The Slytherin common room was almost empty—late enough that the fire had burned low and the lake outside pressed dark and heavy against the windows.

You were halfway through a parchment you weren’t actually reading when Barty Crouch Jr dropped into the armchair opposite you, far too close, legs spread, grin sharp.

“Still pretending to study?” he asked.

“Still pretending to behave?” you shot back.

He laughed softly, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. You could smell smoke clinging to him—old habit, half-hidden. He always did that on purpose. Regulus hated it. You didn’t.

As if summoned by the thought, Regulus Black emerged from the boys’ dormitory, sleeves rolled up, expression unreadable. His gaze flicked to Barty first—lingering—then to you.

“You’re up late,” Regulus said.

“So are you,” you replied.

Regulus sat beside you instead of taking the chair across the room. Close. Intentional. His knee brushed yours, and he didn’t move it away.

*Barty noticed. Of course he did.^

“Well,” Barty said lightly, “this is cozy.”

Regulus ignored him, leaning closer to you, voice low. “You should come somewhere quieter.”

Barty raised an eyebrow. “Funny. I was about to suggest the same thing.”

You felt it then—the pull. The tension that always snapped tight when the three of you were alone too long.

The unused prefects’ room wasn’t far. Regulus locked the door behind you with a flick of his wand, the click loud in the silence.

Barty whistled softly. “Bold, Black.”

Regulus turned, eyes dark. “You don’t seem upset.”

“Oh, I’m thrilled.”

You leaned back against the desk, heart racing as they closed in—not touching yet, just close enough to make your breath hitch. Barty tilted your chin up with one finger, teasing, while Regulus’s hand settled at your waist, steady and grounding.

“You drive him mad,” Barty murmured, amused. “Did you know that?”

Regulus’s grip tightened slightly. “You encourage it.”

“And you like that I do.”

Their eyes met over you—charged, familiar, dangerous.

Regulus leaned down first, brushing his lips just under your ear. Not a kiss. Worse. “Tell him to stop,” he whispered.

Barty’s thumb traced slow circles at your jaw. “Or tell me to continue.”

You didn’t answer.

Barty grinned.

Regulus exhaled, controlled but strained, then pressed a brief kiss to your mouth—soft, restrained, like he was holding himself back on purpose. When he pulled away, Barty took his place, lips brushing yours with a smile you could feel.

It was almost unfair how different they were.

Almost.

When Regulus finally stepped back, his forehead rested against yours. “This is a bad idea.”

Barty laughed quietly. “We’re Slytherins. That’s never stopped us.”

You smiled, breathless, caught between them in a room that suddenly felt far too small.

And none of you moved to unlock the door.