#sirius black pov

[ttroubledwaters]

please please please please please give me more fics in sirius and james' pov PLEASEEEE

[alltheyoungmoons]

the ghosts of my memories won't let me sleep

Rated T, 2.1k words - Summer of 1995. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, has become the new base of the Order of the Phoenix, but Sirius finds it hard to fall asleep on his first night there.

The clock in the drawing room chimed thrice, the sound shattering the mortiferous silence of the ancient townhouse. Sirius heard it all the way from the kitchens, in the basement. He hadn’t set foot in that house, or in Islington for that matter, for twenty years, twelve of them spent in hell. He thought he quite deserved a drink to celebrate the unlikely return, and remembered very well where Orion stored his liquor collection. Kreacher had caught him tinkering around that cupboard several times, the young boy mesmerised by all manners of fancy bottles and delicious-looking liquids. He produced some ice with his wand inside of a fine crystal goblet he plucked from the mantle top and poured a healthy dose of aged Firewhisky that must’ve cost a fortune, stirring slowly. He brought the glass to his lips, inhaling the smokey, rich smell of the alcohol. He looked down and sighed, and placed the goblet back on the table. With a tap of his wand he transfigured the goblet to a mundane-looking Old Fashioned glass.

“Much better,” he muttered to himself, and went for the stairs. 

Sirius, for all his misfortunes, had never thought he’d be back in this house. He hadn’t thought twice about giving it to the Order, relishing in the fact that their parents would be rolling in their graves if they knew. It had been the easiest decision he’d ever made. He didn’t think he’d be forced to stay there, though. He’d take his cell at Azkaban or a frigid Scottish cave over his childhood bedroom any day. Thankfully, Remus was there with him.

He planned to nurse his drink on one of the library’s sittees, hopefully with a useful read in hand. He felt wide awake, adrenaline coursing through his veins just like after a duel, or a flight, or a quick shag. If he couldn’t sleep, the least he could do was keep his mind occupied. 

He was deep in thought when a rotting step whined under his foot, and he looked up, flinching instinctively. 

He was in front of his mother’s portrait, the curtains drawn wide open, but she wasn’t screaming, as she did that morning, when he, Remus, Moody and Kingsley breached the entrance of Grimmauld Place after a decade of abandonment. 

Instead, she looked at him gravely and with disdain, her mouth a tight line. 

In this silence, Sirius had the chance to properly see her. She wore her mourning dress, black cap and veil to cover her silver hair that matched the gray in her eyes, the same that were looking back at her now. She was so different from how Sirius last remembered her - a beautiful, regal woman now turned old and bitter, her hateful scowl forever impressed on her once smooth skin in deep wrinkles. 

He broke the silence first. “Hello, mother,” he said, tilting his glass towards her in a sort of cheering gesture.

She didn’t bother to look him in the eyes, her gaze wandering out of frame. “You’re no son of mine.”. Her tone was flat, indifferent. 

“Believe me, I’ve spent the better part of my life hoping just that. But alas,” he opened his arms as if to show off his surroundings, shrugging “The house opened for me. So.”

No response. Walburga kept staring off into the distance. Sirius wondered silently what she could see within the dimension of the frame.

“Guess you didn’t disown me after all,”

“Well, You won’t catch me complaining about it. It’s been pretty useful lately.”

“The inheritance, I mean”,

“Turns out being put in prison for twelve years is an excellent savings plan.”

Sirius saw her eyes dart to him for a moment. He wasn’t sure if it was the mention of Azkaban that did it, or the fact that he had the gall to bring up a subject so common as saving money. 

He took a sip, suppressing a smirk. 

There was a thrill in being able to talk to her without the fear of retaliation that was engrained in their every exchange since Sirius was ten. 

He still felt a little nauseous, though. 

“You were sent to Azkaban.” She said, then. It sounded like an affirmation, but Sirius knew better. His mother never did questions, only statements. 

Sirius nodded. He studied her reaction. 

Her eyes would’ve glinted if they weren’t oil paint set on canvas.

“Just like your cousin.” 

Sirius had been wondering when the comparisons to other members of the family would start, a fixture of Walburga’s chinwag. 

“Dear Bellatrix was there, alright,” Sirius nodded, circling the remnants of the ice around his glass. “The whole jolly company was there, eventually, the inner circle at least. Saw them coming in one by one. But I was there first.”

He looked up at her, and saw one of the corners of her thin mouth lift slightly. He was starting to enjoy this. He wanted to make her believe he’d recanted his belief in the end, and then pull the rug from under her feet. He wanted her to ask. 

“And I was the first out. First Wizard to ever do it.”

“I’ve been at large for the better part of two years now.”

“Thankfully no one can find me here.”

He winked.

Walburga sat up, straightening her already impossibly rigid posture. The shadow of pride swiftly passed on her features - Sirius recognised it immediately. He used to chase that impossible shadow as if it was his only reason to live. Before Hogwarts. Before he knew better. 

They studied each other for what felt like minutes, their stern features a mirror of each other. 

“How.”

Sirius rose to his full height. Not so much a question as a demand. Still, she had caved.

“Well,” he started, with a chuckle. “I tried to avenge my best friends’ deaths and was falsely incriminated because of the curse of the name that I carry! This title taints everything it touches like poison, it fosters animosity and mistrust, it follows like a haunting! The system this family helped to build sent me straight into the Dementors’ mouth without even sparing the thought of a trial, just because I must’ve done it, I must’ve been rotten after all, because I am a Black! First and foremost, forever scarred to drag around your filthy, thoughtless, sheeple beliefs with me even if I made extensively clear that I never wanted to be associated with you or the obscenities you preached! You were always so concerned about decorum and standing and reputation that you never noticed that all of those things had slipped from your control decades ago! Outside of your stupid Sacred Twenty-Eight circle-jerk everyone thinks you’re utterly mental!”

Twelve years of pure agony, of building a steady hatred for them and all they came to signify, had come out in almost a single breath, his tone clear but never loud, precise and cutting - he had learned from the best, after all. 

Sirius had never hated his family during his school years, and even after, during the First War, he tried his best to act like they never existed at all. Indifference was the best way to hurt someone, he knew that well. But in Azkaban there were no distractions, and he found that rage was an excellent companion, keeping his flame alive. He had been caught because of Peter, sure, but he was imprisoned without a trial because of his name. It was never going to go any other way. 

Walburga’s face had turned into a mask of blistering fury, huffing angrily, chest heaving - she stayed silent for a moment, and Sirius had to remind himself that she was a painting. He would not flinch. 

So he took another sip, smacking his tongue at the end.

Walburga lunged towards him fruitlessly, shrieking, her rage bound to the two-dimensional space of the canvas, starting off her usual tirade:

“Filth! Traitor! Coming here in the house of my forefathers slandering the name of the Noble and Most Ancient House in Britain! How dare you come back here, you scum! I knew since the day you came back from your first semester at Hogwarts that you were going to be nothing but a criminal! A degenerate! Fraternising with blood traitors and half-bloods! Having impure thoughts about them! You’re nothing but utter filth and I cursed the day you were born until I drew my last breath! Traitor!”

Sirius just stayed there, leaning along the rail, finishing off his drink and letting her words slide off him, like water off a duck’s back. There was something cathartic about letting his feelings explode like this, with no filters, even if it meant they’d probably have to endure Walburga’s shrill shouting for a while. The treat had not been without its consequences; still, better be subject to her incoherent string of slurs rather than one of her well-placed hexes. 

There was a sudden noise from up the stairs, and after a moment, a sleepy Remus appeared, in his pyjama, wand drawn. He stopped a few steps from Sirius, looking confused and disheveled from being woken so abruptly. Sirius looked up at him tenderly and smiled, and Remus let his arms rest down to his sides, donning a grumpy expression. 

“Merlin’s balls, Sirius. I thought someone broke in.” Remus had to shout over Walburga’s yelling to make himself heard.

Sirius couldn’t help but grin at him. “Couldn’t sleep, bumped into Mother. Thought it’d be rude of me not to greet her properly.”

Remus squeezed his eyes at him suspiciously. His gaze registered the empty glass and Sirius’ fingers nervously tapping on them. 

“You had to go and tick her off uh? What year is this, 1973?” Remus had stepped down a few and was now eye-to-eye with Sirius. He was studying his face in that way of his, as if gathering information and quickly making a log of it in his head. 

They hadn’t talked about it, exactly. They had a steady correspondence streak going since the summer after Sirius - and Peter - escaped, but some things couldn’t be committed to parchment. It was clear that they were both inclined to naturally fall back into their old ways, but so much had changed, and even when forced to share a bed - seriously what was Dumbledore thinking, just sending him there, no notice, as if Remus lived in a mansion, as if Remus wanted anything to do with him after all those years… it had been extremely awkward to say the least. 

And for all the free, comfortable beds that Grimmauld Place had to offer, Sirius still couldn’t sleep.

But the love was still there. They both felt it. If it was never going to be like it had been before, Sirius was fine with that. Remus was his oldest friend. 

Still, it was fun, sometimes, to slip into the old ways. 

“You know, I have an idea that would really aggravate her”. Sirius glanced at Remus’ lips and wriggled his eyebrows. 

Remus arched one brow and crossed his arms. “How many of these have you had?” 

Sirius huffed as if he were offended, but smiled. 

“Come on, help me draw the old bat’s curtains.”

“Fine, but I want a drink too, afterwards,”

“Fine, but can I sleep in your bed,”

They looked at each other, spooked, and then warily glanced at the portrait that was still mumbling angrily, quieter now. It didn’t seem to have noticed them.

Sirius was just bantering along, but the truth had its way of slipping out. 

Remus’ lips were parted, and his cheeks were flushed. Sirius couldn’t stand the buried pain in his eyes. He looked down, and whispered.

“Can’t sleep.” He found his gaze “This fucking house, y’know?”

Remus exhaled sharply, and nodded. 

“Sure, yeah.” He whispered back.

“It’s not really her, you know.” Remus added, still looking at him, searching.

“Yeah… yeah I know. Still. Felt good to take some things off my chest, I guess.”

“Might want try to piss off Phineas Nigellus’ portrait next. That one’s more animated.”

Sirius tutted “Remus, don’t give me any ideas.”

Remus smirked “Bet he loves an argument just as much as you do,”

Sirius rolled his eyes, but he was elated. It was the first time they had been able to joke between them as if no time had passed at all.

“Tease.”

They yanked the curtains shut, and tried a few silencing spells to boot. When they were done, Remus plucked Sirius’ tumbler off the railing and gave him a delicate shove.

“Come on then, Master Black. Show me where that cranky old elf keeps all the booze.”

[neverenoughmarauders]

Last line tag

Another last line tag, eh, @lilacella ? Don’t mind if I do, as my last line fits so well with my propaganda of “arrogant and smart JamesANDSirius” and “Remus wasn’t top of the class, that was JamesANDSirius”.

'Indeed,' professor Aymslowe beamed at Remus as if he had provided something more than an incomplete answer.

Np tag for anyone wanting to share their last line, including @annabtg @eastwindmlk @tedwardremus @emmathecasualauthor @loonyloopylupin96 but also anyone else who wants to share ❤️❤️

[ang3l0fde4th4ndd0gs]

Random Idea For A Fic That I Had

Word Count: 1023

Gist: If Regulus and Sirius were left their Uncle's fortune with a clause that excluded their parents and an urging to get out of England after graduating Hogwarts.

Dumbledore's A Decent Fucking Person AU!

Sirius sat atop the velvet cushion of his jewel encrusted throne, the drapes on the castle walls fluttering in the wind coming through the broken glass of the windows. The only thing he’d been willing to pay for so far had been his seat, he was adamant that if he were to live in this insane environment, he would at least need some comfortable place to rest. His mother had lost her mind when he walked out of the house after the Ministry had informed the Black family of his uncle’s passing. She was furious that Alphard had done such a thing, that he had left the one child that she swore wasn’t good enough to be the heir to Black family’s fortune everything he owned. 

Well, it wasn’t really favouritism that sparked this idea. Alphard had always hated his brother and his cousin. He knew Sirius did too, he knew that Sirius would get out the way that he did. So, when he took his own life at age 40, he left everything to Sirius, including this damned castle that sat atop the hill across from Orion and Walburga’s vacation home in London. 

When Walburga found out that Sirius was the sole inheritor of the fortunes her cousin had gained over his lifetime of work as an Auror and a Chemist, she tore the place apart, looking for anything she could take. Sirius of course, wouldn’t have that. He was only fifteen but still, he sent a message directly to the headmaster of Hogwarts, explaining everything in as much detail as he could. Walburga looked absolutely terrified for once in her life when she found that Dumbledore was on his way there now.

Which led him to where he sat now. The sound of his mother’s shrill screams as Dumbledore walked up the path which led to the castle doors began to fill the room. Sirius kept a smug smirk on his lips as he watched the old man walk up to his mother. 

“Madame Black, I see we meet again.”Albus said, looking down his nose with judgement in his eyes at Walburga who only stared back with the rage of a thousand suns in her eyes. 

“What do you want this time? To steal my sons from me again?”Walburga snapped at the headmaster.

“I want justice for what you’ve done to your sons’ newfound home. Sirius has informed myself of all of your most recent wrongdoings toward him and young Regulus. I have decided they don’t need any more of it.”

“How dare you!”Walburga shrieked.”I’ll have-”

Dumbledore cast the silencing curse on Walburga with a gentle flick of his wand. “You will leave those boys alone. They have done nothing but work to please you and your husband and frankly, I’ve noticed the toll that your treachery has taken on the two of them.”

Sirius could only stare at the white-bearded teacher in confusion. The heir was stunned at the knowledge about his home life that the man held. Before he could say anything, Dumbledore simply picked Walburga up and left with a slight bow to Sirius. Regulus, who was hiding behind the pillar next to the doors came running over to him. 

“Is it over? Is she gone?”he asked almost silently, his usual poise and sophistication now replaced with a quiet, child like innocence.

“I… I think so. I hope so. I wasn’t expecting any of that.”

“Where’d he take her?”

“Away, apparently.”

“She ruined it… all of… everything…”Regulus mumbled.

“Uncle Alphard knew she would do something like this. But, I’ll fix it. I always do. I think he put a restoration spell in his letter anyways.”

Sirius stood up from his seat, stretching as an attempt to wake himself up from the whirlwind that just happened. He took the letter from the back pocket of his ripped jeans and skimmed through it to find the restoration spell that Alphard built into the castle before he died. Sirius performed the spell, effortlessly as Regulus watched with wide-eyed wonder. 

The deep purple drapes that hung over the windows, rolled down, their colour restored and their golden borders gleaming once again, the beautiful stained glass windows depicting images of gardens and forests seemed to fit back together like puzzles, the rugs on the ground rolled back into place, their matching greens and purples returning and the doors all seemed to repair themselves after Walburga’s rage. 

“This should be simple. As long as our parents don’t get ahold of the castle, it could be ours. Two teenagers with a hold on the castle is probably not exactly legal but, noone can legally take it away either. And believe me, Alphard left more than enough to give us an amazing life since his parents and a few other members of the family left their fortunes to him before he died.”Sirius rambled to himself as he sunk back into the comfort of his throne. 

Regulus climbed into the matching seat beside him. “This was never your thing, Sirius. You would rather live in some ratty apartment in America than in some extravagant castle. What did Uncle say? Did he say we had to keep it or…”

“He said that it would be wiser if we got out of the country after we graduate. So I assume that means we should get rid of this place too. I would rather go through it first, I’m sure we’ll want his journals and stuff.”

“Your friend absolutely would. He seems to enjoy studying all of that.”

“Oh I’m sure that Remus would be thrilled to have journals filled with the ramblings of our old geezer uncle.”Sirius laughed.

“He actually would.”Regulus whispered.

“How would you know?”

Regulus stayed silent, not answering his brother’s question.

“No matter.”Sirius said, regaining his confidence. “Now that we have a place of our own, we might as well use it.”

“How do you mean?”

“A party of course, we could sneak people out off of school grounds in the middle of the night. I doubt we would get caught.”

“Yeah… a party sounds fun…” 

Sirius jumped up from his seat and practically ran up to the study to write his best friend, James a letter. 

Note: I don't know that I'll actually finish this one but I was just bored and wanted to come up with something to write. I'm probably gonna work on my usual nonsense but I've also just been trying to get back into mass writing fanfics because honestly I used to do that. I might continue this one to just turn into like a random microfic that I post on ao3, not like a long fic. I don't really like writing super long books or anything. I might also try and write another chapter for one of my series or something. I don't know, I've begun to ramble again.

[slytherinfade]

*pov: traveling with portkey*

With a sly smirk, you step into the dimly lit Black family library, your leather jacket brushing against centuries-old portraits watching your every move. The familiar scent of parchment and faint traces of dark magic linger in the air as your fingers trace over the family heirlooms scattered around. As you wait for Sirius to arrive, you glance at the enchanted clock on the wall, its hands all pointing to now, reminding you that the Black family secrets never rest.

[practicecourts]

Writing poll game

Rules: make a 24 hour poll with the names of your wips and then for whichever wins, write one sentence for every vote it gets.

Thanks for tagging me Abi @abihastastybeans this is awesome (even if I'm a bit worried there will be like 3 votes...) but here we go. (I know I have other half/unfinished fics but these are the ones I'm most likely to make time for...)

Tagging (as always zero pressure ;-) @annabtg @athenasparrow @chiechie97 @notorious-lightning-thief @sosohh @joyseuphoria

[jessevans]

POV: Sirius dates his best friend's sister.

That's it.

I'm in love

[residentrookie]

hey so @canyouhearmyfear drew this incredibly tragic fanart and i got sad and inspired simultaneously to write some sad prongsfoot shit about it. so like, enjoy, if u wish. at ur own discretion:

You died last week. I killed you. I'm sorry.

They say you’ve finally gone somewhere I can’t follow, but my soul is not hindered by the confines of the world like my body. Intertwined with yours, death could not detangle me from you. It followed you to rest, six feet under my tired feet, and waits like you do for the rest of me to join. I will walk the earth as a ghost and wish I wasn’t scared of dying even when it seems like death can only be a comfort if I'll be met with your embrace. Will you embrace me, in the end? It’s my fault, after all, that you’re a memory now. Sometimes I think it’s impossible that no one has ever been pronounced dead by guilt. They say people die of heartbreak all the time, but never guilt. Guilt is self-made heartbreak. It sits on your lungs and hinders your breaths, it wants you to sink into its black lake, sink right to the bottom and never resurface. I don’t want to resurface, and I don’t deserve to. If that upsets you, no it doesn’t, because you are no longer capable of being upset and I only have myself to blame. I almost climbed into your coffin on the day of your funeral, can you believe that? They had to hold me back from clutching your corpse. You would have been cold under my hands, and I would have shuddered, and I think about that everyday, how terrible it would have been to shudder at your touch. I just want to feel you again. In my arms. By my side. In my heart. Anywhere. Everywhere. Why did you go, Jamie? I can’t be without you. I never learned how. 

I killed you. I’m sorry. 

[maryluvsmcdonalds]

sirius: you know what? fuck him!

james: yeah, fuck him!

*the next morning*

sirius: why did you come back so late?

james: i was with reg.

sirius: i thought that was over with?

james: you said “fuck him” did you not?

sirius: i didn’t mean to actually fuck him!

james: well then you should’ve been more specific!

[ultravioletbrit]

“absent” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 268 words

Sirius loves Hogsmeade weekends when the whole group gets together for lunch at the Three Broomsticks. He’s looking around the table at the smiling faces of all his friends when he realizes two faces are notably absent.

“Hey Marls. James walked down with you guys, right?” Sirius asks.

“He said he needed to stay back and work on new strategies for us to practice this week to use in the match next weekend.” Marlene explains.

Sirius furrows his eyebrows, but it does make sense. James is obsessive about Quidditch, and next weekend’s match is a big one.

“Oi! Crouch!” Sirius calls to the other end of the table. “Where’s Reggie?”

“Revising. He says he likes the library on Hogsmeade weekends because there’s nobody else there. Swot.” Barty says with an eye roll which Sirius returns.

Regulus hates noise and crowds when he studies so it makes sense that he would want to go to the library today.

Sirius shrugs it off and goes back to his lunch.

———

Sirius is sitting across from James at dinner when he notices a trail of love bites running down his neck.

“Prongs, are those hickeys?” Sirius gasps but before James can answer–

“Oi Reg!! Are those hickeys?!” They hear Barty yelling from across the hall.

James’ eyes go wide with fear and Sirius’ eyes narrow to a murderous glare.

“I err… I have to…” James stutters as he slowly stands up.

Once he’s on his feet, James sprints from the Great Hall with Sirius close behind him.

Just before the doors close, Sirius thinks he hears Regulus yell, “Please don’t kill him.” Which only makes Sirius run faster.

[moonstruckme]

James Potter x Reader where reader is in a different house (Hufflepuff if you don’t mind) and she ends up on the receiving end of one of their pranks which makes her angry so she avoids James and the other marauders, forcing him to grovel/beg for forgiveness? Thank you so much xoxo

Hi, thanks for your request! This got a bit long haha, but I enjoyed writing it and hope you enjoy reading :)

cw: mentions of blood

James Potter x Hufflepuff!reader ♡ 1.8k words

Though no one tells him it’s happening, Remus sees the prank coming from a mile away.

Primarily, this is because James and Sirius appear to be playing an entirely ordinary game of frisbee. Just tossing it back and forth, no hexes or nifflers or anything. A simple pastime between two boys on a lovely warm afternoon. 

Secondly, they haven’t asked Remus to join them. While they know from experience he’s content to read his book in the grass, they always make a point to ask just to be sure Remus doesn’t feel excluded. The fact that they haven’t suggests that they’re well aware that whatever they’re up to, Remus will want no part in it. 

Lastly and most importantly, James Potter has the worst poker face Remus has ever known. 

When the curly-haired boy slyly drops the frisbee they’ve been using into his bag, trading it for another, he can hardly keep the giddiness from his face. Which is probably why, when he tosses it well away from his companion and towards a crowd of gathered students, Sirius is the one who has to say, with theatrical volume and distress, “Merlin, can somebody grab that?”

Remus watches warily as several students turn to track the progress of the disk as it sails overhead, and after a moment one breaks away, chasing after it. Remus feels a pang of sympathy for you, your yellow and black scarf flying behind you as you run, needing no further evidence than the eager look in James’ eyes to know that you’ve fallen for a trap. 

You jump up to grab it out of the air, beaming in triumph for a moment before a yelp escapes you. You fling your catch to the ground, cradling your hand as the fanged frisbee twitches and snarls at your feet. 

“Shit,” he hears Sirius breathe, and the excitement is gone from his and James’ expressions as they jog over to you, Remus standing to follow them. 

You pick your head up as they approach, eyes wet but fierce. 

“What the hell?” you snarl, and Remus realizes with a stab of concern that there’s a small puddle of blood forming in your palm. “You’ve begun targeting your stupid pranks at anyone who’s dumb enough to help you now? How’s that funny?”

Remus looks at his friends in bewilderment, aggrieved on your behalf but unable to believe they’d do something so cruel. The fanged frisbee—a cheap trick, which really should be banned in Remus’ opinion—twitches closer to your ankle, and Sirius flicks his wand at it, its teeth retracting as it goes silent and motionless. 

“We…I charmed it so its teeth would be dull and harmless.” James scrubs a hand through his hair, at a loss. “It was only supposed to scare you, not hurt you.” 

You shake your head at him disbelievingly and bite your lip, face reddening as the pain sets in. James steps closer to you, blocking you from view of the small crowd of gawking students, none of whom, Remus notes with some bitterness, have come to help you or see if you’re okay. 

“I’m really sorry,” James says softly. “Let me help.” But when he reaches for your hand, you step back, holding it close to your chest. 

“Just leave me out of your fun in the future, yeah?” you hiss, stalking inside. 

James looks pained as he watches you go, and though Remus doesn’t begrudge you your justified anger, he feels for his good-natured friend. It had been an honest mistake, though the cost turned out to be far higher than either of his friends had expected. But knowing James, he’ll find some way to make it right. 

“Sorry, mate. They can’t all be winners.” Sirius claps him on the back, and Remus knows his light tone is more to make James feel better than it is true carelessness. Sirius is loyal that way; he’d probably lock you in a broom closet rather than have you upset James again. 

“It wasn’t meant to hurt anyone,” James says quietly.

Sirius’ smile is unfaltering, though Remus spies the worry in his eyes. “She’ll get over it. C’mon, there’s still time to go into Hogsmeade if we hurry.” 

And though Remus hopes you’ll feel better soon, he knows it will take James a long time to get over it himself. 

James shuffles from foot to foot, feeling silly and anxious as he waits for someone to leave the Hufflepuff dorms so he can go inside. He’s fairly sure you’re supposed to have potions together, but you hadn’t shown up to class, and though James had kept an eye out all day in the hallways, he’d never spotted you. He’d thought he’d caught a glimpse of you in the great hall during lunch, but you’d darted out of sight before he could be sure, and then there’d been no sign of you at dinner. Luckily, it had only taken a quick consultation of the map he shared with his friends to find out that you’d holed up in the Hufflepuff common room, so here he was, draped in his invisibility cloak and fidgeting like a nervous date at your front door. 

The door creaks open, and James slips in before it can shut, the exiting Hufflepuff shivering slightly at the breeze he makes whisking by them. It’s not difficult to spot you where you’re sitting painting your nails, lips pursed just slightly in concentration. The common room is mostly empty as other students enjoy the nice weather outside, and James is grateful for the privacy as he takes off the cloak and goes to sit beside your feet where they’re stretched out on the couch. 

You look up at the intrusion and startle to find James, pulling your feet closer to you reflexively. He hopes it’s an instinct to make room for him and not to protect yourself from him, though given recent events he could hardly blame you for the latter. 

“What’re you—how did you get in here?” you ask, eyes darting between James and the door in bafflement. 

Never mind that. “You weren’t at dinner,” James says, holding out his small stolen dish of chicken curry, “so I thought you might be hungry. Sorry, it’s barely warm now.” 

You take it from him suspiciously, careful of your wet nails, and James feels a stab of guilt at the sight of your bandaged hand. 

“I’m really sorry about yesterday,” he goes on, throat burning with shame. “I know I’ve already said it, but it was supposed to be harmless. I wasn’t careful enough.” 

You don’t look at him, not rejecting his apology but not quite accepting it either. “Pomphrey fixed it good as new anyways, so we can just say it never happened.”

James appreciates the attempt to ease his conscience, but your kindness only makes him feel that much more villainous. This would be so simple if you were one of those pureblood gits, or even just a bit ruder, but you’re you, and that’s so much worse. 

“Can I see it?” he asks softly, and you hesitate only a moment before scooting a bit closer and extending your hand to him, palm up. 

James unwraps the bandage with care, keeping one eye on your face to ensure he’s not hurting you, and so he notices the faint blush that colors your cheeks as he cradles your hand in his. The last layer of your dressing falls away, revealing three tiny white scars. Though they’re healed over, he hisses in sympathy, drawing your hand further towards him protectively but forgetting you’re attached to it. 

Your inhale is soft as you lean forward awkwardly, and James huffs a laugh at his enduring idiocy. “Sorry, love,” he says, letting you lean back. He doesn’t let go of your hand, though. “Were they deep?”

You give a one-shouldered shrug, as though it’s nothing to you. James worries you’re putting on a performance of exaggerated blasé for his benefit. “They bled a lot, but a charm sealed them up quickly enough.”

James nods, remembering with sickening clarity the blood that had pooled in your palm and dripped from between your fingers. 

“I’m glad,” James says, and it doesn’t feel like enough. Nothing feels like enough. But he can’t stop himself, even if it’s all inadequate. “I’m really sorry.” 

You sigh, and James knows enough about you to guess that being upset is exhausting you. It isn’t in your nature; you’re someone who always has a kind word for everyone, who he’s seen lend your quill to a student that forgot theirs and offer them an understanding smile when they broke it, who would rather spend all day avoiding James than let him feel the wrath of your grudge. 

Your very warranted grudge, by the way. 

It’s terrible luck that someone as sweet as you was on the receiving end of his mistake. But, as you’d pointed out, that was how the prank was designed, wasn’t it? Though James and Sirius hadn’t thought that part through at the time, the victim was always going to be whoever stepped forward to help. Normally it might not matter, but they’d gotten so caught up in the excitement of trying out their new toy that James had somehow gotten the spell wrong. And as a result, you’d been forced to pay a price for your kindness and his incompetence. 

“It’s okay,” you say.  

“It’s not,” James insists. “And I can’t fix it, but let me do something else. I can do your potions’ homework for the rest of the year, I can give you my dessert every night, I can…I can sneak into Hogsmeade and bring you whatever you want, anytime you ask, I can…what?”

You’re smiling at him, and it’s familiarly lovely but, James can’t help but think, entirely undeserved. 

“I don’t need any favors from you, James,” you say, and he realizes it’s the first time you’ve said his name. It’s not a long name, but somehow your voice gives it a cadence he quite likes. “Just be more careful, okay? I ended up fine, but next time someone might not.” 

“There won’t be a next time,” he promises swiftly, and means it. “But sweetheart—” if he notices how you soften at the endearment, he doesn’t mention it “—you’ve gotta let me make it up to you somehow.”

You sigh again, though it’s lighter this time, seemingly both exasperated and amused by his persistence. After a moment spent within your own head, you ask, “Could you help me study for the potions exam next week?”

“Yes!” James grins eagerly. “Of course. That’s a start. How’s tomorrow after class? I’ll bring study snacks as well, and we can make it a regular thing, if you like.” 

He’d like to make it a regular thing, debt or not. 

You smile. “Tomorrow is perfect. And can I call in another favor right now?”

If James weren’t sitting, he’d buckle at the knees in relief. “Yes. I’m at your service.”

“Can you tell me how you got into the Hufflepuff common room?”

“That,” he says smoothly, “is just one in my arsenal of skills now at your disposal.”

[del-stars]

divorced wolfstar hits sooooo good every single time. they are destined to be accidentally divorced. just two grown men who are the stupidest people ever getting a divorce for shits and gigs, yearning for 3-5 years, and then getting right back together. i gobble it up on the daily. normalise divorcing your soulmate for a brief period of time!

[neverenoughmarauders]

Morning exercise (?)

New chapter of When we were up to no good posted - extract below:

'Peter,' Sirius panted now with the effort of keeping James pinned to the ground, 'take that bucket and fill it with water. As much as you can carry!'

Peter looked foolishly down at the bucket he was still holding in his hand.

'Now!'

Turned out the git didn't need to be told thrice. Peter scurried out of the bedroom, and returned a little later, his face having gained colour from the effort of carrying the bucket. It wasn't as full as Sirius had hoped it would be - but then again, James and Peter had probably carried the bucket together the first time.

'Go on.' Sirius was positively breathless by now, James was putting up a good fight. 'Pour it!'

'Pour it?' Peter blinked (rather stupidly in Sirius' opinion).

'Over the git!'

'James?'

'Do you see any other gits around here?'

Well, Sirius himself, but Peter wouldn't be quick-witted enough to pick up on the opportunity Sirius had handed him inadvertently.

'M-maybe,' Peter said, looking like he wanted to grin at Sirius but couldn't quite pick up the courage.

'Fair enough,' Sirius said - he was grinning. It wasn't much, but this was progress from the small boy. Well done, Pete. 'But right now I am thinking of the bespectacled git who is too dry for my liking.'

Peter seemed to draw confidence from Sirius' smile, because he tipped the bucket over James, whose glasses came off him as the sheer force of the water washed over his face and robes. It was a good thing Sirius couldn't get more wet, because a fair bit of it splashed him too.

Sirius was about to pick up James' glasses before they had more drama on that front, but James got there before him, grabbing his glasses and pushing a distracted Sirius off him. Damn those reflexes.

'What's going on?' came a voice, and Sirius - now wrestling with James - looked up to see Remus' sleepy face poking out through his curtains.

'Morning exercise,' James said brightly.

Sirius detested morning exercise. He didn't particularly like mornings - or exercise. And he certainly didn't like being woken up drenched in water. And yet... Sirius couldn't help but smile.

'You look better,' Sirius observed.

Remus smiled back: 'A good night sleep seems to have done the trick! It's good to be back, isn't it?'

Peter nodded, and Sirius couldn't help but agree. It was great being back with Peter, Remus and - of course - James.

[ttroubledwaters]

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

[emlovessid]

@jegulus-microfic september 27, courtship, 128 words

Laying in bed, Sirius is trying to wrap his head around the fact that his best friend and his little brother are on a date right now. 

Naturally, he’d given them a lot of shit about it when he found out about their courtship or whatever James was calling it. Not that he’s against it, not at all; he actually thinks they’re kind of perfect for each other.

Remus is snoring lightly next to him when he hears a quiet knock on their bedroom door, before it opens a crack.

“Sirius, you awake?” James whispers.

“Yeah?”

James’ head pokes through the door then and Sirius doesn’t need to ask how their date was; the stupid grin on his face is enough.

“I’m going to marry your brother someday.”

[dyl-z]

173 | 174

cw: depression and unhealthy coping mechanisms