Everything fell dead silent.

“…Peter?” James blinked. “Wait, where has he been?”

“I haven’t seen him all evening,” Remus frowned. “Didn’t even show up to dinner.”

“Probably finally got eaten by the Whomping Willow,” Sirius muttered.

That’s when the music dropped.

A beat — heavy, club-thick, bass vibrating the stone walls — pulsed through the Great Hall.

And from behind the velvet curtain, lit in deep red and dressed in black, strolled Peter fucking Pettigrew.

Grinning.

Smug.

Cool as anything.

Dressed in a fitted leather jacket over a fishnet tank, chunky boots, black trousers hugging his thighs like sin — with Regulus Black perched lazily on his shoulders.

The entire table of Gryffindors collectively choked.

“Is that—?”

“That’s Regulus—”

“He’s sitting on him—”

“—like a prince,” whispered Marlene, scandalized and aroused.

Regulus was a vision: silk and skin and sinful calm. Black mesh top, high-waisted tailored shorts, garters clipping to sheer thigh-highs, tall combat boots laced to his knees. His hair was curled, his lips glossed. He looked dangerous.

And he wasn’t even looking at the crowd — just leaning into Peter’s grip, head tilted, a hand loosely tangled in Peter’s hair for balance, legs crossed over his chest like he belonged there.

No wand.

No explanation.

Just raw energy.

The beat shifted.

Spotlight slammed onto them.

Peter’s hand curled tighter around Regulus’s thigh.

And then—Regulus purred into the mic.

“Gucci, Gucci”

The room detonated.

Regulus’s voice was silk-wrapped venom. Teasing. Confident. Unbothered.

James was gaping.

“IS HE SINGING?” shrieked Mary Macdonald, clutching Lily’s arm like she’d been electrocuted.

“Louis, Louis” Regulus smirked, leaning forward, swinging his legs like a doll in Peter’s grip.

“Fenty, Fenty” — he winked at the crowd.

“Prada.”

Boom.

Peter stepped forward.

“He up on my—”

“Gucci, Gucci” Regulus echoed.

“We crunk off—”

“Louis, Louis”

“He a savage—”

“Fenty, Fenty”

“Babyboy, I’m so—”

“Prada—” Regulus breathed.

“you.”

The crowd screamed.

And then Peter snapped into the verse, his voice a snarl of rhythm and precision:

“Balls swinging low, now the pussy playin’ ping-pong No Bored Ape shit, I’m a King Kong**”

“OH MY GOD—” Sirius shouted.

“I don’t wife thots, I ain’t puttin’ no ring on He said ‘fuck my life’”

Peter rapped like he was born on stage. He prowled the platform, Regulus still perched on him, letting himself be manhandled like an accessory. The control. The domination.

“Got Jesus on my pieces Call me Reese’s, I got pieces”

“WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING,” yelled Fabian, but he was clapping.

Regulus just… reclined against Peter’s head, amused and glowing like royalty.

“I’m tryna eradicate the negative stigma around antidepressants I got reasons”

Remus had dropped his fork.

Frank was fanning himself with a napkin.

“Money in the mattress, Cartier glasses Hungry for an actress, purrin’ like Katniss”

“HE DID NOT—” Lily shrieked, half-horrified, half-hysterical.

“Bbno$ got your new hall passes Bro so chapped that I make him look assless”

“Get sticky like barbecue sauce Teeth shiny, yeah, they callin’ me Jaws”

Gideon started headbanging. Alice was laughing so hard she cried.

“Got a hundred K cash in the walls Fuck yo' agenda, protect them dolls”

Another beat drop.

“He up on my—”

“Gucci, Gucci” Regulus, deadly sweet.

“We crunk off—”

“Louis, Louis”

“He a savage—”

“Fenty, Fenty”

“Babyboy, I’m so—”

“Prada—”

“you”

“WHAT THE FUCK,” Sirius screamed again. “WHAT THE ACTUAL—”

“Throw a little money, but I still got more But I still got more, but I still got more Yeah, we—”

“Gucci, Gucci,” Regulus purred.

“bitch.”

Peter smirked.

“Now I’m flexin’ up on my ex I can tell that bitch real pressed”

Sirius looked personally offended. “IS THAT ABOUT ME?!”

“When she see me up with my upgrade I’m on Ariana shit, ‘thank u, next’”

“HE DID NOT—” Marlene screamed.

“Every time I get up, get my bread up Make some cheddar, I’m tryna better my life”

Evan Rosier somewhere in the Slytherin section was on top of the table, throwing galleons in the air.

“Hottie tottie, throw a party Out in Abu Dhabi, that’s a regular night”

Pandora Rosier was filming on an enchanted camcorder.

“Get sticky like barbecue sauce Teeth shiny, yeah, they callin’ me Jaws”

“Got a hundred K cash in the walls Fuck yo' agenda, protect them dolls”

Regulus flicked his wrist and a charm exploded into black glitter.

“He up on my—”

“Gucci, Gucci”

“We crunk off—”

“Louis, Louis”

“He a savage—”

“Fenty, Fenty”

“Babyboy, I’m so—”

“Prada—”

“you.”

The lights cut.

The music echoed into silence.

Peter dropped to one knee.

Regulus slid off his shoulders and landed straddling his lap, one hand trailing up his neck. Their faces brushed close — not kissing. Just close enough to threaten it.

No one breathed.

No one could.

Sirius had passed out.

Remus was frozen.

James had bitten through a fork.

Lily was screaming at a pitch only dogs could hear.

Alice had climbed on the table.

Gideon and Fabian were dry heaving with laughter.

Frank was weeping.

Barty Crouch Jr. was howling, banging on the Slytherin table like a drum.

Pandora fainted and Evan caught her.

And Dorcas Meadows? She was just clapping slow. With terrifying precision.

McGonagall stood at the mic. Her expression unreadable. Her eye twitching.

“…ten points to Gryffindor and Slytherin,” she said stiffly.

Regulus and Peter walked off like they owned the school.

No one noticed them holding hands.

The second their boots hit the stone floor, Peter spun — one hand catching Regulus’s wrist and lifting it up, making the smaller boy twirl with sharp elegance like a wind-up doll dipped in leather and silk.

Reg went with it, naturally, gracefully, blank-faced as ever — curls bouncing, shorts riding higher, boots clacking like gunfire.

Mid-spin, Peter slid forward and scooped him — one arm beneath Reg’s thighs, the other behind his back — into a ridiculously smooth bridal carry.

The crowd exploded.

“OH MY GOD—” James howled, slapping the table so hard his goblet bounced.

“HE’S CARRYING HIM LIKE A FUCKING WIFE—” Marlene screeched, openly sobbing into Mary’s shoulder.

“My eyes,” Remus muttered, but didn’t look away.

They made their way straight toward the Gryffindor table like it was a catwalk, Reg draped across Peter’s arms like a princeling lounging on velvet, one hand lazily reaching up—

And he took Peter’s sunglasses right off his face.

Slid them on. Adjusted them with two fingers. Expression still blank, still calm, still utterly unbothered.

Peter fucking melted.

“Aww, look at you—” he cooed, loud and shameless, grinning with all his teeth. “Oh, you’re so rude, baby, you look so hot—I’m gonna scream.”

Regulus didn’t smile, didn’t blink. Just clung closer to Peter’s neck, letting the Gryffindor haul him like a prize.

Every single person at the table was losing their entire fucking minds.

Sirius stood up and yelled, “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON—”

Peter dropped into his seat like a king coming home, lowering Regulus gently — delicately — to perch sideways on just one thigh, Reg’s long legs dangling over his lap.

He kept an arm firm around Regulus’s narrow waist, thumb rubbing soft, mindless circles over the silk waistband of those too-short shorts.

Regulus, sunglasses still on, draped one arm lazily around Peter’s shoulders and let his head tip faintly to rest against his temple.

The table screamed.

“What the hell—” James gasped.

“Are they dating?” Lily shouted over the chaos.

“Is Regulus drugged?”

“IS PETER POSSESSED?”

“WHAT IS HAPPENING?!”

Peter just blinked, chewing on a bread roll. “What? Oh. Yeah. I wrote that song.”

“YOU WROTE THAT?!” yelled Gideon.

Peter nodded, smug. “Yeah. All of it. Worked on it for a few weeks. Got Reg to do it with me. He’s my muse and shit.”

Regulus, still perched on him like he belonged there, nodded mildly. “Mm. He writes a lot of songs.”

“You’re his what?!” Frank gaped.

“Muse,” Peter said again, now kissing Reg’s jaw. “He’s got the prettiest voice. Half my stuff’s got him in mind. The professors wouldn’t let me do a solo again ‘cause I made the Fat Friar cry last time, so I got my gorgeous little corpse-boy to do this one with me.”

“I’m not a corpse,” Regulus said blandly.

Peter cooed again, tilting his head to nuzzle the crook of Reg’s neck. “No, baby, you’re worse. You’re a sin.”

Reg patted his cheek, still stone-faced.

“Oh my god,” gasped Marlene. “He just lets him do that?! Regulus Black just—lets him do that?!”

“Since when do you even talk?” Lily gaped at Regulus. “You don’t even hang out—what is this?!”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Regulus asked, bored.

“You’re in different houses! You hate each other! You’ve never said a word to him in seven years!”

Regulus tilted his head, finally lowering the sunglasses to stare over the lenses. “You’re projecting.”

Peter nodded seriously. “She’s projecting.”

“HE’S A GRYFFINDOR,” Sirius yelled, standing and pointing like an accuser in court. “AND YOU’RE MY FUCKING BROTHER.”

“And?” Regulus replied.

Sirius’s jaw dropped.

“I—I just—WHEN DID THIS EVEN START—”

“Two years ago,” Peter said casually.

Silence.

Actual silence fell.

Regulus sipped someone’s untouched pumpkin juice.

“…What?” whispered Remus.

Peter looked up, blinking. “What? We’ve been dating for two years.”

“WHAT?!” Sirius screamed.

“Yeah?” Peter looked around, genuinely confused. “You didn’t know?”

“NO?!”

“Wait—two years?” James sputtered.

“Yeah.”

“Years?!” Alice shrieked. “As in, more than one?!”

“How?!”

“I just said how!” Peter threw up a hand. “I write music, he sings like a slutty angel, we hang out, we snog behind the greenhouse—boom, dating. What’s so hard to get?”

“But Reg—” Sirius looked like he was malfunctioning. “You hate him!”

Regulus blinked. “Do I?”

“YOU LOOK LIKE YOU DO!”

“I look like that most of the time.”

“Okay but—like—everyone thought you hated Peter—” Marlene started.

Peter laughed. “Oh, you mean because he looks dead inside and doesn’t talk? That’s just his thing.”

“I like Peter,” Regulus added, then blinked again like he regretted the sentence. “Well. Enough.”

“You cling to him like a cat.”

“I am a cat.”

Peter snorted and tugged Reg closer into his lap. “He’s a catboy cryptid with a thigh gap and I love him.”

Regulus laid his cheek on Peter’s shoulder, silent.

Peter beamed. “See? He’s such a good boyfriend.”

Sirius sat down.

Sirius immediately stood back up.

Sirius let out the kind of guttural scream that shook the ceiling.

Regulus took a breadstick and broke it in half.

“Anyway,” Peter said brightly, “McGonagall’s banned us from public displays of affection on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, but we’re good today.”

Regulus nodded. “Yeah. We’ve been warned a lot.”

“A lot.”

Remus was crying into his hands.

Gideon looked into the void.

James tried to chug a jug of pumpkin juice and choked.

Marlene clapped once. “I’m obsessed.”

Lily leaned across the table. “Is it real love?”

Regulus blinked once. “He gives me snacks and lets me use his shampoo.”

Peter kissed him full on the mouth, shameless, in front of the entire hall.

“YES,” Lily shrieked, flipping the table. “IT’S LOVE, BITCH.”

Peter tasted like butterbeer and sin, and Regulus wasn’t finished with him.

The kiss broke, reluctantly, with Peter drawing back just enough to breathe. The crowd was still howling like wild dogs in the background, but Reg’s hand came up—sharp, elegant fingers curled against Peter’s jaw—and tried to pull him back in.

Peter resisted, smirking, still smug as hell.

Regulus huffed, annoyed, lips parting like he was seconds from biting him.

Peter leaned in close enough to graze, teasing, and whispered, “Later, sweetheart.”

Reg rolled his eyes and, defeated, rested his palm against Peter’s cheek instead—fingers cool, ring catching the candlelight. Then, as Peter turned back toward the screaming Gryffindors to explain, Regulus just… started kissing him.

Soft pecks.

Slow.

Silent.

One every few sentences.

Unbothered.

Peter didn’t even flinch—he was used to it. His arm stayed draped around Reg’s tiny waist, thumb moving in slow circles across silk and skin. His other hand casually skimmed along Reg’s thigh, rubbing comfort into him like he was grounding them both.

“Right,” Peter said brightly, “so we’ve been together, like—two years. Since I was fifteen, Reg was fourteen. No breaks, no weird off-and-ons, no drama. Just—y’know. Us.”

kiss.

“Got together after I helped him charm all the poison ivy in the greenhouse to spell fuck off. Romantic, I know.”

kiss.

“I write songs, he lets me sing ‘em to him when he’s bored. He’s my muse, my therapist, my top model. He tells me when my lyrics are stupid and I let him call me names in French.”

kiss.

“Reg’s met my whole family. Like, everyone. My mum and dad love him. So does my uncle. So do my five sisters. They’re obsessed with him. I’m pretty sure two of them tried to propose.”

kiss.

“My nana knits him socks.”

kiss.

Peter tilted his head and grinned. “Also, for the record, Reg’s family tolerates me. Walburga doesn’t hex me when I show up. Orion once offered me scotch. That’s basically a marriage proposal in pureblood speak.”

kiss.

“Oh my God,” Sirius groaned, bracing both hands on the table like it could keep him upright. “Okay. Okay. I’m gonna be chill. I’m gonna be normal. This is fine. As long as you don’t corrupt my brother with your dirty little hands, Pettigrew—”

“Mate,” Peter said, grinning, “your brother’s been defiled.”

Sirius screamed.

“WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN—”

“Oh loads of times,” Peter said brightly. “Like, so many. We’ve christened all the beds in the dorm.”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“He’s actually very sweet during—”

“SWEET?!!?”

“I like him best on top. All clingy and soft and—”

“OH MY GOD.”

“—the sounds he makes? Like, you’d never guess, right? But he’s so—”

“STOP TALKING—”

“—vocal, really—he clings and whines and—”

Sirius was standing now, foaming at the mouth, hands in his hair like he was trying to rip it out.

Regulus remained perched prettily on Peter’s thigh, blank as a blade, still resting a hand on his cheek.

Peter kept rubbing slow circles on his thigh, utterly unbothered.

“We don’t fight much,” he added cheerfully. “I’m whipped, obviously. I do whatever he wants. I carry his books, I get his lunch, I help with his hair routine. I buy him that stupid imported lip gloss he likes. The cherry one.”

“It’s not stupid,” Regulus murmured. kiss.

“I never said it was.”

“Wait,” Remus said weakly, “so, like—you’ve been dating dating? Like, serious? For two years? And no one knew?!”

“I knew,” Dorcas said, arms crossed. “He smells like Peter’s shampoo.”

“So did I,” said Pandora. “Reg leaves my dorm every Sunday in his hoodie.”

“Same,” said Barty.

Sirius, wide-eyed and pale, pointed a shaking finger. “I don’t care. Just—just tell me you’re using protection. Please. I don’t want to be a teen uncle. He’s trans. He’s got a uterus. Please tell me you’re not that stupid—”

Silence.

Peter blinked.

Regulus stayed still.

A few beats of very telling, very awkward quiet.

“Don’t do this to me,” Sirius whispered.

Peter turned, smiled feral.

“One word,” he said. “Raw.”

The table exploded.

Sirius collapsed into Remus’s lap.

“WHY.”

Peter kept going.

“Reggie doesn’t like it when I pull out.”

“STOP—”

“He says so. Verbally. With words.”

“YOU’RE KILLING ME—”

“Last week he called me his breeder and I almost cried.”

“MAKE IT STOP—”

“Anyway, we might be engaged spiritually.”

Regulus nodded once.

Everyone screamed again.

Everyone lost it.

Someone fainted.

Someone threw a plate.

The yodelling Hufflepuffs started crying in the corner.

Peter just pulled Regulus closer and kissed his temple. “I love you.”

Regulus blinked slowly. “Mm. I know.”