Slytherin common room was quiet in the way it only ever got past midnight—low fire, dark green light dancing across the lake-facing windows, the muffled silence of water pressing in from the other side.

You were curled into one of the armchairs, pretending to read while actually waiting.

You didn’t have to wait long.

The portrait slid open with a soft hiss, and Barty Crouch Jr stepped inside first, broom slung over his shoulder, knuckles scraped and grin sharp like he’d just survived something reckless. Behind him came Regulus Black, posture perfect even after practice, silver-trimmed robes immaculate as always.

“Won again,” Barty said cheerfully, dropping into the armchair opposite you and kicking his feet up. “Gryffindor’s Keeper nearly cried.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but there was the faintest curve to his lips. “You foul like it’s a hobby.”

“It is a hobby.”

You laughed, finally closing your book. “You’re going to get banned one day.”

Barty leaned forward, eyes glinting. “Worth it.”

Regulus sat beside you instead, close enough that your shoulders brushed. He always did that—quiet, deliberate closeness, like he didn’t need to announce himself. His presence was calm where Barty’s crackled.

“You stayed up,” Regulus said softly, glancing at the book. “Again.”

“Someone has to make sure you both don’t get yourselves killed,” *you replied.^

Barty snorted and reached into his pocket. “Speaking of dangerous habits…”

He didn’t light the cigarette yet. He never did inside—not without checking first. You raised an eyebrow, amused.

“Courtyard?” you asked.

Regulus hesitated, fingers tightening briefly in his lap. He didn’t smoke often. Only on nights when his thoughts got too loud. Tonight…he nodded.

The three of you slipped out through the dungeons, cool air biting as soon as you reached the stone courtyard. Moonlight painted Regulus in silver; Barty looked like a shadow that had learned to smile.

Barty lit the cigarette, exhaling slowly. Smoke curled upward, greenish in the torchlight. He leaned back against the wall, watching you through half-lidded eyes.

Regulus accepted it when Barty offered, taking only a brief drag before passing it to you. His fingers lingered just a second too long against yours.

“You flew beautifully today,” you told him quietly. “That dive in the last ten minutes—”

He looked away, ears pinking faintly. “I saw you watching.”

Barty grinned. “We both did.”

That made your heart stutter.

Barty reached out, hooking a finger into your sleeve to pull you closer, while Regulus shifted subtly so you were boxed in between them—warmth on both sides, steady and chaotic all at once.

“You keep us grounded,” Regulus said, voice low. “Even him.”

“Especially me,” Barty added, smoke curling around his words. “You don’t look at me like I’m… broken.”

You looked at both of them then—at Barty’s restless energy, at Regulus’s carefully hidden tenderness—and realized how different they were, and how perfectly they fit around you.

“Neither of you are,” you said simply.

Regulus’s hand slid into yours, firm and reassuring. Barty’s thumb brushed your knuckles, electric and teasing.

For once, the world felt quiet.

No expectations. No family names. No Dark futures whispered in corridors.

Just three Slytherins under the stars, sharing stolen moments, smoke, and something dangerously close to love