#marauders era fanfic

[mischievousmoony]

hi, ok i have another idea for a fic which again totally up to you to write!! but i had an idea with dad!james and r where their kid is like equally obsessed with their mum as james is with r and one day james decides to prank their kid by saying something bad about the r while their kid is present and the baby just goes off. i feel like you would do an amazing job with this! feel free to ignore too. have a perfectly splendid day!!

-🪷

"the baby just goes off" painted a hilarious picture of an infant yelling at his dad in my mind lmao. ty for the request this warmed my heart to write + special thanks to @moonpascal for chatting a little about kids, gave me the reassurance & inspiration i needed

𝚋𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚜

⟢ dad!james potter x fem!reader ⊹ 1.1k ⟢ warnings/tags: fluff, dad/husband!james, mom/wife!reader, no use of y/n, no name for the son, idk how to write a child's dialogue tbh son's supposed to sound 4 years old

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

James gladly goes out of his way to mention to anyone who will listen that his little one is unmistakably a Mummy's boy. From family to friends to the poor souls who bag his groceries, James will talk the ear off of anyone he can.

He finds it to be the most endearing thing in the world— the way that your son is as obsessed with you as James is. Always staying close and clinging to you, touching affection radiating from every hug and smile.

Today, as he watches his son run back and forth across the carpet, handing his mother block after block just to see her face light up after each gift, his awe and admiration are insurmountable.

Last night, James surprised you with a pair of earrings that you have been wishing for. When your face lit up upon receiving the little leatherette box, so did your son's. He didn't quite understand why you were so excited about some cube, but since then he's been trying to replicate your excitement with presents of his own.

"Oh my! Another one! Thank you, buddy," you beam, you're gratefulness and delight unwavering as he hands you the sixth block.

Your son giggles, bouncing in his spot as you inspect each side of the little wooden toy, telling him how much you adore the blue penguin painted on one of its faces.

That's another thing that touches James' heart: the tender nurture and care that you bestow upon your son with such unwavering devotion and warmth. It has James convinced that you must be the best mum in the entire world.

He might just melt at the sight of you now, kneeling happily in front of a growing pile of blocks as your son scurries back and forth, adding to your collection. James sits cross-legged to your right, resting his elbow on his knee and laying his head in his hand, watching the two he loves most in the world with hearts in his eyes.

You gasp, as if surprised when handed block number seven. "Oh, this is my favorite one yet. How did you know I love zebras?" you ask, your thumb tracing over the red acrylic paint on the side of the block.

By the time you have twelve, nearly half of his collection, you say, "I have a lot of blocks here, buddy, do you want to give some to Daddy?"

"No!" your son protests immediately, running off to his toy box for the thirteenth time.

You and James both chuckle, exchanging amused glances. Finding your son's reaction hilarious, James’s mischievous side has him dreaming up new ways to push his buttons. Your son thinks the world of you, and James is curious to see what the little guy will do if he claims otherwise.

"Well, what am I gonna do with all of this? Should I..."

You leave your son in suspense for a moment, and his hands hover over his toy box as looks at you, hanging onto your every word in anticipation.

"...build a castle!?"

“Yeah!” your son cheers, scooping three more blocks into his arms, thrilled to supply the bricks for your castle.

James nudges you, a sign of his upcoming playfulness. “You sure about that, bud? Mummy is absolutely rotten at building castles.”

Halfway across the carpet, your son stops in his tracks, glaring at his father as he tries to keep his blocks from falling out of his arms.

Stifling a laugh, you press your fingertips to your lips. By now, you’re used to James’ bursts of mischief, and you’re more than happy to sit back and let them play out. Unless you’re an active participant, of course.

You muster up a scandalized gasp as he reaches for your mountain of presents, claiming three blocks in one hand.

“No!” your little one complains, rushing to drop his three in your lap to replace the ones that James stole, “those are Mummy’s!”

“You sure Mummy deserves all these blocks?” James asks, starting to stack them into a tower, “You watch, I’ll build a castle that’ll make her’s look like rubbish.”

Your son hastily makes his way over to his dad, both arms extended as he collides with the tower and sends the blocks flying. "Stop it," he says as he scoops up the nearest block and runs it back over to you, shouting, "Mummy's castles are the best!"

He climbs into your lap, clutching onto the toy tightly as one of your arms wraps around him, and you feel your heart start to melt as you rub soothing circles into his back. You look over your son's head, your eyes sparkling with affection as you meet your husband's tender gaze.

Not having the heart to mess with him for very long, James concedes, "You're right, I'm not being very nice, am I?"

"Nuh-uh!" your son replies, shaking his head with exaggeratedly vigor, the curls he gets from his dad bouncing about.

"What can I do to make it up to her?" James asks, turning the ordeal into a subtle lesson as he dramatically feigns sorrow and despair over his actions.

"'Pologize," your son commands, his head swiveling to look at James expectantly over his shoulder.

James puts on his most sheepish, apologetic smile, looking from his son to you. "I'm very sorry. He's right, your castles are the best. Can you forgive me, love?"

"Aw, of course I forgive you," you say warmly, your amusement manifesting as a wide smile. You lean back so you can get a good view of your son's face when you tell him, "You know, I bet what Daddy really wants is to build a castle with us. I love your presents, bud, but we don't want to leave Daddy out do we?"

He looks down at the block in his little hand. "No," he replies shyly.

"So why don't you ask him to build a castle with us?" You give him a pat on the back before releasing him from your arms. "Go on," you coax.

He steps closer to James, holding the block close to his chest. "We can all build a castle," he offers.

"Yeah?" James' face lights up, and it's not for show. Genuine joy takes over his features as he ruffles your son's hair, responding, "I'd love nothing more, little man."

"But you have to be nice to Mummy!" he demands, his little voice firm and earnest as he looks up at James with wide, serious eyes.

"I promise, I will be on my best behavior," James assures him, his voice sincere as he gives a playful salute. That's enough for your son, because he finally awards James with his very first block, which he accepts with pride.

"Good!" your son cheers, already moving on to the pile of blocks to start stacking them as he proclaims, "Mummy is the best, and we have to show it!"

Your lips part as you suck in a breath, a quiet gasp. Receiving your son's affection never fails to make your heart swell.

You don't feel James' eyes on you, but he's watching— admiring, more like, as he takes in the way that you soften at your son's sweet words. A smitten smile plays at his lips as he agrees, "She is the best, isn't she?"

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[brokenmenswhore]

first | poly!marauders

pairing: poly!marauders (james, remus, & sirius) x fem!reader

summary: virginity loss trope :)

warnings: smut (MDNI 18+), language, gender swapped dorcas cus i said so 🤷🏻‍♀️

────── ☾ ──────

“That’s ridiculous,” you said, body halting as the staircase began to shift beneath you, “and completely untrue.”

“Oh come on, you never do anything interesting! For your sake, it has to be true,” Sirius teased.

You turned to him, mouth open in offense. “I’m plenty interesting.”

“But not interesting enough to lose your virginity to Meadowes in the library during fourth year?” Remus raised an eyebrow.

“No! It didn’t happen!” you protested, “now please, let it go.”

“How would a rumor like that even get out if it isn’t true?” James asked genuinely.

“Probably because everyone knows Meadowes has the hots for her. Bet you he started it himself,” Remus answered, distaste evident in his voice.

“Are you three done now?” you asked, whispering the common room password and letting the boys in.

“So if it isn’t true, how did you lose it?” Sirius pressed.

You looked at him stunned, eyes wide in disbelief that he would ask you something like that out of the blue.

“Absolutely not,” you said, raising a finger toward him, “I’m not playing that game.”

“Oh come on!” Sirius raised his hands and smiled, “you’re no fun.”

“Yeah, now I’m curious,” James continued on, “if not Dorcas, who?”

You sighed, placing your books down and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, turning toward them exasperated. “Why does it matter?”

“You know seventeen of the girls I’ve slept with by heart,” Sirius replied, “I’d say it’s only fair.”

“Sirius, you told me about seventeen of the girls you’ve slept with. Willingly. Without me asking. Ever,” you said, earning a laugh from James at your disgust.

They followed you up the stairs to your dorm, empty from everyone sneaking off to a party in the Ravenclaw common room that you were supposed to be getting ready for, but alas, you were late and distracted.

You sat down in front of your vanity mirror, ready to start applying makeup, when Remus placed a hand on the desk in front of you, leaning his face in close to you, his hair falling slightly in front of his face. He was completely in your personal space.

“Come on, Y/N, tell us who got to fuck you first.”

Remus’ voice was low, and his breath fanned your face as he spoke. You locked eyes with him, a sigh leaving your chest that you weren’t aware you were holding in. You were nervous to have him this close.

“No one has. Sorry to disappoint. Now drop it, will you?”

Remus didn’t move. You continued to look up into his eyes, your voice a little shaky, and you didn’t know what to do. You moved to get up, but Remus caught your chin between his fingers, pulling your attention back to him. “Meaning what?”

“Did you not hear me? Cus you’re like 6 inches away from me, so if you didn’t, you need to get your hearing checked,” you said, annoyed at your current predicament, just wanting to make the embarrassing conversation end. Remus finally let you stand, but Sirius and James were right behind you, stopping you from leaving the room. You opted to sit on your bed.

“You guys are insufferable.”

Sirius cleared his throat. “So you’re-“ he trailed off.

“A virgin, yes, wow, how crazy of me. You know, it’s not that weird, you all just have a personal body count higher than everyone at this school combined. And everyone else’s body count includes you. Can we please just forget about this?” you begged.

“Such attitude,” James teased, “from such a good girl.”

“Oh, so I’m a goodie two-shoes now that you’ve all discovered I’ve never had sex?”

“Kinda, yeah,” James giggled.

“Fuck you guys,” you sighed, partially lighthearted and partially annoyed, “it was my choice. You think I couldn’t have screwed Dorcas Meadowes in the library if I wanted to?”

No one had a response. Sirius’ nostrils flared, and Remus sighed. They almost seemed… jealous? at the thought of you and someone else.

You four were ridiculously close, anyone could see that, and you would be lying if you said you haven’t thought about them in that way, but you were best friends, and you didn’t want to risk ruining that.

“You ever think about, like, just doing it?” Sirius asked.

“What?” you replied.

“Do you ever think about just saying fuck it and asking someone, like, I don’t know, one of us, to just take your virginity?”

Your breathing caught in your chest. You stared at Sirius, a million thoughts coming to your head but you couldn’t articulate any of them. You had no idea what to say.

“I mean, I’ve thought about losing my virginity, yeah, that’s normal,” you explained.

“To one of us?” Remus asked.

You could lie. You could act disgusted at the question and walk away now, or, you could tell the truth, and risk ruining your entire friendship. You could also tell the truth and potentially gain everything you wanted.

Your voice became small, your eyes watching your hands fidget in your lap, “maybe.”

The boys all exchanged a look between one another.

James was the only one who was able to pull himself together. “W-who?”

You titled your head up at him. “What?”

James sat down on the bed next to you. “Which one of us?”

You could physically see all the boys tense up, ready to be filled with either pride or jealousy. Sirius and Remus were staring daggers at you, anxiously awaiting your answer. James kept his eyes on you as well, trying to make you feel less intimidated and tense than Sirius and Remus were.

Your eyes darted between all of them, “I-“

You were evidently nervous, and Remus felt bad. He knelt on the ground in front of you, taking your hands in his own. It was the most intimate gesture you’d received from him yet. He kept his voice soft. “Angel, you don’t have to tell us, but we really want to know. I promise none of us will be too hurt. Please,” he almost begged.

You sighed. You weren’t worried because you only thought about one of them, you were worried because you were embarrassed to tell them the truth. You took a deep breath. It was now or never. “All of you.”

They were not prepared for that answer.

Remus and James stared at you and tried to process your words. Sirius was more of an “act on impulse” and “speak without thinking” kind of guy.

“Fuck off,” he said, “all of us?”

“Mhm.”

“Like at the same time?” he pushed.

“Sirius-“ Remus warned.

“No, no, I wanna hear you say it,” he said, attention back on you, “I wanna hear you say that you’ve thought about losing your virginity to all three of us. At the same time. I wanna hear you say that you’ve thought about us fucking you.” He was standing dangerously close to you now.

“I- I have,” you said, blush evident in your cheeks.

Sirius growled. “Remus, move.”

“Excuse me?” Remus snapped back.

“Move.”

Remus sighed and moved out of the way so that Sirius was standing directly in front of you. “You stop us if there’s anything you don’t like. Understood?”

You nodded your head, but that wasn’t enough.

“Words, baby.”

“Yes,” you retried.

Sirius gave you a small smile before grabbing your face in his hands, tilting your head up and leaning down to give you a long, intimate kiss. Once you had settled in, he deepened the kiss, his carnal desires taking over. He slowly leaned you back on the bed, your legs still hanging off the mattress, as he placed one knee next to your waist, holding himself up as he continued kissing you. When your back hit the mattress, you held the back of Sirius’s head to keep him in place.

You felt one of the boys behind Sirius, pulling your pants off and leaving your lower half nearly exposed.

Sirius flopped down on the bed next to you, still kissing you as you ran your fingers through his hair.

James slowly kissed up your thigh, throwing both of your legs over his shoulders as he kissed your underwear right above your heat. You gasped, but Sirius didn’t let you break the kiss.

“Sirius, come on, give her a break,” James pleaded, “I wanna hear her.”

Sirius groaned into the kiss before breaking it, looking down to James in between your legs. “Well, go on then.”

Sirius was still feral and needy, pulling your shirt over your head and ripping off your bra, immediately going to grab and kiss at your breasts. You were embarrassed at the exposure, but everyone was moving on your body so fast that you didn’t have time to think about your body being on display.

James pushed your underwear to the side and kissed your folds, causing you to squeal. This was an unfamiliar feeling, but you were growing wetter and wetter by the minute. He pushed your folds open with his tongue, licking and flicking at your clit. You whined and threw your head back. He continued his actions, peeking up at you from between your legs, watching you come apart as he ate you out like a man starved.

“Take it easy,” you heard Remus say from behind your head, “you gotta remember she’s never done this.”

James moaned into your cunt as a response, sending a shiver up your body, causing your legs to shake slightly. He kept sucking and licking circles around your bud, and you couldn’t help but grab the hair at the back of his head, pushing him closer into you.

“Good girl,” Sirius cooed from beside you, touching every exposed part of your body that he could.

As James’ tongue quickened, your whines grew louder, but you tried to tame them and save yourself further embarrassment. Remus noticed and was not happy. He grabbed your face and forced your neck to look backward at him. “Are you holding back?”

“N-no,” you said anxiously, not sure if it was the truth.

“Ah, but I think you are,” he started, “and we don’t accept that. Let us hear you.”

“But I’m emb-“

“I don’t care if you’re embarrassed. Stop holding back. Now.”

Remus’s demanding and controlling demeanor only added at the pleasure James was giving you with his mouth. You did as he said. James continued to quicken his pace, whines and moans falling from your lips.

“Does that feel good?” Remus asked.

“Yes, Rem, I-“

“No fair!” Sirius suddenly exclaimed, “if you ask her all the questions, you get to hear her moan your name. Selfish prick.”

“Are you gonna let this be about her or what?” Remus retorted.

“I am! I should be asking you the same thing, why do you always get to be in control of everything?”

They bickered back and forth for a few minutes, but the entire time, James remained focused on you. He watched from between your legs as his tongue made you squirm and moan, and he had you nearly seeing stars.

You desperately tried to tell him you were going to come, but Remus and Sirius were too busy bickering for James to hear you. You tapped at his head to signal him, and he got the message, sucking at your bud until you finally came. Your chest rapidly rose and fell as James continued to lick you until he had tasted every last drop of cum from your hole, standing up and placing a wet kiss on your lips.

“What, did you just give up?” Sirius asked when he saw James standing.

“No, idiot, she came,” James replied, “you two dickheads were too busy arguing to notice.”

Remus’s nostrils flared. “You just let us keep arguing?”

“She tried to say something!” James defended you, and partly himself.

“Baby, you ok?” Remus checked in.

“Mhm,” you nodded.

“You got a little more in you?”

“Mhm.”

“You want me?”

“Mhm.”

Remus pulled his pants and boxers down and climbed on top of you, pulling your underwear completely off of you as he placed his knees on either side of your waist.

“You sure?” he asked, wanting to confirm your consent.

“Yes,” you responded.

“And you’re sure you’re okay with it being me?”

Instead of responding with words, you tilted your head up and kissed Remus, assuring him that you wanted it to be him. You would have been okay with any of the boys, but Remus was always so in control, it made sense that he would be your first. Your relationship with him was always a little less silly, and a little more intimate, than your relationship with the other two.

“Are you ready?” he checked, lining up his already hard cock at your entrance.

“Yeah,” you replied, “just- please be nice, okay?”

Remus smiled, “of course, baby.”

You nodded at him and locked eyes as he slowly pushed into you, a long gasp leaving your lips as he filled you up. His cock was bigger than you thought it would be, and it was taking you a while to adjust to his size.

“Shit, Rem,” you breathed out, “you should have warned me that you’re that fucking big.”

Sirius growled next to you, your words driving him crazy. He couldn’t help but pull out his cock, stroking it slowly as he watched you.

Remus gave you plenty of time to adjust before you nodded at him, signaling that he could move. He started slowly, pushing in and out of you as an excruciatingly slow pace. It burned, and you almost told Remus to stop, but after a few minutes, the pain subsided, and the pleasure took over.

A particularly filthy moan left your lips, and Sirius cursed under his breath. James appeared behind your head, stroking your hair as Remus’s head dropped to your shoulder as he began to pick up the pace.

“Shit, baby,” he moaned, “you feel so fucking good.”

“You look so fucking good,” Sirius breathed.

“Thank you, Siri,” you cried out, causing Sirius to cum in his hand, the nickname making him lose all control.

“What a good girl,” Remus spoke, his thrusts quickening until he was causing your body to jolt upward with each hit from the force, “you’re doing so well.”

James placed a kiss on your forehead and you reached up to grab his hand for leverage. You squeezed his hand, the pleasure between your legs becoming almost too much.

“Relax, baby, you’re being such a good girl,” James said.

Remus’ breathing quickened. “You’re so tight, angel, if you keep squeezing my cock like that I’m not gonna last,” he warned.

“I c-can’t help it,” you told him.

“I know baby,” he replied.

“I d- don’t know how to m- make it stop,” you said.

Remus giggled, “you don’t have to make it stop. It feels good for me.”

“Oh,” you whimpered, “that’s good.”

Remus giggled again. You were so cute, even in the middle of losing your virginity. Remus leaned down and kissed you, your lips moving in harmony as he began to pound into you. Any sense of kindness and mercy he had for this being your first time went out the window when you kissed.

Your moans grew louder and louder, and you tried to cover your mouth with your hand to quiet yourself down.

“Ah ah ah,” Sirius tsked, pulling your hand away, “none of that.”

“Rem- Rem- I-“

“I know angel, let go.”

Your high crashed over you again, your hips bucking upward to meet Remus’ final few thrusts before he came inside of you, the feeling of you squeezing him becoming too much for him to hold on. Remus stayed inside of you for a moment, watching your face as you calmed down from your high, a slight shake in your legs.

“What a good girl,” James praised, kissing your forehead.

“You okay?” Remus checked in, pulling out of you and standing in front of you.

“Mhm,” you hummed, “‘m okay.”

Sirius leaned down to kiss you again. “Everything you imagined?”

“Mhm.” You were too tired to formulate complete words or sentences.

“You wanna skip the party?” Sirius continued.

“Mhm.”

“You wanna cuddle and watch a movie?”

“Mhm.” You shifted so your head was resting on Sirius’ lap as he began to stroke your hair.

Sirius smiled. “And then maybe round two.”

[wolvesandshine]

Regulus had gotten used to it.

Seniors. Friends. His classmates. Even the teachers sometimes.

He never could get out of Sirius’s shadow and the nicknames basically proved it.

Baby Black. Younger Black. Slytherin Black.

He’s heard all the variations and he hated every single fucking one of them.

But over the years, he’d learned to tolerate it.

Yet it didn’t escape his notice that of all the people his brother and family included - only James Potter had never used that nickname.

He had never really thought too hard about it until they were paired up for prefect rounds, and even over the course of a couple of months, James had only referred to him as Regulus or Reg.

Finally, Regulus couldn't take it anymore.

"Why don't you call me baby Black?"

James stared at him, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you hated that nickname?"

Regulus opens his mouth. "Yes but -" It's not stopped anyone before.

James carries on with the previous conversation, ignoring the pause - as though it's really that simple. Regulus didn't like the nickname and therefore, James didn't use it.

And maybe it really is that easy.

[crescenthistory]

hi angel!!!! absolutely adore your blog and especially the way you write for regulus 🥹🥹 makes my heart so happy, like that’s baby boy!!!! thank you so much for sharing with us!!! i have a prompt request but only if you feel so inclined!!! number d8 “where is she?" with regulus, pretty please, like maybe something happens to reader and he is the last to find out (busy w quidditch or prefer things) so when someone finally tracks him down being like your girl needs you, his composure is for once non existent and he is panicking!!!! ughhh hurt/comfort with reg is everything!!! anyway only if you feel my up to my love no pressure ever - love your blog regardless 💗💗💗

hi my love<33 this is hands down the sweetest request i have received, thank you so much for being so kind 🤍🤍 i genuinely appreciate your words so much! as for the request, i adore some hurt/comfort with reg, and this is an idea i've had for a while, so it was so fun to write

Prompt: D.8 "Where is she?"

Words: 6k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, severe injury (happens off screen, explained and treated on screen), lacerations, typical regulus anxiety (overworked), best friends to lovers, pomfrey being a badass, snape is a villain, animal abuse (technically), background marlene, rosekiller, etc.

It was common knowledge that Slytherin quidditch practice was never to be disturbed, especially this close to the final match of the season against Gryffindor.

This was Regulus’ first year as captain and he was determined for it to be written in the history books as a victorious one, to make himself deserving of the title. Playing opposite his brother and his best friends didn’t lessen the pressure much, either. 

He knew he had been pushing the team quite hard, but he also knew that if anyone could handle it, it was them. Evan and Barty funnelled all their chaotic energy into quidditch once they realised just how much it mattered for their mate, and Dorcas had just as much to gain from winning against Marlene as Regulus had against Sirius. Fenwick had had his skull bashed in by enough bludgers in his career to not be able to formulate any complaints, even if he had them. The rest of the team were relatively young players, a risk most others had chastised Regulus for taking, but one that was playing off beautifully – and with those rumours, they wanted to prove themselves, too. 

There really was little problem with this arrangement, he told himself, other than the fact that he was perhaps wearing himself a bit thin when balancing it all with his prefect duties and exams.

And, more importantly, missing you.

You had been the best friend he could have asked for during this hectic year of his, always standing by his side, just as much of a loyal team-player as those on his actual sports team. That unwavering dedication you had shown him over the years that taught him that maybe, just maybe, he was capable of being loved – and most definitely of loving, because Regulus would be damned if he didn’t admit that that was the only appropriate word for how he felt about you.

Not that he had told you that yet, though, and neither had you. It was never the right time, and you both knew, at least to some degree. For now, it was enough. You had each other, always, and it was enough. He told himself as much, at least.

Regulus was trying to zero his thoughts back on his team running through their plays off-broom on the ground, looking for any weakness in their formation, when the cardinal rule of not disturbing practice was broken.

“Black!” A voice shouted as it ran across the pitch from the school. 

Regulus squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the pestering fourth year away, one of those who just seemed to always be there, nameless and bothersome. It was to little avail, though, judging by the sounds of his heavy steps hitting the still somewhat moist dirt on the field.

“Black, I have to–”

“We are in the middle of a practice!” Regulus cut the kid off, letting his nerves get the better of him as he saw most of his players stop in the midst of what had been their best run-through so far. “Unless someone has died, it can wait.”

“But–”

“Has someone died?” Regulus had his hands on his hips, half aware that he looked way too much like his older brother as he regarded the student-shaped owl in front of him with derision. 

“No, but–”

“Are someone in the midst of dying? Like within the hour?”

“N– no.”

“Then you may leave.” The student looked thoroughly confused, clearly not having been properly warned by whoever sent him as a make-shift owl that this was the only response he would be getting from Regulus. He could vaguely hear you whispering poor boy in his mind, always advocating for Regulus’ softer side, but right now he pushed it away as he turned back to his teammates. “Whatever it is will still be there when we are finished up here.”

Regulus didn’t wait for him to go before he began to pretend he was air, attention fully on his team once more.

Barty snickered as he tried to lean his chin on Evan’s shoulder, only to have the taller boy fully shove him off. Regulus shook his head, ignoring the crestfallen student beside him as he tried to increase his energy levels back to where they needed to be.

“Okay, that last round was getting closer to where we want to be. Ready to take to the sky for the last few minutes?”

When he finally stepped foot inside the quidditch locker rooms, Regulus sped through his shower routine. He was eager to get out of there and back to the dorms quick enough to have sufficient time to spend with you before going to sleep. He had half a mind to ask you to sleep in his bed tonight, but he wondered if that might be pushing it since you just did that a few nights ago. Nothing ever happened, of course, you were just the best of friends – and even if you had been something more, it was hard for anything to happen with Evan and Barty in the same room.

You just brought him a sense of peace he found himself craving more day by day. He wished to squeeze out every ounce of it he possibly could.

His hair was still wet, bag thrown about as haphazardly over his shoulder as he could allow himself to without spiralling – which is to say, he still looked perfectly polished to anyone but him. He turned to give the team lingering behind an attempt at an emphatic great work today that ended up falling a bit short from his hoarse voice. Thankfully, everyone else seemed tired enough to accept it without reservation, and Regulus could exit the changing room before all but running towards the Slytherin dorms. 

On his way there, he passed through the Great Hall, attempting to slow his stride to look a bit more composed, but quite ready to throw all of it away for the night just to curl up with you.

“Re- Regulus?!”

Sirius’ incredulous voice sounded behind him, and though Regulus loved his brother dearly, he took a deep sigh at the disturbance, knowing that, with him, it would likely not be a short one.

“That would be me.” Regulus turned around with a sarcastic half-smile, only for it to waver when he saw the expression on Sirius’ face. 

There was an evident tension in his face when he looked Regulus up and down, as if trying to figure him out while a thousand thoughts ran through his mind. Sirius’ lips were pressed tight, as if holding back a severe frown and his eyes were decidedly clouded with worry.

“Reg, what are you doing here?” His voice conveyed more confusion than upset, but both were woven into his tone.

“I’m… on my way to Slytherin? We just finished practice.” 

It was as if Sirius found an answer to his confusion as his face settled into a form of defeat. “You don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?” Regulus stared his brother down, heart speeding up in his chest, but he could feel it in his whole body. “What is it, Siri?”

“James sent someone to tell you,” Sirius says, speaking more to himself.

“Tell me what?” Regulus’ patience was worn thin by his pulse straining his skin.

“Uh, it’s Y/N.” Pangs shot through his body, pulling every vein taut. “She– she will be fine, don’t worry, but–”

“Where is she?”

Regulus struggled to make out where Sirius stood in front of him as the world seemed to tunnel around him and his mind was immediately elsewhere, immediately with his best girl, imagining any possible horror that might have overcome you. Had it not been for Sirius’ delivery of the news and the way he looked at Regulus, he might have felt more calm. But he had always known his big brother to be more composed than this.

“The infirmary–”

He didn’t need to hear more before he was running at full speed down the hallway.

Little to nothing registered with Regulus on the way to the infirmary, that he for the first time in his life realised was located painfully far away from the Great Hall. Illogical, given how many students go through there throughout their days. 

He felt lighter than ever as he was entirely certain he had never run this quickly in his life, simultaneously as every limb felt heavy with worry. 

She will be fine is only reassuring if he was concerned you had died – in every other scenario it is the worst thing to hear, because it confidently means you are not fine right now.

Regulus is half aware that he has run through two ghosts, into one student and past a professor – he thinks maybe Flitwick? – but he paid none of them any mind, willing to take the point deductions or even detentions, if only they don’t slow him down. He can deal with everything and anything else later. 

When he finally reached the door to the infirmary, it took everything in him to come to a halt. 

He all but crashed into the door, catching himself with one hand on the doorframe as he breathed heavy, giving himself but two seconds to collect himself, lest he be banned from the infirmary by life by Madam Pomfrey. That was not something he could afford right now.

Still heaving, he opened the door and took two steps inside – before his vision became entirely swamped by that very same woman, standing with her hands on her hips.

“Is she here?” He tried to get out before she could say anything.

“No visitors at the moment,” Madam Pomfrey said sternly.

“Please, is she here?” Regulus couldn’t even think to say your name, but the look on the matron’s face told him she knew.

“She is, and she is alright, but there will be no visitors at the moment.” Her voice was a bit softer now, but she was not relenting and she was not moving.

Regulus’ breath picked back up, and he didn’t register the tears that were forming in his eyes. A choked please was forming on his tongue when–

“Please.”

You beat him to it. Your meek voice sounded from a few curtains down behind Madam Pomfrey. Regulus didn’t hear the noise that escaped him when he heard the soft pain in your usually chipper voice, but the matron did. Still, it seemed to be on your account and not the lovestruck, fear-sickened boy in front of her, that she took a step to the side.

“Only you, and it must be brief.”

Her words were mostly caught by the air that Regulus left in his wake the moment she moved to the side, because as soon as he could he was by the curtain he had heard you speak from behind, ever so gently pulling it to the side.

“Oh, mon amour.”

The sight he was faced with both mended and broke his heart – because you were there, awake and already looking at him, but your forehead and right arms were bandaged and your face bore telltale signs of pain. He could see tear tracks down your delicate cheeks, mascara smudging just barely beneath your eyes. You looked happy to see him, he could see your chest heave a breath of relief, but that was about the only positive thing he could decipher in you at the moment.

At last, his movements were measured and careful again, but for once not for the sake of how he was perceived, but rather to not disturb the space around you, as if that could lessen your pain. He barely managed to close the curtain behind him with trembling hands, giving you a semblance of privacy, even in this infirmary that he had no idea hosted how many others.

There was enough space on the left side of the bed beside you for Regulus to take his rightful place by your side, as close as he dared. His eyes kept jumping all over your body and face, breath hitched.

Your name escaped his lips in a small breath as his eyes widely roamed your form.

He didn’t realise his hand was hovering between you before you reached up to him with your left hand and took it in yours. Your grip was weak and the tips of your fingers cold, but it was still the smooth skin he was used to feeling on his.

Upon your touch, he seemed to be brought back down to earth and the welling tears spilled down his cheeks.

“Oh, Reggie,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay, I’m alright.”

“My poor love,” he whispered back, letting his free hand move up to lightly caress your cheek, brushing some damp hair away. It must have gotten wet when Pomfrey tended to whatever wound was bandaged on your upper forehead. “What happened to you, amour?”

Regulus often referred to you with terms of endearment, you knew you were each other’s person, but the absolute softness of them now broke your heart a little.

“It was…” you trailed off, wincing as you scrunched your brows in confusion and consequently pulled on your bandage. “It was an accident.” The sound that escaped you was almost a laugh, but it was too wet and strangled to truly be classified as such.

“What happened?” Regulus’ voice urged, more desperate than before. He held your hand tighter, bringing it closer to his chest, as if to protect it.

“We were helping Kettleburn – unwillingly mind you –”

“Who are we?” Regulus cuts you off, still seeming rather feverish in his desperation to know what was wrong. You squeezed his hand and smiled at him to calm him down. 

“An unfortunate bunch of us who happened to be enjoying the fresh air by the benches. Me, Lily, Marlene, Snape, Avery and some others we don’t really know too well, mostly fourth years.”

Regulus scowled at the mention of Snape and Avery, but nodded, as if encouraging you to continue.

“Kettleburn needed some help preparing bait. He believed there was a hippogriff in the Forbidden Forest that he wanted to draw out. It worked a bit too well, a bit too well.”

His brows scrunched at that. “But hippogriffs are mainly peaceful unless you disturb them?” Unease was growing in his stomach.

“Yes, that’s what I said as well,” you feel a bout of dizziness come over you, but try and speak through it. “We were down, probably a bit too close to the forest when it came out. I tried to push the bait towards it carefully, keeping my distance. It just wanted food, you know.”

“But?”

“But Snape and Avery freaked. When it took a step closer, just to eat – they let curses fly, kneejerk self defence reaction they said.”

Regulus had to be mindful to not hurt your hand as his fists clenched on reflex. He settled for holding the sheets beside him disturbingly hard instead – he had already pieced together what happened. “You were still in the line of fire,” he concluded, eyes darkening.

“Yes,” you whispered weakly. “It would have been fine, if it had only been a stupefy or something, but Snape shouted something else, some freak hex. It was like being slashed with a knife all over.”

Regulus’ breath hitched as he let his eyes travel from gauze to gauze. His fingers came up to linger near a particularly large bandage that travelled from your shoulder in under your hospital gown. “All over?” His voice was a mere whisper before he finally looked in your eyes again. He found them teary, and his heart clenched painfully.

“Yeah, I– The biggest one is across my stomach. Pomfrey has patched me up nicely, but it was, uh, it wasn’t good.”

He can’t fight the new tears that spill as he whispers my girl before carefully shuffling closer to you to give you a hug, or at least as close to one you could get right now. His cheek is pressed into yours, his hand on the back of your head, and you can hear him cry directly into your ear, drawing tears from you as well. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered into you. “So sorry, amour.”

“Reggie, there was nothing you could do,” you try to look at him, but his grip on your head remains steadfast.

“No, I should have been there. I’m so sorry.” He presses a kiss to your upper cheek, and his lips are wet. “I should’ve been there.”

“Reg, there was no way anyone could have known.”

He pulls back slightly, looking you over to see if he was hurting you before settling in with his forehead against yours – making sure to avoid the wound in the top left. When his eyes look into yours, you feel a sense of calm finally wash over your body that had been riddled by the shock of being torn open. A grey safe haven.

“I’m sorry, amour.” He keeps saying it like a prayer.

You try to shake your head, but wince at the action. His hand immediately shoots up to your jaw, to still your head. Protecting you, even from yourself. “You’re not allowed to be sorry, Reg, you didn’t do anything. You can only feel sorry for me, which isn’t quite that hard. I look pathetic right now.”

Your half-hearted attempt at humour doesn’t seem to drag him from his despair as his eyes keep searching your face, flitting from the tears to the deviating makeup. His thumb, ever so carefully, drags under your eye to wipe away some of the mascara there. You lean into his touch.

“They tried to tell me, but I– I didn’t know, so I didn’t listen and–”

“You were at quidditch practice,” you cut him off. “Everyone knows you can’t be disturbed then.”

Regulus looked at you incredulously. “This is disturb-worthy, you – anything with you is always the biggest priority. I’m sorry.”

“One girl versus preparing for the match of your life? Hm, I think it’s good you weren’t distracted.” You are determined to lighten his mood, the sinch of his eyebrows and worry in his eyes were beginning to make you feel sick for him.

“But you’re my girl,” he says in a low voice, stressing the words as if to pour additional meaning. “You’re my best friend, my everything. Y/N, you are everything.”

You struggle to come up with a response to that. Any mask Regulus switches between is completely discarded in this small infirmary section with you. When he holds your face and looks at you, you know what it is.

Unable to speak over the lump in your throat, you just drag his face closer to press a sweet kiss to his cheek, as always.

Except this time, while your lips linger on his cheek, Regulus uses his hand still on your jaw to angle your face towards his. With your lips millimetres apart, he looks from them to your eyes, searching for something, and then back down. He whispers another soft everything before pressing his lips to yours.

For all the times you had thought of kissing Regulus, nothing compared. You never expected there to be salty from tears, you never imagined his scent in your nose to be swirled with the disinfectant covering everything around you – but he was right, it was everything. His lips were unbelievably soft against yours, even as he pushed himself even closer to you, as if he needed you underneath his skin, not just on top of it. The pinky underneath your jaw digs into your skin, and you can feel your pulse beat against his finger.

When Regulus pulls away, your mouths are still essentially connected, slightly parted, just breathing into each other. You open your eyes and find him looking at you with nothing short of love.

“I–”

“I love you.” You cut him off, smiling a bit as he half feigns indignance before it turns soft once more.

“I love you, belle fille.”

“I know.”

Finally, finally he gives you a genuine smile. It eases your nerves more than even his eyes could, and you feel yourself melting back into your pillow. Unfortunately, comfort makes you even more aware of the pain and soreness in your body, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, mostly to himself it seems.

“I won’t allow that.” You tug your intertwined hands closer to you, wanting to share the comfort with him. “I’m alright, Reggie.”

“You’re wounded and bandaged.”

“And I’m perfectly okay.”

He gives you an as if look, but it’s good enough for you, for now. Then his face twisted into something darker and you saw the same desperation from earlier bubbling to the surface.

“What happened to Snape? And Avery?” His hold on you is still soft and caring, but the rest of his body has grown stiff, mind racing with imagined visions of what went down and of what he would do with them in return.

“Nothing yet,” you said with a careful, measured voice. “Kettleburn wanted to ease the situation first, but since it was technically his fault for bringing us along unprompted, I’m not sure what would be done. Detention maybe?”

“Yeah, Kettleburn’s an idiot for that, but Snape was the one who used an unorthodox and probably dark hex. He has to be dealt with.”

Though you don’t condone how fast some of your friends resorted to revenge and violence, even you had to admit that the idea of Snape knowing magic like that didn’t sit right with you either. There was no situation you could imagine where a slasher spell like that would be moral in combat. 

“I’m sure they will deal with him tomorrow,” you settle on. “Tonight the main priority seemed to be making sure I don’t bleed out on the grounds.”

Regulus’ look was pained as he pressed his lips together. “How did you get in after that anyway?”

“I don’t remember too well.” You truly didn’t, and the flashes that went through your mind were not ones Regulus would be better off knowing about. “Kettleburn shushed the Hippogriff back into the forest – it thankfully didn’t get severely injured it seemed – while everyone else panicked. Lily and Marlene were the first ones by my side.”

You both smile absentmindedly at that. When you first befriended Lily through your study sessions at the library, Regulus had been unsure of how to approach your joint integration into his brother’s friend group, but the girls had turned out to be some of the best friends you could have asked for. 

“Oh!” you exclaim, almost straddling Regulus. “Almost forgot, but you’ll be happy to know that Marlene suckerpunched Snape before they brought me inside with a levitation spell. Pretty gnarly punch, too.”

Regulus’ smiled seemed to be less from gratification and more from endearment from you. “I think I’d like to see Snape get a little more than a punch for what he did to you. But that’s a great start, darling.”

You rolled your eyes playfully at him. “It’s a start. And again, we can deal with all of that tomorrow. I don’t have the energy today.”

“No, no, you are the only priority right now, amour.” Any mirth slipped from his face as he studied you concernedly once more.

“I know you’re “alright”, but you’re not alright” he started. “Could you tell me where it hurt the most?” He looks over you again, as if he can map you out and fight your pain off, spot by spot.

“My stomach and chest got it worst,” you admit. “It’s growing more sore, but Madam said I could get more pain relief in just a little while.”

“Well, she also said I could only stay here for a short while,” he whispers conspiratorially, looking towards the curtain as if he expected it to be ripped back any minute. “Pretty sure we’re way past that.”

“Maybe she heard us crying like babies over a non-fatal injury and figured it was less of a hassle to leave us to it.” You squeeze Regulus’ thigh with a grin and he bites back a yelp.

“She would be wise to do so. Especially because there’s no bloody way I’m leaving.”

You don’t say much to that because you really, really don’t want him to either. You know you are fine, and for his sake you try and seem even more assured of it, but the white panic that soared through your veins those first few minutes is hard to shake. Even though you don’t want him to hold his absence against himself, you don’t like the thought of him leaving now that he was there.

“Has she said anything about a treatment plan? How long you’ll be here? She said you’re fine, so it shouldn’t be too long right?” Though Regulus looks at you as he asks his questions, you know he is already trying to piece together probable answers in his head.

“Most of our first conversation was her narrating what she was doing while I was moaning and not listening.” Your comment was off-handed, but Regulus seemed to wince at the image it painted in his head. “Sorry,” you mumbled bashfully, but he just gave you a smile.”

“Good thing I have the memory of an elephant, then.” Madam Pomfrey’s voice sounded just seconds before she ripped the curtain back and stepped into your little bubble. 

Regulus went straight into autopilot, rightening his posture and schooling his expression. You squeezed his hand tighter, so that he couldn’t pull away, but that had not even been any option in his mind. Pomfrey went through the station beside you at the speed of light, way too familiar and comfortable with these procedures.

“Miss L/N had 5 deep lacerations and several shallow ones,” she begins to recite and Regulus hangs onto every word. “The shallow wounds are almost entirely gone from the treatment already, but the more severe ones will need time to recover. She will have to stay in the infirmary overnight today and tomorrow for observation and continue to receive some medication. Among those are pain potions and salves for the wounds. Rebandage every 10 hours and apply new salves.”

“How will that affect her?” Regulus asked, probably pushing his luck with the matron.

“The pain potions will make her a bit slow and groggy, but she will still be awake. Though she should sleep.” At that she gives you a curt look over her shoulder. “The healing process for the wounds will likely be itchy and uncomfortable and she may develop a fever. We will pay particularly close attention to the stomach wounds in case she develops any infections there.”

“What are the symptoms of infections like that?”

You try and pat Regulus’ leg to say down, boy, but he doesn’t give you the time of day, instead focusing fully on any and all information the matron is willing to share with him. You had half a mind to joke that this was private medical information, but let it be.

Madam Pomfrey turns to Regulus at his fourth question, putting her hands on her hips as she measured him closely. It seemed like she decided on something and the next second she exited through the curtains again. You and Regulus barely had time to exchange a glance before she came back and threw a white coat at Regulus who catched it bewilderedly.

“Seems like I’ve got myself an assistant for the remainder of her stay, haven’t I, Mr. Black?”

A slow smile spreads across Regulus’ face before he hurries on the coat. “Yes, Madam.”

Pomfrey talks you – and now, Regulus – through the new pain potion she is about to give you, giving brief background on the ingredients, application and effect when the door to the infirmary slams open, decidedly louder than when Regulus entered earlier. Her eyes squeeze shut, as if pained by the disrespect and incredulity of students, but finished giving you the potion.

“That is no way to enter an infirmary, Mr. Crouch,” she says through half-gritted teeth as she works. She waves at Regulus to open the curtain to your bed, revealing Barty, Evan and Dorcas, all heaving as if they have been running too. “You seem to be particularly loved, Miss L/N. Please never get injured again, it disturbs my workspace.”

Your friends’ eyes are wide as they take in your form where you lay, still rather pathetically, in your bed. 

“Merlin’s tits, what happened?” Dorcas asks.

At the same time Barty’s gaze flits between you and Regulus. “Who?” he asks, while looking at you.

“I–” you start, but that was clearly the wrong answer because he then immediately turns to Regulus instead.

“Who?”

There is no hesitation in Regulus’ voice. “Snape.”

Barty’s face morphs from shock and concern into pure determination. He stalks over to you in three wide steps, pressing a quick kiss to the safe side of your forehead, whispering a quiet take care, Treasure, before turning around and dragging Evan out of the infirmary. The other boy’s jaw was ticked shut and went more than willingly.

Even you felt a bit bad for Snape in that moment.

Madam Pomfrey, however, only breathed a sigh of relief that they left so quickly.

Dorcas comes up between you and Regulus, sitting on the very edge of your bed. Pomfrey, with Regulus’ assistance return to the work on your bedside station, though his eyes are on you almost the whole time. He has that furrow between his brows that shows up whenever he focuses intently, and you are torn between wanting to kiss it and draw it.

“We met Marls and Lily in the hallway,” Dorcas explains. “They got halfway through their story before Junior took off with us on leash behind us.”

“Sounds like him,” you laugh, trying to hide how the rumble hurts you. “But really, I’m totally fine. Or, I’m relatively good, and will soon be alright.”

“Yeah, especially when you’ve got two nurses to tend to you,” Dorcas teases, casting Regulus a knowing sideways glance.

“Pardon you, Miss Meadows; I am a Healer.” 

You can’t help the snort that escapes you. Despite never wanting to return to this infirmary, you had grown quite fond of the Madam.

“My deepest apologies, Madam,” Dorcas offered with a gleam in her eyes. You could have sworn you saw Pomfrey smile ever so slightly.

“But yeah, Dorc, I’m well taken care of. I’ll be fine.”

“Firstly, just because you’re wounded does not mean you can get away with calling me that.” You laugh once more, happy to not be treated like a dying animal even in such a grave hour. “Secondly, I’m glad. You deserve it, and it was about damn time.”

You pretend to not understand what the last part referred to, but you knew she got you all figured out. You squeeze her leg in a sign of admiration and, perhaps, defeat.

“Thirdly,” Regulus interjects. “You need to either not make her laugh or leave.”

Pomfrey nodded emphatically. 

“Not my fault your girl just finds me absolutely hilarious, Black.” Dorcas winks at you.

“Speaking of someone’s girl,” you drawl, trying to even the playing field, which worked, if Dorcas’ light blush was anything to go off of. “Please tell Marlene I say thank you. I don’t think I got to in the whirl of everything and then everyone was thrown out.”

Dorcas’ smile softens. “I will, babe, but you don’t have to thank her. She’s still a bit worried though, so I’ll tell everyone you’re doing fine.”

“Thanks,” you whisper through a smile, accepting Dorcas’ half-hug before she slips out of the infirmary, which finally returns to its prior quietude.

“That’s enough visitors for today!” Pomfrey explains, clapping her hands together as she is done. “Only staff and patients for the rest of the night.” She shoots Regulus and his white coat a knowing glance.

“Does that mean I can sleep?” You don’t mean for your voice to sound so meek, but the pain potion is starting to work, and the more your body relaxes, the more exhausted you realise you are.

Regulus makes a soft cooing sign, coming back to sit on the side of your bed, taking your hand in his and drawing comforting circles on its back. “Yes, amour. We have prepared the station for when we have to wake you in a few hours for reapplication.”

You groan a bit at the thought of being woken, and both your matron and her assistant laugh a bit at you. 

“Better that than affection, Miss L/N.”

“Yes, of course,” you relent, letting out a heavy sigh. “Thank you. For all of it.”

Pomfrey merely nods before gathering her things and exiting into the rest of the infirmary, pulling your curtain shut behind you. You expect that is the closest she usually gets to a you’re welcome and you accept it heartily.

Regulus shifts into a more comfortable position beside you, back against your headboard, ensuring you are as comfortable and pain-free as possible. He brings your intertwined fingers up to his lips to press delicate butterfly kisses to them. The softness of it all makes you almost want to cry again, but you bite it back, purely because you can’t stand seeing Regulus cry again tonight, and you knew he would.

“Congratulations on your promotion.” Your tire does not hide the coyness of your tone and he smiles fondly at you.

“Thank you. Think she figured it was easier that way – and I have always been a top student.”

“Yeah, yeah, you and your OWLs.” You turn your head more towards him, smiling. “Such a nerd.”

“I reckon you like that about me.”

“I reckon the same.”

You lean forward and he meets you halfway for a slow kiss. The casualness of it makes it feel all the more important, especially when the past few hours of your life has been anything but.

He leans his head onto yours, drawing you as close as he can with your current circumstances.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus whispers again and you shake your head beneath his. Before you can tell him no, he continues. “Not just for what happened to you or not being there. Just, I don’t know. Being slow.”

“Didn’t we just agree you were bright?” you tease, but when you turn to see the sincerity in his eyes, you soften. “It’s okay, Regulus. We were both slow.”

Neither of you feel compelled to delve into the details of it, and it makes you feel more at ease. Even with everything, this was just how it was supposed to be.

“I’m glad I have you.” It is the best way to summarise it; it was enough. He smiles warmly at you.

“And I you.” 

You ignore the strain of some of your bandages as you lean closer to kiss him again, where he meets you enthusiastically – it was worth it.

“Go to sleep now, amour. I’ll be here to ease you awake when the time comes. I’ll always be here.”

And he was.

[happyhauntt]

la vie en rose — sirius black.

writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: it's just a regular tuesday in july until an escaped convict appears in your kitchen. oh, and he happens to be your ex.

─── pairing: sirius black x reader.

─── warnings: set in prisoner of azkaban. mentions of death (canon characters.) swearing. there will probably be a part 2 at some point.

─── word count: 1.8k.

     IT IS THE SECOND TUESDAY IN THE MONTH OF JULY, and you have a bad feeling.

     It comes with no warning, not heralded by a black mood or a grey, rainy sky, no creeping sensation lingering like a ghost at your back, causing the hair on your neck to stand on end.

     The sun is shining high in the sky. Residents of the little village huddle together at tables in the beer garden, tucked beneath huge umbrellas charmed to prevent sunburn. The summer holidays started a week ago, so there are no students milling about; only families you have known since birth, grizzled faces and smiling ones, long beards tied back in the heat, witches who have swapped out their usual pointed hats for wide-brimmed ones.

     It is hot and bright, someone has set the communal barbecue to work grilling burgers; there are drinks to be had, someone is calling for a round of firewhiskey shots, and all-in-all, it is the sort of day you dream of when you think of summer at the Three Broomsticks.

     There is no reason at all to have a bad feeling, and yet...

     It came over you like a wave the moment you woke up. Your room had already been almost unbearably warm, light spilling through the crack in the curtains, and a distant, suspicious buzzing that you suspected must be a bug that had come in through the open window in the night, but you'd had no time to dwell on it.

     The feeling had crashed into you, dark and sickly. It had stayed, even through a chilly shower and a round of French toast for breakfast, settling over you like a blanket made of stone. It was heavy, and you hated it.

     You hadn't felt this way in years.

     Aunt Ros had noted it the moment you got into work, sneaking through the back door with a face like thunder. If there is anything anyone knows about you, it is this ━ you have a concerningly happy disposition. In spite of everything you endured in your youth, or perhaps because of it, you’ve been known to flutter about the pub as if you’re living on a cloud, able to draw a smile out of even the grumpiest patron.

     Your past is a bleak stain on your life, and it is something you know you’ll never be able to scrub clean. Nor would you want to. No matter the sins of the people you once loved, or the graves where you’ve laid the remains of your heart, you cannot erase them. It would be such an injustice.

     The world is a shitty enough place, anyway, but that doesn’t mean you have to be.

     Today, though, it seems the world has got its grubby hands all over you, because it feels utterly impossible to shift this mood. Aunt Ros had frowned at you the moment you stepped into the back room. She’d tutted before you’d even had the chance to hang your bag on the hook, squinting over the thick frame of her glasses.

     “Did a gnome manage to get into your greenhouse again, or is somebody dead?”

     You’d huffed at her. “Neither.” You hadn’t had a stray gnome in your greenhouse for two years, and the perimeter spell you’d put on it would fry the little bastards if they dared to try. And as far as you’re aware, nobody is dead. Nobody new, anyway.

     Your heart had twinged a little, the way it always does when you think of your old friends.

     “Haven’t read the paper this morning, yet, then?” Aunt Ros had looked away from you, her voice taking on a peculiarly high pitch. She’d begun to fuss with a stack of unwashed glasses from the night before, drawing out her wand to cast a spell to start the washing-up.

    You’d paused. Alarm bells began to ring in your mind. “What’s happened, Aunt Ros?”

     “Better see for yourself, love.”

     You’d skirted around her and headed into the office. A copy of today’s Daily Prophet had laid open on her desk. The usual mess of paperwork had been shoved aside, and the headline had glared up at you in stark black and white.

     SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES AZKABAN!

     The floor had suddenly felt horribly unsteady beneath your feet. Your hand darted out to grip the edge of the desk, and you’d found yourself thanking every deity you could name that you’d come into the pub through the back door today.

     You’re certain every single one of the patrons huddled in the next room wouldn’t hesitate to stare at you. Or worse, want to talk about it.

     As if you have anything left to say that hasn’t already been said a hundred times over.

     Your ex-fiance’s mugshot graces the front page. It’s a recent one, clearly, and you’d swallow back the bile that rises in your throat at the sight of him.

     “You should go home, love.” Aunt Ros had followed you into the office. “Take the day off.”

     There’d been little point in arguing. Madam Rosmerta’s stubbornness is unrivalled, she’d been the landlady of the Three Broomsticks for at least a decade now, and besides, there’s very little to say. Her gaze had been dark and filled with pity, but an edge of vitriol had crept in when she glanced at Sirius Black’s picture.

     Her feelings about your ex are clear. Exceedingly so. You’re the only one who ever believed his innocence, and everyone knows that.

     So you’d folded up the newspaper and tucked it beneath your arm, retrieved your bag from the hook and retreated through the back door without argument. Now you keep your head down as you weave through Hogsmeade’s narrow streets on the way back to your little cottage. The sun beats down against the back of your neck. You swear you can hear people whispering as you pass by.

     The sight of your garden, with its neat little rows of marigolds and pink roses and tufts of lavender waving in the warm breeze, offers more relief than you thought was possible.

     Flowers have always had that effect on you. Even during the darkest days of the war, even when the aftermath of it had seemed so impossibly bleak, sinking your hands into cool pots of soil had eased your aching soul.

     There’s just something about the life of it all. How, even in the depths of winter, you know that spring will come again. You know the buds will bloom anew. You know that, every year, dead things come back to life.

     Upon reaching the garden gate, with its ever-creaking hinge and rusting iron handle, you cannot help but pause. The front door catches your eye, but for once it isn’t the pretty blue paint you notice, or the bright hanging baskets of geraniums on either side of the door.

     The door is hanging slightly ajar. The paint is chipped around the broken lock, which was certainly not broken when you left for work an hour ago.

     Not again.

     You thought you’d experienced the last of the break-ins years ago. They used to be a regular thing, back when the war first ended. So-called friends of the Potters wielding their righteousness like a blade, even though you’d barely spoken two words to these people at school. Even though not a single one of them could name Lily’s favourite colour, or recalled the name of James’ owl.

     Hypocrites, all of them. Drunk on power and freedom, the freedom that your friends had sacrificed themselves to gain.

     They would break in and curse you, hating you for defending Sirius so staunchly, but how could you not? How could you ever live with yourself if you hadn’t?

     You’d known him. Known Sirius as well as your own mind. Trusted him with your life, your heart, and how could anyone claim he’d done it? How could anyone believe it?

     The aurors had been no help at all. You were an irritation to them, with your constant campaigning for more evidence, for a fair trial, for anything. You were lucky to get them even to file a report about the break-ins, let alone investigate. That’s part of why you had to move, at least in the beginning.

     Living in the shadow of the school hadn’t done you any good, either. All those memories.

     All those ghosts.

     You draw your wand and push the door open, stepping cautiously over the threshold. You’d been a lot softer back then, sweeter than honey and freshly-bruised by the world.

     That sweetness is still inside you. In every smile and chiming laugh, in the way you carry yourself, in the petals pressed against your fingers and the love you hold for the people you’ve lost. It’s still there, undeniably.

     But these days, you’ve got a little more sting, too.

     “If you’re not supposed to be here, I’m going to give you five seconds to leave through the back door!” Your warning carries through the corridors of your seemingly empty house, and as the seconds pass, the tension in your shoulders starts to ease, but then━

     A scuffling noise at the back of the house. Near the kitchen, you think. A clattering sound, as if somebody dropped something.

     You don’t hesitate for a moment longer.

     Wand held tight in your grip, you charge through to the kitchen, a jinx settled on the tip of your tongue as you round the corner, but the sight you find causes your feet to come screeching to a halt in the doorway.

     There’s a man in the middle of your kitchen.

     Now this alone wouldn’t be so alarming, if you had a brother or a boyfriend or if, perhaps, Remus had bothered to reply to any of your letters in the last decade-or-so. but none of those things are true.

     And this man, this man you recognise.

     The years have changed him. He’s more than a decade older than last you saw him, though aged immeasurably by his time in captivity, with dark hair hanging in limp, bedraggled strands just above his shoulders. Ragged prison garb sits loosely on his frame, torn at the edges and smeared with dirt in places.

     There’s a manic look in his eye. Bright and stormy and mad, which is so familiar that your heart stumbles inside your chest the way it did when you were young. He looks just like he did at seventeen and McGonagall would catch them in the kitchens after curfew.

     That boyish innocence paired with the haunted look in his eyes is like a punch to the gut.

     A dish lies in shattered pieces on your kitchen floor, and it takes longer than you’d like for your brain to kick back into gear, but when it does, all you can manage is a peculiar, choked sound.

     There is an escaped convict in your kitchen, after all. Even if he happens to be your ex.

     “Sirius? What the fuck?”

[happyyyandcrazyyy]

flu (remus lupin x reader)

summary: (y/n) meets remus in the hospital wing. it’s quite fitting, really

or

remus and (y/n) are aware of the lingering feelings but won’t confess, maybe all they need is a little marauders’ meddling

warning: chronic magic illness, slight canon divergence (in the sense that i made up magical stuff lmao), description of pain (not detailed)

request by @ladylokilaufeyson5 : “Hi, I was wondering if you could write another remus lupin x reader? Maybe reader and remus are lowkey in love with each other and everyone but them knows? And the marauders try to interfere? On another note I absolutely ADORE your writing <3”

a/n: hii!! thank you so much for the request and for your words <3 i’m sorry it took me so long to get it done, inspiration has been hard to find these days :/ i changed your request a bit and added additional stuff i hope you don’t mind and i hope you enjoy it !!

chapter 1: the flu (spoiler: it isn’t the flu)

1.0

Everything hurts.

(Y/N) is used to that, the lingering headaches and muscle aches. They’ve been there for as long as she can recall.

What she isn’t used to, however, is her skin feeling as if it’s been blasted with cold air. She’s freezing and the shivers that run through her body are only worsening the pain. She can’t help the pained grunt that leaves her lips.

There’s movement somewhere around her— she would open her eyes to see exactly who it is but her body’s being uncooperative, and her lids are just too heavy —and the next thing she knows there are hands on her face. The back of the palm is pressed against her forehead, there’s a mumble, too quiet for her to hear, and then the hand’s gone.

“How are you feeling Miss (Y/L/N)?” And it’s a testament of how much time she’s spent here that even with her brain feeling as if it’s been stuffed with cotton candy, she’s able to identify the voice.

She tries to reply, but it feels like her tongue is stuck to the roof of her mouth. It takes her a couple of seconds to be able to articulate the words, “Like I’ve been run over by a hippogriff.”

The matron chuckles at that, one of her hands delicately moving some of the hair in (Y/N)’s hair away from her eyes. The laughter sounds somewhat fond, like she’s grown much to used to her comments. That’s the real testament of how much time she’s spent in the Infirmary, the fact that she gets the privilege of gentle tones and sweet hands.

Madam Pomfrey helps her sit up, one hand on her arm and the other on her back. The change of position makes her head pound, but she keeps her mouth shut, she knows better than to say anything that will keep her bedridden longer than necessary. She’s handed a glass of water and the matron observes her, makes sure she drinks it all before nodding approvingly. If the matron notices the way her hands shake as she guides the glass to her lips, she doesn’t say a word. She does, however, evidently notice the goosebumps that cover her skin and wordlessly casts a warming spell. (Y/N) can’t help the way her muscles immediately sag in response to the heat, no longer tensing. The deep ache lessens slightly.

“Try to rest,” Madam Pomfrey instructs as she takes the glass away, as if (Y/N) had enough energy to do anything else. She only nods in response and closes her eyes as the healer walks away to tend to other patients.

It’s quiet for a while and (Y/N) finds herself drifting between consciousness and sleep when a sound startles her. Her eyes snap open and she turns her head around to try to locate the noise. There’s a hiss, followed by a swallowed groan filled with pain (the kind of sound you produce when you’re hurt and it’s painful, but you don’t want to bother anyone because, yes, the pain is bad, but it could be much worse). It doesn’t take much for her to identify where the noises are coming from; the bed right next to hers. Knowing who it is, however, is near impossible seeing that the curtains are pulled shut.

They must be badly hurt, she thinks to herself, because Madam Pomfrey only ever closes the curtains when the extent of the patient’s injuries is serious.

Whoever it is keeps on moving around as if trying to find a position that isn’t painful. (Y/N) can empathize and maybe that’s the reason she finds herself asking, “You alright?”

The movement comes to a sudden stop, and it seems like it takes a while for the person to realize that she’s talking to them.

“Uh, yes. I’m— I just— I got the flu.”

And that’s a lie if she’s ever heard one. (Y/N) isn’t even looking at them and she can tell. It’s such a bad lie that it’s kind of comical, it makes her huff out the most silent snort, “Okay.”

“You?” The person asks after a couple of seconds of silence, moving around once more before settling, “Are you okay?”

(Y/N) crosses her arms over her chest, biting her lip down when her muscles cry in protest, “Also got the flu.”

That brings out something that resembles a chuckle, but is much to pained to be one, from the person.

“Must be flu season.”

She can’t help the way her lips quirk in amusement, “Must be.”

1.1

She’s back in the Hospital Wing two times before she sees (hears?) the person again. If she’s being honest, she hadn’t expected to ever meet them again, not everyone is a frequent visitor like herself, after all.

This time, however, the roles are reversed. She’s the one with curtains pulled shut (because it’d been bad this time, real bad, she somehow managed to burn her right arm and part of her chest and the feeling of freezing to death had been bad enough that Madam Pomfrey had been forced to give her Pepperup Potion) and he’s the one who speaks up first.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to holler for Madam Pomfrey?”

It isn’t until she hears those words that she realizes she’s been letting out small whimpers of pain. She breaths deeply through her nose and tries to quiet down, it’s kind of hard when it feels like her insides have been liquified, but she manages.

It takes her a moment to realize she knows that voice, she’s heard it before. It’s a good thing, she thinks, that she has the ability to match voice to people with scary precision because it only takes her a couple of seconds to know where she’s heard that voice before.

“I’m good,” she replies, “It’s the flu, you know?”

The person is evidently startled, most likely not expecting that answer, because they let out a small laugh, “Highly contagious, isn’t it?”

They have a nice laugh, deep and rich and overwhelming warm. She doesn’t think she’s ever heard someone laugh in the Infirmary before. It’s nice, she decides, different in a way she could get used to.

“Very much so,” she plays along, somewhat amused.

They’re quiet for a couple of minutes before the person speaks up again, “I’m Remus Lupin, by the way.”

She hadn’t expected to exchange names with the person, but this is a nice development.

“The infamous marauder,” she teases, groaning low as she changes her position. The bandage around her arm is beginning to itch. “Whatever have I done to be blessed with your presence?”

“You know who I am?”

He sounds genuinely surprised and that’s confusing because, really, there isn’t a person at Hogwarts who doesn’t know the marauders. She tells him as much.

“I figured it’d be James and Sirius who everyone was familiar with.”

(Y/N) shakes her head, even if he can’t see it, and immediately regrets it when pain flashes through her eyes like lighting. “I’m pretty sure you all have fan clubs,” she responds through clenched teeth, doing as best as she can to keep the pain from her voice.

She’s moderately successful, good enough to fool anyone who doesn’t know her, but Remus must be familiar with pain because he asks, “Are you sure you don’t need Madam Pomfrey?”

And she does want some pain relief potion (badly, she wants it badly) but she doesn’t need it. Calling out for the matron will only end up with (Y/N) having to stay longer than she wants.

“I’m good, Lupin.”

He hums in response, obviously disbelieving.

“Oh, I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” she tells him after a couple of minutes of breathing through her nose and clenching her eyes shut, willing the pain to pass. “Just remembered I never introduced myself.”

There’s shuffling, like he suddenly sat up. She swears she can feel his eyes on her, even through the curtains.

“The brightest witch of our generation,” he teases, but he’s unable to hide the evident astonishment from his voice. It seeps through, only a little, but enough for (Y/N) to notice.

She huffs and catches herself before she can cross her arms over her chest, the movement would be too much for her muscles right now. She’s not the brightest nor is she the most powerful, despite what everyone believes. Even if she was, it would only be due to an unfair advantage. It’s not really her.

Just when she thinks he’s going to ask something else about her magic, like everyone does— it’s always is it true you managed to cast a patronus when you were only twelve? and can you really perform nonverbal spells? and can you teach me how to cast protego with the power of my mind and no need of a wand? —his voice becomes gentler and he says, “Nice to meet you.”

And that’s it. No questions, no prodding.

She likes him, she decides in that moment. He’s not what she expected him to be.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

chapter 2: blooming friendship

2.0

Things don’t drastically change after that. She wouldn’t say they’re friends, not really. Acquaintances is a more fitting word, (Y/N) reckons, although sometimes it feels more intimate than that. Being aware of each other’s pain does that, she guesses.

Despite not running in the same circles, they’re friendly with each other; Remus nods at her when he catches her eye and (Y/N) always responds with a smile.

It isn’t until Professor McGonagall decides that she’ll be the one pairing up students for the upcoming Transfiguration project that things do change.

Now, usually professors allow them to choose who they’ll be pairing with— partially because it prevents conflict, but mainly because it prevents the heavily dramatized whines and complaints from Potter and Black, who grumble as if they didn’t spend their every waking moment stuck to each other’s side —so it isn’t surprising that the news are received with a communal groan.

(Y/N) shares a disappointed look with Crasswell, one of the best friends and someone she works splendidly with, and begs to Merlin that whoever is her partner isn’t Potter or Black.

(“Minnie, please! We’ll do anything.”

“Anything!”

“No running around past curfew.”

“No pranks for a whole week.”

“No stealing food from the kitchens.”

“No sneaking into Filch’s office.”

“No convincing Peeves to carry out mischiefs in our absence.”

“No trying to get the portraits to sing opera in the middle of the night.”

“This is all merely hypothetical, Minnie, of course. Not to say we’ve ever done any of these things.”

“Precisely.”

“But if we ever had, we could stop.”

“Grant you peace of mind for a week or two.”

“Because, honestly, I think I might die if I’m not paired with Prongs.”

“The separation anxiety would be too much for him, Professor.”

“I feel ill by just imagining it.”

“He does look kind of feverish.”

“Mr. Black,”

“Yes?”

“If you’re going to die be sure not to do it on my classroom.”

“Mr. Potter,”

“Professor?”

“Back to your seat.”)

Yes, (Y/N) really begs it’s neither of them.

“Ms. (Y/L/N) and Mr. Lupin.”

Merlin be praised.

She can’t help but sigh in relief, because not only is he not James or Sirius but Remus is actually a decent partner.

“You lucky sod,” she hears Black tell Remus as he begins to make his way towards her. “You got the best possible partner.”

It seems as if the class agrees because as soon as her name is called along with Lupin’s, the remaining students huff in discontent. She isn’t egocentric, but (Y/N) knows people were hopeful to have her as their partner— if Mulciber’s unblinking stare and Avery’s crossed fingers are any indication —after all, she’s known for being particularly skilled with any sort of magic that requires a wand. It makes her even more grateful to be partnered with Remus. He might be one of the few who wouldn’t exploit her to get a good mark.

“Hey,” she greets him warmly, moving her books aside to make room for him.

“Hi.” His smile is sweet, shy, it shows off a barely noticeable dimple in his right cheek. She thinks it’s adorable.

That’s really where it all begins.

2.1

(Y/N) ends up spending a lot of time with Remus. At first, it’s only because of Professor McGonagall’s assignment— they’re doing trans-species transformations, after all, and even with her unwanted magical advantage (Y/N) knows it’s a complicated and dangerous matter, so they’re forced to spend hours doing research before even beginning to experiment with animals —but it eventually becomes more than that. She finds out she enjoys his company, his attentive silence and quick-witted comments. Remus never looks at her like others do, not with a mixture of pity and sympathy like her parents, or like she’s an experiment that needs to be prodded at like some of the healers at St. Mungo’s. He doesn’t even look at her like some other students do, with greed and the intent of befriending her just to get a peek at her power, or intrigue and the desire to figure out why she disappears for days at a time. It’s like Remus is able to look past assumptions and expectations and see her. It’s different and (Y/N) finds out she likes the normality very much.

She discovers a lot about Remus Lupin in the months that they go from being acquaintances-that-see-each-other-at-the-Hospital-Wing-every-couple-of-weeks to friends-that-spend-every-single-moment-of-the-day-together. (Y/N) finds out that he’s got the gentlest soul and the kindest heart, that he’s someone who genuinely cares. He’s not much of a talker but is instead a great listener and an ever-better advice giver. It’s curious, she thinks, the way he becomes louder when he’s around the marauders. Not different, but brighter. Remus is also incredibly smart, not exactly in a book-smart-kind-of-way (somehow James and Sirius surpass him in academics, it’s one of the greatest mysteries to herself and Evans because they both swear on their lives they’ve never seen either of them open up a book unless the purpose was to destroy school property) but in an intellectual-kind-of-way, he’s knowledgeable and passionate about a handful of topics and it’s fun to have someone with whom she can debate about controversial topics.

Seeing the good in him is as easy as breathing, it’s all there in the surface for the public eye. Sensing his hardship, however, can be almost impossible in a good day. Still, (Y/N) manages to see what slips through, eyes that shine with an emotion that resembles guilt and shame crumbled together. After having Remus deflect when she’d asked, she knows better than to push him into discussing things he obviously does not wish to share, but those are the days that she pulls him closer.

“I think we might get this done tomorrow if we’re lucky,” (Y/N) speaks up as she rubs her eyes. After realizing just how well they worked together during McGonagall’s assignment they’d decided to partner up for all the upcoming projects. They’ve been cooped up in the Library, working nonstop on Professor Slughorn’s assigned concoction for hours, she feels like her brain is melting and never has she been more grateful to be done for the day. “Rem?”

At the lack of response, she turns around to meet her friend.

Remus is starting out the window, seemingly lost in thought. He’s been more agitated the last couple of days, anxious. (Y/N) has noticed he gets like that sometimes before ending up at the Infirmary.

“Remus, hey!” she moves her hand in front of his face, effectively pulling him out of whichever daydream he’d been in. “You good?”

“Yes, sorry,” he closes his eyes for a second as he runs his hands, “Uh, I don’t know if I’ll be able to meet up tomorrow. I haven’t been feeling well, might be coming down with the flu.”

And that’s the keyword, the word they both use, the one they know means something else entirely. (Y/N) wonders if one day he’ll trust her enough to tell her about his condition. She wonders if she’ll ever tell him about hers, too.

“That’s quite alright, we still got plenty of time to get this done, we’ll finish it when you feel better.”

Even months after knowing each other, Remus still seems surprised by her gentleness, and something akin to regret colors his features. She hopes he doesn’t feel bad for not telling her the truth, she doesn’t mind.

(Y/N) finds herself reaching out for his hand, squeezing it gently as she offers him a kind smile. “Get some rest, yeah?”

He huffs a little, like the idea of resting sounds impossible, still, he replies with, “I’ll try my best.”

Later that night, as she lies in bed with nothing but the full moon for company, (Y/N) wonders what kind of magical condition Lupin has. She can’t help but compare herself to him. From what she’s seen it appears like whatever he has doesn’t affect his everyday life and it also seems like he can always tell when it’s coming. She envies that. There are things she’ll never be able to do, like ride a broom and play Quidditch, and she can never tell when a new episode is about to occur. Well, that’s a lie, sometimes she’ll get the smell of citrus burning through her nose or a feeling of intense pressure between her eyes and she knows, but it’s never early enough to prevent the attack, only enough to allow her to escape to some place where she can be alone. Whatever Remus has leaves him drained and injured, she’s seen him sporting scratches and bruises, and that confuses her because if there’s one thing she’s learned by visiting every healer in the country from the day she was born is that magical illnesses don’t tend to be violent in nature. (She’s an exception, of course, because apparently she’s an exception to every single magical rule that’s ever been written.) The thing that itches at her mind the most is how Remus’s condition seems to be cyclical, not at all random like her own. There’s only a handful of cyclical illnesses, she’s read enough magical medical books to know that.

She sighs to herself, looking at the moon one more time before snuggling into her bed.

It isn’t until the next morning, as she brushes her teeth, that she makes the connection.

Her eyes widen in realization, toothbrush falling from her mouth to the skin.

Merlin’s beard, how could she be so daft?

A full moon high in the sky every single time.

When she visits him in the Infirmary later that day she brings him three chocolate frogs— which she’d bought the week prior with him in mind —and tells him not to worry about anything other than resting. He responds with a smile, one that’s pain-filled but genuine. She doesn’t tell him about what she thinks she knows.

2.2

Her next episode happens in the middle of the night, as she sleeps in her bed. That is new, she’s never had an episode while asleep. (Later on, when the pain is manageable, she’ll reach the conclusion that it’s not only new, but concerning.)

This, as it turns out, is both a blessing and a curse. Being asleep means she doesn’t suffer from the initial dizziness and nausea, just the muscle cramping and spasms that always come prior to losing consciousness. Even then, it’s like she passes out earlier on than usual, her body too disoriented to handle the pain. She counts that as a win, really. The downside, however, is that she wakes up feeling as if she’s been slammed by the Whomping Willow and stupefied at the same time, every nerve ending is flaring up. Tears well up in her eyes and begin falling without her permission. It’s been a while since she’s cried out of pure pain.

The pain not bad enough to knock her out again— she wishes it would —but it does manage to make her stomach churn. She turns around and throws up. Somehow Madam Pomfrey (when did she get here? had she been here all along?) foresees it and there’s a bucket that keeps her from making a mess out of the Infirmary.

She’s sticky with sweat, hair pressed against her forehead, and the tears keep on falling. Her body trembles with the effort of keeping her upright and heaving into the bucket. The muscles on her chest ache, badly. She’d feel gross if she had enough mind to think. What she does notice, however, are the shivers that run up and down her body. As if the pain wasn’t enough, she’s freezing.

Everything becomes a blur after that. She’s conscious, but she’s not. Madam Pomfrey works diligently around her (the shivers decrease but they don’t disappear completely). The curtains are pulled shut (are there any physical injuries or is it just that bad?). She drinks two potions (or were there three?), she doesn’t even register the taste. There’s mumbling (an incantation maybe?) and then there’s black.

It takes her a week to recover and three more days of rest before Madam Pomfrey lets her go back to her everyday life.

Her roommates come by and she finds out that they’d been frightened and worried out of their minds when they’d woken up and she hadn’t been in bed. (Y/N) doesn’t have to ask Madam Pomfrey how she’d known she’d had one episode; she’s been wearing the small necklace— one that is enchanted to detect increased flows of magic and heart rate —for as long as the episodes have been occurring. The matron was probably alerted by it. She’s also not surprised that her roommates didn’t hear a thing, she places a silencing charm around her bed every night in case something like this ever were to happen.

Remus also comes by; he brings her gummies and his favorite muggle book for her to read— he introduced her to romance muggle books and she thinks she might be addicted. He sounds evidently concerned about her, voice filled with worry (there must be rumors going around the castle, she guesses), but he never asks about her illness, only makes sure she’s feeling better. He fills her in on the things she’s missed, which include two highly amusing pranks by the marauders and a very public breakup by a Slytherin couple in the middle of the Great Hall.

Neither her friends nor Remus see her, the curtains stay shut until she leaves the Infirmary. The traces of visible magic floating around her fingers linger for days and it isn’t until they disappear that she’s released from the matron’s care.

chapter 3: hogsmeade, feelings and revelations

3.0

(Y/N) feels like her energy is being sucked out of her. Some days she wakes up to find out there’s already a headache building at the back of her head, others it’s hard to even open her eyes. She’s always cold. She uses a glamour spell to hide the dark bags under her eyes. What’s truly concerning is the feeling of her magic; it swirls unsteadily, uncurling only to tighten up again. It’s not painful— after all her magic doesn’t actively try to hurt her, it’s just too much —but it worries her because it’s uncontrolled. It normally takes a lot of effort to keep it reigned in, these days it’s even harder which results in her episodes occurring more frequently.

Madam Pomfrey wants to inform her parents about the recent developments of her condition, (Y/N) begs her not to— she knows what’ll happen, they’ll take her home and make her rest and then she’ll be visited by a thousand different mediwitches and healers only to find out that no one knows how to help her. Madam Pomfrey compromises, but only after (Y/N) starts pouting.

“You’ll come over after dinner every night to have your vitals checked,” Madam Pomfrey relents. “I’ll talk to Professor Slughorn about brewing a potion that’ll help you harness the magic.”

(Y/N) knew the matron had a soft spot for her, even if she tries to deny it.

“But if the condition gets any worse, if your health is at risk, I will inform your parents.”

(Y/N) hopes it doesn’t get worse, but that’s just wishful thinking, she knows it will. The cold feeling should’ve been enough of a warning; (Y/N) is pretty sure she’s dying. If that’s the case, she just wishes to be allowed to enjoy however long she has left before inevitably ending up bedridden.

That’s the reason why, when Remus asks her to accompany him to Hogsmeade, she doesn’t hesitate to agree, even when she’s exhausted beyond belief.

It’s how she finds herself walking around the small town, watching little snowflakes fall to the ground, one hand linked through Remus’s arm. Half of her face is covered by a red and golden scarf that Remus had taken off some hours ago when he’d noticed her teeth chattering.

He’s so unbelievingly attentive to her— he’ll pull her closer whenever she starts feeling weakness settling in her bone, letting her lean some of her weight against him, and he’ll gently guide them to whichever store is closest when the cold gets too much for her to handle. She doesn’t need to say a single word, Remus just appears to know, and that’s, honestly, impressive since she has a lifetime of experience at pretending to be okay. For a moment she thinks that maybe it’s just a coincidence, but then she catches the small glances he throws her way, filled with a tiny bit of concern and something else she rather not name. It makes her feel warm all over.

Everything’s going great, they’ve visited Honeydukes and Zonko’s (where, to no one’s surprise, they stumbled into the marauders, who, to no one’s surprise, teased Remus by making kissy faces at him when they thought she wasn’t looking) and walked around talking about everything and nothing. That’s another thing she likes about him, talking comes as easy as breathing, conversation just flows.

So, yes, everything is going great which means that inevitably something was bound to go wrong because that’s just how (Y/N)’s life goes.

They’re making their way to the Three Broomsticks when the cold hits her with a bone-aching intensity. She comes to a sudden stop, clenching her chest in panic, knees weakening. (Somewhere in the back of her head, she’s annoyed. It’s not even that cold, her body just seems to be spending its energy and heat in keeping the magic contained so everything feels colder than it should.)

When she comes back to herself, vision clearing up, she realizes that Remus is holding her by the arms. He’s speaking, but all she feels is pain and so his words are muffled. The frantic panic on his eyes, however, is unmistakable.

“I’m okay,” she reassures him when the pain lessens and the cold diminishes and she regains the ability to speak.

At some point Remus had moved them near an alleyway. Away from prying eyes, she realizes. Her heart grows fonder.

Remus stays silent for a second, studying her face. He doesn’t look panicked anymore, but the concern lingers and it’s obvious that he doesn’t believe a word she’s saying. He opens his mouth and hesitates briefly before speaking, “You’re still ill, aren’t you?”

It’s evident the way he worries about having crossed a line because he cringes slightly as the words leave his mouth. She doesn’t blame him, even when they both know the other is sick (is that even what they are? sick?), they’ve never openly spoken about it. It’s always the flu, and that’s that.

She considers lying, but it feels wrong to do so. Remus understands what it’s like to be limited by something beyond your control in a way not many can, it makes it easier to be vulnerable, “Some of the symptoms linger.”

He nods and (Y/N) expects him to ask more about her condition, to press for an explanation, but he just reaches forward to cup her cheek.

“You had me worried there for a second.”

Her heart beats louder at the admission, at the genuine concern in his eyes.

“I’m alright now, really.”

Her hand reaches up. She places it over his, the action reassuring.

“Godric, you’re freezing.”

But he doesn’t flinch away. Instead, he reaches out and places both of her hands between his. The warmth of his skin is soothing. If he notices the way her fingers tremble, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“You should’ve told me you weren’t feeling well,” Remus tells her, thumb running over the back of her hand in attempt to warm it. “We could’ve stayed in the castle—”

We.

He’s implying he would’ve stayed with her.

(Y/N) ignore the way that makes her heart race, the way she feels heat crawling to her cheeks.

“—played some magic chess or ransacked the kitchens.”

That snaps her out of whatever she’s feeling, the way he so nonchalantly suggests doing something that would most definitely end up with them getting detention. She spends so much time with him when he’s not around the other three that (Y/N) sometimes forgets he’s a marauder. Worst thing is, she would willingly accompany him to any adventure— risking detention and all— if he asked. She pushes that revelation to the back of her mind.

“You talk about raiding the kitchens as if you’ve done it before,” she teases.

She ignores just how handsome he looks, wind blowing his hair back and a smirk beginning to decorate his features.

“Maybe I have,” he replies cheekily, winking.

She rolls her eyes, somewhat amused.

(Y/N) isn’t surprised, if anyone would be able to find their way into the kitchens it would be the marauders.

They fall quiet and some of the previous tension returns. Remus’s face grows more serious.

He tugs gently at her hands, “Promise me you’ll tell me if you’re ever feeling unwell?”

She looks down at their joined fingers, observes the way his thumb keeps on caressing her hand, and turns her attention back at him, “Only if your promise the same thing in return.”

And at that Remus looks conflicted. He presses his lips together and looks away before sighing and nodding. His gaze returns to hers, “Promise.”

“Promise.”

“You want to head back to the castle?” He asks her as they make their way back to the main street.

“You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” he looks at her and grins, “We might still have time to play some magic chess.”

She groans playfully, bumping her shoulder against his. “You know I’m terrible.”

“Exactly the reason I proposed it.”

Remus never let go of her hand, not once in all the way back to the castle. He keeps them intertwined, hidden in the pocket of his jacket.

This might be love, she thinks to herself, and maybe if she wasn’t dying she would do something about the feelings that are lazily brewing in her heart, but she can’t because that wouldn’t be fair to him.

She’s so wrapped in those thoughts that she doesn’t realize specks of her magics slipping though, she doesn’t realize that as she holds his hand the bone-chilling cold dissipates into nothingness.

3.1

(Y/N) wouldn’t say she’s a worrier. She takes things in stride, goes along with whatever life throws her way. Maybe if she hadn’t been born with her condition she would’ve been different, but life has taught her that worrying won’t help at all. When healers tell you that your life expectancy is twenty nothing really phases you anymore.

So, yes, (Y/N) wouldn’t say she’s a worrier, but that only applies to things concerning to herself. When it comes to her friends— to Remus, especially —she can’t help but worry at the first sign that something is wrong and, right now, it appears that something is very wrong.

Last night was a full moon and, as usual, she’d gone to the Infirmary first thing in the morning to check up on Remus, but he hadn’t been there and neither had Madam Pomfrey. (Y/N) couldn’t help the way her first thought had been that something had gone terribly wrong, bad enough that the matron couldn’t heal it herself, and he had to be taken to St. Mungo’s and now her heart is stuttering in her chest and she has to make sure he’s alright and that’s the only reason she’s making her way to the Gryffindor table. If there’s anyone who can have answers is the marauders.

Black notices her coming their way, bumps his best friend in the arm. James is a bit startled, but looks up, nonetheless. Suddenly they both are wearing matching wicked smiles.

“Is Remus okay?” she asks before either of them can open their mouth. If there’s something she’s learned about the marauders is that it’s always better to have control of the conversation.

Potter and Black share a knowing look, and it’s Sirius the one that answers. He rests his cheek against his hand, “Good morning to you, (Y/L/N). How are you doing on this fine day?”

“Yeah, yeah, morning, Black.” She manages to not roll her eyes at him and instead crosses her arms over her chest, foot tapping impatiently on the floor. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, why do you ask?”

“Are you maybe worried about him?” Potter interrupts, voice taking a teasing tone.

She wants to strangle them both. She would, but then she wouldn’t get answers.

“Where is he?” she’s surprised she manages to keep the exasperation off her tone.

“We aren’t always together, you know.” That’s both a deflection and a flat out lie.

She sighs out, shoulders deflating, “Look, yesterday was a…”

That catches their attention and she realizes her mistake too late. They don’t know that she knows. James stops chewing, Sirius straightens up. Their eyes are unwavering and the initial cheeky friendliness is gone. They might be jokesters but they’re also unbelievably perceptive and fiercely protective and it shows.

“Yesterday he said something about not feeling well,” she corrects herself. Potter relaxes but Black’s gaze remains on her, unwavering and somewhat untrusting. Like he’s measuring her up, figuring out how much she knows.

“He wasn’t feeling well,” Potter confirms, swallowing some pumpkin juice, “and that’s why he spent the night at the Infirmary.”

“He wasn’t there when I went to check up on him,” she replies, eyebrows scrunching up when she notices them share a look of confusion.

Then, they proceed to have a brief wordless conversation before muttering lowly between each other, as if she isn’t there. Their voices are almost a whisper and only catches the words because she’s had years of experience being nosy and eavesdropping on conversations between her parents and mediwizards.

“Do you think Madam Pomfrey discharged him earlier?”

“Last night was different, Prongs, wasn’t it? He was more present, more docile. He didn’t even have injuries.”

“That’s true.”

She waits for them to turn to her, but they don’t. Instead, they have another wordless conversation, all eyes, no words.

Black turns to her. Potter goes back to his food.

“He’s probably resting in the Common Room.”

“He likes to read in the couch after, well, rough nights.”

And despite knowing he’s okay something within her still itches with the need to see him and make that assessment for herself.

They’re both still looking at her, as if waiting for something else, but she doesn’t have anything more to say so she just nods her head, “Okay, thanks.”

As she goes to leave, Potter calls out to her, “Hey, (Y/L/N)!”

She turns and raises her eyebrows expectantly. Potter shares a look with Black before saying, “The password is Oddsbodikins.”

That she hadn’t expected and the surprise must show on her face because Potter chuckles.

He munches on some toast and waves his hand dismissively, “Go see your man.” The smile lingers and it’s softer than anything she’s ever seen in Potter’s face— except, perhaps, when he’s looking at Evans.

She’s grateful enough that she doesn’t roll her eyes at them, doesn’t even correct James.

“Thank you.”

3.2

Technically speaking, they should be studying— the NEWTs are closing up on them and even though there’s still time (Y/N) knows that she should at least begin revising —but they’d spent the last four days drowning in assignments and she’s decided she would much rather enjoy the last moments of freedom with Remus.

They’re sitting in the shadow of one of the trees by the Black Lake. (Y/N) is reading one of those muggle romance books that Remus got her hooked on and somewhere along the line Remus’s head ended up in her lap. She holds the book with a single hand, the other one running through her friend’s hair absentmindedly.

He looks calm, eyes closed and steady breathing. The bags under his eyes have slowly become less prominent and he doesn’t seem as tired as he used to be when the full moon was a few days away. He’s humming under his breath, it’s probably a muggle song because it doesn’t sound familiar at all, and the sound is soothing, it caresses her skin and floats away with the wind.

(Y/N) flips the page using her thumb. Her other hand appears to have a mind of its own because it travels from Remus’s hair down his cheek, fingers gently stroking the skin. It’s only when her hand meets rugged skin and Remus flinches that she moves her hand away, immediately looking down at him.

The scar, she realizes. She’d just touched the scar that runs along his left eye.

“I’m sorry,” she rushes out, but he only shakes his head and, without even opening his eyes, his hand looks out for hers. He places it back on his cheek.

Hesitantly, she smoothly thumbs at the wounded skin. This time he doesn’t move away, just sighs.

“Does it still hurt?”

It shouldn’t, the wound is years old and appears to be healed, but magical wounds are different, sometimes traces of the magic remain and when those traces are powerful enough they can cause recurring pain.

“No,” his voice is deep and rough, somewhat drowsy, like he’d been halfway through falling asleep.

“It’s ugly, isn’t it?” he asks after a couple of minutes of silence. She can’t help the sharp intake of breath, the way her eyebrows furrow at his words. Nothing in Remus could ever be ugly.

“I don’t think it is,” she replies, and the sentence comes out in a hushed whisper, like it only matters if his ears are the ones to hear it. She traces the skin, notices the slight blush that begins to cover Remus’s cheeks. “I think it’s a visible reminder of your strength.”

Part of her wants to reach down and kiss the damaged skin. She manages to abstain herself.

He lets out a self-deprecating scoff, “You wouldn’t believe that if you knew how I got it.”

His eyes remain closed and (Y/N) is somewhat grateful, she doesn’t think she could manage to see the self-loathing that sometimes paints his irises.

“I don’t have to know,” she responds firmly, fingers tracing the wound from where it starts on his forehead all the way across his eyebrow and his eyelid and his cheekbone. “You went through something, whatever it was, and managed to survive. That’s strength, Rem.”

He surprises her by catching her hand once again without the need to open his eyes. He links their fingers together, presses the back of her hand against his lips and then holds it over his chest.

Her heart stutters and she feels some of her magic tremble within her chest, wanting to slip through her fingers. A tiny amount of it does, it seeps through her and into his palm. She feels warm. With much effort she reels it back in and ignores the throbbing at the back of her head, the one that comes along with keeping her magic in check.

Remus’s voice brings her back, anchors her to the present. “I want to tell you how I got it,” he admits slowly, eyes finally looking up at her, “but I’m afraid you’ll see me differently.”

“I would never.” And its earnest and truthful and she hopes he can hear that in her tone. In case he doesn’t she squeezes his hand in assurance.

They stare at each other for some seconds. The book she previously held is now abandoned on the floor. Her hand, the one that isn’t intertwined with his, runs through his hair. Remus nibbles on his lower lip, hesitant and most likely debating if he should say anything at all, before he squeezes back.

“I got it when I was five,” he starts. His voice is low, quiet, meant only for her. His eyes stay trained on her face, waiting for any reaction. “It was given to me by a werewolf,” and although she knew she can’t help the way her breath catches at the back of her throat at the admission, “along with the bite.”

He stares expectantly, braces himself as if expecting some sort of disgust. Instead, she offers him a smile, “I was right, then. It is a visible reminder of your strength.”

That was obviously not what he’d been expecting because his eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“You’re not scared?”

“Why would I be?”

“I’m a monster and—”

She cuts him off because she won’t have that, she will absolutely not stand for Remus Lupin badmouthing himself.

“You’re not a monster. You’re Remus Lupin, an incredible talented wizard that just so happens to turn into a werewolf every full moon.”

And that seems to appease him, shoulders relaxing.

“I’m scared all the time,” he admits, looking away and into the Black Lake, “of hurting people I care about. I’m scared I’ll somehow end up hurting you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

When he doesn’t look convinced, she removes her hand from his and places them over his cheeks. She forces him to look at her.

“You wouldn’t,” she repeats because she needs him to understand that she isn’t afraid of him. It isn’t until he nods his head that she releases the hold, thumbs running over his cheeks.

“Besides, anything could hurt me.”

My own magic does, she thinks to herself.

“So you don’t mind?” he asks, voice hopeful. “Me being a… you know.”

“You’re still my Rem.” The words slip out without thought, devastatingly honest.

He blushes again and she has to bite her lips to keep herself from commenting on how beautiful the red in his cheeks makes him look. She doesn’t say a word when he reaches for her hand again.

“Good.”

It’s quiet after that. She doesn’t pick up the book again, even when she was just getting to the best part, and instead basks on the afternoon sun. The throbbing of her head reappears but it isn’t a warning for an upcoming episode, it’s just pain. These days she’s getting a lot of that. (Y/N) looks down at Remus— someone who’d just laid his soul bare for her and had trusted her enough to not hurt him —and suddenly she’s speaking.

“I was supposed to have a twin sister,” she starts and the only reason she knows he’s paying attention is the way he shuffles and the feeling of his eyes on her. “But she died in the womb early on.” It’s weird, missing someone she never met, but (Y/N) does. She yearns for what could’ve been and what she could’ve had, a normal childhood, a lifetime companion.

With a sigh, she carries on, “By the time she passed we’d both already developed our magical cores and, somehow, my core absorbed hers. I carry within me both her magic and mine.” Every single healer she’d ever visited had been absolutely astounded, shocked beyond belief, because this should’ve never happened. According to every single magical law, magic dies with its user, magic cannot be taken away, magic cannot be transferred.

“Isn’t that… impossible?” Remus asks quietly.

“Theoretically, yes,” she lets out a humorless chuckle, “and yet here I am.”

And that was pretty much the reason she kept her condition a secret, because people looked at her differently after they found out (some in awe, as if she were some sort of medical miracle, some in fear of her potential, some with greed). If people— the wrong people —were to find out, she could find herself being studied in attempts to replicate what her magical core had done, to be able to steal someone else’s magic.

“It’s the reason I have an affinity to wand related magic and why I can do more complicated spells. There’s just more magic running through my veins,” she explains, her eyes fixed on some students playing by the shore of the lake. It’s easier to say things when she focuses on something else, like the way a second-year pinches a tentacle and runs away giggling when the squid splashes her in retaliation.

“The thing about magic in excess is that it’s volatile,” her tone becomes tense without her meaning to, so she sighs and forces herself to relax. “I can keep it controlled most of the time, simmering below the surface,” as if to disagree, the magic lurches forward and she clenches her jaw to keep it contained, “but sometimes it’s too much, too uncontrolled, and I lose my grasp on it. It’s like my body goes into overdrive. Best case scenario I have seizing episodes, worst case I seize and lose complete control of my magic. It can be incredibly dangerous.”

With that she looks down at Remus and finds him already looking at her. He’s deep in thought, which is understandable seeing that she is one of the most confusing medical cases in magic history, and Remus is nothing if not curious.

“You talk about your magical core as something you can feel,” he says and that’s a question she’d been expecting because magical cores aren’t a topic many wizards and witches have knowledge of.

“I can sense it,” she explains, not knowing how to word it other than that, “but it’s dormant on most magical beings, just a source of magic.”

He hums in understanding.

“Thank you for sharing it with me.”

She runs her fingers through his face and taps his cheeks twice in response.

(Y/N) swallows down the guilt of not telling him that she thinks she’s dying.

chapter 4: the marauders (and their need to stick their noses in everyone’s business)

4.0

Somehow being friends with Remus translates in being friends with all the marauders. It’s interesting, to say the least.

She goes from being exasperated by James and Sirius to being fondly exasperated by them. They worm their way under her skin and into her heart and— Merlin, she can’t believe she’s saying this —she grows to enjoy their company. She gets used to their jokes, teases them back, pretends not to hear them plotting how to break twenty school rules in one night.

It’s only because she’s grown a tolerance to their presence that she hasn’t snapped at either of them, hasn’t even rolled her eyes, even when they’re interrupting her study time.

“Don’t you like him, (Y/N)?”

They’ve been nagging at her for ten minutes, after growing bored of writing their own Potion’s essays. She’d thought ignoring them would make them eventually stop, but she should’ve known better; they are the marauders, after all.

It’s not after Sirius has repeated the question for the thirteenth time— they took turns asking, like the annoying children they are —that she sighs and decides to reply. Not even looking up and while she scrabbles a word, she says, “Of course I do.”

James clicks his tongue. She doesn’t have to look up to know that he’s leaning back in the chair and sharing an amused look with Sirius.

“See that’s what we’ve been trying to tell Moony.”

Merlin, she knows that tone and she knows where this is going. They’ve gone down this line of questioning with her a couple of times because, surprising to no one, they like to pry.

“Does he think I don’t like him?” she asks blankly and somewhat sarcastically, because she knows what they’re both implying but is decidedly not going to play their game.

“No, he knows you like him,” James assures her. He quiets down for a second and (Y/N) knows she’s not going to like whatever leaves his mouth next. James gets quiet when he’s plotting. “He doesn’t know you like like him.”

That makes her look up, unimpressed. “Never said I liked liked him,” she mocks.

Looking down to her writing and then back to the book of Advanced Potion-Making, she realizes she needs the fourth volume of Asiatic Anti-Venoms and pushes away from the table to go look for it. She lets out a deep breath when she hears them follow behind her. They’re like garden gnomes, impossible to get rid of.

“But you do,” Sirius singsongs from behind her, voice filled with mirth and amusement. It’s like her annoyance is his serotonin.

“Never said I did,” she parrots back, using his same tone. Her eyes trace the book and she hums to herself when she finds it.

Sirius is faster and slaps her hand away, reaching for the book. (Y/N) looks up at him, holds her hand out but Black only tuts and holds it up, far from reach.

“Come on, love, you’re a terrible liar,” James leans against the bookcase, watching as (Y/N) crosses her arms over her chest and smolders at Sirius.

“I’m not lying,” she responds, not sparing Potter a glance. “Come on, Black, give it here.”

“You might have a good poker face (Y/N), but your eyes give you away.”

“Please do refrain from staring into my eyes, Potter.”

James begins denying ever staring at her but she pays him no mind, eyes trained on Sirius.

“Black, I swear I’ll hex you into next life.” She presses her wand against his abdomen for good measure.

“Fine, fine,” he relents, not sounding in the slightest frightened by her threat. The smirk is still on his lips. “You might not be lying but you are deflecting,” Black tells her as he hands the book over, “and you’re also terrible at it.”

Scoffing, she looks at both of them, “Why are you two ganging up on me?”

“It���s fun,” James admits with a laugh, following behind her back to their table.

“And we want you to admit you like Moony so that you can be together and happy and all that,” Sirius completes the sentence.

Rolling her eyes, she plops back in her chair and forces herself to ignore their words. She won’t allow herself to go down that train of thought— about Remus and her and what could be —because it never ends up in anything but sadness. Instead, she opens the book and starts looking for the information she needs to finish her essay. When they remain quiet she looks up (quiet marauders are plotting marauders) only to find them looking at her expectantly.

“What?”

“So?”

“Will you confess and all that?”

Snorting, she goes back to the book, “You need to stop meddling in things that aren’t your business.”

Someone slams their head against the table. (Y/N) guesses it’s Sirius.

“She’s impossible, Prongs.”

She hides the proud smirk that grows on her face. Nothing makes her happier than annoying either of them.

“Look,” she does not look up, but James continues, “He likes you, (Y/L/N), and you like him, literally everyone can see it. So why can’t either of you accept it?”

Her hand stills as she flips the page.

“It’s complicated, Potter.”

I’m dying.

“So you do like him!”

She kicks Sirius under the table, but his teasing smile only widens.

“Oh, piss off, Black.”

“She so does, Prongs,” he mock-whispers to James.

(Y/N) kicks him harder on the shin but doesn’t deny it.

4.1

It was a bad day. (Y/N) knew it would be a bad day from the moment she opened her eyes to find colors swirling in her vision and a headache already forming at the back of her head. She, however, did not expect it to become a terrible day. Then again, life never goes the way she expects, and her bad day became terrible the moment her Divination professor told her he wouldn’t allow late assignments, even if she was submitting the assignment late because she’d been unconscious during the delivery date.

She’s upset and the headache won’t go away, and her fingers are beginning to lose sensation due to the coldness spreading from within her body. There’s nothing she wants to do other than slip under her covers and sleep for the whole duration of the weekend and yet, here she is. In detention. Because she didn’t hand in her assignment. Because she’d been unconscious.

To make matters worse she’s accompanied by Potter and Black— who are still going on about her and Remus and are apparently determined on making her life miserable. Now, on a good day, she would humor them, but this is turning out to be an incredible terrible day, she’s lightheaded and in pain and she will snap at them if they send one more ball of parchment flying in her direction.

Which, of course, they do.

“Fucking cut it out.”

The matching gasps are dramatic and followed by chuckles.

“I’ve never heard you cuss before, (Y/L/N).” Potter says in mock surprise, smirking widely when she flips him off.

“It’s madly attractive, I must admit.”

(Y/N) moves her middle finger in Black’s direction.

“Just messing with you, love,” Sirius leans back in his chair, a teasing smile taking over as he adds, “I know your heart belongs to our beloved Moony.”

There they go with that again.

She knows they’re just messing around, being dumb and intrusive as they usually are, but for some reason the words resonate differently with her this time. She wants to scream out, let herself feel all the love her heart harbors, act out on the desire of pressing her lips against Remus’s, but she can’t. That would be selfish, like offering a freezing person a fire that will die out as soon as they come close enough to feel the heat. She can’t do that to him, she cares too much.

Merlin, she wishes she wasn’t dying.

Pulling her sweater closer around her and crossing her arms over her chest, she cuts their rambling off, “Look, I think it’s better for everyone if Remus and I remain friends.”

And there must be a seriousness in her tone that hadn’t been there before, some sort of look in her eyes that she can’t control, because her words stun them into silence.

“Why?”

She doesn’t know how to explain why, it’s much too complicated, so she babbles out, “I— He— We just wouldn’t work out.”

“Why not?”

“Because, James.”

James studies her for a minute and he apparently dislikes whatever he finds because his features become stony. “It’s because of his condition, isn’t it?” All the teasing is gone, replaced by slowly growing anger.

She frowns, confused as to how he’d arrived at that very wrong conclusion. Her eyes trail from Potter to Black, the latter is looking at her unblinking, waiting for some sort of revelation.

“It’s not—”

But it seems like James Potter is quick to anger, especially when it comes to his friends, because he cuts her off and keeps on pressing, tone nothing but curt, “Moony told us you knew and he said you were okay with it but you’re obviously not.”

His voice rises, the lightheaded feeling she had slowly becomes a pounding headache.

“It has nothing to do—”

“It obviously has everything to do with it,” he’s breathing heavy, leaning forward on the chair, “why else would you say you rather remain friends when your pining is painfully obvious!”

“It’s complicated.”

“No, it isn’t,” he lowers his voice but the words are lethal and cutthroat, “You like him, and he likes you, but you want it easy.”

And all the semblance of calmness she has disappears at those words. Her sentence comes out cold and with spite, “You don’t know a thing about me, Potter.”

“I know you’re a coward,” he spits out.

“Prongs…”

Sirius’s warning goes ignored.

“He cares for you, a lot, and you can’t be with him because of, what?” he scoffs, “a condition he has no control over?”

Maybe it’s the rising anger or the increasingly painful headache, or the way Potter is looking at her with such misplaced disgust, that she snaps back, “It’s not about his condition, it’s about mine!”

The words echo around the classroom. James flinches back like he’s been slapped.

“What?”

(Y/N) presses her thumb against her temple, trying to soothe the pain away. “I’m sick,” she sighs out, closing her eyes and pressing her finger harder against her skin. The pain builds up and when she releases her finger it’s as if the pressure bubbles away. “Really sick,” she emphasizes because she doesn’t want to exemplify (most days I wake up nauseous and lightheaded, I can’t keep my food down, I’m growing weaker by the day, I feel cold even in the hottest days, the migraines make me unable to function, the episodes are more frequent than ever) but she needs them to understand it isn’t just a casual flu.

Both Sirius and James are staring at her in concern. The look doesn’t suit their faces, ones that are usually filled with life and mischief, so she waves them off, “It’s fine.”

It isn’t.

“I am sorry, (Y/N). I didn’t… I thought—”

“You’re an arsehole, James, and way too quick to anger,” he cringes at that, looking down. “But I get where you were coming from. You’re an arsehole with a good heart” He huffs out an incredulous laugh at that and looks up to find a warm smile sent his way.

(She’s never been one to hold grudges, life’s too short for that.)

“We’re good.”

chapter 5: on death’s door

5.0

The smell of citrus is so potent that it catches her by surprise, head reeling back and nose scrunching up. It’s only when she realizes that there are no oranges or lemons or anything in the table that would be able to produce such a strong smell that she grasps what’s going on. It’s an aura, one strong enough that it didn’t slowly make its presence known but rather appear out of nowhere.

She stands up quickly, only briefly stumbling, before rushing out of the Great Hall. It takes everything in her power to keep the panic from appearing in her face. (Y/N) only ever smells citrus when the episode it’s going to be a bad one— like the time she lost complete control and burnt her body and the time she’d remained unconscious for five days.

Pressure begins building up between her eyebrows and it’s a good thing she knows her way through Hogwarts blindfolded because her vision starts to blur out. Her knees weaken, she holds onto the walls to keep herself from falling to the floor. She must hurry and find an empty room, a place where she won’t cause damage to anyone else, because she definitely won’t make it to the Hospital Wing.

Her magic pulls hard and her chest constricts in pain, she can feel it slowly trailing down her arms, desperately needing to be released. She coughs as she feels everything tighten and there’s something in her mouth. She has half a mind to think that it may be blood.

Fisting her hands and stumbles forward. She feels all heat leave her extremities, her body’s attempt at keeping her magic restrained. The headache becomes a migraine, blindingly painful, and it’s accompanied by nausea. Everything is hazy and spiraling.

Tears well up in her eyes but the pain is too much, it won’t let them fall. (Y/N) feels herself falling forward, but her knees never hit the ground. There’s something holding her up.

With great effort, she turns her head around and even with the blackened edges of her vision and the mind-numbing pain she recognizes the face.

Remus Lupin.

There’s a brief moment of relief before the logical side of her brain catches on and then there’s full blown panic because if he’s with her when she loses all control of her magic he will undoubtedly get hurt. She tries to push him away but her arms are too weak. He’s saying something but the words sound far away and like gibberish, it’s like hearing a language she doesn’t understand.

She tries to move her mouth and form words, tell him that he needs to get away from her, that she needs to be away from everyone. She isn’t sure she’s successful.

Her ears are ringing, her magic is restless, her hands become cold enough to hurt. She feels the familiar tensing of her muscles and she’s submerged into blackness.

5.1

It feels like her brain and body are disconnected. She hears voices, rapid and hushed whispers. The words don’t make sense.

“Is she going to—”

“Her magic— too much—”

“There was blood and—”

Hands are one her. Her magic tingles in her chest, reacting to someone else’s magic. Everything fades.

The tugging of her magic core makes her regain consciousness. She can feel the threads of magic slipping down her shoulders and through her fingers. (Y/N) tries to move, but she can’t. It’s as if her bones are made of lead and her muscles of jelly. Her body doesn’t respond. She can’t feel any pain, but that’s probably just the potions.

“What’s happening?”

“Calm down, Mr. Lupin—”

“Should I—”

“Do not let go of—”

“I’d never seen—”

She loses consciousness before realizing that, for once, the magic leaking through her fingers isn’t uncontrolled.

Someone is holding her hand, that’s the first thing she realizes as she comes to. Second thing she realizes is that she isn’t cold. For the first time in a while, it doesn’t feel like her body is freezing, there’s heat steadily running through her.

Her brain takes a while to catch up and suddenly she remembers everything. The pain, the blood, Remus.

She bolts up, coughing out as her body protests to the sudden movement. She might not be cold, but she’s still weak.

“Hey, hey.”

Wide eyes look around in panic and they settle on the person who’s holding her hand. Remus. He has moved up from where he sat and is gently guiding her back to a supine position.

“You shouldn’t move,” he chastises, but his tone is gentle and his eyes evidently filled with concern.

“Are you okay?” she forces the words out and they sound something like a rough whisper.

His eyes snap up to hers in surprise, “Me?”

At her responding nod Remus shakes his head, “You are unbelievable,” his eyes look fond, “You almost died and you’re worried about me?”

When she only stares, eyebrows raised and eyes looking for any sign of visible damage in his face, he sighs, “I’m alright, love,” and plops back down on the chair.

(Y/N) doesn’t understand how he’s okay, she doesn’t know why he’s here and why he’s allowed to hold her hand even when there are traces of magic floating all around them. She blinks, watching the multicolored streams of pure magic travel around her. They don’t feel rampant but rather gentle.

Remus squeezes her hand, presses the back of her hand against his mouth and mumbles against it, “I was so worried, you wouldn’t know. You were bleeding and seizing and I…” he chokes on the words, “I thought you’d died.”

(Y/N) looks away from her magic and at him, ready to provide any sort of comfort, and that’s when she realizes that her magic is running down her own arm and into his. Frightened of hurting him, she tries to pull away, but Remus holds tight.

“Don’t,” Madam Pomfrey’s voice startles her. (Y/N) looks around to the source of the sound and finds the matron looking worse for wear. Nevertheless, there’s a glint of relief in her eyes.

“My magic—” she tries to protest, to explain, but is shushed with a single look.

“Mr. Lupin is what kept you alive.”

(Y/N) looks between both of her companions, confusion evident in her face, “What?”

“Drink this,” Madam Pomfrey hands over a vial and (Y/N) takes it with her free hand. It’s as she’s swallowing down the contents that the matron behinds to explain.

“Due to his own medical condition Mr. Lupin’s magical core acts differently to those of other witches and wizards.” That makes sense, (Y/N) guesses, but her brain is working in slow motion so this doesn’t explain anything to her at all. She looks at Remus and finds him already looking at her. “It’s acting as an outlet for you excess of magic.”

Her eyes snap back to the matron’s in surprise, “Really?” When she’d been nothing but a toddler she remembers some healers suggesting for her parents to find her a magical object in which she could channel her magic, they’d said it could be a way to manage her condition. Her magic had rejected every single object— regardless of how powerful it’d been or who it’d belonged to— and (Y/N) had been forced to learn how to keep the magic reigned in after one too many explosions.

Sentient beings aren’t supposed to be able to act as an outlet.

“And it doesn’t hurt you?” she asks Remus, studying his face for any sign of discomfort even when she can feel her magic being gentle with him.

“It barely even tickles,” he responds.

She looks at Madam Pomfrey with raised eyebrows because she must know this isn’t normal.

“The alteration in Mr. Lupin’s core allows it to harness your magic,” the matron explains.

“I think it even helps,” Remus adds and it sounds as if he’s just come to this realization, “My last transformation was my least violent one. It might be because of the time we’ve spent together.”

(Y/N) briefly remembers magic going out of her fingers and into his palm.

“Some of my magic slipped through the day we spent by the Black Lake. It went right into your hand before I could pull it back in,” she confesses, sounding apologetic. “I didn’t tell you because it was such a minimal amount I knew it wouldn’t harm you.”

“It appears like your magical cores are compatible.”

(Y/N) doesn’t know how she feels at that revelation.

5.2

Remus didn’t tell the marauders about (Y/N)’s magical illness, much less utter a word about their magical cores being compatible, so he really has no clue how they found out about either of those things. He’d asked them about it when they first brought it up, eyes going wide in surprise, but Prongs had only winked in response while Padfoot had pretended to sip his mouth shut.

“Your magical cores accept each other, Moony!” And this is probably only the fifth time Sirius has said this exact sentence, but Remus feels as if he’s heard it a thousand times before. He wishes they would stop repeating it because his mind has been spiraling ever since he found out, ever since Madam Pomfrey told them that (Y/N) needs to release some of her magic into him at least once a day to try and reduce the frequency of her episodes, to try to help her recover. They haven’t talked about it. They’ll sneak out through the Whomping Willow and into the Shrieking Shack every night and she’ll look away as her magic turns to life, wild and vibrant, and sneaks down her arm and into his. It’s like the revelation of the compatibility of their magic cores has shifted something in their friendship and Remus hates it. She feels distant even when they spend every second of the day together.

“It’s like… Merlin… like you’re soulmates or something.”

That makes Lupin still mid-action.

“We’re not soulmates, Pads,” he clears his throat, shakes his head and ignores the pointed look Sirius sends all the way from where he’s lying on his bed. “She’s a friend.”

Sirius scoffs at that and turns his attention to Prongs, who’s lying face down and skimming through a Quidditch book.

“Do you hear this guy, Prongs?” He points at Remus with his thumb and incredulous look in his eyes.

“Sounds like he’s delusional and in denial,” replies James without even looking up.

Remus rolls his eyes at that, ignoring the yelp of agreement that Sirius lets out.

“She’s a friend,” he repeats, trying to get it through his thick-skulled friends. (Because they could never be more than that, no matter how much he yearns for it. It’d be selfish to keep her from finding someone better, someone who isn’t tarnished.)

Prongs lets out a chuckle, “Sure, because you obviously hold hands with all your friends.”

“I… we don’t…”

“And walk them to their lessons,” Pads chimes in.

“And carry their books while doing so,” Prongs adds.

“I’m being chivalrous!”

“If you say so.”

“And, of course, I write all my friends little love letters that I keep hidden on the chest under my bed. Don’t you, Prongs?”

“‘Course I do,” James replies sarcastically.

“I told you to stop snooping through my things!” Remus’s indignation is ignored.

“Let’s not forget about gifting them muggle romance books because they’re obsessed with them and you think ‘it’s cute the way they smile’,” and Sirius changes the tone in which he says the last words making it somewhat deeper. Remus thinks to himself that his voice does not sound like that.

“I hate it when you gang up on me.”

“Funny,” Sirius grins, “that’s exactly what (Y/N) says when we annoy her. See, you even think alike!”

“Alright, knock it off, I get it,” Remus closes his eyes and sighs, “I’m hopeless.”

“You’re not hopeless, Moony,” James responds, his voice losing its teasing edge and becoming gentler.

“You’re in love,” Sirius teases, snickering.

Remus glares at him and before Padfoot can even blink there’s a pillow hitting him in the face.

“I’m joking, I’m joking” Pads says, not sounding apologetic at all, as he holds his hands up and dodges another pillow Remus sends his way. When he’s sure he won’t be getting smacked in the face he grins and says, “Things could be worse, at least she likes you.”

“As a friend, sure.”

His friends’ heads snap towards him.

James looks up so quickly from what he’d been reading that it looks comical, “You’re kidding, right?”

Remus shrugs as he shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Why are they looking at him as if he’s just grown another head?

“You’ve got to be the most obtuse person I’ve ever met.” Coming from Sirius it’s a pretty terrible thing to hear.

“What do you mean?”

“Moony,” and this is probably the most serious he’s ever heard Prongs be, “she looks at you as if you hung up the moon and the stars.”

“She does not—”

But Sirius has grown exasperated and cuts him off, “She does. Literally everyone is waiting to see when you’ll get together. There are bets going around and all.”

Remus shakes his head and ignores the part of him that is suspicious as to who started all those wagers.

“Look, it doesn’t matter if she likes me or not,” he ignores the way his chest hurts as he finally admits to someone other than himself, “I can never be with her, not with my condition.”

“Moony…”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” The more he thinks of (Y/N) the more he wishes things were different, that he was never bitten so that he could be worthy of her. He turns around and pulls the covers over his shoulder, “Good night.”

He misses the look Prongs and Padfoot share.

chapter 6: the masterplan

6.0

“James Potter I will hex you into oblivion if you don’t let us out right now!”

(Y/N) hears muffled whispers,

(“I don’t wanna die, Pads.”

“You won’t if everything goes according to plan.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“We die together, I guess.”)

before the answer comes back, clear as day, “We won’t let you out until you sort your things out.”

She sighs and turns around to meet Remus’s eyes.

“I tried,” she offers with a shrug, going back to her position on the floor besides him.

The storage closet is tiny and crowded, she holds her knees to her chest, the outer part of her thigh brushing against Remus’s elbow. There’s a squeak somewhere in the background, a sound that sounds suspiciously like a mouse. She breaths heavily though her nose and begins planning the marauders’ demise— current company excluded, of course.

“I can’t believe I fell for it,” she admits to Remus when she’s satisfied with the plan that surges in her brain for how to retaliate on the marauders.

There’d been a letter on her bed with only four words; fourth floor, 10:30 pm, tomorrow. The writing had been so unmistakably Remus’s that she hadn’t had a reason to suspect otherwise until she’d arrived at the spot only to be blindfolded and consequently pushed into this place.

Remus chuckles, “I can’t believe I fell for it.”

And, yes, it’s probably worse that he fell for it because he supposedly knows every single play in the marauders’ playbook.

From the corner of her eye she watches as he plays with the end of a broom. It’s a Silver Arrow— (Y/N) only knows that because her father is a fanatic — and it’s old and dusty and looks like it would snap in half if someone were to ride it. She can’t see the broom’s magic, but she feels it in the way her magic twirls uncomfortably in her chest. Being close to magical objects is a tricky matter for her, she never knows the way her excess of magic will react, so she tends to keep away from them. Right now, she can feel a headache beginning to bloom and the only reason she isn’t worried is because the broom is too old to hold powerful traces of magic, a headache is probably the worst thing that can happen.

“Your head hurts?”

It’s only when Remus speaks that she realizes her eyebrows are pinched together in discomfort. She forces her face to relax, but answers truthfully, “A bit.”

“Give me your hand.” He twists around to face her and offers his hand, palm up.

“Remus…” The words come out tentative, but that doesn’t deter him. His palm remains open, hand firm.

“We’re going to be locked up here for Godric knows how long,” he responds, “and we were going to do this later tonight, anyways.”

He’s right and that’s the reason she reaches down to take his hand in hers.

Immediately, as if her magical core detects his, her magic uncurls from where she keeps it reigned in her chest. It swoops all the way from her chest, down her arm and into her fingertips, mighty and bright. It’s mesmerizing, the mesh of colors and the palpable feeling of power, and she’s filled with warmth when the strands of magic curl around Remus’s wrist and into his skin.

She looks away.

“Why do you do that?”

“What?” she asks, even when she’s knows the answer.

“Look away from me.”

He’s got it wrong. She’s not looking away from him (she could never look away from him), she’s looking away from her own magic. There’s so much Remus doesn’t know, so much she hasn’t told him, and she can’t help the crippling guilt that fills her chest whenever he helps alleviate the pain.

“Rem, I have to tell you something,” the words are sudden and she feels like if she doesn’t speak them now, then she never will. Slowly, she looks back at him. “You’ve taken all of this in stride and I’m unbelievably grateful for how much you’ve helped me in the last couple of days, but I haven’t been completely truthful with you.”

He doesn’t seem hurt at that, only merely confused, “What do you mean?”

She breaths in through her nose and lets the words flow rapidly, feeling as if she doesn’t say them now then she never, “I’m dying.”

He stills, his hand tightening and his eyes desperately searching hers. His breath seems to stop for a split second when he doesn’t find any indication of jesting on her face.

“You’re what?” and he sounds breathless, words barely above a whisper.

“I’ve always known I wouldn’t live long. Most healers say I’ll be lucky if I make it past twenty,” she explains gently, trying to appease his worry. It doesn’t really seem to help. “My parents have looked desperately for any sort of solution but there’d never been one.”

He follows her eyes down to their intertwined hands.

Her magic tingles as it flows down her skin.

“Until me,” he breathes out in realization.

“Yes.”

“So you aren’t dying anymore,” he clarifies, watching as little specks of light start to flow out of the constant stream of magic pouring out of her.

“For now.”

His eyes snap back to her and the puzzlement is clear as day.

“This is just a temporary solution,” she confesses, “For it to work it would have to be done every day.”

“I would do this for the rest of my life it it keeps you alive.” His words are firm, coming straight from the heart, and she knows he means them.

(Y/N) shakes her head fondly, “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do.”

“You don’t,” she repeats, firmer this time, because she’s been reading through tons of books and Remus really has no idea what he’s talking about. “Agreeing to this would mean agreeing to tying your life with mine. There’s a magical ritual that has to be done, a bonding of magical cores.”

And the implications appear to settle in because Remus’s eyes widen. This is advanced magic they’re talking about, ancient and complex. The bonding of cores is an archaic custom that nowadays is only ever done in marriages of pureblood families. It’s the most intimate magical tradition, it joins two people together for life and it allows them to borrow magic from their partner. It makes the bonded pair powerful in regards of their magic but also unbelievably vulnerable. The loss or separation of the pair can be fatal.

“I haven’t told my parents about this,” she gestures at their joined hands, “about you, even when Madam Pomfrey insists I do, because once they know they’ll end up persuading you of going through with the bonding and I wanted to give you a choice.”

Remus blinks at her and when he doesn’t speak she begins to ramble. “I’m sorry for not telling you before, it’s just that everything happened so fast and then I started looking into this core compatibility and I found this out and I didn’t know how to tell you. I don’t want you to think I was using you because I would never, I care so much about you and—”

“Hey, hey,” he hushes her and it’s a good thing because she thinks she might’ve kept on speaking for hours. His unoccupied hand comes to cradle her cheek, soothing all her worries away. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

He shakes his head and moves forward just enough to press his forehead against hers, “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” His voice is equally as quiet.

(Y/N) finally lets go of the slight feeling of guilt that’d been chasing her the last couple of days.

They’re close, too close, his breath is steady and she can feel the way it breezes past her lips. Her heart begins to beat louder, the trail of magic down her arm slows down.

“Would it freak you out if I told you that I wouldn’t mind going through the bonding ritual?”

Her heart skips a beat at that.

She wants to back away and search his eyes, but she can’t, not when being this close to Remus feels this right.

“Do you mean that?”

“I love you,” he mumbles, words meant only for her ears. “I cannot bear the thought of losing you. Of course I mean it.”

This does make her back away in surprise. She finds nothing but candor and warmth in his eyes.

“You love me?” and it comes out quiet and disbelieving because this was not what she’d been expecting. She just told him how much of a burden she truly is and he replied with fondness and she can’t quite believe her ears.

“You couldn’t tell?” he smiles softly and (Y/N) swears her heart is going to beat out her chest. The traces of magic run warmer, gentler than before and much brighter.

And it wasn’t like she didn’t notice his love because she did— just the way she hopes he has noticed hers —but she always thought herself too selfish for wanting him. A small part of her feared to be rejected because she comes with stolen magic and pain. She tells him as much.

He breaths out a soft laugh, “I thought of myself as selfish because you deserve much more than a half-breed.”

“I want you.” Only Merlin knows how much she does.

(Y/N) doesn’t know who leans in first— maybe it’s her as she presses her free hand to his nape and pulls him forward, or maybe it’s him and the way he holds her cheek with such tenderness, maybe it’s both of them acting out at the same time —but the next thing she knows his lips are on hers.

The kiss is soft, gentle, unhurried even when they’ve waited a long time for this. Remus kisses with such intensity, even in calmness, that she can’t help the sigh that escapes her. She feels the way her magic clings onto him, untamed but controlled for the first time in her life, like it’s exactly where it’s meant to be.

chapter 7: epilogue

Everything hurts.

(Y/N) is used to that, the lingering headaches and muscle aches. They’ve been there for as long as she can recall.

What she isn’t used to, however, is waking up to a hand holding hers and the feeling of warmth enveloping her. The pain is rapidly subsiding, she can feel magic trailing down her arm.

The first thing her eyes see is Remus’s face, always mildly concerned after an episode but so unbelievably full of endearment.

She’s so so in love.

“Are you back with me?” he asks and even though his voice is soft she can hear it over the ringing of her ears. He caresses the back of her hand with his thumb, patiently waiting for her to regain the ability to communicate.

After a few minutes she manages to nod her head, squeezing his hand as an additional response.

“Don’t look so worried,” she rasps out when she doesn’t feel like her tongue is made of lead anymore. “It’s just the flu.”

[dovahtobi]

Four To The End Book Four Chapter Ten - And Do You? is now out!

AO3

Wattpad

[collecting-stories]

When Emma Falls In Love - Remus Lupin

A/N: I totally didn’t intend to make this as long as it is (6k+), it sort of got away from me while I was writing. Despite the title and the lyric, the reader is gender neutral.

Summary: Remus and the reader take a trip to Hogsmeade after Christmas break. Marauder’s era cause I'm a sucker for that whole time period.

TS Anthology Masterlist | Harry Potter Masterlist

…turns out her heart fits right in the palm of his hand…

“What’s this?” Remus asked, long fingers smoothing over the newspaper that concealed the object you’d handed him. The funnies, he noticed, eyeing up Hogan’s Alley with a nostalgic grin. “How long have you had this newspaper, by the way?”

“A gift for you, obviously,” you replied, tugging the bow on top of the rectangular package. “Are you going to open it?”

“I’m reading,” he teased, tilting his head to see the underside of the package and the conclusion of the Hogan’s Alley comic strip.

“Remus!” You laughed, “you absolute mong, open the package!”

“Alright, alright,” he slipped a finger into the folded edge and tore the paper away from itself, beginning to reveal what you had wrapped inside weeks ago. You’d been waiting for winter break to be over and a good excuse to give Remus the christmas present you’d bought him while you’d been home.

You’d heard him earlier, recalling some story of debauchery that the marauders had gotten up to while at James’ for winter break and you’d listened in shamelessly, minorly jealous that they got to see so much of Remus and you were confined to shared classes and passing in the hallway. You were friends of course, be odd to give a stranger a present, but only school friends. The sort of friends who work on homework together if they happen upon one another in the library. Who chat about the turn in the weather, a particularly difficult assignment, or plans for hogsmeade (plans that never include the other person, of course). You wanted to be more than friends and you had been hoping he’d get the hint since fifth year but he was either extremely stupid (which you knew he wasn’t) or he didn’t like you back and didn’t want to embarrass you. Which was perfectly alright because you were pretty hellbent on embarrassing yourself with no help from outsiders.

“I saw it in a bookshop near my house,” you explained as Remus stared down at the cover of Arsene Lupin by Maurice LeBlanc. “I thought of you.”

“Because his last name is Lupin?” He inquired, holding the book up against his chest, front cover facing you.

“No,” you replied, “because he’s a gentleman thief and master of disguise.”

Remus burst into laughter, clutching the book tighter to himself. The newspaper and bow had fallen to the ground and he stepped back, accidentally crumpling the paper further. “Brilliant.” He sighed, looking at the cover again, “thank you…I don’t have anything for you, I’m afraid.”

“Oh no, it’s alright. I just saw it and thought you might enjoy reading it…I’ve only read the first two myself but I do love them quite a bit.” You explained, trying to sound nonchalant about the present. You’d spent the entire two weeks at home mulling over whether you should buy it, whether it was something he’d like, whether it was appropriate to even give him a gift, and then, when to give it to him.

“Well, thank you,” Remus stepped back further, off the newspaper, and bent to pick it up off the floor of the hallway.

“I can toss that in the bin for you,” You mentioned, reaching a hand out for the rumpled paper.

Remus shook his head, tucking the book between his arm and his side, and began to smooth the paper out and fold it. “Oh no, I quite like the funnies. I’ll enjoy reading them. You can have the bow, however.” He peeled the red bow from the top of the folded newspaper and pressed it against your head, the tape sticking to your hair.

“How does it look?” You joked, reaching up to rub a finger against the velvety ribbon. You’d tied and untied the bow nearly five times before you were happy with it.

“Supreme,” Remus replied, “say, are you going to Hogsmeade on Saturday?”

“Probably, I’ve promised mum taffy from Honeydukes.” You had gifted her some for christmas and it was already gone.

“Ah, perfect. We’ll go together, as my present to you, what do you say?”

“You really don’t have to change your plans around for me,” you replied. It wasn’t so much that Remus had concrete plans, just that everyone knew he spent his Hogsmeade days with the rest of the marauders.

“No change,” Remus promised, glancing down at the folded newspaper and licking his lips, “in fact you’d be doing me a favor. Sirius and James have detention, and Peter’s…busy.”

“If you’re sure,” you began.

“Absolutely,” he lied. They’d only been back to school a week, too short for detention, or at least in this one instance they had seemed to keep their noses out of trouble. He was sure they’d fudge a detention for the greater good, or at least for him getting a date. Though probably it didn’t sound like a date.

“Of course it doesn’t sound like a date Moony, you said ‘let me take you to Hogsmeade as a gift because I was an oblivious twat and didn’t get you anything and I feel bad but also I’ve got no one to go with, which is a lie, so come to Hogsmeade with me?’ when you should’ve just asked them to Hogsmeade properly.” Sirius remarked around a mouthful of chocolate orange.

“It scares me to say this, but I agree with Padfoot,” James replied, sprawled across his bed in the dorm, looking over at Remus with a concerned expression. As if he didn’t always agree with Sirius about everything.

“I’m sure James,” Remus said, his gaze wavering, wandering back to the book that sat on his nightstand. Arsène Lupin looked up at him, gold foil embellishments and silhouetted profile begging to be read. He ran his fingers over the cover as he picked it up, imagining briefly what it might’ve been like to have seen you over break. To have wandered together into a little bookshop in Cambridge, searching through titles and reading aloud bits of summaries that intrigued you. He thought of getting tea, or coffee as he knew you preferred, somewhere quaint and quiet where you could sit at a corner table and whisper with each other.

A real date, not some fallacy.

“Are you off in your own head there Remus?” Sirius asked, eyeing his friend suspiciously. “Don’t go too far honey, you tend to ruin your daydreams before you can romanticise them.”

“I’m not doing that,” Remus huffed, reaching for the curtain on his bed, “you’ll steer clear of Hogsmeade this weekend, swear it?”

“Swear it,” Peter piped up first, looking to James and Sirius for confirmation that they were, actually, going to leave Remus’ plan unscathed.

“Of course,” Sirius’ voice sounded sickly sweet as he smiled, “swear it.”

“Me too,” James replied, a side glance at Sirius ensuring that they were both thinking the same thing. There would be no keeping their promise.

Remus pulled the curtain closed, settling into his blankets and enchanting the light on his wand so that he could read. He read eagerly, devouring the story, or at least as much of it as he could before he felt himself falling asleep. He knew it was probably a bit crazy on his end but he wanted to finish the book before the weekend so he could discuss it with you.

By Friday afternoon he’d selected a whole list of topics and written them out on a piece of parchment, testing the ones he thought might have the best result on Sirius and James (though they were unsurprisingly not helpful).

“Is Herbology an especially favourable subject?” Sirius asked, looking over the parchment as Remus scribbled a note in the corner about muggle books you might’ve read.

“No, actually, I think they were failing until last year…” Remus replied, looking at the word scrawled across the page in his usual neat cursive.

“Perhaps not a good subject then, eh?” Peter asked, straining to see the list.

“True.” Remus scratched it off and looked through the rest of them, “any ideas?”

“Tell them you fancy ‘em and want to snog their face off.”

“Has that worked for you James? Ever?”

“Actually…no.” James frowned, “sorry mate, I’ve got nothing I’m afraid. Quite new to this relationship business myself.”

Remus groaned, not close to being in the mood to hear his friend drone on about Lily Evans when he was meant to be helping. “Let’s stay on task, shall we Prongs?”

“Alright, alright…what about…why are these all school subjects Remus? Surely they don’t want to walk around Hogsmeade talking about classes all afternoon.” James said, plucking the pen from Remus’s fingers and crossing off anything that resembled a school subject. He left muggle books, the only category not related to Hogwarts directly.

“Sad list,” Sirius admitted, clapping Remus on the shoulder.

“I realize that,” he snatched the pen back from James and crumpled the list. “I just want to have a nice afternoon.”

“And you will.” Sirius assured, “they’re absolutely mad about you honey, it’s obvious. Embarrassingly so.”

“Compliment them, it always works for me,” James offered, reaching into his pocket for the leftover candies Peter had brought from home. They were softer than they were meant to be because of the time spent in the pocket of James’ corduroy trousers but no less delicious.

“Has it always worked for you?” Remus levelled, taking a lolly from James’ outstretched palm and peeling away the red and yellow wrapper.

“It eventually worked for him,” Sirius replied.

“Exactly, thanks mate.” James nodded to him.

“Anytime.”

“If you two are done,” Remus interrupted, “perhaps we could get back on track.”

“You don’t need our help Moony,” Sirius assured, ruffling his hair, “you’re a catch, honest. They’d be lucky to get a moment alone with you!” He grabbed Remus’s cheeks in his hand without warning, turning his head as if to show James and Peter, “look at him, regular model face, that is.”

“Get off me Sirius!” Remus huffed, swatting away his friend’s hand.

He crumpled the piece of parchment he’d been writing the list on into a tight ball before tossing it away. It rolled off to a corner, stopping at the edge of a bookcase.

“Looks like your quidditch arm is out of practice there hon,” Sirius teased, sitting down beside Remus.

“None of you are helpful, I hope you’re aware of that?” He replied beginning to gather all of his papers and books together to put in his bag.

“Leaving us?” James asked, chewing on a particularly gummy piece of the taffy lolly.

“I am,” Remus replied.

“Oh come off it Moony, don’t be a sourpuss,” Peter said, earning an approving nod from Sirius.

“How do you expect us to help Moons?” Sirius asked, laying a hand over Remus’ bag to stop him from leaving, “you’re friends with ‘em. I mean, don’t get me wrong, we all love ‘em and think the two of you would make a lovely pair-“

“Brilliant, really,” James piped in.

“Exactly Prongs, but you’ll know what to say better than us. Just don’t overthink it, alright? Any other day with them, yeah.”

“It’s not any other day though Sirius.” Remus sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“You see them in Hogmeade plenty.” He argued, which was technically true.

Remus had run into you plenty of times in Honeydukes or at the Three Broomsticks. On occasion, more in fifth year and then hardly in sixth and now never in seventh, you’d ask if he might want to get a butterbeer with you but he always declined because he was with James, Sirius, and Peter. It was unfortunate and he wished everytime that he just put aside whatever niggling self-doubt existed in the back of his head because he really could be quite charming when he wanted to be (when there were no strings attached…or feelings, more accurately).

“Getting in your head again honey?” Sirius asked, drawing him out of a daydream. A rather bleak one, as it stood.

Remus hummed, “You think it’ll be alright?”

“I’ve never known you to worry this much over a date,” James replied, “what about that bird you went out with over christmas?”

“Exactly my point James,” Remus replied, “I tend to avoid going on dates with people who matter a great deal to me. It’s let’s messy that way, but it’s given me zero training in what I ought to do on a real date.”

“What about all the dates we’ve been on?” Sirius posed and Remus shoved him gently.

“We’ve not been on dates you mong,” he replied.

“That’s truly hurtful hon, can’t believe you would wound me that way when I’m here offering you support in your great hour of need.” Sirius teased.

Remus rolled his eyes at his best friend, finally pushing his chair back and standing up, “I’m heading back to the common room.”

“To wallow in your bunk Moony?” James called, earning and immediate shushing from Madam Pince.

Remus paused monetarily to offer James his middle finger in reply before making his way out of the library. The corridors were empty all the way back to the gryffindor common room and Remus spent the walk trying to rehearse talking points with himself in his head. As much as his friends drove him mad with their advice, he knew they were half-right and fully looking out for him. He just needed to calm down his brain, it was you after all. His darling study partner and an absolute vision in yellow.

You wore a lot of yellow; even Peter had commented on it once in the library (“you wear an awful lot of yellow” “yes, well, I am a Hufflepuff”) but Remus thought of it more like Marigold. Like a flower sprouting up to reach the golden rays of the sun, Remus felt the warmth of the color radiating off of you every time he was near.

It was no surprise then that you turned up in yellow on the morning of Hogsmeade. Black doc martens inherited from your father, yellow corduroy pants and a striped sweater that looked soft and felt softer when he hugged you.

“You look very excited this morning,” you mentioned in a teasing tone, smiling at him.

“Do I?” He asked, looking down at himself as though his excitement was a coat he could simply shed himself of.

“For someone who didn’t have anyone to go to Hogsmeade with,” you replied, “you’re very cheerful.”

“Well, not no one,” Remus insisted, “we’re going together.”

You smiled, tilting your head back as if you were turning your chin to the sun. “That we are,” you agreed.

As other students gathered in the courtyard began to depart for the long trek to Hogsmeade, Remus held his arm up, bent at the elbow, as if presenting it to you. The gesture was an inside joke that probably wasn’t truly funny and that neither of you could accurately recall the origin of but you laughter all the same. You took his arm, fingers pressing into the fabric of his plaid blazer, and allowed him to begin the journey. Mostly it was an enjoyable silence, you didn’t feel any pressure to fill the space (and you almost always felt pressure to fill empty air with some rambling assortment of nonsense) and Remus let his daydreams be far more romantic in nature than he usually allowed.

Remus was a bit of a cynic, more than a bit if any of his friends were queried on the topic, though he was wont to blame his lycanthropy for that less charming quality. Whether he would’ve been prone to cynicism without the affliction or not, Sirius was right. He did tend to let himself talk circles around any good thought that passed through his head until it became absolutely, unbearably, negative.

“Are you having a conversation with yourself there?” You asked, drawing his attention to you. The both of you had passed into Hogsmeade and when you’d begun asking which shop he’d most like to go in you’d realized he wasn’t paying the least bit of attention.

Remus hummed in reply and then shook his head as his brain caught up with the question you’d asked him, “no, sorry. James tells me I’m prone to daydreaming though I don’t often realize I’m doing it, I suppose he’s right.”

“There’s nothing I love more than a good daydream,” you replied, “Did I ever tell you, I zoned out on Alice’s hat when I was being sorted…imagined myself unraveling the whole horrid thing and fashioning it into a cute little top, I’m quite the crocheter, if you don’t know, and the sorting hat thought it was a trip…stuck me in Hufflepuff over the whole thing. Said I had too much going on between my ears,” you laughed as you finished the story and Remus couldn’t help smiling at you.

It was a nonsensical story but it had seemed to ease the tension in his bones, relaxing him enough to let him banish the niggling cynicism that made a home in his head.

“Are you positive it didn’t say Ravenclaw and you misheard, being so distracted as you were?” He asked.

You huffed out a laugh, “I heard correctly! Surely if I hadn’t someone might’ve mentioned it.”

Remus hummed in response as if he was weighing the validity of your argument, “I suppose.”

“I should crochet you something, it probably would’ve made a nicer gift than a silly book,” you mentioned, changing the subject, already thinking how nice Remus would look in a wool sweater. Maybe a maroon or a deep brown, he seemed to always be in earth tones and mismatched plaids.

“I quite like the book, actually,” Remus replied. He’d finished it within the three days between when you’d gifted it him and today. He wanted to be sure he cloud talk to you about and was thrilled to find that he throughly enjoyed the story (and his namesake, though Arséne sounded much classier than Remus).

“Have you started it?” You asked, passed beneath his arm as he held the door open to the Three Broomsticks. As he followed you in he caught sight of Rosemerta, watching him with a smirk as though she knew something he didn’t. Or perhaps she was more insightful than he gave her credit for and she could tell from across the crowded tavern that he was bumbling his way through a first date, hoping that you thought it was a first day to.

“Yes, I started it the other night, really very good,” he replied, taking a window spot.

You sat on the stool beside him, eyebrows pulling together as you looked out the window, your expression half way between surprise and confusion.

“Something wrong?” Remus asked, looking out the window himself but seeing only some younger students he wasn’t familiar with.

“No,” you shook your head, “just thought I saw…can’t be though. Anyway,” you changed the topic quickly, “I tried making butterbeer at home over the holiday but it turned out rather poorly.”

“I’ve never tried making it…don’t think it’s crossed my mind,” Remus replied. He turned in his stool, “just realized I’ve to get the drinks,” he slid off his seat and headed over to the bar to order.

You looked out the window again as he weaved his way through the crowd. Outside, against the backdrop of the snow you thought you saw something, blinking away the image at first and then…you realized you weren’t seeing things at all. Sirius was standing there, looking as if he didn’t know quite how he was visible to you but he recovered quickly, offering a wave and a wink. You waved back and then he pressed his finger to his lips before pointing over your shoulder and you understood the silent request. Don’t tell Remus. You smiled and nodded and then, practically before your own eyes the boy seemed to disappear.

“Here we are,” Remus set the butterbeer in front of you and resumed his spot. “How was your holiday? I don’t think I properly inquired before.”

“It was alright,” you shrugged, taking a sip of your drink, “my sister’s had the baby, so everyone was in a state over it. You would’ve thought it funny, the little devil puked all down the front of my party outfit on Christmas Eve!”

“Did he really?” Remus hid his mouth behind his glass, taking a somewhat stunted drink as he tried not to laugh at your misfortune.

You nodded in reply, unable to contain your own quiet laughter. “It was quite becoming too, my party outfit. Sirius owled me about coming to a Christmas party, which I was really very surprised by, and I’d picked it out just for the occasion.”

The flush that Remus had felt on his cheeks colored his neck and ears at the thought of Sirius inviting you to their Christmas party. His best friend had been particularly rowdy that evening and Remus had suspected that he’d had something up his sleeve but nothing had ever come of it. Now he knew; Sirius had been trying to get him to “make a move” on you since fifth year, when he’d first caught wind of Remus’ crush. Or infatuation perhaps.

“I’m sure it was lovely,” Remus replied, trying to fit you into what he thought you might wear to a fancy dress party. Something golden and soft and glittery, if he was asked to bet money on his assumptions.

“It really was!” You exclaimed, “I tried a spell to clean it off but i’m rubbish at household magic and ended up melting it! I looked like I was wearing a baby’s bib after they’ve thrown up on it!”

Remus laughed at the image your words produced, taking the final sip of his butterbeer, “I didn’t know you were planning on coming to the party, mishap aside I would have loved to see you there.”

Your heart swelled at his use of the word “loved” and you smiled, “Well my night was just as chaotic, I’m sure. Do you mind popping in to Honeydukes? I don’t want to keep you.”

“I wouldn’t mind it.” Remus muttered, the words slipping out before he could stop himself.

“Sorry?” You had busied yourself with pulling your coat back on and looked up in confusion, having not fully heard him over the commotion of the tavern.

“Oh, I was just uh…I have plenty of time. All day really.” He insisted, standing himself and taking his hat off the table so he could follow you back out to the village street.

“Damn!” You stopped suddenly, recalling with all the annoyance of someone who had forgotten something vital to their daily life that you had left your second present for Remus in the refrigerator at home.

“Are you alright?”

“I’d forgotten, because of baby Lucifer…not his real name ‘course…I made a batch of fudge for you. I was going to sneak it to you at the party but I obviously did not attend and so it’s sitting in the fridge at home.” You replied, already thinking of what you would say in an owl home to your mother.

“That’s alright, honest,” Remus replied, laying a hand gently on the back of your coat. The pressure of his touch seemed to get you moving again. “Wait, why would you need to sneak it to me?” He asked, his mind catching up to the entirety of your situation.

“Well, Sirius invited me to the party, as I’ve said, and he said you’d be there, very specifically too, and so I made you the fudge…this was before I saw the book of course…but I didn’t make anything for anyone else. I hate people feeling left out, naturally, but it didn’t even occur to me until I was getting ready to come over. And then, of course, I suppose it worked out because my sister handed me Fredagar, that’s his real name by the way…a doozy if you ask me…and well, you know the rest.” You replied, “I was looking forward to going though, I thought about owning you over the holiday but I didn’t want to seem like that nagging friend who didn’t know the boundaries of their friendship, you know?”

“You could never,” Remus replied, “I’d like to think there are very few boundaries on our friendship, if any.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” you said, plucking a cellophane bag of taffy off the shelf in Honeydukes for your mum, “I’m not completely clueless though Remus, I know you’ve got a couple secrets up your sleeve.”

Despite the smile when you said it, Remus felt the flush that had been staining his cheeks rush away as he paled. He looked almost nervous, you thought, far more serious than you’d intended. You had a few ideas about what his secret might be, and you knew he had one, but you would never wager a guess out loud. His business was his and if he wanted to share, when he wanted to share, you knew he would.

“Sorry,” you apologized, taking his hand in yours and giving a squeeze of reassurance, “I didn’t mean to upset you Remus, I was only teasing.”

“Of course,” he nodded, squeezing your hand back. “I didn’t mean to-“

“Don’t think anything of it,” you replied, “now, tell me how your holiday was? Did you lot get into any trouble?”

Remus tried to refocus, shaking his head gently to clear his thoughts, “With Sirius and James?” He reached for the candy in your hand, “here, let me get this for you.”

“Oh no, you got the butterbeers,” you replied, “besides the taffy is for my mum. I’m only getting the sherbet lemons and the chocolate frog. Hoping it’s not Dumbledore again, got a load of him.”

“James’ got a whole shoebox full of Dumbledores,” Remus replied, “Sometimes he lines them all up and watches him go back and forth between them all.”

You laughed at the thought of James sprawled out with his wizard cards, staring at Dumbledore passing through them. “Sounds like him.” You replied. “No, Remus, really-“

“I insist,” he placed the candies on the counter with his and then realized he’d need his other hand, “sorry I-“

“Oh, gosh, sorry…didn’t even realize I was still hanging on to you.” You let go, crossing your arms and looking around the shop while he paid.

“It’s alright,” Remus took the bag of sweets from the lady behind the counter and then reached over, deciding that maybe a bold move would be the right one, and took your hand again. “Do you want to walk a bit? Maybe?”

“Sounds good,” you agreed, letting Remus lead you back out onto the streets and through Hogsmeade.

The companionable silence from before seemed to fall over the two of you as you made your way around the small village. Remus let himself focus on the feeling of holding your hand in his and not the nerves that were still eating at him from your earlier comment. If he thought too hard on it he’d follow his own rabbit hole to the conclusion that you had figured him out and though you were still very obviously right here beside him, your motivations for wanting to be his friend if you knew were murky at best. He knew he was catastrophizing, even if he didn’t intend to, and that was probably why he didn’t realise exactly where he was until you finally spoke up.

“My sister used to tell me she would lock me in there when she was still at Hogwarts.”

Remus looked up in confusion, the Shrieking Shack standing a few meters away behind an old rickety fence.

“The shrieking shack,” he said, just for good measure.

“What do you think of it?” You asked.

“What do you mean?” His grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly and he looked as uneasy as he had back in Honeydukes.

“Oh, just like, do you really think some murderous hermit lives there? That’s what my sister used to tell me, that he built the house on the bones of his victims and that it was their screams you could hear on the anniversaries of their death.” You replied, gravely. Just as quickly you smiled, “or something like that.”

“I’ve heard a different one then,” Remus laughed.

“Have you? Suppose it’s not a murderer then. That’s a relief.” You replied.

“I should tell you,” Remus began, clearing his throat, trying to calm his nerves. “I uh, well, Sirius and James didn’t actually have detention today. And Peter wasn’t busy either, I sort of…well I wanted to come to Hogsmeade with you and I didn’t know or I was too nervous to ask.”

You bit your bottom lip to stop the smile that was threatening to spread. “I sort of, guessed about the Sirius and James bit. Not that I knew you were lying just to go out with me, if that is what your saying-“

“It is. It…how did you know about James and Sirius?” He asked, perplexed.

“I think they might’ve been following us, I saw Sirius outside of The Three Broomsticks,” you replied.

Remus looked around quickly, as if he could somehow see them, hiding out in the open, when it was just the two of you. “You swore you’d stay out of Hogsmeade!” He called to the empty space around you.

And despite Sirius and James appearing seemingly out of thin air you only felt mildly surprised to see them both. “Did your sister really name her son Fredagar?” Sirius asked as he ran a hand through his hair and straightened his jacket.

Remus looked absolutely peeved, though you weren’t sure if it was because they broken their promise or because they’d been following the two of you around Hogsmeade all afternoon. “Oh, come off it Moony, we would’ve closed our eyes if you two started snogging.” James said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

You chose to ignore him and focus on Sirius instead, “afraid so. According to her husband it’s a family name.”

Remus still looked bother and perhaps now a touch embarrassed, the red coming back to his cheeks in full force. He let go of your hand in favor of crossing his arms, looking about the clearing as though someone else might be there as well.

“Peter didn’t come, the spoilsport said ‘we promised Remus we’d stay behind’.” Sirius answered the unspoken question, pitching his voice higher to sound like Peter.

“At least one of my friends actually listens to me.” Remus huffed.

“It’s alright, really,” you promised.

“See, they aren’t bothered,” Sirius pointed out, “can’t believe you weren’t going ti give Jamesy and me a present though. Really gutted over that one. You don’t even know how you’ve wounded me.”

“You’ll get over it, I’m sure.”

“Never. Take it to my grave is what I’ll do.” Sirius joked, clutching at his heart dramatically, “it’s betrayal really, I thought I was your favorite.”

“My favorite what? Pain in the ass?” You laughed.

“And the hits just keep coming!”

James smacked Sirius’ arm, “it’s alright, we all know who your favorite is.” He looked over at Remus, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“Christ, can’t you two find something else to do?” Remus asked, “where’s Lily?”

“She said something about someone breaking up with somebody else and having a nice Hogsmeade trip to mend them up…can’t remember specifics.” James replied.

“Good to know you listen to your girlfriend.” Remus snarked.

“I do listen! It’s just that we were making out and she always tells me things when we’re in the middle of it and then I can’t remember what it is she said.”

“Maybe that’s why she does it,” you pointed out, “to see if you’re paying attention.”

“I am!” He insisted, “to her!”

“Let’s just go back,” Remus tried, gesturing for James and Sirius to go ahead.

Sirius looked surprised at the suggestion though, a devilish smile coming to his face as he looked passed Remus to the shrieking shack. “We wanted to check your theory,” he said, looking over at you, “about the murderer in the shack.”

“Sirius!” Remus snapped, the scarlet of his cheeks suddenly giving him a furious look. He was no longer feeling embarrassed or annoyed or even smitten as he had been in The Three Broomsticks. This Remus was pissed off.

“It’ll be fun,” Sirius insisted. He and James were excitable and charming when they wanted to be but sometimes they were downright cads. No regard for anyone’s feelings and taking jokes just over the line until they weren’t funny anymore.

“I think I’d rather just go back to Hogwarts,” you replied, worrying your bottom lip as you glanced over at Remus. He wouldn’t meet your eyes though.

“Just a minute or two, like a dare,” James teased, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you toward the break in the fence where others had clearly manipulated the wire to get in.

“I think-“

“You two are assholes sometimes, you know that?” Remus snapped, hurt more than anger fuelling his words, “I told you to leave me alone for the day and you can’t even fucking do that? You insist on ruining everything!”

You looked over your shoulder, passed James (who was also looking over his shoulder) and realized Remus was trudging back toward Hogsmeade. Sirius had turned to watch him go, picking up the discarded bag of sweets that he’d tossed as he’d stormed out.

“Remus!” Sirius called, still sounding jovial though mildly confused, as if he couldn’t fathom why his friend was upset.

James seemed to have caught on, his hands falling from your shoulders, “sorry, we just thought it’d be a laugh.”

“It’s okay,” you weren’t really sure that it was okay but you didn’t know what other platitude to offer them. “I’ll go see if I can catch up with him?”

“Think that’s best, he might sock us if we follow him now.” James replied.

You took the candy from Sirius and started after Remus, following his tracks in the snow. By the time you got to Hogsmeade, his footpath had muddled with everyone else’s and it was impossible to know exactly where he’d gone. You thought about asking around but then that seemed silly, you had misplaced someone in a village this small? Wouldn’t that just mean they didn’t want to see you? Hogwarts seemed logical, he’d show up there eventually, at least. So you hiked your way back to Hogwarts and were almost immediately reminded why you disliked coming to Hogsmeade most of the time. The treacherous uphill climb back to the school was daunting, especially when you were forced to trek on your own through the snow.

By the time you got back to the castle your knees, shins, elbows and the bottom of your jacket were all wet and icing over. Luck took pity on you though and you found Remus on the bridge, over looking the lake and gorge.

“I‘ve saved your chocolates, which turned out to be quite a feat because I lost my footing at least three times on the walk back,” you called, “you’ll be relieved to have abandoned the day, then you didn’t have to be embarrassed by my clumsiness.”

“I,” Remus sighed as he turned toward you, “I didn’t mean to abandon anything…I uh, I’m prone to a temper every now and again.”

“Is that what that was? You seemed so calm and collected,” you teased, “Sirius was right though, I’m really not bothered. I’m sorry that you were.”

“I just wanted it to be a nice date,” Remus admitted. “I fucked up the ask and then…well I made a whole list of things we could chat about and it was complete rubbish so I tossed it and then I couldn’t come up with anything noteworthy to say-“

“I had a lovely time,” you cut him off, laying your hand on his arm, “you don’t need a list of topics Remus, we’re friends…we talk all the time.”

“Yeah, but not…I mean, not the sort of talk that leads people to think you’re interested in them, in a more than friendly way.” He admitted, “we always chat about friendly things.”

“Well, I could start telling you how gorgeous you look in your vest, would that help?” You asked, reaching out to gently tug the hem of his vest as you spoke.

“Yes, I suppose.” He nodded, “I, as you can imagine, I was planning on kissing you…perhaps, if you wanted to, of course. Not by the shack, that would be unromantic. I was thinking maybe just in the woods but then we wander further than I intended too and, as you know, James-“

You tugged his vest again, a little rougher this time, and leaned in to kiss him. “You know you sound an awful lot like me right now?” You almost laughed, “you’re supposed to be the confident one aren’t you?”

“You should try being me when you’re looking at me like that.”

“What am I looking at you like?” You asked.

“Like, well,” the thought occurred to Remus suddenly, like someone pulling a lightbulb string inside his head and bringing a lamp to life, “like you always look at me.” He said it softly, as if he were afraid to admit what he’d really known all along.

“You’re very clever,” you teased, kissing him once more, “are you positive you aren’t in Ravenclaw?”

[nothingtoseeherebyeexx]

you know the drill…

happy wednesday, no new fanart this week because holidays 😔

[mischievousmoony]

Hiiii!!! i absolutely love your writing and i wonder if you wouldn’t mind writing a james potter x fem!reader thingy. Basically where she is out with some

friends that are absolute dicks and basically they ‘dare’ her to walk home in the dark alone whilst she is drunk and she agrees became se she just wants them to like her but she realises how much of an idiot she is and so she walks to James’ house where he comforts her and stuff.

if not don’t worry

love you!!!!

changed the prompt up a little hope it's okay lovie <3 i also made it a bit long for my definition of a drabble but thats ok hopefully u think the more words the merrier luv u

𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢

⟢ james potter x fem!reader ⊹ 2.3k ⟢ warnings/tags: hurt/comfort, intoxication, social anxiety briefly mentioned, implications of how dangerous the situation was, for some reason i used this as an opportunity to practice writing imagery so sorry if it's too much

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The sharp, crisp wind nips at your skin as you walk down the shadowy, deserted London streets, the echo of your heels clicking against the pavement being the only sound that punctures the eerie silence.

A misty breath passes your lips and you hug yourself a little tighter, your hands making futile attempts at smoothing the goosebumps that dot your arms. You mentally curse yourself for listening to your "friends" when they said a jacket would ruin your outfit, wondering if this was their plan all along.

More tears fall as your mind wanders back to the friends you thought you were making and the bitter wind swiftly dries them against your cheeks, leaving your skin tacky with the salty residue.

What was supposed to be an opportunity to forge new friendships with some girls from your class took a devastating turn when they all crammed into a taxi without you, leaving you tipsy and stranded with their parting taunts ringing in your ears.

"Wait, we won't all fit," you had jabbered facetiously, the gravity of the situation not yet apparent to your drunk mind as you clumsily stumbled towards the car, your heel catching on a crack in the pavement.

One of the girls snickered as she wrenched the door of the black cab open, "That's a shame, innit?"

"I suppose you'll have to find another way home," another girl remarked, the others laughing along, barely bothering to suppress their amusement.

The carefree smile you sported faded from your face, feelings of dread and alarm creeping up your chest as you murmured, "My phone is dead, I won't be able to call a car."

"Sounds like you'll be walking home tonight," one of them sneered with a cruel edge.

"W-what?" you stammered, your chest rising and falling with a frantic rhythm as the sobering situation sinks in, "Walking back to my flat would take close to an hour."

The last girl to pile into the car— the one who originally extended the invitation to their night out with warmth and enthusiasm— looked up at you from her seat in the taxi with a mix of feigned sympathy and cruel delight. Her eyes gleamed with sly satisfaction as she leaned out of the car and took the door handle into her grasp.

"Well, then you better start," she declared, her tone punctuated by a mocking laugh and the slam of the car door.

You wish you could say that there was a sudden flip in their behavior the moment the taxi pulled up, but the abrasive way they conducted themselves around you all night should have had you running ages ago. But your naivety and desperation to make friends clouded your judgement, you supposing that it might simply take more than one night for the girls to warm up to you.

The sound of the car screeching away still rings in your ears as you brave the streets alone, trudging in the opposite direction of your flat. The hour walk to your home— more if you walked along the safest path you could think of— was too daunting on your mind. Your desperation to get off the streets steered you to your boyfriend's instead, his flat being half as far as yours.

If it weren't for the overwhelming unease you felt, you might have been too embarrassed to face James tonight. But your nervous edge was enough to send you hastily fleeing to his flat, it being well into the A.M., and you being alone— dressed in an outfit you were only comfortable wearing around a swarm of girls you thought had your back— and barely able to hold your own after medicating your social anxiety with a few too many cocktails.

When you finally arrive at the familiar stoop to James' place, you feel a wave of relief wash over you as you stagger up the stairs, leaning heavily on the iron railing for support.

Your knocking is incessant as you mutter pleas under your breath, desperately hoping James is sleeping lightly tonight. It feels like more time has passed than it actually has by the time the door creaks open.

James appears in the doorway, clearly just out of bed. His hair is tousled more than usual, stray strands sticking out unevenly over his forehead, and his clothes are wrinkled from tossing around in his sleep. He straightens out his glasses that lay crooked over the bridge of his nose as he processes your presence, his face a blend of sleepiness and alarm.

You utter his name weakly, a fragile quiver that reveals your vulnerability and distress. James' heart breaks at the sound and he wordlessly pulls you inside and envelopes his arms around you. You let him pull you in and your hands find the plush cotton of his jumper, gripping onto it like a lifeline.

James' mind races with worry, trying to piece together what could have happened to put you on his doorstep, tearful and distraught, in the middle of the night. He knows that you had gone out for some drinks at some bar downtown. He also knows that you weren't supposed to be alone and that you were supposed to take a taxi home— these being the answers to questions he asked earlier to ensure your safety.

The possibilities of what could have went wrong fill him with a profound sense of dread, and he tries not to let himself get carried away with the nightmares that swirl around in his mind.

Wrapped in his arms, you kick your heels off to the side somewhere. The shoes were killing you, and one more second in them and you might have collapsed into a heap on the floor.

James can feel you tremble against him when you settle, a result of the cold and lingering fear from being outside, inebriated and alone.

"You're freezing," he whispers, his voice hoarse from his recent slumber and edged with worry as his large hands come to rub your arms. He frowns at the iciness of your skin.

It's James' first instinct to break the embrace and tug at his collar, pulling the jumper from his own back to drape its warmth over you instead, leaving him only in his joggers that hang lazily from his hips.

The cotton is still warm with his body heat when it cocoons you and the scent of him on the fabric brings you comfort. You sniffle pathetically when you meet James' large, sorrowful eyes that brim with concern as your head pops free from the jumper's collar. He smoothes the fabric over your body quickly before his hands climb up to your face.

The pads of his thumbs sweep away stray tears as he cups your face, his fingers brushing softly along your jawline as he tilts your head to meet his troubled eyes.

"What happened?" he asks, notes of concern in his voice as his thumbs trace soothing shapes into your cheekbones.

An anguished whimper sounds in your throat and more tears begin to spill. You shake your head, unable to find your voice to explain.

"That's okay," he murmurs, pulling you back into his chest as he cradles your head in his hands, "It's okay, my love, I'm here. You're safe."

He coos tender words of comfort and reassurance in your ear, his voice steady and soothing. One hand lowers to gently rub your back until the tremors in your body gradually subside and you begin to feel a sense of security build back up.

James only pulls away when the rise and fall of your chest slows to a steady rhythm. Brown eyes meet yours and he offers a reassuring smile. He murmurs words of beckoning and leads you deeper into his flat. He doesn't take you far, just to his sofa so he can get you off your feet. You're thankful, the blisters from your heels becoming almost unbearable to stand on.

Your boyfriend sits first, gingerly pulling you down onto his lap, both craving your closeness and understanding just how much you need him right now. You curl up with your legs folded in front of you and your knees drawn close to your chest, your side pressed snugly against his torso. One of his arms wraps around your back for support, while the other rests casually over your legs, his large hand comfortably settling on the back of your thigh.

His head lulls forward until he can nuzzle into your hair, his breath warm against your ear as he softly prompts, "Think you can tell me what happened now?"

You sniffle once, letting your lungs fill with air before you stammer into a hesitant explanation. Still embarrassed over the whole ordeal, everything comes out in a small, quivering voice, starting with the awkward tension at the bar and ending with the way they laughed as they cruelly left you on the curb.

A whirlpool of emotions rages in James' chest. He doesn't understand how anyone could be unkind to his lovely girl, and he certainly doesn't understand how anyone could be so heinous to leave a person alone on the street like that.

James swallows hard, his next question living on the tip of his tongue until he has the strength to ask it. His tone is unwaveringly serious, low and intense in its level of concern, when he finally does.

"Baby, please tell me you walked straight here. No one gave you any trouble?"

"No," you shake your head, "no trouble."

James feels his whole body relax at your words, and a noise hitches in the back of his throat as he releases a breath he didn't know he was holding. The overwhelming flood of relief and emotion threatens to bring him to tears, but he manages to hold them back. His eyes close briefly as he presses closer, his nose smooshing against the side of your head as he presses kisses behind your ear.

Your eyes flutter shut too as you allow James to cradle you in his arms. You think about how you almost tripped a few times, but you know that's not exactly what James is worrying about. Although, you can imagine he'd fuss over that too, checking your knees and palms for scuffs and kissing the skin there just because you could've hurt it.

As you feel the tension drain from his body beneath you, you think about how his fears mirrored your own.

"I was scared there would be," you admit in a small voice.

"I know my darling girl. I'm so sorry," he leans back, tilting his head to the side so he can meet your gaze. You don't miss how his eyes are glassy when they lock onto yours with calming intensity, "You're safe now, I've got you." He presses his lips to your forehead, lingering there as he mumbles, "I'm sorry this happened."

"I thought I was making friends," you choke out, the words cracking with the weight of the betrayal.

James feels his heart break all over again.

"Those girls don't deserve to have you as friend."

"But I want friends. It was so easy in secondary school. I've always had you, and Lily, Sirius, Remus. Everyone."

James listens intently, his sympathetic eyes gazing upon yours once again.

"I'm all alone at uni. And I don't why nobody likes me," you finish in anguish.

James promptly moves his hand from your thigh to cup your cheek, "Listen to me. You're lovely, so lovely. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend, alright? You're going to find people who think so too."

"And you have me," he corrects. "You still have all of us. I know things are different now, and I bet you're missing having friends in your classes, yeah? But uni's only just started. You're gonna find your people."

"You think so?"

"I know so, lovely girl," he says, his thumb flicking the tip of your nose endearingly, "I was already a goner the first time I spoke to you. And if I remember correctly, you and Lily were thick as thieves after one day of knowing each other. Right?"

You hum affirmatively, remembering the first days of friendship with the people you now call family.

"See? You're good at making friends. It's 'cause you're amazing, anyone with a brain can see that. Those girls are just bloody idiots." James' features take on a sour look when he thinks about them, but with you in his arms, he can't sustain his irritation for long— especially not with you smiling prettily at his words.

"There's that smile," he mumbles fondly, and your giggle is music to his ears. You stay like that for a moment, trading smiles and tender caresses.

Eventually, James' expression shifts, his brow furrowing as he becomes stern.

"Next time you go out, I'm gonna pick you up. I don't care how late, I don't care who you're with. And I'm buying you a portable charger for that phone."

"Okay, Jamie," you agree softly, recognizing the firmness in his voice that leaves no room for argument, and finding it a bit endearing how fiercely he cares for you.

He relaxes again with a sigh. His hand, which still remains cupping your cheek, pulls you a fraction closer.

"I'm happy you're safe, love. I'm happy you came here." Each of his words is wrapped with sincerity and affection. "I love you," he says earnestly.

"I love you too," you whisper, the same depth of emotion laced in your words.

He guides you even closer, meeting you halfway with a tender kiss to your lips. It's a beautiful blend of sweetness and innocence, a soft brush of lips that envelopes you in a blanket of sweet serenity, making you forget what it was ever like to be scared.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[brokenmenswhore]

I need more stuff with poly!maraudersxreader spicy stuff🤭

i am but your humble servant 🙇‍♀️

mean | poly!marauders

pairing: poly!marauders x fem!reader (james, remus, & sirius)

summary: the boys get jealous seeing you with a study partner, and you reap the consequences when you tell sirius he was being ‘mean’

warnings: smut (MDNI 18+), rough sex, use of the word daddy twice

a/n: is my sirius favoritism showing too much or no

────── ☾ ──────

“I don’t think I’ll ever actually understand this class,” you said, the library study session beginning to take its toll.

“You’re getting it!” Evan encouraged, “we just need to work on it a little bit more.”

“I appreciate your faith in me, but I think after four hours, I either get it or I don’t,” you replied.

“I don’t mind the time,” Evan said, “especially when I get to spend it with you.”

Your three boyfriends could hear every single word exchanged between the two of you, being that they were seated only two tables away, and the second they heard Evan’s statement, Sirius jolted upwards from his chair.

“Sit down,” Remus instructed, “what are you gonna do? Kill him in the middle of our entire year?”

“Yeah, Remus, I just might,” Sirius responded, but still sat back down, eyes never leaving the two of you.

“You have to trust her, Sirius,” James scolded.

“It’s not her I don’t trust,” Sirius said, nostrils flaring in a rage.

Evan was sitting much closer to you than the boys were comfortable with, but they had to trust that you would shut him down if he overstepped.

“Yeah, this has at least been fun!” you told Evan, “but I think I’m a lost cause. This library is beginning to feel like an asylum.”

Evan shrugged, “I mean, we could change the scenery if that’s the problem. There’s usually not anyone in the fifth year potions classroom after the midday class. It would be quiet, and we could be alone and really focus.”

Evan shifted his chair even closer to you, placing an arm around the back of your chair, and leaning closer to you.

“That’s it, I’m gonna kill him,” Sirius said, standing up and reaching your table before Remus or James could keep him at bay.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Sirius spat, hands on the table as he leaned in, standing across from you.

“Studying?” you replied as Evan backed off.

“Studying,” he mocked in a high tone, “tell him he better get the fuck away from you if he wants to continue breathing.”

“I’m right here, Black, if you have a problem, say it straight to me,” Evan retorted, standing up to meet Sirius’s eye level.

“Ok, Rosier,” Sirius cleared his throat, “I have a problem with you attempting to feel up my girlfriend and then get her alone. I also have a problem with the lack of bruising on your face.”

“Sirius!” you and Remus scolded in unison, the other two boys now next to Sirius, ready to pull him back if he decided to lunge.

“I didn’t do a single thing,” Evan protested, “but if you’re so insecure that you think studying means she’ll cheat on you, maybe she never really liked you in the first place. She could do better anyway.”

Sirius went to jump over the table, but Remus and James held onto one arm each, holding him back as Evan laughed.

“This is not worth it,” Evan told you, “I’ll see you around.”

“Evan, I’m sorry-“ you tried to say as he walked away, your attention turning to Sirius. You were angry with him for the way he was acting, but his fury far outweighed yours.

Remus and James dropped their grip on Sirius when he calmed down. Sirius glared daggers into you. “Just studying, eh?”

“We were just studying until you tried to attack him,” you retorted.

“Go to the dorm room now before I decide to make you feel sorry right here. We’ll meet you up there.”

“But I still-“

“Now.”

The rage in Sirius’ voice was not something to take lightly. When he was mad, making him angrier often ended badly. You retreated to the dorms, seated cross-legged on your bed with a textbook open as you waited for your boyfriends to arrive.

The door to the dorms swung open so hard that the door slammed open against the wall. All three of your partners entered the room, Sirius stomping straight over to you and wrapping a hand around your throat.

“Had a fun day toying with other boys, huh?” he asked.

“Sirius, please, I really was just trying to study,” you pleaded, eyes finding Remus and James and searching for help, “you guys should know that I would never do that to you.”

“I know, baby,” Sirius’ voice weakened, his anger breaking at your pleas, “I’m just mad someone else tried to take what’s mine.”

“I think he was trying to make us jealous, too,” Remus added, “and it worked.”

“Is that what the big issue is?” you asked for clarification, “you’re all jealous?”

“He got really close to you,” James responded, the candor in his voice hurting your heart.

“I’m yours,” you said, grabbing the wrist around your throat, “I’m all of yours, and yours only, you know that.”

“We know,” Sirius said, “I’m just so mad. I can’t calm down.”

“You need to release the energy, Sirius,” James said, “you’re never gonna get past this if you don’t.”

Sirius looked into your eyes, and you gave him a slight nod, signaling to him that he could use you to release the energy. He had a lot of pent up rage from the earlier incident that he needed to let out. He needed to remind you, and himself, that you were his.

Sirius crashed his lips onto yours, a hand still on your throat as he pushed you back against the headboard.

Remus threw the textbook in front of you onto the floor, pulling your legs from their position until they were out in front of you. He kissed up your thighs until he was under your skirt, kissing on top your underwear as you let out a small moan into Sirius’s mouth.

Remus moved your underwear to the side, immediately diving in between your folds with his tongue, causing you to gasp. Sirius pulled away from your mouth, allowing him to hear the noises you made. You whined as Remus shoved his tongue into your soaking wet hole, the intrusion catching you off guard.

“Shit, Remmy,” you whimpered.

“Gotta remind you who you belong to, dove,” James spoke, taking a seat on the bed next to you, “you remember?”

“I’m y-yours, shit, James, all yours,” you whined as Remus continued to fuck you with his tongue, your hand taking its place on his head, fingers entwined in his hair, holding him in place.

“No fair,” Sirius pouted, “why do you get to hear her moan your name when I’m the one who got mad in the first place?”

“Y-ou were mean,” you explained, breathing heavy, making talking difficult as ever, trying to give Sirius the reason you weren’t focusing your attention to him, despite your better judgement.

Remus heard you and immediately stopped his assault on your core. You tried to push his head back down in desperation, but he took your hands off of his head, pinning them to your sides.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Sirius questioned, tone low and dark.

“Nothing,” you answered, hoping they would let it go but knowing better.

“I was mean, huh? I don’t deserve to hear you moan my name then, is that it? You think you’re so big and powerful, punishing me because I was mean?” Sirius was growing angrier and angrier, his rage overtaking him again.

“I- I’m sorry,” you tried to backtrack.

“No, no, it’s too late for that now. If you think I don’t deserve to hear you, then I won’t do anything that constitutes a noise. You don’t want me, then so be it.”

“No, please, I do, I want you, please-“

“Tell it to James,” Sirius cut you off. He was mad at you for talking back to him, and mad about earlier, but he was strictly doing this to punish you. He knew you loved how he fucked you when he was mad, and he was threatening to deny you what you wanted.

“Jamesie, please, tell him that I w-“

“Uh uh,” James tutted, “you’re with me now, not Sirius. You don’t get to have him now.”

You pouted, tears threatening to spill as you looked up at James. He leaned over you, kissing your forehead before your lips, distracting you with his mouth before a hand lifted up your skirt and traveled beneath the waistband of your underwear, finding its home on your pearl.

James began to rub in circles, eliciting a moan in the kiss.

“Remus, I think you can go back now,” James spoke.

Remus kept your hands pinned at your sides but shifted downward, tongue reentering you as James rubbed you off, the feeling of two different men on your core driving you insane.

Sirius slumped down on a chair a few feet away, lighting a cigarette as he watched Remus and James overstimulate you as they held you down.

“Jamie, please,” you moaned.

“Please what, dove?” James asked, beginning to touch any part of your core he could, the pleasure becoming too much to handle.

“Please let me come,” you begged.

James looked at Remus, who made eye contact with him, but never left you alone. He shoved his tongue in and out of you, curling it upwards once inside, eyes focused on James as he waited for any signal to stop.

James, however, was always the nicest to you in the bedroom. Though he knew Sirius and Remus would usually stop now, he was making the call, and he hated denying you your pleasure, even if you were being punished.

He leaned in and kissed you, his touch quickening and hardening as Remus continued to taste as much of you as he could, causing your climax to hit you without warning. You squealed and moaned into James’s mouth, legs shaking as Remus licked up any remnants of your high before pulling away from you and standing up.

You attempted to catch your breath as Sirius took one last drag of his cigarette, extinguishing the flame and walking over to you, your cheeks flushed and chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to calm down.

“See, you didn’t need me, did you?” Sirius taunted.

“I-“

“Still don’t want me?”

You furiously shook your head no. “No, nonono, I want you, please, I need you,” you begged.

“Even though I’m so fucking mean?” he spat, intentionally working himself up to an angry place again.

“Yes, daddy, please,” you replied, using the name for him that you knew he couldn’t resist.

Sirius growled, tugging on his jeans and crawling over you, lightly kissing your neck before meeting your gaze.

“Beg for me,” he demanded.

Your heart was beating so hard it made your chest sore. “Please, daddy, I want you.”

“I think he’s earned hearing his name, sweetheart,” Remus spoke from beside you.

“Please, I need you so bad, Siri, I-“

The second you spoke his name, Sirius pushed your skirt up to your waist and your underwear to the side, inserting his entire length into you in one quick motion, a move he loved to use when he was punishing you for something. Though he had been inside of you plenty of times, he was too large to simply just start fucking you without a warm up, unless, that is, he was purposefully being mean.

You let out a high pitched moan at the intrusion, always forgetting just how deep his cock hits within you.

He then pulled almost his entire length out of you before slamming it back in, your body jolting upwards at the feeling of his hips snapping against yours. He started to fuck you, fast and hard, leaving no time for you to adjust to him or his size.

“Siri, fuck,” you moaned.

“That’s it,” he breathed, “you’re all mine. You fucking belong to me.”

All three boys were possessive of you, but knew you ‘belonged’ to all three of them, not just one. However, when Sirius was mad, the other boys didn’t matter. They knew he needed to feel like you were his and only his. All the boys needed that one-on-one intimacy at times, but Sirius craved it all the time, and sometimes Remus suspected that he really did wish you were all his.

“It’s too much, can’t- I c-“ you started to plead, but Sirius didn’t care, continuing his ruthless pace that nearly had your head slamming upwards into the headboard with each thrust.

“You can, and you will,” Sirius spoke, “you’re all fucking mine. I don’t even want anyone else near you. You’re gonna take it like a good girl so that everyone can hear who you belong to, understood?”

You nodded, taking a moment to process that you had to speak. “Yes, Siri.”

“Good girl,” he said, one of his hands grabbing your throat as he snapped his hips at an almost violent pace.

“Siri, please, I’m gonna c-“

“You know you’re supposed to wait until he comes,” Remus reminded you, “or else it just isn’t fair.”

“B- but- I-“

“No buts,” Remus said, running a thumb over your cheek to collect the tears that were now falling, “you wait until Siri is ready, and then you come with him. He deserves at least that much.”

Your walls were clenching around his cock, and you fought desperately not to come. You knew you were supposed to wait and come in unison with whoever was fucking you, but you were overstimulated, and Sirius’s possessiveness was hot.

“That’s right, baby, you gotta wait,” Sirius cooed, “my girl only comes when I say she can. You’re my girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Siri, I’m yours,” you responded, your hands grabbing desperately at his shoulders to steady yourself, “all yours.”

Sirius ran a hand over your body, scanning every inch of you as he fucked you. “All mine,” he whispered, almost more to himself than to you.

Sirius’s thrusts began to become erratic and sloppy, his high approaching as his clock twitched inside of you.

“You gonna come with me, love?” Sirius asked, and you whined in response, signaling that you were ready.

Sirius tightened his grip around your throat. “Come for me,” he commanded, “for me and only me.”

Your walls clenched around Sirius one last time as you came around him, one final “Sirius!” leaving your lips as you did.

The feeling of you coming around him caused Sirius to reach his high, his final few thrusts sharp and deep inside of you.

He took a moment to collect himself and catch his breath before pulling out of you.

“You remember who you belong to now?” James asked, sweetly repositioning your skirt over you to allow you modesty as you calmed down.

“Mhm,” you began to feel tired, “I’m all of yours.”

[wolvesandshine]

“You know I had always assumed dear cousin Bella would be the first one to go to Azkaban.”

Great. One week in and he was already hearing the voices of people who have been dead for 2 years.

“Oh come on Sirius don’t tell me Azkaban broke your brain in less than a week.”

Sirius had almost forgotten how insulting Regulus could be when he put his mind to it. Sometime after his death he had forgotten - can’t speak ill of the dead and all but Azkaban really seemed intent on not letting him sulk in peace

“And you called me the soft one.” Sirius opens his eyes, annoyed, prepared to roll his eyes at thin air when he actually laid eyes on Regulus. He looked older, finally having grown into his regal features yet he also looked more cut up and bruised, hair longer and wilder than would ever be appropriate for the most noble and ancient house of Black.

Great. He was visually hallucinating too. “Serves me right that I can only properly remember how you look like in literal hell.”

Not- Regulus snorts. “Oh this is pathetic. Are you really so far gone you can’t tell I’m real?”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “Fuck off. You’ve been dead for almost 2 years.”

“Aw. You do care about me.”

Sirius bristles, the familiar annoyance raising up in him. “Fine then if you’re so real prove it.”

At that Regulus laughs, loudly. “Sirius, you can literally turn into a fucking dog. Your mind might be lying to you but your animagus? It’s impossible.”

Sirius stares shocked. Regulus shouldn’t have known that. Only three people did. “How the fuck do you know that?”

Regulus stares at him, expression unreadable. “I kept tabs on you too you know.” He swallows and looks away.

Sirius blinks the sudden tears away. Regulus had always been too smart for his own good.

He didn’t need to turn into padfoot - Regulus had always been the only person who could make him feel this way.

“Well?”

Sirius blinks. “Well what?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Turn into your animagus form so that we can leave this place. I don’t know about you but this isn’t my type of vacation.”

“Leave?”

Regulus just stares at him incredulously. “You’re telling me you haven’t tried?”

Sirius feels chastised. “Well the war is over -“

Regulus cuts in. “So you fancied staying in Azkaban? When we have things to do?”

Sirius feels very unprepared for the conversation. “What things?”

Regulus ‘s smile is all teeth. “Killing Dumbledore and Voldemort for good.”

[crescenthistory]

Hey darling, how are you? Hope your having an amazing day ❤️

So I saw your prompt list and I was thinking about b6 and b15 with Regulus Black and kinda Sunshine x Grumpy, like he really tries to keep the facade of being cold and unbothered but reader is just so kind and understanding with him that he just melts whenever it comes to her, the tipical "I hate everybody but you"

hi my love, have been a bit sick and stressed lately, but finding relief in writing, so thank you for your enrichment hihi<3 wishing u the best!

Prompts: B.6 "Are you falling asleep on me?" "..." "Alright then" & B.15 "How are you so cute right now?"

Words: 3k

Warnings: not proofread, use of y/n, regulus black is traumatised and mentally unwell, reader is surprisingly stable and supportive (congrats), trying to make reggie have a dynamic and complex personality, not yet established relationship but Clearly Something, falling in love and fluff, implied fear of (unrequited) love on reggie's part

Note: y'all realllllly love the sunshine x grumpy dynamic with reggie, huh? me too dw

The library was silent except for the soft rustle of pages turning and the occasional scratch of quill on parchment. A low fire burned in the corner, its light barely enough to keep the chill at bay, but the two of you had stayed long past the warmth’s welcome. The vast shelves of books loomed around you like silent sentinels, their presence familiar and comforting in the way only a quiet, deserted library could be.

Regulus sat across from you, perfectly composed, as usual. His quill hovered over a parchment filled with notes – meticulously neat, with that sense of perfection you had come to associate with him, exactly as he intended. His dark hair fell slightly into his eyes as he read, but he didn’t brush it away, too focused on whatever passage had captured his attention.

You admired him, hoping your tired gaze was not too obvious – though maybe it would be good for him to see it. The late hour was getting to you, but you didn’t want to leave, not yet. Nights like this, studying alongside Regulus, had become a routine your body craved. Though he rarely gave any indication that they meant something to him, you had come to peak far enough behind the cracks of his exterior to know he did. Should he wish to not be near you, he would have left, he never had any reservations for doing so when Barty got too many of his nerves or Sirius was too loud.

Yet here you were, both of you drowning in books, the silence broken only by the sound of your quills and the faint crackling of the fire. He seemed... content.

You shifted slightly in your seat, hoping to stifle a yawn as you stretched your stiff legs under the table. The movement caught Regulus’ attention, and he glanced up from his book, dark eyes scanning your face. 

“You’re tired,” he stated, his voice low and matter-of-fact. It wasn’t a question.

“Not really,” you lied, offering him a small smile as you looked back down at your notes, dried quill hovering over the page. You could feel his eyes on you for a moment longer before he returned to his book, but his silence spoke louder than any rebuttal. You weren’t fooling him, not for a second.

Regulus knew you as well by now, and he could easily see through your casual deflections. He was also sweet enough on you to not call you out on it yet.

Charms had never been so dreadful as it was tonight, all theory as you copied information from the textbook over onto your parchment. You felt yourself beginning to drift again, blinking only made you sleepier, and the words on the page blurring together in front of your eyes. You pressed your lips together, determined to stay focused, but the exhaustion clung to you like a heavy cloak.

You rearranged yourself to be more comfortable, bringing your legs up underneath you and leaning your head on your arm, taking up perhaps a bit more desk space than what is considered gracious.

Regulus’ quill still scratched against his parchment and you looked up at him through your lashes. He hadn’t glanced at you in a while, his brow furrowed as he scribbled something in the margin of the book he was reading. Upon your movements, though, you saw a small, soft smile tug on his lips, the kind that you weren't sure anyone but you would recognise.

It had become a familiar sight, both the smile and the way he hunched slightly over his work, his focus intense. It was like he was shutting out the world around him – around us, he had once absentmindedly corrected when you told him as much. His face blank then, not paying any mind to the giant grin growing on your own face.

“How do you do it?” you asked suddenly, surprising yourself with the question. Your voice was soft, but in the quiet library, it felt like a disruption. Regulus looked up, his quill pausing mid-scratch, abandoning his sentence.

“Do what?” he asked, his voice even, though there was a hint of wariness in his eyes.

“Stay so… focused,” you clarified, gesturing vaguely to the piles of books around you. “I feel like I’m drowning in information, but you’re always so… collected.”

There was a brief pause. Regulus stared at you for a moment, his gaze unreadable. Then he lowered his quill, folding his hands in front of him on the table.

“It’s easier that way,” he said quietly, his voice almost too soft for the stillness of the room. His eyes flicked to the side, avoiding yours as he added, “When you don’t let anything else in, it’s easier to focus.”

You studied him for a moment, noting the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders seemed to carry more weight than they should. There was always something simmering beneath the surface with Regulus – something unspoken, something guarded. He never let it out, never gave anyone the chance to see what was really going on inside his mind.

And yet, here you were, sitting across from him in a quiet library, long after everyone else had left, simply because you wanted to. So far, he had been brave enough to let you.

“And is that what you want?” you asked, keeping your tone light, non-confrontational. “To keep everything locked out?”

Regulus didn’t respond immediately. His eyes stayed fixed on the table for a long moment before he finally met your gaze again, his expression carefully controlled. “It’s necessary,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You leaned back in your chair, letting his words settle between you. Necessary. The way he said it felt heavy, like there was so much more beneath that single word. You didn’t push. You never did. Regulus wasn’t someone who opened up easily, and the last thing you wanted was to make him feel like he had to.

You wished more than anything that he could see himself the way you did. That he could let go, just a little, and realise that he didn’t have to carry everything alone.

“It doesn’t have to be,” you said softly, almost to yourself, as you turned your gaze back to your parchment.

Regulus heard you, though. He always did.

A small silence fell between you again, this one thicker with unspoken thoughts. You turned a book on its side to read it from your position lying on your arm, trying to ignore the heaviness of the atmosphere. Regulus hadn’t moved, his hands still folded in front of him, his brow slightly furrowed as though deep in thought.

“I don’t–” Regulus’ voice cuts through the quiet suddenly, making you look up. His jaw tensed slightly before he continued, “I don’t let people in because it is… easier. Safer.”

There was something vulnerable in the way he said it, as though he wasn’t used to sharing even that much. It wasn’t a full confession, not by any means, but it was more than he usually offered, and you understood how much it cost him to say even that.

“You've let me in, though, have you not?” you tried softly, offering him a small, understanding smile. “And so far it's been safe.”

Regulus blinked at that, surprise flickering in his dark eyes. He was not sure what he had expected you to say, but clearly not that.

It looked like he was at a slight loss of words, so you continued, smile still plastered on your face. "I understand what you mean, though. It's not easy to trust in general, and you have had it harder than most. Take everything in your own time, Reggie."

Regulus remained quiet, his gaze dropping back to his notes. You could feel him retreating, slipping back behind his mask, and you let him. You weren’t here to break down his defences, only to be there when he was ready to let someone in. His hand skirted closer to where yours was fidgeting with your quill – not quite touching, but close enough. Close enough.

You turned back to your book, allowing him his silence, trying to make sense of the words that felt increasingly foreign. The night was catching up with you, pulling you deeper into the edges of sleep.

“Y/N.”

Regulus’ voice brought you back to the present. You blinked, realising you had almost drifted off again, your head tilted dangerously close to the open pages of your book. There was a certain mirth in his gaze when it met yours, quickly subdued by what looked like a weary worry.

“I’m fine,” you said assuredly, straightening up in your chair with a slight wince. You could feel the stiffness settling into your back and elbow from sitting too long.

Regulus didn’t say anything at first, just watched you with that same quiet intensity he always had, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You should go,” he said after a moment, his voice softer than you expected. “It’s late.”

You gave him a sleepy smile, placing your head in your hand as you leaned on the desk. “I’m not leaving you here by yourself.”

Regulus exhaled through his nose, odd mixture of a sigh and a laugh. “I don’t mind being alone,” he said, though there was a hesitation in his voice that made you think he didn’t believe it as much as he wanted to.

“I know," you said, tone gentle, "but I do.”

"You mind being alone?"

"I mind you being alone."

That seemed to catch him off guard. He stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he looked down at his lap, his quill tapping against the edge of the table in an absent rhythm. 

"I don't really know what to say to that." His face was still partially shielded from you, but you could see there was no menace in his words – just confusion, maybe even... amusement?

"Admitting you don't know something is a good start."

He gave you the first genuine laugh of the night, albeit small. "Okay then." He looked up at you finally, slight smile still playing over his features.

You watched him for a moment longer, noting the contrast of his tense shoulders with his humoured face. He was trying so hard to hold it together, even now.

"I'll stay here for as long as you do, Reg, and I know you still have a few pages left in you."

You leaned back in your chair again, stretching and letting out a small yawn. Regulus eyed you carefully, as if considering something.

"I do," he started. "But if you're staying any longer, you should get more comfortable."

He nodded his head towards the place beside him. While you were sitting in a wooden chair, he sat in a comfy, cushioned love-seat with just enough space for you to join him in. Had you not been intent on studying, you might have sat there from the start, but the harsher chair usually helps you study.

Now, though, you did not hesitate to slip around the table and sink into Regulus's seat with a sigh.

He looked at you over his shoulder, body still angled towards his notes, smiling fondly at you. "Better?"

"Much better, though I hope you know you're playing a risky game right now."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, I might fall asleep here and you will have to stay overnight. It would be rude to leave me."

Regulus just laughed, not dignifying you with further banter, as he turned back to his books. You had one in your lap as well, but the words were mostly jumbled by now.

The next hour trickled by with sparse conversation between the two of you, mostly just the comfortable silence you had grown between you over the months. You asked Regulus a question every now and again, about coursework or life, and he gave you his usual, short answers, though with a much kinder tone than he reserved for others who pestered him with interrogations.

He was halfway through an explanation of why the professor thought it necessary to make you write an essay that is essentially just restating the textbook when he felt something soft thud against him. He looked down and saw the top of your head, hair slightly messy from the hours in the library, lodged between his uniformed arm and back.

"Amour? Are you falling asleep on me?"

"..."

"Alright, then." Regulus couldn't help the smile that tugged on his lips, filled with more emotion than he would have let slide with anyone around. "You did warn me."

Careful not to startle you, he manoeuvred himself around so you were resting against his chest instead, and then slowly lowered you backwards to lean against the back of the chair. One hand cradled your head as he moved you, so you wouldn't get whiplash – there was no other reason, of course.

You were surprisingly soundly asleep for someone who asked him a question mere minutes ago, but then again, he suspected you had been fighting sleep for around two hours. To stay here with him. Regulus's heart clenched at that, and it did not go unnoticed by him that before he would have felt immense guilt for this moment occurring, and now he just felt... oddly soft. Warm.

He tried to place you in a comfortable enough position, still keeping some of your weight up with the left side of his body. With a tentative, slightly shaking thumb, he brushed away some hair that had fallen in your face

Part of Regulus ached to stay like this. To have an excuse to be this close to you, to feel so vulnerable without the overwhelming panic that often threatened to take over his body and mind. He basked in the sense of safety you were somehow able to provide him, but it would take hard work to be able to accept and embrace it. In the creeping darkness of the library, secluded just the two of you, it felt much easier.

Yet, despite your jokes about rudely waking you up, he did not want to risk detention for the both of you by being caught staying out past curfew.

"Y/N?" With a hand on your cheek, he tried to gently move your face to get your attention and draw you out from sleep. "Hey, amour, you need to wake up."

You let out an impudent groan, eyes squeezing as you turned your head a little – into Regulus's hand, he noted with hitched breath. "W'is it?" You slurred your words and he had to stifle his laughter.

"You need to wake up, darling. You fell asleep in the library, but we're done now. Time to get back to your dorm."

You just huffed at that, clearly trying to stay asleep by burying your face – still clutching Regulus's hand to the other cheek – into the cushion behind you. He tried to use his hand on your face again to lightly shake you, but you just grabbed his elbow and held it still in response. Eyes still decidedly shut.

This time, Regulus couldn't hold back his laugh, which in turn made you squint open an eye.

"What are you on about, Reggie?" Your voice was not only rough from sleep, but a bit annoyed, which in turn made Regulus all the more humoured. He never would have taken you, with all your painfully kind words and looks and understanding, to be grumpy in the morning.

"I don't even know," he said through a rather large grin. "How are you so cute right now?"

"Don't know, just am. Come sleep."

"No, no, darling. Time to get up so you can go sleep."

It seemed as if his words somehow seeped through your mind and you finally processed the situation. You opened your eyes and all-but-jerked into an up-right position – face now rather close to Regulus's, enough to see the whiteness of his teeth as he laughed at you. He was laughing at you. The bastard.

"Good morning," he teased, forgetting himself.

"Did you call me cute?"

The humour was almost washed from his face as he seemed to wake up himself, but an endearing smile still clung to his lips. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Mhm, sure you don't." Your smile now matched his. "How much do you have left?" You gestured to his books with your free hand – only now noticing that your other was still clutching his elbow. His hand dropped from your face the second your properly woke up, but you never let go of him. Maybe the sleep made you delirious or his comment made you brave, because you kept your hand on him.

"Oh, I'm finished." He gave you a look that you couldn't tell if was teasing because you clearly didn't or if he was lying about being done so you could go sleep. Either way, you accepted it.

"Great, let's get us to bed then, shall we?"

When Regulus got out of his seat, he held out a hand to you, to help you up. When you accepted it and ended up standing almost impossibly close to him, he didn't step back, and he didn't look away. He just smiled.

"Yeah, let's."

[silence-between-seconds]

I NEED EVERYONE TO GO READ THIS FIC BY @iliketoreadstuf

this fic is so so so wonderful its my current hyperfixation and i will never recover from it<33

[dovahtobi]

Four To The End Book Four Chapter 9 – I Like Shakespeare, Too is now out!

AO3

Wattpad

[collecting-stories]

Style - Sirius Black

Summary: you and Sirius enjoy a somewhat on-again, off-again relationship with each other. Marauders era, post Hogwarts.

A/N: The last Sirius fic I wrote was sort of angsty so I'm trying to remedy that with this.

TS Anthology Series | Harry Potter Masterlist

...could end in burning flames or paradise...

The letter came by owl on the 3rd Tuesday of the month, a crisp envelope, heavy, off-white, your name embossed in golden cursive so delicate it was breathtaking. You were careful not to tear the envelope when you opened it, pulling the card out, the same golden lettering inviting you to the wedding of Lily Evans and James Potter at their home in Godric's Hallow. It would be a summer soiree, a bit of information you knew from a visit there last week and not from the letter itself. Lily had asked you to play maid of honor, since Petunia had outright refused to be part of the wedding in any way at all.

"According to her, I've thrown away my entire identity for this hogwash and she won't play party to it any longer. I think it's just that Vernon she's married, he's a tosser. I hate to speak ill but...least I invited her to my wedding." Lily tapered off at the end as she took the kettle off the stove and poured two cups of tea. 

"Well I'll happily take her place," you said, accepting the cup of tea from her. 

Lily's kitchen was bright and colorful, with windows that felt as if the garden didn't end outside but instead stretched its vines into the house and breathed life into it. She'd never been much for herbology in school, or even basic gardening when she was home but since moving to the cottage in Godric's Hallow she'd found a new love for working outside with her hands. Like she was breathing life into everything around her. You always loved being there, the house was warm and welcoming and a far cry from the quiet of your flat in Cambridge, but your visits were scarce. Especially as of late, it had taken a summons by owl for you to agree to show up for afternoon tea. 

"You'll have to around then, for the rehearsal and the wedding you know? James wants to have a party sometime next week too, sort of an informal announcement that we're marrying. He wanted to just send word, I told him I would send out proper invitations," Lily said, 

"I know," you replied, taking a sip of your tea, "I'll be there. You say it like I'm so hard to come by when I'm a fireplace away. James sounds like he has the right idea, anyway. I'd throw a party and then just get married then. Or skip the party." You said, "and the wedding for that matter."

"Oh, I'm well aware that you'd skip the wedding," she laughed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You tried your best at sounding scandalized but it was empty, you knew what she was referring to but neither of you had ever actually gotten close to talking about it. It was something that everyone heard of secondhand, whoever had been the first to hear it from you or Sirius, no one could remember, but Lily had never directly discussed it with you and you had never told her exactly what happened. 

She shrugged, grinning rather mischievously as she did. She looked more like James than herself in that moment, "you know James is making Sirius his best man?"

"I know he is. I saw Remus last week and he mentioned the wedding." You replied. "Why?"

"You'll have to see him."

"Are we going to hash all this out right here over tea? I've got nothing against him, we get on perfectly fine," you said, unable to keep the defensive tone out of your voice. 

You had avoided any real discussion about the nature of your relationship with Sirius with any of your friends. They were all his friends too, after all, and it wasn't really any of their business to pry into what happened. Which wasn't really anything particularly astounding. 

"You rarely see each other lately," Lily pointed out. 

"Are you keeping tabs?" You joked, finishing off the tea and standing to take your cup to the sink. The kitchen door clattered open, James stamping his feet on the door mat before stepping over the threshold. They're behind him, Sirius, stepping into the small kitchen and closing the door behind him. In the three seconds it took him to realize that you were there by the sink, Lily had looked over at you with the sort of apologetic look meant to infer that she had no idea he would be coming through the door at all, let alone while you were here. 

"Speak of the devil," you joked, breaking the seconds of awkward silence and the four of you attempted to make out what protocol you were all meant to follow. "Sirius, Lily tells me you'll be walking me down the aisle."

"Sounds like a dream come true," he teased, recovering only a moment after you and flashing you the sort of smile that had made you weak in the knees everyday from 1st to 7th year. 

"Don't get any ideas, Petunia doesn't want to come to the wedding," you replied. 

"Sounds like you're saving me a very uncomfortable afternoon then."

"Did you both want to stay for dinner? I was just going to gather some veg for a salad and I've got some chicken and pasta to make," Lily offered, looking between the two of you. She'd stood up too and was holding her tea cup and saucer in a death grip. Her voice, on the other hand, remained calm, like nothing at all was bothering her. 

"Of course," you agreed, if only to prove that there really was nothing at all wrong and you didn't mind being around Sirius at all. In fact, you wanted to tell her, you hardly thought of him at all. There wasn't any space to tell her that though, and neither of you would have actually believed it at all. "I can grab the veg for you."

"Perfect," Lily nodded. 

The basket she used to collect vegetables and fruit from the garden sat atop the fridge and you grabbed it down, having to go up on your tiptoes to reach. From the corner of your eye, Sirius made a move toward you, as if to help, but then clearly thought better of it, shuffling away from the door instead and letting you manage the task yourself. 

At least the task of taking the basket out into the garden. It took only three short minutes for Sirius to slip out the kitchen door, closing it quietly behind him and walking to the row of raised beds where Lily had been growing lettuces and spinach. You were tearing arugula and placing it in a pile in the corner of the basket when he found you, standing on the other side of the bed to leave space between the two of you. 

"They're all loved up in there," he mentioned, looking back over his shoulder for a moment before he looked back to you, "what've you said to Lily?"

"What've you said to James?" You asked, not looking up as you moved onto some butter lettuce. 

"Nothing, he's talking about the wedding being a good time for...you know, for us seeing each other again." Sirius almost laughed when he said it, "figured you hadn't mentioned to Lily that we've been seeing each other."

"I just figured it'd be easier that way...in case we aren't when the wedding comes around." You pointed out. 

Sirius pouted at you, lower lip jutting out. What Lily knew was true, you and Sirius had broken up (not for the first time) and you weren't really seeing anyone. Not because you were hiding out or anything so petty, just because you were busy and, times being what they were, you didn't have time to sit around with your friends and eat ice cream and complain. Or whatever it was that Lily had told you would be cathartic. The part of it that she didn't know, that you hadn't told her when you'd mentioned seeing Remus the week prior, was that you'd seen Sirius too. They shared the flat in London after all and it was impossible to avoid seeing Sirius when you saw Remus. Your ex had been there and everything had been fine and then Remus had gone to work (probably knowing exactly what would come of him going to work and leaving the two of you alone) and you were suddenly no longer broken up. 

"Don't be such a cynic, it's not becoming," Sirius teased, grinning when you smiled despite yourself. 

"Your hair is getting long," you commented, changing the subject abruptly. 

"My hair is always long." 

"Longer than usual," you replied, reaching out to play with the end of a strand of wavy black hair. Sirius smile softened and his eyes fluttered closed for a moment before he opened them again, watching you pull your hand away and stand up. "Practically on your shoulders."

"You're very concerned about the length of my hair suddenly?" He asked.

"I was thinking about it this morning when we were brushing our teeth but my mouth was full of toothpaste so I couldn't say, and then you went to see James and so I've just thought it again when I looked at you. That your hair is getting long." You explained. 

"I appreciate the mention, thank you."

You shook your head at him and went back to choosing vegetables for the salad, moving to another raised bed. Tomatoes this time, you noted. You went for the smallest of them, cherry sized and yellow in color. Sirius followed after you, taking a few off a vine to eat for himself. 

"We should get a nice little place like this," he mentioned, looking around the garden. He wasn't sure he could picture the two of you in a garden together but something like it might be nice. Sirius wasn't really a cottage type, not like James and Lily, setting up a cozy little corner of the world where they dreamed of raising a family and cultivating a garden and having neighbors. He wasn't sure he wanted all those things, he felt he was supposed to want them, to dream of waking up on Christmas and coming down to a tree all decorated and lots of little versions of the two of you running about. 

"You wouldn't want that," you said, as matter of fact as he knew it to be true. "You would feel too suffocated somewhere like this, who wants to spend forever feeling like they're losing themselves."

"Is that how you thought you would feel?" Sirius asked, reaching for the basket and laying his hand over yours when you gripped the handle. 

"No," you smiled at him, lifting the gravity of his words, "it's how I knew you might feel...especially if you were hellbent on convincing yourself that this was what you wanted. Sirius Black tending a garden and going to markets on Sundays? I've known you too long, my love, you can't fool me quite as well as you fool yourself."

Sirius grinned, giving little away as to whether he was bothered by your words or not. He had grown up with you though, been friends long before you were lovers, and he knew that you could be blunt with your words. "Well, we wouldn't have to have this place," Sirius finally said, "we could have a nice little flat in London."

"I do have a nice little flat in London and you stay over quite a lot," you reasoned. You were tempted to add that enough of his belongings had made their way into your little flat that there was no way to ever truly expel him from your life. You hadn't even tried the last time, just left everything where it was like a relic of a passed life. 

"True," he agreed, going back to picking vegetables. 

"Do you want to tell James and Lily that we're seeing each other again?" You asked, taking up the basket as he tossed a couple cucumbers in. 

"Do you want to be seeing each other?" He replied. It was a foolish insecurity to have, especially for someone who had never experienced much insecurity in previous relationships (though he didn't really have many substantial relationships he could recall off the top of his head), but sometimes he thought that perhaps you were just bidding your time with him. 

You looked almost confused, eyebrows furrowing as you looked at him, "course. I'd see you all the time if I could." 

"Well," Sirius grinned, almost visibly inflating at your words, "who can blame you for that?"

"Alright, let's get inside before your head gets too big to fit through the kitchen door," you teased, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt and tugging gently so that he would follow you. 

Walking back into the kitchen was like breaking a spell, James was taking the basket from your hands and asking if the two of you wanted some wine from a bottle that "a neighbor gave us last week, not sure exactly where they got it, or if they made it themselves, Lily was convinced that they poisoned it but I said that was silly,". 

"Poisoned?" Sirius asked, taking the green glass bottle and uncorking it. He leaned over the bottle and sniffed as if he'd detect whether it was foul or not. "Doesn't smell poisoned."

"Oh can you smell the poison?" You laughed, grabbing a knife from the block on the counter and laying out the vegetables. 

"I have an excellent sniffer, I'll have you know," he argued, "though I will say it's a bit easier to sus out a poison in my furrier form."

"Do not transform yourself into a dog in my kitchen Sirius," Lily snapped, "you never want to put your clothes back on."

"That's got nothing to do with the dog," you commented and James laughed. 

"Didn't realize I'd been invited to dinner just to endure all this abuse." Sirius grumbled though there was a smile threatening to break across his face, letting you know that he wasn't nearly as upset as he was playing at. 

     You sat beside Sirius for dinner, Lily sending you suggestive looks whenever she thought he was too engrossed in conversation with James to notice (though you knew Sirius better than most and were sure that he had most definitely noticed). Dinner at Lily and James' was like always, fun and lighthearted, conversation steering away from anything too troubling (no talk of the coming darkness) until you were all a little more than tipsy and you'd taken to openly leaning against Sirius when the party moved to the living room. 

He was first to take his leave, though he announced that you were going with him, "think we'd best get home, this one's got work in the morning," were his exact words and the way he said 'home' as if it belonged to both of you made your wine drunk heart skip a beat. You were warm from the alcohol and the fire and hugs goodbye but you still managed to wrap yourself in Sirius' arms as you walked down the sidewalk in Godric's. 

"You know, I think it would be quite nice to have a little flat somewhere, we could decorate it together and have all our friends round for dinner parties and we could go all over the world on holidays." You suggested, the grey of his eyes especially haunting as he measured your words. 

"Sounds lovely," he agreed, though whether that was because it did sound lovely or because he was placating you, even he wasn't positive. 

You both went home and the spell of Godric's Hollow was lifted and when the envelope arrived by owl a week later, Sirius was gone again. Back to his shared flat with Remus and you were back to pretending all the pieces of him that he'd left behind didn't hurt. Remus had assured you, when you'd blubbered rather unattractively over the phone with him two days after things turned sour, that it was just the way things worked between the two of you ("eventually one of you, or both of you, god willing, will mature enough to commit to the relationship you both so desperately crave"). The advice was not what you wanted to hear, to no one's surprise, and you resigned yourself instead to the knowledge that you would not have to see Sirius until the wedding, or rehearsal dinner or whatever Lily had planned. You could stay in the flat in Cambridge that was once again, only yours, and Sirius could go about his own life doing whatever it was that he did when you were taking time away from each other. 

By your own determination and Lily's unwavering devotion to you as a friend, there were no run-ins until the rehearsal dinner, which Sirius was late to. He arrived looking somewhat frazzled, on a flying motorcycle of all things, and apologizing profusely to Lily and James for his tardiness. You were standing with Remus, who'd been tasked with walking beside you until Sirius arrived, watching him greet the jovial couple.

"My mum told me that if I would only stop fooling around with Sirius I might find some nice bloke and settle down," you whispered to Remus when he nudged you gently with his elbow. 

"That sounds very uncharacteristic for you," he replied, "do you plan on taking her advice?"

"Unfortunately, for myself and for her, I really don't," you finally tore your gaze away from your sometimes companion (just as he looked your way) to meet Remus' amused gaze, "I always think I will but then he shows up somewhere and I know I won't." 

"Remus, I see you've taken your rightful place as best man," Sirius teased, wedging himself into the nonexistent space between the two of you. If it wasn't so obvious that you and Remus harbored no feelings for each other, someone might have supposed that Sirius was jealous of his friend receiving your attention. 

"I already told James I didn't want it when he asked me first," Remus joked, moving over a step to accommodate his friend. 

"Did you really?" Sirius called, looking around the small crowd for James and then settling on him, "you asked Remus first?"

"Second best again Padfoot," you teased. 

He looked at you with mild surprise before gasping dramatically and clutching at his chest, "my best friends...all this time and it seems all of my best friends prefer Remus over me?"

"Sorry mate," Remus laughed, clapping a hand on Sirius shoulder. 

He waved him away, "it's alright there Moony, I would probably choose you too."

"I was only teasing anyway Sirius," he promised. 

Lily managed to reign the boys in again, one more walk down the aisle with the correct partners, as she so explained, already walking to her place at the end of the pews. She had on a short white dress with a lace overlay that made her look like something out of a magazine. The absolute picture of beauty with her long ginger hair and bright green eyes. You were almost envious as you watched the way James watched his soon to be bride smiling at him from the other side of the small church. But then you moved your gaze down the row of gathered groomsmen, not having to go very far to find Sirius stood beside James, watching you the same way his best friend watched Lily. 

You held his gaze the whole way down the aisle and you thought that your resolution not to let him back into your life would be all for naught. You'd be surprised if he didn't come home with you tonight. 

"I heard he's been out recently," Dorcas whispered, disrupting your dreamlike fantasy and you turned your head, drowning out Lily and James rehearsal vows so that you could hear your friend's gossip better. 

"Who with?"

"I didn't get specifics, Marlene knows though. She's the one that told me." She replied.

"Yeah well, she's the one he was out with last time." You replied. 

"You act like it doesn't bother you." 

You shrugged at the suggestion, "I've been out to."

When you turned back, in time to follow the fake married couple down the aisle, Sirius was extending his arm and staring at you with mild interest. The sort that said he wanted to know what it was you were talking about because of course he had noticed you talking to Dorcas. You only offered a smile though, letting him lead the both of you down to the back of the church where Lily was slipping her feet out of her heels. 

"These blasted shoes, I tried to charm them to be comfortable and it's just been rubbish." She complained, bending to pick them up.

"Ask Mary, she's good at all those nonsensical charms," you offered, ignoring the look Sirius was still giving you. He was standing so close he was hovering and when you continued to ignore him in favor of saying goodbye to Peter and Dorcas, he pinched at your sides. "Would you stop it?"

"Would you pay attention to me?" 

"I pay plenty of attention to you, if I paid you anymore I would go broke," you huffed, turning to look at him. The pinching stopped and he placed his hands on your waist instead, keeping you close enough that he could whisper and no one would overhear the conversation. 

"What did Dorcas say?"

"About what?"

"About...you know what." He replied.

"Ah," you smiled, "about you sleeping around?"

"I'm not sleeping around! Is that what she said? A date or two but not sleeping around, god." He huffed, seeming personally offended by Dorcas' comment.

"Oh stop, I told her it wasn't a bother to me." You replied, "besides, I imagine I know where you'll be sleeping tonight." 

Sirius grinned, "is that an invitation?" 

You nodded, looking over his shoulder to the front of the church, already decorated for the wedding tomorrow morning. "Maybe we should get married?"

"Would you like that?" He asked, pinching at your side once more.

"Stop it!" You laughed and swatted away his hands, "and to answer your question, I wouldn't mind it one bit. Though I'm opposed to taking your last name only, perhaps a hyphen?" 

"Oh god, how about I take yours instead?" He suggested, "forget Black altogether."

You nodded, "we could have our own little flat?"

"Go on lots of holidays." He replied. 

"Oh but I'd feel awful leaving Remus alone in your old place," you pointed out, envisioning a very sad Remus home alone. 

"I really wouldn't mind," the actual one cut in, having overheard his name in the conversation. 

"Nonsense Moony, they could move into ours."

"I don't actually like your flat though Sirius," you replied.

"How could you not like it?"

"Are you three coming?" James called, looking over at your small party. "We're heading out for drinks."

Sirius took your hand, "we shall discuss the logistics later," he promised, pulling you toward the exit of the church where Remus had already joined James and Lily. 

"I look forward to it."