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If Regulus had known this was what a Gryffindor party would be like, he might have thought twice about accepting James Potter’s overly enthusiastic invitation.

But here he was.

Wedged awkwardly between James and Remus on the oversized Gryffindor sofa, watching Sirius attempt to teach Peter how to shotgun a Butterbeer with moderate success and a lot of foam.

Remus was gone. Beyond tipsy, fully wasted — slouched against the armrest of the couch, eyes half-lidded, and spouting what had started as philosophical musings and had quickly devolved into existential dread.

Regulus was — unfortunately — hanging on to every word like Remus was the bloody Oracle at Delphi.

"Don't fear death," Remus slurred, swirling his drink lazily, eyes distant like he was staring into the void itself. "Fear the state you will die in..."

Everyone else had long since tuned Remus out. James was busy chatting with Sirius about some Quidditch nonsense. Peter was, for some reason, laughing at the ceiling.

But Regulus... Regulus looked like he was living through his own personal nightmare. His usually sharp eyes were wide and glassy, lips parted, skin pale.

He stared at Remus with a kind of haunted reverence.

And then, in the softest, most terrified whisper, he breathed:

"...New Jersey."

It was silent.

For exactly two seconds.

Then Sirius exploded.

He spit his drink out in a full spray, nearly choking, doubling over with wheezing laughter. "WHAT?!" he howled, cackling so hard he nearly fell off the couch.

James blinked, looked between Regulus and Sirius, utterly baffled. "Reg, mate, what? New Jersey??"

Regulus was still staring at nothing, looking like he’d seen God and it was wearing a ‘Welcome to New Jersey’ t-shirt.

"That’s... that’s valid," Remus murmured, nodding sagely, like Regulus had just unlocked some great cosmic truth.

"Are you— are you afraid you’ll die in New Jersey?" James asked, somewhere between concerned and laughing.

Regulus didn’t answer. He just pulled his knees up to his chest and stared into the void, whispering again, "New Jersey..."

James wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close in a half-hug. "You're not dying in Jersey, mate, promise."

Meanwhile, Sirius was still laughing, tears in his eyes. "Merlin, Reggie, what have they done to you at this party?"

Remus, in his drunken wisdom, patted Regulus' back solemnly. "He knows. He gets it."

Peter, from across the room, just looked up, blinking. "...What’s a New Jersey?"

James snorted. "Don't worry about it, Pete."

And as Sirius kept laughing, and James tried to comfort his spiralling brother, Regulus leaned a little closer to Remus, whispering, "If I ever die there, you’ll bring me back, right?"

Remus, still entirely too gone to process anything real, just nodded, leaning his head on Regulus' shoulder. "Course, baby. I'll fight the whole state."

Regulus blinked at the nickname, cheeks flushing despite everything — but no one noticed.

Somewhere, Sirius wheezed, "You’re so dramatic, oh my god."

But Regulus didn’t care. Because Remus Lupin would fight New Jersey for him.

And maybe, just maybe, that made this disaster of a party worth it.