The Hogwarts House Lounge was one of the few neutral territories where students from every house could gather without too much scrutiny. The Marauders had taken over their usual corner, laughter echoing through the space as Sirius dramatically reenacted some poor professor’s outburst from earlier that day.

James, leaning back in his seat, snickered. "I swear, if they had been one second slower, Padd would’ve been a pile of ashes."

Sirius, ever the dramatist, clutched his chest. "And yet, here I am—beautiful, unscathed, and victorious."

Marlene rolled her eyes. "More like lucky."

While the others lounged, causing general chaos, they sat slightly apart, stretched out lazily in a chair that was unmistakably theirs. Even in a relaxed state, there was something about them—something coiled, like a predator merely indulging in the peaceful moment.

Lily, ever the sharp observer, glanced at them before shaking her head. "I still don’t get how you put up with these idiots."

"They don't put up with us," Remus interjected with a smirk, flipping a page of his book. "They're just waiting to decide which one of us is the first to die a horrible death."

Peter swallowed audibly, shifting away slightly. "That’s… not funny."

It was funny, considering that out of all the Marauders, the one everyone in Hogwarts knew not to cross was them. There was something about their presence—commanding, unreadable, dangerous. No one picked fights with them. No one dared.

And yet, they remained here, a silent guardian among the chaos, the unspoken enforcer of the Marauders. Even James, as bold as he was, had no illusions about who was the deadliest in their group.

What made it worse? The attention.

The House Lounge had plenty of students hanging around, but more than a few cast fleeting, intrigued glances at them. It was a well-known fact that they had no shortage of admirers—boys and girls alike. The allure wasn’t just about looks; it was power. The kind of untouchable, effortless dominance that made people either want to be with them.