#Remus centric

[starryeyedwolves]

Echoes

The rain has been relentless for hours, drumming against the roof of Remus’s flat like impatient fingers against wood. He sits by the window, watching the streetlights flicker through the storm, a cigarette burning between his fingers, though he never remembers taking it from the pack.

The smoke curls around him, a ghost of something lost. A ghost of him.

Sirius.

He mouths the name like a prayer, but it brings no comfort. No warmth. No fire. Just silence. Just absence. Just the dull ache in his ribs where love used to be.

He tries to remember his face.

(He tries, oh, God, he tries.)

But memory is cruel. It is a trickster, a thief. It gives, and then it takes, unraveling the edges of a portrait he once knew by heart. The curve of a smirk, the sharpness of his jaw, the reckless light in those grey eyes—gone, all of it, slipping through his fingers like mist.

His voice, too, is lost to time.

There was laughter once, ringing through the Gryffindor dorms, echoing off stone walls, filling every hollow place inside Remus’s chest. There was the low murmur of his name, spoken in secret, whispered against his collarbone in the dead of night.

But now, when Remus closes his eyes and listens—nothing.

Only silence.

And yet, the absence of Sirius Black is still the loudest thing in the room.

He exhales, tilting his head back against the chair, the cigarette smoldering between his lips. Smoke fills his lungs like grief, sharp and aching, curling inside him until he thinks he might choke on it.

They say time heals all wounds.

(It doesn’t. It never has. It never will.)

Time is a liar.

It only dulls the edges, only teaches you how to carry the weight of the loss, how to live with the gaping hole in your chest where a person used to be.

Sirius was a storm, a wildfire, a force of nature impossible to contain. He was laughter and recklessness, sharp teeth and soft hands, all fire and ruin, and Remus had loved him more than anything in the world.

And now—

Now, all he has left are the echoes.

Faint, fading, slipping further away each time he reaches for them.

Remus doesn’t cry. He doesn’t have it in him anymore.

Instead, he watches the rain fall, listens to the quiet hum of the city beyond the glass, and wonders—

If Sirius had known how he would haunt him like this, would he have stayed?

[mourningliliesmorningglories]

“Passed Alger Brook Road, I'm over the bridge.”

Remus never thought he’d be sitting on this train once more. In this moment, he’s 14 again. The hills roll by and if he closes his eyes, imagines just hard enough, he can still hear the clamouring and giggling that used to belong here. The train is empty, save for Remus, a special trip just for him. In the worst way, this is all too familiar. Like the trunk remembers the axe, Remus can’t help but feel he is gently travelling towards a terrible thing.

“A minute from home but I feel so far from it.”

Remus had lived in London for so long that the Welsh had been bleached out of his accent. Hope and Lyall were long gone, finally resting. And Remus was alone. Home had always been where his heart had lived. Never Wales though, never a place, always a person. Cariad. Cariad. Cariad. With every beat of his heart, Remus knows where home is. He thinks of James and Lily and Harry. He thinks of a home that once belonged to them.

“The death of my dog, the stretch of my skin.”

He thinks of a home that belongs to him, of a basement with a torn up mattress and a master bedroom with a leather jacket hanging on the back of the chair. Remus could never understand how people could one day lock a door and never open it again. Until he did. Slowly, the cottage grew to be too much, bore a weight so goddamn heavy that Remus shouldered it all. That house held the three people he loved, “love” his mind corrects him. He wonders whether in 11 years of solitude, that house too, would be reluctant to see him again.

“It's all washin' over me, I'm angry again.”

In a way, only Remus could understand why James and Lily had to die. Unfortunately, there is always a greater good. There is always someone, ‘something’ his mind hisses, greater than him. The rage is dormant now. The war is over. Remus knows loss incredibly well, walks hand in hand with her most days. Instinctively, he tightens his grip on his thigh. It serves as a reminder. You survived the war. You lost everyone you love. You are real. You are neither punished nor the punisher. Not anymore.

“The things that I lost here, the people I knew.”

Remus takes a walk along the length of the train. Nostalgia’s sake and all that. The open compartment doors rattle gently and the seats are vacant. For some reason, Remus half expected to run into a brick wall at King’s Cross. He doesn’t know how to exist in this space again, how to walk the halls of the castle without feeling like a ghost instead. Mostly, Remus doesn’t know how he could look into James’ faces and Lily’s eyes again, and see them on someone else.

“They got me surrounded for a mile or two.”

Logically, he knows “No.” is as good an answer as any. He made sure that there were no more favours, no more secrets. Remus knows that from 11, the castle cared for him. He also knows that care and respect go hand in hand. He has no debt to the castle but he does have duty to fulfil. For every man who obeys his duty, there is another who cannot. A prison cell briefly flashes in his mind, then a cupboard under stairs, then a set of silver handcuffs.

“The car's in reverse, I'm grippin' the wheel.”

The train shudders and stops. The sky is dark. Remus’ eyes are closed. He inhales deeply and lets muscle memory take over. His steps now echo down the empty train carriages. He is just as tall as the last time he stood here. This time, he leaves behind four giggling boys. He leaves behind the weight of a head in his lap. The image is superimposed into his eyelids. Remus hopes that everything that ever existed still exists in moments, even though we don’t get them back. The doors slide open and he steps onto the platform.

“I'm back between villages and everything's still.”

For the second time in his life, Remus John Lupin has the sudden and crashing realisation that he is totally and utterly alone.

[norry-yippee]

mlm ships are not to blame for misogyny in the fandom, it you who only sees purpose in Lily as a character when she is with a man, it’s you who won’t read wlw ships even though they are just as complex and well written.

[ttroubledwaters]

im sorry but I find it so funny how when it comes to james potter, (some) fanfic authors just go; "oh! happy childhood? wealthy? loving parents? Okay, heres a mental illness."

[mudkip-enthusiast18]

(when they first meet and harry doesn’t know about the marauders + lily’s friendgroup)

remus looks at harry sadly

harry: what now?

remus: nothing, you just remind me of someone. she was fearless too.

harry: was your friend a professor too?

remus: no, she was a leader. she died a long time ago.

harry: I’m sorry.

remus: I’m sorry too.

[otterly-darling]

First Friend

'Hi! Do you mind if we sit here?'

The boy was loud; messy hair and glasses which almost fell off as he gestured wildly.

'Erm, sure.' Sirius gave a quick smile before looking back at his book but his heart was beating hard underneath his brand-new school robes.

He pretended to read as the boy and his friend settled themselves on the blue and white patterned seats, making themselves comfortable and talking non-stop.

'I'm James by the way,' the boy stuck his hand up, sending Sirius' book flying but the boy paid no heed. 'And this is Pete. Are you on your own? You must be a first year too.'

Sirius just nodded.

'Let's be friends then!' It was said like it was the easiest thing in the world.

---

'Hi! Do you mind which bed you get?'

The boy was loud; bright eyes and wand in hand which he almost dropped as he waved it wildly.

'Errr, no.' Remus gave a quick smile before looking around his new room but his heart was beating hard underneath his second-hand school robes.

He pretended to unpack his trunk as the boy and his friends settled themselves on their beds, making themselves comfortable and talking non-stop.

'I'm James by the way,' the boy bounded across the room, making Remus jump but the boy paid no heed. 'And this is Pete and Sirius. We didn't see you on the train? It must have been scary as a first year too.'

Remus just nodded.

'We're all going to be such good friends!' It was said like it was the simplest thing in the world.

----

'Hi! Do you mind if I squeeze in here?'

The man was tall; sweaty faced and drink in hand, which he almost dropped as he swayed wildly.

'No,' Sirius gave a relieved smile before looking over the crowd but his heart was beating hard and the man leered over to him, an ugly grin on his face.

He pretended not to notice as James tried his hardest to get in the man's way, throwing his arm around Sirius and talking non-stop. It didn't work.

'I'm James by the way,' he turned to the man, stepping fully in front of Sirius and squaring up. 'And this is Sirius. His boyfriend's name is Remus.'

The man nodded.

'It's time for you to fuck off!' It was said the the most casual thing in the world but James' eyes flashed. It took a moment but then the man retreated.

'Ugh,' James said, turning back round to Sirius. 'Sorry, Pads. He looked like a right- are you alright? What are you looking at- Oh! Hi Moony!'

Even in the dim light of the club you could see the flush on Remus' cheeks, Sirius however was even paler than normal.

'Boyfriend?' They both said at the same time, looking at James, who just looked back, totally unbothered.

'Yeah.' He took a sip of his drink. 'You've been mad about each other for ages.' Neither Remus or Sirius said anything and James sighed. 'So...' he prompted slowly, 'What do you think?'

Remus swallowed, his eyes on Sirius. 'It, erm, it sounds good to me. Uh, Padfoot?'

'Best idea ever,' Sirius breathed, eyes wide and he turned to James. 'Best friend ever,' he told him before throwing himself into Remus' arms and kissing him hard.

@wolfstarmicrofic

[itsriotmotherfuckers]

Trans!Regulus makes makes sense to me for a few reasons, honestly.

For one, it explains why it took so long for Sirius to be disowned. We know that the House of Black had very old values, so I can picture them not being accepting of trans people and not wanting a “woman” to be in charge. We know they disowned easily— think about Alphard— but they didn’t get rid of Sirius until he ran away. I could picture them keeping Sirius around to try and have a viable heir.

For two, it would give motivation for Regulus to rethink things. In the end, he did betray Voldemort, but, before that, he was wholly devoted to the cause. Maybe the reason he rethought things is because he realized he didn’t fit the mold, causing him to ask questions, before he figured it out and backtracked.

For three, I just like trans characters. Fuck JKR, she deserves to be pissed off by us making characters trans. I’d make Regulus trans if only to make her upset.

[shadowjinx2906]

!NOT MY ART!

Felt like making a book cover for the ff I’m currently obsessed with while I wait for the next update 😊 (The Sensation of Screaming by itsallinthenamereggie on ao3—def recommend but it is on the heavier side of angst and I’m not sure how canon compliant it will be 🤷‍♀️ Also just realized I may have gotten the “Reggie, did you see?” quote wrong but I’m not sure..)

[notquitekenough]

I kinda had this headcanon that most people saw Peter as such a non-threat that they accidentally made him the biggest gossip to ever exist, but because he doesn't talk much (selective mutism hc) he made a journal of everyones secrets to get it all out of his head.

   Peter Oliver Pettigrew kept many secrets. Nothing detrimental of course, he wasn't plotting against anyone or practicing dark arts, but he kept his true self close. He let himself fall into the background, be unnoticeable, easily forgotten. That way nobody questioned him on who exactly he was, not that they'd want to anyways... forgotten.

      In fact that's what he was right now, sitting in the park by himself dispite coming to Hogsmeade with three friends, forgotten. Damnit now he's thinking about it, I mean are they really his friends when they do this so often? Do they even like him? What if they're planning another prank on him? He still hadn't forgotten the last one, he took an hour trying to put his socks back in the right pairs. What if it's worse? Stop thinking about it. You have to stop it Peter! Remember what your therapist said, try to let it leave you. Focus on something else, anything else. Look at the people around. All having fun with their friends, no. Shit. Not helping. The nature maybe? The trees are nice, right? James' Dad helped plant a few of them in this park, if James were here he'd say that himself. Instead he's off with Lily, trying to impress her or some shit like he's done for the past 5 years. Peter's known him for longer, why doesn't he take priority sometimes? Tears well up in the corners of his eyes. Why don't his friends want him? No. Stop it. What even started this? Why do these thoughts keep coming up? What was he talking about? Oh yeah, secrets... Peter keeping secrets, that's what this was. Merlin, that got out of hand. Peter pulls his journal from his bag, a suggestion from his therapist, 'Write down whatever you feel you can, Peter, you have to let all those secrets out somewhere.' He starts writing.

     ~The secrets we keep~

Read before Continuing: This journal is to be read by no soul other than myself, Peter Oliver Pettigrew. If you are not me and you continue beyond this page you may consider yourself signed up for the worst hexxing of your life. I've been practicing. Be warned now that everything in this journal is entirely, extremely, irrefutably private. The information beyond this point is not meant to be shared and will therefore stay between Peter Oliver Pettigrew and himself alone. James & Sirius, put down my journal right now... please.

Is this worth continuing/ posting on Ao3? Idk.

[halfhissandwich]

@analoginceweek Day Five: “Here is where we shall stay.”

Story below! (Part two to Day Four)

“Hey, Virge, I need to go, Thomas is getting tired and I’m on dream duty tonight.” Roman informs Virgil of his situation. “Can… can you stay here and make sure our Perfect Professor is okay?”

“Nice alliteration… and yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll stay.” Virgil mumbles that last sentence more to himself than to Roman, but the prince gets the message regardless, and appears grateful as he pecks Virgil’s lips, causing the latter’s eyeshadow to quickly turn a sparkly purple color before he pulls away, lightheartedly slapping Roman’s arm. “You dork!”

“Haha! You know you love me, Virgil!” Roman playfully winks at him and Virgil’s face flushes when he finds that he can’t refute that claim. So he responds with a simple roll of his eyes. “I- oh, crap, I gotta go. You’ll be okay here?” Roman asks quickly, and when he gets a nod in response, he kisses Virgil’s cheek. “Bye V, tell Logan I said bye, I love both of you!” Roman takes a bow and sinks out.

Drama prince.

Virgil sits outside of Logan’s room for about 2 minutes before Logan finally opens the door, just a crack. Virgil jumps in surprise, looking at the door to find that Logan had in fact opened it… but Logan isn’t in the position that he had hoped. He still looked sad but on top of that, his eyes were a bright orange color, a sign that Virgil knew the significance of. “Logan…?” Virgil slowly speaks, trying not to provoke him.

Upon hearing Virgil say his name, Logan bursts into tears and falls down to his knees, babbling incoherent apologies to Virgil’s surprise. “I’m so- sorry- sor-” Logan practically chokes on his own sobs, prompting Virgil to kneel beside him and place his hands on Logan’s shoulders, observing the dark eyeshadow under Logan’s eyes. “L-Logan, hey, hey. Shhhh… look at me.” Virgil is unable to keep his own voice from shaking as he tries to get Logan’s attention, but Logan miraculously looks up at Virgil, breaking his heart with his terrified expression. “Do something for me. I want you to name five things you can see.” Virgil instructs, surprising Logan with the exercise that Logan had guided Virgil through before.

Shaking somewhat violently, Logan’s eyes shoot around the room, trying to decide what to say. “I-I can see… my- my bookshelf, I see… I s-see your s-sweatshirt… and your shirt… and I also see the lights in my room… and my blanket… was that five…?” Logan asks, gently fidgeting with the strings of Virgil’s hoodie, causing a warm smile to appear on Virgil’s face.

“Well done, Logan, that was five, very good.” Virgil praises Logan, keeping his hands steady on Logan’s shoulders, his own anxiety dying down with Logan’s success, which seems to also help Logan feel better. “Four things you can touch?”

As Logan continues through the exercise with Virgil’s guidance, Logan slowly finds himself being more and more grounded, and at the exercise’s conclusion, his newly orange eyes gaze into Virgil’s purple ones with hesitance, yet still with admiration. “You… you remembered.” Logan observes.

“Of course I did.” Virgil assures. “I still use that exercise a lot when I start feeling overwhelmed by my anxiety. It’s nice to have different options, know what I mean?” Logan nods wordlessly. Virgil looks at Logan’s eyes, then down at his hands as he takes them in his own, finally observing the elephant in the room. “So… he’s been bothering you.”

Logan averts his gaze, tears threatening to fall again as he nods. “He has… but not just him.” Logan starts, trying to find the courage to tell Virgil what had happened. Virgil, seeming to understand Logan’s feelings, squeezes his hands in order to give Logan the reassurance he needs. It proves successful as Logan continues talking. “When… when Thomas was cleaning, Remus showed up and started doing… doing his thing. I gave Thomas different methods to make himself feel better about how Remus was bothering him, but then he… he…” Logan clears his throat in an attempt to continue speaking. Nothing happens when he tries again. He clears his throat and tries to speak again. Nothing happens.

“What did Remus do, Logan?” Virgil asks, being as gentle with his question as possible, and struggling to hide his surprise when Logan yells. “HE MADE ME MAD! I- … I felt… so angry. He was ignoring me when I was trying to talk some sense and it felt like my blood was burning. And then he was right! The second that Nico called Thomas, Thomas started completely ignoring my efforts to tell him that implementing this damn schedule!” Logan rises, pulls out the schedule he had worked so hard to create with Thomas, a relic of how valuable he is, and rips it apart.

Upon seeing Virgil tense up at Logan’s outburst, Logan sighs and sits back down. “I’m sorry, Virgil… I just… I feel…” Logan begins, but trails off. Virgil holds his hand, wanting him to finish speaking. “I f-feel… sad. And mad.” Logan admits, lacking the appropriate emotional vocabulary to put a precise name to his feelings. “And I… something about Roman… he kept making me think about Remus. Like, I would see Roman but also see Remus. And I know that’s terrible! He’s nothing like Remus, I know that! Roman is bright, and intelligent, and funny, and… clean.” Logan looks down, avoiding meeting Virgil’s tense gaze.

“… I get it. When I first came to the light side, Roman did usually, well… remind me of Remus.” Virgil admits. “Granted, I barely knew Roman and I grew up with Remus, but still… We both know how amazing Roman is now, and we know that while he is similar to his brother, he’s different in all the ways that matter. He’s kind, he respects the space of others, he is able to reflect on his actions and take accountability and feel guilt when he makes mistakes, and well… when he makes us angry, there are good intentions behind it, right?” Virgil asks, prompting Logan to nod.

“I had a feeling that my brother was behind this somehow.”

Virgil and Logan both jump in terror realizing that Roman had returned, apparently done with his duties in creating a dream for Thomas. Virgil waves hello, but Logan is frozen as he desperately tries to explain himself to the prince, who was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and a neutral expression on his face. “Oh my god…” Logan tears up. “Oh god, Roman, I’m so sorry… I swear, I didn’t mean to compare you to Remus, I promise, I… you… you aren’t mad, are you?”

“Mad? Oh I am absolutely furious, but not at you, mi amor.” Roman takes one of Logan’s hands in both of his own. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I… I haven’t? But… I thought I hated when-” Logan starts.

“I hate when people imply that the only thing keeping me from being the evil twin is a mustache.” Roman clarifies with a small jab at Janus. “My brother and I are very similar, Logan, I know that. And I understand that if there are two Creativities, then they will naturally be connected. But you weren’t even comparing us, Logan, you looked at me and you were reminded of an event that really hurt you less than an hour prior.”

Listening to Roman’s voice was enough to completely soothe Logan’s tense body, his shoulders relaxing and his breathing slowing to a relaxed pattern. “May I hold you, Logan?” Virgil smiles, to which Logan snuggles up to him, letting himself be vulnerable in his partner’s arms as Roman maintains his hold on Logan’s hand. “Is there anything I can do to help you?” Roman asks. Logan looks at him, then down at the ripped piece of paper he had left at his feet. He pauses.

“Can you give me some tape?”

[grimst4rs]

“are we telling him?”

“fuck, no.”

“jealous, prongs?”

a snort. “no, obviously not, it’s just that—”

“i’m trying to sleep,” remus moaned.

“he’s alive!” james exclaimed, throwing his arms up and wrapping them around remus, which earned him a wince. “sorry, mate.”

he finally opened his bleary eyes and found himself where he usually resided after the full moon; his friends were looking at his expectantly, and remus suddenly felt horribly naked, which he wasn’t, but having someone (or, rather, a specific someone) look at him like that had that effect of him. he wasn’t exactly drawn to the idea of someone seeing him in such a state.

“tell me what?” he asked, bringing up a bandaged wrist to his eyes, trying (rather unsuccessfully) to rub the sleep away from him eyes.

“ah, well,” sirius said, grinning, “a certain prefect stopped by to wish you a speedy recovery and,” he scratched his chin, his eyes sleepy, too, ““all her best”.”

lily, then. well, something worse could have happened. like him slaughtering someone in cold blood. or sirius, james and peter having been caught by madam pomfrey in the shack. or snape coming to the hospital wing and prancing around smugly, glaring at remus as if he could open his skull and read his secret off from there in big, bold letters.

“oh,” was what he answered with, accompanied with a smile. “well, if you see her, tell her i said thanks.”

“prongs will see her, all right,” sirius grinned; remus earned a questioning eyebrow.

peter cackled, which earned him a smack from james. “well, you see, as you might know, our dear friend’s a head boy now.”

remus rolled his eyes. “really? it’s not like you wrote to me first thing after finding out.”

“yeah, well. he apparently ran into evans before duties yesterday, or more like went on the same route and bumped into each other. and scored himself a date with her next hogsmeade weekend, since this one she’s on duties with sluggy. or the slug club. whatever.”

“what!?” remus demanded, a little bit too loudly, which he immediately regretted, for his voice was hoarse. he looked around for madam pomfrey, trying to see if she would berate him for his outburst, yet she didn’t. “what!?” he asked, again, a little bit more quietly.

sirius nodded, lounging in his chair at ease. “prongs is finally a big man. aren’t you?” he patted james’ cheek affectionately. “peter earned himself a detention for that weekend, so i guess it’ll be just the two of us them. fancy calling a date?” he asked, grinning.

remus hoped his face hadn’t turned as red as he felt it would, once his cheeks and ears heated up. he and sirius were… complicated. by complicated, he meant snogging behind their friends’ backs whenever they had a spare moment, yet nothing more. however, something had shifted in their dynamic, and it felt like a bleeding wound. remus wanted to press his fingers to it, to get an explanation before there would be nothing left of them. why was he thinking of wound-blood metaphors? what the fuck.

“sure,” he beamed, grabbing a chocolate frog off the nightstand. “date, then.”

[mikalilys]

Trying to find fics that don’t make fun of my fav character except it’s incredibly valid to make fun of him because he’s a stupidly smart idiot 😞😞

Like I get it!!! I just don’t like it 😖

[scarlicbread27]

does anyone have any prank fics from remus’ perspective? i love a good sirius focused prank fic but sometimes they overly villainise remus and it gets a tad frustrating.

[les-fleurrs-du-mal]

Masterlist

Heyy. I've not used tumblr since I was in my early 20s, so just getting back into now to promote my writing! I've been writing since I was 15 and took a very long break from it until quite recently.

find me on ao3 & wattpad & tiktok

works

Cracks [work in progress] / regulus black x original muggle character / enemies-to lovers

Flora, the muggle half-sister of protective older brother Remus Lupin, is hidden away during the First Wizarding War for fear of werewolf attacks. It seems things cannot possibly get worse until Regulus Black, who has deviated from the fold of Death Eaters, also needs somewhere to hide.

Forced together by circumstance, their relationship is rocky from the start, but Flora won't be daunted by Regulus' arrogance and unpleasant airs. As they both slowly overcome their dislike of one another, mutual respect and understanding begin to grow, and their feelings start to shift from mere affection to something deeper and more profound.

[seriousbrat]

Do you find it difficult to write for Peter? I imagine it's hard to find the right balance in his characterization, especially considering people will be expecting him to be either totally useless and hated by the group or being totally equal and adored. I do think you do it very well though, he seems pretty realistic and in character imo

Ooh thank you so much for saying so! I really love this question.

The answer is sort of, sometimes! Honestly I don't find his voice difficult at all, I really enjoy writing him, but what I think can be a struggle with Peter is that he isn't a character that (initially) moves the plot along, compared to the others. He follows his friends, he trails behind, he's generally a passive character, so it's hard to give him active things to do within a story. I understand why people have a hard time knowing what to do with him, and either make him exit stage left during most scenes or just kind of eternally hover in the background lol. I know I've done that myself, and honestly, even though I think it was okay in part 2, it's part 3 where his arc really started to come together for me.

I'm obviously talking about the Hogwarts years here, since post-Hogwarts he has a pretty clear arc-- so during the Hogwarts years, it's all about setting up that arc, building up his motivations and foreshadowing his eventual betrayal. The way I see it he's already starting to do things that are basically small-scale versions of the betrayal, but because these actions are so minor they go completely unnoticed by the rest.

In my fic the first major turning point for Peter is during a Death Eater attack in their sixth year, when he turns into a rat and escapes, abandoning his friends who he knows are desperately trying to find him. This is never revealed to the rest of them, and Peter is at this early stage developing a habit of running from conflict and lying to his friends. During his seventh year he feels isolated from his friends and starts spending more time on his own as a rat, even failing to show up for his NEWT and lying about it later-- and in many ways that avoidance of real life is more comfortable for him. Obviously, the most extreme version of avoiding real-life consequences in this way is when he frames Sirius and then spends 12 years living as a rat.

He's terrified-- of losing his friends, of rejection, of failure, of the war-- and yet his fear is shameful to him, because cowardice is considered shameful by the in-group (Sirius and James) so he can't admit it to anyone or really face up to it. Instead he avoids it until it's too late, and then he avoids it some more by turning traitor and then by framing Sirius, then by running to Voldemort, etc etc until his death. It's almost like he's constantly in survival mode and always looking for a way out, while finding himself in situations that he feels are beyond his control but are really a result of his own avoidance.

Personally I did struggle a bit thinking of ways for Peter to move the story along or specific plot points for him during the Hogwarts years, basically ways to make him relevant, but overall I knew he was going to start unraveling early on. Peter's arc is initially very internal, nobody is ever aware of what's truly going on with him so unlike others it's difficult to tie his arc to the main plot-- but at the same time he's very observant, so he's a good vehicle through which to view other characters. He is constantly taking in information and thinking hard about that information, more than anyone else realises, which makes him a very good spy.

It can be difficult to find a balance with Peter though! As you mentioned, his standing in the group is tricky to get right, because it's somewhere between an idyllic, equal friendship and total rejection. They care about him, he is a member of their group, but they can also be disparaging, and they have no idea what's going on with him internally. They aren't consciously overlooking him, but he gets overlooked all the same. I don't think this kind of dynamic is that uncommon in real life tbh.

[urbanallegory]

prompt: the draught of living death, april 9

@wolfstarmicrofic 709 words

cw: substance abuse, implied canon-compliant deaths, suicidal ideation

(please Do Not read this unless u are definitely mentally okay to deal with peak remus misery)

October 31st, 1982. It had been a whole year without Sirius. The year before that: barely seeing each other, paranoid with suspicion, distrust growing between them that they’d sworn would never come.

His owl returned with his long-awaited reply from Severus: I don’t understand your reasons but the payment is adequate. Knockturn Alley. 8pm Thursday.

How easy it was for everything to change. For promises to become meaningless.

Two years of pain: could Remus even remember when they had been happy? He could. He always would—that’s what made it hurt so bloody much—knowing what they had, whole heartedly believing in it, him, Sirius-fucking-Black. Maybe it had always been Remus orbiting him like the moon, blinded by adoration and loyalty.

The memories choked him, daily and inescapable. Guilt, grief, guilt at the grief. How could he not fall deeper and deeper into despair? What did he still have left? Remus didn’t want to spend another year without him. Without the person he thought he knew, at least. Without how things were before.

“Three weeks, right?” asked Remus, and Severus nodded solemnly.

“Same place, same time, for the next one.”

“Thank you,” said Remus, passing him a small brown envelope of muggle money. “You will keep to our agreement?”

“Of course.” Severus’ expression was blank as always.

Remus nodded again. Thank you. Then he turned and made his way out of Diagon Alley, awaiting the step out onto the busy muggle London streets that would be an instant weight off his chest: magic simply suffocated him now.

Self-stirring cauldrons, gravity-defying buildings. It was a sucker-punch, it was as if the oxygen had simply been vanished from his lungs. It filled him with panic, because magic—oh, well it all reminded Remus of him. How could it not? Perhaps believing for so long that Sirius was magic made it so they were inseparable in his mind.

An enchanted paper plane glided past, trailing yellow sparks as it looped, and Remus was struck by a golden snapshot of Sirius, in school, throwing a paper airplane at Remus—he’d just taught him how to make them by hand, muggle style, Sirius had been exhilarated, confused, “What, so it just falls?”—it poked Remus’ shoulder and he flipped Sirius two fingers, faking a reluctance as he opened up the paper to reveal an animated drawing: stick-man Sirius blowing a kiss to stick-man Remus.

Now there was none of that joy, the initial wonder he felt when he first truly discovered magic in Hogwarts, amazement amplified after years of dampened demonstrations upon half-hearted explanations from his father who had honestly believed his son would never have the opportunity to learn magic… that he wouldn’t be good at it anyway. His friends—Sirius—were embedded into this fascination with magic and the wizarding world.

He took the tube, then walked slowly to his flat. His hip was acting up. He hadn’t apparated since—he realised he didn’t remember. Did remembering even matter?

Remus unlocked the door. Everything was ready.

One week out of each month Remus Lupin would remain conscious. He would go to the monthly Order meeting, he would transform as always with his werewolf pack in Wales, (Dumbledore’s orders) and he would show his face at dinner with Mary and Frank and Alice and say hello to baby Neville and dodge any and all questions directed to him.

For the other three weeks, Remus had used magic (an activity that sent him spiraling into a panic attack) to enchant his bed to enable all his bodily needs to be met even if he was unconscious. Eating, pissing, shitting—sorted.

Sitting in his bed, Remus emptied Severus’ potion into a mug gifted from Mary. It was customised with a pixelated picture of Remus with everyone he had ever loved, leaning into each other tight and smiling widely. Sirius beside him.

The draught of living death was powerful, so Remus needed just a small amount of potion. He watched the grey tones swirl against the cold ceramic white of the cup, then he sipped it in one gulp. For now, just let the time pass without me, he thought, and slumped into a temporary unconsciousness.

The mug slipped out of his hand, rolling across his bed and shattering as it hit the floor.