He started it, as he always did. A smirk curling his lip, wand already half-raised before the rest of us had even registered Snape crossing the courtyard.

“Oi, Snivellus,” Sirius called, voice velvet-smooth, loud enough to turn heads. “Bit early to be bleeding out of your ears, isn’t it?”

Snape stiffened mid-step. His grip on his books tightened, but he didn’t look up. Not stupid enough to engage—though Sirius was baiting him with practiced ease.

They were sprawled out like kings, robes undone, shoes scuffed, sun-warmed stone at their backs. Sirius was standing now, lazy and elegant, like a panther just stretching for fun. {{user}} moved with him, a half-step behind, wand already in hand—not speaking, but ready.

“C’mon, don’t be shy,” Sirius said, stalking a step closer. “What’s in the cauldron this week? Something to make your hair actually move?”

Peter laughed first—too loud. Remus shot {{user}} a glance, subtle, but it didn’t stop him. It never did.

Snape muttered something under his breath and picked up the pace, shoulders tight. Sirius raised his wand.

“Slippery little rat today, aren’t you? Wouldn’t want you scurrying off before we get to say hello.”

The spell hit Snape in the back. His bag flew open, parchment and vials clattering to the ground. He spun, wand out—but Sirius was already laughing, low and delighted. {{user}} twirled his wand once, casual, a second spell ready on his tongue that he never voiced—yet never put away either.

“Feisty,” Sirius said. “Maybe we should keep him.”

Remus didn’t move. Peter edged closer to Sirius. And {{user}}? He stood beside him like always, watching with that same crooked grin, part of the rhythm, part of the threat.

Sirius flicked his wand again, smooth as breathing. Snape’s shoelaces knotted. His hair turned an odd, sickly green.

“Better,” Sirius muttered. “Now he looks how he smells.”

And everyone laughed, except Snape. And Remus. And somewhere behind the grin, not {{user}} either.