#same but opposite with Sirius | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aetherraeys · 2 months ago

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bloodmoon

(part 2 x)

remus lupin x vampire!reader ⊹ 11.7k

For whatever reason, Remus couldn’t bear the idea of even being in the same room as you. His body had been telling him why, but clearly he needed it spelt out for him.

cw ⟢ hurt/comfort, slowish burn, swearing, self-loathing, meanish!remus, vampire!reader, blood

a/n: for this request! im sorry it took a while, i got a bit ahead of myself, hence the wordcount. enjoy x not proofread

Truly enticing—comparable to a siren—you carried an alluring presence that was impossible to ignore. With skin of a dazzling, pearlescent almost porcealine like quality—captivating eyes and a honeyed voice.

You were a creature to behold.

It wasn’t suprising in the slightest though, it seemed that everyone in your family held these same enthralling qualities, a notorious, long line of pureblood slytherin. And one would think you’d act as such, uppity, entitled and holier-than-thou, but it was quite the opposite.

Good-natured, courteous, poised—saintly, even. An overall good Samaritan.

Adored by many, hated by none.

Except Remus that is.

Well—hate was a strong word. He didn’t hate you, he had no reason to. But he couldn’t stop the agitating, grating feeling that crawled up the back of his neck whenever you were near.

He knew there was something wrong. He could feel it, it seemed like he was the only one who wasn’t helplessly drawn to you, like a moth to a flame—and it was starting to get to him.

He just didn’t get what all the fuss was about, granted, you were attractive—he wasn’t blind, he just didn’t like you. People practically worshipped the ground you walked on, praising you for being a decent human being, you even had the faculty playing into the palm of your hand.

And Remus wasn’t buying it.

He didn’t bother hiding the huffed scoff of disbelief and fed-up roll of his eyes from his friends when they passed you in the courtyard.

Predictably, you were surrounded—first-year girls giggling in your orbit, one perched behind you braiding your hair while you braided another’s. A few sat nearby on the benches, stringing together daisy chains like a scene plucked straight from a children’s storybook.

You looked like Mother Teresa, for crying out loud.

Later, in the Great Hall, his friends watched, as his spine became ridgid, grip on his spoon hardening the moment you walked in. As always, you strode in, arms linked with Pandora’s, that same wine-red lollipop in twirling your mouth, loud and obnoxious chatter circling between you.

At least, that’s how Remus saw it.

In reality, you’d walked in quite casually, reasonable volumed, light conversation following you, signiture lolly in hand. It seemed that today, Remus’ world was tinted slightly red with comtempt. He was practically burning a hole in the back of your head with his harsh gaze, as if he could will you spontaneously combust.

A sharp voice broke his concentration.

"Have you ever actually spoken to her?"

James.

Remus blinked, realization dawning as he registered the weight of his friends’ stares, the expectant looks they all shared. James’s tone was filled with exasperated skepticism. They knew he wasn’t your biggest fan—for whatever reason, he wouldn’t say.

Remus scowled, “Once.” And you were annoyingly nice through the entire interaction, despite Remus’ painfully obvious irritance, offering to help him infact.

It was late one evening when he limped into the hospital wing in search for Madame Pomfrey, still reeling in pain after a transformation—usually James or Sirius went to fetch his potion for him, but today he didn’t want to be bother. A white nurse’s apron tied neatly around your waist, gently changing the bandages of a battered Quidditch player. When you turned to him, peaceful expression contorting into one of concern. Without hesitation, you moved toward him, a little too quickly for his liking.

He stepped back, avoiding from your touch, as if it’d burn him, grumbling out, “Is Madam Pomfrey here?”

Slightly taken aback by his clear rejecting disposition, you explained that there had been a quite ghastly incident involving some first-years and the Whomping Willow. Reaching out a hand—

“She’s healing them on site at the minute, but if you tell me what’s wrong, I’m sure I can help you wit—”

Before you’d made it to the end of your sentence, he had already spun on his his heal and rushed away, sharply spitting, “Forget it.”

By the time he’d returned back to the common room, his limp had gotten slightly worse, straining under the pressure of his excertion—pain flaring with every step.

Lily was the first to notice, immediately rising from her seat to meet him, concern pinching her brows.

“Why didn’t you get healed?” she asked, her tone somewhere between scolding and worried.

He winced suddenly as he stretched his body out across the cushions. Both James and Sirius turned their heads in concern, faces mirroring Lily’s, brows knit upwards in a sympathetic grimance.

Sighing in defeat—“She wasn’t there.” Twisting and turning in a fruitless attempt to find a comfortable position where he couldn’t feel the searing ache in his bones.

“What do you mean, she wasn’t there? The hospital wing is never empty.” James’ voiced chimed in from his seat across the room, before he continue, ”Even then, you could’ve waited there.”

Lily was still adjusting the cushions she’d placed under his legs when she said, “I’ll go now if you wa—”

“No,” Remus interjected quickly, reaching out to stop her before she could stand, scratches on his knuckles still raw, sucking in a deep breath, willing his body to relax into the sofa, pushing the pain away from the forefront of his mind—he held her arm lightly.

“There’s no point going now, she won’t be back until later.”

Her face screwed in confusion, looking back at the others hoping they would intervene. Sirius made his way over to where they were, sitting by the fire, James following closely behind. They watched him, waiting for him to continue.

Lily frowned. “Who was there?”, his jaw tightened.

“It was only Y/N,” his eyes were shut as he ran a hand through his hair, his voice taking a sharp tone, a deep frown forming on his lips; “And I’d rather wait here in pain, than be healed by some girl playing dress up.”

His words were harsh and left little room for agrument, only cracking an eye open at the sound of James’ loud frustrated groan—his head rolled back, and his fingers forcibly rubbed at the wrinkles that had formed between his brows.

“So, let me get this straight, you turned away a perfectly good healer, in your state, because you don’t ‘like’ them?!”

Both Sirius and Lily looked gaped at him in shocked, shaking their heads in clear disapproval. He pursed his lips, forming into a thin, stubborn line.

“And she’s not ‘playing dress up’. Y/N has been volunteering under Madam Pomfrey since third year, Remus.”

Remus exhaled forcefully through his nose, but he didn’t argue.

Really, he should have felt guilty.

For the way he dismissed you. For the way he recoiled like you were something foul, despite your only offense being offering to help him. But he couldn’t find it in himself to act the slightest bit remoseful—pushing his face into the sofa, trying to block out the world. Wanting to ignore the way his head only throbbed—the headache had been making it’s presence known for hours.

Only pounding louder at the mention of your name. Even his friends came to your defense.

Since then, he’d made it his mission to stay out of your way—hating the person he became in your presence. It was ridiculous really, having such hostility to a person who had been endlessly kind.

He tried to avoid you, really.

But it seemed as though the Gods were punishing him.

First, it was in duelling class, you were no daisy, a truly gifted witch—and remained undefeated in casual combat.

He wanted to watch you get knocked off your high-horse, zero interest in parttaking. But alas, the Professor had decreed, that ‘The winner stays on’, and much to his misfortune it had rolled around to his turn.

He stepped onto the platform him and you turned to look at him—eyes bright, light pleasant smile on your face—he felt that same prickling irritation crawl up his spine.

You bowed to him, adherring proper etiquette, and he followed suit, gripping his wand tightly as he moved into position.

The duel began with a flick of wands and a burst of movement. He had to admit—grudgingly—that you were good. Swift on your feet, sharp reflexes, casting defensive spells, deflecting him with ease.

You weren’t even try to win.

The goal was to disarm, and disarm only—and yet you hadn’t made one attempt at him, effortless precision in the way you diverted every one of his spells, riccoching away with loud hisses. Barely having moved from you position, hand still comfortably behind your back—while Remus had broken a clear sweat, inching up the platform, closing the distance that was set between you.

Remus was by no means an amateur, so this was just embarrassing.

You were only blocking, like this was some silly game, like you were playing with a child. And it was starting to make him irrationally angry. The surrounding students had taken a step back, whispering amongst themselves as your wands clashed in bursts of white and blue.

Did you think you were so good, that you needed to pull your punches?

It was already in motion when he’d realised what he’d done, his aggrevation got the better of him, and with a calculated flick of his wrist, Remus sent a well-aimed flippendo, straight at you. You saw the look in face, the anger crumbling as the spell left his lips.

It immediately broke through, sending you flying upwards, a sharp white flash leaving your wand.

For a moment, the room was still.

Gasps sounded, echoeing in Remus’ ears, and the Professor stood up abrupty from his seat by the platform, eyes rising and falling, following the movement of you body.

He barely registered the sting of magic, the clattering sound of his wand, is what brought Remus back into the room.

Your chest heaved, each breath deeper than the last, trying to compensate for the wind that had been knocked out of you. Head bowed forward, sitting on you knees, palms spread across the floor, wand still in hand as you stumbled, failing to raise from your position.

Your reflexes had caught you, just barely preventing your entire body from crashing roughly against the hard mahogany.

Knees still burning from the hard connection. The silence broken as your friends made their way through the crowd, and as they neared, you raised a hand to halt them before they could fuss over you. You exhaled sharply, trying to straighten your spine, shaking the residual magic from your fingertips. Hands burning from bracing you impact, wand warm in your tight grasp, the energy still thrumming beneath your skin.

Remus stood frozen, chest rising and falling in rapid succession, his expression wavering between guilt and frustration. Someone reached out—Dorcas, maybe—but you only rolled your shoulders, breath still laboured as you shook off the lingering sting of the spell.

Despite his foul-play, you’d still won—effectively disarming him mid air.

Remus swallowed as he took a hesitant step forward—whether to speak, to apologize, he wasn’t sure. The professor finally spoke, ”That was reckless, Mr. Lupin.”Voice ringing in his ears, sharp and disapproving.

Without a word, you turned on your heel and strode toward the exit, footsteps ringing against the wooden floor.

You hadn't looked at him.

Hadn’t even spared him a glance.

The next time he saw you, days had passed, now in Potions.

He should have known Slughorn would meddle. The man had an affinity for grouping “brilliant minds” together, and Remus, to his horror, was no exception.

“You two will make an excellent pair,” Slughorn beamed, practically vibrating with excitement as he waved between you and Remus. “Top of my class, both of you—oh, the potential! I expect nothing short of excellence.”

For a few moments, you stood still, and he could have swore he saw you eye twitch. But then, you turned to him with a polite, yet tight-lipped and strained smile on your face, hands already moving to gather ingredients.

“Let’s get started, shall we?”

He didn’t respond—just nodded stiffly, shoving his sleeves up as he resigned himself to his fate.

The entire class, you worked in relative silence, opting to only speak when you spoke to him, your voice was so casual, so smooth, nowhere near as pinched and curt as his.

Still unable to fight off the relentless, gutwrenching burn of his blood at your proximity—he couldn’t explain it, couldn’t comprehend why his body has such an involuntary viseral reaction to you.

Observing you quietly, watching as you hummed while stirring the cauldron, peaceful concentration on your face. And he hated it, hated how when you look at him, your eyes remained just as kind as that day in the hospital—not holding an ounce of resentment towards him, not even a flicker of the disdain he was certain he deserved. It gnawed at him, made something coil tight and uncomfortable in his chest.

He should have been relieved—grateful, even—that you hadn’t taken his hostility to heart.

“Lupin?”

Your voice broke through his thoughts, dragging him back to the present. He realized, belatedly, that you were watching him expectantly, holding out your hand.

“Hmm?”

“The moonstone,” you repeated patiently, point at it, a jar of powdered moonstone that was next to his open textbook. “Are you going to add it, or should I?”

For a moment, he just stared.

And when your arm reached out and over to take the jar yourself, the time frame you needed add in the ingredient slipping away, the seconds almost slowed down as your arm made contact with the searing hot cauldron.

You retracted quickly, jar in your grasp, and holding your arm in pain.

Remus flinched, the scrape of your sharp inhale cutting through the low murmur of the classroom. “Shit—” the word slipped out, before he could think, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping gently around your wrist. But your skin was cold, shockingly cold, like there wasn’t an ounce of warm in you at all—the gasp leaving before he realised.

You pulled your arm away from him abrupty, he sat still watching as you pulled out your wand and muttered a cooling charm under your breath.

“I’m fine,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “It’s nothing.”

His jaw clenched watching the redness faded slightly, but the skin still looked tender. Your eyes flicked away from your arm to the cauldron—gaze ever focused, ever composed. But Remus saw it, the fear and the colour drain from you face at his reaction—you knew he felt it, felt you, your temperature*.*

Remus swallowed the apology clawing its way up his throat. What good would it do?

“We’ve got time to redo the step.” You mumbled, rolling down your sleeves.

He reached for the moonstone, fingers brushing against the jar’s glass. Without a word, measuring out the powder and added it to the cauldron in slow, careful motions.

Noting how, for the rest of the class, your gaze didn’t meet his.

“Perfect!” Slughorn’s voice rang through the classroom, loud and booming, as he peered delightedly into your cauldron. “Absolutely textbook! I knew the two of you would be a fantastic match.”

Lunch couldn’t have come fast enough, immediately as the bell run, he watched your figure slip away silently into the corridoor.

Remus had barely touched his food, stirring absentmindedly at his plate as James and Sirius chattered animatedly beside him. Lily sat across from them, eyes flitting between her book and whatever ridiculous conversation was unfolding at the table.

His was in daze, replaying the moment over and over again—on question on loop in his brain.

Why?

He knew full well it wasn’t normal, there was no doubt about it in his mind, and sure he ran hot, for his own reasons, but he couldn’t shake away the look you had in your eyes, the panic, how when you tore your hand from his grasp, the surface of his fingertips were still cold.

That day, you didn’t walk in with Pandora like usual, the spot on the bench remained empty, for the entire lunch hour.

Instead of attending lunch, you were pacing around the Observatory in the Astronomy tower, hand rubbing over the skin where your burn should be, it would’ve healed completely before the end of the class anyway, but the cooling charm, cut the time down to a meer 5 minutes.

You’d been knawing at the skin of your bottom lip for too long now, a nervous habit. Staring mindlessly out, hoping the skies would provide some solace to the turmoil brewing deep in the pits of your stomach.

Why did he have to touch you?

Hands gripping the metal of the railing, it was familiar, cold—matching your skin. Gods, you hated this, hated how you were—cursed, hated how all it took was mistake and your whole world would come crashing down upon you. And you’d, unfortunately, survive, forced to find a new identity, just as your parents had.

The mantra was heavy on you lips—he won’t know, he doesn’t know, he can’t know.

You wanted to go about your day, to make your way down to the hospital wing, do some good for once, but you knew it wouldn’t be smart—you couldn’t focus anything right now. Let alone treat sick people, something that needed your undivided attention.

Maybe its best you skip dinner too, you weren’t exactly hungry.

Walking back to the slytherin common room, mind in a state of complete disarray—it was the wet dripping down your chin that made you realise—you’d bitten your lip swollen and raw. Metallic taste in your mouth, you picked up your pace into a small jog.

“bathroom, bathroom, bathroom,” muttering under your breath.

Of course, in your time of need the nearest girls’ toilet was, what felt like, miles away. You were sure it looked worse than it actually was. The small gash was already healing—but you were running now, the drops were going to stain your shirt if you didn’t hurry.

Hand covering the your mouth, you felt him, and the floor, before you saw him.

A loud, “Ooof,” sounded from above you—and when you landed on the hard stone, you bit down re-opening your nearly healed wound. You couldn’t help the pained groan that escaped your lips, the sharp sting of fresh blood flooding your mouth.

“Bloody hell—”

The voice above you was unmistakable.

It just had to be him, didn’t it?

You scrambled upright, ignoring the way your limbs ached from the fall. Remus came round by you side, and Lily was on the other—her words were genuine and full of concern, ”Y/N! Are you alright?!”

Her hands were already reach for you, when you tried to say tell her that you were fine. Instictively avoiding her touch, backing up, and into Remus’ grasp, you were well and truly trapped. Hooking their hands under your arms, and pulling you to a stand.

His hands were achingly hot against your robes, and you forced your teeth back into the closing gash—keeping the blood flowing.

You really were short on luck today.

“Merlin, you’re so cold Y/N,” her hands already running up and down your arms to warm you, you shied away from her touch, but Remus kept a tight grip on you.

“I run a tad cold, I’m fine though, just heading to the bathroom.” It came out rushed and pinched, completely muffled from you hand, still pressing your teeth into it—eyes becoming more glossy by the second.

You so desperately needed to be anywhere but here.

Remus felt like a looming presence behind you, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him—feeling his eyes scanning your frame. You were still trying to squirm out of his grip, but he wouldn’t release you.

It took a few more moments for Lily to stop forcibly rubbing you arm and take a step back, concern still etched into her face. “Are you sure? You look—”, she hesitated, before gesturing your appearence.

You let out a breathy, forced chuckle. “I’m fine, really.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she nodded slowly, allowing you a sliver of space.

Remus, on the other hand, hadn’t moved. His grip remained firm, his fingers twitching slightly where they pressed against your sleeve.

You refused to look at him.

He won’t know, he doesn’t know, he can’t know.

But the silence stretched between you, growing heavier with each second. You could feel his eyes on you, scanning every inch, catalouging every detail.

“You’re bleeding.”

It wasn’t a question.

Your stomach twisted violently. Your grip tightened over your mouth, fingers digging into your skin, willing yourself not to react.

“I bit my lip.” You interrupted quickly, words too sharp, too frantic. “That’s all.”

Remus still hadn’t let go, his face was almost unreadable—

“Let me see.”

Your heart lurched. “No.”

The word left your lips too quickly, too forceful, too much like a command. His grip tensed, just for a fraction of a second but you couldn’t wait any longer—each second riskier than the last, it was all already too much. Ripping your arm from is grasp, tears heavy on your waterline—”I have to go now.”

Before Lily was even able to offer her company, you were gone. Had bolted, practically running down the corridor, leaving them both behind.

You didn’t stop until you were safely locked inside the bathroom, palms pressed against the cold porcelain of the sink, chest heaving. You turned on the faucet, letting the water run over your trembling fingers, watching as it swirled pink before disappearing down the drain. Examining your lip—already healed.

He doesn’t know. He won’t know. He can’t know.

But no matter how many times you repeated it, you couldn’t shake the way Remus had looked at you.

The coil had already began to wined. It always started like this, suspicion, panic, terror. You could barely meet your own gaze in the mirror, splashing water on you face—hair sticking to your forehead, slow pulse thumping in your ear. A constant reminder.

Monster.

The rest of the week, you’d avoided meal times, giving Pandora a cheap excuse every morning, one day studying, the next day, tutoring, the day after hospital wing.

Thinking, hoping, praying to whatever deity had done this to you, for just a slither of mercy. You, of course, wrote home, detailing the incident. It was always better to keep them in the know.

The castle had begun to feel suffocating.

Too many eyes. Too many questions.

So you turned to the one place that had never judged you—the Forbidden Forest. Its not like anything in there could do real harm to you.

You were the monster they’d warn you about.

The shadows welcomed you, stretching long and dark beneath the canopy, swallowing you whole. Bark damp and cool under your fingertips, legs hanging comfortably from the branch. Feeling your stomach churn, as an unfamiliar heartbeat rang in your ears, much faster—nearing.

Its footsteps small and rapid, hands gripping onto the wood much tighter, when you saw it. A rabbit, your feet moved faster than your brain. Drawn in, you couldn’t help but instinctively follow, stalk—hunt— scent painfully sweet. You watched it wriggle into the base of a hollowed out tree, hand reaching in and dragging it out, it squirmed and squealed in your hold.

The saliva was building, pooling in your mouth, your chest shuddered with each breath, and swallowing thickly—you pulled out your wand, holding it firmly to the stomach of the creature.

“Episkey.”

It calmed, less frantic, less afraid.

And you placed it down, gently with a few tender stokes to the head, back into the safety of the cavern.

Hours has passed, trailing aimlessly up and down the outskirts of the forest, you crouched low by a river, staring at the distorted reflection staring back at you. The veins by your eyes bloomed over the curve of your cheekbones, a prominent dark-red, pulsing under your fingertips, the dark edge of your iris adoping a black hue and expanding, consuming almost all of the white.

A thing of nightmares.

You tilted your head back, admiring the moon, full and captivating—alone and understanding, like that of an old friend.

A branch snapped in the distance.

You stiffened, every muscle locking in place, every instinct screaming prey.

An itch beneath your skin. A sickness in your bones.

You squeezed your eyes shut, teeth digging into your bottom lip—

Then it rung, echoed, ricochetted off of every nearby surface, breaking the stillness of the water you stood over.

A howl.

One too close for comfort, the skin at the back of your neck prickled, you refused to take another breath. You should have paid more attention to your surroundings, should have a path ready, an escape route. It was too late now, it was too close, you could smell it now.

You’d wasted time.

There wasn’t much else to do, you didn’t know where to run next, each second of the chase to valuable to get lost. Taking the large rock that sat snuggly against the water’s edge, you blindly tossed it behind you, using every ounce of strength in your body. Before submerging yourself.

The water was freezing, so much so it made your eyes burn, you forced yourself to relax—to sink, avoid detection all costs.

Your mother had warned you about wolves, vicious, savage and beastly creatures—that killed for the sake of killing, for the thrill of the hunt.

It was ironic in your opinion, the way she spoke about them with such disgust and distain, like your kind of monster was any better than the next. At least werewolves could escape it, only spending 12 nights of the year a slave to their nature, able to blend in with the rest of the world, almost normal—they’d live and die in timely fashion, naturally or of disease.

The priviliege possibility.

You were the real vicious, beastly creatures. A parasite—feeding off the life of innocents, beautiful and magnetic to draw in the naive and weak, taking life, all that is good and disgracing it.

The ultimate perversion of nature, the condemned.

The pressure of the water above you had made your chest burn, ears filling with water, and as much as you tried to tune your hearing to the surface level, everything was dulled by the gurgling, whoosing the bounced back and forth between your ears.

You had to take the chance, you had to surface, you’d already been under too long.

Forcing yourself up, clothes weighing you down, making the ascent that bit more burdensome on your muscles, your fingers gripped the lip pond, tugging yourself free from the water’s embrace. You layed there for a moment, eyes still squeezed shut, half submerged, drinking in heaping gulps of oxygen.

You could feel it, the warm hum of the sun against your back, the life of the forest clear in the quite churps the swam across the air. The time under the water had passed so quick, peacefully, all thoughts subdued by the lulling sway, the push and pull of the current.

The rest of your body hit the ground with an uncomfortable splat, completely and thoroughly drenched, and yet you couldnt’t complain. Despite not having slept a wink, you felt less lost, thoughts a bit clearer, mind less polluted.

Still, you utterly were exhausted, trudging back to the castle—leaving a wet and dripping trail behind you.

It was just early enough that you’d been able to walk in through the main entrance unseen, but before you could turn the corner down to the girls’ toilets, it hit you, harsh, defeaning and impossible to ignore.

You doubled over, the roaring incessant pull, making your gums ache and vision blur. Stumbling forward, you tried to rest your back on the stone, but it whafted in again, stronger. Forcing you to screw your eyes shut, all but collapsing on the floor—clutching your stomach.

It was exactly what you hoped it wouldn’t be.

The sweet, sickly coppery smell, had your head spinning, and even after all the endless nights you’d spent in the hospital wing, sometimes dripping in the stuff, you’d still never smelt blood so compelling.

You could barely breathe, each inhale felt like an iron rod was being shoved down your throat, curled into a ball, writhing as you fought every cell in your body to not chase.

All you could hear was an awful shrilling sound, and you wanted to gag, a retch building in your chest.

You’ve learnt that fate is twisted, and sadistic—cruel in nature.

Because despite all your efforts, your struggle and labour to stay away.

It was coming to you.

There were three, you could hear them, all three heartbeats—one significantly faster than the others, though only one approached you. You groaned a pained sound in protest, they shouldn’t come closer, really.

Padding footsteps stopped by you, breath hitching as you shook with the effort, taking what little you had left in you—you pushed yourself as far away as possible. And when your head hit the wall, you just sobbed. Frantically shaking you head, whispering over and over to yourself—

“Please, no, Gods, no-”

They’d heard the impact first, and when James looked up, the small dark figure at the bottom of the hall thudding to the ground, he looked over at Sirius, who he’d been supporting Remus’ weight. That knowing look, the one that said, we need to help.

He was only inches away, his fingertips gently lifting away you robes, they were heavy and soaked, the splattering connection that sounded made Remus wince, ears still so hypersensitive.

James’ expression was grave, wordlessly, picking you up, carrying you with careful, measured movements.

Your body was stiff against him, trembling—not from the cold, but from the unbearable restraint you were forcing upon yourself. Hands locked into tight fists against your chest, as your jaw clenched so tight it sent sharp pangs down your skull.

You could smell him, so much closer now, just behind you.

The fresh wound. The slow, sluggish trickle of blood. The way it called to you like a siren song, wrapping invisible hands around your throat, pulling, pulling—

And then a voice.

"She’s absolutely freezing."

It was so distant, like layers and layers, gallons and gallons of water seperated you.

You wanted to scream at him, No, no I’m hot, its so hot. it burns— but your lips wouldn’t move, your body wouldn’t listen.

And then, another voice.

Deep, rough, hoarse from exhaustion.

Remus.

“Take her with us.”

A sharp, breathy whimper rattled in your throat. You can’t. Not when your willpower was teetering to close to the edge. Not when you could barely contain the way your fingers twitched toward him, the way your tongue pressed hungrily against your teeth.

Not when the taste of him still lingered in the air between you.

The scent had been overwhelming before—but now? Now it was unbearable.

Because he was so close.

Because you could hear it now—his and only his heartbeat, as if made just for your ears. His blood buzzing and pumping around his body, seeping through clothes, slipping through cracks—

You sobbed, twisting violently in James’ arms, thrashing, desperate to get away.

"Hold her still!" Sirius hissed, as he stumbled back against Remus.

"I am!" James snapped, struggling to keep you from writhing out of his grasp.

You shook your head violently, the world spinning, tilting—every inch of you screaming in protest.

"I can’t—" your voice was barely there, more breath than sound. "Please—"

But no one was listening.

Because they didn’t understand.

They didn’t know what you were.

And they didn’t realize the real danger wasn’t whatever had lead you collapsed in that hallway.

The danger was you.

Edges of your vision began to cloud, head lolling, a rolling with each step James’ took, tears drying on you cheek and body falling limp as the last fight you has in you dwindled away.

Madam Pomfrey was quick to aiding Remus, discretely as always, cornering off a large enough section for him, James and Sirius. Agonising groans as she healed the gashes across his chest, tending to the bruises and aching muscles with quick efficiency—falling into the routine she’d become so unfortunatley accustom to.

James and Sirius help, dabbing the sweat off of him, changing the bandages as they soaked again and again—disgarding them into a bucket nearby.

Now, her next mission was you.

She knew well of your affiction, thankfully, as did a few other select members of the faculty, hiding your true nature from the students, the parents, the papers. It pained her to see you in your condition, knowing you were a sweet girl, not an bad bone in your body. Trying so hard to be better, counter the instincts that clawed at you from the inside out.

Pomfrey had always been gentle with you, but now, her touch was laced with urgency. She pressed the back of her hand against your forehead, feeling the unnatural chill of your skin.

"Oh, my dear," she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

You flinched, shifting away even in your half-conscious state.

"No—" your voice was hoarse, faint. "Don’t—"

But she shushed you, soft but firm, her fingers brushing over your pulse point, it was always slow, just barely there, but now—it was weak, a beat a minute. Not suprising, you hadn’t visited for your potion in some time, for whatever reason, denying yourself.

Forcing yourself to endure it, torturing and punishing yourself—while walking around with the biggest smile, nursing others back to health.

Remus was just coming to, the hair at the base of his scalp stuck to his neck, head pounding, jaw aching—when his eyes finally opened, he noticed his friends’ attention locked elsewhere—necks arched into a straining crane.

Transfixed on you, your poor shaking figure, fighting fever and something else.

By this time, Pomfrey had called for assistance in keeping you in place, keeping you running—hell bent on leaving the room.

Eyes raising heavily, following theirs, exerting his body into an upright position. He knew it was you, only from the familiar intrusive way his body shivered, hairs raising and skin prickling down is spine—because that wasn’t your voice,

No, your voice was always light, jarringly composed, sickly melodic. Not this, what filled is ears was hard to listen to, he wanted to shy away from the injured cries. Invasively loud, inescapable—and they didn’t seem to be stopping.

Becoming more urgent, more distressed, adopting a particularly harrowing edge when Pomfrey rushed back to you with a small green vial, attached to a concerningly large needle.

It felt disturbingly familiar, he saw himself in you—the futile struggle, the panic, the pain.

They all instictively turned away with a sharp intake of breath as Pomfrey pushed the needle deep into the dip where your neck meets your shoulder. It took a few more long moments before you calmed down—your head lolled again, body burning with exhaustion. Your head felt so far away, you didn’t want to sleep, but it was tempting—reminding you of the peace you’d found in the river earlier.

Eyes slipping away into the back of your head, before fluttering open just a sliver—just enough to see him.

Remus.

Still wincing, still covered in bandages, but his head was turned toward you.

Watching.

Brows furrowed.

Sighing as the sleep fully washed over your body.

Remus left the hospital wing that same day, still ridden with the usual post-moon aches, and he knew his own bed would be a better remedy.

The trio walked in silence, heads hanging as they slipped passed the closed curtain of your bay.

Barely out of earshot, it was Sirius who broke the silence first.

“D’you think she’s okay?” it was low and sincere, what they’d all been thinking.

No one answered for a moment, the memories still so fresh, too fresh for them to find the words. Remus couldn’t ignore the tight feeling in his chest—not the one cause by the night’s tearing, distorting and reassembling, but one of sympathy. Like he’d been forced to watch a wounded animal.

James’ voice was strained, struggling to capture the optimism his words clearly wished to convey, “I’m sure Pomfrey will take good care of her,” nodding to convince himself more than the others.

Whatever was wrong with you, you didn’t deserve it.

Remus chose not to say anything, because despite even her greatest efforts, she struggled to heal him—magic only going so far. And what he saw, what made you like that, he knew had to be a much worse problem than his.

The rest of the weekend passed with little commotion, though—Remus opted to collect his potion himself on both days, intending to catch a small glimpse of you, maybe you were fine—resting in the bed with your usual charming smile, surrounded by your friends—

On the saturday, your curtains were still close, no visitors, just silence around the wing. He was quick to leave, feet padding softly away as he shook off the gut-wrenching pinch he felt as he walked passed. But by sunday’s early evening, the wing was mostly clear, no sign of your presence, no signs of anything—just gone.

Of course, he attended classes as normal, when the first breakfast rolled around he only spared one glace at the entrance when Pandora walked in alone, by dinner his lips were sealed shut in confusion.

You weren’t in the hospital, you weren’t in classes, you weren’t at dinner.

The third day in a row of no-show. Remus’ body had the same tell-tale signs, as though you’d glided into the room, Pandora by your side—smile bright, lips reddened from your lolly. There was still no nothing though, halls feeling emptier, no smiles, no lollies, no you. He only pushed around the food on his plate, legs bouncing beneath the table, teeth grinding under the tension.

You’d think he’d be relieved to be rid of you.

Presence having always caused him such discomfort, such unjust agitation. But in spite of all that, you still plagued every inch of his thought, moments still flashing vividly behind his eyes of how he last saw you. He just needed to know.

That whatever sickness, whatever ailed you no longer did.

You still didn’t appear for another two days.

And when you’d finally walked into the Great Hall, practically clinging onto Pandora’s arm for support, Dorcas and Narcissa stuck to your sides, like bodyguards.

Still no smiles, still no lolly, still no you.

Because, that wasn’t the same girl who made his blood boil just by the way people were drawn to you, that wasn’t the girl who made his world tint red, body tensed and irritated, no. You were drained of all colour, eyes dull and trained to the ground—teeth knawing roughly at your lips.

Your sickness had left stripped everything away from you, a hollowed out husk of the girl you were before, and it made it hard for Remus to swallow the lump in his throat—made it hard for him to tear his gaze away from you.

So fragile.

The grip he had on his glass made his knuckles turn white, surely this wasn’t normal, surely there was someone doing something, Pomfrey—anyone.

Lily’s hand clapped over her mouth at the sight of you. Wasting no time rushing to your side, and Remus could hear her voice, the hushed concerned questions tumbling out, “Y/N, are you okay? Where have you been? Do you need anything?”

You were barely able push out a smile, in attempts to quell her worries, but your face was uncharacteristically stiff. Lips stretching and trying to curve up at the corners, but it was no use—it looked like a sort of twisted grimace.

Her hand ghosted over yours, cold to the touch, brows knitting tightly into a furrow—your whole body tensed under her touch, and as much as you wanted to pull away, you struggled to find the energy.

It was so clear that she meant well, but you had hardly taken in one breath, Remus was still watching you, and you felt his critical gaze on you as always.

“I’m fine, Lily, thank you though, just a bit poorly,” moving you hand away from hers to rest lightly in your lap.

Lily could see how every word was a strain on you, energy depleting as the interaction stretch beyond what you’d imagined. With a nod and a few more kind words, she sat back at the table.

Everyone’s eyes were on her expecting—waiting to her to detail the what she’d said, how you were doing.

She relayed, keeping it short and simple—but reinforcing one specific detail, you were still so cold.

You’d dismissed yourself early from dinner, a poor excuse of ‘rest’.

Remus still listening.

As everyone tried to offer you company, some support, an escort. “At least just to the common room?” Narcissa insisted, but you’d already stood and hushed her pleas—the same words, you’d become a record player, stuck on repeat.

“I’m fine, Cis—really.” Your smile didn’t meet your eyes.

He was so distracted that evening, always looking over to your table. No-one commented on it. Just allowing him to sit in his own state of disarray, internal conflict.

It would be inappropriate to pry, to check in on you. You weren’t friends, barely even associates—and he hadn’t been kind to you once in all your years as classmates.

Tolerating you with unfiltered scorn and hostility, never once considering how it would feel—to be on the receiving end of his indiscriminate contempt.

And finally, he felt it. What he’d been ignoring, allowing anger to push it down, letting the searing vex settle in the forefront of his mind—but it still lingered, waiting patiently to be acknowledged.

The guilt.

Abrupt and blunt were his words as he stood up from the bench, “going bed early.” And he didn’t wait for the responses or the goodnights, pace quick out of the hall.

He did go to bed, he just didn’t stay there. Reaching under his pillow and pulling out the map. Hesitating, as his fingertips ran over the rough, dry surface of the parchment. He shouldn’t.

That did little to stop him though.

He told himself, if you were in your common room, actually resting, he’d leave it alone. It wasn’t his place anyway.

But his eyes scanned for your name in the small circle of the dungeon.

Empty.

Brows pinched high on his forehead, frantically unfolding the pages, flicking back and forth for your name. Dread was settling in, what ifs—you could be in that same condition as the other night.

Scared, in pain, alone.

The sigh of relief when he found your name, heartbeat unusually fast and echoing in his ears. His feet moving faster than they should have, instinctively.

He wasn’t even sure why he was doing this. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t. Legs carrying him far as his strides picked up, walking, jogging, running, sprinting to you.

You were too weak to go where you really wanted, the walk to the black pond just too tasking. The next best thing was the Observatory.

The sky was dark, storming—violent claps of thunder and lightning clapping breaking the clouds. Wind whipping and forcing the rain onto the balcony. Your legs hung over the edge, robes dripping, forming a puddle around you.

Face resting on the bar in the middle of the railing—it was nice, the rain on your skin, the pitter patter on the stone left little room for your thoughts.

You were thankful.

Moments of peace so few and far between as of recently.

You knew he was coming, could smell him from a mile away, there was no point in running anymore. Growing accustomed to the cruel and bitter fates the Gods kept throwing at you.

And quite frankly, you had nothing left to fight with.

His heaving breaths sounded behind you, arms holding the door frame for a moment before he took a step towards you. He saw visibly the way your spine straightened and became taut, breath halting.

You weren’t as easily swayed by his scent this time, for one he wasn’t bleeding. And you’d already braced yourself for his presence—teeth biting harshly into your tongue, burning at the painful sting, drawing blood.

There was time for you to leave, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t give up. Sure his arrival wasn’t a coincidence. Either he knew or he was coming to find out.

Both inevitable realities with unfortunate ends.

He was still paused behind you, having stopped a few meters away—not exactly sure what to say, not sure why he was here.

Couldn’t even tell if the way his skin prickled and itched was because of you or the rain’s harsh assault on the surface of his skin.

All words failing to reach his lips, instead, he took a seat a few inches away from you, on the other side of bar you’d been resting against.

Legs joining yours, in their dangle and sway over the stone’s edge, robes darkening as the rain soaked further into the fabric.

For a long while, you both sat in silence.

Remus didn’t know you knew, it had barely been a week since your discovery. Your second day out of the hospital wing, you connected the dots—the howl you’d heard that night, the way he’d been so severely wounded, the cabinets in the hospital filled with small vials adorned with his name, his aversion to you, why his scent was so disturbingly alluring.

Even now, he sat mere inches away and your mouth was filling with saliva—jaw clenching in efforts to reject the lure.

You were almost shocked at your ignorance to him, his nature, suddenly seeming so obvious—wanting to scoff, both monsters that can’t recognise each other—the irony.

His first words tempted you to laugh.

“Cold?”, he asked, rain dripping off the tip of his nose as he turned to look at you.

It took a few more long drawn out seconds before you turned to meet his gaze. And his heart ached at the sight of you, so utterly defeated, eyes vacant.

You reply was so matter of fact—

“You know I am, Lupin,” maintaining eye contact, it had a layer of something he didn’t quite understand.

Breaking the stare, you turned and looked out longingly at the clouds, letting your words settle into the crisp air between you. His body heat radiated off him so far, it would have warmed your cold body—if that were possible.

He wanted to ask what you mean, and why you said it like that, wanted to ask what was wrong, and why you looks so..so—he couldn’t even put his finger on the word—so not you.

Mouth opening and closing once, twice before blurting out, “Are you okay?” as it left, he felt it was a rather stupid choice of question—considering the situation, but it was too late now.

“You’ve really come all this way to ask how I am?” Still you kept your eyes looking out into the distance, admiring the deep hues of the clouds that rolled over the horizon.

He was still looking at you, your body against the pillar, as if the weight of the world rest on your shoulders. “Well?”

You felt yourself fiddling with the edge of your sleeves, the lump that’d been forming in your throat for the last few minutes felt impossibly larger. You didn’t want to look at him, knowing it would break you, the exhaustion rolling over you in waves—and you couldn’t bear it much longer.

When you did look to him, your eyes pricked with tears, lips twisting into a deep frown.

“I’m tired, Remus.”

You were, so so tired, in pain, hungry.

He didn’t know what to do, completely helpless, it’d made him feel ill, the dejected look on your face, there were so many words swirling in his mind. So much he wanted to say, none of it fitting, none of it enough. Instead, he reached an arm around you, pulling you in, taking the weight you’d been pressing on the bar between you—your head on his shoulders.

He had no idea why he felt comfortable enough to do that, maybe it was the way you said his name—soft, fragile, or maybe it was the way you looked at him—lost. If it wasn’t that, maybe it was the reason why he was even in here in the first place—he cared.

The idea of telling you that it would be okay, seemed ill-fitting, he still didn’t know what was wrong. The rain was coming down slower now, less aggressive and the thunder sounded further away—drifting.

You pressed your lips together, questioning whether to say anything at all. But you were already here, it was already in motion.

“Remus, do you know why you hate me so?”

He looked at you, confused, ready to protest, he doesn’t hate you, he really didn’t. It was the knowing look on your face that stopped him, reflecting on his treatment towards you—he stayed quiet.

You nodded, at nothing, turning away from him.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

The question seemed silly, of course he knew why he was here, he came to check on you, see if you were okay. Find out what was wrong—

“Why?”

Your body was still rigid against his, there was no soft rise and fall, still holding your breath—waiting.

His lips parted when he found the right words to start his sentence, “Your condition-“

Your interruption was simple, yet vague—

“If you have to ask, you’re not ready to know.”

He gaze was on you, perplexed but he listened as you continued, “I wouldn’t be able to tell you anyway.”

There were rules, restrictions against sharing about your condition, not just for the safety of others, but your own—the hysteria, the uproar, an undoing.

His breath hitched as your eyes met his, drained, understanding—kind. The air seemed to still around his when the words fell from you lips.

“Does it hurt you greatly?—each moon?”

You knew, his mouth was dry, eyes searching your face, expecting rejection, contempt, fear. But there was none, you weren’t scared of him, and though your eyes lacked their usual spark, there was still a subtle warmth, accepting. The smallest smile, twitched at your lips, hoping to give him some comfort.

Neither of you moved from your position, his body burned hot despite the rain, harsh wind, and your presence—yours was still cold, as always, a stark contrast to his heat.

“How long have you known?”

…

“A few days.”

It was obvious to him what made you realise, his condition that morning when you saw him, he wasn’t surprised—you were smart.

He would have asked you if you’d told anyone, but he was sure for some reason, that you hadn’t—that you wouldn’t. He chose to answer your initial question instead, grimacing as his body recollected the way his bones would break, his muscles would tear and his own screams of agony were alien in his ears.

“It hurts. A lot, more than I can say,” confession honest and clear.

You hummed in acknowledgment, but still waiting.

Waiting for the dots to connect in his mind, he was thinking—it was clear in the expression on his face, blinks slow, brows furrowed.

Like he was running through every possible piece of information he’d cataloged about you. You couldn’t tell him, and he couldn’t ask—his brain felt muddled.

Just as the skies cleared with time, so did his expression—looking at you with wide, shocked eyes. Always cold, unnaturally so, brilliant reflexes, alluring and captivating to all—people flocked to you effortlessly, and now that he was thinking about it—he rarely saw you eat, at every meal time, lips tinted red from your lolly.

A honeyduke’s classic.

A bloodsucker.

He still didn’t understand, you were nothing like what he’d read about—presented as ugly, ghoulish creatures that burned in the sun.

He was stuttering, puzzled, “But-but the *textbooks—*your—nothing like that”

Nodding, staring down into your lap.

“live long enough, and you can change history.”

His breath was caught in his throat—that’s why. He felt so blind, it should have figured it out soon, or at least suspected, from the way his skin crawled in your presence.

There were signs, so many, but it still seemed impossible, unfathomable.

“Show me.”

Head whipping towards him, shocked. He didn’t even know what he asked of you, eyes on his face, an incredulous look on yours—still contemplating.

“It’s…it’s not—uh, pretty.”

You felt silly at your remark. Of course it wasn’t pretty, he couldn’t be expecting something pretty.

He watched, face unchanging, not flinching away at the sight of your face distorting—whites of your eyes vanishing and the veins, they bulged, stretching out from your waterline and further down your face—protruding thickly out on your neck. You parted your lips, allowing the four sharp canines into his views, still he was neutral.

Just looking.

Cogs turning slowly.

“That morning—you were, in pain…was it—“

His insinuations were clear, the words dying on his lips when you nodded, trying to turn away from him.

“I don’t understand.”

It just didn’t make sense to him, after all these years, he’d never seen you like that, and the cause?

You weren’t even sure if you could tell him, if you should, even wording seemed hard. It didn’t seem right just say it—

Because I was hungry, because it was you.

It was clear to Remus how you were pondering your next words. It would be letting him in, allowing him to see through the cracks, the flaws, the unfortunate reality of you, the real you.

“Well, I hadn’t eaten—in a while, so it was just…”

He probably shouldn’t have asked, but it seemed the words were already in the air—

“Are you hungry now?”

Remus didn’t even know what he wanted you to say, he guessed that you were, still mild discomfort in your face, your body language. Not once did you breath in deep enough for your chest to even rise, back still straight and constantly fidgeting.

And if you weren’t—his mind couldn’t help but wonder.

The question wasn’t hard to answer, yes, every cell in your body screaming, deprived, angry. Your stomach twisted at the thought of eating, it had been so long, weeks—you’d even avoided the potion to keep the cramps at bay. You didn’t deserve the relief, because as much as it stopped the physical pain—your thoughts repulsed you.

But the shame, it never got any better, as much as your tried to push it the very back of your mind—ignore the suffocation of it, the nauseating pressure the clawed from the bottom of your spine and punched right through your chest every time your mouth-watered.

That same feeling stopped you from answering directly, mumbling, faintly above a whisper, as if saying it quieter would make it less difficult—

“It’s not something I enjoy—“

He was quick to intrude, sharp and direct.

“That’s not what I asked.”

It was even difficult to be near him now, insides lurching, in need of sustenance—and his heart was beating so strong, blood warm and intoxicating—appetising.

Your leg twitched with the effort it took to not move away from him, gaze transfixed on edge of stone you at on. Chewing relentlessly at your lip, it was unavoidable, so painstakingly aware of every pump of blood in his veins—

“Y/N,”

“Yes! Yes, Remus! Is that want you want me to say?! That i’m starving and haven’t eaten in weeks—That my throat feels like it’s closing in?!”

There was no need for you to be so harsh with your words, but you snapped—frustrated at yourself, frustrated at him for asking; for making you have to say it out loud.

And yet, he was seeming unaffected by your outburst, eyes sweeping over your figure—this whole time you’d been so composed, each sentence well-thought and calculated. It wasn’t his intention to strike a nerve, he could see the way you shrunk into yourself after, regret in your eyes—

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shou-“

“—Weeks?”

He cut you off again, echoing your words from before, your finger came up to pick at the lifted skin on your lips, only answering with a small nod. He couldn’t imagine it, having to walking around hungry for days, let alone weeks—the restraint you must have, working with the bloody and injured almost everyday.

“How?”

It seemed like such an incomprehensible task.

“How what?”

Right, he’d just blurted out the word random, as though you’d have access to his internal monologue.

“How do you do it—with Pomfrey, all the blood? Doesn’t it make you…I don’t know—uncomfortable?”

You hummed lightly at his explanation, thinking for a second, and for a while your face relaxed—as you thought back to the times you’d spent in the wing.

“It wasn’t easy, at first. But I wanted to help people, lessen their pain—so it doesn’t bother me anymore.”

You continued, confessing with a small scoff—

“It’s the least I can do in the life, something good, my soul maybe be damned—but at least i’ve found purpose.”

When you looked back at him, a deep frown was etched onto his face, eyes swimming with something you couldn’t quite read—looking at you as if your last words were blasphemous.

“You don’t really believe that do you? what you said—about your soul?”

Thinking back to your words, they did seem rather harsh, but you just pulled your lips into thinly lined smile, it stopped there just past the corners of your mouth, not travelling further up your face, as it should have. Sighing deeply through your nose—resigning with another nod.

“It’s a curse, Remus—what I am. A crime against nature.”

You weren’t bothered by your words at all, having come to terms with your reality many years ago, it made sense to you that he didn’t agree—he wouldn’t understand.

“Do you think that about me—and my soul? My curse?”

Brows stretched up and froze high in your forehead, frown now matching his—resting deep on your lips. Placing a hand on his—as if to make your words more sincere.

“I—Of course not. It’s different—you could never be damned Remus, you’re kind. And besides, you can’t help what you become, it’s just different.”

His eyes narrowed as he ran his other hand through his hair, you’d been sitting together so long it was almost dry. He was so confused, you contradicted yourself so plainly—

“You say it like you’ve got a choice in the matter, you didn’t ask to become what you are, Y/N. It’s not different at all.”

Your head was already shaking in dispute, he didn’t get it, yes you didn’t get a choice but there was no doubt in your mind about your fate. It just made sense to you that way, you were a different kind of monster.

Chest huffing in mild frustration, shifting your entire body to face him.

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

Your words were harsher than you’d expected—too much of the contempt you held to yourself seeping in, taking a deep breath and correcting your tone.

“You don’t have a choice, Remus. You can’t fight against the moon—But you also don’t take life to sustain your own, you live and die—from old age or disease, the same why everyone else does.

We’re different.

You don’t leave death and destruction in your wake because of your selfish desires—taking advantage of the weak.

That’s my nature—That’s what I am.”

You pointed to yourself, finger poking hard and frantic in the middle of your chest—sick revolt burning in your eyes, wet with unshed tears.

He could see it, and it was so achingly familiar, the unadulterated distain for yourself. Too close to home, too much like his own—

Voice low and gentle, taking the hand that’d been accusing you so harshly in both of his.

“You’re nothing like that,”

It was true, to him at least, you were nothing like what you’d described—he wished so badly to be able to change your mind. Almost offended at how you could be so casually unkind to yourself—and he knew you meant it, that you truly did believe the things you said.

His touch was so hot against yours, and yours so cold against his—you wanted to tear your hand away, in fear of making him uncomfortable—so accustom the the sharp hiss that would leave everyone that made contact with you.

But he held your hand so tightly, with such earnestness, you couldn’t help but accept the warmth of his touch.

And for once, when holding your hand in his, there was no strange twisting in stomach, no hair standing on the back of his neck—no underlying loathing, no sickly feeling bubbling in this chest, no secrets.

Just you and him.

Understanding and solidarity.

“Is that why you do this—starve and deny yourself? Because of what you think about your soul?”

He saw through you, completely.

A single tear slid down your face, you couldn’t bring yourself to lie, deny it.

“I just don’t want to hurt anyone.”

The moon was barely visible now, resigning under the bright light that the sun had just barely begun to shine—

“And you won’t, you couldn’t even if you tried, Y/N.”

You frowned again, still so stubborn and untrusting of yourself—“You don’t know that, Remus.”

His words were immediate, explicit and absolute.

“Yes I do,” gaze so intense you had to tear your eyes away, “No, look at me—I do know that. I saw you—you passed out trying to get away from me that day.

So you wouldn’t hurt me.

You’ve already done so much good, you don’t need to suffer like this anymore.”

By his final sentence he already had you standing, dragging you out of the Observatory—hand in yours pulling you down the stairs.

“Remus, slow down! Where are we going?”

“A walk.”

“I—A walk?! it’s 5am?”

He didn’t bother answering, he knew his words weren’t enough to make you believe him, to change your twisted perception of yourself. And as you found your way out of the main entrance towards the forest—he spoke to you in a quiet soft voice.

You weren’t trailing behind him anymore, falling into step with your shorter, still exhausted stride. He spoke about the pain of his first transformation and as you passed the Whomping Willow—he revealed how it’d been placed by Dumbledore, for him.

When you reached the black pond, the sun was fully up, gracing the sky with warm rays and radiance. He’d been holding your hand the entire time—you began to wonder why he hadn’t let go.

Surely, it’d become uncomfortable for him, surely the surface of his skin burned from the cold. He must have noticed the skepticism in your gaze, asking, “Shall I let go?”

You shook your head, but pulled you both to a stop, opening his hand, and inspecting it—expecting it to be cold to the touch from the prolonged contact. But it wasn’t even flushed, just warm, too warm—considering.

He let out a breathy chuckle at your examination, rubbing his palm in confusion in confusion; the sound made your eyes snap to his face—lips stretched slightly across his face into crooked smile.

Simply taking your hand back in his grasp and continuing your walk, now back towards the castle.

In an almost smug tone—“I tend to run a bit hot, so don’t worry,”

How ironic.

Unprompted, as the exit to the forest became clear, he detailed how he got his condition—a cruel and vile act of revenge on an innocent.

He struggled to talk about it even after all these years, and you could hear how his heart rate quickened as though he’d been transported back to that moment—the little boy hiding in his wardrobe.

“If it’s too much, you don’t have to say,” voice gentle and comforting.

“I know i don’t have to, I want to.”

And your thumbs found themselves instinctively ghosting over his knuckles, tracing the skin of each scar—as if trying to sooth him, heal the wounds that still linger in more than a physical sense.

“What i’m trying to say, is that, there are twisted and sadistic people of all natures, that doesn’t mean you’re as bad as the worst of your kind—I promise.”

You hummed back to him, with a nod.

“Will you do one thing for me?” he asked when you slipped through the door in the West Hall. He was looking at you, with an unexpectedly fond eye.

“What is it?”

“You have to say you’ll do it first,”

A smile cracked onto your face, the first he’d seen in weeks, the one that reached your eyes—making them crinkle at the corners, the same smile he’d found irritating for all these years.

“How can I just agree—“

“Please?”

Rolling your eyes as you relented, not protesting when he walked you both down the hall, but after two left turns, it dawned on you.

He’s taking to you to Pomfrey.

You froze, a few meters from the door—mouth suddenly dry. He squeezed your hand, turning to you with a pleading look, “You said you’d—“

“I can’t.”

His chest lurched at the fear in your eyes, the way your shoulder inched up tighter, closer to your ears—shaking you head frantically.

Stepping forward, he released your hand but wasted no time wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him, on palm gently running over your back, the other instinctively holding your head against him—stroking over your hair.

You felt the vibrations of his voice in rumble his chest, a hushed tone.

“You know you can’t go on like this—you—this isn’t how you fix things.”

You padded in softly hand in hand, Remus still leading you in—and when Pomfrey turned to the door. She paused, looking between the two of you—fingers interlocked, the smallest of smiles twitched onto her face.

“Here for your potion, my dear?”

But she wasn’t talking to Remus—back already turning to the cabinets, you mumbled a small, yes.

You’d sat down on a bed, he hadn’t let go, and you were grateful—his warmth distracting you from the swirling pits of your stomach as she approached you with one small yellow and a larger red vial.

Pouring them carefully into a small metal cup, she patted a hand onto your shoulder—encouraging, the hesitation in your eyes clear to her.

One deep breath, flicking looks between her, Remus and the cup. It slid down your throat with ease but the taste—coppery and sickly sweet—made you struggle to disguise the heave the pushed through your stomach.

You hated it.

Placing the cup down, a grimace still on your face—you body thanked you for it. The cramps fazing away slowing, mind instantly less foggy. Remus could see the colour coming back to your face and his shoulders relaxed as though he’d let out the biggest sighs.

Pomfrey came back, she handed you your lolly and sent you on your way. You didn’t wait to leave before you unravelled it—looking at it as if it was the best thing in the entire world, a soft smile on Remus’ face when you popped it into you mouth with a small hum.

As the doors closed behind you both, Pomfrey let a knowing smile split onto her face as she cleaned up.

Two of a kind, she thought to herself.

#aetherraeysworks #marauders era #hp marauders #fluff #marauders fic #remus x reader #harry potter #remus lupin fanfiction #remus angst #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x y/n #x reader #self insert #hp fanfic

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novvabee · 3 months ago

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Poly!marauders bedroom thoughts

Ok so just like my poly!jegulily post a little while ago, here are my poly!marauders bedroom thoughts, here goes nothing. needless to say MDNI

I think that the dynamic would be something like dom!remus, switch!sirius, sub leaning switch!james

Ok so Remus is in charge. Full stop. There is no fighting it. He is incredibly dominant in a soft and quiet way. I feel that he is like #1 in charge and if you are more on the dominant side, he would let you think you were in charge or on the same level as him, but that's not the reality. No matter how much you may think you are dominating him, you are really just playing into his game. The most he will allow is you on top and let you think that you have all the power and control, but he’s really just waiting to either flip you when you’re least expecting it and continue fucking you, or just grab your hips and fuck up into you, turning you completely into putty in his hands. Now, if you’re more submissive, then he would expect you to follow his orders and rules to a t. He doesn't need another brat to take care of, he already has Sirius. With Sirius, he tests Remus’s authority non stop and believes that he is the most dominant one in the relationship, and Remus allows him to think this, until he has to put him in his place. I feel like either way, Remus would love to praise you saying things like; “good girl, doing so good for all of us.” “Oh baby, you take such good care of our Jamie” “you look so pretty when you’re sucking/fucking/riding ___”. He enjoys watching, sitting back and letting it all play out, then fucking you last so that all you can remember is him.

Sirius is mostly only submissive to Remus, and he still challenges everything he says. If you’re on the dominant side, you and Sirius would have a power struggle , not only in bed, but all throughout the day. You can bet that he would not listen to a word you said, especially when you try to take control. If you think he gives Remus grief, he gives you twice as much, you can either put him in his place, or you can bat your lashes in Remus’s direction and he’ll do it for you. Now, if you're submissive, I still don’t think he’d be entirely nice. He is either trying to coerce you into not listening to Remus like him, or he is jealous of the attention that Remus gives you, so he would find any reason to prove you're not the good girl Remus thinks you are. Sirius would love fucking you while Remus is fucking him, that is his perfect balance of being in control and having no control. While Remus is into praising you, Sirius is the exact opposite, loving to degrade you. Nothing super mean or anything just little snide remarks like: “C’mon baby I know you have more in you than that” “Ugh, Jamie does a much better job at this, maybe I should just ask him instead” “Remus says you’re a good girl but, I’m not so convinced”.

Now James, again, is just happy to be there lmao. He is much less dominant than Remus and Sirius, but he can definitely hold his own if he needs to. James loves having all of the attention on him, so if you are dominant, he adores when all three of you use him. He definitely is a great listener and a pleaser if ya know what I mean. I said this in my last bedroom thoughts post but… he definitely cums from eating you out, and you love it, because it is like an added bonus, his tongue is amazing, and he doesn’t cum when he is sucking Remus or Sirius, only for you. And you absolutely flaunt that to Remus and Sirius. Now I feel like even though he is a little more subby, that does not mean that he doesn't have his moments of needing to fuck you how he wants. So, if you are submissive, this is perfect, he would take charge while Sirius and Remus watch, not getting to witness this side of James very often. Even if you were submissive, he would still slip back into his own submissive ways, but that is perfectly fine with Remus and Sirius, then they each just get one of you to fuck and you and James are in it together. James is generally super vocal and whiney, and it is heavenly. He doesn’t say much, just moans and whines and occasionally begs. He loves when you're on top, but unlike Remus, he loves to give you all the control and would go feral if you decided to wrap your hand around his throat.

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moonstruckme · 1 month ago

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Hello icon ✨Could we have a poly!wolfstar x reader where she thinks that they are mad at her for something (or they could actually be a bit miffed) and it just a bit of hurt comfort with cuddles and kisses at the end😔🙏🏻

Thank you for requesting <3

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You’re being weird.

The three of you are doing a puzzle, which usually captivates your attention but never Sirius’, which is how he’s so very aware of how little attention you’re actually paying to the puzzle. You keep glancing at Sirius, at Remus, like you’re nervous about something. You’ve been like this all day. It’s in and out, sometimes waning like you’ve forgotten to be anything but normal, but Sirius has a keen gauge for tension. He can sense it every time it ticks back up.

You’re pretending to look for sky pieces, though Sirius suspects you forgot what color the sky in your puzzle was a while ago. He feels like you’re building to something, and it makes his skin itch. Remus is too absorbed in his tree bark pieces to notice—the nerd—so it’s up to Sirius to get it out of you. Luckily, James has always said that Sirius is a master of tact.

“What’s wrong with you?”

You were halfway to sneaking another glance at him, and you react as though you’ve been struck, jumping a little where you sit on the rug by the coffee table. “What? Nothing.”

“Well, that was very believable.” Sirius smiles to take some of the bite out of it. “Come on, you have me on the edge of my seat. What’s got you all worked up?”

“I am not worked up,” you insist, though your expression says otherwise.

Remus appears confused, but he notices your guilty eyes as well. “What’s happening?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you say again.

“Clearly something,” Sirius counters.

Your lips press together, corners downturnt. You’re not looking at either of them.

“Hey.” Sirius softens his voice. “What is it? You’re freaking me out, babe.”

This only seems to distress you further. “I wanted you not to freak out,” you say.

“Sweetheart, about what?” Now Remus sounds worried too, though the look he gives you is more patient than anything Sirius could ever manage. He ducks his head to catch your gaze.

After a moment of looking at him, your shoulders droop. “Okay.” Your voice has quieted. “Just a second.”

Sirius’ anxiety ratchets as you stand, going down the hall towards your room.

“Why does it feel like she’s going to bring us back a school report?” he murmurs to Remus.

Remus shakes his head, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “No idea.”

When you return, it is with papers, though Sirius doesn’t at first know what they are.

“This came this morning,” you say in that same resigned voice, laying them down on the coffee table as you sit back down next to Sirius.

With Sirius and Remus on opposite sides they can’t both read the text at once, and Remus picks them up first. Sirius spots you bringing your hand to your mouth and reaches for it silently, drawing it away before you can start chewing your fingernails. Your nervousness is making him nervous. He pushes his thumb up the lines of your palm.

“Oh,” Remus hums.

“Remus,” Sirius says, in a tone that clearly communicates if somebody doesn’t start talking I’m going to throw a wobbly.

“It’s the gas bill,” says Remus. He’s making his old man face, where he leans away slightly and squints like he needs glasses. Ordinarily Sirius would tease him for it, but he’s not in the mood. “Bit high.”

“I’m sorry,” you say in a small voice.

Sirius looks at you. Frowning, your hand still trapped in his. “Why are you sorry?”

“Is this…” One glance at Remus, and it’s clear Sirius is now the one lagging in understanding. “Is this because you left the oven on?”

Your expression says enough.

Oh, well. In fairness, Sirius had thrown a bit of a wobbly over that.

It was weeks ago. You made cookies just before bed. They were warm, gooey, the perfect precursor to sleep and an excellent excuse, in Sirius’ opinion, to trade chocolate-flavored kisses until all three of you were snoozing on your pillows. It hadn’t been until he and Remus were making breakfast the next morning that Remus smelled the gas. You’d come out of the bedroom, confused, to find them throwing open windows and calling the fire department for advice. Your gas oven had been left on all night.

You felt awful. Your boyfriends gave you an appropriate amount of shit for it, but it was only thoughtless, not malicious. Your apartment hadn’t blown up. The smell drifted away within a few minutes, and in all honesty Sirius was left feeling a bit bad that what began as you trying to make them all happy had resulted in you being so thoroughly chastised. But it had been let go.

Until now, evidently.

“I can pay it,” you offer meekly. “The difference, or all of it.”

Remus sighs, rubbing his brow. “Dove…”

“Let me see that.” Sirius reaches with the hand not holding yours. Remus gives it to him. He finds the total quickly. “This isn’t even that high.”

Okay, it’s a bit high. But genuinely, Sirius was expecting worse.

“It’s my fault,” you mumble.

“Baby, is this what you’re all wound up about?” Sirius sets the papers down to gawk at you. “Really? I thought something happened.”

You’re shrinking, your hand tense in his. “Something did happen.”

“Yeah, a whole month ago!”

“Sirius,” Remus murmurs, in a tone Sirius knows to mean you’re not helping. He asks you, “Did you think we would be angry with you?”

Spiderweb cracks spread through your expression. Your mouth wobbles.

“Oh, you absolute moron.” Sirius grabs for you with both hands, hauling you into his lap.

“Pads.”

“You ridiculous, sweet idiot.” He kisses your head. Once, twice, three times. “Why’d you have to go and get all worked up? You got me worked up, silly thing.”

“I’m sorry,” you say weakly.

“Alright, that’s enough apologizing,” Remus says gently. Underneath the coffee table, a socked foot bumps into Sirius’ leg before presumably finding yours. Sirius grins. Remus is tactile in the oddest ways sometimes. Like a cat.

He loves you both so very much. God, you really had him going. He feels liable to squeeze the life out of you.

He satiates the urge by kissing you all over your face until you look significantly less upset. You look at Sirius with tentative relief, the beginnings of a smile curled up in the corner of your mouth.

He’s about to ask you again how you could be so stupid, but Remus speaks first. Probably for the best.

“It really won’t be so much more for each of us once we split it,” he says, looking again at the bill.

That guilty look is back on your face. Sirius gives you a squeeze in hopes of banishing it. “I can get it,” you say. “It wouldn’t be there if I hadn’t been so…if I hadn’t left the oven on.”

“You don’t need to punish yourself,” Remus tells you. “It’s all right.”

You fidget. “I feel like you should probably be angrier with me.”

“We already have been angry with you,” Sirius points out. “We got over it. Time to move on, babe.”

“It was a mistake.” Remus’ gaze is steady. Knowing. “It was scary, but it happens. You shouldn’t be angry at yourself for us, lovely.”

You look to be gnawing the inside of your lip. “Are you sure?” you ask.

Sirius scoffs. “I can be angry without anyone’s help, thank you.” Then, at your wary look, “But I’m not angry about this.”

Slowly, the tension Sirius has been sensing seeps out of you. You relax in a way you haven’t all day long.

Remus notices, too. “Sweetheart,” he sighs, in a soft, fond voice. “Talk to us next time, okay?”

“I know, sorry.” You give him a sheepish look. “I was going to. I just really thought you’d be upset.”

“Yeah, well.” Sirius kisses your head, sharing an eye roll with Remus. “Shows what you know.”

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my-castles-crumbling · 2 months ago

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ball - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 301

“You know, the Yule Ball is incredibly heteronormative,” Sirius mumbled to Marlene, who was working with him in Potions that day. “As is dating in general. I mean…come on! How the fuck are gay couples supposed to figure out who asks who out? The whole thing’s insane! When there’s two of the same, what happens? Neither knows what to do!”

Marlene shot him a withering look. “Wow, heteronormative? I didn’t know you knew such big words. Strange that you weren’t this progressive last year when you asked me by saying ‘Oi, McKinnon! Nice rack, wanna be my date to the Ball?'”

Sirius frowned at her. “Not helpful.”

“Why don’t you just ask him?” Marlene smirked, adding some boomslang skin to their potion.

Sirius gave her a shocked look. “But Marls! I- I don’t want to! Plus, he’s…he doesn’t wear nail polish or eyeliner, so he…should. And…what if he says no?”

“Didn’t he have his tongue down your throat twenty minutes ago? And that’s like…the opposite of ignoring gender roles and heteronormativity,” she pointed out, rolling her eyes.

“The kissing hardly matters,” Sirius shrugged, but his eyes sparkled. “And yeah, gender roles aren’t important but…I mean, he’s…he’s taller. So…he should be the one.”

Sighing, and mumbling about stupid boys, Marlene decided to take matters into her own hands. “Oi, Lupin?”

Across the classroom, Remus looked up. “Yeah?” he called.

“Will you go to the Yule Ball with Black?” she asked, ignoring Sirius’s frantic grabs at her arm.

Remus grinned and tilted his head. “Only if he’ll go with me.”

She heard Sirius let out a little whimper and she resisted the urge to cackle at him. “He’d love to,” she replied.

“Sorted,” Remus replied, grinning.

When she turned back to Sirius, she’d never seen him more red. “You’re welcome,” she said smugly.

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fear-less · 3 months ago

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₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 this is awkward..

pairing: james potter x f!reader

➥ In which, you were fed up with James, deciding to put aside your pettiness you drag him away from the gryffindor party to talk to him.

Warnings: angst, fluff, james pov, this inspired by awae (aka the best show ever), r and james speaking is 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓵𝔂 inspired by gilbert confessing that he wants anne so effing bad bc he 𝓯𝔀 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓿𝔂, lowkey dont hate me for making the “dreams” u want so like…. I just didn't know what to do bc like idk smh i set back women 50 years by that

a/n: tysm for all the love on this series!! y’all are NOT ready for the next chapter, writing it rn and 😭🙏 BUTTT tysm for 300🫶🫶 also I finished the last chapter... do y'all want me to post it today or edge y'all and post it tomorrow

series masterlist ! - divider creds: i-mmaculatus & dollywons

It was now nearing the end of the school year—even if there was still a month to go. James could now be in the same room as you without glaring daggers at whoever you were talking to. Though he told himself he was over you, he knew deep down that the feelings never faded.

He told himself it didn’t matter. He told himself he was fine. And yet, every time he caught sight of you, every time your laughter reached his ears from across the room, it was as if someone had set fire to his resolve.

He wanted to talk to you so badly it was almost pathetic. But it was like the universe itself was conspiring against him—or, more specifically, like Finn Laurier had developed some sort of sixth sense for James’s intentions.

Because every single time James gathered enough courage, every time he braced himself to walk over to you, Finn would appear out of nowhere. Whether it was in the Great Hall, the library, or even during Quidditch practice, Finn always seemed to materialize by your side at precisely the wrong moment, stealing away your attention and leaving James feeling like the outsider in his own story.

It was infuriating.

“Mate, you’re grinding your teeth,” Sirius remarked casually one afternoon as they sat under the beech tree by the lake.

James startled, realizing with some embarrassment that Sirius was right. He quickly unclenched his jaw and let out a frustrated sigh.

“Sorry,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m just…”

“Just what?” Sirius prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” James lied, though his voice betrayed him.

Sirius gave him a knowing look. “If this is about her again, just—”

“It’s not about her,” James interrupted quickly, though he winced as the words left his mouth. He knew Sirius wouldn’t believe him, and he wasn’t sure he even believed himself anymore.

Sirius sighed, shaking his head. “Prongs, you’re going to drive yourself mad if you keep this up. Just talk to her already.”

“I’ve tried!” James snapped, louder than he intended. He lowered his voice and added, “I’ve tried, but every bloody time, Finn shows up. It’s like he’s got a bloody tracker on her or something.”

Remus, who had been quietly reading nearby, finally chimed in. “You know, maybe you’re overthinking this,” he said, not looking up from his book.

“How could I possibly be overthinking this?” James demanded, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Maybe Finn’s not doing it on purpose,” Remus suggested calmly. “Maybe it’s just bad timing.”

“Bad timing?” James repeated incredulously. “Bad timing doesn’t happen this often, Moony. This is a pattern.”

Remus gave him a skeptical look but didn’t argue further.

James leaned back against the tree trunk, closing his eyes and letting out a long breath. He hated how much this was bothering him. He hated how much control this entire situation had over him.

But most of all, he hated the thought that you might actually be happy with Finn.

It wasn’t that he thought Finn was a bad guy—quite the opposite, really. Finn was charming, talented, and annoyingly good at everything he did. He was the kind of guy parents adored, the kind of guy professors went out of their way to praise. And worst of all, he was the kind of guy who could make you smile in a way James had only dreamed of.

James opened his eyes, staring up at the branches overhead. “Maybe I should just give up,” he muttered.

Sirius snorted. “Yeah, right. That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve said all day.”

“I’m serious,” James insisted.

“No, I’m Sirius,” Sirius quipped, smirking.

James groaned, throwing a small pebble in his direction. “Not the time for jokes.”

“Fine, fine,” Sirius said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But seriously, you’re not giving up. You’re James Potter, remember? Stubborn, arrogant, never-takes-no-for-an-answer James Potter. You don’t give up on things you care about.”

James hesitated, staring at the rippling water of the Black Lake. He wanted to believe Sirius. He wanted to believe that there was still a chance, that you weren’t as far out of reach as you seemed.

But as he watched you across the courtyard later that day, standing beside Finn and laughing at something he said, James couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, it was too late.

But his doubt soon melted into something far more unsettling when he noticed your gaze shift. For the first time in what felt like forever, your attention wasn’t on Finn Laurier—it was on him.

James felt like he might throw up.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his hands fidgeted with the hem of his robes as he quickly looked away. In fact, he didn’t just look away; he turned his entire body in the opposite direction, hoping to mask the flush rising to his cheeks.

“C’mon, James, you’ve got a Quidditch game to win today! Channel all that anger you’ve got towards Laurier into winning us the Cup!” Sirius said, clapping a hand on James’s shoulder with his trademark grin.

James gave a faint nod, trying to let Sirius’s words sink in. He wasn’t sure if it would work, but he had to admit—focusing on Quidditch might be better than brooding.

As the match began, Sirius’s advice started to help. Flying through the air, the roar of the crowd, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins almost made him forget the mess he was tangled in. Quidditch always had a way of making the weight on his shoulders feel lighter.

Almost.

At first, he wasn’t paying much attention to the game. His mind wandered back to you, back to everything that had gone wrong. He thought about what he would say, how he could even begin to fix things. And, like always, he couldn’t resist scanning the crowd for you.

Even in the middle of a fight, even when he swore to himself that he was done, James always looked for you in the stands.

And he found you—right where he didn’t want to.

You were sitting with Finn Laurier, your hand clasped in his. James’s stomach twisted painfully at the sight, and he forced himself to look away, though the image burned into his mind.

Of course. Finn fucking Laurier.

He sighed, his grip tightening on his broomstick. There was no point in hoping anymore. Whatever chance he’d had—if he’d ever had one—was gone now. Maybe he’d already been downgraded in your life: a friend at best, a stranger at worst. The thought stung, and James shoved it down, refusing to dwell on it any longer.

And then, something golden caught the corner of his eye.

The Snitch.

For the first time all game, James’s focus snapped into place. He leaned forward on his broom, his heart pounding—not from heartbreak this time, but from the sheer rush of competition. If nothing else, he could still win this. He could still bring home the Cup.

James shot after the Snitch with everything he had, the rush of wind against his face only fueling his determination. The crowd roared, but their voices blurred into the background. His world narrowed to one thing: the golden glimmer darting just ahead.

The Hufflepuff Seeker was hot on his trail, but James barely registered them. This was his moment. The Snitch veered sharply to the right, and James followed, his reflexes razor-sharp. He could feel the weight of his emotions—anger, heartbreak, frustration—all pouring into this chase.

The Snitch dipped low, skimming just above the grass, and James dove after it, his fingers outstretched. The Hufflepuff Seeker was closing in fast, but James didn’t care. He pushed his broom harder, faster, his body leaning forward so much it felt like he might fall off.

And then, his fingers closed around the Snitch.

The Gryffindor stands erupted into cheers, deafening and jubilant. The sound echoed across the pitch as James pulled up, the Snitch held high in triumph. For the first time all week, a genuine smile broke across his face.

He’d done it.

Back on the ground, his teammates swarmed him, yelling and celebrating as they lifted him off the ground in a flurry of hugs and pats on the back. Sirius was the loudest, of course, laughing as he shouted, “That’s my best mate! Did you see that dive? Bloody brilliant!”

James grinned, allowing himself to soak in the moment. But as the initial adrenaline rush faded, his thoughts drifted back to you.

Through the crowd, he spotted you walking toward the castle with Laurier. You looked happy—laughing at something Finn said, your hand still in his.

James’s chest tightened, the pain creeping back in.

Sirius slung an arm around his shoulders. “Oi, don’t let that git ruin your moment. You just won us the Cup, Prongs. Focus on that, yeah?”

James forced a nod, plastering a smile on his face. “Yeah. You’re right.”

But deep down, as the team carried him back to the common room, the ache lingered. Winning the match had been a distraction, but it wasn’t enough to erase what he felt for you—or the sting of seeing you with someone else.

Still, James promised himself one thing: he’d get through this. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually. And who knew? Maybe, someday, you’d see him the way he saw you.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

The Gryffindor common room was a chaotic blur of red and gold, filled with triumphant cheers and laughter. The moment the team returned from the pitch, the party was already in full swing. Someone had charmed a banner to flash "Gryffindor Wins the Cup!" in shimmering letters, and butterbeer bottles floated around the room, courtesy of a cheeky charm from Sirius.

James stood in the center of it all, grinning as his teammates and housemates patted him on the back and congratulated him. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to bask in the glory of the victory, letting it drown out the knot in his chest. He’d won the game, and Gryffindor had the Cup—he deserved to enjoy it.

“Prongs!” Sirius yelled over the noise, shoving a butterbeer into his hand. “You’re the man of the hour! You better milk this for all it’s worth, because Merlin knows you deserve it.”

James laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t let me hear you say that too often, Padfoot. I might start believing it.”

Sirius gave him a devilish grin. “Oh, you will. Now, c’mon, let’s make some noise!” He climbed onto a table, raising his bottle high. “To Prongs, our Quidditch hero!”

The room erupted in cheers, and James couldn’t help but laugh, taking a sip of his butterbeer as the noise washed over him. For the first time all day, he felt lighter.

As the party went on, James moved through the crowd, chatting and laughing with his housemates. But no matter how loud the celebration got, his eyes kept drifting to the door, half-hoping, half-dreading to see you walk in.

And then, you did.

James froze mid-conversation, his heart doing that familiar stutter-step it always did when he saw you. You looked radiant, wrapped in Gryffindor colors, your cheeks flushed from the cold. But his chest tightened when he noticed Laurier trailing behind you, his hand resting casually on the small of your back.

James quickly turned back to his conversation, forcing a smile and pretending not to notice. He wasn’t going to let Finn Laurier—or his own stupid feelings—ruin the night.

“Oi, Prongs,” Sirius said, appearing at his side again. “Stop moping and do something fun. We just won the bloody Cup, mate! At least pretend you’re having the time of your life.”

James forced another grin. “I am having fun, Padfoot. Loads of fun.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “You’re staring at her again, aren’t you?”

“I’m not,” James lied, taking a long sip of butterbeer.

Sirius groaned, grabbing James by the shoulders. “Look, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to stop torturing yourself, and you’re going to have a bloody fantastic time tonight. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll prank Laurier so hard he won’t know which way is up. Deal?”

James couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking his head. “Alright, deal.”

Hours later, the party was still going strong. Someone had turned the music up, and the common room had transformed into a dance floor. James found himself dragged into the middle of it by Lily Evans, who gave him a pointed look.

“Stop sulking, Potter,” she said, smirking. “You just won the Cup. Act like it.”

“I’m not sulking,” James said, though his half-hearted smile gave him away.

Lily raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, she tugged him into the rhythm of the music, and for a while, James let himself get lost in the moment.

It wasn’t until he caught sight of you again, laughing at something Laurier said, that the knot in his chest returned. He took a deep breath, plastered on another smile, and decided that, for tonight, he’d keep pretending.

He watched you from across the room as you and Laurier continued talking, laughter bubbling between you two. He could see the way you looked at him now—so different from the way you looked at him before. It was like there was a barrier, a wall that hadn’t been there when he first met you.

“Prongs,” Sirius appeared at his side again, his voice low and concerned. “Look, I know you’ve been through a lot, but this is ridiculous. You’re letting Laurier ruin your night—and you just won us the Cup, for Merlin’s sake. You’re allowed to be happy tonight. So go talk to her. If you don’t, I swear I’ll do it for you.”

James frowned at him, irritated. “I’m not talking to her, Pads. Not now.”

“Then at least get out of here and enjoy yourself,” Sirius pressed. “We’re celebrating, mate. You’ve earned it.”

James looked over at you one more time, and for a second, he almost gave in. But the knot in his chest was still there, tightly wound, and it made everything feel so much harder than it should’ve been.

But maybe... maybe he could find a way to feel better. Maybe he could lose himself in the celebration.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally muttered, glancing at his friends.

Sirius didn’t seem convinced but let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, but I’m not letting you go off and brood in some corner. The whole bloody school’s celebrating with you tonight.”

James smirked faintly, feeling a little lighter. Maybe he could pretend to be okay, at least for tonight. He could let the victory, the laughter, and his friends drown out the ache for just a little while longer.

But as the night continued, and as the music played on, James found himself once again looking toward the doorway, hoping—just hoping—that you’d look his way.

For the first time in forever, the world was finally on his side as he saw you quickly leaving Finn and walking straight to him.

“May I speak to you, please?” James nodded, Dumbfounded.

You quickly grabbed his hand and went outside the common room and into the corridors.

You took a deep breath, your fingers twisting nervously. “James… I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while now.”

James’s throat went dry, his pulse quickening as he struggled to find his voice. “Yeah?”

You nodded, glancing down at your hands before meeting his gaze. “I—I’m sorry.”

That wasn’t what he had expected. Of all the scenarios he’d played out in his head, an apology hadn’t been one of them.

“For what?” he asked, genuine confusion coloring his voice.

“For everything,” you said in a rush, your words tumbling out before you could stop them. “For avoiding you. I was confused—about what I did that made you ignore me. And I guess I wanted to get back at you for ignoring me, so I decided to do the same to you. And… I’m sorry for whatever happened between us that made things so weird.”

James stared at you, your vulnerability hitting him like a Bludger to the chest. His heart ached at the uncertainty in your voice.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said quickly, shaking his head.

“Yes, I do,” you insisted, your voice firm despite the tears welling in your eyes.

“No, you don’t,” James countered, his tone soft yet resolute. “It’s not fair to put all of this on yourself. You’ve always been there for me, and I—well, I’ve been a terrible friend lately. I was practically acting like you didn’t exist.”

James faltered when he saw the blank expression on your face. Panic flickered in his chest—had he said too much?

But before he could say anything more, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

“Oh, James,” you murmured into his shoulder. “It’s okay. I—I was acting like you didn’t exist too, but only because you were doing it to me.”

He blinked, caught off guard, before slowly relaxing into the hug. He looked down at you, his hand instinctively reaching up to brush away a stray tear trailing down your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You shook your head, a small, watery smile breaking through. “We’re both sorry. Let’s just… not do this anymore, okay?”

James nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Deal.”

“It feels so much better having my best friend around again.” James’ smile faltered again, he never liked the word “best friend” when it came to you, he always wanted more.

“Definitely”

You two let each other talk for what felt like hours even though it was barely fifteen minutes. He enjoyed every second though, until you brought up Finn and future plans they may include him. He couldn't believe it, when had your parents met his? He remembers your dad telling him how much he was rooting you and him to be together, now he's okay with you dating some other dude? And worst of all, your father was okay with that same dude wanting to marry his daughter? James felt like throwing up.

“Then he said that my father laid it out on a silver platter.”

“Laid... what out on a platter?”

“My future! Gave him the blessing to...to propose. I don't know what to do.”

“You told me you don’t mind being married straight after Hogwarts if you truly loved the man. That being a wife and mother... is your dream. Finn is.. nice, and both of your guys’ parents are supportive. I don't understand. What's holding you back?”

“Just… one thing.”

“What am I supposed to do? Everyone else is just... moving on, and now you’re... and I’m still... We never even... And he’s there, and you’re—Merlin, you’re never going to find someone who—” James stopped, his voice cracking. “I know that much, so how... how am I supposed to... I can’t... I— We...”

Before you could speak–a drunk Sirius somehow found you two. “Woah James you're really speaking to her? Atta boy, now, let's get back to the party, cmon, we are going to do something cool, have you heard of ....” Sirius rambled on, tugging on James’ arm to drag him back to the party.

“I’ll be off, then.” You said, voice quivering as if hesitant to leave.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

All James could think about was the previous night—the talk you two had shared. Your words, your voice, the hesitation in your eyes—it all replayed in his mind like a haunting melody. What would’ve happened if Sirius hadn’t barged in, if James had told him to leave, if he’d been brave enough to stay in that moment with you?

“I think…” James began, his voice breaking as he paced the Gryffindor dormitory, “I think she might’ve been asking if I love her. And—and I think I told her to marry someone else.”

Sirius, slouched in the chair by the window, looked stricken. “Mate…” he started, his tone heavy with guilt. “If I’d known—if I knew what was happening—I wouldn’t have gone looking for you. I—I practically ruined your chances. Merlin, I’m so, so sorry.”

James stopped pacing, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t even know if she meant it. She said so much without really saying anything, and now I don’t know if I imagined it all.”

“‘Sure, take option two,’ when option one is all she wants for her future?” James muttered, his voice thick with frustration.

“What is option one?” Peter asked, his curiosity breaking the tension.

James scoffed, bitterness creeping into his tone. “It’s Finn, obviously.” He paused, his anger flaring. “But both their parents support it, and she told me that! Before she spilled all of that on me, we were talking and laughing like nothing was wrong. But now…” He exhaled sharply, his voice softening as he sat down on the edge of his bed. “Now it feels like I’m being asked to explain the rest of my life on a bloody ticking clock. And if I make the wrong decision, I’ve either ruined my life—or hers.”

The room fell silent. Sirius and Peter exchanged uneasy glances, while Remus seemed lost in thought, unsure of how to respond.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Meanwhile, you had confided in your mother about your plans the night before: to finally tell the man you truly loved how you felt. You hadn’t wanted to bring it up while you and James were laughing and enjoying each other’s company, but you knew if you didn’t seize the moment, you’d never say it at all.

What you hadn’t expected was for him to turn you down. To tell you—calmly, almost dismissively—that you should marry Finn.

Your mother was waiting for your response. You knew she expected good news, a letter confirming that you and James were finally together. Instead, you sat at your desk, penning words that left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Dear Mother,

I did what you told me to do, but I fear I shouldn’t have. We were talking just fine, and then I told him everything. I told him how I felt. And he told me to marry Finn.

Finn is lovely, yes—but he’s not James. I asked James if there was any chance for us, and he said no. At least now I have clarity on where I stand with him. And I know it sounds awful to compare Finn to James, but... maybe knowing what I know now, I can learn to be happy with Finn. Father and Finn’s family are all thrilled, after all. I don’t even want to think about what I would’ve done if James had said he felt the same.

You sighed, folding the parchment carefully and sealing it in an envelope. The weight of your words sat heavily on your chest, but you couldn’t dwell on them any longer. You needed to send this letter immediately.

Pulling on your cloak, you found yourself heading for one of the secret passages to Hogsmeade—the ones you and James had used so often. The memories stung, but you pushed them aside. This time, you’d be using the passage alone.

The quickest way to deliver your letter was through the owlery. You knew exactly which owl was the fastest.

As you walked, you let your mind wander to James one last time, allowing yourself the quiet ache of what could’ve been. You would never speak to him again, not like before. That part of your life was over.

Finn was your future now. And while it hurt to admit, deep down, you knew it was for the best.

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fairytaleendingss · 4 months ago

Text

Room for One More?

Chapter 9

Summary: Secrets are revealed on New Years Eve.

CW: Alcohol consumption, sexual references, mention of cigarettes, swearing, lots of drama.

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x fem!reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8

"YOU SLEPT WITH SIRIUS?!"

"Shh! Mary keep your voice down," you uttered, looking around to see how many of your coworker's heads had swivelled towards you in response to Mary's loud exclamation.

"Sorry," she grimaced. "I'm just.. I'm in shock."

You sighed and leaned back where you were perched on the corner of her desk. "I think I am a bit as well."

There was a pause.

"Well, was it good?"

"Mary! Oh my god!" you groaned and threw a hand over your face to hide your mortification.

"What? I'm just asking. I can't say that I haven't imagined it once or twice myself-"

You slapped her gently across the shoulder with the back of your hand. "You're distrubed. You know that?"

She smirked. "You know you love me."

You rolled your eyes affectionately at your friend. "Anyway, we'd been drinking and it was Christmas and we were having such a wonderful time. I think we just got swept up in it all and now I don't know what to do. Things have been kind of... weird between us."

"Well have you guys talked about it?" Mary inquired.

"That's the thing. Afterwards he just kind of moved on like it never happened. I don't know if he thinks it was a mistake or something but it's stressing me out."

"Hmm," a thoughtful look crossed Mary's face as she took everything in. "Well how are you feeling about it? Do you think it was a mistake?"

You bit the inside of your cheek. "No? I-I don't think so. I dont know."

A look of realisation washed over Mary's face. "Do you like him??"

"I mean, of course I like him. I'm just not sure I like like him."

Your friend sighed exasperatedly. "Oh my god! We're not in Primary School, just answer the damn question!"

"Fine! I guess the answer is... yes?" you sighed. "But whatever! Does it even make a difference? He's made it exceptionally clear that he doesn't feel the same way."

"Look," Mary huffed, her expression growing sincere. "Sirius is great. He's fun and friendly and a total flirt but he's also been known to be a little emotionally constipated. Just be honest with him. Talk to him about it. He's not going to be able to pick up on any signals you're trying to send him."

You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a breath throught your nose. "Ugh fine."

"Good girl," Mary smiled. "Now go away. I actually have some work to get done today."

"Oh fine. I suppose I know when I'm not wanted," you teased, getting up and walking back towards your desk.

"Love you!" Mary called lightheartedly as you walked away.

"Yeah, yeah," you joked in response.

As you arrived back at your desk and slumped down in your chair, prepared to get back to work, a head peaked down at you over the cubical.

"Oh, you're back, I see."

You jumped slightly at the unexpected voice and looked up to see its perpertrator.

"Yes, Glenn. Hi. Is there anything I can help you with?"

Glenn was a new employee in your office and he sat in the cubical opposite yours. He was only a few years older than you and he was tall and fit with short blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. In the few weeks you'd known him for, he'd been particularly friendly towards you and recently you'd been getting the idea that he had taken a liking to you.

You weren't interested of course. He was an attractive guy but not really your type. And with everything going on with Sirius over the last week, you'd been making a effort to put some distance between you. You definitely weren't looking for anything of that nature right now and you didn't want to give him the wrong impression. However, Glenn was nothing if not persistant.

"Actually, I was just wondering if you had any plans for new years tonight? A few of my mates are throwing a party and you're welcome to join us if you're interested."

You sent him you're most empathetic smile. "That sounds lovely but unfortunately I already have some plans with my friends."

He sighed, flashing you a grin that looked suspiciously rehearsed. "Oh well. No problem. It was worth a shot. You have fun tonight."

"You too, Glenn."

As the man dissapeared back over the divider, you let out a heafty sigh. Tonight was surely going to be interesting.

The view was impeccable from the bar where your friends had gathered to spend New Years. In fact, seated beside a huge floor to ceiling window, you suspected you'd have a clear view of the New Years fireworks.

It was a classy joint, one that Dorcas had managed to get you access to through one of her fancy lawyer contacts.

Everyone was assembled on stools around a table, looking out over the London skyline. It was about four hours until midnight and the group was chatting excitedly in the lead up.

"I've got shots!" Mary called out and everyone cheered as she returned to the table with a tray.

She passed the drinks around and then took her seat beside you.

"Well, I suggest a toast!" James called out, grabbing the attention of the group. "To a wonderful year ahead, and many more memories with old, and new, friends!"

He emphasised the last line with a pointed look in your direction and you felt your cheeks growing hot.

"Cheers!" Marlene shouted enthusiastically and the others echoed her sentiments, clinking glasses and swallowing their drinks.

The burning of the liquor was welcomed as the drink ran down your throat. You'd been thinking a lot about what Mary had said to you in regards to your situation with Sirius. And as he sat beside you, laughing animatedly at one of Peter's stories, it only confirmed your worst fears. Maybe you were starting to develop feelings for your roommate. You grimaced at the thought. Things were bound to get messy in situations like this.

"So guys," Sybil piped up from across the table. "Let's all go around and say our New Years resolutions."

"Oh, I'll go first!" James volunteered. "I hope my team continues to play a great season annnddd... I want to work out more."

There was a collective groan.

"Come on, James. That's not a real one!" Mary complained.

Sirius chuckled, taking a pointed sip of his drink. "Yeah! You already work out like 7 times a day!"

"Ugh, okay fine!" James responded with groan. He thought for a moment. "How about this one. I'd like to fall in love this year."

You didn't miss the way his eyes flickered across the table towards Lily and you felt your heart sink. Lily seemed to take notice a well as she averted her eyes, taking a heafty gulp of the drink in her hand.

"Aww, James. Always the romantic, aren't you?" Marlene chuckled.

"Shut up." James rolled his eyes playfully. "Your turn then, Marls."

"Okay," She took a deep breath. "My goal this year is to become super rich and famous and sucessful."

"I second that!" Mary called across the table and you giggled as they clinked their glasses.

"Y/n. Your turn," Dorcas announced.

"Oh okay, um..." you thought for a moment, your gaze flashing to James and Remus across the table, then over to Sirius, who was watching you expectanly, a playlful glimmer in his stormy eyes.

You then looked back towards the rest of the group. "This year, I'd like to spend some more time with you lovely people."

A round of cooing echoed across the table and Mary threw her arms around you.

"Well aren't you just the sweetest!"

"Oh, and I'd like to work more on my novel," you added.

"Alright, alright. Sirius, you're up!" Marlene chimed.

The boy beside you pursed his lips, looking off into the distance as if deep in thought. Then, after a long moment, he turned back to all of you with a mischievous smirk on his lips.

"This year, I want to have lots of amazing sex!"

"Ew. Sirius, you're so foul," Lily exclaimed, followed by a symphany of similar sentiments from the other members of the group.

While everyone else was distracted, grumbling and groaning about Sirius' bluntness, the man leaned down towards you.

"You look great tonight, by the way." He whispered into your hair.

You gulped thickly, not quite sure what to do with yourself. You opted for downing the remainder of your Vodka, Lime and Soda.

As the evening drew on, you found yourself growing more anxious in Sirius' presence. You weren't quite sure what his game was, whether it was the alcohol or he was just feeling extra bold tonight, but he'd been suspiciously flirtatious.

You didn't know how to respond. Part of you wanted to let him. To let him woo you and go crawling back for more of what you'd had together on Christmas Night. However, the other, more logical part of you, told you that was a terrible idea. He was your roommate afterall. The last thing you wanted was to start some complicated friends-with-benefits situation with a guy you lived with, especially one that you had sort of, maybe, possibly had caught feelings for.

You downed another drink, feeling the alcohol grip you and hoped it would help to ease the nerves ever so slightly. You realised then, that you were staring.

Sirius had gone to the bar to order another round of drinks and you'd been watching with bated breath as he sent his signature smile to a girl wearing an explicitly tight black dress. You noticed the way she leaned forward, pressing her cleavage up against the bar as she spoke to him. God, could she be anymore obvious?

"Calm the hell down, y/n!" You thought to yourself. "It's not like you guys are together. He can flirt with whoever he wants."

"Hey, are you okay?" you raked your eyes away from the scene as a voice came from beside you.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine," You muttered absently, too distracted to notice that it was Remus who asked the question.

"Okay, never have I ever... made out with more than one person on the same night!" Mary's voice rang out and you forced your attention back to the group.

You weren't sure when this game had begun but you suspected it was suggested by one of the girls (likely Mary or Marlene) as a way to pass the final hour until midnight. You hadn't participated in this game since probably highschool, but you were all a few drinks in at this point so you figured, what the hell?

You watched as Marlene, James and Dorcas all took a sip. Then Lily sent Mary a pointed look.

"Come on, Mary. That's not how the game works. You have to say something you haven't done."

"I haven't!" Mary responded. Then she paused. "Oh wait, yeah I definitely have."

Everyone chuckled as she took a drink.

"Alright! Dorcas! Your turn." Mary nudged the girl in the side.

Dorcas rolled her eyes. "For the record, I just want to say, I think this game is stupid."

"Come on babe. Don't be a party pooper!" Marlene exclaimed, leaning in towards her girlfriend. "How else are we supposed to learn everyone's deepest darkest secrets."

Dorcas sighed and shook her head but there was a hint of a smile on her face. She really could never say no to Marlene.

"Ugh, fine. Never have I ever stolen something."

"Well that's a hard one," Mary muttered. "What do we count as stealing? Because I've stolen stuff from James a ton of times."

"Oi!" James shouted, looking positively affronted. Mary sent him an apologetic smile.

"No, not like that," Dorcas clarified. "It had to have been from an actual shop."

You all sat up straight for a moment, curiously looking around the group to see if anyone had. Hesitantly, Peter lifted his glass to his lips.

"Pete! What the hell!" James exclaimed.

"I don't know, I went through a phase in highschool!"

"What sort of stuff did you take?" Marlene pressed.

Peter shrugged. "Chocolate and ciggarettes, mostly."

There was an eruption of laughter that rippled across the table at Peter's revelation.

"Wow, I didn't know there was a degenerate among us," Lily teased, watching Peter's face flush bright red.

"Okay, okay. My turn!" Marlene said, once the laughter died down. "Never have I ever... gotten really sloshed and fallen down the stairs at my 18th birthday party"

"Hey! That's not fair!" James moaned, taking a sip of his beer. "You can't do targeted ones!"

Marlene just shrugged. "Sorry, but I don't think that was established in the rules."

James smirked. "Fine then! Never have I ever had sex with someone at this table."

Your blood ran cold for a moment as you glanced back towards the bar. You sighed in relief when you saw that Sirius was still over there. In that case, you technically hadn't slept with anyone at the table. You were off the hook for now.

Marlene rolled her eyes at James and took a drink, as well as Dorcas, Peter and Sybil, however, you watched James' eyes widen as Mary also took a long sip.

"Mary!" Lily hissed across the table. Your heart plummeted.

"What?" Mary shrugged, the alcohol clearly having gone to her head. "We have to! It's the rules."

"Wait! Hold on," Marlene murmered, her eyes drifting between the two girls. "Did you guys..."

There was a heavy anticipatory silence that hung over the table as you all awaited Lily's response. The girl grimaced, as she tried to muster some kind of explanation.

It was then that her eyes drifted up to meet James' pleading ones.

"Lily?" the boy asked softly. Your heart broke for him.

"So I guess the cat's out of the bag huh?" the girl sighed. "Mary and I have sort of been seeing each other. Romantically."

"Holy shit!" Marlene shouted, candid and straight to the point as she usually was in these situations.

"How long has this been going on?" Dorcas questioned.

"It's still really new," Lily explained.

"We were just trying to figure out the right time to tell you guys," Mary added.

"So you're the one Mary has been seeing?" James murmered.

"Yes," Lily responded. "I'm sorry James but you had to know it was never going to work out between us."

The boy sighed, running a hand through his unruly curls. "Yeah, I know."

Then he started to stand. "I think I just need some air for a minute."

"James, wait-" Remus reached out to grab his arm but James shook him off.

"I just need minute," he repeated, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair and hurrying towards the exit. Part of you wanted to go after him but the other part recognised that he probably needed some space to process things.

"Sorry, everyone. I didn't mean to ruin the night," Mary murmered folornly.

"No hun! you didn't ruin anything," you comforted.

"Yeah, we're really happy for you two," Dorcas added.

"Really?"

Everyone nodded.

"Absolutely. You both deserve to be happy," Remus confirmed.

Wide smiles crossed over the girls' faces.

It was two minutes until midnight and Sirius was nowhere to be seen. Despite your better judgement, you couldn't help but feel slightly disapointed. You supposed that there was some small aspect of your mind that hoped Sirius would be your New Years kiss.

You knew it was wishful thinking, especially when you hadn't even spoken about what happened between you, but with how he'd been acting towards you throughout the night, you'd allowed yourself to nurture that flicker of hope.

As people crowded around the window and the countdown began, you found your eyes searching the room for the dark haired man, wondering if just maybe, he'd make a last minute appearance.

"Five, four, three, two..."

You scanned the space one last time.

"One!"

You're last flicker of hope died out as your eyes finally landed on his form.

"Happy New Year!"

The shouts and cheers faded into the background as you watched Sirius press his lips to those of the boob-y blonde you'd seen him flirting with before.

The moment seemed to go in slow motion. You watched from afar as he tangled his hand in her hair, just as he'd done in yours only a week prior.

"Of course," you thought. "Typical"

It was Sirius Black you were talking about. You were stupid to think you meant anything more to him than a casual night of fun.

In an instant, you turned on your heel and walked towards the door, the sounds of the party fading into the background. You decided, instead of bumming around waiting for Sirius to notice you, you'd go look for James, just as you should've done much earlier.

The cold hit you like a block of cement as you stepped outside onto the street. It didn't take you long to find him.

He was sitting on the curb, outside of he bar, arms resting on his knees as he looked up towards the sky. Another explosion sounded and a flash of colour filled the air. In the distance, you could hear the cheers of excited people all around as they celebrated.

"Happy New Year, James."

He turned to look at you and in the flash of light, as another firework flickered across the sky, you were able to notice the faint tear tracks that lined his cheeks.

"Oh hey." he sniffled, rubbing a hand beneath his glasses and trying to regain a semblance of composure.

BANG!

You flopped unceremoniously onto the ground beside him as another flash filled the sky. You gave him a sympathetic smile. Funnily enough, in that moment, you knew exactly how he felt.

"Are you okay?" You asked him gently.

He let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah. I will be."

BANG!

"Good."

You both turned your gazes back to the display, taking in the beautiful array of colours filling the air. It wasn't quite the view you'd expected for the night, but somehow, that didn't seem to matter.

As you continued to watch the fireworks, you felt the gentle touch of a hand wrapping around your own. You smiled slightly as your fingers intertwined.

BANG!

Slowly, you shuffled closer and leaned into him, gently resting your head on James broad shoulder.

You stayed like that a while, just taking in the show, and each other's company.

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#marauders #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #poly!marauders x reader #marauders au

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