. I know you’re much funnier than you pretend.”

“That was an accident.”

“One of the best things I’ve ever seen, actually.”

“That says alarming things about your life.”

“Maybe,” Remus said easily. “Still true.”

A painting behind them cleared its throat.

Both boys ignored it.

Regulus lowered his hand at last, though he kept his face angled away. He was still, very faintly, trying not to smile, which was a doomed endeavour given that every few seconds his mouth would twitch at some remembered piece of Remus’s performance.

Remus saw every single twitch.

And stored them like treasure.

“It was the darling,” he said thoughtfully.

Regulus went rigid. “What?”

“That nearly did it, didn’t it? The darling.”

Regulus turned fully this time, scandalised into direct eye contact at last. “It absolutely did not.”

Remus’s brows rose. “No?”

“No.”

“You flushed.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“It’s warm.”

“In this corridor?”

“Yes.”

“In February?”

“Be quiet.”

Remus laughed.

Regulus stared at him with all the affront of a cat discovering it had accidentally performed for an audience.

Then, because the universe was merciless and apparently committed to Remus Lupin’s joy, one corner of his mouth betrayed him again.

Remus pointed at it instantly. “There.”

Regulus’s eyes narrowed. “I see now why Potter keeps you around despite everything.”

“That’s one of the nicer things you’ve said to me.”

“It was not meant kindly.”

“Mm. Still keeping it.”

Regulus turned and started walking before he could say anything more to that.

Remus fell into step beside him at once, still grinning like a fool.

For a little while, the corridor settled around them again. Torchlight. Footsteps. Castle hush. The night stretching on.

But it had changed now.

The air between them had changed.

Not by much. Not enough to name. Just enough to feel.

Regulus was quieter than before, but not in the sharp, shut-down way he had been. His silence now had texture. Warm edges. A kind of reluctant tolerance laced through it that had not been there at the start of patrol. He still looked forward more than at Remus. He still held himself tightly. But something in his posture had eased by a fraction.

Remus, naturally, noticed that too.

He let the silence sit for nearly a full minute before he ruined it on purpose.

“So,” he said, “long sullen silence it is.”

Regulus closed his eyes briefly. “You are not funny enough to keep repeating yourself.”

“I think tonight has proven otherwise.”

“It’s proven that fatigue can produce hallucinations.”

“That wasn’t a hallucination. That was chemistry.”

Regulus nearly stumbled.

He recovered instantly, which almost made it better.

Remus looked studiously ahead, mouth twitching.

Regulus said, after a dangerous little pause, “You’re very committed to making sure I regret every moment of this patrol.”

“And yet,” Remus said, all mild innocence again, “you haven’t left.”

Regulus’s gaze slid toward him.

Remus kept his own fixed straight ahead, too composed by half.

Because that was true, wasn’t it?

He hadn’t left.

He had complained, certainly. Threatened to go. Been entirely justified in both. But he had not, in fact, peeled off down one corridor and abandoned the whole affair. He had stayed. Whether out of duty or suspicion or some bruised little curiosity about where this ridiculous conversation would go, Remus couldn’t tell.

Maybe it was all three.

Regulus seemed to arrive at the same thought and dislike it.

“That proves nothing,” he said.

“It proves a little.”

“It proves I take prefect duties more seriously than you.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Regulus looked at him as if expecting argument.

Remus gave him none.

That made him suspicious.

“Why did you agree so quickly?”

“Because it’s true.”

Regulus’s eyes narrowed. “You usually object on principle.”

“I contain multitudes.”

“You contain nonsense.”

“Also true.”

That earned him a faint huff through Regulus’s nose.

Not quite a laugh.

But adjacent.

Remus accepted the victory without comment.

They passed a crossroads of corridors, one turning toward the library, another toward a set of classrooms, another down a narrower passage lined with ugly medieval busts that seemed personally offended by modern children.

Regulus’s pace slowed a little near the narrow passage.

Remus clocked it instantly.

He needed another diversion.

He glanced at one of the busts and seized the first foolish thing that came to mind.

“Do you think they know they’re hideous?”

Regulus looked at the nearest stone face. Its nose had been chipped off sometime in the eighteenth century, and someone had charmed moss into its ears years ago. It looked deeply unhappy about both.

He frowned faintly. “What?”

“The busts.”

“What about them?”

“Do you think they’re aware of it?”

Regulus stared at him. “Aware of being ugly?”

“Yes.”

“That is your distraction?”

“My distraction?”

Regulus gestured loosely, not bothering to hide that he knew exactly what was happening now. “This. Whatever this is.”

Remus put a hand to his chest again. “I am trying to engage you in serious aesthetic debate.”

“At midnight.”

“Beauty doesn’t keep office hours.”

Regulus’s mouth twitched.

Remus pounced. “There. Again.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

“Say I’m funny.”

“I would rather die.”

“A strong maybe, then.”

Regulus looked away.

Remus watched him for a second too long.

The castle sighed around them. Some distant pipe knocked in the wall. Beyond the windows the moon had climbed higher, washing the corridor in strips of silver between the torches’ gold.

Remus said, a touch softer, “You know, you’re less terrifying when you laugh.”

Regulus went still.

Not stiff. Not cold.

Just still.

When he answered, his voice was quieter too, flatter perhaps by instinct. “Who says I’m trying to be terrifying?”

Remus tilted his head. “You aren’t?”

Regulus considered that for a moment as they walked.

“No,” he said at last. “Not always.”

There was something in the way he said it that took some of the easy humour out of the air. Not enough to make it heavy. Just enough to remind Remus—suddenly, sharply—that Regulus Black was not made only of neat sarcasm and prefect badges and dark, cutting looks. There were locked rooms there. Whole wings of the castle barred off.

Remus knew about barred-off corridors.

Knew a bit, too, about what it meant to build yourself around what you could not afford to let show.

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.

“Well,” he said lightly, because that was still easier than looking too closely at anything, “for the record, the laugh is a strong improvement.”

Regulus glanced at him.

“And the snort,” Remus added.

Regulus groaned softly. “I knew you’d make that unbearable.”

“You did that to yourself.”

“You baited me.”

“Successfully.”

“That doesn’t make it noble.”

“I never claimed nobility.”

“No,” Regulus murmured. “That would be especially ridiculous from a Gryffindor.”

Remus laughed at that, low and easy.

Then they hit another turn.

And this one, finally, was a problem.

Because from somewhere down the far corridor there came a sound unmistakably not made by Peeves, nor by shifting stairs, nor by the old ordinary nonsense of the castle after dark.

A muffled thud.

A whisper.

Then what sounded suspiciously like the distant squeak of rubber against stone.

Remus’s entire spine threatened mutiny.

Regulus heard it too.

Of course he did.

His head came up at once, attention sharpening.

Remus moved before the thought had fully formed.

He caught Regulus lightly by the sleeve.

Regulus looked down at the hand, then up at Remus’s face.

For a fraction of a second, neither of them spoke.

The contact was barely anything.

Fabric against fingers.

Still.

It landed.

Remus let go almost immediately, but the moment stayed between them anyway.

“That way,” Regulus said.

“No.”

The answer came too quickly.

Regulus’s brows lifted.

Remus cursed himself internally.

And then, because dignity had already died an ugly death somewhere around darling, he made a decision.

He stepped into Regulus’s path again.

Not quite smiling this time. Not quite casual either.

Just looking at him directly under the torchlight, with enough honesty in his face to make the lie impossible.

“Don’t,” he said.

Regulus held his gaze.

“Why?”

Because James was probably hanging upside down from a suit of armour with Sirius arguing about trajectory and Peter dropping things and Merlin only knew what the corridor currently looked like by now.

Because if Regulus saw it, he would report them.

Because if he reported them, it would be fair.

Because Remus had agreed to be the distraction, and for all his joking and all the laughter he had coaxed out of the night, that was still the centre of it.

He could not say any of that.

So he said, “Because I’m asking.”

Regulus stared at him for two long seconds.

Three.

In the distance, something clattered, followed by what might have been a very muffled, “Oh, for—”

Then silence.

Remus did not blink.

Regulus’s eyes flicked once toward the corridor behind him, then back to Remus.

Understanding arrived in stages.

First suspicion.

Then confirmation.

Then a kind of tired inevitability.

“Your friends,” he said.

Remus exhaled. “Probably.”

Regulus looked unimpressed. “Probably.”

“I’m trying to give them the benefit of the doubt.”

“At midnight?”

“They contain multitudes.”

“They contain property damage.”

“Also true.”

Regulus folded his arms.

Remus waited.

The portrait beside them leaned forward in its frame with vulgar interest.

Regulus ignored it. So did Remus.

At length Regulus said, “You’ve spent the last half hour making an idiot of yourself to stop me catching them.”

Remus considered. “That does sound bad when you phrase it like that.”

“It sounds bad without my help.”

“Fair.”

Regulus’s gaze held on his for another beat.

Then, very slowly, something shifted in his expression.

Not softness. Not exactly.

But a reluctant, incredulous kind of amusement that seemed directed as much at the situation as at Remus himself.

“You did the fist bump,” he said.

Remus blinked. “What?”

“When I made the joke.”

“You’re bringing that up now?”

“It was humiliating to witness.”

“You laughed.”

“I did not.”

“You snorted.”

“That was one time.”

“You rocked back and forth trying not to laugh.”

“That never happened.”

“Regulus.”

“It didn’t.”

Remus grinned helplessly. “It absolutely did.”

Regulus looked away, which was not denial enough to matter.

Then he sighed.

A real sigh this time. Not theatrical. Not cutting. Just tired, and perhaps a little resigned.

“I should report them.”

“Yes,” Remus said honestly.

Regulus glanced at him.

Remus shrugged one shoulder. “You should.”

“And yet.”

“And yet,” Remus echoed.

Regulus’s mouth bent very slightly.

“Your methods are appalling,” he said.

“Oh, unquestionably.”

“You sound proud.”

“A little.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Probably not.”

Regulus stood there a moment longer, arms folded, badge glinting dull gold in the torchlight.

Then he looked pointedly away from the dangerous corridor.

Remus stared.

Regulus said, with lofty boredom so exaggerated it was practically a performance in itself, “I suppose this side of the castle appears entirely empty. Tragic. Nothing to be done.”

Remus lit up. “You’re sparing them?”

“I’m sparing myself the paperwork.”

“You’re a saint.”

“Don’t say absurd things in my hearing.”

“You’re definitely funny on purpose.”

Regulus started walking before he could be accused of anything more.

Remus followed at once, grin breaking loose all over again.

“Was that another joke?” he asked.

“No.”

“It felt like one.”

“You’re concussed.”

“You like me a little.”

Regulus made a face. “Be serious.”

“I am being serious.”

“That’s much worse.”

Remus laughed under his breath and matched pace with him easily.

This time, when the silence came, it did not feel like a wall. It felt companionable enough to surprise them both.

They moved through another corridor, then down a short flight of stairs, boots whispering against old stone. The castle seemed softer now, less watchful. Or perhaps that was only the strangeness of having crossed some invisible threshold and found that the night on the other side of it felt different.

At the landing window, moonlight spilled over both of them in a pale bar.

Regulus stopped there, just for a moment.

Remus did too.

Below, the grounds stretched dark and sleeping. The lake reflected a torn strip of silver. In the distance, the forest stood black as a secret.

For once, neither of them spoke immediately.

Then Remus said, quiet and unbearably pleased with himself all over again, “You called me darling in your head after that, didn’t you?”

Regulus turned so sharply his robes snapped around his ankles.

“What is wrong with you?”

“That’s a yes.”

“That is not remotely a yes.”

“You’re blushing again.”

“I am going back to the dormitory.”

“You’re on patrol.”

“Not anymore.”

“You can’t abandon your post.”

“Watch me.”

He swept away from the window with as much dignity as a person could manage while fleeing a conversation. It was, to his credit, still a great deal.

Remus hurried after him, laughter spilling warm and low into the corridor.

“Regulus—”

“Don’t.”

“I’m only saying—”

“No.”

“Just one thing—”

“If you say darling again, I’ll hex you.”

Remus gasped. “Violence. Typical Slytherin response to yearning.”

Regulus stopped so abruptly Remus nearly walked into him.

He turned, eyes narrowed to slits, face still faintly warm from whatever mix of indignation and suppressed laughter had taken up permanent residence there in the last ten minutes.

“You are,” he said with exquisite precision, “the most unbearable person I have ever had the misfortune to patrol with.”

Remus smiled at him, all open delight and impossible smugness.

“And yet,” he said, “you stayed.”

Regulus looked at him.

Really looked.

At the grin. The loose tie. The stupidly bright eyes. The face of someone who had spent an entire patrol engineering nonsense and somehow, impossibly, had made the night lighter for it.

His own expression did not exactly soften.

But something in it flickered.

Something brief.

Something almost fond and thoroughly unwilling.

Then he said, “Try not to look so pleased with yourself, Lupin. It’s intolerable.”

Remus leaned in just slightly, grin turning wicked at the edges.

“I can’t help it,” he murmured. “You snorted.”

And there it was again.

That tiny, helpless betrayal.

Regulus made a sound that was half scandalised exhale, half unwilling laugh, then turned on his heel and kept walking.

Remus followed him down the corridor under the low gold torches, smiling to himself like he’d stolen something priceless.

Ahead, Regulus shook his head once, sharply, as if dismissing the entire night.

It did not work.

His shoulders gave the faintest, tiniest tell a few seconds later.

The beginning of another silent laugh.

Remus saw it.

Of course he did.

And because some victories were too lovely to waste, he kept pace at Regulus’s side through the sleeping castle and said absolutely nothing at all.

The other three had just finished setting the last of the pranks.

They were still grinning like lunatics as they hurried through the corridor, laughter kept low only by force, all three of them flushed with success and adrenaline and the thrill of not having been caught.

James kept looking over his shoulder with that wild, delighted look he always got after a prank had gone especially well, his glasses slightly crooked, hair even worse than usual. Sirius was beside him, smug and bright-eyed, still half-laughing under his breath every few seconds. Peter was trying and failing to shush both of them, his own grin ruining the effort.

“I’m telling you,” James whispered, “McGonagall is going to lose her mind when the armour starts singing.”

“She was going to lose her mind anyway,” Sirius said. “That’s half the fun.”

“The fun,” Peter hissed, “ends the second we get caught.”

James grinned at him. “You say that every time.”

“Because every time you idiots act like being expelled would be a laugh.”

“It would be a little funny,” Sirius said.

Peter made a strangled noise of disbelief.

They turned down another corridor, heading for Gryffindor Tower, still giddy and pleased with themselves, when Sirius suddenly slowed.

“Wait.”

The other two stopped.

There was a noise somewhere ahead.

Not loud. Not clear. Just enough to catch attention in the hush of the sleeping castle.

James frowned. “What was that?”

Peter immediately looked alarmed. “Prefect.”

“Or professor,” Sirius murmured.

They all went quiet.

The corridor ahead was dim, lit only by a few torches guttering low in their brackets, shadows stretched long over the flagstones. The noise came again—something muffled, close, strange enough to make all three of them exchange a look.

James mouthed, go look.

Peter mouthed, absolutely not.

Sirius, naturally, leaned around the corner first.

And froze.

James saw Sirius stop dead and instantly shoved past him to look too.

Then James froze.

Peter, now thoroughly horrified, leaned in last.

And stopped breathing.

At the far end of the corridor, half-hidden in the gold and shadow of the torchlight, Remus had Regulus up against the wall.

Not just close.

Not just kissing.

Remus was fully holding him there.

Regulus’s back was pressed to the stone, his curls a mess, face flushed hard, and both his arms were wrapped tightly around Remus’s shoulders, clinging. His legs were hooked around Remus’s waist, locked there, keeping himself close while Remus held him up with both hands firm on the backs of Regulus’s thighs and under his arse, gripping hard enough to keep him lifted securely against the wall. Regulus was practically curled around him, all wrapped up around the taller boy, and Remus had him held there like he had absolutely no intention of putting him down any time soon.

And they were properly making out.

Not hesitant.

Not shy.

Not one quick kiss.

They were fully kissing, open-mouthed and deep, all slow greed and breathless little pauses that only lasted long enough to drag the next kiss out longer. Every time they broke for half a second, Remus just went back in again, kissing Regulus like he was starving for it, and Regulus kept making these helpless little sounds into the kisses—tiny whines and soft squeaks that got swallowed right into Remus’s mouth.

James’s jaw dropped.

Peter made a tiny choking sound.

Sirius looked like he had just been hit over the head with a chair.

Regulus’s fingers were buried in the back of Remus’s robes, clutching hard, and he kept kissing him back like he couldn’t help it, full and eager and a little wrecked by it. He let out another soft, high whine into the next kiss when Remus shifted him higher against the wall, both hands tightening on his thighs and his arse to keep him lifted and close.

Remus groaned straight into Regulus’s mouth.

Low and rough and obviously annoyed at having to pull back even for breath.

Then he kissed him again, harder, and Regulus actually squeaked into it this time, clinging tighter, his legs locking firmer around Remus’s waist. Remus made a deep, pleased sound in response, almost a growl, and nipped lightly at Regulus’s bottom lip before kissing him again, slow and full-tongued and thorough enough that James actually had to brace a hand on the wall.

“Oh my God,” Peter whispered.

Neither James nor Sirius answered.

They couldn’t.

Remus shifted one hand higher, sliding from the back of Regulus’s thigh to squeeze his arse through the robes, keeping him snug against him while he kissed him again and again. Regulus huffed into the kiss like he was overwhelmed and trying not to show it, then whined when Remus nipped his lip again.

“Good,” Remus murmured against his mouth, voice low and wrecked and warm. “That’s it.”

Regulus made another breathless little sound.

Remus kissed the corner of his mouth, then back to his lips, then along his jaw for a second before going right back to kissing him properly. “There you are,” he murmured. “Sweet thing.”

Regulus huffed, trying to sound annoyed, but it melted straight into another whine when Remus kissed him again, deeper this time, one hand still firm on his thigh and the other spread over his arse.

James looked like he was dying.

Sirius looked like he might kill someone.

Peter looked like he wanted to run and also never leave.

Remus groaned into the next kiss, annoyed and needy with it, like even the tiny breaks between them were frustrating him. He nipped Regulus’s lip again, sucked a soft sound out of him, then spoke right against his mouth.

“C’mon,” he murmured. “Don’t go shy on me now.”

Regulus squeaked.

Actually squeaked.

Then hid his face for half a second in Remus’s neck, breathing hard, clinging tighter with both arms and both legs.

Remus huffed out a little laugh, pleased as anything, and slid a hand up the back of Regulus’s thigh before gripping again, steady and possessive and absolutely not letting him drop. He turned his head and kissed just below Regulus’s ear, then his jaw, then the corner of his mouth, and said softly, “You’re doing so well.”

Regulus gave a tiny, strangled whine.

Remus kissed him again immediately. “Yeah,” he murmured. “That. Just like that.”

Regulus made another soft, helpless noise into the kiss and tightened his arms around Remus’s shoulders, fingers twisting harder in the fabric there.

James grabbed Sirius’s sleeve so hard he nearly tore it.

Sirius finally made a tiny, broken sound of total disbelief.

Remus kept going like the rest of the world no longer existed. He kissed Regulus slow and deep, all tongue and breath and low groans, then broke only far enough to murmur against his lips, “Pretty thing.”

Regulus huffed and whined at the same time, face burning, and tried to hide again in Remus’s neck.

Remus only held him closer. “Oh, no,” he murmured, amused and warm and still so obviously into it. “Don’t hide now.”

Regulus made a soft protesting sound.

Remus kissed him again to shut him up, groaning when Regulus kissed him back properly, all clingy and eager and a little desperate. Then Remus nipped his lip and said, voice rough, “That’s better.”

Peter slapped a hand over his own mouth.

James was physically vibrating.

Sirius had gone pale with the force of trying not to yell.

Then James shifted wrong.

His foot scraped stone.

It wasn’t loud.

It was enough.

Remus went still first.

Regulus froze too and instantly buried his face in Remus’s neck, arms and legs still wrapped around him tight.

For one second, there was silence.

Then Remus turned his head and looked toward the corner.

He was still holding Regulus up against the wall, one hand gripping Regulus’s thigh, the other still very plainly under his arse, keeping him lifted. Regulus stayed hidden against his neck, face tucked in, clearly refusing to look.

Remus’s expression was blank.

Bored, almost.

Deadpan.

Like being interrupted in the middle of hauling Regulus up a wall and kissing him senseless was only mildly inconvenient.

The second his eyes landed on the three of them, James screamed.

Sirius shouted, “WHAT THE FUCK—”

Peter made a sound like he was choking on air.

Remus did not move.

Did not let go.

Did not look embarrassed.

He just looked at them, deadpan and unimpressed, while Regulus stayed clinging to him with his face hidden in his neck.

James pointed at them wildly. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Remus stared at him for a beat, then said, flatly, “Distracting him. Duh.”

There was a second of complete silence.

Then Sirius made the loudest, most offended noise of his life.

“That is not distracting him!”

Remus looked at him with total boredom. “It worked.”

Peter pointed with a shaking hand. “You’re holding him against the wall!”

Remus glanced down at Regulus for the briefest second, at the arms around his shoulders, the legs around his waist, the way he was still tucked into Remus’s neck and refusing to look at anybody.

Then he looked back at Peter.

“Yes,” he said.

James looked like he was going to faint. “Moony!”

Remus’s mouth twitched like he was annoyed at having to have this conversation at all. “What?”

Sirius was still staring in horror. “Why are your hands there?”

Remus answered without blinking. “Because otherwise he’ll fall.”

James let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scream.

Peter was red in the face from trying not to lose it.

Regulus made a muffled, furious little sound into Remus’s neck, clearly dying of humiliation.

Remus slid one hand in a slow, absent stroke over the back of Regulus’s thigh, still holding him up, and said without looking at him, “You’re fine.”

That only made Regulus hide harder.

Sirius pointed again, scandalised beyond reason. “Why is he hiding?”

Remus said, “Because you lot started yelling.”

James squawked, “You were full-on snogging him!”

Remus looked at him blankly. “Yes.”

Peter made another choking noise.

Sirius looked personally betrayed by the existence of the corridor.

James was staring at Regulus like he’d seen a ghost. “Regulus?”

From where his face was still buried in Remus’s neck came a muffled, furious, mortified, “Shut up.”

James recoiled and then immediately started cackling.

Sirius looked even more outraged. “No, absolutely not, no— what do you mean shut up? What is this?”

Remus sighed like this interruption was genuinely inconveniencing him. “This,” he said, with dry irritation, “is me distracting him.”

“You are making out with him!”

“Yes.”

“You are holding him up!”

“Yes.”

“His legs are around you!”

Remus looked down briefly, then back at Sirius. “Sharp eye.”

James bent double laughing.

Peter was making panicked wheezing sounds.

Sirius looked like he wanted to launch himself down the corridor and also like he had no idea what he’d do if he got there.

Regulus did not move.

He stayed wrapped around Remus, face hidden, clearly refusing to acknowledge any of this with dignity because there was no dignity left to salvage.

Remus shifted him higher with both hands, one on his thigh, one under his arse, adjusting his grip so Regulus stayed secure.

James made a completely deranged noise.

Sirius yelled, “STOP DOING THAT.”

Remus stared at him. “He was slipping.”

Regulus, still hidden, muttered something furious and tiny into his neck.

Remus’s voice dropped at once, softer just for him. “I know.”

James saw it and nearly died a second time.

Peter grabbed the wall.

Sirius looked between them like reality itself had become unstable.

Then James pointed accusingly. “You were growling at him!”

Remus looked unimpressed. “And?”

“And?” James echoed, hysterical. “And what do you mean and?”

Remus sighed through his nose. “You’re all being very loud.”

“Because this is insane!”

“This is private,” Remus corrected. “Or it was.”

Sirius spluttered. “Private? In a corridor?”

Remus deadpanned, “You’re the ones who came around the corner.”

There was another stunned silence.

Then James said weakly, “You called him sweet thing.”

Regulus made a tiny distressed noise into Remus’s neck that made it very clear James was right.

Remus, still calm, said, “Yes.”

Peter actually made a strangled little sob of disbelief.

Sirius shouted, “WHY?”

Remus finally looked mildly annoyed.

Because he was annoyed.

The interruption was annoying. The yelling was annoying. The fact that he’d been in the middle of exactly what he wanted to be doing and now had to explain it to three idiots was very annoying.

His expression flattened further.

He looked at the other three like they were deeply stupid, then said, “Because I wanted to keep doing what I was doing.”

James went dead silent.

Peter stared.

Sirius looked like the words had physically hit him in the face.

Regulus stayed hidden in Remus’s neck, probably because death would have been easier.

Then James whispered, absolutely shattered, “Merlin.”

Remus glanced down at Regulus again, then back at them, expression still bored and dry.

“Are you done?” he asked.

No one answered.

Because none of them had recovered enough to be done with anything.

Remus took that silence as the only peace he was getting, shifted his hold on Regulus again, and turned his attention back to the boy in his arms.

His voice softened instantly.

“Want down?” he murmured.

Regulus, still hiding his face, gave the smallest possible shake of his head.

James made a noise like he had just ascended beyond mortal suffering.

Sirius slapped both hands over his own face.

Peter leaned against the wall like his legs had given out.

Remus’s mouth twitched.

Then, because he was apparently determined to finish ruining all three of them forever, he said quietly to Regulus, right there in front of them, “Thought so.”