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unconventional-lawnchair · 4 months ago

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Hello! Could you do a Barty Crouch Jr. x Fem! Potter! Reader.

Where they are both in Ravenclaw and get close and end up dating in secret because of the Slytherins and the marauders. But then something happens and they break up but Barty shows up at the readers house years later to warn her about Harry, James, and Lily. They rekindle (smut if you write it. Or leads to that?)

And I was thinking about two different endings.

Ending 1: The reader later finds out she’s pregnant and has to raise their child on her own until the triwizard tournament where their child meets their father?

Ending 2: The reader goes to godric hollow that night to try to help them but ends up dying and Barty finds her and holds her?

Or if you like both you can do two different Barty x reader!

Love your fics by the way and I am Hooked to the series!!

Making Mistakes

Barty Crouch Junior x Potter!RavenClaw!Reader

Summary: (See above) After a horrible break up in 7th year, Barty and you haven't spoken a word to eachother. Then, he comes barrelling back into your life begging for forgiveness, will you trust him?

Wc: 16.8k

CW: Angst Heavy. Hurt/Comfort, Barty and the reader are messssy. Sexual themes and scenes. Mom!Reader, AFAB!Reader, Dad!Barty, Non canon complacent, The first part of the fanfiction is focused on the reader- second is focused on Ophelia(your daughter).

The Potter Manor, once warm and full of life, now felt cold and empty. The high ceilings and ornate decorations that had once felt grand now only magnified the silence. The vibrant reds and golds of your family crest seemed muted, much like the life that had once filled these halls.

Your brother, James, was hiding somewhere even you couldn't name- hardly able to visit outside of special occasions. Your parents had been gone for over a year. The house was far too big, far too quiet, and far too lonely. It wasn’t just the emptiness of the space itself- it was the absence of the people who had made it a home. You’d told yourself that time would help, but the grief lingered, stubborn and heavy, refusing to fade.

Even now, curled up on the couch in the living room- the one you used to complain was too cramped- you felt the space around you stretch endlessly. With a blanket over your knees, the fireplace crackling softly, and a book resting on your lap, it should have felt cozy. Instead, it felt hollow. You ran your fingers absentmindedly over the cover of your book, your other hand drifting to the necklace around your neck, the small charm resting just above your heart- a lone magpie.

It matched your patronus. Well, it matched what your patronus had become. Once, it had been a darling doe- calm and serene, a reflection of your regal- that's what Sirius had said. Now, it was the magpie: small, fierce, and energetic. It suited you, or at least the version of you that remained. You’d felt yourself change, slowly but surely, in the years you knew a love so dangerous it tore off parts of you that you no longer remmebered.

Your fingers traced the delicate charm as your thoughts wandered to the person who had given it to you. Barty. The weight of his name still felt the same, a complicated tangle of emotions that hadn’t untwisted no matter how much time passed.

You could still see his face the night you’d told him you couldn’t do it anymore. The way his sharp features had frozen, the defiance and anger creeping in as soon as the words left your mouth. You’d said you couldn’t keep hiding, couldn’t keep pretending that what you had didn’t matter. You’d told him you were tired of the stolen glances, the whispered promises, and the constant fear of being caught.

But you knew now that what had hurt him most wasn’t the ultimatum- it was the fear. Fear of admitting to the world what you meant to each other. Fear of what he might lose if he dared to love you openly. Fear that his world and yours were too different, too far apart to ever coexist.

Now, as you sat there in the flickering firelight, your thumb brushed over the charm, the memories tugging at your chest. The book on your lap remained unopened as you stared into the flames, the ache in your heart as familiar as the necklace around your neck.

~~~

The flickering candlelight painted Barty’s sharp features in gold and shadow as he lay beside you, his bare chest rising and falling steadily. The heat of your bodies still lingered in the cool air of the room, your skin damp against the soft sheets tangled around your legs. His fingers toyed with the charm resting against your collarbone, his touch so gentle it made your heart ache.

“Crow, can we talk?” You whispered, your voice soft but firm, breaking the fragile silence that had fallen between you.

Barty’s hand froze, his fingers brushing against the charm one last time before he let it fall against your chest. His jaw tightened, his green eyes refusing to meet yours as he shifted slightly, feigning casualness. “What’s there to talk about, birdie?” He murmured, his voice smooth but unconvincing. Unsatisfied your little exercise didn't make you truly forget what you intended to talk about. “We’re here. Together. Isn’t that enough?”

You sat up slightly, leaning on your elbow as you looked at him. “No,” You said softly, the word carrying more weight than you’d intended. “It’s not.”

He finally glanced at you, his expression guarded. “You’re overthinking again,” He said lightly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “Can’t we just- can’t we just enjoy this?”

“Enjoy what?” You challenged, your voice trembling slightly. “Hiding? Pretending? Barty, we can’t keep doing this.”

He groaned softly, falling back onto the pillow and running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Why do you have to ruin the moment?” He muttered, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness. “We’re happy, aren’t we? Isn’t that what matters?”

“Are we happy?” You shot back, sitting up fully now, the blanket slipping from your shoulders. “Because I don’t feel happy, Barty. I feel like I’m suffocating.”

He sat up abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he fixed you with a desperate gaze. “Don’t say that,” He snapped, his voice rising slightly. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” You said firmly, though your voice broke slightly. “I love you, Barty, but I can’t keep pretending this is enough. I need more. I need us- the real us.”

“This is the real us,” He argued, his voice frantic now. He reached for you, his hand gripping your arm as if holding onto you could stop you from slipping away. “This is how we work, birdie. This is how we survive. You think the world would let us be together? You think they’d let us have this?”

“I don’t care what the world thinks,” You snapped, your own desperation rising to meet his. “I care about us. But this- this isn’t sustainable. We’re tearing each other apart, Barty.”

“Of course you don’t care,” He spat suddenly, his grip tightening as his green eyes blazed. “You wouldn’t. You’re a Potter. You come from your perfect Potter family with your perfect, golden life. You wouldn’t understand what it’s like to have a family like mine- to be a Crouch.”

His words cut deep, the bitterness in his tone like a slap. But you didn’t flinch. Instead, you stared at him, your voice steady as you said, “Don’t you dare.”

He blinked, startled by the fierceness in your tone. “What?”

“Don’t you dare use my family as an excuse to run from what you deserve,” You said, leaning closer. “Just because my parents loved me, just because James and I grew up with something good, doesn’t mean you don’t deserve that too.”

He scoffed, the sound bitter and sharp. “I don’t deserve that. Not with who I am. Not with my name.”

“Yes, you do,” You said fiercely, your hand finding his cheek, forcing him to look at you. “You deserve love, Barty. Real love. Not this shadow of it we’re living in. But you have to believe that, or none of this will ever work.”

He stared at you, trying to read your expression, his jaw so tight you swore you could hear ticking. His grip on you was bruising, but you ached for it. You ached for his want, his desperate need, because without it- you felt like you were falling apart.

You leaned into him, your once hot skin chilling against the air of the room. On instinct, his hands slipped away from your arm and he wrapped them around your waist. Your hands found his chest and you moved all that bit closer. “Wouldn't that be a dream, Barty?” You whispered, voice strained and tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “If- if our kids,” You choked out and his eyes widened at your admittance of something solid. That was your dream. To be so true, so real, that starting a family was the obvious next step. “Our kids talk about us how I talk about my parents? That our son- our daughter- our little wix. They knew what a love like ours could do.”

Your words hit Barty like a physical blow, and for a moment, he looked utterly stunned. His hands on your waist tightened instinctively, pulling you closer as though the sheer force of your desperation could tether him to the dream you had just dared to voice.

“Our kids,” He echoed, his voice hoarse and filled with something you couldn’t quite place- something between longing and disbelief. His wide eyes searched yours, as if trying to find the certainty he couldn’t feel within himself. “You really think… that we could have that?”

“I know we could,” You said, your voice trembling but resolute. “But only if you let us. Only if you stop running from it.”

He shook his head, his hands trembling where they gripped you. “You don’t get it, birdie,” He said, his voice breaking. “I’m not… I’m not good like you. Like your parents. I don’t know how to be that kind of person.”

“You think my parents were perfect?” You asked, your voice rising in frustration, shaking. “They weren’t saints, Barty. They argued, they made mistakes- but they never stopped trying. They never stopped fighting for what they believed in, for each other. And you can do that too.”

He let out a bitter laugh, the sound almost choking on its way out. “You don’t know what you’re asking. My family isn’t like yours, okay? My father only believes in appearances, in power. He’d never accept this- he’d never accept us. And if he found out…” He trailed off, his expression darkening as a shudder ran through him.

“I don’t care about your father,” You said fiercely, your hands cupping his face. “I care about you. And you’re not him, Barty. You’re not your father.”

His eyes closed at your words, as though they hurt to hear. “I don’t know how to believe that,” He admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to be what he wants, and even that’s not enough. I don’t know how to be anything else.”

“You don’t have to be,” You said, your thumb brushing softly against his cheek. “You just have to be you. And you have to let yourself believe you deserve more than what he’s made you think you do.”

He opened his eyes then, and for a moment, you saw the cracks in his carefully built walls- the vulnerability he worked so hard to hide. “And what if I can’t?” He whispered. “What if I ruin us?”

“Then we fight through it,” You said, your voice firm even as tears threatened to spill. “We keep trying, just like my parents did. Just like I know we can. You don’t have to be perfect, Barty. You just have to let yourself love me.”

His breath slowed, his hands sliding up your back as he pulled you into a desperate embrace. His head dipped into the crook of your neck, and you felt the wetness of his tears against your skin. “I do love you,” He said, his voice raw. “I love you so much it hurts. It scares the hell out of me, birdie.”

“I know,” You murmured, your hands threading through his hair. “I know, Barty. But love isn’t supposed to be easy. It’s supposed to be worth it.”

For a moment, you thought he might let himself believe you. His arms around you felt solid, grounding, as though he was holding on to you for dear life. But then, just as quickly, he pulled back, his eyes filled with an anguish that made your chest ache.

“I don’t know if I can give you what you deserve,” he finally muttered, his voice trembling. “And I can’t bear the thought of failing you.”

“You’re not failing me,” You said, reaching for him, but he was already pulling away, retreating back behind the walls he had built to protect himself.

“I am,” He said, his voice cracking as he shook his head. Pushing you back and getting to his feet. “I already am.”

You watched, your heart shattering as he put on his clothes, back to you. Your eyes trailed the path your nails made against his back, your silent claim on him that he always begged you for. “Barty, Barty, please.” You sobbed out and you saw how stiff he grew. “Barty, my love.”

“I hear you, Birdie.” He whispered and buttoned up his shirt. Walking back to the bed, but staying out of reach from you. “Always such a beautiful song.” He whispered before he leaned in and stole a kiss. “I'm sorry.”

“Barty-” You strained and he kissed you again. Over and over until he managed to push you back against the bed.

“I love you Birdie.”

“Barty-”

“But I'm.. I'm not who you need.”

Your heart broke with every word that fell from his lips, each one chipping away at the fragile hope you'd tried to build between you.

“Don’t do this,” You whispered, your voice trembling as tears spilled freely down your cheeks. “Don’t say that, Barty. Don’t leave me like this.”

He closed his eyes as if shutting out the sight of you would make this easier, though you both knew it wouldn’t. “I have to,” He murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “If I stay, I’ll ruin you. I can’t do that, Birdie. I can’t be the reason you lose everything.”

“You are everything,” You choked out, grabbing his wrist in desperation as he made to pull away. “Can’t you see that? You’re what I choose, Barty. You’re what I want.”

His breath stopped at your words, and for a fleeting moment, you saw the war raging within him. His body was tense, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might shatter. But then he shook his head, his eyes meeting yours with a tortured finality.

“You deserve more,” His voice breaking as he leaned in to press one last kiss to your forehead. It lingered, soft and agonizingly final. “You deserve a love that doesn’t hurt like this.”

“I don’t care about perfect,” Your hands clutching at his shirt as though you could physically anchor him to you. “I care about you.”

He pried your hands off of him gently but firmly, his touch reverent even as it was devastating. “And I love you,” He said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But love isn’t always enough.”

You shook your head vehemently, trying to reach for him again, but he stepped back, his retreat like a knife slicing through the air between you. “Barty, please,” You begged, your voice breaking entirely now. “Please don’t do this.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his own tears threatening to spill, but then he turned away, his movements slow and deliberate, as if each step was a battle.

He paused at the door, his hand on the frame, his back still to you. “You’ll always be my song, Birdie,” He said quietly, the nickname a bittersweet ache on his tongue.

And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the room that still smelled of him, your heart breaking in the silence he left behind. The only sound was your sobs, muffled by the pillow you clutched to your chest, the magpie charm pressing cold against your skin- a painful reminder of what you’d just lost.

~~~

You gave a low shaken sigh. Trying to still your shattering heart and gather your voice before it all became too much again.

You looked up at the mantle above the fireplace, unable to stop the smile that curled on your lips. The photos, of your parents on their wedding day, of James’s first birthday, then yours. Then a photo of Lily and James’s wedding, of Harry’s first birthday- just three months ago.

You stared at the photographs for a long moment, your fingers tightening around the magpie charm at your neck. The smiles in the photos were so vivid, so full of joy, that it felt almost cruel. Your parents, James, Lily, even baby Harry- they were all looping so present in the frozen moments captured by the camera. Yet here you were, alone in the vast emptiness of the manor, the weight of their absence pressing down on you.

The photo of Harry’s first birthday caught your eye. His tiny hand reaching for the cake, James’s laughing face as Lily leaned in to kiss Harry’s cheek. You could almost hear the sound of their laughter echoing in the back of your mind, a memory you clung to desperately.

Your lips quirked into a faint smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “James would tell me to get up and stop being so dramatic,” You muttered to yourself, shaking your head. “He’d probably say something ridiculous like, ‘You’re a Potter, we don’t mope, we plot.’”

The thought of your brother’s mischievous grin brought a pang of longing. You missed him fiercely- his energy, his unrelenting optimism, and even the way he teased you mercilessly. James had always been your anchor, the one person who could pull you out of your darkest moments. But now he was miles away, hiding with Lily and Harry, fighting a war you couldn’t see but could feel in every corner of your being.

Your gaze drifted back to the fire, the flames dancing and crackling softly. The silence in the room felt deafening again, the weight of your solitude settling back over you. You tried to distract yourself by opening the book on your lap, but the words blurred together, meaningless against the storm of thoughts raging in your mind.

You closed the book with a frustrated sigh, setting it aside as you leaned back against the couch. Your fingers traced the magpie charm absently, your thoughts inevitably returning to him.

Barty.

His name echoed in your mind, and with it came a flood of memories- his rare, boyish smiles that he reserved just for you, the way his green eyes softened when he thought you weren’t looking, the way he held you like you were the only thing tethering him to the world.

You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky breath as the memory of his voice played in your mind:

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it, and you quickly wiped it away. Crying wouldn’t bring him back. Crying wouldn’t change the way he’d walked out of your life, no matter how much it hurt.

But Merlin, did it hurt.

The knock at the door startled you from your thoughts, the sound sharp and sudden against the heavy silence of the manor. You froze for a moment, your heart leaping to your throat as dread washed over you. The wards. You reminded yourself of the countless layers of protection James and Lily had insisted upon. No one with ill intent could step foot near the manor. Still, it took you a moment to move.

Your fingers tightened around your cardigan as you approached the door, peering cautiously through the window. Relief and confusion mingled as you saw Remus standing there, holding a bundle of flowers and looking chilled down to the bone.

You couldn’t help the way your lips curved into a smile, the first genuine one in what felt like weeks. Remus always had that effect on you, with his quiet strength and steady presence. You opened the door without hesitation, the chill of the winter evening brushing against your skin as you pulled him inside.

“Remus!” You laughed, wrapping your arms around him tightly before he could say a word. The flowers in his hands crinkled against your shoulder, and he let out a low, startled chuckle.

“Hello to you too,” He murmured, his arms coming around you after a brief hesitation. His embrace was warm and grounding, and for a moment, you let yourself rest in the safety of his hold. He cradled you like you were something fragile, something he was afraid might break if he squeezed too tightly.

When you finally pulled back, his sharp eyes roamed your face, scanning for any cracks in the mask you hadn’t realized you’d been wearing. “You didn’t have to bring me flowers,” You hummed softly, trying to inject some lightness into your tone as you gestured to the bouquet.

Remus gave a sheepish smile, shrugging slightly. “I thought it might brighten your evening,” he admitted. “But if I’d known the hug was part of the deal, I might’ve come sooner.”

You let out a laugh and furrowed your brow further, unable to help how the cheeky comment brightened up your night that little bit more. “I see Sirius has gotten into you. Come in, let's go to the kitchen.”

The kitchen glowed softly, the warm light reflecting off the polished wooden counters and copper fixtures. The steady hum of the kettle was a comforting backdrop to the quiet conversation you and Remus shared. You busied yourself preparing tea, your back to him as he leaned against the table, his long limbs relaxed but his eyes watchful.

“You’ve redecorated,” He remarked, gesturing to the new curtains hanging over the window. “I’m not sure the maroon suits the Potters, though. Sirius would call it RavenClaw overkill.”

You smirked over your shoulder, a hint of genuine amusement breaking through the lingering heaviness in your chest. “Sirius would call anything not leather or black an abomination,” you retorted, setting two mismatched mugs on the counter.

Remus chuckled, a low, pleasant sound that filled the room. “Touché. Though I do think the blue adds some warmth. This place could use it.” He glanced around, his expression softening. “It feels different without… everyone.”

You paused for a moment, letting his words hang in the air. The truth of them settled deep in your chest, an ache that had grown all too familiar. “It’s been a bit lonely,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “I’m not used to all this space- just me.”

He nodded, his gaze heavy with understanding. “I think they’d hate to see you like this. Especially James. He’d insist on dragging you to some ridiculous Quidditch match to cheer you up.”

You smiled faintly at the thought, a flicker of warmth chasing away the cold for just a moment. “He would,” You agreed. “He’d bribe me with chocolate frogs and promise not to embarrass me in front of the team, only to shout louder than anyone else in the stands. Calling us the seeker twins.”

Remus’s lips quirked into a small smile, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression- something that felt out of place. Nostalgia, yes, but also something deeper, something almost... reverent. His fingers drumming against his cup as he sat down at the table.

“You’ve always been good at making people laugh,” He said softly, his tone different now. His gaze lingered on you in a way that made your fingers hesitate as you poured the tea.

“You give me too much credit,” You hummed lightly, though his words sent a faint blush creeping up your neck. “James is the funny one. I’m just the stubborn one.”

He tilted his head, his smile turning crooked- letting his fingers graze your wrist and fixing your cuff as you poured him his tea. “It's a Potter trait. But I think it’s more than that.”

You turned to face him fully. “What are you getting at, Remus?” You narrowed your eyes, your tone teasing but your curiosity piqued.

He took the mug, his fingers brushing yours briefly, and for a moment, he didn’t reply. He just studied you, his hazel eyes unusually intense. “You’ve always had this way of making people feel seen,” He said finally, his voice softer now. “Like they matter. Even when they don’t think they do.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. “That’s… kind of you to say,” You managed, looking down at your tea as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I don’t think I’ve ever been particularly good at- ”

“You're selling yourself short, Birdie.” He chuckled. The nickname slipped from his lips so naturally, so casually, that it took you a moment to process. When it hit, your breath caught in your throat, and the air between you seemed to still.

You set your mug down slowly, your mind racing even as you fought to keep your expression calm. You turned back to the sink, gripping the edge tightly to ground yourself. “...What did you just call me?”

Remus stiffened, and you felt his gaze burn into your back. “What do you mean?” He mumbled, his voice suddenly cautious.

You turned around, your heart pounding- only one person called you by that name. “Why are you here?” You crossed your arms, your voice steady despite the storm building in your chest. “And don’t tell me it’s for tea.”

His expression faltered for just a second- just long enough for you to see through the carefully constructed façade. “I’m here because I wanted to see you,” His tone was measured. “To make sure you were all right.”

“No,” You scoffed, shaking your head as the pieces clicked together. “No, you know I'm not a fool.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but you didn’t let him. “Why are you here, Barty?”

His eyes widened, and for a moment, the mask slipped entirely. The careful demeanor, the warm smiles, the familiar quirks- it all fell away, replaced by a raw, vulnerable intensity that made your breath stop.

“You always were too clever for your own good,” He muttered, leaning back in his chair with a resigned sigh. “Guess there’s no point pretending now.”

Your chest tightened as the truth settled in. You gave a disbelieving scoff before you ran your fingers through your hair. Pacing slightly before you paused, a scary truth settling over you. “How did you do it?”

Barty rolled his neck and leaned further into his seat to face you again. His expression neutral- the natural arrogant energy coming from him felt horribly wrong coming from Remus’s stolen face. “What exactly, birdie?”

“Don't play coy.” You snapped. “How did you get as piece of Remus for the potion you used to lie your way past my wards and into my home, Crouch?”

“... I hate when you call me Crouch.” Barty's response was almost petulant, his lips twisting into a pout as he sat back in the chair, fingers tapping rhythmically against the porcelain mug he had barely touched. He tilted his head to the side, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you, the faintest ghost of a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“You always know how to wound me,” He continued softly, his tone a mockery of vulnerability. “But then again, you've always been too good at that, haven't you?”

Your stomach churned at the way he looked at you, like you were something to be admired and consumed all at once. It was too much, too familiar, and yet so far removed from the boy you once knew. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, grounding yourself against the onslaught of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

“Answer the question, Barty,” You said sharply, your voice cutting through the heavy silence of the room. “How did you do it?”

He sighed dramatically, as though the act of explaining himself was some grand inconvenience. “Remus has always been predictable,” He snarked lazily, his gaze never leaving yours. “He's a creature of habit, like clockwork. It wasn’t exactly difficult to collect what I needed.”

Your blood ran cold at the casual way he spoke about violating the trust of someone you cared for. “You stalked him. You used him,” Your voice trembling with anger. “You used him to get to me.”

He smiled then, a slow, deliberate curl of his lips that sent a shiver down your spine. “I did it for you, Birdie,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, honeyed murmur. “For us. You don’t understand how much I’ve missed you, how much I’ve needed you. Every single day without you has been... agony.”

“Agony?” You repeated incredulously, your voice rising as your anger boiled over. “You don’t get to talk to me about agony, Barty. You left. You made that choice, and now you want to waltz back in here, pretending like nothing’s changed?”

“Because nothing has!” He shot back, rising from the chair so suddenly that it scraped against the floor with a harsh screech. He moved toward you, and despite yourself, you took a step back. “You think I stopped loving you? You think I ever stopped thinking about you? Every second, every breath, it’s always been you.”

“Stop,” You said firmly, holding up a hand to keep him at a distance. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to waltz in here, steal someone’s face, and act like you’re some lovesick hero.”

“But I am lovesick,” He said, his voice trembling as he closed the space between you. “I’m sick, Birdie. Sick. You’re the only thing that makes me feel alive, the only thing that’s ever made sense. Don’t you see? I’m here because I love you.”

“Love?” You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “You don’t even know what love is, Barty. Love doesn’t manipulate. It doesn’t lie. It doesn’t use people. Get out.”

His expression switched to one of complete shock. As if he didn't expect to actually be sent away. You turned on your heels and walked down the hall, ignoring the stunned boy for a moment before he began to follow after you, taking a heavy breath. “Baby, birdie, don't walk away. Princess.”

Merlin, you hated to hear that coming from Remus’s mouth. It made your skin crawl.

His voice followed you like a shadow, echoing in the high ceilings of the manor. “Birdie, please,” He pleaded, a mixture of whining and anger that grated against your already frayed nerves. You didn’t turn around, your footsteps quick and determined as you ascended the stairs. “Don’t walk away from me!”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Every part of you screamed to keep moving, to put as much distance as possible between you and the man who was once everything to you. Your grip tightened on the banister as you climbed, trying to block out the sound of his voice.

“Stop ignoring me!” He shouted, his tone sharp with frustration. He was right behind you now, his steps uneven and frantic. “Do you think this is easy for me? Do you think I want to be like this?”

At that, you stopped abruptly, your heart pounding in your chest as you turned to face him. “Do I think this is easy for you?” You snapped, your voice trembling with barely contained fury. “You’ve made it abundantly clear, Barty, that you’ll do whatever you want- no matter who it hurts.”

He flinched at your words, the rawness of them cutting through his desperation. But instead of backing down, he stepped closer, his expression a twisted mixture of anguish and determination. His face flickered again, the remnants of the Polyjuice Potion struggling to hold as patches of his sandy hair and pale skin replaced Remus’s softer features.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” He said, his voice breaking. “I’m trying to fix this. To fix us.”

“There is no us,” you spat, your hands shaking as you stepped back. “There hasn’t been for a long time. And that was your choice, Barty.”

“No,” he said firmly, his green eyes blazing with an intensity that sent a chill down your spine. “You don’t get to put this all on me. You think I wanted to leave? You think I wanted to-” His voice cracked, and he clenched his fists, his body trembling with barely restrained emotion. “I didn’t have a choice, Birdie. You don’t understand-”

“You’re right,” You interrupted, your voice rising. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand how someone who claimed to love me could leave me to pick up the pieces of a life we built together. I don’t understand how you can come back now, pretending like you didn’t shatter me.”

He took another step forward, his hands outstretched as though reaching for something he couldn’t quite grasp. “Because I had to,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Don’t you see? I had to protect you. From my father, from the world we were in. I-”

“Stop,” you said sharply, holding up a hand to cut him off. “Don’t stand there and pretend you were some kind of martyr. You weren’t protecting me, Barty. You were protecting yourself.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked like he might argue. But then his shoulders slumped, and the fight seemed to drain out of him. “Maybe I was,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I love you. That I’ve always loved you.”

“Love?” You echoed bitterly, shaking your head. “You call this love? Breaking into my home, stealing someone else’s face, manipulating me into letting you in? That’s not love, Barty. That’s obsession.”

At that, something in him seemed to snap. His entire body tensed, and he closed the space between you in two long strides. “Fine,” he hissed, his voice low and trembling with barely contained anger. “Call it what you want. Call me a monster, call me obsessed- but don’t you dare tell me I don’t love you.”

Before you could respond, his knees buckled, and he sank to the stair landing at your feet, his hands clutching at your covered thighs as though it were a lifeline. His chin pressed against your skirt, looking up at you with those eyes a young girl you knew once spent hours of her time lost in. Those brilliant and calculated eyes. Here he was; Bartemius Crouch Junior, with an ego to rival the gods and the mind and skill to back it up- on his knees. Looking up at you like an obedient dog. “How can I not love you?” He whispered. “Birdie. My beautiful song bird. How?”

Your chest heaved as you looked down at him, his once-imposing figure now crumpled before you, hands gripping your skirt like you were the only tether keeping him from falling apart completely. His words, dripping with desperation, clawed at your resolve.

“Barty,” You whispered, your voice trembling, a mixture of anger and grief thick in your throat. “You need to leave.”

His eyes shot up at your words, his green eyes wide with disbelief. He stared at you as if you’d just struck him, his lips parting slightly, searching for something to say. “No,” he said softly, his voice unsteady but growing firmer. You watched as the full potion effect dropped away. “I can’t leave. Not like this. Not when I know you still love me.”

You flinched, his words cutting deeper with his true voice, but you didn’t waver. “This isn’t about love,” you said firmly, though your voice cracked. “This is about you not knowing when to let go.”

He rose slowly, his movements deliberate, careful, like a predator trying not to spook its prey. He hovered over you now, his height casting a shadow that made the grand staircase feel suddenly small. His hand reached out, trembling as it moved toward your cheek, and you instinctively stepped back, pressing yourself against the banister.

“Don’t,” You warned, your voice sharp.

His hand froze mid-air, his fingers curling slightly before he dropped it to his side. He exhaled shakily, his breath warm as it ghosted over your skin. “Birdie, please,” He murmured, his voice barely audible, his lips forming words you couldn’t make out. His shoulders hunched as if the weight of his own need was too much to bear. “Please don’t send me away.”

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill over as you fought to keep your composure. “You don’t get to do this,” You hissed. “You don’t get to break into my home, throw yourself at my feet, and demand I fix you. You’re not my responsibility, Barty. Not anymore.”

His hands twitched at his sides, his jaw clenching as he fought some inner battle you couldn’t see. Then, in a single motion, his hands reached for you again, his movements quick but not violent, desperate but not forceful. Panic surged through you, and before you could think, your hand flew up, striking his cheek with a sharp slap.

The sound echoed in the hollow silence of the staircase.

He staggered back slightly, his hand flying to his cheek, but instead of anger, a strange expression crossed his face. His lips curved into a slow, almost delirious smile, his chest rising and falling as if he’d just surfaced from drowning.

“That,” He murmured, his voice rasping with something unhinged, “felt real.”

Your stomach churned, the unease twisting tighter as he stood straighter, his demeanor shifting. His hand dropped from his cheek, and he let out a low, almost relieved laugh, shaking his head. “That’s the Birdie I know,” he said softly, his tone dangerously gentle. “The one who knew what our passion meant- I miss her. Can I talk to her?”

Your chest heaved with the weight of his words, the deranged calmness in his voice sending your heart into overdrive. His smug, unhinged smile made the bile rise in your throat as your fingers curled into fists at your sides.

“You miss her?” You snapped, your voice sharp and trembling. “The Birdie you claim to miss is the one you destroyed, Barty! She’s the one you left behind when you decided to join them!”

The smile faltered slightly, and for a fleeting moment, you saw something like regret flicker across his face. But it wasn’t enough. It could never be enough to erase what he had done.

“You made your choice,” you continued, stepping toward him now, your fury overriding the trembling in your hands. “You chose to follow him. You chose to become a monster, to fight against everything I stand for, everything my family stands for. You don’t get to waltz back into my life and pretend none of it happened.”

“I did it for you,” His voice rising, his green eyes blazing as he stepped closer. “Every single thing I’ve done was for you, Birdie! To protect you, to keep you safe, to make sure you’d never have to know what it’s like to be weak. You think I wanted to join them? You think I wanted to-”

“Don’t you dare,” You cut him off, your voice trembling with rage. “Don’t you dare try to make this about me. You didn’t join them for me, Barty. You joined them because you’re too much of a coward to stand up to your father. You wanted power. You wanted to prove to him that you were more then him. But you didn’t care who you hurt along the way, did you?”

He flinched as though you’d struck him again, his jaw tightening as his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” He hissed through gritted teeth, his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t know what it’s like to live with the weight of that name. To have no choice but to-”

“You had a choice!” You screamed, the words tearing from your throat as tears stung your eyes. “You always had a choice, Barty! And you chose them. You chose power. You chose to stand against me, against my family. Against James!”

He froze at that, his eyes wide and his breath hitching as though you’d struck a nerve. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop now, not with everything bubbling to the surface.

“You think I haven’t thought about you every single day?” You demanded, your voice breaking as tears began to spill freely down your cheeks. “You think I haven’t wondered if there was something I could have done, something I could have said to stop you? To save you?”

“Don’t,” He whispered, his voice trembling now, the bravado in his tone beginning to crack. “Don’t say that.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to say,” You spat, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and heartbreak. “You don’t get to tell me anything anymore. You lost that right the moment you turned your back on me.”

He stared at you, his chest rising and falling unevenly as the weight of your words pressed down on him. And then, suddenly, he moved.

Before you could react, he closed the distance between you in a single stride, his hands gripping your face with a desperation that took your breath away. His lips crashed into yours with a force that stole the air from your lungs, the kiss searing and frantic, as though it was the only way he could express everything he couldn’t say.

For a moment, you froze, your mind racing as the heat of his mouth overwhelmed your senses. You wanted to shove him away, to scream at him, to remind him of all the reasons this was wrong. But then something in you broke.

Your hands flew to his chest, not to push him away, but to pull him closer. The kiss deepened, raw and terrifying, a collision of anger, grief, and longing that neither of you could control. His hands slipped from your face to your waist, his grip bruising as he pulled you against him as if he could fuse you together.

The kiss deepened, and soon words no longer mattered. There were no more accusations, no more pleas, just the raw, unfiltered intensity of everything you’d both been holding back for far too long. It wasn’t tender or sweet- it was desperate, filled with the kind of longing and pain that made it impossible to think about anything else. His hands mapped out every inch of you as though he was trying to memorize you, to hold onto something real in a world that had been slipping away from him for years.

And you let him. You let yourself forget, if only for a moment, what he’d done, what he’d become, and the mess he’d left in his wake. You let yourself feel, because Merlin knew you couldn’t stand the ache of silence anymore.

It wasn’t long before the tension gave way to something more, something equally terrifying and exhilarating. Clothes were discarded hastily, his lips tracing paths of fire along your skin, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the silence of the manor wasn’t suffocating. It was electric.

You didn’t speak a word to each other the entire time. The only sounds being your soft gasps and his inaudible murmurs- ones that sounded more like pleas than anything else. You couldn’t give him more then that. Words would have only reminded you of the impossibility of it all, of everything you’d both lost. Words would have shattered the fragile bubble you’d created, where nothing else mattered but the two of you.

When it was over, you lay side by side in the fading moonlight, your bodies tangled in the sheets as the world slowly came back into focus. His breathing was uneven, his hand still resting on your waist as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go. But you didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. You stared at the ceiling instead, your mind a chaotic storm of emotions you weren’t ready to unpack.

~~~

The morning light filtered in through the heavy curtains, painting the room in soft hues of gold and grey. You stirred slightly, the ache in your body a reminder of the night before, but you kept your eyes closed, willing the world- and him- away.

You heard him moving about, the rustle of fabric as he dressed. For a brief, fleeting moment, you thought he might leave quietly, that he might spare you the agony of facing him after everything that had happened. But then he spoke, his voice low and hesitant, as though testing the waters.

“I’ll come back later.”

You scoffed softly, rolling over to face the wall, your back to him. You didn’t say a word. You couldn’t trust yourself to speak without breaking, without letting the storm inside you spill out.

“Birdie…” His voice was softer now, almost pleading, but you didn’t move. You kept your breathing even, your expression neutral, even as your heart clenched painfully in your chest.

The air felt heavier as the silence stretched, broken only by the soft creak of the floorboards as Barty lingered by the door. His shadow loomed across the threshold, hesitant, like a ghost caught between staying and vanishing.

“Birdie.” He whispered, his voice raw and strained, as though dragging each word out of his chest cost him a piece of himself. “One last thing.”

You didn’t respond, your body curled away from him, but he knew you were awake. He always did.

“You have to tell James.” He sighed, the words tumbling out in a quiet rush. “About his Secret Keeper.”

Your breath stopped, but you didn’t move. Every muscle in your body tensed as his words settled over you like frost, cold and unforgiving.

“Barty, what are you talking about?” You finally whispered, your voice hoarse as you turned just enough to glance over your shoulder. He looked so different in the pale morning light, the shadows on his face accentuating the cracks in his armor, the boy you once loved bleeding through the man he had become.

“Just promise me,” He cut you off, his tone suddenly sharper. “You'll.. warn him not to trust them.”

You stared at him, searching his face for answers, but all you found was that same haunted intensity you’d seen last night. He wasn’t lying- at least, not about this. But that didn’t make it any easier to believe.

“... okay.” You muttered. “I will.”

Barty stared at you like he wanted to say a million different things at once. Instead, he turned, the door closing behind him. You hugged your knees to your chest and willed away as much of reality as possible. Begging for any sense of normalcy to return; even the painful loneliness.

But nothing truly worked.

~~~

As the days went on, the weight of Barty's absence hung over the time that followed like a storm cloud. He hadn’t come back, and you weren’t sure if you were relieved or heartbroken. The last words he’d said lingered with you, haunting your every quiet moment: Tell James. Warn him.

You’d followed through on his warning, albeit reluctantly. It had been difficult to convince James without revealing the entire truth, but the grim look in his eyes had told you he believed you, or at least enough to act.

Nothing happened at first, but Peter was monitored. It didn't take long for everything to come to light; Peter was working against you. It all worked out. James was ready for him that night, the night he came for Harry, surprising the monster before he could act. Peter tried to run after the news came out, but a furious Sirius tracked him down for a confrontation. One with an explosive end for their former friend, nothing left of the boy but a finger.

It did take a few hours of wrestling with the Aurors, but after being proper witnesses and all of your evidence of treason- Sirius was released. Walking out of the holding cell with a smile that could blunt the sun. Lily and James were safe. Baby Harry, too. Relief and disbelief were all anyone seemed capable of, but you couldn’t bring yourself to celebrate. Not fully. Because in the same breath that the Dark Lord fell, Barty was taken to Azkaban.

You hadn’t dared to ask about the details. Not from James, not from Sirius, not from anyone. Knowing felt like it would only make it worse. But the knowledge of him locked away, cold and alone in a place that stripped people of everything, clawed at your chest in the silence of the manor.

You had lost him all over again, and this time, you knew there was no coming back.

The days that followed felt like a blur of motion and noise, a sharp contrast to the oppressive stillness that had once consumed you. You refused to let Barty- or the ghost of him that lingered in your mind- define you any longer. He was gone, and you couldn’t afford to let his absence drag you down any further. Not when there was work to be done.

You didn’t go to his hearing. You couldn’t. The idea of sitting in that courtroom, of listening to them talk about him as though he was nothing more than a monster, was too much. It wasn’t that you disagreed. He’d made his choices, and the world would see him for what he’d become. But for you, he was still the boy who had once traced your blemishes like constellations and whispered that you were the only light in his life.

Even now, looking back, you had always known what that young boy was capable of. The signs were there; and the raking guilt of knowing that you were possibly the only thing keeping him from becoming what he seemed so keen on being, taxed your self worth.

So, you pretended that night didn’t happen. That he didn’t exist. The magpie charm around your neck was tucked away in a drawer, along with the pieces of your heart that still ached for him. You buried it all deep, focusing on what you could control, on what you could fix.

Joining the Order to help clean up the aftermath of the war felt like a natural next step. It was what your parents would have done, what James would have done if he wasn’t busy. Saying he wanted to be a proper father to Harry and a good man to Lily. Lily still stayed close, there wasn't many healers with her talent. But James stepped down. It was what you needed to do. The world hadn’t stopped turning, and there were still Death Eaters to hunt, still innocent people to protect, still so much damage to undo.

The first few missions were grueling, physically and emotionally. You worked long hours, tracking down the last of Voldemort’s loyalists and dismantling the remnants of their operations. It was dangerous, messy work, but you thrived in it. The chaos kept you moving, kept you from lingering too long on the memories that threatened to pull you under.

You found solace in the chaos of the Order. Sirius, always protective, tried to keep a close eye on you, though he seemed to understand your need for space. Remus was steadier, offering quiet support when you needed it most, though you often pushed him away. And James- when he wasn’t with Lily and Harry- was your anchor, his unrelenting optimism a reminder of the person you used to be.

But there were moments, late at night, when the world went quiet, and you couldn’t escape the weight of it all. When you lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, and his voice echoed in your mind. When you caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye that reminded you of him, and your heart clenched painfully before you forced yourself to look away.

And then there were the whispers. The Order didn’t really talk about Barty, he was just another cog in the operation, but you heard the murmurs. About his trial, about Azkaban, about how someone so young and clever could have fallen so far. You kept your head down, pretending not to hear, but the words cut deep.

The recklessness came on slowly at first, creeping into your choices like an insidious shadow. You pushed yourself harder on missions, volunteering for the riskiest tasks, throwing yourself into danger with a desperation that bordered on self-destructive. It was easier to focus on the fight, on the rush of adrenaline and the sharp edge of survival, than to confront the gaping void Barty had left behind.

Sirius and Remus noticed, of course. They weren’t blind to the way you flinched at certain names, or how you worked yourself to exhaustion. Sirius tried to laugh it off at first, making quips about how you were channeling your inner Gryffindor ‘under all that Ravenclaw’. But Remus, ever perceptive, wasn’t fooled. His hazel eyes lingered on you with quiet concern, though he said nothing outright. Not until the mission that changed everything.

It was supposed to be a straightforward raid: infiltrate a suspected Death Eater hideout, gather intel, and get out. But things rarely went as planned. The ambush was swift and brutal, spells ricocheting off walls and sending debris flying. You and Remus were in the thick of it, your wand moving instinctively as you deflected curses and fired back.

Then it happened. A flash of green light, too close, too fast. It was aimed directly at Remus, who had his back turned while shielding a fallen comrade. Without thinking, you moved. You felt the spell hit you like a freight train, knocking the air from your lungs as a searing pain ripped through your side.

You barely registered Remus’s horrified shout as you crumpled to the ground, your vision blurring. The sounds of the battle faded into a dull roar as your consciousness slipped away, the last thing you saw being his anguished face hovering over you.

~~~

Remus paced the length of the ornate carpet, his fingers raking through his hair repeatedly as though he could scrub away the memory of what had happened. Sirius sat slumped on the sofa, uncharacteristically silent, his dark eyes fixed on the fireplace. The flickering flames did nothing to ease the tension in the room.

Remus’s chest tightened with guilt, each second that passed driving the weight deeper. He could still see it- the flash of green light, the way you had thrown yourself in front of him without hesitation. The moment felt frozen in time, looping endlessly in his mind.

“Moony, sit down,” Sirius huffed finally, his voice low and hoarse. It was an order, but not a harsh one.

“I can’t,” Remus replied, his voice taut as a wire. “She- she could’ve-”

“But she didn’t,” Sirius interrupted, his tone firm. “She’s alive, and Lily is better then any healer we have.”

Remus halted mid-step, his jaw clenched tightly. “She shouldn’t have had to save me,” he said, his voice cracking. “She- she’s half alive, Sirius. If anything happens to her-”

Sirius’s gaze darkened, and he stood, crossing the room in a few long strides. He placed a hand on Remus’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly. “You listen to me,” His eyes were sharp but his voice was steady. “She’s as stubborn as James, maybe more so. There’s no way she’d have stood by and done nothing, and you know it. Blaming yourself won’t change anything.”

Remus opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of the front door opening cut him off. Both men turned toward the entrance just as James entered, his face pale and tense. Harry toddled in after him, clutching his father’s pant leg with wide, curious eyes.

“Where is she?” James asked immediately, his voice sharp with worry.

“She’s upstairs,” Sirius said quickly. “Lils’ with her. She hasn't come back down yet.”

The tension in the room was suffocating, the silence broken only by the faint crackle of the fire and the occasional creak of floorboards as Remus paced. Sirius watched James carefully, noting how his hands trembled ever so slightly as he held Harry close. It was subtle, but for someone as unshakable as James Potter, it was telling.

“I need to go to her,” James said abruptly, his voice sharp and breaking the heavy stillness. He passed Harry to Sirius, who took the toddler without protest, his dark eyes wary. “She’s my sister. She shouldn’t be alone.”

“You can’t,” Sirius said firmly, standing up to meet James’s gaze. “Lily said we need to give her space. She’s working.”

“I don’t care what Lily said!” James snapped, his voice louder now, desperation seeping into his tone. “That’s my little sister lying upstairs, Sirius. If something happens- if she-” He cut himself off, swallowing hard as he fought to steady his breathing. “I can’t just sit here.”

“You think I want to?” Sirius shot back, his voice rising to match James’s. “You think Remus wants to? Merlin, Prongs, we’re all going mad down here, but Lily knows what she’s doing. She’ll call us if- when- there’s news.”

James ran a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. He knew if anyone could understand even a fraction of what he was feeling it was Sirius- you had endeared yourself to him in a way not many people could. And those people were in this house. “She doesn’t get to keep me from her,” He muttered, his tone dangerously low now. “Not her. Not anyone.”

“James, listen to me,” Sirius snapped, stepping closer, his hand gripping James’s shoulder tightly. “You storming in there isn’t going to help her. It’s not going to help anyone.”

Before James could respond, the sound of light footsteps descending the stairs cut through the room like a knife. All three men turned toward the staircase as Lily appeared, her face pale and her expression unreadable. The sight of her made James freeze, his words dying in his throat. Sirius’s grip on Harry tightened, and Remus stopped pacing entirely.

Lily’s hands were clasped tightly in front of her, and her eyes darted between the men before finally settling on James. “Can I speak with you alone?” She asked softly, her voice calm but heavy with something that made James’s stomach churn.

“What is it?” He demanded, taking a step toward her. “Lily, just tell me-”

“Please, James,” She interrupted, her voice breaking just slightly as she glanced toward Harry, who was still nestled in Sirius’s arms. “Come with me.”

James hesitated, his body rigid with tension, but the look in Lily’s eyes left no room for argument. He turned back to Sirius and Remus, his jaw clenched tightly. “I’ll be back,” He said, though his voice wavered.

James followed Lily just a few steps into the hallway before she stopped, her back to him as she hesitated. Lily’s words were hushed and inaudible, even to Remus’s keen ears- or maybe, he just wasn't willing to know just yet.

James’s expression shifted from tension to something unreadable, his brows drawing together as he processed Lily’s quiet words. The weight of whatever she had said seemed to hit him all at once, and his jaw went slack, his eyes widening in stunned disbelief.

Sirius and Remus exchanged a quick glance, their concern growing as they watched James stagger back a half step, his hand running through his already disheveled hair. His lips moved as though forming a question, but no sound escaped. Whatever Lily had told him, it had shaken him to his core.

Sirius shifted Harry on his hip, his protective instincts flaring. “What the hell did she just say to him?” He muttered under his breath to Remus, his dark eyes narrowing.

“I don’t know,” Remus replied quietly, his voice tight with unease. James finally looked at Lily, his wide eyes searching hers for confirmation.

James didn't hesitate after Lily's nod. He took the stairs two at a time, his worry and confusion pressing heavily on his shoulders. His hand gripped the banister tightly as he moved, the wood creaking faintly under his weight. Sirius and Remus exchanged uneasy glances from their spot by the fireplace, the tension thick enough to choke on.

Lily lingered at the base of the stairs for a moment, watching James's retreating form before turning back to the room. She mustered a soft, reassuring smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“She’s fine,” she said quietly, addressing Sirius and Remus.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Fine? You call that fine?” He gestured toward the staircase with a sharp nod, where James had disappeared moments before. “Prongs looked like he was about to keel over.”

“She is,” Lily insisted gently but firmly. “But James.. they just need to talk.”

Remus frowned, his sharp hazel eyes darting between Lily and the stairs. “If she’s fine, why is he in such a rush? What aren’t you telling us, Lily?”

Lily hesitated, her smile faltering slightly as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s not my place to say,” she said finally, her voice soft but resolute. “You’ll have to ask her yourselves when she’s ready.”

Sirius let out a low growl of frustration, running a hand through his hair. “Great. Love a good mystery. Just what we need after all this.”

Remus, however, wasn’t so easily placated. His gaze lingered on Lily, his instincts screaming that there was more to the story than she was letting on. But he didn’t press her. Not yet.

Instead, he leaned back against the arm of the couch, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Whatever it is, it’s obviously got James in a state,” he muttered under his breath.

Lily offered him a small, almost apologetic smile before excusing herself, taking Harry from Sirius, as she headed toward the kitchen, leaving Sirius and Remus to stew in their unease.

~~~

James reached the door to your room, his breath coming in shallow bursts as he paused to gather himself. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to find on the other side. The worry twisting in his chest was relentless, and the weight of Lily’s cryptic words only added to his unease.

He knocked softly, his knuckles brushing the wood. “It’s me,” He called quietly, his voice trembling slightly. “Can I come in?”

There was a moment of silence, and then your voice- weak but steady- drifted through the door. “It’s open.”

James pushed the door open and stepped inside, his eyes immediately searching for you. You were propped up against a pile of pillows on the bed, your complexion pale but no longer deathly. A soft blanket was draped over your lap, and a steaming mug rested on the nightstand beside you.

Relief flooded through him at the sight of you awake, but it was quickly tempered by the shadow of exhaustion that lingered in your eyes.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice breaking the quiet.

You managed a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Hey, Jamie.”

He crossed the room in a few strides, pulling the chair closer to your bedside and sinking into it. His hands fidgeted in his lap as he searched for the right words, his gaze flickering between your face and the mug on the nightstand.

“You scared the hell out of me,” He sighed finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You looked down, your fingers picking at the edge of the blanket. “I know. I’m sorry.”

James shook his head, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Don’t apologize,” He said firmly. “Just… talk to me. Please. What’s going on? Lily said you’re fine, but-”

“Lily’s right,” You cut in gently, meeting his gaze. You were able to see all the true overbearing nature of James Potter. When you were younger his protective nature used to irritate you- he was always on, all the time, brash and loud- a proper lion. Now? You wanted nothing more than to curl up against him and cry. But that's the last thing you could allow yourself to be- weak. “I’m fine, James. Or at least, I will be.”

He studied you for a long moment, his hazel eyes filled with a mixture of concern and doubt. “Lily said.. you needed to tell me something.”

James tilted his head slightly, his brows furrowing as he studied your expression. There was something guarded in your eyes, something that made the air between you feel heavier. His concern deepened when you let out a soft, shaky breath and slowly ran your hand over your abdomen.

The motion was small, almost absentminded, but it struck James like a thunderclap. His eyes widened, his lips parting as the realization sank in. For a moment, he was utterly still, his mind racing to catch up with what you’d just silently told him.

“No,” he breathed, the word barely audible as he leaned back in his chair, his face pale with shock. “No.”

You didn’t say anything, didn’t move, didn’t breathe. You simply held his gaze, your fingers resting lightly on your abdomen.

James swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he asked, “Bambi, when?”

The nickname, soft and familiar, broke something inside you. But you held firm, your eyes flickering away from his as you shook your head. “It doesn’t matter,” You whispered, your voice barely above a murmur.

James’s leg began to bounce, his eyes flickering from you to the door a few times before he shot up from his seat and began to pace. “When did you find out?” He demanded sharply, his voice tight with tension.

“Tonight,” You admitted quietly, your fingers curling around the blanket on your lap.

James stopped mid-step, spinning on his heel to face you. “Tonight?” He repeated, his voice rising slightly. “And you didn’t think to tell me immediately? Merlin’s sake!”

You flinched as his voice raised, but you held your ground, meeting his gaze with a calmness you didn’t entirely feel. “I was a little busy almost dying, James,” You hissed, your voice firmer now.

He opened his mouth to argue but then snapped it shut, his jaw tightening as he resumed pacing. “Fine. Fine,” He muttered, more to himself than to you. “But you’re leaving the Order.”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “As if they’d want me back after that stunt,” You shot back. “I’m not exactly in peak condition for fieldwork, am I?”

James ignored your sarcasm, his hands balling into fists as he continued his relentless pacing. “Good. You shouldn’t be anywhere near this madness,” He said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “Not now.”

Your heart clenched at his words, the overbearing protectiveness you’d come to associate with him hitting harder than ever. But before you could respond, he stopped abruptly, his hazel eyes narrowing as a new thought seemed to strike him.

“Who is it?” He demanded, his voice sharp and almost accusatory. “Who?”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his question settling over you like a lead blanket. “It doesn’t matter,” You pushed, though your voice wavered slightly.

James’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he began to pace once more. “Doesn’t matter?” He echoed incredulously, his voice rising. “It absolutely matters, Bambi. You can’t just- Merlin, you can’t drop something like this and expect me not to-” He cut himself off with a growl, shaking his head as he muttered under his breath.

James's pacing came to an abrupt halt, his hazel eyes narrowing as the pieces began to fall into place. He turned to you, his expression shifting from confusion to a dawning realization that made your stomach drop.

“The wards,” he said slowly, his voice low and dangerous. “The ones Lily and I put up for you- someone would’ve had to get past them. Someone who knew how to.”

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest as his gaze locked onto yours, sharp and unrelenting.

“Who was it, Bambi?” he demanded again, his tone deadly serious now. “Who the hell got past the wards?”

Your throat tightened, and for a moment, you couldn’t find your voice. You looked away, your fingers gripping the blanket tightly as if it could shield you from the weight of his question.

“Answer me!” James’s voice cracked, a mixture of desperation and anger bleeding into his tone.

You took a shaky breath, your gaze fixed on the wall as you whispered, “You don’t want to know, James.”

“That’s not your choice to make,” he shot back, his voice trembling. “Tell me.”

You finally met his gaze, your eyes brimming with tears as you whispered the name that had haunted you for weeks, for months: “Barty.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of your admission hanging heavy in the air. James stared at you, his face a mixture of shock, anger, and something deeper- betrayal.

“Barty Crouch?” He asked slowly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your throat too tight to speak.

“Barty Crouch Junior?” James pushed and you gave a weak scoff.

“James- yes Junior.” You huffed, your anger boiling over.

James stared at you, his chest rising and falling with the effort of keeping his temper in check. His jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might shatter, but his eyes- those familiar, warm hazel eyes- betrayed the storm inside him. He was angry, yes, but the anger wasn’t directed at you. It wasn’t even directed at Barty. It was directed at himself.

For a moment, the room was silent, the only sound the faint beating of rain against the windows. You could see it, the way his hands trembled slightly as he tried to decide what to say. Finally, he spoke, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through the silence.

“How long?” He asked, his tone controlled but strained. “How long were you seeing him?”

You swallowed hard, gripping the blanket in your lap. “James-”

“How. Long.” His voice cracked, louder this time, the control slipping for just a moment. He was trying, you knew he was trying, but the weight of everything was too much for even him to hold back.

You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “It started fifth year.” you admitted quietly. “It ended seventh. And he.. he showed up here. He told me about Peter.”

James’s face twisted, and he turned away, his hands dragging through his already-messy hair. He let out a low, frustrated sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a growl. “Fifth year?” he muttered to himself. “Merlin, Bambi, how did I not see it? How did I-” He cut himself off, pacing again.

You bit your lip, tears stinging your eyes. “James, please-”

“I..” He started but stopped- as if your tears alone tore apart at his flimsy heart. Closing his eyes and taking a steady breath. “So he made it past the wards. He came and told you about Peter and what? You-”

“James please just drop it. He's in Azkaban for life! It doesn't matter.”

James froze mid-step, his fists clenching tightly at his sides as his back remained turned to you. His shoulders heaved with the weight of unspoken words, his frustration palpable in the charged silence that filled the room.

"It doesn't matter?" He finally repeated, his voice low and filled with a quiet, simmering rage. "It doesn't matter?"

You flinched at his tone, gripping the blanket tighter as you tried to steady your breathing. "He's gone, James," you said softly, your voice trembling. "There's nothing left to fight over. There's no point in dragging this out."

James spun around to face you, his hazel eyes blazing with a mixture of anger, hurt, and disbelief. "No point?" He hissed, taking a step closer. "You think I’m angry because of him? Merlin, Bambi, I couldn’t give a damn about Barty Crouch. I’m angry because you didn’t tell me. You’ve been carrying this- this secret- alone, and now you’re trying to push me away again."

"I'm not pushing you away," You shot back, your voice rising slightly. "I'm trying to protect you! You have Lily, Harry- your family. You don't need to be dragged into this mess, James. It’s mine to deal with."

His expression softened for a fraction of a second, but the anger quickly returned. "You’re my family," he said fiercely, his voice breaking slightly. "You always have been. And if you think for one second that I’m going to stand here and let you face this alone, then you don’t know me at all."

You stared at him, the raw emotion in his voice cutting through your defenses like a blade. Your chest ached, torn between the desire to let him in and the fear of burdening him further. "James, I-" you began, but your voice faltered as tears welled in your eyes.

He closed the distance between you, dropping into the chair beside your bed. His hand found yours, warm and steady despite the tremor in his grip. "Listen to me," he said softly, his tone losing its edge as his thumb brushed over your knuckles. "I don’t care how messy this is. I don’t care how much it hurts. I just care about you."

The dam inside you broke, and a sob escaped your lips as you clung to his hand like a lifeline. "I don’t know how to fix this," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know how to move forward."

James squeezed your hand tightly, his gaze unwavering. "You don’t have to figure it out alone," he said firmly. "We’ll take it one step at a time, together. You hear me, Bambi? You’re not alone in this."

The weight on your chest eased ever so slightly as his words sank in, the overwhelming love and determination in his voice a balm to your fractured soul. You nodded, unable to speak as the tears streamed down your face, and James pulled you into a tight embrace.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to lean on him, to let the walls you’d built around yourself crumble. And as James held you, murmuring reassurances that you would face whatever came next together, you felt the smallest flicker of hope begin to bloom in your chest.

After you recovered, you faced the daunting task of telling Sirius and Remus. Their reactions were nothing like you’d expected. After weeks of being stuffed up in that dingy room.

Sirius, ever the one to surprise you, turned softer than you’d ever seen him. It reminded you of the day Lily announced she was pregnant with Harry. He was standing in the kitchen when you told him, fiddling with a mug of tea. The moment the words left your lips, his eyes widened, and he nearly dropped the mug onto the countertop.

For a moment, you thought he might pass out, but then his face broke into a beaming smile that almost seemed out of place for the weight of what you’d just told him. “You’re joking,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. When you shook your head, tears welling in your eyes, he stepped forward, his hands gripping your shoulders firmly. “Merlin, you’re not joking.”

“I’m sorry,” You began, your voice cracking as the apology spilled from your lips. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, I-”

“Stop,” Sirius interrupted, his tone so warm it took you aback. He let go of your shoulders and instead pulled you into the tightest hug you’d ever received. “Don’t you dare apologize,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ll be a good mum, do you hear me? A bloody brilliant one.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you clung to him, his words washing over you like a balm. “But Sirius,” you tried again, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “The father-”

“I don’t care,” he said firmly, pulling back to look at you. His gray eyes were intense, but not with judgment- only love and determination. “I don’t care who he is, or what he’s done. This baby is going to have the best mum in the world. And they’re going to have me too, whether they like it or not.”

You let out a shaky laugh, his unwavering support lifting some of the weight off your chest. He grinned at you then, that mischievous, boyish grin you thought you’d lost after the war. “Merlin, James is going to lose his mind when he meets them,” He said, his voice laced with humor. “But I’m going to be the favorite uncle, just you wait.”

But then there was Remus.

You found Remus later in the sitting room, a book in his lap, though he wasn’t reading it. His eyes were distant, his fingers absently tracing the edges of the pages. He looked up when you entered, and the small smile he gave you faltered slightly when he caught sight of your expression.

“Remus,” you started hesitantly, sitting down on the sofa across from him. You fidgeted with your hands, unsure of how to begin. “There’s… something I need to tell you.”

He didn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth quirked upward ever so slightly. His gaze flickered to your stomach for a moment, then back to your face. His expression was calm, almost amused, but there was a glint of something in his hazel eyes- something knowing.

“I-” you faltered, feeling suddenly uneasy under his gaze. “It’s… it’s important.”

He hummed softly, setting the book down on the armrest. “Go on, then,” He said, his tone light but laced with curiosity. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied you.

You took a deep breath, the words caught in your throat. “Remus, I-” You stopped when he lifted a finger to his nose and tapped it lightly, the gesture so quick and casual it took a moment to register.

You frowned, your heart skipping a beat as realization slowly dawned on you. “Remus,” you said again, your voice sharper this time. “You already know.”

His smirk grew slightly, the mischievous tilt of his lips catching you completely off guard. “I might,” he said nonchalantly, leaning back against the couch with an air of smugness. “Though it’s much more fun watching you squirm.”

You stared at him, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to process his words. “How?” You finally managed, your voice a mix of shock and disbelief. “How do you know?”

He shrugged, crossing one ankle over his knee. “It wasn’t hard to figure out,” he said casually, though there was a teasing lilt to his tone. “The scent changed a few days ago.”

“The scent?” You repeated, utterly baffled.

His smirk deepened, and he tapped his nose again, his hazel eyes sparkling with amusement. “Enhanced senses, remember? The subtle shifts, the hormones- it’s all there. Just like Lily. Didn’t think I’d notice?”

You stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. “You could smell that I was-?”

“Pregnant?” He finished for you, his tone softening slightly. Hearing Remus be the first to break- to finally say the word properly- it brought a smile to your face. “Yes.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning softly as the embarrassment washed over you. “Merlin, Remus, you could’ve said something!”

“And miss this moment?” He teased, leaning forward again. “Not a chance.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, narrowing your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“Only because I care,” he quipped, his smirk turning into a warm smile. He reached out, his hand resting gently on yours. “I knew you’d tell me when you were ready.”

His words melted some of the tension in your chest, and you let out a shaky laugh. “Well, I’m telling you now,” you said softly. “I’m… I’m having a baby.”

His smile grew, the teasing glint in his eyes giving way to something softer, something warmer. “I know,” he said simply, his voice steady and reassuring. “And you’re going to be amazing.”

Tears pricked at your eyes as his words settled over you, their sincerity hitting you squarely in the chest. “Thank you, Remus,” you whispered.

~~~

Even after everything, it was as smooth as it could possibly be. James, Lily, and Harry all finally packed up from their safe house and moved back into the Potter Manor.

Sirius and Remus finally stopped torturing everyone and confessed to their little run around of affections.

The years passed like a dream, each one carrying its own triumphs and heartaches. The war faded into history, though its scars remained etched into the lives of those who survived it. Life moved on, not always neatly, but with a resilience that surprised you.

Sirius and Remus opened a small library nestled on the corner of Diagon Alley and a quiet cobblestone street. It was cozy, with tall shelves of books that seemed to reach the ceiling, a perpetually warm fireplace, and a small reading nook tucked into the back. The name on the window read Padfoot and Moony’s Rare Reads, though it quickly became known simply as “The Den.”

Remus spent his days writing accurate, unbiased Defense Against the Dark Arts books, ones that became staples in Hogwarts classrooms. His name grew to rival even Gilderoy Lockhart’s (though, unlike Lockhart, Remus didn’t need embellishments to sell books). Sirius, of course, claimed full credit for every ounce of their success, though he spent more time charming patrons and hosting wildly popular storytelling nights than actually working.

Your daughter, Ophelia, was the light of your life. She had her fathers eyes- but carried a quiet intensity in her gaze that reminded you of a young girl you once knew. Sirius adored her, and James, ever the doting uncle, took it upon himself to teach her everything he could about Quidditch, much to Lily’s dismay. Harry, now only 6, had taken on a brotherly role, often sneaking her chocolates or helping her catch frogs in the garden when no one was looking.

But it was Remus who seemed to understand Ophelia in ways even you sometimes struggled to. He noticed the way she retreated into her own thoughts, the questions she asked that were far too insightful for her age. He never pushed her, always waiting patiently for her to come to him with her thoughts, her worries, or her triumphs. It was Remus who first noticed how much she loved books, spending hours reading to her in that steady, soothing voice of his.

One quiet afternoon, while Ophelia played on the rug with a stack of enchanted building blocks, you stood at the counter of the library, watching Remus as he worked on editing a draft of his latest book. The sunlight streamed through the windows, catching the streaks of silver in his hair, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” You said softly, your voice breaking the comfortable silence.

Remus looked up from his notes, his hazel eyes warm and curious. “What’s on your mind?”

You stepped closer, your hands resting lightly on the counter. “I wanted to ask if you’d consider being Ophelia’s godfather.”

His expression froze for a moment, his pen hovering above the page. Then, slowly, a smile broke across his face, wide and genuine in a way that made your chest ache with affection. “Are you serious?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Dead serious,” You teased lightly, though your voice trembled with emotion. “She adores you, Remus. And so do I. There’s no one else I’d trust more.”

He set his pen down and rose from his chair, crossing the short distance between you in a few strides. He hesitated for only a moment before pulling you into a tight, warm hug. “It would be an honor,” He murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”

~~~

It was late summer, and the warm golden light streaming through the windows of the Potter Manor made the room feel alive, even as you worked through the seemingly endless task of packing Ophelia’s trunk for another school year at Hogwarts. She sat nearby, perched on the edge of the armchair with her dark hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders, her head bent over her meticulously written list.

She was elegant without trying, a quiet sort of grace that seemed inherent in her very being. Even now, as she frowned slightly at the parchment in her hands, the faintest furrow of her brow betrayed her focus; her fingers fiddling with the magpie necklace you gifted her on her eleventh birthday. You couldn’t help the soft smile that tugged at your lips as you watched her. She was so much her own person- intelligent, curious, and brimming with quiet determination- but in her moments of focus, you could see glimpses of her father in her too. It made your chest ache with a love so fierce it almost hurt.

“Mum,” She said finally, her voice gentle but tinged with that signature note of exasperation. She didn’t look up from her list as she spoke. “I told you- I need new potion vials. The ones from last year cracked.”

You folded one of her robes carefully and placed it into the trunk, glancing over at her with a soft chuckle. “And I told you, my love,” You hummed, your voice calm and warm, “that you’ll get them when we go to Diagon Alley. Harry and the Weasleys are meeting us there, remember?”

She let out a dramatic sigh, finally lifting her head to meet your gaze. Her sharp, inquisitive eyes- so much like his and yet so uniquely her own- sparkled with that combination of pride and determination that seemed to define her. “I don’t see why I can’t just go by myself,” She challenged, crossing her arms over her chest in that effortlessly regal way of hers. “I’m not a baby, you know.”

You raised an eyebrow at her, the corners of your mouth lifting into a knowing smile. “You’re thirteen,” You countered gently, pausing in your task to give her your full attention. “And while I have no doubt that you could navigate the alley on your own, I’d prefer to keep you in one piece. Humor your mother, will you?”

Ophelia rolled her eyes dramatically, but the faint smile that tugged at her lips betrayed her. “Fine,” she relented, her tone light but tinged with mock indignation. “But only because you insist.”

You laughed softly, reaching over to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. “Thank you, darling,” you murmured, your voice soft with affection. “I don’t know what I’d do without you to keep me on my toes.”

She tilted her head slightly, her expression softening as she studied you. “Probably live a very peaceful, boring life,” She sighed in faux aspiration, her words playful but her tone warm. “No dramatic letters about professors or requests for obscure potion ingredients.”

“Don’t forget the long rants about Magic Theory,” You added with a smirk, resuming your task as you carefully folded another one of her robes. “I’d be lost without those.”

Ophelia gave a delicate shrug, her lips curving into a smile that was pure mischief. “Well, someone has to keep you informed,” She said lightly, glancing back down at her list. “You’d be dreadfully out of touch without me.”

“Perish the thought,” You mused, your tone laced with mock horror. But as you reached for another item to pack, you couldn’t help the warmth that bloomed in your chest.

Despite her pride and sharp wit- or perhaps because of it- Ophelia had a heart so full of love and passion that it left you in awe. She was your miracle, your everything, and the reason you had fought so hard to build a life worth living after everything you’d endured. And though she sometimes tested your patience, you wouldn’t trade a single moment with her for the world.

As you worked together in companionable silence, the house around you buzzed faintly with the promise of the day ahead. Soon, the Floo Network would carry her off to join Harry and the Weasleys, and you would meet James and Lily later at the Leaky Cauldron. But for now, in this moment, it was just the two of you, and the quiet love you shared was enough to fill the room with light.

“Ophelia,” You called softly, breaking the silence as you tucked the last item into her trunk. She looked up at you, her expression curious. “You know I love you, don’t you?”

Her sharp features softened instantly, and she set her list aside, crossing the small space between you to wrap her arms around your waist. “Of course I do, Mum,” She murmured, her voice quiet but sure. “And I love you too.”

You held her close, your heart swelling with a love so fierce it threatened to overwhelm you. No matter how many years passed or how independent she became, she would always be your little girl. And in that moment, as the sunlight streamed through the windows and the world felt soft and safe, you were reminded once again of just how lucky you were to have her.

~~~

The cobbled streets of Diagon Alley buzzed with life, the chatter of families mingling with the clink of cauldrons and the rustle of shopping bags. Children darted between storefronts, their excitement infectious, while parents called after them, juggling lists and parcels. But Ophelia paid the lively scene no mind. She moved with purpose, her steps elegant yet determined, weaving through the crowd with a quiet confidence that belied her thirteen years.

“Honestly, Harry, it’s just a bookstore,” she’d said earlier, rolling her eyes at her cousin’s protests. “I’ll be fine.” Her tone, a perfect blend of exasperation and poise, had left little room for argument. She’d dismissed him with a wave of her hand, her pride unwilling to entertain the notion that she needed an escort for something so trivial.

Now, her prize- a hefty tome on advanced magical theory- was clutched tightly under her arm, its worn leather cover radiating the promise of knowledge. She moved briskly, her dark hair swaying as she navigated the bustling street, her mind already racing ahead to the countless possibilities the book would unlock. The noise of the crowd seemed to fade as she glanced down at the book, her lips curving into a satisfied smile.

It wasn’t just the content that thrilled her- though the promise of unraveling complex magical concepts certainly did- it was the independence of it all. She’d insisted on going alone, had chosen the book herself, and now, with it safely in hand, she felt a sense of accomplishment she wouldn’t admit to anyone.

With her head held high and a quiet pride radiating from her, Ophelia turned her steps back toward the group, determined to reunite with Harry and the others before anyone could begin another lecture on responsibility. For now, though, the world felt bright, the possibilities endless, and she relished the brief moment of freedom.

That was when she heard it.

The cheerful hum of Diagon Alley faded into the background as a sharp, panicked cry reached Ophelia's ears. She froze mid-step, her heart skipping a beat as her gaze snapped toward a shadowy alley just ahead. The sound came again, muffled but unmistakably distressed. Her fingers instinctively tightened around the book she carried, and she shifted her weight forward, craning her neck to see.

In the dimness of the alley, two figures stood locked in a tense struggle. The taller one had the smaller pinned against the brick wall, his grip tight around the other’s collar. “You've got nerve, Pettigrew.” The smaller figure’s pale hair fell in messy strands across his face as he squirmed against the hold, his voice trembling.

“Please,” the blonde figure gasped, desperation lacing every syllable. “I’m sorry! I won’t look for you again. H-he won’t hear of your escape- not from me!”

Ophelia’s breath hitched. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she took in the scene. The smaller figure’s voice cracked with panic, his pale blue eyes wide and darting frantically. The taller figure, shrouded in shadows, stood silent and imposing, his wand raised. A faint, menacing glow illuminated the tip, the threat unmistakable.

She didn’t think. She didn’t pause. Her wand was in her hand in an instant, and she stepped into the mouth of the alley, her voice cutting through the tense air like a blade.

“Oi! Let him go!” She shouted, her tone sharp and commanding.

Both figures froze, their heads snapping toward her. The taller man’s wand lowered slightly, his body going rigid with hesitation. The smaller figure twisted his neck, his gaze locking onto hers, and for a fleeting moment, Ophelia saw a flash of something in his pale eyes- hope? Relief?

It didn’t last.

The blonde man’s lips parted, and before she could speak again, his body jerked unnaturally. The sound of cracking bones and tearing sinew filled the air, a grotesque symphony of transformation. Ophelia’s stomach churned as she watched the man’s form contort, shrinking and twisting. Within seconds, he was gone, replaced by a scruffy, dirt-streaked rat.

“What the- ?” The words barely escaped her lips before the rat lunged forward, its sharp teeth sinking into the taller man’s hand.

The man let out a hiss of pain, his grip faltering just enough to allow the rat to squirm free. In a blur of motion, it darted down the alley, disappearing into the shadows with a faint, scuttling sound.

Ophelia stood rooted to the spot, her wand trembling slightly in her grasp. Her wide eyes flicked from the spot where the rat had vanished to the man now turning toward her, his movements deliberate, his frustration radiating like heat.

As he stepped into the dim light filtering from the street, his features came into view. Sharp, angular lines carved a face that was both striking and unsettling. His dark hair fell messily across his brow, and his green eyes burned with a mixture of irritation and something else- something far more dangerous.

Ophelia squared her shoulders, her heart thundering in her chest but her chin lifting in defiance. She clutched her wand tightly, the poised elegance of her posture belying the unease bubbling beneath the surface. Every lesson her mother had taught her about composure echoed in her mind, steeling her nerves.

“Who do you think you are?” she demanded, her voice cold and cutting. “Picking on someone smaller than you in an alley? How pathetic.”

The man’s lips quirked into something that might have been a smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He took a step closer, his tall frame casting an intimidating shadow. “And who,” he said, his voice low and measured, “do you think you are to interrupt something that doesn’t concern you?”

“I’m the girl who’s about to hex you into next week,” she shot back without missing a beat, her wand steady as she pointed it at his chest. “Back off, or you’ll find out just how much trouble a thirteen-year-old can cause.”

The man hesitated, his head tilting slightly as he studied her. His gaze dropped from her face to her neck, and his sharp eyes narrowed, honing in on the small magpie charm resting just above her collarbone. The faint light caught the delicate metal, and for a moment, his composure faltered.

“That,” he murmured, his voice strained, “isn’t yours.”

Ophelia’s brows furrowed, her hand instinctively rising to the charm. Her fingers brushed over the familiar metal as her mind raced. “What’s it to you?” she retorted, her tone sharp, her grip on her wand unwavering. “It was a gift.”

The man’s jaw tightened, and for a fleeting moment, something flickered across his face- recognition, anger, and a hint of something she couldn’t quite place. “Who gave it to you?” he demanded, his voice rougher now, almost desperate.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she straightened her spine, her wand tip glowing faintly as she met his intensity head-on. “That’s none of your business,” she said firmly.

He took another step forward, his green eyes blazing with an intensity that made her breath hitch. “I’ll ask you again,” he growled, his voice a dangerous whisper. “Who gave you that charm?”

Ophelia didn’t flinch. Instead, she tilted her chin higher, defiance sparking in her gaze. “My mom,” she said clearly, her voice carrying an unmistakable note of pride. Her lips curved into a faint, deliberate smile as she added, “You should know her. I’m a Potter, after all.”

The man froze. His entire body stiffened, his green eyes widening ever so slightly before narrowing again. Something shifted in his expression, a mixture of shock, pain, and anger that he quickly tried to mask. He stared at her as though he were seeing a ghost.

Ophelia arched an eyebrow, her confidence swelling as she saw the cracks in his composure. “Oh,” she said lightly, her tone dripping with mock disappointment, “don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about us. That would be awfully sad- we are war heros.”

The man’s lips pressed into a thin line, his hands twitching at his sides. He took a small step back, his expression unreadable as he muttered, “A Potter.”

“That’s right,” she said evenly, her wand still raised. “And unless you’d like to explain what you’re doing lurking in alleys, I suggest you leave.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he turned sharply on his heel and disappeared into the shadows without another word, leaving Ophelia standing in the mouth of the alley, her chest heaving as she tried to steady her breath.

She glanced down at the charm again, her fingers brushing over its surface. Who was that man? she wondered, a faint chill creeping down her spine. And why did the sight of this charm seem to haunt him so?

~~~

The Leaky Cauldron buzzed with its usual chatter, the comforting scent of roasted meat and freshly baked bread drifting through the warm air. You sat at a large table with James, Lily, Sirius, and Remus, laughing at one of Sirius’s over-the-top tales from Hogwarts. The lightness in the room felt like a rare and precious gift, a momentary escape from the shadow of battles fought and sacrifices endured.

The door swung open with a sharp creak, a gust of cool air sweeping in as Harry entered with Ron, Ginny, and Ophelia. Their cheeks were flushed from the bustling streets outside, their movements slightly hurried. Your gaze instinctively fell on Ophelia.

Something was wrong.

She lingered behind the others, her usual confident stride replaced with hesitant steps. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, as though trying to shield herself from the world. Her sharp features looked drawn, pale, and etched with unease.

“Oi, there they are!” Sirius called out, raising a hand in greeting. “Took you long enough. Did you stop for ice cream?”

Ron mumbled something about Fred and George dragging them into Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, but his words barely registered. Your focus stayed fixed on Ophelia as she slipped into the seat beside you. She didn’t look up, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her cloak, her head bowed like she was trying to disappear.

“Ophelia, love,” you said gently, leaning closer to her. “Everything alright?”

Her shoulders tensed, and for a moment, she said nothing. She just sat there, her hand brushing against the magpie charm around her neck. It was a small, almost subconscious motion, but it spoke volumes.

“Yeah,” she murmured after a pause, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her. “I’m fine.”

You frowned, your worry deepening. She was many things- brilliant, fiery, and determined- but never this quiet. You reached into your bag, pulling out a few Galleons, and slid them toward Harry, Ron, and Ginny. “Why don’t you three grab some ice cream for real this time? My treat.”

The three exchanged uncertain glances, but Ron was the first to shrug and stand. Harry hesitated, his concerned gaze darting toward his cousin, but eventually, he and Ginny followed Ron out of the pub.

The second they were gone, you turned back to Ophelia. “You don’t look fine,” you pressed softly. “What happened?”

Across the table, James and Lily shared a look, their worry mirrored in their expressions. Sirius, his usual joviality replaced with quiet intensity, leaned back in his chair, studying Ophelia closely. Even Remus put down his cup of tea, his sharp gaze focused on her.

Ophelia’s fingers twisted together in her lap, her head ducked low. “It’s nothing,” she muttered, her voice barely audible.

“Ophelia,” you said again, your tone a little firmer this time. “You can tell me. Whatever it is, I’m here.”

For a moment, she stayed quiet, the tension in her shoulders radiating like a pulse. Then, in a gesture so small it almost went unnoticed, she leaned into you. Her head rested against your arm, her nose pressing into the fabric of your sleeve.

You froze for half a second before wrapping an arm around her, pulling her close. She didn’t cry- Ophelia never cried- but the way she clung to you spoke louder than words. “Mom.” She muffled against your side. As if recharging her spent bravado and bravery in your arms. “Do we know a Pettigrew?”

1K notes · View notes

uramakimochi · 5 months ago

Text

THE FAVORITE

Wolfstar x daughter!Reader

Jily + Slytherin Gang x Wolfstar!daughter!Reader (platonic)

WARNINGS: fluffy crack fic, inspired by this and inspired by the trend on tiktok where families see which member the toddler first runs to. FEM!R but no use of Y/n. I tried to write this with the 3rd person pov sorry if i repeat the same words lol but i don't like using Y/N.

English is not my first language so feel free to correct me.

Hiii i'm back with a lil Wolfstar!daughter story~ It's a bit random but i hope you still like this<3

"I still don't understand why we're doing this..." Barty muttered, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Come on Barty, it's cute" said Marlene, sitting on the couch at the Lupin-Black house.

"It's stupid" the other retorted.

"Yeah. There's no need to play this game, we all know that her favorite is me. I'm her beloved father" Sirius continued, intent on putting out the cigarette he had just finished smoking.

The other adults around him looked at him unimpressed and Remus turned to look at his husband questioningly.

"I am her father too?"

"You're the bad cop between us, she loves me more" Sirius retorted with a smirk.

"No, she doesn't"

"Yes, she does"

"No"

"Yes"

"Can you two stop so we can do this once and for all?" Regulus's voice then rang out in the living room, which made the couple stop bickering.

Barty rolled his eyes and with a light push pushed himself away from the wall to join all the other adults who were lining up in the middle of the living room.

"Know that i'm only doing this to show you that i'm my little viper's favorite" he said, positioning himself between Evan and Dorcas.

"Hah, you wish. I'm her godfather" James said, looking at him arrogantly.

"She's not even old enough to know what a godfather is" Evan retorted, and Dorcas leaned forward to fist bump him.

"Well, i'm her godmother. And i'm the only one out of you all here that always give her presents" and when Barty raised his hand to add something, the redhead pointed a finger at him. "Non-Dangerous presents, Junior"

"Billy was a harmless snake! I would've never given my baby a poisonous one as a pet!"

The women rolled their eyes in disgust, while Regulus looked at the Potter couple.

"I'm not one to compete for these things, but if we really want to be precise, the first person she saw when Sirius and Remus brought her home was me. I'm sure that the bond that unites us will bring her straight away to me"

"What, you think you imprinted on her? The werewolf here is Remus" Dorcas retorted, making everyone else chuckling and Regulus looked at her awkwardly.

While all the relatives continued to discuss, Remus cast one last look at the little girl he held in his arms and who was looking at him curiously.

"Okay my darling, are you ready?"

The little girl giggled when she saw the smile on Remus' lips, but then a look of confusion spread across her face when he brought her back down to the ground, leaving her standing on the carpet.

Remus stepped back to join the others but when he realized that she was about to follow him with a whine, he stretched his hands forward to stop her.

"Stay there sweetheart. Stay there" he ordered her softly.

The toddler stopped and continued to look at him in confusion, not understanding why he was walking away from her. As soon as Remus lined up next to Sirius, everyone crouched down and opened their arms wide and within seconds they were calling out to her.

"Sweetie! Look here!" "Come here babygirl!" "Come to Daddy!" "Little viper, here!"

The little girl swept her eyes over each of the relatives who were calling out to her making grabby hands in her direction. Suddenly she took a couple of shaky steps forward and they started calling her louder.

"Come here my darling, come to daddy! The best and most beautiful one!" Sirius exclaimed, who received an elbow in the side from Remus.

But both parents' hearts broke when they saw their little girl go from walking to running towards none other than James Potter.

"Yesss!"

James stood up holding the little girl in his arms and did a small turn around, while the little girl let out a little squeal. "In your face!" he exclaimed, pointing a finger at each of them. "This is the power of the godfather!"

"No, it's the James Potter effect" Marlene murmured, looking at him with a pout.

"You were just lucky, Potter!" Barty continued.

James gave the little girl a couple of loud kisses on the cheek and crossed the living room to bring her back to where she had started. As soon as he sat down on the couch to enjoy the show, his friends started calling her again.

Maybe she was still young to understand that the point of that game was to run towards her favorite member or maybe she simply didn't have a favorite one. All she cared about was running towards someone and that's what she did again.

And second place on the favorites podium was won by Regulus.

"Oh come on!" Barty yelled again, opening his arms wide in exasperation when he saw the toddler wrap her arms around the younger Black's body.

Regulus smirked, leaning his head to press a kiss to her forehead, muttering an "I knew it".

Sirius looked at them shocked. "Maybe he really imprinted on my daughter?" he muttered, receiving a slap on the arm from Remus.

When Regulus put the little girl back on her feet she wasted no time in running towards the first person she saw. Do you think she chose one of her parents this time? Well, you're wrong.

"What?!?!" both Sirius and Remus blurted out.

The former almost fell to the ground on his knees. It's okay to lose to James, it's okay to lose to Regulus. But being beaten by Junior too?? Now that's humiliating.

Barty gave them the middle finger, a gesture which fortunately the little girl didn't notice, too busy digging her fingers into his thin cheeks.

"I don't understand why only the men are winning. What happened to solidarity between women?" Lily huffed, crossing her arms.

"It only happened because he was in her path" Dorcas hissed. "If we had switched places she would've chosen me"

"You're all just jealous snakes" Barty retorted, then he lowered his head and looked at the little girl, reaching out with a finger to touch her chest. "As for you, little viper... I'm very disappointed, you know? It took you long enough, you broke my heart"

But she simply laughed, not caring about his mock reproachful tone.

So the race continued.

And when Sirius and Remus thought that this time at least one of them would be chosen, they felt their morale go under their feet when they saw their daughter running to all the girls. First Lily, then Dorcas and Marlene and they all cheered with joy at not having ended up in last place in the ranking.

"That's it" Sirius said, glaring at Evan, the only remaining uncle. "There's no way one of us is going to lose to Rosier, right babe?"

"Absolutely" Remus nodded, also determined to win at all costs.

Evan looked at them indifferently, while the girls and James laughed.

Barty looked from the little one to her parents with a cocky smile. "Do your worst little viper!"

Remus and Sirius glared at him, then crouched down again and opened their arms and Evan did the same.

"Sweetheart look here! Look at daddy!" the taller one called her, using the sweetest tone his voice was capable of. "Come here, gimme a kiss!"

"You know what honey? I don't care if you choose dad over me, the important thing is that you don't go to Uncle Evan hm?" Sirius continued with a fake smile. "Come here, just give me a hug!"

The toddler took a step towards them and a light of hope lit up in both of their eyes. But then, for a split second, her gaze fell on Evan's. He gave her a small closed-lipped smile and then he said a simple "Come on, little one".

That was all it took to make her change her mind and run towards him. Evan wrapped an arm around her little body, pulling her close to his chest, and everyone else except Remus and Sirius burst out laughing. Sirius lowered his head in despair.

"I failed as a father, i understand" he murmured in a dramatic tone and Remus patted his shoulder also disappointed.

"We both failed darling"

Junior jumped up from the couch and walked over to Evan and the toddler, raising a hand in the air.

"I'm so proud little viper, give me a high five"

She obviously returned the gesture, not understanding why but only knowing that seeing her Uncle Barty happy made her happy.

Lily leaned over to rest her head on James shoulder sitting next to her and she looked at the two parents with a pout. "Aw guys, don't be so sad. It's just a game"

"Yes" Regulus nodded. "Although i'm quite proud to have been chosen in the second round, i'm sure that her choices were completely random. Nothing to be taken seriously"

Remus smiled slightly, while Sirius shook his head and then stood up to look at them.

"No. There is still the last challenge: the one that will determine the real winner. Between me and Remus"

Remus looked at him amused. "Sirius, it's a game"

But Sirius narrowed his eyes at him.

"You're only saying that because you already know you'll lose to me, don't you Lupin?"

Remus' calm expression fell within seconds to make room for a defiant look.

"And you're only saying that because you're scared, aren't you?"

James looked at them with a smirk and made himself more comfortable on the sofa. "This is getting interesting"

Dorcas turned to the others.

"Anyone betting on Lupin?" she asked and herself, Lily, Marlene and Regulus raised their hands.

"Reggie i thought you were on my side??" Sirius exclaimed feeling betrayed by his own brother, who simply shrugged his shoulders.

As Sirius and Remus got into position, Evan lowered the little girl onto the carpet. A few seconds later the two fathers began calling her.

"My sweet little girl, come here to daddy!" Sirius exclaimed, making grabbing hands towards her. "If you give me a hug i'll get you the biggest dollhouse ever!"

"You won't buy her another dollhouse!" Remus retorted, then looked at her with a smile. "Sweetheart, i know you love me more, right?? I really really need your cuddles right now! Come to me!"

Everyone present anxiously watched the little girl's moves, who this time spent much more time deciding which of the two to go to. Maybe she really realized the purpose of the challenge?

Then one step. Another. And another again. Until finally the little girl gave in to her father's calls and reached him, hugging him around the neck.

Everyone screamed when they saw her slam into Remus' body.

The latter stood up victorious and made her bounce in his arms, while Sirius let out a heartbroken sigh.

"The bad cop still wins in the end" Remus said, smirking at his husband, rubbing his nose against his daughter's soft cheek and making her laugh.

But despite the joy that one of the two fathers exuded, it was as if the toddler noticed that the other did not seem as happy as everyone else. So she began to squirm in Remus' arms and he barely had time to put her down before she hurried over to meet Sirius, collapsing against his chest.

"Awww!" the girls exclaimed.

Sirius wrapped his arms around her little body, holding her close and rocking her from side to side, while he and Remus exchanged a tender look.

"Looks like it's a tie" James said with a smile as he stood up and Lily followed him.

"It was obvious. There's no need of a silly game to determine who her favorite is" Marlene continued, squeezing Dorcas' hand. "It will always be her beloved parents"

Sirius stood up and Remus leaned over to give him a kiss on the forehead and then give one to their daughter's head, who was looking at them smiling from Sirius' arms. Who was looking at them with eyes full of someone who loves both of her fathers equally. Neither more nor less.

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petals2fish · 4 months ago

Text

Now I'm imagining the events during Chamber of Secrets, when Hagrid is taken to Azkaban. He’s thrown into a cell across from Sirius Black. They don’t speak, just stare. The dementors aura have reduced Hagrid to a state of silent, wide-eyed terror. Sirius, though gaunt and wasting away after eleven years in prison, recognizes Hagrid. He knows who Hagrid is—remembers him as the one who carried Harry to Dumbledore all those years ago. Sirius knows that Hagrid must know Harry.

But time has changed Sirius. He’s no longer the man Hagrid might have recognized. It’s clear the half-giant doesn’t realize who is sitting across from him behind the bars. A few hours go by and Sirius can’t help himself.

"Is he safe?" Sirius rasps, his voice rough and cracked from disuse.

Hagrid jerks his head up, startled. His thick eyebrows knit together as he stares at the man, the familiarity of his face finally clicking. Recognition dawns, but Hagrid doesn’t speak. Instead, he turns his head away, refusing to meet Sirius’s eyes.

Sirius, ever relentless, doesn’t back down. "A bit of advice from a friendly convict; time passes faster in this hellhole if you talk."

"I’ve nothin’ ter say ter you," Hagrid growls, his voice dangerous.

"I know you think I killed them," Sirius replies evenly. His tone is calm, almost resigned. "I good as did. But the guards whispered before you even got here. They say you’re here because of students being petrified. I’m not stupid enough to believe you actually killed anyone. But something in Hogwarts is targeting the kids." Sirius’ voice drops to a whisper, heavy with desperation. "Is the boy safe?"

Hagrid turns his head again, his voice dripping with disgust. "Unfortunately for you, the boy lives."

"I know he lives," Sirius snaps, his tone sharp. "Is he safe?"

Hagrid hesitates, thinking of Dumbledore’s recent dismissal from Hogwarts. The board of governors voted him out after Hermione went under. Not that the board of governors gave two shits about Hermione. Without Dumbledore there, Harry is exposed, vulnerable in ways Hagrid doesn’t want to think about. Slowly, his anger softens, replaced by a deep, gnawing worry.

“He’s like his mother,” Hagrid murmurs into the gloom of the cells, his voice heavy with affection. “Kind, empathetic, and a bit cheeky when he needs ter be.”

For the first time in eleven years, Sirius feels tears sting his eyes, the words cutting through his despair like a blade.

Hagrid continues, his voice quieter now. “He plays Quidditch like James—only he’s a Seeker. And he’s brilliant at it. Does well in classes, too. He’s got his father’s courage, through and through.”

Sirius’s voice wavers as he asks again, for the final time, "Is he safe?"

Hagrid meets his gaze, his own grief barely concealed. “No,” he says, his words laced with bitterness. “He’ll never be safe again. No thanks to you.”

Sirius remains silent until the human guards return, their heavy footsteps echoing through the grim halls. They stop at Hagrid’s cell, unlocking the door with a loud clang. One of them is an auror Sirius recognized. Moody.

“Harry Potter cleared your name,” Moody says gruffly, “Albus Dumbledore and the board have asked we escort you back to Hogwarts, Hagrid.”

“Harry?” Hagrid gasps, taking in a deep breath. “How?”

Moody flicks a look back to Sirius cell, knowing exactly who Sirius is, before glancing back to Hagrid as the half giant stood up. “It seems Potter has once again defeated a dark wizard. I might as well set up a desk for him at the Ministry, he’s got more balls than half my team.”

No one sees Sirius’ mouth lift into a smile in the shadows.

As Hagrid is escorted out, his massive frame stooped under the weight of the air thick with dementor despair, Sirius finally speaks.

“I’m glad I gave Harry to you that night,” he says.

Hagrid pauses mid-step, his shoulders tensing. For a moment, he doesn’t turn, doesn’t respond. Moody places a hand on Hagrid’s forearm, glaring back at Sirius’ wasted form. Then, without looking back, Hagrid lets Moody and the guards lead him away into the shadows.

A few weeks later, Sirius asked the Minister of Magic politely for the crossword.

And the rest of this is history.

#petals talks #petals liveblogs #hagrid #sirius black

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halfbloodfics · 5 months ago

Note

Hi! Yeah, so I desperately need a Pillow Fucking Snape who's needy for his Y/N as your sub!Snape headcannon made him 🥹👏 Skipping all the pleasantries here 'cus holy moly you got me with those headcannons and since you sent me here from the comments I went straight in for the request 👀❤️

A/N: {i have been wanting to write this, a sinfully long time. he's so sub its actually tragic. this is REALLY long im so sorry, but i really wanted to make it a sweet, long buildup of how much Sev really wants this woman :') Sev is literally like a feral cat experiencing love for the first time in this lmao}

title: let me get what i want

18+ minors dni

rating/tw: explicit, smut, brief mention of suicidal thoughts in very beginning

tags: solo smut, solo snape, sub!snape, snape centric pov, masterbation, insecurity, guilt, shame, kinda angsty, snape is touch starved, female professor reader

song: please, please, please let me get what i want by the smiths

MASTERLIST

Severus was a man not known for his indulgences. Everyone knew that. He knew that.

Gratification was a luxury he could never afford.

Growing up poor, Severus learned quick that what you desire is often not what you get. He had desired a lot of things before, certainly. To say he hadn't would be nothing but a lie. In the nights in his bedroom in that dusty old house on Spinners End, cowering in the corner, he desired for the drink in his fathers hand to put him to sleep at last. In his fifth year, glaring at the smirking upside down face of James Potter and Sirius black, he desired revenge. At 21, in the doorway of Dumbledore's office, when he learned the consequences of trust, he desired his death.

He had lived his entire life chasing his desires like a dog chasing the moon, knowing it was out of reach and yet too unevolved to understand how.

And yet... He had never felt his desire so, within grasp until he had met her. Those things of the past, poisonous, intangible pleasures, dark or light, had never been even remotely in reach.

She came into his life like a meteror, completely dashing across his sky, ripping him from the endless chase he had partoke in his entire life. Leading him on a completely seperate path, one he had never thought would ever find him...

True, honest, burning, desire.

The day she started teaching at Hogwarts in the middle of the year was a day like any other. Professor Sprout having retired rather abruptly, Severus didn't even spare a single thought at who would replace her. Why would he? For what reason? The weight of returning responsibilies lay heavy on his left forearm. Harry's 4th year, the emergence of his name from that god foresaken over-glorified cup; the promise of danger, the threat of a decade old vow..

The moment she walked in and sat beside him at the Professors table was hardly memorable, aside for the absolutely obnoxious outfit she were wearing.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye as he ate, interested only in seeing the face stupid enough to wear the brightest possible shade of yellow, in his presence, none the less.

When he found a rather young woman smiling at him, his gaze flicked away back to his plate. He had no interest. No desire, for conversation. And certainly not with someone resembling an overgrown daffodil.

It was barely the end of the first week when she had knocked on his door. Opening it and finding no one at his eye level, he glanced down.

Why on Earth, was she always wearing the horribly bright shade of yellow?

After she had given him an obscure collection of herbs, Severus thanked her with a brief nod before promptly closing the door on her face. He'd expected as much, Sprout and him had always had a decent, professional relationship. Their disciplines somewhat intertwined, Sprout had always provided him with the clippings of plants he needed, and in turn Severus had always provided her with whatever potions he could brew to help her plants. It wasn't the act that surprised him, but the way this new professor went about it.

She smiled a smile as bright as her shirt, every cursed night she knocked on his door. It was always something with this woman. A clipping, an herb, an old book. It was as if all things useful to him kept apparating in her office with a giant note saying "GIVE THIS TO THE GRUMPY GIT DOWN THE HALL."

Often times these gifts came along with unwanted and frankly unnecessary conversation. At first it was small talk, questions about his day, brief statements about yours. Often times she told him things about herself he didn't particularly care to know; such as what book she was reading, or how her vacation back home for the Holidays was.

What Severus did care for, was eye contact. It could have been the Occlumens in him, his guarded persona trying to gain some sense of dominance over the conversations where he usually felt none, an oppertunity to control.. to read.

And yet everytime he looked at her, he found her shining eyes looking right back up at him with a confidence that unnerved him. She stared him right in the eyes as he talked, not with a malice he had seen before, not with a fear he had grown accostomed to seeing and not even with an expectancy that so many demanded of him.

She looked at him like she could see right through him. As if she could see into every desire he ever had, as if his Occlumency skills were pointless against the skill of a 20 something year old Herbology Professor who hadn't even fought in the first Wizarding War.

And so reluctantly, as Severus took every gift with a nod and eventually a brief thanks, offering his own potions occasionally in return as he had so many times before despite feeling slightly unnerved.

The simple, professional relationship seemed to teeter on the edge of what was almost a-

"Friendship," She'd described it once in the doorway of his office. "It's a nice friendship we've got going on here, Severus. Thank you, for helping me, I appreciate it."

That was a word Severus hadn't clung to for quite some time.

He blinked, silent for several moments, for the first time in a long time almost uncertain of what to say. He hadn't considered her a friend, had he? Even as the months of the academic year had passed by, even as the conversation began to drift from work to hints of her personal life. Even as he found the corners of his lips occasionally twitching up in a smirk as she laughed her obnoxiously cheerful, loud laugh. Even after he began knocking on her door as she had knocked on his..

He hadn't even considered that she might have desired to be his friend. Or that he might have desired to be hers.

And in the months that passed by after that casual conversation, the one she had let slip likely without thinking twice, Severus found himself replaying the moment over and over in his head.

He found himself walking down the corridors between his lectures, expecting to see the young witch in that painfully bright yellow dress he'd somehow grown to tolerate.

He had even wiithout fully relising it himself, grown to desire it. her presence, her friendship.

And it had gone completely under that Roman nose until that one evening in March in the Great Hall for supper. Sitting beside her, Severus looked across the hall as he ate and she talked his ear off, a habit of avoiding her gaze he'd begun to pick up. It was only when she brushed her long hair off her neck and took a sip of her wine that Severus glanced at her for longer than a moment.

His heart stopped involuntarily in his chest.

Her neck, the soft, delicate flesh, was marked with a bruise of broken blood vessels. It was small, almost hidden towards the back of her neck, but that dark red mark stuck out like a thorn against the warm shade of yellow.

He didn't understand the sinking in his stomach he hadn't felt in over a decade. There was no reason for his jaw to clench as he looked back at his plate, no reason why his appetite was somehow ruined.

And all of a sudden, on a simple Tuesday in March, did Severus understand that he had grown to desire something...

"Gratification was a luxury he could not afford"

The weeks after that were nothing short of torture, for a magnitude of reasons. The dark mark on his arm burned stronger with each passing day; Karkaroff's words from the Yule Ball hung heavy in the air of his chamber, late at night when he couldn't sleep. The second task of the Triwizard tournament was a moment still echoing in his crowded mind. Who was stealing gillyweed? Why was Harry's name actually put in the goblet of fire?

And yet, out all of the absolute bullshit fighting for dominance in his crowded mind, did his thoughts always trail back to her.

Like a lovestruck idiot, he couldn't stop thinking of her. Or more so, thinking about that damned lovebite on her neck.

Why did he even care?

If Sprout had had a lovebite on her neck would he have even thought more of it other than the intial disgust?

Was this friendship? The concept was so foreign to him for so long he didn't even know. All he knew was that for the next several weeks, like a hormonal teenager, his body reacted to her presence quicker than his mind.

Every time she knocked on his door and looked up at him with those big bright eyes, he felt it. The lurch of his chest, the sinking in his gut.

He couldn't ignore it, the twitch of his jaw when he'd let his guard down and snuck glances at her neck. What was he hoping to find there anyway? More marks? Or was he hoping to find a blank canvas, the silk of her skin untouched, the possibilities of tracing his own lips down the curve of her neck-

No.

Her voice snapped him out of his tortured thoughts.

"Severus?" She spoke. "You alright?"

They were sitting in her office on a Friday night, a rather recent development in their "friendship" that Severus was unsure how he felt.

He blinked, met her gaze and then looked back at the fire, sipping his tea and putting his Occlumency shields back up, cursing himself at the fact he'd let them fall.

"Yes." He said, his voice low.

And that was when she did it, she touched him. Gently, as if he was something fragile, something delicate that could break under her soft fingertips. And Merlin, the feeling nearly made him gasp out loud. He tore his gaze from her hand placed on his left forearm and looked into her eyes for longer than he had in quite some time.

Her lips curled into a soft smile. "You know Severus.. I know these past few months have been chaotic, with the tournament, but I think you're dealing quite well."

Severus blinked. She didn't know of the darkening tattoo under her very fingertips. What did she know about what he was dealing with? What did she know about anything that he had ever dealt with? Who was she to say he was... doing well?

Why did a heat begin to grow in his lower abdomenon? Why did her touch feel heavier on that cursed mark? Why crave her to say it again?

She pulled her delicate touch away as if it was a fleeting, minute thing that had never meant to be anything more than what it was.

Friendship.

That night, Severus let the door to his chamber slam shut behind him. He detatched the cloak from his robes and hung it on the door, reaching his bedroom in a few quick strides and letting that door slam shut as well.

As soon as he was alone, truly alone, he sunk down on the bed.

He may not have been not the most emotionally intune, but he was intelligent. Severus was no fool to longing. He had, afterall, longed for his whole life. But the feeling possessing him now; the raw, burning in his chest when he looked at her, the way his chest fluttered..

It wasn't the longing he was afraid of. It was the hope.

The smile on her face as she looked at him, as if he was something as bright as she was... The gentle tone of her voice as she coaxed more and more information out of his guarded frame then he'd care to admit..

It was the hope that all these things were her desiring him.

Severus ran his hands through his hair. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he tried desperetely to ignore the restlessness inside him.

What was he doing? He was a man of control, a skilled Occlumens, able to lie straight to the face of the Dark Lord and live to tell the tale, and yet here he was, in the suffocating darkness of his lonely chamber that had never bothered him until now, feeling absolutely on fire.

Was that what it took to break him? A man of his talents reduced to a fluttering, pathetic mess at the mere, single touch of a pretty woman?

The heat in his lower abdomen was not foreign, but it was unwelcome all the less. Of course he knew sexual desire. It wasn't as if he hadn't indulged before.. Occasional, late nights where he had lost control.. Where he'd succumbed to the feeling of his right hand in his trousers. It was the shame afterwards, the disgust for himself that prevented him from making it a regular habit.

In fact, now that he thought of it... When was the last time he had allowed himself release?

Certainly it had been awhile since he felt such... Yearning. And certainly he'd never felt it to such degree before but thinking of it now, his head in his hands, Severus relised it had been years.

Years.

The pent up tension, the reemergence of past lust he thought he'd long buried, the sheer strength of it this time was enough to make him begin to pace in his room.

Breathing through gritted teeth, he paced in circles, running his hands through the strands of raven hair. This need was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Lust and hope combined was never something he'd experienced together.

Would those same lips that are always smiling at his sarcastic remarks kiss his? How would she taste? Would she kiss him softly, gently? Succumb to the power imbalences between them?

Or..

Would she kiss him hungrily? Would she take control, weaving her soft fingers through his hair and tugging? Would her lips whisper praises like the one she'd said that day?

Severus groaned, sitting back down on the bed. He'd never craved to be... taken like this. He'd had fantasies of course, things he thought of on the rare occasions he indulged in his need, all ideas of exercising the control he so often craved.

And yet now, feeling so powerless, so torn, it began to dawn on him that that's what he craved... To be freed from the guilt of his own desires. Have any sembelence of control taken so far from him he could do nothing but take it, take her.

He couldn't ignore the strain in his trousers. It had been so long...

He shifted his weight, not trusting his fraying control enough to get into proper sleepwear, he layed down on his back on top of the sheets, staring up at the ceiling and trying desperately to ignore the aching in his groin.

It'd been so.... long..

"No." He murmered, but the word came out weak.

No, he thought to himself, Absolutely not.

Severus rolled onto his side, trying desperetely just to close his eyes and beacon forth the sleep he knew wouldn't come. He knew deep down, he could just take a simple sleeping potion, it wouldn't be the first time.

But as he shifted, he felt the strain of his cock in his trousers brush against the firm matrress. Almost immediately his breath hitched. His slender fingers tightened around the messy sheets, his jaw clenched.

Every muscle in his tired body seemed to clench. It didn't help that all his mind could so was replay that moment over and over again. The weight of her hand on his forearm... The way she looked up at him so gently.. Her words... What was it she had said? He was handling it... Well?

She had praised him.

Pathetic. He thought, letting out a sharp exhale. A mere compliment she hadn't thought twice of was his undoing?

But the voice in the back of his mind, the one that had begun to threaten his control, whispered: "What if she had meant it? What if she had meant more?"

And it was this hope, this foolish hope he hadn't allowed himself to indulge in years that seemed to set him on fire.

He stared at the wall of his dark chamber. Even in the night of his room, he never felt safe from the invisible eyes of others, not even his own.

If he.. indulged... How could he look at himself in the mirror?

How could he look at her?

But the weight of her touch on his arm was a heavy burden his mind couldn't afford to ignore. Every shift of his weight on the bed sent a spark up his spine, every minute, tiny brush of the sheets against his cock made it throb.

Sleep.

Sleep would not find him. He laid completely still for what felt like an eternity, and yet the ache in his pants would not go away. It only seemed to grow stronger.

Frustrated, Severus rolled over to his stomach and immedietly let out a sharp hiss. The friction between his clothed groin and the mattress sent a bolt of pleasure up him he hadn't felt in years.

He'd forgotten what pleasure could feel like.

And for the first time in a long time, Severus acted without thinking. His hips rolled almost involuntarily against the mattress, a single, simple grinding motion that drew another ragged gasp from his lips.

Another jolt... Another roll of his hips...

Remembering the constant feeling of eyes on him, he buried his face in the pillow and stopped his movements all together.

What the fuck was he doing?

It wasn't just the burning desire, or the pleasure of friction he'd so long denied himself. It was the exhaustion. He was tired. Tired of being in control over everything in his life, day after day, year after year. Tired of fighting that clench in his gut that he felt everytime she looked up at him. Tired of refusing to be selfish.

He tore his head from the pillow, reaching both hands up to grasp the sheets around it.

"Fuck it." He whispered to himself.

He didn't fight the next wave of pleasure that crashed over him as he rolled his hips against the mattress again. The sigh that lleft his lips left so on his own accord. As if his whispered permission was enough for all reason to flee him, he began to grind his clothed erection against the firm mattress again, his movements still slow, but deliberate.

God.. It had been... So.... Long...

He began to pant, short, quick breaths coming out quickly as his movements picked up pace. The pleasure that each thrust sent through him could have been enough to pull him over the edge, but it wasn't enough for him.

He had to feel it... Just once, just this once and then he could go back to whatever sense of celibacy he had adopted over the years. Just for tonight, he had to feel it.

Severus propped himself up on one elbow and used his other hand to unbutton his trousers. His fingers hastly unzipped it, reaching into his boxers as if he unconciously feared his mind may deny himself again if he allowed it the time to.

The very second his fingers wrapped themselves around his cock he gasped. The sound was ragged, strained as he pulled himself out, pushing down his trousers and boxers the very least he could. The cold dungeon air of his bed chamber immediately contrasted against the warmth of his skin and even that simple sensation felt as though it had been amplified.

Without wasting a second, Severus tore his hand away to join his other in gripping the sheets and began to buck his bare erection against the mattress.

Another torn gasp. Another shudder. His fingers tightened their grip around the sheets, his hips rolling faster, feverishly in time with his panting.

"Fuck," He hissed, his head falling down against the pillow as he moved.

He could still feel it. Her touch on his left forearm.

And perhaps thats what drove his next action. It certainly wasn't reason, or shame, those things he had so long clung onto having abandoned him. He tossed, rolling over to his side and began to pump his cock with his left hand.

It wasn't his dominant hand, but he used it none the less. Shamelessly bucking his hips against his fist, his grip tight as he stroked himself desperately. Deep down he knew that the only thing on top that forearm in that moment was the Dark Mark, but the only thing he felt, was her hand.

He imagined her touch again. Her soft fingers on his clothed skin. Gods.. What would it feel like without any barriers whatsoever? What would it feel like to have her fingers trail up that arm, down his chest, his abdomen-

"Fuck," He grunted, louder this time as his grip on his cock tightened and his hips continued to buck against his hand, "Fuck."

With his eyes screwed shut, Severus pictured her eyes staring back up at him as she whispered more praises. What he would do to hear more of them... What he would do to coax those words from her lips, no, what he would do to make her moan them.. If he was inside her, if it was his cock, his movements, making her praise him...

His control snapped. In an instant he moved, thoughtless, completely slave to the desires he'd repressed for so long; he pushed himself up, bunching the sheets up and bringing them under his hips.

Without thinking, Severus took his cock in his right hand and lined it up with the crease of the rolled up sheets and pushed in.

"Shit!" He hissed, his head collapsing against them as he supported his weight on his left forearm. His other arm reached down to hold the sheets steady as he began to fuck them shamelessly.

The gasps that flew from his lips were sinfully loud, a string of curses and her name as he chased the release he'd denied himself for so long. He pictured her body beneath him, the possibilities of feeling so much more of her soft skin. How her walls would welcome him... Wet and warm around his cock, how those delicate hands would cling to him as she looked up at him with those bright eyes that seemed to only see good in him.

And stars, did he want to be good for her.

"You're doing so well, Severus," Her voice rang out in his mind as he screwed his eyes shut, "Feels so good..."

His breath coming in quick short gasps, his grip on the sheets tightened even further, his knuckles white. The headboard creeked against the stone wall with every thrust of his hips, but the only thing in his mind was her voice. That wretched, soft, voice..

"Severus!" She moaned in his mind. His name, on her lips. He was coaxing those moans. He was giving her that pleasure.

What would it feel like to give her more? What would it feel like to watch her face as she came around him? He'd read about sex, sure. Heard about it, in the boys dorms in school, from Lucius' wild adventures, from the Death Eaters. But what would it feel like to have her come for him? The tightening of her around him, the sound of his name on her lips as she gushed arou-

The thought was too much for him to bear. Soft, high whimpers flew from his quivering lips as he came into the sheets. The orgasm crashed over him seemingly out of nowhere fast enough that he wasn't prepared for it. His entire body shook, hips faltering and chest heaving as he thrusted sloppily into the sheets as he filled them with his cum.

Her name left his mouth like a broken prayer, chanted breathlessly, even as his thrusts slowed down and he stilled against the sheets.

Severus panted, sweat clinging to his forehead, his raven hair. For as long as he could, he lay completely still against the messy sheets, almost frightened to move and face what he had done.

When he finally did open his eyes, he pushed himself up on shaky arms to look down. The black sheets were painted white with his cum, glistening in the faint glow of the room.

Not bearing to look at it any longer, he reached for his wand and cleaned up the evidence. Tossing it to the side, he shoved his softening cock back in his trousers and collapsed on the once again clean sheets to stare at the ceiling.

Shame and guilt coursed through the back of his mind, but at the forefront of it all, was the absolute sheer exhaustion.

The prayer in his mind was only her name, the scripture only her praise. He drifted off begging, to who, he wasn't sure. But for the first time, in years, Severus slept peacefully.

well im sorry that was seven decades long. haven't yall had a pretty lady touch you once and then immediately gone feral?

no?

just me?

taglist:

@graciesbow @niftysnazzy @plecosylvia @dark-st @3hrysfiction-blog @ilovegrapes-world @darkvoidz @lexiitaylorrrr @theheartwants-what-itwants **@aperol-with-izzy **@herbologygremlin @kittenlittle24 @aleck-cross

#severus snape #snape fandom #pro snape #professor snape #severus #severus x reader #snape x y/n #snape fic #pro severus #snape smut #severus smut #smut #severus snape smut #professor snape smut #sub snape #snape fanfiction #snape #snapedom

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randomwriting · 6 months ago

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Love Letters I Won’t Send

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.1K

Summary: In the midst of summertime heat and breakdowns, you find yourself falling in love with all the people around you. (some, more than others.)

A/N 💌: I intend to make this a series, haven’t decided if I should make it fully Poly!Marauders x Reader or not yet, so let me know what you think!

Also this is my first fic ever so kindness & reblogs are sincerely appreciated 💕

Beneath the annoyance permeating the halls of Hogwarts, and infesting every common room but the ones conveniently hidden under wonderfully cool lakes, (an amenity you were not jealous of at all), there was an amazingly rare heat wave sweeping over the entirety of scotland. You had to admit, the timing could not have been worse.

The unrelenting heat was the worst in the Gryffindor dorms, where some of the residents had begun looking an awful lot like one of their house colors. This unexpected side effect meant that dorms were essentially uninhabitable, and swarms of students had taken to the courtyard, the common room, or the halls, in refuge. And since hiding from your lingering feelings in your dorm was no longer a viable option, Lily, Marlene, and Dorcas had been forced to drag you out into an open space where you were far too susceptible to seeing the three boys you had been avoiding like the plague.

“You are going to bloody fucking kill yourself if you do not get out of that room.” Marlene practically shouted at you, after yet another failed attempt to free you from the boiling temperatures of your bedroom. Her exasperation with you, general fury with the world, and hatred of the weather was a dangerous combination. One you couldn't entirely fault her for.

“I'd sooner die than have to face those men, marls.” you heard her grumble something along the lines of “Merlins fucking beard” at your response.

“Look, I know this whole thing is complicated and whatnot, but you are driving yourself mad, holed up in a ridiculously hot room, overthinking about James, Sirius and Remus, when you should be swimming, or living, or fucking someone else to get over them!”

“I agree. You are too pretty and smart and funny and frankly too fucking hot to be sitting here moping.” Lily chimes in, smiling at you, unrelenting in her beliefs, you take a second, in the midst of the chaos, to admire her smile. The ridiculously engaging quality of her shiny teeth, the perfection of her skin and the red hair that floats around her in the sun, too much like a halo for you not to take note. It is so easy to love her. All of them, really. You only wish, quietly, that it was so easy for you to be loved. The way everyone knows Mary loves Lily, the palpable way you all can feel how Marlene loves Dorcas. It radiates under the surface of the whole group and flows further out into the school, they radiate love, and you feel it, in that brief and wondrous moment before you have to face the world, you ask yourself how on earth you got so lucky, that they might tolerate you enough to allow you this close to the masterpiece of their friendships and lives.

“Okay.” You relent, soft yet reluctant, as you come back to the present, a feeling of inadequacy settling heavily on your shoulders and in your lungs, “I'll leave the room but I'm bringing a book, and I insist on snacks and enormous amounts of lemonade if I'm being forced out into the wild.” You allow them to pull you up and out of the sweltering room, only because you’re not entirely convinced you won’t be able to simply meander away into some obscure hallway, cooled by the touch of the century old stone in refuge, the moment Dorcas and Marlene begin to notice just how little clothing there is between the two of them due to the immense heat. You stare ahead as you walk down through the common room, shoulders tense with something indescribable. Lily notices it, she also noticed the soft, odd look on your face earlier, and just like Lily Evans does, she files it away in a neat folder in her mind with your name written on it, one new thing to figure out about you, where exactly it is you go when your eyes get foggy and you drift off.

“Why are you avoiding the boys?” Dorcas asks suddenly, and you feel marlene and lily stop, to turn and look at her the same way you do.

“It’s just easier, if I don’t see them.” You tell her this half truth slowly, as you all continue to walk down the stairs, you don’t miss the dry look you get from Marlene.

“Easier? You were miserable earlier and I can’t imagine they’re thrilled at the prospect of one of their best friends disappearing without explanation.” She somehow manages to be blunt and soft and so uniquely wise.

“I have to move on, because we are just friends. That’s easier to do when I’m not constantly overwhelmed by Remus reading to me, and Sirius’ relentless flirting, and James calling me-”

“Angel! There you are.” A sweaty James Potter practically yells from across the courtyard as he sees you. Your heart stops, the sun is on his face and bouncing off of his glasses, his hair has never looked this good, ever. It’s damp and sideswept and you just know Sirius has been somewhere near it, because it looks particularly soft. You aren’t sure he isn’t actually an angel of some kind as he jogs over to you and the girls in his white tank top and shorts, positively beaming.

“Nice to see you too, potter.” Marlene snarks with a grin as James enters your personal space.

“Oh come on Marls, you know I’m always positively thrilled to see you.” His smile unwavering as he looks over at her, you take that moment of freedom from his gaze to wipe the sweat that formed away from your brow, and to start a silent conversation with lily, which really only pertains you mouthing “help” and her grinning at you happily, thrilled with the confrontation. She hated when you hid from things, from yourself.

“Did you put on sunblock? Sirius has plenty, if you haven't.” James asks you softly as he leads the small group to the tree where he had come running from, you can just make out Sirius and Remus under it, Sirius sprawled out on the grass, head in remus’ lap, who’s back is against the tree as he reads. You’re struck with fondness yet again as you look at them, finding it all too easy to fall back into that habit of loving them from afar.

“I did. Lily made me.”

You answer, with a playful glare at your favorite redhead. James’ smile grows somehow larger at the playfulness. You watch Lily sling her arm over Dorcas, you laugh as Marlene shoves it off, grumbling playfully about how she should go find Mary if she wanted to get all lovey dovey. Despite the tension you can feel, always present it seems, since you fell for James, there is an easiness. Perhaps because of the warmth and the abundance that comes with this time of year, or maybe just because you have found yourself living here, with people who you feel if you didn't already have magic coursing through your veins, would make you believe in its existence. They were just that wonderful.

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bradleysass · 8 days ago

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list - @black-brothers-microfic - wc: 944

The kitchen is too warm for comfort, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to the back of Regulus' neck despite the shade drawn across the windows. The light filters in anyway, soft and golden and far too romantic for the conversation currently unfolding over chipped teacups and mismatched chairs.

Regulus is pretending to read the Daily Prophet, though it’s upside down. Evan is slicing a pear with surgical precision, and Barty—Barty is dangerously close to being bored.

Which is never a good thing.

“I’m so tired of your secrets,” Barty drawls, kicking Regulus under the table. “You always act like you're plotting something sinister, but it’s probably just more brooding about your hair or James Potter’s forearms.”

Regulus flinches. A rookie mistake. He tries to cover it with a scoff, but Barty’s eyes are already glittering. “You’re deranged.”

“And you’re obvious,” Barty counters. “Seriously, do you think no one notices the way you go completely catatonic when Potter walks into the room?”

Regulus stiffens. “I don’t.”

“You do,” Evan says mildly, setting the knife down. “The other day he asked you what time it was and you gave him your family tree.”

Regulus glares at both of them. “I’m never telling either of you anything again.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Barty says sweetly. “I already know everything. Like, for instance…” He leans suddenly, plucking the folded parchment from under Regulus’ hand like a magician pulling a coin from behind someone’s ear. “This little gem.”

“Barty—” Regulus reaches, too late. The paper is already unfolding, and Barty’s smirk is widening by the second.

“‘Top Ten People I’d Shag,’” he reads aloud, eyebrows raising with each word. “Underlined? Oh, Reggie.”

Regulus is halfway out of his chair. “Give. It. Back.”

“Relax,” Barty says, holding the paper out of reach like he’s taunting a first-year with a levitating quill. “Let’s see… who made the cut?”

Evan takes a sip of tea, utterly unbothered. “Skip to number one. That’s where the real shame lives.”

Barty grins like a shark. “Ah, yes. The crown jewel. The man of the hour. The Gryffindor Golden Boy himself… James Potter.”

Regulus practically vibrates with indignation. “It’s not—he’s not—I was just—”

“You were just ranking people you definitely haven’t fantasized about in the showers?” Barty supplies helpfully. “Sure.”

“I didn’t mean for anyone to read it!” Regulus snaps, face burning. “It was just… a joke.”

“Funny how you only wrote it for yourself and yet underlined the title twice,” Evan muses. “Do you often joke in calligraphy?”

Regulus groans and buries his face in his hands. “I hate both of you.”

Barty swings his legs under the table. “You know what I think?” he says, ignoring the pointed look Evan gives him that says please don’t ruin his life in the next thirty seconds. “I think you wrote this list hoping someone would find it.”

“I did not—”

“Subconsciously,” Barty cuts in. “You wanted to be caught. And not by us,” he adds, glancing at the parchment. “You wanted him to find it. To see his name, right there, number one. Maybe he’d laugh. Maybe he’d get that stupid smug grin he gets when someone flirts with him. Maybe—just maybe—he’d kiss you.”

Regulus is silent. He doesn’t deny it.

Evan, ever the merciful executioner, changes the subject—sort of. “He does flirt with you, you know,” he says conversationally. “Every time you walk into a room he perks up like a dog hearing his owner’s voice.”

“He flirts with everyone,” Regulus mumbles through his hands. “That’s not special.”

“It’s different with you,” Evan says simply. “He waits for your reaction.”

Regulus doesn’t speak.

He can’t.

Because of course he’s noticed. The way James leans closer when he talks to him, like he’s bracing for impact. The way he ruffles his already chaotic hair when Regulus is around. The way he says his name—Regulus, like it’s a spell he’s trying to master, over and over, until he gets it right.

But it’s not real, is it?

It’s James Potter.

And Regulus is… not.

Not that kind of brave. Not that kind of bold. Not the kind of person who admits what he wants, let alone writes it down and lets his friends laugh about it over breakfast.

He stays quiet long enough for Barty to roll his eyes.

“I’m telling him,” Barty announces.

“No,” Regulus says, leaping up so fast he nearly trips over his chair.

“I’m writing him a list,” Barty continues, already reaching for a quill. “Top ten things Regulus wants to do to you, and surprise, all of them are variations on—”

“Touch that quill and I will hex your fingers off.”

“Worth it.”

Evan plucks the quill away and hands it to Regulus. “Leave him alone, Barty.”

“He’s pining. Pathetically.”

“I am right here,” Regulus mutters.

Barty sighs and flops back dramatically in his chair. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But when you die of unresolved sexual tension, don’t come crying to me.”

“I won’t. I’ll be dead.”

“Exactly.”

The kitchen falls into a quieter rhythm again, the tension softening like butter on toast. Evan goes back to slicing fruit. Regulus folds the list, carefully this time, and tucks it deep into his pocket.

He will burn it later.

Probably.

Unless he doesn’t.

Unless he gives it to James one day, maybe years from now, maybe when it doesn’t make his stomach turn upside down. Maybe when he’s ready.

Until then, it stays folded. Safe. Just a stupid list in his pocket, with a stupid name at the top.

James Potter.

God, he’s such an idiot.

But at least he’s not alone.

Not completely.

#marauders #black brothers microfic #jegulus #sunchaser #starseeker #james potter #regulus black #evan rosier #barty crouch jr #barty crouch junior #microfic

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beware-of-pity · 3 months ago

Text

Cinnamon Girl - II

Masterlist I Ao3 link I Chapter One - Next

Harry James Potter x Reader

Summary :

Only very clever people can hear dreams, but this is no dream. Nothing like the ones he's used to.

Chapter II: I know you; I walked with you once upon a dream (That look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam)

. ⚯ ͛

Life could prove slow when there is nothing to do to fill your time.

Harry remained within the confines of the Burrow's garden during the following weeks. He spent most of his days playing two-a-side Quidditch in the Weasleys' orchard. He and Hermione went up against Ron and Ginny, and since Hermione was dreadful while Ginny was just as good, if not at times, better than him, they were reasonably well matched. He passed his afternoons with a book in hand and spent his evenings enjoying triple helpings of everything Mrs Weasley put before him.

His nights were another matter altogether. Far less peaceful than his days—if he could even call them that.

Disappearances, strange accidents, and deaths had become daily occurrences in his life. Such news was brought by the daily copy of the Daily Prophet, Mr Weasley himself after a long day of work, or whoever was visiting the Burrow that day. The evenings at the Burrow were quiet and empty of things to do, so as he and the others settled for bed, that’s when the night came alive. He could hear them, as he was sure the others did too. The hushed and whispered argument came from the kitchen when people like Lupin, Nymphadore, Moddy and the others came over. Tonks seemed particularly upset one night as they got settled in the living room and Mr Weasley brought up something or rather someone from what he had understood that did not seem to go well with her.

She looked worse than ever before, ragged and run down, and he often wondered if she too felt Sirius’ absence as he did, even if not as close as cousins were supposed to be.

The only remnants he was able to pick from that night as he pretended to need the bathroom were something along the lines of.

“He has betrayed us. Gone to gods know where. Abandoned us, Arthur. Even if we can figure out where he is, we can’t trust him! Not anymore” Her voice, although low, lingered with hurt and danger, surely caused by the anger she carried along with them. “How do you think I feel about rejecting him? You know how it pained my mother. Our own blood. He was like a mentor to me. A father. ” She gritted those words out, “I do not wish to see him ever again”

Sleep did not find him easy when he would return to the comfort of his bed after his usual eavesdroppings, and when it would finally catch him, his dreams plagued him. At times, they had been as empty as the summer night sky outside his window, wondering the horizon, as if they were tempered to be so.

For a while, he thought that his encounter with his parents had not truly happened. He denied the impossible, as any normal and sane man would. It was... as he would put it, a dream. Certainly, perhaps, something more powerful by a dream, but a dream nonetheless.

Something his mind had come up with, a joke of some sort, not at all what it had presented itself as.

But then his empty nights had taken matters into their hands and had proved him wrong, and he was once again plagued by nights filled with dreams that tried to prove themselves as a sort of reality that they were anything but.

Memories of the past years put to fight back and confer themselves with nothing more he could do than relive them. Only this time, to fill in with the falsehood of these "memories", amongst the people he cared about most, there were his parents and all those he had lost to fill the empty seats that they had left behind with their demise.

His first time getting on the train to Hogwarts, the pick up at the end of his first year. The many Christmases he had spent by himself at school had transformed into one of pure galore and love, whether it was with his parents or the Weasleys. The last Christmas he had spent at Grimmauld Place with Sirius, there they were too, sitting amongst all the other, his mother and father, celebrating with the others, as if nothing was wrong. What a cruel joke this person was playing on him, and yet he almost felt guilty for finding happiness in these made-up little moments.

He was getting a taste of the life he could have had had things not gone the way they had; why should he feel bad for indulging in such a sweet treat? Gluttony is an indulgence and a sin that must be punished, and yet Harry could not seem to have enough servings every time he went to sleep. He knew it was wrong, but Harry had had enough of denying himself what he wanted, had always wanted. He’s just a human, a boy, with dreams, ambitions and desires; he could not be faulted for on the accounts of what others thought was right or wrong.

‘Fight back, it’s not real’ he was sure Hermione would say, ever the pragmatic one.

’We should tell someone. Someone competent in these matters, such as Dumbledore, not Trelawney for sure’, and he would agree, were it that he did not want to, this time. This was his little secret, that he wanted to keep all to himself.

And what would he say anyway?

It was hard to tell; his dreams had been tampered with, he knew. He could always tell when a dream was not his as it claimed to be. He could distinguish the false from the truth. Usually, there were little signs left for him to pick upon. The lamp in the corner looked wrong, and the flowers did not produce any smell even though they were fresh. Or the food did not taste of anything, and the words in the book he would pick up were illegible.

Despite how... happy, if he could say, those dreams made him, surely more relaxed he was, more than he had been in a long time, what he wished most was to understand why they would go to such lengths to do so. His mind had never been clearer, and his magic had never felt so at ease. Yet he still wasn’t allowed peace of mind, he suppose he did so to himself with his constant badgering questions and mind working overtime to find answers to questions he could not answer. He hated to be on edge, constantly waiting for her—this girl, woman, or entity bearing a woman's sphere, he had been reassured by his parents was not entering his mind with ill intent.

She would come soon. He knew. The same way he knew before, or that he perhaps always knew. He kept repeating those words, "Just don't fight her, let her in..." like a mantra, obsessing over them. But every time, he would lose any sense of purpose and fall into whatever quest he was set out that night. He knew she was here; she wasn't speaking, but he knew she was here. She wouldn't show herself until he let her in.

But then she didn’t, and that left Harry more confused than anything he was made to experience.

He didn’t understand. Why did she come to him in the beginning? Those balls of light, he knew it was her. Maybe a form or particles of her consciousness as a way to communicate with him. Why was she no longer coming to him? Was it because he was letting her in, or had she gotten bored of playing with him? The dreams had not stopped, so he supposed it could not be that.

What was stopping her from coming? Whatever her reasons were, he missed the presence of her mind. Even if they were false, he felt a kind of peace in those dreams; with his parents, he felt peace. He didn’t feel safe, for he still didn’t trust her, though he let her in, he felt peace, and he missed that.

She was always there, an invisible force to reckon with. Were it he was reenvisioning a past memory, or having newly made-up scenarios with the people he craved most, such as his parents, or even Sirius, which he had gotten the chance to briefly speak to on a particularly humid night that was a good omen for some needed rain in these hot and dry days. He could not see her, but she was watching.

He could sense her, but he could not reach her. He could feel her, but he could not speak to her. She carried a scent, one he had become familiar with. Vanilla, cotton, or silk, he could not differentiate, and perhaps cinnamon? the same sweet scent that Mr Weasley's cake, cookies and pastries smelled of. Whenever his nose caught a whiff of either of these scents, he knew she was there.

One night, he wanted to try and see if he could communicate with her, in perhaps some other unconventional way. Harry sat cross-legged on the floor in the dark of the room, the faint sound of Ron snoring at the other end almost a white noise ringing in his ear.

He closed his eyes, immersing himself in... well... himself, as he tried to reach her, his mind searching endlessly through the connection that joined them, but it was to no avail. She was there, he knew that, but she wasn’t letting him in. Instead, she sat patiently, observing him as if he were some curious creature. He could almost discern her, as if she were sitting beside him, staring at him curiously. He knew she knew he could feel her presence, but she made no effort in letting him into her mind. He had neither the abilities nor the power to be able to do so. Whatever this kind of magic was, Harry was sure it was one of a kind, old, ancient, archaic, and one he had no taste or pursuit in.

Why was she so distant now, when in the beginning it wouldn’t be a day without her in his mind? He wanted to ask her but did not, or more like, he could not.

He had noticed too that it wasn't just her scent; he could differentiate her from all the other things that looked out of place in his visions.

She sang, hummed tunes, and lulled him into his dreamland. And what a voice she had, like a siren, the same as the one had often been told prefects could hear in their private bathroom. The same as the one that came out of the egg he had won after his first mission in the Triwizard tournament in his fourth year.

The soft hum of her voice in the back of his head was like rain against a window, soft and almost inaudible. A soft humming noise of an unknown song would reach his ears and would feel a sort of calm drifting through him like a wave crashing upon its shore.

The pull, so familiar to him even now, felt different.

Almost intimate, and although the pull was strong, he refrained from being swept away. He wondered which image he would see this time: would he catch a glimpse of his parents or Sirius? Perhaps he’d finally get to know the face of this mysterious woman.

On nights when his mind was as tumultuous as the dangers lurking in the outside world, the scent of vanilla sniffing up his nose and a voice so mellow and melodious that, despite the horrors he was made to walk through in his dreams, would always bring him back to safety. In the comfort of warm arms, which he had become familiar with and whose solace he sought, that would hold him through the cold that would try and get underneath his skin and into his bones.

One afternoon, while Ginny, Ron, Fred and George were cleaning out the ghoul from the attic, Harry and Hermione were lying in bed side by side on one of the spare twin beds that had been brought to their room, watching the sun sinking from the sky, and the last drops of pink fading from view. They weren't talking much. The quiet of the Burrow was peaceful, and the soft sounds from outside the window were making his eyes heavy.

To his spite, Hermione decided that that was a good enough time to bring up what her observation of his behaviour made her think.

"You're always like this when you're worried over something" murmured Hermione "You don't have to hide it, Harry”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Harry mumbled, his eyes still closed. He could hear her turn to face him, and he knew she was rolling her eyes again, probably with that amused smile on her lips.

“Harry”, she sighed but said nothing else. Just a simple murmur of his name. She lay back down with a soft thump and said with a soft laugh, “You’re hopeless.”

“I just know when it’s pointless to try and argue with you”, he replied, opening his eyes and turning towards her.

Her laughter was infectious, so he couldn’t help but laugh. “You do love me though, don’t ya?” he added teasingly, smiling at her.

“Oh, shush”, she smiled in turn, softly, turning over to rest a hand on his arm. “Don’t be daft,” Hermione said. “You know I do.”

This light of good in a world of eternal darkness remained in his dreamland, no longer prying but rather helping him through the horrors, which in turn helped him in more ways than he was ready to admit. Being thankful did not even converge how deeply he felt for whoever was willing to put up with him, clearing his mind of those memories he buried six feet underground that continuously tried to get out of the dirt he had covered them with, despite the disturbing truth that someone was entering his mind. He had told neither Ron nor Hermione about it. He had yet to open up about a lot of things with his friends, and he wasn’t sure if revealing that someone was invading his mind was the right thing to do with them. Gods know how they would lose their minds about it and make it a much bigger deal than Harry thought it to be. This wasn’t the Dark Lord or a Death Eater, that much he was sure. He was confident and trusted his assessment of his intuition as well as what he was given to believe by both the things left behind by her and what he had made up his mind about.

He had spent his birthday in the company of those he considered his own family. Another year, the older he grew, the less of a child he became and the more of a mature young man he turned into. The day after, letters and a booklist arrived from Hogwarts; to lift his mood, there was the news that he had been made Captain of the Quidditch team, putting him on the same level as Ron and Hermione, prefects of House Gryffindor.

As such, on the last Saturday of August, they set out for a nice little trip to Diagon Halley despite all the reservations Mrs Weasley had about it. He, Ron, Hermione and Ginny had first gone to run their most essential tasks in those stores in the infamous street that was still open to serve their services, gathering every need and necessity on the list they were given for their upcoming year at Hogwarts. It truly was an awful sight; the once colourful and always un-walkable hally was in the same state as that of a shack. Windows were boarded up, the streets almost empty, and several shabby-looking stalls had sprung up along the street. Harry noticed that many of the people who passed them had the same harried, anxious look that Mrs Weasley sported that morning before they had gone and that nobody was stopping to talk anymore. The shoppers stayed together in their own tightly knit groups, moving intently about their business. Nobody seemed to be shopping alone, just like the leaflet of the Ministry suggested.

Once finished, they walked up to the new sensation that kept the entertainment in the rather run-down alley, George and Fred’s store, or rather ‘The Joke’ shop they were able to open with the money Harry had won through the Triwizard tournament, which he had no use of, and gracefully donate to the two to do as they pleased, or to rather begin the business they had interred into since a young age.

Set against the dull, poster-muffled shopfronts around them, Fred and Georges's windows hit the eye like a firework display. Casual passersby looked back over their shoulders at the windows, and a few rather stunned-looking people had come to a halt, transfixed. The left-hand window was dazzlingly full of assortments of goods that revolved, popped, flashed, bounced, and shrieked; Harry's eyes began to water just looking at it.

Once inside, it was no better than the outside, the shop reeling of total madness.

Ever-bashing boomerangs whip through the air, Dr. Filibuster’s Fabulous Wet-Start No-Heat fireworks spit sparks, and Nose-Biting Teacups bare tiny porcelain teeth. Fred and George, in matching and screaming orange suits, stand upon a counter, selling to the masses and leading everyone through each product of the store.

Through thick and thin, once they spot him, they’re immediately at his side, steering him through the store.

“Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder?” Harry asks once in front of the stand of said product, glittering by the darkness of the obsidian stone of said powder.

“A real money spinner that,” said Fred, taking one of the lumps of powder before launching it into Harry’s hand, eager to inspect it.

“Handy if you need to make a quick escape,” George added before his attention was drawn to Hermione and Ginny, who were browsing the bright, bubble-pink bottles of love potions displayed under ‘Wonder Witch Love Potions’ as if they were contemplating a purchase. “Hello, ladies!”

Harry watches discreetly as he pretends to consider a rack of “Ten-Second Pimple Vanisher,” but secretly eavesdrops on the conversation between Ginny and her brothers, where he hears about Ginny dating Dean Thomas, who at the question runs off, aggravated by her brother’s intrusive nature into her affairs.

He moves through the stands, keeping an eye on Ginny’s retrieving form, to the point that he becomes unaware of his surroundings, eventually leading him to bump into someone. He turns abruptly, immediately on the move, to apologise to whoever he has inadvertently almost caused an accident with, as he hears a stand beside the person clatter from the impact he has made by slightly pushing them against it, his hand instinctively going to grip the person's forearm to help steady them.

The eyes he meets are none like those he has ever locked his with. Captivating and entrancing, the face of the girl presenting before him is of a nature like no other, of one, not the sort normal humans wear.

He must think you’re some sort of humanoid creature - how far from the truth he truly was. It is no normal day when someone like him meets someone like you. And yet, he knows you, in a way, he’s sure he does. But just where has he met you before?

“Sorry...” he murmurs, a thud mesmerised. You don’t say anything but turn to stare down at the hand on your forearm, still gripping at you.

In turn, he unlatches his hand from your jumper, dark blue and intricately woven, pulling away if scorned by the wool.

“Yeah, er-….sorry” he continues to apologise, for what reason he does not know, and you continue to say nothing, just staring at him with those piercing eyes of yours, with an expression far too calm for Harry’s liking when he almost pushed you into a stan.

A beat, you then nodd before walking away, as if unbothered by the ordeal. He watches you as you pass him; his action almost automatic, and it’s then that his nose catches a tray of vanilla coming from the tresses of your hair, which sway behind you. , the softness of your jumper, and the scent of cinnamon lingering around your face. The same scent that clouds his dreams.

He reached out a hand to stop you, to get more of the scent that startled him, making the muscles of his shoulders tighten in alarm and his nerves rise in alert. But you were too far away for his reach. Instead of your arm, his fingers reached for the long string of the bow, the same colour as your jumper, in your hair. The string melts like butter as it escapes its confines, resting limply in his hand.

He doesn’t know whether or not to call out to you, walk, hell, even run, if needed, through the crowd that had formed in the wake of your leave. But before he can stop himself, he stalks after you, following your form as it moves around other patrons and shelves. He stops only when you do too, to stare at what he could only presume to be the Pygmy Puffs Ginny was briefly raving about. But before his feet can even move to meet you in front of the stand, he’s ushered outside the store by Ron, who seems aggravated by something, or rather a conversation he has had with his brothers.

He did not even register Hermione’s presence beside him as she joined the two in walking out of the Joke shop.

He tries to get one last look as he's led out of the store, his eyes swimming between customers, entering and going, only to find that in the immensity of the room, you're already looking at him, and all of a sudden everything around you turns into a blur, his focus resting only on your form as everyone else disappears. Your eyes stare back at his with a subtle hint of intensity. A familiarity like no other, one he meets with the same ardour.

I've known you my entire life, his thoughts reverb along those words Whoever you are, I know we'll meet again

“Harry!”

He returns back to his senses as his name is called out, his head turning to meet Ginny and Hermione by the door.

“Come on, Ginny,” Hermione calls to her.

“She didn’t actually buy anything, did she?” Ron whispers to Harry with a smirk on his face as he too watches the two girls meet them.

“Just you wait, Ron,” Harry snarks back. “One of these days, she’s going to come back with a great big box of love potions.”

“I’ll be sure not to let her slip a potion in your dinner, Ron!” Ginny tells him as she walks past them into the outside streets but not before turning to whisper at Harry discreetly. “I’ll sneak them into his pumpkin juice one of these days. Watch him choke.” She giggles quite loudly, more like a chuckle than anything, heartfelt and booming and runs after Hermione, leaving Harry and Ron behind by themselves.

As Ron grumbles under his breath about Ginny doing such a thing, Harry glances past his shoulder once more just as he’s about to step out of the door. He steals a glance at you, although no longer where his eyes had focused you just briefly before. This time, you’re accompanied in your sightseeing of a stand by a boy he’s actually able to pinpoint as Michael Corner, hair just as long as last year but perhaps an inch or two taller. He frows at Michael’s closeness despite you not seeming bothered by it.

“Come on!” Ron urges, shoving Harry slightly as he steps out.

Harry follows after him, and they walk the streets of Diagon, not paying any mind to anyone walking past them as they do so. For a moment, he had thought, or rather hoped, really, that at the end of the street, where they were supposed to stop by the ice cream parlour before heading back, he’d see you once again, walking towards him. His heart beats faster, and he waits for an eternity for you to appear, but nothing. Not a trace.

But why is he doing so? Harry... well, he cannot explain it. He thought... well, he thought it might be you. The presence in his dreams, the one following him, guiding him, holding him and comforting him. Crazy, that’s what he was becoming.

He doesn’t understand. Who are you? How has he not noticed you before? All this time, he’s been walking through these streets, and yet, he has never noticed you?

You’re here. I’ve known you all my life; I just know I have. So how do I not? He felt a sudden wave of emotions flood him, and he felt like he might just go insane if he didn’t find you here right now.

How is he supposed to go through his days, knowing that you are only a few steps out of his reach?

He turns over the long strip he has stolen from you, thinking — I’ll find you.

"Wait", said Ron, stopping both himself and them in their tracks

“Bloody hell, no way, is that-? is that Abelar Gaunt?"

While Hermione seems slightly startled, Harry looks as unfazed as every time something he should be knowledgeable about but he isn’t is bought up into a conversation. Ginny seems aware of who Ron is speaking of but doesn’t share in her brother’s familiarity with the name. The name that, by nature, he should not be unaware of and the seriousness that it brings along with it.

“I thought he went into hiding”, hushed Hermione, eyes slightly wide “It can’t be him”

Harry looks between Ron and Hermione, noticing the expression the name makes the latter wear on her face.

“Who?” Harry asks them in a hushed whisper.

Ron looks at him as if flabbergasted at Harry’s ignorance over the man but regains his bearings about how he mentally beats himself over the assumption.

“Abelar Gaunt. I wouldn’t say he was a friend of Dad, but he certainly wasn’t a foe. He was part of the order... a long time ago. I remember him coming to the burrow a few times when I was young. Ginny may have been too young to remember, but I wasn’t; always scared the wits out of me, that one. When the death eaters began to rise again, he just sort of... disappeared, no trace left behind," explained Ron "Last year, I know that they tried to track him to rejoin the order but he never picked the signs left for him by Dad or Lupin or...Sirius"

“Sirius?”

The name of his Godfather being spoken had made him realise how much he actually missed the man. Everyone was sort of too afraid of speaking of Sirius in front of him. He wasn’t fragile; he didn’t need people to walk off broken shells of pins and needles. It ticked him to no end. His chest tightens at the mention of Sirius, and a wave of homesickness washes over him, but not for Grimmauld Place, but for his Godfather himself.

“Yeah, mate, they were like cousins or something”, Ron says almost nonchalantly “Relatives. I think Abelar’s mother was a Black, cousin of Sirius’ own parents or something like that. Didn’t Sirius tell you?”

Harry feels a little pang in his chest that makes his heart constrict.

“No,” he answers Ron after a moment, almost forcefully, like he has to force the words out of him. “No, he didn’t.”

He watches as the man spats a few words at Narcissa in a hushed, secretive tone, then swiftly whips his cloak away, turning to walk in their direction. The four of them quickly shuffle behind the column they were eavesdropping on, pushing against each other. Hermione yelps as Ron stomps his foot on hers, and Harry apologises to Ginny after almost elbowing her.

Harry watches as the man walks towards the Joke shop in great earnest as if he requires a last stop before he’s the hell out of a place he finds no longer safe, ready to pick something or someone from it. He’s pulled by his staring only by Ron’s piquing words.

"Is it just me? Or do Draco and Mummy look like two people who don’t want to be followed?”

Narcissa, who had been left straddled in the middle of the alley, is now escorted by her son, Draco, as they glance about before slipping into a side alley.

“It’s not just you,” Hermione admits.

Harry, knowing and loathing Malfoy, was sure the reason for such a thing could not be innocent. Without wasting another second, he stalks behind the two, his wand at the ready in his pocket in case this whole situation goes awry. Ron and Hermione follow closely behind him.

The trio trails Draco and Narcissa, who navigate these dark streets with ease. Hermione, lagging a bit, glances up at the darkening sky. When she looks back, she sees Ron and Harry far ahead. They turn a shadowy corner and vanish.

“Quick, or we'll lose him," said Harry, speeding up.

Harry and Ron duck inside a shop front. They had drawn level with the only shop in Knockturn Alley that Harry had ever visited, the shimmering and isolated Borgin and Burkes. In the midst of the cases full of skulls and old bottles stood Draco Malfoy with his back to them, just visible beyond the very same large, beside him his mother, and accompanying them in their pursuit two of three other men. They had scaled up to the rooftop of the empty shop facing Borgin and Burkes, giving them a clear shot of the scene playing out in front of them.

The four of them ducked at times so as to not be seen by the man who was clearly taking guard as Narcissa and Draco discussed with Mr Borgin the reason of their visit to his shop.

After almost being caught by the man standing guard, they’re left looking at the storefront window empty of movement as the party moves down inside the shop.

“What just happened?” Asks Harry. Hermione is quick to respond as Ron and Ginny gape, confused at what they just witnessed “I don’t know.”

The confusion is not the only thing overwhelming them. Harry feels a chill run down his spine, one that has nothing to do with the wind sweeping down the alley. The uneasiness it leaves him with, the way his nerves are on edge, is all so very familiar. As if the cold air was the only thing that reminded him, this was real. This is no dream.

And yet, the next he bats his eyes, he’s lying down on the soft mattress of his bed back at the Burrow. The moon high in the sky shines down upon his face, straining his sight.

A dream he has, he knows, of which you are part, and the more his surroundings become clearer, the further the dread seems to seep into his heart.

The bed dips as he slides to the side, getting up slowly, almost carefully before he tip-toes to the door. The wood of the staircase creaks under his feet, each sound making him cringe and almost make him stop in his tracks.

With his hand on the door handle, the metal cold against his palm, Harry pauses, listening. The house is quiet, the residents asleep. His heart is not, as it picks up speed inside of him, beating so loud it is as if the noise would wake any second. But it doesn’t, and Harry slips out of his room.

He doesn't know when or how he ends up in the clearing near the house, and yet there he stands, in just his pyjamas as the cold summer air ruffles through his hair and brushes against his cheeks.

Harry shivers as the wind carries on through to the forest beyond the clearing. His eyes are glued to the treeline, watching, waiting...for what, he does not know.

‘Why am I here?’ he thinks to himself but is interrupted by the feeling of not being alone, and the sudden surge of his pulse, making the hair rise at the back of his neck. He feels the air around his shift before he gets his answer back.

“You know why you’re here”, he hears the words echo from behind him.

Harry snaps his head, looking past his shoulder, at the source of the words.

"Who's there?" he asks, his voice almost a whisper, not wanting to get caught in the open by Mr and Mrs Weasley. He feels a surge of magic come from the back of him, and he reaches for his wand before even turning around, his hold on it tight.

"Show yourself," he demands.

"I don't have to" The wind carries those words to his ears "You already know who I am. I know you do”

He turns around, facing the figure shrouded in the shadows beyond the trees.

"I don't," he protests, but he does.

You. You're here, he can’t see you, but he knows it’s you. And you're right. He does know who you are.

"Why are you here then? What do you want?" he asks, voice sharp as he stands in his place, rooted to the ground.

“The winds are shifting, absolute darkness rides alongside them, and what dwells within will destroy the world of the living. It’s gusting forth and bringing danger alongside it, and it’s coming our way,” you said, simply and calmly, almost as if you were reporting him the news of the Daily Prophet, and not rumbling about....a prophecy? “What you saw today is but a part of it, and you are, just as he is, but one part of it”

As if on cue, the wind picks up its pace suddenly, and he feels a presence that makes goosebumps rise up his nape.

You’re right, you must be, and you’re standing right behind him, it seems.

The smell of vanilla and cinnamon hits him, clouding his senses, mixing with the scent of pine needles and the night air. His nerves tingle with anticipation and excitement, and his stomach twists itself in knots, not knowing what to feel, what to say, think or do.

"You're real," is all he manages, and it’s barely above a murmur, his eyes travelling up and down the surroundings in front of him, too afraid to turn and face you.

"Of course, I am" Your breath fanned the back of his neck, just at the nape, where the wind picked at his skin before, your words but a whisper in his ear ", I'm here for you, Harry. See? I'm real. I waited for our paths to cross before I would reveal myself. Please forgive me for having kept you waiting. Poorly mannered of me”

Harry shivers under your breath. Your mere presence is overwhelming, and he struggles to find his words as he stands there, his whole being enveloped by only you.

It took everything in him to turn to face you. His feet were all but planked on the grassy moss beneath the bareness of his skin, and his hands shook. You were ethereal, and if he thought you hypnotizing under the light of the Joke shop back in Diagon Alley, you practically glowed under the essence of the moon. That's the moment he became sure you were no normal human, even for a witch. There are no more doubts, no thoughts that fill his mind. No, they couldn’t be when the confirmation of everything is standing right in front of him.

He stares hard. He knows he is but makes no attempt to hide, especially since you don’t seem bothered by it. Instead, you return his stare with the same intensity.

You both hold your gazes for what feels like an eternity but is only a second. He takes every detail as fast as he can, as he fears you would disappear before him the second he blinks.

The way the strands of hair that fall over your face flutter, the soft, gentle curve of your lips and what he thought were stars that reflected in your eyes. Your eyes, two voids, empty, bottomless pits, and it is almost as if he loses himself in them for a brief moment. The moon reflects down on you, your skin as smooth as that of a porcelain doll as it glows. He can feel his heart beating violently inside of him, the sound in his ears deafening. The way his palms are sweating and the way his chest constricts at the sight of you, how his heart races and his pulse quickens, it all speaks for itself, and it makes him want to smack himself off whatever kind of spell he was being put under.

He swallows, the sound of it loud in his dry mouth, and he opens his mouth to speak, but no sound escapes him.

He wets his lips as he regains his bearing "What you said about Draco, the darkness, the danger, What do you mean by it?” The better question would be asking you how you knew all of this. How did you know about Draco and what he saw earlier that day? He had the good sense not to ask about it.

"You know what I speak of," you said, your voice thundering in his ears as it deepened, authoritative and determined "He is coming, and he is closer than you think. You share a path converged by fate to cross. Oh, yes, you will, it's your fate, one he too knows he cannot escape. And when that time comes, you'll have no choice but to face it. You're no fool, you know that. And when the time comes and you'll have to face him, you'll know then what to do"

Dread creeps its way in, as it always does. Unexpected, unwanted, but familiar and always behind him waiting for the peace in him to break, and the more he listens to you, the more it grows.

He does know what you mean, and it makes him shiver more than the cold night.

"Him," he almost whispers, as if the name itself had the power to invoke terror. "Voldemort."

Your purse your lips "It's all just a story. And you... are but one part in it" Your voice goes back to being the sweet, melodious tune he's become familiar with "You know your part" The long-accepted resolution your tone holds catches his attention "You know what you must do"

He wants to step closer, but he fears that if he does so, then you’d no longer be real, just a product of his mind. As so, he stays rooted in his place, letting the night air run through him, making his hair flutter and his nightclothes cling to his shivering skin.

You seem so sure of the things you say as if you already know the ending.

"Yes," he answers, but it’s a mere whisper, meant only for you to hear. "I know."

You smile, a triumphant cat-like grin crossing your face “Good"

The sight is so unexpected and so unlike the passiveness you showed him earlier. Your whole demeanour is. You seemed... more aware and in tune with your elements, contrary to the aloofness and air of nonchalance you display around a crowd. You’re dangerous, more so than he thought.

He stands still, not daring to turn his back to you and coming to face the truth he’s only just begun to put together, that maybe he’s gone mental. Your smile seems to dim at the frown that crosses his face, and you purse your lips. Are you…pouting and frowning? Did he offend you?

Your cheeks, the flesh soft and plump, were puffed as a result of your pursing your lips in an almost sad way, as if him doubting your intentions caused you great pain.

The silence stretches, as he doesn’t know what to fill it with. He’s never been good with these sorts of things, comforting... girls, or understanding them. The thought of the disastrous date he went on with Cho briefly crosses his mind and how he’d been unable to offer a kind word to the weeping girl who felt too guilty about being on a date with someone else when her first love had passed in such grotesque way not so long ago. The air is charged with the electricity that seems to follow you. Harry can sense it, the hum of magic in the air, as if the very night itself is alive. And there you are, in the middle of it, looking like a nymph, a very offended nymph, as the wind caresses your hair and the moon kisses your skin.

He’s not sure if he’s still dreaming or if the whole meeting was a mere hallucination, but the possibility of you not being real makes his heart sink like he's about to lose something that was never his, to begin with. He takes a hesitant step forward, his hand reaching for you as he stops himself in the middle. You look so unreal as the wind rustles your hair and your nightclothes flutter as if you are a being made out of stars and night, an impossibility, the opposite of day.

“Will I see you again?” he asks in hopes of a response.

But you do not reply. Instead, he hears a rustling from within the forest, as if someone was approaching.

He hears Mr Weasley's voice calling his name, "Harry? Harry, is that you, boy? What are you doing out there in the cold?”

Mr Weasley is accompanied by Ron, who looks distressed and out of his mind as his eyes finally settle on him "Bloody Hell, Harry, we thought they had taken you”

Everything had snapped back to the moment earlier, back to reality, and it is as if he has finally opened his eyes from his slumber all over as he blinks not once but twice, as if a spell has been broken.

Mr Weasley’s voice is loud over the silence of the night, it makes his eardrums ring.

He turns to Ron, who stands to the side, still in his nightclothes. The best mate looks shaken but relieved, all the same.

Harry opens his mouth to speak but finds no words to say.

“Taken me?”

“Never mind that”, urges Mr Weasley over Ron’s words, as if he wishes not to speak of the subject. He points the tip of his illuminated wand at his face, inspecting it with his eyes to catch sight of any possible injury “It matters only that you’re fine. Are you alright, Harry? I grew worried sick when Ron told me he couldn’t find you in the house”

He glances over at where you just stood. The clearing is now empty, the feeling you brought with you gone like a puff of smoke. And all that's left is the cold, the night and the realization that this was his last moment with you, the true you in his eyes.

His eyes search the shadows once more, his heart hammering once again in his chest, but no, there's no sight of you. It's only then that he speaks.

"Yeah, 'm fine," his mouth dry, his voice cracking.

He walks past the Weasleys, his mind still reeling from what he witnessed. Your image in his mind is clear, your every feature imprinted in his memory as he can't get you out of his head.

He can feel Ron's eyes on him as if his friend was trying to figure out what was going on with him.

But he pays him no mind, as his thoughts were occupied with you, and you only.

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starryeyedwolves · 1 month ago

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The Art of tolerance

Remus Lupin has spent his entire Hogwarts career surrounded by unfairly attractive people. He’s learned to cope, to endure, to survive the assault on his sensibilities. James Potter, with his perpetually windswept hair and Quidditch-honed smirk. Marlene McKinnon, who could break hearts with a single well-arched brow. Lily Evans, in all her fiery, sharp-edged beauty, has been a challenge to his composure.

But Sirius Black is the final straw.

Sirius Black, who is lounging across Remus’ bed like he belongs there, flipping through Remus’ book with Remus’ dog-eared pages, looking like some ethereal, celestial being who has never known hardship. His black hair spills over the pillow, moonlight making it gleam like silk. He’s wearing Remus’ jumper—the brown wool one, stretched a little too tight across his shoulders, because of course Sirius has broad fucking shoulders—and his long fingers are idly twirling a loose thread.

Remus wants to set something on fire. Preferably Sirius.

“Do you ever get tired of looking like that?” he asks, and it comes out more venomous than he intends.

Sirius tilts his head, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Like what, Moony?”

Remus scowls, turning back to his essay and pretending he doesn’t feel heat creeping up his neck. “Like you were handcrafted by some vindictive deity specifically to make other people suffer.”

Sirius snorts. “Flattering.”

“Not a compliment.”

Sirius hums, stretching, which is absolutely unnecessary. The jumper rides up just enough to expose a sliver of pale skin at his waist, and Remus wants to scream into his pillow.

“Why so worked up?” Sirius asks, propping himself on one elbow. His grey eyes gleam with mischief. “You’re the only one who doesn’t seem to care.”

Remus clenches his quill hard enough to snap it. He exhales slowly, through his nose. He has trained for this. He has spent years building his resistance to Sirius Black’s unbearable, unfair, obnoxiously perfect existence. He is a soldier, hardened by battle.

“Moony,” Sirius sing-songs, “are you jealous?”

Remus goes rigid. “Of what?”

“My face. My body. My general aura of devastating attractiveness.” Sirius winks, and Remus absolutely does not notice how his eyelashes cast ridiculous shadows on his cheekbones.

“You’re insufferable,” Remus mutters.

Sirius grins, rolling onto his stomach so he’s peering up at Remus through messy, artfully disheveled hair, “you’re still here.”

Remus grips his quill like a lifeline. He will not fall for this. He will not—

Sirius reaches out lazily and flicks the corner of Remus’ book. “Say it, Moony. You think I’m pretty.”

Remus exhales sharply. “Of course, you’re bloody pretty, Sirius. Everyone knows you’re pretty. The whole school knows you’re pretty. You think that’s news?”

Sirius blinks. His mouth opens slightly, like he hadn’t expected that particular outburst. Remus realizes, with a slow, horrible sinking feeling, that he has absolutely lost this battle.

There’s a beat of silence. Then Sirius smirks, slow and wicked. “Moony,” he drawls, voice dipping into something dangerous, “if you wanted to kiss me, you could’ve just said so.”

Remus drops his face into his hands. “I hate you.”

Sirius is still smirking, smug and victorious. But there’s something else there too, something softer—something warm in the way his fingers brush against Remus’ wrist, deliberate, careful.

Remus sighs. “I hate you so much.”

Sirius just grins. “You’ll live.”

And Remus, staring at that stupidly pretty face, suspects that he might actually be doomed.

#marauders #the marauders #marauders era #marauders fandom #marauders fic #marauders fanfiction #remus lupin #sirius black #remus and sirius #remus x sirius #wolfstar fic #wolfstar #wolfstar microfic #microfic #my fic #my fic writing #my writing

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neowqing · 9 days ago

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The end of the fifth year brought only disappointment. Severus's grades were good, but that wasn't the problem, on New Year's Eve he received a letter that his mother had left home, she hadn't left a return address or any hint of where she was going, in the spring he had received another prank from marauders, and called his friend a "mudblood", Snape was the biggest loser. Mercy had come in the form of his father's absence, and judging by the state of things the past few weeks, the last time he'd been in the house, it was a relief, and Severus moved the bottles out of the way, dumped everything into a garbage bag, allowing himself to relax as he headed for his room.

Sirius had run away from home to join the Potters, and Lily had said more than four times that she didn't mind if James brought Sirius with him, to her house, so they could hang out together. Black tried to make friends with Petunia, but she just brushed him off, well, Sirius could have been angry, like a spoilt child who really wants everyone's attention and didn't get it from another person, but the blush on the girl's face gives him inner satisfaction.

The three of them explore the forest and the shops, ride bicycles and secretly cast magic without a wand because Lily insists that they must not break the law, one afternoon they go to the river with a picnic and another evening they look at the stars in the open air, everything goes well.

The three of them are in the kitchen making pancakes for the Evans family when Petunia hesitates at the door, as if she's not sure whether she wants to tell him or not.

- Petunia, are you too embarrassed to tell me how handsome I am?

Sirius winks at her as he adds the finishing touches - fruit - to the plate of pancakes and sets them on the table. She shakes her head and meets her sister's eyes.

- Should I call parents?

- Yes, that would be nice.

They talk together and the Evanses go to work, thanking her for such a delicious and beautiful breakfast. Petunia stays with them and helps them with the dishes.

-well you know, that guy- Petunia makes an unclear gesture with her hand, and James tenses up, paying attention. - your old friend, Severus.

- Snivellus?

Sirius asks cheerfully, and he and James smile at each other, Lily frowns.

- Did he want something from you?

- Oh, no, I haven't seen him, but his father disappeared before you came back, and today I heard he was seen walking down the street the other day, looking rather, um, unhinged?

- The son certainly did.

James says, but Lily gives him an angry look.

- That's not funny, Severus' father is a terrible person.

But Lily doesn't elaborate, even though she sees Sirius looking at her with interest.

Petunia leaves after that, and the atmosphere remains tense, like, Lily wants to do something, but she's not sure.

- I think he'll figure it out, it's his dad.

James tries to help Lily through these thoughts, but she shakes her head.

- No, I don't think so, Tobias is terrible, I'm going to go see him.

- We're coming with you!

Sirius rushes after the redhead as she goes to put on her shoes.

In theory, Lily knows where Snape's house is, she's never been there, but once when they were leaving in the evening he walked her there and Evans asked if it was a long way, and Severus said it wasn't that far from where they first met, just a short walk down the path and across the street and a few houses. Snape said it casually, but as they walk Lily feels an uncomfortable creeping feeling, even knowing she can rely on James and Sirius, and given the danger, her wand.

They walk out to the crumbling houses, and Sirius doesn't miss a chance to make a venomous comment:

- A place worthy of someone like Severus.

But Lily doesn't want to hear it, and James picks up on her mood, giving Sirius a disgruntled look and shaking his head. There's nothing on the houses to tell who lives there, but there's an old lady on the porch of one of the houses that Lily dares to approach.

- Excuse me, miss, I'm looking for Snape's house, do you know where it is?

The woman oohs.

- You're going to see that boy, now is not the time, I think you should go to him later.

- What do you mean?- James tilts his head to the side, squinting his eyes against the sun.

- I think he's just not in a good state to be out, I heard a noise two days ago, and coming from their family, that's a very bad sign.

- Which house?

Sirius steps into the conversation and takes a step ahead of his friends. The old woman gives him a look.

- You may be a strong boy, but you're too young, this is a family relationship, you shouldn't interfere.

- Which house?

Sirius speaks more insistently, irritated. The woman oohs and aahs, and then gives up.

- The one across the street.

Sirius takes off running, even though there's only so far to go, James thanks her, and the woman, putting food in the bird feeder, disappears behind the door of her house.

Snape's house is old, like the others, the door is peeling paint, but strong and intact, the windows are dirty and covered with translucent curtains, the walls are mouldy where the sun does not warm, there is no fence as such, and the gate is broken. Sirius peers through the window, it's the living room, probably no one is there, and he's about to knock when Lily grabs his arm.

- It's not necessary, Tobias hates us, wizards, it's better to just explore for now.

Sirius nods understandingly, and they walk around the house to look in all the windows. Another view of the living room, Sirius can see a person on the couch, too big for Severus, a corridor where they can see the stairs to the second floor, and finally a window to the kitchen, where James is calling them all to, pointing in the direction.

- Is that blood?

Sirius tries to see more closely, the colours are quite corrected by the marsh-green of the tulle.

- Anything could be,- Lily whispers, -maybe Tobias cut himself on the bottles, he's abusing, badly.

Lily seems to be looking for an excuse not to interfere, but Sirius can see her looking around nervously, searching for any sign of Severus. She just wants to believe in the best. Sirius does, too.

- There's a way up here,- James points to a tree that is tall enough and curved enough to climb, and more importantly, it overlooks a window in a room. - I'll try it.

Potter is strong and agile, he climbs up and looks, from this distance he can't exactly make out the patterns of the wallpaper, but he can make out a large wardrobe, magic books on the table and a green scarf, James comes down.

- There's blood, a print on the wardrobe, and the room is definitely Snivellus'.

Lily pulls out her wand and walks to the door, she turns to ask, but there's no use, James and Sirius are already there, ready. Lily opens the door and they enter a narrow corridor with a stale air full of alcohol.

- He'd better be of danger, because i wouldn't want to get reprimanded for all this.

But Sirius doesn't really think so, he hopes it's not true, and that Severus is somewhere far away from this house, perhaps in the cosy Malfoy manor, or even the Blacks' house, talking to Regulus. They make no sound as they climb the stairs, which should be creaking, but James takes care of it with a spell. They are at the top where there are two rooms, the doors to which are in poor condition, cracked as if after an impact, the painted walls have stains of some kind of liquid on them, and they all ignore them, moving into the room that definitely belongs to Severus. A bed, a desk, a chair, a locked wardrobe, a nightstand, books, notebooks, a scarf, robes, a green and silver snake with black eyes that Regulus gave him, Sirius knows Snape gave his brother a similar one, but the eyes are all blue, and Sirius is old enough and mature enough to know that he's not jealous, a broken shelf on the wall, beige wallpaper with a soft purple pattern, this is Severus' room, it's small, but the three of them fit in, trying not to step on each other.

- His bag is here, maybe he left without his things.

Lily suggests, and James looks through the contents of the bedside table, Sirius pulls on the cabinet door handles, but it doesn't give way, and when he thinks about leaving, he stops when he hears a soft inhale-exhale sound.

- Alachomora.

Sirius pulls on the handle again, this time it gives way, and he has time to collect himself when Snape falls out of the cupboard, and Sirius catches him in his arms.

- Sev!

Lily steps forward and presses her hands to Severus' cheeks, noticing bruises all over his face and in exposed areas, blood on his clothes, his hands are tied, his trousers are pressed against his skin at the knees and darker, possibly bruised, and when Sirius moves Severus, there is blood on his forearm where Severus' head was.

- We have to go, now, he needs a doctor.

Sirius picks Severus up, the boy is so light in his arms that Sirius has no trouble carrying him all the way, they ignore the drunken body, though Black's rage is boiling over.

Luckily, the hospital is nearby and they break the rules again to get the doctors to admit them without filling in the paperwork, especially since they need parents there.

Severus in a hospital bed is not new, but now he is in bandages and plasters, with a drip, his body is weak and dehydrated, the doctors say he hasn't eaten or drunk in three days, that his head is broken and shrapnel is stuck in his skin, they are removing it, he has no fractures and his vital organs are functioning well, although Sirius could clearly see a huge bruise on Severus' side, his kidney may have been punctured. Sirius convinces Lily and James that he will stay with Snape and they can leave, he swears to Lily that he will not do anything, and as an excuse he says that he understands what it is like to have bad parents, and he understands Severus better than anyone else. He manages to reassure his friends that everything will be fine as they leave, and Lily makes them promise to contact them when Severus regains consciousness.

Sirius maintains the spell on the hospital staff to stay in the room, he takes a long look at Severus' features, so he doesn't miss the flicker of eyelashes before his eyes open. Just a little, his vision probably weak and blurry, Severus focuses long enough to make out something, and Sirius leans in closer.

- Hey.

Severus, even if he was startled and recoiled, didn't show it.

- Hey, Black.

Sirius doesn't force Severus to talk, he adjusts the patient's blanket, pillow, posture, gives him a glass of water, and then, when the doctor gives him permission, spoon-feeds him porridge, arguing that Snape's hands are cut. Since it is evening, he does not contact Lily, postponing it until tomorrow. Black makes Severus get dressed comfortably again so he can sleep and talks about today, how they went looking for him and found him, Sirius doesn't say how happy he is that Severus is well now. He also doesn't say how much he wants to kill Tobias, and that he hates him more than his mother, he says that Lily was worried, but by then Severus is asleep, so Sirius allows himself a tiny smile, and a quick kiss on the Slytherin's cheek.

Tomorrow he will inform Lily first thing in the morning, report for wand use, meet his mother for the interrogation and pass the message through her to Regulus, who will certainly come to see Snape when he sees Severus' name on the list, and later Sirius will collect Severus' things from the house to meet Snape at his discharge, and take him elsewhere, he wanted to bring Snape to what they would call home, but his late grandfather's house would do for a while, somewhere in the middle of all this, Snape will say that it was obviously Sirius who had suffered the head injury, and that he thought when he saw Black in the room that it was all a dream and delirium, and after all this, Sirius will go and kill Tobias Snape. In the meantime, he lies down on the bed next to the one he had replaced with Severus' hospital bed and wishes Severus a pleasant dream that will be followed by an equally pleasant day.

Of course, I can't good handle writing in Ukrainian, but the translator doesn't do a very good job either, when it's anything more than two lines. They break the rules because they're worried, except for James, he's doing it for Lily.

#северус снейп #сіріус блек #сніріус #sirius black #severus snape #snirius #hp #starprince #lily evans #james potter #лілі еванс

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crazyyluvr · 2 months ago

Note

same anon from the James x male reader & Mulciber hurting reader ask! I have a bit of an angsty idea if you want to right it. I guess I like it if I requested the reader getting and falling off his broom.

What if during one of the later years at Hogwarts(like 6th or 7th year) reader is attacked at his house over Christmas break? I see reader as a muggle born(which gets him picked on by Slytherins and one of the reasons why Mulciber hit him).

So what if Mulciber(who is newly or becoming a death eater) goes to attack him? He carves the word mudblood all over his body like how Bellatrix did to Hermione is Deathly Hallows but instead of one place it’s all over his body and Mulciber also does the cruciatus on reader. Reader is found by his muggle parents and then by aurors, and word gets to Hogwarts and James eventually. Just some angst if you want to write that.

(Sorry this is too long of an idea or an ask. I just like this idea and I really like the way you write.)

This was Not a Holly, Jolly Christmas

Thank you for requesting anon!! I didn't realize that it would get this long (hopefully that makes up for how long it took for me to finish this request...). Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy reading!

(The title is light, but the contents of this oneshot are not. Read at your own risk.)

4.2k words

cw: injuries, torture, angst, angst

james potter x male!reader who was sent to the hospital during Christmas due to an attack.

oneshot under the cut :: not proofread

You learned from an early age that being a Muggleborn in a society of witches and wizards put a target on your back. You weren't unfamiliar with harsh words and some physical attacks in Hogwarts all because you didn't have magic running through your veins unlike other people.

Because of this, your parents were pretty protective over you, whether you were at home or at school. They may have been Muggles, but they were aware of the rising fear and danger in the Wizarding World because of the rise of Death Eaters. It progressively got more difficult for your parents to let you go to school every time you came home for break.

Nonetheless, you've never failed to convince them to let you go. You loved Hogwarts and the people in it too much to drop out like your parents were beginning to want.

Especially now that you met James.

He had become such an important part of your life since the moment you met him, and he helped when the news on the Prophet got a little too intense. It made you miss his warmth even more in the chill of Christmas.

It was early Christmas morning when everything went wrong.

You were in your room, poring over James's letter to you that you had received earlier today. You'd already read it multiple times by now, but the longing that consumed you was difficult to stop. Your parents were in their room, fast asleep.

It was still dark when you heard a crack outside your room.

Your head snapped up, the creeping drowsiness fading away immediately as you grew attentive. Maybe your mother left the kitchen window open again and the wind knocked down a glass or something, but you couldn't help but shake the feeling that something was off.

You reached for the wand on your bedside and stood up, abandoning your house slippers to stay quiet as you made your way to your bedroom door.

You cracked your door open, eternally grateful that the hinges were soundless as you slipped out of your room, suppressing a shiver from the cold winter air that nipped at you through the fabric of your pajamas.

I thought Mom left the heater on, you thought to yourself.

You carefully made your way to the source of the noise, which was in the living room. Your knuckles turned white on your wand as you tightened your grip.

You entered the living room, eyes darting around for anything out of the ordinary.

There was nothing.

You sighed, relaxing and dropping your wand hand to your side. Maybe the food in your stomach was finally affecting your senses, despite you having your Christmas feast with your family hours ago.

"About time you came out, Mudblood."

You spun around just in time to get hit by a curse square on your chest. ripples of pain spread throughout your body as you were knocked back into the coffee table.

Your wand skittered away from you, and you looked in the direction of your parents' room. Surely they should be awake now from the noise you caused, but fear gripped your heart at the things your assailant could do to your innocent parents.

"Surprised to see you here, Mulciber," you greeted, coughing a bit in your hand. The copper taste of blood invaded your mouth. Not a good sign.

"Don't even bother trying to go to your worthless parents for help," Mucliber sneered, gaze menacing as he approached your form on the ground. "I put a Silencing Charm on their room. No one will be able to hear your screams."

"How amazing," you grunted, pushing yourself up to your feet. You had no idea what hex you were hit with, but your body felt heavy and sluggish under your torn clothes. Regardless, you got into a stance, mind racing with strategies to get out of this situation alive. "What are you doing here? Won't you get detected by the Ministry?"

The snake grinned. "We have connections within the Ministry that can... delay the processes."

You reached behind you and threw the ceramic bowl on your table right at Mucliber. You dashed for your wand on the other side of the room.

"Not so fast!" Mulciber shouted. "Expelliarmus!"

The wand that you had just grabbed sailed out of your grip, and you stumbled a bit. The wand landed in Mulciber's waiting hand, and he snapped it in half without a second thought.

"No more tricks left for you, Mudblood," he cackled.

You made to dash again, hopefully to the kitchen so you can arm yourself, but the heaviness on your body slowed you down, and Mucliber got to you first.

"Crucio!"

Your heart stopped as you heard the incantation. It felt like time slowed down as you watched the red energy of the curse soar across the room towards you. You had no way of dodging or parrying it empty-handed.

Please, you thought, begging to any kind of upper deity that would hear your plea. Keep my parents out of harm. Don't let them get dragged into this.

You closed your eyes, and you were struck with a pain worse than anything you could have ever imagined.

A cry of pain ripped itself out of your throat as you fell to the ground, writhing. It felt like you were being torn from the inside out with thousands of needles from every part in your body.

"I've waited for this!" Mulciber shouted over your screams. "To show you what filthy Mudbloods like you deserve!"

The pain stopped for a moment, but it resumed again before you could take a breath, and you were in agony once more. Your eyes snapped open as you felt liquid trickle down your eyes. I didn't know tears could stain your vision red, you thought dumbly as your body continued to contort in very uncomfortable angles.

Finally, the curse was lifted, and your body fell to the ground, limp and pale. Your breathing was laboured, your vision glassy as you stared at the ceiling.

Mucliber crouched over you, hovering over your face. "Never forget your place, Mudblood," he spat, and you faintly registered his saliva hitting your cheek. "I'll leave you a little gift to help you remember."

He stood back up, kicking you onto your stomach as waved his wand, saying a spell that you weren't familiar with.

You let out another cry when you felt a stinging pain on your back, drawing shapes on your skin.

"You'll like your new tattoos once I'm done!" Mulciber laughed as he continued to claw away at your skin.

You felt your consciousness begin to ebb at a rapid rate, and you knew that you were going to die on your living room floor if you didn't do anything.

It's better than nothing, you thought as you stretched your hand out and thought of an incantation in your head as hard as you can. You had tried wandless and wordless magic separately before, but you didn't always accomplish in using either of them on their own. Doing both together? The chances of success were close to nothing.

But you had to try.

Expecto Patronum.

—————

Christmas at the Potters was always eventful, especially now that they had Sirius with them. It was full of laughter and mischief as Euphemia scolded the two boys with fond annoyance while Fleamont just cackled from the sidelines.

This year, Remus and Peter had joined the festivities, and James couldn't have been happier.

Actually, he could have been happier if you had been there too.

"C'mon mate, it's not like he's gonna pop out of that letter the more you read it," Sirius groaned as he tried to get James out of the couch so they could convince Remus to play in the snow with them.

"I just... miss him. A lot," James sighed, putting the letter down and rubbing his eyes.

"We know," Remus said from behind the Christmas issue of the Daily Prophet. He was comfortably sat beside James's father on the red couch, who had his own newspaper in his hands.

"Dear, finish your chocolate before it gets cold!" Euphemia called from the kitchen.

"Yes Mother-dear!" James replied, smiling cheekily as he grabbed his warm mug and sipped his hot chocolate.

"Now, what do you boys plan on doing today?" Fleamont asked as he folded the newspaper.

James looked at Sirius and shrugged. "Maybe walk around town, visit the shops and all that."

Fleamont grinned, glancing outside. "That's nice, especially since the snow looks good today."

James nodded, turning his eyes towards the flame of the fireplace. He couldn't help but think of you still. You consumed almost every thought in his head, and he couldn't wait to see you again.

James frowned as he stared at the fire. "Is it just me or is the fire turning green?"

All heads in the living room looked at the fire as well, and sure enough, the orange flame roared and turned a vivid shade of green. Someone was using the Floo Network to get to the house.

Fleamont stood up and grabbed his wand. "Get away from the fire, boys," he said. They rarely got visitors through the Floo Network, and it made everyone antsy.

However, the figure that stepped out of the fire was a familiar one.

"Professor Dumbledore?" Remus said, confused as to why the headmaster of their school was dusting himself off on the Potter' living room carpet.

"Fleamont, Remus, Sirius, James," he greeted briefly, but the expression on his face was nothing from light.

"Respectfully sir, but what are you doing in my living room on Christmas morning?" James asked, feeling worried and curious.

"There's been an... incident," Dumbledore said, and everyone looked at each other in concern. "I think it's best if you all sit down."

"I'll call Euphemia," Fleamont said as he left to the kitchens to fetch his wife.

Once they were all settled, James couldn't help but let his leg bounce in nervousness. What kind of incident was Dumbledore talking about, and why did it concern them?

"What happened, professor?" Sirius said, feeling just as antsy as James.

Dumbledore studied the three students before sighing. "There's been an incident at the home of one of your classmates."

James straightened his back in the loveseat that he was crammed on with Sirius. "Who?" James demanded.

The moment your name left Dumbledore's lips, James felt his blood run cold.

Euphemia covered her mouth. "What kind of incident?" She asked, her voice full of worry as she looked at her son. She knew how much you meant to James, and she had already grown to care for you a lot even though she had never met you in person.

"He was attacked earlier this morning," Dumbledore said, and everyone in the room grew quiet with shock. Euphemia's eyes widened, Fleamont's grip on his wife's hand tightened, Remus's fingers interlaced with each other beneath his sweatshirt, and Sirius's jaw dropped open.

James heard a faint ringing in his ears.

You were attacked.

You. Were attacked.

"Is he alright now?" Remus asked.

"He sustained quite severe injuries, but he's currently admitted into St. Mungo's for treatment."

"What..." James finally spoke, his voice hoarse. "What kind of injuries?"

Dumbledore looked at him from above the rims of his glasses, quiet for a moment as he studied him before replying. "He's lost quite a bit of blood from cuts all over his body, and the Aurors suspect that he also endured multiple bouts of the Cruciatus Curse due to the trauma his body received."

Sirius wrapped an arm around James to comfort him, but James's vision turned blurry behind his glasses.

You were attacked, and he had no idea.

"Aurors arrived on the scene after a Patronus appeared in the Ministry, alerting them of the attack," Dumbledore continued.

"Why weren't they alerted sooner?" Fleamont said angrily. "Doesn't the Ministry get letters every time spells are casted in a Muggle household?"

"The letters arrived late, thus resulting in the delay of the Aurors," Dumbledore replied.

James suddenly stood up, making a beeline towards the jar of Floo Powder that his parents kept over the fireplace. Sirius barely managed to pull him back by the edge of his jacket.

Remus and the Potters shot out of their seats, the younger one rushing forward to help with restraining the boy.

"Son, sit down!" Fleamont ordered, but James wasn't listening. He was hellbent on breaking out of his friends' hold to get to you.

"Mister Potter, you'll be able to visit him in a very short while," Professor Dumbledore said calmly. "Just be a little patient."

"How can I be patient when he's hurt?" James said loudly, still thrashing in Remus's arms.

"James," his mother tried, her voice aiming to soothe her child, "please darling, you have to stay calm. For his sake."

James snapped his gaze to his side to glare at his mother, but he soon melted under her soft stare. She could always control both him and his father in ways that they didn't really expect.

"Sit back down, James," Remus said, brushing the back of his jumper sleeve on James's cheeks to dry them. James didn't even realize he was crying.

James took unsteady steps back as he sunk back down on the chair, with Sirius sitting on the armrest this time, with his arm slung around James's shoulders.

"We got you, Prongs," Sirius murmured reassuringly.

"We're still trying to figure out who did this," Dumbledore said, continuing as if nothing had happened, "but for now, it's safe to assume that the boy was targeted due to his being a Muggleborn, and that someone from within the Ministry delayed the reports."

James let out a sharp exhale. He didn't bother wiping away the fresh tears from his face as he clenched his jaw in anger. He had hoped and prayed that the darker sides of this raging Wizarding War wouldn't reach you, but apparently that was too good to be true. You were a big target just because of your "blood status", and James hated it.

He hated not being able to be there for you.

"Have there been other attacks like this, Professor?" Remus asked.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Not yet."

Yet.

Like you were the beginning of something much bigger and much, much worse.

"Now," Dumbledore put his hands together, "I'll return to St. Mungo's to have a chat with the investigators there. Feel free to follow."

James didn't hesitate to stand up and walk right behind the headmaster into the flames.

—————

The good thing about waking up in a wizard hospital was that the lights weren't those harsh fluorescents that dig into the back of your eyelids. Even then, candle light felt too overwhelming for your blurry eyes as you regained consciousness.

You immediately squinted as you tried to regain your bearings. You were tucked into a hospital bed in a small, private room. There was a cauldron beside your bed, and on the far wall was a couch with two figures settled on it: your parents. Your mother was fast asleep, while your father was studying the newspaper in his hands.

"Dad?" Your throat hurt incredibly from the small word, and it came out soft and shaky, but your father's head snapped up at the sound of your voice.

"Son," he said, his eyes welling with tears that you could see even from afar as he shook your mother awake and they both rushed over to your bedside.

Your mother let out a sob and gently wrapped her arms around you, her body shaking just as much as the hand you had wrapped around her shoulders. You felt tears of your own develop in your eyes as you buried your face into your mother's shirt.

You had almost died.

You could still hear Mulciber's laughter ringing faintly in your ears, you could feel the scars around your body burning despite being mostly healed.

"It hurts," you whispered, choking back a sob as your tears slipped down your cheeks.

Your mother let go of you immediately and clutched your face in her hands, glassy-eyes searching your features. "Where does it hurt, sweetheart?" She said, her voice warbly with emotion. "Do you want us to call the doctors?"

"I think they're called Healers here, honey," your dad said, but a single glance from her immediately shut him up.

You opened your mouth to speak again, but coughs racked themselves through your body.

"Don't talk too much dear," your mother said, reaching for a glass of water on the bedside table. "Your vocal chords were put under quite a bit of strain according to the... Healers."

Where are we? You mouthed, and your father was the one who replied this time.

"We're in the wizard hospital," he said, smiling with confusion littering his face. "The wizard police woke us up and brought all of us here so you could get treated."

Ah, so you were in St. Mungo's. You've heard about the hospital before from your classmates, but you were lucky enough to never need to visit the place. Until today, apparently.

"They were asking us about what happened, but we couldn't tell them anything," your mother said, obviously frustrated at herself. "I don't understand why we didn't wake up."

You put your hand on your mother's arm comforting after putting your water back on the table. "Not your fault," you said softly. "Silencing Charm."

Now it was your dad's turn to get angry. "Who would do this to you, kiddo?" He demanded.

You froze. When you blinked, you could see Mulciber's sneering face like it was seared into your memory to torture you.

Your mother noticed your reaction and turned to your father. "Tell the Healers that he's awake already," she said, her tone leaving no room for discussion. Your father looked hesitant, but he obeyed nonetheless.

"The police are waiting outside for you, but we already told them that you wouldn't be answering any questions until you were ready, okay?" Your mother said, smiling reassuringly.

You smiled at your mother, feeling more grateful than words could express.

A Healer entered not too long after, a man around your father's age and a bit taller. He checked on you with a weird medical device that you didn't bother asking about.

After his examination, he announced that you were fine. "You'll be discharged later today."

"Are you sure?" Your father asked in concern. "That seems really quick."

The Healer gave your parents a sidelong glance, and you immediately knew that he was judging your parents for being unaware of how the wizarding world of medicine worked. The thought reminded you of Mulciber, making your body tense slightly again.

"Your son is already fully healed," the Healer said. "If he has any trouble processing what happened to him, he can go to the psych ward, but other than that, your son is physically ready to get back out there."

Your father obviously wanted to argue but you gripped the hem of his shirt to stop him. You didn't want to listen to this any longer than you had to.

The Healer opened the door to leave, but he turned towards your family before he fully stepped out. "There are visitors out here who want to see you."

You didn't even get to ask who before said visitors barreled into your room, slightly out of breath. You felt your body feel lighter already as you smiled at the arrival of Remus, James, and Sirius in odd combinations of clothing.

"Who are you?" Your father said, standing in front of your cot as if he could do much against teenage wizards.

James froze. The thought of meeting your parents this soon never crossed his mind, and he felt stupid for not preparing for it earlier.

Remus took the lead and stepped forward. "We're friends of your son's, sir," he said, ever the polite one. "We heard about what happened, and we wanted to check up on him."

Your dad looked like he wanted to say more, but you spoke. "It's okay Dad," you said, your voice cracking. "They're fine."

Your dad reluctantly stepped aside to let them approach you.

"How're you feeling, Beater?" Sirius asked lightly, keeping a smile on his face as he looked at you.

"Could be better, Beater," you replied, chuckling before coughing slightly.

"Take it easy," Remus said, reaching for the half-empty glass and handing it to you.

You took it and sipped a bit of it, eyes training on the third boy who's been oddly silent in the entire time that he's been here. "Hi James," you said.

James just continued to stare at you with an emotion that you couldn't quite read. He looked as beautiful as the last time you saw him, maybe even prettier in his home clothes and a trench coat in an effort to look at least a little bit more decent.

Sirius and Remus took it as their cue to leave, bringing your parents out with them too.

"You alright?" You asked, concerned.

That's what broke James, the tears that were swimming in his eyes finally escaping as he draped his body over yours as carefully as he could. "Why're you more worried about others than yourself?" He said with a wet chuckle as he buried his nose in your hair.

You felt your own eyes water, but you kept the waterworks at bay as you returned James's hug as best as you could. "It's just one of my more amazing qualities," you replied.

You let a small silence sit between you before you spoke again, right into his shoulder. "I'm glad you're here, James," you said, hoping that he could feel just how much you meant your words.

James pulled back, resting his palm against your cheek. "I'll always be here," he said.

You put your own hand against his cheek, wiping away his tears. "You're such a pretty crier, mate," you joked, and you made him laugh again as he sat down on one of the chairs beside your cot.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, taking your hand in his.

"Honestly?" You sighed, leaning back and letting the back of your head hit the pillows. "Not so great. They left scars that couldn't be healed."

"Do you want to talk about it?" James asked carefully, making sure that it was perfectly clear that you didn't have to talk about it if you didn't want to.

But you did. In other occasions, you would never open up about what had just happened to you to other people, not even to your parents, but it was James.

You knew that you could always trust James.

You took in a deep, shaky breath, reaching for the bandages that wrapped around your arm. "I think it's better to just show it."

You ripped the bandages, letting them fall to the floor like your tears fell down your eyes.

James let out a pitying sound, somewhere between a sob and a whimper, as he encased you in another hug.

"Whoever did this to you will pay for it, okay?" James said, screwing his eyes shut as he very slightly tightened his grip on you.

You wrapped both your arms around him this time, clinging onto him for dear life as you stared at the marks in your arm.

Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood.

It was like a mantra, repeating over and over again in uneven sizes and patterns. They most probably went all around your body, especially around your back.

Mulciber really took his time with you, huh?

"Mulciber."

James paused, pulling away slightly so he could look at you properly with you still bundled up in his arms. "What?"

You avoided eye contact with him as you repeated. "It was Mulciber who did it. He's a Death Eater now."

James couldn't believe what he was saying. He knew that Mulciber was a prick and a slimy bitch, but to go as far as invade you in your own home and leave marks on your body like this? He didn't think that he could be that cruel.

"Let's not think about that right now," you said, brushing your tears away. "I just want things to go back to normal."

"They will," James reassured, sitting down on your cot and putting his hand on your neck and caressing it. "I'll be here with you every step of the way yeah?"

You covered James's hand on your neck with your own, too busy looking into his soft brown eyes to look at the scars on your arm again. "Thanks bro. You're a really great friend," you said teasingly, and James put his other hand on his chest.

"I was bro-zoned and friend-zoned? Ouch, love," he said with mock hurtfulness, and you laughed at his antics. James felt his heart warm at the sound of your laugh. It wasn't as bright as your normal laugh, but he'll take what he can get.

"But really," you said seriously, "thank you so much, James. Thank you for being here, for talking to me. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"And you'll never have to find out," James swore, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You two where not an item by any means; in fact, neither you nor James knew what you were to each other. You flirt, you tease, and you laugh at and with each other. You were both aware of the feelings one held for the other despite not confessing, but neither of you really knew where to go from there.

What you were sure of, however, as James laid on your cot and forced you to rest your head on his chest so you could sleep a bit, was that you were both wiling to figure that out.

Together.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x male reader #marauders #marauders x reader #sirius black #remus lupin

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ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes · 4 months ago

Text

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?

part five

pairing: james potter x black sister!reader, regulus black x sister!reader

genre: angst with like maybe a little fluff?

el's thoughts: this is part five! hope yall enjoy!

main masterlist | regulus masterlist | james masterlist

Regulus and Y/N Black showed up at the Potter’s manor once again. Almost a year had gone by since the first time and the twins returned completely different people. They were no longer the scared children in need of help and shelter.

Y/N knocked on the door swiftly and took a step back as she straightened her trench coat lapels. Regulus stood behind her, just over her shoulder keeping an eye on the surroundings behind them.

The door opened cautiously and the twins were met with a pair of the most striking green eyes.

“Black,” Lily Evans said.

“Evans,” Y/N nodded curtly in response. “We were wondering if we could speak to Sirius?”

The redhead had eyed the skeptically. “What makes you think he’s here?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Please Evans, I’m not an idiot.”

“And neither are we.”

Y/N saw immediately how her eyes cast downward to her cloaked forearm. Y/N’s stomach turned as she looked back to Regulus who also seemed uneasy. Y/N pulled at her sleeve and cleared her throat. “Please… let me see my brother.” Y/N inhaled deeply, “I beg of you, Lily.”

Lily sighed out of pure pity. “Alright, go around back. I’ll send him that way.”

Regulus eyed the redhead in distrust but led Y/N to follow her directions either way. They weren’t in a position to argue.

They walked to the back of the manor and saw Sirius waiting on the back porch anxiously running his hands through his hair. When he saw his younger siblings he lit up like a light bulb and rushed to hug them tightly.

“Oh thank Godric! I thought Lily was pullin’ my leg.” He made no move to let them go. “Are you two alright? I got so scared when you didn’t return, and then I got no letters from the both of you-”

“We’re fine, Siri,” Y/N mumbled into his shoulder as she held him back just as tightly. Without her realizing it, the ache of missing her eldest brother only grew as time passed. She missed the way he held her. The way he comforted her as if she were a child. “We’re alright. Promise.”

Regulus was the first to break up the hug and he cleared his throat while blinking quickly to rid himself of the tears that prickled in the back of his eyes. “Sirius, we came here to tell you something.”

“You’re Death Eaters? I’ve heard that already.”

“Yes, we’re Death Eaters, but that wasn’t what we came all this way to tell you. We’re not idiots.”

Y/N forced herself not to roll her eyes. “We came to get help and offer our services.”

“Offer your services?” Sirius trailed off, confusion swimming in his eyes.

“We know the Dark Lord’s plans, having heard everything first hand. We can be valuable to your cause don’t’cha think?” Y/N said with a mock confidence and cockiness that her eyes didn’t carry.

“No.” Sirius shook his head, looking between his two little siblings. “Abouslute not. Do you know what you would be signing up for? That’s basically asking to die.”

“Sirius, please.”

“No, I won’t allow it. You can’t just put your lives on the line for the sake of others.”

“Is that not what you’re doing? What James, Remus, and Peter are doing?”

“That’s different…”

“How?” Y/N nearly snapped. “Tell me how is it any different? Sirius our lives are already on the line every day we wake up. We didn’t sign up for this. We didn’t want this life, so let us gain what little control we can. I want the risk to be worth something, Sirius.”

The older Black shook his head, “It’s too dangerous… I can’t.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing you’re not really in charge of us then. Isn’t it?” Regulus snipped.

“We are doing this, Sirius. With or without your support,” Y/N looked up at him with tears lining her eyes. “But we’d much rather have you stand up for us.”

Sirius stared at his siblings in silent mourning of their youth before he nodded slowly. “Okay, I support you both.”

James walked into the Potter’s kitchen. His parents left the house to him and he opened it up to the order, not wanting to stay in the house alone or let it sit empty and useless. His parents wouldn’t want that.

Normally only he and Sirius actually lived there but since a few weeks ago Y/N and Regulus moved back in. Some of the other Order members would spend a night or two but never stayed longer. So it took a few days for James to get used to other people in the house again.

Y/N sat at the kitchen counter nursing a cup of tea, that by the looks of it had gone cold a while ago. She sat in her pjamas with one knee brought up to her chest and the other tucked under her with her chin on her knee. She looked tangled up but made it look comfy, almost enough to convince James that if he put himself in the same position he would be just as comfortable.

“You look lost.” His voice startled her, causing her to jolt a little. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“Oh… no, no you’re all good. Sorry.” Y/N repositioned herself and let her painted nail trace the rim of her mug, her eyes became unfocused again as she stared into the dark liquid.

“No need to apologize, love.” James walked to the stove where the kettle sat and turned it on again. The pet name that slipped from his lips went unnoticed by him but caught Y/N’s attention, though she wouldn’t mention it.

“What’re you doing up?” Y/N asked quietly, allowing him to take her cup and dump the cold tea.

“Couldn’t sleep. Why are you up?”

“Same reason apparently.”

James hummed, putting a new tea bag in her mug while pulling out a mug for himself and doing the same. Y/N had finally realized that he was making her a new cup of tea and straightened up. “You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s no problem, your cup had already gone cold. Unless you didn’t want another one…” James trailed off.

“No, I do,” Y/N spoke quietly, wringing her fingers together mindlessly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

James placed the freshly made cup of tea in front of Y/N, the steam curling up in soft, lazy tendrils. He gave her a small smile before settling into the chair opposite her, his own tea cradled in his hands. The kitchen was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt heavy but not quite unwelcome. James found it oddly comforting.

“So,” he began, his voice cutting through the silence but not in a harsh way, “what’s on your mind? What’s keeping you up?”

Y/N blinked, surprised by the direct question, but then again she shouldn’t have been surprised. “Oh… just stuff,” she said vaguely, her fingers fidgeting with the mug.

James tilted his head, studying her carefully. “You’re not very descriptive, are you?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but she kept her gaze down. “Just… everything, I guess. The war, Regulus, Sirius, m-my parents…” Her voice faltered, and she shrugged as though it wasn’t a big deal, though the weight of her words said otherwise.

James nodded, his brow furrowing. “That’s a lot to carry all alone.”

Y/N shrugged again, still not meeting his eyes. “I’m used to it by now.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to do it alone.” His voice was soft but firm, and Y/N finally glanced up at him. There was something in his expression-–an openness, a warmth—that made her chest feel a little lighter, even if just for a fleeting moment.

“Yeah, well,” she said, trying to shrug off the vulnerability creeping in, “not much of a choice these days, is there?”

James didn’t press her, sensing she wasn’t ready to share more. Instead, he smiled, raising his mug. “Here’s to sleepless nights in the Potter kitchen. At least we’re not alone in our misery.”

That coaxed a small laugh from Y/N, a sound James found himself wanting to hear more often. “Cheers to that,” she said, clinking her mug against his softly.

Over the next few days, James found himself seeking Y/N out more often. Whether it was helping her brew potions for the Order, get ready to go to a Deatheatter meeting, or simply sitting with her in the living room while she read. He couldn’t seem to stay away. He liked the way her face softened when she was deep in thought, the way her laugh—when she let it out—filled the room like sunlight, a drastic contrast to her usual persona.

Y/N, on her part, was equally drawn to James. She hadn’t expected him to be so kind, so patient. She’s always known him as Sirius’ blood-traitor best friend, the one who was always laughing and causing trouble. But the day he found her crying in the hallway changed her perspective entirely. But this James added to her changed perspective. This James, the one who brought her tea without asking and listened without interrupting, was someone she found herself wanting to know better.

One evening, they were sitting on the porch steps, watching the sun dip below the horizon. The air was cool, and Y/N had wrapped herself in a blanket. James had brought out two mugs of hot cocoa, handing one to her without a word.

“You’re really good at this, you know,” she said after a long silence.

James raised an eyebrow. “Good at what?”

“This,” she gestured between them and around them. “Making people feel… safe.”

He chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think that’s just you, Y/N. You make it easy.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, hiding her smile behind the rim of her mug. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she muttered, though there was no usual bite to her words. “You’ve taken care of Sirius for years now and have made him feel safe. Even Regulus feels safe now.” She trailed off, “Well, as safe as we could be.”

James hummed and stayed silent.

As safe as they could be.

It was Sirius who noticed first.

He walked into the kitchen one afternoon to find James and Y/N sitting close together at the counter, their heads bent over a piece of parchment. James was explaining something, his hand occasionally brushing against hers as he pointed to the page. Y/N didn’t pull away, her face lit up with one of the rare smiles Sirius hadn’t seen in such a long time.

“Oh, this is interesting,” Sirius drawled, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe.

James and Y/N both looked up, their expressions a mix of guilt and annoyance. “What do you want, Sirius?” Y/N asked, rolling her eyes.

“Nothing,” he said, grinning. “Just enjoying the view. You two look cozy.”

“Bugger off,” James muttered, though his ears turned red.

Sirius’s grin widened. “Alright, alright. Don’t let me interrupt your... working.”

As Sirius left, Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “He’s never going to let this go.”

James laughed, reaching out to gently nudge her arm. “Let him have his fun. It’s not so bad, is it?”

Y/N peeked at him through her fingers, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “I suppose not.”

#regulus black #regulus black x y/n #regulus black imagines #regulus black x sister!reader #sirius black #sirius black x sister!reader #sirius black x y/n #sirius black imagines #james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter imagines #harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagines #ellora.writes

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 1 year ago

Note

Why do so many wizards die an early death?

It's the great mystery of Harry Potter: where is everyone?

We have a few hints from the series, namely in how we hear older people have died:

Epidemics

Violence

Fucking Up Spells and Dying Horribly

Dragon Pox

In the first case Draco's grandfather as well as Harry's both die of Dragon Pox. This is treated like a very commonly occurring and often lethal for those who are advancing in age, this being not as old as JKR touts wizards can and should live to. We don't know how old Harry's parents were exactly, just that they had James late in life, but they were at least late 60's when they died. Abraxas was in his 70's.

Basically, it's looking like if you're > 60, you're in trouble if you get Dragon Pox and had best start saying your farewells. That's stopping a lot from reaching that golden 150 Dumbledore was sporting.

Violence

Then we have those who are killed off in violent struggles of some kind. Granted, this is mostly in Harry's canon timeline, but we have entire families whose youngest members who should be getting married are wiped out. Gideon and Fabian Prewett, the Mckinnons, James and Lily Potter, Alice and Frank Longbottom are basically taken out of the running in terms of population, Regulus Black, Hannah Abbot's mother, and so on.

Now this is a lot more than usual but if there's going to be any violent struggle on top of the norm of things, it's just the cherry on top of the population sundae.

Fucking Up Spells and Dying Horribly

Looking at you, Vincent Crabbe. Crabbe dies horrifically by his own fiendfyre, almost taking Draco with him, before either could have children where they're both only children (presumably). We don't see this too much in canon, but based on how much of the population is quite terrible at magic, and it's very dangerous, I'm sure it's quite common.

We see splinching, in which a person could easily bleed out, treated like a routine injury. It's fine if you're close to somewhere, of course, or if you're with someone, but if you're not... I imagine there's a good number of deaths due to Apparation every year.

Add onto that people getting drunk and doing something very stupid, fucking up the spell, and so on and this is going to be... a not small number of people.

#harry potter #harry potter meta #harry potter headcanon #meta #headcanon #opinion

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petals2fish · 3 months ago

Text

Isn't It Obvious?

READ ON A03

Summary:

What if James Potter was the boy down the street who told Lily Evans she was a witch? (canon-divergent)

They met in a sun-drenched, dirt-streaked playground. The skyline was dominated by a towering chimney, a familiar sight in a working town like Cokeworths. A boy sat alone on the slide, belly down, gliding down like a seal. His curly black hair cascaded over his square-framed glasses, and he barely glanced at the other children.

Two girls swung back and forth, attempting to touch the sky with their toes. The younger of the two, with fiery red hair, soared higher than her taller sister. Both wore oversized pink shirts, though their differences were apparent in their looks and posture.

"Lily, don’t do it!" the older sister shouted.

But the younger girl, at the peak of her swing, released her grip and soared into the air with a burst of laughter. Instead of falling to the hard asphalt, she seemed to float, like a trapeze artist, staying airborne far longer than any child should, and landing so softly it was as if gravity had taken the day off.

“Mum said not to!” the older girl cried, her voice full of dismay.

The older sister slowed her swing by dragging her sandals along the ground, producing a loud crunch. She jumped off, hands on her hips in disapproval.

“Mum said no, Lily!”

Lily, still giggling, replied, “But I’m fine! Petunia, look! Watch what I can do!”

Petunia glanced around; the playground was otherwise empty except for the boy with the glasses. Lily picked up a flower that had fallen from a nearby bush and, as Petunia approached, held it out, her palm open. The petals of the flower fluttered, opening and closing as if it were a strange, living thing.

“Stop it!” Petunia yelled.

“It’s not hurting you,” Lily said, but she quickly closed her hand around the flower and tossed it to the ground.

“That’s not right,” Petunia muttered, though her gaze lingered on the flower’s descent, a trace of curiosity in her eyes. “How did you do that?” she asked, her voice edged with longing.

The boy said, “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

The boy had silently approached, and neither girl noticed him until he spoke. Petunia jumped at the sudden voice, retreating a few steps toward the swings. Lily, startled but intrigued, stayed put. She had never seen this boy before, and the dark robe he wore seemed out of place. A streak of dirt ran down his tan nose, but he didn’t seem dangerous.

“What’s obvious?” Lily asked, narrowing her eyes.

The boy tilted his head with a cocky grin. His gaze flickered briefly to Petunia before he leaned closer and whispered, “You’re different from her.”

“What do you mean?” Lily asked, a frown forming.

“You’re a witch,” the boy said.

Lily bristled, offended by the suggestion. “That’s not a very nice thing to say!”

With her nose in the air, she turned and marched back to her sister’s side.

“Ever made anything happen that you can’t explain?” the boy called after her.

The sisters paused, exchanging a look, standing by the swings with their hands gripped tightly on the poles. Lily knew the boy had witnessed her play with the flower, something her parents had specifically warned her never to do. In Cokeworths, being different wasn’t something to embrace—it was something to conceal.

The boy adjusted his glasses and continued speaking. “You’re a witch, but there’s nothing wrong with that. My mum’s a witch, and I’m a wizard.”

Petunia’s laugh was harsh, like ice-cold water splashing against warm skin.

“Wizard?” she scoffed, her confidence returning now that the shock of the boy’s sudden appearance had faded. “I know who you are. You’re that Potter boy! You live by the river,” she said, addressing Lily with a tone of disdain. “Your dad’s jobless because he’s as mad as a hatter. You must be too, if you think my sister’s a witch.”

“Jealous,” the boy said, unfazed by Petunia’s tirade. “You’re just jealous because you can’t do the things she can. You’re a muggle.”

Though Petunia didn’t understand the word, she didn’t like the boy’s attitude.

“Lily, come on, we’re leaving!” she shrieked.

Lily followed her sister’s command, but not without sending one last glare at the boy before they left through the playground gate. Petunia assured her that the Potters were a strange family living in one of the shacks by the river. She was certain the boy had to be as mad as his parents. But even after they got home, Lily couldn’t shake off what the boy had said.

“He’s mad, Lily,” Petunia repeated over and over. “There’s no such thing as witches and wizards.”

But Lily couldn’t help thinking back to the boy’s words and wondering if there was more to him—and his strange family—than Petunia let on. She remembered Petunia’s remark about where the Potters lived, down by the river. She wondered if she’d ever passed his house while exploring by the river with her magnifying glass, a gift from her parents last Christmas. The houses by the river were old and rundown, but to Lily, they seemed far more charming than the dull, fume-filled streets where her family lived. At least the river houses had a lovely view.

Two days later, Lily decided to take the chance. After school, she told her sister that she’d forgotten something in her classroom. Petunia, skeptical but resigned, asked if it was really her favorite pen.

“Yeah, I really need it,” Lily said, lying smoothly.

Petunia rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed. “Fine. I’ll tell Mum you’ll be late.”

Lily couldn’t believe she had gotten away with it. She quickly made her way back to the playground, taking the long way around to avoid being seen. It was busier than usual, with most of the children hanging out there after school. But Lily’s gaze didn’t linger on them. She glanced past the swing set toward the tree line, gave one last look at the town, and then sprinted toward the trees.

She followed an old, rocky road that led to the edge of the river where the shacks stood, scattered along its banks. The river water was murky and polluted, but Lily still thought it looked more beautiful than the fume-filled streets of town. She walked slowly, taking in the sight of each house, hoping to find the boy and his strange family. She reached the end of the shacks, feeling disappointed, until a flicker of black caught her eye under a thicket of trees.

The boy hadn’t noticed her yet. He was sitting with his back against a tree, dressed in his strange robes, which seemed far too warm for the spring weather. He was absorbed in a book, something Lily hadn’t expected from a self-proclaimed wizard. The sunlight glistened on the river’s surface, and the tree’s shadows formed a cool green basin around him.

“Hey!” Lily called out, her voice a bit too loud and awkward.

His head snapped up at the sound of her voice. When he squinted and realized the girl standing in front of him was the one from the playground, his face broke into a wide grin. Lily immediately regretted speaking. His book slipped from his hands, landing on the grass, and he crossed his legs in an exaggerated, casual way.

“Hey.”

Lily, flustered, blurted, "What’s your name?"

"James," he called out to her, a mischievous glint in his eye. "And you are?"

"Lily."

James’s grin only grew wider. “Well, come over here, Lily!”

Lily hesitated, biting her lower lip, but after a moment, she walked over and sat next to him on the grass. He eagerly watched as she set her backpack down, books sticking out of it. Without waiting for permission, he grabbed one (her science book) and began inspecting the cover with interest.

“Are you too poor to go to school?” Lily asked without thinking, her voice laced with sympathy.

“What?” His hazel eyes widened in alarm. “No! Of course not.”

“Oh.” She flushed bright red. “I just thought... since your dad’s unemployed and I’ve never seen you around before…”

“My dad isn’t unemployed,” James said, shaking his head. “And I go to school—or I will when I’m old enough. Wizards don’t go to primary school.”

“Petunia says wizards don’t exist.”

James looked taken aback. “You really believe everything your sister tells you?”

Lily lifted her chin, trying to sound confident. “I think for myself, thank you very much.”

James pushed his glasses up his nose, the gesture somehow only adding to his cocky smile. “You obviously believed what I said about you being a witch.”

“What makes you think that?” Lily asked, raising an eyebrow.

James smirked, “Because you wouldn’t be sitting here talking to me if you didn’t.”

Lily opened her mouth to argue, but instead, the words she’d been holding in spilled out in a rush. “It’s just—I’ve always been able to do weird things, like reach candy bars from the top shelves without climbing, and I’ve never broken a bone, even though I’ve fallen from plenty of trees. My parents just say I’m special, but I hate thinking that—”

“Breathe,” James interrupted lightly, tossing a few blades of grass at her. “I told you, you’re a witch.”

“What about my parents?” she asked, still processing. “Wouldn’t they have told me I’m a witch?”

“They can’t if they’re muggles,” James explained. “You’ll find out when you get your Hogwarts letter.”

“My what?”

“Your Hogwarts letter,” James repeated with enthusiasm, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “Hogwarts is a school for people like you and me.”

“People like what?” Lily frowned, confused.

“Witches and wizards, weren’t you listening?” He rolled his eyes dramatically, and Lily huffed.

“But that’s all made up!” Lily exclaimed, defensive. “Like in fairytales!”

James raised an eyebrow, his expression both amused and challenging. “What if I can prove it to you?”

“How?” Lily demanded, intrigued despite herself.

James stood up, brushing off his robes, and stooped to pick up the book he had dropped earlier. Lily followed suit, standing up as well. She noticed they were about the same height. James was really skinny, but there was something disarming about his smile—it was warm and genuine. He motioned for her to follow, and she did, curiosity getting the better of her.

“How old are you?” Lily asked as they walked up a slope, leaving the river behind.

“Nine,” James answered with a grin. “You?”

“Nine.”

James glanced back at her over his shoulder. “No way!” he said excitedly, walking backward to talk to her more easily. “We’ll be in the same year at Hogwarts!”

“Okay.” Lily wasn’t quite sure how to respond to his enthusiasm, unsure whether this was all some kind of joke for the strange boy.

As they continued walking, a crumbling cottage appeared in front of them. The stones were grey, with vines crawling up the walls and square windows peeking through. Lily stopped in her tracks, her steps faltering. James noticed her hesitation and crossed his arms.

“What’s wrong?”

“You live here?” she murmured, eyes widening. “I thought these flats were deserted.”

James shrugged nonchalantly. “Nah, that’s just the magic keeping muggles from snooping.”

Before Lily could fully process what he meant, he grabbed her hand and tugged her forward, making it impossible for her to remain hesitant. Her jaw dropped as they passed the stone rock pile surrounding the flat. The house seemed to shift before her eyes, transforming into a charming two-story cottage with stained-glass windows glowing in the sunlight. Lily blinked rapidly, unable to believe what she was seeing.

“How?” she asked, her voice full of awe.

“Magic.” James smiled, clearly pleased by her reaction. “Dad does a lot of his potion work here in Cokesworths since our real home in Godric's Hollow is too close to other families for him to experiment safely.”

It wasn’t until Lily met his parents and saw a flying broomstick whizz by that she finally believed him. The Potters welcomed her into their eclectic, magical home with open arms. James’s father, a wizard with knobby knees and a warm smile, greeted her with kindness. James’s mother, ethereal in an orange shawl with glossy black hair, was just as inviting. They eagerly showed Lily the potions Mr. Potter worked on in the basement, and James was practically bursting with excitement as he showed her their magic wands.

“You won’t get a wand until you get your letter,” Mrs. Potter warned Lily. “And you’re not supposed to use your magic outside of school.”

James rolled his eyes as he walked Lily back to the playground later. “Mum tells me every day I have to hide my magic.”

“Why?” Lily asked, her brow furrowed.

“Because muggles can’t know about us,” James said seriously. “So you have to keep it a secret that I’m a wizard—and that you’re a witch.”

Lily kept the secret from her parents, but Petunia ambushed her that night, already knowing she had been gone much longer than necessary for a lost pen. Lily confessed she’d gone to visit James, and Petunia mocked the idea, dismissing his stories as nonsense. She laughed at the thought of a whole world of people like Lily, people who could do special things. But Lily had seen too much to believe her sister, and she spent the rest of the weekend sneaking out after chores to visit James.

They returned to the playground every afternoon. If there were other kids around, they would join in, but most days it was just the two of them. On one particularly dreary day, James perched at one end of the slide, while Lily settled at the other. A light mist clung to Lily’s shoulders as James chattered on, barely pausing for breath.

“…and the Ministry can punish you if you do magic outside of school. You get these things called Howlers. My dad got one once for a potion accident back at the Hollow. It was awesome.”

Lily furrowed her brow, looking up at him. “But I’ve done magic outside of school, and I’ve never gotten a Howler!”

“We’re fine. We don’t have wands yet. They let you off when you’re a kid, and you can’t help it. But once you’re eleven…” James nodded seriously. “That’s when they start training you, and then you have to be careful.”

A quiet pause followed. Lily absentmindedly picked up a twig, twirling it in the air, imagining sparks trailing behind it. She dropped the twig and leaned in toward James, lowering her voice as she asked, “It is real, isn’t it? This isn’t some joke? Petunia says you’re lying to me. Petunia says there isn’t a Hogwarts. It is real, though, isn’t it?”

“Of course it’s real,” James replied, sliding down the slide with a grin, colliding with her at the bottom. “I wouldn’t lie to my friend.”

“We’re friends?” Lily asked, wide-eyed.

“Of course,” James said, as though this had been decided long ago. “And we’re going to Hogwarts together, and we’ll be the best witch and wizard that school’s ever seen!”

“Really?” Lily whispered, her voice full of wonder.

“Definitely,” James assured her, grinning. “Next summer, we’ll get our letters. I promise.”

“Will it really come by owl?” Lily asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Normally,” James said, “but you’re Muggle-born, so Mum said someone from the school will have to come and explain everything to your parents.”

“Does it make a difference, being Muggle-born?”

“No.” James shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. And if anyone tells you it does, just point them in my direction, and I’ll deal with them.”

“You wouldn’t hurt anyone,” Lily said, narrowing her eyes at him. “You’d get detention.”

“Detention, shmetention.” James’ hazel eyes gleamed with mischief. “I’d only be in trouble if I got caught.”

Lily pushed him teasingly. They shared a grin, quiet and content, before James climbed over her and hopped off the slide. He held out his hand.

“Come on!” he urged impatiently. “I want to teach you to fly!”

That summer, Lily spent so much time at the Potter house that she eventually had to admit to her parents she’d made a friend outside of school. James was invited over for dinner the next day. Petunia was furious that Lily’s parents respected the eccentric boy. Lily was sad to learn that James spent the winters away from Cokesworth, in a place he called Godric's Hollow. But before he left, James gave Lily a big bear hug.

“Best friends forever?” he asked, grinning from ear to ear.

"Forever," Lily said with a smile, "see you next summer."

James nodded, his eyes sparkling. "Next summer."

The winter seemed to stretch on without James' wild stories. Lily started to wonder if she'd imagined everything. Petunia was pleased when the Potters left. Lily and Petunia began spending time together again, and Lily stopped playing with her magic around her sister. Petunia seemed to appreciate her more this way, and the winter passed quietly, without arguments. But then summer came, and so did James.

James appeared at the playground after school, waiting for Lily to walk by. She practically tackled him with hugs. Petunia, however, left Lily to walk home alone after that, no matter how many times Lily urged her to stay and get to know James.

Lily and James talked every day. Lily shared stories about the Muggle world, and James told her about the wizarding world. They discussed all sorts of wonderful and magical things. James loved the idea of movies, and Lily became enchanted by Quidditch, the broomstick game James was so passionate about.

One afternoon, as James was talking about getting Lily one of his Quidditch books, Lily wasn't quite paying attention. She lay stretched out on the grassy ground, gazing up at the leafy canopy overhead. James tossed acorns into the air, catching them effortlessly.

“How was Godric’s Hollow?” Lily asked.

“Fine,” he replied, “I finally nailed a one-eighty speed spin on my broom.”

“Did your parents get you a new one for Christmas?” Lily asked, rolling onto her stomach and kicking her legs in the air.

James let out a frustrated sigh. “No,” he said, still bitter. “Mum said no new broom until I get on the Quidditch team at Hogwarts.” He scooped up a handful of leaves and tossed them playfully at Lily. “I hope you make the team with me.”

Lily threw leaves back at him. “I’m nowhere near as good a flier as you.”

“You’re not wrong—hey!” James laughed as she kicked him. “I mean, you’re not half bad.”

Lily smirked. “You’re an arrogant toe-rag, James Potter.”

James just grinned. “You don’t mean that,” he teased. “You know I can’t help being so talented!”

Lily stuck her tongue out at him. “I’d hex you right now if I had a wand.”

He grinned even more cheekily. “I’d count on it.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, and then Lily’s voice drifted across the still air.

“James?”

“Yeah?” James raised an eyebrow at her curious tone.

“Tell me about the dementors again.”

James raised his own eyebrows in confusion. “What d’you want to know about them for?”

“If I use magic outside school—”

“They wouldn’t send you to the dementors for that!” James laughed. “Dementors are for people who do really bad things. They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban. Only dark wizards go there, and you’re the nicest person I know. You’ll never go there.”

“Thanks, James,” Lily mumbled, distractedly fiddling with the leaves.

Suddenly, there was a rustling noise from behind them. Petunia, attempting to sneak up, had lost her footing and stumbled out from behind a tree.

“Tuney!” Lily exclaimed, a mix of surprise and warmth in her voice.

James glanced up lazily but with a trace of curiosity. "What d'you want?"

Petunia, breathless and flustered, glared at them. "Nice glasses," she sneered, eyeing James' oversized square frames that didn’t quite fit his thin face. "Did you get those from the poor house on Crafton Street?"

James shot her a grin. "Nah, I got them from Diagon Alley." He winked at Petunia with a hint of mischief. "Only witches and wizards can shop there, though, so don’t go getting any fashion ideas from me."

“James,” Lily murmured, a warning in her tone, before turning back to her sister. “Want to play with us?”

“Yeah,” James said, his voice dripping with false enthusiasm. “That sounds like so much fun.”

But Petunia was already flush with indignation. "You shouldn’t be hanging out with him, Lily."

"He’s my best friend," Lily said firmly, sitting up and glaring at her older sister.

Petunia looked hurt, her voice tight. "I should be your best friend. I’m your sister."

“Tuney!”

But Petunia spun on her heel and stormed off. Lily groaned in frustration, burying her face in her hands.

"I’m sorry," James said quietly, his tone regretful. "I know she’s been strange, and I shouldn’t have—"

"No, I’ll handle it," Lily interrupted, shaking her head. She gave James a quick, exasperated glance before running off to catch up with her sister. "I’ll talk to you tomorrow!"

Lily tried to talk some sense into Petunia, but it ended in tears. Their parents, clearly exhausted by the constant tension, threatened to ground both girls if they didn’t learn to get along. So, they acted civil in front of their parents, but behind closed doors, the silence was thick with disdain, and their words were sharp and biting.

Things only worsened when Lily finally received her letter from Hogwarts, delivered by a stern-faced witch who introduced herself as Professor McGonagall. Lily’s parents were relieved to hear that Lily’s magical abilities were perfectly normal for a witch, and Professor McGonagall’s assurance made them feel at ease. Lily told them about James being a wizard too, and they seemed even more relieved to know she had a friend who was going through the same experience. To celebrate, the Potters brought over some casserole, but Petunia locked herself away in her room.

Petunia didn’t speak to Lily again until they were at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, just before Lily left for school. The two girls stood apart from their parents, the tension between them thick in the air. Lily reached out and grabbed Petunia’s hand, holding on tightly even though Petunia tried to pull away.

"Listen," Lily pleaded, her voice urgent, "Maybe once I’m there, I can talk to Professor Dumbledore and convince him to—"

"I don’t want to go!" Petunia interrupted, yanking her hand out of Lily’s grasp. "You think I want to go to some stupid castle and learn to be a—"

Petunia’s gaze swept across the platform, taking in the scene around them—cats mewling in their owners’ arms, owls hooting from their cages, students in their long black robes, greeting one another with excited shouts after their summer apart. Her voice grew thick with disdain.

"You think I want to be a— a freak?"

Lily’s throat tightened, and her eyes filled with tears. "I’m not a freak," she whispered, her voice breaking. "That’s a horrible thing to say."

"That’s where you’re going," Petunia shot back, her words dripping with bitterness. "A special school for freaks. You and that Potter boy... weirdos, that’s what you are. It’s good you’re being separated from normal people. It’s for our safety."

Lily glanced over at her parents, who were eagerly taking in the sights of the platform, their faces lit up with curiosity and joy. Then she turned back to Petunia, her voice low and fierce.

"You didn’t think it was such a ‘freak’s school’ when you wrote to the headmaster and begged him to take you."

Petunia’s face flushed red with fury.

"Beg? I didn’t beg!" she snapped.

"I saw his reply. It was very kind," Lily replied calmly.

"You shouldn’t have read—" Petunia hissed, her voice low. "That was my private—how could you—?"

Lily couldn't help herself and glanced toward where James stood nearby.

Petunia’s eyes widened. "That boy found it! You and that boy have been sneaking in my room!"

"No—no, we weren't sneaking!" Lily rushed to explain, her words tumbling over each other. "James saw the envelope when he was visiting, and he couldn’t believe a Muggle had contacted Hogwarts, that’s all! He thinks there must be wizards working undercover in the postal service who handle—"

"Apparently wizards poke their noses in everywhere!" Petunia interrupted, her face now as pale as it had been flushed with anger. "Freak!" she spat at Lily.

Lily's heart sank, and she bit her lip to hold back the tears. Her parents, blissfully unaware of the true source of her distress, assumed she was upset about leaving for Hogwarts. But only James seemed to understand the real cause of her pain as they boarded the scarlet train together. He had already changed into his school robes and wore a tie that was a bit too large for him, the scarlet and gold fabric standing out brightly.

"Tuney hates me. Because we saw that letter from Dumbledore," Lily said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm sorry," James replied, his voice filled with empathy.

They entered a compartment where a boy sat alone with his head resting against the window. The boy glanced up only once before returning his gaze to the glass. They settled into the compartment, and Lily wiped her eyes, trying to compose herself.

"She's just jealous of you," James said, his voice softening. "You know she doesn't mean it. She'll probably write and tell you she's sorry."

Lily sniffed and shook her head. "What if she doesn’t write?" she said dejectedly.

"Then she's not a very good sister," James said firmly, his tone light but serious.

Lily smiled weakly, appreciating his attempt to cheer her up.

"But we're going!" he said, his voice bubbling with excitement. "This is it! We're off to Hogwarts!"

She nodded, her tear-streaked face lifting a little as a small smile tugged at her lips.

"I hope you're sorted into the same house as me," James said, his words full of hope, encouraged by the faint smile on her face.

"Sorting?" Lily asked, still trying to shake off the sadness lingering in her chest.

One of the boys in the compartment, who had been quiet until now, looked up curiously. He had dark hair and pale skin, and his eyes flickered toward them.

"Where are you hoping to go?" James asked the boy, eager to pull him into the conversation.

"My whole family’s been in Slytherin," the boy said casually. "They say it’s the best house."

"Blimey," James said, chuckling lightly. "And I thought you seemed all right!"

The boy didn’t react, but the teasing seemed to loosen him up a little. The compartment buzzed with anticipation as the train pulled away from the station, heading toward their new adventure at Hogwarts.

The boy flashed a grin. "Maybe I’ll break tradition." Then he turned to James, "Where are you hoping to be sorted?"

James struck a dramatic pose, lifting an invisible sword. "Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart!"

"How many houses are there again?" Lily asked, still trying to keep track of all the names swirling in her head.

"Four," James answered. "Dad was Gryffindor, Mum was Hufflepuff."

"Then there’s Ravenclaw and Slytherin," the boy added. He gave Lily an appraising look. "How do you not know the houses?"

"She’s Muggle-born," James said, glancing at Lily protectively.

"I’ve never met a Muggle-born before," the boy said, his grey eyes scanning Lily’s clothes with mild interest.

"Lily’s amazing," James boasted, puffing out his chest. "She’s going to be top of our class. I guarantee it."

Lily caught the surprised look that flickered across the boy’s face, but it vanished as quickly as it came. He returned his gaze to the window just as the snack cart rolled up. James eagerly bought a handful of sweets, excited to share pepper imps with Lily. She offered some of her candy to the boy, and he smiled in return.

"I’m Lily," she said kindly.

"Sirius," the boy replied, taking the sweets. "Thanks for the chocolate frogs."

Lily nodded and turned back to James, who was already fiddling with his wand, newly purchased from Ollivanders. Her own wand was still packed away in her trunk, but she couldn’t wait to take it out.

Lily stepped out of the compartment to change into her robes once the sun dipped behind the clouds. In the restroom, she met a few girls, one of whom, named Marlene, followed Lily back to the boys' compartment.

When they finally arrived at the castle, Lily was struck by how much bigger it was than she'd imagined. Even James, who had spent months describing it, stared wide-eyed at the towering structure. The hall was packed with so many students that Lily felt a little overwhelmed. She stuck close to James, barely able to keep up as the sorting ceremony began.

"Evans, Lily!" Professor McGonagall called, her voice clear and firm.

Lily’s legs trembled as she walked toward the stool in the center of the hall. Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on her head, and before it could even settle, the hat shouted, "Gryffindor!"

Lily quickly removed the hat, handing it back to McGonagall. She hurried toward the cheering Gryffindors, sending James a pleased grin as she passed him. Sirius scooted over on the bench to make room for her. She smiled at him but kept her eyes fixed ahead, eagerly awaiting James’ name to be called.

When at last it was James’ turn and the hat shouted, "Gryffindor!" Lily cheered loudly, grinning from ear to ear. She jumped up and hugged James as he sat down between her and Sirius. James hugged her back, then looked at Sirius.

"Guess you broke tradition, huh?" James said with a teasing grin.

"Maybe some traditions are meant to be broken," Sirius replied with a sly smile.

From then on, Lily found herself sharing James with Sirius. The two of them became inseparable, constantly getting into trouble together. Their first detention came when they decided to fill all the cauldrons in Potions class with baking soda. Lily, preferring to keep her distance when they were causing chaos, found herself new friends who helped her maintain the peace.

Years passed, but James remained her best friend at Hogwarts. Despite their busy school schedules, they still made time for early breakfasts together. It was one of Lily’s favorite parts of the day, mostly because James always had her laughing with his banter.

"I thought we were supposed to be friends?" James said one morning, his mouth full of eggs. "Best friends?"

"We are, James," Lily replied, narrowing her eyes, "but if you make fun of me joining the Slug Club one more time, I swear I’m going to hex you into next week." She reached across the table and ruffled his messy black hair. "Got it?"

"Lily," James said dramatically, "I can’t be your best friend if you keep going to Slug Club. A popular Quidditch jock like me has a reputation to uphold."

"What reputation?" Lily snorted, exchanging a skeptical look with their friends.

James leaned in, "A bad-boy reputation, which will be ruined if my best mate Lily Evans is a Teachers’ Pet Prefect who’s always giving me detentions."

"You deserved that detention, James. You hexed Aubrey’s head to twice its size!" Lily shot back. "All he did was tell me I have nice eyes."

"Yeah..." James said suspiciously, "That’s all he said?"

"James, you can’t assume every guy who talks to me has a hidden agenda to shag me."

James smirked. "As your best mate, I get to decide who qualifies to shag you."

Lily shot him an incredulous look. "You hate anyone who shows the slightest interest in me—"

"I told you to date old Sluggy," James said, referring to their Potions professor, who was well over triple Lily's age. "He likes you well enough."

Lily shook her spoon at him. "Don’t make me hex you."

"If you hex me, Sirius will have no choice but to hex you in retaliation," James said, grinning, as Sirius shot him an annoyed look for dragging him into the argument.

"How do you know Sirius would take your side?" Lily raised an eyebrow.

"I’d take James’ side," Sirius said unhelpfully, sipping his coffee with a nonchalant air.

Lily rolled her eyes. "I’d murder both of you in a duel, with my eyes covered." She shot them both a defiant look, causing Remus and Peter to stifle their laughter.

"Too bad perfect prefects can't duel," Sirius scoffed, dismissing her challenge with a grin.

Lily, ever the rule-abider compared to her mischief-making best friend, had earned the honor of being inducted into the student leadership. It was a role she was proud of, though one that James and Sirius found endless amusement in. She often complained that they never teased Remus Lupin, who had also become a Prefect, and Sirius would smirk, saying it was because they liked Remus more than her. Over the years, Lily had become a master at verbally sparring with Sirius Black.

"That’s why I’m not a prefect," James said, winking. "I wouldn’t be able to duel the Slytherins for being arseholes."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Keep the competitive streak on the Quidditch pitch, James."

James' grin widened. "You’re right, Evans," he drawled, "the Slytherins do hate it when I annihilate them on the field."

"Don't you mean when the team annihilates the Slytherins on the field?" Lily retorted, poking him in the side. "I don't remember Gryffindor Quidditch being a purely James Potter league."

James poked her back. "You always keep my head on the ground."

Lily wrinkled her nose impishly. "That’s what I’m here for."

James winked at her before turning back to Sirius to talk about their latest Quidditch match.

It wasn’t until fifth year that Lily began to wonder if her feelings for James went beyond just friendship. It first crossed her mind after a Slug Club meeting, when she returned to the common room to find James lounging on the couch in his Quidditch gear, eating a cauldron cake. There was nothing particularly special about the scene, but when he laughed at something Sirius said and his messy hair fell into his eyes, Lily’s heart skipped a beat.

The problem was, Lily was beginning to realize that James drove her mad in ways she hadn’t understood before. She couldn’t stop staring at him that night, noticing little things that had never stood out to her. Like how he always ate his vegetables first at dinner, how he absentmindedly fiddled with the Snitch he’d borrowed from the Quidditch shed, and the way he licked his lips when they went on long walks around the lake. She even noticed how he ruffled his hair as if he had just gotten off his broom, trying to look effortlessly cool, a habit that made her heart flutter in ways she didn’t want to admit.

And with each passing day, she started to wonder if she’d been missing something all along—something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

It drove her mad, and she was almost certain that James knew it. He picked fights with her as if he couldn’t help himself, needing to get a reaction. Sometimes it was just playful teasing—like when he mocked her for being in the Slug Club. Other times, it was more serious, and Lily had to scold him for hexing some poor student who had gotten in his way. The worst part? Every argument, every time he acted like a complete idiot, only seemed to make Lily like him more.

It got her heart racing, her blood boiling, and she wished there was another way to channel her feelings besides yelling at him.

Unfortunately, James didn’t make it easy.

“I can’t believe you let him put frog spawn in her hair,” Lily was grumbling to Sirius one day after Potions. James had stormed out of the classroom after Lily had called him a git for putting frog spawn in their friend Mary’s hair.

“He wanted to cheer her up when he saw she was crying,” Sirius explained, looking unfazed by Lily’s frustration.

“By putting frog spawn in her hair?!” Lily exclaimed, exasperated.

“He thought you both would laugh,” Sirius shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s just frog spawn, Evans. A joke.”

Lily pressed her fingers to her forehead in frustration. “Why doesn’t he ever think before he acts?”

Sirius chuckled, clearly amused. “Well, he always makes a fool of himself when you’re around.”

Lily’s eyes widened in surprise. “What?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “He fancies you.”

Lily blushed furiously, shaking her head. “He does not fancy me.”

Sirius gave her a pointed stare. “He does.”

Lily crossed her arms, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. “He’s my best friend, Sirius.”

Sirius leaned in slightly, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “No. He’s my best friend.”

Lily huffed, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. “Our best friend,” she amended, but Sirius wasn’t done yet.

He nudged her with his elbow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “He’s more than that to you, Evans.”

Before she could respond, the corridor seemed to shrink when James appeared, looking unusually bashful. He hesitated, glancing between Sirius and Lily, before asking if he could speak to her alone. The hallway, lit by only a few flickering torches, felt eerily quiet. James’ eyes glowed softly in the dim light, and for a moment, Lily thought about what Sirius had said. She almost believed that James fancied her, especially when he was staring at her like that in the darkness.

"I was just trying to make her laugh," James said quietly, his voice tinged with regret.

Lily shifted her gaze from his face to the stone floor beneath them, her nails pressing into her palms. He was talking about their friend Mary, but Lily couldn’t shake the memory of Mary’s tears. Mary had cried harder when James put the frogspawn in her pretty brown hair. It hadn’t been funny. James knew that now, which is why he looked so miserable.

"It wasn’t funny," she whispered.

"I said I was sorry," he reminded her awkwardly, his hands running through his messy hair. "I really just wanted to make her laugh. She’s been so upset ever since Mulciber—" His voice trailed off as he noticed Lily’s expression, and when she looked up, she found him watching her with a hard look in his eyes.

"What?" she asked, taken aback by the sudden change in his demeanor.

"You’d tell me," he whispered, his voice suddenly lower, more serious. "You’d tell me if any of the Slytherins were giving you trouble for being Muggleborn, wouldn’t you?"

The question hit her like a cold gust of wind, and she froze, surprised. Her mind flashed back to years ago, to a sunlit thicket of trees, when she’d asked James if it mattered that she was born to two non-magical parents. He had assured her there was no problem. But now, standing in the dim hallway, she knew that he had lied to her. He had tried to protect her then, just as he was trying to protect her now, but she knew the truth. She knew that if she told him about every time she’d been called a Mudblood, he would burn the school to the ground in rage. She also knew that if Sirius told him how many times he’d caught her wiping away tears behind James’ back, James would be hurt—insulted even—that she hadn’t trusted him with her pain.

In this world, in the magical world, Lily was as different as she had always been in the Muggle one.

James stepped closer, taking her hands in his. He gently pressed his forehead to hers, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to disappear. Lily closed her eyes, listening to the calming rhythm of his breath.

"I meant what I said when we were kids," he whispered, his voice steady and serious. "Point me in their direction, and I'll hex anyone who even looks at you funny."

Lily felt a smile tug at her lips, her voice soft. "Not if I hex them first."

He chuckled, his hands still holding hers. "Are you still mad at me?"

Lily pulled back slightly, enough to look him in the eyes, her breath catching as she searched his gaze. "Will you do me a favor?"

"Anything," he replied without hesitation, his thumb brushing gently across her knuckles.

Her heart skipped a beat when he lifted his hand to her face, brushing her dark red hair out of her eyes. His touch was light, but it sent a jolt through her. Her cheeks flushed again as she wondered how she could go from being furious with him just moments ago to feeling completely drawn to him.

"When you want to make someone laugh," she said, her voice a little softer, "maybe don't put frogspawn in their hair?"

James grinned, a playful gleam in his eyes. "I’ll stick to telling my killer jokes."

"Maybe not your jokes either," Lily said weakly, her lips twitching into a smile despite herself.

James frowned, his tone mock-offended. "Why not?"

Lily bit her lip to hold back her laughter, her eyes sparkling. "They're a little corny."

"Excuse you, Evans," James said, lifting a hand in mock outrage, "but my joke about the wizard and the disappearing barstool gets you every time."

A breathy laugh escaped her before she could stop it. "James, that’s your worst joke," she said, her words tinged with amusement.

"You laugh every time!" he protested, grinning ear to ear, clearly pleased with himself.

Lily didn't know how to explain to him that no matter how ridiculous his jokes were, no matter how exasperating his antics, she couldn’t help but laugh. Even when she was angry with him, even when he drove her up the wall, she found herself charmed by him. His infectious smile, the way he’d get that glint in his eyes when he was up to something ridiculous—it all made it impossible not to laugh. But James didn’t seem to notice that it wasn’t just about the joke. He always assumed she was just caught in a cycle of giggles whenever he was around. It was always the same: James being James, and Lily, caught between frustration and fondness.

Sirius, though, saw right through her.

"You fancy him too, don't you?" Sirius asked, his tone blunt as they strolled through Diagon Alley together one afternoon. James had stayed behind, leaving the two of them to wander through the shops. Sirius didn’t mince words. His gaze was sharp, knowing.

Lily felt the blood rush to her cheeks, but she didn’t answer directly. Instead, she tried to deflect, feigning nonchalance. "Did you see how much ginger’s gone up? A sickle more this year."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. "You’re changing the subject, Evans." With a scoff, he grabbed a large dragon nut from the counter, tossed it in the air, and then threw it at her. The nut hit her squarely in the chest, causing her to gasp and laugh in surprise.

In retaliation, Lily picked up her pumpkin juice and squirted him with it, the sticky liquid splashing across his pristine black robes. She couldn’t help but chuckle at his indignant expression as he wiped the juice off his clothes, but there was a tinge of something else in her laugh—a nervous energy she couldn’t quite shake.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a lighthearted haze of teasing and laughter, but as they made their way back to Cokeworth, the atmosphere between them began to shift. The easy camaraderie that had filled the air earlier started to fade, replaced by a quiet tension she wrapped herself up in. Her feelings for James, suffocating and unavoidable, were hanging between them like an invisible wall. She kept cycling through ways to tell Sirius the truth, to tell someone, that she fancied James Potter.

Finally, unable to bear the quiet any longer, Lily spoke as they climbed off the bus, her voice hesitant and uncertain. "I don’t know how to tell him."

Sirius’s gaze softened as he looked at her. The usual teasing light in his eyes was gone, replaced by something far more understanding, even protective. He didn’t need to ask who she was talking about. He knew. He’d always known. From the moment he’d seen the two of them together, he’d known that James had been hopelessly in love with her for years.

They walked side by side along the old playground fence, the familiar landscape of their childhood surrounding them. The summer sun beat down on Lily’s shoulders, warming her skin. It reminded her of the first time she’d met James here, years ago, when the world had felt so much simpler. The old swing set had long since fallen into disrepair, the flower bushes withered and dead, and the laughter that had once filled the air now felt like a distant memory. But despite the decay, despite the years that had passed, Lily couldn’t help but feel comforted by the place. It had been home once, in a way.

"I think you’ll find he wouldn’t mind you telling him that you want to snog the daylights out of him," he said with a wink.

Lily nudged him with her shoulder, the smallest of smiles tugging at her lips despite the knot in her stomach. "And you’d be okay with that?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow, a self-satisfied smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Evans, I knew the two of you would get together the moment I met you on the train."

Lily felt her cheeks flush at the thought. "You did not."

"I did," Sirius insisted. "James has always had a crush on you. Even back in third year, when he was dating Angie Stevens, he was only going out with her because you were seeing Anthony Weatherly."

The mention of Anthony Weatherly made Lily wince. Dating him in third year had been an awkward attempt to make James jealous, mostly because James hadn’t bothered to ask her to Hogsmeade. She hadn’t realized at the time that he had been oblivious to her feelings, and it had stung more than she’d cared to admit.

Sirius chuckled at her discomfort. "James has always been a bloody idiot when it comes to you, Evans," he said, shaking his head fondly.

Lily shook her head, though a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "You’re not wrong," she admitted, her voice soft but filled with a quiet certainty.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, his cheeky grin widening. "Just snog him already, Evans. Before I have to shove you both into a room and lock the door." His words were playful, but there was a certain warning in his tone, the kind that came from knowing his friends better than they knew themselves.

Lily couldn’t help but laugh, but there was still an unexpected knot of uncertainty tightening in her chest as she watched him walk away. His words echoed in her mind, and she felt her heart skip a beat. Just snog him already. It was easier said than done. The weight of the decision she had been avoiding for so long pressed down on her. She could feel it in her bones, this unavoidable truth she’d been running from. The knot in her chest wasn’t just uncertainty—it was the quiet admission that, despite everything, she couldn’t keep pretending that she didn’t feel the same way.

Not anymore.

The next morning, as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the trees, James met Lily by the riverbank for their usual morning walk. It had become their thing—a quiet start to the day, side by side, lost in conversation or sometimes simply in the peace of the early morning. As always, James reached for her hand first, and without thinking, Lily’s fingers slipped into his, the familiar warmth of his touch sending a jolt of something soft and familiar through her. His hand was warm, his fingers interlacing with hers as if they’d done it a thousand times before.

But as they passed the old playground, something shifted. Lily couldn’t explain it, but as they neared the swings, her breath caught in her chest. She counted the steps in her mind, bracing herself for the moment when his fingers would slip from hers, just like they always did when they passed this part of the walk. She had always thought it was because of the memories—of the childish games and the past that lingered in this place. She had expected the distance, the awkwardness that came with it, but this time… it didn’t happen.

His fingers didn’t slip away.

Lily’s gaze dropped to where their hands were still clasped together. His thumb was gently rubbing circles on the back of her hand, the small, tender motion sending a wave of warmth through her. She stopped just before they reached the tree line, tugging lightly on his arm when he kept walking. James paused, glancing over his shoulder at her with that goofy smile that always seemed to make everything else fade away. The sunlight was spilling over his dark hair, the curls catching the light as if they were somehow touched by magic. Lily watched him, her heart fluttering as she studied the curve of his grin, the way his eyes shone only for her.

"What?" James asked, his voice full of a soft surprise at her sudden stillness.

Lily swallowed, her pulse quickening in a way that both unsettled and excited her. She took a step forward, closing the small distance between them, and without thinking, she let go of his hand. She wrapped both arms around his neck, pulling him toward her. At first, James was surprised, his body stiff for just a second, but then he chuckled softly into her ear, his arms going around her waist as he pulled her closer.

"You okay, Lily?" he asked, his voice a low rumble, warm and full of concern as he leaned in to nuzzle against her neck.

Lily pulled back just enough to press her nose against his. His lips parted slightly, and his hazel eyes traced her face, searching her expression with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. The world felt impossibly still as she stood on tiptoe, the nervousness in her chest mixing with a flutter of excitement. She could feel her heart thundering in her chest, a sense of anticipation building with every passing second. She leaned in, and without another word, pressed her lips gently against his.

The moment their lips met, it was like a spark ignited between them. James was momentarily still, surprised, but then he melted into the kiss, his hand cupping her face with a tenderness she’d only ever seen him use when he wiped away her tears. She felt her toes graze the ground as he leaned into her, his body pulling her closer, his hands sliding to her back, anchoring her to him. Her fingers found their way into his messy hair—the same hair she used to braid during their late-night talks in the common room, those moments when everything felt so simple and easy between them.

He lifted her off the ground, spinning her in the field. She laughed into his kisses, joy spreading through her bones. When they finally pulled away, their breaths mingled in the space between them, and James blinked at her, eyes wide with surprise, as if he couldn’t quite process what had just happened. She pressed one more kiss to his cheek, running her fingers along his jaw.

His voice was thick with emotion when he whispered, "What was that for?"

Lily’s heart raced in her chest, but her voice was steady, her words carrying the weight of everything she’d been avoiding for so long. "It’s obvious, isn’t it?"

James blinked, confusion flickering in his eyes. "What’s obvious?"

Her heart was thudding against her chest, but there was no fear now, only a strange sense of relief. "I’m in love with you."

For a moment, there was silence between them. The world seemed to hold its breath, and Lily wondered if James had heard her correctly. Then, slowly, a wide grin spread across his face, the kind of smile that could light up the entire world. He pulled her back into him, his hands finding her waist, his lips brushing against her forehead as he whispered, "I love you more."

#jily fic #lily evans #james potter #jily #jily fanfiction #jple

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