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The edge of the Forbidden Forest was loud with voices, boots over damp earth, and the constant rustle of people pretending not to size one another up.
Professor Kettleburn stood in front of them with his usual wild-eyed enthusiasm, one sleeve singed at the cuff and leaves caught in his hair as if the forest itself had already tried to eat him and failed.
“Right!” he barked, clapping his hands once. “Today’s lesson is simple. Woodland survival, common sense, and creature handling. You’ve all been paired off. Each pair will make its way through the forest, use their wits, and return to the meeting point with some proof of your skills—preferably in the shape of an animal or magical creature you have successfully befriended and cared for. You are not to drag anything, hex anything, bribe anything with chocolate unless it is safe for the creature in question, or come back missing a limb without filling out the proper form.”
There was a beat.
Then the class exploded.
“You’re kidding,” Sirius said flatly.
James was already grinning. “This is brilliant.”
“It is not brilliant,” Lily snapped. “It’s chaos disguised as education.”
“That is most of his curriculum,” Remus said mildly.
Mary shaded her eyes and looked out into the trees. “So we’re just being tossed into the woods and told to win?”
Marlene crossed her arms. “Finally. Something fun.”
Fabian snorted. “You say that now. Wait until you’re treed by something with six legs and opinions.”
“Still sounds fun,” Gideon said.
Alice was laughing already, Frank beside her with the expression of a man preparing for things to go very, very wrong.
Over on the other side, Barty looked delighted in a way that probably meant trouble, Evan looked bored, Pandora looked curious, and Dorcas looked like she would personally win out of spite if necessary.
And Regulus Black—
Regulus just looked calm.
Almost insultingly calm.
Kettleburn started reading out pairs.
The forest seemed to quiet around the names, as if even the trees were listening.
By the time he got to, “Regulus Black and Peter Pettigrew,” there was an immediate ripple through the group.
Peter blinked.
Sirius went, “What?”
James whipped round. “Hang on.”
Peter looked just as startled as everyone else, though he recovered quicker than expected. “Bit offended by the tone there, actually.”
Sirius was still staring. “Regulus and Peter?”
Regulus, for his part, barely reacted. He only lifted his head slightly, dark eyes sliding across the clearing until they landed on Peter.
There was no annoyance there. No outrage. No visible interest, either.
Just a cool, unreadable kind of acceptance.
Peter straightened a bit under the look anyway.
Kettleburn, oblivious or uncaring, kept going through the rest of the list, sending people off in different directions with broad gestures and increasingly vague advice.
“Don’t die! Try not to get separated! Unless it helps the learning!”
Within minutes the class began to split apart in twos, pairs disappearing between the trees, voices growing fainter and fainter until the forest swallowed them whole.
And then it was just Peter and Regulus, standing awkwardly at the edge of a narrow trail with no one else in sight.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The forest around them was damp and green and alive. Sunlight broke through the canopy in thin gold shafts. Somewhere deeper in the woods, something chirruped. Twigs cracked in the underbrush. The air smelled of moss, bark, and cold earth.
Peter shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced sideways.
Regulus looked entirely at ease, like he had not just been abandoned in the middle of the forest with someone he barely knew.
Peter cleared his throat.
“So.”
Regulus glanced at him. “So.”
Peter rocked back on his heels. “This is weird.”
Regulus gave a small shrug. “A bit.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“What’s another?”
Peter huffed a laugh. “I don’t know. Potentially fatal. Mildly suspicious. Socially catastrophic.”
That got the smallest curve of a smile from Regulus.
Peter noticed it at once.
“Well,” Peter said, because silence was apparently unbearable, “guess it’s just us, then.”
Regulus looked ahead into the trees. “Looks that way.”
Peter hesitated.
He didn’t really know Regulus. Not properly. He knew things about him, sure—everyone knew things. Sirius had said enough over the years, even when he clearly didn’t mean to. And there were all the usual stories, the Slytherin gossip, the Black family reputation, the way people spoke about Regulus like he was either made of ice or poison or both.
But standing here, alone in the forest with him, Peter was finding that none of those stories were especially useful.
Because Regulus did not look sharp-edged.
He looked… chill.
Annoyingly chill, actually.
Peter was the nervous one here, which was irritating for several reasons.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Right. Plan, then.”
Regulus turned to him a bit more fully. “You have one?”
Peter made a face. “Not yet. I was hoping you did, to be honest.”
Regulus’s mouth twitched. “I thought you Gryffindors were meant to love charging ahead without one.”
“Rude.”
“True.”
Peter gave him a sideways look. “You’re funny.”
“I know.”
Peter barked out a laugh before he could stop himself.
That seemed to settle something.
Regulus shifted, folding his arms loosely, expression easier now. “All right. What are we actually being judged on?”
“Woodland survival skills,” Peter said, ticking it off on his fingers. “And getting an animal or creature to trust us enough to come back with us.”
Regulus nodded once. “Fine.”
Peter frowned thoughtfully. “Actually…”
Regulus waited.
Peter tipped his head. “This might be less awful than I thought.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I do know survival stuff.”
Regulus raised an eyebrow.
Peter shrugged, suddenly a little sheepish. “I was in scouts for years. Since I was tiny. Knots, shelter stuff, tracking, finding water, all that sort of thing.”
Regulus blinked.
Peter grinned despite himself. “What?”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Well, you do now.”
“That’s useful.”
Peter’s grin widened. “It is, yeah.”
Regulus hummed, considering him in a way that made Peter unreasonably aware of himself.
Then Regulus said, “I’m good with animals.”
Peter stared. “That’s it?”
Regulus looked faintly amused. “Would you like a full résumé?”
“I mean, a little. Sell yourself.”
Regulus’s eyes flicked away for a second, but when he looked back, there was the hint of a smirk there.
“I have a natural affinity for them,” he said. “Animals. Creatures. They usually like me.”
Peter snorted. “That’s very modest.”
“It’s true.”
“Oh, absolutely, Your Highness, carry on.”
Regulus ignored that. “And my magical core helps.”
Peter’s expression shifted. “Really?”
Regulus nodded once. “Yeah.”
Peter took that in, then glanced around at the forest again.
A slow smile spread across his face.
“You know survival,” Regulus said.
Peter pointed at him. “You know creatures.”
Regulus pointed back, just slightly. “Seems that way.”
Peter’s grin turned almost delighted. “We could actually win.”
Regulus’s smile sharpened.
“Yes,” he said. “We could.”
The nerves in Peter’s chest loosened all at once.
Because that—strangely enough—felt solid.
Useful.
Simple.
He rolled his shoulders back and started down the path. “Right, then. First thing, we need to stay sensible and not stomp around making a ton of noise.”
Regulus fell into step beside him easily. “Mm.”
“We should watch for signs of nests, tracks, disturbed ground, feathers, fur, anything like that.”
“Mm.”
Peter glanced over. “Are you going to keep doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“Making that little noise like I’m a surprisingly clever dog.”
Regulus looked deeply unbothered. “Maybe.”
Peter sucked in a scandalised breath. “Unbelievable.”
“I’m listening.”
“Sure you are.”
“I am.”
Peter narrowed his eyes. “All right. Then tell me what I just said.”
Regulus looked ahead, serene. “Don’t stomp. Look for tracks, fur, feathers, disturbed ground, nests.”
Peter paused.
Then he said, grudgingly, “Fine.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re still annoying.”
Regulus’s smile flashed briefly. “That’s all right.”
They kept walking.
The forest thickened around them, branches tangling overhead, roots knotting underfoot. Peter had to duck under a low branch and glance back to make sure Regulus did the same. Regulus did, smooth and effortless, cloak brushing over fern tops as he stepped across a fallen log.
Peter tried not to stare.
Mostly he succeeded.
“So,” he said after a minute, because apparently he was incapable of letting a silence live, “you’ve got loads of pets, then?”
Regulus looked at him again. “Who told you that?”
“No one. You said you’re good with animals. Felt like the obvious next question.”
Regulus let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh. “Yeah. I do.”
“What kinds?”
Regulus shrugged lightly. “Different kinds.”
“That is a terrible answer.”
“It’s the answer you’re getting.”
Peter put a hand to his chest. “Cruel.”
“I don’t care.”
Peter grinned. “You do a little.”
Regulus gave him a look.
Peter grinned wider.
Then Regulus’s mouth curved in a way that felt dangerous.
“Oh,” Peter said, pointing at him. “There it is. That expression means trouble.”
Regulus’s eyes gleamed. “Does it?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.”
“No, seriously, that is the face of someone about to be a menace.”
Regulus tilted his head. “And if I am?”
Peter scoffed. “Then I’ll cope bravely.”
“Will you?”
“No.”
That made Regulus laugh properly.
It was quiet, but real.
Peter looked at him in surprise, and Regulus, seeming to realise he’d done it, smoothed back into something calmer.
Peter shook his head. “Well, now I’m offended.”
“Why?”
“Because apparently I’m funny enough to make you laugh and you were just hoarding that information.”
Regulus looked almost thoughtful. “Maybe I was waiting to see if you’d earn it.”
Peter clutched at his invisible pearls. “Vicious.”
“You’ll survive.”
“Given my extensive woodland survival skills, yes.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Peter kicked lightly at a patch of leaves, then crouched abruptly beside a patch of soft ground.
“Hang on.”
Regulus stopped.
Peter leaned in, studying the earth. “Tracks.”
Regulus stepped closer and crouched beside him, which should not have made Peter suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that they were alone, shoulder to shoulder, in the middle of the forest. But unfortunately it did.
Peter cleared his throat and pointed. “There.”
Regulus followed the line of his finger.
Small prints. Delicate. Recent.
“Rabbit?” Regulus guessed.
Peter nodded. “Probably.”
Regulus looked up, scanning the surrounding brush with that same strange steadiness he seemed to carry everywhere.
Peter watched him for a second.
He really was calm.
Not pretending to be. Not putting it on.
Just… calm.
Peter nudged his shoulder lightly. “You don’t really care what people say about you, do you?”
Regulus turned his head. “What people say.”
Peter lifted one shoulder. “Anything, really.”
Regulus looked at him for a long moment, expression unreadable again.
Then he said, “Not especially.”
Peter gave a slow nod. “Huh.”
“Why?”
Peter plucked at a blade of grass. “Just expected you to be different.”
“In what way?”
Peter snorted. “That’s a trap.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
Regulus’s mouth twitched. “Coward.”
Peter looked at him. “Excuse you. I’m brave in very specific, highly curated situations.”
“Such as?”
“Snacks. Sarcasm. Avoiding emotional vulnerability.”
Regulus’s eyes flickered with amusement. “Ah. A specialist.”
“Exactly.”
Regulus straightened, brushing dirt from his hands. “Come on, then, specialist.”
Peter stood too. “Bossy.”
“Move.”
“Wow.”
Still, he followed.
They left the tracks alone and kept going deeper, Peter occasionally pointing out useful things—a good place for shelter, the sort of tree that gave better cover, the direction of a breeze, signs that the ground dipped slightly downhill where water might collect after rain.
Regulus listened, and worse, actually seemed impressed.
It was doing odd things to Peter’s ability to act normal.
Not that he was especially good at acting normal on the best of days, but still.
After a while, Regulus said, “You really do know what you’re doing.”
Peter tried for casual and landed somewhere closer to pleased. “Told you.”
Regulus looked at him sidelong. “You did.”
Peter spread his hands. “I’m full of hidden depths.”
“I’m beginning to see that.”
Peter’s heart did a stupid little jump at that, which was deeply annoying and absolutely not something he intended to unpack.
So naturally he deflected.
“And you,” he said, “are still suspiciously calm.”
Regulus shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because we’re in a competition in the middle of the Forbidden Forest trying to bring back a magical animal.”
Regulus considered that. “Fair.”
Peter laughed. “See? That should worry you more.”
“It doesn’t.”
“You’re unreal.”
“I’ve been told.”
They were walking through a patch of silver-barked trees when Regulus slowed.
Peter nearly walked into him.
“What?”
Regulus lifted a hand slightly, wordless.
Peter shut up.
The forest had changed again.
Quieter here.
Not silent, but listening.
Regulus turned his head very slightly, gaze fixing on something Peter couldn’t yet see.
Then he stepped off the path.
Peter followed at once.
They moved carefully through the undergrowth until the trees opened into a small clearing ringed with mossy stones and low-growing ferns.
In the middle of it, half-hidden by long grass, was a small woodland creature—nervous, bright-eyed, and very much aware of them.
Peter stopped dead.
Regulus didn’t.
Not exactly.
He only softened.
There was no other word for it.
Something in him shifted—his shoulders, his face, even the way he breathed. He crouched slowly, hands loose and visible, voice low and almost gentle when he spoke.
“Hey,” he murmured.
Peter stayed back, watching.
The creature twitched, but did not bolt.
Regulus glanced at Peter only briefly. “Stay there.”
Peter nodded at once.
Regulus looked back at the animal, patient as still water.
“It’s all right,” he said softly.
Peter had no idea what Regulus was doing, exactly. It wasn’t a spell, not one Peter could see. It wasn’t force. It wasn’t trickery.
It was just—
Ease.
A strange, natural ease.
The creature’s ears flicked. It shifted, uncertain.
Regulus reached out, not touching, only offering his hand.
Seconds passed.
Then, cautiously, unbelievably, the creature edged closer.
Peter’s eyes widened.
“No way,” he whispered.
Regulus didn’t look at him, but Peter saw the tiny smirk threaten at the corner of his mouth.
“Quiet.”
Peter slapped a hand over his own mouth.
The creature sniffed at Regulus’s fingers.
Regulus let it.
Then, with infinite care, he touched its fur.
Peter almost lost his mind.
When Regulus finally looked back over his shoulder, his expression said, see?
Peter mouthed, What the hell?
Regulus’s eyes gleamed.
After another minute or two, Peter crouched carefully where he was.
“Do we…” he whispered. “Do we just bring it with us?”
Regulus nodded slightly. “If it wants to.”
That should not have sounded as smug as it did.
Peter shook his head in disbelief. “You are insufferable.”
Regulus, still stroking the creature lightly, said, “And yet.”
“And yet nothing.”
“And yet you’re coping.”
Peter pointed at him. “Barely.”
Regulus finally rose, slowly, and the creature—now trusting enough not to flee—lingered close beside him.
Peter stared.
Then he laughed, helplessly. “Oh, we’re so winning.”
Regulus smiled, open and sharp all at once. “I know.”
Peter looked at him for a second too long.
Regulus noticed.
Of course he noticed.
He tilted his head, dark hair falling slightly across his forehead, and said, very lightly, “What?”
Peter stood up too fast. “Nothing.”
“Mm.”
“It was not an mm situation.”
“Looked like one.”
Peter made a strangled noise and turned away, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Right. Fine. So. We’ve got survival skills, we’ve got creature handling, we’ve got this in the bag.”
Regulus stepped closer.
Peter became aware of that immediately.
“Then,” Regulus said, voice smooth as silk, “I suppose I’ll work with you, Peter.”
Peter turned back. “You will?”
Regulus smirked.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “As friends.”
Peter went bright with relief so fast it was practically humiliating. “Of course. As friends.”
Regulus’s smile deepened, wicked and lazy and entirely deliberate.
“But no tongue.”
Peter made a noise so high-pitched and startled it barely sounded human.
“What—”
His whole face went scarlet in one violent rush. “I—what—Regulus—”
Regulus chuckled, low and pleased with himself.
Peter was absolutely, catastrophically flustered now.
“I didn’t— I wasn’t— you can’t just say that—”
“Ohh,” Regulus cooed, dragging the sound out with unbearable smugness. “Finee.”
Peter was still staring at him in horror.
Regulus’s eyes glittered.
“With tongue.”
Peter yelped.
Actually yelped.
Then he stumbled backwards over a root, arms pinwheeling wildly as the blood rushed even hotter to his face.
“Merlin’s bloody—”
Regulus was already turning away, smirk still carved into his face, as if he had not just casually detonated Peter’s entire nervous system.
He started walking ahead through the trees, utterly composed.
Peter stood there for half a second in total, flaming disbelief.
Then—
“Oh, you are evil!” he shouted after him.
Regulus only lifted one hand in a lazy little wave without turning round.
Peter made another strangled noise, still scarlet to the ears, and hurried after him at once while the creature padded along beside Regulus like it had already picked a favourite.
“Regulus!”
No answer.
“Regulus, I hate you!”
A pause.
Then, from ahead, light as laughter—
“No, you don’t.”
Peter nearly tripped again.
And then rushed to follow anyway.
Peter caught up three turns of the path later, still red round the ears and muttering under his breath.
Regulus was waiting for him beside a hawthorn tree as if nothing had happened, one shoulder resting lightly against the trunk, expression composed in that infuriating way of his.
Only now he was carrying the creature.
It had clearly decided that Regulus Black belonged to it.
Curled in his arms like a spoiled little prince, the thing was all soft tawny fur and bright dark eyes, happily rolling onto its back so Regulus could scratch beneath its chin. It made a low, chirring sort of sound, paws batting lazily at the sleeve of Regulus’s robe as if it expected full devotion and immediate service.
Peter slowed.
“Oh, brilliant,” he said. “Now you’ve got a forest fan club.”
Regulus looked up at him, humming softly as the creature nosed into the crook of his elbow. “Think it’s a kneazle kitten.”
Peter blinked. “A what?”
“A kneazle kitten,” Regulus repeated, stroking two fingers down the little thing’s spine. “Not fully grown yet. Look.”
He tipped it slightly.
Peter leaned in despite himself.
The ears were larger than a normal cat’s, sharper too, and there was a knowing look in its eyes that was deeply unsettling on something so small.
“Oh,” Peter said. “That’s actually a bit creepy.”
Regulus smiled faintly. “Only because it looks smarter than you.”
Peter gasped. “That was nasty.”
“It was accurate.”
Peter pointed at the kneazle. “You heard that, didn’t you? He’s poisoning you against me.”
The kneazle blinked at him, then tucked its face into Regulus’s chest.
Regulus looked smug. “Too late.”
Peter rolled his eyes, though he was grinning now despite himself. “Right, move over, Snow White. We need to get back before everyone else.”
Regulus pushed off from the tree. “Lead the way, then.”
Peter straightened at once, grateful for something practical to do with his hands and his face and the complete wreckage of his dignity.
He scanned the trees, the slant of the land, the way the light had shifted overhead.
“We came downhill more than I realised,” he said, half to himself. “Meeting point was nearer the clearing, so we need higher ground. And that way’s wrong.”
Regulus glanced in the direction Peter had dismissed. “How do you know?”
Peter jerked his chin toward the undergrowth. “Moss. Thicker on this side of the trunks, and look at the ground—too wet. That dip’ll take us lower, not higher.”
Regulus studied him for a moment.
Then, softly, “You really are good at this.”
Peter tried not to look too pleased and failed a bit. “Yeah, well. I contain multitudes.”
“I’m starting to think you do.”
Peter set off, and Regulus fell into step beside him, still carrying the kneazle kitten like he’d been born to it.
They hadn’t gone far before the first obstacle hit.
The forest floor dropped away into a shallow but ugly stream, more mud than water, black at the bottom and crowded with tangled roots.
Peter stopped short. “That wasn’t here before.”
Regulus looked down. “It was. We just weren’t on this side.”
Peter crouched, studying the banks. “Too soft to jump cleanly. You’d sink.”
“You say that like I’m delicate.”
Peter looked over at him. “You’re holding a baby kneazle in a white shirt. Yes. You are, in fact, delicate.”
Regulus’s eyes narrowed, but his mouth twitched.
Peter grinned and stepped along the bank, testing the ground with his shoe. “There.”
A fallen branch had lodged between two roots, half-hidden under ferns and leaves.
“It’ll hold?”
Peter glanced back over his shoulder. “Trust me.”
Regulus arched a brow. “Bold request.”
“Shut up and do as you’re told.”
That got a soft snort from Regulus, but he obeyed, stepping lightly across the branch with the ease of someone who’d never once doubted his own balance.
Peter followed after, though with more care, arms out slightly.
When he landed on the other side, Regulus was already there, waiting with that horrible little knowing look.
“What?” Peter asked.
Regulus tipped his head. “Bossy.”
Peter scoffed. “You liked it.”
Regulus’s gaze flicked over him once, slow and sharp. “Maybe.”
Peter nearly stepped straight back into the stream.
“Oh, for—” He caught himself on a root and glared. “You cannot keep doing that.”
Regulus looked innocent. “Doing what?”
Peter threw his hands up. “That. That thing.”
Regulus cuddled the kneazle closer as if he had no idea what Peter meant. “I haven’t the faintest clue.”
Peter muttered something obscene under his breath and stomped ahead.
Behind him, Regulus laughed.
Not long after that, the forest began to get stranger.
At first it was just a rustle to their left.
Then a tiny shape darted out from a thicket and slowed, staring at Regulus with round curious eyes before padding after them.
Peter noticed first. “Hang on.”
Regulus turned.
The little creature—something halfway between a woodland vole and something much too magical to be ordinary—sat on its haunches and chirped.
Regulus blinked.
Then another appeared.
And another.
Peter stared.
“No,” he said. “No, that is ridiculous.”
Regulus looked almost amused. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I’m walking.”
Peter jabbed a finger at the line of small creatures now trailing after Regulus as if responding to a silent summons. “That is not just walking.”
Regulus looked down as one of them trotted right up to his boot and leaned against it affectionately.
“Oh,” he said.
Peter barked out a laugh. “Oh, he says. Brilliant. Deeply helpful.”
They kept going, but now there were creatures everywhere.
A little puffskein-looking thing bounced out of the ferns and attached itself cheerfully to Regulus’s ankle.
A pair of bright-eyed squirrels—except not quite squirrels, because their tails shimmered faintly at the edges—started following close behind.
Something with long ears and mottled fur hopped along at Peter’s side for a moment, took one look at Regulus, and immediately defected.
Peter stopped walking entirely.
“You are stealing my potential voters.”
Regulus, who now had the kneazle in one arm and a second creature perched in the crook of the other, looked back at him. “I’m doing no such thing.”
“They’re unionising around you.”
“I can’t help being beloved.”
Peter snorted. “Christ, listen to yourself.”
But it only got worse.
By the time they reached a clearing scattered with bluebells, there were six or seven animals around Regulus, maybe more. One clung to the hem of his robes. Another had somehow made it to his shoulder. A tiny feathered thing with far too many eyes had settled on his head like it lived there now.
Peter stared for a long moment.
Then he said, flatly, “This is absurd.”
Regulus looked very pleased with himself. “A bit.”
“A bit?”
“Mm.”
Peter watched as the creature on Regulus’s shoulder nuzzled at his jaw.
Then another scrambled up his leg with determined little claws, and Regulus only adjusted the kneazle slightly to make room.
“You’re literally covered in them.”
“Yes.”
“How are you still standing?”
“I’m talented.”
Peter laughed despite himself, shaking his head. “You’re tiny and evil.”
Regulus looked at him sideways. “Tiny?”
Peter realised what he’d said a second too late.
Regulus’s brows lifted.
Peter smirked because, finally, finally, he had something.
“Yes,” he said, stepping closer. “Tiny.”
Regulus’s eyes narrowed, but there was laughter in them now. “Careful.”
Peter tilted his head. “Or what?”
Regulus’s smile went slow and dangerous. “I’ll say something else that makes you fall over.”
Peter’s face heated on instinct.
Then, because he was getting sick of losing every single exchange, he leaned in just a little and said, “Maybe I’d like to hear it.”
Regulus went still.
Peter saw it—that split second where the shorter boy’s composure caught, ever so slightly.
It was tiny.
But Peter saw it.
And his grin turned wicked.
“Oh,” he cooed softly. “There you are.”
Regulus recovered quickly, of course he did, but now there was something sharper in his smirk. “Getting brave, are we?”
Peter shrugged, loose and easy though his pulse had started misbehaving. “Maybe I’ve decided to stop being so polite.”
“How terrifying.”
“You should be scared.”
“I’m not.”
“You will be.”
Regulus huffed a quiet laugh and turned away, but Peter caught the faint pink high on his cheekbones and felt absurdly victorious.
The path ahead narrowed and vanished into a cluster of low branches and thorny bramble.
Peter pushed the branches aside, frowned, and looked up through the canopy.
“We need to cut right,” he said. “The sun’s moved. Meeting point should be somewhere beyond that ridge.”
Regulus peered past him. “Through there?”
“Yeah.”
“With all these?”
Peter turned.
Regulus was now, somehow, carrying three things in his arms. One small creature had draped itself over his shoulder like a stole. Another was sitting contentedly on his head. Two more were wound round his legs, refusing to let go.
Peter lost it a bit.
He laughed so hard he had to brace a hand against a tree.
Regulus looked offended. “Oh, very kind.”
“You look insane,” Peter managed.
Regulus glanced down at himself. “I look charming.”
“You look like the forest’s adopted you.”
“Again,” Regulus said, “I fail to see the problem.”
“The problem,” Peter said, wiping at his eyes, “is that if you try to climb through that bramble on your own, half your entourage’s going to get caught.”
Regulus looked at the thorns.
Then at the animals.
Then at Peter.
Peter, very slowly, got an idea.
Regulus saw it happen and immediately looked suspicious. “No.”
Peter grinned. “Oh, I think yes.”
“Peter.”
“Regulus.”
“Don’t.”
Peter stepped in front of him and crouched a little. “You are, at present, more creature than person.”
“That is not a sentence.”
“It is today. Come here.”
Regulus’s expression slipped between indignation and amusement. “I can walk.”
“With what legs? I can’t even see them.”
Regulus looked down as one of the smaller creatures tightened itself happily round his ankle.
Peter had a point.
That clearly annoyed him.
Peter softened his voice into something dangerously sweet. “C’mon. Let me help.”
Regulus looked up.
Peter expected another cutting remark, another sly little line, but instead Regulus just studied him for a second.
Then he said, carefully neutral, “You’re enjoying this.”
Peter grinned. “Immensely.”
Regulus rolled his eyes. “Obnoxious.”
“You love it.”
Regulus opened his mouth to deny it.
Peter moved first.
He slid one arm under Regulus’s knees—or where his knees probably were beneath the pile of attached creatures—and the other round his back.
Then he lifted him.
Regulus gave a short, startled sound, more surprise than protest, and instinctively tightened one hand in Peter’s shoulder as every single creature clinging to him simply… stayed put.
None of them left.
The kneazle tucked itself in closer.
The one on Regulus’s head barely even blinked.
Peter straightened with Regulus in his arms, bridal style, and could not help the grin that broke across his face.
“Well,” he said. “This is definitely happening.”
Regulus stared at him.
Peter stared back.
Then Regulus looked away first, which felt like winning the lottery.
“You’re insufferable,” Regulus muttered.
Peter adjusted his hold, careful despite the joke. “And yet I’m carrying you.”
“I noticed.”
“Comfortable?”
Regulus tried for cool disdain and landed somewhere closer to flustered annoyance. “Shut up.”
Peter started through the thorns, stepping carefully, one hand shielding the branches back so they wouldn’t catch on Regulus or the collection of creatures draped across him.
Behind the sarcasm and the flirting and the constant sniping, he was weirdly aware of everything now.
How light Regulus was.
How warm.
How one of his hands was still fisted in Peter’s robes without seeming to realise it.
Peter ducked under a branch and smirked. “You know, if you wanted to be carried, you could’ve just asked.”
Regulus made a face. “I’d rather die.”
“Bit dramatic.”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
Peter looked down at him. “Rude. I’m being a gentleman.”
Regulus snorted softly. “You’re being smug.”
“Same thing.”
“It really isn’t.”
Peter grinned and kept walking, boots finding the clearest route with the steady confidence that had guided them all this way.
Every so often he paused, checked the slope of the land, the shape of the trees, the direction of the light, then shifted course without hesitating. Regulus watched him do it, quieter now, creatures still happily bundled all over him, and Peter could feel that gaze like a hand.
“What?” Peter asked eventually, not looking down.
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
A pause.
Then Regulus said, voice low, “You’re good at this.”
Peter’s grin softened before he could stop it. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Peter hopped over a root, tightening his hold automatically when Regulus shifted against him. “So’re you.”
Regulus looked down at the kneazle kitten asleep on his chest. “Apparently.”
Peter laughed. “Apparently? Regulus, you are one rabbit away from becoming a woodland deity.”
Regulus’s mouth curled. “Do you think that’d suit me?”
Peter looked down, met his eyes, and said before he could stop himself, “Yeah.”
Regulus went very still again.
Peter felt his own heartbeat trip.
Then Regulus looked away, but he was smiling.
Small.
Real.
Annoyingly pretty.
Peter swallowed and decided, for the sake of his own survival, that he needed to start talking nonsense immediately.
“So,” he said, climbing over a low rise with Regulus and about twelve devoted forest followers, “when we win this, I want it noted that I provided navigation, obstacle management, and upper-body strength.”
Regulus settled a little more comfortably in his arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “And I provided the army.”
“The army, yes.”
“The adoration.”
“Insufferable.”
“The charm.”
Peter laughed. “Tiny tyrant.”
Regulus looked up at him through his lashes, all cool amusement. “Careful.”
Peter smirked. “Make me.”
Regulus’s expression turned wicked again.
Peter immediately groaned. “No, absolutely not, don’t you dare.”
Regulus only hummed, smug and pleased, while Peter carried him on through the forest, one step after another, with a sleepy kneazle in his arms, creatures clinging happily to every part of him, and not a single one willing to let go.
Peter kept carrying him.
That was the thing.
For all the complaining and muttering and theatrical offense, he never once put him down.
By now Regulus was half-lost beneath a heap of warm little bodies, the creatures having gradually rearranged themselves to suit their new circumstances. Since he was horizontal in Peter’s arms, they had all migrated upward, sprawling over his stomach and chest and lap in a lazy, contented pile. The kneazle kitten had claimed the centre of his chest like royalty. One curled in the dip of his waist. Another was stretched across his thighs. A tiny feathered thing had nestled beneath his chin as if he were some sort of living nest.
Peter kept glancing down at the whole ridiculous picture like he still couldn’t quite believe it.
“You look smug,” he said.
Regulus, very comfortable beneath his little mountain of woodland admirers, smirked up at him. “I am.”
“Obviously.”
“I think it suits me.”
Peter snorted. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Regulus’s smile sharpened.
The flirting had changed somewhere along the way.
It was not really joking now. Not fully.
Still playful, still sharp around the edges, still full of little barbs and grins and mockery—but there was something warmer beneath it now, something steadier. The pauses lasted a fraction longer. The looks did too. Peter no longer went bright red at every little thing, though Regulus clearly considered that a personal challenge rather than a problem.
Peter ducked beneath another low branch, tightening his grip slightly so none of the creatures slid.
“Comfortable?” he asked.
Regulus shifted, sinking a little more easily against him, creatures resettling with sleepy chirrs and tiny squeaks. “Very.”
Peter gave him a suspicious look. “Too comfortable.”
“Is that my fault?”
“Yes.”
Regulus tilted his head. “You did pick me up.”
“You gave me no choice. You were being devoured.”
“I was being adored.”
Peter rolled his eyes, but he was smiling again. “Right. Deep difference.”
Regulus let his gaze drift over Peter’s face, slow and deliberate, then up to his hair ruffled by the walk through the forest.
Peter noticed.
He always noticed.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Regulus said lightly.
“Liar.”
Regulus only hummed.
Then, without warning, he lifted one hand from where it rested over the creatures on his chest and reached up.
Peter’s breath caught.
Regulus’s fingers slid gently into the hair at the back of his head.
Not rough. Not hurried. Just a slow, absent sort of scratch, nails lightly grazing his scalp like he was petting some skittish thing he already knew would melt for him.
Peter did.
He made a sound before he could stop it—low, startled, and embarrassingly pleased—and his shoulders shuddered in one involuntary wave.
Regulus’s eyes gleamed.
“Oh,” he cooed softly. “You like that.”
Peter nearly walked into a tree.
“I—” He swallowed hard and kept moving. “That is deeply unfair.”
Regulus scratched there again, just a little, fingertips slipping through the hair at the nape of his neck.
Peter groaned under his breath.
Regulus actually laughed.
“That much?”
Peter glared down at him, which would have been more effective if his face had not gone warm and his entire body had not just betrayed him in real time. “Stop looking so pleased with yourself.”
“But I am pleased with myself.”
“You’re evil.”
“And yet,” Regulus murmured, still gently playing with the back of his hair, “you’re the one carrying me.”
Peter took a long breath through his nose. “You’re making this very difficult.”
Regulus’s mouth twitched. “Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Peter barked out a disbelieving little laugh. “You are awful.”
Regulus’s fingers combed lightly once more through the back of his hair, and Peter visibly shivered again.
That, apparently, was the best thing Regulus had seen all day.
His smirk turned pure trouble.
Peter saw it and pointed at him. “No.”
“No?”
“No.”
Regulus leaned in a little, half-hidden beneath the bundle of creatures lounging over him like he was their chosen prince. “You’re very bossy for someone reacting like that.”
Peter’s ears went red. “You started it.”
“And?”
“And—” Peter adjusted his hold on him, then glared down. “And I’m trying to walk.”
“You are walking.”
“You are not helping.”
“I’m helping myself tremendously.”
Peter huffed a laugh despite himself.
Regulus watched his mouth for a second, then looked back up, expression softer now, almost curious beneath the mischief.
Peter noticed that too.
He noticed everything where Regulus was concerned now, which was a terrible development.
“Careful,” Peter said quietly, more affected than he wanted to sound.
Regulus blinked once. “Careful of what?”
“You know exactly what.”
Regulus smiled in that slow, maddening way of his.
Then he leaned in.
Peter only had half a second to realise what was happening before Regulus pressed a quick kiss to the line of his jaw.
Peter stumbled.
Not enough to drop him, obviously—never that—but enough that his next step went crooked and his grip tightened instinctively.
Regulus chuckled.
Peter stopped dead in the middle of the path and stared down at him.
The creatures piled over Regulus barely even reacted. One opened an eye, decided this was none of its business, and went back to sleep.
“Did you just—”
Regulus’s lashes lowered innocently. “What?”
Peter looked scandalised. “Don’t what me.”
Regulus leaned in again, mouth brushing Peter’s jaw a second time—brief, deliberate, impossible to mistake.
Peter made a strangled sound.
Regulus laughed into the space between them, pleased as anything.
“You little menace,” Peter muttered.
Regulus only tipped his head and nuzzled nearer, all composed wickedness and lazy affection. “You keep saying things like that.”
“Because they’re true.”
“And yet you don’t put me down.”
Peter looked around the forest as if appealing to a higher power. “I’m being tested.”
“Mm.”
Regulus’s teeth grazed lightly at Peter’s jaw this time—not enough to hurt, just enough to make Peter suck in a sharp breath and go tense all over.
Then Regulus settled back with a smug little smile, as if he had not just sent a full-body reaction through the much taller boy carrying him.
Peter stared at him in disbelief.
“Regulus.”
“What?”
“That was out of order.”
Regulus widened his eyes in mock innocence. “Was it?”
Peter’s grip flexed again around him. “Completely.”
“And what are you going to do about it?”
Peter opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
Regulus’s smile got worse.
“Oh, poor Peter,” he crooned. “You do like being bossed about.”
Peter gave a short, helpless laugh. “You are inventing crimes for me now.”
“No,” Regulus said softly. “I’m observing.”
Peter kept walking, though more slowly now, his pulse visibly misbehaving. “My mistake was thinking you had any sense of decency.”
Regulus reached up once more, fingertips gliding behind Peter’s ear and into the hair at the back of his head again. “And yet you’re still here.”
Peter shuddered, jaw clenching.
Regulus watched that happen with obvious delight.
“You need to stop doing that,” Peter said, voice rougher now.
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
“Make me.”
Peter let out a long breath that was almost a laugh.
“There he is,” Regulus murmured, pleased. “That look.”
Peter glanced down. “What look?”
“The one where you’re pretending you’re in control.”
Peter actually laughed then, low and incredulous. “Pretending?”
Regulus gave a tiny shrug, as much as he could with half the forest asleep on top of him. “You tell me.”
Peter walked a few steps in silence, boots soft against leaf mould, the forest close and green around them.
Then he said, “You’re very brave for someone being carried.”
Regulus smirked. “You’re very obedient for someone complaining.”
Peter looked down at him. “Careful.”
Regulus’s expression turned bright and taunting. “There’s that word again.”
Peter stopped near a mossy fallen trunk and shifted Regulus slightly higher in his arms, not rough, just firm enough that it drew a tiny breath from him and sent the creatures on his chest rustling sleepily.
Regulus blinked up at him.
Peter leaned over him a little, smiling now in a way that made Regulus go just a fraction still.
“You keep poking at me,” Peter murmured. “Then act shocked when I notice.”
Regulus recovered fast, but not fast enough to hide the tiny flicker of surprise.
Peter saw it and grinned.
“Thought so.”
Regulus’s eyes narrowed with amusement. “Big moment for you, that?”
“Huge.”
“How sweet.”
Peter shook his head. “You kiss my jaw, mess with my hair, wind me up for the last half hour, and now you’re acting innocent.”
Regulus’s mouth curled. “I’m not acting innocent.”
“Well, thank God for honesty.”
Regulus leaned in again, closer this time, his voice lower. “Then do something about it.”
Peter held his gaze.
For a second the whole forest felt strangely far away—just birdsong somewhere above them, leaves shifting in the breeze, and the slow rise and fall of all those tiny creatures sleeping across Regulus like he was made to be held and followed and trusted.
Peter smiled.
Not flustered now.
Not retreating.
Just smiling.
“You first,” he said.
That actually got Regulus.
Only a little.
Only in the slight pause, the tiny catch in his smirk.
But it got him.
Peter’s grin turned smug at once. “Thought so.”
Regulus narrowed his eyes. “Insufferable.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Arrogant.”
“You started flirting like it was a competitive sport.”
Regulus settled deeper in Peter’s arms, one hand still lazily threaded at the back of his head. “And you kept up.”
Peter dipped his head a little closer, enough that Regulus had to tip his chin to keep looking at him. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I did.”
That stole the joke out of it for a moment.
Not the warmth. Not the spark.
Just the armour.
Regulus’s expression softened almost despite himself.
Peter saw that too, and his own face gentled in answer.
Then, because neither of them seemed built to stay sincere for longer than five consecutive seconds, Regulus brushed his thumb lightly through Peter’s hair again and murmured, “Good.”
Peter groaned immediately. “Oh, you are shameless.”
Regulus smiled, bright and feline and impossible. “And you love it.”
Peter adjusted his hold once more and started walking again, steady and sure, through the heart of the forest with Regulus in his arms, creatures sprawled over Regulus’s chest and stomach and lap in a drowsy little heap, and the air between them now charged with something much harder to pretend was a joke.
“Behave,” Peter muttered.
Regulus leaned in and pressed one last, quick kiss against his jaw, then settled back with a satisfied little hum.
Peter closed his eyes for one long second.
Then he kept walking anyway.
They finally made it back to the edge of the meeting point just as the trees began to thin.
Peter slowed at once.
The clearing was up ahead, bright with late afternoon light and loud with voices, complaints, spluttering outrage, and the unmistakable sound of people who had been outdoors too long and were no longer pretending to enjoy it.
He stopped just inside the shelter of the forest line, still carrying Regulus in his arms, and both of them instinctively went quiet.
Regulus shifted slightly beneath the warm heap of creatures sprawled across his chest and lap. The hippogriff behind them gave a low rustle of its wings. The baby acromantula clicked softly somewhere to Peter’s left. Smaller things crowded close at their feet, curled over Regulus’s stomach, clung to his shoulders, perched on his head and arms and robes as if they had long since forgotten they were wild.
Peter grinned.
Regulus grinned back.
But first, they watched.
From behind the trees, they could see the whole disaster.
Pandora and Marlene were standing off to one side, both of them muddy from boots to shoulders. Pandora had a creature clutched in both arms, but it was having absolutely none of it. It writhed and hissed and twisted so violently it nearly launched itself free every other second.
“For the last time,” Pandora said through gritted teeth, pushing damp hair out of her eyes, “I am being gentle.”
“That thing hates you,” Marlene said, equally muddy and equally furious.
“It hates captivity.”
“It hates your face.”
Pandora looked offended. “That is incredibly rude.”
The creature hissed louder and nearly escaped again.
A few feet away, Barty and Sirius looked like they had just survived a naval accident.
They were soaked.
Not damp. Not muddy. Soaked. Completely, tragically drenched, robes plastered to their skin, hair dripping, both of them splattered with scratches and what looked suspiciously like pondweed.
They had no creature.
Not even a twig.
Barty was bleeding lightly from the cheek and still smiling in a way that suggested he found the whole thing hilarious.
Sirius looked murderous.
“This,” Sirius was saying, jabbing a finger into Barty’s shoulder, “was your fault.”
“My fault?” Barty said, scandalised. “You’re the one who shouted at the grindylow.”
“It bit me!”
“And you shouted at it.”
“It bit me first!”
Barty spread his hands. “So you escalated.”
Sirius made a noise like he might commit murder with his bare hands.
Near them, Evan and Frank looked only marginally more successful.
They were both covered in leaves. Not picturesque forest leaves. Disaster leaves. Leaves stuck in their hair, down their collars, clinging to their sleeves, as though they had at some point rolled bodily down a hill and simply accepted the consequences.
Frank was holding out a hand very flatly.
On that hand sat a bug.
A tiny one.
Evan looked like he would rather be dead.
Frank glanced at the insect, then at Professor Kettleburn, then back at the insect. “It is technically a creature.”
Evan rubbed a hand over his face. “We are not losing to a fish and a rock.”
Frank looked over toward the bowl Alice and Fabian were holding. “You may, in fact, lose to a fish.”
Alice and Fabian were indeed standing there, both soaking wet, clothes clinging to them, shoes muddy, hair damp, and holding between them a bowl full of water with one tiny fish swimming in circles inside it.
Fabian looked insultingly proud of this.
Alice was laughing.
“It counts,” Fabian said to no one in particular.
“It absolutely counts,” Alice said at once.
“It followed us.”
“It did not follow us,” Fabian said. “We rescued it.”
Alice grinned. “From what?”
Fabian paused. “From… not being here.”
Alice laughed harder.
Off to another side, Dorcas and Mary looked like they had been through an argument with a tornado. Their hair was a mess, their ties crooked, sleeves rolled, clothes rumpled and grass-stained. A jackalope stood stubbornly half in and half out of the forest line, ears twitching, body tense, refusing to come any farther no matter what either of them did.
Mary was crouched with a handful of snacks held out pleadingly. “Come on, sweetheart.”
Dorcas had both hands on her hips, staring the creature down like this was now personal. “We got you here.”
The jackalope did not care.
Mary shook the treats slightly. “Look what I have.”
Nothing.
Dorcas leaned in. “Do not embarrass me.”
The jackalope flicked an ear.
Mary burst out laughing. “It likes me better.”
“It does not.”
“It definitely does.”
“It is humiliating both of us equally.”
A few yards beyond them, James and Gideon were standing shoulder to shoulder, grinning like idiots.
In James’s hands was a rock.
Just a rock.
A perfectly ordinary, unimpressed rock.
Gideon was stroking it with the kind of false sincerity one usually reserved for stage performances and fraud.
“This,” James announced grandly to anyone who would listen, “is our pet rock.”
“It chose us,” Gideon added.
“You can see the trust.”
“It’s all in the energy.”
Remus, standing nearby, looked like he regretted being alive.
Lily was in even worse shape, because she and Remus at least appeared to have made a real attempt.
Both of them were a bit messy, leaves in their hair and dirt on their knees and sleeves, but Lily in particular was glaring with the cold fury of someone one second away from strangling a magical beast.
In both hands she held a makeshift leash fashioned out of vine.
On the other end of it, right at the forest line, some stubborn creature was fighting her with every ounce of spite in its body.
“We dragged you all this way!” Lily snapped.
The creature dug its claws in.
Remus, looking exhausted, said, “Maybe let it go.”
“No.”
“Lily.”
“No.”
“It clearly doesn’t want—”
The creature suddenly gave one savage, powerful yank.
Lily let out a short sound of outrage as her boots slid out from under her and she was pulled forward, landing flat on the ground in a spray of leaves and dust.
James howled with laughter.
Gideon doubled over.
Mary actually sat down because she was laughing too hard to stand.
Even Sirius, dripping wet and furious, barked out a laugh at that.
Lily pushed herself up on both hands, livid. “I hate this class!”
Remus, to his credit, at least tried not to laugh.
From the forest line, still hidden in shadow, Peter and Regulus looked at each other.
Both of them were shaking with silent laughter now.
Peter’s grin turned wicked.
Regulus’s smile was all sharp edges and smug delight, dark hair messy from the forest, small creatures curled all over him, larger ones waiting behind like a private guard.
It was ridiculous.
It was perfect.
Peter adjusted his hold on Regulus, and Regulus settled more comfortably in his arms without protest, surrounded by creatures draped over his chest and lap like expensive fur come to life.
Then Peter drew in a breath.
Regulus tipped his chin up, already knowing.
Oh, this would be good.
Peter stepped out of the forest first.
And in a voice loud enough to crack across the whole clearing, he boomed—
“Make way!”
The entire meeting point went still.
Every head turned.
Peter came striding from the trees with a grin like sunlight and disaster, carrying Regulus Black bridal style in his arms as if presenting royalty to a court.
Regulus, of course, looked exactly like he belonged there.
Dark hair, pale skin, red mouth curved in a smug, beautiful smile, creatures sprawled over him like he’d walked straight out of some bewitched fairytale. One perched on his shoulder. Another was asleep on his chest. Two clung to his robes. Smaller ones hurried at Peter’s boots, larger ones followed in their wake, and behind them the hippogriff emerged from the trees with impossible grace while the massive baby acromantula clicked calmly after like a loyal guard.
Peter threw his head back and announced, with all the grandeur of a royal herald,
“Presenting Regulus Black, the forest’s own Snow White!”
There was one second of total silence.
Just one.
Then the clearing exploded.
Pandora screamed.
Marlene screamed louder.
Mary shouted, “WHAT THE HELL?”
Dorcas just stared.
Frank’s bug fell off his hand.
Evan looked personally offended by reality.
Alice clapped both soaking wet hands over her mouth and made a sound like she might die laughing.
Fabian shouted, “NO!”
James bent in half laughing so violently he nearly dropped the rock.
Gideon pointed wildly. “THAT IS CHEATING!”
“It is not cheating if the forest loves him!” Peter shouted back at once, still carrying Regulus forward with utterly shameless smugness.
Sirius just stared at his brother as though his soul had briefly left his body.
Because it was not just the smaller creatures.
Not just the cuddled-up heap of them sprawled over Regulus’s lap and stomach and chest.
It was the whole procession.
The hippogriff.
The baby acromantula.
A whole line of woodland creatures large and small following in calm, affectionate devotion, crowding close around Peter and Regulus as they entered the clearing like a conquering parade.
The creature Pandora had been holding took one look at Regulus and stopped hissing.
Then it wriggled free of her arms and bolted straight across the clearing to join the rest.
Pandora stared at her suddenly empty hands.
Marlene pointed at Regulus. “I hate him.”
“No, you don’t,” Pandora said faintly, still staring. “No one could hate him after this. He’s become some kind of cursed forest prince.”
“Worse,” said Barty, wiping water out of his eyes. “He’s become smug about it.”
“I was smug already,” Regulus said smoothly from Peter’s arms.
That set half the clearing off again.
Lily, still on the ground with the shredded vine-leash in hand, looked up, saw the hippogriff, saw the acromantula, saw the army of creatures tripping happily at Peter’s heels and draped all over Regulus like decorations, and said, with deep feeling, “Oh, piss off.”
Remus finally gave up and laughed properly.
James wiped tears from his face. “Peter! Mate! What the hell happened to you?”
Peter grinned so hard his face might split. “Success.”
“SUCCESS?” Gideon yelled. “You’ve brought back half the forest!”
“And all of it likes him,” Peter said, nodding proudly down at Regulus.
Regulus smirked.
Sirius found his voice at last, which was a mistake for everyone. “Why are you carrying him?”
Peter looked at him like this was a stupid question. “Because I can.”
That got an entirely different wave of screaming.
Mary seized Dorcas’s arm hard enough to nearly drag her sideways. “Did you hear that?”
“I did.”
“Did you hear how he said it?”
“I did.”
Pandora was practically glowing with delight now. “Oh, this is gorgeous.”
Barty, still drenched and bleeding, began laughing like a lunatic. “Pettigrew, you absolute dark horse.”
Peter bowed his head just slightly in acknowledgment.
Regulus, still draped in creatures and grinning like sin, looked around the clearing with pure composed satisfaction.
Even Kettleburn had gone silent.
The professor stared through his spectacles, mouth hanging open a little, as the hippogriff came to a neat halt at Peter’s side and the baby acromantula settled behind them without a hint of aggression. Smaller creatures circled round Regulus’s feet—or where his feet would have been, had Peter been showing any signs of putting him down—while others remained perfectly content across his chest, lap, shoulders, and arms.
The jackalope Dorcas and Mary had been trying to coax this whole time took one long look at Regulus from the forest line.
Then it bounded straight past both girls and joined the crowd at his side.
Dorcas closed her eyes.
Mary wheezed with laughter.
“No,” Dorcas said. “No, that one hurts.”
Lily got to her feet, brushed leaves from her skirt, and pointed accusingly at Regulus. “This is unnatural.”
Regulus tilted his head. “And yet.”
Peter laughed and shifted him slightly higher in his arms.
That only made the creatures snuggle down more comfortably over Regulus, which sent another ripple of disbelief through the group.
James held up the rock defensively. “I still think we did well.”
“You brought back geology,” Sirius said.
“It trusted us.”
“It had no choice.”
Fabian pointed at Alice’s bowl. “Our fish is valid.”
“No one said it wasn’t,” Frank said.
Evan, still covered in leaves, looked at the hippogriff and said flatly, “I hate this competition.”
Barty pointed at Regulus. “I don’t. I think he should do this every week.”
Pandora brightened. “Yes.”
“No,” Sirius snapped.
“Oh, absolutely yes,” Marlene said, wiping mud off her face. “I want to see what else follows him out if we leave him in there longer.”
“Maybe a dragon,” Gideon suggested.
“A centaur,” James said.
“The entire ecosystem,” Mary added.
Peter looked down at Regulus, both of them still shamelessly pleased with themselves.
Regulus met his eyes, smirk slow and bright.
Then Peter looked back at the clearing and lifted his chin.
“Well,” he said, voice loud and smug and full of victory, “I think it’s pretty clear who won.”
Around him, the creatures pressed closer to Regulus.
The hippogriff flared its wings slightly.
The baby acromantula clicked in agreement.
And the whole clearing broke into screaming again.
Peter did eventually set him down.
Not because he particularly wanted to.
Not because Regulus asked.
But because by now the clearing had turned into such complete chaos that even Peter had to admit the full effect might be better if Regulus was allowed to stand in the middle of it like the smug little bastard he was.
So he lowered him carefully to the ground.
The moment Regulus’s boots touched the earth, the whole scene somehow got worse.
Or better.
Peter kept one arm firm around Regulus’s waist as if there were any chance at all of losing him in the crowd of creatures already clustering at his legs, but now that Regulus was upright again they all surged in closer with renewed devotion.
The smaller ones circled his boots.
Several crowded right against his shins.
One of the fluffier creatures immediately climbed up the side of his robes and settled against his stomach. Another hooked itself onto his hip like it had done this a hundred times before. The kneazle kitten, insulted by the idea of being set aside, stretched up both forepaws until Regulus sighed and scooped it back against his chest.
He was smug as fuck about all of it.
Utterly, disgustingly smug.
And Peter, arm still round his waist, was grinning just as badly.
“Oh, that is obscene,” Marlene said, staring.
“It’s getting worse,” Frank muttered.
“It’s getting better,” Pandora corrected, delighted.
The hippogriff moved in first, lowering its proud head to Regulus’s shoulder with a soft, pleased trill. The baby acromantula clicked its way closer and stopped right beside him like some nightmarish overprotective guard dog. The jackalope that had abandoned Dorcas and Mary shoved in near his legs with absolutely no shame whatsoever.
And then Lily’s creature—still trailing the snapped remains of the vine leash—made a sharp whining noise from where it had been sulking at the forest line.
Everyone turned.
It looked at Lily once.
Then at Regulus.
Then it absolutely bolted.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Lily snapped as it tore across the clearing, dragging bits of vine behind it.
The creature launched itself straight at Regulus, hit his legs, and then reared up with a desperate little whine, clinging to him as if it had finally found the correct person and intended never to let go again.
Peter laughed so hard he had to lean a little into Regulus.
Regulus, calm as a king receiving tribute, just looked down at the thing attached to him and said, smooth as silk, “Hello to you too.”
The creature made another plaintive sound and pressed closer.
Lily stared in flat disbelief. “No.”
Remus put a hand over his mouth, already losing the battle not to laugh.
“We dragged that thing,” Lily said, pointing furiously. “The whole way. The whole bloody way.”
“And yet,” said Regulus.
That set James off again.
Gideon doubled over. Barty was openly cackling. Mary had both hands over her face. Even Sirius, who still looked vaguely personally offended by everything happening today, was cracking up at Lily’s expression.
Alice looked down at the bowl in her hands just in time to notice that their tiny fish, which had previously just been circling in damp confusion, had now changed its entire agenda.
The second Regulus had been set down, it had started swimming frantically toward his side of the bowl.
Thunk.
Thunk.
Thunk.
It kept hitting the glass in its attempts, swimming determined little laps just to throw itself toward him again.
Alice barked out a startled laugh. “Fabian.”
Fabian looked down. “No.”
The fish did it again.
Thunk.
Then again.
Thunk.
Fabian held the bowl closer to his own chest like that might somehow restore order. “Traitor.”
“It wants him too,” Alice said, wheezing.
“Of course it does,” Fabian said miserably. “Why would the fish respect me when nothing else here does?”
Pandora made a sound like she might ascend on the spot. “Even the fish.”
“Not even aquatic life is safe,” Evan said flatly.
Frank looked at the bug on his hand, then at Regulus surrounded by an adoring ring of magical beasts and one emotionally compromised fish. “We never had a chance.”
“No, you didn’t,” Peter said cheerfully.
That got another round of shouting.
Sirius pointed accusingly at Peter. “Stop sounding so pleased.”
Peter tightened his arm slightly around Regulus’s waist and grinned without shame. “Can’t. I’m witnessing excellence.”
Regulus tipped his head back just enough to look at him, eyes gleaming.
The kneazle kitten tucked into his chest. The clingy creature from Lily wound itself against his side. Smaller animals pressed around his boots in a complete circle now, and the bigger ones loomed behind and beside him like they were forming ranks.
He looked like a dark fairytale prince.
Or worse—he looked like he knew it.
Pandora clutched Marlene’s arm. “Look at him.”
“I am looking at him,” Marlene said. “Against my will.”
“No, but really look at him.”
Marlene did.
Regulus stood there in the centre of the clearing with Peter’s arm around his waist, dark hair falling loose and messy from the forest, pale face lit by a smug, impossible smile, creatures of every size crowding round him and clinging to him and choosing him over literally everyone else in sight.
Marlene exhaled sharply. “Oh, that’s vile.”
“Right?” Pandora said, thrilled. “It’s perfect.”
Dorcas folded her arms. “I hate that my jackalope left me.”
Mary snorted. “Your jackalope left both of us.”
“It looked me in the eye first,” Dorcas said darkly.
Lily was still glaring. “Mine too. I would like that noted.”
“It is being noted,” Remus said, still laughing.
Kettleburn finally seemed to recover enough to speak, though he was visibly struggling to process the sight of one student being mobbed by a loving woodland court.
“Well,” he said weakly, then tried again. “Well!”
No one listened.
Because the fish hit the bowl again.
Thunk.
Fabian groaned. “Stop trying to join him.”
Alice was bent over laughing now. “It’s in love.”
“It’s a fish!”
“Apparently that means nothing anymore!”
Peter was still beaming, one hand spread warm against Regulus’s waist. “You know,” he said low enough for Regulus, though not so low that everyone missed the tone, “this is getting embarrassing.”
Regulus glanced sideways at him, all smug elegance and wicked amusement. “For who?”
Peter laughed under his breath. “Not for you, obviously.”
“No.”
“Never for you.”
Regulus’s smile sharpened. “You say that like it’s a flaw.”
Peter looked down at the creature whining and clinging to Regulus’s side, at the kneazle on his chest, at the ring of smaller things practically climbing over each other to get closer, at the hippogriff and the acromantula standing guard, and then back at Regulus himself.
“Not a flaw,” Peter said. “A nightmare, maybe.”
Regulus’s eyes glittered. “And yet.”
Peter huffed a laugh and pulled him just a touch closer by the waist.
Around them, the animals pressed in tighter still, like they were closing ranks around their chosen favourite.
And across the clearing, all their classmates could do was stare, scream, and watch as even the bloody fish tried to throw itself at Regulus Black.
Barty was the first one to say it out loud.
He doubled over laughing, one hand braced on his knee, the other pointing straight at Regulus like he’d just been handed the best joke of his life.
“Oh, that’s it,” he cackled. “That’s it exactly. He really is Snow White.”
Pandora made a noise of delighted agreement before anyone else could even breathe.
“Yes!”
Barty straightened just enough to jab his finger again toward Regulus, who was still standing in the middle of his increasingly deranged little court of creatures with Peter’s arm around his waist and a look of pure, elegant self-satisfaction on his face.
“Look at him,” Barty said. “The face, the hair, the whole thing. He looks exactly like a male Snow White. It’s actually insane.”
James, still half folded over laughing from everything else, looked up and then froze.
Then he pointed too.
“Oh, he does.”
“He absolutely does,” Mary said, wiping tears from her face.
“It’s the colouring,” Pandora said at once, gesturing wildly. “And the mouth. And the eyes. It’s horrible.”
“It’s the smugness,” Marlene muttered.
“No,” Barty said gleefully, “the smugness makes it better. Snow White, if Snow White was a menace.”
“And had an evil mother,” Evan added dryly from where he still stood covered in leaves.
That sent another wave through the clearing.
Even Sirius barked out a sharp laugh at that, though he looked like he hated himself for it almost immediately after.
Regulus, of course, only smiled wider.
Slow.
Sharp.
Absolutely intolerable.
The kneazle kitten was still tucked against his chest. The clingy creature from Lily had wound itself around his side. Smaller animals crowded his legs and boots in a dense ring, larger ones hovering close by like attendants.
He really did look like it.
Pale skin. Dark hair. Red mouth. Surrounded by enchanted woodland creatures.
It was ridiculous.
It was perfect.
Peter looked at him, looked at the hippogriff standing proudly at his side, and then got a brilliant idea.
“Oh,” he said.
Regulus turned his head slightly. “Oh?”
Peter’s grin widened. “Hold still.”
Before anyone could ask what he meant, Peter slid both hands to Regulus’s hips and lifted him cleanly off the ground.
The clearing erupted.
Regulus made a short, startled laugh but did not protest—not even a little—as Peter picked him up like it was nothing and turned toward the hippogriff.
“All right,” Peter said to the creature, like this was perfectly normal. “One moment.”
The hippogriff, apparently long past questioning anything either of them did, lowered itself just enough for Peter to set Regulus carefully onto its back.
That got screaming.
Actual screaming.
Pandora was practically vibrating.
James shouted, “NO, THAT’S TOO GOOD!”
Gideon pointed so hard he nearly dislocated something. “He’s making it worse!”
“It was already the worst it could be!” Sirius yelled back.
“Apparently not!” Fabian shouted, because things were still somehow escalating.
Regulus sat perched on the hippogriff with the ease of someone who had always belonged there, creatures still crowding round below him and along the creature’s sides, one hand resting lightly in the feathers, expression smug enough to start wars.
Peter looked at him and laughed under his breath.
Then he stepped in closer and, instead of moving away, leaned his back against the hippogriff beneath Regulus.
That made several people go dead silent on the spot.
Peter stood there, tall and steady, back pressed against the hippogriff, while Regulus shifted just enough above him that his legs hung down over Peter’s shoulders.
Regulus leaned forward then, folding his arms on top of Peter’s head in a way so casual and familiar it nearly killed half the clearing outright. His thighs bracketed either side of Peter’s head, legs dangling loose and easy, and Peter reached up without even seeming to think about it, hands settling around Regulus’s ankles to keep him balanced.
The whole thing looked absurdly natural.
As if they’d done it a hundred times before.
As if Peter had simply become a convenient throne accessory to the forest prince he’d brought home.
Barty shrieked with laughter.
Pandora clutched Marlene hard enough to bruise. “Do you see this?”
“I’m trying not to!”
“You can’t!”
“No, I can’t!”
Alice had fully given up and was openly crying laughing now. Even Frank looked like he might lose it any second. Remus had one hand over his face. Lily, still furious on principle, looked torn between outrage and hysterics.
Sirius stared at the arrangement for a long, painful beat.
Then he said, flatly, “That is the most annoying thing I have ever seen.”
“Thank you,” Regulus said.
Peter tilted his head back slightly, pleased as anything, while Regulus lounged over him from the hippogriff’s back like some smug little king with a living army at his feet.
And then, because apparently simple victory was not enough, Regulus began bragging.
“Honestly,” he said, voice smooth and carrying easily across the clearing, “they never had a chance.”
Peter’s smile widened at once.
Regulus looked down at the others, still leaning over Peter’s head with his arms crossed there, entirely at home.
“Peter knew exactly where we were going,” he said. “He handled the route, the terrain, the obstacles, all of it.”
Frank, still holding his useless bug, looked personally attacked.
Regulus went on, unbothered. “Stream crossing? Fine. Bramble? Fine. Direction, shelter, ground, tracks, elevation—he knew it all.”
Peter’s ears had gone just a bit pink under the praise, which only made Regulus smirk harder.
“You lot were never winning against that,” Regulus said. “Not with him in the forest.”
James threw a hand to his chest. “Oi!”
Regulus barely glanced at him. “Be serious.”
Gideon clutched the rock defensively. “We had spirit.”
“You had a stone,” Regulus said.
That took James out at the knees again.
Barty, still wheezing, pointed at Peter. “Pettigrew, you sneaky bastard.”
Peter laughed and ducked his head a little, still holding Regulus by the ankles.
Regulus looked utterly pleased with himself now, and not just because of the creatures, the hippogriff, the fish still trying to batter its way through the bowl from across the clearing, or the fact that every beast in sight had apparently chosen him over literally everyone else.
No.
This was about Peter too.
About showing him off.
About making it known.
And Peter understood that perfectly.
He tipped his head back just enough that his voice carried upward toward Regulus and outward to everyone else at once.
“Aww,” he cooed, all smug warmth and theatrical sweetness. “Thank you, baby.”
The clearing lost its mind.
Mary screamed.
Pandora made a sound like she was being spiritually vindicated.
Fabian nearly dropped the bowl.
Alice bent double laughing.
Even the hippogriff seemed vaguely pleased with itself, preening under the weight of all this nonsense.
Regulus looked down at Peter, mouth curving with slow delight, and Peter only smiled more, hands still loose around his ankles, posture relaxed and proprietary all at once.
“You hear that?” Peter said, glancing round at the others with insufferable satisfaction. “That’s called recognition of talent.”
“Oh, shut up,” Lily said, though she was laughing now too.
Peter ignored her magnificently.
Regulus leaned down a little farther over his head, hair spilling forward slightly, expression bright with wicked amusement. “I’m serious,” he said. “His woodland skills are the only reason we came back half so efficiently.”
Peter squeezed lightly at his ankles in thanks. “Keep talking.”
Regulus’s eyes gleamed. “You want more?”
Peter looked up as much as he could from the angle and grinned. “Always.”
That got a whole new wave of noise from the clearing.
Sirius threw both hands in the air. “Merlin, I hate both of you.”
“No, you don’t,” Barty said cheerfully.
“I do.”
“You definitely don’t.”
Regulus, still draped over Peter’s head from the hippogriff’s back like a smug fairytale catastrophe, looked around at the crowd of classmates, then down at the mass of creatures at his feet, then at Peter standing steady below him with one hand still warm round each ankle.
He smiled.
Peter smiled too.
And between the hippogriff, the baby acromantula, the fish trying to escape the bowl, the ring of enchanted forest creatures clustering round Regulus like he was the moon and they were all caught in his pull, and the two of them basking in it like absolute menaces—
there was not a single person in the clearing who could deny it.
They had won so badly it had become humiliating for everyone else.