Nearby, Remus is perched on the arm of a sofa, a book balanced on his knee — though he hasn’t turned a page in the last ten minutes. His eyes keep drifting to Mary, who’s laughing at something Pandora said, her head tilted back as the sunlight catches in her curls. He looks away quickly when she glances over, pretending to be completely absorbed in the words on the page.

Regulus raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push it. He’s sitting in the shade, a cup of something hot cradled in his hands despite the heat, watching the chaos around him with the quiet air of someone who’s already decided he’s above it all. In the background, Evan and Barty are attempting to throw a frisbee into a tiny plastic hoop while Emmeline and Dorcas look on, exchanging looks that range from amused to secondhand embarrassment.

It’s a good morning. A calm morning. The kind where nothing feels urgent and the biggest concern is whether Barty’s gonna actually land that throw or just hit James in the head again.

The villa erupts. James immediately starts hyping the challenge, Sirius looks personally offended that he’s gonna be handcuffed to a bed without any say in the matter, and Barty just looks thrilled, because of course he does.

Lily and Mary exchange a look. Pandora claps her hands together, delighted. Marlene’s already strategizing, her competitive streak kicking in as she turns to Emmeline and Dorcas.

But as the girls are led away by the production team, and the boys are herded toward the massive bed that’s been set up in the middle of the terrace, the challenge begins to take shape. The bed is enormous, draped in white linen, with the six boys arranged along it, their wrists secured to the headboard with soft, padded cuffs. It looks ridiculous — a row of gorgeous, shirtless men all lined up like a bizarre auction, each one trying to look casual about it.

The girls are brought up the stairs, blindfolds secure, their hands already dipped into buckets of paint — each one a different color. Lily’s a bright green. Mary’s a soft pink. Marlene’s a bold gold. Emmeline’s a deep purple. Dorcas’s a vivid red. Pandora’s a shimmering blue.

Mary takes a little longer, her fingers brushing over Evan’s chest before she pauses, tilts her head, and then moves on. Evan looks genuinely offended.

When Mary’s hand finally lands on Remus’s arm, she pauses. She feels the scars first, the rough edges against her palm, and then her fingers trail upward, finding his jaw, his cheek, the soft curve of his mouth. Remus goes completely still, hardly breathing.

She clicks the cuff shut around his wrist. Her color paints a pink handprint across his chest like a brand.

Emmeline finds Evan after a slow, careful search, her fingers tracing the muscles of his chest, the dip of his collarbone, before she clicks the cuff. Evan looks almost surprised, like he thought she might pass him by.

Pandora is the last one — she’s been wandering the bed with a dreamy smile, her hands trailing over ankles, calves, knees, like she’s reading the boys like braille. She pauses at James, tilts her head, then moves on. James splutters.

Eventually, she finds Barty, her fingers curling around his wrist with a soft laugh. He goes quiet for a second, something genuine flickering across his face before the grin returns.

The girls pull off their blindfolds, blinking in the light, and the sight is — a lot. The boys are painted in streaks of color, handprints scattered across chests and arms, some in the right places, some very, very wrong. James has a pink handprint on his stomach that he’s trying to wipe off with the shoulder of the guy next to him.

The boys are unclipped from the headboard, their wrists still connected to each other in pairs — the challenge apparently requiring a bit more chaos before it’s done. The girls laugh and compare, and the sun beats down, and for a moment, everything feels easy. Playful. Fun.

A beat of silence. And then the girls go absolutely feral.

The boys, meanwhile, look like they’ve just been told they’re hosting a funeral. James is staring, mouth open. Sirius’s grin has been replaced by a flat, unimpressed line. Barty look at the twins, then at his own group, and lets out a low whistle.

The twins saunter into the villa like they already own the place. Gideon heads toward the girls with an easy confidence, chatting up Emmeline, who — to her credit — looks mildly amused rather than swooning. Fabian hangs back a little, letting his eyes roam over the group until they land on the last girl still near the pool, who’s been watching the whole thing with a towel around her shoulders and an unreadable expression.

A grin curves across his face.